Tonight, I walked into the kitchen and into a swarm of fruit flies. There are not a lot of household pests that get under my skin the way fruit flies do. I see them and I feel like I’m breathing them in, they’re crawling on my skin; I get itchy just thinking about it.

The best trap for fruit flies is putting some dish soap in the bottom of a container, then a little apple cider vinegar and water before shaking it up. The trap is even better when you put a piece of plastic wrap over top and poke some holes in it, this way, when the flies crawl in to the trap, they can’t easily get back out.

I made four loaves of bread this weekend– unleavened bread to be exact. Sam has always wanted to use real bread in Sunday communion and so I offered to give it my best shot.

I researched recipes until I found something that seemed as intentional as possible. I made test loaves, one with regular, all-purpose flour and another with whole wheat flour. I decided to halve the recipe to make a thinner loaf, to use a cast iron skillet to try and char it a little, and sprinkled a little salt over top of the finished product, just to add a little bit of taste.

Quick: Name a hymn!

What did you say?

I cannot hear “How Great Thou Art” without being a kid again, sitting in the seats of my childhood church. I can see the exact shade of the carpet. I can feel the slightly scratchy cushion of the seatback behind me. I can hear the very off-key singing of Ella, the older lady who sat next to my family.

People love praise. They love to receive accolades and pats on the back. It’s just a part of humanity. The people of the Church are no exception. 

There are many who serve the Lord because it puts them on a platform for people to see them. They are addicted to people coming up to them and saying, “Worship was awesome today!” or, “What a great message, pastor!” Of course, it’s not the reason that all serve, but unfortunately, with the way the modern church is– curated, broadcasted, and elevated– it’s easy for even the most well-intentioned of God’s people to fall into a dependence on approval from others in the Church. 

Calling your father to the stand might seem like a weak defense. In most cases where a father is involved in their son’s life, they love him and see the best in him. We’ve all grown up and had a parent gas us up when we’re down. They say we’re smart, or beautiful, or creative, or awesome, and the common response is, “You HAVE to say that. You’re the parent.” 

And yes, our parents can have rose-colored glasses when it comes to our abilities or aptitudes. But they also know us better than most people. A good parent has been there for it all. They’ve seen every report card, every dance recital and soccer game; they’re there for every skinned knee, birthday, and hard knock. So a good parent would know your character, your history, and be an advocate for you.

I knew someone once that adamantly said that she didn’t understand the importance of ‘theology.’ She always said, “Why can’t we all just love Jesus and let go of all the details?” I think what she really was trying to say was that some people can get so caught up in the intellectual ins and outs of theology that they distract from unity with other believers and the importance of the gospel itself. But regardless, whenever the word ‘theology’ came up she was very quick to throw the conversation out the window.

Having children is no joke. They will stretch you, they will challenge you, and they will push you to places mentally, physically, and emotionally that you have never been before.

I think the biggest lesson any parent learns is that everything changes. Nothing about life is designed to stay steady. If you’re a woman, your body changes in order to grow and bring that baby into the world. You gain weight; you find you have more skin, stretch marks, and changes to your body than you ever thought possible. Your body does new things like make milk and pushes the limits of exhaustion during those months and sometimes years that you wake up and settle your children back to sleep.

I met Paul Baloche in 2019 with my husband, Sam, during a seminar for songwriters. Paul wrote a lot of worship songs that were sung when I was a kid, like “Open the Eyes of My Heart,” “Hosanna,” and “Above All.”

During his talk, Paul spoke at length about “Above All.” Most of his songs start either as prayers or from little thoughts written down in journals, and in this case, the verse was written out of the titular words jotted down in a notebook. The verses were a meditation on the greatness and wonder of Jesus; about how His Godship is so high and lofty over us and His majesty is awesome. The song originally had a different chorus and it was sung that way for a while but never felt right.

Everyone knows this verse. It’s one that kids are taught as one of the first things in Sunday school. It’s on t-shirts and written on the bottom of shopping bags. Even people that don’t go to church or subscribe to Christianity know this verse. It’s a succinct and clear summary of the Gospel. It explains God the Father’s heart and His intention to save those who believe. It shows us what the true Church inherits for trusting in the Lord with all our hearts. It shows us the promises of belonging to the Lord and gives us the way to be recipients of them. 

But do we take this verse for granted? Are we desensitized to its meaning? Do we really consider each and every word of what it’s saying?

This year, we’ve been looking at the name of our Savior, the name of the baby we remember in the manger– the name of Jesus Christ. It’s a name that casts out fear and embodies peace. It’s a name that inspires the praise of all creation and every redeemed man. It’s a name that saved us from our sins and allowed us to enter into the presence of God the Father. It’s a name that only the Son of God could truly bear and carry out.

Jesus, God saves. Immanuel, God with us. Christ, the anointed One.

My daughter is learning to self-soothe when she goes to sleep. If she wakes up when we drop her in her crib, or if she wakes in the middle of the night, she tends to cry. But weeks ago, she cried for a long period of time, now she’s starting to only cry for a minute at most. Somehow, she's developing that ability to calm down and go back to sleep.

I remember being a kid and feeling that uneasy feeling of laying awake in your bed and not being able to fall asleep. At some point, I learned at school that Jesus’ name has the power to drive out fear, and I decided to apply it to that creepy feeling that something will come crawling out of the shadows in your dark room. I started to just say aloud, into the darkness the name of Jesus. Even now when that feeling comes over me I do the same thing. And always, without fail, I instantly feel a calm come over me, driving out my fear.

In Numbers 21, we find the nation of Israel wandering the wilderness and waiting to get into the land God promised them. While traveling a road called Hor that ran along the Red Sea, the people began to do what people do best: complain. The Bible says they spoke against God and Moses, saying, “Why have you brought us up out of Egypt to die in the wilderness? There is no bread! There is no water! And we detest this miserable food!” (Numbers 21: 5, NIV)

I think anyone living the human experience can agree that sometimes, life just happens. It’s just a fact of life, that one day you feel like you're flying, only to find the next day that you were actually falling. You were never flying at all. Any number of things could happen to you. You could crash your car. You could lose your job. You could find out your spouse is cheating. You could walk through grieving a loved one. 

Personally, I’ve recently found out someone very close to me– one of my best friends– has cancer. If you’ve ever been in the position where you’re a part of the support system for someone going through cancer, you’ll know there are many emotions attached. There’s grief that life is about to change radically as your loved one walks through treatment; trying to do everything you can and feeling like it’s not enough. There’s worry for the days ahead and the many outcomes that can happen. And at the same time, there’s an adamant and stubborn desire to remain strong for that person, wanting to be encouraging and steadfast and ready to dig your heels in and help that person fight.

I say the word “slavery” and what do you think?

Do you think modern-day slavery? Do you think of vulnerable people that are snatched, stolen and taken to toil in terrible conditions and lifestyles?

Do you think of America in the 1800’s? When African people were sold off to work in fields and treated as less than even animals?

When I was pregnant with Piper, the craziest idea to wrap my head around was that she felt so far away and yet she was literally right with me all the time. It’s hard to reconcile those feelings: that your child, being grown inside your body, feels so far away because it take nine months to grow them. You can’t hold them. You can’t see them. You can’t track their progress outside of your own growing belly and the occasional scheduled sonogram. Sure, you feel your baby kick and move around inside you, and you talk to them constantly, but for some reason, in my brain, it always felt like my daughter was a million miles away. Until she was born, then POP! All of a sudden, she was real and there and bigger than I could imagine being stuffed up inside my belly.

In every good marriage, there’s a worrier and someone who is not easily rattled. In mine, I take the position of the worrier, and Sam is the one who is always telling me to let things go. Even if you’re not married, you probably know whether you’ll end up being the worried one or the other half who will constantly be telling your spouse to take a breath and change their perspective.