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The Saga of Tee Why, 1488 Asgard Bridge Road, Gothenburg (2026)

01/06/2026

God was still good
when i was drowning myself every night
trying to silence the war inside my own head

God was still good
when i sat alone staring at walls
wondering how a man could feel so empty
while still breathing

God was still good
when i burned bridges
hurt people i loved
and became somebody i barely recognized in the mirror

God was still good
when i was locked behind steel doors
thinking my life had already been wasted
thinking i had gone too far for grace to ever find me again

God was still good
when addiction wrapped itself around my soul
and whispered lies into my ears louder than hope ever could

and somehow
through all of it
He never stopped calling my name

not once

God was still good
when i finally got tired of running
when i finally hit my knees instead of another bottle
when i finally admitted i could not save myself

God was still good
when He placed people in my path
people who saw value in me
before i could even see it in myself

God was still good
when He opened the door for me to be a father again
because there was a time i truly believed i had destroyed that chance forever

and now every time i hear my son laugh
every time i think about the privilege of simply being present
i realize mercy is one of the most beautiful things God ever created

God was still good
when He gave me mornings again

real mornings

coffee before sunrise
fog laying over Kentucky hills
the sound of river water moving slowly through the trees
the peace of standing barefoot in the woods praying while the world wakes up around me

God was still good
when He taught me that healing does not always happen loudly

sometimes it happens quietly

through planting trees
through building fires beside the river
through learning patience from bonsai branches
through sleeping beneath tarps and stars
through silence
through surviving another day you once thought would destroy you

God was still good
when anxiety wrapped around my chest
when depression convinced me the light would never come back
when i stood in the shower until the water ran cold
trying to gather enough strength just to face another day

because somehow
even then
He kept breathing life back into me little by little

God was still good
when He showed me that broken people can still carry light

that scars do not disqualify somebody from purpose

that sometimes the very people who crawled through hell
become the ones best equipped to walk others out of it

God was still good
when i could not see the road ahead
when the waiting felt unbearable
when prayers seemed to echo back at me through silence

because now i understand
silence does not mean absence

sometimes God is doing His deepest work underground
where roots are growing that nobody else can see yet

God was still good
when He restored parts of my heart i thought were permanently dead

when He replaced rage with gentleness
survival with gratitude
hopelessness with purpose

God was still good
when He reminded me that peace was never going to be found in this world alone
but in Him
in rivers and forests and prayer
in love
in mercy
in simply learning how to be still again

and after everything
all the chaos
all the loss
all the nights i thought would swallow me whole

i can honestly say this now with tears in my eyes

God did not abandon me

He carried me

every single step of the way

01/06/2026

I promised I wouldn’t write and not post for one year so. I did remove something from this one. It’s replaced with asterisks. I hope you enjoy 🖤🏴‍☠️

Chosen and Blessed
5-30/26

some people walk into a room
and you notice their clothes
their voice
their appearance

and then there are the rare ones
the ones you feel before they even speak

the ones whose spirit reaches out first

*****

from the first moment i looked into your eyes
something inside me went completely still

not excitement
not lust
not obsession

something deeper than that

it felt like recognition

like my spirit knew yours before my mind could even form words around it

and i do not know how to explain that to people who have never experienced it
because some things cannot be explained logically
some things are simply felt in the deepest part of a person

there is a softness in you
an innocence this world usually destroys early
but somehow yours is still alive

and it is beautiful to witness

your spirit feels clean
not perfect
not untouched by pain
but clean

like someone who has cried with God in silence
like someone heaven keeps pulling close even when the world tries to pull them apart

being around you feels strange in the best way
because your presence is loud without trying to be

your spirit screams
while your voice barely has to rise above a whisper

and every single time we talk
i feel God nudging at my chest

not loudly
not through thunder
not through fear

through whispers

gentle whispers that keep saying
tell her about me
tell her what love was actually meant to be
tell her who Christ really was beneath all the religion and noise people wrapped around him

because there is light in you
real light

the kind that cannot be faked
the kind that tired broken people notice immediately because they have spent their lives wandering through darkness

you remind me that God still moves through people quietly
that holiness does not always look like churches and sermons
sometimes it looks like kindness
sometimes it looks like gentleness
sometimes it looks like a soul that still knows how to love in a cold world

and i know people would hear this and think it sounds insane
but i have met a lot of people in my life
i have seen addiction
anger
violence
ego
pride
emptiness

and then every once in a while
God lets you cross paths with someone whose spirit carries something different

something peaceful
something alive

and when you encounter it
you know

you just know

your spirit feels like standing beside a river in the middle of nowhere after weeks of noise
like hearing birds sing before sunrise
like the feeling of praying alone in the woods when the wind moves through the trees and suddenly you do not feel abandoned anymore

that is what being around you feels like

like being reminded that heaven still touches earth sometimes

and maybe that is why my spirit keeps screaming to speak truth to you
because something inside me believes you were meant to carry light into dark places

and maybe you do not even realize how brightly you shine yet

but i promise you

people can feel it

31/03/2026

Some days ain’t out to get you…
they just stand back and let you get yourself.

I was up there dancing with a ceiling,
mudding seams like I knew something about grace—
walk board under my boots,
knife in hand,
feeling steady… almost wise.

Then I stepped
about an inch too far into my own confidence.

Sea legs, they call it—
but the sea don’t usually involve a five-gallon ambush.

One smooth, heroic recovery later
(and I do mean smooth, I’d like that on record),
I landed squarely
in a bucket of water deep enough
to baptize both Ariats and blue jeans alike.

Up past the sides.
Cold. Immediate. Humbling.

Now I’m standing there—
one leg soaked to the knee,
the other still pretending we’re professionals,
holding a drywall knife like it explains anything.

And I just started laughing.

Because some days don’t break you—
they just remind you
you’re still human enough to misstep,
still lucky enough to catch yourself,
and still alive enough
to laugh with a boot full of water.

So here’s to the days
where you trip over nothing,
step in everything,
and somehow still walk away smiling—

sloshing a little, sure…
but smiling all the same.

22/03/2026

We do not meet our character defects
like enemies at the gate

they do not arrive loud
or obvious
or honest

they come disguised

as protection
as instinct
as this is just who I am

They live in the way we raise our voice
and call it passion
in the way we shut down
and call it peace

They hide in our pride
that refuses to bend
in our silence
that punishes without a word

They wear our face so well
we never think to question them

And the people who love us

they see them

long before we ever do

They feel them
in the tension of our presence
in the way a room changes
when we walk in carrying something unspoken

They learn the patterns

what version of us they are getting today
how careful they need to be
what words might set something off
what truths are safer left unsaid

And slowly

without meaning to

we make them smaller

not because we do not love them
but because we have not faced
the parts of us
that do not know how to love correctly

That is the quiet tragedy

we hurt the ones who stay

not out of hatred
but out of blindness

We defend things in ourselves
that are breaking the people
we would do anything for

We justify
we minimize
we say
that is not what I meant

while they are left carrying
what it felt like

And most of the time

we do not even see it

because these defects
they grew with us

they were built in moments
where we needed something to survive

a wall
a shield
a sharp edge

And now

long after the danger is gone

we still carry them

still use them

still let them speak for us

And the hardest part

is realizing

you are not just misunderstood

you are, at times,
the one making it hard to be loved

That truth does not sit gently

it forces you to look

at the way you interrupt
the way you assume
the way you deflect
the way you avoid
the way you hold on to control
when what is needed is surrender

It shows you

that love has been standing in front of you
asking for something softer

and you kept answering
with something hard

But there is another side

there always is

Because the moment you see it

truly see it

not as an attack
not as shame
but as truth

something shifts

You begin to catch it
mid sentence
mid reaction
mid instinct

You begin to pause

to ask yourself

is this me
or is this the part of me
that learned the wrong way to survive

And that pause

it changes things

not all at once
not perfectly
but enough

enough for the people who love you
to feel the difference

enough for them to breathe
a little easier around you

enough for love
to stop feeling like something
they have to navigate carefully

and start feeling like something
they can rest in

You will not erase these parts

they are woven into you

But you can learn them
name them
soften them

You can choose

not to let them lead

And maybe that is growth

not becoming someone new

but becoming aware

of the ways you have been hard to love

and deciding

with intention
with humility
with something real

to be softer
where you used to be sharp

to listen
where you used to defend

to hold
where you used to push away

Because love

real love

is not just about who we are

it is about what we are willing to face

so the people who stand beside us

do not have to keep bracing themselves

for the parts of us

we refused to see

22/03/2026

There comes a moment
when the noise dies

no bottles clinking
no lies softening the edges
no distractions left to hide behind

just you

and everything you tried to outrun

It does not knock
it does not ask permission

it breaks in

and suddenly you are standing
knee deep in your own wreckage
hands stained with every choice
you knew better than

Every door you walked through
while something inside you begged you not to
every boundary you buried
just to feel something
just to keep something
just to not be alone with yourself

You see it all now

clear
brutal
unfiltered

You were not just caught in it

you fed it
you chose it
you protected it like it was saving you

even while it was killing you

And that truth
it does not whisper

it drags you under

You remember the nights
smoke in your lungs
regret sitting heavy in your chest
promises made in the dark
and forgotten before morning

You remember your own voice
things you cannot take back
versions of yourself
you do not recognize
but know are real

You see the faces

the ones you hurt
the ones who loved you
the ones who stayed confused
watching you disappear in real time

And then

you see your child

and everything inside you caves in

Because that is where it lands hardest

knowing you were there
but not really there

knowing you were not the man
you were meant to be

not then

And there is no escaping that

no numbing it now
no drowning it out

just truth

sharp enough to split you open

It tells you everything

you wasted time
you broke trust
you abandoned yourself
piece by piece
just to survive moments
that were never meant to define you

And maybe the worst part

is realizing
how many times you knew

and went anyway

That realization
it claws at your chest
it makes a home in your throat
until breathing feels like confession

And for a while

you hate that version of yourself

you want to bury him
erase him
pretend he never existed

But you cannot

because he is still here

in your bones
in your memory
in the quiet moments
where everything slows down

He whispers

you are still me

And for a moment

you believe it

you feel the weight of every failure
every selfish choice
every time you crossed your own line
stacked on your back

It is suffocating

It is honest

It is real

But there is something else

something quieter

something that does not scream
does not demand
does not tear you apart

There is a version of you

that stayed

even when you did not deserve to

The one who woke up
after everything
after the damage
after the shame
after the self betrayal

and chose to keep breathing

chose to try

chose to look at the wreckage

and not run

That matters

more than anything you destroyed

Because anyone can fall

anyone can break

but not everyone
has the strength
to sit in the aftermath

and not look away

There is something sacred
about that kind of honesty

about standing in your own darkness
and refusing to become it

about feeling the full weight
of what you have done

and still

still deciding

to be something different

That is not soft

that is war

That is love
in its most brutal form

the kind that does not comfort you
the kind that holds your face to the truth
and says

look

look at what you did
look at who you were

and do not turn away

You are both

the man who broke things
and the man who is building something real

the one who ran from himself
and the one who finally stopped

the one who crossed every line
and the one who is learning how to draw them

That is the duality

You do not become new

you learn to carry it all
without letting the worst of you lead

And some days

that past will get loud

it will sit on your chest
it will whisper
you do not deserve this

the love
the second chance
the life you are trying to live now

And those are the days

that matter most

Because now

you do not run

you do not numb

you sit in it

you feel it burn
you let it ache
you let it remind you

and then

you choose

again

You wake up
and you show up

and instead of only shame

you feel gratitude

heavy
humbling
real

the kind that tightens your chest
because you know
you almost lost it

all of it

And maybe that is redemption

not erasing the past

but living in a way
that honors the chance
you were given

over and over again

in the quiet
in the ordinary
in the moments no one sees

Because growth is not a straight line

it is a spiral

you will revisit these places
you will feel this weight again

but each time

you will stand a little steadier
see a little clearer
choose a little stronger

And that version of you
the one who almost destroyed everything

he does not disappear

he walks beside you

a reminder
of how far you can fall

and how far you have come

And the quiet part of you
the one that refused to die

the one that carried you
through every bad decision
every dark night
every moment you thought

this is it

that part

walks beside you too

not to judge

but to guide

to remind you

you are still here

still choosing
still fighting
still becoming

And in the silence now

you do not need to run

because for the first time

you are not trying to escape yourself

you are learning

how to live with him

and still

still

become a man

your child feels safe with

a man your woman can love

without fear

a man

you can finally sit with

in the quiet

and not look away

12/03/2026

Twice in the Rain

The rain was not falling gently last night.
It was the kind that comes down like a curtain pulled across the world,
a drumming sky that soaks through cloth and skin and patience alike.
The barn light was dim behind me, the house light warm ahead,
and between them only darkness, gravel, and the hurried stubbornness
of a man who thinks he can outrun the weather.

Fifty pounds slung in my arms,
Hank and Liala weaving around my legs like happy shadows,
tails wagging, unaware of gravity or consequence,
just glad to be beside me in the storm.
I cut between the barn and the wall to make the walk shorter,
thinking only of dry clothes and warm air,
forgetting the old bush hog crouched there in the blackness
like iron waiting patiently for a mistake.

Then the world disappeared under my feet.

One second I was walking,
the next the ground was gone
and I was swallowed by steel and rain and gravel.
My knee slammed first,
my shin screamed against the metal edge,
my arms caught me too late
and pain burst up through bone like lightning in the blood.

For a moment the storm went quiet inside my head.
Just that sharp white ache
that makes a grown man bite down hard
because tears are already pushing at the corners of his eyes.
I stood there in the rain, breathing heavy,
telling myself it was nothing
while my body told the truth.

But the house light was still glowing.
Warmth still waited.
So I limped forward through the rain,
mud sucking at my slides,
dogs still dancing around me like the world was perfect.

I could see the porch then.
Just a few more steps between misery and mercy.
Just a few more.

And then the mud decided it had its own lesson to teach.

Both feet vanished out from under me
like the earth itself had laughed and stepped aside.
I went down hard, face first,
hands too slow, pride too late,
the rain slapping mud across my back and cheeks
like it wanted to make sure the moment was complete.

And there I was.
Cold.
Soaked.
Covered in mud.
Hurting in places I didn’t even know could hurt.

Lying in the dark yard like a man who had just lost a fight
with gravity, weather, and his own hurry.

I almost cried then.
Not the quiet kind either
but the deep exhausted kind
that rises up when pain and frustration
both decide to speak at the same time.

Instead I laughed once, bitter and breathless,
because sometimes the only thing left to do
is admit the lesson is bigger than your pride.

Pain has a strange way of reminding a man
what comfort actually is.

The warmth of the house
means more when the rain has soaked you through.
A dry shirt feels like grace
when mud still clings to your skin.
A hot shower becomes a blessing
when your bones are humming with bruises.

Without the fall
the porch is just wood and nails.
Without the storm
a roof is just boards.

But after a night like that
after steel biting your shin
and mud stealing your feet
and cold crawling into your bones,

you step inside like a man who has been rescued.

Maybe that is why pain exists at all.

Not to break us
but to sharpen the edges of gratitude.
To remind us that comfort is not ordinary.
To prove that warmth, shelter, laughter, and dry clothes
are quiet miracles we usually walk past without seeing.

Last night the rain knocked me down twice.
Steel bruised me once
and mud humbled me again.

But this morning
every step I take on steady ground
feels like a gift.

11/03/2026

Carried When the Rope Runs Out

There comes a place
where the rope in your hands
is nothing but fray and memory.

Where every knot you tied
to climb back up
slipped loose in the rain.

Failure after failure
like waves that do not just break
but stay long enough
to remind you
you are drowning.

And the places that once felt full
feel hollow now.

Rooms that held laughter
echo with questions.
Dreams you once carried
sit heavy in your chest
like stones that will not sink
and will not float.

Every sign points inward.

Not at fate.
Not at luck.
But at you.

And you begin to wonder
if maybe you were not just there
when things fell apart

maybe you helped push them.

That kind of silence
can make a man feel smaller
than he has ever been.

And just when the rope
finally gives way

someone steps in.

Not a stranger.
Not someone new.

Someone who has been there
for years.

But now you see them
with clearer eyes.

The conversations change.

No more surface talk.
No more passing words
about weather and work.

Now it is life.

Where you have been.
Where you want to go.
What kind of man
you still believe
you could become.

Plans are spoken out loud.
Not dreams that drift away
plans that grow legs.

Plans that walk.

And something strange happens.

You start bidding jobs again.
You step back into the arena
you once walked away from.

And one by one

they start landing.

Another call.
Another yes.
Another door opening
where there was once
only brick.

You are not dancing in the streets.
Not yet.

Some emotions still live
on the lower side of the sky.

But something else
keeps showing up too.

God.

Not loud.
Not flashing like lightning.

But steady.

In the right phone call.
The right timing.
The right words
from the right person
at the exact moment
you needed them.

Carrying weight
you did not think
you could lift again.

Providing
when the numbers said
there was not enough.

And somewhere in the quiet
between all those moments
you begin to understand something

the rope did not drop to break you.

It dropped
because God knew
you would never let it go.

So He let it fall from your hands
not to destroy you

but to show you
that even when your strength ran out

He was already there
carrying the weight
you thought was yours alone.

08/03/2026

Returning to Myself

I lost everything. Not just the things that could be replaced, but the pieces of me I didn’t know I needed. Hope left, and I thought it had taken me with it. I spent days watching shadows, listening for warnings in every car, every ping of a phone, every passing glance. My chest lived tight, my mind running loops I couldn’t stop. I felt smaller than I ever thought a man could feel.

Then one morning, it happened. Breath came without thought. I didn’t have to remind myself. My lungs remembered. My body remembered. And I realized I was still here. I could stand in the sunlight, hold a cup of coffee without panic, feel the world without bracing for it. I planted my hands in soil, shaped wood, touched the small patient life of a bonsai bending toward the sun, and remembered patience I didn’t know I still had.

I write now. Poems, lines scratched on scraps of paper. Words like fingerprints tracing the man I used to be and the one I am trying to grow into. Work pulls me into spaces I would have avoided, into sweat and effort and responsibility. I lift, I cut, I shape, and with every motion, I remind myself I am still capable. I am still stubbornly human.

And yet it isn’t complete. It isn’t safe. It isn’t okay. The loss still lives inside me, quiet, a shadow that follows. But breathing has become natural. My mind notices beauty again. I find hope in small things, in creating, in learning, in showing up. I am practicing life, little by little, like a language I forgot but can relearn.

This is what it does to a man. It bends him until he thinks he might break, it leaves scars he cannot hide, it forces him to face himself without illusions. But it also teaches him to carry those scars with hands open. To keep moving even when the ground feels unsteady. To remember that life can exist outside fear, that healing is a motion, not a place, and that a man can return to himself, imperfect and incomplete, and still be enough.

Not empty. Not fixed. Not perfectly okay. Just breathing. Just moving. Just finding my way back, slowly, stubbornly, to the man I am learning to be.

01/03/2026

I laid religion down
like a coat that never quite fit.

Not in anger.
Not in mockery.

Just in exhaustion.

I grew tired of trying on
other men’s measurements of God.
Tired of inheriting conclusions
that were never wrestled with
in my own spirit.

I memorized verses.
I repeated doctrines.
I defended ideas
I did not yet understand.

I spoke confidently
about a God
I had only met
through someone else’s description.

And one day I realized —

Secondhand fire
does not keep you warm for long.

So I stepped away.

Not from God.

From the noise.

From the competition of certainty.
From the need to label the Infinite.
From the pressure to fit the Creator
inside paragraphs
and pulpits.

I stopped trying to adopt
another human’s ideology
about the Divine.

And I did something far more frightening —

I asked.

If You are real,
show me.

Not through fear.
Not through obligation.
Not through tradition.

Show me through relationship.

And then I listened.

Not just with my ears —
with my life.

In silence.
In failure.
In sobriety.
In the spaces where ego used to shout.

And I learned something no argument ever taught me:

God does not hide
from those who genuinely seek.

Not from the seeker
who is willing to be wrong.
Not from the one
who values truth over comfort.

What I have been led to
cannot be contained in a single book
or handed down by a single man.

It is deeper than doctrine.
Wider than denomination.
Older than language.

It is presence.

It is guidance that corrects without shaming.
It is conviction that builds instead of crushes.
It is peace that arrives
before understanding does.

I did not abandon God.

I abandoned the assumption
that someone else could define
my relationship with Him for me.

And in that surrender of borrowed belief,
I found something living.

Something personal.

Something that meets me
not in ritual alone,
but in breath.

In decision.
In quiet obedience.
In the steady unfolding of who I am becoming.

If you truly seek,
He will reveal Himself.

Not always the way you were told.
Not always the way you expected.

But in a way
that leaves no doubt
you have been met.

And what I have found
is far different
than what I was handed —

But it is truer
because it was revealed,
not repeated.

01/03/2026

I used to think strength
was volume.

A loud voice.
A hard stare.
A body always ready
for impact.

I walked through life
like it owed me something
and I was prepared
to collect.

Every inconvenience felt personal.
Every correction felt like disrespect.
Every silence felt like abandonment.

So I lived braced.
Fists half-closed.
Heart fully-guarded.

I called it survival.
But it was fear
wearing armor.

I fought people.
I fought systems.
I fought God.
I fought myself.

And when the dust settled
the only thing I had truly defeated
was peace.

Then I got quiet.

Not defeated quiet.
Not ashamed quiet.

Just still enough
to hear something greater than my own thoughts.

In a room with metal chairs
and coffee that tastes like humility
I learned something
I should have known all along:

Strength is not striking first.
Strength is surrendering first.

Not to the world.

To God.

When I put Him first,
something shifted.

The need to control everything
started loosening its grip.
The need to win every argument
began to feel small.
The need to prove myself
started to fade.

Because if God goes before me,
I don’t have to bulldoze my way through life.

Doors open different.
Words land softer.
Decisions carry weight.

Peace becomes protection.

I still feel the fire in me.
That part hasn’t died.

But now it is guided.
Disciplined.
Directed.

I don’t wake up asking
what am I fighting today.

I wake up asking
God, order my steps.

And when He does,
everything else finds its place.

My mind steadies.
My home steadies.
My future steadies.

Not because I forced it.
Not because I overpowered it.

But because I aligned it.

God first.

And the rest
falls into rhythm.

I am still a warrior.

But now I understand
the greatest battle
was never against the world.

It was learning
to kneel
before I stand.

The Saga of Tee Why

01/06/2026

01/06/2026

31/03/2026

22/03/2026

22/03/2026

12/03/2026

11/03/2026

08/03/2026

01/03/2026

01/03/2026

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