How to Be Still

    A Monarch butterfly in lavender flowers against a blue sky.


    Posted on April 2, 2021 by Jenn Zatopek

    I am honored to share another essay with you on the power of rest from overwork. How do we unhook our identities from what we do as humans and sink deeply into our own worthiness as eternal, spiritual. beings? Are we solely our output? Does working nonstop help us live fully awake and alive to the endless possibilities around us? Join me over at The Glorious Table as I explore this important issue. And may you have a safe, peaceful, and nourishing Easter and Passover weekend.


    On a cool fall afternoon at the end of a long week of work, I stumbled upon a story from a popular online Christian magazine that reminded me of trouble from my ancient past: recovery from depression as a pastor’s wife. As I read, unease grew in my belly. Twenty years ago, as a new Christian, a greenhorn in the faith, I longed to be in full-time ministry. After all, I was a brand-new convert, cared deeply about others, and wanted to save everyone I met. . .

    I’d love it if you clicked here to read the full essay over at The Glorious Table. 

    (Photo by Justin DoCanto on Unsplash)


    A Love Letter to the Lost


    Posted on January 19, 2021 by Jenn Zatopek

    I am thrilled to share my latest essay with you now, a book review of The Long Night, a memoir on depression recovery by first-time author and pastor Jessica Kantrowitz. Given the constant barrage of stress we all face amid surviving a global pandemic, the fallout of white supremacy, and more, I can, without any doubts, highly recommend this book. It is both a literary memoir and a thoughtful resource for persons of faith struggling with depression.


    Pastor and first-time author Jessica Kantrowitz has written a soulful manual for surviving depression and chronic illness. I wish this were required reading for all to help dispel the terrible myths about depression that poison our beloved community. Her artful memoir “The Long Night” tackles a difficult subject with warmth and deep compassion, filling a great need for the lost and despairing among us. . .

    I’d love it if you clicked here to read the full essay at The Presbyterian Outlook

    (Photo by Christian puta on Unsplash)


    A Different Sort of Advent

    Posted on December 15, 2020 by Jenn Zatopek

    As I pen this Advent reflection, the world rocks in turmoil. Our world is ravaged by the deadly Coronavirus with over 1.1 million dead worldwide. Systemic racism and its practices continue flourishing even as sustained movements like Black Lives Matter push back against these evils. United States President Donald Trump has perpetuated oppressive practices through his vitriolic rhetoric, and many unjust policies have left children separated from their families, Black and Brown bodies dead from violent police brutality, the earth worn down from violent climate policies, the vicious spread of hate on the LGBTQIA2+ communities, lack of proper education and housing resources and other moral failings (to say the least). Read more


    Out of the Caverns


    Posted on October 22, 2020 by Jenn Zatopek

    Earlier this year, I wrote a little essay I loved, which was rejected by several publications. Feeling dejected, I wondered why creating art about an experience before Coronavirus would be deemed irrelevant by editors. It occurred to me, only recently, that it is only irrelevant if I look to others for validation without validating myself first. And thankfully, I no longer need to do that! Their rejections, along with my other curious emotions, became rich loamy soil in the ground of my soul, which, in turn, birthed another essay. And I am delighted to share it with you now. Many thanks to Sarah Cozart, Heather Caliri, Joe Burnham, Lauren White, and my husband for helping with this essay.

    In fear and trembling and so much wonder, I salute us. With courage and amazement, we walk on together.

    Read more


    The Gift of Honesty


    Posted on June 16, 2020 by Jenn Zatopek

    Many of us feel abandoned and bereft, especially now during the days of the twin pandemics. Now more than ever, it is crucial that we anchor ourselves in audacious hope: the Divine does, indeed, care about and for us. I am thrilled to share my latest essay with you. Join me at The Glorious Table as I explore how our honesty with ourselves, others, and God has the power to change our lives.


    It’s dangerous when we marry Christian theology with cultural lies of toxic positivity, especially during something like the devastating coronavirus pandemic. As a practicing psychotherapist, I am aware of how brave it is for my clients to share their hurts with me when they have not been given a chance to release their sorrows to friends, family, or at church. . . .

    I’d love if you click here to read the rest of the article at The Glorious Table.

    (Photo by Maxim Tolchinskiy on Unsplash)


    My Year as Beloved


    Posted on April 21, 2020 by Jenn Zatopek

    I’m thrilled to share my first article at The Waking Blog at Ruminate Magazine with you today. It’s a unique blend of storytelling, spiritual reflection, and artful psychological analysis of how using the word “beloved” as my vision word last year changed everything. My inspiration for the article arrived at the start of this year, shortly after I read Henri Nouwen’s wonderful book called Life of the Beloved. If you have a chance to read it, please do so. It’s short yet profound and filled with heartfelt and compassionate prose, guiding the reader toward humanity’s true identity in God.

    As always, thank you for taking the time to read this essay. I hope you enjoy it, and that you can firmly find time to rest, again and again, in who you are, not in what you do.


    Last January, I chose a word to cast a positive vision for the year. A few days after I prayed, a word came to me through a dear friend who slipped a bracelet with the word “beloved” into my hands. It was a cold, gray day when we met up for dinner, but my delight at being seen by my friend was ineffable. We shared our vulnerable hearts with one another, a gift for my parched and weary soul.

    As time wore on the tectonic plates of the relationship shifted, and like the aftermath of a volcanic eruption, the earth filled with molten lava and cooled in a new distance between us. . . 

    I’d love it if you click here to read the rest at Ruminate Magazine’s blog The Waking. 

    (Photo from Unsplash)


    Rest is a Weapon

    A sandy beach with the sunset in the distance.


    Posted on March 10, 2020

    My latest essay is over at The Glorious Table, and I could not be more thrilled to share it with you. The subject is on a much-needed one, a topic you will hear me write on again and again: rest. Why do I write about rest so very much? I think part of my desire is to break down the stigma to taking regular breaks, engaging in creativity, and letting go of endless work as a means to validate one’s existence on the planet. Another is personal: I struggle to let myself rest as a spiritual practice. But my long-term survival and yours depends on saying no to endless production and incorporating sabbath rests into our busy schedules. My hope is that this story invites you into examine your own life, discern where you can find rest for your souls, and courage to do so.


    “God’s trying to tell you something,” my friend says pointedly, raising her eyebrows at me with a small smile playing about her lips. We walk out of the church and say our goodbyes, and I make my way slowly to my car. The afternoon is hot and breezy.

    It is fall in North Texas. The temperatures plummet to the low nineties, fluffy clouds fill cerulean skies, and locals sigh with relief and nod to each other, saying, “Fall is practically here.” The drive back to work is short, but my friend’s question lingers long after I settle down at home for the evening.

    God’s trying to tell you something.

    I’d love it if you would click here to finishing reading at The Glorious Table.

    (Photo by Ashley McLaren on Unsplash)