As I tucked one of our younger kids into bed, tears began to fall.

It happened in an instant at a moment when I least expected it.

As high school was ending, I remember the same question being on everybody’s lips. I heard it so often I rehearsed a bundle of canned answers.

This year, one of the most impactful moments was not part of the official conference at all.

I understand the difficulty, slow pace, and painfulness of change in many cases, but it can become frustrating when we miss our stated vision and goals.

This moment—a plea for passion and meaning—resonated with all of us.

At times I felt like living the believer’s life was like carrying a huge piano on my back.

The act of sharing meals with each other is a tangible representation of God’s abundance and generosity.

We are encouraged, inspired, challenged, and instructed through stories.

This summer I experienced a mental health crisis.

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.