There are some weekends that leave you tired. And there are weekends that leave you grateful. This was one of the latter.
My sincere thanks to the beautiful people of Albany, OR and the community of Albany Mennonite Church for welcoming all and so warmly hosting the conference over this past weekend. There is something deeply life-giving about communities that embody hospitality not merely as a practice, but as a way of being. From the first greeting to the final goodbye, I experienced a congregation seeking to follow the Jesus Way with humility, generosity, and hope.
A special thank you to Eric Massanari and Brenda Kauffman, and to the Pacific Northwest Mennonite Conference, for the invitation and for all the thoughtful work that made the gathering such a meaningful experience. These conferences do not simply happen. They are quietly quilted together by people whose faithful presence often goes unnoticed. I am deeply grateful.
One of the highlights was co-facilitating a workshop with my new friend Rob Kirby on becoming communities that can credibly be with Gen Z. I remain convinced that younger generations have much to teach us—if we can become communities marked by curiosity, humility, justice, and genuine belonging.
As wonderful as the conference was, the journey home held one more unexpected gift.
I was able to stop and spend the afternoon with Randy & Edith Woodley. We shared lunch, caught up on life, wandered through Eloheh Farm and Indigenous Center for Earth Justice, and talked about the long, slow work of cultivating communities that learn to live in right relationship—with Creator, with one another, and with the land itself.
Walking the farm was its own kind of sermon.
Every garden bed, every pathway, every story reminded me that education is not merely the transfer of information but the cultivation of wisdom. Healing, like farming, cannot be rushed. It requires patience, attention, reciprocity, and seasons of faithful tending.
As I drove back toward Seattle, I found myself carrying a profound sense of gratitude.
Grateful for conversations that deepen friendship.
Grateful for communities that practice welcome.
Grateful for colleagues who continue imagining the church’s future.
Grateful for teachers who remind us that the land itself has lessons to offer.
Weekends like this remind me that hope is rarely found in grand events.
More often, it grows around shared tables, thoughtful conversations, real people striving to love well, workshops that spark new imagination, and gardens tended with care.
Thank you, Albany.
Thank you for your welcome.
I came to offer what I could.
I left having received far more than I gave.
Peace, dwight
