Hope is beautiful, but Peace is Sacred.
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Because only one of them looks like Christ.
Love and Ego live under the same skin.
One whispers “give.”
The other screams “win.”
And every day, my heart becomes their battlefield.
We like to believe we are loving people.
We point to our care, our sacrifices, our patience.
But if we’re honest, Ego sneaks into love more than we admit.
It doesn’t always show up with arrogance.
Sometimes it wears masks with prettier names.
We call it self-respect.
But isn’t it Ego when I refuse to apologize first?
We call it dignity.
But isn’t it Ego when I cut someone off instead of forgiving them?
We call it expectation.
But isn’t it Ego when I demand to be understood without ever speaking my truth?
Ego is clever.
It convinces me I am principled, when really I am just proud.
It convinces me I am protecting myself, when really I am just unwilling to bend.
And Love?
Love looks so weak beside Ego.
Love says, “Lose so someone else can win.”
Love says, “Forgive seventy times seven.”
Love says, “Bow down, even when you deserve to be right.”
But isn’t that the Cross?
The place where Christ looked like He lost everything—
mocked, stripped, crucified—
yet that was the greatest victory of all?
Love costs.
Ego protects.
Love kneels.
Ego stands tall.
Love surrenders.
Ego insists.
And yet, when I silence Ego, I see something Ego could never give me: peace.
Because Ego wins arguments, but Love wins hearts.
Ego defends my image, but Love heals my soul.
Ego wants the last word, but Love carries the eternal Word made flesh.
So here is the uncomfortable truth:
I cannot serve both Love and Ego.
Only one can rule my heart.
Ego asks, “How much do I gain?”
Love asks, “How much can I give?”
And in the end, only one of them looks like Christ.
A poet, author, and faith writer who believes words can heal what silence hides. My poetry collections — Inked Emotions, Scattered Feelings Stitched in Ink, and Love Beyond Loss — were born out of seasons of grief, solitude, and deep reflection.
Here on Catholic365, I’ve been humbled to share reflections that have reached hundreds of readers. I write not from a place of perfection, but from a longing to make sense of love, loss, and the quiet ways God speaks into our lives.
Whether it’s a poem, a story, or a small reflection, my hope is that you feel seen, encouraged, and gently reminded that faith isn’t always loud — sometimes it’s found in the waiting, the falling, the starting again.
You can find more of my work at https://about.me/anniedcosta
