Palm Sunday Reflections

Stardate 03.29.2026

March Madness is winding down. Our men’s basketball team fought valiantly yesterday and came up short in the Elite 8. Congratulations to our neighbors to the east, the Illinois Fighting Illini men's basketball, who now advance to the Final Four.

What matters most to me isn’t the outcome. It’s the family time we shared along the way.

It’s not often our teams do this well, and this season gave us a reason to gather, cheer, laugh, and ride the emotional ups and downs together. We watched a first-year coach do something that few leaders manage to do so quickly: cultivate winning habits at an elite level.

That idea stays with me.

Because that’s the core of who I am. I love bringing out the best in others. I love watching habits form that quietly shape outcomes long before the scoreboard reflects them. I’m already looking forward to next season.

Speaking of new seasons, yesterday I did something a little outside my comfort zone. I spent five hours building cabinets in our basement. All that remains are the doors, which I’ll install later this week.

As I worked, I was reminded of visiting my cousins as a child. One room in their home had wall-to-wall shelving with cabinet doors — a room that looked remarkably similar to something my wife has always dreamed of having. It’s funny how memories from fifty years ago can guide your hands today.

I gave myself a small pat on the back when I finished. Not out of pride, but gratitude. This small success is preparing me for a much larger project I’ve been dreaming about for years. Like most dreams, it required me to overcome some real obstacles before I could even begin.

Stay tuned.

Today is Palm Sunday.

This day is deeply personal for me because of the stories I’ve been sharing about how I came to know Jesus. I understand that some people may struggle to make sense of what I describe. Truthfully, I still do at times. God’s ways are not our ways, and much of what Jesus did while walking this earth runs counter to what we might expect from the Creator of the universe.

What stands out to me as we enter Holy Week is something that happened just before Palm Sunday.

Jesus and His followers were on a boat. He fell asleep. A storm moved in, and the disciples were certain they were going to die. They woke Him, and He calmed the storm. When they reached shore at the region of the Sea of Galilee, a man possessed by demons came running toward Him from the caves.

Jesus healed the man. Clothed him. Restored him.

And then He did something unexpected.

He told the man he could not come along.

Instead, He gave him a mission: go home and tell others what the Lord had done for him.

This man — once isolated, feared, and broken — became the first known storyteller for Jesus in that region. When Jesus later returned, people were waiting because they had heard the man’s story.

“Return home and tell how much God has done for you.” — Luke 8:39

I think about that often.

The man didn’t attend a class. He didn’t receive formal training. He simply told his story.

As I prepare my heart this week for the Resurrection, I’m reminded that this is what I’ve been doing too. Sharing stories. Not because I have everything figured out, but because something changed in me, and I can’t help but talk about it.

Some people may observe the changes in my life and not fully understand them. That’s okay. I don’t fully understand them myself. I just know I’m all in.

Happy Palm Sunday.

Join me here:
https://substack.com/@michaelmulliganlivelong

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🖖 Captain’s Addendum

Spock: “Captain, the man’s qualifications were… unconventional.”
Bones: “Sometimes the best witnesses are the ones who’ve got the most to be grateful for.”

I’m learning that we don’t need perfect understanding to share what God has done. We simply need a willing heart and an honest story.

Mission Log: Grateful for family, for small projects that prepare us for bigger ones, and for the quiet calling to share what we’ve seen and experienced.

May your day be filled with peace, reflection, and quiet gratitude.

Preparations Underway for Elite 8 March Madness Family Moment

Stardate 03.28.2026

A couple of nights ago, we gathered at our youngest son’s home for a Sweet 16 family moment we won’t soon forget. The basketball rivalry between the Iowa Hawkeyes men's basketball and the Nebraska Cornhuskers men's basketball goes back generations in our state. It’s the kind of history that shows up in good-natured teasing, raised voices at the television, and shared laughter no matter the outcome.

The game didn’t start the way we hoped. In fact, we never even led until the final two minutes. Several friends later told me they turned it off when Nebraska jumped out to a ten-point lead early. They assumed they knew how the story would end.

They missed something special.

They missed the slow, steady comeback.
They missed the quiet belief building possession by possession.
They missed the moment when the impossible started to feel possible.

Tonight, our attention turns east toward the Illinois Fighting Illini men's basketball. They’re the #3 seed in our family bracket and just knocked off the #2 seed. Earlier in the tournament, our team eliminated the #1 seed at the buzzer with a three-pointer that sent us all out of our seats.

Now, here we are.

Cinderella. The #9 seed. Forty minutes away from the Final Four.

A new coach with a proven track record stands at the helm, and our family can hardly wait for tip-off.

But as I think about these games, I realize the lesson reaching beyond the court has very little to do with basketball.

It has to do with people.

I’ve been paying closer attention to my teammates at my day job and the groups I network with. I’m noticing a pattern that is hard to ignore:

Past performance is the best predictor of future performance.

Not talent.
Not intentions.
Not talk.

Patterns.

The small things people do repeatedly tell you exactly what they will do when the pressure is on.

That’s why the small things matter so much.

That’s why I’m leaning into this idea of becoming 1% better each day. Because when the big moments arrive — the final two minutes of the game, the unexpected challenge at work, the opportunity you didn’t see coming — you don’t rise to the occasion.

You fall back on your habits.

I once heard a story about why David picked up five stones before facing Goliath. Legend says Goliath had four brothers. David didn’t prepare for just one battle. He prepared for whatever might come next. He practiced his skills daily so that when the giant appeared, confidence wasn’t something he had to manufacture in the moment.

It was already there.

“Do not despise these small beginnings, for the Lord rejoices to see the work begin.” — Zechariah 4:10

Those friends who turned the game off early believed the outcome was already decided. They judged the future based on the scoreboard in the first few minutes.

But the players on the court kept playing. Possession by possession. Stop by stop. Shot by shot.

Small faithfulness.

Tonight, I’m hoping for another family moment we can cherish. But even more than that, I’m grateful for the reminder that life works the same way as these games.

Stay in it.
Do the small things well.
Trust the habits you’ve been building.

And don’t turn the game off too early.

Join me here:
https://substack.com/@michaelmulliganlivelong

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🖖 Captain’s Addendum

Spock: “Captain, the outcome was statistically improbable given the early deficit.”
Bones: “That’s because you can’t measure heart with numbers, Spock.”

I’m learning that heart is built long before the scoreboard makes sense. One small choice at a time, one percent better each day.

Mission Log: Gratitude for family, for faith, and for the reminder that steady faithfulness often writes the best endings.

Thank you for walking this journey with me. May your day be filled with quiet confidence and small, faithful steps forward.

Top 3 Family Moment Yesterday

Stardate 03.27.2026

Before I begin today’s reflection, I want to wish my sister a very happy birthday down in Arizona. March has always felt like our family’s version of March Madness. So many birthdays. So many new babies joining the extended family. So much life happening all at once.

Yesterday added another memory to that list.

I asked my boss if I could leave a little early so I could join my family at our son’s home to watch opening day for the San Diego Padres. By the time I arrived in the third inning, things were not going well. The Detroit Tigers had exploded in the first inning. It felt like we had walked into a storm already in progress. Final score: 8–2.

But something interesting happened.

Nobody cared.

We were together. Laughing. Talking. Watching. Enjoying the moment for what it was instead of what we hoped it would be.

That’s when my son gave one of those summaries that only sons can give.

“Dad, the team is for sale. Maybe a new owner will open his checkbook and add what we need. Besides, there are 161 games left. Let’s turn our attention to the Hawkeyes. Sweet 16. Single elimination. We haven’t been here since before I was born. Both teams have new coaches. One of us is going to the Elite 8 tonight.”

And just like that, our family double-header began.

We turned our attention to the Iowa Hawkeyes men's basketball facing their long-time rivals, the Nebraska Cornhuskers men's basketball.

For 38 minutes, either Nebraska led or the game was tied. Every time Iowa tied it, Nebraska answered. Three-point shots were falling on both sides, reminiscent of the long-range magic we’ve watched from Caitlin Clark over the past few years.

Then, with just over two minutes remaining, Iowa took its first lead of the entire game.

And then came the moment none of us will ever forget.

Nebraska accidentally had only four players on the court during an inbounds play under their own basket. Our players on the floor saw it immediately. They began pointing frantically downcourt to a wide-open teammate past mid-court.

The pass was thrown.

Boom.

It felt like a Hail Mary in basketball form.

The lead widened. The clock ticked down. Final score: 77–71.

We were on our feet, shouting like children.

My son turned to me and said, “Dad, this is a top three moment in our lives.”

We stayed for the post-game interviews. Both coaches spoke with deep respect for one another. When Nebraska’s players were asked about the four-man breakdown, their coach stepped in, took full responsibility, and praised his team for reaching the Sweet 16 — something no Nebraska team had done before.

That moment stayed with me.

Leadership.

Ownership.

Belief.

Here is Iowa with a first-year coach who had never coached at this level before. Not hired because of pedigree, but because of belief — belief in his ability to bring out the best in his players.

And here we are witnessing something that feels like the beginning of a legacy.

Iowa has long been known for wrestling. For football. The women’s team gave us one of the greatest players the game has ever seen. And now the men’s team is being called the Cinderella story of the tournament.

All because someone believed in the right leader.

All because a group of young men believed in that leader.

All because, for 40 minutes, they refused to stop believing.

“Let us not grow weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up.” — Galatians 6:9

As for our family, we will be back together on Saturday, watching history continue to unfold.

Win or lose.

Together.

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Captain’s Addendum

Spock: “Fascinating, Captain. A team’s belief in its leader appears to alter statistical probability.”

Bones: “I’d say it’s less about probability and more about heart, Spock.”

I smiled at that exchange in my mind.

Because yesterday wasn’t really about basketball or baseball.

It was about family. Leadership. Belief. And the joy of witnessing something together that we’ll talk about for years to come.

Join me here:
https://substack.com/@michaelmulliganlivelong

Mission Log complete.

Grateful for moments like this.

Bite-sized Brain Prompts for Success

Stardate 03.26.2026

Have you ever wondered why long-term goals can feel so exhausting before you even begin?

I have. And I’ve come to realize the biggest obstacle was never my schedule, my resources, or even my circumstances.

It was my own brain.

My brain does not like sudden change. It resists. It throws up caution flags. It whispers, This is risky. This is uncomfortable. This is too much.

Those internal conflicts can be draining. They create friction before momentum ever has a chance to build.

Over time, through trial and error, I found a way to work with my brain instead of against it.

The key was learning to introduce bite-sized prompts.

Small changes. Gentle adjustments. No alarms triggered.

Think of it like dating. You don’t spill your entire life story on the first date. You take your time. You build trust. You allow the relationship to deepen naturally before sharing your biggest hopes and dreams.

The same is true with bold goals.

If I tell my brain I’m going to train for an Ironman, it panics.

If I tell my brain I’m going for a short walk, it shrugs.

One small step. Then another. Then another.

Each day, improving one percent.

It’s like flying under the radar. No red alerts. No resistance. Just quiet consistency.

Eventually, something remarkable happens.

Your brain stops fighting you.

It starts trusting you.

It becomes your ally because you’ve proven you’re not trying to force growth faster than its built-in safety system can handle.

I’ve discovered my brain loves consistency more than intensity. It responds to steady rhythm. Predictable effort. Gentle progress.

That’s where real change lives.

“Do not despise these small beginnings, for the Lord rejoices to see the work begin.” — Zechariah 4:10

Small beginnings are not insignificant. They are the doorway to lasting transformation.

If you’re feeling stuck, overwhelmed, or frustrated with slow progress, consider shrinking the prompt you’re giving yourself.

Make it so small your brain doesn’t object.

Then repeat it tomorrow.

And the next day.

And the next.

Join me here:
https://substack.com/@michaelmulliganlivelong

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Captain’s Addendum

Spock: “Captain, it appears the human brain resists abrupt deviations from established patterns.”

Bones: “In plain English, Spock — the man’s saying don’t scare yourself half to death trying to improve too fast.”

Spock: “A measured approach appears… most logical.”

Michael smiled at the exchange.

I’ve learned that growth isn’t about heroic leaps. It’s about faithful steps. Quiet steps. Steps so small they almost feel insignificant — until one day you realize you’ve traveled a great distance.

Thank you for walking this road with me. May today be one small, faithful step forward.

Kids Helping Kids

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Stardate 03.25.2026

The first bulk donor order is complete.

And it all started with a simple idea from a group of 4th and 5th grade students who wanted to help patients at the University of Iowa Stead Family Children’s Hospital.

They didn’t overthink it.
They didn’t wait for permission.

They held a bake sale.

The kids raised $300 on their own. Then Kiwanis stepped in and matched their effort, doubling the impact. From there, something special began to unfold.

Their advisor, Miss Joni—who also happens to be my accountability partner—shared an idea with them. She told the kids she knew a way to turn their donation into something meaningful for the patients: coloring books.

She reached out to me and asked if I could work the numbers based on their original $300.

The kids had already decided something important.

The matching funds would go toward buying food for the local food pantry.

Kids helping kids… in more ways than one.

Yesterday, they voted.

Fifty coloring books.

But they didn’t stop there.

One of my teammates at my day job, Derek, stepped in and donated all the crayons needed so each child receiving a book would have everything required to bring it to life.

Then the students added one more layer.

They decided to make 50 handmade bracelets to include with the books.

Not because they had to.

Because they wanted to.

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I find myself sitting in awe of what is happening.

What began as a simple idea is now becoming something much bigger.

A movement.

Jesus teaches that whatever we do for the least of His children, we do for Him. And right now, these patients are being seen… by other children.

That matters.

More than we realize.

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The kids have even expressed a desire to be part of delivering the coloring books to the hospital. Miss Joni will explore what’s possible, understanding that privacy matters and proper guidelines must be followed.

Even so, their hearts are in the right place.

And that’s where real change begins.

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For me, this marks an important moment.

The hand-off is complete.

This is no longer just my project.

Others are carrying it now.

And they’re doing it beautifully.

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During the month of May, all funds raised will be donated at my day job, where additional matching support will help extend the reach even further.

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To these students… and to the advisors who guided them:

Thank you.

You didn’t just raise money.

You created something meaningful.

You reminded all of us what generosity looks like in its purest form.

You are my heroes.

I’m ringing my Clarence bell for each and every one of you.

May you live long and prosper. 🖖

Defining Writing Moments

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Stardate 03.24.2026

Yesterday brought a few quiet moments that stayed with me.

A colleague at my day job asked me to bring in a couple of copies of Where in the World is Wilson? Another reached out to share that the kids she volunteers with are preparing to make a decision about how they want to help patients at a local children’s hospital.

It’s humbling to watch this unfold.

What started as a simple idea is now beginning to move beyond me. I’m doing my best to create a path—a way to get Wilson out into the world and into the hands of those who might need a little encouragement.

And something unexpected is happening along the way.

What I thought would primarily reach patients is also reaching healthy kids.

They’re connecting with it.

They’re carrying it.

That’s been something I didn’t fully anticipate.

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A couple of people also asked me how I find inspiration to write each morning.

That question gave me pause.

Because the truth is… it doesn’t always come from where people expect.

Sometimes it comes from quiet reflection.

Sometimes it comes from the past—stories of family, moments that shaped who we are, and the paths that led us here. I’ve shared pieces of that journey, including stories about ancestors who played a role during the early formation of our country.

But not every story is meant to be told.

There’s a line I’ve been learning to recognize more clearly:

The difference between what we’re called to share… and what we’re entrusted to carry.

That realization played a role in my decision to shift from memoir into fiction when I wrote The Caveman in the Mirror. Not because the stories weren’t real—but because not all real things are meant to be placed into the public space.

Some things are meant to be held with care.

Protected.

Respected.

Because trust matters.

And when someone shares something with you—whether it’s your own story or someone else’s—you begin to understand that writing isn’t just about expression.

It’s about stewardship.

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There’s a verse that has been sitting with me as I reflect on this:

“Whoever can be trusted with very little can also be trusted with much.” — Luke 16:10

That feels especially true in this season.

The more I write, the more I realize that not every moment is meant to become a story.

Some are meant to shape us quietly.

Some are meant to remain between us and God.

And some… are meant to be shared when the time is right.

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As I look ahead, I’ll be hosting a series of livestreams to share more about the stories behind my projects—how they came to be, and what they’ve meant along the way.

Not everything.

But enough to help others understand the journey.

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Captain’s Addendum

Spock studied me for a moment. “Captain, it appears you are learning to distinguish between information and responsibility.”

Bones gave a slight nod. “Just because you can tell a story doesn’t mean you should.”

I smiled.

Because they’re both right.

And maybe that’s what this season is teaching me.

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Join me here:
https://substack.com/@michaelmulliganlivelong

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Mission Log

Not every story we’re given is meant to be shared.

Some are meant to be carried.

And learning the difference… may be one of the most important parts of the journey.

Thank you for being here.

🖖

Where Wilson is Headed

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Stardate 03.23.2026

It started in the most unexpected way.

A volleyball fell out of a family van and dribbled into my life at a time when I felt completely stuck. I was dealing with a severe case of writer’s block, unsure of what to do next or where the story was headed.

Then Wilson showed up.

What began as a simple, almost comical moment turned into something much more. He became my traveling companion. Everywhere we went, people smiled. Conversations started. Walls came down. And somewhere along the way, those smiles began lifting my own spirits.

Wilson didn’t just give me a story.

He gave me momentum.

But then, just as unexpectedly as he arrived…

I lost him.

That loss hit harder than I ever anticipated. What started as something light and playful turned into something deeply personal. I felt it. The absence. The silence. The weight of it.

And for a while, I sank.

Until something happened that I still can’t fully explain.

Along a quiet trail near Blarney Castle, I saw it—a red volleyball, floating gently in the river.

In that moment, everything shifted.

It wasn’t the same Wilson. But it didn’t need to be.

Because what I realized in that moment was this:

Wilson was never just something I carried.

He had already become part of me.

And from that point on, the journey changed.

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The coloring book is now one week old.

And I find myself sitting in a place of quiet amazement at what’s already unfolding.

Lives are being touched.

Conversations are happening.

Doors are opening.

But more importantly, something deeper is becoming clear:

This is no longer just my project.

When something is real… other people begin to carry it.

I saw that clearly when I learned about thirty elementary school students who held a bake sale to raise money for patients at a children’s hospital. They didn’t have to do that. No one told them to. They simply chose to help.

And then something even more powerful happened.

Kiwanis International stepped in and matched their $300 with another $300—doubling the impact and expanding what those kids had already started.

Kids helping kids.

It doesn’t get much better than that.

And the story keeps growing.

A friend from my day job donated crayons—simple, thoughtful, necessary—so the children receiving these coloring books would have everything they need to bring the pages to life.

Piece by piece.

Person by person.

The story is moving forward.

And my role is becoming clearer.

All I need to do now… is complete the hand-off.

Not control it.

Not force it.

Just place it into the hands of others and trust where it goes next.

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There’s a verse that feels fitting as I reflect on all of this:

“Each of you should use whatever gift you have received to serve others.” — 1 Peter 4:10

That’s what this feels like.

A gift, once held tightly…

Now being passed on.

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Captain’s Addendum

Spock studied the situation carefully. “Captain, it appears the object you once carried has now become a shared experience among many.”

Bones smiled. “In plain English… it’s not yours anymore. And that’s a good thing.”

I nodded.

Because they’re right.

And maybe that’s the point.

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Join me here:
https://substack.com/@michaelmulliganlivelong

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Mission Log

Some stories begin with a single moment.

But the meaningful ones don’t end there.

They grow.

They move.

They find their way into the hands of others.

And when they do… they become something more than we ever imagined.

Thank you for being part of this journey.

🖖