What would Easter look like without Good Friday? As I sit with the weight of Good Friday, preparing to preach tonight, I find myself wondering: What would Good Friday have felt like if we didn’t know Easter was coming? What if we didn’t know the resurrection was just around the corner? What if we didn’t know that in three days, God would turn grief into glory and death into life? How deep might our despair have sunk? How unbearable would the silence feel? Would we, like Jesus

There is a particular kind of irony in preaching about the arrival fallacy while being in the process of applying for a loan, purchasing a new house, and surrounded by a growing stack of moving boxes. Recently, I found myself standing in a pulpit, talking about the temptation to believe that life will finally feel settled, peaceful, or complete once we reach some future milestone. Once we arrive. Once the transition is over. Once everything is in its proper place. And then I

A picture of cupboard cookies - bits and pieces of leftover m&m's and chocolate chips to clear the cupboards. I’m an Enneagram 7, which, if you’re not an Enneagram person, means I am wired for enthusiasm, possibility, and “Ooooh, what if we tried this?” The Enneagram is a personality tool that names nine different ways people tend to move through the world—our motivations, our fears, our coping strategies. It’s less about behavior and more about what’s driving the behavior. S

Over the past year, I’ve been writing here pretty frequently—sometimes twice a week. Writing has been a way for me to process, to pray, and to connect. But as this next season unfolds, I anticipate posting a little less often as I am in a season of transition. My hope has always been to write about once a week, but I've had a lot to say for the last six months. But I’m giving myself permission to let that rhythm be more flexible right now. Transitions take time and energy, an

Lent has begun, and yesterday's Ash Wednesday worship service was beautiful in the small chapel at Silverton. There is something profoundly moving about watching people gently trace the sign of the cross on one another’s foreheads. Spouses marking spouses. Friends marking friends. Parents marking children. Relationships becoming something more tender than before. The words, “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return,” landing not as doom, but as belonging. It’s

I have a teenager who makes lists. Not the practical kind—grocery, chores, pack for the trip—but the aspirational kind. Lists about her future. About who she will be. Where she will live. What will finally make her happy. Lists that assume a neat sequence of steps, each one leading to the next, until—ta da!—life clicks into place. She talks a lot about a perfect and wonderful life will be when she achieves those goals. And sometimes, watching her write yet another list, I cat

I was listening last week to Kim and Penn Holderness’ podcast, Laugh Lines  (it drops on Tuesdays), and I found myself nodding along more than I expected. They were naming the very real struggle of trying to keep people’s spirits up in tumultuous times—how exhausting it can be to show up with humor or lightness when the world feels like it’s unraveling. They also spoke honestly about the tension of wanting to speak up for their neighbors while worrying about the safety of the