Month: November 2025

Here’s Where The Story Ends

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It’s incredible how a sound can release a flood of memories in your brain isn’t it? The same goes for smells. One whiff of cornbread, and I’m instantly back at Belfast Elementary School in Goldsboro, NC in that small yet somehow cavernous cafeteria, surrounded by all those children in a flurry of noise of shuffling sneakers and southern cooking smells. A twinge of anxiety begins to well up when I think about the conveyer belt that every child’s lunch tray was on, in order to keep the line moving. I was always afraid that somehow my tray would get away from me and I’d be lunchless, and worse yet–miss out on that cornbread, who’s smell triggered this memory in the first place.

The sounds I heard this morning were none other than The Sunday’s “Here’s Where The Story Ends”. Released in 1990, I’d admit–at least as I recal it–the song didn’t really hit my radar until I was in college the next year. I bet you’ve heard it. If not, give it a listen.

The song is reflective of a life that hasn’t quite turned out as expected. It’s a bittersweet song about disappointment, disillusionment, and the sense of feeling stuck. But it’s not a song that feels like a dead end, either. It strangely translates to a song of hope, as a chapter (albeit dim) is closed so that a new chapter might begin. And therein lies the thing I want to chat about with you this time.

The song resonated with that early 90’s crowd of young people much like it might today because the human experience is universal in that way. It’s relatable anytime there’s a sense (or need) of 1) letting go, 2) transition, 3) feeling a bit lost in young adulthood, 4) relational struggles, or 5) coming to grips with plans that didn’t materialize how we had hoped.

In case I haven’t said it clearly in the past, I’m a pastor. Specifically, I’m a pastor to young adults. The 18-30 year old age range is my daily existence. I’m striving continually to be a 50+ year old who lives a life of love, support, encouragement, empowerment, coaching, and doling of sherpa-like direction and wisdom to the younger generation. So yeah, that’s me. Hi. Nice to meet you.

As I was driving along on this morning’s commute, the radio DJs were discussing the top 3 topics to avoid at Thanksgiving this year. In first place was the one probably easiest to guess, given our current cultural climate: politics. Politics are the #1 thing to NOT talk about with family and friends this Thanksgiving season. Wanna guess #2? Go ahead. Guess.

It’s money. Don’t talk money and who’s making what this Thanksgiving. When I heard that, I was like “Who does that?” But if you show up to the parent’s house in that new car, or the spread is extravagant, or cousin Craig comes struts in ensconced in cashmere, or geez…I don’t know…what would trigger someone to talk about money in a way that’s offensive or troublemaking? Anyway, don’t do it. Money’s #2.

The third topic on the list of what not to talk about this Thanksgiving? You’ll never guess. It’s weight. What in the world? Who conducted this research? Who’s talking about weight on a day where we’re all trading forks for shovels? It’s national Elastic Waistband Day, for crying out loud. I can’t imagine a universe where a family sits down to collective swallow a metric ton of bird, sauces, and sugar when someone pipes up with, “Hey Laura, you lookin’ like you carrying a little extra this year. What’s up with that?”

So to recap the three things NOT to talk about this Thanksgiving…3rd: Weight, 2nd: Money, and 1st: Politics. Everybody clear on that? Okay good. Go forth and enjoy this special holiday, free from drama and trauma from bringing up those restricted topics.

But you wanna know what is missing from the top 3 things to not talk about? It’s something that’s historically been well established as something to not talk about. If you’re 40 or older, I bet you know what it is. You ready for the reveal? It’s “religion.”

Why is it signficant that it didn’t make the top 3 this year? Well because quite honestly, through other research, we know that our culture today is far more open to discuss spiritual matters than perhaps it ever has been. It’s one of the reasons I am, perhaps now more than ever, committed to engaging with and encouraging this young generation in conversations of faith. I’ve said it approximately a million-bazillion times over the years: who you are spiritually is who you are period. So when we get to the level of spiritual conversation, we’re getting as real as humans can get.

So I offer to you some questions that might stoke some good, quality, deeper, helpful, healthy conversations; not so much about “religion”, but moreso about faith, life, purpose, who God actually is, and what He’s actually like.

  • What’s something from this past year that has made you quietly grateful?
  • When you think back on your life, who helped shape your faith the most?
  • What’s a tradition—faith-related or not—that you still love and why?
  • What’s a truth or verse that’s encouraged you this season?
  • Where have you seen God at work in someone else’s life this year?
  • What’s something you’ve learned about yourself or about God recently?
  • What’s one thing you’re grateful for that you didn’t expect at the start of the year?


Who knows? Maybe through some good conversation around that stuffed bird this November, we might start a whole new story in our families and among our friends? Maybe in the years to come, the smell of cornbread and stuffing might trigger that one Thanksgiving where talking about faith and a more redemptive way became the new norm for us.

Death Becomes Us

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I was just driving along with my youngest son down a winding road lined with woods on either side, and said, “I’m so glad we live in a place where we get to see the colors of changing leaves during the fall season.” It’s nature doing what nature does. I really do love the transformation that death brings us. It’s inescapable: death is beautiful. Each leaf you see falling to the ground is a seconds-long funeral service you’re witnessing as it passes from one reality to another.

The varied and vibrant colors of the leaves are brought about by the decrease and eventual shut-off of chlorophyll, the thing that makes leaves green through photosynthesis (the feeding process of trees and plants). As temperatures drop, the tree is actually cutting off water and nutrients to its leaves in preparation for going into the non-food-producing season. That’s when the other chemicals present in the leaf, like carotenoids, anthocyanins, and tannins, get to show their colors–the yellows, the shades of orange, the purples, the reds, and all the variations of those colors, albeit for a brief but brilliant display.

At the base of each leaf, the tree actually seals itself shut, and the leaf eventually browns, oranges, purples, and yellows…and falls away. That’s when we get to see the cascading leaves making their final journey to the ground below.

It’s all breathtakingly beautiful. As we revel in it with our pumpkin spiced whatevers, and our chunky sweaters, and our wool socks, and our folksy acoustic music playlists that create just the right vibe, it’s actually death that we’re revelling in.

I was reading in the scriptures this morning, and I was reminded of the beauty of death in Paul’s words to the church in Galatia in the first century: “I have been crucified with Christ and I no longer live, but Christ lives in me. The life I now live in the body, I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me.” (Gal. 2:20)

In other words, Paul has declared his own death. His own cutting off of that system that would feed his flesh and usher in the transformation into beautiful and vibrant color for the remainder of this brief period of time called life. In a very real sense, as we watch those leaves falling around us, we are watching a wonderful symbolism of a life born into Christ, the accompanying death to self that must happen, and the transformation from death to glory that losing ourselves in Christ brings about.

May we join those leaves in their vibrant death. May we consider ourselves as dead to ourselves and alive only to Christ, finding our beauty, purpose, and life in Christ alone. May our lives be a brilliant display of grace as we make the slow, wind-swept journey homeward.