On Purpose
How often do we tell ourselves that the events in our lives are random? When we pause to replay the tape of our past, it can seem like coincidence drives much of what we experience. I know for me, I’ve been tempted to take credit for the things I’ve accomplished — even the missteps I caused myself.
But then the age-old question surfaces: Who’s really in charge here? Is it God — some higher power pulling the strings — or do we truly have freedom of choice?
In Forrest Gump, there’s a moment of profound honesty when Forrest stands at Jenny’s graveside and says, “I don’t know if we each have a destiny, or if we’re all just floating around accidental-like on a breeze… maybe it’s both. Maybe both is happening at the same time.”
That thought has always stayed with me.
To me, God created us in two forms: one eternal, destined for something greater — and the other human, equipped with free will, the capacity to think, to act, and to believe. Somewhere in the mystery between sovereignty and self-direction lies faith.
However you choose to look at it, we are something miraculous. Our very existence is astonishing. Even this moment — you, reading these words, pondering them — is its own kind of wonder.
So what’s the purpose of it all? Only God knows. But perhaps that’s the beauty of it. Let us rejoice in our form, and in the quiet certainty of our eternal purpose. As a friend once told me, “There are no coincidences. That’s just God’s way of staying anonymous.”
“And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.”
— Romans 8:28 (NIV)
We Know Nothing Without God
We Know Nothing Without God
What is it, really, that we think we know? The illusion of certainty is the mind’s way of pacifying our deep desire for control. Yet that control is a mirage. It comforts the ego—the part of us that believes it must have all the answers.
Man’s obsession with knowing and certainty often becomes the very thing that distances us from God. It “edges God out,” as the acronym for EGO fittingly suggests. In some translations, “ego” simply means “I” or “the self”—a reminder that when we center ourselves as the all-knowing authority, we subtly push God out of His rightful place.
In truth, we know nothing. And the more we learn, the more we should stand in awe, not in pride. Every scientific breakthrough, every philosophical insight, seems only to uncover deeper layers of mystery. If we’re honest, the pursuit of knowledge, when done without humility, should not lead us to mastery—but to worship.
So perhaps it’s time we stop pretending to know and start remembering who does. Let’s release the burden of being our own gods and return to reverence for the One who formed us.
To know God is not to hold all the answers—it is to be held by the only One who does.
“The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom, and knowledge of the Holy One is understanding.” — Proverbs 9:10
Perfect Love
What do we mean by perfect love?
It is love without limits. Love that holds no record of wrongs. Love that remains steady, no matter what we do or how far we may stray. Sometimes, I believe the closest glimpse we get of this love in our everyday lives is seen in the bond between a dog and its owner. There are no conditions. No grudges. Just unwavering companionship—a desire simply to be near us. That, in its pure simplicity, feels like perfect love.
But even that is only a shadow of the love God has for us.
God’s perfect love began before we were ever aware—at the moment of our creation. Out of nothing, He made us. And here we are, living, breathing, aware. Despite our flaws, our brokenness, and the imperfection of this world and our human form, God’s love remains perfect.
He knows our path. He sees our struggles. He knows our sin, our fears, our doubts—and yet, He loves us still.
As Scripture reminds us:
“For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.”
— Romans 8:38–39 (NIV)
It’s hard to grasp sometimes, but this life is not the end of the road. We are merely passing through. Our true home, our eternal place, is with Him—forever embraced by His perfect love.
So today, brothers and sisters, rejoice. Rejoice in the gift of your existence, in the miracle of your awareness, and in the eternal grace that surrounds you. Rejoice in the perfect love of God—a love that never fails, never leaves, and never ends.
True Self
When we prioritize image over presence, we lose intimacy—with both God and others.
How much of my life have I spent trying to prove who I am to people? The energy it takes is exhausting—how I dress, how I speak, where I live, what I say (or don’t say), what I publicly support spiritually or politically.
Sometimes I wonder: Do I even fully understand what I claim to believe?
And if someone pressed me—really pressed me—I might start unraveling by the third or fourth question.
The more we immerse ourselves in the world of public approval and personal ambition, the further we drift from God.
At times, it’s as though we try to play God—carefully crafting an image that gives others the illusion we’re in control.
But much like those who perform bravery while trembling inside, many of us are quietly afraid, hiding behind confidence we don’t actually possess.
Jesus spoke directly to this human tendency when He said:
“Woe to you… you are like whitewashed tombs, which look beautiful on the outside but on the inside are full of the bones of the dead and everything unclean.”
—Matthew 23:27
Lately, I’ve been trying to make a better effort to acknowledge who I really am—and more importantly, who God is calling me to be. Not a carefully edited version of myself designed to put others at ease. Not a projection. Just… me.
And the truth is, it’s freeing.
Even if it makes me seem weird.
Even if it costs relationships I thought I needed.
It’s far better to align ourselves with God, and let Him align us with people who aren’t performing either—people who don’t need masks to belong.
So I say to you, brothers and sisters:
God knows who we really are.
He always has.
And He is not asking us to present ourselves like actors in a play.
He’s asking us to show up as what we already are—the gracious, eternal souls He created in love.
Speaking to the Soul
Speaking to the Soul
It’s worth deeply reflecting on how often, throughout the Bible, God chose unlikely messengers—those without status, those considered outcasts, even individuals with troubled pasts, speech impediments, or immoral behavior—to carry His word. Time and again, God bypassed the polished and powerful in favor of the humble and broken.
Jesus Himself spent His time with the outcasts of society—not the influential, but the forgotten, the rejected, the so-called “degenerates” of His time. This wasn’t by accident. It was to show us something profound: that it isn’t eloquence, appearance, wealth, or status that qualifies someone to share God’s grace—it’s the heart.
In the world of recovery, we see this truth play out so clearly. People who have hit rock bottom, who have lived through destruction, often become the most powerful vessels of God’s love. They’re able to reach others in a way no therapist, doctor, or academic study ever could. There’s no formula or training behind it. Their message flows from the soul—and the soul recognizes truth when it hears it.
This reflection makes me think about identity—about how much I worry over my appearance, how I sound, what I own, and what I present to the world. I get caught up in believing that all these external things must be in order for people to hear me. But the truth is, people don’t need perfection. They need authenticity. They need to hear your heart. They need to feel your intent, your love, and your desire to point them toward what’s good and true.
So, my brothers and sisters, I encourage you: speak to the soul. When you interact with others, give them your full attention. Listen more than you speak. Feel with them. See both dimensions of their being—the fragile human side and the eternal soul that lives beyond this world. Show compassion to both.
Let your words come not from ego or fear, but from the quiet, powerful place within you that knows God. That is the voice people truly hear.
I love you. Go forth and speak to the soul.
“The Lord does not look at the things people look at. People look at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.”
—1 Samuel 16:7 (NIV)
Where is God?
Why do we suffer?
“God is great” doesn’t mean things will always be easy. In fact, the deeper truth is this: God is present, even in the hardest places.
In moments of deep suffering, we often ask: Where is God?
That question is not only human—it’s sacred.
St. John of the Cross described suffering as “the dark night of the soul.” He didn’t mean it as a sign of God’s absence, but rather, a profound and mysterious drawing inward—a stripping away of the surface so we might meet God in the depths.
He wrote: “In the dark night of the soul, bright flows the river of God.”
This darkness is not punishment—it is transformation.
At the ripe old age of 56, I’ve entered a stage of life where the presence of death, illness, and fragility has become more apparent. Friends and family pass. Loved ones members grow ill. And I don’t know if it’s my age but I notice the most heartbreaking—children, so young and innocent, sometimes bear the heaviest burdens of disease.
Witnessing all this suffering, it’s only natural to cry out: Why?
Why does this happen? Where is God?
When I sit in prayer and quiet reflection, what comes to me is the suffering of Jesus Christ. God did not spare His own Son from the pain of this world. Jesus came not only to love, serve, and teach—but to also suffer. His sacrifice shows us that pain is not abandonment. Rather, it is a path to a deeper communion with God.
If Jesus—the perfect Son—was not spared suffering, why would we be?
This life is a journey: a sacred pilgrimage of love and loss, joy and sorrow. We are not being punished. We are being formed.
As writer Viktor Frankl once said: “In some ways, suffering ceases to be suffering at the moment it finds a meaning.”
And scripture reminds us that suffering is not the end.
“And after you have suffered a little while, the God of all grace, who has called you to His eternal glory in Christ, will Himself restore, confirm, strengthen, and establish you.”
— 1 Peter 5:10
The meaning is this: We are returning home. Every heartbreak strips away another layer of illusion, bringing us closer to the truth—closer to God. When all is taken from us, what remains is our essence—our soul, resting in the grace of the One who created us.
So, my dear brothers and sisters, let us proclaim with open hearts:
In this life, we will know laughter and tears, comfort and trial. But for every ache we carry, every tear we shed, it is proof that we have loved. And what a gift that is—to love, to feel, to exist—created by a God who loves us still.
May we walk this journey not in fear, but in faith.
Not in bitterness, but in trust.
Not asking Why is there suffering? but What is God doing within it?
Amen.
Total Surrender
During my morning prayer and meditation, God placed a simple but deeply challenging notion on my heart: total surrender.
I began to reflect—what does total surrender truly mean? What does it require of me? And is it even possible?
As I sat with these questions, I became aware of the many things I still cling to in my effort to maintain control. There are subtle rituals, bits of superstition, and traces of OCD—not enough to stop me from living, but enough to influence how I live. I still catch myself believing I can shape outcomes, that I have some authority over what will or won’t happen. My attempts to steer the course of my life, even with good intentions, are often just disguised efforts to avoid letting go.
Now, I sense my next phase is this: to completely hand over what was never mine to begin with—including my entire existence. And truthfully, it scares me. What does it say about my faith if I hesitate? Is my faith still shallow?
Lord, lift the weight of trying to hold on to everything. Help me recognize the moments when I’m trying to do Your job. You don’t need my help, nor my permission, to carry me. You are God—I am not.
Teach me the courage of surrender, not as defeat, but as trust in Your perfect love.
I SURRENDER - Hillsong Worship
https://youtu.be/s7jXASBWwwI?si=A3Cq53L_g7CE1RcQ
“Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to Him, and He will make your paths straight.”
— Proverbs 3:5–6
“Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross daily and follow me.”
— Luke 9:23
Bigger
‘You’re Bigger’
By Jekalyn Carr –
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z-ZV61eDLXI
If you’ve never heard Jekalyn Carr’s song “You’re Bigger,” do yourself a favor and listen to it today. She was just 19 years old when she recorded it, and yet the depth, power, and anointing in her voice could move mountains.
This song is a declaration — a cry from the soul — that Jesus is bigger than anything we face. Bigger than sickness. Bigger than addiction. Bigger than heartbreak, anxiety, depression, and despair.
“You’re bigger than life, Jesus!” she bellows with raw emotion.
“I have told you these things, so that in Me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.”
— John 16:33 (NIV)
In early recovery, I went on countless walks with this song playing on repeat. There was a time when everything around me felt heavy, chaotic, and beyond repair. The battles I faced seemed insurmountable. But this song reminded me of one crucial truth: my problems are not bigger than my God. And if I had even a mustard seed of faith, that would be enough.
I can’t say I always believed what I was hearing — but I kept listening. I clung to the hope in her voice. She must say “You’re Bigger” nearly 50 times in the song, and somehow I needed every one of them. It didn’t break through all at once. But slowly… ever so slowly… the fog began to lift.
I remember the first time I smiled again — genuinely. The first time I laughed and realized how long it had been. That’s when belief began to return. I started to trust in something greater than myself. What we in the program call a Higher Power, I now call my God — my Savior, Jesus Christ.
Through it all, I came to believe two things:
What is coming is coming — no matter how much I worry.
God is always working, even when we don’t see it.
Let this song carry you if you’re struggling today. Let it remind you that He is bigger — and that’s more than enough.
Today, Right Now
“Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.”
—Matthew 6:34 (NIV)
Today, I choose to be present. I will stay grounded—right where my feet are.
Lord, when I wander, bring me back. My mind often drifts to places it shouldn’t go—replaying old emotional sagas or leaping into imagined futures. It’s a well-worn path, one I know too well. But Lord, I want to break that habit.
Help me replace it with something better: a habit of prayer. Help me continuously seek Your guidance, to stay open to the opportunities You place in front of me.
I know You want me here—in this moment—because here is where I can serve others. Help me stay fully engaged in the conversations around me, alert to the chance to live within Your grace.
Let me carry a heart of gratitude. What I have today is someone else’s dream. Thank You for all You’ve given me—Your love, my health, my joy—blessings I so often overlook.
Oh God, center me in my soul. Keep me from wandering. Don’t let my mind lead me to places I don’t belong.
This life is fleeting, but my soul is not. It was made for here—and for forever.
Bad Uber
Who's Driving—My Mind or My Soul?
Some days, I find myself tangled in the tension between mind and spirit, between faith and fear. I say I've surrendered to God's will, and I mean it—until things go sideways. When life is smooth, it’s easy to say I trust. But the moment worry knocks, I’m reminded how quickly my mind takes the wheel.
When something grabs my attention just right, my mind latches on like a dog with a bone. Even when there’s nothing left to chew, it stays engaged—locked in a loop of overthinking, refusing to let go.
I try to remind myself: these thoughts are not me. My mind is loud, but it's not the driver of who I am. Maybe it’s just my Uber—doing the driving, while I ride and observe. Even if the driver is reckless, I’m still safe where I sit. The soul, after all, is untouched by the chaos.
It’s like a child with an action figure—making up a story, creating danger, drama, and suspense. That’s the mind, putting me in places I never actually went, in fears I never truly faced. It makes me believe I’m in danger, when I’ve never even left the room.
Still, I’ll be honest: my mind outruns my faith more often than I’d like to admit. When it does, I feel defeated. I question my progress. I wonder if I’m just pretending—spouting spiritual truths I haven’t yet embodied. But then, in the quiet, I hear God say:
Relax, my dear boy. I know who you are. And I love you just the same.
I gave you a mind that thinks, even when it overthinks. That car alarm blaring in your head? It’s probably just the wind.
"We take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ."
— 2 Corinthians 10:5 (NIV)
So I pray:
Loving God, I need You. I can’t do this on my own.
My mind—my Uber driver—can be mean, reckless, even scary.
But help me remember: I am not where my thoughts take me. I am where You hold me.
Help me live here. Right now. In the eternal stillness of who You created me to be.
Fraud or Faith
“I do believe; help me overcome my unbelief!” — Mark 9:24 (NIV)
Sometimes my mind outruns my faith. A little turbulence in the air—literal or emotional—and suddenly I’m spiraling, questioning everything. I know I believe. Deep down, in my heart of hearts, I trust God. But when the wings wobble, why does my peace unravel so quickly?
I catch myself in fight-or-flight mode over small things. And worse yet, I question whether these anxious reactions are proof that my faith is shallow. If I trust God, why am I afraid? If I believe He’s in control, why do I still try to hold the wheel?
It feels like an indictment. Like maybe I’m a fraud in my faith. A fair-weather believer.
But then, grace speaks.
God already knows my wiring. He knows how hard it is for me to let go. He sees the mental loops I get stuck in, the false alarms my body still responds to. And yet—He doesn’t turn away. In fact, He draws nearer.
Worry may be exhausting, but it’s also a spiritual opportunity. It’s a reminder that I cannot do life on my own. And perhaps this tension between fear and faith isn’t a failure—it’s a frontier. A sacred stretch of soul where I can step further into trust, deeper into surrender, closer into God.
The real fraud isn’t the one who feels fear—it’s the one who pretends they never do. Faith is not the absence of fear. It’s the courage to reach for God in the middle of it.
And maybe what matters most isn’t how calm I am when things go wrong—but how quickly I turn to Him when they do.
Prayer:
Lord, You know how tightly I try to hold the things I can’t control. You know how quickly fear can flood my heart, even when I know better. Thank You for being patient with me—for understanding my human frailty and loving me through it. Help me lean into You when worry hits. Remind me that faith is a practice, not a performance. Grow it in me, even when I feel like I’m failing. Amen.
Speak to Me, Lord
Speak to me, Lord,
when my mind drifts and fear finds its way in.
Speak to me when shadows from the past rise—
old guilt, buried memories, the weight of who I used to be.
Speak to me, Lord,
when I chase tomorrow in my thoughts,
and anxiety takes hold of my heart.
When dread whispers, “This is who you are,”
speak to me, Lord, and remind me of who You are.
“Be still, and know that I am God.”
—Psalm 46:10
Let my heart and soul be the place I listen from.
Help me release the burdens I was never meant to carry.
What is Yours, let me surrender.
O God, I could live a thousand lifetimes
and still not have it all figured out.
So guide me, lead me,
and in the stillness—
speak to me, Lord.
Today, I smelled the Jasmine
It’s not often that I reflect on the past in comparison to where I am now. Part of me clings to superstition—this idea that acknowledging progress might somehow invite setback, as if gratitude tempts fate.
I know in my soul that God doesn’t work this way. But in my human nature, I sometimes catch myself wondering, “When will the other shoe drop?”
Yet I also know our God calls us to peace—to live in faith, wrapped in the loving grace of His presence.
And in that moment, as I breathed in the sweet scent of jasmine, I was able to truly pause and appreciate the journey. The winding, angled path that’s brought me here.
My loving God, I thank You for this moment. This present. This what is.
I don’t take it for granted. I don’t assume I’m “in the clear.”
But I felt the cool air on my face. I watched the trees sway in silent worship. And in my heart, I gave You praise.
Lord, I am grateful—grateful for it all.
For my past.
For my now.
For my eternal soul.
All this, God—
Because I smelled the jasmine.
“You will keep in perfect peace those whose minds are steadfast, because they trust in you.”
—Isaiah 26:3 (NIV)
Peace Isn’t Earned—It’s Allowed
You don’t have to strive for peace this morning.
You don’t have to earn it, chase it, or prove yourself worthy of it.
Just stop resisting. It’s already here.
“Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.” — John 14:27
The mind is powerful. So powerful, in fact, that it can create a nightmare while we’re wide awake.
Left unchecked, our thoughts run loops of fear, doubt, and insecurity—feeding themselves like a fire never satisfied.
I’ve come to see that the ego and mind often generate destruction. Not out of malice, but out of habit.
It creates imagined futures… replayed pasts…
It plays movies that never actually happen.
But have you noticed what happens when you wake from a bad dream?
Relief.
Gratitude.
Peace.
Because you realize: “It wasn’t real.”
And in the same way, most of what the mind creates isn’t real either.
It’s not happening.
It’s never happened.
It lives only in our heads.
But grace lives here. In the now.
In this breath.
In the safety of this moment.
God is not far off. He’s not waiting on the other side of your worry.
He is with you now. You are kept. You are held. You are safe.
So today, when your thoughts begin to spiral, remember:
You are one moment away from peace.
You are one breath away from waking up from the mind’s illusion.
And you are forever loved by a God who is bigger than your fears.
Let the world wait.
Let your mind rest.
Let peace in.
God be with you today.
Grateful for the Ordinary
Grateful for the Ordinary
Did you wake up this morning? Were you in a bed, under a roof, perhaps near someone you love?
Did the sun rise again, as it always has? Do you hear the birds, the wind, the subtle hum of life? Are you reading this now—eyes to see, a mind to understand?
If you’re looking for a miracle, turn on the faucet. Watch clean water pour out—something over 3 billion people live without. Brew your coffee. Sit in your favorite chair. Let that settle in.
We often overlook the extraordinary disguised as ordinary. We are alive. We exist. That alone is sacred. That alone is miraculous.
But we crave something bigger—some grand sign, some otherworldly proof. And when we don’t get it, we act as though God hasn’t done enough. That mindset, whether we realize it or not, is a quiet resentment.
Today, take inventory. See the grace in your everyday surroundings. Notice the divine hiding in plain sight. When you truly pay attention, the “ordinary” reveals itself to be anything but.
To the mind, it may seem mundane. But to the eternal soul, it’s everything.
“Better is a little with reverence for the Lord than great wealth with inner turmoil.” – Proverbs 15:16
Go forth, my brothers and sisters. Open your eyes. See the small miracles—for they are the greatest of them all.
The Time Is Now
The Time Is Now
What is time, really? At its core, it’s a human construct—a label for measurement. Our earliest ancestors lived by the rhythms of light and dark, guided only by the celestial dance above. Day meant presence and doing, night meant rest. It was simple. It was life as it unfolded.
But eventually, someone decided to go further—to measure more precisely. Thus, the clock was born. We began to divide life into hours, minutes, seconds. We started asking when, how long, what’s next—and in doing so, we began the chase. Chasing time, managing time, running out of time.
Today, I probably check the time a hundred times a day—glancing at my watch, my phone, or just mentally assessing where I “should” be. My day is carved into blocks of scheduled events, each bound by the ticking of the clock.
I recall Eckhart Tolle once saying, “If you asked a bird what time it is, it wouldn’t understand the question. It would just say, ‘The time is now.’” Animals live like this—dogs, cats, a squirrel darting up a tree—they have no use for clocks. Their wisdom is primal: the now is everything. How beautiful is that?
And yet, even when I’m on time or early, I find myself speeding. Rushing. And I have to ask: What’s the hurry? Why are we racing toward the next moment as if the one we’re in isn’t enough?
Here’s the truth: we don’t own time. We only have now.
Now is where God lives. Now is where presence begins. It’s in your breath, in your stillness, in the quiet connection of a conversation. Now is the only thing your soul truly recognizes.
The mind creates time. The soul is timeless—like God. In divinity, there is no past or future. There is only the eternal now.
As Jesus said in Matthew 6:34,
“Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.”
So today, try this: stop checking your watch. Put down your phone. Let the clock be, and just be. This moment—this sacred, fleeting now—will never come again. And to God, it is everything.
God doesn’t keep score, nor should you
How much of our reaction to life is shaped by what’s been silently programmed over time?
Old wounds we never fully processed.
Emotions we buried instead of releasing.
Memories packed with assumptions, distortions, and fears—each one waiting beneath the surface, ready to color how we interpret the present.
We think we’re reacting to now, but often we’re reacting to then.
We project the past onto people, moments, and ourselves—carrying burdens we were never meant to carry alone.
But God sees us clearly.
He knows every layer of our story—our beginnings, our battles, our blind spots.
And still, He meets us in the present, not to condemn but to guide.
He isn’t keeping score. He’s not waiting for us to pay a debt that’s already been forgiven.
So why do we hold onto guilt, resentment, or old stories that no longer serve us?
Listen to your Creator.
Life was never meant to be lived in the past or obsessed with the future.
It is meant to be received—moment by moment—in the grace of His presence.
He is not behind you in your regrets, nor ahead of you in your anxieties.
He is with you. Right here. Right now.
Walk with Him. Trust His way.
Let go of what no longer reflects who you are in Him.
Because the truth is: the One who knows your whole story is still writing it—with mercy, with purpose, and with love.
Isaiah 43:18–19 (NIV):
“Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing!
Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland.”
Our minds may wander, but we do not.
Our minds may wander, but we do not.
Thoughts drift like clouds across the sky, yet we remain — the observer, unmoved, ever-present, eternal.
Today’s mission is simple:
Sit back and allow everything to come and go. In this sacred journey with God, there is no good or bad — only experience. He has known you forever. In His divine creation, time does not exist.
Find yourself in the pause today.
See the world through the eyes of Grace. Do not judge. Do not worry. Simply be.
As we move forward, may we carve out moments of stillness and quiet.
May we find peace in prayer, with only one request:
“Thy will be done.”
“You will keep in perfect peace those whose minds are steadfast, because they trust in you.”
— Isaiah 26:3 (NIV)
I love you, my brothers and sisters.
The Weight of Worry
The Weight of Worry
How much unnecessary weight are you carrying? Worry is a heavy burden—and unlike a backpack or a sandbag, it’s invisible, immeasurable, and relentless. If someone asked you to carry a sandbag everywhere you went, you’d probably look at them like they were crazy. And yet, we do something just as irrational every day. The person asking us to carry this burden isn’t real—it’s the illusion of who we think we are.
The mind has an insatiable appetite for destruction. And no, I’m not talking about the epic 1987 Guns N' Roses album—I’m talking about that relentless inner voice that never seems to stop. It analyzes, predicts, replays, doubts, judges, and worries. And it never tires.
But our bodies do. Our spirits do. They grow weary under the weight of constant worry.
The truth is, God never asked us to carry this load. In fact, He tells us the opposite:
"For my yoke is easy and my burden is light." – Matthew 11:30
Ask yourself: What am I carrying, and is it necessary?
It’s like overpacking for an overnight trip. We don’t need four pairs of pants, three sets of shoes, and six shirts for one night. We bring what’s essential, what’s useful, and what’s enough. The same is true of God’s grace—it is sufficient. You don’t need to carry anything more.
Let’s be honest—do we really believe that worrying will change God’s will? Will it prevent what’s meant to happen? Billions have walked this earth before us. They worried. Things came, things passed. Then they died. And God knew every single one of them. Each one remains in His love.
"In my Father’s house are many rooms... I go to prepare a place for you." – John 14:2
So hand over the weight. Let go of the unnecessary burden. God is strong enough to carry it all.
I love you, my brothers and sisters.
