Becoming as Little Children

Dear Reader,

A friend recently shared with me a quote from theologian Reinhold Niebuhr:

“Humor is a prelude to faith, and laughter is the beginning of prayer.”

At first reading, I found the quote somewhat shallow.

After all, laughter alone does not make us spiritual.
Many laugh to avoid pain.
Others laugh to avoid truth.

Yet the more I reflected on his words, the more I began to sense there might be something deeper hidden beneath them.

Perhaps true laughter has less to do with amusement and more to do with humility.

There are moments in life when we become so serious, so burdened, so certain of ourselves, that we lose the ability to see clearly. We begin defending our pride, protecting our image, and clinging tightly to the belief that we are in control.

Then suddenly, through grace, honesty, friendship, or even recovery, we catch sight of ourselves as we truly are.

Not worthless.
Not condemned.
Simply human.

And sometimes the first healthy response to that discovery is not despair—but a quiet smile.

Not mocking laughter.
Not careless laughter.
But the kind that softens the heart and allows us to breathe again.

The scriptures seem to point toward this same spirit when Jesus taught:

“Verily I say unto you, Except ye be converted, and become as little children, ye shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven.”
— Matthew 18:3

Children possess something many adults slowly lose.

Wonder.
Teachability.
Trust.
The ability to begin again after failure.

A child can laugh honestly because a child has not yet fully learned the exhausting burden of pretending to be greater than they are.

Christ continues:

“Whosoever therefore shall humble himself as this little child, the same is greatest in the kingdom of heaven.”
— Matthew 18:4

Humility may be one of the great doorways to both faith and prayer.

Recovery teaches something remarkably similar.

Many of us arrive spiritually exhausted—trying to manage life through fear, pride, resentment, or self-reliance. Then one day, often in the presence of others equally broken, we finally let down our guard. We laugh at our own thinking. We admit we do not have all the answers. And strangely, in that moment, we become more open to God than we were in all our striving.

Perhaps this is why Proverbs teaches:

“A merry heart doeth good like a medicine.”
— Proverbs 17:22

Not because laughter removes suffering, but because humility helps heal the soul carrying it.

Maybe Niebuhr’s insight was never really about comedy at all.

Maybe it was about the beautiful moment when the human heart stops pretending, becomes teachable again, and quietly turns itself toward God like a little child.

Amen

AA Promise: A Faith That Beomes Visible

Dear Reader, 

Last night while reading First Epistle to the Corinthians Chapter 13 and First Epistle to Timothy Chapter 4, I found myself drawn to two messages that seem deeply connected. 

The first speaks of faith, hope, and charity. 
The second speaks of example, teaching, and living in such a way that both ourselves and those who hear us may be saved. 

Together, these passages suggest something beautiful: 

Faith, hope, and love are not merely beliefs to possess. 
They are realities meant to become visible in the way we live. 

Paul writes that though we may speak with the tongues of angels and possess great knowledge, without charity we become as sounding brass and tinkling cymbals. 

In other words, wisdom without love eventually becomes noise. 

How true this can be in everyday life. 

Many of us can quote scripture, explain doctrine, or speak intelligently about recovery, spirituality, or human nature. Yet the deeper question remains: 

Do our lives reflect what we claim to believe? 

The older I grow, the more I believe people are changed less by argument and more by example. 

A patient person teaches patience. 
A forgiving person teaches forgiveness. 
A hopeful person quietly gives hope to others. 

This may be why Paul counseled Timothy: 

“Be thou an example of the believers…” 

Not simply a teacher of truth, 
but a living witness of it. 

And perhaps the most remarkable part of the message follows shortly afterward: 

“…for in doing this thou shalt both save thyself, and them that hear thee.” 

What a powerful thought. 

There are moments in recovery and spiritual life when we mistakenly believe we must first become perfect before we can help another person. 

Yet experience often teaches the opposite. 

Many of us heal while helping. 
We grow stronger while encouraging others. 
We discover hope while carrying hope to someone else. 

This principle lives deeply within recovery itself: 
we keep what we have by giving it away. 

Faith begins to grow when shared. 
Hope deepens when offered to another discouraged soul. 
And love becomes real when it moves beyond emotion into action. 

Perhaps this is why charity “never faileth.” 

Not because human beings are always perfect in loving, 
but because genuine love continues to heal wherever it is honestly practiced. 

I suspect the world is changed less by great speeches and public recognition than by ordinary people quietly living their beliefs day after day. 

A sponsor answering a late-night phone call. 
A friend listening without judgment. 
A teacher speaking gently. 
A young person standing for what is right despite fear. 
A tired soul choosing kindness one more time. 

These simple acts become sermons without pulpits. 

And maybe this is what Paul hoped Timothy would understand: 

Do not wait to become extraordinary before becoming useful. 

Live with sincerity now. 
Practice faith now. 
Offer hope now. 
Show love now. 

For in doing so, we may discover that God is not only working through us to help others — 
but also quietly saving us in the process. 

A Reflection on step 5, Attitude, and the Turning of the Day

Dear Reader, 

There are moments in recovery when life seems unmanageable in every direction.

Fear of people and old resentments, once forgotten, return.
Fear of economic ruin and insecurity return.

Yesterday’s disappointments seem to pile one upon another.

As we dwell on these unwelcome thoughts, we open ourselves to what Edna O’Brien observed:

“Bad moments, like good ones, tend to be grouped together.”

So we let our minds drift, searching for more fears to support our current state of mind. Being human, many of us allow one hard moment to shape the entire day.

Yet recovery offers us another possibility.

Our recovery program teaches us that healing does not begin by pretending everything is fine. It begins with honesty. Step Five suggests we admit “the exact nature of our wrongs.” Substitute the word “thinking,” and we begin to free ourselves from fear’s paralyzing effect.

The act of admitting a fear, sharing it, and then turning it over to a Power greater than ourselves literally begins to take away fear’s control over us.

I recall the words of Alexander Pope:

“An honest man’s the noblest work of God.”

When we look for truth instead of obsessing over the negative, we gain something deeply spiritual.

Truth breaks isolation.
Truth ends hiding.
Truth allows relationships to heal—with ourselves, others, and with God.

Many of us fear that if people truly knew us, they would walk away. Yet in recovery we often discover the opposite. When we honestly share our struggles, another human being does not reject us. Instead, they nod with understanding and remind us that we are human too.

Scripture speaks to this same principle:

“And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free.”
— Bible, John 8:32

Freedom comes not from perfection, but from honesty.

But honesty alone is not enough. Once the burden is lifted, we are invited to choose how we will face the day ahead. Recovery teaches us that attitude matters.

The Apostle Paul counseled:

“Be transformed by the renewing of your mind.”
— Bible, Romans 12:2

A negative spirit can make every obstacle appear larger. Fear attracts more fear. Resentment clouds our ability to see hope.

When we pause, pray, and trust our Higher Power, the focus shifts inside us.

We remember that we are not facing life alone. Recovery promises that we do not have to remain trapped in old patterns of thinking.

Today we can tell the truth.
Today we can let go of what poisons the spirit.
Today we can choose trust over despair.

And perhaps that is one of the quiet miracles of recovery:

When honesty clears the heart, hope has room to enter.

🙏🏻🧘‍♂️💕🤗☮️