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Why I’m Writing This Over the last few months, I’ve had multiple conversations with Christians who are walking through real struggles — emotional strain, relational tension, spiritual confusion — and almost every one of those conversations included some version of “Satan is attacking me.” Hearing that refrain again and again pushed me into prayer, reflection, and a lot of quiet meditation. And as I sat with these stories, I found myself returning to themes I wrote about in Sp

Why We Need Each Other More Than Ever What happens at a table? People gather. They laugh, cry, eat, pray, talk. They build relationships. A table is never just furniture. It’s a place of belonging — a place where hearts open, walls lower, and life is shared. The early church understood this. They met in homes, around tables, in ordinary spaces where discipleship was relational, personal, and woven into daily life. Only later did gatherings move into formal buildings, and over

Colossians 3:2 gives us a simple but deeply challenging invitation: “Set your minds on the things above, not on earthly things.” It sounds beautiful on paper. But when emotions are high, when pressure is real, when the situation in front of you feels like it’s breathing down your neck — that’s when this verse becomes a battleground. It becomes one of those things that are easier said than done. There’s a term used in high‑speed driving and aviation called target fixation.

Harriet Tubman once said, “I freed thousands of slaves, but I could have freed thousands more… if they had known they were slaves.” At first glance, that statement feels impossible. How could someone not know they were enslaved? But the more you sit with her words, the more they reveal: slavery often hides beneath ignorance or denial. Freedom begins with recognition. So what does that have to do with rest? More than we think. Many of us are bound — constrained, obligated, coe

My maiden name is Thompson. I grew up in a small farming community of about 7,500 people in Northwest Ohio — the kind of place where everyone knew everyone, or at least “knew about them.” And I was a daddy’s girl through and through. Even though my dad has been gone for 15 years now, that part of me hasn’t changed. His name meant something to me because he meant something to me. So when I married Jeff, I didn’t change my name right away. It took nearly two years before legal