Today’s a new day!
Fear may whisper,
“Turn around, don’t go.”
But faith says,
“Take the step—
there’s freedom where you go.”
Face the darkness,
walk through the pain,
trust that the storm
won’t always remain.
For courage begins
when fear loses control—
sometimes you must face fear
to set free your soul. ~OC
Today’s a new day!
Another night of very little sleep, so I found myself awake rewatching the amazing documentary Photography No. 24: Ken Griffey Jr. at the Masters.
Ken Griffey Jr. has always been one of my favorite players, especially during his days with my Cincinnati Reds. There is something special about watching someone with that kind of passion, talent, and eye for the moment.
And it got me thinking about something I have always enjoyed: photography.
I love seeing a beautiful photograph. You know the kind I mean—the one that makes you stop scrolling, stare at it for a moment, and maybe even takes your breath away.
I’ve taken some pretty good photos with my iPhone over the years, but lately I’ve been thinking about taking photography a little more seriously.
As I continue dealing with Parkinson’s, Myasthenia Gravis, and now Dementia, I have had to accept that I am no longer able to run. Running was a huge part of my life, and losing that ability has been difficult.
But maybe this is an opportunity to discover something new.
Maybe I can trade running for photography.
And there is another reason this idea excites me.
I am having more trouble with my voice these days. Sometimes finding the words or getting them out the way I want to can be difficult.
But a photograph doesn’t need a voice.
A photograph can speak.
It can tell a story.
It can capture emotion.
It can make someone stop and think.
It can show beauty in places we might otherwise overlook.
And perhaps photography could give me another way to raise awareness about Parkinson’s, Myasthenia Gravis, and Dementia.
I could use the images I capture to tell stories about this journey, while also reminding people that there is still beauty to be found in the middle of difficult circumstances.
I’ll be working with a limited budget, so I would really appreciate any suggestions from photographers or people who know cameras.
What would you recommend for someone getting started? What older or affordable cameras would be good to experiment with?
And if anyone has an older camera, lenses, tripod, camera bag, or other photography equipment sitting around that you aren’t using anymore and would be interested in donating, I would be incredibly grateful.
I don’t need the newest or most expensive equipment.
I just need an opportunity to learn.
I’m honestly excited about the possibilities.
Maybe I can’t run anymore, but I can still chase moments.
Maybe my voice is becoming quieter, but I can still tell stories.
Maybe my body has changed the way I move through this world, but it hasn’t taken away my desire to find beauty in it.
So perhaps this is the beginning of a new adventure.
A new journey.
A new creative outlet.
A new way to speak.
A new way to raise awareness.
A new way to see.
And who knows?
Maybe the next beautiful photograph I take will tell a story that words never could. ~OC ❤️📸
#Photography #ParkinsonsAwareness #MyastheniaGravis #DementiaAwareness #CincinnatiReds #KenGriffeyJr #PhotographyJourney #Overcomer #NeverGiveUp #FindTheBeauty #NewBeginnings
Today’s a new day!
Here is my medical rap sheet.
Looking at that list, many people would probably assume my life is over.
They would assume the best years are behind me. That my dreams have ended. That all that’s left is surviving.
But they would be wrong.
Every single day, I choose life.
I choose to keep making memories with my beautiful bride. I choose to laugh, to love, and to appreciate the moments that many people rush past.
I choose to continue advocating for other patients who need someone to remind them that they are more than a diagnosis.
I choose to keep fighting against human trafficking because there are people who desperately need hope, justice, and someone willing to stand in the gap.
Does that mean this health journey is easy?
Absolutely not.
There are days filled with pain. Days of exhaustion. Days when my body reminds me of every diagnosis on that list.
But years ago, I made a decision.
This health battle would never become my identity.
My diagnoses describe some of the battles I face—they do not define the man I am.
I refuse to allow illness to steal my purpose. I refuse to let disease dictate my joy. I refuse to surrender the calling God has placed on my life simply because my body doesn’t always cooperate.
Instead, I choose to keep living.
I choose to keep loving.
I choose to keep serving.
I choose to keep overcoming.
If you’re walking through a battle today—whether it’s a health crisis, grief, depression, financial hardship, addiction, or something no one else can see—I want to encourage you.
Don’t let your battle become your identity.
Keep fighting.
Keep making memories.
Keep dreaming.
Keep showing up.
Keep loving the people around you.
Live your life to the fullest, even if it looks different than you once imagined.
Champions aren’t defined by the battles they face.
They’re defined by the courage to keep getting back up.
So today…
Choose hope.
Choose purpose.
Choose joy.
Choose life.
And whatever comes your way, keep overcoming.
Live like a champion. ~OC
I remember when I walked into church and the first thing I noticed wasn’t a political slogan.
It wasn’t a candidate’s name.
It wasn’t a red hat, a blue hat, or a message about which political party was saving America.
It was the cross.
The cross was the center of the room.
We sang about Jesus.
We prayed for the broken.
We collected food for families who couldn’t afford groceries.
We visited people in hospitals.
We welcomed the stranger.
We prayed for our enemies.
We didn’t have to agree politically to worship together.
We just had to agree that Jesus was Lord.
I remember those days.
I miss those days.
And sometimes I wonder if Jesus misses them too.
Because the Church was never supposed to be built around a political party.
It was supposed to be built around a Savior. ~OC
Today’s a new day!
I am often ask if Jesus can still use people with chronic long term health issues.
Absolutely.
The world often measures our value by what we can accomplish, how much we produce, or how strong we appear. But Jesus has never measured people that way.
Throughout Scripture, God chose imperfect, weary, and broken people to accomplish extraordinary things. His power has always been greater than our limitations.
Maybe your body doesn’t cooperate the way it once did. Maybe chronic illness has changed your plans, stolen your energy, or forced you to slow down. That doesn’t mean your purpose has disappeared. It simply means your ministry may look different than it once did.
Sometimes the greatest testimony isn’t found in what we accomplish—it’s found in how we trust Jesus when the miracle hasn’t come yet.
Your prayers still matter.
Your encouragement still matters.
Your faith still matters.
Your story still matters.
People are watching to see what hope looks like in the middle of suffering. Every time you choose joy over despair, faith over fear, and worship over worry, you point others toward Christ.
Jesus doesn’t wait until we’re healthy to use us.
He meets us right where we are and often shines brightest through our weakness.
If you’ve ever wondered whether your chronic health issues have sidelined you from God’s kingdom, remember this: your illness may limit your strength, but it cannot limit God’s power.
You are not disqualified.
You are still called.
You are still loved.
You are still being used.
And your greatest ministry may be unfolding right in the middle of your struggle. ~OC
“My grace is sufficient for you, for My power is made perfect in weakness” ~2 Corinthians 12:9
There is a difference between attending a church and belonging to a faith community.
You can sit in the same room every Sunday, sing the same songs, hear the same message, and still feel completely alone.
And that should challenge us.
Because church was never supposed to be simply a place where we gather. It was meant to be a people—a family, a community, a body of believers who know one another, care for one another, pray for one another, carry one another, and walk through life together.
Connection builds the kind of community people don’t want to leave.
When a faith community becomes known for genuine connection, people notice.
They notice when someone remembers their name.
They notice when someone asks how they are doing—and actually waits for the answer.
They notice when someone reaches out after they’ve missed a few Sundays.
They notice when someone sits beside the person who is standing alone.
They notice when their struggles aren’t met with judgment but with compassion.
They notice when people don’t just say, “We’re praying for you,” but actually pray.
They notice when the church celebrates their victories, walks with them through their battles, and reminds them that they don’t have to face life alone.
That’s connection.
And connection is where belonging begins.
A culture of belonging doesn’t happen because we put a welcome banner in the lobby.
It doesn’t happen because we have a great worship service.
It doesn’t happen because we offer programs, events, coffee, or perfectly designed church experiences.
Those things can be wonderful, but belonging is built through people taking the time and making the effort to connect with people.
It requires intentionality.
It means noticing the person who keeps coming but hasn’t found their people yet.
It means inviting someone to lunch.
It means making the phone call.
It means sending the text.
It means remembering the prayer request from three weeks ago.
It means asking, “How can I walk with you through this?”
Sometimes the most powerful ministry we can offer isn’t a sermon.
Sometimes it’s simply showing up.
People aren’t looking for perfect churches because perfect churches don’t exist.
They’re looking for authentic people.
They’re looking for a place where they can take off the mask.
A place where they don’t have to pretend everything is okay when everything isn’t okay.
A place where their questions are welcome.
A place where their pain isn’t minimized.
A place where their story matters.
A place where they are seen.
A place where they are known.
A place where they are loved.
That’s what genuine connection can create.
And when people experience that kind of community, something beautiful happens.
They don’t simply attend.
They belong.
Look at the ministry of Jesus.
He didn’t simply preach to crowds and then disappear.
He ate with people.
He listened.
He touched the untouchable.
He stopped for the overlooked.
He walked with people.
He wept with people.
He celebrated with people.
He entered people’s stories.
Jesus didn’t treat people like numbers in a crowd.
He treated them like people created in the image of God.
Maybe that’s part of the challenge for the modern Church.
We can become so focused on building bigger crowds that we forget to build deeper relationships.
But Jesus wasn’t simply interested in how many people were in the room.
He cared about the person standing right in front of Him.
So should we.
Here’s the uncomfortable truth:
Connection takes time.
It takes effort.
It takes vulnerability.
It takes putting down our phones and looking someone in the eyes.
It takes stepping outside our comfortable circles.
It means talking to someone we don’t know.
It means welcoming the newcomer instead of spending the entire morning talking to the people we’ve known for years.
It means asking better questions.
It means listening more than we speak.
And sometimes it means noticing the person everyone else overlooks.
Because the easiest person to connect with is usually the person who already has friends.
The real test of a church community is what happens with the person who walks through the doors alone.
Do we notice them?
Do we invite them in?
Do we learn their name?
Do we make room for them at the table?
Do we help them find community?
Or do we leave them standing on the outside looking in?
Imagine a faith community where nobody has to wonder whether they matter.
Imagine a church where people know that someone will notice when they’re missing.
Imagine a community where tears are welcome, questions are safe, victories are celebrated, and burdens are shared.
Imagine a place where people don’t simply come to church—they find family.
That’s the kind of community I want to help build.
Not a perfect community.
A real one.
A community where grace is greater than judgment.
Where relationship is more important than reputation.
Where people are valued more than programs.
Where serving isn’t about recognition.
Where prayer isn’t a slogan.
Where love isn’t just something we preach from a stage.
It’s something we live.
Because connection changes everything.
And maybe the person sitting next to you this Sunday isn’t looking for another church service.
Maybe they’re looking for a place to belong.
Maybe they’re carrying a burden nobody knows about.
Maybe they’re wondering if anyone sees them.
Maybe they’re one conversation away from realizing they aren’t alone.
So let’s start there.
Take the time.
Make the effort.
Start the conversation.
Learn someone’s name.
Hear their story.
Invite them to the table.
Pray with them.
Walk with them.
Love them.
Because when a faith community becomes a place where people are genuinely known, genuinely loved, and genuinely connected, something powerful happens.
People don’t just come.
People belong.
And when people truly belong, you’ve built the kind of community people don’t want to leave. ~OC
Today’s a new day!
Dear Caregivers,
Please take care of yourself.
I know that may sound simple, but for caregivers, it can be one of the hardest things in the world to actually do.
You spend your days worrying about someone else.
Their medications.
Their appointments.
Their meals.
Their pain.
Their bad days.
Their good days.
Their needs.
Their fears.
You become the organizer, advocate, chauffeur, encourager, nurse, protector, prayer warrior, and sometimes the person holding everything together when it feels like everything is falling apart.
And somewhere along the way, you can disappear from your own list of priorities.
Please don’t.
My wonderful bride has been living the life of a caregiver for more than twenty years.
Twenty years.
She has walked beside me through illnesses, doctors, hospitals, treatments, setbacks, victories, fear, uncertainty, and more twists and turns than either of us ever imagined when we said, “I do.”
She is a rockstar.
But even rockstars need rest.
Even the strongest people need someone to lean on.
Even caregivers need caregivers.
And that’s why I want to say something directly to every person reading this who spends their life taking care of someone else:
You are not selfish for taking care of yourself.
You are not selfish for going to your own doctor’s appointments.
You are not selfish for meeting a friend for coffee.
You are not selfish for laughing.
You are not selfish for taking a walk.
You are not selfish for taking an afternoon or weekend off.
You are not selfish for asking someone else to step in.
You are not selfish for saying, “I need help.”
In fact, asking for help may be one of the most responsible things you can do.
Because you cannot pour from an empty cup forever.
I have heard the statistic that 64% of caregivers die before the person they are caring for. Whether that exact number applies universally or not, the warning behind it is very real: caregiving can take an enormous physical, emotional, and spiritual toll.
Did you catch that?
The person taking care of everyone else can become so exhausted that they forget they are a person who needs care, too.
So, dear caregiver, let me remind you of something:
Your life matters, too.
Your health matters.
Your mental and emotional well-being matters.
Your friendships matter.
Your dreams matter.
Your laughter matters.
Your time with God matters.
Your rest matters.
You matter.
Please don’t wait until your body forces you to stop.
Go to the doctor.
Take the medication you need.
Get some sleep.
Eat something.
Drink some water.
Call a friend.
Go outside.
Take a breath.
Pray.
Cry if you need to.
Laugh when you can.
And when someone says, “How can I help?”—please don’t automatically answer, “I’m fine.”
Maybe give them something they can actually do.
“Can you sit with them for a couple of hours?”
“Can you bring us dinner?”
“Can you drive us to this appointment?”
“Can you just come over and let me talk?”
Let people love you.
Because caregiving was never meant to be a one-person job.
My bride has taught me so much about love through the way she has cared for me for more than two decades. But I don’t want her—or any caregiver—to lose themselves while caring for someone they love.
You don’t have to destroy yourself to prove that you love someone.
Read that again.
You don’t have to destroy yourself to prove that you love someone.
Taking care of yourself doesn’t mean you love the person you’re caring for any less.
It means you’re giving yourself a better chance to keep walking beside them.
So, to every husband, wife, son, daughter, parent, sibling, friend, or stranger who has quietly become somebody’s caregiver:
I see you.
I appreciate you.
I honor you.
And I’m asking you—please take care of yourself.
Ask for help.
Accept help.
Make the doctor’s appointment.
Call your friends.
Take the day off when you can.
Sit somewhere quiet.
Take a deep breath.
And remember that you are more than the role you have been given.
You are a human being, not just a caregiver.
You deserve to live, too.
Because the goal isn’t simply to survive caregiving.
The goal is for both of you to keep living.
So, dear caregivers…
Please don’t forget yourself while you’re taking care of someone else.
You are needed.
You are loved.
You are valuable.
And yes—
you matter, too. ~OC
I have come to a place in my faith where I would rather upset my fellow Christian community by loving the people Jesus called us to love than fit comfortably among Christians united by who they condemn.
That may not always make me popular.
It may not earn me invitations.
It may make some people question my theology, my priorities, or even my faith.
But I can live with that.
Because when I look at Jesus, I don’t see someone building His ministry around determining who was worthy of love.
I see Him moving toward the hurting.
Toward the rejected.
Toward the outcast.
Toward sinners.
Toward people religious society had already written off.
Jesus touched the untouchable.
He ate with people others avoided.
He spoke with people others ignored.
He defended people others condemned.
He showed mercy when others demanded judgment.
And He commanded us to love our neighbors—not just the neighbors who look like us, vote like us, worship like us, think like us, or agree with us.
Love is not supposed to be selective.
If my Christianity requires me to hate someone in order to prove that I belong to the right group, then I need to take another long look at Jesus.
I don’t want to be part of a Christian community that is united primarily by the people it opposes.
I want to be part of a Church united by the One it follows.
Jesus.
I would rather be criticized for loving too many people than praised for condemning too many.
I would rather be accused of having too much compassion than too little.
I would rather stand beside someone who is hurting and remind them that they are loved than stand at a distance and remind them of everything they have done wrong.
That doesn’t mean truth doesn’t matter.
It does.
But Jesus never separated truth from love.
Grace and truth walked together.
So if loving like Jesus makes me uncomfortable to some Christians, I’ll accept the discomfort.
If compassion makes me controversial, so be it.
If welcoming the hurting makes some people question me, I’ll answer with the example of Christ.
Because at the end of the day, I don’t want to be known as someone who was really good at identifying who was wrong.
I want to be known as someone who loved people well.
I want people to encounter Jesus when they encounter me.
Not my politics.
Not my anger.
Not my judgment.
Not my tribe.
Jesus.
There are already enough Christians standing together because of who they condemn.
I want to stand with Christians who are willing to love because of who Jesus is.
So yes…
I would rather upset my fellow Christians by loving the people Jesus called us to love than fit comfortably among Christians united by who they choose to condemn.
Because I would rather be uncomfortable with people while following Jesus…
than comfortable with people while becoming unlike Him.
“By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another.” — John 13:35
Love isn’t weakness.
Love isn’t compromise.
Love isn’t abandoning truth.
Love is one of the clearest ways we show the world that we belong to Jesus. ~OC
Today’s a new day!
I know what it’s like to be dying.
I know what it feels like to look at your life and realize that tomorrow is never promised. I know what it’s like to spend time in hospital rooms, sit across from doctors, hear words that change the way you look at the future, and wonder how much time you have left.
I know what it’s like to come face-to-face with my own mortality.
But here’s the thing:
I don’t spend much time thinking about death.
I know it’s there.
I know one day my earthly journey will come to an end. I don’t deny it. I don’t run from it. And because of my faith, I don’t fear what comes after this life.
But I’m not going to spend the days I’ve been given worrying about the day they run out.
I’ve got too much living to do.
I’ve got too many memories to make.
Too many conversations to have.
Too many sunsets to watch.
Too many laughs to share.
Too many hugs to give.
Too many stories still waiting to be told.
Too many people I love who still need to hear, “I love you.”
There are places I still want to see, songs I still want to write, prayers I still want to pray, and moments I still want to experience.
There are memories I haven’t made yet with the people I love.
So I’m going to make them.
I’m going to laugh when I can.
I’m going to cry when I need to.
I’m going to celebrate the ordinary moments because I’ve learned that ordinary moments are often the extraordinary ones we remember most.
I’m going to sit a little longer at the dinner table.
I’m going to call the friend I’ve been meaning to call.
I’m going to tell people what they mean to me while they’re still here—and while I’m still here.
I’m going to stop saving life for someday.
Because someday isn’t guaranteed.
Today is.
Living with serious health challenges has taught me something I could never have learned from a textbook:
Life isn’t measured only by how many years we have.
It’s measured by what we do with the years we’ve been given.
Death may be somewhere down the road, but I’m not going to stand on the road staring at it.
I’m going to keep walking.
I’m going to keep loving.
I’m going to keep believing.
I’m going to keep making memories.
I’m going to keep squeezing every drop of meaning, purpose, joy, and hope out of this crazy, beautiful life.
And when my time finally comes, I don’t want to look back and wish I had lived more.
I want to be able to say:
I lived.
I loved deeply.
I laughed loudly.
I made memories.
I encouraged people.
I shared my faith.
I fought through the hard days.
I celebrated the good ones.
I didn’t waste my life being afraid of losing it.
I chose to live it.
Because death may be inevitable.
But today is a gift.
And I’m not wasting the gift.
I’ve got too much living to do.
Too much loving to do.
Too many memories to make.
Too much purpose left to pursue.
And as long as God gives me breath…
I’m going to fully embrace it. ~OC
Today’s a new day!
Here is my medical rap sheet.
Looking at that list, many people would probably assume my life is over.
They would assume the best years are behind me. That my dreams have ended. That all that’s left is surviving.
But they would be wrong.
Every single day, I choose life.
I choose to keep making memories with my beautiful bride of twenty-six years. I choose to laugh, to love, and to appreciate the moments that many people rush past.
I choose to continue advocating for other patients who need someone to remind them that they are more than a diagnosis.
I choose to keep fighting against human trafficking because there are people who desperately need hope, justice, and someone willing to stand in the gap.
Does that mean this health journey is easy?
Absolutely not.
There are days filled with pain. Days of exhaustion. Days when my body reminds me of every diagnosis on that list.
But years ago, I made a decision.
This health battle would never become my identity.
My diagnoses describe some of the battles I face—they do not define the man I am.
I refuse to allow illness to steal my purpose. I refuse to let disease dictate my joy. I refuse to surrender the calling God has placed on my life simply because my body doesn’t always cooperate.
Instead, I choose to keep living.
I choose to keep loving.
I choose to keep serving.
I choose to keep overcoming.
If you’re walking through a battle today—whether it’s a health crisis, grief, depression, financial hardship, addiction, or something no one else can see—I want to encourage you.
Don’t let your battle become your identity.
Keep fighting.
Keep making memories.
Keep dreaming.
Keep showing up.
Keep loving the people around you.
Live your life to the fullest, even if it looks different than you once imagined.
Champions aren’t defined by the battles they face.
They’re defined by the courage to keep getting back up.
So today…
Choose hope.
Choose purpose.
Choose joy.
Choose life.
And whatever comes your way, keep overcoming.
Live like a champion. ~OC
The Blessed Overcomer 