Scroll any news feed and it’s obvious: the world is on fire. Wars, exploitation, political chaos, addiction, housing crises, corruption. Then there’s our own stuff—anxiety, conflict, secret struggles. It’s natural to ask, “What on earth could possibly fix this?”

Like the well-known experiment where flies in a clear container refuse to fly above the level of the lid even after it’s removed, we can become trapped in linear thinking that limits the vision available to us.

I hope this expands your paradigm the way it has expanded mine.

I recently heard Jon Tyson say at a church planting gathering, “Growth track is great for making volunteers, but terrible at forming disciples.” Ouch.

The typical formation pathway looks something like this: baptism, reading the Bible, serving on a team, giving, joining a group, and maybe taking a class or two. The pinnacle of this model is leading a team, leading a group, or getting on staff. And if you make it onto staff, the highest aim in many larger churches is becoming a campus pastor.

If you don’t fit that mold, you’re often encouraged to serve every few Sundays while you quietly live out your real passions in the marketplace or through a hobby.

Many of us know what it feels like to hit a wall. You promise yourself you’ll change—won’t get high, won’t drink, won’t go back to that relationship—and then you watch yourself do the exact thing you swore you wouldn’t. It’s frustrating, shameful, and it raises a haunting question: “Can I actually change?”

For many of us, it’s the MTV Cribs version: big houses, nice cars, a loaded bank account, everything looking smooth and successful from the outside. But Scripture paints a radically different picture of blessing.

When we look around at the world—violence, division, loneliness—it’s natural to ask: how does God’s redemption actually move forward in a time like this? Genesis 24 gives us a surprising and powerful answer: God is in control, and we play a part.

Most of us grow up swimming in consumerism without even realizing it. Like fish who don’t know what water is, we live in a culture where more is always better: more stuff, more upgrades, more square footage, more “just in case.” Advertising constantly disciples us to believe that happiness is just one purchase away.

From an early age, many of us were taught, “Don’t talk about politics or religion.” Yet followers of Jesus don’t have that luxury. Scripture speaks into our political moment—not with partisan talking points, but with a radically different way of being human.

We were made for an enchanted existence. Most of us don’t feel that way. Our days often feel flat and gray—commutes, deadlines, screens, repeat. Even if we believe in God, we can live as though the only things that are “real” are what we can touch, measure, or buy. The Bible calls this kind of life a suppression of the truth (Romans 1:18–25): God’s beauty and power are clearly seen in what He has made, but we train ourselves not to notice.

In a world of locked doors and “text before you come,” many of us are starving for something we barely remember how to do: real, face‑to‑face community.

In a world that’s more connected than ever and yet lonelier than ever, many of us feel like that isolated rat in a cage; surrounded by options, yet starving for real connection and freedom.

I love Christmas. The movies, the lights, the food, the time with friends and family—it all feels so warm and bright. But for many, this season is also heavy. Christmas has a way of exposing loss, disappointment, and the ache of “what used to be.”

As the cliché accurately says, “There are only infants in prayer.” This post is written much less as a “how to” from the perspective of an expert, and much more as a few observations from a fellow sojourner on a common spiritual journey. This isn’t something I’ve mastered, but something I’m currently delving into. My aim is simply to get some thoughts out for my own growth; and maybe they’ll be helpful for you as well.

Alan Jacobs coined the phrase “omnivorous attentiveness” when referring to the life and imagination of C.S. Lewis. What he means is being attentive to everything; mainly to God, and to His beauty in creation.

In a world that often overwhelms us with temporary solutions to deep-seated problems, the story of Jesus' resurrection emerges as a beacon of enduring hope. Rooted in the Gospel of John, this narrative invites us to consider a profound truth: if Jesus truly rose from the dead, then all our concerns and struggles can eventually be transformed.

In our fast-paced, achievement-driven society, we often grapple with the existential question: What is the point of life? For many, purpose is sought in wealth, relationships, or personal success. Yet, as Jesus teaches in John 15, the true aim is fruitfulness. But what does it mean to lead a fruitful life, and how can we cultivate it?

In a world increasingly dominated by radical individualism, anxiety, and consumerism, finding a sense of peace and purpose can feel like navigating a storm. Reflecting on Jesus' teachings from John 14 and 15, there's a clear invitation to embrace something deeper and more fulfilling: the life-giving presence of the Holy Spirit.

Two thousand years ago, one of history's most polarizing moments unfolded in a small town outside Jerusalem. Jesus had just raised Lazarus from the dead, and suddenly, no one could ignore Him anymore. He wasn't just another teacher with interesting ideas—He had demonstrated power over death itself. Everyone had to decide: Who is this man, and how will I respond?

Is there a way to blend the mystic and the missiologist? To be both poet and pragmatist? Philosopher and philanthropist? Can I read Tolkien and James Clear? Maybe this is just a personal longing, but it might also be the path forward for the modern pastor.

How do we deal with our weaknesses? As someone who has a speech impediment that I’ve tried to hide for most of my life, I’ve wrestled with this question more than most. In this article, I hope to shed some light on this from the story of Jesus’ healing of the blind man from John 9.

In a world quick to judge and condemn, we find a powerful narrative that challenges our perceptions and invites us to embrace a radical form of love. The story of the woman caught in adultery, found in John 8, provides a profound lesson on compassion, forgiveness, and the true nature of Jesus' mission.