The Journey

Faith wrestles my mind like a midnight storm, and when I glance at the clock, I realize two hours been gone already. Time slipping through my fingers like wet sand, and I’m still wide awake, drowning in thought. Panic comes cold, not like fire, but like an ocean wave that drags you under, whispering that you can’t swim no matter how hard you kick.
My kids… they need me. And truth be told, I need them more. But the road God laid beneath my feet ain’t smooth—it bends, it jerks, it tilts like broken tracks on a rollercoaster, keeping me off balance when I swore I’d never stumble again. The hunger to be a father they proud of, to be the man who provides instead of destroys, hits me square in the mouth. My lips split, my soul drips. Blood pools at the base of the mirror, and when I look down into it, I don’t even recognize who’s looking back.
This raft I’m floating on—patched, torn, leaking with every memory—got just enough space for me to cling to while death keeps pulling, keeps tugging, trying to drag me toward the deep. I grip anyway, nails clawing at wood, praying the tide shifts, that the sea calms, that maybe God will guide me onto softer waters. Then the thought creeps in—what if this is the soft path? What if survival itself is the blessing, the burden, the proof that I still got a role to play?
The world will test you. It’ll stack storms on your chest until your lungs beg for air. I’ve watched men I knew, men built from the same streets as me, fold under pressure, scribble farewells on loose-leaf, and hand themselves back to the darkness. But me? I can’t. I won’t.
Because every time I look at my kids, I see reason. Their eyes are anchors, their laughter is oxygen. Even when my own spirit feels like it’s unraveling thread by thread, I remind myself—this pain ain’t permission to quit. It’s a command to dig deeper.
So I pray. Pray for a faith that don’t crack under weight. Pray for protection to cover my family like bulletproof glass over a diamond case. Pray for God to light the steps I can’t see yet, ‘cause the road is crooked, but I’m still walking it.
And to everybody choosing to walk this new stretch with me—lock your fingers around the rail. Don’t flinch when the ride jerks, don’t let go when the darkness leans in. It’s about to get wild. But maybe, just maybe, on the other side of all this chaos, we’ll finally understand why God made us carry the fire through the storm first.