You exist in God’s image.
Make the picture clear.

When I first opened my Christian counseling office, I knew I didn't want it to look sterile and cold like a 1960s doctor's office. I wanted it to breathe—to tell stories. I wanted every corner to remind people of restoration, resilience, and redemption. But I didn't expect a broken-down fence to become my deco centerpiece.

There's something about stepping out onto a limb that gets your heart racing. The ground is far below—the limb creaks. You question your sanity, your balance, and your choice of footwear. But it's out on that limb—suspended between comfort and catastrophe—where faith becomes more than a feeling. It becomes a classroom.

No. There is no "typo" in the title. I am being very intentional and "specific" about us being "Pacific."

In 1519, Portuguese explorer Ferdinand Magellan set sail on one of the most daring voyages in maritime history. Commissioned by Spain to find a westward route to the Spice Islands, Magellan's journey took him through treacherous waters, uncharted lands, and mutinous crews. But in November of 1520, after enduring the perilous straits at the southern tip of South America, his battered fleet entered a vast, unknown body of water.

I think it was the fourth grade when Attention Deficit Disorder discovered me. About that time, I realized I could travel anywhere in the universe without restrictions. While this didn't help much in fourth-grade academics, it did allow me to explore the world without leaving my wooden unpadded school chair. Through the gateway of boredom, I stumbled into the wonderful world of daydreams. I could now travel to the moon because I had found "outer space" — a realm beyond the normal, physical, and tangible — indescribable yet explorable.

The other day, I had a FaceTime call with my youngest granddaughter. As soon as I picked up the phone, she excitedly blurted out, "Hey Pop's, I have some stickers that won't stick!" Now, this may sound odd for a four-year-old to say, but in her little mind, it didn't make sense. Stickers are supposed to stick, right? That's the whole point of them! Yet, here she was, puzzled and frustrated because the stickers just wouldn't do their job.

On the canvas of life, amidst the prevailing monotony of gray, there exist moments when splashes of color grace the walls that confine us. These walls of gray are not merely physical barriers but encompass the boundaries imposed by circumstances, the echoes of past failures, the insinuations of a subculture, and the silent expectations of society. They are the subtle whispers of doubt that linger behind the curtains, in the backstage of our minds. These walls represent the mass of inherited limitations and cast an intimidating shadow that babbles - "Here you go again."