I thought I was going to die when I was 21. And I was convinced that something I loved had killed me.

Kayaking was my favorite thing to do in college until it wasn’t. On Sundays my friends and I would paddle down the Saluda River. When I look back now those were some of the most peaceful times in my life. I had very little to worry about back then, and being on the river was good for my soul.

On Labor Day weekend in 2013, we did what we had often done. A large group of us paddled down the river in an act of Sabbath rest. After hours on the water that day I came back to my dorm to study for a test. The next day I took that test and left with my head spinning. My first thought was that my Greek test had done a number on me!

I laid down to rest and woke up hours later in a hospital. I didn’t know it then but my life had changed forever. I was convinced that my kayaking trip had given me a mysterious illness that caused me to pass out and wake up with needles in my arm. It’s a story for another time, but even after I learned more about my illness I blamed that kayaking trip. Surely the Saluda River, where I had spent those Sabbath days, had made me sick.

I’ll save the rest of that story for a later time, but I did learn more about that illness. I found out its name. I found out that kayaking had nothing to do with it. But I also found out that Sabbath rest could be found within it. On the surface this may sound like a sad story. But it isn’t. This is just a happy story about hard things.

God has seen fit to make these kinds of stories part of my life story. Since that day on the Saluda River I have lots of stories that would probably make you sad at first. But hidden within hard stories are stories of steadfastness. Stories that James of the Bible calls “pure joy” (James 1:2-4).

When I was 21 I was the only one of my friends with this kind of story, and I felt utterly alone. I can’t tell you how many times doctors or nurses have said something like “Aren’t you pretty young to be in here?” But as I’ve gotten older I’ve learned that you have these stories too. I am not alone in hard things, and neither are you.

In 2026 on this Substack I’ll be sharing these happy stories about hard things with you. Some are short, and some are long. But they’re all about how a good God turns hard things purposeful.

I hope that you’ll join me next year sometimes. My stories are mostly about my illness, how it has affected my body and mind, and how I’ve had to learn that my health is not God. Your hard stories may be related to something completely different. But I know that you have them, and I know that God has a purpose for them.

Thank God for stories. I can’t wait to share mine with you. And I’d love to hear yours sometime.

Until next time,

-Mitch

But I’m not going to. Because recently I’ve learned that saying thank you is a whole lot better than saying “I’m sorry.”

At least it is for me.

When I was 21, I got sicker than I have ever been. It was a sickness that affected both my body and my mind, and in a very real sense, it has stuck with me for the past 11 years. My body has slowly felt better over time, as has my mind. But one thing has been far more difficult to shake.

I am constantly seeking forgiveness. “I’m sorry” has become one of the most rapidly recurring phrases in my lexicon. I’ll apologize for being sick, or missing out, or letting someone down, or not measuring up, and the list goes on and one. To my friends, or my family, or to God. I’m always sorry.

But there is a much better way. Because recently through the love of people close to me, I’ve realized that “I’m sorry” isn’t the proper response in these situations. The truth is that my “I’m sorry” comes from a compulsive need to be reassured. It is a selfish knee jerk to keep myself safe and out of harm’s way. A plea to “please love me” to the people who already do.

My compulsion to apologize is a trick from the accuser. The one who loves to say “God doesn’t love you anymore. It all depends on you.” The one who is also, by God’s grace, a defeated foe.

My point isn’t that we should never apologize. Of course we should seek forgiveness for sin and wrongdoing.

My point is simply that we often beg for forgiveness when we ought to just say thank you. I felt compelled to write to you tonight because I don’t think I’m alone in this. I think that maybe you too sometimes ask for forgiveness where it’s already been freely given. What if we replaced our sorrow with gratitude?

Instead of “I’m sorry for letting you down” what if we start with “Thank you for loving me.”

A few years ago I wrote a little poem and God brought it to mind recently. I want to share it with you here:

“My Bad”

Today I apologized to God.

I’m sorry, God, for being so sad.

I’m sorry, God, for being so broken.

I’m sorry, God, for being so sick.

I’m sorry, God, that I’m so hard to love.

I apologized. And God answered.

“Mitch, you’re not guilty because you’re sad.

You’re blessed because you mourn.

You’re not guilty because you’re broken.

I am near to the broken-hearted.

You’re not guilty for being sick.

Your soul is being renewed day by day.

I don’t love you because

you’re happy

you’re unbroken

you’re healthy

I love you because I choose to. That’s more than enough.”

Tomorrow I’ll just say thank you.

I wanted to say I’m sorry that I’ve been gone for so long. But for now I’ll just say thanks for reading.

Nikki’s podcast also rules every week, so if you’re a podcast listener you should take a moment to subscribe wherever you get your podcasts, and you can listen right here:

I’d love it if you gave it a listen and shared it with a friend.

I’ll have a brand new blog post on Sunday. See you then!

- Mitch

Rafting, like a lot of things in life, is simple:

Just paddle.

Unfortunately “simple” doesn’t always mean “easy.” An action like paddling is predictable, but rivers are not. Sometimes water moves faster than you expected. Sometimes currents are stronger than you thought. Sometimes the group you’re responsible for all fall out and teenagers cry and throw up and the maid of honor from your wedding breaks her tailbone. Just for example.

But no matter what, the action is always the same:

Just paddle.

I think about rafting a lot because I live by a big river and I get to go in the summer months. (By the way - I’m certainly not a rafting expert, and if you are, you’re going to hate this post. I understand that there’s more to guiding a rafting trip than “just paddle.” Hang with me).

I also think about whitewater rafting sometimes because it has a lot in common with spiritual pain. Often we’re cruising along with no worries in our faith journey, and all of a sudden the water gets as murky as the Chattahoochee River. Or maybe, you’ve been cruising in your faith journey and you happen upon a “class 5 rapid” of sorts.

You lose a loved one.

You deal with chronic illness.

You’re hurt by someone close to you.

God feels distant.

And often in the midst of our rapids, we forget to paddle. Instead, we respond in other ways:

1. We fight. We swing wildly with our paddles at the waves. And even if we propel some water, we often hit other people in the raft and cause more damage in our wake.

2. We bail. In the midst of pain and darkness, sometimes it’s easy just to jump ship. To stop paddling altogether and sink beneath the waves. Some will get back on the raft eventually. But all too often, many don’t.

3. We freeze. We drop our paddles and stare at the rapid. The problem, of course, is that this doesn’t make the rapid go away.

4. We plead. “Please Mr. River, please don’t hurt me. I promise I’ll never go rafting again if you just spare me.” To be fair, I haven’t tried this one. But I have a feeling it wouldn’t work. Jesus calmed rough waters, but He did it with authority. Pleading ain’t it.

So in the midst of a dark night or a “rapid” if you will, what do we do?

We paddle. Because even if the rapids are scary or unknown, your Guide is in the rapids (or the darkness) with you. And here’s the other thing:

The rapids are why we go rafting! There’s a reason you opted for the rapids instead of the lazy river. The rapids are the best part! And just like that, often the best stuff we learn about God happens in the midst of the unknown (or even painful) parts of our spiritual journey. God so often teaches us in the most unlikely places. Psalm 112:3 speaks to this regarding the “righteous man”:

“Light dawns in the darkness for the upright; he is gracious, merciful, and upright.”

God loves to teach us in the darkness. This is where our ideas about God go from big to bigger. It’s scary. But on the other side, it’s worth it.

So the next time we’re cruising in our faith journey, let’s make a deal.

Don’t fight.

Don’t bail.

Don’t freeze.

Don’t plead.

Just paddle. The Guide’s got you. And He’s better than you think.

I feel the peace of God when I drive my car. For whatever reason, for years and years, the driver’s seat of my car has been the place where I commune with God in prayer and quiet contemplation. My favorite drive is one that I’ve been driving for 15 years now. It’s a quiet drive through the pine trees of Georgia between my childhood home and the next town over. I feel calmer just thinking about it.

So you can imagine my concern when in the midst of my peaceful drive a few weeks ago, I was rudely interrupted by a big orange sign. “ROAD CLOSED,” it said, “USE DETOUR.” Unfortunately for me, the “detour” in question was to backtrack about 15 miles. So backtrack I did. I was excited in a way. Sometimes a detour is scenic and serene. Then again, sometimes it’s dark and unknown.

I’ve been thinking a lot about that roadblock recently. I’ve been dealt a bit of a roadblock in life this summer in the form of a PTSD diagnosis. And in turn, I’ve had to take a bit of a detour. This time, instead of backtracking 15 miles from a big orange sign, I’m backtracking from a job that I loved and plans that I felt excited for.

My summer detour has been one of those that’s more dark and unknown. It’s what old theologians like to call a “dark night of the soul.” One in particular, St. John of the Cross, coined the phrase. Though painful, John says that God uses this period to purify us into deeper love. Gerald May summarizes it nicely:

“The deepening of love is the real purpose of the dark night of the soul. The dark night helps us become who we are created to be: lovers of God and one another.”

Perhaps it’s a bit easier said than done! In the midst of pain, I often just want it to be over. But this summer I’ve come to understand my pain more intimately. If it will lead me to a deeper love for God and for my neighbor, I will gladly lean in.

I think you’re probably on a bit of a detour too. The truth is that we almost always are. Things don’t typically work out the way that we expect them to. The Bible is pretty clear about this:

“The heart of man plans his way, but the Lord establishes his steps.”

Proverbs 16:9

And ultimately isn’t that good news? Whether you’re on a scenic detour or a dark and unknown one, Christian, the Lord is establishing your steps.

It would seem we have two choices. We can begrudgingly embark on our detour with resentment and grumbling. Or we can thank God for the roadblock. An opportunity to grow deeper in love for God and each other. I’m learning more and more to choose the latter.

When I was 6 years old I discovered that I like to write. For a contest at my school, I wrote a short story about a ladybug that falls into a pit. While she’s wallowing in self-pity, a horned beetle comes by and rescues her by lowering his horn into the pit and helping her up. He makes some remark about how they can be friends even though they don’t look alike. The End.

Not too bad for a 6-year-old right? It was also deeply inspired by/stolen from the Pixar masterpiece A Bug’s Life. My relatives at Thanksgiving were amazed. For 25 years I’ve thought that I won a contest. I recently found out that like 6 other kids from my class also “won” the contest. Kind of a bummer.

I kept writing little stories in my free time though. My favorite was about a young boy who lives under a staircase and learns he’s a wizard overnight. That one did VERY well at Thanksgiving until I discovered what plagiarism is. Definitely a bummer.

But then I stopped writing. Publicly, anyway. I’ve had notes on my phone and little thoughts jotted down in Moleskine notebooks forever, but I’ve never shared them with anyone. And it’s because of a little conundrum that I’ve learned a lot of writers have.

There’s a constant ping-pong match in my mind between two extremes. The first player says “I’ve got a great idea that everyone needs to hear about.” But the second player says “I’ve got nothing for anyone.” And the second guy is very good at ping-pong. Like “had a table in the basement growing up” good. In my case, he’s been winning the match for close to 20 years.

But recently I’ve been reconsidering. Because the truth is that I don’t have something for everyone. I don’t even have something for most people. But what if I’ve got something for one person? And what if today, that person in you?

I think that would be enough for me. So welcome to “Growing Pains”. A little newsletter about growth, even when it hurts. I’m Mitch. I’d love for you to join me.