The Truth Shall Make Me Free

For several months now, I have been led to share my conversations with God through this blog. Some have told me these reflections are inspirational and uplifting. I count that a humble blessing—that God would use me in such an intimate way.

But this morning, something felt different. You see, what I usually share is the end result—the polished version that comes after much wrestling, prayer, sometimes agony, and often the remnants of fear-filled, confused, imperfect thoughts.

It’s much like serving a delicious cake after carefully measuring the ingredients, blending the batter, and baking it to perfection. But today… God instructed me to show the batter, the mess, the process before the final product.

Why, God? I asked.

His response: Because people need the process, not just the outcome. If you only share the finished product, are you truly transparent? People can’t relate to perfection, only to truth. And without the process, it becomes just another affirmation—nice for the moment but unable to reach the places that need transformation.

So, in obedience—and in my desire to live freely and authentically—here goes.

I love God with my whole heart. God has always been my provider, protector, comforter, confidant, and strength. Every trial I’ve come through and every blessing I’ve received has been because of Him.

Yet even today, I struggle with fear, doubt, and worry. The world sees the result of my faith. The words you read come only after prayer, reflection, and soul searching. But they are not the whole story.

This morning, I woke up at 3 a.m. Immediately my mind switched on, and thoughts began invading—hard and fast. Thoughts of defeat.

“You are broke. Your finances are depleted. It’s the first month of the new year and your credit cards are maxed out. You have given until you are empty. Your partner isn’t working consistently. You owe everybody. How will you make it next month? No one will give you a loan. And what if you lose your job? They’re talking about layoffs. Who will take care of you?”

As I tossed and turned, more attacks came.

“Give up. What are you still fighting for? Aren’t you tired? Look at this wretched world—nothing good in it. Every time you take one step, another wall falls on you. You pray. You trust. And what comes of it? Nobody can help you. You’re the helper. And those you help can’t help you.”

It got so heavy that I swung my legs to the side of the bed, begging the intruder in my mind to stop.

And in that moment, God said: Get up. Go into your office and write.

I resisted. “God, why would I share this part of me? Why let people see this? I’m supposed to be an inspiration. I want people to feel uplifted, not depressed. They will think I’m an impostor—that I don’t really trust You.”

But again, He said: Write.

So, with trembling obedience, I sat at my keyboard, exhaled, and waited.

I want to believe God will take care of me—it’s what I tell everyone.

“Don’t worry, pray.”

“All good things come to those who love the Lord.”

“No weapon formed against you shall prosper.”

“We are more than conquerors.”

“God shall supply all our needs.”

I can recite all the scriptures meant to ground believers.

But the real question is: Do I believe them?

Do I believe when all hell is breaking loose in my mind?

When my back is against the wall and I see no way out?

When my heart is grieving to exhaustion?

When I feel alone, barren, and disconnected?

When my body aches and death feels safer than life?

When the world is spinning in chaos?

When someone I love is being attacked and I have no way to help?

When life is “life-ing” and knocking the breath out of me?

When my stomach growls and the cupboard is empty?

Do I believe then?

Suddenly, clear as day, God whispered:

Yes, my daughter—that is the real question. Do you believe? Or are you only practicing religion, speaking scriptures the way the Pharisees did?

I leaned back, lifted my head, and sat in silence. I had to face the question.

Do I really believe?

After several moments, here was my revelation:

The evidence of my faith is that I’m sitting here writing this.

This is not the first time the enemy tried to convince me it was over. I have been here before—back against the wall, in turmoil, in pain, financially broken, emotionally drained, fearful of outcomes.

And yet… I’m still here.

I cannot explain how every breakthrough happened, but I can testify that I survived every single one. I have been healed physically, emotionally, financially, and mentally.

God has made a way. God has always made a way. God—and only God—has been my provider, healer, and comforter.

For 62 years, He has guided me, led me, carried me, and yes… even dragged me into victory.

So why should I feel discouraged?

Why should shadows come?

Why should my heart feel lonely and long for heaven’s home, when Jesus is my portion? A constant friend is He.

His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me.

That is not a song reserved for funerals.

It is a song for living.

A song for every moment of my life.

A song of truth—and truth shall make me free.

Now I understand why God asked me to show the raw ingredients today. It wasn’t just for you. It was for me—to remember, to reclaim, to snap back.

This is my declaration to the enemy:

I am a child of God.

He holds my past, present, and future.

You will not stay in my mind.

You will not make me forget.

I am everything God says I am.

I have the receipts of His faithfulness.

I need only to remember.

Thank you, Father. Amen and Ase'.