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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The question is not can I lose my salvation, but can salvation lose me? No, it can’t.
You don’t have to wait any long stretch of time for me to find my way back to guilty. Though I am absolved of my sins–and I cling to, and believe that with all my heart–there’s something inside of me that thirsts for the darkness.
God spoke into the black depth. “Let there be light."
Our relief when we're troubled can't be found at the end of all our preparations and celebrations, no matter how pious our intent.
He finds the woman and the man in the Garden and fought back for the identity of His people.
A while back, my wife and I attended the wake and memorial service of a friend from a prior church we attended.
Can the chain of cause and effect extend infinitely?
It’s strange that we’ll stuff our mouths today with a bird whose life preaches against us. For consider the turkeys, which neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them.
It was Jesus who appeared to Hagar, comforted her, and gave her the promise of future blessings. It was Jesus who came to her when it seemed everything and everyone else had let her down.
"What do you mean, 'Confess that I don't believe in God?' I'm a Christian. Of course I believe in God!"
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.
Hear that confession of saving faith? Rahab may have been a prostitute in Jericho, but she was secretly a virgin daughter of Yahweh.