Author: Jason

…is the next one.

How do you eat an elephant?

I’m not sure what elephants taste like, or why you’d ever want to eat one, but the answer, of course, is one bite at a time. (Mustard is optional, but a little enthusiasm never hurts.)

The same instructions apply when it comes to accomplishing a big dream: One bite at a time.

Tinkering embodies this spirit perfectly. Tinkering implies baby steps, not grand gestures: a little of this, a little of that.

I’ve accomplished some of my biggest dreams in the past few years. They were all accomplished with a healthy dose of tinkering, taking one baby step at a time.

The first step was just deciding to go for it.
The next step was to draw one comic strip.
The next step was to share it online.
The next step was to draw another one.

Like I said, baby steps. I ended up drawing thousands of comic strips, but not all at once. And even though the comic strip has been retired for well over a decade, the audience I grew and the lessons I learned were instrumental in getting me to where I am now.

People nod when I tell them to start with the first step because it makes sense. They laugh when I tell them the first step might be something drop-dead simple, like just deciding. Or reading a book. Or asking someone for advice. Or drawing one comic strip.

But then they can’t help themselves. They mentally forecast the second step, then the third, and maybe make it all the way to step seventeen before they get stuck, or encounter a fake no. In their head, step seventeen is extremely difficult, or impossible, or even more terrifying, completely unknown.

And that’s when the dream hits a roadblock and, more often than not, dies.

Do you have a dream in your heart? Don’t murder it just because you don’t know how you’ll ever overcome step seventeen.

Right now, step seventeen may seem hazy. Not to worry. It will become abundantly clear right after you take step sixteen.

Step seventeen may seem insurmountable. Cool. You might be surprised how the growth you experience in the first sixteen steps magically transforms it into a molehill.

And don’t be surprised if step seventeen looks quite a bit different from what you imagine right now – or is rendered altogether irrelevant – after step twelve prompts you to take an unexpected turn. (Like the day I felt called to retire my comic strip.)

Repeat after me: I don’t have to know step seventeen before I take Step #1.

Start with Step #1. (And for the love of penguins, don’t combine six steps into one step!) Just start with lowly, insignificant Step #1. Yes, it might be obvious. So simple a child could do it. Too small to make any noticeable difference. Step #1 will most definitely be ALL of these things.

But only one question matters: Have. You. Done. It?

No? Then quit worrying about step seventeen and f@¢king do Step #1.

My apologies for the candor, but your dream matters to me, and this really fires me up.

These elephants don’t eat themselves.

---

Hello, graduate. Congratulations on your accomplishments and a job well done!

Now for the fun part.

You’ve made it this far by following directions, filling in little circles, asking for permission, standing in line, and raising your hand before speaking up. The instructions have been clear: do this (take these classes, write this paper, complete this assignment) and get this (pass the course, earn a recommendation, receive a degree).

You got to this point by following the rules. Now that you’ve graduated, it’s time to start breaking some.

Make no mistake, the work is not over. In fact, it’s only just beginning. If you continue looking for rules to follow — old habits die hard, after all — you will find them. You will be expected to be “realistic,” urged to find a job with good benefits, and encouraged to keep your inbox at zero. You’ll be handed a definition of success that puts an inordinate amount of emphasis on things that can be measured.

Follow these rules and you will most certainly succeed.

At being ordinary.

But, dear graduate, you were made for more than that. We desperately need you to be extraordinary. I know it doesn’t seem like it, because the examples of people doing it are few and far between. That’s mostly because it’s hard.

Paint-by-numbers are easy. But they don’t hang paint-by-numbers in the Louvre.

The rules you followed to this point will no longer serve you. If you want to make a difference in the world and be truly happy in life, you must follow your own way, and that includes leaving a few rules in your wake, broken and abandoned.

I’m not speaking of speed limits and tax laws, a few of the rules that DO exist and carry real consequences for breaking them. You’ll need to identify the ones that DON’T exist and disregard them like it’s your job.

Because it is.

It will help if you can keep close the five-year-old that still lives within you. It will not take long to realize that being an adult is not all it was cracked up to be. But Adulthood does have its perks, not the least of which is that now, finally, YOU are the boss of you. Life is a choose-your-own-adventure. That’s right: the choices are finally yours. Don’t abdicate this power to anyone else.

So listen to your inner child reminding you that it’s ok to eat dessert first once in a while, jump in puddles, and flaunt your weirdness.

It may be hard to believe, but you don’t have to hate Mondays.
 
You don’t have to rely on your calendar to decide what days are worth celebrating.

And for the love of penguins, please don’t fall into the trap of being realistic.

My wish for you, dear friend, is the same one I have for my own children: a life filled with magic, meaning, love, and wonder.

Blessed are the rulebreakers. They shalt inherit the Future.

You’ve got this.

In the immortal words of a trick-or-treating Charlie Brown…I got a rock.

It wasn’t just any rock, mind you; it was a kindness rock. If you are unfamiliar with the concept, people hand-paint ordinary rocks with inspirational or encouraging messages and leave them in a public place for someone to find. 

This particular one was shaped a bit like a heart, painted red, and included the words, “Love you.” I found it on a walk, near the lakeside bench where I like to sit. I immediately recognized what it was, but completely resisted the idea that it could actually be intended for me. After all, the placement seemed strange, hardly a location I’d consider a proper hiding spot. 

They probably accidentally dropped it and would soon return looking for it. 
Someone else probably needs it more than I do.
I don’t need to hear this message…do I?

Finally, I realized: these are made to be left behind for someone to find, and whoever finds it is who it’s for. 

I believe that. Usually, I am the person doing things like this. Whether it’s an Art Drop, where I hide a piece of art in a public location, or when I hide Marty the penguin under someone’s chair at a speaking engagement, I love doing anonymous things. I trust completely that whoever ends up being the recipient is exactly the person it was meant for.

And yet apparently, I don’t believe it works the same way when it pertains to me.

Eventually, I did take the rock, examined it, and accepted it as a gift. I sat on the bench and thought about how tired I was from getting our home and business settled in the months since our move to Sheboygan. Overwhelmed with home improvement projects and business obligations, I was processing a curveball I’d received that morning concerning the renovation of my studio. I was discouraged and exhausted.

As I watched the waves rhythmically roll in and felt them wash away the wall of anxieties that had built up, I smiled. Maybe this rock really was meant for me. Maybe God, through the actions of another person, really wanted me to know He loved me, right at that exact moment. 

Is it all a bit much to attach any spiritual meaning to the timing of a random rock being placed in my path by a random stranger on a random day?

Perhaps.

I don’t have any proof to offer, that’s for sure. It’s nice to fancy such thoughts of God using his creation to send random love notes to us. But it’s harder when you also take into account the dark times in your life when he didn’t feel present at all. Those times, it appeared that he just sat back and allowed terrible things to happen. What then? Was he too busy to notice, too incompetent to help?

Those are hard questions. I believe God loves us and wants us to love one another. I also know that love isn’t love if you’re forced into it. And so the gift of free will seems to take an awful lot of control out of his hands. By giving us the power to love, we’ve also been given the power to hurt one another deeply. 

Thankfully, God can turn pain into plot twists. 

Sometimes his response to the bad guy blowing up our bridge is to send a speedboat to catch us and whisk us off to someplace better. 

Is it possible that instead of being too busy or too weak, God is attentive and powerful enough to transform our disaster into something triumphant? Maybe this great artist is creative enough to weave seemingly random events — both the heartbreaking and the banal — into a tapestry that is more detailed and delightful than we could ever imagine.

I, for one, have had experiences in which very good things came from very bad circumstances. But this is important: until the exact moment the blessing came into focus — sometimes years later — the situation seemed hopeless and impossible. I was convinced of it. I surveyed the scene of the crime, examined the facts at hand, and it was clear: an open and shut case.

Except that sometimes we don’t have all the facts. Sometimes we interpret them incorrectly. And sometimes a new piece of evidence emerges that recasts all the previous facts in a new light, resulting in a completely different story.

Like the end of a good mystery, it’s gratifying when the pieces of understanding fall into place. The hard part is living in the tension before the puzzle is resolved, wrestling with the Whys and the How could you’s.

I prefer having the script. I want to see how it ends. I’d like approval rights too, thank you very much. Maybe it takes a few hundred pages for this plot twist to resolve, but as long as it does, I’m fine with it. I’ll even settle for an idea of how it might resolve. Gimme a possibility, no matter how narrow, and I can rest, secure in my faith. But too often, I don’t see any positive outcome or a satisfactory explanation for why terrible things happen to good people.

Alas, this is a limitation of being human and living on the foggy side of eternity. Like a toddler lacking in understanding and impatient for answers, we cry out in frustration, exhaustion, and anger. Life is beautiful, but it is not easy. Sometimes it just wears us out, physically and emotionally.

But I believe that God knows this and empathizes with us. And I suspect that’s why sometimes, he uses random rocks made by random strangers to remind you that he sees you, he’s with you, and he loves you very much.

Who knows? Maybe he inspired me to write this little post to serve as a similar reminder, to be delivered today, just for you.

This is not a medieval torture device. But it is one of my favorite new studio tools.

It has one job, and that’s to squeeze all the paint from the tube. And it does it very well. After using it a few times, I can finally rest assured that from this day forth, I will get my money’s worth out of every tube of paint I buy.

A flattened, used-up paint tube is quite a contrast to a fresh one.

There is something about brand-new tubes of paint that makes artists giddy. Fresh and unspoiled, they are loaded with potential and brimming with exhilarating possibilities.

On the other hand, the used-up tube of paint is cast aside and disregarded without much thought, replaced by a newer version of itself.

Our culture prizes the allure of youth. We live in fear of gray hair and wrinkles. Like a brand new tube of paint, youth is highly desired and much-coveted. And certainly, a new tube of paint is attractive, valuable, and good.

But the empty tube of paint deserves our respect and is worthy of emulation.

Yes, the old tube is thin, twisted, and wrinkly, marred with dry paint marking its journey of service. But it has fulfilled its destiny. It has achieved its purpose. That’s why it was made: To contribute what it had — every last drop — to making the world more beautiful. 

Most of the time, it worked with others, taking on a supporting role; sometimes it was cast as the star. Who knows how many paintings it contributed to? Who can measure how much color it brought to the world, how many thoughts it sparked, or days it brightened?

There is always a twinge of fear after twisting off the cap and squeezing the first offering of paint onto the palette. For this is where the rubber meets the road.  The disappointing reality of our less-than-perfect results contradicts the juicy possibilities we envisioned.

We might yearn to have that unopened tube back. After all, not every painting it contributed to was a masterpiece. We can imagine the paint tube wondering, “Did I live up to my potential? Was my life a success? Did I make a difference?” It’s tempting to leave the paint in the tube rather than risk wasting the contents — and the potential — within.

But just as ships are not built to stay in the harbor, paint was not made to stay in the tube. A new tube is filled with promise and has much to offer, but if that is how it remains, what a waste. 

May you pour forth all of the time, talents, and treasure you have to give for as long as you have the opportunity to give them. You are here to contribute, and your contribution makes the world better. 

The spent, empty paint tube with nothing left to give is truly beautiful, for it represents a life well-lived.

To end up like this should be our goal.

“Where there’s a will, there’s a way!” they say.

But what if you can’t find a way?

Can you relate to this? Sometimes I trample my dreams before they’ve even had a chance to take root. For example, when something epic bubbles up from my heart – a fabulous, joy-sparking dream – I immediately go into logistics mode. How would this work? How can I make this happen? How do I make this dream come true?

And then, nine times out of ten, I realize that I don’t know how. I don’t have the knowledge, the connections, or the resources to make it happen. It feels too hard, too unlikely, too out of reach. I’m overwhelmed, and the dream is crushed under the weight of the feeling of impossibility.

I’m sad to say that’s often where it ends. The dream dissolves into an emaciated wish, a thin, pale shadow of its former glorious self. In 2020, I embraced an important idea, particularly when it comes to big dreams and faith and what God wants to do in my life: 

How is not my job.

How many blessings do we miss because we fall into the trap of believing we have to do it all? That it is all up to us?

Maybe you find yourself in a relationship that has flatlined. You haven’t the faintest idea how to bring it back to life.

Maybe you have come to realize how much you hate your job. But you’re not sure how to position yourself for a better one.

Maybe you feel like you’re in a deep, dark pit. And you have no clue how you’d even begin to climb out.

For twenty-five years, Kim and I had been dreaming about living on a lake. We talked about it on our first date. We’ve spent hundreds and hundreds of hours talking about it, trying to figure out the most efficient way to make it happen while still doing the work we love and feel called to. We’ve tried on dozens of scenarios in our minds, calculating what was possible and what sacrifices might be required. It was so exhausting and soul-crushing to keep the dream alive. I often yearned for someone from a Harry Potter book to cast a Memory Charm upon me, to obliviate the dream from my memory.

In a surprising turn of events, the dream finally came true. During a global pandemic.

Around the time of the start of the lockdown, in my morning prayer time, I came across the idea that “how” is not my job. I realized that “how” could never be realized until I had fully committed to the “what.”

The “what” starts out fun – everyone loves to imagine crazy, preposterous dreams – but it gets scary when you get serious about it. If you decide to own the “what” – landing the dream job, finding Mr. Right, having a baby, starting the business – things get real. You move the dream into that vulnerable nook in your heart that opens you to the pain of it not coming true.

Stopping after determining we don’t know the how is a handy way to cut the dream off at the knees, ending it on our terms. Better to tell ourselves it was never meant to be at the outset than be crushed by heartbreaking disappointment later.

Well, at the beginning of the lockdown, I led our family to begin a routine that felt utterly preposterous. We started a dinnertime prayer thanking God in advance for “the lake home you’re preparing for us.” Keep in mind that I had already calculated a worst-case scenario in which we might be bankrupt by November and determined that ending the year with a profit of $1 would be an enormous underdog victory.

We persisted with every meal. Sometimes, after a particularly defeating day, I’d “forget” to include it in the prayer. And on those days, without fail, one of my children would add on, “thankyouforthelakehomeyou’repreparingforus.” I’m proud of how they helped carry us on those days.

Meanwhile, I started keeping a special journal. Starting in May, I filled a page with this affirmation: “I, Jason Kotecki, will own a dream home on the lake.” I wrote that fifteen times a day, every single day, all year long, sometimes dead-tired right before bed. I decided I was going to keep doing it until we got that dream house or until the day I died, whichever came first.

I cannot tell you how foolish it all seemed most days. I often felt like an idiot wasting my time. But each time we said the prayer or I wrote the affirmation, I reminded myself:

How is not my job. 

Just because I couldn’t find (or force) a way didn’t mean that there wasn’t one.

We were given arrows to follow, one at a time. Sometimes one of those arrows felt like it was spoiling the ending. We’d be certain we finally knew the how, but then there’d be another turn that blew those certainties to smithereens.  

In retrospect, every arrow served a purpose, but following them was hard. 

Like the day we learned that the sellers of the house we were sure was the One accepted someone else’s offer over ours.  On that night, we started right into the dinnertime prayer, which was such a habit by then. “Thank you for the lake home you’re preparing for us.”  

We had to choke back tears to finish the prayer that night.

The winding, preposterous roller coaster tale of how everything led to us moving into our dream house the following January could probably be its own book. It would include this plot twist: the house we thought was the One – the one we’d lost out on (twice!) – did end up actually being the One.

I hesitated to share any of this because I don’t want it to come off as some sort of magic trick. Or paint God as a cosmic vending machine. I mean, I have prayed for this home for over two decades, so this isn’t exactly Amazon Prime.

But I do believe that God does plant certain dreams in our hearts, and if we are brave enough to claim them, to speak them out loud, he will help us realize them, somehow. (Although not always in the way we expected.) 

I believe that real faith is realizing we can’t do everything ourselves, that we were never meant to, and that there is someone who wants to help.

And I know firsthand the truth that just because you can’t find a way doesn’t mean there isn’t one.

Through this process of writing daily affirmations and praying this audacious prayer when it seemed most unlikely to ever come true, I realized that what God was doing in me was more important than how the events unfolded. Indeed, my favorite day of saying our prayer – with a slight modification – was before the first dinner we shared in our new house on the shores of Lake Michigan: 

“Thank you for the lake home you prepared US for.”

This is a picture of Kim and me at the Cornerstone music festival, very early on in our dating years. Together with friends, we camped out with thousands of other Christian music fans in the middle of a field during a sweltering stretch of Illinois summer.

Here we are showing off our “hardcore” faith represented by sun-kissed cross “tattoos” made with two Band-aids.

Nine years of Catholic school provided a decent foundation for my faith, but it didn’t really come alive until the year after I graduated high school, about the time this photo was taken. I was on fire for God, excited to learn all I could, and eager to change the world. 

Like the tough face trying to overcompensate for the not-so-tough biceps,  I projected a strong faith.

I look back on this photo and I see a pure faith. But not a strong one.

I have often wondered where that kid went; the strong, self-assured, faith-filled warrior. I feel like I used to be so much more on fire, more certain, and have fewer doubts. 

I’m not sure I was really any of those things, but I definitely was a lot more naive. I was like Luke Skywalker, who, after getting some brief instruction from Obi-Wan Kenobi and a few days of training from Yoda, announced he was ready to go off and fight Darth Vader and tear down the Empire. “I’m not afraid,” he boldly claimed.

“You will be,” replied Yoda.

Just like Luke, Kim and I were serious and sincere about our faith, and yet we had no idea – how could we? – how much it would be tested. 

In my late twenties, I felt like all that passion got burned up. I was left drifting, afraid, and confused. Building a business was harder than I expected. I’d wondered if I’d taken a wrong turn somewhere because I didn’t feel as certain as when I’d first begun. I was worn down by years of burdensome debt, flirtations with bankruptcy, and a series of steps forward followed by two steps back. Kim and I were inundated with doubt over whether we’d ever be able to have kids, afford a home, or make a living with our dreams and talents. Discouragement led us to wonder if we were merely deluding ourselves.

But each time we encountered a challenge, like the time our hand-me-down van needed major repairs that would deplete our checking account or the time we spent two days and several hundred dollars to make $7.92 in sales at a craft show, we were faced with a choice:

Abandon ship, or keep pressing on.

Again, we were like Luke, when he began to rely less on himself and trust more in the Force. We pressed on, not because we knew the way forward, but because we believed in a God who did. We chose to believe in His promises rather than the negative voices in our heads. We chose to doubt our doubts and believe our beliefs.

And those small choices were little nudges that kept us on course, even though we weren’t sure where we were headed.

Choice by choice, we became stronger.  

Now, with a little more mileage on me and more journey to look back on than when this photo was taken, I can relate to Yoda. 

I know what it means when they say that faith is tested during hard times. I see now that those choices are the journey. They are the reps that make you stronger.  Even now, when I feel weak, I know the truth that I am exceedingly stronger than I ever was back then.

Instead of rolling my eyes when I look at this photo (which is extremely tempting), I appreciate the brilliant flash of youthful hope and the belief that anything is possible. It’s important. Just as a space shuttle uses over ninety percent of its available fuel just to achieve orbit, our passion gives us the rocket fuel we need to get started.

Eventually, we did figure out how to make a living at all this. We did get out of debt. We did start a family. And we recently bought our dream house on a lake. None of it would have happened were it not for the naive passion of that skinny kid in the big glasses flexing his non-existent guns. Or the God who never once rolled His eyes at him.

Those sun-kissed tattoos faded long ago. But in another respect, they’ve become permanent and more real.

I don’t know where you are in your journey right now. Maybe you are overflowing with confidence and eager to begin your new thing. Good! Use that passion to fuel you, for it will take you far. Things might not turn out as you’d expect, but that’s ok. You’ll figure it out. Just keep going and trust in the One who planted that dream in your heart.

Maybe you have run out of gas and feel like you’re drifting in orbit somewhere. Good! Use this time to appreciate the view and realize how far you’ve come.  You’re farther along than you think and stronger than you feel.

Maybe you are the Jedi master who can relate to this because you’ve been through all the stages. Good! Pass the experience you’ve gained on to others. But don’t squash the enthusiasm of those first starting out. They don’t need your bucket of ice water telling them how naive they are. Amplify their energy by using your hard-earned wisdom to nudge them gently in the right direction.

It’s been said we are all the ages we’ve ever been. We’re still the cocksure teenager, the uncertain young adult, and the sage with wisdom gained through experience. 

All of them matter. All of them serve a purpose. 

The way to honor them all is to keep going.

My Grandma on my mom’s side used to tell us stories about her childhood. I remember a tale about her shoes. When the soles wore out, instead of buying new shoes, her father would re-sole them with rubber from old tires. She and her sister were mortified to kneel at the communion rail at church for fear that their classmates would be able to read Goodyear on the bottom of their shoes.

(I can’t help but think how much the bottoms of modern-day sneakers look like tire treads, with brand logos stamped upon them. Perhaps my grandmother and her sister were just ahead of their time?)

I can certainly appreciate the thriftiness of my great-grandfather, but I share this story because of the times we persist in trying to make something old work when we’d be better off letting it go.

Like a routine that served you well for years. 
Or perhaps a client relationship that used to be fruitful.
Or maybe it’s a mindset that led to many beneficial decisions.

Just because something served you well in the past doesn’t mean it’s serving you well now.

Seasons change. The world does, too. And as we age and collect new experiences, we gain new knowledge and grow in wisdom. Hanging on to an old routine, relationship, or mindset may actually be a barrier to growth and future success.

In the olden times, they used to store wine in animal skins. As the alcohol fermented, the skins would naturally expand. A problem occurred if you tried to put new wine into old wineskins. Already brittle and stretched to the limit from the process, the old wineskins would burst when the new wine fermented. 

Resulting in a ruined wineskin. And even worse: bye-bye, wine.

It’s worth considering that the original wineskin – the one now stretched and brittle – was good for its original use. It served its purpose splendidly. Opting for a new wineskin for this new batch of wine is not a condemnation of its performance. It simply won’t work for preparing new wine.

It helps to get in the habit of asking yourself one of the most useful questions ever: WHY do I do it this way?

Answering that question, honestly and accurately, is a terrific way to determine whether or not that old way of doing things is still serving you.

With our family moving into a new home in a new city, I have taken it as an opportunity to rethink my old standard operating procedures. Everything from my work schedule to our family routines, and even where we put things in our kitchen, is up for reconsideration.

I’ve been asking “why?” a lot.

When we moved in, we reflexively put our oven mitts and dish towels in the same drawer, just like we’ve always done. It didn’t take long to get frustrated with how inconvenient it was to fetch a towel from the drawer when washing dishes. Upon further review – aka asking “why?” – we determined the reason for storing the two things together in the old house was that we had limited space, and the oven and sink were right next to each other. With more drawer space and the oven and sink further apart in the new house, this arrangement no longer made sense.

It’s a simple example that applies to every area of life.

We recently booked our first in-person speaking program since last March. After almost a year of doing virtual programs, it’s a prime opportunity to re-evaluate my on-stage presentation by asking a lot of WHY questions. Of course, it would be easier to resume doing what I’ve done in the past, but that would be like putting new wine into old wineskins. 

Or, going back to the metaphor of the recycled shoes, I could certainly take the new things I’ve learned doing virtual presentations and slap them onto the old way I’ve always done in-person programs. Instead, I’m planning to re-channel all this experience into a brand new thing, which I suspect will be even better. There will be some heavy lifting involved, but I’m excited about the possibilities.

What area of your life could benefit from a new way of operating?

Indeed, sometimes we keep things as is because change is hard and the status quo is more comfortable. Sometimes we’re just too busy to consider anything else. And sometimes we just haven’t been mindful enough to stop and ask, “Why?” 

I’m a pretty nostalgic guy. And I’m all for upcycling whenever possible.

But sometimes you just need to spring for a new pair of shoes.

My grandma was a magician. 

Not the kind prone to cutting grandchildren in half or pulling rabbits out of vintage hats, mind you. 

She was an artist. The first real artist I’d ever known. My parents had one of her paintings hanging in their bedroom. It was a big one, a landscape featuring a shimmering blue lake. At the edge of the lake was a small dock with two tiny figures sitting at the end. Me and my brother Dan. It really looked like us, and the landscape was pristine, like a real photograph. I loved staring at that painting, wondering how she did it. 

Pure magic.

You can’t be exposed to that brand of magic and not have it affect you. 

As I pursued art, I felt the presence of that same magic when I’d create a portrait of an athlete that would cause people to say, “Wow, that looks just like him! How did you do that?!”

Then, later, when one of my comic strips would make someone on the other side of the country laugh out loud.

And I get that same feeling even now, when someone sees something I made, read something I wrote, or hears me tell a story in a speech that gets them thinking in a new way or inspires them to change something about their life.

It is a rush anytime I can create something that instills wonder, makes someone happy, or reminds them of something important. It feels a whole lot like magic. So how can I not spend my days doing that?

Thanks a lot, Grandma.

The thing is, we’re all magicians. Or at least we can be.

We all have something we do well, that when we do it, it seems like magic to other people. The thing is, it probably doesn’t feel like magic to you. That which we do well comes easily to us, making it easy to undervalue.

My wife has a way of seeing nature with her camera that is awe-inspiring.

My friend Sue talks with her hands in a way that looks like poetry.

My friend Jason can lift someone’s spirits using only the look on his face.

Don’t confuse your magic with the sexy talents that find their way to TV. They may not always be glamorous, but that doesn’t make them any less powerful.

It could be the way you can understand tax law to help your clients save money.

It could be the way you can whip up a delicious meal with four ingredients and a pinch of salt.

It could be the way you can organize an event without breaking a sweat. 

It could be the way you help people feel good about themselves.

It could be the way you make people feel seen and cared for.

Whatever you do that gets people to smile, laugh, cry, think, try again, or gasp in wonder…that’s your magic. When you’re in the middle of doing something that makes you feel, “I was born to do this,” that’s it. That’s your magic.

Whatever it is, honor it. Guard it. Cultivate it. Spend your days doing more of it.

These days, it’s easy to feel let down by our leaders, our governments, and our social systems. We demand that something be done. We can lament what we see on the news and in our social media timelines, but then what? If we stop there, we remain mere spectators. 

We must become active participants. We need to bring forth our magic, which, of course, is not magic at all. 

It is the spark of your Creator, the spirit of God within you.

You have been given gifts. Don’t bury them. Don’t minimize them. Don’t wish they were more like someone else’s.

Use them.

This is what the world needs. This is how you should spend your days. This, my friend, is why you are here. 

And you never know how much sharing your magic will inspire others to discover their own.

Thanks a lot, Grandma.

When I was twelve years old, I had a fastball you wouldn’t believe.

That is, you wouldn’t believe anyone would call it a “fastball” if you saw how slowly it traveled.

I had great control, rarely walking anybody, but I had no curveball, no slider, no screwball…just a not-so-fast fastball and a change-up that defied the laws of physics by being even slower. I swear I saw batters salivating while they were on deck.

I did make the All-Star team that year, but not for my pitching acumen. My team never won a game while I was on the mound. One time, I got hit in the leg by a line drive that was hit so hard, it tore a hole in my sock. If you’re imagining Charlie Brown getting knocked off the mound, you’re on the right track. The only difference is that I had more hair.

Then, when I was thirteen, I advanced to a new league and got a new coach: Mr. Dawson. For some reason, he kept using me as a pitcher and seemed to make it a personal mission to get me my first win. He was so encouraging, I started to believe that it was possible. 

And lo and behold, as the season was winding down, it happened. Our team won the game with me as the official winning pitcher. I don’t remember the score of the game. I don’t remember where it happened or who it was against. But I do remember how proud Mr. Dawson was, and how good it made me feel to reward him for all his encouragement and belief in me. And that confidence he instilled in me lasted long after my pitching career ended.

I heard once that the devil’s favorite weapon is discouragement.

I remember thinking how unimpressive that sounded. Surely there were higher profile, more obviously devastating, headline-grabbing tools at his disposal. Discouragement? It sounded pretty wimpy to me.

I’ve now come to see it as a colorless, odorless, poison: completely untraceable and devastatingly lethal.

Dictionaries define discourage as “depriving of courage or hope; to cause someone to lose confidence or enthusiasm.” When you consider that the roots of the word “enthusiasm” are “en” and “theos,” which means “God within,” you can begin to see how destructive discouragement really is.

It is scattered by the enemy like invisible seeds, taking root and sprouting into cynicism, choking out hope. Our inner monologue is fed an unending stream of discouragement every day, as lies masquerading as truth:

You failed. That means you’re a failure.
You’re not making any progress.
You don’t have what it takes.
You shouldn’t even bother.
You’re kidding yourself.
Who do you think you are?
What difference will it make?
Why bother trying?
You’re hopeless.

Any of those sound familiar?

You can reach the point where you’ve been bombarded by so much discouragement, it becomes a habit to look for evidence proving discouragement right, blinding you from opportunities to prove it wrong.

When hope is snuffed out…it’s game over. And the devil wins.

This is why encouragement is one of the most powerful weapons we have at our disposal. Mr. Dawson used it with remarkable results, as did every other great teacher and mentor I’ve had in my life. Their encouragement gave me fuel to keep going until I could eventually see the truths about myself they saw first. If you’re sincere, it’s practically impossible to overdo it. 

Each day is a mixture of good and evil. Encouragers are there to remind us of the reasons for hope.

And you don’t need to have any real skill to wield it. You don’t need to wait until you have it all figured out. You don’t even need to be free from discouragement yourself. In fact, one of the best ways to strike out your own discouragement is by encouraging someone else. 

It’s possible to change someone’s life. Most of the time it starts with changing their day first.

Who needs a word of encouragement from you today?

I saw this car in my neighborhood the other day. It’s a real head-turner, with all of its whimsical flourishes and flair. They don’t make cars like this anymore.

And that’s a shame.

In the 1950s, cars featured all sorts of angles, fins, and bright colors. They were sleek, fun, and bursting with personality. 

The Jetsons gave us the wrong impression. Not only do we NOT have flying cars yet, we actually seem to have devolved our automotive design, settling for something that resembles a safe deposit box with the sharp edges sanded down and all the personality of white bread.

Car designs these days are way more homogenized. Instead of standing out, they blend in. If you squint, you can barely tell the difference between a Ford, a Toyota, and a Honda. The top-selling colors are white, black, or some shade of grey.

The practical-minded and Adultitis-riddled among us might argue that the flourishes from 1950s car design are unnecessary. After all, they don’t help improve safety or performance. 

Or consider these hot sauce packets from Taco Bell. The message is whimsical, and yet it has no impact whatsoever on the contents of the condiment within. The message doesn’t make the packets easier to open or change their basic function in any way. This whimsy appears completely superfluous.

That’s the problem. We’ve devolved to the point where we’ve deemed whimsy as unnecessary.

But we need it more than ever.

We live in a serious world, but we only make matters worse by taking ourselves too seriously.

When I saw that teal beauty in my neighbor’s garage, I smiled. Just like you would if you saw it on the highway.

These smiles, brought to you by whimsy, improve our mood.

Whimsy brings humanity and warmth to an otherwise cold world.

Whimsy helps lighten the load by putting the heavy things we carry into perspective.

Whimsy keeps our brain cells active by bringing playful unpredictability to our day-to-day. 

Whimsy taps into something supernatural that uplifts the human spirit. 
Whimsy is underrated.

Whimsy is not the cure to everything that ails us, but it’s hard to argue that we couldn’t use more of it in our car designs, our product packaging, and in our daily lives.

In fact, whimsy is one of the leading antidotes to Adultitis.

So really, when it comes to unnecessary whimsy, there really is no such thing.