Sweet soul, you’re lost again, your heart tangled in your ego’s vines, your mind cluttered with the weeds of uncertainty, the thorns of the world, the poison of perception. Did you know that you’re a garden, soul? Formed to be toiled. Created to be kept. But whatever grows or does not grow, whatever blooms or dies, is not up to you. It’s up to the sun and the rain and the air, the ground and the sky, timing and luck, She and Him and They. You’re lost because you’re thinking a

I am the shadow, the shadow of the shepherd. Where did I come from? It’s funny. Not many people ask about my origin. They just assume that their shadows are their truths, deeply ingrained into the nature of their realities. People think they need to be saved from their shadows, but it was the shepherd who somehow learned to dance with me. A thousand times over, people will confess that they need to be saved from their shadows; but it never really works. It only makes them i

I have always dreaded the inescapable reality of sleep. It reminds me of my finitude, my overall frailty, the reality that my body cannot possibly keep the pace, as my flesh forces my soul to dim its bright light to the gentle flicker of a dying candle, as dreams fill my mind and the body restores itself, as I naturally do what even the most powerful men and women in the world must do, even though I do not own a yacht or care to save a dime. Sleep. The dreaded reality has pla

"The shadow self is not of itself evil; it just allows you to do evil without calling it evil...Archaic religion and most of the history of religion has seen the shadow as the problem. Isn’t that what religion is about: getting rid of all our faults? This is the classic pattern of dealing with the symptom instead of the cause. We cannot really get rid of the shadow; we can only expose its game—which eventually undermine its results and effects." -Richard Rohr Yes, it is me. I

Whatever happened today, whatever successes, whatever failures, whatever distractions, let it go. There will be another day. And if there is not another day, then it is not worth the worrying anyway. Everything is important. Nothing is important. However ahead in your work, however behind, however productive, however grueling, all is process, all is sacred, all is worthy. All is to be surrendered, even when incomplete. Everything is important. Nothing is important. Th

“Who are you at the core?” my therapist asked me years ago. I shrugged and said, “I guess I’m a sinner in desperate need of God’s grace.” That’s what I had heard other people say. Smart people. Scholarly people. Religious people. Even the Apostle Paul said something along those lines. But for me, this was much more than trying to muster a spiritual answer; much more than an acknowledgment of my shortcomings and a posture of surrender. It was a toxic self-view. Each day,

I have a whiteboard hanging in my living room on which I write mantras and quotes and ideas and other random things like grocery lists and facts about the number 108 for my Chicago Cubs Opening Day party this year, which, by the way, was a huge success (just ask the 12 people who came). Anyway, a few months ago I wrote “Holy Saturday” in cursive on the center of my whiteboard. It remained there until, well, my Opening Day party a couple weeks ago, which, as I might have men