Dan Scott (blame him) prompted this thought with the reminder of a book I read a while ago called “The Beauty of the Infinite” by David Bentley Hart. This post is long…and I’m sorry for that, but it’s probably one of the most important thoughts I’ve put out there. So thank you for reading, in advance. I asked my wife, Holly Scoggins , to find me a painting. One that is objectively beautiful and one considered to be one of the most beautiful Christian themed paintings. She se

I still deal with anxiety. From snow canceling service and church activities (2 weeks now) to Uri being randomly sick (probably from eating the weird snow) and how my mind played through every awful scenario imaginable. Even when I prayed and try to stop the steamrolling…my mind is like “nah fam, we’re gonna keep spiraling”. Then we had to take Zeta to the ER for an ear infection, on top of Jackie being in the ICU and getting her mom to and from the hospital…it compiles fast

Well, it’s been a week in the headlines. Literally a dumpster fire of human existence. I’ve been disgusted, angry, exhausted, apathetic…any other adjective that fits here. It created a tension in me. Maybe in you too. Let’s talk about it. There is a particular exhaustion that comes from living in the overlap of two kingdoms. The kind that keeps you up at night, swirling in thought. Morality means something, doesn’t it? Right is right and wrong is wrong no matter who does it,

Oscar Reutersvärd is one of my personal hero’s. You’ve probably never heard of him, and that’s okay. But he has impacted my theology, how I approach scripture, and even to how I pastor. He was the guy behind impossible figures, the creator of things you might call outright insane before realizing his paintings are a gateway to a deeper truth. The "father of the impossible figure," Reutersvärd sketched his first three-pronged Penrose Triangle in 1934, taking artistic geometry

The other day I was driving home after another long one. The kind of day where homeschooling ran long and wild, work didn’t slow down, and every conversation felt like it needed just a little more patience and attention than I had left to give. The back seat was loud. Someone needed help with something. Someone else was telling a story I was trying hard to follow while mentally running through everything still waiting at home. Lord have mercy if I hear one more thing about Po

I have stood at two bedsides recently. Two families, two last breaths, and two moments when the room went quiet in a way that no room ever quite goes quiet. It’s holy. There is something that happens in those spaces that I’ve never been able to fully explain, and honestly, I have stopped trying. It is enough to say that the air changes. The ordinary world of schedules and noise goes still. Down to the ambient hum of everything that feels urgent just simply falls away. What re