As I listened, a comment by a young female student stuck with me.  “I felt like you talked with us, instead of at us,” she said.

I’m sitting in a room with all females and we are getting to the part of the presentation I’m scared to engage in. There are seven females around a table and I’m two minutes away from talking about rape culture. Every neuron is firing in my brain screaming, “You are a white American male of European descent in his mid 30s; you should not be talking about this topic.”

7:00am in a dorm room at Marycrest International University in Davenport Iowa,

"Today I keep my promise," I say

An avid reader of Sunday Night with John posed a question to me at an event I was attending this weekend. She asked me do I think I will ever run out of ideas for blogs?

The text message joked about the roles we play at the river: the recluse, the academic, the super fan, and the tree hugger.  The text prompted the reply, “What is this? The Breakfast Pizza Club,” 

By Thursday of race week, he knew no one stepped up so he wouldn’t be able to run. After my update to him on Thursday my heart found its new location in my body, smack dab middle of my stomach.

My life of service has led me to understand the struggles of the less fortunate but my time at the homeless shelter has created a window into the real cost of struggle.

Yes, there has been a rough patch of violence, racism, and hate being thrown around, but there has to be more to the human race than this.