O My Soul, Do Not Slumber

Dear Reader,

Today, I was drawn to a passage in Dante Alighieri’s Inferno, Canto I.

“Midway upon the journey of our life
I found myself within a forest dark,
For the straightforward pathway had been lost.”

“So full was I of slumber at the moment
In which I had abandoned the true way.”

Looking back on my life, I can now recognize something of what Dante describes: I had become spiritually asleep. From my mid-twenties to my early forties, I was distracted from spiritual development by career goals, family, good times, and what seemed like endless partying. Dante does not describe himself as deliberately choosing evil. He describes himself as having fallen asleep. I can relate to that feeling and to the question: “How did I get here?”

It was only in a moment of clarity that, like Dante, I awakened at the edge of darkness, far from the person I had hoped to be. I had lost my path as a spiritual person. In Dante’s example, he saw light shining on the top of a hill. The rest of his story is one of struggle to climb toward that light and, ultimately, a journey through Hell.

In my case, the path has been one of recovery, where I have been humbled, become more aware of character traits both good and bad, and found a way to make amends to family, friends, and others I harmed before recovery. This path is ongoing. Sometimes progress seems visible; at other times it is slower and more difficult to recognize. I cannot say that I wish the journey were over, because each day brings challenges that allow me to grow and move closer to a Higher Power.

In my case, I have become reacquainted with the God of my understanding and have come to know His Son, Jesus Christ.

My daily spiritual admonition is:

“O my soul, do not slumber or seek worldly distractions. Keep to the true way in Christ, who declares, ‘I am the way, the truth, and the life.’” — John 14:6

This is my prayerful reminder to remain awake and centered in Christ.

As I close, I wonder what I have truly gained from this reflection. Perhaps it is the recognition that there was a past, that I am now established on a renewed spiritual journey, and that, if I choose to be guided and assisted by Divine Grace, I need not drift or lose sight of my true goal of returning to God’s joyful presence.

A word of caution: Dante does not first say, “I chose the wrong road.” He realizes that while spiritually inattentive, he somehow wandered from the true one.

Recognizing that we are lost is not the end of the journey. It may be the beginning of being guided home.

And perhaps, in being guided home, we begin to understand more deeply the infinite love of God, who does not abandon His children simply because they have wandered.

🙏 🧘‍♂️ 💕 🤗 ☮️

Aging, Usefulness, Dignity, Purpose, and God's Work

Dear reader.

Today marks the anniversary of Queen Elizabeth I’s birth. In her honor, I looked at several sayings attributed to her.

• "Monarchs ought to put to death the authors and instigators of war, as their sworn enemies and as dangers to their states." 

•  "I do not choose that my grave should be dug while I am still alive."

The language in the first quotation is severe, especially the phrase “put to death.”

Given Elizabeth I’s era and the growing threats England faced from Catholic princes and kings, it is plausible that these were her words. However, the quotation appears only in a historical collection that attributes it to Elizabeth in conversation with the French ambassador Fénelon and cites Frederick Chamberlin’s The Sayings of Queen Elizabeth (1923).

 

I chose this quotation not to make a political comment about today’s kings, princes, or leaders, but to invite reflection on a nation’s policy toward war and the solemn responsibility leaders bear for the human suffering their counsel may cause.

I believe Elizabeth understood that an unnecessary war would reflect upon the monarch who chose it, making that ruler an enemy of the very people they claimed to protect. That thought is not lost on me today.

Turning to the second quotation: “I do not choose that my grave should be dug while I am still alive.”

Elizabeth likely spoke these words in 1566 while facing Parliament’s pressure over the question of succession.

Today, I hear the words differently. Many seniors, myself included, are told to step back and simply enjoy the fruits of our labor. Even Ecclesiastes reminds us that mortal life is brief and ends in dust.

That may be fitting for some, but in my experience, I choose not to withdraw from active life because of age. Seniors continue to make meaningful contributions in science, literature, art, service, and care for those in need. Age need not impose a fixed limit, especially now that study tools, enrichment opportunities, and AI are opening new paths for learning and purpose. 

In paraphrase, I hear Elizabeth saying, “Do not decide that my useful life is finished while I am still living it.”

For those of faith, I believe God’s work is never limited by age, usefulness, or physical limitations. Every person has a God-given right to live fully and with dignity. As long as God gives us breath, He may still have something for us to become, something for us to learn, and someone for us to serve.

🙏🧘‍♂️💕🤗☮️

When Everything Is Taken Away, What Remains?

 

Dear Reader,

At times I find myself reading one passage of scripture alongside another message of faith, not because I already understand the connection between them, but because I am searching for it.

That was my experience as I considered Ecclesiastes 12 together with Elder Ulisses Soares’s message, “God Knows and Loves You.”

At first, I was not certain they belonged together at all.

Elder Soares speaks with assurance, hope, and tenderness. He reminds us that Heavenly Father knows us, loves us, and will never forget or forsake us. His message is one of eternal identity, trust, and divine love.

Ecclesiastes often sounds very different.

Its voice seems older, weathered, and sobering. It looks upon life and sees the passing of time, the fading of strength, and the limits of human effort. Throughout the book runs the thought that so much of what we chase, build, worry over, and cling to is like vapor—here for a moment and then gone.

That is what first drew me to the comparison.

I wondered whether Ecclesiastes stood almost in opposition to Elder Soares’s message. One seemed to speak of life as fleeting and uncertain. The other spoke of something eternal and secure.

Yet the more I reflected, the more I began to see that perhaps they are not in conflict.

Perhaps they are answering two different parts of the same human question.

Ecclesiastes asks what remains when youth begins to fade, when strength declines, when the body weakens, when cherished plans do not unfold as hoped, and when many of the things we once believed gave life meaning begin to slip through our fingers.

It asks what remains when everything temporary finally reveals itself to be temporary.

And that is no small question.

Many of us have lived long enough to know that life does not always unfold according to our wishes. Health changes. Relationships change. Abilities lessen. Dreams are delayed, altered, or sometimes lost.

We labor, strive, acquire, plan, and often hope that if we can arrange life correctly, we will finally secure lasting peace.

Yet Ecclesiastes reminds us that much of what exists “under the sun” cannot be held forever.

That truth can sound discouraging.

But perhaps it is intended not to drive us into despair, but to strip away an illusion.

For if everything upon which we have leaned in this world could one day be taken from us, then eventually we are brought to a deeper question:

What cannot be taken away?

That is where Elder Soares’s message speaks with particular power.

Ecclesiastes asks what remains when everything we thought gave life meaning is finally taken away. Elder Soares answers: God remains—and so does our place in His love.

And Elder Soares does more than simply tell us that God loves us. He points us toward the greatest evidence of that love:

“God so loved us—loved us so intensely and fully—that He sent Jesus Christ, His Firstborn, His ‘Beloved and Chosen from the beginning,’ to be His Only Begotten Son and the Savior of the world. Jesus Christ’s atoning sacrifice is the ultimate and most glorious expression of the Father’s love for us and for all His children.”

To me, this is where the balance between the two messages becomes complete.

If Ecclesiastes teaches that earthly things fade, weaken, and pass away, then the Atonement of Jesus Christ declares that God’s love does not pass away.

If life “under the sun” often appears fragile and fleeting, Jesus Christ points us toward something beyond the sun—toward resurrection, redemption, forgiveness, and eternal life.

Elder Soares reminds us that through Christ, sin and death have been overcome and that all will be resurrected, while those who turn to Him may repent, receive forgiveness, and continue toward eternal life.

That changes the question.

The question is no longer simply:

What have I managed to hold onto during my mortal life?

Perhaps the greater question is:

What has God made possible for me through Jesus Christ that mortality itself cannot take away?

Ecclesiastes teaches me not to place ultimate trust in passing things.

Elder Soares teaches me where my trust may safely rest.

Ecclesiastes reminds me that earthly possessions, strength, accomplishments, and even life itself do not endure forever.

Jesus Christ reminds me that death does not have the final word.

Ecclesiastes humbles the soul by showing the limits of mortality.

The Savior lifts the soul by showing the limitless reach of God’s redeeming love.

Put together, they offer me a truth both sobering and comforting:

If I build my life only upon what is temporary, eventually I will experience loss. But if I build my life upon God and Jesus Christ, then even loss cannot take from me what matters most.

This understanding also changes the way I hear the closing words of Ecclesiastes.

The writer tells us to remember our Creator while we still have life before us—before the difficult days come, before strength diminishes, and before the dust finally returns to the earth.

That is wise counsel.

But Elder Soares allows me to see something even more comforting:

While I am trying to remember God, God has never stopped remembering me.

Before my strength was mine, He knew me.

In the midst of my joys and sorrows, He knows me.

When life feels uncertain, He knows me.

When my abilities diminish, He knows me.

When I pray and cannot understand why an answer has not yet come, He knows me.

Elder Soares teaches that Heavenly Father knows our circumstances, our challenges, our joys and sorrows, and even the thoughts and intents of our hearts.

And when this mortal journey finally reaches its conclusion, I do not return to a stranger.

I return to the God who gave me life, knew me before mortality, watched over my journey, sent His Son to redeem me, and loved me all along.

There is peace in that.

It means that my worth is not measured by how much I have accumulated, how much I have accomplished, how long I remain strong, how well others understand me, or how perfectly my life has unfolded.

My worth rests in something far more enduring.

I am a child of God.

And the greatest testimony of His love for me is Jesus Christ.

So perhaps Ecclesiastes is not merely a book of hopelessness.

Perhaps it is a book that gradually loosens our hands from everything we cannot keep, so that we may learn where to place our trust.

And perhaps Elder Soares provides the answer my heart was searching for while reading it.

When possessions fail, when plans unravel, when age reminds us that mortal life is brief, and when everything “under the sun” seems unable to provide a lasting answer, one truth remains:

God remains.

Jesus Christ remains.

And so does our place in Their love.

That is not vanity.

That is not vapor.

That is eternal.

With faith and reflection,

The World of God Within Us

 

Dear Reader,

This morning a friend sent me a quotation from Henry Wadsworth Longfellow:

“Glorious indeed is the world of God around us, but more glorious the world of God within us.”

There is much around us that speaks of God. We see Him in the morning light, in the quiet of the trees, in the movement of the sea, in the vastness of the sky, and in the small mercies that still visit ordinary days. Creation has a way of reminding us that life is more than routine and that the world still carries traces of divine beauty.

Yet Longfellow suggests something deeper: that as glorious as God’s creation is around us, there is a greater glory to be found within us.

I reflect further!

It is one thing to admire beauty in the world. It is another thing to become a person through whom the beauty of God is revealed.

Not all of us stand before mountains or oceans each day. Not all of us wake to scenes that stir awe. Many days are much plainer than that. They are filled with chores, appointments, worries, aches, losses, and responsibilities. But even in such days, the world of God within us can still shine.

So I offer a more personal quote: 

“Search not the skies nor the ocean depths for the peace of God, for true grace radiates from within the heart that lives with compassion.”
— Anonymous

I believe this quote carries a needed truth.

We often look outward for peace. We imagine that if only the setting were different, the circumstances easier, the people kinder, or the burdens lighter, then peace would finally come to us. We search the horizon hoping something external will quiet the soul.

But the peace of God does not come to us merely because we stand in beautiful places. It comes more deeply when the heart is softened by grace.

That grace becomes visible in compassion.

The world of God within us is not measured by how spiritual we sound, how many scriptures we can quote, or how deeply moved we are by beautiful thoughts alone. It is revealed in how we live. It appears when we become more patient, more forgiving, more understanding, more willing to carry another’s burden, more ready to listen, more willing to love.

A compassionate heart is one of the clearest witnesses of God’s work within a person.

If I claim to love the beauty of God, but remain harsh, proud, or indifferent to others, then something within me has not yet fully yielded to His grace. But when I offer kindness, when I restrain judgment, when I choose mercy, when I see another person not as a problem but as a soul, then the world of God within me becomes a little more visible.

I do not believe Longfellow meant that humanity is divine in itself. Rather, I hear in his words the truth that God has placed within us the capacity to receive His light, reflect His love, and let His Spirit shape our inner life. The glory within us is not self-created. It is God-given. It is His image, His grace, His presence working upon the heart.

For the Christian, this becomes especially meaningful.

Christ did not simply teach us to admire goodness. He taught us to embody it. He showed that the life of God within us must find expression in love toward others. Compassion is not an ornament of faith; it is one of its living fruits. When grace touches the heart, it does not remain hidden there. It moves outward in mercy.

So today I am left with this simple thought:

The beauty of God around us may inspire us, but the beauty of God within us is what transforms us.

And when that inward grace becomes compassion, the peace of God begins to radiate outward—not only blessing our own hearts, but also touching the lives of those around us.

May we not only admire the works of God around us, but also welcome the work of God within us.

And may that inner work be seen in the compassion we extend, the peace we carry, and the love we give.

  🙏🧘‍♂️💕🤗☮️  

Surrendering Into Who God Created Me to Be

 

Dear Reader,

This morning I received a simple quotation by Thích Nhất Hạnh:

“Your purpose is to be yourself. You don't have to run anywhere to become someone else. You are wonderful just as you are.”

I find myself returning to those words even now.

There is something comforting in the thought that I do not have to spend my life trying to become somebody else.

Yet, from a spiritual perspective, I believe there is another dimension to consider.

Being ourselves does not necessarily mean remaining exactly as we are.

In my life I find there are still things within me that need healing. There are attitudes that need changing, fears that need releasing, habits that need surrendering, and wounds from the past that still influence how I see myself and the world around me.

This insight calls me to continue forward on the spiritual journey—not rejecting who I am today, but also not believing that who I am today is all God intends me to become.

My recovery and my continuing faith in Jesus Christ have taught me that the journey is not founded on rejecting myself or trying to become someone I am not. It is founded on surrender: allowing God to work with the person I am and lead me toward the person He knows I can become.

God does not ask me to become someone else. He asks me to surrender enough for Him to reveal who He created me to become.

There is an important difference.

For years I compared my insides with another person’s outside—their appearance, their clothes, their seemingly carefree way of living, and the successes others appeared to recognize in them. At times, these brothers and sisters even seemed more spiritual than I was.

Without realizing it, comparison kept me from discovering who I was and recognizing the potential God had already placed within me.

I believe my pre-recovery self-image was sustainable only through alcohol and drugs. Liquor and chemicals became a counterfeit rod and staff. They supported the illusion that I was equal to—or even better than—everyone around me.

But God did not create me to become someone else. Through His grace, He is helping me become the person I am still becoming today.

As the Apostle Paul wrote: “But by the grace of God I am what I am.” —1 Corinthians 15:10

Paul’s words are significant because he did not say simply, I am what I am. He added: “By the grace of God.”

Grace was involved. Transformation was involved. God was involved.

Paul remained Paul, but he was not the same man he had always been.

His encounter with Christ did not erase his personality, intelligence, courage, determination, or passion. Instead, those qualities were redirected toward a different purpose.

The man who had once persecuted the followers of Christ eventually became one of Christianity’s greatest witnesses.

God did not replace Paul with another person. He transformed Paul into the person Paul had been capable of becoming through grace.

I bear witness that the same principle applies to all of us today.

In Ephesians we read: “For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus unto good works.” —Ephesians 2:10

Workmanship suggests something being shaped and formed by the craftsmanship of our Creator.

It reminds me that my life is not merely a self-improvement project. I am more like a structure continually being restored by the original Architect—God—working through His grace, the principles of recovery, and the people of faith He has placed along my path.

I am already God’s creation. Yet I am also unfinished.

Thomas Merton expressed this spiritual truth beautifully when he wrote, “For me to be a saint means to be myself.”

St. Francis de Sales offered similar counsel: “Be who you are and be that well.” He also wrote, “Let us be what God wants us to be, provided we are His.”

Here I recognize a balance between accepting what I am and surrendering what keeps me from becoming what God would have me be.

God accepts us where we are, but His love does not leave us imprisoned there. He invites us forward. He sees our worth, even when we have difficulty seeing it ourselves. He sees the possibility of a life no longer governed by old resentments, but informed by the wisdom those experiences have taught us. He teaches us when to surrender, when to accept, and how to take responsibility for our own errors without assuming responsibility for the errors of another.

Most importantly, He sees our worth long before we finally learn to see it ourselves.

We simply need enough faith to place our lives in God’s hands and allow Him to continue His work.

I offer a simple prayer:

“Lord, help me stop trying to become someone else.

Help me surrender what keeps me from You.

Remove what is false, strengthen what is good, heal what has been wounded, and reveal within me the person You created me to become.

Not my will, but Thy will be done in me.”

🙏  🧘‍♂️  💕  🤗  ☮️

I Am the Message I Carry

Dear Reader,

Today I attended an evening AA meeting where the topic was “Carrying the Message.”

In Alcoholics Anonymous, those words have deep meaning. They remind us that recovery is more than simply not drinking. The traditional Circle-and-Triangle symbol represents AA’s Three Legacies: Recovery, Unity, and Service. Recovery gives us a new way of living. Unity reminds us that we do not walk alone. Service asks us to share with others what has so freely been given to us.

We carry hope. We carry honesty. We carry the witness that a life once broken can, by the grace of God, be restored.

Returning home after the meeting, I began preparing for this Sunday’s church lesson on Proverbs 10–24. At first, the two subjects might seem unrelated. Yet as I read, I began to see how naturally they belong together.

Proverbs teaches that to fear the Lord is not merely to believe in God, but to allow reverence for Him to shape our words, our choices, our relationships, our work, and the way we treat one another.

“The fear of the LORD is the instruction of wisdom; and before honour is humility.”

— Proverbs 15:33 (KJV)

The more I worked on the lesson, the more I realized that the AA idea of carrying the message blends beautifully with the wisdom found in Proverbs. Both ask a similar question: What does what I believe look like when it is lived?

As I walk through life, I am the message I carry.

What I say matters, but how I live eventually gives my words their meaning. I may speak of recovery, faith, humility, and trust in God, but the people I meet will also encounter my patience or impatience, my honesty or avoidance, my willingness to serve or my tendency to remain centered on myself.

This does not mean that recovery makes us perfect, nor that faith makes us flawless. It means that there should gradually be evidence of the direction in which we are walking.

To me, applying Proverbs means seeking to walk a path of righteousness—not merely speaking about spiritual principles, but allowing them to influence my conduct. When recovery and faith begin to change the way I actually live, my life itself becomes a testimony to what the grace of God can accomplish.

Proverbs teaches that wisdom is often seen in very ordinary places:

• in a gentle answer,

• in restraint of speech,

• in diligence at work,

• in humility rather than pride,

• in mercy toward the poor,

• in honesty of heart,

• and in a willingness to receive correction.

AA recovery teaches something remarkably similar. Recovery becomes visible in the quiet evidence of a changed life—one day at a time. A message about recovery becomes more believable when it can be seen in someone who shows up, keeps a commitment, listens before speaking, admits a mistake, makes amends when necessary, and becomes willing to help another person.

One day at a time, our words are given credibility by our conduct.

A person may say many spiritual things, but eventually life reveals something about the message truly being carried. Am I carrying resentment or peace? Pride or humility? Fear or trust? Self-will or a growing willingness to surrender my life more fully to God?

These are not questions I ask in order to judge myself harshly. They are questions that help me examine the direction of my journey.

Perhaps the most meaningful message we carry is not found in our ability to explain truth, but in our willingness to be shaped by it.

The fear of the Lord, as Proverbs teaches, is not terror. It is reverence. It is a heart that gives God His rightful place. And when God is given His rightful place, our words can soften, our choices can grow wiser, our relationships can become more honest, and our work can become more faithful.

Little by little, we begin to carry a more meaningful message—one of hope, change, healing, and a better way of living.

Perhaps carrying the message begins with words, but eventually it must become a way of life.

And that may be one of the clearest forms of carrying the message.

So today I am left with this thought:

I am the message I carry.

May the message I carry in this life not merely be one of speech, but one of character.

May it reflect recovery, humility, compassion, and truth.

And may the reverence I profess toward God become visible in the way I live among His children.

  🙏🧘‍♂️💕🤗☮️  

Spirituality and Religion: Must We Choose?

 

Dear Reader,

Today I had a conversation with a friend.

As conversations often do, ours moved through several subjects—family illness, personal concerns, experiences of life, and some of those things we carry within us that are not always easily put into words.

Yet as the conversation ended, I found myself still struggling with one subject that lingered: spirituality and religion. In all honesty, this is not a subject new to either my friend or me.

I have thought about it before. I have discussed it with others, and I believe I have even written about it before.

Yet here it was again, foremost in my mind.

Because the questions would not leave me, I began searching for a better understanding.

As I began this search, I needed to be certain that my motive was clarification—not a desire to prove that my understanding was better or more correct.

I confess, there have been times in my life when I believed spirituality and religion were almost two separate things.

Religion seemed to be about church, scripture, doctrine, commandments, worship, ordinances, traditions, and belonging to a community of believers.

Spirituality seemed much more personal. It was about my relationship with God, prayer, meditation, peace, compassion, searching for meaning, and trying to understand my place in this life.

Which is more important?

Today, through some growth in understanding and perhaps a little enlightenment, I have come to believe that I was asking the wrong question.

Religion without spirituality can become little more than going through the motions.

I can:

• Attend church.

• Read scripture.

• Pray.

• Participate in religious practices.

Each of these practices can be meaningful. Yet for me, religion that does not engage the heart or change the way I treat others becomes an empty cup, holding neither love nor compassion.

Christ spoke of this when He said:

“This people draweth nigh unto me with their mouth, and honoureth me with their lips; but their heart is far from me.”

—Matthew 15:8

Those words are uncomfortable if I allow them to become personal. It is much easier to see them as describing someone else. Yet if I allow them to describe me, then I must admit that my religion has fallen short.

So I pause.

Should I follow spirituality alone?

Perhaps I should try to become more spiritual and move away from organized religion.

Yet if I turn to spirituality alone, I am left to decide what feels comfortable. Over time, I have found that my behavior needs guidance well beyond my own desires. Without structure or community, my will can quickly become what I define as God’s will.

When I rely only upon myself:

• I begin to turn away from what is uncomfortable.

• I lose the peace I once enjoyed.

• I become less willing to forgive.

• I turn away from being of service.

• I turn my attention toward selfish concerns and away from my fellows.

Perhaps this is where spirituality and religion must begin to come together.

Religion can provide scripture, teaching, worship, fellowship, and the experience of those who have walked the road before me. Spirituality allows those things to enter the heart.

My experience has taught me that I need both: a personal relationship with Jesus Christ and the strength, teaching, fellowship, and accountability of His Church.

Jesus said:

“God is a Spirit: and they that worship him must worship him in spirit and in truth.”

—John 4:24

I am drawn to those last few words:

In spirit and in truth.

Maybe I do not have to choose between them.

Perhaps I need both.

James gives me another thought:

“Pure religion and undefiled before God and the Father is this, To visit the fatherless and widows in their affliction…”

—James 1:27

Here religion moves beyond the walls of a church.

• It becomes something lived.

• It becomes compassion.

• It becomes listening.

• It becomes service.

• It becomes reaching out to someone who is hurting.

And I believe that is also where spirituality becomes real.

This brings me back to the conversation that started these thoughts.

Maybe I have spent too much energy trying to decide where religion ends and spirituality begins.

What are they producing in my life?

• Am I becoming kinder?

• Am I more willing to listen?

• Am I more forgiving?

• Am I less judgmental?

• Do I look for opportunities to serve?

Am I becoming more conscious of God in the people and circumstances around me?

And most importantly: Am I becoming more willing to follow Jesus Christ?

He taught:

“By their fruits ye shall know them.”

—Matthew 7:20

The fruit is more important than the label.

I may never completely resolve within myself the discussion of spirituality versus religion.

I do not need to.

What I need is for my religion to deepen my spirituality, for my spirituality to draw me closer to God, and for both to become visible in the way I live and treat others.

In the end, I am beginning to believe that neither spirituality nor religion was ever intended simply to give me something to believe.

They were meant to help me become.

And hopefully, one day at a time, to become a little more like Christ.