Rangers vs Dodgers

My main game today will be an MLB Spring Training Game between the Texas Rangers and the Los Angele Dodgers. The game has a scheduled start time of 2:05 PM CST, but I'm already pulling the radio feed from 105.3 The Fan – Dallas to catch any pregame coverage before the radio call of the game starts. Go Rangers!

And the adventure continues.

“Eu ia falar que só sinto sua falta na madrugada

mas seria uma mentira muito mal contada

eu penso em você toda hora

da hora do sol se pôr até o amanhecer

eu só queria conseguir te esquecer

mentira

eu só queria poder te ver, te ter, te olhar, te abraçar, poder te amar

eu sinto sua falta toda hora, todo dia, todo milésimo

as vezes eu me deito pra te esquecer

mas você acaba aparecendo nos meus sonhos sem querer

ninguém nunca vai ocupar o seu lugar

você faz falta no meu coração

eu queria que fosse mais fácil te deixar pra trás

mas a cada passo que eu dou, eu te quero mais

eu não quero te esquecer, eu não queria parar de falar com você

eu não quero te perder

e eu sei que você me ama

igual eu amo você

e eu sei que você tenta me esquecer

no fundo a gente sabe que era pra ser

no fundo a gente sabe que um dia eu ainda vou me casar com você

e não importa quanto tempo demore pra te rever…’’

Ps: Desculpa a demora.

Do seu garoto atrasado,

Nathan

21 February 2026

Another note on visiting Eva Dixon's studio. Something that struck me was the sheer amount of variables/ingredients/raw materials/formal approaches that are in play at any given time for her to cycle through as she works on solutions for problems past and present. Of the twelve or so works in progress that she had on the wall when I came in, each was touching on problems via material that were related to yet distinctly unique from those of its neighbors. Through metal riveted and shaped, wood clamped and controlled, symmetry enhanced or threatened, images singled out/juxtaposed with another/paired with text/sliced and fragmented, light reflected/sourced from within/avoided, supports pushed and pulled, questions asked around structural integrity, interplay between frame and stretcher and surface, and inquiries into object and body, the work is in a constant state of regeneration, refreshing itself in search of what it hasn't yet tried.

There are chapters in Scripture that unfold like ancient doors, heavy with centuries of revelation, and when they swing open they reveal truths so profound that the air around your soul feels different. Hebrews 2 is one of those chapters. It is not a gentle whisper. It is a declaration that shakes the hollowness out of the human condition. When you move through its passages, you find yourself confronted by the mystery of a God who steps fully into human frailty, not as an observer, not as a symbolic gesture, but as one who tastes the rawness of human limitation with unshielded authenticity. What emerges is a portrait of Jesus that does not hover above suffering but descends into it so completely that the dividing line between our humanity and His empathy dissolves into something sacred and transforming. Hebrews 2 does not want us to admire this descent; it wants us to understand that everything about our salvation depends on it.

The chapter begins with an urgent plea not to drift. That word—drift—is chosen carefully, because nobody wakes up and decides to walk away from God. Most people simply loosen their grip one small moment at a time, unaware that currents exist beneath the surface of their ordinary days. Hebrews warns that the things we have heard can slip away quietly, even while we believe we are still holding onto them. This drifting is not loud. It is not dramatic. It is the slow erosion of focus, the subtle turning of the heart toward lesser things. In my own spiritual work, in the years of writing commentary on Scripture, and in watching how believers try to hold on to their faith under pressure, I learned that the danger is rarely rebellion. It is distraction. And that is why Hebrews 2 opens with such boldness—because the message of salvation is too great, too costly, too world-altering for us to treat casually.

The writer of Hebrews explains that if the word delivered by angels carried consequences when ignored, how much more significant is the message delivered through the Son Himself. When you reflect on this, you start to feel the gravity beneath the text. There is a reminder here that the Gospel is not information; it is intervention. It is not a theological concept; it is a rescue operation. And when we neglect a rescue, we are not merely neglecting doctrine—we are neglecting the very hand reaching to pull us from the waters that would swallow us whole. That is why ignoring salvation is so dangerous: not because God is angry, but because drifting leaves us unanchored in a spiritual ocean filled with storms we are unable to survive alone. Hebrews 2 confronts this truth without apology.

Then, as the chapter opens into its middle movements, a shift occurs. Instead of admonition, we are given a breathtaking vision of Christ’s role in creation. The author quotes the ancient psalm asking, What is man that You are mindful of him? That question echoes across generations because it confronts the deepest human insecurity: whether our existence matters in a universe so vast. Hebrews 2 answers it with unwavering clarity. Humanity matters because God crowned us with glory and honor, positioning us with purpose even though we rarely feel the weight of that honor in our daily lives. Yet Hebrews also points out something honest—we do not see everything in subjection to us. We do not see the fullness of that glory. We see brokenness, obstacles, and a world that often seems indifferent to our place in it. But what we do see, the writer says, is Jesus.

That is the turning point. We do not see the complete dominion we were designed for, but we see the One who stepped into our loss, our fractured dominion, and our aching separation—and who restores what we forfeited. We see Jesus, made a little lower than the angels for a short time, so that by the grace of God He could taste death for everyone. The phrase “taste death” carries a weight that grows heavier the longer you sit with it. To taste something is to take it into yourself, to allow it to cross the inner boundary between what is outside and what becomes part of your own experience. Jesus did not study the concept of death, nor observe it from a distance. He drank it deeply. He allowed the full bitterness of it to touch Him in a way no divine being should have ever had to endure. And He did so not out of obligation, but out of love that refuses to watch humanity face what He could spare us from.

Hebrews 2 then draws us into the heart of atonement by revealing a divine strategy that is as unexpected as it is compassionate. It says that the One who sanctifies and those who are sanctified are of one family. This is not metaphor. It is the architectural foundation of redemption. If Jesus were to save us from afar, the rescue would be incomplete. He had to become like us—fully like us—so that He could free us from the fear of death that enslaves the human condition. When you slow down long enough to consider what it means for the Creator to become part of the creation, for eternal perfection to enter temporal vulnerability, for infinite power to inhabit finite weakness, you begin to see that the Gospel is not simply a story of salvation. It is a story of identification. Jesus does not save us by being different from us; He saves us by becoming one of us.

What this produces is astonishing. Hebrews describes Jesus as the One who is not ashamed to call us brothers and sisters. That single statement carries enough theological dynamite to reshape the way any believer views their relationship with God. To be unashamed requires a love so fierce that no failure, no flaw, no moment of collapse can make Him withdraw His affection. Many believers struggle deeply with this idea because we have been conditioned to believe that love must be earned. We internalize the idea that our mistakes disqualify us. Yet Hebrews 2 says plainly that Jesus binds Himself to us with a solidarity that does not waver in the face of our imperfection. He stands in the middle of the congregation and declares God’s name, aligning Himself with us so completely that heaven sees us not as distant creations but as family.

But Hebrews 2 does not merely comfort; it reveals the cosmic battle underway. It tells us that Jesus destroyed the one who holds the power of death—the devil—not by avoiding death but by going through it. This reversal is pure divine poetry. Death was the enemy’s greatest weapon, the one force that intimidated humanity beyond measure. Jesus did not sidestep it; He allowed Himself to be struck by it so He could break it from the inside. No power of darkness anticipated that death itself would become the battlefield where it would lose its kingdom. When Jesus walked into the realm of death, He walked in as light. And light inside darkness is an unstoppable force. That is why the resurrection is not just victory—it is overthrow. It is the moment the enemy realized that every tool he used against humanity had just become the instrument of his own defeat.

Hebrews 2 also tells us that Jesus became our merciful and faithful High Priest. This is not a role He plays from distance. It is a role He embodies through shared suffering. He knows what it means to be tempted. He knows the weight of sorrow. He knows the tug of human limitation. And because He knows, He helps. Not in theory, not in symbolic language, but with the personal knowledge of One who has walked in human skin. The mystery here is that the God who designed galaxies also understands the tremble in your heart when you are overwhelmed. He understands the silent battles no one sees. He understands the fears you never speak aloud. And because He understands them, He meets you within them, not as a judge standing above your pain but as a Savior who carries you through it.

As I spent time meditating on Hebrews 2 while completing my commentary work on the New Testament, I felt the deep pull of something that goes beyond theology. This chapter reveals why Jesus is not simply the bridge between God and humanity; He is the family tie, the shared bloodline, the eternal connection that transforms your place in the universe. Hebrews 2 tells you that your Savior is not ashamed of you, that your salvation was won through shared suffering, and that the One who reigns over heaven still remembers what it feels like to struggle on earth. When you move through that revelation slowly, your faith shifts from something you believe to something that anchors you. It becomes a truth that hums inside your spirit like a heartbeat. You begin to realize that you are not following a distant deity; you are walking with Someone who has walked your path and conquered the shadows that used to own you.

What emerges from Hebrews 2 is not merely a call to avoid drifting. It is a vision of Christ that pulls your heart into deeper allegiance simply by showing you the depth of His love. The chapter does not rely on threats or fear; it relies on relationship. It reveals a God who became fully human so that humanity could become fully His. It reveals a Savior who steps into suffering so that no believer ever has to walk through it alone. And it reveals that your life is part of a story far larger, far older, and far more eternal than you ever realized. Hebrews 2 beckons you to see the world through the lens of what Christ accomplished, not through the lens of what you fear.

As Hebrews 2 unfolds into its later verses, you begin to sense that this chapter is not simply teaching doctrine; it is unveiling a spiritual inheritance that was always meant to redefine the human soul. It places you in the middle of a divine timeline that stretches from creation to the cross to the resurrection and then into the eternal ages to come. You begin to feel that your life is part of a larger movement, a story written with intention long before you ever existed. When the writer says that Jesus had to be made like His brothers and sisters in every way, it is not merely a statement about incarnation. It is a declaration of destiny. It means that Christ did not redeem you as an outsider. He redeemed you from within the human condition so that everything He touched, everything He endured, and everything He overcame would become part of your spiritual inheritance. You do not follow Him as one who watches from a distance; you follow Him as one who belongs to the same family lineage that He restored through His suffering and His triumph.

This is where the deeper layers of Hebrews 2 begin to surface, because the chapter shows that the purpose of Christ’s humanity was not only to save us but to restore what humanity had lost. The passage says that He brings many sons and daughters to glory. That phrase should stop you in your tracks. Glory is not a concept; it is a destination. It is the state humanity was designed for before the fall fractured everything. When Christ entered the world and lived as a human, He was not only reversing the curse; He was pulling the entire human destiny back into alignment with the divine blueprint. Glory was always part of the design. Dominion was always part of the design. Belonging was always part of the design. Christ did not merely save us from something. He saved us into something.

The text moves further into a breathtaking truth that reshapes how we understand suffering. It says that Jesus was perfected through suffering—not in the sense that He lacked anything, but in the sense that His suffering completed the mission He came to fulfill. To save humanity, He had to experience humanity. To break the power of death, He had to walk directly into its grip. To help those who are tempted, He had to face temptation Himself. This is not weakness; this is strategy. The suffering of Christ is not an unfortunate chapter in the story of salvation; it is the method by which heaven overturned the dominion of darkness. Every wound He carried became a weapon against the enemy. Every tear He shed became testimony against the one who seeks to crush the human spirit. Every step He took toward the cross was a blow against the kingdom of death. And this is why Hebrews 2 becomes such a pillar for believers who feel overwhelmed by the weight of their own struggles—because it shows that suffering in the hands of God is not the end. It is the birthplace of victory.

When I consider the years spent creating chapter-level commentary across the entire New Testament, including all four Gospels and now moving through Hebrews, I realize how often believers underestimate the power of Christ’s humanity. We celebrate His divinity easily, but His humanity—His hunger, His exhaustion, His tears, His vulnerability—those are the parts that reveal the magnitude of His love. Hebrews 2 insists that we understand this. It insists that we see Jesus not only on the throne but in the garden, not only in glory but in agony, not only in resurrection but in struggle. Because if we cannot see Him in the struggle, we will never understand why He can carry us through ours. It is His shared humanity that makes His priesthood merciful. It is His suffering that makes His help trustworthy. It is His identification with us that makes Him the perfect bridge between the eternal and the earthly.

As the chapter concludes its powerful portrait, the text reveals something deeply personal and often overlooked. It says that Jesus helps those who are tempted. This is not a general statement; it is an intimate promise. It means that Christ is not a distant observer of our battles. He is an involved Savior who steps between us and the darkness that tries to claim us. He understands the hidden battles that unfold inside the human mind. He understands the pressures that pull at the human heart. And because He understands them from within His own experience, He comes alongside us not with judgment but with guidance, not with condemnation but with strength. Hebrews 2 paints a picture of a Savior who walks with you through every season—not simply because He is compassionate, but because He has been there Himself.

That is why Hebrews 2 stands out as one of the most profound chapters in the entire New Testament. It does not just teach; it reveals. It does not just inform; it transforms. It shows us a Christ who saves us, stands with us, speaks for us, and fights for us. It shows us a salvation that is not fragile but unshakeable, because it is built on the shoulders of One who tasted death so we could taste life. It shows us a future that is not uncertain but anchored, because the One who leads us is not ashamed to call us His family. Hebrews 2 challenges us to hold fast, to stay focused, to refuse to drift—not out of fear that we will be punished, but out of wonder at how deeply we are loved.

And so when you step back from this chapter, when you allow its revelations to settle into the deepest places of your being, you begin to feel something shift. You begin to sense that the Christian life is not about striving to earn God’s approval but about waking up to the truth that you already belong. You begin to feel the steady weight of a Savior who stands between you and every enemy you will ever face. You begin to recognize that your story is not shaped by your weakness but by His victory. You begin to see that drifting is dangerous not because God is fragile, but because the world is loud. Hebrews 2 is a reminder to anchor your heart not in circumstances, not in emotions, not in fear—but in the Christ who stepped into your world so you could step into His.

As you reflect on Hebrews 2, let it draw you into a deeper awareness of the Savior who walks with you. Let it call you to hold closer the truths you have heard. Let it show you that your life is part of a divine story still unfolding. And let it remind you that the One who is your High Priest is also your Brother, your Champion, your Deliverer, and your eternal source of strength. Jesus became like you so you could become like Him. He took on your humanity so you could inherit His glory. He entered death so you could inherit life. Hebrews 2 is not just theology—it is the map of your identity, the foundation of your hope, and the evidence that you are loved far more deeply than you ever realized.

Your friend, Douglas Vandergraph

Watch Douglas Vandergraph’s inspiring faith-based videos on YouTube https://www.youtube.com/@douglasvandergraph

Support the ministry by buying Douglas a coffee https://www.buymeacoffee.com/douglasvandergraph

Donations to help keep this Ministry active daily can be mailed to:

Douglas Vandergraph Po Box 271154 Fort Collins, Colorado 80527

19 February 2026

Re-reading A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man right now in small increments before I go to sleep each night. About halfway through right now. I think the rugged realism of Joyce's language and the malleability of Stephen's conscience is having a particular (but ineffable) effect on my dreams. Last night I had one in which I walked through a kind of clearing and reached a beach. From the sky to the ground, half of the beach was covered in shadow and the other half in blindingly bright light. In the light some people played volleyball, and in the shadow my father was sitting in a black hoodie with his back to me. I walked over to him, helped him up, and together we walked into the light to join the game.

17 February 2026

Have been looking at Eliot Porter's photographic (but very painterly) work a lot this week. The relationships he finds in a thicket of trees or a cluster of fruit feels to me like the equivalent of figurative painting done right, i.e. when it is loose and expansive enough to allow mark-making and material to become the doors through which new ideas emerge from. And his treatment of color is just lovely—he manages to achieve a kind of softness in his saturation that feels less less like an artificial heightening than an organic warming.

15 February 2026

Image inventory: a toilet sitting in the middle of the sidewalk in Camden, hand prints on a tube escalator handrail, a plane's contrail bent at an an almost right angle, a diagram of an eye that explains the different planes that comprise its lid, two gin and tonics on a table, dead flower arrangement on a park bench, eroded paint on a shed door, a fingerprint filling a square on an ID card, an oblong bench, a lion's face in a gold door knocker, an indent of a flower in blue tack, a can of peas, a red handprint on a window.

There is a quiet truth hidden beneath the noise of modern life that most people never learn to recognize, and it is the truth that the greatest transformations do not begin at the peaks of clarity or confidence but at the fragile places where a person finally admits they cannot keep living the same way. The question “Where do I start?” rises most often not from strength but from exhaustion, not from boldness but from bewilderment, not from certainty but from a soul that is tired of circling the same mountain year after year without ever feeling the ground shift beneath their feet. It is a question that belongs to people who have been carrying far more weight than they let anyone see, people who smile publicly while privately wondering if God still remembers the desires they tucked away because life demanded practicality instead of faith. What makes this question so profound is that it reveals something most believers struggle to admit: beginnings feel intimidating not because they are complicated but because they expose how vulnerable we truly are. When a person decides they want to start over, to start fresh, to start moving again, they confront the fear that they might fail again or fall again or discover that the strength they hoped for has not yet arrived. And yet those are the very moments where heaven leans closest, because God is not attracted to polished strength but to honest surrender, and He often begins His greatest work in the exact places where a person feels most incapable.

Every spiritual journey has a beginning, and most beginnings feel smaller than we think they should. They rarely arrive with fireworks or epiphanies. They come disguised as quiet decisions, sacred inner shifts, gentle tugs on the heart that a person cannot explain but also cannot ignore. Many believers assume they must wait for motivation before they take the first step, yet the kingdom of God works in the opposite direction. Motivation meets you after you start, not before. The mind begs for clarity, but the soul grows through obedience. The world says to wait for courage, but heaven whispers to move while your legs still tremble. People often feel paralyzed because they imagine the journey all at once, seeing the distance between where they are and where they believe God is calling them. But God never asks a person to leap the entire distance. He simply asks for one step in the direction of His voice, because one step at a time is how He builds faith that lasts. The miracle is not in the distance covered; it is in the willingness to take the first step, even while feeling unprepared, unsure, or afraid.

What makes beginnings sacred is not the power with which they are made but the presence that meets a person inside them. God does not wait for you at the destination. He meets you at the starting line. He stands beside you long before you know where you are going. And this is where many believers misunderstand how God works, imagining that His power shows up only after they have already proven their strength or demonstrated their discipline. But God’s strength is drawn to weakness, not to performance. When you say, “Lord, I don’t know how to start, but I want to try,” heaven moves. When you whisper, “God, I’m scared, but I am willing,” something shifts in the spiritual realm. When you say, “If You’ll take the lead, I’ll take the step,” you become a candidate for divine interruption. In the Scriptures, nearly every great story began with reluctance. Moses tried to argue with the burning bush. Gideon tried to hide in the winepress. Jonah tried to run the other direction. Peter tried to go back to fishing. None of them started with clarity. All of them started with hesitation. But God entered their hesitation and turned it into destiny.

Many believers remain stuck because they imagine beginnings must look impressive. They think they must overhaul their whole life at once, pray with boldness immediately, conquer their doubts instantly, and feel spiritually powerful before they take even one small step. But God begins with authenticity, not intensity. He does not need your start to be dramatic. He needs it to be honest. And honesty is often found in the quiet place where you finally tell God the truth about what hurts, what scares you, what you long for, and what you have been pretending is fine. When you reveal your truth to God, He reveals His direction to you. But the direction will never be the entire blueprint. God doesn’t hand out blueprints. He offers His hand. And whoever takes His hand discovers that the path unfolds in motion. It unfolds in trust. It unfolds in obedience. It unfolds in the decision to move even when you still feel overwhelmed.

The moment a person begins is the moment something inside them wakes up. This awakening is subtle but powerful. It feels like the soul letting out a breath it forgot it was holding. It feels like the heart adjusting to a new level of light after living too long in dimness. It feels like the mind loosening its grip on old fears because hope has started whispering louder than discouragement. And yet this awakening does not happen before the first step; it happens because of it. God placed a spiritual law into the fabric of the universe that movement precedes momentum. The person who waits for momentum before moving will wait forever, but the one who moves even while they feel shaky becomes the one God carries into breakthroughs they never imagined. The beginning is not the moment you feel strong. The beginning is the moment you decide weakness will no longer stop you.

People fear beginnings because beginnings require trust, and trust feels dangerous when you have been disappointed before. The human heart becomes cautious when life has taught it to expect pain, delay, confusion, or abandonment. But the beauty of walking with God is that He does not ask you to trust your circumstances, your abilities, or your predictions. He asks you to trust His character. And His character has never changed. His faithfulness does not rise and fall based on your emotions. His strength is not diminished by your fear. His patience is not disrupted by your questions. His love is not weakened by your doubts. When God invites you to start, He is inviting you into a journey where He already knows the ending and has already secured the outcome. He is inviting you into a process where your role is obedience and His role is everything else. This takes the pressure off your shoulders, because your beginning is not held together by your confidence but by His consistency.

The question “Where do I start?” is answered differently than the world expects. You do not start where you feel strong. You do not start where you feel certain. You start where you are. You start with the fears still trembling in your chest. You start with the uncertainties still swirling in your mind. You start with the wounds still healing, the questions still unresolved, the doubts still whispering, and the dreams still fragile. God does not ask you to clean your life before beginning. He asks you to begin so He can clean your life through the journey. He is the God who spoke universes into existence from nothingness, which means He specializes in beginnings that look too small to matter. Nothing is too insignificant for Him to breathe on. Nothing is too ordinary for Him to transform. Nothing you bring to Him at the starting line is too weak for Him to use.

The fear of beginning comes from imagining the whole journey all at once. But beginnings were never meant to be seen that way. God reveals the journey in layers, and He hides the future on purpose so that you will learn to trust Him day by day, step by step, moment by moment. If He showed you everything at once, you would run from the weight of it or rush ahead without His guidance. By giving you only enough light for today, He keeps you close to His heart. He keeps you listening. He keeps you dependent not on your plan but on His presence. And His presence is what transforms you along the way. A journey that begins with God will always reshape something inside you before it ever reshapes what’s around you. That is why beginnings matter so deeply: they are the doorway through which God enters the parts of your life you never knew needed healing.

Beginning is an act of spiritual courage, but it is also an act of spiritual humility. It is the quiet recognition that you cannot carry your life alone. It is the admission that your strength has limits but God’s strength does not. Beginning says, “I am not enough on my own, but with God, I am not meant to be.” This humility does not weaken you; it empowers you. It allows God to take over the parts of your life that were too heavy for you. It creates space for Him to guide, restore, protect, correct, and uplift you. And once He takes His rightful place at the center of your beginning, everything else starts aligning in ways you could never orchestrate yourself.

Faith-filled beginnings always feel costly, not because the first step is hard but because taking it forces you to confront the truth that you have grown comfortable in places you were never meant to stay. Humans are creatures of habit, and even the most painful routines can feel strangely safe simply because they are familiar. God calls you into beginnings that require leaving behind what has become familiar but unhealthy, predictable but spiritually stagnant, comforting but limiting. This is why so many people hesitate to start: they fear losing what they know more than they trust what God has promised. Yet every meaningful beginning in Scripture required someone to walk away from something. Abraham walked away from his country. Ruth walked away from her homeland. Peter walked away from his nets. Paul walked away from his status. And in each of those stories, the beginning didn’t feel like a promotion. It felt like a risk. It felt like a loss. But heaven saw it differently, because heaven knows that you cannot cling to the past and reach for the future at the same time. Letting go is not a punishment; it is preparation.

Starting with God requires a willingness to embrace the unknown, but not because the unknown is dangerous — it’s because the unknown is where God does His deepest work. The parts of life you cannot predict become the places where God can reveal Himself in ways you’ve never experienced. Faith does not grow in certainty. Faith grows in motion. Faith grows in the steps taken without full understanding, in the choices made while trembling, in the obedience that rises even when clarity hasn’t yet arrived. And as you begin walking with God, something extraordinary happens: the parts of your life that once felt heavy start to feel lighter, not because your circumstances change overnight but because you begin to see them through a different lens. You begin to realize that you are not carrying life alone. You notice the subtle signs of God’s nearness — the peace that comes out of nowhere, the strength that surprises you, the wisdom that whispers in quiet moments, the courage that shows up when your knees are weak. These are the quiet miracles of beginnings, the gentle reassurances that God is not only with you but ahead of you.

Beginning also reshapes your identity. You cannot start a new chapter with God and remain the same person you were before. As you move forward, old labels begin to lose their grip. The names life gave you — failure, unworthy, too late, not enough — begin to crumble under the weight of God’s truth. You start to realize that your identity was never built on your past but on His promises. You discover that the things that once defined you no longer have permission to dictate your future. God uses beginnings to rewrite the way you see yourself, not by demanding perfection but by revealing who you were created to be. Every step you take with Him is a step away from the lies that have shaped your thinking. Every moment of obedience is a dismantling of the fears that once held authority over your life. You do not start with God to become someone else. You start with God to remember who you already are.

But beginnings do more than transform you; they transform your relationship with God. Something sacred happens between you and your Creator when you take a step you did not feel ready for. It becomes a moment of intimate trust, a quiet act of surrender that strengthens the bond between your heart and His. When you move while afraid, you learn something about God that cannot be learned in seasons of certainty. You learn that He is gentle with your fears. You learn that He is patient with your questions. You learn that He never shames you for hesitating. You learn that He is not disappointed when you need reassurance. And as this relationship deepens, the journey becomes less about arriving quickly and more about walking closely. The destination matters, but the companionship matters more.

Over time, your beginning becomes your testimony. The day will come when you look back at the moment you started — the moment you whispered yes while your voice shook, the moment you trusted God while part of you doubted, the moment you took a step that felt too small to matter — and you will see what heaven saw all along. You will see how God protected you from paths that would have broken you. You will see how He opened doors you could not have opened alone. You will see how He closed doors that would have led you somewhere you were never meant to go. You will see how He guided every twist, every turn, every detour, and every delay. And in that reflection, gratitude will rise, because you will realize that your beginning did not depend on your strength. It depended on God’s.

The truth about beginnings is this: they are rarely convenient, rarely comfortable, and rarely glamorous. They come in the middle of messes, in seasons of uncertainty, in moments of personal frustration, and in the quiet ache of wanting something more. But beginnings carry a power that cannot be compared, because they open the door to everything God has been waiting to do in your life. The enemy’s strategy is always to keep people from starting. If he can convince you that it is not the right time, that you are not ready, that you don’t have enough, that you are too far behind, that you have failed too many times, or that you should wait until you feel stronger, then he can keep you stuck indefinitely. But if you dare to take the first step, everything changes. Heaven begins to move. Chains begin to loosen. Hope begins to rise. Strength begins to return. And God begins doing what He does best — turning small beginnings into great testimonies.

So where do you start? You start where your feet are. You start where your heart is stirring. You start where you are most afraid, because fear is often the sign that destiny is near. You start with the whisper of desire that will not leave you alone. You start with the quiet belief that God still has a plan, even if you cannot articulate it yet. You start with the willingness to trust that your life is not random, your journey is not wasted, and your future is not empty. You start right here, right now, in this moment, because this moment carries more divine weight than you realize. Heaven measures faith not by what you finish but by what you begin. And if you begin with God, He will take you places you could not reach alone. He will shape you into someone you never imagined becoming. He will lead you into seasons that reveal His goodness in ways that leave you humbled, grateful, and forever changed.

Beginnings do not ask you to become strong. They ask you to become willing. They ask you to step into a story that God has already written from the end backwards. They ask you to trust a plan that is older than your fears, deeper than your doubts, and stronger than your past. And once you take that first step, you will discover what every believer learns eventually: God does not bless perfection. God blesses movement. And the moment you move, even slightly, heaven sets miracles in motion that were waiting for your obedience. You are not starting something small. You are stepping into something sacred. And God is already there, ready to take you the rest of the way.

Your friend, Douglas Vandergraph**

Watch Douglas Vandergraph’s inspiring faith-based videos on YouTube** https://www.youtube.com/@douglasvandergraph

Support the ministry by buying Douglas a coffee https://www.buymeacoffee.com/douglasvandergraph

Donations to help keep this Ministry active daily can be mailed to: Douglas Vandergraph Po Box 271154 Fort Collins, Colorado 80527

13 February 2026

So much to say about my visit to Eva Dixon's studio. Will slowly unpack everything in time, but the first thing I want to address here is what she said about her work being propelled by not understanding it. A wonderful sentiment in itself, but but most helpful and useful to me was hearing her talk about how maintaining that headspace is a muscle she has developed and continues to train. Because it seems to me that the intellectual side of one's practice is always threatening that vital, joyful mode of working in which there is no analyzing or judging or justifying. In which the creative act justifies itself.

Als würde ein Kalenderblatt umgeblättert

schmilzt das Eis, verschwindet der Schnee,

die Zweige werden biegsam, die Sonne schmeichelt

warm und sanft den Gesichtern.

Knospen verdicken, Vögel zwitschern, die Wellen

wogen anmutig über den sandigen Strand.

Ungetüme baggern, Möwen schreien, Boote tuckern,

Pötte gleiten, Verliebte pfeifen, Räder surren,

Cafébesucher blinzeln ins Licht

Denn zack! – Es ist Frühling!

Quelle: Pinterest

“Ich werde etwas.”

Die Maler:innen der Künstlerkolonie in Worpswede waren eng mit der Natur verbunden. Unter ihnen war auch der junge Lyriker Rainer Maria Rilke, der 1902 eine Monographie über die Landschaft und ihre Maler schrieb.

In der Monographie fehlt eine bedeutende Person: Paula Modersohn-Becker. Rainer Maria Rilke und Paula trafen sich häufig und führten viele Gespräche. Er besuchte Paula häufig in ihrem Atelier. Und doch ging deren künstlerische Entwicklung an ihm vorbei. Frauen zählten nicht.

“Die Aufgabe der Frau ist es aber, im Eheleben Nachsicht zu üben und ein waches Auge für alles Gute und Schöne in ihrem Mann zu haben und die kleinen Schwächen, die er hat, durch ein Verkleinerungsglas zu sehen.”

schreibt der Vater 1901 an Paula.

Am 8. Februar 2026 jährte sich zum 150. Mal der Geburtstag der Malerin. Sie lebte gerade mal 31 Jahre und beschritt in dieser Zeit mit einem unerschütterlichen Glauben an sich selbst über alle patriarchalen Zwänge hinweg ihren künstlerischen Weg.

“Ich werde etwas.”

Paula Modersohn-Becker

Mit 16 schrieb sie in ihr Tagebuch:

“Ich will malen, ich muss malen. Es ist, als ob etwas in mir brennt, das nur durch die Farbe gelöscht werden kann.“

Das sagte sie immer wieder zu sich selbst und schrieb es auch an Freunde und Familie, in der Bitte darum, ihr zu vertrauen, dass sie ihren Weg machen würde.

Das wirkliche Ausmaß des Werks wurde erst nach ihrem Tod bekannt. Selbst ihrem Mann waren viele Werke, die im Atelier in Worpswede entdeckt wurden, nicht bekannt. In nur 14 Jahren malte sie 750 Gemälde und 2000 Zeichnungen. Nur vier davon wurden während ihrer Lebzeiten verkauft.

Paula hat sich aus den Zwängen ihrer Zeit befreit.

Sie gilt heute als eine der bedeutendsten deutschen Malerinnen des frühen Expressionismus.

gelesen – gesehen – gehört

• Marina Bohlmann-Modersohn: Paula Modernsohn-Becker, eine Biographie mit Briefen: Anschaulich locker erzählt die Autorin anhand von Briefen und Tagebuchauszügen die Geschichte der Malerin. Beeindruckend fein zeichnet sie die Entwicklung der ihr eigenen Kunstform.
• Becoming Karen Blixen ist eine Miniserie, die zurzeit in der Mediathek von Arte zu sehen ist und das Leben der Karen Blixen nach ihrer Rückkehr aus Afrika darstellt. In der engstirnigen Welt der Bourgeoisie muss sie zahlreiche Herausforderungen meistern. Sie beweist dabei eine außergewöhnliche Charakterstärke und verwirklicht ihren sehnlichsten Wunsch: Mit 47 Jahren wird sie Schriftstellerin.
• Mein wunderbarer Buchladen am Inselweg von Julie Peters. Das Hörbuch erzählt die Geschichte einer Frau, die auf der Insel Spiekeroog einen Neustart wagt und dort am Ende einen Buchladen übernimmt, da sie häufig weiß, welches Buch gerade das Richtige für den Lesenden ist.

#frauengestalten #möwenlyrik #frühling #gelesen #gesehen #gehört

I’m looking for a new bag for my work laptop to replace the 16-year-old photo bag that I’m using now. But where can I buy one? In an Instagram ad, I found an interesting one, but I don’t know if I like it. What does the material feel like? How does it look when I carry it? How does it feel on the shoulder? I could order the bag, try it, and return it. Even if returns are free, I still have to package it and drop it off. I could do this with multiple bags, but that adds up to a serious amount of work. However, I cannot think of a single shop in New York City that offers a decent selection of laptop bags.

I dag har Oslo MDG årsmøte, og jeg får tilbringe dagen med rekordmange MDG-ere som gleder seg til å ta tilbake makta i Oslo til neste år. Ja, og linselusene fra Oslo Grønn Ungdom da!

Vi har blant annet vedtatt en resolusjon om innvandringspolitikk og integrering, fremmet av meg og tre MDG-ere som alle har fått den tvilsomme æren av å bli stemplet som “uekte” nordmenn av FrP denne vinteren. Noen av dagens sterkeste øyeblikk var da de fortalte om hvordan rasisme og diskriminering har preget deres oppvekst.

MDG står alltid opp mot rasisme og mistenkeliggjøring av minoriteter. Når andre partier dilter (eller løper!) etter FrP og fyrer opp under moralsk panikk på tvilsomt grunnlag, står vi fast på våre prinsipper. Når andre mumler og flakker med blikket fordi de er redd for at FrP bare vil tjene på å diskutere innvandring, hever vi stemmen. Dette er ikke et spørsmål om hva som er strategisk lurt eller dumt, men hva som er rett og galt. Alle nordmenn er likeverdige. Og fascistiske idéer som “remigrasjon” må aldri få fotfeste i norsk offentlighet.

Å omtale våre medborgere som en eksistensiell trussel er destruktivt både for samfunnet og for de som rammes av retorikken. Jeg får meldinger av folk som forteller at de mister nattesøvnen. At de føler seg stemplet som annenrangs av den harde retorikken mot innvandrere. Jeg registerer at mine egne barn defineres som en potensiell trussel av Norges nest største parti. Dette kan vi ikke akseptere.

Ja, innvandring innebærer utfordringer. Men det er praktiske problemer som løses i hverdagen, ikke problemer av eksistensiell art. Integreringen er ikke mislykka. Den lykkes hver dag. Det er bare å se på den imponerende statistikken for andregenerasjons innvandrere. Integreringen lykkes blant annet takket være enorm innsats fra lokale ildsjeler. I dag har vi hatt besøk av Mudassar Mehmood, som har fortalt om det imponerende arbeidet for å gi ungdommer fellesskap og muligheter på Mortensrud. og Sahaya Kaithampillai fra “Hvor er mine brødre”– prosjektet på Holmlia.

Akkurat nå har Oslo et borgerlig byråd som gjør integreringsjobben vanskeligere ved å kutte kraftig i bydelsøkonomien selv om byen går med solide overskudd. Når kassa er tom rammes alle tjenester som ikke er lovpålagt. Som ungdomstilbud og forebygging. Det verste er at forebyggingen bygges ned i de samme bydelene der politiet ruster opp. Det er en ekstremt dyr måte å spare penger på. Sosiale problemer løses ikke best med batong og pistol.

Oslo MDGs årsmøte skjer samtidig som Oslo FrPs årsmøte. I fjor stilte Simen Velle til valg i Oslo under slagordet «la oss ta byen tilbake». Han spredte en valgkampvideo som fremstilte mitt nabolag som et skummelt sted, med kriminelle ungdommer og gjenger ved Tveitablokkene. Her går jeg tur med min yngste datter i barnevogna nesten hver dag. Jeg inviterer gjerne Simen Velle på trilletur i nabolaget mitt. Så kan han få lov til å møte folk i øyehøyde og snakke til dem, ikke om dem.

Heldigvis er Velle bare stortingsrepresentant, ikke minister. Det er takket være MDG. Jeg håper vi får mulighet til å blokkere FrP fra makt i Oslo til neste år også. Vi er i alle fall bedre rusta enn noensinne! Vi kan jo ta oss råd til å kopiere retorikken til FrP på ett punkt: la oss ta byen tilbake!

Det er fint å se et mer eller mindre samlet presse-Norge hamre løs på iNyheter. Men det er jo også litt frustrerende å se at dette først kommer når Helge Lurås, Ole Asbjørn Næss og Jarle Aabø har begått den ultimate synd, nemlig å mistenkeliggjøre media selv.

De konspiratoriske anklagene iNyheter har kommet med mot Redaktørforeningen og presse-Norge skiller seg jo ikke vesentlig fra de mange grove konspiratoriske og villedende uttalelsene og ubehagelige karakteristikkene som deles ut av iNyheters journalister på mer eller mindre daglig basis.

Vi snakker jo om de samme aktørene som sto bak Resett, som drev direkte rasistiske hetskampanjer. Med seg på laget har de nå fått mannen bak “Ja til bilen i Oslo”, som på mer eller mindre daglig bassis fyrte opp til hets og et voldsomt og aggressivt personfokus mot navngitte politikere, meg selv inkludert.

iNyheter spiller en destruktiv rolle i norsk offentlighet, akkurat slik forgjengeren Resett gjorde. Utrolig nok har de også lyktes i å karre til seg pressestøtte. De fortjener mer kritisk oppmerksomhet i den seriøse pressen. Ikke bare når deres virksomhet rammer media, men også når det rammer andre.

Dette må være noe av det frekkeste jeg har sett i mine snart 11 år i Oslopolitikken. “Vi har lyktes med å snu underskudd til overskudd”, skryter Oslos finansbyråd Hallstein Braaten Bjercke. Det er en løgn. Tallene i Oslos budsjetter er grønne fordi kommunen har fått økte overføringer fra staten både i fjor og i år. Gjennom budsjettforliket på Stortinget mellom AP og MDG, SV, Sp og Rødt fikk Oslo over 500 millioner ekstra. Mer enn nok til å kutte byrådets grove kutt i velferden.

Høyre og Venstre-byrådet skal altså ikke ha noen ære for dette. De har heller ikke gjort noen “snuoperasjon”. De tok over en kommune med sterk økonomi, mye penger på bok og lavere gjeldsgrad enn da de selv styrte sist. Dette har ikke stoppet dem fra å dikte opp en historie om “økonomisk krise”. Denne “økonomiske krisen” har de brukt som unnskyldning for å innføre de groveste kuttene i Oslos velferd på flere tiår. Samtidig som de har kuttet i kommunens inntekter gjennom å kutte eiendomsskatt til de dyreste boligene. Kutt i velferd for å gi skatteletter til de rikeste er gjenkjennelig høyrepolitikk.

Det har lenge vært et problem at media oppfatter borgelig styre som “normalen” i Oslo, og blir sløvere og mer ukritiske når Høyre styrer byen. Men de er heller ikke vant med så uærlige politikere som vi har nå. Hele historien til byrådet har vært en bløff siden de tiltrådte, og journalistene virker genuint forvirret om den økonomiske situasjonen til kommunen.

Dette bør være enkelt: hvis politikerne har råd til å redusere sine egne inntekter med 600 millioner i året, så er ikke kommunen i økonomiske krise. Når de samtidig kutter i velferd med mer enn 500 millioner, så er det ikke snakk om “krisegrep”, men en usosial politisk prioritering.

Kommunen har lomma full av penger, men “kuttene i 2026 må vi gjennomføre”, forklarer finansbyråden. Høyre og Venstre kutter altså i kommunens tilbud fordi de vil, ikke fordi de må. De mener at Oslos rikeste har hatt for lite penger i lommeboka, og at byens skoler, barnehager, eldreomsorg, ungdomstilbud og andre tjenester har vært for rause luksuriøse. Det er i det minste en ærlig sak.

卒業式が近づいている。 結局、就活もろくにせず、やりたいことも見つからないまま、 なんとなく好きだったあの子にも気持ちを伝えられず、 このまま卒業してしまう。

俺の住んでいる村は小さな村で、子どもは全部で三十人ほど。 今年卒業するのは、そのうちたった六人。 誰がどこへ行って、どんな仕事をするのか、 そんな噂は自然と耳に入ってくる。 何も決まっていないのは、俺だけだ。

そんなことを考えながら、川沿いの道を歩いていると、 釣りをしているおじさんの後ろ姿が見えた。 彼の横を通り過ぎようとしたとき、竿の先が一瞬だけこちらを向いた。 風もないのに、まるで意志を持っているかのように。

「遠回りかどうかは、個人の感覚に過ぎませんよ」 釣りを続けたまま、こちらを見ずに、 まるで何ターンも会話を飛ばして、大事な部分だけを短く伝えてくる。 何も相談していないのに。

「そんなもんすかねえ。俺は、他人がそう言ったなら、遠回りかなって思っちゃいますけど」 俺も分かったふうに、同じトーンで返す。 まるで、分かっているかのように。

それだけ言って、おじさんのそばを離れる。 内容なんて、どうでもいい。 ただ返事をし合うだけで、信号を渡し合うだけで、人は少しずつ成長する。 初めて話したとき、おじさんはそんなことを言っていた。 それ以来、俺たちは、ノリで会話を続けている。

おじさんは、すごい。 何がすごいのかは、うまく説明できないけれど。 この前なんて、柔道部のやつらがやってきて、「帯を締めてください」って頼んでた。 おじさんは黙って、静かに道着を正していた。

大浴場では、「一度も曲がらなかった」と噂されていた。 まっすぐに、ただまっすぐに歩く人だった。 「必要なら、村の木は切った方がいい」と言ったのも、彼だった。

あるとき、彼が珍しくこちらに話しかけてきたと思ったら、 それは独り言だった。 「飛行機から足を出して、憧れの先輩を語るような気持ちで生きていたい」 何の話かは、さっぱり分からないし、正直、関心もない。 でも、就活や恋愛で悩んでいる俺とは、まるで別の場所にいるようで、 その距離感が、少しだけ羨ましかった。

そして、おじさんは突然、すごい勢いでバンザイをした。 そのとき、横から見える肌が、思いのほかきれいだったことだけを、なぜか覚えている。

ーー遠回りかどうかは、個人の感覚に過ぎない。 何の話か分からなくても、そこに力を感じたなら、その言葉は本物だ。 その言葉がトリガーになったかは定かではないが、 俺は卒業式の日、気になっていたあの子に告白することにした。

I was going back home from a night out with some friends, and I drove past some of the places we used to go to. I know that the relationship was unhealthy and codependent, and it was really intense like a drug. But at the same time I wonder if I can grieve losing that drug. Like the thought of cuddling her, or watching TV while she lays on my chest and gently falls asleep. Her falling asleep on the car trip back.