Faithfulness

Faithfulness

When May hits, Sarah and I find ourselves absolutely wiped out. Life, work, church, a dog… I feel like I’m forgetting something… oh yeah, raising our kids. It’s like running a marathon where every step is good, every step matters, but every step also drains you. You’re further down the road, but something’s been poured out. Even elite ultra-runners eventually hit a wall where they just can’t keep putting one foot in front of the other.

Then summer hits.

The first few days of summer feel like stepping into a completely different world. We’re no longer waking up before sunrise, no longer sprinting from school to after-school activities to homework to that never-ending evening routine. No more late night cramming in extra work, replying to emails, prepping for Bible study, and collapsing into bed just so we can do it all again the next day. Suddenly, those days are gone.

For a few brief moments, summer feels like slower mornings, no strict schedule, no hustle.

But then… late July arrives.

21 Years Ago

21 Years Ago

21 years ago this week, I traveled up to the St. Louis area from my summer job to hang out with Sarah and her family for the Fourth of July. At that point, Sarah and I had only been on one date at the start of the summer… then she promptly left town for four weeks. (She actually went to the Emerald Coast, which felt a bit personal. I didn’t think our date went that badly—but apparently, she needed a month and a coastline to recover.)

13 Years Ago

13 Years Ago

Thirteen years ago, Sarah was nine months pregnant in a high-risk pregnancy with our son, Foster. We didn’t know the gender and hadn’t picked a name yet, so we just referred to the baby as… well, “Baby.”

Our friends were convinced we should name him “Steven Danger Beard.” (We did not.)

We had been trying to have a child for over five years, and only later discovered that Sarah had some health issues that made pregnancy especially difficult. Doctors told us the baby would undoubtedly come early. So, we were on high alert—weekly appointments, bags packed, life in a holding pattern, anxiously waiting.

Revisionist History

Revisionist History

21 years ago, I was helping out this college girl everyone called “Welker” with a music event. She sang. I played guitar and sang badly. After rehearsal, we decided to check out this musician on campus for the May Day celebration.

We wandered over and listened to Howie Day sing Collide. Less than a month later, I awkwardly asked Welker if she wanted to grab coffee. I said, “I’ll pay”—which I figured was obviously code for this is a date…but apparently, she didn’t get the memo.

Worth It.

Worth It.

I love a good story.  I love great film and television.  I’m a terrible reader when it comes to fiction, but I love the beautiful narrative of biographies and non-fiction.  Try to imagine something…and I struggle, but real people in real history, I’m hooked.

Most of us find that we love a good story.  We always have.  This is why people sat around fires sharing stories of the past, why we love when older family members tell the tales of when they were young, why we are often drawn to incredible stories based on actual events, why we love to get together with old friends and retell that time that one thing happened.

We love a good story.