Blog

Essays on grace, recovery, fatherhood, fly fishing and the odd business of starting over—usually with a knot in the line, a dented ego, a half-finished cup of coffee, and the faint suspicion that God has a better sense of humor than I do.


  • Trusting God When Things Are as Clear as Mud

    Trusting God for provision sounds lovely on paper. Like something you’d cross-stitch onto a pillow and place on a chair you never sit in. But in practice? It’s a bit more like trying to bake a soufflé without a recipe, ingredients, or an oven—just blind optimism and a whisk made of anxiety. The bills come

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  • Self-Sabotage and Other Olympic Events

    There’s this grating little narrator in my head who’s made a full-time career out of sabotage. He sounds like an anxious substitute teacher with a superiority complex—endlessly muttering things like, “Sure, try starting your business, but don’t come crying to me when you fail spectacularly and your childhood dentist hears about it.” Charming, right? He

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  • Brick by Brick, Breath by Breath

    Rebuilding your life after a chronic relapse feels a bit like renovating a house that’s already burned down—while you’re still living in it. You’re brushing your teeth in a sink that doesn’t drain– trying to “manifest stability” while the roof leaks shame and missed court dates. There’s the rubble: work you lost because you were

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  • Wrestling in Grace

    Grace rarely arrives through ease. More often, it is born in the middle of a spiritual wrestling match—bloody knuckled, breathless, and undone. When we engage in unconditional wrestling—a raw, persistent grappling with our doubts, our shame, our fears, and even with God Himself—we aren’t disqualified by the struggle. We’re transformed by it. Like Jacob at

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  • Amnesia and the Art of Forgetting the Come Down

    It’s remarkable, really, how quickly I can forget the come down. One minute I’m swearing off everything stronger than herbal tea, and the next I’m fondly reminiscing about the “good times” like some unreliable narrator in a Netflix docuseries titled How Did We Get Here Again? Recovery amnesia is sneaky. It doesn’t just erase the

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  • People Who Are Suffering Are Relatable

    There’s something oddly comforting about talking to someone whose life is also a hot mess. Not the curated kind of mess, either—the kind people post about with a sepia filter and a caption something like “healing era.” I mean the real thing. The kind where you forgot to pay a bill, cried in your car for reasons

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  • The Coyote Mindset

    Mark Twain’s description of the coyote in his book Roughing It is possibly the best metaphor for the feelings of isolation that often accompany personal growth. He calls the coyote a “long, slim, sick and sorry-looking skeleton, with a gray wolf-skin stretched over it.” Which, coincidentally, is exactly how I feel when in this season

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  • Welcome.

    I’ve reached the age where a man begins to look at his life the way one looks at a garage that was supposed to be cleaned out three summers ago. There are useful things in here, no doubt. There are treasures. There are stories. There are also some broken lawn chairs, a box of mystery

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