This is not just who I am. It’s how I’ve learned to live.
Becoming the Spark
I have lived many lives inside this one.
Through them all, a single spark has stayed with me—
quiet, steady, learning what light means.
Some days, it offers clarity in the dark.
Other days, it disrupts what no longer serves.
Always, it listens.
“I am a spark— not to burn or to glow, but to become what the moment needs.”
Where I Come From
I was born in Tamil Nadu. My faith was Christian. My school, Catholic. My college, secular.
I was formed in contradiction and learned to find truth between the lines.
Hyderabad taught me diversity.
Wilkes-Barre taught me survival.
Fort Worth gave me structure.
Chicago gave me synthesis.
Movement never scattered me; it revealed me.
For a deeper reflection on my three names—Sam, Hubert, and Sukumar—read
The Venn Diagram of Me.
The Pain That Realigned Me
Once, I compromised my integrity to keep love alive.
I mistook silence for kindness, surrender for peace.
But love without truth becomes self-erasure.
That moment didn’t just hurt; it woke me up.
“Self-respect is not pride. It’s the boundary where healing begins.”
What I Built — and What I’m Cultivating Now
I spent years bringing order to complexity—solving problems, building teams, stewarding systems.
Yet beneath every structure, something quieter kept calling—not in opposition to my work, but in service of it.
What I cultivate now is a different posture of leadership:
Not performance, but presence.
Not speed, but alignment.
Not mastery, but coherence.
Writing as a Practice of Leadership
Writing has become one of the ways I practice leading.
It began as reflection and grew into rhythm—a way of listening through language.
Each piece asks me to stay grounded,
to meet tension with grace,
and to let meaning emerge before certainty ever does.
I write to remember what is true.
To return to clarity when the world feels loud.
To offer words as shelter, not signal.
It isn’t a curriculum.
It’s communion.
A quiet practice of presence—and one of the ways I lead.
The Rule I Live By
I live by a simple rhythm:
Spīrō — I breathe life in.
Redeō — I return when I drift.
Memorō — I remember what must be carried forward.
This rhythm shapes how I choose,
how I decide,
how I live,
and how I bear witness.
This Rule is not meant to make me exceptional. It is meant to keep me human, see
A Living Rule
Who I Am Today
I’m not here to preach or to save. I’m here to remember—with you.
A father. A friend. A quiet disruptor.
I’ve lit paths. I’ve carried water.
And I live what I once feared to say aloud:
“Goodness is enough.”
For how my faith shapes my way of being, see
The Architecture of My Faith in Christ.
For how I see it shaping our life together, see
The Architecture of My Faith in Us.
Who I’m Working to Become
I am learning to follow before I speak.
To listen before I lead.
To let formation shape me more than certainty ever did.
I am working to become a disciple of Christ—
not one who explains faith from a distance,
but one who learns it through presence, service, and surrender.
I am beginning a season of formation with the
Lutheran School of Theology at Chicago (LSTC),
entering a multi-year journey of study, prayer, and discernment—
not to arrive at answers,
but to be shaped for service.
Alongside this, I am walking toward vocation within the ELCA,
where faith is lived not as performance or perfection,
but as accompaniment, justice, and care for the neighbor.
I don’t yet know the final shape this calling will take.
But I trust that becoming faithful matters more than becoming certain,
and that a life given in service
is one way grace learns how to move through the world.
A Quiet Benediction
The river never asks where it’s going. It trusts unfolding is enough.
I no longer chase certainty. I walk with rhythm. I offer what I’ve been given.
“Life and time are gifts of grace; learning to share them is our lifetime.”
Sam Hubert Sukumar
Scholar · Humanist · Synthesist
Spīrō · Redeō · Memorō — Ergo Sum
Still Becoming.