MSI Press Blog

  Today's meditation from  Weekly Soul: Fifty-two Meditations on Meaningful, Joyful, and Peaceful Living   by Dr. Frederic Craigie. -32-   You gain strength, courage and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face. Do the thing you think you cannot do… do one thing every day that scares you.   Eleanor Roosevelt   I admire stories of courage. Can you imagine the courage of the Apollo 11 astronauts landing on the moon, facing the very real possibility of being stranded looking down at the earth 250,000 miles away with no way to return? (If your car battery dies outside the hardware store, it’s one thing, but for them…). No less inspiring are stories of everyday courage. I have had many patients like the man who was terrified to leave his home but summoned the courage to walk to the mailbox, then drive down the street, and then go to the grocery store. Or my neighbor who spoke to the unpopular opinion of supporting the scho...

  What if the mysteries we often shy away from—divine intelligence, free will, the nature of ultimate endings—were less intimidating when approached with humility rather than certainty? Theology can feel like a language etched in stars: beautiful, vast, and difficult to grasp. Yet our yearning to understand isn't arrogance—it’s a quiet act of courage. A way of saying, “I’m listening.” To reflect on divine intelligence is not necessarily to seek a blueprint of how the world works, but to wonder:  Is there meaning in how I’m seen? To wrestle with free will is to inhabit the tension of both agency and surrender, choice and mystery. And to contemplate endings—what many traditions call eschatology—is to gaze toward what might come after with something more sacred than fear: hope. These are not questions meant only for scholars or sages. They belong to anyone who has held grief, wondered about purpose, or felt the ache of the infinite brushing against an ordinary moment. You don’t h...

  What if the mysteries we often shy away from—divine intelligence, free will, the nature of ultimate endings—were less intimidating when approached with humility rather than certainty? Theology can feel like a language etched in stars: beautiful, vast, and difficult to grasp. Yet our yearning to understand isn't arrogance—it’s a quiet act of courage. A way of saying, “I’m listening.” To reflect on divine intelligence is not necessarily to seek a blueprint of how the world works, but to wonder:  Is there meaning in how I’m seen? To wrestle with free will is to inhabit the tension of both agency and surrender, choice and mystery. And to contemplate endings—what many traditions call eschatology—is to gaze toward what might come after with something more sacred than fear: hope. These are not questions meant only for scholars or sages. They belong to anyone who has held grief, wondered about purpose, or felt the ache of the infinite brushing against an ordinary moment. You don’t h...