Finding Joy in the Now
I spent years chasing the next season—summer break, holidays, even retirement—as if joy was always waiting just around the corner. Too often, those moments fell short of the anticipation. With time, I’ve learned the best days aren’t out ahead. Joy shows up in the ones we’re already living.
A Brunch of Thoughts
In a neighborhood of big houses, our modest starter home became the gathering spot for our boys’ friends. Maybe it wasn’t the square footage, but the warmth. Contentment isn’t in extravagance—it’s found in the quiet places that feel like home.
The Challenge of Not Being Foolish
When it comes to my health, I’ve made more than my share of foolish choices. For years I shrugged them off—until my doctor laid the truth out in numbers I couldn’t laugh away. Sugar isn’t only hiding in sodas or candy; sometimes it’s right there in the “healthy” things I thought I was choosing. That reality check stung, but it also gave me space to be honest, both with her and with myself. Foolishness doesn’t vanish overnight. But admitting it is the beginning—and choosing a better path, even slowly, is how it finally starts to fade.
20 Years of Self Delusion
Twenty years ago, diabetes walked into my life—and it was entirely my fault. For years I ignored the signs: constant thirst, fatigue, blurred vision, and the mounting risks that come with high blood sugar. I treated the warning signals like Homer treats his check engine light—ignore until it breaks. Only recently have I begun to accept that the right road isn’t glamorous or quick, but paved with small, rational choices made again and again. Maybe I should’ve started sooner. But starting late is still better than not starting at all.
A Little Bit of the Griswolds in Us All
Vacations—especially family ones—are less perfect adventure and more chaotic comedy. I chase the “happy upcoming thing”—autumn, holidays, spring break—but the escape often turns into a mess. Cruises rain disappointments: rough seas, thin tissues, missing salt shakers. Yet those ruined moments—a laugh with waiters, pepper shakers that aren’t even real—become the ones you remember. Just like the Griswolds, joy often hides in the ordinary, messy, grumpy parts. And maybe it’s enough.
What Faith Looks Like in an Unraveling World
Four years after the chaos of COVID-19, life is still shifting underneath us—economy, unrest, people at each other’s throats. Some say faith means no fear; I wonder if that’s reckless. Scripture doesn’t say faith equals bravado. It balances trust and wisdom—like avoiding the oncoming traffic even when you're brave enough to cross the road. Sometimes faith is pausing, not running. It’s not a failure of belief. Maybe it’s a decision to walk wisely—and continue being a source of light anyway.
A Con in a Can: The Relentless Chase for More
As kids, we thought a ham in a can looked glamorous—until we tried it and found it slimy and disappointing. That quick lesson stuck: packaging can lie. Casinos push the same fantasy—flashy lights promising big wins, but mostly draining pockets and hope. And real stories? Like the lottery winner who cursed his fortune instead of celebrating it, remind us that “more” doesn’t always mean better. Proverbs matters: wealth gained quickly seldom lasts. True gain grows slowly—and quietly holds meaning long after the shine has faded.
Breakfast Appetizers and Cheap Syrup
The waiter poured the tomato soup in a perfect 360-degree arc, while my wife’s fruit plate looked like a stack of Jenga blocks daring me to pull a piece. This level of culinary theater felt absurdly far from our early days of marriage, when "breakfast" meant cheap pancakes and "sauce" meant skillet gravy. It turns out that contentment isn't found in a side of Béarnaise sauce, but in the person sitting across from you while you try to figure out what to dip in it.
The Surprising Power of Small Gestures
Sometimes it’s the tiniest things that shift everything. A hand on the shoulder from a friend—nothing dramatic, just quiet support—stuck with me long after our conversation ended. That small moment taught me to notice more: the early-morning knock of room service, coffee steaming on a quiet cruise ship, the absurdity of two salt shakers meant only for decoration, and the lone cleaner greeting us in the dim hallway. Kindness isn't about grand moves—it’s about noticing, and acknowledging, the unseen. Little gestures thread grace into our ordinary, reminding us that small always matters.
One Last Lesson Before You Go
The last day of school is loud with relief—teachers and students alike ready to bolt for the door. But for me, that walk to the car is never simple. Each year, I feel the pull of goodbye, knowing many students I’ve poured into will disappear from my life. What do you say in a yearbook line when what you really want is to hand them a compass? Over time, I’ve realized the best lesson isn’t clever advice—it’s reminding them that joy, courage, and kindness outlast possessions. That’s the message I’d stamp in every heart, if I could.