Letters to The Family

Letters to The Family: Stacey

StaceyOk, y’all, I’m not generally big on social media “communities”. Frankly, I think “online community” is an contradiction of terms. However, the “For The Love” launch team may just be the exception. 496 women and 4 men (bless them). That is 500 opinions that get shared with a good dose of estrogen and even with all that is going on, no one has virtually stormed out. It’s amazing! All of that to say, today’s guest is another one of my FTL friends. I have seen in Stacey a desire to be authentic to leave her love and courage on the page. And just look at how adorable she is! 

In her own words: Stacey Philpot is wife to Ryan and mother to Hayden, Julie and Avery. She is a writer, blogger, and avid reader who desires to honor the godly heritage of previous generations by passing down a brightly burning torch of faith. As a result of her passion for growing in her relationship with Jesus, Stacey has ministered for over 15 years to youth and women in her church community in order to equip them to go deeper. Stacey holds a Bachelor’s degree in Psychology from the University of Houston and will begin pursuing a Master’s degree in the near future.


Now it was in a church parking lot that—struggling with each painful step, grasping tightly to the arm of my husband, holding back tears of shame—I was stopped by a stranger on the way to my car and told, “Healing is in God’s hands if you want it.”  Notice this individual did not stop and ask if we needed additional help, or if we wanted prayer. He simply made his assumptions about my level of faith and true desire for healing and dropped his words of wisdom accordingly. It was also at a church alter where I fell into the arms of a Pastor I did not know, sobbing, heaving, and snotting all over him as he prayed that I would be reminded of God’s love anew. That I would know in the core of my being that my becoming sick was not a result of God not loving me. And walking away that day, I did know, deeply, truly in a way that I had not in a very long time.

Dear Church,

What if we spoke life? What if we spoke the truth in love? Realizing that truth in love means more than judgment presented in nicely spoken words. I Corinthians tells us much about love. Real love.

1 Corinthians 13:4-8Amplified Bible (AMP)

Love endures long and is patient and kind; love never is envious nor boils over with jealousy, is not boastful or vainglorious, does not display itself haughtily.

It is not conceited (arrogant and inflated with pride); it is not rude (unmannerly) and does not act unbecomingly. Love (God’s love in us) does not insist on its own rights or its own way, for it is not self-seeking; it is not touchy or fretful or resentful; it takes no account of the evil done to it [it pays no attention to a suffered wrong].

It does not rejoice at injustice and unrighteousness, but rejoices when right and truth prevail.

Love bears up under anything and everything that comes, is ever ready to believe the best of every person, its hopes are fadeless under all circumstances, and it endures everything [without weakening].

Love never fails [never fades out or becomes obsolete or comes to an end]. As for prophecy ([a]the gift of interpreting the divine will and purpose), it will be fulfilled and pass away; as for tongues, they will be destroyed and cease; as for knowledge, it will pass away [it will lose its value and be superseded by truth].

What if we let our words be motivated by this and this alone? Not by frustration or ignorance or opinion or hate or pity or confusion, only love.

I was at an appointment with a world renowned physician not long ago. He told me all about his research and I told him about my latest endeavors.  While bent over testing my knee reflexes he said, “You are such a remarkable woman. You are going to do so many good things with your life.” And just like that I was undone. My eyes were leaking out the corners. So many days, I lay in my bed, sick and I wonder, “Does my life matter”? And I go to church and many people have opinions about my treatment choices or my level of faith but how many speak life? At 85, this man has been changing the world for longer than I was born, and yet here he is, arm in my soul, rearranging things, speaking life.

Church, this is who we are called to be. Even our discipline should be love motivated and life giving.

What if we stopped offering opinions on how people are living their lives and instead started offering life, hope and help? It’s what Jesus did. It’s who we are called to be on this earth. Don’t we all have enough people telling us what we’re doing wrong? What it we chose to be a different voice? The voice speaking life. What if instead of being the voice that says, “You really jacked up” we were the voice that said, “This is an amazing testimony in the making.”

Speak Life.

Letters to The Family: Erica

I met Erica at a Creative Discipleship event where we were learning to give ourselves permission to take creative expression to the pages of our Bibles. Erica and I have not interacted much since then as she moved 10 hours away, but here is what I saw from that first meeting. Erica loves people. She craves community and Ericavalues authenticity. She owns her story and intentionally looks for God in the pages of her life, even if it is difficult to find his fingerprints. Please read Erica’s words with a teachable heart. We need to hear these stories, to own our failures as The Family. Erica is part of our family, and we need to set a place at the table for her and others who walk similar roads.


Dear sanctuary I never felt safe in,

Hello readers, I’m Erica and I am a 23 year old alcoholic and drug addict. If I continue to grow in my relationship with Christ and do the other things my fellowship (Alcoholics Anonymous) tells me to do, I will have a year of sobriety in August. I come from a Baptist home and was raised in the church until I was given the choice to stop attending around the age of 12, a year after I began my love affair with drugs and alcohol.

Throughout high school I occasionally attended my parents church as a hail Mary type of deal. I thought I would get immediate relief and it would fix all the problems I was causing for myself. My lifestyle was no secret to the community of my suburban city. I was told I was unwelcomed in a Sunday school class because I was a “party girl”. I was completely ignored during the social part before the lesson started. I would sit in a room full of 50 to 60 kids who knew who I was and never approached. A leader in my class who knew my dad told me I was an embarrassment to my family and I should be ashamed of my actions. People in that class point blank came up to me and told me getting drunk was a sin so I was probably going to hell. As a 17 year old in the throws of an addiction I was hurting and so broken. I went to church hoping to find peace and acceptance and love but I was greeted with disgust and misunderstanding.

By the time I was graduating from high school I was scared for my life. My addiction was killing my soul and slowly ruining my life. Out of fear and in an attempt to “fix” my problems I chose to go to a small private Christian university. I attended the University of Mary Hardin-Baylor for 3 and a half years. I wasn’t too excited about going to a Christian school because most of the interactions I had had with people who claimed the name of the Lord weren’t good. However, God was faithful and brought me one person who I could see the light of Him in.

Throughout our time at UMHB she spent many nights consoling my broken spirit and my intoxicated body, but loved me anyways. She taught me about grace and how we all fall short of the glory of God. She never pushed me to know Jesus, she just let me watch how He worked in her own life. She showed me how she got through trials by leaning on the Father. I was resentful at the church for a long time. Since getting sober I have really had to evaluate my view on religion and the church. I realized that the church is made up of people who, just like me, are imperfect. My sins are no different than the people I met at church who treated me poorly. I am at fault if I judge every single church based off of the experience I had with one Sunday school class.

There is a quote from the Big Books of Alcoholics Anonymous that really helped to soften my soul towards organized religion and keep my heart in check. “We looked at the human defects of these people, and sometimes used their shortcomings as a basis of wholesale condemnation. We talked of intolerance, while we were intolerant ourselves. We missed the reality and the beauty of the forest because we were diverted by the ugliness of some of its trees.” (BB of AA page 50).

That perfectly sums up how I feel about the church. The sanctuary I never felt safe in is now a building made up of imperfect people who were all made in the sight of the Lord. I have been called to love, regardless of anyone’s actions. I think I needed to know the pain of being rejected in order to understand the importance of showing everyone love and acceptance.

God bless,

Erica Joy LaHouse

Letters to the Family: Cody

One of the most gifted writers I know. A genuinely deep sense of humility. A faith that is willing to wrestle through the dark days. This is my friend Cody. She and I met 7 years ago in a Bible Study.  A few years later, we both found ourselves at Bayou City Fellowship and I had the joy of getting to know her more. Now, in different places, I only see Cody on occasion. In all of those years, there is one quality that stands out. Peace. Cody carries with her rest for tired souls. Whether reading her writings or sharing life over a cup of coffee, Cody’s words are a place of restoration. I know her words to us today will be the pause and life-giving breath many of us need.

CodyIn her own words: I love my family, my friends, my dog, words, group games and efficient errand-running. I thrive off of good conversations with trusted friends (preferably over ice cream or coffee), and if laughing was a hobby, it would be my favorite one. I’m not sure about everything in this thing called life, but I have found that the Lord is good and that He loves us, and I go from there.


Dear Church,

You served communion today.

I was sitting in the second row. I really like sitting up front like that, but I’m a little insecure about it too, so I rarely do. (I also rarely admit that. Now you know.) But there, from my second row seat, I had the privilege of watching so many of you stream through the line.

You pull your portion of bread off of the whole.

The Body of Christ broken for you.

You dip your piece in the common cup.

The Blood of Christ, the cup of salvation.

And I could weep. Because of your beauty. Each one of you. All of you together. You are skin-wrapped bearers of the God that I love. You are His hands and His feet and His ears and His shoulders. Not only to the world, but also to me.

I know that you are only a part of this vast thing called the Body of Christ. I know that Christ’s Church is much larger than the one we attend on Sundays. I know this because my church is much larger than the one I stood among this morning, because ones I dearly love gathered around the city and the state and the country.

And so I write this to the ones of you I hugged this morning, to the ones who gathered elsewhere, to the ones I do not even know.

You raised me. You correct me. You encourage me. You make me laugh. You let me cry. You let me try. You graciously bow your head when I fail. You cheer when I win. You whisper prayers over me. You kneel on my behalf more times than I will ever know. You text and call and sometimes knock on my door, showing up when I don’t know I need you. You let me sit in silence. You let me struggle when you know I need to find Him outside of everyone else.

And, well, what I want to say more than anything else is thank you.

Thank you for letting the Spirit of Christ dwell in you. Thank you for letting Him live through you. Thank you for letting Him speak and heal and pray and laugh. Thank you for being God with skin on. Each of you. All of you. Together.

You aren’t always perfect. And that’s part of your beauty. We are a marred mess of individuals making up this one collective Body of Christ (1 Corinthians 12:18). We aren’t perfect witnesses to who He is, but we are witnesses nonetheless, empowered by the very Spirit of God to represent Him to this broken world (Acts 1:8).

Sometimes we are the broken Body of Christ right here in this broken world—beaten and bleeding and buried not by an enemy but by our very own selves. The left hook to our own jaw. The heel slammed down hard on our own foot. The elbow to our own ribs. And we reel in pain. And it smacks of betrayal. And it hurts all the more because the Head, our Christ, keeps insists that we are one (1 Corinthians 12, John 17).

Oh, yes, the Body of Christ is a terrifying thing when it goes awry.

Brothers and sisters fight hard and often unfair. Isn’t that always the way with those closest to us? The capacity to wound is somehow heightened by proximity. I’m sorry I’ve hurt you. I forgive you for the times you’ve nearly killed me.

But when we get it right, when this marred mess of individuals miraculously melds into the one Body of our Lord, I’d venture to say that there is nothing more beautiful. I keep wanting to say that you wear Him well, but it might be more accurate to say that He wears you well. His Spirit shines in and through you, refracting through those places you wish weren’t yours to share, and splashing colors and light into the fraudulent dark.

So, yes, thank you. For being Christ to me. Each of you. All of you. For letting me be Christ to you. For letting me be Christ with you.

Oh, Church, it is an honor and a joy to walk through life a part of you.

I love you so much.

Cody