DREAMS AND VISIONS

Before healing came honesty. Before honesty came the ache. But even in the ache, God was already moving; quietly, patiently, like light finding its way through cracked walls.

This is a brief confession about ministry wounds, family loss, and the surprising mercy of a God who never wastes our pain, but reshapes it into something that can lead us home…

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I have had a recurring dream.

I’ve had it since I was in High School.

I kept finding myself in a children’s room - tiny clothes, bright toys, soft colors. I didn’t have kids, but these little ones ran to me with the certainty of children who knew me. My kiddos.

I sat on the edge of a bed while they played, the boy always wandering to the closet for more toys. Beside me, a woman’s hand rested close to mine, a ring catching light. Her face was blurred, as if heaven refused to reveal her yet, but her presence was unmistakable. My wife—unknown, unseen, somehow already loved.

Yahweh is faithful.

On January 8^th, 2011, Shayla said yes to be my girlfriend.

On December 15^th, 2012, she said yes again. This time, to become my bride.

And on July 13th, 2013, we were the last two people in the building to leave the wedding reception; full, grateful, stunned by joy. With smiles on their faces, the staff at this reception hall said, “We’ve never seen a couple dance the night away and leave after their guests.” It was awesome.

A year later, the dream returned. But this time, the blur cleared. The woman beside me had a face - Shayla’s face. And soon the children’s faces sharpened too: Leila’s smile, Tacoma’s curiosity. It felt like waking into something God had been whispering for years. Shayla really is the woman of my dreams.

Yahweh is faithful.

As a kid, my dreams were small. Judge robes looked cool, and my dad watched those cheesy courtroom shows, so I thought I wanted to be a judge. But in college, something deeper formed. I wanted to join the long line of Walelo/u who served God. I wanted a full-time paid ministry role.

Tim Blake believed in me. Jimmy Allen opened doors. Hartford, CT Church shaped me and prepared me for ministry.

Then came June 30th, 2014.

Shayla and I packed our little Mitsubishi “Ancer” (the L was long gone) and pointed it south toward Nashville to serve as Youth and Family Ministers. Smiles flashed across our faces as we embarked on this new journey.

Yahweh moved powerfully in Nashville.

People quickly welcomed us into their homes. See 1 Thessalonians 2:8.

Teens found faith. Students preached sermons with fire. A teen-led conference left us speechless. It felt like holy ground.

And then…

It ended.

May, 2021.

Fast and sharp, like someone slammed shut a door mid-sentence.

Shayla exhaled for the first time in years.

I was crushed.

Removed from a role that I poured my entire being into.

“We think this would be a good time for the church to reset…We want a couple on staff...We don’t see how it will work with you on staff and not Shayla…Maybe you can call some of your connections from North Carolina because they have husbands on staff without their wife.”

Done. Finished. Pushed to the side. Left searching for a job while processing the loss.

A husband and father with 2 children under 3, let go of his ministry duties because of…not sin!

“This hurts us more than it hurts you.”

Yeah, right.

My calling still burned hot inside me (Jeremiah 20:9).

After losing my ministry job in Nashville, we packed our car once more. This time, it was to go and live with our friends, turned family, Chris and Taranika Moorer. We lived with them for three months.

Those next three months, living with the Moorers while jobless, pressed hard on my soul. I carried shame like extra weight in my pockets. I avoided mirrors because I could not recognize myself anymore.

My friend Greg Russell reminded me one night, “Bro, these relationships you’ve built… they’re carrying you now. You’re not a failure. You’re still taking care of your family.” Amen, G. Thank you.

Yahweh is faithful.

A door opened to Tampa Bay, Florida.

On 9/1/2021, I drove south from Tennessee, while Shayla, the kids, and Nika flew down.

We again found ourselves being invited over for meals by congregation members. Our home was a revolving door of dinner dates with people. We fed them. They fed us, encouraged us, and saw me as a minister again.

18 months later, the atmosphere shifted.

Exodus 1:8 whispers, “Then a new king, to whom Joseph meant nothing, came to power in Egypt.”

I’m no Joseph. He was no king. But I recognized the feeling of becoming unfamiliar to people who once welcomed me.

Questions began floating:

“Is Titus really leading well?”

“Does he come to you for advice on stuff?”

“Can he even do this without Shayla on staff?”

I wasn’t perfect. But I wasn’t the only problem. Still, the story changed.

Appreciation turned into suspicion.

And when I asked for clarity about what I considered accusations, it became “pride.”

“You’re being prideful, bro.”

When I defended my wife, who wasn’t there to defend herself in these intervention meetings, it was labeled “pushback.”

A grown man. Fully grown adult even suggested that Shayla didn’t like him because she didn’t go out of her way to chat with him after service.

Meanwhile, Shayla chased after our children every Sunday after service so that I can be freed to “fellowship” with members.

Stress carved lines into my body.

Panic attacks visited me at night.

With her gentle, steady voice, Shayla looked at me and said, “I don’t want to lose my husband to ministry.”

Her words cracked something in me.

The next day, I typed my resignation letter through tears.

May 2023, I stepped away with no job, no backup plan.

It was terrifying.

It was right.

Yahweh is faithful.

We stayed at the congregation for a while, but soon the main gatherings felt too heavy. I stuck to regional services and house churches gatherings.

Then, while I was still on the membership list (being on the list determined the level of care one would receive from leadership), my brother Joel died on March 23rd, 2024 at 12:48 PM CST in Abilene, TX.

The ones who “cared so much” never showed up.

That silence echoed deeply and shattered my view of their leadership.

It closed the door on that chapter forever.

So…I buried my ministry dream.

Literally.

I wrote a letter to paid ministry, folded it carefully, dug a hole, and set it in the ground; probably not the best environmental choice, but I did it.

I prayed.

I sobbed.

I listened to “I Give Myself Away,” then “Champion” by Maverick City Music. Finally, “Gratitude” by Brandon Lake.

I read Psalm 145 until peace returned to my chest. A quiet peace.

Yahweh is faithful.

I shared this experience with my Exodus and Hebrew professor at Lipscomb University.

He smiled gently and said, “Maybe one day God might resurrect that dream.” Yahweh is faithful.

At the time, Ministry only meant getting paid by the congregation to serve in that role.

But Yahweh kept opening unexpected doors.

After working at three schools in two years, I landed at a Christian school for the 2025–2026 year.

At first, it didn’t feel like ministry—just survival. But slowly, moments began to reveal themselves:

Students asking questions that cracked open their hearts.

Coworkers whispering prayer requests between classes.

Tear-filled parents thanking me for praying for their children.

Chapel services are fanning the flame once more.

I get to say Yahweh’s name freely here. Admin tells us plainly, “Share your faith with the students.”

I am doing ministry.

These days, ministry meets me in the hallways with fist bumps and high-fives.

Yahweh is faithful.

I write all this to remind myself: His plan rarely matches ours—but it is always better.

To Him belongs all the glory.

Amen.