How Meme Culture Drew Me Back to Meaning
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.
Wisdom is how you live.
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.
Sometimes the songs we sing badly stay with us the longest. “Have Thine Own Way, Lord” was one of those for me—a melody I once mumbled through, now a prayer that shapes the way I live. What I missed in tune, I’ve learned in time: that grace doesn’t need perfection to be heard. It only asks that we stay soft enough to be shaped.
This past year has been one of letting go, following sparks, facing fear, and listening for whispers. Along the way I’ve remembered faith as my compass — Grace, Presence, and Spark — and begun to see life not as poles in opposition, but as the thread in between that makes us whole. Mid-life, I’ve found, is not a crisis but a crossing.
Time is not abundant — it is fragile, fleeting, and holy. This reflection explores what it means to serve not out of convenience but out of urgency, recognizing that life itself is the gift and how we spend it is the offering back.
We’ve optimized for speed and return—but lost our compass. This post invites a return to meaning, and introduces a new posture of leadership: the Chief Steward.
What if the road not taken isn’t a bold leap outward — but a quiet turn inward? This is a reflection for anyone at the edge of familiar patterns, finally ready to choose presence over performance, and wholeness over the quick way forward.
“Good” once meant whole. Now it’s a step to surpass. This essay explores how comparison shaped by language and colonization distorted our understanding of sufficiency—and how to reclaim goodness as a sacred way of being.
Everyone’s an editor. But few are witnesses. This is a reflection on writing, reading, and why stillness—not feedback—is the rarest form of resonance.