You Were Never Broken
I spent a lot of my life believing something in me needed fixing. That I didn’t fit, didn’t measure up, didn’t belong.
I didn’t grow up feeling like I fit in with other boys, and somewhere along the way, that turned into a belief that something in me was broken.
This is a story about survival, identity, faith, and what it takes to finally understand that I was always enough.
Broadway Lights & Cabin Nights
I spent this week watching my students experience New York for the first time—and then came home to the realization that this is the last week all of my kids will be under one roof. It’s a strange, beautiful tension of joy, pride, and quiet ache… and I’m learning what it means to live in all of it at once.
Finding God in the And
My daughter Maggie is leaving to serve a mission for our church and this afternoon was her farewell in church. She asked me to be the second speaker along with a musical number that included MANY of her aunts, uncles, and cousins. It was a powerful meeting and I was honored to be asked to do that for her. After the service, several people asked me for a copy of my thoughts. I figured I’d just post them here as this was a momentous day for me and for her and I’d love it preserved forever. So, without further ado, here is the talk I gave in church today: March 8, 2026.
Faith Without the Fix
For a long time, I thought faith meant clarity. Or peace. Or at least relief. I thought if I believed hard enough, trusted deeply enough, or prayed the right way, something would shift—my body, my circumstances, my joy. And when those things didn’t change, I quietly wondered what that said about me.
But lately, I’ve been realizing that faith isn’t always revealed through resolution. Sometimes it’s revealed through endurance. Through staying present when the situation doesn’t improve. Through choosing honesty over performance. Through continuing to believe even when life doesn’t feel good.
Living in the And
I think I’ve been waiting for my life to start again. Waiting for my body to feel better, for the pain to ease, for things to go back to the way they were—or at least to something recognizable. I’ve told myself that once I’m healed, once this chapter is over, then I’ll fully live again. But lately I’ve started to wonder what it would mean to stop waiting.