Have you ever felt like you’re just going through the motions in your faith, passing along truths that no longer feel alive in you? It’s a common experience, especially in ministry, where the demands to produce can leave us feeling dry and disconnected. The idea of being a conduit for God’s love is beautiful, but conduits often remain unchanged by what flows through them.

What if there’s a deeper invitation? Instead of just being a conduit, what if we became chefs—people who savor the goodness of God and create from the richness of our own experiences with Him? It’s a subtle but powerful shift that can transform the way we minister and live.

If this resonates with you, and you’re longing to rediscover the joy of abiding in God, spiritual direction might be a gift to help you find your way back to the table.

For years, I woke up every morning feeling like I had to earn my place in the world. It was as if I started each day with a negative balance, striving to zero it out through productivity and achievement. But no matter how hard I worked, I rarely felt at peace.

Richard Rohr calls this The Heroic Journey—a relentless climb toward success, driven by the belief that our worth is tied to what we produce. Yet, for many, this climb leads to a crisis of limitations. How we respond to that crisis can shape the rest of our lives.

Will we keep striving, grow bitter, or discover the freedom of letting go?

Suffering and the Formation of Hope

As spiritual directors, we have the sacred privilege of walking with others through the highs and lows of life. Often, it’s the seasons of suffering that shape us most deeply. Pain, conflict, and struggle are like the rocks and mud in a stream, but if we’re willing to sift through them, we can find the flecks of gold—evidence of God’s presence and work in our lives.

Curt Thompson, in his book The Deepest Place, says it well: “Suffering... is a necessary element in our becoming our truest, most beautiful, most heaven-ready selves.” Though it’s not what any of us would choose, suffering often opens our hearts to the deep work God longs to do in us.

When I reflect on my own life and the lives of those I’ve journeyed with, it’s clear that the most significant growth often comes through the hardest seasons. It’s in these moments that we need others to walk alongside us, helping us see that even senseless pain can become an avenue for God’s grace and transformation.

If you find yourself in such a season, I encourage you to pick up The Deepest Place. And if you’d like someone to walk with you through your journey, please reach out—I’d be honored to join you as we listen for God’s voice together.

The start of a new year can serve as a valuable time to consider the current trajectory of your life and the ways God is inviting you to the transformative work that He longs to do in your life. But how?

In John 15, Jesus actually lays out for us a very simple illustration that can help us as we consider God’s plan for growth in our lives.

Dear Lord, grant me the grace of joyfulness. Help me to be thankful for Your many blessings and to rejoice in every small victory. Let my heart overflow with gratitude, and may my life be a testament to the joy that comes from knowing You. In moments of trial, teach me to find solace in Your presence and to celebrate the joy that is found in Your love. Amen.

By Henri Nouwen

Today was another stark reminder of what a mixed-bag Christmas can be for any number of families. Many couples are navigating marital struggles, others have recently lost a loved one, and the ongoing challenges of everyday life can make it difficult to “enter into this Advent season.” Compounded by the tragedies playing out on the world stage in the Middle East and the theme of “Joy” couldn’t seem further away. 

How can we possibly find Joy in the midst of such heaviness and deep pain?

Though tiring, for many of us it is an absolute joy to give ourselves to this work. We invest so much into this season for the people we love, however, I would guess that once or twice you’ve found yourself wishing to be on the receiving end. When years turn into decades of this rhythm, it’s easy to feel a bit worn out. Subtly, feelings of “let’s just get it over with” can begin to creep in. Some far-off part of us longs for the chance to get to experience it for ourselves… to really enter in. So how do we do this…?

Advent Prayers about Hope

In shadows deep, where pain does dwell, A tale unfolds, a story to tell. Amidst the anguish, a whisper, faint, Hope rises like a resilient saint.

For in the furnace of suffering's flame, A forging of the soul, not just in name. Profoundly etched in trials untold, A strength within us, a story to unfold.

Somewhere along the way, we’ve heard the phrase, “God won’t give you more than you can bear.”

At face value, this kind of advice sounds good, but it’s not only unhelpful, it’s a lie.

So much of life is about exerting our control to try and get the things we need. We may manage to keep our heads above water for a time, but inevitably something derails our plans and plunges us below the water line. How do we escape this endless cycle of treading water and getting pulled under? There is a better way…

A simple practice for helping you listen for the voice of God in your life: Centering Prayer.

Holy Saturday is the day between the death of Jesus on Good Friday, and His resurrection on Easter Sunday.

It serves as a potent reminder of just how difficult it can be to exist in the in-between spaces of life of what was and what we hope will be. Often referred to as a liminal space, it’s here that fear and hope battle it out within our hearts.

As we enter our final week of our Lenten Reflections, it can likely be assumed that some level of shame has been at work as we’ve sought to examine those areas of our lives that are incongruent with our deepest held convictions. Like Adam and Eve who hid when they heard the sound of God walking in the garden, we too look to hide our failures, blame others for our shortcomings, and cover up our sin. 

The invitation before us today is to listen in such a way that our belief (pisteuo) leads to a radical reorientation of our lives (pisteuo). True belief is a “listening” that leads to a change of trajectory marked by a love for God and a love for others.