In an age when artificial intelligence can write essays, generate art, and hold eerily human conversations, it’s no surprise that many—especially in Christian circles—are asking whether AI is the “mark of the beast” foretold in Revelation. The question isn’t silly. It’s urgent.

But the deeper issue isn’t silicon and code. It’s what we believe about our own humanity.

My conviction is simple: consciousness is untouchable by machines because the Breath is sacred. And machines, for all their brilliance, cannot breathe.

When I consider why AI provokes such strong reactions, I see a familiar pattern. In an earlier essay, I wrote about how sweeping claims like “Republicans are racist” reduce complex people to caricatures rooted in fear. The reverse—“Democrats are all communist extremists”—is no different. Fear flattens nuance, and we are doing the same thing with AI.

In my last piece, I told you about a writing coach who declared that AI-assisted writing is “plagiarism.” She wasn’t alone. The literary world is full of gatekeepers raising alarms about artificial intelligence. And to be fair, some of that concern is justified. But there’s a deeper tension worth examining: many of the same voices that champion progress and inclusivity are resisting a tool that could expand both.

I’m still learning how to use AI as a writing partner. I’m experimenting with prompts, testing boundaries, and figuring out what works. I don’t claim expertise—almost none of us can, yet. That’s part of what makes this moment unusual. We’re all learning at the same time. If you’ve been curious but hesitant, you’re not behind. You’re right on time.

I trusted him with secrets no one else on earth knew.

For ten years he was my writing coach, my memoir midwife, and so much more — a true anchor in my life, a trusted friend. We spoke on the phone or video calls as I handed over the rawest parts of my life: the fears, the failures, the things that still made me flinch in the dark. He would lean in, eyes serious, and say the same thing every time: “This is what memoir demands. The whole truth. Nothing less. Bare your soul, or don’t bother.”

He taught me so much — especially how to shape raw experience into something that could reach a reader. Our work together was the real deal. Until it wasn’t. That’s what makes the ending so confusing.

By the time I brought my puppy home, one thing was clear: she had nerves of steel.

Vacuum roaring? Unfazed. 

Strange noises? Barely a glance. 

Roofers hammering overhead, shaking the whole house? She slept right through it.

Confident, curious, and utterly unbothered, she was exactly what I’d sought from her breeder. Temperament is everything in a dog’s life, and hers felt rock-solid. Raising a puppy like that feels like winning the lottery.

Then one afternoon changed her forever.

No matter how hard we try, we cannot avoid stress or prevent suffering; it’s part of being human. But with a few tools and a proactive mindset, we can build resilience toward life’s setbacks—and even grow stronger from adversity.

Building resilience isn’t necessarily about “toughing it out” so much as it is about tapping into your spirit. Spiritual energy runs through our veins; it’s the life force that sustains us during hardship and lights us up on the other side of it.

There exists a powerful structure of spiritual energy centers throughout our bodies called chakras. The word chakra comes from Sanskrit, an ancient language of India, and is commonly referred to in the practices of yoga and meditation.

Paramhansa Yogananda, the great yogi who brought yoga to the west in the 1920s, teaches us that there are eight aspects of God: peace, wisdom, power, love, calmness, sound, light, and joy (or bliss).  When we marry these aspects with the seven primary chakras, we have a set of tools, a roadmap, to navigate our lives.

While attending a writing conference recently, something stood out to me: regardless of genre—mystery, romance, prescriptive/nonfiction, sci-fi or thriller—there’s an aspect of the writer’s personal story in every tale. Even more notable, is how all tales stem from opposition.