Sometimes there isn’t a big story. No dramatic twist. No clever Ding Dong. No Helter-Skelter. Just a good, steady week. And around here, we’ll take it.

First, the Don’t Eat Toast Naked! Store is officially up and running! A huge THANK YOU to those of you who became our very first customers. Seeing those first orders come through meant more to Sherrie and me than you probably realize.

This whole thing has never really been about selling a shirt or a coffee mug. It’s about carrying a story—and hopefully a little encouragement—beyond our front door.

CLICK HERE or the pic below to enter the store.

Speaking of our front door, food arrived once again this week, bringing us joy and delicious surprises. Our wonderful friend Angie brightened our day with Jimmy John’s, and even more special, Sherrie’s favorite Mexican dish. It truly shows someone’s love when they remember your sandwich order, but it’s even more heartfelt when they know your Mexican food choice. Huge thanks to John and Jessica for that! And we can’t forget that they really, really love us when they know our favorite... well, beverage. A Double Double thanks to Scott and Deb for a smoky and satisfying experience. It’s these thoughtful gestures that make us feel so grateful and loved.

And then there are the grandkids.

Lilly is cheering! And seeing her brings back memories of Nana Sherrie doing some cheering of her own. There’s something pretty wonderful about watching little pieces of one generation show up in the next.

And, of course, Thommy-Boy continues doing what Thommy-Boy does best—making the world around here a little brighter simply by showing up.

Like Sherrie…

I also want to begin sharing more stories from people and families walking the road of Glioblastoma.

Not just our story.

Yours.

If someone you love is living with Glioblastoma—or if you know a family whose story deserves to be told—I would love to hear from you. These stories matter. They remind us that while every journey is different, none of us has to walk it entirely alone.

Send me their story or reach out and introduce us. Perhaps one of the next stories we share will be theirs.

The Mission Control Moment

One more thing happening around our home.

We’ve begun something called The Mission Control Moment—a small, personal, invite-only gathering on Sunday afternoons where we talk about something I’ve become increasingly passionate about:

The soul.

Not becoming more religious.

Becoming more fully human through Jesus Christ.

We’re keeping it intentionally small—just ten seats around our home. If you’re in the local area and would like to attend a future Mission Control Moment, let me know. I’d love to hear from you.

I’ll put the flyer below with the details.

That’s about it from our little corner of the world this week.

The store is open – Food showed up – Grandkids made us smile – Friends kept loving us. And God continues meeting us right here in the middle of ordinary life.

Sometimes a steady week is a very GOOD week.

Until next time…don’t eat your toast naked!

Love Sherrie and Drake

P.S. CLICK HERE for Drake’s Devotion/Podcast Published in State Publication

This week did not begin like the week before.

Last Sunday, I wrote about becoming less helter-skelter and more heaven-centered. Apparently, the helter-skelter wasn’t quite finished with us.

By Sunday afternoon, Sherrie’s vitals were once again all over the place. Her oxygen levels, heart rate, and blood pressure seemed to be having a disagreement over which one could frighten me the most.

From Sunday afternoon until Monday evening, Sherrie was almost entirely unresponsive. “Comatose” is the only word I know to describe how she appeared. She was here, but she wasn’t really here.

These are some of the most intense moments of living with glioblastoma because we simply don’t know what the tumor is doing. Is this another episode? Is something changing? Will she come back around?

Or is this the moment?

I’ll be honest: I wondered if it was.

You never know when God may decide that Sherrie is needed on the other side. Although, knowing Sherrie, she’ll arrive in heaven and immediately begin questioning God’s economic system.

“Excuse me, Lord,” she’ll say. “I noticed you don’t appear to have a coupon program.”

Before long, she’ll be standing beside the pearly gates passing them out:

LAY UP YOUR TREASURES IN HEAVEN—AND SAVE 20 PERCENT!

She’ll probably convince Gabriel to offer double-coupon Tuesdays.

That is Sherrie.

Even when the thought of losing her breaks my heart, imagining what she might do when she gets there still makes me smile. Knowing Sherrie, the moment we’re both in heaven, she’ll grab my hand and say, “Come on, Drake. Let’s go to Goodwill.”

I’ll remind her we’re already surrounded by God’s goodwill.

She’ll roll her eyes and say, “That’s wonderful. But do you think they have a senior discount?”

The Medicine That Came Through the Door

I cannot tell you medically what the tumor is doing. I can only tell you what we have observed.

Some of Sherrie’s most difficult episodes have followed highly stressful events. The last two came after a family member had to leave our home and after the free-spirited dogs (not ours) behaved unpredictably there. Both situations introduced a great deal of stress into our reality, and Sherrie’s body seemed to react.

Then Tuesday came.

Miah (Jeremiah), Kathleen, and Thommy-boy stopped by.

And something beautiful happened.

Sherrie’s vitals returned to better than normal.

Maybe it was coincidence. Maybe her body was already beginning to recover. I don’t know. But I do know that the room changed when that little boy arrived.

Sometimes the medicine we need doesn’t come in a bottle. Sometimes it comes through the front door with your son, daughter-in-law, and grandson.

Sometimes it crawls onto the bed, flashes a smile, and reminds the body that there is still life to be lived.

For Sherrie, seeing Thommy-boy and our family brought her back into the room. It gave her something familiar, joyful, and deeply connected to the life she loves.

Love may not cure glioblastoma, but love reaches places medicine cannot always touch.

And on Tuesday, love looked a lot like Thommy-boy.

Forth—and a First Worth Celebrating

Our family had another reason to smile this week.

As many of you know, Jeremiah recently opened a café in Denver called Forth. This week, Forth was featured on Denver’s 9NEWS as one of the coolest new places in the city.

That means something in Denver.

When Sherrie watched the 9NEWS story, she smiled from ear to ear.

She knows what it took for Jeremiah and Kathleen to get Fourth open. She knows the long hours, difficult decisions, risks, setbacks, and sacrifices behind that short television feature.

She also knows that they built it while our entire family has been navigating some incredibly difficult years. Cancer has been writing one story in our family. But it is not the only story being written. There are also cafés opening, grandchildren growing, dreams taking shape, and families learning how to keep moving forward.

For a few wonderful minutes, Sherrie and I weren’t thinking about oxygen levels, seizures, tumors, or the next uncertain moment.

She was simply a proud mother watching her son’s dream come alive.

The Hardest Thing to Sell

Even in the middle of illness, life still has to be directed, aligned, and moved forward.

Bills do not stop arriving because someone has cancer. Caregiving expenses do not disappear because we are tired. Houses, insurance, utilities, medical needs, and daily life continue demanding attention.

So Sherrie and I had to make some difficult decisions.

We decided to sell a few things to help us stay afloat financially.

The hardest was Sherrie’s car.

To most people, selling a car is a financial transaction. You establish a price, sign the title, hand over the keys, and watch it drive away.

But this wasn’t just a car.

One of Sherrie’s dreams has been to drive again.

Her car represented independence. It represented recovery. It represented the possibility that someday she might walk outside, get behind the wheel, and go wherever she wanted without needing someone else to take her.

Selling it was a reality check neither of us wanted.

It felt like releasing more than a vehicle. It felt like releasing one picture of the future we had been trying to hold on to, especially since it had been Sherrie’s mom’s car before.

That hurt.

But stewardship sometimes requires us to protect what matters most by releasing something else we deeply value.

Faith does not always mean pretending everything will return to the way it was. Sometimes faith means trusting God enough to face the reality in front of us and make the wisest decision we can.

We sold the car.

But we have not sold our hope.

We are still moving forward—even when the car is gone.

The Don’t Eat Toast Naked! Store Is Open

Speaking of moving forward, we are finally opened the Don’t Eat Toast Naked! Store.

Yes, it is happening!

The Don’t Eat Toast Naked! Store is officially open!

Every purchase helps Sherrie and me meet the financial demands of this season, while 10 percent of the proceeds will support Grapes for Glioblastoma and other families walking this difficult road.

Visit the DETN Store → CLICK HERE

The store is meant to be fun, but it also has a meaningful purpose.

So, when you purchase something from the DETN Store, you aren’t merely buying a mug or a shirt. You are helping families touched by glioblastoma—including ours.

You are joining us in taking something frightening and painful and using it to create generosity, community, and hope.

And you’ll have something that reminds people not to eat toast naked.

That is what we call a win-win.

P.S. There’s more to the story! Soon, you’ll be able to personalize select DETN products with the name of someone you love who has faced glioblastoma. Instead of “Like Sherrie…,” your shirt, mug, or other item might say “Like Andy…,” “Like Mom…,” or the name of someone whose story deserves to be remembered.

Because every name matters. Every story matters. And no family should have to walk this road alone.

Stay tuned!

Like Sherrie…

Beginning soon, Sherrie and I also want to honor someone affected by glioblastoma in each week’s blog.

It may be someone currently fighting. It may be someone caring for a loved one. It may be someone who has already completed their earthly journey.

Every person has a name.

Every name has a story.

And every story deserves to be remembered.

If someone within your family, friendship circle, church, workplace, or community has been affected by glioblastoma, we invite you to submit their name and a short description of their story. With permission, we may share their photograph as well.

Each week, we’ll choose someone to recognize in a new section called:

Like Sherrie…

Because this story is about Sherrie—but it has never been only about Sherrie.

It is also about Andy.

It is about the people you know.

It is about the people you love.

It is about every family that has sat beside a bed, watched unpredictable numbers on a monitor, held someone’s hand, and wondered:

Is this the moment?

We see you.

We remember you.

And we want to help tell your story.

Still Moving Forward

This week began with me wondering whether Sherrie was leaving us.

Then Thommy-boy arrived, and somehow the room came alive again.

We watched Jeremiah’s dream celebrated on television. We made the painful decision to sell Sherrie’s car. We prepared to open the DETN Store. And we decided to use this little corner of the world to honor other people walking the glioblastoma road.

That is life right now.

Fear and laughter.

Loss and celebration.

Letting go and opening something new.

Cancer may influence our circumstances, but it does not get to define the entire story.

We cannot always choose what this season takes from us.

But we can choose what we continue to give.

Love.

Courage.

Generosity.

Gratitude.

Hope.

And, if Sherrie has anything to say about it, coupons. By the way, yes, Sherrie got her Whopper on Wednesday. Thank you, Wendy!

Until next week, keep moving forward—even if the road changes beneath you.

By the way…a BIG happy 49th wedding anniversary to Kevin “Doc” and Kathy! You could have celebrated anywhere, with anyone, but you chose to spend it with Sherrie and me in our home. That means more to us than words can say. Forty-nine years of love—and you’re still sharing it with others. We love you both!

And whatever you do…Don’t Eat Toast Naked!

Love Sherrie and Drake

Don’t Eat Toast Naked! Kitchen

Keep Moving Forward Cinnamon-Apple Toast Bake

Some weeks call for something complicated.

This wasn’t one of them.

This week called for warm bread, cinnamon, apples, and the kind of breakfast that reminds you life can still be sweet—even when the road ahead looks a little different than you imagined.

Besides, if Sherrie has taught me anything, it’s that no difficult decision should be made on an empty stomach.

Especially if someone has a coupon.

What You’ll Need

• 6 cups bread, cut into bite-sized pieces

• 1 apple, peeled and diced

• 4 eggs

• 1 cup milk

• ⅓ cup maple syrup

• 1 teaspoon vanilla extract

• 1 teaspoon cinnamon

• A pinch of salt

• 1 tablespoon butter

• Optional: chopped pecans, powdered sugar, or additional maple syrup

How to Make It

1. Preheat your oven to 350°F and butter an 8-by-8-inch baking dish.

2. Place the bread pieces and diced apple in the dish.

3. In a separate bowl, whisk together the eggs, milk, maple syrup, vanilla, cinnamon, and salt.

4. Pour the mixture evenly over the bread and apples. Press the bread down gently so it absorbs the good stuff.

5. Let it sit for about 10 minutes.

6. Bake for 35 to 40 minutes, until the center is set and the top turns golden brown.

7. Serve warm with maple syrup, powdered sugar, or chopped pecans.

8. If Thommy-boy is visiting, expect to share.

A Little Scripture for the Soul

“Weeping may stay for the night, but rejoicing comes in the morning.”

— Psalm 30:5

Some nights are long.

Some decisions are difficult.

Some roads lead us somewhere we never expected to go.

But morning still comes.

And sometimes it arrives with the smell of cinnamon, the laughter of a grandchild, and the quiet reminder that God has not stopped providing what we need for the next step.

Keep moving forward.

And whatever you do…

Don’t Eat Toast Naked!

Last Sunday was a really good day.

Actually, it was one of those days that reminds you why you keep writing, sharing, loving, laughing, and showing up.

It’s Hard to Be a Twinkie in a Ding Dong World received the strongest response yet to one of our Don’t Eat Toast Naked! blogs. Apparently, there are a lot of Twinkies trying to survive among the Ding Dongs.

Who knew?

More importantly, Sherrie and I began something new in our home that we’re calling our Mission Control Moment.

The idea is pretty simple. Before the world starts telling us what kind of day we’re going to have, we want to remember Who is actually at the center of it.

Because I’ve discovered something: Life can go helter-skelter in a hurry.

Monday: Heaven-Centered

Monday began pretty normally. Jessica stayed with Sherrie so I could head out, pick up Lilly-pad, and spend a little time visioning with Thommy-boy. Then Lilly and I headed back to Fort Morgan because there was one final piece of her birthday present waiting for her. Hair.

Not just any hair, mind you. Ombre hair with conservative pink highlights. Apparently, this is important when you’re becoming a teenager and entering seventh grade. Papa is learning. She looked terrific.

Monday felt good. People were where they needed to be. Responsibilities were covered. Nana was cared for. Papa got some time with the grandchildren. Nothing spectacular. Just life functioning the way life is supposed to function. Heaven-Centered.

Tuesday?

We slept in. Well...Lilly slept in. Papa apparently didn’t get that memo. Somebody still has to cover Mission Control.

Then Wednesday arrived. And so did the storm.

Hope Deferred at Burger King

Our dear friend Scott had read last week’s blog and apparently decided that Sherrie and everyone needed a Whopper. Not metaphorically. Actual Whoppers.

Scott was excited about this. He wasn’t merely delivering hamburgers; this man had a mission. He wanted to walk through our door carrying Whopper meals and see the satisfaction on Sherrie’s and our faces. His hopes were high!

Then he arrived at Burger King. Closed. A lightning strike had taken it out. Whomp… whomp… whomp. So much for the triumphant Whopper delivery.

There is a verse in Proverbs that says:

“Hope deferred makes the heart sick...” — Proverbs 13:12

I’m reasonably certain Solomon wasn’t standing outside Burger King when he wrote that, but Scott now understands the principle.

No Whopper – No fries – No triumphant entrance.

Just one disappointed man staring at a closed Burger King. And perhaps that was our warning. Helter-skelter was approaching.

Dun… dun… DUN!

Thursday: Helter-Skelter

Thursday I needed to get Lilly back home to Kansas. Birthday celebrations were waiting, and seventh grade wasn’t going to postpone itself for Papa.

Normally, when I need to be gone overnight, we have a routine. Jessica takes the helm. Mission Control continues operating. Sherrie is cared for. Papa does what he needs to do. Everybody knows their role. But this time we changed the routine.

A friend offered to stay with Sherrie instead. I headed to Kansas. Yet something kept telling me: Go home. So rather than staying overnight, I started back toward Fort Morgan. Of course, I called. No answer. Called again. Nothing.

Meanwhile, another storm rolled across northeastern Colorado. By the time I reached home, rain was pouring. Normally, I pull into my garage and walk directly into the house. Not tonight. Someone else’s car was parked in my spot.

So I parked, ran through the rain, entered the garage...and discovered the door into my own house was locked, more like barricaded. I knocked. Nothing. Knocked again. Nothing. Eventually, I surrendered and ran back through the torrential rain toward the front door. By now I was soaked.

I rang the doorbell. And rang it again. Suddenly three visiting dogs began barking as the apocalypse had arrived in Fort Morgan. Thank God!

Eventually the door opened. I was home. Praise the Lord.

I removed my wet shoes and started walking toward the family room. And that’s when it happened. Dog pee. Splash… splash… SPLASH.

Apparently, while Papa had been locked outside his own house, the dogs had been conducting their own Mission Control operation inside. And judging from the evidence...it had been a very successful mission. There wasn’t one puddle. There were puddles. Here. There. And Everywhere.

At that point I was exhausted. Wet. Confused. And standing barefoot in dog pee. Welcome to...Helter-Skelter.

But Here’s the Thing

The next morning brought more confusion, more anxiety, more assumptions, and more unnecessary fear. Eventually, our friend decided it was best to head home. And I agreed. No anger. No villain. No score to settle. Just a realization: Not everyone brings the same atmosphere into a room.

And neither do we. Sometimes we bring peace. Sometimes we bring anxiety. Sometimes we bring confidence. Sometimes we bring fear. Sometimes we walk into a situation Heaven-Centered. And sometimes we are the ones bringing the helter-skelter. That’s why Mission Control matters.

Because what is happening inside of us eventually finds its way into what is happening around us. Jesus said:

“Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you... Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.” — John 14:27

Jesus wasn’t promising a life without storms. He was teaching us how to live in the middle of them. The rain can fall. Burger King can close. Plans can change. People can disappoint us. Dogs can pee on the floor. Life can become wonderfully weird in approximately thirty seconds. But the storm around us doesn’t have to become the storm within us.

Friday: Re-Centering

Friday morning, I called Jessica. She came over and helped us begin putting things back together. Then later that afternoon another friend, Cindy, called. “Can I come visit?” Absolutely. She came. She sat with us. She visited. She brought peace rather than pressure.

Hospice also arrived and checked Sherrie. Her blood pressure was elevated—enough to tell us that the previous twenty-four hours had taken their toll. That mattered. Especially after what Sherrie had already been through the previous week. Sometimes peace isn’t merely pleasant. Sometimes peace is necessary. And that’s when the lesson of our wonderfully weird week finally became clear to me.

Less Helter-Skelter. More Heaven-Centered.

Being Heaven-Centered doesn’t mean everything goes according to plan. It doesn’t mean storms disappear. It doesn’t mean Burger King stays open. It doesn’t even guarantee somebody’s dog won’t pee on your floor.

Being Heaven-Centered means that when life becomes disordered around us, we don’t have to become disordered within us.

We return to Mission Control. We remember Who we are. We remember Whose we are. We choose love over fear. Peace over panic. Trust over suspicion. Grace over reaction. And presence over chaos.

Then came Saturday.

Nothing dramatic. Nothing exciting. Nothing particularly blog-worthy. And thank God for that. We rested.

After a week that had moved from Twinkies to Whoppers, lightning strikes to locked doors, pink highlights to dog puddles, Saturday felt downright heavenly. Maybe that’s part of what Sabbath has always been about. God calling His children out of the helter-skelter long enough to remember where the center actually is.

So this week, wherever you find yourself—and whatever storm happens to arrive at your door—perhaps this is a good Mission Control Moment for all of us:

Less Helter-Skelter. More Heaven-Centered.

Because you may not be able to control what comes through the door. But with Christ at the center, you can increasingly decide what comes out of you. And that, my friends, is one wonderfully weird way to live.

Oh yeah… “Don’t Eat Toast Naked” always cover it with love!

Love Sherrie and Drake (Please Share!)

DON’T EAT TOAST NAKED! KITCHEN

Heaven-Centered Cinnamon Toast

Because some weeks don’t need another complicated recipe. They just need toast.

What You’ll Need

• 2 slices of your favorite bread

• Butter

• 1 tablespoon sugar

• ½ teaspoon cinnamon

• A drizzle of honey, if you’re feeling heavenly

What You’ll Do
Toast the bread until golden. Butter it while it’s hot. Mix the cinnamon and sugar together and sprinkle generously over the top. Add just a little honey if desired.

Then sit down.

Seriously.

Sit. Down.

Pour yourself a cup of coffee, take a bite, and remember:

The house doesn’t have to be perfect.
The week doesn’t have to make sense.
Burger King doesn’t even have to be open.

Sometimes you just need to get yourself centered again.

“Be still, and know that I am God.” — Psalm 46:10

This Week’s Kitchen Wisdom

Less helter-skelter. More Heaven-Centered.

And whatever you do...

Don’t Eat Toast Naked! 😄

Again, some have asked to experience my weekly devotions elsewhere. Here you GO!

The Discernment Weapon: Three Blind Mice

Last week was Ding Dongs. So naturally, this week had to be Twinkies. I didn’t plan it that way. Apparently, Hostess is now helping me write Don’t Eat Toast Naked!

It started when another Angie came to the house to cut Sherrie’s hair. When she arrived, she stood at the door with a dilemma. She wasn’t sure whether she should knock or ring the doorbell.

After last week’s blog, I suppose that’s understandable.

When Angie told me about her hesitation, I assured her she could ring the bell. “You’re not one of the Ding Dongs I was talking about,” I told her. “You’re more like a Twinkie.” She laughed.

And somewhere between snips of hair and a good conversation, I said something that made both of us laugh again: “It’s hard to be a Twinkie in a Ding Dong world.”

Two hours later, Angie gone, I wasn’t thinking about Twinkies anymore.

Life changed.

Again!

Early Tuesday morning, Sherrie had a major seizure while trying to go to the restroom. She collapsed. She couldn’t move. At the same time, she became violently sick. Everything happened at once.

And suddenly, the ten feet between where Sherrie had collapsed and her bed might as well have been ten miles.

I couldn’t get her there. I tried. I pulled. Lifted. Maneuvered. Manhandled.

Whatever word you want to use, none of them really describes what it feels like when the woman you’ve loved for nearly forty years is lying helpless in front of you, and you don’t have the physical strength to get her safely back into bed, even with a lift.

Eventually, I did. But it hurt. Not just physically.

Her vitals weren’t good. Actually, they seemed to indicate just about everything except life. So I did what I’ve learned to do in these moments. I mentally prepared for the worst while hoping—and praying—for the best. Whatever “best” meant.

Jessica, our caring caregiver, arrived around 8:00 that morning. I had initially planned to drive to Kansas to pick up Lilly-pad, but I changed my mind—at least, I thought I did. Everyone convinced me to go anyway. Even though I was exhausted, on our way back to Fort Morgan, Lilly asked if we could visit Great Gee-gee in Brush before heading home to see Nana. That says everything you need to know about my remarkable Lilly-Pad; it’s truly amazing that a 13-year-old girl was thinking about her whole family, not just what was immediately ahead. She’s definitely a Twinkie!

Jessica would stay with Sherrie. She would care for her. I needed to get Lilly. So I went. Meanwhile, our son Miah and his family came from Denver because they, too, wondered if this might be the end. By the time Lilly and I arrived home, Sherrie was still mostly out of things. And so was I.

I hadn’t slept for nearly two days. Jessica volunteered to stay the night so I could finally get some rest. Miah eventually headed back to Denver. Then Wednesday came.

Things began to settle. Sherrie stopped getting sick. Her vitals stabilized. The house grew a little quieter.

Late Wednesday afternoon, she finally woke up. She looked at me and asked, “What day is it?” “It’s Wednesday,” I gently told her. Without missing a beat, she said, “That means it’s Whopper Wednesday. I want a Whopper.”

There she was. I laughed.

After seizures, sickness, frightening vitals, family rushing in, two sleepless days, and wondering whether I was about to lose my wife, apparently the official medical indication that Sherrie was going to survive another round was not her oxygen level. It was Burger King. She wanted a Whopper. And around our house, that’s a pretty good vital sign.

Still, once everything settled, I told Jessica something I hadn’t wanted to admit.

“I don’t know if I have another one of these in me.” It wasn’t because of the sickness. It wasn’t the mess. It wasn’t even the lack of sleep. It was those ten feet. I couldn’t get Sherrie back to her bed.

For nearly forty years, part of my identity has been caring for this woman. Protecting her. Providing for her. Being there when she needed me. And this time, I wasn’t strong enough. That’s difficult for me to admit.

Maybe that’s what this season is teaching me. Sometimes being strong means recognizing that you’re not. Sometimes loving somebody means realizing ten feet is farther than you can carry them alone. Sometimes faith isn’t confidently declaring that everything is going to be okay. Sometimes faith is sitting beside someone you love, looking at numbers you don’t want to see, preparing yourself for what may come, and still whispering: “God, I’m hoping for the best.” Whatever the best may be.

Which brings me back to Twinkies and Ding Dongs. I joked with Angie that she was a Twinkie in a Ding Dong world. But maybe being a Twinkie isn’t about having everything together. Maybe it’s about carrying a little sweetness into places that desperately need it.

Angie did that with a haircut and a conversation.

Jessica and John did it by walking through the door at exactly the moment I needed someone stronger than me.

Miah and his family did it by coming from Denver when they thought Nana might be nearing the end.

Lilly did it simply by being Lilly.

And Sherrie?

She did it with a Whopper.

Today, Lilly-pad turns thirteen.

Thirteen!

She’s spending her birthday with Uncle Miah, Kathline, and Thommy Boy in Denver, and tomorrow I’ll pick her up so she can come home and celebrate with Nana Sherrie.

After the week we’ve had, that feels particularly sweet.

A granddaughter turning thirteen. A Nana still here to celebrate it. A Whopper on Wednesday. A haircut from Angie. A caregiver willing to stay the night. Ten impossible feet that somehow got crossed.

Maybe those are the Twinkies. Little packages of goodness tucked into a world that can sometimes feel filled with Ding Dongs.

And if I’m being fair, I suppose I have to admit something else. After everything that happened this week, I’m probably one of the Ding Dongs too. But I’m learning. Because it’s hard to be a Twinkie in a Ding Dong world.

Hard.

But not impossible.

And this week, I really appreciate how God keeps sending us little touches of sweetness. Angie, after leaving Sherrie’s haircut on Monday, kindly left a box of Twinkies and a box of Ding Dongs on our porch with a smile—such a thoughtful surprise, from a Twinkie to Ding Dong.

Love, Sherrie (Twinkie) and Drake (The Ding Dong).

Don’t Eat Toast Naked! Kitchen

Twinkie Delight

Some weeks call for a complicated recipe. This is not one of those weeks.

After seizures, sleepless nights, Whopper Wednesdays, unexpected visitors, and learning once again that life can turn on a dime, I think we’ve earned something simple. So this week, the Don’t Eat Toast Naked! Kitchen presents:

Twinkie Delight.

Because if it’s hard to be a Twinkie in a Ding Dong world, the least we can do is dress one up a little.

What You’ll Need

• 1 Twinkie

• A little chocolate drizzle

• Red, white, and blue sprinkles

• Whipped cream, if you’re feeling fancy

• A cup of coffee

• A little sweetness

• A whole lot of grace

What You Do

Place the Twinkie on a plate. Drizzle chocolate over the top. Add a few sprinkles. If the week has been especially difficult, add whipped cream. There are no rules here. Pour yourself a cup of coffee, sit down, and enjoy something sweet.

That’s it.

No oven. No measuring cups. No twelve-step process.

Sometimes life is already complicated enough.

And while you’re sitting there, remember this: Being a Twinkie doesn’t mean pretending the Ding Dongs aren’t real. It means choosing to carry a little sweetness anyway.

This week, sweetness came through a haircut from Angie, a caregiver named Jessica, family showing up, Lilly-pad turning thirteen, Sherrie waking up on Wednesday, and one glorious sentence: “I want a Whopper.”

Sometimes the smallest things become signs of life – A smile. A conversation. A granddaughter. A hamburger. Even a Twinkie.

“Taste and see that the LORD is good.”
—Psalm 34:8

So grab a Twinkie. Pour the coffee. Say a prayer. And keep on Twinkin’.

Because it really is hard to be a Twinkie in a Ding Dong world. But somebody has to do it.

Last week was Family. Family. Family.

Apparently, this week was Doorbell. Doorbell. Doorbell.

From Monday through Saturday, our doorbell rang more than twenty times.

Friends. Colleagues. Delivery drivers. Roofers. Salespeople. Caregivers. Some came because they knew what was happening inside our home. Others had no idea.

Under ordinary circumstances, twenty unexpected rings might have tested my patience. By the end of the week, my response could easily have become:

“Which ding-dong is at the door now?”

But these were not ordinary circumstances.

Sherrie and I were both sick.

Apparently, one of the many people who filled our home last week also left behind a little something extra—a bug. That is one of the risks of bringing people in, and according to Sherrie, and I agree, we would have it no other way. We share our stories, our laughter, our food…and occasionally our germs.

For me, the bug meant feeling under the weather.

For Sherrie, it meant something more.

There were moments throughout the week when she seemed to drift in and out of our reality. She was here, but sometimes she felt far away. Her energy was fading, her body was struggling, and at one point her oxygen level dropped into the low seventies.

Those are difficult numbers to see.

There is no sense pretending otherwise: my Sherrie is slowly dimming.

I don’t say that without hope, and I certainly don’t mean that the light of her life is disappearing. In many ways, her light has never been more visible. But the body that has carried that light for so many years is growing tired.

And then…

Ding-dong!

The doorbell would ring.

Sherrie would stir. Her eyes would open. She would turn toward the sound as though someone had reached through the fog and gently called her name.

For a moment, the energy returned.

Life was at the door.

Angie brought us our favorite cookies. Scott and Deb shared an unbelievable gift of appreciation. Wendy gave honey, and Natuasha extended a cup of coffee and chai. John and Jessica unexpectedly delivered dinner from one of our cherished restaurants. Michelle surprised us with a picture connected to a sermon I preached and taught nearly ten years ago. Our new friends, Kevin and Kap, noticed a need in our landscaping and created a little sanctuary just below the only window Sherrie can see through with the help of her full-body lift. Clint traveled across state lines simply to say hello and remind us that, even during this difficult time, we were seen, understood, and loved.

Then there were all the other ding-dongs—and I appreciated them too. Each ring meant someone had entered our little world, even if only for a few minutes.

The doorbell did more than announce another visitor. It reminded Sherrie that she was still connected to a world beyond the walls of her room.

By the end of the week, I began to realize that all this ringing was teaching me something about relationships.

Every meaningful relationship needs three things:

Communication. Communion. Community.

Communication rings the bell. Communion opens the door. Community makes room for someone to stay.

When Life Rings the Bell

By Saturday, I was tired of being sick, tired of watching oxygen numbers, and—if I am entirely honest—a little tired of answering the door.

But I was also grateful for every ring.

Whenever that bell sounded, something happened inside Sherrie. Even if only for a moment, she returned to us a little more fully.

Her eyes opened. Her attention shifted. A small spark flickered. Life was still at the door. Therefore, perhaps this week’s lesson is not complicated at all: Pay attention when someone is trying to reach you. Open the door when someone needs to come near. Make room in your life where people know they belong. Why? One day, the ringing may stop. The house may become quieter than we ever wanted it to be.

But this week, every ding-dong reminded me that love was still arriving—and Sherrie was still here to receive it.

So, come inside. Pull up a chair. Share a little life with us. And if you brought toast, or even Ding-Dongs, please—whatever you do—don’t bring it naked.

With much love, appreciation, and gratefulness!

Sherrie & Drake

The Don’t Eat Toast Naked! Kitchen

This Week’s Recipe: Come-to-the-Table Bread

Throughout church history, communion has gathered people around two simple elements: bread and wine—or, in many churches, bread and grape juice.

Nothing elaborate. Nothing fancy.

Just a loaf, a cup, and an invitation: Come. Remember. Receive. Belong.

That is what happened in our home this week.

The doorbell rang, the door opened, and people entered our lives. They brought cookies, dinner, gifts, memories, encouragement, and themselves. They could not remove the difficulty, but they could share it with us.

That is the heart of communion.

The word signifies sharing, fellowship, and participation. At the Lord’s Table, we remember that Jesus did not love us from afar; He drew near, gave Himself, and invited us to share in His life. He also taught us to share that life with others, as we are all redeemed to the purpose for which we were created—responding willingly to His Grace (Great Commandment) and His will (Great Commission) so we are restored to who we are meant to be in the first place. This transformation into Christ-likeness, now through God’s Spirit, empowers us to help others do the same, until the entire earth reflects His Epic Story—God’s Mission—now and forever.

Perhaps communion is what transforms communication into community.

Communication rings the bell.

Communion opens the door and sets the table.

Community pulls up another chair.

Ingredients

• 1 loaf of rustic bread or sourdough

• ½ cup softened butter

• 2 tablespoons honey

• ½ teaspoon cinnamon

• A small jar of grape preserves

• A pinch of salt

• Plenty of people with whom to share it

Directions

1. Warm the bread in the oven at 350 degrees for 8–10 minutes.

2. Mix the softened butter, honey, cinnamon, and salt until smooth.

3. Slice—or better yet, break—the warm bread into pieces.

4. Serve it with the honey butter and grape preserves.

5. Pour coffee, grape juice, or whatever brings people to your table.

6. Put away the phones, look one another in the eyes, and share a little life.

This is not intended to replace the sacred practice of the Lord’s Supper. It is simply a meal inspired by what communion teaches us: bread is better when it is broken and shared, and life is better when we stop trying to carry it alone.

Jesus took ordinary bread and an ordinary cup and used them to communicate an extraordinary truth:

“You are loved. You are included. Come share My life.”

That is what every ring of our doorbell seemed to say to Sherrie this week.

“You are still seen.”

“You are still loved.”

“You still have a place at the table.”

“Because there is one loaf, we, who are many, are one body, for we all share the one loaf.” —1 Corinthians 10:17

So, break the bread. Pass the cup. Pull up another chair.

And please remember: even communion reminds us that bread was never intended to remain naked—or to be eaten alone.

After a few weeks of Girls. Girls. Girls. and Boys. Boys. Boys., there was really only one place left to go. Faaaaaaaamily! But before we go there, let me share:

For nearly twenty years, the last week of July has meant one thing around our home. Camp WYOBA.

For six wonderful days each year, Sherrie and I have loaded the vans, trucks, and campers, pointed them toward the Wyoming mountains, and spent the week surrounded by campfires, worship, families, old friends, and enough coffee to keep a small town awake. The only thing that got old was probably my preaching—to the students anyway.

It’s become one of those traditions you simply assume will always be there.

This year...The vehicles never left the driveway. With Sherrie’s health, we both knew staying home was the right decision. I probably could have gone. In fact, several people encouraged me to. But the thought of being gone for ten days just didn’t sit well with me – Funny how life works. Sometimes God changes your plans...only to give something you never planned on. Instead of us going to camp...camp came to us.

Family started arriving from every direction – Kansas. Arizona. California. Colorado.

Papa picked up Lilly-pad and rounded everyone up for a trip to see Jeremiah’s (Miah’s) new store and, of course, to see Thommy-boy and Kathleen in Denver. My sisters came, and their families came. Before long, our house was filled with laughter, stories, hugs, people wandering from room to room, and enough snacks to convince me we were feeding half of Morgan County. I have to go shopping for more toast.

What was so Wonderfully Weird was that my sisters and I seldom are together to take a photo. The reason this is so significant is we are triplets, and to get a picture of us three, all at once, is like getting a picture of Bigfoot at Camp WYOBA!

We’ve joked our entire lives that we’re triplets. Sure, our birthdays aren’t until October, but we’ve always figured the three of us were hanging out together months before then anyway. As far as we’re concerned, therefore, here is our 60th birthday photo. Our actual birthday is October; it’s just the government making it official.

That’s the thing about families. Every family has stories that make absolutely no sense to anyone else. And honestly...that’s what makes them family.

One moment from the weekend keeps replaying in my mind. It wasn’t a conversation. It wasn’t a photograph. It wasn’t even all the laughter. It was everyone gathered around Sherrie’s bed. No one was trying to fix anything. No one had all the answers. People simply...showed up.

As I stood there, my eyes drifted upward to the little sign hanging above her bed.

You are loved.

You are safe.

I am right here.

I’ve created that sign, hung it up, and walked past it hundreds of times.

This week...I actually saw it differently. Because every person who walked through our front door became those three simple sentences.

No one came because they had to. They came because love invited them. And I’ve discovered something. Love rarely announces itself with grand speeches. More often...it simply pulls up a chair.

You know, Don’t Eat Toast Naked! has never really been about toast. It’s about noticing the ordinary things that end up feeding our souls — A Whopper. A beach ball. A bubble wand. A cup of coffee. A sunrise. A kitchen table. Or a house unexpectedly filled with people who simply decided to show up.

Family doesn’t erase the hard chapters. Family simply refuses to let you read them alone. Maybe that’s why God thought families were such a good idea. Not because we’d always agree. Not because we’d always understand each other. Certainly not because we’d all live in the same zip code. But because when life changes directions...love somehow remembers the address.

We thought we were missing Camp WYOBA this year. Looking back...I don’t think we missed camp at all. I think God simply brought the campfire home. And maybe that’s this week’s reminder.

Don’t wait. Don’t wait for the next holiday. Don’t wait for the next reunion. Don’t wait until life slows down. Pull up a chair. Call your sister. Visit your brother. Hug your kids. Spoil your grandkids. Sit with your parents. Because one day...you’ll realize the moments you almost skipped...were the ones that mattered most.

“Be devoted to one another in love. Honor one another above yourselves.”

Romans 12:10

Until next week...Don’t eat your toast naked. And don’t do life alone.

Love Sherrie, Drake and Family!

The Don’t Eat Toast Naked! Kitchen

Campfire Cinnamon Pull-Apart Bread

Because sometimes God doesn’t cancel the tradition...He simply changes the address.

Ingredients

• 1 round sourdough bread loaf

• ½ cup unsalted butter, melted

• 2 teaspoons ground cinnamon

• ⅓ cup brown sugar

• 1 teaspoon vanilla extract

• Powdered sugar, for dusting

• Fresh berries (optional)

Directions

1. Preheat your oven to 350°F.

2. Using a bread knife, slice the loaf in a crisscross pattern, being careful not to cut all the way through the bottom.

3. In a small bowl, stir together the melted butter, cinnamon, brown sugar, and vanilla.

4. Spoon the mixture generously into every cut of the bread.

5. Wrap loosely in aluminum foil and bake for 20 minutes.

6. Open the foil and continue baking for 8–10 minutes, until the top is lightly crisp and caramelized.

7. Dust with powdered sugar, serve warm, and invite everyone to pull off a piece.

No fancy plates.

No assigned seating.

Just family.

P.S. People keep asking about my other blog (devotion) and podcast. CLICK HERE if you’re interested in seeing them.

Last week, it was Girls. Girls. Girls. Naturally, this week could only be... Boys. Boys. Boys. If last week belonged to the girls, this week belonged to the guys. Three generations of them. One son surprised me. One son made me proud. One grandson stole the show

Let’s start with Boy Number One...

Joshua.

Lilly-pad’s daddy

You know, Joshua has been working on his testimony for years. Decades, actually.

The funny part is that when he was around twelve years old, he looked at me one day and said,

“Dad...I don’t have a testimony.”

I knew we were headed for a long conversation.

Growing up, Josh heard what many of us heard in church. Every few weeks someone would stand on stage with one of those jaw-dropping stories.

“I was a dope dealer...”

“I was addicted...”

“I lived this wild life...”

“...and Jesus completely changed me.”

Those stories are beautiful. They’re true. They’re worth celebrating.

But sitting somewhere in the audience is usually a little boy thinking...

“Well...I’ve never been a dope dealer.”

“I’ve never pushed pills.”

“I guess I don’t have much of a testimony.”

Looking back, I wonder how many children quietly reached that conclusion. Maybe the greatest testimony isn’t how far Jesus had to pull us out of the ditch. Maybe it’s watching Him patiently teach us how to love.

That happened around our house this week.

Joshua and I had one of those father-son conversations that isn’t particularly fun while you’re having it, but you’re thankful you had afterward.

The discussion centered around one simple question.

“What does it really look like to love Mom and Dad during this season?”

Not emotionally. Practically. Helping. Serving. Seeing a need before someone asks.

Let me say, “something changed.”

Now...I’m old enough to know one good week doesn’t erase years of struggle.

But...

It was a really good week.

Joshua leaned in. He helped. He engaged. He noticed things. He loved us well.

As a dad, I found myself doing something I’ve learned to do a lot over the past few years.

I thanked God for today and trusted Him with tomorrow.

Boy Number Two...

Jeremiah, or affectionately known as “Miah."

Well...after what seems like somewhere between forever and eternity...

The café is finally open!

Every inspection...Passed. Every license...Approved. Every signature...Signed.

If you’ve ever opened a business, you know there comes a point where you’re not sure whether you’re opening a café or earning a law degree.

But they made it.

Watching your children build something with integrity is one of life’s sweetest rewards.

Sherrie and I couldn’t be prouder.

Then there’s...Thommy-Boy.

Now here’s where the whole day changed.

Getting Sherrie to Denver these days isn’t exactly like jumping in the car and saying, “Let’s go!”

It takes planning. Patience. Equipment. Medication. Wheelchairs. And one amazing caregiver named Jessica.

But we made it.

Everyone was excited about opening day.

Me?

I was excited about bubbles.

Because while everyone else visited and celebrated, Thommy and I found our entertainment. Just like Lilly and I did years ago.

Bubbles.

Who knew twenty-five cents worth of soap and air could compete with just about anything money can buy?

He laughed. I laughed.

The bubbles floated. Time slowed down.

Nothing spectacular happened. Which made it spectacular.

Sometimes I think that’s one of the secrets of life.

We’re looking for fireworks while God keeps handing us bubbles.

As I drove home, it struck me. Last week was all about the girls. This week belonged to the boys. One son chose love. One son opened a dream. One grandson reminded his Papa that joy still floats through the air if you’ll slow down long enough to chase it.

Not a bad week...Especially for a guy who still believes life is better when you don’t eat your toast naked.

With love spread of toast,

Sherrie & Drake

The Don’t Eat Toast Naked! Kitchen

This Week’s Recipe:

Papa’s Bubble Toast

“Warning: This recipe has been known to attract toddlers, Papas, and unforgettable memories.”

Ingredients

• 2 slices thick sourdough or country bread

• Butter (the real stuff! Just like Sherrie likes it.)

• Honey

• 1 ripe banana, sliced

• A sprinkle of cinnamon

• A hot cup of coffee (for Papa)

• One bottle of bubbles (highly recommended)

Directions

Toast the bread until it’s golden brown.

Spread one slice generously with butter and a drizzle of honey.

Top the second slice with peanut butter, banana slices, and a light dusting of cinnamon.

Pour yourself a fresh cup of coffee.

Then...

Put the toast down.

Go outside.

Blow bubbles.

Watch a little one chase something that won’t last very long.

Smile.

Come back inside and enjoy your breakfast while your heart is still full.

Because sometimes the best ingredient isn’t on the plate.

It’s the memory you made before you took the first bite.

From Sherrie and Drake’s Kitchen Table

This week reminded us that life has a funny way of changing our priorities.

Years ago, we might have thought opening a business, checking off another accomplishment, or crossing one more item off our to-do list was what made a day successful.

This week...

It was bubbles.

Watching Thommy laugh as he reached for something he could never quite catch reminded me that joy isn’t always found in holding on.

Sometimes it’s found in simply enjoying what’s floating right in front of you.

Joshua reminded us that people really can change.

Jeremiah reminded us that perseverance eventually opens doors.

Thommy reminded us that wonder still exists.

Not bad lessons for a week that began with Boys. Boys. Boys.

Maybe we all need a little less hustle...and a few more bubbles.

This Week’s Toast Thought

“The greatest moments in life are often the simplest ones. Don’t rush past them.”

Scripture for the Table

“See that you walk carefully, not as unwise but as wise, making the most of every opportunity, because the days are evil.”

— Ephesians 5:15–16

So this week...Butter the toast. Pour the coffee. Blow the bubbles. Love your people.

And whatever you do...Don’t Eat Toast Naked! 🍞🫧

Every once in a while, Sherrie comes up with the title long before I know what I’m supposed to write about.

This week she smiled and simply said, “Girls, Girls, Girls.”

I laughed.

Then I looked back over the week.

She was right.

Everywhere I turned, there were girls—young girls, grown girls, caregiver girls, grandmother girls, and even an aunt who called just to make sure she wasn’t left out of the conversation. It was one of those weeks that reminded me just how much women quietly shape the world around them.

The first “Girls” belonged right here at home.

Sherrie enjoyed visits from Natasha, Jessica, and Robin. There was coffee around the bedside, laughter echoing through the house, and plenty of helping hands. Caregiving isn’t always dramatic. More often, it’s folding laundry, making coffee, sharing stories, checking on a friend, or simply showing up. Those simple acts of kindness have a way of filling a home with hope.

The second “Girls” took me to Oakley, Kansas, where I spent the day with Lilly-pad and her little sister, Harper.

Now that’s my kind of summer.

We chased each other around the swimming pool with squirt guns, launched water balloons like seasoned professionals, and competed to see who could pop a ninety-seven-cent Walmart beach ball first. It turns out you don’t need expensive toys to make priceless memories. Sometimes ninety-seven cents is all heaven needs.

Of course, I had another surprise.

Since it had only been a few days after Independence Day, I packed a few leftover fireworks. I figured what better way to keep the celebration going than lighting up the Kansas sky with my granddaughters?

Apparently, Lilly had other plans.

Before I could even unpack them, she looked me square in the eye and said, “Papa, it’s against the law after July 5th.”

Trying to negotiate—as only a grandfather can—I suggested we could ask the ladies at the front desk if it would be okay to use the back patio where nobody would see us.

Without missing a beat, she answered, “Absolutely not. It’s against the law, and that’s that.”

Well...

That settled it.

Somewhere along the way, my sweet little six-year-old granddaughter forgot she was supposed to stay six forever and just follow papa’s lead.

She’s growing into a beautiful young lady, thirteen, next month.

Honestly, that still catches me off guard. Every time I see her becoming a little more mature, a little more confident, and a little more independent, I realize time keeps moving no matter how much Papa wishes it would slow down.

Yet what impressed me most wasn’t how much she’d grown physically.

It was her character.

She wasn’t willing to compromise simply because Papa thought it would be fun.

She chose what was right over what was exciting.

Imagine that.

The old guy wanted to bend the rules.

The young lady stood her ground.

I couldn’t have been prouder.

The third “Girls” came later in the week as I visited Great Nana Linda.

Something struck me almost immediately. Again, I was the odd man out.

Her hallway was filled entirely with women.

Women caring for women.

Nurses.

Social workers.

Caregivers.

Neighbors.

Daughters.

Grandmothers.

The conversations were quieter there. The pace was slower. Yet the kindness was just as real. It reminded me that every season of life has its own beauty when people simply care for one another.

And just when I thought Girls’ Week had officially come to an end...

Aunt Angela called.

Apparently, she wanted to make sure she received an honorable mention too.

As I reflected on the week, I couldn’t help but think about our little motto here at Don’t Eat Toast Naked!

It has always been more than a funny phrase.

It’s a reminder that little decisions often carry bigger consequences than we first imagine.

Whether it’s eating toast over a freshly cleaned shirt, lighting fireworks after the holiday, or choosing whether to compromise when nobody is watching, life is built one small decision at a time.

Funny enough, this week my granddaughter reminded me of that.

I was ready to justify a harmless exception.

She quietly reminded me that integrity doesn’t change simply because something sounds fun.

Sometimes wisdom comes from the most unexpected places.

This week, it came wearing a swimsuit, carrying a squirt gun, and calling me “Papa.”

As we move into the dog days of summer, I’m thankful for coffee around Sherrie’s bedside, cannonballs into a swimming pool and a jacuzzi, visits with Great Nana, unexpected phone calls from family, and a little girl who’s becoming a remarkable young woman, just like her Nana Sherrie.

Not a bad week for one old guy who was surrounded by girls, girls, girls.

“Whoever walks in integrity walks securely, but whoever takes crooked paths will be found out.” — Proverbs 10:9

🍞 The Don’t Eat Toast Naked! Kitchen

This Week’s Recipe

Great Nana’s Grateful Toast

“Sometimes the simplest meals nourish the deepest memories.”

Great Nana Linda enjoying one of life’s simple pleasures. Sometimes a slice of toast, a warm bowl of soup, and the people you love become a feast you’ll never forget.

Ingredients

• 2 slices of hearty wheat bread

• Butter, softened

• One warm bowl of your favorite soup (tomato, vegetable, chicken noodle...whatever comforts your soul)

• A tall glass of cold water

• One comfortable chair

• One unhurried conversation

• Three generations of love

• A grateful heart

Directions

Toast the bread until golden.

Butter it while it’s still warm.

Pour yourself a warm bowl of soup.

Then do something we often forget to do.

Sit down with someone who has lived longer than you.

Ask a question.

Listen more than you speak.

Smile often.

If you’re blessed enough, receive a kiss on the forehead—or better yet, be the one who gives it.

Take another bite of toast.

Savor the moment.

Because one day you’ll realize the meal was never really about the toast.

It was about who was sitting across the table.

Serve generously.

Season liberally with gratitude.

Repeat often.

Chef’s Note

Great Nana Linda reminded us this week that life’s richest meals are rarely the most expensive.

Sometimes they’re nothing more than toast, soup, and someone who still remembers your name...or maybe simply remembers that you’re family.

At Don’t Eat Toast Naked!, we’ve always believed that ordinary moments become extraordinary memories when shared with the people we love. This week’s lunch wasn’t served in a five-star restaurant. It was served around a quiet table with a bowl of soup, a slice of toast, and four generations discovering that love doesn’t need fancy ingredients.

As I watched Great Nana enjoying her lunch, I couldn’t help but smile.

That humble piece of toast became more than lunch.

It became a reminder that the sweetest recipes aren’t written in cookbooks.

They’re written in families.

Turns out...

That’s a recipe worth passing down.

🍞 Toast Tip

Never eat toast naked.

Especially around Great Nana.

She’d probably smile, hand you another slice of toast...

...and gently remind you to put some clothes on first.

Scripture

“Better is a dry morsel with quiet than a house full of feasting with strife.”
— Proverbs 17:1

Sometimes the greatest feasts aren’t measured by what’s on the table, but by the peace, gratitude, and love shared around it.

Love Sherrie & Drake

Happy 250th Birthday, America. Happy 150th Birthday, Colorado — Those two milestones have been on my mind all week, and then some.

Not only because our Rocky Mountain Voice Freedom Festival celebrated both anniversaries, but because after the festival came what felt like 250 things to do and at least 150 interruptions trying to keep me from doing them.

Receipts.

Invoices.

Emails.

Thank-you notes.

Phone calls.

After Action Reports.

Loose ends.

If you’ve ever completed a major project, you know the feeling. Sometimes the work after the celebration feels almost as big as the celebration itself.

The good news?

I officially wrapped up the paperwork and closed the book on this year’s Freedom Festival. That was a satisfying moment. Like crossing a finish line after months of running uphill.

Yet somewhere between those 250 demands and 150 interruptions, God quietly reminded me what really matters.

The Fourth of July arrived.

Around our house, Independence Day is a little bittersweet. Just two days later, we’ll remember Sherrie’s dad, who passed away on July 6 two years ago. Grief has a way of quietly pulling up a chair, even during celebrations.

But isn’t that life?

Joy and remembrance often share the same table.

This year, Jessica (Sherrie’s Nurse) and John (Jessica’s Husband and great friend) joined us for the day, and what a gift that turned out to be. Sherrie summed up our menu with a smile:

Steak, Sushi, Salad, and Smiles.

I’d say she nailed it.

The food was wonderful, but the people made the meal. Conversation flowed easily. Laughter came naturally. For a few hours, deadlines took a back seat to friendship.

Then, as only our family can do, we wrapped up the evening by watching Joe Dirt.

Yes...

Joe Dirt.

I think we’ve accidentally started a new Fourth of July tradition.

Who knew?

Some traditions begin with fireworks.

Others begin with laughter.

And sometimes the best memories aren’t carefully planned. They simply happen when good people gather around a table and enjoy each other’s company.

As I reflected on the week, I realized something.

Life will always have demands.

There will always be another report to finish, another email to answer, another project waiting just around the corner. If we wait until everything is finished before we allow ourselves to enjoy life, we’ll spend most of our lives waiting.

That’s not freedom.

Real freedom isn’t found when the calendar is empty.

It’s found when our hearts are full.

America’s 250th birthday reminds us of the blessing of liberty. Colorado’s 150th reminds us of the pioneering spirit that helped build this beautiful state we call home. Both are worth celebrating.

But perhaps the greatest celebration isn’t found in parades, fireworks, or drone shows in our case.

Perhaps it’s found around a dinner table.

With steak.

Sushi.

Salad.

Smiles.

Friends.

Family.

And yes...even Joe Dirt.

Because those ordinary moments often become life’s extraordinary treasures.

Last week, I wrote about prizes, pride, and poop.

This week, I’m thinking about demands, dirt, and delights.

The demands are real.

The dirt is unavoidable.

But the delights...

Those are the gifts God quietly places along the journey, reminding us that even in the busiest seasons, life is still beautiful.

So wherever this finds you, I hope you celebrated America. I hope you celebrated Colorado. More importantly, I hope you celebrated the people sitting around your own table.

Because life really is good...

...especially when you don’t eat toast naked your way, but instead discover the richness of living God’s way.

Until next week

Love Drake and Sherrie

Oh Yeah…Don’t Eat Toast Naked!

🍽️ The Don’t Eat Toast Naked! Kitchen

This Week’s Recipe: Steak, Sushi, Salad...and Smiles

Every once in a while, a meal comes along that isn’t remembered because of the recipe, but because of the people gathered around the table.

That’s exactly what happened this Fourth of July.

Jessica and John joined us for dinner, and somewhere between the laughter and conversation, Sherrie looked around the table and smiled.

“Steak, Sushi, Salad, and Smiles.“

There it was.

The perfect menu.

Well...almost.

Oh yeah... Drake, now known to several of you as The Duck Man 🦆, couldn’t resist adding one more “S” to Sherrie’s list.

Scotch.

(Only one...and only because it seemed to fit the theme!)

Now, I could give you instructions on grilling the perfect steak; you’ll have to ask John about that, preparing fresh sushi — thanks to Edward’s Supermarket — or building a colorful summer salad. But truthfully, those weren’t the secret ingredients.

The smiles were, even when the potato salad wasn’t perfect — right, Jessica?! 😄

It’s amazing how good food tastes when it’s seasoned with gratitude, friendship, and a little laughter. Throw in America’s birthday, Colorado’s birthday, an evening with people you genuinely enjoy, and somehow Joe Dirt playing in the background, and the meal becomes something much richer than what’s on the plate.

Maybe that’s one of God’s favorite recipes.

• Take ordinary food.

• Add extraordinary people.

• Season generously with gratitude.

• Simmer in conversation.

• Sprinkle in laughter.

• Serve without hurry.

• Repeat often.

Around our table this week, we celebrated America’s 250th birthday, Colorado’s 150th birthday, treasured friendships, and the quiet blessings that often hide in the middle of life’s busiest seasons.

The receipt may have read Steak, Sushi, Salad, Smiles...and Scotch, but what we really enjoyed was contentment.

And unlike dinner...

...that recipe never runs out.

“You make known to me the path of life; in Your presence there is fullness of joy; at Your right hand are pleasures forevermore.”
— Psalm 16:11

Some weeks are so full you don’t know where to begin.

This was one of those weeks.

For more than two years, I’ve had the privilege of serving alongside the incredible team at Rocky Mountain Voice. What began as writing a weekly devotional has grown into friendships, opportunities, and experiences I never could have imagined.

Over the past several months, that journey has taken me to places I never expected—including attending Turning Point USA in Phoenix with Heidi Ganahl, flying on a private jet for the first time, and helping lead one of the largest projects I’ve ever been part of: The RMV Freedom Festival.

The festival itself was remarkable.

Thousands gathered from every walk of life to celebrate Colorado’s 150th birthday and America’s upcoming 250th. There were inspiring speakers, talented musicians, volunteers who worked tirelessly behind the scenes, and countless people giving their time simply because they believed serving others still matters.

Then something happened I never saw coming.

Heidi and I were wrapping up the Trailblazers Awards on the Main Stage, recognizing some incredible men and women from across Colorado. One award remained. I stood there wondering who the final recipient would be.

Then, as Heidi began reading the introduction, little clues started falling into place.

“Wait a minute...”

My mind began racing.

“She’s talking about...”

Me.

Before I knew it, Heidi handed me the final Rocky Mountain Voice Trailblazers Award. Standing there before nearly a thousand people, I was completely caught off guard, and yes, I cried.

I didn’t see it coming—not even for a second

I was stunned.

Receiving recognition from people you appreciate, respect, and care for is always humbling. Standing there in front of so many people was an honor I’ll never forget.

Yet while everyone else saw someone receiving an award...I saw someone missing.

Sherrie.

If you’ve followed Don’t Eat Toast Naked! for any length of time, you already know why.

Every sermon I’ve preached...
Every book I’ve written...
Every podcast I’ve recorded...
Every opportunity I’ve been given...

...has Sherrie’s fingerprints all over it.

Long before anyone else believed in me...

She did.

This award may have been presented to me.

But in my heart...

It belonged to both of us, more to her than to me!

Pride...the Beautiful Kind

When I finally arrived home, I couldn’t wait to show Sherrie.

She immediately wanted to hold the award.

Her smile said everything.

Then she looked at me and quietly said something that stopped me in my tracks.

“Truth, when it’s properly directed, aligned, and moving...creates a power people love and respect.”

Then she added...

“That’s what you taught me.”

I honestly didn’t know what to say.

There are moments when words simply aren’t enough.

Here was my Number One fan—lying in bed, fighting the greatest battle of her life—encouraging me instead of needing encouragement herself.

The trophy suddenly didn’t seem nearly as valuable as the woman holding it.

Then Came the Poop

Every good story needs a plot twist. Mine involved horse stalls. When the festival ended, most people packed up and headed home. However, a few of us stayed behind.

Because of some unexpected circumstances, my dear friend John and I found ourselves, in my case, wearing flip-flops...shoveling horse poop.

Apparently, some of our cowboy friends had interpreted “Please leave the stalls cleaner than you found them” a little differently than we had hoped.

So there we stood. Award winner. Volunteer. Poop shoveler. All within twenty-four hours. And honestly...It felt exactly right.

Life has a remarkable way of grounding us. One day, you’re beneath bright lights, receiving an “Attaboy” from U.S. Secretary of Energy, Chris Write, getting hugs from Curtis Grimes, and even applause from Nick Shirley and Larry Gatlin of the Gatlin Brothers. Then, the next day, you’re standing beneath a barn roof holding a shovel, hoping not to get poop on your toes, wearing flip-flops or thongs, as they are known where I come from.

Both moments matter.

Neither defines you.

Temperament, Character, and Actions are revealed in both places.

Flowers and Giggles

Another unexpected surprise happened.

The beautiful bouquet you see in this week’s photo lineup (See below) wasn’t sent because I received an award. They were sent because the Rocky Mountain Voice family missed Sherrie.

Last year she was able to attend. This year, because of her health, she couldn’t. Heidi and the entire RMV team wanted her to know she wasn’t forgotten. That simple act of kindness spoke louder than speeches ever could.

Then I made the mistake...or perhaps the wonderful decision...of telling Sherrie the entire horse stall story.

The moment I said the word...

“Poop.”

She burst into laughter. The kind of laughter that can’t be manufactured. The kind that starts deep inside and spills out uncontrollably.

So naturally...I said it again. “Poop.”

Even more laughter.

Again. “Poop.”

At that point, I wasn’t telling a story anymore. I was simply trying to make my wife laugh.

Mission accomplished!

If you’ve spent much time around serious illness, you learn something important. Laughter may not cure disease. But it certainly nourishes the soul.

That evening, the award sat quietly on the table. The flowers filled the room with beauty. But what I’ll remember most...is the sound of Sherrie laughing like a little girl over one wonderfully silly word.

Poop.

One Final Thought

This week reminded me of three simple truths. Be grateful when recognition comes. Stay humble enough to clean the stalls when the celebration ends. And never underestimate the healing power of making someone you love laugh.

Whether you find yourself standing on a stage...or standing in a horse stall...

Serve well.

Love deeply.

Laugh often.

Those are the moments that become the stories worth telling.

“Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit. Rather, in humility value others above yourselves, not looking to your own interests but each of you to the interests of the others.”

— Philippians 2:3–4

The Don’t Eat Toast Naked! Kitchen

This Week’s Recipe:

Trailblazer Campfire Toast

“A toast worthy of celebration...and humble enough for the morning after.”

Ingredients

• 2 slices thick-cut sourdough or Texas toast

• Butter, softened

• 2 tablespoons cream cheese

• 2 tablespoons peach preserves

• 2 tablespoons chopped toasted pecans

• 1 tablespoon Colorado honey (or your favorite local honey)

• A pinch of flaky sea salt

• A light sprinkle of cinnamon (optional)

Directions

Toast the bread until golden brown and crisp.

Spread each slice generously with butter while still warm, then add a layer of cream cheese.

Spoon the peach preserves over the cream cheese, allowing them to settle naturally into the toast.

Sprinkle with the toasted pecans, drizzle with honey, and finish with a tiny pinch of flaky sea salt. If desired, add a light dusting of cinnamon for a little campfire warmth.

Serve immediately with a hot cup of coffee, good conversation, and gratitude.

Kitchen Thought

This week’s recipe reminds me that life has a funny way of keeping us balanced.

One day you may be standing on a stage, receiving an unexpected honor. The next day, you may find yourself standing in a horse stall with a shovel. Both moments have something to teach us.

The applause reminds us to be thankful.

The cleanup reminds us to stay humble.

And coming home...well, coming home reminds us what really matters.

So here’s to Trailblazers, horse stalls, flowers, laughter, and a warm piece of toast shared with someone you love.

After all...

Don’t Eat Toast Naked!

Love Sherrie & Drake

This week looked much different than last; Sherrie, not once, not twice, but three times, made it outside to enjoy the Colorado sunshine. Now, that may not sound like much to some folks, but around our house it felt like a three-course feast.

If you’ve followed Don’t Eat Toast Naked! for any length of time, you know that ordinary moments often become extraordinary gifts. A walk. A conversation. A Whopper. A sunrise. A Time together (40 years ago today, we met and have been together ever since – eat your heart out, Cheyenne Club). Or, a simple piece of toast.

This week, it was SUNSHINE.

As Sherrie sat outside taking in the flowers, trees, birds, and breeze, I found myself looking around our yard with fresh eyes. What many would simply call landscaping has become something much more. Through the kindness, generosity, and labor of many friends, our home has quietly become a sanctuary. A place of peace. A place of rest. A place where a woman fighting one of life’s toughest battles can sit beneath God’s blue sky and simply enjoy the day.

To everyone who has planted, watered, weeded, trimmed, prayed, visited, encouraged, or helped in any way, thank you — Lanette, Scott, Keith, Nate, John, Jessica (Thanks for watering when I forget), and others. Your fingerprints are all over this sanctuary, and they are noticed far more than you know.

And with the sunshine came something else. SISTERHOOD.

Our home was blessed this week by a steady stream of wonderful women who continue to love, encourage, and support Sherrie – Rachel, Angie, Carrie, Deb W. Natasha. Wendy. Christina. Penny. Angela and Jeanne (Phone). Devin, Jessica, who has become such an important part of our daily lives. Debbie, who somehow manages to be both an exceptional hospice nurse and a dear friend.

Then there were the virtual visitors.

Through Zoom calls and online meetings, Heidi, Tori, and others paused long enough to say hello to Sherrie. Those moments may only take a minute or two, but they carry tremendous weight in our world.

One of the unexpected gifts of hardship is discovering who is willing to walk into difficult spaces. Friendship isn’t measured by who shows up when life is easy. It’s measured by who stays present when life becomes complicated.

This week reminded me once again that sisterhood is one of God’s greatest gifts; perhaps that’s why God highlights “Lady Wisdom!”

Then there were the SPIRITUAL EMAILS.

Now before I go any further, I should probably explain what a spiritual email is. It’s not an email sent through the internet loaded with Bible verses, religious slogans, or inspirational memes. A spiritual email is simply an ordinary message carrying an extraordinary thought through God’s frequency. (Thanks, Ray, for the insight!)

You know exactly what I’m talking about.

Have you ever had someone suddenly come to mind for no apparent reason? Then, a few hours later, they call, text, or show up in a conversation. Or perhaps you felt prompted to reach out to someone, only to discover they needed encouragement at that very moment.

That’s a spiritual email.

For example, when Sherrie prays for someone, thinks about them, or talks about them—which happens far more often than most people realize—those thoughts seem to travel beyond the walls of our home. Somehow, they land in hearts and minds miles away, if not around the world.

Then something curious happens. The person she was thinking about suddenly thinks about her. They send a text. Makes a phone call. Reach out through social media. Makes a piece of toast. Or simply begin praying for her without knowing why.

I can’t fully explain how it works, but I’ve witnessed it too many times to ignore.

Maybe that’s one of God’s favorite ways of reminding us that we’re more connected than we realize.

No Wi-Fi required. Just hearts tuned to the same frequency.

That’s one of the things that continually amazes me about Sherrie. Many people assume that because illness has limited her body, her influence has somehow diminished. Nothing could be further from the truth. The truth is that much of what happens around here is still shaped by her attitude and spirit.

Throughout the week, I watched her sending what I can only describe as spiritual emails of her own. Sometimes they were actual messages. Sometimes they were conversations. Sometimes they were words of encouragement shared through a phone call or text or blog.

One person who especially comes to mind during this week’s discussions is Kim Busch. As many of you know, Kim and her family have become close friends (indirectly, hoping to meet soon) through Grapes for Glioblastoma. During the week, Sherrie sent Kim spiritual emails filled with encouragement, perspective, and hope. Kim, I hope these messages have resonated with you deeply.

That’s how God’s economy works. Someone feeds your soul, directly or indirectly. Then you feed someone else’s. One piece of bread becomes two. Two become four. Four become enough for a whole table. Before long, encouragement begins spreading through caregivers, friends, family members, ministries, RMV Freedom Fest planning, Rocky Mountain Voice conversations, and people we’ll never fully know this side of heaven. Perhaps this is what Jesus meant when he said He is the bread of Life.

That’s the hidden miracle of spiritual emails. God takes an ordinary thought, places it in a willing heart, and then sends it back out into the world carrying far more nourishment than when it arrived.

And perhaps that’s what this week was really about.

SUNSHINE – SISTERHOOD – SPIRITUAL EMAILS.

All reminders that life was never intended to be lived alone. We were made to nourish one another. To encourage one another. To share whatever butter, honey, wisdom, hope, laughter, faith, or strength we happen to have available that day.

Because at the end of the day, that’s what Don’t Eat Toast Naked! has always been trying to say.

Life is better when shared. And the soul is stronger when it’s fed.

With tremendous encouragement and love,

Sherrie and Drake

P.S. To enjoy Drake’s Weekly Devotion on Rocky Mountain Voice, CLICK HERE

This Week’s Recipe:

Sunshine Honey Toast

“Because life is better when shared, and the soul is stronger when it’s fed.” ~ Drake

Ingredients

• 4 slices thick-cut artisan bread

• 2 tablespoons butter, softened

• 2 tablespoons local honey

• 1 teaspoon cinnamon

• Fresh strawberries or blueberries (optional)

• Powdered sugar for a light dusting (optional)

Directions

1. Toast the bread until golden brown.

2. Spread each slice generously with butter while still warm.

3. Drizzle honey over the top.

4. Sprinkle lightly with cinnamon.

5. Add fresh berries if desired.

6. Serve outdoors with friends, family, or someone who needs encouragement.

Chef’s Observation

This week’s recipe is intentionally simple.

Toast by itself will get you through the morning.

Butter makes it richer.

Honey makes it sweeter.

Friends make it memorable.

And wisdom makes it nourishing.

The same is true of life.

Most of us can survive on information alone, but we flourish when we add sunshine, friendship, encouragement, and gratitude.

As Lady Wisdom reminds us:

“Come, eat my bread and drink the wine I have mixed.” — Proverbs 9:5

This week, take a few moments to enjoy the sunshine, call a friend, send a spiritual email, and maybe share a piece of toast with someone you love, but not naked.

Until next time...

Don’t Eat Toast Naked!

There are some weeks when life feels like a perfectly toasted slice of sourdough— Golden. Predictable. Just enough crunch.

This was not one of those weeks.

This week felt more like someone cranked the toaster to eleven, jammed three slices inside, and then walked away.

As many of you know, our caregiver Jessica was on vacation this week. That wasn’t a surprise. It was part of the plan from the beginning, and we were excited for her to enjoy some well-earned rest.

What we didn’t know was that while Jessica was away, life would decide to test every backup plan we had.

It started in the middle of the night.

I woke to Sherrie yelling for me. Not unusual. But what I found when I got to her bedside was…Her eyes appeared dark. Her skin tone had changed. She had become incontinent. She was getting sick. Her oxygen levels had dropped into the low 70s. Her pulse remained above 150. Her blood pressure was soaring.

For nearly five hours, she drifted in and out of awareness. I sat beside her wondering if I was witnessing another chapter in our story or the final pages of the book.

Hospice arrived and immediately began working their magic. Their assessment was that inflammation around the tumor had likely triggered a seizure during the night.

The result was frightening. One moment she seemed present. The next moment she seemed somewhere else entirely. So we did what we’ve learned to do. We prayed. And we asked others to pray.

Because there are moments when medicine reaches its limits, and all you can do is place your hope in something bigger than yourself.

The next several days were a roller coaster—Up. Down. Hope. Fear. Relief. Concern.

Then sometime Thursday, Sherrie looked at me and said four of the most beautiful words I’d heard all week:

“I want a Whopper.”

Now, I don’t know if Burger King has ever sponsored a hospice recovery, but if they need a testimonial, we may have one. I immediately jumped into action. No committee meeting. No strategic planning. No prayerful discernment. Just one husband on a mission. Whopper secured. Mission accomplished.

And, remarkably, things began to turn around. As I write this, Sherrie’s vital signs are better than they’ve been in a very long time. Her oxygen improved. Her pulse normalized. Her blood pressure settled.

It’s one more reminder that even after two and a half years of glioblastoma, we still don’t fully understand what God is doing. Just when we think the toast is burning, He flips the slice over. But that was only one piece of toast.

There were several more popping out of the toaster. For nearly a week, we barely heard from our son Joshua—A text here. A brief appearance there. Then silence. Three days of silence. Parents understand that kind of silence. The imagination starts filling in blanks that reality hasn’t supplied.

Then, in the middle of everything happening with Sherrie, a vehicle pulled into our driveway. Joshua’s friend helped him out and informed us he had been dealing with an infection and had spent time in the emergency room.

Just like that, Joshua was back home. Needing help. Needing care. Needing Dad. Suddenly I found myself caring for my wife and my son simultaneously. And because life apparently felt the schedule wasn’t full enough, another phone call arrived. This one concerned Sherrie’s mom, Linda. Many of you know Linda currently resides in a memory care facility in nearby Brush Colorado

This week we learned she has entered another phase of her journey. The recommendation is now to move her into a secured nursing-home memory-care unit as space becomes available. Another transition. Another uncertainty. Another reminder that life keeps moving whether we’re ready or not.

By week’s end I felt emotionally wrung out.

Have you ever reached that point where you aren’t sure whether to laugh, cry, pray, or take a nap? I chose all four. Somewhere in the middle of everything, I picked up a Soul Smashmellow given to us by a dear friend from Elevating Life Church. There I sat. Holding a stuffed animal—Praying. Crying. Thinking. Trying desperately to keep my mind from running wild

.

Years ago, I developed a coaching framework called H.E.A.L.T.H.Y. T.H.I.N.K.E.R.

At the heart of that model is a principle I often call Blameless Living. Blameless Living doesn’t mean bad things don’t happen. It means refusing to make blame your home address when they do.

It means not blaming God. Not blaming people. Not blaming circumstances. Not blaming yourself. Instead, it means anchoring your thoughts to TRUTH. Returning your mind to Christ. Again. And again. And again.

This week required a lot of returns. Because fear wanted a seat at the table. Exhaustion wanted a seat at the table. Frustration wanted a seat at the table. But Christ kept pulling up another chair and saying,

“Stay here.”

The older I get, the more I realize that faith is rarely demonstrated in dramatic moments. Faith is usually demonstrated in the next thought. The next prayer. The next act of obedience. The next breath. The next piece of toast.

Because here’s what I’ve learned after all these months of caregiving, hospital visits, hospice conversations, prodigal journeys, memory care transitions, and unexpected Whopper runs: Life has a way of stripping the toppings off everything—The butter. The jelly. The peanut butter. The honey. The things we rely on. The things that make life comfortable. The things that make us feel secure.

And when that happens, we’re faced with a choice. Will we trust God with naked toast? Or will we allow Him to provide what we need for the next bite?

This week reminded me that God rarely gives us the entire loaf. He simply provides enough for the next slice. And somehow, that’s always enough.

With much love and appreciation,

Drake and Sherrie

Don’t Eat Toast Naked Kitchen

This week’s featured recipe is beautifully simple:

The Hospice Recovery Whopper.

Ingredients:

• One Whopper
• One grateful heart
• One miracle you didn’t see coming

Serve immediately with family; yes, Joshua got one too.

Extra pickles optional.

This Week’s Scripture

“Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they shall be filled.”
— Matthew 5:6

When life feels chaotic, righteousness often looks less like having all the answers and more like refusing to let your thoughts wander where Christ has not led them.

P.S. A number of you have asked where you can find my weekly devotion published through Rocky Mountain Voice, Colorado’s statewide publication. Beginning this week, I’ll start sharing a link here.

While Don’t Eat Toast Naked! tends to explore the beautiful chaos of caregiving, family, faith, and life’s unexpected adventures, the Rocky Mountain Voice series digs deeper into developing character Jesus-style—learning how Christ shapes the heart, mind, and soul from the inside out. You can also enjoy the Podcast from there.

If you’re interested in growing beyond merely surviving life and into becoming the person God created you to be, I think you’ll enjoy the journey.

This Week’s Devotion: CLICK HERE

Well...June 1 came and went.

As it turns out, building an online store is a lot like making toast. It looks simple until you realize there are a lot more moving parts than you expected.

The good news?

It’s coming together beautifully.

We’ve completed our first shirt designs, our speckled “Don’t Eat Toast Naked” mugs are ready, and our Hope Sticker Packs are taking shape. Now we’re working through all the behind-the-scenes details that make sure everything works properly before we open the doors.

One thing Sherrie and I have learned during this journey is that rushing rarely produces the best results. Sometimes it’s better to take a little extra time and do things right.

Thank you for your patience, encouragement, and enthusiasm. Every message, comment, prayer, and word of support reminds us why we’re doing this in the first place.

Our hope is to officially open the store within the next month. As soon as everything is ready, you’ll be the first to know.

Until then, we’ll keep sharing sneak peeks and progress updates as we go.

Thank you for walking this wonderfully weird road with us.

And as always...

Don’t Eat Toast Naked.

💜 Drake & Sherrie

Some words tell you more than they seem to.

Kingdom. Freedom. Wisdom. Boredom, Stardom, etc.

So what’s the point?

Well…a few days ago, during a Bible study, Revelation 4 - The Throne of God in His Kingdom - Sherrie turned the first word on our list above upside down - Kingdom to King “dum”. Her thought… “There are really two realities Christians live in: Kingdom and Kingdum.” True dat! Of course, the suffix “dum” was her point.

We were discussing God’s throne room—the lightning, thunder, worship, crowns, and all the majesty that comes with Revelation 4.

At first, Sherrie’s thought was fun, and kind of funny (like her), until it wouldn’t leave me; it got in my head, and yes, I started to think about it.

Kingdum

Kingdum is what happens when I sit on the throne, pretty dumb. Now you get it.

It doesn’t usually arrive wearing a crown. It arrives convinced it’s right.

If you’ve been following my weekly devotion through the Rocky Mountain Voice publication, The Art of War – Jesus Style, you’ll recognize three familiar visitors:

Anger.

Contempt.

Condemnation.

Those three seem to show up anytime self decides to become king. Again, pretty dumb.

Before long, everybody else becomes the problem, and relationships start paying the price.

Kingdum always promises control.

It usually delivers chaos.

My recommendation - choose God’s order in His Kingdom over humanity’s chaos in their Kingdum. Nice job, Sherrie!

Freedom

Later in the week, John and I headed south to the Douglas County Fairgrounds in Colorado for a walkthrough with the Rocky Mountain Voice Freedom Fest team to ensure America’s 250th birthday and Colorado’s 150th birthday celebration goes off without a hitch.

We are expecting thousands of people to gather at RMV Freedom Festival to celebrate, you got it, freedom!

As we walked the grounds imagining stages, families, food vendors, and activities, I was reminded of something.

Freedom doesn’t happen because everybody does whatever they want.

Freedom happens when people voluntarily unite around something bigger than themselves.

Otherwise, you’re not living in freedom.

You’re living in Chaos-dom. The state of chaos.

And every event planner knows exactly what that looks like.

Honor-dom

This week also brought a huge milestone.

Grapes for Glioblastoma hosted its first fundraiser, and by every measure, it was a tremendous success.

Seeing people rally around families facing glioblastoma reminded me that honor isn’t a feeling.

Honor shows up.

Honor gives.

Honor carries burdens.

Honor helps people carry what they cannot carry alone.

Kim Busch and her team continue to build something beautiful, and Sherrie and I are deeply grateful to be part of the story.

(CLICK HERE to find out what happened at their first fundraiser. It’s worth the read.)

The Hard Part

Then there were PayPal, Amazon, and Venmo

Or perhaps I should say, there was too much of them.

This week, I faced a tough decision to protect Sherrie’s love for shopping and finding good deals. I had to disarm her ability to make online purchases as a safety measure.

I’m currently resolving more than several transactions from the past few days with PayPal. Interesting packages keep arriving daily from Amazon - if anyone needs oversized cereal bowls, we have plenty of them (Captain Crunch Lovers, I’m speaking to you).

Also, some of you received a little extra cash via Venmo. A big thank you to everyone for your honesty; I appreciate that you all knew what was happening and gladly returned the funds. Thank you so much!

Now understand why I share this. For most of our marriage, Sherrie helped steward our finances. Today, I help steward hers. Oh, how the tides have turned.

That’s one of the strange realities of glioblastoma.

Sometimes love requires guardrails.

Not because someone has lost their value.

Because they’re too valuable not to protect.

The disease has changed what Sherrie can manage.

It has not changed who she is, amazingly wonderful!

There’s a difference.

And I suspect many caregivers understand exactly what I mean.

The Toast Lesson

Maybe that’s why Sherrie’s little observation stuck with me.

Every “-dom” starts somewhere.

Kingdom begins with God on the throne.

Freedom begins with responsibility.

Honor-dom begins with love.

And Kingdum begins the moment I decide the throne belongs to me.

The funny thing is that all four eventually show up around a kitchen table.

In how we speak.

In how we spend.

In how we serve.

In how we treat one another.

Turns out Revelation isn’t nearly as far away as we thought.

Sometimes it shows up in a Bible study.

Sometimes at a fairground.

Sometimes at a fundraiser.

And sometimes, while explaining why PayPal, Amazon, and Venmo don’t matter much when you’re clothed, not by what they can deliver, but by love smothered with understanding and unity.

As the Apostle Paul once wrote:

“Above all, clothe yourselves with love, which binds us all together in perfect harmony.” (Colossians 3:14)

Turns out that’s pretty good advice for Kingdom, Freedom, Honor-dom... and even the occasional Kingdum.

And as always...

Put something on that toast.

Because dry toast crumbles.

Covered toast holds together.

Kind of like people.

Love Drake & Sherrie

Don’t Eat Toast Naked Kitchen

The King’s Grilled Cheese

“Because even a king shouldn’t rule on an empty stomach.”

Ingredients

• 2 slices sourdough bread

• Sharp cheddar cheese

• Butter

• Optional: sliced tomato and bacon

Directions
Butter the bread generously. Add cheese. Grill low and slow until golden brown and perfectly melted.

Sherrie’s Kingdom Principle

A grilled cheese is simple.

Until you rush it.

Too much heat and you burn the bread before the cheese melts.

Too little attention and nothing happens.

Life works the same way.

Kingdum rushes.

Kingdom waits.

One burns the sandwich.

The other enjoys lunch.

Kitchen Scripture

“Your kingdom come, Your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.” — Matthew 6:10

There are some weeks in life that feel like a well-written script.

This wasn’t one of them.

This week felt more like someone spilled coffee on the script, the dog ate page three, and the ending got rewritten halfway through the story.

In other words...

Life happened.

Or, as we like to say around here:

Don’t Eat Toast Naked.

Because if life has taught Sherrie and me anything over the past couple of years, it’s this: A little covering goes a long way when reality starts flying around the room.

The Carpet

Back in December, when we brought Sherrie home, we had to make some major adjustments to the house.

Furniture moved.

Equipment arrived.

Doorways widened.

And carpets were pulled up to make room for wheelchairs, lifts, and everything else that comes with caring for someone you love.

At the time, replacing the carpet wasn’t exactly high on the priority list.

Breathing was.

Healing was.

Making memories was.

But this week, after months of looking like our house was perpetually under construction, the carpets finally went back in.

It may seem like a small thing.

Yet when the last piece was laid into place, it felt like something more than carpet had returned.

A little normalcy.

A little beauty.

A little dignity.

It’s amazing how often God works through ordinary things.

A floor covering.

A meal.

A conversation.

A friend.

Life is often rebuilt one simple blessing at a time.

The Companion

Then came one of the greatest gifts God gives people:

Companionship.

Our dear friends, Angie and Natasha, stopped by to spend time with Sherrie.

Another, Lennette, planted flowers, and Scott, the potted sculptor, made sure the flowers stood tall and elegant in their spots.

No agenda.

No grand plans.

Just presence.

And presence is one of the most underrated expressions of love in the world.

Sometimes we think love must fix everything.

But often, love simply shows up.

It sits in the room.

It listens.

It laughs.

It remembers.

It stays.

I’ve learned something watching people care for Sherrie.

The people who have impacted her most weren’t necessarily the ones with all the answers.

They were the ones willing to be there.

The Apostle Paul wrote:

“The greatest of these is love.” (1 Corinthians 13:13)

Not knowledge.

Not talent.

Not success.

Love.

And love often arrives wearing ordinary clothes and carrying nothing more than a willing heart.

The Chaos

Then there’s Joshua.

Our son is transitioning from the halfway house back into our home.

For those who have followed our journey, you know his story has had its share of mountains and valleys.

Like many families, we’ve experienced moments of hope, heartbreak, prayer, disappointment, grace, and redemption.

And now we’re entering another chapter.

A new beginning.

A new adjustment.

A new reality.

Which means...

Chaos.

Schedules change.

Rooms change.

Routines change.

Expectations change.

Everything feels just a little bit out of place while everyone learns how to live together again.

And if you’ve ever welcomed a family member back into your home after a long absence, you know exactly what I’m talking about.

You can love someone deeply and still find yourself wondering where all the peace and quiet went.

The Bookmark

As I reflected on this week, two of the Fruit of the Spirit kept rising to the surface:

Love.

And...

Self-control.

Most people think self-control begins with discipline.

The Bible says it begins with love.

When a person truly encounters God’s love—not merely as a concept but as a reality—something changes.

Love rearranges priorities.

Love changes desires.

Love alters behavior.

Love creates the motivation that self-control requires.

Without love, self-control becomes legalism.

With love, self-control becomes stewardship.

The goal isn’t merely controlling ourselves.

The goal is to manage the gift God has entrusted to us—our thoughts, attitudes, actions, words, and choices—so we can reflect His goodness to the world and step into chaos as peacemakers, restoring God the Father’s love through the Son’s self-control, which brings forth the Spirit’s fruit to serve a starving world with the bread or in our case toast of life.

That’s why Pa ul lists self-control as the final fruit of the Spirit in Galatians 5.

Love starts the list.

Self-control helps protect everything that follows.

It’s love that teaches us why.

Self-control helps us carry out the how.

What This Week Taught Me

This week I watched carpet installers restore order.

I watched friends bring a strong smile to Sherrie’s face through companionship.

I watched our family navigate chaos.

And somewhere in the middle of it all, God quietly reminded me:

Love people well.

Control yourself well.

Trust Him completely.

Because life rarely arrives neat and tidy.

Sometimes it looks more like carpet scraps, wheelchairs, unexpected visitors, family transitions, and a schedule that gets blown apart before breakfast.

Yet God is still present.

Still loving.

Still working.

Still redeeming.

A Final Thought

Maybe that’s what “Don’t Eat Toast Naked” has always been about.

Life is messy enough.

Cover yourself with love.

Wrap yourself in grace.

Practice self-control.

And when chaos comes knocking on the front door—as it inevitably will—you’ll be ready to welcome it without losing your peace.

As the Apostle Paul reminds us:

“Above all these put on love, which binds everything together in perfect harmony.” — Colossians 3:14

And as always...

Put something on that toast.

Because a little covering can make all the difference when life gets messy.

Don’t Eat Toast Naked Kitchen

The Controlled Chaos Breakfast Melt

“Because sometimes life gets messy, but breakfast doesn’t have to.”

Ingredients

• 2 slices sourdough bread

• 2 eggs

• 2 slices cheddar cheese

• 2 slices bacon (or sausage patties)

• 1 tablespoon butter

• Salt and pepper to taste

• Optional: a drizzle of hot honey or maple syrup (Sherrie’s Favorite)

Instructions

Step 1: Create the Chaos
Cook the bacon and set aside. In the same skillet, scramble the eggs until just done.

Step 2: Bring Order
Butter one side of each bread slice. Place one slice, butter-side down, in the skillet.

Step 3: Build the Reality
Layer:

• Cheese

• Eggs

• Bacon

• Second slice of cheese

Top with remaining bread, butter-side up.

Step 4: Exercise Self-Control
Cook low and slow until golden brown. Resist the urge to rush. Flip carefully and cook until the cheese melts.

Step 5: Enjoy the Fruit
Remove from heat. Let sit one minute before cutting.

(Optional: drizzle lightly with hot honey or maple syrup.)

Sherrie’s Wisdom

Life is a lot like a breakfast sandwich.

The eggs are your plans.
The bacon is your responsibilities.
The cheese is the people holding everything together.

Without something to bind it all together, things fall apart.

That’s why God starts with love and ends with self-control.

Love gives us the reason.

Self-control keeps all the ingredients from sliding off the bread.

Kitchen Scripture

“But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control...”
— Galatians 5:22-23

Don’t Eat Toast Naked Score

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

Messiness: 7/10
Comfort: 10/10
Difficulty: 2/10
Life Lesson: When life feels chaotic, put some love on it and practice a little self-control.

Because even in a house full of carpet installers, friends, family transitions, and unexpected surprises...

you still shouldn’t eat toast naked. 🍞☕❤️

This week began with a giant glass table sticking halfway out of a yellow body and black top convertible VW Beetle – The bug being a gift to Sherrie after her knee replacement surgery back in 2015.

Now, if that sounds ridiculous, it’s because it absolutely was.

Years ago, Sherrie spotted what she believed was the deal of a lifetime at a garage sale: an oversized sculptural glass coffee table with thick transparent legs and a massive octagonal glass top. The kind of table you’d expect to see in some high-end New York furniture gallery or the lobby of a place where nobody actually sits down

The seller told us the glass was supposedly the same kind used on the Space Shuttle.

Now, whether that’s true or just classic garage-sale mythology, I honestly don’t know.

But what I do know is this:

We bought the entire thing for very little cash.

And somehow—through determination, questionable engineering, and what I can only assume was divine intervention—we managed to haul that massive table home, sticking halfway out of that convertible.

To this day, I’m still not sure whether we bought furniture or participated in a NASA field experiment — “To Fort Morgan, Colorado and Beyond!”

But that’s Sherrie.

If there’s a deal to be found, she’ll find it.

Which is why someday I may actually write a book called:

Follow the Coupon

Not because coupons save money—though they certainly do—but because following coupons somehow always led us into adventures, hence why “Whopper Wednesday” is so popular around our home.

Nearly forty years of marriage have taught me this: Some couples collect souvenirs. We collected stories – Garage sales stories. Thrift store stories. Clearance aisle stories. Roadside signs scribbled with “ESTATE SALE” stories, and, of course, good friends constantly asking Sherrie, “When you’re out garage selling, if you find this or that, please get it for us.” stories.

And somehow, every one of them became another chapter in the wonderfully weird little life we built together.

Truthfully, most people go garage-selling to look for stuff.

Sherrie went looking for possibility.

And honestly, I think that’s one reason I fell in love with her in the first place.

Now here’s where life gets tender.

This week, the old song “You Raise Me Up” kept echoing in my heart.

Not because of concerts or playlists.

But because these days, lifting has become part of our everyday reality.

I lift Sherrie multiple times a day now.

From the bed.
To the chair.
Into the Sit-n-Stand.
Into the car.
Back out again.

This week, she kindly allowed me to take a picture while we were garage-selling, which was a real team effort involving Jessica, John (Jessica’s hubby), and me to bring the joy of garage sales back to Sherrie’s life.

That may seem small to some people, but it wasn’t small to us.

Because allowing someone to lift you requires a kind of courage most people never think about.

There’s something deeply vulnerable about needing help with things you once did effortlessly.

And yet, through this glioblastoma journey, I’ve discovered something beautiful:

Sometimes the strongest people in the room are not the ones doing the lifting.

Sometimes the strongest people are the ones willing to be lifted.

Still, even in all of this, Sherrie continues to want life.

Not merely existence.
Not simply survival.
Life.

Which explains why one of the things she still loves most is going garage selling.

And honestly?

I love that about her.

Amidst all the challenges of medical equipment, medications, caregiver schedules, and tough realities, there’s still a woman inside who lights up at the sight of a handwritten “50% OFF” sign taped crookedly to a folding table. The truly wonderful part is that this week, helping her get into the car allowed Sherrie to enjoy her favorite hobby once again—garage sales!

That’s not a weakness.

That’s wonderful and a wonder how God works.

And perhaps that’s why the phrase “Don’t Eat Toast Naked” means more to us now than ever before.

At first, it sounded funny.

Maybe even a little absurd.

But underneath the humor is something profoundly true:

Life was never meant to be lived uncovered and alone.

We all need people who help carry the weight.

People who show up.
People who pray.
People who stay.
People who laugh with us.
People who bring delicious meals - Thanks for the Ben & Jerry’s Ice cream folks!
People who help lift us when our legs no longer can.

With all that, and funny enough, the number 81 kept showing up all week long, too.

Jessica, our caregiver, walked in wearing a shirt with “1981” across the front.
An 81st birthday – Happy 81st, Popp!
Then, while watching Pawn Stars, we discovered the vintage Pepsi machine they were admiring held exactly 81 bottles.

By the third time, I finally laughed and thought:

“Alright, Lord… I’m listening.”

So naturally, I looked up Psalm 81, and one verse especially stood out:

“Open your mouth wide, and I will fill it.”
— Psalm 81:10

What a verse. I like filling my mouth with the Bread of Life, or Toast in our case.

Perhaps, maybe that’s what this season has really been teaching us.

That God often fills our lives through other people.

Through caregivers.
Through family.
Through friends.
Through prayers.
Through kindness.
Through love that quietly keeps showing up day after day.

Even through someone helping lift you into a chair.

Funny how life changes.

Years ago, we were lifting oversized collectible tables into tiny cars.

These days, I spend a lot of time lifting Sherrie into what I call the three “C’s” of our journey together: chairs, cars, and commodes, and yes, I fully realize only a preacher would turn caregiving into an alliterated sermon outline.

And somehow, through it all, love still carries the weight.

Maybe that’s the true treasure after all.

Not the table.
Not the coupon.
Not even the deal.

But the people willing to help carry life together.

And honestly?

That’s worth far more than the few dollars for a table.

And as always…

Put something on that toast.

Because eating toast naked may leave you cold…but being covered by love can warm an entire life.

With much love, tenderness, and gratitude

Drake & Sherrie

Enjoy Drake’s statewide and beyond weekly devotion, CLICK HERE!

P.S. One more week until the “Don’t Eat Toast Naked!” store opens!

Next, I’ll share Joshua’s, our oldest son’s, homecoming - He’s Home!

Don’t Eat Toast Naked Kitchen

“Lift Me Up” Loaded Peanut Butter Banana Toast

Because sometimes love looks like helping someone stand…
and sometimes love looks like making sure the toast isn’t naked.

Ingredients

• 2 slices thick hearty bread (Texas toast or sourdough works great)

• 2 tablespoons creamy peanut butter

• 1 banana, sliced

• Honey drizzle

• Cinnamon sprinkle

• Tiny pinch of sea salt

• Optional:

  • granola,

  • mini chocolate chips,

  • chopped pecans,

  • or strawberries

Instructions

Step 1 — Toast It Right

Toast the bread until golden brown with a slight crunch on the outside while staying soft inside.

Because good toast should have structure.

Just like good relationships.

Step 2 — Cover the Toast

Spread peanut butter generously while the toast is still warm.

No skimpy spreading allowed.

This is Don’t Eat Toast Naked Kitchen, not “Bare Minimum Bistro.”

Step 3 — Lift It Up

Layer banana slices across the top.

Then drizzle honey over everything like grace falling from heaven after a long week.

Add a light sprinkle of cinnamon and a tiny pinch of sea salt.

Step 4 — Make It Wonderfully Weird

Optional additions:

• crushed granola for crunch,

• chocolate chips for joy,

• pecans for wisdom,

• strawberries if you’re feeling fancy enough to eat toast with your pinky finger raised.

Enjoy, and know this was one of my grandmother’s (Ivy) favorites.

Send us your favorite “Don’t Eat Toast Naked” receipts. Keep it clean!

This week brought something we desperately needed: A little beauty in the middle of battle. Actually… several moments of it. First, Sherrie’s sanctuary room is finally complete.

A few blogs ago, we shared an AI rendering of what we hoped our master bedroom could become — a peaceful place for healing, rest, and comfort during this glioblastoma journey.

This week, it became real. And honestly, it turned out better than we imagined.

At the center of the room hangs the beautiful piece Cindy Snyder created for us. It reads:

“You are loved.
You are safe.
I am right here.
— Drake”

Simple words. But right now, those words carry enormous weight in our home. Because when life becomes uncertain, presence matters. Not fixing everything. Not pretending things don’t hurt. Just staying near one another.

That’s love.

And Cindy, thank you. What you created wasn’t just decoration. It became part of the healing.

Grapes for Glioblastoma Officially Launches

This week also marks the official launch of Grapes for Glioblastoma — and what an incredible thing to witness.

Kim and Andy have chosen to build hope out of heartbreak, and families like ours are living proof that their mission matters.

Because of their generosity, we were able to bring Jessica into our home as a caregiver for Sherrie, and the difference has been life-changing.

Sherrie is moving more.
Smiling more, if that’s even possible!
Trying more.

Her current goal is to consistently get to the bathroom fully on her own… and honestly, knowing her determination, I’m beginning to think she may eventually attempt a 5K or climb Pike’s Peak just to prove everyone wrong.

Never underestimate stubborn hope.

Joshua Comes Home

And finally… Joshua, our oldest son, comes home May 20th.

This will be the first time our family has been together since the passing of his wife, Crystal, in March.

As parents, there are moments when your heart breaks and your hopes are broken at the exact same time. This is one of those moments.

We would deeply appreciate your prayers for him. But for the first time in a long time, something feels different. There seems to be humility taking root. New perspective, and an awakening. Not perfection. Not instant transformation. But maybe the beginning of honesty. And honestly, more than anyone, Lilly-pad needs her dad — Not flawless. Just present. Growing. Healing. Becoming whole again.

That’s our prayer.

June 1st — The Store Launches

Many of you have asked how you can support Sherrie, encourage our family, and help others walking through glioblastoma.

So… we decided to lean fully into the wonderfully weird.

On June 1st, the official “Don’t Eat Toast Naked” online store launches.

Yes, this is real life now.

The store will feature mugs, shirts, stickers, and other simple items centered around the message that has carried us through this season:

Don’t walk through life uncovered.

Part of the proceeds will directly support Sherrie and me as we continue navigating this journey, while a larger portion will support the incredible mission of Grapes for Glioblastoma. And honestly, if a goofy phrase about toast helps people feel less alone…

Then maybe toast has been more spiritual than we realized.

Don’t Eat Toast Naked Kitchen

Gourmet Peanut Butter & Jelly Sandwich

This week, Sherrie and I are introducing something new.

A small weekly feature called:

“Don’t Eat Toast Naked Kitchen”

Nothing fancy.

Just simple comfort food tied to meaningful moments — because we’ve discovered during hard seasons that food isn’t always just food.

Sometimes it’s comfort.
Sometimes it’s memory.
Sometimes it’s love served warm on a plate.

And this week’s feature is one of Sherrie’s favorites:

Gourmet Peanut Butter & Jelly Sandwich

What You Need

• Thick-cut bread

• Creamy peanut butter

• Strawberry jam or preserves

• Butter for grilling

• Optional: sliced bananas, honey drizzle, or cinnamon

How to Make It

Spread peanut butter and jelly generously between two slices of bread.

Butter the outside like a grilled cheese sandwich.

Toast slowly in a skillet until golden brown and perfectly crisp on both sides.

Serve warm.

Preferably with coffee, milk, or, as Sherrie enjoys it, Diet Dr. Pepper with nugget ice, and yes, laughter, and with someone you love nearby.

Kitchen Thought of the Week

Funny how a peanut butter and jelly sandwich can still make life feel safe for a few minutes. Maybe that’s because comfort doesn’t have to be complicated. Sometimes healing sounds like:

• a caregiver helping someone stand,

• a sanctuary bedroom,

• family returning home,

• and butter sizzling in a skillet while the world slows down for a moment.

Maybe that’s what “Don’t Eat Toast Naked” really means. Not just covering your toast…But covering each other.

Final Thoughts

This week reminded me that God still builds sanctuaries in hard places.

Sometimes they look like bedrooms.
Sometimes they look like nonprofits.
Sometimes they look like second chances.
Sometimes they look like grilled peanut butter and jelly sandwiches at the kitchen table.

But almost always…they look like love showing up and staying present.

“Carry each other’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ.” — Galatians 6:2

And as always…

Put something on that toast.

Because life gets hot fast, and nobody needs unnecessary burns on top of everything else.

With tremendous gratitude and love,

Drake & Sherrie

[Shop coming in June]

There’s something sacred about ordinary things.

A hanging basket of flowers.
A countertop ice maker humming in the kitchen.
A granddaughter heading home to be with her mother.
A grandson arriving early in the morning to crawl into Nana’s lap.

None of it looks headline-worthy.

Yet somehow… it is.

This Mother’s Day feels especially meaningful in our home.

The family will be gathering together, gifting Sherrie beautiful hanging flowers for the front of the house—soft whites, vibrant purples, touches of pink—all hanging like little reminders that life still blooms, even after hard winters. Honestly, they make the whole house smile, much like Sherrie.

And then came the ice maker.

Not just any ice maker.
A Sonic-style nugget ice maker that Sherrie always wanted.

Now, if you know Sherrie, you know this wasn’t just an appliance. This is a delight of life — chomping on those little nuggets of ice gives her a sense of comfort, normalcy, and joy, every crunch a reminder of the love her family has for her.

There are small comforts in life that somehow become very big comforts when someone is fighting through difficulty. Cold nugget ice in a favorite cup? That’s not just ice anymore. That’s relief. That’s refreshment. That’s dignity in small form.

Funny how motherhood works the same way.

Moms rarely lead with grand speeches.
They lead with little things.

A packed lunch.
A late-night conversation.
A bandaged knee.
A whispered prayer.
A ride home.
A birthday cake.
A “text me when you get there.”
A look that says, “I’m here.”

Small things.
Massive impact.

And maybe that’s why mothers reflect something so powerful about the heart of God.

Not because they are perfect.
But because real mothers pour themselves out daily in ways the world often overlooks.

This morning, Thommy-boy will be here spending time with Nana and his mom, Kathlyn. If history tells us anything, there will likely be snacks on the floor, laughter echoing through the house, toys where they don’t belong, and approximately fourteen moments where adults say, “What’s in your mouth?!”

And honestly?
That’s holy ground too.

Meanwhile, Lilly-pad headed home to Oakley, Kansas, to spend time with her own mother. And that’s part of the beauty of Mother’s Day—it reminds us that love flows through generations like a river.

One mother pours into a daughter.
That daughter grows and pours into another.
And somewhere in the middle of all of it, families are held together by women who quietly carry more weight than most people ever realize.

Which brings me back to our strange little phrase:

“Don’t Eat Toast Naked.”

What started as humor during hardship became something deeper.

Cover one another.
Care for one another.
Don’t let people walk through life exposed and alone.

That’s what good mothers do.

They cover.
They comfort.
They create warmth.
They make houses feel like homes.
And somehow, even when they’re exhausted, they still ask if everyone else is okay first.

Truthfully, the older I get, the more convinced I become that mothers are among God’s greatest living illustrations of grace.

Not weak grace.
Strong grace.

The kind that keeps showing up.
The kind that keeps believing.
The kind that keeps loving long after convenience has disappeared.

So today, to moms everywhere:

Thank you.

For the sacrifices nobody saw.
For the prayers nobody heard.
For the strength nobody fully understood.
For the love that shaped homes, children, marriages, and generations.

Whether your home today feels joyful, grieving, full, quiet, messy, healing, or somewhere in between—your love matters more than you know.

And to Sherrie… and all the mothers in our lives – Rita, Nancy, Linda (Sherrie’s Mom [special prayers for her]), Lauren, and Kathlyn.

Happy Mother’s Day.

The flowers are beautiful.
The ice maker is already legendary.
And this house is better because your love still lives inside it.

Even now.

Especially now.

“Her children arise and call her blessed; her husband also, and he praises her.” — Proverbs 31:28

And, as always, put something on that toast… because nobody was meant to face life butterless and bare.

With tremendous love!

Drake & Sherrie

Right up front - Sherrie’s surgery went fantastic!

It’s funny how timing works, though. Just before surgery, Sherrie had that deep, raspy tone going—honestly, a little Darth Vader-esque. Not scary… just enough to remind us the battle was real.

But now? She’s back. Clear. Strong. Steady. More like the princess of the story—our own version of Princess Leia.

From the Dark Side… to the Light—just in time for May the Fourth. And wouldn’t you know it… we woke up today to Cinco de Mayo.

Two days. Back-to-back.

One reminding us that light always pushes back the dark.
The other reminding us—when you get a victory… you celebrate it.

Happy Cinco de Mayo to all!

Drake & Sherrie

“The Lord is my strength and my shield; my heart trusts in Him, and He helps me. My heart leaps for joy, and with my song I praise Him.” — Psalm 28:7

It’s May!

And if I’m being honest… I didn’t know if we’d get here like this.

The initial doctors only gave Sherrie a 14-18-month window of life expectancy. But here we are! Therefore, May the “Forth” be with you! That is, God’s Four - Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John (The True Good News where real miracles happen).

Nearly 30 months after Sherrie’s diagnosis,
and about 40 months since her first seizure…

And yet—again, here she is.

Still with us.
Still fighting.
Still smiling in ways that don’t make sense unless you’ve seen it for yourself.

And yes… still reminding us all, in her own way:

Don’t eat toast naked.

Life, Lived Together

This week was full. The good kind of full.

I made the trip to Kansas to pick up Lilly-Pad so she could come spend time with Nana. And when Lilly comes to town, something shifts. It’s not just a visit—it’s an infusion of life.

She steps into the rhythm:
Helping Papa.
Hanging with Jessica.
Laughing in rooms that have seen their share of tears.

She calls it visiting.
We call it being part of the covering and her second home.

Because that’s what we’ve learned in this season—

Life isn’t meant to be lived exposed.

Not physically.
Not emotionally.
Not spiritually.

You need people.
You need presence.

Otherwise… well… you’re eating toast naked.

Peace for the Heart

One of the deepest places of concern for Sherrie has always been her mom—our Great Gee-Gee, Linda.

She’s at Eben Ezer Lutheran Care Center,
and making sure she is loved, visited, and cared for well has been heavy on Sherrie’s heart.

So, once again, Lilly and I went to visit.

And if you’ve never watched a great-granddaughter light up a room in a care center, you’re missing something sacred. There’s a kind of joy there that doesn’t need explanation—just presence.

But moments like that don’t happen in isolation.

They happen because people show up.

So to Penny, Jim, Judy, Jeremiah, Kathline, Thommy-Boy, and so many others in Morgan County, and beyond—thank you for showing up.

And to Mark and Lorrie Madsen, who faithfully make sure everything behind the scenes is handled with excellence and dignity—thank you!

Because of you…

Sherrie can rest knowing “Mom” is being taken care of.

And in a season like this, that kind of peace is more than comfort—

It’s healing for Sherrie.

When Help Becomes Family

Then there’s Jessica.

Our caregiver. Our helper. Our unexpected gift.

Made possible through
Grapes for Glioblastoma,
Jessica has stepped into our home not as an outsider, but as someone who understands the rhythm we’re trying to keep.

And that rhythm matters.

Because when life gets hard, you realize quickly:

You can’t carry everything alone.

You weren’t meant to.

Trying to do so is just another version of… You guessed it…

eating toast naked.

So We Did Something About It

So many of you have asked,
“How can we help?”

This week, we decided to give you an answer.

We started building an online shop.

Simple idea.
Real meaning.

• T-shirts.

• Mugs.

• Stickers.

• etc.

All centered around a phrase that started as a moment… and has now become a mindset:

“Be like Sherrie — Don’t Eat Toast Naked.”

It’s a little funny, sure.

But it’s also deeply true.

Because at its core, it’s about:

• Letting people in

• Accepting help

• Living covered, not exposed

• Choosing dignity, even when life gets hard

In this season, we’ve learned that the greatest gift you can give someone isn’t just support…

It’s reminding them they’re not alone.

That’s the heart behind this shop.

Each item is designed to be more than something you wear or hold—it’s something you send, something you share, something that carries a message.

And in many cases, it can carry a name.

Because when someone you love is walking through a battle like glioblastoma, it becomes personal.

So whether it’s “Bob,” or a mother, a friend, a spouse, or a child—their name can be placed on an item via shop and sent as a simple but powerful reminder:

You are seen.
You are loved.
You are not alone.

And as always, proceeds will go to
Grapes for Glioblastoma,
helping extend that same care, encouragement, and support to others who are walking this road.

Because if there’s one thing this journey has taught us, it’s this:

We were never meant to do life uncovered.

So let’s show up for one another…

And whatever you do—

Don’t eat toast naked.

[Store launches on May 31st - Be on the lookout!]

And Then… May the Fourth

Now here’s where the week—and the road ahead—gets real.

May 4th.

Sherrie goes in for a procedure at
UCHealth University of Colorado Hospital
at 10:40 in the morning.

The plan is to remove scar tissue and stretch her throat—helping her breathe, eat, and yes… manage those daily pills a little better.

In most situations, it’s considered routine.

But for Sherrie?

Nothing is “routine.”

Hospice has cleared it, which we’re grateful for.
The surgical team is cautious—but confident.

And we trust them.

But more than that…

We trust God.

Still—this is one of those moments where we don’t try to be strong on our own.

We don’t pretend we’ve got it all covered.

We ask.

So we’re asking you:

Please pray.

Pray for steady hands.
Pray for wisdom in the room.
Pray for strength in her body.
Pray for peace that settles deeper than fear.

And yes… if you’re feeling bold—

You can even throw in a little:

“May the Fourth be with her.”

God’s got a sense of humor, too.

Looking Toward Mother’s Day

And just beyond that…

Mother’s Day.

And this year, it hits different.

Because she’s here.

Not in memory.
Not in stories.

But here.

And that’s not something we take lightly.

With love, gratitude, and generosity,

Drake & Sherrie

Scripture to Hold Onto

“Teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom.”
— Psalm 90:12