Rather than a dramatic epiphany, I’ve been reminded recently of the slow illumination at daybreak that gives you just enough light to make your way.

I don’t know how to get our children to church, but I know that some sustaining strength is slipping away.

There were words of conviction and question, quivering lips, and expressions of affection. There was sadness and befuddlement.

Although we played by the rules and didn’t do anything wrong, there is no longer a place for us in the Christian Reformed Church.

I’ve long lived out on the edges of certainty. And yet the Reformed community welcomed and made space for me.

“You need to work on your identity crisis at a different institution.” With those words Dean Boender sent me packing.  It was 1979, I was