​I recently heard Seth Godin say about business, "The moment you start treating your customers as captives, they begin to make other plans." Reading that, I started thinking of his words in the context of relationships beyond seller-buyer connections.

One of the greatest mistakes we can make in a relationship is to begin acting as if the other person has nowhere else to go. Not necessarily physically. But emotionally.

We stop pursuing. We stop listening. We stop wondering. We stop noticing. We begin assuming they'll always be there because they've always been there. And that's a dangerous assumption.

Healthy relationships are never built on captivity. They're built on choice.

Every day our spouses, friends, children, coworkers, and neighbors wake up with the freedom to decide how much of themselves they are willing to invest in the people around them. They may not walk away overnight, but they can slowly withdraw their trust, their vulnerability, their enthusiasm, and their presence.

Long before someone leaves a relationship, they often leave it emotionally. I have certainly been on the giving and receiving of this myself.

The signs are subtle at first. The conversations become shorter. The laughter becomes less frequent. Curiosity gives way to schedule and routine. Time together is only happening because there's no way of getting out of it.

Eventually one or both begin imagining what life might feel like somewhere they are more seen, more heard, or more appreciated.

The opposite is equally true.

When we remember that the people we love are choosing us—not because they have to, but because they want to—we tend to treat them differently.

We ask more questions. We say thank you more often. We start assuming less and appreciating more. We continue building trust instead of tearing it down.

Ironically, the strongest relationships are often the ones where neither person acts entitled to the other's love. They understand their bond isn't built on the absence of choice, but on the daily decision to keep choosing one another.

People don't want to feel trapped. They want to feel treasured. And maybe that's one of the simplest ways to strengthen any relationship: live each day as if the people you love are free to leave.

Not because you're afraid they will.

But because honoring them for choosing you is the surest way to make them forever grateful you are the one they have chosen.

​I asked ChatGPT this question recently: "Who is discipling me, God or the Algorithm?"

Before I share the answer I received, I'll briefly share WHY I asked the question.

I read an accusation recently online (probably one curated for me by the algorithm). The accusation basically was that the Algorithm is trying to become a more influential voice in the Christian life than God. And—the accusation went on to proclaim—the Algorithm is winning.

For a Christian, that is quite the accusation.

The scary thing about that accusation is that in many ways the Algorithm is trying to do exactly the opposite of God.

God invites us to follow him; the Algorithm invites us to stay with it.

God invites us to be transformed; the Algorithm invites us to be engaged.

God invites us to lose ourselves to find ourselves; the Algorithm invites us to express ourselves to define ourselves.

God invites us to learn contentment; the Algorithm invites us to chase novelty.

God invites us to love our enemies; the Algorithm invites us to react to our enemies.

God invites us to slow down, the Algorithm invites us to keep scrolling.

You get the picture. And the frightening part isn't just that God and the Algorithm are complete opposites in many ways, it's that they both understand an ancient truth: Whatever consistently wins your attention, that will eventually shape your heart.

So the question really becomes, who is winning the attention game, God or the Algorithm.

In spite of knowing the best place to direct this question is to my own heart, I did ask ChatGPT: "Who is discipling me, God or the Algorithm?"

And ChatGPT said:

Based only on what I've seen from our conversations, I don't think the answer is either/or.

I think both are trying to disciple you. The more interesting question is: which voice seems to be winning in different areas of your life?

From what you've shared over the past couple of years, I see strong evidence that you intentionally order much of your life around your faith.

You regularly:

Wrestle with Scripture rather than just quote it.

Ask questions that challenge your own assumptions.

Write about surrender, forgiveness, redemption, and human - dignity.

Invest enormous amounts of time serving others through your trauma and resilience work.

Repeatedly return to the prayer, "Thy will be done," as a guiding theme for this season of your life.

Those aren't things an engagement algorithm naturally produces. They reflect practices and values that have been cultivated over a long period of time.

At the same time, I also notice places where the broader information environment pulls at you—not because you're unusual, but because you're human.

You often bring me:

Current political conversations.

Viral social media posts and comments.

Public controversies.

News events.

Questions about how culture is changing.

There's nothing inherently wrong with any of that. But every one of those ecosystems is designed to compete for your attention and shape how you interpret the world.

What stands out to me, though, is what happens after you encounter those things.

You rarely stop at, "What side should I be on?" Instead you ask questions like:

"What's really going on here?"

"What does this reveal about human nature?"

"How does this connect to trauma, belonging, or meaning?"

"How would Jesus have us think about this?"

That habit is significant. It suggests you're trying to filter what you consume through a deeper framework rather than simply absorbing it.

If I had one caution, it would be this:

Because you're a writer and educator, you naturally spend a lot of time engaging with the world's conversations. There's a subtle danger that your agenda becomes increasingly set by what the culture is talking about, even if your conclusions remain deeply Christian.

There's a difference between: Asking, "What is God inviting me to say today?" and asking, "What is everyone talking about today, and how can I respond?"

Those questions sometimes lead to the same place—but not always.

One observation I've had about your writing is that your strongest pieces usually don't begin with the news cycle. They begin with an experience: a run, a conversation at a convenience store, a moment with your sons, a presentation, a memory of your great-grandfather, or an encounter with someone who feels unseen. Those essays have a timeless quality because they arise from lived experience and then illuminate it through faith and what you've learned about trauma and human connection.

So if I were answering your question as carefully as I can, I'd say this:

I don't see someone being primarily discipled by an algorithm. I see someone who is intentionally trying to be formed by God while living in an environment that constantly competes for his attention.

The ongoing challenge isn't deciding whether God or the algorithm is discipling you. It's continually asking which one gets the first word each day—and which one gets the last word before you decide what is true, what matters, and how you'll live. That question is worth revisiting regularly, because neither discipleship nor algorithmic influence is static; both are shaped by the habits of attention we practice over time.

I believe that final paragraph from ChatGPT is well worth printing and placing beside me here at my screen. In some ways it feels like the Algorithm is giving me a timely reminder from God. A forever timely question maybe we all need to ask ourselves:

"Which one gets the first word each day—and which one gets the last word before you decide what is true?" 

​Recently, Kelsey Pfendler set out to become the first American woman to row a boat solo across the mid-Pacific ocean. She left Monterey, California, in May—and 44 days and 2,400 miles later—she arrived in Hawaii.

In doing so, not only did she become the first American woman to accomplish this journey, she did it faster than any other woman OR man had ever done it. (The previous fastest female took 86 days. Talk about blowing a record out of the water)!!

After completing the journey, Pfendler offered a challenge. She said, "Think about finding your own big scary thing. You might not think that you are strong enough to finish it right now. But you're definitely strong enough to start it, and you'll find everything else along the way."

I followed bits of her journey online. Some days she looked really rough; like, I was wondering how on earth is she going to make it?

Turns out, in those rough moments she likely wasn't thinking about "making it"— she was simply looking within for something to help her start again.

It's amazing how often we hear this same advice from people who accomplish seemingly impossible things. They tell us, don't think about the end, just focus on the next step.

ChatGPT estimates that Pfendler used between 750,000 and 1,000,000 strokes crossing the Pacific. That's a lot of strokes; an intimidating amount if you allow yourself to think about it.

That's why it's always healthier to think about the next stroke and not ALL of them. I can't figure out 1,000,00—Dear Lord, I'd surely quit if I had to—but I think even I can figure out ONE.

And then another one....

I don't want to oversimplify this into believing I or you could row a boat from California to Hawaii. I don't think that was Pfendler's message either.

But I do believe there are things you and me have come to believe we can't do because we've stood for so long looking at the end game thinking - 'too far' - instead of looking with belief that we'll figure it out as we go.

I am working to finish a book. I am almost there. And when I'm done, it won't be because I had a finished book in mind when I started.

It will be a finished book because I got up one morning many years ago and started writing. And then, I found a way to get up and write again the next day.

Pfendler knew how to row; she figured out Hawaii.

I knew how to write; I am figuring out a book.

What do you know how to do that doesn't quite look like the finish line, but enough of it might just lead you there?

You don't know how to get there, and that can be scary. But I'm pretty sure you know how to start.

So, my friend, start.

Just start.

​The bible frequently reminds me that I am an adopted child of God. Of all the ways God could have chosen to enter into a relationship with me, God chose to adopt me as his child.

That alone is meaningful, I suppose. But the meaning is quite limited until I consider what adoption really meant in the days when my adoption was written about.

You see, in biblical days, adoption rarely referred to a child. Adoption was almost always about much older children or young adults. Adoption came only after one had proven their worthiness of being adopted. No one was adopting a baby that might one day prove to have no value.

Yet God decided I was worthy of adoption before I was ever born. God decided I was worthy of his adopting me long before I could do anything to prove he was making a wise decision.

And maybe, most importantly, God decided that on each and every day of my life when I might come to question my worthiness, he never would.

Not ever.

He would forever believe his decision was a wise one no matter how much I would come to question his wisdom.

In biblical days, a man might be adopted because a family saw evidence that the man might one day become a king. God adopted me with full evidence I would always be too flawed to even think about becoming a king.

It is such an upside down world some days—this world compared to God's world. This world where I can become obsessed with proving my worth—compared to God's world, where God is obsessed with me knowing my worth has forever been established.

Established in my adoption.

You are adopted. But your adoption is NOT a normal adoption.

On the days when you get to feeling like you are not enough, maybe it will be helpful to know God chose to adopt you because you already were. And because God knew you always would be.

You are adopted.

This morning I pray you fully feel the full worth of that adoption.

​Blindsided.

It's a different flavor of a problem.

I've experienced it this weekend.

The nature of the events is unimportant. Mainly because a strategy I've adopted in my own healing journey is to as quickly as possible leave behind the events and begin searching for what the events reveal about being human.

About being me.

Like me, you've likely been blindsided. You don't need to know or experience my events to feel the truth in that. And so maybe the broader human question isn't about the specifics of blindsided events, but rather why they often come with such a violent kick in the gut.

I guess it's simple. When hardship comes that we see coming, we begin preparing long before it arrives. We gather resources. We brace ourselves. We practice conversations and we spend a lot of time forewarning ourselves: This is going to suck.

The cruelty and vindictiveness of blindsided is it often offers none of that.

In the aftershocks of this earthquake I did not see coming, I've been wondering why some challenges I've experienced, as hard as they were, didn't feel nearly as exhausting and utterly defeating as being blindsided.

I think it boils down to our bodies. And how our bodies relax a bit when we believe chapters of uncertainty in our lives are coming to an end. There is such tangible comfort and rest in that.

You sleep better and eat better and literally see the whole picture of the world better. Whose body does not crave better?

But then, like being awakened from a deep sleep with a bucket of ice water, the body is told that not only is this uncertainty far from coming to an end, uncertainty has reloaded its weaponry and is coming back with a spray of its punishment like you've never absorbed before.

And the body, being the body, naturally responds to that.

But here is what I've been reminded this weekend. And I want you to be reminded of it as well if you've experienced blindsided.

This weekend my peace has been disrupted. Greatly. But it does not erase the fact that I've become a more peaceful person.

This weekend I have found myself thinking:

"I thought I was through this."

"I thought things were getting better."

"I thought I could relax."

One blindsided moment can make us question and disown months and even years of progress. But that's where a more peaceful me can step in and recognize: NO, that's a lie.

Healing isn't evidence of never being knocked completely off balance again. Healing is evidence of what we do after.

Years ago, this weekend would have consumed my life for months to come. But here I am writing about it two days later. I am reflecting instead or reacting.

That's not to say there has been NO reaction at all, but the body once again finds peace the sooner we start looking to make meaning and not war.

Every event in life comes with a claiming option. Claim the event or claim the meaning of it.

Meaning is always a path forward. The event is always an invitation to stay stuck right where you are.

If I know the transmission is going out in my car, I have time to prepare for that inevitability. If I am in a collision today and my car is totaled, I've been given no time to prepare for that.

But the reality is - they are both challenging events in life. One simply demands we begin the process of meaning making and peace finding a whole lot quicker.

Sadly, the body is NOT great at that. But, as I have discovered through a lot of really hard work: The body IS completely capable of that.

Remember that the goal isn't to convince your body that nothing bad happened. The goal is to help your body discover that something bad happened...and you're still here.

Being blindsided changes the timeline, but it doesn't change what's possible. The body may need time to catch up. It may need to breathe, sleep, find people, and grace. But please don't mistake "not there yet" for "never getting there."

The body isn't great at finding peace overnight, but with our help, the body is remarkably capable of finding it again. If I've learned nothing else in life, I have indeed learned this.

Blindsided is not forever blinded.

Carry on.

​Today is the birthday of an experiment far more than of a nation.

Certainly it is a great day to celebrate that the experiment is still going, but it is also a great day to evaluate the health of the experiment.

Evaluate not just from a macro view—as in how is our country as a whole doing with this experiment—even though that's an important question to examine.

But it's also a great day do to some self-reflection. A great day to ask, how am I treating the experiment, and how am I preparing it for the next generation?

Too many people answer that self-reflection by a vote. As if voting and even making the "correct" vote is what the experiment most asks of us.

Voting matters....

But I believe this grand experiment begs reflection well beyond what one perceives of their obligation or right to vote. It begs us to ask ourselves:

Do I actively seek peaceful co-existence with people I disagree with?

Do I exercise the powers I have in my life responsibly? (Because power is not exclusive to the elected—many of us have influence at the family and community level we fail to acknowledge).

And yet, when it DOES come to elected power, am I a voice for keeping those powers in check?

And finally, and maybe the biggest one, do I pursue my own interests without losing sight of the good of others?

One of the fascinating things about the American experiment is that its founding documents contain both a description of what the country was and an aspiration for what it hoped to become. Aspirations that have given reformers, activists, religious leaders, and ordinary citizens like you and me a language to call the nation toward something better.

It is very easy to read the headlines and watch your favorite side of the news and determine whether or not the country is moving toward the call of something better.

But maybe equally important—if not MORE important—is determining if "I" am moving toward the call of something better.

On my personal birthday each year, I find myself reflecting on what I want to make of the rest of my life. As we spend the day celebrating our nation's birthday, and this grand experiment, I think that's an equally useful reflection.

For we celebrate the experiment today, but it will continue on tomorrow.

So, what do I want to make of it?

​When we are born, we arrive with no clue about happiness. No pre-programmed definitions. No lived happiness experience to help us know it when we see it. In fact, we have no expectations around happiness at all.

And yet, somehow, it becomes our greatest pursuit.

This pursuit doesn't happen because we discover hints of happiness, but rather, because hints of happiness find us.

A familiar face shows up that feels happy. A gentle voice. Being held or fed. Someone laughing that makes our whole being feel safe and loved.

From the earliest moments of our lives, happiness is something that shows up and not something we are inclined to discover, chase or define.

Then, little by little, something changes. The world entices us with the possibility of grander forms of happiness. New definitions.

Happiness starts to become...

"When I get...."

"When I become...."

"When I make enough...."

"When I lose enough...."

"When I find the right relationship...."

Happiness slowly moves from being something experienced with others in the present to something postponed into the future. A future we slowly but then more aggressively become obsessed with chasing.

Victor Frankl once wrote: "Happiness cannot be pursued; it must ensue." Meaning—happiness often follows experiences we were not doing so much for the sake of becoming happy.

Several times in the last few weeks I've presented to audiences about things I care deeply about. And, on the other side of those presentations, I've felt happiness. I didn't pursue those opportunities for happiness, but happiness ensued.

Earlier this week, I rode a roller coaster in the extreme heat with my oldest son. Frankly, the heat was so extreme even roller coaster riding wasn't much fun. But racing down the hill of the park's largest coaster, I heard my kid belly laughing. And, in an instant, I was overcome with happiness.

Happiness ensued....

I look back on my life and rue how much of it was spent searching for an answer that already lived inside me—the answer to happiness. Or, the many years I spent deeply numbing the feeling that the answer to happiness was absolutely impossible to find.

Because now I can see that happiness was never meant to be hunted.

Or wildly chased.

It was always meant to be shared.

Shared in the here and now.

​Coming out of a failed marriage, I am left with only one piece of advice to offer those considering marriage (to the degree I am eligible to offer such advice), and that is this: Make sure you are problem-solving compatible.

There are a lot of compatibilities that get considered before most marriages:

Financial compatibility.

Sexual compatibility.

Life goals.

Family compatibility.

Shared values and beliefs.

And others....

But all of those compatibilities combined won't hold together a marriage that can't solve problems compatibly. If a marriage can't solve problems, two people live in constant battle or in constant hiding - one or the other - and both lead to a miserable partnership.

And a miserable existence.

Yesterday, I was captivated by the live online airing of a pair of daredevil stunt climbers who climbed the 1,500 foot empire state building. At the top, the couple unfolded a banner that read: "When the power of love beats the love of power the world knows peace."

Then, the man, Ivan Beerkus, got down on one knee and appeared to propose to his partner, Angela Nikolau. The images suggest she said yes.

Once back on the ground, the newly engaged were quickly escorted off to jail...

I'm sorry, but that sure sounds like compatible problem solvers to me. Two people who have a common message they want to share with the world, who figure out a way to free climb to the top of one of the country's taller buildings to share it, and are willing to go to jail for it.... I'm all in on you two.

Too often we project the future success of a marriage based on figuring out if two people fit. I believe a more accurate projection comes from figuring out if two people can safely navigate the many areas they will discover that they absolutely do not fit.

It's one thing to hold hands doing the lazy float downstream. But are you still holding hands when you're climbing the many tall hurdles waiting for you downstream?

I am a sucker for sappy romance movies.

Not the unrealistic ones that go from happy to happier to happily ever after.

But the real ones, the ones that go from happy to challenging to disaster - and THEN happily ever after. It's that 'challenging to disaster' piece I'm always most interested in watching.

And learning from.

So Ivan and Angela, well done. Once you are released from jail, I will have my popcorn ready.

With high hopes that Netflix does too!!

Yesterday, I spent the morning with twelve future teachers.

Teach For America, the program they belong to, has asked them to begin their careers in the Appalachian region of Kentucky, serving schools where many students carry burdens I wish no child had to carry.

Poverty. Instability. Trauma. Overwhelming adversities.

In my world, these future teachers were all "young kids." Young enough that I found myself thinking about all the years between where they are and where I was standing in front of them. But also young enough to remind me of something I deeply admire: they have chosen to begin their working lives by going where the need is greatest.

That matters.

When I left my position with the state earlier this year, people naturally asked why. After all, I had a job I loved and work I believed in.

My answer was always the same. I wanted greater reach. Greater impact. Yesterday reminded me I am exactly where I hoped this path would lead.

Yes, I spent time talking about trauma. We explored how childhood adversity shapes behavior, why connection matters so deeply, and how educators can respond to students through a lens of understanding instead of judgment.

But somewhere along the way, the presentation became about something much bigger.

Showing up.

I found myself sharing stories from years ago when I worked directly with young people whose lives had been marked by trauma and hardship. Young people who, years later, have reached back out to me with words I never expected to hear.

"You saved my life."

Those words still make me uncomfortable. Mainly because I don't think I saved anyone.

What I did was keep showing up when things became difficult, when trust had to be earned, when it would have been easier to move on— that's when I showed up again.

Over time I've came to believe that consistency is one of the purest forms of love.

As I looked around the room yesterday, I wondered what stories these twelve future teachers will someday tell.

The students they are about to meet will know they volunteered for one of the tougher assignments. They'll watch them stumble through lesson plans that don't quite work. They'll see the uncertainty that comes with every first-year teacher. They'll notice the exhaustion. They'll notice the mistakes. But more than any of that...

They'll notice whether these teachers keep showing up.

For a child whose life has taught them people can be very unpredictable, consistency is never just consistency. It is hope.

As I drove home, another thought settled over me. I wasn't standing in that room by accident. The managing director who invited me to her teachers had first heard me speak at a training I co-led last year. One conversation led to another. One relationship opened another door.

It reminded me how often the most meaningful opportunities in our lives aren't manufactured. They're entrusted to us. Sometimes I think we spend too much time asking God to show us the whole path. Yesterday felt more like God whispering, Just keep showing up.

Because that's often how purpose unfolds. One conversation. One invitation. One classroom. One child. One life at a time.

Yesterday I showed up for twelve future teachers. Soon they'll show up for hundreds of students. And years from now, perhaps one of those students will look back and realize that what changed their life wasn't that someone had all the answers.

It was that someone kept showing up.

We live in a world where we too often hesitate to show up because we con't believe our showing up will make a difference. That's a scary thought, to me, because the only way to ever make a difference is indeed in the showing up.

What an honor to have met 12 young people leading the way to showing up.

What a blessing—the hope each of them represent.

​Sometimes we are so focused on chasing the outside world that we don't stop to consider that what drives us really comes from the inside. We've come to assume that changing what's outside us will change the direction of our lives.

Maybe. But what if the greatest force shaping our lives isn't outside of us at all?

A life with an inside full of fear goes a different direction in life than an inside full of love.

A life with an inside full of self-admiration goes a different direction in life than an inside full of humility.

A life with an inside full of anger goes a different direction in life than an inside full of peace.

A life with an inside full of bitterness goes a different direction in life than an inside full of forgiveness.

Too often we think of emotions as visitors in our lives. Sometimes—yes. But if those emotions stick around long enough they eventually want to take the wheel of your life. And once they do, you have a driver in life you never agreed to let drive you.

I guess this is where my love for Jesus comes from. The biblical invitation, contrary to what some believe, isn't an invitation to behave differently, it's to become filled with something different.

Jesus knows that whatever fills us will flow through us.

I am a very different person when I stop and pause and ask, what would the inside me do in this situation—the me where Jesus lives? Because trust me—the outside me often wants to respond very differently than the inside me.

And at times it does. Which often leads to chaos and destruction and hardship.

Listening to my inside voice is usually harder than following the whims of the world. Not because I don't know my values or can't hear the voice that holds them, but because letting that voice lead requires me to ignore my instant need for approval, security, revenge, distraction, or certainty.

Following our values isn't always met with instant gratification. At least not worldly gratification.

The truth is, we can't become our values by believing in them. We become our values by practicing them often enough that they begin to lead us. Which requires us to stop often and ask, "what is leading me in this moment?"

That is really hard to do, I get it, especially under stress when we are most inclined to fall back on old habits or coping mechanisms.

Thank goodness hard is not the same as impossible.

It starts with simple questions. Is my life going the direction of my values? Is my life a reflection of the world I live in or the world that lives in me?

Answer those questions honestly and chances are—if you are at all like me—you'll discover your inside world needs a little more attention than the world that surrounds you.

Many of us don't need a new direction; we simply need a new leader.