HeyJaredThe Remarkable Ordinary
We publish ordinary stories of Christian kindness, hospitality, and integrity. Our aim is to be an anti-moral failure, anti-church scandal, anti-Christian hypocrisy journalism. Have a remarkably ordinary story? Feel free to send it in!
- Indexed issues, last 90 days
- 4
- Latest publication
- Sep 19, 2026
- Audience
- Checking…
- Earliest in this view
- Jul 11, 2026
Latest issues
Sermon in a Lost Language (opens the original)
Read excerpt
<img alt="" class="sizing-normal" height="3267" src="https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/$s_!9d7d!,w_1456,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2Ffe6bc975-5f58-4353-b005-7d51b19ac6f4_2522
“I Need a Friend.” (opens the original)
Read excerpt
I was sitting on my couch scrolling my phone one evening when a text message popped up on my screen.Hey – Is it okay if I stop by tomorrow morning after I drop S. off at school? It’s been a rough week over here and I need a friend!Sure. I texted back. As long as you don’t mind the fact that I am likely to still be in my pajamas at that hour of the morning!<a class="image-link image2 is-viewable-img" href="https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/$s_!z6-L!,f_auto,q_auto:goo
The Healing Power of Exhaling Your Own Story (opens the original)
Read excerpt
The back-bench seat of a minivan found itself in South Dallas, on a street corner. I can imagine where it’s been before. Maybe it held a family like mine on our road trips from Wisconsin to Canada. It’s probably caught its share of dripping ice cream after a long day at the lake or dill-flavored sunflower seeds from 8th-grade boys after their last summer baseball game. It’s held sleepy siblings with muddy boots, fighting to stay awake after visiting Grandma and Grandpa on the farm. It safely car
Building a Band in a Homeless Shelter (opens the original)
Read excerpt
I hear it before I see it: strains of praise floating down the hallway. It’s a strange thing to hear in a place like this—it doesn’t match the peeling paint and furtive glances of the men around me. In the dim hallway, a kind of light, made of a sound.When I open the door to the chapel, a wave of sound bursts through the space, pushing a reflexive smile onto my face. About 30 men crowd around a rickety, old, slightly out-of-tune piano that was donated to the shelter long ago.<a class="image-link
Publishing over time
Last 90 days. Choose a month to open its work.
Recurring subjects
Named in the text we hold. One piece can cover several.
Audience
No verified audience measurement yet.
About this data
Counts cover the work we have indexed. Tone needs enough text and a confident classification. Excerpts and episode notes are not full articles or transcripts.
Identity or attribution wrong? Suggest a correction.