Not Going to Texas

My offer didn’t come over this morning as expected. Instead I received a call from the owner asking me to put together a plan to work on the company’s social media and marketing from a distance. I feel like I’m a piece of laundry in the dryer spin cycle. The moment I get my mind around something and prepare mentally for a big change, a curve ball is thrown in my direction that shifts everything and I sit here on my bed stunned.

God is the author and finisher of my faith and my story. But what is my story turning into? Each page is half-written as it suddenly gets an eraser applied and another plot twist is incoming. Is God asking me to get comfortable in the uncomfortable for the rest of my life? How can I ever live this way and be at peace? I’ve prayed for stability, a home, a job that gets me out of the clouds, a love of my life to walk with me and a pillow to lay my head down upon each night where I’m embraced by love and peace. Is God telling me that I’ll never have this? It’s heartbreaking and yet there’s a small voice within that challenges my own thoughts and says to me, “All things are working for your good – even this.”

If I recap the last few months, I had a major plot twist take place on June 2nd. My daughter and I prayed together over my son and he called me in the middle of the night from his car en route to LA from Houston. I thought I knew what God was doing. I thought my son was on his way to start a new beginning – a new chapter of his life with me here in LA. But at the end of August he went back to Houston on an airplane and never returned again until October; only to work a few days with the Orange County man enough to pay for his gas to get his car back to Texas. Angels watched over him that night. I prayed for him, lit a purple candle and immediately received a vision of violet rays spilling over his car as he pointed it south to return to his father.

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My daughter just called me. We talked for a long time about dark stuff; demonic activity and suppression in the music industry and as we just hung up the phone after praying together I was reminded of the song that came on the radio last night when I got into car. I just sent it to Kenna and to Jason too. As I’m typing this, the lyrics say, “With every breath that’s in me, with every song and melody – let it be a Hallelujah”… Maybe there’s power in that word that I don’t understand.

Can I sing Hallelujah in this chaos and uncertainty? Can I remember that my life and my every moment is meant to praise God? I’m to praise him in the pain, the hurt, the loneliness and in this journey through the unknown. I know I’m not doing good at it. I know I’ve complaining a lot and asking for him to change my circumstances. I’ve even been arguing with God that if he truly loved me he’d help me and fix everything broken. I’ve been telling him that I need proof that he’s still with me and he’s still working on the moving pieces in my life and I’ve argued with him that I don’t know how to believe he’s good when everything feels so bad. I’ve screamed at God, “If you really loved me you wouldn’t want me to work this job that’s destroying my body and my sleep, you’d not want me to have no friends, no financial stability and no one to hold my hand and love me at night.” I’ve argued why would you make me and send me to this earth just to be alone and have no function or purpose? Why would you put me in a family that hates me and no one even calls to say hello anymore? Why would you allow me to become bitter and sad like this if you loved me? Why would you allow me to lose everything that mattered to me, send me to California where I believed with the faith of a little child that you were bringing me here to find love and purpose only for me to be sent back to Egypt with a backpack full of hard lessons? Why would you not guard my heart in falling for Dave if he doesn’t love me or want me to be his partner and his woman and wife?

Well, God blocked me from going back to Houston today. And I’m begging him today to show me why. As I do everyday, I’m begging him to show me what’s here for me and what role I’m to play in this place when the soul inside of me is screaming, “I want to tell his story.” That’s what I want. I want to speak to people like me who feel like all hope is lost and they are a mistake – people who don’t see why they even exist in a place where they’re deemed “unlovable” by others and what hope can they hold onto when everything inside of them only sifts through ashes and ruin. I want to be the voice that says, “Just hold on, God’s not finished yet.” But I hear those people and they don’t move me. They’re like talking cymbals with no substance. I want proof. I want to see the person standing in front of me with bloodied knees, covered in scars and standing on the mountain showing us all, “He did a miracle in my life. He brought me out of the darkness and he gave me love greater than I’ve ever had before and he repaid me everything the enemy stole from me.” I want that person to tell me that I have a reason to hope again and to keep waking up and to see that all things are happening for my good and God’s glory.

So here I am… I’m here Lord begging you to do something with me. Make my suffering matter for something. Make every tear I’ve cried matter for something. Make every word I’ve spilled into endless notebooks – praying, seeking, asking and hoping for redemption be a turning of the page in your masterplan where the girl who never stopped speaking to the Heavens eventually got her wish. Make me believe that you have heard my prayers and that you are the Good Father of Lights in the Heavens who opens up the skies and the floodgates and pours out blessings upon the broken hearted.

Holy Spirit wash over me. Do something – my strength is so weak. I’m confused. I followed everything I thought God was telling me to follow, I walked through every open door, I prayerfully sought guidance and I professed every single day, “Not my will but your will be done.” I’ve begged you to not lead me into temptation and only God knows I cried my entire drive home last night terrified that if I moved back to Houston I’d go back into the Egypt that almost took my life with an ex-husband that would somehow sink me again. I’m terrified of going back to that prison and yet I wish to know that my son and my dog and the love that is still dear to me isn’t going to slip away from me too.

I’m terrified that God’s mad at me because the only sense of joy and peace I ever fill is in the arms of a man who doesn’t love me and doesn’t value me on the outside and I don’t know how to sit here empty day upon day thirsty and all I ever seem to be offered is vinegar to my lips.

I look at the lamp I created from ashes and burnt wood in the Malibu fires and I see myself. There’s nothing left of me other than a few pieces of limbs covered in ash and yet this little light points her burnt, ash covered finger to the heavens.

Lord I’m exhausted with trying to figure everything out. I’m exhausted with fighting myself and my desires and my fears and my worry and my inability to see what to do tomorrow or even what to do in the next 5 minutes. I sit here and type int a keyboard, terrified that if I stop letting these words flow out of me I’ll have to sit here in the silence and deal with myself.

I’m tired of running away from you Jesus. I lay here and ask you to deal with me. Love me, heal me, wash me clean, forgive me, sanctify me, kill me, destroy me, throw me in a grave or cast me out into the streets as a homeless woman who has no place in this world but to sift through the trash for crumbs fallen from another’s table – do whatever you want to me because I’m yours anyway. You made me. If you want to destroy me what can I possibly do to save myself? Or if you want to make me new and give me a future, then you can do that too. I’m yours. So do what you want. I beg you to be merciful but I know at the end of the day it’s not up to me. I’m just the clay. You’re the potter.

I give up God.

October 28, 2025. 12:27 p.m.