Wisdom is how you live.
We return to Die Hard every December not for the action, but for its quiet truth: a man trying to come home, a marriage searching for its center, and the courage it takes to tell the truth during the holidays. This is a reflection on grace, reconciliation, and why even the loudest stories hold a quiet Christmas heart.
How a tattoo taught me systems, drift, and the beginning of my discernment.
A reflection on what happens when a life stretches beyond its natural shape — and the quiet grace of returning to the river you really are.
What started as a curiosity about meme culture carried me back to rupture, to grace, to Christ,
and to the simple, sacred decision to be. Always.
This reflection traces how presence and grace live in tension: between clarity and kindness, between comfort and awakening,
between the Christ who soothes and the one who stirs.
A quiet remembrance on how every inhale is borrowed and every exhale is a gift — a reflection that begins in a shared bed, expands through family, and ends in communion with all that breathes.
To be Christian is not to claim belief but to remember grace — love without boundaries, forgiveness without limits, kindness without expectations.
When the Church forgets she is her—a living body, not a brand—we begin to lose the very tenderness that holds us. This reflection begins with an old hymn and ends as an invitation to feel again what we were made to hold.
When the world feels still enough to listen, have you noticed grace moving through you — not as emotion to feel, but as alignment already happening within?
We train our children to avoid ah and um, yet fill our own silence with noise.
Maybe grace doesn’t live in the words we speak, but in the space between them—
where sparks enter, and presence begins.
