Quiet Unfiltered Notes: From the Fire

 I’m struggling. There. I said it plainly. I’m struggling with living in a sinful, fractured, morally upside-down world where it often feels like evil walks freely and justice limps behind it. You open your phone and it’s there. Corruption . Exploitation . Abuse. Power protecting itself. Stories of monsters who never see a courtroom. Stories of believers in other nations slaughtered simply for confessing Christ. Children harmed. Truth twisted. Systems compromised. And sometimes it feels like wickedness is not only active — it’s thriving. And I don’t want to sanitize that feeling. I don’t want to “Christian cliché” my way around it. Because sometimes it genuinely feels unbearable. There are days I scroll and my chest tightens. There are nights I lie awake thinking about how broken this world is. How is this allowed? How does so much evil go unanswered? How long does injustice get to breathe freely? These aren’t academic questions. They’re soul questions. They’re the kind of question...

 The other night, something quietly extraordinary happened. A customer approached me and said she had read my memoir, Kissed by Death: My Journey to Finding Life in the Darkness . She told me she had passed it on to a friend. That friend then gave it to her daughter. And just like that, my story — once locked inside hospital rooms, fear, addiction, and redemption — was now resting on coffee tables and in a young woman’s bedroom somewhere out there in the world. Not as a product. Not as a transaction. But as something alive. 📖 Kissed by Death: My Journey to Finding Life in the Darkness There is something deeply humbling about that. In a world that constantly pushes us to measure success in numbers — sales, rankings, reviews, algorithms — this moment reminded me of something far more sacred. The Gospel does not spread primarily through marketing funnels. It spreads through hands. Beyond Sales and Reviews I live in a world of metrics. As an independent author and founder of Refined b...

 “For it has been granted to you on behalf of Christ not only to believe in Him, but also to suffer for Him.” — Philippians 1:29 There are verses in Scripture that comfort. There are verses that inspire. And then there are verses that confront you. This is one of them. Paul does not merely say suffering will happen. He does not say trials are unfortunate but necessary. He does not soften the language. He says it has been granted to you. Given. Gifted. Entrusted. The same God who grants faith grants suffering. That statement unsettles modern Christianity. It unsettles comfort-driven spirituality. It unsettles the idea that difficulty means something has gone wrong. But Paul writes this from prison. Not from a conference stage. Not from a place of ease. From confinement. From limitation. From visible cost. And yet he calls suffering a gift. The Word “Granted” The Greek word Paul uses is rooted in the word charis — grace . That means this is not framed as punishment. Not divine ir...

 There are seasons in life when everything feels uncertain. And then there are seasons when you can feel something aligning — not loudly, not dramatically — but steadily. I am standing in one of those seasons right now. Not at the finish line. Not at the summit. But at the threshold. A new job about to begin at Gold Coast University Hospital . One month into King’s Bible College . Officially stepping into the team at King’s Church . It feels less like acceleration — and more like alignment. A Job I Haven’t Started Yet I haven’t even walked into my first shift at Gold Coast University Hospital yet. But I already feel the weight of what it represents. Hospitals have never been neutral spaces in my life. They represent vulnerability. They represent trauma. They represent survival. They represent the thin line between life and death. I was born under medical urgency. I have undergone 27 major operations. At eighteen, I contracted meningococcal disease and nearly didn’t make it. Hospit...

 Today was one of those days that feels bigger than itself. Not louder. Not dramatic. But heavy with something sacred. I walked into Bible college this morning carrying the usual things I carry — history, insecurity, gratitude, hunger, questions. Some days I show up strong. Other days I show up aware of how fragile strength really is. Today I showed up open. And something shifted. It wasn’t hype. It wasn’t emotional manipulation. It wasn’t a moment manufactured by music or atmosphere. It was quieter than that. It was steady. There was a weight in the room — the kind that doesn’t crush you, but anchors you. A Spirit-filled day doesn’t mean you fall over or cry for three hours. Sometimes it means clarity. Sometimes it means conviction without condemnation. Sometimes it means being reminded who you are when you forget. We studied. We reflected. We prayed. And somewhere in that process, I felt the tension of my life rise to the surface again. Faith and work. Calling and employment . ...

 As a new week starts, I find myself doing what I often do on a Sunday morning — looking back before I look forward. Last week wasn’t dramatic. Nothing exploded. Nothing collapsed. There were no public failures, no major disappointments, no visible crises. On the outside, it was steady. Productive even. But internally, something familiar surfaced again. The seed of rejection . It’s strange how something so old can still feel so present. Like a splinter that never fully worked its way out. Like a bruise that never completely healed, only faded enough to function around. And as I reflect, I cannot help but acknowledge something that humbles me deeply: Even after twenty years since I was radically saved on my deathbed by Jesus , this area of my life is still raw. Still tender. Still not fully healed. The Old Wound That Still Breathes When I say “seed of rejection,” I don’t mean a passing insecurity. I don’t mean a bad day where someone didn’t reply to a message or didn’t affirm someth...

 “Stand at the crossroads and look; ask for the ancient paths , ask where the good way is, and walk in it, and you will find rest for your souls.” — Jeremiah 6:16 There are seasons when motion itself becomes the problem. Not because nothing is happening, but because too much is happening—ideas, invitations, possibilities, expectations. Progress begins to feel scattered rather than purposeful. The soul grows tired, not from labour, but from noise. It was in one of those moments that this verse from Jeremiah rose to the surface. Not as a dramatic revelation, but as a steady interruption. As I was praying and meditating on what I believe I am called to do, I found myself returning again and again to this single instruction: Stand. The Forgotten Power of Standing Still “Stand at the crossroads and look.” The command itself feels almost defiant in a culture obsessed with momentum. We are conditioned to move quickly, decide decisively, and keep ourselves visible. Stillness is often mis...

 Why I Finally Made Public That I’m Attending Bible College Today, I made something public that I’ve carried quietly for a long time. On Porky’s Paradise , a platform most people associate with fire, food, creativity, and craft, I shared that I am attending Bible college . On the surface, it may seem like a simple update. Another life step. Another direction. Another announcement. But for me, it was anything but simple. It was delayed. It was wrestled over. It was prayed through. And for a long time, it was held back—not because I doubted the calling , but because I doubted myself. The Apprehension No One Saw I want to be honest about that hesitation, because it matters. I wasn’t apprehensive because I feared study. I wasn’t hesitant because I feared commitment. And it wasn’t because I was unsure whether God was leading me there. The hesitation came from a quieter, more uncomfortable place. Was it the fear of man ? Was it anxiety? Was it concern about how it would be received by pe...

 I walked into Bible college today grounded. At least, that’s how it felt on the surface. My feet were steady. My posture was calm. My greeting to others was measured and sincere. Externally, nothing looked out of place. But internally, I was carrying the weight of a thousand unspoken thoughts. The kind that don’t shout but sit heavy. The kind that don’t demand attention yet refuse to leave. I was carrying the world on my shoulders. Not in a dramatic sense. Not in a way that demands sympathy. Just the quiet accumulation of responsibility, uncertainty, unanswered questions, and the slow drip of anxiety that builds when life is in transition. The what ifs. The am I doing enough. The will this hold. The what happens next. It’s possible to feel grounded and overwhelmed at the same time. That tension is real. I know it now. This was my second week of Bible college. And today, the topic was prayer . Not prayer as a concept. Not prayer as a theological abstraction. Prayer as relationship...

 I woke this morning with the weight of something still resting on my chest. Not fear. Not confusion. Not even excitement in the way we usually mean it. It was gravity. The kind that doesn’t shout, doesn’t demand interpretation, doesn’t rush you into meaning. The kind that simply stays, asking to be carried carefully through the day. Last night, I had a dream. And this one did not feel like imagination. The Dream Itself I was standing before a sea of people. That was my first awareness—not the words I was speaking, not my own body, not even the environment. It was the sheer scale of human presence in front of me. Thousands of faces. Not blurred, not faceless, not distant. Real people. Weighty people. Alive with attention. And revival was breaking out. Not staged. Not emotional frenzy. Not noise for the sake of noise. It was movement—quiet at first, then undeniable. Like a tide you don’t notice until your ankles are already wet. I was proclaiming the Gospel . Not arguing. Not defend...