“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.

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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