L'eggo my Ego
My family arrived in this country as immigrants with more hope than certainty. My parents worked tirelessly, and I learned to do the same. Through hard work and resilience, we built a stable life; education, career, and plans that finally let me breathe.
For a long time, I thought that was the whole story: work hard, be smart, keep pushing, and you’ll be okay.
But lately, I’m not okay.
We are living in times that feel unpredictable. The future feels rocky. And the fear that rises in me always sounds the same: What can I do? How can I get to steadier grounds? How do I control what’s coming? And the more I listen to my own thoughts, the more I hear how much of my inner world is filled with “I.” I need to figure it out. I need to secure it. I need to make sure nothing goes wrong.
In the face of uncertainty. I find myself turning inwards towards myself and what I can do. Today’s first reading challenged that instinct:
“Cursed is the man who trusts in human beings… who seeks his strength in flesh… whose heart turns away from the LORD.”
Initially, those words sounded harsh because hard work and responsibility matter. But Jeremiah isn’t attacking effort. He’s warning me about what happens when I make my own strength and my own resources the place where I put my ultimate hope.
Because the truth is: I’ve worked hard and am still afraid. I did everything “right” and often feel like I’m still standing in “lava waste.” No matter how much I’ve done, my heart doesn’t enjoy a change of season.
The latter part of the reading was a great reminder of what I actually want. Not a life with no heat or turbulence because life will always have it. But a life with roots deep enough that fear doesn’t control me. A life where uncertainty allows God to breathe peace unto me. For me, that means letting go and reminding myself that my ego is actually stopping God from making it work.
If you stopped gripping so tightly to your own plans this Lent, what space might open for God to work in ways you don’t expect?
Oak Nguyen