“'Give thanks to the Lord, for He is good; His love endures forever. Let the redeemed of the Lord tell their story.' Psalm 107

Having been born in New York and raised in Michigan, I am now retired in Virginia. My husband, Gordie, and I moved to Chesterfield in the fall of 2021. Our involvement with Bible Study Fellowship brought us into the church building, and after reading literature on the welcome table and reviewing the website, we visited and found this to be our new church home. The Lord guided us through every step in relocating and led us right here.

When I was young, we believed in God but didn’t often attend church. After meeting Gordie and wanting to be together as much as we could—including Sunday mornings—we alternated going to his church and mine. I found that when we went to his, there was something I could relate to—something to take with me and think about during the week. Scripture is absolutely true: 'Faith comes from hearing, and hearing through the word of Christ.' 
Romans 10:17

After we were married and decided it was a good time for a baby, we were pregnant not long after. It soon seemed I was having a miscarriage and was scheduled for a D&C the following morning. My doctor visited and ordered an ultrasound. When the scan was done, there she was—heart beating, arms moving, legs kicking. There was strong speculation that I had lost her twin, and much concern for her. I remained on bed rest and prayed for our baby. She was born healthy and beautiful and perfect, and my world turned pink.

I was a stay-at-home mom, growing in the Lord and loving my life.

Three years later, I did have a miscarriage. Then I could never get pregnant again—not
understanding, but trusting God and His sovereignty and wisdom in His perfect plan for my life. He led me to Sunday school teaching, Girl Scout leading, and, when our daughter started first grade, a part-time job as a church secretary. It was there, as I simply delivered a message, that I learned of an excellent dermatologist in town. An appointment with her diagnosed a serious melanoma, with fear it had gone too far. I had extensive surgery, scans, and tests, and in the end, margins were clear and results were good. Five years later—a lymph node scare. Three years after that—again. The doctor said he was amazed at the negative biopsy results.

Then, in 2008, my world turned pink again—but this time, there were pink ribbons and T-shirts and breast cancer awareness walks, a lumpectomy, and radiation. I remember thanking the Lord for all the people who cared for me, and as they prayed, their faith in Him would grow.

Seven years later, I held on to the Lord again with healing hope. A new and different breast cancer would require a bilateral mastectomy, reconstructive surgery, and chemo. With the recommendation of my doctors, I had genetic testing. I prayed that this cancer I seemed to carry would begin and end with me.

The results showed I inherited a mutated gene that could cause melanoma, breast cancer, and colon cancer—which is how my dad died. It hurts my heart that my daughter inherited the same gene from me. Shortly thereafter, I had a hysterectomy due to changes caused by my medications, and after we moved here, you all prayed me through a concerning kidney surgery.

In everything, I have found my Lord right there with me. I’ve walked arm in arm with my
Savior. He has drawn me closer to Him, and I’ve learned to 'be joyful in hope, patient in
affliction, faithful in prayer.;
 Romans 12:12

There have been sweet kisses from heaven in between, as the Lord has lifted His face toward me and blessed me with eyes to see joy in the ordinary days, with abundant grace in love, family, and friendships.

Would I know Him as I do had it been different? Probably not. And that makes it all worth it.

I gave Him my life all those years ago—therefore, my life is His. When I’m focused on Him, there’s an unexplainable, deep, and peaceful joy that comes as I let go of expectations and remember what I know to be true about God, trusting in Him. I have learned it’s really not about me. It’s all about Him and what He’s doing on levels I cannot fathom. For the relationship I have with Him and the deep assurance of what I believe, I am eternally grateful."

Cathy Hinzmann can be contacted here. 

“I grew up in Richmond—a native Richmonder—and I met my husband, Paul, at Liberty University. I always wanted to have a family, and the Lord’s been gracious enough to let me do that.

I grew up at Immanuel Baptist Church on Monument Avenue. That’s where I was baptized, married, and where our girls were raised. It was a big change for me when we decided to switch churches and start coming to Sycamore in 2019.

We were looking for a community church that was close to home—something traditional, where Scripture was read out loud, worship felt reverent, and the gospel was proclaimed. We loved Sycamore right away. We started volunteering in the kindergarten and first grade Sunday School class, and we still do that today. It’s one of our favorite things.

My faith became more real when I was pregnant with Seth. We were told there was an 83% chance he would be Down syndrome. He also had three holes in his heart, fluid around his heart, and a very thick nuchal fold around his neck—all markers for Down syndrome.

We had everyone we knew praying that God would heal him. When we went in for our final ultrasound, the doctor said everything looked completely normal. No holes, no fluid, no issues at all. They told us, ‘If this had been your first ultrasound, we never would have suspected anything.’

That was a miracle. Every single thing that had been wrong was healed. But when Seth was born, the doctor came in and said, ‘Yes, he does have Down syndrome.’ And that’s when I knew—this is exactly who God made him to be. He could have changed it, but He didn’t. That was confirmation of His will.

I always say life is changing, but God keeps using us in every season. As long as you have breath, He has a purpose.

It wasn’t easy for me to move from Baptist to Presbyterian—it felt like a big transition—but God works in people’s hearts. When you submit, God blesses. And He has blessed us here.

Grace is a big word at Sycamore. I don’t feel judgment here; I feel love. I’ve met people from all different backgrounds, and everyone is welcomed and accepted. It’s a church that really lives out grace.”

— Debbie Peterson. Debbie's favorite verse is 1 Thessalonians 5:16-18 - "Rejoice always, pray without ceasing, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you."

“I am beautiful. I am strong. I am full of energy. And I love being with family and friends. I help in the sound booth once a month at the 11:00 service. I run slides with my dad. I want to be a greeter someday. I want a name tag. And I want to pass out bulletins.” Seth has just started to be a greeter here at Sycamore - make sure you say hello!

— Seth Peterson. Seth's favorite verse is Proverbs 17:22 – “A joyful heart is good medicine.”

The Peterson family's contact information can be found here.

“In 2021 we got the news that changed our life dramatically,” Sue shares. “Both in bad ways and good ways. And what we’re going to tell you is basically what we went through and how we got through all this.”

Dave remembers the moment vividly: “If you ever had a point in your life where your world came to a complete stop, but the world around you continued to move—then you know what it’s like to get horrible news like cancer.”

The months that followed were grueling. “I’ve had three different chemo treatments. I’ve had immunotherapy that failed. I was in the hospital for two weeks for that. At that point the outlook wasn’t good. The only thing that would help and get me through it was another regimen of chemo and then hopefully a stem cell transplant. By the grace of God, I was able to get well enough for the transplant.”

Even so, the isolation was difficult. “That Christmas was hard,” Dave recalls. “Kids came to visit, the grandkids came to visit, but they all had to wear masks and they did it separate times. Through the process, there were dark days and darker nights. But I never felt that God wasn’t near me. And when Sycamore says they’re going to pray for you, they mean it. I know people were praying for me—I felt their prayers. That’s what got me through it.”

Sue also remembers a striking moment in the hospital: “When they put the new stem cell in him, the doctor looked at the clock like a baby was born and he said, ‘Rebirth.’ They handed him a birthday card and said, ‘You are day one.’ The nurses sang Happy Birthday. Then one of them shined a flashlight under the IV tube, and I could see the stem cells running into his body. She said, ‘That is what we call life.’”

Both have leaned on Scripture in their journey. “My favorite verse has always been Colossians 1:17: ‘He is before all things, and in Him all things hold together,’” Dave says. Sue adds, “Romans 8:28 is the one that I’ve held onto. ‘In all things God works for the good of those who love Him, who have been called according to His purpose.’ It was hard in the beginning, but you realize He said all things. Even cancer number three.”

Now, they offer encouragement to others walking hard roads. “If somebody was going through the same thing I was going through, I would want to come alongside them anywhere I could,” Dave says. “I’d encourage them to hold strong to their faith, and let them know the support of family and church makes all the difference.”

Sue adds, “If someone asked me as a caregiver, I would say to somewhat be like Job's friends: be a friend, just listen. Don’t give up on hope, and make sure that hope is in the right thing. Hope doesn’t mean everything will turn out perfect—it will turn out His way, and that’s the way it’s supposed to.”

-Dave and Sue

“I don’t remember a time in my life without God. I grew up in a Christian home—my parents were with the Navigators—and Scripture was always a part of my daily life. My mom would write verses on napkins or 3x5 cards for me when I was struggling with school, anxiety, or learning disabilities. From an early age, I knew my identity was rooted in Christ.

In high school, my family moved to Moscow after the fall of the Iron Curtain. Life there was chaotic—things rarely worked, mafia members with machine guns patrolled the streets, and even the water wasn’t safe to drink. That’s when Hebrews 13:5—‘He will never leave you nor forsake you’—became my anchor. In a place where nothing felt reliable, God proved to be the only steady foundation.

But my story has not been easy. I was diagnosed with depression at 16, then chronic fatigue and fibromyalgia not long after. Two years ago, I was diagnosed with early-onset Parkinson’s. At first, the thought of fighting such a relentless disease left me completely exhausted. I told my mom, ‘I don’t know how I can fight this for the rest of my life.’ She reminded me: ‘When I am weak, then I am strong. God’s grace is sufficient for you.’

That truth has reshaped how I live. I’ve always been a fighter, but now I fight differently—not in my own strength, but in God’s. I’ve learned to shift my focus from Parkinson’s to Christ. When I keep my eyes on Him, there’s joy, hope, and strength to keep moving one day at a time.

Some days I feel the weight of apathy or grief, but God is bigger than Parkinson’s. He is bigger than my weakness. And He is faithful. My measure of success now isn’t about what I can accomplish, but whether I walk this road with Him and help my family draw closer to Him through it.

Life may not look like I once dreamed, but God’s plan is still good. He has never left me, and He never will.”

-Sarah Toole

"There are a number of verses that mean a lot to me, but my touchdown is the same as a lot of other people—Romans 8:28. I first read that in the New American Standard, which is a really, really tight translation. Word-for-word. And that translation says: ‘And we know that God causes all things to work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called according to His purpose.'

The thing that really stirs me about that—Paul starts out with ‘and we know.’ It’s a given. Not something we’ve got to study. We know this. And God causes—there are translations that do a horrible job of that verse, because they leave that part out. One version says, ‘God works in all things to bring out the good,’ like He’s reacting. No. He causes all things to work together for good. That means He causes even bad things to work for our good.

He caused my liver to fail—for the good of my family, my church, and for me. That may sound weird to some people, but to me, it’s a huge comfort. He’s not opportunistic. He’s not going, ‘Oh, this happened—let me make something of it.’ No. Before the foundations of the earth were laid, He decreed that my liver was going to fail when I was 66 years old to accomplish His purposes.

And if He wasn’t in control of everything, how could He cause everything to work for our good? It’s not wasted effort. Nothing that befalls me is wasted. It’s all working to shape me more into His likeness.

I’ve been through the wringer—not just the liver stuff. I basically lost my life savings in a rough way. My brother went to prison for a while. It wasn’t his fault what happened to me, but it was all tied up in that. And every day, God is working on me to understand: He’s got it. He’s not gonna let me go. He’s not going to let anything happen to me that isn’t ultimately a good thing. I have to depend on Him for daily bread—and He delivers.

Now, I can still get dismayed, appalled, anxious about things. I’m human. But I have a rock I can hold onto. And going through a near-death experience? Well, if that doesn’t rattle your cage, I don’t know what will.

When I was in the hospital this time last year, I asked my family to play this playlist over and over, and it gave me great comfort. I think some of the reason for my feeling of comfort and serenity in the presence of the Angel of Death came, in part, from one particular song: Finally Home by MercyMe. If you're not familiar with it, it's a very sweet song about a son who wants to catch up his father on his life and the man he became when he, "finally makes it home." It's a little ambiguous as to which father he's talking about, whether earthly or heavenly. He goes on to talk about how he imagines his joy at his arrival into his Heavenly Father's presence. Anyway, it's a sweet song that greatly resonated with me when I was on the very edge, and I think it really best describes my feelings of that time. Not that I wanted to leave my family on earth, but imagining such a sweet homecoming made me content with my lot, regardless of what awaited me. Four years earlier, I was complaining to a former pastor that I often fell asleep mid-sentence when saying my prayers at night, when he cut me off.  'Did you ever have a child fall asleep in your arms?  How did you feel?  Were you angry, or was it a precious moment?  That's how He feels.'  Ever since then, I've imagined reaching Heaven, crawling into my adoptive big-brother's lap, putting my arms around his neck and burying my face in his shoulder, weeping for the joy of it.  That thought sustained me through the ordeal.

I wasn’t wringing my hands about where I’d end up—I was secure in that. What I cared about was the example I’d leave. Would I go out peacefully? Faithfully? I’ve been by both my parents’ bedsides, and I lost my sister nearly 20 years ago. But I’ve also seen someone die in pure terror—a former brother-in-law—and it left a mark on the people who were with him. I didn’t want that. I wanted to go out like some of the heroes of the faith—faithful and calm, even in suffering.

And honestly, I believe God gave me the grace for that moment. Not because I’m anything special. I didn’t gin up that faith on my own. It was given to me—in a measure proportionate to my need. I’m reminded of Galadriel in The Fellowship of the Ring—that moment where she rejects the One Ring and realizes she has passed the test. The difference is, I didn’t pass because of anything in me, rather God gave me the measure sufficient to 'pass my test.'

I’d like to tell people: don’t be afraid. It might hurt between now and glory, but it’s going to be okay. You don’t have to wring your hands and worry. He’s holding you. He will take care of you too.

One more thing—Covenant Theology is a huge comfort to me. God’s normative way of working is through families. He’s not restricted to that, but that’s how He’s chosen to work down through the ages. I’ve got daughters who are having their struggles. But I believe they are children of the covenant. I don’t believe God gave me any non-elect children. It’s possible, sure—Scripture gives examples—but usually for a specific purpose. I don’t see that in our case. So I’m not worried about where they’ll end up.

What worries me sometimes is: did I fail them? And how many tears will be cried before they’re more solidly on the foundation? If I could spare them some of the trials I went through, I would. But God deals with us as individuals. He’ll tap them on the shoulder when the time comes. He did for me—I was 34 when I first really heard the gospel.

So yeah, even if I don’t see it before I die, I have every confidence that I don’t have to worry about them. That’s a huge comfort.

And one last thing—don’t forget to mention this—the Sycamore craftspeople who worked on making our home accessible? The ramp, the grab bars, everything? That was superb craftsmanship. Emphasis on SUPERB!!"

Chip's contact information can be found here.

"I’m from Jersey City, New Jersey—a real northern girl—but I’ve been in Virginia since 1988. I raised my family here. I was married, now divorced, and I have four children—two living, two who passed away. Sharon died in 2001 and Philip in 2004. Both by suicide. It’s something that runs in my family, and now I’m walking through it with my son and daughter too.

I’ve struggled with depression myself. My mom did. My grandmother did. It’s generational. But I see how God has sustained me. If it weren’t for Him, I know I wouldn’t still be here.

I didn’t grow up hearing old hymns. I was raised Catholic. In my twenties, I became a Jehovah’s Witness and stayed for 25 years. Then Mormon. Then honestly, I wandered into some really dark places. I spent a lifetime searching for God. I always felt like He was watching me but never quite connecting.

It wasn’t until I went through my divorce that I started to feel like He was pursuing me. Someone invited me to church, and I went. That’s the first time I heard How Great Thou Art. That hymn just overwhelmed me. I thought, Who is this God that would love me so much? Who would save me?

That was the beginning of my awakening. It was 2014. And as time has gone on, the words of that hymn have meant more and more to me. I’ve seen how God has been working in my life all along—even in the pain, even when I didn’t realize it.

Learning about God’s sovereignty—predestination, grace, His choosing me before the foundation of the world—it’s so humbling. I still ask, Why me? I’m so imperfect. But I’m learning now that it’s not about my faithfulness. It’s about His. And that changes everything.

I started coming to Sycamore almost two years ago. I was walking through something really hard—maybe the hardest thing yet—and I’ve seen how God has met me here. Week after week, the sermons feel like they’re speaking directly to me. It’s like the Spirit is saying, I see you. I know what you need. Being here has deepened my relationship with God in ways I didn’t expect.

There’s a quote I love: God makes everything all right in the end. If it’s not all right, it’s not the end. That’s what I hold on to. This life—it’s temporary. We’ll be with Him one day, and all of this will just be a blip. But until then, He is the one who gets us through. That’s why we call Him Savior—because He saves."

Mary's contact information can be found here.

"I was born in a small town in Arkansas, about ten miles from Prescott, off a dirt road. My two uncles and their families lived just down the road on farms, as did my grandparents. I had three older brothers, and I didn’t meet my father until I was three years old—he came home from WWII an angry, violent man. That changed everything. Our home revolved around his moods, and I lived in fear, never knowing what would set him off. The constant fear kept me timid and quiet.

We moved every two years as the Army transferred us, which made forming friendships hard. But when we were stationed in Puerto Rico, at just six years old, I would take the Army bus alone on Sundays to go to church. I still have the little New Testament they gave me there. Even though I didn’t understand why God allowed the fear and chaos in our home, He planted seeds of hope.

God gave me godly grandparents, aunts, and uncles. Every summer we were in the States, we’d visit them in Arkansas, and that’s where I experienced real love. My Uncle Sam and Aunt Marybeth had a daughter two years younger than me. I stayed with them, and it became my safe haven. I remember my uncle coming home smiling, hugging his wife and daughter—and then me. That was when I learned the power of a hug and what love really looked like.

One night, after a family gathering, Uncle Sam took us kids out to the edge of the pasture under the stars and told us about Jesus. When he shared about Christ dying for my sins, I cried. I still cry when I think about it. I asked Jesus into my heart that night. I was eight years old.

From that moment on, even through fear and hardship, I knew Jesus was with me.
When I was eleven, we moved to Hampton, Virginia. That’s where I met my husband, John. I was 11, he was 15, and he had come to visit one of my brothers. We married when I was 17. John was everything my father was not—gentle, godly, and kind. He reminded me of my Uncle Sam. He was the better half of us. We raised two children together and were blessed with four grandchildren and six great-grandchildren (one already in heaven).  

One of the most profound experiences of my life came when my father was diagnosed with colon cancer—right around the time I became a grandmother for the first time. I cared for both my granddaughter and my father. For the first time in his life, my father fell in love—with a child. I was awestruck watching him soften toward her.
Later, when he entered a military hospice and needed someone to stay with him, my mother refused. With John’s support, I moved in and cared for my father for nine months. Those months became a gift. The hospice nurses even began calling me to comfort other families. One day, sitting quietly beside his bed, my father, in his way apologized. And God gave me the words to forgive him. The fear I’d carried my whole life was replaced with forgiveness. Amazing grace.

When we moved to Richmond we put off  looking for a church  and listened to radio sermons instead.  One day our granddaughter, who was visiting and listening to a sermon with us, called us 'bedside Baptists' because we listened to sermons in bed. That moment convicted us. John asked a friend for church recommendations. The first Sunday we walked into Sycamore, I knew: this was home. I felt the Holy Spirit’s presence. We never even visited the other churches.

At Sycamore, my faith deepened through women’s Bible studies. I was intimidated at first—feeling like a kindergartener among scholars—but I had a mentor, Sally Faris, who lovingly challenged me and helped me grow. She was confined to a wheelchair from MS, but was feisty, godly, and exactly who I needed.

I’m 82 now and one of the great joys of this stage of life is seeing God’s faithfulness when  looking back over those years. The Scriptures that most shaped me are Genesis 50:20—'You meant it for evil, but God meant it for good'—and Psalm 139, where He reminds us we are known and loved even in the womb. Those verses helped me understand my childhood. God didn’t waste it.

My husband adored our oldest great-grandchild before he passed away nearly ten years ago. His last trip was to her first birthday.

I held my great-grandson Hunter, even though he died before he was born. We were all gathered in the ultrasound room to find out if it was a boy or a girl when the tech said that there was no heartbeat. It was elation to devastation in a heartbeat—but even in that, after delivery, God gave us a moment to hold him and to say hello and goodbye.

Two days before I fell last October, I was outside playing kickball with my eight-year-old great-grandson. That’s the sweetness of life God has given me.

If someone else is going through fear, or hardship, or wondering if they’re alone—please know: you are not. God is with you. Prayer matters and He doesn’t waste pain. He turns it into purpose. Don’t give up. God is so good."

Mary's contact information can be found here.

"I grew up in a Christian home — my dad was a PCA chaplain in the Army. Being a military family, we moved a lot, but I always had a sense of stability because of our family and our faith. I came to know Jesus from a young age. When I was eight, I was diagnosed with epilepsy. I remember being told at one point that I wouldn’t grow out of it. My mom cried, but I felt this deep peace I couldn’t explain. That was the first time I experienced the peace that surpasses understanding. Later, a follow-up MRI came back normal and I didn’t need medication anymore. God healed me. But even before the healing, I knew He was with me.

In college, my faith was still important to me, but it wasn’t until after I graduated that it really became my own. I read a book called Gospel Awakening, and it made me realize I hadn’t fully grasped the depth of my own sin — and therefore hadn’t fully grasped the depth of God’s grace. I had always been a 'good girl,' but that book opened my eyes to how much I need Jesus, and how much He has already done for me. That was when the gospel truly came alive in my heart.

One verse that’s meant a lot to me is 2 Timothy 1:7: 'For God gave us a spirit not of fear but of power and love and self-control.' That’s helped me in so many seasons — especially motherhood. My husband Danny and I have been married ten years, and we have two boys, Richie and Marcus. Motherhood has stretched me in ways I didn’t expect, but also brought incredible joy and I’m so grateful.

In the past two years we have experienced two miscarriages, and that grief has been very real. But even in this season, I’ve known God’s presence. I have also felt His love through my Sycamore family. I don’t have all the answers, but I know He is good, and I know He draws near to the brokenhearted. And now, we’re expecting twins later this year — a joyful surprise. Danny, the boys, and I are thrilled and so thankful.

Music has always been part of my life. I started taking lessons at age seven and studied art history in college. Music and art help me connect to God. I feel closest to Him when I’m creating or listening to or looking at something beautiful. Worship is a way I process things and express things that words alone can’t capture.

My story is marked by healing, awakening, and loss — and through it all, I’ve seen God’s faithfulness. I still struggle. I still fall short. But I know to whom I belong."

"'In Christ Alone.' That was Laurie’s song.

She sang it often. Every verse by heart. And every time she sang it, I knew—she was in pain. But you wouldn’t know it just by looking at her. She had a kind of quiet strength, especially near the end. One day, I was upstairs in my bedroom with the door closed, and I could hear her voice carrying from the other end of the house. She was in her hospital bed in the family room, singing 'In Christ Alone.' I came downstairs and said, 'You’re in a lot of pain, aren’t you?' She said yes.

That hymn is wrapped up in so many memories of my daughter. Laurie lived in the Outer Banks when she got diagnosed. They didn’t catch the cancer early, and by the time they did, it was far gone. They told her, 'We’ll just keep increasing your pain meds so you don’t wake up.' And I said, 'That’s not an option.' I moved her, her husband, and her dog into my house and got her help here. We got two more years.

She started coming to church with me regularly then. She’d just been in the hospital for a few days, but when I picked her up that Sunday morning, she said, 'Okay, let’s go to church.' That’s how committed she was. It wasn’t always like that—she had drifted from her faith in high school and college—but when she came back home, she came back to the Lord too. And that hymn, 'In Christ Alone,' became her declaration.

That same year, both my other daughter and my brother were also diagnosed with cancer. My brother passed away. It was a lot to walk through, all at once.

Now, every time I hear that hymn, I hear Laurie’s voice.

She didn’t want to die. She said to me, 'Who’s going to take care of you?' And I told her, 'You’ve got to go. I’ll be okay.'

Laurie didn’t have children. Her dog was her baby. She was a paralegal and worked hard, but if she could come with me somewhere, she would. She loved to travel. We were close.

I’ve been part of Sycamore for over 40 years. Back when we were meeting in Evergreen Elementary and bringing box fans in the summer because there was no AC. I used to play piano. I’ve seen a lot over the years, but one of the most meaningful things was watching my daughter come back to her faith and sing that hymn with everything she had left.

So yes—'In Christ Alone' is my favorite hymn. Because it was Laurie’s. And because I know what it meant when she sang it."

Alice's contact information can be found here.

"I always believed that God existed—creation and logic demanded that someone or something had always existed. But I didn’t believe that Jesus was God. He was just a man (or so I thought).

That all changed in 1979.

For about six months, I felt an uneasiness I couldn’t shake. It followed me throughout the day, but at night, it was worse. I started having dreams about my standing before God. Then one night, I dreamed I was calling out to Jesus. I woke up and knew—I needed to settle this. I promised God that if He let me get to church that Sunday, I would profess faith in Christ.

I had never been much of a churchgoer. My earliest memory of church was attending Vacation Bible School at a Presbyterian church in Ft. Lauderdale when I was about three or four. All I really remember are the big wooden blocks. My family wasn’t opposed to church, but we weren’t regular attenders. Looking back, we were what you might call 'cultural Christians.' My parents had a strong work ethic, high morals, and a deep sense of right and wrong. Our family looked and acted like every churchgoing family I knew, but we weren’t in church on Sundays.

The village I grew up in had one church. I won’t name the denomination, but I will say it wasn’t Baptist or Presbyterian. In God’s providence, I was spared from some bad theology I would have needed to unlearn later.

As I got older, I worked part-time through college at Sears. After college and marriage, my store manager approached me about taking a series of executive tests. If I scored well enough, I’d be put into a manager training program. I did, and within a year, I became the general manager of a Sears store. After 15 months, I was promoted to a larger store in another town. That’s where I met a deacon from a Reformed Baptist church—he was one of my employees. He was a good worker, and I liked him. He liked me, too.

One day, he invited me to come hear him teach Sunday school. I thanked him, but then forgot about it. At that time, Sears stores in West Virginia were closed on Sundays, so Cathy and I would spend Sundays driving to our parents’ houses—one week to mine, the next week to hers. They loved seeing their grandchildren every other week, and we got a free meal out of it.

Some time later, my employee invited me again. I still didn’t go.

The third time, I finally asked, 'What time does Sunday school start? And how long does it last?' Because, you see, I didn’t want to be late for lunch.

The first Sunday we attended, we walked up the center aisle about halfway and sat down. As soon as Sunday school was over, I led my family straight to the car, and we headed off to our parents’ house.

Cathy, of course, had other plans. 'If we go again, we’re staying for the sermon.'

What? I hadn’t agreed to that.

But the next Sunday, we stayed. And we let our parents know we’d be arriving about an hour later than usual.

That’s when my uneasiness really started.

For six months, I was under conviction. I began to understand that we are all sinners. We sin in word, thought, and deed. And to have eternal life in heaven, you can’t have any sins charged to your account. Either Jesus paid for them, or you will.

Then came that Sunday.

Normally, my hands are cold. That Sunday was no different—until the sermon started. Suddenly, I felt a strange warmth come over me. My hands were warm, and it seemed like the pastor and I were the only two people in the room. Years later, I read that John Wesley had a similar experience at Aldersgate.

That morning, on the second verse of Just As I Am, I walked forward. I professed my faith in Christ, and my life hasn’t been the same since.

A few years later, I was ordained a deacon. I knew I was a believer, but I also knew I didn’t know much about God’s Word. In God’s providence, I was assigned a second store to manage, which meant I spent a lot of time on the road. At first, I tried listening to radio pastors, but I realized they weren’t teaching what my pastor was teaching. So I bought the Bible on cassette tape. I listened to it for about an hour and a half every day, five days a week, as I drove between stores.

In 1983, I was promoted and moved again. We joined Mt. Gilead Baptist Church, another Reformed Baptist church. The pastor started a Bible Institute class, and six of us met every Thursday night for two hours. We studied the Bible, theology, Baptist history, and hermeneutics.

Five years later, we moved again. A couple more towns, a couple more churches—though these weren’t Reformed. Each time we moved, we stayed in a church until we were transferred elsewhere.

In 1993, we moved again and joined Johnston Chapel Baptist Church—a '4.5-point Calvinist' church. A couple of years later, I was given a traveling job. That’s when I discovered R.C. Sproul on the radio. I looked forward to hearing Reformed teaching again. I bought a Reformation Study Bible, started reading World Magazine, and ordered a copy of the Sproul/MacArthur debate on baptism. I figured if those two couldn’t convince each other to change their positions, what chance did I have? Even though they strongly disagreed, they remained the best of friends.

God was preparing me for my next transfer in 2002.

We visited nine different churches before joining Westminster Presbyterian (PCA) in Lancaster, PA. Two years later, we moved to Maryland and joined New Covenant Presbyterian (PCA). That’s when I took a class explaining why Presbyterians baptize the children of believers and apply the water to the individual—not the individual to the water. That was it. I was now a full-fledged Presbyterian.

When we moved to Chesterfield in 2006, we visited Spring Run Presbyterian first, since it was close to home. Everyone there looked like our kids and grandkids. Since we were new in town, I said, 'Let’s check out the church that gave birth to this one. Maybe there are some folks there our age.'

We did. There were. And we stayed.

Sycamore has been a blessing. I’ve grown in my faith here through sound Bible teaching, serving as an elder, and teaching Adult Sunday School. The men in our Men’s Bible Study have meant more to me than any other group since my mid-30s. I love our discussions—wrestling with what the Bible says and figuring out how to apply it in today’s world.

I haven’t had another moment like my conversion, but I’m blessed every time Harry or Sean explain a passage I hadn’t understood before. Communion is especially meaningful to me. I sit there, remembering what Jesus suffered and died for—on my behalf.

If I could tell someone one thing, it would be this:

Give up a couple of hours on a Sunday morning. Visit a church that believes and teaches the Bible. I can’t think of a better church than Sycamore."

Gene's contact information can be found here.

“Love Lifted Me” isn’t just a song for Tom and Kathy—it’s a reminder of Christ’s grace and faithfulness through every season of their lives.

“The song is based on when Jesus calls Peter to walk on water,” Kathy explains. “When the waves overwhelmed him, Jesus reached out and lifted him up. That image—of Christ lifting us in love, grace, and mercy—has stayed with us.”

For Tom, the song holds special meaning. “It was playing at the exact moment I was saved,” he recalls. “That church had a ‘song of the month,’ so we sang it every week. It became the hymn I remember most from that time in my life.”

Faith became the foundation of their home. “We often sang hymns with our kids,” Kathy shares. “We were just a normal couple, figuring out life together. But this song reminded us that Christ’s love isn’t just something to know—it’s something to rest in.”

One moment, in particular, cemented that truth. “My aunt and uncle were in a terrible accident. Their car flipped, but they weren’t hurt. I asked how they managed being stuck upside down, and my aunt said, ‘You just hold hands and sing hymns.' That stuck with me. So when Tom and I face struggles, we hold hands and sing Love Lifted Me.”

At Sycamore, they’ve found a church that deepens their faith. “Sean and Donnie’s ministry constantly reminds us of God’s grace and mercy—how deeply He loves us,” Kathy says. “It’s in the sermons, my women’s Bible studies, our community group, and the friendships we’ve made here.”

Looking back, Tom and Kathy see how God wove their story together—how He lifted them up, just as He did for Peter on the water. And through every high and low, Love Lifted Me remains their song.

Kathy and Tom's contact information can be found here.

"Seven months ago, I was diagnosed with stage 4 lymphoma. I was actually with my parents when I found out, which, looking back, was such a blessing. They had come to visit me, and I was feeling terrible. I couldn’t stop throwing up and had this unbearable back pain. I hadn’t been able to sleep for days. It was a pain that was so intense, it felt like it consumed everything. I barely got two hours of sleep a night. When I went to the emergency room, they told me there was a mass the size of a grapefruit in my abdomen. That’s when they said, ‘You probably have cancer.’ I couldn’t believe it. It was surreal. I remember just feeling numb, like, how could this be happening?

From that moment on, everything has been a blur, but I know that God has been with me through every part of this journey. It’s been so difficult, and there have been moments when I thought I couldn’t keep going, but God kept reminding me that He was there.

I spent about a month straight in the hospital after my diagnosis. I started at St. Francis, but they transferred me to Johnson Willis because they have a great cancer center. If you ever have to go through this, I’d recommend Johnson Willis—they’ve been amazing. But during that month, I was never alone. I had a group of 5-6 friends from Sycamore who took shifts. They were there with me, offering support, praying for me, and just sitting with me while I rested or went through treatments. I could feel God’s love through every single one of them. I’ll never forget how Lori Higley stayed with me through every single procedure, no matter how tough or uncomfortable. She was with me during every scan, every swallow study, every test. I remember her sitting there, just holding my hand, even when I felt like I couldn’t go on. I can’t even begin to explain how much that meant to me. Lori and I have become so much closer through this. It’s been such a gift to have her by my side.

In the midst of all this, I’ve also had to face my mental health struggles. Before cancer, mental health was the hardest battle I was fighting. For over ten years, I’ve struggled with anxiety, depression, PTSD, ADHD, and an eating disorder. It was the kind of thing that wore me down, piece by piece. I felt like I was fighting an uphill battle every single day. But during my first month in the hospital, I went cold turkey off my psychiatric medications. I had no choice—my body couldn’t handle them anymore, and I couldn’t keep taking them. It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, but in some strange way, I realized that those meds were actually doing more harm than good. My panic attacks became more manageable. I felt clearer mentally, like a fog had lifted. And while I still struggle with my mental health, I feel like God has used this experience to teach me so much about my own strength and His faithfulness. I didn’t expect it, but I’ve come to see how God has been using this cancer journey not just for physical healing, but for emotional healing as well.

The hardest part has been finding peace in the uncertainty. Even though I’m in remission now, I’m not completely done with treatments. I’m still having tests, and that can be so stressful. There’s always this lingering fear of what the next test might show. But I keep reminding myself that God is in control, even when it feels like everything is out of my hands. It’s a constant battle to trust, but I know He’s been with me every step of the way.

One thing that has really kept me going through this is the community I’ve found at Sycamore. When I was diagnosed, I knew my church family was going to be there for me, but I had no idea just how deep their support would go. My friends from church were there for me in ways that I could never have imagined. It wasn’t just about the prayers or the visits, though those were incredibly important. It was about the tangible love they showed me. They made sure I never felt alone, even when I was physically isolated in a hospital room.

I’ve also felt called to share my story with others. I’ve been open about my cancer journey on Facebook, and I’ve had people reach out to me from all parts of my life—people I haven’t spoken to in years, even people from college. It’s been incredible to hear how my story has encouraged others, and I know that’s God’s doing. There’s no way I would have the strength to do this on my own. It’s all Him.

If you’re going through something similar, I want to tell you—keep going. It’s hard, I know. But I promise you, God has a plan, even if you can’t see it right now. I know that’s hard to believe when you’re in the middle of pain or uncertainty, but He is faithful. Don’t give up. God has a reason for your story, just as He’s been showing me why He’s been walking me through this."

Cody's contact information can be found here.

"I would sum up my testimony with two words: grace and goodness. These two words really define my entire story. I was born into a Christian home, but it was a very rule-driven environment. There wasn’t much talk about grace—just a lot of rules about what you could and couldn’t do. My parents taught me everything I needed to know about being a Christian, but I never really understood the concept of grace.

When I lost my mom at 15, it was a very low point in my life. I didn’t feel God's grace or goodness at that time. I didn’t understand why I had to lose my mom at such a young age, and I struggled with the feeling that I couldn’t trust God when bad things happened. My family gave me love, but I didn’t understand why bad things happened to good people.

After high school, I stayed at home for college. I didn’t want to leave my dad alone. Once I finished college, I moved to Atlanta to live with some good friends, just to experience living on my own. My dad remarried, but I didn’t want to live with a stepmom—I felt I didn’t need one.

I grew up attending a Christian school, a Baptist school, but again, it wasn’t filled with an understanding of grace. I didn’t have strong Christian friendships to guide me through the loss of my mom, and as a high schooler, I was trying to figure out how to navigate it all.

In Atlanta, I started dating a guy and living a lifestyle far from God. But something was still pulling me to church, even though I wasn’t living like I should. I’d go to church—sometimes alone—just for a sense of connection, not really understanding why I felt compelled to go.

After dating this guy for eight years, I ended the relationship, feeling lost. I didn’t have many close friends at the time. My brother suggested I try a church that he was attending, so I visited a PCA church. The first Sunday I attended was also Brian's first Sunday at the same church, and that’s when we met. I got involved with the church quickly. It felt like I had found the kind of Christian community I’d been missing: one filled with grace, fellowship, and the freedom to have fun. For the first time, I truly understood that God’s grace means He loves us even when we make mistakes.

Brian and I grew together in our faith. He taught me more about grace, as he had come to Christ later in life and had a deeper understanding of it than I did. I had grown up with legalism, where everything was about right and wrong, and I struggled with trusting in God's grace. I was always trying to be good enough, but Brian helped me see that I don’t need to be perfect—I just need to trust in God’s grace.

We got married, and when Benjamin was born, everything seemed perfect. My pregnancy and labor were both smooth, and the day was as ideal as I could have imagined. Brian had even been journaling about God’s goodness before Benjamin was born, reflecting on how perfect everything was. But when Benjamin was born, we were initially told he might have Down syndrome, though the doctors didn’t feel the need to test him at first. When it was confirmed, I was overwhelmed, but Brian, with his understanding of God's goodness, was able to support me and remind me that God had been good to us up until that point, and He would continue to be.

For the next two years, I struggled with the reality of raising a child with Down syndrome. I watched other parents with children who were hitting milestones like walking and talking, while Benjamin wasn't able to do those things. But through it all, I saw God's grace in Brian’s unwavering support and in the way God held me up when I felt like I couldn’t stand on my own.

Eventually, I prayed for another child, and after a miscarriage, God blessed me with another baby—my son—who didn’t have Down syndrome. I didn’t deserve this child, but I knew that God had been gracious to me. Benjamin has been a blessing, even though I didn’t always see it that way at first.

Then, just a few years ago, I was diagnosed with breast cancer. At first, I was scared and angry. I didn’t understand why it was happening, but over time, I started to see how God’s goodness was evident even in this. Unlike the legalistic mindset I grew up with, I didn’t feel punished for my mistakes; I felt God's grace carrying me through. I was able to trust that He would bring me through this trial, just as He had with all the other challenges in my life.

Though I still have ongoing recovery from chemo and some health issues, I trust that God’s goodness will continue to see me through whatever comes next. I still worry, especially about the cancer returning, but I’ve learned to rest in the assurance that God’s goodness will guide me through whatever happens.

Looking back at all the trials—losing my mom, raising a child with Down syndrome, facing breast cancer—I’ve seen the hand of God in all of it. Even though I still struggle with anxiety and sometimes question His plans, I know that nothing in my life has happened by accident. God has been with me every step of the way, and His grace and goodness are what carry me."

Leigh Ann's contact information can be found here.

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