The Wall, the Pistachio Shells, and the Hot Tub

I’ve got two stories to tell you—and a deal to make. I promise to move fast, keep the details tight, and let the stories unfold just enough for you to feel what I’ve experienced—if you’ll give me the grace to hang with me until they come together.

Both happened on a mission trip to Southern California, where I had the chance to lead a team with Catch The Wave to serve survivors of the Eaton Fire. There were 120 bikes to give away and a group of people buzzing with purpose, eager to help.

Story One: The Wall

If you're not familiar with Ash-Outs, they are exactly what they sound like. People sift through what’s left of their homes in hopes of finding anything the fire may have left behind, or to, at least, experience the closure that there is for sure nothing left. It’s sacred work. But this trip, we ran into a bit of a surprise: the Army Corps of Engineers was moving so fast that the lots we had lined up were already cleared.

Don't get me wrong, this is REALLY Good news ...but we suddenly had a team of 50 with nothing to do.

That’s when a chain of conversations (including a friend of mine from high school, now a journalist) led us to an artist’s studio. A large stucco wall had fallen inward during the fire, crushing the space. He had already sifted what they could, but no one had figured out how to move that wall.

So let me introduce you to Daniel.

He’s not a guy who would’ve been a natural choice for this assignment a couple years ago. His story has chapters full of pain, addiction, and self-destruction. But he’s in a new chapter now. A good one. So we empowerd him to lead the team, to figure out how to move the wall, and to see if anything could be recovered.

He did.

No forklifts. No backhoes. Just some clever thinking and grit. The wall went up. And beneath it? Art that the owner thought was lost forever. Sculptures that mattered. Memories. Pieces of a life that could now be carried forward.

And Daniel? He stood in the middle of it all—leading, innovating, shining.

But there was another layer.

Someone had been watching the whole time. A quiet observer on the edge of the action. A young man, 12 years old, who hadn’t seen his dad much in the last ten years. His name is Isaac. And this trip was their first real time together since life got messy.

He watched his dad be a hero. Not in the movie sense—in the real kind of way. Isaac saw his dad rise, and lead, and serve. And when he did, something opened in his heart.

Story Two: The Pistachio Shells

Chad was walking in a park, looking for someone to bless—nothing dramatic, just staying open. That’s when he felt a warm sensation in his back, which for him, usually means that God is wanting to heal someone nearby.

There was a woman standing close, so he introduced himself and shared what he’d sensed.

To her surprise, she did have pain in the same spot he felt the heat. It turns out she had fallen weeks ago while hiking, and nothing had helped. Until now. Chad prayed. The pain left. The woman cried. And as she bent over to pick up pistachio shells she’d dropped earlier—now without pain—she laughed and cried at the same time. She was dreading bending over to clean up her mess, and now she was bouncing up and down pain free

She asked Chad why he was there, and he told her: “We’re here to help fire survivors.”

She paused and said, “You need to talk to my friend.”

That friend’s home was nearly cleared. She’d been asking for help for two months, worried that some meaningful things were still buried in the ash—but bulldozers were coming soon.

They called her on the spot.

She asked the woman, “Are you at your office?”

There was a long pause. The woman looked around the park and said, still a little undone, “I think I’m in God’s office.”

We got another ash-out!!! The timing was perfect. Some heavy potted plants were saved. So were other treasures, but for the team that got to serve, it wasn’t just a task. It was a gift. You could feel it. The joy of getting to help, the way it all lined up—it was like we’d been invited into a secret plan, and our “yes” was part of the reveal.

But check this out there was another layer - again.

The woman’s daughter had been watching the whole thing. Her name was Evelyn. She didn’t say much at first, but she saw it all—the warmth, the laughter, the wild joy of people who seemed lit up from the inside.

Something sparked in her. Something new.

And Then Came the Hot Tub

Later that day, before the evening worship service, the team had a window to rest. Some of them were staying at a Marriott with a pool and hot tub. So that’s where we were—just recovering, letting the dust settle.

That’s where the stories merged.

Isaac and Evelyn were both there. Not by accident. And not just to swim.

They’d seen enough. Felt enough. Something had taken root—and both of them wanted to give their lives to Jesus.

So they did.

Daniel baptized his son in the hot tub that afternoon. Evelyn was baptized too, by a new friend from the team. Tears. Smiles. Chlorine. Glory.

All of this is amazing, but this is what I want you to see today...

Some people think mission work should be done on a shoestring budget. Skip the hotel. Sleep on floors. Use the money for “more important” things.

But if you understand the value of what happened in that hot tub, then you understand part of the vision behind Rally Point Network.

We’re here to provide sanctuaries. Spaces for rest, renewal, and even surprise baptisms. We want to be ready when Friday night hotel prices spike. We want to cover the places where mission meets humanity—where obedience needs a place to rest its head.

I’m telling you this because this is the gap I’m called to stand in - and I'm inviting you to help me.

Want to be one of the first people EVER to sow into what God is planning though Rally Point Network? I'm looking for $2000 to get this whole thing started. We'd be teaming up to build the digital structure that will start the fire.

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Your Holy ‘YES’

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Doing it Anyway