This weekend was supposed to be different.
The plan was simple: Pack up the car, head to North Carolina, and take a detour through Clemson. Let Evan walk the campus he’s been dreaming about. Let him feel it — the energy, the possibility, the sense of belonging. Let him stand in a place that wasn’t built in spite of who he is but because of who he is.
But that trip isn’t happening. Not this weekend.
Last week, life threw us a curveball. My wife had a medical emergency. She cannot drive for some time now. We’re down to one road trip car and a cranky jeep
The finances aren’t where they need to be. The puzzle pieces that had to fall perfectly into place fell apart instead.
And I’m not going to sugarcoat it — it hurts. It stings in a way that’s hard to explain.
But here’s what’s also true:
Evan’s application to ClemsonLIFE is 99.99999% complete.
One document. One final recommendation we’ll pick up on the 17th. That’s all that’s left. After that, we hit “submit.” And then we wait. And then we find out if the door we’ve been knocking on for months — the door my son has dreamed of walking through — will finally open.
So no, we can’t make the trip this weekend.
But we’re still going.
The Real Cost of Hope
People love to talk about hope like it’s free. Like it’s this light, fluffy thing you can just grab onto without effort.
It’s not.
Hope costs something.
It costs the comfort of lowered expectations. It costs the protection of not wanting something too badly. It costs the luxury of staying numb when the plan falls apart — because when you actually believe something is possible, every obstacle, every setback, every “not yet” lands harder.
This week landed hard.
And yet, I’m choosing hope anyway. Not because the circumstances warrant it. Not because everything is falling into place. And definitely not because I have some supernatural ability to make the hard stuff feel lighter.
I’m choosing hope because hope isn’t a feeling. It’s a decision.
And this week, I’ve made that decision every single morning. Sometimes before I even got out of bed. Sometimes through gritted teeth. Sometimes with absolutely no evidence that it’s the rational choice.
“Now faith is confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see.” — Hebrews 11:1
What we do not see. That’s the key. What we don’t see yet.
The Kid Who Still Believes
Evan doesn’t know about the financial stress. He doesn’t know about the car situation or the medical bills or the obstacles piling up in the background.
What Evan knows is that his application is almost done.
What Evan knows is that Clemson is still the plan.
What Evan knows is that his dad hasn’t told him to aim smaller.
And I’m not going to. Not today. Not ever.
Because here’s what I’ve learned from my son: Evan has heard “no” more times than I can count. “No, you can’t do this.” “No, that’s not realistic.” “No, that’s not for kids like you.”
The world has tried, over and over, to define his ceiling for him.
And every single time, Evan has looked at that ceiling and decided it doesn’t apply to him.
At this point, I’m just trying to keep up with his faith.
For Everyone Carrying Something Heavy Today
Maybe you’re heading into a weekend that’s exactly what you need. Maybe it’s full of rest, laughter, and lightness. If that’s you, I’m so glad. Savor it.
But if you’re not — if you’re heading into this Friday carrying something heavy, something unresolved, something that feels like it’s demanding more than you have to give —
I want you to know you’re not alone.
Our trip didn’t happen. The money isn’t there. The pieces didn’t fall into place.
But the application is 99.9% complete.
And today, I’m choosing to plant my flag there.
Find your 99.9%. Find the one thing that’s still moving, still possible, still alive — even if everything else feels stuck. Plant your flag there. Not because the rest doesn’t matter, but because faith needs a place to stand.
We can’t always make the trip.
But we can keep going.
And sometimes — most of the time — that’s enough.
“For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” — Jeremiah 29:11
#EvanToClemson 🐅