I Was the Witness

There are some stories that never left us.

Not really.

They were just rewritten, softened, silenced —

until someone brave enough remembered the original sound.

Mary Magdalene was not erased.

She was buried beneath centuries of shame and misinterpretation.

But her voice, her presence, her witness — it’s still here.

And maybe, if you’re reading this… it’s rising in you too.

This is not about rebellion.

It’s about restoration.

This is not about rewriting scripture.

It’s about recovering what was always there.

A woman who stayed.

A woman who was trusted.

A woman who saw the truth and carried it — not with a title, but with fire.

What if you’ve been carrying a part of her thread?

What if the thing you’ve been silenced for

is exactly what you were called to speak?

This offering — the song, the art, the breath between the lyrics —

is for every soul who ever felt too much, too loud, too soft, too holy, too heart-led

to belong in the boxes they built.

You were the witness, too.

And now, we remember.

I Was the Witness

Writing Prompt:

What truth did the world try to take from you… but never fully could?

Where in your story have you stayed silent — not because you agreed, but because it felt safer?

What rises in you when you hear her voice saying, “I am still here”?

Write freely. Don’t edit. Don’t censor. Let the thread pull you home.