I'm writing this from a little studio near Bennett Spring State Park in southwest Missouri.

This is an old family favorite spot - spring-fed stream, cold water, trout fishing. My dad brought us here when we were boys.  Mom and dad used to come with Grandma & Grandpa. We brought our boys through the years. It's the kind of place where memory and moving water run together.

I drove down after wrapping up my second day of Knights of Columbus training in the office to start this week. Two days of meetings, two VPs from the Supreme Office in town, a lot to absorb. And then the road, the hills, the quiet.

I was going to sleep in the car - the Tesla has its "camp mode" which is great for that - but Suzanne encouraged me to find a place. "It's too hot for that," she said. So here I am.

Tomorrow morning: the stream. Maybe some trout. Definitely some silence.

The last few days have been a lesson in showing up prepared.

I spent Monday & Tuesday with the Knights of Columbus team. What I didn't know - because I'm not in the group chat yet - was that everyone had been told to "dress to impress" for the week with the VPs visiting. I wore a dress shirt and slacks.

It was so hot I almost wore a polo.

I walked in and found everyone else in the agency uniform: blue suit, tie, polished shoes. I spent the rest of the day slightly underdressed for my own debut.

My dad always said: "Always dress one step better than you think you need to." That advice held me to the dress shirt instead of the polo - but I should have taken it up another notch.

After wrapping up Monday, I drove to four stores looking for the right blue suit. Found it, wore it Tuesday, felt like myself again.

There's a principle in there somewhere. Show up ready. When in doubt, go one step further than you think you need to. You can always take off the tie. You can't conjure one in the parking lot.

Right now, the family is scattered.

Suzanne, Matthew, and Andrew are in Dallas, visiting an aunt and uncle. Thomas and Joseph are at home, working their shifts. I'm here at Bennett Spring, watching the light fade through the trees.

Matthew leaves for Air Force Basic Training next Tuesday - In less than a week.

We're savoring these final days - the ones that are left, the ones we can hold. We're planning some family activities through the weekend. A "last hurrah". Soon he'll be somewhere we can't follow, becoming someone the military will shape. We've done what we could, and now we watch him go.

And Friday is the Feast of St. Thomas the Apostle - the name day for our oldest. Thomas, who doubted and then believed. Thomas, who said "My Lord and my God" when he finally saw. A good patron for a young man learning to see for himself.

This Sunday's Gospel is Matthew 11 - one of the most tender passages in Scripture:

"Come to me, all you who labor and are burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am meek and humble of heart; and you will find rest for yourselves. For my yoke is easy, and my burden light."

I've been carrying a lot. The transition out of Adobe. The launch of Domus. The Knights training starting. Matthew leaving. The sabbatical from active parish ministry. The writing - Two Lamps every Friday, Lux Perpetua twice a week, the new novel I'm outlining.

Good burdens, most of them. Chosen burdens. But burdens.

And Jesus says: Come to me. I will give you rest.

Not "figure it out." Not "push harder." Come. Rest.

And sometimes, we need that simply to gain a new and refreshed perspective, and to bring something new to our work.

That's why I'm here at Bennett Spring. That's what tomorrow morning is for. The stream, the silence, the cold water running over rocks the way it has for longer than anyone can remember.

The yoke is easy. The burden is light. But only if you actually come to Him and let Him carry what you've been white-knuckling.

Tomorrow I'll fish. Maybe I'll catch something; maybe I won't. Either way, I'll stand in moving water for a few hours and let the current do what currents do - carry things away, make room, clear the mind.

Then I'll drive home tomorrow night, ready to tackle the August Domus content, ready for what's next.

But tonight: just the quiet. Just the spring water. Just the invitation to rest.

Come to me, all you who labor and are burdened.

Lord, I'm coming.