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Last Tuesday night, our adoption attorney sat in our living room. She’s been working on our behalf for more than a year with an obtuse judge (who told us our adoption folder has more documents than any other he’s ever seen). Sarah said she didn’t know why the process of our slam dunk case has met so much resistance.

I replied, “I do. Jesus loves the irony of me fighting to be a dad after eighteen years of actively trying not to be one.”

I needed to write that paragraph because I need to read those truths. My life isn’t about me or even my legacy. As I lean into the race or “press toward the mark,” my goal will be hollow if I envision a personal laurel, a shiny crown, or some brag-worthy bling.

The next time I’m tempted to bask in the glow of something I’ve done, I hope I remember Tanner on that dock. And I hope I throw the equivalent of my medal into the lake.

A lot of people come to Nashville to chase a dream, a longed-for career. Seemingly, half of the Christian Industrial Complex® is there, too. Candidly, I would love to do a promo tour with all of the cultural influencers there; so, I’m not judging those who travel there for those reasons. But this trip to Nashville was to try new experiences with my brother, and we got everything out of our time together that we could.

Pulling into our driveway last year, my daughter asked me why we drive old cars. I guess I could’ve been offended, but I was more impressed by the courage and candor a question like that requires. All of my siblings drive newer cars than Deonnie and I do. In fact, the average model year for the vehicles in our driveway and garage is 2008.

I hiked while listening to a book about how to have an open mind, how to know when to change an opinion. In it, Adam Grant claimed in the first chapter that it starts with humility. Growth can’t happen without change, and change can’t happen without admitting change is needed. We have a choice: to be pliable and aware of our finiteness or have our pride break us.

As I drove home, that line from Daniel reverberated in me as much as my exhaust did. “It doesn’t sound any louder out here. It probably just seems louder to you.”

God is not subject to human voting or removal from office. Jesus is not intimidated by my sin and the soil that adds to his name. He is the source of all good things. So, my daily spiritual insurrections do not threaten his kingdom, his sovereignty, or even his affection. But every time I see one of those January 6 photos, I’ll be reminded that he can get blamed for my choices.

This year’s pandemic gutted tens of thousands of dollars from my business but gave me a lot more free time. Instead of diving into Netflix, I spent more time outdoors and in my car on winding, rural roads—usually alone and … Continued

Emily—speaking for Jesus—told me that I didn’t have to do anything more to live up to the honor she and Zach gave me. So, I won’t try to earn something they have already freely given. But I’m going to live as though my name is good enough for two people, because apparently it is. I’m going to lean into life with the confidence of someone whose legacy won’t just outlive him but will walk around with it on two legs. I’m going to chase life and legacy with a roar, and I’m going to teach a lion cub how to get his shouts to reverberate louder than the echoes of his uncle.