Dear Reader,
I sometimes wonder what it truly means to live a life of faith. Does it mean we simply accept every word of our spiritual leaders without question? Most of us were raised with the scripture, “Be still, and know that I am God.” Yet I have often struggled with what it means to just be still. So I ask myself: how can I gain the strength of faith?
Faith often begins not in noise, but in stillness. Mother Teresa reminds us:
“We need to find God, and he cannot be found in noise and restlessness. God is the friend of silence. See how nature—trees, flowers, grass—grows in silence; see the stars, the moon, and the sun, how they move in silence… We need silence to be able to touch souls.”
In silence, we discover who we are before God. My experience in recovery has taught me to turn to a God of my understanding. In time, I came to see that God is the source of all truth and love. And I began to accept that I am a child of this love.
Margaret Mead offers a paradox worth holding close:
“Always remember that you are absolutely unique. Just like everyone else.”
Faith teaches us that our uniqueness is not isolation. We are one-of-a-kind, yet also part of a greater whole — children of God, bound together in His love. With this understanding, hope begins to grow into faith, a faith that embraces our place in God’s larger family.
Abraham Lincoln reframes the faithful life with these words:
“Sir, my concern is not whether God is on our side; my greatest concern is to be on God's side, for God is always right.”
Faith is not about persuading God to bless our plans; it is about aligning our steps with His. This is what recovery calls turning our will and our lives over to a Power greater than ourselves. As we walk with God, obstacles will appear.
E. Joseph Cossman gives us a word of caution:
“Obstacles are things a person sees when he takes his eyes off his goal.”
And life will surely bring change — sometimes sudden, sometimes uncomfortable. Alan Watts encourages us to see such times differently:
“The only way to make sense out of change is to plunge into it, move with it, and join the dance.”
When our eyes remain fixed on God and Christ, barriers lose their power. Faith allows us to move with the Spirit, trusting that change is part of God’s rhythm — His unfolding dance of grace.
Finally, we are called not only to believe, but to act. In recovery, I’ve learned that faith is lived out in a program of action and service. Archimedes, though speaking of science, offers us a fitting spiritual metaphor:
“Give me a lever long enough and a fulcrum on which to place it, and I shall move the world.”
Faith is that lever. God is the fulcrum. With Him as our foundation, even the heaviest burdens can be lifted, and the world itself can be moved through acts of love, courage, and service.
Dear friend, faith begins in silence, grows in identity, aligns with God, stays focused, embraces change, and finally moves into action. It is not a single step, but a journey — a dance, a lever, a life lived with God at the center.
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