The Cost of Seeing

A Cry from the Middle of the Street

I felt alone because no one saw what I saw. Not just the moment or the setting, but the weight. The spiritual weight. The kind that doesn’t lift when the music fades or the crowd disperses. The kind that stays with you, marks you, changes how you walk. They were present, yes. They were moved, maybe. But they didn’t carry it. They didn’t stay with it. They didn’t let it pierce them. I did and still do. Imperfectly, but I am imperfectly His.

Have I felt that weight? Have I let it mark me? Or did I move on when the moment passed? Do they not see this? I don’t understand. I’ve prayed for years over this. Are they just now talking about it… Those kinds of questions roll around in my mind often.

Never do I say my thoughts are right, but I’ve had them, and I take them to the Lord. I say them out loud when I am alone, so He hears, because I know He listens. I ask questions out loud, not to accuse, but to release the ache. Not from offense or from pride. It is from grief and remembering. From the ache of carrying something that doesn’t let go. I know He hears, and I know He sees. I know without any doubt He’s the only One who can carry it with me.

This isn’t just a moment in time. This is live, and it is now. This is a historical lack of commitment. This is people forgetting—forgetting what He asked us to do. Changing what He said to meet agenda, cultures, and climates. Forgetting what it means to carry the burden. Christ did not forget that burden. People are more focused on their phones than the nations. Let’s remember that the nations are people. Real people all around us. Image-bearers. Souls.

But we scroll past them as a liability. We numb ourselves, because that is normal. We call it culture. We call it protecting ourselves. While evil runs rampant while we blame it all on the devil, instead of calling it what it really is—our own compromise. God gave us choice and said He would walk through it with us. We choose the easy route. The one society runs with. The one people have deemed acceptable. Acceptable doesn’t mean holy. It maybe permittable but doesn’t mean it is beneficial. Comfortable doesn’t mean faithful. And just because the crowd agrees doesn’t mean the Spirit does.

I see things now that make me question—not because I’m confused, but because I remember. I see movements that claim to be worship, but they draw attention and distraction more than they draw repentance. I see honor given, but it doesn’t always point to Him. I see grief used, but it doesn’t always lead to truth. And I ask the Lord, “Is this You?” And sometimes I hear back, “What do you think?” I know what I think, but it is not about me, but if I were to answer… I think we’ve dressed up distraction and called it holy. I think we’ve elevated emotion and called it anointing. I think we’ve built platforms and called it ministry. I grieve, not because I’m offended, but because I remember what it used to sound like when worship was a cry, not a show. It doesn’t seem so long ago. I guess that is why I am confused. I felt worship and the presence of the Lord. Is it just me? Am I out of alignment? Am I just in my head?

I stood in the middle of the street and saw both sides. I saw the Word and what it says. I saw people’s opinions of what it says. I felt the ache of being caught between them—not because I was unsure, but because I don’t want to compromise. Sometimes the Word of God is just that. It doesn’t need interpretation. It doesn’t need performance. It doesn’t need to be made palatable. It just needs to be remembered and applied. When you carry that memory, you don’t fit anymore. You don’t blend in. You don’t soften the edges. You cry. You stand. You remember. You Proclaim, and people will not accept you. Just remember, Jesus wasn’t accepted either. He didn’t come to make friends; He came to shake it up in truth.

Run to the Lord. You sit at His feet—because that’s the best place to be. It is for me. Because I know without Him, I am nothing. He is absolutely everything to me. This isn’t just reflection. This is present day. I struggle daily, but I am not afraid to sit at his feet. This is walking through my life since Messiah found me flailing through this chaotic world. The call went out; I didn’t know I answered but my Messiah was there. He picked me up and steadied me. He gave me eyes to see and a heart that won’t forget. I’ve been walking the best of my knowing how to with Him ever since. Not even close to perfectly, or painlessly. Faithfully, in my humanness.

The fire isn’t burning me. It’s refining me. I feel it—I feel the heat, the discomfort, the tension in my spirit. I know something’s happening. I just don’t know what. I don’t know how, but I know it’s Him. I know He’s doing something deep. And just because I don’t understand it doesn’t mean I will let go. It means I hold on tighter.

Sometimes the fire doesn’t come with answers. It comes with silence. It comes with stripping. It comes with pressure that makes you question everything except Him. And that’s the point. The fire isn’t punishment—it’s preparation. It’s not consuming me. It’s consuming what can’t stay. I’m learning to stay in it. Not because it feels good but because I trust the One who lit it.

He’s not trying to destroy me. He’s refining me. And if I have to sit in the fire to be found faithful, then I’ll sit there forever if I must. I’ll stay. I’ll let it do what it’s meant to do. Because I know who’s with me in it, and I know He’s not letting it touch me, but He’s letting it shape me. That’s a Praise God Thank you moment.

Spiritual heaviness is real. I’ve felt it. I’ve walked through it. I’ve stood in cities where the air felt thick, and death was all around—where you could feel the grief of what’s been allowed. Phoenix, Arizona was one of those places. Some large cities carry it, but not every place people claim is heavy actually is. Sometimes it’s not spiritual warfare—it’s spiritual neglect. It’s easier to blame the enemy than it is to take responsibility. Easier to say “the devil’s attacking” than to admit we’ve made bad choices. God gave us choice, and we keep choosing what’s easy, what’s popular, what doesn’t cost us anything. The heaviness isn’t always demonic—it’s the weight of compromise. And until we name it, we won’t break it.

I never said the enemy doesn’t exist. He does. He prowls. He deceives. I just think people give him too much credit. They blame him for everything while ignoring the choices they make. Don’t get me wrong the enemy may pull our strings, but God gave choice and walks through it with us. Sometimes it’s not an attack—it’s a lack of obedience. Sometimes it’s not warfare—it’s compromise. God gave us choice. We keep choosing what’s easy, what’s popular, what doesn’t cost us anything and keeps us comfortable. We scroll past conviction. We call distraction normal. Then we wonder why the fire feels distant. It’s not always the devil. Sometimes it’s us. And we need to look in the mirror and ask, “Did I choose Him today?” Because the enemy might tempt, but it’s our yes or no that decides what takes root.

I am absolutely devastated by what culture has become. Employers deceive themselves and call it faithful. People idolize personalities, places, and things—and then try to sanctify it, dress it up in spiritual language, or say it is normal. Well, normal got us this world’s condition. Normal gave us corruption, violence, sexual immorality, greed, manipulation, and the condemnation of faith. People are being killed for what they say, for how they dress, for the illnesses they carry. My faith is attacked while other beliefs are poked down my throat, our nation was built by Believers, not a culture that cowers not by accepting evil over right. This nation of ours was fought for through generations that gave all they could to protect believes and peace. To keep God, and respect others. My beliefs are my beliefs, and I will share them with you, you can take it or leave it, but my Father knows, but don’t tell me I cannot believe in God and then poke your sin down my throat, I am prone to vomit violently and unexpectantly on untruth. We don’t need more normal. We need the un-normal. We need God! We need holiness. We need to get on our faces and carry it through—not just with words, but with obedience. Not just with emotion, but with endurance. Because revival doesn’t come through performance—it comes through repentance. And it comes from Him. Not from emotion. Not from platform. Not from crowd consensus. It comes from the cry of a heart that refuses to compromise. “Come out from among them and be separate,” says the Lord. “Touch no unclean thing, and I will receive you.” (2 Corinthians 6:17)

That’s not a suggestion. That’s a summons. And I will answer it—to the best of my knowing, and I will rely on Him for the things I don’t. He is faithful. He is holy. He is the only One who can carry us through.

Watered down religion has become normal while walking in true faith is called radical.

Disclaimer: This post is not written from opinion, offense, or pride. It is a personal reflection rooted in Scripture, prayer, and the grief of remembrance. Every question, conviction, and cry has been brought before the Lord. I do not claim to speak for Him—I seek to walk faithfully with Him. If anything in this post challenges or convicts, I encourage you to take it to the Word and to prayer. May we all be found faithful, and present.