“The nations will walk by its light, and the kings of the earth will bring their splendor into it. On no day will its gates ever be shut, for there will be no night there. The glory and honor of the nations will be brought into it.” Revelation 21

The World Cup, the World Series, and the World That Jesus Loves

The FIFA World Cup is now a 48-team tournament, running across Canada, Mexico, and the U.S., with 104 matches on the schedule. The College World Series has also started in Omaha, with eight teams competing for the national championship. Add the recent NBA and Stanley Cup Finals, and the air is supercharged with enough hype to propel a testosterone wind farm. 😂

And boy howdy, it’s been fun to watch.

I’m grateful for HD and 60-inch screens, because it wasn’t that long ago that we would have been straining to see the action on something much smaller and far less desirable. Or not at all. These technological advances are giving us front-row seats to witness some of the best competitive events the world has to offer.

It’s also been enlightening to watch YouTube videos capturing the world’s fascination with all things American. Europeans fawning over Waffle House at 1:00 a.m. South Africans marveling at how safe it is here. Scottish bagpipers making their way to Boston’s Fenway Park. The Big Gulp and Buc-ee’s are having a moment too.

It’s helping me see American culture in a new light. And it’s funny to boot.

All of this got me thinking about how much God loves not only America, but the whole world.

And isn’t it interesting how often people choose sporting events as a platform to remind us of that fact? It’s common to see someone holding up a “John 3:16” sign, strategically placed where the camera captures both the action and the message.

“For God so loved the world…”

He doesn’t love us or the world because we’re perfect, or even worthy. He loves us because that is His nature. God, in Jesus Christ, is on a rescue and redemption mission.

He did not send His Son into the world to condemn the world, but to save the world through Him.

When the world gathers as it is now through sports, I think it gives us a small foreshadowing of the future. In the book of Revelation, we read about a final gathering of people from every tribe, tongue, people, and nation.

The world’s games divide us into flags, jerseys, colors, chants, brackets, and allegiances. And that can be a beautiful thing. But Jesus is doing something deeper than crowning a temporary champion.

The world celebrates winners and gathers around trophies.

Jesus is uniting the nations in a new heaven and a new earth, where He is gathering His people around a table and offering them a feast.

And He is not merely the host.

He is the feast.

He is offering Himself.

And He is a gentleman. The invitation from Jesus has not changed in 2,000 years. It is still, “Come, follow Me.”

Run the play. Say yes to the invitation. Enter the epic procession. Take your seat around the table.

Finding Our Place in the Story

When you think about “the world,” do you mostly see headlines, opponents, strangers, threats, or people deeply loved by God?

Where might Jesus be inviting you to love beyond your normal team, tribe, comfort zone, or circle of concern?

What would it look like this week to say “yes” to Jesus’ invitation and help someone else find their seat at His table?

“But do not forget this one thing, dear friends: With the Lord a day is like a thousand years, and a thousand years are like a day.” — 2 Peter 3:8 (NIV)

Billy Crystal is one of my favorite comedians. His filmography is wide and varied, but one scene stands above the rest. In City Slickers, three middle-aged friends head out on a cattle drive searching for meaning. The trail boss, Curly Washburn (played by Jack Palance), holds up one finger and tells Mitch Robbins (Billy Crystal) the secret to life:

“One thing.”

Just one thing.

In his second letter, the apostle Peter has his own “Curly” moment.
“Do not forget this one thing…”

And what is it?

God’s time is not our time. What feels like delay is actually mercy.

The Lord is not slow. He is patient — purposefully patient — not wanting anyone to perish, but everyone to come to repentance.

And repentance is more than regret. More than behavior modification. It is a Spirit-empowered reorientation of mind and heart — turning from deception and aligning ourselves with God’s revealed reality: His Kingdom. His new creation.

We may not be City Slickers, but we share their longing. We want our lives to count. That quiet ache lives in every soul.

So how do we make our lives count?

Peter says it begins with turning from deception.
What am I believing that isn’t true?

Then comes alignment — day-by-day apprenticeship under Jesus. Or, as I like to say, running the play.

Running the play is shaping a schedule, a set of practices, and relational rhythms that create space to be with Jesus, become like Him, and do what He would do if He were living my life.

Here’s Peter’s one thing for us: God is not stalling. He is saving.

So the real question isn’t, “Why is He waiting?”

It’s, “Am I aligning?”

We are all aligning with something. But there is only one alignment that makes our lives count in this world and the next:

Follow the Invisible Jesus.
One Way — the Way.

Run that play.

🧭 Finding Our Place in the Story

What beliefs about time, delay, or “God not acting fast enough” might be subtly shaping my attitude toward Him right now?

Where in my daily schedule do I see intentional alignment with Jesus — and where am I drifting without noticing?

How can my church community more intentionally help one another align with the patient purposes of God rather than the hurried pace of our culture?

“There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens… He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the human heart.” – Ecclesiastes 3:1,11

Exactly twelve years ago today, June 3, 2014, we got the call that my dad had passed away. It wasn’t unexpected. He had been declining for some time. Even now, I can remember where we were, what we were doing, and how I felt.

What is it about birthdays, anniversaries, and death-days that makes them so important to us?

Part of it is culture and tradition. These are rhythms handed down to us. But it feels deeper than that.

The teacher from Ecclesiastes spent twelve chapters and more than 5,000 words wrestling with this mystery. I’ll attempt the short version.

Whether we acknowledge it or not, our Creator has placed both time and eternity in our hearts. We are eternal spiritual beings living within a temporary human experience. The seasons and rhythms of life are not accidental. They are part of what it means to be human.

“There is a time for everything,
and a season for every activity under the heavens:
a time to be born and a time to die.” Ecclesiastes 3:1–2

Each death anniversary becomes an invitation to remember.

At Dad’s burial service, we asked a close family friend, a man who had experienced both the loss of a child and the death of his spouse, to share a few words. One thought still reverberates in my heart:

“Life, even when simple, is sometimes hard to understand. We live and love as hard as we can, all the while preparing for a parting of our ways.

But we honor those we love most by keeping them alive through conversation, telling stories even when they hurt in this first while.”

June is the month we remember not only my dad’s passing, but also my mom and father-in-law. Every June 3, 9, and 14, Sharon and I make it a point to honor our parents and retell stories.

Stories are memory’s campfire. 🔥 We gather around them, warm our hands, laugh at details we almost forgot, and keep the people we love close.

It also reminds us of something deeper: hope.

For followers of Jesus, Christ lives in us, and those who died in Christ are with Him. So how far away could our departed loved ones truly be?

Jesus confronted the Sadducees’ misunderstanding about death and eternity with these words:

“Have you not read what God said to you: ‘I am the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob’? He is not the God of the dead but of the living.” – Matthew 22:31–32

Today, we’ll remember Dad through the retelling of favorite “Grambo” stories. We’ll laugh. We’ll miss him. And we’ll say a prayer for all of us still waiting to join them.

A prayer that imagines a grand reunion. A place at the table. A kingdom where every goodbye finally runs out of breath.

Run the Play: Embrace the people and seasons that shaped your story.

Finding Our Place in the Story

What memories, anniversaries, or seasons in your life invite you not only to look backward with gratitude, but forward with hope?

“He was oppressed and afflicted, yet he did not open his mouth… like a lamb that is led to the slaughter.” — Isaiah 53:7

That’s not how our world works.

We live in a culture obsessed with controlling the narrative. The 24/7 noise of news, social media, podcasts, and entertainment all orbit around one idea: make sure your voice is heard. Protect your image. Tell your story first.

Even in sports, what was once about the love of the game is now often wrapped in self-promotion and the pursuit of the almighty dollar. Improvements in officiating and technology are increasingly driven by gambling and betting algorithms rather than a desire to simply be good at what we do—a destructive narrative.

Everywhere you turn, it feels like people are shouting, “Look at me.”

We are obsessed with controlling the narrative.
Image is curated. Stories are spun. Outcomes are engineered.
Everyone’s trying to be the author of their own story.

“Do not be quick with your mouth… God is in heaven and you are on earth, so let your words be few.” — Ecclesiastes 5:2

Talk is cheap—and it’s getting cheaper. If you want to devalue something, flood the market with it. From where I sit, the inventory of words is at an all-time high, with no end in sight.

We are drowning in words…
opinions, takes, narratives, spin.

Is anyone really listening?

The Teacher from Ecclesiastes would call it what it is: wearisome.

And then… there’s Jesus.

The silent Lamb of God.

He had every right to defend Himself.
Every right to correct the record.
Every right to silence His accusers with truth and power.

But He didn’t.

Not because He was weak—but because He was meek.

“Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth.” — Matthew 5:5

Meekness isn’t weakness. It’s strength under control. It’s the quiet confidence that comes from knowing who you are and whose you are. It’s the ability to entrust your reputation, your future, and even your suffering to God.

Jesus didn’t need to control the narrative—because He trusted the Author.

And as His apprentices, we’re invited into that same way of being.

To resist the urge to prove ourselves.
To loosen our grip on recognition and control.
To walk in humility and gentleness, even when misunderstood.

This is radical. It’s countercultural. And it’s the way of the Kingdom.

Because in the Kingdom of God, it’s not the loud who inherit the earth…

It’s the meek.

Run the play. Trust the Author of the one true narrative.

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Finding Our Place in the Story

When you feel the urge to defend, explain, or control how your story is perceived, what would it look like in that exact moment to trust the Author instead?

“It gave me great joy when some believers came and testified about your faithfulness to the truth, telling how you continue to walk in it.” — 3 John 1:3

Back in my late teens, I worked at a bowling alley. On Friday and Saturday nights, we had “Moonlight Bowling.”

At midnight, things got interesting.

We’d dim the lights and slip one bright red pin into the rack. If that pin landed in the head position—and the bowler threw a strike—they won a free pizza.

Simple. Rare. Electric.

My job? I was the spotter.

When that colored pin showed up front and center, the bowler would yell, “SPOTTER!” as if their life depended on it. And I’d lock in—eyes on the lane—giving them the thumbs up and watching to see if they could deliver.

You could feel the whole place lean in. Pins rattling. Neon glowing. That unmistakable bowling alley “aroma” hanging in the air. 😂 Most frames were just… normal.

But every now and then? Something special.

Fast forward a few years (okay… a few decades 😄), and I found myself reading Third Epistle of John 3 John.

John is writing to a man named Gaius, and he’s basically doing the same thing we used to do at the bowling alley.

He’s calling it out: “That’s it. That’s the life.”

Gaius was opening his home. Supporting traveling teachers. Living generously and faithfully behind the scenes.

Nothing flashy. But when you see it—you know.

It’s a strike.

What if we became that kind of community? The kind that notices the “colored pin” moments in each other’s lives:

• quiet faithfulness
• open homes
• generous hearts
• steady obedience

And instead of letting it pass, we call it out:

“SPOTTER!”

Not to draw attention to people—but to celebrate what Jesus is doing as we apprentice under Him. Because most of life looks like a regular frame.

Until it doesn’t. And maybe that’s the point.

Most of the Kingdom is built in ordinary moments that don’t seem dramatic at the time. A meal shared. A prayer offered. A door opened. A quiet act of obedience that almost no one notices.

But heaven notices.

Because Jesus’ resurrection is the down payment of new creation, we can live with resilient hope—even in the face of suffering or loss—knowing that nothing done in love is wasted. It will somehow be woven into God’s final renewal.

Every frame of our lives has eternal significance.

Run the Play: Like a Moonlight Bowling spotter, let’s look for what God is doing in our midst—and give one another a thumbs up. Soli Deo Gloria.

Finding Our Place in the Story

Who in your life might need someone to notice, name, and encourage their quiet faithfulness right now?

What has been will be again, what has been done will be done again; there is nothing new under the sun. – Ecclesiastes 1:9

Maybe it’s because we just celebrated Mother’s Day, but we often find ourselves quoting one of Mom’s favorite sayings, which had two variations: “Your mother was a failure,” and/or “Your mother was not a failure.” Mom was good at using humor to make a point or share an important lesson. Good manners were an important legacy she wanted for her children, and many times she told us “our mother” was or was not a failure. 🤣

Her humorous way of delivering lessons on manners never missed its mark.

“It’s always the mother’s fault.” – Sophie Mae Jette

William Wilberforce is one of my heroes. Most people remember William Wilberforce as the man who fought to end the slave trade in England. Fewer remember that he also called for a “reformation of manners,” believing everyday acts of selfishness, disrespect, and disregard slowly erode the soul of a culture.

As a culture, are we slowly losing the art of considering other people? Are we in need of a Wilberforce movement?

Every civilization runs on millions of tiny acts of invisible consideration:

• showing up when you said you would
• answering texts and emails promptly … or at all
• RSVPing before the final hour
• putting the shopping cart away 😇
• not treating every commitment like a tentative weather forecast

Wilberforce believed the slave trade persisted partly because society had normalized coarseness, selfishness, and moral numbness. In his mind, manners were not superficial. They were evidence of whether people still saw one another as image-bearers of God.

Being inconsiderate of others is more than just bad manners. It’s an outward sign of an inner condition. It reveals how we actually see one another. It may not seem like a big deal, but every culture slides toward devaluing humanity one small act of disregard at a time.

Jesus taught, “The eyes are like a lamp for the body. If your eyes are sound, your whole body will be full of light.” The eyes Jesus was talking about were the condition of our hearts. Our behavior is shaped by what we perceive and believe. What Jesus, Wilberforce, and my mom understood is that we don’t need more laws to change behavior; we need a change of heart.

A friend recently reminded me, “The New Testament calls the church to faithful presence, not panic and not passivity. We engage the world while remembering the Kingdom of God does not arrive on Air Force One or through campaign slogans.” The Kingdom of God arrives with us.

There are no ultimate political or legal solutions to our problems because beneath every expression of brokenness lies a deeper spiritual disease that only Jesus can cure.

Political leaders, governments, armies, and mothers may restrain evil for a season, but they cannot heal the human heart.

There is nothing new under the sun. We are a culture desperately in need of a new reformation of manners.

And no, not everything is the mother’s fault.

Although Mom would probably disagree. 😂

Run the play. Always be considerate of others.

Finding Our Place in the Story

What “small” act of consideration might actually be a much bigger expression of God’s Kingdom than I realize?

“You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good to accomplish what is now being done, the saving of many lives.” – Genesis 50:20

Many years ago, crossing back into the U.S. from Canada in my old convertible with “JETTE” on the license plate, the border agent looked up and said, “Return of the Jette.” I’ve never forgotten it.

Apologies to Luke Skywalker in Return of the Jedi, but who doesn’t love a good comeback story?

Six weeks after hip replacement surgery, I’m back playing pickleball again.

In sports comeback lore, this one may not rank alongside the 2019 Masters victory by Tiger Woods or the 2004 Boston Red Sox, but it feels pretty special to a few folks around here. Pickleball was the last domino to fall in the journey toward getting my life back. It feels good to be out there again, and I’m deeply grateful.

Of course, the greatest comeback story in history is the resurrection of Jesus.

Other comeback stories of biblical proportion would surely include Job, Joseph, and Peter.

In the 42 chapters of the Book of Job, we witness the loss of family, wealth, and health. It is an excruciating narrative of pain and suffering that ultimately ends with restoration and grace. God returns what was lost and doubles what remained.

In Book of Genesis, Joseph is betrayed by his brothers and sold into slavery. Proof that being the youngest in the family isn’t always easy. 😂 Through his God-given ability to interpret dreams, he rises to become the second most powerful man in Egypt.

But his rise to power isn’t the best part.

The real triumph comes in reconciliation. Joseph looks at the very brothers who harmed him and says, “You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good.” That is the sound of a wounded heart transformed by grace.

Simon Peter’s fall may be the easiest to identify with. Fear drove him to deny knowing Jesus in order to save himself. Yet after breakfast on a beach with the resurrected Christ, Peter is restored. The man who once hid in fear becomes a bold leader of the early church.

Do you have a comeback story?

God is still in the comeback business.

Some of us believe we cannot come back from something we’ve done, something done to us, or something we’re still struggling to escape. That’s a lie.

Nothing is too broken, too far gone, or too hard for God.

The Father is still welcoming home the Prodigal and killing the fatted calf.

The Good Shepherd is still leaving the ninety-nine to search for the one.

Mary’s Son is still turning water into wine.

Run the Play:

Ask God to give you a platform to share, or perhaps even co-author, your own comeback story.

Finding Our Place in the Story

Where in your life do you most need to believe that God is still writing a comeback instead of closing the book?

“Shalom I leave you, My shalom I give to you; but not as the world gives! Do not let your heart be troubled or afraid.” — John 14:27 TLV

One of the most difficult lies I’ve had to overcome in life is the belief that I am not enough.

This lie fuels life’s endless “if onlys.”

If only I had more money.
More stuff.
More knowledge.
More relationships.
More trophies.
More security.

Then I would be enough. I would be full. Content.

Unfortunately, the “mores” never fill the void.

We’ve been watching The Chosen, a historical drama television series depicting the life and ministry of Jesus of Nazareth through the eyes of those who encountered Him. One of the words we often hear the characters say is shalom, and sometimes shalom-shalom.

It’s not a modern word. In English, it is often translated as peace. But biblical peace is far more than the absence of conflict.

Shalom means wholeness—things restored to the way they were meant to be.

And shalom is humankind’s deepest desire. Thinkers across the centuries have noticed this same hunger.

Pascal, a 17th-century mathematician and philosopher, described a “pre-existing hunger” or sense of lost happiness that humans try to fill with anything they can find:

“What else does this craving and this helplessness proclaim but that there was once in man a true happiness, of which all that now remains is the empty print and trace? This he tries in vain to fill with everything around him… though none can help, since this infinite abyss can be filled only with an infinite and immutable object; in other words by God himself.”

C.S. Lewis popularized a similar theme in Mere Christianity, arguing that if we find desires that nothing in this world can satisfy, it may be a sign that we were made for another world.

Centuries before Pascal, St. Augustine wrote in his Confessions:

“You have made us for yourself, O Lord, and our hearts are restless until they find their rest in you.”

The prophet Isaiah foretold that the Messiah would be called the Prince of Peace and that there would be no end to His shalom (Isaiah 9:6 TLV).

Jesus is Shalom Personified.

The apostle Paul says in Ephesians that Jesus is our peace.

Not just gives it.
Is it.

Much of modern life runs on performance identity, a constant striving after:

Career
Education
Achievements
Social media
Reputation

But the gospel gives us something entirely different.

Received identity.

In Christ we are children of God—welcomed, accepted, and beloved.

Nothing to prove.
A free gift of grace.

In Christ, you already belong.

That is shalom.

The human condition, however, is such that shalom can be difficult to retain.

Hurry fractures it.
Comparison corrodes it.
Control sabotages it.

But gratitude restores it. (Philippians 4:6–8)

Shalom may not be something we “hold onto” as much as something we repeatedly return to.

Run the play. The only thing we ultimately need more of is shalom.

More Jesus.

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Finding Our Place in the Story

Where in your life do you most feel the pressure to prove that you are “enough”?

Which of these tends to rob you of shalom most often: hurry, comparison, or control?

What might it look like this week to stop striving for more and instead receive the peace Jesus already offers?

“Whoever spares the rod hates their children, but the one who loves their children is careful to discipline them.”
— Proverbs 13:24 (NIV)

In my mind’s eye, I can still see Sister Sheila rhythmically smacking that twelve-inch ruler against her palm as she shuffled back and forth in front of her sixth graders. Funny how some memories still strike terror into hearts that are technically “young at heart.”

She had a ruler.
And she wasn’t afraid to use it.

The word ruler comes from the Old French reule and the Latin regula, meaning a straight stick—a guide. It shares a root with regere, “to lead” or “to make straight,” which is also where we get words connected to royalty—those who “rule.”

By the 6th century, regula came to describe something very different from Sister Sheila’s classroom enforcement tool. It became associated with spiritual communities like the Rule of Saint Benedict.

But here’s the key: a Rule wasn’t a list of “Do this or you’re grounded.” It was a framework. A trellis. A structure designed to help a person—or a community—grow in a specific direction.

Benedict understood something profound: if you put a bunch of humans together without a shared rhythm, chaos wins. So he created a pattern of prayer, work, study, and rest—a rhythm that aimed hearts toward God.

Think vineyard.

For a vine to “bear much fruit,” it needs a trellis. The trellis lifts it off the ground and guides it toward the light. Without it, the vine produces a fraction of what it’s capable of—and even that is vulnerable to disease and predators.

A Rule of Life for humans does what a trellis does for grapes.

Years ago, I developed what I called a personal “operating system”—a scorecard. Not everyone loved the word. It sounded a little… corporate. But it functioned much like Benedict’s Rule. It helped ensure that my daily activities aligned with my deepest values.

Recently, I read Practicing the Way by John Mark Comer, and he gave language to what the Spirit has been teaching me for years:

A Rule of Life is a schedule, set of practices, and relational rhythms that create space for us to be with Jesus, become like Him, and do as He did.

That’s it.

A Rule isn’t about earning anything. It’s about arranging your life around apprenticeship to Jesus.

Without a rule, you live reactively—responding to texts, emails, headlines, and other people’s agendas.

With a rule, you live proactively—with focus, direction, and passion.

It’s how you leverage an ordinary Wednesday for eternal impact.

Sister Sheila and the nuns at St. Mary’s almost certainly had both kinds of rulers—the wooden kind and the regula kind. Beneath the discipline was a deeper goal: formation. They were training us for lives of meaning and purpose.

Discipline is never the destination.
It’s the pathway.

Rule of Life practices are disciplines based on the lifestyle of Jesus that create space for us to access the presence and power of the Spirit—and be transformed from the inside out.

Which brings us home.

“Run the play” is another way of saying: run the rule.

Don’t drift.
Don’t react.
Design your life around becoming like Jesus.

Finding Our Place in the Story

Where am I currently living reactively instead of intentionally? What rhythms or practices might Jesus be inviting me to build into my daily life?

If my current schedule reveals what I truly value, what does it say about who (or what) I am becoming? What small trellis could I put in place this week to guide my growth toward Christlikeness?

How can our community encourage one another to “run the rule” — not through pressure or performance, but through shared rhythms that help us be with Jesus, become like Him, and do as He did?

“Catch for us the foxes, the little foxes that ruin the vineyards…” Song of Solomon 2:15

Last Wednesday, a horde of mischievous, destructive gremlins showed up uninvited and went to work on the tech that supports my life.

The first shot across the bow?
My coffee maker refused to brew my morning lifeline.

Then came a text from UPS about a delivery delay.
Followed quickly by the realization that my Running The Play blog post email hadn’t been sent… and refused to be sent.

“Well, that’s fantastic.”

Just like those little foxes that can ruin a vineyard, it’s often the small things that can ruin a day—or even a week. They frustrate us, derail our momentum, and quietly chip away at our attitude.

And if I’m being honest… they got to me.

I felt a little like Sherlock Holmes declaring, “The game is afoot.” I’m usually pretty good at solving tech issues on my own. Around the house, I’ve even earned the nickname “tech support.”

But this gremlin wasn’t going away without a fight.

If you’re reading this as an email, then I have succeeded—at least for now—in taking ground from this invisible enemy. I can’t say exactly how or why it’s working again, but there’s something to be said for perseverance in the face of setbacks and resistance.

In his letter to the Ephesians, the apostle Paul the Apostle reminds us that “our struggle is not against flesh and blood.” He wasn’t talking about broken coffee makers or stubborn email platforms… but in the moment, it sure felt like someone didn’t want this message to reach your inbox.

Maybe the goal isn’t a gremlin-free life…

Maybe it’s learning to persevere, stay steady, and take ground anyway.

Run the play.
Persevere until you break through.

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Finding Our Place in the Story

What small “foxes” or everyday frustrations are currently threatening to steal your focus, your joy, or your momentum—and what would it look like to take ground anyway?