Luke 17:5–10 NRSV 
The Apostles said to the Lord, “Increase our faith!” The Lord replied, “If you had faith the size of a mustard seed, you could say to this mulberry tree, ‘Be uprooted and planted in the sea,’ and it would obey you.
Who among you would say to your slave who has just come in from plowing or tending sheep in the field, ‘Come here at once and take your place at the table’? Would you not rather say to him, ‘Prepare supper for me, put on your apron, and serve me while I eat and drink; later you may eat and drink’? Do you thank the slave for doing what was commanded?
So you also, when you have done all that you were ordered to do, say, ‘We are worthless slaves; we have done only what we ought to have done!’”

“Have you ever tried to move a tree? Not cut it down—move it. That’s what Jesus says faith can do. Imagine looking at a maple tree in your yard and saying: ‘Excuse me, Mr. Tree, could you just walk over there into Lake Erie for me?’ And the tree actually goes—roots, branches, squirrels and all—marching off like a cartoon. That’s the image Jesus gives.

Now, let’s be honest: that sounds ridiculous. I can barely move when I don’t want to, let alone a tree!”
“The disciples say to Jesus, ‘Increase our faith!’ They want more. Bigger. Stronger. But Jesus replies: ‘If you had faith the size of a mustard seed, you could say to this mulberry tree, “Be uprooted and planted in the sea,” and it would obey you.’

Then He tells a story about servants doing their work—reminding us that faith isn’t about showing off power. It’s about living humbly, doing the work God calls us to do, one small step at a time.”


“Can you even see this? This is a mustard seed. Tiny! Jesus says you don’t need giant, superhero faith. Just this much. Because it’s not about how big your faith is. It’s about how big your God is.”

“Sometimes we think: If only I had more faith… then I wouldn’t worry. Then I wouldn’t doubt it. Then I’d pray longer, or read the Bible every morning at 5 a.m. But let’s be real—most of us are just trying to keep up with laundry, homework, doctor’s appointments, and maybe squeeze in an episode of Netflix before we pass out.

God isn’t waiting for us to be spiritual superheroes. God is saying: ‘Bring me what you’ve got—even if it’s tiny, even if it’s shaky—and I can work with that.’”

And here’s the Lutheran part: faith itself is not our achievement. It’s God’s gift. Sola fide—we are saved by faith alone. But even that faith isn’t something we manufacture by trying harder. Luther said faith is created in us by the Holy Spirit through the Word of God. In other words, when you hear the gospel—when you hear that Christ died and rose for you—God plants faith in your heart like a seed. And even if that faith feels small, shaky, or uncertain, it’s still real faith because it clings to Christ.

That’s why Jesus points to the mustard seed. It’s not the size of our faith that matters; it’s the object of our faith. A weak faith in a strong Savior is still saving faith. Even when you can only pray, ‘Lord, I believe—help my unbelief,’ Christ holds onto you.

Faith is not just about believing in our heads—it’s about trusting with our lives. Luther loved to talk about vocation—our everyday callings as parents, neighbors, workers, friends. Faith doesn’t always look flashy. Most of the time it looks like showing up, keeping promises, forgiving, and serving where God has placed us.

“Think about a parent whispering a prayer in the car before dropping kids at school. Or someone bringing a meal to a sick neighbor. Or a teenager choosing kindness when it would be easier to make fun. Those don’t look like giant acts of faith. But they are mustard seeds. And God can grow them into something amazing.

“To the kids here: You don’t need to be an adult to have faith. Your prayers matter. To the teenagers: Your questions and doubts are part of faith too. To the parents and grandparents: Your steady example plants seeds others will remember for a lifetime.

Faith is for all of us—no matter our age, no matter how ‘big’ or ‘small’ we think it is.”

“So here’s the good news: Faith is not about being perfect. Faith is about trusting God enough to take the next step.

One small prayer.
One act of love.
One choice to forgive.

That’s mustard seed faith. And in the hands of a big God, it changes the world.”

“So this week, don’t go outside and start yelling at trees. Your neighbors will worry about you! Instead, take one small step of faith—pray for someone, show kindness, forgive, serve. Because that’s where faith grows.

When you do, you’ll find that God’s power is at work—even in seeds so small you can barely see them.”
“Lord, we bring you the little faith we have today. Grow it into something beautiful, something strong, something that blesses the world."

​

A gentle reminder that you are enough, exactly as you are

I used to be a slave to my to-do list.

Every morning, I'd wake up with this mental inventory running through my head: Did I respond to all my emails yesterday? Did I finish that sermon? Did I call Mrs. Johnson back? Did I remember to pick up groceries AND help with homework AND still have energy left to be a decent human being to my family?

Sound familiar?

For the longest time, I believed that my worth as a pastor, as a mother, as a person, was directly tied to how many items I could cross off that never-ending list. If I had a productive day, I was valuable. If I fell behind, well... I must be failing at life.

But here's what I've learned through my own journey of grief, ministry, and the beautiful messiness of being human: Your worth isn't measured by your productivity. It never was.

Social media doesn't help, does it? We see other pastors posting about their perfectly organized ministries, other authors celebrating their book launches, other moms who somehow manage to have Pinterest-worthy homes while homeschooling three kids and running a side business.

There we are, still in yesterday's clothes, wondering if we remembered to brush our teeth.

I remember scrolling through Facebook one particularly rough day and seeing a colleague post about completing her third book manuscript while I was still struggling to find five hours a week for my writing. The comparison hit like a punch to the gut. She's so much more productive than me. She's probably a better pastor too. I should be doing more.
But comparison is a thief, friends. It steals our joy, our peace, and our sense of purpose. It makes us forget that we're all running different races, carrying different burdens, called to different season.

Here's the thing about to-do lists: they're tools, not scorecards.

I used to treat mine like a report card from God. A full day of crossed-off items meant I was worthy of rest, worthy of feeling good about myself. An unfinished list meant I was lazy, disorganized, or simply not enough.

What a exhausting way to live.

The truth I've had to learn (and relearn, and relearn again) is that some days, the most important thing you do won't be on any list. Some days, sitting with a grieving family for three hours is more valuable than answering fifty emails. Some days, taking a mental health break is more productive than pushing through burnout. Some days, playing piano for nursing home residents brings more healing to the world than checking off every administrative task.

1. Redefine Productivity Instead of measuring your day by tasks completed, ask yourself: Did I show up with love today? Did I offer grace – to others and to myself? Did I honor the season I'm in?

2. Practice the "Good Enough" Rule Not everything needs to be perfect. Sometimes good enough really is good enough. Your sermon doesn't need to be Pulitzer Prize-worthy. Your house doesn't need to look like a magazine. Your parenting doesn't need to be flawless.

3. Celebrate Small Wins Did you get out of bed on a hard day? That's worth celebrating. Did you listen to a friend in need? That matters. Did you choose kindness when you felt overwhelmed? That's huge.

4. Remember Your Identity You are not your productivity. You are not your accomplishments. You are not your failures or your unfinished to-do lists. You are beloved, created with purpose, worthy of love and rest and grace

These days, I still make to-do lists. But I also keep what I call a "gratitude and grace" list. At the end of each day, I write down:

• One thing I'm grateful for
• One way I showed grace (to others or myself)
• One reminder of my worth that has nothing to do with productivity

Some days it's as simple as: "Grateful for coffee. Showed grace by not snapping when I was overwhelmed. Worth reminder: I am loved not because of what I do, but because of who I am."

Friend, if you're reading this while mentally tallying up everything you didn't get done today, please hear me: You are enough. Not because of what you accomplished, but because you exist. Because you're trying. Because you showed up.

The world needs your unique gifts, your particular way of loving, your specific calling – not a carbon copy of someone else's productivity or success.

So tomorrow, when you wake up with that mental inventory running, take a deep breath. Remember that your worth isn't measured by your to-do list. It's measured by a love that has nothing to do with performance and everything to do with grace.

And that, my friend, is more than enough.

What would change in your life if you truly believed your worth wasn't tied to your productivity? I'd love to hear your thoughts – feel free to share in the comments or reach out directly.

Sidebar: That Time I Ignored My Gut Feeling… And Learned Why I Shouldn't Have

You know that feeling, right? That little voice in your head—or more accurately, that flutter in your stomach, that whispers, "Something's not quite right here" or "This feels like exactly what I need to do." We call it intuition, gut instinct, or that inner voice, and if you're anything like me, you've probably spent more time second-guessing it than actually listening to it.

Well, let me tell you about the time I learned this lesson the hard way.
The Great Babysitter Blunder of 2019Picture this: I'm frantically searching for a babysitter for our three kids so Ed and I can attend a church leadership retreat. After weeks of no luck, a friend recommended someone, let's call her Sarah. On paper, Sarah looked perfect. Great references, reasonable rates, available exactly when we needed her.

But when Sarah walked through our door for the initial meeting, something felt... off. I can't even tell you what it was specifically. She said all the right things, smiled at the right moments, and the kids seemed fine with her. Yet my stomach was doing these little warning flips, like it was trying to send me a message in Morse code.

Did I listen? Of course not. Because what kind of rational person makes decisions based on stomach flutters, right?

Fast forward to retreat weekend. We're two hours into what was supposed to be a peaceful spiritual reflection when my phone starts buzzing. Sarah had decided our house rules were "suggestions," let the kids stay up until midnight eating ice cream for dinner. Now as a parent of Adopted kids, this is an even bigger problem disturbing the natural flow to routine. 

As I'm driving home at 9 PM, abandoning my retreat and my sanity, I kept thinking: "My gut knew. My gut absolutely knew, and I ignored it."

The Science Behind the Flutter
Here's what I've learned since then (and what recent research confirms): those gut feelings aren't just random stomach gymnastics. According to neuroscience research, our intuition is actually a complex interplay between our brain and our enteric nervous system—that network of neurons lining our digestive tract that scientists call our "second brain."

When we encounter situations that trigger emotional responses, our amygdala (the brain's emotion center) can activate this gut-brain connection, creating those physical sensations we feel. It's our brain rapidly analyzing subtle environmental cues and past experiences, then sending us a lightning-fast assessment through what researchers call "thin slicing"—the ability to make accurate judgments based on minimal information.

In other words, that flutter isn't random. It's your brain's sophisticated early warning system, processing information faster than your conscious mind can keep up.

The Art of Listening
Learning to trust your gut isn't about abandoning rational thinking, it's about integrating both your analytical mind and your intuitive wisdom. Here's what I've discovered works:

Pay attention to physical sensations. That knot in your stomach, the sudden lightness in your chest, the way your shoulders tense up, your body is constantly giving you information. Start noticing these signals.

Consider your expertise. Your gut feelings are most reliable in areas where you have experience and knowledge. Trust them more in your wheelhouse, less in unfamiliar territory.

Don't ignore red flags. If something feels wrong, it probably is. Even if you can't articulate why, your subconscious might be picking up on subtle cues your conscious mind missed.

Practice the pause. Before making important decisions, take a moment to check in with yourself. How does this choice feel in your body? What is your initial, uncensored reaction?
The Babysitter Redemption StoryFast forward to last year. We needed a new babysitter again (shocking, I know). This time, when I met with potential candidates, I paid attention to more than just their qualifications. One young woman, Maria, had slightly less experience than the others, but when she walked in, something just felt right. The kids gravitated toward her naturally, I felt relaxed in her presence, and my gut was giving me a gentle "yes."

Your Inner Wisdom KnowsHere's what I want you to remember: you have an incredible internal guidance system that's been honed by every experience you've ever had. It's not infallible—no decision-making process is—but it's far more sophisticated than we often give it credit for.

The next time you feel that flutter, that whisper, that inexplicable sense that something is right or wrong, don't dismiss it. Sit with it. Explore it. Ask yourself what your body might be trying to tell you. Sometimes, the most rational thing you can do is trust the wisdom that lives deeper than rational thought.

Your gut has been looking out for you your whole life. Maybe it's time to start listening.
​
What about you? Have you ever ignored your gut feeling and regretted it? Or trusted your instincts and been glad you did? I'd love to hear your stories—they remind us all that we're not alone in learning to navigate this beautifully complex thing called life.

(John 21:1-19)
We’ve All Been Peter (Yes, Even When We Blow Up)
Let’s be honest—we’ve all had Peter moments.
Moments as a parent when we said the wrong thing.
When we lost our temper even though we promised we’d be calm this time.
When we let fear, exhaustion, or pressure call the shots instead of faith.
And then there are those moments we just lost it.
You know the ones I’m talking about--
When you stepped on the 47th toy of the day.
When the toddler screamed through your Zoom meeting.
When the teenager rolled their eyes and you felt the sting deep in your chest.
When you were running on 3 hours of sleep and someone spilled the cereal again.
And we blew up.
We yelled.
We slammed the cabinet.
We said something sharp we wish we could take back.
We walked away—not because we didn’t love our kids, but because we didn’t trust ourselves to speak with love in that moment.
And then that creeping voice shows up:
“Well, that’s it. You’ve messed it up now.”
“Good parents don’t do that.”
“Jesus is probably disappointed in you too.”
If that voice sounds familiar--
if you’ve ever sat on the edge of your child’s bed with tears in your eyes and regret in your heart--
I want you to know something:
You are exactly the kind of person Jesus builds His Kingdom with.
Not the perfect parent. Not the always-patient, always-together one.
But the one who messes up and keeps coming back.
The one who loves deeply, even when it’s messy.
The one who says, “I’m sorry,” and tries again.
Jesus doesn’t build His church with flawless people.
He builds it with people like Peter.
Like you.
Like me.
And just like He met Peter by the water and fed him breakfast, He meets you in the kitchen mess, in the laundry piles, in the carline chaos.
Because His specialty is messy, emotional, imperfect people--
especially the ones who love their children enough to start fresh, again and again.
So when you’re tempted to believe you’ve disqualified yourself,
Look at Peter.
And remember—Jesus still said, “Feed my sheep.”


Peter’s Story: From Denial… to Breakfast
Peter wasn’t some quiet, background disciple.
He was bold. Passionate. A little reckless.
The guy who walked on water--
And then he sank.
The guy who declared, “I’ll never leave You, Jesus!”
And then denied Him three times the night Jesus needed him most.
Imagine the shame Peter carried after that.
How do you come back from publicly disowning your best friend, your Savior?
So, Peter does what a lot of us do after we fail--
He goes back to what’s familiar.
Fishing.
And that’s where Jesus finds him.
Not in a synagogue.
Not in a moment of repentance.
But on a boat, probably still replaying every mistake in his head.
And what does Jesus do?
He doesn’t stand on the shore with crossed arms and a disappointed look.
He makes breakfast.
He creates space—not for shame, but for forgiveness.


Grace Doesn’t Rub It In—It Lifts You Up
Around that fire, Jesus asks Peter one question, three times:
“Do you love me?”
Notice what Jesus doesn’t say:

• He doesn’t say, “Peter, why did you fail me?”
• He doesn’t say, “Can I trust you again?”
• He doesn’t say, “Are you sorry enough?”

Just:
"Do you love me?"
Because Jesus isn’t interested in rubbing Peter’s face in failure.
He’s interested in lifting him out of it.
For every denial, Jesus gives Peter a chance to say,
"Yes, Lord, You know I love You."
Grace is rewriting Peter’s story right there on that beach.
And friends, that’s precisely what grace does for us.


God Uses Messy People to Build the Kingdom
Here’s what I love most about this story--
Jesus doesn’t just forgive Peter and send him on his way.
He gives him a job:
“Feed my lambs. Tend my sheep. Feed my sheep.”
In other words:
"Peter, I’m not done with you. I still trust you. I still choose you."
Peter—the emotional, impulsive, loud, mistake-prone disciple--
became a leader in the early Church.
Not because he cleaned himself up.
Not because he figured it all out.
But God delights in using messy people
to show the world what grace looks like.
So if you’ve ever thought,
"God can’t use someone like me..."
Remember Peter.
And remember this:
Your worst moment doesn’t cancel God’s calling on your life.


Follow Me—Again
Jesus ends the conversation with two simple words Peter had heard before:
“Follow me.”
It’s the same call, but now Peter knows--
This journey isn’t about being perfect.
It’s about saying "yes," even after falling flat on your face.
That’s the invitation for you today, too.
If you’ve been sitting in regret…
If you’ve returned to “fishing” because you thought God was done with you…
Hear Jesus speaking to you:
"Do you love me?"
If the answer is yes--
no matter how shaky, how unsure, how tired you feel--
Then, grace is already moving.
And Jesus is saying,
"Good. Now get up. We’ve got work to do. Follow Me."
Because he still calls messy people.
People like Peter.
People like us.


Go knowing that God doesn’t call the flawless—He calls the willing.
Your failures don’t disqualify you.
Your temper, your doubts, your missteps--
They’re just reminders of why grace is so necessary.
You are loved.
You are forgiven.
And you are still called.
So get up from that fire.
Lift your head.
And follow Jesus into a world that needs people just like you--
Messy, redeemed, and ready to build the Kingdom.​