could never be the flavor of the month, per se. I don’t bend to trends or follow the fray. I don’t play nice in pre approved boxes, don’t march in line or mirror your optics.
I don’t match the beat of the world’s drum. I got my own rhythm, my own hum. It ain’t always smooth, but it’s real. It’s mine. And that alone makes it a threat in your design.
See, I can be controversial, not because I scream. But because I sit silent, and still don’t agree. Because I smile in storms and walk through fires. With unbothered steps and unshaken desires.
You call my peace a violent opposition. Because I won’t play the role you wrote in your vision. You want a reaction, a spark, a show, but I give you calm, and you don’t know where to go.
You see, your system’s built on control, on scripts, on fear. But I tore out the page and made it clear. I don’t fit in your frame, I’m the break in your mold. The glitch in your matrix, the truth you were told to ignore, to shame, to silence with style. But I speak with my presence and I walk every mile.
So no, I could never be your flavor of the month. I’m not sweet enough to swallow, not safe enough to stunt. I’m bitter truth, and holy rage. I’m freedom unfiltered, off the stage.
That sounds strange, I know. Especially when you’re living with pain that doesn’t go away, pain that lingers day after day, like an unwanted shadow. Chronic pain wears on you, physically, mentally, emotionally. It drains you in ways most people will never understand.
But even in that, I’ve learned something deeply valuable: pain has a purpose.
If I never had pain, if I never faced suffering, I might start to believe I didn’t need help. That I had it all figured out. That I was strong enough on my own. But the truth is, I’m not. I’m not perfect, I’m not self-sufficient, and I wasn’t made to be.
Pain is what reminds me I need God.
It’s what drives me into His arms. When my body aches and no relief comes, when I’m exhausted just from existing, when I wonder how I’m going to get through another day, He meets me there. In the stillness, in the struggle, in the silence. I need Him every moment, and pain keeps me close. Not because God wants to see me suffer, but because He wants to see me lean on Him, trust Him, know Him in the deepest way.
And maybe… maybe that’s a blessing.
Because someone else out there is suffering too. Someone feels like they can’t go on. Someone is battling chronic pain, invisible illness, or emotional weight no one sees. If that’s you, I want you to know: I see you. I am you.
And if my dependence on God, if my ability to keep moving, even when it hurts, can shine a light for someone else in the dark, then maybe that’s part of why I’m still standing. Not because I’m strong, but because He is. Not because the pain is easy, but because God is faithful in it.
My suffering is how I stay connected to Him. My weakness is how His strength is made perfect. My brokenness is where His grace meets me.
So no, I don’t thank God for the pain. But I thank Him that even in the pain, He’s present. And I thank Him for using it, for using me to remind someone else they’re not alone, and they’re not without hope.
Chronic pain may be part of my life, but it will never define me. God does that. And He’s not finished with me yet.
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.
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.
Let me tell you what I want. I don’t want fame. I don’t want recognition. I don’t want power. I don’t want to be above anyone. I just want to see everyone win.
I want to see people do well. I want to see people happy. I want to see people live a life that is full, free, and abundant, not just in material things, but in the things that actually matter. I want to see people find true joy, the kind that doesn’t fade when circumstances change. The kind that stays even in the midst of struggle.
I want to see people find peace. Not just the temporary kind that comes from a quiet moment, but the deep, unshakable peace that holds you together when life is trying to tear you apart. The peace that only God can give.
I want to see people find true love, not just romance, but real, unconditional love. The kind of love that isn’t based on what you can give someone, but simply because you are worthy of being loved.
And more than anything, I want everyone to find Jesus the way I did.
There’s nothing special about me. I’m not some perfect example. I’m not better than anyone else. I don’t have it all figured out. I fail daily. I struggle, I fall, I make mistakes. But God redeems me. Every single day, He picks me back up, He covers me in grace, and He reminds me that His love is greater than my failures.
And if He did it for me, He’ll do it for you.
You are not too far gone. You are not too broken. You are not beyond redemption. God’s grace is bigger than your past, bigger than your mistakes, bigger than the lies you tell yourself about who you are. He sees you. He loves you. And He’s waiting for you with open arms.
I just want to see everyone win. And the greatest victory of all? It’s not in money, success, or status. It’s in knowing Jesus, in finding the love and peace that only He can give.
So if you’re struggling, if you’re lost, if you feel like you’re nothing, just know, you’re not alone. I’ve been there. And God met me where I was. And He’ll meet you too. You just have to let Him.
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.
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.
Years ago, a prophecy was spoken over my life, one that I didn’t fully understand at the time.
“You think too small.”
I remember hearing those words and brushing them off. I didn’t see it. I thought I had dreams, I thought I had vision, I thought I was believing for big things. But looking back, I realize now that my mindset was limited. I was believing within the confines of what I thought was possible, what I thought I could handle, what made sense within my comfort zone.
But here’s the thing about prophecy: it doesn’t expire. It lingers. It waits. It follows you until the time is right.
And now, I can feel the winds shifting. Something is stirring deep within me. For the first time in my life, I am thinking big. But here’s the difference, this is not about me. This is not about my success, my comfort, or my ambitions.
This is about Jesus. Always Jesus.
I don’t want to dream bigger just so I can have more. I want to dream bigger so His name can be glorified. So His kingdom can expand. So His will can be done.
I refuse to live a life of small prayers when I serve a limitless God. I refuse to let fear, doubt, or insecurity keep me from walking in the fullness of what He has planned. I refuse to keep my hands closed when He is calling me to open them, to give more, to love deeper, to surrender fully.
So here I am, stepping out, believing for the impossible, walking boldly into the unknown. Because if I am going to think big, it will be for Him. If I am going to dream, it will be for His glory. If I am going to live, it will be for Jesus.
No more small thinking. No more safe prayers. No more limiting God to what I think is possible.
I Just Want to Love People and Do Well – It’s That Simple
I’m not a complicated man. I don’t have some grand master plan. I don’t wake up every morning trying to manipulate the world, chase power, or impress people with things that don’t really matter. I just want to love people and do well. That’s it. That’s all.
In a world that often feels chaotic, where people are constantly chasing more, more money, more status, more control, I find peace in keeping things simple. I want to be kind. I want to be honest. I want to treat people with respect, not because I have to, but because that’s what makes life worth living.
I want to love the people around me in the purest way possible. Not just my family, not just my closest friends, but people in general. I want to be the guy who holds the door open for a stranger, who genuinely listens when someone needs to talk, who gives without expecting something in return. I want to be the guy who makes people feel seen, who makes them feel like they matter, because they do.
I don’t need fancy titles. I don’t need to be the richest person in the room. I don’t need to prove myself to people who don’t care about me. What I need is to lay my head down at night knowing that I lived my day with integrity. That I did my best. That I gave love freely, even when the world made it hard. That I didn’t let bitterness win.
I want to do well, not just in a financial sense, though stability is nice, but in a way that means I left something good behind. I want to work hard and do right by people. I want to be the kind of person who makes others feel safe, valued, and respected. I want to be remembered for my heart, not just my accomplishments.
Some people overcomplicate life. They chase validation in all the wrong places, they play mind games, they lose themselves trying to be someone they’re not. That’s not me. I don’t need to impress anyone. I don’t need to be flashy. I don’t need to overthink it.
I just want to love people. I just want to do well. And that’s enough for me.
