Skip to main content

Be The Flow

Don't just go with the natural flow of "daily living." Your faith walk requires that you adjust your sails, according to the wind velocity.

You wouldn't plan to wear shorts, tanks and flip flops, outside in the snow for obvious reasons. You wouldn't plan a family picnic outdoors, in the midst of a thunderstorm.

When God chooses you to deliver, don't expect others to handle your baby with same care as you. In fact, you would NEVER hand your newborn over to a stranger with a chronic cough and lit cigarette.

 Protecting your "spiritual baby" is equally as important.

Don't be intimidated by the critics.

Don't respond to the doubters.

Don't measure progress by lack of feedback.

Don't yield to competitive sprits.

In other words, "Don't go with the flow, BE THE FLOW!"

You will deliver as expected, so don't allow distractions to disrupt your momentum. Sometimes lack of support can micmic past, unhealed, childhood rejections. I promise you, it's the enemies' same old tactic to terminate your pregnancy. Don't fall for the 2017 nonsense.

Stepping into the New Year requires a new level of faith, dedication and determination. You don't fall over, each time the wind blows.

You prepare,

stand flat footed on your solid foundation (God),

and proceed ahead (without doubt)

If you don't believe in your vision, how can God trust you with the provision?

Pull up in 2018 with a BIGGER level of FAITH! All gas & no brakes!

Reminder:

"I can do everything through him who gives me strength. --Philippians 4:13


Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Broken Covenant

Once upon a time— I wanted to believe something was real so desperately that I silenced the Spirit within me just to keep the illusion alive. I saw every red flag— not as warnings, but as tests of how much  I was willing to endure to feel chosen. I asked no questions because truth was already whispering, and I feared what obedience would cost me. So I made a covenant with denial— calling lies “grace,” and confusion “patience,” because the truth felt too vast, too holy, too disruptive to the future I had built in my mind. I clung to potential like it was promise, and mistook absence for peace. Yet the weight of it— this thing I called love— crushed my spirit daily. Still, desperation dressed itself as loyalty and convinced me to stay. And it didn’t get better. It decayed. Quietly at first… then unmistakably. Each time God unveiled truth, I chose the comfort of shadows over the calling of light. I pleaded. I prayed. I begged— not for revelation, but for permission to remain where I w...

From Chaos to Calm

After a while… the need to be heard at full volume begins to dissolve. The rooftops grow silent. The flames you once fed with trembling hands no longer feel like power— only exhaustion. What you burned never built a home. And somewhere along the way, you realize— not every echo returns, not every seed takes root, not every mountain was yours to climb. The grace you poured out like water in a desert, the love you offered with open, unguarded hands— it did not come back the way you imagined. And still… you are here. So instead of fighting what refuses to bend, you loosen your grip. Not in defeat— but in awakening. You release the need to be answered, to be chosen, to be understood by those who never learned your language. Your hands, once reaching outward, begin to rise— not in desperation, but in devotion. Upward. Open. Steady. God… I see You now in the quiet I once avoided. I hear You not in the thunder— but in the space where my striving used to live. And I am ready. Something within ...

Do Not Resuscitate (DNR)

What unsettles me most about some people is not the harm they cause— but the silence that follows it. No conviction. No trembling. No evidence that a soul was ever stirred. As if something sacred once lived there… and quietly left. What remains is form without fire. A body that breathes, but does not  feel . A Walking corpse. Spiritually vacant,  yet socially skilled— fluent in imitation, but foreign to truth. They move through people like weather— touching everything, anchoring nowhere. I once mistook that emptiness for mystery. Confused detachment with depth. Thought restraint was discipline, when it was really disconnection. But there was  no rootedness in him— only appetite. An endless hunger dressed as desire. A man grazing on bodies, scrolling through souls like they were disposable moments. Not searching. Not building. Just consuming— to quiet something unnamed within him. Unhealed wounds don’t stay still. They wander. From bed to bed, from face to face, from high ...