The Lawn Care Love Letter

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John 15:5 – “I am the vine; you are the branches. Whoever abides in me and I in him, he it is that bears much fruit, for apart from me you can do nothing.”

“Do I really have to do this?” I’d groan.

Dad would smile, wiping sweat from his brow. “If I’m gonna be out here in this heat, I’d rather not be alone.”

Yard work. Always yard work.

I would shuffle across the porch, dragging my feet like a prisoner on work detail, clutching the trash bag or flicking the hose on and off. I’d rather have been anywhere else…like my bedroom.

But Dad never seemed to mind. Instead, he’d talk to me about weeds and grass and fertilizer.

Sometimes, in the middle of all that sweat and dirt, his eyes would flick to me and he’d smile. Like the real reason he had called me out there wasn’t the yard, but me.

It’s taken me a lifetime to see that.

To Dad, mowing grass and outdoor chores always came second to spending time with his boy.

Now I’m the one out there with the hose and the rake. My own little one runs around my knees, giggling like it’s the best place in the world. My wife leans on the porch, smiling. And I get it.

And now I see that is what God’s been doing all along too. He is not measuring my worth by what I can produce. Instead, he just asks me to show up, to spend time with Him, and to let Him tend the tangled places in my soul.

So, here’s to being present.

Here’s to letting the abiding nearness of God transform the way I see the world and shape the way I show up for the people around me. Here’s to saying, in the small ways and the hard ways, “I see you, and I’m here.” Because when we carry the presence of our Heavenly Father with us, the ones we love will feel it too.

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Hold Tight to the One Who Calls You His

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Isaiah 43:1b – “Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine.”

I used to think the perfect vacation meant white sand beaches, sunshine, and a good book. But when you’re a girl dad, vacation often means something else entirely—like shopping. And lots of it. That’s how I ended up in the heart of New York City, weaving through streets with my daughters, surrounded by endless storefronts and towering skyscrapers.

One evening, we stepped into the pulse of Times Square. It was a sensory overload—neon lights, shouting street performers, protesters, and vendors all competing for attention. The noise pressed in on every side. I felt my daughters’ small hands in mine, and I gripped them tightly.

“Stay close,” I said. The crowd could have easily swallowed them up.

That moment stuck with me—not just because of the chaos, but because of the clarity it gave me.

The world is a lot like Times Square. Loud. Confusing. Constantly trying to grab our attention and define us. It’s easy to get swept up in the noise. The lies we hear—or even the ones we tell ourselves—can feel louder than the truth. A rough school year can whisper that we’re not enough. A broken home can brand us as unlovable. A divorce can scream that we’re worthless.

And Satan? He thrives in that confusion. If he can convince us to believe a lie about who we are, we might never step into the life God created for us.

But God? He does the opposite. He speaks into the noise, and His voice cuts through with one beautiful truth: You are mine.

He doesn’t call you by your failures. He calls you by your name.

In that moment, holding my daughters’ hands, I knew they were safe as long as they stayed close, and I was reminded that I’m safe, too—as long as I stay close to my Father.

So if the world feels like too much today—if the lies feel louder than the truth—hold tight to the One who calls you His. Let Him remind you who you really are. You are loved. You are redeemed. You are His.

— Matthew West

LYRICS

Hello, my name is regret
I’m pretty sure we have met
Every single day of your life
I’m the whisper inside
Won’t let you forget

Hello, my name is defeat
I know you recognize me
Just when you think you can win
I’ll drag you right back down again
‘Til you’ve lost all belief
These are the voices,
these are the lies
And I have believed them,
for the very last time

Hello, my name is child of the one true king
I’ve been saved, I’ve been changed, and I have been set free
Amazing grace is the song I sing
Hello, my name is child of the one true king
I am no longer defined
By all the wreckage behind
The one who makes all things new
Has proven it’s true
Just take a look at my life

Hello, my name is child of the one true king
I’ve been saved, I’ve been changed, and I have been set free
Amazing grace is the song I sing
Hello, my name is child of the one true king

What a love the Father has lavished upon us
That we should be called his children
I am a child of the one true King
What a love the Father has lavished upon us
That we should be called his children

Hello, my name is child of the one true king
I’ve been saved, I’ve been changed, and I have been set free
Amazing grace is the song I sing
Hello, my name is child of the one true king
I am a child of the one true king

Music video by Matthew West performing Hello, My Name Is (Lyrics).

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Twelve Dollars of Love

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Hebrews 13:16 — “And do not forget to do good and to share with others, for with such sacrifices God is pleased.”

One mom, Stacey, always tried to keep birthdays simple. No fuss, just a meal and some laughs. So, when Nathan turned twelve, she let him pick his favorite spot—Waffle House.

After they slid into their booth, Stacey leaned across the table and flagged down the lone waiter on duty, Philip.

“Hey, just so you know,” she said with a grin, “it’s my son’s twelfth birthday.”

She figured it might get him a free dessert or something, but she wasn’t prepared for what happened next.

Philip grinned right back and disappeared behind the counter. A minute later, he came back with a stack of twelve crisp dollar bills, one for each year Nathan had been alive.

He placed them in front of Nathan with a genuine, “Happy birthday, Buddy.”

Nathan’s eyes widened. He had never seen generosity like that up close. Stacey found herself blinking back tears. She knew the weight of that gift. She could picture Philip working long shifts, relying on every tip to make ends meet. Yet here he was, giving generously.

It was a lesson she’d been trying to teach her son for years, and here it was demonstrated in a roadside diner.

As they left, Stacey squeezed Nathan’s hand. She hoped he’d carry that moment with him, that he’d remember it long after the waffles were gone. Because, she thought, sometimes the best way to live is to give—even when it costs you something.

Friend, maybe you’ve been waiting for the right moment to put someone else first. Don’t wait. Little sacrifices, given freely, can turn a simple thing into a memory that lasts a lifetime. Let’s live that kind of story.

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Get Back in the Saddle

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2 Timothy 1:7 — For the Spirit God gave us does not make us timid, but gives us power, love and self-discipline.

Daddy had me in the saddle of a horse before I even had my first loose tooth. I remember my little legs jutting out like sticks, trying to hold on to Dugar, my Palomino, whose coat shimmered like honey in the sun.

Daddy loved horses, and I loved that he wanted to share them with me. Every Saturday, he’d saddle up Dugar and hand me the reins, his big hand steady on my back. I’d watch his face as he tightened the cinch, his eyes full of pride.

We rode together for years, me and Dugar. I learned to sense his moods—when he was feeling feisty, when he was calm, when he’d rather graze than gallop. I’d talk to him like he was my best friend, which he probably was.

Then came the day everything changed.

It started like any other morning, but that day, Dugar had a wild streak in him. He bucked hard, harder than he ever had before, spinning and kicking like he wanted to leave me behind. My heart pounded in my chest as I clung to the saddle, every nerve screaming for me to let go.

But I didn’t. I held on until the saddle slipped, and then I hit the ground. Hard.

My head slammed into the ground, landing just inches from my father’s disc harrow. If you’ve never seen one, imagine a row of sharp, spinning blades pulled behind a tractor. Think of a guillotine on wheels ready to chew up the dirt—and me.

Daddy was there in an instant. I don’t remember much, but I remember the look in his eyes—wet, relieved, scared. But I was alive. No broken bones, not even a concussion. He said it was a miracle. We found out later that the cinch had not been latched properly. It was a small mistake, but it nearly cost me everything.

The next morning, Daddy leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, eyes soft. “You ready to ride again?” he asked.

Every part of me wanted to say no. My stomach twisted at the thought of that wild-eyed horse and the way the ground had rushed up to meet me. But Daddy held my gaze, his voice steady. “If you don’t get back on that horse,” he said, “you’ll carry that fear with you the rest of your life.”

So, I took a deep breath and swung my leg over Dugar’s back. My heart thudded with every step he took, each hoofbeat a reminder of the risk, but also of all the rides we’d shared—sunny afternoons, slow walks under the oaks, the way his breath felt warm on my cheek. I chose to trust him again. And in that moment, I chose to trust myself too.

Life has a way of bucking us off when we least expect it. It’s messy and wild and sometimes leaves us face down in the dirt. But staying there isn’t an option. It’s not how we’re made. It doesn’t matter how many times you get bucked off—what matters is how many times you get back on.

So, dust yourself off. Get back on that horse, friend, and let Jesus take the reins.

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In Christ Alone

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John 14:6 — Jesus said to him, “I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.”

Keith Getty didn’t want to play it safe. Not with his faith, and definitely not with his music. He’d watched too many church songs drift toward shallow waters. Many songs were big on feeling, but light on truth. And something in him stirred. There had to be more.

One afternoon, over coffee, he told his friend Stuart Townend about a few melodies he’d been working on. He promised to send him a CD.

When Stuart popped it into his player days later, the first track made him pause. He sat back, listening carefully. There’s something about this, he thought. There’s something quite eternal and enduring.

He called Keith. They spoke at length about what the melody could hold. Stuart said what they were both thinking, “What if this song traced the whole story of Jesus—His life, death, resurrection—and what that means for us today?”

Stuart took the idea and ran. He wrote with purpose, determined to lay out the faith clearly—verse by verse, doctrine by doctrine—yet in a way anyone could understand. The lyrics poured out, beginning not with the believer, but with Christ Himself.

Some warned them that writing modern hymns was a dead end. But the song took off like wildfire—across churches, denominations, even generations. It taught people the faith. It comforted the doubting. It fed the hungry, and it sparked a whole movement of rich, theological worship for a new era.

They had hoped to write one good song. Instead, they helped reintroduce depth to worship. This was not because they tried to be revolutionary, but because they stayed rooted in scripture.

In the end, Keith and Stuart marveled at the beauty of a simple truth: the story of Christ changes lives. It was not enough to water it down. It was not enough to be half-sure. People needed the whole story—unashamed and unedited. That was the news that turned searching souls into believers, and that was the song’s greatest gift.

May you hold that same resolve. Do not shrink back. Share the story that brings hope, because this world still needs the light that only truth can bring.

 

LYRICS

In Christ alone my hope is found;
He is my light, my strength, my song;
This cornerstone, this solid ground,
Firm through the fiercest drought and storm.
What heights of love, what depths of peace,
When fears are stilled, when strivings cease!
My comforter, my all in all—
Here in the love of Christ I stand.

In Christ alone, Who took on flesh,
Fullness of God in helpless babe!
This gift of love and righteousness,
Scorned by the ones He came to save.
Till on that cross as Jesus died,
The wrath of God was satisfied;
For ev’ry sin on Him was laid—
Here in the death of Christ I live.

There in the ground His body lay,
Light of the world by darkness slain;
Then bursting forth in glorious day,
Up from the grave He rose again!
And as He stands in victory,
Sin’s curse has lost its grip on me;
For I am His and He is mine—
Bought with the precious blood of Christ.

No guilt in life, no fear in death—
This is the pow’r of Christ in me;
From life’s first cry to final breath,
Jesus commands my destiny.
No pow’r of hell, no scheme of man,
Can ever pluck me from His hand;
Till He returns or calls me home—
Here in the pow’r of Christ I’ll stand.

Words and Music by Keith Getty & Stuart Townend

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Sunday Morning Struggles

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Isaiah 26:3 — “You keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on you, because he trusts in you.” 

The dogs were barking at the squirrels and frogs again this morning. Lennox was wanting my attention. My teenage stepdaughter was hunting through my closet for a cardigan. Chris was glued to ESPN, and my hair was refusing to cooperate.

It’s safe to say, Sunday mornings at my house are a bit chaotic these days.

But sometimes, in the midst of the noise, I remember my mom. She would stand near the window on Sunday mornings, playing her flute. She always chose that old hymn that made her smile. I can still imagine her lifting her voice in praise.

“Turn your eyes upon Jesus,
Look full in His wonderful face.
And the things of earth will grow strangely dim,
In the light of His glory and grace.”

In those moments, everything just settled into peace.

This morning, however, I felt anything but calm. I told Chris to go on without me. We both serve at church, and showing up in a bad mood is never ideal. I just needed a few more minutes to get my life together.

In the stillness that followed, that old hymn crept back into my mind. I felt a gentle question press on my heart: Have you spoken to God yet? It stopped me in my tracks.

It was Sunday, of all days, yet I had rushed right past Him. My eyes had been fixed on the chaos instead of the One who brings peace.

The dogs still barked. The cardigan remained missing. The ESPN highlights rolled on. But somehow, those things seemed smaller when I turned my eyes back where they belonged.

If your life feels loud and chaotic like mine does, know this: there is another way to see it. When you lift your eyes to Him, the noise fades into the background. The chaos shrinks, and the peace grows. So, take a deep breath and look up. Let Him carry the weight that was never yours to bear alone.

Turn your eyes to Him, and watch the chaos shrink in the light of His grace.

 

LYRICS

O soul, are you weary and troubled?
No light in the darkness you see?
There’s light for a look at the Savior,
And life more abundant and free!

Refrain:
Turn your eyes upon Jesus,
Look full in His wonderful face,
And the things of earth will grow strangely dim,
In the light of His glory and grace.

Through death into life everlasting
He passed, and we follow Him there;
O’er us sin no more hath dominion—
For more than conqu’rors we are!

His Word shall not fail you—He promised;
Believe Him, and all will be well:
Then go to a world that is dying,
His perfect salvation to tell!

Hymn by Helen H. Lemmel

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Facing Giants with Faith

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Romans 8:31 – “What then shall we say to these things? If God is for us, who can be against us?”

David didn’t look like a warrior. He was sunburned from long days in the hills, and his hands smelled like sheep. He didn’t carry a sword or shield, just a sling and a knapsack with bread and cheese for his brothers at the battlefront.

But when he reached the camp, the air felt thick with something worse than war—fear.

Goliath was enormous, and louder than life. He strutted out each morning, mocking Israel and their God, and the soldiers, grown men seasoned by battle, just stared at the dirt. Nobody moved. Not even the king.

But David couldn’t stomach the silence.

He asked why no one was stepping up. They laughed and told him to mind his sheep. But David had seen deliverance before—in the hills, from the jaws of lions, from the claws of bears. This was no different. This giant wasn’t bigger than the God he knew.

He knelt by a stream, careful with his choices. Five smooth stones. One sling. And a heart full of faith.

As David stepped into the valley, Goliath laugh thundered. But David’s eyes were steady on the One who had always been faithful. He knew this fight wasn’t his to win. It was God’s.

A single stone flew, small but mighty. Time seemed to stand still. Then, with a mighty crash, Goliath fell. Silence spread, followed by a roar of victory. What followed was a surge of courage in men who had once been paralyzed by fear.

What mattered most wasn’t that David was brave. It was that he was certain. Certain of God’s power. Certain that one step in faith could be enough to move heaven.

We spend too much time counting stones, doubting our worth, imagining every way we could fail. But maybe the question isn’t “Are you enough?” Maybe it’s: Do you trust the One who is?

God still brings giants to the ground, and He still uses the unexpected to do it. So, take heart. Let your faith rise and stay certain that He is about to do what only He can do.

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Living Unapologetically Free

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John 8:36 — “So if the Son sets you free, you will be free indeed.”

“Free indeed.”

That’s what Jesus promised me, and for a long time, I didn’t believe it.

Counseling gave me some tools to navigate the mess inside, sort through years of self-doubt, and even breathe a little deeper. But sitting quietly before the Lord one morning—Bible open, heart laid bare—I felt something shift.

This wasn’t just healing. This was freedom, and it came when God whispered truth into a part of my heart I always kept covered up.

I can still see that day in my mind. I was just a kid, all bright eyes with laughter bubbling up with every breath. My heart was open to the world. I thought that was a good thing.

Then someone I respected—someone whose opinion mattered—made a joke: “No one takes you seriously.”

It was a throwaway comment, but it hurt. I laughed about it to soften the blow, but the seed took root. From then on, a quiet voice tagged along wherever I went. It whispered to me in job interviews, on ministry teams, every time I was called to lead.

“No one takes you seriously. You’re silly. Immature. Forgettable.”

But that morning—just me and Jesus—I finally listened to someone who actually knew me, and His words spoke louder than the lie.

God’s voice didn’t shame me. It called me: “Capable. Wise. Joyful. Delightful. Chosen. Mine.”

Sure, I had some growing up to do. Who doesn’t? But I’m done apologizing for being the person God made me to be. That is exactly the woman He wants to use. I don’t have to hide or wear a mask. I can be smart and still crack a joke. I can lead boldy and laugh.

Because Jesus didn’t just save me. He set me free.

If you’re living under someone else’s label, ask God who He says you are. Because the truth? It’s His words that matter, and His words set us free to be exactly who He made us to be—no masks, no shame. Just freedom.

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Stand in the Gap

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I’ll never forget the day my son, Alvin III, announced he was moving to Australia.

He was in his mid-twenties. Sharp-minded. Kind-hearted. Talented.

He had earned a music degree and was passionate about writing and producing. He entered competitions, wrote secular music, and spent his free time with people who didn’t love Jesus. No, he wasn’t running wild, but he wasn’t walking toward the Light either.

So, he packed his bags and left Nashville for Melbourne—a move that felt like a whole world away from everything we had taught him.

I wanted to reach across oceans and pull him back. But I couldn’t. And that’s when I realized I was fighting a battle I couldn’t see with my eyes. I prayed every day that God would watch over him.

My son later told me, “Mom, I told God, ‘Whoever gets me first, You or the Devil, that’s the way I’m going to go.”

Had I known that at the time, my heart would have sunk, but in hindsight, I’m grateful I didn’t. It forced me to keep praying in faith, not in fear. And it reminded me of what’s really at stake. We’re not battling bad decisions. We’re standing between our loved ones and an enemy who wants their hearts.

The older I get, the more I believe it’s true: there’s a real war waging over the next generation. It’s not obvious at first glance, but underneath the distractions, anxiety, self-doubt, and silence, there’s a tug-of-war for their souls.

That’s where we come in.

You and I—we are the gap-standers. We hold the line when our kids feel nothing. We pray when they don’t want us to. We fast when we don’t see results. We speak life even when their choices break our hearts.

So don’t give up. Suit up.

There’s a battle raging, and your prayers may be the very thing that tips the scale.

— CeCe Winans

 

Lyrics:

Sometimes I fall to my knees and pray
Come Jesus come
Let today be the day
Sometimes I feel like I’m gonna break
But I’m holding on
To a hope that won’t fade

Come Jesus come
We’ve been waiting so long
For the day You return
To heal every hurt
And right every wrong
We need You right now
Come and turn this around
Deep down I know
This world isn’t home
Come Jesus come

There’ll be no war
And there’ll be no chains
When Jesus comes
Let today be the day
He’ll come for the weak
And the strong just the same
And all will believe
In the power of His name

Come Jesus come
We’ve been waiting so long
For the day You return
To heal every hurt
And right every wrong
We need You right now
Come and turn this around (turn this around)
Deep down I know
This world isn’t home
Come Jesus come
Come Jesus come

One day He’ll come
And we’ll stand face to face
Come and lay it all down
Cause it might be today
The time is right now
There’s no need to wait
Your past will be wash by rivers of grace

Come Jesus come
We’ve been waiting so long
For the day You return
To heal every hurt
And right every wrong
We need You right now
Come and turn this around (turn this around)
Deep down I know
This world isn’t home
Come Jesus come
Come Jesus come
Come Jesus come

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Living Beyond the Hurt

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Ephesians 4:31-32 – “Let all bitterness and wrath and anger and clamor and slander be put away from you, along with all malice. Be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgave you.”

Some men age by the calendar. Bruce Seaver aged by what he survived.

He doesn’t talk about it much, but he was 31 when they shot him out of the sky. The year was 1965, and the Vietnam War had no end in sight. What followed wasn’t strategy or tactics—it was just survival. Bruce spent over seven years in captivity.

His is not the kind of story people expect. There’s no big climax, no revenge, and no sweeping rescue. Just long days, empty stomachs, and a slow-burning resolve. Faith, Bruce says, is what kept him sane.

When he finally came home in 1973, the word “hero” followed him like a shadow. He still squirms when he is called one.

“No,” he said, voice even, “I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. The real heroes are the ones who didn’t come home.”

He could’ve come back angry. Some did. But Bruce chose to leave bitterness behind. Back home in West Monroe, he didn’t lash out or preach. Instead, he hugged his wife, kissed his daughters, and started living again.

In a world that insists that bitterness is strength and paints forgiveness as weakness, Bruce showed a different kind of courage. It’s one the world doesn’t quite know what to do with. He said it best: “I just want to focus on time gained, not time lost.”

At ninety-one, he still swims thirty minutes every morning—not to outrun the past but to stay grounded in the present. And maybe that’s the truest kind of hero: the one who is mistreated and never lets it twist his heart.

So, friend, what might it look like for you to stop clinging to what hurt you and choose what heals instead?

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