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.

I don’t know if I’ve ever told her this—she’s probably reading this now—but I admire her for pressing through her struggles. They’re real, and people who stay in the fight come out stronger in the end. I’m pretty sure the Apostles talked about that—about having spiritual endurance and all. To the Romans, the Apostle Paul wrote....

By midafternoon, I had wrapped up my visits. My brain said, "Back to the office, Jason. There are emails to ignore and a sermon to begin fretting over." But a smaller, more insistent voice whispered: "Detour? You’ve never actually seen Albion Lutheran. Let’s let Siri lead the way."

As I pondered the article, I wondered how I’d react if I were the surprised homeowner. A man, born 41 years ago with the same potential as anyone else, broke into a home only to find shelter and food. Perhaps he felt as though no one cared about him in a world where we’re so quick to toss anything to the curb—sometimes including the "dregs" of society.

But one minor interruption aside, I awoke this morning well-rested, actually beating the alarm clock to the punch for once. I think far too often I take a good night’s sleep for granted. I’ve probably written about this before—with this being Day 156, who knows? I might be repeating myself, but at 57, that’s practically my prerogative. In all seriousness, the quality of your sleep (or lack thereof) changes the entire trajectory of your day.

Sitting across from my wife tonight at supper, I finally just leaned back and said, “It’s been one of those days, ya know? I’m trying really hard to find something to be thankful for, but I feel like I’m coming up short.” Danielle just sat there, quiet, giving me that knowing nod. She didn't need a recap. She’d already lived through two of the three reasons my head was spinning, and she’d heard the play-by-play of the third on our drive home.

Jesus knew that food is the ultimate equalizer. It brings us together, but the sweet, sticky stuff that actually keeps us together isn't just the BBQ sauce. It’s love. It’s friendship. It’s the kind of grace that doesn't care if you've got sauce on your chin. We need more of this. We need to find a reason—any reason—to fire up the grill and invite someone over. In hindsight, I should’ve done this tonight. We had plenty on the table, with a full rack to spare.

As we sat there chatting over the remains of our lunch, my mind drifted to "America’s Pastime." I haven't followed the Twins closely in years, but man, I miss the atmosphere of a live game. It’s just such a great time with the family, isn't it? Most years when we lived in Toledo, we made it a point to catch a Mudhens game. For us, it was never really about the box score; half the time we didn’t even know the players' names. It was about the time spent with our girls, chillin

Let me tell ya, that first go at Bessie’s brisket didn’t turn out half-bad. In fact, it was downright delicious. The dogs gave their enthusiastic seal of approval. Now, I just need to go buy Bessie’s bestie and give it another whirl. But before that, I’ve got plans for the leftovers: burnt ends and brisket nachos. Oh yeah! If you’re a BBQ aficionado, you know that’s the real prize