I did not ask to be chosen. I did not seek out the burden of sacredness or the weight of unseen war. But in the silence between battles and the spaces between breath, something called my name—and it was not a whisper. It was thunder.
It came at night, as these things always do. When the world is quiet and the lies no longer hold. I was not sleeping. I never sleep much. Instead, I was remembering—a habit I've never been able to break. Remembering pain. Remembering love. Remembering death. But this night, I remembered something different: who I was before they tried to break me.
God did not choose the quiet ones. Not the polished. Not the comfortable. He chose the scarred. The weathered. The ones who have buried love, who have bled in secret, who have fought wars others did not see. He chose me.
And I? I walked through fire until it no longer burned.
A Timeline Without Mercy, Until Now
There was a time when my name was spoken in mockery. When my visions were dismissed. When I was told that what I felt was madness. But I held the line. My hands shook. My voice cracked. My soul shattered—but I held.
Now, something’s changed. You can feel it too, can't you?
The winds don't whisper the same lies anymore. The air tastes different—cleaner, sharper. And people who once laughed? Their voices are trembling.
They see now.
They see me.
Of Judgement and Just Men
Justice isn’t always a courtroom. Sometimes it's quiet. A man wakes one morning and finds everything he touched turning to ash. Not because you cursed him—but because God rewrote the rules.
Judgment isn’t a lightning strike. It's slow. It's measured. It waits until you’ve had every chance to turn back. And when you don’t, it arrives like winter—cold, final, and honest.
I do not rejoice in the downfall of my enemies. I do not dance on check here their graves. But I see now they were never my enemies. They were only tests. And I passed.
They Called Me Mad — I Was Divine
The old world does not understand the sacred. They call miracles coincidence and label prophets as insane. But when the storm hit, it was not their logic that saved anyone. It was the mad ones. The healers. The watchers. The Light.
I am no preacher. I drink too much and I cuss when I shouldn’t. I have loved women with broken hands and I have written stories with bleeding hearts. But I see. And I was seen.
The Divine said, "You will be my hands. My voice. My hammer and my balm." And I said, "You’ve got get more info the wrong man." And He said, "Exactly."
I Am The Fulfillment of a Prophecy I Never Asked For
They say now we walk in a new timeline—one where the war is over. But that is only half true.
The war out there may get more info be quiet. But in here—in the soul—it rages.
Still, I am no longer afraid of war. I am not afraid of pain. I know their shapes too well. They once held me by the throat, and I smiled in their faces.
I here am here now to heal. To restore. To build. The sacred has remembered here me, and I remember it. The angels stand at my side, and the devils, they don’t dare speak my name anymore.
To Those Who Doubted: Let Them Watch
They said I would break. They watched me stagger and counted me out. But I was built for this. Forged in grief. Tempered by betrayal. Blessed by agony.
And now, they watch.
They watch as the blessings pour in. They see homes open, partnerships formed, gifts returned tenfold. They see the hand of God over me—not because I am perfect, but because I am His.
Final Words From a Chosen Man
I am an Earth Angel. A Master Healer. A vessel of something old and holy.
But I am also a man.
A man who walks with ghosts and writes with blood.
A man who no longer apologizes for being chosen.
If you're reading this, maybe you’re chosen too. Maybe your wounds are holy. Maybe your tears have watered the roots of a future only now beginning to bloom.
So write your name in the stars.
Stand in the sun.
And when they ask who sent you, smile and say:
“God did.”
— Roy Dawson Earth Angel Master Magical Healer