thethursdaythree-blog

[thethursdaythree-blog]

May 25, 2017 • Time

It was a sweltering Saturday – well above 90 degrees. My in-laws were in town for a car show in Raleigh and, not wanting to be left alone all morning, I decided to tag along. I was only outside for two hours or so, maybe even less, but that didn't stop the sun from doing what the sun does best.

I can still feel the sunburn.

Not on the usual spots, mind you. Not the ears, the neck, the cheeks. No, today, five days later, I can still feel the sunburn on the top of my head.

It's a place I don't recall ever needing to apply aloe. And yet, here we are. I feel like I'm late to my own party because my sunburnt scalp has clued me into a startling secret the mirror and my front-facing camera had been keeping from me for who knows how long…

The hair on the top of my head is thinning. (To protect my ego and waning self-confidence, I'm putting this as generously as I possibly can.) I can no longer say I have a full, thick, glorious flow. It would be a bald-faced lie.

Since being let in on this secret, I have been completely preoccupied with it. I waver between feeling like it's no big deal ("It's a sign of wisdom!") and conversely feeling my scalp to see if the spot has grown since the last time I checked nine minutes ago.

It's fine. Really. I'm being dramatic. It's fine.

But it also has me thinking about time. Just like the moment I found my first gray beard hair or the day I realized I needed to get my eyes checked, discovering "the spot" is now a mark in time for me.

I had an epiphany about time reading this post from author Mark Manson a few months ago. It's behind a paywall (worth it), but here's the key section:

The older you get, the more your perception of time speeds up. Years go by faster. Entire weeks go by without you realizing it.

The acceleration of time makes sense. The older you get, the smaller proportion each year is to the entirety of your life. When you're 10, a year makes up 10% of your lifetime. That's a big deal! When you're 30, it makes up only about 3.3%. And when you're 50, it makes up but 2%. In a sense, a year at 50 feels five times faster than a year does at age 10.

The acceleration of time perception is a bit stressful. One, because it never slows down. But two, because the older you get, the more you feel as though time is "slipping away" from you.

What a revelation. We do feel this way, don't we? Time marches on, and it's beyond our control. Fittingly, this week's Thursday Three is about time – past, present, and future.

"Crystal Ball" – a 9-second sketch by Jennifer Moxley

+ Tinderization of Feeling

First, the present. This essay from The New Inquiry examines well our current social and cultural landscape. Alicia Eler and Eve Peyser argue that the "tinderization" of our world has limited our ability to see nuances and think beyond binaries. I think they hit the nail on the head.

But Tinder is more than a dating app — it is a metaphor for speeding up and mechanizing decision-making, turning us into binary creatures who can bypass underlying questions and emotions and instead go with whatever feels really good in the moment. Its mechanisms perfect the similar either-or options other social media platforms have offered, the yes/no, like/ignore, retweet/pass dichotomy that leaves no room for maybe. Within Tinder, we sort each other into ones and zeroes, flattening away any human complexity, becoming efficient robots. Where a best friend might engage with you about the true motivations behind your choices, Tinder serves as Robot Bestie, there to make complex decisions seem easy, shorn of emotional entanglements.

The whole essay is worth a read. I read it a few weeks ago and it has lingered – challenging every decision I make, causing me to wonder whether I'm simply "swiping right" or really thinking critically. Click here to read the essay in full.

+ We Aren't Built to Live in the Moment

Now, the future. Since the Thursday Three launched in March 2016, I've written many words about the importance of being present – about awareness and not letting the world pass you by without noticing it. I maintain that it's a good practice, but as Martin Seligman and John Tierney wrote recently in the New York Times, this is not what we were made for; rather, we were made to look ahead. Human beings are, by nature, future-oriented.

We are misnamed. We call ourselves Homo sapiens, the "wise man," but that's more of a boast than a description…

A more apt name for our species would be Homo prospectus, because we thrive by considering our prospects. The power of prospection is what makes us wise. Looking into the future, consciously and unconsciously, is a central function of our large brain, as psychologists and neuroscientists have discovered — rather belatedly, because for the past century most researchers have assumed that we're prisoners of the past and the present.

Turns out, a concern for the future is embedded into who we are. We're hardwired to be prospective. When our minds wander and we zone out in the present, we're actually thinking about future possibilities. When we ponder past memories, we're actually "metabolizing" those experiences to ready us for future events. And we don't even realize it's happening. As trends (and the Thursday Three) push for greater awareness and champion mindfulness and "being present", I wonder if we're actually doing it to better our future selves.

This is a fun, nerdy piece – something you should look forward to reading. (Groan…) Click here to read it.

+ The Year Hank Greenberg Hit 58 Home Runs

My favorite place to catch glimpses of the past is Nate DiMeo's excellent The Memory Palace podcast. Each episode features DiMeo taking a little-known or unobserved detail of American history and telling a larger story through that lens. (This episode about the Apollo 11 launch was the one that hooked me.)

In the most recent episode, DiMeo sets baseball player Hank Greenberg's MVP-caliber season against the backdrop of antisemitism, the Holocaust, and the run-up to World War II. If you have ten minutes to spare today – on your commute, in the shower, at the gym – give this a listen. And do yourself a favor by subscribing to The Memory Palace wherever fine podcasts are queued.

Thanks, as always, for reading and subscribing. If you dig what's going on here (or just want to make me feel better about my newly discovered bald spot), consider putting your fidget spinner down and sharing the Thursday Three on your preferred social media platform. Use the buttons below to forward, share on Facebook, or tweet it out. It would mean the world. Until next week, make good choices and learn from your mistakes.

Peace,

[thethursdaythree-blog]

May 12, 2017 • But It’s Friday

I know, I know. It's not Thursday. And you haven't received a Thursday Three in almost a month. I'm sorry for the delay, but hey – thanks for your patience. To those of you who have emailed or sent Facebook messages or tweets wondering where your Thursday Three is, thank you. It was all an experiment to find out how much you'd miss me. (Only kidding, of course.)

Here's the thing: I needed a break. I needed to rest. There were two main factors. First, I hit a wall. A few weeks ago, in the middle of writing, I realized the well had run dry, and I needed to take the week off. And a week turned into a few weeks because of the second factor: lots of travel. A busy travel schedule this month has left me with little time to prepare and think and collect and write. But I felt the need to get something out this week – even if it is Friday.

I'm out of town again next week, so hopefully this abbreviated Thursday (Friday?) Three will hold you over until May 25 when I expect to get back to a more regular writing schedule. Until then, we'll call this a Friday Free-For-All. Now about those delayed emails…

+ Let's All Stop Apologizing for the Delayed Response in Our Emails

Admittedly, I am an inconsistent email responder. Like Melissa Dahl, the author of this article, I can't tell you how many times just yesterday I sent emails that said, "I apologize for the delayed response." I feel bad. I do. And yet, a little grace goes a long way. Inside, Dahl offers an important distinction between the important and the urgent, and I especially love how the article opens:

"Adulthood is emailing 'sorry for the delayed response!' back and forth until one of you dies," writer Marissa Miller tweeted in February of last year. People liked this tweet. Nearly 40,000 people liked this tweet, in fact, and more than 26,000 retweeted it. Miller told me recently that she still gets around 100 notifications every day from people responding to that 14-month-old passing thought, which she initially saved to her drafts folder because she thought it was "a little too niche."

It's so true. And if you want more, I also highly recommend the essay Dahl references within, "Do You Want to Be Known For Your Writing, or For Your Swift Email Responses?" And be sure to mark April 30 on your calendar for next year: It's Email Debt Forgiveness Day.

Click here to read the article.

+ Summer 2017 Podcast Preview

Nick Quah, the editor of the excellent Hot Pod newsletter, wrote a piece for Vulture about what podcasts you should look forward to this summer. If you'll be traveling or commuting or laying by the pool – or if you're just bored with the current slate filling your queue, Quah offers a good look at some great new and returning shows. I'm personally excited about Ear Hustle from Radiotopia, Wow in the World from NPR, and the return of Malcolm Gladwell's Revisionist History from Panoply. I expect at least some of these to appear in future Thursday Threes!

Click here to read about twelve highly anticipated pods hitting your ears this summer.

+ Sabbath

I love when friends do great things. I met Cambron in divinity school and only recently discovered that he writes poetry. I stumbled upon this a few weeks ago after I'd hit the wall and quickly realized this was just what I needed. I hope you, too, can take some time for Sabbath soon. The emails can wait.

I've sat around all day, really. I read a theological magazine. I watched a kung-fu television show all the way to its campy finale. I took a walk with my dog. And I even wrote a poem about God. But it's today that's vexing me. Did I do enough? I'm sure I didn't love anyone, or even talk to anyone face to face (except for my neighbor John and he barely got a hello). But I enjoyed the pink blooms on a nearby cherry tree and I also made and devoured a delicious turkey sandwich. I even toasted the bread.

But the most important work I did today was on my walk when I stopped to enjoy the rare sunshine cutting through the grey Spring clouds.

I heard God say to me Isn't this enough? Is my earth not enough? Am I not enough?

And I wonder now as I sit in watch for the dark to come if my lazy, wasted, fruitless day can count as one long heaving sigh of

Yes Yes Yes

Thanks, Cambron, for letting me share. You can read more from Cambron here.

I'm looking forward to getting back into a regular rhythm. Thanks for your patience along the way – and for reading and subscribing. And one shameless plug: I was recently invited to participate in a fun video series called the 3 Minute Stir. If you're interested, you can watch it here.

Enjoy the weekend. Happy Mothers' Day. See you in a few weeks!

Peace,

Brent

[thethursdaythree-blog]

April 13, 2017 • Grab Bag

It's Holy Week in the Christian tradition, and that means, among other things, as a pastor, it's one of the busiest weeks of the year. So this week's Thursday Three is abbreviated. There's no nuanced theme to hold it all together, no heartfelt story to grab you – just three things worth getting into. I'll be back in earnest next week. Until then, here's a grab bag of a Thursday Three. Thanks for being awesome.

+ AudioTeller on S-Town

I've mentioned AudioTeller before. It's an email and blog that highlights the week's must-listen podcasts. In this week's issue, they go all in on S-Town, the new podcast about a small town in Alabama and the people who live there. If you're like me and you spent seven(ish) hours of your life listening and are now left with an S-Town-sized hole in your heart, this issue of AudioTeller will scratch your itch. If you haven't listened, get on the train. S-Town is crazy town. And bonus – I also just discovered that the podcast's soundtrack is on Apple Music and Spotify. (Who even knew that was a thing?) You're welcome.

Click here to read the AudioTeller crew's thoughts on S-Town. I bet at least some will resonate with you.

+ Pod Save the World: Understanding the Syrian Civil War

Pod Save America is a podcast hosted by former Obama staffers Jon Favreau, Jon Lovett, Dan Pfeiffer and Tommy Vietor. It's unabashedly political. But this is not about that. So keep reading. Recently, Tommy Vietor launched a spinoff, Pod Save the World, which deals with foreign policy. Each week, Vietor interviews key figures who are super-knowledgeable about what's going on in the world.

While Pod Save America is decidedly partisan, I've found Pod Save the World to be just the opposite. It's a deep-dive into foreign affairs that leaves me feeling much more well-informed about global issues and America's place therein. The conversations are fair, honest, and substantive. This week, they featured an episode on Syria, and it was a great primer detailing the players, potential consequences, and complex nature of the situation. Give it a listen here or wherever you get your podcast on.

+ What I Did Wrong

I just received Marie Howe's new poetry collection, Magdalene, which imagines Mary Magdalene from the Bible as a woman in the present day. One poem in particular, "What I Did Wrong," has grabbed me this week and it won't let me go. I figured it's a fitting way to end as I look toward Good Friday and Easter.

Slapped the man's face, then slapped it again, broke the plate, broke the glass, pushed the cat from the couch with my feet. Let the baby cry too long, then shook him, let the man walk, let the girl down, wouldn't talk, then talked too long, lied when there was no need and stole what others had, and never told the secret that kept me apart from them. Years holding on to a rope that wasn't there, always sorry righteous and wrong. Who would follow that young woman down the narrow hallway? Who would call her name until she turns?

Thanks to everyone who entered the contest last week! If you shared or tweeted or forwarded or became a new subscriber, I entered you into a drawing to win three of my favorite books – three books that have been featured in one way or another in the Thursday Three. I assigned each of you a number and then used Google's built-in random number generator to pick the winner. **And that winner is... Ashley Acken! **So congratulations, Ashley! I'll be sending you Sarah Kay's No Matter the Wreckage, Krista Tippett's Becoming Wise, and Nathanael Johnson's Unseen City. (Just let me know where to send it.) To everyone else, thanks for taking the time to read and subscribe. I'm grateful you let me be a small part of your weekly rhythm. Until next week...

Peace,

Brent

[thethursdaythree-blog]

April 6, 2017 • Life Lessons

Friends and family lined the parking lot of the Westin Hotel, smiling and clapping and hollering. Natalie and I waved and said goodbye, piling into the Rolls-Royce set to take us to our first destination as a married couple. It wasn't to the airport or another hotel. Instead, our first stop was the nursing home to see my grandfather who was unable to join us for the celebration. His eyes lit up as we walked into his room dressed in our wedding attire.

"We just got married," I said as he beamed. "Do you have any advice?" Not missing a beat, my grandfather said, "Wake up every morning and say, 'I'm sorry.'"

And I remember as a child and then as a preteen and then as a teenager, my dad telling me more times than I could count, "Think before you speak." (I don't know that I'm any better at this now, but I'd like to think that I am since this is what I get paid to do.)

I've carried these lessons with me. We carry these lessons with us – wisdom learned through life experience or maxims passed down from generation to generation or nuggets unceremoniously revealed on the underside of our Snapple lids. We are works in progress, learning as we go, each day discovering more and more of what it means to navigate this beautiful and treacherous existence.

We carry them with the hope that one day we might share what we've learned – and make the path a little easier for those who follow. Today's Thursday Three is about life lessons.

"Don't Put All Your Eggs in One Basket" – a 126-second sketch by Jennifer Moxley

+ The Axe Files: Joe Maddon

It's the most wonderful time of the year – the beginning of April – the start of baseball season. I am a lifelong Cubs fan, still reveling in last year's crazy come-from-behind World Series win.

The Cubs' manager, Joe Maddon, is an eccentric personality. He's wise and unorthodox and down-to-earth and full of good advice. Like any good coach, he's developed short, pithy sayings designed to inspire and motivate and get the best out of his team. These "Maddonisms" have caught on among Cubs' fans. (You can get them on t-shirts.) Last year's Maddonism was "Try not to suck." (Good advice for all of us.) This year's is good, too: "Be Uncomfortable."

In this great interview with David Axelrod on his podcast, The Axe Files, Joe Maddon shares the stories behind these Maddonisms and offers a few of his own personal mantras like, "Don't let the pressure exceed the pleasure," and "Anxiety lives in the future." It's good stuff and worth a listen. Maddon is also just a fun interview.

While The Axe Files is typically a political podcast, Axelrod (also a lifelong Cubs' fan) eschews politics in this episode to talk baseball and life. Click here to listen to this episode featuring Joe Maddon.

+ The Big Things About Little Things

Dave Pell, who writes the daily, witty, informative NextDraft email, recently posted writer George Saunders' 2013 commencement speech at Syracuse University. In it, Saunders carries on the commencement speech tradition wherein "some old fart, his best years behind him… gives heartfelt advice to a group of shining, energetic young people…." Saunders describes what he's learned by first describing his biggest regret:

So: What do I regret? Being poor from time to time? Not really. Working terrible jobs, like "knuckle-puller in a slaughterhouse?" (And don't even ASK what that entails.) No. I don't regret that. Skinny-dipping in a river in Sumatra, a little buzzed, and looking up and seeing like 300 monkeys sitting on a pipeline, pooping down into the river, the river in which I was swimming, with my mouth open, naked? And getting deathly ill afterwards, and staying sick for the next seven months? Not so much. Do I regret the occasional humiliation? Like once, playing hockey in front of a big crowd, including this girl I really liked, I somehow managed, while falling and emitting this weird whooping noise, to score on my own goalie, while also sending my stick flying into the crowd, nearly hitting that girl? No. I don't even regret that.

But here's something I do regret.

What is it? You'll have to read the (relatively short) speech for the answer. I don't want to spoil it here. It's great advice – maybe even the best advice. It's something we need now more than ever. So click here to read Saunders' remarks as shared by Dave Pell.

+ Point B (If I should have a daughter…)

Sarah Kay, author of "The Paradox" – a poem I won't shut up about, also wrote this one, "Point B." It's a poem of advice and life lessons for the daughter she doesn't have, but might one day. It is classic Sarah Kay – beautiful and bold and soul-stirring. Kay performed "Point B" at a TED Talk in 2011. It's a longer poem, so I've only included the beginning below, but three minutes is all you need to watch her performance. You won't be disappointed.

If I should have a daughter, instead of Mom, she's going to call me Point B. Because that way she knows that no matter what happens, at least she can always find her way to me. And I'm going to paint the solar systems on the backs of her hands,

so she has to learn the entire universe before she can say, Oh, I know that like the back of my hand. And she's going to learn that this life will hit you hard, in the face, wait for you to get back up, just so it can kick you in the stomach,

but getting the wind knocked out of you is the only way to remind your lungs how much they like the taste of air.

Click here to watch the TED Talk. Click here to buy Sarah Kay's fantastic book of poetry, No Matter the Wreckage.

As always, thanks for reading and subscribing to the Thursday Three. I'm grateful you make this email a part of your weekly rhythm. Until next Thursday, in the wise words of Flossie Dickey, "Don't fight it. Just live it."

Peace,

Brent

[thethursdaythree-blog]

March 30, 2017 • For the Birds

There's a good chance I'll run into something. If I don't run into something, I'll probably trip and fall. I've been lucky so far.

It all started two Saturdays ago when I woke up before the sun, rolled out of bed, grabbed my rain jacket, laced up my Bean Boots, and drove to the parking lot of the Wild Bird Center in Chapel Hill. I pulled in – legitimately surprised that people actually did this – turned off the engine and stepped out of the car.

"Hi, I'm Brent," I offered. "I'm here for the bird walk. I've never done this before. Am I in the right place?"

One-by-one, the others gathered in that parking lot greeted me – each of us standing in a steady mist.

"I'm Tom." "Tommy." "Verne."

"It's nice to meet you." I was in the right place.

From there, the nine of us set off for Mason Farm Biological Reserve – a 367-acre plot of forests and fields home to birds and trees and bugs and all kinds of wildlife. We spent nearly four hours that morning walking a total of three miles – stopping every few minutes to listen and wait and watch. We'd take a few steps. Pause. Look around. Take a few more steps. Someone would hear something and point, and everyone else would simultaneously raise the binoculars to our faces and focus (in a super cool way) to try to spot the birds.

It was cold and rainy… and exhilarating. I know. It sounds ridiculous. And as I've shared with "friends" that I went on a bird walk, the responses have been hilarious:

"Are you fifty?" "Where's your stamp collection, Grandpa?" "There's no way that's cool."

But I'm hooked. I've signed up for two more bird walks already. (Let me know if you want to come.) I've upgraded my binoculars, too, and purchased a field guide that stays in my man satchel.

And I'm constantly walking around now with my eyes upward, moving from tree to tree, trying to catch a glimpse of a bird I've never seen before. That's why there's a good chance I'll run into something.

That day, we saw over forty species of birds. Thrashers and woodpeckers and pine warblers. I left my phone at home. (Unintentionally, but still.) And I was caught up in my new friends' excitement about seeing something rare. I was in awe of their ability to identify a bird from afar based simply on its song or how it was flying. Mostly, I was glad to be doing something that didn't involve staring at a screen.

As I've geeked out over the last week-and-a-half, I've experienced the joy of being able to name things around me that, until recently, had been hidden in plain sight. This amateur birder can now pick out a mockingbird call, tell the difference between a crow and a grackle, and never knew how many cardinals there were in his neighborhood (which is annoying for this Cubs fan). I've started to notice how rare it is to walk outside and not hear a bird singing. It's literally a whole new world.

So this week's Thursday Three is for the birds.

"The Tweetest Thing" – a 22-second sketch by Jennifer Moxley

+ Bird Man

I read this piece from Longreads about two weeks before I signed up for my first bird walk. Eva Holland tells the story of Noah Strycker who got into birding as a teenager. In 2015, he traveled the globe to set a world record, identifying over 6,000 species of birds in 365 days. The article is good for that story alone, but the author also describes how for so many, bird watching "satisfies a 'bone-deep, soul-deep need to classify and organize the world around us.'"

The term umwelt comes from the German word meaning, roughly, "environment" or "surroundings." But in this context it refers to a given species' way of perceiving the world around it: dogs organize their world by smell, bees by ultraviolet light, and so on. Carol Kaesuk Yoon, a biologist, proposed in her 2009 book, Naming Nature, that we humans, in turn, navigate through and organize our world via a system of ordering and classification of other natural beings, and that this system is remarkably consistent across history, languages, cultures, ecosystems, and societies. Our umwelt is "our shared human vision of life."

To categorize our world is to know our world. And – for better or worse – it's part of what it means to be human. We eat, sleep, breathe, and put things into categories.

Click here to enjoy this article from Longreads.

+ Invisibilia: Outside In

Last year's season finale of the _Invisibilia_ podcast featured an episode called "Outside In." The episode detailed stories of transformation by people who took on something and hoped it stuck – sort of a "fake it 'til you make it" approach. For instance, one of the stories describes how an ordinary guy fakes being a celebrity and is mobbed by "fans" who have no idea who he is.

But the story that caught my ear came near the end of the episode. The hosts interview Jim Verhagen who runs the blog, _Readings from the Northside_. Jim set out to spend more time in nature with the hope of experiencing transformation. So he went to the Jersey Shore to watch the birds. But that's where it gets a little weird. Jim would take pictures of the birds (normal) and then start making up stories about them (what?). He gave them names and personalities – Mac Daddy, Mr. Handbersome, Jack, Tufters – and then wrote about them and their "drama" on his blog. From the transcript:

This is not your average isn't Mother Earth amazing - photography blog. No, what Jim does is essentially create the TMZ or Perez Hilton version of a nature blog because alongside shockingly clear and intimate shots of Mac Daddy and the other animals on the beach, Jim is writing these really kind of gossipy reports.

The blog explodes. And the way Jim is transformed is surprising and real.

See, when you see it in animals, when you see the kind of constant anxiety as we'd describe it that they have to live with, you realize that it's natural, that that's - that that state of constantly being kind of alert and a little concerned and watching your back…

Is my wife going to wind up falling out love with me? Am I going to lose this big customer? Constantly putting out fires. That's actually the natural state for a lot of animals. And so in a way it is for us.

Observing these creatures and making up these ridiculous stories helped Jim find a semblance of peace with his own stuff. It helped him find some comfort in his own skin. Click here to listen to the episode. Click here to read the transcript. Click here to visit Jim's blog.

+ Such Singing in the Wild Branches

For your soul's comfort, Mary Oliver's poem, "Such Singing in the Wild Branches," rounds out this week's Thursday Three. May it leave you listening – wondering – "is it spring? Is it morning?"

It was spring and finally I heard him among the first leaves— then I saw him clutching the limb

in an island of shade with his red-brown feathers all trim and neat for the new year. First, I stood still

and thought of nothing. Then I began to listen. Then I was filled with gladness— and that's when it happened,

when I seemed to float, to be, myself, a wing or a tree— and I began to understand what the bird was saying,

and the sands in the glass stopped for a pure white moment while gravity sprinkled upward

like rain, rising, and in fact it became difficult to tell just what it was that was singing— it was the thrush for sure, but it seemed

not a single thrush, but himself, and all his brothers, and also the trees around them, as well as the gliding, long-tailed clouds in the perfectly blue sky— all, all of them

were singing. And, of course, yes, so it seemed, so was I. Such soft and solemn and perfect music doesn't last

for more than a few moments. It's one of those magical places wise people like to talk about. One of the things they say about it, that is true,

is that, once you've been there, you're there forever. Listen, everyone has a chance. Is it spring, is it morning?

Are there trees near you, and does your own soul need comforting? Quick, then— open the door and fly on your heavy feet; the song may already be drifting away.

As always, thanks for reading and subscribing to the Thursday Three. I'm grateful you make this email a part of your weekly rhythm. If you dig it, I'd love if you'd tell your friends. Perhaps you'll consider forwarding it to your friends or using the share and tweet buttons below. And I'm always open to feedback, suggestions, or friendly correspondence. Just hit reply and write something. You know where to find me. Until next Thursday, find some birds.

Peace,

Brent

[thethursdaythree-blog]

March 23, 2017 • Found

"Where are you?" I asked. My eyes quickly flitted from person to person in the baggage claim area.

"We're in baggage claim," replied the voice on the other end of the phone.

"But – I'm in baggage claim," I said. "And I don't see you."

I had flown to Tulsa, Oklahoma to visit my good friends, Zac and Karen. My other good friend Jennifer was there, too, having arrived earlier in the day from Missouri. My evening had been spent navigating terminals and ordering Americanos from airport Starbucks and trying to get as much elbow room as possible. I was so glad to be back on land – ready to celebrate seeing these dear souls for the first time in months.

As I disembarked, I texted and asked them to meet me at baggage claim. But far as I could tell, and contrary to what Jennifer stated, they weren't there. Then, a lightbulb.

"What terminal are you in?" I asked.

"Oh crap," she responded, as the realization set in. But almost immediately, they took off. "We're coming!" she shouted, as they raced through the airport from their terminal to mine. "Don't move!"

I stayed on the phone as they made their way to me, and when my three dear friends finally turned the corner, I was overcome with joy. My knees buckled. My heart was full. I was with my people. It just felt right. It was so good to be found.

Last week's Thursday Three was about getting lost. This week, it's about being found. To be found is to be known. Seen. Loved without condition. It's to belong. It's that feeling of being right where you're meant to be. Sometimes it's fleeting. Sometimes it lasts. But when you know, you know.

"Found You" – a 39-second sketch by Jennifer Moxley

+ Kismet: A Letter

I recently discovered this novel new podcast, _Kismet_, that launched just last month. It's short, sweet, and brilliantly produced. Each episode tells the story of how two people met – each from his or her unique perspective. The content is good, but it's the production that makes it unique. One person's story comes through one channel while the other person's story comes through the other – as if you're standing between the two talking. And at times when the two people share a word or a phrase or an idea, they meet "in the middle." You have to listen to hear it for yourself. It's so cool. This review from The A.V. Club puts it well:

In an era where people's introductions to one another are increasingly facilitated by the internet, _Kismet instead explores how fate and free will factor into the curious ways that strangers' lives intertwine… and the manner in which it's told exemplifies the best qualities of the medium._

"Dust" is a great episode to begin with, telling the story of an NYPD officer and the woman who saved his life, but "A Letter" is what I chose to link to above. It's the story of how two sisters found each other. Each episode is heartfelt and well-crafted, though be advised: some episodes are not well-suited for family listening.

Click here to listen to "A Letter" from Kismet, and be sure to subscribe in whatever podcast app you use on the reg.

+ How to Clear a Path Through 60 Feet of Snow, Japanese Style

This is just bananas. There's a mountain range in Japan that averages 125 feet of snow each year. Not inches. Feet. And in this region, there's a mountain with a highway where the snowfall is so heavy and so constant, that they'll just let the snow pile up – and not even attempt to plow it. At least until March.

Sometime in early March, a bulldozer specially equipped with both a GPS and a mobile satellite phone is sent up the mountain and over the Snow Canyon. The GPS and sat phone work in tandem to provide the driver a detailed video screen image of the dozer's location in relation to the center of the snow-buried highway. This driver's job is not to clear snow, but simply to lay out an accurate track of the road itself. Following the GPS dozer is a team of dozers that will begin the clearing operations. The first bulldozers will push and carry the snow forward, to areas where depths are lower and it can be pushed aside or dumped. Backhoes are used to help widen the road. When the bulldozers have come within six feet or less of the road, the rotary blowers can begin their work, and help to at last reveal the long buried asphalt.

This is how Snow Canyon is formed – with walls of snow on either side of the road stretching upward over sixty feet high. Not inches. Feet. You've got to see these pictures. For me, the coolest detail of this story is the one lone bulldozer sent to simply find the road and make way for the rest of the bulldozers to get to work.

I got to thinking about how this can be a metaphor for our lives. Certainly, there are or have been "lone bulldozers" throughout our journeys who have done the same for us – cleared a path for us, helped us find our way. Or maybe there are times we're the GPS-enabled bulldozer for others. Or maybe I'm being ridiculous and overthinking this. Still, it's an incredible story and the images are remarkable. Click here to read and see.

+ Susanna

This poem by Anne Porter was featured in _The Writer's Almanac_ last Sunday. Throughout the day, I read it again and again, each time caught up in thoughts and memories of what it means to find and be found.

Nobody in the hospital Could tell the age Of the old woman who Was called Susanna

I knew she spoke some English And that she was an immigrant Out of a little country Trampled by armies

Because she had no visitors I would stop by to see her But she was always sleeping

All I could do Was to get out her comb And carefully untangle The tangles in her hair

One day I was beside her When she woke up Opening small dark eyes Of a surprising clearness

She looked at me and said You want to know the truth? I answered Yes

She said it's something that My mother told me

There's not a single inch Of our whole body That the Lord does not love

She then went back to sleep

As always, thanks for reading and subscribing to the Thursday Three. I'm grateful you make this email a part of your weekly rhythm. If you dig it, I'd love if you'd tell your friends. Perhaps you'll consider forwarding it to your friends or using the share and tweet buttons below. And I'm always open to feedback, suggestions, or friendly correspondence. Just hit reply and write something. You know where to find me.

Peace,

Brent

[thethursdaythree-blog]

March 16, 2017 • Lost

The podcasts were queued. The Contigo was full. The windows were down, and the destination was loaded into Apple Maps. The cotton-like cumulus clouds were picture-perfect against the bold blue sky. It even smelled like sunshine. It was the perfect day for a road trip.

I set off to visit my friend who lived a few hours away, and the drive was just as I had planned, well, until the final turn. As I drove down a winding country road with a cornfield on one side and a cornfield on the other – and nothing else – Siri proudly proclaimed, "Arrived."

I slowed the car to a crawl, and the crawl slowed to a stop. I looked again to my left and my right. Closed my eyes. Rubbed them. Opened them again. Looked again. Corn. Nothing but corn as far as the eye could see. Arrived, indeed – or something.

I was lost.

Siri told me I had arrived, but my elevated heart rate told me otherwise. It said, "You're vulnerable and panicky, and you have no control over the situation, and you're probably going to die." Where were Rand and McNally when I needed them?

Whether driving or in a dead end job or on that never ending quest for meaning and vitality, getting lost can be disorienting and disheartening. Sometimes you know exactly where you are. Other times you end up the middle of nowhere – surrounded by corn – with no idea what to do next.

But here's the thing: If you don't get a little lost, you can't be found. So today's Thursday Three is about getting lost.

"Flight 815" – a 42-second sketch by Jennifer Moxley

+ The Stranger in the Woods

It's rare for me to get lost in a book. I can't remember the last time I finished one in less than 24 hours, but that's exactly what happened this weekend with Michael Finkel's The Stranger in the Woods: The Extraordinary Story of the Last True Hermit (Amazon, public library). It just released last week and tells the (true) story of Christopher Knight who, at age 20, left his home and vanished into the woods of Maine where he lived alone for 27 years. In that span, Knight said only one word aloud ("Hi"), went completely without human touch, and stole everything he needed from nearby vacationers, covering his tracks so he wouldn't be found.

It's a captivating story, well worth a read (or a listen), but if time is tight, this recent article from The Atlantic tells the story well.

Though the "stranger" in the title is Knight, one closes the book with the sense that Knight, like all seers, is the only sane person in a world gone insane – that modern civilization has made us strangers to ourselves.

If you want a little more before diving in, Finkel used this feature piece from GQ as the starting point for his book. It amounts to an extensive excerpt – complete with a diagram of Knight's camp in the woods. I wouldn't last two days out there.

+ Flow

I've listened to the podcast, Good Job, Brain!, for years. It's one of my favorites. Each week, four trivia nerds sit around a table with microphones, quizzing each other and sharing their most recent trivia discoveries – all in an effort to train for their next pub trivia night. It's a lot of fun.

In their most recent episode, co-host Dana describes the psychological concept of "flow." Flow is essentially "being in the zone." It's getting lost in what you're doing. It's that near-transcendent state where time seems to stop because you're firing on all cylinders, utilizing your talents, and working to overcome a surmountable challenge. "Flow" was named by psychologist Mihály Csíkszentmihályi and, he maintains, it's the secret to happiness.

In his study, Csíkszentmihályi interviewed creatives, CEOs, athletes, and others. He found that when their hard work was enjoyable – when they were enjoying the constant challenge of their work, getting lost in it – their priorities shifted. They cared less about ambition and less about financial success because the challenge of the work was satisfying in and of itself.

I don't know that I would go so far as to say it's the secret to happiness. I think there's more to it and we're often talking about different things when we talk about happiness. Still, the concept of flow is certainly intriguing. It's something I've experienced myself a handful of times – I just didn't know there was a name for it.

Click here to watch Csíkszentmihályi's 2004 TED Talk on flow. (Or just read the transcript. Might be easier.) There's also a book if you're so inclined (Amazon, public library). And if you want to learn more about Good Job, Brain!, subscribe in your favorite podcast app or follow them on Twitter here.

+ Maps

For Christians around the world, it's the season of Lent – a time to clear out the cobwebs of our souls and clean out the junk drawers of our hearts as we prepare for Easter. It's common in this season to give something up or take on a discipline as part of that work. This Lent, I've been working through Malcolm Guite's excellent anthology, The Word in the Wilderness (Amazon, public library). In it, Guite offers a poem a day for Lent and Easter – some contemporary and some classic. And after each poem, he shares a reflection about the piece. The book has been a meaningful companion along the journey, and Holly Ordway's sonnet from last Thursday is especially fitting for today.

Antique maps, with curlicues of ink As borders, framing what we know, like pages From a book of travelers' tales: look, Here in the margin, tiny ships at sail. No-nonsense maps from family trips: each state Traced out in color-coded numbered highways, A web of roads with labeled city-dots Punctuating the route and its slow stories. Now GPS puts me right at the center, A Ptolemaic shift in my perspective. Pinned where I am, right now, somewhere, I turn And turn to orient myself. I have Directions calculated, maps at hand: Hopelessly lost till I look up at last.

BIG DEAL ALERT: The Thursday Three turns one tomorrow! I sent the first Thursday Three to three people on St. Patrick's Day last year. It's come a long way, and if you've had any part in reading, writing, podcasting, sketching, mixtaping, sharing, inspiring, encouraging, replying, or subscribing, THANK YOU.

Thank you for helping to make this year so special. I couldn't have done it without you. And, hey, if you want to give the Thursday Three another year, consider forwarding it to your friends or use the share, tweet, and forward buttons below. I'm grateful. Until next Thursday, don't be a stranger.

Peace,

Brent

[thethursdaythree-blog]

March 9, 2017 • Change

My mother will tell you: I've never been one for change. Sure, the only constant is change, but my mom's right. (Music to her ears.) I don't like change. Whether it's a big move or a new opportunity or a graduation – anything that alters my relationship with others and my surroundings – I have a hard time. I think I like the idea of change, but when that change is finally staring me in the face, I'm overcome with grief and fear. Grief over relationships ending and moments and memories that will never be. Stories that won't be told. Fear of losing control and not being able to make new friends. Of not having a place. Whether it was potty training (seriously) or middle school or marriage or a new job, change is disruptive. It turns my world upside down. I have to start from square one. And, to be honest, my beef with change is a testament to how much I've enjoyed living – how fortunate (#blessed) I've been.

Yesterday, my face changed significantly. But this one's okay because I was in control. I had prepared myself. Mostly.

Change is hard. This is not new to us. And yet, tremendous beauty and meaning can come from change. Today's Thursday Three speaks to each of these realities.

"Occupied" – a 22-second sketch by Jennifer Moxley

+ Why Facts Don't Change Our Minds

Change is hard to wrap our brains around, too – even when faced with facts, surprisingly. In this fascinating article from The New Yorker, Elizabeth Kolbert describes how even when presented with objective information, our confirmation bias (combined with groupthink) often prevents us from thinking rationally. She points to a study that uses toilets to demonstrate how, for instance, fake news has become so pervasive (and effective):

_In a study conducted at Yale, graduate students were asked to rate their understanding of everyday devices, including toilets, zippers, and cylinder locks. They were then asked to write detailed, step-by-step explanations of how the devices work, and to rate their understanding again. Apparently, the effort revealed to the students their own ignorance, because their self-assessments dropped. (Toilets, it turns out, are more complicated than they appear.)

Sloman and Fernbach see this effect, which they call the "illusion of explanatory depth," just about everywhere. People believe that they know way more than they actually do. What allows us to persist in this belief is other people. In the case of my toilet, someone else designed it so that I can operate it easily. This is something humans are very good at. We've been relying on one another's expertise ever since we figured out how to hunt together, which was probably a key development in our evolutionary history. So well do we collaborate, Sloman and Fernbach argue, that we can hardly tell where our own understanding ends and others' begins._

There's also some interesting background on why human beings developed reason, as well as a potential way forward in the midst of this mess – basically, to admit that we don't know as much as we think we do. Click here to read the full article.

+ Pessimists Archive: Horseless Carriage

Pessimists Archive is a fairly new podcast about what happens when technology advances and new things become old. It's about the fears that grip the masses – the ends of the world – when something new and unfamiliar replaces something tried and true. I've found the podcast to be unique, entertaining, and informative – and I think the title is hilarious. Pessimists Archive exists because, in their words:

The best antidote to fear of the new is looking back at fear of the old.

This episode describes the dawn of the horseless carriage with all the fear and ridiculous regulations and unexpected innovations that accompanied it at the turn of the twentieth century. My favorite part? The people standing on the side of the road shouting, "Get a horse!" I'm going to try to work that into as many conversations as possible today. You in?

Click here to listen to this episode and be sure to subscribe to Pessimists Archive wherever you queue your podcasts.

+ Hurricane

Mary Oliver's "Hurricane" rounds out today's Thursday Three. This is a poem I've kept close of late. Whatever season you're in, whatever change is coming your way, may there be unexpected blossoms.

It didn't behave like anything you had ever imagined. The wind tore at the trees, the rain fell for days slant and hard. The back of the hand to everything. I watched the trees bow and their leaves fall and crawl back to the earth. As though, that was that. This was one hurricane I lived through, the other one was of a different sort, and lasted longer. Then I felt my own leaves giving up and falling. The back of the hand to everything. But listen now to what happened to the actual trees; toward the end of that summer they pushed new leaves from their stubbed limbs. It was the wrong season, yes, but they couldn't stop. They looked like telephone poles and didn't care. And after the leaves came blossoms. For some things there are no wrong seasons. Which is what I dream of for me.

As always, thanks for reading and subscribing. If you dig the Thursday Three, consider forwarding it to your friends or use the share, tweet, and forward buttons below. Sharing the love would mean the world and let me know that you like what's going on here. Until next Thursday, remember: we don't know as much as we think we do.

Peace,

Brent

[thethursdaythree-blog]

February 23, 2017 • Grace

I have a thing for things with a certain fruit on them. Computers. Watches. Phones. You name it. Some people are into cars. Others are into clothes. This guy has a thing for belly button lint. (Gross.) Me? I'm a sucker for the latest and greatest out of Cupertino.

This means I'm in line every year(ish) for the newest iPhone. I confess that I fall for all the marketing gimmicks: "But this one has a much better something than the already great something on the last one. Trust me; I need it." And, just like the classic children's book, If You Give A Mouse A Cookie, if you give a Brent a new iPhone, he'll want a new protective case to go with it.

So every new iPhone has to come with a new case. It's just the way it is. I can't let the shiny jet black iPhone, already prone to "micro-abrasions," show any signs of wear and tear. It must remain pristine. I know. I'm ridiculous. Stop.

But now, thanks to this article from Drew Coffman at Extratextuals, I'm thinking about ditching the case.

I glance at my phone and see a long, deep cut right in the middle of the screen, an imperfection picked up somewhere along my journey, essentially unnoticeable when the screen is turned on but obviously apparent when it's off.

This is — and I mean it — totally fine.

It's strange to me, how we baby our technology, using cases and screen protectors and everything else in an attempt to keep that which we use every day as pristine as possible.

The scratches and scuffs, the dents and the scrapes, the cracks and the imperfections all show signs of adventure and life and love. Each one has a story to tell.

Our cracks and imperfections and dents and scrapes do, too. There's beauty in the brokenness. We call that grace. And that's what this week's Thursday Three is all about.

"Sticky" – a 36-second sketch by Jennifer Moxley

+ The Japanese Art of Recognizing Beauty in Broken Things

In Japan, kintsugi, or "golden joinery," is an art form in which broken pottery items – mugs, plates, bowls, etc. – are put back together using a gold-plated lacquer that highlights the cracks and imperfections. The finished product is a restoration of the broken item into something even more beautiful and meaningful than before.

The _kintsugi method conveys a philosophy not of replacement, but of awe, reverence, and restoration. The gold-filled cracks of a once-broken item are a testament to its history. Shimode points out that "The importance in kintsugi is not the physical appearance, it is… the beauty and the importance that stays in the one who is looking at the dish."_

Thanks to Tara for recommending this article. Click here to read more about kintsugi or here to watch a short video.

+ The Moth: Leaving, Loving & Coming Home

If you've never heard The Moth, you must. The Moth is a radio show and podcast all about stories – human stories – stories of our existence, both shared and particular. Each week, The Moth invites storytellers to share their experiences in front of a live audience without notes. Some of the storytellers are well-known. Others are not. The show, like life, is full of joy and heartache, pain and delight.

Recently, this episode of The Moth featured Jonah Lehrer, an author/writer/journalist who was found to have plagiarized, made up quotations, and recycled previous work. With rawness and vulnerability, Lehrer describes life since his downfall – what he's learned, how he's been changed, and how he's experienced grace. His story moved me profoundly.

Click here to listen. Jonah's piece comes at around the 22-minute mark. Subscribe to The Moth here.

+ World Ending

Nayyirah Waheed gets the last word(s) on grace with a poem from her brilliant collection, salt., meant to be read slowly, again and again.

i don't pay attention to the world ending. it has ended for me many times and began again in the morning.

As always, thanks for letting me into a small chunk of your weekly routine. If you dig the Thursday Three, consider forwarding it to your friends or sharing it on your favorite social media platform. (You can use the share, tweet, and forward buttons below.) It would mean the world and let me know that you like what's going on here. Until next Thursday, how about a little grace? We're all doing the best we can.

Peace,

Brent

[thethursdaythree-blog]

February 16, 2017 • Follow-Up

More often than not, after hitting send on the Thursday Three, one of two things will happen – maybe not immediately, but likely at least within the fortnight. Either a) I think of something I meant to include but didn't – a nagging reminder that the work is never finished, just merely good enough for now, or b) I'll run across a new podcast or a different article or another resource that would have worked really, really well with a recent theme. It never fails.

So I thought it would be fun this week to revisit a few moments from the Thursday Three archives. In short, this week's Thursday Three is a follow-up.

"I'm Coming" – a 47-second sketch by Jennifer Moxley

+ Life Lines

Previously featured in the late-August Thursday Three on hope, Life Lines is a project launched by a few friends seeking to connect individuals on Death Row in North Carolina state prisons with those outside prison walls. When it was originally featured, Life Lines was in the final stages of a Kickstarter campaign. The project was fully funded (!!!), and Life Lines now releases three pieces of poetry, spoken word, and other creative writing by men on North Carolina's Death Row each week.

I've gotten into the habit of listening to the Life Lines podcast every Sunday morning as I walk to church. Each piece is a meaningful companion for the commute, opening my eyes, ears, and heart, and reminding me why the work I'm headed to do is so important.

I caught up with Lars, one of the co-founders of Life Lines, and asked him what's been meaningful to him since the launch and how we might continue to support the good work of Life Lines.

I've been grateful for how this project has put me in conversation with the writers. Chris (another co-founder) and I are doing what we can to ensure Life Lines remains a collective effort of people on both sides of prison walls, including shared decision-making. I get several calls a week from the row, touching base about everything from pieces they've submitted and the phone system, to organizational development and upcoming outreach efforts – even just life. Getting to know them in this way has been a gift.

Probably the most significant way people can support Life Lines is by listening and spreading the word. We're on iTunes and an archive is on our website. We also have a weekly email digest we send out first thing Sunday morning. If someone wants to get more involved, we have specific needs, as well. We're currently on the lookout for a committed editorial board member or two, as well as good tax advice. (Our budget is small enough that becoming a 501(c)3 would have cost more over time than it's worth at this point, so we're an LLC that acts like a nonprofit.) Some of the app upgrades have made running our phone line more expensive than we anticipated, so donations are always welcome, too.

Click here to learn more about the good work of Life Lines and subscribe to the podcast, too.

+ You've Got Mail

Last August, I also sent a super-meta Thursday Three about email newsletters. I featured three newsletters that I discovered as I started to write my own – emails to actually look forward to every week like Daily Pnut, the Weekly Review, and Tedium. (I threw a few bonus newsletters in there, too, like AudioTeller and No Complaints and the always essential The Skimm.)

So I wanted to follow up and offer a few more newsletters to which I've let inside my inbox.

Daily Pnut and The Skimm are really good summaries of the news you need to know as you begin your day. But what about when the day's about to end? Enter NextDraft. NextDraft arrives in my inbox between 3 and 5 pm every day, and it's a great way to take that "there's-one-more-thing-I-have-to-do-today-but-right-now-I-just-need-a-minute" break. Creator Dave Pell's commentary is sharp and witty, and his subject lines are always on point. (Do people still say that? I should read more NextDraft and find out.) Here's how Dave Pell does what he does:

Each morning I visit about 75 news sites, and from that swirling nightmare of information quicksand, I pluck the top ten most fascinating items of the day, which I deliver with a fast, pithy wit that will make your computer device vibrate with delight. No bots. No computer algorithms.

It's true. It's all true. So go now and subscribe.

And bonus: If you like these quick daily fixes of news, you should also check out The Daily, a new podcast from The New York Times. Released every weekday morning, The Daily digs into the day's major news stories – all in twenty minutes or less. It's a great complement to your morning routine. Find it wherever your podcasts are found.

+ The Guest House

In "Good Riddance, 2016," I wrote about how, the day after Christmas while we were away, a plumbing malfunction caused significant water damage to our home. We've since settled into a cozy apartment while repairs are being completed, and we're hopeful we'll be back in by the beginning of April.

Rumi's poem, "The Guest House," was especially fitting that week, but I recently revisited it in an appointment with my therapist (and in preparation for my sermon this Sunday). It's an important piece on how to do this whole human thing well and how to live compassionately and graciously in a world full of flaws and full of grace.

This being human is a guest house. Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness, some momentary awareness comes as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all! Even if they're a crowd of sorrows, who violently sweep your house empty of its furniture, still, treat each guest honorably. He may be clearing you out for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice, meet them at the door laughing, and invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes, because each has been sent as a guide from beyond.

As always, thanks for reading and subscribing. And if you dig the Thursday Three, consider forwarding it to your friends or sharing it on your social media platform of choice. As far as I can tell, these are really the only ways they'll know you love them. Until next week, be grateful for whoever comes.

Peace,

Brent

[thethursdaythree-blog]

February 9, 2017 • Mixtape #6: Treat Yo Self

Oh hey. I didn't mean to miss a week, but somehow – I'm not even sure how – I spent last Thursday morning in Washington, DC at the National Prayer Breakfast. It was a neat experience, sitting around a table with people of all different backgrounds and beliefs and political persuasions – praying together, praying for one another and praying for our country. The highlight for me was meeting Ben Zobrist, Cubs' infielder and World Series MVP. I unknowingly shoved past the newly confirmed secretary of state to get to him (whoops), and I was grateful no Secret Service agents tackled me.

My time in DC was a whirlwind – so much so that I failed to get a Thursday Three out. So this week, I'm sending what I meant to send last week: a mixtape from my dear friend Mary Saou. (Thursday Three Mixtapes are created by friends and neighbors and colleagues and strangers who share three things they're into. Interested in writing one? Let me know.)

So here's Mary. Her theme is Treat Yo Self!

If you like Parks & Rec even the tiniest bit, chances are you've got this scene memorized. If you don't, please, PLEASE, go right now and binge-watch the whole series. (You'll thank me later. I will accept Sour Patch Kids and Anthropologie candles as gifts.) But for real: Tom Haverford and Donna Meagle are my spirit animals. We all need to treat ourselves every once in a while. This week, I'm hijacking Brent's Thursday Three to share three ways that I treat myself every week.

"Five Scoops" _– a 3-minute sketch by Jennifer Moxley_

+ Date Night

Mike and I have been married for seven years. We have two kids who are 4 and almost 2, and life is crazy – with a capital C. Funny thing... the first 5(ish) years, we didn't really have "date night." We would do fun things, sure, but it wasn't something we put on the calendar. Enter kid #1 and date night became a thing we carved out regularly. We had to be intentional about it. It was like a lifeline for us – something to look forward to each week. No matter how broke we were, we would beg for gift cards to AMC for our birthdays or eat off happy hour menus to make it work. (Who am I kidding? We still do that!) Now with two kiddos, we get the sitter first and figure out our plans later. We actually have date night in our shared Google Calendar every Friday, repeating "forever." And that feels good.

+ Bible Journaling

Praying has been one of those things in my life I intend to do daily, but don't always get around to. Don't judge me. It's already embarrassing to share since I work at a church and faith is a big part of my life. Still, the more I've shared my struggles with spiritual disciplines, the more I find that others share some of the same roadblocks that I do.

But last year, my friend Arden shared a new idea with me: Bible journaling (#illustratedfaith). People do it lots of different ways, but here's the deal. Basically, you have one Bible that you set aside and designate for writing, drawing, doodling, painting, and anything else you want to do to process what you're reading and studying. I'm a musician, not an artist by trade, but spreading some watercolor across a page and doodling a verse has been a real game-changer for me. Now, instead of feeling guilty for being behind, I genuinely look forward to opening my Bible and working on a verse. There's something playful about it that I think reflects a better image of who God is than the strict, no-coloring-allowed picture I previously had of the Creator.

"The people walking in darkness have seen a great light..." #illustratedfaith

+ Talking It Out

It's kind of weird to be sharing this, but one of the best things about last year was finding a perfect 10 of a counselor. These kind of relationships are tough to create. You have to be super vulnerable with a stranger. Sure, they're trained and all that, but there's got to be some amount of chemistry/understanding in the mix.

I've seen four different therapists in the past three years, and all have been helpful in different ways at different times in my life, but this experience has topped the charts for me. I actually_ look forward _to going (weird, right?!)

One thing that took the work I was doing to the next level was being a part of a Daring Way group that Bedford Therapy facilitated. It's inspired by Brené Brown's book, _Daring Greatly_, and she trains the trainers on how to work through the eight weeks of material. This group has a great balance between personal sharing and learning content, and it has helped me in just about every area of my life. The friendships made during those two months have lasted, and I owe so much to those amazing warriors for encouraging me to show up and be brave. They have these groups all over, and I think every single human could benefit from being a part of one.

Mary leads worship in Kansas City, MO where she lives with her husband, two kiddos, and awesome dog. Her perfect night in includes a casserole and an episode of the bachelor. Find her on Instagram here and check out her great photography work here.

As always, thanks for spending part of your Thursdays with me. It means the world. And thanks especially to Mary for contributing! If you like what you find here, consider passing it along. And I'm curious... What do you do to treat yourself? What's your guilty pleasure? I've got a fun Thursday Three next week that I'm excited about, so be on the lookout. Like – set an alarm and everything. Start a countdown. It's going to be good. But until then, love well, friends.

Peace, Brent

[thethursdaythree-blog]

January 26, 2017 • Strangers

On November 9, 1938, German paramilitary soldiers aided by non-Jewish civilians, spent the evening shattering the windows of homes, desecrating and burning synagogues, destroying Jewish scriptures, looting and vandalizing businesses, and creating havoc throughout Germany. This night is now known as Kristallnacht – "the night of Broken Glass." Before the sun rose, nearly 100 Jews were murdered, and 30,000 were arrested and sent to Dachau and Buchenwald – German concentration camps. That same night, an 11-year-old Jewish girl named Doris and her best friend Irene cowered in the city of Stuttgart and watched as their local synagogue burned to the ground.

Exactly one month later, Doris, with her mother Emma and 8-year-old brother Eric, boarded a ship and sailed to a new life in the United States. Doris is my grandmother.

Grandma arrived in the United States like so many other immigrants and refugees have – at Ellis Island. She and her family were lucky to make it. At the time, there were tight quotas on entry visas for fear of the "mongrelization" of the United States. Incredulously, the U.S. Consul in Germany was even further limiting the distribution of visas.

And yet my grandmother arrived safely on the shores of America, stepping off the boat into a sea of strangers. As they resettled in Richmond, Virginia among the Jewish community there, their family relied on the kindness of many of these strangers to help them assimilate. Strangers helped furnish their apartment. Strangers helped them find jobs. Strangers helped them navigate the new language in the new world.

It's a remarkable story, and it makes my story possible. So this week's Thursday Three is about strangers.

"Your Name Here" – a 3-minute sketch by Jennifer Moxley

+ Why You Should Talk to Strangers

There's a game I like to play. When I'm out walking sans earbuds, I try to make eye contact with as many people as possible. I'll intentionally stare at them (in a not creepy way), willing them to look back. Sometimes I'll even subtly move into their path, just to try to catch their eye. But I've been floored at how many people have gone out of their way to avoid making eye contact. They'll blatantly look in the opposite direction, pull out their phones, or move to the other side of the road. Or they'll make eye contact for a second and then blink away. What's the deal?!

The deal is if we make eye contact, chances are better we'll start talking – even if it's just a simple "hey." I like talking to strangers. It's something I do. I don't do it all the time, just most of the time. Kio Stark, in this beautiful TED Talk, thinks you should, too.

When you talk to strangers, you're making beautiful interruptions into the expected narrative of your daily life and theirs. You're making unexpected connections. If you don't talk to strangers, you're missing out on all of that. We spend a lot of time teaching our children about strangers. What would happen if we spent more time teaching ourselves? We could reject all the ideas that make us so suspicious of each other. We could make a space for change.

Click here to watch. Click here if you just want to read the transcript. Click here to buy her book.

+ Twice Removed: Nazanin Rafsanjani

Twice Removed is a new podcast from Gimlet Media hosted by A.J. Jacobs of A Year of Living Biblically fame. In each episode, Jacobs takes a guest – often well-known – on a journey through his or her family tree, complete with captivating stories and fascinating people. At the end of each episode, the guest is surprised by a mystery relative – a stranger no more!

In this episode, we meet Nazanin Rafsanjani and her family. She's Iranian-American and has some pretty remarkable ancestors. This is one of my new favorite podcasts and will make you want to give that Ancestry.com free trial a go.

Click here to listen.

+ The Human Family

Poet Maya Angelou offers a much-needed reminder that though we may think ourselves strangers, we have more alike than not.

I note the obvious differences in the human family. Some of us are serious, some thrive on comedy.

Some declare their lives are lived as true profundity, and others claim they really live the real reality.

The variety of our skin tones can confuse, bemuse, delight, brown and pink and beige and purple, tan and blue and white.

I've sailed upon the seven seas and stopped in every land, I've seen the wonders of the world not yet one common man.

I know ten thousand women called Jane and Mary Jane, but I've not seen any two who really were the same.

Mirror twins are different although their features jibe, and lovers think quite different thoughts while lying side by side.

We love and lose in China, we weep on England's moors, and laugh and moan in Guinea, and thrive on Spanish shores.

We seek success in Finland, are born and die in Maine. In minor ways we differ, in major we're the same.

I note the obvious differences between each sort and type, but we are more alike, my friends, than we are unalike.

We are more alike, my friends, than we are unalike.

We are more alike, my friends, than we are unalike.

Click here to listen to Angelou read her poem.

Thanks, friends, for reading and subscribing. And if you like what you find here, consider passing it along. Free imaginary high fives available for the effort. Do you have any fun experiences meeting strangers? I'd love to hear. Until next Thursday, put more love in the world and don't be a stranger.

Peace,

Brent

[thethursdaythree-blog]

January 19, 2017 • Rituals

We all have our rituals, don't we? We have our routines for the day or the particular things we do every week. Do you check your phone first thing when you wake up? Do you shower in the morning or at night? Maybe you're a sock-sock, shoe-shoe person. Or maybe it's more of a sock-shoe, sock-shoe situation.

For a few years during the harsh winter months, I was into Flannel Fridays. There was a time when I wore the color orange every Thursday. And Taco Tuesdays are sacred. My car just drives itself to Chipotle. For the last seven months, I've led morning prayer at church every Wednesday, and I don't know what I'd do without that time to center and breathe and lean into the holy.

These routines, these rituals, these patterns give our lives rhythm. And along the way, the repetition offers meaning. Rituals shape who we are, often without our even realizing it. They become part of us. They determine where our attention lies and how we spend our time. Rituals are powerful things.

This week's Thursday Three is about the rituals that shape our lives.

"Habit" – a 3-minute sketch by Jennifer Moxley

+ Daily Routines of Famous Creatives

I loved this article from Farnam Street, offering excerpts from Daily Rituals: How Artists Work by Mason Currey (Amazon, public library). The article highlights the daily rituals of well-known creatives and the lessons we might learn from them. For instance, Maya Angelou liked to write in dirty hotel rooms. Truman Capote thought best while lying down. And I loved this suggestion from composer Morton Feldman:

When he did find the time to compose, Feldman employed a strategy that John Cage taught him – it was "the most important advice anybody ever gave me," Feldman told a lecture audience in 1984. "He said that it's a very good idea that after you write a little bit, stop and then copy it. Because while you're copying it, you're thinking about it, and it's giving you other ideas. And that's the way I work. And it's marvelous, just wonderful, the relationship between working and copying."

Click here to read the full article.

+ WTF with Marc Maron: Lorne Stories

(Friendly warning: If bad language is a thing for you, you might want to avoid this podcast.)

One of my Sunday rituals is watching Saturday Night Live. Instead of watching Saturday night and live, I watch Sunday afternoon on Hulu. It's how I unwind from a long morning at church and blow off some steam with laughter. And I love the characters and the players and the sketches. They feel like family.

One of my dreams is to see it live in New York because I'd love to watch the chaos of how it all comes together week after week. It feels uniquely familiar: The cast has to listen and find creativity and work collaboratively, with high expectations of delivering something of quality every single week.

There's ritual, too, on SNL – a sort of liturgy. The show starts with the familiar "Live from New York…" opening. The guests hosts who give the monologue have lines they have to say every week: "Stick around, we'll be right back!" And there's a distinct order – with the musical guests and Weekend Update and the show's closing with everyone on stage. We could learn a lot.

All this is to say, I loved this podcast from Marc Maron featuring interviews with current and former SNL cast members about their time on the show and their experience with SNL's legendary producer, Lorne Michaels.

Click here to give it a listen.

+ Mary Oliver on How Habit Gives Shape to Our Inner Lives

I'll give author, poet, and sage, Mary Oliver the final word. This excerpt is found in her book, Long Life (Amazon, public library) as featured in this article from Brain Pickings.

What some might call the restrictions of the daily office they find to be an opportunity to foster the inner life. The hours are appointed and named… Life's fretfulness is transcended. The different and the novel are sweet, but regularity and repetition are also teachers… And if you have no ceremony, no habits, which may be opulent or may be simple but are exact and rigorous and familiar, how can you reach toward the actuality of faith, or even a moral life, except vaguely? The patterns of our lives reveal us. Our habits measure us. Our battles with our habits speak of dreams yet to become real.

"The patterns of our lives reveal us. Our habits measure us." So good. Read the rest here.

I'm curious... What are your rituals? What are the regular things you do that shape your life – that give you meaning? Reply and let me know. I'm always open, too, to your feedback, comments, favorites gifs – whatever you want to send. Just hit reply and let me know. If you like what's here, tell a friend about it. And as always, thanks for letting me be part of your Thursday routine. Until next week, make good choices and learn from your mistakes.

Peace,

Brent

[thethursdaythree-blog]

January 12, 2017 • Simplify

I don't remember exactly where the inspiration came from. It was either an article I read or an insight from the stewardship series at church or a divine revelation after tripping over my own shoes. (Again.) I turned to Natalie as 2016 wound down and said, "We need a mantra for 2017." She nodded slowly and before she even had a chance to respond, I blurted, "Simplify." Natalie thought it over before repeating the word in agreement: "Simplify." It was settled.

We committed to simplify in 2017. Our stuff. Our finances. As much as we could. We wanted to simplify so we could breath easier. So we could live a little lighter. We wanted to make sure the things that really matter actually mattered. We didn't know what it would look like and we especially didn't know how real the mantra would become for us. We couldn't have predicted the water damage that has left us forced to simplify this year, displaced from our home for the next few months. It's an inconvenience, but we're grateful for what we're learning. And with the bulk of our stuff somewhere between our cars, our parents' homes, and our garage, I'm digging Natalie's philosophy: If we don't need it in the next three months, we can get rid of it.

"Life-Changing Magic" _– a 3-minute sketch by Jennifer Moxley_

So as I spend another Wednesday night writing – this time from a cramped cozy apartment – simplicity seemed like a fitting theme. Hope you enjoy.

+ Minimalism

Scrolling through Netflix this week, I serendipitously stumbled upon the Minimalism film – a documentary following the lives of individuals and families who seek to live with less. Whether it's tiny houses or 33 pieces of clothing or whatever can fit in a bag, the film – a little over an hour – offers some stark statistics, some needed gut punches, and some intriguing questions. What do we need? Really? What might it look like to live with less? What matters? Some parts of the film were predictable, and others seemed downright ridiculous, but the premise is solid, and the documentary does well what it sets out to do.

If you get some time this weekend, check it out on Netflix. The Minimalists have a podcast, too, and I've added their most recent book to my queue.

+ Twenty Thousand Hertz: "NBC Chimes"

As a lover of radio and podcasts and all things audio, I can't get enough of Twenty Thousand Hertz, a new podcast detailing "the stories behind the world's most recognizable and interesting sounds." They recently released a neat episode on the NBC chimes – those three simple instantly recognizable tones that, played together, have carried meaning for decades.

NBC's three little chimes didn't just define a television network, they defined a generation. Where did they come from and what is the surprising impact they have had on current and future media? Featuring the last person to play the NBC chimes on the NBC radio network, broadcaster Rick Greenhut, and radio historian, John Schneider.

Click here for the Twenty Thousand Hertz podcast and discover the complex story behind those simple, timeless chimes.

+ Questions

Sometimes the simplest questions are the most profound. Sit with this poem for a while, will you? It's one of my favorites by poet Joseph Mills from his book, This Miraculous Turning (Amazon, public library).

On the Interstate, my daughter tells me she only has two questions. I'm relieved because she usually has two hundred. I say, Okay, let's have them, and she asks, What was there before there was anything? Stupidly, I think I can answer this: There was grass, forests, fields, meadows, rivers. She stops me. No, Daddy. I mean before there was anything at all, what was there? I say that I don't know, so then she asks, Where do we go when we die? I tell her I don't know the answer to this either. She looks out the side, and I look forward, then she asks if we can have some music.

I'm thrilled to have so many new subscribers this week. If that's you, thank you! I hope this simple email adds value to your week and your life. It's a joy to have you along for the ride. I'm always open to your feedback, comments, responses – whatever you want to send. Just hit reply and drop your wisdom. And whether you're new or not, if you like what you find in the Thursday Three, consider passing it on to a friend or sharing it on your favorite social media platform. You keep this train rolling. Until next week, make good choices and learn from your mistakes.

Peace,

Brent

[thethursdaythree-blog]

January 5, 2017 • Look Up

One of my favorite gifts this Christmas was a pair of binoculars. I didn't ask for them and I wasn't expecting them. A few weeks earlier, I had followed a rabbit trail that led me to search for binoculars on Amazon, but I hadn't told anyone. How did my parents know? Jeff Bezos must have tipped them off. Or maybe Alexa. Those are the only logical explanations. But I love these binoculars. They come with a fancy carrying case and you can mount them on a tripod. They're the kind with which you can stargaze and birdwatch and see the details of the plane flying overhead. They're also the kind with which you shouldn't stand and peer into your neighbor's house. (Sorry again for that, Mike.)

On Christmas Day, I took the binoculars to the North Carolina coast where my wife's grandparents live. It's the only place I've ever seen the Milky Way. When the sun finally set, I walked outside and peered up at the sky. I could see Orion's Belt with my naked eye – and Betelgeuse to its left and Rigel to its right, but when I lifted the binoculars to peer through them, I couldn't catch my breath. Stars filled the lenses. Tens. Hundreds. Thousands of stars I hadn't seen before. I lowered the binoculars and stared upward. And I pondered. When was the last time I had counted the stars? When was the last time I stopped to notice these constant companions? When was the last time I paid attention to them? And what would it mean to learn their names? To know a little more about my place in the universe?

"A Sky Full of Stars" - a 3-minute sketch by Jennifer Moxley

So in this first week of 2017, I've been inspired to look up a little more – to lift my head and gaze skyward. I hope this week's Thursday Three will inspire you to do the same.

+ Unseen City

I was hooked from page one. Unseen City: The Majesty of Pigeons, the Discreet Charm of Snails & Other Wonders of the Urban Wilderness (Amazon, public library) is Nathanael Johnson's response to his one-year-old daughter's relentless questioning of the world around her.

She'd ask me to name everything she saw. Her favorite word by far was "that," usually uttered in a tone both interrogative and imperative. "That?" she would ask/command, extending an imperious finger. "That's a house," I would say. "That!" — this time leaning backward in the front pack until I could see only the underside of her chin and her extended arm. "That is the sky." "That!" "A tree." "That!" "Still a tree." "That." "Yet another tree."

But Nathanael grew weary of offering the same response every time, so he vowed to never give the same answer twice. This led him to discover so much more of the world around him – parts of his life hidden in plain sight like pigeons and weeds and squirrels. In the book, you'll learn why pigeons make such great messengers, the symbiotic relationship between trees and squirrels, and why birds sing more in the wee hours of the morning. Unseen City will make you want a pair of binoculars, inviting each of us to stop, look up, and learn more about the secrets of our places.

To know the secrets of a place, to read it on many levels, and to sense the vastness of the unknown is, I think, the key to love.

Click here for an excerpt from Unseen City by Nathanael Johnson. You can purchase a copy here.

+ Song Exploder: Jóhann Jóhannsson, Arrival

If it's too cold where you are to go outside and look up, go inside instead – to a theater – and see Arrival. It's the most beautiful and heart-wrenching and hopeful sci-fi film I've ever seen. In this episode of Song Exploder, a fascinating podcast that invites composers and artists to deconstruct their music before putting it back together, host Hrishikesh Hirway interviews Arrival composer Jóhann Jóhannsson about the track, "Heptapod B," from the film's soundtrack. The intricacies and layers and creativity will blow your mind.

Click here to listen to Song Exploder with Jóhann Jóhannsson.

+ In Muir Woods

I've never been to Muir Woods, but I'd love to go – to look up and come face-to-trunk with just how small I am. This poem by Mark Nepo offers a glimpse of what we discover when we look up. It's worth reading again and again.

Masters of stillness, masters of light, who, when cut by something falling, go nowhere and heal, teach me this nowhere,

who, when falling themselves, simply wait to root in another direction, teach me this falling.

Four hundred year old trees, who draw aliveness from the earth like smoke from the heart of God, we come, not knowing you will hush our little want to be big;

we come, not knowing that all the work is so much busyness of mind; all the worry, so much busyness of heart.

As the sun warms anything near, being warms everything still and the great still things that outlast us

make us crack like leaves of laurel releasing a fragrance that has always been.

Find this poem and more in Mark Nepo's book The Way Under the Way.

Thank you to everyone who wrote last week offering support and concern about our house. It means the world. It's been a busy week of working with State Farm (who's been amazing), meeting with the insurance adjuster, finding a contractor, and searching for a place to live. Today we're moving into an apartment where we'll live for a few months while repairs are made to our home. This is a tough and disorienting season, but we're so grateful for friends and family like you who are supporting us and loving us through it.

Thanks, also, for reading and subscribing to this labor of love. If you like what you find in the Thursday Three, consider passing it on to a friend or sharing it on your favorite social media thing. Until next week, be kind and, in the words of my friend, Jerry, go put more love in the world.

Peace,

Brent

[thethursdaythree-blog]

December 29, 2016 • Old Year/New Year

After a much needed four-week hiatus, I'm glad to be back writing the Thursday Three. I've had this week's edition ready to go for a little while but did not know how much I'd need it, too. This week's Thursday Three is about saying goodbye to 2016. For many I know, it has been a heavy year. There has still been loss and conflict and grief (and perhaps the only bright spot was a Cubs World Series win). Still, I wanted to bid farewell to 2016 in a positive way. And I still want to, but 2016 just. keeps. coming.

Sometime between Christmas Day and December 26, while we were out of town, we had a plumbing malfunction in our upstairs guest bathroom. That means for hours and hours, water ran and ran and ran inside our home leaving it flooded. A neighbor alerted us to the situation while we were away, and he was able to get the water shut off for us, but not before our ceiling caved in, floors were destroyed, and drywall was waterlogged. Thankfully, as we drove home, some dear friends were able to get in and rescue our cat who had been seeking dry land.

actual footage of the moment our ceiling collapsed

We are still processing it all, but we know we'll be out of our home for a few months and are unsure where we'll live while repairs are being made. Still, Natalie and I have been overwhelmed by the support we've received. We're so thankful that everyone is safe and that seemingly nothing irreplaceable was lost.

"Honk" – a 3-minute sketch by Jennifer Moxley

Needless to say, we are more than ready to welcome 2017. So for the last Thursday Three of the year, here are three things to help you say, "Good riddance, 2016."

+ 99 Reasons 2016 Was a Good Year

Future Crunch, a website and fortnightly newsletter with "awe-inspiring stories from around the world that you probably didn't hear about," put together this list of reasons why 2016 wasn't such a bad year after all. It is brimming with hope. For instance, malaria deaths have declined by 60% and global hunger is at its lowest point in 25 years – and that's only the beginning.

If you need a rush of optimism as 2016 draws to a close, check out the other 97 reasons here.

+ 10 Questions to Capture the Year in Your Journal

I am a big fan of journaling. Every night before I go to bed, I open Day One – my journaling app of choice –and write a daily review. I answer the same questions each day, including, "What are five things you're thankful for today?" and "What book are you reading?" Let me know if you want my list, and I'll send it to you. But if you're looking for some deeper reflection about the year gone by, Day One has ten questions to get you started. Here's the first one:

_**What was your favorite single day/event of the year? **Close your eyes and think about all that's happened in the last 12 months. What's the first thing that pops into your head that puts a smile on your face? Whatever the event, start off this introspection with a dose of positivity. It's a great way to get the creative juices flowing._

Get them flowing, indeed. Whether you use the app or not, click here for Day One's list of 10 Questions to Capture the Year in Your Journal.

+ The Guest House

I'll wrap up this week (and this year) with a more-than-fitting poem by Rumi. I think it offers a meaningful reflection on 2016 and a helpful orientation for the year ahead. I hope it does the same for you.

This being human is a guest house. Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness, some momentary awareness comes as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all! Even if they're a crowd of sorrows, who violently sweep your house empty of its furniture, still, treat each guest honorably. He may be clearing you out for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice, meet them at the door laughing, and invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes, because each has been sent as a guide from beyond.

I hope you have a happy new year, friends. Thanks for sharing most of your year with me and letting me be a part of your Thursdays. And thank you, also, for reading and subscribing. If you like what you find here, consider passing it on to a friend or sharing it on your favorite social media thing. Until next week, be grateful for whoever comes.

Peace, Brent

[thethursdaythree-blog]

November 24, 2016 • Thanksgiving

The giant inflatable light-up turkey is in the front yard. The table is set. Thanksgiving is here. Today, I hope you'll enjoy time with friends and loved ones, pay attention to the goodness around you, and give thanks.

I'd love to know what you're thankful for today. Reply to this email and let me know!

As you prepare to carve the turkey and slip into that glorious food coma, today's Thanksgiving-themed Thursday Three will, I hope, enrich your holiday. I'm thankful for you!

"Dessert" – a 3-minute sketch by Jennifer Moxley

+ Make America Grateful Again

This is a throwback and, admittedly, it's a little self-serving (and super meta), but I couldn't do a Thanksgiving-themed email and not link back to my Thursday Three on gratitude from way back in July. It's easily one of the top three issues of the Thursday Three I've sent – both in terms of what's included and the response it received. It has a great New York Times piece about the benefits of thank-you notes, a poignant webcomic, and the most perspective-shifting poem I encountered in 2016 – "The Paradox," by Sarah Kay.

Click here to read The Thursday Three from July 7 on gratitude.

+ The Great Thanksgiving Listen

This Thanksgiving, StoryCorps is inviting you to record a conversation with a friend or family member who has a story to tell. Any story at all. It's part of their "Great Thanksgiving Listen" – an initiative to encourage intergenerational conversation and enrich our common life through the power of story. StoryCorps founder, Dave Isay, said this about the initiative:

Asking questions and listening intently to the stories that emerge is one of the most powerful forces in the world. If we all take one hour this year to do it, we'll strengthen our national fabric at a time when it desperately needs it.

Yes. Yes we do. To get started, all you need to do is download the StoryCorps app (iPhone, Android) or head to the StoryCorps.me site. There you can browse stories that have already been shared or record your own through the app. The stories I've heard are beautiful and they offer an intimate glimpse into the lives of our sisters and brothers around the country. I hope they'll inspire you to listen well today.

Click here to read more about the Great Thanksgiving Listen!

+ Some Terrible Things to Give Thanks For

I've really enjoyed John Pavlovitz's blog recently, and this post from yesterday really hit home. The title is slightly misleading, but the content is profoundly meaningful. I'm particularly aware of how gatherings around the table today can stir up all the feels – grief or pain or anger or loneliness. I'm with you, and this post meets us there. Here's an excerpt:

Give thanks for grief. It is the necessary tax on loving people and being loved by them. The magnitude of our mourning is proportionate to the depth of connection you had with someone who is gone. The tears that come are a tribute to them. Even as you grieve the absence of someone you loved, be grateful for their presence. It is a blessing to have had someone worth losing.

Click here to read the full post. I hope you'll take time to read.

Thanks, as always, for reading and subscribing. Don't forget to reply and let me know what you're thankful for. Until next week, be good to one another – and have a great Thanksgiving!

Peace, Brent