From Strollers to Moving Bags

Time doesn’t always move the way we think it does. Sometimes it drifts, quiet and unnoticed, until one day you realize years have slipped by while you were busy living small, ordinary moments.

I was out walking the other night, taking my usual loop around the neighborhood, when a couple came toward me pushing a stroller. Not the upright kind with snack trays and dangling toys, but the kind that holds a car seat, clicked into place so the baby faces the parent. The baby was fast asleep, completely unaware of the world rolling past.

I smiled, and they smiled back. I passed them with the kind of glance you give when you recognize the chapter someone’s in because you’ve lived it too.

Because I used to be them.

Not in some sentimental, metaphorical way. Actually. Literally.

I walked this same loop with a stroller. I walked it with babies who spit out pacifiers and pulled off their tiny socks like offerings to the pavement, who giggled at passing dogs and flailed their little arms at birds in flight. I walked it with toddlers who had more questions than the world had answers. I walked it in flip flops, in boots, in the kind of weather that turns your breath into fog.

And now, next Friday, I’ll pack up my youngest child, no longer small and no longer sleeping in a stroller, and drive her across the state to move her into her university dorm room.

It catches in my chest, how quickly it all passed. As if those years were just one quiet loop around the neighborhood.

Of course, they weren’t. They were school projects, gluten-free birthday cakes, and slime-making marathons. They were camping trips, piano lessons and soccer games, cross country meets and quick stops at Big Foot Java for energy drinks. They were laughter (and sometimes arguments) so loud it rattled the walls, and quiet dinners when no one quite knew what to say. They were a thousand Wednesdays and Thursdays that added up to something holy.

I think we imagine life will be made of grand events, but it rarely is. Most of it is made in small portions. Like manna. Just enough for today. No leftovers, no storing it up for tomorrow. Just this moment, this mile, this meal. Forever is composed of nows, as Dickinson put it. And I think she was right.

And while it’s true that I wish it hadn’t gone by so quickly, I also know I wouldn’t trade any of it. Even the hard parts, even the quiet frustrations and missteps. Because all of it was threaded with grace.

There’s a verse I’ve always loved, tucked away in Ecclesiastes: “God has made everything beautiful in its time.” That word in matters. Not after its time, or looking back on its time, but in it. Which means there was beauty right there in the middle of the mess and motion, even when I couldn’t see it yet.

I see it now.

So no, I didn’t miss it. Not all of it. I held many of those moments close in my heart. I whispered thanks under my breath more often than anyone knew. I tried to walk slowly through the middle, not just race toward the finish line.

And here I am again, walking. But now the scenery looks different. The stroller has been traded for six extra large zippered moving bags. The baby has grown into a college student with ideas and dreams and an Amazon wish list.

Still, I believe there are more moments to come. A new season full of firsts. Of new kinds of walks and talks and quiet miracles. Maybe even a few that will take place around this same neighborhood loop.

The road to Emmaus comes to mind. That quiet walk where Jesus showed up beside two weary travelers, unrecognized, until their eyes were opened. I think about that sometimes. How He walks with us, unnoticed, through the ordinary. Through neighborhoods and nightfall, through coming and going, through strollers and zippered moving bags alike.

Maybe that’s what I’m learning. Or maybe it’s what I keep learning as I get older. That the sacred is almost always hidden in the slow, unnoticed steps. That the miracle is in the middle.

So I’ll keep walking. One loop at a time.

A Father's Day Meditation

Father’s Day always feels like a knot I carry in my chest.
Not unbearable, just there—
tight with memory and mystery.
Because I didn’t grow up with a dad around.
Not really.
He was gone when I was still small enough to believe
that everyone had someone to build their pinewood derby car with.

So when I became a father,
I walked into it with empty hands.
No blueprint, no model—
just love, a little fear, and a prayer
that grace could build what history left undone.

With my three kids,
it’s been everything—
laughter echoing down hallways,
arguments over nothing and everything,
trips to the ER,
inside jokes that still make us laugh,
text messages that leave a lump in my throat.

I’ve watched them come alive—
in their passions, their questions, their becoming.
And I’ve watched them come undone.
Sometimes both in the same week.

There’s a kind of dying that comes with parenting—
the slow surrender of control,
of certainty,
of being able to fix what hurts.
You watch them become their own people,
and you ache—
not because you want them to stay small,
but because you love them so fiercely,
you feel it in your bones.

But there’s joy, too—
the quiet kind that sneaks up on you.
When you catch a glimpse of their courage.
Or watch them comfort a friend.
Or hear them speak truth with a voice
that’s somehow both familiar and entirely their own.

I’ve made mistakes.
Things I’d do differently if I had the chance.
But I also know this:
love covered more ground than I thought it would.
God filled in more cracks than I ever could.

These days I pray more.
Not just the “protect them” prayers,
but the “form them” ones—
shape them, Lord,
even if it’s hard.

And somewhere in the quiet,
I hear the echo of the Father I never had
but always needed—
the one who never left,
never flinched,
never withheld.

So today,
I hold the ache and the hallelujah.
I carry both.
Because being a dad
has wounded me in the holiest of ways.
And it’s also lit up corners of my heart
I didn’t know existed.

What a gift.
What a wonder.
What a grace.

An immovable tradition

“The habit quickly morphed into an immovable tradition, with Ken joking that a school-style written note of absence is necessary for anyone who dares bail without good reason, although one member of the group is legitimately absent this week due to a holiday.” (David Spereall, BBC Yorkshire, The Mates Who Have Met for a Pint Every Thursday for 56 Years)

This is a short excerpt from an article about a group of men who have met together weekly for 56 years. The phrase that really captured me in the quote above is the fact that these men (who are now in their 80s) have had an “immovable tradition” for that long. And it is that immovable tradition that has cultivated what must be (aside from their spouses) the most significant relationships they have.

I enjoyed reading the article but I have to be honest; I found myself feeling exposed and maybe even a little jealous. I wished that I had those types of relationships in my life. The reality is that I find myself in my mid-50s not really having any friends. Sure, I know a lot of people that I’m friendly with and I enjoy their company when I see them but there isn’t anyone who is my default, “let’s go hang out and grab a meal or go for a hike” type of guy. And I don’t have anyone like that reaching out to me. Back in the day when my kids were younger and we were always so busy as a family with the kids’ activities, I didn’t really notice it. But, now that the kids are older and pursuing their own interests independently from us, I’ve been faced with the stark reality that I haven’t really cultivated any friendships over the past 20 years.

I need to consider what I do about that. I’ve tried reaching out to a couple guys in the neighborhood over the past year to connect for coffee or to grab some food. They seemed open to the idea but the thing I run up against is that most people already have their groups established and it’s difficult to break through the established circle of friends. At this point, my only social outlet is as a couple with my wife. I certainly don’t mind that and the couples we get together with all enjoy each other. But, while the ladies have deep connections and spend lots of time together, we guys only connect when the wives pull us together. We never get together just us guys.

But, I can’t feel too sorry for myself. Because as I take stock, I have to acknowledge that I do have my own immovable tradition. For the past 18 years, I’ve connected with a friend for coffee every week. Well, almost every week. Sometimes travel and work schedules or the occasional illness get in the way. Over the years we’ve met on different days, at different times, and at different locations. Currently, we meet every Friday at 8:30 a.m. at our local coffee shop. It’s something I look forward to as it’s one of my only outlets for true connection. An opportunity to get out of the house (a nice break for someone who works from home), enjoy a good cup of coffee, have interesting and sometimes challenging conversations, and at the end I leave for home feeling known. For now, maybe that’s good enough.

Today is the day! Heading to my first “Drawing for Beginners” class at the local college. I’m curious to see what other 50-somethings are also taking advantage of the continuing education class catalog.

Learning something new in 2025

New Year’s Day was mostly a quiet, lazy one for me—nothing special, just some time to relax. But I did manage to do something that feels a little bit monumental: I signed up for a Drawing for Beginners class at the local college. It’s one of their Continuing & Community Education classes, which means it’s low-stakes and open to anyone who just wants to learn something new.

Now, here’s the thing: this is not something I would have done for myself in the past. For most of my life, I’ve been the guy behind the scenes—the husband, the dad, the one who holds down the fort while everyone else chases their dreams and explores their interests. And I’ve been happy to play that role, truly. But lately, I’ve started to wonder what it would be like to do something just for me. It’s taken a while to shake the idea that doing so would be “selfish,” but this class feels like a small step in that direction.

I’ve always wanted to learn how to draw. Not because I have some grand plan to be the next Picasso—trust me, I don’t. It’s just something I’ve always thought would be fun to do. That said, I’m horrendous at it right now. Any game that involves drawing—Pictionary, Telestrations—has me practically breaking out in a sweat. My stick figures look like they’re having a bad day. But I’m not signing up to become amazing; I’m signing up to give myself permission to be a beginner.

At first, I thought about teaching myself at home. A sketchpad, some pencils, and YouTube tutorials—it would’ve been cheaper and easier to fit into my schedule. But then I realized the bigger appeal of an in-person class: it gets me out of the house. For someone who works from home, exercises in a garage gym, and generally spends a lot of time in his own bubble, the idea of walking into a classroom full of strangers felt oddly… exciting. And maybe a little intimidating, too.

The class starts in a couple of weeks, but I’m already equipped with everything I need, thanks to my oldest daughter. When she asked me what I wanted for Christmas, I saw an opportunity. I sent her a list of the required class supplies—a sketchpad, graphite and charcoal pencils, erasers, and a sharpener. On Christmas morning, I unwrapped the whole set, and there it was: my not-so-subtle push to stop procrastinating, get comfortable with being uncomfortable, and sign up for the class.

Those supplies sat on my desk for a week, almost daring me to take the next step. Yesterday, I finally did it. I logged onto the college’s website, created an account, and hit “register.” It felt like crossing some invisible line—one where I could say, “Yeah, this is for me.”

So here I am, about to try something new at 54 years of age, and I’m equal parts nervous and excited. I don’t know if I’ll be any good at drawing, and honestly, I don’t care. What matters to me is that I’m doing something I’ve always wanted to do, and I’m doing it for no other reason than it makes me happy. That feels pretty good.

Wrapping up 2024

A significant theme of 2024 was my health and its negative impact on my daily quality of life. Reviewing my personal journal, I estimate that 25-30% of the year was spent feeling unwell, unable to pursue the activities or lifestyle I prefer. After 15 years of living with a chronic disease, the greatest challenge remains the mental and emotional toll of not being able to live the way I truly desire. Because of this, I will continue to make my health a focus in the year ahead. Specifically, and despite the fact I’m already very proactive about optimizing my well-being, my focus for the year ahead will be ensuring I sleep and rest better. I’ve only been getting between 4-6 hours of sleep each night and I’d like to bump this up to 6-8. If there is one success metric I will track in the year ahead, this is one of them.

Despite my health challenges, I was fortunate to still enjoy some experiences and memorable moments throughout the year. Things like attending Seattle Kraken games with the family, getting dressed up for the Kentucky Derby and heading to our local racetrack with a group of friends, a trip to Hawaii, and some great hikes and kayak trips.

I also enjoyed cheering my kids on and celebrating some of their milestones and accomplishments this year. My youngest graduated from high school, started her first job and is taking classes at the local college. My oldest daughter (our middle child) decided that she wants to pursue becoming a firefighter and has pursued it with passion, successfully passing her physical and written tests and in the thick of interviews. My oldest is about to finish up his two-year transfer degree while also working part-time and is spending his winter break submitting applications to universities. It’s exciting to see them all establishing some momentum as they head into a new year.

I didn’t make as much time for reading this year as I would have liked. I ended up reading about twenty books total but the few that stand out include:

I didn’t watch many movies this year but I did enjoy a few series on streaming. In particular, I enjoyed:

One thing for sure is that the older I get the faster time seems to pass. I hope to take some time tomorrow to reflect on the year ahead but for now I need to muster enough energy to make an appearance at a NYE party so that I’m not always “that guy” who never feels well enough to join in. Not sure how late I’ll stay but I’m committed to at least show up.

Happy New Year! 🥳🥂

Our cultural attachment to our phones, she says, is paradoxically both destroying our ability to be bored, and preventing us from ever being truly entertained.

“We’re trying to swipe and scroll the boredom away, but in doing that, we’re actually making ourselves more prone to boredom, because every time we get our phone out we’re not allowing our mind to wander and to solve our own boredom problems,” Mann says, adding that people can become addicted to the constant dopamine hit of new and novel content that phones provide. “Our tolerance for boredom just changes completely, and we need more and more to stop being bored.”

A quote from Sandi Mann, a senior psychology lecturer at the University of Central Lancashire in the U.K. as well as the author of The Upside of Downtime: Why Boredom Is Good.

Although a relatively older article, I’m always looking for insights from credible sources that effectively back up what my kids have been hearing from me for years.

I’m using my phone to scan the notes and handmade cards I’ve received from my kids over the years. Even though I now have a digital copy of everything, I’m still having a hard time putting the physical copy in the recycling bin. Does anyone else struggle with this? Any encouragement you can offer?

It’s interesting how the scope expands so easily. Yesterday, I started thinking about getting a bike and budgeting for that and now I am thinking I also need to get a trailer hitch installed on my car to accommodate the new bike rack that I’ll also need to purchase. 💸

Embracing a new adventure! 🚴‍♀️ My bum knee and aching joints have convinced me that running doesn’t enjoy me. So, I’ve swapped my sneakers for a stationary bike. But I miss the fresh air! I’m considering investing in a bike—maybe a gravel bike? 🤔 Any seasoned cyclists out there? I’m all ears!