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“. . . and well, God is in my life now,” Sam said with a smile, as she hopped out of her chair and ran around the room, holding out her hands to receive high-fives from our chapter.

Since February 4, 2004, the number of Facebook users has risen from zero to about 800,000,000, or 11% of the world’s population. That’s a lot of Farmville. As most of us in the U.S., particularly on campus, are on Facebook, I’ve been thinking about how I should use it.

What comes to mind when you hear missions or missionary? Does it conjure up images of rural living in straw huts in underdeveloped Africa? Is it a life devoid of all knowledge of American pop culture, technology, and internet? I’m a missionary, and I live in Madison, WI.

Recently I’ve talked with a number of peers who (like myself) have one or more parents who are not Christians or who are nominal Christians, showing little desire to read Scripture, pray, pursue community, or discuss anything spiritual. We've expressed to one another doubts that we, as "just their children," have the ability to affect change.

Because it’s the human thing to do. That is, it’s the image-of-God thing to do. When we walk into the studio or theater and start talking with artists, we enter a world of creativity that represents the other half of God’s design for our lives. 

My wife and I once received a glass chicken as a gift. Inside, you could place colorful soaps for decoration. We made the best use we could of our gift, displaying her ornamentally on the toilet tank in our bathroom, but she eventually succumbed to the Goodwill box.

I often think of gratitude as a feeling. It’s what I feel when someone does something for me, when a need or want I have is met. And it’s contingent upon an expectation.

Dear college self, Though you think you know everything now that you’ve taken a couple of psychology classes, I wanted to send you this list of how to maintain sanity and achieve success during undergrad. I know college can be confusing, stressful, and exhausting...

I love the fall harvest season. The farmer’s market turns into a veritable cornucopia of fruits and vegetables, cheese, honey, baked goods, and homespun yarns. There’s a celebratory feeling in the air.

Too often, communities of color find it difficult to differentiate between white Christians and white non-Christians when it comes to issues of racial justice.