The Ministry of Being There

There are weeks when everything feels loud.

Work ramps up instead of down.
School deadlines stack.
Decisions don’t pause just because you’re tired.
Life keeps asking for motion.

And lately, it feels like the asking never really stops.

This week carried a lot.

Work has been a full sprint since the first of the year, calls every day, sometimes on weekends, all tied to a major system deployment that doesn’t care much about calendars or capacity. At the same time, the North Star work I worked with my department to create has launched, and continues to evolve. New formats are launching. New rhythms are forming. Structures are shifting just enough to require attention, recalibration, and patience.

School has blurred together. In just a few months, I’ve added what feels like hundreds of pages of writing. Perhaps I will count all the pages, someday. But what purpose would that serve. All I know is that I have written enough that it no longer feels like coursework alone, it follows me into the margins of the day.

Creatively, big decisions were made this week, too. Not details, not drafts, but structural ones. How the book I am writing will work. How the next ones will fit. Timing. Tension. Long-term thinking. Five books mean every gear matters, even the ones no one will see for a while.

And parenting, as always, refuses to stay neatly categorized.

The kids' school grades came back, with only one disappointing class for Zoey, and others encouraging. David made A/B Honor Roll. Jacob and I have been quietly writing notes back and forth in his journal, building something together line by line. Small moments that somehow carry more weight than the big ones.

One of the heaviest moments came quietly.

At church dinner, the kids ran off to their Bible studies. My wife went to hers. And Asher and I walked back out to the truck.

He isn’t ready yet. We’re navigating that carefully. Trying to encourage growth without forcing something he’s not prepared for. It’s a tension I haven’t resolved.

We didn’t go anywhere. The hour wasn’t long enough.

So we stayed.

He climbed up onto the armrest and leaned against me. Then he told me he loves “Daddy Asher time.”

I want him to grow. I really do.
And at the same time, I love that moment exactly as it is.

I don’t think those two things cancel each other out. I think they’re just part of the work.

I’m also watching my wife carry a lot right now.

I want to fix things. I always do. But more often than not, what she needs isn’t a solution. It’s someone willing to sit in the weight with her without rushing it away.

Our calendars are full. Our energy is thin.

And still, walking through life with her outweighs everything else. All of this exists because of that partnership. Because she cheers me on even when I don’t slow down enough to notice how much she’s carrying.

That’s what this week keeps teaching me.

That presence is not passive.
It’s active work.

Sitting in a truck instead of pushing forward.
Listening instead of fixing.
Staying when it would be easier to move on.

The world will keep asking for more.
But sometimes the most meaningful thing you can give is simply being there.

All of this has left me tired in a very specific way.

Not burned out.
Not empty.

Just… full.

Full of responsibility.
Full of care.
Full of things that matter.

Which is exactly why, as this week ends, I know what I need next.

Tonight, I’m going to sit down with my closest friends.

We’ll play games. We’ll laugh. We might talk about heavy things, or we might not. No one will need me to solve anything. No one will need progress, plans, or outcomes.

Just presence.

It’s not escape.
It’s a reset.

A reminder that before all the roles and responsibilities, I’m still a person who needs to sit across from people who know me well and let the week loosen its grip.

This... is where I’m ending the week.

Still a dad. Still figuring it out.
Choosing presence over progress, at least for tonight.

Much love. Stay safe. Wash your damn hands.
I’ll see you next time.