I’ve got something exciting brewing—like a new candle scent that just feels right. Starting mid-September, I’ll be launching my very own YouTube channel… and I need my tribe, my village, my FAMILY to help me light this flame! 🔥
This channel will be a cozy space where heart meets humor, and spirit meets storytelling. I’ll be sharing:
🕯️ My journey in candle making (plus hosting classes!)
😂 Funny stories that’ll make you holler
🙏 Candid talks about God, faith, and personal testimonies
💬 Heartfelt chats about life, family, and friendships
👩🏽🏫 Lessons learned, laughs shared, and love poured into every video
My goal today? Hit 250 subscribers—yes, TODAY! Because when faith moves, mountains follow 🙌🏽
So please, if you’re reading this and your spirit says “go head, sis or brother,” head on over and subscribe to my channel 👉 @Iamlacrease. Drop a comment, share the love, and let’s grow together. I promise to keep it real, keep it funny, and keep it full of grace.
I always imagine Judgement Day as that moment when everything finally makes sense. The world’s chaos? Silenced. No more masks. No more egos. Just truth standing tall like it never needed applause.
I’m in line. Long, yes—but it’s moving. There’s no fear, just this sacred stillness thick with accountability. And the beautiful part? Titles don’t mean a thing. Power can’t skip the line. Everybody’s on the same level now.
Then here they come—celebrities, politicians, influencers dripping in confidence and yesterday’s status. Dressed like they still think the spotlight followed them from Earth. They strut up, trying to cut the line like they own this place.
I step forward. “Oh no, baby. That may have worked at award shows and photo ops, but this? This ain’t your moment. This is God’s.”
Judgement Day isn’t about who had followers—it’s about who followed truth.
And just like that, peace washes over me. Sharp. Righteous. Because justice ain’t bending for privilege today. Ain’t nobody exempt. Everybody’s got to speak on their time here.
We were told the first shall be last. And the last shall be first. This is that moment.
And if my name’s written in that Book, it’s not ‘cause I walked a flawless path. It’s ‘cause I chose love when bitterness felt justified. I forgave when revenge called my name. I trusted God when doubt made more noise than faith.
So yes—let them wait. Like we all do.
This line? It ain’t about fame. It’s about redemption. And that line we stand in? That’s Heaven’s reset. The great equalizer.
Every day I’m at my daughter’s house, I make sure my sweet Brendan gets his daily dose of love—and I mean real love. He’s my grand dog, my Black Lab, my baby. Giving him kisses every single day is more than just habit. It’s our sacred ritual. It’s the way I show him I’m here. That I see him. That I cherish him.
Brendan is the smartest, sweetest little schemer I know. He’s got this look—those eyes—that just melt me. And when he tilts his head and starts working me like I’m his personal snack machine? I laugh, because he knows exactly what he’s doing. His mom swears he gets away with everything when I’m around, and she’s not wrong. But isn’t that part of being a grandparent in any form? We spoil with love because we understand time doesn’t wait.
I know Brendan won’t be here as long as I’ve lived. That truth stays tucked in the back of my heart. But while he is here, I’ll keep kissing that face, rubbing his belly, and slipping him treats when he’s earned them—and sometimes when he just looks too darn cute. Loving Brendan is a daily devotion. And it brings me joy that words almost can’t capture. But I try. Because every good boy deserves his story told.
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’m in my late 50s, and meeting a married man—no matter how charming, fine, or seemingly available—is an automatic SKADADDLE!!! He can’t have my number, and I won’t be taking his. That’s not maturity, that’s accountability. And it’s about staying aligned with God’s plan, not getting caught in a trap that promises nothing but heartache.
Too many people try to excuse flirtation as “just talk” or “innocent fun,” but let’s call it what it is: opening the door to destruction. When a married person chooses to flirt, and the other person entertains it—knowing full well what’s at stake—they’re planting seeds of chaos.
That married man has vows he’s already broken by stepping outside emotionally. And the woman engaging with him? She’s not just risking pain; she’s stepping outside of integrity. If God has a purpose for each of us, this kind of distraction can take us way off course. And the further we stray, the more heartbreak follows—not just for the couple, but for the children, the families, and the communities caught in the ripple effect.
When I honor God’s design for relationships, I’m also protecting my peace, my purpose, and my legacy. Entertaining someone else’s spouse brings nothing but confusion to the heart and clutter to the soul. No thanks. Not now, not ever.
So here’s my grown-woman declaration: Married men are off limits. Period. Not because I’m bitter, but because I’m better. Better than drama. Better than lies. Better than settling for borrowed time. And if you’re out here single and waiting for what’s yours—don’t get sidetracked by what’s already spoken for.
I was working the register at Walmart when a young woman approached my line. I started ringing up her items, but when it came time to pay, her energy shifted. She looked through her purse, looked around nervously, and then paused. Something about her facial expression was different. It wasn’t embarrassment—it was helplessness.
At first, I wondered if she’d left her wallet in the car or at home. But my spirit told me she truly didn’t have it. And in that second, I knew what I needed to do. I reached into my pocket, handed her the money, and said quietly, “Here boo, get your baby some milk and keep the change.”
I’ve been that mama before. A single mother doing her best, even when times get tough. Her father was in her life, but there were still days when the numbers didn’t add up and the needs outweighed the means. But God always showed up. And that day, I got to be someone’s answered prayer.
What she may never know is that helping her helped me too reminding me of my own resilience and the compassion that still lives in this world. That baby deserved that milk. And that mama deserved that moment of peace. And I thank God I was there to give it.
