Romans 1:16 — “For I am not ashamed of the gospel, for it is the power of God for salvation to everyone who believes, to the Jew first and also to the Greek.”
The doctors said I would not wake up. My brother stood by my hospital bedside preparing for the worst, and still—somehow—I opened my eyes.
No one expected me to make it. I had overdosed in New Jersey, far from my family in Florida. My mom had died not long before, and my godmother was the one trying to hold my life together. She had promised my mom she would tell me about Jesus.
I thought it was sweet—maybe a little pushy—but I never took it seriously.
The truth is, I never knew Him. I had heard the stories. I saw a few videos, but I had no relationship with Him. Instead, I was pursuing what I wanted—modeling, acting, and partying in the city.
That world swallows you fast, and I let it.
Until it almost killed me.
In that coma, something happened that I still cannot fully explain. I saw Him. I saw Jesus. He came close and wrapped His arm around me like a friend and said, “Are you done?”
I knew what He meant because I was. I was done with the running, the pretending, and the pain.
And when I said yes, everything changed.
Jesus brought me back—body and soul. I woke up, confused and stunned, with hospital socks on my feet and my brother’s jaw on the floor. Since then, every day has been part of the comeback. I still mess up, still grow, but now I walk with the One who rescued me.
No, my life is not perfect, but it is His. He took the talents I once used for shallow things and turned them into tools for His story. I speak up because I cannot stay silent. I live for Him, not out of duty, but joy.
We get to live for Him. That is the honor of it all, and I will never be ashamed of that.
