I heard a pastor one time talk about sugar, and it stuck with me. Not just the kind you stir in your coffee or sprinkle on your cereal, but sugar as a symbol.
He said, “We don’t fully understand the detriment of sugar.” And he wasn’t just talking about our diet. He was talking about our lives. Our spirits. Our pulpits.
See, sugar feels good. It tastes sweet. It gives you a rush. But what’s sweet on the tongue can turn toxic in the body.
Sugar in your blood? That’s diabetes. Sugar in your teeth? That’s cavities. Sugar in your brain? That’s Alzheimer’s and dementia. Sugar in your eyes? That’s glaucoma.
It doesn’t just stay where you put it, it spreads. It damages. It dulls. It destroys. Slowly. Silently. Sweetly.
Now think about that sugar in your preaching. Sugar in your words. That watered down, candy coated gospel that makes people feel good but doesn’t make them change. That kind of sugar causes hypocrisy. It causes us to shout, dance, and say, “Church was great today!” but leave with no power, no conviction, no transformation.
We’ve gotten addicted to sweet sermons, messages that tickle the ears but don’t challenge the heart. We’ve settled for sugary spirituality, feel good vibes with no substance. We’ve filled our churches with cotton candy Christianity. It looks big, it tastes sweet, but it melts to nothing when life gets real.
But sugar won’t sustain you when you’re in a battle. Sugar won’t heal your soul. Sugar won’t hold you up when the weight of the world is on your back. Truth will. Power will. The meat of the Word will.
So maybe it’s time to detox. Time to get back to the raw, sometimes bitter truth that convicts, corrects, and transforms. Because when we preach truth, we preach life. When we stand on truth, we stand in power.
I played myself down for years just to make others feel comfortable. I silenced my voice, dimmed my light, and followed their script. Not because I lacked power, but because I didn’t want to disrupt the comfort zones around me. They praised me when I was quiet, when I stayed small, when I kept my brilliance tucked away behind smiles and muted tones.
But I’m done with that. I ripped that script up.
And now… they’re uncomfortable. Not because I’ve changed, but because I stopped hiding. They’re scared of the very storm they helped create, the one that brewed in silence while I sat in rooms full of noise, swallowing the truth just to maintain peace that was never mutual.
They can lie about me. They can talk about me. They can hate me.
None of it changes who I am or what I carry.
I’m no longer locking this gift away. It was never meant to be buried under fear, doubt, or other people’s insecurities. I won’t use it for evil, I won’t use it to retaliate, but I will use it.
Because God developed me in private. He prepared me in the shadows while the world watched someone else. I went through the fire, the isolation, the internal war, and I made it out refined, focused, and aware of my purpose.
This is not arrogance. This is alignment. This is not rebellion. This is revelation.
I’m stepping fully into who I am now, unapologetically.
And if that makes you uncomfortable, that’s not my burden anymore.
Perseverance isn’t glamorous. It doesn’t always come with applause or recognition. It doesn’t show up in bold headlines or viral moments. But it’s the silent force behind every breakthrough, every comeback, every success story you’ve ever admired.
It’s waking up when your body aches and your mind says “just five more minutes,” but your goals whisper “not today.” It’s putting one foot in front of the other when the path ahead is foggy, steep, and unforgiving. It’s believing in your purpose even when the results are slow, the support is scarce, and the obstacles are loud.
Perseverance is not about never failing. It’s about refusing to quit. It’s falling ten times and standing up eleven. It’s enduring the setbacks, the self-doubt, the silence when the world doesn’t notice your effort—but showing up anyway.
The truth is, anyone can be excited at the start. Anyone can push hard when things are easy or fresh. But the real growth, the transformation, it happens when you persist during the plateaus. When you keep moving forward with no guarantee of success, just faith in your process and fire in your heart.
Think of every athlete, artist, entrepreneur, or everyday person who ever made something incredible out of nothing. Behind their spotlight was a season of darkness, a storm of struggle, and a stubborn refusal to stop. Perseverance was their companion when no one else showed up.
So, if you’re tired, keep going. If you’re doubting yourself, breathe and push forward. If nothing seems to be working, trust that the roots are growing even if you can’t yet see the bloom.
Perseverance doesn’t promise ease. It promises change. And if you stay the course. Step by step, day by day and you will become stronger, wiser, and more capable than you ever imagined.
We All Think We Have Time. Everyone walks around like tomorrow is promised, like we’re guaranteed the next breath. But the truth is, time is the one thing we’re never guaranteed. We make plans, chase dreams, hold grudges, waste moments, and all the while, we forget that life is fragile. One moment can change everything. One phone call. One accident. One heartbeat missed. So stop acting like you’ve got forever.
And somewhere along the way, we’ve convinced ourselves that we’re entitled. Like we’ve got these God, given rights we don’t even understand, let alone respect. We want justice when it benefits us, but we don’t want to fight for what’s right. Let’s be honest: if we really had to fight for our “rights,” most of us wouldn’t make it through the night. We’d fold under the pressure because comfort has made us soft, and entitlement has made us blind.
Everyone’s out here talking about “my truth.” But let me say this, and I’ll say it loud: there is no your truth or my truth. There is only The Truth. And that truth is found in the one true living God. He doesn’t bend to opinions. He doesn’t change with trends. He doesn’t waver just because culture does. His truth stands eternal, unshaken, unmoved, and undefeated.
We’ve built this culture where we tear each other down to feel superior. Where we measure someone’s worth by their money, their social status, their appearance, or their success. But let me make this clear: not one person walking this earth is better than the next. We all bleed the same. We all fall short. We all struggle, whether it’s behind closed doors or out in the open.
So stop judging the one who’s homeless, addicted, depressed, or just barely holding it together. You don’t know the battles they’ve faced. You don’t know what it took just for them to survive today. Humble yourself, because in the blink of an eye, you could be in that same place.
Money fades. Fame fades. Looks fade. But character and compassion, those are eternal. And truth? Real truth? That’s found in God alone.
We all need a wake up call. This life isn’t about proving you’re better. It’s about realizing you’re not. It’s about loving harder, forgiving quicker, judging less, and remembering who’s really in control.
You think you’ve got time? Think again. Live with purpose. Speak the truth. And never forget where it all comes from.
Let Judas Be Judas: Embracing Betrayal as Part of Your Purpose
We all want loyalty. We want to surround ourselves with people who will ride with us through the highs and the lows, who will support us, uplift us, and never turn their backs on us. But life doesn’t always work that way. There comes a time when someone you trust, someone you thought would always be in your corner, betrays you. And when that moment comes, it shakes you to your core.
The natural reaction is to be hurt, to be angry, to question everything. “How could they do this to me? After all we’ve been through?” But I’ve come to realize something powerful: even Jesus needed a Judas.
Think about that for a moment. Jesus, the Son of God, the Messiah, chose Judas as one of His twelve disciples, knowing full well that he would betray Him. He didn’t make a mistake. He didn’t misjudge Judas’ character. He didn’t fail to see the red flags. He knew. And yet, He still allowed Judas to walk with Him, to break bread with Him, to be part of His inner circle.
Why? Because Judas was necessary for the mission.
Without Judas’ betrayal, there would be no cross. Without the cross, there would be no resurrection. And without the resurrection, there would be no salvation. The pain of betrayal was the very thing that propelled Jesus into fulfilling His ultimate purpose.
And the same goes for us.
When someone you trust betrays you, it’s not the end of your story, it’s the turning point. That heartbreak, that disappointment, that feeling of being stabbed in the back isn’t happening to you; it’s happening for you. Because maybe, just maybe, that betrayal is the very thing pushing you toward your destiny.
I know this is true for me.
Had certain things not happened in my life, had certain people not betrayed my trust, I’d still be sitting on a pew, staying silent. I’d still be keeping everything God has done for me locked inside, afraid to share it with the world. But their betrayal was the catalyst that got me to where I am today. It woke me up. It pushed me out. It forced me to step into what God was calling me to do.
And that’s why I’ve started this blog. Not because I’m special, not because I have it all figured out, but because I know what it feels like to be hurt, to be blindsided, to wonder why God allowed this to happen. And if my story, my experiences, and my testimony can help even one person see that their betrayal wasn’t the end, it was the beginning, then it’s all been worth it.
So if you’re going through a season of betrayal right now, if you’ve been wounded by someone you thought would always be in your corner, let Judas be Judas.
Keep your circle small. Guard your heart. But also understand that sometimes, the ones who hurt you the most are the ones who push you into your purpose. Judas didn’t win. God did. And if you stay faithful, if you keep trusting, if you refuse to let the pain make you bitter, you’ll see that this was never about them.
It was always about what God was preparing you for.
So, thank Judas, and keep moving forward. Your purpose is waiting.
Before I ever keep God to myself again, I will be buried in my grave and go home to see my Lord. Because God was never meant to be hidden away, locked behind the walls of my own comfort, tucked into the quiet corners of my private life. He is not a secret to be safeguarded, He is the Light of the world, the Hope of the broken, the Answer to the hurting. And if I have found that Hope, how could I ever withhold it from a world drowning in despair?
I look around and see pain in every direction, people crushed under the weight of their burdens, searching for meaning in empty places, grasping for peace in things that can never satisfy. And I have the answer. Not because I am better, not because I am stronger, but because I have been rescued. I was lost, I was broken, I was bound in chains until Jesus stepped in. He pulled me out of the pit, He placed my feet on solid ground, and He filled me with a love that cannot be contained.
So how could I ever remain silent? How could I live a life that hoards the goodness of God as if it were mine alone? No, friend, before I ever do that again, I will breathe my last breath and step into eternity. Until then, I will proclaim His name. I will testify of His grace. I will speak of His mercy and His power to redeem.
This world is dark, but I carry a light. This world is hurting, but I know the Healer. This world is lost, but I walk with the Way, the Truth, and the Life. And as long as there is breath in my lungs, I will not keep that to myself.
Let them call me foolish. Let them say I’m too bold. Let them reject, let them doubt, let them turn away. But I will not stop. Because Jesus did not stop for me. He bore my shame, He carried my cross, He endured the weight of my sin so that I could know Him. And if He gave everything for me, how could I ever withhold Him from others?
No, before I ever keep God to myself again, I will be laid to rest, my work on earth complete. Until that day, I will be His hands and feet. I will share His love. Because He is not a God to be hidden, He is a God to be shared, proclaimed, and lifted high for all to see.
The world needs Him. And as long as I am here, I will make Him known.
There are moments in life when the storm feels unbearable. When it knocks us down, leaves us broken, and makes us wonder if we’ll ever rise again. But sometimes, we need the storm, not because we enjoy the suffering, but because it opens doors we never could have imagined. It takes us places we never thought we’d go and allows us to reach people we never could have reached before.
I think about Paul in Lystra. He was preaching the Gospel, doing what God had called him to do, and for that, he was stoned. Not just beaten or imprisoned, but stoned to the point that the people thought he was dead. They dragged his body outside the city and left him there, assuming it was over. And in any normal situation, it would have been. But God wasn’t finished.
Paul got up. Bruised, battered, but not broken. And instead of running in the opposite direction, instead of saying, “I’m never going back there again,” he returned. First, he left for a time, but later, he came back. And when he did, he strengthened the believers there. What the enemy meant to destroy him, God used to build something greater.
It makes me wonder, how often do we face trials, only to assume that’s the end of the story? How often do we suffer and decide we never want to go back to that place, that relationship, that calling? But what if God is saying, “Not yet. I’m not done. What the enemy meant for evil, I will use for good.”
Paul didn’t go back as the same man. He went back with experience. With scars. But also with a testimony that couldn’t be denied. The people who had tried to kill him now saw that not even death could stop the message he carried. And because of that, the number of believers grew.
Maybe you’re in a storm right now. Maybe you’ve been through one so painful that you never want to return to where it happened. But what if your return isn’t about reliving the pain but about showing others what God can do? What if your scars are the testimony someone else needs to see to believe that God is still in the business of redemption?
The storm isn’t the end. The suffering isn’t the final chapter. Sometimes, we need the storm to take us places we wouldn’t have gone on our own. Sometimes, the very thing meant to destroy us is what God will use to bring life to others.
So, if God is calling you back, back to the place of pain, back to the people who rejected you, back to the situation that almost broke you, don’t be afraid. You’re not going back the same. You’re going back stronger. You’re going back as a testimony. And through you, God will reach those who never would have believed before.
What the enemy meant for evil, God will always use for good.
Church Should Be a Hospital, Not a Masquerade. Somewhere along the way, we started treating church like a performance rather than a place of healing. We started dressing up our brokenness instead of bringing it to Jesus. We got really good at saying “I’m fine” when we’re not. We convinced ourselves that if we’re struggling, we need to push it down, put on a smile, and pretend everything is okay. But that is not church. That is not what Jesus intended.
Church is supposed to be a hospital for the sick, not a museum for the self-righteous. The moment we turn the sanctuary into a stage for perfection, we have lost the very heart of the gospel.
Jesus said in Matthew 9:12-13, “It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick… For I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners.”
So why do we act like we have to be whole before we can walk through the doors?
What If We Were Honest?
Imagine if, instead of brushing past people with shallow greetings, we actually asked, “How are you really?” And imagine if we allowed space for the truth to be spoken.
What if someone walked into church and said:
“I’m addicted, and I don’t know how to stop.”
“I’m battling depression, and I don’t feel God anymore.”
“My marriage is falling apart, and I don’t know what to do.”
“I don’t know if I even believe in Jesus anymore.”
Would we love them? Would we walk with them? Or would we look away, too uncomfortable to deal with their reality?
Jesus met people in their mess. He sat with the outcasts, touched the lepers, and dined with sinners. He didn’t wait for people to clean up their act before offering them grace. So why do we?
Stop Checking the Church Box
For too many of us, church has become a ritual. We show up on Sundays, sing the songs, hear the sermon, and leave unchanged. We check “church” off our list like we’re fulfilling an obligation.
But let me tell you something: You didn’t “see” Jesus just because you sat in a pew.
If you walk out of church and your heart is still hardened, you didn’t meet Jesus.
If you treat worship like a concert instead of surrender, you didn’t meet Jesus.
If you ignore the person sitting next to you who is clearly hurting, you didn’t meet Jesus.
Jesus is not impressed with attendance records. He’s after transformation. He’s after authenticity.
Ask People Their Story
One of the most dangerous things we can do is assume someone is okay just because they look okay. You don’t know the battles people are fighting. You don’t know what it took for someone to walk through those church doors.
Before you write someone off, ask them, “What’s your story?”
That addict you judged? Maybe he’s been clean for a week, and this is the first time he’s had hope in years. That single mom you whispered about? Maybe she left an abusive relationship, and church is the only safe place she knows. That person who seems distant? Maybe they’ve been crying out to God, wondering if He even hears them anymore.
Don’t send someone to hell because you were too busy pretending to be holy.
Be the Church, Not a Social Club
If church isn’t a place where people can be real, then what is it? A social club? A gathering of people who have perfected their masks? That is not the church of Jesus Christ.
The early church in Acts was a place where believers “shared everything they had” (Acts 2:44-45). They confessed their sins. They carried each other’s burdens. They did life together.
Somewhere along the way, we lost that. We traded community for comfort. We traded vulnerability for appearances.
But real healing requires real honesty.
So let’s be different. Let’s be a church where the broken don’t have to hide. Let’s be a church where people can say, “I’m not okay”, and know they won’t be met with shame but with grace.
Healing Starts with Truth. It’s no surprise that people aren’t healing when they’re holding on to a false narrative that was handed to them. You can’t heal from what you don’t understand, and you can’t move forward when you’re standing on a foundation built on lies. Healing requires truth, even when that truth is painful.
Many people spend years, even decades, believing something that was never meant to serve them, whether it’s a lie about their worth, their past, or their potential. They were told who they are, what they can be, and how they should think, and they accepted it without question. But how can you heal when the version of reality you were given is distorted? How can you move forward when you don’t even know the full weight of what you’re carrying?
The truth is uncomfortable. It forces you to see things for what they really are, not what you wish they were. And yes, it will hurt. It will shake you, break you, and maybe even make you feel like you’re worse off than before. But that pain is the beginning of something real. It’s the start of actual healing, not the illusion of it.
Healing isn’t just about getting over something; it’s about facing it, understanding it, and rebuilding with honesty. It means tearing down the lies, unlearning the conditioning, and choosing to see things as they are, even when it’s not what you want to see. You can’t fix what you refuse to acknowledge.
So if you’re feeling stuck, ask yourself: what false stories have I been carrying? What version of reality have I been living that isn’t really mine? Healing starts when you stop running from the truth. It starts when you stop numbing yourself with distractions and finally confront what’s real.
Yes, it will hurt. But pain isn’t the enemy, lies are. And the moment you start embracing the truth, no matter how difficult, is the moment you open the door to real healing.
I’ve come to a place in my life where I want everything to do with God, but nothing to do with the Church of God. I don’t need a specific religion to define my faith, and I don’t need a building to tell me what I already know deep in my soul.
I believe in God. I seek Him. I want a real connection with Him. But what I don’t want is to be part of a place that hides the truth, a system that picks and chooses what to believe, a body that refuses to acknowledge anything that doesn’t fit within its own controlled narrative.
I’ve seen too much, questioned too much, and felt too much to pretend that the church always gets it right. Too often, it doesn’t. Too often, it silences instead of listens. It shames instead of loves. It protects what is convenient and ignores what is uncomfortable. And I refuse to be a part of something that puts its own image above the actual truth.
My faith is not about religion. It’s not about traditions. It’s not about following a set of rules created by people who think they’ve figured out God. My faith is about God Himself. It’s about the relationship I have with Him, the way He moves in my life, and the truth He reveals to me, not the truth someone else tells me I have to accept.
I don’t need a church to find God. I don’t need a title to have faith. And I don’t need approval to seek what I know is real. Because at the end of the day, it’s not about religion, it’s about Him.
That doesn’t mean I’ll never step foot in a church or find value in gathering with others who seek Him. Because I will go to church. But it does mean that my faith isn’t dependent on a building, a denomination, or a specific way of doing things. My relationship with God is not confined to Sunday mornings or dictated by traditions passed down without question. I refuse to let my spirituality be shaped by human expectations rather than divine truth. My faith is built on something far deeper, something unshakable, personal, and real.
