i'm a high school math teacher/coach. Grad from the University of Northern Iowa #BleedUNIPurple Fan of Minnesota Vikings #BleedVikingPurple and craft beer.
Mike Tirico told me his secret.
It wasn't talent.
It wasn't luck.
It was what he does on every flight home.
A few years ago, I met him at a restaurant bar in Indianapolis during the Big Ten tournament. One of the biggest voices in sports.
He didn't lead with his résumé. He introduced himself. He asked questions. He cared about every person in the room before anyone cared about him.
Eventually, I asked him what made him great.
He said after every game he calls, on the flight home, he pulls up the broadcast and watches it back.
Listens to his own voice. Hunts for the misses. The dead air. The calls he wishes he could have over.
Every game. Twenty-plus years in.
He wasn't born world-class. He worked his way there one flight at a time.
The best in any room are usually the ones still grading themselves the hardest.
World-class isn't a personality.
It's a habit.
“WHY DOES LIFE HURT SO MUCH?”
A man asked the Buddha with eyes heavy with life.
The Buddha looked at him quietly—not to answer immediately, but to understand.
Then he said,
“You are holding on to things that are meant to pass.”
The man frowned. “Holding on to what?”
The Buddha gently pointed to a nearby river.
“Look at that water,” he said.
“Yesterday’s river is gone.
This moment’s river is already moving.
If you try to hold it in your hands… it slips away.
And yet, you suffer—not because the river flows,
but because you wish it would stay.”
The man was silent.
The Buddha continued—
“You cling to people…
expecting them to remain the same.
But people change, just like seasons.”
“You cling to moments…
wanting joy to last forever.
But even the most beautiful sunset fades into night.”
“You cling to expectations…
how life should be,
instead of seeing how it is.”
The man lowered his head.
“But why does it hurt so deeply?” he asked again.
The Buddha picked up a small pebble and held it tightly.
“If I hold this lightly,” he said,
“there is no pain.”
Then he clenched his fist hard.
“But if I grip it tightly… it begins to hurt.”
He looked at the man and said,
“The pain is not from the stone.
It is from the tightness of your grip.”
The man’s eyes softened.
“So what should I do?” he whispered.
The Buddha smiled.
“Learn to hold everything with an open hand.”
“Love people… but don’t try to own them.
Enjoy moments… but don’t demand they stay.
Have hopes… but don’t let them become chains.”
“Let things come.
Let things go.
And remain present with what is.”
The man sat there for a long time,
watching the river flow.
For the first time,
he didn’t try to stop it.
And in that moment—
a small, quiet peace found him.
Because peace begins
the moment you stop gripping
what is already gone.
✨🙌🏾💫
Joe Mazzulla:
“A lot of times in the world today, it's an either-or society, but there's a duality to everything. And the year we won, I felt just as empty as I did when when we lost. The duality of going after something bigger than yourself with a group of people — There's two sides to every coin. When you go after greatness, you have to accept the other side of that.”
This was not written by me, but it touched me deeply…
Sunday is coming.
“He received 39 stripes because 40 was known to kill a man. They wanted him alive. They held handfuls of his beard, and hair and pulled it out by the roots. They wanted him alive. They kicked, punched, and spit on him for hours. Until there wasn't a single spot on his body not covered in blood. They wanted him alive.
They shoved a crown of thorns down on his head so harshly it stuck in his skin. They wanted him alive. After hours of being beaten, mocked, whipped, flogged, and tortured they made him walk with a cross. They made him carry it. A rough piece of wood with splinters digging into fresh wounds. They wanted him alive.
They wanted him to feel every ounce of pain they could bring. He had to feel it in order to heal us. Crucifixion was historically one of the cruelest most tortured deaths a human could face. Hours upon hours of torture. Torture most of us can not mentally think of because the cruelty isn't normal. It isn't something our minds can comprehend. We celebrate Easter with pastel colors, happy children hunting eggs, and chocolate. Truth is there was absolutely nothing happy about the day Jesus died. It was cruel, bloody, and nasty.
He could have stopped all of it. He could have called every angel in heaven to demolish every person standing and shouting "Crucify Him!" He didn't. He knew in order to have a Sunday you have to have a Friday. He knew in order to have joy you have to carry your cross. He felt everything that day. He felt how your heart broke wide open when you had to watch your baby die. He felt how heavy your life was when you were staring down the barrel of a gun wondering if the man you called husband was going to shoot you. He carried the weight of the burden you have felt since your spouse died, and life just doesn't seem right since.
On that cross he held the rapist and murderers, the sinner and the saint. He leveled every playing field and said ALL of you are worth it. He knew he had to carry the cross. He never promised the cross you carry in this life would not be heavy. His wasn't. His promise is that Sunday is coming.
No matter how heavy Friday is. Financially, emotionally, mentally, or physically. Friday is heavy. That cross is weighing you down and you are about to crumble under its weight. His promise was simply this. He won't make you carry it alone. What kind of king would step down from his throne for this?
Jesus of Nazareth, the Son of God did. For you. He did every bit of it for you and me. Oh yes, it is heavy. So heavy sometimes you do not think you can take one more step. But look up, because Sunday is coming.”
The player on the right is 6’8 and looking up in amazement at the player on the left, who’s listed at 7’9. Probably the first time he’s ever felt short.
On St Patrick’s Day, we not only celebrate St Patrick who spread Christianity across Ireland, but also Arthur Guinness who founded Guinness brewery. Why?
Arthur Guinness was a Christian. His faith deeply influenced his life, business, and philanthropy. His godfather was an archbishop who left him an inheritance that helped fund his brewery startup. His personal motto was Spes Mea in Deo (Latin for “My hope is in God”).
📽️ Bono’s toast to Arthur Guinness 🍀
Forty-Eight Is Young Until It’s Your Turn
When someone I admired passes, I run the same quiet search every time. I look for Christ.
I want to know whether they trusted Him. I want to know whether their last conscious moment was a grip on a Savior, or a grasp at fog.
James Van Der Beek’s death did what death always does. It turned a famous face into a question mark. And then I read his own words, spoken during cancer, and I felt the sting of both honesty and uncertainty:
“Before cancer, God was something I tried to fit into my life as much as possible,” he said. “After cancer, I feel like a connection to God, whatever that is, is kind of the whole point of this exercise on this planet.”
I cannot peer into a man’s last moments, and I will not pretend I can.
Yet, that phrase, whatever that is, is where the whole world lives right now. People know there is Something. They feel the tug when the doctor sits down. They sense a shift when the house goes quiet at 2 a.m. They whisper about “connection” the way a thirsty man talks about rain.
Yet God has never introduced Himself as “whatever.” God is not a guess. He has spoken, and His words have fingerprints all over history. He comes near in a Person. The gospel does not offer a mood. It offers Jesus Christ, crucified and risen, Lord and Savior.
Death forces the question because death does not ask permission.
How often does it happen? Once for you and once for me. A funeral still stops our stomach, because the conscience knows death does not belong in God’s world like a natural seasoning. It tastes like judgment.
Why does death happen at all? Scripture reaches back before our first hospital visit or our first graveside prayer. God warned the first man: disobedience would bring death. Dust would return to dust. The human race turned from its Maker, and every coffin is a sermon preached in oak and steel: sin kills.
Psalm 90 speaks with frightening clarity. God sets our iniquities before Him, even our secret sins in the light of His countenance. Death carries moral weight. Death carries judgment in its hands. Sin signs the paycheck.
People react in predictable ways, and you can spot them in the wild if you watch closely.
Some call death unreal. They speak as if words can erase the grave.
Some refuse to name it. They fill every spare minute with sound. Music, news, podcasts, the endless glow of a television. Their life becomes a crowded room because silence feels like a door creaking open toward eternity.
Some act tough. They rehearse bravery and treat dying like a badge. Yet the heart still jumps when a friend’s name appears under the word “died.”
Some collapse into sentiment. They collect tearful scenes, share quotes, light candles, and still avoid the sharp edge of the question: Where do we go?
Now the Christian must answer with a different posture. A believer does not chase death. God has already fixed your day. You cannot improve on His wisdom. Your calling is to live usefully for Christ, to honor the sanctity of life, to love your neighbor, to keep your hands clean, to speak the truth. And when death comes, the Christian walks into it with company.
Psalm 23 does not picture a stage. It pictures a narrow passage where light fades and the air cools. The Shepherd goes first, and the sheep follows with a steadying touch. The valley has shadows, yet the presence of the Shepherd changes what the shadows can do. The Christian’s last walk is still a walk, and Christ is still Christ.
So what actually is death? Genesis tells us what we are. God formed man from the dust, then breathed life into him. You are body and spirit. Death is separation. The body returns to the ground, and the spirit returns to God who gave it. That means your story does not end at a graveside. You do not blink into nothingness or simply dissolve into a memory.
Some people insist that thought is only chemistry, that love is only electrical current, that you are an animal with better vocabulary. Scripture insists otherwise. Jesus spoke to a dying thief and promised him paradise that very day.
Jesus taught that the One to fear is the One who can judge both body and soul. The rich man and Lazarus both died, and both remained aware. One woke to torment. One woke to comfort. Their bodies lay still, and their souls lived on.
That is why this matters. Death is not a full stop. It is a doorway.
For the unbeliever, death is separation from everything he clung to as god: money, pleasure, reputation, control. The hands open, and all of it slides away.
For the believer, death becomes something else entirely. Romans 8 presses the promise down like a stake driven into rocky ground: neither death nor life can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord. The love that found you in your sin does not loosen its grip when your breathing weakens.
Scripture even speaks tenderly about the death of God’s people. “Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of his saints.” The word precious belongs to things you keep near. God uses it for the homecoming of His children. Paul calls death a departure, a leaving for a better country, a going to be with Christ.
So I read James Van Der Beek’s line again, and I feel the pull of it. Cancer stripped away some noise. It made him talk about God as the whole point. Then the uncertainty remained: whatever that is.
Friend, you do not have to die with “whatever” on your lips.
God has made Himself known in Jesus Christ. The Son of God took on flesh, lived without sin, carried our guilt, bore the curse, and rose in victory. He calls sinners to repentance and faith, to turn from sin and trust Him. He does not offer a vague connection. He offers Himself.
God has already circled your day on His calendar. You may be ready. You may be avoiding the thought with a thousand small distractions. Either way, the appointment stands.
Seek the Lord while He may be found. Let the fog clear. Let the name become sharp on your tongue: Jesus. Let the doorway become hope.
Just read this beautiful story ♥
I go to the gym at 5 AM. Same routine every day for two years.
There's this woman who's always there. We've never spoken. Just the occasional head nod.
Last week, I had the worst day. Got laid off. Relationship ended. Everything fell apart at once.
But I still went to the gym. Autopilot.
I was on the treadmill, trying not to cry. Failing.
Suddenly she was next to me. Handed me a towel and a water bottle.
"Bad day?" she asked quietly.
I nodded, couldn't speak.
She didn't push. Just said: "I've been watching you show up every single morning for two years. Even when it's snowing. Even when you're clearly exhausted. That's strength."
Then she went back to her workout.
The next morning, I almost didn't go. What's the point? No job to get ready for. No routine to keep.
But I went anyway.
She was there. Smiled. Gave me a thumbs up.
I kept going. Every morning.
She'd check in with little gestures. A smile. A nod. Once she left a protein bar on my bench with a sticky note: "Proud of you."
Three weeks later, I got a new job. Better than the old one.
I told her the next morning.
"I knew you would," she said. "You're a show-up person. Those people always land on their feet."
"Why did you help me?" I asked. "You don't even know me."
She smiled. "Two years ago, I was suicidal. Coming to this gym at 5 AM was the only thing keeping me alive. And you were always here. Your consistency made me feel less alone."
I had no idea.
"We saved each other without knowing it," she said.
Now we work out together sometimes. Her name's Andrea. She's training for a marathon. I'm her biggest cheerleader.
Sometimes the people watching you struggle are struggling too. And sometimes just showing up is enough to save two lives.
Small moments. Big impact.
❤
Locking the camera to the stars instead of the horizon changes everything.
It’s actually kind of terrifying to see the Earth spinning beneath us like this. 🌍🌌
Crash Course in Molecular Biology… for my fellow Christians.
🚨Everyone else can keep scrolling…🚨
Before we talk faith, let’s talk science… raw, objective molecular biology.
Every living cell depends on nine mandatory stages of DNA replication, each performed by precision-built molecular machines. These stages are not optional… not gradual… not the kind of thing random chemistry “figures out.” They are required all at once.
1… Origin recognition…
2… Helicase unwinding…
3… Single-strand stabilization…
4… Primase placement…
5… Polymerase extension with error-checking…
6… Sliding clamp loading…
7… Leading/lagging strand coordination…
8… Ligase sealing…
9… Topoisomerase tension relief…
Remove one… the system collapses. Life ends.
This is not evolution building complexity slowly. This is an integrated, interdependent replication engine that must be fully operational from the first moment a cell exists.
And here is the scientific dagger that no atheist biologist can escape…
You cannot have DNA replication without proteins.
You cannot have proteins without translation.
You cannot have translation without the ribosome.
You cannot have the ribosome without dozens of proteins that only exist after translation.
The machinery requires the machinery to build the machinery.
Abiogenesis cannot solve that circularity.
Random chemistry cannot either.
Given Earth’s timeline, the probability of a functional self-replicating cell emerging by accident is mathematically zero.
I said ZERO!
So no… life did not “just happen.”
The informational complexity of even a single cell is beyond anything the universe can produce without intention.
You hear that?
When the Word says The Almighty spoke life into existence… the molecular data agrees.
This is why believers have nothing to apologize for.
Science isn’t the enemy of faith… it is the revelation, the fingerprint of God written at nanoscopic scale.
#AStoneGroove