This week I caught the bus with a young woman who was making an unscheduled trip to a business meeting in Portland—via Seattle. She and her boyfriend had taken a day trip to Port Angeles to visit the Olympic National Park, specifically Hurricane Ridge—the majestic 5,200-foot mountain you can drive all the way to the top. Scott, who had walked her to the bus stop, introduced himself and explained his truck’s brakes failed on the way down the mountain. Brake failure has happened to others...

I was a rambunctious, mischievous young child—especially when left alone in the garage. That’s where I found the can of black paint. I had watched my dad open it with a screwdriver. So I did the same, all by myself. With brush in hand, I painted the porch posts as high as my five-year-old arm could reach. Then I painted the garage door. I was just heading towards the fireplace bricks when I got caught. Most of my mischief was high energy. I ran through the house, knocked things over, spilled...

I watched as Francis Chan held up two candles—one tall and new, the other one nearly spent, what I’d call a stub. He said as an older person, he’s like the candle stub. It still gives light, but it doesn’t have nearly as much time left as the tall candle. Then he spoke about the choice before us. As our candles grow shorter, we can try and place ourselves higher and higher so our light can be seen. Or, we can take what remains of our flame and use it to light more young candles. As 2026...