Tranquility in Order

Every time I hear the word strength, a flood of meanings comes to mind. The first is usually physical strength—muscles, endurance, resilience. But after that, the real fun begins. Recently, while completing my HSA certificate, I took the VIA Strengths Survey and discovered my top five strengths: honesty, spirituality, fairness, humility, and perspective. Even though most of them didn’t surprise me at all, I admit that it was eye-opening. These qualities reflect a deeper kind of strength—one rooted in values and character. Strength can also mean emotional toughness: being stoic, resilient, and unwavering in the face of adversity. But it’s more than just enduring hardship—it’s about how we respond to it. I’ve always loved oak trees. Autumn is my favorite season, and the way their leaves turn brilliant shades of yellow and red never fails to stun me. But it’s not just fall that draws me to them. In spring, when their leaves return in vibrant green, they offer shade and serenity. Oaks are ...

I remember the first time I heard the phrase “ignorance is bliss.” It struck me as profound—so true, so comforting. What you don’t know can’t hurt you, can’t scare you. Living in that kind of bubble sounded idyllic, almost like paradise. But over time, I encountered a different perspective—one that challenged the blissful illusion. Ignorance, especially of our own circumstances, can be deeply harmful. Consider someone living with an undiagnosed illness. In that case, ignorance isn’t bliss—it’s a silent curse. Awareness, even when painful, allows us to make informed decisions, to prepare, to seek help. Knowledge becomes a tool for survival and growth. In relationships, ignorance can be just as damaging. We sometimes hurt those we love—not out of malice, but simply because we don’t realize the impact of our actions. I’ve felt that kind of pain. And I’ve come to believe that much of it stems from a lack of understanding, not ill intent. If someone hasn’t lived through what I have, how cou...

Last week, I read something that deeply resonated with me: the idea that  sedentism —a concept we usually associate with our physical lifestyle—has also quietly settled into our spiritual lives. It’s not just about how we seek food, shelter, or comfort anymore. It’s about how we approach faith. The reflection suggested that, since the Industrial Revolution, many of us have lived with a sense of safety and stability. That comfort has seeped into our spirituality. As long as we avoid major sins—like harming others—we assume we’re on the right path, bound for Heaven. But this kind of passive faith, shaped by comfort, can become weak. It doesn’t require boldness. It doesn’t demand trust in God when things fall apart. I had never thought about faith in this way. I’ve always seen myself as someone fairly courageous. But when I paused to reflect, I realized that four years ago, three of the biggest “certainties” in my life were stripped away. Beyond the pain and sadness, that moment marke...