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.

This most likely means that my whiteness gave me the disease, but my blackness has kept it in check.

None of us pictured graduating in a pandemic, trying to navigate through an online world, or starting a career from home.

For many years, I’ve tried to fit into other congregations, looking to serve as well as be served. I have cerebral palsy, which affects my movement and speech.

This dual perspective—love for a country and the thought that I would never fit in—has served me well.

I never experienced the God of rest until my junior year of college. I was sitting alongside the sandy shores of Lake Michigan and trying to not have an anxiety attack.

As a person with cerebral palsy, I struggle daily with keeping up, fitting in, and pressing on.