They each walked with a limp, becausethe lifelong journey of grief was setting in. My mom looked at my dad and said, “Remind me what we believe. What do we believe?”After a few moments, my dad responded with these words: “The tomb is empty. The tomb is empty.

Faith can be stirred within the walls of church buildings, but faith is formed and nourished in the waiting rooms of hospitals, helplessly witnessing a thirty-one-year-old sister suffer, holding kids affected by the AIDS epidemic, and being stretched outside of our own social makeup.

Maybe the reason faith is called faith is because seeing doesn’t lead to belief, but belief transforms the way we see.

Faith doesn’t run deep because one is stuffed with right answers. It is cultivated by asking the right questions.