I recently wrote a story about homeless women. The main purpose was to highlight one of the most vulnerable populations in our country, particularly at a time when all sorts of groups are calling attention to gender inequality and social justice issues. 

Mary Nolan was having a wonderful 10th birthday. She had two parties that day and was walking home from the second one when a man grabbed her, slammed her onto a snowbank, and raped her. Nolan didn’t understand exactly what was happening: All she knew was that this man was hurting her, and she couldn’t stop him. Nolan says that was Dec. 22, 1964, in Moquah, Wis.—the day she learned about evil.

When Chinese scientist He Jiankui appeared onstage at the Second International Summit on Human Genome Editing in Hong Kong, the news of what he would say had already zipped across the world. Two days earlier, on Nov. 25, He had told an organizer of the conference that he had helped make the world’s first genetically edited babies—twin girls by the pseudonyms Lulu and Nana—by altering their DNA while they were embryos to become resistant to future HIV infection.

When Michael Garcia first spoke to me, I secretly wished he would leave me alone. 

As a journalist, I’ve often had moments of anxiety when I felt like I would never be able to produce a story. That is, until I remember I serve a God who hears my prayers. 

Each time after I pray, God opens doors to sources that turn out to be what I call a “journalist’s jackpot.” That was the case while I was reporting on a story about the Borderline Bar & Grill shooting and wildfires in Southern California. 

In the latest sign of trouble brewing within Azusa Pacific University (APU), two members of the Board of Trustees have recently resigned, citing “obvious violations of evangelical orthodoxy.” 

I was the most ungrateful person on Thanksgiving this year. Every year, I fly from Los Angeles to northern Virginia to visit my parents for Thanksgiving. And this time, I flew there with an attitude. 

I could blame how I barely slept on a red-eye flight next to a child who kept stretching her legs out on top of me. I could blame how I was cold and hungry throughout the 5½-hour flight. But the fact is, that attitude comes from a fundamental truth that I can never change: I am a pastor’s kid.