Freeing Pharaoh

Today, I've been asked to speak on magnifying our callings. I would like to start by what it means to magnify something. Colloquially, when I think of magnifying I think of a magnifying glass or a telescope; something which enlarges what we see. Which can make it seem like magnifying our calling is about making ourselves look larger, or making our callings more important. Interpreting "magnify" as visually enlarging could also as mean we need to go over-the-top and devote large sums of time to our duties. It could also feel like magnifying a calling is about looking at the small details of our calling and correcting flaws and imperfections. But, historically "to magnify" means "to make great". The term magnify was applied to lenses because lenses make smaller things appear larger, or greater. So, to magnify something is to make it great, as in "important", "influential", "enlarged", "extended", or "seen...

When we read the genealogies in the Old Testament, we encounter jaw-dropping claims about human lifespans. Methuselah, for instance, is said to have lived 969 years (Genesis 5:27). Noah clocked in at 950 years (Genesis 9:29). Even Adam lived to 930 (Genesis 5:5). For modern readers, these numbers seem impossible—nobody today comes close to such ages. So, what’s going on? Were these people biologically superhuman, or could the answer lie in how ancient people understood the concept of a "year"? I have a theory: what if "year" didn’t always mean the 365-day solar cycle we know today? What if it referred to a different celestial rhythm, like the lunar cycle, and the meaning of "year" shifted over time? Let’s explore this idea, drawing on insights from neuroscience, cultural context, and a theological perspective on God’s creation. The Shifting Concept of "Year" In her groundbreaking book How Emotions Are Made , neuroscientist Lisa Feldman Barrett ar...

As I shared in my post on the Path to Action , our stories shape our emotions and actions—but our body’s signals inform those stories. Typically, we think of “see and hear” as external evidence, like others’ actions, but an unbalanced internal state sends sensations—hunger, fatigue, inflammation—that tempt us toward negative narratives. I learned this through decades of struggling with psoriasis, depression, and weight. By caring for my body, I transformed those signals, making it easier to choose blame-free stories of hope and connection. Nurturing our physical selves can deepen our connection with others and ourselves. A Long Struggle with Signals Since 1997, I’ve dealt with a recurring rash in an uncomfortable spot. Doctors couldn’t diagnose it, occasionally offering steroid injections or creams that temporarily helped but provided no long-term solution. In 2011, a Seattle dermatologist took a biopsy and identified it as inverse psoriasis, an autoimmune condition. I finally got a pr...

I often heard, “Christ never said it would be easy, only that it would be worth it.” But Christ did say, “My yoke is easy, and my burden is light” (Matthew 11:30). This promise puzzled me. If life feels heavy, where is the ease? Through years of prayer, frustration, and failed attempts to change, I sought the core of our agency: where do we choose? How do we truly change? Willpower, medication, and even desperate pleas to God didn’t lift my existential dread or stop my misery. Then I discovered the Path to Action from Crucial Conversations , which revealed that all my emotions come from stories I tell myself—and the heaviest story was blame. By choosing better stories, we yoke ourselves with Christ, living with the peace He promised. The Weight of Blame For decades, I carried a crushing burden. As a child, I carelessly killed a pet hamster and lied to my parents about it. I told myself I was a “liar and a murderer,” a story that colored my life with shame. I blamed my parents—especi...

Growing up in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, I’ve always believed that “faith without works is dead” ( James 2:17 ). But recent debates on X about faith versus works—some championing faith alone, others insisting on works—made me pause. The arguments often felt like an I-It clash, with both sides dismissing each other rather than seeking understanding. This prompted me to ask: Why does faith need works, and why do works need faith? I wanted answers grounded in how we live, not just theology. The Path to Action from Crucial Conversations showed me that faith shapes our actions through the stories we tell, while The Anatomy of Peace revealed that works without faith are empty. Preparing this post deepened my respect for the “faith alone” view, with its focus on grace, and showed me that faith and works together reflect the heart’s truth. Faith and works are often debated—some champion faith alone as sufficient, while others see faith and works as deeply intertwine...

In ‘ The Thorns of Knowledge ' and ‘ The Truth That Frees Us ,' I explored how stories like Adam and Eve or Christ's life reveal our inner struggles with worth and truth. What if the Christmas story is also a map for this journey—from fear to grace? Herod, Christ, the Star, and the Wise Men aren't just figures; they're archetypes of our soul's path, resonating no matter what we believe. Others have drawn similar connections between the Nativity and the inner life, seeing Herod as the ego, the Magi as inner seekers, and Christ as the birth of divine truth within us, and potentially drawing analogies between all the other players in that story and some aspect of our inner selves. In this post, I want to focus on the core players within that inner story. Rather than unpack every archetype, my aim is to trace the essential movement of the soul as it navigates fear, follows light, and ultimately makes room for truth. Herod: The E...

A Journey to Truth For the past five years, I've returned to two books that have shaped my understanding of relationships and conflict: The Anatomy of Peace and Bonds That Make Us Free   (I recommend the audio book) by the Arbinger Institute founder Terry C Warner, sensing profound truth in their pages but struggling to internalize their promised change. One idea, in particular, haunted me: the claim that “blame is always a lie.”  At first, I found the explanation—that blame ignores our own contributions—too simplistic for the pain of blaming a spouse, a boss, or myself.  But through prayer and reflection, I uncovered deeper truths about why blame is a lie, why it demands a sacrifice, and how we can truly release it. This post shares that journey, weaving insights from Arbinger with Christian and Buddhist wisdom to reveal a path to freedom. Blame Always Requires a Sacrifice Blame is something we all do. When a coworker overlooks us for a project, ...