Day 54

Leviticus 18-19 | Romans 16

For six years after we got married, Talacey and I lived in Sacramento. When we learned Sophia was on the way, we moved back to Fresno to raise her around family. And for the next 11 years, we were ninja Christians.

Slip into church.

Sit through the service.

Slip back out before anyone could notice.

No connection. No commitment. No real community. And we were fine with that.

Until we weren’t.

Because when you’re disconnected from the body of Christ, you don’t really notice what you’re missing—until the day comes when you desperately need it.

When God Knits You In

Then J invited me to men’s Bible study at Trinity.

In the 18 months since then, God has hemmed us into the fabric of that church.

And we love it.

The people. The preaching. The laser-sharp focus on Christ. The way my preteen daughter—as soon as we get in the car after Sunday service—is already saying she can’t wait for youth group on Thursday night. And then, on the way home from youth group, she can hardly stand that she has to wait until Sunday to go back again.

Not because of the building.

But because of the people.

Because of the God we praise when we’re together.

And now, looking back, I can see it so clearly.

God was already weaving the threads of community around us before we even knew we’d need them.

Because He knew what was coming.

He knew that—in a matter of months—I would fight a table saw and lose. He knew Talacey, Sophia and I would need a church family to hold us up. To serve us when we couldn’t serve ourselves.

The Power of Christian Community

God is the one who sustains us. He alone is our refuge, our provider, our strength in suffering. But one of the ways He works is through His people—His church, His hands and feet, meeting real needs in real moments.

Romans 16 is Paul’s closing words in his letter to the church at Rome. And if you read it, it’s not just theological.

It’s personal.

Paul starts listing names—over 30 of them. He didn’t just list these names for the sake of friendship. These people were co-laborers in the gospel. Their love, their service, their sacrifices—all of it was possible because of what Christ had done for them first.

They were ordinary believers. People who had encouraged him, supported him, risked their lives for him. Some had been like a mother to him. Some were new in faith. Some were longtime companions.

And by reading what he wrote about them, it’s clear Paul knew something we often forget:

We are not meant to walk alone.

I felt that firsthand when I came home from the hospital.

Before Talacey and I even walked through the front door, Monica had already mobilized an entire army. I wrote about it in The Day Everything Changed—how the body of Christ surrounded us before we even knew what we needed.

I fully realize you don’t know these names below, and that’s okay. Because I do. And like Paul’s list in Romans 16, these names mean the world to me:

• J repaired my garage door. And put air in my daughter’s bike tires. And cut each bite of my dinner at church on Wednesday nights. And did the little things—again and again—that I never had to ask for but always needed.
• Kirsten sent me a balloon with flowers in a smiley face mug.
• Nate fixed the valve when the pool was overflowing.
• Richard brought us groceries. Twice.
• Candace made a tray of homemade enchiladas.
• Sabrina roasted a whole chicken.
• Justin’s wife made albondigas soup.
• Andrei and Samantha delivered the best brisket I’ve ever eaten—and a beautiful prayer to go with it.
• J and Monica cooked lasagna. And soup. And smash burgers. And pasta with vodka sauce. And so much more.
• Rob and Sandy invited us into their home for dinner more times than I can count.
• Kathy, Samantha, and Samuel all live far away, but they sent gift cards for DoorDash and Uber Eats.
• Kari sent me shoulder slings from Amazon to keep my hand elevated above my heart.
• Even my dentist brought homemade manicotti and prayed with us when she dropped it off.

God used this army and these soldiers to fill our freezer and refrigerator—and our hearts—fuller than they ever had been before.

And then there was Mark, my former boss in Sacramento. We hadn’t talked in years. Hadn’t seen each other in even longer—12 and a half years, to be exact.

But one day, there was a knock at my front door.

There stood Mark.

He had driven 200 miles and three hours that morning, just to surprise me and take me to lunch. And then, after we ate, he got back in his car and drove 200 miles home.

No agenda. No reason. Just a brother making sure I knew I was seen.

And these are just a few of the countless examples I could give of God using His people to love on my family and shine light into our darkest season.

Why It Matters

Leviticus 19:18 says:

“You shall love your neighbor as yourself: I am the Lord.”

Jesus later called this the second greatest commandment. And Romans 16 shows us what it looks like in action—the body of Christ caring for one another, showing up, lifting burdens, doing life together.

We weren’t meant to do this alone.

And we weren’t meant to be ninja Christians—slipping in, slipping out, staying disconnected.

Jesus laid down His life not only to reconcile us to God—but also to one another. He didn’t just save individuals. He saved a people. A family. A body.

And that’s why Christian community isn’t optional. It’s critical. Because it’s part of the very gospel itself.

If I’ve learned anything in this season, it’s this:

The moment will come when you need the body of Christ.

As will the moment when the body of Christ needs you.

Lord, thank You for the people You have placed around me. For the hands that have served, the hearts that have encouraged, and the brothers and sisters who have walked alongside me. Let me never take them for granted. And let me be that kind of friend to others. Amen.