A Holy Rebellion

There’s a wildness in me that I’ve never been able to quiet—not fully.

I’ve tried to play the game. Tried to shape my message into something softer, something safer, something that fits neatly into what the industry says is “strategic.” But the deeper rhythms of my life have always said otherwise. They hum with mystery. They move like weather. They speak in ways that can’t be measured on a dashboard. That’s what happens when you’re built for something sacred.

For most mystics and creatives, life has never been about domination or performance. It’s about communion. It’s about listening closely to what God is actually asking of you—not just responding to what others are making or saying. But this listening? This intimacy? It’s dangerous in a world obsessed with speed. Because it slows you down. It teaches you to choose devotion over momentum. And eventually, it begins to feel like rebellion.

I’ve come to believe that it is a rebellion. A reverent one.

Reverent rebellion is what happens when your business becomes an altar instead of a ladder. It’s what rises in you when the “normal” ways of doing things start to feel hollow. It’s the conviction to walk away from marketing tactics that drain your spirit, even if they’re effective. It’s the choice to prioritize resonance over relatability, alignment over applause, the mission over the algorithm.

And no, it’s not always easy. You’ll wonder if you’re being too precious. Too poetic. Too slow. You’ll look around and see others scaling faster, louder, flashier. But you’ll know—somewhere deep in your bones—that you weren’t made to go viral. You were made to go vertical. To tap into something higher. 

The wildness in you isn’t chaos. It’s a calling. And when you learn how to channel it—not tame it, but honor it—you stop wasting energy trying to fit yourself into a system that was never meant to hold you. You start building something rooted, something real. Something that will outlast the trends and the timelines.

This isn’t rebellion for rebellion’s sake. It’s sacred disruption. A quiet refusal to abandon your post just because the world is shouting.

I know what it’s like to feel that tension. I’ve built launches and deleted them. I’ve written copy that “converted” and still felt hollow. I’ve cried alone in the woods asking God to show me a different way, a better way. I’ve gone deep into the spirit realm and made contracts with those that I shouldn’t have.

And I’ve learned this: the holy path is rarely the fastest, but it is the most fruitful. Not always in metrics—but always in meaning.

And contracts can be walked back. Bought out. Paid for. Forgiven. 

More on that later. 

If you’re feeling the tug to do things differently—to write, speak, serve, and show up in a way that feels more like a prayer than a pitch—I want you to know there’s room for that here. You’re not too much. You’re not falling behind. You’re just being set apart.

And the ones who are set apart? They're the ones who end up creating what the world didn’t know it needed.

3 Practices for Reverent Rebellion

→ The Daily Distillation

Each morning (before email, before Instagram), ask:

“What is mine to carry today—and what is just noise?”

Write your answer. Don’t edit it. Let it be raw. This is about discernment. About separating the sacred work from the static.
It trains your spirit to recognize the frequency of obedience—not urgency.

→ Create in the Wilderness Window

Block out 30 minutes this week to create something nobody will see. A poem. A prayer. A piece of content not built for “value,” just built for God.

Let it be wild. Let it be unpolished. Let it be real. When you give your creativity a place to breathe without pressure, you’ll be surprised how much clarity returns to the parts of your business that do need structure.

This is how wildness becomes fruitful.

→ The Holy No

Identify one place in your business where you’re performing. A piece of copy, a content format, a “should”—something that feels strategic but not sacred.

Now, practice the Holy No.
Delete it. Stop doing it.
Or rewrite it in a way that actually sounds like you.

Your rebellion doesn’t need to be loud to be powerful. Sometimes it’s a whisper that says: “I don’t have to do it that way anymore.”