When my daughter was in high school fifteen years ago, I had one of those spiritual nudges that wouldn’t go away. The kind you try to swat like a fruit fly until you realize, nope, that’s the Holy Spirit, and He’s not leaving. So, I temporarily left my weekly Bible study group, which I had been involved in for five years, and invited my daughter’s friends and their mothers to join us for what would end up being the next three and a half years. 

I wanted more for our daughters than choir, drama, sports schedules, and weekend get-togethers. I wanted them to see what mature connection looked like—how women of faith pray together, laugh together, and show up for each other with casseroles and Kleenex when life gets heavy. So, I did something that felt both right and borderline crazy at the time (due to my health). I started a Bible study for moms and daughters in my living room. 

It was simple at first. Hot drinks, a few snacks, and open Bibles. Oh, and Beth Moore lesson videos that our daughters loved. They oohed and ahhed over her clothes and had a few giggles over Beth’s older videos with her big Texas hair and deep southern drawl. My hope was anything but small. I prayed it would grow roots in our daughters’ hearts. That they’d see faith not just preached but lived out loud. They’d witness what Paul wrote about: “Older women…train the younger women…so that no one will malign the word of God” (Titus 2:3–5, NIV). 

Little did I know that just four months in, our family would be thrown into a storm that no one could have prepared for, and instead of me ministering to the women in our group, they would lavishly serve my family.

A Helicopter, A Coma, and a Circle of Women Who Didn’t Flinch 

On New Year’s Eve, my middle child—a son—was pushed at a party. The fall resulted in a severe traumatic brain injury. One minute, he was healthy, independent, and full of seven-year-old energy. The minutes that followed are ones I’d rather forget. He took a life-flight helicopter ride. I clutched my chest and whispered desperate prayers no mother ever wants to say. I was thankful to have a spiral index notebook full of my favorite scripture verses that I prayed over him. 

There was brain surgery through the night, a coma, the PICU, and a CaringBridge page. Then the slow, painful crawl through recovery. 

I could barely keep my legs from buckling in the hospital hallway that first night. I couldn’t cook due to caring for my son. I couldn’t keep track of time. But here’s what I didn’t have to do: carry it alone. 

Those moms from our Bible study? They activated. Within minutes, right there in the middle of the night, prayer chains were lifting toward heaven, spreading through our church and friend circles. Some joined us in the waiting room, face down on the floor, praying through the night. Another brought her husband to our house and cared for our other two children. Within hours, they had organized a Meal Train, cleaned my house, covered airport pickup for my out-of-town family, and stocked the waiting room and hospital room with chocolate, creating a love-infused logistical plan that would give military commanders a run for their money. We received a month’s worth of homemade meals. I froze the overflow and didn’t have to cook for two months. And that was a blessing because, with twelve to seventeen doctor and therapy appointments each week between my kids and me, I couldn’t have told you what day it was, let alone how to cook a roast. 

How Trauma Gave Birth to the Hospitality Bar 

Weeks later, because necessity is the mother of invention and because I had zero time to prep snacks and drinks for Bible study, I made a move that would go on to bless thousands. I created my first hospitality bar. 

This was before Pinterest had even one coffee cart or cocoa bar. I built mine from leftover cupboards and cubbies, stocked it with every comforting option I could find, and took photos just so I wouldn’t forget what functioning felt like. A couple of years later, I posted them. And apparently, the internet was ready. It caught on like wildfire. (Click here to see the hospitality bar).

Within two years, Pinterest had hundreds of ideas for tea, coffee, and hospitality bars. A few years after that, Hobby Lobby and other home stores began selling their versions for folks who wanted one without the DIY drama. Who knew trauma and tea bags would lead to a nationwide trend? (Click here to see my most recent Hospitality Bar).

The Study That Was More Than a Study 

Every part of that mother-daughter group was a treasure chest layered with testimonies, tears, laughter, awkward prayer requests, and Scripture that held us together in the Lord when everything else was falling apart. 

Because “where two or three gather in My name, there I am with them” (Matthew 18:20). 

We prayed over each other’s kids, college applications, neighbor drama, and diagnoses. When my ex-husband was arrested, tried, and eventually sentenced to prison, an answered prayer thirteen years in the making; they prayed us through that too. We swapped books, showed up for each other’s milestones, and our husbands provided physical labor for each other’s families as needed. We made space for each other’s stories. We let grace lead. 

And it was healing. 

However, I’d be lying if I said everything went perfectly. Our group wasn’t without sorrow. At one point, a conflict arose, likely more of a boundary issue than a snub, but the offense one of the moms took reached a point where she decided to leave when I didn’t ask the other mom to step away from the group. We stayed friends, but underlying relational dynamics were at play. Sometimes, even in spiritually rich environments, people navigate pain, misunderstanding, and choices they can’t control. That, too, became part of what our daughters witnessed—how to walk in both conviction and truth, even when things get messy. 

Because that’s real life. And real faith. 

What Friendship Rooted in Faith Grows 

There’s something holy about growing in the Word together. It softens us, sharpens us, and keeps us from spiritual isolation. 

Here are just a few things that happen when we study Scripture and walk in friendship with others: 

• Accountability wrapped in love 
• Friends who gently remind you of the truth and walk with you as you live it.
• Prayer that covers what words can’t 
• “Therefore confess your sins to one another and pray for one another, that you may be healed” (James 5:16, ESV). 
• Hospitality that preaches louder than a sermon 
• “Offer hospitality to one another without grumbling” (1 Peter 4:9, NIV). 
• (Also, chocolate chip pumpkin bread and cookies help.) 
• Joy that multiplies 
• There’s something about women laughing together while searching for a book of the Old Testament that just bonds souls. 
• Mentoring that’s more caught than taught 
• Our daughters learned by watching. They saw what it looked like to serve in love, show up in suffering, and stay even when life got messy. 

Faith That Sticks 

I didn’t know that year would become one of the hardest and most beautiful of my life. 

But I’m still grateful for every tear-stained Bible page, every backdoor drop-off meal, and every mom who came when they didn’t have to. 

We didn’t just talk about Scripture. We lived it. And I believe our daughters saw that. “One generation will commend your works to another; they will tell of your mighty acts” (Psalm 145:4, NIV). 

If you’re in a season of ease, open your doors. If you’re in a season of pain, open your hands. Because love doesn’t always come with grand gestures. Sometimes, it’s a tray of lasagna, a perfectly timed text, or a coffee bar that whispers, “You’re safe here.”