What do you do when the thing you have chased for four years keeps coming back as a bunch of nothing? For Matt Landis, the answer found him on a bluff in the fall of 2022, mid run, worn down and crying, finally praying.

He and his wife, Ashley, had spent four years trying to have a child, and within about a week of that prayer she was pregnant. Their son Truman, now turning three, goes by True, which is its own kind of poetry for a man whose whole life cracked open with something true. Matt also runs the way he believes, all in, logging his first 50K at 31 and then 104 miles at a backyard ultra this past March, finally crossing the 100-mile mark he had chased for six years, powered by a worship playlist he built off K-Love and artists like Phil Wickham.

Here is the thing about Matt Landis. He is an all-in guy, and you find your life when you give it away. He and Matt Gordon, who happen to share a first name, trade notes on the strangely parallel ways they each came to faith, one on a running trail and one in a lawn chair with a novel. They get into why a dead faith usually means a faith left unstoked, how the discipline that carries you through a hundred-mile night is the same discipline that keeps a marriage alive, and why getting on the floor with your kids instead of hiding from the noise can become the best hour of your week.

Plus: the surprising number of running metaphors hiding in the Bible, and the questionable foot-based hack one dad swears got his picky toddler to eat.

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What if the happiest people aren't the lucky ones, but the ones who choose it on purpose? Jess greets the hallway with hey, hi, hi while everyone else ducks eye contact, and she means it.

She and her husband Eddie met over a Memorial Day weekend at the pool, where she woke him from a nap to spray sunscreen on a stranger getting sunburned. Now they're raising three daughters whose names all start with A, chasing a new dog named S'mores around the house, and naming the hummingbirds at the feeder Kevin, Tutu, and Sally. Jess even fell for the emerald-bellied hummingbirds in St. Lucia and has tried to figure out how to bring them home to Missouri.

This one is about the small stuff that turns out to be the big stuff. The wonder you can fit into nine seconds at a window. The hobbies you finally have room for when the kids stop needing you every minute. And the quiet courage it takes to lift someone up instead of looking away.

Plus: the receptionist with the new haircut, the compliment Matt never said, and why he's still thinking about going back to leave the note.

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What happens when the extrovert who lights up every room realizes her battery is empty halfway through a service trip in Jamaica?

Rachel Douglas grew up floating rivers in St. James, Missouri, and now trains people at Veterans United in Columbia. She talks about being the youngest child who learned to lighten the mood, the mid-week moment in Jamaica's Harmony House when she finally let people see her vulnerable after a Meals on Heels visit left her overstimulated, and her karaoke go-tos: "Goodbye Earl" by the Dixie Chicks and Celine Dion's "My Heart Will Go On," fist in the air.

Matt and Rachel get into why community gets harder after 22, what it means to find safe people who don't need you to be on, and her motto that's reshaped how she shows up: be what you want to attract. More is more, especially when it comes to joy.

Plus: the story of a 30-year-old who snapped at Rachel's sister for humming Broadway hits at the Missouri Symphony's Defying Gravity show.

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