Spiritual Belly

“Slaves, obey your earthly masters with fear and trembling, in singleness of heart, as you obey Christ.” (Ephesians 6:5) A few weeks the pastor was working through Paul’s letter to the church in Ephesus, and this was the passage under discussion. To be fair, he explained that Paul was addressing something closer to indentured servitude than the brutal slavery of the American South — more like the relationship between an employer and employee. But what caught my attention was how quickly he dismissed the common criticism that verses like this make Christianity look like it represents a God who is authoritarian and abusive. To me, that felt like a missed opportunity. Because the truth is: this verse was used by some Christians to justify treating an entire people group as less than human. Not by all Christians, but enough that the effects still ripple through history. That reality deserves to be named out loud, not brushed aside. What's the Real Problem? The deeper problem, I think,...

Breathwork has become one of the most grounding practices in my life. It’s something I return to again and again—not just to calm down or de-stress, but to remember who I am beneath the noise. When the world feels too loud, when my thoughts spiral, when I'm disconnected from my body, I turn to my breath. It never fails to bring me home. I usually follow along with guided sessions on YouTube. Some days I reach for the slower, more rhythmic practices—something gentle to quiet my nervous system. Other times I need something more intense and activating, like a holotropic-style session that shakes loose what’s buried under the surface. Whatever the method, there’s always a moment in the practice where something shifts: the mind drops, the body softens, and awareness deepens. Breathwork works because it speaks directly to the nervous system—bypassing the analytical mind and reaching into the deeper, somatic layers where fear, memory, and emotion are stored. It’s a practice of presence, ...

I was listening Shinedown's song "Special" the other day. Give it a listen and then come back. I'll wait. The main chorus lyric hits like a jolt: “’Cause you’re not special.” Repeated, almost like a mantra, it stops you in your tracks. At first, it feels harsh, even cruel. But if you lean into it, there’s a strange kind of liberation. It’s a challenge to the part of us that constantly craves recognition, applause, or validation. It’s a reminder that the world doesn’t owe us fame—or even acknowledgment—for our existence to matter. Lead singer Brent Smith, a man whose own life is intertwined with public attention and the trappings of celebrity, delivers this line with a mix of bluntness and care. He’s not dismissing your life; he’s warning you against measuring it by the glitter of the spotlight. Life, he seems to say, isn’t about standing out for the sake of being noticed—it’s about finding meaning and integrity that exists even when no one is watching . In a culture...

The café was filled with the hum of grinders and soft conversation. My friend and I sat across from each other, catching up over warm drinks. I’ve always respected him—his steady love for people, his devotion to Jesus, the sincerity with which he tries to live out his faith. At one point, he leaned in and said—gently, but with conviction: “You know, at the end of the day, all we really need to do is just listen to the Bible.” And I understood what he meant. For many evangelicals, the Bible is held with deep reverence, almost like an anchor in restless seas. Their devotion comes from love—a desire to be faithful, to honor God, to cling to something solid when so much else feels uncertain. They approach it literally, historically, carefully—wanting to harmonize its voices and guard its truth. That devotion is beautiful. It springs from the same place as our friendship: a longing to stay close to what matters most. When Reverence Turns Rigid But there’s another side to this devotion. When...

Not long ago, Robert F. Kennedy Jr. and Donald Trump both made the sweeping claim: “Tylenol causes autism.” Just three words — and they lit a fire. I watched the reactions fly across social media, and then land in my own home. Anger, disbelief, anxiety, even shame. For many, this wasn’t just a headline; it felt like a judgment handed down from a pulpit. I am not a doctor. I’m not a researcher tucked away in a lab. But I am curious, and I’m willing to dig in, because I believe anything that unsettles us can also be a path toward growth. So I started reading — the studies, the statements, the pushback. I wanted to understand what’s really at stake here: both the science behind the claim, and the emotions it stirs in us. Because here’s the truth: science is meant to be dispassionate, but human beings are not. Behind every study and headline are parents, patients, professionals, and communities carrying their own histories of trust and betrayal. So let’s walk this road together — first wit...