Here is a random fact about the town I get to call home. Anderson, Indiana is home to the old Wigwam, a high school basketball gym that was built to seat around nine thousand people. Let that sink in. A high school gym bigger than some college arenas, in a town a lot of people drive right past on I-69. Indiana does not build small when it comes to the things it cares about. We built a house for nine thousand because we believed people would come and something worth gathering for would happen inside.
I thought about that this weekend, because the whole weekend ended up being about houses. Not the kind you fill with bleachers. The kind you live in. The kind where the most important thing that happens is not the score, but whether the presence of God is welcome.
It had a youth send-off, homemade oatmeal on the stove, a toddler bed that nearly cost me my salvation, a drive to Noblesville, a cart ride through BJ's, and a Sunday where the altars filled up before we ever got to the message. At GT Church we say we exist to pursue revival, build authentic community, release God-given purpose, and leave a legacy that impacts generations. This weekend reminded me that all four of those start at home before they ever show up in a service.
So here we go — Week 25.
Friday
Friday was a slow morning, which I have learned not to take for granted. I eased into the day, then headed to the church to knock out a few last-minute items and, more importantly, to see off and pray over our GT Youth before they headed out for youth camp.
There is something about sending them out that puts the rest of the week in perspective. We can talk all day about systems and strategy, and I will, but the next generation is not the church of tomorrow. They are the church of today. Getting to pray over them before they go and experience camp is not an interruption to the work. It is the work.
After that I headed home to get a few things done, and DeAnna and I spent the evening together. No event, no meeting, no agenda. Just home. After a full week, a quiet evening with my wife felt like the right way to start the weekend.
Saturday
Saturday morning DeAnna made homemade oatmeal on the stove. I want to be clear about something. This was not that instant stuff out of a paper packet. This was the real thing, on the stove, with butter and brown sugar. If you have only ever had the instant kind, I am sorry, and I will be praying for you. There is a difference, and the difference is everything.
We did a few things around the house, and then I tackled what I will call an Amira project. I put together a toddler bed.
Now, I love that little girl, and I would build her anything. But I need to be honest about what assembling that bed did to my spiritual condition. Reading those instructions, or the lack of them, can push a man right out of the kingdom. There were pictures with no words, arrows pointing at nothing, and a bag of hardware that seemed to have more pieces than the bed required. By the time I finished, I needed a nap and a bit of repentance. The bed got built. My patience did not survive in one piece, but the bed did.
Once I rejoined the land of the living, we cleaned up, got ready, and drove to Noblesville to Aspen Creek Restaurant to meet Lim and Amira for supper. Danielle was out of town at a hair show, so it was a smaller crew than usual. The meal was great, the company was better, and Amira held up her end of the table just fine.
After we ate, we all gathered up and headed to BJ's, where I did what I am apparently always doing lately, which is pushing Amira around in the cart. I am not sure she needs anything from BJ's, and I am not sure I do either, but riding in that cart is one of her favorite things, so around we went. We had a good time, then headed back to the house to rest and get things together for church.
Sunday
Sunday was amazing, and I mean that the way I rarely let myself say it. We had a spontaneous altar response right in the middle of worship. Not after the message. Not when I gave a call. Right in the middle of the songs, people started coming. We moved into communion, then the word, and when the altars opened again, they were packed.
The whole morning was carried by one prayer we have been believing together: that God would make our houses a place where heaven hears and hell fears. Not just this house we gather in on Sunday. The houses we drive home to. The kitchens, the living rooms, the bedrooms, the cars, the conversations. A place where heaven leans in to listen and hell knows it is not welcome.
That is what I saw on people's faces at the altar. People who are tired of leaving the presence of God at the church door. People who want what happens on Sunday to follow them home on Monday.
The afternoon got busy in a hurry. I taught a membership class, walking new folks through what it means to call GT Church home and take their next step here. DeAnna took over the choir for the day and worked them through the songs for Celebrate America. I married a woman who can carry a choir and a calendar in the same afternoon, and I do not take that for granted.
By the time we got home it was already late in the afternoon. We did not have a second wind in us, so we retired early and called it a weekend. Sometimes the most spiritual thing you can do after a full Sunday is go to bed.
Closing Thoughts
Week 25 had a youth send-off, homemade oatmeal, a toddler bed that tested my walk with God, a drive to Noblesville, a cart lap around BJ's, and a Sunday where heaven showed up before we asked it to.
But the one thought that stayed with me is the one we keep praying: make our houses a place where heaven hears and hell fears.
We can fill a building. Anderson built one for nine thousand. We can plan a service. We can pack an altar. We can teach a class, lead a choir, send out our youth, and put together every toddler bed in the county. But none of it matters if the presence of God stops at our front door.
The church does not just need a powerful Sunday. We need powerful homes. We do not just need an altar in the sanctuary. We need an altar in the living room. We do not just need God to move when the music is right. We need Him moving in the kitchen, in the hard conversations, over the kids, and through the quiet evenings when nobody is watching.
That is what I am praying for. For my house. For your house. For every house that calls GT Church home.
Lord, make our houses a place where heaven hears and hell fears. Let us pursue revival, build authentic community, release God-given purpose, and leave a legacy that impacts generations.
And if You have any spare grace left over, send a little of it to the next person who has to read a set of toddler bed instructions.
Above All Continue In Love And Excellence.
