Whispers and Wonders with Garrett Andrew

About Whispers and Wonders with Garrett Andrew

Part spoken-word prayer chapel, part teaching space, Whispers and Wonders is where the sacred and the searching meet. Join Dr. Garrett J. Andrew for reflections on Scripture, poetic blessings, and classes that ask hard questions with holy hope. Come as you are—especially if that means unsure, undone, or still trying. garrettjandrew.substack.com (https://garrettjandrew.substack.com?utm_medium=podcast)

Publisher

Whispers and Wonders: Where the ache meets the holy.

Category

religion & spirituality · society & culture

Language

en

Explicit

No

First episode

13 Feb 2025

Latest episode

29 Aug 2025

Latest episodes

16 episodes in the feed.

1. 

   29 Aug 2025

   The Spirituality of a Public Park

   In this episode, we explore how a public park, a simple shared space, can be a profound place of spiritual discovery. Join us as we reflect on the deeper purpose of nature, community, and finding peace in the middle of a busy city. This began as an essay on my Substack: The support of paid subscribers makes most of this possible. Thank you for those of you who support me. And if this spoke to you at all, please consider subscribing, sharing it with anyone who may need it, and liking it. All of this helps others find this quiet corner of the internet. Whispers and Wonders is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Get full access to Whispers and Wonders at garrettjandrew.substack.com/subscribe (https://garrettjandrew.substack.com/subscribe?utm_medium=podcast&utm_campaign=CTA_4)

2. 

   13 Aug 2025

   Salt, Spirit, and the Shape of the Sea

   Get full access to Whispers and Wonders at garrettjandrew.substack.com/subscribe (https://garrettjandrew.substack.com/subscribe?utm_medium=podcast&utm_campaign=CTA_4)

3. 

   17 Jun 2025

   When Scripture Is Used to Harm

   In this episode of Whispers and Wonders, I respond to a viral post by a megachurch pastor making ten claims about Christianity and immigration. His arguments were filled with distorted Scripture, nationalist ideology, and what I can only describe as a weaponization of the Bible in service of empire. So I wrote a point-by-point rebuttal which can be found on my Substack, but now I share as a podcast. Not to shame him.Not to win a debate.But because silence in the face of such misuse would be a betrayal of the Gospel I know and love. This isn’t just about immigration.It’s about who we say God is.What kind of Jesus we follow.And whether love is still our law. You’ll hear Scripture.You’ll hear grief.You’ll hear fire.And, by the end, I hope you’ll hear hope. This is a message for anyone who believes faith should never be used as a border wall, and for anyone who’s ever wondered if Jesus is still on the side of the stranger. (Spoiler: he is.) Key themes: * Christian nationalism vs. Gospel truth * What Scripture really says about borders and belonging * Why legalism without love is cruelty * The prophetic call to stand with the vulnerable If this episode speaks to you, share it.If it challenges you, sit with it.If it helps you find your voice, use it. Christ is still Lord.And Caesar is still not. Whispers and Wonders is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Get full access to Whispers and Wonders at garrettjandrew.substack.com/subscribe (https://garrettjandrew.substack.com/subscribe?utm_medium=podcast&utm_campaign=CTA_4)

4. 

   12 Jun 2025

   When the Spirit Speaks in Many Tongues

   A few days ago, I wrote and recorded this Pentecost reflection while the first whispers of ICE raids and National Guard deployment were beginning to stir in Los Angeles. Now the streets are louder. More families have been taken.More protests have risen.And the silence from many churches has become deafening. In this episode, I return to a moment of baseball, of joy and song, to ask what Pentecost really means in a time like this. I reflect on what it means for the Spirit to speak in every language—and for the Church to listen, translate, and respond with love made flesh. This is not a political rant.It is a plea for faith that still believes in sanctuary.A meditation for those who feel powerless but not voiceless.A call for a Church that remembers Pentecost was never about control, but courage. Come, Holy Spirit.And may we have ears to hear. You can find the written piece here: Get full access to Whispers and Wonders at garrettjandrew.substack.com/subscribe (https://garrettjandrew.substack.com/subscribe?utm_medium=podcast&utm_campaign=CTA_4)

5. 

   11 Jun 2025

   Grace in the Brain: Living Faithfully With Mental Health

   Preface (revisited) This series began with a simple truth I struggled to say: I am beloved. But before I could believe that, I had to acknowledge something else: I’m wired differently. This second part is about what happened next. About how grace didn’t come through a miracle at the altar, but a prescription pad. And how I learned that pills, too, can be prayers. This is about faith, healing, and the sacredness of help. Wearing the Mask in Sacred Spaces People in the church told me they would pray for me. That healing would come. That hospitals were okay, sure, but mostly we were expected to be fine. We asked each other how we were, but it was perfunctory. A cultural imperative. We weren’t expected to really answer. And in the churches I served (even in progressive ones) the subtext was clear: if you were struggling, your faith wasn’t strong enough. You hadn’t prayed enough. If you were worried, something was wrong with your soul. So we learned to put on the same masks at church that we wore everywhere else. Masks of joy. Of purpose. Of faith. Even in the communities founded on vulnerability, we learn quickly when and where it’s appropriate to struggle. Not in worship. Not in meetings. One-on-one, maybe. Quietly. Discreetly. I remember once preaching a Christmas Eve sermon about grief. I wasn’t grieving. But I knew many people in my congregation were. A woman told me afterward that her son thought I might be suicidal. I wasn’t sad. I was honoring the sadness others carried. But even that was too much. Too honest. Too exposed. Cracks in the Armor For years, I knew I struggled. I had different masks for different rooms. One for worship. One for meetings. One for classes. I wore them all so well, until the seams began to split. When I cried in a Christian Ed meeting. When I snapped in a presbytery gathering. When I couldn’t hold it together. Some people tried to help. Most just tried to cover it up. There were times I’d leave a meeting, head still buzzing, unsure what I had even said. I’d obsess over it later, replaying conversations, wondering who I’d offended. I was constantly reading the emotional temperature of a room, but unable to regulate my own. Therapy helped. But like many with undiagnosed ADHD, it wasn’t enough. I knew I was unraveling. My mind spun and scattered. My prayers got shorter and more desperate. I couldn’t keep making it. The Risk of Asking for Help I feared medication. Especially Adderall. I’m a recovering alcoholic. I haven’t had a drink in nearly seven years, but I’ve always known I have a propensity for addiction. Alcohol once gave me a gift: it made me feel like I belonged. It quieted my mind. Made me fun. Flirty. Able to do small talk. But when I stopped drinking, there was nothing left to numb the storm. Even as my prayer life deepened, I could feel the fraying. I was unraveling in sacred places. And still, the church told me to pray harder. Get help, sure, but the church wasn't going to help, and it didn’t want to know too much. It didn’t want the journey of healing, but the healed rejoicing. The Bible tells stories of healing, but rarely is faith alone enough. Even Paul needed someone to touch him, to guide him when he first met Jesus on the road to Damascus. The paralytic was healed not by his own faith, but by the faith of his friends who lowered him through the roof just to get to Jesus. Grace moves through people. Through community. Through presence. When Grace Comes in a Pill Bottle Eventually, I used an online service. I found a psychiatrist through Mindful, an online ADHD service. I met with a coach and therapist too. We tried several medications. And then: Adderall. The first time I took it, I felt it. A stimulant surge. Then—quiet. Not sedation. Not numbness. Just quiet. I could hold a thought. I could follow through on a task I used to hate. I could pray. I could breathe like someone pulled out of the water. My wife said, “You’re more present than you’ve ever been.” And I was. It was as if the constant waterfall of thoughts, crashing down all at once and scattering everything in their wake, had been turned down to a steady stream. My mind still moved, but now it was more like a bathtub filling up, slower, quieter, something I could sit in rather than drown beneath. One afternoon, I sat beside my daughter while she drew. That’s all. She was quiet, humming to herself, and I just sat there. Not looking at my phone. Not fidgeting. Not calculating my next task. I just watched her create. I watched the way her hand moved across the page and how she paused to admire her own work. I wasn’t thinking about how I’d use it in a sermon. I wasn’t analyzing. I was there. Really there. And in that moment, I realized: this is what presence feels like. This is what love can be; undistracted, undeserved, unhurried. A grace I could finally stay long enough to receive. It didn’t fix everything. But it gave me back to myself. And to God. Praying Without the Noise Before Adderall, prayer was a battle. Not static, just like all the radio stations playing at once. Meditation? I couldn’t stay still. My mind ran on loops. I felt like a spiritual failure. But after? I stayed. I didn’t perform. I didn’t pretend. I just was. And I swear, God whispered, “I’m so glad you’re here.” It even helped my anxiety and depression. I hadn’t realized how intertwined they were with my wiring. For so long, I treated them as separate storms; depression as heaviness, anxiety as restlessness. But they shared a common root in the structure of my mind. The overthinking, the inability to focus, the spiral of guilt and pressure. It was all connected. My brain wasn’t broken; it was simply unregulated. Anxiety, for me, was a low-grade earthquake beneath everything. The sense that something was about to fall apart—me, a project, a relationship—and it would be my fault. Depression, meanwhile, was the aftermath. The rubble. The shame that I hadn’t held it all together. When the Adderall began to work, the shaking slowed. When the Lexapro joined it later, the shame started to lift. I realized how much of my prayer life had been dominated by begging God to fix me instead of trusting that God was with me in the mess. I began to believe that being beloved didn’t mean being free from struggle. It meant being seen. Known. Still held. There are still hard days. Days when I feel like I’m too much or not enough. But the medication gave me a chance to see that those thoughts aren’t prophecy. They’re patterns. And they can change. They are changing. Running Out and Starting Again But then came the Adderall shortage last year. By August, I was rationing. By September, nearly out. Life threw more curveballs. Anxiety surged. Depression stalked. By November, I knew I needed help again. That shortage didn’t just test my resilience. It forced me to relearn something I’d forgotten: I still had to care for myself, even when the world around me felt unpredictable. Self-care isn’t selfish. It’s sacred. American culture judges worth by productivity. God sees worth in being. You matter because you exist. And yet it’s hard to believe that, isn’t it? When the world around us keeps whispering that we’re only as valuable as our last completed task. That unless we’re producing, fixing, helping, doing, we’re somehow failing. It’s hard to unlearn the lie that rest is laziness and asking for help is weakness. But Jesus didn’t just teach rest, he practiced it. He stepped away from the crowds. He left the demands of others unanswered. He slept in storms. He withdrew to pray and be alone. Not because he didn’t care, but because he did. There’s a reason flight attendants tell us to put our oxygen mask on first before helping others. Because if you’re gasping for breath, you can’t save anyone. If your soul is suffocating, your service becomes self-erasure. To care for yourself is not only wise, it’s faithful. It honors the breath God gave you. It keeps you tethered to your humanity. And it creates space to love your neighbor not from exhaustion, but from abundance. If you’re feeling overwhelmed, depleted, or numb, please hear this: tending to your mental health is not a detour from your faith. It might be the most faithful thing you do this season. Jesus took time away to rest. So I did too. I took leave. I started ADHD coaching. Got back on Adderall. And was diagnosed with moderate depression and severe anxiety. Lexapro and the Practice of Love Lexapro joined the mix after my depression and anxiety diagnosis. It changed me. Before, I lived in survival mode. I reacted. I shut down or over-felt. I pulled away, then panicked when I felt alone. I didn’t know how to be with people, not really. And that was the strangest part, because I’ve always been an extrovert. I’ve always been loud, eager, engaging. But even in my most sociable seasons, I was deeply anxious inside, constantly wondering what version of me people wanted, or needed, or would tolerate. Being around people felt like performance. Like I had to always be “on.” Like I had to earn my place in every conversation. It wasn’t that I didn’t love people. I did. I do. But I didn’t know how to love them from a place of rest. I didn’t know how to show up as myself, without shame humming beneath the surface. Lexapro didn’t take all of that away. But it turned the volume down. The anxiety didn’t vanish, but it no longer controlled me. I could notice it and still choose to stay. I could be in a room with others and not wonder the whole time if I was too much or not enough. Lexapro taught me how to love myself as I am. Not as a fixer-upper. Not as someone whose value depends on perpetual improvement. But as someone already worthy of care. Someone already beloved. It showed me that I can’t simply fix myself, and that I don’t have to. That sometimes, the answer to prayer really does come in pill form. And with that kind of help, I can be prayerfully present with others. And maybe, in that presence, even become an answer to someone else’s prayer. All because I finally chose to take care of myself. Nearly immediately I began to linger with my congregation after sermons. I wasn’t running away. I wasn’t scanning the room for exits. Lexapro taught me love. Adderall taught me presence. Together, they taught me to stay. Grace in the Clinic I never believed holy things only happened in church. But I’ve come to believe grace happens in clinics, too. In prescriptions. In therapy chairs. In the quiet voice of a doctor saying, “You’re not broken. This is your brain. And there’s help.” The Word became flesh. Touched lepers. Healed with spit and dirt. He put his hands on the hurting. He made mud from the ground and saliva to open blinded eyes. He didn’t stand at a distance to deliver healing. He entered into people’s pain, into their very bodies. He met them in their flesh and healed them from the inside out. So why wouldn’t grace enter through the body, too? Why wouldn’t grace use neurotransmitters and blood flow and chemical balance? Why wouldn’t grace work through the hands of clinicians and the voice of a therapist? Why wouldn’t grace whisper through the click of a pill bottle lid, through the slow unwinding of tension, through the ability to breathe again? If the incarnation means anything, it means this: the body is not too low for love to enter. The body is where love chooses to dwell. Grace doesn’t float above us like a concept; it moves through us like blood. It doesn’t wait until we’re strong to show up. It starts with touch. With breath. With brain chemistry and trembling hands. The clinic, like the cross, is a place where flesh and grace meet. And both are holy. The Body Keeps the Grace They say the body keeps the score, and they’re right. Trauma rewires the nervous system. It embeds itself in our muscles, our hormones, even our DNA. Studies on epigenetics have shown that descendants of Holocaust survivors and enslaved people still carry the biochemical echoes of generational trauma. What we go through doesn’t vanish. It gets stored. And sometimes, it stays hidden until it becomes unignorable. The fight-or-flight response doesn’t simply live in the mind, it lives in the body. Our shoulders tighten. Our heart rate spikes. Our breath shortens. The body remembers the fear even when our conscious mind has moved on. That’s why healing has to happen in the body, too. Not just in thoughts or prayers; but in cells, in rhythms, in neural pathways that learn to fire differently over time. But if the body keeps the score, I’ve come to believe it also keeps the grace. Grace is stored in the same nervous system that once screamed danger. It’s in the steady breath that returns after panic. In the loosening of the jaw. In the softening of the shoulders. It’s in the way your feet feel grounded after a long walk. In the way tears come; not as breakdown, but as breakthrough. And it’s also in the sudden laughter that surprises you after weeks of heaviness. In the joy of singing along to a song you forgot you loved. In the warmth that floods you when a friend sees you and really sees you. Grace isn’t only what calms the storm—it’s what lets you dance again when the waters have stilled. Joy, too, is part of the healing. And when it returns, even briefly, the body remembers: grace has gotten in. Grace is in the neural pathways too. In the slow, sacred rewiring. In the regulated breath. In the moment you realize you no longer spiral after that text or shut down in that meeting. In the fact that you got out of bed today. Grace is in the brain. In the chemistry we once saw as our curse. In the serotonin that allows you to sleep. In the dopamine that helps you see beauty again. In the neuroplasticity that lets your mind slowly become a place you can live in. Grace doesn’t just dwell in doctrine. It dwells in your body. In healing. In presence. In the holy whisper: “Be still and know that I am God.” And I believe God is just as present in that stillness as in the storm. Maybe more so. Grace doesn’t wait for perfection. It gets in our bones. Our breath. Our bloodstream. Grace gets in our brain. A Benediction for the Wired and the Weary I still take my meds. I still pray. I still wrestle. But I’ve stopped treating those things like contradictions. Because some days, the holiest thing I do is take my pills and tell the truth. And the truth is: I am loved. Not when I’m cured. Not when I’m calm. But now. In this. And so are you. If you’re not sure where to begin, or you want someone to talk to, feel free to leave a comment or send a message. I’m not a therapist, but I’ve been in the wilderness, and I can point to a few paths. And if you’re in a place of deep struggle, please know this: You are not alone. Help is available. You can call or text the 988 Suicide and Crisis Lifeline anytime, 24 hours a day, for free, confidential support. You were made for love. Don’t suffer in silence. Let’s walk together. If this reflection meant something to you, please consider sharing, commenting, or subscribing. You never know who might need to hear it today. Whispers and Wonders is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Get full access to Whispers and Wonders at garrettjandrew.substack.com/subscribe (https://garrettjandrew.substack.com/subscribe?utm_medium=podcast&utm_campaign=CTA_4)

6. 

   6 Jun 2025

   when the season turned and i almost didn’t

   O Rhythm behind all rhythms,you, who coax the earth into blooming againwithout ever forcing a single petal—you are the lull between what wasand what will be,and still i resist your tempo. this season the wind softened,the sun stopped arriving late,and the jasmine spilled its secretsto anyone who dared breathe in.and yet,i almost missed it—the season turning. it’s strange,how school ends just as summer begins,how our calendars don’t ask if we’re ready,how my child finishes middle schoolwhile i still remember the shape of her toddler laugh.how my little boy is halfway through high schooland looks more like a man than the one wholet me be named “father.”how my own heartkeeps graduating from thingsi never applied for. you know this, of course.you’ve seen lives bud and breakfor longer than memory holds.still,i want to slow the turning—or at least understand itbefore it’s done. but you,gentle God of green things and gravity,have never waited for clarity to begin beauty.you simply begin.again and again. the tides don’t explain themselves.the stars don’t ask permission.the trees let go of old leavesbefore new ones arrive—trusting the unseen choreographyyou’ve sung beneath their bark. shape in me that kind of trust.like rivers smoothing stone without a plan,like bees that carry gold dust unaware.teach me the holy art of letting a season endwithout needing a reason.remind me how to welcome joyeven while carrying a few stones of sadnessin my pocket. invite me to notice the sun today,not just for its warmth,but for the fact that it rosewithout being asked. help me honor this moment,not because it is easy,but because it is real. and if i forget again,if i clutch the past too tightly,or try to choreograph tomorrow,come like wind through the screen doorand remind me:the miracle is not that life changes—but that i can change, too. and you,wild and faithful Heartbeat of the world,will not leave me behind. you walk beside mewith dirt under your fingernails,and stars in your smile,whistling the tunei didn’t know i needed. amen.or whatever word means:yes to the turn,yes to the tide,yes to the sacred silence of now. If this prayer/poem speaks to your own changing season, please share it with someone else. I’d love to hear what this time of year is whispering to you too. Leave a comment and tell me what you hear. Whispers and Wonders is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Get full access to Whispers and Wonders at garrettjandrew.substack.com/subscribe (https://garrettjandrew.substack.com/subscribe?utm_medium=podcast&utm_campaign=CTA_4)

7. 

   2 Jun 2025

   Look At Us

   In this episode of Whispers and Wonders, we remember a story the early Church didn’t want us to forget. A man who was healed before he was welcomed, seen before he was understood, and loved before he believed he could be. Acts 3:1–11 tells us about the first miracle after Pentecost, but it’s more than a miracle; it’s a resurrection at the gate called Beautiful. A man left outside was lifted up not by silver or gold, but by Spirit-filled love and recognition. This isn’t a sermon. It’s a meditation. A prayer. A memory the Church should carry deep in its bones. For everyone who has ever been told they don’t belong, this one’s for you. Get full access to Whispers and Wonders at garrettjandrew.substack.com/subscribe (https://garrettjandrew.substack.com/subscribe?utm_medium=podcast&utm_campaign=CTA_4)

8. 

   30 May 2025

   The Night My Faith Fell Apart

   Host Garrett Andrew intimately recounts the night his childhood faith crumbled after his grandmother's death, revealing how grief can dismantle beliefs and lead to a new kind of trust.

9. 

   25 May 2025

   What Is to Prevent Me?

   Garrett Andrew reflects on the Ethiopian eunuch in Acts 8, exploring themes of radical belonging and the inclusive nature of faith for those often marginalized by the Church in this solo episode.

10. 

    24 May 2025

    A Playful Presence

    Garrett Andrew shares his prayer/poem "A Playful Presence," reflecting on how God brings joy into our lives even during difficult times, encouraging listeners to recognize the sacred in ordinary moments.

11. 

    23 May 2025

    Teach Me the Mystery of Love

    Garrett Andrew shares a personal prayer exploring the multifaceted nature of love, emphasizing its strength, forgiveness, and enduring power to inspire hope.

12. 

    22 May 2025

    The Man Who Touched Resurrection

    Garrett Andrew reflects on the story of Ananias from Acts 9, exploring his grace-filled actions and inspiring listeners to consider their own potential for saintly acts.

13. 

    20 May 2025

    Today I Noticed

    Garrett Andrew shares a reflective prayer-poem about practicing sacred attention, encouraging listeners to notice the holiness in their everyday surroundings and believe in abundance.

14. 

    19 May 2025

    She Still Speaks

    Garrett Andrew reflects on the biblical story of Dorcas, also known as Tabitha, and explores the enduring impact of her life and service within her community.

15. 

    17 May 2025

    Wake Me Like You Mean It

    Garrett Andrew shares insights on awakening with intention, though the specific focus remains unclear in this solo episode.

16. 

    13 Feb 2025

    The Fire in Your Bones

    Garrett Andrew explores the concept of inner passion and drive, revealing how to ignite and sustain personal motivation.

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