Explore how Stoic principles complement correct biblical teachings for meaningful living.
Nothing contained within this blog is a prescription for living life. This is an unfiltered journal where I examine issues in my life under a magnified lens with the intent to heal—not to justify or advocate for the monster that many of us run from.
Who am I? I’m a minister, though not the kind you might expect. I carry my flaws and past mistakes with me, and I’m done pretending otherwise. My ministry isn’t about putting on a holy mask or preaching from a place of perfection. It’s about embracing brokenness, calling out my own demons, and finding practical ways to grow, even when the path forward feels impossible. Ministry, for me, is about authenticity—about admitting when I fall short and owning the process of getting back up again.
Now, let’s talk about what Christianity is supposed to be—according to Jesus Christ himself, not the institutions or individuals who have distorted his message for personal gain. At its core, Christianity isn’t a system of rigid rules or empty rituals. It’s about two simple but profound commandments: Love God, and love others as yourself. It’s a faith grounded in compassion, humility, and action. Jesus taught us to heal the broken, care for the outcast, and confront injustice—not with violence, but with truth. This blog will wrestle with how I, as a minister, try (and often fail) to embody those teachings in real life.
Then there’s Stoicism—a philosophy that has become more than just a passing interest for me. Stoicism is about controlling what we can—our thoughts, our actions, and our responses—and letting go of what we can’t. It’s not about suppressing emotions, but learning to master them. Where Christianity focuses on love and grace, Stoicism emphasizes discipline and acceptance. Both challenge me to take ownership of my life: one by walking in faith, the other by finding peace in the things beyond my control.
The reason I’ve brought these two teachings together in this journal is simple: they complement each other. Christianity calls me to become the best version of myself through love and forgiveness, and Stoicism gives me the tools to work through life’s challenges without being crushed by them. Together, they create an introspective framework—a way to look deeply at my struggles, confront my weaknesses, and strive for growth with honesty and without excuses. This isn’t a manual for living, and it’s not about preaching at anyone else. It’s a process of figuring things out for myself and sharing that process along the way. If you’re reading this, welcome to the journey.
I'm chronicling my journey as a minister with anger and control issues. Yes, I said what I said. This isn’t a confession or some pity party—it’s an unfiltered look at who I am and who I’m becoming. Instead of attacking the world around me—which my childhood experiences taught me to do and reinforced every chance they got—I’m stepping back to reflect. For the first time, I’m starting to get honest. Many of the values I once embraced as a born-again Christian are returning, but not in the way I expected. Watching videos on Stoicism is like seeing my faith through a new lens—one that strips away the fluff and forces me to confront my actions, not just with faith but with discipline. It’s liberating, refreshing—and long overdue.
Mental health professionals have recommended pills to numb my ills, but those pills do more to mask my flaws than heal them. They don’t address the roots; they cover them up and, by default, give me an out when it comes to personal accountability. That's not growth—it’s a crutch. And leaning on it makes me something I’ve spent my whole life trying to fight: a bully. Pills keep me stagnant, circling the same drain, hiding from the person I know I need to become. It’s not a way to transform myself into someone who can positively impact my community—it just reinforces my worst habits.
Let’s get real: I was a military brat raised around conflict, and that shaped me into someone who learned to fight before I learned to feel. I’ve wrestled with alcohol and cannabis addiction for years—using them as escape routes rather than facing life head-on. Every situation, every person I encountered, felt like a potential threat or a ticking time bomb. I became paranoid, distrustful, and quick to lash out, like a powder keg waiting to explode. Anger wasn’t just an emotion; it was a way of life.
But something’s changing. I’ve started leaning into natural remedies—herbs, meditation, exercise—things that align with who I want to be, not who I used to be. I’m learning how to confront my thoughts, control my impulses, and be present without needing to numb myself. It’s not easy. Some days I still feel that rage bubbling beneath the surface. But I see now that the goal isn’t to run from it. The goal is to face it—head-on—and master it. Just like the Stoics taught. Just like Jesus taught.
The journey isn’t about being perfect or even ‘good’ by some external standard. It’s about becoming whole. It’s about embracing the pain, the regret, and the anger—not as enemies, but as teachers. Stoicism teaches me to accept what is, and Christianity shows me how to transform what is into what could be. They aren’t at odds—they’re two sides of the same coin, showing me how to navigate life without excuses, without resentment, and without fear. And that’s the man I’m working to become—someone who’s honest, accountable, and unflinching, even when the truth cuts deep.
So join me on this journey of raw honesty and reflection. Yes, I still indulge in alcohol and cannabis—but I no longer see them as a way to escape or numb myself. They are tools now, not crutches. Tools that allow me to slow down, sit with my thoughts, and face the memories I once ran from. Every drink and every puff is no longer about drowning out the noise, but about tuning in and confronting the truths I buried deep inside. I’m not glorifying their use or claiming they’re necessary for healing—far from it. They simply help me reflect on where I’ve been and how far I’ve come.
These tools—like everything else in life—carry risks, and I’m not blind to that. They can be as destructive as they are enlightening if used carelessly. But for me, they have become part of a process: a means of sitting with the weight of my choices and examining the demons that accompanied me along the way. It’s not about indulging for indulgence's sake—it’s about facing my past without shame or denial. Where I once used substances to hide from myself, I now use them to engage in honest self-exploration.
This doesn’t mean the journey is easy, or that I always get it right. There are moments when the old habits whisper, tempting me to overindulge, to slip back into avoidance. But each time I sit with those urges instead of running from them, I learn a little more about who I am and what I still need to heal. The goal isn’t perfection—it’s progress. Every small step counts. Every moment of clarity, no matter how fleeting, brings me closer to peace. That’s what this journey is about: facing the darkness with courage, learning from it, and moving forward one step at a time.