Finding God in the And
My daughter Maggie is leaving to serve a mission for our church and this afternoon was her farewell in church. She asked me to be the second speaker along with a musical number that included MANY of her aunts, uncles, and cousins. It was a powerful meeting and I was honored to be asked to do that for her. After the service, several people asked me for a copy of my thoughts. I figured I’d just post them here as this was a momentous day for me and for her and I’d love it preserved forever. So, without further ado, here is the talk I gave in church today: March 8, 2026.
Faith Without the Fix
For a long time, I thought faith meant clarity. Or peace. Or at least relief. I thought if I believed hard enough, trusted deeply enough, or prayed the right way, something would shift—my body, my circumstances, my joy. And when those things didn’t change, I quietly wondered what that said about me.
But lately, I’ve been realizing that faith isn’t always revealed through resolution. Sometimes it’s revealed through endurance. Through staying present when the situation doesn’t improve. Through choosing honesty over performance. Through continuing to believe even when life doesn’t feel good.
Lonely Doesn’t Mean Broken
Loneliness doesn’t always announce itself loudly. Sometimes it slips in quietly, even when life looks full from the outside. Full calendars. Full rooms. Full conversations. And yet, beneath all of that, there’s an ache that doesn’t quite go away. I’ve learned this week that loneliness doesn’t mean something is broken. Often, it means something has shifted—and I’m still learning how to stand where I am now.
Living in the And
I think I’ve been waiting for my life to start again. Waiting for my body to feel better, for the pain to ease, for things to go back to the way they were—or at least to something recognizable. I’ve told myself that once I’m healed, once this chapter is over, then I’ll fully live again. But lately I’ve started to wonder what it would mean to stop waiting.