Then he goes somewhere most podcasts won't. He tells the story of playing volleyball against Amish families, switching sides alone when no one else would, and what it revealed about how easily people dismiss what one person can do. About integrity not as a personality trait but as a daily practice — and what it costs when you skip it.
He talks about Christians who talk and talk and talk. About pastors who say hard things to crowds and soft things to faces. About the rocks crying out — and whether God is so tired of waiting on the church that he built the internet out of sand just to do it himself.
And then, past the thirty-minute mark, he plays the song he wrote for his six-year-old granddaughter. A song his late son Jonathan never got to hear sung — written six years before he died. A song that made three generations of women cry in a single afternoon.