​From the moment after I told my friends Celia and Meg I'd help them with their latest segment running the Appalachian Trail, Celia insisted - relentlessly - that I'd join them on the hike up to McAfee Knob.

Celia had hiked it before. It had special meaning to her. I think she really wanted to experience someone else finding special meaning in it to.

Mission accomplished my friend.

The hike up was tough. The description at the foot of the trail calls the hike "moderate/strenuous" - I'd lean toward the right half of that slash.

But strenuous has never been more rewarding.

When we got to the top, we hiked out of the wilderness and onto a rock overlook. I've never been more exposed to the world; I could literally see the miles drifting on forever.

And the world - oh the world could see me too. The cover and the protection of the wilderness - it was gone.

I discovered something about the view on that overlook. The closer I got to the edge, the better the view. The closer I got to the edge, the more obstacles I took out of my way. The closer I got to the edge, the more alive I felt.

I watched dozens of people navigate the dance of 'how close can I get.' I watched people watch with some envy the people who got really close. They wanted to be that close, too. You could see it in their eyes.

That is life, isn't it? This dance of 'how close can I get to the edge'?

Somehow we all know that. We ALL know that life IS found on the edge. We know it because when we spend any amount of time hiding in the wildernesses of life, we feel like we're missing something.

When we hide from our calling or purpose because we're afraid to expose ourselves to the risk of failure, we miss out.

When we hide from relationships, afraid to open ourselves up to the vulnerability that makes them work, we miss out.

When we hide from writing or speaking or sharing our thoughts because we might not have the right words, we miss out.

When we hide from an adventure like hiking the Appalachian Trail because that's too far, we miss out.

The reality is, the further we stand from the edges of life, the more of life we miss out on. And the more we miss out on it, the more the world misses out on what we discover and who we become on the edges.

There was a difference in the eyes of the people standing on the edge of McAfee Knob and those standing safely away from it. There's a difference in the eyes of the people you'll cross paths with today.

I dare say much of that difference is found on the edge.

There's a certain look people have who are standing on the edges of life. There's a certain look people have who wish they were.

The encouraging news is - we are in charge of that look. I'm grateful to have insistent friends who keep reminding me of that.

​As we go through life, our brains are always trying to recall the life we've lived in an attempt to make sense of the one we are currently living. When we experience anything new, the brain immediately starts searching for something in our past that resembles our today.

It's our brain's way of wanting us to always feel safe. But sometimes that works against us.

Maybe we encounter a stressful interaction with someone. Our brain finds an ugly and hurtful memory of an engagement with someone in our past. It tries to tell us our current moment is the same thing. It's the brains way of warning us to run from or fight off someone who isn't safe.

We're lucky to have brains that will do that. But it's often at the expense of making us believe our present - and the people in it - are more dangerous and unloving than they really are.

The brain - and our memories - can actually diminish the value of our current moments.

But the brain can do the opposite as well. It can bring surprising beauty to a moment.

I was driving along a rural southwest Virginia backroad last weekend looking for my friends Celia and Meg. I drove past a wide open farm. When I did, I noticed some old farm equipment.

Without thinking about it, I stopped the car - and then backed it up - until I was in front of that equipment.

I got out of the car and walked up and then back along the row of these antique pieces of machinery. As I did, memories of experiences I'd had with similar pieces started flooding my mind.

I grew up on my great grandfather's farm in rural Ohio. Each of these pieces of equipment took me back to a particular place on that farm, to a particular moment or interaction. As my brain was trying to make sense of a new moment in my life, it was using old moments to make the new one truly meaningful.

I felt more than safe in this new moment; I felt deeply loved.

My brain was making sure this place I'd never visited before - a place I never knew existed - felt familiar and warm and inviting.

I'm not always grateful for the way my brain uses my old world to make sense of the world I'm standing in. But in this moment, I felt truly blessed. When your old world comes to life and brings beauty to a moment that wouldn't have been possible without that old world - you know you're standing in the middle of a gift.

You're in the middle of magic.

A miracle.

Here's the thing about our memories. Sometimes the hard ones, the ones that try to rob our current lives of their value, they can talk us into standing still. They can keep us living in fear and afraid to go explore a new world, because we're certain it will look like the old one.

But when we take some chances in life, when we go live a life that's been waiting on us, sometimes our memories become our friends. And they help us make new memories that will see a new life in a hopeful way.

Our memories can become a part of life that send us skyward and not hold us back.

Our memories can make the dead antiques of the past a life-giving promise of today.

And that - that can make you look as forward to tomorrow as you've ever looked.

​I spent this last weekend helping my friends Celia and Meg continue their quest to run the length of the Appalachian Trail.

The goal this weekend? 150 miles in 72 hours.

I have friends who suggest I join adventures like this because it gives me something to write about. There's truth in that. But I only write about things that are - first and foremost - big enough to shape my life. Even change it.

I also write about them with hopes it might shape and change yours.

I'm not going to cover a lot of the details of Celia and Meg's run this weekend. Meg will do that at some point. I'm going to fast forward to my big take away.

The big life shaper.

When Meg and Celia were finished yesterday, I told them I was most impressed by the spirits they displayed every time I met them. Often, when I met them, it was after they'd just run or hiked or climbed another 15 miles or so of mountainous trail.

Invariably - they were laughing.

They were positive.

They were forward thinking.

They spent very little time reflecting on the challenge they'd just tackled. They were all about the next mountain they wanted to move.

Here's the thing about Celia and Meg - the thing I can relate to. What makes it healing for me when I am in their midst. Celia and Meg are flawed and imperfect. They've had battles in life. They've both faced their fair share of struggles.

Like me, they've come to know there is always going to be another mountain. Like ALL of us, they've come to know it's only a matter of time before the next battle, before life draws them into the middle of the next struggle.

Celia and Meg know there is always going to be another mountain - but what separates them from a lot of people - they always want to make that mountain move.

Because isn't that really what separates a lot of us? It's not our mountains. We all have them. What separates us is our belief - our willingness - to get up and go make them move.

Yes, Celia and Meg are out there attempting to make a dream come true. They are attempting to run the entire length of the Appalachian Trail. But that big goal is such a small detail in what they are really out there doing.

What they are really doing is training themselves to keep knowing they are two women who can make mountains move. Life gets good - no, life gets INCREDIBLE - when we start seeing mountains as things we move and not things we shrink in front of.

When you believe you can move mountains, you show up at the breaks in life with laughter and positivity and forward thinking.

Because the thing that robs us of joy most in life is not the mountains, it's our thinking that we can't move them. It's seeing mountains as something that stands between today and tomorrow, not something we move to get there.

When I told a friend about all that was happening, she sent me a Miley Cyrus song - The Climb. I hadn't heard the song. I'm not sure I'd ever heard ANY Miley Cyrus song.... but this one sure fit.

Ultimately this weekend, Celia and Meg stopped ten miles short of their weekend goal. But here's the thing - here's what this song says:

There's always gonna be another mountain
I'm always gonna wanna make it move
Always gonna be an uphill battle
Sometimes I'm gonna have to lose
Ain't about how fast I get there
Ain't about what's waitin' on the other side
It's the climb

Celia and Meg came up a little short on their goal. But on the drive back to their cars, I wasn't with two defeated women. I was with two women who were in good spirits, who were positive, who were already talking about the next segment.

Why? Because I was with two women who know life isn't about win or lose. Life isn't about how fast or slow we achieve our dreams or end up where we believe we are called to be.

Life is about the climb.

You either run from the climb or you take it one. You stare at the mountain, trembling - OR - you go frickin move it.

That's all of us today. It's Monday. There's one thing we will all have in common this upcoming week. We will all face a mountain.

Big or small, we will ALL face one.

At the end of the week, some of us will be feeling down. And some of us will be in good spirits - laughing and positive.

I think the difference will be in how we came to see those mountains. Were they something in our way, or something we decided to climb?

The mountains in your life are never going away. Today is as good a day as any to embrace the truth: when it comes to life - the joy is in the climb.

I'm grateful for the chance to be inspired by my dear friends this weekend. They shaped my life. They indeed changed it.

Because this week, I'm ready to climb....

​I've discovered something. The more time I spend thinking about how beautiful I wish the world would be, the more I don't notice just how beautiful the world already is.

Wishes and dreams - I think they're good. I think it's good to believe in the magic that takes today and turns it in to a beautiful tomorrow. It's good, that is, until we start missing out on the magic that's in today.

Sometimes, the absence of beauty in our lives isn't because we haven't yet crossed paths with it - sometimes it's because we just haven't noticed it.

I told a friend yesterday that my life changed when I had my first kid. For a moment, life stood still. When you're a dad looking into the eyes of a baby - YOUR baby - there is no more wishing and dreaming the world away.

Your world is right there. That baby can't afford you to be anywhere else. A dad living in the world of someday isn't much good to a baby needing someone in this day.

The world didn't stay stopped, for sure. But it forever slowed down.

It's funny the things you start noticing when you look at the world as the world your kid is living in and not the world YOU are living in.

There's the flower you walked by a thousand times and never noticed it - suddenly, you can't wait to show it to your kid.

How often did I take throwing a ball for granted until it became something I could teach my kid to do?

How many smiles did I miss on people's faces when they weren't faces smiling at my goofy kid?

I have two babies now. Babies turned to boys. Boys racing off into their own tomorrows - often at the expense of missing out on their todays.

It's what kids do.

I like to think in some ways, though, they've left me back here. Back here in today. Yelling out to them, hey boys, don't miss this.

I stay back here hoping they too will one day make the discovery I have - hopefully long before I did - that this world is full of magic.

And so much of the magic is not out there - it's not someday. It's today. It's here.

The real magic is in discovering we have the power to stop the world and see it. Sure, the world is easier to stop when you're looking into the eyes of a new baby. But it can stop outside of that gaze.

The world can stop when we walk out the front door. And look up. And see the beauty in a sky that's only served as the covering for our wishing and dreaming.

In the looking up, there is magic.

In the looking up, a reminder that magic is everywhere.

​In Jesus' day, greatness was about power and authority. Anyone who tried to mess with that definition found themselves hanging on a cross.

Further, anyone who wanted to make that definition about serving others, well, those folks had to WILLINGLY climb up on that cross.

Like Jesus did.

Jesus made a bold proclamation with that climb. He was proclaiming that the secret to life really isn't that hard. It's downright simple.

Trade in your desire to be served for an unconditional willingness to serve others - ALL others - and bingo - life.

I would argue we still have a long way to go with that definition of greatness. Maybe even further to go than we had to go when Jesus was hanging on that cross.

I would argue greatness, at least in our country, is still defined by those who have the power and authority. But here's the thing - those in power and authority aren't the ones writing that defintion.

We are.

And if WE ARE is too strong, well I'll back down a little bit and simply say, I am.

Because the reality is, when my life is a struggle, when my heart is breaking, it's almost always about the things I'm missing in my life and not the things I see missing in someone else's life. It's almost always because I'm wrestling with ways to make my life better and not what can I do to make everyone else's life better.

The most dangerous part of my being too focused on me? It allows others to not only define what greatness is, it allows them to also define what it means to follow Jesus.

And when a whole church gets focused on catering only to those in the church, only to those who look like the church, well our churches let others define what it means to follow Jesus too.

You know, I don't have to tell people that I believe running is important in my life. That's because I run.

I don't have to tell people writing is important to me. That's because I write.

When things are truly important to us, when we believe strongly in things, people don't need us to tell them about it. We need no words.

Too many days, I think, I'm left telling people that Jesus is important to me. I think our churches are left telling people that Jesus is important to them. That's because too many days I and the church leave the taking care of others to the powerful and those in authority.

We perpetuate the definition of greatness that Jesus died on a cross to forever change.

You know, we read about this Jesus character in the bible. That's how we know about him. But sometimes we forget, Jesus didn't spend his time on earth writing that bible. He wasn't sitting around some table writing an instruction manual for us.

Jesus left the writing for others.

That's because Jesus was too busy going into the world seeking out chances to serve those that others refused to serve. That's because Jesus was too busy looking for the hopeless so he could deliver hope. That's because Jesus was too busy climbing up on a cross to put an exclamation point on the new definition of greatness.

Greatness is now about one thing, he was saying: SERVING.

And it's us, not those who are in power and authority who can best re-write that definition today. A re-writing that requires no words.

Just serving.

​If I could remove one word from my vocabulary, it might be the word tomorrow.

I know for a lot of people, that word represents hope. But for me, looking back on my life, tomorrow became the perfect excuse to put off living today.

I had a conversation with a friend yesterday. She lost her mom when she was relatively young. She said that experience helped her realize her todays are limited. It helped her realize that today comes with a sense of urgency we often turn our backs on.

Because - well - there is always tomorrow.

What my friend knows, what we ALL know at some level, is that's a lie. Tomorrow doesn't always come.

I know tomorrow has produced a lot of dreams come true, but I wonder this morning - how many dreams has tomorrow robbed?

How many inventions didn't get invented, how many books didn't get written, how many relationships didn't form and how many prayers didn't get prayed because people were counting on a tomorrow that never came.

I believe there is a force in this world that works against us. There's a force in this world dead set on standing between us and the good we want to bring to the world.

Steven Pressfield calls it resistance. I call it the devil. You call it what you want. Even if we all call it something different, the weapon it brings to the fight is the same. The weapon is a promise it can't begin to keep.

That promise is tomorrow.

I look back on all the things I was counting on tomorrow to deliver that tomorrow just didn't come through with. And I realize, many of those things are things that TODAY was counting on ME to come through with.

Tomorrow might be the easiest lie in the world to start buying into. It's the forever hall pass to avoid doing something today.

Easy, that is, until you look back on a life and realize just how many times you used that hall pass. And just how many times the pass didn't turn out to be a pass at all, but instead a lie.

What are you sitting back counting on tomorrow to deliver that you yourself could start delivering today?

How much better would your life be - would the world be - if you took the power out of tomorrow's hands and declared, no more waiting, tomorrow. I'll take over from here.

Because my life is all about today.

I've lost my patience with the lie that is tomorrow......

​I took the boys to Westmoreland State Park yesterday. As you drive in, you see a big river. So big you might wonder if it's the ocean.

Elliott asked me - is that a river, or is that a bay?

I didn't know, really. Our Virginia waterways aren't my expertise. Geography in general leaves me feeling a constant state of lost.

So I told him, I think it's a little both. (If all else fails when your kids ask you an important question, just go with a little bit of everything). 🤷‍♂️

When we parked the car, we saw a large wooden map. It was a map of the whole eastern seaboard from North Carolina all the way up to Maryland. I told Elliott, this will help us figure out what that waterway is.

But it didn't help. Because nowhere on the map did it indicate exactly where we were.

On the way home yesterday, the boys dead asleep in the back seat, I thought about that map. I thought about life. I thought about how we often get stuck feeling lost because we're spending our time trying to figure out where we're going instead of getting absolutely certain about where we are.

Maybe the future often feels so uncertain because we can't even find certainty in the here and now.

I confess to feeling a lot of that uncertainty about the future lately.

But this weekend, I felt less of that uncertainty than I've felt in a very long time. Because this weekend, I had my boys, and I was focused on being the best dad I could be. I didn't need to know what kind of dad I'd be in the future to do that. I just needed to know what kind of dad I wanted to be in each moment I was with them this weekend.

Yesterday, there was a moment I was standing on the shore of the Potomac River (I did learn something yesterday). I stood there watching my boys swimming a hundred yards or so out in that water.

There was peace.

I pulled up a song on my phone - Be Still and Know by Jeremy Riddle. I stood there and listened.

Let go
Let go of your worries
Only one thing is needed
Just be still and know
Be still and know
That I am the Lord

Sometimes, to ease the worries of not knowing where we are going, we need to refocus our attention on where we are. Sometimes, it's really hard to quiet the noise of uncertainty that comes with the future. But we can all find a way to be still and know, at least for a moment - we can know where we are in the here and now.

I think we spend a lot of time waiting for magic to happen, to reveal the path forward. But maybe the magic is in figuring out where we are right now. Maybe lost isn't not knowing where I'm going, maybe lost is not knowing where I'm standing right now.

Who am I right now?
What is important to me?
In the midst of all the uncertainty about who I'll be a year from now, who do I insist on being right now?

Spend a little time this week figuring out where you are, and I promise, where you're going will become a lot more clear.

​Dear boys.

To say this Father's Day looks different from last Father's Day would be quite an understatement now wouldn't it?

I poke my head out the door of my bedroom. There you both are. Just on the other side of that door. One asleep on a couch that folds into a bed, the other on an inflatable mattress.

All I know - is when I look, more than I ever have, I find a joy in saying, there you are.

For me, it's been a year of surprising judgment and equally surprising acceptance - but one thing has not been surprising. What hasn't surprised me is the unconditional love I've received from both of you.

There was a moment Saturday. You were both sitting in the back car of one of our favorite roller coasters. You were laughing and joking - together - talking about the roller coaster whipping your car off the track and back on.

It's like a wild ride in a cartoon, you both said, each trying to upstage each other with the ridiculousness you painted into that story.

And in that moment, in your pee-your-pants laughter, life felt as real and un-cartoonish to me as it's felt in a very long time.

I'm afraid for too long Father's Day has been too much about celebrating being a father. It was one more day of trying to force myself into the mold of what I'd come to believe father should look like, one more day of trying with all my might to avoid having father look like things I didn't want it to look like.

But today, this Father's Day, today I celebrate having two boys. You two. You define what father is.

Nothing else. No one else.

I celebrate that not once over the past 8 months have you rose from that couch or that inflatable mattress and complained. With humbleness, you've simply got up and loved.

Every time, a perfect timing love.

There have been days this past year when I haven't known what was up and what was down.

What was right and what was wrong.

What is good and what is bad.

But one thing I haven't had to wonder about is what I'd find on the other side of that door.

Today, I'm reminded that God doesn't spend a lot of time wrestling with what being a father looks like, he spends a lot of time instead celebrating his children.

Today, I'm reminded God doesn't spend a lot of time talking about what it looks like to be God, but rather he spends a lot of time talking about what it looks like being loved by God's children.

This Father's Day is different for sure. But I know more than ever what it looks and feels like to be loved by my children. And that - that makes all the things I don't know quite meaningless.

It's been a tough year, but I celebrate you two. I'm proud of you both. I am grateful that on the other side of that door... there you are.

And I assure you, always, here I am.

​I was driving the boys to Kings Dominion yesterday. The traffic was awful. And there are few situations better than awful traffic to observe people trying to control what they can't control.

You'll witness people diving in and out of lanes, trying to gain a one spot advantage.

There will be folks driving on shoulders and even occasionally in medians to bypass the congestion.

And inevitably, you'll observe the human frustrations and tempers that erupt as drivers come to realize they have zero control over the uncontrollable.

Yesterday, I did a good job resisting the urge to control what I can't control. Instead, I focused on what I could influence - the two boys in the back seat.

There was nothing on earth I could do to free the traffic jam. But I had every opportunity in the world to influence how two future drivers would handle THEIR future traffic jams.

Will my influence make a difference?

I don't know. But it sure had a much better chance of making a difference than the chances I had of doing anything about the traffic.

I'm not always good at resisting the urge to control what I can't control. But I'm better than ever.

Maybe it's an age thing.

As I get older, I'm more committed than ever to making the best use of my time. Maybe because I'm old enough to reflect with some regret on all the time I've wasted. And how much of that waste was me trying to control things I can't control.

More and more, I find myself wanting to hand over battles to control in favor of grabbing hold of opportunities to influence.

Sure, our influence is never guaranteed. We won't always have the kind of influence we want on the things we try to influence. But I know one thing that absolutely IS a guarantee.

I will NEVER be able to contol the uncontrollable. That is the surest waste of time and energy there is. It's the best reason to stay out of the medians and engaged with the boys in the back seat.

​Yesterday, a dear friend shared a letter she got from the superintendent of her school system. The letter informed her she'd been nominated to be recognized for 'moving our school system forward in a positive way.'

The person who nominated my friend said this: "Selina always greets parents with a wave and a smile and has ensured our lunch time program has proceeded without delays and without a hitch. She's outside each and every day - rain, wind, heat or otherwise."

One of the best pieces of advice I ever received was "catch them doing something right." A supervisor told me that when I was working with at-risk kids, but it's become one of the most powerful leadership and relationship tools I have.

This letter my friend got has 'catch them doing what's right' written all over it.

We live in a world that's not great at 'catch them doing what's right' I'm afraid. I think there's two reasons for that.

One, our media saturated world loves to focus on the big attention-grabbing versions of right - the right that sells advertisements and subscriptions. Right has become a superhuman gift that few possess outside of superheroes.

The other is maybe more an 'us' thing. I think we too often get so focused on what's wrong with people that we overlook there are a lot of things right with them.

Either way, we do each other no good when we fail to find the good in each other.

There's something beautiful that happens to me when I go through the world obsessed with catching people doing something right. And something incredibly beautiful happens to people who get caught doing something right.

Friends want to share their letters on Facebook. They come to realize their role in a kid's school lunch is every bit as worthy as an NBA superstar.

Our kids want to stand up straight and walk proud. They are far more likely to do right when they know they will be caught doing right than they are when they are strictly afraid of doing wrong.

Our friends and partners in life want to be close to us. When someone knows you're obsessed with catching them doing something right, they come to think you're the right person in life to be around.

I sometimes dream of a world obsessed with catching each other doing what's right.

Maybe that dream won't come true, but we could all play a small part in the dream today. Catch someone doing something right. And, to make it all the more powerful, catch someone doing something right who doesn't always know how much right they are doing.