Feelings are free.
You can feel however you want about anything you want.
You can care. You can have compassion. You can even have conviction.
You can have all the feelings you could ever want to feel,
These can even be the strongest, most genuine types of feelings.
You can have all of these,
And still not have done a damn thing.

I’m an emotional human.
I feel all the feelings. All the time.
It can feel exhausting.
It feels like work, but it isn’t.
Feelings are important. But they aren’t work.
Feelings are just feelings.

I’ve grown in my admiration of people who push past feeling.
Sure, these people I revere care. They have compassion. They have conviction.
I’ve met many wonderful people who have all these feelings.
I’ve met many more who can fake these feelings…at least for a while.

But the humans I most want to be like are the ones who go beyond emotions.
They’re the ones who turn their care into action.
They give their time, or their talent, or their treasure.
Much of the time, they give all three.
They give of themselves. Sometimes all of themselves.
They give a damn.

Giving a damn costs you something.
It’s active. It’s action.
It’s actually giving of yourself for something other than yourself.
Giving a damn isn’t afraid of the nitty gritty.
It’s not afraid of getting into the depths of the mud and muck.
It’s ready to roll up its sleeves and get its hands dirty.

Giving a damn is more than just feeling.

Giving a damn turns conviction into contribution.

Inspired by Anne-Laure Le Cunff’s book Tiny Experiments, I’ve pledged to write for 100 weekdays straight.

I love writing.
I don’t know if I’m particularly skilled at it.
But I love it, and I’m not sure if it matters if I’m any good or not.

Writing helps me think. I’m a verbal processor at heart. I can’t make sense of the ideas that swirl around in my head without trying to develop the right words for what’s in my brain and on my heart. I’ve found that there’s not a huge audience for ALL the random things that occupy my thoughts at any given time. So writing allows me to work through the ideas, values and feelings I have and share them when I can.

What I’ve learned through 10 days

Today marks my 10th day of writing each weekday. Here are my observations so far:

• Writing as a daily practice will be a part of my life going forward. Pairing a solid reading habit with a good writing habit (in place of journaling, which doesn’t work super well for me) has proven to be very good for my mental health.

• Posting daily will not be a thing for me after my pledge is complete. I’ve found that I am not able to fully form my ideas in one day’s time. I need the ability to step away from my thoughts, let them simmer on the back burner for a while, and then come back to them to feel effective.

• Research is a skill I want to cultivate. I’ve found myself wanting to dig deeper into certain topics to give my pieces more depth. A recent podcast interview featuring Daniel Pink provided lots of inspiration and insight.

• I’m discovering the voice I most connect to when writing. I’ve never been very musical, but I’ve always been attracted to the rhythm of words and ideas (I also have to look up how to spell rhythm every time I type it). I haven’t fully developed this yet, and I’m still experimenting greatly. But these recent books have been great learning for me:

  • The Elements of Eloquence by Mark Forsyth

  • Several Short Sentences about Writing by Verlyn Klinkenborg

  • Good Writing: 36 Ways to Improve Your Sentences by Neal Allen & Anne Lamott

• 100 days is way longer than I realized. I felt like I’ve been writing for a while, so it was sobering when I realized I’m only 10% of the way toward my goal!

• I care way too much about the metrics. Shortly after this scheduled post goes live, I’m sure I’ll check to see if anyone has read it. I’ll get giddy if you do me the honor of hitting the like button, leaving a comment, or sending me a message about something I’ve written. I think this comes from a combination of my day job in marketing and that deep-seated desire to be liked. 🤪 But I’m finding it unhelpful in promoting my actual practical practice of writing for me. So, it’s at least something I need to keep aware of.

• Writing is hard work. My posts are short. My thoughts aren’t all that well thought out. I do it for fun, and it is still difficult. I have nothing but respect for the great writers who wrestle with the craft to bring beauty and insight into the world for us. #Respect

• I expected to have more things to repost to LinkedIn. I thought I would end up writing several things that are related to my work or to leadership. I figured I could easily just cross-post these pieces to LinkedIn to stay active over there. Turns out, this hasn’t been as easy as I thought!

I’ll share more insights from my journey as I go through it.

If you’ve done me the honor of reading, providing feedback, or leaving me a note, it’s appreciated way more than you know.

I was always nice.
A nice guy.
A nice kid.

Well, maybe not a nice baby.
I’ve heard horror stories.

“If you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all.”
Maxims like these have been drilled into me since before my memories took hold.
So nice I would be.

But here’s what I’ve learned about being nice.
What I’ve learned about myself.

Being nice can be performative, passive and people-pleasing.
I may have been good to someone,
But it was often more about what was good FOR ME
Rather than being good TO someone else.

My niceness was selfishness in disguise.
All wrapped up in entitlement.

Age has taught me the wisdom of being kind.
It doesn’t allow you to serve your selfishness.
You put yourself in service to someone else.

Sometimes being nice and being kind can look the same.
In fact, sometimes it’s perfectly fine to be nice.
But sometimes being kind means saying the hard thing.
And sometimes it means sacrificing yourself for someone else.

Niceness centers the world around me.
Kindness centers me around others.

I was always nice.
But now I try to be kind.

No weapon is as potent as a deaf ear.

They say,
“Sticks and stones may break my bones,
but words will never hurt me”
We all know this is nonsense.

But as mighty as the tongue may be,
with all its power to strike directly to the soul,
it’s the indifferent ear that wields far more destruction.

It’s when the bid for connection is brushed away,
when the story told is met with a shrug,
when the beating heart through words is met with a silent nod,
it’s the way they look by you…
or maybe right through you.
This is the death blow.

In all manner of human connection,
friend or foe,
romantic or platonic,
personal or professional,
the cruelest assault has always been indifference.

As I’ve learned more about the Six Types of Working Genius framework, I’ve begun to understand myself (and how I operate) much better.

This is the Working Genius in a nutshell:

• There are SIX basic types of work.

• TWO are your Working Geniuses - the type of work that energizes you.

• TWO are your Working Frustrations - the type of work that drains you.

• TWO are your Working Competencies - things you can do for a while but won’t energize you.

The Working Genius is all about ranking, not rating.

My geniuses are Wonder & Enablement.

Wonder is the one always asking the big questions. Is this as good as it could be? What are we missing? Enablement is the one that loves to jump in and help a person or an idea get moving.

That doesn’t mean I’m the best at these skills.
It just means that these are the types of work that excite me when I get to work within them.

What the Working Genius has taught me about myself.

My biggest Working Frustration is Tenacity. This is all about being relentless in getting things across the finish line. Crossing the T’s and dotting the I’s. It’s not that I’m bad at or incapable of this type of work, it’s that it drains me.

I’ve been in a season of having to do a bunch of tenacity type work. Lots of spreadsheets and organization and coordination and double checking and triple checking and on and on.

I've walked out of the office those days wiped out.
Even when I’m not particularly tired.

That’s the thing about work. Just because something is in my working frustration doesn’t mean I get to punt it. “All jobs are six letter jobs” is often said in Working Genius circles. This means we all have to do things that don’t particularly bring us joy every now and then.

The gift of knowing my geniuses and frustrations

The more we understand ourselves and what fills our cup, the better we can navigate the energy we bring to our work. We can maximize our geniuses, minimize our weaknesses, and manage our competencies.

In other words, in seasons knee deep in tenacity, I can know why I’m struggling without being overcome by guilt or shame.

The Working Genius has also given me the tools to know how to fill my tank when I need it. By spending time leaning into my geniuses of Wonder and Enablement.

I still have to do the draining work.
I just don’t have to run on empty while I do it.

Heavy hevel moments

For most of my life I’ve had what I now call hevel moments.
These are moments when everything has seemed pointless, hopeless, or just downright meaningless.

I’ve always been an emotional human, even as a kid. From navigating my parents' divorce, to our fight for fertility in adulthood, to simply feeling crushed by the everyday responsibilities of life, I‘ve become well acquainted with my own melancholic tendencies.

I’ve started thinking of these as hevel moments as I’ve connected with the Biblical book of Ecclesiastes. “Meaningless, Meaningless Says the Teacher.” This word for meaningless or vanity or vapor is hevel.

The book of Ecclesiastes feels much more pessimistic than the rest of scripture. It basically dismantles all the things that humans typically focus on. It illustrates the absurdity in relying on the things we fight so hard for. Power. Pleasure. Prosperity. All of these deemed worthless when considering the world as it is here "under the sun.” We might as well be trying to chase the wind or catch smoke. It’s all going to be in vain.

But we miss the point of Ecclesiastes if we only focus on the hevel here under the sun. Because Ecclesiastes isn’t really about the darkness. It’s about the light that shines through it.

A new kind of moment

I recently learned the term glimmers coined by the clinician Deb Dana.

Several times throughout Ecclesiastes, Qoheleth (the narrator) breaks through the pessimism with just a touch of optimism. One of my Bible professors in college described it as if Qoheleth is pulling back a curtain to let a little light shine in the darkness.

The response to hevel and those heavy feelings of meaningless isn’t despair or apathy. For Qoheleth, it’s enjoying the little rays of sunlight we can experience even while we are here under the sun.

Be happy.
Do good.
Eat.
Drink.
Find satisfaction in your work.
This is the gift of God.

Glimmers from beyond the sun

glim·​mer
a faint, wavering light or a tiny, fleeting sign of something, such as hope or understanding

In Dana’s work on glimmers, noticing the expected and unexpected small gifts in your own life helps you begin to notice even more of the good, too. Instead of constantly searching for dangers like our hunter-gatherer ancestors did, we can be on the lookout for beauty and joy.

For someone who has lived their life experiencing and expecting hevel moments, noticing these glimpses of good in my own life doesn’t come easy. But I don’t want to focus so much on the hevel that I miss the glimmers of God’s goodness shining in my every day.

These glimmers are Isaac’s chuckles as he tells a corny joke.
Ian’s little hand finding mine in a crowd.
Meg’s mischievous glance across the room when someone says something we find funny.
Sitting around a table with people I love.
A morning walk or reading a good book.
Finding joy in the work I get to do.
Finding purpose in loving and serving the people God has placed in my life.

These are the moments when God pulls back the curtain, just a little, and lets me see a little glimmer of heaven on earth.

At the beginning of 2024, I set a goal for myself to read 20 books. I wanted to go for 24 in ‘24, but two books per months seemed too daunting of a task.

I ended up reading 8 that year.
A success rate right on par with most of our New Year’s Resolutions I imagine.

A decade of data on my reading habits

I read a good bit coming out of college in the early 2010’s. As a young pastor, I was trying to learn as much as I could. Staff readings were helpful. I also found myself interested in things like marketing and communication, and I really enjoyed books like Creativity, Inc, Steve Jobs’ biography, and similar interesting reads.

A new job in 2019, a pandemic in 2020, a new baby boy in 2021 and a slew of other factors cratered my reading habit into nonexistence. More than anything, the doomscrolling, algorithm-driven culture of content consumption had fully sunk its teeth into me. Sure, part of staying up with the trends is my job, but it had gone far beyond that.

The murder of my attention span

I’ve always enjoyed reading.
I’ve always loved the idea of reading.
Well, I’ve at least always love the idea of being a reader.

So, I tried. I tried to read books. Megan and I would frequent local bookstores when we traveled and never missed a stop at Barnes & Noble when there was one we went by. I often picked up a book that looked intriguing. I would look so forward to cracking it open and being transformed by whatever new insights I would glean from the book.

But then I would try to read. I would get distracted. Bored even. My bookshelf a literal graveyard of unread books that I had left behind. By sheer force of will I finished one here and there. I devoured Shoe Dog by Phil Knight in two evenings during this time. But I never stuck with it. I couldn’t read for more than a few minutes at a time without finding myself distracted once again.

The funny thing is that I spent most of that time scrolling trying to learn and grow. Looking up things I’m interested in. Following pseudo-influencers deliver micro-content. It felt like learning…and I suppose it was…but my technology habits were short-circuiting other habits that are important to me.

Willpower and floundering goals

So I tried real hard to read. Like really hard.
I ended up reading 8 books in 2024 and improved to 13 in 2025.
Not quite up to my 2024 goal even in 2025, but I was back to building a more consistent habit.

Looking back, I’m intrigued by my thought process.
I wanted to “reignite my love for reading.”
And while I didn’t quite get there in 2024 or 2025, I can honestly say that the passion for reading is more prevalent today than it has ever been in my life.

I’m on pace to read as many books in 2026 (47 so far through 6 months) as I had previously in the entire time I’ve tracked in Goodreads the last decade (78ish since 2015).

How Jimmy got his (reading) groove back

A friend asked me recently how I find the time to read. I gave her the honest answers:

• I’ve (mostly) replaced my phone and pre-bedtime scrolling with my kindle and late night reading.

• I’ve learned to enjoy walking in a safe space while having my latest kindle reading open.

• I look for opportunities throughout the day such as at lunchtime, before work, or a few minutes when I wake up in the morning.

• I’ve endeavored to listen to one audio book per month.

• I’ve carefully curated my to read list to include things that I want to come back to, that ignite my imagination and inspire me.

• I alternate between fiction and nonfiction, flank longer more laborious reading with more breezier reads.

• I’ve meticulously built my to read list through personal recommendations and algorithmic suggestions.

• Utilizing the Libby app through the local library to get books free.

All of this has helped me gain a sense of momentum. To build habits. To get me reaching for the kindle instead of the phone when I have a few spare moments.

The battle for my attention.

I could outline dozens of ways that my reading habit this year has improved my life.
I could tell you several reasons why this practice is important to me.
I have much I want to learn (and read about!) attention spans, the power of reading and the connection to our overall well being.
But all of those ideas can be unpacked later down the road.

For now I’m focused on cultivating this habit of reading alongside my habit of writing. How to keep up my quality inputs while also cultivating the way I think with what I’m learning.

I’ve found the allure of the algorithms to be enticing. And as I replace some of my reading time with writing time, I want to make sure I keep the momentum of reading going…for the sake of my attention span and for the sake of my life.

The key to rekindling my reading habit was never trying harder. It was making it easier to reach for the things that mattered more to me.

I felt myself wince as I sat between my boys in the movie theater.

We were watching the latest Super Mario Galaxy movie the kids had been dying to watch for months. My inner 10 year old beaming eager to watch a few of my favorite childhood characters spring to life on the big screen.

When Fox McCloud jumped onto the scene, my inner childhood wonder was doing barrel rolls. A large chunk of my childhood was spent playing Star Fox on Super Nintendo.

So when the time came for Mario to meet Star Fox, I braced for the moment they teased. Mario becoming envious of how cool Star Fox is. He would be worried that the Princess would like the fox more than the plumber. It would make Mario act with jealous immaturity. And surely the super cool fox would do everything he could to make Mario feel ever smaller.

Fortunately, the movie threw a curveball.
”Nice ride.”
”Nice stache.”

No jealousy. No rivalry. Just game recognizing game.

Why envy comes naturally

Envy is such an easy emotion to fall into. We’re wired for comparison. For most of human history, our standing within the group determined the likelihood of our survival.

We compare ourselves to others constantly,
often subconsciously,
not even voluntarily,
it’s our default setting,
baked into our operating system.

We have a scarcity mindset when it comes to life. It’s like we somehow believe there’s only a certain amount of good things that can happen in the world. And, if someone else has it, there might not be enough leftover for me.

We can all be awesome

Somewhere along the way, we’ve come to believe that I have to make you feel small if I want to feel big. Or that if I let you feel big, it will somehow make me shrink to be smaller. But life isn’t a zero sum game. I can know I'm enough without needing to make someone else feel small to prove it.

I haven’t always lived like this. I’ve spent most of my years comparing myself to others and wondering why I didn’t seem to measure up. But I’ve made a conscious decision as I’ve gotten older to start celebrating the people in my life. To say at Birthdays what we typically wait to say at funerals. To say the kind thing of someone when I think it instead of being paralyzed by making myself look stupid in the process.

The smart people call this having an abundance mindset. It’s the principle that success isn’t a fixed pie where someone else’s slice means less for me. The magic of living with this mindset is that I can celebrate the awesome in others freely. The world doesn’t feel smaller when I do that, it feels bigger. There’s room for all of us to be great.

Mario and Fox let each other be great. And somehow, neither of them got smaller for it. Here’s hoping my boys learn this lesson a lot earlier than their dad did.

I guess you don’t become worth $100 Billion dollars without being right about a few things.

If you’ve worked in content marketing, you’ve probably come across Bill Gates’ 1996 essay “Content is King.” Bill echoed Sumner Redstone, the founding mogul of Viacom, who famously (and ruthlessly) built an empire around the belief that whoever held the rights to the actual programming content held all the power. He didn’t care how technology changed distribution. If you had the content, you had it all.

Most people today use the term content to mean creative output. But the icky thing about content is that it makes the container of the content the star of the show.

“Content is king, but distribution is Queen… and she wears the pants”
- Jonathan Perelman

Content may reign, but the distributors are the ones who really hold the reins.
The beast of distribution is always hungry.
Social media content feeds the algorithm.
Website content feeds the SEO machine.
TV shows and movies fill the streaming catalogs.
Podcasts keep the earbuds in.

All of it exists to sell ads, win subscribers, and pad the stats that make investors salivate.

In one sense, it’s great for creative people. There’s no shortage of organizations looking for young people “to help manage their socials” or opportunities for prospective influencers to share their work.

User generated content has been a boon for social media networks. They need eyeballs and thumb clicks to entice advertisers and woo investors. But because of the creator economy we’ve found ourselves in, Meta doesn’t have to be like Netflix, Apple TV or Disney and spend billions of dollars on content production for Instagram to fill their content container. They have millions of people ready to do their work for them…for free.

I struggle with this concept of content. I do work in advertising, so I get it.

But I’m also a creative person at heart. And while social media gives me a space to share and connect with people over creative ideas, it’s also very tempting to get caught up in the content trap. To check the stats. To monetize. To keep feeding the machine for that hit of attention. All of this to drive content and make money instead of just creating for the sake of creating and connecting.

“Content” isn’t going away. And the people making money hand over fist aren’t going to let go of their cash cows quietly. My professional life will always be consumed by content.

But outside of my 9 to 5, I’m going to focus on creative outlets like writing to help me think, learn, and connect.

This is why I endeavor to write.
I’m not going to hit it big.
I’m definitely not going to make money.
I just want to think about the world and my place in it.
Throw my ideas out there and see if anyone else resonates.
Invite conversation and make connections.

If the media moguls make a few cents off my content, so be it.
I’m content being creative for the sake of being creative.

My name had almost completely worn off the coffee cup by the time I noticed it was there.

This label from a cafe in White Sulphur Springs made me laugh out loud yesterday. The guy in the nearby truck didn’t seem to appreciate the disturbance near his favorite hardware store hangout.

The cafe had cleverly added my name to finish the faith-centric message on my cup. Not typically my style, but I appreciate the effort.

So what had me laughing at my latte while standing alone on a city sidewalk?
My name had smeared off before I even realized the label existed.

The typical reading of Jeremiah 29:11 isn’t really my jam.
We miss the point because we rush to focus on the prospering way too quickly.

We don’t want to wrestle with the original context of Yahweh choosing not to abandon His exiled people even after their own rebellion put them there. Or that it was referring to a community of people not just an individual. Or that it took 70 years for God to come through on His promise after He made it.

We prefer the reading that God Almighty wants to orchestrate a win for my kid’s 10U team.

But I digress.

It was a humorous bit of irony, though…
Someone’s best made plans slapped onto a delicious latte only to be foiled by a little mid summer condensation and my fat thumb.

I’m grateful for the times God has humbled me, for the many moments when He’s shown me that His ways are not my ways. I’ve often thought that I had life all figured out, convinced I knew exactly what my life should look like.

I’m thankful that the Lord has never taken my advice into consideration.

Sure. God has a plan for me. He has a plan for you, too.
He wants what’s best for us. And He actually knows what’s best.
That’s something we can truly trust in,
even when our plans get a little smudged sometimes.

We talk a lot about purpose.
Live on purpose.
Don’t waste your life.
Have a purpose driven life.
You were made for more.
Find what you were made to do.

All of those things are true I suppose. But I think the focus on purpose is a symptom of something deeper. Something that is way more fundamental to our human experience.

I’ve sat with a few of the principles of Jennifer Breheny Wallace’s book “Mattering” for the last several weeks. In it she argues that feeling like you matter is the secret to a life of deep connection and purpose. She lays this out in her SAID framework.

• Significant (seen & essential)

• Appreciated (valued for who you are)

• Invested In (supported and cared for)

• Depended On (needed by others)

What became clear to me throughout reading this book is that our hyper focus on purpose is a direct result in our innate need to matter.

Purpose is your why. The reason you get out of bed. The things you want to accomplish and the reason why you want to accomplish them. But mattering in the world and to others (and to yourself probably) is what births our purpose. If purpose is what gets you out of bed in the morning, the need to matter is the fuel to get you moving.

The danger of purpose

Purpose is good. It’s important. It’s as necessary in life as eating. We need to have a why in our life. I would argue we need many why’s. But the danger is in making the purpose the main thing. People can become our obstacles instead of the point. Our values can become negotiable.

If we start sacrificing people to accomplish our purpose, we’ve lost the plot.
People are the point. We were made to matter. That’s the purpose of life.

⁷ Again I saw something meaningless under the sun:
⁸ There was a man all alone;
he had neither son nor brother.
There was no end to his toil,
yet his eyes were not content with his wealth.
“For whom am I toiling,” he asked,
“and why am I depriving myself of enjoyment?”
This too is meaningless—
a miserable business!

Ecclesiastes 4:7-8

A Netflix promo for Young Sheldon caught me off guard the other day. My boys have been begging to watch "one more episode of Sheldon" before bed lately. I think we’re most of the way through season four.

So when a clip from S1 started playing, Sheldon looked like such a baby. I got that same feeling in my gut that I get when looking at old photos of my kids.

For whatever reason, it made me think about the current version of me that people in my past will never meet.

If they think of me at all, they're thinking of middle school basketball Jimmy, or college prankster Jimmy, or whatever socially awkward version of me they happened to cross paths with. The socially awkward part is probably the most consistent thread. 🤪

I'm still me. But I'm different than I was back then,
whenever “then” happened to be.
And hopefully I've grown a little bit along the way.

I do the same thing to other people...
Holding onto a version of them that doesn't exist anymore.

Some people never grow or change.
But most people do.
My perception doesn't always keep up.

So the next time I see you, I’d love if you rapped some Jay-Z to me…
“Allow me to reintroduce myself...”

A few hundred church bulletins had to be perforated each week when I served as a pastor.
I HATED it.

It wasn’t that I couldn’t do it.
Or that I thought the task was beneath me.
I’m just not wired for that kind of work.

Tedious tasks drain me.
Some people find that kind of repetitive grind energizing.
“It’s kind of relaxing,” they say.
My brain can’t comprehend that absurdity.

I was blessed with a tenacious coworker.
He was one of those sadists who enjoy such things.
I never simply asked the man to help me out.
Young Jimmy didn’t have that kind of self-awareness.

Each week I’d sit the bulletins on the white plastic banquet table that doubled as our weekday workspace. “I’ll get to these this afternoon” I would say to no one in particular...but always within earshot of my coworker. I’d then scurry off to some task more palatable to my underdeveloped attention span.

Coming back to perfectly perforated bulletins always felt like Christmas morning to me. “No worries at all” he would say. “Happy to help.”
I’m sure he was on to my deceit, but that was okay with me.
At least I didn’t have to sit there for an hour bashing my head against the table.

Brian, if you read this…
I’m sorry for the manipulation,
Thank you for saving my sanity,
And maybe you’re welcome? Since you always enjoyed doing such things. 😂

I’m learning through The Six Types of Working Genius that I don’t typically get burned out just because I’m trying to do too much. I get burned out when I’m doing too much of the wrong type of work.

Now I just have to fix the problem without tricking my coworkers!

Can anyone else relate?

Found what I thought was a note in my suit jacket at the gala this past weekend.
Turns out it wasn’t as fun as a secret handwritten letter,
Just something I had jotted down for a speech last year…quoting myself 🤪🤦‍♂️

“The best people I know are serious about what they do, but they don’t take themselves too seriously.”

Turns out I still agree with last year’s me.
You always want people to take things with just the right amount of seriousness.​

Take pickup basketball…it’s zero fun if no one cares enough to compete.
But if we’re recreating the Malace in the Palace on the church playground,
Well, that’s no fun either.​

I’m still very much a work in progress over here.
Turns out there’s some tension between self-awareness and self-improvement.

Drop me a note if you can relate.
Handwritten and sneakily dropped into my jacket pocket is preferred,
But in the comments works, too!

Unto us a Child is born.
Light the candles. Cue Silent Night.
Everyone heads home happy.

But then…Crickets.
From nativity to puberty…
The story of Jesus goes silent for 12 years.

Everything has changed,
But nothing looks different…yet.

It’s kind of like this week between Christmas and the New Year.
The high of the holidays followed by that quiet letdown after advent.

It’s okay if you feel unsettled in the in between.
It’s normal to be frustrated when you’ve changed but no one else can see the difference…yet.

Even the shepherds had to go back to their fields, and Mary and Joe had to go raise a toddler.

So, hang in there.
It’s alright if things take a little time.
God is still working in you,
Even if you can’t quite see it…yet.

I scrambled to open my notes app when Amy Panzarella, SPHR, SCP, ACC shared this during a Leadership West Virginia Session last week.

“Everyone knows something that I don’t” has long been a core value for me.

And I truly believe that asking a good question is basically a super power.

I’d never thought of curiosity as a gift you give to someone else, though.

But, if you think about it, attention and consideration really are profound acts of generosity. 

And here’s the thing about gift giving:

A wise dude named Jesus once said.

“It’s more blessed to give than to receive.”

When it comes to curiosity, that’s certainly true.

Because when I truly listen to someone,

they give me a little glimpse into *their* world.

And every time they do, my world gets bigger, too.

---

This is what LEADERSHIP WEST VIRGINIA INC has been for me so far.

One meaningful conversation at a time.

One question that led somewhere unexpected.

One story that changed how I see the state, the people in it…and even myself.

Curiosity doesn’t have to be heavy to matter.

Sometimes it’s listening to what someone is passionate about.

Or hearing them talk shop with words you’re not sure you understand.

Other times it’s talking about that poop cruise documentary they watched on Netflix.

Or even just letting someone vent about their tire that shredded seven minutes before reaching the hotel.

(Okay, yeah, that last one was me.)

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Experiencing Leadership West Virginia has truly been a gift.

Experiencing it with a group of such curious people has already made it great.

Every time I see the New River Gorge Bridge, I’m in awe.
Pictures just don’t do it justice.
Last week, our Leadership West Virginia class stood there taking it all in.
Learning about the park.
Admiring the view.
Dreading walking back up the steps.

A young couple walked by and posed for a few photos with the bridge behind them.
Then the girl flipped through their pictures and asked,
“What’s so special about this bridge anyway?”
The guy just shrugged.

I didn’t say anything, but I could have!
“You know it was the longest single-span arch bridge in the world when it opened, right?”
“It’s still the fifth longest in the world. Still the longest outside China.”
“It’s an engineering marvel nestled right here in West Virginia!”

But she didn’t need a history lesson.
She can ask ChatGPT herself.
She needed to open her eyes.
I wanted to yell,
TURN AROUND AND LOOK!!

We do this all the time.
We become blind to what’s right in front of us.
We overlook wonder because it’s familiar.
We miss what’s beautiful because it’s ours.

But the bridge? Still there.
The view? Still breathtaking.
So are the local shops.
The family-run businesses.
The people showing up every day to build something beautiful in this place we call home.

We say we love this place.
Sometimes we have a funny way of showing it.
But we can change the narrative.
By supporting ourselves and each other.
By choosing local when we can.
And recognizing the value that’s already here.
We can change the story we tell (and believe) about ourselves.

If I’ve taken anything from these first few sessions of Leadership West Virginia, it’s this:
West Virginia is stunning.
But its people? Even more beautiful.

There are incredible things happening, led by neighbors, friends, and folks who care deeply.
We don’t need someone to come in and save us.
We just need to start believing in what we already have.

I’ve had the privilege to meet so many incredibly kind, brilliant, and passionate people over the last couple of years.
Thank you all for inspiring me to be a better version of myself.
Thank you for helping make our home the best it can be.

Let’s stop tearing ourselves down.
Let’s start seeing the good.
Supporting the good.
Celebrating the good.

Because it’s here.
And it’s ours.

We just have to turn around and look.

Five years ago today, I posted my reflections on Psalm 23 in the midst of Covid. In reading the Facebook post again, it still hits close to home. Maybe it will for you too.

I’ve taken the opportunity to rewrite it a bit as well.

A few years ago, I heard a pastor point out that there are zero sheep mentioned in Psalm 23, and yet… we can’t help but picture sheep when we read it.

Why do we immediately picture sheep when we talk about Psalm 23?
Because the Psalm talks about a shepherd.

His point stuck with me: You learn who you are when you learn who your shepherd is.

When I taught through Psalm 23 several years ago, the theme I kept coming back to was: don’t base your identity on something that can be taken away.

We base our identities on everything that can be taken away.

Our job titles. Our talents. Our bank accounts.

Try this sometime: answer the question “Tell me about yourself” without mentioning what you do for a living. It’s weirdly hard.

Back in 2020, a lot of what we do got stripped away. For many of us, so did our sense of who we are.

So here’s the question I had to wrestle with…and maybe it’s worth revisiting today:

Who are you?

Not “what do you want to accomplish?”

Just… who are you?

I started journaling my prayers for a while around that time. It was basically free-writing what I was thinking and working through it with God. One day I wrote this:

“I often greatly overestimate my ability while I greatly underestimate my worth.”

Oof.

The truth is, I think I’m good at a lot of things.
But if I’m being honest with myself,
I’m probably just average at most of them.
Below average at some.

And that’s okay.
Because my worth was never supposed to come from what I do.

Every skill or talent I have could disappear tomorrow.
I’d still be just as valuable in God’s eyes.

The Lord is my shepherd.
When I really know Him,
that’s when I start to really know me.

If you’re feeling lost. If you feel like you’re not sure who you are without the classroom, the business, the stage, the sermons, the coaching, the field, the followers, or the memes (okay, we can always share memes ), you are not alone.

Those things might be part of your purpose,
but they have nothing to do with your value.

You are worthy of being loved and accepted.
Jesus proved that on the cross.

So maybe, just maybe, the best thing you could do this week is pause
and ask yourself,

“How does my Shepherd see me?”

You might be surprised by the answer.

My three-year-old had a full-on meltdown a few days ago. All because his banana broke in half.

I was already mid-scramble trying to get everyone out the door for the day.

Slinging backpacks over tiny shoulders,
stressing over an already overflowing email inbox,
staring at an early morning text that kicked me square in the teeth…

All this while now managing a tiny demon child who just became emotionally unglued over fruit.

Chaos.

I stopped,
took a deep breath,
and whispered to myself:
“Bird by Bird, buddy. Bird by Bird.”

This quick throwaway line from my beloved Ted Lasso has changed me. It’s been a seismic shift in how I approach each day. I had no clue what it meant the first time I watched. So, I did the only reasonable thing a millennial knows how to do.

I googled it.

I learned that “Bird by Bird” comes from Anne Lamott’s book of the same name. She tells a story about her brother who was overwhelmed by a school project on birds. She uses this memory to illustrate how big tasks are best handled one small piece at a time.

“Thirty years ago my older brother, who was ten years old at the time, was trying to get a report on birds written that he’d had three months to write, which was due the next day. We were out at our family cabin in Bolinas, and he was at the kitchen table close to tears, surrounded by binder paper and pencils and unopened books on birds, immobilized by the hugeness of the task ahead. Then my father sat down beside him, put his arm around my brother’s shoulder, and said, ‘Bird by bird, buddy. Just take it bird by bird.’”

— Anne Lamott, Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life (pp. 17–18)

Megan and I have related to Lamott’s brother more often than we’d like to admit this past year.

Work stress,
family issues,
endless to-do lists,
strained relationships,
and, frankly, a never-ending pile of laundry.

It all left us feeling “immobilized by the hugeness of the task ahead.”

I can’t tell you how many times Megan has chuckled sarcastically, looked at me, and asked, “What are we going to do?”

My answer is always the same: “Just take it bird by bird.”

Megan’s over it. Like eye-roll, deep sigh, walks away mid-sentence over it. But it’s still my go-to answer.

This mindset of doing the next small thing steadies me, even when the world feels like a slow-burning dumpster fire. It keeps me focused on what’s right in front of me and quiets the worries that often pile up and paralyze me.

One by one. Bit by bit. Bird by bird.

But Bird By Bird has done more than just help me manage my everyday chaos.

It has taught me that I can move forward. That I can make real progress. That I’m capable of accomplishing something meaningful even when the work is big and life feels heavy.

Bird by Bird is about breaking free from feeling like I’m stuck in neutral. It’s about believing that I can move forward even in the middle of the mess. It’s about realizing I may not be able to do everything, but I can do something.

I don’t have to have all the answers.
I just need to keep going.
Keep moving forward.
Day by day.
Bird by bird.

So if life feels heavy and you’re not sure where to start, in the spirit of Anne Lamott and Ted Lasso: “Bird by bird, buddy. Just take it bird by bird.”

Maybe you’re tired.
Tired of pretending.
Tired of trying to hold it all together.
Tired of hoping for something you’re not even sure is real.

Maybe you prayed and didn’t hear back.
Maybe the people who talked about grace didn’t offer much of it.
Maybe church became the place where you had to smile and act fine, even when you weren’t.

Maybe no one ever showed you who Jesus really was.
Maybe they just gave you a list of rules.
Or a long silence.
Or a judgmental look.

So you stopped showing up.
Or maybe you still show up, but you’re not sure why.
Maybe you want to believe again, but you don’t know where to start.

I get that.

I’ve carried my own questions.
I’ve drifted.
I’ve been let down by people who claimed to speak for God.

I’ve come close to walking away.
But I keep coming back to Jesus.

Not the one from the headlines or hashtags.
Not the one used to push guilt or shame.
Not the one people use to get rich or get votes.

I’m talking about the real one.
The one who fed the hungry.
Who touched the sick.
Who wept for his friends.
Who bent low to wash feet.
Who stayed kind when the crowd turned.
Who told the truth, even when it cost him everything.
Who didn’t reach for power.
Who laid down his life.

The one who didn’t stay dead.

If that’s true, and I believe it with everything I have, then maybe the story isn’t over.
Maybe there’s still hope. Even now.

You don’t have to be sure.
You don’t need the right words.
You don’t have to clean yourself up.

You can just say, “Jesus, I want to know if you’re real.”
He can work with that.

And if you try church again this weekend, or sometime down the road,
Look for honesty.
Look for kindness.
Look for Jesus.

Not the show. Not the shame.

Just Jesus.

He will still meet you where you are.
He still sees you, even when you feel invisible.
He still calls you by name, even when you’ve forgotten who you really are.

Just Jesus.

That’s all I’ve got.
But it’s been enough for me.
Maybe you’ll find He’s enough for you, too.