For some time now, I’ve admired the life of a 19th century missionary, Sheldon Jackson, whose name I found on a monument up top of

I am writing this on Valentine’s Day, so I’ll just come right out and say (type) it. Muskrats don’t get enough love (and now if

I’m delighted to be back in my usual Wednesday slot here on the Reformed Journal blog. My thanks to Steve Mathonnet-VanderWell for allowing my extended leave. And

The Reformed Church in America, my denomination, is splintering. Last fall’s General Synod — our widest decision-making body — put some guidelines in place to

She walks, not caring where she’s going. Those men. They claimed to understand the cause of her pain and took her money for cures, yet

I have been watching the Olympics a lot this week; constantly amazed at what these athletes are able, and willing, to do. There’s a level

Ten years ago, I read a book that re-oriented the way I think about food. Barbara Kingsolver’s, Animal, Vegetable, Miracle, lured me toward a life

It’s time to throw a party. It’s time to sing and dance and jump on a trampoline and bake a cake and throw confetti. It’s