Even So, Be Immovable

Pope’s Epistles of life’s Ironies

Epistle 1
As a child, I saw doctors in our residential area as demi-gods. To me, they were invincible—cloaked in white coats and wisdom, immune to the frailties that plagued the rest of us. Illness, I thought, was something they cured, not something they endured. Eventually, I became one. And reality, with all its humbling force, settled in. I discovered that doctors bleed too. We get sick. We grieve. We burn out. We wrestle with anxiety and self-doubt. We struggle to pay for our treatment too. We die too. The difference isn’t immunity—it is the quiet resilience, the choice to show up for others even when our own world feels heavy. That’s the real strength: not perfection, but persistence.

Epistle 2
I once believed that being the right person—transparent, honest, loyal, well-intentioned—would shield me from the sting of betrayal and abuse. But life taught me otherwise. There are no guarantees, only encounters with a mosaic of souls, each carrying their own motives, wounds, and desires. Integrity doesn’t always protect us from heartbreak—it simply ensures we don’t lose ourselves in the process.

Epistle 3
Before I became a believer, I looked at others in the faith and assumed their lives were untouched by hardship—serene, unshaken, almost perfect. But after my own conversion, I saw the truth: every believer is on a pilgrim’s journey, marked by valleys and mountaintops alike. The difference isn’t the absence of storms but the quiet strength to remain anchored in them, eyes fixed on a promised, glorious end.

Epistle 4
I once believed that certificates and lofty titles—like “professor”—signified a life of order, wisdom, and objective thinking. That those who dwell in academia must surely be the architects of clarity and reason. But then I found myself among scholars whose objectivity bent to their own quirks and biases. Whose intellect masked chaos deeper than the unlearned. And I realised: education isn’t guaranteed by proximity to institutions. One can pass through the halls of learning and still miss the essence of being truly educated.

Epistle 5
Before I got married, a senior colleague shared a story that was so difficult to believe. This was about their marriage counsellor who guided them through the storm of a crumbling relationship with grace and insight. Months later, he learned that the same counsellor had gone through a painful divorce. It was a great shock at first but with the passage of time, it made sense. Expertise doesn’t exempt us from heartbreak. Wisdom doesn’t shield us from wounds. We are all walking contradictions—healers who hurt, teachers who stumble, guides who sometimes lose their way.

Concluding thoughts

1. We spend so much time peeping over the fence, measuring our lives against curated snapshots of others. But comparison is a thief—it steals joy, distorts truth, and blinds us to our own worth. The real work is inward: cultivating contentment not from perfection, but from presence. From gratitude. From the radical act of purposeful living.

2. Since we may not know the full story, let us stop chasing the flawless and start embracing the real. This means not being judgemental but refusing to let others make us responsible for their own mistakes by setting boundaries to protect our peace without guilt. It means prioritising our mental and emotional health like our lives depend on it—because they do. It means refusing to let titles, expectations, or other people’s opinions define our value but seeking to live with eternity in focus.

3. Let us live with intention. With authenticity. With the courage to be both strong and soft, both capable and flawed and be accountable. Because when we do, we don’t just survive—we thrive and walk in our purpose, not with apology, but with fulfillment.

Serenity

The truth about the path to our purpose is not always kind, it is the only compass that doesn’t lie.

Living for a purpose is costly, may we pay it anyway. Amen