I don’t want to make it to the promised land if it means I forget the wilderness.

If there is anywhere on earth a lover of God who is always kept safe, I know nothing of it, for it was not shown to me. But this was shown: that in falling and rising again we are always kept in that same precious love.

To find a manner of anonymity, to experience that dreadful thing we call “blending in,” can be a kind of haven. It is not to become untethered but to become a part of. To walk a street apprehending you are one small refrain in a holy cacophony, and as the place becomes more familiar, your own selfhood becomes more lucid.

When people or groups become too enamored with mountaintops, we should ask ourselves whether their euphoria comes from love or from the experience of supremacy.

Moving in your liberation does not, of course, mean people will always recognize it.

When you spend most of your days demanding life from your mind, its movement can become a nuisance to any attempt to truly rest.

It seems to me God’s promise was always a place. A liberation born of location.

We live depleted of that rest which is the only reliable gateway to wonder.

but as one who believes that mystery swells the womb of every given moment, I’ve made a point never to preclude it.