Part One: The Hour That Mattered

From 1:00 to 2:00 p.m., Monday through Friday, time stopped at my grandmother’s house.

Phones weren’t answered. Appointments weren’t scheduled. If you needed her, you waited. That hour was reserved for finding out whether Viki Buchanan and Clint Buchanan were getting divorced… again. For witnessing the shock of Tina Lord marrying Cord Roberts. For watching Bo Brady and Nora Hanen navigate yet another impossible situation. And for bracing ourselves as Todd Manning and Blair Cramer proved, once again, that chaos could masquerade as romance.

I learned about dissociative identity disorder, amnesia, kidnapping, poison, courtroom drama — and kissing. A lot of kissing.

An incredible amount happened in that hour. And yet, if we’re honest, not much happened at all. The stories moved slowly. Painfully slowly at times. But that was the magic. The show trusted patience. It trusted memory. It trusted the viewer.

If you’re wondering what I’m talking about, I’m talking about the greatest soap ever told: One Life to Live.

My grandma sat in her recliner. I laid on the couch. She had a Coke and a cookie. I probably did too, though I don’t really remember. What I do remember is that there was no talking. The volume was turned up high — higher than it needed to be. Grandma would never admit it, but she couldn’t hear thunder.

That hour wasn’t casual viewing. It was intentional.

One Life to Live was my grandmother’s favorite show. I called her nearly every day when I went off to college — right up until a few days before she died — but I never called between 1:00 and 2:00 p.m. That was forbidden.

And that was fine. Because by then, I was hooked too.

In fifth grade, I was diagnosed with migraines. I missed a lot of school. I spent a lot of time at home. And I spent a lot of that time with my grandma. Sleeping helped, but there’s only so much sleep an eleven-year-old boy can take. Eventually, I started watching One Life to Live with her.

That became our thing.

I watched during summers. I watched during school breaks. I watched when I was home sick. I didn’t record it and watch it later — that would have felt strange — but I never really stopped watching. The funny thing is, I could disappear for weeks, even months, and when I came back, within twenty minutes I knew exactly what was going on.

They don’t write like that anymore.

Why did One Life to Live appeal to me? There are probably several reasons. One is obvious: it was something my grandmother and I shared. But that’s not the whole story.

I love long stories — as long as they respect my attention. That’s why I tend to read series instead of standalone books. I want characters with history. I want backstory. I want consequences that linger.

One Life to Live began telling its story in 1968 and kept building it until 2013. Characters aged alongside the actors. Events from ten, fifteen, even twenty-five years earlier still mattered. History wasn’t a reference — it was a burden the characters carried.

That kind of storytelling matters more to me now than it did then, because back then I didn’t know any different.

Soaps told stories the way a crockpot works. The story cooked over time. Slowly. Patiently. And if you stayed with it, there was something rich to sit down to in the end.

Today, we’ve trained ourselves on the microwave. Instant payoff. Immediate resolution. Very little patience.

That kind of storytelling is common now. And I miss the other kind.

There are only a handful of soaps left today, and that disappoints me. Most people assume that if I loved One Life to Live, I must have loved Days of Our Lives or General Hospital too.

I didn’t.

I might have watched an episode here or there — just enough to keep my pop culture trivia skills sharp — but they never felt the same. This is going to sound ridiculous, but those shows didn’t feel real to me. For whatever reason, One Life to Live did.

I know. You’re judging me.

That’s fine.

And the more I think about it, the more I wonder if the problem wasn’t the stories — but where we tried to tell them.

My dad’s nickname is Banny. In fact, my mom didn’t know his real name was Randy until they were typing up their wedding announcement for the newspaper and he asked if she thought they should use his “real name.” She didn’t believe him. He had to show her his driver’s license.

That probably should have been a clue to how their marriage would go.

My dad has thoroughly enjoyed jokes and stories at my mom’s expense for the last 46 years. And while most people describe my mom as a saint for putting up with him, I’m not convinced she’d know what to do if he wasn’t pulling some kind of prank on her all the time.

What mattered most, though—and what shaped my sister and me more than anything—was that faith was non-negotiable in our home. Skipping church was never an option (even on the Sundays I really wanted it to be). They didn’t just talk about faith; they ordered their lives around it.

They also modeled consistency. Reliable isn’t flashy, but it’s powerful—and it fits them perfectly. Mom is often asked to pray for people, sometimes with very little explanation. Dad was always involved too—youth trips, church camp, cooking for school events—whatever season we were in became their priority.

It wasn’t accidental that our house became the hangout house. They wanted it that way. Their logic was simple: they always knew where we were, and everyone there was safe. We felt so safe, in fact, that my sister and I once unintentionally hosted a co-ed sleepover weekend with no parents… which sounds far more scandalous than it actually was—and is probably a blog for another day.

Happy Anniversary to Randy and Cindy—Banny and the saint who loves him anyway.
Thank you for the faith you lived, the consistency you modeled, and the home you made safe for so many.

A Little Leadership, A Little Narnia, and a Surprising Amount of Time Travel

I enjoy reading. It’s something I think everyone ought to enjoy, but I also understand not everyone does. I like TV and movies too—probably more people identify with that than my enjoyment of books. But reading has become one of my favorite parts of life, and 2025 turned out to be a pretty full bookshelf year.

A quick confession: I wasn’t a strong reader in elementary or high school. Not even close. But somewhere in college something clicked, and ever since then I’ve genuinely loved books. Some years I read 10; other years I make it past 24. It just depends on life.

And yes, I consider audiobooks real reading. When you drive 180 miles a day, you either learn to appreciate audiobooks or you end up talking to yourself in the car. I’ve done both.

This year my reading list spread across more genres than usual. I read more leadership books than normal—no idea why. Someone probably recommended them, and I thought, “Why not?” I also dove into historical fiction, suspense, fantasy, and, of course, my guilty-pleasure category: sci-fi and time travel. (Another guilty pleasure is poetry, though I can’t remember the last time I read a poem on purpose.)

Before I get to the list, let me say this:
Wild Goose Chase should be on everyone’s reading list for 2026. It’s short, challenging, and one of those books that makes you think about how you’re actually living your life—not just how you wish you were living it.

The Books I Read in 2025

(Grouped so this looks like I planned it this way.)

Leadership & Faith

Wild Goose Chase — Mark Batterson

One of my favorite reads of the year. Batterson has a way of making you feel inspired and convicted in the same breath. It’s a short book, but it sticks with you.

The Unexhausted Leader – Lisa Hosler

A thoughtful reminder that leaders don’t have to run on fumes to be effective. It pushed me to look at my habits a little closer. I didn’t always like what I saw.

Embracing Rhythms of Work and Rest — Ruth Haley Barton

Rebekah gave me this book because, in her words, my rhythm is “absolutely horrible.” She wasn’t hinting—she was diagnosing. And she’s always right. I’m trying to read it… but ironically, I haven’t found the rhythm for this book yet.

Family Driven Faith — Voddie Baucham

A strong call to intentional Christian parenting. It’s a book that makes you think about the long game—what really matters and what doesn’t.

Extreme Ownership — Jocko Willink & Leif Babin

A leadership book that wastes no time reminding you how many things you complain about that might actually be your fault. Challenging, practical, and the kind of book that makes you want to sit up straighter.

Thriller / Suspense

The Beijing Betrayal — Joel Rosenberg

I’ve followed the Marcus Ryker series for years, and Book 6 didn’t disappoint. Rosenberg knows how to keep a plot moving without losing the heart of the story. A great companion for long drives.

Fool Me Once — Harlan Coben

This was my first Harlan Coben novel, and apparently everyone else already knew how addictive his books are. I started it thinking I’d read a chapter or two… and suddenly an hour disappeared. If the rest of his books read like this, I may have accidentally discovered a new hobby.

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Historical Fiction / WWII

The Goddess of Warsaw — Lisa Barr

A powerful story with vivid characters and strong emotional pull. Barr writes in a way that makes you feel the weight—and courage—of the era.

The Huntress — Kate Quinn

My mom recommended this one, and her track record with WWII and Holocaust-related thrillers is pretty solid. I picked it up out of curiosity and ended up fully invested before I realized it. If Mom keeps recommending books like this, I may never catch up on my reading list.

Sarah’s Key — Tatiana de Rosnay

A heartbreaking and beautifully written novel. It lingers with you long after you finish, in all the best ways.

The Frozen River — Ariel Lawhon

A beautifully crafted historical novel with enough suspense to keep me engaged on long drives. Lawhon brings the time period to life in a way that made this one of my favorite historical reads of the year.

Sci-Fi & Time Travel (the guilty pleasure section)

Project Hail Mary — Andy Weir

Absolutely loved this one. It’s smart, fun, and had me trying to remember high school science I definitely did not learn the first time. Easily a top read of the year.

Time Lost — Elyse Douglas

A lighter, time-bending story that hit the spot when I wanted something different. Proof that not everything you read has to be serious to be meaningful.

Lost in Time — A.G. Riddle

A fast-paced sci-fi adventure that kept me interested all the way through. Riddle knows how to build a world without overwhelming the reader.

Fantasy (the comfort series)

The Harry Potter Series — J.K. Rowling

My third time through the series—once in college, once with Lincoln in third grade, and now with Andrew in third grade. Apparently, third grade is when the Williams boys become wizards. At this point, I could probably teach Defense Against the Dark Arts.

The Chronicles of Narnia — C.S. Lewis

Started in 2024 and finished in 2025. Lewis writes with a simplicity and depth that always feels refreshing. A good reset for the imagination.

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A Few Final Thoughts

I don’t know if I’ll do this kind of post every year. Maybe I will. Maybe next year I’ll write 6th-grade-style book reports after finishing a good one—complete with the classic “My favorite part was…” section. Or maybe I’ll just do another end-of-year roundup.

I also hope in 2026 to dig deeper into two areas that interest me:

1. Holocaust survivor stories
2. Reading curriculum and AR systems in schools

My time allows for books. Research, however… that’s another story. But maybe.

More than anything, I hope my boys grow to enjoy reading someday. Right now they don’t, and that’s completely age-appropriate. School has to teach them the mechanics of reading, and sometimes that pressure can steal a little of the joy. There’s a balance to be found. I’m still looking for it.

For now, though, these are the books that filled my year—and I’m grateful for every mile, chapter, and story along the way.

I’m in the middle of a couple of books right now that will be finished in 2026. What should I add to my list? Leave a comment with your recommendations.

Ok, that’s enough.

On this Christmas Day, I simply want to share the story that never grows old. No commentary, no reflections — just the Word of God and the promise fulfilled. My prayer is that these familiar verses remind you of the hope, peace, and joy found only in Jesus.

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Isaiah 9:2, 6–7 (ESV)

The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who dwelt in a land of deep darkness, on them has light shone. For to us a child is born, to us a son is given; and the government shall be upon his shoulder, and his name shall be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace. Of the increase of his government and of peace there will be no end, on the throne of David and over his kingdom, to establish it and to uphold it with justice and with righteousness from this time forth and forevermore. The zeal of the Lord of hosts will do this.

Luke 2:1–20 (ESV)

In those days a decree went out from Caesar Augustus that all the world should be registered. This was the first registration when Quirinius was governor of Syria. And all went to be registered, each to his own town.

And Joseph also went up from Galilee, from the town of Nazareth, to Judea, to the city of David, which is called Bethlehem, because he was of the house and lineage of David, to be registered with Mary, his betrothed, who was with child. And while they were there, the time came for her to give birth. And she gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in swaddling cloths and laid him in a manger, because there was no place for them in the inn.

And in the same region there were shepherds out in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night. And an angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were filled with great fear. And the angel said to them, “Fear not, for behold, I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord. And this will be a sign for you: you will find a baby wrapped in swaddling cloths and lying in a manger.”

And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God and saying, “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace among those with whom he is pleased!”

When the angels went away from them into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, “Let us go over to Bethlehem and see this thing that has happened, which the Lord has made known to us.” And they went with haste and found Mary and Joseph, and the baby lying in a manger. And when they saw it, they made known the saying that had been told them concerning this child. And all who heard it wondered at what the shepherds told them. But Mary treasured up all these things, pondering them in her heart. And the shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all they had heard and seen, as it had been told them.

Revelation 22:12–13, 20 (ESV)

“Behold, I am coming soon, bringing my recompense with me, to repay each one for what he has done. I am the Alpha and the Omega, the first and the last, the beginning and the end.”
…
He who testifies to these things says, “Surely I am coming soon.”
Amen. Come, Lord Jesus!

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May the truth of Christ’s birth fill your heart today with wonder and gratitude. From my family to yours, Merry Christmas — may His peace rest on you and your home.

In Him,
Mike

My Friend Sue!

People often assume the hardest part of fundraising is asking for money.

It’s not.

Others think it’s hearing the word no.
Or waiting patiently while someone considers a gift.
Or cultivating a relationship for years with no guarantee of support.

Those things have their challenges. They require humility, patience, and persistence.

But they are not the hardest part.

The hardest part of being a fundraiser is when donors become close—like family—and then pass away.

Last week, my friend Sue passed away.

I worked with Sue for nearly 20 years, though her connection to Oklahoma Baptist Homes for Children stretches back much further than that. There is not a campus or ministry within OBHC that does not carry her influence in some way. Her encouragement, generosity, and unwavering passion for caring for children helped shape this ministry more than most people will ever realize.

Sue was steady.
She was genuine.
She was the definition of encouragement and conviction.

Nothing ever altered her passion for making sure children were cared for, supported, and loved.

Sue and her husband, Ken, shared that passion. Together, they have been faithful, generous supporters of OBHC for many years. Their legacy is not a moment—it is a lifetime of faithfulness that still matters deeply to this ministry.

One of the things Sue loved most was hosting the boys from Boys Ranch. She welcomed them into her home, fed them, laughed with them, and made them feel like they belonged.

And she made sloppy joes.

I don’t know how or why — but they were the best sloppy joes I have ever had in my entire life.

Maybe it was the recipe.
Maybe it was the way she cooked them.
Or maybe it was simply the love behind them.

What I do know is that moments like that matter. Meals matter. Presence matters. Faithfulness matters.

Sue never saw herself as “a donor.” She saw herself as part of the work—part of the family that surrounded and supported children who needed stability and care.

That’s what makes loss like this different in fundraising.

When someone like Sue passes away, you don’t just lose financial support for a ministry. You lose encouragement. You lose wisdom. You lose stories. You lose handwritten notes, familiar conversations, and steady prayers.

You lose a friend.

And yet — even in the grief — we rejoice.

Sue is completely healed and in the presence of the Lord. We mourn because we have lost someone incredibly special. I ask that you would join us in praying for Ken and the entire Fellers family as they grieve, remembering the faithfulness they have shown and the legacy that continues.

Scripture reminds us, “Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of His saints” (Psalm 116:15). That truth doesn’t remove the sorrow, but it anchors it in hope.

Sue taught me — without ever trying — that fundraising at its best is not transactional. It is relational. It is sacred work built on trust, love, and shared mission.

I will miss her dearly.

And I am deeply grateful — for Ken, for their family, and for a legacy that continues.

The Day Walter Green Was Born: One Year Later

One year ago today—December 9—my right kidney decided to go into labor. No warning. No countdown. Just me, a meeting, and sudden pain so intense I briefly wondered if this was how my story ended.

Within minutes, James Swain and Rebekah Stapp were watching me morph into the dramatic, low-pain-tolerant version of myself. They got the full performance. They rushed me to urgent care, who took one look, gave me a shot that did nothing, and immediately sent me to the ER. Not exactly confidence-building.

The ER Experience

Deaconess ER treated me like royalty—probably because a grown man curled in the fetal position and praying out loud tends to draw a bit of attention. Someone told me I was “lucky” because a room had “just opened up.” I’m not sure that’s how luck works, but at that point I wasn’t in a position to argue.

Rebekah found a wheelchair (which she immediately turned into a battering ram), handled the paperwork, and graciously allowed me to focus on letting the entire waiting room know I was throwing up. If I’m going to hurl, I prefer it be a shared experience.

Once they pumped me full of pain medication, everything got blurry. I’ve since been told I become very polite and unusually sweet when medicated. This was surprising news to all of us.

Walgreens: The Villain Origin Story

Once discharged—still very much “in labor”—I left with a prescription meant to help usher the kidney stone into the world. We went to the Walgreens at May and 50th. I sat in a chair, moaning and trying not to fall over from the medication, while Rebekah waited in line for 45 minutes.

When we finally reached the counter, the pharmacist acknowledged she had my prescription… and then refused to fill it because they were closing in a couple of minutes. I explained I had been in line long before closing.

She said, “I understand.”

She did not understand, which I tried—very clearly—to explain.

We left and tried another Walgreens. They informed us they couldn’t fill the prescription because the first Walgreens (now closed) “still had it.” Apparently one locked building is enough to shut down the entire healthcare industry.

This is the moment I added Walgreens to my boycott list. (My boycott list is real and enforced.)
It is also how my kidney stone earned his name: Walter Green—because I strongly disliked them both.

Then the Real Heroes Stepped In

When the big-box systems fail you, small-town people don’t.

Dr. Cayci Brickman stepped in quickly and wrote the correct prescription.

Jim Luckie, our local pharmacist and a true Okeene hero, had the medication ready by the time I got home— well after his business hours. His pharmacy was closed long before we even discovered Walgreens was going to be zero help.
For the record, Walgreens and insurance companies could learn a few things from small-town pharmacies. They’re not the problem that big-box stores and insurers make them out to be.

James, Rebekah, and Julie drove me to Kingfisher late that night, after dealing with me in the ER.

Reese Brickman drove me the rest of the way home. We had a full conversation, but I cannot recall what was discussed.

And Amy—my everyday hero—helped me deliver that stone and every stone that followed this year. She deserves a lifetime achievement award and Okeene Citizen of the Year in the Kidney Stone Support Division.

One Year Later

Here’s what stands out a year later:

I cannot do life alone.
And thankfully, God hasn’t asked me to.

He surrounded me with the right people at the right moment—James, Rebekah, Dr. Cayci Brickman, Jim Luckie, Reese Brickman, and Amy. They were His hands and feet that day, and I’m grateful.

I’m still not a fan of Walgreens.
I am a big fan of Okeene, America.
And I’m thankful for the people who show up when you’re at your worst, most dramatic, and most medicated.

Happy first birthday, Walter Green.
You were awful.
You are not missed.

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A Little Call to Action

If you’d like to help me celebrate Walter Green’s first birthday, feel free to share this post with Walgreens Corporate—or with CNN, your local news station, or anyone else who enjoys a real human-interest story involving pain, perseverance, and poor pharmacy timing.

Who knows? Maybe Walgreens will finally acknowledge Walter’s origin story and offer an apology.

I’m not holding my breath…
but stranger things have happened.

Some people wrestle with deep theological questions. Others wrestle with moral dilemmas. Me? I wrestle with pie — especially the week after Thanksgiving. And lately, protein keeps pinning it down like Jacob at the Jabbok (Genesis 32:22–32).

Thanksgiving is basically a national holiday devoted to testing your sanctification. My kitchen the day after looked like a carbohydrate crime scene. Pie was whispering, “Come to me, all you who are weary and heavy-laden… and I will give you sugar.” Protein, meanwhile, stood in the corner doing its best impression of a gym bro muttering, “Ground turkey. Again.”

It wasn’t a fair fight. Pie had nostalgia, flaky crusts, and whipped cream on its side. Protein had… chalky shakes and a never-ending supply of ground turkey. If life were a post-Thanksgiving potluck, pie would be the first thing to disappear. Protein would still be sitting on the counter next to the veggie tray, wondering why it even got invited.

Workouts with Ike often turn into theology class — his idea, not mine. He’ll ask me deep biblical questions right when I’m sweating like a pig (which, by the way, is an unclean animal), and I do my best to answer between gasps for air. One day he asked me what I thought about Jacob wrestling with God at the Jabbok. It turned into a whole discussion. At least I think it did — I barely remember it because I was wrestling with leg lifts at the same time. Jacob may have walked away with a limp, but I walked away wondering if my legs were still attached.

But here’s the thing: when Jacob wrestled at the Jabbok, he didn’t walk away the same. He left with both a limp and a blessing. That’s usually how discipline works. It doesn’t leave you unscathed — sore muscles, sore pride, sore abs — but it leaves you stronger and shaped by God’s hand.

Fatherhood feels the same way. Every day is a choice: pie or protein. Comfort or discipline. Temporary pleasure or long-term hopefulness. The easy road fills you for a moment; the hard road fuels you for the journey.

And since full transparency is important: yes, I ate a piece of pie this year. But — and this is character development — I did not eat the whole pie. Old Mike would’ve considered that “cleaning up leftovers.” New Mike is learning boundaries. Discipline doesn’t always look heroic; sometimes it looks like closing the fridge and walking away before you start negotiating with dessert like it’s a hostage situation.

Paul said it like this: “Every athlete exercises self-control in all things. They do it to receive a perishable wreath, but we an imperishable” (1 Corinthians 9:25). Abs or no abs, my boys don’t need a dad who gives in to every craving — they need one who models what self-control looks like, even when the pie is winning the argument.

So no, I’m not breaking up with pie completely. It still gets visitation rights on special occasions. But I’m learning that protein is the training partner I need for Father Figure 2.0. And who knows — maybe pie and protein will eventually learn to get along at the same table.

Father Figure 2.0: Built on discipline. Powered by pie… in moderation.

If you’ve got your own pie-vs-protein story, drop it in the comments. Misery loves company… especially when the company brings pie.

1. Faith
   I’m thankful for a God who doesn’t change, even when everything else does.
2. Oklahoma Roads
   I’m thankful for Oklahoma roads. They keep tire-alignment shops prosperous and humble the rest of us.
3. Pie
   I’m thankful for pie. Cake is fine, but pie tastes like someone put in a little extra effort.
4. Family
   I’m thankful for Amy, Lincoln, and Andrew—who somehow put up with my quirks, plans, late-night ideas, and the way I overthink simple decisions. They deserve more credit than they get.
5. Coworkers
   I’m thankful for coworkers who work hard, care deeply, keep me laughing, and make me look better than I actually am.
6. Hymns
   I’m thankful for hymns—steady truth set to music that still holds up.
   Side note: I still want to know how to correctly sing “God of Earth and Outer Space.”
7. Road Trips
   I’m thankful for road trips—solo or with the boys. That’s where my mind resets and where some of our best conversations happen.
8. Simple Things
   I’m thankful for simple things—a good meal, a clean kitchen, and the five minutes when the house is actually quiet.
9. Health
   I’m thankful for better health—even if working out still feels like a consequence for choices I didn’t make.
10. Colorful Shoes and Socks
    I’m thankful for my colorful shoes and socks. Somehow they became a signature without me ever planning it.
11. Cold Water
    I’m thankful for extra-cold water. It has carried me through more late nights and long meetings than I can count.
12. Great Friends
    I’m thankful for great friends. I’ve often said you can pick your friends and pick your nose, but you can’t wipe your friends under the couch.

If you’ve followed my writing for any amount of time, you know I tend to bounce between nostalgia, faith, family life, childhood memories, OBHC stories, and the occasional confession about my questionable food choices.

Over the next few weeks, I’ll be posting new content — some funny, some reflective, all very “Mike.” I’m also lining up a few throwback posts from the old Mind of Mike and Growing Up Guymon days. (Don’t worry… I’ll ease you in. No deep cuts yet.)

For now, consider this another little teaser.
Something good is coming — assuming my brain cooperates and my socks match.

Ok that’s enough.

Well… here we go again.

I’ve officially dusted off the old writing muscles (they made a loud cracking sound), logged back into my blog, and started typing like it’s 2013 all over again. Several new posts are in the works — stories, memories, faith reflections, and at least one moment where I embarrass myself in public. So… you know… classic Mike content.

For now, consider this your friendly “heads up” that I Know Mike Williams is waking back up.

New posts coming soon — and I promise the next one will have more than 97 words.

Ok that’s enough.