Every year, as Holy Week unfolds, I walk familiar paths of reflection and tradition. Yet, this season, as I read through the events of Holy Week, a single moment halted me in my tracks, casting everything in a new light. It's a moment recorded in the Gospel of Luke, where Jesus, overlooking Jerusalem, weeps for the city. Though familiar, this passage hit me hard as if it was the first time my eyes had ever read it.

"And when he drew near and saw the city, he wept over it, saying, 'Would that you, even you, had known on this day the things that make for peace! But now they are hidden from your eyes.'" - Luke 19:41-42

In those tears, I saw a reflection of my oversights — the times I failed to recognize the daily peace Jesus offers. His sorrow wasn't just for Jerusalem's blindness but for every heart that missed the depth of His love and sacrifice. It made me wonder, in the hustle of our lives and even in our Easter preparations of the perfect Easter outfit, dinners, egg hunts,...

I pulled into the parking lot, unable to recall the drive in. An afterthought jolted me: a big yellow bus full of kids with a flashing red stop sign extended. I sped by without acknowledging its existence.

"How had I gotten here?"

That was my thought when I wheeled in on two, landing on four. As I slid into the office...autopilot, I was living on autopilot, never touching down until I crashed into the next thing head-on.

Autopilot, it's the same thing: predictable, expectant, comfortable, and dangerous. I was living in the danger zone with metal under tension, begging to touch and go, heading into another day in the twilight zone.

I sat in my car that day and re-played the event as it flashed RED through my mind. This fast-paced, auto-pilot life had to be disconnected because I had become disengaged mentally, physically, spiritually, and emotionally.

As I reflected upon the event, I realized that my life on autopilot was a close cousin to complacency, a spiritual slumber where...