Author: Jerry & Christine ViPond

Jerry and Christine have joyfully navigated 35 years of marriage, blending traditional Christian values with their unique, progressive perspectives. Christine, armed with a Ph.D. in Cognitive Psychology, brings a deep understanding of the human mind to their partnership. Jerry, with two decades of experience managing a team, is known for his diplomatic approach and leadership. Together, they cherish their faith and believe that the essence of Christianity lies in thoughtful reflection, kindness, and a profound love for God. Their journey reflects a commitment to living a life that honors these principles.

My Brain’s New Tenant

Recently my mornings feel like I spent the night front row at a rock concert with several shots of tequila. I promise you, I have not. And yet my brain hurts just the same.

Meet the newest thing in my life: Idiopathic Intracranial Hypertension (IIH). I swear they make this stuff up. Basically, it means: “We don’t know why, but your brain is building up too much pressure inside your skull.”

Let me try to explain how it feels: it’s as if a hormonal teenager moved into my head and is blasting vintage Metallica. Or, you know, that piercing sound that makes all moms wince—a toddler having a tantrum in a store aisle. That’s the feeling.

I didn’t invite this monster into my skull, but here IIH is. It’s absurd. And since crying only makes it hurt more, I’ll laugh. No angry teen or bratty toddler is going to break my will. I’ll fight, I’ll live, and I’ll keep laughing in the face of pain—because wit and chutzpah can outsmart anything life throws my way.

Remember: “God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble.” (Psalm 46:1)

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Some days, the best we can do is simply exist.

The to-do lists sit untouched, conversations feel too costly, and the world seems to demand more than we can give.

But still, we breathe.
Still, we are here.
Still, the sun moves across the sky—slowly, faithfully—whether we watch it or not.

Maybe the work of today isn’t accomplishing or producing.
Maybe it’s letting the soul rest, trusting that rest itself is holy.
Even the earth has its seasons of stillness before the green returns.

So if today feels like too much, remember: you are not failing for needing a pause.
You are simply honoring the truth that even the strongest hearts need quiet to keep beating.

“Come to Me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.” — Matthew 11:28
Today, let’s lay down the weight we’re carrying and lean into the arms of the One who never grows weary.

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Is This It?

There’s been a lot of movement lately—both below our feet and all around us. The Ring of Fire has been rumbling again, the news cycle is filled with reports of quakes, eruptions, and more shootings than I can emotionally register. It’s hard not to feel the earth itself groaning.

And in times like these, people start to ask: Is this it?

Is this what the Bible warned us about? The birth pains? The unraveling?

I’ve asked it too.

But then I remember: people were asking the same question in 1942, watching the world burn in real time. They asked it during the Black Plague, during the Spanish Flu, during slavery, famine, persecution. The question isn’t new.

What’s striking is not the fear—but the human pattern of forgetting that we’ve been here before.

This doesn’t mean we ignore the warnings. But it reminds me to live alert, not alarmed.

Maybe every generation is given a window to wake up. To look at the world and reckon with what we’ve built, and who we’ve become.

And maybe “the end” isn’t always about apocalypse. Maybe it’s also about invitation.

To return to God.
To bolster our faith.
To strengthen our resolve to love, to live with truth, to walk in light.

So no, I don’t know if this is it. But I know this is real. And that’s enough to live awake—and to return.

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A Little Peek at What I’m Writing

So, I’ve been working on this book—First, Know Thyself—and it’s not really a “book” in the self-help sense. It’s more like a conversation I wish someone had with me years ago. The kind that doesn’t try to fix you, but asks just enough of the right questions to get you thinking, “Wait… what do I actually value? And why do I keep choosing things that don’t match?”

I keep circling this idea that so much stress isn’t about doing too much—it’s about doing what doesn’t line up with who we are. And we feel it. In our bodies. In our relationships. In that gut sense of being slightly off-kilter, even when everything looks “fine” on paper.

The book is part reflection journal, part framework, and part gentle kick in the pants. I wrote it to help those living the chaos of making decisions out of fear, or habit, or someone else’s expectations. And I wanted to explore what it might look like to choose differently—on purpose, with a little more clarity and a lot more compassion.

Anyway, it’s coming along. Slowly. Honestly. And if it helps even one person breathe easier in their own skin, it’ll be worth it.

More soon. 💭

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So busy

Between the new puppy, finishing my first book, and life, I have not had time to put my ponderings down in print. Though I do fall asleep with lots of thoughts each night…. Please stay with me more to come soon!

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Jules Verne Knew the Future


—but he couldn’t have imagined what we’d do with it.

I’ve been reading Five Weeks in a Balloon, and there’s this line that stopped me in my tracks. Verne observes that Europe’s soil is becoming exhausted, and that America will one day face the same fate. Eventually, he predicts, Africa will become the agricultural center of the world.

It’s eerie how right he was.

Even in the 1800s, the land was already giving its warning. Generations of over-farming had stripped the soil bare. And he could see what was coming: extraction without regeneration, empire without restraint. He understood that the Earth doesn’t just keep giving. It keeps score.

But what he couldn’t have predicted was how far we’d go to override the land’s limits.

Instead of listening, we threw technology at the problem—fertilizers, monocrops, irrigation systems that drained rivers dry. We pushed yields higher and faster, with no thought to the long game. We engineered volume, not vitality. And now? We’re circling back. In the States, we’re just now starting to remove toxic chemicals from our food—finally catching up to what Europe understood decades ago. We talk about organic, sustainable, chemical-free like it’s cutting-edge… but we still don’t have a clue how to meet global demand without exhausting the Earth in the process.

Verne imagined Africa as a rising breadbasket. And today, yes—it holds some of the richest uncultivated land on the planet. But so much of that land is leased out to foreign entities, used for exports, or left vulnerable to climate shocks. We took promise and turned it into profit.

So here’s what I’m sitting with:
Can we still be innovative without being so destructive?

Can we imagine a future where technology partners with nature instead of overpowering it? Where food systems aren’t just efficient, but equitable? Where abundance doesn’t mean burnout?

And in the face of something so big, I ask the question I think most of us quietly carry: What can one person do?

Maybe we start by paying attention. By choosing differently, even in small ways. By asking better questions about what we eat, how it’s grown, and who gets to flourish. Maybe we start by imagining a future that doesn’t just feed the world—but heals it.

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