Spoi-LD & BLESSED: When Rest Becomes Revelation

I was down. Stretched at work. Grieving family loss. Missing opportunities. Helping others while my own voice grew quiet. I tucked it all away and kept moving-until I couldn’t.

Then came the pause. The nap. A breath. And then four works of art poured out of me. Two became stickers: Spoi-LD and BLESSED.

That night, God reminded me: I’m not forgotten. I’m not forsaken. I’m blessed. Spoiled by grace, held by mercy. And even in the ache, I can create.

This piece isn't just graffiti- it's gratitude. A visual alter to the blessings I almost missed. And a reminder that rest is sometimes the most sacred move we can make.

“Spoi-LD: A Nap, A Nudge, A Revelation”

I was tired. Not just physically—but emotionally, spiritually, creatively. Life had handed me a laundry list of complaints, and I was holding them all. So I took a nap.

What happened next wasn’t just rest—it was revelation.

I woke up with a burst of energy and a divine whisper: You are blessed.

That whisper led me to Spoi-LD.

She was the most recent piece of art I created, but her presence felt ancient—like she’d been waiting to be drawn. Alongside her came BLESSED and two others, all born from that same nap. That moment of exhaustion became a portal. And what emerged was prophetic graffiti.

Drawing Spoi-LD reminded me that I am a spoiled child of God—not in entitlement, but in abundance. I have so many blessings, and at the time, I didn’t even realize it. Before the nap, I was full of complaints. Afterward, I remembered the grace. It felt like I had been talking to God in my sleep, and awoke with a divine nudge: You are blessed.

Psalm 23 echoed through her lines:

“The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not be in want.”

Because He provides all that I need.

Spoi-LD is a visual relic of that revelation. Her name carries layers—spoiled, split, sacred, and still divine. She reminds me that I’ve been well cared for, even in moments when I didn’t see it. That I have more than most. That restoration can come through rest.

A Soulstream Invitation

Spoi-LD reminded me of something I needed to remember. And now I want to ask you:

Do you have an object, a moment, or a memory that reminds you that you are BLESSED?

Maybe something that revealed how well you were cared for—by God, by someone you may have overlooked, or even by grace itself?

If you feel led, share it in the comments. Or just sit with it quietly.

This space is here for that kind of reflection. For that kind of restoration.

Thank you for being here—intentionally or by divine accident.

You are seen. You are held. You are BLESSED.

🔗 lostinmyvibe.com

The Soulja Bear: Born for Battle, Forged in Frustration.

He wasn’t created in celebration. He was made in the chaos.

I proposed The Soulja Bear for the Month of the Military Child—a tribute to those who grow up in the shadow of duty, sacrifice, and strength. But I missed the deadline. Life pressed in. My schedule overflowed. Family demands are stacked like sandbags. And frustration, irritation, and disappointment became the emotional terrain I was walking through.

That’s when he showed up. Not as a polished campaign. Not as a perfectly timed release. But as a relational relic—a muscle-bound guardian with camo pants, boots laced tight, and a posture that said, “I’m ready for duty, even when the world isn’t.”

The Soulja Bear was born in the tension. He carries the ache of missed moments and the grit of showing up anyway. He’s for the ones who feel stretched thin but still stand tall. He’s for the child who watches their parent deploy. He’s for the parent who feels like they’re failing but keeps fighting. He’s for the creative who missed the calendar but didn’t miss the calling.

💥 Soulstream Call to Action

If you’ve ever felt like you were fighting battles no one sees, Soulja Bear sees you.

He’s always up for duty—and so are you.

The trail I didn’t mean to take.

I didn’t plan to be on that trail.

It was tucked behind the resort in Orlando—shady, overgrown, quiet in a way that felt sacred and unsettling. I found it by accident, and by the time I saw the warning sign, I was already too deep to turn back.

“DANGER: Alligators and snakes may be in the area. Stay away from the water.”

I had heard the splash the day before. I knew what it was. But there I was, standing in the middle of a trail that felt more like a metaphor than a mistake.

I kept walking.

Not because I was brave. Not because I was reckless. But because something in me knew this was about more than Florida wildlife. This was about the journey I was about to take in my life—alone, uncertain, and surrounded by unseen threats. And I had to decide: would I trust myself, or would I trust God?

That trail reminded me of what trust really looks like. It’s not polished. It’s not always peaceful. Sometimes it’s pressing forward when everything in you wants to turn back. Sometimes it’s walking through the places where fear lives and choosing not to feed it.

I’m not glorifying danger. If you see the sign, get to safety. But if you’re already on the trail—if you’re already in the middle of something you didn’t plan, can’t control, and don’t fully understand—this is for you.

You’re not alone. You’re not forgotten. You’re not foolish for feeling afraid.

But you are invited to trust. Not in your instincts. Not in your strength. In the One who sees the whole trail.