Brother Fred, you brought the full sanctified sizzle with this one—nostalgia, theology, and a little holy side-eye to my inner skeptic. I felt like I just got rebaptized in a Hammond B3 solo.
But let’s not pretend the verse from Proverbs was just warming up the choir.
“Each heart knows its own bitterness…”
Translation: Your trauma has VIP access to your soul’s greenroom—and guess what? No one else gets a pass.
“…and no one else can share its joy.”
That part? That’s the dagger. Because it means even your celebration might be met with polite applause by folks who didn’t survive your storm.
You’re right—it’s not just a chant, it’s a spell. A holy incantation cast from the deep, echoing from the sweat-stained pews of people who’ve seen too much and still chose praise over pettiness.
We don’t repeat it because we forget.
We repeat it because the world keeps trying to convince us our voice doesn’t matter.
Thanks for reminding us the gospel isn’t just written—it’s testified.
And sometimes the loudest choir is the one inside your chest, still beating despite the bitterness.
When I was younger, just like all of that endless repetition in church, I thought that the blues, country music, and all of the begging R&B songs for all just too extra! But the older I’ve gotten I’ve realized that there is something very powerful in being able to give utterance to your Pain to people willing to listen. After decades of working in public schools, bearing my soul to students about the darkest moments of my life, and watching the eyes of students brighten up as if they were thinking, “Oh I’m not the only one going through it.” I realized that there is something very powerful and magical about human beings coming together, and sharing their lowest moments in story; and when they all rise from the retelling, all within the group walk away committed to being better humans. Like we ‘heal in groups’. Thanks for your words. They inspire
This was sooo good! Perfectly written!! Thank you so much baby!
Happy Mothers Day to all the Mothers💐💐💐🌺🌺🌺
Brother Fred, you brought the full sanctified sizzle with this one—nostalgia, theology, and a little holy side-eye to my inner skeptic. I felt like I just got rebaptized in a Hammond B3 solo.
But let’s not pretend the verse from Proverbs was just warming up the choir.
“Each heart knows its own bitterness…”
Translation: Your trauma has VIP access to your soul’s greenroom—and guess what? No one else gets a pass.
“…and no one else can share its joy.”
That part? That’s the dagger. Because it means even your celebration might be met with polite applause by folks who didn’t survive your storm.
You’re right—it’s not just a chant, it’s a spell. A holy incantation cast from the deep, echoing from the sweat-stained pews of people who’ve seen too much and still chose praise over pettiness.
We don’t repeat it because we forget.
We repeat it because the world keeps trying to convince us our voice doesn’t matter.
Thanks for reminding us the gospel isn’t just written—it’s testified.
And sometimes the loudest choir is the one inside your chest, still beating despite the bitterness.
Amen and all that holy noise.
—Virgin Monk Boy
WHAT!?!!!
You betta preach Virgin Monk Boy! So good.
When I was younger, just like all of that endless repetition in church, I thought that the blues, country music, and all of the begging R&B songs for all just too extra! But the older I’ve gotten I’ve realized that there is something very powerful in being able to give utterance to your Pain to people willing to listen. After decades of working in public schools, bearing my soul to students about the darkest moments of my life, and watching the eyes of students brighten up as if they were thinking, “Oh I’m not the only one going through it.” I realized that there is something very powerful and magical about human beings coming together, and sharing their lowest moments in story; and when they all rise from the retelling, all within the group walk away committed to being better humans. Like we ‘heal in groups’. Thanks for your words. They inspire