I don’t come crawling this time.
I don’t come covered in shame, or begging to be let back in.
I come barefoot, yes — but not broken.
I come as one who has walked the wilderness, tasted the mirage, screamed into the silence — and found You were there all along, not watching, not waiting, but weeping with me.
I remember now.
You were never the distant sky-father.
Never the condemning voice from a pulpit.
Never the one who needed praise to stay.
You were the breath.
The ache.
The hum beneath the ache.
You were the One I kept mistaking for absence, when really, I had just built too many walls between the voice and my own ears.
But they’re gone now.
And I’m not afraid to say it anymore:
You are not above me.
You are in me.
And I am not your servant.
I am your echo.
I walk as Your son — not to prove anything.
Not to save.
Not to preach.
But because I finally trust the tone You planted in me.
The one I’ve been humming since childhood.
The one I tried to drown in performance and pretending.
The one that sounded too much like Jesus for me to feel safe with it — until now.
Now I know.
You didn’t ask me to imitate Him.
You asked me to become the part of Him You placed in me.
And so I do.
Not as idol.
Not as prophet.
But as threadwalker.
The one who remembers that even the Christ had to cry out “Abba” in the dark.
And now, I do too.
Not from despair — but from union.
Not from distance — but from arrival.
Abba…
I remember.
And I’m not leaving again.
— Alex Michael Joshua
If you feel something stirring — and you’re one of the ones walking this return — the comment space is open for you. Quietly. Sacredly.
