In writing for the Reformed Journal, many of my caves have become tunnels. As I read your stories and you read mine, I can breathe

I had loved the flower virtually for years, connecting it to my faith and my vocation. And here it was in real life. It was

Today I share some of my favorite photos from our walk to Santiago de Compostela, clustered around the words of the 23rd psalm.

My hand on my heart is a sign I make in honor of those who died in those places. To remind myself that they were

Sometimes we need to leave the broken pieces behind.

They just keep singing. In the midst of the shock and devastation, their voices find each other, and they find the songs that they know.

When my writing crosses the line into sentimentality, I am taking more than half, by which I mean that I am doing my own emotional

Praise God that even though specific manifestations of the church will fail us, the body of Christ at fresh times and new places will meet

What if we took our richest theological gains and counted them but loss? What if we let the vastness of the moment pour contempt on