Skip to main content

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 was slowly breaking.


Morning after morning,
light would rise—
yet I felt swallowed by deeper darkness,
because disobedience dims 

even the brightest dawn.


I bartered my worth 

at the altar of acceptance,
shaping myself into something unrecognizable
just to fit inside a lie
that was never meant to hold me.


But God…


God would not let me perish
in something He never ordained.


He interrupted my illusions.
He dismantled my agreements with deception.
He set fire to everything false
until I could no longer sit comfortably
in what was killing me.


Truth found me—
again,
and again,
and again.


In quiet convictions.
In undeniable patterns.
In the breaking of my own heart.


And still, I tried to close my eyes—
as if blindness could cancel revelation.


But God.


God does not abandon His children
to the prisons they decorate.


He pursues.
He confronts.
He awakens.


He loves too fiercely
to leave you hidden
in what He’s called you out of.


So Lord, I thank You—
not for the illusion,
but for the interruption.


For the unraveling.
For the exposure.
For the sacred undoing
that led me back to You.


Because in that breaking,
You built in me
a deeper resolve,
a holy resilience,
and a clarity that no deception can survive.


You showed me the 

anatomy of selfishness—
how it hunts,
how it distorts,
how it disguises itself as love
while feeding on my light.


But more than that,
You revealed Yourself.


A love untouched by manipulation.
A love that does not require shrinking.
A love that frees,not binds.


Thank You, God,
that Your truth took root in me—
and refused to coexist
with anything that defiled my soul.


Thank you for continually exposing truth

until it was too loud to ignore.

And now I know—

Who the Son sets free
is not just free…
but restored,
renewed,
and returned to themselves again.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

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 ...
Post a Comment
Read more

“Let God Do The Heavy Lifting”

What if we told God the truth— not the polished version, not the palatable version, but the raw, unfiltered ache of what we  really  want? What if we sat in expectation— not clenched in frustration, not counting the silence as absence, but trusting that unseen hands are already at work? What if we leaned back— not in defeat, but in surrender— and allowed God to step forward into the places we keep trying to control? What if we stopped responding out of fear, reacting out of wounds, reaching for everything except the One who holds it all? What if we let go… and let God do the heavy lifting? Because real transformation doesn’t begin in striving— it begins in honesty. In sitting still long enough to face the truth of where we are without rushing to escape it. Naomi pushed people away, not because she didn’t need love, but because grief convinced her she was too heavy to hold. She believed her pain would be too much for anyone to sit with. But God will always send a Ruth— someone ...
Post a Comment
Read more

“Moving on Faith”

A mind like mine lingers too long, perhaps—in its own chambers. Mapping unseen routes, sketching futures, rehearsing outcomes before breath ever meets action. I measure distance not in miles, but in the space between what was and what could be. And somewhere between here and there, silence arrives— disguised as sanctuary. But silence can fracture. It can splinter into stillness that is not rest, but retreat. Limbs grow heavy there— not from peace, but from pause overstayed. Limbs that slacken, that soften, that surrender not to God, but to avoidance. Refusing motion when tension thickens, when conviction calls, when obedience costs. Caught in the quiet— that subtle snare where comfort mimics peace and hesitation wears holy clothes. Yielded to approval, yet drifting from alignment. Listen— not all “silence” is sacred. In fact some silence is… misaligned  misplaced  misappropriation.  Do not let disobedience become  familiar enough to quiet your voice, dim your faith, ...
Post a Comment
Read more