I walked through fire that never asked my name
Carried scars that never healed the same
I’ve cried out prayers with bloodied knees
And heard silence loud enough to shake belief
I’ve buried hope beneath courtrooms and ash
Learned that mercy doesn’t always come fast
But in the dark, where the answers don’t land—
I’ve still been held by nail-scarred hands
Still I say Amen
Even when the storm won’t end
Even when I’m breathless, broken
Faith still fights beneath my skin
Through the tears, the rage, the waiting
He’s been faithful in the aching
This battle’s long, but I’m not forsaken
So still I say… Amen
I’ve had to praise through locked doors
Worshipped with blistered feet on shattered floors
I’ve seen angels in therapists and strangers
And healing come in the face of danger
I’ve been the prodigal, the pleading mom
The miracle no one thought would come
Yet here I stand, bones tired but strong
Because His love never proved me wrong
When I lost everything—He stayed
When they left, He still made a way
When I said, “I can’t”
He whispered, “You are”
And turned my ruin into a rising star
I’ve held shaking hands through seizure storms
Said “I love you” to resistance, silence, and scorn
I’ve mothered 6 warriors born from pain
Taught them love where hate once reigned
I’ve fought courts and demons, lost some sleep
But never once did my soul concede
Because grace found me in the ash and dust
And told me this fight still belongs to us
Still I say Amen
Even when the war begins again
Even when I’m dragging faith through hell
My hallelujah rises still
Let the heavens hear my trembling voice
In the wilderness, I choose rejoice
This isn’t weakness—it’s worship with a weapon
And still I say… Amen
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Letters From the Edge 