I am maybe seven years old. It is summertime on the farm. One of our cats, a tabby named Charity,* has just given birth to kittens. When I discover them in the barn, I am beside myself with delight and wonder. I crouch down and gaze upon the five furry little miracles wriggling in the straw. I soon notice that one of them is smaller than the others. A lot smaller…

In the spring, I’m a rugby coach. I’m also a lot of other things, but in the spring, I live in my rugby sweatshirt. I love the smell of the earth—the dirt softening and giving way to grass. I love that it is a sport that draws together an eclectic group of players, a few who are naturally athletic or have played other sports, but also many for whom this is it, a hodgepodge of misfits finding a place to belong…

I recently attended my first “Forest Church” service. The conservation area where it was hosted was one of the most beautiful sanctuaries I have ever gathered in. The snow was melting, and the creek was rushing with its runoff, creating a background rhythm, which was joined by a gentle breeze whistling through the trees and accompanied by a choir of birds singing their choruses…

Kids are chasing each other around, ‘sword fighting’ with the cedar branches that we just handed them. I try to corral these little warriors, seeking to control that which simply won’t be controlled. Sigh. This is how our church’s Palm Sunday ‘processional’ begins…

Like many others have expressed in their reflections, the Lenten season has a special place in my being. It coincides nicely with the darkest time of the year, during which I often find myself heavily stressed and depressed. Every year, old wounds and new wounds find themselves out in the open, and God invites me on another journey towards healing…

In 2017, I lost two grandparents within months of each other. With my 嫲嫲 (paternal grandmother), the news was not unexpected. She had been ill for quite some time, slowly deteriorating in the hospital…

I am writing during a Sabbatical pause from work and ministry,
And this is a dangerous place. 

I’ve been thinking and reflecting and longing and feeling a LOT lately…

For the past few years, I have slowly been making my way through Robert Alter’s translation (with commentary) of the Hebrew Bible, and it just so happened that I began the book of Job in mid-January. Job can be a difficult book for many reasons, but, somewhat surprisingly, I have found the Job poet’s words to be particularly relevant and meaningful as I journey through Lent this year…

Over the years, the story of Jesus washing his disciple’s feet has captivated my imagination. A few years ago, Jesus’ response (“Unless I wash you, you have no part with me.”) to Peter’s declaration that Jesus would NEVER wash his feet caught my attention as I pondered what it means to be willing to receive…

What do you want to do with your one and only life? 

Be your true, authentic self!
Live from the centre of who you truly are! 

These kinds of over-sized enthusiastic questions and maxims are what greet people like me who live in the liminal space of trying to decide what to do next…

Lent is a season of preparation and a time to remember Jesus’ journey to Golgotha so that we can celebrate Jesus’ resurrection with great joy. I observed a fast and other spiritual disciplines during Lent for many years. Yet, I’ve struggled to find a meaningful Lenten practice to observe this year…

The early years of my spiritual formation happened in a large Evangelical Pentecostal church in the little city of Guelph, Ontario. During the 90s, Lent was not a season that we spoke about or practiced in our faith tradition. We certainly wished no ill will towards our mainline brothers and sisters, but I always had the impression that we were at best suspicious…

I woke up this morning with the weight of the world on my chest. I have learned to listen with compassion to these weights,   but this morning, the weight is mysterious. I can’t quite point to one cause…

That little whisper in my ear or a feeling in my gut that says there is not enough to go around. I need to fight for my share. My fear that something that can’t be healed will happen to my kids. My tendency to overestimate and project far into the future the negative consequence of one small action (or inaction). These are the ways that the accuser uses temptations in my life…

I want to be baptized

in ashes and dust
the way it was for me 
with water…

“Each morning comes along and you assume it will be similar enough to the previous one – that you will be safe, that your family will be alive, that you will be together, that life will remain mostly as it was.”

That’s from Cloud Cuckoo Land, American author Anthony Doerr’s new book.

“Then a moment arrives and everything changes” (64).

In Cloud Cuckoo Land, the world ends roughly five times…

I’m yanking persistent weeds through the black shroud covering last summer’s flower beds. It’s Good Friday. Steve, who has only 15 days left to live, is sitting in the sun keeping me company – that simple act of marriage – while I weed and muse…