I have long wanted to be a person who wakes up in the early morning to start the day with productivity. I can see it now: While I drink my morning cup of chai, I would have my quiet time with God. I would read the entire Bible in a year, have focused prayer time where my thoughts don’t wander, and keep a prayer journal. Since I still have time in the morning before my kids are up, I would leave the house for 30-60 minutes of aerobic activity. Who knows? Maybe I am training for a half marathon. I would come back home revived, refreshed, and ready to greet the day (after a nutritious breakfast, of course). Can you tell this is a fantasy?

"I’m fine. Thank you.” Translation: “I do not need any help.” In the American culture which encourages the value of independence, how reluctant we often are to accept help from others. It feels like a sign of weakness or dependence. And yet for Christians, this runs counter to the teachings of Jesus and Paul that we are created for community, with openness, vulnerability, and mutual support. “Rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep.” (Romans 12:15). “Carry each other's burdens, and in this way, you will fulfill the law of Christ.” (Galatians 6:2) As a pastor, it felt good to help others carry their burdens. I wanted to be a strong leader. But seeking help for myself seemed uncomfortable. It was like a sign of weakness.

One way to know if you are following Jesus or not is to check your heart. By that I mean, is there a longing there for something more?

A young husband I shall call John, with a wife and two young sons, was just diagnosed with a very rare form of cancer. It was inoperable, terminal, and he was given just six months at best to live. In spite of growing up in the church where his parents and wife were still active, he became indifferent about his faith in God. That was until he received this diagnosis and John became very angry with Him!

Have you ever driven I-87 through New York? It’s called the Adirondack Northway, and, as highways go, its views are spectacular. The summer after my junior year I worked as a nanny for a family with three children. I even traveled with them to their summer home in the Adirondacks. They drove with the older kids in the first car, and I drove behind them in their second car, with a sleeping preschooler in the back and a chocolate lab as my copilot. I was nervous about caravaning to the Adirondacks. Would I lose them along the way? I purposely drove in silence (no music!) so I could concentrate. As I drove along the Adirondack Northway, my thoughts were hardly quiet. Huge peaks rose on either side of the highway. Each curve in the road afforded a new, awe-inspiring vista. I found myself whispering, “Oh wow,” to no one in particular. And then I found myself speaking to someone...when I realized he was speaking to me.

A couple of times in his sermon from August 1, 2021, Canon Christopher, reflecting on the Mary and Martha passage from Luke, said we needed to come close enough to hear Jesus. That begs the question, how do we come close enough to hear Him? How close is close enough?

When Gabby and I were a bit younger we were part of a homegroup that met at a house in a small town called Oviedo that was then, way out in the boonies. At one meeting we had a discussion about faith and then had refreshments. On the topic of faith, I mentioned to a woman I met for the first time, that I had been without work for quite a long time, but that we knew that God was providing for us. I would have preferred that God’s provision would come as a good-paying job, but I didn’t want to tell Him how to do His job! To drive the point home as, hopefully, an inspiration to her faith, I cheerfully told her that the only money we had was the change in my pocket. (Yes, people used to carry coins in their pockets back then.) I pulled out the two quarters and showed them to her.

Stuck in a desk drawer, I found a dusty letter to the best man in our wedding, and my best friend ever, Tom Minifie. We often spoke but seldom wrote. So it was a find for me, even if the subject was odd: tithing. And tithing is about money. You can’t get around it. Someone once tried to make the case that it wasn’t, he said he tithed his time instead of his money. ‘Good luck with that,’ I thought. Reminds me of the picture of the person being baptized, who is all underwater but holding his wallet in his hand above the water. ‘Good luck…’

I thought I was having a rough day until I read my emails. My day began with a simple bike ride with Barbara. Up ahead I saw a squirrel debating to dart in front of me. He faked this way and then that way, and then came my way. Thank goodness my front tire was a bit low, I thought, as I caught him mid-belly - “Ka-thump.” Barb assured me he ran off without so much as a limp. I still worry about internal injuries.

This summer my rising 10th-grade son, Levi, is teaching kids how to code. When he was 9, a NASA engineer friend held a class for kids 8-12 who wanted to learn how to code using the program Scratch. This program was designed by MIT to take the principles of coding and present them in a user-friendly way (almost like stackable Lego blocks). Levi took to the program like white on rice. Since then he has made all kinds of games, animations, and graphics with the program. He loves it! Now he is learning formal coding languages. Learning Scratch sparked something in him—passion. What do you do with a passion?