You made an enemy out of me, congratulations. You gave me a reason to rise. But remember this, you do not get to pick the weapon God chooses. And you will not like how He fights for the ones He loves.
There are people who mistake silence for weakness, smiles for submission, or scars for surrender. They size you up like a menu, choosing outrage as if it is a dish they ordered, then waiting politely for fate to serve them what they think is owed. They forget one blunt, brutal truth, karma has no menu. You do not get to customize the portion, you get served what you deserve.
Think of me as the storm you never saw coming, quiet at first, gathering wind in places only grief knows. I learned to hold my breath, count my steps, and fold my hurt into careful, sharp shapes. I learned to build cathedrals out of the small rebellions, a sentence written at dawn, a boundary set at dusk, a refusal made without apology. Those cathedrals were not fragile, they were sanctuaries with stained-glass windows that let the light in and the predators out.
You mistook my waiting for complacency. That is your mistake. Waiting is not passive, it is strategic. It is the slow, patient sharpening of an edge until the world finally feels it. God does not rush. He does not need to. He is slow as thunder and precise as a scalpel. When He moves for you, the movement is tidy and final, accounts are balanced, debts repaid, and masks come loose without an audience.
Let me be clear, this is not a prayer for vengeance dressed as poetry. It is a stubborn faith in cosmic balance and moral consequence. It is the recognition that cruelty boomerangs, betrayal blooms on its own poisonous vine, and the seed of every unjust action is fertile with inevitable return. You can plot, you can gloat, you can attempt to rearrange a life, but there are forces that will not be negotiated with. They answer only to truth.
God fighting for me looks nothing like what you expect. It does not always strike in lightning bolts or loud spectacle. Often it arrives as a quiet recalibration, opportunities coming to me when doors slammed on you, people discovering the truth of who you are while your lies fall apart in isolation, the safety you thought you might have eroding into a new vulnerability you never intended to face. It arrives as justice wearing the ordinary clothes of timing and consequence.
There is a deeper, crueler lesson that life hands out, sometimes the downfall is not a single, cinematic collapse. Sometimes it is the slow erosion of privilege, the quiet exposure of character, the gentle but relentless evaporation of support you took for granted. Karma can be subtle, a mirror placed where you cannot avoid it, a loneliness that was once someone else’s problem, a chain of small embarrassments that build into a pattern you can no longer pretend to ignore. The worst turns are not always headlines. They are the intimate, uncompromising rearrangements that force you to face what you did.
And yet, there is mercy threaded through vengeance. When GOD fights for you, He does more than punish the enemy, He redeems the battlefield. Broken things are mended into stronger forms. Lessons that felt like cruelty become the architecture of your armor. The people who laughed at you are often the first to notice the change, and they will squint, jealous and bewildered, at the quiet prosperity of someone they once dismissed.
Do not mistake my fierceness for malice. I do not relish the downfall of another. I only insist on my worth. I insist that harm done to me be seen, named, and accounted for. And if the accounting comes as consequence for you, know that I did not call it down. I simply stopped carrying your chaos as my burden. I stopped bargaining for your conscience. I closed the door, turned the key, and allowed the ledger to reopen with whoever, whatever, or however the universe settles scores.
This is a warning wrapped in a benediction, treat people like they are disposable and the world will eventually show you how durable they can become without you. Break someone’s trust and watch as your own safety becomes negotiable, not by me but by Fate. You will not like the quiet ways your steadiness unravels. The applause you expected at my undoing will be replaced by a hollow echo that only you can hear. That echo is the sound of karma setting the table without asking your preference.
There is, too, a fiercer intimacy in being protected. When the divine intercedes, it often uses the hands of strangers, the timing of coincidence, the tiny mercies that accumulate into a life reconfigured. It is not always dramatic, it is rarely indulgent. It is the exactness with which balance is restored when people finally see what you were worth all along. You will not like the way good fortune finds the steady and the wounded who refused to become bitter. You will not like the way your plans crumble while mine rearrange to become something truer.
So go on, make your enemies. Arrange your alliances like chess pieces and call it strategy. But remember that chess is played on a board you cannot see through. Pieces move by rules you did not write. The God who fights for me plays with a hand of inevitability. His plays are small, surgical, and mercilessly kind.
And when the day comes that your life tilts, when the comfortable things scatter like fragile glass, do not be surprised. Surprised is for people who assumed the universe owed them anonymity for their choices. You will be served what you served. Karma has no menu, but it always knows the order.
You made an enemy out of me, now watch how quietly GOD rearranges your life so that you never mistake grace for weakness again.
Like this:
Like Loading...
