Trying Again After You Thought You Were Done
When Gratitude Won’t Let You Sleep
That Night When the Bears Taught Me About Real Faith
today, I was inspired by something that happened yesterday. I shut off the TV at halftime last night. January 10th, 2026, I’ll never forget this date. The Chicago Bears were getting demolished, and I couldn't take it anymore. I was done, frustrated, angry, ready to write off the whole game and the number 1 draft pick. I actually considered throwing away all my Bears Paraphernalia, no lie.
I mean, ya boy was on one. at the beginning of the season, I said I was riding with the Bears this year. For real, for real. I said it with my whole chest. I didn’t buy a Caleb jersey, but I was in it for the long haul. Yet the moment adversity hit, the second things looked bad, my belief evaporated. I bailed. I turned off the game, stormed out of the room, screaming at Caleb Williams, and came back and watched a few episodes of “The Big C” with my wife while she disappointingly nodded at me.
Fast forward this morning, I woke up, picked up my phone, scrolled down, and saw they actually won. Damn. I’m not gonna lie, I was shocked. And honestly, I regret missing one of the most heroic comebacks in NFL history. Wow, I realized I'd become exactly what I said I wouldn't be, a fair-weather fan, a hypocrite who talks loyalty but practices convenience.
And honestly? It's the same pattern I've been running in my faith walk these past few years. I make the commitment. I say I'm all in. I declare my belief with conviction. But then life happens. Things don't unfold the way I expect them to. The outcomes I'm praying for don't materialize on my timeline. Suddenly, I'm Audi 5000, gone, checked out, doubting everything I said I believed.
I've been treating my faith like I treated that Bears game: believing only when things look good, jumping ship the moment circumstances get uncomfortable or unclear. But that's not really belief at all, is it?
Real belief isn't just showing up when everything's going according to plan. It's not faith if it only exists when the scoreboard looks favorable. True belief means staying put during the uncomfortable halftimes of life, trusting the outcome even when you can't see how things could possibly turn around. If I'm gonna believe, in my team, in my faith, in anything, I've got to actually believe. Not just when it's easy or convenient or visible. But when it's hard. When it looks like a loss. When every rational part of me wants to turn it off and walk away.
That Bears game was a mirror, showing me what I've been doing in the areas of my life that matter most. And I think I’m done being that person who only believes when belief feels safe. From now on, I'm staying for the whole game. It’s time to truly “Bear Down.”
Because She Exists
Today is her birthday. Exactly four days after the world receives gifts, I have the privilege of waking up to mine every day for the past few decades. We’ve been together since 1990. That means I’ve been with her for every birthday since she was 18. Every chapter and Every version of us. She’s my best friend. And that’s not a line, it’s a life lived.
Birthdays are usually about celebrating the person whose name is on the cake. But today, I want to share something deeper: I wouldn’t be who I am if it weren’t for her. That’s not like a romantic exaggeration. That’s truth. She’s the reason I went to church in the first place. I didn’t grow into faith on my own, I was invited into it by love. She’s the reason I ever stepped into the kitchen. I couldn't even boil water but I wanted her to come home to dinner already done after a long day at work, not knowing that simple desire would awaken a calling, a passion, a whole new way of existing for me.She’s the reason I know the miracle of life up close. Yes, she carried all three of our children, but I was there, holding her legs, encouraging her, cutting umbilical cords, watching our babies breathe for the first time. The Bible says, “He who finds a wife finds what is good and receives favor from the Lord” (Proverbs 18:22). I didn’t just find love, I found favor.
She helped me break generational cycles of marriage in my family. Together, we didn’t just survive, we re-wrote the blueprint. We chose forgiveness when walking away would’ve been easier. We chose perseverance when quitting made sense. We chose love when pride wanted control. And in doing so, we created a new lineage. She taught me what love actually looks like, not the idea of it, not the facade of it, but the experience of it.
Birthdays are revered. They’re reminders that the world can be more fruitful simply because a person exists in it. Her existence has multiplied lives and relationships, purpose, faith, and futures, including mine. She means the world to me. I don’t share how I feel about her for attention. I don’t do it because I’m trying to be cute or because someone might call me a simp. I do it because I’m grateful. And when something, or someone, has that kind of impact on your life, you should want to share it. And if I’m being honest, it’s also a humble brag. Because I know I’m the last person who deserves something as pure, as patient, and as perfect-for-me as her.
So today, I celebrate another year of her growing gracefully in beauty, wisdom, and patience. Another year of walking beside the woman who helped shape the man I’m still becoming.Happy Birthday to my best friend. My partner. My answered prayer. And Because she exists, so much else does too.
Stop Asking Blind People To Proofread Your Vision
Since my wife's birthday is on Monday, I thought I'd do something special for her instead of my usual blog post as a dedication. So today, I'm taking the opportunity to talk to the congregation. I mean those who are attending Bedside Baptist. It's been a minute since I've written a message, so why not? By the way, this whole conversation actually came up in my recent interview. If you want to hear more about this topic and how it's shaped my journey, check it out here:
https://youtu.be/-wxt2Az3-_ITurn to your neighbor and say, "stop asking blind people to proofread your vision."
Go ahead, I'll wait.
Now, I know what some of y'all are thinking: "But the Bible says we need counsel!" I know, I know, I too heard that a million times and you're absolutely right. It does. But even Jesus had to tell some folks, "You are the blind leading the blind, and you'll both fall into a ditch" (Matthew 15:14). And I'm pretty sure He wasn't being subtle about it either. Bro, I've fallen in a few ditches myself, so I definitely understand. But there's a difference between godly counsel and well-meaning opinions from people who've never been where you're trying to go.
Personally I think the scripture assumes you're getting wisdom from the wise, not advice from people whose biggest accomplishment is staying comfortable. You wouldn't ask someone who's never left their Chicago for directions to New Mexico. Meaning: You wouldn't ask someone who's never left their hometown for directions to a place they've never been. Right? So why do we keep asking people who haven't walked our path to validate our dreams?
For years, I sat in a space where everyone saw the world through the same lens, not because we'd each discovered truth independently, but because leadership had carefully shaped what we were allowed to see. Our faith, our perspectives, our very sense of what was possible: all filtered through people who had a vested interest in keeping things exactly as they were. The culture wasn't designed to help us grow. It was designed to maintain itself. And if you dared to question it? If you saw something beyond those four walls? You weren't visionary, you were problematic.
There's an old saying about crabs in a barrel: when one tries to climb out, the others pull it back down. Not out of malice necessarily, but because that's what happens when everyone's stuck in the same small space, conditioned to believe the walls are the whole world.
People will try to keep you suppressed. Sometimes they do it consciously, protecting their own position or worldview. More often, they do it unconsciously, because your growth reminds them of their stagnation, your questions threaten their certainty, and your vision exposes the limits of theirs.
When everyone in your circle sees things the same way, that's not community. That's an echo chamber. And echo chambers don't produce growth, they produce conformity. The same voices that say "amen" on Sunday won't believe in your dreams on Monday. Here's what I've learned: you cannot expect someone who has never been where you're trying to go to give you directions. They can guess. They can assume. They can tell you all the reasons why you shouldn't try. But they cannot guide you, because they don't know the way. The person who's never started a business can't tell you how to scale one. The person who's never left toxic patterns can't show you how to break free. The person who's never questioned their conditioning can't help you think independently. The person who's never pursued their own vision can't validate yours.
They're blind to your vision, not because they're bad people, but because they've never seen what you're trying to see. And here's the uncomfortable truth: sometimes the blindest people are the ones standing in pulpits, sitting in boardrooms, or occupying positions of authority. A title doesn't equal sight. Position doesn't equal perspective.
Your vision will be tested, not by those who understand it, but by those who fear it. It'll be dismissed as impractical by people who've never built anything. It may even be called selfish by people who benefit from your staying small. It'll be labeled as "worldly or ungodly" by people who've confused comfort with holiness or even questioned by people who stopped asking questions years ago. That's not a sign that your vision is wrong. That's a sign that you're outgrowing the barrel. This doesn't mean you should dismiss everyone who hasn't reached where you are. But it does mean you need to be intentional about whose voices you let shape your direction.
If you're waiting for the people around you to validate your vision, understand this: they can't give you what they don't have. Their approval was never the key to your lock. The only permission you need is your own. Stop explaining your dreams to people who've never dreamed beyond their circumstances. Stop defending your vision to those who profit from your staying small. Stop asking blind people to read what they cannot see. Stop shrinking yourself to fit into spaces you've outgrown.
Your vision is yours.
Church, let me be clear. Some of you reading this are still in that environment. You're surrounded by people who mean well but see small. You're in a culture that calls conformity "unity" and calls common sense"rebellion." You’re not crazy. You're not arrogant. You're not "disobedient." You're waking up. And the people who've been sleeping their whole lives will absolutely tell you that you're the one who's confused. Don't let blind people read your vision. They'll misinterpret every word, misunderstand every dream, and try to edit your story into something that makes them comfortable. The moment you stop seeking validation from people who can't see where you're going is the moment you start actually getting there. Now turn to your neighbor one more time and say, "My vision requires new eyes."
Pause.
So as I close, with all eyes closed and all minds clear... May you go forth and pursue the vision that keeps you up at night.
May you find guides who've actually been somewhere instead of people who've just read about it.
May you have the courage to outgrow circles that no longer fit, and the wisdom to know that leaving the barrel doesn't make you a bad crab, it makes you a free crab.
May everyone that reads this but doesn't give it a thumbs up, heart or like because they're afraid of what someone might say, or see that they agreed with it, just know that your secret is safe with me.
And may you remember: if they can't see it, they can't speak to it. So stop asking for directions from people who are lost themselves.
Now go in peace, protect your vision, and for the love of God, stop explaining yourself to people who benefit from your confusion.
Now ushers close the door. The offering plates are in the back. I also accept Cash App, Venmo, Zelle, and prayers that are actually specific.
Dismissed.
Learning Not to Miss What’s Right in Front of Me
While thumbing through the Bible App on my phone as my stomach growled, I read John 14:9. I couldn't help but sit back in my chair and humbly sigh. Jesus turns to
Philip and says, “Have I been among you all this time without your knowing
me, Philip?” That question feels like it was directed straight at me.
But here’s the thing, I’m not bitter about it. I’m grateful.
Because like Philip, I’ve been in church for about 30 years, and for much of
that time I was still asking, “Lord, show us the Father.” Even after
witnessing miracles, experiencing grace, and watching impossible things unfold
in my own life, I still found myself longing for proof of what had been right
in front of me all along. Looking back now, I can see that even my
misunderstanding was a gift, honestly; it gave me perspective. Without it, I might never
have learned what true relationship with Jesus actually looks like.
Religion shaped me to believe that if I just showed up,
served faithfully, sacrificed, honored leadership, and remained loyal, that
somehow I was walking with Jesus. The buzzwords were obedience, sacrifice, and
loyalty. But what I rarely heard emphasized was relationship. A
real, personal, alive relationship with Jesus.
For a long time, I thought I had it. But in reality, I was
following systems, traditions, and people more than I was following Him. It
wasn’t until I stepped outside of that environment that I began to realize I
had been walking with Him the whole time, but I was blind to the intimacy He
wanted with me. Like Philip, I was standing right in front of Jesus and still
asking Him to show me what had already been revealed. And while that truth
stings, I’m thankful that He let me see it now rather than never.
I remember reading the poem "Footprints" years ago.
You know the one, the person looks back over their life and sees two sets of
footprints in the sand, but notices only one set during the hardest times. And
Jesus says, “It was then that I carried you.” I thought I understood that when
I first read it, but now, decades later, I see it with new eyes. He’s been
carrying me far more than I ever realized. And the beauty is, even in my
confusion, He never let me go.
Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. once spoke about “willful
ignorance.” Looking back, that’s where I was, choosing not to see what was
right in front of me. Jesus said, “The one who believes in me will also do
the works that I do.” And yet I wasn’t. I was told to “mark the perfect
man” and follow leadership as they followed Christ. The problem was, I ended up
just following leadership. I confused serving an institution with doing the
work of the Lord, even when what I was doing didn’t resemble Him at all. But
even in that, I can now say thank You, Lord, because those years taught me the
difference between imitation and intimacy.
That realization hurts, but it also frees me. Because I
don’t want to make the same mistake again. My desire now is simple: to really
know Him. To live out a relationship that looks like Him, not just church
activity. To not miss the Father who has been walking with me all along.
And maybe you’ve been there too. Maybe you’ve been in church
for years, serving faithfully, showing up, doing all the “right things,” and
yet still feel like you’re asking, “Lord, show us the Father.” If that’s
you, let me encourage you: don’t confuse activity with intimacy. Serving has
its place, but nothing replaces relationship.
Here’s what I’m learning now, and what I hope helps you:
- Slow
down and listen. Don’t just do for Him, spend time with Him.
Read His Word like a conversation, not just a checklist.
- Look
back at your own “footprints.” You might realize He’s been carrying
you in ways you didn’t recognize before. Gratitude opens our eyes to His
presence.
- Test
what you follow. If it doesn’t look like Jesus, love like Jesus, or
sound like Jesus, it probably isn’t Him. Leadership and community can
help, but they can’t take the place of knowing Him for yourself.
- Believe
Him enough to walk it out. Jesus said, “The one who believes in Me
will also do the works that I do.” That’s not just for “super saints.”
That’s for us.
And here’s the thing, I’m not even mad about the years I
spent missing it. I’m grateful. Because without that journey, I wouldn’t
understand the difference between religion and real relationship. Those
experiences opened my eyes to what isn’t Jesus, so I could finally see
more clearly who He really is.
I’m thankful that even after all these years of asking the
wrong question, Jesus didn’t turn away. He’s patient. He’s gracious. And He’s
still showing me the Father in ways I never saw before.
So if you’re still asking like Philip, don’t beat yourself up. Just open your eyes. He’s been walking with you all this time. And just in case you need some encouragement this morning, listen to this after you read this blog: Phil Wickham – Relationship (YouTube)
The Lesson I Didn't Know I Needed
30 Pieces of Silver
30 pieces of silver. Most church folks recognize this phrase as the price Judas
took to betray Jesus. But when I really sat with it, what I discovered really gave
me a different perspective. Over time, that
phrase has come to mean anything you take in exchange for betrayal, treachery,
or selling someone out. But here’s something I’ve come to understand:
It wasn’t just about betrayal; it was also the going rate for a slave. In other
words, it was the value someone decided a person was worth. Thirty pieces of
silver. That’s it. That’s all. In today’s money, that would be somewhere between
$90 and $486. Not even five hundred dollars… depending on the type of coin and
how much silver was in it. It makes you
think... about how cheap people can make you feel, or how easily some people
are willing to cash you out for something temporary.
But recently, I started looking at this differently. I actually found something beautiful in it that struck me like a jailhouse shank. I’ve seen that the beauty of betrayal can refer to a few different concepts, but for me, I connected it to the idea of finding growth and positive change in the aftermath of disloyalty. For me, this new revelation suggests that while betrayal is painful and damaging, it was also the catalyst for personal transformation, self-discovery, and a deeper understanding of myself and others. After a painful departure from my former church, in the aftermath of hurt, loneliness, and bitterness, I was found and lost at the same time. I was confused. I used to think the miracles were the purpose. The church full of people, the platform, and the anointing. The favor. The alignment. The opportunities. The ministry. I thought that was the story. I thought that was the win. But it wasn’t until I got betrayed… that the real story started.
Jesus healed the blind, fed thousands, walked on water… but it wasn’t until Judas dipped his hand in the bowl that the cross came into focus. Mr. Iscariot HAD to do what he did so Jesus could DO what he had to do. His betrayal wasn’t a mistake. It was a mirror. A moment that said: “It starts now.” And for me… it wasn’t until I was betrayed by the very ones who said they saw me, affirmed me, walked with me… that I discovered what I was really called to do. Sidekicks & Stoolz wasn’t born out of applause. It was born out of abandonment.
See, I had to lose the place I called home to finally find the home I was called to build. It didn’t start with a vision board. It started with a heartbreak. And I’m not Jesus… but like him, my betrayal unlocked my assignment. During this process, what I realized is that the reason for this betrayal or the reason that I had to experience it goes all the way back to me feeling rejected as a child and deep down this betrayal from the man who I looked up to as my spiritual father was sort of like a reenactment of my childhood growing up with my dad not really being around. This time, while this betrayal cut even deeper because it really, I believe, brought to the forefront the spirit of rejection that I had within me, I had to experience it again because this, to me, uprooted and helped me have to face and deal with forgiveness. Because I had buried it so deep from my childhood and not having my dad around, the second man who I kind of took on as a spiritual father when that happened, I guess deep down and this is just how I feel, deep down this situation forced me to address the underlying problem of forgiveness and going through it again. So the betrayal actually led to me learning how to forgive, that I needed to forgive in order to move forward, if that makes sense.
I didn’t realize it at the time… but the betrayal I went through wasn’t just about church. It wasn’t just about leadership… or control… or loyalty. It was about something deeper. Something older. It was about rejection. A spirit that had followed me since I was a child.
See, I grew up learning how to smile while carrying silence. How to keep moving while never feeling seen. My father wasn’t there like I needed him to be, and I never really processed it. I buried it. Covered it. Pushed it down and kept it moving. And then many years later… I found a place. A calling. A pastor. A father figure. Someone I thought would speak to the boy in me who never heard the words, “I see you.” But that man betrayed me too.
And that betrayal? It wasn’t just a wound… it was a mirror. It was a reenactment. A repeat of a childhood pain I never fully confronted. And for the first time, I realized: this wasn’t about church, it was about healing. This wasn’t about a broken ministry… it was about a broken memory. God didn’t allow that betrayal to break me. He allowed it to free me, from the grip of rejection, from the need for approval, from the silence I wrapped myself in as a child.
Because this time… I didn’t just cry. I forgave. I forgave the man. I forgave my father. I forgave the silence. And in forgiving… I found my voice. It wasn’t the betrayal that destroyed me. It was the betrayal that delivered me. Sometimes, God lets it happen again, not to punish you, but to finally heal you.
What to the Slave is the Fourth of July?
Today, I’m taking back my freedom.
Not just as an idea, but as a declaration.
My freedom is in my voice, the one I was told was too
loud, too much, too complicated.
My freedom is in my vision, the one they tried to blur with fear, shame,
and silence.
My freedom is in my valor, the courage to keep going even when the
church pew felt more like a prison.
And that freedom? That power?
It looks like Sidekicks & Stoolz.
Today, July 4th, the fireworks will light up the sky again, freedom
on full display.
But for some of us, the day doesn't sing liberty. It hums contradiction.
It was 1852 when Frederick Douglass asked,
“What to the slave is the Fourth of July?”
He wasn’t seeking applause.
He was uncovering America’s deepest hypocrisy: a nation declaring liberty while
legislating slavery.
And today, I ask a similar question, but this time, I ask it
of the Church.
What to the wounded is this worship?
We clap.
We shout.
We run the aisles.
But some of us are limping in silence.
Some of us are bleeding out in the pews.
And no one sees it, or worse, they call it rebellion, a lack of faith, or
disobedience.
I’ve known the kind of church hurt that bruises your belief.
I’ve sat under sermons that preached love but practiced
exclusion.
I’ve been in ministries that could exegete scripture but couldn’t hold space
for my questions.
I’ve stood in sanctuaries where praise was loud, and accountability was silent.
So I began to wonder:
If Jesus came to set the captives free, why do so many of us feel chained,
by doctrine, by performance, by power?
This isn’t bitterness.
This is lament.
This is truth-telling.
Like Douglass, I’m not here to destroy, I’m here to diagnose and dream
of something better.
Because the truth is:
I still believe in Jesus.
I still believe in justice.
I just don’t believe we’re living it, not yet.
I love God, but I can no longer ignore the gap between what
the Church preaches and what it practices.
The contradiction is too loud.
The parallels are too clear.
Just like America once celebrated independence while
enslaving bodies,
Many churches today celebrate righteousness while oppressing spirits.
We’ve traded chains of iron for chains of shame.
We’ve exchanged plantations for platforms.
We’ve baptized control and called it conviction.
But I won’t play along anymore.
This is my Exodus.
Not from God, but from the systems that claim His name but deny His
nature.
This is my season of unlearning, healing, and speaking
truth, even when it shakes the pulpit.
Because freedom isn’t just a national ideal, it’s a spiritual
mandate.
And I can’t celebrate liberty in a country, or a church, that
still fetishizes control and silences the wounded.
So to those who’ve walked away, are barely holding on, or
feel caught in the in-between:
You’re not crazy.
You’re not rebellious.
And you’re not alone.
The question still echoes:
“What to the wounded is this worship?”
“What to the slave is this freedom?”
This time, the answer begins with my voice.
With my vision.
With my valor.
This time, the answer is Sidekicks & Stoolz.
A space for the bruised, the brave, and the bold.
Freedom starts here.
.
Healed Wounds Still Have Scar Tissue
Saturday, my wife and I sat at the funeral of our dear friend's father. What started as a reminder of what I left behind a few years ago unexpectedly encouraged me with something the pastor said during the eulogy. He made a statement that I quickly reconfigured into what I heard: "healed wounds still have scar tissue." I had left my phone at home and asked my wife to text it to me as soon as it occurred to me. It caught me so off guard, and it felt like a whisper entered my ears and soothed my soul. It felt like the confirmation I needed that I didn't know that I did.
As we saw and spoke with people that we hadn't seen in ages,
it was a reminder of how fast time flies. All our children are either off to
college or have children of their own. I've heard that time heals all wounds.
And while some people would agree with that statement, I didn't. Up until that
moment, time had only contributed to the detriment of those negative thoughts.
But at that moment, what he said made so much sense. At the end of the day, the
focus should be on the healing, not the process.
When I was 13, I had my appendix taken out, and I had a scar
to prove it. I also had a defibrillator implanted, and that also left a scar. Those
scars don't hurt anymore. I don't think about it daily, and they don't limit
what I can do. But they're still there, a permanent reminder of a time when my
body was in crisis, when I was vulnerable, when I needed help. The scar tissue
isn't a sign of weakness; it's evidence of survival. It's proof that my body
knew how to heal itself, even when I couldn't control the process.
The same is true for the wounds that aren't visible. The
betrayals, the losses, the moments when life knocked the wind out of me, they've
all left their marks. For years, I thought healing meant forgetting, that
wholeness required erasing the past. I believed that if I could still feel the
tenderness of old hurts, if I could still see the scars they left behind, then
I hadn't truly healed. I was wrong.
Healing doesn't mean returning to exactly who you were
before. It means becoming someone who can carry the weight of what happened
without being crushed by it. I read somewhere that the scar tissue is tougher
than the original skin, more resilient. It's been tested by fire and found
strong enough to hold.
I think about the people I've hurt and the people who've
hurt me. I think about the relationships that didn't survive, the trust that
was broken, the words that can't be taken back. Those wounds have healed, but
the scar tissue remains. And maybe that's exactly as it should be. Maybe the
scars are there to remind us of our capacity to endure, to grow, to choose
healing over bitterness.
The pastor didn't know he was speaking directly to my heart
that day. He couldn't have known that his words would unlock something in me
that I'd been struggling to understand for years. But sometimes that's how
grace works, it finds us in funerals and hospital waiting rooms, in ordinary
moments that become extraordinary because we're finally ready to receive what
we need to hear.
I'm learning to be grateful for my scars, both visible and
invisible. They're not flaws to be hidden or failures to be ashamed of. They're
evidence of battles fought and won, of a life lived fully enough to require
healing. They're proof that I'm still here, still standing, still capable of
love and hope and growth.
The next time someone tells me that time heals all wounds, I
might just agree with them. I heard a pastor say healed wounds still have scar
tissue, and I understood that's not a limitation, it's a testament to our
resilience. It's a reminder that we're stronger than we think, more capable of
healing than we dare to believe, and that our scars are not signs of our
brokenness but proof of our wholeness.
Some wounds change us forever, and maybe that's exactly what they're supposed to do.
Always on Time
Keep on Pushin'
Finding Light in the Darkness
When I sat
down to write today's offering, it felt more like I was writing a sermon. And
while I've been away from that frame of mind for a while, this approach seems
to be befitting. Sometimes finding the light in darkness takes more than just
hitting a switch... Look, we've all been there, stuck in that pitch-black room,
fumbling for the light switch that feels just out of reach. The wall should be
right here, right? But your fingers find nothing but air, and that momentary
panic sets in. That's life sometimes—disorienting darkness where the familiar
suddenly becomes foreign. And just when you think you'll be trapped forever in
the shadows, your eyes adjust enough to make out the faintest outlines, or
maybe someone else walks in with a flashlight you didn't even know you needed.
I'm no
spiritual guru claiming to have all the answers. Far from it. But I've spent
enough time in the dark to know something about finding those hidden sources of
light. And lately, I've been witnessing a masterclass in illumination from the
woman who shares my life. There's something raw and real about watching someone
you love deal with heartache. As March rolls in—when the world starts shaking
off winter's chill and reaching for something new—I'm watching my wife shoulder
a weight I know too well.
Years ago,
while grinding through my memoir "Turtles Win Rabbit Races," my boy
J.D. put me on to the Hero's Journey. Not gonna lie, it blew my mind and
completely transformed not just my writing, but how I see the struggles we all
face. Right now, I'm living that "meeting with the goddess"
stage—where the hero connects with a powerful force that drops essential wisdom
for the road ahead. Kind of like Neo meeting Trinity in The Matrix, that moment
when you link with something bigger than yourself that helps you level up.
As my wife
holds down the fort in her mom's hospital room, where pneumonia has her
fighting hard, I see parallels to both this goddess encounter and the biblical
Plague of Darkness. In Exodus 10:21-23, darkness locked down Egypt for three
straight days, so thick that "people could not see each other or rise from
their places." But hear me, (in my preacher's voice): "All the sons
of Israel had light in their dwellings."
Watching my
wife navigate this darkness is witnessing someone walking through life with
their own internal flashlight. Having lost both my parents already, I know that
particular heaviness, that disorienting fog that settles when someone you love
is not the person you've always known them to be. It's paralyzing, just like that
biblical darkness where even basic movement became impossible.
But my wife?
She's got that light they talked about. The "goddess" energy isn't
some mystical fairy tale character, it's in her consistent grind to the
hospital and nursing home, in the way her fingers stroke her mom's hair when
it's messy, in how she patiently repeats family stories hoping for that flicker
of recognition. She's bringing light into those sterile hallways, even when
she's too exhausted to see her own glow.
The plague
of darkness came right before the Israelites gained their freedom; their
breakthrough happened after their darkest moment. Similarly, as we enter this
season of blooming in March, I'm reminded that the most powerful growth usually
comes from the most difficult soil. Meeting the goddess isn't always some
dramatic movie scene, sometimes it's discovering your own divine strength when
life has you backed against the wall.
For anyone
out there holding someone else's hand through their dark season, whether it's a
parent, partner, or friend, recognize that your presence is that dwelling of
light in someone else's darkness. Those small moves, fixing a pillow, applying
a sponge to dry lips, uncomfortably changing an adult diaper, a phone call, a
pop-up visit, or just sitting in silence when words don't cut it, that's sacred
work you're doing.
As you walk
these tough roads, remember that even the plague of darkness only lasted three
days. Your journey might be longer, but it has its season too. That goddess
energy you embody—nurturing, protective, wise beyond explanation, isn't
weakened by your exhaustion or tears. If anything, they make it shine brighter.
In those
moments when hospital corridors seem endless and medical updates start sounding
like Charlie Brown's teacher, remember you're carrying both the Israelites'
light and the goddess's wisdom inside you. Your strength isn't separate from
your vulnerability, they're different sides of the same love.
Spring is
coming, just like it always does. This darkness, no matter how complete it
feels right now, is temporary. And when it finally lifts, you'll emerge
different, connected on a deeper level to that wisdom that holds it down when
logic and plans fall apart.
They say
March comes in like a lion and bounces out like a lamb. Right now, she's
straight up facing that lion, all teeth and roar, with those thoughts of
"what happens next" and that frustration of feelings that leave you
drained. But that same month that starts with chaos ends in harmony. That's the
vibe shift coming your way.
In Adar
(March on the Hebrew calendar), Jewish tradition talks about how joy multiplies,
not because hardships disappear, but because we learn to carry both the dark
and light simultaneously. Like those first flowers pushing through concrete
cracks in the hood, or cherry blossoms popping off before winter's even packed
its bags, strength isn't about dodging the darkness—it's about blooming anyway,
right in the middle of it all. And just like those March flowers that survive
crazy Chicago cold snaps and end up blanketing the city by April, what you or
my wife are nurturing now—even in fluorescent-lit hospital corridors—will grow
into something beautiful that outlasts this cold. That's real talk.
Bloom
where you are planted.
Learning Resilience: What My Daughter's College Visit Taught Me
The Truth About Soulmates
I Just got back from hosting our 4th Virtual XO Marriage Conference with my wife, and God really opened my eyes about something we all think we understand: soulmates. You know how we all grew up believing our soulmate was that one special person destined to complete us? Turns out, we might have been looking at it all wrong.
One of the speakers shared about where this idea actually came from. According to Greek mythology, humans were originally created with four arms, four legs, and a head with two faces. Zeus, fearing their power, split them into two separate parts, condemning them to spend their lives searching for their other halves. Notice something? This concept isn't rooted in faith at all – it's just an ancient philosophical theory that's somehow shaped our modern view of love.
Growing up watching rom-coms and listening to love songs, I totally bought into this idea. I believed God had created that one perfect person just for me, and I needed to keep my eyes peeled for when our paths would cross. Sure, I knew I needed to align with God's will in marriage, but I was missing something deeper.
Here's what I've learned: when we believe in the modern concept of soulmates, we're essentially saying another person can make us whole. But truthfully, Only God can complete us. That's where real joy comes from – when we put His ways first. Think about it: how fair is it to put that kind of pressure on another human being? They're just as flawed and complex as we are.
The beautiful truth is that 'soulmates' aren't found – they're built. Your significant other becomes your soulmate because you've chosen to grow old together, to face life's challenges side by side. God's ultimate goal isn't just about making us happy in marriage – it's about helping both people grow and transform together. After a while, you start to mirror each other, and your complexities merge into one.
The problem is, many of us mistake emotional feelings for love, and When those initial butterflies fade (and they will), we think something's wrong. we file for divorce because we don't feel the same way we did on our wedding day. But true love is like wine – it gets sweeter with age. It deepens. It matures. You know what's funny? The older I get, the more I realize that love is like wine (stay with me here). It's not about that initial pop and fizz – it's about the depth and richness that comes with age. The best relationships I've seen aren't the ones that started with fireworks, but the ones that grew stronger through consistency, endurance, and time.
This is where love becomes a decision. When trials and temptations threaten our relationships, when we're questioning our compatibility, that's when real love is tested. That's when we discover what we're made of. And that's when faith becomes our anchor.
Our relationships shouldn't be based on fleeting emotions alone. It needs a stronger foundation. When we build on solid ground and trust in God's timing, even relationships that seem at the brink of death can be revived and emerge stronger than ever. I've seen it happen in my own life.
Think about it: if we believe there's only one perfect person out there for us, what happens if:
They choose someone else?
Something happens to them?
The initial sparkly feelings fade?
You realize they're just as human and flawed as you are?
Remember: God gave us free will and choices to make. we might feel strongly about someone, but they still have the choice to choose you back. And if they don't, That's okay. God isn't limited in His resources – He always provides another way forward, just like He always has throughout history.
The goal isn't to find that mythical perfect match – it's to grow together with someone who shares your faith and values. When the time is right, God will bring your person into your life. And then the real work – and the real joy – begins.
Here's the thing I’ve learned this Valentine’s weekend after 25 years of marriage: this whole soulmate concept is actually pretty problematic. It sets us up for failure by creating impossible expectations. Real 'soulmates' are built with consistency, endurance, and time. Not with fairy tales and perfect moments, but with conscious choices, committed love, and faith in something bigger than us. And at the end of the day, real love isn't about finding your missing half – it's about two whole people choosing to build a life together. It's about choosing to love, even when the feelings aren't there. It's about creating our own kind of soulmate connection, one day at a time.
So maybe it's time we retire the soulmate myth and embrace something more real: the idea that lasting love is less about destiny and more about choice, commitment, and growth. Because that's where the real magic happens.
If we're not on the same page, then we can’t continue with our story.
Making of a Man: Finding My Purpose Through Kendrick's Truth
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Today’s thoughts came from a real place. Sometimes, the most profound moments of clarity come when you least expect them. Last night, sitting on my couch with my family during the Super Bowl, I wasn't prepared for how deeply Kendrick Lamar's halftime performance would stir my soul.
I've been wrestling lately with what it means to be
authentic in a world that seems to reward conformity. Every day, my social
media feed is flooded with the same viral challenges, the same filtered photos,
the same rehearsed personalities. It's enough to make you question whether
being yourself is even worth it anymore.
Then Kendrick stepped onto that stage.
From the moment he declared "the revolution will be
televised," something shifted in my living room. Here was a man who didn't
just bring his talent – he brought his truth. When “Uncle Sam” Jackson spoke
those words, "Scorekeeper, deduct one life," I felt it in my
bones. It wasn't just a line; it was a declaration that some things are worth
more than playing it safe.
It made me think about my own journey with faith and
identity. How often do I dim my light to fit in? How many times have I
hesitated to speak my truth because it didn't fit the mold? Watching Kendrick
weave his story with such boldness reminded me of what my grandmother always
said: "God made you different for a reason."
The way he moved through that 13-minute set, surrounded by
dancers who represented pieces of our shared cultural story, spoke to the power
of community while maintaining individuality. It reminded me of how I always
felt church should be, where we all move as one body but each person brings
their unique gift to the table.
I keep thinking about Big Sean's words in his song:
"One man can change the world."
We've seen it with Martin Luther King Jr., with Obama, and now with Kendrick
(not the same magnitude but culturally speaking). But maybe the bigger truth is
that each of us has that same power within us – not necessarily to change the
whole world, but to change our world, our community, our circle of influence.
As I watched with my family, I couldn't help but feel a deep
sense of pride. Not just in the cultural moment we were witnessing, but in the
reminder that our stories – all of our stories – matter. The way Kendrick
seamlessly blended elements of our culture with broader themes of purpose and
identity showed me that we don't have to choose between who we are and who we
want to become.
His new album 'GNX' has been speaking to me differently
since last night. Those lyrics about finding your way in a world that often
seems lost hit different when you see them performed on such a massive stage.
When he closed with "TV Off," it felt like a challenge. A challenge
to stop being spectators in our own lives and start being active participants
in shaping our destiny.
I've been asking myself: What's my revolution? What's the
truth I need to televise? Maybe it's not about waiting for a Super Bowl-sized
stage. Maybe it's about bringing that same level of authenticity to every room
we enter, every conversation we have, and every choice we make.
This morning, I woke up feeling different. Inspired.
Empowered. Reminded that my identity isn't something to be hidden or altered to
fit someone else's expectations. It's the very thing that gives me purpose. And
in a culture that often pushes us toward sameness, maybe that's exactly what we
need – people brave enough to be who they are, to believe what they believe,
and to live that truth out loud.
The revolution might have been televised last night, but the
real work begins in our daily lives. In the small choices to be authentic. In
the quiet moments when we choose purpose over popularity. In the times we let
our faith guide us instead of fear.
Thank you, Kendrick, for the reminder. The world doesn't need another viral trend. It needs more people willing to be unapologetically themselves.
Sometimes the place you’re used to is not the place you belong.
Long Story Short: The Power of Perception
Two nights ago, I sat down with my daughter Kayla, a high school senior and soon-to-be psychology major, for one of our many deep conversations. We were unpacking an incident from earlier that day when she casually dropped a term that made me pause: hindsight bias.
She explained it as the "knew-it-all-along"
effect—the tendency to believe we could have predicted an outcome after it has
already happened. In other words, we trick ourselves into thinking we saw it
coming when, in reality, we didn’t.
Her words hit differently because, just hours before, I had
been sitting at the funeral of a dear friend, reflecting on my own life in real time. The weight of loss has a way of sharpening perspective. As I sat there, I
saw my journey—the highs, the heartbreaks, the lessons—through the lens of
God’s redemptive plan. Romans 8:38 reminds us that nothing, not even the
hardest moments, can separate us from the love and purpose of God.
But this idea of hindsight bias—of thinking we should have known—extends far beyond our personal lives. It’s woven into society, culture, and even religion. I’ve often judged past decisions based on present knowledge. Politicians, leaders, and even everyday people are criticized with the benefit of hindsight. “They should have known better.” “We saw this coming.” Whether it’s an economic crisis, social movement, or a major event, we rewrite history in our minds as if the outcome was obvious all along. But was it?
Society thrives on retrospective judgment, yet true progress comes from acknowledging what we didn’t know and learning from it. Instead of blaming or assuming inevitability, we grow when we embrace the lessons. Culturally, we see hindsight bias play out in how we understand movements and historical shifts. Civil rights, women’s rights, technological revolutions—looking back, it’s easy to say, “Of course this was going to happen.” But in the moment, change is never certain. It is fought for, doubted, and resisted.
We often don’t recognize the value of cultural moments until
they become memories. Just as people once underestimated the significance of
Rosa Parks taking a seat or the Berlin Wall falling, we may be living in a
moment right now that future generations will look back on as history in the
making. The challenge is to be present enough to see it before hindsight sets
in.
Faith teaches us to trust without always seeing the full
picture. Scripture reminds us that God works all things together for good
(Romans 8:28), and from a biblical perspective, hindsight bias is nothing new.
The Israelites, after escaping Egypt, often doubted God’s plan. Later, they
looked back and saw His faithfulness, but in real time, they struggled with
fear and uncertainty. Peter denied Jesus three times, only to later realize how
blind he had been to the bigger picture.
Faith calls us to recognize the significance of moments
while we’re still in them—not just when they become history. So how do we live
with greater awareness? How do we stop waiting for hindsight to tell us what
was valuable?
- Pause
and reflect. Instead of rushing past moments, ask: What is this
teaching me right now?
- Resist
the urge to judge the past too harshly. Whether it’s your own mistakes
or the world’s history, remember that no one sees the full picture in real
time.
- Trust
the process. What feels like confusion now may become clarity later.
Live with faith that even the uncertain moments have purpose.
As I sat at that funeral, I wasn’t just mourning a loss—I
was witnessing my own life unfolding. I saw the hand of God in places I once
questioned. And in that moment, I realized: sometimes, we will never know the
value of a moment until it becomes a memory. I used to ask, why did this happen?
—as if knowing the answer would somehow ease the pain or make sense of the
chaos. But now, I ask, what can I learn? Because every challenge, every
unexpected turn, and every loss shapes who we are. Sharing our stories helps
not just ourselves but those around us who might be struggling to see purpose
in their own pain.
So today, I encourage you: Pay attention to the moments. There’s
a power in perspective when we allow moments to become memories. They may not
make sense now, but one day, they’ll become the memories that shape your story.
And when that time comes, may you look back not with hindsight bias, but with
gratitude for how far you’ve come. But if we open our eyes, we just might
recognize it before then.
Your worst enemy sometimes can be your own memory.
Changing of the Guard: Resetting for a Fresh Start
In today’s fast-paced world, it’s easy to let habits, routines, and even relationships linger past their prime. But just like a computer needs regular updates to stay efficient, our lives require intentional maintenance to keep us moving forward. Sometimes, it’s not just a matter of minor tweaks—it’s about hitting the metaphorical Control-Alt-Delete on aspects of life that are no longer aligned with our goals or values.
We have to recognize when it's time for a reset. Life has a way of throwing us into autopilot. We settle into routines that once worked but no longer serve us, holding onto outdated mindsets or responsibilities that drain more than they contribute. Acknowledging these areas isn’t a sign of failure—it’s a step toward growth. Start by asking yourself:
Are my current routines helping or hindering my progress?
Am I clinging to obligations that no longer align with my priorities?
Is there an area of my life that feels stagnant or unproductive?
The answers to these questions can reveal the need for change.
We have to clear out the clutter. Just like clearing out old files on your computer, making room for growth involves letting go. Maybe it’s a role at work that’s outgrown your skillset, a friendship that’s become one-sided, or even a mindset that keeps you from taking risks. Decluttering your life allows us the opportunity to refocus our energy on what truly matters. Start small and work systematically—a clean slate doesn’t happen overnight.
Installing Updates for Personal Growth
Once you’ve identified what needs to go, it’s time to bring in updates. Learning a new skill, picking up a productive habit, or even taking time to rest and recharge can be powerful ways to refresh. Approach life with curiosity and a willingness to adapt. Small, consistent changes often have the most lasting impact.
Embracing Change
Change can be uncomfortable, but it’s also the birthplace of new opportunities. Think of it as upgrading to a better version of yourself. By embracing the process, we can find clarity and renewed motivation. Keep in mind that every step forward is progress, no matter how small.
Final Thoughts
Hitting reset on parts of our life isn’t about perfection—it’s about aligning our actions with what truly matters to us. So don’t shy away from the tough decisions or the work it takes to make meaningful change. Our future selves will thank us for it.
New goals require different habits.
Hustlin' Backwards
Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. once said, “The ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in moments of comfort and convenience, but where he stands at times of challenge and controversy.” His words remind us that true greatness isn’t found in the ease of achievement but in the resilience to rise through adversity. Dr. King’s legacy of unwavering courage and perseverance in the face of daunting trials serves as a powerful example that progress—both personal and collective—is born not only from triumphs but also from the struggles that shape our character. On this Martin Luther King Day, we honor his vision by reflecting on how embracing failure, navigating setbacks, and redefining success can lead us to a more meaningful, impactful life.
We inhabit a society that celebrates achievement. Success has been glorified as the ultimate measure of one’s worth. We revere those who "make it"—the innovators, the record-breakers, the boundary-pushers. Historical moments of triumph are woven into the fabric of our identity, celebrated as evidence of our collective greatness. And while these victories have undeniably shaped the world, they’ve also created an environment where failure is feared and perfection is idolized.
But here’s the thing: personal and collective growth doesn’t happen in the glow of achievement alone. It’s forged in the messy, uncomfortable spaces where failure meets perseverance. The quiet moments of struggle, reflection, and rebuilding are just as vital—if not more so—than the grand moments we elevate.
For years, I believed my work had to mirror society’s definition of success to make an impact. I chased accolades, external validation, and milestones that felt more like finish lines than stepping stones. Yet, the more I achieved, the more hollow I felt. Each victory became less about purpose and more about proving something to a world that only seemed to care about the next big win.
It wasn’t until I started embracing failure—and the lessons it brings—that my work began to truly matter. I realized that success is fleeting, but significance is enduring. And significance comes when your work is tied to something greater than yourself.
This shift in perspective taught me two truths:
Failure is not the opposite of success; it is the foundation of growth.
Your work is not just about what you accomplish—it’s about who you become and how you use your gifts to make the world better.
Proverbs 24:16 beautifully captures this truth: “For though the righteous fall seven times, they rise again, but the wicked stumble when calamity strikes.” This scripture reminds us that falling isn’t the end—it’s part of the process. The key is rising again, allowing failure to teach us resilience and shape our character. The journey isn’t about avoiding failure but about leaning into it and emerging stronger, wiser, and more purposeful.
When I think about the concept of "changing the world," it can feel daunting. But change doesn’t always happen on a global stage. It happens in the small, intentional acts we choose every day. It happens when we use our work to reflect our values, serve our communities, and uplift others.
I began to ask myself:
How can I use my work to spark transformation?
Am I prioritizing impact over image?
What would it look like to redefine success, not by what I gain, but by what I give?
These questions led me to reimagine my work—not as a ladder to climb but as a tool to create ripples of change. I stopped chasing perfection and started pursuing purpose. I leaned into the failures, knowing they were teaching me resilience and shaping my character. I let go of the need to be seen as “successful” and embraced the freedom of being authentic, even if it looked messy.
The truth is, our identity isn’t shaped solely by what we achieve. It’s molded by the journey—by both the highs and the lows, the wins and the losses, the triumphs and the trials. And when we allow both success and failure to teach us, we gain something far more valuable than accolades: wisdom.
So, I encourage you—wherever you are, whatever your work looks like—to use it as a force for good. Write the book that shares your truth. Start the business that serves your community. Speak up for the marginalized, even if your voice shakes. Cook the meal that nourishes not just the body but the soul.
Let your work reflect the legacy you want to leave behind. Let it be a testament to growth, resilience, and a commitment to something bigger than yourself. Success may win applause, but significance changes the world.
And the world? It’s waiting for you to show up—authentically, imperfectly, and unapologetically.
Because, as Proverbs 24:16 reminds us, the righteous don’t just rise once—they rise again and again, turning every fall into a step forward.
Sometimes falling back can put you 10 steps ahead.
Old Ways Won't Open New Doors
It’s funny how life has a way of teaching us lessons, even through the most mundane moments. Yesterday, my wife and I found ourselves in a disagreement over an old couch. While we both agreed it was time for an upgrade, I wanted to repurpose and relocate it—find a new corner in the basement where it could still serve some purpose. My wife, however, had other plans: toss it.
I argued it still had some life left in it, but she saw something I didn’t. It wasn’t just about the couch. It was about letting go. That peeling, worn-out sofa served its purpose for a season, and now its time had passed. It wasn’t until later that I realized how much this moment mirrored other areas of my life.
Holding On vs. Moving Forward
For the past few years, I’ve been clinging to things I should’ve let go of a long time ago—dreams, roles, and relationships that served their purpose in one season but no longer fit in the new. For over 20 years, I poured myself into serving a church, and for the past 3 ½ years, I wrestled with planting a new one. I’ve entertained ideas of opening a restaurant and questioned whether I’d outgrown certain relationships.
I’ve been guilty of trying to patch old things with new ideas, hoping they’d somehow fit together. But then I remembered the parable of the new cloth and the old garment in Luke 5:36-39. It says:
"No one takes cloth off a new coat to cover a hole in an old coat. Otherwise, he ruins the new coat, and the cloth from the new coat will not be the same as the old cloth."
The lesson is clear: new things can’t thrive when forced into old spaces. You can’t cling to what was and still expect to fully embrace what could be.
Forced Renovations
This year has been a season of undeniable change for my wife and me. As we celebrated her 50th birthday and our 25th wedding anniversary, we reflected on our journey—the “Four Rings”: the engagement ring, the wedding ring, the suffering, and the rediscovering.
In some ways, this year felt like a Jubilee—a time of release and restoration. But restoration rarely comes without disruption. Earlier this year, a flood damaged every floor of our home, forcing us into renovations we’d been putting off. It was inconvenient, frustrating, and honestly, overwhelming at times. But the process reminded me of something profound: sometimes, God has to force us into the renovations we’ve been avoiding.
The same goes for our personal lives. Change is inevitable, and growth is optional.
Learning to Embrace Change
As I look back on 2024 and ahead to 2025, I’m learning to let go of what no longer serves me. Like the couch, some things have simply run their course. Old dreams, worn-out habits, outdated ways of thinking—they all have a shelf life. Holding onto them only makes room for clutter, not growth.
But here’s the beauty in letting go: it creates space. Space for new dreams, healthier relationships, and a life aligned with God’s plan. Change is never easy, but it’s always necessary.
What About You?
What old “couch” are you still holding onto? Is it a relationship that’s run its course, a career that no longer fulfills you, or a mindset that’s holding you back? Maybe it’s time to stop patching the old and embrace the new.
Take it from someone who’s learning the hard way: change is good. It’s uncomfortable at first, but on the other side of it is transformation. Sometimes, God will nudge you to let go. Other times, He’ll flood your life and force the renovation. Either way, it’s all part of the process of becoming who you’re meant to be.
As we head into a new year, let’s commit to embracing change—not just begrudgingly, but with optimism and faith. Because just like a home renovation, the result is always worth the process.
Pull up a stool, my friend, and let’s toast to new beginnings. Here’s to the peeling couches we’re finally ready to toss and the beautiful spaces we’re about to build in their place.
Stop holding onto people and things just because you have history together.