August 2026
Hi Friends,
As I write this reflection and put together the newsletter, David and I are also preparing to leave for Michigan to see our moms and siblings as we hold my brother Dave’s memorial service, celebrate his life, and spread some of his and our sister Becky’s ashes in Lake Michigan. It will be a few tender and busy weeks, but I am looking forward to all that they hold and to being in that space with some people I love deeply. While I am away, our exploration of God’s chosen (and dysfunctional!) family will be placed on hold. We will pick it up again when I return. To keep you thinking about chaotic families, however, here is a story I was offered when I asked for one from https://chatgpt.com/ I hope you enjoy it. Have a great month.
Pastor Jill
The Henderson Family’s Annual Disaster Picnic
Every year, the Henderson family held a picnic to “celebrate togetherness.” Every year, togetherness barely survived.
Grandma Iris insisted on bringing her famous potato salad, despite everyone privately agreeing it tasted vaguely of cinnamon and regret.
Dad volunteered to grill, even though he had once managed to burn hot dogs while simultaneously leaving the inside frozen.
Mom created color-coded schedules for every activity. Nobody followed them.
Their oldest daughter, Chloe, treated every family gathering like an investigative documentary. “I’ve already interviewed Aunt Denise,” she announced while carrying a notebook. “She’s hiding the fact that she forgot everyone’s birthdays.” “I did not forget,” Denise protested. “You asked me if Ben was still in middle school.” “He’s just… youthful.” Ben, who was twenty-three, accepted the compliment.
Meanwhile, Uncle Frank had brought three folding chairs. There were eleven people. “They’re community chairs,” he explained. “We rotate.” No one understood what that meant.
The picnic officially began when Dad triumphantly declared, “Burgers in ten minutes!” Forty-five minutes later, smoke billowed dramatically from the grill. “The burgers are… developing character,” he said. “They’re developing into charcoal,” Chloe corrected, taking notes. Grandma tasted one. “It needs ketchup.” “It needs archaeology,” Ben muttered.
Then came the traditional family softball game. Mom distributed teams she’d carefully balanced according to age, athletic ability, and “positive attitudes.” Within sixty seconds, everyone ignored the assignments. Grandma somehow stole second base without anyone noticing. Uncle Frank insisted the foul line was “more of a philosophical suggestion.” Denise argued with the rules despite not knowing them. Ben hit the ball directly into the cooler. Nobody was sure if that counted as a home run. They voted yes.
Just as dessert arrived, a gust of wind carried the tablecloth away like a departing ghost. The pie landed upside down. The cookies scattered into the grass. Grandma calmly flipped the pie back over. “Nature only seasoned it,” she said.
Mom looked at the ruined schedule.
“I planned for absolutely none of this.”
Dad smiled.
“I planned for all of it.”
“You planned?”
“No.”
As the sun began to set, everyone collapsed into mismatched chairs, coolers, and one suspiciously sturdy tree stump. They were covered in soot, grass stains, pie filling, and enough mosquito bites to qualify as modern art. No one had won the softball game because no one had remembered to keep score. Half the food was overcooked. The other half had been claimed by determined ants. Chloe closed her notebook. “So,” she said, “today’s official findings are that we’re disorganized, loud, terrible at planning, and incapable of following simple instructions.” “Accurate,” said Ben. “Very fair,” said Denise.
Grandma handed everyone slices of the rescued pie.
“It wasn’t perfect,” Mom admitted.
Dad looked around at the family laughing over stories that had somehow become funnier with every retelling.
“I don’t think perfect was ever invited.”
For a rare moment, no one argued.
Then Uncle Frank asked, “Who drove my car home?”
Silence.
Slowly, everyone turned toward the empty parking space.
“Oh,” Frank said thoughtfully. “That explains why I’ve been carrying the keys all afternoon.”
The laughter echoed across the park, because if there was one thing the Hendersons excelled at, it was turning small disasters into family traditions.