In transitions, it's easy to compartmentalize our feelings, ignore them altogether, or dwell on how we want things to be, rather than accepting the discomfort of a new state of being. In the unexpected or unpredictable, can we find God in the paradox of new beginnings and letting go? I believe we can.

When I reflect on the Advent/Christmas season, I hate---or should I say loathe---and love many aspects of this time.

Even if we stay in Christian community, like I did, healing can take years. Sadly, that feeling of not belonging still runs deep in my veins. 

However, the feeling also developed into a blue hot flame like the one that once burned my arm. It now fires in my soul every day.

Souls are weary. But not my four quiet maples lit up like autumn campfires. They stand solid, silent, striking. My trees hold a clever model for caring soul care through connection, rhythm, and rootedness.

A poem about a weekend with old and new friends at a spiritual formation conference in Wichita in 2024.

Art box, Airbnb hastily “cleaned,”

All will be well,

Books backlit in a window, books and more books,

Boundaries, bed bugs, belonging.

Cinnamon brooms,

Coffee in hand-sized cups with sippy lids, chaos-capable,

We all have a soul, and we are both passively and actively formed. 

 We choose how we are spiritually formed moment by moment, even by the pancakes we eat!

Three simple habits I’ve adopted over the past decade that have made it possible to love my real life. These are not cures or catch-alls, but they are Christian-based spiritual practices to practice imperfectly.

Guest post by Nancy Bartelt. When I was a kid, I loved taking the two-hour road trip south across the Wisconsin-Illinois border to visit my grandparents. As soon as we arrived at their house, I’d always be greeted with a warm hug, huge smiles, and curious questions about my life. And—almost every time—the best-mashed potatoes in the world.

Guest post by Kimberly Knowle-Zeller. An hour north of Minneapolis, where the skyscrapers have been replaced by wildflowers and glistening lakes, and the prairie grass sways in the wind, a community of prayer lives.

Guest post by Andrea Delwiche. What is a more excellent way? Maybe it's partially found in a commitment to embracing a quiet and obscure life.