A few days ago, I had the opportunity to sit around a table with a group of clergy and a local politician. It was a good conversation. Thoughtful. Honest. The kind of conversation I wish happened more often. But there was one phrase that came up that always makes me cringe. "We need a separation of church and state." I know exactly what people mean when they say it. They're usually pushing back against the growing influence of Christian Nationalism or warning against one reli

When I turned 49, I made a list. 50 things to do before I turned 50. It was ambitious. It was hopeful. It was color-coded. (Okay, maybe not color-coded, but it felt color-coded.) I imagined crossing things off one by one like some sort of spiritually enlightened productivity guru. Then God looked at my list, smiled, and said, "That's adorable." Because, as usual... Life got in the way. Now, before you assume this is one of those blog posts where I dramatically announce I acco

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

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 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

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

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

The world feels so big and overwhelming right now. Some mornings I wake up and wonder what fresh headline will undo for the rest of the...