Why I Didn't Write This Summer

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Summer 2026
Arcadia, Michigan

This summer I haven’t been able to write what I’ve wanted to write.

It’s God’s fault.

I am blaming Him.

After all, He answered my prayers.

Not all of them the way I thought He would.

Not all of them when I thought He would.

But He heard my words—spoken and thought, whispered and yelled.

And, apparently, He took them seriously.

Which has been terribly inconvenient.

Because God answering my prayers is the reason I haven’t been able to write what I’ve wanted to write all summer.

Three months before summer arrived, I sat down, longing for the sunlight, and opened up a new Google Doc and titled it, Summer Goals, filling the page with ideas and dreams that I imagined myself achieving.

I was giddy.

I planned to tie up loose ends of my novel—taking the story deeper, further developing the characters, and weaving together storylines—naturally, creating something that could rival the greatest books ever written.

I haven’t even opened the document this summer.

I saw myself completing another children’s book—an idea that I think Oprah would want to interview me for. I’d happily say yes and say something like, “It’s not every day you meet the person you did a book report on in ninth grade.” I got an A.

Sometime in late June I jotted down three sentences for a new children’s book and got stuck.

I saw myself putting the finishing touches on a manuscript for another book of poems and essays. It, too, would be the kind of book Oprah would want to interview me for.

Apparently, in my mind, Oprah was going to be very busy with me this summer.

Somehow, I was able to write a handful of poems, but nowhere near the amount I thought I would.

I was going to write countless Substack articles and Instagram posts.

Probably viral ones, too.

I managed to keep up with posting consistently, but nothing viral. I’ve actually lost Instagram followers.

Cool.

Speaking of losing, I’ve also not lost the ten pounds I was going to lose.

On top of that I didn’t get my podcast back up and running.

I didn’t read the stack of books on my nightstand.

I didn’t stay consistent with the Bible reading plan I started.

I didn’t make a fire in the firepit out back.

I didn’t update my website or re-open my online store.

I didn’t make any of the recipes I saved on my phone.

I’ve hardly had time to do laundry.

And that’s because God has answered my prayers, and His answers have changed my life.

God didn’t answer my prayers by giving me more time to write.

He answered them by giving me a life I no longer wanted to miss.

And this is not to say I haven’t tried to write this summer. I have. I’ve been waking up before the house, giving myself time and space to put words down, but the words have hidden themselves.

In the dark, quiet kitchen, I’ve spent time in silence, stillness, and prayer—the same thing that got me into this mess in the first place.

God doesn’t seem to be particularly concerned about my word count.

Or about my Summer Goals document.

But He does seem to be very interested in time spent together.

I’ve been fighting frustration with faith, clinging to the belief that this is a season that will pass, because they all do.

But for now, I am silent and still before God, wondering what in the world He is doing with my world.

I’ve been spending most of my days with Judah, our two-and-a-half-year-old son. We’ve been walking down to the park and digging in the endless sand Lake Michigan has to offer. He’s mastered his balance bike, and I’ve mastered watching him ride it while imagining every possible trip to the emergency room.

We’ve built sand castles and played with every big yellow construction truck you can imagine. I’ve never said the words “front loader” and “bulldozer” so many times in my life.

While I haven’t read the stack of books on my nightstand, I’ve read about 200 children’s books and can confidently say that I would much rather read Clifford the Big Red Dog than Thomas the Tank Engine any day. Thomas doesn’t do it for me. Sorry Sir Tophamm Hatt, but I am a dog guy.

Two or three times a day, I’ve been taking our dog, Pancake, on a walk. Both of us clear our heads, and one of us clears our bladder. I need the fresh air. I need the silence. I need time away from screens, from notifications, from Thomas and his complicated railway system.

I’ve been texting friends. Small moments of connection with the outside world. How are you? Really, how are you? Did you get the job? How can I be praying for you? Will you pray for me? How’s vacation? Can you recommend any children’s books other than Thomas the Tank Engine? Hope you’re doing well. Hopefully our paths cross soon.

These short messages sent back and forth are like little flares in the dark: I’m here. Are you there? I’m okay. I think I’m okay. Are you okay?

I’ve been trying to do my job. No matter what the schedule holds, I am still a creative entrepreneur—whatever that means. I am still responding to emails, working on deadlines, and trying to fill my speaking calendar with keynotes, poetry events, church visits, and virtual events.

Maybe even a speaking gig that lines up with a Thomas the Tank Engine event.

God forbid.

I’ve been trying to be a good husband.
Which, I’m learning, is less about grand gestures and more about paying attention.
It’s putting my phone away when she’s around. Asking how she’s doing, not out of routine, but out of love. It’s doing the small things so she doesn’t have to spend her time thinking about them. It’s remembering that the person I prayed God would give me is standing right here, in the middle of the ordinary life we’ve been gifted.

And maybe being a good husband is mostly remembering not to miss her while she’s right in front of me.

I’ve been dreaming, mostly about all the things I want to be doing. About the shape I want to get in. About what life is becoming and who I am becoming inside it.

I’ve been processing a lot lately, sitting with my thoughts and asking myself questions I’ve been ignoring for a long time. Questions about what I truly want, what I’m holding onto, what I need to let go of, and that one Mary Oliver question that finds its way back into my head every other week: What will I do with this one wild and precious life?

I don’t have all the answers yet.

And I’m starting to think that having all the answers was never the assignment.

But I do know I want to love well and spend less of this wild and precious life scrolling social media.

I’ve been calling my parents. Weekly check-ins. Not because it is required, but because I know that time continues to tick down, and there are only so many more phone calls we will get to have. The conversations aren’t long, but they are frequent and always needed.

I’ve been waiting for Special Movie Pizza Friday Night. That’s what we call it in our house. With Friday comes pizza and a movie, usually Cars. I’ve asked my wife not to tell Judah that there are Thomas the Tank Engine movies and shows. I can’t handle it. Not yet.

But what I can handle is every Friday night, eating pizza and watching a little bit of Cars with the two people I love most. I am not working. I am not writing. I am not wondering about the to-do list I have created for myself. I am just with my people on the couch, celebrating that we made it to the weekend.

I’ve been wrestling with my selfishness and looking for beauty, reminding myself that this is the gift and I don’t want to miss it.

I’ve been praying. A lot.

The same thing that got me into this mess in the first place.

But I am going to keep giving my time to prayer because it is not wasted time.

Even when nothing seems to happen. Even when I bring God handfuls of plans He seems more interested in teaching me how to open my hands, how to rest in the gift now.

I’d rather bury my life and dreams in the hands of God and watch as He grows and prunes them.

And for the record I prefer the growing over the pruning.

But if you were to ask me what I’ve been up to this summer, I’d probably say, I’ve mostly been reading Thomas the Tank Engine books to my son.

And for as much as I don’t want to, I get to.

When I was in college, a mentor encouraged me to remove “I have to” from my vocabulary and instead say, “I get to.”

Those three words can change a life.

They don’t make the hard things easy or magically turn Thomas into Clifford, but they remind me that so much of what feels like an interruption is my actual life.

The life I get to live.

I get to wake up before the rest of the house to be still and maybe, just maybe, create.

I get to sit before the sun rises and talk with God.

I get to be a dad, a husband, a writer, and a dreamer.

I get to take my dog on walks.

I get to put work aside and be with my son.

I get to talk with my friends and call my family.

I get to read Thomas the Tank Engine books with my son.

Because guess what?

One day, I won’t get to.

One day my son won’t climb into my lap with a book. One day the toy trucks will disappear from the floor. One day I will walk through a quiet house and give anything to read a Thomas the Tank Engine book.

Change is coming, and soon life will look different than it does today.

And one of these days, hopefully a long time from now, there will be no more days.

I won’t have another chance to trust God with the ordinary days or with the days that once seemed impossible.

Maybe this is what God has been trying to teach me all summer. I kept asking Him to help me make something beautiful with my life, while He kept handing me my actual life and saying, Here.

This is it.

This is the beautiful thing.

So, I’ll keep praying.

I’ll keep looking for beauty.

I’ll keep trying to write, too. The novel will still be there. The poems can wait. Oprah, too.

And I’ll even say to Judah, “Would you like to read a Thomas the Tank Engine book?”

Because I get to.

For now, I get to.

And maybe that’s what I was supposed to be writing about all along.

Before you go, here is a poem to sit with.
A page from my book, Getting Through What You’re Going Through.
Don’t have a copy? Now is a good day to get yours!

GTWYGT 🍊

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