No explanation needed.

I do not owe anyone an explanation.

But I am going to give one anyway, not because I owe it, but because some people see strength and mistake it for the absence of grief.

A lot of people think I am stoic. They think I am strong. And I am strong, but I had to become that way. I have seen a lot of evil in my life. I have endured things that would have broken many people. I have been crushed, tested, betrayed, attacked, and refined in fires most people will never know about.

But strength does not mean I do not feel.

Strength does not mean I do not cry.

Strength does not mean my heart does not break.

I did not even fully remember who I was in the spirit until I died in 2022, and He told me who I was. People may think that sounds crazy, but I know what I know. I know I do not come from here. And the place I come from is not like this place.

This world is heavy.

This last year, I have seen so much evil. I have seen videos of children suffering around the world. I have spoken to families in places like Nigeria who have called me when their children were killed by militias. I have watched the children in Gaza, women, babies, the elderly, and the innocent buried under rubble while the world argues politics over their bodies. I have watched humanity scroll past the suffering of other human beings as if they are not real people, as if they are not somebody’s children, somebody’s mother, somebody’s father, somebody’s whole world.

And now, in the last few days, I have watched the devastation in Venezuela, with reports of more than 50,000 people missing or unaccounted for after the earthquakes. Many of them are children.

Anyone who knows me knows how protective I am over children.

My children. Your children. The children of strangers. The children no one else is speaking for.

I would probably lay my life down for any one of them.

So while I am writing this, I am choking back tears.

For the last few days, the Father has had me sit with the weight of everything I have seen this year. And I think what grieves my heart the most is not only the devastation itself. It is that it does not seem to grieve the hearts of many people anymore.

How did we get here?

How did we become a world that can look at dead children, starving children, buried children, murdered children, and keep scrolling?

How did we become a world that no longer values human life?

That is why I had to take this week away.

I had to go quiet.

I had to step back.

I had to cry before the Father for the souls of the lost, for the innocent, for the children, for the families, for the ones nobody is naming, and for the ones Heaven saw even when the world refused to look.

My voice is often the voice that steadies the remnant. I know that. I understand the assignment on my life. But I am still human. I still carry a heart. And when you carry even a small piece of the Father’s heart, this kind of devastation is hard to mentally and spiritually digest.

Especially knowing that more is coming.

I do not shy away from suffering. I have suffered immensely. I have seen injustice. I have seen cruelty. I have seen corruption. I have seen evil wear a smile. I have seen the innocent crushed while the wicked walk free.

But there comes a moment where your spirit cries out, “Father, when is enough enough?”

And the truth is, if you carry the heart of the Father, sometimes you have to go into the wilderness. Sometimes you have to step away from the noise. Sometimes you have to turn the phone off, stop answering everyone, and fall on your face before the altar.

Not because you are weak.

Because you still have a heart that can break.

And in a world this numb, a heart that can still break for the innocent is not weakness.

It is proof that God has not let you become cold.

General Coco