Every single time we went out to eat in the past, I caved and said to myself, "Ah, I can make it up tomorrow. Tomorrow is a new day." Not today. This afternoon, I stuck to the plan and made good choices, and for that stick-to-it-ness, I have only the Lord to thank.

Well, like Popeye, I can't stands no more! So yesterday, the wife and I hit the reset button. For me, this is round three. I suppose saying "try" isn't the most faithful mindset. Twice I’ve gone Keto. Twice I found success and dropped around 45 pounds. But twice, somewhere around month three or four, I let the old habits creep back into the galley. That’s the mindset that requires a hard to port.

It was Travis to the rescue, saving us from a night of chewing on leather. I’ve told him before, and maybe y'all could help me encourage him—that man needs to buy himself a food truck immediately, because he has serious, God-given skills.

Alfred was just one of the over 116,000 American service members who never got to return home and hug their families again. I never knew my great-uncle, and my dad never met him either (Alfred died 19 years before my dad was even born). As far as I know, he’s the only Bonnicksen to have served and not made it back alive. His young life was cut short so that the rest of us could live free.

Seeing a package of each in the icy depths, I took them out to thaw. Just one tiny problem: Miss Piggy was vacuum-sealed over four years ago. All I could say to that was a heavy, exasperated UFFDA! Truly, I was about to chuck 'em straight into the trash. But for giggles, I took a poll to see what the peanut gallery thought.

“I think life is like a long journey on a passenger train. We’re all on different journeys, yet we’re on the journey together. We all embarked at one station, and we’ll disembark at another; and along the way people will jump on board and join you for a while. At some point they might reach their destination before you and disembark, or perhaps they’ll be with you all the way to the end.”

My title kinda says it all; tonight I’m thankful for a random assortment of things: God laying to rest my paranoia, my daily bread (and pizza), life and breath in lungs, the rain, and so much more...

Knowing I couldn’t compete with Ricardo's serenade, I figured I'd catch her next week. I had every intention at that point of heading back to the office to bang out an article for the local newspaper since it’s my turn and all. But… there were two compositions I’ve been dying to snap; and being that it’s already been a long week, and it ain’t done, I decided to carve out a couple of hours for myself and go grab those gnarly shots.

Anyway, back to the title. Now that I have you drooling like a boxer over some warm monster cookies, let's get down to business. Today, the long-awaited box of cookies and crunchies finally arrived. Perhaps you’re wondering what flavors? Well, I’ll tell ya. The cookies are peanut butter and banana, made with oat flour. And the crunchies? Well, those are primarily...

Now, truly, Subway is certainly no Michelin-rated restaurant, but this young gal treated our fast-food footlongs like Michelin-star masterpieces. She took her time. She made sure everything was just perfect, making them look as if a commercial food stylist had prepped them for a photo shoot (you know, the folks who use motor oil for syrup and glue for milk—but I digress). Anyway, this kid’s got sammich skills that, who knows, just might take her places.

But here is the absurdity of grace: sometimes, gratitude is just the sheer, stubborn fact that you didn't lose your mind. I didn't pack a bag and walk off into the damp gray yonder. I just sighed while kicking my proverbial backside. I had to surrender to the absurdity of fighting gravity and losing so spectacularly.

They were as ready as read can be at their age. For the past 13-14 years, they’ve been relying on God’s good graces and their elders to carry them along in the faith. But after years of instruction and challenging their hearts and noggins, they’ve come into their own. – at least, the beninging of it. Today was the day they affirmed to God that they believe in Him.

Today was just another sharp reminder of how blessed we are to live where it’s peaceful and quiet, a place that hasn't been invaded by the chaos—at least, not yet. Thank you, Lord, for springing us from Crazy-town, USA. While rural living might not be for everyone, as I’ve alluded to before, the inmates in the asylum really don’t know what they’re missing.

I had no retort. No witty comeback. What could I say? Nutt’n! All’s I could do was look inward and say, “Yup, she’s right.” In that moment, I could take the wife’s correction and change my attitude, or I could’ve doubled down and stayed in “grumpy old man” mode.

For the past year, six Gen Alpha young teens have gathered together as our 2026 catechumens. Weekly, like a drill sergeant, I’d shout out “CREED,” and the kids would pop tall in their chairs and begin to recite the ancient statements of faith....

I can see some of you nodding in agreement right now. The “they” in question? That's us: the Boomers and Gen Xers—the alleged adults currently running the world. Today, I crossed paths with a couple of these folks who exemplified actual, genuine customer service. Why? Because for them, it’s just the way they were wired. They were taught that the “customer is always right” and service is a do-or-die proposition.

For the longest time, I just assumed he was one of the dads. He was the right age, and he seemed to know half the roster by name. He was cheering for everyone: “Good pitch! Great catch! Awesome slide!” His relentless positivity was infectious, managing to crack a smile on my wind-whipped face. I swiveled around and asked which of the dirt-covered athletes belonged to him. He smiled and replied, “Nope, not a dad; I’m just a church youth leader for a few of the boys.”

Tonight, I’m thankful God brought me through a time of healing so that the comfort I received could overflow to others. I recorded that video once, but its effects? They are residual. It has reached thousands of people who needed to hear they aren't alone.

Mom missed the exit for Toronto three times. Three times, I had to be the backseat driver: “Mom, the exit was back there.” By the fourth loop around I-90, Mom was losing her patience with herself, and I—a chip off the old block—had lost mine, too. I finally blurted out, “Listen to me, Mom! You gotta go THIS way. Turn NOW!”

Right now, nothing is flowing through my noodle other than the story on repeat this week: “Aliens are real and American pastors need to inform their churches so Christians don’t freak out.” No, that’s not a literal headline, but it’s a theme I’ve seen on a loop, repeat, repeat. No kidding. It’s everywhere.