Grief doesn’t disappear when we ignore it; it grows quieter and heavier. Today we talk candidly about funerals—why they matter, who they’re actually for, and how ritual gives our bodies and communities a way to carry loss with honesty and love. Ryan shares the tender story of his dad’s passing and the family’s plans to lay him to rest in Denver, then opens up about a hard truth learned during the pandemic: when we skip communal mourning, grief lingers without form.

We explore the deep roots of funeral practices, from traces of pollen in ancient burial caves to the modern mix of readings, music, prayers, and shared meals. Along the way, we unpack the language we use—funeral, memorial, celebration of life—and why the labels matter far less than the space they create. Sadness isn’t a problem to fix; it’s a sign of love. The best services make room for both tears and laughter, for hilarious family stories and quiet moments of reflection, because that’s what a real life looks like.

If you’re planning a service, you’ll hear practical guidance on shaping a gathering that fits your family: invite participation, set gentle rhythms, let someone trusted guide the flow, and close with a grounded act like a graveside farewell or a shared meal. We also talk about how community presence, scripture or poetry, and simple rituals help move us from shock toward steadier gratitude. Funerals aren’t for the dead—they’re for the living, and they work on us in profound, often hidden ways.

If this conversation helps you or someone you love, share it with a friend who needs courage for a goodbye. Subscribe for more reflections, leave a review to support the show, and tell us: what ritual helped your grief take a breath?

Join us! Facebook | Instagram | www.clcelkriver.org

A single question flips the room: have you not read. We take that line from Jesus and follow it through a grainfield, a temple, and a minivan full of questions, asking why a law meant for rest became a rule intended to measure, and how compassion rewrites the script without erasing the text. With Mark 2:23–28 as our anchor, we sit with the tension between Sabbath as gift and Sabbath as performance. Jesus reminds the watchers and the weary that the day of rest was made to serve people. When hunger meets holiness, love leads the way.

We also reexamine the Pharisees. Not all were scheming; many were sincere, carried by curiosity, tradition, and the fear of getting God wrong. That makes them feel close to us. Adults have layers of influence that train us to see what fits our story and skip what doesn’t. Kids in the temple simply saw Jesus heal and sang. That contrast exposes our selective reading: we highlight comfort verses and dodge the hard calls to love enemies, forgive persecutors, and lift the overlooked. The invitation isn’t to toss the law but to read it through mercy, purpose, and the heart of God.

A personal story about a beloved children’s book closes the loop: the words do not change, but we do. Seasons of life widen our capacity to hear and obey. Have you not read becomes less of a rebuke and more of an invitation to read again with fresh eyes, to let Scripture frame our worldview instead of letting our worldview frame Scripture. You are loved and forgiven, and you are also invited to grow—into a Sabbath that restores, a faith that serves, and a life that looks like Jesus. If this speaks to you, follow the show, share it with a friend, and leave a review telling us what you’re re-reading with fresh eyes.

Join us! Facebook | Instagram | www.clcelkriver.org

The moment that voicemail played in the dark car, everything we’d been holding back broke open. Grief hit like weather—sudden, total, impossible to outthink—and what followed became a lesson we didn’t know we needed about how to let emotions move without letting them take the wheel. We walk through the days around losing a beloved stepfather, from sleepless nights on a pull-out couch to a birthday that didn’t quite fit, and the strange clarity that arrives when you’re hungry, angry, lonely, or tired.

We talk about the thin veil that fatigue creates and why HALT isn’t just a recovery saying but a practical compass for emotional honesty. The heart of the conversation is a simple image: your life as a road you value, you as the driver, and your emotions as passengers asking for a seat. When you refuse them—especially sorrow, fear, and regret—they block your lane and push you into the weeds where frustration, numbness, and collateral damage grow. When you let them board, they can speak, settle, and ride along while you keep steering toward the person you want to become.

You’ll hear a real-time account of tears that arrived uninvited, why that release mattered, and how to find places and people who can hold space with you. We name the tension of being public-facing yet human, and we offer practical ways to feel safely: time-bound permission, grounding, and asking for help from those who love you. If you’ve ever been told to be strong at the cost of your inner life, this conversation reframes strength as presence, not performance, and invites you to grieve in a way that keeps you on the path of right living.

If this resonates, share it with someone who needs permission to feel. Subscribe for more reflective conversations, and leave a review with one takeaway—what emotion needs a seat on your bus today?

Join us! Facebook | Instagram | www.clcelkriver.org

Hungry crowds, tired disciples, and one audacious question: where should we buy bread? We walk through John’s vivid retelling of the loaves and fish to see how Jesus moves a community from cost-counting to courageous offering. The setup is familiar—scarcity, pressure, and a crowd too big to feed—yet John’s details shift the lens: Passover timing, barley loaves fit for peasants, and a child who steps forward while adults do the math. Whether you hear this as supernatural multiplication or a cascade of shared generosity, the outcome is the same: everyone eats, and there is more than enough.

We talk about how Jesus stretches Philip’s paradigm, not by shaming doubt but by inviting participation. The question isn’t how much, but where—to whom will we entrust our resources, our fear, our hope? Taken, blessed, broken, given: these Eucharistic verbs frame a kingdom that converts hoarded wealth into shared provision, and faceless crowds into neighbors seen with compassion. Along the way, we contrast John with the synoptics, explore the social pressures of heavy taxation and hunger, and ask what it means for modern people to trade perfectionism for small, faithful action.

This conversation lands in the practical. What’s your five loaves and two fish today—time, skills, money, a network, a simple yes? We make room for community voices that name real takeaways: Jesus is enough, faith grows by doing, and miracles often start with the courage to offer what feels inadequate. If you’re weary of scarcity talk and ready for a deeper imagination of abundance, pull up a seat at the table. Subscribe, share this episode with a friend who needs encouragement, and tell us: what small offering will you bring this week?

Join us! Facebook | Instagram | www.clcelkriver.org

A scoop of creatine goes down the wrong pipe and suddenly there’s panic, coughing, and no air. That small scare becomes the clearest picture of modern life: we’re breathing in more tragedy than our souls can process. Violent headlines, viral clips, and hot takes pile up until anxiety becomes the soundtrack of the day. We don’t just hear about suffering anymore; we watch it in graphic detail, on demand, and often before we’ve even had coffee.

We talk candidly about tragedy overload and the illusion of being everywhere at once. Technology grants a kind of faux omniscience and faux omnipresence, tricking us into thinking every crisis is ours to carry. The result is predictable: dread, helplessness, and compassion fatigue. Instead of hardening our hearts or spiraling deeper, we name a better way to live with wisdom and care. We give permission to set boundaries, release what isn’t ours, and focus on meaningful action close to home. This is not apathy. It’s ordered love.

You’ll hear four simple, protective practices that make a real difference: unplug with intention, refuse graphic videos you can’t unsee, go outside and reset your body, and ask God to reveal what is actually yours to carry. From there, we move from global doomscrolling to local presence—serving neighbors, showing up for our communities, and trusting God with the rest. If the constant feed has left you tired and tight-chested, this conversation offers breathing room, grounded faith, and a path back to peace.

If this resonates, share it with a friend who needs lighter lungs today. Subscribe, leave a review, and tell us one boundary you’ll set this week so others can learn from your practice.

Join us! Facebook | Instagram | www.clcelkriver.org

What would you trade for “the whole world”—and how would you know if the price was your soul? We dive into Jesus’ most piercing question and discover it’s not about a distant afterlife, but about the texture of our days: what we attend to, what we ignore, and how small trades add up to a life that quietly withers. We tell the truth about our bargaining—more status for less presence, more security for less courage—and we hold it next to moments that cannot be purchased: kids piled on the couch, siblings crying happy tears at a wedding, a room full of people awake to one another.

We unpack two big ways of seeing the soul. Through a Greek lens, the body is a cage and the soul floats free. Through a Jewish lens, your soul is your whole lived life—your inner life braided with embodied choices, your presence in real time. That shift reframes losing your soul as a daily erosion rather than a cosmic lightning strike. From Peter’s pushback to Jesus’ mission, we trace the hard paradox echoed in all four Gospels: grip your life and you lose it; give your life for something greater and you find it. Not martyrdom for its own sake, but self-giving love that deepens meaning.

You’ll leave with concrete ways to discern your true life: follow your aliveness, read your anger as a value compass, walk toward the fear that hides your gold, serve the need that’s in front of you, and ask who you’d be if possessions didn’t decide your days. The “whole world”—wealth, power, approval—never balances against the real you. The things that weigh most can’t be weighed, and that is why they’re worth everything. If this conversation stirs you, share it with a friend, subscribe for more, and leave a review to tell us what trade you refuse to make.

Join us! Facebook | Instagram | www.clcelkriver.org

A river, three rocks, and a kiss—sometimes the smallest acts carry the most weight. We mark twenty-five years of marriage at Minnehaha Falls with a simple, handmade ritual and open a wider conversation about how ordinary people can create sacred time on purpose. From choosing stones to naming a trait, a memory, and a love, we show how tangible actions can honor the past, shape the present, and gently bend the future.

We also tell the story of a coach who lost his role overnight and needed closure he never got. So we met on the same field with friends, a notebook, and a fire. We shared stories, wrote truth, burned pain, and stood together in the dark. It wasn’t grand, but it was grounding—and it worked. You’ll hear why rituals often feel mysterious in the moment and make sense later, how embodiment helps the brain release what talk alone can’t, and why elements like water, fire, stone, and shared words can turn vague emotion into something we can actually move through.

If you’re carrying stress you can’t control, we offer a five-minute practice: write it down, tear it out, crumple it, trash it, and say out loud, I can’t control this. It’s not my business. If you’re honoring love, grief, or change, you’ll get practical ideas—pour water at a tree to mark loss, light a candle to close the day, keep a pocket stone to cue honesty, or walk a weekly path to reflect and reset. No mystique required, no perfect script—just presence, intention, and a willingness to step out of ordinary time.

If this resonates, share it with a friend who needs a gentle push toward closure or celebration. Subscribe for more reflections, leave a review to help others find the show, and tell us: what ritual will you create this week?

Join us! Facebook | Instagram | www.clcelkriver.org

A charcoal fire, the smell of fish, and a question that won’t let go: Do you love me? We walk the shoreline with Peter from the night of denial to a dawn of restoration, and we discover why Jesus asks three times—not to shame, but to heal, reframe, and entrust. The tension is familiar: there’s the self we intend to be and the self that shows up when fear hits. Instead of pretending the split isn’t there, we name it, then watch how grace composes something larger—like day three of creation, where separation becomes space for life.

We unpack how the miraculous catch opens Peter’s eyes, why the identical charcoal fire matters, and how trauma loses power when it’s spoken aloud. Each yes to “Do you love me?” turns into a concrete task: feed my sheep, tend my lambs. Service becomes the path out of shame’s loop. Along the way, we explore the Hebrew imagination of numbers—one, two, three—as a lens for unity, discord, and harmony that holds both without erasing either. This isn’t theory; it’s a map for everyday choices, from relationships to leadership to the way we show up for our neighbors.

We also turn toward our community and publicly commission Ben with five charges: receive unearned grace, see people with compassion, keep intimacy with God ahead of output, lead by serving, and extend forgiveness by raising others to lead. If your past feels like an anchor or your present feels like drift, this conversation offers a third way forward. Name what hurts. Answer the question. Then feed someone—literally, spiritually, practically. If this episode moves you, share it with a friend, subscribe for more, and leave a review with one tension you’re ready to name and transform.

Join us! Facebook | Instagram | www.clcelkriver.org