life – Dr. Charles W. Ferguson

The Cost of Staying Free

Author’s Note:
This reflection emerges from a season of silence, discernment, and refusal to trade conviction for comfort in a time that rewards noise over truth.

I haven’t been in the blog space for a while—not because I lost my voice, but because life demanded more than commentary, and I refused to cheapen clarity in a season full of noise.

Life, transitions, and responsibilities all played a role. But if I’m honest, the deeper reason was bandwidth. There’s only so much energy one person has to respond to everything at once. What I still struggle to believe is that my writing took a back seat to the constant barrage of trash flooding timelines and media sources.

It’s official: I’m over selective outrage, incomplete assessments, entitlement, and hatred covered in bright paint.

The longer I live, the more I understand why reading is fundamental, why critical thinking matters, and why Jesus looked at the people and saw sheep without a shepherd. I am genuinely bothered by how easily folks justify—no, align themselves with—platforms and ideologies that stand in direct opposition to truth and justice.

I cannot understand how descendants of kings and queens continue to accept scraps from massa’s table just to remain in the big house.

I don’t understand how marginalized people consistently choose against their own self-interest in an attempt to be supremacy-adjacent.

Maybe it is environmental. Some of us have stared at the current state of affairs for so long that we can’t imagine anything more—unless we sell out for less.

Maybe Jay-Z’s words from The Story of OJ have created a different mentality: If they think I’m a nigga whether successful or not, I might as well give them what they want.

I thank God—from the bottom of my American African heart—that a different mentality was instilled in me long ago.

God gave me reason.
God gave me purpose.
God gave me a sound mind.

And that mind will never submit itself to legalistic, suppressive, and destructive systems built by weak-minded, impotent people.

My mind will never accept respectability politics from those who share my melanin count. My mind will never justify the belittling of the weak. And I refuse to waste my energy trying to convert keyboard cowards into moral thinkers.

This season we’re in? People who have practiced evil are learning that FAFO isn’t slang—it’s reality, unfolding in physical, spiritual, and psychological ways.

Joshua once told the people a decision had to be made.

Not a threat.
Not a demand.
Just truth.

Choose God—or settle.

Before they answered, Joshua drew the line:
“As for me and my house, we will serve the Lord.”

This moment isn’t about groupthink. It’s not about siding with whoever looks like they’re winning. It’s about the life you actually want.

If you want what this depreciating world offers—stand on that.
If you want more—stand on that.
If you ride bandwagons, don’t complain when they drop you off and keep moving.

As for me?

I’m staying free.

—

Conviction costs, but captivity costs more.

Where the Strong Finally Rest

“I can no longer be the strong one in rooms where others refuse to use their own power.
This isn’t reinvention. It’s clarity.”

For the first time in my life, I find myself with all of my emotional wounds wide open.

For forty-four years, I have tried to understand why my introverted self still needed the charge of community. At times, I believed that longing came from a lack of acceptance. At other moments, I buried myself in productivity—believing usefulness might substitute for belonging.

Now I know better.

The deepest need I have carried is not recognition, affirmation, or achievement. It is community.

Achievement feels good. Being seen for giftedness is affirming. But what happens when you don’t have your tribe? What happens when the community that once anchored you begins to disappear?

Over the last seven years, one by one, the bedrocks of my development have faded—for many reasons. Each loss required just enough grieving to remain functional. I could not afford to mourn too long. Responsibility demanded movement. Ministry required output. People needed strength.

For a long time, I was better at being a machine than being human.

I did not know how to lean into my humanity.

After three long weeks marked by emergency room visits, relentless physical pain, internal turmoil, misplaced blame, and a fatigue unfamiliar to my spirit, I now understand something I can no longer ignore: community is not optional. It is necessary. And it is not accidental. It is intentional.

This coming year requires a reassessment of our circles.

I can no longer accept being the “strong one” in rooms where others defer rather than step into their own power. My capacity for friendship, kinship, and even surface connection can no longer sustain relationships unwilling to reciprocate the act of pouring.

This is not a “new year, new me” statement.

It is clarity.

It is the recognition that my life has requirements if it is to continue with integrity. I must reinvest in what actually matters. I cannot afford to run out of gas anymore. I have a purpose and a charge to keep.

This is the stop where stowaways must get off the train.

The journey ahead requires willing participants—people who see the God-sized picture over my life and who are brave enough to acknowledge the God-sized calling over their own.

If you find yourself in the same place, perhaps this is the moment to pause—not to abandon the journey, but to assess it. Are we carrying unnecessary weight, or are we finally prepared to go further?

This is where the strong finally rest—not because the work is finished, but because strength was never meant to be carried alone.

What’s Your Soul’s Exchange Rate?

Scripture: Mark 8:36–37

³⁶For what does it profit a man to gain the whole world and forfeit his soul? ³⁷For what can a man give in return for his soul?

I’ve been thinking about the shift happening in our world. We take the simplest things for granted—relationship, human connection, friendship. I remember a time you could linger on a porch, talk across a fence, or enjoy seeing people walk up and down the street with no reason, no agenda—just presence.

Now too many of us are “thuggin’ it out in these social media streets.” The current iteration of social media feels like the final boss Survivor always dreamed up—always on, always testing, always demanding a performance. We’ve confused 24/7 access with the fullness of human life. No wonder people get pick-pocketed by politicians, influencers, and pseudo-intellectuals selling quick takes and counterfeit wisdom. While some are doing their “undergrad” on Facebook, “grad school” on Instagram, and “post-doc” on YouTube or TikTok, the world is starving for the real genius of God’s most intricate creation—humanity.

Yes, I know the irony of saying this while using these tools. I’m not anti-tech; I’m pro-soul. My concern is simple: will we forget how to touch grass? Will we trade embodied life for endless scroll? Our national climate is not a reboot of The Apprentice. Hateful, power-hungry voices are working hard to make this republic an oligarch’s dream and a blue-collar nightmare. The “isms” aren’t imaginary; they’re standing in broad daylight, testing the mettle of our character.

Into this swirl, Scripture asks two linked questions we often split apart: “What does it profit a person to gain the whole world and lose their soul? Or what will a person give in exchange for their soul?” (Mark 8:36–37). Growing up, I mostly heard the first question. The second didn’t register until adulthood. But they rise and fall together: profit and exchange, gain and cost.

Most people live long enough to see the profits of misdeeds run out. When they do, a decision waits at the door: mortgage your possible redemption, or rebuild from square one with God’s backing. That second question—What will you give?—forces an inventory. What have you been trading away to feel like you’re “winning”? Time? Integrity? Neighborliness? The capacity to listen? The courage to tell the truth? The exchange rate is never equal. If your value system is off, the gap becomes a chasm.

So pause and assess your portfolio:

Relational capital: When was the last time you lingered—no agenda, just presence—with someone who loves you?
Moral capital: Where have you compromised little by little, scroll by scroll, “like” by “like”?
Civic capital: Are you showing up where decisions are made—school boards, council meetings, community forums—or only where trends are made?
Spiritual capital: How’s your soul—anchored in God or tossed by the algorithm?

This isn’t about guilt; it’s about reallocation. If you discover you’ve been over-leveraged in distraction, divest. If your compassion has gone illiquid, free it up. Move your life back into competent, proven hands. God still funds redemption. Grace still underwrites a fresh start.

Three simple moves this week:

Touch grass on purpose. Take a tech sabbath for a few hours. Walk your block. Say hello.
Phone > post. Call one friend you’ve only been DM’ing. Ask how they really are. Linger.
Show up somewhere that matters. Volunteer, attend a meeting, mentor a student, check on a neighbor. Put your body where your values are.

When the audit comes—and it always does—may we be found rich in what lasts: love, justice, mercy, and a soul at peace. Is this season showing that you’re winning yet? Or is it time to take back your portfolio and place it in the hands that never fail? Think about it.