God, give me satisfaction in the trying.
Give me joy in the never-quite-there.
Grant me peace in my unsettled heart
for my wild mediocrity.
Help me smile back
at the truth that no one,
not one, knows perfection but you.
And you already looked at this
messy creation
at the beginning of time
and pronounced it pretty darn good.
— Kate Bowler, Have a Beautiful, Terrible Day! p. 79
Photo: South Riding, Virginia, January 26, 2026
One of the things we often deconstruct is the allure of a linear model of faith that says your life was always meant to be a strict progression from A to B, with requisite milestones, litmus tests, and boundary markers.
That was a nice fairy tale while it lasted, wasn’t it? By now you’ve learned the hard way that life is less about if-this-then-that certainties than it is a gorgeous and frustrating improvisation with missteps and joys as we grow up and into who we were meant to be all along. We all begin somewhere different, and your journey won’t be the same as mine (if you’re lucky).
Let your story be yours. Let your evolving faith be your own. Let God meet you in the particular goodness of you, not a printer copy of someone else’s best-case scenario for your life.
— Sarah Bessey, Field Notes for the Wilderness, p. 36-37
Photo: South Riding, Virginia, January 29, 2026
When we believe the divine wills something absolutely, we stop wrestling with the complexity of the world. It’s how dualism still thrives in religious spaces today. I’ve felt it in many church settings – the pressure to see my own will as something to be set aside, to understand my desires as inherently in conflict with God’s. What I wanted, thought, or felt was always considered at odds with the divine. It wasn’t a both/and but an either/or. Either God was at work or I was. This set up a relentless internal tension, not just with God but with myself.
But the more I immersed myself in Scripture, the more I saw that God isn’t at war with humanity. The stories we find there aren’t about a battle of wills but about a sacred dance – about God and humans moving together in harmony, creating something holy. This reframing shifted something deep within me, reminding me that the religious life isn’t a struggle for control but a movement of grace and love.
— Kat Armas, Liturgies for Resisting Empire, p. 105-106
Photo: Icy lake, South Riding, Virginia, January 26, 2026
I am still learning this new life, and in many ways it still feels strange to me. I’ve begun filling the space that loss created around me. I can color the space around me however I want — finally — because now there is room. What I’m discovering is as surprising to me as the caterpillar’s transformation: life on the other side of loss is not only livable but may be better, richer, more meaningful. I am more of myself for having gone through this strange and painful transformation, like entering the darkness and coming out with wings.
— Maggie Smith, Keep Moving, p. 173
Photo: Sunrise over lake, South Riding, Virginia, December 17, 2025
When you think you know the shape and size of your life, when you think you know what is possible, something will happen to prove you wrong. Be open to this — you want to be wrong! Trust that your life is more elastic than you think: it can grow, be more, hold more.
KEEP MOVING.
— Maggie Smith, Keep Moving, p. 161
Photo: Blackwater Falls, West Virginia, April 24, 2025
When civilization has flourished, when great music, art, and literature have emerged, it’s always when human beings have felt good about being human. Human is something great to be. Being human is just a little less than God (Ps. 8:5). That’s exactly what faith gives us, a kind of extraordinary dignity. It gives us a sense of our own meaning: religion calls us “sons and daughters of God.” If we can do nothing else, we can give that back to the world: that we are created in the image of God, we have come forth from God, and we will return to God. We reflect part of the mystery of God. We are unique and apparently will never be created again.
When we see that the world is enchanted, we see the revelation of God in each individual as individual. Then our job is not to be Mother Theresa, our job is not to be St. Francis – it’s to do what is ours to do. That, by the way, was Francis’s word as he lay dying. He said, “I have done what was mine to do; now you must do what is yours to do.” We must find out what part of the mystery it is ours to reflect. There is a unique truth that our lives alone can reflect. That’s the only true meaning of heroism as far as I can see. In this ego-comparison game, we have had centuries of Christians comparing themselves to the Mother Teresas of each age, saying that she was the only name for holiness. Thank God we have such images of holiness, but sometimes we don’t do God or the Gospel a service by spending our life comparing ourselves to others’ gifts and calls. All I can give back to God is what God has given to me – nothing more and no less!
— Richard Rohr, Everything Belongs, p. 96-97
Photo: South Riding, Virginia, December 25, 2024
God, erase my humiliation
about being stubbornly finite.
Remind me again
how all these limitations
can still be called blessed.
Blessed are my bleary eyes
and long naps.
Blessed are my scattered thoughts
and unfinished checklists.
May my mortality feel as beloved
as my efforts.
Because in all things,
I long to be yours.
— Kate Bowler and Jessica Richie, The Lives We Actually Have, p. 25
Photo: South Riding, Virginia, January 18, 2025
The feeder is empty again
and no one is claiming
that the birds are greedy
for taking what they pleased.
Look at how the fat, pink flowers
are weighing the end of each branch,
sucking nutrients into each velvet petal.
How selfish.
Nature hungers, takes, and needs.
God, why can’t I?
Blessed are we, learning to take
what we need.
Sleeping past our alarms.
Reaching for another helping.
Staying a little longer
when the evening is unwinding.
— Kate Bowler, Have a Beautiful, Terrible Day! Daily Meditations for the Ups, Downs, and In-Betweens, p. 19
Photo: Tree Swallow, South Riding, Virginia, May 21, 2024
The word is made known in the person. It cannot be contained to the pages of Scripture alone. It is embodied and incarnated. If the word is constricted to the pages, the gospel is neutered. As a Christian, I believe that God is made known in the person of Jesus of Nazareth. The Jewish teacher who took the actual words of scripture and said, “You have heard it said, but I say to you…” suggests that there is more to God than simply knowing the scriptures. The fullness of God is discerned in the reality of existence. The word of God is experienced.
— Trey Ferguson, Theologizin’ Bigger, p. 12
Photo: South Riding, Virginia, January 23, 2024
Remember, not everything has to be done. And not everything has to be done by you. May you find a small place for rest that is life-giving and fits what is available to you today.
— Kate Bowler and Jessica Richie, Good Enough, p. 58
Photo: South Riding, Virginia, January 5, 2024