Uncalloused Heart

This week, the storm came with teeth.

The big bad wolf showed up at my door, dressed like a loved one — gnarly, snarling, huffing and puffing like he could blow my life down. And for a moment, I felt that old fear rise — the little boy in me who used to shrink, who thought survival meant silence.

But something holy happened.
The little Lion of Judah in me growled back.

Not in hatred, but in truth.
And though my words were sharp, my spirit stayed sober and steady.

It was the most wicked, despicable behavior I’ve ever faced — betrayal that cut deep, darkness that tried to swallow me whole. Yet somehow, grace held. I didn’t collapse. I didn’t spiral. I didn’t lose myself.

Instead, I found something new: a backbone forged in mercy. God taught me that protecting the child in me is sacred work — even if it means walking away from the people I love most.

So I did. I closed the door and slipped into my inner sanctuary.

I even left the door unlocked — just no longer held open with my own body. I can love and remain open to reconciliation while also protecting my peace. That’s always an option for anyone with enough heart.

And in the quiet afterward, I realized this was the miracle: not the absence of pain, but the absence of callouses on my heart.

Not the fixing of what broke, but the healing of what remained.
Not the boy’s fear, but the man’s courage.

It’s wild how God moves.
How He doesn’t wait for the chaos to settle before He makes His mark.
How His light reaches even the darkest corners of my soul — the nooks and crannies I thought were beyond His healing touch.

Tonight, I breathe easy.
Not as a victim of the wolf, but as his survivor.
Not as a boy undone by the storm, but as a man remade within it.

A man at peace with himself, guarding his peace without closing his heart.
A miracle, truly.

And the light — oh, the sweet light — it’s still breaking through!

Peace,
Joshua Paul