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.

Part Three: The Ache for Home

On Heaven, Longing, and the Space Between

I’ve been pondering this ache—the longing.
It rises when I’m tracing names through old census rolls or piecing together forgotten branches of my family tree.
There’s something sacred in remembering people who were otherwise lost.

But recently, a dear friend said something unexpected:
“Maybe the longing isn’t for the past… maybe it’s for the future. Maybe it’s the ache for the Kingdom. For Heaven.”

Hmm.
That would require me to think about Heaven.
Is my mind even ready for that trip?

It’s not like I’ve never thought about it. I’ve heard the promises:
Heaven is where I’ll go when I die. Where God is.
Where there are mansions and emerald foundations, streets of gold, and reunions with everyone who’s gone before.

Right?
Right?

Time to ponder.

I could ramble on about what the Church Fathers said.
I could quote Scripture, dust off ancient theology, or retell stories of people who’ve “passed over” and come back with visions of light and peace.

But… what is reality?

Reality is—we don’t know what Heaven is.

The basic Judeo-Christian belief presents Heaven as the dwelling place of God.
A realm of eternal peace, joy, and communion with the Divine.
A place where we will be fully in God’s presence—where there is no pain, no death, no more sorrow.

There’s imagery, of course—golden streets and banquet tables, loved ones recognized and embraced again.
But ultimately?

It is beyond us.

“This is what we speak, not in words taught us by human wisdom but in words taught by the Spirit, explaining spiritual realities with Spirit-taught words.”
—1 Corinthians 2:13

We speak of Heaven, but we do so through a veil.
Through longing.
Through faith.

And maybe that’s okay.
Maybe the longing is the reality.

So, what do I think reality is?

There’s no particularly humble way to ponder this, but I’ll say it anyway:
I don’t think the afterlife is what we’ve been told.
At least, not entirely.

I think it’s something in between.
Not clouds and harps.
Not simply “going home.”
Not just a reunion.

But also—not nothing.

Quantum physics, anyone?
(Yeah, I went there.)

We already know that reality is layered.
That time isn’t linear.
That energy doesn’t disappear—it transforms.
That memory, emotion, consciousness—all the things we associate with the soul—aren’t bound to a single brain cell or organ.

They ripple.
They imprint.
They move.

So, when I think of Heaven now…

I don’t think of a place far away. I think of a continuum—
A return to fullness.
To clarity.
To light.
To the Source we’ve been aching for all along.

This thought isn’t meant to lessen God—
To reduce Him to some abstract cosmic force or impersonal energy field.

I believe God is God.
The I AM.
The Creator of all things seen and unseen.
Not bound by time. Not confined to matter.
Not made in our image—but making us in His.

But I also believe we, in our human limitations, have a habit of shrinking Him.

We try to put eternity into the confines of sentences.
We fit the Divine into our denominational diagrams.
We build theologies from metaphors and call them maps.

Maybe Heaven is one of those things we’ve tried to explain with language that was never meant to hold it.

Because if God is bigger than time,
Then the afterlife isn’t a destination.
It’s not a place we go.
It’s a reality we return to.

And since there’s no good English word for what I mean—
I’m going to dig into some Hebrew. And some Greek.

Because the way we’ve translated repentance has done more damage than good.

Coming up on Vipond’s Ponder:

We’ll talk about teshuvah
Why the word repent is a tragic mistranslation soaked in shame,
How guilt became a tangled web we weave,
And why Heaven isn’t just later—
It’s the wholeness of God
now and then.

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Part Two: What the Body Remembers

Inherited Trauma, Epigenetics, and the Healing We Carry Forward

In my last post, I wrote about the quiet ache I carry for people I’ve never met. Ancestors whose names I discover in dusty records, and whose stories I feel echoing through my bones—a remembrance of love and pain. A lineage.

Did you know that from the very first breath of Genesis, Scripture is obsessed with ancestry? “This one begat that one…” Names we skip over—but Heaven didn’t. Because in God’s story, no one arrives out of nowhere. Every life is connected. Every name matters. Every lineage is recorded—not just to show where we come from, but to remind us that belonging is sacred.

Abraham. Isaac. Jacob. Rahab. Ruth. David. Mary. Joseph. Jesus.

The Word made flesh didn’t just appear. He entered through bloodlines and backstories—through scandal and survival, through generations that wrestled with God and didn’t always win. Even Christ—the eternal One—chose to arrive through a human line.

That tells me something. It tells me that lineage isn’t a footnote. It’s part of the mission.

And maybe that’s why I feel the pull of ancestry in my bones. Because the Word doesn’t just point forward—it reaches back. And we’re caught in the middle. Finite and dust-made, yet eternal in our calling. Bound to this earth, yet stamped with the image of a God who was and is and is to come.

We ache for the past. We reach for the future. And somehow, now, we’re invited to hold both.

Trauma in the Genes (Sort Of)

So, I found myself asking: What am I holding from the past? Because sometimes the ache isn’t just emotional. It feels… biological. Like something living under the surface of my skin.

As usual, science is catching up with the Word of God. There’s a name for this continuum: epigenetic inheritance. Science is affirming what many have known through both experience and Scripture: that what touches one generation can ripple through the next.

Let’s be clear: inherited trauma is not the “baggage” we pick up through family drama. It’s not the victim-hood that hangs on culture like a wet rage. But it can be passed down. And not just through stories—but through biology.

Here’s how: When a person undergoes extreme stress or trauma—like war, famine, or abuse—the body doesn’t just cope in the moment. It can flip internal switches, preparing for future threats. These are on/off signals within our genes—molecular instructions that tell the body how to respond.

It’s the same kind of biological process that turns cancer genes on or off. Science calls these “epigenetic markers.” Specifically, methylation tags—chemical markers that attach to our DNA and influence whether certain genes are active or silenced.

And these tags can affect your stress response system—how you manage anxiety, fear, grief, even resilience. It’s not just poetic to say “the body remembers.” The body literally encodes it.¹

Here’s where it gets wild: sometimes, these stress-related tags can be passed on to children and grandchildren.

One famous example: babies born during the Dutch Hunger Winter (1944–45) had higher rates of obesity, heart disease, and mental health issues later in life.² Another: descendants of Holocaust survivors show epigenetic changes in cortisol regulation.³

Let me say this clearly:

Trauma is not destiny.

But these epigenetic tags—the biological echoes of pain—can shape you. Even if you’ve never had a traumatic day in your life. Even if you were raised in peace. Your body may still be responding to a war it never fought.

So, what do we do with this inheritance?

Adonai—our Creator, our Healer—does not leave us without a response. He does not say, “This is your bloodline—deal with it.” He tells us:

“Be transformed by the renewing of your mind.” (Romans 12:2)

This isn’t just a mindset shift. It’s a biological counter-movement. The Spirit interrupting a genetic script.

Because here’s what we now know: trauma can leave markers on your DNA. But healing can change how those genes are expressed.

And this isn’t just poetic—it’s biological.

Studies have shown that meditation, therapy, and even sustained mindset change can affect how genes related to stress and healing are expressed.⁴⁵ The mind, renewed in Christ, doesn’t just transform the spirit—it can reshape the body’s responses too.

New choices. New thoughts. New spiritual rhythms. They don’t erase the past. But they can rewrite how the past shapes the present.

Renewing the mind is not just a metaphor—it’s a step in healing. A quiet act of restoration.

As I continue to write, I’ll keep including “Mind Like Christ” reflections—simple moments to pause, question, and renew how we think. Because transformation starts in the mind… but it doesn’t end there. More to come…

References

¹ Zannas, A. S., & West, A. E. (2014). Epigenetics and the regulation of stress vulnerability and resilience. Neuroscience, 264, 157–170. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.neuroscience.2013.07.057
² Lumey, L. H., Stein, A. D., & Susser, E. (2011). Prenatal famine and adult health. Annual Review of Public Health, 32, 237–262. https://doi.org/10.1146/annurev-publhealth-031210-101230
³ Yehuda, R., et al. (2015). Holocaust exposure induced intergenerational effects on FKBP5 methylation. Biological Psychiatry, 80(5), 372–380. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.biopsych.2015.08.005
⁴ Bhasin, M. K., et al. (2013). Relaxation response induces temporal transcriptome changes in energy metabolism, insulin secretion and inflammatory pathways. PLoS ONE, 8(5), e62817. https://doi.org/10.1371/journal.pone.0062817
⁵ Vinkers, C. H., et al. (2019). Successful treatment of post-traumatic stress disorder reverses DNA methylation marks. Molecular Psychiatry, 26, 1264–1271. https://doi.org/10.1038/s41380-019-0496-z

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Bones Beneath the River of Life: On lineage & longing

Welcome to The Pondering Place.
This is where we wrestle with longing, memory, faith, and freedom — not as doctrines, but as living questions.
This piece is one of the first I wrote that felt like my soul had surfaced. I hope it meets you where you are.

I have this quiet ache that sits in the bones—not of pain, but of pull.

It shows up when I’m watching historical films or falling down rabbit holes on My Heritage or Ancestry. While sifting through old documents, brushing digital dust off names no one speaks anymore. Or while sitting on a rivers edge, or the cliff of a mountain. I feel a strange loneliness—for people I’ve never met. Grandmothers. Great-uncles. Someone named Ernst with a serious brow. They often feel close, like a whisper behind my shoulder.

But Jerry doesn’t feel it. He looks at the past and sees… the past. Interesting, maybe. Worth respecting, certainly. But it doesn’t call him forward the way it does me.

“It’s just names and dates, they do not determine who I am today.” he says—not unkindly.

That difference between us used to baffle me.

For years, I chalked it up to geography. My father and grandfather were from the old world, where family lines were both sacred and scattered. Jerry’s family has been in America since the 1700s. We could visit their graves if we had the mind to. Their stories are folded neatly into local history, their names etched into buildings and street signs. Maybe when you belong somewhere that long, you don’t have to long for anything.

But lately, I’m not so sure.

Maybe it’s not geography that creates that ache. Maybe it’s a kind of spiritual frequency that some of us are just tuned into—a genetic resonance, a soul-based curiosity, a divine breadcrumb trail. Maybe something in my DNA didn’t just pass down eye color or metabolism, but memory. Mystery. Mission.

Perhaps there’s one like me in every family—meant to keep the story alive.

Appointed to remember what others forgot.

Appointed to carry what others buried.

Maybe even appointed to heal deep wounds passed silently down through generations.

I know I’m not the only one who feels this way. Many cultures—Indigenous, Mexican, and throughout much of Asia—have never lost this connection. They honor ancestors not as ghosts, but as guides. Their names are spoken, their wisdom remembered, their presence invited to the table.

Sometimes I wonder if this longing I carry is really a longing to return to that—to a world where lineage was sacred, where the past wasn’t something to escape, but something to walk with.

There’s a kind of synchronicity in it all. A spiral of time. I think the past keeps sending signals, waiting for someone to answer back. And when I dive into the history of an ancestor—when I trace a name or uncover a story—I don’t feel alone.

I feel woven into something eternal.

And maybe that’s the truest inheritance of all.

✨ If something here spoke to you, you’re welcome to stay a while.
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What story in your family line still echoes in your thoughts, habits, or beliefs?

  • Was it silence?
  • Shame?
  • Perseverance?
  • Unspoken grief?
  • A legacy of strength no one ever named?

This week, ponder the turning of hearts—not just emotionally, but cognitively.

What belief did you inherit that’s asking to be healed? Pessimism? Racism? Hyper-independence? People-Pleasing?
What could you remember differently?

Ask God to help you see your lineage with His eyes.
Not with judgment, but with grace.
Not with nostalgia, but with purpose.
Not for the past, but for what it still carries forward.

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When God Speaks in the Silence

There’s a season for pouring into others, and a season for listening to what’s been poured into you.

For many years, I walked the path of a teacher—pouring energy, compassion, and hard-earned wisdom into the lives of others. It was a calling I never questioned, until the voice inside—the one I hadn’t heard in decades—began to rise again.

That voice wasn’t telling me to stop teaching.
It was inviting me to return to something I had buried long ago: writing.

The Play I Wrote… and the One I Didn’t

In grade school, I wrote a play. Just a small story in a child’s handwriting—dreamed up with the kind of boldness only a young imagination can hold. My teacher, bless her, didn’t just pat me on the head. She made the whole class perform it.

It should have been a joyful, affirming moment.
But instead, it silenced me.

My classmates laughed. They told me I didn’t write it. Called me a liar. Made fun of the words I had so lovingly put to the page. And in that strange way childhood wounds do, I absorbed it. I believed them. I stopped sharing my writing.

Not all silence is holy.
Some of it is survival.

I learned to hide the parts of me that felt too tender for ridicule. I learned to be “smart” instead of creative. To teach instead of tell. To pour out what was expected, not what was burning inside me. And yet, even in all those years of silence, my passion burned and God never stopped listening.

A New Season

Now, I find myself in a season I never quite expected—a season of freedom and time. The kind I used to dream of but never thought would be mine. I’m no longer bound by the rhythms of survival or the need to prove my worth. Instead, I find myself sitting with that younger version of me—the girl who wrote a play—and letting her speak again.

Writing now isn’t about proving anything.
It’s about reclaiming what was always mine.
And more importantly, what God never asked me to give up.

“See, I am doing a new thing. Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?” — Isaiah 43:19

Sometimes God speaks through silence—not to quiet us, but to draw us back to our truest voice. The one He planted long before others tried to reshape it.

So here I am. Writing. Reflecting. Creating The Pondering Place not as a platform, but as a space of restoration—for me and for anyone else who has ever been silenced, softened, or shut down.

If any part of your voice has been quieted—by fear, shame, or just the busyness of life—know that God still hears it. And He may be whispering: It’s time.

What voice did you silence in yourself to feel safe, accepted, or “reasonable”?

  • Was it creativity?
  • Boldness?
  • Emotion?
  • Curiosity?

This week, ask God to speak to you in the quiet.
Not with noise, but with clarity.
Not with answers, but with invitation.

“Let this mind be in you, which was also in Christ Jesus.” — Philippians 2:5

Write it down. Revisit it. And if you’re ready—let that voice speak again.

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Struggles with the Modern-Day Church: They can’t all be right.

For many years now, I have struggled with the institution of the modern-day church. Whether Catholic, Baptist, Lutheran, or something else, they cannot all be ‘right,’ so logically, that means that they all are wrong. Before you have a cow, churches do a lot of good, and I mean “real” good. They are the arm of God that feeds God’s people, both physically and mentally. They help give social support and purpose. They are a safe place to worship and pray to God in the manner that a person is comfortable with. And (I am ashamed of the USA for having to point this out) they are a safe place for people to believe whatever religion they want to.

Still, the modern church has become something that Jesus would not recognize. I am not convinced that the monstrosity that is the institutional church is what Jesus had in mind when he told Peter, “And on this rock, I will build my church, and the gates of Hades will not overcome it” Matthew 16:18. The term church is translated from the Greek word ekklesia. This word was used in both a religious and a secular context in ancient Greek. Referring generally to an assembly or gathering of people for a particular purpose. Its root comes from “to call out” or “summon forth.”  

What was Jesus calling out? He was calling out to the Jewish people, and anyone else who will listen, to serve one another, to be “one” as He and the Father are one (John 13:34-35, John 17:21). He tells his followers to go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them and teaching them to obey Gods commandments, and Jesus instructed them how to pray to God Matthew 26:26-28, and He taught them about the Holy Spirit.

He is simply sharing the truth about God, His love, and how we should treat each other.

After Jesus’ death and resurrection, the rest of the New Testament is Peter and Paul’s best grasp of what to do next. The people clamored for structure and rule, like the lambs we are. Peter, Paul, and all the apostles of Jesus did what they could as mere humans to organize the growing followers and answer questions.  Were all their answers correct?  I don’t know. It is safe to assume that since they were the closest to Jesus, the path they led the church on is the best version of a church. But within one generation, there were already schisms, infighting, and power plays. Clement, an early church leader, writes a long letter to the Corinthians, admonishing a younger group of followers who wanted to oust some older leaders. We don’t know all the details, but there was strife, and Clements’ advice was to be kind and follow Jesus. These types of schisms still continue, some so bad they led to war, others the creation of whole new church systems. Hate and pride are ripe among these divisions.

So, what do we know for certain? We know for certain that Mankind will always make a mess of things.  Because of that, each person is solely responsible for their own life and choices. At some point in a person’s life, they must choose God or deny God. From there, one needs to live as Jesus told us: Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind; love your neighbor as yourself. Jesus said all of the law and the prophets’ hang on these two commandments Matthew 22:40. Jesus knows we are of a simple mind. So, He made it simple for us.

Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind; love your neighbor as yourself.

I can do this. I understand this. This makes sense.

As for the rest *– “to thine own self be true”, as Shakespeare suggested.

“Let this mind be in you, which was also in Christ Jesus.” — Philippians 2:5

This week, simplify. Jesus said the whole law rests on two things:
“Love the Lord your God… and love your neighbor as yourself.”
Before reacting, posting, judging, or deciding—ask:
Does this reflect love for God and love for my neighbor?

Let everything else sit quietly in the background

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Hello World!

About us

Welcome to The Pondering Place—where faith meets daily life, and where we explore how our minds shape our spiritual journey.

This blog is dedicated to examining the intersection of Christian principles and cognitive psychology, offering a unique perspective on how to navigate life with both wisdom and understanding.

Here, we believe that our thoughts profoundly influence our actions and behaviors. By understanding how we perceive, reason, and make decisions, we can learn to reframe our thoughts and align them with God’s teachings. This kind of alignment doesn’t just lead to better choices—it fosters a life rooted in humility, gratitude, and love, just as Jesus modeled.

We’ll draw on the wisdom of scriptures like Proverbs 3:5–6 and the tools of cognitive behavioral science. For example, James 1:2–4 reminds us to view trials as growth opportunities—a principle that resonates with the concept of cognitive reframing, which shifts our focus from discomfort to development.

Whether you’re:

  • Facing a hard decision,
  • Seeking comfort in uncertainty,
  • Or simply curious how the brain and spirit work together—

The Pondering Place is here to support you.

Let’s ponder life’s questions together, learn from one another, and embrace a journey of faith informed by a mind renewed through truth and transformation.

“Be transformed by the renewing of your mind…” —Romans 12:2

With joy and curiosity,
Christine ViPond

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