If you’re visiting from my friend the Nester’s place this morning – welcome! So glad you stopped by. Consider the welcome mat out in your honor and the lemonade freshly poured. We’re getting a little introspective this morning, but won’t you come, pull up a chair and put your feet up on the coffee table with us? We love to write in five minutes, celebrate motherhood, and each other!
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When the cancer lost and Peggy Lopez found her way safe home to Jesus, how could she have known that mere months later a smaller version of her with dark and curly hair and just as brave would stand up in front of all the pews of faces and voluntarily lay down her life?

O death, where is your sting?
O hell, where is your victory?

That with head held barely higher than the side of the pool she would tell us what a ten-year-old feels when watching a woman after God’s own heart prepare to meet him. How she knew she wanted to follow in Peggy’s footsteps and entrust her life to Jesus, so that she might also be raised with Him.

O church, come stand in the light
The glory of God has defeated the night

How she stood in the water and looked right out at us who are much older and most of the time think ourselves much wiser. How her voice never shook and how she spoke a truth much older even than Jim and Ginny, sitting there in the center aisle back row, and all their combined lifetime of faithfully following Jesus.

Our God is not dead
He’s alive, He’s alive.

How she and the three Lawson kids before her did what children have always been doing – they came to Jesus. They came as easily as it is difficult for many moms and dads to come. They came running. They came with joy. They came with Bible verses memorized and testimonies that stretched back to when they were three – no memory ironed into their young minds that didn’t hold an echo of the Jesus truth that has been their story since birth.

They may have stood on tippy toes but their faith was rock solid underneath.

So much joy running down, dripping wet right there in the every day sanctuary where we sing and pray and where we sat on the steps all those months ago and asked God to heal Peggy Lopez. Asked like the children we no longer are. Asked like the God we believe in told us to. Asked for life without knowing what it would look like. Without knowing if He would reach down and regenerate the cells that had mutinied or if He would wrap her in both arms and whisper, “Enough.”

And today we watched the children who watched us ask, lay down their lives in testimony to the Jesus who did heal Peggy.

With bare feet and their wet clothes.

Leading all the grown ups behind them.

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