Last night, my son Jaden came home from a homeless outreach ministry run out of our church.
Food. Toiletries. Practical things.
Nothing flashy.
But he came home different.
Not proud.
Moved.
The team ended up taking one of the men to Walmart.
That detail stuck with me because Walmart is familiar territory for Jaden. He goes there often for his work. He knows the aisles. The shelves. The normal rhythm of walking in, grabbing what you need, and getting out.
But this time, he walked slowly.
Not as a customer in a hurry.
As a brother beside someone in need.
They helped the man pick out essentials.
Sleeping bags.
Food.
Basic things most of us barely notice.
And then this grown man started marveling at the cereal aisle.
The cereal aisle.
Different boxes. Different kinds. Different choices.
Something so ordinary to us felt like wonder to him.
Then he saw a soccer ball.
And he asked if he could have it.
That was the part that broke Jaden.
Not the sleeping bag.
Not the food.
The soccer ball.
Because buried underneath all the obvious needs was something deeply human.
Not just, “Can I survive?”
But, “Can I play?”
Not just, “Can I make it through the night?”
But, “Can I still have joy?”
A soccer ball.
Small thing.
Huge revelation.
The 2026 World Cup is going on, so maybe it makes sense.
We often think love has to be massive to matter.
Buy someone a house.
Fix their whole life.
Solve every problem.
And yes, big help matters.
But sometimes love looks like toothpaste.
Sometimes it looks like a sleeping bag.
Sometimes it looks like standing in Walmart with someone long enough to notice what makes their face light up.
Sometimes it looks like saying yes to a soccer ball.
Jaden told me that earlier in the evening, while the team was handing out supplies, some of the people receiving them began sharing with others.
They didn’t have much.
But they shared quickly.
Naturally. (Sound familiar?)
Without a committee meeting.
Without a strategy session.
Without needing to be told that generosity was the point.
The people Jaden and the team went to serve were serving too.
That’s the kingdom punch.
You show up thinking you’re bringing Jesus to people.
Then Jesus starts showing up through them.
I personally wasn’t there that night.
I only heard the story when Jaden came home.
But as he talked, I could feel the Lord reframing something in me.
We make church too small.
We think worship is mostly what happens when the band starts.
But if worship is our response to the Lord, then worship was happening in those streets.
It was happening in the bags of food.
It was happening in the shared toiletries.
It was happening in the slow walk through Walmart.
It was happening in the cereal aisle.
It was happening when a man held a soccer ball and remembered joy.
No lights.
No stage.
No setlist.
Still worship.
Street worship.
The kind that smells like kindness.
The kind that doesn’t need a microphone.
The kind that says, “Jesus, I see You here too.”
The kingdom is often hidden in the spectacular.
Sometimes it is more obvious in the simple.
A bag.
A meal.
A blanket.
A ball.
A son coming home with his heart opened wider than when he left.
“This is what I want to do with my life”
That was last night.
And today, on my daughter Simmone’s birthday, I feel the weight of another kind of wealth.
Not the kind you can measure on a statement.
The kind you hear upstairs in the middle of a workday when your kids are singing worship together because they love Jesus.
The kind you see when your daughter is writing songs from a heart that is falling deeper in love with the Lord.
The kind you feel when your son comes home talking about cereal, sleeping bags, generosity, and a soccer ball like he just saw the kingdom with fresh eyes.
That is wealth.
Real wealth.
The kind moth and rust can’t touch.
The kind no market can crash.
The kind that makes you stop and whisper, “Lord, we are blessed.”
Not because life is perfect.
Not because we have everything.
But because Jesus is forming love in our house.
And love is starting to look practical.
Love is starting to leave the building.
Love is starting to walk the aisles of Walmart.
Yes, sometimes, love sings a song.
And sometimes, love buys a soccer ball.
See you next Friday
For when you saw me hungry, you fed me. When you found me thirsty, you gave me drink. When I had no place to stay, you invited me in, and when I was poorly clothed, you covered me. When I was sick, you tenderly cared for me, and when I was in prison you visited me.’
“Then the godly will answer him, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry or thirsty and give you food and something to drink? When did we see you with no place to stay and invite you in? When did we see you poorly clothed and cover you? When did we see you sick and tenderly care for you, or in prison and visit you?’
“And the King will answer them, ‘Don’t you know? When you cared for one of the least of these, my little ones, my true brothers and sisters, you demonstrated love for me.’
