I’m tired of pretending.
God is supposed to be merciful. Just. Loving.
But look at my life.
I had an ex — we were engaged. She turned out to be a kleptomaniac. Stealing whatever she could get her hands on. No real qualifications, pretending to be an accountant. Six months after we broke up, her fuck-up was so big I had to buy a whole bakery just to fix the mess she left behind.
I didn’t ask for that. I didn’t deserve it. But it happened.
And God? Silent. No protection. No justice. Just another loss piled on top of all the others.
Then this morning I saw it again.
Zephaniah 3:20 — “God says, ‘I will bring you home. I will give you honor and praise among every people of the earth. Just wait and see.’”
Another beautiful promise.
Another verse telling me to keep waiting.
But I know the truth.
God can’t give back time.
He can’t give back the years I lost fighting court cases.
He can’t give back the career that was taken from me at Societe Generale.
He can’t bring back my brother, my parents, or the opportunities that passed me by while I was broke and broken.
Those things are gone forever.
I’ve waited. I’ve prayed. I’ve cried out. I’ve kept going on nothing but secondhand faith.
And still — no grand restoration. No sudden miracle that makes everything right again.
So today I’m saying it plainly:
I’m tired of the false promises dressed up as hope.
I’m tired of people pretending God is a cosmic Santa who will magically rewind the clock.
I’m a better person than Him.
I would never be this cruel. I would never let someone suffer for decades while promising restoration that never comes. I would never watch someone fight with integrity and still let the thieves and liars win.
I’m not nearly as cruel as God has been to me.
Yet here I am. Still breathing. Still showing up. Still trying to build something honest in a world that rewards the opposite.
This is my Job season.
Not waiting for God to fix everything.
But refusing to become as cruel as the world that broke me.
My name is Job.
What’s your name?
What season are you in right now?
I’m right here with you — even when the beautiful stories feel like lies.
Still building.
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