The beginning of the ends has begun. Yesterday, my first baby towered over me as a full-blown man and endured my photo requests like a champion.

Matric Dance is an extravagant event for grade 12’s that commemorates the entirety of their high school years. In American context, it’s kind like a culmination of prom and project graduation.

This week contained enough material for many calls to worship but did not leave me with margin to write even one. Today, I'm sharing from page 17 in my "Called to Worship" book, originally shared on 6 August 2021.

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Hurricane Ike devastated the Gulf Coast of Texas in September 2008. Three years prior, I lost my childhood home to Hurricane Rita in the same area.

My eyes are my greatest insecurity.

I underwent surgery for infantile esotropia (crossed eyes) when I was six months old. Early surgical intervention gives young eyes a chance to develop binocular vision (eyes that work together, but the effects "wear off" in time.

Over the last decade, I've lost binocular vision, and, consequently, developed severe eye strain, visual impairment, and loss of eye control. I stay mortified in every moment of eye contact (even with my husband), appearing on videos, or standing in front of crowds.

This week I read an obscure story with a familiar plot.

Ezra 4-6 recounts one episode of God's people returning from a 70-years exile. They faced immediate opposition in rebuilding the temple. Politics, persecution, and twisted truths made it seem there would never again be a place to meet with God. But an extraordinary plot twist came by decree. Enemy accusers received royal, irrevocable notice to stop opposing the temple rebuild. They would face their own demise if they did not also foot the bill and provide for temple sacrifices.

It's our 10th anniversary! Want to hear what happened right before the wedding?

One week prior to our big day, we were en route to a ministry retreat when rioting broke out in a community we were serving. From the road, we managed to have a Ugandan pastor moved from xenophobic uproar into the townhouse we would move into after our wedding.

We returned a few days later with massive sinus infections and discovered our pre-wedding housing would not have electricity for the week.

Tomorrow marks ten years of being husband and wife, but we joke that we should count in “dog years” for all the life we’ve lived in the last decade.

A pastor’s wife game me “The Power of a Praying Wife” by Stormie Omartian when we got married. She reads through the book every year, so I thought I’d give it a try too. It has become a powerhouse in my life! I’ve learned to pray Scripture, been continuously turned to Biblical order, and been awestruck again and again as I’ve watched God move for my husband and our family.

We used to sit next to Uncle Lindsey on the front row at church. He and my husband often huddled, head-to-head, in prayer. Every Sunday at church and Friday after the Call to Worship, Uncle Lindsey would tell me what he was going to do when he got out of his wheelchair. He couldn't wait to glorify the Lord with his healing. The man had a plan to dance, and no one doubted he would.

Uncle Lindsey shared his life story with me a few years ago...

I go to Honest Chocolate Cafe every year on my birthday. The darling courtyard in the middle of town holds a special place in my heart. It’s in walking distance to the lawyers offices we’ve frequented - physical spaces that symbolize years of pursuing justice and breakthrough. We always stopped by Honest Chocolate for a taste of chocolate-flavored redemption after a heavy legal appointment.

Another Friday. Another field.
Jam was there to play some serious rugby. Wyatt was absolutely unhinged. He brought the best kind of combination of soccer, basketball, rugby, and spontaneous dance moves. This is one of those videos I made for myself to watch over and over. The dance solo at the end is next level.

As a child, I learned the stories of God on Sunday school flannelboards and the Word of God through songs. In high school, I was enveloped in a community of Godly families and a Methodist church youth group that showed me what God looks like. I went on mission trips, was introduced to Christian music, and learned to hear God's voice on a youth trip.

I'm compelled to reach out to those who sowed seeds in me that are now sprouting on foreign soil. Who could have known those first mission trips of sleeping in another church's fellowship hall and doing odd-jobs for community members would culminate as a lifetime of foreign missions?

We are so excited for September 1st! Church Home is having another gathering at Gangstar Cafe. Pray for us as we reach out and invite people. We believe God has us here to create a safe place for people to experience Jesus and His Church. We’re taking it one step, one day at a time, and seeing what He does.

I LOVE this promo video Chris made. I think it captures the heart so well. Make sure your sound is on!

I didn’t have the mental or physical bandwidth to hit my weightlifting goals this week. (And the goals are minimal!) BUT today I showed up anyway. My most important commitment was never lifting weights for 30 minutes a day, 3 days a week. It’s much more about stewarding my life well. He pre-paid for it with His Son’s. I’ve committed to God, my family and myself to keep showing up with what I’ve got. Today that looked like a short run in the sunshine. It got my endorphins flowing and reminded my spirit to keep showing up, even if it’s not the original plan…

Here’s the next thing coming for Church Home! Check out this invitation and video from Chris (and Wyatt and Frank). And PRAY with us. After our first Good Stuff night on September 1st, we’ll start gathering in small groups. And let’s see what God does from there!

If you were born in southern America in the 1980's, and if your parents took advantage of every summer Vacation Bible School in your hometown, you can probably finish the following lines without thinking twice:

"God is good..." (All the time!) "All the time..." (God is good!)

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…