Tag: bible

My Cup Overflows

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Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of my enemies; thou anointest my head with oil, my cup overflows.

This line from the 23rd Psalm is rich with the ideas of protection and prosperity. The preparation of the table in the presence of enemies is a way of affirming, Greater good is unfolding even when things appear to be working against me.

 This is an important understanding to affirm because it is absolutely true. When our life takes an unexpected turn for the worse, we often react in ways that rob us of our peace and our creative optimism. The psalmist provides a key that enables us to stay centered in the truth: This thing is not as it appears. A banquet of good is set before you. Know this and be at peace.

Oil is a symbol of prosperity, both materially and spiritually. The head is a symbol of wisdom, intelligence. The Bible describes Joseph, for example, as “a head above his brothers,” meaning, he was sharper. The image of God anointing your head with oil is a way of reminding you to open your mind to the infinite, divine possibilities both of a spiritual and material nature. In times of stress, we close our minds to all but the apparent problem, and it appears that our world is falling apart. God never ceases working, anointing you with everything you need to prosper through your challenges.

The image of the cup overflowing is the most obvious. See yourself overflowing with the light, life, and intelligence of God, touching everyone and everything that concerns you with peace, order, and an abundance of good. Our prosperity begins from within us and works its way out into our affairs. We literally overflow with divine energy. As we affirm and visualize this truth, we enhance its prospering activity in all that concerns us.   

Finding Peace in the Valley

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Part 4 of 6

Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I fear no evil; for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me.

The phrase valley of the shadow of death is thought to refer to a time when shepherds would guide their flocks through narrow valleys. In these places, predators could hide among the shadows cast by rocks and trees, using the terrain to ambush the flock. This imagery conveys a sense of danger and vulnerability, emphasizing the risks present in life’s challenging passages.

Regardless of historical accuracy, the valley represents a place of danger. Metaphysically, valleys symbolize low moments in consciousness, in contrast to mountains, which are seen as moments of enlightenment and spiritual clarity. Everyone experiences these low points, and during such times, feelings of vulnerability can arise, with threats—both real and imagined—seeming to loom large and threaten what we hold dear.

During these challenging moments, it’s helpful to affirm, as the Psalmist did: I do not fear this negative appearance. God is my protector, my refuge, my guide. By standing firm in this affirmation, we cultivate the confidence that visible good is imminent, even when uncertainty and fear seem to move in the shadows. This approach encourages strength, steadfastness, and the courage to continue moving forward.

Shadows can be deceptive. Even the gentlest person can appear sinister if a flashlight is held to their chin, casting unusual shadows across their face. Merely shifting the light changes the shadows, causing their negative effect to disappear. This analogy suggests that much of what frightens us is fleeting, dependent on perspective, and can shift with even a minor change in how we view our circumstances.

Life consists of valleys and mountaintop experiences. It is important to remember that God is present in all states of being, whether in moments of challenge or moments of joy. The 23rd Psalm serves as a powerful reminder of this truth. Even a slight movement of thought toward God can refresh faith, reassure us of life’s goodness, and remind us that today’s fears are temporary. Peace is available, even in the valley of the shadow of death, and awaits our recognition.

The Right Path

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Part 3 of 6 

He leads me in paths of righteousness for his name’s sake.

The Psalmist continues with the theme of spiritual guidance. The translators of the New Revised Standard Version of the Bible change the phrase, paths of righteousness, to right paths, a clarification that should prove helpful in our understanding of the idea contained in this line. In practice the path of righteousness is sometimes converted into an attitude of religious self-righteousness, one that is often condemning of those who hold beliefs that are not compatible with what we think is right. The simple thought that God is leading you in right paths is a powerful, affirmative attitude that allows you leave others to find the way that is most meaningful to them.

The word sake means for the good, the benefit or the welfare of somebody or something. In addition, Biblical names, particularly in the Old Testament, depicted a characteristic or the nature of a person or place. The phrase, for his name’s sake, can be thought of as meaning, for the benefit of his (God’s) nature. In other words, there is a right path for you, a way through which God seeks expression. In this line, you are affirming that God is leading you to your right path, one through which all the divine attributes of peace, health and the abundance of all good shines forth naturally.

In your times of quiet, let go of your grasping for answers. Looking outside of yourself and seeking the resolution to a problem is the cause of all tension of your mind, shortness of breath, and stress in your body. You are on the right path when you turn to God alone for guidance. You are complying with God’s nature that works from the center to the circumference of your being. You know you are on the right path when you feel the stress of groping for solutions begin to subside and the peace of trust in God rise from your center.

Affirm: God’s perfect peace is my right path and I choose this path now. Be still. The peace of stillness is your right path. 

The Lord is My Shepherd

The Lord is My Shepherd

23rd Psalm: Part 1 of 6 

The lord is my shepherd, I shall not want…

The 23rd Psalm has served as a source of comfort to millions over the years. It is a profound series of affirmations that, in challenging times, reminds us that there is a higher Presence working in and through us, and that we can trust this Presence to guide us to the right thing.

The Psalmist does not say, The lord wants to be my shepherd, and if I will love and promise to obey Him, He will take care of my wants. He says, “The lord is my shepherd…” He is stating a changeless relationship that we often forget, especially in our trying moments.

A shepherd is a caretaker, a protector, one that guides his or her flock to the best and least dangerous grazing spots. Isn’t this a wonderful image to hold of our relationship to God? Right now, you and I are being guided into the best and highest, the most bountiful place in life, the richest environment in which to learn and grow.

Pause for a moment to remember this. Allow yourself to let go and trust that you are in the right place at the right time, that unseen good is now unfolding through your experience. Get the feeling that you are being guided, that your unfulfilled longing is being satisfied in every way.

Affirm often: The lord is my shepherd, I shall not want, then listen for the quiet, gentle guidance that is calling you to trust, that is leading you to a deep, inner satisfaction. Know beyond all doubt that you are being lovingly guided through uncertain times, and through territory that may be unknown to you. Nothing is unknown to the lord of your being, to God, your unfailing source and protector. 

The Inner Alignment of Power and Intelligence

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Jesus’ teaching on faith that “moves mountains” is not a call to defy nature but an invitation to return to our inner center—the quiet place where divine power becomes strength and divine intelligence becomes light. True strength is not personal will but alignment with the Source from which all possibility arises. This week, the teaching on Power and Intelligence takes us deeper into that alignment, showing how the light of divine guidance directs the very power that sustains us.

When Jesus urges us to “believe and not doubt in the heart,” he is describing a shift in focus. The mountain symbolizes the problem that appears immovable. Faith is not pretending the mountain isn’t there; it is remembering that we are not defined by it.

The Genesis writer captured this inner movement with the first creative command: “Let there be light.” This was not physical light but the illumination of divine intelligence—the radiant clarity that brings order to chaos. Power provides the energy, and intelligence gives it direction. Together, they form the spiritual architecture of every breakthrough, every healing, every step toward wholeness.

Like King Jehoshaphat, we all know what it is to feel overwhelmed. His prayer—“We do not know what to do, but our eyes are upon Thee”—is the perfect union of these two qualities. He releases reliance on personal strength and opens to the larger field of divine guidance (intelligence). The battle shifts from the outer to the inner field. The moment fear dissolves, clarity arises.

When we affirm “Let there be light,” we are not asking for something new to descend from the heavens; we are awakening what is already present in the soul. Divine intelligence is omnipresent, waiting for recognition. Power is ever-flowing, waiting for direction. When the two meet, mountains move—not by force, but by realization.

In quiet prayer, let your focus return to your center. Breathe in power; breathe out strength. Then affirm the light of intelligence is making your next step clear. This is the mystic’s path: strength without struggle, clarity without strain, and guidance arising from the indwelling Presence that never fails.

The Accepting Prayer of Thanksgiving

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Last week, we explored the principle of Divine Order—the understanding that spiritual order unfolds naturally when we acknowledge it rather than attempt to force it. This week, we build on that foundation by focusing on a practice that aligns consciousness with that order: the accepting prayer of thanksgiving.

Thanksgiving is more than gratitude for what has already manifested. It is a spiritual state of receiving, a recognition that good is already in motion even when our senses have yet to confirm it. When we give thanks before the evidence appears, we shift from a mindset of striving to a mindset of trust. We are not trying to establish divine order—we are remembering that it is already present.

This is why Jesus taught, “Your Father knows what you need before you ask.” Prayer, then, is not information for God; it is preparation of the mind. Thanksgiving raises our expectation, creating a mental and emotional atmosphere in which the good we seek can be recognized and accepted.

Consider a moment in your life where anxiety overshadowed clarity. A request made from fear often assumes lack. A request offered in thankfulness acknowledges abundance. The same prayer can either close the heart or open it, depending on the consciousness in which it is spoken.

The accepting prayer of thanksgiving aligns us with spiritual reality:

•Divine order is already in motion

•Good is already unfolding

•We are prepared to receive

In this light, thanksgiving becomes an act of faith—not blind belief, but confident expectancy. We give thanks now because spiritual law is already at work. We give thanks now because good is seeking expression. We give thanks now because our role is not to create divine order but to cooperate with it.

Take a situation in your life that feels unresolved. Instead of pleading for change, affirm quietly:

“Thank you, Father, that divine order is now unfolding here.”

Let the feeling of trust do its quiet work.

An Act of Faith

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The Freeing Truth of Letting Go

There are times when life presses us to release what we’ve been clinging to—plans, relationships, expectations, or even the image we’ve carried of who we are. To the mind, letting go might feel like failure or loss. But to the soul, it is freeing.

Letting go is not doing nothing, and it’s not giving up. It is a quiet acknowledgment that our limited grasp of the situation cannot hold all the factors that belong to Divine order. When Jesus prayed in Gethsemane, “Not my will, but Thine be done,” he was not surrendering to defeat; he was surrendering to the Infinite Wisdom that sees the bigger picture that may be hidden from us. 

Faith begins where our ability to control ends. The moment we release our tight hold, something larger can move through us. The need to manage outcomes is replaced by a calm expectation that Love, operating through all things, is bringing forth what serves the highest good. Letting go becomes an act of trust in a power and a wisdom greater than our own.

We are not always quick to see or even imagine new possibilities, especially when we’re caught up in appearances. The tree releases its leaves before new buds appear. The same law governs the soul: release precedes renewal. We see this rhythm in operation throughout the natural world. The old is let go and the new takes its place.

To let go is to say yes to life’s deeper current. It is to affirm, even without visible proof, that divine wisdom knows the way when we do not. The act of release opens our mind and heart to unseen possibilities. We keep the door of our faith, our expectation open with the understanding that God’s infinite wisdom is paving the way for something good.

Faith, then, is not an effort to believe harder, but a willingness to loosen our grip—to trust that what falls away was never meant to imprison us. In that newly gained freedom, the soul discovers what it means to rest in God.

The Ripple Effect

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The spiritual awakening sends ripples through every facet of life. Relationships deepen, ordinary tasks take on new meaning, and a sense of well-being begins to infuse daily experience. This is what Jesus implied when he said, “Seek first the kingdom, and all these things shall be yours as well.” Spiritual realization is not an escape from life but a transformation of perception—life ceases to be a struggle for survival and becomes a creative partnership with the Divine.

Jesus understood how difficult this awakening can be. Knowing that few would find it, he emphasized the power of small shifts—a change of thought, a new perspective, a step toward trust. Even modest insights send ripples that expand into waves of transformation. His constant refrain—ask, seek, knock—reminds us that persistence is the key.

“You will know the truth, and the truth will make you free.” Freedom, he taught, begins with recognizing the inner source of strength and guidance. Those who depend solely on external rescue remain enslaved to circumstance. The miracle he offered was not spectacle but insight—a change of mind that releases spiritual energy into action.

His parables describe this process as gradual and organic: the seed becoming grain, the widow who refuses to lose heart, the field already white for harvest. The work is inner, yet its results appear outwardly as greater peace, clarity, and harmony.

Jesus’ teaching operates on several levels. On the surface, it speaks to the creative power of thought: thorns do not produce grapes. At a deeper level, it calls for direct awareness of the divine Presence within. Here prayer is not petition but realization—“on earth as it is in heaven.”

The Gospels suggest that many of his greatest works were unrecorded, rippling quietly through ordinary lives. The true miracle is not water turned to wine but fear turned to faith, resentment turned to love, struggle turned to peace. A single day lived free from anxiety may seem small, yet it embodies the essence of his promise: the kingdom of God unfolding in the midst of everyday life.

Calm Expectation: The Perpetual Prayer

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“According to your faith be it done unto you.” — Matthew 9:29

You have heard me say that faith is more than belief; it is expectation—a calm assurance that the cause we set in motion will bring a corresponding result. When we say, “I have faith in God,” we may unconsciously place the outcome beyond ourselves, waiting for divine involvement. But when we say, “I am working with divine law; therefore I expect results,” we recognize that we are participants in the process of creation.

We live in a universe of law. Every desire becomes a cause that must produce an effect. The clearer our cause, the clearer the result. If our desire is vague, our outcome will be blurred. Write your desire plainly. See it, feel it, give it form in thought. Then release it with calm expectation.

Know that you are working with law. With calm expectation of a corresponding result, you know that all necessary conditions will come about in proper order.

True faith does not strain. It does not plead or push. Like a seed planted in fertile soil, calm expectation knows that growth is already taking place. We do not dig up the seed each morning to check on its progress; we tend the soil and trust the process.

It is helpful to remember the phrase, “this or something better.” We often think we know exactly what form our good should take, but divine intelligence sees farther than we can. Many times, the “better” is not what we envisioned, yet it meets our deeper need.

Each morning, picture your desire fulfilled and give thanks that it is unfolding now. Each evening, rest in quiet gratitude that the same law continues its work through the night. Calm expectation is not idle waiting; it is faith at rest—an inward knowing that order is establishing itself.

Affirm often:

God, the living law within me, is now guiding me in all ways. Every step I take is the right step. I move through my life in confidence and peace.

This attitude keeps the heart open and joyful. In calm expectation, we cease striving and begin cooperating with the creative process of life itself.

Thank you, God, that this is so.

The Power of Silence

The Paradox of Power in Silence

It seems counterintuitive to associate power with silence. The squeaking wheel, after all, is the one that gets the grease. In the world of circumstance, there are moments when squeaking is necessary—when we must speak up, advocate, or act decisively. Yet the development of our spiritual awareness unfolds in an entirely different arena. Its work is done in stillness.

This “stillness” is not mere quiet. It is a shift of awareness—a turning from the restless surface of the mind toward the deeper current of life itself. The Psalmist’s invitation, “Be still, and know that I am God,” is not a command but an opening. It reminds us that knowing the Divine is not an act of intellect but of intuition. The Creative Life Force that sustains our being is ever present, but it works in silence, as a hidden, living fountain of energy.

The Restless Mind

Anyone who has ever tried to meditate knows how easily the mind resists stillness. We close our eyes intending to move into silence and find ourselves chasing thoughts, replaying conversations, or solving problems that do not need solving. Many of us have spent twenty minutes “worried with our eyes closed.”

This is the central challenge of entering the silence: learning to let go of thought patterns that have no real value. We are conditioned to stay on the mental treadmill, running hard but getting off exactly where we got on. What Jesus called “going into your inner room and shutting the door” is the act of stepping off that wheel—of releasing the outer noise to rediscover the quiet center that is always waiting.

When we touch that inner place, we emerge changed. We move into life with fresh enthusiasm and clearer vision. The external world has not altered, yet our relationship to it has. We respond from strength rather than react from fear.

Coming Home to the Center of Power

Silence is not escape from life; it is the re-entry point into our true home. In stillness we return to the center of our being, where all that is real abides. The “Father who sees in secret,” as Jesus said, rewards us openly—not with material prizes, but with the subtle grace of a life that begins to work.

Paradoxically, the time to be still often arrives when stillness seems impossible. We want to “do” something, to solve the upset that has thrown us off balance. Yet sitting quietly, releasing the urge to fix, is often the very thing that restores order. The silence re-centers us in the awareness that we are expressions of the Infinite—not isolated minds scrambling for control, but emanations of the same creative power that holds the stars in place.

The Modern Maze of Distraction

Technology has multiplied our distractions. We carry devices that promise connection but too often deepen our fragmentation. In earlier times, when the phone stayed in one place, we didn’t wonder where it was; now we feel uneasy if it’s not in reach. The more connected we become externally, the more disconnected we risk becoming internally.

This makes the commitment to silence more vital than ever. The silence is not opposed to life in the world; it is the grounding that makes life in the world manageable. It is where the noise of outer activity meets the still rhythm of the soul.

Experiencing, Not Thinking

The silence cannot be understood intellectually. It must be experienced. Reading inspirational books can be helpful, but reading about stillness is not the same as entering it. We may become addicted to uplifting words, returning to them like a pleasant habit, yet never touching the experience itself. The true invitation of “Be still and know” is to be still and know—to feel the reality of God, not merely to think about it.

This is not about solving problems. It is about solving the problem of the busy mind. When we drop beneath the whirl of thought, we encounter a different order of knowing—direct, wordless, whole.

Finding the Doorway of Receptivity

Emilie Cady likened the receptive attitude to a bird bathing in the sun. There is no effort, only openness. We do not make the light shine; we simply stop blocking it. Sitting quietly, we relax the body and center the mind. If thoughts drift, a simple affirmation such as “I am” can help restore focus.

Do not force anything. If the mind refuses to settle, get up and return later. The silence is never achieved through strain; it opens through willingness. The fruit of practice often comes in unexpected moments—a sudden wave of compassion, a surge of peace, a quiet joy that needs no reason. These are signs that the intuitive door is opening and the light of God is beginning to shine through.

The Inner Healing Flow

Myrtle Fillmore’s healing story beautifully illustrates the power of this inner awareness. When she heard the words, “You are a child of God; therefore, you cannot inherit sickness,” something awakened. She began to enter the silence daily, speaking gently to each part of her body, affirming that the life of God was active there. She wasn’t commanding healing—she was acknowledging a truth already in operation.

In the same way, when we quiet the mind and release stress, we cease interfering with the natural intelligence that sustains us. The body follows the mind’s lead: as thought becomes calm, the physical system relaxes, renews, and restores itself.

The Treasure Hidden in the Field

Jesus compared the kingdom of God to a treasure hidden in a field. The silence is that field. In discovering it, we “sell” everything we own—our stress-producing thoughts, our need to control, our limiting ideas—and trade them for the simple awareness of Presence. The intellect can grasp the logic of this; intuition alone can make it real.

This path does require discipline and commitment, not as burden but as devotion. We commit because we recognize the truth of what calls to us. If God is truly within, then the question becomes: How will I experience that?

The Direct Experience

Direct experience of the Divine is not reserved for saints or mystics. It is the birthright of every soul. Yet few seek it because they imagine it difficult or remote. In truth, it is closer than breath. We overlook it precisely because it is so near.

The spiritual life is not about becoming something we are not. It is about awakening to what we already are. As you sit in stillness, you may discover that the freedom you’ve been seeking was never absent—it was only veiled by thought.

To be still is to know. To know is to remember that the treasure you seek has always been within.