Cliffs and Spiders

You know the age-old question that every parent asks their child after they did something wrong out of peer pressure: “If your friends jumped off a cliff, would you do the same?” Well I can say for certain that I would.

I don’t recall how I got up there, but what I do recall is how high it was—40 feet to the surface of the water, and I only had two options: take hold of the rope or be remembered as a coward.

Everyone had already done the damn thing, including my brother, Andrew, who wasn’t missing this opportunity to let me know that I was the only one who hadn’t taken the rope yet.

I was nervous and trying my hardest to work up the nerve to get it over with. I walked over to the edge again to peer down at my adversary. As I looked down, I took a deep breath and thought to myself, “I can’t believe I’m about to lunge off this 50-foot cliff.”

My heart was pounding, but waiting time was over. It was time to get it done. I gripped the rope with white knuckles and shaky breath. My knees didn’t have it in them to run off, so I simply lifted them up, leaned forward on the rope, and let gravity do the rest.

Air whipped through my ears and I felt my stomach rising as I descended. It all happened so…slowly. I’ll never forget that when the time came to let go of the rope, it took me forever to hit the water. I had my eyes closed tightly, and I kept thinking, “I’m about to hit the water. I’m about to hit the water…Surely now I’m about to hit the water!” And when I still had not reached the water, I opened my eyes and was immediately met with a blast of ice cold water right in the face.

I emerged with a deep gasp, gathered myself, and quickly swam to the tree line to make my way back up. As I stumbled to the top of the cliff, I was filled with relief: “I just leapt off a 60-foot cliff!”

My victorious attitude, however, did not last long. After a few moments of basking in glory, Andrew noticed that the scales were now even, and he couldn’t stand the thought of that.

He decided that to tip the scales back in his favor, he would climb the tree in which the rope was attached and leap from there. I remember staring in awe as he hoisted himself up and climbed that tree, gaining another 15-20 feet in height, which, if you’re good at math, put him around 80 feet in total. Oh yes, he was a paratrooper once more.

He sat there for a minute and enjoyed the view and enjoyed knowing that I wasn’t stupid enough to jump from there. And then he calmly leapt (and he didn’t even use a tarp this time!).

As we drove back, I remember staring out the window in absolute awe of my brother: “This is the bravest guy I know,” I thought to myself, knowing that I could never share this information with him.

God must have heard my thoughts and felt for me because what happened next evened the scales once again.

My thoughts about my brother’s bravery were interrupted by the sound of him screaming. I mean full on screaming. I thought for sure we were about to die. He swerved his truck a few times and pulled it swiftly to the side of the road.

He lunged out of the vehicle and started brushing himself off: “Is it on me?! Is it on me?!”

I rushed over to him and asked him what was wrong, expecting to have to take him to the hospital or something: “What’s going on?” I asked.

He regained his composure a bit and slowly made his way back over to the truck. I followed him and he slowly pointed at the driver’s side of the windshield: “Sp-spider,” he said breathlessly.

Now, based on everything that had just happened, I fully expected to see an absolute gargantuan spider, big enough to take his head off.

But to my surprise, when I followed the direction of his finger, what I found was a spider about the size of a lady bug (and that’s being generous). “You can’t be serious! That thing is tiny. I thought we were about to die!”

“I don’t care,” he responded. “Just get that thing out of there!”

After a delightful moment of reveling in his fear, I went and got a napkin from the center console and grabbed it off the windshield.

“Did you get it?” he questioned suspiciously.

“See for yourself.”

He slowly inched forward to take a peak at the napkin. He was too focused on confirming the spider’s demise to notice my sinister smile. As soon as he got close, I lunged toward him, getting the napkin as close to his face as possible. He freaked out and threatened to kill me as I chased him around the truck. I was unfazed. I mean this guy couldn’t even kill a baby spider, so did I really have anything to worry about?

The rest of the drive home was much more enjoyable for me, and I learned that life has its share of cliffs and it has its share of spiders.

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Prayer

Give me fresh eyes, dear Lord.
Let me see your creation 
through a new and refreshed lens.
Help me comprehend the beauty all around me 
that I take for granted each and every day.

Let me gaze upon these mountains 
with child-like wonder; 
inhale this sweet, fresh air 
with abundant tranquility;
trod the soft grass with grateful steps;
swim in these wild waters with whispers
of worship and praise as I am washed
clean by the steady rush of a welcoming current.

Give me those eyes, my God,
so that I better understand 
the masterful work of your mighty hand,
giving you better thanks for granting us
dominion over forests and rivers,
from the lowest valleys to the highest mountains.

Instill in me, my Creator, the wonder
that this masterpiece deserves,
so that my voice can't help but to cry out
and join the chorus of creation.

You designed my entire being 
in all its intricate workings.
You are the one who granted me vision.
Grant it to me once again, Father,
so that I may see how blind I have been.
Let me see this land in all its glory.
Let me see you in all its glory.

In Jesus's name,
Amen

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The Sound of the Storm

I love the sound of rain. I always have.
Growing up in Alabama, our house 
had a big porch where we’d sit 
and simply listen to the wind and the rain. 

There was always something so peaceful 
about the storms,
no matter how dark the clouds were 
or how strong the winds blew. 

Sometimes the worse the storm became, 
the more soothing it was 
to sit out there in those chairs and just 
experience it. 

It’s like this tangible way to stare at the power 
and might of our Creator,
knowing that no matter how scary it might get,
He is still in control of it all.

I have to remind myself of that truth pretty often:
God is in control no matter how bad the storm is,
so be still and listen to the sound of the rain.

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Self-Sufficiency

What happens when we turn our questions down 
to a screen instead of up to the sky?

When we see everything so clearly 
that we don't see that we're blind?

When we say shackles are freedom
and we label the worldly as divine?

What happens when the tools of man become 
so "effective" that we celebrate pride?

When we have no need for a creator 
because we ourselves are creating just fine?

When our towers, like Babel, are so far from God
that they need to be toppled upright?

What will happen? God will give us what we choose, 
and we will corrupt—heart, soul, and mind.

Romans 1:21-25

For although they knew God, they did not honor him, but they became futile in their thinking, and their foolish hearts were darkened. Claiming to be wise, they became fools, and exchanged the glory of the immortal God for images resembling moral man and birds and animals and creeping things. Therefore God gave them up in the lusts of their hearts to impurity, to the dishonoring of their bodies among themselves, because they exchanged the truth about God for a lie and worshipped and served the creature rather than the Creator, who is blessed forever! Amen.

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AI in the Classroom

“Why not teach your students how to use AI? It’s going to be a part of the world, so you might as well adapt.”

When the smartphone emerged, it was quickly adopted into everyday life by pretty much everyone. Since then, it has undergone constant and rapid developments and only become even more widespread. As a result, each individual has been consumed by constant stimulation and instant gratification. No one is immune to this experience, not even the older generations who may be prone to lecture those younger than them about their addiction. The truth is, if we have a smartphone, we are all wrestling with this addiction; however, for those who had access to this stimulation during the formative years of development, the addiction is much stronger. The younger the addiction starts, the harder it is to overcome.

And there are many side-effects to this addiction: anxiety, irritability, lack of fulfillment, increased boredom, and a shortened attention span, to name a few.

And for all of these side-effects, we have not made solutions widely known or accessible to our students who are overwhelmed by the itch of technology. In fact, when I bring up these side–effects to my students, they tend to agree and affirm that this is their experience, but when I discuss potential solutions, students are reluctant to adopt them, even though they know that the quality of their life would likely improve. They are simply too hooked on the drug, and I do not blame them. I myself struggle with managing my screen time, and I did not even spend my formative years with these devices. I cannot even imagine how strong the urge and compulsion is for those who have spent nearly their entire lives with this technology.

But what does this have to do with AI?

Look again at the side-effects, specifically the shortened attention span. When students are overstimulated, their ability to interact with educational material on a deeper level decreases significantly, and they struggle to mobilize their mind and unlock its full capacity. For an English class, this means that comprehension level significantly worsens, which leads to an inability to analyze larger themes and write about them cohesively.

But the desire to do well remains, even if the means to do so is weakened. So how do students arrive at the destination they desire if they do not have the mental stamina and discipline required to reach it? They take shortcuts.

This is not a new phenomenon. Taking shortcuts is human nature and something that everyone must deal with. In fact, we have been taking shortcuts since the very beginning in the garden of Eden, so it is not like these younger generations are creating this problem.

The issue is that when you pair that temptation with an accessible technology that can do every bit of the work for students, it becomes too hard to resist. I mean who on earth would walk up hundreds of stairs if teleporting to the top were an option?

That is the temptation students are facing with this technology, and I am not willing to contribute to that dilemma because I believe that there are severe consequences for taking shortcuts, even if we do not always immediately perceive them.

I also think that it is important for students to do the work themselves, without a program affirming or editing their every move, because students need to learn to enhance the ability of their mind and trust that it works the way it is supposed to. When you offer students a helper as advanced as AI, they will use it to answer questions that they themselves can answer, and their cognitive ability will weaken. Think of it like students using a calculator for simple math. We do not need a calculator for adding 23 and 13. We simply need to take the extra step of activating our brain and trusting that it knows what to do.

Think of it as a workout. The goal of a workout is not to lift as much weight as possible. If that were the case, I would simply bring in a lever or some other invention that could lift far more weight than I could. Sure, it could lift 1,000 lbs, but if I used the machine to do the work, I myself would not actually get anything out of the workout.

Rather, the aim of a workout is to develop my own muscles, stamina, and mental fortitude at the rate that my body and mind need. If I go into the gym and only lift 10 lbs, but those 10 lbs cause me to struggle and break a sweat, then I have gotten stronger, and that is the purpose of the workout.

Similarly with education, the goal is not to produce the best work possible. It is for each student to do the best of their ability in each class, activating their minds so that they workout the cognitive muscles within them. That way they can learn, grow, and develop in order to live a more fulfilling life. If students are allowed to use AI, the muscles of their mind will wither and so will their ability to enjoy all of the wonders of the world around them. It is for these reasons that I do not intend to ever allow AI in my classroom.

“I think the art of life consists in tackling each immediate evil as well as we can.”

~ C.S. Lewis (The Weight of Glory)

What are your thoughts on AI in the classroom?

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For more thoughts on the effects of technology on our students, check out Jonathan Haidt.

Rook

“No help. No help.”
Grandpa’s voice rings clearly through the air
as he repeats this phrase with each card he picks up. 
He’s taken another bid for far more than what Granny thinks they can afford:
“We’re in trouble now” she says with a devastated voice. 

Granny and Grandpa were always a funny pair in Rook.
Granny always bid as if we were playing for keeps and the house was on the line
and Grandpa always bid as if he were invincible.
As you can imagine, this created a hysterical tension.
Thank God we played in Kentucky and not Vegas.

“No help,” he says yet again.
“Oh boy. We’re gonna get set.”
And then,
“Ooo, that’ll help.”
Granny’s expression lightens a little with this more promising change.
She may no longer have to worry about finding a new place to live.

Rook really is a magnificent game.
There’s so much anticipation before each hand.
The curiosity of what’s in the kitty;
the hope of getting a perfect hand with your partner;
and if the other team gets the kitty, could they possibly call
a color you happen to have a lot of?
There’s nothing better than outlasting the bidding team with trump,
watching their shocked and demoralized faces as you just keep dishing it out.

When playing with Grandpa, the latter hope is the most common. 
Whenever the bidding started, we’d all begin low.
“85”
“Pass”
“90”
And then it’d get to Grandpa: 
“135”
At which point Granny would nearly faint.
He did it every time. Granny never saw it coming.

Somehow they never did lose the house,
although they certainly lost on occasion,
and when they did lose, and Granny’s poor memory was to blame,
Grandpa would always let her know: 
“Gosh darn it, Judy,” his voice would bellow.

But when it came to cards, Grandpa’s memory was as short as hers,
and they always kissed and made up afterwards.

That’s the thing about cards: it’s not good to dwell on a bad hand.
And the reality is, it’s not about the game your playing, 
but the people you’re playing with,
and Grandpa knew that he had one hell of a partner,
no matter what hand they were dealt.

Play the Hop

It was always a great day whenever I was on the diamond, and such was the case on this particular day as my brother, James, hit me ground balls so I could practice my fielding.

When it came to fielding, no amount of drills or ground balls were ever enough. There’s something about the feel of the dirt, the sound of the bat as it connects with the ball, the rhythmic motion of your footwork to position yourself correctly, and the sheer determination to capture the ball in the leather of your glove if it’s hit in the remote vicinity of your spot.

Baseball is filled with those kinds of elements that add to its beauty. It’s almost perfect.

Then comes a bad hop that proves that as perfect as it seems, it is still very much imperfect. The ball bounces off my shoulder and trickles away. I pound my glove in frustration. James is also frustrated: “You can either play the hop or let the hop play you! What’s it gonna be?”

“I wanna play the hop,” I say without a shred of doubt.

“Well don’t get lazy then! Move your feet, gain ground, and choose your hop.”

I don’t remember how old I was on this day—maybe 9 or 10—but I do remember that lesson. Every time a grounder gave me trouble, I’d hear my brother’s voice echo in my head: “Don’t let the hop play you. You play the hop.”

I’ve hung up my cleats, and there are no more grounders to field, but every now and then I’ll hear those words, especially when I allow one of life’s grounders to hop up and smoke me in the face.

I’ve seen my share of bad hops, but thanks to those hours spent on the diamond, I have been much more prepared for them.

Background: A little while ago I heard an economist weigh in on the current developments that we are seeing with AI, specifically in regard to the way it is being used in the workforce. He predicted that AI would take over human workers much sooner than most people anticipate, allowing us to focus on more important things besides work. As he put it, the solution would be for a universal income provided by the government which would “bring us a step closer to utopia.” He was clearly very intelligent and well-versed, but this statement seemed like one of the most idiotic things I had ever heard, and I began to imagine a world where AI does all of the work for us. That’s when the following story of Norman Bugit started to take shape as a way of exploring what that kind of “utopia” would be like.

Utopia: A World Without Work

The year is 2045 and utopia has finally been reached. It isn’t just ideal and perfect before God and the law. It is utopic in every which way. All of this was made possible by the incredible advancements in artificial intelligence.

Sure, there were a few years of hardship and devastation when AI eventually took over most of the workforce, but once the Universal Income Act of 2031 passed, everything started to fall into place.

Of course, it wasn’t immediate. There were struggles with fraudsters who would collect extra incomes in various ways. One fella from Maine used AI to create an entire family. They had their own names and bank accounts and he even created socials for them. Took the government years to catch him.

Then there were issues with the universal health care system. When it first came to pass, hospitals and doctor’s offices were filled to the brim with patients—most of whom were just looking to score some pills (and most of whom were successful)—and many people died before they could get the care they needed because they had to wait for months just to meet with a doctor online.

But those days are behind us now. The President created a federal task force (made up mostly of AI) to detect fraud. That task force has saved us trillions ever since.

And as far as healthcare is concerned, the President quickly allotted funds into the development of AI nurses and doctors to meet with people online and diagnose them. This of course came with more fraudsters faking symptoms to get a prescription for drugs, but those days are again behind us as AI has become advanced enough to detect even the best of actors. And the consequences have become so severe that most people have been deterred from such practices.

Not only that, but just last week a robot completed open heart surgery without a single human in the room (except for the patient of course). This was the first time that a robot was able to complete surgery without any human assistance and is a groundbreaking step in the medical field. In the past year alone, over 200,000 doctors and nurses—⅓ of the total workforce—have been enabled to stop working because of technological advancements in the world of medicine. Truly remarkable!

And the medical field isn’t the only area that has been exponentially improved. School is way better than it used to be. There’s no more fluff and waste. School used to take 7 hours, 5 days a week, but now it takes just 3 hours, 2 days a week. Students also get longer summers and 2 months off during winter. And they’re smarter than ever, scoring higher on assessments than they ever did before. That’s because AI rendered most of the old subjects obsolete. Math, English, and most Science can be done by machines and robots. History has also been removed, though for reasons no one can recall (maybe because of how boring and unnecessary it was!).

So what do people do if they don’t work or go to school? Nothing! That’s the beauty of it. They don’t have to do anything. People used to have to work for food and to survive the elements. Then they had to work to make money and improve their social status. But now they have food and comfort and the government pays everyone all the same and status has been completely eradicated. It’s amazing!

Instead of wasting time working, everyone can do things they actually want, like watch tv and play video games. New tv shows and movies come out every month—generated by AI actors and writers so people don’t have to work to produce them—and the video games are so advanced they feel like real life, at least that’s what Norman Bugit is always saying. Norman is an excellent gamer, one of the best in his division—certainly the most dedicated.

In fact, just last week, Norman stayed in bed for three days straight. He only got up to use the restroom. His mom left his meals at the door and they didn’t have to talk and get on each other’s nerves the whole time.

His best friend and gaming buddy, Hugh—another committed gamer who Norm has never met in person but loves and respects deeply—stayed in his bed for two weeks last year! In fact, Norman and Hugh are going to have a competition here soon to see who can stay in bed the longest. Winner gets the other person’s salary for the month. Norman has been saving for a vintage hard copy video game, and Hugh’s extra salary is just what he needs to finally buy it.

Norm’s mom was worried about the idea at first. “I don’t know Norm,” Norman’s mom said. “That doesn’t sound like such a good idea.”

But then Norm and Hugh (mostly Hugh) compiled some research from AI databases to show Norman’s mom the health benefits. Turns out, less movement is better for the immune system and it decreases the chances of heart disease. It’s crazy to think how even 10 years ago people thought exercise was healthy, and that was the very thing that was killing them!

Anyways, after they showed Norman’s mom the extensive research (which spanned several paragraphs), she was encouraged and satisfied. In fact, she even began challenging herself to stay in bed longer too. Sometimes it’s the kids who have to show the grown ups a thing or two.

. . .

Well, the official Couch Potato Championship (for that was the name that Hugh and Norman decided upon) came and went, and believe it or not, Norman beat Hugh after 4 weeks and 3 days. Norm nearly lost because the trash machine went down for repairs and his mother told him that he was the one who needed to take the trash out until the machine was fixed. Norm was able to ignore his mom for a few days, but when she smelled the build up, she threatened to take his games away altogether for a few hours. Norm nearly gave in, but luckily he called her bluff and remained in bed. She ended up letting it go and the machine was back the next week to take care of it. Norm went on to win 4 days later!

Norman was really excited. He could finally order his vintage hard copy game. Hardly anyone had hard copy games anymore, and they were mostly collectors items at this point. They were expensive, but Norman thought it would be worth it to be the guy who had a hard copy game. He placed his order and shouted for joy. His joy was interrupted by his mom yelling at him to be quiet:

“What are you shouting for anyway?” she asked.

“I just ordered a new game! It’s a hard copy and should be here tomorrow!”

“Oh,” his mother said. “I forgot to tell you, but our delivery bot is down for repairs. I was just gonna leave the mail for the next few weeks until it’s fixed, so if you want your game, you’ll have to get it from the mailbox yourself.”

Norman’s heart sank. That meant he would have to go outside, and it was summer, when the sun was at its unhealthiest level. But his excitement for the new game outweighed his concern for his health, and when the game arrived the next day, he prepared himself to go get it.

It had been six weeks since Norman had stepped outside, and even now he dreaded it. His heart raced as he headed to the door and he listened intently to make sure no one else was close by. The last thing he wanted to do was see someone and be forced to greet them. His anxiety was spiking just thinking about it.

He opened it up slowly as light poured in. His eyes started throbbing and he quickly grabbed his sunglasses so he could withstand the glare. Then he took a step and he was out in the open. His eyes darted about to see if anyone else was around. When he confirmed that the coast was clear, he ventured toward the mailbox.

It didn’t take long for his legs to start throbbing and his skin to turn red. The mailbox was 100 yards away, though it felt much further than that. Norman kept moving forward, stopping every few seconds to catch his breath and wipe the sweat from his forehead: “This damn exercise,” he exclaimed, “It’s gonna be the death of me. How could anyone ever think this was healthy?” He finally made it to the mailbox and grabbed his game.

Normally, he would open it up immediately and examine it excitedly, but he was so tired and the sun was so dreadful that his only thought was getting back inside. He started to trudge back slowly, stopping more and more often. It was hard to pick up his legs now, but he was nearly to the door. The sky above him was beginning to spin and the light was fading fast. The noise of the delivery machines started to muffle and Norman thought for sure that he was going to pass out, but just when he started to fall, the door caught him and he let out a contented, “Thank the universe.”

Right as he was twisting the nob, Norman heard a peculiar and unfamiliar dinging. He turned around to see a boy, no older than 8, riding a bike. The boy was sickeningly skinny and Norman looked at him in total shock before spinning around quickly and going inside.

“Mom!” he shouted.

“What?” she snapped back.

“You need to see this. Come here.”

“I just got comfortable only an hour ago. Can’t it wait?”

Norman was starting to get annoyed: “No, you have to come now. It’s serious! Get out here!” he demanded.

His mother, never wanting to displease her sweet baby boy, got up reluctantly and walked over to him: “What is it, Norm?”

“Look outside. It’s the neighbor’s boy. They’re letting him exercise! And look how skinny he is. There’s hardly any fat on him!”

His mom slowly moved the curtain to see. “Wow,” she voiced breathlessly. “I can’t believe it. They’re going to get him killed!”

“See! I told you it was serious,” said Norman.

“He looks 10-15 years younger than you, Normy. How awful!”

“We need to do something. Should I call it in?”

Ms. Bugit shrugged and started walking away lethargically: “Do whatever you want, sweetie. I’m going back to bed to finish my show.”

“Seriously?” cried Norman. “This child is being abused and neglected and you wanna go back to your show?”

“Oh don’t say it like that. It’s completely acceptable to take some time for myself and put myself first. If I don’t do that, then I won’t be my best self.” She then added on with advice from her virtual therapist (which Norman heard all too often), “In order to be selfless I first need to be selfish.”

At that, she closed the door to her room and went back to bed. Norman stared in disbelief, then looked back at the boy riding his bike. He noticed that the boy was smiling and looked happy. He had a darker complexion and wasn’t red at all, and though he didn’t have any sunglasses on, he seemed completely unaffected by the glare of the sun.

But Norman Bugit knew how dangerous it was to be out there moving so much and without any supervision, so he picked up his phone and called child services to tell them about the abuse.

Within 20 minutes, the neighbors’ house was swarming with activity. Drones were stationed above each door and 2 inspector agents—G39 Models—were making their way to the front.

Within the hour, the entire place was cleaned out and the parents—Norman took note that they were both living there, a rare phenomenon in a utopic society where there’s really no benefit to being chained down to a single partner—were taken into custody. The boy’s bike was evaporated and he was separated from his parents to live in a displacement home.

Norman knew life would be hard for the boy without either of his parents, but at least he would have a life now. Norman, however, was still unsure if he had done the right thing, so when he got inside, he went to his game console and turned once more to his trusty friend, Hugh Mann: “Was that the right thing to do?” he asked.

Hugh replied, “I’m missing some context—what are you referring to? Tell me what happened, and I’ll give you a clear, honest take.”

Norm laid out the details of what had taken place and how the boy was separated from his parents. Then asked again, “So what do you think Hugh? You’re my best friend. I know you’ll be honest with me.”

“Great question, Norman. Short answer: yes—you had reasonable concern that a child was being abused or neglected, so reporting it was the responsible and ethical thing to do.

In the U.S., systems like Child Protective Services exist to investigate situations exactly like this. A report doesn’t automatically mean permanent separation—it triggers an assessment. Removal from parents typically only happens if authorities believe the child’s safety is at immediate risk, which it clearly was. Courts and caseworkers generally aim for the least disruptive option, including working with families when it’s safe to do so.

What you did matters because:

• It prioritized the child’s safety over uncertainty or discomfort.

• It allowed trained professionals to investigate rather than leaving it unaddressed.

• In many roles (like education), reporting suspected abuse isn’t just encouraged—it’s legally required.

In summary, yes you did the right thing even though it feels conflicting.”

At the sound of Hugh’s reasonable, unchanging voice, Norman felt reassured that he had done the right thing, and he went back to playing his game, grateful that Utopia had been restored.

I rarely write short stories and would love feedback on this piece as well as any writing tips you might have.

Leave a comment

This past month has been a whirlwind. It’s hard to comprehend that I have emerged from the craziness of this busy season with a wife, especially one so godly, kind, compassionate, pure, caring, gentle, loving, and absolutely breathtaking. I am truly blessed more than I could ever put into words, but I’ll try to convey a small portion of my gratitude in this brief newsletter.

Bella and I have been together for over two years now, and on Monday, June 1st, we created a covenant with one another in front of a wonderful crowd of friends and loved ones. We have been loved and supported so graciously and generously during this season, and we are thankful for all of the incredible people we have in our lives.

By the time our wedding day came around, the spare room in my apartment was overflowing with gifts from kind-hearted loved ones.

Since then, Bella has worked tirelessly to transform our apartment into a warm and welcoming home. I’ll be honest, I was skeptical at first. I’m a pretty particular and minimalistic guy, and it was my understanding that my apartment already had everything it needed.

But I trusted Bella with the process and let her work her magic. I now understand that my version of adequate is deeply misguided and sorely lacking (which is probably why I already consider myself an adequate husband). Our place has had an extreme makeover, yet remains neat and organized rather than cluttered and overly-crowded.

It still feels surreal that we get to call it home, and I am filled with peace whenever I walk through the door.

I think one of the reasons our home brings me so much peace and satisfaction is because of how its physical transformation is a perfect representation of the way Bella has also altered me from within. I, too, have been made into a more suitable home because of her, and there is more peace within myself because of the work she has done as my partner these past two years.

I am so lucky to have her as my wife, and we are both so lucky to have all of you praying for us, supporting us, rooting for us, and encouraging us. We are in the process of writing more appropriate thank you notes for all that you have done, but for now I wanted to share a snippet of how our life together has been so far. May all our days be as beautiful as the ones we are living now.

Proverbs 31:10-31

An excellent wife who can find? She is far more precious than jewels. 
The heart of her husband trusts in her, and he will have no lack of gain. 
She does him good, and not harm, all the days of her life. 
She seeks wool and flax, and works with willing hands. 
She is like the ships of the merchant; she brings her food from afar. 
She rises while it is yet night and provides food for her household and portions for her maidens. 
She considers a field and buys it; with the fruit of her hands she plants a vineyard. 
She dresses herself with strength and makes her arms strong. 
She perceives that her merchandise is profitable. 
Her lamp does not go out at night. She puts her hands to the distaff, and her hands hold the spindle. 
She opens her hand to the poor and reaches out her hands to the needy. 
She is not afraid of snow for her household, for all her household are clothed in scarlet. 
She makes bed coverings for herself; her clothing is fine linen and purple. 
Her husband is known in the gates when he sits among the elders of the land. 
She makes linen garments and sells them; she delivers sashes to the merchant. 
Strength and dignity are her clothing, and she laughs at the time to come. 
She opens her mouth with wisdom, and the teaching of kindness is on her tongue. 
She looks well to the ways of her household and does not eat the bread of idleness. 
Her children rise up and call her blessed; her husband also, and he praises her: 
“Many women have done excellently, but you surpass them all.” 
Charm is deceitful, and beauty is vain, but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised. 
Give her of the fruit of her hands, and let her works praise her in the gates.

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It’s funny how we learn to pair words with meaning.

I suppose the process begins the day your ears can hear the sounds of your family, and it continues on until the sound itself continues on without you.

Sometimes you don’t even realize that the meaning you’ve assigned doesn’t align with everyone else’s, and that your family might call something one thing while someone else would have a completely different label for the same thing.

Like “soda,” for instance. In the South we call the delicious fizzy beverage “soda.” But if you ventured a little deeper into the backwoods, you might hear them refer to soda as “coke,” which to you is a specific kind of soda, but to them is a blanket term for the entire line of carbonated beverages.

And if you happened to travel north of Tennessee into the Midwest, you’d hear them refer to it as “pop,” and you would begin to wrestle with the complicated relationship between you and your father while they would sip their drink contentedly.

I remember the first time I discovered this phenomenon. I was 10 or so and knocked on my friend’s door to see if he could play. He told me that he couldn’t because he had to do his chores, so I of course asked him if he had to rotate, for I was certain that every boy’s mother would yell this word at the top of her lungs when she wanted that chore completed.

My friend looked at me with a confused expression. I looked back at him just as confused. “What kind of crazy person doesn’t rotate,” I thought to myself. It seemed pretty unsanitary to skip that chore. After a few moments of misunderstanding, I explained more fully what I was talking about, thinking him an imbecile for not understanding my perfectly clear language.

As it turns out, not every family refers to doing the laundry as “rotating,” and I later learned that “rotate” referred to moving (or rotating) the clothes from one station to the next—stations meaning from the basket to the washer, from the washer to the dryer, and from the dryer to the couch (where the clothes quickly built up into a small mountain until someone took the entire day to fold them and put them away).

Anyway, I had heard my mother yell “rotate” so often that somewhere along the line I began to associate “rotate” with laundry until the two were interchangeable. It’s not that I would laundry my joints if they were sore, but you get the gist.

It then occurred to me that not everyone had a Red Bag of Courage for ballgames, road trips, and everything in between. The Red Bag of Courage was just a simple red bag that my mom used as a go-bag. Whenever we’d go somewhere, she’d say, “Make sure someone grabs the Red Bag of Courage.” It was such a staple in our family, I just assumed every mother had their own Red Bag of Courage, but now that I had learned about differing word associations, I started questioning everything.

Do I say let's eat dinner or supper? 
Is pronounced caramel or caramel? 
Can I keep saying awl or do I really have to say oil? 
Crayon or crown?
Skunk or polecat? (this is a real thing, look it up)
Sled or toboggan? Beanie or toboggan? (toboggan is wrong on both accounts)
Goobers or peanuts?
Knife or Arkansas toothpick?
Shopping cart or buggy?
Left Twix or right Twix? (left Twix of course!)
Am I craving somethin' or do I have a hankerin'?
Does my mother really mean it when she says "Bless your heart" or is that a dig?

And the questioning went on and on and on, and I learned that broadening the scope of your association can be a helpful skill to have, especially with word games.

Creators of crossword puzzles, for example, challenge your ability to view a clue from as many different associations as possible. If you’re too entrenched in your own association for a word or phrase, you’ll never be able to solve all of the clues and complete the puzzle, so you have to be able to consider every word or phrase with meanings that are different from what you’re familiar with. That’s the fun of it.

This skill isn’t just applicable to crossword puzzles either, but to life as well. We often approach a problem with our own preconceived ideas for how to solve it, but in doing so, we leave behind a host of other solutions—of which there are usually various better options. Being able to step away from your own solution-associations allows you to view all of the possibilities more clearly and choose more wisely.

So do those crossword puzzles and play those word games. Challenge yourself to widen your word association, for in doing so, you will approach the world through a less narrow-minded lens and begin seeing patterns all around you that you previously overlooked.

And you’ll even be able to call things by their proper names (instead of calling a sled something stupid, like “toboggan”).

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some rotating to do.

Background: I wrote this poem several years ago to explore the way our hearts soften when we recognize the beauty of where we came from. I wanted to communicate that our past offers us vital lessons for the future, so I of course started this poem from the opposing perspective. The narrator, much like myself growing up, starts this poem with a pessimistic outlook towards life, and especially the past. But as he begins to unpack the boxes of former years, he discovers relics that quickly turn into lessons. His heart is changed by the end of the poem as he reads a piece of advice from a man who came well before him. The initials of this figure are J.W. as a tribute to my dear grandpa who would often share wisdom like this. I believe that these final lines were very much planted in my heart by him through all of the lessons that he gave me, and I was deeply encouraged when my mother told me that she thought her dad really had said those words. Since I have started viewing my past with a different perspective—firmly holding to my kindred compass—my life has had much more direction and peace, and I believe it is the same for all of us.

The Kindred Compass

It was an early morning, and the sun was yet to show
its face above the mountains in the distance. 
We knew that we had our work cut out for us, and mom 
made sure that we each had jobs with clear and specific instructions. 
Of course I was assigned the grungy attic, which mom said 
was because of the heavier boxes that only I could lift,
but I think the real reason is because no one else 
wanted to deal with all of the shit up there. 

As I walked up the stairs, the boards groaned in agony—
as did I, which created quite the forlorn chorus. 
When I made it up, I immediately patrolled the walls for a light
switch, praying that the bulb wasn't burnt out.
Luckily, I found the switch without much trouble 
and the light flickered on. It poured a dim fluorescent glow 
throughout the room. As soon as the light revealed 
the attic’s contents, I knew it was going to be a long day.

I scanned several containers but my eyes quickly landed 
on a box in the middle of the room. I figured that the middle 
would be a good place to start, so I made my way over to it. 
I ran my hand over its cool uneven surface, feeling the water-worn
texture of the cardboard. I opened its wavering 
flaps which released a billowing cloud of dust into the air.

Inside were old relics and heirlooms from a seemingly ancient 
time. All of the people who would consider the contents 
of the box to be priceless are gone, so the objects are now worthless 
since there is no one left to remember the stories that went with them. 

After all, that’s what makes a mere object worth anything:
a memory, a shared experience that cements itself into the
history of a collective group. But when that group dies,
so does the object’s worth. That’s what separates relics from junk.
Without that, there is nothing to differentiate the two.

That’s why it was my *clearly unpopular* suggestion to just trash
all of the boxes without thinking twice. Unlike my family, 
I don’t see the point of clinging to a faint memory 
of a distant past, but that’s neither here nor there.

I flipped through a photo album of unfamiliar faces
in a book with my own name on the cover.
I tossed the book aside after awhile; I felt weird wading 
through pictures of strangers. 
I pulled the next box over to find a finely stitched
quilt with red and white linen. I pressed down on the fabric.
It was still soft. I drew it to my face and embraced it, closing my eyes
tightly as I focused on the sound of my own breathing
and the creaking of the boards beneath me, 
drifting into a peaceful trance.

I awoke from my daze a few moments later, and as I glanced 
back down in the box, I caught something shimmering 
at the bottom of the pile. I reached my hand down and sifted 
through the rubbish to find the mysterious object. 
I felt its cold and smooth surface as I shifted my hand for a better grip. 
It was heavy for its size and I gently lifted it to the top to bring it into the light.
I clamped it in my palm and inspected it; it was a gold compass
engraved with my initials. I propped open its latch, expecting to see
a damaged or rusted needle. To my surprise, the needle was in pristine 
condition and flickered with my movements. 

The more I looked at the compass, the more familiar it seemed to me.
I looked back at the photo album and flipped it open once again. 
I turned a couple of pages and stopped when I found myself 
staring at a weathered man of about 60 years old. I studied his face.
He was the only one who seemed familiar. His eyes glimmered
with a gray mist found on an early morning wading through a riverbed.
He looked stern but soft, as if he were going to lecture you,
then embrace you in a warm hug. I gripped the quilt tighter. 

I scanned further down the picture and discovered his hand clasped 
firmly around a peculiar object. It was the compass.

I held the precious album up and gently slid 
my hand across the faded cover, slowly removing 
the photograph. I found an inscription on the back,
and my eyes began to water as I read transcribed in clear, neat writing:

          Going fast serves no purpose 
          if you are going in the wrong direction.

          ~ J.W.