Welcome to The Light, your quiet hour of reflection.
There is a place in eastern Washington where the land itself seems to hold memory. Walla Walla, a small city of thirty-four thousand and sixty souls, still carries the weight of the Oregon Trail, of missionaries, of westward longing. It reminds us that where we come from shapes, quietly and persistently, who we are.
From the geography of place, we turn to the geography of the self. Workaholism, we are told, is a disease that wears many faces, and at its center lies a deep and seductive untruth — that our worth is measured by our output, that rest is betrayal, that stillness is somehow a failure of character. To name that lie is already a form of healing.
And then there is the life of Bob Woodson, who left us on May nineteenth, two thousand twenty six. A moral voice of uncommon courage, he spent decades fighting poverty and racism with a quiet, faithful persistence that refused both despair and cynicism. His passing asks us what it means to truly serve.
That is this hour's reflection. Carry the light gently.
