Jesus Died for My Sins, Not My Problems

Let me tell you what this book is.

This book isn’t about losing faith.
It’s about the moment you realize faith has been carrying things it was never meant to carry.

I wrote Jesus Died for My Sins, Not My Problems because at some point, I had to be honest:
Jesus didn’t volunteer to fix unsafe men.
He didn’t offer to clean up unhealed trauma I refused to look at.
He didn’t agree to be my avoidance strategy.
And He definitely didn’t die so I could keep calling suffering “character development.”

This book starts where a lot of religious conversations stop—
with the question you’re not supposed to ask out loud:

Why am I still exhausted if this is supposed to be faith?

I talk about grief.
I talk about money.
I talk about being spiritually blamed for things that were actually about power and control.
I talk about what happens when prayer alone stops working—not because God left, but because prayer was never meant to replace discernment.

I’m not here to take God away from you.
I’m here to give Him back—without fear doing the translating.

This book is about the difference between devotion and disappearance.
Between submission and sovereignty.
Between believing in God and letting other people use God to manage you.

I don’t tell you what to believe.
I don’t recruit you into anything.
I don’t offer a formula.

I tell the truth about what it feels like when belief collapses—and something stronger replaces it.

I talk about how magick didn’t replace God in my life.
It exposed where control had been pretending to be God.
It showed me the difference between spiritual aesthetics and spiritual competence.
Between hoping and actually knowing what I’m doing.

This is a book for people who still love God—but are tired of being spiritually babysat.
For people who feel something is off, but were told that feeling was rebellion.
For people who are done shrinking, quieting, enduring, and calling it holiness.

If you’ve ever prayed and still knew something needed to change—
if you’ve ever loved Jesus but hated what people did in His name—
if you’ve ever thought, I believe… but this can’t be all there is—

this book is already talking to you.

So I’ll leave you with the questions I wrote it from:

What if God was never asking for your depletion?
What if Jesus didn’t come to erase your judgment—but to restore it?
What if faith was meant to wake you up instead of wear you down?
What if the problem was never God… but who got to speak for Him?

And what if—just once—you trusted what you already know?