Join me on a porch swing in late spring,

where the peepers chirp

and the dog’s tags softly jingle

against the wooden boards.

An afghan rests nearby

if the dusk turns cool,

as evening drifts in over the hills.

My father (a Pastor/Bishop by lot) and I often spoke this way, gently swaying through ancestors’ stories, childhood memories and hard truths. I invite you into that same conversation about belief, memory, and what must be brought to light.

Here you will find reflections upon belief, memories, and the cultural life of Plain-dressing communities - alongside the writings that name the generational and systemic harms of abuse kept silent for too long. I remain rooted in my Anabaptist faith, while learning to hold doctrine and law loosely, believing that faith is diminished when rules are gripped more tightly than compassion.