Back when all my kids still lived at home:
Journal Entry, 2008

Tonight was our weekly family night—an evening dedicated to spending intentional time together, building relationships through shared activities and lessons. Ideally, it’s a tradition that strengthens our bonds. Realistically, it’s often the only family argument that opens and closes with a prayer (as Michael McLean once lamented). Still, we keep showing up for it. I believe the routine itself is doing quiet, meaningful work—helping our kids feel like they belong to something real and important as they grow up and prepare to face the world.

Tonight was especially rough. And honestly, I think I was the reason why. I didn’t feel like “playing.” I was in a bit of a slump—emotionally drained, head aching (a Law of Rhythm thing, perhaps). But since this tradition is so well-established, the kids started asking me what we were doing as usual. Hoping to ride out the headache first, I just said, “I don’t know yet.”

Nathan, who was 12 at the time, begged to go play dodgeball at the park—always a family favorite. Jacob, our 15-year-old, had too much homework, so we compromised: played in the backyard for a bit, then he returned to his studies while the rest of us headed off for more serious dodgeball battles at the park.

I slowly started loosening up. The headache faded into the background. Eventually, I got off the swing set (baby in arms) and joined the game. Holding the baby made me a bit of a target buffer—everyone went easy on me, and I even won a round. Sibling bickering still made its usual appearance, but overall, I think we had a great time.

Then came the twist.

When it was time to head home, we realized the van keys were locked inside. Nathan suggested we call Jacob to bring the spare—except that set had been lost months ago and never replaced. And Jacob couldn’t drive yet anyway.

Trevan suggested we pray. So we huddled together, and he asked God to somehow help us get the door unlocked so we wouldn’t have to walk a mile home. Then he added, “But if not, help us to enjoy the walk.”

The front passenger window was cracked open—about 2.5 inches. We first tried to see if any of the kids could squeeze their arms through to unlock the door. No luck.

Inside, we spotted a mechanic’s wire claw—about two feet long—resting on the dash in front of some books. I asked Trevan where the keys were; he said they were in the passenger cupholder, right in the center console. The claw was our only hope, but the window gap was so narrow, and the distance from the opening to the keys seemed too far for it to reach.

Still, it was all we had, so we got to work.

Nobody could reach the claw through the narrow opening. Kayli suggested using one of the badminton rackets we’d brought. We tried using it to pull up the lock—wrong angle. We tried nudging the claw closer, but a thick copy of Jane Eyre was in the way.

Trevan pulled the window down with force, giving me maybe another half inch of space. I still couldn’t reach the claw, but I could get to the fuzzy dash cover everything was sitting on. I pulled it toward me until the claw slid within reach.

Next challenge: using the claw to grab the keys.

We tried. Over and over. Every attempt came up about four inches short. We were so close! It was maddening. After all that effort—were we really going to come up short now?

Trevan realized that if someone could be lifted above the height of the van, their arm might angle in better through the window. But the only place to stand was the front wheel, and it was too far forward.

He tried first. Then Nathan. Then I took a turn.

I stood on the wheel, leaned 45 degrees over Trevan’s shoulder while he force-pulled the window down again. Nathan supported me from behind so I wouldn’t topple backwards. Inch by inch, I squeezed my arm in. Miraculously, my elbow made it through. I hooked the keyring with the claw and began to pull.

At one point it felt like my arm might snap before the keys made it out. But with some careful maneuvering, I did it. I pulled them free.

Cue the celebration.

After a round of high-fives, we paused to say a prayer of gratitude. Then we talked with the kids about what had just happened:

Everything we needed was already there.
We just had to ask for help, then start putting the pieces together in the right way.

Life is like that. You already have so many of the resources, people, and ideas you’ll need. The key is learning how to arrange them, combine them, and keep trying when it’s not obvious at first. It’s okay to feel stuck. It’s even okay to fail—because each failed attempt pushes you toward the next idea. The solution is often just one try further down the road.

What won’t help?
Panicking. Complaining. Giving up.

Solutions tend to show up for people who are peaceful, expectant, hopeful, and persistent.

So pray for what you need. Be open to “yes,” but also willing to accept “no” with grace. (“But if not, help us to enjoy the walk.”)
And then—get to work.

You may not have the keys yet to unlock everything you want in life, but I promise: you already have what you need to start moving toward them.

Sometimes the answer only becomes clear after a series of frustrating attempts. So keep going.

And if we had reached the point of total failure that night, we would have simply tightened our shoelaces and walked home. I’m just grateful we didn’t have to. In the end, I think family night was a success—not because of dodgeball, but because we were unified around a shared goal. And that only happened because of the adversity. (Thank you, Law of Polarity.)

And you know what? Solving that problem together ended up being ten times more satisfying than the best game of dodgeball ever could have been.

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