faith
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I remember the first time I saw you.You passed my doorwaywith a smile.Then walked through a wall—and vanished. I remember seeing youin my dreams.Same smile,as if you were knowing.Knowing what?I am not sure. I see the bloodrunning down your face.Your eyes glowing red.Then you’re gone again. Demon,some will tell me.Ghost,others might say. My imagination?Maybe.But you
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The witch said, fear me, but I didn’t.And I won’t. Fairytales don’t survivewhere real living begins.No spellbook can outdo the acheof waking up and still choosing grace. Energy is a circle,not a dagger.What you put out comes back, not through magic,but through truth.Through consequence.Through the quiet way life returns what you give it. Call it
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I’ve been thinking a lot lately about what faith really means. Not the version wrapped in rules or ritual, but the kind that grows quietly inside you. The kind you don’t always have words for, but you feel it. It shows up in how you love. In how you choose kindness. In the way you
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The post advocates for sharing images of same-sex couples to challenge homophobia, especially during Pride month. While such visuals may trigger hate, they also offer hope and visibility for queer youth, reassuring them of a future where they can be themselves. Allies are encouraged to support by sharing uplifting content.
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I’ve been reflecting lately on what it means to seek truth in our spiritual lives. Everywhere we turn—on screens, in books, from pulpits—we’re presented with versions of “truth” that often turn out to be very human creations, shaped by culture, power, or the simple march of time. I want to invite you into a conversation
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Yesterday, in the heart of the Madrid train station, we stood shoulder to shoulder in a dense, unmoving crowd. We waited more than four hours to pass through security, just to reach our train platform. Our train was delayed by three hours, and the atmosphere was thick with heat, frustration, and fatigue. The crowd pulsed
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So—the pope died today. And whether you’re Catholic or not, that hits. The death of a pope is more than just a news item—it’s the symbolic end of an era in one of the oldest, most powerful institutions on Earth. And now, all eyes turn to what comes next. There’s already talk: What if the
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Each year, Easter meets me in a different place. This year, I needed to write through the noise—to return to what’s real, to what still rises. This is that reflection.
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As Good Friday arrives, I find myself grieving not just the crucifixion of Jesus, but the crucifixion of everything He stood for. In a world where religion is being twisted into a weapon, and hate is preached in the name of love, I wrote this letter to God. It is a cry for truth, for…
Steven LaChance Blog 