Our visits continued, and we were enfolded deeper into the lives of this couple.

Members of the denomination young and old have concerns about our future.

I, like most others, didn’t start attending AA meetings out of mere curiosity or boredom.  I was compelled by the damage caused by my drinking habits.

Of course Black lives matter, and it is important in the church of Jesus, in the historical and present context of North America, to say so unequivocally.

The proposed binational restructuring report before synod this June perpetuates the lack of parity we feel in leadership of our ministries in Canada.

It is a ministry that bears witness to both creation and the mysteries of death—sometimes in the span of a single workday.

A seminarian on his first summer assignment, in Vermillion, S.D., is about to embark on an adventure of a lifetime.

When I tell people I work with people who have Down syndrome, they often make comments about the patience I must have. I have grown tired of those comments.

I can’t change the fact that at a very young age I learned this behavior of ignoring older women, but I am responsible for how I behave today.

A place of beauty and wonder. Stark contrasts and high drama. Secrets and mystery.

My talents as a graphic designer allowed me to create the pictured artwork, which I have used to share the good news.

I jumped out of bed and followed him out to our terrace on the 24th floor. Thick, black smoke was rolling out from the North Tower of the World Trade Center six blocks away.

Donna was still on our minds. What was motivating her to stay on that bench? How could we help her? Did she need or want help?

Imagining all the social media “likes” the image will get fuels my drive to share why that sign and sentiments like it continue to marginalize my son.

God is not indifferent or uncaring, but perhaps his silence is there for a reason. Wilderness moments are important spaces that force us to shift our understanding of God and make us more conscious of him.

Although it’s not considered polite to describe the gory details of childbirth and daily motherhood, this is the way Jesus chose to come to us.

I’m not going to pretend the shouts from bystanders of “Good job!” and “Way to go!” did not penetrate deep into my withering soul and boost my confidence. I was glowing. After all, we were magnificent!

The Bingham girls and their siblings attended a segregated school to which they were transported daily in the back of a pickup truck, rain or shine, 20 miles each way.

The congregation started to rise—just a few at first. No one really knew how people would respond to this new idea: a reminder of our baptism that involved standing up, breaching the intimacy of touch, and having water placed on our foreheads. How comfortable would people be?

I had laid the foundation as soon as the frost was out of the ground and was framing the walls when Gloria was diagnosed with signet cell carcinoma, an aggressive appendix cancer.

Regret should send us running to Jesus, where we grasp his atonement and move beyond our guilt. Grace-inspired remorse should also prompt us to apologize and make amends.

I remember Tini. She was a teenage girl who lived with us during the war. When I was old enough to understand, my mother told me who she was and why she was with us. I had always wondered why this friend from my toddler years had suddenly left us.

Changes keep coming, and like waves on the shore, I can’t stop them. As Mom’s disease progresses, we have no choice but to move along with it.