Without Sight
It is often what we cannot see that matters most. Faith, by its very nature, asks us to believe in the unseen and the untouchable. Over time, I’ve come to realize how closely faith and love are intertwined.
I love my daughters beyond measure—but if I tried to describe that love in words, it would likely sound ordinary. The truth is, love—like faith—moves through us in ways that logic cannot capture. It springs from a place deeper than thought, deeper than flesh, from something eternal.
There’s something within each of us—an inner compass—that quietly leads the way. We make choices based on instinct, emotion, and a sense of something greater, wiser, and divine guiding us.
Take medicine, for example. Science tells us to trust our doctors, and yet:
Only about 70% of people fill their prescriptions.
Of those, only 50% actually take the medication.
And of that group, only half finish the full course.
What does that tell us? If we truly trusted only in science, we would follow it unquestioningly. But something else is at play—something deeper. I believe it's God and the voice of the soul gently guiding our discernment.
We have been predestined to strive upward toward God, to seek truth beyond logic and formulas. Our soul knows where we belong and whom we should trust. That’s why I firmly believe that trusting in science alone cannot compare to trusting in God.
No pandemic, no illness, no treatment can ever prevail over the power of the Almighty.
So trust your soul. Trust your heart. Trust in God. Be still—and listen to what you cannot see.
There are no human-made absolutes—only the divine hand of the One who oversees all.
"Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and lean not on your own understanding."
— Proverbs 3:5
We See the Pain, But Often Miss the Glory
When my father passed, I was deep in grief. As I mourned, my wife’s grandmother said something that initially struck me as harsh—maybe even offensive. With tears in her eyes, she looked at me and said, “Do you know what’s worse than losing your father?”
I must’ve looked stunned. My heart was already broken, and in that moment, I couldn’t imagine anything worse. I didn’t respond.
Then she said, “Worse would be not hurting. If he’d been absent, or a bad father, there would be no pain. But it hurts because it was so good.”
I sat with her words in silence—and they sank in deeply.
It hurts because it was so good.
God gives us many things to be grateful for, and the truth is, most of my life has been blessed. Yes, there have been painful moments—losing my father, my mother, and my brother—but in every loss, the pain only proves the depth of love that existed.
Our human existence is fragile. Our bodies will fail, and despair will visit us at times. But in between, we get to live, to love, and to witness the miracle of life. Someone chose to create us. And though we are imperfect, the experience we’re given is nothing short of divine.
And it doesn’t end here.
The perfection continues beyond this world, because God sent His Son—not just to suffer, but to show us the way back to Him. To redeem us. To remind us that the pain of loss is not the end, but the evidence of love, and the beginning of Glory.
So my friends, while we often see the pain, let’s not miss the Glory.
Let’s count our blessings. Let’s see the victory—through both joy and sorrow. Because the race isn’t over. In Christ, we live forever.
“For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us.”
— Romans 8:18 (ESV)
Praise be to God.
Sunflower Seeds, Lotto Tickets, and a Receipt
Sunflower Seeds, Lotto Tickets, and No Receipt
The apparent randomness of encountering people is often God’s way of fully revealing Himself. Yesterday, I stopped for gas and had a strange craving for sunflower seeds. So I filled up, walked into the store, made my purchase, and — of course — I couldn’t resist putting down a few dollars on a lottery ticket.
In doing so, I struck up a conversation with the cashier, Lupe, who was covering a shift on Father’s Day from another location. She explained she’d fallen victim to racism that morning — a customer demanded a refund and said it was because of the color of her skin.
I listened, acknowledged her hurt, and then I spoke to her from a place I felt God would want me to. “Lupe, that man’s suffering and actions reflect him, not you. His torment isn’t yours to carry. We should pray for him.”
She looked up at me and said, “Usually, every morning, I pray Oración a la Sangre de Cristo — the Prayer to the Blood of Christ — but today I rushed and forgot.”
I said, “Maybe this encounter is a reminder to say it now.”
Then Lupe recited:
Prayer to the Blood of Christ
Lord Jesus,
by the power of Your Precious Blood,
seal all people, places, or situations
that may harm me at this moment.
Cover me with Your Blood,
protect me from all evil,
from all the schemes of the enemy,
from all envy, hatred, or lack of love.
Blood of Christ, who triumphed on the Cross,
defend me, heal me, deliver me,
and make me an instrument of light, faith, and salvation.
Amen.
I left the store and walked back toward my car, only to realize I hadn’t gotten a receipt. So I turned around and went back in. There Lupe stood again, and we exchanged a knowing look. “I think God wanted me to see you once more today.” She nodded quietly. “I think so.”
This moment reminded me that there are no coincidences — there are only divine appointments. God orchestrates these encounters to help us navigate this world, to lift each other up, and to bring peace, healing, and understanding. His hand is always at work, even in the small, ordinary exchanges we might normally rush past. It’s in these moments we realize we’re not alone — we’re all connected by a loving God who guides us, whether we realize it or not.
“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
Grace from the Unlikeliest Messenger
The first time I truly heard God speak was when His voice came from a drug addict — someone just like me, someone who had walked through the valley of the shadow of death and somehow emerged a revenant — a soul who had come back from the grave, back from the ashes, alive by the grace of God.
I heard God speak directly to my soul through the most improbable of messengers — a person whose choices had been ravaged by addiction in a way only the devil could orchestrate. But it was from his own deep suffering, from a place I recognized because I had been there myself, that the message struck me in a way nothing else could.
He spoke a language only the defeated can appreciate — a voice that resonates with those battling their own shame, their own doubts, their own feeling of having let everyone down. He understood exactly what it felt like to destroy friendships, undermine family, disappoint the people you love most — because he had lived it. His words cut through my defenses and struck directly at my soul in a way I hadn’t believed was possible.
My sponsor — this tough, life-worn man — turned out to be an angel in disguise. From the outside, many would see a wayward soul. But within him flowed compassion, love, and pure grace — a testament to the way God can illuminate someone the world dismisses. It’s a powerful reminder that God often speaks through the most improbable people — the ones we’d least expect — to show us His greatest messages of hope.
It’s a testament to the principle that we shouldn’t judge a book by its cover, but by the content of its soul — a soul that God chose to redeem and use for His glory. There’s no human explanation for the people God picks or the order in which He brings them into our lives. It’s a divine orchestration we may never fully appreciate.
The least expected become His greatest messengers. The ones stranded in the blackest depths can find their way back into the light — back into the loving hands of their Creator.
God led my sponsor, and in turn, he walked with me on my journey from spiritual death to awakening — from ashes back to life — alive in grace. His willingness to share his struggles, his doubts, and his recovery opened a path for me to find healing and peace.
My brothers and sisters, God is always speaking — we need only to be willing to listen with an open heart, regardless of the voice through which His message comes. God created all, and He can use anyone — even someone battling their own demons — to bring us back home.
“ God chose the foolish things of the world to shame the wise; God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong.” — 1 Corinthians 1:27 (NIV)
Decide
Today, let’s make decisions rooted in faith, not in our insatiable ego. Better to give God the attention He truly deserves, instead of that part of us that constantly craves recognition.
In how we look, what we say, and how we act, let’s be authentic in God’s grace. We don’t need to perform or prove ourselves to earn His love — it’s already there, without condition.
Let our words be for His glory, living each moment as a gift. Whatever we think matters most, in the grand view, much of it isn’t worth our concern.
Therefore, my brothers and sisters, let’s choose God each and every time — whether we feel in control or powerless. Let’s decide with conviction, trusting that God is the only true certainty.
“But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well.” — Matthew 6:33 (NIV)
Today is enough
Beloved God,
I awoke today, and that in itself is enough. As far as I can tell, all is well and exactly as it should be. If anything feels missing, it’s likely my own mind and emotions grasping for something more. Let me not chase what I do not have, but rest in your grace — here and now — just as I am.
For what is there to want in the stillness of this moment? What more is required to complete the miracle of our existence? We have, and we always will have, a loving God who made it all possible.
Our journey in human form is temporary — filled with thoughts and emotions that come and go. But the soul, and the God who gave us life, remain constant across this life and the next. I may not have all the answers, I may not possess the knowledge to explain it, but I know it’s true — just as I know I love my children, my wife, and my dog — a love that transcends all understanding.
Today, my brothers and sisters, I ask you to be still enough to realize it’s all a part of a divine journey. We are being led forward, from this human form into the next realm of soul’s path. So much — everything — is happening according to a greater plan. So enjoy the ride. God loves you.
“Be still, and know that I am God.” — Psalm 46:10 (NIV)
Lifting Others Up
How God Provides the Strength to Serve
There’s a quiet, powerful grace in the way a mother gives of herself—sacrificing sleep, comfort, even her own well-being—for the sake of her children. And yet, she carries on. Where does that kind of strength come from, if not from God? It’s a reflection of a deeper purpose—a calling to serve something greater than ourselves.
I think of how love seems to multiply. When you have one child, you wonder how you could possibly love another as deeply. But then another arrives, and miraculously, your heart expands. Love increases. Abundance flows. God doesn't divide our capacity to love—He multiplies it. The same is true in service: when we serve others with sincerity, God meets us with the strength, time, and patience we didn’t know we had.
In recovery, as someone who sponsors others, I’ve often asked myself: how many people can I truly show up for? How much of my time and energy can I sacrifice? And yet, when I feel stretched to my limit, someone new reaches out for help. My first thought is, “I can’t take on more.” But then I begin. I show up. I listen. I guide. And God shows up too—expanding my capacity, providing what’s needed.
It’s funny how we’re willing to be inconvenienced, to exert ourselves, when we know it’s for something greater than ourselves. In those moments, we experience the mysterious generosity of God—who never asks us to give without also giving us what we need to follow through.
“And God is able to bless you abundantly, so that in all things at all times, having all that you need, you will abound in every good work.”
—2 Corinthians 9:8 (NIV)
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.
