God lives inside you—
you already found Him.
In the quiet refusal to give up.
In the breath you took
when quitting would’ve been easier.
In the part of you that still reaches
for light
even with shaking hands.
You keep looking outward,
as if holiness only exists
somewhere far away,
but grace has been pacing your chest
this whole time,
patient,
unimpressed by your doubt.
The devil lives in memories.
In the old scenes he replays
until they feel prophetic.
In the nights he convinces you
that what hurt you once
gets to define you forever.
He doesn’t need claws or fire.
He just hounds you
with what already happened.
With words you can’t unsay.
With moments you survived
but never forgave yourself for.
God doesn’t shout over that noise.
He waits.
In the present.
In the now.
In the choice to stop letting yesterday
put its hands around your throat.
You aren’t lost.
You’re distracted by echoes.
And every time you choose this moment—
every time you stay—
you loosen the devil’s grip
and remember where God has been
all along.
Inside you.
Through the Fog 