Month: August 2026

An Open Letter to the Men of Whitaker Gateway Park

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Men,

I’ve been running by you for months now. But this morning was noticeably different. For one, there were so many more of us in the park today.

Usually, I’m the only runner in the park. Let’s be real. It’s not a big park so you may wonder, “Why is he running through it?” It’s strategic…water and potty break.

Usually, the others of you are a mix of Sarasota Bay Club residents, construction workers, and early morning risers. Some out for a walk, some gathering to work, some taking in the view.

The second noticeable difference this morning was a group of five other runners who ran by me as I exited the park to head downtown. Noticeably younger and, of course, noticeably faster. You actually said “Good morning” to me first, which I appreciated. A few-seconds interaction, but noteworthy.

You answered my curiosity why I’ve never seen your generation in the park when one of you caught up with me after we’d circled through downtown. You asked, “Am I headed in the right direction for New College?” Fellow explorers…different age, different pace, but on the same journey.

When I stopped for a drink, I couldn’t help but think about our age difference. Probably close to 40 years. So much life ahead of you. I hope you keep moving for your next 40 years.

And then I saw the most memorable difference that will reside in my mind for a long time. Circling around the park to head back home, there you were, Mr. Pullup Bar user. My guess is you live in Sarasota Bay Club. I’d guess you’re the age my father would be. But you are the first of your generation that I’ve seen do more than walk the park trail. You stopped and challenged yourself. Maybe you do it all the time. I hope so. It’s just we’ve never simultaneously been at it at the same time in the park. Maybe we’ll do it again and I’ll stop to chat, if you’re up for it. I’d like to tell you that you are an inspiration.

I always struggle to remember the name of this park. When I googled it, I found a post that told its story. The park is named after William Whitaker who homesteaded there in the 1840s. His descendant had stopped by with his family, 180 years later.

Men have been coming in and out of Whitaker Park for well over 180 years. Who knows the history prior? What I know is the men in the park this morning were moving…challenging themselves, maintaining discipline, committed to rise above the norm.

To the pack of five students, keep moving.

To our senior who doesn’t have to, keep pulling up.

To the men of Whitaker Park, stay committed to rise above the norm.

See you next Saturday!

No, You Are Not Being Punked

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Within what felt like minutes one morning last week, I thought to myself, “Am I being punked right now?”

It was the last Monday of July. I wondered if there was some secret conspiracy for everybody to go into react mode about anything and let’s include John. Next thought to myself, “What’s the current state of the moon?”

Along comes my worship pastor yesterday to introduce a song he is thinking about adding to our worship library. There is a piano take version he asked me to listen to. When I found it, I learned it’s actually born out of the artist’s completion of a soon-to-be-released book entitled Everyday Hallelujah.

In the recently released EP, there are two tracks about the book-one introducing it; the other a reading of the first chapter. These three sentences from the first chapter took me back to Monday morning and frankly, just about every day of any workweek:

Worship can be simple acts of service like mowing your neighbor’s lawn, working at a soup kitchen, or buying a stranger a cup of coffee. It can also be in the routines of life-like a prayer when you tuck your kids into bed or in the middle of your workday when you realize you are bringing order to chaos, beauty to the mundane. We worship with the lives we live. -Phil Wickham

Chances are, reader, you fall into one of two categories. You either bring order to chaos or you create beauty out of the mundane. And chances are, those in the other category disrupt your worship…more than you want to admit…out loud.

So here’s a mind shift. Rather than wonder if you’re being punked, what if you said, “Looks like I have an opportunity to worship.”

I actually fall a little into both categories, but my strength is bringing order to chaos. So yeah, I can tend to get ruffled with the chaos dwellers, particularly when they all arrive at the same time on a Monday morning as if they saved it all up from the weekend.

Here’s the challenge: View your bringing order and creating beauty as worship. When we do it together everyday, the result is a hallelujah to the one who knows all about bringing order and creating beauty, the King granting us the lives we live.

A Fool Goes to Bed Not Tired

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Recently I listened to C.S. Lewis’s A Grief Observed, his reflections after the death of his wife.

He doesn’t hold back. I don’t believe he ever did.

He asks all the questions. He ponders both sides.

He doesn’t provide answers. He voices the frustrating silence of the unknown.

I tried to follow his lead. Rather than take notes, grab quotes, pull out highlights, I observed him observing.

However, this simple statement turned my head:

I do all the walking I can, for I’d be a fool to go to bed not tired.

It seemed like an off-the-cuff reference. He wasn’t addressing challenges about sleeping. He wasn’t trying to give a how-to-grieve example. Honestly, I don’t remember the exact context.

What I know is I appreciated the wisdom, for life in general as well as for someone journeying through grief.

Keep living. Keep moving.

It’s possible. It’s good for you.

Walk it out. Tire yourself out for better sleep.

Do all you can. Then go to bed.

Fools are tempted to wait until it’s bedtime to start walking.

Grief is a journey. Take it all the way to the end.

Your bed will thank you.