Category: Stories

Like a Good Neighbor

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Written 11/09/2025

It’s a crisp autumn night as I overlook a neighborhood that, at the moment, resembles a bowl of Fruity Pebbles. I guess that’s what happens when severe weather strikes during peak foliage season. Rivers of color up ahead and flowing on sideroads across the subdivision. A bizarre spectacle as I pen these thoughts.

To be honest, I’m not okay right now. When a neighbor whose dog viciously attacked one of my boys last February cusses out my older two for cleaning up debris 15-20 yards from his property and demands I “move the f***” away”, how can you not be jolted? Dude, your dog almost killed my son. We relocated ours for healing and trauma counseling. The dust has settled. Move on. We have no intention to invade. Let life happen. Don’t curse my kids.

Of course, I keep the struggle internal and swiftly comply. But deep down, I’m livid. Just 15 hours prior, I had pulled over in my in-laws’ subdivision to ride out a storm, hazards flaring, my upper half documenting. For the first 10 minutes, everything is fine, my awe struck at the scene of one of the most impressive, hail-laden downpours I’ve ever seen.

That’s when an older gentleman with an umbrella walks out to my passenger door. Instead of asking if I was okay, he stoops down and yells, “What the hell are you doing?” Without any official storm-chasing designation, I stumble into my explanation, though emphasizing my place on public property. “What is your reason for being here? Is there somewhere else you can go?” Annoyed at the mere existence of this exchange, I conclude with a defiant, “Absolutely!” I turn the key and drive away, a tough shrug-n-go at first, but digestible upon realizing the man lives in literal darkness every night. Lord knows the reason behind such crabby cantankerousness. Honestly, I should feel bad for the man.

Fast-forward to this morning and I’m feeling it in the wake of another brutal interlude. That piece of you that prefers some faith in humanity, it’s fading with the wind knocked out. Discouraged, I return to my pile of downed limbs and trampoline shrapnel. That’s when something remarkable happens. Only 15 minutes later, a stranger in a tan pickup pulls up to my driveway and asks if I need any help. Surprised, yet amused at the poetic symmetry of the moment, I welcome the assistance and process the intel. After recently moving from the upper Midwest, this younger gentleman, who wore the part through his swagger and 220-lb frame, confessed how he had been jonesing for a situation like this in which he could contribute mass relief. For the next 20 minutes, we hauled a healthy load, even swung on some stubborn maple and oak limbs, loosening them before their saw-off. Caeden as my witness, we had a grand time. Such serendipity, you couldn’t have timed it better.

As my new neighbor drove off, I couldn’t help but yearn for a healthy calibration of what I’d just experienced. A few years into our move, Lys and I took a similar approach to our neighbors around the holidays. We were intentional in our giving, made efforts to share goodness, especially in our December dealings; however, post-COVID/post-Juju, we started to slack off a bit, more cynical and protective in light of stranger times. Sometimes, you wish you could just go back before the drama and find a way to bypass it. Just one tweak there, and the whole trajectory changes. Less mess and way less fallout.

But sometimes, all you have to do is consider the script you wish was imminent without the mulligan and pray into the next steps. For me, the truth is, the type of gusto I show during planned storm chases and disaster relief meetings— when I set out not only to track nature’s worst but also to help people in the path — should not be confined to the planned, but even more so, the unplanned. After all, random acts of kindness aren’t just for outreach-friendly entities. They are for every man on call for any situation. ‘Tis the silver lining any time chaos and crisis come knocking at our door and/or the one next door.

So as I bid this day adieu, I’m taking in the daily narrative. Like a heartening State Farm ad, not only is my faith in ‘good neighbor’ restored, but my hope in being the type of person I want to be more consistently.

I know I’ve said it before, but I’ll say it again: The Lord knows exactly what we need, when we need it; hence, why we must adhere to the hope of glory we carry within so we can spark it within spontaneous generosity. We got this! Together, we will get there.

Selah.

Graphic cover creds: Dreamstime

I Am Sam: Sometimes Love is All You Need

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Written 9/10/09; revised 11/13/24

Last Saturday, as I waited to board a flight to Seattle, a heartbreaking scene unfolded outside my gate entrance. Taking a last-minute call, my eyes beheld a young boy sobbing profusely as he clenched his father’s jacket. Processing the scene, it wasn’t long before the situation became clear.

The dad, slightly greasy and decorated with tattoos, emanated the type of vibe a father shows when lacking relational depth – his emotional aroma more melancholy than anguish, as if time and circumstances had numbed the grief. Watching tears stream down his son’s face, I couldn’t help but crack. The pure yet raw emotion of the instant captured a snapshot I will never forget.

Moments later, as I searched for a window seat, I saw the boy a few rows in front of me. I heard a flight attendant utter his name, “Sam” with a tender tone. Apparently, she was not only aware of his flying status but also the distress he was in.

Passing Sam by, he appeared stunned, glued to the back of his seat with eyes still bloodshot.

“God, I hate divorce. I hate it, I hate it, hate it,” was all I could internalize.

Overwhelmed by the visual, I pushed my seat back and began to drift.

An hour later, I woke up to find an astonishing sight. Cruising by the aisles was Sam, who had decided to assist one of the flight attendants in serving snacks to the rest of the passengers. Once subdued, Sam’s demeanor had completely transformed. Perhaps he was reminded of something positive or received an encouraging word. Whatever the case, Sam’s rapid conversion was nothing short of inspiring.

Sensing Jesus in the moment, my perspective started to change. While my disdain for divorce was still fresh in my periphery, I couldn’t help but voice gratitude for how God was using the love of strangers to multiply the sentiment. Often, we simmer when we emotionally attach to the victim of a tragic situation. We consider the sufferer and misappropriate our feet in their shoes assuming our anger is somehow a function of advocacy. But when an innocent child like Sam cheers up in the purest sense, you realize even a great tragedy like divorce pales in the face of what God can do to redeem the hurt of something He hates.

Deplaning the aircraft hours later, I kept a few paces behind Sam walking out of the tunnel. Unlike his boarding, I noted a skip in his step as he scampered to his mother. The real Sam had arrived.

Fast-forward 15 years later, and Sam occasionally pops into my mind, each time a prompt to pray for minors in the middle to become mighty men and women of God. How many little kids struggling with their parent’s divorce think they are the reason their mommy and daddy are no longer together? How many still bear shame because they weren’t taught how to deal with it? While only heaven knows, it’s that Kingdom I want to extend on earth as far as it be with me.

As for the rest of us, whether we’re mentors or bystanders in similar situations, we all have a part in sowing compassion to bridge divides in broken families. Regardless of our role, let’s pursue it with excellence.

God bless you, Sam, for cementing the reminder. 

Yardly Necessary: A Driveway Divine Door Story

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Written 5/6/23

So last Saturday during a yard sale Lys & I were hosting, a stranger with a limp and a cain approaches our driveway. A fresh face with a wallet in hand, we were excited about what appeared to be a serious prospect to liquidate some of our inventory.

Of course, as time and conversation would have it, our inkling would be confirmed. And after four hauls to her vehicle, a sit-down to catch our breaths would result.

Here is where it gets interesting…

During the next few minutes, Lys and the local start to discuss the reason for the sale and it comes to light this lady has a 17-year-old daughter who was born at 24 weeks, similar health issues to Juby though somehow she survived.

Suddenly, this divine appointment becomes a litmus test. After all, finding someone with a similar story at such a profound level shouldn’t be so easy. I mean, c’mon God, we were just starting to enjoy this time with our neighbor. Now, we get to hear of this alternative ending we wish was our own!?! Not cool, not fair. We don’t need this salt in our wound.

Granted, the daughter has endured a lifetime of health complications and surgeries. Certainly, the road would have been paved with hurdles galore had Juby survived. Still, what parent wouldn’t trade the hurdles for a lifetime, for the legacy of fighting to continue?

Whatever the case, despite the facial flatlines, Lys steers the dialogue into constructive territory…and by dialogue’s end, the finale is clear: Not only had we gained an intent of return but a mutual admiration of the moment and a friend through a unique and common bond. Who knew opening up your home and property could yield such fruitful returns?

My point in sharing this is simple: In the tale of life and death, there will be jealousies and the temptation to give into them. While on some days we will covet possessions, on others, we will envy testimonies and narratives. We will love our brother in an instant and in the next, be blindsighted with a ‘why’ that defies understanding.

If you find yourself in one of those situations, know as you’re faithful to live the Word, you can relish those involuntarily mental crossroads even when you catch a glimpse of what could have been. Again, if you’re letting God establish your steps, it doesn’t make sense to chase vain imaginations down those dead-end cul-de-sacs. Instead, believe in the One who ordains all things, who predestined them according to His purpose, who works all things according to the counsel of His will, and sets in motion the secret things that belong to Him while also revealing that which belongs to us.

Wonders without number that reflect the greatness of the Almighty…they will find you, sometimes when you least expect. And that’s okay. You may not think you’re ready, your emotions may seem chained to a crazy carousel. Whatever the case, live your life, abide by the Spirit, and when an open door skips the horizon to the front of your grill. walk through it and dare to be exposed. Who knows! You may just find that you’re further along than you think.

Note: I’m keeping this short and sweet in the spirit of book fodder. For now, as always…

Selah.

Matinee Malcontent: A Stand Up to the Bully in Bellevue

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Sooo…this past Saturday, I had the audacity. The unyielding nerve. The unmitigated gall…to take Caeden and Evy to the movies.

A good ol’ summer matinee of Paws of Fury featuring the insoluble protagonist duo of Samuel L. Jackson and Michael Cera.

Granted, a zone defense outing to the movies may seem overly ambitious, but given the circumstances, I must admit…we held up fairly well. Outside the dozen times I told the kiddos to half-mast their volume and the 2-3 times I asked if they’d rather leave the premises to hang out in the Suraccha Nebula (also known as the outside world), we had a fine time. Not to mention, I arguably sabermetric-ed 15 fantasy baseball teams to +5-10% playoff odds through strategic roster improvements.

For 90 minutes, life was cool…and I was freezing. Such is life in the very front of a movie theater…

…which if you have young, screeching padawans teetering on pterodactyls, this is exactly where you want to be in these situations. A manufactured refuge center where drool-drizzled popcorn bits and compromised cookie dough bites go to die.

But alas, what goes up, must come down…which in this case, came in the form of a disgruntled malcontent, a prickly, peppery grandpa who probably estranged his son into the military and…well…

Additionally…he had white hair to match his shorts…
…a pastel orange polo to contrast his pasty white exterior…

…and all the makings of Mr. Wilson if they ever reincarnated ‘Dennis the Menace’.

Except Mr. Wilson lived in a traditional, residential neighborhood whereas this guy likely soiled within a gated community surrounded by golf courses and swimming pools tailored to the 1%.

So as to why this crank would disgrace his demeanor by me during the rolling credits? Let’s just say he wasn’t exactly fond of my kiddos. Despite the fact we were 4-5 rows ahead of everyone else, apparently, they were still a bit rambunctious. And while I kinda, sorta get it…dude, it’s a midday weekend showing of a kids flick on one of the hottest days of the year! You think an outing with their dad is not a thrill to them, especially with all they’ve endured? I mean…I know you’re not entitled to context, but seriously! Give your freakin’ head a shake.

Ahem…at this point in the story, I probably should mention what he told me to my face.

“You guys were a disruption to all of us. Next time, go to a different theatre. You shouldn’t be coming here if you’re going to be so rude. “

Says the iris-less, old coot…as if he owned the place or even worked as a staff member.

Stunned and nearly silenced, I could only muster a staccato apology.

“I’m sorry, sir. We were not trying to hinder the experience for anyone.”

And like a bitter whiplash, the moment was over. Or so he thought. ‘Cause while I’m a humble processor on the front end, on the backend, I’m a wallflower willing to stand up to any bully. If you mess with me, if you’re makin’ like a farmer and givin’ me bull, what you start, I will finish. I wouldn’t necessarily call it a strength but it’s certainly not a weakness when executed properly. Do I have an inner hulk? Yes, yes, I do. And I’m not ashamed of it. Patience and godly thought filters applied, of course.

This in mind, I can now to proceed to tell you how the next 5 minutes went.

First, I grabbed Caeden’s hand. Then, I grabbed Evy’s hand. And then we left…in a gloriously brisk stride Fortified Fitness would be proud of. Caeden said he had to use the bathroom. I told him to hold it. Evy said let’s get a drink. I said it can wait.

With whites in my eyes, I find the kvetch perched on the curb with his wife and grand-daughters. The comeback was imminent.

In passing, I slowly pivot to flex my bow…

“Sir, again, I apologize we interfered with your cinematic viewing pleasure. But I want you to know these kids are champs. They have a sister in the hospital with her life on the line. And I’m doing the very best I can. Next time, when we come back, and we will be back, I’ll be sure to obtain a roster of attendees and make sure you’re not on it. Thank you for being the exact opposite of a model citizen to my kids.”

Now, I’ll just go ahead and state the obvious: I may or may not have been a bit too harsh with my mic drop there, satisfying as it was. However, I just couldn’t nor wouldn’t I let this Donny Downer have the final word. Not today…or any other day. Perhaps there are better ways to plant seeds of reconsideration in the minds of curmudgeons. I’m sure better retorts are out there.

But this I know: Blessed is he who is slow to judge, who dies to offense quickly, and is willing to put the shoe on the other foot. You don’t have to be able to relate to my chaos. If anything, I’m open to hearing what’s worked for you in the past. All I ask is you be civil within your critiques, maybe add a sliver of empathy in there if you dare. Who knows! We may even become friends. Or maybe that’s too much to ask if being right is more important. Just know if you go sideways with your tongue, Christ in me, I will set the record straight.

After all, I got to teach my kids what’s not okay.

Selah.

Cover photo creds: cinematreasures.org

Miracle in the Making: The Jubilee Journey (Part 6)

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It’s a chilling 72 degrees as I type this.

Still rattling from another week of dodging arrows, taking them in the back in some cases.

I’m done with this. I’m so fed up and yet starving at the same time. Forget why; I just want to know when.

When will things get better? When will things start to turn around?

I look at Juby and I delight in her progress. It’s not that I don’t appreciate the journey…the literal baby steps one must take during these intense stretches.

But when it’s Monday morning and you’ve been out of home for three months. When it’s a brand new day and your only source of sanctuary betrays you, I’m sorry, I just can’t even…

…not anymore.

Don’t get me wrong; I haven’t given up or anything. Contrarily, I sometimes wonder if not knowing how to not believe is part of what’s working.

Yet, as I continue to wrestle and keep my head above the water, I discover new depths to what faith is like at the end of its rope…

…and it is gloriously terrifying. A place you relish and long to relinquish at the same time.

Like many paradoxes, the dichotomy is confusing. After all, vertical reliance is supposed to be uncomfortable – an achy burn as opposed to a contagious high.

I guess what I’m trying to say is: I trust God has something in store for Lys & I once this season blows over. It’s just getting harder to move, to leave the house, to function really. Even though we’re hard pressed on every side, but not crushed, even though we’re perplexed on multiple fronts, but not [yet in] despair, the temptation to think otherwise entices me.

How can the life of Jesus fully manifest when all I can do is stand? How can His glory be revealed when I’m this lost searching for a horizon to light my way?

Sure, I can stiff-arm fear all day, but at day’s end, I just want to know where I am headed.

I’m sure I’m not the only one out there wondering this right now.

Disoriented and fatigued, my charge tonight is simple…

If you find yourself at the end of your rope, rejoice in the stillness and tie a knot.

You may feel like you’re trembling on a precipice, but where courage lacks is also where much is given. In time, you will be able to strain forward to what lies ahead. For now, embrace the opportunity to receive as you persevere, let steadfastness have its full effect, and hold fast the confession of hope without wavering.

Even when you step out of your car and a freak gear glitch causes it to launch into a neighbor’s yard before you somehow, someway stop it from crashing into their house, count it all joy. Tally up His goodness and scale your conflicts accordingly.

Take it from one in the trenches with you. Your life isn’t as broken as you think. And even if it is, there’s not a solve or repair unbeknownst to God.

Why not trust the handiness of His hands as you trade in your sorrows?

Just sayin’…

Selah.

Cover photos creds: Word Slingers