Becoming Colin

Conversation With God — October 7, 2026 It’s Tuesday morning, 6:32 a.m. I think I’ve been awake since around 4:30. […]

I was reflecting on yesterday’s post as I was reading through it and getting ready to share it on Instagram.

Maybe prosperity is no longer the prize I receive for working my land. Maybe the ability to lovingly work the land is prosperity itself.

I don’t need to know whether JJ and I find our way back to each other. Today I only need to be here. Maybe that is faith.

Maybe God isn’t stripping my life away. Maybe He is stripping away everything I thought I needed to protect myself.

I allowed the image to stand. And maybe the scariest part of Becoming Colin is that I am no longer willing to let the image tell the whole story.

I made JJ my everything. On the surface that sounds romantic as hell. But one human being was never supposed to carry every part of me.

I’ve been a we for so long that saying me can actually make something inside of me uncomfortable. Day two, and maybe it’s about oxygen.

First morning in my own house, my own music, my own frequency. Becoming Colin isn’t about becoming someone new. It’s about calling every scattered part of me home.

Today I dropped JJ off at the airport. She said, “Just know I’m not abandoning you.” My mind knew that. My body heard something different.

The PICC line started working again, and tomorrow I take JJ to the airport. Somewhere in between I found the nine-year-old who learned to hold everything together until it was safe to feel.

A walk with Chapo, a breeze I actually noticed, and a neighbor picking leaves off her lawn one at a time. Saturday is coming, and for once I’m not trying to know how it will feel.

My nurse couldn’t draw blood from the PICC line, and my mind was three steps ahead of what was actually happening. Then I heard the fountain outside the window.

I woke up at 4:28 this morning. Again. I lay there waiting for a message that never came — then picked up my phone and found people instead.

I woke a little after eight and just lay there. The room was quiet, sunlight cracking through the curtains, and I realized my knee didn’t hurt. I decided not to move.