So this is gonna be a little bit of a different kind of post I guess, I’m right now driving to get some food and I’m just using voice to text to dictate this out. I guess I kind of wanted to somewhat document how buying a house has been, and I guess just in line with everything else that I do here just venting a little bit to put down my thoughts somewhere else. Buying a house has been pretty stressful, but right now the stress that I’m dealing with is actually moving in. There’s a lot of different things that I’ve had to kind of do that are coming off guard, like right now the big problem is the water heater is just not working consistently, I have to sometimes get it working by running a diagnostic code and then turning on the sink and kitchen faucets on hot at the same time for a little bit and then the hot water heater kicks in. I think this is something that can get fixed by talking with like some plumber or something like that and I think that the one you’re home insurance that comes with buying the house should cover pork I think so it shouldn’t be like a horrible co-pay but it still is like $100 probably. It’s also weird because I have to figure out all the existing things that they have such as fuel electrical work for all of the Internet of things stuff. On top of it there are some issues with the Wi-Fi because I don’t actually know where the fiber box is, but they have like a networking closet and so I was able to figure out which wire it was for that with my dad‘s help and then get my Internet working. I also haven’t unpacked anything really yet other than just a bare bear essentials like bathroom stuff to brush and my bed. I don’t even have my computer set up yet. It’s pretty lonely also in the house once E left. I’m also stressed because I’m right now leaving Hash alone for the first time in the new place and I really hope that he’s OK, because I really need him to be able to feel comfortable enough being home alone so that I can do stuff like go to work. I’m pretty stressed I don’t know if I’ve mentioned that before ha ha. There’s also other stuff like random existing electronics that I need to somehow put into my name like the blink camera on the front door doesn’t seem to let me connect to it pretty easily which is gonna be an interesting thing to deal with, and then what’s it called there’s also trouble with the carpet. While moving in a bit of the carpet ripped which really fucking sucks, and then on top of it Hash threw up three different times on the carpet and so there’s a little bit of a stain in one of the spots now. That makes me consider changing to a different kind of floor, but it’s a whole other hassle there.

A while back, the marketing people were talking about “friction” a lot. I can’t remember if this was before or after they were talking about “pain points.” Either way, friction in this context means things that slow you down, that make it hard for you to get stuff done. (I believe online shopping was the prime example here—like every click that stands between you and the “complete purchase” button is friction.)

I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately because there is SO MUCH friction everywhere now. My stupid TV just updated its OS and now if I don’t like, immediately choose what I want to watch, it starts an AI-generated video of a “cozy coffee shop” accompanied by soothing, AI-generated music. If any member of my family is in the room when this happens, we fly into a rage, which I don’t think is the intended effect.

Speaking of TV, it’s now rife with friction as all the services I paid for because they didn’t have ads are now showing me ads. I tried some sketchy IPTV services, but they freeze up all the damn time, which is actually more annoying than watching ads.

My phone rings: friction. I have to check it every time because there’s a small chance it’s an urgent communication regarding a loved one who’s in poor health. Between one and three times per day, it’s a spam call.

Check my texts: friction. Spam texts come in at a rate of about one per day. More if you count Democratic party fundraising texts. I’ve never once clicked on one, but they just keep coming.

Do a quick web search: friction. Wade through ads and AI slop to try and find some information, only to be fundamentally unsure if the info I’ve found is right or not.

Try to pay my bills: friction. 2-factor authentication necessary to pay most of my bills. (No idea why this is necessary. If you’d like to pay my bills, I will happily give you my login info.)

Mortgage company was just sold to another mortgage company: friction. Old login doesn’t work and neither does the new one. Have to reset my password every month. Could probably be resolved with a quick phone call, but thus far my attempts to get a phone number by talking to the AI chatbot have been unsuccessful.

I could go on—pretty much every aspect of modern life involves either being vigilant against people trying to scam you or being annoyed with ads or having to jump through stupid hoops they just put up. Sometimes it’s actually all three at once, which is a ton of fun.

I think “friction” is actually a pretty good metaphor for this stuff, because friction creates heat. And so because the things that should be easy and the things that used to be easy are no longer easy, we’re in a constant state of irritibility and discontent.

Because life is hard enough! Pretty much every family always has SOMETHING going on that is making life more difficult. And yet they’re using up all our patience on trying to log in to pay our electric bill.

Popular wisdom is that the American people are too comfortable to ever rise up en masse and demand change. Maybe that’s true. But every day we get less comfortable. Every day our overlords push us to see what they can take from us, how they can make our lives just a little bit more difficult. And so every day the fundamental level of comfort that stops revolutionary activity is eroded for everyone in this country.

Just something to think about.

Up Next

Late games like tonight's cause me to adjust my schedule. If I stay up late enough to follow this game to the end, which I fully intend to do, my brain will be too fogged to give my night prayers the attention they deserve. So I'll do some of them earlier in the evening, probably before the pregame show, and finish the rest during halftime. GO HOOSIERS!

And the adventure continues.

There are moments when a single sentence becomes something more than words. It becomes a turning point. A shift. A declaration that reorders the terrain beneath your feet. And as strange as it sounds, sometimes the simplest sentence can carry the weight of heaven. For me, it’s this: My name is Douglas Vandergraph, and I believe in Jesus Christ. At first glance it feels plain. Straightforward. Almost introductory. But the more I sit with it, the more I realize it isn’t a statement—it’s a threshold. A key. A doorway into the kind of identity that doesn’t shift with weather or culture or doubts. It’s a grounding line in a world that drifts, a stabilizing force in a life that sometimes wobbles beneath the pressure of being human.

When I speak that sentence aloud, the air around it changes. Not because of my name—we all carry names stitched to memory and lineage—but because of the second half. That’s where the gravity is. That’s where the soul stands up a little straighter. That’s where the deep part of me remembers that faith is not a theory or a tradition or a nostalgic echo from childhood. It’s a lifeline. A compass. A place to set my feet when everything else is noisy and uncertain. Saying I believe in Jesus Christ doesn’t announce perfection. It doesn’t claim to have everything figured out or mastered. It simply acknowledges the One I trust when nothing else in the world seems trustworthy. It acknowledges the One who steadies my breathing when life comes in too fast. It acknowledges the One who has never once walked away from me even on days when I wasn’t sure how to walk toward Him.

But what strikes me most isn’t the sentence itself. It’s what that sentence does to the human heart. When you say you believe in Jesus Christ, you’re saying you believe in the One who meets you exactly where you are but refuses to leave you there. You’re saying you believe in the kind of love that doesn’t evaporate when you fail, the kind of grace that doesn’t shrink back when you’re overwhelmed, the kind of hope that outlives your weariness. People think belief is something that happens on Sundays, in pews, in sanctuaries lit by soft light and choir voices. But belief is built in the quiet corners of real life—late-night wrestling with fear, early-morning questions about purpose, the long desert stretches where you wonder if God still sees you or if maybe He’s moved on to someone more qualified, more spiritual, more consistent.

Belief is not the instant victory moment. It is the slow forming of trust through seasons where you keep showing up even when you feel small. If anything, belief grows deeper not in our strength, but in our weakness. When the world applauds, belief barely budges. But when the world collapses, belief reaches for you like a hand pulling you out of deep water. It’s in those moments you discover faith isn’t an accessory—it’s a survival instinct of the soul.

There are times in my own journey where I’ve quietly wondered if faith was supposed to feel bigger. Brighter. Flashier. But what I’ve learned is that Jesus rarely works through spectacle. He works through substance. Through consistency. Through the subtle shifts in your inner landscape where you suddenly realize the panic that used to control you doesn’t have the same power anymore. The anger that used to erupt so easily doesn’t rise as quickly. The fear that used to paralyze your decisions now has cracks where light gets in. These changes don’t happen because you finally became spiritually impressive. They happen because the One you believe in is remaking you from the inside out.

And that’s why the sentence matters. My name is Douglas Vandergraph, and I believe in Jesus Christ. It’s not a performance piece. It’s not a branding statement. It’s not some curated phrase polished for applause. It’s an identity anchored in Someone who does not shift. The world asks you to believe in trends, strategies, and self-constructed narratives. It tells you to trust your own strength even when you’re exhausted, to trust your own understanding even when your understanding has led you in circles, to trust your own resilience even when your resilience has been frayed to threads.

Belief in Jesus Christ isn’t about having stronger self-confidence. It’s about having deeper God-confidence. And that confidence gives you permission to release the weight of being your own savior. It gives you space to be human without collapsing under the pressure to be superhuman. It gives you a place to rest when your own answers run out, because He never runs out of wisdom or compassion or direction.

One of the most overlooked aspects of believing in Christ is how deeply personal it becomes. We often talk about faith in grand terms, as if it only lives in stories of miracles or dramatic testimonies. But the foundation of belief is built brick by brick in moments that would look unremarkable from the outside: those mornings you wake up discouraged but choose to pray anyway; the afternoons when anxiety tries to tighten your breathing, yet you whisper His name and find your lungs expanding; the late hours when loneliness presses in, and you reach for Scripture not because you expect fireworks but because you need something to hold onto that doesn’t crumble. These moments matter. These moments are where belief becomes muscle.

But here’s the thing most people never say out loud: belief doesn’t always feel like belief. There are days where your faith feels like thin paper, days where your prayers feel unheard, days where you’re convinced you should be further along. And yet, those are often the days when faith is doing its deepest work. You may feel like you’re barely holding on, but what you forget is that Jesus is not asking you to hold the whole world together. He’s asking you to trust that He’s holding you. You don’t have to carry the full weight of belief. You just have to show up. You just have to lean in. You just have to allow Him to be who He has always been.

And that’s where the story begins to shift. Because believing in Jesus means your life has another voice speaking into it besides your own doubts. It means you’re not defined by your worst moment or your biggest fear. It means your story has direction even when you can’t see the path. God doesn’t discard people. He rebuilds them. He reshapes them. He breathes life into places that once felt dead. And the beautiful thing is that He often does this work quietly, beneath the surface, where your insecurity can’t sabotage it.

I’ve learned something through the years: the strength of your faith isn’t measured by how loudly you declare it but by how gently it keeps you standing. The loudest faith is often the weakest. But the faith that whispers through storms, the faith that chooses Jesus when the world gives you a thousand alternatives, the faith that steadies your soul when everything around you is shaking—that’s the faith that transforms a life.

So when I say I believe in Jesus Christ, I’m really saying that my faith is not built on my performance, but on His presence. I’m saying I’ve known moments where I’ve reached the end of myself and discovered He was waiting there with a grace that didn’t lecture me, a peace that didn’t demand qualifications, and a love that didn’t need me to be impressive. And if you’ve ever stood at the edge of your own strength, wondering what happens next, let me tell you: that edge is not an ending. It’s an invitation.

Belief begins where self-reliance ends. And when Jesus steps into that gap, everything changes—not always instantly, not always dramatically, but always deeply. You begin to walk differently. You begin to hope differently. You begin to speak differently. You begin to see the world not as a battlefield where you are outnumbered, but as a place where God has already placed victory beneath your feet long before you could see it.

And this is where the heart of this legacy article takes shape: When a simple sentence becomes a calling, everything in your life gains new meaning. You are no longer drifting. You are no longer guessing. You are no longer defined by the chaos around you. You are defined by the Christ within you. And that identity is strong enough to weather any storm, steady enough to navigate any season, and gentle enough to lift you when you stumble under the weight of your own humanity.

But here’s the deeper truth most people never explore: when you say you believe in Jesus Christ, you are stepping into a lineage of believers who walked through fire, wilderness, heartbreak, and impossible odds, and still refused to let go of the One who held them. You are stepping into the story of people who had every reason to quit but didn’t. People who doubted but still followed. People who felt unqualified but still answered the call. This faith is not a fragile heirloom passed down through generations with gentle handling instructions. It is a rugged, time-tested foundation where countless lives have stood firm despite winds that should have knocked them flat. When I speak that single sentence—my name is Douglas Vandergraph, and I believe in Jesus Christ—I am aligning myself with the faith that outlasted empires, that survived persecution, that endured silence, and that still whispers to every human heart: there is hope beyond what you see.

Yet even with that heritage, belief must become personal or it remains distant. Faith that stays in history can inspire you, but faith that steps into your bloodstream transforms you. And that transformation does not arrive with trumpets. It shows up in moments you don’t even recognize as holy. It slips in quietly during the drive home after a long day when you whisper a tired prayer you’re not even sure God heard. It shows up when life hits you with something you didn’t expect—a loss, a setback, a betrayal—and even though you feel shattered, some small part of you keeps returning to the thought, God has not abandoned me. You might not even say it out loud, but the idea returns like a steady rhythm, a heartbeat of faith beneath your pain.

Sometimes belief feels like silence. Sometimes it feels like nothing is happening at all. But the absence of visible movement is not the absence of God. Some of the deepest spiritual construction happens in the seasons that feel the most still. When you think faith is failing, it’s often taking root. When you think you’re losing ground, heaven is often equipping you with the resilience you’ll need for the next chapter. We don’t grow in the spotlight. We grow underground. And it is that hidden growth that makes belief in Jesus Christ so life-altering. You don’t always notice the day-to-day shifts, but one morning you wake up and realize something is different. The weight that used to suffocate you doesn’t feel quite as heavy. The fear that used to dominate your decisions has lost its edge. The bitterness that used to rise at the mention of certain people has softened into understanding or release. These aren’t random emotional fluctuations. They’re signs that the One you believe in has been quietly renovating the interior of your soul.

I’ve learned that the presence of doubt doesn’t negate belief. If anything, doubt often exposes just how deeply belief matters. We don’t doubt things we don’t care about. We don’t wrestle with truths that don’t shape us. Doubt is not the enemy of faith—it’s the doorway to deeper faith. When you bring your doubts to Jesus, you’re not failing Him. You’re trusting Him with your honesty. You’re letting Him into the parts of you that feel unresolved, unfinished, unpolished. And He doesn’t recoil from those places. He meets you there. He teaches you there. He strengthens you there. The parts of your life you think disqualify you are often the very places He intends to build testimony.

And that’s why believing in Jesus Christ can’t remain a sentence spoken once and set aside. It grows into a rhythm, a lifestyle, a way of seeing the world. It sharpens your vision, not by removing hardship but by revealing purpose inside of it. It shifts your inner posture so that you stop bracing for the worst and begin expecting God to move. You start noticing grace in unexpected places. You start recognizing answers to prayers you forgot you prayed. You begin feeling guided even when you can’t fully articulate how. You become aware of a companionship that does not leave, a mercy that does not run dry, and a peace that does not depend on circumstances. That’s what belief does—it reshapes the inner weather patterns of your life.

When you live from that place, you start carrying yourself differently. Not arrogantly. Not with spiritual bravado. But with a quiet certainty that you are not walking through this world alone. That has a way of changing your reactions. Your perspective. Your tone. Your choices. You begin to respond instead of react. You begin to listen instead of defend. You begin to trust instead of panic. Not because you suddenly became spiritually invincible, but because your belief has taught you something: Jesus has never failed you yet, and He’s not about to start now.

Some people are intimidated by their own imperfections, as if God is surprised by them. As if heaven is expecting spotless performance when all heaven has ever asked of you is honesty and surrender. Belief is not about behaving flawlessly. It’s about belonging fully. It’s about recognizing that Jesus didn’t choose you because you were perfect—He chose you because you were His. And when you understand that, your faith becomes less about striving and more about resting. Less about proving and more about trusting. Less about fear of falling and more about confidence that even if you fall, He knows how to rebuild you.

There is something powerful that happens when you finally embrace that truth. You stop apologizing for believing. You stop shrinking your faith to make others comfortable. You stop diluting your testimony because you’re afraid it won’t sound polished enough. You begin stepping into who you were meant to be—fully, authentically, unapologetically. And the beautiful thing is that this serves others more deeply than you realize. People aren’t moved by perfection; they’re moved by authenticity. They’re moved by truth spoken gently, lived consistently, and carried with humility. When your belief is real, people feel it. They hear it in your voice. They see it in your choices. They sense it in your presence. You become a living reminder that hope is still alive.

This world doesn’t need more Christian performances. It needs more Christian presence. It needs more people who live out their faith in the quiet moments when no one is watching. It needs believers who reflect Jesus not by talking louder, but by loving deeper. Not by winning arguments, but by winning hearts. And that begins with a simple sentence that becomes a calling. My name is Douglas Vandergraph, and I believe in Jesus Christ. That sentence carries responsibility, yes, but not the crushing kind. It carries the responsibility of being available for God. Of letting Him use your life as an encouragement, a light, a testimony, a bridge for others. Some people will encounter Jesus for the first time not in a church, but in you. And that’s not pressure—it’s privilege.

So let this be the legacy rising out of your life: that you believed in Jesus Christ in a world that gave you every excuse not to. That you stood firm when culture shifted. That you held onto hope when fear tried to drown it. That you kept choosing faith over cynicism, compassion over judgment, courage over retreat. And that simple declaration at the core of your identity became the compass that guided your journey through seasons of uncertainty, seasons of growth, seasons of heartbreak, seasons of triumph, and seasons you didn’t understand until much later.

Your belief is not small. Your belief is not weak. Your belief is the quiet strength that has carried you through every wilderness and every breakthrough. And when you reach the end of your story, heaven will not ask whether you were perfect. Heaven will ask whether you trusted the One who was. So keep believing. Keep declaring. Keep walking. Keep standing. That sentence is not just your introduction—it is your assignment, your identity, and the banner of your life.

And may every step you take from here carry the quiet, steady confidence of someone who knows exactly who holds their heart, their story, and their eternity.

Your friend, Douglas Vandergraph

Watch Douglas Vandergraph’s inspiring faith-based videos on YouTube https://www.youtube.com/@douglasvandergraph

Support the ministry by buying Douglas a coffee https://www.buymeacoffee.com/douglasvandergraph

I hear it in my practice all the time: “I want to be more confident.” What does this really mean? When I probe, clients usually express something along the lines of not caring what people think about them, and being able to handle anything that happens to them.

These ideas get bandied about in our culture like slogans, but I find they ring hollow. They seem like obsolete echoes of the American individualist ideal, which deprive us of our humanity. What does that life really look like? How can you have meaningful relationships if you don’t care how anyone feels toward you? I could name some people in high places who operate that way, and they’re not figures I want to emulate.

Being able to “handle” anything—this is about control. People don’t want to feel hijacked by their own emotions. They want to face every challenge in life unfazed. Is this, too, desirable? To move through the world feeling nothing, regardless of what happens to us? Most folks would keep only the good feelings and experiences, but how can you have yin without yang? What is joy without pain, or pride without fear?

The Joy Junkies

Avoiding emotional pain has become the American way of life. Much of my work is about shepherding people through their own feelings, helping them accept the multitudes of life’s experiences, and learn that they can live through those experiences and grow. I’d rather be resilient than unflappable, because when I feel things, it reminds me I’m human.

In our age, when so many corporate and political forces seem keen to turn us into robots, it is rebellious just to be human, to feel things. This means defying the temptation to “feel” good all the time by filling our minds and bodies with stimuli off screens and grocery shelves, because that’s not feeling; it’s numbing.

When we treat anxiety in therapy, we flesh out the details of the fear with a constant refrain of, “And then what?” What will actually happen if this person rejects you, or you miss your deadline, or you get sick? Making the possibilities real often makes them less scary. What remains, after this, are fear of feeling and fear of death.

Because when we really experience things, especially if we were numbing before, our feelings can be frightening. Emotions become overwhelming to the point that people develop anxiety about anything unpleasant, not from the details of what’s happening, but from the discomfort itself. And that makes numbing look awfully tempting, so the cycle repeats.

I can’t help my clients feel good all the time, because that’s impossible. Anyone who says differently is a snake oil salesman. And I can’t make the deep fears go away; we all live with our own mortality. But bad news-good news: it’s better this way, because this is what makes you a person. You’re made of flesh and blood and feelings, and that’s a beautiful thing.

The Painful and the Sublime

Pain, hardship, and stress are necessary parts of life, and make it worth living. It doesn’t mean “confidence” should be a bad word, but how can we redefine it? What if it means being open to the richness of life, in all its dimensions? Being able to endure through hardships and grow, rather than avoiding them? Caring and valuing what people in your life think of you, because you value your connections with them?

Living is scary; I don’t deny that. Every day we face uncertainty, and the only certainty we are given is the one we least want to hear. But I choose to embrace death, not run from it. If life were everlasting, why do anything at all? I find comfort in knowing I have a beginning and an end, and it motivates me to build something of value between them.

Directly or indirectly, I work on this with every client. I try to help people embrace their positions at the helm of their own lives, their ability to shape their experiences. Whatever challenges we face, we have choices available to us, even if those choices are rotten. In the words of Holocaust survivor Victor Frankl, “Everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms—to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one’s own way.”

How things affect us is out of our control. We don’t choose our feelings, just like we don’t choose our bodies, or our families. So have grace for yourself. “Confidence” needn’t have anything to do with these things you can’t control. But it can be about building intuition and strength of character. If you allow yourself to embrace the messiness of life and your own humanity, you can discover some wonderful things, like growth, beauty, sublimity, and love. Your experiences will change you, and you just might find that you’re open to being changed.

Sadly, pervasive numbing has degraded human life and relationships. I touched on a lot of this in my social media piece, so I won’t repeat it here. It’s not our fault, for the most part. We’ve been handed the syringe. But it’s still our choice if we want to keep using it. I’m not immune to temptation myself, but I try every day to feel present and alive. I try to orient my life toward celebrating my experiences and connections with other people. I am defiantly humanistic.

Text and Photograph © 2026 Philip Bender

This journey has been so long It's thrown twists and turns at me I thought I was near the end but when I got through the weeds I found another path stretching ahead of me

I chose this path I didn't know it'd be this long but I can't turn around now so all I can do is take it one step at a time

Step by step Day by day I'll reach the end of this path The sky seems dark now but soon, it'll clear up

And the best part is that I'm not walking alone there are so many people walking alongside me holding my hand so I don't need to be scared

So step by step day by day and hand in hand I'll keep walking this path until it opens up to bright, blue skies

#Poetry #Healing #Friendship #Kindness #Hope

In my neighborhood in 2020, we started paying for security in our HOA fees because of car break ins. People assumed that those other people were coming in and trying to steal what we hard-working Americans had purchased. Oh the irony because although we may not live in the ghetto, apparently my neighborhood is ghetto—and this includes the Homeowners Association. What an interesting twist.

Ghetto is a term I am hesitant to use because people associate it with Black people. And, of course, Black = bad. However, I do not live in a “Black neighborhood.” This is the best term I can come up with at the moment because trash just doesn’t hit the same. People are out here thinking that moving out of the city and into pseudo suburban HOA communities—which are statistically most likely to be populated by whites and Asians—is an upgrade. Yeah, an upgrade in fees and violations of privacy!

The HOA sent this email this month (all emphasis theirs):

Dear Forest Brook Neighbors,

We hope you are having a wonderful week. We are writing to follow up on our recent communications and to cordially invite you to our next Board of Directors meeting on Tuesday, February 10, 2026, at 7:00 PM at the Forest Brook Clubhouse.

Navigating Our Growth Together As our community evolves, we know there have been questions regarding how we handle proxies and meet quorum requirements. We hear your concerns and want to ensure our processes are transparent, fair, and legally sound. To provide clarity, we requested a formal opinion from the Association’s attorney regarding the specific timeframes for collecting proxies and determining when a meeting can officially proceed. The attorney’s memorandum is attached to this email. We encourage you to review it so we can have a productive, informed conversation during the meeting. To further support our community, the Association’s attorney will be present at the meeting to answer your questions and provide direct legal clarifications.

What to Expect: Meeting Guidelines Our goal is to create a space where everyone feels comfortable sharing their perspective. To ensure the evening is organized and respectful of everyone’s time, we will be following these simple steps:

• Check-In: Please sign in with the security officer upon arrival so we can accurately track attendance.
• During the Session: To keep the focus on the discussion, we ask that everyone remains seated. Please refrain from approaching the Board table or walking through the room while the meeting is in progress.
• Your Voice Matters: When the floor opens for member comments, please raise your hand. We will call on neighbors one by one to ensure that every person who wants to speak has the opportunity to be heard without interruption.

A Note on Community Spirit We genuinely value your involvement. Your questions and feedback are what help us serve Vista Palms effectively. We simply ask that all dialogue remain courteous and neighborly. While we have security on hand to ensure a safe environment, our true hope is that the evening is defined by the patience and civility that makes our neighborhood a great place to call home.

Questions before the meeting? If you have immediate thoughts or questions you’d like us to consider beforehand, please reach out via the community website or contact property management directly.

We look forward to a great turnout and a collaborative evening!

Warmly, The Vista Palms Board of Directors

 Memorandumremeetingprocedures1.pdf

Community Website: www.mygreencondo.net/vistapalms

Roger L Kessler LCAM Property Manager E: Rkessler@UniquePropertyServices.com P: 813-879-1139 ext 106 P: 813-879-1039

So now, in addition to our other wonderful community amenities, we get to be ID’d and policed in our own meetings. Welcome to 2026—a continuation and escalation of 2025!

I remember one day I was minding my business outside and someone approached me and asked about my neighbor. Stranger Danger! After a few questions, the person identified themselves as a member of the HOA Board. Then, they provided me with some information. The whole time I engaged enough to appear cooperative, but was playing along responding with details that this person already knew. Why would the HOA put me in this situation?

I didn’t really think about this again until last summer when the roof tarp became my latest hot issue with the HOA (And the roof tarp issue was during the time the HOA was also foreclosing on my house. I am still getting to that story.). This is what the “HOA” wrote to me in a July 2025 email in response to my email query about a violation of which I was unaware (in-paragraph emphasis mine):

Any alterations to the exterior of the home must be approved via an ARC/ARB application. The tarp has been there for a long time and we have witnesses stating that. Any repairs that need to be done should have been done by now and will need to be done in order to bring the issue into compliance. Tarps may not remain on roofs and repairs must be made. What is the scheduled date of the roof repair? This issue was about to be sent to the attorney for further enforcement actions.

Thanks,

Roger Kessler, LCAM

The HOA had sent me an e-mail notice that I had an “architectural violation”. I don’t frequently check my emails over the summer because I spend 10 months of the year checking emails incessantly for work. Also, the CDD emails flood my inbox with junk. So, imagine my surprise while in the middle of the HOA foreclosure, I see a string of emails from them.

In this case, what the HOA claimed was wrong. They insisted that I had my whole house tarped for almost a year. I did not. I got at the end of May—right at the start of that same summer. When I asked them how they know when I got my roof tarped, as you can see above, they said they had “witnesses”.

I went on to inform the HOA that I could provide proof that their witness testimony was false. How did the HOA respond to that? They moved the goal post from:

You have had it on too long.

to

You didn’t appropriately submit an ARC to modify the house.

And so they sent it to their attorneys, Mankin Law, anyway.

The only conclusion I have come to is that somebody wants my house. And they have been waiting to buy it with the HOA’s help.

He never knew the world before. Before the touchscreens, the avatars, the voices behind glass. He learned to speak in prompts and swipes, to ask questions before he could spell them. He is native to the interface.

The Augur walks with one foot in the mythic past, one in a gamified, glowing future. He holds the wand of The Magician in one hand and the scythe of Death in the other. Creation and endings are not opposites to him—they are the same motion.

His light:

• Genius for synthesis.
• Born to remix, to rebuild, to reimagine.
• Speaks fluently with both code and chaos.
• Doesn’t ask if something is possible—only how soon.

His shadow:

• Overstimulated. Underformed.
• Trained to perform before he understands.
• Prone to shallow mastery, deep confusion.
• Grows in the shadow of crises not yet named.

But still—he is watching. Still—he is learning.

He sees omens in data. He touches spirits through screens. He is not waiting for the future. He is the future, already booting up.

He is The Augur, and his visions arrive early.

They were born under flickering light. A thousand windows, endless scrolls, every answer already halfway typed. Their cradle glowed blue.

The Dreamling is the archetype that dreams inside the maze. They feels too much, too early. They’re hyper-connected and strangely alone, raised on ambient crisis and curated personas.

And yet—they dream anyway.

They are part Star, part Moon: Hope in one hand, hallucination in the other. They want to believe—but know how easy it is to be lied to.

Their light:

• Sensitive, intuitive, impossibly adaptive.
• They read moods like maps.
• They seek healing, not control.
• They name harm out loud, even if their voice shakes.

Their shadow:

• Dissociation, doom-looping, and hyper-vigilance.
• Identity fractured by filters.
• Trust eroded by irony.
• Agency blurred by options that aren’t real.

They grew up watching everyone perform— and had to decide who they were in the reflection.

But they have something rare: the courage to feel in public. To cry on camera. To hold grief and memes in the same hand.

They are not lost—they are listening. And when the fog parts, they will be the first to see the new star rise.

She was told to follow the rules— but the rules kept changing. She was told to wait her turn— but the line got longer. She was told to trust the system— but the system broke on her watch.

The Dissenter hangs in the void between what was promised and what is. Not passive. Not resigned. But watching—upside-down, eyes open, weighing every injustice with a trembling hand still gripping the sword.

She is both Justice and the Hanged One: a seeker of truth suspended by the lies of the age.

Her light:

• Relentless integrity.
• She sees the cracks in the structure and asks who benefits.
• She refuses to call silence peace or policy justice.
• She makes compassion political.

Her shadow:

• Burnout from over-accountability.
• Endless deferral: “When the debt’s paid... when the market’s stable... when the planet recovers...”
• A paralysis from trying to make everything fair before moving forward.

She inherits collapse but doesn’t mythologize it. She wants more—than survival, than slogans, than legacy systems on life support. But she doesn’t always know where to put her fire.

She is held in tension: between cynicism and care, between shouldering blame and demanding repair.

And yet, in her suspended stillness, something radical occurs:

She doesn’t sever the rope. She studies it. She learns how it's knotted. And when the time comes— She cuts herself free.

He doesn't speak unless it's worth the breath. He doesn’t trust easy, and he doesn’t flinch when the wind shifts. He’s already lived through collapse—more than one.

The Wasteland Sage came of age in the gap between myth and rubble. He watched the towers crack: family, church, economy, culture. Not all at once—but one by one, until there was no place left to belong. So he lit his own lantern, packed light, and walked out alone.

He learned to keep his own counsel. To stay sharp in silence. To expect the floor to give out.

His light:

• Resilient, self-reliant, and unillusioned.
• He doesn’t ask for rescue—he maps escape routes.
• He listens deeply, because he knows noise is cheap.
• He carries fire through the ruins, not to rebuild the past, but to keep truth alive.

His shadow:

• Isolation as instinct.
• Skepticism calcified into numbness.
• Belief feels like a trap; hope, a setup.
• He avoids the tower by never climbing it.

He is the child of aftermath. Too late for the feast, too early for the reckoning. He wasn’t handed a torch—he scavenged it.

But he burns no less brightly for that. And while others shout from stages or scroll their lives away, he watches— —not detached, but discerning.

He is the voice that says: Don’t build that way again. I’ve seen what happens when it falls.

He is not waiting to be saved. He is waiting to be asked.

He steps into the spotlight wearing gold-rimmed sunglasses, radiating warmth, power, and charm. You feel like he knows something. You feel like he has something. You feel like maybe, if you just follow him, you could have it too.

The Consuming King rose with the Boomers—children of postwar victory, apostles of expansion, believers in destiny. The world grew bigger for them: more suburbs, more jobs, more airtime, more everything. They were promised the sun—and believed, deeply, that wanting it was right.

He rules the realm of having.

His light:

• The evangelist of possibility.
• He believes in the good life, and works hard to build it.
• He inspires dreams of abundance—homes, cars, love, legacy.
• He can sell the sun and make it real.

His shadow:

• A master of appetite without end.
• He mistakes accumulation for meaning.
• He builds temples to the self while denying the cost.
• He deflects accountability with charm and nostalgia.

His kingdom is bright, but hot. He doesn’t see the forest fire through the dazzle of fireworks.

He is both rebel and ruler. He marched in protest and then bought the land. He said, You can be anything, and meant it—but often only for people like him.

And now, The Consuming King faces the twilight of his reign. The party he threw lit up the world. The hangover belongs to those who come after.

But still: he holds the torch. And maybe, just maybe, he can learn to pass it without burning the hands that reach for it.

Who of us can live with unquenchable flames? —The one who walks in continual righteousness.

ISAIAH:

Woe to you, you destroyer who has not been destroyed; You betrayer who has not been betrayed! When you finish destroying, you will be destroyed. When you finish betraying, you will be betrayed.

O Jehovah, show us favor. Our hope is in you. Become our arm every morning, Yes, our salvation in the time of distress.

At the sound of turmoil peoples flee. When you rise up, nations scatter.

As the voracious locusts gather, so your spoil will be gathered; People will rush on it like swarms of locusts.

Jehovah will be exalted, For he resides in the heights above. He will fill Zion with justice and righteousness.

He is the stability of your times; An abundance of salvation, wisdom, knowledge, and the fear of Jehovah —This is his treasure.

Look! Their heroes cry out in the street; The messengers of peace weep bitterly.

The highways are deserted; There is no one traveling on the pathways. He has broken the covenant; He has rejected the cities; He shows no regard for mortal man.

The land mourns and withers away. Lebanon is ashamed; it has decayed. Sharon has become like the desert, And Bashan and Carmel shake off their leaves.

JEHOVAH:

“Now I will rise up, Now I will exalt myself; Now I will magnify myself.

You conceive dried grass and give birth to stubble. Your own spirit will consume you like a fire.

And peoples will become as the burnings of lime. As thorns cut down, they will be set ablaze with fire.

You who are far away, listen to what I will do! And you who are nearby, acknowledge my might!”

ISAIAH:

The sinners in Zion are in dread; Trembling has seized the apostates: ‘Who of us can live where there is a consuming fire? Who of us can live with unquenchable flames?’

The one who walks in continual righteousness, Who speaks what is upright, Who rejects dishonest, fraudulent gain, Whose hands refuse a bribe rather than grabbing it, Who closes his ear to talk of bloodshed, And who shuts his eyes to avoid seeing what is bad

—He will reside in the heights; His secure refuge will be in rocky strongholds, His bread will be provided, And his water supply will never fail.

Your eyes will behold a king in his splendor; They will see a land far away.

In your heart you will recall the terror: “Where is the secretary? Where is the one who weighed out the tribute? Where is the one who counted the towers?”

You will no more see the insolent people, A people whose language is too obscure to comprehend, Whose stammering tongue you cannot understand.

Behold Zion, the city of our festivals! Your eyes will see Jerusalem as a tranquil dwelling place, A tent that will not be moved. Never will its tent pins be pulled out, And none of its ropes will be torn apart.

But there the Majestic One, Jehovah, Will be for us a region of rivers, of wide canals, Where no galley fleet will go And no majestic ships will pass by.

For Jehovah is our Judge, Jehovah is our Lawgiver, Jehovah is our King; He is the One who will save us.

Your ropes will hang loose; They cannot hold up the mast nor spread the sail. At that time an abundance of spoil will be divided up; Even the lame will take much plunder.

And no resident will say: “I am sick.” The people dwelling in the land will be pardoned for their error.

ISAIAH 34

ISAIAH:

Come close to hear, you nations, And pay attention, you peoples. Let the earth and that which fills it listen, The land and all its produce.

For Jehovah’s indignation is against all the nations, And his wrath is against all their army. He will devote them to destruction; He will give them to the slaughter.

Their slain will be thrown out, And the stench of their carcasses will ascend; The mountains will melt because of their blood.

All the army of the heavens will rot away, And the heavens will be rolled up like a scroll. All their army will wither away, As a withered leaf falls from the vine And a shriveled fig from the fig tree.

JEHOVAH:

“For in the heavens my sword will be drenched. It will descend on Edom in judgment, On the people whom I devoted to destruction.

Jehovah has a sword; it will be covered with blood. It will be covered with the fat, With the blood of young rams and goats, With the kidney fat of rams. For Jehovah has a sacrifice in Bozrah, A great slaughter in the land of Edom.

The wild bulls will go down with them, The young bulls with the powerful ones. Their land will be drenched in blood, And their dust will be soaked with fat.”

ISAIAH:

For Jehovah has a day of vengeance, A year of retribution for the legal case over Zion.

Her streams will be changed into pitch, And her dust into sulfur, And her land will become like burning pitch.

By night or by day it will not be extinguished; Its smoke will keep ascending forever. From generation to generation she will remain devastated; No one will pass through her forever and ever.

The pelican and the porcupine will possess her, And long-eared owls and ravens will reside in her. He will stretch out over her the measuring line of emptiness And the plumb line of desolation.

None of her nobles will be called to the kingship, And all her princes will come to nothing.

Thorns will grow in her fortified towers, Nettles and thorny weeds in her fortresses. She will become a lair of jackals, An enclosure for ostriches.

Desert creatures will meet up with howling animals, And the wild goat will call to its companion. Yes, there the nightjar will settle and find a place of rest.

There the arrow snake will make its nest and lay eggs, And it will hatch them and gather them in its shadow. Yes, there the kites will gather, each one with her mate.

Search in the book of Jehovah and read it out loud: Not one of them will be missing; None of them will be lacking a mate, For it is the mouth of Jehovah that has given the order, And it is his spirit that has gathered them together.

He is the One who has cast the lot for them, And his own hand has measured out their assigned place. They will possess it for all time; They will reside in it throughout all generations.

ISAIAH 35

ISAIAH:

The wilderness and the parched land will exult, And the desert plain will be joyful and blossom as the saffron.

Without fail it will blossom; It will rejoice and shout for joy. The glory of Lebanon will be given to it, The splendor of Carmel and of Sharon. They will see the glory of Jehovah, the splendor of our God.

Strengthen the weak hands, And make firm the knees that are shaking.

Say to those who are anxious at heart: “Be strong. Do not be afraid. Look! Your own God will come with vengeance, God will come with retribution. He will come and save you.”

At that time the eyes of the blind will be opened, And the ears of the deaf will be unstopped.

At that time the lame will leap like the deer, And the tongue of the speechless will shout for joy. For waters will burst forth in the wilderness, And streams in the desert plain.

The heat-parched ground will become a reedy pool, And the thirsty ground springs of water. In the lairs where jackals rested, There will be green grass and reeds and papyrus.

And a highway will be there, Yes, a way called the Way of Holiness. The unclean one will not travel on it. It is reserved for the one walking on the way; No one foolish will stray onto it.

No lion will be there, And no vicious wild beasts will come on it. They will not be found there; Only the repurchased ones will walk there.

Those redeemed by Jehovah will return and come to Zion with a joyful cry. Unending joy will crown their heads. Exultation and rejoicing will be theirs, And grief and sighing will flee away.

This is the last of the #JujuAwards2025! And of course I save the best for last with #BookOfTheYear.

I read a fair bit this year, despite being busy exploring Australia, studying, hitting the gym again, etc. (Yeah, turns out it wasn't a sustainable lifestyle!) I decided to read more essays and also more short stories. When you like sci-fi, short stories are a very good choice as they bring plenty of ideas in a concentrate amount of pages.

Here are the nominees.

Free by Lea Ypi

In this memoir, the author revisits her childhood in Albania, from dictatorship to democracy, to civil war. There is a lot of humour, notably when the author, who was exposed to propaganda until her teens, discovers her parents used to be bourgeois.

The Man Who Ended History: A Documentary by Ken Liu

In this novella, a scientist invents a machine that allows to see the past. He gives access to descendants of victims of atrocities committed in Unit 731 during the Second World War, who witness the horror, which triggers important questions.

Clarkesworld Magazine 223, edited by Neil Clarke

My first edition of Clarkesworld, a magazine of short speculative fiction stories, and I wasn't disappointed. I especially liked Thomas Ha's story, In My Country, which is shortlisted by the serial for best story of the year.

The Persuaders by Anand Giridharadas

An essay from the US written before the 2024 election about how, for the progressive side, to win over the other side. Some interesting insights, notably the method of deep canvassing.

Cyberpunk by Asma Mhalla

A book written by a French essayist after the 2024 US election about the technological dystopia that we might already be living in. Of course it's highly topical but the writing is also witty.

There Is No Antimemetics Division by qntm

A sci-fi horror novel from Britain in which agents fight an impossible battle against an enemy that cannot, or actually, must not be remembered.

And the winner is… Clarkesworld Magazine 223! Reminder to support short speculative fiction. And now back onto reviews :)

#JujuAwards #BestOf2025

There are so many different things I need to do for this house and I’m honestly so overwhelmed with it. I haven’t been keeping to my habits either like reading which I want to fix.