Proverbs 31 is often read as an impossible standard — a portrait of perfection that leaves many feeling intimidated rather than inspired. Drawing on notes from a Summer School talk, this reflection explores Proverbs 31 as wisdom personified: not a checklist to complete, but a lifetime of character shaped by the fear of the Lord. Read alongside Revelation 19, the Proverbs 31 woman becomes a signpost, pointing beyond herself to Jesus — the true embodiment of God’s wisdom and beauty. This piece reflects on where strength comes from, why beauty matters, and how wisdom ultimately invites us to receive, reflect, and return our lives to God in Christ.

Wise leadership, Proverbs reminds us, is not about prominence or control, but about direction — whether our influence leads people closer to danger or closer to life. As I listened to today’s teaching at Summer School, I was struck by how seriously Scripture treats power and authority. Wherever there are people, there are power dynamics at play, and Proverbs offers wisdom not for eliminating power, but for using it well. These reflections are shaped by notes I took while listening — thoughts on humility, restraint, patience, and the quiet responsibility of leadership that serves others and creates space for them to flourish.

How we use our words matters. It’s a simple truth, but one that Scripture returns to again and again — and one that feels increasingly urgent in a world where words are often thrown out carelessly and then quickly dismissed. At CMS Summer School this morning, listening to teaching from Proverbs, I was struck again by just how much weight the Bible places on our speech. These are not polished conclusions, but notes and reflections that stayed with me: on the power of the tongue to give life or cause harm, on why our words matter because we image the God who speaks, and on how shaping our hearts around God’s word forms speech that reflects truth, grace, and love.

What does it mean to grow old well in a world that prizes youth, productivity, and self-sufficiency? Scripture offers a very different vision — one that sees ageing not as loss or decline, but as a gift woven deeply into the tapestry of God’s good purposes. In Proverbs 16–17, the language of grey hair as a “crown of splendour” is rooted not in mere longevity, but in the depth of relationships, character formed over time, and trust in the God who holds all of life in his hands. These are the notes and impressions that stayed with me from this morning’s Summer School teaching — reflections on ageing, family, character, and the beautiful complexity of lives shaped day by day by God’s faithful goodness.

These are reflections and notes from Day 2 of CMS Summer School, listening to Dan Wu teach on Proverbs and wise living. Sitting with themes of sloth, rest, idolatry, and zeal, this piece explores how wisdom exposes both our longing for blessing and the ways we fall short — and how Proverbs ultimately leads us to Jesus, God’s saving wisdom, who invites weary people into true rest.

At CMS Summer School, where my family and I have been coming for fourteen years, and we begin the year sitting in Proverbs and listening to Dan Wu reflect on wise living. These are not polished conclusions, but notes and reflections that are staying with me from my notes on the first session — wisdom is both simple and deep, trust that is harder than it sounds, and learning to receive God’s love and faithfulness before trying to reflect it to others. This piece is an invitation to slow down, listen, and consider what wise living might look like at the start of a new year.

As the year draws to a close, many of us find ourselves in that familiar — and often uncomfortable — space between looking back and looking forward. There’s gratitude for gifts received, relief for seasons that have ended, and perhaps a quiet weariness from all we have carried. Yet this boundary moment offers an invitation: to pause, not just to tally achievements and challenges, but to notice how God has been present in it all. This isn’t about polishing our stories or crafting resolutions; it’s about creating space to see with fresh eyes — to see grace, growth, loss, and hope — and above all, to notice where Jesus has walked with us through the ordinary and the profound.

In this Advent reflection, we explore a striking detail at the heart of the Christmas story: there was no room for Joseph and Mary in the inn. Rather than a story of outright rejection, this detail reveals how easily our lives can be so full—busy, crowded, preoccupied—that we unintentionally leave no space for Jesus to enter. Drawing on the familiar nativity narrative, this piece invites us to consider how we, too, might crowd Christ out not through hostility but through distraction and good-but-ultimate attachments. True welcome means more than adding Jesus to our schedules; it means making space in our hearts, priorities, and rhythms of life so that the Saviour—who comes quietly and humbly—can be truly received this Advent.

Who is Jesus when the world feels fractured, grief feels close, and hope feels fragile? Advent invites us to sit with this question—not as a theological exercise, but as a deeply human one. The Scriptures name Jesus in ways that seem to pull in opposite directions: Man of Sorrows, Prince of Peace, Lord of All. Titles shaped by suffering, tenderness, authority, and love.

This reflection explores how these names speak into our lived experience of pain, longing, and trust—and why the Jesus who suffers with us is also the one who brings peace and calls us to hope. In a season marked by both light and lament, what might it mean to turn toward Jesus as he truly is, rather than who we wish him to be?

In this Advent reflection, I share how a week derailed by a root canal unexpectedly opened a deeper question for me: I spend so much time preparing the spaces people will see, but how often do I prepare the inner space where God actually dwells? As I got the house ready for guests, I found myself thinking about the name Immanuel — God with us — and what it really means for God to be present not just around me, but within me. Advent invites me to slow down, clear the clutter of my heart, and make room for the One who comes close, not to judge the mess but to inhabit it with grace.

In a world where we often feel distant from God—confused, broken, unworthy—Jesus offers something breathtakingly simple (and yet deeply profound): mediation. He doesn’t just point us to God; He bridges the gap. As the “one Mediator,” He stands between our brokenness and God’s holiness, represents us before the Father, and invites us into close communion. Through His life, death, and resurrection, we don’t have to work our way up to God — He came down to meet us.

In this post, I explore one of the most surprising and beautifully raw titles given to Jesus: the Lamb of God. From John the Baptist’s first declaration to the soaring worship scenes in Revelation, the New Testament reveals a Lamb who is both gentle and powerful, sacrificial and victorious. This isn’t just theology—it’s an invitation to see God’s heart and let His self-giving love reshape our own lives, especially in this Advent season.

I’ve had twinkling lights all over my house lately — partly because it’s Advent, partly because they just make everything feel a little more hopeful. And every time I switch them on, I’m reminded of something deeper: the New Testament calls Jesus the Light of the world.

Not just a pretty glow, but the kind of light that pushes back real darkness — the fears, the heaviness, the things we don’t often talk about this time of year when things are supposed to be sparkly. This post is my attempt to sit with that for a moment: what it means that Jesus is the Light who meets us right where we are.

I was in the dentist’s chair today (never my favourite place), and all I could think was: surely there has to be a world where things don’t decay or break down. And honestly? That little moment of longing pointed me straight to Jesus. The New Testament calls Him our Redeemer — the One who steps into the mess, pays the cost we can’t, and starts restoring what’s worn-out in us and in the world. That’s the hope I’m holding onto: the Redeemer really is making all things new.

Each Advent we return to familiar words about hope, light, and promise. But beneath the beauty of the season sits a bold and often-contested claim at the heart of Christian faith: that Jesus is the Son of God.

For some, the phrase feels comforting and ordinary; for others, it raises questions or skepticism. What does it really mean? Why did it matter so much to the first Christians — and why does it still matter now?

In this post, I invite you to pause with that ancient name, step back into the story of Scripture, and rediscover why the claim that Jesus is the Son of God continues to challenge, unsettle, and offer hope today.

Explore the “I Am” statements of Jesus through an Advent lens. Discover how Christ meets us where we are, reveals God’s presence, and enters our world in vulnerability. A reflective guide for slowing down, noticing God-with-us, and reminding us of Jesus’s sovereignty.

Calling Jesus “the Word” means God has chosen to reveal Himself not through ideas but through a person. In Jesus, God speaks, creates, heals, and draws near with clarity and compassion. This article reflects on how Christ makes God known in tangible, personal ways—and offers thoughtful questions for Christians and those exploring faith to consider what it means to receive the Word today.