You might be bleeding while you’re binding someone else’s wounds. You might be praying for their freedom while you’re still locked in your own cage. But don’t you dare think that disqualifies you. It qualifies you. It anoints you.

Some nights, I wake up drowning in dreams I can’t remember—sheets twisted, heart racing, silence screaming. But in that aching stillness, I reach for the Psalms like a lover’s touch. They don’t just comfort me—they fight for me. They whisper truth when lies crawl across my skin. They remind me that the God who made…