On Sunday, we wound up with only 20 minutes for Sunday school, so I had to prioritize our lesson. We…
It’s rare these days for mortals to experience the terror of encountering the unspeakably ancient ones. We tend to relate…
Welcome! I’m Summer Kinard, author of Of Such is the Kingdom: A Practical Theology of Disability. This post provides supporting…
When I speak at conferences and workshops, there’s one question that someone always asks. They pull me over to the…
At the request of a kind friend and Orthodox priest, I have researched evidence-based practices that help people with ADD…
When I was a teenager, I went to a legalistic Baptist Bible Fellowship church that generously picked me up each…
I’m forty-three years old, and I only started praying Morning Prayer a little over a month ago. I don’t mean…
As soon as dawn woke the birds, before the sunrise had warmed the cicadas into song, the villagers smiled into…
*(C) is the Roman numeral for one hundred thousand I watched the grass grow the summer I was eight years…
Lazarus was listening for Jesus long before he died. He would hear his friend’s voice on the road of an afternoon and rush to find his sisters.
“Martha, bring the good olives. Mary, set out your finest cheese. I will get the water to wash his feet.”
He listened for the voice on his sickbed, his deathbed, and in the tomb, he listened.