Keri Wyatt Kent's Blog

The following originally appeared in my newsletter, Welcoming and Wandering. Click to read and subscribe for free.

In these vitriolic and violent times, we feel lost. Spiritually adrift. Uncertain. Maybe even afraid.

Fear closes us down, keeps us from welcoming. Keeps us from listening, which is of course an essential part of welcoming. (Want more on listening as a spiritual practice? My book Listen guides you in listening to God and others.)

We may feel a sense of outrage—and then, another wave of indignation that others are not outraged by the same things we are.

We are tempted to retreat, to talk only to those who agree with us. But how can we welcome those with whom we disagree? How can we listen, rather than just wait for our turn to argue? (I’m honestly asking because right now, this is hard for me.)

Photo by Ketut Subiyanto: https://www.pexels.com

What would it look like to have a generous conversation with someone you disagree with? To sit down over a cup of coffee and just listen? I’m literally asking, because I’m having a lot of conversations these days, with folks who see things differently. Almost as if they’ve been living in a different world, with different newsfeeds and narratives shaping their opinions and even their souls.

The practice of hospitality, of welcome, requires a certain level of generosity. If you welcome someone for a meal, or to stay with you, or even just a cup of coffee, your hospitality is (or should be) imbued with generosity.

But fear doesn’t just keep us from welcoming. It hinders any kind of generosity, including the generosity of welcome.

Photo by Jessica Lewis thepaintedsquare: https://www.pexels.com

If someone offers you a meal or a place to stay, but does so grudgingly or out of obligation, you will likely feel unwelcomed.

I was lying awake last night thinking about this, and the phrase “practice generosity with free hearts” came to mind. It sounded biblical so I did some sleuthing but couldn’t find that exact phrase in the bible.

Yes, the bible says we should give cheerfully, in fact, that God loves cheerful givers. Deuteronomy 15:10 says “Give generously to them and do so without a grudging heart; then because of this the Lord your God will bless you in all your work and in everything you put your hand to.” (The “them” in this text refers to the poor.)

So “practice generosity with free hearts” is the positive way to say what Deuteronomy 15 instructs us to do. While generosity in this case was about resources—food or money or whatever folks in Moses’s time had to share with others—but generosity goes beyond physical resources. It might be about how much kindness we’re willing to share. Notice that the verse doesn’t say “God will bless you so you don’t have to work,” but rather, “God will bless you in all your work.”

And what if the work we must do (much as I don’t want to) is to give my love and attention and space without “a grudging heart”?

What are “free hearts” except those free from holding a grudge?

We cannot practice generosity and hospitality without a commitment to also practice listening—deep, soul level listening. To hear and respond not just to a person’s words, but to the pain or misunderstanding or wounds behind the words.

Could it be that generosity frees our hearts? Frees them from fear, from anger, from vitriol? Frees them to expand, grow, extend hospitality to not just those who we know or agree with, but even those we don’t know or don’t agree with.

The context for this ancient wisdom is the practice of Jubilee, where debts were cancelled every seven years (or were supposed to be). God, through Moses, was setting up rules for the nation of Israel to live by.

“If anyone is poor among your fellow Israelites in any of the towns of the land the Lord your God is giving you, do not be hardhearted or tightfisted toward them. Rather, be openhanded and freely lend them whatever they need.” (Deuteronomy 15:7-8)

Generosity is a choice that comes with a promise of blessing. I think this doesn’t necessarily mean that generosity is a path to wealth, but it might be the secret to contentment.

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The post Generosity in a time of outrage appeared first on Keri Wyatt Kent.

A father to the fatherless, a defender of widows,
is God in his holy dwelling.
God sets the lonely in families (Psalm 68: 5-6)

This Sunday is Father’s Day.

I’m very lucky to still have my dad around. He’s awesome. At 86, he works out six days a week, and volunteers all over the place. He and my mom got to be at my son’s recent wedding. What a gift, to have three generations celebrating together.

[image error]On Father’s Day, I honor my dad, who is kind, generous, wise, fun. He loves me well and always has. I know I’m lucky to have amazing parents.

Mom, Dad and I in Oakhurst, CA, the “carved bear capital of the world.”

But on Father’s Day, I also think of those who are fatherless. I think of this verse. Is God a father to the fatherless? Does God defend widows? The metaphor of a father evokes thoughts of a protector, provider, advocate. It seems in our world today, there are a lot of widows and orphans and lonely people who need all of that.

I noted that this verse also says, “God sets the lonely in families.” The footnote in the NIV says this phrase can also be translated “he sets the desolate in a homeland.” Wow. It’s almost like God cares about immigrants, refugees, and safe resettlement.

Two things: this reminds us of the subjectivity of translation, and just how fraught interpretation of an ancient text in another language can be. Is this poetry, written more than 3000 years ago, simply a metaphor for spiritual belonging? Or is it an invitation to provide practical help to the poor? (In the ancient world, being a widow or fatherless meant you were destitute.)

Or—what if—helping the poor a way to experience spiritual belonging? What if this verse is not just a “thoughts and prayers” kind of thing, but an invitation for us to partner with God in welcoming?

How do you experience the love of God? Maybe it’s just a warm feeling in your heart. Maybe you feel God’s loving presence when you’re in a beautiful setting, admiring the splendor of creation. Maybe the words of Scripture or a worship song move you in a way that feels like love.

But I would bet that you feel loved when someone, another human being, treats you with love. What if God flows love through people, and what if the kindness of others (even if they are unaware of it) ultimately comes from God?

And—radical thought, but stay with me—what if we experience God’s presence when we love others? Especially those who are lonely, i.e. separated from love?

I have to say, this has been my experience. When I welcome others, when I include the lonely and offer kindness and hospitality to those in need, When I come alongside people in need, I am mysteriously filled with a satisfying feeling. In giving, I receive.

The Bible also invites us to love our neighbors as ourselves. What would that look like?  What if this ancient poem from the Psalms tells us what God is like, but also invites us to imitate God? To be the hands and feet of divine love?

What if this weekend, when we honor fathers, we also remember the fatherless? Those who have lost their fathers or never really knew them. Those who suffer the pain of abandonment or loneliness.

How can you welcome the fatherless and the widow? How can you set the lonely in families?

You likely know someone who is “fatherless.” Perhaps their dad has passed away. Or they are estranged from their father for any number of reasons. Or maybe their dad abandoned them long ago. What if you welcomed that person—by sharing a meal, or even just sending an encouraging text or phone call?

Maybe you are fatherless. Maybe there is a wound that this weekend pokes at. But what if the way to ease that pain is to welcome others? To let love flow through you?

P.S. Want to get posts like this in your inbox each week? Subscribe to the Welcoming and Wandering Substack –it’s free!

The post A father to the fatherless appeared first on Keri Wyatt Kent.

When learning, say, the piano, students typically take lessons from someone who knows not only how to play, but how to teach. Then, they practice. A lot. At first it may not be impressive: scales, simple melodies. Fingers on the keys, moving and working. Making mistakes, trying again. An aspiring pianist will play for their instructor, who provides feedback on what they are doing right, and what needs improvement.

And rinse and repeat. The aspiring musician does not become a virtuoso overnight. They are dedicated to their craft. They receive instruction, and practice. It’s simple, but not easy.

Aspiring pianists also listen to music. Hearing masterful music develops their ear and their understanding of what music should sound like. They develop an ear not just by playing, but by hearing. By listening critically.

In much the same way, a writer can develop their skills by receiving instruction and feedback, practicing, and listening.

As I coach writers, they often ask me “How?”

This query surfaces frequently as we discuss improving their writing. (Of course, they also ask “how can I get published?” –a question that must be preceded by the former questions.)

How, for example, does one make a paragraph more concise? Which words to eliminate? Which sentences to strike? How does one ferret out the passive voice, the overuse of “to be” verbs? What happens if you cut too close to the bone?

How do you discover strong verbs, clear sentence structure? How do you organize your ideas into a logical sequence? How do you decide what to include in your book, and more importantly, what to leave out?

How does a writer get better, is what they are really asking.

The path to improvement is much the same as other fields: instruction and practice.

Which means, of course, you must begin by facing your fears. If you want to get better, you must become a student of writing. You must invite someone who knows more about writing to read and edit your work. (Which terrifies some writers.) You must learn what good writing looks and feels like.

A lot of aspiring writers find this an inconvenient truth.

Writing is one of the few endeavors that people think they can just do without training, feedback, or practice. Rookies believe they can just write. After all, they write emails. They read books. How hard could it be?

If you decided one day to be a mechanical engineer or brain surgeon or a plumber, you wouldn’t just start doing it and hope for the best. You’d learn skills, then practice them. For years. You’d need someone to teach you and guide you. You’d seek out instruction, then practice what you learn.

How can you become a better writer? Write every day. Read every day. But also, find a writing teacher or mentor. Hire an editor. Learn from people who know more than you about the craft of writing.

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First: read good books. Classics. Pulitzer or Newberry winners. Read a variety of well-constructed novels or nonfiction. Read a variety of genres, but especially the genre you want to write. Go to school on these books. Notice the way authors choose their words, turn their phrases. Notice the pacing that certain words create. Read slowly, get curious. What does the author do and how do they do it?

Second: read your own work out loud. This is a simple yet powerful hack that will shine light on your writing, forcing you to hear, rather than simply skim over, your own mistakes. Does your writing flow? Does it keep the reader engaged? Reading aloud will help you to answer those questions.

Third: read books about writing. I’ve got a list of a few good ones here.

The classic Strunk & White’s Elements of Style provides mini-masterclass on good writing. Two of their non-negotiable rules: eliminate needless words, and avoid passive voice. Both will take you far in your efforts to improve your writing.

An important caveat: do not try to be concise or refined or even smart on the first pass. Let your first draft be wordy, messy, verbose, full of whatever run on thoughts and overindulgences you wish.

Your finished draft is made of gems, arranged just so, highly polished. But those gems are buried in dirt and wordiness of your first draft, and you must simply scoop shovelfuls onto the page, as if spreading the contents of a dusty box onto a table. Slowly, you’ll brush away the dust and detritus, then select and polish the gems. But start with ideas, tangents, non sequiturs. Hold all of it loosely, because much of it will be swept aside. But the only way to find the treasure is to start with the dirt.

So the answer to “How?” is simple, but not easy. Sign up for a writing class at your local community college. Join a writers’ group dedicated to honest critique. Hire a writing coach to give you feedback that will show you how to improve your writing, one paragraph at a time.

And then, write. Write every day. Read. Read every day. Let others read what you write. The “how” to become a better writer won’t happen by just wishing. Seek instruction. Practice. Read. Write. The path before you is not easy, but neither is it impossible.

Want more tips on writing and publishing? Subscribe to A Powerful Story newsletter! It’s free on Subtack. Click here to read and subscribe.

The post How to improve your writing? It’s simple, but not easy appeared first on Keri Wyatt Kent.

The events of the past few weeks have been dizzying. That’s on purpose. The “flood the zone” style of governance on display is meant to confuse and disorient both the public and the media. If you’re feeling overwhelmed, not sure what to believe, confused—that’s literally the strategy.

The rapid change on multiple fronts can paralyze us, overwhelm us. Please friends, don’t let that happen. You can’t fix or change everything, but you can do one thing. You can make one change; you can just take one step. And you can begin a journey of meaning and joy with that step. Do small things with great love, Mother Teresa said.

If the demise of our democracy bothers you, you might wonder what you can do. I’ve decided to drill down on one issue and put my effort into doing small things with great love. I believe it is never wrong to advocate for the disadvantaged. I’ll start with the obvious, but also the thing that this newsletter is about: welcome.

Here’s what I’m doing: I am welcoming fearlessly. Among the many cruel and capricious executive orders recently signed by the president, two directly impact refugees. Because I have a passion for helping refugees, and I am already involved there, I am leaning in to that space.

One executive order completely shut down the program allowing refugees (who are completely vetted, documented, legal immigrants) into the U.S. Many who already had plane tickets, including Afghan nationals who risked their lives to help American soldiers in Afghanistan and were promised safe shelter, are now left in harm’s way. 

Refugees do not choose to become refugees. They flee from their homes because of war, violence, threat of persecution or death. The tiny percentage who are resettled are meticulously vetted by our government and the United Nations. They come here legally. Cutting off this program, which has enjoyed broad bipartisan support for years, will not make our country better or safer. It will simply harm people who have literally gone through all the proper legal channels to find a new life and contribute to our society. It will separate families. Across the globe, there are 26 million refugees. More than half of them are children.

from pexels.com by Ahmed Akacha

Read the rest of this post on my Substack. 

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The post Welcome fearlessly appeared first on Keri Wyatt Kent.

Every year, the weeks leading up to Christmas Day can pass by us in a blur. We want Christmas to be meaningful and somehow special, but here is the thing: we spend a lot of energy on the wrong things, and we end up feeling rushed and stressed. Like Charlie Brown in the classic Christmas special, we wonder what Christmas is really all about. But we feel too busy and anxious to really explore that question.

When my son was young, and very into Legos, we had a Lego Advent calendar. Each day, he’d open a little door to reveal a tiny character or ornament to assemble. At the time, we were attending a mega church that ignored the liturgical calendar and barely gave a passing nod to the traditional practice of Advent, so I’m pretty sure my kids thought Advent was about Legos.

Maybe you’re the same: you figure Advent is just a countdown to Christmas, marked by calendars with prizes or chocolate. Or it’s one of those Catholic or other high church-y things that you don’t understand or even care about. But what if the weeks of Advent offer us something far better than chocolate or trinkets? What if you decided to be Advent-curious?

What if the secret to a more meaningful Christmas is to redirect our attention from our to-do lists to a simple practice of welcoming? By this, I don’t mean hosting your relatives or throwing yet another Christmas party. Rather, I want to invite you to slow down, to pay attention, and in this dark and dreary season, to welcome light into your heart each day.

I know some of you are in a season of uncertainty, of questioning your faith. The season of Advent declares boldly: yes, the days are short, dark, and cold, but the light is coming into the world. The Advent season doesn’t shy away from the uncertainty and doubt that is an authentic part of our journey. Simply acknowledging the darkness, and watching for the light (both physically and spiritually) is what Advent is all about.

We hope, even when things are bleak.

The traditional church calendar marks the four weeks before Christmas as the season of Advent. The word advent comes from the latin adventus, which means coming, or arrival. It marks both Jesus’ arrival long ago in Bethlehem, and his arrival into our hearts and lives. And isn’t God continually arriving, seeking our welcome?

For me, welcoming God is a daily practice, one I must continually renew. Advent also hints at Christ’s someday return to earth. It’s a reminder that while this life is hard, and in many ways a hot mess, the story is still unfolding, and we’re invited to be a part of it.

Advent coincides with the shortest, darkest days of the year. Where I live, the sun finally rises just after 7 a.m., but this photo shows you what “sunrise” looked like this morning, a day socked in with clouds, the trees bare and lifeless. The timing is deliberate: Advent is a season of looking for the light, or waiting and watching for hope.

The traditional Christmas hymn Joy to the World declares: “Let every heart prepare him room.” I’ve often pondered that line, especially when I need to “make Christmas happen” (words I have actually used) each year with food, gifts, and so on. What does it look like to prepare room for Jesus this Advent season? Maybe for starters, realizing how crowded my heart is right now–full of worry and uncertainty, shoved to the side because I’ve got to just get things done. How can I “prepare room” in my heart?

When I prepare our guest room for visitors, I make sure it it cleared of clutter. I take time to make it comfortable. It doesn’t need to be perfect—but it does need to have some space. What clutters my heart? What bitterness and unresolved pain lurks in the corners? Maybe preparing room in my heart begins with slowing down, and shedding unnecessary things, which is not easy because we’ve got so much to do and we’re already preoccupied with wondering if it really matters.

In a way, Advent provides an opportunity to practice hospitality. Not just for relatives and friends, but for Jesus, and for your own heart, which is crowded and cluttered. If you’re feeling a bit disconnected from the divine, if your faith is flagging, perhaps taking just a few minutes each day to welcome Love into your heart might help? As I’ve mentioned before, biblical hospitality is not about entertaining, but about welcoming the stranger. Maybe in your busy, frantic December, Love has become a stranger. Why not welcome Love back into your life?

What is the advent season? It is the four weeks leading up to Christmas in the liturgical year, a time of reflection and contemplation on four simple themes: Hope, Peace, Love, and Joy. On each of the four Sundays leading to Christmas, we light a candle representing one of these themes. But the gentle self-care this season allows are more important than candles or rituals.

Even if your church doesn’t light candles, or even if you don’t go to church these days, you can still tap into the season of preparation for Christmas that is not about impressing others, but rather, about connecting with Love.

If you’re finding yourself stressed and anxious, Advent offers peaceful reassurance–a recalibration of your faith and your focus. You may think you don’t have time for that–but if you take just a minute to pay attention to the longing in your heart for something true and meaningful, you’ll find that a simple Advent practice (taking five minutes to read or meditate or pray) might soothe your soul. Advent is a practice of welcoming: welcoming hope, welcoming Jesus. Maybe even welcoming yourself.

Advent looks back, and looks forward. We remember Christ’s birth, and also recalibrate our souls to welcome him into our world right now. We dare to believe he will come again.

What if the path to a meaningful Christmas season is right here, waiting for you? Not in curating the perfect meal or gift basket, but in taking just a few moments each day to center yourself and pay attention to what is right in front of you?

Adventus. Arrival.

What are you hoping will arrive in your life? What are you longing for, waiting for, hoping for?

Because our culture, steeped in consumerism, focuses on one day in the Christmas season, carrying with it the pressure to create a magical experience for our family, select just the right gift for everyone on our list, impress our relatives with a stunning meal–we find ourselves just trying to get through December. We get caught up in the mob, running toward we don’t know what.

So many of you feel anxious and uncertain–in part because of all that is going on in our world, but also you’re just trying to get a lot done. We are task-focused rather than love-focused, and it’s why we might feel sort of hollow or exhausted.

In a recent online conversation, I read comments like: “We never celebrated Advent. I don’t even know what it is.” For many people, even who grew up in church, Advent was about those paper calendars with little doors that revealed a tiny piece of chocolate or, I don’t know, a Lego.

Even if you didn’t grow up in a liturgical tradition where every week, another advent candle in the wreath was lit, where you focused on the traditional themes of Advent (Hope, Peace, Love and Joy), you can build a meaningful practice. Even though we are 11 days into Advent already, it’s not too late to ask, what is the Advent season and what can I do to tap into the hope that this season represents?

A simple practice: Set aside five minutes in the morning. Light a candle. Read a devotional or a Bible verse. Be quiet. Open your heart and welcome Love in. Carry the calm of those moments with you through your day.

P.S. If you liked this post, you might enjoy one of my trending posts (one which happened to get a few people mad), Your Nativity Scene Might Be Wrong.

The post What is Advent, anyway? (A guide for the Advent-curious) appeared first on Keri Wyatt Kent.

The day after Thanksgiving, many people go shopping. I purposely fast from consumerism, needing to rest after two days of non-stop cooking and preparing (and eating) a large meal.

I do, however, drag out and assemble our steadfast 20-year-old artificial tree. I find a Christmas “coffeehouse” playlist on Spotify and pull plastic bins full of decorations out of the basement.

[image error]As I hung the mishmash of ornaments on it, wrangled lights onto its slightly scruffy branches, I took my time. I put a few small decorations around the house, because it felt like an act of hope.

In this season of Advent, of waiting, I’m not even sure what I’m hoping for. But I’m still refusing to despair.

Advent means arrival. We are waiting for Jesus—the prince of peace. But peace feels elusive.

I had just a few family members around the table at Thanksgiving. I felt a little sad, remembering the years when we had to put two or three tables end to end in order to fit everyone.

Even as we shared too much starchy food and “what we’re thankful for,” I swallowed back nostalgia for the days when my house was more crowded on holidays.

But I comforted myself with the reminder that I am hosting a large gathering this Saturday for my running group. I love filling my house with people, feeding them and facilitating connection.

This group does more than run, though. We’re an eclectic group of athletes, most of us middle aged, all of us ardent supporters of one another and encouragers of any effort, great or small. My running buddies are in my life daily on a text chain, and three or four times a week in person to run together. We socialize a lot—in fact, the highlight of our Saturday run is the coffee hour (or two) that follows.

I know that if I pushed folks in this group to talk about their opinions on politics, or religion, or any other hot-button topic, I’d find a wide spectrum of views. Some I agree with, some I don’t. But I genuinely like these folks, and our differences are not important to me.

Here’s the thing: they are all welcome at my home. I believe loving my neighbor is not just an obligation, but a path to peace. A path to joy and hope. It is the best way to live.

I believe what unites us can be stronger than what divides us, if we are willing to love unconditionally. And the way we love is to welcome. Because what if hospitality can heal us?

I am sure there are people in your neighborhood, your church, your pickleball league or whatever that might see the world differently than you do. But they are human and created in the image of God. Yes, their opinions and their actions might feel like an affront, or betrayal, but beneath those things, they are humans.

I know some folks refused to sit down to Thanksgiving dinner this year with family members for a variety of reasons: their political views, their tendency to make shaming, inappropriate comments. I know a family where an adult child will not speak to her mom over political differences. I get it. Sometimes we need to set boundaries and choose our own health over keeping up appearances or tolerating bullying.

But what if we decide to build a few bridges this holiday season? What if we decide to welcome those who have become like strangers to us? Or, what if we provide hospitality, in small but significant moments, to total strangers?

What if we could welcome people, as best we can? That might mean inviting neighbors over for coffee and pie, or snacks and drinks. (If that feels like too much, maybe inviting a friend who’s hurting out for coffee, to just listen and give some space.)

It might mean just being very intentionally kind and patient with fellow shoppers, and especially with the frazzled shopworkers who have probably received very inhospitable behavior before they took a deep breath and said, “How may I help you?”

And do that—lock eyes with the checkout clerk, or the person waiting on you at a restaurant. Simply look them in the eyes and say “Hello.” When they serve you or simply ring up your purchases, say “Thank you.” Take a beat to simply acknowledge their humanity, and your own. You have this in common, if nothing else.

If we do this out of obligation or martyrdom, we’ll end up burned out and resentful. Instead, think about this: even in all your mess and uncertainty and mistakes, God welcomed you. God invited you to live in love, continually invites you to dwell in love. And when you do that, you can choose to turn and extend that love, that welcome, to others. We just might find the healing, hope, and joy that we’re longing for this Advent season.

P.S. Want to get more posts like this in your inbox? Subscribe for free to the Welcoming and Wandering newsletter here.

The post What if hospitality can heal us? appeared first on Keri Wyatt Kent.

Advent starts this Sunday, and just in time, my Advent devotional, The Gift of Christmas Present, is 25 percent off. This sweet little daily devotional for December is just $5.99 for the paperback (or the ebook). Daily readings, journaling pages, and a prayer prompt will help you focus on what really matters this holiday season. No code needed, I lowered the price for you already. Order today so you’ll get it in time!

This book guides you toward a saner, simpler holiday, reminding you to let go of worry and regret, to focus on the gift of the present moment. If you want to make this Advent season one of simplicity and meaning, not by doing more, but by slowing down and paying attention, order a copy today (and one for a friend).

The traditional themes of the four weeks of Advent are Hope, Peace, Love, and Joy. The Gift of Christmas Present takes a deep dive into Scriptures that center on these themes. It invites you to reflect with thought-provoking journaling prompts.  If you’re longing for a more joyful and peaceful holiday season, get this book.

Here’s what one reviewer said: “This devotional study is beautifully written, reminding us the importance of slowing down in order to be truly and intentionally present during this busy season!”

Grab your copy on amazon today.

P.S. Want a free sampler of The Gift of Christmas Present? Subscribe to my newsletter, Welcoming and Wandering.

Use the QR code below,  or just visit https://welcomingandwandering.substack.com/ and subscribe (it’s free!)

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“If we don’t come apart for a while, 

we will come apart after awhile.”

-Dallas Willard

Today’s Welcoming and Wandering newsletter explores the power of long-term friendships, solitude, and the magic of taking a day to unclench your soul. Click the link to read the whole article and subscribe for free.

When my children were small, I was overcommitted at church and overwhelmed at home. I was writing books and freelancing for magazines and volunteering at church and my children’s school and …and…

In the midst of that season, a woman from my church, Sibyl, became a friend and mentor to me. Twenty years older than me, she could still beat me at tennis with a wicked spin shot and strategy born of experience on the court and in life. She dripped wisdom all the time. She recommended books, taught me about spiritual practices. Provided opportunities to teach and develop my gifts. One of the truest things she said, which I’ve repeated to others I hope to encourage:

“You have all the time you need to do the things that God has called you to do.”

(Our dilemma, of course, is we try to do things we were never meant to do. We forget to listen to God before rushing headlong into busyness.)

For years, we taught together, did ministry together, went for long walks, sharing questions, wisdom, silence. She mentored so many people—I was lucky to be among them.

About a dozen years ago, Sibyl and her husband moved to Oldenburg, Indiana, to run a retreat center. Sibyl was 70; Dick a few years older. I thought I’d go down and visit her, but it didn’t happen. Life got in the way. (Also, if feels like they started this chapter of life more recently than more than a decade ago. Life rushes past.)

We’ve kept in touch, only occasionally, but recently she’s been responding via email to my newsletters. I decided it was finally time for a road trip to Oldenburg. The four-and-a-half-hour drive felt both freeing and daunting.

What did I do in Indiana? What did I learn on my short retreat? Read the rest of this article here. Be sure to subscribe for free. 

In a woodland meadow, a beautiful grassy labyrinth offers a place for contemplation.

The post Road trips, mentors, and solitude appeared first on Keri Wyatt Kent.

Today’s Welcoming and Wandering Substack is out. We’re talking about how to welcome others without having anyone over: bringing meals, being kind online. And we’ve got a fall recipe because why not?

Read it here.

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Subscribe for free and get Welcoming & Wandering in your inbox every Wednesday.

The post Two easy ways to welcome others appeared first on Keri Wyatt Kent.

Hello friends!

As you know, my newest book, Live Like a Guide Dog, is out in the world, published by Tyndale House Publishers this week. To celebrate the launch, I’ve got some freebies and an invitation just for you!

Coauthored with bestselling author Michael Hingson, Live Like a Guide Dog tells Mike’s amazing story of growing up blind and walking through life with eight different guide dogs. It also gives practical guidance on how to live more courageously. It’s a book about how to be brave, overcome adversity, and move forward in faith.

Mike and Roselle crossing a busy street in New York City in 2001.

Here are the freebies:

Want to check out the book before you buy it? You can find the entire first chapter right here. 

Want a free group discussion guide? Grab yours right here.

Here’s the invites:

If you read Live Like a Guide Dog with a book club or small group, let me know (just drop a comment or use the contact form). You will be entered in a drawing to have me, Mike and his guide dog Alamo visit your group via Zoom!

If you’re on social media, please follow me on Facebook or Instagram, and share my posts about this book. And be sure to connect with Michael and I on the Live Like a Guide Dog Facebook group, or follow Mike on Facebook here. 

Friends, I know you’re going to love this book. Help us get the word out, and enjoy those freebies!

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