Footprint on the Foe

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There is a nail-scarred footprint on the back of Satan's neck

Although for a time and here for now, he will make your life a wreck

But take great heart, for the Christian as Paul eagerly foretold

His grace is sufficient for us, and in weakness we are bold

 

After our conversion, we’re challenged to forsake and to wean

To turn our back on the world and pursue daily cleaning

To take captive every thought, but not as a pompous scholar

But to humble ourselves and to uplift his mighty honor 

 

If we only read and try to apply it as a mindful thinker

We cease to change the world and are prone to pointing fingers

Graves are filled with dead corpses that never met perfection

Maturity was lost, and growth stunted for His great affection

 

What pleasures got in our way? What pride of one's life?

Hindered the fullness of the fruit with no thought of the afterlife

He who started a transforming work in us won't stop or delay

Can a verse in a poem be comfort if we are bent to keep astray?

 

The battle is always present deep where the spirit dwells

Fatigued, we fight all day to claim victory over ourselves

Labors and mercies feverishly offered, poured out, and spent 

To what end will we decay before we accept why he was sent?

 

Known is the walk that is stony and climbs all uphill 

Leaning forward in the fight is His divine will

No discipline at the time seems pleasant to enjoy

But maybe he established a lesson, and it should be employed

 

Warriors hate to admit defeat and to admit we are weak

Affliction molds our hearts; that is his loving technique 

God is quite clear that he will abolish our ego and our pride

Whenever we are haughty, He turns his face aside

 

He came to show the way and to flip us upside down

There is a lot of discerning from under that thorny crown 

Denying all of ourselves and following the honored king

Dying in our own way, we must perform spiritual hygiene

by: Brian Zeringue

 

Mist, Granite, and Gratitude: Two Days in Yosemite

Justin Zeringue and Sequoia 2026

Felled trees in great quantities and droves of chainsawed lumber paint the view and define the landscape. Parts of it feel almost apocalyptic; other parts, heavenly and celestial. Dead and plentiful, yet life persists among it all. A single white-headed, faintly yellow-beaked, large brown-feathered frame—an American Bald Eagle—sat atop a gray, fire-damaged pine tree in solitude along State Route 41, which merges into Wawona Road at Yosemite’s southernmost entrance in the middle Sierras of California. A massive section, scarred by a not-so-distant fire, had devastated thousands of acres of forest. Long tree stalks, no leaves, branches gone. Gray. Burnt. Charcoal. And there, in plain sight: a bald eagle. I think: how would Emerson describe this bird of prey? Two words: self-reliant.

At the perimeter of one of America's premier national treasures, just before entering Yosemite National Park, we saw our first real creature—a moment we would have missed if not for the other onlookers who had pulled off to the side of the road. One sightseer stood with a cell phone, pinch-zooming for a better shot, while another, next to their Subaru Outback, came prepared for the moment with a 35mm camera fitted with a magnificent, long black zoom lens. We glimpsed the scene from a quick 15 mph drive-by on the narrow, windy road—Justin at the wheel, me navigating, Shawn in the back as she disdains twisty, narrow roads. I suggested we stop for a closer look, but to no avail; we kept going. It was my first American Bald Eagle sighting. Such was the beginning of our two-day trip from Los Angeles—leaving behind emails, traffic, and the urgency of daily life to embrace nature on a must-see, bucket-list Spring Break getaway. Just north, about five hours away, lies the national park renowned for its majestic granite peaks and composed, dignified, and heroic Sugar and Ponderosa Pines.

Shawn and Justin bridge before the Mist Trail head, 2026

I begin to feel small and insignificant as I approach Yosemite Valley. A pit stop lets us take in the picturesque scenery, often captured by artists and oil painters—the iconic Wawona Tunnel view, with El Capitan on the left, Bridalveil Falls on the right, and, in the background, a sliver of granite: Half Dome. The day is a parking frenzy, from environmentally conscious SUV and Tesla owners to massive 28-foot sightseeing buses filled with camera-toting foreign visitors, including us, all vying for a glimpse and a photo of the breathtaking view—each of us eager to claim our "been there, done that" moment.

El Capitan in the background 2026

Towering trees—pines and firs—reach for the sky, their leafy branches protruding from rock cliffs and the valley floor between El Capitan and Bridalveil Falls. Standing next to them, you can’t help but feel small. Coming from the southern or western entrance to Yosemite, we arrived during the winter melt. Luckily, we were met with sunshine and a temperate climate—chilly enough for a sweatshirt in the morning and midday shade, but warm enough for t-shirts and joggers in the sun. Shawn had made reservations at Yosemite Lodge last winter as we planned our trip—except for the girls, whose schedules didn’t match up with Justin and Shawn's week off.

 pizza at The Deck

We slept at Yosemite Lodge—a modern, motel-style room with two twin beds, a shower, a small fridge, a wall-mounted television, and, for those of us who depend on technology, a WiFi password. Behind the lodge, a small foot-worn trail leads to a smooth, calm stretch of the Merced River. After a brief five-minute walk in sandals, I squat down to touch the running water—it’s shockingly cold, like fresh-melted snow. On our first evening, after a short hike near Yosemite Lower Falls, we devoured fresh oven-fired pizza at The Deck in Curry Village.

Yosemite Lodge also has a cafeteria with large touchscreens for ordering breakfast, lunch, and dinner, plus standard grab-and-go options, a grill, and—for those of us who need caffeine—fresh-brewed coffee with sugar and cream. 

There’s even a Starbucks nearby, where I happily sipped a hot Venti Pike with a full heart of gratitude the morning we drove home. I wondered what John Muir would think if he could see all the visitors at Yosemite today—transported somehow to the 21st century to witness these annual gatherings. I appreciate my technology, but also question how I would have fared almost 150 years ago, when El Capitan first astonished early travelers. I’m grateful for the work of Presidents Lincoln and Roosevelt, whose efforts made this a national treasure; without them, the land might have been developed and lost to privatization.

Justin having Pizza 

After a restless night of sleep, sharing a twin bed with Shawn, we woke to a quiet morning. Birds chirped just outside our door, and ground squirrels bustled around, unafraid and used to tourists. The presence of Lower Yosemite Falls was unmistakable as soon as we stepped outside—stillness, not many tourists. Still. Dignified. Reverent. The sound of the falls, gushing on the northern side of our lodge, filled the valley—a kind of white noise, incessant yet soft and resounding. Audible. Clear. Perceptible. We had a small bite to eat—protein bars, water, a couple of cups of coffee—and packed for our morning hike to the famous Mist Trail and Vernal Falls. We expected the trip to take just under three hours.

Shawn and Brian- Ponderosa Pine 2026

The paved trail, filled with avid hikers and climbers, attracts visitors from around the world—locals from California, Michigan, Washington, Ohio, and the Carolinas, as well as travelers from Australia and the Netherlands. We took advantage of the park’s shuttle buses—one Green, one Purple (I can’t recall which direction each went)—and on our way to the Mist Trail trailhead, we met other nature lovers, geared up with hiking poles, packs, granola bars, and trail mix.

Parts of the Mist Trail are reinforced and paved like a paseo before turning into a natural path of dirt, rocks, and smooth areas worn by years of foot traffic, gradually climbing toward the pinnacle section of Vernal Falls. The trail lives up to its name just below the falls, where fresh, crisp snowmelt crashes down on colossal granite rocks, instantly vaporizing and aerosolizing into a fine mist that soaks shoes, clothes, and any gear not protected by waterproof material. 

Mist Trail head 2026

Justin and Shawn near Vernal Falls on Mist Trail 2026

We paused to take photos of the falls, then continued up the granite stone walkway—the so-called “steps”—through a narrow, rail-protected path to the top. Just past the falls' soaking spray, our group became one less as Shawn deliberated between pushing forward and retreating out of fear of vertigo and heights. Justin and I saw Shawn back to the start of the trail, ensured her safety down the paved section, stopped for water and a restroom break, and finally retraced our steps up the path we had all just traversed.

As I followed closely behind Justin, who pushed up the path just faster than I felt capable of, I was overtaken by a dilemma. Should I stop him so we could go back and make sure Shawn got back safely to the visitor area near our lodge, or continue forward with this energetic, athletic, fearless seventeen-year-old, fueled by a full tank of risky behavior? As I wrestled with these thoughts, I prayed.

Breathing a little harder than usual at elevation, I felt the burn in my lungs and my heart pounding, as if it might burst through my chest. My Apple Watch told me my average heart rate was 70-80 bpm, but I could still sense my effort, not a 10 but more than a 5. My mind wandered to my education and training as I looked around at my position on the trail. I thought, if this were the place I suffered a stroke or heart attack, there would be no resuscitation efforts, no AED, no one nearby who could perform CPR—no rescue. And so, I prayed.

Vernal Fall on the Mist Trail 2026

Under my breath, as I often do before work, I said, “God, thank you for the opportunity to be here outdoors. Forgive me for my many sins, defaults, and errors. Watch over Shawn as she makes her way back to the lodge. Help me keep up with Justin and enjoy our time, and if I should pass out or have a heart attack, forgive me of all my wrongdoing and watch over my three kids and wife. Amen.”

From there, we made it again to the mistiest part of the Mist Trail leading up to Vernal Falls. As we trekked up, I noticed sections of the trail that were intentionally paved, earning it the nickname “the steps” among hikers. In awe, I walked up this section where carefully placed granite chunks—each weighing at least 150-200 pounds—formed innumerable steps. I thought to myself: someone was here before, placing these stones in this rugged terrain. Irregular. Coarse. Unpredictable. Sketchy. Disjointed.

Top of Vernal Fall part of the Mist Trail 2026

Years ago, there were no steps, no side rails; now there is a path, paved and thoughtfully constructed for future generations. Gratitude and appreciation infused my burning quad muscles, my burning inhalations, and pounding heart as I felt each beat. I struggled to stay on Justin’s heels, who, a few feet ahead, navigated the ascent with ease, strength, and vigor as if he had done this before. I am reminded of the autumn of my life; wear and tear take time to recover, and I am humbled as well. Once at the top, we would take a picture of Vernal Falls, sip more water, and begin our descent.

Faith, Balance, and Endurance: Temperance Across Occupations

 

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The wise man knows that he knows not anything.- G. K. Chesterton.

Perseverance is the currency of faith; difficulty often presents opportunities for faith, as Harvard professor Tyler VanderWeele emphasizes in his book A Theology of Health, which articulates the interconnectedness of wellness, illness, and spirituality (VanderWeel, 2024). What do being a soldier, an athlete, a farmer, and a caregiver have in common? Each faces uncertainty despite their preparation and commitment. A soldier may dedicate themselves to service and still not return home. An athlete can weight train, sleep, and diet relentlessly but never place first. Even the most diligent farmer cannot guarantee a harvest every season. Despite a caregiver's best efforts, it is often impossible to offer relief to those who are suffering. In each case, effort does not guarantee results, yet these archetypes persevere, and resilience and temperance are virtues necessary.

According to VanderWeele (2024), temperance is the practiced virtue of abstaining from excessive pleasure and resisting temptations. Aristotle described temperance as finding the mean—acting with balance rather than in extremes. I have written about that here. Practicing temperance helps us develop resilience, teaching us to persevere when things do not go our way. When faced with setbacks, do we seek solace in faith and our relationship with God, or do we turn to fleeting earthly comforts? VanderWeele (2020), in Religion and Human Flourishing, explains that flourishing involves achieving balance in all areas of life. From a Christian perspective, spiritual flourishing means maintaining a harmonious relationship with God, especially as we approach the final days of life.

References:

Chesterton, G. K. (1925). The Everlasting Man. https://ccel.org/

VanderWeele, T. J. (2020). Spiritual Well-Being and Human Flourishing. In A. B. Cohen, Religion and Human Flourishing: Ed. (pp. 43–54). Baylor University Press. https://hfh.fas.harvard.edu/religious-communities

VanderWeele, T. J. (2024). A Theology of Health: Wholeness and Human Flourishing. University of Notre Dame Press. https://doi.org/10.1353/book.129052

Wisdom vs. Science: Why doing good is good for you

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Can acts of kindness or helping others truly improve health or reduce illness? This central question is supported by recent Harvard research indicating that kindness positively affects well-being. While the idea is not new, its enduring relevance can be traced to ancient Greece, where acts of kindness were believed to bring favor from the gods. For example, The Odyssey, as interpreted by Butler & Dirda (2013), illustrates how Odysseus, despite hardship, upholds himself and receives kindness while he hides as a beggar, highlighting its lasting value, especially in difficult circumstances.

Researchers at Harvard School of Public Health have explored how acts of kindness may impact both physical and mental health (Weziak-Bialowolska et al., 2021). Central to their findings is the idea that strength of character involves consistently acting for the benefit of oneself and others—essentially, practicing kindness. This research reinforces the broader argument that acts of kindness serve not only as a moral virtue but also as a foundation of well-being, resonating with the ethos of the healthcare profession, in which staff are entrusted to show kindness to patients (Westbrook et al., 2022).

Experiences outside research also support the key argument: acts of kindness have meaningful benefits. Will Guidara, a prominent New York restaurant owner, seeks staff motivated by altruism rather than mere personal gain, believing their kindness benefits both themselves and the business (Guidara, 2022, p. 81). This demonstrates the core claim—performing acts of kindness can create a positive environment and promote well-being.

Researchers at The Human Flourishing Institute emphasize that pursuing good through acts of kindness can significantly enhance life satisfaction, reduce anxiety and depression, and improve overall health (Harvard University, n.d.; Weziak-Bialowolska et al., 2021). These findings strengthen the main argument that acts of kindness are not only expressions of goodwill but also practical contributors to health and wellness. Even those outside of helping professions can benefit physically and mentally by incorporating kindness, suggesting that such actions are as vital as diet or exercise in promoting well-being.

References:

Butler, S., & Dirda, M. (2013). The Iliad and the Odyssey: Homer. Barnes and Noble.

Guidara, W. (2022). Unreasonable hospitality: The Remarkable Power of Giving People More Than They Expect . Optimism Press.

Harvard University. (n.d.). The Human Flourishing Program at the Harvard Institute for Quantitative Social Science. https://hfh.fas.harvard.edu/

Westbrook, K. W., Nicol, D., Nicol, J. K., & Orr, D. T. (2022). Effects of Servant Leadership Style on Hindrance Stressors, Burnout, Job Satisfaction, Turnover Intentions, and Individual Performance in a Nursing Unit. Journal of Health Management, 24(4), 670–684. https://doi.org/10.1177/09720634221128100

Weziak-Bialowolska, D., Bialowolski, P., VanderWeele, T. J., & McNeely, E. (2021). Character Strengths Involving an Orientation to Promote Good Can Help Your Health and Well-Being. Evidence From two Longitudinal Studies. American Journal of Health Promotion, 35(3), 388–398. https://doi.org/10.1177/0890117120964083

Fighting On: Reflections on Mortality, Spirituality, and Aging

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We live next to the Santa Clara River here in Southern California. It is not uncommon to see local coyotes emerge from the hills and wander through our neighborhood, especially on these chilly spring mornings. Sometimes, we hear their howls echoing from the dry riverbed in front of our home. Recently, one was struck by a vehicle and left on the roadside until public workers arrived to remove it. Witnessing the death of another coyote made me reflect on life and mortality. As someone who works in healthcare, I regularly confront death, especially when treating patients with heart disease. These experiences, along with the recent loss of a dear coworker, remind me just how short life truly is. As I reflect on this, I think of a line from Browning: “I was ever a fighter, so one fight more, the best and the last! I would hate that death bandaged my eyes, and forebore, and bade me creep past” (Browning, as cited in Untermeyer, 1942, p. 876).

These personal and professional encounters have led me to reflect not only on the inevitability of death, but also on how we approach the process of aging. While many people search for the fountain of youth—wondering how to look younger and live longer—the real question might be how to age gracefully rather than bitterly (Brenner, 2023). Graceful aging encompasses not just physical appearance but also mental and psychological well-being, as well as the significance of spirituality as we grow older (Head et al., 2022). In reality, most people seek an insurance policy against death, desiring the promise of heaven or an afterlife. The pursuit of happiness, wellness, and longevity is nearly universal while we are alive, but when these aspirations seem unattainable, only then does “a sort of heaven” become appealing, as Erasmus (1941) observed. Ultimately, what happens after we die depends on one’s spiritual outlook.

Pascal, the renowned French mathematician, suggested there are three main types of people: those who have a relationship with God and strive to fulfill their calling in obedience and service; those who are searching for God but have not yet found Him; and those who neither seek nor have a relationship with Him (Hutchins & Adler, 1952). Scientists have found that aging can be accelerated by unhealthy behaviors, such as smoking or lack of physical activity, and that abundant food can also contribute to shorter lifespans. Brenner (2023), in a review of David Sinclair’s controversial book, Lifespan: Why We Age and Why We Don’t Have To—a book I have not yet read—raises thought-provoking questions about the science and ethics of extending human life. Perhaps part of living is embracing life's brevity?

The Greek poet Lucretius commented (Adler, 1952, p. 36) on the subject of death, suggesting that the siblings of death are brother, agony, and sister, illness, forging an alliance. In summation of closing a reflection essay on life, death, and what is to come, the ancients perhaps can offer some comfort in the form of a salve for all of us, regardless of any religious preference, because of the commonality shared by all, as none of us is immune to its truth.

References:

Adler, Mortimer J. (1952). Lucretius: On the Nature of Things. In The Great Books of the Western World. (Vol. 12, pp. 1-97). Encyclopedia Britannica.

Brenner, C. (2023). A science-based review of the world’s best-selling book on aging. Archives of Gerontology & Geriatrics, 104, N.PAG. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.archger.2022.104825

Erasmus, D. (1941). The Praise of Folly (H. H. Hudson, Trans.; 3rd ed.). Princeton University Press.

Head, J. H., Lawrence, R. M., & Cullinan, R. J. (2022). Ageing. In C. C. H. Cook & A. Powell (Eds.), Spirituality and psychiatry (2nd ed., pp. 355–374). Royal College of Psychiatrists.

Hutchins, R. M., & Adler, M. J. (1952). God. In The Great Ideas: A Syntopicon of Great Books of the Western World (Vol. 2, pp. 543-604). Encyclopedia Britannica.

Untermeyer, L. (1942). A Treasury of Great Poems, English and American: From the foundations of the English spirit to the outstanding poetry of our own time, with lives of the poets and historical settings (2nd ed.). Simon and Schuster.

Satire or Steadfastness: Conscience in a World of 6,000 gods

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According to Erasmus (1941, p. 46), in his satirical work, he made fun of Pythagoras, who concluded that man is miserable. Man's central problem is not that he is miserable, but that he is unable to choose between good and bad at all times. Sure, he can refine himself, engage in university to gather knowledge, work, and invest to become better off than his neighbor which is why he works so hard in the first place, and through personal effort or Epicurean practice, which was an ancient train of thought that the ultimate aim of man is to pursue pleasure as an end in itself (Edwards, p. 5), can attain some peace of mind intermittently. Just look around our world today; those thoughts are not so antiquated as they are in our communities.

Instead, the real struggle lies in the inner workings of the heart and conscience. No matter how much a person debates or denies the existence of conscience, it remains—a persistent voice wrestling within, beyond the reach of self-improvement or external achievement. Can anyone be good or bad? And by extension, answer the question ultimately from a faith perspective or argument of reason or even those who just plain decide to avert the question as our scholars have posited (Hutchins, 1952a, p. 543) entirely, does not negate the fact that the real question remains at the end of the day, is there some type of supernatural being out there, a creator, God, or is man top of the food chain or is there some sort of reward or punishment for being good or bad as it relates to mans interaction with God (Hutchins, 1952b, p. 605)?

I exercise my own personal faith in the God of the Hebrews, or the Christian God, though I understand that many other cultures have their own views of a deity. According to some, there are more than six thousand gods (Hutchins, 1952, p. 544). That's a lot of gods to choose from, worship, obey, and honor. How do we remain steadfast, faithful, persevering, and head to our calling if we follow the Christian God? Paul encouraged early Christians to grow in their knowledge of God (The Holy Bible, New International Version, 1999, Colossians 1:10). But our pursuit of faith is not just a matter of belief—it is revealed in how we live. Our actions and priorities, visible in how we spend our time, demonstrate what we truly value and teach others by example.

It is widely accepted that the environment shapes an organism, so Nietzsche argued that human beings are molded by their surroundings and become resilient through ominous conditions (Nietzsche, 1918). Environmental pressures over time produce resilience and resistance to change or destruction. If this is true, then within a theological framework, the environment of a faith-based community powerfully shapes a believer’s faith so that we are not taken captive by a worldly outlook on life, though not always adverse, sometimes as disciples we endure discipline from our heavenly father (The Holy Bible, New International Version, 1999, Colossians 2:8; Hebrews 12:7).

Together in the struggle,

Brian

References:

Edwards, P. (1967). Epicurus. In The encyclopedia of philosophy (Vol. 3, pp. 3-5). essay, Macmillan Company & the Free Press.

Erasmus, D. (1941). The Praise of Folly (H. H. Hudson, Trans.; 3rd ed.). Princeton University Press.

Hutchins, R. M. (1952a). God. In The Great Ideas: A Syntopicon of Great Books of the Western World (Vol. 2, pp. 543-604). Encyclopedia Britannica.

Hutchins, R. M. (1952b). Good and Evin. In The Great Ideas: A Syntopicon of Great Books of the Western World (Vol. 2, pp. 605-636). Encyclopedia Britannica.

Nietzsche, F. (1918). Beyond Good and Evil. Boni and Liveright, Inc.

The Holy Bible: New International Version. (1999). Cornerstone Bible Publishers. (original work published 1973)

From Chemical Reliance to Deep Reservoirs

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Relapse is common for those with drinking disorders (Alcoholics Anonymous World Services, 2001, p. 31). I pray this won't be true for me. Science shows that community support groups and spiritual routines help protect against relapse. These practices are essential to sobriety and recovery. I am grateful for sobriety. Although melancholic thoughts still occur, I might have become a chronic abuser without changing my coping strategies. I replaced alcohol misuse with exercise, fitness, spiritual discipline, and a step program. Tears no longer subdue my depression and anxiety.

Since abstaining, I have started to hydrate from deeper fountains and cisterns of literature. This follows the recommendation to learn from those who are better than I am (Adler & Van Doren, 2014, p. 10). These works are beyond my academic reach, including Pascal, William James, Locke, Thomas Kempis, Augustine, Hegel, and assorted commentaries. For the record, I am not a book snob and do not understand what I am reading most of the time. Still, my modest home library is filled with great thinkers. Importantly, they are all supplemental and secondary to the written Word, which remains primary for me.

I believe God is the Great Physician, whose divine help and comfort are essential. Building on my exploration of new coping strategies and reading, I have learned that managing my depression and anxiety often involves depending too much on others for emotional support (Alcoholics Anonymous World Services, 2022, p. 53). Asking more of people than they can give leads to disappointment, just as others expecting more from me leads to falling short, particularly in emotional support. When relationships were stressed, I resorted to alcohol to numb the emotional pain.

Relying too much on others—and they on us—is universal. People in our lives are often broken. None of us is infallible. The 12 Steps remind us that others also have psychosis, neurosis, or flaws (Alcoholics Anonymous World Services, 2022, p. 48). This is human nature.

Just as wounds need time to heal, maturity does not come in a quantum leap. Transitioning from dependence on others, I've noticed that others may use our weaknesses against us and criticize our strengths in human relationships. This has been my experience in faith-based community settings, contrasting with my time in 12-step recovery programs. Like Paul's encounter on the road to Damascus, we learn that being weak is a superpower. Borrowing from the New Testament author, we find reassurance in this truth.

This brings me to the main question I want to ask: How can we relate to others more effectively, rather than repeatedly navigating conflict in relationships? Building connections with others supports health, and epidemiological studies indicate a lower risk of mental disorders among those who regularly attend religious services and are connected to faith communities (Holt-Lunstad et al., 2015; Keys et al., 2021). Can humility lead us to patience, kindness, and mercy? Seeking comfort from loved ones is natural. For mental well-being, seeking support is valuable. If close relationships cannot meet our needs, professional, therapeutic, or spiritually trained guidance may help reinforce mental health. It is within the realm of possibility.

Some relationships do not always result in a curative outcome. The main question I am raising, as I bridge the gap between mental health and spirituality, is whether spiritual leaders are equipped to offer effective therapeutic support for mental health. Experiences differ, but a key argument guides this narrative: stronger collaboration is needed between faith communities and trained professionals to support those facing depression, anxiety, and addiction.

Reflecting on this connection, I've had spiritual advisors who couldn't relate to my struggles or lacked therapeutic skills. Many counselors and mentors have genuine hearts and try to align talent with calling—admirable traits. As an adult, therapy taught me to discuss mental health with spiritual advisors and faith communities. Through no fault of their own, some cannot help the hurting (The Holy Bible, New International Version, 1999, Ezekiel 34: 1-6). Many with mental injuries fill Sunday seats. Some cannot offer emotional first aid; others lack resources for the mentally wounded.

I have felt deep inadequacy. My impotence and brokenness often seemed incurable due to my mental fitness struggles. Spiritual guides couldn't provide the support I needed, and some did not try to bring me back. In my despondency, I wonder if stigma—separating honest faith seekers from the perceived spiritual elite—leaves those with anxiety or depression alone after straying from the flock.

Love, tolerance, and careful observation of Jesus with the marginalized are vital. Everyone hurts, and most hide their brokenness. We must wonder if Jesus invites the weary to rest. If all are God's approved workers, we must carry his message—even if we don't fit today's Christian mold.

When does the path become pathological, as psychiatry studies religious psychological control's harm (Crowley & Jenkinson, 2022, pp. 332-354)? Would I have been welcomed in the 1st-century church? Do spiritual guides today lack mental health training to intervene, escalate care, and provide Godly insights for those facing severe mental conditions or addiction? Could spiritual assessment criteria help seekers in the Kingdom? Can medical education aid the church?

Thomas Merton, a Trappist monk, noted suspicion toward those eager to reform others (Merton, 2023). It's caustic for those with anxiety or depression to receive guidance from those offering it out of duty. This is especially true if guides lack empathy and understanding.

I've experienced spiritual self-righteousness. Spiritual vanity widens relational gaps. When it comes from those who pretend to care, the harm is deeper. This damages reconciliation, restoration, and hope. Do religiously trained counselors shepherd sincerely? Or do they advise artificially, with simulated motives?

I intend this writing to avoid blame and shame, but to highlight my main argument: there is a significant knowledge and training gap in the faith community regarding the integration of medical, mental health, and spiritual support. My goal is to encourage healthy dialogue and bridge this gap for better care.

No one shepherds our hearts like Jesus. People will disappoint us. As Jesus' students, we all stumble. How many of us have relied on supposedly more faithful people, only to face hurt or abandonment? Can we admit that, at times, we secretly judge others as less spiritual? Can we hear Jesus saying: "Everyone who raises himself high will be brought low" (The Holy Bible, New International Version, 1999, Luke 18:9-14)?

We often miss deeper emotional wounds in those seeking God's love, mercy, and forgiveness. John Locke (1952, p. 4) addressed his religious community about trust in spiritual leaders. I confess my own shortcomings, as God has revealed them to me. Locke explains that if we don't trust our shepherds, we won't seek advice or support. If left alone with our troubles, to whom can we turn?

We often return to old patterns; as the proverb says, a dog returns to its vomit (The Holy Bible, New International Version, 1999, Proverbs 26:11). Sadly, some compromise or abandon faith. Shouldn't we bridge the best mental health practice with living water? The book of Romans offers insight. I distill John Leifchild's commentary as I try to conclude this complex essay about understanding chapters seven and eight of the Roman Epistle. One who tries with all their power to do what is right while simultaneously acknowledging God's good and perfect will, His rules and laws, agreeing with them, and desiring to become sinless, yet feeling a real sense that perfection will never occur.

The innumerable attempts by the believer to achieve it, multiplied by countless starts and fits, exponentially outnumber the hairs on one's head. Sin is ready to find fault, point the blame, ignite shame, and accuse us as we try to attain an unreachable virtuous goal. The believer is exhausted and in desperation, seeking relief. Many a pew filler who seeks to do God's will suffers from continuous anxiety and depression, and, as a believer, exhaustion, anguish, and trying to keep up characterize my walk with God, which is a furious negative feedback loop. What happens? My faith reveals that a supernatural opponent is always at work, and he has many names, such as The Accuser.

He refuels, shifts gears, and picks up steam and speed; if it were a bet on the roulette table of life, he doubles down against us, and we become like a feeble fighter who is bleeding to death. Becoming self-aware, we learn how impoverished we are in and of ourselves; we require life support. We are thankful for Leifchild's interpretation of the battle within the inner person, as Paul described it centuries ago in his letter to the saints of Rome. Furthermore, Leifchild (n.d.) writes that it is impossible to keep our sin at bay on our own, to keep it in check, or to hold it down without God's help or the support of a trusted relationship. The temptation to indulge in simple, overt, or covert pleasures overtakes us again as quickly as wax melts under a flame.

We return, every minute, to our corner of the ring, each hour, day, and year to once again admit defeat and to make another, repeat attempt and resolution to be righteous, reminded of the constant relapse and the nagging draw to walk the line with a new striving to make good on our conversion and commitment while also searching for relief from the vicissitudes of life.

The miserableness again is that our mental state of unrest, torment, terror, frustration, and alternating depression coupled with anxiety overtakes us as we seek comfort and synthetic induced contentment from substance use (Alcoholics Anonymous World Services, 2001, p. 416) and alcohol instead of drinking deeply from God's cup of compassion or not pursuing the expert attention from those trained, equipped, and positioned to help with our emotional disturbances such as qualified mental health experts.

The miracle is hard to understand and requires trust and persistent faith. Unless Jesus is who he said he was, confirming our belief or unbelief in Paul's statement, "Who will rescue us from the corpse that we dwell in?" (The Holy Bible, New International Version, 1999, Romans 7: 24). Are we not all sure to suffer and experience a poor outcome without the cure that He promises if we neglect to follow His path? Can we also find support from our healthcare professionals to help us in our walk? Possibly.

Finally, it must be noted by the reader that we must find our tribe and people in which we can find comfort by admitting our faults first to God. Secondly, we can find relief from insurmountable guilt by talking about our shortcomings with someone we trust; doing so relieves our conscience, which is reassuring. What do we need to discuss with others whom we can confide in?

For starters, we ought to have someone to talk to about our pride, arrogance, and resentments. We should receive feedback from those who know us as outlined in the 12 Step (Alcoholics Anonymous World Services, 2022, p. 48). We ought to be able to talk about our tendencies toward greed. Hard to talk about and share is the lust of our hearts. Subtle are gluttony, envy, self-centeredness, and avoiding a duty to others, all driving self-will and not God's will for us. We ought to be able to talk about our personality disorders, the anxiety we feel, and the sad thoughts that plague us.

When we weigh ourselves down and are not able to perform cathartic communication, it often produces frustration, guilt, anxiety, and depression, and exacerbates the disconnect we feel; however, if we bring our deficits to God and those we trust to help us solve them together, he promises to help us, when we really look to him for support (The Holy Bible, New International Version, 1999, Psalm 73: 25-26). The good news is that God loves the disowned and displaced people of the world, because he knows we are harassed (The Holy Bible, New International Version, 1999, Matthew 9:35-38), and we know we need him.

Finally, Jesus has performed all the work that will ever be needed to help us with our unmerited state. We all need Jesus for ourselves, but we cannot follow Jesus on our own. In his story, he has often called upon those individuals with the most character flaws and personality disorders who were honest and open about their handicaps. May we find God in our time of need and use the talents he has bestowed to help others and all the resources available within the church and our healthcare system to experience his love while our time is short.

References:

Adler, M. J., & Van Doren, C. (2014). How to read a book. Simon & Schuster.

Alcoholics Anonymous World Services. (2001). Alcoholics Anonymous: The story of how many thousands of men and women have recovered from alcoholism (4th ed.). Alcoholics Anonymous World Services.

Alcoholics Anonymous World Services. (2022). Twelve steps and twelve traditions. Alcoholics Anonymous World Services, Inc.

Crowley, N. & Jenkinson, G. (2022). Pathological Spirituality. In Spirituality and Psychiatry (2nd ed., pp. 332-354). essay, Royal College of Psychiatrists.

Holt-Lunstad, J., Smith, T. B., Baker, M., Harris, T., & Stephenson, D. (2015). Loneliness and Social Isolation as Risk Factors for Mortality. Perspectives on Psychological Science, 10(2), 227–237.

Keyes, K. M., Schwartz, S. B., & Susser, E. S. (2021). Psychiatric epidemiology. In Timothy L. Lash & Tyler J. VanderWeele & Sebastien Haneuse & Kenneth J. Rothman (4th Eds.), Modern Epidemiology (pp. 875-894).

Leifchild, J. (n.d.). The character described in the seventh chapter of Romans. Sermons by Leifchild. https://mail.biblehub.com/sermons/authors/leifchild.htm

Locke, J. (1952). A Letter Concerning Toleration. In R. M. Hutchins, The Great Books of the Western World (Vol. 35, pp. 1-22). Encyclopedia Britannica.

Merton, T. (2023). New seeds of contemplation [Audiobook]. New Directions. https://www.audible.com

The Holy Bible: New International Version. (1999). Ezekiel 34:1-6. Cornerstone Bible Publishers. (Original work published 1973)

The Holy Bible: New International Version. (1999). Matthew 9: 35-38. Cornerstone Bible Publishers. (Original work published 1973)

The Holy Bible: New International Version. (1999). Luke 18: 9-14. Cornerstone Bible Publishers. (Original work published 1973)

The Holy Bible: New International Version. (1999). Psalm 73:25. Cornerstone Bible Publishers. (Original work published 1973)

The Holy Bible: New International Version. (1999). Proverbs 26:11. Cornerstone Bible Publishers. (Original work published 1973)

The Holy Bible: New International Version. (1999). Romans 7:24-25. Cornerstone Bible Publishers. (Original work published 1973)

Portions of this post were reviewed with the assistance of an AI writing tool (OpenAI, 2026).

Drinking From a Fire Hydrant, Part II: Uncovering the Blindfolds of Leadership

 

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When I first graduated from RN school, the process of entering the nursing workforce was quite different from what it is today. At the time, in California, due to a nursing shortage, healthcare institutions often hired recent graduates to work in telemetry or critical care under emergency or temporary permits. This arrangement allowed new nurses to gain hands-on experience while studying part-time for the NCLEX exam, provided they obtained licensure within a set timeframe to remain accredited in accordance with regulatory standards.

I passed my NCLEX after six months working in the Coronary Care Unit (CCU), only to realize that I was on a heart transplant unit. Our patients were gravely ill, with severely compromised heart function, and many were awaiting transplants.

Needing to be perfect

My early days of new grad residency program were rife with trying to be perfect, accurate, and appear competent in everything I did, of course, under the watchful eye of a veteran preceptor, they new I was green and just short of having enough skill and ability to be dangerous enough to hurt someone. The lesson, then, was that I fell short of perfection and often completed my duties in a less-than-ideal way. Over the years, even as I gained experience, the desire to be perfect remained a persistent challenge. However, maturity has taught me to be honest about my strengths, abilities, and limitations. While competence is important, perfection is a myth. What matters most is showing up authentically, giving your best effort—even if it's imperfect—and modeling that authenticity for those you lead.

Assuming others can do what you can

My good friend, the Sergeant Major, often tells me, “Quit expecting you in other people.” This statement has always resonated with me. We each have our own methods, principles, and practices for approaching work, and that diversity isn’t inherently wrong—unless someone deliberately disregards essential instructions or standards. As my dad used to say, “There’s more than one way to skin a cat.” In other words, there are many ways to get the job done—not just yours—and that’s perfectly okay.

The challenge comes when we assume others can do things the same way we can, especially when delegating tasks or making assignments without considering differences in experience or training. Assigning tasks without understanding someone’s skill set can undermine confidence, particularly for those still learning. To avoid this, I make it a point not to assume others know what I know; instead, I focus on two things: investigating and validating before expecting someone to complete a task independently.

Refusing to disagree

Early in my career, especially while working alongside veteran critical care nurses, I was often described as “a quick learner but lacking confidence.” Honestly, those words stung. I struggled to project confidence, especially in the presence of senior medical attendings, residents, fellows, interns, medical students, and other allied healthcare professionals. My early years in critical care were marked by intense pressure to prove myself, build competence, and meet the team's high expectations. It took years before I became a true resource—a reservoir of knowledge, a preceptor, and someone others could rely on for guidance. That growth was fueled by my intense curiosity and relentless pursuit of knowledge, often spent in the medical library or poring over books and pamphlets. I truly was a novus medicinae studiosus—a student of the medical arts.

Looking back, I realize I often came across as agreeable and rarely challenged the status quo, especially in those early years. In leadership, this can be a double-edged sword. While agreeableness can foster collaboration, unity, and teamwork, it’s equally important to cultivate the skill of constructive questioning. Over time, I learned to approach disagreements not by outright objection, but by thoughtfully asking questions like, “Are we sure about this?” “Is this true?” or “What might we be missing?” This approach encourages open dialogue and critical thinking without creating unnecessary conflict.

Feeling incompatible

Finally, one of the most challenging blindfolds to remove as a leader is the persistent sense of inadequacy that floods my thoughts, emotions, and actions—often more often than I like to admit. I’ve previously shared about the VUCA environment, where our work is volatile, uncertain, complex, and ambiguous on a daily basis. In such conditions, it’s easy to feel unprepared or unable to support others, especially when it seems like others are outperforming you. Although these feelings are often unfounded and untrustworthy, recognizing them is crucial. Using internal dialogue and practicing cognitive reappraisal, as many behavioral psychologists suggest, has helped me navigate and overcome the daily challenge of feeling inadequate.

Together in the struggle,

Brian

Reference:

Wilkins, M. M. (2025). The Hidden Beliefs That Hold Leaders Back. Harvard Business Review, 103(6), 131–135. 

Drinking From a Fire Hydrant, Part I: Uncovering the Blindfolds of Leadership

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In my first six months in a leadership role in healthcare, I often second-guessed my decision and wondered if I had made the right choice. I felt overwhelmed and questioned whether I had bitten off more than I could chew. Before applying, interviewing, and seeking advice for the position, a trusted mentor encouraged me to pursue this opportunity, believing that my core values would make me a good fit. Although I was initially reluctant, her coaching and encouragement inspired me to take the leap.

Often, it takes someone else to see our strengths that we cannot see in ourselves. Our self-reflections are not always reliable, but mentors can draw out qualities that may otherwise go unnoticed. After interviewing and being offered the role, I thought, "Here is my shot; I will make a difference." Yet I humbly admit that in those first few months, I felt out of my league. I remember a co-worker telling me, “Congratulations, you accepted the challenge.” I had no idea how true those words would become. At first, stepping into this new role felt like drinking from a fire hydrant.

All of us can recall those who invested in us—coaches, mentors, parents, and even grandparents. As we grow older, those early-life coaches fade into memory, and if we find ourselves in leadership roles, we are called to coach and mentor others. A friend of mine, a retired Sergeant Major in the USMC, once shared a saying that continues to resonate whenever my internal resolve runs low: Who motivates the motivator?

This question, though elusive, carries deep significance. Those in high-level, influential roles often depend on trusted peers to navigate the unique challenges of leadership. Collaborative coaching among leaders tends to be more lateral and peer-based rather than hierarchical. Leaders also draw strength, knowledge, and encouragement from informal sources—reading books, attending lectures, and engaging with articles by experts in their field.

While conversations with peers can be invaluable, seeking guidance from higher up the chain of command may feel intimidating. Leaders often worry about appearing incompetent or about losing their superiors' confidence. This leads to a continuous internal dialogue—a kind of mental gymnastics—that is far more common than many realize. When the need for support arises, there are practical steps we can take. As author and leadership thinker Muriel Wilkins (2025) reminds us, sometimes we must identify and remove our own blindfolds to move forward. She discusses several types of blindfolds we wear as leaders. The following section is a discussion in which I share my personal insights and experiences.

The need to be on top of everything or exercise command and control

Command and control arise from the feeling that you must always be in charge. For someone like me—a self-starter who prefers to take initiative and not wait for others—this has been a personal struggle. While this approach once demonstrated my reliability, dependability, and accountability to my leaders, I have learned that as a leader myself, it can actually communicate a lack of trust and prevent others from feeling empowered.

I have had to learn to step back, relax, and trust that my team is both capable and prepared to manage situations as they arise. If they need help, they will escalate issues appropriately. Letting go of the reins has allowed others to step up, build their own confidence, and practice self-initiative.

The urgency trap

As a critical care nurse specializing in cardiac care, developing an internal "spidey sense" is invaluable—and, when finely tuned, can save lives. For example, being attuned to subtle changes in patients who seem stable or are beginning to decline is a hallmark of experienced nurses. Many seasoned nurses rely on their "eye test": the ability to notice something off about a patient simply by observation, even before reviewing objective data such as vital signs, laboratory results, or imaging. This kind of intuition is only built over years of experience and allows nurses to act with appropriate urgency when the situation demands it.

However, in leadership, particularly when dealing with tasks and deadlines that are not life-threatening, I've learned—often through trial and error—that not everything requires an immediate response. Mastering this balance is a critical skill. For instance, prioritizing which emails or employee concerns truly require urgent attention, versus which can wait, is an essential aspect of time management. As the saying goes, sometimes it's a "Monday problem," even if you hear about it late on a Friday night.

Needing to be right

Deep down, no one likes to be wrong. If we are honest with ourselves, we often have a biased point of view. We may believe we are correct, have the right information, and can see every angle of a situation, but in reality, others may have a more accurate perspective.

When I was younger, I strove to be seen as just and correct, believing my way was the right—and sometimes the only—way. Over time, I have come to accept that I am flawed, not infallible, and just as prone to mistakes as anyone else. This realization has helped me, especially when navigating disagreements with direct reports. Now, instead of focusing on "who" is right, I try to shift the conversation toward "what" is right. This guiding principle—aiming for what is right rather than being right—has served me well in my career.

Together in the struggle,

Brian

Reference:

Wilkins, M. M. (2025). The Hidden Beliefs That Hold Leaders Back. Harvard Business Review, 103(6), 131–135. 

Small Gatherings, Big Callings: How Scripture Shapes the Way I Lead

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There’s a familiar feeling that comes with Sunday mornings: the sense that it’s time for church, time to get showered and ready to go. However, since the pandemic, the way we gather has changed. With online services, flexible schedules, and our current family group, we now meet sporadically. When we gather in person, it’s often all together in the San Fernando Valley; for small groups, we meet in someone’s home, hosted by a member of our community.

Typically, we begin our gatherings with prayer and thanksgiving, followed by a brief message and Scripture reading. We then partake of the sacraments—usually a plate of Triscuits or Wheat Thins passed around, and a small paper cup of Welch’s grape juice. After a moment of silent reflection and prayer, we enjoy fellowship as a community of believers here in the Santa Clarita Valley.

Bible study has been a steady part of my life ever since my baptism. I’m not trying to be overly zealous here—just honest about the comfort and wisdom I find in Scripture. One of my favorite things is following those cross-references in the margins, seeing how verses connect across the Bible. The Thompson Chain Reference Bible is a great resource for this, but even the side notes in most translations help point out connections, whether between the Old and New Testaments or within a single book. It’s a simple pleasure that keeps me grounded and curious about my faith.

As a leader, my faith deeply influences how I respond to, treat, and interact with others, especially in professional relationships. While I am accountable to my organizational leader, I am ultimately responsible to God. Remembering who I truly serve guides me in supporting and leading my direct reports with integrity and compassion.

Even Jesus, when his disciples were focused on their own ambitions and hoping for special treatment—believing he would become a powerful earthly king—reminded them that he did not come to be served, but to serve others (The Holy Bible, New International Version, 1999, Mark 10:45). This example of servant leadership is one I reflect on often in my own role. The servant-leader mindset, as taught by the Greenleaf Institute, is more important than ever, especially in healthcare. With ongoing challenges like labor shortages and financial pressures, organizations need leaders who put others’ needs first. Servant leaders are able to meet the challenges of both those they serve and those they lead. Greenleaf (2008) suggests that true servant-leaders serve first because their genuine desire is to help others, and only then do they seek to lead. This approach continues to inspire my work and perspective on leadership.

Centuries ago, Thomas Aquinas addressed the argument of design in defense of the question, "Does God exist?" I share the belief that, just as an artist creates a lasting portrait, God intentionally created everything we see. There was a beginning—a moment of purposeful creation—rather than something coming from mere chance. As Aquinas (1952, p. 13) suggests, our world is the result of masterful design, not a random accident. This perspective also shapes my view of leadership: organizational influence does not happen by accident or mistake, but through intentional design and thoughtful action. My actions are a direct result of some influence on me, for example, the following.

“Don’t ask for a long life, don’t ask for wealth, and don’t wish harm on your enemies” (The Holy Bible, New International Version, 1999, 1 Kings 3:1-12). What does this mean? Solomon’s father, King David, wasn’t perfect, but he consistently aimed to be faithful, to act with integrity, and to make wise judgments as a leader. When Solomon, David's son, became king, he recognized his own limitations and inexperience and turned to God—not to ask for riches or revenge, but for two things: a discerning heart to be a good follower himself and to lead his people well, and the wisdom to tell good from evil.

As someone who works in healthcare, I understand the importance of working hard to provide for one's family—it's an honorable and deeply valued pursuit. There’s nothing wrong with building a career or striving for success; in fact, God created us to work and contribute. However, I believe Jesus cautions us against letting personal ambition overshadow our concern for others. When our own success becomes more important than the well-being of those around us, we risk losing sight of what truly matters.

It’s important to remember that all our achievements are ultimately possible because of God’s provision. This idea is echoed in the message God gave to Moses for the Israelites after they escaped Egypt. As they began to prosper—with growing bank accounts, homes, and property—God warned them not to become proud or forget the One who makes prosperity possible (The Holy Bible, New International Version, 1999, Deut. 8:11-13).

Together in the struggle,

Brian

References:

Aquinas, T. (1952). The Summa Theologica of Saint Thomas Aquinas. In R. M. Hutchins The Great Books of the Western World (Vol. 19, pp. 12-14  ). Encyclopedia Britannica

Greenleaf, R. K. (2008). The servant as leader. Greenleaf Center for Servant Leadership.

The Holy Bible: New International Version. (1999). Cornerstone Bible Publishers. (original work published 1973)

Can Sorrow Be Healed? Reflections on Aquinas

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Can sorrow or pain be remedied by pleasure, prayer, and weeping, the support of friends, meditation and contemplation, or sleep? This question was posed by Thomas Aquinas centuries ago (Hutchins, 1952, p. 786). Reflecting on this, I realize how the sources of pleasure in my life have changed over time. In the past, drinking alcohol and seeking sensual experiences provided a temporary escape. Now, I find enjoyment in weight training, exercise, and reading enriching literature. Prayer and meditation have become meaningful remedies for sorrow in my later years. As a young man, I coped with anxiety and allowed myself to grieve openly when faced with significant losses and struggles I felt were over my head—specifically, the loss of my father, the loss of a job, and the loss of a home—each a pillar of stability in my life as a husband and father striving to provide security for my family.

Following my spiritual conversion, my passion for meditation has deepened, fueling my desire to explore the deeper aspects of mind, soul, and spirit. This journey has brought me closer to understanding the truth of the world and strengthened my faith in a higher power—the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. Sleep, too, offers relief from sorrow and pain, especially when I am exhausted from worrying about things beyond my control or when decisions impacting my livelihood are out of my hands. Often, a good night's sleep after a period of mourning brings much-needed relief and renewal.

Perhaps most significant is the role of friendship in alleviating sorrow and pain. In my experience, having a good friend has helped me through difficult times. Professionally, as a registered nurse, I have seen how being a friend to patients during their recovery can ease their pain and suffering, even if only a little. These personal and professional experiences affirm the importance of compassionate support in overcoming sorrow.

Reference:

Aquinas, T. (1952). The Summa Theologica of Saint Thomas Aquinas. In R. M. Hutchins The Great Books of the Western World (Vol. 19, pp. 786-790). Encyclopedia Britannica.

Learning Trust the Hard Way on Three Wheels

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Saul Bellow, as quoted in Writers (Crampton, 2005, p. 22), observes that many people harbor a deep and persistent feeling that their own experiences lack authenticity or grandeur—that their stories aren’t epic or meaningful. This sense of inconsequentiality, he suggests, runs deep and can be overwhelming; it is therefore because of the possibility of these feelings being true that we fight against the temptation to believe it so, and as such, we write to tell our stories, the stuff of life.

This question of whether our stories matter, whether our memories are worth telling, lingered with me for years. Yet, it is often in the ordinary details of our lives—moments that seem small or inconsequential—that we discover the most profound truths. My own story is not epic by any measure, but it is mine and honest.

With this in mind, I return to a memory from my childhood, one that shaped my understanding of trust, consequence, and growing up. Before they were outlawed in the seventies and eighties, televisions were filled with commercials advertising the thrill of wilderness adventures, especially through all-terrain vehicles (ATVs)—targeting outdoor enthusiasts and Texas deer hunters alike. Honda and other manufacturers sold millions of the infamous three-wheeler ATVs. My grandfather had one, and so did my dad. I was no older than ten or eleven when my father brought ours home. He was, understandably, very protective of it, and would only let me ride after much begging and with my mother urging him to give me a chance—always insisting I stay right next to the empty city fields near our home in Texas City.

Of course, I would push the boundaries, riding up and down the back alley behind our house, kicking up dirt and tossing rocks, revving the engine when I thought I was out of earshot. My dad was usually in the garage, tinkering with his rifles, hunting deer feeders, turning a wrench on the old army jeep he was refurbishing, or welding up a piece of angle iron or pipe for a friend or work buddy. Looking back, and admittedly foolishly, we never wore safety gear or helmets. I’m thankful I escaped harm, as those ATVs—with their single front tire and narrow turning radius—were notorious for rollovers and serious injuries, which is why they were eventually replaced by the safer four-wheeled models.

One Saturday afternoon, after completing my chores, mowing the lawn, finishing my homework, and cleaning my room, I wandered out to the garage. Dad was there, sweeping up debris and dust, tending to his “man cave.” I came in, feigning boredom, searching for something—anything—that wasn’t another chore. I wandered over to the three-wheeler, climbed on, gripped the handlebars, and hunched forward like I was ready to ride. “Dad, when was the last time we started this thing up?” I asked, hoping to pique his interest. “You think we should warm her up?”

He abandoned his garage tasks, in a better mood than usual, and replied, “Yeah, let’s take her out a bit, but you stay close.” My heart raced with excitement—a moment I’ll never forget. I pushed the beast beyond the driveway and tried to get her started. I had to stand atop the footpegs, straddling the seat, and pull the black Honda cord with all my strength to start the 4-stroke engine. This model didn’t have an electric start like my grandpa’s, the one we called Big Red.

Once I got the three-wheeler running, I’d peer over the front deer rifle rack that my father had welded onto it, and roll out smoothly. I’d carve figure-eights in the field next to our home, always within sight and earshot so Dad could keep tabs on me—especially if I was going too fast. He could tell by the engine’s pitch, and with his sharp, signature whistle—a sound I now use with my own family—he’d pierce the air to get my attention. I’d slow down, though I always tested the limits.

This day, though, is really the heart of this story. Anyone who’s ever lost trust knows what it’s like—and maybe that’s what qualifies someone to write about trust in the first place. I always knew the rules: stay in the fields, never cross city streets, keep to the alley behind our street, don’t speed, and absolutely never give another person a ride. Period.

It was the perfect Saturday afternoon for a kid: chores done, the sun shining, and me riding our ATV, my hair blowing back as I did mini-donuts in the field beside our house. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted one of my neighbors—a girl from across the street—standing at the edge of the field, watching me. She was about my age, and her curiosity got the better of her; she crossed the street to see what I was up to.

In true pre-teen fashion, I sped up when I passed her, imagining myself as a Supercross racer, zooming past with a grin, hoping to impress her. I’d glance over my shoulder, feeling especially cool and self-assured. I can’t even remember her name now; her family lived on our block for only a short while, but that’s beside the point.

After a few laps, I finally pulled up next to her, grabbing the handbrake to stop. The ATV idled in a low rumble—loud enough to talk over, but not so loud that my dad, about two houses away, could hear us. Dad’s ear was always tuned to the normal hum of the ATV circling the field, but what I didn’t realize then (and do now) is that he could sense when something changed—like when I stopped.

I said hello and asked what she was up to. “Just watching you,” she answered. Wanting to be generous (and maybe a little taken by her smile), I asked, “Want to go for a ride?” Without hesitation, she walked right up—curious and brave—and said, “Yes.”

I scooted forward to make space, and she climbed on behind me. Before I could even say, “Hold on,” she’d already wrapped her arms around my waist. We puttered around the field—one and a half easy laps, not fast, just enough to feel the wind. In that moment, I had a fleeting sense of what it must be like to feel grown up, even though I hadn’t even hit puberty yet. For a second, I felt like the real deal.

And then I heard it—the sound I dreaded: Dad’s whistle. I’d been conditioned since I was a toddler to respond instantly, like a dog to its owner. I looked over to our backyard—past the neighbor’s fence, over the wild honeysuckle vines—and there he was: sunglasses beneath his trucker hat, arms crossed, wearing a face of disappointment.

I knew I’d committed a cardinal sin. I rolled the ATV to a stop and told the girl, “Sorry, I have to go home now—that’s my dad whistling.” She hopped off, unconcerned, and said, “Thanks for the ride. I hope you’re not in trouble.” I thought, You have no idea—but deep down, it was worth it.

Tears welled up in my eyes as I rode slowly back to the garage. I hit the kill switch, let the engine sputter out, and climbed off to face my dad, who was waiting for me.

He simply asked, “What did I tell you about giving rides on that thing?”

Intimidated with my head down, “No one is supposed to ride with me,” I answered fearfully.

“So why did you do it?” he pressed with intensity.

I told him the truth: the neighbor girl had never been on one, so I gave her a ride. I think he understood, at least a little, that his boy was trying to grow up, to feel responsible, to enjoy the rush of having a pretty girl ride along. But he said, “You’ve got to be safe. If she’d gotten hurt, then what?”

Ignorantly, I disclosed, “I didn’t think about that.”

“That’s the problem,” as he shook his head from side to side, he replied. “You never think.”

My punishment was clear: no more ATV riding for a long time, until I could earn back his trust. That lesson about trust has stayed with me ever since.

Together in the struggle,

Brian

Reference:

Nancy, C. (2005). Writers. The Quantuck Lane Press. https://archive.org/details/writers0000cram