Listen to me read this post:

The boys and I are on a coffee run. A favorite spot of mine is just south of campus, near the jail, close to where I used to live post-college, with 3 roommates, paying the smallest amount of rent on record. The coffee is fantastic, but needless to say it is in a different setting than the rural one to which my boys are accustomed.

As we are walking to the door, there is a shout and a scream that startles all three of us. We look and there is a man walking on the other side of the street. His clothes are tattered and dirty. His hair and beard are disheveled, concealing most of his face. He is flailing his arms, which look to have seen so much summer sun, they are of a tanned leather color. The erratic shouting is filled with anger and desperation too.

I calmy whisper, “Come on, boys, hurry up, stay close,” doing my best to hide any nervousness.

We hustle inside. Jack and Aaron are both looking at me concerned. Of one mind, they both ask, “Dad, what was wrong with that guy? Why was he yelling?”

“He is sick,” I say in a low voice, “His mind is sick. Let’s talk about it in the car.”

Just then he walks past the entrance of the coffee shop. I feel some relief to not have to walk the kids past him again when we leave.

Aaron can’t help himself, “Why is his mind sick?”

“Um, let’s talk in the car, okay?” I give him a nod and he nods back, but I can see the mounting questions in his eyes and Jack’s.

We get our coffee and leave. There the man is again, across the street where we first saw him. He is pacing, yelling, fighting someone or something we cannot see.

We are in the truck now and the questions start pouring out of Jack and Aaron.

How in the world am I going to explain this to a 5 and 8 year old?

I do my best to tell the truth and appropriately for their ages. It’s a tough line to walk. I stumble around a bit at first, but I find my feet. We talk about how their is a dark side of the world they have never seen. How our family is not perfect, but the home they are growing up in is very safe and loving. I can see them both in the mirror nodding seriously.

“But how did his mind get sick?” Aaron asks again.

The kid is sharp. Not much gets past him.

I begin to explain to them that I do not know the man’s story, but there are drugs out there that trick you. They make you feel good right now, but they actually destroy your body and your mind. I quickly try to lighten the subject and liken it to how their mom and I are always saying don’t take shortcuts because you end up worse off. Not my best, but maybe it will satisfy their curiosity.

“Wait, what are drugs?” Jack asks.

Oh. Yeah, that’s right. They have never even heard the word before.

“Well, there is an adult answer that I will tell you when you are older, but I will give you the kid version, okay?”

They nod wide-eyed. Then an idea hits me.

“Remember the ring in Lord of the Rings? How it gives you powers at first, but eventually it turns you into Gollum?”

Now they understand a little and are less afraid.

Jack asks, “Will he get better?”

“That’s a great question. I don’t know. Maybe. But if it has been too long, then no.” I answer somberly.

We sit in a weighty silence. A moment of sadness and seriousness feels appropriate.

“We should pray for him,” I suggest.

They agree. So we ask God to have mercy on him and rescue him. And we pray that the man would find healing in this life or the next. Amen.

“Do you think he will do it?” Aaron asks.

Wow. What a question. I told you he was sharp.

Caught off guard I ask, “What do you mean?”

“Is God going to rescue him?”

“I don’t know, bud,” I answer honestly, “When we pray we can ask God for things, and I do, but God knows a lot more than I do.”

“Like a thousand times more?” Aaron interjects.

I laugh, “Yes, at least a thousand. That’s why we pray the Lord’s prayer—Your will be done, Your kingdom come.”

“Here is the good news though,” I continue, “God has already done something. ‘God so loved the world he gave his only begotten son.’ Remember that! He loves the man we saw today. He wants him to find healing. He wants him to be rescued. That is why Jesus came and lived and died. And when he died he tricked the devil and death!”

The air in the car is starting to feel different. The sadness has gone, hope has come, and we are all feeling a bit lighter.

“He tricked them!?” both boys shout with excitement.

“Yeah, of course!” I reply, “Picture death is like a giant dragon’s mouth. Death swallows Jesus. The devil thinks he’s got him. Then all of a sudden—boom—Jesus breaks out and he brings all of his people with him too! Death couldn’t handle him! Jesus was the Son of God, had no sin, and lived perfectly doing the Father’s will, so the darkness couldn’t handle the Light! And now that he has freed us, we belong to him. Isn’t that good news?”

A joyful pandemonium breaks out in the back seat. The boys are cheering and fist pumping, celebrating Jesus’ victory.

Thank you, Lord.

And the coffee’s good too.

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Today I have jotted down a few things that have stuck out to me from the past week or so. A moment with Aaron. Thoughts at a wedding. Reading Galahad and the Grail. We all have moments that, by all appearances, are completely ordinary, but if we look a little closer, below the surface, there is something divine to them. It is my goal to live a life of leaning in, to recognize the miracles undergirding everyday life. Below are a few moments where I was able to lean in and catch a glimpse.

Enjoy!

Talking With A Genius

Aaron comes to me with tears in his eyes.

“Dad, I told Jack that it feels like he is my enemy and not my friend and I need him to treat me like a friend.” Sniffle. Sniffle. “But he keeps acting like my enemy.”

I respond empathetically, “Oh, buddy.”

I am really just biding time since this is probably the 47th time I have played mediator today.

“You know…”

I pause, waiting for an idea from on high.

“This is kind of a tough lesson for a five year old, but I think you are ready. Before you ask Jack to act like your friend, you need to make sure you have been a friend to him first.”

To be honest I am evaluating the advice as it leaves my lips. Ah, yes. This sounds like the golden rule. Can’t go wrong with that.

“Have you been a good friend to Jack today?” I ask.

“Yes, I actually have!” Aaron responds, but I suspect this may not be the full story.

“Okay, what about yesterday? Were you a good friend to Jack yesterday?” I ask as an attempt to crack the door open for the truth.

“Well… I wasn’t that good of a friend to Jack yesterday,” Aaron admits.

“How about you be a really good friend to Jack first and then you can tell him to be a good friend to you?” I offer as a solution.

Aaron pauses for half a beat, “Okay!” Then he sprints upstairs to continue playing with Jack.

Man, that kid is a genius.

This Dog Still Loves You

Brooke and I attended the wedding of my cousin’s daughter—A gorgeous July day. The weather could not have been better or more fitting for such an occasion. Weddings have yet to get old to me. I love seeing the passion of young love, unencumbered by all this world will inevitably throw at them. Young love has a way of exposing and reminding those of us of an older love to kindle the embers of our own romance. It is not too late. You can recapture the exuberant affection you once had. You might have to get uncomfortable though. Train your tongue to gush praise on your wife. Learn some poetry. Flowers never hurt. Make an extravagant gesture. Old dogs are not dead dogs, they can learn new tricks.

Take Up The Tale

I have been reading Galahad and the Grail by Malcolm Guite and am undone by it. The purpose that the search for the Grail gives them and the chivalric code they aim to live by is doing something to my soul. This is the sign of a good book, that I do not want to withdraw from life, but am motivated to live more fully. I am only halfway through, but I am already not the same. We are each to go on a quest to find the Holy Grail in our lives to heal the land around us.

May you and I take up the quest.

Cheers!

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Hello there,

As I write this, you will find me in the room we are now affectionately calling “The Study.” This is more of a prophetic term of endearment of what it could become rather than what it is. But today there is a desk and windows (and Legos), so it will do just fine.

Lately, I have been mulling over the topic of purpose. Actually, I am always thinking about it, as long as I can remember, even when I was Jack’s age, which makes me pause. He is only 8 years old, but is a deeper well than I even realize. But I digress…

Honestly, I hesitate to write about purpose. It fees too big, too daunting. Much wiser and braver knights than I have faced this task, but here we are, so you will have to forgive my foolishness.

There is a Bob Dylan quote I have heard often of late, “You’re gonna have to serve somebody.” It is true. There is just no getting out of it. You may aim high or you may aim low, but your life, your thoughts, your attention, your habits are aimed at, in service of something or someone.

If we do not aim our purpose on purpose, we drift, and the current of the river of the world, our passions, our vices, our fears direct us. Then all of a sudden we end up somewhere doing something we never intended and God never intended either.

If we aim too low, we stunt our growth. We never become fully human. Eventually, dissatisfied, we find something else to aim at or we become bitter and resentful.

If we aim at darkness intentionally, well, I think we all know what happens—Hell. For ourselves and everyone around us.

I have to admit, unfortunately, I have done all three, but I am most prone to drift. Which is ironic because I am hungry for purpose. And now I think purpose is not quite the right term. It is a quest I am looking for.

It is no wonder I love to read The Lord of the Rings, Narnia, King Arthur, and Robin Hood and to watch Gladiator, Braveheart, Saving Private Ryan, and The Dark Knight. What do they all have in common? Quest. Mission. Purpose.

So how do we do it?

To quote one of my favorite authors and storytellers, Martin Shaw (slightly out of context), “Just f——ing get on with it.” Meaning just go for it. Do it. Stop thinking about it, stop talking about it, stop making excuses, and just do it. Go on the quest.

I am writing this mainly to myself, but maybe I am not alone. And I am guessing, if you are like me, you don’t have to think long to know what you should do.

But before I overstay my welcome, let me leave you with this—

Just get on with it.

God bless

Please forgive my short hiatus. The beginning of summer has been busy, busy, busy. Our schedule has been full of many fun things, but it does feel good to have the proverbial (and sometimes actual) pen back in my hand. With that said, here we go, onwards and upwards!

This past week Brooke and I celebrated our 10th wedding anniversary. We both agreed it has been a wonderful ten years—the best years of our lives. To say we feel fortunate is an understatement. We have had so many incredible people pour into us throughout our lives and marriage and have had access to so many great resources.

On one hand, it feels like the goodness of our marriage is just a gift from God, and it is. On the other hand, we have certainly played a role in how it has gone. So, what did we do over the past ten years that has helped our cause?

At dinner on our anniversary, I asked Brooke to name three things that has made our marriage so wonderful. Both our lists overlapped quite a bit and I want to share our answers with you. They are not meant to be exhaustive, nor necessarily the most important things, nor are they in any particular order. Most are very practical tools for you to do with them what you may. They have worked for us and maybe they will be helpful to you!

(2016) Two kids in love. Some things don’t change.

1. We have FUN together—We play games, do crosswords, workout, watch Liverpool, joke around in the kitchen, speak in English accents, and more. Enjoying one another and having fun together is a sunny harbor away from the rough seas of life.

2. We TALK about everything— From the smallest seemingly insignificant details of our day to the biggest and most important decisions. We share it all and on a daily basis. How could we know each other inside and out if we don’t talk?

3. We BELIEVE in each other— Even the word “believe” has become too diluted to fully capture what we mean. Think believe in, faithful to, trust, support, admire all in one. I just think Brooke is amazing. I am in awe of who she is, how she is wired, her talents, her strengths, her character, her faith, her love, and more. I mean I truly, truly admire her. And I have received the same from her. There are many moments where our backs have been against the wall or we took a risk and Brooke has always had unwavering belief in and fidelity to me, even when things didn’t look good. This does not mean questions are never asked or we don’t make each other a little nervous with our thinking or decision making at times. There is much more to say about this, but that would probably require a full book!

4. We TOUCH all the time— This is more important than you may think! We touch early and often. When Brooke comes up for coffee in the morning, we hug. If I am reaching for something near her, I put my hand on her back. If we are talking, I might put my arm around her. If we are walking, we will hold hands. If we are on the couch watching a world cup match, she will lay her head on my shoulder. Touching throughout the day in big and small ways builds a connection and affection between us. It is like charging a battery or making deposits into an account.

There you go! That was our list. Again this is not meant to be an exhaustive recipe for the prefect marriage or anything like that. These are just things we noticed have helped make our marriage good. Hopefully, they are helpful to you as well.

Cheers!

Brandon

When I first opened this book it was like jumping onto a moving train. I was not sure what I was reading or where I was going, but I knew it was good. By the time I finished, I knew it was one of the most important books I had ever read.

I first became aware of Martin Shaw (the author) through Jonathan Pageau and subsequently an assortment of YouTube interviews. Then I encountered his oral story telling. Just like his book, I did not know what to do with him exactly, but I knew he was offering something I needed.

So, I took his online Christian Wonder Tales course. Almost all the stories I tell my kids come from the course and they absolutely love them. Then I ordered Liturgies of the Wild. I was a few chapters in when I attended Dr. Shaw’s lecture in Pittsburgh. It was there he gave the key to what I was reading.

“It is my love letter to anyone who wants a deeper life,” he said.

Yes! That is exactly what this is.

Many of us have been underwhelmed and dissatisfied with much of what modern life has to offer. In this book, a door is cracked open for us to glimpse the deep meaning of our lives through myth and story that generations before us knew intimately. In an ever-growing external, materialistic and technologically heavy world, Liturgies points us back to the capital “T” Truth of the invisible realities that truly make us human.

Dr. Shaw’s writing style is poetic and conversational. As you read, it’s like having a life-changing conversation with a friend as you sit fireside with a nice glass of whiskey. I laughed while reading this book. I cried while reading this book. At times I was comforted and at times I was challenged.

This book is a must read. You may not know exactly where the train is going (I think Shaw purposely doesn’t tell us), but trust you are going somewhere good.

So, I guess the question is are you satisfied with how meaningful your life is? If not, I dare you. Jump onto a moving train—read Liturgies of the Wild.

Cheers!

Buy Liturgies of the Wild here

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As I am writing this, I sit in the wake of bad news.

There has been a lot of it lately. None has hit Brooke and I directly, but close enough to mark our hearts nonetheless. The loss of a loved one, the diagnosis of an illness, the loss of a home, the loss of work—unfortunately these things are just part of our world.

I think back to a couple years ago, when we were in the NICU after Henry was born. I remember thinking how unprepared I was, how naive I had been. Yes, I had built much on the Rock, but the potential loss of our son, revealed in me what was sand. Thankfully, we made it home with him. I know others have not been as fortunate.

Not one of us is exempt from disappointment, loss, tragedy—death. So what are we to do?

Hiding won’t work. We must prepare and face these moments head on. Cards on the table, the only way to truly prepare is to draw as near to God as we possibly can TODAY. Then do it again tomorrow. Do not wait. Anything else is foolishness.

The hard things in life will still be hard. Our hearts will still be broken and in need of mending. Storms are still storms, after all, whether they hit rock or sand. But by the grace of God, we will still be standing when the storm ends.

It is a hard truth that suffering is not optional. Have you ever met someone that has known deep suffering, but they have been transformed by it into something greater? Their presence and stories strengthen us.

A favorite quote of mine is from C.S. Lewis:

"Since it is so likely that children will meet cruel enemies, let them at least have heard of brave knights and heroic courage."

I love stories of courage. When defeat is imminent, there is no hope of victory, and out of sheer virtue, the hero stands. I am no longer a child, but I still need stories like that. I need to hear that the good and true and beautiful somehow triumphs over death and darkness.

May we build our lives on such stories. And may our lives be worthy to become the stories told to those who come after us.

God bless,

Brandon

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Hello friends,

Easter (Pascha in the Orthodox Church) is now behind us. I love Easter. It is a time to remember and celebrate the climax of history. In the midst of to-do lists, ball practices and tax filings, Christ is suffering, dying, and rising, reconciling the cosmos to the Father, not counting our trespasses against us. It is truly a holy season.

I would like to share with you my rather bumpy lead up to Easter Sunday. Here it is:

It’s on me. I can’t seem to shake it. I have wrapped myself in self-pity like a warm blanket. Everything offends me. My thoughts are convincing, but they are the kind that only isolate and destroy. Somewhere deep down I know I’m wrong, but I’m not willing to listen to that still, small voice yet. Not ready to confess. Not ready to admit that it is I who need to change, not them.

I can almost feel Christ sitting next to me. I know if I turn towards him, I will heal. Am I ready for that? Do I really want that? Then I will have to admit I am not as mature as I should be, as far along as I thought I was. I will have to admit that I am still… I don’t really want to say it… a sinner.

I am still broken. Still prone to self-preservation and self-righteousness. Actually, I’ve had enough of my-self if I am honest.

As I drive to the Holy Paschal service that night, I can feel my torment being washed away. I exhale and start to breathe freely again. By the time I pull into the church parking lot, I am back in my right mind. Love has broken through, humility has returned.

In just a couple of hours, Christ will have risen from the grave. Sin, death, and the powers of darkness will have been defeated.

My candle is lit.

“Christ is risen from the dead, trampling death by death. And to those in the tombs granting life!”

The priest pounds on the doors of the church—BANG, BANG, BANG.

“Lift up your heads, O ye gates; and be ye lift up, ye everlasting doors; and the King of glory shall come in!"

A little while later the clock strikes midnight. Now it is Sunday morning.

“Christ is risen! Truly He is risen!”

The service is over. My wife and children are already home asleep. I am looking forward to the morning, grateful to clean up the messes I made with the ones I love. Grateful that Jesus has ransomed and restored me.

“Behold, I make all things new.”

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It has been a strange couple of weeks. Our household has been hit with sickness for an unusually long period of time. It does seem like everyone is on the mend now, so that is good.

Despite being out of our normal rhythms, I was able to submit my first book to a couple publishers and illustrators. We will see what happens!

Below is a sample of the next book I am working on (untitled for now). It follows Aaron The Brave (see prior post) and is still very much a work in progress. One of the joys of writing a story is discovering where it will go as you write!

Enjoy!

Part 2

“Come and see!”

Aaron woke suddenly from sleep. The morning sun was already shining through his bedroom windows. His brother’s bed next to him was empty and tidied. He could smell breakfast being made. Eggs, toast, fruit, and freshly baked pastries were waiting for him.

He dressed himself, did his prayers, and went downstairs to the kitchen. His family was already busy eating and getting on with the day. Aaron sat next to his brother, Jack, and helped himself to a croissant and some eggs.

It had been a couple months since the commotion with the dragon and this was the first time things felt “normal.” Aaron was glad because life had been anything but normal.

Jack leaned towards Aaron and whispered, “Did it happen again? Did you have another dream?”

Aaron nodded, “Yes, did you?”

Jack nodded in return, “This was the third one.”

They both had had reoccurring dreams. Aaron’s was simply the Stag and Rider staring at him and the words “Come and see.”

Jack’s on the other hand was more strange. In his dream, the scales of the slain dragon were honeycombs and as he reached out to taste the honey, an enormous bear would appear. A rush of fear would pass through Jack’s arms and legs, not knowing if the bear was friend or foe. Then he would wake up.

For days they had been discussing what their dreams could mean. Both agreed they were being beckoned to where the dragon lay dead, where there must be something for them to find. They would accept the come and see invitation and go to the ravine tomorrow night—at night so they would not be seen or questioned by anyone. The Highlands’ excitement after the slaying of the dragon had tilted towards

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Last week I had the pleasure of being the surprise reader for Aaron’s class. I was going through our favorite books at home, but was having a hard time choosing. Then, with some encouragement from a friend, I decided to read a story that I had written recently—The Story of Aaron The Brave.

I have to admit I was excited. This felt like a litmus test. Will the story hold the attention of more than a dozen 5 year old’s? If it does, then hey, maybe we have something!

When I walk into Aaron’s class, he is shocked and speechless, but I can tell he is happy. He and his classmates agree I should read Aaron The Brave, even though there aren’t any illustrations yet.

As I read, you can hear a pin drop. They are on the edge of their seats and I can see wonder in their eyes. They like my story. Now my heart is full. I wish I could do this every day.

I hope they never grow out of reading and listening to stories. I hope they never forget their life is actually a story unfolding. And I hope they will know it is in the story, not the things of their lives where they will find meaning.

Aaron The Brave is about a boy who answers the call to adventure despite not knowing what lies ahead, good or bad. I told the kids and now I tell you, the story is not just about Aaron, but it’s about you and it’s about me.

For me, writing is the adventure calling and I do not know what lies ahead. What I do know is when I read Aaron The Brave to those kids, I felt more like the Brandon that God made me to be. So, that’s the direction I go. One day, my sons too will have a choice and I will be able tell them to answer the call.

Well, I should probably write more books then! And I am. Story number two is under way (no title yet). This time Aaron’s brother, Jack, enters the story as another adventure beckons. Will Jack answer the call?

Will you?

God bless.

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Those are footsteps on the stairs. Someone is not in bed. My oldest cannot sleep and would like me to read to a book.

Of course, I will be right up.

We decide I will tell a story instead. Ah, The Voyage of Saint Brendan it is! He requests this one the most.

How about I start and then will pass the story to you. Go as long as you can and then pass it back to me. Sound good?

His eyes light up and he nods.

Okay, here we go!

When it is his turn, I see his mind racing. He doesn’t want to miss a single detail. He starts with just the facts.

This happened and then that happened and this happened and then that happened.

I remember the first time I told a story and I was exactly the same. Don’t screw it up! Don’t forget the next part. What happens next?

Then I see him relax.

When Brendan looked at you, it was like he was looking into your soul!

There is a smile on his face. He is imitating me. Now there is a smile on my face.

He is getting into it. He has moved past the recital of events and is in the telling of the story. Without getting too poetic, he is now dancing with the meaning of the story.

It is like he is there. And he is. Or will be one day.

Stories are important. They go beyond our minds and sink down into our bones. They become a part of us and we take them everywhere we go.

What stories have become a part of you?

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I am so tired. I am not in the mood to tell a story.

Come on, please!

Okay, okay. I will tell one.

I finish a lackluster performance of The Horse And The Firebird. My wife and two younger sons are sound asleep. Then a voice from the top bunk says, Dad?

Yes, son?

If he didn’t pick up the feather, then he would never have become a great man.

Wow. What insight he has at 8 years old.

I go to bed thanking God.

I wonder what feathers I have stopped him from picking up that I shouldn’t have?

Tomorrow is a new day.

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I also like that their room is filled with their favorite things. There are bins of Legos, lovingly worn books, Liverpool hoodies, and a giant stuffed-animal tiger. These are treasures far more valuable to them than gold. I like that. It is as if their room is telling me about them.

This is also where we pray, say I love you and goodnight, and where I tell them stories. This ordinary room has become holy ground to our family—set apart as it were, so maybe it is not so crazy my best writing happens here.

Today is one week into the fast of Great Lent. This is my first time participating. I have fasted before, but never for an extended period of time. Let me tell you, forty days is sounding like a very long time right about now. I would love to tell you it is magical and full of ecstatic experience, but as of now it is not.

There are much better voices to tell you about the theological purposes and blessings of fasting, so I will spare you mine. I only want to mention something on which I have been ruminating—the ordinary.

For a lot of us the majority of our days are spent conducting the mundane. We have a routine, each day looks much like the next. Life does not really feel like the slaying of one dragon after another. Most days feel, well, ordinary.

So why has this fast turned my attention to the ordinary?

Forty days is a long time. It requires consistent, disciplined fidelity, even when, especially when the days are dragging on. The days do feel longer. When you are not looking forward to your next meal, it is like time expands. There is a void in the daily hustle and bustle. At such a moment there would normally be the temptation to flit to the next shiny thing or responsibility, but I must be too tired from the lack of food. I am standing outside of myself for a moment. There it is. The ordinary, the everyday.

Now I am wondering if, much like my favorite writing place, there is more to the ordinary than at first glance—if we are faithful to it.

I have a list in my mind of everyday, ordinary things I have neglected. Neglected because it was easier to do something else. What if I showed the same consistent, disciplined fidelity required for Great Lent, to the list? God is not a vending machine, so there is no guarantee of being spared hardship, but at least I will have left the sand and built on the Rock. And Lord willing, the ordinary, everyday will be transformed into something good and beautiful, maybe even holy.

At the end of the fast, there is a feast, after all!

God bless.

I have had an abundance of great conversations of late. The kinds that have real depth, honest and vulnerable. These are the conversations I take with me. They play in my mind for days and I will reference them for the rest of my life.

Many of us are wrestling—struggling, going back and forth, unsure which way to go. What do I do? Where do I go? What is the right choice? These are crossroad questions. Very human questions.

After one particular conversation, I did not walk away totally energized or encouraged like usual, but bothered. They meant well. They were trying to unburden me. Pick either path. Both are good. In the moment I could not argue, but it just did not sit well.

“And it would seem like wisdom but for the warning of my heart… Against the way that seems easier” -Frodo, The Fellowship of The Ring

With the help of my wife, my mind eventually caught up with my heart. Wrestling is not bad. It is painful and frustrating, but through struggle is the way to transformation. To give up the wrestling would be to give up the transformation.

I think of Jacob, alone at night. Tomorrow he faces his brother. The one he cheated, stole from, and betrayed. The last time they were together, Esau committed to killing him. That’s when Jacob ran. He left to save his skin, to avoid the consequences.

And here he was again—at a crossroad. How could he face his brother?

It is curious that at this very moment is when the angel appears and they wrestle—alone, when it is dark, on the precipice of a choice. Jacob wrestles all night. He just will not let go. It is not until day breaks that the wrestling is finished. Now he has a blessing, a new name, and a limp.

You do not have to wrestle. You can let go. You can keep going the same way as always. You can keep your persona, your status, your comfort. Nothing has to change. You can keep your current life intact—for now.

Or you can hold on. Struggle. Wrestle. Do not let go until there is light, however long the night feels. On the other side of the wrestling, is a blessing and a new name. And a limp too. There is no doubt about that. You cannot walk the same way as before. You walk more humbly now, with more meekness, but more courage too.

Jacob, now Israel, faces his brother in the morning. No more lies. No more hiding. And he is met with a beautiful reunion. They hug. They weep. Both have changed and all is well between them.

May we be like Jacob and lean into the wrestling.

God bless.

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A passerby of lonely thread

I see much and touch little

I know great heights and sleep in great depths

But the earth is a stranger to me

One day I will make my home

Lord willing

One day I will make my home

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The light has gone out

Your house is dark

You have forsaken the adventure

Your saddle has been repurposed into

the armchair in which you sit!

Too much drink has made you drowsy

Wake up, man! Wake up!

For God’s sake get dressed

Make ready for battle

For you are already in one

Aaron was hiking through the forest on the edge of the Highlands. He was daydreaming of doing battle alongside the mysterious Warrior from the North, fighting off all manner of evil, including fearsome dragons.

Aaron had walked this forest hundreds of times before and knew it like the back of his hand. Suddenly, something caught his eye from off the path. He thought the trees to the right were glowing, but he blinked and looked again and saw nothing. A little puzzled, he walked on, and just as he decided his daydreaming had become a little too real, he saw it again!

The trees were glowing! Then they stopped again. Then the glowing reappeared a little deeper into the forest.

Aaron froze with fear, but his curiosity quickly won out and before he knew it, his feet had carried him into the trees.

As he gave chase, deeper into the woods, getting closer to the glowing light, he noticed it had a shape and seemed to be running and leaping!

Suddenly, the light stopped and Aaron saw the glowing shape of a great stag, standing at the edge of the tree line looking back at him. The stag turned, disappearing as it ran beyond the trees and down into a great ravine.

Aaron could not believe his eyes, wondering if he was dreaming. Yet, he followed the great stag down the slope of the hill. When he made it to the bottom, the light was nowhere to be seen…

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You write?

My writing may be a surprise, but it has been a part of me since I was a kid in school. I enjoyed writing (and reading), although I did not enjoy having to write or prompts being forced upon me. Nonetheless, there were projects and lessons and books and teachers that kindled a desire in me to read and write. Ever since then I have felt a relief in communicating my internal world with the written word.

As an adult I have written sporadically. Sometimes it has been poetry or essays or journal entries, always privately. Recently I have authored a couple short stories for my kids, but my relationship with writing over the years has been stop-start.

Yet I continually come back to writing. Which lately has me wondering if writing, for me, is a calling. I am embarrassed and hesitant to use the word calling because of its weight and I by no means think that I am Tolkien or Lewis or Dostoevsky. I am not even sure if I am any good at this, but writing is something that I always come back to or rather writing does not leave me alone. It is always there; in the corner of my mind, beckoning me, calling me to pay attention to it.

If I am honest, I hope it is my calling. I hope I am good at it. I even hope I can make a living from it. Regardless if any of this happens, I need to write. It is what allows me to see clearly. Like pupils dilate in the dark to let in light, when I write the eyes of my heart dilate and the darkness recedes. So, I figure the worst case scenario is my writings organize my chaotic insides and bits of me are left behind for my family when I am gone. Honestly, if those are all that is achieved, it will be time well spent.

So, what will I write about? God only knows.

I might write about anything— Maybe love, faith, marriage, family, books, the world, anything to do with life is fair play. I might write essays, reviews, op-eds, short stories, novels, or even poetry. Though I suspect I will find my lane sooner or later and I invite you to join me as I do.

There it is. I am going on an adventure. I am excited and scared. I am not sure where I am going or what I am doing, but again I invite you to join me.

Let’s see where this road leads.

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