Hereditary Illness or Hereditary Habits? A Different Way to Think About Health

Too often, we react to challenges by choosing the easy way out. I was reminded of this recently during conversations with some folks over the holiday week. We talked about so-called hereditary illnesses — diabetes, high blood pressure, cholesterol problems, heart issues, and the like.

My simple response was this: most of the time, it’s not truly hereditary. It’s that we’re eating the same foods and living the same sedentary lifestyles as the generations before us. What’s passed down isn’t just DNA — it’s habits. It’s culture. It's daily choices around food and movement that stretch on, generation after generation, creating the illusion of inevitability.

Longevity, I firmly believe, has more to do with diet and exercise than it does with a family history of illness. It’s easy to say, “Well, my mama had it,” or, “My granddaddy had it,” but the deeper truth often lies in what was on the dinner table and what kind of life they led.

I think about my mother. She lived to be a vibrant 97 years old.

Growing up, we used to tease her for always snacking on radishes, celery, cottage cheese — all that healthy, “boring” stuff. But now, looking back, I have to believe that her eating habits played a major role in her longevity. She was health-conscious long before it was trendy. She exercised regularly and even had one of the very first stationary workout bikes. (I wish we’d kept it — it’s probably a collector’s item now.)

Even well into her 80s and 90s, my mother stayed active. She cared about her waistline, not out of vanity, but out of a deep respect for her body. She never allowed herself to get too far off track. She lived with intention, and her choices reflected it.

Today, her baby sister is still alive at 100 years old, and her younger brother is pushing 98. They, too, have lived long lives rooted in healthy eating and movement. It’s no coincidence.

It’s fascinating, really. Her family grew up during the 1920s and 1930s, right through the Great Depression.

I remember my sister once asking my mother, “How did you all survive the Depression?” My mother, being half Black and half Mexican, laughed and said, “We didn’t even know there was a Depression — we were already poor.” That kind of resilience shaped her mindset. She would later joke about how you didn’t see Black folks jumping out of windows during those years — because they knew how to endure hardship.

I know I’ve drifted a bit, but the point remains: what we often blame on genetics is really the result of lifestyles passed down unexamined.

I guess I’m reflecting on all this because this morning, I finished my 40-minute martial arts cardio routine — 1,000 punches, 900 kicks in just 40 minutes. I’ll be turning 67 later this year, 2025, and I’m trying every day to make the best choices I can. I eat healthy most of the time. I exercise daily. And we'll see where this path leads.

More than anything, I want to pass down a different kind of inheritance to my children — not one of hereditary illness, but of hereditary health and intentional living. I believe I already see the results: my son is strong, muscular, and disciplined in his workouts, alternating upper and lower body every other day. My daughter, remarkably, has cut sugar completely out of her diet, eats clean, and maintains a consistent gym routine.

Honestly, they’re doing better than I was at their age. When I was young, health wasn’t even a thought in my mind. Like so many others, I took my youth for granted, not realizing that the decisions we make when we feel invincible will either protect us or haunt us later in life.

We all have a choice. We can continue the generational patterns of poor health and call it “heredity,” or we can break the cycle through conscious living. It's not genetics — it's momentum. And it’s up to us to decide which kind of legacy we want to pass on.

Just something to think about.

The Missed Opportunity — and the High Cost of Hubris

If Donald Trump had been wise, upon winning the recent election, he would have preserved the most qualified individuals in his cabinet, the judiciary, and our intelligence agencies. Rather than purging the experienced hands who had long safeguarded our nation’s stability, he should have recognized the importance of institutional wisdom. He should have leaned on it. Instead, he dismantled it.

Trump chose loyalty over competence, replacing seasoned professionals with individuals who had little to no experience or understanding of the roles they were thrust into. Their primary qualification was not expertise, but unwavering personal allegiance to him. In doing so, Trump gutted the institutional backbone that helped maintain America’s prosperity, security, and international standing.

Today, we find ourselves in an economic mess, with no real prospect of near-term reversal. Trump never understood the delicate international tightrope we walked — the complex web of alliances, trade relationships, and diplomatic agreements that quietly sustained America’s wealth and global influence. Those relationships, built over decades, were not just handshakes and photo ops; they were a masterful, fragile balancing act. One that Trump treated with reckless disregard.

Even more troubling is what the American public often never saw: the disasters, both domestic and international, that were quietly averted by the professionalism of the previous cabinet members, the FBI, and the CIA. These were people who understood the stakes — who played critical roles behind the scenes to prevent chaos from breaking loose. Their expertise and silent vigilance preserved national security in ways the average citizen could never fully appreciate.

Now, with so much of that infrastructure dismantled, what benefit remains? I see only one potential outcome: America being humbled — brought so low economically, diplomatically, and morally — that the toxic ideologies fueling MAGA extremism and the Christian Right will collapse under the weight of their own failure. Their vision of "greatness" was built on hubris, not substance. And history has always dealt harshly with such delusions.

In the end, Trump's pursuit of loyalty over leadership may have satisfied his ego, but it left the nation vulnerable, weakened, and divided. It is a bitter but necessary reckoning.

A Progressive Minister—with a Twist

I call myself a progressive minister, but not in the typical sense. I believe the heart of the gospel is love—plain and simple. It's not about measuring up, because even on our best days, none of us do.

The message I see in scripture isn't one of fear or condemnation, but of assurance: that our well-being has already been provided for, not because we earned it, but because we’re loved. Still, human nature being what it is, we often make this critical error—we view other people's flaws as unforgivable, while giving ourselves a pass.

So yes, I’m a progressive minister—with a twist.

Take hell, for instance. I don’t believe it’s a real, literal place. But I choose to live my life in such a way that if it were, I wouldn't be heading there. Not out of fear, but out of principle.

There are denominations that insist baptism must be performed using the specific phrase "in the name of Jesus" or it doesn’t count. I don’t subscribe to that legalism—but for the record, I was baptized in Jesus’ name.

Others believe that speaking in tongues is the only proof you’re saved. I don't agree with that either. Still, I speak in tongues. See the pattern? I don’t follow doctrine blindly, but neither do I throw away the spirit behind it.

I believe in the sovereign hand of God—not as some puppet master pulling strings, but as a divine presence guiding us, even redeeming our worst mistakes. We’re not pawns, though. We’re responsible.

We still suffer the fallout of our poor choices. In that way, I do believe in judgment—not eternal punishment, but consequences. Earthly reaping. You sow bitterness, it’ll find its way back. You plant love, it comes full circle. Karma, chickens coming home to roost, the law of the harvest—it’s all the same truth in different languages.

That’s how I live my life: trying to do more good than bad, knowing full well I’ll reap what I sow, good or bad.

At my core, I carry a worldview that always includes a cushion—a hedge against the unknown. In the secular world, I’ve built a life I’m proud of. I’ve got a stable job, we live comfortably, we drive new cars. But I also keep three used ones. We have an investment property with a month-to-month tenant—just in case.

Maybe it’s because I lived so recklessly in my youth. Now, I try to thrive, but wisely. I don’t take wild chances anymore. I live consciously, I love deliberately, and I always make sure my family is going to be alright.

And here’s the thing—I don’t preach theory. That’s what most religious leaders do. Whether preacher, rabbi, or imam, they mostly speculate. They teach theory wrapped in tradition. But me? I talk about what I know works. I try to approach faith like a scientist: reasonably, honestly, and experientially.

As for the Creator, I don’t claim to fully understand. But I believe in a higher force, not because I was taught to, but because I’ve lived long enough to see the patterns. You put a wet saltine cracker in an aquarium, and in a few days, green life shows up. That mold can't comprehend you, its creator, anymore than we can comprehend the fullness of whatever created us. But the fact remains (to me)—we were created, somehow. The Big Bang would be when it all started... for us.

Now, about hell again—from a quantum physics standpoint, maybe there's a version of reality where something like hell exists. Another dimension? A multiverse could theoretically contain all outcomes. I don’t pretend to know. So I live my life to be covered, however it plays out.

I don’t walk around judging people. But I do walk carefully, trying not to offend, trying to bring more peace than pain. I hold space for mystery, and I try to be kind. That, to me, is what real faith looks like.