Psalm 19:13–14 | Philippians 3:4b–11
Snow is falling today—steady, quiet, and heavy. The forecast says eight to twelve inches, but the deeper weight is not in the storm outside. It is in memory.
At seventy-six years old, I have lived through hurricanes, tornadoes, and blizzards. I have sat beside hospital beds as people I loved took their final breaths. I have buried parents and siblings. I grew up in Mississippi in the 1950s and 1960s, where segregation was defended as “the good old days,” where the Ku Klux Klan was not hidden, and where prejudice was baptized with religious language. I have watched how Native Americans were treated. I have seen how fear, power, and certainty create cruelty.
Evil has not vanished. It still exists in 2026.
Some days, I understand Solomon’s cry: “All is vanity.” Institutions fail. Nations disappoint. Religion itself can be distorted into a tool of harm. Today, I read two passages of Scripture that did not erase those realities—but quietly met me within them.
Guarding the Heart in a Broken World
“Keep your servant also from presumptuous sins; let them not get dominion over me… Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable in your sight.” —Psalm 19:13–14
The psalmist does not claim innocence. He does not deny the presence of evil. Instead, he prays for restraint.
Presumptuous sins are not the obvious ones. They are the sins of certainty—the belief that I am right, my people are righteous, God is clearly on our side. History has shown where those sins lead: oppression justified, violence excused, neighbors dehumanized.
What comforts me here is the humility of the prayer. The psalmist does not ask to be perfect—only to be faithful. He offers his inner life to God, not as something polished, but as something honest.
In a world where evil persists, perhaps faith begins not with judgment, but with vigilance over our own hearts.
Letting Go of False Securities
“I regard everything as loss because of the surpassing value of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord… I regard them as rubbish, in order that I may gain Christ.” —Philippians 3:8
Paul’s words are not the rejection of life, but the rejection of illusions. Status. Religious credentials. Moral superiority. Cultural power.
Paul writes this not from comfort, but from suffering. He knows how easily faith can be confused with control. What he lets go of is not meaning, but the systems that promised meaning and failed.
When I say I am not sure about Christianity as it is practiced in the world—especially in America—I find myself closer to Paul than farther away. That is why I call myself a follower of Jesus. Not because I am better, but because I am aware of my own sin, my own limits, my own capacity for error.
Who am I to judge others? I have lived long enough to know that evil does not belong to one group, one nation, or one ideology.
Faith That Has Passed Through Fire
The Scriptures do not ask us to pretend. They do not rush us to certainty. They invite us into humility, honesty, and relationship.
God is not threatened by disillusionment. God is not offended by questions shaped by grief. Faith that has endured suffering is not weak—it is refined.
On a snowy day like this, comfort does not come in answers. It comes in companionship. In the quiet assurance that God sees what we have seen, grieves what we grieve, and still receives our prayers.
Perhaps this is enough for today:
I am still here.
Still reflecting.
Still resisting bitterness.
Still offering my heart.
That is not vanity.
That is faith—with scars—and it is precious in the sight of God.
“O LORD, my rock and my redeemer.”
The Curious Pilgrim 
Leave a comment