Alright, so let’s talk about wonder and awe—two things we all used to have in spades as kids but somehow managed to lose somewhere along the way between taxes and scrolling through Twitter at 2 a.m. These days, wonder and awe are like those rare birds you only hear about in nature documentaries—beautiful, fleeting, and barely seen in the wild. And the thing is, without them, life starts feeling pretty damn flat. It’s like going through life in black and white when you know color exists. So, that’s the mission here: to help people recover that spark, that sense of “holy crap, life is amazing,” even if it’s a bit messed up most of the time. Because here’s the thing—wonder and awe aren’t just nice little add-ons. They’re fuel. They’re what make us feel alive, connected, and actually excited to get out of bed in the morning. Without them, you’re just grinding, going through the motions, thinking the next promotion or the next “perfect” relationship will give you that feeling. Spoiler alert: it won’t. Helping people recover wonder and awe means digging beneath the “what’s wrong with me?” questions and getting back to the “what’s actually right with life?” part of ourselves that we’ve ignored for way too long. It’s about learning how to see again—to notice the little things, the beauty in the ordinary, and the magic in what we already have. We’re talking about breaking out of the mental boxes we’ve put ourselves in, the labels and expectations, and all the noise that makes life feel so heavy. It’s about peeling all that back and finding a part of ourselves that can still look at the world and say, “Whoa.” Because when we see the world with that kind of curiosity and awe, suddenly everything starts to feel more possible.

Here’s the truth: being human is freaking hard. Now, that might sound obvious, but think about it—since we were kids, we’ve been sold this idea that if we just get enough money, love, or control over things, life will magically smooth out. But reality doesn't work that way. Eventually, life smacks us upside the head and reminds us that "hard" doesn’t even begin to cover it. Life can throw stuff at us that makes “hard” feel like a cute little understatement. We spend a lot of our time trying to escape it—distracting ourselves, numbing ourselves, setting impossible goals so we feel “worthy.” But when you dig down, most of that comes from one core thing: we don’t feel safe in who we are. We don’t trust that we’re enough just as we are. If you want to feel safer in your own skin, you’ve got to quit running from discomfort and learn to be okay with it. And no, I’m not talking about some toxic positivity nonsense. I’m talking about not fighting reality, not pretending things are better than they are. It’s about accepting the complexities of life and facing it without denial or sugar-coating. Think about it: life isn’t going to stop being unpredictable or difficult. We can’t change that. But what we can change is how we respond to it. That starts with letting go of the idea that you need to control or fix everything to feel secure. First, start by being honest about what you can and can’t control. Most of our anxiety comes from trying to control things that are out of our hands—what other people think, what might happen tomorrow, what the world looks like five years from now. But trying to manage all that is like trying to hold water in your hands. Instead, focus on the things you can control, like how you spend your time today, who you surround yourself with, and how you talk to yourself when things go sideways. Next, learn to sit with uncomfortable feelings rather than trying to dodge them. Think of it like building emotional muscle. When you’re afraid, sit with that fear. When you’re insecure, face it. Don’t try to avoid it; you’re just prolonging the struggle. Talk with someone trustworthy. The more you practice, the more you realize you can handle way more than you thought—and that’s what really builds confidence.

If your understanding of Christianity has come mainly through the lens of Christian nationalism, discovering how Jesus and his earliest followers lived might come as a bit of a shock. The first followers of the Way weren’t in it for power or control—they weren’t about flexing their influence over others. At its core, this movement was rooted in love, humility, and justice. They faced the power structures of their day not with a desire to dominate but with a commitment to a different kind of strength—one that served and uplifted. For these early followers, love wasn’t a feeling but an action. And it wasn’t reserved for people who looked or thought like them. This love reached out to anyone on the margins, anyone who’d been pushed aside. It was radical, boundless, and inclusive. Their values also centered around community and dignity. Faith was never a solo journey. It was about lifting each other up, valuing each person’s inherent worth, and recognizing that authentic leadership came from serving others. Power and status weren’t the goals; they prioritized empathy and deep connection. Humility was another cornerstone of the Way. Strength wasn’t found in certainty or control but in vulnerability, listening, and shared humanity. They didn’t draw harsh lines between “us” and “them.” Instead, they embraced compassion and sought common ground. And justice—well, that was essential. They knew words without action were empty. Justice wasn’t just an ideal; it was a call to ensure everyone was valued and every voice was heard. So, while Christian nationalism may align itself with political agendas and power, the original Way was a completely different story. It was about love, humility, service, and justice. It was about action, about building bridges instead of walls, and creating space for each other with compassion at the center.

I consider myself a weirdo, and not in the quirky, endearing way we romanticize oddness, but in a "maybe-this-guy-has-spent-too-much-time-thinking-about-life" kind of way. Here’s why: First, I genuinely believe that humanity is more alike than different. Yeah, I know—that’s the kind of thing people write on those decorative throw pillows. But think about it. Strip away the labels, the political team colors, the Instagram highlights, and you’ll find the same mess of emotions, fears, and desires in everyone. We’re all stumbling through the same existential minefield, pretending we’ve got a map. Second, to me, everything is spiritual. Not in the “burn some sage and align your chakras” kind of way (though, hey, if that’s your thing, more power to you). I mean everything—from the mundane act of brushing your teeth to the existential crisis at 2 a.m.—has meaning. There’s no sacred versus profane, no split between the life you live on Sundays and the one on Monday mornings. It’s all one. It’s all spiritual. Life isn’t some dualistic ping-pong match; it’s a messy stew of consciousness, decisions, and meaning. Lastly, I get that I can be either a monster or a saint on any given day, and so can everyone else. And that’s not just a self-help epiphany, that’s reality. We’re not wired to be wholly good or bad. We’re complex creatures with the capacity for both profound generosity and shocking selfishness. A lot of us like to pretend we’re exclusively one or the other, but that’s just our ego trying to give us an identity neat enough to show off. The truth is, we’re all just walking contradictions, trying to figure out which side of ourselves we’re going to bring to the table each day. And that’s what makes us all beautifully weird—and scarily human.

“Do not conform to the world’s ways; instead, be transformed by renewing your mind.” This isn’t just a call to action—it’s an invitation to a profound shift in how we navigate life, how we see ourselves, and how we find our place in the world. Let’s start by understanding the ways of the world. The world, with its relentless drumbeat, thrives on a foundation of fear. It’s a fear that shows up as a constant fight-or-flight response, compelling us to prove our worth, chase validation, and shield ourselves from vulnerability. We’re taught to believe that more is always better, that we are what we achieve, and that falling short is synonymous with failure. But here’s the thing: this way of living keeps us armored up, disconnected, and exhausted. The renewing of your mind is the choice to look beyond the noise, to become aware of how fear is interwoven into the fabric of our daily lives and, yes, into our inner dialogue. And I get it—when I first started this work, I was convinced I wasn’t driven by fear. I thought, “I’m not afraid of anything.” But fear isn’t always about obvious threats or fears of spiders or heights. It’s often subtler than that. It shows up as the fear of losing someone we love, the fear of not being enough, the fear of never attaining the life we’ve always longed for. And it gets even trickier when it manifests as the constant pressure to earn our place in the world, to hustle for approval from those we admire. That, my friends, is the human condition: the quiet, pervasive fear that we’re not enough as we are. So, how do we break free? How do we stop conforming and start transforming? It starts by turning inward, by connecting with your inner wisdom, and by nurturing a relationship with your soul. Because here’s the truth your soul knows: You are enough. Not just when you achieve the next goal or when you prove yourself to others. Right here, in this moment, with all your flaws, struggles, and doubts—you are enough. Renewing your mind isn’t about perfection or achieving some enlightened state of being where fear ceases to exist.