This is an excerpt from the introduction of Stretched: A Study for Lent and the Entire Christian Life by Christopher Richmann (1517 Publishing, 2026).
We can bring our troubles, griefs, sorrows, and sins to Jesus, who meets us smack dab in the middle of our messy mob.
Confession isn’t a detour in the liturgy. It’s the doorway.

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Forgiveness of sin, righteousness, and eternal life aren't handed out by God because we deserve it.
Wisdom speaks in proverbs, parables and riddles. And the simple continue to wander right past her words of life.
Then He went to the coffin. He touched it, like a carpenter sizing up the piece of wood He plans to turn into some sort of new creation, running His hand down its side.
It is the strangest of morgues—people arrive dead as doornails and leave alive.
The question is not can I lose my salvation, but can salvation lose me? No, it can’t.
So it is with my little garden as well; dead, so it would seem. Nothing. Barren.
A while back, my wife and I attended the wake and memorial service of a friend from a prior church we attended.
Recently I’ve met many people that have suffered tragedies in their families. I know this sounds a little selfish, but the ones that stick out the most to me are the ones that affected my own family.
Over and over, generation after generation, sinners repeat the same mistake. "How is it possible that God can be a man," we ask.
My husband and I just adopted Duke, a very cute beagle mix, from a nearby shelter. He is about three years old and was found wandering in a park several months ago.
I'm afraid of dying. I am a Christian and I am horribly afraid of falling bridges, crashing planes, turned over cars and anything else that you can think of that would include my body being mangled into a mess of bones and flesh.
Not long ago I was having a conversation with a friend. She was facing a big decision about her career with a deadline looming for a decision.