MEET THE AUTHOR

Who Am I?

I have never been an example of what most would consider a faithful Christian.

For much of my life, I lived with a tension I didn’t fully admit, wanting holiness, yet protecting the very things that stood in the way of it. I moved in and out of faith with a prodigal rhythm, drawing near, then slipping back into self-deception.

Despite faith and deep conviction, I found it difficult to call myself a “Christian.” I preferred the term “Believer.” This allowed me to distance myself from a church I saw as hypocritical while quietly excusing the hypocrisy in myself.

And yet, despite all of that, there was something I could never quite escape.

Whenever I returned from those prodigal stretches, I found myself drawn back into Scripture, not casually, but searching. Digging. Trying to make sense of what it was actually saying and what I had been taught.

I wasn’t looking to challenge anything. I was looking for answers.

What I uncovered didn’t resolve easily. It stayed with me. Pressed on me. So I started writing, journaling about it, trying to work through it.

Over time I began to recognize that some things just weren’t adding up, not small inconsistencies, but glaring doctrinal disparities. It tore at me, because no matter how often or how hard I reminded myself that I was the layperson and not the theologian, my spirit kept crying out.

When I shared these things with others, respected clergy, peers, it rarely landed. Conversations fell flat. The weight of it, the sense that something mattered here, wasn’t shared.

And that is a difficult place to find yourself. To feel like you’ve stumbled onto something of real value, only to find that it doesn’t seem to register with anyone else.

What was opening up to me felt alive, weighty, personal, at times overwhelming. But I was carrying it alone.

That isolation wore on me. The lack of shared weight dulled the urgency. The absence of fellowship weakened my resolve. And eventually, I would drift, losing focus, losing discipline, slipping back into old patterns.

Not because the truth had changed, but because I had no one walking that narrow path with me, no one to steady me when I faltered, no one to stand in the gap when things became difficult.

That didn’t excuse my wandering. My seasons of backsliding and distance were my own. But I can say that a clearer framework, sound doctrine, real discipleship, and someone willing to engage those tensions honestly rather than smooth them over would have made a difference.

Part of that tension came from what I kept encountering: a version of Christianity that often felt more polished than crucified, where it was easier to speak in the language of faith than to actually walk in the light it demands.

It wasn’t just something I noticed, it was something I felt. The gap between what Scripture exposes and what was often lived out left me unsettled, not because I stood outside of it, but because I was part of it.

I know I’m not the only one who's felt it. In many modern church settings, there is little room for a Believer to admit they are still struggling with sin. We gather and speak the language of faith, but what is broken stays hidden. And what stays hidden is never dealt with.

Having no real outlet or sounding board for these thoughts, concerns, and moments of clarity, I began building this website and started blogging. The premise was that Hearts & Spirits might become a virtual gathering place for other Believers like me, a spiritual oasis for those languishing in spiritually dry places.

But putting it out there didn’t elicit the response I thought it would, despite SEO and aggressive site promotion. That got me thinking maybe it was a credibility issue, that in order to be taken seriously, I needed something more than a polished website, elevated language, and personal conviction.

That’s what led me to reach out to a Christian university, hoping to lend some academic authority to my writing. When the dean asked why I wanted to attend, it forced me to stop and really examine what was driving me, what I believed God had shown me, why Scripture gripped me the way it did, and why I felt so compelled to keep pursuing it.

Divine Encounter

As I reflected on my life and what had led me to pursue formal theological training, I found myself struck by how consistently God had provided for me again and again, even during trials and seasons where I had been anything but faithful in return.

Taking it all in, I was overwhelmed by the extent of His goodness and grace toward me—a wretched, perpetually backsliding sinner who had spent long stretches of life teetering on the brink of apostasy.

It was a staggering realization that my distance from Him never once dictated His distance from me. Even as I drifted toward the world, His provision remained steadfast and almost scandalous in its reach.

And I found myself asking:

Why?

Why would He do all that for me?

Then it happened.

All at once, a rushing sound filled the room, like a great gust of wind entering, yet nothing around me moved. And audibly, in my mind, not through my ears, a voice said:

“I was faithful with those things because you gave them over to me, and to show you that the things you have not yet surrendered I will be just as faithful with if you do.”

I was undone.

I sat there, weeping, trying to make sense of what had just occurred.

There are men and women far more disciplined, far more devoted, far more consistent than I had ever been. Many who have sought Him longer and more faithfully than I ever had.

And yet this was given to me.

There was no sense of triumph in it. Only a growing awareness that this wasn’t something I could take lightly, ignore, or reshape into something more comfortable.

I didn’t feel qualified for it. I wasn’t sure I even wanted it.

But I also couldn’t dismiss it.

None of this was random. The questions, the scriptural answers that seemed to contradict much of what I had been taught, the mercy, longsuffering, and provision throughout my life, and now this supernatural encounter. It was all connected.

I realized God wasn’t just asking me to give these things I hadn’t given over to Him; He was asking me to expose them.

And that’s where it hit me.

This wasn’t some quiet, “just for me” moment with God. This was something most people would give anything to experience—and yet it wasn’t for me.

My first instinct was to turn inward. To think, “He must see something in me.”

But that didn’t hold.

What He was showing me wasn’t affirmation. It was instruction.

I was being called to bring the parts of my life I had tried to keep hidden into the light, not as a display, but as a testimony.

Because it is there that something real begins to take shape.

This is why Hearts & Spirits exists.

Not to impress.
Not to build a platform.
But to walk this road in the open.

So feel free to linger here for a while.

Not to be impressed. Not to be persuaded by personality. But to test what is being said and to see whether it holds up in the light.

May you taste and see that the Lord is indeed good… that He is faithful… and that what you truly give over to Him, He will be faithful with. (Psalm 34:8)