Please join us on Sunday at 9am @ Vista Nova High Pinelands. We’re not a weird church. We don’t use “churchy” words, and we come from every age, stage, ethnicity and ability.

We put on name tags so we don’t feel awkward when we forget someone’s name right after they’ve introduced themselves. And we gather for good coffee, encouraging teaching, and a place for the kids to learn about Jesus in a way that’s relevant to them.

I publicly lamented in last week’s call to worship. I disclosed (what feels like) longsuffering with our family’s visas and ability to travel. I was astounded by the feedback - a good indicator I’d lost hope. So many were praying, encouraging, and holding up my arms when I was too tired to do it myself. (Read Exodus 17:11-13.)

That same day… The same day you responded, prayed, and hoped when I could not… Everything changed. Our immigraion lawyer responded with two clear options:

I sent an overwhelmed email to our immigration lawyer this week. We’ve lived a decade of life and produced a new generation since we’ve visited our family in America - mostly because of government documentation issues. My email felt like an SOS signal… “Have we been forgotten?” “Are we stuck not belonging anywhere forever?”

Not everyone struggles with visa stamps in their passports, but we’ve all some form of SOS from our wildernesses. God’s people were exilec for many years - their history, homes, families and place of worship were ruthlessly destroyed. They cried SOS too. “Zion says, ‘The Lord has abandoned me: The Lord has forgotten me!” (Isaiah 49:14)

Several years ago, I spent an afternoon with a pastor's wife who was far ahead of me in experience and wisdom. She casually shared, "I've decided I'm never going to eat candy again." It totally blew my mind, and I don't even like candy. I'd never heard someone, just another normal person like me, pre-decide for freedom like that. I don't think she was in bondage to M&M's, but this woman had goals for her future. She could taste and see that the smallest measure of freedom had a lot more to offer than the finest confection.

Has someone ever tried to encourage you in a hard time with a well-meaning, "God won't give you more than you can handle"? The motives are pure, but the theology doesn't line up.

Wednesday was more than my family could handle this week.

The most anticipated day of the year has come and gone, leaving precious memories, overflowing garbage bins, and my kids asking how many days until next Christmas. Is there a such thing as a "wonder hangover" after the Christmas magic has peaked?

Just imagine the morning after the very first Christmas. An incredibly sore, new mom picks up the King of Kings in soiled swaddling cloth.

In 1843, a French priest commissioned renowned poet, Placide Cappeau, to write a poem to commemorate the renovations to the church organ. Cappeau penned the poem "Midnight, Christians". At the priest's request, he worked with distinguished composer, Adolphe Adam, to turn his poem into a song called “Christmas Carol". Today, we know it as the song, "O Holy Night".

The carol was instantly popular but quickly banned from French liturgy when church leadership found out Cappeau was an atheist and Adam was Jewish. The French wouldn't let the song go, however, and it lived in their homes when the church wouldn't sing it.

Last week, I marched into my kitchen and announced, "I will not utter a SINGLE grumble or complaint for an entire month. I won't think one. I won't say one. There's no venting. There's only gratitude." My husband hadn't had his first sip of coffee yet. His eyebrows rose to his hairline as he wondered what had his wife riled up so early in the morning.

It didn't feel early in the morning for me. I'd been up for a long time with a sick child. Beyond that, seismic concern for my son with special needs was rising.

It's almost 11pm on Thursday night. I've been trying to write this call to worship all week. There were some curveballs. But more than unforeseen events, my body was just not on board. I woke up daily with an unexplainable sense of panic and a mind that refused to stay engaged. I couldn't sleep, and, when I did, it seemed to only make me feel more tired. Overwhelm was a storm cloud above my head, following me wherever I went.

I tried to understand what was going on while I drove to the gym one morning…

If you saw last week's Call to Worship, you might have picked up that I was going into the weekend overwhelmed and undone, capsized by life's chaos. I was also heading into a weekend away for the women's Alpha course I've been leading. It was just seven women, a house in the mountains, and an exorbitant amount of snacks.

I think I ate three weeks of calories in two days and caught up on a year's worth of laughter. Peace-filled silence and open skies recalibrated my soul's rhythms. Time stood still. My nervous system healed.

I just got home from Church Home’s Ladies Alpha weekend, and I am changed. Eating, laughing, worshiping, fetching water, studying scripture, watching baboons, making jewelry, and everything else… it was all spiritual. God was in it all. We gathered in His name, and His love permeated every silly photo and deep conversation. He ushered in hope and healing through it all.

There is nothing more important than this. Get to know God. Plant yourself in His house. Love and be loved by His people. The rest is fleeting.

Many years ago, I had a profound encounter with God that's stuck with me. My loving Father said, "Daughter, you never have to live in chaos." Simultaneously, a picture flashed in my mind of myself in a room with laundry spread out, toys strewn recklessly, and a complete absence of order. I hadn't even met my husband yet, and the picture didn't match my life at the time. But it often does now.

I once heard a pastor talk about hiring a media consultant. His church was one of the fastest growing churches in America at the time, and social media wasn't yet as popular as news or TV interviews. I can't recall the details of the event that led to the pastor seeking professional advice, but I remember his church breaking the mold in a lot of ways at the time. A public outreach had unexpectedly made national news, and the young pastor was being chased by the media. He was facing a very different audience and knew many interviewers weren't looking to build the Church.

My husband and I sat in a crowded auditorium this week for our oldest son's high school valediction. The headmaster's final address to the students encouraged them to shape their lives around generosity and connection. He spoke of Nipun Mehta's "Karma Kitchen", a generosity experiment that has become a global chain of restaurants.

My sons are 17, 6 and 3 years old. One is preparing for the last exams of his high school career; one is practicing subtraction; and one is learning to sing the ABC's. Almost every evening, all three brothers gather around our low coffee table to play dominoes. The oldest makes sure both of his brothers get a win, but all three are completely unified in purpose and passion. The proverbial "playing field" is leveled by their brotherhood.

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.

…

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.

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...

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!)