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!)

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.

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.

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…

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.

Imagine... Political chaos is on the rise. Justice is at an all-time low. You're hungry and crippled by a reckless kind of hurt - for your family, your future, and humanity itself. You don't see a way for things to be different.

You hear there's a man who performs miracles. The neighbors say He's heading to a desolate place. There's nothing there for anyone, but there's nothing to stay for either. Almost 20,000 people are already there when you arrive. You strain to see the man called Jesus from tiptoes in the back.

Join me in a conversation with Deb Weakly from Help Club for Moms. Deb is a long-time friend, and she invited me to share about my journey in special needs parenting to offer encouragement to moms all over the world. I’m very much still in the trenches, learning the hard way, and even shared that I had completely lost my cool on Benjamin an hour before we started recording! But we so often find God together, and in those valley lessons of learning to worship anyway.

Maybe this is a chat you can relate to, or maybe it’s one to share with a friend who can.

I remember what it felt like, years ago, when I first felt life inside of me. Every kick and hiccup of the child within re-proclaimed God's design for us as co-creators. I quickly realized both big and small decisions are weighed on different scales when you understand you are doing it with Christ.

Now, we are stepping into a new season of co-laboring with Christ. We are launching a new church in Cape Town! In some ways, I've felt the familiar weight of a new parent. We dream of a place for people to feel at home with Jesus and their neighbors, no matter where they've come from. We believe His House should be the safest place for a person to become their whole, dearly-loved self.