I remember the room. Dim lighting. Faint scent of sweet perfume mixed with sweat and lust. One of the spa rooms, sterile but dressed in disguise. Mirrors on the walls, candles burning lies, soft music humming in the background like it could numb the soul. I wasn’t at a front desk filling out a form. I was face to face with the owner, a man whose mouth never praised God but whose eyes flickered with something strange that day, like recognition. Like something in me disturbed something in him.
“Why are you here?” he asked. I didn’t lie. “I have goals. I need money. I want to build a future.” He nodded slowly. But then, like something deeper took hold of him, he looked straight through me and said words that would never leave me: “You don’t belong here. You’re too good for this.”
It wasn’t said to shame me. It wasn’t laced with anger. It was a strange kind of compliment one that cut. Like he was speaking to a version of me I hadn’t even met yet. Like he could see something on me I had forgotten was there. And maybe that’s exactly what happened, because even though he hated God, even though religion repulsed him, truth slipped out of him like prophecy.
Death and life are in the power of the tongue… (Proverbs 18:21)
He didn’t know it, but he spoke life. He watered a seed God had planted in me long before I ever sold my soul to survival.
I was in the adult industry. Spas. Rub and tugs. Five years deep. And yet I never belonged not really, not fully. I was one of his best girls quiet, professional, polite, spiritual even. I prayed before my shifts. I laid hands on doors when no one was looking. I whispered prayers over the girls and cried out to a God I wasn’t fully living for. Not because I was righteous, but because I was marked.
And the oil doesn’t wash off in sin.
For the gifts and calling of God are without repentance. (Romans 11:29)
That verse means He doesn’t take it back. Your calling doesn’t disappear when you’re drunk at 2 a.m. Your anointing doesn’t fade because you’re letting strangers touch your body for cash. That’s why it hurts so deeply. That’s why it burns so violently. Because when you carry light, darkness can’t digest you even when you’re trying your hardest to blend in.
There were days I prayed over girls as the were in-between clients. I remember walking into rooms where demons didn’t even bother hiding anymore and still whispering protection over myself. I remember one spa shutting down not long after I left. Coincidence? Maybe. But I don’t think so.
Ye are the light of the world. A city that is set on a hill cannot be hid. (Matthew 5:14)
Even in rebellion, I was glowing. I didn’t want to. I tried to dim it. I tried to drown it in perfume, pretense, and darkness. But light doesn’t go out just because you cover it. It flickers. It fights. It exposes. And what shook me the most? Even the enemy saw it.
That man the one who said “you don’t belong here” he saw it. He didn’t praise God. He didn’t quote scripture. But something in him still knew.
Just like the girl in Acts, possessed with a spirit of divination, who followed Paul and cried out: “These men are the servants of the most high God…” (Acts 16:17)
She didn’t know God but the spirit inside her did. Darkness always recognizes light. Even when that light is trying to hide.
Some of you reading this are in places you were never meant to stay. You’re drinking to silence conviction. You’re sleeping with people you don’t even like. You’re numbing yourself on the floor of your decisions, trying to convince yourself this is freedom. But deep down, you still carry something heaven refuses to take back.
You don’t belong there.
You’ve always known it. You feel it when the music fades. You feel it when your makeup smears. You feel it when you lie in bed next to someone who doesn’t even know your middle name. That whisper inside that says, “You’re more than this” that’s not shame. That’s not judgment. That’s your Father calling you home.
If ye were of the world, the world would love his own: but because ye are not of the world… therefore the world hateth you. (John 15:19)
You’re not of the world. You were bought with blood. And blood doesn’t evaporate in sin.
If you’re in the pit, if you’re trapped in a life that looks glamorous on the outside but is torment behind closed doors let these words echo inside you like they did in me back in 2019: You don’t belong here. You’re too good for this. You’ve been set apart. You were never built to blend in with Babylon.
The only reason you’re still standing in that place is because grace is still covering you. But grace doesn’t cover rebellion forever. At some point, you have to decide do you chew the lie and die slowly, or spit it out and walk into life?
That man spoke what he didn’t understand and I thank God for it. He prophesied without a pulpit. Because prophecy doesn’t need religion it just needs a vessel.
You don’t belong here, you never did, and neither did I. But grace is calling, mercy is knocking and the oil is still on you.
Come out.
And if this hit your spirit don’t run from it. Sit with it. Let it offend your comfort and let it agitate your sin. Let it provoke your purpose. You’re not too far gone. You’re not disqualified. You’re just delayed by deception.
But God still knows your name and hell still fears your freedom. It’s time to go, move cause you dont belong there.
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You Don’t Belong Here
