Something to Live For
Of earth below, of faith within, of love above
You’ve given me something to live for.
To pray for.
To hope for.
Not in a religious sense—but because of your miraculous presence. Because of the grace you give when asked.
It is you who calms the waters of my soul when no one else gives me the time. You’re always there, waiting to shower me with love.
What am I without faith?
Faith is my reason.
Faith is what I believe in.
You are the gift of faith itself—an improbable cause for the depth of belief I carry. Respectfully, even if you didn’t exist, it is faith that restores my soul. And what is faith, if not born from the creation of the question itself?
You reveal yourself in infinite ways.
If not through faith alone, then through children—
A reason to live for,
To pray for,
To hope for.
You show yourself in emotion.
In every individual life, a unique expression of being.
A reason to live for,
To pray for,
To hope for.
And through it all, the thread leads back to you—
The one who gives abundantly and loves without end.
I’m grateful for the ways you’ve shown up in my life.
I see more clearly now how our lives are living testimonies—
waiting to be witnessed for your goodness.
You trust in the process itself.
Your light, born of your own hand, penetrates the darkness that keeps your people from seeing truth. Your intention is unfolding. Your design being fulfilled.
And just as you create with intention,
so do we.
We create with passion and purpose.
But once released into the world, it’s no longer ours.
It becomes a gift to be received, filtered through the lens of another’s belief.
That is the unfolding work of growth and expansion—
a seed moving through the environment of its sower, pollinating what blooms below.
In a garden of flowers and foods, not all things thrive together.
Though they share soil, some plants need different conditions to flourish.
Some even inhibit each other’s growth.
Likewise, we grow best among complementing companions—those we were meant to grow beside.
We thrive when we stop striving to control everything,
when we let go of the fear of dying,
and open to the reality that we are already near the ones we were designed to bond with.
Fear of Death Is Something We Made Up
A plant does not fear death.
It has no nervous system, no emotion—yet its life speaks.
Plants thrive when given what they need:
attention (air), light (fire), water, and nutrients (earth).
If we humans don’t receive these elements of care, our nervous systems react.
But if we turn our attention away from growth, away from beauty, we wither.
If plants couldn’t die, we wouldn’t find joy in keeping them alive.
People often seek risk just to feel alive—
a nervous system reboot that reminds us: life is precious because it ends.
And when plants die, they return to the earth.
Their death becomes nourishment for what’s next.
Nature cannot be controlled without consequences.
We see this more clearly every day in our systems, our soil, our souls.
A flower doesn’t try to control its outcome.
To do so would destroy it.
Still, so many live in fear of death, rather than embracing their own nature.
Even fear of death is a symptom of our desire to control what must inevitably unfold.
But here’s the truth:
New life only comes from death.
From letting go.
From surrendering survival so that something better can bloom.
The remains of what was become the nutrients for what will be.
And that, too, is something to live for.
To pray for.
To hope for.
Because new life reaps what was sown—
and no new life comes without accepting the passing of the old.
The Cup Must Be Drunk
In His final hours, Jesus offered the ultimate example of what it means to remain faithful when the flesh wants to flee.
He was anguished.
He was overwhelmed.
And yet, He said:
“My Father, if it is not possible for this cup to be taken away unless I drink it,
may your will be done.”
(Matthew 26:42)
He knew:
The only way to resurrection was through surrender.
The only way to bring heaven to earth was to walk the hard road of obedience.
This isn’t a scare tactic.
It’s a blessing.
It’s a deep surrender to the Most High and His design—a plan that weaves itself into every corner of nature and into the very fabric of the universe.
So let us walk through emotion,
not led by it,
but co-creating with it.
Let us not be deceived by what we see,
but continue to “walk by faith, not by sight.”
(2 Corinthians 5:7)
For there is something to live for.
Something to pray for.
Something to hope for.
Always.