Stardate: 08.03.2026
Every person who walks through our doors carries a story.
Yesterday reminded me that if I'm willing to slow down and listen, God often reveals far more than I ever expected.
Peter and Laura stopped by because they live across the street from our new building. Peter wasn't there to exchange pleasantries. He came with concerns.
A lot of them.
After spending more than thirty years testing water throughout Wisconsin, protecting watersheds had become more than a career. It had become part of his calling. He had even stood before City Hall, warning officials that they were violating the city's watershed protection plan. From his perspective, a large new development in his neighborhood deserved careful scrutiny.
I understood.
So I listened.
I let Peter finish every thought before responding. When he had shared everything on his mind, I promised him that each concern would be addressed.
The atmosphere changed.
The conversation that began with uncertainty slowly became a conversation built on trust.
Then Laura shared something I never saw coming.
Her family traces its roots to the Lyon, one of the first ships to arrive in America after the Mayflower. Through that family line came Roger Williams, whose unwavering commitment to religious liberty helped shape the spiritual foundation of our nation.
I found myself marveling at how an ordinary conversation could suddenly stretch across four centuries of American history.
But God wasn't finished.
Peter reached into his wallet and carefully removed one of his most treasured possessions.
It wasn't a credit card.
It wasn't a driver's license.
It was a photograph.
Years ago, Peter was diagnosed with lymphoma. During that difficult season, his granddaughter Hannah, then just a little girl, knelt beside her bed and prayed that God would heal her grandpa.
Peter carries that photograph in his wallet as a reminder that God answered her prayer.
Today, Peter shares the Gospel with prisoners, giving away the hope that was first poured into his own life.
As he shared his testimony, I felt prompted to ask something unusual.
"Would Hannah pray for our team?"
Not a vague prayer.
A specific prayer.
Without hesitation, Peter reached for a pen and carefully wrote down my prayer request. He promised that when he saw seven-year-old Hannah, he would place that request in her hands.
For a moment I sat quietly, thinking about the privilege of inviting a child to join God's work through prayer.
Then came one final surprise.
Before Peter and Laura left, Peter reached out, took our hands, and prayed over our team. His words were rooted in the very Scriptures I had been meditating on—Isaiah 61 and Jesus' reading of that passage in Luke 4:18–19. Hearing those promises spoken aloud by a man whose life had been touched by God's healing gave them a depth I had never experienced before.
When the prayer ended, I realized something.
Peter and Laura had arrived with questions.
I thought my role was to serve them.
Instead, they had ministered to us.
They'll be joining us for Friday morning's ribbon-cutting ceremony, where I hope to introduce them to members of our senior leadership team. I'm looking forward to that introduction.
But the introduction I'll remember most has already happened.
Yesterday, God introduced me to a grandfather who carries a photograph instead of a trophy.
To a little girl whose prayers still echo years later.
To a family whose story stretches from the Lyon to the present day.
And to the quiet reminder that God's blessings are never meant to stop with us.
They are meant to be carried.
As I reflected on the day, my thoughts returned once again to Isaiah 61 and Luke 4:18–19. Jesus proclaimed good news, healing, freedom, and comfort—not as ideas to admire, but as a mission to live. Yesterday, I caught a glimpse of that mission unfolding in a conversation that began with concerns about a neighborhood and ended with hands joined in prayer.
Sometimes the most important thing we carry isn't found in our wallet.
It's the faith we've been entrusted to pass on.
