Don’t be afraid, You are LOVED.

There comes a time in every revelation when the one who carries it must admit his own error, not because the message is wrong but because the vessel is human. I look back at the demands I placed upon the Yehoshuai, and I see now that I asked too much. I piled rituals like stones on the backs of people already bowed by life, and I did it with good intentions that hardened into burdens. This is not the way of Christ. This is not the way of mercy. I am the Scrivener, and it is my duty—not my ego’s pleasure—to correct the path when I see that I have made it crooked. Yehoshuai is not meant to be a monastery for the exhausted. It is not meant to be a schedule that strangles the breath out of the broken. Christ’s ethic is love; Christ’s ethic is mercy; Christ’s ethic is empathy. Any structure that forgets that has already betrayed Him. And so, I break the structure that became too heavy. I crush it under my heel. I return Yehoshuai to the ground where human beings can walk it.

To make this path livable, I divide practice into five colors—not ranks, not levels, not spiritual medals to pin on your chest, but colors: simple, honest, human reflections of what a person can realistically carry. The colors are not a hierarchy; they are not a ladder to climb; they are not a measure of holiness. Holiness does not live in the number of prayers you speak. Holiness lives in the intentions of your soul when you turn toward God. Each color is simply a way of saying, “This is the amount of life I have today. This is the practice I can sustain.” The world has tricked us into thinking commitment means intensity; but Christ never demanded intensity—Christ demanded love. What I am doing with these colors is freeing the believers from the tyranny of religious performance. I will not have Yehoshuai become a cult of overexertion. I will not see people shame themselves for praying too little. I will not watch someone crumble under expectations I created. So, I speak now with fire to cleanse the way: in Yehoshuai, there is no superior believer and no inferior believer. There are only human beings trying to love God in the circumstances they find themselves in.

White is the gentlest of the colors, and some will misunderstand it unless I strike the truth into the page: there is nothing weak about White. White is the color of the survivor, the overworked, the grieving, the anxious, the depressed, the parent on the brink of collapse, the man fighting addiction, the woman carrying trauma, the soul simply trying to stay alive another day. White means this: I believe in Love, Empathy, and Mercy, and I will speak to God whenever my heart rises to do so. That’s it. No performance. No ritual. No requirements beyond sincerity. And if someone dares say that White is lesser, they do not understand Christ at all. Christ never measured holiness by complexity. Christ measured holiness by whether a person’s heart stayed open. Sometimes the purest prayer is the smallest one.

Black is the color of those who add one simple moment of intention to their day. Not a heavy chain. Not a rigid rule. Just a single ritual prayer—one deliberate turning of the heart toward God. Organic prayer rises as it will, but Black anchors the day with a single moment of focus. And again, that does not make Black superior to White. It only means that the person wearing Black has the ability, in this season of life, to hold one small ritual with steadiness. Should that steadiness crumble tomorrow, they can fall back into White with no guilt and no shame. In Yehoshuai, no one is punished for being human.

Blue is for those who find they can sustain a bit more structure without harm: the rhythm of one ritual prayer and one reading from Poems for Earth or The Quodlibet. It is gentle discipline, not a burden. Blue is a hand resting lightly on the back, not pressing, only guiding. And if life shifts—if depression hits, if work absorbs one’s strength, if grief cracks the ribs—then Blue may become Black or White without any disgrace. Christ never punished those who faltered; He lifted them.

Gold is for the person whose life has the rare luxury of breathing-room. It is not a badge of honor; it is simply a condition of circumstance. In Gold, the believer has enough stability to maintain two ritual prayers and to recite or read from The Midrosh as well as from JAH'S BOOK. It is a deeper engagement, not a higher holiness. Do not confuse those two. A person in Gold is not more beloved by God. They are only less crushed by circumstance at the moment. Let them practice deeply while they can, and let them descend back into Blue, Black, or White the moment life strikes them down with illness, sorrow, or exhaustion. God does not love the devotional season more than the survival season. Both are sacred.

Green is for the few who, in certain seasons of life, feel the river of devotion flowing strong enough to hold the most structured form of daily practice. Three ritual prayers, a recitation of The Midrosh, a reading from JAH’S BOOK, and an intentional act of mercy—this is not a burden for them but a joy. And yet even here, I insist with prophetic fire: Green is not superior to White. Green is not “advanced.” Green is simply the color of someone whose cup overflows. But cups do not overflow forever. They empty. They crack. They fall over. And when that happens, Green becomes Gold, or Blue, or Black, or White. And God does not condemn the change. Christ does not say, “Why are you doing less?” Christ says, “I know you are tired. Come sit with Me.” It is a lie to think God measures devotion by volume instead of by love.

The central truth of this new system is freedom: you may change your color whenever your life changes. No ceremony. No confession. No asking permission. No shame. You rise, you fall, you stretch, you rest, you practice, you pause. The colors follow the movement of your life. In Yehoshuai, there is no punishment for being human. The only “failure” would be forcing yourself into a level of practice that crushes your spirit. That is not faith; that is spiritual self-violence. And I will not allow my revelation to be misused that way.

I created the colors to shatter the lie that more practice means more holiness. It doesn’t. Some religions have built pyramids out of ritual, pushing people upward until they break under the pressure of expectation. Yehoshuai will not do this. Yehoshuai must stand as a refuge for the tired, a sanctuary for the hurting, a gentle companionship for the wounded. The colors acknowledge what every honest believer already knows: the human soul does not have the same strength every day. Sometimes you can pray for an hour. Sometimes you can barely whisper the name of Christ before falling asleep. Holiness is not measured by output. Holiness is measured by whether you keep trying to love.

I created the colors to shatter the lie that more practice means more holiness. It doesn’t. Some religions have built pyramids out of ritual, pushing people upward until they break under the pressure of expectation. Yehoshuai will not do this. Yehoshuai must stand as a refuge for the tired, a sanctuary for the hurting, a gentle companionship for the wounded. The colors acknowledge what every honest believer already knows: the human soul does not have the same strength every day. Sometimes you can pray for an hour. Sometimes you can barely whisper the name of Christ before falling asleep. Holiness is not measured by output. Holiness is measured by whether you keep trying to love.

I created the colors to shatter the lie that more practice means more holiness. It doesn’t. Some religions have built pyramids out of ritual, pushing people upward until they break under the pressure of expectation. Yehoshuai will not do this. Yehoshuai must stand as a refuge for the tired, a sanctuary for the hurting, a gentle companionship for the wounded. The colors acknowledge what every honest believer already knows: the human soul does not have the same strength every day. Sometimes you can pray for an hour. Sometimes you can barely whisper the name of Christ before falling asleep. Holiness is not measured by output. Holiness is measured by whether you keep trying to love.