
Being Filthy Rich…Quietly
There’s a version of wealth I dream about—not wrapped in luxury cars or gated neighborhoods but tucked quietly inside the heart of someone who wants to give without applause.
I don’t want to live among the rich. I don’t want to befriend the elite. I want to remain exactly who I am: someone who wakes up with the singular desire to listen to the cries God has chosen me to hear. I want to be the anonymous presence behind answered prayers—the blessing that leaves no trace but changes lives.
I imagine starting my day with a simple prayer: “God, bring me someone to help.” Then I scroll through the news—not for the drama, but to find the stories. The quiet pain. The overlooked struggle. That’s where my wealth goes. Into light bills paid quietly. Rent covered with no sender name. Groceries on the doorstep with no explanation. Joy delivered by grace, not recognition.
My cover will never be blown because my spirit doesn’t need the spotlight. I want the kind of richness that gives me time to listen, to watch, to discern. Then to act swiftly, silently, intentionally. Because true giving doesn’t need a witness—it just needs a willing heart.


I like this set of mind, mines too. Free, from the Europeanized American trap American culture where work, work, and work. And I often contemplate and wonder do we Americans really ever, get to own their home?
And the version of richness not in the elegance of the “show off element” who cock their pistol and say look at me I’m rich driving this
2025 Porsche Panamera Turbo E‑
MSRP $226,405, out the market show case like high cotton in real time as a Jeff Bezos
American business and a Elon Musk sporting a net worth of over $415 billion.
I too was t to be me in the place where people value like Martin L. King, Jr. people living people for the content of their heart and the skin in their back.
So I get it. Just want to live around the people that value your trajectory and the creative people that has given the world unconditional Love and civilization.
LikeLike