This week was full—so much activity packed into each day—that I’m realizing how important it is to become more intentional about journaling regularly. My usual rhythm is to journal on Tuesdays during my Sabbath, and then as I feel led on other days. But lately, I’ve been wondering: what if I set aside more intentional moments throughout the week—Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday, and Sunday, perhaps? Not just to write, but to commune with God.

Journaling, for me, begins with “Dear LORD,” like a letter. It grounds me in His presence. And when life moves quickly, I need that grounding more than ever.

This Monday, I woke up feeling unexpectedly down—heavy with sadness, like something was off. There wasn’t a clear reason, which made me pause. I’ve learned that sometimes these feelings aren’t just emotional—they might be spiritual. When the emotion feels outsized for the situation, I turn to prayer. I asked Tammi and Joshua to pray for me too.

God is Spirit. And our enemy is subtle. In those unexplainable moments, I’ve come to believe that God might be drawing me closer to Him, even through discomfort. Meanwhile, our Western worldview often tries to explain away what we can’t measure. But not everything that is real can be seen.

And here’s why that matters: for those who don’t yet know Jesus, sometimes the only way they move past their skepticism is to experience Him. And how do they experience Him? Through you and me—when our lives become a dwelling place for God’s presence. This is the power of a life surrendered.

Still, I’ve noticed how the steady “stimulus” of life—emails, notifications, headlines—can pull me away from that presence. It dulls my capacity to hear God and to love others well.

That’s why I’ve been making a conscious effort in daily Solitude, especially in the morning. I’ve stopped “checking in” with the world first thing. No news, no email—just silence and stillness with God.

I recently heard Andy Crouch share one of his most transformative practices: he literally steps outside each morning before looking at his phone. There’s something about greeting the day with God before anyone or anything else. I’m inspired to try that.

And here’s a question I’m wrestling with—and maybe you are too:

Is the smartphone-as-alarm clock a modern Trojan Horse?

It seems harmless. But when we reach for it to turn off the alarm, we often open the door to a flood of distractions that lasts all day.

So I’m curious—what’s your experience?

What boundaries help you give your first attention to God?

Let’s grow in this together.

The Joy of Telling Your Story

Remember from a couple weeks back that your right orbital prefrontal cortex is the “joy center” of your brain? Neuroscience confirms that it has the capacity to grow—but not without effort. And effort is key because our default wiring works against us: studies show that negative thoughts outnumber positive ones 14:1. Even more startling—80% of our thoughts are negative, and 95% are repetitive.

This means that choosing joy and cultivating positive thinking isn’t natural in today’s fast-paced, reactive world. It’s a spiritual discipline.

I first encountered this idea, unknowingly, in 9th grade Speech class—”9S.” One assignment was to deliver a speech on a book of our choice. I picked The Power of Positive Thinking by Norman Vincent Peale. Written in 1952 by a Christian pastor, it planted early seeds in my psyche, long before I fully understood its spiritual weight.

The unexpected result? My grade—and more importantly, the experience—gave me confidence that even as an introvert, I could speak publicly when my mind and heart were aligned. When I cared about the words, I could communicate powerfully. That realization still shapes me today.

It’s also the heart behind Stories on the Couch each Sunday. When someone shares their story—honestly and from the heart—it has the power to connect, heal, and inspire. And that, I believe, is the model of the early Church: not a lecture hall, but a family gathering of diverse people across ethnicity, social class, and life stage. A place where women were included and honored in a society that largely marginalized them.

As Paul writes in Galatians 3:28,

“There is neither Jew nor Gentile, neither slave nor free, nor is there male and female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus.”

So keep choosing joy. Keep telling people your story. And keep building the kind of community that cultivates joy—together. Joy grows when we resist the cultural pull of negativity and create space to remember, reflect, and reframe our lives through God’s goodness.  When we tell our stories with intention, we train our hearts to see His hand. Over time, that choice rewires us toward hope. It all begins with being real—connecting mind and heart through story.

The Beauty of Walking Together

When we look at Paul’s ministry, one of the most striking things we see is the intergenerational nature of the team that helped build the early church. Paul worked alongside Barnabas, Titus, Timothy, and John Mark—men at different stages of life and spiritual maturity. Paul and Titus were likely in their 40s or 50s, Barnabas even older, while Timothy and John Mark were probably still in their twenties. Together, they modeled a powerful expression of the church as a mentoring, discipling, and collaborative body across generations.

One detail stands out: John Mark, a young man at the time, is believed to have authored the Gospel of Mark based on the teachings and experiences of the Apostle Peter. Through their relationship, Peter’s eyewitness accounts were recorded by someone two generations younger—and we’re still being formed by that gospel today. What a gift, and what a picture of how the Holy Spirit moves through generational unity.

This week, I also attended the memorial service of a friend’s father, who lived to the age of 99. What moved me most wasn’t just the stories or tributes, but the 30 or so women—many in their 70s and 80s—who formed a choir and sang beautifully. I may have been one of the few people under 60 in the sanctuary, but I found myself thinking: if every church were filled with multiple generations worshiping together, how much more would the church reflect the beauty of heaven?

And yet, in the reality of our day-to-day lives, it can be easy to drift into age-based silos. Different life stages often mean different routines, circles, and spaces. But Ruth Haley Barton reminds us in Invitation to Solitude and Silence that “thinking about someone is not the same thing as being in their presence.” Admiring someone from afar, knowing facts about them—even caring deeply—is not the same as being in relationship. It’s a reflection that’s stayed with me as I’ve had the joy of having Joshua home for the summer. Being with him is so different than texting or checking in on the Find My app. Presence matters.

The same is true with Jesus. One of the core elements of spiritual formation is learning to be with Him. Not just thinking about Jesus or reading about Him—but actually being in His presence.

This week, on my Sabbath, I experienced one of those sacred moments of clarity. I happened to read the same verse—Psalm 46:10, “Be still, and know that I am God”—in two different books: Barton’s Invitation to Silence and Solitude and Tyler Staton’s Praying Like Monks, Living Like Fools. Both writers emphasized the Hebrew understanding of “be still” as “let go of your grip.”

That phrase stayed with me.

So I took 26 minutes and repeated the verse quietly, as a way of settling my mind and surrendering control. “Be still, and know that I am God.” It became a prayer. A posture. A way of consenting to the presence of God.

And here’s what happened.

The sun, which had been uncomfortably bright through my living room window, was suddenly shaded by clouds. The air shifted. I felt at peace. The sadness and tension that had been with me all week began to lift. The trade winds stirred, and I heard the gentle rustling of the mango tree next door. Time seemed to slow. And God was near.

Let’s not underestimate the power of presence—both with one another and with God.

Let’s walk together across generations.

Let’s be still long enough to notice the Spirit moving.

Because sometimes, God shows up not with fanfare, but when the tradewind blows.