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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Most days, we're not okay. We're not good enough, strong enough, or "Christian" enough.
Our brokenness cuts deeper than just the times when we recognize it needs to be fixed.
God does not combat the impending armies of Satan with might and power, but with the weakness of a babe.
I can only disbelieve you or believe you. If I disbelieve you, I go on being a miserable bore.
We are still so much closer to Peter in our flaws than his virtues, and Christ is still our rescue.
We might not appreciate that God chooses to save us by his word alone, but our discomfort doesn’t make the promise any less effective.
If someone confesses their sins into my ears, I have no options but to forgive them in the name of Christ.
Could it be that the root of not asking is not believing, either in the power, or worse, the graciousness of the Lord to address the issue that lies before us?
“I forgive you,” must be said and it must be said often in a marriage.
We love those who enable us to see our love for ourselves reflected back at us.
Where Erasmus saw fear and collapse, Luther saw the never-ending comfort of Christ and his gospel.
As I sat there in the dark, empty church with my hands buried in the guts of a copy machine I was powerless to fix, I couldn't help feeling sorry for myself.