04/18/2026
I was not always this man.
I remember the weight,
not the kind you can set down,
but the kind that settles into your bones,
whispers your name like a verdict,
tells you, this is who you are… and always will be.
I wore it well.
Like chains dressed up as identity.
Like scars I learned to call skin.
But something happened,
not loud at first,
not thunder, not fire,
just a voice that knew me
before I knew myself. ❤️
It called me out of the grave
I was still walking in.
And I argued.
Of course I did.
Because graves feel honest
when you’ve lived in them long enough.
But He spoke again,
not to who I had been,
but to who I was becoming.
And the ground beneath me broke.
Not destroyed..
opened.
Like dirt giving way to roots,
like death making room for life
it cannot understand.
I didn’t fix myself.
I didn’t climb out clean.
I was called.
And when I stepped forward,
something stayed behind.
Not just habits,
not just shame,
me.
The old voice grew quiet,
like a storm losing breath.
The chains didn’t snap,
they simply fell
as if they had no right
to hold me anymore.
Now I wake up different.
Not perfect—no,
but alive in a way
I never was before.
The mirror doesn’t accuse me now.
It reminds me.
That I am not rebuilt
I am made new.
That what once defined me
has no language here.
That death had a claim,
but it lost the argument.
And if you ask me who I am
I won’t tell you about the man I buried.
I’ll tell you this:
I am a new creation.
Not improved
not repaired
reborn.
And the past?
It still knocks sometimes.
But it no longer has a key.
MW
