There comes a point when you realize something in your life is no longer yours to hold.
Not because it’s bad.
Not because it failed.
But because, somehow, you can feel that God is asking for it.
Your first instinct isn’t peace. It’s resistance.
You start to negotiate. You look for ways to soften the call. You tell yourself that maybe you misunderstood, or that perhaps the timing is wrong. You remind yourself of everything you’ve built, everything that is stable, everything that makes sense.
Still, beneath all of that, the call remains.
“Sell everything you have and give to the poor… then come, follow me.” (Luke 18:22)
We tend to hear those words as extreme, almost symbolic. Something meant for saints, monastics, or for another time, or for someone more radical than we are.
Most of us will face that same command in some form.
Not always in possessions.
But always in what we cling to.
Over the past year, many of you have been walking with me through Message From the Margins. Though, as strange as it sounds, most of our community has only arrived in the last two months. The growth has been faster than I expected, and deeply humbling.
What you may not all know is that over the holidays, I made a decision that felt, in many ways, like stepping off a ledge.
I left my pulpit in Florida.
Not because I had a perfect plan. Not because everything was lined up neatly. I left because I felt a call, one that was as clear and steady as the one that led me to the priesthood in the first place.
A call to be here. With you.
To build something that meets people where they are. To offer a vision of faith that has always existed, but is too often buried under noise or neglect. A faith that moves beyond stories and begins to shape how you actually live, how you make decisions, how you endure difficulty, how you remain steady.
As that call became clearer, so did something else.
I needed to let go of more than my positions.
I needed to leave Florida.
To return to New York.
To place myself back in the presence of family, old friends, and the kind of support that holds you when everything else is uncertain.
Over the past few days, I’ve been making that move, donating countless carloads of “stuff,” driving up the East Coast, carrying what was irreplicable, leaving behind everything else.
There were moments when it was frightening.
Letting go always is.
We talk a lot here about trust. About surrender. About releasing control. There is a difference between understanding those things and actually living them.
These past weeks, I didn’t have the luxury of keeping it theoretical.
I had to practice everything we talk about here.
And I found something deeply important.
It holds.
Not in the sense that everything becomes easy, or predictable, or comfortable. But in the sense that God is present, not abstractly, not distantly, but concretely, in the decisions, in the uncertainty, in the small moments where you wonder if you’ve made a mistake.
God meets us there.
Scripture never promises that following Christ will remove the trials of life. It says the opposite. But it does promise that Christ remains with us in the middle of them.
That changes how you carry it.
When Jesus tells the rich young man to “sell everything,” He is not glorifying loss for its own sake. He is freeing him from a life built on what cannot ultimately hold him.
That kind of freedom rarely feels dramatic.
Often, it feels disorienting. Unsettled. Stripped down.
But beneath it, there is a steadiness that does not depend on circumstances.
It comes from trust.
In just over a month, this little corner of the internet will reach its one-year mark. That’s not something I take lightly. What has grown here is not just a newsletter. It is a community, one that I feel responsible for in a very real, pastoral way.
And I am grateful you are here.
Thank you for your patience this past week as I’ve been in the middle of this transition. I expect we’ll be back to our regular rhythm by Friday.
I wanted you to hear this from me, not as an announcement, but as part of the work we are doing together.
Because whatever God is asking of me, He is asking something of you as well.
Not the same thing. But something real.
And the question is not whether you hear it.
It’s whether you are willing to trust it.
Living This This Week
If this resonates, here are a few ways to begin putting it into practice:
1. Notice what you’re holding tightly
Pay attention to what feels difficult to release right now. Don’t rush past it. Just see it clearly.
2. Bring one decision to prayer
Not everything, just one. Ask plainly, “What are You asking of me here?”
3. Practice a small act of letting go
It could be control, an expectation, or even a possession. Something small, but intentional.
4. Stay grounded in the present moment
When anxiety about the future rises, return to what is actually in front of you. That is where God meets you.
5. Remember where God has been faithful before
Your past holds evidence. Let it strengthen your trust now.
You don’t have to solve everything at once.
Take the next step in front of you.
If this stirred something in you, I’d genuinely like to hear your thoughts. And if you know someone who is in the middle of a transition, or struggling to release something they’ve been holding onto, feel free to share this with them.
If this reflection strengthened you, consider becoming a supporting member so we can continue walking together.
A Prayer
Lord,
You ask more of us than we often feel ready to give.
You ask for trust when we would rather have clarity.
You ask for surrender when we would rather hold on.
You ask us to follow You into places we cannot yet see.
And we hesitate.
We hold tightly to what feels stable.
We build our lives around what we think we can manage.
We convince ourselves that staying where we are is safer.
Still, You continue to draw us forward.
Give us the grace to recognize Your voice,
not buried under fear, noise, or the expectations of others.
Give us the courage to release what we are clinging to,
even when it feels like too much to lose.
And when the path ahead feels uncertain,
remind us that You are already present within it.
Teach us to trust not in outcomes,
but in You.
To believe that even in uncertainty,
even in letting go,
even in beginning again,
You are faithful.
Amen.
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