The Church on the Dirt Road
This simple word resurfaced when serving in The Gambia during the middle of 40 days of prayer and fasting.
We were gathering daily—every morning—in a quaint, colorful church on a dirt street. Open windows. Painted walls. Prayers spilling into the heat and dust.
Nothing about it looked strategic.
But that’s where the word returned.
Again.
Same sequence. Same weight.
If something happens on SUNDAY…
Buy silver on MONDAY…
You’ll understand on TUESDAY…
But this time, something else was beginning to attach itself to it.
A number:
77.
The Beach
The understanding didn’t come in the church.
It came later—walking alone along the shoreline.
No agenda. No teaching moment. Just repetition in my head.
And then it landed.
Not as theory.
As framing.
Seventy-seven:
A cycle closing.
A nation’s time marker.
An occult book.
An esoteric agenda.
A threshold I didn’t yet have full language for, but could no longer ignore.
The Weight of It
Looking back, this is where the phrase stopped being just a sequence.
It started attaching itself to structure.
To a calendar.
To previous words.
To interpretation of time itself.
And once the number 77 entered the frame… the tone changed.
It was no longer just what happens over three days.
It was now when something is allowed to happen at all.
Continue to 2024 (Flight) →
Later that year, the word followed me again—this time in an empty plane as I pivoted my plans and left Africa for a new 90-day adventure in Turkey.
Sunday. Monday. Tuesday.
Now tied to a number. A cycle tightening around time, sequence, and interpretation. What began as a phrase is now a framework—moving across nations, locations, and years, still converging toward something not yet fully revealed.
I’m Gr8ful.
