I used to get so annoyed when anyone older would talk about how things were better in the olden days. I guess I’m older because I realize they were right. Things were better back in yonder days of yore, pre social media and way back in the late 1900s.

This picture makes me hungry. Back in the day, if you saw a personal pan pizza delivered to your table piping hot in a cast iron skillet, you knew that pizza was going to be fire. I mean literally because you’d inevitably burn the roof of your mouth with that first bite, but also in the sense that your taste buds were about to get born again.

Also, those red plastic cups? Those were the best. Cokes tasted way better in those, especially if you were surrounded by good friends or family. Don’t even get me started on those stained glass lamps.

Pizza Hut was the hang out spot after a Friday night football game (or should I say Friday night marching band performance bookended by some football). The team rarely won, but that didn’t matter. It was the memories that mattered more than the stats or the win-loss column. Plus, they had a jukebox with all the classic songs from the 80s to liven up the mood.

Restaurants had more personality back in the day. Places like McDonald’s were a child’s fantasy world instead of a sad washed-up middle aged man hang out. Everything tasted better. And yes, get off my lawn, you meddling kids.

I’m not the best at math, so I may be a little off but I think after this little post I will be 34 away from hitting 5,000 blog posts in my career.

I never thought I’d ever get to this point. In fact, when I started I didn’t really have a goal in mind. I started with the first one and went from there. I was going to keep writing and writing for as long as I could, regardless of who else read it besides me (and my Mom).

I’ve made it a goal to write something every day. That’s the only way to get better at writing — to write and write and write. Also, reading good books helps, but mostly it’s writing every day, even when you don’t feel like it or don’t think you have anything worth saying.

Sometimes, I cheat a little by quoting someone else’s words. Sometimes, I will use other people’s writing because they’ve said it better than I ever could. But I’m learning how to improve my own voice so I can speak my own thoughts with my own words.

As always, I’m thankful for every reader and for every view. I’m grateful that people from all over the world want to read what I write. I’m humbled and honored by every single person who follows me regularly and encourages me to keep going.

So here’s to 5,000 (in a little over a month) and beyond!

The last six weeks have been surreal. Not having a job certainly has altered my routine a bit, not to mention messing with my normal sleep patterns. Lately, I’m uncertain as to what day of the week it is, although I’m 75% certain of what year it is.

Lately, I’ve run into some familiar faces. Or more accurately, they’ve approached me because they recognize me. One was from my high school graduating class (Briarcrest class of ’91) who I ran into at the Rabbit Room a week ago Wednesday. The next was a girl from my college (Union class of ’95) who came over to my table at a restaurant.

Last was a guy I knew from Fellowship Bible Church back in the day. It took me a minute, because my reaction time has been a little off lately from not working, but I got there eventually.

All three of these happened in the span of about 10 days. All three were initiated by the other party. Each time was a complete and total surprise. I felt like a contestant on the old TV show, This Is Your Life, where they bring in random people from the past and you have to guess who it is.

This is normally where I make some super-spiritual analogy or make a relevant point about faith. But I’m still trying to figure out what it means. I know enough about faith and God to know that there are no coincidences in this life. Nothing happens by accident or happenstance. At the very least, these are all God-winks, those seemingly small moments of God breaking in to your normal.

Each time, I got a little tongue-tied because I was so taken aback and surprised, but each time I walked away encouraged and more hopeful. Maybe that was the point after all.

“But there’s one other thing I remember, and remembering, I keep a grip on hope: God’s loyal love couldn’t have run out, his merciful love couldn’t have dried up. They’re created new every morning. How great your faithfulness!” (Lamentations 3:21-23, The Message).

My favorite Hebrew word is in this passage. It’s hesed, commonly translated as lovingkindness or stedfast love. I heard from a great teacher that basically it’s when someone from whom you have the right to expect nothing instead gives you everything.

That’s my hope these days. I’m counting on the fact that God’s hesed hasn’t run out. Even though I have no right to expect that kind of faithful love, still I ask for it. I crave it like a fish craves water or birds crave the sky.

In this season of transition where I feel set adrift, I know that hesed means that I have a firm foundation, a strong anchor amidst the waves, a welcome audience to the heavenly throne room in my time of need. I know that despite my fear, I won’t be forgotten. God will remember, even if I forget.

Every morning is a reminder of God’s promises, especially that His mercies are daily renewed to me and will never come to an end. So I hold on to hope as Hope holds on to me.