I was so happy as a child that I thought, “There are two kinds of people in the world: Indians, and those who want to be Indians.” (“Indian” was the common term for Indigenous people at the time.)

Our restless, hurry-addicted culture has not taught us how to create hospitable environments for deep growth.

When I was first preparing to adopt 14 years ago, I cherished the idea that love was what was most needed. My heart fought back when the instructor of our pre-adoption classes warned that love is not enough.

It’s almost as if God had ordained this table for me—which, I would later come to learn through my systematic theology course, he did.

I can hardly imagine my becoming a pastor without having experienced the life of a parkie for the past four seasons and befriending the beautiful and complex people who live in the parks.

If I could capture the time I have spent driving to appointments and occupying medical offices, it would amaze me how much it adds up.

Some have called this tournament the greatest week in baseball.

Now, 1,283 miles away and three years into college, when my alarm sounds on Sunday mornings, enthusiasm deflates into dread.

Chronic pain, disability-related muscle fatigue, and breathing difficulties can make regular work and family life feel like just too much.

Many movies depict the strength of knowing one’s identity.

 It’s difficult to give up one’s own desires—to be broken, in a way, for others—even when it means you take part in a divine miracle.

I was overwhelmed when my friend asked me to run for Regional Council.

My Bible and I were searched for illegal substances and subsequently released when nothing was found.

When God’s restful presence is the power that fuels your life, pushing through hardships will be worth it.

 People can be excellent at hiding intense pain while silently crying out for compassion, friendship, and love.

When I was growing up, I never worried about the bills being paid each month. These concerns were beyond my comprehension, grasp, and concern.

In a world that sees the church floundering in its attempt to engage important questions around racism and LGBT issues, whose principal concern is whether drums or an organ take center stage?

My thankfulness revolves around small and big things.

The synodical advisory committee handling the overtures asked me to share my story.

They did not choose to leave their land. They were forced to. Violence pushed them out, and a search for survival pulled them forward.

The better we know someone, the more we might be able to form our prayers and our support around what will bless them.

Fellowship has been one of the best parts of my church experience.

I have tried to look at my grief rationally.