Dealing in Faith

I’m buying a business— no papers yet signed, no keys in my pocket, no plan fully lined. No self-made glory, no headline to claim— just me in the middle, half-lit by the flame.

It started in whispers, not rows on a sheet— a pull in my chest, low and steady beneath.

But now there are numbers, and banks setting terms, and margins and ledgers, and contracts to learn.

And I know what the market says: build with a wall, price every hour, leave no room to fall.

But deep in my chest, a new rhythm hums— what we give to each other gently becomes.

You see, I’ve been burned, called soft, told I would lose— that kindness is weakness, that hearts shouldn’t choose. That the sharpest lines win, the rest disappear— but I still believe there is faith in a deal.

I dream of a room, where the weary can rest, where slow isn’t failure, and care is what's best. Where profit and kindness sit shoulder to shoulder, and trust doesn’t fracture as quarters grow colder.

Some of the world says win only— the strong take the most. But I’m planting this hope, even close to a ghost. It may feel too fragile, too soft to outlast— a vision still haunted by pieces of past.

Still—I carry it, quiet and real, a flame in my pocket, a hand on the wheel.

Now I may falter, but still I will lead— not for the glory, not out of need— but to build something true where the heart is not masked, a place that is warm, and built to outlast. A place of belonging, of meaning, of trust. That is my prayer.

Now—make it with us.