Wisdom is how you live.
We remember Home Alone for the chaos, but its real Christmas story hides in the quiet scenes — a church pew, a forgotten woman, and two strangers rediscovering the courage to return. This is a reflection on grace, honesty, and the small human moments that bring us home.
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.
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.
Jesus isn’t just the Redeemer.
He’s the Reviver—the Protagonist of Time,
walking backward through the chaos
to make sure love still makes it to the end.
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?
I’m not trying to change the world. I’ve just chosen to be completely changed by it.
A reflection on how inherited protection becomes conditioning — and how presence restores the balance between prosperity and pain, want and need.
Logic builds systems. Trust sustains them.
When logic reaches its limits, it doesn’t collapse — it transforms into trust.
Because the moment you stop needing to understand everything, you start belonging to it.
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.
