Set the Sail for Recovery & Sobriety — The Urge to Share

June 7, 2026June 13, 2026 Timothy R. BermanLeave a comment

In my own life, I’ve learned that the most powerful ministry moments are never scripted—they are Spirit‑led. They happen when we are sensitive to the still small voice, when our hearts are open, and when we allow God to interrupt our day for the sake of someone else’s pain.

Years ago, I was at a local church, carrying more than I could handle. A phone call from my father had shaken me, and a careless comment from someone nearby only deepened the wound. I stepped outside, sat on the front steps, and honestly—I wasn’t praying. I was stewing. Hurting. Lost in the swirl of emotion.

Then a young man walked up, sat beside me, and wrapped his arm around my shoulder. “I was driving by,” he said quietly, “and the Holy Spirit told me to turn around. Anything I can pray for?” He didn’t preach. He didn’t correct. He didn’t offer advice. He simply sat with me and prayed.

That moment has stayed with me for years because it revealed something essential about the heart of Christ: To share the light of Jesus is to sit with people in their mess without judgment. This is not merely an act of companionship but a profound demonstration of love and solidarity. It challenges us to look beyond our own struggles and step into the vulnerability of another, reflecting the grace we have received in our own times of need.

This is the heart of today’s message. In an age where everyone seems to be vying for attention, it can be exceedingly rare to find someone who is willing to pause, listen, and simply be present. Yet, it is in these unassuming moments that we often see the clearest reflection of Christ’s love. When we allow ourselves to connect with another’s sorrow, we become vessels of hope.

Anchor verse: Romans 10:10 — “For with the heart man believeth unto righteousness; and with the mouth confession is made unto salvation.” This verse serves as a reminder that our faith is rooted in a heart-to-heart connection with God, which in turn shapes how we connect with others. The Lord looks upon the heart of a person (1 Samuel 16:7) because it is within the heart where we struggle with identity and purpose, grappling with understanding how God loves those who are so broken and distraught. To have the heart of the Father (Psalm 103:13) means we have a deep and compassionate concern for those suffering.

Our ministry efforts, our outreach, and our words should mirror this heart of compassion. How we minister—how we share—and the urge and desire to comfort those in distress are accomplished through the ministering of the Holy Spirit. It is through the Holy Spirit that we find the strength to empathize, listen, and provide solace. This is how we build up the Kingdom of God, by fulfilling the call to truly mourn with those who mourn and walk alongside them, carrying their burden as Christ carried our burdens (Galatians 6:2).

Today, we are going to look at the Urge to share the message of hope and how we minister as the light of Christ and the Glory of the Father. We are set upon the hill, shining as a beacon for all who are struggling in their own despair. More than just an act of faith, sharing our hope involves actively engaging with those around us, bringing the light of Christ to their darkness. We must be vigilant and willing to heed the call when the Holy Spirit nudges us, reminding us that even the smallest actions can lead to significant transformations in the lives of others. Let us embrace our roles as conduits of God’s love, ensuring that the light we shine is a reflection of His unconditional love and grace.

Full Post Moved to Sacred Sobriety | Set the Sail for Recovery – Urgency to Share

Molded by God: Identity, Healing, and the Beauty of Being Fearfully and Wonderfully Made (Psalm 139:14)

June 4, 2026June 16, 2026 Timothy R. BermanLeave a comment

I always had this inclination that something was wrong. And whenever that feeling rose up, I was convinced it was because of someone else. Someone failing me. Someone not stepping up. Someone not doing the honorable thing. I lived with this constant sense that other people were the reason I suffered. And underneath all of that? A deep ache that no one truly cared, no one appreciated me, no one saw the effort I poured out trying to prove myself.

I chased validation like oxygen. I wanted approval so badly that I shaped myself around what I thought others wanted. I tried to be the “better person” in the eyes of everyone else, all while never actually seeing who I was. I was blind to my own entitlement, blind to my victimhood, blind to the way I was both the victim and the villain in someone else’s story. Hypervigilant. Defensive. Exhausted. And yes—hurt by real betrayals, real lies, real wounds that left me carrying depression, resentment, bitterness, and anxiety like a backpack full of bricks.

And then came the moment that broke me open.

My father had just been released from the hospital after months in intensive care from a brutal auto accident. I had given up everything to be there. And yet, I found myself standing on a cold Seattle curb in January of 2005 with nothing but a backpack, work boots, and three cartons of cigarettes. No home. No money. No plan. No one.

I walked the streets of Seattle wondering if this was the end of me.

But God had other plans.

A transitional housing program took me in. I rested. I worked. I rebuilt. And slowly—slowly—I found my way back to faith. But even then, I still couldn’t see myself clearly. I still felt unworthy. I still lived for validation. I still believed I had to earn dignity, earn love, earn respect.

It wasn’t until years later that the Holy Spirit began breaking the spiritual blindness I had carried for so long. And the revelation was simple, but it shook me to my core:

I didn’t know who I was. And I didn’t know how my Heavenly Father saw me.

Anchor Verse — Psalm 139:14 (NASB2020): “I will give thanks to You, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made; Wonderful are Your works, And my soul knows it very well.”

Two words rise like mountains in this verse: fearfully and wonderfully. Fearfully — yārē’ — to stand in awe, reverence, astonishment. Wonderfully — pālā’ — marvelous, extraordinary, beyond human ability.

This is not casual language. This is identity language. God is not saying, “You’re barely acceptable.” He is saying, “You are My intentional, awe-inspiring work.” We are His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works that He prepared beforehand (Ephesians 2:10). Even when we feel like a mistake, God calls us purposeful, crafted, and known (Psalm 139:1–4).

So today, let’s walk slowly through what it means to be fearfully and wonderfully made—especially when we don’t feel like it. Especially when addiction, shame, trauma, or codependency have distorted the mirror we look into. Especially when our past tells us one story, but God is trying to tell us another.

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The Plan Never Changed – He Sees Us and Our Struggles

June 3, 2026June 3, 2026 Timothy R. BermanLeave a comment

There was a moment in my youth where I learned a lesson I didn’t understand until much later. It happened during a Boy Scout outing one summer. We were out on the bay near my hometown, and it was the first time I ever learned how to paddle a canoe.

Okay, so what — you got to go out on the water, learn to paddle, in a canoe. What’s the big deal?

Here’s the lesson.

On the way back to shore, the tide was going out. We were paddling against it. Not upstream on a river — against the tide of the bay. And the harder we paddled, the slower we moved. Every inch forward took every ounce of strength we had.

Life feels like that sometimes. Recovery feels like that often. You’re straining at the oars, wondering if you’re even moving, wondering when you’ll reach the destination, wondering when the struggle will ease.

I didn’t think about that moment again until I came across a reel of a guy with a sideways cap, tattoos, and piercings teaching on Mark 6 — the same chapter where Jesus feeds the 5,000, right after He receives word of John the Baptist’s death, and right after He commissions the Twelve to preach the Gospel.

Anchor Verse — Mark 6:47–48 (NRSVUE): “When evening came, the boat was out on the sea, and he was alone on the land. When he saw that they were straining at the oars against an adverse wind, he came toward them early in the morning, walking on the sea. He intended to pass them by.”

And that’s where everything shifted. Pastor Kelly K said something that stopped me cold: “If Jesus saw them, He sees you too.” The disciples were in serious trouble — rowing hard, struggling against the wind and waves. And Jesus saw them long before He ever stepped onto the water. Just like He sees you. Then came the line that most of us have never paid attention to: “He intended to go past them.” Why would Jesus walk toward them… but not stop?

This Crucified Life: What I No Longer Miss

June 3, 2026 Timothy R. BermanLeave a comment

What is the purpose of this message today? Why focus on what I no longer miss? Because today’s message is about what dies and what rises within each one of us. Luke 9 is the clearest, the sharpest, and the most recovery aligned call Jesus ever gives. It is a call to deny self. A call for us to take up our cross daily. A call to follow after Him. And it is one where we are asked to count the cost because it requires that we lose our life in order to save it. It is where we come to the end of ourselves, attempting to gain the appeasement of those around us, to gain what the world may offer us, yet lose our very soul in the process. It speaks directly to the “things I no longer miss” in my own addiction, codependency, chasing the girlies, and pretending to be someone I never was.

Welcome back, fellow travelers. If you haven’t watched the recent devotional in our Set of the Sail series— “The Lord Giveth Knowledge: The Spiritual Awakening of Christian Recovery”—I encourage you to do that. In that message, we talked about walking the crucified life… not coping, not managing, not surviving… but dying to self so that Christ may live fully in us. Having a real genuine spiritual awakening to the things of God.

Today, we’re going deeper. Because if we’re honest, many of us have spent years trying to “manage” life on life’s terms. But Sacred Sobriety is not about management. It’s about transformation. It’s about stepping boldly into the victory Christ already secured.

You and I have twenty‑four hours today. And I want to take a few of those minutes to speak directly to the wounds, addictions, anxieties, fears, and faith crises that have shaped us.

Because there are things I no longer miss. And I want to show you why.

Anchor Verse — Luke 9:23–26: “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross daily and follow me. For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will save it.”

This is the heartbeat of recovery. This is the heartbeat of discipleship. This is the heartbeat of Sacred Sobriety.

Jesus is not calling us to cope. He is calling us to die— to ego, to self‑will, to the old patterns, to the old wounds, to the old survival strategies. And in that death… He calls us to live. To live a blessed and abundant life. To live with peace of mind and joy in our hearts. Yet to do this – he invites us in because we are heavy laden, weary travelers and are in much need of rest (Matthew 11:28-29).

From Surviving to Thriving: The Spiritual Awakening Every Christian in Recovery Needs

June 1, 2026 Timothy R. BermanLeave a comment

If you’re not familiar with the early story of Alcoholics Anonymous, it’s often said that the ideas behind the Twelve Steps were shaped by the Oxford Group—a gathering of Christian men committed to honesty, confession, restitution, and surrender. Bill Wilson, one of AA’s founders, was deeply influenced by them. But today’s devotional isn’t about the origins of AA. It’s about a man named Rowland Hazard, whose struggle with alcoholism led him to seek help from the famed psychiatrist Carl Jung in the early 1930s.

After extensive treatment, Jung told Hazard something that sounds harsh but is deeply honest: his condition was hopeless from a medical standpoint. His only hope, Jung said, was a spiritual experience—a profound awakening that would transform him from the inside out. That realization eventually shaped the foundation of AA itself. Hazard’s spiritual awakening, experienced through the Oxford Group, was shared with Bill Wilson, and from that encounter the Twelve Steps were born.

Let’s sit with that for a moment. Because in my own journey—through recovery, sobriety, homelessness, fear, doubt, and a faith crisis—I had to face the same truth: everything was utterly hopeless until I had a spiritual awakening. Some call it “hitting bottom.” But I’ve come to see it as the moment the Holy Spirit reveals Christ to us in a way the intellect alone could never reach.

Today, many try to think their way into faith. They know about God but never come to know God Himself. And that brings us to the heart of today’s message: What does it mean to truly know God—and Jesus Christ whom He has sent? (John 17:3)

Our anchor verse is Isaiah 1:18–20, where God invites us to “come and reason together.”

Come now, let us argue it out, says the Lord: if your sins are like scarlet, will they become like snow? If they are red like crimson, will they become like wool? If you are willing and obedient, you shall eat the good of the land, but if you refuse and rebel, you shall be devoured by the sword, for the mouth of the Lord has spoken.

This is not an intellectual debate—it is an invitation to examine our hearts, our wounds, our failures, and our inability to save ourselves. It is a call to return, to be still, and to know that He is God.

Today, we explore what it means to know Christ, to know the Father, and to know who we truly are through a genuine spiritual awakening.

Learning to Love Myself Through God’s Eyes

May 27, 2026May 27, 2026 Timothy R. BermanLeave a comment

Learning to love myself was the first mountain I ever had to climb in recovery. Jesus said the greatest commandment is to love God with all our heart, soul, mind, and strength—and the second is like it: to love our neighbor as ourselves. I thought I loved God. I thought I loved others. But I had never learned how to love me. And when I finally faced that truth, I realized I didn’t just “not love myself”—I despised myself.

When I was drunk and alone, I’d curse myself. I’d repeat the harsh words spoken over me by others—especially family. Emotional abuse, degradation, bullying, name‑calling… all of it became the internal script I lived by. I believed I was worthless, stupid, manipulative, selfish, unlovable. And because I believed it, I lived it.

So I kept God at arm’s length. I kept people at arm’s length. I feared abandonment, rejection, and judgment. I feared giving God my whole heart because I assumed He would eventually reject me too. Shame became the lens through which I saw myself, others, and God.

But recovery forced me to confront the lies. It forced me to ask: Who does God say I am? And in that painful, holy unraveling, I began to learn to love God with what little I had. I began to see myself through His eyes. And only then could I begin to love others with sincerity, depth, and courage.

Anchor verse – Hebrews 1:3 – “He is the reflection of God’s glory and the exact imprint of God’s very being, and he sustains all things by his powerful word. When he had made purification for sins, he sat down at the right hand of the Majesty on high.”

Christ is the exact imprint of God’s being—and through Him, we learn who God is, who we are, and how deeply we are loved.

Set the Sail of Recovery and Sobriety: “If Any Would Follow…”

May 26, 2026May 26, 2026 Timothy R. BermanLeave a comment

I do not recall the specific moment in my own recovery journey when Jesus placed a crossroad before. For one, I have had multiple crossroads placed before. And I am sure many of you have had those same crossroads placed in your own life and path. These crossroads were not placed with thunder, not spectacle, because they were often placed with a quiet, piercing invitation. At times, and for me, came by way of conviction that brought me to the knees of humility because of an entitled selfish attitude. Other times came in moments of comfort and spiritual direction when someone took the time to obey without delay the promptings of the Holy Spirit. And still other moments where it is the quiet witness of confirmation, and then further confirmed by another’s message and teaching.

That tiny word if holds the weight of your destiny as well as my own destiny. it is the hinge between us surviving and thriving, between bondage and freedom, between the life we’ve known and the life Christ longs to give us – you know, that abundant life where there are peace and joy in Him? An abundant life where we come to rest in Him.

Today, we are stepping right into this profound, simple, and quiet invitation with courage, clarity, and a sound mindset that is honest. Stepping into understanding how the cross becomes transformative in our path, in our lives, and in our relationships.

Anchor Verse — Matthew 16:23–26 (cf. Luke 9:23–26, NRSVUE): “Then Jesus told his disciples, “If any wish to come after me, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it. For what will it profit them if they gain the whole world but forfeit their life? Or what will they give in return for their life?“

Welcome back, fellow travelers, to Sacred Sobriety: A Path for the Soul. We are continuing our series Set the Sail for Recovery and Sobriety. Today we’re walking with Jesus into one of the most demanding—and liberating—teachings He ever gave. Matthew 16:23–26 and Luke 9:23–26 confront us with the truth that discipleship is not an accessory to life; it is the surrender of life. And yet, in that surrender, we discover the abundant life we’ve been aching for. As Tozer writes in Salvation Walks the Earth, “Every man holds his future in his hand… destiny waits on the nod of his head.” Today, we nod toward Christ.

Set the Sail – Faith Rests Upon God’s Character

May 25, 2026May 23, 2026 Timothy R. BermanLeave a comment

The destiny of one’s recovery is shaped by the idea of God a person carries. Traditional recovery thought teaches that newcomers enter a spiritual program where they are free to identify God “as they understand Him.” For some, this means the fellowship itself becomes a Higher Power; for others, it means any concept of a power greater than themselves.

Over time, a peculiar phrase emerged in recovery culture: “Your Higher Power can be anything — even a doorknob.” It is repeated so often that many assume it comes from the Big Book or the Twelve Steps and Twelve Traditions.

It does not.

Neither text suggests that an inanimate object can restore sanity, guide moral change, or receive a surrendered will. The “doorknob god” appears nowhere in AA’s foundational literature.

Anchor verse – Psalm 9:10: “Those who know your name put their trust in you, for you, O Lord, have not forsaken those who seek you.

The idea actually surfaced in the treatment centers of the 1970s and 1980s. As addiction treatment became professionalized — especially in secular or state‑funded programs — counselors avoided religious language to prevent the appearance of imposing faith on clients. To lower resistance, some staff used exaggerated examples: “Even a doorknob can be your Higher Power if it helps you get started.”

It was never meant to be literal. It was a strategy to reduce defensiveness.

But like many exaggerated teaching tools, it escaped its context. It became folklore. It became satire. Critics of 12‑step spirituality used it to mock the idea of a non‑religious Higher Power. Newcomers repeated it without understanding its origin. And eventually, it became a kind of shorthand for the early, clumsy attempts to describe surrender without demanding theology.

Powerless Over the Storm — Not Powerless Over the Sail

April 26, 2026April 26, 2026 Timothy R. BermanLeave a comment

Ever have one of those moments where clarity doesn’t arrive with fireworks, but with a quiet, unmistakable shift inside your chest—a soft Aha, a gentle epiphany that feels less like a thought and more like a whisper settling into your spirit? That happened to me as I was preparing for today’s devotional message. I was sitting with A. W. Tozer’s The Set of the Sail, revisiting the opening chapter, when something in those pages caught me off guard. And then it hit me—clean, sharp, and humbling. How have I missed what the Third Step may truly be inviting us into?

For anyone unfamiliar, the Third Step in recovery says that we “made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood Him.” On the surface, it sounds simple enough—surrender your will, your autonomy, your desires. Let God take the helm. But beneath that simplicity lies the raw truth that brought many of us to recovery in the first place: we finally saw how far we had drifted, how powerless we had become, how our lives had unraveled into chaos, disorder, and ruin. And in that unraveling, we recognized our need for a power greater than ourselves to intervene.

But here’s the part we rarely talk about. That moment of surrender doesn’t usually feel holy. It doesn’t feel triumphant. It feels like waking up from a long, heavy fog—numb, disoriented, spiritually exhausted. Faith feels distant. Purpose feels fractured. And somewhere in the stillness of that inner ache, a question rises: Am I drifting? And the honest answer is yes. We have drifted. And that truth cuts through the noise of our anxious, chaotic thoughts with a clarity we can’t ignore. Because in that moment, we’re no longer moved by emotion—we’re moved by a deliberate, trembling desire to choose something different.

Tozer writes that the direction of a life is not determined by the strength of the wind, but by the set of the will. He echoes Ella Wheeler Wilcox’s line: “It is the set of the sails and not the gales which tells us the way to go.” That line stopped me. Because if we’re honest—with ourselves and with our Heavenly Father—when we’re standing in the middle of doubt, fear, anxiety, or spiritual fatigue, this truth matters more than we realize.

It matters because the confrontation of the Third Step is not merely about surrender. It is about resetting the sails of our recovery, our faith, and our lives. It is about choosing—sometimes with trembling hands—to turn the bow of our soul back toward the One who has been waiting to guide us all along.

Anchor Verse: “Now if you are unwilling to serve the Lord, choose this day whom you will serve, whether the gods your ancestors served in the region beyond the River or the gods of the Amorites in whose land you are living, but as for me and my household, we will serve the Lord.” – Joshua 24:15, NRSVUE

I know—at first glance, this verse can feel like a cliché. It’s the kind of Scripture that ends up on wall art, coffee mugs, and Christian décor aisles. And for those who know the context, it might even raise a question: Why use Joshua 24:15 here? Why bring in a verse where Joshua is telling Israel to choose between the Lord and the gods of their ancestors or the gods of the Amorites?

But that’s exactly why I love this verse. Because Joshua isn’t simply telling Israel to “choose God.” He’s confronting them with a deeper truth: if you do not choose to serve the Lord, you will still serve something. You will serve the gods of your past, or the gods of the culture around you—but you will serve something.

And suddenly, the connection to the Third Step becomes painfully clear.

Elder Patrick Kearon: “About His Business” | Sandpaper People and the Refiner’s Fire

April 6, 2026 Timothy R. BermanLeave a comment

How often have we walked into our Sunday meetings looking for a sanctuary from the world that seems to be troubled, in a state of confusion, and quite volatile and toxic? And yet, we step into a place where one may frequently find something much more challenging: a room full of people who have a wide range of differences. It may be quite tempting to see these differences as hinderances or even obstacles to our own spiritual growth. However, what if such annoyances of our specific wards are actually the very tools God uses to encourage, edify, and strengthen us? And sometimes, these people seemed to rub us the wrong way – you know – sandpaper people.¹

Wait…what? Sandpaper people? Yep, exactly – sandpaper people are those who may rub us the wrong way. You know, the ones that seemingly get under our skin sometimes? The ones we may want to avoid, even at church. And yet, you may be wondering – what is a sandpaper person? And furthermore, what purpose do they serve?

Sandpaper is designed to smooth out and refine surfaces. A sheet, or strip, of paper that is quite abrasive, depending on the grade, where it smooths out rough spots, removes rust or old paint. It is also used to prepare surfaces for painting, staining, and polishing. In essence, sandpaper’s sole intention and purpose is to refine and smooth out the rough edges. And that is exactly what sandpaper do – they smooth out the rough edges and refine us in ways that help shape and transform us into whom our Heavenly Father has called us to become.

Isaiah 48:10 says, “See, I have refined you but not like silver; I have tested you in the furnace of adversity.” And you may be wondering, what does Isaiah 48:10 and sandpaper people have to do with attending Church?

Here is the simple truth: God does not refine us in isolation, nor does He shape us only through peaceful, agreeable circumstances. Instead, our Heavenly Father refines us in the furnace of adversity – and sometimes, that furnace of adversity looks surprisingly ordinary. You know, the person singing loudly behind you during Sacrament meeting. The kids with an apparent case of ants in their pants and parents doing their best to help them practice reverence. Or the person who shows up in jeans and a shirt with no tie. People that somehow do not fit our mold or expectations. Let’s face it – our wards consist of people full of personalities, preferences, quirks, and rough edges that collide with our own.

And this is an uncomfortable and beautiful reality.

Sandpaper people are part of God’s refining fire where we are to come together in unity of faith, common consent, and edifying and strengthening one another in the faith. Not because they are problematic. Not because they may appear less spiritual. And certainly, not because they are annoying obstacles to our worship. Because Our Heavenly Father, in his infinite wisdom, places us in communities where our rough edges meet theirs – and in that friction, something holy happens. Something we may not ever choose, yet something we desperately need.

Elder Patrick Kearon opened up the Saturday Morning Session of General Conference with a message titled About His Business” regarding how our service is a choice, an offering to God and a blessing. He appears to reframe the local ward, not as a social club for the like-minded individuals. Instead, he provided insight on how this may be a divine place of fellowship. A place where the friction of serving people who are “very different to us” creates the heat necessary to forge Christlike virtues – charity, meekness, and forgiveness – that simply may not be developed in isolation. If you’ve ever struggled to find your place in a diverse congregation, you are not failing the test; you are finally in the right place.

I want to take a moment and walk with you as we bridge the gap between modern apostolic counsel and ancient scripture. To understand how The Body of Christ requires every different member to function – and the reason our growth depends on the person sitting three pews away.