Great Scott!

In Back to the Future, Doc Brown says the DeLorean time machine requires 1.21 gigawatts of power to activate the flux capacitor.

For context, that’s the output of a large nuclear power plant running at full tilt, enough to light up about 1 million homes.

Those numbers seemed like science fiction until I read that OpenAI and Nvidia are partnering to deploy at least TEN gigawatts for a data center.

Somebody tell Biff we’ve entered the future.

Big leaps — whether tech or personal — start with the spirit of “Let’s see what happens. It’s being willing to operate at a scale that feels slightly absurd, both in goals and the energy you invest.

Change always begins with imagination.

Ever thought about that pumpkin on your front porch?

It probably sprouted in Illinois.

The Prairie State rules the patch as the top grower, about four times more than any other. What’s the secret? The right climate and soil.

Many of their fields have well-draining soils, keeping pumpkins comfy and fungus-free. Also, local farmers have decades of experience combating diseases and pests.

The perfect partnership of earth and expertise, from their soil to your stairs.

Often, success means planting yourself in better ground. So, before pushing harder, pause and ask:

Is my environment helping me grow or stunting me?

A defining moment.

As a high school senior, I had a trumpet solo in our marching band show during the climax of the last song, “When You Wish Upon A Star.”

The whole band fell silent, leaving me completely alone under the stadium lights. It was the big closer, with no safety net, and the solo called for rapid-fire double-tonguing (iykyk) and an octave leap to a final high note.

Then came the first performance at a preseason game.

My playing chops weren't up to mid-season form, and when I got to the high part, my lips gave out like a limp noodle. I cracked the note. Tried again and missed worse.

My solo sounded like a goose dying, and I wanted the football field to swallow me. Take me home, Jesus.

Afterward, my band director and friends crowded around me with encouragement. But I was more mad than embarrassed.

Something clicked, and I swore that note would never, ever beat me again. I practiced harder and learned to pace myself throughout the show to conserve energy. And I built endurance I didn’t know I had.

From that day forward, in all future performances, I nailed it. Every single time.

Sometimes the only difference between failure and success is refusing to let one bad moment define you. Growth lives in the space between humiliation and determination.

Or to put it another way, victory is often born from the sour notes.

So now he has a cat.

My dad lives alone and can no longer drive. Feeling lonely, he talked about getting a dog, but we knew the demands of walks and play would be way too much.

Then along came Inky.

When my brother and sister-in-law visited an animal shelter, a gray kitten caught their eye. Two weeks ago he became a new family member. Now this tiny furball spends hours curled up on my dad's lap and fills every corner of the home with purrs.

I read how University of Georgia researchers discovered that older adults who foster cats show improvements in mental health.

Lap cat for the win.

There’s always a way.

The challenge: as a bagpipe player, how do you compete against guitar solos and drum drops?

The solution? “Free Bird.”

Ally Crowley-Duncan is the world’s most famous bagpiper, and her covers of the 1973 Lynyrd Skynyrd anthem have racked up over 100 million views.

As she builds her audience online, her festival calendar stays booked as one of the top-billed acts. Bagpipes didn’t suddenly become cool. Ally just figured out how to make them impossible to ignore.

When you walk into a crowded room, you have two choices: whisper and hope someone notices OR find your own “Free Bird.”

Take what makes you different and crank up the volume. Own it. The world doesn’t reward subtle.

When life gives you bagpipes, play rock.

Who knew a parking lot could be so romantic?

Today, driving Jess to the airport, we made an unplanned turn into a familiar church lot. Back in the mid-90s, this Norfolk congregation played our matchmaker.

They had no idea what they started.

We stared at our surroundings, amazed at how everything looked exactly the same. The building stood unchanged, and the scene felt frozen in time, like someone pressed pause in 1994 and forgot to hit play again.

God’s plan often unfolds in unique places. And that location will always be our chapter one.

So much has changed over the decades, but our beginning remains perfectly preserved.

How can you get better ZZZZ’s at night?

Sleep is like your body’s repair shop. Muscles mend. Immune systems regroup and strengthen. Hormones re-balance again.

During rest, your brain also works as a janitor and cleans out the neuron garbage.

Solid shuteye is critical to short and long-term health, but many people struggle with consistency.

To maybe help solve this, I just heard about the 3-2-1 trick:

• 3 hrs before bedtime, no more food

• 2 hrs before, avoid drinks

• 1 hr before, stop screen time

Sweet dreams in 3…2…1...

Maybe a timer can make you a superhero.

I recently learned about “The Pomodoro Technique” for productivity, invented by Francesco Cirillo.

Here’s how it works:

• Pick one task and commit to it

• Set a timer for 25 minutes — this is called a “Pomodoro”

• Work without stopping on just this one thing

• Take a 5-minute break — stand, stretch, pet the dog

• Repeat — after four Pomodoros, enjoy a longer rest of 15–30 minutes

This simple but brilliant strategy keeps you from a mental traffic jam. And over time, the cycle trains your brain to dive into projects and treat concentration as a muscle.

Sometimes, focus just needs a stopwatch.

Nature is a brilliant engineer.

I came across this interesting quote from Gretchen Rubin: “The bird, the bee, and the bat all fly, but they use different wings.”

This got me thinking:

• Bird feathers overlap like shingles, catching air and turning it into lift

• Bees twist their wings in a figure-eight, like tiny helicopters

• Bat wings are skin stretched over fingers, giving them acrobatic precision

Three unique designs.

Birds soar on lift. Bees buzz with speed. Bats spin with agility. Each conquers the sky in its own way.

What’s the life lesson? Use the approach and tools that work best for you, because the method doesn’t matter if you’re flying.

Who cares if you glide, spin, or zigzag?

The scale never lies, even for dogs.

Cali had her annual vet visit today. Last year, they said she was overweight, but her measured meals made the reason a mystery.

When asked about treats, we explained how we gave her Milk Bones, maybe 2-3 per day.

No biggie, right?

But the doctor smiled and said, “Did you know one Milk Bone is equal to a Big Mac for humans?”

Wait. What? Milk Bones, bye bye.

Fast-forward one year, and our fluffy girl is down 8 pounds and counting. We’ll stay strong for her long-term health.

But it’s not always easy when she gives us those eyes.

A strange question hit me recently.

How do peacocks survive among predators such as coyotes? Is it me, or do they seem like a walking buffet, especially with all their flamboyant plumage?

Surprisingly, their explosion of feathers confuses attackers. The “eye spots” and colorful display make the bird appear larger.

Coyotes often back off when something looks big or threatening.

There’s a life lesson in those feathers.

It’s easy to believe we should blend in, that camouflage equals safety. But the peacock teaches a different truth. Rather than shrinking, the creature expands into its full, brilliant self.

Don’t hide your true colors. Instead of wishing you had someone else’s strengths, master the ones you have.

Your plumage is your power.

Something new, something old.

The new...

Today we piled into cars and drove to an indoor pickleball gym. This was a first-time experience for many of us. We rented four courts and competed for two hours, coached by family members who play regularly. No wonder it’s the fastest-growing sport in the country. What a blast.

The old...

After songs and stories by the fire pit, we watched the original High School Musical in the home theater. It brought back the memories, circa 2006, since I viewed it 5,000,000 times when the kids were little. The showing turned into a midnight party as everyone danced and belted out the “We’re All in This Together” finale.

Pickleball gave us sore arms; HSM gave us sore throats.

Now it’s out.

And Mia and Papa were in on the surprise.

This afternoon, we gathered the whole family on the porch, saying Mia and Papa wanted to share a few words.

Nothing suspicious at all.

With loved ones crowded around, they expressed gratitude that we came together for their special anniversary weekend.

But there was also another purpose.

Papa asked me to pray. All part of the plan.

And I had a big prayer waiting.

As I thanked God for their 50-year legacy, I covered every branch of the family tree… their children, in-laws, grandchildren… and then… their upcoming great-grandchild.

Lightning bolt.

It was the first time the extended family had heard anything about this new addition, and I sneaked that little detail right into my blessing.

The room erupted before I could say, “Amen.”

Some love stories get a sequel.

Today we watched Jess’s parents renew wedding vows for their 50th anniversary. On a dock by Lake Norman, their children, in-laws, and grandchildren surrounded them, each a part of the celebration.

One played guitar. The younger girls read scripture. Another handled the video and special music. As bridesmaid, McKenzie scattered flower petals as she walked in. Then Jess’s brothers escorted their mother to her waiting husband.

I had the honor of saying a few words while the sun slowly faded over the water. We closed with pictures and dinner.

Congrats Mia and Papa! You’re what love looks like.

I can’t wait for the threequel in 2075.

Today marked Day 1 of an unforgettable weekend party.

Our family gathered to honor Jess’s parents on their 50th anniversary. Loved ones rolled in from Denver, Atlanta, Virginia Beach, Norfolk, Boston, Richmond, and Williamsburg.

By the time we counted heads, twenty-five of us filled one enormous rental property on North Carolina’s Lake Norman.

The place had a name — The Gray Fox — and offered three stories of fun right on the water. It included a dock, pool, waterslide, hot tub, ping-pong table, and fire pit. Also paddle boards and a kayak.

Inside, every room revealed more surprises. Bunk beds each had a personal TV and headphones. Downstairs turned into a competition zone with a pool table and a PlayStation 5.

Yet nothing topped the crown jewel of the house. Tucked away in its own corner stood a full-blown movie theater. A massive screen. A projector. Three rows of cushioned leather seats, fifteen in all.

We came for the lake but stayed for the surround sound.

What is the perfect pop song?

Someone recently tossed out a contender: Hanson’s “MMMBop.”

That one wasn't even on my short list. But there’s a good argument. Released in 1997, the track climbed to number one and even earned two Grammy nominations, including Record of the Year.

Its unusual chord shifts are far more complex than most bubblegum pop. And there are no wasted bars in its runtime.

Definitely worth a deeper listen.

What's my pick for a masterful tune? So many, but how about Queen’s “Bohemian Rhapsody” or Ambrosia’s “Biggest Part of Me”?

Just throwing a couple out there.

This changed everything.

Back in college, I discovered the ultimate life hack for reading scripture: The One Year Bible.

Every day presented passages from the Old and New Testaments, along with a Psalm and Proverb. Following the daily plan helped me finish the Good Book in a single year. I felt so modern and efficient.

But now, something new has arrived… the AI Bible.

A company called Pray.com is using generative AI to turn biblical stories into ten-minute cinematic films. Before animations are created, pastors and theologians review the scripts.

The goal is to reach people (especially younger or non-Christian audiences), hoping to spark curiosity and further reading. Creators describe it as “edu-tainment.”

Maybe my next Bible will come with popcorn.

Who’s coming to dinner?

In a recent interview, someone asked actress Julia Roberts who she would invite for a dream night out.

She wisely started with her husband. Then came Jesus, Joni Mitchell, Virginia Woolf, Van Morrison, and her best friend from high school.

This got me thinking about my guest list.

Jesus is my #1 pick, followed by a roundup of history’s most destructive leaders. This includes Hitler, Stalin, Mao Zedong, and Kim Il Sung.

The thought of them gathered around Jesus intrigues me. I'd love to hear the dialogue and watch the way truth might land. A chance for each one to encounter God, with lots of heavy conversation. An evening I wouldn’t want to miss.

If I wanted a more relaxed dinner, not including my family (always my first choice), then I’d bring in longtime buddies I haven’t seen in years: Chris, Allen, Randall, Trent, Jon, Scott, and Mark, to name a few.

The meal would be all inside jokes and stories retold for the tenth time.

Both lists remind me that who sits around the table matters more than what’s served.

I squeezed five years of college out of four.

That wasn’t my master plan since I didn’t particularly enjoy school, outside of the friendships.

My freshman year was at UNC-Charlotte, followed by two years of commuting from Burlington to UNC-Greensboro.

During my last semester at UNCG, something stirred in me. Ministry caught my interest. A few conversations and connections later, I found myself transferring to a small campus in northeast Georgia called Emmanuel. A big leap, but a good one.

That two-year program stands out as my favorite. I learned so much, surrounded by people who shaped me in lasting ways. Many of those connections remain strong even now.

After Emmanuel, doors opened once again, this time leading to a three-year master's degree at Regent University in Virginia Beach. I never planned on such a winding path, but life has a way of redirecting steps.

Looking back, the journey feels like a series of side roads which turned into destinations. Every shift, every unexpected choice, carried me closer to where I was meant to be.

And all those educational adventures finally led me to Jessica while at Regent. Today, more than 30 years later, we live about an hour from the campus.

Emmanuel gave me friendships, but Regent gave me Jess.

Who knew detours could be so scenic?

Growing up in the South, Steve was the most southern guy I knew.

I met him when I was sixteen, working my first job at Mr. C’s Car Wash. On slow days he’d fill the time with dirty jokes. And while his humor could be rough around the edges, his heart was pure gold.

Steve had a generosity of spirit to go along with his country accent. His drawl made every story sound better, and the cowboy boots and big truck sealed his legend.

Even after I left that job, we regularly grabbed meals together. Steve once drove to see me when I moved to Virginia Beach, and while there, he dragged me to a saddlery store where they sold Western wear. It was like walking into a John Wayne film.

Years later, he stood beside me as a groomsman in my wedding. His gift to me? A book full of erotic photographs, telling me with a wink that it would prepare me for marriage. Classic Steve.

Sixteen years ago, he suddenly passed away from a heart attack. The call hit hard, and my world dimmed.

Every time I pass that saddlery store, I think of Steve. And for a moment, I’m riding shotgun in his truck once again.