We go to a historic church in Dallas. It’s vintage, as I like to call it. The building itself has been around for over 100 years and is protected by the Dallas Historical Society.

There’s a richness and depth to the community that originally led us to make it our home. There’s a feeling of belonging within its walls. A place for everyone, and—what I especially love—a place for everyone’s gifts. 

Jean, a precious (and original) member of the church has a weekly ritual of service I can’t get over. 

Without fail, every single week, Jean arrives with a freshly baked tub of cookies. Anyone who slips into the back to grab coffee will find the Tupperware filled with homemade delicacies. Every single week.

There have been snickerdoodles, peanut butter chips, double chocolate, butterscotch, spice cookies, and more floating through the sanctuary, perfectly paired with a cup of joe. Creative flavors are no stranger to our church.

If you saw Jean, you’d be astonished she’s still able to bake so consistently. Her health is declining, and she’s more frail by the week. But nonetheless, original Jean baked goods appear each week. 

It’s a part of Sunday mornings that adds a touch of heaven to our worship service. I don’t think anyone ever asked her to take on this responsibility—she’s been doing it for so long she can’t imagine not serving in that way. It’s just what she does, and she’s going to do it as long as she can. 

Cookies may not seem like the most obvious or needed form of ministry. But as I’ve watched child after child and visitor after visitor grab a Sunday morning treat, I can confirm it’s an absolutely blessed, abundant space of service. 

These kids are a little more excited to be there. Visitors feel at home, a little more comfortable with a touch of hospitality awaiting them at the back table. 

 I’m inspired by this ministry of cookies. I’m amazed that the Holy Spirit works so powerfully through a mix of flour, sugar, butter, and chocolate. I don’t know how He does it, but He always does. 

This is our reminder to show up, to serve, to lean in with whatever we’ve got—even if it doesn’t feel like formal ministry. Our gifts aren’t random. Our passions aren’t a coincidence. Wanting to love someone via a playlist, a meal, an encouraging text, a handmade gift, a thoughtful note, a spreadsheet—it all counts. It all matters. It can all be used by the God of the universe, for whom nothing is impossible. What seems like a small act of kindness or love to you could change someone else’s day—or even life. 

We just never know how the Lord will use our gifts. This is your reminder that your efforts matter in the Kingdom of God, and there’s nothing too small or trivial or unimportant to offer. I’ve seen firsthand how the ministry of cookies can change atmospheres, and I know the Holy Spirit can and will use your obedience in that way, too. Keep going—it matters! xo

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P.S. Your Future Joy is Accounted For and Grabbing God’s Hand.

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