God Met Us In Our Living Room

If you told me a year ago that our family would be starting a home church with some of our closest friends, I would’ve laughed. Not because I was against the idea, but because it never crossed my mind as something we would actually do.

Yet here we are.

For most of 2025, church happened in our living room. Worship on YouTube, kids drifting in and out, coffee on the table, everyone still in PJs. It was simple and a little chaotic, and somehow it was exactly what we needed. Our girls loved it. They wanted to help, asked real questions, and some Sundays even took turns “preaching,” which usually meant a little Bible mixed with a little Disney.

Honestly, it became one of my favorite parts of the week. What surprised me most was how natural it felt, like God had been nudging us toward this long before we knew anything was shifting.

To understand why this season has meant so much, you kind of have to understand how we got here. Because the story didn’t start with excitement, it started with grief.

For about eight years, we were part of a large church here in North Texas. It shaped our early marriage. It’s where we learned how to follow Jesus as adults, and it’s where our girls learned what “church” even was. We served, we grew, and we built real friendships.

For a long time, it really was a good place for our family. But looking back, we were so busy doing church that we never slowed down long enough to ask honest questions about anything. Everything felt normal… until it didn’t.

Then came 2020. In the middle of a year where everything already felt upside down, the campus we attended became an independent church with a new name and a fresh start. On paper, that sounded exciting. But in reality, the transition was much harder than anyone expected.

“Everything felt normal… until it didn’t.”

Little by little, things started to change. The culture felt different. The tone felt different. Decisions behind the scenes felt different. It was a slow accumulation of conversations and moments that eventually became impossible to ignore.

By then, my wife and I were serving in multiple ministries and doing our best to have honest conversations about things we were concerned about, some of which were serious. We hoped those concerns would be handled with humility and clarity, but instead they often felt minimized or brushed aside.

What once felt like a place with a "high call" slowly began to feel more like a place shaped by high pride. Friends we loved began leaving, and walking the halls on Sundays, we started to feel like strangers in a place that used to feel like home.

We were hurt. We were sad. And if I’m honest, we were angry too. Not the loud kind of anger that wants to pick a fight, but the quiet kind that settles in when something you love becomes something you barely recognize.

What came next was a year of wandering.

At first, it didn’t feel that strange. That first Sunday at home felt like we were just missing a week. But as time went on, the reality settled in. Some weeks we had no idea what we were doing. I’d usually share something from whatever I’d been reading, trying to explain it in a way an eight-year-old could understand.

Some weeks we rested. Some weeks we questioned our decision, but in the middle of all of it, God kept meeting us. First in our living room, and then in conversations with friends who were wrestling with the same questions. Slowly but surely, something new began to form. It happened quietly. It happened gently. It happened almost without us noticing.

As we shared more of our story and listened to others share theirs, we began asking what the Lord might be inviting us into. There was no strategy. No vision statement. No master plan. It was just a small group of people trying to follow Jesus honestly again and trying to heal.

Somewhere along the way, the name Rafa House came up. It comes from one of God’s names in Scripture, Jehovah Rapha in Exodus 15, which means the God who heals and makes whole.

“If you will diligently listen to the voice of the Lord your God, and do that which is right in his eyes, and give ear to his commandments and keep all his statutes, I will put none of the diseases on you that I put on the Egyptians, for I am the Lord, your healer.”

— Exodus 15:26, ESV

It felt right immediately. Not because it was clever or catchy, but because it described exactly what God had been doing in us. Slow healing. Deep restoration. All of it happening in quiet places, far from microphones and stages.

I didn’t have language for any of this while it was happening. Honestly, I barely knew what I was feeling. But at some point along the way, Jeff shared an early draft of what eventually became his post Flawed or Foolish, and it helped frame some of what had been so hard for me to articulate during that season. If you’ve walked through something similar, it may resonate.

Looking back now, the journey makes more sense in a way it absolutely didn’t when we were walking through it. But that’s usually how God works.

The grief, the anger, the wandering, and the unexpected joy of worshipping at home with our kids—all of it led us to where we are now.

What this season keeps teaching me is that church was never meant to be something you polish or protect. I’ve heard the line that church isn’t a building or a personality more times than I can count, but I didn’t always see it lived out. What feels true now is that the Church is simply people taking faithful steps toward Jesus together, even when they can’t see very far ahead.

And that’s really all we’re hoping for — to be a people learning to be formed by Jesus, where honesty matters, where Scripture is central, and where presence is enough. A place our girls will remember as warm and safe and full of God. A place where adults can stop performing and actually be shaped again.

“What feels true now is that the Church is simply people taking faithful steps toward Jesus together, even when they can’t see very far ahead.”

I don’t know what Rafa House will look like a year from now or five years from now. I’m not trying to predict it. Right now it feels like God is still meeting us in the living room, just like He did when it was only the four of us in our pajamas. And honestly, I’m grateful for that.

More than anything, this season has reminded me that the Church doesn’t grow from the top down. It grows from people who love Jesus and want to keep walking toward Him, even when they’re not totally sure where the road leads.

We’re still on the journey. Still learning. Still healing. Still trusting God with whatever comes next.

But for the first time in a long time, I can honestly say this: I’m excited for church again… and that feels like grace.