Oxygen

I have faith... I think.

Let’s start with a confession.

Not the holy one, just a regular, honest-to-God “I-do-this-too” type.

You believe God can do it. Like, really. You know the verse, you’ve seen the testimonies, and in your head, you’re like, “Yes, Lord, You are more than able! Exceedingly, Abundantly above”

But somehow… Your mouth didn’t get the memo. You don’t say it out loud or confess it. You’re like that person who RSVPs in their heart and then doesn’t show up to the wedding.

It’s weird, isn’t it? How you can believe so strongly in your mind, yet your words betray your faith every day.

You pray in tongues; oh, you can rabasha-kataya for 1 hour straight, but when it’s time to pray in your understanding? You mumble, you joke, you dilute. And then, you… Go back to assuming.

Faith is not just vibes ooo. It’s not “God, You know my heart.”
I mean, yes, He knows your heart, but even He had to speak the world into existence.

Think about that for a second.

If God Himself, Alpha, Omega, all-powerful, all-knowing, had to open His mouth and say, “Let there be…,” then why do you think you can skip the confession part and still see manifestation?

Faith is made full in expression. It matures in confession.

It’s like dough. You can have all the ingredients sitting in a bowl: water, flour, and yeast. But until you mix it, knead it, work it, nothing bakes.

Believing is the ingredient, confessing is the kneading, and manifestation is the bread that comes out hot from the oven.

We get so fluent in tongues, yet so clumsy in declarations.

So bold in the Spirit, yet so vague in our words.

We say things like “I just know… God will do it somehow,” or “whenever He feels like,” or “maybe it’s not for me.”

Sis, please… Do you even want it?

Say it. Say it clearly. Say it boldly.

I’m learning slowly but surely that when I don’t speak it, it’s not because I don’t believe God can do it. It’s because I’m scared He won’t.

And if I don’t say it, I can pretend I never wanted it that badly.

Safe, right? Wrong.

Faith doesn’t protect your ego; it exposes your hope, and that’s what confession does. It risks looking foolish for the sake of the future.

So from now on, I’m trying to be intentional with my faith and fluent with my confession.

Not merely thinking God is good or just feeling He’ll come through, but saying it out loud. ‘God is a good God’. In my room. On my walk. In the mirror. On my worst days. On my best days.

Even if my voice trembles, even if doubt drags its ugly feet behind my words. I’ll say it anyway.

Because the just shall live by faith.

Not silent faith. Not “aesthetic faith.” Not faith that stays trapped in the brain like a lost file.

But the kind that walks. And talks. And breathes. And declares things that are not as though they were.