One of the deepest longings we all carry is the desire to be known. We want someone to know the real us, not just the version we present to the world. We want someone to see the victories we celebrate, the failures we regret, the questions we quietly carry, and the wounds we try to hide, then somehow choose to stay. At the same time, many of us spend an incredible amount of energy making sure people never see the whole picture because we are afraid that if they did, they might not love us anymore. That is why Psalm 139 continues to draw me back. David begins with a simple but profound truth. "Lord, you have searched me and known me." Before David says anything about his accomplishments or his failures, he acknowledges that God already knows every part of him. Every thought, fear, motive, and scar. Nothing is hidden from the God who created him. What captures my attention is not simply that God knows David so completely. It is God's response to knowing him. God does not ...

  The Grammar of Grace   reflects my conviction that pronoun hospitality is an act of Christian hospitality before it is a political statement. Throughout my   Messy Middle  journey, I've argued that following Jesus means choosing relationship over rhetoric and people over positions.  We can hold deep theological convictions while also recognizing that every person bears the image of God and deserves to be treated with dignity. Using someone's requested pronouns is, for me, not about settling every theological debate; it is about removing unnecessary barriers to relationship while refusing to let syllables become stumbling blocks. Christ consistently moved toward those who felt unseen, misunderstood, or pushed to the margins, and I believe the Church is called to do the same.  Pronoun hospitality is simply one way of practicing the welcome of Christ; opening doors rather than building walls, extending grace without abandoning holiness, and trusting that tra...

  Dear Church, I recently attended my third Revoice conference and, once again, I came home with a full heart. Every year I leave reminded of the beauty of the Holy Spirit and with a renewed commitment to spend whatever years remain in my ministry helping create spaces where my LGBTQ+ siblings cannot simply survive within the Church but truly thrive. This year was especially meaningful because my wife, Jenny, and our fourteen-year-old daughter June joined me. Watching my daughter embrace and be embraced by this sacred community reignited something deep within my soul. She encountered exactly what I have experienced for years now: followers of Jesus who are authentic, faithful, vulnerable, joyful, and deeply committed to Christ despite often being wounded by the very institution that was meant to embody His love. Yet I also returned home with sadness. There are pictures I didn't take and some I cannot share because, sadly, many of our churches are still too dangerous a place for man...

One of the simplest truths about being human is that we naturally talk about what matters to us. If we find a great restaurant, we tell people about it. If we go on an incredible vacation, we share stories. If we love a sports team,we'll talk about them whether they're winning or losing. The things that capture our hearts eventually find their way into our conversations. That's part of why sharing Jesus should be more natural than we often make it. At its core, sharing our faith isn't about mastering a script or learning the perfect argument. It's about proximity. The closer we are to Jesus, the more difficult it becomes to keep His love, grace, and presence to ourselves. We speak about what has changed us. In Acts 4, Peter and John stand before the religious leaders after healing a man in Jesus' name. The leaders are frustrated and want the message to stop spreading. Yet Scripture says they recognized that Peter and John had been with Jesus. Not that they were ...