Some families pass down traditions. This one passed down getting Moritz degrees. ❤️
Congratulations to Megan Schmitz ’26 and the entire Schmitz family on this Buckeye legacy moment.
#OhioStateLaw#BuckeyeLawyers#ClassOf2026
Politics can have a significant impact on human flourishing. Christians should engage politics to ensure their neighbors aren’t denied justice.
That said, Christian leaders shouldn’t overstate the role of politics. Many solutions are best achieved by families and communities.
We talk about love and liberation as if the true definitions are obvious, they’re not.
In the Bible, love isn’t simply affirmation, it’s self-sacrifice and wanting what God wants for others.
Liberation isn’t simply freedom to do as we please, it’s freedom to do what’s right.
I’ve never felt Larry Doby gets enough credit for integrating the American League less than three months after Jackie Robinson debuted for the Dodgers. Today while we honor Jackie, let’s also take some time to remember Larry Doby and his huge contribution to the game.
Cleveland Guardians All Star 3B Jose Ramirez signs restructured new 7-year, $175 million contract extension, per @hgomez27. The deal adds four years and $106 million to his existing deal, keeping him in Cleveland through 2032.
130 schools said no.
He led the losingest program in college football history to a national championship anyway.
Fernando Mendoza was a 2-star recruit from Miami.
He tried to walk on at his hometown school. They passed.
So did FIU.
So did FAU.
So did everyone else.
At 17, he was sitting in his bedroom, crying over a silent recruiting inbox—after driving to 18 camps with his dad and sending highlights to more than 100 programs.
Not one FBS offer.
His only option? Yale. No scholarship. No NFL path.
Everyone told him to be “realistic.”
“Know your place.”
“Be grateful.”
He didn’t listen.
Because Mendoza understood something most people miss:
The worst outcome isn’t failing.
It’s never getting the chance to try.
Two weeks before signing day in 2022, his phone rang.
Cal needed a body. One offer. Out of 134 schools.
He took it.
He arrived as the third-string quarterback.
Spent a year on the scout team.
Lost his first four starts.
Got sacked 41 times behind a broken offensive line.
Still got up. Every time.
Then Cal brought in a transfer instead of building around him.
So Mendoza left the only school that had ever said yes.
He transferred to Indiana—the losingest program in college football history.
People laughed.
“Career suicide.”
“Graveyard program.”
“Nobody wins there.”
One coach told him something different:
“I’m going to make you the best Fernando Mendoza possible.”
That was enough.
Mendoza wasn’t just playing for football.
His mother has battled multiple sclerosis for 18 years.
Before every snap, he thought of her.
“My mother is my why.”
Indiana went 16–0.
Beat six Top-10 teams.
Won their first Big Ten title since 1945.
Mendoza threw 41 touchdowns.
Won the Heisman—first in school history.
First Cuban-American to ever do it.
Then came the title game.
Miami. Near his hometown.
Fourth-and-4. Season on the line.
Quarterback draw.
The kid 134 schools rejected spun through defenders and dove into the end zone.
Game over.
Indiana—national champions.
The losingest program became the best team in America.
All because a 17-year-old refused to believe “no” was the end.
Rankings don’t decide your ceiling.
Gatekeepers don’t write your ending.
Being overlooked isn’t a verdict—it’s a starting point.
Sometimes all you need is one shot…
and the courage to bet on yourself when nobody else will.
Don’t quit.
Credit: Barclay Mullins
"My name's Raymond. I'm 73. I work the parking lot at St. Joseph's Hospital. Minimum wage, orange vest, a whistle I barely use. Most people don't even look at me. I'm just the old man waving cars into spaces.
But I see everything.
Like the black sedan that circled the lot every morning at 6 a.m. for three weeks. Young man driving, grandmother in the passenger seat. Chemotherapy, I figured. He'd drop her at the entrance, then spend 20 minutes hunting for parking, missing her appointments.
One morning, I stopped him. "What time tomorrow?"
"6:15," he said, confused.
"Space A-7 will be empty. I'll save it."
He blinked. "You... you can do that?"
"I can now," I said.
Next morning, I stood in A-7, holding my ground as cars circled angrily. When his sedan pulled up, I moved. He rolled down his window, speechless. "Why?"
"Because she needs you in there with her," I said. "Not out here stressing."
He cried. Right there in the parking lot.
Word spread quietly. A father with a sick baby asked if I could help. A woman visiting her dying husband. I started arriving at 5 a.m., notebook in hand, tracking who needed what. Saved spots became sacred. People stopped honking. They waited. Because they knew someone else was fighting something bigger than traffic.
But here's what changed everything, A businessman in a Mercedes screamed at me one morning. "I'm not sick! I need that spot for a meeting!"
"Then walk," I said calmly. "That space is for someone whose hands are shaking too hard to grip a steering wheel."
He sped off, furious. But a woman behind him got out of her car and hugged me. "My son has leukemia," she sobbed. "Thank you for seeing us."
The hospital tried to stop me. "Liability issues," they said. But then families started writing letters. Dozens. "Raymond made the worst days bearable." "He gave us one less thing to break over."
Last month, they made it official. "Reserved Parking for Families in Crisis." Ten spots, marked with blue signs. And they asked me to manage it.
But the best part? A man I'd helped two years ago, his mother survived, came back. He's a carpenter. Built a small wooden box, mounted it by the reserved spaces. Inside? Prayer cards, tissues, breath mints, and a note,
"Take what you need. You're not alone. -Raymond & Friends"
People leave things now. Granola bars. Phone chargers. Yesterday, someone left a hand-knitted blanket.
I'm 73. I direct traffic in a hospital parking lot. But I've learned this: Healing doesn't just happen in operating rooms. Sometimes it starts in a parking space. When someone says, "I see your crisis. Let me carry this one small piece."
So pay attention. At the grocery checkout, the coffee line, wherever you are. Someone's drowning in the little things while fighting the big ones.
Hold a door. Save a spot. Carry the weight no one else sees.
It's not glamorous. But it's everything."
Let this story reach more hearts....
Credit: Mary Nelson
Do not let any unwholesome talk come out of your mouths, but only what is helpful for building others up according to their needs, that it may benefit those who listen.
Ephesians 4:29
"If what is right and wrong depends on what each individual feels, then we are outside the bounds of civilization."
-Walter Lippmann
If each person decides what’s right then how do we compel them to be just if they don’t think it’s in their interest or important?
Unity doesn’t mean ignoring differences. It means working through them with humility and grace. The church can’t afford to give up on reconciliation—it’s part of our calling.
In JLI's most recent blog post, JLI Staffer Matthew Schmitz discusses why Congress Should Eliminate 14(c) Certificates.
See full blog here:
https://t.co/OodO1gzBhQ
If your truth telling falls perfectly within ideological lines then it’s probably not truth telling. It’s propaganda.
We can’t be prophetic and fully align with the conservative or progressive agenda. Their talking points aren’t the word of God.