Each month, I send out four bookmarks—Scripture-filled, thoughtfully designed, ready to be used however the Lord leads. You might tuck one into a card, pass one to a friend, leave one behind somewhere, or keep them close for your own quiet time and Scripture memory.

Next time you are relaxing in your living room or standing in your kitchen, just look up and ask yourself: What is holding up my roof? Unless you are married to a construction man like I am, or you have ever walked through a building project while it was still in progress, you may never stop to think about the structure above your ceiling. But believe me when I say, it is what is unseen above the ceiling and beneath the roof that matters most. Whether you live in a single-fam

As we travel in ministry, we often have the opportunity to stay in bedrooms belonging to friends we’ve just met. We stay in motel rooms. We stay in cabins at camps where we’ve helped build. During one six-month stretch, I counted seventeen different beds we had slept in—each with a bathroom we had to search for in the middle of the night.

Over the years, I have come to deeply appreciate the quiet faith of the tradesman. The man who may not say much in a crowd but whose hands tell a story of skill, patience, and steady work.

It was a call from dear friends we met more than ten years ago at the very first church Ken and I ever helped build. Hearing their voices again brought back memories of dusty workdays, shared meals, laughter around folding tables, and prayers whispered together in the middle of long days of serving.

Many of us are standing at a place where we’re looking both backward and forward at the same time. Looking back, we wonder if what we gave was enough—enough faith, enough obedience, enough courage. Looking forward, we see a season that feels unfamiliar. We know God still calls, but we quietly ask, “What could He possibly have left for me now?” I’ve asked those questions myself.