A Personal Spiritual Reflection

A Personal Spiritual Reflection — I didn’t sit down to think. Neither did I plan to reflect. I just… sat. Quietly. It had been a long day — my feet tucked in shoes like they always are. But in that moment, I felt the urge to take them off. The hunger to let them breathe and feel. And when I did, when my feet touched the earth — cold, rough, ancient earth — something shifted. A thought rose up from deep inside of me like it had been waiting patiently, quietly, for me to slow down enough to hear it.

And then came the question that echoed louder than the noise of religion: “How did we get here in the body of Christ?“

Because that’s all it took — bare feet on the sand — and I was reminded of how far we’ve wandered from something simple and sacred, from God. Not the one religion taught me to fear — the One my soul somehow always knew before they tried to complicate Him. And this is where the personal spiritual reflection began.

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When Religion Started Sounding Louder Than God

Inside me, I screamed, How did we go from walking with God in the cool of the day… to crawling before pulpits, begging for crumbs of grace? How did we get to a place where someone can boldly say, “God won’t hear you if you haven’t paid your tithe” or “Don’t come to church if you’re menstruating” or “You can’t enter heaven if you wore jewelry, wore trousers, or didn’t speak in tongues”?

How did we reduce the glory of the gospel to a dress code?

I mean, you even hear things like:

• “That’s not a real Christian, she wears makeup.”
• “You can’t be used by God if you have tattoos.”
• “God won’t bless you because you missed Wednesday service.”
• “That church is too worldly because their worship is too soft.”
• “Don’t go to that church, they don’t preach about hell every Sunday.”
• “You’re cursed if you don’t sow into your pastor’s birthday.”
• “God won’t move in your life if you’re not serving in a department.”
• “Your breakthrough is being delayed because of that one earring.”
• “You must sow a dangerous seed to be healed or be heard.”

And I just sit there and wonder… where is Jesus in all of this?

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We Made a Business Out of Grace — A Personal Spiritual Reflection

What should have been a home for the broken became a market. What should have been a safe space became a performance stage and a live show. We didn’t just sell doves in the temple like they did in Jesus’ day — we sold guilt, shame, and fear.

We sold this idea that if you do more, pay more, show up more, jump more, scream more, cry more, “serve” more — then maybe God will turn His face toward you. We made people feel like they had to perform spiritual gymnastics just to be seen by the One who already loves them.

So we raised a generation that thinks they need permission to worship. That thinks spiritual maturity looks like saying “Yes, Daddy G.O., Yes Papa, Yes Mama, Ride on Sir/Daddy, Papa, You are speaking fire” but never truly saying “Oh dearest Father, help me.” That thinks questions are rebellion. That silence is backsliding. That rest is laziness. That grace is too soft, and truth must always scream or wear a certain colour of coat.

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God Became Small in Our Eyes Because Religion Made Him So Complicated

And yet here I am… feet on earth. No church stage. No mic. No keyboard playing in the background. Just… me. Real. Bare. Present.

And God is here.

Right here. Not demanding anything. Not shouting rules. Not checking my crazy record. Just here.

Because maybe, just maybe — God was never that complicated. Maybe He was never that hard to reach. Maybe He didn’t need a show or a church party. Maybe it was never about the building. Maybe it was never about the tithes or the titles or the uniforms. Maybe it was always about love. Intimacy. Presence. Vulnerability. Proximity.

But religion robbed us of that. It told us that we need to prove ourselves to be seen. It turned what was meant to be a relationship into a spiritual rat race.

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The Quiet Crisis No One Talks About

And let’s be honest — a lot of people are burned out but still attending. They show up every Sunday with heavy hearts and fake smiles, afraid to admit they don’t feel anything anymore. They pray because they have to, not because they want to. They serve because they fear punishment, not because they love God.

But no one talks about it.

No one talks about the pastor who hasn’t felt God in months but keeps preaching.
No one talks about the girl who leads worship but secretly wonders if God hears her.
No one talks about the man who stopped praying because the more he fasted, the more his life fell apart.
No one talks about the boy who asked one hard question and was labeled a “doubter” — as if God is somehow afraid of our questions.

So we learn to pretend. To hide. To suppress. To fake joy. To perform.

But the truth is — we’re hungry. We’re tired. We’re aching for something real.

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This Is What Happened When My Feet Touched the Earth

So when I say I took off my shoes and let my feet feel the ground, it wasn’t just about the ground. It was about grounding. About waking up. About remembering who I was before the world sold me who to be. About hearing that still, small voice that has been whispering beneath the noise.

The whisper that says, “I’m still here. And I’ve been waiting.”

Not waiting for a tithe. Or a perfect life. Or a well-worded prayer. Or a dangerous seed.

Just waiting for me.

To come. To sit. To be.

And in that moment, I realized — this is what personal spiritual reflection really is. Not just journaling. Not just quiet time. But confronting the noise we’ve called “normal.” Questioning the patterns we’ve accepted as “godly.” And daring to ask, “What if we’ve missed the point?”

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Quiet Invitation — A Personal Spiritual Reflection

This is not rebellion. This is returning. Returning to wonder. Returning to stillness. Returning to Eden — where it was just God and man, naked, barefoot, and brutally honest.

So maybe, just maybe… You should take off your shoes, too. Let your soul breathe. Let your questions arise. Let your heart speak. And let yourself be reminded — the Father was never far. We were just too busy to feel the ground beneath our feet.

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When the Noise Faded, I Found Him Again — A Final Word From Me

This isn’t a call to abandon the church. It’s a call to return to the truth. To strip off every extra layer and just be. Because when my feet touched the earth again — I didn’t just find stillness. I found God. I found clarity. I found myself.

My journey is far from perfect. But at least now, it’s mine. It’s real. And it’s rooted in truth, not tradition.

So if this speaks to you, let it sit with you. You’re not alone in this. I’ve been and I am there too. And sometimes, the first step toward freedom… is taking your shoes off.

Thanks for reading, — I love you 💖🕊️

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