Recognizing God
God doesn’t save like a fireman.
He doesn’t crash through the door, lift you from the smoke, and lay you on the grass while you cough up what almost killed you.
He saves like a whisper—
Like the last thread you follow when everything else has unraveled.
Like the voice you want to hate because it tells you the hard thing:
“Get up.”
“Try again.”
“Forgive them.”
“Forgive yourself.”
So yes, you do the work.
You bleed, ache, stretch, claw your way forward.
But maybe god’s not the muscle.
Maybe he’s the map.
Or the compass.
Or even just the unbearable silence that makes you listen for your truest voice.
He gets credit for the path and the pull.
Not for doing it for you, but for planting the seed of belief that you could.
And if you did it all without him?
Then maybe you are the god you’ve been waiting on.
And maybe that’s not blasphemy—
maybe that’s divinity finally recognizing itself.