Back when I was a teenager, there was an advertisement in a surfing magazine that featured a picture of a giant wave spanning two pages. The image was cropped in close, and all you could see was a huge wall of water coming at you. The caption across the bottom was simple:

“Your Life Begins Here.”

This is somewhat true for those of us who enjoy surfing. The feeling of gliding across the face of a crumbling wave is truly awesome. It really does give one a renewed sense of life! However, this advertisement is even truer in a deeper sense for those of us who are Christians. Could there possibly be more powerful biblical imagery in a secular magazine?

Through the waters of the Red Sea, Almighty God delivered us from slavery in Egypt. Through the waters of the Jordan, God’s people were given a promised land. Through the waters of Baptism, we are marked as God’s children and claimed as God’s very own. And through Jesus Christ, we are offered living water—water that leads to eternal life.

Drink deep. Your life begins here!

Let us pray using Psalm 63:

O God, you are my God. I seek you; my soul thirsts for you,

 as in a dry and weary land where there is no water…

Because your steadfast love is better than life, my lips will praise you.

So I will bless you as long as I live. Amen.

Today’s message was written by my friend, Rev. Roger Kunkel, founder of Dial Hope.

Friend of Dial Hope, life is difficult—it gets bumpy sometimes. Things don’t always go as we hoped. Sometimes the winds blow against us. Sometimes we feel crushed, confused, and weighed down. It’s enough to make even Norman Vincent Peale a pessimist!

In Matthew 14, Simon Peter walked on water toward Jesus. But when he took his eyes off Christ and looked at the waves, he became afraid and began to sink (Matthew 14:22–33).

There’s a story about a little girl who was excited to see Snow White with her father. Someone asked, “But won’t you be scared of the wicked witch?” The girl replied, “No. When the witch comes on, I won’t look at her—I’ll just look at my father!”

That’s how it works, isn’t it? When we keep our eyes fixed on God, we can do incredible things.

In Charlene Anderson’s poem Dialog with God, God speaks first—gently but firmly. The poet responds, hesitant at first, but ultimately with confidence and trust:

“Come out into the deep…”
“But Lord, I’ll sink to the bottom.”
“I am with you…”
“Okay, Lord, here I come!”

Let us pray: Loving God, Shepherd of all that lives, we come to you with joy and thanksgiving for the gift of this day—an unrepeatable miracle. Be with those who are afraid, who wonder why there is no safety anywhere. Be with those who are lonely, who wonder if there will ever be someone to turn to in the night. Guide us to a place of strength and courage where we can pick up the pieces of our lives and help build a Kingdom of justice and care—free from hostility and terror, and filled with the roses of righteousness. We ask this in the name of Jesus Christ, the Good Shepherd. Amen.

In Buddhist tradition, the demons of desire are depicted as hungry ghosts—spiritual beings with enormous bodies but mouths the size of pinholes. They consume endlessly but are never full. They never have enough.

Yesterday, we reflected on the story of Adam and Eve and the temptation they faced. Here they were in paradise, and still, they were enticed by the idea of the fruit and all it represented. The serpent said, “You could have even more!”

Theologian Richard Rohr notes that yes, in life, we have mountains to climb. There are goals to reach, boundaries to push. But we must not pursue these at the expense of our souls—at the cost of our integrity, our relationships, or our peace. Even in seasons of ambition and energy, there are limits to what is healthy and good.

When we live fixated on what we don’t have, we can fall into a deep discontent.

Maybe to resist grasping for the next fruit is to resist the hungry demon ghosts. And maybe resisting becomes easier when we cultivate deep appreciation for the blessings we do have—blessings that surround us even now.

Will you pray with me? Gracious God, we so easily become anxious and grasping, taking more than we give. Give us eyes to see and hearts to appreciate the goodness and beauty around us—right here, right now. Help us not to miss the life unfolding before us in this moment. And as we do, may we be filled with your peace. Through Jesus Christ. Amen.

Today’s message was written by my friend, Roger Kunkel, founder of Dial Hope.

There is only one thing more costly than caring and that is not caring. It must break God’s heart when we are calloused, unfeeling, selfish, and uncaring. How do you treat other people? In the parable of the Good Samaritan, found in the 10th chapter in the gospel of Luke, the Samaritan is called good because he cared enough to do something good for someone in need. I have a physician friend who advises his patients to treat every person they meet each day, as if he or she were the most important person in the world. I like that! But, friend of Dial Hope, the Christian faith takes it a step further, a giant step further. We are urged to relate to every single person we meet as if that person were Christ in disguise. Wow! Try that for one day; it will change your life forever. 

Let us pray: The world must have begun in silence, so God then moved to a crescendo of joyful music with a heavenly symphony crashing in rhythmic applause. Let there be light where there is shadow and joy where there is pain or depression. The blooming flowers, the gentle breezes remind us of hope for the renewing of our lives. Help us to think kindly of one another, to speak gently, to be creative listeners, and to behave with compassion. Transform our hum-drum lives into TA-DA! moments fueled by perpetual gratitude. Keep us laughing and caring because they are neglected on our agenda. Through the amazing grace of Jesus. Amen. 

I have a friend who had a very difficult childhood. What amazes me is that, despite everything, he seems to have come through it remarkably well. Today, he has a beautiful, healthy family.

Knowing his story, I’m not sure I would have fared as well. I’ve known others who had much easier upbringings, but who still used their past as an excuse for destructive choices.

What stands out to me is that my friend never romanticizes his childhood. He’s honest about it. But he’ll say, “I am not ungrateful… Because the childhood I had shaped me. It made me stronger. It gave me a heart for those who suffer. It gave me a heart for the underdog.”
He once shared, “Early on, a wise counselor told me, ‘Stop focusing on what’s been done to you, and start noticing what’s been done for you.’”

Over the years, I’ve met many others who, in the face of serious setbacks, have found a way to live well. They didn’t allow the diagnosis, the failure, the betrayal, or the loss to have the last word. They didn’t let it destroy their peace or silence their hope.

I’m reminded again and again that we human beings have this remarkable ability to retell and reframe our stories—to find meaning, and even redemption, in them. And the stories we tell—about our past, about our families, about our churches—these stories shape how we live and what we hope for.

What stories are you telling? What story are you telling about your life?

Today, I invite you to take a second look—through the lens of faith. I pray that even in the hardest moments, you might begin to notice the gracious hand of God at work.

Let us pray: 

Open our eyes, Loving God, to catch a glimpse of your Spirit moving through every part of our journey. And as we see, help us to trust. In Christ’s name. Amen.