What if This is It?
There’s this strange tension I keep running into.
In one light, it all makes perfect sense.
This is the awakening.
This is the unfolding.
This is the journey.
But in another light, I have no idea how to actually live in a way where that’s true.
I don’t know how to drink my morning coffee like it matters.
Or give a lesson like it’s holy ground.
Or sit with my own ache and not try to skip ahead.
Because most of us were taught that whatever’s happening now…
is just commentary.
A warm-up act.
A means to something else.
A way to the thing—but not the thing itself.
But what if it is?
What if the question that keeps bubbling up
or the way I freeze when I’m overwhelmed
or the email I never replied to
or the silence that stretches a little too long—
What if this is it?
What if there’s nothing more spiritual coming?
No clearer answer.
No deeper insight.
No mountaintop moment to make it all click.
Just me. Here.
Fumbling through today,
with all of my questions, my longing, my doubt…
and the sacred possibility
that this ordinary moment
was never ordinary at all.
Sacred Coffee & Tied Shoes: How Do You Actually Live Awake?
I’ve heard the phrase a hundred times:
“Make one ordinary moment sacred today.”
But what does that even mean?
Like… am I really supposed to pour my coffee like it’s a holy ritual?
Wash my hands like I’m cleansing my soul?
Tie my shoes like I’m preparing for a pilgrimage?
That sounds beautiful — poetic even — but honestly, I struggle with it.
I believe that mysticism isn’t about escaping life, but about waking up to it.
But most days? I don’t know how to do that.
And so I asked for help.
Not metaphorical help. Practical help. Step-by-step kind of help.
And what came back hit me deeper than expected:
How to Pour Your Coffee Like It’s Sacred
Most days, coffee is just caffeine. A means to an end.
But what if it wasn’t?
What if it was a sacrament — a moment of slowness in a fast world?
Try this:
Feel the mug in your hands. The warmth, the weight.
Listen to the pour. Let the sound fill your awareness.
Inhale deeply. Let the smell wake something deeper than just your brain.
Hold the cup before you drink and say (out loud or silently):
“This moment is enough.”
Take the first sip like it’s the first sip of your life.
This isn’t about making coffee magical.
It’s about being with it.
And suddenly, it’s not just coffee.
Its presence. It’s the Divine, hiding in plain sight.
How to Wash Your Hands Like You’re Cleansing Your Soul
We do this a dozen times a day — but how often do we feel it?
Turn on the water and listen. Really listen.
Feel the temperature shift.
Let the soap lather slowly across your skin.
As you rinse, imagine a worry, fear, or regret washing away with it.
Before turning the water off, say:
“I am clean. I am here.”
It’s not hygiene anymore.
It’s a reset.
A ritual of return.
How to Tie Your Shoes Like You’re Preparing for a Pilgrimage
You could rush it. Or… you could arrive.
Pause before bending down.
Take a breath.
As you tighten each lace, set an intention:
“Where am I walking today? “
Feel your feet grounded. Imagine the Earth holding you.
Now, tying your shoes becomes a way of saying:
“I’m stepping into something sacred — even if it’s just Target.”
The Real Work: Be Where You Are
The reason we struggle to make the ordinary sacred?
It’s not because we’re bad at spirituality.
It’s because we’re rarely there.
We pour coffee while scrolling.
We wash our hands while rushing.
We tie our shoes while worrying.
So if you’re like me, and you’ve wanted to live more awake —
to walk through the world as an ordinary mystic —
then here’s the actual invitation:
Commit to being exactly where you are.
You don’t need incense.
You don’t need chants.
You don’t need to be “good at meditation.”
You just need attention.
Presence.
A whisper:
“This moment is enough.”
And then suddenly, without trying to force it —
your coffee, your hands, your shoes…
They all become doorways into a sacred world
that was already there.
Just waiting for you to wake up.
What Is an Ordinary Mystic?
Becoming an ordinary mystic isn’t about chasing mystical experiences or withdrawing from the world—it’s about seeing the world as it actually is, unfiltered, unspectacular, yet brimming with sacred depth. It’s about waking up to the life you already have, bowing at the feet of ordinary existence, and learning to be fully present in the tension between disappointment and beauty.
Here’s how you can step into that way of being:
1. Bow to the Mundane
We’re conditioned to believe the sacred is found in mountaintop moments, in deep revelations, in epiphanies. But mystics see divinity in the dishes, the laundry, the morning light slipping through the blinds.
Try this: Make one ordinary moment sacred today. Pour your coffee like it’s a holy ritual. Wash your hands like you’re cleansing your soul. Tie your shoes as if you’re preparing for pilgrimage.
Mysticism is not about escaping life; it’s about waking up to it—this life, this moment.
2. Befriend Silence
Most of us aren’t afraid of silence; we’re afraid of what we’ll hear in it. Noise drowns out the unsettling truth that we are often restless, uncertain, or lonely. But silence holds the space where wisdom and healing unfold.
At first, sitting in silence will feel unbearable—like you’re doing nothing. But sit anyway. Start with two minutes of simply being. No phone. No goal. Just listen to the air in the room, the sounds of your own breathing.
Mysticism isn’t about hearing the voice of God in thunder; it’s about hearing the whisper underneath everything.
3. Release Your Need for Answers
The ordinary mystic doesn’t chase certainty; they embrace mystery. They let go of the need to “figure it all out” and instead become profoundly comfortable with not knowing.
Try this: Let a question remain unanswered. Instead of Googling or problem-solving, let the question itself be your teacher. What does it reveal? How does it change if you sit with it longer?
A mystic trusts that wisdom comes not in the rushing, but in the resting.
4. Let Go of the Scorecard
We live in a results-driven culture: measurable progress, visible success, tangible rewards. But mysticism is found in presence, not performance. It doesn’t care about your productivity—it cares about your beingness (YES, I made that word up).
Today, do something without tracking it. Walk without counting your steps. Write without needing to post it. Pray without expecting an answer.
A mystic knows that the holiest things—love, wonder, peace—are beyond measurement.
5. See God in the Faces Around You
The most mystical act is not escaping to a monastery—it’s paying attention to the person in front of you. To really see them.
When your child speaks, listen like their words hold ancient wisdom. When the barista hands you coffee, receive it as a sacred gift. When a stranger crosses your path, recognize the divine in their face.
Because mysticism isn’t about seeing God in the heavens. It’s about seeing God in the human sitting across from you.
Your Call to Being
The ordinary mystic doesn’t seek to be extraordinary. They don’t chase visions, miracles, or divine encounters. Instead, they wake up here.
To the holy in the laughter of their kids.
To the sacred in the burning of their morning toast.
To the divine in their own tired, unfinished, messy self.
They learn that what they were looking for was never out there. It was always right here.
So today, pause.
Breathe.
Bow to this moment.
And welcome to the path of the ordinary mystic.
What’s Weighing on You? Why Naming What’s Heavy Brings Healing
Life has a way of piling things on us, doesn’t it? Responsibilities, frustrations, unanswered questions, grief that hasn’t been grieved. Often, we carry these things silently, shoving them to the back of our minds because the world doesn’t seem to have time for them.
But here’s something I’ve learned: what we don’t name doesn’t go away. It lingers, shaping our thoughts and decisions in quiet, unseen ways. The act of naming what’s heavy—the fears, frustrations, or sadness we’re holding—can be the first step toward healing.
Why We Avoid What’s Heavy
We live in a culture that celebrates productivity and quick fixes. When something feels heavy, the instinct is often to move on or push through. How many times have you heard (or said) phrases like:
“I just need to get over it.”
“Other people have it worse.”
“There’s no time to dwell on this right now.”
Avoiding what’s heavy might feel easier in the moment, but over time, it weighs us down. The unspoken grief, the unresolved frustration, the unanswered questions—they don’t just disappear. They sit in the corners of our minds, affecting how we show up in the world, often without us realizing it.
The Power of Naming
Something shifts when you name what’s heavy. It’s like shining a light into a dark room. Suddenly, the things you were avoiding don’t feel quite so overwhelming.
Here’s why naming is powerful:
It creates clarity: When you articulate what you’re feeling—whether through journaling, speaking, or simply thinking—it often becomes less tangled.
It reduces shame: Unspoken struggles tend to grow in the dark, making us feel isolated. Naming them reminds us that these feelings are human.
It invites healing: You don’t have to solve everything at once. But acknowledging what’s there opens the door for healing to begin.
How to Start Naming What’s Heavy
If this idea feels new—or a little uncomfortable—that’s okay. Here are a few ways to begin:
Journaling:
Take a notebook and write down, “What’s weighing on me right now?” Then, let yourself free-write. There’s no wrong way to do this.
You might find that simply putting the words on paper makes things feel lighter.
Talking:
Share with someone you trust—a friend, partner, or mentor. Sometimes, saying things out loud gives you a perspective you didn’t realize you needed.
Sitting Quietly with Your Thoughts:
Create a moment of stillness. Ask yourself, “What’s heavy today?” and let the answers come. There’s no rush—just being present is enough.
The Space to Heal
One of the most profound gifts you can give yourself is the space to be honest about what you’re carrying. This isn’t about fixing everything overnight. It’s about creating room for whatever needs to come out.
Healing often starts with a simple act of showing up—with your questions, your grief, your frustrations—and saying, “Here it is.”
In my work as a Grace Guide, I’ve seen the power of this over and over again. When people step into a safe space to name what’s heavy—without judgment or a rush to fix—they find clarity, peace, and sometimes even unexpected breakthroughs.
An Invitation
So, what’s weighing on you today?
Maybe it’s a frustration that keeps bubbling up. Maybe it’s an unanswered question about your future. Maybe it’s grief you haven’t had time to fully feel.
Whatever it is, I want to encourage you to name it—not because it’s easy, but because it matters. Write it down. Say it out loud. Hold it gently. You don’t have to have all the answers, but you do deserve the space to be honest about where you are.
You’re not alone in this. Healing doesn’t come all at once, but it begins when you show up.
Reflection Questions:
What’s one thing you’ve been carrying that feels heavy?
How can you create space to name it today?
If this resonates with you, let’s continue the conversation. Drop a comment or reach out—I’d love to hear your thoughts.
The Christmas Story We’ve Missed
Power, Resistance, and Liberation
When you think about the Christmas story, what comes to mind? For many, it’s images of a serene nativity scene: Mary and Joseph gazing lovingly at the baby Jesus, surrounded by animals, shepherds, and a bright star overhead.
But what if the story is far more radical than we’ve been led to believe?
I want to invite us to see the birth of Jesus not as a sentimental tale, but as a powerful narrative of resistance, liberation, and hope for the oppressed. The nativity stories in Matthew and Luke weren’t written for Hallmark cards—they were proclamations of a new kind of kingdom breaking into a world of injustice.
Christmas in the Shadow of Empire
To understand the true power of the Christmas story, we have to start with its context. The birth of Jesus took place under the oppressive rule of the Roman Empire. This was a world where power was concentrated in the hands of a few, where the poor were crushed under heavy taxation, and where violence was used to maintain control.
For Jewish communities under Roman rule, survival itself was an act of defiance. The nativity narratives emerged from this context of suffering and resistance, offering a vision of liberation that challenged the empire’s claims to power.
Take, for example, Luke’s account of Mary’s Magnificat:
“He has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly; He has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty.” (Luke 1:52-53)
These aren’t just words of worship—they are a revolutionary declaration. Mary proclaims a God who overturns the existing order, lifting up the marginalized and humbling the powerful.
The Politics of the Nativity
The nativity story carries more than religion; it carries incredible economical and political weight:
A census under Caesar Augustus: This was no mere background detail. The census was a reminder of Roman control, a mechanism for taxation and exploitation.
The setting in Bethlehem: Rooting Jesus’ birth in David’s ancestral city wasn’t just about fulfilling prophecy—it was a bold statement that a new, Davidic king had arrived, one who would challenge the empire.
Herod’s violent response: The slaughter of the innocents underscores the threat Jesus posed to systems of power. From the moment of his birth, his life was a challenge to rulers who relied on domination and fear.
In both Matthew and Luke, the nativity stories proclaim that Jesus’ birth marks the arrival of a new kind of kingdom—a kingdom that stands in stark contrast to the empire.
Liberation for All Creation
This doesn’t stop at human liberation. He expands the vision to include all of creation, reminding us that the Christmas story is about cosmic renewal. The arrival of Jesus isn’t just good news for a select group; it’s a promise that all things—earth, humanity, and the systems that govern them—will be reconciled and restored.
A Story for Our Time
Why does this matter today? Because the systems of inequality, oppression, and exploitation that defined the Roman Empire still exist in different forms. The nativity story, stripped of its sentimental trappings, calls us to see Jesus’ birth as a declaration that God is on the side of the oppressed.
It challenges us to ask:
Who holds power in our world, and how is that power wielded?
Where are the marginalized voices that need lifting up?
How are we called to participate in God’s work of renewal and liberation?
Christmas isn’t just a celebration—it’s a call to action.
The birth of Jesus is a reminder that God works in the margins, that liberation begins in unexpected places, and that even in the shadow of empire, hope is breaking through.
As we prepare for Christmas this year, let’s hold onto the radical promise of the nativity story: that the world can be made new, and that we are invited to be part of the renewal.
Reflection Questions:
How does seeing the Christmas story through the lens of liberation change the way you experience it?
What does it mean for you to participate in God’s work of justice and renewal today?
Let’s explore this together—share your thoughts in the comments.