I got into an argument recently with a man about God—while drunk.
Yeah, a little contradictory, right? You can probably guess who was still very much in their worldly life. (Hi, it’s me.)
It started when he said God wasn’t real.
At first, I just let him talk. Then he brought up, Well, if God’s real, why cancer? Why this? Why that?
And suddenly, everyone’s eyes were on me.
They know I had cancer. They know I care about this stuff. They know my passion.
But I think they also knew that he’s talking about something deeper than his lack of belief— he also was lit too. And when two people are under the influence, well, those conflicts don’t exactly meet each other gently.
The situation got heated. Mostly because of me.
I wasn’t given the chance to speak the way I wanted—not with the right tone or inflection, not in a way that met him where he was.
And when you’re talking about something as heavy as God, that matters.
The truth? I wasn’t acting like a child of God that night.
Here’s the ironic part:
The man who didn’t believe—the one whose fire and passion burned behind the nonexistence of God—was still walking in God’s image in that moment.
He didn’t say anything terribly wrong.
He didn’t do anything terribly wrong.
I was placing conviction on him that didn’t need to be there.
Later, after reconciliation he told me about an article that had been written about him. Something that painted him in a light that wasn’t true.
And I found myself saying—half-joking at first—that I’d write an article about him.
And then I thought… actually, yes. I will.
Because here’s what I realized:
There are so many people—especially men—who don’t even realize the magnitude of the values they carry. How they walk in fire, in stoicism, but lead with sincerity and passion. How they quietly reflect God’s image without even naming Him.
There are plenty of people who talk about God, read the Bible, call themselves Christians… and yet, in moments like that, they don’t react with the care that he did.
It made me laugh, in a bittersweet way, to notice how someone who had been “on my side” in the argument wouldn’t even think to ask about him after the fact or probably ever say anything positive about him.
But he asked about them—genuinely.
That’s when it hit me:
The Holy Spirit moves through people whether they acknowledge Him or not.
And sometimes, the people we think are farthest from God are the ones radiating His love most clearly.
His refusal to believe isn’t rooted in stubbornness—it’s rooted in what he’s seen, what he’s been told, and what he hasn’t felt for himself.
And there I was, ready to convict him instead of love him.
That night, I even told him I was a Proverbs 31 woman.
Spoiler alert: that was not what I was showing.
Later, we talked again—a little more sober, and softer.
If you’ve ever truly felt God’s presence in a room, you know what I mean when I say: He was there.
And for that reason, I wanted to write this even more—to hold myself accountable, and to remind myself (and maybe you) of something important:
Our self-righteousness can push people away from the very God we want them to know.
It’s not meant to cause anger or division.
It’s not our job to convict or judge.
We’re not God.
That’s something I’m still working on.
