Hey friend, welcome back to the blog. Today, I’m peeling back layers and writing from the heart raw, vulnerable, and unfiltered. This isn't just another lifestyle post. It's a confession. A testimony. A hug in written form for anyone who feels like they've drifted too far to be seen, let alone loved.
I grew up in a Christian home deeply rooted in faith, with a father who’s a pastor and a mother whose prayers could move mountains but let me tell you something no one prepares you for: even with that upbringing, the world still whispers. It still tempts. It still shakes you.
When I got my first piercing, my mom looked at me like she'd lost me to the enemy. The tattoo? That nearly sparked a family summit. My dad brought scripture and righteous fire to remind me that my body is “a temple, not a canvas.” And don’t even get me started on clubbing I’ve skipped nights out just to avoid bumping into someone who’d report back to my parents. Judgment was heavy. It taught me to hide parts of myself. To split in two: the version they approved of, and the one that quietly longed to explore.
Yet even through rebellion and risk, I never truly abandoned Christ. After high school, tattoo and all, I came back not just physically to church, but spiritually to serve. In 2018, I poured myself into youth ministry, helping organize events, becoming deputy leader, and eventually stepping into the role of youth leader in 2020. I felt empowered, purposeful and seen.
And then the world shut down!
The lockdown stripped everything away. Church became distance. Faith became fog. My title didn’t feel sacred anymore it felt heavy. My connection with God unraveled. I wasn't praying. I wasn’t seeking. I was surviving. Yet even then, the Word whispered: “He doesn’t leave us. We leave Him but even in our leaving, He chases us.”
I had become the one lost sheep and He, faithful as ever-left the ninety-nine to come find me.
Since 2023, I’ve been clawing my way back. It’s not pretty. It's not perfect. Once you taste comfort in sin, you forget what conviction feels like. You try to pray but your heart is elsewhere. You open your Bible but you scroll through Tik-Tok instead.
Exhaustion in prayer, stamina in distractions it’s a cycle.
But today 20 July 2025 …something shifted.
I went to church with a numb heart and a thousand questions and in the middle of worship, I felt God say, “Give me your burden. I’ll carry it.” The pastor called for altar ministry. I hesitated but I went and standing there, weight lifted. Tears flowed. Years of silence and spiritual tension melted. I sobbed and in that moment, I felt hugged. Not by a person but by a presence. God hugged me.
I used to think crying was weakness but today, tears became my offering.
I share this because someone out there maybe you, maybe someone you love has lost the thread. Maybe you once led prayers and praised freely, but now you pray occasionally, if at all. Maybe sin feels safer than surrender but I need you to hear this:
š God is still chasing you.
š He hasn’t given up.
š You are worth the pursuit.
Pray. For yourself. For your friends. Lay your burdens down—not to show God how strong you’ve been, but to let Him carry what’s breaking you. The Bible says He’ll never leave nor forsake you. He looks for the one sheep. YOU are that one!
So I pray for you tonight:
- May God lift the weight from your shoulders.
- May He hug your heart.
- May He remind you that weeping is sacred and surrender is strength.
- May every sinful comfort be rebuked and replaced with peace.
- May you remember that in Christ, you are a new creation.
If this speaks to you, hold it close and if it doesn’t—maybe it will speak to someone you love. Share it. Pray over it. Let it start something new.
And if you want to go deeper, visit my YouTube channel @katsogail
where I host a podcast called
Letters to God. Maybe one of those letters is the one your soul’s been waiting to hear.
Until next time,
Be blessed.
So I pray for you tonight: 
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