My Yah. My Judge.

I just went through a court case where I felt the most unprotected I’ve felt in a long time.

I walked in expecting mediation at worst.

Why?

Because I came with the truth.

And somewhere in my mind, I genuinely believed that if everyone just heard the truth, everything would be resolved.

Thinking back now, that sounds almost insane.

I expected everyone to be honest.

When I was admitted into the courtroom, I saw a familiar face sitting on the plaintiff’s side. A face I had spoken to just days before. A person who had been around my family.

Not a friend. I wasn’t expecting friendship.

But it was a business relationship I had apparently mistaken for one built on integrity.

Even seeing that person there didn’t immediately register as danger to me because I was still walking into that room expecting honesty.

Instead, I was met with a gut punch of reality.

I witnessed how ugly people can become when money, power, reputation, and self-preservation enter the room.

I watched someone attempt to minimize my voice and paint me as something I am not because that version of me worked better for their case.

Before I could fully speak for myself, I had already been made into “the problem.”

I was made to look dishonest.

Irresponsible.

Difficult.

Anything necessary to protect somebody else from having to acknowledge what they had done wrong.

And the hardest part?

It felt like nobody cared what happened to me in the process.

Nobody cared what happened to my children.

Everything became disposable if it meant somebody could save themselves.

Not even an eye batted.

I was angry.

I sat there unable to defend myself the way I wanted to.

I walked in alone.

No lawyer.

No carefully prepared evidence binder.

Just truth, faith, and apparently enough delusion to believe I would be met with the same honesty I brought into the room.

I was angry listening to evidence being presented while feeling like I couldn’t properly present mine.

I was angry watching arrogance grow once it became obvious I didn’t have an attorney beside me.

I was angry at the spirit I recognized standing in front of me.

But all I could do was cry.

Yep.

Like a baby.

I’m a crier anyway. I cry when I’m sad. I cry when I’m angry. I cry when I’m happy.

But these tears were different.

Because I had every reason to be furious, yet what I felt most was grief.

I was grieved by what I was witnessing in someone’s heart.

I was grieved because of the position they were in and the realization that if this could happen to me, it could happen to somebody else.

I thought about all the people who may have never been heard.

I thought about the people who may not have known how to speak up for themselves.

I thought about how somebody could smile in my child’s face just days earlier and then be willing to participate in something that could disrupt that same child’s life simply to protect themselves.

I wasn’t just mad.

I was sad.

So sad that it took me a while after the trial to remember something God had already told me.

Just days before court, I had walked into this person’s office and said:

“I have to go to court, but God told me not to worry about anything.”

I remember the expression on her face.

Blank.

Almost confused.

I actually walked out of the office and came back because I worried that what I said sounded arrogant. I explained that I wasn’t trying to be disrespectful toward her or the company.

I was simply repeating what God told me.

Do not worry. I will fight for you.

But sitting inside that courtroom, I didn’t feel fought for.

I just felt like I was in a fight.

Afterward, God instructed me to play everything back.

“You didn’t do as bad as you think. Listen.”

So I did.

And when I listened without the emotion of the moment clouding everything, I realized something.

I had no lawyer.

I had very little evidence presented on my behalf.

By every natural calculation, that should have been an easy win for them.

But there was one thing they did not have on their side.

The truth.

And let me tell you what the truth did.

The evidence they presented began proving my case.

Their own documents exposed inconsistencies.

Their own explanations created more questions.

There were moments when their own attorney was explaining things in ways that actually helped validate what I had been saying.

They walked into court carrying everything I needed.

I didn’t have to manufacture it.

I didn’t have to manipulate it.

I didn’t have to lie.

They brought it with them.

Because Yah said He would fight for me.

And once I saw what God was showing me, another emotion rose up.

Anger.

Because now I had time to process what someone had actually been willing to risk.

My home.

My stability.

My children’s stability.

My name.

My credibility.

All over carelessness, money, power, and lies.

And they were willing to do it without batting an eye.

How?

That anger turned into something else very quickly.

I wanted revenge.

I started thinking about complaints.

Licenses.

Professional consequences.

Accountability.

I wanted to put something in motion so this could never happen to somebody else.

In my mind, this person needed to be punished.

And while I was pulling together everything I wanted to use to take them down, Yah spoke again.

Don’t do that.

Pray for your enemies.

Excuse me?!

😂

But I did.

And the craziest part is that my prayer became genuine.

I prayed for their heart.

Because that was when I realized the heart behind what I had witnessed was bigger than what had happened to me.

A heart operating like that is dangerous.

Left unchanged, it can hurt a lot of people.

So my prayer became:

God, change the heart of the person trying to destroy me.

Soften it.

Speak to it.

Heal whatever created this.

Take up space there.

I didn’t want revenge anymore.

I wanted Yah to expand His territory.

And that moment showed me just how much work God had already done in me.

Because babyyyyyy…

The old me?

😂

Over my NAME alone?!

We would’ve had an entirely different testimony.

But Yah wasn’t asking me to become passive.

He was teaching me the difference between justice and vengeance.

So I prayed.

And prayed.

And prayed some more.

Then I waited.

About three weeks later, I opened the court update.

The judge ruled in my favor.

And all I could think was:

Yah made the weapons boomerang for His girl.

Everything meant to discredit me became evidence.

Everything meant to silence me helped tell the story.

Everything brought into that courtroom to defeat me became part of what helped deliver me.

And somehow, they’re bold enough to get back in the ring with Him.

Okay.

Let this be your reminder:

When God says He goes before you, understand that He means exactly that.

Sometimes going before you doesn’t mean you won’t enter the courtroom.

It doesn’t mean you won’t cry.

It doesn’t mean you won’t feel afraid.

It doesn’t mean the enemy won’t speak.

It doesn’t even mean you’ll understand what God is doing while it’s happening.

Sometimes you will feel like you are losing while heaven is actively arranging your victory.

Moses still had to stand in front of Pharaoh.

He still had to keep going back.

Warning after warning.

Sign after sign.

Because some people are slow learners.

But Pharaoh’s resistance never changed what God had already decided.

And I’m grateful that I got to witness for myself what it looks like to belong to Yah and allow Him to fight for me.

I walked into court believing I only had the truth.

Turns out, that was enough.

Because the Truth had already gone before me.

My Yah.

My defender.

My judge.