christianity – Guarding Your Heart and Mind

Where can I go from your Spirit?

Dave Canovas

Where can I go from your spirit? Where can I flee from your presence? (Psalm 139). Desiring God of Silence, I booked a retreat, Quietude at St. Francis, Hillsborough. To me, it is like coming home to God, whom I might have forgotten, forsaken, or sidelined the past year. Outside in the world, there is always this constant and exhausting tug-of-war between sin and goodness. Without a refill, the well, I realize, will soon dry up. It is not a good place to be in the world when you are thirsty. And I know this to be true: whoever drinks of the water that I shall give shall never thirst again (John 4:11).

A lot of times when you are out in the world, memories of home rush in, reminding you of the comfort and warmth of familiar places. These moments make you long to return home and find rest in what you know. The outside world can feel overwhelming, but wanting to come home to God is always a good first step.

When I finally came home to this place of retreat, it felt like I was quite slowly inching my way back to the Father. This could be the feeling of when one has left home for far too long; you forget what being home actually feels like. The theme of the weekend was “The more you reveal yourself to God, the more God will reveal Himself to you.” I came to trust God no matter what because our Father, without a doubt, has a way of nurturing us back to a place of growth and familiar warmth.

When we come home, our Mother welcomes us with affection and truth – truth that everything in the world is but temporary and a Mother’s embrace can nurse us back to peace. In the Spirit that proceeds from the Father, through His Son, I am again reminded of the Love that reassures me with His constant presence, light, and forgiveness. He hears my voice, and He knows me, and He assures me that no one shall snatch me out of His hand (John 10:27-30).

Soon, I will leave this place, but I will carry the purpose of returning home: it helps me face the world without fear. God knows my every moment; He understands my thoughts from afar (Psalm 139). In times of doubt, I find comfort in knowing I am never alone, for His presence surrounds me like a warm hug. Even when I walk through dark times, I will not fear evil, for He is with me; His rod and staff comfort me (Psalm 23:4).

Following Mary’s path of sorrows

Dave Canovas

This day has brought me to when Joseph and Mary brought the infant Jesus to the temple—“as every firstborn male must be consecrated to the Lord” (Luke 2:23). It should have been a moment wrapped in joy. Yet, that sacred moment was veiled by a shadow, as Simeon, filled with the Spirit, lifted his gaze and uttered a prophecy that would leave a mother’s mind perplexed and her heart, broken:

“…And a sword will pierce your own soul, too.”

What an agonising weight those words must have brought – unseen yet cutting deep within Mary’s heart – a premonition of a sorrow yet to come. In that singular moment of irony, present joy and foreboding sorrow; stood side by side. It is quite difficult to fathom, I suppose.

With bated breath, years passed. From the hurried flight to Egypt, to the quiet ponderings in her heart, I could only imagine that Mary had borne it all. In those years, the torment of that prophecy must have followed Mary like a very dark dream until that harrowing day on Golgotha, when Mary stood beneath the outstretched arms of her crucified Son. No prophecy could have shielded her for the agony that washed over her. The sword found its mark on her beloved Son and tore into her very soul, just as Simeon had spoken.

Our own sufferings at times, arrive like thieves in the night – unforeseen, uninvited—like the death of one we hold dear. No heart is ever truly prepared for such sorrow; it pierces deep, where words of comfort cannot reach. And yet, not all suffering is sudden. Some burdens linger quietly, like a mental or physical sickness we battle – an unseen torment that refuses to let go. It weaves through flesh and thought, present in every waking moment.

Yet in this, we are not alone.

Our Lady of Sorrows has walked this path before us—her heart pierced by grief, yet unwavering in love. She shows us that even in the deepest ache of anguish, there remains a quiet hope. Her silent contemplation beneath the Cross, her steadfast endurance in the face of unspeakable sorrow, calls us not to flee from suffering but to meet it with faith. For within every sorrow, the mystery of Christ’s redeeming love is already at work.

Seeing Through Judas’ Eyes

Dave Canovas

In recent days, I’ve drifted—perhaps unconsciously—into the psyche of Judas. Perhaps unknowingly, in my search for something to reflect on this Lent, I was drawn into the mind of another—one not unlike our own: vulnerable, pragmatic, and conflicted.

On the night before the Passover feast, as darkness gathered, Jesus was arrested—and it was then, as Luke tells us, that Satan entered Judas.

I have often wondered why Judas did what he did—why he betrayed Jesus. His name endures through time; his name synonymous to treachery. Yet, according to Matthew’s account, when he realised the weight of what he had set in motion—that Jesus was to be crucified—he tried to return the silver he had received and then took his own life.

Was he torn by his anguish? This wondering led me to Paul Claudel’s work The Death of Judas, where the playwright dares to enter Judas’s mind. Claudel imagines the chaos within him—not merely the act of betrayal, but the inner fracture of a man shaped by reason and pragmatism, suddenly immersed in three years of radical teachings, divine mystery, and the immeasurable grace of Jesus. Judas, in Claudel’s telling, is not simply a villain but a soul at war with itself.

In contemplating Judas, I’ve begun to see fragments of him in ourselves—in our doubts, our compromises, our quiet betrayals. Though John names him as the keeper of the moneybag who sometimes took from it (John 12:4–6), I can’t help but think: he once believed for how else could he have abandoned all to walk in the dust of a rabbi, to share in miracles, to sit at the same table of grace?

Judas walked with Jesus. He ate at His table, shared in His laughter, prayed in His presence, and listened to His voice. He was close—physically, spiritually—yet despite this sacred proximity, Satan found a foothold in his mind and slowly corroded his soul.

The weight of betrayal—of sinning against the very One who called him friend, the Lover of his soul—must have been unbearable. The guilt, gnawing and relentless, eventually consumed him. In that anguish, Judas succumbed to the enemy’s whisperings. We, too, have faced that battle. The heaviness. The numbness. The slow erosion of hope. It is not easy.

Yet I believe that to gaze through Judas’s eyes—to truly behold his torment—is not to glorify despair, but to witness the cost of turning away from grace. There is redemption even in this gaze. We are not meant to remain chained to our guilt. Christ calls us not to dwell forever in our darkness, but to rise, again and again, into light—into forgiveness, into healing.

If Judas’s story tells us of the tragedy of despair, it also reminds us of the urgency of grace through prayer. We are not beyond redemption. Even in our deepest guilt, Christ calls us not to end our stories in darkness, but to step back into His redeeming light.

Strive for Balance.

Finding balance in life is often a challenge, especially when it comes to navigating the tension between giving to others and taking care of ourselves. How do we ensure that our acts of selflessness don’t leave us depleted, while also avoiding the trap of neglecting those around us?

I see challenges in both giving and taking. As a giver, I risk losing myself by neglecting my own needs, which can lead to resentment or feeling unfulfilled. On the other hand, when I focus too much on taking and ask, “What’s in it for me?” I miss out on the joy of true connection and end up fostering transactional relationships instead of meaningful ones.

In Mark 12:31, He reminds me, “You shall love your neighbor as yourself.” This verse gently underscores that loving others starts with loving myself. I can’t pour from an empty cup. It’s about recognizing that self-love and compassion for others need not be at odds with one another; rather, they can coexist harmoniously.

Even Jesus acknowledged the need for rest, as illustrated in Mark 6:31: “Come away by yourselves to a desolate place and rest a while.” This is a beautiful reminder that taking a moment to pause isn’t selfish; it’s necessary. It encourages me to create sacred spaces in my life where I can retreat, rejuvenate, and gather my thoughts without feeling guilty about the time taken for myself. Such practice gives me clarity and renewed strength that empowers me to face the world again.

As I practice self-love, I become better at self-denial. These two ideas work together, not against each other. Finding balance between them helps me build healthier relationships, both with myself and others. Loving myself allows me to give more sincerely, leading to peace, purpose, and deeper connections.

Building Self-Worth Through Family and Faith

God created us in His image and likeness. I remind myself of this truth often until it resonates with me. Reflecting on Genesis, I realize the word “image” goes beyond physical appearance. Old enough now, I’ve learned that this passage is about more than looks; it highlights our nature as beings capable of relating, sharing, and loving. These qualities make us unique in the universe. God values relationships, and we do too.

Although this is my new understanding of the passage, it still serves as an essential reminder that our value transcends the physical.

Recently, I came across research from the Mental Health Foundation that highlighted the troubling impact of poor body image on young people. This issue often leads to self-disgust, anxiety, and depression, disproportionately affecting girls. As a father of two teenage daughters, this research deeply troubles me. Exposed to media representations, peer pressures, and their own personal struggles, they face an ongoing risk of developing unhealthy obsessions with unattainable body ideals. Unsurprisingly, the same research found that children with less exposure to social media tend to experience better overall mental well-being.

I saw the amazing impact of encouragement at a youth camp where my daughters participated. It was inspiring to see them showcase their talents in dancing, singing, speaking, and playing instruments. I am thankful they are part of a church community that supports their passions. Watching them shine on stage filled me with joy and reminded me that each talent shows God’s wonderful gifts.

At home, family plays an important role in building self-worth. The words we say about a child’s appearance can have lasting effects, either good or bad. As parents, we have the power to create a space where our children feel valued for who they are—not just for how they look. This includes celebrating their talents, their ability to love and care, and their courage to follow their dreams.

If you are a young person reading this, remind yourself that you are more than just flesh and bone. You are made for something far greater. And if, like me, you are older, take heart—our time is not over. There are still countless opportunities to be men and women for others. Remember, God is a God of relationships, and we are made in His likeness.

PSALM 139:14: “I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works; my soul knows it very well.”