Chapter 1: Intro
My name is Joanna and what I'm about to tell you now may change the way you see the spiritual world and marriage. This is the hardest part of my life, the one that bleeds the most inside me to this day, but it's also the one that brought me back to the arms of God. I was kneeling alone in the room with my hands shaking, my face on the floor, and my soul screaming for answers. The pain in my chest was so intense it seemed physical. The pain was fresh, but what was consuming me inside was something deeper.
It was the feeling that something was wrong, something no one could see. But I felt it. My husband, Roberto, had recently passed away, a respected man, admired by all, a faithful servant of the church, someone everyone said had gone straight to heaven. But what if I told you no? What if I told you that behind all that image of a righteous man, there was a hidden sin hidden for 20 years that led him straight to hell?
Have you ever imagined living with someone your whole life and still not knowing the truth about who that person really is? Stay with me until the end because what you hear now may surprise you. Roberto and I met when we were young at a prayer vigil. He was kind, knowledgeable in his words, and highly respected by his fellow church members. We married young, and for over two decades, we built what many consider a perfect Christian marriage.
He prayed before meals, often glorified God, and even gave marital advice to other couples. He never raised his voice to me. He always came home on time in the eyes of the world and the church. He was an example of the husband, but inside the house there were silences I couldn't explain. The moments when he shut himself away became distant, as if he were hiding something. Sometimes during the night, I would wake up and see him crying softly.
He said it was the weariness of life. I believed and trusted. I never imagined he would carry such a heavy burden on his shoulders, an old buried sin that he never confessed. The truth only came out when I said one thing. Desperate prayer after her wake, asking God to show me what my heart already suspected, but my eyes refused to see. It was that night that everything changed. As I prayed with my face on the floor, a presence entered the room.
Everything around me began to disappear. The temperature dropped. I felt something spiritual was happening. My body felt still. It was as if my soul was being ripped out. And then I was taken to a place I never imagined I would visit, a place of torment, a real place. And it was there that I saw the truth with my own eyes. It was a place where there was no longer any possibility of repentance, where the people I knew in church screamed in agony, where the masks fell away, and what remained was only judgment.
It was there, in the middle of that hell, where I saw the man I loved most in this life. What happened next? I'll tell you, but be prepared because the truth will hurt, but it will set you free. In the middle of the fire, between screams and nashing of teeth, with my face covered in pain and shame, I could hardly believe it. It was Roberto, the same man who told me, "God bless you everyday." The angel at my side told me firmly, "This is the end of those who hide their sin.
They live a semblance of faith. God forgives everything, but what is not confessed is not washed away. My heart broke. I wanted to scream. I wanted to ask, "Why, Roberto? Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you repent?" But it was too late. If you're watching this right now, I need to ask you, do you really know who is by your side? And moreover, are you sure that your soul is clean before God? Are you carrying something you've never told anyone?
Leave it here in the comments if you've ever felt this tightness in your heart. If it's ever bothered you in the early hours of the morning. If you've cried silently over something you don't understand or even something you've kept inside for years. I read every comment carefully. Sometimes a simple share here can be the beginning of someone's liberation. And if this story moves you, if it makes sense to your spirit, enjoy this video now.
This isn't just a gesture, it's a way to make this message reach more lives, more homes, more hearts that suffer in silence like I did. And if you haven't subscribed yet, subscribe to the channel right now. This shows that you want to walk together. who wants to hear more real testimonies like this that
Chapter 2: A man of faith
reveal what many are afraid to say but need to say. And now hold on tight because what happened next when I returned was even stronger. I clearly remember the nights when he would sit on the edge of the bed with the Bible open in his lap reading silently. Sometimes he would even pray aloud, beautiful words full of reverence. When he finished he looked at me with a calm smile and said, "Let's trust in God."
And I trusted because that's what I saw. A man of faith, a faithful husband, a servant, respected. But there was something that didn't match the peace he showed. During services, he raised his hands. During couples meetings, he gave advice. They even called him an example of a Christian husband. And perhaps he was one in the eyes of others. But the eyes that matter most aren't those of the church.
They're those of God. And deep down there were times when I noticed he ran away from deep conversations about the past. When we touched on old topics, he always strayed. A discomfort appeared on his face as if a ghost from yesterday threatened his current calm. There was one day in particular that has never left my memory. We were returning from a Christian conference in the car. I felt so filled with the presence of God, so moved by the words of that preacher who spoke about repentance and purity.
And I said, "Roberto, there is something in me that I need to confess to God, something small, but that I have carried with me since I was a teenager." He looked out the window in silence and then simply replied, "The past should stay in the past." He didn't encourage me. He didn't pray with me. He didn't ask what it was. He just wanted closure. He squeezed my chest in a strange way, not because of what he said, but because of the way he said it.
It was as if he himself was trying to bury something that still burned inside him. Years went by and this pattern repeated itself. Whenever we addressed issues that required a breakup, confession, deep surrender, Roberto put up an invisible barrier. I thought it was just his way. But over time, I realized that this coldness wasn't emotional. It was spiritual, as if there was a barrier between him and God, and consequently between him and
Chapter 3: A protection
me. Our marriage was stable, but not spiritually intimate. We prayed together, but rarely cried in God's presence. He avoided that, and I began to accept it, even keep quiet. What I didn't know and only discovered much later is that this silence wasn't innocent. It was protection. A protection for a secret kept for 20 years. A hidden sin never confessed. And it's day after day. It left silent traces in our home, in our marriage, and even in my faith like an invisible infiltration that rots the foundations without making a sound.
The nights grew longer. The silence in the house began to oppress me. I woke up not understanding why with a tight chest, watery eyes, and a feeling that tore me apart inside. Roberto slept beside me, motionless as if he felt nothing, but I felt everything. Strange dreams began to visit me. In one of them, I saw Roberto crying on his knees, surrounded by thick
Chapter 4: A warning
darkness, trying to say something, but his mouth seemed cooked. I woke up suffocated. That trapped scream followed me all day, as if it were a warning coming from somewhere I couldn't reach. I began to fast. At first, I thought it was just an emotional crisis, perhaps a common sadness of those who face routine. But it wasn't that. It was something spiritual. It was as if my soul was being warned that something was wrong, but my body still didn't know what.
I cried in secret so as not to worry him. I didn't want to accuse without proof or create paranoia, but the anguish didn't disappear. The prayers began to change in tone. They stopped being calm and turned into clamorous, desperate screams. I knelt, trembled, and moaned. I said, "Lord, show me. If there's something hidden, something the eyes can't see, reveal it." And every time I prayed like this, the feeling grew stronger.
It wasn't a common impression. It was the Holy Spirit himself who disturbed me. There was a day when in the early morning, I heard Roberto whispering in his sleep, loose, broken words as if he were in a
Chapter 5: A nightmare
nightmare. He said, "Don't tell him. I didn't want to." That sent goosebumps all over my body. I froze. It was the first time I heard something that seemed directly related to what I had been feeling. That morning when I woke up, I looked at him with different A's. From then on, something in me broke. I began to notice more. His prayers were empty. His words seemed rehearsed. That sparkle in his eyes that I once admired was gone.
I noticed that even when we prayed together, he limited himself to words of comfort and never spoke of repentance as if it was something very far from him. And the worst part was that the more I searched for God, the more distant Roberto seemed, as if my light bothered him. Sometimes he reacted with impatience when I spoke of holiness as if I were overenthusiastic. I began to suspect that it wasn't just tiredness or stress. It was resistance.
A kind of resistance that only those who hide something carry in their eyes. But I still resisted accepting. After all, how could I believe that this man with whom I shared my entire life could have a side I had never known? My prayer became a cry stuck in my throat. God, don't let me be fooled. If I'm blind, open your eyes. And that's when everything began to change. If you understand this feeling that has no name, this narrowness that no one sees.
Write here in the comments. God reveals what the eyes cannot see. Sometimes it's only when we admit we don't know that God begins to show us. It was a Tuesday like any other. Breakfast was on the table. The smell of warm bread still floated in the kitchen, and the deep sound of the radio played an old song, one of those that Roberto liked. He left the room already dressed for work. Kissed me on the forehead and said like everyday stay with God my flower.
But there was something strange about that look as if he were too tired. For a normal morning, less than an hour later, my phone rang. It was an unknown number. I answered with a heavy heart. On the other end, a nervous rapid voice. Mrs. Johanna, her husband, suffered a sudden illness. We were on the way to the hospital. My body was locked in. My cell phone almost fell out of my hand. I ran like never before, not knowing whether to breathe, pray, or scream.
I arrived at the hospital with my heart racing, waiting for any news except what I received. The doctor looked at me with his eyes lowered and his voice suppressed. Unfortunately, he didn't survive. There was no chance to say goodbye. There was no last word, not a final plea for forgiveness, only silence. A silence that screamed so loudly inside me that it would accompany me like a shadow in the days that followed.
The church mobilized. Brothers and sisters came to my house bringing prayers, words of comfort and praise. Everyone said, "He fulfilled his mission. He is now with God." Recollected in peace. But inside me, something insisted. In saying otherwise, there was a tension that didn't match the piece everyone talked about. I tried to believe I wanted to believe, but every time I closed my eyes, the dream returned.
The one of darkness, the one of repressed crying, the one of the trapped soul, I began to wonder how could such a faithful servant leave like that without warning, without confession, without brokenness. Why didn't God give me time to talk to him, to hear anything, anything? These questions tormented me day and night, even at the wake, while people sang hymns and praised his journey of faith. I looked at that coffin and felt something was missing. There was no truth.
The last Bible he used was on the dresser. When I picked it up, I noticed something hidden between the pages, an old folded paper with hurried handwriting, as if it had been written in a hurry. The words were faded and confusing, but they were words of guilt. The letter was unsigned and incomplete. But it was enough to ignite a pain that until then I couldn't name it. Doubt was from that day on that I began to pray differently with more intensity with more courage with more pain.
If you have ever lost someone and felt something was left unanswered, comment below. Lord, speak to me through the truth. Sometimes God's revelation begins with a sincere cry for answers. 3 weeks after Roberto's death, I entered my room, closed the door, and turned off the lights. I knelt down hard as if the floor was the only safe place. My knees achd, but my soul screamed louder. Lord, show me the truth, even if it hurts, even if I'm not ready to hear it.
Deliver me from ignorance. That was the prayer that came from my lips. But what came from my heart was deeper. It was a thirst for justice, a revelation for an answer. I cried with my face pressed to the floor. It was as if my whole body was crying. The words began to disappear. I no longer spoke. I only moaned. And suddenly, something changed. The air
Chapter 6: The room disappeared
became thick and the atmosphere around me began to lose shape. I felt a strange piece as if I were being carried. But along with it came a coldness, a shiver that ran down my spine and wouldn't let me forget that I was about to see something that would change my life. My body felt light as if I were floating, but I knew I wasn't sleeping. Everything seemed too real to be a dream. The room disappeared.
My body remained motionless. And at the same time, I saw everything from above, the bed, the sheet, the lamp beside me, and my body there on my knees like an empty shell. It was at that moment that a presence appeared to my left. It wasn't a face or a defined shape. But there was light, a light that didn't hurt the eyes, but made the heart tremble. And then I heard a voice, not with my ears, but with my soul.
You asked for it. Look, that was all, but it was enough to make me understand that I wasn't dreaming. This was real, and they had kidnapped me. We began to descend. Yes, down. There were no stairs or steps. It was like crossing layers of silence. The further I went down, the more I felt the air become heavy. The cold mixed with a suffocating heat. It was as if all human emotions were concentrated there.
fear, shame, guilt, despair, and all that penetrated me as if each layer revealed the weight of something hidden. The place we arrived at was dark but not empty. The absence of light was alive as if it were breathing. The screams came from far away, but they weren't ordinary screams. They were screams of souls, screams that didn't ask for help, but for forgiveness, a forgiveness that was no longer enough, a lament that no longer had value.
It was as if every voice had been given a chance and had wasted it. I was trembling. I wanted to run, to go back, to get away from there, but there was nowhere to run. The voice, he replied, "You asked for the truth. It hurts, but it freeze." And then my eyes were drawn in a direction I didn't want to see. But I had no choice. It was as if the very environment was pushing me, forcing me to look at what I saw there.
I still can't describe it without my skin crawling and my heart racing. But in that instant, I knew the truth I'd asked for so long was before me. If this excerpt moved you in any way, write here in the comments. Even if it hurts, I want the truth. There are prayers that change everything. But it takes courage to say them. floating above my own body, I saw myself kneeling in the room with my shoulders shaking and my head bowed as if carrying the weight of something yet to be revealed.
And even apart from that body, I felt all its emotions, fear, surrender, pain. None of this is left behind. It was as if my soul, stripped of flesh, was even more sensitive, more exposed. And it was in that state that I clearly heard that voice that pierced the silence like a soft but precise sword. You asked for answers, so come and see for yourself. By yourself? The presence beside me had no human form, but radiated an authority that prevented me from resisting.
I knew deep down this wasn't a dream. It wasn't a deception. It was a spiritual summons. And there was nowhere to run. We passed through invisible layers. The colors around us were disappearing. Everything turned gray, then shadows, then darkness, but it wasn't ordinary darkness. It was alive, dense, throbbing. I heard whispers, moans, distant voices that seemed trapped in time, as if repeating the same pleas for forgiveness that were no longer heard.
I felt the heat increasing. At first, it was bearable. Then it became suffocating. But what bothered me most wasn't the heat. It was the feeling of a weight on my chest, as if I were entering a place where hope had already been forgotten. Each step took me further from the surface, and I plunged into a world where time didn't exist, only guilt and regret. And then we began to hear crying, but not screams of pain.
Physical pain was screams of souls, spirits who had understood too late the value of eternity. The voice that guided me said nothing. I simply walked forward, guiding myself. I felt I was about to see what my human eyes could never bear on their own. And it was when we turned among those shadowy forms, as if there were a path between the screams, that something caught my attention. A different cry, closer, more anguished.
It was as if that sound knew I was there, as if it were calling me. I approached, trembling. My vision opened, clearing enough to distinguish faces, human forms distorted by pain and the absence of divine light. And then, among them all, my eyes stopped on one. Breathing failed. My spiritual body froze. The doors of that place opened before me as if the earth itself had
Chapter 7: The screams
been torn apart. A stifling heat hit me so hard that I took a step back, but it was as if my feet no longer touched the ground. The air was thick, heavy with an unbearable smell that mixed sulfur, burnt flesh, and a kind of rot that no human words could do. It was the smell of damnation. The souls cried out for help, but there was no answer. The cries didn't echo like they did here on Earth. They mingled with the atmosphere as if they were part of the air itself.
My spirit trembled. I wanted to close my eyes, but I couldn't. It was as if in that place everything was forced to be seen. The angel didn't say a word. He simply pointed with his eyes. And every time I looked where he pointed, something inside me died a little. I saw men and women struggling in pain. There were no visible chains, but they were all trapped. Trapped in their own decisions, trapped in a guilt that was never carried to the cross.
Some shouted names of people they knew from the church. Others shouted Bible verses and repeated prayers as if that could save them. But the time for salvation had passed. I saw a pastor who had preached at my church years ago. His voice echoed in my memories. And there he was, his eyes wide with terror, trying to climb a stairway of shadows that never let him out, his place. With each attempt, invisible hands pulled him back.
On the other side, a woman who danced in the restroom, always smiling. Now she cried, asked for water, begged for silence because the screams of others were driving her crazy. There was no rest, no peace, and most terrifying of all, no forgetting. Every soul seemed to relive the moment they rejected the chance to repent. It was then that I saw him. Roberto was hunched over as if the weight of the entire past had finally fallen upon him.
Your eyes saw me and for a second I thought it was a hallucination, but it wasn't. He recognized me. He tried to reach out with his hands, but he couldn't. It was as if the force prevented him from touching anything that came from the light. And then he screamed, not angrily, with desperation, a scream that didn't come from his throat, but from his soul. And in that scream, there was one phrase, just one.
Forgive me, I cried. I couldn't move. The pain of seeing the person you love in that state is like nothing else in existence. And in that moment, I understood Roberto had lived a seemingly correct life. But there was a secret, an unconfessed sin, and that was enough to condemn him. My heart was beating fast. I wanted to run away from there. I wanted to wake up. I wanted it all to be a mistake. But something inside me told me there was still more to reveal.
If this story moved you, write in the comments. Lord, don't let me die with hidden sins. Sometimes the greatest liberation is to see while there's still time. But he was a good man. I screamed with my heart in pieces, as if that sentence could change something, as if my pain could rescue his soul from where it was. My screams echoed in the void. And what came in response was a thunderclap that seemed to rend space itself.
No unrepentant sinner shall enter the kingdom of heaven. Those words entered me like spears. It was as if each syllable pierced the flesh of my spirit. My spiritual body fell to its knees. I was trembling all over. There was no way to deny it anymore. That was final. It was of no use. Good what he had done. It didn't matter how many times he prayed in public, how many brothers he helped, how many services he attended.
The weight of that unconfessed sin dragged him down to the depths. I cried like I'd never cried before. The pain was sharp, burning inside. I cried out for him. I asked for mercy. I begged God to reopen time, to give him one last chance to take him out of that place. But the feeling was clear and cruel. There, time no longer existed. There was no more after. There was no more tomorrow. What wasn't resolved in life was now eternal.
The image of Roberto before me, covered in darkness, surrounded by screams and shadows, made me feel as if a piece of me was being crushed. I tried to get closer. I touched the air in front of me, but an invisible force stopped me. It was like a field that separated those who had hope from those who were damned. I belong to the light, for now he was in the darkness, and I could no longer leave. The silence of that place seemed to scream at me.
It wasn't the kind of calm silence. It was the silence that precedes a revelation. The angel looked at me, and without moving his lips, his voice echoed inside my mind with cruel clarity. He committed adultery early in our marriage. He never confessed. He never repented. For a moment, everything around me seemed to stop. The darkness grew denser. The screams disappeared as if hell were holding its breath for me to absorb.
The angel remained motionless before me, but his presence seemed to grow as if the atmosphere around him was bowing under the weight of the truth. My spirit was weak and shaken. I didn't want to believe that all of this was real, that the man with whom I had shared every part of my life had done something like this. But then, with a subtle gesture, he raised his arm and with the tip of his finger, pointed to a kind of dark veil in front of us. As soon as the veil opened, I had a vision.
I saw an unfamiliar bed, white sheets, cold, stretched to perfection, like in a hotel room. The halfopen window let in the yellow light of a street lamp. And there he was, the young Roberto, his face gaunt, sweaty, and nervous, sitting on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands. On the other side, a woman was partially covered by the sheet, her gaze fixed on the ceiling as if trying to ignore the weight of what had just happened. The atmosphere was filled with silence, but it wasn't peace.
It was embarrassing. Roberto slowly got up and got dressed without looking at her. The woman only said one sentence. You said you didn't love your wife anymore. And he, as if wanting to escape, responded curtly. It was a mistake. And he left.
Chapter 8: The vision has changed
The door knocked. And I, although I was a spirit at that moment, felt an indescribable pain, as if every word of that woman had embedded in me a betrayal that I never realized. The vision has changed. I saw him return home that night, entering through the front door as if nothing had happened. The same kiss on my forehead. The same. I had a tiring day and I I was there all smiles, preparing dinner, believing he was the most trustworthy man in the world.
The scene broke my heart. The revelation continued. I saw him trying to erase that night from his mind. Him kneeling silently in the bathroom, saying to himself, "God will never understand again." It was just once. But there was no confession, not even to God. Not even to me alone. Justifications, human attempts to hide sin under a spiritual rug. Time passed and with it came the habit of ignoring guilt.
He continued his life, continued his faith, but did not cleanse himself. Years later, already in a leadership position in the church, he spoke of the sanctity of faithfulness, the importance of a pure marriage before God. I saw his face shining on the altar. But now seeing this vision everything sounded different. There was no brokenness. There was appearance. And for 20 years he maintained that image while inside the crack grew.
If this touched you in any way, if you understand the weight of carrying something unresolved, write in the comments. Lord, give me the courage to confess what I hid. Because the sin that I have not brought to light will be carried in the darkness. As I was led through that place of horror, something in me was slowly breaking. It wasn't just what I saw. It was what I felt. The torment of the souls that did not come only from the fire that never went out, nor from the eternal screams that seemed to come from all sides.
It was the regret of those who arrived too late, a suffocating weight of those who had time. They had the opportunity. They heard the word but chose to pretend that on the outside everything was fine while inside they were slowly dying. I saw a woman kneeling on the ground with her clothes torn and her face full of tears and despair. She screamed but I sang. I ministered. Everyone said they felt the presence of God.
But a voice around her responded, "You sang with your mouth but you never forgave your sister." The pain he felt wasn't physical. It was his conscience. It was knowing that he had been offered salvation, but he chose to bear the pain. And now all the praise has turned to lamentation. Up ahead, a young man walked in circles, shouting as if looking for a way out. His eyes were empty, consumed by guilt.
He babbled Bible texts, excerpts from sermons, but he always returned to the same point. He beat his chest, saying, "I preached. I took the word to others. But then a
Chapter 9: There was an interrupted story
thick shadow appeared before him, enveloping him every time he tried to follow it. And I heard the phrase, "You spoke of deliverance, but secretly you fed on pornography. You never won because you never fully surrendered." It was as if every soul there was an interrupted story. People who lived off appearances, supported religious imagery, but wouldn't let the Holy Spirit probe into the most hidden things.
They were leaders, church members, workers, intercessors, people I recognized who once hugged me in a service, prayed for me, cried with me, and now they were there. Not because God wanted it, but because they chose to hide what needed to be confessed. With each step, I understood something new. Hell isn't full of murderers and thieves. It's full of believers who've played it cool, who thought that by attending church, quoting verses, participating in ministries, they were safe.
But God doesn't see as man sees. God searches the heart. And there in that abyss, every heart had been revealed. And condemned, I was trembling. The angel at my side remained silent as if letting me absorb every scene. And even without saying a word, his presence taught me the biggest mistake in hell is to make someone believe that everything is fine when there is still time to change. If this story confronted you with something, write in the comments.
Lord, I don't want to live in appearance. Salvation is not a role that you play. It is a commitment that you live every day. Suddenly, I felt a strong light attracting me. The light pulled me violently as if heaven itself was pulling me from that place of torment before my soul completely broke. I didn't know if I would return or if I would be thrown back. Everything was spinning. The screams faded into the distance.
The pain spiritual silence still burned inside me. And then silence, a silence so deep that for a moment I thought I had died. But suddenly my eyes flew open. The room was as I had left it, dark and silent, with the Bible still beside the bed. I was on the floor, sweaty, my face wet with tears, and my chest heaving as if I had been running for hours. Breathing was labored and heavy. My knees achd, my
Chapter 10: I was awake
hands shook, but something inside me was awake. It wasn't a dream. It wasn't imagination. It wasn't emotion. I knew what I had experienced. I had been kidnapped. God had shown me what many ignore, what many mock, what many pretend doesn't exist, and not just to scare me, but to wake me up. I had been given a second chance, a chance to see the truth. And not just the truth about Roberto, but also about me, about the church, about the life we live, thinking that it's enough to pretend to be a believer when God seeks a people who truly live what they preach.
I spent the whole day in silence. I didn't speak to anyone. I cried every hour, remembering the faces I saw, the voices pleading too late. The smiles I once saw in services that were now covered in despair. Each scene returned as if seared into my soul. The image of Alberto, that silent cry of his, the weight of his regret. All of it was eating me up inside. But along with the pain, something was born in me I hadn't felt in years.
urgency. I understood that I also carried wounds, judgments, emissions. I began to review each of my attitudes, not only as a wife, but as a servant, as a woman before God. I spent days in silence simply observing what I had secretly cultivated within me. How many sorrows I carried without realizing it. How many judgments I made inside even when I smiled on the outside. how much advice I gave in church that I didn't really follow myself.
It was as if hell had shown me not only the end of Roberto's road, but the signs that I too was ignoring on my own journey. I went to the room and closed the door. I knelled again, but this was different. I didn't ask for revelations or visions. I asked for cleansing. I began to confess faults I'd never expressed in words. small hidden things that many people think don't carry weight but that run deep in the soul when left untreated.
Pride comparisons, words that hurt, silences
Chapter 11: Everything came out
that hurt, the decisions I made without consulting God. Everything came out of me with tears. It was as if I were vomiting years of religiosity and dead weight. I felt ashamed, but I also felt relief. It was as if I were finally standing before God as I truly am. without shields, without titles, without masks. And there, in that position of total surrender, I understood the urgency of eternity. Hell is not a place only for the wicked.
It is a destination for those who reject the truth, even when they know the word. From that day on, I began to walk more fearfully, speaking less and listening more, praying without haste, reviewing my intentions, not to look better in front of others, but so as not to get lost, because now I knew the time of grace is today. Repentance must happen now. Tomorrow may be too late, as it was for Aberto. If this part of the story spoke to you in any way, write in the comments.
Lord, help me to be honest with you. Because there is only true transformation when the truth finds space within the soul. The experience I lived left me marked but not destroyed. What could have been an ending. God turned it into a new beginning. I was no longer who I was before and I didn't want to be because that Jonah who pretended to be fine who lived amidst religious routines without truly immersing herself in the presence of God was buried with the weight she carried.
What?
