To the world—
Today, I’m pausing long enough to let a truth land in my chest:
It has been twelve years since I became an Ordained Minister.
Most of you didn’t know that about me. And I understand why. I don’t carry it like a badge. I don’t bring it up to be seen. I don’t use it as a title.
I hold it quietly—because I hold it seriously.
This is not a “fun fact” about my life. It is one of the deepest yeses I’ve ever spoken to God.
Twelve years ago, I chose to be ordained through the Universal Life Church. And in doing so, I acknowledged something I already knew in my bones:
That one of my purposes in this life is to be of service to others—one person at a time.
Let me be clear about something, because the world loves to put ministers on pedestals they never asked for.
I am not a holy man.
I am not a righteous man.
I am not perfect.
I’m a simple man—who has been broken, reshaped, humbled, and taught. A man who has learned that the greatest thing you can do for another human being is not to impress them… but to show up.
Over the years, the people I’ve been called to serve have not always needed solutions.
They needed someone to listen.
Someone to sit in the dark with them without flinching.
Someone to validate their fear without judging their story.
Someone to tell them—plainly, firmly, and with love:
You still matter.
You are not beyond grace.
You are worthy of love.
So many of those I’ve met on this path were people cast out from the mainstream—rejected, misunderstood, shamed, or simply worn down by life. People who were made to feel unworthy. People whose choices or circumstances led them into places they never wanted to be… and they didn’t know how to get back.
And if you’ve ever been there—emotionally, spiritually, mentally—then you know how priceless it is when one person looks at you and doesn’t turn away.
That’s what this calling means to me.
Yes, there are legally recognized things ministers can do—officiate weddings, preside over funerals, conduct baptisms, serve as chaplains.
But my ministry has never been a checklist.
My ministry has been the daily work of compassion.
The work of being a safe place.
The work of speaking hope when someone is running out of it.
The work of reminding people that they are not disposable.
The work of service when no one is clapping.
The work of love when it would be easier to numb out.
Because I didn’t choose this path for attention.
I chose to acknowledge the path—and then walk it. With my words. With my actions. With my life.
So today, I want to say this:
To anyone I have ever stood beside—
to anyone I’ve listened to—
to anyone who trusted me with their story—
thank you.
Thank you for allowing me to be present in your life. Thank you for letting me serve you. Thank you for giving me the honor of showing up in moments that mattered.
If I made even the smallest difference in your journey—if you felt seen, heard, valued, or less alone—then I consider that a sacred success.
And today, I also want to say this to anyone reading who feels forgotten, unwanted, or unworthy:
You are not beyond love.
You are not too far gone.
You are not disqualified from hope.
You are still here. And that means your story is still being written.
Today I pray for continued guidance from my guardian angels—those sent to protect me, correct me, and keep me aligned with my mission.
And I thank You, God, for the calling to serve. For the lessons, the people, the pain that refined me, and the love that carried me when I couldn’t carry myself.
If it is Your will, bless my life with more opportunities to serve—more chances to uplift, to restore, to speak life, and to love boldly.
Not for my glory.
But for Yours.
Amen.
