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The resurrection story starts with a problem anyone can recognize: you’re carrying love, you’re carrying grief, and there’s a stone in the way. We step into Eastertide by following the women to the tomb, lingering over their honest question, “Who will roll away the stone?” and noticing the courage hidden in plain sight. They don’t wait for perfect certainty. They go anyway, and that single posture becomes a powerful spiritual practice for anyone facing loss, burnout, injustice, or a future that feels sealed shut.

We also talk about what gets missed when we read scripture through the same lens we were handed years ago. Why are so many women blurred into “Mary,” and what changes when we insist that every person in the story matters? From there, we move into “go and tell” as a commissioning that has too often been stifled. We explore how resurrection is more than a claim to debate and becomes a lived, embodied reality: pockets of hope, bigger tables, companionship, and the quiet ways our bodies know truth before our minds can prove it.

If you’ve ever wondered whether resurrection can be real when someone you love is still gone, you’re not alone. We hold that tension with tenderness, connect it to Hildegard’s greening and the cycles of nature, and offer a blessing for anyone who is going to the tomb with spices still in their hands. Subscribe, share this with a friend who needs hope, and leave a review. Where have you seen resurrection showing up lately?

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A single sentence in the news can expose what we really trust and it’s rarely what we want it to be. We’re sitting with that tension, and with a different kind of confidence: milk and mercy, the fierce tenderness that refuses to accept a world built on domination, war, and forgetting.

We talk through the season of Lent as a time for deep reimagining, using spring as our teacher: seeds split in the dark, roots take hold, and greening appears after a long hidden wait. From there, we turn to women’s wisdom in scripture and in everyday life, asking what it means to “participate in the greening” and to midwife justice. We challenge patriarchy, complementarianism, and the idea that hierarchy is the Creator’s plan, and we name the gospel as good news of peace, equity, and the divine image in every person.

Heather shares a blessing for “women of deep soil” and threshold knowledge, honoring Mary and Martha, Mary of Bethany, Mary the mother, and Mary Magdalene as witnesses who stay, weep, and tell the truth. We wrestle with prayer as alignment rather than begging, the way spiritual practice shapes us, and how we can reduce hate and trauma in the small, local places where we actually have agency. We close with Mary Magdalene as the trusted messenger, “go and tell,” and an invitation into inner sovereignty, discernment, presence, and song.

If this stirred something in you, subscribe, share this with a friend, and leave a review so more people can find these conversations, then tell us: where do you want to choose mercy over fear?

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What if your spiritual life had a map you could actually see and use? We sit down with bestselling author Lori Beth Jones to explore the “21 holds of spiritual ascent,” a vivid framework that turns vague struggle into clear, actionable steps. Instead of abstract advice, Lori gives us memorable visuals: the social hold as a carousel that looks like motion but goes nowhere, the cargo hold as overstuffed schedules and judgments, the withhold as a famine of your own voice, and the chokehold that steals breath and agency.

From there we cross the threshold—the first crack of light under a door—into upward movement. We talk about the tiny toehold that changes direction, the throwhold that requires trust, the sold hold that commits you to what’s next, and the bold hold that asks you to reach for the moving train. Lori expands on the gold hold, where values realign toward what lasts, and on the stronghold, wold hold, and behold—the places of support, clearing, and awe where you finally see you’ve been held all along. We connect these ideas to breath, voice, and the courage to take up space, especially for women taught to fold, shrink, or leave the table. Staying at the table becomes a practice of freedom.

You’ll also hear how this framework becomes a practical game and spiritual practice, including the “wonderful what-if rabbit,” a playful prompt that opens imagination and reveals hidden thresholds. Heather shares a powerful blessing for climbers, and we each name a hold we’re releasing right now—like the cargo hold of an overloaded calendar—to make room for depth and creative work. If you’ve been craving language for where you are and a nudge toward your next step, this conversation offers both clarity and companionship for the climb.

If this resonates, subscribe, share with a friend, and leave a review so more listeners can find the show. Then tell us: what hold are you naming today, and what toehold will you claim next?

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What if wonder isn’t a luxury but a way of seeing that heals how we live? Shelly and Heather open the door to a practice of holy attention, starting with a simple moment on a city sidewalk: a box labeled “Free Lemons.” From that humble gift flows a conversation about abundance, beauty, and the courage to notice what is already with us. We explore how awe differs from endless questioning, and how sensory prayer—touching, smelling, tasting—can reawaken the heart to God’s nearness and the dignity in our neighbors.

We move from contemplation to action, reflecting on Jesus’ everyday goodness: sharing meals, binding wounds, and paying the cost for someone else’s healing. That picture reframes what church can be in public life—a dependable address for kindness, patience, and steady help. Along the way, we name the noise that hijacks our attention, from relentless alerts to manipulative marketing, and we learn a kind of “spiritual caller ID” to tell the difference between a sacred invitation and a hollow distraction. Fear shrinks the path, but love widens it; the narrow way turns out to be the focused, expansive path of unity in a tribal age.

Around the table of belonging, even doubters and deniers find a seat. We remember that family is messy, yet held together by mercy, and that we’re invited to be light that points out goodness wherever it’s piled high—on street corners, in kitchens, in communities that choose service over spectacle. Come for the stories, stay for the gentle practices, and leave with a renewed desire to tell everyone where the goodness is.

If this resonated, share it with a friend, subscribe for more conversations like this, and leave a review to help others find the show.

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What if communion is less about rules and more about a living practice that heals our hunger for belonging? We sit down to reframe the table as a place of remembrance, courage, and everyday resistance—where bread meets body wisdom and wine meets shared responsibility. Starting with a growing pantry of rituals—anointing oil, candlelight, silence, movement, Celtic prayers, tea in warm hands, thresholds, altars, and blessings—we explore how simple practices become portals to presence without caging the mystery.

Our conversation traces a journey from fear to curiosity. We name the ways many of us were taught to gatekeep the sacred and how we’ve unlearned exclusion to embrace an open table. “As often as you do this” becomes a call to embodied storytelling: recalling meals, friendships, and the women who tended the sacred. We talk about communion as an inclusive act—bread as the food of the poor, wine as the drink of the privileged—and how the table trains us to make room, wait for each other, and carry love into the street.

This episode closes with a full blessing for the table: come as you are, unmasked and honest; receive what is given; rise sent to live what love has taught. If you’ve felt shut out of the sacrament or hungry for a practice that meets real life, you’ll find language, courage, and practical ways to host open tables in your home, church, or neighborhood. Subscribe, share with a friend who needs a seat, and leave a review to help more people find a table where they belong.

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A single change of light can restory a whole room—and a whole life. We open the new year inside Epiphany’s gentle glow, trading the harsh glare of judgment for the candlelit mercy that helps us see what’s been true all along: we are held, invited, and free to go home by another route. Shelly and Heather explore how sacred rhythms, awe, and unhurried attention can shift our perspective from scarcity to abundance, from self-critique to compassionate awareness.

We draw on the Magi’s journey as a living pattern: follow the star together, arrive in joy, offer what you carry, and then refuse the old path back to fear or control. That “different way home” speaks to anyone told they don’t belong—including LGBTQ listeners—affirming that home is found where love, not empire, names us. Along the way, we unpack the difference between womb-like rest and harmful darkness, and why curiosity loosens the knot between judgment and certainty.

You’ll hear simple, profound practices: breath prayers to calm the body, lighting a candle to mark sacred attention, stepping outside to recover awe under a night sky, and asking better questions about where your light is coming from in any moment. We invite women especially to claim 2026 as a year of telling a better story—shifting the source of light so beauty, dignity, and hope come into view. We close with a blessing for Epiphany that softens judgment, widens the heart, and teaches us to carry light that is gentle, brave, and generous.

If this conversation brightened something in you, share it with a friend, subscribe for more, and leave a review to help others find the light. For resources and community, visit expansionisttheology.com.

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What if the holiest things in your life aren’t on an altar but on your kitchen shelf, folded in a quilt, or humming across your lawn? We sit down with Reverend Lori Brock—priest, author, and competitive equestrian—and uncover how ordinary objects become gateways to grace.

Lori shares how a simple question from a priest cracked open a vocation she had never seen modeled for women. That thread runs through our whole conversation: why representation matters for girls in the pews, how to unlearn the secular–sacred split, and what it means to name our homes as holy ground. We dig into her practice of “letting objects testify,” a mindful way to ask not if something is sacred but how it is sacred—whether it’s an inherited skillet, a vacation ornament, or a quiet electric lawn mower that turns yard work into prayer.

Advent frames the spiritual terrain: waiting is uncomfortable, thresholds are tight, and anger can be holy because it leads us to buried grief or long-silenced power. Lori’s stories with horses bring this to earth. Grooming, hoof picks, and the trust of a prey animal reveal a living catechism of vulnerability, consent, and care. Along the way, we talk about misogyny dressed up as theology, the courage of women at the first Easter, and how to discern which objects to keep, which to bless and release, and which to let teach us one last time.

Come for the theology you can hold in your hands and leave with a practice you can live today. If this conversation stirred something in you, share it with a friend, subscribe for more expansive faith talks, and leave a review to help others find the show.

Laurie M. Brock is an Episcopal priest, competitive equestrian, and author of three books. During her time in seminary, she worked as a chaplain in the immediate aftermath of 9/11 and has continued her work in trauma chaplaincy with the Lexington Police Department in Kentucky. She is a retreat leader and guest essayist for several online and in-print devotionals.

www.broadleafbooks.com

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What if “All shall be well” isn’t escapism but a summons to live braver, kinder, and more open to mystery? We sit with Julian of Norwich’s beloved quote and ask what makes hope durable when the world feels unwell—plague, patriarchy, and the daily grind of uncertainty included. Instead of chasing certainty, we explore the freedom of unknowing, the grounding force of ritual, and the quiet courage that comes from trusting love over fear.

We take a hard look at how easy answers become avoidance, and we chart a different path: hope that looks pain in the eye and stays. From reframing death as passage to examining why judgment rarely produces justice, we talk about practices that rewire our attention—breath, blessing, bread, and honest questions like Who told me this? and Where is the holy? Along the way, we name the pull toward compassion and the call to act: advocating for the unhoused and immigrant, rejecting the myth of separateness, and returning to the good over and over until it remakes us.

Advent threads it all together as a living metaphor: lighting small candles in thick dark, consenting to carry love into the world as Mary did, again and again. If love is the truest thing, then “all shall be well” becomes a commitment, not a cliché—a way of imagining equity, choosing solidarity, and embodying mercy when it matters most. Listen, share with a friend, and tell us: what’s one small act you’ll take this week to make things well for someone near you? Subscribe for more conversations on mysticism, courage, and the everyday work of hope.