This week I rescued another chipmunk from our pool.

At this point, it’s the rodents that are taking over m Bird Cam Diaries and seem to be the norm, not the exception. (From Day One, when I set up the solar-powered camera and the first bird to appear was a racoon, I’ve been seeing way more four-legged friends than feathered ones).

Shooing squirrels is one thing. But rescuing chipmunks from the pool is another. It’s usually quite simple. You run to get the pool net, with some gentle handling and a little coaxing, tragedy turns into triumph and off goes the the little creature back into the wild, with a whole new lease on life. Simple dad stuff.

Except this time wasn’t simple.

I had just returned from walking the kids to school and was turning the pool heater on when I saw him. The little guy was mostly submerged, treading water like I do, unsure which limb to move, less “egg-beater” and more “don’t drown”, his little nose barely out of the water. I ran and got the net and arrived in time before he went under.

It’s just that the dog was in the yard with me. That’s when I realized our playful, neutered, generally gentle Toby is still 99% wolf in the most primal way possible.

In a flash he had the chipmunk in his jaws.

But the second part of this unexpected rescue took place differently than I and my backyard angels expected. I took the chipmunk out of the gate to protect him from Toby and I let the little guy recover. He was soaked to the bone and shivering, but he walked, literally walked, right through the fence into Toby’s jaws.

You can’t really blame the dog.

But the neighbourhood heard my scream as I ran after my little pup to pry open his mouth. I had to chase him through the yard with the pool net like it was some oversized javelin.

Heart pounding, I got the tiny creature from the jaws of death and fended off the dog, finally grabbing hold of him and getting him inside so I could help the little chipmunk, again.

He made it. I released him again, watched him hide and breathe under a leafy weed on the edge of our green space, stood there watching him for a minute catching my own breath.

Nature is wild, surprising, and yes, even cruel.

One moment you’re enjoying the sunshine and bird calls of backyard life. The next you’re staring caught up in a nature documentary and something wild and chaotic is unfolding. Life gets chaotic and is sometimes heartbreaking,. And it’s always worth fighting for.

As an Author Dad, these are the moments that get written down. Not just for laughs, but for stories. I’ve been turning real-life moments with their unexpected joys and the chaos into faith-filled skits for churches across North America for years. Right now this moment is still in “rumination mode,” that quiet space where I let it sit, percolate, and wait to see what emerges.

Because there’s something here about protection and fighting for life. About remembering, also, the nature of what we are: a fierceness and strength even in the gentlest of us. About being a father who steps in when something small and vulnerable is in danger. I was reminded of that this week when circumstances in our health system forced my hand to write an op-ed to stand up for the vulnerable.

A God-given, essential drive to keep breathing, keep fighting, no matter what challenge or impossible we face.

My daughter recently asked “Do Stuffies go to heaven?” This week a chipmunk fought like heck to stay alive.

Parenting and life continue to serve up these fascinating juxtapositions. Hilarious one second, sobering the next. Beautiful and brutal at the same time.

I don’t have a tidy moral yet for this particular story. But I know this:

So, I’ll rescue chipmunks.

I’ll remember what Toby is.

And I’ll keep writing it all down.

Because these small, chaotic, heartbreaking, hopeful moments are teach me.

What are you seeing in your backyard?

If you’re in the midst of your own beautiful mess (and who isn’t?)—raising kids, helping with the grandkids, navigating the challenges of life, simply trying to find meaning in the ordinary and the hard—you’re welcome here.

Thanks for reading,

~ Andrew

Dear readers.

When I read that a London, Ontario doctor nicknamed “Dr. Death and Donuts” had assessed a patient for medical assistance in dying (MAiD) in a Tim Hortons parking lot, my stomach dropped.

Because that doctor practices at the same clinic as my family physician. He has treated my own child.

While I’ve been making a shift on this newsletter and my Instagram to focus on humour and #dadlife fun, I’m still that guy who is compelled to speak up for the vulnerable. I’m going continue to fight like a father.

In Canada we truly are all one coffee and car ride away from MAiD obsessed practitioners. With MAiD expanding in 2027 to include mental health, we must all be fight to stop it’s appetite for the vulnerable.

I just wanted to give a little context if you’re feeling some content whiplash when you read the article. It’s a serious topic, and important to discuss.

On guard for thee.

~AK

An excerpt from my Op-Ed in The Federalist on Canada’s latest MAiD Scandal

The National Post also reported that the same man, James MacLean–“Dr. Death and Donuts”–breached protocols when he failed to give one of the three drugs used in the cocktail that end patients’ lives. MacLean didn’t bring the neuromuscular-blocking drug with him that paralyzes the body including the muscles used to breathe. “The patient resumed spontaneously breathing again after initially being pronounced dead, and after MacLean had already left the home.”

This story strikes close to home, quite literally. Not because I’ve lost family members to medical assistance in dying (MAiD). Nor because members of my own community have been offered MAiD by their doctors without requesting it and now fear the health centers meant to give them care, which is also true.

The reason the revelation of these reported horrors strikes so close to home is because the doctor at the center of these revelations, James MacLean, practices at the same clinic as my family physician. My own child has been treated by him at a walk-in clinic. Friends and family, including myself, receive primary care in the very location where he continues to work.

This isn’t a distant scandal. It’s happening where my loved ones seek health and healing, people who could be one coffee or car ride away from an encounter with death.

The message, if there is one, from the Canadian health system to patients seems to be: deal with it. MacLean has been given less than a slap on the wrist. What are other doctors who assess and administer MAiD up to?

If this story disturbs you as much as it disturbs me, I’d be honoured if you read the full op-ed in The Federalist here.

And if you want to follow my ongoing writing on MAiD in Canada, consider becoming a subscriber.

Read the full op-ed

Other articles on MAiD in Canada

I used to think I’d always show up with the same white-hot energy I had when my first child was born or when my first book baby was released into the world.

That version of me stayed up until one a.m. to google baby sleep regressions and took 200 photos of every milestone. I attacked every creative project like it was the one that would finally matter, or win the Oscar.

Now that I have two kids (and a puppy) and a shelf of books behind me, I’ve noticed something: the tenth-book energy is completely different.

It’s not worse. It’s not failure. It’s discernment.

I’m learning to trust that this discernment might be one of the most important things I’ve done as both a dad and a creator. (Though I still take 200 photos).

8 Gentle Questions for Discernment as a Parent and Creator

Copy and paste these Qs into your Notes App or bookmark this page for those moments when you’re starting to feel the burnout, have a creative opportunity you're unsure about, or receive an invitation as a family that sounds fun but will take up a lot of energy.

Here are the Qs:

1. Is this something that requires the first-born fire, or can it be stewarded well with tenth-book steadiness?

2. Am I doing this out of love and calling, or because I assume others think “good parents” or “good creatives” should do it?

3. What does my current capacity (with family and home life, work, and creative goals) actually allow?

4. If I say yes to this, what will I have to say no to?

5. Does this project or parenting moment need my excellence, or simply my faithful presence?

6. Am I trusting God with the outcomes, or am I trying to control results through my own effort (again)?

7. Will my future self (and my spouse and my kids) thank me for the pace I’m keeping right now?

8. What small, consistent act of kindness or creativity is being whispered to me right now?

What This Looks Like In Real Life

These questions aren’t theoretical for me.

Last month I almost jumped head first into a new creative project (which I often do because I love spontaneous creativity when the idea strikes hot). It would have required the kind of white-knuckle intensity I used to bring projects—that fear of missing out on a future opportunity because I’m not leveraging the present creative flash.

When I asked question #7—Will my future self (and my spouse and my kids) thank me for the pace I’m keeping right now?—the answer was pretty clear: it would mean more early mornings busy with something unnecessary, and evenings in the summer distracted while the weather’s warm and my kids want to play outside, not to mention the quiet time I protect for prayer and reading. I put a pin in the project. It stung for about 48 hours (What am I missing? What about the potential Oscar…or, in this case, Webby or Emmy?)

It would have taken up lots of time in a space I don’t know well, while putting proven side-hustle projects that bring real value to my family by the wayside. After shelving the idea, there came a deep relief.

It’s not like I’m not still creating. It’s not like I don’t have a hundred ideas. The time for this one wasn’t right.

Something else I’ve done recently was an answer to question #4—If I say yes to this, what will I have to say no to?— that ended up freeing my time to allow room and outlet for some of the creativity I desire to pursue.

I was saying yes to X (formerly Twitter) a lot. Doomscrolling at night, reading an endless stream of posts. Keeping tabs on seemingly everything going on in the world. It was hours in a week that I could use to seek quiet, find solace, engage with friends or family, to create.

I realized that I was saying yes to the wrong thing and decided to say no to it instead. I check very infrequently now, and have been refreshed by leaving the churn and swirl of X on the periphery. It’s opened up precious time; it’s also decluttered my brain.

How to Know When to Use Each Energy

By starting to ask questions like this intentionally, I’m quietly changing how I show up in both fatherhood and creativity.

Recently I watched my 9-year-old son sit on the couch and willingly read one of my books. I played it cool until I didn’t. He wasn’t born yet when I first wrote the book, so this was an out-of-body moment for me. A surreal thrill to see him get pulled into a world I’ve imagined.

When I was writing the book, perhaps the only thing I wanted to do or to be known for was to be a writer. But over time that’s changed.

Writing still really matters to me, but titles like author, screenwriter, producer, are further down the list, below husband, dad. Not because I don’t love those titles, constantly write things down, or imagine ways to bring the words to life. I love creative output, but it’s not everything. And that shift is freeing me up to not take everything so seriously.

Can you relate?

Are there things in your life—ways of describing or naming or understanding yourself— that no longer take up all the space, or have shifted and changed shape?

When First-Born Energy Is Still Needed

Sometimes our kids (and our work) need the full, Oscar-worthy first-born energy. I have two kids and many books (both books and kids take work!) When I look back at what it was like to leave the hospital with the firstborn versus the second, I recall a big difference.

With our son, I remember the moment when the doctor cleared us to leave the hospital. My wife an I looked at each other like deer caught in the lights and asked, “What do we do now?”

We had to just leave, with a new life in a rear-facing car seat, out into the world: a family. It was all kinds of excitement and overwhelming. Every single thing about it was new.

Because we had that lived experience with the first, leaving the hospital with our daughter a few years later was completely different. We still had all the wonderful new firsts with her, but because we’d walked through a few years of parenting, it was a different kind of overwhelming.

Things we spent energy worrying about as first-time parents didn’t take up as much energy or space. We had the baby things, a baby-proofed house, we knew how to bathe and swaddle (with the right temperature of water), had figured out a routine.

First-Born vs Tenth-Book Energy in Real Life

As creatives and faith-filled parents, I think we grow in discernment and learn when to give first-born energy (polished, high-effort, debut-level) to things and when to give tenth-book energy (honest, sustainable, rooted).

Both are holy. Both are needed.

Don’t get me wrong! I’m not saying reserve the best care for the first child and ignore the second. As a second child in my family’s birth order I speak for all second children everywhere and say: Pay attention to us!

What I mean is that not every parenting moment or creative endeavour can or should have the same level of output. Some moments are more foundational, require deep planning and work, special attention and care. Other moments as a dad and as a creative demand less.

Thank God!

Why Most of Life Happens in Tenth-Book Territory

As writers (and especially as someone writing regular sketches for 231 Worship), it’s easy to think every project needs first-born energy. The polished debut. The big effort. The pressure to make it perfect.

But most of life, and most of the best work, happens in tenth-book territory:

• The sketches written between the grocery aisle and the car ride home.

• The sweet dadlife moment that happens on ordinary Taco Tuesdays.

• The poems that emerge while carrying both kids’ backpacks up the hill on the way to school like a human coat rack.

I’ve noticed that God doesn’t demand perfection from us as parents or creatives. He doesn’t stick us with an output meter like a master chef uses a meat thermometer to ensure we’re sizzling with maximum parental or creative enthusiasm.

He works with us wherever our energy level is at.

At every moment. Whether we’re taking the inspiring first steps into something new, or walking out at a steady, staggered pace for all the miles that follow.

Where Are You Right Now?

I read every reply. These moments are better when shared. Drop a note!

##

Thanks for being here on this journey of turning real dadlife chaos into poems, reflections, and church sketches.

If you’re a Christian dad or faith-filled creative and haven’t yet, grab your free Author Dad Codebook— it’s waiting for you as a welcome gift.

Looking forward to hearing from you,

Andrew

---

P.S. New Poetic Dadlife moments and the next Code drop soon. Visit my Instagram to see if the squirrels are still winning, and if I’m learning to laugh about it.

This past week I put on a ridiculous amount of protective gear just to check on a robin’s nest in my backyard. A bit of chaos ensued.

The mom robin was not impressed. And I have my dive-bomb reaction video to prove it.

Somewhere between the real life comedy and the backyard chaos, I realized this moment was teaching me something important about the faith-informed writing life and parenting.

If you follow me on IG or Facebook, you may have seen my funny video. I decked myself up in protective gear—goggles, a raincoat, garden gloves and a bike helmet—to get close to the nest of a mother robin who dive bombed me when I went to snap a video of the big-eyed alien babies that just hatched in the nest in our backyard.

A garbage can lid was my impromptu shield. I was a dollar store version of a gladiator, a homemade Halloween costume one DIY accessory away from pathetic.

Hatching a story

A story idea started to hatch even as I created the video. The obvious spiritual reference was Ephesians 6, it was an “Armor of God” bit that was basically writing itself.

But that wasn't the story that cracked open and unfurled its unused, wet wing.

It wasn't even so much a story about how much a parent wants to protect the young lives entrusted to them (though we do).

Instead a Psalm 84:3-type of story dropped into my heart the way the little hatchlings emerged into my backyard: stunned, needing sustenance, swollen eyelids slowly blinking open to look wide at the surprising surroundings.

Why was I there anyway?

What was I there for?

Well, to capture a video, to catch the miracle of life in an unexpected place. Even risking the loss of an eye to see it, if only to be blinded because of wonder.

Even the sparrow has a place near the altar.

From bird cam to Bible script

This backyard space, where the chaos of a dive-bombing robins encounter the ridiculous curiosity of an author dad on a quest for discovery, is where the story seed is planted. Where truth is cracked open. Right in the middle of dadlife.

I've already penned the script, a story inspired somewhere between the garage and the robin’s nest.

Get the Script

Author Dad Code: Inspiration, right where we are

It's amazing what happens when you stop what you're doing and take more time to listen.

If you've been receiving my newsletter, you may remember that I chose to take a hiatus from the schedule of writing that I've kept for the last few years.

I stopped and I listened. I still am. While I haven't determined every next step, I've enjoyed what I'm hearing and will be sharing some of the observations through my lens as an Author Dad.

The first Author Dad Code learning is that creativity requires us to suit up and show up, even if we're afraid (and even if the thing we're afraid of is small or silly to others).

In fact, parenting or any other life challenge requires us to show up scared.

Just like the mother robin protected her young, God does too. What's more, as I hinted above, God makes a place for us and protects that too.

Simple truths, but I'm feeling them intently. I hope they encourage you.

How about you?

I’d love to hear what your learning in your journey as a parent or a creative.

What’s one thing you’ve discovered as you’ve had to ‘suit up’ lately and what did you learn?

Leave a comment

This week I wrote Birdfeeding Father, a short, heartfelt (and I think funny) play about God’s relentless fatherly love, inspired directly by the robins and squirrels taking over my backyard.

A skit born in the chaos of backyard life

If you’ve been following me on Instagram, you may have noticed I’m having some real wildlife adventures in my own backyard. Our property edges an awesome green space with massive walnut trees.

My recent purchase of a bird feeder with a solar-powered camera has brought a lot of joy to our family as we watch a live stream of cardinals, sparrows, chickadees, and blue jays feed at all hours. But it’s also invited squirrels. And they want to break me as a man, along with my bird seed budget.

Even as this drama was unfolding, there were more antics afoot near our pool shed. A robin family set up camp on our exterior shed light, and the babies recently hatched. I, of course, needed photos. The robin mom, of course, went on the attack.

Somewhere, in all this chaos, a new story was born. And as I armoured up like a thrift store gladiator to take more photos, you might think that I went straight to the book of Ephesians for the spiritual punchline.

The surprise is, something else emerged, entirely.

You’ll have to get the script to discover the full story, but here’s a preview of the setup:

Get it in time for Father's Day

How you can use this script

If you’re a pastor, worship leader, or teach kids at home or at a school, this is a great script to use on Father’s Day, or for an upcoming Sunday where you want to zero in on God’s love.

It’s designed to fit right between the worship set and the sermon. You can have two actors (of any skill level) perform it before or after the announcements.

If you’re a dad, pastor, or church creative, I’d love to hear how this lands!

More great resources

The backyard chaos also helped me to organize my thinking as a writer and a dad into an unfolding “Author Dad Code,” which I’ll be sharing here and on social in the next few weeks. I’ve compiled the thoughts in this free download to help and encourage people just like you.

👉🏻 Don’t forget to grab your free Author Dad Code Book.

Get the FREE Dad Code

Thanks for stopping by.

~ Andrew

PS - Be careful in that squirrel and bird filled world out there!

Thank you so much for visiting my site. I’m genuinely glad you’re here.

I’m Andrew, a Canadian dad doing life in a small town near London, Ontario who spends way too much time negotiating with squirrels, dodging dive-bombing robins, and turning that everyday backyard chaos and home life into stories, poems, and sketches that end up in stories or on church stages for 231 Worship (formerly The Skit Guys).

I also make films with my brothers (from the same mother) Matt and Dan. Our studio is called Unveil, known for Daniel: The Fiery Furnace and She Has A Name (and more awesome, epic stories to come).

As a thank-you for visiting, here’s a free welcome gift I made for people just like you:

Download the Author Code Book

Inside you’ll find 10 real-life Author Dad Codes: short, practical wisdom from my backyard and family moments. It includes the faith reflections and creative prompts that turn dadlife into the scripts churches perform every Sunday.

I hope it makes you laugh, encourages you, and reminds you that God shows up in the messiest, most ordinary places. The free resource will give you some practical prompts to fuel your faith and creativity.

That’s what you can expect if you subscribe to my newsletter, too. You’ll get stories of faith from the frontlines of life with kids as I pursue creativity. If you haven’t yet, I invite you to subscribe.

Subscribe now

I’d love to hear from you!

You can reply anytime and tell me: What’s one “chaos in normal life” moment you’ve faced lately?

Looking forward to sharing more with you each week.

Gratefully,

Andrew Kooman

Author + Dad | Writer for Unveil Studios and 231 Worship

P.S. New issues drop weekly — expect more Bird Cam Diaries, Author Dad Codes, faith reflections, and behind-the-scenes from the stories I create and the plays I write for churches.

Dear readers,

I’m taking a hiatus from my Substack schedule, and I wanted to let you know in advance. For the last few years I’ve published a weekly article and a weekend link round up. Two things I love to do.

I’ve enjoyed the pace and the output and I’m so grateful for each one of you who reads my work, and especially when you engage with it through comments and emails.

Recently, I asked what type of content readers like you most enjoy and what you think about the frequency. This newsletter is about faith and creativity, and the feedback was encouraging: that’s the writing that resonates most with readers who responded.

Some of you also gave feedback on the output. Respondents were evenly split on frequency: about half liked the twice-a-week post schedule, the other half recommended once a week. The big takeaway was that it’s less about output and more about what engages: you’ll read what hooks you.

I loved this feedback. Thank you so much for it!

While I could continue to keep this pace, there are other writing projects summoning me that will require more of my attention and time. So, I’m taking a hiatus to think deeply about my output and how I spend my morning hours writing.

To start, I’m going to pause my twice-a-week schedule to do a little more listening and get new, refreshed vision for the writing season ahead.

What does that mean for readers?

• The archive of my weekly content thus far will still live on Things I Wrote Down, and you can access it at any time.

• Less frequency, for now. I still plan to write about faith, creativity, and give updates here, but I’m taking a breath to reevaluate how I show up here and how often.

• If you’re paid, that means I’m pausing payments for now. Since I don’t know where this will all land, and since there won’t be as much output, I’ll pause payments.

  • A note: I’m so grateful for your generosity and investment in my craft. Paid subscriptions have always been about that investment (not a transaction for content).

  • If you enjoy or need an outlet for that generosity towards me, you can still support my craft through the tip jar.

You’ve been used to me appearing in your inbox twice a week. As that changes for now, I just wanted to let you know why.

Thank you so much for being part of my writing journey. I look forward to continue to connecting with you here, just at a different pace.

Last week I took my kids to a local event highlighting the heritage of our town. There were tables in the gym at our little community centre made into temporary booths—cardboard displays and photo-covered backdrops—telling the story of the region.

Railroad museums, war regiments, historic sites, knick knacks and artifacts, a mock pioneer town sharing “the way they made things” back then. I came out of the event with a plan for all the walnuts that fall on our property. (First I’ll have to fight off the squirrels with the kids this summer to stockpile our own stash of the black nuts. Then I’ll boil them down to make ink and use the turkey feathers we’ll find as quills.)

I also left with something akin to shock.

One of the booths was for an effort of the Presbyterian church. The kind man at the table and I had a nice chat. It took me most of the conversation to realize (as I shared stories of my grandpa, a minister in the denomination who helped plant churches, bring Hungarian refugees to Canada, build community, and travel the nation to teach from the pulpit) that I was at a display for a museum. He collects artifacts and other material to display what the once main and largest denomination in Canada was.

Past tense.

Something that was vibrant, essential, growing in Canada and around the world has dwindled. It is a thing of the past.

I mentioned how I have a box of my grandfather’s sermons, some that I’ve transcribed and digitized, preserved. When I asked if the denomination might have interest in them, he noted that the archivist can no longer keep up. This is a story across Canada: a minister in the family dies, the kids want to get rid of the sermons, but with so many pastors dead with a box of sermons, the archivist has stopped trying.

Kingdoms rise and fall. Denominations die out. Pastors and sermons are buried and forgotten. Nothing new here, this is the story of humanity.

The man couldn’t have been kinder. I don’t want to throw shade on him or his efforts. They’re noble. The work of documenting and remembering history is important. Outwardly I help up my end of the conversation with genuine curiosity. Inwardly I was having what I think experts call a spiritual stroke.

Dead or alive?

Are we in a time where we just document history or are we making it?

Psalm 146 slaps back hard with an answer to this question (I transcribed it recently). These lines left a pink mark on my face in the shape of a handprint where the blood vessels burst:

The conversation with the Presbyterian museum guy wasn’t about keeping the church alive. It was about keeping a record so that people don’t forget about this particular denomination that is now dead or dying.1

Gulp.

As I reflected on the experience this week, I’ve had a profound sense of clarity, feel free to call it panic: I don’t want to be part of a dying church, a social club that exists to raise money for activities while the members are alive and for which they set up a fund to eventually erect a remembrance for once glorious but no longer functional operations.

I don’t want my church to become a museum.2

But honestly? That’s how it goes.

The apostle Paul felt this keenly. At the end of his life, suffering in jail, he writes a letter to Timothy, who he’s left in Ephesus to lead the church there. The letter is his effort to officially pass the torch of the gospel—the essence of his ministry—to one of his closest friends whose been in the battle for faith with him over the years. For the sake of a great city where God did great things.3

And you know what? Paul’s letter ain’t pretty.

The letter isn’t a warm, fuzzy benediction or a highlight reel of all the good times. It’s a desperate, furious cry of the heart. Paul is suffering, physically, in jail and emotionally near despair. Most people have abandoned him. Ministry partners have duped and dumped him. He appeals to Timothy in what we could confuse as hyperbole because we don’t live in the daily desperation of spreading the good news with one eye on the fires of hell raging all around us and one eye on eternity like Paul did.

There is a real sense that all his efforts to proclaim the truth and build the church could be lost in Ephesus where the message is being watered down, perverted and changed.

Paul doesn’t have that uniquely terrible Canadian quality of self respect, that masked embarrassment pretending to be sage humility that ensures he quietly enters his tomb and dutifully steps into the afterlife without a whimper (or the help of a cocktail of drugs administered by his doctor, quietly hoping he’ll meet his maker or there is no maker to meet).

Instead, he goes loudly and he doesn’t wait until he’s on his deathbed to shout out in characteristic moral or spiritual clarity. He crashes through the world, ringing alarm bells and calling the dead into life, changing tones and presentation tactics just as he changes audience—courtrooms, synagogues, watercoolers, mobs. But always with the clear, confident language of the good news.

It’s quite a thing to read the letter to Timothy and to realize what he says. You get a real sense that almost all will abandon the faith. It’s sobering, terrifying, real. I remember reading that—really reading that—years ago in Malaysia as I studied scripture verse by verse and being so sad, shocked, rattled.

But this sweet line of truth emerges and forms into a hinge that swings open a door of hope and possibility and, quite truly salvation, as Paul confesses:

The quote recalls the passage in Numbers when the pagan soothsayer Balaam, hired by a local king realizes that he can’t curse God’s people as he’s been paid to do. He can only bless them, he realizes in a supernatural way (with the help of an observant donkey) that God is not a human being; what he has promised he fulfills, and he is always faithful.

God will be faithful; will we?

It’s a brutal, punishing question in a way. Do we feel immediately defensive or exposed when asked it?

Paul in his letter to the timid (and understandably intimidated Timothy) is passing on the torch. Perhaps it’s a baton. One generation dies. Another must carry on. We are the plan, from age to age, to keep the flame alive. As kingdoms rise and fall. As empires bomb and sabre rattle. Generation after generation. It is us who will extend the relay race.

We can flame out. And we can drop the baton and disqualify the whole team.

I left the community centre after my Presbyterian museum conversation the way I leave the book of Timothy asking God what he’s doing, entrusting his message with us. It’s too risky!

And it would feel completely bleak if it weren’t for a surprising glimmer of light that shines so brightly through the letter of the pages and across all of human time. There will always be someone who carries the torch and does not drop it.

How? Why?

It’s not a matter of technique, human performance, or a crazy level of discipline and observance. It boils down to revelation. God knows who he is and he is so good, faithful, gracious and holy. He knows who he is and that no matter what, there will always be people who recognize and experience his nature and respond to it.

Psalm 145 describes this very thing, just a few verses before the scripture shared above that highlights how the plans of men die with them. Paul seems to echo and enact this sentiment in his earnest scrawl from prison:

No matter where they are or what they face, there are people who will encounter God, an experience that so impacts the nature of the human heart, completely transforming it and shaping it, that those people will say the simple yes and walk forward, knees often trembling, carrying the torch that lights the way in the dark, the baton that sends the next generation forward in the race of faith.

I really, truly want to be one of them.

I got a bird feeder with a live video feed that’s powered by solar a few weeks ago and over the weekend I finally set it up. It took five days, a dead racoon fiasco, and some patience before we finally got our fowl wish.

This morning there were cardinals. (Look at this portly, startling fellow).

What is it about the simple delights of nature that can bring such joy? I made the fun video you can view at the top of this post for Instagram and it’s been fun to share it and laugh with others about being bird-feeder-years-old.

Birds and feeds.

Words and feeds.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about Things I Wrote Down and the future direction of this newsletter and online space.

Full disclosure: I love it. The outlet that it is for creativity. The joy it is to have readers like you to interact with. The gift it is to have such an incredible platform powered by the best tech (thanks Substack!) to be able to bring all sorts of content into the world.

Help to shape the future of Things I Wrote Down

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Please take a moment to answer these two Qs It will be such a help!

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If you answer “Something else” please drop a note in the comments so I know what that “Something else” is. And, if you have other feedback, feel free to drop a comment or send me an email!

Thanks for being a bird of the same feather,

~AK

It’s hard to imagine what that first Easter was like. The women, on their way to the empty tomb, their broken and poured-out souls suddenly restored and filled by the shocking revelation, delivered by angels. Suddenly the first human evangelists, declaring a truth no human mind could make sense of as all their fears were wiped away at sunrise by the hidden secret of history as God’s plan was cemented for good.

He is not here.

The mad dash that followed as Peter and John raced to verify. Not because they didn’t believe the women, but because they knew. They just had to confirm their greatest hope. See it with their own eyes. At sight of the empty tomb it seemed that time itself stood still and creation took its first real breath.

History quickly caught up. The machinery of power and politics put its plans in motion: denials, lies, obfuscations. Money exchanged hands and the narrative was chosen. The body was stolen. The disciples hid it. He is not risen.

But human lies, too, were silenced and defeated when Christ rose from the dead. And the great truth, behind the curtain of reality, slowly opens, day after day. And on Easter we remember that one day, in the twinkling of an eye, all will be revealed.

Thanks for spending some time this weekend with Things I Wrote Down. Here are three things that stood out this week online, and my Easter poem.

The Man on the Middle Cross

My brother Chris is in the habit of sharing this video at Easter. It’s such a powerful reminder and declaration of the power and centrality of the cross and what it means for humanity. I was impacted all over again by this short clip from Alistair Begg.

Artemis II the moon!

We had an impromptu watch party at our local library. The kids were at the local YMCA for karate as Artemis II launched.

It was amazing to see blaze of fire as the heavy boosters pushed the space ship off the earth. Extra special is knowing that a local man is one of the astronauts.

Jeremy Hansen is the first Canadian to fly around the moon, born in London, Ontario. If you have trauma from the Challenger flight from the late 80s, you were relieved to see the flight go smoothly, despite the short pre-launch delay.

12 tonnes of stolen Kit Kats

What’s been crazier, the fact that a Kit Kat heist actually took place on a lonely road in Europe, seeing 12 tonnes of the delicious chocolates go missing just before Easter, OR, the how other brands have weighed in on social media?

It wasn’t a media gambit or an April Fool’s joke. It really happened. Their original post about the heist, in which the chocolatier confirmed media reports that a truck transporting the chocolate was stolen somewhere between Italy and Poland had 135 million views on X alone.

Cynics or realists can be forgiven for thinking it was a ruse. Colgate’s response was well played.

My Easter Poem for 2026

My Easter poem this year took me a little by surprise. If you didn’t get a chance to read it, you can do so here. Happy Easter, dear readers.

May the love and work of Christ change your world this year.

Want more poetry?

Now you’re thinking, Gee, Andrew, try to stop selling me on this happy poem!

That was the inception point to this year’s Easter poem. My entry. A quick visit to theological foundations followed (Why do we say Christ “descended unto hell?”; What does 1 Peter 3 really cover?) and a stopover in the dazzling, frightening, magnificent pages of Revelation was next.

I don’t always find it easy to celebrate Easter. I feel so unprepared, so unworthy, too rushed. Even though the day looms for months, I resist walking through the emotion, the tragedy of this day of days.

How can I or anyone ever treat it properly? Must I really consider the cost, see the nail wounds, the scars and blood? I hate this day and I love it. How long should I linger in the punishing brutality of Good Friday? How quickly do I run to the empty tomb?

All of this while knowing it is finished and he is not there. For he is risen. And he is the eternal, resurrected Lord.

It’s a humbling, terrible, wondrous thing to contemplate, Easter.

So, if you approach Easter with resistance, fear, trembling, familiarity, unease, expectation, and hope, then you’re in good company.

I hope you enjoy this poem.

Note: if you're on your phone, turn it to horizontal (so the line breaks appear as they’re meant to appear).

Thanks for reading. And happy Easter. He is risen indeed.

~ AK

Scenes from an Everlasting Life

Easter 2026

On the eternal walls of the new
Jerusalem, gold pure and clear as
glass, between angel sentries with 
blazing swords and the twelve gates of iron
a gallery of memories snatched out of eternity is
set in frames that match the twelve foundations of 
the city’s walls, inlaid with every jewel–amethyst, emerald
agate, sapphire. Their pictures tell
the story of God’s people along its fifteen
hundred miles.

But toward the great 
hall of heaven, where future pilgrimage will
have no tears no weeping
on that long, inclined pathway toward the throne
another gallery of photographs
lines the crystal walls. Set in 
simple wooden frames
cut from the trees of the nations
these images tell the story of Heaven’s 
favourite Son.

Scenes from his everlasting life
hidden moments few on earth could see 
fixed forever along the golden walkway
as the peoples, kings of the earth, walk through the
gates, awed by the craftsmanship, stirred and
quickened by memory. 

The wavecatcher whooping for joy as he 
climbed the swells of Galilee, robes 
soaked through as he hurdles the crest of a roller
the whoop of joy lost in the 
wind, a lock of wet hair 
plastered against his cheek.

The apprentice, hammer in hand
brow wrinkled in concentration as he
aligns two pieces of expensive cedar
silhouette of his carpenter teacher out of 
focus in the background.

The phenom, only twelve, surrounded by 
sages, men shrouded in robes
alight with wisdom of the ages, jaws set 
determined to answer the questions of a young
beardless Nazarene whose clear 
voice and probing questions
have them all leaning in as though he 
pulls them with invisible string.

The stories that would have filled the 
books that could have been written by 
disciples and apostles by 
women who faithfully followed and attended him
the expectant and pushy throngs of people
who peered over peers to catch a glimpse on
windswept hills and stone porticos
fill the frames on these walls.

And then, at the end of that long hallway
a single rectangle black like a thundercloud like
a burned and bombed out village. The three 
long days when every lens, eye 
every heart turned its gaze and what took place
could not be captured or described, only 
imagined as Christ stepped over horrors and
terrors, like so many bodies lining the frozen
ascent on the world's highest peak, only these
burned with rage and fear, alive and agonized
on the descent to hell where absence of goodness
even a single smudge or waft 
was complete.

After this, a final frame
not on a wall but at the end of the hallway, like
a doorway that each person alone must step through
carved out of rock, mounts 
stained red, so narrow nothing but a body
can get through. As the beholder 
steps across the threshold
what they see, if they can catch a glimpse before they fall
down as though dead, more alive than they’ve ever been
will come in a flash, in snapshots: the blood-dipped 
hem of the finest linen; eyes that
flame like fire; diadems shining from a 
crown no other shoulders could bear.

The crucified, eternal
the risen Lord.

We are all distracted. Interrupted by a hundred things a day.

Texts from friends, family, from work pinging us in the middle of a thought. A stranger’s FaceTime call while we’re selecting apples at the grocery store. A child’s three hundred questions while we’re putting together dinner.

And we’re in a hurry.

Thirty digital tasks to complete every hour. Our days, weeks, months scheduled and marked by Zoom calls. In the busyness we order food from our phones and—miracle of the times—it arrives on our doorstep a little colder and much more expensive than if we’d had the time to make it ourselves, but it’s there.

I’ve spent a lot of time in the last few months in lines, on planes, in traffic in different cities. Renting cars, booking tickets, boarding flights. A number of times during the government shutdowns in the States when agents aren’t paid, lines are long, tensions are high.

And I’ve observed people. I’ve observed myself. Anger boils over quickly. Kindness is like a cool cup of water. We’re training ourselves to become toddlers who break out in ridiculous tantrums.

This week my soul was pinged with a notification. The familiar (but not familiar enough) impression of the Spirit. When the apps fail, the food doesn’t come, when the line up is too long, and the shuttle is late, there’s impatience. When you’re buckled in a seat above the clouds in a world where planes hit emergency vehicles and drop bombs on terrorist regimes and schools simultaneously, there’s a smallness.

This strange, grating juxtaposition of the troubles in our own life—that whole range of petty to overpowering—with the troubles of the world can draw out various reactions. Anxiety, humour, cynicism, optimism, a little sprinkle of despair, perhaps even a strange lure or desire for more. All these feelings swirl in me and make sense to me.

And, gratefully, another urge pokes through. The desire for prayer.

Venturing out of the swirl of legitimate, corporate emotion, into prayer has been a relief. You’d think I’d stay there given how welcome and sweet it is breaking anxiety like it’s a twig, not a yoke.

Prayer, this week, reminded me of the adventures we all have, always will have, in impatience. This human, earthly reality creates carnage and beauty. I’m shocked by it this week.

It reminded me of a poem I wrote awhile back that I’ve modified for this post today.1

The gift of impatience

All those years
there, on the ground
his useless body a
mile marker for passersby
on pilgrimage to the
pools of Bethesda
exposed limbs collecting
the dust of decades
kicked up, flung
in the bustle of Jerusalem
his desire to be well
ability to move
a form of entrapment

All those days she spent
hiding from the gaze of
others, shame
like the unstopped flow of
blood a constant effusion
forever on the fringe of connectedness
the yeast that ruins the
bread unleavened

All those countless hours
in a void of perception
speculation about
every perceived and imagined wrong
the soundscape of his blind existence
sooner to choose
deafness
than hear another
question about the reason why

All those hours
in need of a miracle
all those anguished days
never knowing it was on
its way
unaware that on one night
in Bethlehem amidst the
accumulated regrets of
the dirt, the blood
and the darkness
their miracle was
born

As the miracle grew
over all those long years
each painful day
he was one day closer to
standing on his own two feet again and
she was one hour nearer to shedding
her shame and he
was a moment away from
seeing the face of God

The gift of impatience is that
the miracle draws
nigh

What do we do with a problem like impatience?

I'm asking this question now, not with those literal words, but in the way the soul picks up the Amazon package that the unseen delivery man leaves at the door. I can still, faintly, hear the sound of the doorbell before he dropped it and disappeared.

My body is not lame or bleeding or blinded like those famous characters who received long-desired miracles, but there are ways I'm crippled, unseeing, hemorrhaging spiritually.

How about you?

In what way is impatience a signal of hunger in the Matthew 5 sort of way? What’s the thing, underneath the feeling of impatience, that I need to see?

I’d love to hear from you:

Right now I'm feeling the need and the urge to tune out the noise of the world, change the radio dial that's gummed up but fused into the chamber of my heart, and tune into God, silence, to quiet.

I'm impatient for it, and that impatience feels like the first steps of an adventure.

Pierre does Rogan

It’s been talked about all week, the big interview that was supposed to make him Prime Minister (which we now know he never did, because “we don’t leave the country” when we campaign in Canada).

Pierre Poilievre, the “could be” PM of Canada someday, did a two hour interview on the biggest podcast in the world: The Joe Rogan Experience.1 It got attention all over (you’ve probably noticed on social media) and was discussed by major publications like The New York Times and The National Post and made news for multiple reasons, including his move not to attack his political opponent, Mark Carney, on foreign soil.

I had some flights and drives this week, so I listened to the whole thing. Here are a few of my takeaways:

• All politicians should do long form. When I listen to longform interviews I realize how lame the soundbite news economy is. It’s great to to hear full thoughts, get insight into comms style, hear the banter, and all of it in the full context of the conversation. To me there seems no downside (unless you hide behind sound bites).

• PP’s explanation of the House of Commons with its traditional green-grass ground of discourse (hence the green carpet) where the common people debate and perfect policy, prosecuting the government’s ideas was a highlight. It made me proud to be Canadian and proud of our system. It also made me wish we were more aware of it and think that we need to remember we’re not a Republic like the US. X, other social media channels, and the advertisement-driven news cycle make Canadians think our system works like America’s. It’s easy to lose sight of what we are and that the bare knuckle politics of the US aren’t really how we do it here.

• Deregulation and slashing bureaucracy is so appealing, let’s just do that, okay? Unleash Canada. Who cares what your party is. I’d pretty much vote for anyone who actually did that. Can you relate?

• As a born and raised Albertan living in Ontario, it was so refreshing to hear someone speak about the oilsands positively and with a view of their nation-changing potential.

• We all have so much more in common (interests, dreams, humour, values) than we do that’s different.

• His statement that “Canadians do evolution not revolution” was a great line.

The language gets a little salty, but it's an interesting watch in this political moment. Check it out.

Watching Project Hail Mary

I shared recently that I was re-reading the Andy Weir space novel Project Hail Mary in prep for the smash hit film which went to wide release this week. It’s breaking records (the biggest opening for a non-franchise film; the first film to be screened in the stratosphere) and winning fans. How cool to see.

There are so many laugh-out-loud moments in the film that are in the book. But there was a special voice cameo from Meryl Streep that got massive laughs and was one of many joyful moments.

If you want a heart-warming, science-and-math-loving film, this one has it all. Two big thumbs down from me! (If you read the book or see the film, you’ll understand why that’s a good thing 👎🏻👎🏻).

Last call for Easter skits!

As you may know, I write for the Skit Guys, plays that are produced in churches across North America on Sundays (especially around big holidays). But what you may not know is that the platform just went through a big rebrand and is now known as 231 Worship.

If you’re looking for last minute Easter content for your church or faith community, go check them out.

I have two new Easter scripts this season to add to the library. They’re easy to produce and ready to bring some laughter and hope to your services. The first one was an idea that I first started to work out here on TIWD as I launched into my reading of Acts and started asking Qs about the Holy Spirit and AI. It’s called, Why Are You Looking Up? and is a snapshot of the moment when the disciples were staring at the clouds in the moments after Jesus ascended.

The other new script is Operation Empty Tomb, a new story in my Even Angels series. In the script Rapha and Tromos, two angels, have just rolled away the stone at the garden tomb and are ordered to await the arrival of the disciples. They’re shocked when they see it’s the women who have the courage to visit the garden and who will be the vessels God uses to announce the resurrection.

This is cutting it close, so the timing may not be right… but if you ever need a great script to bring your service to life, check out 231 Worship. There are amazing plays, skits, and other resources by awesome writers from around the world.

More Scripts

A snapshot of my new Easter skit

I don’t often share my plays here in this space. Today, as we look forward to Easter, I thought I’d drop the opening of my new skit Operation Empty Tomb. Here’s a sample.

Tromos rubs the small of his back and then rotates his shoulders. His body is sore. Rapha watches him with a smirk on his face.

Tromos: What?

Rapha: You gonna make it?

Tromos: I’m fine.

Rapha: Is the great Tromos sore?

Tromos: That stone was way heavier than it looked, okay?

Rapha: Too much time commanding, not enough time in the field. 

Tromos: Someone’s gotta keep the heavenly host in line.

Rapha: So are we done here or what? 

Tromos: No.

Rapha: Why’d they send you down here to do the heavy lifting anyway? 

Tromos: There’s something else going down.

Rapha: Shouldn’t you be at the command center leading the battle that’s raging around the disciples? 

Tromos: You ask too many questions.

Rapha: The Son of God just literally rose from the dead. They need to know! The hounds of hell are raging against them right now. The two of us could fly over there and wreak havoc against the enemy!

Tromos: You don’t think the same thought hasn’t crossed my mind? I could use the catharsis of causing carnage. But our orders are to wait it out here.

Rapha: For what?

Tromos: The disciples are coming.

Rapha: Leaving their hideout? Is that wise?

Tromos: Grief will compel them to come. They had so little time before the Sabbath fell to even honor the Lord in burial. 

Rapha: No way. They’re too scared. They’ll think it’s too risky.

Tromos: Some of them will come. At least that’s why we’re here. If they do.

Rapha: Any guesses?

Tromos: It’s gotta be John.

Rapha: That’s what I was thinking. 

Tromos: He was there at the cross. The whole God-forsaken time. 

Rapha: Stayed until they took down the body.

Tromos: I’ve been meaning to commend you for your restraint, Rapha. I know it took everything in you to keep your sword sheathed. You kept your orders.

Rapha: I don’t question God the Father’s command. But I don’t understand it. The devil and all his angels filled the clouds and we could have ended it then and there. Did you see them just gloating?

Tromos: Walked right into Heaven’s trap.

Rapha: A trap? Looked like they succeeded in their centuries-long plan to overthrow the Godhead to me.

Tromos: Well, the tomb’s empty, isn’t it? 

Rapha: True. 

Tromos: He’s risen.

Rapha: He’s risen indeed.

It is a big day in Canadian healthcare and a win for people who have been raising the alarm about MAiD expansion in Canada.

Yesterday, the Alberta government hosted a press conference highlighting legislation they’ve proposed to stop Track 2 MAiD (where a natural death is not reasonably foreseeable) and to preventatively stop Track 3 (MAiD given to people who have mental health as a sole condition, which could expand federally soon).

If passed, these stipulations will protect the vulnerable, especially those in poverty and those struggling with disabilities. It will also protect individuals suffering with mental health issues, to ensure that MAiD is not used as a sloppy excuse when other treatments are possible.

This is, a strong step—perhaps even a leap forward for a society that has fallen so far backward in healthcare. It doesn't eradicate MAiD, which could be the bell that can’t be un-rung. It does show that major changes can be made and that legistlatures do, in fact, listen to the people.

In short: This is a huge win for people who care about healthcare and about life in Canada. Other provinces take note: We have more options at our disposal than simply saying, “Oh well, it’s here to stay and it’s inevitable that it will only expand.

If you've been reading Things I Wrote Down in the last few years, you'll know that I've been a vocal about MAiD expansion and have published about euthanasia’s evils frequently.

At Unveil, we created a documentary series that shines a light on what is happening in Canada and we've interviewed many of the leading voices who have raised the alarm about MAiD in Canada, including Dr. Ramona Coelho, who’s featured prominently in the above announcement 👆🏻.

What will the proposed legislation do?

The government's legislation introduces the following protections:

• It limits MAID eligibility to those whose natural death is reasonably foreseeable.

• It prohibits MAID where a natural death is not reasonably foreseeable (this is what is known as “Track 2 MAiD”).

• The legislation prohibits MAID for minors, which is under consideration federally.

• It prohibits MAiD for people whose sole condition is a mental illness (the Pandora's Box experts are warning about).

• It will allow physicians and health care facilities to refuse to assess or provide MAID, a huge win for the conscience of doctors.

• It will prohibit physicians from making referrals for individuals to receive MAID outside of Alberta, preventing a MAiD trafficking system.

• It requires patients to initiate the conversation, a measure to prevent suicidal ideation among the vulnerable, restricting health care professionals from initiating conversations about MAID with a patient.

• It requires MAID providers to meet education and training requirements and introduce sanctions for MAID assessors and providers not complying with the law.

Watch our series

For context on why Alberta’s decision to stop Track 2 and 3 MAiD is so significant, watch our series.

We interviewed leading Canadian voices sounding the alarm about MAiD who described why patients are afraid to go to the hospital due to MAiD expansion, how euthanasia became a pillar of Canadian healthcare, and more.

Watch Now for FREE

More articles on MAiD

Hammers. Nails. Plumb lines. Jesus used the tools of his day in the family trade, carpentry, to do the job that needed to be done. In the same way, I imagine that he’d use artificial intelligence as a tool to assist in various tasks if he walked the earth today.

He clearly didn’t need a hammer or any other tool, since he could have spoken directly to the elements and see them form into furniture before his very eyes. He could transcend the natural laws but subjected himself to all of them but one, for he lived a sinless life.

For the sake of a thought experiment, since we know Christ did use man-made tools in his earthly ministry, it’s not a stretch to imagine him using the AI tools that are building the world today (if he were to appear in our timeline).

If teen Jesus had access to AI, what would he ask it and how would he use it? WWJDAI: I should make a bracelet.

But before we imagine Jesus as a teen in our time, let’s travel back in time.

Named by the cloud; set up for life

Go back with me in time to the moment when Jesus was first revealed, publicly, as the Son of God. It wasn’t the private moment at the manger. It wasn’t at the wedding feast at Cana. The first time the heavens boomed like thunder with the powerful voice of God was at Christ’s baptism when the Father declared: “This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased.”

We have the luxury of hindsight and the printed Gospels, so we know that Jesus was born into the world as God’s Son. But no one around him, except for a few, understood this.

It wasn’t until the voice of love from Heaven thundered this truth that many of us started to understand.

People in the crowds smelled dust and body odor. They saw a man of about thirty, smiling, handsome, step into the water like a thousand other men like him to be baptized by John the Baptist.

Little did they know they were witnessing history, and all righteousness, being fulfilled as the prophet lowered the carpenter under the water. When he reappeared from below the water’s surface there was a sudden boom of thunder, but not a drop of rain.

It echoed across the riverside. But it wasn’t thunder. It was a voice! And not just any voice: it was the voice of God. And this is after 400 years of silence from God.

Four hundred years of doubt and sorrow and moral failure. Four hundred years of spiritual agony and darkness. Four hundred years of confusion and faith and longing. Four hundred years of loneliness.

Imagine what it would have been like to hear the voice of God that day! A download from Heaven’s cloud, a revealed truth that all truth—both forward and backward in time—is based upon.

Now imagine what that moment was like for Jesus.

How he must have longed for that voice in all his days as he grew up, ever since he entered earth and was born in that manger. As he lived in boyish form–God as flesh, God going through puberty, God on earth, with us.

Imagine Jesus had ChatGPT. What would it have told him about himself? The rumors swirled. The leaders called him a demon, a bastard, a fraud. The hive mind condemned him.

Heaven endorsed him. And it was this connection, this source, that defined him and that he believed.

We know the Spirit was with Jesus as he grew in wisdom and stature. We know that God’s favor was upon him.

Imagine Jesus, who in obedience and out of love left the Godhead, excused himself from that intimacy, so he might be made incarnate, conceived in the womb of a virgin, enter human flesh on the very world he spoke into existence.

It’s impossible for our finite minds to fathom Jesus’ longing for the Father, his longing for the Spirit in his body of flesh. So, what would it have meant for him to see the Spirit descend on him in the form of a dove that day, and to hear the eternal voice name him, validate him, recognize him?

Everything Jesus experienced of God was new to him, through a now-human filter, including hearing God’s thunderous voice of love.

Jesus knew who he was and he grew into the wisdom and stature of that truth. This critical moment located and affirmed Jesus’ time, his ministry, his human identity, in his divine and eternal relationship with God.

At each stage of his life on earth, Jesus understood who he was because Heaven said so.

Who is telling us who we are?

Whether we know it or not, we’re all seeking the same sort of affirmation, orientation in time and space, confidence and understanding in who and what we are.

The gift to us is that God has a name for us and a place for us in his family.

Every other voice will try to define you, name you, tell you who you are. Political parties want to slap a label on you, organize you into a category and extract your vote. Tech companies want to clump you and all your little cells into demographic categories so they can serve up ads that will convince you to buy the stuff that funds their empires. And artificial intelligence crawls through all the databases of humanity’s knowledge and spits out information based on the questions we ask it to tell us things about ourselves.

Each week there seems to be a new headline that reveals how people are turning to AI for the wrong reasons. It concerns me that people, especially teenagers, are seeking machines to fill the God-shaped hole in the heart.

Don’t get me wrong: people seek out the questions of who they are in other ways, beyond AI. In relationships, in thrills, careers, and, to quote Nickleback, down “to the bottom of every bottle.” I think that’s problematic too. But there’s a strange draw and dependency on AI right now that requires caution.

The Wall Street Journal broke the story, also reported by the Canadian Press that, “OpenAI's artificial intelligence chatbot acted as the ‘collaborator, trusted confidant, friend and ally’ of the shooter in the Tumbler Ridge, B.C., mass killings.”

The horror.

I’ve written in these pages about how teens are turning to social media and AI chatbots for guidance in every area of life, seeking out AI wisdom more than they do God through prayer, or the advice and support of mentors, priests, or pastors.

Seventy-two percent of teens use AI chatbots as companions and consult AI as though bots are their therapists.1 Teens consult chat bots daily; Pew reports it’s a majority of teens that do. And these bots are telling teens who they are.

We instinctively know that the teenage years are critical in shaping identity. A neuroscience study from 2019 highlights the complexity of inputs that factor into a teenager’s development of identity. The study highlights that teens are often thought to make choices adults consider risky or confused due to the fact that their brains are still developing. That’s true, but as they explore who they are—academically, socially, artistically, morally—their emerging identity becomes a source of motivation. They start making choices that feel meaningful to them, not just choices based on impulse or peer pressure.

The parts of the self that matter most to a teen (for example: being an athlete, or a musician, a leader or, a good friend) can be encouraged, strengthened, or reframed.

The question is, who—or what—is framing and reframing it?

Hey teen Simba, remember you who you are

If you remember the original Lion King film, there’s a powerful scene where Simba’s father speaks to him in a dream and powerfully admonishes the little lion to “Remember who you are!” (Can’t you just hear the booming baritone of James Earl Jones’ voice bringing those lines to life?)

But what will kids remember when it’s not the Father telling them who they are, but a LLM scouring all the information in the world and hacking together some answers? If identity is itself shaped by the things that matter most to people and every day they are consulting AI for validation, companionship, and answers, the source material of that consultation is of critical importance.

Is AI just a modern Dr. Frankenstein piecing together new, frightening creatures?

The red flags of using AI for factual information are already waving, can you hear them flapping in the wind? When we add to this the deep, basic questions of meaning that humanity has always asked, questions answered by our great philosophers, teachers, and scribes, we should be especially on guard.

A recent article from Carnegie helpfully walks through the biases inherent in generative AI. The writer asked a series of questions of different AI platforms about geopolitical issues, human rights, and universal human values. He noticed that:

The LLMs can be said to have their own worldviews as they interpret global events. For instance, based on their responses, ChatGPT and Qwen were more closely aligned with liberal internationalism. Llama’s outlook was colored by a perspective centered on a muscular U.S. foreign policy, representing the realist school of international relations, while Mistral displayed a combination of liberalism and constructivism with a European tint. Finally, Doubao’s worldview was clearly based on Chinese nationalism.2

The author calls out the need for caution as humanity is being shaped intellectually by biased platforms, junk info, and politically saturated intel. AI is transforming how we acquire knowledge and interpret facts, which has direct impact on the nation state, which raises very real ethical concerns.

How much more careful do we need to be about how AI can shape us spiritually?

Take me back to that beach

I long to travel back in time to that beach on the shorelines of the Jordan. To hear the booming, thunderous voice of God, to see the Spirit fall like a dove, to see Jesus with the waters of baptism dripping from his face. To touch that spiritual grass and experience something real, substantive, essential.

What a gift we have that moment in scripture. It’s even better than the scene in the Lion King. It reminds all of us that we can know who we are, and that God can tell us so.

While we’re interacting with popular, important and critical AI technology every day in ways that are shaping our world let’s be sure to use the tool as a tool.

Hammer. Nail. Plumb line.

As for companionship, guidance, the spiritual insights and advice, how about we stick to scripture, and nurture young hearts and minds with the everlasting words of the Father.

More posts like it:

Hail Mary

Beside Daniel, the new biblical epic coming to theatres this year, there’s one other film I can’t wait to see. I’m re-reading the book just to get ready.

Hail Mary is already being hailed as one of the best films of the decade. My older brother Chris, with whom I swap sci-fi books with, was scandalized at how much they reveal in the trailer (which got me pumped).

You still have time to read the book before its upcoming release. If you love sci-fi, tales of humanity overcoming, or movies then I urge you to read it before the release so we can compare notes..

Tragic new MAiD milestone

I was wondering why there was so much posting on X this week by Americans about MAiD. Turns out that a new stat broke through all the noise to shock people, something we already knew was coming: Canada is on track to reach over 100,000 doctor-assisted suicides since the Criminal Code was changed in 2016 to allow doctors to kill their patients.

Rupa Subramanya once again had important reporting on how quickly MAiD deaths take place: 1 in 20 deaths in Canada is instigated by the Canadian government’s health care system. In some provinces, up to 30% of these deaths take place on the same day that the individual sought government approval to die.

The Free Press

Death in One Day: Inside Canada’s Assisted-Suicide Machine

One out of every 20 deaths in Canada is triggered by the government-run assisted suicide program. The sheer number is startling. Even more shocking is the speed and efficiency with which it ends patients’ lives…

Read more

3 months ago · 100 likes · 328 comments · Rupa Subramanya

If you don’t follow Rupa’s reporting, you should consider it. And if you haven’t watched our documentary series MAiD in Canada, you can watch it for free at UnveilTV. You’ll learn a lot and start praying for Canada.

Watch the series

My first Jukebox Bingo

Have you played Jukebox Bingo yet? It’s pretty fun. We attended a fundraiser for our local Lions and Lioness Club, which is raising money for a new pavilion in our local park.

What is Jukebox Bingo?

A DJ spins up hit songs, you try to recognize the tune, you dab the square if you have the title and angle for a bingo. It’s a night of music and fun. I’m terrible at recognizing lyrics, but by the time we got to the chorus (and with the help of Shazam), I got most of the songs.

If you’re looking for a new kind of fundraising option, consider it. It’s a blast!

Poem - Concerning the Realm in Real

I dug into the archive for this poem, which has always been punchy to me. Fun to dig things out of the treasure chest, dust them off and share them. Hope you enjoy it.

concerning the real in realm

real worship
real creativity
real me
real, really
real words
real feelings
really annoying
real thoughts
real expressions
valid
real people
real experience
really trying
is it real
real it is
real God 
real Father 
real love 
real salvation
real hope
really glad
reeling

reality bites
holes out of life
chews momentarily and 
spits like mud
on eyes
unaccustomed 
to light

Want more poetry?

It’s hard not to live in a constant state of FOMO.

People who don’t know how to code but learned how to speak are auto-dictating ideas to AI-powered coding tools like Claude Code which transforms the idea into digital products, apps, systems. They will be billionaires. Supposedly.

The fear of missing out on future wealth because you’re not vibe coding all day and night, creating products with a few prompts using the latest, break-out AI-driven platforms or tools seems to permeate online communities.

Look at social media. There are so many trends, pitches, and offers on platforms right now. People selling courses on “how to” do anything under the sun. Write a book. Make a course. Drop a digital product that makes you money while you sleep.

Add the sales power of social to the automation and output of AI. We can basically print our own money, is the impression we get when we scroll. “I bought my private jet by selling this $8 PDF that helps people shampoo their bath mats.”

I have secondhand embarrassment for my future self who scolds me for not taking the time to learn the key, secret AI prompt that would have changed my life and financial trajectory. This impoverished, agitated, washed up version of me feels the fool that I missed (and am missing) all the opportunity.

AGI: Artificial Gnostic Intelligence

This promise of secret knowledge by gurus with the inside edge, dangled like so many digital carrots, has a first century echo to it. The Gnostics promised as much, blending worldviews, including Christianity, with a catch: there were secret levels of knowledge you could reach if you followed their guidance, as you were led further and deeper into unknown truths all the way to the top echelon of revelation. Only some could get there.

They were liars. Or, at a minimum, deceived themselves. Either they were:

• Swindlers with no problem hoodwinking people who longed for more and looked for a way out of their troubles with sin or hopelessness; swindlers willing to take advantage of that desperation.

• People desperate not to miss out on salvation who, like multi-level marketers got in just a little too late and might never get to the top where the benefits really kick in.

There will always be the promise or fear that there are essential secrets to miss out on. Opportunities so good and so true that will evade us. Promises made that turn out to be a gold-glazed bucket o’ lies.

But that’s not the worst of it.

Ben, AI’s dominance, and the Holy Spirit

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying people using AI tools are all scoundrels trying to rip you off. Some are. Some aren’t. People certainly are making millions developing tools.

Ben Affleck is one of them. This week he sold his AI company to Netflix, a tool that will help filmmakers hasten their edits. (Turns out he’s not on a smoke break lamenting the cussedness of life. Rather, he’s savouring the sweet success of making millions more through AI.)

Because it’s inescapable, I continue to think and write about AI. I mean, just last week the US government signed a deal that puts us on a pathway toward becoming permanently spied on and looking down the barrel of AI controlled laser guns.

Whether you use AI to go after billions of dollars or to take out your enemies, or whether you choose not to learn it (and so miss out on the opportunity to bank bills or bodies), you won’t leverage it all. You’ll miss out on something.

Consider this your reminder that there’s opportunity to be had, traps to fall into, dangers and wonders abounding. But there’s something else that we should be even more worried about.

All the power we don’t avail ourselves to

Recently I explored how AI will do everything for us, and yet we’ll all still be stuck with ourselves. It’s something to definitely consider. I also explored how people are consulting AI more than God in their daily habits.

Something that I’ve been kicking around this week is a thought, that started out as a sinking feeling in my stomach. I may or may not be one prompt away from a million dollar idea that turns into a billion dollar empire, but I certainly am one prayer away from receiving the power and outpouring of the Holy Spirit.

David, in one of the most challenging seasons of his life, prayed this heart-wrenching prayer:

His great fear was that he’d lose access to the power and presence of God. He was terrified that he’d miss out on all the opportunity and blessing the Spirit provides.

In these times, I think this is a healthy kind of FOMO to have. We shouldn’t dismiss it. Perhaps we should all have a little more of it. I know I need to.

I want the occasional flashes of anxiety that I’m being a fool for not leveraging AI to make me millions while I sleep to be replaced with an urge to access all the power and presence of God available to me.

We’re in a time where humanity is obsessed with prompts. What’s the magical arrangement of words we can use to get AI to develop something unique and new that will improve our waking lives, change everything?

The digital tech is available for us to explore, learn, leverage to potentially change our digital and financial realities.

But there’s another kind of prompt, more significant, with eternal implications. In the noise of this AI moment I want to awaken to it: the nudge of the Holy Spirit.

As I continue (slowly) to read through Acts, it’s striking how this prompt that comes from heaven to earth, from the “cloud of God” to the mind of humanity, changes history.

• The Spirit instantly live-translated a sermon into every language represented in Jerusalem at Pentecost, requiring no batteries, devices, and with no lag time.

• It dropped embezzlers to the ground, dead for their lies, without the need of weaponry.

• The Spirit teleported Phillip from one location to another, to interpret Isaiah to a travelling emissary who was praying for wisdom. The self-driving tech of the Spirit navigated the apostle in an instant and didn’t ask for a tip or a starred review.

• Through multiple push notifications to the heart of Peter, the Spirit activated a vision that transformed the way the future of the gospel would go into the world, upgrading the platform, giving free access to God—Jew and Gentile alike—through the use of animated 3D animal avatars, projected deep in Peter’s psyche without needing a Neurolink.

All of that just in a matter of a few chapters.

Don’t worry about missing the AI wave; worry about missing the Spirit’s tsunami

I don’t know if I’m lazy, skeptical, lacking an essential fire to really leverage AI. Perhaps I’ll catch the bug or spark someday. Maybe it will be out of desperation due to all the market changes that push me into the new world of automation and generation. Or maybe AI-powered overlords will force me to innovate and get on that bus.

We’ll see. Until then, I can live with the fact that I may experience occasional flashes of fear and regret for not becoming an AI-made millionaire while I lounged in silk pajamas.

But, God forbid, I miss out on the prompts of the Spirit, directed to me from an all-knowing, all-loving God. Prompts that could change history, my life, and the lives of those around me.

Liked this take on AI? Read more like it:

Here are three things that stood out this week online, and a poem entitled, “Beautiful salt tears of God.”

Khamenei dies, CBC mourns

The US and Israel launched hundreds of separate air attacks, targeting the Iranian regime and its leadership yesterday, in what is being describe as the most precise aerial attacks in the history of warfare.

Yikes.

Women in Iran took to the streets, throwing off their veils, and celebrated the death of Khamenei. The CBC mourned his death with a ridiculous photo as if the tyrant’s death was a personal loss.

I’m praying for the Iranian church and that this evil regime will actually come to an end. Also: that these attacks don’t morph into a quagmire like the Iraq war with decades of death and trouble.

After the recent operation in Venezuela that captured Maduro and now this, there’s a clear message that the US military is not something you want to mess with. And it can pretty much do anything it wants.

Rolling up the Rim

Pretty much the only time I drink Tim Horton’s coffee is when the launch their Roll Up The Rim contest, the marketing gimmick the donut shop drops during Lent.

It’s basically my strategy to acquire a brand new vehicle, and perhaps the only way I’d ever do so. (I’m a used vehicle purchaser, through and through).

But winning a car isn’t as straight forward as you may think. There’s a history of controversy around the car winners, dating back to the early 2000s, where vehicle victors’ winnings have been contested by rival families, pranksters, and discarded-cup-finding 12-year olds.

Here’s a fascinating article on some of the car wins that were contested and got really, rolly, complicated.

Looks like I’ll continue to drive my 2014 Rogue.

Smartphones: dumb idea

Jonathan Haidt, the author of The Anxious Generation, which is a must-read and explores the impacts of social media and smartphones on kids, shared highlights of a new study released this week from Sapien Labs, which looked at data from 2.5 million people across 85 countries.

Read the Report

Here’s a summary of their findings, which I copied from his post:

1) Young adults used to generally have good mental health, compared to older generations. But now, in ALL countries examined, they are doing badly compared to older generations in that country.

2) "Four key factors have emerged that together predict three quarters of this effect. These are diminished family bonds, diminished spirituality, smartphones at increasingly young age, and increasing consumption of ultra-processed food."

3) The decline of young people's mental health is "most pronounced in the wealthier and more developed countries." They note that it is in such countries that smartphones are given earliest, junk food is most heavily consumed, spirituality is most diminished, and family ties are looser and often weaker.

4) "A younger age of first smartphone ownership is associated with increased suicidal thoughts, aggression, and other problems in adulthood."

5) Here is their summary of findings on early smartphone ownership:

"GenZ is the first generation to grow up with a smartphone. Among this group, the younger they acquired their first smartphone in childhood, the more likely they are to have struggles as adults. These struggles extend beyond sadness and anxiety to less discussed symptoms, such as a sense of being detached from reality, suicidal thoughts, and aggression towards others. The effects arise through disruption of sleep, increased risk of exposure to harmful online content, predators, and explicit material as well as increased probabilities of cyberbullying during crucial developmental years. Excessive time spent on smartphones also diminishes the development of social cognition that requires learned interpretation of facial expressions, body language, and group dynamics. The negative impacts are particularly sharp below age 13."

Poem - Beautiful salt tears of God

Knowing God is a God of justice and acknowledging the mystery that God gives human rulers authority to wield the sword, I can’t also help imagine that whenever and wherever bombs fall, so do heaven’s tears. Here’s a poem that touches at that reality.

Beautiful salt tears of God

beautiful
salt
tears
stinging
the face
of 
God
like
wounds
gentle
tear-
causing
man
foolish 
enough
to touch
God’s
face
feel
God’s 
breath
on his 
fingertips
silence
an exchange
between them

Want more poetry?

Buy Andrew a Coffee

If you spend any of your time on social media (your first mistake), like me, you may have noticed a lot of negativity and shade being thrown at Canada.

Whoever we are and whatever we may be—as individuals or as a collective—it seems clear that the Canadian brand has more than just a PR problem.

Here’s but one example of sentiment seeping onto social feeds, by the media personality Matt Walsh. Many readers, especially Canadian readers, may immediately dismiss him because they don’t like his politics (he’s a MAGA conservative), his style (bare knuckle and blunt commentary), or his platform (he contributes to the Daily Wire). Here’s a recent post from him that went viral:

Ouch.

This may be a strong view, but it’s decreasingly niche.

In all the trash talking and good-natured ribbing that came from the Olympics (from memes of the “cheating curlers” to all the banter after our heartbreaking losses in both Women’s and Men’s hockey) this type of posting emerged too, as politics, online cultural dispositions, and Canadian policies came to the fore.

I’m not here to defend against or affirm what others are saying, to point out what criticism is valid, what’s good fun, and what’s unfair. As I look at how outsiders perceive the nation where I am from, I admit alarm.

The news I hear about the status quo in Canada is troubling to me too. You’ve read my concerns about MAiD, which only increase. I’m alarmed at the desecration and destruction of churches. I’m troubled by many other issues we face in Canada (line ups at food banks, healthcare access, and how we value life are just a few).

But these aren’t the only stories.

We have a lot going wrong. But there’s so much goodness, too. In a time of downturn (economically, spiritually, socially) I wanted to take a break from the bad news and foreground a truth:

I want to take some time here on Things I Wrote Down to focus on Faith in Canada, past and present. Maybe it will be a single post; maybe I’ll string together a series.

Wherever this goes, it feels subversive and exciting to swim against the sea of negativity and reflect and highlight some good news.

A Go-to story of faith

Travel back in time with me to a warm afternoon in May of 1885. The leaves on the maple trees are green and growing. A young woman has just graduated from the Toronto School of Art. Her entire life is ahead of her.

Rosalind Bell-Smith’s body was in Ontario, but her heart was in London, England at the art school where she would finish her studies and begin her career as an artist. But on the day she was supposed to leave Canada to study art in Europe, Rosalind chose to delay her trip to help serve at a Sunday service, playing the organ at a Sunday Bible meeting.

She had been on a boat with a group of artist friends travelling to a picnic at Niagara Falls just one week before. On the same boat was another group, headed to the Niagara-on-the-Lake Bible Conference. After a day of picnicking, wishing she had gone to the Bible Conference, the Bible class teacher, Henry O’Brien, bumped into Rosalind. She had played the organ for him at a recent meeting in Toronto. He was excited to see her and asked her to come to the conference the next week to play music, on the very day she was supposed to travel to England.

She had been praying about marriage, unsure if it was a path God would put her on, and she prayed the honest prayer: “God, if you want me to marry, lead me to a man wholly committed to you in your service.”

That very next week, in that same meeting was her future husband, looking ridiculous in a shabby suit in the large, square room with nothing but chairs and people who were present to hear the shabbily-dressed preacher preach. He brought fire, sharing that true blessing is not in what we keep but in how much we give. Jonathan challenged those gathered to let God be generous with them, to let God spend them, throw them, sow them into whatever field he would to raise up a great harvest.

Jonathan’s preaching helped to turn Rosalind’s heart away from the ambition of the artist’s life to the vocation of missions. But what jolted the young woman into the arms of Jonathan was an unexpected moment. He left his Bible on a chair not far from where she sat when he went up to preach. And she, caught up in the moment, took it.

It wasn’t like her to pry, but she snuck over to his seat and opened up his Bible. She found herself rifling through the pages of the old book. “Suddenly, I felt literally impelled to step across four or five people,” she writes, “take up the Bible and return to my seat. Rapidly I turned the leaves and found the Book worn almost to shreds in parts and marked from cover to cover. Closing the Book, I quickly returned it to the chair, and returning to my seat, I tried to look very innocent.”1

By the time she sat down, tucked her hands back in her lap and put her feet under her chair, in her heart she realized, “That is the man that I would like to marry.”

A missional meet-cute; a life-long ministry

I love that a wholesome love story for the ages, triggered by a relatable meet-cute (beautiful art student meets shabby, sincere preacher on a boat) became a ministry that impacted millions of lives.

What emerged is the stuff of history books. The Goforths went to China as missionaries.

• In 1920, Rosalind wrote a desperate plea to the world, a letter picked up by publications like the New York Times, that helped to save countless lives during a terrible famine in China. (I’ve written about her SOS Cry for China’s Millions here).

• Shockingly, before she helped to save so many lives, Rosalind and Jonathan barely escaped the violent Boxer Rebellion. Injured and within an inch of being mobbed to death, they fled back to Canada in 1900.

• The years in-between Rosalind’s act of courage to mobilize resources to the millions on the brink of starvation, were filled with much travel and faith.

• Jonathan, inspired by stories emerging from Wales of the Welsh revival in 1904, became a witness to the revival that spread through Korea in the early 1907. He shared the stories of heaven touching earth when he traveled through China in 1908.

• During an extended visit in Manchuria, revival broke out and reshaped his ministry into evangelism and revivalism. In meetings, supernatural power were often unleashed and people saw tongues of fire appear, felt and heard powerful roaring winds. Incurable diseases were healed, spontaneous restitutions occurred, and people were freed from addictions on the spot.2

Um, that was 120 years ago though, bro

You might be saying, “Wow Andrew! That's a great story, but notice how you had to go back 120 years to find an example of moral courage and clarity in Canada?”

It's a good call out.

I’ve written about the Goforths here in these digital pages before. Their story was a critical part of my research as I developed the stage play We Are the Body. I can’t seem to forget about them. I think they’re one of my favourite examples of past Canadians.

My point here is that revisiting old stories can really refresh us in the present. I like to revisit such stories because they remind me of my inheritance as a Canadian and as a Christian: who we have been; who we can be.

Old stories can renew and inspire us

Stories of faith and the faithful should be like that. Like items in our pantry we take out to snack on; stories that energize and nourish us.

This once-young couple would experience so much life together: raise children, tragically lose kids as they served, step near the brink of death themselves as they faced mobs, sickness, famine. They lived in what we would call poverty, giving up almost everything to serve God, and they’d bring back stories to Canadians of God’s faithfulness from the worn-out pages of the good Book and from their own experiences serving in China.

They are but one example of who Canadians are and what we have done. Certainly there are a million more. If you’re a bit demoralized about the state of the world, are asking yourself or telling others Canada is a lost and evil empire, remember the Goforths as a counterpoint.

Their faith rang clearly, like a church bell, in the noise and the uncertainty of their times. They faced unimaginable challenges as individuals and as a family. The word of their testimony and their selfless love changed the communities where they lived, from the inside out.

And it follows that yours can and will too.

More like this…

It's a big day. Canada’s Men's Olympic Hockey team plays the USA in the gold medal game.

Pastors nervously check their watches in hopes they can catch the whole game before services start.

The premiere of Ontario and the Governor of New York opened bars early so fans could watch (and drink 🤦🏻‍♂️🍻) at 6 am.

Two nations go head to head in politically charged times.

The GM of Canada’s Olympic team said it best: with every matched teams, it's anyone's game, but Hockey is the real winner today.

In lieu of a link round up, today I'm watching the game.

Go Canada!