This morning I came across a post from a fb friend. It began with the line: “I truly regret following my religion.”

But what struck me wasn’t the regret itself — it was the journey behind it.

A journey of realizing that for a long time, we may have misunderstood what faith really is.

Not just in Christianity.

In any spiritual tradition, we often carry the quiet belief that:

• If we live more kindly, life will be less harsh.

• If we pray more, good things will stay.

• If we try harder, suffering will keep its distance.

But life unfolds in its own way.

People still leave.

Plans still fail.

And some losses come even when we’ve done nothing wrong.

In those moments, the silence of whatever we believe in — God, Buddha, the Universe, our ancestors, or simply the goodness of life — becomes frightening.

Not because the divine has vanished, but because we no longer know how to believe.

There are seasons when we still keep our rituals: attending services, chanting, meditating, lighting incense, or simply sitting under an open sky.

Yet inside, everything feels empty.

The lips recite familiar words, but the heart is full of questions.

It isn’t weakness.

It’s expectation.

We unconsciously expect faith to shield us from pain.

But no spiritual tradition has ever promised that.

Faith doesn’t live our life for us.

Faith helps us not lose ourselves while living it.

“ Lâu rồi đời mình cũng qua…” (My life has been a long time coming to pass” )— Finding Calm to Continue

Reading that post reminded me of a line from musician Vũ Thành An:

“Lâu rồi đời mình cũng qua…” — “My life has long passed…”

It sounds like a sigh, yet it carries a gentle truth:

Our life will pass, but how we walk through it is what matters.

Not just “having gone through,” but having enough calm to keep going.

Enough calm to see that every moment — joyful or painful — is part of the life we’ve been given.

And blessed are those who hold a faith — any faith — like a natural breath.

Not to escape suffering, but to preserve the meaning of continuing to live.

Perhaps maturity in faith begins when we stop asking:

“Why is this happening to me?”

and start asking:

“How will I walk through this?”

Faith Belongs to Anyone Who Is Trying to Live

If someone asked me today whether I regret choosing a spiritual path, the answer would be no.

The only thing I regret… is taking so many years to understand that:

Faith — in any tradition — is not meant to explain why we suffer.

Faith is meant to help us keep the meaning of living,

even when we must walk through the worn and weary rhythms of life.