On Life and Words

  From the beginning of time, humanity was made for  togetherness . Before we could speak, before cities rose, before the age of screens and schedules, our souls hungered for belonging. The first family—Adam and Eve—lived in harmony with God and each other. The Garden of Eden was not a solitary paradise but a community of divine relationship. To be human is to be woven into a tapestry of connection, a thread in the vast fabric of life. Yet, somewhere along the way, modern life taught us to settle for loneliness wrapped in convenience. We learned to value independence over intimacy, speed over stillness, productivity over presence. But deep inside, the ache remains *A Wound That Calls for Healing* Loneliness is a spiritual wound. The psalmist cries out, “I am like a lonely sparrow on the housetop” (Psalm 102:7). Even the ancient writers understood the profound pain of isolation. When we feel unseen or unknown, it is not just an emotional discomfort—it is a hunger of the soul. T...

  In the village life our ancestors knew, there was no divide between sacred and ordinary. Life itself was spiritual. Making bread was prayer. Sweeping the floor was meditation. Watching the moon was prophecy. Reclaiming this spiritual simplicity begins with intention. It doesn’t require a church or doctrine—only a willingness to see the divine in daily life. You can: • Light a candle before meals. • Bless your home with song or scent. • Meditate while washing dishes. • Create seasonal altars in your home or yard. • Gather friends for shared silence or storytelling. The village lifestyle invites us to slow down enough to  feel  again—to remember that Spirit is not found in grand gestures but in consistent, quiet care. It lives in eye contact. In deep breath. In shared sorrow. You don’t need to seek enlightenment on a mountain. The sacred is already here—in your kitchen, your garden, your community. Return to the holy in the ordinary. Reweave the thread...

 There’s a dangerous myth that undocumented immigrants are more likely to commit crimes. Here’s the truth: 📉 Undocumented immigrants commit fewer crimes than U.S.-born citizens. 🔹 A Texas study (PNAS, 2020) found 45% lower felony conviction rates for undocumented immigrants. 🔹 The Cato Institute (2018) showed native-born Americans had nearly 2x the conviction rate. 🔹 The American Immigration Council (2021) confirmed no link between higher immigrant populations and crime rates. 🧾 Being undocumented is a civil violation — not a criminal offense. Most undocumented immigrants work hard, follow laws, and live in fear of being deported for even minor missteps. 💡 Let’s stop blaming immigrants for problems they didn’t cause. We need policy rooted in truth — not fear. #ImmigrantsAreNotCriminals #NoHumanIsIllegal #ImmigrationFacts #TruthMatters #StopTheStigma #ImmigrantsWelcome

  Before language wrapped itself around thought, before stars were mapped and stories recorded, a divine whisper hovered in the stillness of existence: You were made for communion. Not productivity. Not prestige. Not even progress. But presence—shared, sacred, and simple. In the beginning, there was God. Not alone, but communal. Father, Son, and Spirit—eternally entwined in the mystery of mutual delight. And from that holy oneness, we were fashioned—not as isolated beings, but as echoes of this divine togetherness. The fingerprints of the Trinity are pressed into our souls, and our hearts are restless until they find that reflection mirrored in another’s eyes. Eden was not a solo stage, but a sanctuary of relationships: God walking with humankind in the cool of the day, Adam reaching toward Eve, the earth offering itself as a friend to the feet. Every element of paradise pulsed with connection. Even in perfection, solitude was “not good.” This tells us something vital: we were made...

Long before clocks dictated our every moment, We lived by a quieter rhythm - one whispered by wind and woven in stars. There was a time when we didn’t need alarms to wake us. The light did the calling. The birds did the beckoning. We stirred when the sun kissed the earth, and we rested when shadows stretched long across the ground. Time wasn’t something we chased - it was something we  belonged to . When Morning Was Sacred There is something holy about the way the morning light slips silently into the room - as though heaven itself tiptoes in to say,  “Begin again.” In the days of our ancestors, the rising sun was not an interruption to a long to-do list. It was the opening chord of a sacred song. The warmth on the face.  The rustle of trees.  The scent of dew and soil. All these were signs that life was returning—again, faithfully. The sun became a companion, not a countdown. Its slow, deliberate arc across the sky taught us the value of  process . That everyth...