The Ex4mined L1fe

  Last night, I was paid a huge compliment at a parish reveal for a major school rehab (aka sell job). My role was simple: lead prayer, welcome people as a quasi-emcee, answer questions, and—per the job description—be eye candy. Those of you who know me, know I have a face for radio. A parish employee/parishioner from one of our three campuses pulled me aside and said what I did was beautiful and that it was obviously spoken from the heart. Then came the kicker: “You have a real knack for writing and speaking. Do you have a background in that?” Why Yes. Yes, I do. Driving home, I had one of those cinematic John Rambo flashback moments—slow motion, dramatic music, shirt optional—wondering where this so-called “gift” actually began. My writing career launched in high school, where I made my debut on the Freshman Edition of the Rockhurst High School Prep News . I wrote a controversial piece asking the hard-hitting journalistic question of our time: Do Track & Field weight men...

Yesterday, my aunt, who also happens to be our Learning Consultant and a former administrator, told me I made a good decision to hold a full day of school, even though several City & County Catholic schools chose to close or delay until 9:00 a.m.  Even though she was campaigning for a late start, etc. My response was simple: It was a decision. After 41 years in education, 26 of those in administration, I’ve learned one undeniable truth, you are not going to make everyone happy.  If I make parents happy, teachers and staff are often frustrated.  If I close school because teachers live far away, cars won’t start, or someone gets stuck on a side street, then parents are scrambling for childcare. So today, I made a decision. And I lived by it. I stood by it. And I did not second or third-guess myself. Here’s a little secret, pulling back the curtain like Dorothy did in The Wizard of Oz : I rarely make an important decisions alone. Most decisions are informed ones,...

Catholic Schools Week always invites us to tell our story—to celebrate faith, excellence, service, and community. It asks us to reflect not just on what we teach, but how we live what we teach. And this week, that reflection has come wrapped in snow boots, wind advisories, and the humbling force of nature. Somewhere between checking forecasts, scanning road conditions, and rereading calendar contingencies, there’s an internal administrator’s monologue that plays on repeat: Save the days. But save the people. February is coming. But so is tomorrow morning. What if we need these days later? What if someone doesn’t make it here safely today? It’s not dramatic—it’s daily. And it’s never just about school.  If I’m honest, there’s even a moment of gallows humor in it all. The part where I’m standing outside in sub-zero wind, bundled like a human marshmallow, smiling and waving while my eyelashes threaten to freeze together—thinking, Ah yes, this is leadership. Catholic Schools Week rem...

There is something undeniably magical about a snow day. The world quiets. Time stretches. Childhood memories resurface—pajamas that stay on too long, hot chocolate that tastes better simply because school is closed, and the unspoken permission to slow down. Snow days feel like grace. But when you sit in the seat of school administration, snow days are no longer just magic—they’re math, safety, stewardship, and discernment. Most schools only have a small handful of days built into the calendar—maybe three or four—before make-up days begin to steal weekends, spring breaks, or the fragile balance families rely on. And so, when a system like this current Snowmageddon rolls in—snow, ice, and dangerously low temperatures stretching from Friday into late Sunday night—an internal tug-of-war begins. Do we save the days for what February might bring, especially if the Almanacs are right and predict an above-average snowy month? Or do we do what feels immediately right—protecting students, fami...

  I’m sitting here prepping to be snowed in, trying to make alternative plans for Catholic Schools Week Open House—a make-or-break day for our registration efforts. I keep telling myself that once I make the momentous call (delay, pivot, pray harder), I’ll finally have time to catch up on blogging.  Or, more accurately, to drain the brain overflow. Amid snow forecasts and contingency plans, I fired off a text thread to the people who help me make the big decisions. Half-joking, I asked the Holy Spirit to intervene—this one needed divine clarity. Almost on cue, a familiar voice surfaced. One of my favorite priests (and former bosses) used to say:  “Spit in one hand, and put all your hopes, wishes, and wants of doing over—or doing better—in the other. Which one has substance in it?” That line landed harder than any weather alert.  So, for the sake of this blog, I’ll defer the snowy Open House decision and turn instead to the other things I tend to clutch tightly in tha...

I’ve been thinking about a thought that has followed me through different stages of life, usually arriving a little later than it should have: Just because I can doesn’t mean I should. As a kid, I rarely asked that question. As an adult, I ask it more often, sometimes out loud, sometimes while reaching for the antacids. As a 63-year-old man, I ask it while putting on a jacket I once swore I’d never need. The thought first came to mind while watching news clips of people interrupting church services, convinced that their constitutional right to free speech gives them permission to speak anywhere, anytime, and as loudly as they choose. Now, I’m no constitutional scholar, but I am fairly certain the Founders didn’t envision the Bill of Rights as a license to hijack other people’s sacred spaces. Rights are important. They matter. But they don’t float in a vacuum. They live inside relationships, communities, and what I like to call other people’s personal bubbles. Free speech protects us fr...

  If you read my post back in October, you know I have a minor obsession with Uranus, Missouri . Specifically, their "The Best Fudge Comes from Uranus" campaign. It’s the kind of marketing that makes HR departments sweat and middle-schoolers rejoice. If you thought the fudge was the only joke, the "Mayor" of Uranus (owner Louie Keen) has ensured the innuendo is structural. The Uranus Examiner: Their local news source. Their slogan? "The Best News to Come Out of Uranus." The Uranus Sideshow Museum  houses historical oddities, but its marketing often centers on "Seeing the wonders inside Uranus." The Putt-Putt Course: It’s not just mini-golf; it’s a chance to "Play around in Uranus." The "Number 2" Pencils: Sold in the general store, featuring a poop emoji and a warning that the eraser "leaves skid marks." The Police Force: Exists to “Protect and Serve Uranu...

  Let’s be honest: most of us treat our car owner’s manual like a Terms of Service agreement. We click "Accept" (by putting the car in Drive) and never actually read the fine print. But it turns out, your car is basically a high-tech Swiss Army knife with a bunch of "Easter Eggs" hidden by engineers who clearly had too much coffee and a whimsical sense of humor. From "secret" buttons to literally turning your dashboard into a fireplace, here is everything your car can do that you probably didn't know about. The "I’m Not an Idiot" Gas Arrow We’ve all been there. You pull into the gas station in a rental car, sweating because you don’t know which side the tank is on. You start doing that awkward neck-craning maneuver out the window. The Secret: Look at your fuel gauge. See that tiny triangle next to the pump icon? It points to the side of the car where the gas cap lives. The Humor: Engineers put this there specifically so we’d stop looking li...