Buried
It all begins with an idea.
The dirt of the world clings to our minds.
We stumble forward—blind—
Even when the warning signs
flash in red.
"Shots fired, shots fired!"
rings in a 9-year-old’s ear.
Parents weep.
Teachers freeze.
Administrators pray through fear.
Inflation breaks the bank—again.
A pastor whispers, “Redemption draweth nigh.”
What is sexuality?
Where is morality?
Life feels like a casualty.
Wars erupt beyond our borders.
Hope retreats as chaos disorders.
Allegiance takes a knee.
Skin color decides your safety,
and your screen screams society's decree.
Suicide stacks quiet victories.
Addictions erase legacies.
Is there truth anymore—
or just whatever I want more?
Oh, how many of us feel buried…
Buried beneath the noise we carry.
But hear this—
I urge you, keep going, you weary.
Yes, we are buried in sin and confusion,
but Christ was buried too—
and He rose in holy defiance.
Once crushed by mockery,
pierced by our spite,
He now calls us to step into His light.
There is resurrection power—
right now, this very hour.
The Spirit breathes courage
where fear used to live.
He calls us to holiness,
to love,
to forgive.
Christian, this is your time to be alive.
Whether it's the—
9-year-old,
Shooter’s goal,
Parent’s cry,
Prices high,
Pastor’s shame,
Straight or gay,
Fight for life,
Freedom’s fight,
Man unseen,
Pain ringing,
Or thrill-seeking—
Christ offers a joy complete.
Not a bandage.
Not escape.
But peace that runs deep.
His heart is gentle.
His love is lowly.
And He longs to clear His church’s eyes—
to help us see.
He takes the dirt…
and brings it to life.
They never said it, but I heard it anyway
It all begins with an idea.
They never said it out loud, but I heard it anyway.
The pause before the compliment.
The glance when I broke.
The silence when I need something more than "you’re strong".
I learned to apologize for taking up space before I even knew I was in pain.
I learned to shrink,
To smile through it.
To be grateful it wasn't worse.
And the worst part? I got really good at it.
So good, they called me grounded.
So good, they called me servant hearted.
So good, no one knew I was drowning in their approval.
But one day I cracked. Quietly.
Not with a bang, bit with a whispered, I can'
keep doing this.
And that was the holiest sounds I ever made.
Because that whisper turned into an invitation.
My true community and counselors didn’t flinch.
They sat in the silence they left me with,
And now we know it was sacred.
To the ones who were praised for being fine when they weren't -
May your honesty feel like home, not a threat.
Midnight is a Mirror
It all begins with an idea.
Midnight is a mirror.
Clouded with dust and debris,
and it’s too late to reach for the cleaner.
Through the grime,
you make out the shapes of what-ifs —
regrets pressed like fingerprints into the glass.
You see the conversation with your ex
still smudged across your identity.
You watch yourself sink
back into a grief
you swore had loosened its grip.
You tally the cost of comfort —
Amazon orders, daily treats —
small purchases that promised relief.
You see the friend who cared
standing just outside the frame,
while you were looking somewhere else.
You see the hobby you abandoned,
the one that gave you more joy
than all the doomscrolling combined.
You search the reflection
for that childhood photo of your first game,
but it’s faded at the edges.
You try to wish upon a star,
but the sky — like the mirror —
offers only your own cloudy face staring back.
The Heaviness of Being Okay
It all begins with an idea.
“I’m okay.”
That’s what I say
when the world feels too heavy
to reveal what we conceal.
I keep the trauma tucked in tight,
keep the good vibes high —
smile bright.
It’s the answer that keeps
the room at ease,
lets the conversation breathe.
But my thoughts don’t clock out
when the shift ends.
They echo in the quiet,
bend when the road bends.
I know I should take this mask off,
let it fall from my face —
but grace can’t seem to meet me
in this hiding place.
Honesty feels dangerous.
Like if I let it in,
it might host a beast
beneath my skin.
And I don’t know
if men are allowed
to sink —
to feel —
without a three-step plan
to fix it,
to heal.
No chart.
No program.
No victory claim.
Just the subtle stare of shame,
like you fumbled the script
of the life game.
So I say, “I’m okay.”
Because “okay”
keeps the truth at bay.
Keeps the ache
from having its say.
And some days
that feels safer
than being real.