Well, hello there! It’s Friday and I hear the sound of flames in the fireplace as I lay now on the yellow sofa with the dogs resting by my side.

And I have my health. Some people equate taking care of themselves with going frequently to the gym and drinking ridiculous amounts of water. That is a scam, I think, because self care is to be found in this french bakery where they have croissants.

I was working once as a terminal worker sorting mail or driving the forklift. I’d unload trailers or train wagons and there were these glass shelters where we would smoke cigarettes and drink vending-machine coffee while waiting for these various vehicles to arrive.

Once in my youth, I — a handsome young man with a friendly demeanour, having a cigarette behind my ear (unlit) — talked to this greek guy in his forties, built like a tank. He said through his thick mustasch that instead of candy for easter, we should’ve gotten fruit or even sandwiches, but not candy.

Some time later, at the gym, he busted his back, and I never saw him again!

Mark chapter six is one of those chapters that refuses to sit quietly in the background of the Gospel story. It is not gentle. It is not tidy. It moves from rejection to miracle, from banquet tables to burial, from green grass to storm-tossed waves. It shows us Jesus not only as teacher and healer but as the one who walks straight through misunderstanding, grief, exhaustion, and danger without losing sight of His mission. This chapter is not about one lesson. It is about collision. Human expectation collides with divine authority. Fear collides with faith. Scarcity collides with abundance. And ordinary people collide with a holy calling they do not yet understand.

Jesus returns to His hometown, and the tone changes immediately. This is not the warm reception of Galilee or the desperate crowds of Capernaum. This is Nazareth. This is the place where He scraped His knees as a boy, where people remember His voice before it preached, where His hands once shaped wood instead of healing bodies. The synagogue fills with curiosity rather than hunger. They are astonished, but their astonishment turns sour. They ask questions that sound reasonable but are poisoned with familiarity. Where did He get this wisdom? How does He do these mighty works? Is not this the carpenter, the son of Mary, the brother of James and Joses and Juda and Simon? Are not His sisters here with us? And they were offended at Him.

That word offended is heavy. It does not mean mildly annoyed. It means they stumbled over Him. They tripped on what they thought they knew. They could not reconcile His authority with their memory of His ordinary life. The problem was not that they lacked evidence. The problem was that they had too much history without revelation. They had watched Him grow up, but they had not watched Him pray. They had seen His workbench, but they had not seen His wilderness. They had heard His laughter as a boy, but not His voice in the Jordan when the heavens opened. Familiarity bred dismissal. And Jesus responds with a saying that echoes far beyond Nazareth: “A prophet is not without honour, but in his own country, and among his own kin, and in his own house.”

There is something deeply human here. We often struggle to receive from what feels close to us. We resist authority that rises from among us. We prefer distant heroes to familiar messengers. And Mark records something that should sober us: “He could there do no mighty work, save that he laid his hands upon a few sick folk, and healed them.” It is not that Jesus lacked power. It is that unbelief creates an environment where power is refused. Faith is not the source of God’s strength, but it is the doorway through which it enters human life. Even Jesus marvels at their unbelief. The Son of God stands in His own hometown, and the people who know Him best expect the least.

From there, Jesus does not retreat. He expands. He sends out the twelve. This is not a ceremonial mission. This is field training. He gives them authority over unclean spirits and sends them two by two. There is wisdom here. Ministry is not meant to be solitary. Strength grows in shared obedience. He commands them to take nothing for their journey except a staff. No bread. No bag. No money in their purse. They are to be shod with sandals and not put on two coats. This is not about poverty as a virtue. It is about dependence as a posture. They are being taught to trust the provision of God through the obedience of others. They are being trained to receive as well as to give.

He also teaches them how to handle rejection. If a place will not receive you or hear you, shake off the dust under your feet as a testimony against them. This is not bitterness. It is clarity. They are not to beg for acceptance. They are not to dilute their message to gain approval. They are to preach repentance, cast out devils, anoint the sick with oil, and trust God with the outcome. The kingdom advances without negotiating its truth. And the disciples go. They preach that men should repent. They cast out many devils. They heal many who are sick. The authority of Jesus flows through ordinary men who were fishermen and tax collectors only chapters ago.

Then the narrative shifts sharply to Herod. The contrast could not be stronger. While the disciples are walking in obedience, Herod is trapped in fear. He hears of Jesus because His name is spread abroad, and he begins to speculate. Some say it is John the Baptist risen from the dead. Others say it is Elias. Others say it is a prophet. Herod says, “It is John, whom I beheaded: he is risen from the dead.” Guilt speaks loudly in a haunted conscience. Herod’s fear is not theological; it is psychological. He knows what he did.

Mark then rewinds the story to tell us how John died. John had confronted Herod for taking his brother Philip’s wife, Herodias. John’s message did not change depending on his audience. He preached repentance to the poor and rebuke to the powerful. Herod feared John, knowing that he was a just man and an holy, and observed him. He heard him gladly, and did many things. That is one of the most tragic lines in Scripture. Herod liked listening to John. He admired him. But admiration is not obedience. Interest is not repentance. He did many things, but not the one thing necessary: he did not let go of sin.

Herodias hated John and wanted him dead, but could not because Herod protected him. Then came the birthday feast. A room full of power, wine, and pride. Herod’s daughter danced, and it pleased him and those who sat with him. In a moment of foolish bravado, he swore to give her whatsoever she would ask, unto the half of his kingdom. She asked her mother what to request, and Herodias said, “The head of John the Baptist.” Immediately she went in with haste and asked the king. And the king, though sorry, because of his oath and them which sat with him, would not reject her.

This is where sin shows its true cost. Herod valued his image more than a prophet’s life. He valued his reputation at the table more than righteousness in his soul. John’s head was brought on a charger. The disciples came and took up his corpse and laid it in a tomb. And the story moves on. The world kept spinning. The feast ended. But heaven recorded every detail.

The apostles return to Jesus and tell Him all things, both what they had done and what they had taught. They are tired. They are full of stories. They are carrying the emotional weight of ministry. Jesus says to them, “Come ye yourselves apart into a desert place, and rest a while.” This is one of the most tender invitations in the Gospels. Rest is not laziness. It is obedience. Even Jesus recognizes the need for withdrawal. They had been coming and going so much that they had no leisure so much as to eat. So they depart into a desert place by ship privately.

But rest is interrupted by compassion. The people see them departing and run afoot out of all cities and outwent them. When Jesus comes out and sees much people, He is moved with compassion toward them because they were as sheep not having a shepherd. He begins to teach them many things. Weariness does not cancel mercy. Fatigue does not override love. Jesus does not scold the crowd for invading His solitude. He feeds their souls first with teaching.

When the day is far spent, His disciples come to Him and say that this is a desert place and now the time is far passed. They suggest sending the people away to buy bread. Jesus replies, “Give ye them to eat.” It sounds unreasonable. It sounds impractical. They answer with numbers: two hundred pennyworth of bread is not sufficient. Jesus asks how many loaves they have. Five loaves and two fishes. He commands them to make the people sit down by companies upon the green grass. Mark’s detail here is beautiful. Green grass. The Good Shepherd arranging His sheep in order before feeding them. He takes the loaves and fishes, looks up to heaven, blesses, breaks, and gives to His disciples to set before them. They all eat and are filled. They take up twelve baskets full of fragments and of the fishes. Five thousand men were fed, besides women and children.

This miracle is not just about multiplication. It is about obedience. The miracle did not happen in the crowd’s hands. It happened in the disciples’ distribution. They had to hand out what looked insufficient. They had to trust that what they were giving would not run out. The miracle flowed through their participation. God often works that way. He does not rain bread from heaven when He can break it through willing hands.

Immediately after, Jesus constrains His disciples to get into the ship and go to the other side before unto Bethsaida, while He sends away the people. After He dismisses them, He departs into a mountain to pray. The same Jesus who feeds thousands goes alone to talk with His Father. Power does not replace prayer. Success does not cancel solitude. Evening comes, and the ship is in the midst of the sea, and He alone on the land. He sees them toiling in rowing, for the wind is contrary. He sees them from the mountain. Distance does not block divine sight. About the fourth watch of the night, He comes unto them walking upon the sea and would have passed by them.

This is not an accident. He is revealing Himself. When they see Him walking upon the sea, they suppose it is a spirit and cry out. Fear speaks before faith recognizes. They are troubled. Immediately He talks with them and says, “Be of good cheer: it is I; be not afraid.” He goes up unto them into the ship, and the wind ceases. They are sore amazed in themselves beyond measure and wondered. And Mark adds a quiet, devastating explanation: “For they considered not the miracle of the loaves: for their heart was hardened.”

This is one of the most honest diagnoses of human spirituality. They had just seen bread multiplied. They had just carried baskets of leftovers. Yet when they face the storm, they forget the lesson. They saw provision but did not translate it into trust. Miracles do not automatically create faith. Reflection does. Memory does. Understanding does. Without that, even the miraculous becomes disconnected from daily fear.

They come into the land of Gennesaret and draw to the shore. As soon as they come out of the ship, the people recognize Him and run through that whole region and begin to carry about in beds those that were sick, where they heard He was. Wherever He enters, into villages or cities or country, they lay the sick in the streets and beseech Him that they might touch if it were but the border of His garment. And as many as touched Him were made whole.

Mark chapter six ends not with thunder but with healing. Not with doctrine but with touch. The rejected prophet becomes the accessible healer. The same Jesus who could do no mighty work in Nazareth is now surrounded by desperate faith. The difference is not in Him. It is in them. One town tripped over familiarity. Another reached for the hem of His garment.

This chapter forces us to ask uncomfortable questions. Are we too familiar with Jesus to be transformed by Him? Do we admire Him like Herod admired John but refuse repentance? Do we distribute what He blesses, or do we calculate what we lack? Do we remember yesterday’s miracle when today’s storm rises? Mark six is not meant to be read quickly. It is meant to be lived slowly. It shows us a Christ who is rejected, compassionate, interrupted, grieving, feeding, praying, walking, and healing all in one chapter. It shows us disciples who preach, fear, forget, and learn. It shows us crowds who hunger, rulers who fear, and prophets who die.

And woven through it all is a single thread: the kingdom of God advances whether people receive it or resist it. Nazareth could not stop it. Herod could not silence it. The storm could not drown it. Hunger could not exhaust it. And fear could not undo it. The same Christ who stood in a synagogue rejected now stands on a sea unafraid. The same Christ who held broken bread now holds authority over wind and wave. The same Christ who let John die still feeds the living.

Part of what makes this chapter so powerful is that it refuses to idealize spiritual life. It does not show us uninterrupted victory. It shows us obedience mixed with misunderstanding, courage mixed with fear, and faith growing through failure. It teaches us that rejection does not invalidate calling, that rest does not excuse compassion, that miracles do not eliminate storms, and that storms do not mean abandonment.

In Nazareth, Jesus is limited by unbelief. In the wilderness, He multiplies bread. In the palace, a prophet dies. On the mountain, Jesus prays. On the sea, He walks. In Gennesaret, He heals. The geography of this chapter becomes a map of the spiritual life. There are places of rejection. There are places of provision. There are places of grief. There are places of prayer. There are places of fear. And there are places of restoration. Christ is present in all of them.

This chapter also reveals the cost of shallow faith. Herod feared John but did not follow him. The Nazarenes admired Jesus’ wisdom but rejected His authority. The disciples rejoiced in the miracle of bread but did not understand its meaning. Each group encountered truth but responded incompletely. And incomplete response leads to incomplete transformation. Truth admired is not truth obeyed. Truth heard is not truth trusted. Truth seen is not truth remembered.

What Mark six ultimately gives us is a Savior who is not fragile. He is not dependent on applause. He is not surprised by resistance. He is not weakened by storms. He is not diminished by death. He moves steadily toward His purpose, teaching, healing, feeding, and revealing Himself along the way. Even when His disciples misunderstand Him, He keeps walking toward them. Even when crowds chase Him, He feeds them. Even when rulers oppose Him, He keeps preaching through others. Even when prophets die, the kingdom continues.

This chapter invites us to live differently. It invites us to believe beyond familiarity, to obey beyond calculation, to remember beyond emotion, and to trust beyond circumstance. It calls us to be disciples who not only carry bread but understand its source, who not only see miracles but let them reshape fear, who not only admire holiness but choose it.

Mark six does not resolve every tension. It leaves us with a Jesus who feeds and a John who dies. It leaves us with storms and healings. It leaves us with rejection and restoration. But that is precisely its power. It shows us that faith is not a straight line upward. It is a path through wilderness, across water, and into crowds. And Christ walks that path with us.

In the next movement of this story, we will look deeper at how this chapter reveals the heart of Christ in contrast to the heart of power, how the bread in the wilderness connects to the bread of heaven, and how walking on water is not a spectacle but a revelation of divine presence in human fear. We will explore how this chapter teaches us to recognize Jesus not only when He teaches in synagogues but when He comes toward us in the storm, speaking words that still quiet waves inside the soul: It is I. Be not afraid.

What makes Mark chapter six so quietly devastating is that it refuses to let us keep Jesus in a single category. He will not remain only the rejected hometown preacher. He will not remain only the miracle worker. He will not remain only the gentle shepherd. In this chapter, He is all of these at once, and the shifts between them feel almost abrupt. That is intentional. Mark is showing us a Christ who cannot be reduced to one role. He is the carpenter’s son and the Lord of creation. He is the grieving friend of John and the fearless walker on water. He is both limited by unbelief and unstoppable in purpose.

There is something deeply revealing in the way Mark places the rejection at Nazareth next to the sending of the disciples. One scene is about refusal. The next is about release. Where Jesus is not received, He does not argue. He multiplies messengers. Where hearts are closed, He opens roads. This is how the kingdom works. God does not stall when rejected. He expands. And the ones He expands through are not trained elites. They are fishermen with authority borrowed from Christ.

When Jesus sends them out with nothing but a staff and sandals, He is teaching them that the power of their ministry will not come from what they carry but from who sends them. They are learning dependence not as theory but as experience. They will sleep in strange homes. They will eat what is set before them. They will be rejected in some places and received in others. They will preach repentance and see real change. This is not abstract theology. This is embodied trust.

And yet, even as the kingdom advances, Mark places before us the tragedy of Herod. Herod’s story is the counterpoint to the disciples’ obedience. One man hears the truth and submits to it. Another hears the truth and fears it. Herod’s fear of John does not lead to repentance; it leads to fascination. He is drawn to John’s holiness without surrendering to it. He listens gladly but lives unchanged. This is one of the most dangerous spiritual states a person can occupy. It feels close to faith but lacks its transformation.

Herod’s downfall is not sudden. It is slow. It is shaped by compromise. He took his brother’s wife. He kept John imprisoned. He enjoyed listening to him while refusing his message. Then one reckless promise and one proud moment of saving face cost a prophet his life. Sin rarely announces itself as murder. It begins as convenience. It continues as pride. It ends as destruction.

The banquet scene is one of the most haunting in the Gospel. A room of laughter and music ends with a severed head on a platter. Celebration becomes condemnation. Pleasure becomes executioner. And John, who prepared the way for Christ, dies alone in a cell while Jesus feeds thousands in the wilderness. Mark is not trying to soften this. He is showing us that righteousness does not guarantee safety and that faithfulness does not guarantee applause. Sometimes obedience leads to prisons. Sometimes it leads to green grass and bread. Both exist in the same kingdom.

The apostles return from their mission full of activity. They tell Jesus what they have done and taught. This is not pride. It is reporting. They are learning accountability. And Jesus does something that reveals His heart for His followers. He does not immediately send them back out. He invites them to rest. This is not weakness. It is wisdom. The same Christ who commands them to preach repentance also commands them to withdraw. He knows that exhaustion distorts calling. He knows that weariness can make obedience feel heavy instead of holy.

But rest is short-lived. The crowd interrupts their retreat. And again, Jesus’ response reveals something crucial. He does not protect His schedule at the expense of people. He looks at the crowd and sees sheep without a shepherd. This is not pity. It is responsibility. He begins to teach them many things. The feeding of the five thousand begins not with bread but with words. The hunger of the crowd is not only physical. They are starving for guidance, for meaning, for truth.

When the disciples suggest sending the crowd away, they are thinking logically. There is no food. There is no market. There is no plan. Jesus’ answer does not deny reality; it reframes it. “Give ye them to eat.” He does not ask them to create food. He asks them to participate in what He will do. This is the pattern of grace. God does not ask us to supply what we lack. He asks us to surrender what we have.

Five loaves and two fishes in human accounting mean insufficiency. In divine accounting, they mean beginning. The miracle does not start when the bread multiplies. It starts when the disciples obey the instruction to seat the crowd. Order precedes overflow. Structure precedes supply. And when Jesus blesses and breaks the bread, He does not give it directly to the people. He gives it to the disciples to distribute. The miracle flows through obedience. They become carriers of provision they do not control.

There is a quiet lesson here about ministry. The disciples could not see the multiplication in Jesus’ hands. They only saw what was in their own. They kept handing out bread without knowing how much remained. They had to trust the source while working the process. That is the life of faith. We distribute grace without seeing the storehouse. We speak hope without knowing the outcome. We serve without calculating sufficiency. And God fills what obedience empties.

Twelve baskets of leftovers remain. The number is not accidental. Twelve disciples, twelve baskets. The ones who feared scarcity are now carrying abundance. God does not merely meet the need of the crowd; He teaches the disciples about provision. Yet Mark tells us later that they did not understand this miracle. They saw it, but they did not consider it. The bread filled stomachs, but the meaning did not fill hearts.

Jesus sends them ahead by boat while He dismisses the crowd. This separation is deliberate. He creates distance so He can pray. The same Jesus who commands storms submits Himself to communion with the Father. Prayer is not preparation for weakness. It is the source of strength. While the disciples row against the wind, Jesus is alone on the mountain. While they strain in effort, He rests in presence. And from that mountain, He sees them struggling.

This is one of the most comforting truths in the chapter. Distance does not limit Christ’s awareness. Darkness does not block His sight. Storms do not hide His people from Him. He sees them toiling in rowing. He does not come immediately. He waits until the fourth watch of the night, the darkest part of the night, the point where exhaustion would be greatest. And then He comes walking on the sea.

The sea in Jewish thought represented chaos. It symbolized danger and death. For Jesus to walk on it is not merely a display of power. It is a declaration of authority over disorder. When the disciples see Him, they are afraid. They think He is a spirit. Fear misidentifies salvation when it comes in unfamiliar form. They cry out. And immediately He speaks, “Be of good cheer: it is I; be not afraid.”

That phrase, “it is I,” carries deep weight. In Greek, it echoes the language of divine self-identification. It is more than reassurance. It is revelation. The one walking on chaos is the same one who spoke light into darkness. And when He enters the boat, the wind ceases. Peace is not found in escape from the storm. It is found in the presence of Christ within it.

Mark’s explanation is sobering. They were amazed beyond measure, for they had not considered the miracle of the loaves, for their heart was hardened. This does not mean they were rebellious. It means they were unreflective. They experienced the miracle but did not interpret it spiritually. They enjoyed provision but did not translate it into trust. The storm exposed what the bread had not yet taught them.

How often does that happen to us? We remember what God did, but we forget what it means. We recall the rescue but not the revelation. We remember the blessing but not the lesson. We carry baskets of yesterday’s bread while fearing today’s waves. Faith is not strengthened by memory alone. It is strengthened by understanding.

When they arrive at Gennesaret, something shifts again. The crowds recognize Him immediately. They run through the region, carrying the sick on beds, placing them in streets. They do not ask for sermons. They ask for touch. They believe that even the border of His garment is enough. This is faith that does not analyze. It reaches. And Mark records simply that as many as touched Him were made whole.

This is how the chapter closes. Not with thunder. Not with rebuke. But with healing. After rejection, execution, exhaustion, fear, and misunderstanding, the last word is restoration. Bodies are healed. Lives are changed. The kingdom continues.

What this chapter ultimately reveals is that Christ is not shaped by human response. He is revealed through it. When people reject Him, He teaches. When rulers oppose Him, He sends others. When prophets die, He feeds crowds. When disciples fear, He walks toward them. When the sick reach for Him, He heals them. His mission does not depend on favorable conditions. It advances through broken ones.

Mark six also teaches us that faith is not static. It must grow. The disciples are not condemned for their fear. They are taught through it. They are not rejected for misunderstanding. They are corrected by experience. Their hearts were hardened not by rebellion but by lack of reflection. Jesus does not abandon them. He enters their boat.

The chapter forces us to confront the danger of spiritual familiarity. Nazareth’s problem was not ignorance. It was assumption. They thought they knew Jesus, so they refused to learn Him. Herod’s problem was not exposure. It was cowardice. He heard the truth but feared the cost of obedience. The disciples’ problem was not failure. It was forgetfulness. They saw miracles but did not interpret them.

Each group reveals a different spiritual risk. Familiarity without reverence leads to offense. Conviction without repentance leads to destruction. Experience without understanding leads to fear. Mark six does not allow us to hide from these dangers. It places them side by side so we can see ourselves in them.

Yet the dominant image of the chapter is still Christ Himself. He is the constant while everything else shifts. He is rejected and keeps teaching. He is interrupted and keeps loving. He is surrounded and still withdraws to pray. He is misunderstood and still reveals Himself. He is approached and still heals. He is never passive. He is never reactive. He is purposeful in every movement.

This chapter also reshapes our idea of success. Success is not Nazareth’s approval. Success is not Herod’s fascination. Success is not the crowd’s size. Success is obedience to the Father. John was successful even when he died. The disciples were successful even when they feared. Jesus was successful even when rejected. The kingdom’s measure is faithfulness, not comfort.

Mark six teaches us that miracles are not rewards for strong faith but invitations to deeper faith. The bread did not exist because the disciples believed perfectly. It existed because Jesus was present. The walking on water did not happen because they were courageous. It happened because He was near. Faith is not the cause of divine action; it is the response to divine presence.

And this is where the chapter quietly turns toward us. We are all somewhere in this story. Sometimes we are Nazareth, too familiar to be transformed. Sometimes we are Herod, intrigued but unwilling. Sometimes we are disciples, obedient but fearful. Sometimes we are the crowd, hungry and hopeful. Sometimes we are the sick, reaching for the hem of His garment. And in every role, Christ remains Himself.

He is still teaching where there is confusion. He is still feeding where there is lack. He is still walking where there is fear. He is still healing where there is pain. The same Jesus who stood in a synagogue and was rejected now stands in our world, still offering truth, still multiplying bread, still calming storms, still inviting trust.

The heart of Mark six is not the miracle of loaves or the terror of waves. It is the presence of Christ in the middle of both. It is the revelation that the One who feeds also walks, the One who heals also prays, the One who sends also stays near. It is the unveiling of a Savior who does not retreat from human weakness but steps into it.

When Jesus says, “It is I; be not afraid,” He is not only speaking to fishermen in a boat. He is speaking to every believer who faces a storm they cannot row through. He is saying that His identity is stronger than our fear. His presence is greater than our circumstance. His authority is deeper than our chaos.

Mark six leaves us with an unfinished invitation. Will we be offended by familiarity, or will we be transformed by trust? Will we admire holiness without obedience, or will we repent and live? Will we remember miracles without understanding, or will we let them reshape our fear? Will we see Christ only in the synagogue, or will we recognize Him walking toward us in the storm?

The chapter does not answer these questions for us. It places them before us and waits. The same Jesus who walked on water still approaches lives that are struggling. The same Christ who fed thousands still multiplies grace through broken hands. The same Lord who healed by touch still responds to faith that reaches.

Mark chapter six is not just history. It is a mirror. It shows us the cost of unbelief, the danger of pride, the weakness of fear, and the power of presence. It shows us a Savior who refuses to be boxed into our expectations and refuses to abandon us in our failures. It shows us that the kingdom advances not because people are ready but because Christ is faithful.

And perhaps that is the quiet gospel of this chapter. Not that storms will cease, but that Christ will come. Not that prophets will always be spared, but that truth will always speak. Not that bread will always be plentiful, but that it will always be broken and shared. Not that fear will never rise, but that His voice will still say, “Be not afraid.”

This is not a chapter about perfect faith. It is a chapter about persistent grace. Grace that teaches when rejected. Grace that feeds when interrupted. Grace that walks when feared. Grace that heals when touched. Grace that continues when misunderstood.

If there is one truth Mark six presses into the soul, it is this: the presence of Jesus changes every environment, but only those who trust Him are changed by it. Nazareth saw Him and stumbled. Gennesaret saw Him and reached. The sea saw Him and calmed. The disciples saw Him and learned. The question is not whether He will come near. The question is how we will respond when He does.

And so this chapter leaves us standing somewhere between the shore and the storm, between the bread and the waves, between the prophet’s tomb and the healer’s garment. It leaves us with a Christ who is not finished revealing Himself and a world that is still deciding whether to receive Him.

What remains is not the miracle itself but the voice that spoke in the wind. What remains is not the bread but the hands that broke it. What remains is not the crowd but the compassion that fed it. And what remains for us is the invitation to believe beyond what is familiar, to trust beyond what is visible, and to follow beyond what is safe.

That is the lasting legacy of Mark chapter six. It is not a story about what Jesus once did. It is a revelation of who He always is.

Your friend, Douglas Vandergraph

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I don’t know when we got a property management company in addition to our Homeowners Association. I probably don’t know this because, as I have mentioned, I have only attended one or two HOA meetings. When I moved here, we had an HOA with some members, including a president, with all members being residents of the neighborhood. That was it. And that was all.

After consulting an attorney and based on my loose understand of why we may have this property management group, it is to have some random ass muthafucka, who is running their own business, in charge of shit so the HOA can lay blame on someone else when shit hits the fan. I could be wrong. But how I came to this conclusion is when I asked a someone to check into the lien placed on my house, I was informed that “the HOA had nothing to do with that”. Um, yes the fuck they did, per the attorney…unless the HOA is admitting that the property management company (person) is going rogue. And if that is the case, what u gon’ do?

I live in a working class neighborhood that is racially, ethnically, and culturally mixed. And I am of the belief that everyone is doing what they can, at any given moment, with whatever resources are in effect for them at the time. I am never aware of any beef going on or even any tragedies until another neighbor tells me. I don’t come home with a penchant for wanting to punish my neighbors for what their property looks like because it doesn’t affect me. I’m trying to do me.

What I don’t know is what other people are really trying to do, and that includes the HOA and the property management company. When I say HOA, I am referring to the HOA and property management in one. And I will continue to do so until they distinguish themselves from one another. Let’s take this December 2025 email as an example of their united front of all fronts (I have put some of their words in bold for emphasis.):

Vista Palms – Moving Forward Together: Respect, Transparency, and New Meeting

Dear Community, Esteemed Residents of Vista Palms,

We want to address the recent back-and-forth we’ve been hearing. With respect, it is disappointing to see adults behave this way over an election. Politics can bring out the worst in people, but we are neighbors and people first. This is our shared home—let’s band together, not tear each other apart. Please remember: we all live here together, and we should not treat each other with ugliness.

Unfortunately, our president could not attend the last meeting in person due to illness, though was connected by phone with our vice president, secretary, and property management. Based on what we heard and the feedback we’ve received from residents and other sources, the meeting turned into a circus. We’ve also been told that management behaved disrespectfully. Please be assured that this has already been addressed and will continue to be handled appropriately in future meetings.

That said, property management’s behavior does not excuse us, as individuals, from being respectful. Each of us must be accountable for our actions. We are adults, and even when tested, we must rise above negativity.

We are awaiting feedback from our attorneys regarding our proxy. Regardless of the outcome, we will hold quarterly meetings. Going forward, we will have separate budget meetings and separate election meetings, as guided by legal counsel and Florida’s Sunshine Laws. Legal representation will be present at meetings as needed to ensure questions and concerns are addressed according to the law—not by individual opinions of board members or management. Proxy counts and sign-ins will be completed within the first 10 minutes of the meeting. If quorum is not reached within that time, the election cannot be held and that meeting will end. Budget meetings will proceed separately.

Takebacks from the last meeting:  The board has heard your concerns regarding budget line items. Despite the chaos, we were listening. We understand that you work hard for your money and want clarity about how it is being used. We have already partnered with our vendors to see what clarity we can provide regarding specifications. While not required, we believe it is important to show where funds are being allocated. For our next budget meeting, we will work with vendors and property management to explore ways to generally itemize costs and provide a clearer picture of how HOA dollars are being spent. This is a step toward greater transparency and accountability, and we appreciate you raising these concerns.

Our meetings will be listed on the calendar quarterly, scheduled for the 2nd Tuesday of each corresponding month at 7:00 p.m. EST Elections will be held at the end of the year, on December 10 at 7:00 p.m., with notifications going out well in advance starting in October or November. These will be listed on our community page.

• Q2: Tuesday, April 14, 2026 • Q3: Tuesday, July 14, 2026 • Q4: Tuesday, October 13, 2026

https://www.vistapalmslife.com/ Budget meetings and follow-up question meetings will also be held quarterly as needed.

Additionally, all meetings will have security present to avoid any potential escalations. Any misconduct, whether physical or verbal, will result in removal from the meeting. We will not tolerate such behavior. Meetings will be respectful and orderly. Any altercation that becomes physical will be considered assault and may lead to criminal charges

We will introduce a microphone system so everyone can hear clearly. The HOA will invest in this improvement, and meeting notes will be posted on the website. We are here to work together as one association. The board is not above nor below the community—we are one. Property management is here to help manage, not divide.

Our next meeting will be February 10 2026 at 7:00 p.m. This meeting will discuss the outcome of the December 10, 2025 elections. An attorney will be present to answer legal questions, and board members will address concerns. We look forward to seeing you there. Regardless of election outcomes, we’re here to work together and address your concerns. While we’ve had some hiccups, our community is being run very well. Costs are low for the amenities we receive, and there are many benefits and beautiful aspects of Vista Palms. Please do your research and compare with other communities and HOAs before forming assumptions about how the association is run. You may not agree with 100% of decisions, but funds are being allocated responsibly, and we are listening—we’ll keep improving, respectfully, one step at a time.

If changes are needed due to unforeseen circumstances, we will notify everyone as early as possible. Future elections and quorum counts will occur within the first 10 minutes of meetings. All meetings will be organized and conducted in an orderly manner by us or designated participants.

We look forward to seeing everyone at our next meeting, where we can continue collaborating to strengthen and celebrate our beautiful community. If you have any questions or concerns, please remember that we are always available, and you can reach us through the proper channels within the community, along with property management for additional support.

Best regards, Your Board Members and President Alma ,Raul and Lily 

Community Website: www.mygreencondo.net/vistapalms

Roger L Kessler LCAM Property Manager E: Rkessler@UniquePropertyServices.com P: 813-879-1139 ext 106 P: 813-879-1039

Does this sound like something you would want to come home to? Is this a part of your castle? Who are these people called the HOA?

Our Father Who art in heaven Hallowed be Thy name Thy Kingdom come Thy will be done on Earth as it is in heaven Give us this day our daily Bread And forgive us our trespasses As we forgive those who trespass against us And lead us not into temptation But deliver us from evil

Amen

Jesus is Lord! Come Lord Jesus!

Come Lord Jesus! Christ is Lord!

Refresher

In this solemn study of Ukraine We wished we could get high And do nothing but frail power In this obvious ruin, And states’ regard No one stood up to now, But rather someday A trance made of oats and steel The wondrous pure Are the dirty fights and splashing blood Wolves and tough folks Appeasing the throats Of an intern who is American It was beautiful that Summer eve When men met in Singapore And supposed their arrest Was leaking brake fluid As opposed to Berlin Where breaking news left fighting- In today’s win Against putin- and his overblown calf Screeching hallowed endurances Propped with Vaseline at the waist When children burn In his oversight They are calendar people, in Ukraine Some said performers And Donald said, He had no idea And what is Ukraine told to think And let’s harm them so they’ll listen To that FSB improv Which is a whirl of greatness Stinking run to the hills Of pleasant renewal In effect three degrees For the last house arrest Of American metals And soviet wine Because war- Made it for us This pleasant day.

People notice the outside first. They always have, and they probably always will. Before anyone hears a word you say, before they know your story, before they understand your heart or your intentions, they see the surface. They see the clothes. They see the presentation. They see the things that culture has trained us to judge quickly and file away neatly. In a world that moves at the speed of scrolling, first impressions often become final conclusions, even when they shouldn’t.

And sometimes, what people see doesn’t fit the image they expect faith to wear.

Sometimes it’s a classic band t-shirt. Sometimes it’s heavy metal. Sometimes it’s old-school rock and roll. Sometimes it’s something loud, something worn, something unapologetically human. And for some people, that creates friction. Not because God is offended, but because expectations are.

Somewhere along the way, many people absorbed the idea that faith has a uniform. That holiness looks a certain way. That if someone doesn’t visually match the religious template they’ve been handed, then whatever they say about God must somehow be less credible, less serious, or less sincere. But that idea didn’t come from Scripture. It came from tradition, culture, and human comfort.

God has never been interested in surfaces.

From the very beginning, God has been clear about what He values. Long before modern faith culture existed, long before churches had branding and aesthetics, Scripture made something unmistakably plain: people look at appearances, but God looks at the heart. Not once, not occasionally, but always. That truth hasn’t aged. It hasn’t weakened. It hasn’t been replaced by newer standards. It still stands, cutting straight through every assumption we make about what faith should look like.

Faith is not something you put on in the morning and take off at night. Faith is not a costume. Faith is not an accessory. Faith is not proven by what you wear, how you speak, or how closely you resemble someone else’s idea of “spiritual.” Faith is something internal, something rooted, something alive inside a person that inevitably shapes how they live, how they speak, and how they treat others.

Jesus never demanded aesthetic conformity. He never asked people to clean themselves up before approaching Him. He never withheld truth until someone looked the part. He met fishermen smelling like their work, tax collectors marked by their reputations, women carrying shame, men carrying doubt, and crowds carrying confusion. He did not wait for them to change their appearance. He spoke to their hearts.

That matters more today than many people realize.

We live in a time when people are exhausted by performance. They are tired of curated perfection. They are weary of religious language that sounds impressive but feels empty. They are suspicious of anything that feels staged, rehearsed, or disconnected from real life. Many have walked away from faith not because they rejected God, but because they felt judged, excluded, or unseen by people who claimed to represent Him.

In that environment, authenticity becomes disarming.

When someone who looks ordinary, unpolished, and real speaks about God with humility instead of superiority, with compassion instead of condemnation, something shifts. Walls lower. Defenses soften. The message lands differently because it doesn’t feel like it’s coming from a pedestal. It feels like it’s coming from a person.

And people listen to people before they listen to ideas.

What matters is not what’s printed on fabric. What matters is what’s written on the heart. What matters is what comes out of a person when life presses in, when conversations turn heavy, when someone admits they’re struggling, or when hope feels thin.

Words matter.

Not loud words. Not dramatic words. Honest words. Words spoken with care. Words that carry truth without cruelty. Words that acknowledge pain without minimizing it. Words that point toward God without pretending life is simple or suffering is imaginary.

Jesus did not weaponize truth. He embodied it. He understood that truth delivered without love hardens people instead of healing them. He understood that people do not change because they are shamed into submission, but because they are invited into something better.

That invitation is not conveyed by appearances. It is conveyed by presence.

Presence looks like listening when it would be easier to talk. Presence looks like patience when it would be easier to judge. Presence looks like compassion when it would be easier to distance yourself. Presence looks like staying when others walk away.

That kind of presence cannot be faked. It comes from the heart.

Many people today feel disqualified before they ever begin. They assume God would never want them because they don’t fit the mold, don’t have the background, don’t have the vocabulary, or don’t have the look. They believe faith is reserved for people who have their lives together, their past cleaned up, and their questions resolved.

But Scripture tells a different story.

God has always worked through people who did not look impressive on the surface. Shepherds. Fishermen. Outsiders. The overlooked. The doubters. The broken. Again and again, God bypassed appearances and chose hearts that were willing, honest, and open.

That pattern has never changed.

So when someone encounters a follower of Christ who doesn’t fit their expectations, it can be jarring in the best possible way. It quietly dismantles the lie that faith requires a makeover. It opens the door for someone to consider that maybe God is not as distant, rigid, or exclusive as they were taught to believe.

This is not about rebellion for its own sake. It is not about making a statement with clothing or style. It is about refusing to confuse the message with the wrapping. It is about understanding that God’s power has never depended on presentation.

God moves through obedience, not optics.

The most meaningful moments of ministry rarely happen in controlled environments. They happen in everyday spaces. In conversations that weren’t planned. In moments when someone admits fear, grief, doubt, or exhaustion. In those moments, no one is checking what you’re wearing. They are listening to how you respond.

Do you respond with empathy or dismissal? With humility or certainty? With care or correction?

Those responses reveal the heart.

A person who carries faith authentically does not need to advertise it. It shows up naturally in how they speak, how they listen, and how they treat others. It shows up in restraint. In gentleness. In courage. In integrity. In the quiet refusal to reduce people to labels.

Jesus said that out of the abundance of the heart, the mouth speaks. That means what comes out of us under pressure reveals what is actually inside us. Not what we claim to believe, but what we have allowed to shape us.

That shaping happens slowly. Faith is formed over time, through surrender, reflection, obedience, and grace. It is refined through failure as much as through success. It is deepened in seasons of silence as much as in seasons of clarity.

And when that kind of faith exists inside a person, it doesn’t matter what they wear. It will find its way out.

It will show up in the way they treat people who disagree with them. In the way they respond to criticism. In the way they acknowledge their own imperfections. In the way they speak about God without pretending to fully understand Him.

That kind of faith feels real because it is.

People are not looking for perfect representatives of God. They are looking for honest ones. They are looking for proof that faith can exist in real life, not just in religious spaces. They are looking for permission to explore belief without pretending to be someone they’re not.

When faith is presented as accessible rather than exclusive, something beautiful happens. People begin to consider that God might meet them where they are, not where they think they should be. They begin to imagine that transformation is a journey, not an entrance exam.

That imagination is sacred ground.

God often does His most profound work in unexpected places through unexpected people. He does not need the packaging to be polished. He needs the heart to be surrendered.

This is why appearances will never be the measure of faith. This is why style will never determine sincerity. This is why God continues to bypass human expectations and operate on a deeper level.

Faith does not live on the surface. It lives in the heart, and it reveals itself through words spoken with love and lives lived with integrity.

When faith is reduced to appearances, it becomes fragile. It becomes something that can be put on or taken off, something that depends on approval, something that can be threatened by disagreement. But when faith is rooted in the heart, it becomes resilient. It becomes something that can withstand misunderstanding, criticism, and even rejection. It becomes something that does not need to defend itself because it knows where it comes from.

This distinction matters, because many people walk away from faith not because they stop believing in God, but because they grow tired of pretending. They grow tired of feeling like they must look a certain way, speak a certain way, or suppress parts of who they are in order to belong. They grow weary of the gap between what is said publicly and what is lived privately. They sense the inconsistency, and it erodes trust.

God has never asked people to pretend.

Throughout Scripture, God consistently chooses honesty over polish. He chooses confession over performance. He chooses repentance over reputation. Again and again, He meets people in moments of raw truth rather than moments of curated image. That is where transformation begins—not when someone looks right, but when someone becomes real.

This is why the heart matters so much.

The heart is where motives are formed. The heart is where compassion either grows or withers. The heart is where pride takes root or humility finds space. What lives there eventually finds its way out, not through slogans or symbols, but through behavior, speech, and choices.

Words are one of the clearest indicators of the heart’s condition. Not the words spoken when things are easy, but the words spoken when things are hard. When someone is challenged. When someone is misunderstood. When someone is angry. When someone is afraid. When someone is vulnerable.

In those moments, the heart speaks.

A person shaped by faith does not speak perfectly, but they speak thoughtfully. They do not avoid truth, but they refuse to use it as a weapon. They understand that the goal is not to win arguments, but to love people. They understand that God is not glorified when others are diminished.

Jesus modeled this consistently. He never softened truth, but He always aimed it toward restoration. He confronted hypocrisy without humiliating the humble. He corrected without crushing. He invited people into repentance without stripping them of dignity. His authority did not come from intimidation, but from integrity.

That same posture is needed now.

We live in a culture that rewards outrage and punishes nuance. Everything is loud. Everything is reactive. Everything is reduced to sides. In that environment, faith expressed with patience, restraint, and grace stands out—not because it is flashy, but because it is rare.

And rare things draw attention.

When someone who does not fit the expected image of religiosity speaks with wisdom and compassion, it disrupts assumptions. It challenges stereotypes without confrontation. It creates curiosity instead of resistance. People begin to listen not because they were convinced, but because they felt respected.

Respect opens doors that force never can.

Many of the most meaningful conversations about God begin with trust, not theology. They begin when someone senses that they are safe to ask questions, to admit doubt, to share pain without being judged or corrected prematurely. That safety is created by presence, not presentation.

Presence says, “I’m here.” Presence says, “You matter.” Presence says, “You don’t have to be fixed to be valued.”

God works powerfully through that kind of space.

It is important to understand that this approach is not about watering down faith or avoiding conviction. It is about recognizing the difference between conviction and condemnation. Conviction draws people closer to God. Condemnation pushes them away. Conviction invites transformation. Condemnation demands conformity.

Jesus always chose the former.

A faith rooted in the heart understands that growth takes time. It understands that belief often develops gradually, through conversation, reflection, and experience. It understands that people are rarely changed by a single moment, but often by a series of encounters that slowly reshape how they see God and themselves.

Those encounters often happen through ordinary people living faithfully in ordinary ways.

Not everyone is called to preach publicly. Not everyone is called to teach formally. But everyone is called to love intentionally. Everyone is called to speak truth with humility. Everyone is called to reflect God’s character in the spaces they occupy.

That reflection does not require a uniform.

It requires attentiveness. It requires self-awareness. It requires the courage to live honestly rather than perform religiously.

When faith becomes something you live rather than something you display, it integrates into every part of life. It influences how you work, how you treat strangers, how you respond to conflict, how you admit mistakes, how you extend grace. It becomes visible not through symbols, but through consistency.

Consistency builds credibility.

People may forget what you wore. They may forget the exact words you said. But they will remember how you made them feel. They will remember whether you listened. They will remember whether you showed kindness when it wasn’t required. They will remember whether you treated them as a person rather than a project.

That memory matters.

Many people carry wounds inflicted not by God, but by those who claimed to represent Him. They were judged, dismissed, or misunderstood. They were told they didn’t belong. They were made to feel small. Those experiences linger, often long after belief itself has faded.

When someone encounters a follower of Christ who does not repeat those patterns, it can begin a slow process of healing. Not dramatic. Not immediate. But real. It can soften hardened views and reopen closed doors.

This is sacred work.

It does not require perfection. It requires faithfulness. It requires a willingness to let God work through you as you are, not as you pretend to be. It requires trusting that God’s presence is not threatened by authenticity.

God does not ask you to look the part. He asks you to live the truth.

He asks you to speak with integrity. He asks you to love with sincerity. He asks you to walk humbly.

Everything else is secondary.

When faith is lived this way, it becomes portable. It moves easily through different spaces. It does not depend on environment or approval. It is not confined to religious settings. It travels into everyday life, into conversations that matter, into moments that feel ordinary but are anything but.

This is how faith changes lives—not through spectacle, but through presence.

Not through appearance, but through heart.

Not through what is seen at a glance, but through what is revealed over time.

God does not live on the surface. He never has. He lives in the depths of the human heart, shaping, guiding, and drawing people toward Himself in ways that often defy expectation.

When faith flows from that place, it does not need explanation. It speaks for itself.

And in a world desperately searching for what is real, that kind of faith is more powerful than any image could ever be.

Your friend, Douglas Vandergraph

Watch Douglas Vandergraph’s inspiring faith-based videos on YouTube

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Student unions are right to criticize the provincial government’s post-secondary review. That criticism is justified, and students should be demanding more from a process that could reshape the entire public education system.

According to The Ubyssey, student leaders across British Columbia were given a six-week consultation window, a single short meeting with the review chair, and little clarity on whether the process will protect core issues like tuition caps or long-term public funding. For something framed as a comprehensive review, that level of engagement feels thin.

The broader context makes the stakes even clearer. International enrolment is being capped, institutional budgets are under strain, and governments have a long history of using “reviews” to quietly normalize unpopular decisions. Students are right to treat this one with skepticism.

While student unions are pushing back on provincial transparency, something far more unsettling is happening inside their own organizations.

At the Kwantlen Student Association, students are being presented with steady reassurances while the internal reality looks increasingly bleak.

In January, The Runner reported that the Speaker of KSA council had not received a single executive or committee report since the start of her term, despite more than twenty being expected. Only one vice-president submitted anything resembling a substantive report. For an organization funded by mandatory student fees, this is a serious governance failure. Without regular reporting, neither council nor students have any reliable way to assess what their leadership is actually doing.

At the same time, the KSA is facing what its own financial documents describe as a seven-figure financial deficit, a deteriorating public reputation, and a relationship with KPU administration that has become visibly strained. The association’s credibility has taken a hit both on campus and beyond it. Even the university itself appears increasingly uncomfortable with the conduct of its own student leadership.

Despite all of this, students continue to hear confident messaging. Public statements from KSA executives emphasize hard work, progress behind the scenes, and ongoing advocacy. What is missing is evidence. There is little available documentation showing what a full year of executive leadership has delivered for students, beyond financial instability and internal disorder.

This gap between messaging and reality is what makes the situation particularly troubling.

Many of the people closest to the organization’s day-to-day operations are not in a position to speak openly. Staff are expected to keep things running while navigating shifting roles, unclear authority, and professional limits on what they can say publicly. They see the problems up close, but cannot realistically become the ones to raise alarms.

The result is a closed loop. Students hear reassuring narratives from leadership. Council meetings remain opaque and disseminate minimal information. Staff are constrained from speaking. Meanwhile, the organization continues to slide deeper into crisis without meaningful accountability.

This goes beyond poor management. It creates an environment where students are effectively asked to take everything on faith. No reports. No measurable outcomes. No transparent accounting of how an entire year of governance translated into tangible benefit for the people paying for it.

That is not just a public relations problem. It undermines the basic premise of student representation.

Student unions exist to act on behalf of students, not to manage impressions. They exist to justify the trust placed in them through clear records, open governance, and real results. When those foundations erode, so does the legitimacy of every external claim they make.

Which is why the current moment feels so deeply ironic. Student unions across B.C. are criticizing government for rushed processes, vague consultations, and decisions being made without proper oversight.

At Kwantlen, students are living inside a version of that same problem.

A student union that cannot clearly demonstrate what its leadership has accomplished over an entire year — beyond financial turmoil and reputational damage — is not simply underperforming. It is asking students to believe a story that the available evidence just does not support.

And that should concern anyone who cares about what student representation is supposed to mean.

Not my job to explain it

Not everyone will understand your journey— and that’s okay.

Some will only see the miles, not the weather. The wrong turns, the nights you slept on faith because certainty never showed up.

You are not here to make your life legible to strangers. You are not required to footnote your heart or submit your longing for peer review.

You’re here to live your life— to follow the pull when it makes no sense, to choose wonder over safety, to answer the call even when no one else hears it ringing.

Let them misunderstand. You were never meant to be explained. You were meant to be become.

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#poetry #romance #travel

4 January 2026

Green wood: Originally conceived as an enlarging and flattening of a small bulbous scene reflected in a green vase at my new Wood Green house. Learned that “green wood” is the phrase for freshly-chopped wood that hasn't dried out yet (nice alignment with a cut flower stem). Soft feeling of little lights traveling from a surface to dark depths. But the painting itself became about dueling material impulses. Thick application versus thin staining, muted tones versus the strong light source(s), measured marks versus ones made with momentum. Palette indebted to Joe Brainard's Whippoorwill (1974, the one at The Met). A close examination of that painting, at least from what I can glean in reproduction, reveals a careful, considered back and forth between the warmth of the early layers and the cool topmost ones. The eye also boomerangs across the composition—playing with that movement is interesting to me. And at the bottom of the image, the brown masses that are the floor and the sofa frame sandwich the loveliest bits of color in the tiny space between them—I hoped something similar would happen in my work, and I think it kind of did with the red watercolor peeking through. That handling of color, of restrained use in small space, is attractive. Happened in On diversion too. Something to explore further perhaps.

This month, I’m engaged in a training course to serve as a spiritual direction supervisor. Whereas my typical appointments are centered on the needs, story, and becoming of the client, this work would focus on supporting another director through careful listening to case presentations on challenging sessions, offering affirmation, education, consultation, thoughtful challenge, and an invitation to self-reflection.

These responses are designed to support the director in their role, help them to continue their formation and development as therapeutic listeners, and provide insights necessary to be their most skillful selves for their own clients.

Halfway through the class, I’m already making lots of wonderful connections and gaining vital experience through roleplays and observing consultations. I’m looking forward to completing the course, though I’m not in a rush to build a supervision caseload. I want to start slow to continue to practice the craft, and trust that I can continue to receive support in these interactions through my own supervision relationship.

I’m also excited about using these new skills and frameworks in the peer supervision group that I belong to, hopefully to the benefit of everyone who attends. I’m so grateful that my own supervisor invited me into this experience and gave me a way to continue to deepen this aspect of my life and work. Bearing witness to people is indeed an awesome and deeply privileged experience. I want to do everything I can to nurture that trust and bring skill, attentiveness, and compassion to that space.

I’m also pleased to report that I will be teaching with Spiritual Directors International again this February on the afternoon of the 9th. I’ll be the lead-off session of an eight part series on providing spiritual companionship with people on the margins. You can learn more about that course here.

I’m really excited to share about the lessons I learned during my time as the lead chaplain and trainer for Faith on Foot, a street outreach program connected to the organization now known as Rutland Neighbors. Connecting with people in neighborhoods, outdoor hangouts, camp sites, on front porches, and on the street led to countless moments of awe and wonder as we engaged in the art of what Carl Jung called “being a human soul present with another human soul.”

In the liturgical calendar, this shorter period of Ordinary Time, also called the season after Epiphany, the focus of the Gospel stories are on the steady revelation of who Jesus is, and how the divine is fully present in him. Our street team used to reference the Road to Emmaus story from the Easter season, noting that “every seven miles we see Jesus”. I feel such deep gratitude that every week I am blessed with opportunities to catch glimpses of divinity shining through the stories of the people I care for.

Lydia's Weekly Lifestyle blog is for today's African girl, so no subject is taboo. My purpose is to share things that may interest today's African girl.

This week's contributors: Lydia, Pépé Pépinière, Titi. This week's subjects: A practical Accra-chic flair: 5 Ways to Wear Ankara to Work Without Breaking the Dress Code, She's a single mother, Wear the right slip, and Like Cakes

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A practical Accra-chic flair: 5 Ways to Wear Ankara to Work Without Breaking the Dress Code. Because culture and corporate can absolutely coexist. Let’s be honest — the Accra corporate scene is evolving, and so is the wardrobe. Gone are the days when African prints were reserved for Fridays or special occasions. The modern Accra girl knows how to weave her culture into her career — and still keep it classy. If you’ve ever wondered how to rock Ankara at the office without raising eyebrows from HR, here’s your stylish cheat sheet. The Ankara Blazer — Your Power Move When in doubt, start with a blazer. A tailored Ankara jacket over a white blouse and neutral trousers instantly says “I mean business — but make it Ghana.” Go for prints with muted tones or geometric patterns that feel sophisticated. Think navy, maroon, olive, or soft gold. Pair with nude pumps or loafers, and you’re boardroom ready with a twist. The Statement Skirt — Chic Yet Professional A high-waisted Ankara pencil skirt is your wardrobe MVP. Pair it with a crisp button-down shirt or a silk blouse in a solid colour. It’s the perfect mix of feminine and fierce. Add a slim belt and minimal jewelry, and you’ve turned your office corridor into a runway — without breaking any rules. The Hybrid Dress — Half Print, Full Confidence For the girl who loves versatility, look for dresses that blend Ankara accents with plain fabrics. Think a shift dress with printed sleeves, or a monochrome body with an Ankara collar and waistband. It keeps the vibe professional but with a cultural edge — like saying “Yes, I’m fashionable, and I can still close that deal.” The Subtle Touch — Ankara Accessories Not ready to go full-print? Start small. Add a pop of Ankara through accessories — a fabric belt, a tote bag, a headband, or even a statement shoe. These accents bring colour and creativity to your look without crossing the corporate line. It’s a great way to test your comfort zone while keeping things sleek. The Friday Flair — Go Bold, Stay Polished Ah, the sacred Casual Friday. Your chance to fully embrace the print! Try a tailored Ankara jumpsuit or a midi dress with structured shoulders. Keep your accessories gold-toned, your heels simple, and your confidence sky-high. The key is tailoring — clean cuts keep your look professional even when your fabric is loud. Style Note: Ankara at work isn’t rebellion — it’s evolution. It’s the Accra girl’s way of saying, “I can honor my culture and run the boardroom — in the same outfit.” So next Monday, when you reach for that plain black blazer, pause. Your Ankara is waiting — bold, beautiful, and absolutely ready for business She's a single mother. This sounds a bit like a derogative description of some silly girl who got herself impregnated by Mr. flyaway and now has to scrape money, not for one but for 2. For the juveniles it seems iPhones and KFC are major contributors. Anyway, we wish girly the best and many do get happily married later. But the above scenario is not always the case. A recent trend is that the girl does want to have a child, normal, after all she's completely build towards that, but she doesn't want the hassle of a husband around who wants to have full details of her movements whilst he himself regularly disappears, with the risk of HIV as a bonus. So she now has a few options. Adopt, though that is not the real thing but the advantage is that you can choose, boy or girl, good looking, seemingly intelligent and heathy, and if you get one at age say 3 the child will not really remember anything else than you. And, maybe surprisingly, grandparents mostly will fully accept the child as their own, even if they have “real” ones from other children. Another advantage is that you don't get stretch marks, at least not from having a child. An option as well is to get pregnant from a known person, maybe a family friend, you've had the chance to check a few things like madness or sickness in his genes, and hopefully sickle. Complication could be that he wants to get too close to the child, claim ownership, things like that, and if everyone agrees that the child has same nose, or bat ears, it will be difficult to deny that he is the father. Option 3 is to get what we call a “one night stand”, say your name is Godwilling Mensah from Kumasi, give him a phone number of a police officer and disappear forever. But in this case you have no idea what's in the making, all his brothers and sisters could be raving mad. Last one (but let me know if you know more) is to get artificial insemination from a donor, the clinic will confirm that the sperm donor looks good and is healthy and “normal”, but that's all you get, apart from a very fat bill (10-25 k easily). Yeah, men have it easy.....

Wear the right slip. Any gynecologist will advise you to wear simple cotton slips, they reduce your chances of getting “cheese”, yeast infection. But they do not always look very good on you, so we wear more elegant underwear. But beware what you wear. A recent test done in Switzerland on 16 female slips found that 14 contained bisphenols A, B and S, substances which are reprotoxic, or, simply said, make you sterile. Winners were Triumph, Chantelle and Calvin Klein with H&M, Intimissimi and Zara doing a good toxic job as well. The 2 “clean” slips were from Etam and Luxury Moments by Hanro. In Ghana you'll probably be buying a “no name” slip, or a Butterfly, Eagle or Royal from China. Maybe pure simple cotton is better?

Like cakes? Real homemade good ingredients not dried out cakes? Try Green Butterfly market at Parks and Garden, near the Russian Embassy and opposite the DVLA office, Accra, every first and third Saturday of the month. If you are only coming for the cakes come early, the better ones run out quick. Apart from cakes and foodstuffs there’s a wide range of articles, ranging from tie and dye to sculptures, books, clothing, you mention it, I never realized how creative Accra can be. A worthwhile experience, and to see it all you’ll need several hours. Additional bonus is that most of the female vendors really try to look their best, and they do.

Lydia...

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GO HOOSIERS!

My Big Ten Conference Game to follow this Friday night will be out in Piscataway, New Jersey, as the Indiana Hoosiers Men's Basketball team travels East to play against the Rutgers University Scarlet Knights.

And the adventure continues.

A Dublin, California man spent several decades trying to unravel the mystery of why his Venetian blinds were tangled in his master bedroom. After buying his single-family home in 1957, Gordon Neely replaced all the gray window curtains with the foldable blinds.

In 1962, Neely noticed one of his blinds was always stuck on the right side when raising and lowering. The turning rod also didn’t work.

Neely commented, “I’ve been untangling these dang blinds for over sixty years straight. I couldn’t eat or sleep. These things should be illegal.”

This year, Neely replaced all his blinds with the same curtains he originally replaced. Unfortunately, a few days after this interview, Neely died in a tragic accident involving his window curtains. A police investigation is ongoing. Neely is survived by his wife Nancy and his three adult children Michael, Gordon Jr., and Kim.

#news #parody #venetianblinds

As I previously recounted, I am in this neighborhood because it was what I could afford at the time (I cannot afford it presently, but I am have yet to get to the thicks of this story to explain.). Although I liked the communities Panther Trace and MiraBay, neither of those are what I imagined for my life. I didn’t have dreams of suburbia and Homeowners Associations.

I like city life. I like having access to a myriad of things and the ability to use my legs to go as far as my body will allow. I love the bungalows in Seminole Heights and Tampa Heights. I also love the architecture in Hyde Park and Palma Ceia. I love that people’s houses are pinks and blues and that they have such diverse lawns and flora. I love plantation shutters and mother-in-law quarters. I love hardwood floors, room additions, and double lots. None of this has anything to do with HOAs.

I like country life. I like space, not being able to hear neighborhoods’ domestic violence and inebriation, and the ability to play my own thunderous music without concern. I like yards where dogs and goats roam. I like long driveways that police and solicitors cannot access but family and friends can park unbothered. I want to sit on the porch or patio bucked naked and scream obscenities or make videos for fans. I want to put on tattered overalls, muddy boots, and a wide-brimmed, straw hat and pretend-smoke a pipe and spit out black stuff while watching the main road for trouble-makers. None of this has anything to do with HOAs.

Currently, I live in neither the city nor the country. I live in HOA land that was once cow land and probably where the deer and antelope played. I don’t even know if there are any neighborhoods in the SouthShore region without HOAs. Sure, I have amenities and shit; but I can probably count on two hands the amount of times I have been in the gym, in the pool, and/or walked around the lakes. The location of my neighborhood does not give me access to anything more than police patrolling for rolling stops, speeding, lunatic drivers (but not a policeman in sight somehow), and major automobile accidents—some resulting in fatalities. Is this HOA life?

At least we have a community of united people and a formidable HOA that applies the standards equally to keep our property values high, right?