When Fear Leaves Us Standing Still

Faith, Charity, and the Next Best Thing

Dear Reader,

Have you ever awakened in the morning with a feeling of fear or uncertainty so overwhelming that you simply did not know what to do next?

I have.

Sometimes our minds take us into a future that has not yet arrived. We imagine what might happen, what could go wrong, and how we might respond to circumstances beyond our control.

Before long, we find ourselves standing still, almost paralyzed by possibilities that exist only in our thoughts.

Today, I had a conversation with a dear friend who is facing surgery.

He was struggling with fear. His mind was racing ahead, imagining one possible outcome after another. Each possibility seemed to create another reason to worry.

As I listened, I realized something.

I could not remove his fear. I could not guarantee the outcome of his surgery. Nor could I promise that everything would happen exactly as he hoped.

But I could share something from my own experience.

I asked him to consider doing the next best thing.

Make your bed.

Find something to eat.

Take a shower.

Begin your day.

These might seem like insignificant actions when facing something as serious as surgery. Yet sometimes the smallest actions help us move forward when our thoughts have left us standing still.

I explained that there are mornings when I follow this same practice.

I have always maintained a certain order to my day. Making my bed, eating breakfast, and taking care of myself were familiar routines long before I entered recovery.

But Alcoholics Anonymous helped me understand something deeper about those ordinary actions.

They were not simply habits. They could become a way of moving forward when fear, uncertainty, or discouragement threatened to hold me still.

Recovery taught me that I did not have to feel better before I could begin doing better.

Sometimes the action must come first, and the courage follows.

In Alcoholics Anonymous, we often hear the words, "One day at a time."

Over the years, I have come to appreciate that sometimes even one day seems too large.

Sometimes all we can manage is one moment, one decision, or one small act.

And that is enough to begin.

I do not always wake up feeling courageous, confident, or certain about the day ahead. But I have learned that I do not need to resolve every uncertainty before beginning my day.

I only need to take the next best step.

Recently, I was reflecting on two spiritual teachings.

The first comes from Lamentations 3:25:

"The Lord is good unto them that wait for him, to the soul that seeketh him."

The second comes from Elder Gérald Caussé, who reminds us of the importance of caring for individual souls and helping them connect with the Savior.

Together, these teachings suggest something meaningful to me.

Waiting upon the Lord does not necessarily mean remaining inactive.

We can wait with patience while continuing to live, serve, pray, and take responsibility for the things within our ability.

Faith is not always about knowing what will happen next. Sometimes it is about trusting God enough to take another step without knowing where that step may lead.

And when we encounter someone who is struggling, perhaps our greatest act of charity is not to remove every obstacle from their path, but to help them recognize that they still have the ability to take another step.

I have spent much of my life volunteering and helping others.

Along the way, I have learned an important lesson.

Helping someone does not mean taking responsibility for their entire journey.

We can offer encouragement without directing their lives.

We can offer friendship without demanding change.

We can offer a hand without insisting that someone take it.

And sometimes we can simply share the small practices that have helped us through our own difficult mornings.

My friend must face his own uncertainties. I cannot face them for him.

But I can walk beside him.

I can listen.

I can remind him that he does not have to live through tomorrow's possibilities today.

And I can remind myself of that same truth.

Faith does not always remove fear.

Sometimes faith gives us the courage to move forward while fear is still present.

So, dear reader, if you find yourself overwhelmed by uncertainty today, consider this:

You do not have to solve tomorrow's problems this morning.

You do not have to know how everything will turn out.

You need only ask yourself:

What is the next best thing I can do?

And then, with whatever faith and courage you have available, do that one thing.

Tomorrow will have its own opportunities and challenges.

For now, let us begin with today.

And if you need a companion along the way, remember that none of us was meant to make this journey entirely alone.

Come walk with me.

A Diamond, a Carrot, and a Lesson in Life

Dear Reader,

While reviewing my daily recovery readings this morning, I came across a quotation by James Thurber that caught my attention.

“Seeing is deceiving. It’s eating that’s believing.” — James Thurber

The quotation puzzled me at first, so I decided to explore its origin. What I discovered gave me something to think about.

The quotation comes from Further Fables for Our Time (1956), written by James Thurber (1894–1961), an American humorist, cartoonist, and author.

The fable features three animals: a magpie, a crow, and a rabbit.

• The magpie discovers a valuable ring containing a fourteen-carat diamond.

• The crow and rabbit mistake the word "carat" for "carrot."

• When they discover that the treasure is a diamond rather than something edible, they lose interest.

The crow declares, “Seeing is deceiving. It's eating that's believing.”

The crow and rabbit see little value in a ring they cannot eat, while the magpie treasures its beauty and sparkle.

Each animal judges the treasure according to its own desires and perceived needs.

But here is an interesting question: Which animal is right?

The magpie values the diamond. The rabbit values carrots. The crow values something he can eat.

Perhaps none of them is wrong. Each sees value through the circumstances of its own life.

This leads me to ask:

How often do we judge the world by our own desires and perceived needs, overlooking opportunities to learn and grow?

And how often do we assume that what is valuable to us must be equally valuable to someone else?

Thurber's humorous fable reminds me that appearances can be deceiving and that personal experience often influences what we consider important.

What one person treasures, another may find worthless.

But there is another lesson here.

Recognizing something as valuable is not the same as allowing it to influence how we live.

This brings to mind James 2:17:

“So too, faith by itself, if it does not result in action, is dead."

We may recognize goodness in others. We may believe in the importance of kindness, compassion, forgiveness, and faith. But recognizing these qualities and believing in their value is only a beginning.

Their deeper meaning becomes apparent when we begin practicing them in our own lives.

The same principle applies to recovery.

We may understand recovery and recognize its value in the lives of others, but its transforming power becomes personal when we begin to experience it ourselves.

Reading the Big Book, attending meetings, and listening to others can inform and encourage us. These are important parts of the journey.

Yet real transformation takes place as we carry the principles beyond the meeting room and put them into practice in our daily lives.

It is one thing to understand forgiveness and another to forgive.

It is one thing to admire humility and another to practice it.

It is one thing to believe in helping others and another to extend a hand when someone needs help.

And sometimes, it is equally important to recognize that what another person needs or values may be different from what we would choose for ourselves.

We can offer encouragement, understanding, and companionship without insisting that others see the world through our eyes.

We may recognize wisdom in the words of others, but its deeper meaning often becomes clear only when we begin to live it.

Experience has a way of teaching what observation alone cannot.

And so, a humorous little fable about a diamond and a carrot has reminded me of something important:

The value of life is not found only in what we see, what we possess, or even what we believe. It is also found in how we live, how we treat others, and what we are willing to learn along the way.

And you, dear reader, what lesson do you find in Thurber's words?

I would welcome your thoughts in the comments below.

🙏🧘‍♂️💕🤗☮️

Come Walk With Me

Dear Reader,

This morning, I was reflecting on several quotations about acceptance, love, faith, and living one day at a time. Although each approached life from a different perspective, I began to recognize a common message.

We cannot change yesterday, nor can we control tomorrow. But we can choose how we live today.

As I considered these thoughts, I found myself returning to a simple understanding:

I find peace within myself as I stretch out a hand to others and allow them to rise and walk with me.

There is an important distinction between helping someone rise and attempting to make them rise.

I can extend my hand, but the other person must choose to take it. I can offer encouragement, friendship, and support, but I cannot live another person's life or make their decisions.

Sometimes, in our desire to help, we forget this distinction. We begin to believe that loving someone means solving their problems, correcting their mistakes, or directing their journey.

But is that really love?

The Apostle Paul taught in Galatians 6:2:

"Bear ye one another's burdens, and so fulfil the law of Christ."

And in the Book of Mormon, Mosiah 18:8 speaks of being:

"...willing to bear one another's burdens, that they may be light."

Neither scripture tells us to take ownership of another person's life. Rather, both invite us to share life's burdens with compassion and understanding.

Over my years in Alcoholics Anonymous, I have learned that recovery is more than attending meetings or maintaining sobriety. It is learning a different way of living.

The Twelfth Step reminds us of the importance of carrying the message to others and practicing spiritual principles in all our affairs.

In helping another person, we often discover that we ourselves are being helped.

Yet there is another lesson I continue to learn.

I can extend my hand without carrying the entire weight of the person who takes it.

This is not indifference. It is an acknowledgment that each of us has our own journey, our own lessons to learn, and our own relationship with God.

I have come to understand that peace is not something I find by looking only within myself. It grows when I reach out to another person, help them find their footing, and allow them to rise and walk beside me.

I cannot walk their journey for them, but neither must they walk alone.

And I must remember that I, too, need rest, encouragement, friendship, and the occasional hand extended in my direction.

Perhaps this is one of the great lessons of faith and recovery: We are not called to control one another. We are called to love one another.

We need not have all the answers. We need not repair every broken circumstance. Sometimes, simply being present is enough.

I believe that when we reach out in love, something happens within us as well.

The hand we extend to lift another may also be the hand through which God lifts us.

So, my invitation today is a simple one.

Come walk with me.

Not because I know the way better than you.

Not because I have all the answers.

But because the journey may become a little lighter when we walk together.

With love and gratitude,

🙏🧘‍♂️💕🤗☮️

Shape My Soul dear Lord

From Asking God to Fix My Life to Asking Him to Shape My Soul

Inspired by Sister Tamara W. Runia's talk, “The Sculpting of Our Souls”

Dear Reader,

Many years ago, I remember damaging a vehicle and, in my distress, asking God to fix it before I returned home.

Imagine that! I had made a mistake, and I wanted God to make the consequences disappear.

Looking back, I can smile at that younger version of myself. My faith was genuine, but my understanding of God's purpose in my life was limited. I believed that if I prayed sincerely enough, God might intervene and make everything right.

Today, after many years of living, learning, making mistakes, experiencing loss, and discovering the blessings of recovery and faith, my prayers have changed.

I no longer look to God simply to fix the problems I encounter. Instead, I ask for His wisdom, guidance, and inspiration to help me use the agency He has given me. I seek solutions that recognize not only my own needs but also the needs and well-being of everyone involved.

Recently, I read a message by Sister Tamara W. Runia of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints entitled “The Sculpting of Our Souls.” Her message awakened within me a deeper understanding of this change in my spiritual journey.

Sister Runia shares the story of a student struggling to sculpt a likeness of himself from clay. Despite his determination and effort, he cannot achieve the result he envisions. Eventually, he humbles himself and invites his instructor to help.

Under the hands of the master, the clay begins to take on a beauty and expression the student could not have achieved alone.

What a remarkable comparison to our own lives!

We spend much of our lives believing that our talents, education, experience, determination, and hard work will enable us to create the life we imagine.

Yet life seldom follows our carefully prepared designs.

We encounter disappointments, unexpected changes, broken relationships, illness, and losses we cannot repair. Our best efforts sometimes seem insufficient.

And it is here that I believe the Master Sculptor enters our lives—not necessarily to restore the design we once imagined, but to help us discover something we had never envisioned.

Through God and His Son, Jesus Christ, we are offered a foundation upon which to build, strength beyond our own understanding, and guidance toward possibilities we might otherwise never recognize.

This does not mean our difficulties disappear. Nor does it mean we surrender responsibility for the choices we make.

Quite the opposite.

Our faith invites us to become active participants in our own spiritual growth.

I have learned something similar through the principles of recovery. There is a profound difference between surrendering responsibility and surrendering the illusion that we can control everything.

In the Sixth and Seventh Steps of Alcoholics Anonymous, we become willing to allow God to help remove those shortcomings that limit our spiritual growth.

We begin to understand that humility is not weakness. It is an invitation to receive guidance beyond our own abilities.

And as we grow, something beautiful can happen.

We become more patient, more compassionate, more willing to listen, and less inclined to judge the journeys of others.

I am also learning that while God may be sculpting my soul, He has not appointed me to sculpt the souls of others.

I can offer encouragement, share my experience, and extend a helping hand. But I must respect the agency of those around me.

Recently, someone I care about deeply began making choices about his life that differed from what I believed would be best for him. My first instinct was to offer guidance, perhaps even to persuade him to reconsider.

But I came to recognize that his journey belongs to him, just as mine belongs to me.

I could continue trying to direct his choices, or I could step back, respect his agency, and remain available as a friend.

I chose friendship.

Now, as he faces a difficult personal challenge, I have offered to be there for him if he needs me. My concern for his well-being does not depend upon whether he follows my advice.

That realization has brought me a measure of peace.

Sometimes love means stepping back and allowing another person to make decisions we may not understand or agree with.

And sometimes love means stepping forward, quietly offering to walk beside that person through a difficult experience.

Perhaps one of the greatest expressions of faith is learning when to do each.

Looking back across my own years, I can see that the life I am living today is not the life I imagined in my youth.

There have been painful experiences I would never have chosen. There have also been unexpected blessings, relationships, opportunities to serve, and spiritual discoveries I could never have anticipated.

I cannot claim to understand the purpose of every experience.

But I have come to believe that, through faith in Jesus Christ, even our most difficult experiences can become opportunities for greater understanding, compassion, and love.

The Master Sculptor has not finished His work.

And I am grateful that He continues to guide my hands, my heart, and my choices.

My prayer today is no longer simply, “Father, please fix what I have broken.”

It is, “Father, help me see what I cannot yet see. Guide me to use my agency wisely, to act with compassion, and to become the person You know I am capable of being.”

Dear Reader, perhaps the beauty of our lives is not found in how perfectly we have followed our original plans, but in our willingness to discover, through God's guidance, a design more meaningful than anything we could have imagined.

We are all works in progress.

And in the hands of the Master Sculptor, there is always the possibility of becoming.

🙏🧘‍♂️💕🤗☮️

 

The Simplicity of Believing

Dear Reader,

Rabindranath Tagore is often credited with a profound observation:

“It is very simple to be happy, but it is very difficult to be simple.”

These words brought to mind a beautiful song from 1953, I Believe, made famous by Frankie Laine.

The song speaks of finding reasons to believe in the ordinary wonders of life: the cry of a newborn child, the touch of a leaf, and the beauty of the sky.

Consider a young father holding his newborn child. In that quiet moment, the demands of the world seem to disappear. There is no need for wealth, recognition, or achievement. There is simply a child, a loving embrace, and the wonder of a new life.

Could happiness really be that simple?

I have spent much of my life discovering how easily we complicate our existence. We pursue what we believe will make us happy, often overlooking the blessings already surrounding us.

Through my years in recovery, I have learned that peace frequently begins with acceptance. Through my growing faith in Jesus Christ, I am learning that spiritual understanding does not always require complicated explanations. Sometimes it begins with humility, gratitude, and a willingness to recognize God's presence in the ordinary moments of life.

Jesus taught that we must become as little children (Matthew 18:3). I wonder whether part of that invitation is to rediscover the simplicity of trusting, loving, and believing.

Life will never be without difficulties. Yet even amid sorrow and uncertainty, there are moments of grace waiting to be recognized.

A child's first cry. A gentle breeze. The warmth of someone's hand. A quiet prayer.

These are not insignificant moments. They are reminders that happiness and faith need not always be found through searching. Sometimes they are already present, waiting for us to notice.

Perhaps the difficulty is not in finding happiness, but in learning to recognize how simply it comes to us.

As we continue our journey together, may we learn to slow down, look around, and discover the extraordinary blessings hidden within our ordinary lives.

With love, faith, and gratitude,

Steve
Gimage.net

An original reflection inspired by Rabindranath Tagore and I Believe

“Happiness and faith are not found in the complexity of what we seek, but in the simplicity of what we learn to see. In a child's first cry, the gentle touch of a leaf, or the wonder of an open sky, we discover that life's greatest blessings have been quietly surrounding us all along.”

🙏🧘‍♂️💕🤗☮️

— 

One Hand, One Heart, One Life at a Time

 Dear Reader,

We often think that changing the world requires great accomplishments, extraordinary sacrifices, or the ability to influence many people. Yet the greatest changes often begin with something much smaller: one person reaching out to another.

The ancient philosopher Epictetus encouraged us to first decide who we wish to become and then live accordingly. President D. Todd Christofferson, "The Character of Christ," April 2026 General Conference, reminds us that developing the character of Christ is not simply about our own spiritual growth, but also about the influence we have on the world around us.

Jesus Christ taught us this principle through His life. He reached out to individuals, lifted the fallen, comforted the sorrowful, and loved those whom others overlooked.

Perhaps our greatest contribution is not measured by how many people we help, but by the love and compassion we bring to each encounter.

We cannot always change another person's circumstances or choices. But we can choose the character we bring into their life.

And sometimes, simply offering a hand to someone who has fallen is enough to make the world a little better.

May we strive today not merely to do good, but to become good.

🙏🧘‍♂️💕🤗☮️

"All are Punished"

 

Dear Reader,

Lately, the world feels out of control. I find myself moving between anger, grief, and disbelief, searching for words that can hold what I’m feeling.

Reports of people being shot during immigration enforcement leave me frightened and heartbroken. Against that backdrop, the attention given to a presidential ballroom and a monumental arch in our capital feels painfully disconnected from the suffering around us. I keep wondering: Where is the concern for human life? Where is the accountability? What are we choosing to celebrate, and what are we allowing ourselves to overlook?

These questions bring me back to Shakespeare. Near the end of Romeo and Juliet, Prince Escalus addresses the feuding families:

What stays with me is the Prince’s admission: “And I, for winking at your discords too.” He recognizes his own failure to confront the hatred before him. He has suffered, too, and he understands that his authority did not absolve him of responsibility.

“All are punished.”

Those words feel painfully close today. Cruelty reaches beyond its immediate victims. Fear enters homes, grief changes families, and public trust wears away. We all lose something when human suffering becomes routine.

I don’t have a tidy answer. I’m writing because I don’t want to grow numb. I don’t want to become so accustomed to disturbing headlines that I forget the people living inside them.

I want leaders who understand that every life matters. I want accountability when power causes harm. And I want us to keep asking difficult questions, even when looking away would be easier.

Perhaps that is why Shakespeare’s words still speak so powerfully to me. They ask us to reckon with hatred—and with the consequences of allowing it to continue.

With grief, concern, and hope for something better,

A fellow Traveler