Tag: Kneemail

The Best of Small Town America: What a July 4th Parade Taught Me About Real Liberty

Hello, Praying Friend!

I don’t usually find myself tearing up at a July 4th parade. But I did this year.

For twenty-five years, hit-and-miss, we’ve managed to see the Fourth of July parade here in Mount Dora, Florida. If I had to guess, I’d say we’ve caught about half of them. Most of those years with kids in tow — first it was two, then three, then four. Hot, sweaty, and excited, all rolled into one. As time passes, the way it always does, it was back to three kids. Then two. Then one. This year, it was just me. And Lucy the dog.

Same route down Donnelly Street. Same spot on the curb, or close enough to it, for twenty-five years. Southern Living just named it one of the ten best small-town Fourth of July parades in the South, which is the kind of thing that makes you look around at your own neighbors like, oh, I guess we really do have something here. And the same cast of characters that makes a small-town parade what it is: the Sheriff and his Auxiliary. The motorcycle club, louder than they need to be. Vietnam veterans, walking a little slower each year, saluted a little longer each year.

Lucy the dog picking out treats at the dog bakery in town
The Lions Club. Lawn bowling (yes, that’s a thing here). The Historical Society, reminding everybody this town has always been this town. Local businesses on flatbed trailers. Chick-fil-A. Boat tours. Kiwanis. Little League, in uniforms two sizes too big. Cheerleaders and football players. Beauty queens waving from convertibles. Politicians waving harder. The 4-H club with miniature ponies who could not care less about any of it — with parents keeping half an eye on their kids so nobody gets trampled getting too close. A giant inflatable foaming beer, because of course there is. A dance school, mid-routine.

General George himself walked the route!
And candy, everywhere. Fistfuls of it, thrown from every float and flatbed, and kids diving after it like it’s the only thing that matters — which, for about eight seconds, it is.

Nobody’s directing any of this, not really. There’s no official keeping the police cruiser off the ponies’ heels. It’s just everybody knowing, without being told twice, where they fall in line and where the crowd stands and where the kids can chase candy without getting run over.

A dad standing alone with his dog gets caught off guard by how much he loves this ordinary place.

Edmund Burke, writing about liberty two hundred years before any of us stood on Donnelly Street, put it plainer than I ever could: “The only liberty I mean is a liberty connected with order; and that not only exists with order and virtue, but cannot exist at all without them.” Standing there watching twenty-five years’ worth of the same parade go by the same way, I felt the truth of that in my bones before I ever had words for it. Liberty was never about erasing the order. It’s what happens because there is one.

Which explains something from ancient scripture that many of us have, perhaps, read a hundred times without really grasping it.

LIFE — “The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full.” (John 10:10)

LIBERTY — “It is for freedom that Christ has set us free. Stand firm, then, and do not let yourselves be burdened again by a yoke of slavery.” And: “If the Son sets you free, you will be free indeed.” (John 8:36)

HAPPINESS — “If you keep my commands, you will remain in my love … I have told you this so that my joy may be in you and that your joy may be complete.” (John 15:10–11)

This month, this year, and each moment of our lives, may we pursue His grace and Life — standing on the curb He’s given us, and finding it’s exactly wide enough for everything that matters.

Sharing Wonder,

July 10, 2026
From the Rabbit Room to North Wind Manor – A Twenty-Year Story (and a Weekend I’ll Never Forget)
Hello, Praying Friend!

This story has a bit of a backstory, so grab a coffee — I’ll wait.

Ready? Okay, here we go.

In Oxford, England, beginning in the early 1930s, a loose-knit group of writers and Oxford professors began meeting weekly — first in formal sessions at Magdalen College, and eventually in the more relaxed setting of a pub called The Eagle and Child, known affectionately to locals as “the Bird and Baby.” They called themselves the Inklings. C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien were the most famous among them, but the circle also included Charles Williams, Owen Barfield, Hugo Dyson, and others — friends who gathered not for fame, but for fellowship.

Tucked at the back of that pub was a small, private lounge with worn leather chairs and a fireplace that had clearly heard a few centuries of stories. Over the doorway hung a modest sign: The Rabbit Room.

It was there, on Monday or Tuesday lunchtimes, that these men read their unfinished manuscripts aloud to one another — and didn’t always like what they heard. Tolkien was famously blunt about Lewis’s drafts. Lewis gave as good as he got. But out of that honest, sometimes brutal critique came two of the most beloved bodies of fantasy literature ever written — The Lord of the Rings and The Chronicles of Narnia. In June of 1950, in that same back room, Lewis handed out the proofs for The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe for his friends to read.

A Wish Twenty Years in the Making

In February of 2020 — just weeks before the world as we knew it shut down — a lifelong wish of mine came true. Debi and I sat down for a proper English lunch in that very room. I still pinch myself thinking about it. To sit where Lewis and Tolkien once argued, laughed, and shaped stories that would outlive them by a century — there’s nothing quite like it.

An Idea Crosses the Atlantic

In 2006, singer-songwriter Andrew Peterson made his own pilgrimage to that same Rabbit Room. He came home with more than a good memory — he came home with a question: What if there was a place like this here, in the States? A gathering spot for Christian artists, writers, and musicians to do the same kind of work — encouraging, critiquing, creating together?

That question became a vision. And over the next two decades, God assembled the pieces — the right people, the right place, and a growing community of artists hungry for exactly this kind of fellowship. The Rabbit Room was born in 2006 — twenty years ago this year.

Their mission, simply put: cultivating and curating story, music, and art to nourish Christ-centered communities for the life of the world.

From an Idea to a Movement

What started as a vision has become something much bigger:
- Hutchmoot — an annual gathering in Nashville where artists and audiences come together for teaching, music, and community — eventually grew large enough to spawn a UK version as well.
- North Wind Manor — a permanent home in Nashville, built to house the growing ministry and give it roots.
- A community of more than 2,000 Christ-centered who support the Rabbit Room monthly.
- Over 18,000 members connected through their Facebook group, and more than 32,000 followers on Facebook alone.
All of it traces back to one small room, behind one pub, in one corner of Oxford — and a question one songwriter brought home with him.

Ten Days Before the Wedding

Twenty years after that first vision took shape, my son Nate and I found ourselves walking into the middle of it — less than ten days before he gets married. (Can I throw a bachelor party for two, or what?)

As a member of the online Rabbit Room community, I’d been invited to take part in two things: an open house at North Wind Manor, and an invite-only members’ gathering the following day. Nate came along for what turned into a full weekend. We started with the open house, wandering through the space that’s become the physical heart of this whole movement.

One moment was just mind boggling: In the library at North Wind Manor sits a fireplace — the actual fireplace, hauled out of Tolkien’s bedroom in England and reassembled here in Nashville. The fire was lit when I saw it. I just stood there for few minutes. The same hearth that once warmed the room where Middle-earth was dreamed up is now warming a library full of people still telling stories because of him. Twenty years and an ocean apart, and somehow it all connects back to the same fire.

Tolkien’s bedroom fireplace from England, now in the library at North Wind Manor.

That evening we caught an Andrew Peterson concert at the Ryman — open to the public, and packed with people who clearly loved his music as much as we did. I wasn’t prepared for how moving it was. Over the years I’ve caught a couple of shows at the Ryman, and the room has a way of holding sound that no other room quite does — that old wooden church-turned-theater seems built for exactly this kind of night. Andrew sang the songs that have shaped so much of the Rabbit Room’s story, and at the end of the concert the whole room — close to two thousand people — sang the doxology together. It wasn’t a performance so much as a shared exhale.

I looked over at Nate at one point and just felt grateful — grateful for the music, grateful for the room, grateful to be sitting next to my son less than ten days before he started a whole new chapter of his life. There are concerts you attend, and there are concerts that put something back into you. This was the second kind.

Saturday was the members’ gathering: a full day of speakers, musicians, and conversations with people who’d traveled from all over to be part of it. Sunday morning we grabbed breakfast at Proper Bagel before heading to services at Church of the Redeemer.

It was, without exaggeration, one of the best weekends I’ve had with my son. Quiet, full, unhurried — the kind of time together that doesn’t need anything dramatic to happen to matter.

The Takeaway

I almost didn’t write this part, because it’s tempting to end a story like this with “and that’s how Dad and Nate spent a great weekend together” — but that’s not really the point, and it’s not why I’m telling you any of this.

Here’s what I actually want you to walk away with: this entire twenty-year story started with one person noticing something good, and asking, “What if this existed somewhere else, for other people?”

Andrew Peterson didn’t sit in that Rabbit Room and think about himself. He thought about the writers, musicians, and artists who didn’t have a place like it — and he spent the next two decades helping build one. He couldn’t have known it would become Hutchmoot, or North Wind Manor, or a community of thousands. He just knew the question was worth chasing…

That’s the invitation here, for you and for me. Most of us aren’t going to start a ministry that reaches tens of thousands of people. But all of us have a “what if” sitting somewhere — a gathering that doesn’t exist yet, a person who needs encouragement, a small thing we could build or start or simply show up for, that might ripple farther than we’ll ever see.

The Rabbit Room didn’t start as a strategy. It started as a question, asked by just one ordinary person paying attention and asking…

What’s your “What If?”

Sharing Wonder,
June 24, 2026
Sosua: Spring Break and Spiritual Stuff

Hello, Praying Friend!

Many of you know I’ve partnered with New Missions for several years now — raising awareness and support for their schools in Haiti and the Dominican Republic. At these Laugh All Night comedy concerts, we have a fun (and genuinely funny) time while ultimately doing something that outlasts the laughter: changing the life of a child. My own family started sponsoring a child through one of those events. One thing led to another, and I found myself traveling the country telling anyone who would listen about this chance to invest in a child’s future in Haiti or the Dominican Republic.

In March 2025, my youngest daughter Rachel and I flew to the DR and met up with a youth group from First Baptist Church of Bentonville, Arkansas. We also — finally — got to meet our sponsored child, Dahian, in person. (You can read all about that trip here.)

I came home from that trip knowing one thing: in 2026, I wanted to bring a team from First Baptist Mount Dora.

So in October, we started planning. We brought eleven people — nine adults ranging in age from 19 to 79, and two seventeen-year-olds. We designed day programs at two schools built around music, magic tricks, Bible lessons, games, and crafts. This wasn’t a construction trip or a medical mission — though God bless the people who do those things. This was a relationship trip. We connected with kids and adults through play, conversation, and shared worship. We showed up, we sat down, and we stayed present.

But here’s what always happens on trips like this: the people who come to serve end up being the ones who receive.

My team was no exception. One person said, “These kids have, compared to us, almost nothing — and yet they are so happy, so joyful.” Another said, “I experienced unconditional love from children who didn’t even know my name.” That’s the thing about poverty that prosperity has a hard time teaching you: you cannot manufacture that kind of joy. It doesn’t come from square footage or a full refrigerator. It comes from somewhere else entirely.

I learned this years ago when my pastor at the time urged me — honestly, I needed urging — to Belize. And I understood something on that trip I’ve never forgotten: a mission to a developing country isn’t primarily about converting the heathen (them) but it’s about converting the proud (me). That inversion still humbles me.

Cross-cultural experience isn’t a luxury. I believe it’s essential to a well-rounded, spiritually alive life. And I don’t mean boarding a cruise ship, glancing at the scenery from the deck, buying a refrigerator magnet, and sailing home. There’s nothing sinful about a cruise — but there’s a difference between “observing” a world and “entering” it.

A friend of my oldest daughter recently spent six months aboard one of the Mercy Ships. She sailed to Africa, anchored in different ports, and served as hundreds — maybe thousands — of people came aboard for medical care they couldn’t get anywhere else. That’s entering the world.

As a father, I knew my children needed that. To sit with people who are different from them. To laugh with them. To share a meal. To visit their homes, their schools, their churches. To worship in a language you don’t fully speak and discover that worship doesn’t need translation. As a family pastor, I see how much parents and children need shared mission experiences — moments that bond them around something bigger than themselves.

On our first day together, I reminded our team of something I come back to again and again: most people don’t come to faith through condemnation. They come through invitation.

Jesus didn’t corner people. He called them. “Come and see.” “Follow me.” “Come, all you who are weary.” He still does.

We went to the Dominican Republic to offer that same invitation — to children, to their families, their teachers and leaders. And somehow, somewhere along the way, we received one too.

I always come home different. Not dramatically different I guess — I’ve never sold my house or quit my job to head back. But something always shifts. I’m writing this from Sosua, DR, a couple of hours before we head to the airport — and I can already feel it. You spend a few days with kids who grab your hand like you’re the best thing that’s happened to them all week, and it has a way of quietly rearranging your priorities. You start asking different questions on the drive home from work. Different questions at the dinner table. Maybe you hold your phone a little less, and look around more.

And here’s the thing — you can enter and not just observe, too. We’re already talking about 2027. If something in this story stirred something in you, don’t ignore that. That stirring has a name. Talk to me. Or if you want to start somewhere smaller, check out NewMissions.org — you can sponsor a child, support a school, or just learn more about what God is doing in Haiti and the Dominican Republic. It doesn’t take a plane ticket to get involved. Though I’ll be honest — the plane ticket is worth it.

Leading With Imagination,

March 24, 2026
Hospitality of Performance
Hello, Praying Friend!

“Buy the Air Jordans,” He Said

When I first began performing The Pro Kids Show outreach in schools in the fall of 1994, my business partner, mentor, and creative director—Steve—gave me some great advice:

“Buy the coolest, most in-style shoes you can afford. You’ll immediately connect with the 6th graders.”

Back in ’94, that was for sure the Jordans.

So I did. I spent the $125 I couldn’t afford. At the time, it seemed like a ridiculous amount of money for athletic shoes—in my Johnston & Murphy mind.

You see, at that time many elementary schools were K–6th. Meaning Kindergarten through sixth grade. So the shoes gave me immediate “street cred” with the 6th graders—especially the boys.

As I would learn over and over again in the following years, Steve was right.

As I stepped into the audiences (for years I started the show coming in from the back squirting water!) and made my way to the stage, sure enough, the 6th graders ooh’d, ahh’d, and pointed at my shoes.

As I jumped onto the stage, I immediately held the attention of 500 kids and parents. The kids leaned in—to use the modern term. Some of those hard-hearted, arms-crossed parents also sat up and paid attention.

“Who is this modern-day pied piper?” they pondered as the fun began.

Lately, I’ve been thinking about those moments—first rehearsed in imagination, then in actual rehearsal, then lived out in hundreds of real spaces over 36 years.

It’s in those spaces—some sacred, some secular—that hospitality of imagination came to life for me and for them. Moments where audiences became curious enough to stay and open enough to encounter something beyond themselves.

Creating Space for Encounter

When Jesus sat down to eat with tax collectors and sinners, the religious leaders couldn’t understand it.

“Why does he eat with them?” they muttered.

But Jesus knew something they didn’t: transformation rarely happens through condemnation. It happens through invitation. And Jesus was great at inviting.

The table wasn’t just a place to eat. It was a carefully crafted space where outcasts could feel seen, where the isolated could experience belonging, where the proud could be humbled and the humble lifted.

In the Scriptures, you’ll notice that Jesus didn’t wait for people to clean up before He welcomed them in. He welcomed them in so they could be transformed. Biblical hospitality doesn’t demand conformity first—it creates the conditions for encounter.

The work here at New Dimensions Evangelism—that’s what we’re trying to do every single time we create a resource, write an article, or step in front of an audience.

I am not just “performing” at people. We’re creating space for them—a space where God might show up in ways they never expected.

The Stage as Sacred Space

I’ve often said that what I do is “education through entertainment.” But maybe it’s more than that. Maybe it’s evangelism through hospitality.

Every event—these aren’t just performances—they’re acts of radical welcome.

We’re saying: Come as you are. Bring your doubts, your distractions, your defenses. You’re invited in.

And in that space, in those moments, something extraordinary happens.

Kids who’ve been told to sit still and be quiet are invited to participate, to laugh, to imagine. Parents who’ve been running on empty are reminded of joy.

Communities fragmented by politics and division share a moment of collective wonder.

And in the middle of it all, the Gospel—not always preached at them, but offered to them—with the gentle generosity of a host extending an open hand.

But here’s what I believe: the Church has always been called to lead with imaginative love.

We worship a God who:
- Spoke creation into existence (imagination)
- Became flesh and moved into the neighborhood (hospitality)
- Fed 5,000 with five loaves and two fish (generosity with what we have)
- Died on a cross to reconcile us to Himself (self-giving love)
Our calling isn’t just to tell people about this God. It’s to show them—by the way we create spaces, extend invitations, and welcome the stranger.

When we lead with imagination, we’re not just solving problems or filling seats. We’re creating moments. We’re setting tables in the presence of people’s doubts, fears, and indifference—and trusting that Jesus will show up.

Your Part in the Story

Just as I invite audiences to come along with me while I’m sharing from the stage, I invite you to continue to be part of this story.

Every time you pray for this ministry, you’re participating in this act of hospitality. Every time you give, you’re helping us extend an invitation. Every time you share what we’re doing, you’re extending that invitation even further.

You’re not just supporting a small ministry that does big things—you’re partnering in the imaginative work of making space for God to move. To move in hearts that haven’t felt wonder in years… or perhaps ever.

And that matters more than you know.

Because somewhere, a person is going to laugh at something I do or say on stage. Or perhaps lean in and truly listen to a story of truth.

And in that laughter or listening, a hard heart will crack open. Through that door, the Spirit will move—gentle, surprising, undeniable.

Not because of my “performance,” but because of the space.

The hospitable, imaginative, prayerfully prepared space where encounter with Jesus becomes possible.

May your own life be a place where others feel welcomed, where wonder awakens, and where Christ is encountered—not as an idea, but as a presence.

Leading With Imagination,

Yes Scott! I want to partner with you and NDE to proclaim the Gospel to families!
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February 9, 2026
The Wonder of the Magi: What the Wise Men Teach Us About Seeking Christ

Hello, Praying Friend!

Every Christmas, I find myself returning to the story of the Magi, the Wise Men who followed the Star of Bethlehem in search of the newborn King.

It’s one of the most mysterious and meaningful parts of the Christmas story, and for me, it holds a special pull. Maybe it’s because the word magic traces back to the Magi, or because I’ve spent more than thirty years as a professional magician. But mostly, it’s because their journey captures the heart of what Christmas is really about… seeking Christ, even when the road leads somewhere unexpected.

The Magi were men who spent their lives looking for something more. Signs, patterns, meaning. Little clues that the world was wider and more wondrous than most people realized.

That part, I understand.

And then one night, they saw something different. A star unlike any star they had ever studied. It didn’t simply shine… it called to them. Whatever it was, it was strong enough to push them out of their comfort and into a journey that would take weeks, maybe months, across rugged terrain.

These were wealthy, educated men, not desert wanderers. You don’t saddle up for a trip like that unless you’re convinced something extraordinary is waiting for you.

Naturally, they assumed that “extraordinary thing” would be found in a palace. Where else do you expect to find a newborn king?

So they followed the star to Jerusalem, probably expecting celebration, royal announcements, maybe even a parade. Instead, they walked straight into confusion. Herod’s paranoia filled the room. No one in the palace had seen the star. No one had heard about a child. No one expected a king.

Still, the Magi pressed on.

The star led them past the noise and expectations of Jerusalem, past the places where power likes to gather, and down into a quiet little town called Bethlehem.

And this is the part I love. They didn’t find a throne. They found a house. A young mother. And a small child who probably looked like any other toddler in Judea.

Nothing impressive. Nothing royal. Nothing that matched the prophecy they had studied.

Yet the moment they stepped inside, something in them recognized the truth.

The wise have a way of knowing when they’re standing in the presence of something holy.

They didn’t ask for proof. They didn’t question the setting. They didn’t say, “We came all this way for this?” They simply bowed. Because they understood… maybe more clearly than anyone else at the time… that God had led them not to a throne, but to a Person. Not to political power, but to a quiet, steady presence that would one day change the world.

Their gifts—gold, frankincense, and myrrh—were more than generous offerings. They were a quiet confession. We know who You are. A King. God with us. The One who will give His life.

And when they left that little home, I imagine they walked away different. Not because their journey was finished, but because the Wonder they found there would travel back with them.

What draws me to this story again and again is how upside-down it feels. The palace had no idea a King had been born. But a humble house welcomed Him. The scholars in Jerusalem missed the signs entirely. But foreigners from the East followed the light all the way to Jesus.

And maybe that’s why this story still whispers to us today.

God still shows up in unexpected places. He still reveals Himself to people willing to look. He still leads by quiet light rather than loud announcement.

And if we slow down long enough… if we pay attention… He still surprises us with Wonder in the small, ordinary, overlooked parts of our lives.

This Christmas, I hope we become a little more like the Magi. Curious enough to seek. Humble enough to bow. Open enough to recognize Christ even when He appears in places we never expected.

Because He is worth the journey. And He still invites us to follow.

With gratitude,

Yes Scott! I want to partner with you and NDE to proclaim the Gospel to families!
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December 5, 2025
The Table of Wonder
Hello, Praying Friend!

Eating with the people you love is a wonderful thing.

There’s laughter, shared stories, and that sense of comfort that only comes when you’re among your people.

But have you ever had to sit at a table with someone you didn’t really care for?

Maybe it was that relative whose political opinions you just can’t understand.

Or maybe it was the coworker who beat you out for that promotion.

We all know the feeling—the tension between wanting peace and wishing for distance.

And yet… Jesus says, “Come to the table.”

The other evening, after grabbing a quick meal, I asked my server his thoughts about a recent political figure—someone whose views I personally disagree with.

He looked at me, paused, and asked, “Do you really want to know?”

I smiled and said, “Yes. Absolutely.”

That opened the door to a remarkable conversation. It went far beyond politics—into family, faith, and life. His wife joined in, too. We talked about so many things. And by the end, the conversation circled back to Jesus.

That’s the thing about a table—it’s where hearts open when words might not.

Jesus was always doing ministry around a table.

He ate with tax collectors and sinners.
He dined with Pharisees.
He dined with friends who let him down and even one who would later betray Him…

And in each of those moments, He was showing us that love is not limited by agreement.

It’s revealed in presence.

To sit and truly listen—to hear another person’s story, even when we disagree—is an act of grace.

It’s choosing connection over comfort, and compassion over correctness.

When David wrote, “You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies,” He was declaring something remarkable: God doesn’t just invite us to eat in peace—He invites us to eat in the tension.

To find His presence, even there.

This Thanksgiving, as you gather around your table, remember this:

Sometimes wonder is found not in the perfect meal or the familiar faces— but in the grace to share a table with someone you wouldn’t have chosen, and still find Jesus sitting beside you.

Ask Him to give you the humility to listen.
The courage to love.
And the faith to see His presence, even in the uncomfortable places.

A Simple Practice for November
1. Set a wider table.
  Invite someone into conversation—or even into your life—who sees the world
  differently from you do.
  You don’t have to agree to listen. And sometimes listening opens doors you
  never expected.
2. Remember the Host.
  This season, as we gather around tables of food, faith, and fellowship—remember who set the table in the first place.
  Jesus invites us all.
Through your support of New Dimensions Evangelism, you help set tables of laughter, light, and hope—from creating content for kidmin leaders to public schools and family nights to outreach church events and overseas missions.

You help create spaces where hearts open… and where Jesus becomes the center of the conversation.

Thank you for making room at the table.

And may your cup overflow with gratitude and grace this Thanksgiving

With gratitude,

Yes Scott! I want to partner with you and NDE to proclaim the Gospel to families!
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November 10, 2025
The Wonder of Letting Go

Hello, Praying Friend!

Every October, the world around us preaches a quiet kind of sermon.

The trees begin to release what they’ve held all year.

Leaves drift down, not in defeat—but in grace.

They let go because it’s time.

It’s their way of making room for what comes next.

And I think there’s something for us to learn there.

In ministry, in leadership, even in everyday life—we hold on tightly to so many things.

Our plans. Our schedules. Our expectations.

Sometimes, even our sense of control.

But God has a way of reminding us that growth requires release.

That’s not the same as giving up. It’s trusting Him with the outcome.

It’s saying, “Lord, I’m done forcing this. I’ll trust You to grow what needs to grow.”

Over the years, I’ve learned (and relearned) this truth:

What we cling to most tightly often keeps us from what God is trying to give us next.

Letting go makes space for something new.

It opens the door for wonder again—for a fresh sense of awe at what He’s doing beneath the surface.

Jesus said that a seed must fall and die before it multiplies.

He wasn’t just talking about His own death.

He was describing the rhythm of the Kingdom: life comes through surrender.

And surrender, though it feels like loss, always leads to fruit.

So, what might God be inviting you to release this season?

A burden that’s gotten heavy?

A plan that’s outgrown its season?

A fear that’s kept you from moving forward?

Letting go isn’t losing—it’s planting.

It’s putting something precious into God’s hands and trusting Him to bring something beautiful out of it.

Two Ways to Practice Letting Go This Month:

1. Reflect on what needs releasing.

Take a few quiet moments with the Lord and ask, “What am I holding too tightly?”

Write it down. Pray over it.

And as you pray, physically open your hands—a simple act that says, “This

belongs to You, Lord.”

2. Refill your heart with wonder.

When we release what’s heavy, we make room for what’s holy.

If your spirit feels dry or tired, I’d love to help you rekindle that sense of awe with a free devotional we created:

Sign up for 7 Days of Wonder
Each day offers a short reflection to help you notice God again—in creation,
in beauty, in the small moments that point to something bigger.

As fall unfolds and the days grow shorter, remember this:

Even as things fade, God is still at work beneath the surface.

The leaves that fall feed the soil.
The seed that dies brings life.

And the heart that lets go learns how to receive again.

Thank you for being part of this ministry— for helping us share laughter, light, and the message of hope through New Dimensions Evangelism and the leaders we serve.

May this season remind you that when we surrender what we hold too tightly,
God multiplies what remains.

With gratitude,

Yes Scott! I want to partner with you and NDE to proclaim the Gospel to families!
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October 13, 2025
The Gift of Ongoing Growth

Hello, Praying Friend!

There’s something sacred about staying curious.

I’ve been in ministry for over 30 years now. I’ve performed on hundreds of stages.

I’ve worshiped in sanctuaries big and small, from cathedrals to country chapels.

But I still read 2 to 4 books a month. Not because I need more information. But because I need more transformation.

And through it all, I’ve come to realize that one of the greatest signs of spiritual maturity is not how much we know—but how open we are to keep growing.

Our world moves fast—culture shifts. Strategies change. New technology, new curriculum, new challenges. And it’s easy—especially in ministry—to get caught in survival mode. Just get through the next week. Check the boxes. Manage the crowd. Hold it together.

But the Kingdom doesn’t run on survival. It runs on surrender. On stillness. And on a posture that says: “Lord, teach me. I’m listening.”

Stay open. Stay teachable. Stay curious.

Because growth isn’t flashy, it’s often slow. Quiet. Hidden.

Sometimes it looks like rethinking a schedule.

Sometimes it’s asking better questions instead of giving quicker answers. And sometimes it’s just turning another page—spiritually, emotionally, or literally.

We don’t graduate from being disciples. We don’t outgrow our need for wonder.

Whether you’re a longtime pastor or a first-time volunteer, your willingness to grow is a gift to the people you serve. And to your own soul.

So this month, I invite you to consider two simple action steps:

1. Choose a fresh source of learning.

Pick up a book you’ve been meaning to read. Listen to a podcast that stretches your thinking. Ask someone you admire what God’s been teaching them lately. Growth doesn’t require a classroom—it just requires intention.

2. Reignite your spiritual curiosity.

Take a walk without your phone. Sit in silence for five minutes. Ask God one open-ended question—then resist the urge to answer it for Him. Make space to listen again.

Need a spark to rekindle that sense of wonder?

We’ve created a free devotional just for you:

Become a Monthly Partner Get the 7-Day Devotional Now
Each day brings a short, encouraging reflection to help you see beauty, feel awe, and notice God again—right where you are.
That’s why we launched the Big KidMin Check-In.

It’s not just a survey. It’s a way of listening, a way of staying curious as a community of leaders who care deeply about the next generation.

✅It takes just 8–10 minutes.

✅It’s already reaching leaders in over 10 countries.

✅And it helps shape the kinds of tools, encouragement, and resources we create next.
Take the Survey Share with Your KidMin Friends
Not in children’s ministry? You still play a part:

Pray for those who are.

Share this message with someone who needs it.

Give, if God leads—so we can continue lifting leaders around the world.

Because growth is what keeps wonder alive.

And wonder is what reminds us that God is still moving.
With gratitude,

Yes Scott! I want to partner with you and NDE to proclaim the Gospel to families!
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September 15, 2025
Wonder Is Not a Luxury. It’s Where Ministry Begins.

Hello, Praying Friend!

Jesus said, “Unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.” (Matthew 18:3)
That’s a strong word. And a tender one.
He didn’t say to become childish—but childlike. Not naïve, but open. Not immature, but amazed. Because childlike faith—true, unfiltered, awe-filled faith—is how we begin to see the Kingdom as it is.
And that reminder isn’t just for those leading kids—it’s for all of us. If you’re reading this as a friend and supporter of New Dimensions Evangelism, your prayers, encouragement, and generosity help us awaken that very childlike faith in leaders, families, and children all over the world. You’re part of this work of restoring wonder. And yet, if we’re honest, ministry doesn’t always feel like that. Especially in late August.
This time of year, we’re gearing up again. Midweek programs launch.
Curriculum gets sorted. Volunteer rosters (hopefully) fill out. And in all of
that, the pressure rises. We start thinking about structure, behavior
management, security tags, and small-group ratios.
Important? Yes.
But foundational? No.
We lose something essential when we forget the wonder. Wonder isn’t a luxury in ministry—it’s where it begins. Wonder is what
makes room for joy, imagination, curiosity, and the kind of worship that
flows naturally out of discovery. And when we as leaders lose it, kids can
tell.
That’s why this month, we’re inviting leaders across the globe to pause—and check in.
Introducing: The Big KidMin Check-In
We’ve launched a global survey called The Big KidMin Check-In—a short, simple way to hear directly from children’s ministry leaders about what’s working, what’s hard, and where help is needed most.
It’s our way of listening, encouraging, and lighting the path forward with
clarity and hope.
✅For full-time pastors, part-time volunteers, and everyone in between
✅Already reaching 10+ countries ✅Just 3–4 minutes to complete

Take the Survey Share with Your KidMin Friends How You Can Help This Month
– Pray for children’s ministry leaders—many are stepping into a new season, weary or uncertain.
– Forward this survey to your pastor, children’s director, or ministry friend.
– Give if God leads—to help us expand the reach of this project and continue creating resources that encourage, restore, and reawaken wonder in those who lead kids. Thank you for helping us lift up leaders and point them—and the children they serve—back to wonder.
Because in a loud and weary world, wonder still whispers: God is here. And He is good.

Become a Monthly Partner Get the 7-Day Devotional Now
Thank you for being part of restoring wonder.
With gratitude,

P.S. Even if you’re not leading kids directly, your prayers and support help awaken childlike faith in leaders, families, and children around the world.

Yes Scott! I want to partner with you and NDE to proclaim the Gospel to families!
DONATE
Looking for an engaging, character-building performance for kids?
LEARN MORE
Host “An Evening of Comedy & Laughter” with Scott and transform your church into a beacon of joy and connection for your community!
LEARN MORE
Take a quick peek at last week’s resource!
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August 19, 2025
The Prince of Darkness and the Presence of Light

A reflection on Ozzy Osbourne, grace, and the mystery beyond the curtain

I grew up in the 1970s & 80s, and if you knew me back then, you’d know Ozzy Osbourne was just about as far from my musical world as possible.

While some of my friends were banging their heads to “Crazy Train,” their Walkman headphones thumping with power chords and rebellion, I was quietly tuning in to the soft sounds of WEZY, just two lakes over from our home. I was discovering Nat King Cole, Frank, and The Beach Boys. Gentle harmonies. Crooners. Music that felt like it came with manners.

Ozzy? He was the anti-that.

Ozzy Osbourne and the Masks We Wear

He was wild, loud, and controversial. Known for biting the head off a bat and calling himself “The Prince of Darkness,” he was the poster child for everything my youth group was warned about. In my teenage mind, he wasn’t just different—he was dangerous.

But over the years, something has shifted. Maybe it was time. Maybe it was grace. Or perhaps it was simply seeing people as people instead of headlines or stage costumes.

I learned that Ozzy—behind the black eyeliner and outrageous antics—prayed before shows. That he called himself a Christian. That he believed in God. In one of his final interviews, he said, “I believe in God. I don’t go to church, but I do believe there is a higher power.”

That sentence says a lot.

Faith, Struggle, and Surprising Mercy

He also made a point to publicly clarify: “I am not into Satanism. I am not a devil-worshipper. I have never been involved in black magic personally at all.”

It turns out that the darkness was mainly a performance. An act. A myth built for arena lights and album covers.

And isn’t that the case with so many of us? The mask may be theatrical. But the longing beneath it is real.

C.S. Lewis wrote often about the masks we wear and the surprising reach of God’s mercy. He believed that hell was locked from the inside—but also that heaven would be filled with more unexpected souls than we dared to imagine.

Ozzy’s life was one of tension between chaos and curiosity, spectacle and spirit. And maybe, just maybe, grace chased him down even as the crowd faded and the stage lights dimmed.

Beyond the Stage: The God Who Sees Us

Because I believe in a God who doesn’t just see the performance. He sees the person.

He sees the boy before the band.

The man beneath the makeup.

The soul beneath the sound.

And I believe that same God—the One Ozzy sometimes prayed to, however imperfectly—was waiting, arms open through Ozzy’s life, calling him toward truth.

Because the truth is, none of us is the sum of our stage presence or our worst moments. We are shaped by the quiet cries we lift in the dark, the unseen prayers, the half-formed hopes that maybe—just maybe—God is real and good and still reaching.

And if that is true, then it’s not just Ozzy’s story that offers us pause. It’s ours.

We all carry shadows. We all build personas, hide behind noise, and wrestle with the gap between who we are and who we wish to be. But the gospel isn’t intimidated by any of that.

It’s not a reward for the polished—it’s an invitation to the honest. And sometimes, honesty comes through eyeliner and distortion pedals, just as much as through hymns and halos.

That’s not fantasy. That’s the hope we live by.

So here’s to the mystery.

To the mercy.

To the possibility that, in the end, the “Prince of Darkness” was not so far from the light after all.

Sharing His Wonder,

Sources:

Ozzy on Believing in God & Not Going to Church

“I believe in God. I don’t go to church, but…”

Source: Men’s Journal (2024 article reflecting on Ozzy’s later-life comments about faith)

Also reported by:
The Sun UK

Ozzy on Satanism & Black Magic

“I am not into Satanism. I am not a devil-worshipper. I have never been involved in black magic personally at all.”

Source: 1989 Interview, resurfaced in Reddit quote archive

Ozzy on Prayer & Christian Upbringing

“I’m a Christian. I was christened as a Christian. I used to go to Sunday school.”

Source: The Guardian interview, 2014

July 24, 2025