The other day, I was chatting with someone when it happened—that familiar tightening I hadn’t felt in a while. My fists were clenched. My shoulders were high. My mind felt foggy and overworked. And suddenly I recognized it. My body was telling me something it has told me before. The feeling was eerily similar to the mental exhaustion I carried during the height of COVID. Not the same circumstances, not the same level of isolation—but the same deep weariness that comes from wo

Here is your gentle (and hard-earned) reminder that sometimes it is not only okay, but holy, to advocate and ask for what you need. My hair has been growing out for several years now, and lately I’ve been trying to figure out what actually works for me when it’s pulled up and back. I’ve been experimenting with buns and up-dos, learning from YouTube tutorials late at night, trying to strike that elusive balance between what feels comfortable, what looks professional, and what

I’ve never been much for New Year’s resolutions. It’s not that I don’t believe in growth or intention—clearly I do—but the language of resolutions  has always felt a little too rigid for me. Too much pressure. Too much room for self-judgment when life inevitably gets messy. I tend to work better with hopes, intentions, and gentle goals that leave space for grace. That said, this year I am holding onto a very specific hope: I want to read more. The reality is that since 2020,

Nonviolent resistance is not new. It is as old as the prophets who stood in the public square and refused to be silent, as old as Jesus who disrupted unjust systems without raising a sword, as old as communities of faith who have said, again and again, this is not how it has to be. As a United Methodist clergyperson, I am shaped by our Social Principles , which remind us that faith is never meant to be private or passive. The Social Principles call us to affirm the dignity an

Sometimes I genuinely wonder what people actually hear when I preach. Not what I say . Not what I carefully pray over, study, write, revise, and deliver. What people hear . Do they hear one word they don’t like and then mentally check out for the remaining fifteen minutes? Do they grab onto a phrase, assume they know where I’m going, and stop listening before I even get there? I suspect that happens more often than we’d like to admit. Last week, I was chatting with a congrega

Baptism is not something we outgrow. It is something we grow into. So may we remember who we are: beloved, claimed, and called. And may we live our “I do” not only in words, but in witness—until justice rolls down like waters, and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream.

I got a phone call at one of my churches this week. “Are you the church with the 'all are welcome' sign out front?” the caller asked. “The one that says ‘All are welcome in this place’  with the rainbow?” I replied cheerfully. “Yes! That’s us!” 🌈 There was a pause. The kind of pause where your spirit quietly whispers, Here we go. “Does that mean… everyone?” “Yes,” I said. “Jesus is pretty clear that all are welcome into relationship with God.” Another pause. Longer this time