Join me on a journey…
A story of a boy and his snail.
Snail goes missing. Snail is found. Snail professes his love for Christ. Snail goes on road trip. Snail survives a fall. Mom vacuums soil. This is Saturday morning.

Merchant vessel, The Nantucket, rammed into steamship, The Monroe, near the Virginia coast on a foggy January night in 1914. In the trial that followed, Nantucket's captain, Osymn Berry, admitted to many negligent decisions and was arraigned accordingly. The cross-examination of Monroe's captain, Edward Johnson, revealed he navigated with a steering compass that deviated as much as 2° from the standard magnetic compass. The trial ended with two burly sea captains sobbing on each other's shoulders with the reckoning that their carelessness and misorientation cost 41 lives…

A perspective I didn’t expect from a bug hunt…

A sunny winter afternoon. One in shorts. One in sweats. We were armed with cups and plastic spoons - on mission to find every bug in Africa. We found exactly zero. It might have had something to do with the intensity in which those flimsy plastic spoons hit the dirt, the sheer volume of the hunters’ excitement, or the fact that they can turn anything into an extreme sport. This particular bug hunt included a long-jump practice, rock rolling, sprint jumping, cat counting, and flower petal pulling. Just not bugs…

Benjamin didn’t want to go to his rugby training today. He’s faced waves of anxiety about the sport he loves so much since he saw his brother get carried off the field on a stretcher. Lifa is on the mend, but Benjamin still felt scared today. But we got there. We showed up without expectation.
And GRIT came out of that kid! …

Our six-year olds's auto-immune condition has been flaring up. My nerves crackled and popped all night last Friday from the intensity of caring for him, and I couldn't sleep at all. On Saturday, we watched a medic team carry my oldest son off the rugby field on a stretcher. My three-year old and I rushed to the hospital to open his file while my husband rode in the ambulance with him.

You'll never believe what happened next... I LOCKED MY THREE-YEAR OLD IN MY VAN IN THE HOSPITAL PARKING LOT. My sleep-deprived, nerve-frazzled, broken heart was just about ready to stop beating at this point.

In our current season of life, we don’t go to OT. We go to fields. We bring balls and brothers. It’s everything. (Lifa is often with us, but he’s still recovering from his rugby injury.)

Hard kicks. Full contact tackles. And a PRO MOM game of kicking balls up a hill (recorded on double speed bc it was so intense for so long). It’s always been the best way for Benjamin to find himself and feel like himself…

The boy loves worship music. He regulates with it. He worships with it. He makes up his own.

He asked me to write the words down for him as he sang them this week. I just had to give this a permanent place.

Here it is. A new fresh hit. Dictated by Jam. Written by Mom.

Crocs, snakes, tortoises - oh my!

Lifa sustained a serious injury on the rugby field on Saturday. Our whole family watched him get carried off the field on a stretcher. We spent the rest of the day waiting, praying and, finally, thanking God when he got cleared to go home. He’s been booked off school for recovery from a severe concussion, but, as it turns out, our house isn’t so restful! …

Did I sit quietly in a corner while my chidren tackled each other in the aquarium this evening?
Yes. Absolutely. It’s Jam’s necessary heavy pressure work.

Did I advocate for my kids to have their own space and NOT make friends with some sweet kids who desperately wanted to join in the fun? Did I speak to the children and the nanny on my kids’ behalf?
Yes. Without hesitation….

What a weekend. There are a thousand details and disasters sprinkled into the last 48 hours but GRACE is louder than it all. It’s the last month of his high school rugby career. Lifa took a hit that could have changed his whole story. We are so thankful for the swift care from his school, medical professionals, and the people around us who showed up and carried us through. God showed Himself through His people once again. He’s so tangible and kind.

We are doing a lot of vocabulary shaping in our house right now as our youngest boys absorb the lingo of the world around them. I'm reminded of my oldest son coming home from primary school years ago, echoing his peers by starting every sentence with, "The problem is..."

“The problem is there’s not enough…” “The problem is that he always…” “The problem is we can’t….”

Yes; there's great value in identifying problems you're trying to solve. You end up with much bigger problems, however, if you stop there.

I’m almost 16 years into this gig, and I still don’t understand the male species. The small ones, large ones, dog ones… none of them.

Yesterday I used my best library voice to whisper-shout, “No rugby in the library!” I put people in their rooms, had emergency caffeine, and engaged in rapid rounds of psychological warfare with a 3-year old. (Always lost.) And then, for some unknown reason, everyone stopped fighting, clinging and needing. The sun shone just right. And make bonding initiated. I sat on a kiddie picnic table and drank my tea like a QUEEN.

This familiar passage in Isaiah 43 was part of my Bible reading plan yesterday. I made a note on the page on the second day of January this year.

We were chest-deep in unknowns then. It was a season of practicing daily forgiveness and trusting whispered promises in the midst of loud realities. Silencing the noise in my head was a daily discipline. The Word spoke to me that day... “Forget the former things. Do not dwell on the past.” Just a verse or two before, God was reminding us of what He had done and announcing who He is. I wrote, “Remember who God is.” It was a turning point moment for me.

My neurodivergent six-year old is into creating nonsensical trivia. A recent car ride went something like this...

Him: "What color is an oval?"

Me: "Green."

Him: "NO! PINK! How many bricks are in a wall?"

Me: "Probably 96."

Him: "You were SO CLOSE. But sorry, it's 89."

In honor of the month-long winter holiday ending, here’s one of the reels I started and never finished.

Context:We were right in the thick of unrelenting rainstorms and cold. I was overstimulated, and they were under stimulated. I took them to the aquarium for a last-ditch effort to save my sanity while we waited for the Springboks rugby match to come on that evening. Benjamin and Wyatt had their own rugby match for a crowd of cheering stingrays, sea turtles and one overly-tired mom who released her dignity and just started recording. But we all won!…

We’re going to keep saying it until you can see it. Church should be the safest place for anybody and everybody to know they matter. You don’t have to believe to belong. We’d like to invite you to just come and see.

Vision night will be an easy environment with no expectations. Bring a friend. Order a coffee on us, and we’ll spend a few minutes sharing what we mean when we say, “Church Home is a church to call home, and a family to call your own.”

I've been playing an old hymn on repeat. My younger children don't understand the 18th century lyrics, but we've worshiped wholeheartedly to "Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing". Something in that song is reaching something in us, so I did a little digging on the story behind it.

Robert Robinson lost his father as a young boy in the 1700's. He had to grow up fast, start working young, and ran the streets of London as a gangster…

I’m shivering on the sidelines of a Benjamin’s winter soccer clinic. I started feeling sorry myself here for a frozen, raining moment. The other 24 moms dropped their kids off, but I remain, with toddler in tow. I stay visible, available - an ever-present external nervous system. And did I mention it’s cold?

But as I pull my thick hat over my ears, perspective warms me. I don’t have time to rattle off how glorious it is that Benjamin is thriving here on the soccer field, or that he is dancing like a deeply-loved goober between goal posts with his best friend right now. That’s for another day.

Tension was palpable in the Upper Room. Jesus just rode into Jerusalem under palm leaves and cries for "Hosanna". Right after that, He announced His own death, and an audible voice spoke from heaven. (John 12) The disciples must have had endless questions for their teacher, who only seemed to speak in parables. What did it all mean? Would He save them? Was this all for naught?

They all wanted to be His favorite, wanted the seat closest to living hope. They were there to share an intimate meal, reclining at a low table. No dirty foot was washed after removing their sandals, and it was becoming obvious. You could literally smell the tension.

Pent-up energy is ricocheting off our walls during an extra long, extra loud, extra rainy school holiday. I'm giving my all, but my autistic son needs more than that. The rest of my family gets less of me, and my son still doesn't have enough. I start each new day already storm-battered.

I tiptoed to my Bible one morning while the house slept to see if Jesus was still in the storm-stilling business.