The Weight of a Calling: Walking Between Worlds

Prologue

Dorothy Banks

Losing you made me question everything.

I didn’t just grieve you.

I grieved the certainty I once had in God.

I grieved the simple faith I grew up with, the kind that didn’t need proof.

I grieved the version of me that didn’t second-guess every sign, every prayer, every answered or unanswered request.

Because when you were here, it felt like God was here too.

And now?

Now I’m questioning Is God real?

How can I watch over others if my own vision is clouded?

How can I stand if I don’t even know what I’m standing on?

Maybe that’s why this moment, this wellness trip, this shift feels different.

Feels Required. Necessary.

Before I step deeper into my era of the Prophetic Watchwoman, I have to shed the names they’ve thrown at me

“the fortune teller”

“the one who serves two masters”

“the false prophet”

“the diviner”

Depending on who you ask…

They label what they fear and don’t understand.

But the Prophetic Watchwoman is more than a title. It’s a responsibility.

It’s standing in the gap.

It’s seeing beyond what is seen, the unseen.

It’s warning, guiding, discerning, and staying spiritually alert when others are asleep.

Still before I continue to watch over others, I have to make sure I’m seeing clearly myself.

Before I fully step into my divine assignment, I have to know that I’m truly walking with God… and not just chasing shadows.

Am I divinely guided or just desperately searching for meaning?

I don’t know.

Either way, I’m tired. ✈️

I say I surrender but what does surrender mean?

Surrender to cease resistance to an enemy or opponent and submit to their authority.

That definition doesn’t right with me.

Surrendering to God?

He’s not an enemy. He’s not an opponent.

Right?

So why does it feel like giving in?

Why does it feel like losing?

Why does it feel like I’m being asked to lay down my weapons when I don’t even know if I’m safe?

Because surrender isn’t just about trust it’s about relinquishing control. It’s about stepping into the unknown without guarantees. It’s about standing at the crossroads of past, present, and future and realizing you don’t have a map.

And right now, that’s exactly where I am.

At a crossroads.

Looking back at everything I’ve survived.

Looking around at everything that hasn’t changed.

Looking ahead at a future that feels just as uncertain as the past I’m trying to leave behind.

And the real question isn’t whether I surrender.

The real question is:

Am I willing to take the next step… even if I don’t know where it leads?

Spirit whispers loudly: Your love is NOT the problem. Your fear of what happens if you loosen your grip is.

I have to learn to let go.

Ace of Swords. The World. Four of Swords.

Rest. Reflect. Rejuvenate.

The Seer’s Path: Walking Between the Natural and the Divine

Maybe I was escaping.

Maybe I was trying to find the meaning to life to only find out… there is no meaning.

It’s just a “life to LIVE”

I spent most days yearning for death.

Death. Sleep. Rest. No sorrow.

I must learn to stop speaking death.

Day 18

Proverbs 18:21 (KJV):

Death and life are in the power of the tongue: and they that love it shall eat the fruit thereof.

A reminder to be intentional with our speech, aligning our words with faith, truth, and divine wisdom.

The Voice That Wasn’t Mine

For a long time, I wrestled with the voice in my head. It was not in a way that made me question my sanity, but in a way that made me ask:

Is this me or is this God?

When I think, I hear my voice.

My tone, my emotions, my logic.

But sometimes

I’d get a thought that didn’t match my mood.

A message that didn’t sound like it came from me.

At first, I doubted it.

Brushed it off.

But the more I paid attention, the more I realized

Is this divine guidance?

Is God speaking?

Did I just need to learn how to listen?

Does God Speak in Unseen Ways?

People love to say, “I’ll believe it when I see it” but that’s not faith…

Faith requires you to believe it before you see it.

I convinced myself faith without works was dead… so I told myself “Believe it to see it” believe

work towards

whatever I was so called working towards

maybe happiness

Yes, I’m working towards happiness.

Peace. Ease. Joy. Memories.

I want memories that I can hold.

Memories that are visuals of God’s promises.

Psalm 27:13 (KJV):

“I had fainted, unless I had believed to see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living.”

That verse alone was allegedly confirmation. I don’t need proof to believe

if I believe, God shows me the proof.

The essence of faith, manifestation, and divine timing.

Not forcing things.

Not doubting.

Just knowing. Allegedly.

I mean, “it is written.” Right?

I’m struggling. Honest.

This is where I want to be but it isn’t where I want to be - I’ve learned gratitude and struggle can exist at the same damn time!

What if what’s written isn’t what you expected?

I can hear so clearly no matter the circumstance.

Ouch!

Philippians 4:11-13 (KJV):

Not that I speak in respect of want: for I have learned, in whatsoever state I am, therewith to be content. I know both how to be abased, and I know how to abound: every where and in all things I am instructed both to be full and to be hungry, both to abound and to suffer need. I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me.

Spirit continues to speak: Everything is meaningless.

Ecclesiastes 1:2

Vanity of vanities, saith the Preacher, vanity of vanities; all is vanity.

What if faith isn’t about believing so strongly that reality bends to match your desires but rather, believing so deeply that you surrender to what was written, even when it looks nothing like what you prayed for?

What if faith isn’t about manifesting what you want,

but

learning to accept what God has already established?

Would you still call it faith if it leads you somewhere you never planned to go?

Would you still trust divine timing if it requires a patience you don’t have?

Would you still believe it… even if you never see it???

Would you start looking for signs?

Would you search for confirmation in moments that feel too aligned to be coincidence?

Would you wonder if God is trying to get your attention

or

if you’re just reaching?

If you ask for a sign,

what happens when you actually get one?

If you get a sign,

How do you know it’s really from God?

And what’s the point of signs, anyway?

Are they warnings or reassurance?

Are they answers or just reflections of what you already want to believe?

Are they proof that you’re on the right path

or

just distractions keeping you from trusting without evidence?

Because if signs are supposed to guide you… then why do they sometimes feel like they lead to nowhere?

And if God is speaking through them… then why does He stay silent when you need clarity the most?

Overwhelmed.

A praying mother.

Because when you were here, it felt like God was here too.

I didn’t have to figure it out. I called my mother.

I didn’t overthink. I called my mother.

Some days, the silence is too loud.

The questions are too heavy and I wonder if I’ll ever feel that certainty again.

I know God is real. I do, but in my darkest moments, I miss my praying mother.

I miss her quiet strength, her voice reminding me to keep going.

Ma if you can, send me a sign I can’t deny. I mean something so clear, so certain, that for a moment, I don’t have to question… anything that makes me stop and know, without a doubt, that you are near… that I am loved… that we’re gonna be okay.

I miss you. I love you. And wherever you are, I hope you know… I’m trying.

Through the tears. I’m trying.

Through the doubt. I’m trying.

Through the naysayers. I’m trying.

Through the family dysfunction. I’m trying.

Through the silence. I’m trying.

Through the grief. I’m trying.

Through the loneliness. I’m trying.

Through the unanswered prayers. I’m trying.

Through the fear of what’s next. I’m trying.

Through the weight of it all. I’m trying.

Through it all, Ma… I’m trying.

Through the impossible. I’m trying.

Spirit reminds me of the bracelet I wear everyday “nothing is impossible” as I hear the mourning dove sing. Nothing is a coincidence either. Right?

I don’t want to question.

Not my path. Not my faith. Not myself.

Signs, Synchronicities, or Self-Deception?

I don’t believe in coincidences but truth is I don’t know if I want to call it divine timing either, because nothing about what is happening in my life feels divine.

It just feels like life is happening random, uncontrollable, moving with or without my consent.

It does not feel like things are aligning for me.

It just feels like they are happening to and around me.

And yet, something kept pulling at my attention.

I reflect. Is this alignment?

I started noticing things.

Numbers repeating themselves.

Random animals at my house… a bird’s nest on my gutter, a turkey in my backyard something I knew had never happened before.

At first, I told myself it was nothing.

But then came the black cat that showed up one day and never left, the hawks, the stray dogs that appeared out of nowhere and eventually the crows.

The crows.

Let’s talk about them.

They are magical. They are haunting. They are a warning and a welcome all at once.

I love them the most, even when their presence unsettles me because when the crows come, I know the shift is near.

For the most part shift is never celebratory.

But the ending is.

Because death always brings life.

Transformation.

Major Arcana.

I was not just seeing things I had never seen before.

I was questioning them.

And the more I questioned, the more I started searching.

That is how I got into the occult.

People fear what they don’t understand.

They label what they can’t explain.

They condemn what doesn’t fit inside their box of acceptable faith.

If God Used Physical Tools Then, Why Wouldn’t He Now?

People love to separate the physical from the spiritual, acting as if using tools to deepen faith is somehow a contradiction. But God has always used physical objects as vessels for His power.

• Moses had a staff a simple wooden rod that turned into a serpent, parted the Red Sea, and brought water from a rock (Exodus 4:2-4, Exodus 14:16, Numbers 20:11). It was not the staff itself that held power but the authority God placed upon it.

• Aaron had the Urim and Thummim sacred stones used by priests to seek divine judgment and guidance (Exodus 28:30). They were physical tools that revealed the will of God.

• Elisha used salt to purify water (2 Kings 2:19-22). The salt was a symbol, a conduit for the miracle that God performed.

• Jesus used mud and spit to heal a blind man (John 9:6-7). He could have spoken healing, but instead, He chose a physical substance to demonstrate faith and divine transformation.

So why do people assume that using candles, prayer cloths, anointing oil, or even tarot as a tool of discernment is outside of God’s reach?

Everything is spiritual when it is consecrated for God’s purpose.

Right?

So explain to me why, when I light a prayer candle, write Scripture on it, and speak life over my intentions

it’s suddenly sorcery?

Tell me why, when I pull a tarot card, praying for God to speak to me about me in a way I can understand it’s fortune telling and demonic… calling it fortune-telling or demonic assumes an intent that I do not carry.

Nor do not know the future.

Maybe if I did I’d have some hope.

Or not.

How is it that Moses’ staff, Aaron’s stones, Elisha’s salt, and Jesus’ mud are seen as instruments of faith, yet my tools are seen as a gateway to hell?

When it’s in the Bible, it’s divine.

But when I do it, it’s witchcraft.

Make that make sense.

When I light my prayer candles, writing Scripture on them and speaking life over my intentions, I am doing what the prophets and priests of old did: using the physical to connect to the divine.

When I pull cards, I am not asking the universe for answers I am asking God to speak to me in a way I can understand. Just as He used dreams, visions, and signs throughout the Bible, He still speaks today.

When I see a red cardinal, find a coin, or repeating numbers, I do not call it chance.

I call it confirmation.

Because God has always used signs to guide His people… the burning bush, the star of Bethlehem, the dove that descended upon Jesus.

Spiritual tools are not a replacement for faith, they are an extension of it.

Moses’ staff did not replace God.

It revealed His power.

Aaron’s Urim and Thummim did not replace wisdom.

They confirmed divine direction.

Elisha’s salt did not replace God’s healing.

It was an act of faith.

So if God could use these tools then, who are we to say He does not use them now?

I do not worship the tools.

I worship the Creator who moves through them.

And if that makes people uncomfortable, so be it because I know who I serve.

They want you to believe

That faith means obedience without experience.

That trust in God means silence when He speaks.

That anything outside of their understanding must be evil.

I refuse to shrink my connection to fit inside someone else’s limited belief system.

I Didn’t Choose This… It Chose Me.

Before I ever picked up a tarot deck, I knew.

I don’t even remember which deck it was. What I do remember is that it felt natural. The cards made sense to me.

They weren’t sorcery.

They were signs.

And every time I pulled, the messages hit.

I was drawn to it.

I was good at it.

A friend, placed on my heart for reasons I still don’t understand, told me, “You have a gift.”

My sister had been telling me for years, “Tikisha, you should be a life coach. You’re really good at what you do.”

But when she said that, I know she didn’t mean this

She wasn’t thinking about a spiritual life coach. She wasn’t talking about a reader. She meant I had wisdom.

That I had a voice people listened to.

That I knew how to break things down, how to offer advice, how to see a situation from all angles and speak life into it.

And she was right.

The Weight of Knowing: Walking Between the Worlds

But once I started connecting with the cards… it was like everything expanded.

I had already been wise.

I had already been discerning.

I had already been able to see things that others missed.

But when I brought tarot into the picture, everything aligned in a way I never thought possible.

It wasn’t just wisdom anymore

it was clarity.

It wasn’t just intuition anymore

it was confirmation.

It wasn’t just gut feelings

it was a language.

A language that I had been speaking my whole life without even knowing it.

I had always been gifted with sight.

Not just physical sight, but spiritual sight.

BUT

I was tapping into something deeper.

Something ancient.

Some call them the Clairs - the senses beyond the five we acknowledge, the ways we experience the unseen.

Growing up I had never studied them.

I never had to.

They were always just… there.

Once I started taking metaphysical classes, I realized these abilities had names, definitions, and explanations. For my thought process, my behavior.

What had always felt instinctual suddenly had structure. Meaning.

I wasn’t just feeling things, I was experiencing Clairsentience. I wasn’t just knowing things, I was tapping into Claircognizance. What I had assumed was just my overactive mind was actually Clairaudience.

I wasn’t learning something new.

I was finally understanding what had always been a part of me!

I knew things without knowing how I knew them.

That was Claircognizance, clear knowing. Thoughts, ideas, and realizations would drop into my spirit like I was remembering something I had never learned. It was why I never needed proof to know… I simply did.

I saw things before they happened. That was Clairvoyance, clear seeing. Not just in dreams, not just in flashes of insight, but in the way signs, symbols, and synchronicities would show up exactly when I needed them.

I heard messages that didn’t sound like my own thoughts. That was Clairaudience, clear hearing. Sometimes it was a whisper, sometimes a lyric stuck in my head, sometimes a phrase I couldn’t shake. It came out of nowhere, but it always meant something.

I felt things I had no explanation for. That was Clairsentience, clear feeling. Energy lingered in places, in people, in the air itself. I could sense shifts before they happened, read emotions that were never spoken, carry pain that wasn’t mine.

And then there is the one I struggle with the most. Clairempathy, the ability to feel and absorb the emotions of others as if they were my own.

This is the one that exhausts me.

The one that drains me, overwhelmingly unsure where I end and everyone else began.

It makes me a safe space for others, but rarely do I feel like I have one for myself. I carry weight that isn’t mine to hold. I feel sadness that isn’t mine to grieve. I absorb chaos that isn’t mine to fix.

And I still don’t know how to turn it off.

This was never just intuition.

This was never just discernment.

This was a gift. A calling. A responsibility.

And maybe that’s why the cards made sense.

They aren’t magic.

Although, I like to think they are… well that I am.

They aren’t sorcery.

They are mirrors reflecting back to me what I had always known but hadn’t yet claimed.

The signs had always been there.

I just had to trust them.

Or at least, I thought I did.

The Enchantress & The Prophetess

Lost Between Worlds: When Calling Feels Like Confusion

Let’s say I am demonic.

I’d call myself a Bible Witch.

The word witch carries weight. It carries history. It carries stigma.

I’m not talking about broomsticks and potions. I’m talking about a woman of God who understands the power of faith, prayer, wisdom, and the unseen.

Between Magic & Miracles: Why The ‘Witch’ Label Doesn’t Scare Me

That might make some people uncomfortable.

What is a witch, really?

Someone who is in tune with the spiritual world.

Someone who reads signs, follows intuition, and understands that there is more to life than what we see with our physical eyes.

People love to call things witchcraft when they don’t understand them. But let’s be real many of the things I do in faith look a lot like what others would call “witchy.”

• Witches cast spells.

I pray the Psalms, which have been used for centuries as prayers of protection, prosperity, and power. My words carry intention, just like a spell but they are directed toward God, not the universe.

• Witches use candles for manifestation.

I anoint and light prayer candles, writing Bible verses on them so that as they burn, the Word of God is activated over my life.

• Witches set intentions.

I set my petitions before God, writing them down, speaking them into existence, and believing they will come to pass.

• Witches use nature as signs.

I believe that God speaks through the wind, the birds, the coins I find, the dreams I have, and the numbers I see repeatedly. He created the world. Right? Then why wouldn’t He use it to communicate?

• Witches trust their intuition.

I trust the Holy Spirit, which whispers guidance, warnings, and wisdom into my spirit. Discernment is my gift.

• Witches follow cycles and timing.

I pay attention to moon phases, not to worship them, but to align my spiritual practices with God’s natural rhythms. There is a time for everything, and I recognize divine timing when I see it.

If God controls the timing of the universe, why shouldn’t I be aware of how it moves?

Ecclesiastes 3:1 says: “To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven.”

In Genesis 1:14, God set the sun and moon in the sky to mark seasons, days, and years.

In Joshua 10:12-13, God literally stopped the sun and moon to give His people victory in battle.

Some might say you can’t mix the two.

That faith and spiritual awareness can’t coexist.

Have you read the Bible?

Because if you had, you’d know that:

• God created the sun, moon, and stars to be signs. (Genesis 1:14)

In Genesis 1:14, God declared, “Let there be lights in the firmament of the heaven to divide the day from the night; and let them be for signs, and for seasons, and for days, and years.”

The celestial bodies were not just placed in the sky for decoration. They were meant to serve as divine indicators, signs that mark time, seasons, and events.

Yet today, people condemn the idea of looking to the heavens for meaning.

So if the sun, moon, and stars were created as signs by God Himself, why is seeking meaning in them considered forbidden?

• He speaks through dreams and visions. (Job 33:14-16, 1 Kings 3:5)

In Job 33:14-16, it says: “For God speaketh once, yea twice, yet man perceiveth it not. In a dream, in a vision of the night, when deep sleep falleth upon men, in slumberings upon the bed; Then he openeth the ears of men, and sealeth their instruction.”

In 1 Kings 3:5, God appeared to Solomon in a dream and said, “Ask what I shall give thee.”Solomon’s wisdom—the wisdom people quote constantly—was given to him in a dream.

The Bible is full of God speaking through dreams and visions to Joseph, Daniel, Pharaoh, Nebuchadnezzar, Peter, Paul.

So if God used dreams to reveal His will then, why do people dismiss them now?

• The Magi (wise men) used astrology to find Jesus. (Matthew 2:2)

The Magi were likely astrologers because they interpreted the appearance of the star as a sign of the Messiah’s birth. They didn’t just observe the star scientifically (astronomy); they followed it with the belief that it had spiritual significance (astrology).

The wise men (Magi) interpreted the stars as a divine sign and followed them to find Jesus. Yet today, people condemn astrology as demonic.

So was it evil when the Magi used celestial signs to seek the Messiah?

• He used nature to send messages. (Numbers 22:28-30, 1 Kings 17:4-6, Matthew 6:26)

In Numbers 22:28-30, God opened the mouth of a donkey to speak to Balaam and warn him of impending danger.

In 1 Kings 17:4-6, God commanded ravens to bring food to Elijah in the wilderness.

In Matthew 6:26, Jesus tells us to observe the birds, saying, “Behold the fowls of the air: for they sow not, neither do they reap, nor gather into barns; yet your heavenly Father feedeth them. Are ye not much better than they?”

God has always used nature to communicate with His people whether it was animals, the wind, or the elements.

So if the Bible is full of stories where God speaks through nature, why do people mock those who say they receive signs from the world around them?

• He promised that in the last days, His people would prophesy, see visions, and dream dreams. (Acts 2:17)

Acts 2:17 declares: “And it shall come to pass in the last days, saith God, I will pour out of my Spirit upon all flesh: and your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, and your young men shall see visions, and your old men shall dream dreams.”

This wasn’t just a prophecy it was a promise. The last days would be marked by prophecy, visions, and dreams as direct communication from God. Yet, when people today experience these things, they are often labeled as delusional, deceptive, or worse… demonic.

So if God Himself said that His people would prophesy, see visions, and dream dreams in the last days, why do so many reject these gifts now?

The Curse of Awareness: Seeing What Others Ignore

Or have you only heard what Pastor said?

God spoke through dreams.

He sent angels.

He gave signs and wonders.

He used nature, stars, numbers, and symbols to communicate with His people.

So if God spoke through dream, signs, stars and divine messages in the Bible why is it a problem when He speaks through them now?!?!?

So maybe I am a Bible Witch.

Maybe I am a woman who sees God in everything

in the birds that land near me

in the coins I find on the ground

in the way a verse appears at just the right time.

Maybe I am someone who understands that the Bible itself is full of mysteries, prophecies, and divine messages waiting to be decoded.

And if that makes me different?

Then so be it.

Because I know this

I am covered by the blood of Jesus, guided by the Word, and connected to God in a way that no label, no stereotype, no misconception can take away.

Bible Witch

The called. The chosen.

The cursed.

The good witch. The bad witch.

People love to divide the world into good vs. evil.

I was always drawn to the mysteries of the world but not in a dark way, in a way that felt natural. I wanted to understand, to learn, to explore beyond what was just given to me.

Bible Witch or  Disney Princess

I feed the birds.

I talk to the animals. I welcome the creatures that randomly show up in my yard, Animal Kingdom.

Isn’t it funny how when a princess sings to the birds, it’s enchanting, magical, beautiful but when I pay attention to the animals and signs around me, people start whispering about witchcraft?

How is it that when Snow White befriends the woodland creatures, it’s cute but when I notice how the crows, hawks, and stray cats show up in my life, it’s demonic?

People fear what they don’t understand.

When you really break it down, the “witch” in most fairy tales is just a woman who knows how to use the tools of the world around her.

She knows how to mix herbs.

She knows how to listen to the wind.

She knows how to pay attention.

She knows how to trust what she feels.

And if that’s the case then maybe I have always been a little witchy.

And maybe I’m okay with that.

But as much as I see the magic in the world around me, I still get stuck in my own head.

The Struggle With Meditation & Stillness

I get caught up in what people say.

I get caught up in expectations what I thought my life would look like by now.

I I get caught up in the fact that I have followed God’s word, yet my life looks the same as it did 20 years ago.

Same career.

Same home.

Same marital status.

Same experiences repeating like a cycle I can’t seem to break.

It’s as if I’ve been walking in faith but standing still in reality.

The only thing that feels different, the only thing that makes realize how much has truly shifted, is the death of my mother.

That, I can’t ignore.

That changed everything.

But even in that loss, I find myself asking:

Was this the only thing meant to change?

Was this the only shift that was written? And if so, then what does that mean for everything else I’ve been believing for?

I know I should trust the process.

I know I should let go.

I know I should surrender.

I know I should trust the process.

I know I should let go.

I know I should surrender.

But what am I surrendering to?

Am I surrendering to the mundane?

To a life that looks the same as it did 10, 15, 20 years ago?

To the same career, the same struggles, the same unanswered prayers?

To the fear that maybe I have been walking in faith but standing still in reality?

Or am I surrendering to the urge to want more?

The pull in my spirit that tells me I was meant for something greater but that “greater” never seems to arrive?

Because what is surrender, really?

People talk about it like it’s the answer.

Like if you just lay it all down, trust God, release control, then everything will fall into place. Like if you just surrender, peace will find you.

But surrender to what?

To a path I can’t see?

To the possibility that God’s will for my life looks nothing like what I’ve been believing for?

To the idea that maybe, just maybe, this is all there is?

And if everything is already written, do I even have a say?

Jeremiah 29:11 says, “For I know the plans I have for you, saith the Lord, plans to prosper you, and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”

But what if my future doesn’t look like a blessing?

What if I’ve spent my whole life believing in prosperity, expansion, growth but all I see is repetition?

Because nothing is changing, yet

everything is changing.

My mother is no longer here.

She died at 61 years old.

That’s not a full life.

That’s not the 70 or 80 years we assume we’re supposed to get.

And if she was gone at 61, and I’m stepping into 49…

Then how much time do I have left?

Do I even want more time?

Time to do what?

Dream to be disappointed.

If I’ve spent the last 20 years waiting on change, how many years do I have left to actually live?

Habakkuk 2:2-3 says: “Write the vision, and make it plain upon tables, that he may run that readeth it. For the vision is yet for an appointed time, but at the end it shall speak, and not lie: though it tarry, wait for it; because it will surely come, it will not tarry.”

But what does it mean when the vision tarries?

How long do you wait before you wonder if you misunderstood the vision in the first place?

How long do you keep believing in a future that never seems to arrive?

Because I’ve written the vision.

I’ve prayed the prayers.

I’ve followed the signs.

I’ve surrendered, or at least I thought I did.

So why does my life still look the same?

Am I surrendering to a life that looks exactly the same as it did 20 years ago?

The same struggles.

The same unanswered prayers.

Or am I surrendering to the longing for more?

The deep, aching pull in my spirit that whispers, There has to be something else.

If surrender means letting go, being still, trusting the process

then maybe my problem isn’t just that nothing is changing.

Maybe my problem is I don’t know how to be still.

And if I keep surrendering and nothing changes, then what was I even fighting for in the first place?

I had to stop and ask myself

what does surrender even look like?

The War Within: When Stillness Isn’t Peace

I repeat if surrender means letting go, being still, trusting the process

then maybe my problem isn’t just that nothing is changing.

Maybe my problem is I don’t know how to be still.

Not against other people.

Not even against my circumstances.

But against my own mind.

They tell you to quiet your thoughts.

To sit still.

To meditate.

To be present.

But what if your mind refuses to be quiet?

What if your thoughts don’t know how to be still?

What if stillness doesn’t bring you peace

it brings you back?

Back to the moments you tried to forget.

Back to being touched when you were too young to even know what was going on.

Back to being touched when you didn’t want to be.

Back to giving your body away because no one ever told you that you could say no.

Back to saying no and it didn’t matter.

Back to seeing things no child should ever see.

Back to leaving your home, running for safety… when safety was supposed to be found in your home.

Because when I go still, I go dark.

And that’s why I can’t sit in silence.

Because silence brings echoes.

Because stillness is a door I am terrified to open.

So I fight it.

I keep moving.

I keep thinking.

I keep my mind busy because if I let it get quiet, who knows where it will take me?

So maybe I was never meant for stillness.

Maybe my mind wasn’t built for silence.

Maybe meditation was never going to work for me the way they said it should.

What if the battlefield isn’t just my mind?

What if the real war is between who I am and who the world keeps telling me I’m supposed to be?

Because for as long as I can remember, I have been fighting expectation.

I was supposed to be the good girl.

The one who followed the rules.

The one who didn’t ask too many questions.

The one who trusted God and waited patiently for life to unfold.

I was supposed to be grateful for what I had, even when it felt like I was drowning.

I was supposed to be content in my circumstances, even when I felt trapped.

I was supposed to be quiet.

I was supposed to be still.

But I have never been still.

And that’s where the war begins

because the world tells me that stillness is holy.

That peace means silence.

That obedience means waiting.

That if I just let go, if I just surrender, if I just have faith

everything will fall into place.

But what if I wasn’t built for waiting?

What if I wasn’t meant to be still?

What if I wasn’t created to sit in silence and let life happen to me?

But what if I wasn’t built for waiting?

What if I wasn’t meant to be still?

What if I wasn’t created to sit in silence and let life happen to me?

I remember asking, Do you think you can create the life you want?

And so many people told me, yes.

So I tried.

I tested the theory.

I believed that if I moved, if I worked, if I prayed hard enough, if I followed every sign, then surely

life would simply shift in my favor.

It is written.

But once again, it only led me back to the sunken place.

Back to wishing I could disappear into the dark.

Because the dark doesn’t judge you.

The dark doesn’t remind you of everything you’ve lost, everything you’ve tried, everything that’s still out of reach.

The dark lets you rest.

But the light of day?

The light of day only reminds me of where I’m at and not where I want to be.

Every sunrise feels like an insult.

Like life is moving forward without me.

Like God keeps waking me up to the same life, the same struggle, the same reality I no longer want to live in.

And I ask myself

why?

Why does He keep giving me another day when all I do is wake up to the same nothingness?

Why does He keep waking me up just to clap for others, to hold space for their growth, to pour into them

while I keep running on empty?

I have cheered.

I have encouraged.

I have spoken life over people when I could barely breathe through my own despair.

I love what I do.

I love encouraging people, helping them find clarity, reminding them that life can shift in their favor.

I love seeing breakthroughs.

I love when someone finally sees themselves the way I see them

capable, worthy, enough.

I love when my words breathe life into someone who forgot how to believe.

But how can you be called to do something

how can you genuinely enjoy it

and still feel so empty?

Can someone really trust a life coach whose own life feels like it’s in ruins?

Am I a fraud?

What does it say about me if I can help others find clarity but can’t seem to find my own way out?

What if the only thing I’ve mastered is telling people how to believe in themselves while secretly wondering if I even believe in me?

What if the only gift I’ve been given is the strength to hold others up, but never the power to lift myself out of this?

Teaching the lesson without living the truth.

Guiding others on a path I’m still lost on.

And if that’s the case

Why am I even here?

It is written.

Meditation Wasn’t Built for Minds Like Mine.

For the longest time, I thought something was wrong with me.

Because I couldn’t sit in stillness.

Because my thoughts wouldn’t slow down.

Because every time I tried to “clear my mind,” it only got louder.

And when meditation became another thing I was failing at, I started wondering—

Was this about my mind?

Or was this about who I am at my core?

Because they tell you to quiet your mind.

To sit still.

To meditate.

To let go of distractions and be present.

But my mind doesn’t quiet.

My thoughts don’t pause.

And for a long time, I thought that meant I was doing it wrong.

But if it’s already written, if this is the story I’m supposed to live then how do I survive it?

How do I keep going when I feel like I have nothing left?

How do I silence the questions, the doubt, the weight of it all?

I tried meditation.

I tried sitting in silence.

I tried doing it the way they say you’re supposed to.

But my mind doesn’t quiet.

My thoughts don’t pause.

So I found my own meditation.

It wasn’t silence.

It wasn’t deep breathing.

It was music.

So I Found My Own Meditation.

It was Future even though I was constantly living in the past.

I was never in the present.

I was constantly reliving the past.

Because the past is where it all started.

I wanted love.

I became a mother at 19 years old.

And even though I had spent most of my life feeling grown, independent, ahead of my time

I wasn’t.

I graduated high school a year early.

I was book smart.

I had a little bit of common sense.

But I made a lot of bad choices. A lot.

I often wonder if my punishment for fornication was never being able to let the past go.

Always thinking about what I could’ve done better.

How I could’ve been a better mother.

How maybe my choices have already shaped his life in ways I can’t undo.

Some days, I read the Word and feel encouraged.

Other days, I look at life in the physical, and I’m reminded

I raised a Black son in America.

A young Black man with no father.

And the truth is there was no way I could’ve gotten it all right… no parent does.

The more I focus on everything I lacked, everything I wish I did differently, the more I wonder

Am I creating a curse that could kill our lineage going forward?

Because nobody’s perfect.

And especially not a teenage mother.

Bless My Son, O God: A Mother’s Prayer

Lord, Cover my son with divine protection, wisdom, knowledge, understanding, discernment and favor. Let him walk in his purpose with confidence and joy. Never lacking. Never fearing. Always trusting in You. I may not have been a perfect mother, but You are a perfect Father. Psalm 127:3 reminds me, “Children are a heritage from the Lord, offspring a reward from Him.” And so, I thank You for the gift of my child.

I trust You to lead him, guide him, and cover him where I cannot. Amen.

No matter how much I pray,

No matter how much I try to surrender,

The past still lingers.

I have spent years looking backward.

Regretting.

Replaying.

Rewriting history in my head, wishing I had done things differently.

But at some point, I stopped reliving the past and I ran straight to Future.

Google: Nayvadius Wilburn

It was Future’s voice in my headphones, drowning everything else out.

I played HNDRXX on repeat every single day for over two years straight.

It was my escape.

My portal.

My imagination took me to places my feet never could.

I wasn’t in my bedroom.

I wasn’t in my car, driving the same roads, living the same life.

I wasn’t trapped in the same cycle of work, and bills.

I was thinking about my collection.

Kindness for weakness.

I was looking exotic.

Money was coming so fast.

I had tools.

I was feeling incredible.

Bonnie & Clyde.

Pacific Ocean.

Never missed a loss.

In Paris.

I was sitting front row, wrapped in luxury, walking through a life that felt bigger than me.Bigger than the four walls of my existence. And it worked.

It calmed me.

It carried me.

It kept me going.

But was it helping me?

Or was it hurting me?

A soundtrack to my life.

But the actual future.

I stopped obsessing over what was

And started chasing what could be.

So deep into the future,

So desperate to escape the weight of my reality,

That I started losing myself in what hadn’t even happened yet.

Hallucinating.

Because while I was lost in the fantasy, my reality wasn’t changing.

I was still doing the same things I had been doing for the last 20 years.

Still repeating the same cycles, with a few enjoyable moments scattered in between.

And if someone asked me to name 10 core memories from the last decade, I don’t even know if I could.

Because while my mind was traveling, my body was still stuck.

Still here.

Still waiting.

Still watching life move forward without me.

Maybe that’s why I clung to music so much.

Because no matter what stage of life I was in, No matter how much had changed or stayed the same, Music was the one thing that never left me.

And maybe that’s why my son loves music too.

Because some things aren’t just habits.

Some things are in your blood.

His father loves music.

I love music.

And now, he carries that same rhythm inside him.

The way he talks about music… it reminds me of myself… the way music consumes him, shapes him, moves through him it’s the same way it’s always moved through me.

But somewhere along the way, music wasn’t just something I loved.

It became something I lived in.

And that’s the difference.

The delusion.

When Music Becomes the Illusion

But somewhere along the way, music wasn’t just something I loved. It became something I lived in.

And that’s the difference.

That’s the delusion.

Some might call it spiritual psychosis.

Some might say I got lost in the fantasy, in the vibration, in the illusion of it all.

But when you spend so much time disconnected from your reality,

When the present feels like a cage, and the past feels like a weight,

You start reaching for anything that feels like escape.

And for me, that escape was him.

I convinced myself I was falling in love with the artist.

Not just the music,

Not just the voice in my headphones,

But the person the man I had never met.

Because in my mind, he wasn’t just a rapper.

He was a guide, a muse, a reflection of the life I wanted but didn’t have.

The life I could see in my head but couldn’t touch with my hands.

I believed the connection was real.

That maybe, somehow, we were meant to meet. That the universe was aligning something I couldn’t yet understand.

But here’s what I’ve learned

Never meet the person you admire.

Because more often than not, they’re never the person you admire.

The version of them you fell for?

That was yours.

A creation of your mind, your perception, your longing.

And once you meet them, once you see them for who they truly are,

The illusion shatters.

And suddenly, you realize

It was never about them.

It was about what they represented.

The feeling they gave you.

The escape they provided.

And when that realization hit me, so did the truth

Music was my meditation.

That’s why it consumed me.

That’s why I got lost in it.

That’s why I spent years living inside lyrics instead of my own life.

But once I became aware, I could no longer stay in the illusion.

I had to come back to myself.

I had to pull myself out of the delusion, out of the fantasy, and into something real.

I became more centered.

I began to create a sanctuary around me, not just in my headphones.

Because music was never supposed to be my escape.

It was supposed to be my bridge back home.

But truth is I don’t know where home is?

Because while I may not be lost in the illusion anymore,

I’m still wandering through the fog.

I’m still in the sunken place.

I don’t know what surrender truly is.

I don’t know what it means to fully let go.

I don’t know if I’m following God’s plan or just moving in circles.

I don’t know if I have free will or if every step I take was already written before I was even born.

I don’t know what my life is supposed to be.

I don’t know where I’m supposed to go.

I don’t know if I’m still searching for God or if He’s been here all along, waiting for me to stop questioning and just trust.

I don’t know.

But for now, I sit in the unknown.

I exist in the space between certainty and confusion, faith and doubt, surrender and resistance.

And so, I built a space where I can at least breathe.

My Sanctuary: Healing Through Intention

My room isn’t just a room.

It’s my sacred space.

I don’t know the last time I’ve stepped foot in a church, My bedroom is my church.

It is where I come to pray, cry, surrender, question, and try to believe again.

Where I talk to God out loud and in silence.

Where I lay my burdens down

even if I pick them back up again by morning.

One wall is covered in Bible verses strategically placed, not randomly.

I read them differently depending on my mood:

If I wake up vibing high, I read left to right:

Luke 22:46 - “Rise up and pray.”

Psalms 68:19 - “Blessed be the Lord, who daily bears our burdens.”

Psalms 9:1 - “I will give thanks to you, Lord, with all my heart.”

Matthew 5:16 - “Let your light shine before others.”

If I’m struggling, I read straight down:

Luke 22:46 - “Rise up and pray.”

Psalms 118:24 - “This is the day the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it.”

Matthew 19:26 - “With God, all things are possible.”

If I don’t have the strength for anything else, I land on one word:

“Help.” Psalms 12:1 - “Help, Lord.”

And at the center of it all is my prayer table.

A place that holds pieces of my story.

A place where the past, the present, and the unseen all meet.

It is more than a table. It is an altar.

A place where I seek clarity, where I feel closest to something greater than me.

On it, I keep:

• Pictures of my lineage

me, my mother, my grandmother, my grandfather.

• A card from a friend that reads: “Ancestors are moving mountains to see you rise.”

• A plant (Lucy) my sister gave me

• A plant from a friend—I call her Ethel.

• A plaque that says “God is within her.”

• A cup that reads “Good Witch.”

• A glass jar where I place my “Give it to God” notes prayers written down, released, surrendered.

• A glass of water because spirit needs sustenance, too.

• Crystals for protection, peace, and alignment.

• A statue of Archangel Michael

a reminder that I am covered.

• My grandmother’s Bible.

• Prayer candles.

• A statue of Gaia

the divine feminine, the earth, the balance between creation and destruction.

• My mother’s urn.

• A jar of mustard seeds

a physical representation of faith, even when it’s as small as the seeds inside.

• Charms that represent the Archangels.

• My mother’s ashtray, where I light candles in her memory.

And then, there’s the bowl of found coins.

As a child, I heard:

“Find a penny, pick it up, all day long you’ll have good luck.”

Then I learned that finding coins can be a sign from a loved one.

Now, every time I find a coin, I don’t just see it as change on the ground.

I see it as a sign. A reminder that abundance flows in unexpected ways.

That divine provision is always near.

That my prayers don’t just disappear into the void.

So I keep the coins in a bowl on my prayer table because to me, they are proof

Proof that even when I feel unseen, unheard, and forgotten,

God still leaves small reminders that I am not alone.

I don’t care what anyone thinks.

Right now, God tells me that’s okay.

Or maybe…

Maybe it’s just a voice in my head.

And that’s the part that still haunts me.

Because I’ve spent years trying to discern the difference.

Between intuition and imagination.

Between divine guidance and delusion.

Between God’s voice and my own thoughts, disguised as Him.

We talked about this before

how I first started recognizing that voice.

How it didn’t sound like me, didn’t match my mood, didn’t align with my own thoughts.

How I wondered, Is this God?

Or am I just talking to myself and calling it divine?

I still don’t know the answer.

Because faith is messy.

Discernment isn’t always clear.

And the mind?

The mind is a dangerous thing.

It can connect you to God.

Or it can trap you in an illusion.

And maybe that’s why I struggle with surrender.

Because how do I trust a voice I still second-guess?

How do I know if I’m being led or if I’m just leading myself in circles?

Right now, God tells me that’s okay.

Or maybe… I just need it to be okay.

But even if it is

What if okay isn’t enough?

Because the truth is, most days, I am struggling.

Most days, I feel like I’m drowning in my own mind.

Most days, I wonder what the point of all of this even is.

Most days, I don’t want to be here.

I’ve fought against the thoughts.

I’ve prayed against the feelings.

I’ve done the work.

But still, they linger.

Still, the weight of my own choices, my own patterns, my own disobedience haunts me.

I think about Moses.

A man who was chosen.

A man who spoke to God face to face.

A man who saw miracles firsthand and still… his own choices kept him from the Promised Land.

I sit with that.

Because if Moses, who was literally handpicked by God, still let frustration and doubt get in his way…

Then what about me?

What if I’ve already missed my Promised Land?

Not because the world is against me.

Not because people have hurt me.

Not because life is unfair.

But because I kept making the same choices.

Because I let fear, doubt, and exhaustion keep me stuck.

Because what if it was never the enemy blocking me

What if it’s me the whole time?

What If It Was Never the Enemy

What If It Was Me?

Because I kept making the same choices.

Because I let fear, doubt, and exhaustion keep me stuck.

Because what if it was never the enemy blocking me

What if it was me the whole time?

And then, I think about my mother.

She was a woman of faith.

A woman who never showed weakness, even when I knew she was tired.

A woman who prayed over me, even when I didn’t ask.

A woman who had her own struggles, but still stood on God’s Word like it was the only ground that wouldn’t break beneath her.

And maybe, in some ways, I’m just like her. Except I don’t know if I have that same strength.

Trust, Delight, Commit, Rest: What My Mother Taught Me

She underlined these four words in her Bible: Trust. Delight. Commit. Rest.

That’s what I stand on.

And as long as I do, I know I’ll be okay.

At least that’s what I tell myself…

Because if I’m being honest, her death is what brought me to my spirituality.

Not religion.

Spirituality.

Losing her made me question everything.

I didn’t just grieve her

I grieved the certainty I once had in God.

I grieved the simple faith I grew up with, the kind that didn’t need proof.

I grieved the version of me that didn’t second-guess every sign, every prayer, every answered or unanswered request.

Because when she was here, it felt like God was here too.

And now?

Trust. Delight. Commit. Rest.

Now, I don’t just believe in one way.

I don’t just see God in a church.

I see Him in every religion, in every practice, in every spiritual path.

I have opened myself to the occult, to mysticism, to ancient wisdom.

I have broken every rule I was raised with and rewritten them in my own way.

I have created my own rituals, my own sacred practices, my own way of moving through this life.

And while it feels so freeing, it still feels so painful.

Because when I step back and look at my life

The then and now.

The before and after.

The who I was when she was here, and who I am now without her.

The only thing that has changed is her absence.

And that is the wound I can’t heal.

Maybe that’s why I hold on to the things she left behind.

Maybe that’s why I keep searching for meaning in places I never would have before.

Maybe that’s why I try to find her voice in the wind, her presence in my dreams, her signs in the things I once would have ignored.

Because even though she is gone, her words are still here.

Plead the blood of Jesus.

She used to say it all the time.

She said it like it was the answer to everything.

Like it was a shield, a weapon, a covering that no darkness could penetrate.

And now?

Now, my family says it too.

It spills out of our mouths before we even realize it.

“Plead the blood.”

But what does it even mean?

Because if I am covered in the blood, then why do I still feel like I’m drowning?

Why do I still feel exposed?

Unprotected?

Forgotten?

Why, when I plead the blood to cover me,

All I feel dripping all over my body is tears?

Tears.

Pain.

Misery.

Confusion.

Stagnation.

If I am covered, why do I still feel so uncovered?

If I am protected, why do I still feel so abandoned?

And yet, I keep saying it.

Because maybe somewhere, in the unseen, it’s doing something.

Maybe it’s covering me in ways I can’t feel but would know if it wasn’t there.

Or maybe I’m just repeating what I was taught, hoping it still holds power even when I can’t feel it.

But even if I don’t understand it fully, I cling to it. Because it was hers.

And right now, that’s all I have left of her.

And maybe that’s what faith is.

Not certainty. Not confidence.

Just holding on to something because it was passed down to you, because it’s all you have, because you don’t know what else to do.

How Becoming Spiritual Ruined Me (And Why I Had to Let It)

Nobody tells you that becoming truly spiritual will ruin you.

Not in a poetic, beautifully tragic way.

No

It wrecks you. It strips you.

It leaves you standing in the rubble of everything you once thought was real.

I used to have hope.

I used to believe in things because I wanted to, because I thought I had to, because I didn’t know any better.

But now?

I am ruined for surface-level connections. If it’s not real, aligned, and spiritually led, I don’t want it.

I am ruined for comfort. This journey forced me to see what most people spend their whole lives avoiding.

I am ruined for hoping without wisdom. Hope without discernment will make you believe in things that were never meant for you. Hope can lie. Discernment never does.

I am ruined for anything that does not align with truth. And truth? It’s not always kind. It’s not always comforting. But it’s always necessary.

So yeah, I am ruined.

I am ruined for blind faith.

Because what does it really mean to be ruined for blind faith?

Does it mean I refuse to believe without proof?

Does it mean I no longer trust in things unseen?

Does it mean I’ve lost the ability to surrender to something bigger than me?

Or does it mean I’ve outgrown the kind of faith that requires me to close my eyes and just hope?

Because I don’t know if I believe in blind faith anymore.

I believe in tested faith.

Faith that’s been shaken and still stands.

Faith that’s been broken and still chooses to rebuild.

Faith that doesn’t just accept easy answers because the truth is rarely easy.

Maybe I am ruined for faith that asks nothing of me.

Maybe I am ruined for faith that keeps me comfortable instead of challenging me.

Maybe I am ruined for faith that refuses to let me question, doubt, wrestle, and still return.

But if I’m ruined for blind faith, then what am I left with?

Faith with open eyes?

Faith that sees the uncertainty and still chooses to believe?

Faith that doesn’t pretend to understand but surrenders anyway?

Maybe I don’t need blind faith.

Maybe I need bold faith.

Faith that’s been through hell and back and still holds on.

Faith that doesn’t just survive but transforms.

I don’t know.

The only thing I have figured out is

I still don’t know what surrender is.

I still haven’t figured out this life thing.

I still haven’t figured out how to be present in the moment without thinking about the past or the future.

I’m not happy with where I’m at.

I don’t know if that makes me ungrateful, impatient, or just self-aware.

But I know that I can’t stay here.

So as I enter my 49th year, I need the doors to open.

I need to wake up one day and not feel like I’m still waiting for my life to begin.

I need to wake up and not feel stagnant, stuck, suspended in time.

I need to learn how to exist right here, right now.

Without reaching for the future.

Without running from the past.

Without constantly feeling like I should be somewhere else or doing something else.

Without constantly feeling like I should be further than I am.

Without feeling like I’m running out of time.

Without questioning if I’m living wrong or just waiting for life to start.

Without wondering if I’m missing something or if something is missing in me.

I don’t want to be someone else.

I want to be me fully, freely, without limitations.

I just want to be me, but better.

Me, but healed.

Me, but at peace.

Me, but in alignment with everything I know I’m meant to have.

I just want to be me, without the weight of everything that keeps pulling me back.

I need to learn how to just be.

Whatever that means….

after all, It Is Written.

Matthew 4:4

During His temptation in the wilderness, Jesus responded to Satan by quoting Deuteronomy 8:3:

“But he answered and said, It is written, Man shall not live by bread alone, but by every word that proceedeth out of the mouth of God.”

Romans 1:17

The Apostle Paul emphasizes living by faith, referencing Habakkuk 2:4:

“For therein is the righteousness of God revealed from faith to faith: as it is written, The just shall live by faith.”

Romans 14:11

Paul cites Isaiah 45:23 to affirm God’s sovereignty:

“For it is written, As I live, saith the Lord, every knee shall bow to me, and every tongue shall confess to God.”

1 Corinthians 2:9 – Paul references Isaiah 64:4 to highlight the wonders God has prepared:

“But as it is written, Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man, the things which God hath prepared for them that love him.”

1 Peter 1:16 – Peter recalls Leviticus 11:44 to call believers to holiness:

“Because it is written, Be ye holy; for I am holy.”

So Does “It Is Written” Mean Everything Is Pre-Determined?

Not necessarily. It means that God has established certain spiritual laws and a divine plan

but how we walk in it depends on us.

You can choose to walk in alignment with what has been written for you,

Or you can stray from it, rewrite your story, and take the long way.

The real question isn’t if everything is written or if we have free will.

The real question is:

Are we choosing to surrender to what is already written for us?

Or are we resisting, rewriting, and rerouting our own paths?

So maybe the real struggle isn’t fate vs. free will.

Maybe the struggle is trusting what is written even when we don’t understand it.

In my case, the struggle is LIFE.