When you truly encounter beauty, you change your life to be closer to it.

Many of us come from imperfect, and even very broken, homes. Have you ever asked, “Is a flourishing home actually possible for someone like me?” Scripture paints a surprisingly hopeful picture. Psalm 127–128 describes a home buzzing with life and peace: a table full of laughter, children like “olive shoots” (strong, steady, fruitful), meaningful work, and a deep sense of blessing. Not perfection—flourishing.

Most of us have had that strange moment: on paper, everything looks great—you’ve got the job, the relationship, the apartment, even the sleep and the health metrics—and yet inside, you don’t feel like you’re flourishing. Something is still missing.

As of 2023, an estimated 40 million people in America have left the church. That’s not just a staggering statistic—it’s millions of individual stories. Names. Faces. Friends and family who once worshiped beside us and now are gone.

There is a resurgence happening in the Western Church right now around the importance of prayer.

Coming from streams of Christianity that had very little place for a corporate prayer gathering, I was skeptically curious. But as I began to dive into the theology, historical precedent, and lived practice of prayer, I became convinced that a consistent prayer gathering is essential to my philosophy of ministry.

Many of us look at marriage today and quietly wonder, “Why isn’t this working?” Statistics tell us divorce is common, marital happiness is rare, and a lot of couples feel more like exhausted roommates than joyful partners. It often feels shallow and meaningless. Scripture offers a deeper vision. In Genesis 2, we see an ancient and beautiful prototype of flourishing marriage that’s far richer than romance or legal contract.

For many, Easter feels like a strange holiday. There are eggs, bunnies, pastels, and candy—but what is it actually about? Underneath the cultural layers, Easter centers on a bold claim: that Jesus of Nazareth literally rose from the dead.

If you could share a meal with anyone in history, who would you choose? A celebrity, an athlete, a theologian, a loved one you miss? Our answers say a lot about what we value—status, wisdom, beauty, or belonging.

Scroll any news feed and it’s obvious: the world is on fire. Wars, exploitation, political chaos, addiction, housing crises, corruption. Then there’s our own stuff—anxiety, conflict, secret struggles. It’s natural to ask, “What on earth could possibly fix this?”

Like the well-known experiment where flies in a clear container refuse to fly above the level of the lid even after it’s removed, we can become trapped in linear thinking that limits the vision available to us.

I hope this expands your paradigm the way it has expanded mine.

I recently heard Jon Tyson say at a church planting gathering, “Growth track is great for making volunteers, but terrible at forming disciples.” Ouch.

The typical formation pathway looks something like this: baptism, reading the Bible, serving on a team, giving, joining a group, and maybe taking a class or two. The pinnacle of this model is leading a team, leading a group, or getting on staff. And if you make it onto staff, the highest aim in many larger churches is becoming a campus pastor.

If you don’t fit that mold, you’re often encouraged to serve every few Sundays while you quietly live out your real passions in the marketplace or through a hobby.

Many of us know what it feels like to hit a wall. You promise yourself you’ll change—won’t get high, won’t drink, won’t go back to that relationship—and then you watch yourself do the exact thing you swore you wouldn’t. It’s frustrating, shameful, and it raises a haunting question: “Can I actually change?”

For many of us, it’s the MTV Cribs version: big houses, nice cars, a loaded bank account, everything looking smooth and successful from the outside. But Scripture paints a radically different picture of blessing.

When we look around at the world—violence, division, loneliness—it’s natural to ask: how does God’s redemption actually move forward in a time like this? Genesis 24 gives us a surprising and powerful answer: God is in control, and we play a part.

Most of us grow up swimming in consumerism without even realizing it. Like fish who don’t know what water is, we live in a culture where more is always better: more stuff, more upgrades, more square footage, more “just in case.” Advertising constantly disciples us to believe that happiness is just one purchase away.

From an early age, many of us were taught, “Don’t talk about politics or religion.” Yet followers of Jesus don’t have that luxury. Scripture speaks into our political moment—not with partisan talking points, but with a radically different way of being human.

We were made for an enchanted existence. Most of us don’t feel that way. Our days often feel flat and gray—commutes, deadlines, screens, repeat. Even if we believe in God, we can live as though the only things that are “real” are what we can touch, measure, or buy. The Bible calls this kind of life a suppression of the truth (Romans 1:18–25): God’s beauty and power are clearly seen in what He has made, but we train ourselves not to notice.

In a world of locked doors and “text before you come,” many of us are starving for something we barely remember how to do: real, face‑to‑face community.

In a world that’s more connected than ever and yet lonelier than ever, many of us feel like that isolated rat in a cage; surrounded by options, yet starving for real connection and freedom.

I love Christmas. The movies, the lights, the food, the time with friends and family—it all feels so warm and bright. But for many, this season is also heavy. Christmas has a way of exposing loss, disappointment, and the ache of “what used to be.”