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Ash tells a story—and so do our lives. From a shocking Raiders of the Lost Ark moment to the quiet ache of a broken Christmas ornament, we trace how small reveals expose what truly owns our hearts. We wrestle with Jesus’ promise of an abundant, overflowing life in John 10 and the “thief” that steals it, not by fear, but by bright distractions tailor-made to our desires. Think less horror villain and more charming lure that says, “Come on out,” while pulling us away from the good we already know.

We share the rich young ruler and Judas as mirrors for our own loyalties, then bring it close to home with the Buddy Bench—a simple playground practice that models what adults often forget: abundance moves outward. Instead of settling for checklist religion, we sit with John 6 where many walk away when Jesus says, “Follow me.” Peter’s reply becomes our anchor: where else would we go? The call isn’t to more hustle; it’s to a Person who is the bread of life.

Repentance gets a fresh frame through the Hebrew word shuv—turning back, again and again, as a proactive, hopeful practice. We name how the thief is kleptos, sneaky and subtracting by inches, and we explore how Lent helps us notice what’s been quietly taken. The cross traced in ash is not a mark of shame; it’s a sign of companionship. We don’t turn alone. Grace meets us in the turning, and communion becomes the place we set burdens down and begin again.

If death already shouts from our headlines, we don’t need more doom. We need a reminder to live—beyond the mirror, toward one another, anchored in Christ. Listen, reflect, and tell us what you’re choosing to leave behind so your ash will tell the story of a life that overflowed. Subscribe, share with someone who needs courage today, and leave a review with your one-word intention for this Lent.

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