It took me years of hunger, disappointment, and quiet observation to finally accept a truth that shook the very foundation of my upbringing: life rewards the brave, not the righteous.
This truth didn't come to me like a sudden revelation from heaven. It crept in slowly, through small experiences, through comparisons I made between myself and others, through the bitter taste of prayers unanswered and opportunities missed.
I looked at people around me. The bold ones the ones who dared to break the rules, who weren't afraid to speak their minds, who took risks others avoided were the ones climbing the ladder of life. They were not always the holiest, and in fact, many of them would have been called sinners in the church where I grew up. But they lived better, freer, stronger.
Meanwhile, the "righteous" ones, those who spent hours in prayers and never missed a church program, remained stuck. They were obedient but broke. Humble but hungry. Faithful but forgotten.
It was then that a verse I had heard countless times in church hit me differently: "The kingdom of heaven suffereth violence, and the violent take it by force." For years, I thought it was about spiritual warfare, about demons and angels battling in the unseen realm. But in reality, it was a code for life itself.
Nothing good in this world comes by mere righteousness. You don't pray food into your stomach you hustle for it. You don't fast your way into wealth you strategize, you work, you dare. You don't meekly wait for life to bless you, you rise, you fight, you grab.
Righteousness, I realized, is good. It gives you morals, it guides your conscience, it keeps you from becoming a monster in the jungle of life. But bravery bravery is the fuel that makes the car move. Without it, righteousness is like a parked vehicle, shiny but going nowhere.
I saw this truth everywhere.
Take, for instance, the politicians in my country. Many of them are far from righteous. Some are openly corrupt, yet they live in luxury, command respect, and enjoy privileges that the righteous poor can only dream of. Why? Because they are brave enough some might even say wicked enough to play the game of power without fear.
Or look at the businessmen, the hustlers on the street. The ones who dared to sell, to negotiate, to push, even when they didn't have much, were the ones making progress. Those of us who sat waiting for "God's time" remained stuck, watching others eat while we fasted involuntarily.
The irony cut deep: the Bible itself supported what I was beginning to see. "Money is a defense," it says. "Wisdom is a defense." But the way we were raised, money was treated as evil, ambition was treated as pride, and bravery was treated as rebellion.
We were taught that Jesus is the example. But here is the truth most Christians don't want to hear: you can follow His example, but you can never be Him. Trying to be exactly like Jesus is a mistake, because His life was not designed for replication. He had a unique mission. He lived without sin, yes, but He also had supernatural backing that no man alive today has.
So when parents raised us to "be like Jesus" in a literal sense, they raised us for disappointment. They thought righteousness alone would carry us, but they forgot that even Jesus spoke about bravery: "Be wise as serpents and harmless as doves."
Life itself is war. The battlefield is not in the sky it is right here on earth. And in this war, it is not the righteous who win, but the brave.
The so-called "woke" ones understood this long before we did. They use religion as a weapon, a leash, a tool to control. They know that as long as the masses remain afraid of hell, they can manipulate them to serve their interests. They build empires on the backs of the fearful. They get rich by feeding on the ignorance of the righteous.
And who can blame them? If people are too timid to ask questions, too timid to break away from mental chains, too timid to face life directly, then someone will always step in to lead them and exploit them.
The bitterest part for me was watching how pastors became businessmen. I say this not out of hatred, but out of pain. Because I saw men who once preached with genuine passion become consumed by money. They discovered that fear is a profitable product. Preach hell, preach curses, preach guilt, and people will give out of desperation. Then they used those offerings to build schools and businesses that their poor members could never afford.
What kind of righteousness is that? If Jesus segregated the poor from the rich, what would Christianity be today? But here, in my world, it was the poor who were financing the luxury of the church, and yet they couldn't even send their children to the schools built with their own money.
It became clear to me: religion, as it was taught to us, was not about God. It was about control.
And I knew, deep down, that if I wanted to escape the cycle of fear and poverty, I had to embrace bravery. I had to shed the weight of timidity. I had to stop living like heaven was my only reward and start living like life itself owed me something.
Yes, righteousness matters. It shapes your soul. But bravery shapes your destiny. And without destiny, even a righteous soul will live in misery.
That was the turning point for me. I vowed never again to let fear dictate my choices. Never again to bow blindly to those who profit from my silence. Never again to mistake timidity for holiness.