Not long ago, a friend called and asked a simple question.
“Are you home?”
I was.
Then she asked if she could stop by.
She needed prayer.
There wasn’t much time. She knew I needed to pick up Mable that afternoon, so this wasn’t going to be a long visit.
She came inside.
We went into my prayer closet.
I prayed.
Not one of those perfectly worded prayers that sounds as if it belongs in a devotional book.
I prayed the way I pray.
Passionately.
A little self-consciously.
And with tears. 😭😭
Because apparently that’s how we do things around here. 🌸
Then, about ten minutes after she arrived, she left.
Short.
Simple.
Sweet.
But after I closed the front door, I stood there and said something out loud:
This is what I want my house to become.
A place where people can come when they need somewhere safe to bring whatever they are carrying.
A place where they can experience Jesus.
Perhaps This Is the Moment
When I moved to Tyler ten years ago, I left behind nearly everyone and everything I depended on in my daily life—including a house in a neighborhood I dearly loved.
I didn’t know exactly what God was doing.
I only knew He was moving us to Tyler, and I was stepping out in faith.
For the first eight years we lived here, a quote based on Esther 4:14 hung in my kitchen:
“Perhaps this is the moment for which you have been created.”
The actual verse says:
“And who knows but that you have come to your royal position for such a time as this?”
— Esther 4:14 (NIV)
Esther’s moment was enormous.
Mine looked considerably less royal.
No palace.
No crown.
Usually just me, standing in my kitchen with a cup of coffee wearing my PJs.
But maybe the moments God prepares us for don’t always announce themselves as something important.
Maybe sometimes the moment begins with:
“Are you home?”
Maybe it looks like opening the front door.
Sitting beside someone.
Listening.
Praying through tears when you aren’t sure you have the right words.
Then closing the door ten minutes later and realizing that something I have wanted for years is already happening.
A Safe Place
I have said for years that I want my house to be a safe place to land.
Maybe that desire comes, at least partly, from knowing what it feels like when home does not feel safe.
There have been moments in my life when it didn’t.
I know what it is like to need somewhere you can exhale.
Somewhere you don’t have to explain everything.
Somewhere you don’t have to perform.
Somewhere you don’t have to pretend you’re okay when you’re clearly not okay.
During a difficult season years ago, my friend and neighbor Stepfanie would sometimes come over in the middle of the night.
We laughed.
We cried.
We encouraged each other.
I have another friend who has an extra-special relationship with my couch.
She has her own home.
I have an extra bed.
And yet, sometimes she sleeps on my couch.
I have never really asked why.
I have simply gotten the impression that this is a place where she feels safe enough to rest.
Apparently, my couch has been called into ministry too. 😂
Every Thursday, women gather here for Bible study.
There is Scripture.
There is prayer.
There is laughter.
There are tears.
And, obviously, there is coffee.
Lots of coffee.
Life happens here.
Messy life.
Hot Mess Express life.
People walk through the door carrying all kinds of things, and they don’t have to set those things down outside before they are welcome inside.
No Perfect Words Required
I think we sometimes make helping people more complicated than it needs to be.
We think we need to know exactly what to say.
We think we need to have answers.
We think our house needs to be spotless, our prayers need to sound spiritual, and our lives need to look put together before God can use any of it.
If that’s the requirement, we are going to be waiting a while over here!
My prayers are not filled with perfect words.
Sometimes I cry—well, all the time. 🤦♀️
Sometimes praying aloud is uncomfortable for me.
Sometimes I feel self-conscious.
But when someone needs prayer, I listen to what she is carrying and then simply speak what is on my heart.
There isn’t a perfect formula.
There aren’t magic words.
I don’t have to fix anything.
I couldn’t if I tried.
I can simply bring my friend before the One who can meet her in ways I cannot.
That takes the pressure off me.
This isn’t about how well I pray.
It isn’t about whether I know the perfect Scripture or say exactly the right thing.
It is about Jesus.
When Jesus lives in your heart, people can experience Him through you.
Not because you force Him into every conversation.
Not because every cup of coffee has to become a sermon.
But because His presence changes the way you welcome people.
It changes the way you listen.
The way you love.
The way you forgive.
The way you make room for someone who needs a safe place to land.
The One Who Lives Here
I want Jesus to be evident in my home because He is Lord of it.
The peace here doesn’t come from everything being calm.
Goodness knows, everything is not always calm.
It doesn’t come from everyone behaving perfectly.
Again, have we met? 😂
The peace comes from knowing Who lives here.
Jesus is the source of the love, forgiveness, truth, and safety I want people to experience when they walk through my door.
I cannot promise someone that everything in her life is going to work out the way she wants.
I cannot take away what hurts.
I cannot answer every question.
But I can offer a place where she can be still.
My home will never be able to offer anyone what only Jesus can provide.
He is the true safe place.
But I can ask Him to let my home reflect a little of what I find in Him.
Rest.
Comfort.
Welcome.
Truth.
Love.
A place to be still.
Make Room
My life is centered around Mable’s needs.
Her needs come first, and caring for her takes up a large portion of my time.
One of my biggest struggles has been wondering:
How can God use me when my time is so limited?
I don’t have hours of open space on my calendar.
I can’t always commit to something that requires me to be away from home.
And sometimes I think ministry is supposed to look bigger than anything I realistically have time to do.
But that day, ministry looked like ten minutes.
It looked like answering the phone.
Opening the door.
Listening.
Praying.
And being home when someone needed a safe place to land.
Maybe I have been thinking too much about the time and freedom I don’t have instead of noticing what God has already placed in my hands.
A home.
A couch.
A prayer closet.
A coffee pot that is fully prepared to fulfill its calling. ☕😂
And a willingness to make room.
Apparently, ten minutes was enough.
Maybe welcoming people into your home feels completely natural to you.
Or maybe the thought of someone stopping by unexpectedly makes you want to turn off every light, silence your phone, and pretend no one is home. 😂
No judgment.
A safe place doesn’t have to be your house.
Maybe it’s a kitchen table.
Maybe it’s a couch.
Maybe it’s a prayer closet.
Maybe it’s meeting someone for coffee.
Maybe it’s simply becoming a trustworthy person who listens well and keeps private things private.
The place isn’t really the point.
The point is being willing to make room.
Room for someone to show up messy.
Room for prayers without perfect words.
Room to laugh.
Room to cry.
Room to rest.
Room to be still.
Room for someone to experience Jesus—not because we have all the answers, but because He lives in us.
Maybe the question isn’t whether we have the perfect house, the right words, or enough time to create some elaborate ministry.
Maybe the question is much simpler:
God, how can You use the space and presence I already have?
Because sometimes the moment for which you have been created may arrive without warning.
Sometimes it calls and asks:
“Are you home?”
And sometimes faithfulness looks like opening the door.
I’m glad you’re here.
— Jenni 🌸
Psalm 23 – by Phil Wickham featuring Tiffany Hudson
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