The ART of Making a Difference: Painting Hope in Every Direction

The Duke Endowment Center in Charlotte is one of those places that radiates purpose. Sunlight dances across glass walls, portraits of James B. Duke and his family seem to breathe with life, and the gardens outside whisper a legacy of generosity. I recently had the honor of sharing my keynote, The ART of Making a Difference, with more than one hundred leaders from AccessHealth—individuals who pour their hearts into serving low-income families with little or no health coverage. In that moment, surrounded by a living monument to compassion, I was reminded that every one of us has the ability to turn hope into action.

The timing of my visit was especially poignant. With Medicaid expansion on the horizon, the support model that has sustained AccessHealth is shifting. My challenge that day was to encourage those on the front lines not to lose sight of their impact. Like artists standing before a blank canvas, their next masterpiece will be painted not by circumstance but by choice, faith, and perseverance.

Three Points Learned

Awareness Opens the Eyes of the Heart
Artists learn to see light where others see shadows. Likewise, true service begins when we look beyond the surface to understand the needs and emotions that shape others’ lives. Awareness turns compassion into a calling.

Resourcefulness Creates Beauty from Limitation
Every great painting is born out of constraint. It’s not how many colors you have—it’s how you use them. In the same way, AccessHealth teams continue to find innovative ways to heal, even when resources are scarce.

Timing and Tenacity Shape the Masterpiece
The world rarely hands us perfect moments. It’s the steady brush of persistence that brings hope to life. Every challenge is an invitation to adapt, to create, and to press forward.

Photo Credits: Josouna Photography

Takeaway

We’re all artists in one way or another. Our palettes are filled with empathy, courage, and service—and each act of kindness adds a stroke of color to someone’s life. Hope may begin as a faint outline, but through our hands and hearts, it becomes a vivid portrait of what’s possible.

Nestled in Hope: Turning Compassion into Action

Amid the stillness of winter, two bluebirds find shelter in a handcrafted birdhouse, their feathers bright against the snow. That gentle image—warmth amid the cold—is at the heart of this year’s Honor Card, Nestled in Hope. For 38 years, this annual painting has been more than art—it’s been a lifeline, raising awareness and funds for those in need of safe, secure housing.

This year, proceeds once again benefit Community Housing Solutions (CHS), whose mission is to make homes warmer, drier, and safer for low-income families in Guilford County. The Honor Card’s story is deeply personal to me. Years ago, a friend named James Canady, once homeless, found renewed purpose through faith and CHS’s compassion. When health issues and the pandemic left him struggling, CHS stepped in again—proving that sometimes, hope needs a hammer and a heart.

Three Reasons to Give Hope this Season

• A Simple Gift, A Lasting Impact
  Each $5 Honor Card provides critical repairs and resources that keep families safe and secure in their homes.

• Art with a Purpose
  Every card and print extends a legacy of compassion—helping hundreds stay in their homes or find their first.

• Join a Community that Cares
  When you give or send an Honor Card, you remind others that they are seen, valued, and never forgotten.

Learn more by visiting https://www.thehonorcard.com

A Closing Word

As you think of family and friends this holiday season, consider sending a card that does more than decorate a mantel—it builds one. Nestled in Hope is a quiet reminder that everyone deserves a place to call home.

“Go Your Own Way: Finding Beauty in the Ordinary”

This past week, as I’ve been forced to slow down and recover from my fifth back surgery, I’ve found an unexpected gift — the luxury of unhurried reading.

With coffee in hand and sunlight slipping through the blinds, I revisited words from two favorite thinkers, Ralph Marston and my friend Jim Dodson. Both speak to the quiet art of living — not the rush of achievement, but the grace of being fully present. Marston encourages us to “go our own way,” to find purpose in what we love rather than what the world rewards. Dodson, in his lyrical way, reminds us that joy is often found in the smallest acts — tending a garden, walking a dog, or simply greeting the day. Their reflections have been good medicine — not just for the body, but for the soul.

Three Points to Consider:

1. The Art of the Small
Life doesn’t always reward the loudest voices or the biggest stages. Sometimes it’s in the quiet corners — a sketch, a conversation, a sunrise — where meaning takes root. Like Dodson’s “Sunday man,” we rediscover divinity in the everyday, twixt heaven and earth.

2. The Freedom of Going Your Own Way
Marston’s call to “go your own way” is a gentle rebellion against imitation. It’s about pursuing what truly stirs your spirit — not for approval, but for joy. As artists, gardeners, and even patients in recovery, we are called to create beauty for its own sake.

3. The Healing of Doing Well
Whether painting a canvas, sweeping a floor, or taking another careful walk around the house, pride in our efforts becomes its own form of prayer. When we bring care to what we do, we transform ordinary acts into moments of grace.

Conclusion:

This week reminded me that slowing down isn’t losing ground — it’s gaining perspective. The world will always race ahead, but true contentment lives where purpose meets peace. As I return to my easel and my own “corner of the world,” I’m reminded that joy doesn’t wait for recovery; it happens in the doing.

Walking Among Giants: The Art of Leaving a Mark

The crisp air of autumn has a way of slowing time, inviting reflection. This past weekend, as I wandered through High Point University’s Kester International Promenade, I found myself surrounded by greatness—not just in the architecture or the gardens, but in the quiet presence of those immortalized in bronze.

Along the brick-lined path stood more than 20 statues of world changers—leaders, inventors, visionaries—each accompanied by words that have shaped generations. I paused at every bench, reading, listening, and offering silent thanks for how God used each of them to make a difference.

Halfway down the promenade, I stopped in my tracks at a quote by the artist Vincent Van Gogh:

“I am still far from being what I want to be, but with God’s help I shall succeed.”

Van Gogh’s words struck me deeply. Though he’s now celebrated as one of history’s most revered painters, during his lifetime he sold only one painting. He battled mental illness, rejection, and despair—yet he never stopped creating. His life reminds us that success is not always measured in applause, but in the courage to keep going.

Three Reflections from the Promenade

1. Inspiration Is Everywhere, If We Slow Down to See It
Our world moves quickly, but growth happens when we pause long enough to absorb the wisdom around us. That day, each statue seemed to whisper a timeless truth—urging me to listen, to learn, and to keep believing in what’s possible.

2. Every Act, Big or Small, Leaves a Mark
You don’t have to invent the light bulb like Edison or change the course of nations like Churchill. Sometimes the greatest legacy is a note of encouragement, a gesture of compassion, or a single life uplifted because you cared.

3. Faith Fuels Perseverance
Van Gogh’s faith didn’t remove his struggles—it gave him strength through them. Like him, we may never fully see the impact of our faith and work in our lifetime. But with God’s help, we too can succeed in the ways that matter most.

Conclusion

That quiet walk reminded me that legacies aren’t built in the spotlight—they’re shaped in the everyday choices to believe, create, and give. This week, take time to reflect on those who’ve inspired you, and consider how you might do the same for others.

As Vincent Van Gogh once said,

“When Life Moves You to the Second Shelf”

It began as one of those ordinary errands — a quick trip to CVS for a few incidentals. In my hand, I clutched a 35% off coupon, my golden ticket to saving a few dollars on life’s small necessities. But as any man who still shaves with a razor knows, those “necessities” now cost about as much as a dinner out.

So, I made my way down the aisle, dodging the “Super Seniors” who seem to make a day of visiting CVS, catching up with old friends or making new ones in the greeting card section. Finally, I arrived at the familiar shelf where my trusty Trac II blades had lived for decades. But they were gone.

I looked again. Slower this time. I scanned each row, only to find walls of shiny five-blade, pivoting, turbo-powered razors promising the “closest shave ever.” I was about to surrender to the Fusion 5 Proglide when—there they were. My Trac IIs. Moved to the second shelf.

I paused longer than I’d like to admit. There was something about that demotion — from the prime shelf to the secondary — that hit me. Not because I couldn’t find them, but because it said something deeper about time, change, and the quiet shift in how the world moves on… even when we don’t notice.

Three Reflections from the Second Shelf

1. Progress Doesn’t Always Mean Better
The world loves the new and improved. Five blades must be better than two, right? But sometimes, simplicity holds its own quiet wisdom. The Trac II may not boast turbo power, but it’s reliable — just like the values, habits, and friendships that have served us faithfully for years.

2. Change Has a Way of Testing Our Adaptability
Finding my razors on the second shelf made me think about how we respond when the familiar shifts. Do we grumble? Or do we adjust, adapt, and keep moving? Life will always rearrange our “aisles.” The key is to keep walking them with grace and humor.

3. Age Isn’t a Downgrade — It’s a Reclassification
Maybe that second shelf isn’t a demotion. Maybe it’s a reminder that wisdom, experience, and patience sometimes get placed a little lower, not because they’re less valuable, but because they’ve been around long enough to no longer need the spotlight.

Closing Reflection

As I walked out of CVS, bag in hand and coupon redeemed, I smiled. Life’s small moments have a way of offering the best lessons — if we slow down long enough to see them. Sometimes, the world moves our razors — or our routines, or our roles — to a different shelf. That’s not the end. It’s just an invitation to see life from a slightly new angle.