“For the kingdom of heaven is like a man traveling to a far country, who called his own servants and delivered his goods to them.” — Matthew 25:14 (NKJV) I was taught early as a young Christian that giving mattered. Not the kind of giving that makes a show of itself, but the everyday kind where you just don’t clutch after money. I tried to live that way. I enjoyed what I had, but I didn’t hold it tight. I had some abilities as a carpenter and general handyman. Nothing fancy.

Today is my mom and her twin sister Connie’s birthday. I’m looking at this old picture of the two of them, both smiling, both full of life. Same blood. Same history. And as I look at it, I’m reminded of something I probably don’t stop often enough to say. A mother matters. She matters to a young man trying to figure out how to become a man. She matters to a daughter learning what it means to be strong while still being tender. God gave men a big responsibility as the head of

In my earliest years, I was incredibly close to my father. He was my hero. In my eyes, he could do no wrong. When something difficult happened at the Catholic school I attended, my dad was there. He stood up for me. He protected me. As a little boy, I knew my father would be there when I needed him, and I always felt protected by him. Then, when I was fourteen years old, everything changed. In 1968, my father suffered a massive stroke. He remained disabled for the next twenty