Seasons of Growth

                                

Dear Reader,

With experience, I have found there are seasons in life we have little control over.

Seasons of sadness when loss settles quietly into our hearts.
Seasons of anger when disappointment and pain grab the soul and set it on fire.
And seasons of fear when the future feels uncertain and the road ahead disappears into fog.

One of the most significant insights human experience offers is this:
these periods are not permanent.
They eventually pass.

Robert Veninga once observed:

“There is a season of sadness.
A season of anger.
A season of tranquility.
A season of hope.”

The wisdom of his words reminds me that healing is rarely instantaneous.

Faith, recovery, and emotional growth often unfold in stages.

Oh, how beautiful it would be to leap directly from suffering into peace.

Yet realistically, healing often moves painfully slow and with great uncertainty.

Helpful guidance is offered by Viktor Frankl, a survivor of unimaginable suffering. He wrote:

“Those who have a ‘why’ to live can bear almost any ‘how.’”

Purpose gives us strength to continue when circumstances seem unbearable.
Even the smallest sense of meaning can become a light in dark places.

For some, that “why” may be family.
For others, it may be found in the rooms of recovery.
And for still others, it may come through service to those who are suffering alongside us.

I would be the first to admit this takes faith.

Yet when we reach our lowest bottom, faith, hope, and the Spirit may be all we have left.

As Norman Vincent Peale reminds us:

“Faith supplies staying power.”

And Corrie ten Boom offered this beautiful truth:

“Never be afraid to trust an unknown future to a known God.”

Tranquility and peace begin when we stop demanding certainty and begin learning trust.

When we stop asking God to do what we want, and instead allow God to do what is right within a Kingdom greater than ourselves.

This process is not merely survival.
It is transformation.

And so if you find yourself today somewhere between sadness and hope, between anger and tranquility, remember this:

Seasons change.
Storms pass.
Healing comes slowly.

And even when we cannot yet see the staircase, faith still invites us to take the next step.

The Divided Heart

 

Dear Reader, 

Have you ever had a moment in life when you discovered something unsettling about yourself?  Moments when we believe we are sincerely loving others; showing compassion, offering service and praying for peace and then shockingly discover that even our kindness sometimes carries traces of self-interest?

In such moments are we being dishonest?  Can kindness and selfishness exist in the same person? 

I suggest this contradiction is not proof of corruption,  but evidence of what it means to be human.

Philosophers like Plato have wrestled with this question for thousands of years.

Plato described the soul as a chariot pulled by opposing forces—one reaching upward toward wisdom and virtue, the other pulled downward by appetite and desire. Human life was not the absence of conflict, but the struggle to guide these competing impulses toward harmony.

Similarly Aristotle, centuries later, observed that virtue is not something we permanently possess, but something we repeatedly practice. A good person is not one without selfish impulses, but one who learns, imperfectly, to act toward the good despite them.

This struggle did not remain with the Greek philosophers, Paul in his Epistle to the Romans, confessed:

“For the good that I would I do not: but the evil which I would not, that I do.”

Here Paul is not merely confessing sin. He recognizes a divided humanity.

So, when we have such contradictions portrayed in people today, we must understand we are a mixture of weaknesses and grace: Capable of betrayal and sacrifice, fear and faith, and pride and profound compassion.

In my own recovery, much of my selfishness was actually rooted not in malice, but in fear.  The fear of not being enough, fear of losing control, fear of abandonment, and fear of emptiness.

Yet, even with this weakness, I found I could be deeply compassionate toward others because my suffering allowed me to understand the pain of other humans.

Medical Science, surprisingly, points in a similar direction.

Modern neuroscience suggests that the human brain contains competing systems shaped through evolution. Some parts are oriented toward survival and self-protection. Others are connected to empathy, cooperation, bonding, and moral reflection.

We are biologically capable of both self-interest and altruism because both helped human beings survive.

The conflict itself may be built into us.

Looking deeper the science also reveals something hopeful: the brain changes through repeated action.

Compassion practiced consistently strengthens pathways related to empathy and emotional regulation. Habits of gratitude, prayer, meditation, service, and honesty slowly reshape perception itself.

In other words: we become what we repeatedly choose.

Perhaps this is why spiritual growth often feels slow.

The selfish part of us may never disappear completely.
But neither does the capacity for kindness.

Over time, one voice can grow stronger than the other.

Contemplate maturity as not becoming perfectly pure yet willing to try!

Each day, strive to become increasingly aware of our motives.

Are our motives driven by fear, or by sincere love and responsibility? Are our wounds permanent, or can they slowly be healed?  Are we being kind out of wants or being responsible for building positive connections with our fellow brothers and sisters?

A divided heart does not mean love is absent. It sometimes means love is still learning how to lead.

The greatest miracle is not that human beings are flawless,
but that despite all our contradictions, we remain capable of tenderness, forgiveness, service, and transformation.

That alone may be one of the strongest signs that something sacred still lives within us.

Title: Not Because of Us

 Dear Reader, 

This morning I found myself reflecting on a passage from Deuteronomy 9:4-6. 

Quote:  

When the LORD your God has driven them out before you, do not say in your heart, “Because of my righteousness the LORD has brought me in to possess this land.” Rather, the LORD is driving out these nations before you because of their wickedness. 

 

It is not because of your righteousness or uprightness of heart that you are going in to possess their land, but it is because of their wickedness that the LORD your God is driving out these nations before you, to keep the promise He swore to your fathers, to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. Understand, then, that it is not because of your righteousness that the LORD your God is giving you this good land to possess, for you are a stiff-necked people. 

End Quote 

 

The message is direct.  It is also not easy to accept. 

 

Don’t say in your heart, “I got here because I was righteous.”  

 

The hard truth is that as our life starts to come together—especially in recovery—Grace has more to do with it than we openly admit.  

 

When humbly looking back we can see Grace at work: 

• Things begin to settle. 

• We make better choices. 

• We start to feel some peace. 

• Opportunities show up. 

• We stop living a life of self-will while moving closer to one based on His will. 

 

A life not because of our doing or because we have figured it out, but because our Higher Power (God / Christ / Jehova) has formed a partnership with us and met us there, based on living sober one day at a time. 

 

To the Israelites, this was the daily mana.  

To us a "Daily Reprieve." 

 

Let us remember the strength we needed; we didn’t create it. 

Even the willingness to change showed up before we fully understood it. 

Grace Makes Sense of It 

The words in Ephesians 2 confirm this as well.  

"you are no longer foreigners and outsiders but citizens together with God's people and members of God's family. You are built on the foundation of the apostles and prophets. Christ Jesus himself is the cornerstone." 

Maybe the point is this: We’re not building something from nothing. We’re walking into something that’s already been prepared. When we admit that "GOD is doing for us what we could not do for ourselves" we form a partnership that is unbreakable.   And that’s enough. 

Amen 

Trusting the One Who Saves

Dear Reader, 

 

There are times when we accept the wording of a message without fully understanding what is being 

offered. 

 

It is a good thing that our life experiences allow us to shift from words on a page to a living revelation of  what those words truly mean. 

 

For example, I was raised with a belief in God and His Son, Jesus Christ. For much of my life, prayer 

allowed me to believe I could be saved someday—in the eternities. Yet it was not until I found recovery 

and a “God of my understanding” that I began to experience a way of living that offered salvation here 

and now. 

 

For many years, I simply accepted that Jesus Christ lived, was crucified, died for us, and ascended into 

heaven. The words were in my head with little meaning in my heart. 

 

It is beautiful how a small shift at the center of a circle creates a profound change at the outer edge. 

 

As I reflect today, my understanding has deepened: 

“The first principle isn’t just faith that Christ exists—it is faith that He is our Savior and Redeemer. That 

He can save us from ourselves and our sins, and redeem and exalt us.” 

 

Old Understanding: 

• I believed He lived. 

• I believed He taught. 

• I believed He was important. 

New Understanding: 

• I believed He lived. 

• I believed He taught. 

• I believed He saves. 

 

My journey in recovery, and now my life as a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day 

Saints, has sharpened my focus. 

 

As much as I would like to rely on my own thinking and will, I now see differently. I have found new 

strength through Jesus Christ. This is a faith that Christ is an active companion—one who walks with 

me and guides me. 

 

I still recognize our Heavenly Father as the one and only God—and now I understand that I have an 

Advocate with the Father on my behalf. This is a place of humility, coupled with joy. 

 

Jesus Christ is not simply present—but powerful. 

• Not just a teacher—but a Savior. 

• Not just a guide—but a Redeemer. 

 

In truth, the message of recovery and the message of the gospel began to sound very much the same. 

• You are not beyond help. 

• You are not meant to carry this alone. 

• There is a power greater than yourself that can restore you. 

 

 

Here is the deeper understanding: that power greater than myself is not abstract—it has a living 

presence in Jesus Christ. 

“There is no other way nor means whereby man can be saved, only in and through Christ.” 

That word—saved—has taken on new meaning. Not just someday—but today: 

Saved 

• From my fears. 

• From my patterns. 

• From the parts of myself I could not change alone. 

 

We do not come to Him after we are fixed. 

• We come to Him to be fixed. 

• We do not come because we are strong. 

• We come because we are willing. 

I 

If there is one truth to hold onto, it is this: 

The first principle of the gospel is not just that Christ exists. 

It is that He is able. 

• Able to lift what feels too heavy. 

• Able to heal what feels too broken. 

• Able to redeem what feels too far gone. 

 

So today, the question is not simply: Do I believe in Him? 

But rather: Do I trust Him enough to let Him help me? 

 

The door does not open when we understand everything. 

It opens when we are willing to step forward. 

And in that step—however small—we begin to discover something life-changing: 

We are not just believing in a Savior. 

We are being saved by Him. 

Amen.