“Featuring an unreleased original song, Peace in the Fire, created through the tears and truth of this experience.”
Imagine this: you’re in a house that’s on fire. 🔥
Not the whole house just the rooms around you.
You’re in the one place where the flames haven’t touched, but you can smell the smoke. You can feel the heat. You know you can’t walk out on your own without getting burned.
So you wait for the fireman.
You wait because there’s nothing else to do.
You wait because you’ve already yelled for help, already made the calls, already done everything they told you to do.
And then …you wait.
That’s been me. Two years of dreaming, hoping, manifesting my way into my own space. Two years of doing the inner work, clearing out the clutter in my spirit, showing up in faith, trusting divine timing.
But here’s what nobody tells you when you’ve been waiting in the fire long enough, even your faith starts to sweat.
I’ve had days of peace and days where the walls feel like they’re closing in.
Moments where I believe with my whole heart, and moments where I want to scream, *Why isn’t it here yet?*
I’ve done the work. I’ve been patient. I’ve created. I’ve surrendered. And still here I am, waiting in the fire.
People say, “Be still.”
And I know how to be still.
But try being perfectly still in a burning building. You’re human you’re going to move, to watch, to listen for sirens.
I share this not for pity, but because I know someone else is listening from their own burning room.
Maybe it’s not housing for you. Maybe it’s a job, a diagnosis, a relationship, a door you’ve been knocking on for what feels like forever.
And I want you to know: you’re not crazy for feeling both faith and frustration.
You’re not weak for getting tired of waiting.
And you’re not forgotten.
Here’s what I’m holding on to:
Even if I can’t see the firetruck yet, it’s already on the way.
Even if I don’t hear the sirens, they’ve been dispatched.
Even if I feel alone in this room, the rescue has already been set in motion.
And maybe that’s what faith looks like in the middle of the fire not pretending it’s easy, not pretending you’re calm 100% of the time, but still believing that you will get out.
What helped me survive the waiting wasn’t pretending the fire wasn’t there.
It was finding the good in the middle of it.
I’d remind myself: the fire isn’t burning me right now, it’s still in the other room. That’s worth being grateful for.
I started looking around for small things tiny blessings that kept me anchored in gratitude.
And the truth is, the tiniest blessings can be massive when you notice them.
The fact that I can hear music.
See the sky.
Taste my coffee.
Feel water on my skin.
Smell the rain.
All five senses. Some people don’t have that, and here I am with all of them. That alone is a miracle worth pausing for.
Going through this taught me something I’ll carry for the rest of my life: to embody peace even when turmoil, disaster, or disruption surrounds me.
It showed me that it is possible to have an inner stillness and peace to tap into no matter what your surroundings may hold.
And when you focus on that stillness long enough when you truly embody it…it begins to reflect in your outer world.
This was the lesson in my fire: the unsteadiness around me, the desperate longing to escape, the frustration of being stuck in a room full of dismay.
All of it was positioning me to learn one thing how to embody peace.
So if you’re in your own fire right now waiting on the job, the healing, the house, the love, the breakthrough hold on.
The fireman is coming.
And until He gets there, you can breathe, you can steady yourself, and you can discover that deep well of peace that was inside you all along.
