writing

Rabbit Trails.

/ jerrythinks / Leave a comment

I was just messaging my Dad, and he was asking what I was doing today. He knows it’s my day off, so on Fridays, it’s anyone’s guess as to what I might find myself doing; at least in the morning before my wife gets off work at noon and all my attention moves to her.

I said, “I’m headed to grab some coffee and do some writing.” I followed that quickly with, “but I’ve currently got too many rabbit trails in my head.”

It’s true. While driving my son to work earlier this morning, I was daydreaming about enjoying some hot coffee at a local coffee shop and opening up my laptop in order to pound out a long-overdue (as if there’s a schedule to this thing. You know better than that) blog post.

But the plight is one you might be well familiar with. It seems that lately every cage in the zoo of my mind has been unlatched, and every thought has been permitted to run rampant. I’m mentally wrestling with a slippery eel in one hand and a wily ostrich neck in the other. Zeroing in on a focused thought seems like organizing meerkats.

So in an effort to bring some semblance of order here, I’d like to–one by one–wrangle up some thoughts, updates, queries, and ideas. You, my reader, are the lucky one who gets to ride shotgun on this safari jeep I’m driving.

I’ll start with the most glorious, wonderful, bliss-filled news of all. On January 20, 2026, my wife and I were catapulted into grandparenthood with the arrival of Bailey, our first grandchild! The long-awaited arrival of this new human did not disappoint–as we got to hold her at just hours old, we began to have a sense of some new kind of love we haven’t had the opportunity to have. It’s a love that amplifies the love we already had for our daughter, because now we share parenthood in common with her, and we also are recipients of a wonderful opportunity to have a place in our granddaughter’s life. It isn’t that we begin parenting again–no, no. We’ve done that. It’s that we are now in an incredible and enviable position of standing by and absorbing the joy of watching our child parent their child.

Next up on our corraling mission is something that might seem a little on the esoteric side. I’ll do my best to broaden this enough for anyone to grab hold of it, but there are pieces of this I’m sharing from a pastoral point of view. File this under “behind the veil”, perhaps. I’m not one to shy away from sharing even thoughts that are unformed or perhaps even eventually embarrassing. It’s the road I’ve chosen when writing on this blog. You’re going to get authenticity, if nothing else.

The best way to share from this pastor’s heart is to share a case study of sorts from my night last night. I was lying in bed enjoying some much-needed sleep when at 3:07 a.m. I woke up. I remember the time distinctly because I grew up at 307 Townbank Road in North Cape May, NJ. I was awake at that point briefly before dozing back to sleep. Then at 4:20 a.m. I woke again; this time for much longer. (No, I do not have the relationship some people do with 4:20.) As I lay there, I was ping-ponged by about 6 or 7 different situations in my life. My mind was thrashing around about a variety of to-dos, what-ifs, and did-I-forget-to’s. In the midst of it all, I entertained thoughts of ministry validation, emotional investments, relational missteps, and a gamut of not-entirely-helpful ponderings. It was bedlam in my brain.

I decided, as I sometimes do, to evolve my worrying and wondering into worshiping. Before you get impressed, let me finish. I turned my attention to Jesus and what I imagine Him to look like. He’s my best friend, my Savior, and my professed Lord. I started in on a chat with Him about how I was feeling, what I’ve been doing (as if He doesn’t know it better than I do), and the thoughts that had occupied my mind and heart. I’ll confess to you that at first I didn’t do too well on the listening part of prayer. I just kind of brain-dumped on Him. Before I even got to the listening part, my brain then wandered off, back into the thoughts that had swirled and bounced around on the inside of my cranium, like the numbered balls in the Powerball lottery machine.

Catching myself, I snapped back to attention on Jesus and had another go at a conversation with Him. “Lord, I love you. Teach me how to love you better. I know I’ve got lots of room to grow in that area…”

Then my mind again trailed off into some concern for the young people I’ve invested in over recent months and years. I often concern myself about their well-being; mentally, emotionally, socially, and mostly spiritually. I began to think about how it seems like other pastors have it together, but I don’t. Like others seem to know what to do and how, and when. I began to fall into the wasteful train of thought that others have what I don’t, and even if I could know what they know, I wouldn’t be able to execute like they do. In a word, it was sheer insecurity. Stupid, wasteful, untrue insecurity. I’m embarrassed that I fell for it.

Do you ever think like that? Another lie (that I know is a lie) is that I’m the only one who thinks like I do. The enemy tries to convince me of that so that I’ll feel disconnected from any sense of commisseration with others. Make no mistake: I know that the enemy’s #1 weapon in any battle is isolation. If he can get me feeling isolated, or lonely, or unrelatable, or exiled in any way then most of the battle is won. Do you ever fall into the trap of thinking that you’re alone in the struggles you have, whether they’re mental, social, emotional, relational, physical, financial, or spiritual?

Then, as I snapped back once again to Jesus’ face, I was instantly reminded of the peace-filled companionship and compassion He has on an ongoing basis for my benefit. No matter how many times my frail mind trails off down whatever rabbit trail, He is patient with me, welcoming me back again and again and again and again. Oh, the depth of love He has for me and for you, despite our distractedness, our flimsy affections, and our propensity for nonsense.

Another rabbit trail was/is our younger daughter, who lives much further away than our oldest daughter (the mom to our new granddaughter). She is pregnant with our second grandchild and our first grandson, due in May! So naturally, I’m often thinking of her, her wonderful firefighter hubby*, and how that little unborn guy is doing. (*Btw, that house on fire over there held our son-in-law as he helped extinguish that raging inferno a couple of days ago.)

I’m envious of families who all live near one another so that grandparents have frequent interaction with grandchildren. I was reading an article recently about the mental and physical health benefits that grandparents enjoy from having interaction with their grandchildren, and even the benefits on a child’s development when their grandparents are in their life. It’s a classic case of a “win-win” situation. I like to daydream about being the kind of grandpa that is always within arm’s reach, always ready to hang out, always ready to grab an ice cream cone, always ready with a listening ear, always ready to buy up the opportunities that I may have missed the first go-around.

Yet another rabbit trail is an upcoming event I’m overseeing at our church. It’s a marriage and relationship-focused event called “Through Thick & Thin,” and we’re welcoming Lamorris & Megan Crawford, who co-host the Covenant Culture Podcast. They’ll be with us in a couple of weeks, and I’m spearheading all the details of that weekend. So naturally, my mind continually spins about all that needs to be done to make that a memorable, productive, and quality experience for all involved.

Another rabbit trail I’m chasing is the complete overhaul and reshaping of the disciplemaking culture of our local church. As Director of Discipleship, I’ve been entrenched for months now in every granular detail of anything and everything we as a local church are doing (or should be doing) to make disciples, which is the one thing Jesus gave us to do. The journey has been equal parts terrifying and gratifying. It is not grandiose or machismo to say that through these efforts, following God’s lead, we are literally shifting the complexion of what we do, how we do it, and most importantly, WHY we do it.

When you are seeking to shift culture–any culture–there’s bound to be a sense of gravitas that comes along with that. Don’t misunderstand me. I don’t personally feel like that is on my shoulders alone. I’d be a fool to think that were even possible. But I do feel a deep sense of responsibility to carefully steward the role I’ve been given and the tasks that come along with it, all while maintaining a lockstep with God’s Holy Spirit. I continually have as my personal mantra: “Unless the Lord builds the house, the builders labor in vain.” (Psalm 127:1)

There then in my bed, with all these thoughts (and more) making their rounds in my skull like motorbikes in the “Sphere of Death,” I again turned my heart and attention to Jesus.

“Lord, you see all that I’m thinking. You know all that I need. Where I see question marks, you see exclamation points. You are so far above these situations, and yet intimately involved in every detail of all of it. And I know you care about me and my family far more than I care about any of these details. Thank you for being with me, and thank you for being trustworthy. Amen.”

And with that, I surrendered all the rabbit trails, all their outcomes, all the unanswered questions, all the “what-ifs”, and all the thoughts that would continue to keep me awake.

When I awoke again, it was time to get up and start the day. And more notably, it was from the deep kind of sleep that comes from resting completely in the goodness of God. No matter what rabbit trails you’re chasing today, or what thoughts are uncaged in your heart and mind today, I hope for you the peace that goes beyond all understanding–the kind that can only be found in the loving gaze of Jesus Himself.

From Derailed to Rerailed

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Lately, I’ve been a wee bit obsessed with finding a new old train for this year’s Christmas tree. I’ve got in my head the vision of having a vintage yet functional electric train choo-choo-ing its way around and around and through the gifts under the tree this year.

As a child, I had a trainset that was given to me from a friend of my parents. A man named Merrill that I have zero recollection of. I remember his name only because its written (presumably in his own handwriting) in faded black marker on the box that contains all the train pieces that I currently have in our closet. By the way, when I open that box, it smells like my childhood. (Isn’t it weird how smells connect us to memories? What smells triggers memories for you?)

Anyway, of all the pieces of track I’ve had in my possession, one of my favorite pieces is the rerailer track. If you’ve ever seen a model train running, you may not have even ever noticed it among the other pieces. It’s typically disguised in a railroad crossing. It’s a critical piece of any set, and it’s what I want to talk to you about briefly today.

We’re likely all familar with the term “derailed”. It’s an ominous word that almost always indicates something has gone wrong. A project gets derailed, a relationship gets derailed, a business deal gets derailed, or in any other way, forward motion hits derailment and things are severely hindered.

Is there any derailment in your life right now? What has gone awry? What isn’t sitting as squarely as you’d like? What remains not just undone but unhealthy? When a model train derails, its obvious. It’s noisy. It’s bumpy. Likewise, when I ask you “Is there any derailment in your life?” you don’t have to guess. You know. It’s noisy. It’s bumpy. It’s obvious.

The bigger question then is where is your rerailer? What does (will) it take to get those wheels back on track? What resets your mind, your attention, your priorities, your heart on what’s healthiest, most important, and most effective in the mission of your life and who you are?

Come back another time for my personal list of rerailers, the things that always get me mind and heart back to where they should be. But for now, what works for you? Use the comment section below, send me an email, or shoot me a text.

Putting the “me” in “mess”

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It was the final frame of the 2012 U.S. Open Bowling Championship in my childhood home state of New Jersey. Bowling legend Pete Weber was poised to clinch his 5th championship title, and a strike here would crown him bowling king once again, by a one-pin margin. Weber slipped three of his fingers into the holes of his perfectly weighted, balanced, and shined bowling ball. All during the championship, and as he made his approach on this historic frame that would decide the outcome of the tournament, Pete Weber had in his mind (and ears) a young heckler (unidentified to this day) who jeered at him. Unphased, Pete Weber maintained his steely focus on the 10 pins at the end of that finely oiled lane; pins that were doing their own heckling of Pete Weber.

Moments later, Pete Weber celebrated a perfect strike and, in exuberant celebration, gave the sporting world one of the greatest, most bizarre, most perfect-fitting exclamations of victory ever to be uttered:

“WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE? I AM!”

It’s a messy, awkward, nonsensical declaration that somehow fit the personality of Pete Weber and the alpha-male moment perfectly. But still…it was just…odd.

I appreciate how AI took this statement of Weber’s and straightens things out with a more logical explanation:

“Who do you think you are?” Implies that the person believes they are bigger than what they are. It elicits the thought of a powerful person. “I am” confirms that I am, in fact, who you think you are.

What’s the moral to this story, and why am I telling you about it? It’s because it’s the perfect reminder that people are messy. If you’re going to interact with other people, you’re going to get mess on your hands. It’s not a matter of if, but when. And when is always either “now” or “very very soon.”

I remember the moment in my life when I realized that people are messy. I don’t think I’ve ever shared this story with anyone. Somehow, this morning it slipped back into my consciousness, and with it, a trickling of some childhood emotions.

In elementary school (sixth grade, I think, which in those days was still elementary school), I had a really good classmate and friend named Jeff. We played trumpets together in the elementary school band, and we just got along really well. We were always joking around, laughing, and making the best of our school day. Jeff had become a good, positive, pleasant, and fun part of my school day as a young boy. We didn’t do much together outside of our school day, but when we were there together, it was always a good time.

Then one day I happened to see Jeff at a small shopping plaza–the Acme shopping plaza, I believe–in the little town of North Cape May, New Jersey, where I grew up. When I saw Jeff in that context, he wasn’t the Jeff I knew from school. He wasn’t smiling or even friendly. In fact, he was aggressive. He seemed angry. And in a matter of moments, became violent. I recall him pushing me, as if to invoke some kind of fighting response from me. I had no training either in self-defense or even about what to do in such a situation. He kept pushing me as I kept trying to get away from him.

This is part of the front of that old Acme shopping plaza, now vacant.

My young mind was racing, confused, and frightened at what was happening to me in that moment, in broad daylight on the cement walkway that ran along the front of that shopping plaza. What had I done wrong? Nothing I could think of. Why was Jeff acting this way? I had no earthly idea. I simply wanted to get away from this person, whom until that moment I had considered a good friend.

I understood in that moment for the first time, that people aren’t always easy to understand. That people aren’t always going to do what you expect or think they should. That, in short, people are messy.

My time in ministry for over three decades now has only served to support this truth. I know that anytime we’re interacting with others, we can count on it statistically that a mess is going to emerge. There’ll be some miscommunication, some misunderstanding, or even some perceived hurtful thing that happens or gets said. If you don’t believe me or agree, you’ve likely never had a conversation with anyone at any time about anything. For those of you who have, you’re nodding your head in agreement.

One of the most critical components of mess management, however, begins with the first two letters of “mess”: me. I should never have as my default setting the idea that when a mess arises, it certainly can’t be because of me. A healthy stance to take when interacting with any mess is to ask questions like, “What part do I have in this?” or even “What have I done–even inadvertently–that has contributed to the mess at hand?” Simply put: “What ownership do I need to take when it comes to the current mess?”

Here’s what that kind of honest vulnerability will do:

  1. It will make you humble and approachable, two qualities that do what nothing else can.
  2. It will disarm and diffuse the tendency for blame-laying over responsibility-taking.
  3. It will level the field in terms of anyone involved, allowing everyone to work together.
  4. It focuses energy on solutions rather than causes. (Not that fact-finding isn’t important.)
  5. It creates malleability instead of rigidity. Being malleable is a key ingredient to resolving messes.

So the next time you encounter a mess, don’t do anything before you remember the “me” in the mess.

Before shoving someone down a cement walkway, take stock of where the “me” in the mess is. When you do, reach out to me and tell me what transpired and what you learned from it.

Case in point: This morning, I have on my mind a situation that just happened this past weekend. I had an understanding of something that I thought was clearly planned and settled, and yet someone else had a different version of reality. At a certain point, those two perceptions of reality–mine and theirs–collided and made a small mess. Thankfully, it was easily rectified and we moved forward, but I had to do the work of mentally reviewing the situation, and thinking intentionally about my part in what had transpired.

I was tempted to dig in my heels, doubling down on my version of what was supposed to happen, but when faced with a different version, I chose instead to believe the best in the other person and give way to a different route. Then in quick hindsight, revisit the situation to see what can be learned and strengthened in me and my leadership. I hope this brief example can help put skin on the concept of effective mess management.