People keep asking me the same question whenever they hear I'm moving to a new appointment: "So... is the next church bigger?" It's a fair question, I suppose. We live in a world that assumes every move is a promotion. Bigger office. Bigger budget. Bigger staff. Bigger influence. Bigger is better. Except that's not really how the United Methodist Church works. Today marks twenty years since my ordination. Twenty years. That feels like an odd anniversary. I worked so hard to g

As I was sorting through old computer files last week—trying to decide what was worth saving and what could finally be deleted—I stumbled across a blog post I wrote in 2008 on my old blog, Pastor Laura's Musings. The post was called Time and Trust. At the time, I was preparing to leave Jerome, Idaho, for a new appointment. Before kids. Before marriage. I was reflecting on transitions, uncertainty, and the strange ways we humans get stuck between where we have been and where w

In this week’s adventures in moving: approximately 100 emails trying to determine my kid’s placement at their next schools —because nobody seems to be speaking the same language. There are moments in parenting a child with disabilities when the hardest part is not the diagnosis itself, but the language, systems, and institutions surrounding it. Lately, I have found myself deeply frustrated trying to navigate Special Education systems across school districts and states. Every

There’s a strange kind of holiness in the middle of cardboard boxes. This week my Silverton house has looked like a cross between a thrift store, a construction zone, and a storage unit explosion. There are stacks labeled “kitchen,” “books,” and “random cords we apparently decided to keep since 2009.” And then there is the new house – where a few pieces of furniture have now been built, kids rooms painted, and the carpet installed (Shout out to Carpet USA Vancouver – they wer

My current playlists... These days we don’t just have favorite songs—we have playlists. I was thinking about this a month ago when I was curating songs for a Dance one of my churches host. Playlists for long drives. Playlists for workouts. Playlists for rainy days. Playlists for when the world feels overwhelming. Music has a way of meeting us exactly where we are emotionally. Sometimes it doesn’t change our feelings right away—it simply names them. And once we feel seen, the

There’s something a little surreal about standing in a house and realizing… no one is going to form a committee about the dishwasher. For the first time in 25 years of ministry, as I transition to a new appointment, I am not moving into a parsonage. Now, before anyone gets nervous on behalf of parsonages everywhere—let me be clear: parsonages can be wonderful. Truly. When they are well cared for, they are generous, grace-filled spaces that make ministry possible in ways that

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

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

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’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,

The new year always arrives with a kind of quiet insistence. It doesn’t knock loudly like a holiday or demand attention the way a birthday does. It simply shows up, standing there in the doorway of our lives, asking us to notice what has been carried forward and what might be ready to be folded differently. For me, this noticing often begins in the most ordinary of places: the laundry room. Laundry has a way of marking time. Loads come and go with the rhythm of weeks and seas

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

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

Rev. Dr. Anna Howard Shaw Quote: "...hold fast to that which God had given you; let no power, no injustice, no obstacle, no scorn, no opposition, let nothing extinguish the flame... never take your truth down to the world's level." A colleague of mine, Jenny Smith , wrote a poem—a poem she didn’t want to write. She said it felt too big, too heavy. And yet, she wrote it anyway. Because sometimes, silence is a luxury we can’t afford. Her poem, posted on her Facebook page , beg

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

This morning, I had breakfast with my dad. Now, before you think I’m seeing things, I should tell you—my dad died in April of 2024. But that doesn’t mean he’s gone. The communion of saints, or what the writer of Hebrews calls “a great cloud of witnesses,” isn’t confined to some distant heaven. I believe they surround us, especially in the small and ordinary moments of our lives. Today, my breakfast was simple—an “Egg in the Basket,” one of those meals that’s more about comfor

This was my late 1980's dream bag! When I was a girl, there was an older kid on my bus who teased me relentlessly. Every afternoon, it was the same routine. I carried a bright red bag my mom had made for me — handmade with love, but shaped, unfortunately, like a bright red pizza box carying bag. I had wanted a GAP tote bag like everyone else. Instead, I got laughter. Kids called me “pizza face,” which cut even deeper because, on top of everything else, I was battling teenage

A bright orange guitar pick with Gsus Saves on it. My office manager handed me this guitar pick earlier this week — bright orange, with the words “Gsus Saves” and a guitar chord chart printed right on it. I laughed out loud at first. It’s clever, right? A pun that strums right at the intersection of faith and music. But the longer I held it in my hand, the more I realized — there’s actually a little theology in this tiny triangle of plastic. On one side, there’s the Gsus chor