The Communi---K

  I was watching TV the other day, and what I saw wasn’t just programming—it was a pattern. And patterns speak.  Almost every movie, series, or story centered on a Black pastor or a Black church, the narrative was drenched in scandal, moral collapse, and spiritual failure. The imagery is dark. The tone is suspicious. The message is subtle but strong: this is who they are. But when the story shifts to a White pastor or a White church, the screen suddenly becomes a sanctuary. These pastors are framed as holy, sincere, and selfless—faithful stewards doing the work of God. Even when error appears, it is handled gently, wrapped in grace, and treated as an exception rather than a representation. And the Spirit whispered to me: This is not storytelling. This is shaping spirits. Scripture tells us that the power of life and death is in the tongue (Proverbs 18:21). In this age, the tongue has become the screen, and the screen is preaching sermons every day. The question is— whose gosp...

  Before the gifts are opened. Before the noise fills the room. Before the day begins to rush forward—pause. This is the story that anchors the morning. Long ago, on a quiet night, the world was asleep—but heaven was wide awake. A decree went out from Caesar Augustus, and people moved at the command of an empire. Joseph and Mary traveled to Bethlehem, unaware that every step they took was guided by God Himself. What felt like obligation was actually destiny unfolding. When they arrived, there was no room for them. No warm bed. No welcome waiting. Only a stable… and a manger. And there, in the stillness of that humble place, Jesus was born. “And she brought forth her firstborn son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger…” (Luke 2:7) The Savior came quietly. No announcements. No applause. Just God keeping His promise in the most unexpected way. Heaven trusted the world with its greatest gift while most of the world slept. Out in the fields nearby, shepherds we...

  Many people spend their lives searching for purpose while feeling frustrated that they haven’t yet discovered their calling . What if the confusion comes from treating these two words as the same thing—when they are not? Understanding the difference between purpose and calling can bring clarity, peace, and direction to your walk with God. Purpose: Why You Exist Purpose is universal. It is the why behind your creation. Your purpose does not change with seasons, titles, or platforms. Scripture reminds us that we were created to glorify God, love Him, love others, and steward what He has entrusted to us. Whether you are preaching, parenting, leading, or healing, your purpose remains constant. Purpose is who you are in God , not what you do for Him. When you don’t know your purpose, you chase identity. When you know your purpose, you move with confidence—even in uncertainty. Calling: What You Are Assigned to Do Calling is specific. It is the assignment God gives you to express ...

  In the beginning, humanity’s first mistake was not curiosity—it was silence. Adam and Eve walked with God. They heard His voice. They lived in His presence. Yet when the serpent spoke, they never asked a question. They didn’t ask God, “Did You really say this?” They didn’t ask each other, “Does this align with what God told us?” They didn’t pause to seek clarity, wisdom, or confirmation. They listened—and acted. One conversation with deception outweighed a lifetime of communion with truth. The danger wasn’t the serpent’s question. The danger was Adam and Eve’s failure to ask one. Questions are not a lack of faith. They are often the doorway to wisdom. Throughout Scripture, God welcomes inquiry. Moses asked. David asked. Mary asked. Even Jesus asked questions—not because He lacked understanding, but because questions reveal hearts, expose motives, and invite revelation. Silence in the face of confusion is not obedience—it’s vulnerability. Adam and Eve assumed instead of disc...

  Beloved, We have been called resilient for so long that many of us forgot how to rest. Our strength has been praised, our endurance admired, our survival celebrated—but rarely has anyone stopped long enough to ask what it cost us to survive . The chapter on resilience in Black Trauma confronts us with a holy truth: resilience kept us alive, but it was never meant to keep us silent. We learned to be strong because weakness was not safe. We learned to keep moving because stopping meant being overtaken by grief. And so we carried trauma in our bodies, prayers in our mouths, and hope in our spirits—often all at the same time. This is not a rebuke. It is a recognition. Strength Was Necessary—But It Was Not the Destination There was a season when resilience was a lifeline. Our ancestors endured what should have destroyed them, and by the grace of God, they stood. Yet the Spirit is now whispering—and in some cases, shouting —that survival is no longer the ceiling. You were not anointed...

  There is a wound you didn’t choose. A cut you didn’t cause. And yet—if we’re honest—you’ve been bleeding on people who never held the knife. The Holy Spirit whispered this to me plainly: Unhealed pain has a voice, and it often speaks through us when God is trying to heal us. Many of us are anointed, called, gifted, loving, and still leaking. We shout, withdraw, overreact, mistrust, or self-sabotage—not because the people in front of us are dangerous, but because the people behind us were. Someone betrayed you. Someone abandoned you. Someone mishandled your heart. And now, innocent people are paying emotional hospital bills for wounds they never inflicted. Trauma That Isn’t Healed Will Travel Pain doesn’t stay where it started. It migrates. What Pharaoh did to you shows up in your Moses. What Saul did to you shows up in your David. What Judas did to you shows up in your faithful disciples. The Holy Spirit is saying: “You’re reacting to history, not reality.” Not ev...