To come back to some sort of faith, I needed to be allowed to not believe in God. At least for a while.

The faith of my childhood and young adulthood, like many others had completely failed me. I looked to leaders who professed to love God, who said they believe in what I was taught and frankly, did the opposite. They didn’t seem to care about the poor, or the vulnerable. They rejected anyone in need, anyone on the outskirts all in favor of more money and more power.

One of the things that I heard someone say once is that it wasn’t people who were on the edge who’d been leaving the church, it’d been those who were all in. I was so all in. I’d been a co-emcee at Campus Crusade in College (I wasn’t allowed to be the only emcee because “GASP” I was a woman …) I’d gone to church at least twice a week for as long as I could remember, and you’re looking at the recipient of a Timothy Award (IYKYK).

I was SO good at being a Christian.

But, at some point, what I had been taught, didn’t match what I was seeing

I have a complicated relationship with the Bible. The church I grew up in had Bible study for kids and adults, but I have no real memory of them. (They must not have been memorable. 🙂) But I knew as a child the major stories and characters: Adam and Eve, Cain and Able, Noah and the Ark, Moses and his people, David and Goliah, Ruth and Esther, Samson and Delilah, Jonah and the Whale, Jesus, Lazarus, etc. My parents read the Bible – not to us but to themselves – and I read the Bible by myself but I didn’t understand much. I still own the Spirit-filled, King James, leather bound Bible my then boyfriend gifted me for Christmas in 1995! It lives on my bookshelf 30 years later as a relic of my past life.

In 2020, I lost the person closest to me, my sister, to brain cancer. Amid the disorientation of grief, I felt completely unmoored, and like I had been sold a bill of goods about what the Bible promises. The verses I had leaned on for comfort my whole life no longer rang true to my experience. I didn't want to hear it, couldn't pretend to believe it, if it wasn't true for someone suffering and dying of cancer. The loss of confidence in my understanding of the Bible was another loss to grieve- until 40 Orchards. 

After 2 years of the Cohort, I'm trusting in our sacred text in a new way. This isn’t because Steph and Lisa have given me some magical answers. Through the safety and wisdom of 40 Orchards community, I've learned to ask questions, not memorize answers or creeds, and realized that's where I can find my footing again.

Many of us know the weight of religious harm: fear, shame, exclusion, and the experience of Scripture being used against us rather than for our flourishing. These experiences shape how we show up, how we read, and even how we understand our own worth.

They are not only individual experiences. They exist within a wider religious landscape where Scripture is too often used to limit, to silence, or to consolidate authority. This same landscape continues to fuel the rise of Christian nationalism, which depends on certainty, hierarchy, and a single way of reading the text.

At 40 Orchards, we create spaces where curiosity is welcomed, voices long silenced find space to speak, and Scripture becomes a source of insight rather than injury. Learning happens through shared wisdom rather than imposed authority. In a time when Scripture is weaponized in public and private life, this work matters. It is a quiet but powerful act of resistance.

This year, as we close out 2025, we need your help to sustain this work. Our goal is to raise $25,000 by December 31, the amount necessary to enter 2026 with stability and continue offering these generative spaces.

Few verses have been printed on more graduation cards, journals, and pillows than Jeremiah 29:11. But for many of us, the words have caused more anxiety than comfort.

“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you,  plans to give you hope and a future.” — Jeremiah 29:11 (NIV, the preferred greeting-card translation)

The harm is not the cards themselves, but the theology they often reinforce.

In the evangelical world of my (Steph’s) young adult years, I had journals full of anxious questions like, What is God’s plan for my life? What if I miss it? What if I take the wrong path? I believed God had a single, perfect map hidden somewhere in the heavens, and my job was not only to discover the X on the page, but also stay on the right route to get there.

That version of Jeremiah 29:11 pressed me to pray, work hard, and discern God’s will so I wouldn’t be the one to mess everything up. But the worst part wasn’t the anxiety itself—it was how that anxiety pushed me to narrow the focus onto myself.

This is the second post in our series connected to the newest season of Searching the Sacred. If you missed the first post, you can find it here.

At 40 Orchards, we sometimes talk about “pillow verses.” These are the verses people tell us to rest our heads on so we can feel better. But over time, these verses can start to feel heavy. Instead of support, they can bring pressure. Instead of comfort, they can feel like dismissal. Sometimes they land like expectations we’re supposed to meet, rather than meeting us where we actually are.

Romans 8:28. Jeremiah 29:11. Philippians 4:6. These passages that can sound warm and hopeful, and sometimes genuinely are. But life is complicated, and pain doesn’t always resolve neatly. When we’re in the middle of something real and difficult, those verses can suddenly feel less like a pillow and more like a weight we’re asked to carry.

One of the verses on our pillow verses list is Isaiah 40:31.

In our last season of Searching the Sacred, we centered everything around one question:

“He said to him, ‘What is written in the law? What do you read there?’” — Luke 10:26

We used that verse to explore how we hold, read, teach, and apply the Bible. To pair with that series, we’re beginning a new blog series around these verses:

“they shall beat their swords into plowshares
and their spears into pruning hooks;
nation shall not lift up sword against nation;
neither shall they learn war any more;
but they shall all sit under their own vines and under their own fig trees,
and no one shall make them afraid.” — Micah 4:3–4

Because what do we do when the Bible itself has been weaponized? When Scripture has been used as a sword, its passages as spears?

We are entering into a season where we begin to get our compost ready and put it into the soil. Compost enriches the soil, preparing it for new life, whether that means fruits and vegetables, flowers and greenery, or simply strengthening the ground against erosion. Beyond its practical benefits, composting is also a reminder: even waste can be repurposed. Even what seems like decay can be the foundation for something new.

If I pull that metaphor into my own life, this season feels like it has a whole lot of sh** that needs to be composted. Scraps of bad theology that keep resurfacing, the relentless cycle of hate in the world, financial strains, loss of security, illness, and death—it’s a lot. Some days, the soil I’m planted in feels depleted, missing nutrients, even at risk of eroding altogether.

“Come to me, all you who are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.” - Matthew 11:28-30

Weary is a word I’ve heard from a lot of people in 2025. The news cycle is exhausting, the possible number of causes to engage with is overwhelming, and the collective distress and grief from all we have been surviving since 2020 is weighing heavy. I, for one, have felt overwhelmed  and lonely. (It likely doesn’t help that my family has been fighting a cold for weeks on end.)

Hello 40 Orchards community, 

In November, we had the joy of joining many community members for a truly special celebration. Moments like these remind us of the beauty and importance of connection. While we’d love to gather more often, we understand the challenges—busy schedules, work demands, obligations, and even exhaustion—that make it difficult. Looking ahead to 2025, we anticipate that life may grow even more complicated. 

That’s why a message from Holly (Cohort Zayin) deeply resonated with us. She reminded us of the transformative power of gathering face-to-face, embracing vulnerability, and fostering community. Her words reaffirmed why we  want to keep 40 Orchards alive and thriving: