815 North Main Street, South Boston, Virginia

Church #187 brought me back into a beautiful sanctuary this Sunday morning, although I never had to leave my living room to get there.

What a blessing it was to join First Baptist Church of South Boston for their online worship service, with my sweet elderly dog, Cupcake, resting beside me as the familiar sounds of hymns filled our home.

There was something especially tender about this morning, sitting quietly with a little soul who has spent so many years faithfully loving our family, listening to voices lifted in praise to our Lord and Savior, and realizing that even though I was miles away from the congregation, the same Holy Spirit who filled that sanctuary was perfectly capable of meeting me right there on my couch.

And He certainly did!!!

The service began with the sweetest group of children singing “He’s Got the Whole World in His Hands”, and I could not help but giggle when one little fellow apparently decided that standing to sing was simply not on his agenda for the morning. The other children did their very best to encourage him to get up, even attempting to literally pull him to his feet, but he was having absolutely none of it. He remained seated throughout the song, and I laughed so hard watching those precious little personalities shine through. Meanwhile, the children continued singing with all their hearts, and I thought about how beautiful it is that God receives our worship without requiring us to have everything perfectly arranged first. One child may have been determined to remain seated, but I have a feeling heaven was smiling at the whole choir.

The adult choir sang Jesus Shall Reign, and hearing that hymn was such a blessing. I especially appreciated that the church included the lyrics on the screen so those of us worshiping online could sing along. That may seem like a small detail, but when you are joining a service from home, being invited to participate rather than simply watch makes such a difference. For a little while, my living room became part of that congregation, and I was reminded again that while gathering together in person is precious and important, the love of Jesus is not limited by the walls of a building.

I also loved that the children’s lesson was included in the service. The children were asked how they could share the love of Christ, and their answers were wonderfully simple: love God and love our neighbors. Sweet little Colton was the shining star of this service, with the pastor lovingly describing it as the Spirit giving him words, and I found myself smiling again. Sometimes children have a way of stripping away all the complicated explanations we adults create around Christianity and bringing us back to what Jesus actually asked of us.

Love God.

Love your neighbor.

And do it with your whole heart.

I have spent almost four years visiting churches, listening to sermons, meeting people, studying Scripture, and trying to understand more deeply what it means to follow Jesus, and those little children managed to summarize the heart of Christian living in just a few words.

Then the pastor began his message, and the entire morning took on a different message. He asked questions about the end of the world, about death, about whether we are prepared, whether we are afraid, and whether we avoid thinking about these things. He challenged us to consider how often we assume our own death is somewhere far off in the future, something that will happen after we have finished everything we want to accomplish.

And then came the questions that sat on my heart…

What if today were the last day of your life? Would you live it differently? Would you say something you have been putting off? Would you forgive someone? Would you stop worrying about something that has consumed far too much of your attention? Would you finally make time for the people you love?

The pastor brought a little humor into the message by referring to that great theologian, Tim McGraw, and his song “Live Like You Were Dying”. I smiled at that, but the message behind the song is beautiful.

The song tells the story of a man confronted with the possibility that his life may be coming to an end. Suddenly, the things he had been putting off become urgent. He pursues experiences and adventures, takes chances, and begins doing things he had always imagined he would have time to do someday. But what makes the song so meaningful to me is not the adventures. It is the transformation of his heart.

He begins loving people more deeply, showing greater tenderness, offering forgiveness, and paying attention to the relationships that matter most. Faced with the possibility of losing his own life, he begins giving more of himself to others. And I could not help but wonder why it sometimes takes the possibility of death to teach us how precious life really is.

James 4:14 reminds us that we do not know what tomorrow will bring, describing our lives as a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes. I think about that verse when I spend so much of my time serving families who have experienced loss. I have stood beside graves and watched people say goodbye to someone they expected to have more time with. I have listened to stories about plans that were never completed, vacations that were never taken, conversations that never happened, and moments that became priceless memories only after someone was gone.

We make plans, and we should. We work toward goals, and we should. We dream about the future, and there is nothing wrong with that. But somewhere along the way, we must remember that tomorrow is a hope, not a guarantee. That thought alone could have been my entire sermon this morning.

But the pastor continued speaking about forgiveness, and that is where the Holy Spirit began pressing on places in my heart that are still tender.

Forgiveness.

Y’all know far too well I have written about it before, and I imagine I will write about it many more times before this journey is finished because I am still learning how to live it. Ephesians 4:31-32 tells us to put away bitterness, anger, and malice, and to be kind and compassionate, forgiving one another as God in Christ forgave us. Jesus teaches us to forgive, to pray for those who mistreat us, and to extend the grace we ourselves have received. I believe those teachings with my whole heart. But I also know what it feels like to carry wounds that were never supposed to be inflicted in the first place. I know what it means to have people hurt you so deeply that forgiveness can feel less like opening your hands and more like trying to pry your fingers away from something they have been gripping for decades.

My childhood was marked by years of horrific abuse, fear, and experiences no child should ever have to learn. The effects of those years did not end simply because I grew older. And then adulthood brought its own heartbreaks. There have been betrayals that reopened wounds I thought had healed. There have been losses that left questions I may never have answered. There have been people I loved who hurt me in ways I still struggle to understand.

I wish I could tell you that one day I knelt beside my bed, prayed a beautiful prayer of forgiveness, and never felt anger or resentment about any of those things again. But that would not be the truth. Sometimes forgiveness has been a choice I have had to make over and over again. I have laid things at the feet of Jesus, stood up feeling lighter, and then discovered minutes, days, or weeks later that somehow I had picked them right back up.

And I have to give it back.

Again.

And again.

And again.

I used to think that meant I was failing at forgiveness. Now I am beginning to understand that forgiveness is a choice, a yearning, a constant walk to rely on Jesus. Forgiveness does not mean pretending the abuse was acceptable. Forgiveness is not permission for someone to wound us again. It is a decision to stop allowing the wound to become the ruler of our hearts. And I am still learning how to make that decision.

If bitterness begins growing again tomorrow, I pray the Holy Spirit will help me recognize it before it takes root. I pray He will teach me to surrender it one more time. And if necessary, a thousand times after that. Because I would rather spend the rest of my life returning to Jesus with the same wounded places than spend one more day convincing myself that I can heal them without Him.

I have come a long way. Oh, sweet friends, I have come such a long way. Sometimes I look at the woman I am today and can hardly reconcile her with the little girl I once was. She lived through circumstances that left her believing there was nothing good waiting for her in this world. And yet, somehow, by the grace of God, here I am. A wife. A mother. A woman who loves her family. A woman who gets to serve her community. A woman who writes books and shares her faith. A woman who has spent nearly four years now searching for Jesus in churches, homes, cemeteries, workplaces, and unexpected places throughout this beautiful community. A woman who still laughs at children refusing to stand during choir. A woman who still cries when a hymn touches her heart. A woman who still believes that people are worth loving, even after experiencing firsthand how terribly people can hurt one another.

I look at all of that, and I know something with absolute certainty.

I am a miracle child.

My heart has endured things that could have made it hard and bitter beyond recognition, and somehow it still longs to love. It has been crushed. It has been broken. It has been betrayed. It has been wounded by people who should have treated it with tenderness. And yet it still beats with compassion. It still wants to help hurting people. It still hopes for goodness. It still wants to forgive. It still believes in love.

And I cannot take credit for that. That is the work of the Holy Spirit.

Galatians 5:22-23 describes the fruit of the Spirit as love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. When I look at that list, I realize how many of those things I have had to learn through circumstances that offered every possible temptation to become their opposite. But the fact that those qualities are growing at all in me is evidence that Jesus has been doing something in the places of my heart I once thought were beyond repair.

I do not fully understand why He has loved me so faithfully. I do not understand why He kept reaching for me through so many painful years. I do not understand why He has given me opportunities to love and serve others when there were seasons when I could barely imagine a future for myself. And perhaps that is part of the beauty of grace. I do not have to understand why I am worthy of His attention, because His love was never something I had to earn. Romans 5:8 tells us that God demonstrated His love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us. He loved me before I knew how to love Him back. He loved me when I was frightened. He loved me when I was angry. He loved me when I was confused. He loved me when I questioned everything.

And He loves me now.

And I am still trying to wrap my heart around how extraordinary that really is.

The pastor also spoke about the milestones of an average eighty-year lifespan, and that part of the message made me think about my own life in a way I had not expected. Eighty years. When we are children, that sounds like an eternity. When we are young adults, it seems comfortably distant. But as the years pass, the milestones begin arriving with a speed that is almost difficult to comprehend.

Most folks spend early years imagining who they will become, middle years trying to balance responsibilities and dreams, and if God blesses any of us with later years, perhaps we begin looking back and realizing how quickly the chapters passed. Of course, not everyone is given eighty years. Some are given more. Some are given far fewer.

I began thinking about the milestones I have already lived through, especially the ones that little girl could never have imagined. She could not have imagined the family I would someday have. She could not have imagined being loved by a husband, raising a daughter, or having a little dog named Cupcake who would spend so many years faithfully loving our family. She could not have imagined the books I would write, the people I would meet, the families I would serve, or the beautiful community that would become part of my story. She could not have imagined sitting in her living room on a Sunday morning, listening to a church choir sing about the reign of Jesus, with tears in her eyes and being overwhelmed by gratitude.

And I think about how easily I could spend my life focusing only on what was taken from me. There was so much. There are losses I will never recover. There are childhood experiences I never got to have. There are relationships that did not become what I hoped they would. There are memories that still hurt. But when I redirect my attention toward what God has given me, I begin to see something else. I am still here. And that is a gift beyond measure. I have people to love. I have a family to care for. I have opportunities to serve. I have stories to tell. I have lessons to learn. I have prayers to pray. I have a community that has shown me more kindness than I could ever adequately thank them for.

And most importantly, I have Jesus.

Psalm 139 reminds us that God knows us intimately, that our days are known to Him, and that there is nowhere we can go beyond His presence. I think about the depths of suffering He has reached into throughout my life, and I am still in awe that His love never stopped pursuing me. There were places in my childhood where I felt utterly alone. But looking back now, I believe He was holding on to me even when I did not know how to recognize His presence. And He is with me in the difficult chapters I am still walking through today.

That brings me to the part of the pastor’s sermon that may have been the most beautiful of all.

Eternity.

Because if we are only talking about how to live before we die, we are missing the greatest promise Jesus ever gave us. John 3:16 tells us that God so loved the world that He gave His only Son, so that whoever believes in Him shall not perish but have eternal life. John 14:2-3 tells us that Jesus spoke of preparing a place for His followers. And in John 11:25, Jesus declares, “I am the resurrection and the life.”

Just think about what that means… really think about it.

The same Savior who has held me through this earthly life has promised something beyond it. The same Jesus who has comforted me in grief, carried me through trauma, forgiven my sins, taught me how to love, and continued patiently putting my heart back together has made a way for eternal life with Him. I can barely comprehend the kindness He has shown me in the years I have already lived. How am I supposed to comprehend eternity? A love that does not run out. A life no longer shadowed by death. A future where the brokenness of this world does not get the final word. Revelation 21:4 tells us that God will wipe away every tear and that death, mourning, crying, and pain will be no more. For someone who has known so much pain, that promise is almost too beautiful to imagine.

And suddenly the question of whether today is my last day becomes something deeper than a reminder to enjoy the time I have. It becomes a question about what I am doing with the gift of life and how I am preparing my heart for eternity.

I sat in my living room this morning with Cupcake beside me, and I found myself asking questions I want to carry long after this service has ended. If today were my last day, would my daughter remember a mother who spent her life consumed by worry, or a mother who taught her that even in difficult seasons, Jesus is worthy of our trust? Would my husband remember that I loved him not only through the easy years, but through the years when life demanded more of us than we ever expected? Would the families I have served remember that they were genuinely loved, or would they remember only the business we conducted? Would the people who hurt me still occupy more room in my heart than the people who have loved me? Would I be able to lay every remaining piece of bitterness at Jesus’ feet and leave it there? Have I spent more time mourning the life I was denied than rejoicing over the life God has given me? Have I been so focused on surviving that I have forgotten to celebrate the miracle of being alive?

If I stood before Jesus tonight, would I be grateful for the life He gave me, even though so much of it was difficult? I pray the answer would be yes.

I have been loved by a Savior whose faithfulness has never depended upon my circumstances. I have been allowed to know Him.

I do not want to spend whatever time I have left overlooking all of the precious gifts from Him. I want to keep becoming the woman that little girl could never have imagined. This life God has given me is too precious to spend it focusing on the past. I cannot rewrite my childhood. But by the grace of God, I can keep living the beautiful, imperfect, hope-filled life that is still being written. And if tomorrow comes, I want to treat it as another opportunity to do exactly that.

Church #187 was a beautiful blessing from First Baptist Church of South Boston, and I am so grateful to the pastor, the choir, the precious children, and everyone who made this worship experience possible. Thank you for the hymns that filled my living room. Thank you for the children’s laughter that reminded me how much joy there is in the simplest moments. Thank you for including those of us worshiping from home and making us feel part of your congregation. Thank you for the reminder to love God and love our neighbors. Thank you for a sermon that reminded me to think about forgiveness, gratitude, mortality, and eternity. And thank you for helping me remember that a life well lived is not necessarily measured by how long we are here, but by how faithfully we love with the time we have been given.

As this journey approaches the halfway mark toward 400 churches, I am becoming increasingly emotional about everything God has taught me along the way. One hundred eighty-seven churches. So many beautiful people. So many unexpected sanctuaries. So many prayers. So many lessons. And somehow, every single week, Jesus finds another place in my heart that needs His attention.

To every one of you who continues following this journey, thank you. Thank you for your prayers, your kindness, your words of encouragement, and the love you have shown my family through seasons that have not always been easy. Thank you for reminding me that Christian community is not simply something we attend on Sunday morning, but something we live out through the way we care for one another. You have helped me find reasons to smile on days when smiling did not come easily. You have reminded me that goodness still exists in this world. And you have become part of the story I will always tell about the ways Jesus has loved me through other people. I love you all dearly.

I do not know where the Holy Spirit will lead next week. And after today’s sermon, I am reminded that I do not even know whether I will be given another week. None of us does. But if God grants me another Sunday, another opportunity to worship, another family to serve, another person to encourage, or another day to spend loving the people He has placed in my life, I pray I will receive it with gratitude. I pray I will smile a little sweeter. Love a little deeper. Forgive a little more freely. And serve with an even greater appreciation for the precious gift of simply being here.

Because when I think about everything I have survived, everything Jesus has carried me through, and everything He has promised beyond this life, I remember something that still brings me to tears, there was a little girl who spent years wondering whether she would ever escape the pain of this world, and today that same little girl, now grown, is sitting in her living room thanking Jesus for the privilege of being alive. Only God could have written that part of my story.

And only Jesus could offer me the extraordinary promise that when this earthly story is finished, the greatest chapter is still ahead.

So if tomorrow never comes, I pray that I have loved you well. I pray that I have forgiven more than I have resented. I pray that I have given more kindness than I have received. I pray that my family has felt the love of Jesus through the way I have loved them. I pray that the families I have served have felt a little less alone because God allowed our paths to cross. And I pray that whatever memories I leave behind will point people toward the Savior who took a life that could have been consumed by bitterness and filled it, little by little, with hope.

If tomorrow never comes, I do not need the world to remember how much I suffered. I want the people I loved to remember how much Jesus loved them through me.

And if tomorrow does come? Well, thank You, Jesus. I have another day to live like it matters. Another day to love like eternity is real. Another day to forgive as I have been forgiven. Another day to serve the people You place in front of me. And another day to tell the world that the God who saved my soul is still teaching my heart how to love.

I cannot wait to see where the Holy Spirit leads next week.

Love you all,

Annie Stewart Lambert