Tag: God

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Chapter 2: Finding My Groove in Brush Park

I’ve officially moved into my new apartment, and while everything is unpacked and in its place, I’m still searching for my groove. At my daughter’s home, I had a rhythm—a flow that felt natural. Now, in this beautiful new space surrounded by concerts, dog lovers, and the heartbeat of Detroit, I’m starting fresh. And let me tell you… it’s not as easy as flipping a switch.

I know it’ll take a few weeks. I’m giving myself grace. But I also know I need to move my body. The fitness room is just steps away, yet I haven’t felt the pull to go. That’s okay. I’m not forcing it. I’m listening to my spirit, and she’s whispering: “Start small. Start soulful.”

One thing I’m proud of? My eating habits have shifted in the best way. No goodies in the apartment. No mindless snacking. No overeating. Just intentional meals and a lighter feeling—physically and emotionally. That’s a win I’m celebrating.

This is Chapter 2 of my journey. A new space. A new rhythm. A new level of self-awareness. I’m not chasing perfection—I’m embracing progress. I’ve got to get into my groovy. And I will.

Because this next chapter? It’s mine to write.

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“Don’t Greet Me Dry, It’s Too Early For That”

A few weeks ago, I walked into my dentist’s office. I always try to enter every space—with Spirit, energy, and a smile that’s just waiting to meet someone’s eyes. Hello, is free, joy is contagious, and I’m a believer in setting the temperature the moment I step into a room.

But that receptionist? She greeted me with all the warmth of a cold sink faucet. Dry. No energy. No spit in her throat. I mean—nothing. She was older and her face was TWISTED! It was only 10:30 in the morning! Her attitude caught me off guard… before I knew it, I bust out laughing. Not because I was being mean—but because her energy was that unreal. I had to laugh at myself.

Then came her coworker. She caught herself acting funky and gave me this look that said: “Oh that was meant for her.” That didn’t excuse the dry tone or lack of professionalism. What she didn’t know is… I could’ve cleared that entire waiting room OUT if I wanted to. But I didn’t. Why?

Because I don’t live on anyone else’s page. I author my own energy. I decide the vibe.

She adjusted, I adjusted, and we were cool after that—but this was a reminder: Never let anyone shift your spirit. Catch yourself, center your smile, and realign. Set the atmosphere in your life.

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As women, we MUST stop talking down on men

As women, we must stop talking down on men when we’re angry, or how about PERIOD?

Words spoken in pain can slice deeper than we know. Respect in relationships or friendships is not optional—it’s foundational. Learn to smile with your eyes, speak with touch, and connect from across the room. Those are the subtle ways that build lasting intimacy.

We attracted certain energies not just by accident, but through patterns in conversation and behavior—that’s deep inner work. It’s about choosing peace, partnership, and maturity over ego and emotional chaos. Look for spiritual and emotional intelligence—not just chemistry. Some folks think love means harmony 24/7, but it’s not the disagreement—it’s how we treat each other during it.

Let’s never gaslight our men, nor make them pay emotionally for the relationships before us. That behavior doesn’t prove power—it reveals insecurity. Testing your man, trying to spark jealousy, oversharing with family and friends—those are trust-killers. Some things once said cannot be taken back.

If something doesn’t feel right between you and your partner, talk to God immediately. If you find yourself having to be disrespected and to do the disrespecting, it’s OVER. Living life does not go that way. God didn’t design us to be locked in emotional warfare. Choose peace. Choose wholeness. Choose divine alignment. Don’t waste your divine time.

Learn the lesson, move forward, and keep your spirit open to the person He has for you. You’re not a failure—it just wasn’t the alignment meant to carry you through.

Relationships are classrooms. Don’t ignore the lessons.

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“The Last Shall Be First”

No Money. No Power. Just the Book of Life.

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.

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What are you curious about?

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.

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🚫 Married Men Are OFF Limits: A Grown-Woman Boundary

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.

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How would you describe yourself to someone who can’t see you?

If you couldn’t see me, you’d still feel me.

I’m expressive—very expressive. My face has a mind of its own. It twists, turns, and contorts with every story I hear or tell, not for show, but because I live inside each moment.

Eye contact? I don’t just glance—I lock in. I stare, intentionally and intensely, because I’m painting pictures in my mind as you’re speaking. Every detail matters. If something feels blurry, I’ll stop you, ask questions until it’s crystal clear.

That’s how I connect—with precision and purpose.

And yes, I love sarcasm. But never to offend. It’s my way of nudging people toward laughter and helping them see things from a new angle.

If you’re telling me a story, just know I’m in it with you—mapping every scene, questioning every twist, laughing at the absurd, and honoring the truth.

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My Stroke Wasn’t the End—It Was the Assignment

On March 29, 2025, my life changed.

A stroke pulled me into a place I never imagined, and when I came out of it, I wasn’t the same person. I was reborn—with clarity, conviction, and an assignment straight from God.

These past months haven’t been easy. I’ve felt the shift in my spirit. I’m broke financially yet fully covered by the love and provision of my family. Every need met. Every step guided. Because I know—I know—this is just the beginning.

God gave me instructions for my next chapter, and I’m on fire. 🔥 Not just to live it out, but to share it boldly. Many go through trauma and stay silent, either out of shame or because they’re just relieved to be past it. But not me. I will always tell my story. I will always speak on the One who sustained me.

I want people to trust Jesus—not just when it’s beautiful and easy, but when it hurts and you feel broken. I want others to know that their pain isn’t wasted. He’s working through it. He’s rewriting your story behind the scenes. And sometimes the ones with the deepest wounds carry the loudest testimony.

This chapter of my life is going to bless those who watch, listen, and follow the journey. I’m living proof that even when life knocks you down, God lifts you up with purpose. And when you come back… it’s with power, with passion, and with praise.

So, stay close. I’ll be sharing everything. And maybe my fire will ignite yours too.

Proverbs 3:5-6 “Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to him, and he will make your paths straight.”

Subscribe TODAY to My YouTube channel coming Mid-September

https://www.youtube.com/@Iamlacrease

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START building yourselves A VILLAGE for the LIVES of your CHILDREN

Growing up, influence wasn’t a trend—it was a way of life. We didn’t curse around our parents, aunts, uncles, neighbors, or any elders. Period. Respect was rooted deep. Even the smallest slip—saying “butt” or “you lied”—was a line we knew not to cross. And if we did? Oh yes, trouble followed.

Our parents didn’t parent alone. They built a village. And in that village, we had second mothers—like Ms. Harris. She didn’t play. She loved us hard and checked us harder. As kids, we joked that she was always “telling on us,” but deep down, she treated us like we were hers. And looking back, that wasn’t snitching—it was love.

I learned that lesson for real when I moved out at 22 with my three-year-old daughter. I was standing in my new kitchen, proud and grown. Hair laid, bad shape SHAPING, smile radiant, pretty face prettying, and feeling good. That’s when I heard God whisper: “You still have Me to answer to.” I knew His voice. I’d known it since I was 14. And in that moment, I understood adulthood doesn’t erase accountability.

Later, I found a new village—a four-family apartment, full of mothers. Ms. Elizabeth, Lorraine, Tonya, La Sonya-* Googie*, Yvette * Kim* we did life together. We shared meals when times got tight, watched each other’s kids, ran errands, cried, laughed, celebrated. We didn’t even have to build a village—God delivered it.

That influence? It passed to my daughter. She never cursed in front of them. She understood respect wasn’t optional—it was inherited. And to this day, respect runs deep through her. As her mother I wouldn’t have it any other way.

So today, when I see adults cursing on Facebook like elders can’t see it… I cry inside, because they have kids too. Just because you’re grown doesn’t mean you throw away your dignity. Being able to search your mind for better language—that’s growth. And me? At 57… I’m just not that grown.

Let’s stop acting like influence is outdated. The truth is: the next generation is watching. So, let’s guide them, correct them, love them. Even if it upsets them. Speak wisdom, carry a spirit that commands respect. Be a mirror of God’s voice, like I heard that day in the kitchen.

Let’s stop being afraid to correct. Let’s reclaim our influence. We may be grown, but we still have Someone to answer to.

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What’s the story behind your nickname?

My nickname is Zee-Zee, and while I can’t say for sure where it originated, I know exactly where it bloomed — from the heart of my grandmother. She was my mother’s mother.

From her two daughters, my grandmother welcomed five grandchildren into the world — each with a name, and more importantly, a nickname chosen by her own spirit and wisdom. These weren’t just pet names or playful labels. They were personalized blessings.

We are:

🌟 Zee-Zee — that’s me, the eldest of the eldest. 🌟 Dee-Dee — my cousin Dial, named by Aunt Wana, my mother’s only sibling. 🌟 Na-Na — my sister, born Yolanda, lovingly nicknamed with a gentleness that mirrors her soul. 🌟 Bobby — our brother, named after our father Robert, grounding us in legacy and tradition. 🌟 Peedie — our baby sister Electria, whose nickname sparkles with playfulness and youth.

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