Was I stupid - Biblical Man

 I sold everything.

You said to.

The house. The career. The reputation.

Gone.

My family calls me fanatic.

My community calls me divisive.

My bank account calls me fool.

Was I stupid to love You?

You said take up your cross.

I did.

It’s heavier than the sermons made it sound.

Splinters. Blood. No one clapping.

You said the world would hate me.

It does.

But I thought You meant them—

Not my mother.

Not my friends.

Not my family.

Was I stupid to love You?

Peter walked on water.

Then sank.

Then denied You three times.

Then got crucified upside down.

Was he stupid?

Job lost ten children in one day.

Sat in ash scraping boils with pottery for six months.

His wife told him to curse You and die.

His friends called him secret sinner.

You never answered his questions.

Just showed up in a whirlwind and asked him where he was when You founded the earth.

Was Job stupid to fear You?

I gave You my twenties.

Purity. Mission trips. college debt.

I gave You my thirties.

Ministry. Poverty. Burnout.

I’m giving You my forties.

The years I was supposed to arrive.

And I’m still here.

Obscure. Broke. Misunderstood.

Was I stupid to love You?

Because the Instagram preachers who water You down

They have the platforms.

The passive men who call surrender “balance”

They have the churches.

The guys who turned You into a life coach

They have the book deals.

And I have... what?

Calluses.

Criticism.

Conviction.

You promised me a hundredfold.

I’m still counting.

You promised me life abundant.

Define abundant.

You promised me You’d never leave.

But there are nights—God, there are nights—

Where the silence is so thick

I check the tomb to see if You left again.

Was I stupid to love You?

The rich young ruler walked away sad.

He wasn’t stupid.

He was smart.

He kept his wealth. His status. His safety.

I walked toward You.

And lost all three.

So answer me:

Was I stupid?

SILENCE

No burning bush.

No audible voice.

No confirmation text from heaven.

Just this:

The same question You asked Peter after the third denial:

“Do you love Me?”

Not—

“Do you understand Me?”

“Do you agree with My methods?”

“Do you feel blessed yet?”

Just—

“Do you love Me?”

And I do.

God help me, I do.

Even when it costs everything.

Even when the math doesn’t math.

Even when the church calls me Pharisee

and the world calls me fanatic

and my own heart whispers fool.

I love You.

Not because it’s smart.

Not because it’s safe.

Not because it’s working.

Because You’re true.

And I’d rather be a fool for the true God

than a success story for a fake one.

So no.

I wasn’t stupid to love You.

I was stupid before I did.