When People Are the Story

What’s your favourite thing about yourself?
It’s an odd question, isn’t it? Odd, because I don’t tend to think in terms of favourites. And if I do reflect on what I value, it usually loops back to other people.

So perhaps I’d say this: I’m glad that I still care deeply about people.

Not in a loud or demonstrative way—I’m not especially effusive. But across the years, I’ve come to trust that people sense my interest, my steady attention, my quiet delight in who they are becoming. I’m fascinated by what shapes them, by how their stories unfold, by what helps them flourish. That fascination has been the thread that’s held through decades of ministry, teaching, and leadership.

Some people who work closely with others grow weary. That’s understandable. The weight of need, the churn of transition, the reality of disappointment—it can harden a person. But in my case, something different happened. The more I’ve worked with people, the more I’ve loved them. Even in difficulty. Especially in difficulty.

It’s why I didn’t pursue a corporate career. It’s why I chose ministry. It’s why I went into academia—not just to learn, but to share what I’ve learned in ways that build others up. And it’s why I’ve stayed with university students all these years. Because they matter. Their potential matters. And it brings me genuine joy to walk alongside them for a time, to champion their growth, to watch as they move into the future.

Looking back, I can see that I’ve been drawn—again and again—to places where people are learning, growing, and trying to make sense of who they are. And I’ve had the privilege of being part of that. Not to fix them. Not to impress them. But to bear witness. To encourage. To help shape a space where they can become more fully themselves.

So yes—if I have to name something I’m thankful for in myself, it’s this: that even after all these years, I haven’t grown cynical or closed off. I still love people. I still believe in their capacity to grow. And I’m still grateful, every day, to walk part of the road with them.

I’m not the loudest in the room,
but I notice.
I listen for the shape of a life
still becoming.

People matter—
not as tasks or titles
but as stories
God is writing
one breath at a time.

That’s why I stayed—
in ministry, in teaching,
in honest conversations
in college dorms.

I’ve never grown tired of people.
Never needed to harden my heart.
If anything,
I love them more now—
the way they grow,
the way they try.

And if I have one quiet joy,
it’s this:
to walk beside them
as they find their way
toward hope.