This is Love

Based on a message by
4 Minute Read
This is Love

The room was full. The table was set. Everything appeared to be in order. Guests were seated, conversation was polite, and the evening unfolded just as it should. It looked like hospitality done well.

Then a woman entered the room.

She did not arrive with an invitation or an explanation. She came carrying a small jar of perfume and a story everyone already knew. Without speaking, she knelt at Jesus’ feet. Tears fell. Oil was poured out. The room grew quiet as devotion disrupted what had been carefully arranged.

Moments like this linger because they reveal something deeper than the scene itself. They stay with us, quietly reshaping how we understand love, mercy, and the way God draws near.

Some truths take time to settle into us. They circle quietly through our days, often born in moments we did not plan for. A conversation that stays with us. A memory that rises without warning. A sense that God has been near all along, even when we were busy or unsure.

Love is one of those truths.

We talk about love often. We search for it, measure it, hope it holds. Yet when life stretches us or disappoints us, love can feel harder to name. Our experiences shape how we see God. Over time, we begin to carry an image of Him formed by joy, loss, answered prayers, and long silences. All of it becomes a lens.

Scripture offers a steady invitation here. When questions rise about who God is and how He loves, the answer keeps returning to the same place. The cross. This is where love is made visible. This is where it takes shape in a way we can trust.

Jesus speaks plainly about it. Love is revealed through self giving, through presence, through a life laid down freely. It is not abstract or distant. It is embodied. Seen. Offered.

This kind of love reshapes how we respond. Jesus names it clearly when He says that loving God with heart, soul, mind, and strength sits at the center of everything. Love flows outward too, touching how we see and treat the people around us. These words are familiar, yet they continue to invite us into attentiveness. Into alignment. Into a life that grows from worship rather than effort.

Love begins with seeing God rightly.

Before we act, before we speak, before we serve, there is an invitation to notice who He is. To listen. To allow love to take root beneath the surface. When love flows from that place, it carries a quiet strength. It shapes desire, thought, and movement without force.

The stories of Jesus show us this again and again.

Martha opens her home with care and energy. Mary chooses to sit close, attentive and still. Both gestures matter. Yet Jesus gently affirms presence. Attention. A willingness to pause and receive. Love grows where space is made for it.

At that table, two responses sit side by side. One keeps control. The other releases it. One manages the moment. The other pours everything out. Jesus receives the offering shaped by trust and surrender.

Love always responds to revelation.

When we sense how deeply God has drawn near, something shifts within us. Control loosens. Performance quiets. Love becomes less about managing the moment and more about surrendering to presence.

This is love. A life oriented toward Jesus. Attention given freely. Trust growing slowly. Hearts softened by grace.

Where might God be inviting you to linger a little longer?
What might shift if love was received before it was expressed?
Where do you notice Jesus already present, waiting to be welcomed without agenda?

Love does not rush. It does not demand perfection. It invites us to come as we are and remain open. In that space, something gentle and steady forms. A love shaped by the cross. A love that continues to meet us right where we are.

Watch the message here!👇

This Is Love | Seeing God Through The Cross

Join us as Colby shares how Jesus shows us love most clearly at the cross, and how that love shapes our faith, our relationships, and our everyday lives. As the church steps into a new year marked by both joy and loss, this message invites us to choose the cross as the lens through which we understand God’s love. Faith grows as we learn to see God through Jesus and allow His love to form how we live with others.


📖 In This Video, We Chat About:

• Seeing God’s love clearly through the cross

• Loving God and loving others as the center of faith

• Staying present and attentive to Jesus in everyday life

• How surrendered love shapes Christian community


🙏 Join us on this journey as we learn to follow Jesus in our everyday life. This is for anyone looking to deepen their faith or find some answers. This message gives a fresh view on understanding God’s love and His plans for us.

• Uncover how the Holy Spirit’s presence in our lives leads to a profound inner peace.

• Recognize our hearts as places where God’s serenity should prevail, akin to serene monasteries.

• Learn about the journey toward sanctification and the peace that comes from being guided by God.


💡 Highlights of the Sermon:

• The cross as the clearest picture of God’s love

• Faith shaped by presence, surrender, and attention to Jesus

• A church life marked by love flowing outward into the world


Recorded on January 4, 2026 at Summerside Community Church in Summerside PEI, a church family learning to follow Jesus in everyday life.


If you’d like to support what God is doing through Summerside Community Church, prayerfully consider giving through the link below. Your generosity helps share the hope of Jesus here in Summerside PEI and beyond.


Colby Lidstone • 1/4/2026
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From this Collection: Blog
January 25, 2026 • 3 Minute Read
When Light Changes How We See Life
Some days, nothing around us changes, yet everything feels heavier. Thoughts crowd in. Focus slips. The mind stays busy, but peace feels distant. It is often in those moments that God is not absent at all. He is quietly inviting us to see what is shaping our attention. Many of us carry real problems. They are not imagined or exaggerated. They show up in our bodies, our relationships, our work, and our prayers. Over time, they can begin to take up more space than we realize, moving closer to the center of our thoughts until they start setting the tone of our inner world. This is how distortion happens. Not through one dramatic moment, but through slow accumulation. The mind fills with noise. Thoughts repeat themselves. Concerns feel urgent and demanding. Everything feels active, yet nothing feels settled. Something is broadcasting, but it is not leading us anywhere. When God brings His light into moments like these, He is not confronting us. He is clarifying what has quietly taken the lead. Light helps us notice when something that once felt familiar no longer has the authority it used to hold. What felt overwhelming begins to look smaller when seen clearly. Sometimes the shift brings a gentle laugh. Not because the problems have vanished, but because we recognize they are no longer meant to drive our lives. The weight eases. Fear loosens. Trust returns to its rightful place. Peace often arrives this way. It does not come from fixing every thought or solving every issue. It comes from noticing what has been given too much attention and choosing where our focus will rest. God becomes central again, and everything else finds its proper place around Him. Problems remain real. They still require care, wisdom, and courage. Yet they no longer define who we are. They stop being the lens through which everything else is interpreted. God’s light changes the frame, and with it, our sense of direction. This kind of seeing invites us to slow down. To become aware of what has been shaping our decisions, our identity, and our sense of worth. It reveals how easily urgency can replace trust, and how fear can quietly disguise itself as responsibility. God’s presence brings a different rhythm. One that rests. One that listens. One that leads from peace rather than pressure. His light does not erase the story we are living. It reveals it more truthfully. What might come into focus if more light were allowed in? What thoughts would lose their grip if they were seen clearly? What would shift if attention returned to Jesus, right where you are? This way of seeing unfolds gently. It takes time. It does not demand immediate clarity. It simply invites openness and trust. And as light continues to enter, life begins to look different. The circumstances may remain the same. Yet the heart grows steadier. The noise softens. And a quiet confidence settles in, reminding us that God is near, attentive, and already at work. Sometimes nothing changes around us. Yet everything changes in how we see.When Light Changes How We See Life

Tracy Linkletter

Senior Leader

July 26, 2026 • 7 Minute Read
When Love Rearranges Your Heart
When Love Rearranges Your Heart Most people can remember something they carried everywhere as a child. A favourite blanket. A stuffed animal that had seen better days. A toy that somehow made unfamiliar places feel a little more manageable. Those objects offered real comfort. They helped us take small steps into a world that felt much bigger than we were. Then, almost without noticing, there came a day when they stayed behind. We had grown, and what once felt essential quietly became something we no longer needed. Growing older changes the things we carry. The blanket may disappear, yet the longing to feel safe remains. We don’t usually outgrow our need for security. We simply find new ways to look for it. Over the years, life quietly teaches us habits that help us navigate disappointment, uncertainty, and pain. Some become so familiar that we stop noticing them altogether. Those habits look different for each of us. Some people learn to stay in control because uncertainty feels overwhelming. Others work tirelessly to get everything right, hoping perfection will protect them from failure or criticism. Some become fiercely independent after learning that relying on other people can lead to disappointment. These responses rarely appear without a story. They are often shaped by experiences that taught us, consciously or unconsciously, what was necessary to make it through. The surprising part is that these ways of coping often begin as something genuinely helpful. They carry us through difficult seasons and help us keep moving when life feels uncertain. Over time, though, what once served as protection can quietly become a limitation. The need to stay strong can make it difficult to receive help. The desire to get everything right can leave little room for grace. Independence can become isolation, and control can make trust feel risky. Where Trust Was Broken This tension is much older than any one of us. The opening pages of the Bible tell a story that helps make sense of our own. They show us where trust was broken, why fear took root, and how our hearts learned to protect themselves. Genesis 3 begins in a garden where humanity lived in close relationship with God. Adam and Eve enjoyed His presence, cared for His creation, and experienced life as He intended it. Fear had no place there, and shame had not yet entered the story. Their lives were marked by trust. Then another voice entered the conversation. The serpent quietly planted doubt about God’s character, suggesting that He was holding something back. In that moment, trust gave way to suspicion. Adam and Eve reached for life on their own terms, and everything changed. The first thing they noticed was their own vulnerability. They covered themselves, hid from God, and began blaming one another. Those responses have echoed through every generation since. When we feel exposed, we instinctively look for something to hide behind. We protect ourselves from rejection, disappointment, and pain in ways that often feel ordinary because they have become so familiar. We stay in control, work harder, keep people at a distance, or convince ourselves that we can manage on our own. Although those responses look different from person to person, they all grow from the same place. Somewhere beneath them is a question that has lingered since the garden: Can God really be trusted? God Keeps Moving Toward Us The story could have ended there, with humanity hiding and God walking away. It didn’t. From the very beginning, God has been moving toward the people who turned from Him. Throughout the Bible, He continues pursuing hearts that have learned to hide, patiently revealing His faithfulness to generation after generation. The distance between God and humanity was never created because He stopped loving His creation. Even in the middle of humanity’s rebellion, His desire has always been to rescue, restore, and bring people back into relationship with Himself. That story reaches its fullest expression in Jesus. He entered the very world that had become marked by fear, shame, and self protection, not to condemn it but to save it. His life, death, and resurrection opened the way for something entirely new. The question is no longer whether God is willing to come near, in Jesus, He already has. The invitation now is to learn to trust the One who has been reaching toward us all along and allow Holy Spirit to work from the inside out. Life in a Different Atmosphere That is why Paul’s words in Romans 8 carry such hope: “There is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.” This is more than a comforting promise for difficult days. It describes the kind of life Jesus has made possible. Life with Jesus is shaped by a different atmosphere. Many of us have spent years expecting failure to be met with rejection, weakness to be met with criticism, or vulnerability to be met with disappointment. Those expectations become part of the way we move through the world, and before long we begin assuming God will respond to us in much the same way. Romans 8 tells a different story. Through Jesus, we no longer have to live beneath the constant weight of shame or the fear that one wrong step will push God away. His presence becomes the place where honesty is safe, grace is abundant, and healing can begin. This is where the work of Holy Spirit becomes so personal. He does not expose our hearts to embarrass us or make us feel guilty. He brings truth into the places we have kept hidden because those are the very places where God’s healing is needed most. What we have spent years protecting, He gently invites us to place into the hands of Jesus. The purpose of His light is to reveal what is real and true, ultimately leading us to recognize that we can trust His goodness and that His presence is meant to heal and restore that which was distorted and lost. From that place we can then begin to experience the freedom to be who we are and continue to grow in the light of Holy Spirit in us. Learning to Let Go The security blankets of childhood were never meant to stay with us forever. They gave us comfort for a season until we were ready to take the next step. In much the same way, many of the ways we have learned to protect ourselves once served a purpose. They helped us through difficult moments, painful relationships, and uncertain seasons. Yet Jesus loves us too much to leave us depending on what was only ever meant to carry us for a while. Most of us eventually left our childhood security blankets behind. The harder things to recognize are the ones we still carry today. The Holy Spirit has a gentle way of bringing those places into the light, not to shame us, but to remind us that we no longer have to carry them alone. What are you still holding because it once helped you feel safe? Jesus meets us there with patience and kindness, inviting us to trust Him with the parts of our hearts we have guarded for so long. Watch the Sermon 👇When Love Rearranges Your Heart

Tracy Linkletter

Senior Leader

July 19, 2026 • 6 Minute Read
When God Loves Your Enemies
When God Loves Your Enemies Jonah sat outside Nineveh and waited. He had delivered God’s warning, the people had listened, and the entire city had turned toward God. From the king to the ordinary citizen, people humbled themselves and changed their ways. Mercy had reached a place known for cruelty and violence. Jonah watched the city and hoped judgment might still come. His anger feels startling until we remember who lived inside those walls. Nineveh belonged to the Assyrian Empire, a people remembered for the suffering they caused. Their violence had touched homes, families, and nations. Jonah carried the weight of that history with him when God asked him to go. He already knew what God might do. “I knew that you are a gracious and compassionate God, slow to anger and abounding in love,” Jonah prayed. He knew God’s character well enough to recognize that repentance could open the door to mercy. That possibility troubled him so deeply that he had sailed in the opposite direction. Jonah wanted God’s compassion to have boundaries. The story brings us close to a struggle that can live quietly within the human heart. Mercy feels beautiful when it reaches our own wounds and failures. It can feel far more complicated when it reaches someone who has caused harm, spread fear, or left damage behind. Jonah had already decided what Nineveh deserved. God continued to see what Nineveh could become. That difference sits near the centre of the story. God saw a city filled with people who could turn, change, and receive His care. He saw the sailors caught in the storm, the reluctant prophet sinking beneath the waves, the king stepping down from his throne, and thousands of people learning to call upon a God they had barely known. Everywhere Jonah saw people as categories, God saw people with the capacity to respond. The sailors responded with worship. The people of Nineveh responded with repentance. The king responded with humility. Even Jonah eventually walked into the city and spoke the words God had given him, though his heart continued to resist where those words might lead. God stayed close to him too. When Jonah fled, God pursued him. When Jonah sank, God rescued him. When Jonah became angry, God met him outside the city and began a conversation. The same mercy Jonah resented in Nineveh had already carried him through the sea and placed his feet back on dry ground. God’s compassion held the city and the prophet at the same time. This is where Jonah’s story begins to reach into our own lives. Most of us carry a few names, groups, or faces that stir something uneasy within us. The reasons may be deeply personal. A wound may still feel tender. A disagreement may have hardened over time. Someone’s choices may have affected people we love. God meets us honestly in those places. He understands the weight of what happened, and He cares about justice. He also keeps revealing a mercy wide enough to reach every human heart. Who have we come to define by the worst thing they have done Who have we quietly decided will never change? These questions open a tender place within us. They invite Holy Spirit to show us where pain has shaped our vision and where our hope for another person has grown small. Jonah knew the truth about God, though he struggled to welcome what that truth meant for his enemies. He described God as gracious, compassionate, patient, and full of faithful love. Those words came easily to him. Living inside their meaning asked something deeper of his heart. The same invitation meets us whenever God’s mercy reaches beyond the lines we have drawn. Paul writes in Romans that Christ came for us while we were still sinners and reconciled us to God while we were His enemies. Our place in God’s family began with mercy. Jesus came near while our lives still needed healing, forgiveness, and restoration. We were all Nineveh once. Jesus carried God’s welcome directly toward us, and He continues carrying it toward people whose stories are still unfolding. His mercy sees the harm a person has caused with complete clarity. It also sees the possibility of repentance, healing, and new life. Jesus later pointed to Jonah’s three days in the fish as a sign of His own death and resurrection. Jonah descended into the depths and emerged alive. Jesus entered the grave and rose again, opening the way for people everywhere to return to God. The early church held tightly to this image. Jonah emerging from the fish became a picture of resurrection, a reminder that death would not have the final word. Through Jesus, life could rise from places that appeared finished. That hope reaches into the way we see other people too. A heart can soften. A life can change direction. A person who once caused fear can learn humility. God can enter stories that seem beyond repair and begin forming something new. This does not make every relationship simple. Trust may need time, wisdom, and healthy boundaries. Forgiveness can unfold slowly as God cares for wounded places. Mercy begins with placing another person’s story into the hands of Jesus and trusting Him to work with truth, patience, and love. Jonah wanted to sit at a distance and watch the story end. God invited him to come closer to His heart. The book closes with God asking, “Should I not have concern for the great city of Nineveh?” The question remains open, giving each generation room to answer with its life. God still cares about cities, neighbours, families, and individuals who seem far from Him. He still sees potential where we see a settled story. He still sends His people toward those they would find easier to avoid. Along the way, He patiently works within the messenger as well as the person receiving the message. Perhaps someone has been coming to mind as you read. Their name may carry frustration, grief, or disappointment. God may already be drawing your attention toward a simple beginning: a prayer offered with honesty, a willingness to listen, or a quiet release of the ending you have imagined for their story. Holy Spirit forms hearts that can receive mercy and make room for mercy to keep moving. Jesus walked toward His enemies. He prayed for those who harmed Him. He carried justice in His own body and opened the way home for every person willing to turn toward Him. His love is still reaching farther than we expect and He is gently teaching our hearts to follow.

Natasha Kelly

Admin & Facilities Lead

July 13, 2026 • 6 Minute Read
Get 'em God
The Gospel That Destroys "Us vs. Them Psalm 139 ends with a prayer many people know well: “Search me, O God, and know my heart.” It is a tender invitation for God to uncover what is hidden and lead us in His everlasting way. A few verses earlier, the same psalm carries a fierce desire for God to destroy the wicked. The writer names people as enemies and speaks of them with total hatred. Then comes the prayer: Search me. Test me. Point out anything in me that offends You. Those words belong together. The prayer asks God to examine the anger, loyalties, judgements, and dividing lines within the human heart. It makes room for Him to reveal where love has narrowed and where another person has quietly become “them.” That division can appear almost anywhere. We sort people by politics, theology, personality, nationality, background, behaviour, and countless smaller differences. A disagreement becomes a category. A painful interaction becomes a settled opinion. Someone begins living in our thoughts as an opponent long after the conversation has ended. The lines may feel reasonable to us. They can even feel righteous. Romans speaks directly into this deeply human habit through a church shaped by different histories, cultures, and convictions. Jewish followers of Jesus gathered alongside people from Roman and Greek backgrounds, including some who had embraced Jewish customs along the way. Each group brought its own understanding of faithfulness, belonging, and truth, which made learning to live as one family in Jesus both meaningful and difficult. Paul spends the first eleven chapters bringing every group onto the same ground before God. As his argument unfolds, every reason for elevating one group above another begins to fall away. Religious experience, cultural background, and the systems people build around themselves all prove unable to carry the weight of salvation. Everyone has sinned, everyone needs mercy, and grace is offered through Jesus. At the centre of Romans stands a truth that reshapes the entire letter: “There is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus” (Romans 8:1). No condemnation means that shame and accusation no longer define those who belong to Christ. Jesus has carried sin and death through the cross, and His resurrection has opened a new way of life. Holy Spirit now lives within His people, forming them into a family that human divisions could never create. This grace reaches every person from the same source. Mercy Changes the Way We Love Paul’s vision is wonderfully practical. It appears as people honour one another, share what they have, open their homes, celebrate another person’s joy, and sit beside someone in sorrow. It reaches even further by calling God’s people to bless those who oppose them and care for an enemy who is hungry or thirsty. In these ordinary moments, the life of Jesus becomes visible through His people. Paul quotes Proverbs 25 when he writes that kindness toward an enemy will “heap burning coals on his head.” The image can sound like an indirect form of punishment, especially when it is read through the language of shame. Within Scripture, burning coals often point toward God’s holy presence, worship, and purification. Kindness places the situation in God’s hands, trusting Him to work in hearts and circumstances that remain beyond our control. Love leaves room for God to do what only He can do. This kind of love asks something honest of us. Who has been placed on the far side of an invisible line? Whose opinions have come to define their entire identity in our minds? Whose failure has become the only part of their story we can see? The question can turn inward too. People often divide their own lives into acceptable and unacceptable parts, allowing a weakness to become an enemy or a painful chapter to remain buried. A pattern of behaviour can bring shame, and over time that shame begins whispering that some part of us lies outside the reach of God’s grace. Jesus gathers the whole person into His healing presence. One Family, Many Stories He already knows every tangled motive, wounded place, repeated habit, and unanswered question. His mercy invites honesty because condemnation has lost its claim. We can bring every part of ourselves into the light and ask, “Jesus, what are You doing here? What are You showing me about my heart?” The gospel gives us courage to stay curious as we listen to people whose experiences differ from our own and receive wisdom from stories that have taken a different shape. It also teaches us to hold our convictions with humility, remembering that each of us sees only a small part of the mountain. God remains greater than our understanding of Him. Romans describes a family formed through Jesus, where people learn from one another, serve beside one another, and offer their distinct gifts for the good of the whole body. Each person belongs to the others, and faith takes visible form through mutual honour, patient love, and a shared dependence on Jesus. This family will still carry tension. Different experiences do not disappear, questions remain, personalities rub against one another, and old assumptions take time to loosen. Holy Spirit works within that very process, revealing what has shaped us and teaching us how to remain open to His leading. Mercy changes the atmosphere in which those tensions are held. Where the Lines Begin to Fade The person across the line becomes someone God sees, knows, and loves. The part of ourselves we have rejected becomes a place where Christ can meet us. The need to prove our position begins to soften as we remember that everyone stands by grace. The gospel destroys “us versus them” by drawing people into the life of Jesus. At the cross, every claim to superiority falls away. In the resurrection, a new humanity begins to take shape. Through Holy Spirit, ordinary people are formed into a community capable of loving beyond familiar boundaries. That work begins close to home. It reaches into conversations, family relationships, online interactions, church life, and the private stories we tell ourselves about other people. Each moment carries an invitation to pause and let Jesus search the heart. Perhaps His presence is already warming a place that has grown cold. Perhaps He is bringing a person to mind with tenderness. Perhaps He is uncovering a judgement that has quietly settled into certainty. “Search me, O God, and know my heart.” This prayer keeps us open before Jesus. It gives Him room to uncover the lines we have drawn and lead us along His everlasting way. As His mercy reaches those places, our lives can carry that same mercy into the world, creating space for enemies to become neighbours and strangers to discover a place within the family of God.

Natasha Kelly

Admin & Facilities Lead

January 18, 2026 • 4 Minute Read
Who Told You That?
There are stories we tell ourselves when no one else is around. A hurtful word from the past can linger, slowly becoming something we carry, something we begin to identify with. Over time, it turns into a voice that never really stops speaking. We repeat those words often enough that they start to feel true, shaping how we see ourselves and the world around us. Most of the time, we do not pause to notice those messages. We simply live with them and keep moving forward. Those stories settle in quietly. They do not arrive with warning or demand attention. They become part of the background of our inner life, woven into the way we think and move through the world. Before we realize it, they feel familiar and trustworthy. They sound reasonable. Earned. They comment on our choices, our pace, our worth. They show up when the house finally goes quiet or when the day has asked more than we had to give. Over time, they begin to feel like truth simply because they have been around for so long. Scripture takes us back to the beginning, to a garden where God walked closely with humanity. There was trust there. Ease. A shared life. Then another voice entered the story, and something shifted. Hiding replaced openness. Fear replaced peace. God’s first words were not sharp or hurried. They came as a gentle question. Where are you? And then another. Who told you that? It is a striking moment. God does not rush to correction. He does not begin with consequences. He pauses and draws attention to the source of the story Adam and Eve are suddenly living inside. A voice that had named something God never named. Nakedness. Fear. A sense of being exposed and lacking. That question still carries weight. Who told you that you were not enough? Who told you that you should be further along by now? Who told you that your weakness disqualifies you? Some voices speak loudly. Others hum steadily in the background, shaping how we see ourselves without ever raising their volume. Shame has a way of repeating itself until it feels factual. Fear learns our patterns and meets us right on time. Achievement keeps score and rarely lets us rest. God does not confirm those voices. He questions them. There is something tender in the way God responds in the garden. Adam and Eve try to cover themselves, and God steps in to cover them himself. Care comes before direction. Presence comes before repair. God meets them in vulnerability and prepares them for what comes next. That posture has not changed. Jesus later speaks about a shepherd whose sheep recognize his voice. Recognition grows through relationship. It comes from walking together, from learning the sound of love and truth over time. The sheep do not analyze the voice. They know it. Many of us want clarity, yet we live surrounded by noise. The invitation is not to strive harder but to slow down enough to notice what we are already listening to. To become curious about the stories shaping our inner life. To bring those stories into the light of God’s presence. Sometimes listening to Jesus feels like relief. Sometimes it feels like being named rightly again. Sometimes it is simply the quiet assurance that you are seen and known. God still asks gentle questions. Not to shame us, but to bring us home. Where are you right now? What voice has been explaining you to you? Does that voice sound like Jesus? There is space to pause here. Space to listen. Space to let the voice that calls you by name rise above the rest. And when other voices speak, you can ask the same question God once asked in the garden. Who told you that? Then wait. He is still speaking.Who Told You That?

Joel Wydysh

Pastor of Community and Connections

January 11, 2026 • 3 Minute Read
Following Jesus When He Sends Us
Following Jesus When He Sends Us There are moments in the life of a community that slow everything down. They ask us to pay attention. To feel the weight and the grace of what God has been shaping over time. Sending someone we love into what God is calling them toward carries that kind of gravity. It holds joy and tenderness together, reminding us that following Jesus unfolds across years, not headlines. When someone steps into a new calling, it can look sudden from the outside. Up close, it is anything but. It is the quiet accumulation of faithfulness. The prayers that were whispered long before clarity arrived. The ordinary obedience that shaped a heart little by little. Sending simply reveals what God has already been doing. That kind of moment lingers with a community. It does not rush past. It settles in slowly, carrying gratitude and ache at the same time. Pride and love. Hope and release. All of it belongs. When we witness someone being sent, we are really witnessing a story of formation. God shapes people patiently. He works through shared life, steady rhythms, and relationships that hold us when we stumble and cheer when we grow. Community becomes the soil where trust deepens and obedience takes root. Over time, something strong and gentle begins to take shape. Faith grows best in that kind of presence. People who notice what is unfolding. People who pray, encourage, and walk alongside. People who help name gifts and callings before they are fully visible. God uses that shared attentiveness to prepare hearts for what comes next. When the moment arrives to release what God has formed, joy rises naturally. So does grief. Love always carries the weight of letting go. Sending stretches us because it reminds us how deeply we are connected. Jesus never sends people alone. He sends them with blessing, with prayer, with a community that continues to carry them even from a distance. Sending is participation in God’s work, shared and sustained together. It is a collective yes to what God is already doing in the world. Scripture echoes this pattern again and again. Callings unfold over time. Trust is shaped through waiting. Obedience grows slowly, often hidden long before it is named. God weaves His purposes through years of faithfulness, not urgency. This is true for those who go. It is also true for those who remain. Moments of sending gently turn our attention inward. They invite us to notice our own formation. To reflect on where God has been quietly at work. To consider the small obediences that may be shaping something we cannot yet see. What invitation has God been placing before you, patiently and persistently? Where have you noticed His presence forming you through others? What step of trust might be waiting, even now? Following Jesus often looks simple and steady. Rooted lives. Open hands. Attentive hearts. A willingness to walk with God over time. And when the moment comes to release what He has been forming, we do so with confidence and peace. God goes ahead. God stays near. God remains faithful to complete His work in all of us. Sometimes the invitation is to go. Sometimes it is to bless. Always, it is to follow. And Jesus continues to walk with us, every step of the way. Watch the message here!👇Following Jesus When He Sends Us

Colby Lidstone

Currently Reading
January 4, 2026 • 4 Minute Read
This is Love
This is Love The room was full. The table was set. Everything appeared to be in order. Guests were seated, conversation was polite, and the evening unfolded just as it should. It looked like hospitality done well. Then a woman entered the room. She did not arrive with an invitation or an explanation. She came carrying a small jar of perfume and a story everyone already knew. Without speaking, she knelt at Jesus’ feet. Tears fell. Oil was poured out. The room grew quiet as devotion disrupted what had been carefully arranged. Moments like this linger because they reveal something deeper than the scene itself. They stay with us, quietly reshaping how we understand love, mercy, and the way God draws near. Some truths take time to settle into us. They circle quietly through our days, often born in moments we did not plan for. A conversation that stays with us. A memory that rises without warning. A sense that God has been near all along, even when we were busy or unsure. Love is one of those truths. We talk about love often. We search for it, measure it, hope it holds. Yet when life stretches us or disappoints us, love can feel harder to name. Our experiences shape how we see God. Over time, we begin to carry an image of Him formed by joy, loss, answered prayers, and long silences. All of it becomes a lens. Scripture offers a steady invitation here. When questions rise about who God is and how He loves, the answer keeps returning to the same place. The cross. This is where love is made visible. This is where it takes shape in a way we can trust. Jesus speaks plainly about it. Love is revealed through self giving, through presence, through a life laid down freely. It is not abstract or distant. It is embodied. Seen. Offered. This kind of love reshapes how we respond. Jesus names it clearly when He says that loving God with heart, soul, mind, and strength sits at the center of everything. Love flows outward too, touching how we see and treat the people around us. These words are familiar, yet they continue to invite us into attentiveness. Into alignment. Into a life that grows from worship rather than effort. Love begins with seeing God rightly. Before we act, before we speak, before we serve, there is an invitation to notice who He is. To listen. To allow love to take root beneath the surface. When love flows from that place, it carries a quiet strength. It shapes desire, thought, and movement without force. The stories of Jesus show us this again and again. Martha opens her home with care and energy. Mary chooses to sit close, attentive and still. Both gestures matter. Yet Jesus gently affirms presence. Attention. A willingness to pause and receive. Love grows where space is made for it. At that table, two responses sit side by side. One keeps control. The other releases it. One manages the moment. The other pours everything out. Jesus receives the offering shaped by trust and surrender. Love always responds to revelation. When we sense how deeply God has drawn near, something shifts within us. Control loosens. Performance quiets. Love becomes less about managing the moment and more about surrendering to presence. This is love. A life oriented toward Jesus. Attention given freely. Trust growing slowly. Hearts softened by grace. Where might God be inviting you to linger a little longer? What might shift if love was received before it was expressed? Where do you notice Jesus already present, waiting to be welcomed without agenda? Love does not rush. It does not demand perfection. It invites us to come as we are and remain open. In that space, something gentle and steady forms. A love shaped by the cross. A love that continues to meet us right where we are. Watch the message here!👇This is Love

Colby Lidstone

December 31, 2025 • 1 Minute Read
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