I’ve been asking myself lately why I’ve done all of this.

I’ve been asking myself lately why I’ve done all of this.
Why, in 1989, I sat in the yard with a notebook computer, working while my son played nearby — but not really paying attention to him. Why I’ve poured 65 to 80 hours a week into work, every week, from college right up to now at age 67 — through Evergreen, ministry, and community service.

I can see the pattern stretching back decades.
In college, I juggled studying and part-time jobs because I thought that’s what it took to make something of myself. In 1993, I turned down a safe regional manager’s job because I wanted the freedom to build my own thing. I consulted for 26 years, worked in co-ops for 5, then left under a cloud. I started consulting again, built a WISP to $55K a month and 730 customers in two years, only to be dismissed by the majority owner for lack of fealty. Ninety days later, I started Evergreen — and I’ve been slogging ever since.

Somewhere along the way, I built my life around the belief that it was my job to build, to fix, to carry. That I should never settle for “good enough.” That if something needed to be done, I should be the one to do it — even if it meant giving up comfort, time, or relationships.

I’ve lost everything more than once, in cycles of 8 to 10 years. I’ve rebuilt more than once. And in between, I’ve driven myself with an intensity most people don’t understand — and maybe I don’t fully understand either.

If I’m honest, I think I’ve been chasing significance more than success. Trying to prove that what I build matters. That I matter. That I’m the kind of man who doesn’t walk away when things get hard, no matter how long it takes.

But lately I find myself wondering…
Can grace win over the cynicism I’ve picked up along the way?
Can purpose rise again from all the pain and loss?
Can light reframe what I’ve lost — and maybe even redeem it?

I don’t have those answers yet. But I know I’m still here, still building, still hoping. And maybe that’s where the next chapter starts.