In the early days, he told me: live your life.

Every time I turn from my kitchen sink, I turn and see in my mind’s eye a house full of humble people meeting on a Sunday afternoon.

A writer tells a there and back again story about finding the unexpected and the new perspective it taught her.

Although I couldn’t see it at the time, God was making a way. It didn’t feel like summiting the mountain, the hard work and new heights that proved I was moving forward. It felt more like walking through a dark valley carved through the heart of my sorrow.

From ages past, first to last, everlasting to everlasting, the Ancient of Days, more ancient than days, clothes of thunder and eyes ablaze. A wind is gently blowing now; a divine breath exhaled.

With the busyness of everyday life, the constant demands of work and family, it’s an easy default to do instead of to be.

The contributors to this year’s issue of Imprint prompt us to consider what is happening in front of our eyes, even as our modern distractions hinder us from looking with appreciation or listening to each other’s stories with care.

Thomas turned around and looked back down the tunnel. The bend in the road was much closer than he remembered. Just a few dozen steps. He began to walk—hesitantly at first and then briskly, remembering he was late for a meeting and that he had left his laptop on the ground.

oh Shane. take in the car. Take the car, in, Shane.

A striking image in an old poem led me to research conversion stories online. What I found filled me with wonder.

The authors of this book remind us that whenever people leave church, we shouldn’t watch them go and say, “They were just the wrong sort of people,” continuing service as usual. Instead, we must sit with the weight of that loss for as long as needed to create positive change.

An interview with local singer-songwriter Mike Janzen about his recent work, The Psalms Project, and making new music in an old tradition.

When the whirlwind of new fatherhood turns a romantic dinner into a lesson in patience, beauty and compassion emerge in unexpected places.

Much like the process of creating a new recipe, life can feel like a series of expected trials and choices.

It takes a lot of vulnerability to reach out, not knowing if someone will do the same. It’s easier to stay put and pretend we don’t care. But growth only happens when we reach out.

I view the spiritual life much like I view used bookstores—something I engage with in the here and now and yet I am simply existing on the edge of the great story that has come before me.

Three lessons from a forester, a professor, and a luthier.

Throughout the Epistles, Paul displays inspiring patience and humility that brings a tear to my eye. It’s quite supernatural and something I wish I had.

An astrophysicist takes up an artist’s brush to meditate on God’s wondrous works.

There must be some essential part of us that doesn’t change, even though we’re transformed.

Anxiety and self-doubt tell me I can never be worthy of others’ kindness, but God’s loving voice refuses to be drowned out.

The kingdom of heaven is like unto a merchant man, seeking his coffee: Who, when he had rolled up the brim, found treasure therein, and went on his way rejoicing.

O God, God of Adam and Eve, God of humanity. We are homesick. Homesick for a place we have never been, and yet long for deep in our souls.

We asked Grace Toronto congregants what life together looked like in our pandemic year.

Your mamma was not mad at the doctors for telling her that her situation would likely never change and that you were not possible. Doctors are trained to look at circumstances for what they are. They tend to look at norms and facts.

The way that the people of Israel collectively plead with God in the book of Lamentations also reminds us that grief can be felt corporately, in the communal body of the church.

As through a dark glass. See how you are formed By the Spirit’s subtlety, like dawn, Which shines new light upon that face once more.

I call you like a bird at twilight who sings and sings, desperate for a reply before night

We can’t be ashamed to reach out for help. We’re never as alone as we think.

During the pandemic, the membrane between work and life became more permeable. Was that the reason for the exhaustion?

When deciding on Imprint’s 2020 theme, our team liked the idea of exploring freedom. I, on the other hand, balked.

In rising light, I stumble to the kitchen and stand in service of the yeast…

The happy Easter Sunday I was starting to enjoy became a wisp of a dream when the phone rang suddenly.

Read Alex's story to learn about the work of the Pregnancy Care Centre and the difference that love and support can make in someone's life.

With the weather warming and most parks around us still closed, in recent weeks, I finally turned my attention to our garden.

Pioneering Olympian and community leader Silvia Ruegger faces cancer with grace, running and an unrelenting faith.

Having been the daughter of perpetually late parents, I’ve long been avowed to punctuality. But I’ve made a recent discovery . . .

About once every two months, I get an email that says my hour has come.

My mother’s cancer journey influences my work in palliative care.

Give new life to the decaying; New hope to the fraying.

Mark Durksen uses spoken word to explore the burdens as blessings of expanding to two Sunday services.

Keeping time is a way of keeping faith. What does this look like when it comes to the season of Advent?

We complain endlessly about the traffic in my midtown Toronto neighbourhood. It’s been years of the Crosstown LRT project—and years until the new subway is completed.

In April 1873, the members of St. Andrew’s Church gathered for a congregational meeting to discuss the future.

The CEO and the homeless man alike may share one with a whole middle-class family in between. Like the Lord, pews do not play favourites.

Love flows firstly—and most truly—from a place of need. It’s our brokenness that makes neighbours out of us.