we thought no one was coming

Editor's Note: This update is from a couple months ago (recorded May 1). We wanted to share it anyway because it's become one of those moments we keep looking back on. Looking back now, it's amazing to see how God was preparing us for what was coming next.

We're tired.

Not discouraged.

Not defeated.

Just tired.

Work has been full. Relationships require attention. Finances continue to stretch us. Church planting keeps asking for more.

Lately, it feels like we're climbing a mountain while someone keeps adding weight to our backpacks.

And honestly?

We've been asking the Lord the same question over and over.

"If Your yoke is easy and Your burden is light... why does this feel so heavy?"

One thing Naomi shared recently has stayed with me.

She said, "Jesus asked the Father if there was another way. The Father didn't remove the weight. He sent an angel to strengthen Him."

That reframed everything.

Maybe faith isn't pretending everything is okay.

Maybe faith is bringing your real heart before God and allowing Him to strengthen you enough to carry what He's called you to carry.

That's where we've been.

And then JenaFest happened.

If you've been following along, you know we've been opening our home once a month.

No church services.

No interest meetings.

No stage.

Just neighbors, good food, and intentional conversations.

Our first gathering had 23 people.

Our second gathering, a crawfish boil, had 50.

So naturally we thought...

How do you follow a crawfish boil?

Then we remembered.

Spring in New Orleans is festival season.

Jazz Fest.
French Quarter Fest.
Music everywhere.

Since we live on Jena Street, we decided to create our own neighborhood festival.

JenaFest.

Live music.

Po'boys.

A bounce house.

A balloon artist.

Backyard games.

One big excuse to gather the neighborhood again.

There was only one problem.

Nobody was RSVP'ing.

For the crawfish boil, our phones were blowing up.

"This sounds amazing."

"We'll be there."

"Can we bring friends?"

This time?

Silence.

By the Thursday before the event, I was genuinely concerned we'd spent time, money, and energy preparing for a gathering that nobody would attend.

Then, the day before JenaFest, an idea hit me.

Who says no to a five-year-old?

Leon grabbed some paper and drew hand-made invitations. Nothing fancy. Just a child's drawing inviting our neighbors over.

We made copies.

Then the five of us walked door-to-door through the neighborhood.

Leon led the charge.

Every house.

Every driveway.

Every porch.

"Hi! Would you like to come to JenaFest?"

One neighbor said they didn't have kids.

Leon smiled and said, "That's okay. You can still come. We have a bounce house."

By the end of the evening we'd knocked on around forty doors.

Then we prayed.

And waited.

Tuesday finally came.

People started arriving.

Then more.

Then more.

The backyard filled up.

The music started.

Kids bounced until they were drenched in sweat.

Neighbors who had never met each other started introducing themselves.

By the end of the night...

Sixty-seven people had come through our backyard.

Sixty-seven.

Two months later, that number still surprises me.

But the attendance wasn't what impacted us most.

It was the conversations.

Naomi and I naturally split up throughout the evening so we could spend time with as many people as possible.

When we finally sat down afterward to debrief, we realized we'd experienced the exact same thing.

Conversation after conversation somehow drifted toward faith.

Not because we forced it.

Not because we asked leading questions.

People simply started opening up.

They talked about church.

Their relationship with God.

Past hurts.

Questions.

Longings.

Stories we never could have planned to hear.

It happened over and over again.

That may sound small.

To us, it felt massive.

For months I'd been praying,

"Lord, I don't want these gatherings to become empty parties. I don't want to manufacture spiritual moments, but I also don't want to waste opportunities You've given us."

Watching Him gently steer conversation after conversation toward Himself felt like an answer to that prayer.

He was at the party.

Exactly like we'd asked Him to be.

Several people told us afterward they'd never experienced anything quite like it.

One person said it felt refreshing to their soul.

Another said they could sense the peace of God the entire evening.

Those words have stayed with us.

This journey still feels unconventional.

Most church planting advice says to launch branding first.

Build the website.

Start the Instagram.

Gather interest cards.

Promote.

We've intentionally resisted that.

Instead, we've tried to build trust before asking for anything.

Relationship before recruitment.

Family before programs.

Community before crowds.

Sometimes we've wondered if we're doing it wrong.

JenaFest reminded us we aren't.

God is already building something.

We're simply trying to stay faithful to what's right in front of us.

We're also realizing something else.

We can't keep doing all of this alone.

As these gatherings grow, so does everything behind the scenes.

Planning.

Following up.

Setting up.

Cleaning up.

Caring for people.

The encouraging part?

We're already seeing people step in.

Some arrive early.

Some stay late.

Some invite their friends.

Others naturally begin serving without anyone asking.

It's starting to look less like us hosting an event...

...and more like a community beginning to form.

That's incredibly humbling.

So here's how you can pray.

Pray that we'd have strength.

Pray we'd keep walking closely with Jesus.

Pray we'd know when to speak and when to simply listen.

Pray we'd steward every relationship well.

And if God places it on your heart to financially invest in what He's building here in New Orleans, we'd be incredibly grateful.

This ministry continues to grow because people like you believe in it.

We truly believe this is good soil.

Thank you for praying.

Thank you for reading.

And thank you for believing with us that God still changes cities... one relationship at a time.

Love y'all.

Zack & Naomi