Two Photographs, One Life: The Desire to Become

 

Dear Reader,

This evening I had a moment of reflection.

I came across an old photograph of myself at age 18. I placed it beside a photograph taken recently, at age 83. Sixty-five years separated the two images.

Using ChatGPT, I asked artificial intelligence to identify the facial characteristics that might still be recognizable after all those years.

The observations were interesting. My smile remained remarkably similar. The shape of my nose, my cheeks, and even the way I combed my hair seemed to provide a connection between the two photographs.

But as I continued looking, I realized that what interested me most was not how much my appearance had changed.

It was how much of that young man still lived within me.

I began asking myself three questions.

First: Do I still recognize the young man of 18 in the face I see today?

My answer is yes.

The smile remains familiar, and I believe it still reflects my outlook on life. There is even something of that same devilish look in my eyes, suggesting that my joy in living and willingness to meet life's challenges are still very much alive.

The principal difference is that I would like to believe I now possess a little more common sense than I had at 18!

Yet today's smile carries something the younger man could not have understood. It reflects the experiences of a life lived through joys, disappointments, losses, discoveries, and spiritual awakenings.

The playful young man has never entirely disappeared. He has simply acquired another 65 years of experience.

And although it might be pleasant to see today's face with the tighter skin of youth, I would not trade those years for the spiritual depth I now possess.

Paul's words in 2 Corinthians 4:16 come to mind:

“Though our outward man perish, yet the inward man is renewed day by day.”

Second: Do I still have the hopes and dreams I had at 18?

At 18, I possessed ambition, imagination, confidence in hard work, and faith in a loving God.

I was attending college, preparing for a career, and believing that almost anything was possible if I worked hard enough.

What I did not possess was the experience to understand how unexpectedly life could change.

I could not have imagined that a change in direction during my college years would eventually lead me along paths I had never considered.

Nor could I have anticipated the people who would enter my life, the relationships that would shape me, the mistakes I would make, or the experiences that would challenge and deepen my faith.

Looking back, however, I recognize that the young man already possessed some of the qualities that would help him find his way.

He had the strength and desire to become. He simply did not know what he would become.

The young man's photograph represents possibility without experience. The older man's photograph represents experience without the illusion of certainty.

What they share is the desire to continue becoming.

I am reminded of Proverbs 16:9:

“A man's heart deviseth his way: but the LORD directeth his steps.”

I do not believe this means every difficulty or disappointment was placed in my path by God. But I have come to believe that God can help us find meaning, purpose, and spiritual growth even when life unfolds differently from our plans.

At 83, my dreams may have changed, but my desire to grow has not.

Third: If I could speak to that 18-year-old young man, would I tell him what lay ahead, or allow him to discover life for himself?

This question gives me the greatest pause.

Would I warn him about the mistakes he would make? Would I tell him of the disappointments, losses, and painful lessons awaiting him?

Would I try to spare him those experiences?

I think not.

For in doing so, I might also deny him the discoveries, relationships, compassion, and spiritual understanding that have become so important to the person I am today.

Instead, I would offer him one simple message:

You are a child of a loving God. Stay close to the teachings of Jesus Christ and seek the guidance of the Holy Ghost. You will discover a life filled with adventure, pain, unexpected blessings, and the unmatched joy of being alive in this human experience.

And I would remind him that becoming is not something completed at a certain age.

It is a journey that continues for as long as we are willing to learn, to love, to serve, and to grow.

Dear Reader,

If you were to place a photograph of your younger self beside one taken today, what would you see?

Would you notice only the years that have passed, or might you recognize something within yourself that time has never taken away?

Would you want to change the journey, or have the years taught you something worth keeping?

As for me, I am grateful for both photographs.

One reminds me of the possibilities I once imagined.

The other reminds me of the life I have been privileged to experience.

And somewhere between those two smiles, I have discovered that growing older does not mean we stop becoming.

It may simply mean that we are beginning to understand what becoming truly means.

Giving; A way to learn to Love

 

“Love is all we have, the only way that each can help the other.”
— Euripides, Orestes (408 BC), translated by William Arrowsmith

Dear Reader,

This morning, a friend shared the above quotation from the ancient Greek playwright Euripides.

At first, I was drawn to its simplicity. But what caught my attention was the date. These words came from a play written more than 2,400 years ago.

I began to wonder whether the meaning of love, and its place in helping one another, has changed very much over the centuries.

That curiosity led me even further back in history, to the writings of the prophet Isaiah, who lived approximately three centuries before Euripides.

In Isaiah 1:17, we read:

“Learn to do well; seek judgment, relieve the oppressed, judge the fatherless, plead for the widow.”

What struck me about this passage was that Isaiah does not specifically mention love. Instead, he describes actions that we might recognize as expressions of love: seeking justice, relieving suffering, and caring for those who need our help.

Elsewhere in the book of Isaiah, we find an equally meaningful thought. Isaiah 58:10 tells us:

“And if thou draw out thy soul to the hungry, and satisfy the afflicted soul; then shall thy light rise in obscurity, and thy darkness be as the noon day.”

These words, preserved in a later portion of Isaiah, seem to suggest that something happens within us when we reach beyond ourselves to help another.

Centuries later, Jesus Christ would teach:

“That ye love one another; as I have loved you, that ye also love one another.” — John 13:34

Notice the progression of these teachings.

Isaiah calls us to relieve suffering and defend the vulnerable. Euripides recognizes love as the means by which human beings help one another. Christ teaches us to love as He loved.

Different centuries, different cultures, yet a remarkably similar concern for our relationship with one another.

I find this especially meaningful when reflecting upon my own years in recovery.

In Alcoholics Anonymous, I learned that helping another alcoholic was not simply a matter of offering advice or sharing knowledge. It involved listening, understanding another person's suffering, and sometimes remembering experiences from my own past that were painful to revisit.

There have been times when I have offered help without knowing the person well enough to say that I loved them. Yet through listening, sharing, and serving, something changed.

Compassion grew. Understanding deepened. A stranger became someone whose welfare genuinely mattered to me.

I have experienced something similar through service to those who are hungry, homeless, lonely, or struggling to find their way.

Sometimes the love does not come before the act of service. Sometimes it grows because we chose to serve.

And this brings me back to my friend's quotation.

Is love truly all we have? Is it the only way we can help one another?

We have knowledge, resources, time, abilities, and many other gifts to offer. Yet when these gifts are accompanied by genuine concern for another human being, they become something greater than the assistance itself.

They become expressions of love.

Perhaps the important question is not whether love must come before service, but whether our willingness to serve can teach us how to love more deeply.

Across the centuries, from Isaiah to Euripides, from Christ's ministry to our present lives, the circumstances of humanity have changed beyond recognition. But our need for compassion, understanding, and the kindness of others remains.

We may begin by helping another because we care. But through helping, we often discover how deeply we are capable of loving.

Dear Reader, as you go about your day, consider this simple invitation:

Reach out to someone who may need a little encouragement, a listening ear, or a helping hand. You need not know them well, nor wait until you feel some extraordinary measure of love.

Begin with an act of kindness.

You may discover that the love you hoped to give was also growing within you.

Did Jesus Ever Stub His Toe?

 

Dear Reader,

Did Jesus ever stub His toe?

At first, the question may seem almost foolish.

Yet while reading Isaiah 53, I found myself thinking more deeply about the humanity of Jesus Christ.

We often speak of Christ as the Son of God—the Messiah, Redeemer, and Savior of the world. And rightly so. But in emphasizing His divinity, I wonder if we sometimes forget how fully He entered mortal life.

Jesus was born as an infant, grew as a child, became hungry and thirsty, grew tired and slept. He walked dusty roads, worked with His hands, knew friendship and rejection, and wept.

And yes, though Scripture does not say so, I suppose He could even have stubbed His toe.

That small thought points to something much larger.

Isaiah wrote:

“He is despised and rejected of men; a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief.” 
—Isaiah 53:3

Those words, “acquainted with grief,” have begun to mean something more personal to me.

In recovery, I have learned that one way we help others is by remembering where we once stood.

When I sit with a newcomer struggling simply to stay sober, I do not have to imagine fear, regret, confusion, or uncertainty. I remember my own early recovery.

I remember facing the past honestly—the pain of taking inventory, admitting wrongs, and making amends. I also remember learning that recovery was not only about stopping drinking; it was about rebuilding a life.

Those experiences do not compare with the suffering Isaiah describes in Jesus Christ. Still, they have taught me something about compassion.

When we have known pain ourselves, we can sometimes sit more gently beside someone else who is hurting.

Over the years, service has become part of that lesson. Sometimes it has meant feeding people who are homeless. Sometimes it has simply meant listening.

Today, part of my service is helping manage our Intergroup twenty-four-hour hotline, where someone struggling with alcohol can reach another alcoholic who understands what they are going through.

The volunteer may not know exactly what the caller is facing, but they can say, in one way or another:

I have been there too. You do not have to face this moment entirely alone.

And that brings me back to Isaiah.

“Surely he hath borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows.” 
—Isaiah 53:4

Christ did not observe suffering from a distance. He entered it. He knew physical pain and loneliness.

He knew betrayal, rejection, misunderstanding, and abandonment.

Isaiah continues: 

“He was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities.” —Isaiah 53:5

My recovery gives me only the smallest glimpse of what it means to understand another person’s suffering through experience.

Christ’s understanding is infinitely greater.

When we hurt, we do not turn to a Savior who merely understands pain in theory.

We turn to One who has experienced it—who grieved and wept.

When we feel abandoned, we turn to One who knew abandonment.

When we are ashamed of what lies behind us, we turn to One who forgives and redeems. 

Perhaps that is one lesson of recovery: our wounds can either close us inward or make us more compassionate toward the wounds of others.

The things I once wished I could erase from my life have become part of what allows me to understand the newcomer who calls for help today.

Not because I have all the answers, but because I know something about starting over.

The question, “Did Jesus ever stub His toe?” may still sound insignificant.

But behind it lies a profound truth:

Jesus Christ came close enough to humanity to know our pain, and He loved us enough to suffer for us.

Perhaps Isaiah’s description of Him as “a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief” invites us to do more than admire Christ from a distance.

It may invite us to feel His humanity and then ask ourselves:

Can I become a little more human in the way He was human?

Can I listen more carefully, judge less quickly, and sit beside someone who is hurting without needing to fix everything? Can my own life become a source of compassion rather than bitterness?

If Christ entered fully into the human experience to lift us, then perhaps following Him means being willing, even briefly, to enter into another person’s experience.

To see them, listen to them, remember our own wounds, and say: 

I understand you. You do not have to walk this path alone. 

That may be one way we begin to understand not only the suffering of Christ, but also the humanity He asks us to share.

🙏🧘‍♂️💕🤗☮️