Not too long ago, I came across a video clip of a vocal masterclass. If that term is new to you, a masterclass is an instructional experience for students led by an expert in their field of study. As a piano major in college, I was always fascinated by the unique group learning dynamic of an instructor publically working one-on-one with . . .
Several months after my mom passed away, I scheduled an appointment with a dear brother who cuts my hair. It was good medicine to see him. Amidst the hustle and bustle of his salon, our conversation drifted from topic to topic carried along by his infectious joy, his tender heart, and his deep compassion.
As we continued to catch up, I . . .
Remembering the Story, Redeeming the Grief, and Reaping the Joy
One of the difficult parts of our transition from Pennsylvania to Tennessee was the reality that we would not often be able to visit the gravesite of our twin daughters. While we had the assurance that Amanda and Catherine are in heaven, we also recognized that the many undisturbed moments of graveside reflection in the serene beauty of . . .
A number of years ago, amidst a season of physical, emotional, and spiritual burnout, I was asked to minister at a funeral. "Perfect," I thought sarcastically, "A dead man ministering at a funeral." Drowning in negativity from the seemingly incessant discouragement that I had been experiencing, the inability to find a . . .
In a recent blog, "I'll Sit Right Here," I shared how God graciously intervened in my life amidst the swirling vortex of anxiety as I trained for a new job. While I would love to say that encounter was the tipping point for a victorious walk of overcoming courage, it wasn't.
As the lengthy onboarding process continued, I found . . .
I have a friend, a dear "mom" in the faith to me, who suffers from chronic pain. Though some days are better than others, she lives with a baseline of palpable discomfort. And while the empowering grace on her life to persevere in joyful faith is a powerful testimony to many, compassion in me often prompts the lament of the . . .
Celebrating the ever-presence of God
"I'll sit right here."
Those were the words I sensed God speaking to me as I stared at the empty chair beside my keyboard. About to begin the last session of a retreat, those words came as a breath of fresh air to this one suffocating under a cloak of shame.
The previous evening, I discovered that I had obliviously been stepping . . .