—Psalm 146, Revelation 1:1–8
The surprise of Advent is not that Messiah comes—but where He comes, and what He comes to do.
“I am the Alpha and the Omega,” says the Lord God, “who is, and who was, and who is to come, the Almighty.” (Revelation 1:8)
As a child, I imagined that Almighty One as enormous and untouchable—robed in fire, seated on a throne somewhere above the stars. Holy and distant. Fearsome and vast. But the psalmist paints a different portrait of the One for whom we wait. Read More
Though this reflection speaks directly to men, David’s story offers insight for all of us who wrestle with forgiveness, calling, failure, and grace.
David was called a man after God’s own heart. That wasn’t a title; it was a name whispered by God—a way of saying, ‘I know this man, flaws and all, and I still choose him.’ David’s identity was forged not in the noise of battle but in the quiet hours under the stars, where only sheep and sky kept him company. Out there, he came to know God as a companion, friend, and coach. He learned to trust that “my times are in your hands.” Read More
Recently, I had the joy of sitting down with my friend, who is not only passionate about developing leaders, spiritual formation, and adult learning, but also one who offers “quality attention” to those who share his company,
Keith Anderson, to talk about his newest book, On Holy Ground: Finding Your Story of Identity, Belonging, and Sacred Purpose.
Our conversations are a sacred space, a shared journey within the stunning story of Jesus—honest, hopeful, and full of wonder (and some good laughs). While discussing his latest book, Keith reminded me that vocation is not just about what we do, but about who we are becoming with God in the ordinary places of our lives.
You can watch our full conversation on VP3’s YouTube Channel. Read More
We entered the lobby of Swedish Hospital carrying both a wavering uncertainty and a sober clarity about what this day would hold. Like Solomon in Ecclesiastes, our hearts were divided: is it a time for life or a time for death? Faith in the face of death asks us to hold both.
We knew what was waiting in room 316 in the ICU. Wendy’s sister, Terri, was about to be released from the chains of overwhelming pain. We knew that her life support would soon be removed. What we didn’t know was what the hours ahead would feel like—how heaven and earth might draw close in this sacred space.
One of the privileges of my life was to help create what The Seattle School of Theology & Psychology calls “The Allender Center for Trauma and Abuse.” Their work has shown again and again how writing your story for healing can bring clarity, insight, and transformation for those who carry pain or untold stories.
It is a ministry that highlights the work of my colleague and predecessor, Dan Allender, a seminal thinker and student of trauma and abuse, who served as president of the school. The focus includes one of the most transformative processes for those who deal with trauma (probably all of us in some way or another) called The Story Workshop. I invite you to visit The Allender Center online to see what they offer.
Have you ever felt a question sink into your soul, stirring something long buried? Questions that awaken us to the deep journey of following Jesus home.
Some questions whisper through our lives like the wind, while others crash like waves against the shore, reshaping everything in their wake: “Will you marry me?” or “Will you take this job?” Perhaps a question like mine, “Have you ever considered that you are being called to pastoral ministry?” The words came from a pastor, but they echoed something more profound—something my immigrant grandmother had first spoken of me when I was just a child: “This one will be the pastor.” I had chosen another path, a Ph.D. in history, but this question brought me back to a calling I thought I had silenced.
Henri Nouwen asks us a question just as piercing:
“Are you following Jesus? Not in name alone, not in habit or tradition, but in the depths of your being. Are you a follower?” [1]
I grew up in a bread-making home. Five children all raised on thick, dark Limpa bread—rye flour, molasses, brown sugar, fennel seeds (my favorite), and little bags of Fleischman’s yeast. What Jesus called leaven makes the dough rise, giving it texture, flavor, and that beautiful dark bread I love to this day.
Small kitchens with five children running in and out to smell the dough and the baking bread. A familiar old family cloth covered the recipe as it was rising. My job was to take the large wooden spoon and stir 5 ½ pounds of flour to make yeasty dough in the largest green Tupperware bowl ever made.
In two conversations this past week, a gripping response was present: fear. Two disasters grip us—fire and flood. Both are unrelenting forces, overwhelming when they come upon us, but also haunting metaphors for the inner storms that scorch and drown our souls. Fear, anxiety, grief, sorrow, loss—these are the floods that rise, the flames that burn within.
If I asked you, “What is the most repeated command in all of Scripture?” what would you answer? Love? Obey? Believe? No—the steady refrain of heaven is: Do not be afraid. Some even suggest there are 365 versions of this command—one for every day of the year. Read More
If you’re like me, there are times in your life when Scripture felt like it leapt from the page straight into my soul, prayers felt immediately heard, and worship stirred my heart, emotions, and mind. But let’s be honest. There are days when Scripture feels like ink instead of fire, when God feels silent and distant.
Usually, I hear or read words that discourage rather than comfort or console:
A Pastoral Reflection on Violence in Our Society
By Keith Anderson
Every time another shooting erupts—in schools, in sanctuaries, on neighborhood streets—we ask the same anguished question: “Is this the new normal?”
It happened again. Families are grieving loved ones whose lives were cut short. Children are left shaken, carrying fears that no child should carry. Parents drop their kids off at school, wondering if they will be safe, and too many of us have begun rehearsing worst-case scenarios when we enter public spaces. Some buy weapons. Others send children with bulletproof backpacks. Schools practice lockdown drills. Many quietly avoid large gatherings. We are learning to live with fear, to anticipate trauma, to prepare for violence.
"Practical. Insightful. In my 50 years as a pastor, I’ve read many of these. This is THE best. I ordered 12 to give as gifts.”
