The Original AI
The Original AI Is Your Mind
I’m constantly amazed by the capabilities of artificial intelligence—especially platforms that generate lifelike images, avatars, and even realistic depictions of people and scenarios. The level of detail is almost unsettling at times, and the situations they portray feel so true to life.
But this phenomenon made me think about something even more powerful—our own minds. Think about it: your mind can generate images of the imagined future, replay experiences from the past, and create entire scenarios—true or false—effortlessly. It’s incredible how many realities our brains can conjure up and how easily we get lost in them.
When you really stop and observe, so much of our existence is lived between our ears rather than in the present moment. Even when we try to stay present, the mind loves to tug us away:
“What about this? Did you consider that? Here’s a completely made-up scenario about the future.”
And, of course, our emotions and ego happily follow along. It’s like watching a never-ending movie where the mind is the director, and we get caught up in the storyline.
Spiritual teachers like Eckhart Tolle and Mooji remind us of an important truth—you are not your thoughts; you are the observer. Your mind moves like clouds drifting across the sky, but you are the sky itself: still, vast, and unchanging. The thoughts, the images, the stories are just passing movements.
We are not the noise of the mind. We are infinite. We are presence. We are the what is.
And when we rest in this awareness, we begin to see that God meets us only in the now—not in the imagined past or future. His presence is in the stillness beyond thought.
Takeaways:
Your mind is powerful but not always truthful; it creates stories, not ultimate reality.
You are the observer of your thoughts, not their captive.
True peace and connection with God exist only in the present moment.
Like clouds passing through the sky, your thoughts will come and go—but you remain.
Scripture to Reflect On:
“Be still, and know that I am God.” – Psalm 46:10
“You will keep in perfect peace those whose minds are steadfast, because they trust in you.” – Isaiah 26:3
“Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind.” – Romans 12:2
“Take every thought captive to make it obedient to Christ.” – 2 Corinthians 10:5
When you find yourself lost in the endless movies of the mind, return to the stillness. Breathe. Observe. And remember—you are more than your thoughts. You are a beloved creation, held in the eternal presence of God.
Where are You with God?
It’s amazing how we can make time for everything else in our lives—work, errands, entertainment, even worry—but how easily God can be pushed to the edges. Yet, if we are honest, everything good in our lives flows from Him. Each day begins and ends with a simple question:
Bill Wilson, often called Bill W., in 1935 was the co-founder of Alcoholics Anonymous (AA)—a fellowship that has helped millions find freedom from addiction through spiritual principles. Bill W. didn’t just create a program for sobriety; he offered a way of life rooted in humility, honesty, service, and daily conscious contact with God. His words speak to anyone seeking a deeper spiritual connection, not just those in recovery.
Bill W. wrote in Step Eleven of Twelve Steps and Twelve Traditions:
“Prayer and meditation are our principal means of conscious contact with God… We ask simply throughout the day for the next right thought or action, and for freedom from self-will.”
This conscious contact isn’t about long, elaborate rituals; it’s about pausing—morning, noon, and night—to turn our thoughts toward Him.
In my AA home group, we put it plainly:
Where you at with God, Clean House, Who you helping?
These three questions are a daily spiritual inventory. They bring us back to the foundation of recovery—and of life itself.
Bill W. reminds us in the Big Book of AA (p. 86-88):
“When we retire at night, we constructively review our day. Were we resentful, selfish, dishonest or afraid? … Do we owe an apology? … After making our review we ask God’s forgiveness and inquire what corrective measures should be taken.”
And upon waking:
“We ask God to direct our thinking, especially asking that it be divorced from self-pity, dishonest or self-seeking motives. Under these conditions we can employ our mental faculties with assurance, for after all God gave us brains to use. Our thought-life will be placed on a much higher plane when our thinking is cleared of wrong motives.”
This is how we “clean house” daily—not in shame, but in honesty. We admit where we fell short, where self-will crept in, and we hand it back to God.
Bill W. later he wrote in 1950:“As we become more conscious of God’s presence, we begin to lose our fear of today, tomorrow, and the hereafter. We acquire a new sense of belonging, of being at home in our own skin and with God.”
And that’s the upward striving. Not perfection, not earning God’s love, but simply turning toward Him again and again. When we make room for Him in the morning, pause for Him throughout the day, and hand the day back to Him at night, we keep our spiritual house in order.
Because in the end, our purpose is simple: Where are you with God, Clean House, Who you helping?
“The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom, and knowledge of the Holy One is understanding.” – Proverbs 9:10
“Humble yourselves before the Lord, and he will lift you up.” – James 4:10
Prayer:
Heavenly Father, this day is Yours. Help me begin it with You, live it with You, and return it to You. Show me where I’ve fallen short, give me the courage to clean house, and open my heart to help those You place in my path. Teach me to pause when I’m restless or doubtful, and to trust Your will above my own. Keep me close to You, today and always. Amen.
The Wisdom of Knowing Nothing
Ask anyone you know—or even a complete stranger—for their opinion on anything, and you’ll get an answer. Whether it’s religion, politics, social issues, or the general assumptions about proper behavior and lifestyle, people often hold strong, unwavering views. Many of those views, however, can hardly be supported by facts. But that rarely stops someone—myself included—from taking a hard stance on what they believe.
I see it all the time, especially online. Politics is a favorite battleground, and it’s easy to tell that no matter how confident we sound, most of us don’t have nearly enough information to make any real determination.
This reminds me of Socratic wisdom. Socrates famously said that true wisdom is knowing how little we actually know. And yet, most of what we think and believe comes from sources that simply reinforce our existing perspectives. Thinking becomes believing, and believing becomes a trick of the ego—a way to control the uncontrollable, to create an illusion of certainty where there is none.
I’ve fallen victim to this countless times, leaning into the comfort of opinions and shaping my understanding based on the voices I already find credible.
I have a friend in recovery, someone I deeply respect—not for his accomplishments, though he has many—but for his quiet reticence. He listens more than he speaks. He truly hears people out, always looking for a better way to see things.
One night, he said something that struck me deeply: “The longer I stay sober and work a spiritual program, the dumber I become.” At first, you might think he was being self-deprecating. But he wasn’t. He was speaking from a place of humility, from the soul’s posture of being open and teachable.
He wasn’t interested in convincing himself that he “knew” anything at all. Instead, he expressed immense gratitude for what God has provided—and a deep trust in that provision, even in uncertainty. He showed me that real wisdom isn’t about knowing more, but about recognizing how much you don’t know and being willing to learn in God’s way.
And this was coming from a man who, by the world’s standards, is accomplished—both personally and financially. Yet he remains teachable. He has let go of the ego’s need to “know,” and in doing so, he’s found a deeper freedom.
Perhaps that is the great paradox: when we fear knowing nothing, we create the very space the Holy Spirit needs to move within us. In our emptiness, we make room for God’s presence. Knowing little—or even nothing—opens you to the fullness of faith.
“The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom, and knowledge of the Holy One is understanding.”
– Proverbs 9:10
“Humble yourselves before the Lord, and he will lift you up.”
– James 4:10
When we release the ego’s grip on certainty and embrace humility, we allow God—not our own limited thinking—to be the source of wisdom.
Prayer:
Lord, teach me the beauty of humility. Help me to let go of the need to know and control, and instead open my heart to Your wisdom. In my weakness and uncertainty, fill me with Your Spirit and guide my steps. Amen.
Finding Pleasure in Others’ Failures
The recent Coldplay concert incident—where coworkers were caught cheating on the big screen—sparked a wildfire of mockery, indignation, and finger-pointing. I’ll admit, I joined in. I laughed at the memes, shared the jokes, and silently judged. There’s something disturbingly satisfying about watching someone else stumble.
If you’re brave enough to admit it, maybe you feel the same. Seeing another person’s failure takes the pressure off our own shortcomings. Their sins, their missteps, their wandering from God somehow make us feel a little more righteous. We don’t have to confront the skeletons in our own closets—closets that, if we’re honest, hold more than we’d ever want the world to see.
Why is it so easy to ridicule? It’s the ego at work. It whispers, “Look at them. They’re bad. I’m good.” But life—and faith—isn’t that simple. I know I need to do better. I need to stop taking pleasure in others’ failures. Because when I judge someone else, I have to ask myself, Am I sinless? Am I truly walking as a man of God when I cast stones at another?
Jesus said it plainly:
“Let any one of you who is without sin be the first to throw a stone.” – John 8:7
Today, I’ll practice what I preach. I will resist the temptation to judge and instead offer what this world desperately needs—grace, forgiveness, and peace. Even when someone’s indiscretion becomes public fodder, I’ll choose prayer over ridicule.
Because we all sin. And if you’re honest, there are probably moments in your life you’d never want broadcast on the “live cam” of the world. I know I have mine. So, I’ll hand the rock back to Jesus. I’ll ask for forgiveness for my own wrongs and leave the judging to God. My responsibility is to keep my own side of the street clean.
Prayer:
Lord, soften my heart and quiet my ego. Help me see others through Your eyes, with compassion instead of judgment. Remind me of my own need for grace, so I may freely extend it to those who fall. Keep me humble, keep me kind, and teach me to forgive as You forgive me. Amen.
“Judge not, that you be not judged. For with the judgment you pronounce you will be judged, and with the measure you use it will be measured to you.” – Matthew 7:1–2
Ego, my Jackass Friend
I’ve come to see my Ego as a longtime companion—sometimes a friend, but more often a nemesis. He’s been with me through thick and thin, whispering in my ear, steering me down rough roads, and leaving a trail of regret behind. He’s mouthed off to loved ones and strangers alike. He’s provoked me to dig in my heels, put others on the defensive, and say things I wished I could take back.
Ego is always eager to take offense—and just as quick to give it. He convinces me I’m right even when I’m dead wrong. He tells others they’re wrong with the same certainty. He craves respect but rarely shows respect in return. He nurses grudges over perceived slights, reshaping the story in his favor every time it’s told.
Ego loves to play the victim. He’ll say he’s simply the product of bad luck and misfortune—never his fault, of course. But when there’s praise to be had, Ego demands the spotlight. He delights in self-promotion. Look at me. I’m a good guy. I’m a Christian. I do cool things. My life is better than yours. And his favorite trick? Posting about the failures or flaws of people he disagrees with, all in the name of “truth.”
The funny thing is, Ego has even gotten me physically hurt—sometimes as a stand-in for someone else’s anger, provoked by my own prideful words.
So, I’ve started a practice. And I call it a practice because it’s far from perfect. When something irritates me, or when someone offends me, I pause and ask: Who’s really offended here? Who’s hurt? Is it my true self—John—or is it just Ego taking the hit? And what about the person who “offended” me—was it their true self speaking, or was it their Ego acting out?
The truth is, we often meet the stupidity of others with our own. I’ve done it plenty of times. I used to tell people, as a form of intimidation, “I’ll be as stupid as you need me to be—it’s your choice.” In other words, I was willing to meet Ego with Ego, mano y mano—my pride versus yours. And it always ended badly.
But there’s another way.
Let God into your heart. Let your soul—not your Ego—lead your actions. Before you speak, before you react, ask yourself: Am I seeking admiration from people… or am I seeking to be pleasing to God? Because Ego wants the loud applause of the world, but your soul longs for the quiet approval of Heaven.
When you let your soul, guided by the Spirit, take the lead, Ego begins to lose its grip. You stop needing to win the argument. You stop needing to prove you’re better. You stop needing the last word. And in that surrender, you actually gain freedom—the freedom to love, to forgive, to let go.
As Jesus said in Matthew 16:24-25, “Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For whoever wants to save their life will lose it, but whoever loses their life for me will find it.”
So today, I choose to lose a little bit of my Ego, and in the process, find a little bit more of my true life in Him.
3 Ways to Recognize Ego vs. Soul
Ego reacts, Soul responds.
Ego demands the last word. Soul pauses, listens, and answers with grace.Ego needs approval, Soul seeks God’s presence.
Ego craves applause. Soul rests in quiet faithfulness.Ego clings to grudges, Soul releases and forgives.
Ego wants to be right. Soul wants to be whole.
When you feel the heat rising, ask: Is this my Ego speaking… or my Soul listening?
Closing Prayer
Lord, I confess that my Ego often takes the driver’s seat. It feeds my pride, fuels my anger, and blinds me to Your truth. Help me quiet that voice and hear Yours instead. Teach me to respond with humility, patience, and love, even when my flesh wants to fight. May I seek not the approval of man, but the favor of Your eyes alone. Replace my Ego with Your Spirit so that my life reflects Your grace. In Jesus’ name, Amen.
Pity Party
Blow up the balloons, hang the streamers, cut the cake—welcome to the pity party. It’s a familiar event, isn’t it? A gathering where we dive deep into our feelings, blame others for our troubles, and, of course, feel sorry for ourselves. I admit, I’ve thrown more than a few of these parties. And every time, the outcome feels anything but celebratory.
But why do we do this? Why do we host these quiet gatherings of self-pity, sometimes even calling our friends to share just how hard life feels? The answer lies in the plight of the ego. Our ego is a fragile projection of self-importance, built around a carefully crafted image of who we think we are. When that image is challenged, we feel out of control. And when we feel out of control, we either fight back or retreat into self-pity.
Here’s the truth: at every pity party, God is not invited. We keep Him off the guest list because inviting Him means surrendering our perceived problems to Him. It means letting go of our grip on self-importance and trusting His greater plan. But God is always asking for an invitation into our hearts. He reminds us that when faith is the cornerstone of our existence, the troubles of this world become little more than background noise outside the dwelling place of His peace.
So the next time you feel like throwing a pity party, pause. Instead of decorating your heart with sorrow and blame, invite God in. He doesn’t bring balloons or cake—He brings peace, hope, and a love that silences the noise.
“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.”
— Matthew 11:28
Prayer:
Lord, forgive me for the times I’ve chosen self-pity over surrender. Help me to recognize when I’m letting my ego speak louder than Your truth. I invite You into every corner of my life, even the messy ones. Replace my complaints with gratitude, my fears with faith, and my pity with Your peace. Amen.
Reflection Question:
When was the last time you felt yourself slipping into self-pity, and how could you have invited God into that moment instead?
Don’t Dwell on What God Has Delivered You From
So much of our lives are shaped by the memories we choose to hold on to. Too often, we gravitate toward the negative—the trauma, the pain, the disappointments. We replay the wrongs done to us, retelling those stories until they feel like the very fabric of who we are. Bad memories and the emotional baggage that comes with them sometimes become our badges of honor. The more hardship we’ve endured, the more we feel compelled to share the scars. Blaming often feels easier than moving on.
I recently read Bad Therapy by Abigail Shrier, which highlights how many who seek treatment stay trapped in their past. They remain fixated on their pain, their nervous state, and never step into the freedom of a better existence. In the case of deep trauma—like childhood abuse—it is undeniably horrific. But even then, it does not have to define our future or give us permission to harm ourselves or others as adults. Sometimes we mistake our wounds for our identity. Without them, we wonder, who would I even be?
Modern therapy often strips away the spiritual dimension. It replaces God with endless thinking, medication, and science as the only answer. But our souls still long for something deeper. We yearn to see the beauty woven into our journey. To recognize the people who loved us, still love us, and those who quietly helped along the way.
When I look back, yes, there were childhood struggles. But there was also my Little League coach who encouraged me. My CYM teacher who showed me kindness. My mother and father cheering at my ball games. Good neighbors. My loyal dog. And countless other small blessings that easily get overshadowed by pain if I let them.
Today, I practice gratitude—not as a destination, but as a daily discipline. It shifts my focus. Each morning, I close my eyes and truly see what I have. I’m here. I’m breathing. I have loved ones. I have a roof over my head. Many don’t.
So, remember God, not the bad memories. Let Him show you the beauty in your journey, the grace that’s been there all along.
“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?”
Isaiah 43:18-19 (NIV)
Closing Prayer
Lord, help me to release the grip of old wounds and painful memories. Open my eyes to the blessings You’ve given me—the people, the love, the moments of quiet grace. Teach me to see beauty where there was once only bitterness. Guide me into gratitude and remind me daily that with You, I am not defined by my past. Amen.
Freedom
If you haven’t seen the iconic 1969 Woodstock performance of Richie Havens’ “Freedom,” I encourage you to watch it (link provided). This raw, emotional, and impromptu performance opened the historic festival. Havens was originally scheduled to perform later, but due to major delays and traffic jams, other artists couldn’t arrive on time. In a spontaneous act of service, Richie took the stage—and played for nearly three hours, ultimately improvising the now-legendary “Freedom.”
https://youtu.be/rynxqdNMry4?si=xUak5-uqG0yD_62M
The song weaves in the haunting spiritual “Motherless Child,” a traditional African American lament of sorrow and separation.
“Sometimes I feel like a motherless child / A long way from my home…”
It’s a cry for liberation, belonging, and the ache of exile—all deeply human longings.
In many ways, this mirrors our own spiritual journey. We often find ourselves far from home—not in a physical sense, but disconnected from God. Pulled by the distractions of the world, shackled by ego, anxiety, addiction, fear—we begin to forget the way back.
But here’s the beautiful truth: God allows U-turns.
No matter how far we’ve wandered, no matter how long we’ve been gone, the path back to Him is never closed. Grace is not measured by time spent away—it’s offered in the instant we turn our hearts back toward home.
We tend to think of captivity as something imposed by others—by systems, circumstances, or people. But the deeper bondage often lies within. We are both the prisoner and the jailer—and within us also lies the key.
The Apostle Paul understood this well. Even while physically imprisoned, he was spiritually free:
“For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers… will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.”
(Romans 8:38-39)
Though chained, Paul knew no one could chain the Spirit within him. That is true freedom—the kind Richie Havens seemed to cry out for on that stage. Not just political or social freedom, but a release of the soul, a return to the One who calls us home.
Prayer
Father, thank You for the freedom that only You can give. When we feel lost, far from home, or shackled by our own thoughts and fears, remind us that Your grace is greater than our wandering. Help us to see that the key to freedom is already within us—Your Spirit dwelling in our hearts. Teach us to turn back to You, again and again, knowing nothing can separate us from Your love. Amen.
When Thinking Isn’t Trusting
The more I think, the less I seem to know. And the more I lean on my intelligence to control outcomes, the more I find myself anxious, unsatisfied, and off-course. Somewhere along the line, I started believing that my mind—sharp, analytical, relentless—could carry the weight of life’s complexities. But it can’t. Not alone.
I’m learning that peace doesn’t come from outsmarting life—it comes from surrender. When I release the need to have all the answers and simply show up, present and willing, I’m doing God’s work. Not mine. His.
"Sadness is caused by intelligence. The more you understand certain things, the more you wish you didn't understand them."
— Charles Bukowski
“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 (NIV)
In the end, I’d rather be unsure in God’s hands than certain on my own.
Prayer:
Lord, help me let go of the need to figure everything out. Teach me to trust You more than my thoughts, and to walk by faith instead of control. Give me peace in uncertainty, knowing that You are always sure. Amen.
I AM THAT I AM
"I AM: The Everything of God"
(Inspired by Exodus 3:14)
That moment when God first speaks to Moses—“I AM THAT I AM”—has always stirred something deep within me. Over time, through prayer, study, and lived experience, I’ve come to see this not just as a name, but as a divine revelation of God’s very nature.
“Ehyeh Asher Ehyeh.”
I AM THAT I AM.
(Exodus 3:14)
It’s a phrase that defies categories. It refuses to be boxed in. And for me, it sparked a realization: God is everything—and everyone—for anyone.
In other words, God is the fulfillment of every human longing. He is the answer to every question, the balm for every wound, the strength in every weakness. He doesn't become what we need—He already is.
The Ever-Present One
This verse reminds me that God is not limited by time, form, or comprehension. He has no beginning, no end. He simply is—eternally and infinitely.
And in that presence, He meets each of us personally. To the rejected, He is acceptance. To the grieving, He is comfort. To the addict, He is deliverance. To the overwhelmed, He is peace. God speaks to each soul in the exact language it needs—and says, "I AM."
Personal Reflection
In my early life, I saw God through narrow, rigid terms—defined by rules and conditions. But as I walked through the wilderness of addiction and the long road of recovery, I began to encounter God as presence, not performance.
I stopped trying to define Him, and I started to experience Him.
That’s when this name—I AM—took root in me. It wasn’t theological anymore; it was personal. God wasn’t “out there” or “back then.” He was here. Now. Alive. Enough.
The Living “I AM” in Christ
This same declaration shows up again when Jesus says:
“Before Abraham was, I AM.”
(John 8:58)
In Christ, the eternal “I AM” takes on flesh—walking among us, healing us, redeeming us. The God who is everything steps into our human story to bring us home.
Closing Prayer
Eternal God, the Great I AM,
You are more than my mind can grasp and more than my heart can contain.
Thank You for being all that I need, even when I don’t know what that is.
Meet me where I am today—and remind me that You always were, always are, and always will be.
I rest in Your presence.
Amen.
Bent, Not Broken
There’s an old garden hose that’s been lying under the tire of a parked car for years. Pressed down, silent, its shape distorted and its purpose halted. It once carried life—water to nourish, clean, and restore. But under constant pressure, it grew rigid. Useless. Forgotten.
Then one day, the car moves.
The hose doesn’t spring back into a perfect coil. Its form is altered. The groove from the tire remains. But something miraculous happens: the water begins to flow again. Bent? Yes. But not broken. And still capable of doing exactly what it was created to do—perhaps even more intentionally now, because it flows with experience, with purpose, with humility.
Our minds and spirits often endure the same crushing weight.
Stress, addiction, anxiety, trauma—they press on us like that tire. The prefrontal cortex, responsible for clarity, impulse control, and peace, becomes warped under the weight. We lose flexibility. Emotions tighten. Life narrows into mere survival.
But when God, in His mercy, moves the weight—we breathe again.
Spiritual practices like prayer, meditation, and recovery work through AA begin to gently stretch and restore us. The grooves may still be visible. We may not look the way we used to. But healing isn’t about being pristine. It’s about being whole. Bent, but not broken. Still able to carry the water of purpose and peace to others.
Romans 12:2 reminds us:
“Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God’s will is—His good, pleasing and perfect will.”
The world tells us to be flawless. God invites us to be faithful. It is in the dents, the awkward bends, and the signs of former struggle that we often become most usable. Most compassionate. Most real.
Because even a bent hose can still water a garden.
You were never useless—just waiting for the weight to lift.
Closing Prayer:
God of transformation,
Thank You for moving the weight I once thought would crush me forever.
Even though I carry the bends and dents of my past,
I trust You can still use me.
Renew my mind daily. Let me not seek perfection, but purpose.
Let the water of Your Spirit flow through me again—
to nourish others, to cleanse what’s broken,
and to remind me that I was never unusable, just waiting to be healed.
Amen.
Tell No One
The essence of serving God is to do so without recognition.
There was a time when every charitable act I did—every good deed—I wanted the world to see. Whether it was serving at a local food bank, coaching a team, or receiving a heartfelt message from someone I’d helped, I’d find a way to post about it. I craved acknowledgment—not just from strangers, but from friends and followers. I wanted credit. I wanted admiration. I wanted proof that I mattered.
That wasn’t service. That was ego.
The ego wants credit. It will dress up our goodness, amplify our generosity, and post it for the world to see. And when others don’t applaud? The ego gets offended. It whispers, “Don’t they see how good I’ve been? Don’t they owe me a thank you?”
But the soul doesn’t need credit. The truest parts of us—the parts aligned with God—don’t seek attention. They move quietly, purely, without a scoreboard.
Gary Zukav, in The Seat of the Soul, introduced me to a practice I still use: before any action, I ask, “What is my intention?”
Am I doing this to be seen?
Do I expect a thank you?
Am I holding someone in debt to the kindness I gave?
If the answer is yes, the deed is coming from ego—not spirit.
Even my old social media posts make me cringe now. Scripture quotes paired with selfies. Charity disguised as branding. It was all dressed up in the name of faith, but much of it was performative. Look at me. I’m kind. I’m spiritual. I’m a Christian.
“Be careful not to practice your righteousness in front of others to be seen by them. If you do, you will have no reward from your Father in heaven. So when you give to the needy, do not announce it with trumpets, as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and on the streets, to be honored by others. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward in full. But when you give to the needy, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, so that your giving may be in secret. Then your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you.”
—Matthew 6:1–4 (NIV)
In the last year or so, I’ve tried to shed that version of myself. I’m learning to live more anonymously in a world that screams “Be seen!” I once wrote in a devotional that I just want to be a "Bozo on the bus"—just another soul, quietly doing what’s right without needing to be noticed.
Even my social media has become… boring. A picture of my family at a wedding. A quiet moment at my daughter’s graduation. No captions seeking admiration. Just moments. Honest, unpolished, unpromoted.
In my service work—whether it's sitting on a panel, sponsoring someone in recovery, or helping in the shadows—I try to keep it sacred. No posts. No applause. Just presence.
God sees. That’s enough.
And He’s not keeping score—only the ego does that.
If you want to test your ego, try this:
Do good. Tell no one.
Serve others in silence.
Give from your soul, which seeks no spotlight.
And in return, God will give you something the world never can—deep, eternal growth. Not just in the life to come, but right here, right now.
“Let someone else praise you, and not your own mouth; an outsider, and not your own lips.”
—Proverbs 27:2 (NIV)
Closing Prayer
Lord, quiet my ego and awaken my soul.
Teach me to serve without seeking recognition,
to love without conditions,
and to give without needing praise.
Let my heart reflect You in silence,
so that what is unseen may be holy in Your sight.
Amen.
Finding Faith: Not by Searching, But by Remembering
Faith isn’t something we acquire like a possession—it’s something we uncover, like a buried seed already sown in the soil of the soul.
For a long time, I spent my energy searching—pleading for God to show up in the middle of my problems, anxieties, and fears. I’d look outward, hoping for a sign, a shift, something tangible I could hold onto. It became me versus the world—or worse, me versus my own mind. The chase for control masqueraded as spiritual pursuit, when in reality, I was chasing something that had never left.
I’m reminded of that moment in Scripture when the resurrected Jesus stands before Peter, yet Peter doesn’t recognize Him:
“They were kept from recognizing Him.” — Luke 24:16
It wasn’t that Jesus had changed; it was that Peter’s eyes were veiled by grief, confusion, and expectation. And isn’t that us, sometimes? Looking right at God and not seeing Him because we expect something else—something louder, clearer, easier.
I think of the sun on a stormy day. No matter how fierce the wind, how dark the clouds, how relentless the downpour—the sun still exists. Hidden, yes, but unwavering.
God is like that. No matter the storm you’re facing—whether it’s loss, addiction, fear, or just the weight of being human—He is still present. Still faithful. Still steady.
We don’t need to search the skies for faith like it’s missing. We just need to remember where it lives: within us. Planted deep. Waiting not to be found, but to be trusted.
The storm doesn’t get the final word. The story ends in glory.
Closing Prayer
Lord,
I come to You not as someone lost,
but as someone learning to remember.
Help me to turn down the noise of striving
and sit with the quiet truth that You are already here.
Not far off. Not hidden. Not waiting to be earned—
but gently residing within me.
When doubt clouds my vision,
remind me that Your light has never gone out.
When I feel unworthy, remind me
that Your grace was never based on my perfection.
Plant my feet in Your presence.
Let me trust that I don’t have to chase You,
because You’ve never left.
Awaken my heart to the faith already sown,
and help me walk in it today—with peace, with courage, with love.
Amen.
Live in Tomorrow and you lose Today
A favorite pastime of mine—one I’ve come to know well—is living in the future.
I can spend hours drifting into what might happen later this afternoon, next week, three months from now, or even years ahead. I imagine where I might live in four years, what retirement could look like, where my children will be, and whether we’ll have grandchildren. I play out these scenarios in my head like a film on repeat, directing and producing a life that hasn’t happened yet—and may never unfold the way I imagine.
This habit of forecasting is something I now recognize as anticipatory anxiety. I get caught trying to find clarity in the fog of the unknown. The first time I heard the term future tripping was in early recovery. It described exactly what I was doing—spending mental and emotional energy on what could go wrong, what might happen, and all the fear that lives in those imagined futures.
And here's the paradox: The more I noticed how often I was in the future, the more I wondered if I was living at all.
Recovery taught me another phrase: Life on life’s terms. To me, that means life is meant to be lived as it unfolds—not imagined, not rehearsed, not feared. God didn't place us in yesterday or tomorrow. He meets us right here, right now. In this breath. In this moment.
One way I return to the present is by stopping everything I’m doing. I shut my eyes and bring all my attention to my body—the weight of its touch, whether I’m sitting or standing. I tune in to my breathing. I slow it all down. And I listen. I listen to the involuntary rhythm of life that God has placed within me. I picture Him beside me—no words, just presence. Like two friends watching the sunrise in silence. No striving, no analyzing. Just being. Fully immersed in the sacred now.
Sometimes, after I’ve stepped out of those future spirals, I smile and say to myself, “Well, that was some movie.” And that’s all it was—fiction.
Jesus speaks directly to this in Matthew 6:34 (NIV):
“Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.”
So I invite you, my brothers and sisters, to pay attention to your mind. How often are you mentally standing in a time that doesn’t exist yet? How often do you miss the gift of today because your heart is wandering in a world that isn’t real?
God’s grace is found in the present—not in the past we can’t change, nor the future we can’t control. Let us meet Him here.
Because this moment is the only one we truly have.
Spiritual Homelessness
“Foxes have dens and birds have nests, but the Son of Man has no place to lay his head.” — Luke 9:58 (NIV)
I grew up Catholic. I learned early on that God was holy and perfect—and that I was not. I absorbed a quiet message that I wasn’t good enough for God. The rules, the rituals, the code of conduct—they often felt like a spiritual obstacle course designed to highlight how much I was falling short.
And when I looked for grace among the people in the pews, I found something else: judgment. Not always in words, but in glances, in the posture of those who seemed to live on a rung above me. The very place that promised sanctuary became a place where I felt exposed, ashamed, and unworthy.
Over time, I began to confuse religion with God, and because I couldn’t measure up to the former, I believed I was disqualified from the latter.
But here's the truth I’ve come to believe through recovery, pain, and spiritual awakening:
God was never the one turning me away. It was people—flawed humans guarding the gate of a kingdom they didn’t own.
Jesus faced the same problem in His time.
He didn’t blend in with the religious elite. He challenged them. He called out the Pharisees—not because they were religious, but because they used their authority to burden others while excusing themselves (Matthew 23). He flipped over tables in the temple, not because He hated worship, but because it had become corrupted by power.
Jesus’ way was never about exclusion—it was about invitation. He sat with the outcasts, touched the untouchables, and reminded everyone that God could be found not in the temple, but in the heart.
The irony is heartbreaking: the word Catholic means universal—meant for all people. And yet, like many institutions, it has at times done the opposite—drawing borders where Jesus drew bridges.
For years, I felt spiritually homeless. Rejected by a religion I once loved, and unsure where I stood with God. But over time, I began to sense that maybe God wasn’t confined to stained glass and confessionals. Maybe He had followed me out the doors I thought I had been cast from.
And maybe—just maybe—He had never left at all.
I harbor no ill will toward my childhood faith. It’s a part of my journey—one that shaped my reverence for God, taught me sacred language, and gave me the first glimpse of something greater. I now see that I, too, held judgment in my heart—against those I perceived as gatekeepers, those I felt had alienated me. In doing so, I carried the same weight I was trying to escape. Grace, I’m learning, must flow in all directions—including back through time, to others, and to myself.
Scriptures to Anchor This Truth:
Matthew 23:4–5 – “They tie up heavy, cumbersome loads and put them on other people’s shoulders, but they themselves are not willing to lift a finger to move them.”
(Jesus speaking of the religious leaders of His time)John 4:23–24 – “Yet a time is coming and has now come when the true worshipers will worship the Father in the Spirit and in truth, for they are the kind of worshipers the Father seeks.”
Romans 8:38–39 – “For I am convinced that neither death nor life... nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God.”
Reflection Questions:
Have you ever confused people’s judgment with God’s voice?
What religious “rules” have made you feel unworthy—and how does grace rewrite that?
Where have you experienced God outside of traditional religion?
Prayer:
God, I’ve tried so hard to earn something You’ve never asked me to earn. I’ve been wounded by people who claimed to speak for You, and I’ve spent too long believing I wasn’t enough. But today, I want to come home—not to a religion, but to You. Strip away the noise, the rules, the shame. Let me find You again in Spirit and truth, and know in my heart that You were never the one shutting the door. Amen.
The Beauty of Broken Things
Kintsugi:
Kintsugi (金継ぎ) is the Japanese art of “golden joinery”—the practice of repairing broken pottery by mending the cracks with lacquer mixed with powdered gold, silver, or platinum. Rather than hiding the flaws, Kintsugi highlights them, often making the restored piece more beautiful and valuable than it was before it broke.
It’s a powerful reminder that our brokenness can become our strength.
I often think about the painful chapters in my life—the moments of heartbreak, failure, addiction, and despair. There were times I wished I could erase them completely. But in truth, those cracks have become my greatest advantage on the spiritual journey. Being brought to the brink, shattered and left in pieces, created space for something deeper to be rebuilt.
It was there, in the ruins, that I came to know God—not in the absence of struggle, but in the presence of it. The pain became a doorway. The wounds became windows. And what once seemed like tragedy, I now see as transformation.
As Scripture reminds us,
“He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.” — Psalm 147:3
I sometimes wonder: Who would I be without those hardships? What value could I offer others if I had never tasted suffering or known what it means to be rebuilt? It's the overcoming that gives us depth. It's the healing that adds gold to our story.
Just like Kintsugi, our scars don’t diminish us—they define us. They become part of our unique beauty.
Our cracks are part of our story: We all break in some way. Embracing our wounds, rather than hiding them, gives them meaning.
Healing adds value: Just as gold increases the worth of a broken bowl, our recovery deepens our compassion, wisdom, and strength.
Brokenness isn’t the end: In many ways, it’s the beginning of a richer, more meaningful life.
“The world breaks everyone, and afterward, many are strong at the broken places.” — Ernest Hemingway
“There is a crack in everything. That’s how the light gets in.” — Leonard Cohen
Intention (From Self to Soul)
One way I gauge my spiritual fitness is by asking a simple yet powerful question: What is my intention?
Before I speak or act, I pause and reflect—Is this for me? For my ego? What do I hope to gain from this word or action? Or, is this aligned with my soul—an action rooted in love, guided by something deeper than self-interest?
This practice was deeply influenced by Gary Zukav’s The Seat of the Soul. Zukav teaches that intention is the energy behind every experience. It shapes our reality long before any result is visible. He explains that when we align our intentions with the wisdom of the soul—especially with love and compassion—we begin to cultivate what he calls “authentic power.”
He reminds us that every intention is a cause, and every cause sets energy in motion. Becoming aware of our intentions is a practice of spiritual clarity. It is how we begin to live not just from the mind, but from the heart.
In this practice, I’ve found a deep sense of ease. When I pause to reflect on my intention, I no longer feel the pressure to impress others or seek validation. I’m not trying to perform—I’m simply trying to be present, honest, and aligned with something greater than myself.
Asking, “What is my intention?” often turns into a prayer: “God, where do You want me here?”
This shift lightens my spirit. The world feels less like a stage and more like sacred ground. I find peace in playing a smaller role, because I trust that God’s will is greater than mine. Acceptance becomes not a passive act, but a powerful one.
I try not to force myself onto the world or others. I don't speak with hidden agendas or act with ulterior motives. Instead, I aim to let love lead—and leave space for God to work.
My hope, dear brothers and sisters, is that our intentions would be guided by something holy. That our words and actions would reflect the true desires of our soul—those planted there by God Himself.
Let us live with intention, not for attention.
“Search me, God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts.”
— Psalm 139:23
From Self to Service, From Ego to Others, From Me to We
In nearly every conversation, one word tends to dominate: “I.”
“I think… I feel… I need… I want…”
It slips off the tongue so easily, it goes unnoticed — like background noise.
But what if that noise is drowning out something more important?
Jesus said, “If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me.” (Luke 9:23)
Not celebrate himself.
Not promote himself.
Deny himself.
That’s a hard ask in a world obsessed with identity, platforms, and personal stories. But the truth is, the more we center ourselves, the harder it is to truly see others — their pain, their needs, their humanity.
Viktor Frankl, Holocaust survivor and psychiatrist, once said:
“For success, like happiness, cannot be pursued; it must ensue… as the unintended side-effect of one’s personal dedication to a cause greater than oneself.”
Frankl taught that healing and meaning are found not by asking, “What do I want from life?” but by asking, “What is life asking of me?”
He believed our deepest fulfillment comes when we stop chasing self-satisfaction and begin living in service to others — to a purpose beyond ourselves.
The ego always says, “What about me?”
But the Spirit whispers, “What about them?”
The ego fights to be heard.
The Spirit chooses to listen.
When we remove “I” from the center, we make space — space for God to move, space for others to be loved, space for peace to grow.
We begin to speak less in the language of self and more in the language of service.
Less in the language of ego, and more in the language of others.
Less in the language of me, and more in the language of we.
Let this be our prayer:
Lord, remove the language of self from my lips, and replace it with the language of love. Let my focus shift from me to You — and from You, to them.
Let Go and Let God
One true measure of faith is recognizing just how little control we actually have.
Honestly facing this can be unsettling. When I try to grasp the vastness of the universe — the stars, galaxies, and all that lies beyond comprehension — I feel both humbled and overwhelmed. It quickly becomes clear that we’re not steering the ship the way we often imagine we are.
If we’re willing to be completely honest with ourselves, we come to a sobering truth: almost nothing is truly within our control. Human solutions can only go so far. Our intellect, our efforts, and even our best intentions can’t fully explain the mystery of life — or ease the ache that sometimes comes with it.
But here’s what I’ve come to believe with my whole heart:
The only constant I have in this world is faith — faith in a Higher Power, in my God, who helps make sense of what I can’t understand.
It’s through that faith that the unreal becomes real, and the unknown becomes knowable. I have to humble myself to the reality that every circumstance — the ones I welcome and the ones I dread — are ultimately in the hands of the Creator.
What I can do, however, is meet the will of God with reverence, a good attitude, and a willingness to walk in righteousness. In this life, we’ll encounter both beauty and tragedy, joy and heartbreak — but we must meet both with the understanding that there is something beyond what is happening here… something greater, more eternal, and infinitely loving.
Where your soul is right now — that’s exactly where it’s supposed to be. Every moment, even this one, is part of a larger calling and deeper purpose. You may not see the full picture, but trust that it’s being painted with care.
So don’t worry.
Worry is the ego’s favorite pastime — a desperate attempt to cling to certainty. But the business of control is not ours to manage. Our only task is to walk humbly, faithfully, and with reverence for the One who is in control.
See the world for what it is: the beauty within its limitations. The comings and goings of joy and sorrow. The impermanence of everything here… and the eternal nature of what lies beyond.
Fear not what happens to you in this life — because God has already written the story. A story with no beginning and no end, only love unfolding.
To my brothers and sisters walking this path:
May you find peace, courage, and wonder in this sacred journey — this holy creation given to us by our Heavenly Father.
“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 (NIV)
