Master's Canvas – Writing & Photography by David K. Carpenter | Providing encouragement for an intimate friendship with Jesus Christ, the Source of all Truth, Life, Light, Wisdom, Love, Joy, and Peace

Apparently, “He Makes Me Lie Down” Wasn’t a Suggestion

Posted on September 27, 2026 by Writing & Photography by David K. Carpenter

Apparently, I can be a slow learner.

Just a few weeks ago, I wrote about rest.

In Green Pastures at 125 Miles an Hour, I reflected on those familiar words from Psalm 23:

“He makes me lie down in green pastures,
he leads me beside quiet waters,
he refreshes my soul.”

—Psalm 23:2–3 (NIV)

At the time, I was particularly struck by five words:

He makes me lie down.

Not He suggests that I lie down.

Not He provides a lovely green pasture and hopes I eventually notice it.

He makes me lie down.

I even wondered whether the Shepherd sometimes has to do that because the sheep isn’t smart enough to stop on his own.

Apparently, this particular sheep still didn’t get the message.

Because this morning, God seemed to tap me on the shoulder again.

Sheep resting and grazing in a green coastal pasture beside the sea — Sometimes the Shepherd knows what the sheep needs before the sheep does.

Put in a Place of Rest

My devotional this morning centered on something God told Moses:

“My Presence will go with you, and I will give you rest.”

—Exodus 33:14 (NIV)

The person leading the devotional pointed out something I didn’t know.

The Hebrew word translated here as “rest” comes from the word nuach. It can mean to rest, settle, or remain—and in different forms can also carry the idea of causing someone to rest, or placing them somewhere.

In fact, the same Hebrew root appears near the beginning of the Bible.

After creating the Garden of Eden, Scripture tells us:

“The LORD God took the man and put him in the Garden of Eden to work it and take care of it.”

—Genesis 2:15 (NIV)

That word translated “put” comes from the same Hebrew root.

God put Adam in the garden.

God placed him there.

And embedded within the language is this beautiful connection between being placed somewhere and being brought to rest there.

That got my attention.

Because I tend to think of rest as something God offers me.

He provides the green pasture.

He leads me beside the quiet water.

He invites me to come.

And then presumably it’s up to me to decide whether I’m going to take advantage of it.

But perhaps sometimes God does something more.

Perhaps sometimes He puts us in places where we can rest.

And perhaps—especially for some of us—He occasionally allows circumstances to put us somewhere where we finally will.

When Something Broke

More than twenty years ago, I broke my leg playing hockey.

And I didn’t just injure it badly enough to limp around for a few days.

It was a severe fracture.

At the time, our family was growing. My career was growing. My responsibilities were growing.

And true to form, I was living at something approaching breakneck speed.

Then, quite literally, something broke.

Suddenly there were things I couldn’t do.

Places I couldn’t go.

Responsibilities I couldn’t carry.

I had no choice but to slow down.

For someone wired like me, being unable to do something can sometimes be harder than doing it.

I want to be very careful about what I mean here.

I don’t believe God broke my leg.

I don’t believe He orchestrated a painful injury because He needed to teach me a lesson.

We live in a world where accidents happen, bodies break, and aging hockey players occasionally discover that they are not indestructible.

But I do believe God met me in that circumstance.

And I believe He can take something He didn’t cause and use it for purposes I couldn’t possibly see at the time.

Looking back, one of those purposes was rest.

The injury wasn’t good.

But God still used it for good.

For a season, circumstances placed me somewhere I probably would never have voluntarily gone:

At rest.

And perhaps God looked at this suddenly stationary and occasionally stubborn sheep and thought:

Finally.

Retiring Without Resting

Fast-forward a couple decades and some change.

I retired in June.

You might think retirement would have solved my contentious relationship with rest.

You would be wrong.

We had recently purchased a home in Casper, Wyoming, and there was a long list of projects that needed attention.

Some genuinely needed to be done.

Others probably seemed considerably more urgent to me than they actually were.

But once I got going, I did what I’ve always done.

I worked.

And worked.

And worked some more.

For much of the summer, I put in twelve- to fifteen-hour days, six days a week.

Some retirement.

There may have been a slight flaw in my approach.

I accomplished an enormous amount, and I’m grateful that God gave me the health, strength, resources, and ability to do it.

But by the end of the summer, I didn’t feel particularly retired.

I just felt tired.

Soul Rest

Then we left for two weeks in London, Edinburgh, and Killarney.

And for the first time since June, I actually felt retired.

It was wonderful.

It was also not particularly restful.

My wife and I aren’t especially talented at vacations involving seven consecutive days beside a swimming pool.

There is too much to see.

Too much to experience.

Too many places just around the next bend.

So we walked miles through London.

We explored castles and cathedrals.

We climbed hills in Scotland.

We wandered through forests in Ireland.

We tried to squeeze as much life as we reasonably could into every day.

My feet were often tired.

But something else was happening.

My soul was resting.

I wrote earlier this year in Resting in the Spirit: Finding Peace in the Storm about a kind of rest that has very little to do with whether our bodies are moving.

It is the rest Jesus offers when He says:

“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.”

—Matthew 11:28 (NIV)

I experienced a great deal of that on our trip.

Wonder can be restful.

Beauty can be restful.

Time with someone you love can be restful.

Stepping temporarily outside the routines and responsibilities that normally occupy your thoughts can be deeply restful.

Even when your feet hurt.

And Now There Is…Nothing?

Now we’re back in Florida.

For the first time since I retired.

There are things that need to be done, of course. We’ve been gone all summer, and the house and yard have been patiently accumulating a list for us.

But thankfully, it’s not a terribly long list.

There is no enormous Wyoming project list.

There is no career demanding my attention.

There is no European itinerary telling us where we need to be tomorrow morning.

For perhaps the first time since I retired, there is actually space.

And this morning I sensed God gently tapping me on the shoulder.

Don’t fill it.

That may be the part I need to hear most.

Because when an empty space appears in my life, my instinct is to fill it.

With a project.

With a goal.

With something useful.

With something productive.

Even with something good.

But maybe an empty space isn’t always waiting to be filled.

Maybe sometimes the empty space is the gift.

Maybe God has put me here.

Not merely somewhere I can rest.

But somewhere He wants me to actually rest.

The God Who Knows His Sheep

That brings me right back to Psalm 23.

A good shepherd knows his sheep.

He knows when they need to move.

He knows when they need food.

He knows when they need water.

And He knows when they need to lie down.

Even when the sheep has other ideas.

There is something deeply comforting about that.

God knows me.

He knows I can turn retirement into work.

He knows I can turn vacation into an endurance sport.

He knows I can turn an empty calendar into a project plan before breakfast.

I can probably even turn resting into something to accomplish if given sufficient opportunity.

And still He patiently leads me toward green pastures.

Sometimes He may even place me there.

Because rest is more than inactivity.

Rest is trust.

When I stop working, the world keeps turning.

When I stop solving problems, God remains God.

When I leave something unfinished until tomorrow, His kingdom somehow survives.

Rest reminds me of something my busy heart easily forgets:

I am not responsible for holding everything together.

Paul tells us that in Christ, “all things hold together” (Colossians 1:17).

It doesn’t say in Dave all things hold together.

That’s probably worth being reminded of. Again and again, apparently.

Maybe This Time I’ll Get It

This isn’t the first time God has spoken to me about this.

Last year I wrote Slow Down.

Earlier this year, it was Resting in the Spirit.

Then, just a few weeks ago, I was writing about green pastures at 125 miles an hour.

And now I’m writing about rest again.

Apparently God repeats Himself.

Or perhaps, more accurately, God patiently allows me to keep rediscovering what He has been saying all along.

I’ve learned that spiritual growth isn’t always a straight line.

Sometimes God teaches me something.

I understand it.

I write about it.

I sincerely believe it.

And then, a few weeks later, He taps me on the shoulder and says:

Okay. Now let’s actually live it.

So here I am.

Back in Florida.

Retired.

The urgent list finally getting shorter.

The green pasture right in front of me.

And maybe the faithful thing to do next isn’t to figure out what I can accomplish with all this newfound time.

Maybe it is simply to recognize where the Shepherd has placed me.

And lie down.

After all—

apparently, it wasn’t a suggestion.

Posted in Christian Living, Encouragement, Faith & Encouragement, Faith and Trust, Walking with God | Tagged bible, Christian Living, Faith, God, Jesus, Psalm 23, rest, Retirement, Trust, Walking with God | Leave a comment

Adventure’s End

Posted on September 20, 2026 by Writing & Photography by David K. Carpenter

On the last day
of this adventure,
I'm pulled in two directions.

Not eager for the journey
to end,
I scroll through
endless destinations,

enticed by what
could be next.

Could be—
but may not be.

There are paths
I have not walked,
shores I have not seen,
and always, somewhere,
another turning
just beyond my sight.

Adventure calls loudly.

But beneath it,
quieter and deeper,
is the still, small voice
of home.

The people I love.
The warm embrace
of knowing and being known.

And still I linger,
looking back
at where I’ve been
and wondering
where I might yet go.

Then, through glad-sad weeping,
I turn into the autumn mist,

through emerald woods,

knowing, somehow,
the answer.

A longing to see
what waits beyond
the next bend,

and another longing,
deeper still,

for the place
where wandering ends.

So I turn toward home,

toward the outstretched arms
awaiting my return.

David K. Carpenter
September 2026

Rainbow over the green Irish countryside after a passing rain — Through glad-sad weeping, I turn into the autumn mist… toward home.

Posted in Poetry, Poetry & Reflections, Walking with God | Tagged adventure, Christian poetry, Faith, Home, journey, longing | 2 Comments

Blessed Are the Peacemakers

Posted on September 13, 2026 by Writing & Photography by David K. Carpenter

September 11 is one of those dates that doesn’t need much explanation.

For those of us old enough to remember 2001, simply seeing 9/11 is enough.

We remember the airplanes.

The towers.

The smoke.

The Pentagon.

The field in Pennsylvania.

We remember watching something almost unimaginable unfold before our eyes.

And many of us remember exactly where we were when we first heard what was happening.

Twenty-five years later, the images are still difficult to comprehend.

As I write this, my wife and I are in Killarney, Ireland—a place that, at least from a visitor’s perspective, feels remarkably peaceful.

There is something almost jarring about remembering September 11 from here. Because during my own lifetime, Ireland was also a place where violence rooted in deep political, national and religious divisions regularly made the news.

I remember hearing about bombings and killings connected with the Troubles. For decades, peace in Northern Ireland sometimes seemed impossibly far away.

And yet, in 1998, people who had very good reasons to distrust one another chose another path. The Good Friday Agreement didn’t erase the history, heal every wound or eliminate every disagreement. But it helped bring an end to decades of widespread violence.

That’s worth thinking about.

Because peace doesn’t require pretending that our differences aren’t real. It requires deciding that hatred and violence don’t get the final word.

Peaceful Irish landscape with the words Remembering 9/11 and Jesus’ blessing for peacemakers from Matthew 5:9

But this week, as I’ve thought about September 11 again, I’ve found myself thinking less about the people who brought violence into the world that morning and more about the people who ran toward it.

Firefighters.

Police officers.

Paramedics.

Ordinary people helping strangers.

Passengers on an airplane who realized what was happening and decided to act.

People who, in the middle of terror and chaos, chose courage, sacrifice and love.

And that has brought me back to something Jesus said:

“Blessed are the peacemakers,
for they will be called children of God.”
—Matthew 5:9 (NIV)

I’ve read that verse many times.

But I’ve been wondering whether I’ve understood just how demanding it is.

Peace Is More Than the Absence of Conflict

When I hear the word peace, I tend to picture something quiet.

A calm morning.

A still lake.

A beautiful landscape.

A world in which, for a little while at least, nobody seems to be fighting about anything.

Those things can certainly feel peaceful.

But biblical peace is much bigger than tranquility.

The Hebrew idea of shalom points toward wholeness—things being as they should be.

Relationships restored.

People reconciled.

Justice and mercy meeting.

Fear giving way to trust.

Broken things being made whole.

That’s the kind of peace God is ultimately creating.

And apparently, He wants His children involved in the work.

Jesus didn’t say:

Blessed are the peace-lovers.

He said:

Blessed are the peacemakers.

There’s a difference.

Peace is something we can enjoy.

Peacemaking is something we do.

Peacemaking Is Not Passive

I think it’s easy to confuse being a peacemaker with simply avoiding conflict.

Don’t argue.

Don’t make anyone angry.

Keep your opinions to yourself.

Smooth things over.

Everybody just get along.

Sometimes those instincts are helpful.

Sometimes they’re cowardice dressed up as peace.

Jesus certainly wasn’t afraid of conflict.

He confronted hypocrisy.

He defended people others were willing to discard.

He spoke truth that made powerful people angry.

He overturned tables in the temple.

And ultimately, He went to the cross.

The Prince of Peace was not passive.

Which means peacemaking cannot simply mean keeping everyone comfortable.

Sometimes making peace requires courage.

Sometimes it requires speaking.

Sometimes it requires listening.

Sometimes it requires forgiving.

Sometimes it requires admitting that I was wrong.

Sometimes it requires standing between someone vulnerable and someone who wants to hurt them.

And sometimes it costs far more than we would ever want to pay.

What We Saw on September 11

I don’t want to romanticize what happened on September 11.

It was evil.

Nearly 3,000 people went to work, boarded airplanes, or simply began an ordinary Tuesday morning and never came home.

Thousands of families were changed forever.

And the consequences of that day continued for decades.

But evil wasn’t the only thing we saw.

We also saw people carrying other people down stairwells.

We saw first responders climbing upward while everyone else was trying desperately to get down.

We saw strangers helping strangers.

We saw people on Flight 93 choose to confront what was happening, knowing what it might cost them.

They couldn’t undo the evil that had already occurred.

But they could decide what they were going to do next.

There is something in that choice that profoundly reflects the character of Christ.

Not because every person who acted heroically that day was necessarily a Christian.

But because self-sacrificing love reflects the character of Christ whether the person demonstrating it realizes that or not.

“Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.”
—John 15:13 (NIV)

On September 11, we saw horrifying examples of what human beings are capable of doing to one another. We also saw extraordinary examples of what human beings are capable of doing for one another. Twenty-five years later, I think both are worth remembering.

What Kind of People Will We Be?

Most of us will never face anything remotely like what people faced that morning.

I hope we never do.

But the call to be peacemakers isn’t reserved for moments of national catastrophe.

It’s mostly lived out in much smaller places.

Our homes.

Our marriages.

Our friendships.

Our churches.

Our workplaces.

Our neighborhoods.

And, increasingly, the little screens we carry around in our pockets.

That last one may be one of the places peacemakers are needed most.

We live in a culture that has become remarkably skilled at making enemies.

Politics.

Religion.

Race.

Immigration.

Gender.

War.

Social issues.

Even relatively trivial disagreements can quickly become opportunities to sort people into teams.

Us.

Them.

Good people.

Bad people.

People worth listening to.

People worth mocking.

And Christians aren’t immune.

Sometimes we’re among the loudest participants.

Yet Jesus said something that leaves us very little room for that:

“Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you.”
—Matthew 5:44 (NIV)

That’s considerably harder than winning an argument.

The Peace Jesus Gives

There’s another reason Christians should be able to become peacemakers.

We don’t have to manufacture peace ourselves.

Jesus gives it to us.

Shortly before His crucifixion, He told His disciples:

“Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives.”
—John 14:27 (NIV)

Notice the order.

Before Jesus asks us to carry peace into the world, He gives His peace to us.

That’s important.

Because it’s difficult to bring peace into a room when there isn’t any peace inside me.

If I’m consumed by fear, I’m likely to spread fear.

If I’m filled with anger, I’ll probably spread anger.

If I see everyone who disagrees with me as an enemy, I’ll keep creating enemies wherever I go.

But if I am learning to live in the peace of Christ, perhaps I can bring something different with me.

Calm instead of outrage.

Curiosity instead of accusation.

Grace instead of contempt.

Truth without cruelty.

Conviction without hatred.

Forgiveness instead of revenge.

Not because I am naturally capable of those things.

Because Christ is changing me.

Children of God

That brings me back to the second half of Jesus’ statement:

“Blessed are the peacemakers,
for they will be called children of God.”

Why children of God?

Perhaps because children often resemble their Father.

Our God is a peacemaker.

Humanity rebelled against Him.

We broke the relationship.

We created the separation.

And God didn’t wait for us to figure out how to repair it.

He came looking for us.

Paul writes:

“For God was pleased to have all his fullness dwell in him, and through him to reconcile to himself all things… by making peace through his blood, shed on the cross.”
—Colossians 1:19–20 (NIV)

That is the heart of the gospel.

God made peace with us at enormous cost to Himself. And now Jesus says to those of us who have received that peace: Go make some.

Twenty-Five Years Later

Twenty-five years have passed since September 11, 2001.

A generation has grown up knowing that day only as history.

For the rest of us, it remains something more personal.

We remember.

And we should.

We should remember those who died.

We should remember the families who lost people they loved.

We should remember the first responders.

We should remember the courage.

We should remember the sacrifice.

But perhaps remembrance should do more than make us look backward.

Perhaps it should make us ask what kind of people we want to be now.

The people who attacked America that morning demonstrated the terrible power of hatred.

The people who ran toward danger demonstrated something else.

Courage.

Sacrifice.

Love.

Twenty-five years later, hatred still isn’t difficult to find.

Neither is fear.

Neither is division.

What seems considerably harder to find are people willing to step into those things carrying peace.

Perhaps that’s one of the lessons of the country I’m visiting as I write this. Peace can seem impossible—right up until people begin doing the difficult work of making it.

Jesus says those people bear a family resemblance.

“Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.”

I don’t know that I’ll ever be asked to run into a burning building.

I pray I won’t.

But today I will almost certainly have opportunities to make peace.

To listen instead of attack.

To forgive instead of retaliate.

To lower the temperature instead of raising it.

To treat someone who disagrees with me as a person God loves rather than an enemy I need to defeat.

To bring a little bit of God’s shalom into a world that desperately needs it.

Those choices won’t make the history books.

Most of them won’t even be noticed.

But perhaps that’s how peace usually enters the world.

One conversation.

One relationship.

One act of forgiveness.

One courageous act of love at a time.

And twenty-five years after a day that showed us just how destructive hatred can be, maybe one of the best ways we can remember is to become the kind of people Jesus called blessed:

Peacemakers.

Posted in Christian Living, Devotional Reflections, Faith & Spiritual Growth, Faith and Spiritual Growth, Healing and Restoration, Overcoming Hate, Spiritual Growth, Spiritual Reflection, The Way of Jesus, Walking with God | Tagged 9/11, Beatitudes, Christian Living, Matthew 5, Peace, Peacemakers, September 11, Shalom | 4 Comments

Green Pastures at 125 Miles an Hour

Posted on September 6, 2026 by Writing & Photography by David K. Carpenter

As I write this, my wife and I are somewhere between London and Edinburgh, traveling north on an LNER train.

Outside the window, the English countryside is rushing past at something approaching 125 miles an hour.

Fields.

Trees.

Villages.

Farms.

And, appropriately enough, a whole lot of green.

After the summer I’ve had, it seems like a pretty good place to think about these familiar words:

“He makes me lie down in green pastures,
he leads me beside quiet waters,
he refreshes my soul.”
—Psalm 23:2–3 (NIV)

Sheep grazing in green pastures beside the North Sea, photographed from a train — Green pastures rushing past the window on our train journey from London to Edinburgh.

I’ve read those words countless times.

Even written about them several times.

But lately I’ve been thinking that perhaps I haven’t always been very good at the lying down part.

Retirement Was Supposed to Be Relaxing

I retired in June.

At least that’s what the paperwork says.

My body might have a different opinion.

Somehow, the first few months of retirement turned into one of the busiest stretches I’ve had in quite a while.

There were projects.

Lots of projects.

Projects at our new home in Wyoming. Projects that led to other projects. Things that needed to be repaired, installed, moved, replaced, dug up, put back together or figured out.

And, as projects have an annoying tendency to do, some of them revealed additional projects hiding underneath.

Apparently retirement does not automatically come with a hammock.

By the time we left for this vacation, I was tired.

Not miserable.

Not ungrateful.

Just tired.

There is actually a lot about the past few months for which I’m deeply grateful.

I’ve been able to accomplish things I didn’t know whether I could accomplish.

I’ve learned things.

I’ve solved problems.

I’ve helped create a home and outdoor spaces that my family and I will enjoy for years.

And through all of it, God provided.

He provided the health and strength to do the work.

He provided the resources.

He provided people who helped when I needed help.

He provided solutions when I didn’t know what to do next.

Looking back, I can see His provision all over the summer.

But God’s provision isn’t always about giving us enough strength to keep going.
Sometimes His provision is giving us permission to stop.

He Makes Me Lie Down

There’s a phrase in Psalm 23 that I’ve probably read too quickly for most of my life:

“He makes me lie down in green pastures.”

I’ve usually pictured that as a peaceful scene.

A shepherd.

Some sheep.

A beautiful green meadow.

Perhaps a stream nearby.

Very relaxing.

But there’s something almost amusing about the wording.

He makes me lie down.

Apparently the sheep doesn’t always have enough sense to do it on his own.

I can relate.

I’m pretty good at doing.

Give me a problem and I’ll try to solve it.

Give me a project and I’ll start figuring out how to accomplish it.

Give me a list and I’ll start checking things off.

Even when I’m tired, there’s usually one more thing that could be done.

One more problem that could be solved.

One more project that could be finished.

And there’s nothing inherently wrong with that. God created us to work, to build, to serve, and to accomplish things.

But He didn’t create us to do those things without stopping.

Even God rested after creation.

Not because He was exhausted.

But perhaps partly because He wanted to establish something we would otherwise have a difficult time accepting:

Rest is part of the design.

Receiving Is Part of Following

I’ve tended to think of following God mostly in active terms.

Go.

Do.

Serve.

Give.

Help.

Obey.

Persevere.

And all of those things are important.

But Psalm 23 presents another picture of following the Shepherd.

Sometimes following Him means allowing Him to lead me somewhere quiet.

Sometimes obedience looks less like accomplishing something and more like receiving something.

Green pastures.

Quiet waters.

Rest.

Beauty.

Time.

And that can be surprisingly difficult.

Because receiving requires trust too.

I have to believe that the world will continue turning if I stop working for a while.

I have to believe that not every unfinished project requires my immediate attention.

I have to believe that God isn’t measuring the value of my life by the number of things I accomplish in a day.

And perhaps most importantly, I have to remember that I am a sheep in Psalm 23.

I am not the Shepherd.

That’s an important distinction.

The Shepherd knows when it’s time to walk.

He knows when it’s time to climb.

He knows when it’s time to pass through the valley.

And He knows when it’s time to lie down.

My job is to follow.

He Refreshes My Soul

That leads to the next phrase:

“He refreshes my soul.”

I love that.

Because there are forms of tiredness that sleep alone doesn’t fix.

Sometimes what needs restoring isn’t merely the body.

It’s the soul.

And God has given us so many ways to experience that restoration.

A conversation with someone we love.

A walk through the woods.

The sound of water.

A sunset.

Music.

Laughter.

Prayer.

Silence.

A meal shared with people we care about.

Or perhaps sitting beside your wife on a train while the English countryside rolls past the window.

Green pastures surrounding quiet water in the English countryside, photographed from a moving train — Green pastures and quiet waters seen from our train as we traveled from London to Edinburgh. Sometimes God restores our souls simply by giving us time to notice what He has made.

For the remainder of this vacation, I hope to do a lot more receiving than producing.

We’re going to see places we’ve never seen.

Walk through centuries of history.

Spend time together.

Eat some good food.

Hopefully sleep a little later occasionally.

And experience some extraordinary parts of God’s creation.

I’m sure we’ll have full days. Knowing us, we’ll probably walk too many miles on at least a few of them.

This isn’t going to be two weeks of lying beside a swimming pool.

But restoration doesn’t necessarily mean inactivity.

Sometimes restoration simply means stepping away from the things that have been consuming our attention long enough to notice something else.

Green Pastures at 125 Miles an Hour

Which brings me back to the window.

There’s something wonderfully ironic about finding myself thinking about rest while traveling at 125 miles an hour.

The train isn’t slowing down.

But I am.

For once, I don’t have to steer.

I don’t have to navigate.

I don’t have to fix anything.

I don’t even have to figure out how we’re getting to Edinburgh.

Someone else is handling that.

All I have to do is sit here.

And look out the window.

Maybe that’s not a bad picture of what God sometimes invites us to do with Him.

We spend so much of our lives trying to control the journey.

Where are we going?

How are we going to get there?

What happens next?

What if something goes wrong?

What am I supposed to do?

And our Shepherd says:

Follow Me.

Sometimes He leads us through difficult places.

Sometimes He gives us work to do.

Sometimes He asks us to keep walking when we’d rather stop.

But sometimes He leads us into green pastures.

And when He does, perhaps the faithful response isn’t to immediately start looking around for something that needs fixing.

Perhaps it’s simply to lie down.

To receive the gift.

To notice the beauty.

To enjoy the people He’s placed beside us.

To remember that He is God and we are not.

And to let Him refresh our souls.

As the countryside continues rushing past my window, I think that’s what I want to practice over the remainder of this trip.

Not escaping my life.

Not recovering from some terrible ordeal.

Simply receiving a season God has graciously provided.

Because maybe sometimes God restores our souls simply by giving us time to notice what He has made.

And perhaps the strangest part is that we can finally slow down enough to see it…

even at 125 miles an hour.

Posted in Christian Living, Faith & Spiritual Growth, Faith and Trust, Faith Reflections, Scripture Reflections, Spiritual Growth, Walking with God | Tagged God's provision, Green Pastures, Psalm 23, rest, Restoration, Spiritual Rest, Trusting God | 2 Comments

When God Has Already Answered

Posted on August 30, 2026 by Writing & Photography by David K. Carpenter

At the beginning of August, the pastor at our church in Casper began a sermon series on the book of Proverbs.

As part of the series, he challenged us to read one chapter of Proverbs each day for the entire month.

Conveniently, Proverbs contains 31 chapters.

August contains 31 days.

You don’t need a theology or math degree to figure out the reading plan.

So for the past month, I’ve been making my way through Proverbs one chapter at a time, following the Proverbs commentary and insights provided by Through the Bible on the YouVersion app.

I’ve read Proverbs many times before. I’ve encountered its best-known verses countless times. But there’s something different about reading the entire book this way—slowly enough to absorb it, but quickly enough to begin noticing themes that run throughout it.

Wisdom.

Foolishness.

Humility.

Pride.

Words.

Work.

Money.

Marriage.

Friendship.

Anger.

Temptation.

Generosity.

Discipline.

Planning.

Listening.

And occasionally, dogs doing disgusting things.

We’ll get to that.

But as I’ve worked my way through the book this month, I’ve been reminded of something I should have realized a long time ago.

I’ve spent much of my Christian life asking God for guidance.

And all along, He’s already given me an awful lot of it.

Lord, What Should I Do?

One of the most consistent prayers of my Christian journey has been some variation of:

Lord, what do You want me to do?

I’ve prayed it before major decisions.

Career changes.

Moves.

Financial decisions.

Family decisions.

Retirement.

And countless smaller decisions that I’ve long since forgotten.

I want my life to be aligned with God’s will.

I want to go where He wants me to go.

I want to do what He wants me to do.

I want to become the person He wants me to become.

And sometimes I’ve wished He’d make His answer a little more obvious.

A booming voice from heaven would be helpful.

A burning bush would certainly get my attention.

I’d even settle for a clearly worded text message.

Instead, there have been plenty of times when I’ve prayed for direction and heard…

nothing.

At least nothing I could clearly identify as an answer.

And I’ve wondered:

God, why don’t You just tell me what You want me to do?

Reading Proverbs this month reminded me that sometimes His response could quite reasonably be:

I already have.

Wisdom Hiding in Plain Sight

Proverbs isn’t primarily a book of instructions for extraordinary moments.

It’s a book about how to live an ordinary life wisely.

And it turns out God has quite a bit to say about that through Solomon, King David’s son, whom God blessed with extraordinary wisdom and who is traditionally regarded as one of the wisest men who ever lived.

For example, when I’m tempted to make an important decision entirely on my own:

“Plans fail for lack of counsel, but with many advisers they succeed.”
—Proverbs 15:22 (NIV)

When I become too confident that I’ve got something figured out:

“The way of fools seems right to them, but the wise listen to advice.”
—Proverbs 12:15 (NIV)

When I’m tempted to say something in anger:

“A gentle answer turns away wrath, but a harsh word stirs up anger.”
—Proverbs 15:1 (NIV)

When I need to be reminded that my words matter:

“The words of the reckless pierce like swords, but the tongue of the wise brings healing.”
—Proverbs 12:18 (NIV)

When I’m making plans for the future:

“In their hearts humans plan their course, but the LORD establishes their steps.”
—Proverbs 16:9 (NIV)

That’s a remarkable amount of practical guidance.

And that’s barely scratching the surface.

God has given us principles about choosing friends, handling money, controlling anger, resisting temptation, working diligently, accepting correction, raising children, treating the poor, avoiding pride, speaking carefully, seeking counsel, and making plans.

Apparently, He hasn’t been nearly as silent as I sometimes imagine.

Maybe I’ve just been listening for an answer He has already written down.

Open Bible on a mountain overlook illustrating God’s wisdom and guidance through Scripture

The Dog Has Entered the Conversation

Of course, not every proverb sounds like something you’d embroider on a pillow.

There are some…less delicate ones.

One morning this month, I encountered this gem:

“As a dog returns to its vomit, so fools repeat their folly.”
—Proverbs 26:11 (NIV)

There’s an image for your morning devotional.

My dog was nearby, so I naturally asked her why dogs do this.

She gave me a look suggesting that she didn’t appreciate being stereotyped.

Fair enough.

Dogs do a lot of disgusting things, but returning to their vomit has to rank somewhere in the top three.

Still, once you get past the imagery, Solomon’s point is painfully good.

How often do I do essentially the same thing?

I make a mistake.

I experience the consequences.

I learn my lesson.

I promise myself—and perhaps God—that I won’t do that again.

And then, given enough time…

I wander right back.

Same temptation.

Same attitude.

Same bad habit.

Same result.

Suddenly the dog isn’t looking quite so foolish.

That’s one of the things I appreciate about Proverbs.

Biblical wisdom isn’t abstract philosophy.

It’s relentlessly practical.

Sometimes uncomfortably so.

The Wisest Thing I Can Learn

But beneath all of these individual pieces of advice is something much more fundamental.

Proverbs begins with this:

“The fear of the LORD is the beginning of knowledge, but fools despise wisdom and instruction.”
—Proverbs 1:7 (NIV)

That may be the foundation underneath everything else in the book.

Wisdom begins by recognizing Who is wise.

And who isn’t.

One of the wisest things I can ever learn is how little I know.

That isn’t an argument against learning.

Quite the opposite.

It’s what makes learning possible.

If I already believe I have all the answers, why would I seek God’s wisdom?

Why would I listen to Scripture?

Why would I pray?

Why would I seek advice from people who have walked farther down the road than I have?

Why would I allow anyone to correct me?

Proverbs says:

“Where there is strife, there is pride, but wisdom is found in those who take advice.”
—Proverbs 13:10 (NIV)

There’s a connection there that I don’t particularly enjoy.

Pride tells me I should already know.

Wisdom tells me it’s okay that I don’t.

That’s one reason coming to the end of ourselves can actually be a very good place to be.

It isn’t pleasant to discover the limits of our own strength, intelligence or judgment.

But those limits can point us toward Someone who doesn’t have any.

I don’t know what to do.

That can feel like failure.

Perhaps sometimes it’s actually the beginning of wisdom.

Drowning in Information, Starving for Wisdom

It seems particularly relevant in the world we’re living in.

Human beings have access to more information than at any previous point in history.

Within seconds, I can pull a small device out of my pocket and access much of the accumulated knowledge of civilization.

And now artificial intelligence can analyze and synthesize enormous amounts of that information almost instantaneously.

We certainly aren’t suffering from a shortage of information.

But I’m not convinced we’re becoming correspondingly wiser.

Because knowledge and wisdom aren’t the same thing.

Knowledge can tell me what something is.

Wisdom helps me understand what it means.

Knowledge can tell me what happened before.

Wisdom helps me learn from it.

Knowledge can tell me what I’m capable of doing.

Wisdom helps me decide whether I should do it.

And sometimes wisdom tells me when to do it—or when not to.

Perhaps that’s one reason our culture sometimes seems so bewilderingly foolish despite being so extraordinarily knowledgeable.

We’ve become very good at accumulating information.
But information alone can’t tell us how to live.

The Wisdom of Other People

God also didn’t intend for me to figure everything out alone.

That’s another theme Proverbs keeps repeating.

“For lack of guidance a nation falls, but victory is won through many advisers.”
—Proverbs 11:14 (NIV)

I’ve experienced the truth of that throughout my life.

Some of the wisdom God has given me has come directly from His Word.

Some has come through prayer and the quiet prompting of the Holy Spirit.

But a tremendous amount has come through other people.

Parents.

Pastors.

Friends.

Mentors.

Coworkers.

People who had already made the mistake I was about to make.

People who could see something I couldn’t.

People with enough knowledge and experience to understand not merely what could be done, but what should be done.

There’s humility involved in seeking that kind of wisdom.

I have to admit that someone else may know something I don’t.

Someone else may see something I’ve missed.

Someone else may even be right when I desperately want them to be wrong.

Proverbs would say that’s not weakness.

That’s wisdom.

Keep Asking

None of this means I’m going to stop asking God for guidance.

Quite the opposite.

Scripture specifically tells us:

“If any of you lacks wisdom, you should ask God, who gives generously to all without finding fault, and it will be given to you.”
—James 1:5 (NIV)

I love that promise.

God doesn’t rebuke me for needing wisdom.

He invites me to ask for more.

And I hope that as long as I’m alive, I’ll keep growing in wisdom.

There are things God will teach me tomorrow that I don’t understand today.

There are experiences ahead of me that will change how I see things.

There are people I haven’t met yet who will teach me things I need to know.

There are passages of Scripture I’ve read dozens of times that the Holy Spirit may suddenly illuminate in a completely new way.

Growing older doesn’t automatically make me wiser.

But growing older with God certainly ought to.

So I’ll keep praying for wisdom.

I’ll keep asking for direction.

I’ll keep seeking His will.

But perhaps my prayer has become a little more complete:

Lord, continue to grow me in wisdom.

Give me wisdom when I don’t know what to do.

Surround me with wise people who will tell me the truth, even when it isn’t what I want to hear.

And help me recognize, understand and obey the wisdom You’ve already given me.

Trusting the One Who Knows

There is one passage in Proverbs that probably summarizes this entire month better than any other.

It’s familiar.

Maybe too familiar.

Sometimes I’ve read familiar verses so many times that I stop hearing how radical they actually are.

“Trust in the LORD with all your heart
and lean not on your own understanding;
in all your ways submit to him,
and he will make your paths straight.”
—Proverbs 3:5–6 (NIV)

Lean not on your own understanding.

That’s difficult for someone who likes to understand things.

I want the plan.

I want the reasoning.

I want to know where the path is going before I start walking down it.

But wisdom begins somewhere else.

It begins with trust.

Not trust in my ability to figure everything out.

Trust in God’s ability to guide me.

Sometimes He’ll guide me through an unmistakable answer to prayer.

Sometimes through another person.

Sometimes through experience.

Sometimes through that quiet prompting I’ve learned to recognize over years of walking with Him.

And sometimes I’ll ask Him what I should do…
open the Bible…
and discover that He answered the question thousands of years before I thought to ask it.

A Question to Sit With

Am I waiting for God to give me an answer He has already given me—or am I learning to recognize, trust, and live by the wisdom He has placed right in front of me?

Posted in Christian Living, Spiritual Growth, Walking with God, Wisdom Literature | Tagged bible, Christian Living, Faith, God, God’s Guidance, Jesus, Proverbs, Scripture, Seeking God’s Will, Trusting God, Wisdom | Leave a comment

Wild Horses

Posted on August 23, 2026 by Writing & Photography by David K. Carpenter

A Hike in the Woods

Earlier this week, I went for a solitary hike along a beautiful mountain path called the Bridle Trail.

It was one of those spectacular mornings when creation seemed especially determined to show off.

Morning light filtered through the pines.

The air was cool and fresh.

The mountains surrounded me.

A quiet mountain trail winding through pine and aspen trees on Casper Mountain in Wyoming — The trail through Casper Mountain on an early morning hike.

And as I hiked, I found myself thanking God for the beauty of everything around me.

Before long, that gratitude led me into deeper business with the Creator of everything I was admiring.

And me.

It has been just over a year since my dad passed away, and as I walked, I began reflecting on everything that has happened since then.

Spiritually.

Emotionally.

Geographically.

It’s been quite a year.

And suddenly an image popped into my mind.

A marathon.

A Marathon at Sprint Pace

That’s what this past year has felt like.

A marathon.

Except even that didn’t seem quite right.

I’ve always been amazed by elite marathon runners. They run mile after mile at a pace faster than I could run a single mile.

I’ve joked that I could stand around resting at mile marker 25, wait for the leader to arrive, and then challenge him or her to a race to the finish line.

They’d still beat me.

That’s when another description occurred to me.

This past year has felt like a marathon-sprint.

A long race run at an absurdly fast pace.

So much has happened. So much has changed. So much has been accomplished.

And lately, I think I’m feeling some of the accumulated effects.

Not complete exhaustion.

More like a persistent, low-grade weariness.

As I continued hiking, I started taking inventory of something more important than everything we’ve accomplished over the past year.

My walk with God.

Holding On for Dear Life

There have been wonderful stretches during this past year when I’ve felt remarkably close to God.

But there have also been times when that closeness seemed to fade.

Times when my attention wandered.

Times when old patterns of thinking or behavior began creeping back in.

Times when the things of this world seemed more compelling than they should.

As I thought about those moments, an image appeared in my mind.

I pictured myself clinging desperately to Jesus’ feet.

Holding on with everything I had.

Don’t let go.

And then something occurred to me.

Maybe that was part of the problem.

I was still imagining that everything depended upon how tightly I could hold on to Him.

And if this past year has taught me anything, it’s that my strength has limits.

Physical strength.

Emotional strength.

Spiritual strength.

Eventually, I get tired.

So the image in my mind changed.

Instead of seeing myself desperately clinging to Jesus…

I saw Jesus clinging to me.

That changed everything.

When My Grip Gets Weak

Jesus said:

“My sheep listen to my voice; I know them, and they follow me. I give them eternal life, and they shall never perish; no one will snatch them out of my hand.“

—John 10:27–28 (NIV, emphasis added)

I love that picture.

I’m in His hand.

My security doesn’t ultimately depend upon the strength of my grip.
It depends upon His.

That doesn’t mean I can’t wander.

I can.

Sometimes I turn my attention away from God and toward the things of this world.

Sometimes, without even consciously realizing what I’m doing, I begin straining against what can feel in the moment like the “confines” of God’s love.

I want to do what I want to do.

I want what I want.

I want to decide what’s best for me.

It’s an ancient temptation.

In the Garden of Eden, the serpent began with a deceptively simple question:

“Did God really say…?”

—Genesis 3:1 (NIV)

The lie underneath the question was even more dangerous:

Maybe God is withholding something good from you.

Maybe you’ll be happier outside His boundaries.

Maybe you know better.

Thousands of years later, the enemy still whispers variations of the same lie.

And sometimes I still listen.

Who Is Holding Whom?

The Apostle Paul understood this struggle.

He wrote:

“For I have the desire to do what is good, but I cannot carry it out.”

—Romans 7:18 (NIV)

I know that feeling.

Left entirely to myself, I’m too easily tempted.

Too easily distracted.

Too easily fooled.

Too willing to believe that perhaps this time the serpent has a point.

That’s why the image of Jesus holding onto me was so powerful.

Paul writes:

“The Lord is faithful, and he will strengthen you and protect you from the evil one.”

—2 Thessalonians 3:3 (NIV)

The Lord is faithful.

Not Dave is faithful enough.

Not Dave is strong enough.

Not Dave will never get distracted again.

Thank God.

Because none of those statements would provide much reassurance.

My faithfulness fluctuates.

His doesn’t.

Wild Horses

And that’s when an unexpected song began playing in my head.

The Rolling Stones’ “Wild Horses.”

Written by Mick Jagger and Keith Richards, the song contains a line I’ve heard countless times over the years:

“Wild horses couldn’t drag me away.”

Suddenly those words meant something entirely different to me.

Wild horses couldn’t drag me away.

Not because I’m strong enough to resist them.

Not because my grip on Jesus is so extraordinary.

But because His grip on me is.

Paul expresses that assurance far more powerfully in Romans (in probably my favorite passage in the entire Bible):

“For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers… will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

—Romans 8:38–39 (NIV)

Nothing.

Not temptation.

Not exhaustion.

Not grief.

Not doubt.

Not the enemy’s lies.

Not even my own occasional attempts to wander away.

Nothing can separate me from the love of God in Christ.

Wild horses don’t stand a chance.

Wild Horses Christian devotional image illustrating Romans 8:38–39 and the promise that nothing can separate us from the love of God

The Boulders Beneath My Feet

By this point in my hike, the trail itself seemed to join the conversation.

I had reached a stretch littered with enormous boulders.

And as I walked among them, another image from Scripture came to mind.

Jesus said:

“Therefore everyone who hears these words of mine and puts them into practice is like a wise man who built his house on the rock.”

—Matthew 7:24 (NIV)

I found myself thanking God.

Thanking Him that, through His grace, He has helped me build my life on something stronger than myself.

Because if my foundation were my own strength…

my own discipline…

my own wisdom…

my own goodness…

I’d be in trouble.

Eventually, every one of those things fails.

But the Rock doesn’t.

Large boulders overlooking a sunlit mountain valley on Casper Mountain in Wyoming — The boulders beneath my feet reminded me to be grateful for the Rock beneath my life.

The writer of Hebrews puts it beautifully:

“Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you.”

—Hebrews 13:5 (NIV)

That’s the foundation.

Not that I’ll never stumble.

Not that I’ll never become distracted.

Not that I’ll never take a wrong turn.

But that He will never leave me.

The Race Isn’t Over

Maybe that realization is especially important after a year that has felt like a marathon run at sprint pace.

Because the race isn’t over.

The writer of Hebrews tells us to:

“…run with perseverance the race marked out for us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith.”

—Hebrews 12:1–2 (NIV)

Actually, Hebrews doesn’t tell me to fix my eyes on my performance.

Or on how far I’ve already run.

Or on how tired I am.

Fix your eyes on Jesus.

That’s where I went wrong in the image that first appeared in my mind.

I was looking at my hands.

Am I holding tightly enough?

Perhaps the better question is:

Whose hands are holding me?

A Final Encouragement

Eventually, my hike came to an end.

But the conversation stayed with me.

A year after losing my dad, I’ve traveled farther than I could have imagined—spiritually, emotionally, and geographically.

There have been mountaintops.

There have been valleys.

There have been times of remarkable closeness with God.

And there have been times when I’ve wandered toward the edge of the trail.

But through all of it, He has remained faithful.

I’m still learning to cling to Jesus.

I hope I always will.

But I’m even more grateful that my salvation doesn’t ultimately depend upon how tightly I can hold onto Him.

He’s holding onto me.

My strength may fail.

His won’t.

My attention may wander.

His doesn’t.

My faithfulness may falter.

His never will.

And because He has helped me build my life upon the bedrock of Jesus Christ, I can keep running the race He has marked out for me.

Or, on a beautiful morning in the mountains, simply keep hiking.

Knowing that whatever lies ahead…

wild horses couldn’t drag me away.

Not because of the strength of my grip on Him.

Because of the strength of His grip on me.

A Question to Sit With

Am I exhausting myself trying to hold onto God in my own strength…

or am I learning to rest in the truth that He is already holding onto me?

Small mountain stream flowing through rocks and dense green vegetation on Casper Mountain in Wyoming — A quiet mountain stream along the Bridle Trail on Casper Mountain.

Sunlit rocky canyon and pine forest overlooking the plains from Casper Mountain in Wyoming — Morning light reaches into the canyon on Casper Mountain, with the Wyoming plains stretching into the distance.

Two dogs hiking a rocky trail through pine trees overlooking Casper, Wyoming from Casper Mountain — My hiking companions chasing squirrels on Casper Mountain.

View of Casper, Wyoming and the surrounding plains framed by pine trees from Casper Mountain — Looking down on Casper and the wide-open Wyoming plains from Casper Mountain.

Posted in Christian Living, Walking with God | Tagged assurance, bible, Christian Faith, Christianity, Faith, God, God's Faithfulness, God's love, Hebrews 12, Jesus, perseverance, Romans 8, spiritual weariness, Walking with God | Leave a comment

Love Finds a Way

Posted on August 16, 2026 by Writing & Photography by David K. Carpenter

Introduction: How Will They Know?

Jesus once gave His followers a remarkably simple way to identify themselves to the world.

He didn’t say people would recognize us by the churches we build.

Or by how much Scripture we know.

Or by how well we can defend our beliefs.

Or even by how often we’re right.

He simply said:

“By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another.”

—John 13:35 (NIV)

Love.

That’s supposed to be our identifying marker.

And lately, I’ve found myself wondering what it would look like if we took those words completely seriously—which, of course, we should do since Jesus said them.

Not just on Sundays.

Not just with our families and friends.

Not just with people who think like we do, look like we do, vote like we do, believe like we do, or treat us kindly.

What if love became the filter through which we passed virtually everything we did?

Every conversation.

Every disagreement.

Every social media post.

Every response to an insult.

Every interaction with a stranger.

Every ordinary moment of every ordinary day.

Paul puts it about as simply as possible:

Everything.

That’s a pretty high bar.

What Does “Everything” Mean?

I’ve been thinking about what that command might mean practically.

If I am going to say something to another person, can I say it in love?

If I am going to do something that affects someone else, can I do it in love?

If I am going to post something online, can I post it in love?

If I am going to disagree with someone, can I disagree in love?

And if I can’t…

maybe I shouldn’t do it.

Or perhaps I need to find another way to do it.

Because love finds a way.

That doesn’t mean every interaction needs to be sentimental.

It doesn’t mean we spend our days wandering around telling everyone how wonderful they are.

And it certainly doesn’t mean we have to agree with everyone.

Jesus didn’t.

Love Doesn’t Mean Agreement

Jesus regularly disagreed with people.

He confronted hypocrisy.

He challenged religious leaders.

He called people to repentance.

He overturned tables in the temple.

He never confused love with approval.

Neither should we.

There are times when loving someone means telling the truth.

Paul describes Christian maturity as:

“…speaking the truth in love…”

—Ephesians 4:15 (NIV)

Notice that he doesn’t tell us to choose between the two.

Truth without love can become a weapon.

Love without truth can become little more than sentimentality.

Jesus embodied both.

So if I believe someone is wrong, love doesn’t require me to pretend otherwise.

But it should affect how I respond.

I can disagree without belittling.

Correct without humiliating.

Establish boundaries without hating.

Stand for what I believe without treating someone who disagrees with me as my enemy.

And even if someone chooses to make himself my enemy, Jesus gives us some rather uncomfortable instructions:

Apparently, nobody gets excluded from “everything.”

But Have You Met People?

This all sounds wonderful until we actually encounter other human beings.

Because people can be difficult.

Some are angry.

Some are rude.

Some are selfish.

Some seem to enjoy provoking others.

Spend five minutes reading comments on almost any controversial subject online and you’ll discover that humanity hasn’t exactly perfected this love-your-neighbor thing.

So what do we do when someone comes at us with anger, hatred, contempt, cruelty, or even foolishness?

Our natural instinct is often to return fire.

But Paul offers another way:

“Do not repay anyone evil for evil.”

—Romans 12:17 (NIV)

And a few verses later:

“Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.”

—Romans 12:21 (NIV)

I love that. Easier to say than to do, but still, it is sage guidance.

Don’t let someone else’s behavior determine yours.

Someone else’s cruelty doesn’t give me permission to become cruel.

Someone else’s anger doesn’t require my anger.

Someone else’s insult doesn’t require my insult.

Someone else’s contempt doesn’t justify my contempt.

If I respond to hatred with more hatred, hatred wins.

I’ve allowed someone else’s behavior to change mine.

But love finds another way.

Love Is Not a Greeting Card Sentiment

It’s easy to talk about love as though it’s something soft.

Pleasant.

Polite.

A nice sentiment printed inside a greeting card.

But that’s not the love Jesus demonstrated.

Biblical love is powerful.

It moves toward people who are hurting.

It forgives people who don’t deserve forgiveness.

It serves people who can offer nothing in return.

It stands up for people who are being mistreated.

It tells the truth when remaining silent would be easier.

It absorbs an offense rather than passing it along to someone else.

And ultimately, it lays down its life for another.

Jesus said:

Then He showed us exactly what He meant.

The cross is what God’s love looks like when fully unleashed upon a broken world.

It isn’t passive.

It isn’t weak.

And it certainly isn’t sentimental.

Love is a force that changes the world.
It changes relationships.
It changes enemies into friends.
It changes broken people.
It changes the person receiving it.
And perhaps most importantly, it changes the person doing the loving.

Imagine what could happen if millions of followers of Jesus began taking seriously His command to love this way.

Not merely talking about God’s love.

Deploying it.

One conversation.

One act of forgiveness.

One meal.

One encouraging word.

One difficult relationship.

One hurting person at a time.

Maybe we spend too much time wondering how Christians can change the world.

Jesus already told us.

Love finds a way.

What Made Jesus So Compelling?

When I read the Gospels (and watch The Chosen), I’m continually struck by how people flocked to Jesus.

Crowds followed Him everywhere.

They pressed around Him.

They brought their children to Him.

They brought their sick friends and family members.

People climbed trees to see Him.

One group was so desperate to get a friend near Him that they tore a hole through somebody’s roof.

Certainly, some came because they wanted to see miracles or hoped Jesus would heal them.

But I suspect there was something else that made Him compelling.

People who had spent much of their lives feeling judged, rejected, ignored, or condemned discovered that Jesus was different.

He saw them.

The woman at the well.

Zacchaeus.

The woman caught in adultery.

Lepers whom others wouldn’t touch.

Children whom His own disciples tried to send away.

Tax collectors.

Sinners.

Outcasts.

You and me.

Jesus didn’t pretend their sins didn’t matter.

But neither did He reduce them to their sins.

He saw people whom God loved.

And they knew it.

What If We Looked More Like Jesus?

Sometimes I wonder what would happen if every follower of Christ treated people that way.

What if the people around us knew beyond any doubt:

Christians aren’t here to condemn me.

They’re here to love me.

They’re here to listen.

To encourage.

To help.

To pray.

To walk beside me when life falls apart.

To tell me the truth when I need to hear it.

And, most importantly, to introduce me to the God who loves me more than I can possibly imagine.

I wonder how full our churches might be if that’s what people consistently experienced from those of us who claim the name of Christ.

Jesus said love would identify us as His followers.

John takes the idea even further:

Dear friends, let us love one another, for love comes from God. Everyone who loves has been born of God and knows God.

—1 John 4:7 (NIV)

Then he says something extraordinary:

No one has ever seen God; but if we love one another, God lives in us and his love is made complete in us.

—1 John 4:12 (NIV)

No one has seen God.

But perhaps they can catch a glimpse of Him through us.

Showing People What God Is Like

That’s where this becomes much bigger than simply trying to be nicer.

When we love someone, we have an opportunity to reveal something about the character of God.

A God who doesn’t wait for people to clean themselves up before loving them.

A God who loved us while we were still sinners.

Paul writes:

That’s the message we have the privilege of carrying into the world.

Not:

Get yourself straightened out, and maybe God will love you.

But:

God already loves you.

He loves you enough that He sent His Son for you.

Jesus willingly took upon Himself the consequences of everything you and I have ever done wrong.

That’s not a message of condemnation.

That’s the greatest love story ever told.

And perhaps people will be more willing to hear about God’s love when they have already experienced some of it through us.

Love Finds a Way

So what does this look like tomorrow morning?

Probably nothing dramatic.

It might mean listening when we’d rather talk.

Being patient when we’re irritated.

Forgiving when we’re hurt.

Helping someone who can’t repay us.

Refusing to join a conversation that’s tearing someone else down.

Responding gently to someone who speaks harshly.

Praying for someone who has mistreated us.

Telling someone the truth because we genuinely care about that person’s well-being—not because we want to prove ourselves right.

Sometimes love may require a difficult conversation.

Sometimes love establishes a boundary.

Sometimes love says no.

Sometimes love confronts.

Sometimes love forgives.

Sometimes love serves.

Sometimes love simply sits quietly beside someone who is hurting.

Love doesn’t always look the same.

But love always seeks the good of the other person.

A Simple Question

Maybe there’s a simple way to begin.

Before I speak…

Can I say this in love?

Before I respond…

Can I respond in love?

Before I post…

Can I post this in love?

Before I act…

Can I do this in love?

And if the answer is no…

maybe I shouldn’t do it.

Or maybe I simply haven’t found the right way yet.

Because Jesus didn’t call us to win every argument.

He called us to follow Him.

And He told us exactly how the world would recognize us when we do.

By our love.

A Final Encouragement

The world has plenty of anger.

Plenty of judgment.

Plenty of division.

Plenty of people shouting at one another.

I’m sure it doesn’t need Christians adding more of the same.

What it desperately needs is Jesus.

And for reasons I don’t completely understand, Jesus has chosen people like you and me to help show the world what He is like.

Imperfect people.

Still-growing people.

People who sometimes lose our patience and say things we wish we could take back.

But people in whom His Spirit lives.

People learning, one interaction at a time, to love as He loved us.

Maybe that’s one of the greatest opportunities we have each day.

To leave the people we encounter with a slightly better understanding of what God is like because they encountered His love through us.

So when anger says, strike back…

Love finds a way.

When pride says, prove you’re right…

Love finds a way.

When disagreement says, make them your enemy…

Love finds a way.

And when we aren’t sure what to say or what to do…

perhaps we can simply ask:

Jesus, how would You love this person right now?

Then follow where He leads.

Because if love is how the world is supposed to recognize us…

may we give them plenty of evidence.

A Question to Sit With

If someone knew nothing about Jesus except what they experienced through me today…

what would they believe He is like?

Posted in Christian Living, Faith in Action, Love and Sacrifice, Walking with God | Tagged 1 Corinthians 16:14, bible, Christian Living, Christianity, Discipleship, Faith, God, Jesus, John 13:35, Love, Love of God, Love Your Enemies, loving others, Romans 12, Speaking the Truth in Love | Leave a comment

Going Home

Posted on August 9, 2026 by Writing & Photography by David K. Carpenter

Introduction: You Can’t Go Home Again

This weekend, my wife and I returned to Colorado Springs to visit our son and his wife.

In many ways, you could say we were going home.

We lived here for more than 30 years.

That’s longer than either of us has lived anywhere else.

We raised our children here.

We built careers here.

We made friends here.

We celebrated birthdays and holidays here.

We watched our children grow from little kids into adults.

So as we drove back into town, you might expect that I would have been overwhelmed by nostalgia.

I wasn’t.

Don’t misunderstand me. I have wonderful memories of our years here, and I’m grateful for them.

But coming back didn’t feel like coming home.

And that surprised me a little.

There’s an old saying:

You can’t go home again.

The phrase comes from the title of a novel by Thomas Wolfe, and the older I get, the more I understand what it means.

Because perhaps what we really want to return to isn’t a place at all.

It’s a time.

And we can’t go back there.

The Place Is Still Here. The Time Isn’t.

Colorado Springs is still here.

Many of the streets are the same.

Some of the restaurants and stores are the same.

The mountains still rise dramatically to the west, providing one of the most beautiful backdrops of any city I’ve ever seen.

But the Colorado Springs where we raised our family exists now mostly in our memories.

Our children aren’t little anymore.

They don’t need rides to school.

There are no practices to get them to.

No homework to supervise.

No Christmas mornings with three excited little children bounding out of bed to see what Santa left behind.

And that’s okay.

Those were wonderful years.

But they belonged to a particular season.

Perhaps that’s one of the strange things about nostalgia.

We think we’re longing for a place.

But often we’re longing for the people we were—and the people we loved—at a particular moment in time.

You can return to the place.

You can’t return to the moment.

A Longing We Can’t Quite Satisfy

That realization reminded me of something C. S. Lewis wrote in Mere Christianity:

“If I find in myself a desire which no experience in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that I was made for another world.”

—C. S. Lewis, Mere Christianity, Book III, Chapter 10, “Hope”

I’ve always loved that thought.

Lewis wasn’t suggesting that the beautiful things of this world don’t matter.

Quite the opposite.

They matter tremendously.

But perhaps part of their purpose is to awaken in us a longing they can never completely satisfy.

We experience something beautiful…

and we want it to last.

A perfect family gathering.

A spectacular sunset.

A child’s laughter.

A Christmas morning.

A wonderful vacation.

A quiet evening with someone we love.

For a moment, something deep inside us says:

This.

This is what I’ve been looking for.

But then the moment passes.

The children grow up.

The vacation ends.

The sun disappears below the horizon.

People we love move away.

Some eventually leave this life altogether.

And we find ourselves longing for something we can’t quite recover.

What if that longing is telling us something?

Longing for a Better Country

The writer of Hebrews describes men and women of faith who understood that they didn’t quite belong here.

Speaking of Abraham and others who trusted God, he writes that they:

…admitted that they were foreigners and strangers on earth.

—Hebrews 11:13 (NIV)

Then comes this beautiful explanation:

Instead, they were longing for a better country—a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared a city for them.

—Hebrews 11:16 (NIV)

A better country.

Maybe that’s what we’ve been longing for all along.

Not yesterday.

Not our childhood home.

Not the town where we raised our children.

Something better.

Something ahead of us.

Paul expresses the same idea:

But our citizenship is in heaven. And we eagerly await a Savior from there, the Lord Jesus Christ.

—Philippians 3:20 (NIV)

Our memories may be behind us.

But our Home is ahead of us.

A man walks away from Yesterday toward Home Ahead as sunlight illuminates a distant city, illustrating the Christian journey toward our eternal home.

Heading Home

There’s another biblical story that comes to mind when I think about going home.

When God delivered the Israelites from slavery in Egypt, He didn’t simply rescue them and immediately deposit them in the Promised Land.

There was a journey in between.

God had to lead them out of Egypt.

And in a sense, He also had to get Egypt out of them.

They had spent generations living as slaves. Even after they were physically free, they repeatedly looked backward, sometimes remembering Egypt more fondly than it deserved to be remembered.

At one point, when the journey became difficult, they actually said:

“We remember the fish we ate in Egypt at no cost—also the cucumbers, melons, leeks, onions and garlic.”

—Numbers 11:5 (NIV)

Funny how nostalgia can work.

They remembered the menu.

They seemed to have forgotten the slavery.

Perhaps we’re not so different.

God is continually calling us forward, but sometimes part of us still wants to go back—to an earlier time, an easier season, a familiar place, or a previous version of ourselves.

But God isn’t merely leading us from somewhere.

He’s leading us toward something.

And along the way, He is changing us.

Maybe that’s part of what this journey toward Home is all about. God leads us out of our own versions of Egypt—the things that enslave us, define us, frighten us, or tempt us to turn backward. And then, with our cooperation, He patiently works the Egypt out of us.

Old habits.

Old fears.

Old attachments.

Old ways of thinking.

The journey matters because God isn’t simply preparing a place for us.

He’s preparing us for the place.

We can be grateful for where we’ve been without mistaking it for where we’re going.

Glimpses of Home

This changes the way I think about some of my favorite memories.

Maybe those wonderful moments weren’t simply experiences to enjoy and then mourn when they were gone.

Maybe they were glimpses.

Signposts.

Little previews of something better.

The warmth of family gathered around a table.

The security of being surrounded by people who love you.

The joy of laughter.

The beauty of creation.

The feeling that, for just a moment, everything is exactly as it should be.

Perhaps those moments awaken something within us because they resemble, however imperfectly, the Home for which we were created.

And maybe that’s why we can never quite recreate them.

They were never the destination.

They were pointing toward it.

A Place Prepared for Us

Shortly before His crucifixion, Jesus spoke words of comfort to His disciples:

“My Father’s house has many rooms… I am going there to prepare a place for you.”

—John 14:2 (NIV)

I love the language Jesus uses.

My Father’s house.

A place for you.

He could have described eternal life in abstract theological terms.

Instead, He described something that sounds remarkably like…

Home.

A place where we belong.

Our eternal Home, prepared for us.

A place where the longing finally ends because we’ve arrived at what we were longing for all along.

Something Better Than Nostalgia

There’s nothing wrong with nostalgia.

I enjoy looking through old photographs.

I enjoy remembering our children when they were little.

I enjoy thinking about the adventures my wife and I have shared over the years.

Those memories are gifts.

But I don’t want to spend the rest of my life looking backward.

God isn’t calling me back there.

He was there, certainly. In those days.

But He’s also here.

And He’s leading me forward.

And He’s leading us forward.

There are still adventures ahead.

Still memories to make.

Still people to love.

Still work God has prepared for us to do.

And ultimately, there is a Home waiting for us that will make even our happiest memories seem like previews.

When We Finally Get Home

The Bible gives us a glimpse of what that Home will be like.

Near the end of Revelation, John writes:

Look! God’s dwelling place is now among the people, and he will dwell with them.

—Revelation 21:3 (NIV)

And then:

He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain…

—Revelation 21:4 (NIV)

Think about that.

No goodbyes.

No growing apart.

No relationships broken by distance, disagreement, disease, or death.

No wonderful moment followed by the realization that it can’t last.

God Himself dwelling with us.

Perhaps that’s the place our best moments have been whispering about all along.

A Final Encouragement

So maybe Thomas Wolfe was right.

You can’t go home again.

I can’t return to the Colorado Springs where my wife and I were raising three young children.

I can’t step back into those Christmas mornings.

Those school years.

Those family dinners.

Those ordinary days that I didn’t realize at the time would someday become treasured memories.

And that’s okay.

I’m grateful for those years.

I treasure the memories.

I wouldn’t trade them for anything.

But I don’t need to go back.

Those years weren’t the destination.

They were part of the journey.

And perhaps some of the things I loved most about them—the laughter, the family, the belonging, the sense that for a moment everything was exactly as it should be—were little glimpses of something I’ve been longing for all along.

Home.

Not the home behind me.

The Home ahead of me.

Jesus said He has gone there to prepare a place for us.

So maybe Thomas Wolfe was only half right.

You can’t go home again.

But by the grace of God, you can go Home.

A Question to Sit With

What have I been longing to return to…

and could that longing actually be pointing me toward the Home God has prepared for me?

Posted in Abundant Life, Christian Living, Walking with God | Tagged bible, C.S. Lewis, Christian Hope, Christianity, Eternal life, Faith, God, God's Promises, Going Home, heaven, Hebrews 11, Jesus, John 14, Mere Christianity, Nostalgia, Promised Land, Revelation 21, Spiritual Growth | Leave a comment

Let Patience Finish Its Work

Posted on August 2, 2026 by Writing & Photography by David K. Carpenter

Introduction: The Biggest Project of the Summer

Looking back over this summer, I’ve begun to realize something.

The biggest project God has been working on wasn’t our house.
It was me.

If you’ve been reading my recent posts, you know that my retirement hasn’t exactly started the way I imagined. Instead of leisurely mornings and grand adventures, thanks to the house we bought in Casper, Wyoming, I’ve spent much of the summer repairing drainage, fixing sprinkler problems, tackling one unexpected project after another, and making more trips to the hardware store than I care to count.

There were days when I wondered if we’d ever reach the end of the list.

Now, as I look around our yard and house, I realize we’re finally beginning to see the finish line. We’re not there yet, but at least it’s in sight.

The drainage works.

Many of the repairs and renovations from our list are complete.

The house is starting to feel like home.

And that has caused me to reflect on another kind of work that has been taking place all along.

Letting Patience Finish Its Work

Last week, I wrote about God’s extraordinary patience with us.

This week, I’d like to consider why He is so patient.

The Apostle James writes:

Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.

—James 1:2–4 (NIV)

Some older translations use the word patience instead of perseverance, which I think beautifully captures the idea James is expressing. Whether translated patience, perseverance, or steadfast endurance, the point is the same:

God is producing something in us.

James doesn’t simply say that trials happen.

He says they accomplish something.

And then he gives us a fascinating instruction:

Let perseverance finish its work.

In other words, don’t interrupt the process.

Remodeling More Than a House

As I have reflected on these past couple of months, I was reminded of one of my favorite passages from C. S. Lewis’s classic book Mere Christianity. His words describe God’s work in our lives better than I ever could:

“Imagine yourself as a living house. God comes in to rebuild that house. At first perhaps you can understand what He is doing. He is getting the drains right and stopping the leaks in the roof and so on; you knew that those jobs needed doing and so you are not surprised.”

— C. S. Lewis, Mere Christianity, Book IV, Chapter 9 (“Counting the Cost”)

That certainly resonated with me. When I first read those words years ago, I appreciated the metaphor. This summer, I lived it.

The first big unplanned project of my summer has involved quite a bit of getting the drains right.

But Lewis doesn’t stop there.

He continues:

“But presently He starts knocking the house about in a way that hurts abominably and does not seem to make any sense.”

— Mere Christianity

Isn’t that often how life feels?

Just when we think we understand what God is doing…

He begins another project.

One we never asked for.

One we don’t understand.

One that seems to take far longer or hurt more than we expected.

The Path to Hope

Paul the Apostle describes the same process in Romans:

I love that progression.

Patience, otherwise known as suffering.

Perseverance.

Character.

Hope.

Hope isn’t where the journey begins.

It’s where it leads.

As I look back over this summer, I can honestly say that’s exactly what I’ve experienced.

Not because the projects themselves have been enjoyable.

They haven’t.

Not because I suddenly enjoy building drainage systems.

I don’t.

But because I can now see the light breaking through the clouds.

The endless list has become a manageable list.

The overwhelming projects have become finishing touches.

Instead of wondering whether we’ll ever enjoy this home…

I’m beginning to imagine what next spring and summer might look like.

Morning coffee on the patio.

Playing with the grandsons in the yard.

Friends and family gathered around the table.

Time to simply enjoy the place we’ve spent so much time preparing.

Hope has quietly begun replacing discouragement.

The House God Is Building

Lewis brings his illustration to its magnificent conclusion:

“You thought you were going to be made into a decent little cottage: but He is building a palace. He intends to come and live in it Himself.”
— Mere Christianity

What a remarkable thought.

All summer long, I believed I was remodeling a house.

God was remodeling a heart.

The drainage mattered.

The repairs mattered.

But perhaps the greater work was happening where no one else could see it.

Expanding patience.

Deepening trust.

Cultivating gratitude.

Growing perseverance.

Building character.

And quietly leading me toward hope.

A homeowner leans on a shovel after completing backyard projects as sunlight breaks through storm clouds and a rainbow stretches across the Wyoming sky, symbolizing hope after seasons of perseverance.

The Storm Is Passing

Lately, it feels as though the storm that’s been raging all summer is finally beginning to pass.

The wind has settled.

The clouds are starting to break apart.

Sunlight is finding its way through again.

Soon, the only reminders of the storm will be the fresh smell after a cleansing rain, greener grass, and perhaps—even if only in my imagination—a rainbow stretching across the gleaming azure Wyoming sky.

Maybe that’s what hope often looks like.

Not pretending the storm never happened.

Not forgetting how hard it was.

But recognizing that God was faithful through every moment of it.

And by recognizing, remembering.

And remembering, turning back to God with gratitude. Even thanking Him for the things I really didn’t like at the time I was enduring them. Counting the blessings I discovered along the way.

A Final Encouragement

Perhaps you’re in the middle of your own storm today.

Maybe you can’t yet see the sunlight.

Maybe the list of problems still feels endless.

If so, don’t lose heart.

God isn’t finished yet.

Let patience finish its work.

Because the God who patiently walks with us through every trial is also patiently shaping us into who He created us to be.

And when He is finished…

You may discover that the greatest work He accomplished wasn’t around you.
It was within you.

A Question to Sit With

What might God be building in me through the very season I’ve been asking Him to end?

Posted in Christian Living, Walking with God | Tagged bible, C. S. Lewis, Christian Living, Christianity, Faith, God, Gratitude, Hope, James 1, Jesus, Mere Christianity by CS Lewis, patience, perseverance, Retirement, Romans 5, Sanctification, Spiritual Growth, Trials, Trusting God | Leave a comment

The Patience of God, Revisited

Posted on July 26, 2026 by Writing & Photography by David K. Carpenter

Introduction: Growing Older… and (Hopefully) Wiser

One of the unexpected joys of growing older is occasionally realizing that God has been quietly changing you.

Not all at once.

Not dramatically.

Almost so gradually that you don’t notice it happening.

Until one day you realize you’re responding differently than you would have years ago.

I had one of those moments recently.

As I’ve shared in previous posts, my retirement has involved spending a great deal of time working on projects around our new home in Wyoming. Those projects have also given me something I never anticipated: many hours with my almost-four-year-old grandson.

He’s become my little coworker.

He asks a thousand questions.

He wants to help with everything.

Sometimes he actually helps.

Sometimes… he mostly slows me down.

And you know what?

I love every minute of it.

That surprised me.

Not because there’s anything wrong with him.

But because years ago, when my own children were little, I suspect I would have become impatient with their “help”.

Back then, I was usually trying to accomplish something. Get things done. Lots of things.

Now…

I’m trying to enjoy someone.

Somewhere along the way, I think God has made me a little more patient.

Please don’t misunderstand me.

I still have plenty of room to grow.

But I do think I’ve come a long way from where I once was.

And that realization led me to another thought.

If I’ve Grown More Patient…

…how patient must God be?

After all, He isn’t merely older than I am.

He is eternal.

The Ancient of Days.

The One who has never been in a hurry because He has never been constrained by time.

Scripture repeatedly describes Him this way:

The Lord is compassionate and gracious, slow to anger, abounding in love.

—Psalm 103:8 (NIV)

Slow to anger.

Patient.

Not because He ignores sin.

But because His love is greater than His desire to punish.

Patient Even with His Enemies

Perhaps the greatest display of God’s patience is found in the cross.

In his letter to the church in Rome (and to all of us), Paul the Apostle writes:

Think about that.

God didn’t wait until we got our act together.

He didn’t wait until we deserved forgiveness.

He didn’t even wait until we stopped opposing Him.

Paul goes on to say:

For if, while we were God’s enemies, we were reconciled to him through the death of his Son…

—Romans 5:10 (NIV)

Enemies.

Not merely indifferent.

Not confused.

Enemies.

And yet God responded…

not with revenge…

but with rescue.

That is patience beyond anything I can comprehend.

And He’s Still Patient

Sometimes I imagine God looking down at me after I’ve said something I shouldn’t have.

Thought something I shouldn’t have.

Or responded in a way that doesn’t reflect Jesus very well.

In my mind, I picture Him sighing.

“Come on, Dave… you can do better than that.”

Maybe you’ve imagined something similar.

But then I remember the gospel.

Romans 8:1 reminds us:

Notice what Paul doesn’t say.

He doesn’t say God ignores our sin.

He says we are no longer condemned because Jesus has already borne that condemnation.

So instead of pushing me away…

God picks me up.

Dusts me off.

Reminds me whose I am.

And gently calls me to keep becoming more like His Son.

I can’t help but think of Jesus’ words to the woman caught in adultery:

“Then neither do I condemn you… Go now and leave your life of sin.”

—John 8:11 (NIV)

Grace first.
Transformation second.
That’s God’s way.

Jesus sits beside a weary man in a peaceful garden, offering comfort and patient encouragement as the evening sun shines through the trees.

Becoming Like Our Father

The more I think about God’s patience with me…

the more I want that same patience to overflow into my relationships with others.

Especially the people closest to me.

Children.

Grandchildren.

Friends.

Neighbors. Even the annoying ones.

Strangers.

Perhaps spiritual maturity isn’t measured merely by how much Scripture we’ve memorized.

Or how much theology we know.

Perhaps one evidence of becoming more like Jesus is simply becoming more patient.

After all, patience is one of the fruits of the Spirit.

Not the fruits of trying harder.

The fruits of the Spirit.

As His Spirit changes us…

our patience grows.

A Final Encouragement

Looking back, I’m grateful that God has slowly been teaching me patience.

Not because I’ve mastered it.

Far from it.

But because every small step reminds me of Someone whose patience is infinitely greater than mine.

A God who loved me while I opposed Him.

A God who still loves me when I stumble.

A God who refuses to give up on me.

If that’s how patient He is with me…

perhaps I can be a little more patient with others.

Especially the little coworker wearing work gloves who keeps asking,

“Grandalf… can I help?”

Perhaps the reason I can enjoy his “help” more today isn’t because he’s gotten better about actually helping. It’s because God has been changing me.

A Question to Sit With

Who in my life has been testing my patience lately…

and how might remembering God’s extraordinary patience with me change the way I respond?

Posted in Christian Living, Spiritual Growth, Walking with God | Tagged bible, Christian Living, Christianity, Faith, Forgiveness, Fruit of the Spirit, God, God's love, Grace, Grandparenting, Jesus, jesus-christ, John 8, mercy, patience, Romans 5, Romans 8, Sanctification, Spiritual Growth, Walking with God | Leave a comment

	Apparently, “He Make… on Slow Down
	Apparently, “He Make… on Resting in the Spirit: Finding…
	Apparently, “He Make… on Green Pastures at 125 Miles an…
	Apparently, “He Make… on Slow Down
	Apparently, “He Make… on Resting in the Spirit: Finding…

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A Simple Question

A Final Encouragement

A Question to Sit With

Introduction: You Can’t Go Home Again

The Place Is Still Here. The Time Isn’t.

A Longing We Can’t Quite Satisfy

Longing for a Better Country

Heading Home

Glimpses of Home

A Place Prepared for Us

Something Better Than Nostalgia

When We Finally Get Home

A Final Encouragement

A Question to Sit With

Introduction: The Biggest Project of the Summer

Letting Patience Finish Its Work

Remodeling More Than a House

The Path to Hope

The House God Is Building

The Storm Is Passing

A Final Encouragement

A Question to Sit With

Introduction: Growing Older… and (Hopefully) Wiser

If I’ve Grown More Patient…

Patient Even with His Enemies

And He’s Still Patient

Becoming Like Our Father

A Final Encouragement

A Question to Sit With

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