Lessons Hidden in Simple Things

 

Dear Reader,

Today I have been reflecting on two simple images: a snow globe and a stone tossed into a still pond. At first they seem unrelated, yet together they teach the same spiritual principle. Peace often comes not from controlling the disturbance, but from trusting the process God has established.

The snow globe is beautiful when it rests quietly on a shelf. But once it is shaken, swirling flakes obscure the peaceful scene within. We can no longer see clearly. Given enough time, however, the flakes slowly settle and the beauty reappears.

So it is with many of our lives. Circumstances shake us. Fear, resentment, anxiety, and uncertainty cloud our vision until we wonder whether peace will ever return. Unlike the snow globe, however, we are not simply waiting for time to pass. We are invited to trust. God's grace works much like gravity. Though unseen, it gently draws the chaos downward until clarity returns.

In recovery I have found that this trust begins with Steps Two and Three. We come to believe that a Power greater than ourselves can restore us to sanity, and we make the decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understand Him. The miracle is not that life stops shaking us; the miracle is that we no longer have to remain shaken.

Marianne Williamson expresses this truth beautifully: “When we surrender to God, we let go of our attachment to how things happen on the outside, and we become more concerned with what happens on the inside.” It is within that surrendered heart that God often performs His greatest work.

The second image is a stone tossed into a still lake. The impact disturbs the calm surface, and ripples spread outward in every direction. Yet the lake does not resist the stone. It receives it. The ripples gradually soften until the water is once again still.

I imagine that lake as the love of God. Our crises may strike suddenly, but God's presence is greater than the point of impact. His love surrounds the disturbance, absorbs what we cannot, and patiently restores peace. The stone settles, the ripples fade, and the lake becomes whole again. We discover that we are not alone, but surrounded, sustained, and set free.

Neither image suggests that problems disappear. The snow does not vanish. The stone remains beneath the water. Rather, they remind us that restoration is possible. Recovery does not promise a life without storms. The gospel does not promise a life without trials. Both promise that, with God, we can become people who are no longer ruled by them.

The Psalmist invites us, “Be still, and know that I am God” (Psalm 46:10). Being still is not passive resignation. It is an act of faith. It is choosing to stop stirring the waters of yesterday's regrets and tomorrow's fears, allowing God to do what we cannot do for ourselves.

Perhaps God has placed lessons like these all around us. A snow globe. A quiet lake. A sunrise. A growing tree. Ordinary things quietly proclaim extraordinary truths to those willing to pause and notice.

The next time something simple catches your attention, ask yourself: What might God be teaching me through this? You may discover that creation has been gently preaching God's wisdom all along.

I would enjoy hearing about the ordinary things that have taught you extraordinary lessons. Please share your thoughts in the comments below.

Amen.

  🙏🧘‍♂️💕🤗☮️  

I Can't. God Can. So I'll Let Him.

 

Dear Reader,

“I can't. God can. So I'll let Him.”

Those six simple words have appeared on recovery meeting walls for decades. This morning, after reading four different daily meditations from four different sources, I realized they were all teaching that same profound truth.

This week I have been studying Step Two with a sponsee. As we talked together, I was reminded that this step is not merely about believing that God exists. It is about trusting that God is willing and able to restore us—not only to sobriety, but to spiritual health.

Step Two reads:

“Came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.”

Another way to express this truth is, “Came to believe that the power of God can restore us to complete spiritual health.” Both statements point to a loving Heavenly Father who remains present in our lives, even when we do not fully understand His power.

The second meditation addressed fear. It reminded me that many of us enter recovery afraid and unable to trust. Over time, we may magnify worries about health, money, work, relationships, jealousy, and especially what others think of us. In my experience, these fears are often larger than reality, even when they contain some truth. I cannot simply will them away. Instead, I slowly discover that trust grows where fear once lived. With God's help, I begin to see more clearly and separate what is real from what is imagined.

The third meditation focused on criticism. It reminded me that, although loving concern may sometimes be needed, criticism often says more about the state of my own heart than about the person I am judging. It is easy to notice someone else's faults while ignoring my own, which may be just as clear—or even greater.

The Savior taught, “First cast out the beam out of thine own eye; and then shalt thou see clearly to cast out the mote out of thy brother's eye.” (Matthew 7:5)

His counsel invites me to humility and honest self-examination so I can serve others with greater compassion.

In my experience, true compassion is nearly impossible without God's love and guidance. He is the perfect example of forgiveness and grace, and the more I receive His mercy, the more capable I become of extending it to others.

The final meditation came from an ancient Eastern spiritual tradition. It suggested that a person truly walking the spiritual path is less concerned with the faults of the world and more attentive to the condition of their own heart. Although expressed differently, it echoes the Savior's invitation to examine our own hearts before judging another.

For me, these four reflections come together as one daily truth: God restores me as I learn to trust Him, face my fears honestly, replace criticism with compassion, and choose humility over pride.

Perhaps sanity is not merely the absence of irrational thinking. Perhaps true sanity is learning to see ourselves, other people, and God as they really are.

The Book of Mormon offers a similar invitation:

“See that ye are not lifted up unto pride... but that ye should have charity toward all men.” (Alma 38:11)

I have found that the closer I draw to God, the less I need to measure others. Instead, I become more aware of the mercy He continually extends to me.

Perhaps this is why the Big Book reminds us that we have only a “daily reprieve contingent on the maintenance of our spiritual condition.”

If I can practice these simple things today—trust God, face my fears honestly, show compassion instead of criticism, and walk humbly—I believe I will rediscover what those simple words have meant to countless people in recovery:

God can.

And because God can...

I don't have to.

For today,

That is enough.

🙏🏻🧘‍♂️💕🤗☮️

From Bondage to Freedom

Dear Reader,

Today I reflected on a simple but powerful promise from the Book of Mormon:

“But if ye will turn to the Lord with full purpose of heart, and put your trust in him, and serve him with all diligence of mind, if ye do this, he will, according to his own will and pleasure, deliver you out of bondage.” — Mosiah 7:33

One word stood out to me: Bondage.

I remember when I first began drinking, how exhilarated and fearless I felt. I believed I was stronger, more confident, and ready to face anything the world put before me. Alcohol promised freedom.

Over time, that sense of freedom began to disappear. Opportunities faded, friends and family pulled away, and my world grew smaller. Eventually, I found myself alone in a studio apartment with only a bottle and loneliness for company. I was living like a prisoner without bars.

I kept telling myself that tomorrow would be different. Denial and self-deception kept repeating yesterday’s mistakes. The chains were often invisible to others but painfully real. Fear, shame, resentment, dishonesty, and self-centeredness became as confining as the addiction itself.

I now understand that any real change begins with the invitation to “turn to the Lord with full purpose of heart.” Both then and now, that turning requires faith and hope. I testify that as we begin to experience the power of our Higher Power, each day becomes a little lighter, our burdens a little easier to bear, and hope begins to replace despair.

Looking back, I now realize that my life began to change when I followed three simple suggestions found in the first three Steps of Alcoholics Anonymous.

Step One calls us to admit our powerlessness. Step Two invites us to believe that a Power greater than ourselves can restore us. Step Three asks us to turn our will and our lives over to God’s care.

The scripture then asks us to put our trust in Him. That trust may be one of recovery’s hardest lessons. Many of us trusted ourselves until our own judgment led us to despair. Learning to trust God one day at a time becomes an act of faith rather than certainty. We discover that surrender is not weakness—it is the beginning of strength.

The verse continues by inviting us to serve Him with all diligence of mind. Recovery is active, not passive. It is practiced through daily prayer, honest inventory, making amends, attending meetings, studying scripture, serving others, and living spiritual principles in every part of life. As both scripture and Alcoholics Anonymous remind us, “faith without works is dead.” Recovery requires both our hearts and our hands.

It was in learning to let go that I gradually discovered what the prophet meant. I wasn't simply putting down the bottle. The Lord was slowly delivering me from the bondage that had shaped my life.

Here is the promise: “He will… deliver you out of bondage.” Notice what the scripture does not promise. It does not promise an easy life. It does not promise freedom from trials. It does not promise immediate answers. It promises something greater: freedom from the chains that once controlled us.

Sometimes God changes our circumstances. More often, He changes us. The chains lose their power, one link at a time, until we find ourselves walking in a freedom we once thought impossible.

That deliverance rarely comes all at once. It arrives one prayer, one honest conversation, one meeting, one act of service, and one sober day at a time.

I have often been asked whether my recovery came through Alcoholics Anonymous or through Jesus Christ. My answer is simple: I believe the Lord used Alcoholics Anonymous to lead me to Him. The Steps gave me a path. The Savior gave me the power to walk it. I remain deeply grateful for both.

To me, that is one of recovery’s miracles. The bondage that once defined my life no longer determines my future.

May we continue turning toward the Lord with full purpose of heart, trusting that He who delivered countless souls in scripture still delivers men and women today.

One day at a time. 
 
With gratitude, 
 
Amen 
 
🙏🧘‍♂️💕🤗☮️

More Shall Be Revealed

Dear Reader,

Today, in a meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous, the chairperson shared the story of her intervention and the beginning of her recovery.

As I listened, I was deeply moved by the feelings her story awakened in me. I could almost sense what she experienced as her family and friends read their letters to her. She spoke of her husband’s planning for the intervention, the love behind it, and the feelings she had as her journey toward recovery began.

Her share was filled with honesty and gratitude toward her family and friends. The topic she offered for discussion was this: “What passage in the book Alcoholics Anonymous do we relate to, and why?”

The passage that immediately came to my mind is found on page 164 of the Big Book:

“We realize we know only a little. God will constantly disclose more to you and to us.”

As I remembered those words, I realized that even with a decent amount of sobriety, I can still be taught through the words of someone newer to AA.

In that moment, I was reminded that AA is not only for those of us who suffer from alcoholism. It also touches the lives of those who love us, live with us, pray for us, and sometimes suffer alongside us. Through her story, I was shown the pain, courage, and great love of a husband who helped carry a saving message to someone he loved.

I know I have heard similar stories before, yet tonight I was present in a new way. I felt the power of a loving God reaching not only toward the person in need of recovery, but also toward the family and friends who surround them.

We have all heard the saying, “You cannot teach an old dog new tricks.” I am a witness that such statements can be overcome by love, humility, and a willingness to keep learning. What a beautiful lesson this was—one I hope to remember, and one I hope we can all share in every aspect of healing.

Christ taught, “I am the way” (John 14:6). In AA, we are given practical steps that help us walk a spiritual path of honesty, surrender, humility, service, and love.

Let us never forget the miracles that surround us daily. We need only pause, listen, and see.

Amen.

When Water Teaches Faith

Dear Reader,

Today a friend shared two quotes attributed to Bruce Lee: “Be flexible so you can change with change,” and “Be water, my friend.” Though spoken in the context of martial arts and philosophy, both point toward a spiritual truth I have come to appreciate.

Both quotes echo a spiritual and philosophical principle: growth requires adaptability.

In recovery we often say, “Acceptance is the answer to all my problems today.” The Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous also reminds us that we have “a daily reprieve contingent on the maintenance of our spiritual condition.”

Water adapts to every container, flows around obstacles, and persists without losing its nature. Water is yielding, yet powerful. It does not argue with the rock; it simply finds another way. In time, even the hardest stone is shaped by its gentle persistence. That image beautifully illustrates spiritual resilience.

In my own experience, survival began when I finally admitted the unmanageability of my life and became willing to turn the self-inflicted chaos over to a God of my understanding. That surrender gave me the flexibility to begin living a life free from alcohol and drugs.

Sobriety was only the beginning. The deeper miracle unfolded as I continued through the remaining Steps. Johann Wolfgang von Goethe wrote, “Life belongs to the living, and he who lives must be prepared for changes.” For me, that change began with recognizing the character defects that blocked my growth and sharing them honestly with trusted friends and the ever-present God of my understanding.

Through honest self-examination, I gained the flexibility to stop resisting the obstacles before me. Making amends and righting wrongs broke the chains of fear and inadequacy, allowing me to meet others as a whole person. I could bend, join the flow around me, and experience the gift of belonging.

With every change there are also constants. I think of our Higher Power and of Jesus Christ. They do not change in Their love, mercy, or willingness to help us. It is precisely because They are unchanging that we are able to change.

“Jesus Christ the same yesterday, and to day, and for ever.” — Hebrews 13:8

“Therefore if any man be in Christ, he is a new creature.” — 2 Corinthians 5:17

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

God rarely asks us to remain the same person He first called. He asks us to remain faithful while becoming someone new.

Faith is not resisting change; it is trusting God enough to change with Him.

Perhaps becoming “like water” does not mean losing who we are. Rather, it means becoming willing to let God shape who we are becoming. When we stop resisting His hand, we discover that flexibility is not weakness—it is one of the greatest strengths a disciple can possess.

Amen.

🙏🧘‍♂️💕🤗☮️  

O Lord, Turn Me

  

 Dear Reader,  

This morning, I reflected on a brief but powerful verse from the prophet Hosea:     "Ephraim is a cake not turned."  — Hosea 7:8  

At first, the image seems almost humorous: a cake left unturned, burned on one side and raw on the other. 

It has been near the fire, but not long enough to be transformed all the way through. 

The longer I considered the image, the more I saw myself in it. 

In his morning meditation on this verse, Charles Spurgeon suggested that many of us resemble Ephraim. We may experience partial change while leaving other areas untouched by God's grace: obedience in one area, resistance in another; compassion in one place, pride in another; faith in one season, fear in the next. 

The question is not whether we are perfect, but whether we are willing to be transformed. 

Through faith and recovery, I have learned that God rarely changes everything at once. Most of us come to Him with rough edges, hidden wounds, old fears, and deeply rooted habits. Some are obvious; others remain hidden even from ourselves. 

In Alcoholics Anonymous, Step Six asks us to become entirely ready for God to remove our defects of character. Step Seven invites us to humbly ask Him to do so. 

The words "entirely ready" have always challenged me. Partial readiness is not true surrender. 

This is where we strengthen our resolve to release our most secretly cherished habits, let go of anger and self-righteousness, and surrender the fear that keeps us grasping for control. I know from experience that this is difficult work. 

As I reflected further, another thought came to mind: a cake not turned is not only raw on one side; it is also burned on the other. Sometimes our greatest weaknesses are not where we feel weak, but where we believe we are strong—in our spirituality, our wisdom, our service, or even our sobriety.  

If we are not careful, even God's blessings can become sources of self-reliance. Jesus often showed great mercy to those who openly struggled, yet He spoke some of His strongest words to those who believed they had already arrived. 

The burned side can be just as dangerous as the uncooked one. That is why humility remains central to both recovery and discipleship.  

Through joys and sorrows, successes and failures, victories and defeats, I have come to understand this truth more deeply: God is not finished with me yet. That awareness keeps me humble, and I believe it is true for all of us. 

We are not condemned when we remain willing to change and keep moving forward in grace and action. 

When the meditation ended, a simple prayer remained in my heart: 

"Lord, turn me."  

Turn the parts of me that still resist You.  

Turn the places where fear has taken the place of faith.  

Turn the corners of my heart that have not yet known the warmth of Your grace.  

Turn me until Your love reaches every part of my life.  

None of us is fully finished in this life.  

Yet when we remain willing, God continues His work.  

One day at a time.  

One lesson at a time. 

One turning at a time.  

With gratitude,  

Amen  

🙏🧘‍♂️💕🤗☮️ 

  

🙏🧘‍♂️💕🤗☮️ 

 

A Promise of Reunion

 

Dear Reader,

I have just finished watching a movie called "Eleanor the Great."

The movie tells the story of an elderly woman who, through a series of circumstances, comes to impersonate a dear friend she has lost. That friend was a Holocaust survivor. As the story unfolds, Eleanor recounts her friend's experiences, including the loss of her brother amid the horrors of the Holocaust. The film carries a powerful message about loss, memory, and the enduring bond of friendship.

As I watched the film, I was reminded of the grief David felt after learning of Jonathan's death. His words still echo through the centuries:

"I am distressed for thee, my brother Jonathan."
(2 Samuel 1:26)

I also found myself recalling the losses I have experienced over the course of my 83 years of life—the feelings of grief, sadness, emptiness, and longing. I believe each of us knows those moments privately and personally.

I remember times when such losses caused me to question the existence of a Higher Power. For many years, those doubts lingered. Yet today, with the benefit of time and experience, I have come to accept such events as part of our spiritual growth and life's refining process. Through our own sorrows, we become better able to comfort others who walk a similar path.

I believe this growth is necessary, and perhaps even part of our preparation to once again stand in the presence of our Heavenly Father. Certainly, Jesus Christ understood grief. He not only taught compassion—He lived it. He willingly offered His life as an example and as a sacrifice for all mankind. Through His Resurrection, He proved that the grave has no final victory and that life eternal is possible. Because of Him, we can find comfort even in our deepest losses.

Guided by this truth, we can face whatever challenges this world places before us. Faith transforms life from mere existence into a journey filled with purpose and promise. It gives us the strength to carry on when our hearts are heavy and our path uncertain.

When grief comes, I often return to a simple testimony:

"I know my Redeemer lives, and because He lives, I too can live."

Grief is the price of love, but it is also one of life's greatest teachers. Through loss we learn compassion. Through sorrow we discover faith. Through mourning we become capable of comforting others. And through the Resurrection of Jesus Christ, we learn that love is stronger than death and that every faithful goodbye is ultimately a promise of reunion.

May each of us find a rainbow where once we saw only storm clouds and felt only the raindrops of tears.

Amen

🙏🏻🧘‍♂️💕🤗☮️