There’s a particular kind of tired that doesn’t come from one long day, but from a long string of full ones. That’s where I’ve been living lately. The last few weeks have been packed—beautifully, meaningfully packed—with the kinds of moments that remind me why I love this work. Holy Week and Easter unfolded with all their depth and wonder. There were gatherings that felt sacred in that quiet, unmistakable way. We celebrated in a delightful way with building partners at a danc

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

Every so often I hear — explicitly or implicitly — that women are “opting out,” “slowing down,” or somehow losing ambition, especially when it comes to their jobs. As if we all just collectively decided one day that striving was overrated and naps were the new corner office. Across workplaces and ministry contexts, women continue to shoulder disproportionate burdens, contributing extraordinary labor that too often goes unseen and unrewarded. A recent Women in the Workplace re

Every now and then, a metaphor pops into my brain that’s just too good to ignore. I love cooking and baking competitions. Lately I’ve been watching a lot of Chopped and The Great British Bake off. Chopped is a frantic Food Network show where chefs are handed a mystery basket of ingredients. As I was watching Chopped the other day, I thought: Oh my goodness… this is also pastoring. To be honest, for a fleeting moment, I thought this metaphor applied during COVID pastoring too

It’s officially cookie-baking season—my favorite time of year to fill the house with butter, sugar, chocolate, citrus, and joy. One of my clearest childhood memories is coming home from school after my mom had spent the entire day baking. I’d walk through the door and the whole house smelled like sugar, butter, vanilla, and love. I’d sit at the little family room table—our spot—and tell her about my day. It wasn’t fancy, but it was holy. A small place where I felt known and s

C & C at the Fall Showcase It’s a beautiful thing when you see someone—especially a kid—find that spark, that thing that lights them up from the inside out. But here’s the truth we don’t talk about enough: even when you find your passion, it doesn’t always come easily. Sometimes you hit a wall. Sometimes you want to quit. And sometimes, that’s the exact moment you’re on the edge of a breakthrough. This past summer, my son was ready to hang up his drumsticks. We’ve always tri

Hi, moms. I see you. You’re trying to get your family out the door on a Sunday morning — socks that mostly match (optional), a snack bag for the toddler, a coloring book for the preschooler, and enough caffeine to survive an hour of “shhhh” whispers and Goldfish crumbs in the pews. You’re juggling spilled milk, missing shoes, and that one kid who suddenly can’t find their other shoe even though they were just wearing it. You’re not just looking for a church to attend — you’re

Not long ago, someone asked me a question that stopped me in my tracks: “Why don’t preachers preach from the Bible anymore?” I’ll admit, I was taken aback. My first instinct was to laugh — not in a dismissive way, but in surprise. Because as far as I know, I do preach from the Bible. Every week, in fact. That’s literally where I begin. So, I took a breath and asked this person to tell me more — to unpack what they meant. I got curious. They weren’t able to fully articulate t

From childhood faith to justice-centered music, my story reminds me: the Spirit calls us to resist with love. Where do your roots lead you?

An explosive experiment! Let me say this as clearly as I can: Tylenol and vaccines did not cause my child’s disability. One of my kids...

Because no matter our age or stage, the work of becoming is never finished. And thanks be to God for that.

There is something mesmerizing about sitting on the edge of a swimming pool and simply watching kids play. No phone in hand. No book open...