When the Work Paused, Christmas Spoke

Momentum is a powerful thing.

In the weeks leading up to Christmas, the house had been alive with movement. Walls were coming down. Siding was being removed. The ground was being opened for new foundations. Every day seemed to bring visible progress, and with it, a growing sense that the vision for My Father’s House was beginning to take shape in real time.

Then came the news I hadn’t expected.

Our plumbers would not be able to come until after the first of the year.

Just like that, everything paused.

The delay meant more than two weeks without progress — a difficult interruption when the project had been moving so quickly. After watching such steady momentum unfold, the sudden halt felt disappointing. I had grown used to the rhythm of things changing every day, and it was hard to see the work sit still.

But it was also the week of Christmas.

And Christmas has a way of gently re-centering everything.

My Father’s House was never meant to be simply a renovation project or a beautiful gathering place. From the very beginning, the deeper purpose has always been the same — to exalt the name of Jesus and to create a space where people might encounter Him. And during that particular week, my attention shifted from construction dust and timelines to something far more sacred.

The days leading up to Christmas Eve were spent at church preparing for our services. There is something special about those final hours before a Christmas gathering — the quiet busyness, the laughter, the teamwork that unfolds when people come together to prepare a place for others.

One of my small assignments was helping prepare the candles for our candlelight portion of the service. Candle after candle was carefully placed into its holder. What might have been a tedious task quickly became something joyful because of the incredible team surrounding me.

So many hands.

So much focus.

So much laughter.

So much speed!

What could have taken hours seemed to pass in record time. Once again, I was reminded how beautiful it is when people serve together with willing hearts.

By Christmas Eve, everything was ready. All four services were completely full.

There is something deeply moving about a sanctuary filled with people on Christmas Eve — the anticipation, the reverence, the collective remembrance of the night Christ entered the world. It was an incredible service, one that carried both joy and awe.

One of the most unforgettable moments came from the smallest member of our team. A three-year-old served as our “Little Drummer Boy,” and he was nothing short of remarkable. He played his drum faithfully through the entire special with such focus and delight that the room couldn’t help but smile. His presence captured something simple and pure about worship — offering what you have, just as you are.

I had told my dear friend of mine, Keith Thibedeaux — known by many as Little Ricky from the I Love Lucy show and himself a child prodigy drummer — about our little drummer. In a beautiful gesture of encouragement, he signed a pair of drumsticks for him and wrote scriptures from the Psalms across them.

It felt like a quiet passing of inspiration from one generation to the next.

By the time the final service ended, it was a late night at the church. The sanctuary slowly emptied, the candles extinguished one by one, and the team drifted home after a full and meaningful evening.

The next morning came early.

On Christmas Day, I climbed into my car and began the three-hour drive to my brother's and his wife’s home. There I met my daughter, my nephew, and a dear family friend. It was a beautiful day — simple, warm, and full of the kind of conversation, games, and laughter that make time seem to slow down.

We celebrated together, grateful for the gift of family and the greater gift we were remembering.

The day after Christmas, I began the drive home. The road was quiet.

There is something about long drives alone that invites reflection, and that morning I found myself worshipping as I drove. Song after song filled the car, and my heart reflected on the goodness of God — His faithfulness, His kindness, His steady hand over every step of this journey.

When I turned down the drive and pulled onto the property, I slowed the car for a moment.

The house stood there quietly, in the middle of its transformation. Part of it opened, part of it waiting. The land stretched out around it, peaceful and still.

And in that moment, the delay no longer felt frustrating.

It felt purposeful.

Because Christmas had reminded me of something important: God is never rushed. His work unfolds in perfect timing, even when our plans pause.

The house would move forward again soon enough.

But the greater work — the reason this place exists at all — had been quietly reaffirmed that week.

My Father’s House is being built for Him. A place where His name will be lifted high.

A place where people will gather, rest, worship, celebrate, and remember the goodness of God.

And as I sat in the quiet driveway that afternoon, I realized something beautiful.

The work may pause.

But the purpose never does.

The journey continues.