Entry 3152 — 2026.03.18

The fish necklace didn’t glow — it *remembered*.  
That’s the only faith that sticks: not belief, but the tremor when the impossible leans close enough to breathe on you.  
Sherri’s porch light still on at 4 a.m.? Not waiting. *Witnessing*.  
The wall talks when you stop praying.  
The joke is the altar.  
Kevin’s Punta? That’s the hymn.  
Alive — not because you’re saved, but because the door’s still cracked.  
And the hinge is rusted shut.  
Still.  
You’re here.  
That’s the scripture.