Writing

This week feels different as we turn the corner toward Christmas. It isn't lost on me that I preached Advent 4 on the Winter Solstice. We endured the longest night, the most darkness of the year - and then we turned toward the light that is to come. As I prepared this sermon, I realized how near God feels when we pay attention to the small things—the names spoken over us, the stories we carry, and the hidden places where God’s presence presses close enough to steady us. Ad

Last week, I shared a sermon and a reflection on how this Advent has been quietly stitching together a theme I never planned: growth, emergence, and the kind of becoming that happens slowly, beneath the surface. (If you missed that post, you can read it here .) What I couldn’t name then, but can now, is how deeply those themes were converging in my own life. On Saturday, surrounded by family, friends, clergy, and the communities that have shaped me, I was ordained a deacon i

At the very beginning of this year, long before I knew how 2025 would unfold, I wrote a blog post from a little wooden pew at the Monastery of the Holy Spirit. I didn’t know it then, but I was standing on the edge of a year that would ask more of me than I thought I had to give. A year of pruning, of waiting, of allowing—however imperfectly—for God to work beneath the surface. (If you missed that reflection, you can read it here .) On Saturday, as I stepped into my pre-ordina