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Worth Your Time (Summer 2026)

worth your time

Happy summer to my readers! Below is a list of articles, books, movies, and videos that I’ve been collecting over the past several months. Let me know what you enjoy and any recommendations you have for me too.

Articles: 

The Unexpected Parenting Comfort of Ecclesiastes by Jen Wilkin 

This one spoke directly to the depths of my weary parenting soul: 

“We want to protect children from temptation and negative influence, but the task feels insurmountable. We can feel powerless, asked to sail through uncharted waters with monsters left and right. But in the middle of my parenting fears, the Lord brought to mind timeless help to serve as a compass: He reminded me about what does not change.

Did my children face unprecedented challenges with technology and social pressures? In one sense, yes. But on closer observation, these were old challenges with new wrappings. The Book of Ecclesiastes goes to great lengths to drive home the point that there is nothing new under the sun.”

America is Closing Its Elementary Schools, and No One Wants to Say Why by Anthony Bradley

I often wonder if we should be paying more attention to population decline (which is happening almost everywhere in the world except Africa) and what that will mean for the future of governments, missions, and the Church.

“Schools are closing in low-income urban districts where private school is not a realistic option for most families, in rural counties where no private alternative exists within driving distance, and in communities across the economic spectrum where the conversation about homeschooling has never meaningfully taken root. The closures are everywhere because the cause is everywhere.

The cause is a birth rate that has been declining since 2007, long before homeschooling became a culturally visible phenomenon. The United States fertility rate now sits at approximately 1.6 births per woman, well below the 2.1 replacement level required to maintain a stable population. Fewer births in 2007 meant fewer kindergarteners in 2012; fewer births in 2015 mean fewer third-graders today.”

Are Christian Artists Free to Ignore the Fall? by Ryan Currie

I’ve always been interested in Thomas Kinkade since I grew up near his hometown (my mom taught one of his kids) and watched in real time his spectacular rise to fame and equally devastating fall. I liked this article because it helped me to put words to why certain “Christian” books and movies leave me so dissatisfied. 

“But a Christian artist’s body of work should include depictions of both light and darkness—ultimately pointing beyond itself to the transcendent fullness of goodness, truth, and beauty. Thomas Kinkade’s life reminds us that art cannot save us. We cannot paint away the fall and the troubles in our lives. But we can look for (and create) art that points to the redemptive pattern of beauty.”

Is Christian Publishing Bad For the Church? by Tabitha McDuffee 

Since I’m in the process of publishing a book, this was a helpful and important series to read. “Once Christian publishers hitched their wagons to Facebook and Amazon, they were stuck. Wherever Facebook went, they had to go, too. So, as algorithms developed and existing social media platforms changed and new social media platforms emerged, publishers and authors were tossed about by the shifting winds.”

YouTube: 

Mark Wiens at Migrationology. We’ve known Mark’s family since he was in high school, when he was growing up as a ReachGlobal Africa MK. He’s now a popular travel food blogger, and we love his channel! He’s always so positive, fun, and informative, and I can give Johnny free rein to watch any of his videos.

Christus Victor by Getty Music. My current favorite Getty song on repeat. 

Black + Evangelical  This excellent documentary is one that I wish every white evangelical American would prioritize watching. Listening to other perspectives (especially those grounded in Scripture) is so valuable. 

Books:

Don’t Let’s Go to the Dogs Tonight: An African Childhood by Alexandra Fuller

This is a compelling memoir of a white girl who grew up in several African countries in what was essentially a colonialist family. I found the underlying historical narrative especially interesting, but also appreciated how Fuller examined the tension she experienced in her genuine love for Africa and Africans while growing up in a racist world. 

You Have a Calling: Finding Your Vocation in the True, Good, and Beautiful by Karen Swallow Prior

I read this book while writing my own and resonated with so much of it. “Every Christian is called to “full-time ministry,” regardless of who signs the paycheck (or even whether there is a paycheck).” I’ve written a whole chapter on this. Stay tuned. But meanwhile, read this one. 

The Air We Breathe: How We All Came to Believe in Freedom, Kindness, Progress, and Equality by Glen Scrivener

This is a truly fantastic book, and I recommend it to anyone–Christian or not–who wants a better understanding of ourselves and our culture. Here’s the premise: “If you’re a Westerner—whether you’ve stepped foot inside a church or not, whether you’ve clapped eyes on a Bible or not, whether you consider yourself an atheist, pagan or Jedi Knight—you are a goldfish, and Christianity is the water in which you swim.” I plan to write a post about this book–so more to come.

Nourished: Third Culture Kids and the Village They Need by Anna Danforth

If you are raising kids outside of your home culture, you need this book. It’s an incredible resource, meticulously researched, practical, and full of hope. 

Could This Be Home? by Brenda Metro

Along the same theme of third culture kids, my friend Brenda has written a wonderful book for kids who are transitioning to a new place. For any family heading towards a big move, you need this story for your kids. 

The Lemon Tree: An Arab, a Jew, and the Heart of the Middle East by Sandy Tolan

This is a true story about one house, two families, and that tiny piece of land in the Middle East that can’t seem to ever find peace. If you want to understand both sides of the story behind the Israeli/Palestinian conflict, you will deeply appreciate this book.

The Time of the Child by Niall Williams 

I’ve recently read several “Christian” novels which I can’t recommend here because they just felt trite, preachy, and shallow (see the Thomas Kinkade article above). In contrast, this novel felt incredibly Christian, even though I’m not sure the author shares my beliefs. This story has rich themes of a father agonizing over how to show love to his adult daughter, the otherworldly love we can experience for a baby (even one not our own), and most importantly, how vulnerability is what builds connection and community. I loved this story. 

This is not a fast read. It is slow and contemplative, but the writing is gorgeous. I often highlight beautiful sentences in books since I can only hope that someday I can create the same kind of art. In this book, I had to stop highlighting because there were so many beautiful sentences.

Movies:

Buy Now! The Shopping Conspiracy on Netflix: If you’ve read my writing for any length of time, you know I am continually burdened by American consumerism. As Christians, we must be aware of this and push back against it when we can. 

The Wild Robot: I never would have guessed that I would wildly sob through an animated movie about a robot and a baby goose, but here we are. As an adoptive mom who is launching children into the world, I have never felt more seen. 

Quotes:

“For I have accepted God’s idea of me, and my whole life is an offering back to Him of all that I am and all that He wants me to be.” – Elisabeth Elliot

Don’t Stress So Much About Creating Memories

Parents of little ones, you can relax. Your kids’ memories will not be what you expect.

We were at Disneyland, Josiah was five years old, and we were chatting as he held my hand. 

“Mommy, is it true that Disneyland is the happiest place on earth?” he asked me. 

“Oh, I don’t know,” I said. “I think that there are a lot of happy places. Like Chaza Mwamba [our favorite beach house in Tanzania].”

He thought about this for a moment and then decided, “I think the plane is the happiest place.”

I’m not sure I had learned the Required Parent Poker Face at this point in my parenting.

“The plane?” I sputtered.

The plane, for me, was probably the Least Happiest Place on Earth. Being locked in a metal tube for sixteen hours, thirty thousand feet above the earth, unable to sleep, is not my idea of fun.

“I get to watch so many movies,” Josiah explained. 

‘Tis true. Long-haul flights were the only time in my children’s lives when they got to watch as many movies as they wanted, pausing only to eat the endless snacks handed to them by smiling flight attendants. I suppose, for a five-year-old, this was the definition of a bliss even greater than Disneyland.

creating memories

In the summer of 2017, my parents took us to the awe-inspiring Zion National Park in Utah, where we rode bikes through valleys guarded by massive red-rock cliffs. My children’s memories of that trip? Playing Wiffle Ball in the sprinklers with Gil and playing four square with their grandparents at our Airbnb. They remember nothing about Zion.

To My Almost-Adult Kids: Don’t Be Afraid of These Three Words

almost-adult kids

Dear Almost-Adult Kids,

I know you think I worry too much. You look out into this adult world you are entering and see possibility and adventure. But I look out into the same world and see a myriad of landmines that seek to destroy my children. You dream about independence; I have nightmares about all the things I haven’t taught you yet. Trusting God with your independence is the hardest part of parenting so far. 

I try not to tell you about all my worries. But one fear that I want you to know about? I worry you will be afraid to say these three words:

I need help.

Pride might keep you from saying these words. After all, you’ve worked hard for your independence. You might feel like you’ve had to wrestle it away from us at times. You probably want to prove to the world, to me and Dad, and to yourself that you can think for yourself and make adult decisions. Asking for help could make you feel weak or like you’ve failed. 

Shame might keep you from saying these words. You might realize that you’ve blown it and now you’re in over your head. You might worry that you’ve disappointed us, that we taught you to do the opposite thing and now we’ll say “I told you so.” 

I need to own that. I know there have been times when I’ve been too strict or too overbearing or too micro-managing. I know I haven’t always trusted you when I should have. So I get that you might be reluctant to come to me for help, and that’s partly my fault. 

But, my beloved children, please hear me when I say that one thing I’ve learned the hard way is that asking for help isn’t a sign of weakness, it’s actually a sign of strength. I’m not talking about the whiny cry from a kid who doesn’t want to do his chores. I mean the kind that comes with maturity – recognizing your God-designed limits and God-intended interdependence. It’s what true wisdom looks like, and it’s a mark of humility. 

It’s okay to admit that you don’t know everything. It takes incredible strength of character to take responsibility for your mistakes. So when your first instinct is to shift blame, shove your sin under the rug, or blunder blindly through a decision, tell yourself that you do have another choice: You can ask for help.

Your dad and I will always be ready to help. But you’ve also got a whole community of people around you who will do the same: grandparents, youth pastors, teachers, coaches – so many people who love you! Never allow yourself to believe that you are alone in this world. 

And perhaps the main reason this is so important to me is because you will never grow in your relationship with God until you are willing to go to him for help. In fact, I would argue that you won’t really understand what salvation means until you find yourself on your face, desperate for help from God. Pride and shame will try to keep you away from him too. But if you want to find life that is truly life? That starts by asking for help. 

Don’t be afraid; God is with you. 

I love you more than you’ll ever know,

Mom

To My Sunshine

My dear Grace,

Raising you has been one of the greatest privileges of my life.

From the first day I laid eyes on you and you gave me your radiant smile, you have been sunshine in my life. Happy and fearless—that’s the way I would describe you from the time you were a baby. You sang “Amazing Grace” to an entire school full of kids when you were just two years old. Dad taught you to do backflips into the pool when you were three. You are always ready to jump into the next adventure with both feet.

But one of the most special things about you is your love for people. I don’t think I’ve ever met someone more people-oriented than you. When you were a toddler, I remember showing you the HOPAC school yearbook and being flabbergasted by how many names you knew of students and staff. As you grew up, whenever you met a new friend, you would always run into the kitchen and grandly announce, “I love [this person!] and I love her mom too!” I don’t know if you’ve ever met a person you didn’t like. God gave you the gift of loving others enthusiastically. 😊

The Mystery of Salvation: My Story of Doubt and Faith

I remember the indignation I felt over the miniature potted plant. 

I was eight years old, and it was Sunday School at the big Baptist church on the hill. The fluorescent lights flickered as we squirmed in our metal folding chairs while the teacher asked us to raise our hands if we wanted to invite Jesus into our hearts. She reminded us that every head was bowed and every eye was closed because, apparently, this was a secret decision. We peeked behind fingers laced in front of our eyes. 

A brown-haired girl was summoned behind the room divider and reappeared a few minutes later, surrounded by the approving gaze of the teachers. She seemed rather flippant for one who had just done something that required the rest of us to sit so solemnly with every-head-bowed-and-every-eye-closed.

I knew what had happened behind the room divider; the drill was familiar, even with only eight years under my belt. The teacher would have recited a prayer; the girl would have repeated it, and presto: Jesus was now in her heart. 

When the brown-haired girl emerged, she was holding a fake miniature potted plant: a prize, presumably, for raising her hand. Jealously flamed. I loved anything miniature, and I briefly contemplated raising my hand too. Yet I was caught in a conundrum: I had learned that you could only ask Jesus into your heart once, and I had already done so with my mother when I was five years old, right next to the record player that sat under the dining room window. There was nothing I could do to get myself that prize. I wondered, should this decision even warrant a prize? The unfairness planted itself as a memory.

By 12, my faith had grown with my shoe size. In Liberia, I was incubated in an extraordinary community of multicultural Christians. Why wouldn’t I want to align myself with their God? Every night, I sat on my bed and read five chapters of the Bible, framed by the old-fashioned brown-flowered wallpaper in my bedroom. I went straight through until I got bogged down in Isaiah and skipped to the New Testament. I wrote little notes with goals for myself on how to improve in one fruit of the Spirit each month. I cried when I prayed for my unsaved family members. 

I told my Dad I was ready to be baptized. In Liberia, the school gymnasium was also the church, representing the worst of times (P.E.) and the best of times (Psalty musicals). One Sunday, I stood outside that gymnasium while the cover was pulled off of the small concrete baptismal, and I stood in line in the red dust with several others. “Why do you want to be baptized?” the pastor asked me. “So that I can show the world I’m a Christian,” was my confident reply.

But yet, I had doubts. When did I actually become a Christian? I had no dramatic conversion story; I couldn’t remember not believing.  So was my faith legitimate? What else did I need to do? Fear of being Left Behind permeated my generation. How could I be sure I was in?  

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