Why? Because a couple of people have been getting confused. The "Porcupine" was meant to be my short-form life updates, while the "Porcupette" was for more long-form thinking on specific topics. Well, that was the plan...

But I have no sunk costs.

More on The Porcupine later. For now, I'm sharing why this will be my last post on Substack, and a preview of where I'm headed.

When I say "preview," I mean it for the few of you reading this—mostly friends, family, and acquaintances from my past. If you're here, I'm sincerely grateful you opened The Porcupine, even if this is your first time.

I started this newsletter during COVID, right after deleting my social media accounts. Since then, email newsletters have become my worthy replacement for social media for several key reasons:

• No public follower counts or likes.

• No algorithm.

• Space for long-form content.

• Direct connection.

Nobody can take your subscriber base from you. Don't build on rented land.

When I moved from Mailchimp to Substack, I loved the platform—easy curation, clean interface, and it delivered on everything I valued about email newsletters. But earlier this year, I downloaded the Substack app and discovered a different side of things.

The app pushed me toward Substack's social features, especially their "Notes" function and its global engagement. At first, I thought I'd naively missed this feature, but some digging revealed that "Substack Notes" was only introduced two years ago. One user commented upon its release:

"It's like Twitter, but without all the algorithmic BS and absurd ad-driven manipulation. It's a better, cleaner way of 'social media.' Lots of potential."

Here's the thing: finding out about this feature first got me excited, then quickly disappointed.

All my original reasons for loving newsletters suddenly didn't apply to Substack anymore—they'd simply built their own version of Twitter. And while I agree it's probably a better version of Twitter (cleaner, more professional), it's still social media.

My initial excitement sounded like: "Maybe now is the time to grow a following, increase my subscriber count, and proclaim my voice to the masses."

Then I caught myself. I remembered why I loved starting this newsletter in the first place.

I deleted the Substack app a few days later.

That was probably the beginning of the end, sometime last spring. Still, I've loved continuing the email side of things and staying connected through The Porcupine, which brings me to what's next.

Moving forward, I'm switching email providers and will do everything I can to ensure you receive future issues of The Porcupine—if you'll still have me. The beauty of (ethical) email marketing is you're always free to unsubscribe.

But here's what I'm most excited about: in addition to continuing The Porcupine for the few and the proud, I'm launching a new project to replace The Porcupette. This one's designed to make people think and act differently.

I'm not ready to share details yet, but soon. When I have more, you'll be the first to know.

Until then, I hope you're doing well wherever you are today. For all these words about stewarding my voice in the months and years ahead, I hope you'll grasp and wrestle with the importance of your own voice and how the world needs it.

If you're ever curious about the why or how, I'm just an email reply away.

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This is a momentous week, and not just because The Porcupine is hitting your inbox on a Friday. I'll be in Charlotte, NC first half of next week, kicking off what's going to be a wild fall of travel.

So I'm not sure about my exact posting cadence, but I'm confident in this newsletter and the next (pt. 1 and pt. 2 announcements respectively) because this week marks the culmination of something we've been working toward for years:

Our transformation from Streamline Books to ShareYourStory.com

When I say "our," I mean my co-founder Alex and I. But there's no way this shift would be possible without our current and past team, and the supporters of our mission—many of whom are on this email list.

Thank you for your support in this journey. I even include The Porcupine as part of my professional career, so your reading and engagement mean a great deal.

You can visit the website to learn more about who we are, what we do, and the clients we serve. But the reason this launch feels "momentous" is because it represents 5+ years of hard work, yes—but it's also reflective of a deeper journey about the power of story and peeling back layers to become our full selves.

We make many things difficult in our personal and professional lives that could be helped by slowing down (perhaps at a table over food or drink) and gleaning from one another's stories. This is helped by the power of asking questions, which I'm growing increasingly passionate about.

The core here is our brand relaunch—the result of 5+ years of hard work and a team on mission. I'm honored to help lead what God has called us to steward.

There are many, many stories left untold. Feel free to send any our way.

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Andrew Whitworth and I share an affinity for a number of American classics: Waffle House, college football, and rap music.

And as of two weeks ago, we share the title of "Dad" as he and his wife, Kinsley, welcomed their first child, Wylie Jo Whitworth into the world.

Our college friend group has been texting for new pictures, cheering Andrew on as the latest to join the parenting ranks. Watching two incredible people become parents to this precious daughter is a gift.

But new life isn't the only gift Andrew has given the world. His friendship and brilliant mind are among the greatest gifts I received during our pivotal early twenties. His humility has rubbed off on me more than any other friend, and his grace and curiosity—which fuel his pursuit of knowledge and justice—have challenged me in mighty ways.

Andrew's working on his PhD from Baylor, and his intellectualism often leaves me in the dust. But you'd never know it in conversation because he meets anyone, wherever they are, with kindness and gentleness of heart.

I can only imagine the kind of father he'll be to Wylie. I'm already happy for her.

(Though it might be a few years until he introduces her to scattered and smothered.)

Interesting interviews behind one of my favorite movies. The power of writing + storytelling.

The Lord works righteousness
and justice for all the oppressed.

Last week, a friend recently recommended Settings > Wallpaper > Add New Wallpaper > Shuffle Photos > Every Hour and it’s been awesome having old featured photos (like this one) pop up on my phone each day. Strongly recommend for small reminders, amid the work and chaos of each day, of what’s really important.

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Music: New Andy Mineo is fun to see roll out as an independent artist. But main question here: what is your favorite artist/songs to run to? And/or do you even listen to music when you run? Or let nature do its thing…

Food: We’ll keep the recommendations rolling, if you have any, as we step into soup season.

Podcasts: Listening to Divine Conspiracy audiobook.

Reading: The aforementioned brand re-launch has taken a good amount of my time the past couple of weeks, so nothing too noteworthy (other than Fantasy Football mock drafts/analysis). But, we did recently published Darin Kinder’s new book, and with 9/11 a few days away I strongly suggest you pick up his book—a first-hand, on the ground account of that day from a survivor.

When I work I have no sunk costs. I like changing my mind. Some people really don't like it but for me changing my mind is a thrill. It's an indication that I'm learning something. So I have no sunk costs in the sense that I can walk away from an idea that I've worked on for a year if I can see a better idea.

On the surface, I've probably thought most about this quote as it relates to my professional life. But I'm growing curious what it would look like played out more in my personal life—in my relationships and with myself.

So I'm asking questions such as:

• What are the actions I take without thinking? The words?

• Who benefits or suffers from those actions? Those words?

• Where am I willing to change?

No matter how I sit with and answer those questions, the reality is that change is possible—regardless of the amount of time, energy, and effort I've invested on any day prior to today.

I recognize and honor the past, but in Kahneman's words, "if I can see a better idea," then why wouldn't I change course? Or maybe seeing a better idea means to get back on course.

The next element of this is the difference between individual versus communal responses. It's a whole lot easier to change your mind and redirect course when it's just you alone. It's much harder, upon changing your mind, to get a group of two or more people to grasp the vision, see the new course, and join you on the journey.

This is where I've undoubtedly felt the weight in professional settings, but I'd like to apply it more to my personal life. Professionally speaking, I believe there's less to lose because work is work—it'll always be there in different shapes and forms. But personally, there's so much nuance regarding who and what has been placed before you. The stakes feel higher, which can either be the most crippling thing or exciting beyond measure.

Based on my last Porcupette and recent conversations about fear and how we're bound by invisible forces that prevent us from living into where we might be called or needed, this kind of pioneering is something I hope to embody throughout the remainder of my days.

Exploration and adventure create ripe circumstances for "no sunk costs" because if we suddenly realize we've been going the wrong direction, we can first acknowledge the "costly mistakes" that got us there, and then choose to either dwell on said mistakes or change course accordingly.

Thinking about the latter reminds me of Ernest Shackleton leading The Endurance. He couldn't afford to dwell on sunk costs—he simply had to keep his gaze forward, seek out the best possible path, and decide.

That leads me to my final point, because that word is powerful—decide. The Latin root of "decide" is "decidere," which means "to cut away" or "to cut off." That has always fascinated me, because there's so much to be said for lining up multiple options before you, deciding on a path, and not looking back.

It connects to Terry Looper's fourth step in Sacred Pace—getting neutral before making a decision. When we're not weighed down by what we've already invested, we can see more clearly what actually serves us and others moving forward.

So I'm left with these questions: What sunk costs hold me back? What are the things I need to "cut away" so I can move forward with confidence? And how might the people around me benefit if I—if we—embraced "no sunk costs" in favor of a better path forward?

Maybe the thrill Kahneman describes isn't just about changing our minds professionally. Maybe it's about the courage to keep learning, keep growing, and keep cutting away what no longer serves the vision of who we're becoming.

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Previous Porcupette: In my previous Porcupette, I wrote about my ongoing coaching calls with Michael from Kentucky, who's been helping me identify how fear shows up in my life and affects everything from my pace to my parenting.

Previous Porcupine: In my last Porcupine, I took a lighter turn and reflected on my top concert experiences after attending a Mumford and Sons show with Lauren. I shared my ranked list of the best live music moments I've witnessed, complete with personal stories about how each show connected to different seasons of life and relationships.

My recent Porcupine/Porcupette issues have taken a more serious tone, so I figured this one could be a bit more fun.

Last week, Lauren and I went to a Mumford and Sons concert—I also saw them my sophomore year in college, and this go-around felt like a bonafide millennial-fest. Spoiler: Neither show makes my "Top 5" list below. BUT, they're very good at what they do, fun, and can banjo jam with the best of them. I had a specific moment at this recent concert where I was reminded how special live music is—not as an "escape" from reality, but more as a vortex of art and community.

So I'm reflecting on the Top 5 concerts I've ever been to (which might as well be "Top 10" with all the honorable mentions, but those aren't in any particular order). Here are the best shows I've ever seen, with a little context for each because this kind of list demands a healthy blend of subjectivity and objectivity.

5. Neutral Milk Hotel (2013 in Champaign). My college roommate and I went to their 15-year reunion tour, which was a big deal because they'd pretty much gone dark after creating one of the best albums ever. Not sure I fully grasped the magnitude at the time, but I look back with gratitude we made that drive…and on the way home, sang every lyric to Mmhmm by Relient K. (Foreshadowing).

4. Beyoncé (2016 in Chicago). Special for a few reasons—first concert as a married man with Lauren, and I got her tickets to see Queen B at Soldier Field. We had nosebleed seats, but it didn't matter because we watched fireworks in the distance over Lake Michigan and danced unabashedly after Lemonade (Also high on the Pitchfork list) took over the 2016 airwaves.

3. Anberlin (2x, Columbus in 2014 and Kansas City in 2019). Numbers one and three on this list are fairly subjective, but when you've been listening to a band for 10 years and finally get to see them on 1) their final tour in 2014 with my best college friend, and then 2) their reunion tour in 2019 with my brother…it cracks the top three. They went hard both shows, and there's something special when a niche audience gets together—like "these people get me."

2. Kendrick Lamar (2022 in Kansas City). Drew and I went to this one a couple years ago during the Mr. Morale & The Big Steppers tour. Similar to Beyoncé, but this one was closer to home and closer to the floor—which made all the difference.

1. Kings Kaleidoscope (2022 in Kansas City). Not sure what to say here other than I'm still processing it, and I'm contemplating seeing them again in October or just letting this one live as the perfect memory.

Honorable mentions:

• Brand New (2025 in Nashville). This one was close to cracking the Top 5 for similar reasons to Anberlin, but the only bummer was…I wish they would've played longer (and they still had a pretty long set!). Also, the picture above is from this concert.

• Justin Bieber (2022 in Tulsa). I guess 2022 was a good concert year. Lauren got us tickets to see him in T-Town, which is fun because it's my roots, and he just put on an awesome show. Something about a true headliner!

• Typhoon (2014 in Louisville). My college buddies and I got big into Typhoon during our later years in college, so this was a fun one. BUT, I did get hardcore heckled by a drunk lady for not knowing as many lyrics as her.

• Relient K (2014 in Indianapolis). Their Mmhmm album reunion tour, which (as evidenced above) was sentimental for our generation. Bonus points: this concert took place on the last day of finals so I had some extra energy to release.

• Andy Mineo and Wordsplayed (2017 in Indianapolis). Same venue as above! I got to hang out with these guys before the show and introduce them to the students I was teaching at the time. Then they put on an awesome show featuring one of my Top 10 albums ever (maybe another list for another day).

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This pic of Alex Schmucker is pretty legendary in our group, and with good reason—it's an epic shot of him winning a campus-wide bike race/tradition at Taylor.

Alex is an athlete and now a doctor. He's helping save lives and shoulders, and I'm grateful to call him one of my best friends.

We didn't quite work out as freshman-year roommates but came back around the following year, which blossomed into the friendship we have today. Alex is studious, determined, and operates at a different level of intelligence that we all pretend to understand. BUT, he also embodies a childlike joy that brightens relationships, and he's now a model husband and dad with model good looks to match.

When I think of Schmuck, I think of 1) someone who holds me accountable and 2) someone who holds others to a higher standard—maybe they're one and the same, but I think the former is more about who I am in the present, and the latter is about who I'm capable of becoming.

I'm sharing this on a personal level because anyone who has a Schmuck in their life knows that just by being in their presence, the bar gets raised. That's how this kind of person rubs off on others—through humility and leading by example.

In other words, if I had been in a World War I trench, Schmuck is the guy I'd want to look over and see next to me. Can't you just picture the guy on that bike yelling "Charge"?

They’re different. Whether or not I go see them this fall, you should.

For to which of the angels did God ever say,

“You are my Son;
today I have become your Father”?

First day of school (Kindergarten + Second Grade) yesterday.

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Music: Good amount of music above…makes me want to break out some old discography. And curious if any of those artists resonate with you!

Food: Not *exactly* food, but Lauren bought me this “New Chapter” men’s multivitamin, and they’ve made me feel like I’m starting a… eh, you know the rest. I’ve tried various vitamins in the past but this is the first that has felt like it truly helped from day one.

Podcasts: Last Porcupette I wrote on fear, and my friends Tate and Cam launched The Freedom Lab podcast addressing that issue as its foundation—experiencing freedom in the face of fear’s grip on our lives.

Reading: After I mentioned Tablesetters in my previous Porcupine, Matt (re: Neutral Milk Hotel) sent me this book/review that mentions the importance of owning one’s work.

PS—With that said, I love any feedback you ever have on The Porcupine. You can either hit *Reply* or just reply to the email itself. It’s why I do this weekly email newsletter…to keep up with people like you :) Hopefully a two-way street is the goal—even just a few words to say hey!

We met last October at a gathering down in Atlanta—at a place called Trillith (an incredible space, if you ever get the chance). We were randomly placed in the same breakout group to kick off the event. A few weeks later, I got a call from a Kentucky number I didn’t recognize. It was Michael.

He left a voicemail saying he felt led to offer me free coaching—something he’s been doing for over a decade as part of his life and ministry.

At first, I had questions. “Who even are you?” was a fair one. But his reputation preceded him. So my next question: “Why me?”

His answer was “I don’t know.”

He said that’s how most of his coaching relationships begin—neither party quite knows why. Until they do.

Since then, Michael and I have been on the phone about bi-weekly on Thursday nights—sometimes for three or four hours at a time. These “coaching calls” often feel more like a blend of coaching and counseling. I haven’t gotten off a single call unchanged.

There’s one theme we keep coming back to: fear. Not just the word—but the role fear plays in my life. Its shape and its source.

There are several stories I could share, but for now, I’ll keep it here: our calls have been helping me identify fear’s fingerprints on everything from my pace to my parenting to my pursuit of purpose.

Michael typically works with people in person, but he makes exceptions every so often to conduct calls from a distance. And that gesture alone—his pursuit of me and the consistency of his time—has been one of the more Christlike expressions I’ve ever experienced.

I’ve also come to learn that he’s coached many men over the years—including some high-profile leaders who, in some cases, experienced a public fall from grace. Others called Michael in as a last resort. So another theme that often surfaces in our calls is the idea of finishing this life well—a topic I’ve written about before on The Porcupine.

But more than anything, Michael has helped me recognize how fear disguises itself. We rarely call it by name, yet it shows up in how we avoid hard conversations, delay creative risks, or over-control the people we love most.

And that leads me to a few questions I’ve been sitting with—ones I now pass to you:

• Where is fear most present in your life?

• How long has it been there?

• How do you try to manage it—or outrun it?

• How might your life look different if fear played a smaller role?

Fear and pace have become intertwined in my story, and I can’t unsee it.

This process of naming it, stripping it down, and letting others into it has made me want to do the same for others. Because if fear is quietly running the show for so many of us, it matters deeply that someone comes alongside and helps us confront it.

So maybe that’s where you come in. Maybe there’s someone in your world who needs that same pursuit. And maybe your intentionality could stir the same question I once asked:

“Why me?”

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Previous Porcupette: Two weeks ago, I wrote about momentum—how ten years of marriage, parenting, and building a business often felt like going without knowing, yet each messy step still moved us forward. I shared how holding today in one hand and the day I die in the other helps me stay grounded and reminded us: we’re not running in circles—we’re ramping up to 10.

Previous Porcupine: I reflected on Tablesetters—a local group of business owners my friend Brad and I started two years ago—and how simply keeping a consistent seat at the table is something worth celebrating. Whether it’s at a coffee shop or at home, there’s quiet power in making space, showing up, and reminding others: the seat’s still there if you want it.

Over the past two years, I’ve met monthly with a group of local business owners here in Kansas City.

My friend Brad Ellis and I started Tablesetters in July 2023, so this month marks two years. It’s fun to reflect on how the group began—and how far it’s come. Mostly able to say that because it remains. And that alone is worth celebrating.

Similar to the “going in circles” feeling I mentioned last week, leading Tablesetters has at times felt like going in circles. But the goal remains regarding not a perfect space, but a consistent one.

The only requirement to join is that you own your own legal entity. A (very) close second is that you’re likely a spouse, a parent, and an active part of your local community. We gather just once a month for 90 minutes at a local coffee shop, and most mornings look like the photo above (which I think was taken in November, though definitely pre-January given the mustache).

Over the past ~10 years, I’ve been part of various entrepreneur groups and watched the rise of the faith + work movement. And one semi-disheartening trend has been the monetization of support for guys who are simply pursuing a dream—trying to 1) provide for their families and 2) spend more time with them.

So Brad and I brainstormed Tablesetters. It’s grown to maybe 15–20 guys, with about half showing up each month. But the point isn’t the headcount. It’s that the table is set for anyone who wants to show up, check in, learn, and support one another. (We’ve started to add some structure behind it all, but I’ll save that for another post.)

Through it all, there’s power in setting the table in our homes each day. In providing food for that table. In inviting our children to that table whenever we get the chance.

And here’s the thing about an extra seat: you can’t force someone to sit down. But if they know the seat is there—that’s a gift in itself.

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You can find Hunter’s polished bio elsewhere—he’s the Associate Director of Business & Operations at the Cambridge Centre for Alternative Finance.

But this version isn’t about what Hunter Sims does. It’s about who he is.

We met in my very first college class—he sat behind me, goofed off, and then quietly became one of the brightest minds I’ve ever known. That could be said of all the friends I’ve highlighted in this series, but Hunter stands out for something more: he lives with a childlike heart and grown-up strength.

My wife and I have read The Whole-Brain Child, and a theme throughout pertains to modeling emotional integration, playfulness, and knowing when to flip the switch as it relates to serious matters. That’s Hunter.

He leads his family, his friends, and now a global organization with clarity and humility—often in ways I can’t fully grasp.

The photo above is from a ski trip in January—his first time on skis. By midday, we were even. By the end of the day, he was skiing black diamonds.

These days, I find myself drawn to people I’d be proud for my kids to emulate. Hunter is that kind of man. And if even a small part of what he carries rubs off on my family, then future generations will be blessed because of it.

Warning: this video contains choreography

He heals the brokenhearted
and binds up their wounds.
He determines the number of the stars
and calls them each by name.

Don’t sleep on Shelby, Michigan.

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Music: Last week, Lauren and I went to the Mumford & Sons concert in Kansas City. I saw them my sophomore year in college, and haven’t listened to their new music within the last few years but it was a great show. Marcus Mumford is still doin’ it. Awesome crowd. Ted Lasso made an appearance toward the end, which Lauren and I missed because we wanted to beat traffic…no regrets.

Food: This is one area that I hope finishes the back-half of the year better than it started. Namely in terms of my involvement with meals at home, because I know the kitchen is where I tap into my inner creative and I miss it.

Podcasts: Speaking of “inner creative” Jake and Brad invited me on as a guest for their Ghostrunners podcast, which was a fun outlet to partake within their awesome platform and community they’ve created.

Reading: I just finished the first book of the Lord of the Rings. (There are six books or *parts* within the whole book). Never read the whole thing, but trudging along thus far has been a joy.

In January of 2026, Lauren and I will celebrate 10 years of marriage. We’re starting to plan an anniversary trip to mark a decade of blur.

It’s wild how early years of marriage feel like a handful of sweet, foggy memories—and then life speeds up. The gift of children reshapes your plans. Sleepless nights blur the weeks. You get a job. You get fired. You start a business together. Another child. A home. A few vacations to catch your breath. And suddenly—you’re here.

Lately, as we reflect, I keep thinking about momentum.

At the beginning of this year, the word Pace was given to me. I didn’t expect Momentum as its companion.

Last week, my dad sent me a post on “going without knowing”—which, honestly, has felt like the soundtrack to our last ten years of marriage, family, and business. That same day, J.R. Briggs shared a reflection on “misplaced momentum,” and how easy it is to drift. I had just explained that very concept to my 7-year-old as we floated in Lake Michigan, the current slowly pulling us away from shore.

Momentum keeps resurfacing. And this time of year—midway through the calendar, lost in summer’s chaos and unstructure—it’s easy to feel like we’ve lost it.

But what helps me recenter isn’t thinking about this year at all. It’s holding two days in tension: 1) today in one hand, and 2) the day I die in the other. One I know intimately. The other I’ll never predict. But both ground me and move me forward.

That’s why the following Liz Fosslien image resonates deeply. Every difficult step these past ten years—whether I realized it or not—has been forward motion. Not always straight. Rarely smooth. But motion nonetheless. If a bunch of circles still push me in the right direction, that’s enough proof for me that I’m not stuck—I’m progressing.

Last month, I shared an idea not my own: our most influential years may be between 55 and 70. If that’s true, I want to hit “10” in every area of life—husband, dad, leader—by the time I get there.

But why wait?

If I’ve been given today, then today can be my 55-70 moment—even if I’m only operating at a 4.6 out of 10. Because holding both who I am today and who I hope to become helps generate the kind of momentum that lasts.

And if this life really is about running alongside others, maybe momentum looks less like sprinting ahead and more like brushing shoulders, bumping fists, and offering an ounce of encouragement along the way.

You’re not running in circles. You’re ramping up to 10.

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Previous Porcupette: Regarding “Halftime Adjustments”, and inspired by lap swimming and the story of Jonathan Larson, I’m leaning into movement as meditation, asking better questions, and lightening the load. Because life’s not just about pacing for the year—it’s about running the full race well, one thoughtful stride at a time..

Previous Porcupine: A few weeks ago, I reflected on six months of (mostly) consistent newsletters—first and foremost as a creative rhythm for myself, and second as a way to stay connected with people I care about. I’m learning to trust the seeds I’ve planted, even if I don’t see the results yet. And a shoutout to Nate!

Today is July 1.

Last week, I wrote about some “Halftime Adjustments” I’m leaning into for the second half of the year.

Here’s one more moment of reflection: it’s been a full six months of sending The Porcupine/The Porcupette (mostly) every week. There’ve been a few weeks when I forgot or ran into tech issues. But for the most part, I’ve shown up with a newsletter each week. To YOU.

Thank you if

1. you’ve read even just one issue, and

2. you’ve ever taken the time to reply or check in.

When I get the chance to explain this in person, I usually say that these newsletters are “for me” and I hope that doesn’t come off as selfish so much as essential. They’re necessary to my creative rhythm and help me engage in personal writing each week. That’s the first goal.

The second is this: small life checkpoints with people I care about. If I didn’t have this outlet... I don’t know when those touchpoints would happen. A few years ago, I got rid of most of my social media, and keeping a regular newsletter has been a worthy replacement.

Still, at this halfway mark, I feel that familiar nagging, thinking about where I fell short in the first half, both personally and professionally. There’s a great Abraham Lincoln quote:

“My great concern is not whether you have failed, but whether you are content with your failure.”

The older I get, the more that resonates. Not because I walk around thinking about failure all day—but because I spend most of my days trying to do the opposite: the best I can.

I recently wrote about the power of “relinquish the outcome.” And when I reflect on the past six months, my flesh wants to tally up the losses. But my soul wants to trust that the seeds I’ve planted have found good soil—and that growth will happen in its own time.

This Sunday, Lauren and I leave for vacation with her family and ours, spending a few days at Lake Michigan. If you’ve been before—or you’re from Michigan—you know it’s sacred space. And if you haven’t, you’ve probably been curious.

Let me tell you: Lake Michigan might as well be the ocean. It’s vast and tranquil. Not exactly a “locker room” vibe, but the right kind of setting for this halftime reset.

When we return, there will be more seeds to plant—and more forgetting that we planted them in the first place. I think that’s what Abe was getting at. We can’t control what happens beneath the soil.

We’re just called to stay in the garden.

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Continuing the spotlight series on a few close college friends: Nate Scheibe is an artist and woodworker living in Nashville.

And when I say “artist,” I specifically mean with a chisel or golf club in hand.

Nate and his dad co-founded Scheibe Design in Nashville, and their work has been sold across the country and featured in New York City art galleries. Nate and I have always connected over the small business grind because keeping that flywheel spinning is no joke. But I respect him on a different level, too—because the work he’s doing is, quite literally, hard.

The precision and physical effort it takes to make great art functional is a gift, and Nate has the temperament, drive, and skill to pull it off. It’s something our college friend group deeply admires.

Even while grinding each day, Nate somehow finds the stamina to be an incredible husband to Kathryn and a devoted father to two girls. He’s consistent—a rock—and a reminder that it’s possible to work hard and build things that last.

Lauren and I have been enjoying old Conan clips. The guy’s a treasure.

Though the Lord is exalted, he looks kindly on the lowly;
though lofty, he sees them from afar.
Though I walk in the midst of trouble,
you preserve my life.
You stretch out your hand against the anger of my foes;
with your right hand you save me.

Summer summation—eye on the ball.

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Music: Two awesome recommendations from Porcupine readers Joe and Phil (brother-in-law and youth ministry leader, respectively) CityAlight worship music, whose music we sing often at church. And Phil recommended Young Gun Silver Fox, which is great summer backyard grill friends/family hangout vibes. Lastly, Andy Mineo officially leaves Reach Records and drops this song/message for Andre 3000.

Food: We got a Blackstone.

Podcasts: Not a podcast but I’m choosing to write about The Bear here because I can. (Although, we do need a binge-worthy podcast rec for long drive to and from Michigan!) The Bear season four has been great and subtle and overall beautiful television. Not perfect, but that’s kind of the point of the show and its characters, so it all just really works well. I also love the parallels between running a business and running a kitchen—in that regard, I’ve learned and reflected a great deal while watching the show.

Reading: Lauren leading our children through The Ology: Ancient Truths, Ever New which is wonderful and encouraging to witness and also learn and participate in. Something I guess more appropriate for my reading level—Branch has really gotten into Calvin and Hobbes, which has just been pure and fun to engage with him.

One of my favorite movies from the past few years is Tick, Tick... Boom on Netflix. It’s based on the life of playwright Jonathan Larson (who would go on to write Rent), and it follows his rise and growth as an artist in his twenties and early thirties, up until his untimely death at just 35.

One detail the film highlights is how Jonathan would swim laps at his local gym as a way to clear his mind and process life and work.

That part resonated deeply with me. Since college, I’ve found a lot of freedom, joy, and clarity doing just that—going back and forth, again and again, in whatever lap lane I can find. Last week, I mentioned “Kaizen,” and it applies here too. Lap swimming is about incremental progress. Stroke by stroke, lap by lap. It’s part of a whole.

And it’s fitting for this summer, as I’ve been swimming outside and thinking about my own “halftime adjustments” with July on our doorstep.

The best teams take halftime seriously. They reflect on what worked, what didn’t, and what needs to shift in order to finish strong.

On Sunday, Lauren and I watched her hometown Pacers win the first half of Game 7 in the NBA Finals—only to get outmatched in the second half, after Oklahoma City clearly made adjustments to win their first franchise title.

At the start of the year, I wrote about the power of pace—and how those first few months can feel like the adrenaline rush at the starting gun. But it’s worth asking: in a long race with no official break, how do you pause your mind long enough to reassess what’s working, and what needs to change?

Here are a few halftime adjustments I’m personally focusing on in 2025:

Ask Better Questions.
My friend and mentor J.R. Briggs is about to release a book on this, and I got to read an advance copy. It’s brilliant. I know without a doubt that the best conversations I’ve had this year started with listening, not speaking—with questions, not answers.

Movement as Meditation.
Like I said earlier, the more I move, the more joy I feel. And I use “joy” intentionally—because when I’m joyful, I’m also more curious, confident, and content.

Lighten the Load.
Lauren and I have been talking about this recently—starting with the clutter in our house, garage, and basement. But it goes deeper. What am I carrying that I don’t need to be? Where do I need to say “no”? And who will help me stay accountable to pare things down, so I can, in the words of John Olinger, win where it’s worthy?

Just a few of the adjustments I’m making. What are yours?

The beauty of this midyear check-in is that it doesn’t require sweeping change by tomorrow. Just a small tweak today. A thoughtful stride.

Because while you can think of this year as a marathon, it’s more helpful to think of life as the marathon.

And all our races vary in length. Jonathan Larson’s ended too soon. And because life is fragile, I want to focus less on when my race will end—and more on how it ends: in motion, making progress.

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Previous Porcupette: I shared the idea of RTO: Relinquish the Outcome—a piece of wisdom passed from Brennan Manning to a friend of mine, and now to me. Whether it’s speaking, leading, or creating, the challenge is to give your full effort on the front end… and then let go. When you do, life feels lighter—and more fun.

Previous Porcupine: Last week, I reflected on movement as meditation—how practices like Nikkō-jogging and the concept of Kaizen (continuous improvement) shape not just my runs, but how I approach life, work, and relationships. I also kicked off a short series on a few close college friends, starting with my former roommate Matt, who recently became a priest in New York and continues to be a joyful, grounded presence wherever he goes.

I’ve been thinking lately about movement as meditation—and how it fits into this year’s theme of “pace.”

“Nikkō-jogging” is a Japanese practice that shifts the focus away from speed or distance. Instead, it’s about running as a rhythm, a meditation, a way of building strength over the long haul.

I told Lauren recently: I simply function better when I start my day with movement. Nothing revolutionary there, and I’m far from perfect at it—but it’s true for me. And that alone makes it worth pursuing.

That reflection led me to explore another Japanese word: Kaizen, which means “continuous improvement.”

In running, Kaizen looks like:

• Showing up daily, even when tired or sore

• Improving form, pacing, or breathing by just 1%

• Tracking quietly, without obsessing over results

• Not aiming for more, but aiming for better

The beauty of approaching movement this way is that it mirrors life, work, and relationships. Apply those same bullet points to any of those—and that’s what I’m after.

Long Obedience in the Same Direction. Sacred Pace. Kaizen. Just a few of the themes orbiting this same idea.

And naming that theme—acknowledging it—is part of the process. If the world is going to shove the opposite message at me every day, why wouldn’t I remain just as relentless in the quiet self-talk? More importantly: from what well am I drawing that voice?

Lately, I’ve felt a pull toward what it means to finish this life well—and how that has real implications today.

And for me, it started this morning: I woke up, drank some water, laced up my shoes, and got out the door. Because the next time I walked back through it, I knew I’d be 1% better. Still sore, still imperfect—but better.

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I know a lot of Ben Rector fans. I prefer Associate Rector.

A few months back, I did a little series on here highlighting my siblings. Over the next few Porcupines, I’ll be featuring a few of my closest college friends—guys I’ve stayed close with in the 10 years since we graduated. I’m both sentimental about that and proud of how they’ve each flourished.

First up: my college roommate, Matt.

Matt and his wife just moved to New York, where he’s now serving as a priest at St. Matthew’s Bedford Episcopal. (Highly recommend watching the 15-minute video above to catch him in action—kicked off with an ode to my favorite movie of all time.)

Matt is brilliant—he somehow fits in the most high-church setting and, in the next moment, connects deeply with whoever’s right in front of him. People walk away from time with Matt feeling seen, loved, respected—and often with more joy than before.

Justin Whitmel Early talks about the power of turning “family into friends, and friends into family.” Neither is easy, but both are worth it

I’m honored to know him. And I’m genuinely excited for his new (York) community to experience firsthand what I’ve known for years: Matt shines brightest when he’s in the presence of people.

#NeverForget (I did, and this video helped).

Praise the Lord, all you servants of the Lord
who minister by night in the house of the Lord.
Lift up your hands in the sanctuary
and praise the Lord.

May the Lord bless you from Zion,
he who is the Maker of heaven and earth.

Truly the best Father’s Day weekend to date—thanks to Lauren setting the table.

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Music: Red Tips for rap. Benjamin William Hastings for worship. (Have listened to him too much over past year). Discovered Turnstile. And looking forward to new music this summer, with Will Regan, Tyler Childers, and Natalie Bergman.

Food: Two words: Jolly Llama. Have maybe mentioned here before, but worth stating again—flavor of the month/summer. Non-dairy, and we have no idea how but we’re not mad. Also, they include just three (3) waffle cones in each box, which is part diabolical and part wonderful business strategy—and I respect it. We get too boxes each time.

Podcasts: Speaking of Matt, he shared this episode a couple of weeks ago—an interview with Sufjan Stevens revisiting his album, Carrie and Lowell. The interview is somewhat depressing (for a beautiful, rich and raw album) but also an intriguing glimpse inside the mind of a creative, yes, but also someone who was just trying to process his grief, at the time, the only way he knew how.

Reading: Anatomy of the Soul. And “Meditations for Phone Addicts”.

There’s an older friend here in KC, Glen, whose mentor was Brennan Manning.

That’s meaningful to me—because I’ve gleaned a lot from Brennan’s wisdom over the years. So this bit of trickle-down advice, passed from Brennan to Glen and now to my brother and me, is something we’ve taken to heart in recent months.

Years ago, Glen asked Brennan, “How do you do it? How do you give a talk or preach a sermon and deal with the anxiety that comes afterward? The feedback, the doubt about what you could’ve said better—or worse, what you said well?”

Brennan’s answer was simple: “I go home, I drink a Diet Coke, and I go to bed.”

He went on to explain the power of something he called “RTO”: Relinquish the Outcome.

Maybe for you it’s not preaching or public speaking—but whatever you’re putting your heart into, RTO is worth trying.

It starts with showing up, preparing well, and giving it your full effort. That’s your job. What happens next? That’s not yours to carry.

A couple weeks ago, former Royals manager and World Series champion Ned Yost spoke to a group and shared a question he often asked players: “Are you fulfilling your contract?”

A lot of young players weren’t sure what he meant. He explained: Whether your contract is for thousands or millions of dollars, it boils down to this—give 100% effort, every single day, and let the results take care of themselves.

In other words: Relinquish the outcome.

It’s one of the best ways I’ve found, as an adult, to release the weight of not just performance, but purpose. When you approach the work with care, intentionality, and full effort on the front end—and then release, trust, and rest on the back end—life gets lighter.

And sleep comes easier. And sleep is sacred.

You wake up the next day and get to do it again. And somehow, life doesn’t just feel more manageable—it feels more fun.

I’ll end with a favorite quote from another Brennan Manning disciple, Rich Mullins:

Once you come to understand that life is unbelievably brief, and that we really can’t do anything that’s gonna change anything, that we don’t really amount to a hill of beans—then all of a sudden you go, ‘So it doesn’t really matter if I’m not that great. And if I don’t have to be great, that means I can fail. And if I can fail, that means I can try. And if I can try, that means I’m gonna have a good time.

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Previous Porcupette: I shared a line from a mentor that's stuck with me: “Your years of influence are from 55 to 70.” At 33, that gives me 22 years to prepare—something that’s reshaped how I think about pace, priorities, and finishing well.

Previous Porcupine: Last week, I wrote about leaning into summer rhythms—not big trips, but intentional moments. We’re heading to Michigan with Lauren’s family, but mostly hoping our backyard holds a sliver of Teton magic.

Thinking through summer because… It’s here.

Maybe it’s too late to plan a big, last-minute trip with the family—but it’s not too late to consider what kind of summer we actually want. As a parent, I keep coming back to the idea of “know your flock.” What’s enjoyable, what’s stressful, what’s memorable, and what’s life-giving? I’m aiming for the average of those—this summer and beyond.

The Joneses recently sent our small group a podcast with John Eldredge and others discussing summer rhythms—how to plan for them, savor them, and adapt them based on your stage of life (and your kids’ current brand of chaos).

Eldredge mentioned how his family went to the Tetons every summer—not exactly a quick drive like Branson, MO is for us—but the point wasn’t the destination. It was the intentional preparation that made space for life-changing memories.

This year, we’re heading to Michigan with Lauren’s family for their annual vacation. I’ve grown to love that area, especially in the summer. As Jim Gaffigan quips, “My friends in the north all say the same thing: you gotta come back in the summer.”

But as for our little crew of five, we’re praying 2025 is slow, joy-filled, and that our backyard becomes just a small sliver of Teton glory.

Branch turns 8 next summer. That thought has me counting: ten more summers with him under our roof. What would it look like to carve out time this summer to dream and plan for next?

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Lauren and my brother tag-teamed one of my favorite birthday gifts I’ve ever received: a Garmin Venu watch.

I’m not a big gadget guy, but this one has been a meaningful gift—and a way to support a (not-so-small) local business. I’d considered a Whoop band for a while, but the Garmin offers similar functionality and more, and it’s been a smoother transition from the Apple Watch I wore for about five years.

It’s lined up perfectly with this year’s theme of “pace”—not just in workouts, but in my overall health. Lauren likes asking about my Body Battery most days, and it’s become a practical way to hold myself accountable to habits around sleep, stress, fitness, and recovery—all of which shape how I’m able to show up as a husband, father, colleague, and friend.

This is not an ad.

“Listening as prayer.”

The righteous will flourish like a palm tree,
they will grow like a cedar of Lebanon;
planted in the house of the Lord,
they will flourish in the courts of our God.
They will still bear fruit in old age,
they will stay fresh and green,

Trying to capture more moments with our (non-iPhone) camera around our home and in our lives.

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Music: sunday morning (beat tape) by Ty Brasel. Becoming more acquainted with Jacob Collier. Kids still ask for Forrest Frank in the car. And Kamikaze Kitty radio on my bike rides.

Food: Lauren and her friends are conspiring over more fermented foods, which is fine by me. I remember, growing up, not knowing why anyone in their right mind would enjoy sauerkraut but here I am adding it to a lot of things—and kimchi. And then these passionfruit Humm kombucha drinks (Costco) are wild and fun for summer.

Podcasts: I’ve never subscribed to Dave Ramsey much on the financial side, but he’s been a mentor from afar regarding entrepreneurship, and this episode encompasses his encouragement well. Also, the bronze age was wild.

Reading: Some friends and I recently had the conversation about the power of re-reading books. I’d be curious to know: are there any books you have made an effort to re-read, or continue to re-read on a regular basis?

In December, I had dinner with a friend—someone I look up to. He’s a husband, a father, and a successful business owner.

As we walked out of the restaurant, he turned to me and asked, “How old are you?”

“32,” I said.

“So you’ve got 23 years.”

I started doing the math in my head, and before I could finish, he stepped in.

“…Until you’re 55. Your years of influence are from 55 to 70.”

I’ve been turning that line over in my head for the past five months. I’m not fully sure why or what it’s stirring in me, but I’ve been wrestling with how it makes me feel.

By and large, it feels like a net positive. And it fits into something I’ve already been thinking about in my thirties: pacing for a longer race, and what it means to finish well. Fitting, considering my word for the year is pace.

More and more, I’m growing obsessed with finishing my life well. As adulthood brings with it the mundane, the drab, and the difficult, I feel a growing awareness of how hard it is to pace yourself for the long haul.

What decisions am I making today that will affect how I finish, whether that’s tomorrow or 50 years from now?

It’s hard to see the full stained-glass window when all I can make out is purple—the troubles of the day.

But this kind of thinking, at least in my 2025 experience, has brought a strange mix of grace and urgency. The parts of me that long for influence have slowed down. The parts of me that detest apathy have prioritized momentum.

A little each day, compounding over time—that’s the theme I can’t seem to ignore, especially while rereading The Psychology of Money with a group of Kansas City business owners.

Morgan Housel writes,

“Growth is driven by compounding, which always takes time. Destruction is driven by single points of failure, which can happen in seconds, and loss of confidence, which can happen in an instant.”

Probably should’ve ended with that quote—it’s arguably the best line in this newsletter—but here I am, with the last word:

If you’re younger than 55, you’ve got [55 - your age] years until your “years of influence.”

If you’re between 55 and 70, how are you leveraging that influence?

And if you’re over 70, I’d love to hear: How are you focused on finishing well?

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Previous Porcupette: A few weeks ago, I visited my alma mater for the first time in years—then turned 33 two days later. In that quiet stretch of reflection, one phrase resurfaced and stuck with me: “Absorb chaos, give calm, provide hope.”

Previous Porcupine: Lauren and I went to a Forrest Frank concert last week, and it felt more like a family worship night than a typical show. Forrest came across as a regular guy, even a bit reluctant, but his music clearly resonates across generations in a way that feels bigger than him.

Lauren and I went to the Forrest Frank concert last week.

If you’ve never heard of him, I won’t explain here—you can Google him. His latest album, Child of God II, dropped on Friday.

You might know his music from the band Surfaces, which he started with a friend from college. But it’s his solo work under the name Forrest Frank (real name: Forrest Neil) that has really taken off in the past few years.

I’ve joked with Lauren and a couple friends recently that I wonder if this is how parents felt in the ’90s with someone like Steven Curtis Chapman—an artist who brought a fun, family-friendly vibe to Christian music. Going to the concert affirmed that Forrest’s music isn’t just for college students or young adults.

There were families everywhere—parents singing just as loud as their 8-year-olds. I’m not sure I’ve ever been to a concert quite like it.

Lest I come off like a total fanboy, the thing about Forrest is that he seems like a very ordinary guy. Just a dude. He reminds me of some of the friends I have around his age. In fact, if there was anything odd about the concert, it was a subtle sense that he didn’t fully want to be there.

He still put on a great show and worked the crowd well, but there was something I couldn’t quite put my finger on. During a break in the music, he said, “There’s something about this music that has a functionality to it.”

He was talking about how his songs seem to transcend age groups and genres—as if the music isn’t entirely his to begin with.

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My friend Nick Hageman runs KC Daily, a newsletter that highlights new restaurants, upcoming events, and interactive surveys around the KC Metro.

Nick does a great job championing local, which is the main reason I’m sharing this today.

Yes—if you live in the area, you should absolutely subscribe. But I know not everyone reading this is from Kansas City. My broader point is this: whether or not you follow a local newsletter where you live, KC Daily has challenged me to think beyond just #buylocal. It’s made me consider what it looks like to invest locally—with my time, energy, and curiosity—with family and friends.

Local doesn’t have to mean five minutes down the road (though it can). Lauren and I are planning a day trip with our kids to a town 45 minutes away.

There’s more to your city than you realize.

GWH was playing at the barber shop during my last haircut. A movie where each viewing you pick up on something different, and this scene got me.

I’ve mentioned Coco’s work here before. But I got this print for Lauren for Mother’s Day—she’s been creating an awesome garden in our backyard this spring, so it seemed appropriate.

When the Lord restored the fortunes of Zion,
we were like those who dreamed.
Our mouths were filled with laughter,
our tongues with songs of joy.
Then it was said among the nations,
“The Lord has done great things for them.”

Graduates preschool in two days^

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Music: Nobigdyl keeps delivering. Carrie and Lowell 10th anniversary release. Other than that, the beginning of summer means old country playlists.

Food: Perhaps the best use of Chat GPT I’ve found is recipes, meal planning, and general food/drink ideas. It led me to, among other things, mini brie bites from Trader Joe’s—clutch cups for family picnics. And a lot of sunflower seeds from Sprouts.

Podcasts: Craig Groeschel interviewing Arthur Brooks.

Reading: I’m re-reading Psychology of Money with a group of business owners. My sister-in-law got me Mary Oliver’s Devotions for Christmas. Lauren and I have enjoyed working through those poems this spring. Here’s one that stuck out to me in particular:

I do not live happily or comfortably
With the cleverness of our times.
The talk is all about computers,
The news is all about bombs and blood.
This morning, in the fresh field,
I came upon a hidden nest.
It held four warm, speckled eggs.
I touched them.
Then went away softly,
Having felt something more wonderful
Than all the electricity of New York City.

Note: This post was supposed to go out LAST Tuesday…but didn’t send for some reason! But this (birthday) message is important to me, so here you go…

Last Monday, I visited my alma mater, Taylor University, to meet with a few professors and walk around campus for the first time in about seven years.

Two days following, on Wednesday, I turned 33 years old and spent some time reflecting—not just on the past, but more importantly, feeling gratitude for the present and joy about the future.

In conversations with Lauren, one line has surfaced that I hope marks the remainder of my adult life:

"Absorb chaos, give calm, provide hope."

This was a phrase our president at Taylor, Gene Habecker, often shared with us as students.

Back then, I didn’t experience much chaos. But as an adult, chaos seems to wait around most corners.

In marriage, parenthood, work, and relationships of all kinds, chaos shows up the moment we roll out of bed. Big Gene’s words have become an encouragement to me on the days when I feel weak and tempted to crawl back under the covers.

I want to live a life marked by calm and hope—and that starts with securing peace in my own soul, a peace that can't be found in a world that often feels like chaos personified.

So that’s my core reflection on turning 33: in a season of life that understandably feels chaotic to many, I want to be someone who gives calm and provides hope in the aftermath.

Each day I get the opportunity to do those three things—even with chaos included—I’ll count myself blessed. Because "chaos" is just a reminder of our human brokenness, and still, we get to choose how we respond. That’s a gift.

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Previous Porcupette: Last year, I wrote a guest post on why America needed baseball in 2024, arguing that the game offers an antidote to technology’s speed and cultural division. Reflecting now in 2025, I’m revisiting that idea through a new lens—seeing baseball as a much-needed source of peace and patience in a chaotic world.

Previous Porcupine: I wrote about the joy of being a dad to Wynnie, our daughter born in the middle of the 2020 lockdown. What began as a quiet hope for more boys turned into a realization of how sacred and special the father-daughter bond is—and how each small moment with her is a gift I’m learning to treasure more every day.

The following is my attempt to describe the joy of being a dad to a little girl.

When Lauren and I found out we were having a girl for our second child, I’ll admit—part of me was a little bummed, as I quietly desired an army of boys. But I’m so grateful that wasn’t the case.

Wynnie Margaret Severns was born on April 11, 2020—right in the middle of a national lockdown. Like many of us, I’ll never forget that season of life. We were welcoming life into a world full of confusion. I remember holding Wynnie that first night in the hospital. There was a storm in the distance outside of our hospital window—lightning flashing on the horizon—but everything inside felt peaceful. Lauren and Wynnie were both asleep, and in that moment, it felt like calm amid personal and societal chaos.

But even before that, the first time I held her, I remember thinking: nothing on earth could be more perfect.

No offense to either of my boys :) But there’s just something about a little girl. That’s what I hope makes this Porcupine stand out—a dad trying to put words to the sacred bond between father and daughter. I’m uncovering more of it each day.

Wynnie loves to get her back scratched, help make breakfast, and assist Lauren in the garden. She’s our most talkative child, and watching her mother her little brother is baffling in the best way.

And this girl can perform. Her ballet recital was Saturday afternoon, and it was like she was born to be on that stage. She doesn’t know it yet, but her dad has felt most at home there too. I hope I can steward that same desire in her.

In the meantime, I’m cherishing small moments—when she wants to talk about her day before bed, when she pulls me in for hugs, when we play patty cake like it’s our job. I can’t believe there was ever a second I wished for a boy.

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Final sibling highlight—my oldest brother, Matthew, on the right.

And in case we’ve never met: no, that’s not me on the left. But if you squint, it’s close enough to pass as a photo of me with my brother.

I wanted to share this picture because it captures Matthew in a room full of commercial real estate professionals—the industry where he’s spent nearly 20 years thriving. He’s deeply respected both locally and nationally, and it’s been incredible to watch him flourish over the years.

One thing to know about us: Matthew and I are 12 years apart. People sometimes ask what it’s like to have a sibling that much older. Honestly, all I can think of is how much wisdom he’s passed down—wisdom from someone who’s charted a path worth following.

I already see some of Matthew’s qualities in my firstborn son. And if Branch can grow up with even a fraction of that same trailblazing spirit, his younger siblings will be similarly blessed.

You turn people back to dust,
saying, “Return to dust, you mortals.”
A thousand years in your sight
are like a day that has just gone by,
or like a watch in the night.

One more from birthday szn…

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Music: New John Mark McMillan is good. Haven’t listened to new Bon Iver in full, but plan to once in the right headspace. Also revisiting epic Radiohead albums—see what I’m “Reading” below.

Food: Drinking unlimited Messenger & Oddly Correct coffee from a new co-working space in KC, Switchyards. (This place is cool!). Also happening downtown is Cosmo Burger getting its own new location, which is dangerous. But it might by my favorite burger in Kansas City. Zooming out a bit, I’m learning more about how food is fuel and grateful for my wife who cares about what we consume. Were it not for her, I would eat at Cosmo Burger more than I care to admit.

Podcasts: Nothing of note lately, but driving to Indianapolis this weekend if you have any recs for Lauren and I!

Reading: Been reading through a few articles from Pitchfork’s Top 200 albums released a few years ago—like Neutral Milk Hotel (whose reunion concert I was lucky to see in college) and Vampire Weekend and Lemonade by Beyonce (that Lauren and I were lucky to see after getting married). Just a few that have stuck out, but many great articles/albums on this list.

Last year, I wrote a guest post for my friend Luke Baker on his Substack (which you should subscribe to) about why America needed baseball in 2024.

Unsurprisingly, I believe the same holds for 2025.

Consider this a follow-up to that post—and maybe the start of an annual revisitation of a beautiful game.

In 2024, my reasons boiled down to combating two things: technology and division. This year, I’m reflecting on two “P” words that speak more directly to the game itself: peace and patience.

After last year’s article, someone from Luke’s email list shared this quote from Stanley Hauerwas in The Character of Virtue: Letters to a Godson. It’s a bit long, but worth sharing in full:

One of the practices of patience I hope you’ll want to develop is called baseball. Baseball is America’s greatest gift to civilization. It is a slow game of failure. If you win half the time, that’s considered very good. Not only that, but a game takes nine innings, and the season is very long. During a game it often seems that little is happening. Of course, this is true only for those who don’t understand the game. It takes extended training in patience to be a baseball fan because you must acquire the habits that allow you to see how compelling and beautiful this game of peace is.
But I hope that you’ll want to do more than learn to watch baseball. I hope you’ll want to play baseball. Learning to catch and hit is very hard, but having learned to do both will make you happy.

That baseball is the great American sport indicates that there is hope even for America. Americans pride themselves on speed, but speed is often just another name for violence. And as I suggested in some of my earlier letters to you, America is a very violent country. That we are so has everything to do with our impatience. But we do have baseball as an alternative to war.

That last line might be the most striking. Whether you consider society on a macro level (our world) or a micro one (our lives), it’s easy to see how chaotic and hectic things can feel.

Baseball allows us to slow down and take in a game that’s not meant to be either.

Exciting and unpredictable? Yes. But chaotic and hectic? Never.

If you’ve got a major or minor league ballpark within driving distance, you’re blessed. Or, if you took my previous Porcupette to heart, head to a little league complex and watch a kid step up to attempt the hardest thing to do in sports: hit a round ball with a round bat.

Experience the peace of this game—a game whose pace was never meant to mimic war.

If you're patient, you might just find joy waiting for you.

And if 2025 has felt any absence of joy so far, take a trip to the ballpark this spring or summer—and watch what happens.

PS—I can’t remember the last time I had peanuts or Cracker Jacks at a baseball game. All I need are sunflower seeds…and four hot dogs.

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Previous Porcupette: For the past three years, I’ve served in youth ministry at our church—and it’s softened and stretched me in ways I didn’t expect. Kids bring joy, curiosity, and honest questions about God that keep faith real. If you want to change lives (including your own), serve the next generation.

Previous Porcupine: Last week, my brother and I finally saw the band Brand New live—15 years after he missed our original chance. That show, and the day we spent together in Nashville, felt like a quiet redemption of a long-held regret.

For the past 15 years, my brother has carried around a very specific kind of guilt—a thorn in his side from one night during my junior year of high school.

In 2010, he and I had tickets to see the band Brand New in Kansas City. At the last second, he had to bail for a dinner engagement he’d forgotten about. I went by myself and sat in the balcony. The show was incredible—but he hasn’t been able to shake the fact that I was there alone.

Drew introduced me to Brand New when I was a freshman in high school. Ever since, we’ve bonded over their music—profound lyrics, intense sound. It became a soundtrack for our workouts and long drives. Sadly, the band broke up in 2017, and we never got the chance to see them live together. That missed opportunity in 2010 has haunted him.

Then, out of nowhere, Brand New announced a brief, three-show reunion. Last week, they played in Dallas, Kentucky, and Nashville. We drove to Nashville.

We made a full day of it—went for a run, ate hot chicken, and grabbed Jenny’s ice cream cones on the edge of Broadway. A nice bro-date before finally getting the Brand New monkey off his back.

The show was epic. A niche band brings a niche crowd, and the energy at The Pinnacle—a new venue—was near-perfect. If you ever get the chance to go to a show there in Nashville, take the tickets.

My brother didn’t the first time. But there’s grace when we least expect it—grace makes us brand new.

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Keeping the family shoutouts rolling, because I don’t get enough chances to brag on my sister, Sarah Yeamans (née Severns).

Sarah is a CNM-APRN—a highly trained nurse-midwife who delivers babies, provides reproductive care, and prescribes medications.

The photo above is from April 11, 2020, the day Lauren gave birth to our daughter, Wynnie, during the national lockdown. Only one guest was allowed (me), but because of Sarah’s role, she was the only other family member allowed in that surreal moment of welcoming a child in the middle of a pandemic.

Sarah is brilliant, but it’s her blend of clinical expertise and people skills that make her invaluable—not just in her local community, but to families across the country.

A Porcupine heavy on siblings this week, but hey—there’s something powerful about sharing a womb.

I’m not a huge April Fool’s guy, but here’s in honor of The Porcupine falling on the holiday. If you’ve never seen Nathan for You, it’s essentially one guy pulling pranks (by way of “marketing advice”) on actual business owners—bless their souls.

I have calmed and quieted myself,
I am like a weaned child with its mother;
like a weaned child I am content.

Right when I got back from Nashville, we celebrated Cal’s 1-year birthday. Wild!

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Music: Between now and next Porcupine, there’s new John Mark McMillan (from what has felt like a long drought) and Benjamin William Hastings. On an Indie Tribe kick. And Vampire Weekend for the spring.

Food: A brief ode to hot chicken. We went to Red’s in Nashville, and I can’t recommend enough next time you’re there. We almost went to Prince’s (which I’ve wanted to try for a while) but glad we pivoted—maybe next time. I’ve had Hattie B’s, and I know it’s become most popular. While in Kansas City, Dave’s Hot Chicken has become a nice *chain* option. And El Pollo Rey (featured on tacos) is so so good. My mouth is watering. Some kind of spicy-trigger happened after I turned 30.

Podcasts: I haven’t listened to him consistently in years, but Streamline is represented this year at The Gospel Coalition conference in Indianapolis, so I’ve listened to a few John Piper podcast episodes in prep to see him live later this month.

Reading: Back to food, and thanks to my bride, Lauren and I have Food Anatomy sitting on our nightstand—it’s been fun to flip through together, and the artist/author is brilliant.

Over the past three years, I’ve served in youth ministry at our local church. When Lauren and I joined this congregation, we were looking for two things:

1. an established, vibrant youth and family ministry, and

2. a clear way to jump in and serve.

I’m grateful to say both of those hopes have come to life—blended, even—as I’ve been able to serve in youth ministry since nearly the moment we arrived.

For the first two years, I worked primarily with third through fifth graders. This past fall, I was asked to “move up” with many of those students, so now I serve middle schoolers on a regular basis. Each age group brings its own beautiful chaos:

• Elementary is full of songs, dancing, and energetic games.

• Middle school? The blessed wilderness years. Here, we wade into deeper discussions, more questions, more intentional reading and reflection.

Yes, I’ve included a photo of me from the church’s website. But not because I think you need proof I’ve been there—I'm including it because of something greater I’ve come to believe:

If you want to cut through spiritual cynicism, serve youth.

Earlier this year, I wrote about how Lauren and I were drawn to a congregation with the motto “come fully alive.” That phrase has taken on new meaning for me—largely through Sunday mornings filled with the laughter and curiosity of kids asking big questions about God.

Joy and curiosity. Those are the two qualities that, from what I can gather, keep youth (and their families) coming back. That, and a space where they’re invited to ask hard, easy, and even unanswerable questions. It's a big deal—especially when you consider how much distraction kids face today, layered on top of all the usual insecurities, doubts, and boredom that come with adolescence.

My time with them each week is 45 minutes. If even 10% of that is meaningful dialogue—and the rest is joy, silliness, and shared attention—then it’s a good day. The irony of youth ministry is that you rarely know in real time what’s landing and what’s falling flat. The fruit comes later.

And yet, every week—even when I’m tired from parenting or unsure if I’m prepared to lead—I walk away reminded that time invested in the next generation is never wasted. Ministry is just one avenue, as there are countless ways to serve youth through nonprofits, schools, and community programs wherever you live.

That’s why I’m writing this—not to put my experience on a pedestal, but to offer a gentle encouragement that may not feel urgent now, but will change lives down the line.

Giving off joy and curiosity is one of the best ways to receive it consistently.
Don’t make faith harder than it needs to be.

Jesus said:

“Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.
Therefore, whoever takes the lowly position of this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven.
And whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me.” (Matthew 18:2-4)

Adulthood hardens us—and understandably so. Work, relationships, conflict, disappointment... there’s a lot to carry. But consistent time with children softens something. It reminds us of what Jesus was getting at.

Yes, raising my own children is a piece of that. But there’s something uniquely sacred about being entrusted to encourage and speak life into someone else’s child. I think it might be one of the most quietly powerful things I’ve ever experienced.

In just 45 minutes, you can and can’t change a child’s worldview. But you can shape it. Through love, you may never see the full impact of your investment. Through fear, sadly, far too many children have been harmed by adults who misuse their influence.

A few verses later, Jesus issues one of His strongest warnings:

“If anyone causes one of these little ones—those who believe in me—to stumble,
it would be better for them to have a large millstone hung around their neck and to be drowned in the depths of the sea.”

It’s a sobering reminder: the stakes are high. But so is the potential for goodness.

Without knowing who might read this Porcupette, I just want to say—may the back half of this decade be marked by a return to wonder. Not by placing all our hope in polished leaders behind pulpits, but in the curious, honest, belly-laugh faith of children.

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Previous Porcupette: Kansas City may be known for barbecue, but I made the case for tacos as a worthy runner-up. I shared my top taco spots in town (spoiler: Taco’s El Tio takes the crown) and why slowing down to savor a good taco might just be the pause we all need.

Previous Porcupine: We’ve found an unexpected gift in hybrid education—Knox Academy has been a game-changer for our family, blending structure and flexibility in a way that works.

The last year and a half have been a whirlwind for Lauren and me, but one of the bright spots has been finding the right school for our children.

This may not seem like a huge deal given the many great public and private school options in the Kansas City metro, but our experience at Knox Academy has been about more than just education—it’s a lifestyle. Their hybrid approach has been a great fit for Branch (7), and we’ve signed Wynnie (almost 5) up to start kindergarten in the fall, which feels wild!

Since 2020, the working world has been navigating the balance between remote and on-site work. It varies by industry, of course, but I’m a firm believer in balance rather than a hard stance in either direction. Lately, I’ve come to appreciate this same model in education.

Millennials grew up with certain stigmas around homeschooling—either from firsthand experience or from imagining what it might have been like. Plus, hybrid programs like this weren’t nearly as common back then.

At Knox, kids attend school on Mondays and Wednesdays, then complete assigned work at home on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Fridays are optional—a day to catch up on work, travel, or just play.

Lauren was homeschooled. I attended public school. My one concern with homeschooling was that Branch might miss out on daily social interaction, but Knox has provided such a strong community.

“Do you feel like you have a best friend at school, bud?”

“All my classmates are my best friends.”

Knox is in its first year, so the sample size is small. But for us, this is about more than just school—it’s a shift in perspective. A well-rounded education isn’t just about the classroom or the home; it’s about weaving together both, alongside real-world experiences.

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In the last Porcupine, I gave a shoutout to family—so here’s another: my brother, Drew, launched his second Chick-fil-A location last fall in Shawnee, Kansas.

What’s unique about this spot? It’s drive-thru only—no indoor seating. But there’s an outdoor patio and a walk-up window, giving it a vibe similar to Andy’s Frozen Custard. I’m looking forward to taking our kids there this spring and summer when the weather warms up.

In the last Porcupette, I mentioned grabbing tacos in Kansas City. Consider this a similar invite—this time over chikin. Next time you’re in the area, swing through the drive-thru! Or better yet, if the sun’s out, grab a seat on the patio and enjoy a spicy deluxe sandwich on a brioche bun with a large fry and a (unsweet) Sunjoy.

Fun fact: this episode of Bluey is a perfect 10/10 on IMDB and ranked as a top 50 episode all time…of any show ever created.

There’s a fox in this painting.

For the sake of my family and friends,
I will say, “Peace be within you.”
For the sake of the house of the Lord our God,
I will seek your prosperity.

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Music: Pat Barrett. Zach Top. New Vulfpeck has delivered. And my brother and I bought tickets to Brand New reunion concert, which I will likely have more to write about at a later date.

Food: For Lent, I have given up sweets/dessert, and it’s been a nice change of pace. Typically, in the morning, I crave something sweet with my coffee—or after dinner, I crave 100 dark chocolate peanut butter cups from Trader Joe’s. Those pangs for sweetness draw my attention back to something whole.

Podcasts: Hunter recommended The Rest is History, which I’m excited to listen to—I love history because of its concreteness, and for someone who is more future-oriented (“Think of what could be!”) things like this ground me in “This is what it was.”

Reading: I’ve recommended Chris Martin before, but his Substack from this week is another reason why you consider subscribing to his newsletter, FYI. Also rereading Dante’s Inferno for the first time since high school. One of my fondest memories from English class my junior year is when our teacher had us each write our own Canto. For me, it was one of the more impactful assignments on the roller coaster ride that is K-12.