Twenty-Two Years

Hey Beloved—

As we head off to the weekend, I wanted to share this story…

22 years ago today, everything changed.
It was Friday, September 12, 2003.
I was 18 years old, playing quarterback for Marshfield High on the Oregon Coast.

One play. One planted foot. One hit from behind.
And in an instant, my knee exploded.

It tore every ligament.
It burst an artery.
Compartment syndrome.
Over ten surgeries. 5 Weeks in the hospital and even more weeks bedridden at home.

A future that looked nothing like the one I had imagined.
Every day since, I’ve carried it—the limp, the pain that still flares, the scars that don’t go away.

Those scars and that pain are reminders.
And that’s why today, on this anniversary, I pause a little longer—to reflect a little deeper, and even to rejoice that my identity isn’t in what was broken, but in the grace of the One Who Makes All Things Work Together For Good.

It’s strange, isn’t it—how one moment can echo for decades.

People sometimes ask if I wonder, “What if?”
What if that play had gone differently?
What if I didn't get hurt?
What if I’d kept playing?

I’ve learned that “what if” can be dangerous when it looks backward.
It traps you in regret or in stories that never happened.

But “what if” can be holy when it looks forward.

What if I lean more deeply into belovedness?
What if presence matters more than performance?
What if I pursue that dream/vision?
What if the scars I carry could become signs of grace instead of reminders of loss?

That kind of grace asks something of me.
It feels like an invitation—to steward even the broken pieces.

Not to erase them,
but to tend them with care,
and to let them point beyond me.

That word—stewardship—has become a compass.
Not ownership.
Not escape.
But stewardship.

And maybe that’s the heart of redemptive hospitality, too.

We don’t get to choose every part of the story.
We don’t always get to fix the pain or erase the past.
But we do get to show up with presence.
We do get to create space for healing and hope.
We do get to bring salt to the table—
to preserve what matters,
to flavor the ordinary,
to say with our lives: it’s okay to give a damn..

So today, I’m remembering.
Not the “what if” of the past.
But the “what if” of what’s still ahead.

Appreciate you all!
Nathan