A backyard is more than a patch of grass behind your home. It’s a sacred threshold — the in-between space where your outer world and inner life quietly meet. It’s where laughter echoes during late-night gatherings, where friends lean back in their chairs and forget the time. It’s where your kids run barefoot, chasing dogs and dreams, and where the fireflies seem to know your name. But just as often, it’s a place of solitude. A patch of earth where you can breathe, pray, or simply sit — fully alone, and fully okay. You don’t need string lights or a fancy patio to make it beautiful. The beauty is already there. In the way the wind moves. In the way the sun falls. In the way your feet remember they’re part of the ground. If you have a backyard — even a small one — this post is a gentle invitation to see it as something more: a space to gather, to care for, to rest in. A place to live.

To love sport is to recognize the sacred in the sweat. To stand in awe of what the human body, fueled by spirit, can do. The arena is everywhere — and every time someone laces their shoes, the sacred begins again.

The best version of you isn’t built in the noise. He’s born in the space between. In the silence. In the stillness. That’s where the sacred signal lives.

Two circles. A simple grid. A quiet tension between light and dark. In this reflection on form, balance, and contradiction, we explore what it means to live a life that is both structured and fluid — simply complex.

“I’m not scared. I’m suspended. Held in a moment that hasn’t fully arrived. Between the test and the truth. Between who I was… and who I’m becoming.”

In this piece, I connect a morning Bible reading — Luke 15:7’s parable of the lost sheep — to what Americans say they care about most. From the Brilliant Idiots podcast to polling on our top 50 priorities, I explore how we often drift from what truly matters, and why perfection isn’t possible — but repentance, realignment, and care for one another always are.

Photo credit to William Warby via Pexels