Present Over Perfect

Our souls are of fundamental importance, truly the only
things besides our physical bodies that we are entirely,
independently responsible to steward. Many of us take care
of our bodies with great attentiveness, conscious to fill our
bodies with good things, to rest them well, to move and
breathe deeply. After years of being careless with both my
body and soul, trusting in some vague way that they’d
probably be fine no matter what, I’m learning that both
body and soul require more tenderness and attentiveness
than I had imagined.
Our souls are what allow us to connect—with God, with
other people, with nature, with art. Without a soul, you can
walk and drive and sleep, but you can’t love, you can’t
weep, you can’t feel. You can’t make great art—or at least
not for long.
A soul is not required for a robot. Or for a machine. Or
for a set of ideas or theories. But a soul is profoundly
necessary for a human. It’s from our souls that we love, that
we feel, that we create, that we connect.
And so Jesus’ question—what does is profit someone to
gain the whole world and lose their soul?—is a way of
demonstrating the paradox of getting everything you want,
only to find yourself unable to truly experience those things
you’ve worked so hard for. All those things you wanted out
there? The world, as it were? Art and food and connection
and beauty and experiences and meaning? You cannot feel
or taste or touch those things without a soul. And so what
good are they to you, if you gain them at the expense of the