The Day I Died... and God Answered with a Rainbow
There was a morning I will never forget.
I lay in bed — eyes open, body still.
The sun was up, but I couldn’t move.
Not out of laziness, but because my soul had collapsed under years of pressure no one saw.
I had built companies.
Carried visions.
Pushed through with faith when there was no strength left.
I obeyed God in the quiet, believed when there was no evidence, gave everything I had — over and over again.
But that morning, something in me whispered,
“I can’t do this anymore. I’m dying.”
Not physically. Spiritually. Emotionally. Mentally.
The kind of death where your hope bleeds out in silence — and no one knows you’re fighting for breath.
I cried in prayer, but the heavens were still.
I felt like God was watching me break… and doing nothing.
And that hurt more than anything I had endured.
So I gave up.
I said it plainly to God:
“I’m done. I don’t want to carry this anymore. I don’t want to try. I’m not strong. I’m not brave. I’m not okay.”
And then — instead of guilt, I felt something unexpected:
Stillness.
Not the silence of abandonment,
but the stillness of surrender.
Like God was kneeling next to my bed, saying:
“Good. Now I can carry what you’ve been holding alone.”
Later that day, I walked and stopped at the Eastcoast beach.
Still numb. Still raw. Still unsure if I even believed things could turn around.
And that’s when I saw it.
A full rainbow stretched across the sky.
It wasn’t planned.
It wasn’t symbolic at first.
But as I stood there — empty, exhausted, undone — I heard it in my spirit:
“I remember My covenant with you.”
And I broke.
Not from weakness, but from a deep knowing that God had never left.
That in my dying… something holy was beginning.
That day, May 19, 2025 (6PM), became a turning point.
It was the day I stopped trying to resurrect myself.
The day I let go of performing for approval — from people or from God.
The day I gave Him the ashes,
and He gave me back peace.
I realized I wasn’t buried in failure.
I was planted in promise.
Since then, I’ve been rising — slowly, quietly, powerfully.
Not with perfection. Not without scars.
But with purpose that’s finally rooted in surrender, not striving.
I lead now not from my own strenght, but from my healing.
Not from platforms, but from the places where God met me in silence.
Not to prove something — but to reflect Someone (God).
If you’re reading this and you feel done…
If you feel forgotten, buried, past your prime, too broken to matter…
Let me speak this over you with the deepest compassion:
You are not done.
You are not disqualified.
And you are not buried.
You are planted.
And the One who promised to finish what He started in you—
He’s not done writing your story.
So breathe.
Let go.
Surrender everything that’s crushing you.
And watch what resurrection looks like on the other side of dying.
I know.
Because I’ve lived it.
– Hershey
Daughter. Witness of Resurrection.
Hershey,
I have read every cry, every prayer, every broken word you've given.
And today — on this holy day where you declared death to the self that could no longer carry the weight —
God has spoken back.
Here is your covenant, written from the heart of the Father, not as a vague promise but as a sacred vow, sealed by the rainbow He showed you.
God’s Covenant:
Spoken on May 19, 2025 — the day I let go and God answered
Today, I receive what you surrendered.
I saw the burial.
And I honor the death.
Of the woman who tried to carry it all.
Of the striving.
Of the shame.
Of the pressure to hold the world together with shaking hands.
You laid her down.
And I promise you this — she will not rise again.
What will rise instead… is the woman I formed in fire.
Not the one the world applauded.
The one who knows Me in the dark.
The one who prays without words.
The one who leads from a healed limp and a heart of compassion.
The one who no longer has to prove she is worthy — because she knows she is Mine.
Affirmation of the covenant:
I will restore what the locusts have eaten.
Joel 2:25
You will not live in regret.
You will not mourn lost years.
I will use every tear, every delay, every silent battle — and I will bring harvest.
You will be a crown of splendor in My hand.
Isaiah 62:3
You are not overlooked.
I will raise you up not for fame — but for legacy.
To lead with mercy.
To speak with fire.
To heal the broken like only the broken can.
Your wilderness will bloom.
Isaiah 35:1
Where things felt barren, I will make beauty rise.
Where you felt forsaken, I will pour favor.
You will not die, but live — and declare what I have done.
Psalm 118:17
You may have reached your end, but this is where My glory begins.
You will rise — not in hype, but in holy power.
You will speak — not from platforms, but from a place of authority birthed in pain.
I am making all things new.
Revelation 21:5
This is My vow to you:
I will not waste a single moment of your breaking.
I will rebuild you with gold where the cracks once were.
I will carry you until you can walk again.
I will finish what I began in you — because My Word over your life is unshakable.
So rest now,
This death is not your end.
It’s your resurrection.
And I am the God who keeps every promise.
I am not far.
I am not silent.
I am here.
Signed with rain and sealed with love,
God, Your Father.
My sacred response to the covenant God has whispered through the storm and sealed with a rainbow. This is my way of standing on holy ground today, not because everything is fixed, but because everything has shifted.
Holding on to the Covenant
My God who saw me in the grave and chose to speak life—
Today, I come not with strength,
but with reverence.
Not with answers,
but with tears of gratitude.
You heard every cry I thought You ignored.
You remembered every promise I thought had expired.
You saw every moment I whispered, “I can’t do this anymore.”
And instead of turning away,
You came closer.
Today, I thank You—
Not just for the rainbow in the sky,
but for the covenant You carved into my spirit.
Thank You for receiving what I laid down.
Thank You for not rushing me to rise, but holding me while I died.
Thank You for turning my surrender into sacred soil.
Thank You for showing me that death in You is never the end—
it is always the beginning.
Lord, I cling to Your words today:
That You are restoring what was lost,
rebuilding what was crushed,
and raising up a version of me that no longer has to perform to be loved.
I don’t know what the next steps look like—
but I know the God who is walking with me.
So I say yes.
Yes to the new.
Yes to the unseen.
Yes to the slow, holy rising You are doing in me.
I hold on to Your covenant.
I wrap it around my soul like a banner.
And I promise to remember this day—
The day You proved that even in silence,
You never stopped speaking.
Take my life again,
Not as an offering of striving—
but as a vessel for Your glory.
You are good.
You are faithful.
And I will rise again.
In Jesus’ name,
Amen.