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Friday, October 16, 2026

This is the third time I've sat down to write. The first two times I didn't get further than a line or two. I hope the silence hasn't been interpreted as not caring. It definitely hasn't been because my mind is blank.

On the contrary, my thoughts have been racing a relay, handing the baton off repeatedly without a finish line.

My soul is full of things to unpack. That's usually the source of this writing. But maybe that's the struggle. I'm full of things I haven't taken the time to untangle. It's a jumble of good and bad, a mix of understanding and blindness.

Usually I'm able to dive in when I connect what I'm experiencing with some truth. I'm sure there's one here.

But before I try to turn this feeling of overwhelm into a tidy message—my way of coping at times—let's just be here for a minute.

Why So Restless?

Why is the heart downcast sometimes for no reason I can understand? Why does an answered prayer sometimes just let me focus on my next request? Why is my soul so restless? What's happening when my mind is wandering and my hands are accomplishing a million things except the one I think I should have done?

Paul described the struggle of doing what he doesn't want to do and failing to do what he wants.

Nobody wants to choke when it counts.

But doesn't it count all the time?

If our character is tested in the big moments, then it's being built in all the small ones. One right, hard thing, done for the right reason at the right time, again and again.

But who can keep it up?

And then I'm faced with responding the right way to my mess-ups so I don't get stuck there.

This may sound like rambling. That's exactly what life feels like sometimes.

Looking for Something

Have you ever tried to find something you dropped in a field? I remember losing my GI Joe when I was about three years old.

These days I like to repair my own phones when something breaks. Those screws are tiny. Even though I use a magnetic mat with a diagram to keep everything organized, there's almost always one tiny screw that hops away, usually when I'm putting the device back together.

Most of the time I eventually find it sitting on the floor in the open. It can be right in front of you, and you don't see it until you see it.

Now imagine searching for something unfamiliar. You don't know what it looks like. Worse, you don't even know what it is.

Imagine you've never seen one, and you can't know what it looks like until you do.

How do you describe color to someone who has never seen?

Searching can be confusing at times.

And isn't it strange that with all the wisdom and intelligence humanity has accumulated, we still have such a hard time just being kind or patient?

Think of everything we've discovered in mathematics, engineering, the arts, computer technology, brain science, bioengineering, and artificial intelligence. Yet we still haven't gotten a handle on pride. We trip every day over the love of money, lust for power, and disdain for thankless service.

I can do good things all day long, but what good does that do me if I'm not at peace?

I get angry at the dumbest stuff. Trifles. Little things I wouldn't even bother mentioning here.

It takes less to push me into frustration than I'd like to admit. And then I wonder, how did I get here? Aren't I better, more patient, kinder, more loving than this?

I know I'm stronger than this. Better than this.

I'm not.

There is Someone better. And there's me, in need of a guide.

Better, But Not Easier

Faith walking is a daily surrender, right? Each step takes us further, but that doesn't necessarily mean it gets easier.

Better, but not easier.

It's about knowing the Master more than mastery.

What's good for us right now is encountering grace even while we're pursuing perfection. God and His kingdom are both now and not yet. We hope, wait, and live it out simultaneously.

What if putting one foot in front of the other is an act of faith we ought to appreciate sometimes?

What about forgiving the annoyance of a family member or neighbor? That might tear down a stronghold of the enemy. And maybe it also builds my character one small, hard thing at a time.

David didn't suddenly become courageous when he stood before Goliath. He was the son who faithfully cared for his father's sheep, fighting lions and bears when nobody was watching, before he stood up to a giant when everyone was watching.

But I keep coming back to wanting things to get better.

Better family interactions, a better partnership and love life, better ministry. And that comes back to starting with a better Sam.

I want to become better. I want to manage everything well. But the truth is, I have a hard time releasing control.

I want to be able to do it all. I won't need help. I can prove how capable I am.

Part of me is being crushed under the weight of all these responsibilities, and I'm resisting it.

And all the while, I'm distracted from loving people one at a time.

The Best Part of My Day

Today was hard. I've been feeling overwhelmed by the sheer number of things to do and the reality that there's just not enough of me to do them all.

And all day long my little boy Obadiah kept climbing up on me.

He'd slide one little arm behind my back, pat my chest with the other hand, and say, "I wuv woo daaad."

Again and again.

I noticed. I responded. But I was also so frustrated with him today. He wouldn't listen and seemed to be getting into the snacks every ten minutes.

Only now, sitting here writing, is it really sinking in.

I almost missed the most beautiful thing that happened today.

My little boy loves me.

He thinks about me and sees me and loves me.

And I wonder how much of the most beautiful thing happening in my life I'm missing when I'm wrapped up in everything I think I need to accomplish.

I'm treasured by God. I preach that. I believe that. I pray that people would know how much He loves them—not just understand, but experience a love that transforms them.

But here I am, restless, a little irritable, overwhelmed, struggling to receive the very love I want everyone else to know.

Obi cannot be ruled. But he can love and be loved.

I imagine becoming someone totally secure, who has room in his heart for people and their messiness. Someone whose security and identity aren't threatened when others refuse to be told.

That's the kind of husband, father, and pastor I want to become.

It's hard to see a clear path to becoming that man. There's a feeling about it, but not so much a vision. I think it's more of realization than actualization.

And maybe that's part of what I'm searching for.

Therefore I Will Remember You

Psalm 42 gives words to a troubled soul:

"Why are you downcast, O my soul? Why the unease within me?"

And then, just a little further, the psalmist says something remarkable:

"My soul is cast down within me;
therefore I remember you."

He doesn't understand everything that's going on, even in himself, but he chooses to remember God.

When my soul is having the internal struggle, I stop looking within and look up.

Sometimes hope doesn't come from knowing how things will work out, but from knowing who is working them out.

Maybe my soul's feet are just a little tired.

Am I looking for something without knowing its shape or size? Am I supposed to keep wandering here because the Master is already near?

Slow movement. Searching. Not knowing.

You may feel stuck, but it's not forever.

I've been hoping that all this writing will someday lead somewhere worth going back and compiling. Maybe a great book. But even that becomes part of the struggle. Wanting this moment to become something significant rather than settling into the fact that right now I need God.

I don't have everything figured out. I haven't become the man I want to be. And I don't even know exactly how to get there.

But tonight I remember Him.

I think about Obi climbing into my lap today. His little arm around my back. His hand patting my chest.

"I wuv woo daaad."

He loves me like Jesus does. And I'm staying right here and letting that sink in. God. I love you dad.