I’m not entirely sure if I’ve shared this before—but even if I have, it feels deeply important to say again. This has been sitting on my heart, especially now.
Things in the U.S. feel incredibly tense. We’re standing on shaky ground—politically, spiritually, economically. As I’ve been slowly regaining my faith, I’m realizing something I didn’t expect: faith isn’t just something you lean on when things are easy. It’s what you run toward when the world feels like it’s falling apart.
And honestly? That’s not always easy. It’s hard to find a sense of community when everyone seems so divided. It’s heartbreaking to see rights being taken away, people being pushed out of the country, and basic human needs like food and housing being ignored while everything else burns. Other countries are working to fix these problems. Meanwhile, here in the U.S., it feels like we’re watching things crumble in slow motion.
As someone living paycheck to paycheck, I’m scared. I know I’m not alone in that. But what I do believe is that this is the moment we need each other the most—not in uniformity, but in unity. We need to come together as one nation, no matter the language we speak, the way we look, or who we pray to. That’s the only way forward. And I guess this post is my small way of holding onto that hope.
Lately, I’ve been wrestling with something that I think a lot of people—especially those raised in the church—might understand. It feels like being a Christian has turned into a list of rejections: don’t do this, don’t go there, don’t explore that. It’s like faith is being defined more by what you’re against than what you’re for.
This clarity struck me during a recent conversation. I shared with someone about prioritizing my mental and physical health through yoga, Pilates, and meditation. These practices have provided me with balance, calm, and a deeper connection to God that I had been missing for a long time.
And then they hit me with this: “That’s not very Christian.”
It honestly hurt.
Not because I was being challenged——faith should ultimately expand us—but because it made me wonder: When did health, wholeness, and self-awareness become un-Christian? When did it become wrong to care for our minds and bodies in a way that aligns with peace, discipline, and intention?
Here’s what’s wild: in my experience, diving into these practices didn’t pull me away from Jesus—it brought me closer.
The more I explored meditation through Buddhism and Taoism, the clearer His teachings became. His messages of stillness, surrender, forgiveness, and divine connection unveiled themselves in ways I hadn’t fully understood before. It was as if He had been conveying these truths all along, but I needed a different perspective to truly grasp them.
Maybe He wasn’t warning us against stillness, awareness, or the breath—but against pride, stubbornness, and spiritual arrogance. Maybe Jesus wasn’t afraid of different languages of wisdom—He just wanted us to see the truth when it came, even if it looked unfamiliar.
I’ve come to believe that prayer is meditation, especially when you do it long enough to quiet your own voice and listen. It’s in those silent spaces where I’ve felt God most intimately. Where I’ve experienced grace not just as a word, but as a breath. A rhythm. A mercy that lives in my very bones.
Being a Christian isn’t about shunning the tools that facilitate our healing. It is about rejecting whatever distances us from love, humility, and truth. If yoga or meditation helps you connect with God in a more open, honest, and whole manner, then perhaps the concern lies not in the practice itself but in the pride that insists God can only operate in one way.
I’m still learning. Still unlearning, too.
But I know this: my walk with Christ is richer because I dared to ask, to explore, to listen. And I believe Jesus isn’t afraid of our questions—He welcomes them.
So if you take anything from this, let it be this: choose love over fear, compassion over judgment, and curiosity over condemnation. We’re all doing our best to navigate a world that often feels heavy and uncertain, and we shouldn’t have to do it alone. Let your faith be a source of light—an instrument of kindness that softens our hearts rather than hardens them.
Better days are within reach, and it all starts with us. It’s about how we treat one another, how we listen, and how we show up in each other’s lives.
So, let’s choose to share love instead of hate. Let’s become the reason someone believes in goodness and hope.
Above all, let’s keep the faith—not only in religion but also in each other.
