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

Your input on the following Qs will help me shape content.

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

If you have 30 more seconds, please consider one last Q for now:

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

2 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!

Are you ready for the misinformation and deception overload? It’s coming.

We’re already in the midst of a strange time where reality is easily faked. AI mimics what is real in a time when humans already can't agree on the basics of things like biology let alone deeper questions of spiritual truth. Like Dallas Willard famously said, we don’t know our up from down. But it’s more than a psychological or spiritual struggle, it’s also becoming sensory.

This week, Nikita Bier, the head of product at X made the following prediction: “In less than 90 days, all channels that we thought were safe from spam & automation will be so flooded that they will no longer be usable in any functional sense: iMessage, phone calls, Gmail. And we will have no way to stop it.”

How do we prepare for the onslaught? A few thoughts.

1. Recognize that you’re already in it.

If you live any part of your life online—consuming news, communicating on platforms with friends, scrolling to find deals, searching for love on a dating app—you know it’s important to be careful about what you click, what you share, and who you share it with.

As individuals we’re so very much in need of discernment in ways that former generations did not require.

You can’t open a banking app without being warned that banks don’t call or ask for passwords. There’s a level of online security and scam-awareness that’s baked into everyday life. In the same way we know not to leave our bags laying around at airports, we have generic awareness that threats abound online.

If you’re online or talk with people who go online, you’re in the midst of an ongoing battle to discern, and you're barraged by truth, half truths and nothing but the untruths.

Remembering that matters.

2. Go to sources of truth and curate truth-telling relationships.

I was struck last week as I listened to the Bible while I ran on the treadmill at a hotel gym. A passage in Matthew’s gospel poked at me all week. John the Baptist sent disciples to ask Jesus a terrible, vulnerable question:

Remember, it was John who recognized Jesus as a child in his mother’s womb, leaping for joy when the two pregnant bellies of Elizabeth and Mary touched.

It was John who saw, along with the rest of the Israelites who came to the Jordan River, the Spirit descend like a dove to fall upon Jesus. It was John who submerged Jesus in the river, held his body beneath the surface of the water and raised him up in baptism.

John heard the booming, thunderous voice from Heaven declare, “This is my Son in whom I am well pleased.”

John’s entire life depended upon the coming of Christ; John’s entire life was centred around preparing the way for Jesus in the culture.

When he was imprisoned by the scoundrel Herod in the days before his political assassination and religious martyrdom, John listened to the scamming voices lying and throwing shade on the truth. The doubt, fear, disappointment, confusion, and isolation of the prison cell birthed a question that must have burned like an ulcer.

I’m so grateful for this story. What a gift to have it in the scriptures.

There will be times when we question what we know is true. Times when we will question what we’ve seen with our own eyes. Times when the voices of doubt and cynicism get over-amplified and our hopes or expectations are under-realized.

Times when we'll need a reset in the truth.

John knew enough to go to Jesus. He couldn’t physically, so he sent trusted friends who could ask the desperate question that his entire life and purpose—his very identity—hinged upon.

Don’t hesitate to go to Jesus. Even when you know you should know the answer.

3. Cultivate watchfulness and be on guard.

I don’t know about you, but returning to the simple truth, that big redemptive arc of history and the One at the centre of it, sort of clears the fog for me and puts things in perspective.

We live in a decadent culture. We tolerate pretty much anything. We’re comfortable to let people go to the great extremes of their desires, curated by algorithms, nurtured by clicks, enabled by echo chambers.

So much of what we're fed is slop. And it numbs us.

Jesus noted a progression later in Matthew that’s important for us to acknowledge. John wouldn’t be the only one who would question and need clarity about where to go to gut-check and pressure test his hopes.

The disciples would too. And so will anyone who would believe.

The most essential, important truths that shape us will be challenged by misinformation. And Matthew 23 and 24 lay that out. Go read it, it’s shocking.

The quick summary:

• People and institutions meant to care for and nurture spiritual truth and health will be untrustworthy, locking people out of the kingdom of heaven because they themselves are not in it.1

• People will come claiming to help and save us, and they’ll be convincing, but they’re actually deep fakes.

• There will be so many moments when it seems that the end of time is upon us. So much so, that people could almost be numbed to the possibility since the latest epic sign of trouble didn’t bring forth the inevitable apocalypse.

Sounds about right, doesn’t it?

And yet, we can have every confidence, even in these times.

What sweet news it is that we have a counsellor and advocate in the Holy Spirit. Discernment is essential and is a super power in these times. We’re so blessed that it’s part of the package as believers.

Perhaps the most comforting words of Christ came in the days before he left the disciples. Words they clung to when they needed him most: “When the Spirit of truth comes, he will guide you into all the truth, for he will not speak on his own but will speak whatever he hears, and he will declare to you the things that are to come” (John 16:13).

We are in the moment of need. A moment that calls for guidance into all truth. A moment where discerning what is true and right will be of critical importance so that we walk in the right pathways, through the right doors.

A deluge of misinformation and AI-automated spam is coming our way.

May we be ready for it. May we listen to and follow the true guide who can lead us through.

Here are three things that stood out this week and a poem that tracks the history of language from Babel to the upper room inJerusale.

Canadas Olympic fashion

What are we thinking about Canada’s Olympic uniforms? And more importantly, what was Lululemon, the designer, thinking?

The outfits created a stir this week as athletes around the world stepped onto sports’ biggest stage. Canada just so happened to step out in poofy shawls (that probably cost as much as the average family’s grocery budget).

Ok, I just checked $598 for a jacket, before tax… so, a few weeks of groceries 😀

Haiti wins the fashion prize. If you want to see how other nations got kitted out by fashion brands, here's a great overview.

What did you think of Canada’s outfits?

Leave a comment

$6 million ransom

The story of the abduction of Today Show host Savannah Guthrie’s 84 yr old mother's sounds like a movie, but is a tragedy unfolding in real time.

I was on the road this week so had a few flights during which I could listen to 3-hour podcasts, something I rarely, if ever, do. So, I downloaded Megyn Kelly's coverage of the story as she interviewed former FBI investigators who've worked some of the biggest crime investigations in recent years, asw well as reporters breaking the news.

There's so much about this story that is dramatic. What happened in the 41 minutes when Ms. Guthrie was alone in her home? Where are the cameras that were smashed upon entry and what did they record? Who was she playing Majohng with at church and who dropped her off after dinner on January 31?

Who would have known that she had a pacemaker and to disconnect it from her iPhone? The breaking news today is that the people who were claiming to have taken her want a $6 million ransom… but is it really them? Or is it scammers who are taking advantage of the situation?

True crime is fascinating and terrifying, especially as it unfolds. A big learning is to pay for the subscription to your doorbell cameras so the footage is saved in the cloud.

Pray for the family! I hope she's alive and is returned to her loved ones.

Photos can change the world

I didn't expect this. To reconnect with the first story I helped bring to Canadians when I joined Compassion.

Karunia's sweet, strong spirit has shown through every photograph of her that I've seen, a story of courage and beauty. Since I saw that first photo, I've been impacted by her resilience in the small Indonesian village where the medical care and ongoing support she needed was expensive to access but made possible through the local church and generous supporters of Compassion International.

I didn't expect to hear the story behind the story this week as the talented photo journalist Vera Aurima shared how capturing this brave young girl over the years has also changed her.

And I didn't expect I'd have the honour to meet the woman who took the photo and walk in the Colorado cold with other photo journalists from around the world.

Compassion's work helps change the lives of millions of children around the world for the better. But it also changes me.

Poem

Two longer poems in two weeks. Can you handle it?

This week I shared a poem that traces language and the Spirit’s move from Babel to the upper room in Jerusalem.

It is one of my favourite poems I've ever written, and is a nod to the wordplay of the incomparable Canadian poet b.p. Nichol.

Want more poetry?

Buy Andrew a Coffee

poema is a Greek word that means fabric, product, creation, poetry.

It's the word the apostle Paul uses to describe us in Ephesians. You are God's poema, his workmanship.

This is deeply meaningful to me. And I think about it from time to time. One way was to write a poem about it.

I may be pushing my luck, but since my long poem about Solomon was so well received last week, I thought I'd share this longish poem inspired by that phrase.

I hope you find it playful and provoking.

~AK

POEMA 

Babel
tower
to
God
built
up
un
able
to 
defy
gravity
fell
to 
con
fusion
whole
families
separate
like
sentences
verb
tenses
by
punctuation
marks
a
semi
colon
splitting
their
ton;
gues
same
but
differ
ent
frag
ments
syn
tax
mixed
no
cent
ral
word
sy
stem
to 
speak
to
wer
to 
run
in
to
speak
vowels
to
shape
songs
to
share
they 
erect
ed
towers
of 
thought
with 
out
a
t
to 
cross
spoke
in
ton
gues
after
thought
babble
tongues
of
men
afterthought
he
thought,
though
and
fell
a
part
words
at
play
but
no
one
where
to
play
at
no
one
to
talk
to
mean
to
me
an
with

learn
t
languages
the
hard
way
em
pha
sis
with 
gestures
eyebrows
share
d
meaning
nod
ded
heads
ask
ed
when
does
a
word
mean
lost
the
imp
pulse
the
u
r
ge
for
poetry
tongues
hardened
with
large
words
eco
nomic
terms
force
d
to
wring
and
bend
and
twist
their
minds
for
one
move
able
couplet
coup
let
mad
e
reasons
as
best
they 
could
no
tower
to
run
into

Word
came
though,
this
time
t
cross
ed
though
t
unpleasant
un
think
able 
sink
able 
thoughts
un
thought
thought
then
thought
again
to
gain
new
subject
noun
verb
geist
ani
mate
Spirit,  
shy
at
the 
thought
of
know
ing
any 
name
but
Other
great
art
ist
of 
es
cape
leaving
trace
initiating
the 
chase
pull
ing
at
lungs
at
hard
end
tongues
suggest
ing
jest
ing
differ
ence
differ
ent
ess
ence
choosing
chosen
choice
de
fer
to
hold
frag
ments
of 
the 
wrecked
uni
verse
the 
forgotten
or
rotten
be
gotten
lung
gauge 
of 
lang
guage
taking
touch
ing
hold
ing 
those 
fall
en
pieces
left
as
rubble
dust
frag
ments
and
build
a
gain
a
habit
ation
new
habit
nation
a 
home
to
be
home
d
in


© Andrew Kooman

Like the long poems?

Here are three things that stood out this week and a long poem about one of the world's greatest, most tragic kings.

Man scales Taipei tower, I bravely watch

I finally built up the courage and watched Alex Honnold free climb the Taipei 101 skyscraper. We can all do hard things.

What an insane, incredible feat!

I’m so glad I didn’t know about the world-first attempt until after it was done and all the funny video recreations (grown men climbing their bannisters at home), recaps, and time lapses were released.

Many things stood out. One being that people gathered to watch it live. What a strange compulsion, this vicarious thrill seeking we have as humans. Everything about the event was risky. The wind, the pollution grease, the heights from which Honnold could fall. There was a ten-second delay in case the live event needed to be cut and Alex plunged to his death in front of the live crowd in-person and online.

Probably the best moment was when he stood on the edge of the building with his wife Sanni, also a climber, for a selfie after he’d summited the building. “Say hi to the kids,” she says as they wave to the camera.

If you haven’t yet, give it a watch. Here’s the trailer, which gives chills:

Also: Doesn’t Taipei look like an absolutely beautiful city? The wide shots made really miss Asia. Anyone else want to visit the city some day?

If I get a robot, will you let me live a little longer?

Maybe a little non-human help is the fix we need in Canadian healthcare.

Recently we’ve heard terrible stories of euthanasia out of control, claiming more victims that didn’t need to die—a young man who suffered from depression, an elderly woman who was euthanized against her will due to her husband’s “caregiver burnout”, an obese woman who no longer “had the will to live.”

Canada’s MAiD death toll continues to rise.

Maybe the Canadian health system should start ordering Optimus robots. This post went viral on X this week after Elon Musk weighed in on an AI-animation about his forthcoming bots that promise to change economies from the household up:

Doctors and others weighed in with outrage, noting that care should be community- and human-centred.

I don’t disagree. But I’d take a robot programmed to care over a doctor with a cocktail of propofol and rocuronium any day.

Pray for Iran

There's not much being reported about Iran. There’s an internet blackout as what seems like a revolution is taking place. And the crackdown on the people hitting the streets has been brutal.

The Guardian reports disappeared bodies, mass graves and 30,000 deaths.

Open Doors, which helps the persecuted church globally, reports:

Pray for Iran.

A poem

This week I shared a long poem for my Thursday article. Sometimes you gotta just break out into verse. January’s a long month, and it seemed fitting to cap it off with a long poem.

Solomon’s reign went to the highest heights. And then he fell. He climbed to the sky, but didn’t stay there, exalted. All the wisdom and riches in the world couldn’t help him keep the covenant. He breached a promise he was meant to keep.

We watch his life like we watch the free climb, holding our breath.

We all are tempted to cross boundaries. Set off trip wires. This poem explores the tragic, human pull away from the promise. I hope you enjoy it and that it makes you think.

You can read the full poem here:

Buy Andrew a Coffee

Today it felt like the right time to share a long poem. Solomon crosses the Wadi Kidron unpacks a moment in the reign of David’s son that has always stood out to me.

His reign was filled with glory. The highest heights. He started so well. He ended so poorly. All the wisdom and riches in the world. But he broke a covenant, breached a promise he was meant to keep.

We all are tempted to cross boundaries. Set off trip wires. This poem explores the tragic, human pull away from the promise. I hope you enjoy it and that it makes you think.

~ AK

Solomon crosses the Wadi Kidron

it was no trick
nor was it impossible

none of it is ever easy, child
none

you must understand an old story first

when David was king
Absalom his son turned against him
he was a beautiful son 
but he had the curse

he went into his father’s lovers,
his wives and concubines,
defiantly
before all the people he did it
without hiding and
claimed to be king

David, in humility and fear fled
unwilling to go to war
against a beloved son
heartbroken by the knowledge of his own sin
the seeds from his own life planted
whose fruit would be
rebellion in his own house

on the way to a safe place 
Shimei the son of Gera
who belonged to the house of Saul
the man David replaced as king 
(for David waited for the Lord 
and Saul did not)
Shimei came at David running
stones and curses in his hand
shamed the king with 
murderer, scoundrel!
named him a man of blood

David, the man of blood,
did not put his hand to his sword 
but left the words
in the hands of God

When Solomon was made king
it was left to him to cleanse the kingdom
and avenge his father’s house

Build yourself a house in Jerusalem
live there
and do not go out from there to any place whatever
For on the day you go out, and cross the Wadi Kidron
know for certain that you shall die
your blood shall be on your own head
Solomon said to Shimei
and Shimei agreed the sentence was fair

Not three years later
Shimei saddled his donkey and went to Achish in Gath
the king to whom some of his slaves ran

Solomon summoned Shimei
when he learned of his trip

Did I not make you swear by the Lord?

and so Shimei died, for he did not keep the word
he had sworn to keep
the word he knew would preserve his life

you see, child
Solomon’s story is Shimei’s
if you pare away the flesh and look at the heart of it
the circumstances are different, but
for Solomon, the same basic transgression occurred
his was not the Wadi Kidron crossed
but another boundary he knew well defined

like Shimei, he was given a house
in Jerusalem
but his mind wandered
and then his heart
to Achish in Gath and then beyond
after lovers

Love is as strong as death
passion as fierce as the grave, it’s true
its flashes are flashes of fire
a raging flame

these were the commands he was asked to keep
his boundary lines:
be strong, be courageous
keep the law
be faithful in your heart and in your soul

Solomon!

he began his reign
with proof he could navigate
the treacherous territory 
of the throne
showing mercy to Adonijah the rebellious
but wisely killed him for his deceitful scheme

you see, Adonijah, like Saul who sought to establish
his own kingdom and did not follow God with his heart, 
purposed to marry Abishag, King David’s virgin wife in his old age
Solomon made the difficult decision to keep the 
kingly line pure
by killing the brother who meant to supplant him, 
God’s chosen ruler

but he was not perfect from the start
his first marriage was to the daughter of Pharaoh of Egypt
a marriage alliance between a promising country
and a great one
two nations with a history
made ties that were never to be made:

he must not acquire many horses for himself
or return the people to Egypt in order to acquire more horses
since the Lord has said to you, 
‘you must never return that way
again.’

if Solomon was not to look to Egypt for wealth
could he look there for wives?

but 
Solomon loved the Lord
and walked in the ways of his father David
for a time
only he sacrificed and offered incense at the high places

at Gibeon, the highest
place

elaborate sacrifice

a thousand burnt offerings on that altar

Solomon knew he was sinning
This deviant nature in all of us 
accelerating 
beyond him already
so early in his kingship

the standard to live up to so high:
God’s law
and, the amazing 
though imperfect example 
of his father David.

already two strikes against him 
(the Egyptian alliance and the high places)

what did he try to do?

look at his beautiful heart 
Solomon loved the Lord
wanted to honour God
to be clean

and yet he could not escape his sinfulness, 
could not subvert his ability to morally fail
Though he wanted to be clean, he sought cleansing at the wrong altar,
at Gibeon the high place:

If anyone of the house of Israel
slaughters an ox or a lamb or a goat in the camp
or slaughters it outside the camp
and does not bring it to the entrance of the tent of meeting
to present it as an offering to the Lord before the tabernacle of the Lord
he shall be held guilty of bloodshed
he has shed blood and he shall be cut off from the people

damning evidence

and what did God do?

he appeared to Solomon at Gibeon
in a dream of the night

ask what I should give you

his only words
no stipulations
no strings

You have shown great and
steadfast love to you servant my father David
because he walked before you in faithfulness
righteousness
in uprightness of heart toward you
and you have kept for him this great and
steadfast love
and have given him a son to sit on his throne today

God and man at play

You have made your servant king
in place of my father
though I am only a little child
I do not know how to go out or come in
and your servant is in the midst of a people so numerous they cannot be numbered or counted

give understanding,
discernment so that I might rule

wish and command

It pleased the Lord that Solomon had asked this
‘Because you have asked this
and have not asked for yourself long life or riches, or for the life of your enemies
but for understanding to discern what is right
I give you a discerning mind;
no one like you has been before or will ever be
I give you also what you have not asked
both honour and riches all your life
no other king shall compare to you

If you will walk in my ways,
keeping my statutes and my commandments as your father David
then I will lengthen your life’

child do you see that Solomon, though he pleased God by his request
did not do the one deed required of him that set him up, morally, for life?
he must continue in a path of obedience
stay in the city of Jerusalem, the house of God
and not wander beyond the Wadi Kidron 

Then Solomon awoke; it had been a dream

He came to Jerusalem 
stood before the ark of the covenant of the Lord
He offered up burnt offerings and offerings of well-being

the law named Solomon a shedder of blood, guilty of great sin
the punishment:
banishment from his people

but there was love behind the law
and grace, too

God is reckless,
child 
foolish even
his kindness could backfire
could, potentially,
reinforce already rotten behavior

the risk of grace

when God could throttle you
leave you to lie in a pool of your
own blood
he shows kindness instead

ask what I should give you

a command, not a
question

he appears to Solomon at his most helpless
at night
in his sleep 
when he’s no longer hard at work
at his sin-control

appears to Solomon at night
to test him,
reveal to Solomon what really
is in his heart

the encounter with God sets Solomon on the right path
he does not play the fault finder  
tests and reveals, 
changes the heart 

shows the king he does not require perfection
but obedience

a narrow but solid line to walk upon

It’s your kindness, Lord, that brings us to repentance

Somehow in the exchange, Solomon does not become defensive
knows enough about God to not shy at admitting 
he needs practical help 
to govern his kingdom 
and his own heart    

I am only a child
and suddenly the multitudes look to me 

at Gibeon
Solomon learned that 
in light of God’s character
it is safe to be honest 
about who you are 
and what you need

yet Solomon’s path is Shimei’s, 
for we know the rest of his story

like Shimei who stayed within the boundary
of the king’s word for three years
Solomon kept God’s law for a time
but then his heart wandered 
far, far from Jerusalem

far from home

Solomon’s path, child, is our own 

like him
we try to appease God 
confess our sin
but in the very act of asking for mercy
we do it from an offensive high place 
at the wrong altar 

we think of a God who is not pleased with us,
we fear God’s reaction
in asking for mercy, we fear he won’t be merciful
and in so doing 
misrepresent the very name we must depend on 
in order to be forgiven 

how many sacrifices we offer to God to cover up our sin

a thousand burnt offerings

it can all seem like a dream, child
a frightening vision in the night

when it does,
remember this:

God appeared to us
not in a dream
but in world history, 
said:

ask and it will be given to you
seek first the kingdom
and all these things will be added to you as well

a test of the heart  
no trick, 

no

King Solomon loved many foreign women
along with the daughter of Pharaoh:
Moabite, 
Ammonite, 
Edomite, 
Sidonian, and
Hittite women
from the nations concerning which the Lord had said to the Israelites:

‘You shall not enter into marriage with them, 
neither shall they with you;
for they will surely incline your heart to follow their gods’

Solomon clung to these in love
seven hundred princesses and three hundred concubines

crawled after them
flesh bent with desire
body hungry for their love

When Solomon was old
his wives turned away his heart 
after other gods
and his heart was not true
to the Lord
his God
as was the heart of his father David

Solomon built a high place for all his foreign wives
who offered incense 
and sacrificed at these high places
to their gods:
	Astarte the goddess of the Sidonians
Milcom the abomination of the Ammonites
Chemosh the abomination of Moab
Molech the abomination of the Ammonites

when Solomon was old

do not grow old, my child

Then 
the Lord was angry with Solomon
his heart turned away from the Lord, the God of Israel
who had appeared to him twice
and had commanded him concerning this matter
that he should not follow other gods
but he did not observe what the Lord commanded

The Lord said to Solomon
‘Since this has been your mind and
you have not kept my covenant
I will surely tear the kingdom from you
and give it to your servant

Yet for the sake of your father
David
I will not do it in your lifetime
nor tear away the entire kingdom’

God is reckless
but no fool
a lover spurned,
his guts get turned inside
out, too

none of it is easy, child
none

You made it. If you read this far, thank you.

I hope you enjoyed the poem.

Let me know what you think!

Leave a comment

Here are three things that stood out this week and a poem.

Welcome to the coldest place on earth

Some cold Arctic air is hitting Canada and the US. I was receiving headlines and photos like the one above from US friends asking us if we’re alright. With rumours of “exploding trees” and travel carnage, everyone’s eyes seem to be on the weather.

I had a bit of fun posting shovelling videos online this week that people seemed to like. I normally walk with the kids and the dog to school, but we’ve been driving this week, so the quick, two-blade shovel technique has been some great cardio!

Full disclosure. I’ve shovelled snow in -50C1, so the cold snap here in south western Ontario is no comparison. However, I as a born-and-raised Alberta, I’m primed for cold, dry winters, and this wet cold out east just gets in my bones.

Anyone else out there take a sunny, -20C cold spell in Red Deer over a -5C cold snap in London? I would. Any day.

X’s $1 million article

If you brave opening social media these days, you're likely barraged by terrible news everywhere. It’s a fire hose of news stories, misinfo, and requires a lot of due diligence. The shield of faith, too, which it’s easy to forget to bring into the doomscrolling.

But there was some fun news recently too. If you’re American and you write, please go after this prize. X, formerly Twitter —do we still have to explain that?—announced a $1 million prize for the most viewed article as it launched the new longform product feature to all creators on the platform.

A 1,000 word essay delivers more than all the world's prestigious book-length prizes combined. (And nearly as much as Nobel, which is more about a body of work).

X’s prize is an eye-opener. It dwarfs the prestigious awards most authors dream about receiving, making the Booker, the Giller, and the Governor General (not listed above, but coming in at $25k) look like chump change.

Canadians don’t qualify, so, if you’re an American, I’m invested in your success. I wrote an article (to test out the new feature) about How to Write to Win, with five things to consider.

Wrapping Season One of The 49

I didn’t bring the content over to this newsletter much last year, but you may remember if you’ve been here awhile that last year I embarked on a creative endeavour. I wrote a new fiction series week-over-week.

It’s a supernatural thriller that takes place in the not-too-distant future. Paris has been wiped out by a suitcase nuke and billionaire fiefdoms emerge, walling off key corridors, they horde natural resources, live under a technocracy, and are kept in line by a violent game show. I fell in love with a few of the characters and can't wait to write more.

Last week I wrapped Season One of The 49. I’m so grateful for the readers who went on the adventure with me. I’ll add new content in 2026, but am changing the pace. Keep your eyes out for the book I’ll publish later this year that captures the narrative in one place.

But if you like fiction and enjoy a thrill, you don’t have to wait. You can start, catch up, or pick it up where you left it over at The 49.

The 49

Forty-Nine. The last President inaugurated in the US. The span of terrible days after the global comms black out when the world was reshaped. The number of strange supernatural phenomena that appear around the globe. Welcome to the world of The 49.

A poem

These are strange times. And, time, also, is strange. Here’s a poem about it for all you verse-lovers. (It's from my collection of poems during the pandemic).

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As I launch into my latest quest—studying up on the Holy Spirit to make the case that AI will never replace it, and this, despite the growing evidence showing that AI, social media, chatbot, and algorithm engagement is outpacing prayer as a daily habit—I, of course, am starting the journey where all such quests make sense to begin. The book of Acts.

The famous letter, written by the Greek physician Luke, has captured imaginations for thousands of years, including the year of our Lord 2026. It’s soon to become what some film insiders predict will the biggest faith-based film of all time, when it comes to theatres in two parts, as imagined by Mel Gibson, his follow up to the Passion of the Christ, the current top faith-based film. The project has taken the Hollywood star nearly eight years to write.

Like Mel, Luke took time to get things right. He compiled and notated for at least thirteen years when he became an official part of the narrative on Paul’s missionary journey to Europe (Acts 16:11, in 49 AD) and observed events first-hand until Paul’s imprisonment in Rome in 60 through 62 AD. The rest of his writing looks back more than fifty years to the origin story of John the Baptist.

His well-research books are, as G. Campbell Morgan notes, the work of a scientific mind and of an artist. These two elements, rarely combined, bring forth rich factual and poetic insights in his Gospel and in Acts:

When I consider Luke’s writing as the writings of a man of science, someone curious and attentive to the facts of the world, to the bodies, and the elements around him; when, also, I recognize how he is attuned to the beauty in the created world with its mysteries and peculiarities, his writings come alive for me in a new way.

There is intent in everything he puts down on the page. Which makes me ask questions. Like this one:

Is it okay to get mad at angels?

As I started to read Acts this week, I was struck by a phrase. Imagine first the scene that Luke sets up for us. Jesus has recently risen from the dead. Which, of course, was not only the best news of all time, but seemed completely impossible.

The emotional whiplash the disciples suffered as their grief and despair flowered into joy, as the resurrection reality threw them at breakneck speed from the doom of the kingdom of darkness into the victory of God’s kingdom of light, would have been intense.

Just as soon as he returned the disciples to hope, Jesus was gone again. This time raised up, not on a cross, but on a cloud. Up, up he went. And they were all left behind, locked down by earth’s gravity, staring at the sky.

It’s then that two men dressed in white appeared. Angels. Beings that typically look down from the clouds to the earthbound creatures they serve and protect. Their question perplexes, surprises, and disrupts the loaded human moment.

It’s like a record scratch over Handel’s Hallelujah Chorus and Leonard Cohen’s Hallelujah all at once.

Luke reports that they both said it.

Was it in synchronous monotone that they asked? Or did they both ask it, separately and, therefore, repeatedly. The author doesn’t say.

Perhaps it was the kind of jarring, unprompted, statement people make when they walk the condolence line at a funeral. The obvious, unexpected words we’ve all said that we wish we could take back, reel like a fish on the hook to pull back into the swamp of our mouths. Their loved one just died and, by rote, I asked “how are you doing?!”

Maybe the words were written down by God himself on a celestial tablet, sent to the angel barracks, rehearsed by the two messengers, delivered in perfect pitch, revealing just how strange and foreign the ways of God can be for us on land.

However they entered the world, the words cut through the silence and surprise of the disciples, and they disrupt us these thousands of years later:

Luke doesn’t record a verbal response from the disciples to the heaven-sent question.

They return to Jerusalem without a word. They hunker down, in prayer, following Jesus’ command which proceeded his miraculous ascension and the angels’ strange, disturbing dialogue.

What are we looking at?

I can’t help but notice that the disciples who had just been in the presence of Jesus were left to look at vapour. An empty cloud with no substance, no spirit, that held nothing but air.

Jerusalem was where they needed to be. Awaiting the gift. Seeking not an answer from the empty void, but waiting for the source of life to fill them.

The angels’ question, though seemingly insensitive or tone deaf at first, was the precise redirection the dumbfounded and overwhelmed friends needed: You’re looking at the wrong thing and you’re not in the right place.

Anyone relate?

AI will do everything for you, but you’ll still be stuck with yourself

Forgive me for tying an observation from scripture into the current cultural obsession with artificial intelligence. In my defence, this new series of writing was prompted by a theme, comparing the powers of the Holy Spirit to the powers of AI. So bear with me.

I can’t help but imagine those disciples, slack jawed and bewildered, staring at the sky. In a blink their first-century woollen robes and sandals are traded for our sneakers and jeans, and like them, we’re standing mouths agape, feeling left behind.

If you jump online and connect to the spirit of information, the ever-present internet, there’s a question underneath almost everything: a fear, a concern. People are unsettled, worried they will be left behind in their jobs, their relationships, with an out-dated skill set, because of artificial intelligence. With nothing to offer, nowhere to work and no outlet to share creative ideas which are all replaced so easily by machines, what will we all do?

Depends where you look

People are using AI to imagine everything, do all the tasks.

How keenly do you feel this? Sometimes I’m hit with a wave of concern that I’ll be the only Luddite who didn’t use an LLM to automate, generate, or implement some new digital system or product.

Just like I missed crypto (and didn’t pay close enough attention to truly comprehend block chain) I’m unsettled by the sense that I’ll be left in abject poverty while all the AI entrepreneurs generate billions and build the walled-off world where they’ll live in opulence. A place where I won’t be welcome except as the human slave to stand in for their robots when they have scheduled maintenance.

There is a consequential, generational, historic shift in the market and in tech. There really is. We need to adapt with it. Sure.

But where we look matters now more than ever. Where we look leads us down certain pathways. One on a path pursuing vibe-code glory, another, through the guidance of chatbot voices, to doom. Still another to the quiet place where Spirit gives purpose and power to people stunned and surprised by the events of their times. People not necessarily sure what to do.

Even if we successfully leverage AI in every way, have it do everything for us, we are still left with ourselves, our inner worlds. Faced with our reality of our smallness, we’ll always need somewhere to turn. And no prompt on earth or online cloud can sort that out for us.

I’m no angel, but can I ask the obvious, disruptive question:

What are you looking at?

Just start (waiting for God to answer):

All of us have big questions about our future. About the past. About deep things others may not know and certainly cannot see. These questions may leave us staring at the sky, jaws slack, unsure about what to do.

Today I encourage you to just start asking God about it. Wait for his gift of wisdom and counsel that he wants to release to you. Start reading Acts 1 and put yourself in the place of the disciples. Take the advice of angels. What happens when you do?

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