Not just the big moments, but the small turns. The conversations you almost forgot. The doors that opened briefly and quietly before closing again.

Lately I’ve found myself thinking about a few of those doorways.

One takes me back to high school when a drummer from our school band asked me to sing lead vocals in his heavy metal band.

Even now, that sentence makes me laugh a little.

I said no, of course.

Truthfully, I’m not even sure why. Maybe I was cautious about the crowd he ran with. Maybe I worried where all that might lead. Or maybe I simply didn’t trust myself enough to step into something that uncertain.

Then another memory surfaced.

And yet over the last few days, I found myself needing to write one anyway.

Maybe because retirement has a way of making you look backward with softer eyes.

Or maybe because some memories take decades before you finally understand what you were really seeing.

I have a bit of a reputation.

Not for great pitch.

Not for knowing all the words.

But for… confidently singing the wrong lyrics.

For years—years—I thought Forever in Blue Jeans by Neil Diamond was called:

“Reverend Blue Jeans.”

I sang it that way. Loudly. Repeatedly. Usually in the car… windows up, thankfully.

And honestly… it kind of worked.

“Reverend Blue Jeans” sounds like someone you’d trust.

Not flashy. Not polished. Just… present.

A pastor who shows up in denim.

I had a hard time pinpointing just what it was because it was coming from a different place...a different source.

This hope didn't come from what was happening out there:

the news reports, the election results,

or whether or not our leaders will somehow get it together and make peace.

This hope was quieter. It came from something closer.

you’re going to see shoes.

One hundred sixty-eight pairs.

But here’s the thing—

they won’t just be placed there.

They will be brought.

There’s something about coming through Good Friday into Easter that never quite gets old.

I’ve walked that road more times than I can count now.

The shadows. The silence. The questions that hang in the air like fog.

And then…

the light.

The name spoken.

The surprise of life where we thought there was only loss.

This year felt different.

There’s a crack of the bat, the smell of the grass, the feeling that maybe—just maybe—this is the year everything comes together.

And when it does? When the ball clears the fence?

That’s my kind of joy.

Touchdown joy.

Home run joy.

The kind that shows up when the result goes your way.

I’ve lived a lot of my life there.

And then there’s Julio Rodriguez.

One morning I woke up to the sound of them fighting. Not just arguing. Really fighting. Voices raised. Bodies moving into “stand off!” position! High noon at the McBride corral! The kind of tension that makes a younger kid lie still for a moment and wonder what to do.

I was scared.

And if I’m honest, I was a little bit of a tattletale.

So I went and told Mom. She brought my brothers in and had a sit-down with them. The lecture was delivered. Justice had been served—at least from my point of view.

But then I had a new problem.

Wars rage across borders. Cities crumble under bombs. Families are scattered. The fragile structures that generations have tried to build—institutions meant to protect human dignity and restrain the worst instincts of power—are being tested and, in some places, deliberately torn down.

We keep moving — finishing one task, solving one problem, carrying one more responsibility — rarely stopping long enough to ask what all this running is doing to our souls.

There is a moment near the end of the film Forrest Gump when Forrest, after running across the country for years, simply stops. No dramatic music. No grand speech. He turns to the people who have been running behind him and says, almost casually, “I’m pretty tired. I think I’ll go home now.”

And that’s it.

No explanation. No achievement unlocked. Just a human being realizing he doesn’t need to keep running.

One night my dad went to bed early and, as a joke, turned himself around so his feet were on the pillow and his head was at the foot of the bed. When my mom came in, she followed her nightly ritual — leaning over to give him a gentle kiss goodnight.

Only this time, she kissed his feet.

The funny thing came next.

She didn’t even notice.

Not to fix anything.

Not to judge.

Just to notice.

It’s a way of asking a simple question: am I actually here? Or am I about to step into the world performing a version of myself I’ve learned to play?

Lately it feels like something similar is happening at a much larger scale. As if, through certain stories that keep resurfacing — the Epstein situation being one of them — we’re being made to stand still long enough to look at ourselves again. Not individually this time, but collectively. As a nation.

One of the fascinating aspects of football these days is the challenge flag! What,!?! you mean you can challenge a referee’s call!?!? That was unheard of in my day! Challenging a referee’s call got you one thing back in my prime…kicked out of the game!

Listen to hear more!

Unlock Your Story

With guest pianist, 12yo Tiffany Aditya.

Las Posadas is celebrated in cities and towns across Mexico. Each evening during the festival, a small child dressed as an angel leads a procession through the streets of the town. The procession is primarily made up of children dressed in silver and gold robes carrying lit candles and images of Mary and Joseph riding a donkey. Adults, including musicians, follow the procession, which visits selected homes and asks for lodging for Joseph and Mary. Traditionally, the procession is always refused lodging, though the hosts often provide refreshments. At each stop, passages of scripture are read and Christmas carols are sung. (Definition provided by Brittanica.com)

Join us as we appreciate and take in the lessons of the words of Paul and apply them through our own instincts, and not through our hearts and minds. Announcements: Blessing of the Backpacks - Sunday, September 10th! Bring your backpacks to be blessed for the start of the new school year! Block Party - Sunday, September 10th! The Seahawks game will be presented on a 20' screen for all to watch, games will be available for the kids who come along! Bake Sale - During the Block Party, bring any and all homecooked baked goods! Money raised goes to help the Riverton Park UMC Refugee Services. Worship Leader/Liturgy Training - Sunday, September 17th. Hosted by Will after worship. Go Deeper: Finding a Third Way in Divisive Times - Sunday, September 24th. Hosted by Pastor Brook and Dave O. after worship. Brews with Brook - Sunday, September 24th from 5 - 7pm at Black Raven Brewery in Woodinville. Fall Marriage Class Oct 22.