The patient art of paying attention together.

Why Seen Chair

Learning to receive the care I hope to offer.

I was 41 when Hagar’s story in Genesis finally landed. I had known it for years, but there is a difference between knowing a story and finding yourself inside it. Her naming of God as El Roi, “the God who sees me,” reached me during a season when much of what usually sustained me was out of reach.

I was recovering from major jaw surgery, spending weeks at home in discomfort. The ordinary comforts of companionship, a good meal, and being able to get out of the house were suddenly limited. Eating and speaking took effort. Without my usual activities and distractions, I had a great deal of time with myself, including feelings and questions I could ordinarily keep moving past.

It was in those weeks that being seen by God began to mean something deeper to me. I was learning to receive care without being able to rely on my usual activities or abilities, and while I could do little to change my circumstances. Hagar’s words gave language to a longing that was becoming harder to ignore: to be known and loved in the middle of my need.

Later, over lunch with a trusted friend, that inward work found an ordinary, tangible expression. I was still relearning how to eat without food falling from my mouth, and speaking remained difficult. My friend stayed patient, kind, and present. He made room for the awkwardness and listened with joy as I shared what I had been wrestling with.

On the drive home, I kept thinking about how he had been with me. I left feeling deeply seen, and began to wonder what it might mean to offer that kind of space to others.

Hagar’s circumstances were her own, but her witness helped me recognize God’s care through both the solitude of recovery and the kindness of another person. That learning continues to shape my practice: patient attention to the person beneath the responsibilities, the practiced answers, and the effort to be useful. Room for what is unfinished, difficult to say, or still waiting to be heard.

Read how Hagar's story shapes this space.

How I show up

I sit with people who are listening for God and want a companion as they sort through what they are hearing. Sometimes the work is naming something holy that you already sense but have not dared to trust. Sometimes it is noticing which voices bring freedom and which carry expectations that may not belong to God.

I listen carefully, ask honest questions, and make room for silence. The work is often slower than the world wants and more ordinary than people expect.

My approach is pastoral, contemplative, and non-clinical. I am not a clinician, and spiritual direction does not replace therapy. You are welcome if you sense God moving in your life, wonder if God is, or wish God would.

Formation and experience

I completed Tending the Holy: Preparation for the Ministry of Spiritual Direction through Christos Center for Spiritual Formation in 2026, following two years of training.

My background includes more than eight years in vocational ministry through church-based ministry in Oregon and faith-based nonprofit work in Michigan. I continue to serve in volunteer and lay ministry at City Life Church. My own faith has been formed and re-formed across several Christian traditions, with a Wesleyan community as home.

I am also the founder of Seen Place, the studio behind PastorKit and other tools for reflection and care. The work of building and the work of accompaniment share an instinct: paying attention to the person beneath the responsibilities.

Away from the screen

When I am not directing, I am usually making something, wandering somewhere, or paying attention to a story.

I share life with my wife, Andi, and our family is in the strange and beautiful transition toward an increasingly empty nest. I spend a lot of time biking, writing, building things with my hands, playing games, listening to music, and finding excuses to linger over coffee.

Pyrography, burning images into wood, has become one of my contemplative practices. There is something about working slowly with heat, grain, and imperfection that teaches me to pay attention.

I also come from a background in theater and playback improv. Both prepared me for spiritual direction in ways I did not expect. They taught me to listen with my whole body, notice what is happening beneath the obvious, and trust what wants to emerge without forcing the ending.