I Weaponized My Obedience

In my last post, I told you I was offended by my own children. And the response was overwhelming. So many of you reached out and said, “I didn’t have language for what I was feeling until you named it.”

That post opened something up in me. As I’ve been sitting with that revelation and reading *The Bait of Satan* again, I’m realizing offense didn’t just show up in my parenting. It showed up in my ministry. In my obedience. In the way I moved when God called me to do something radical.

And let me tell you, writing these blog posts and having to come to these revelations about my own behavior is painful. Like, performing surgery on myself with no sedation kind of painful. This level of vulnerability is hard, y’all. But I’m committed to digging out all the infection and just really serving God the way He’s calling me to.

Offense is sneaky like that. It doesn’t announce itself. It disguises itself as righteousness, as protection, as standing up for what’s right. And because it feels justified, we don’t recognize it for what it is: a trap that keeps us on a battlefield we were never meant to fight on.

So this isn’t another post about offense. This is a post about what I did with my offense. How I weaponized it. How I left a trail of blood in the name of obedience and called it righteousness.

Because here’s the uncomfortable truth I need to say out loud:

I used my obedience to God as a weapon against the people who hurt me.

I didn’t mean to. I didn’t wake up one day and decide to do that. But somewhere along the way, in the middle of doing exactly what God told me to do, my flesh crept in. And what started as pure obedience became contaminated with bitterness, offense, and a desperate need to prove that I was worth more than they thought I was.

Let me back up.

In 2014, the Lord woke me up. Not gently. Not gradually. But in that disorienting way where you realize you’ve been sleepwalking through your faith and suddenly you’re wide awake in the middle of the night with nowhere familiar to stand.

I had been in church my whole life. Literally. From the moment I was placed in my first foster home at four years old, I knew church. Pentecostal church, to be specific. The kind where you learn the language, the rhythms, the rules. I knew how to do church. I knew how to look the part.

But somewhere between ages 15 and 21, I stopped going. I didn’t stop believing God was God (that never changed) but I stopped showing up. I stopped praying. I stopped engaging. I was out.

At 21, I met my husband. The story of how we met is one I’ve told before….I almost murdered my son’s father the night before. I cried out to God in desperation. The next morning, my cousin invited me to church. I walked up to the door, saw a man standing outside, and heard the voice of the Lord tell me that was my husband. Eighteen years later, here we are.

By 2007, we were married. By 2008, we had our first child. And I was back in church, fully in. It almost felt like those years away had never happened. I was doing everything I was supposed to do. Showing up. Serving. Representing God the best way I knew how.

But in 2014, something shifted.

The Lord started dealing with my heart. He started speaking to me in ways I hadn’t experienced before. And suddenly, things I saw in the church began to frustrate my spirit. I started noticing things that didn’t sit right with me, things that felt off, things that didn’t align with what I was hearing from God.

And here’s the complication, I was in a church where the pastor and co-pastor were my in-laws. So trying to navigate what I was feeling while maintaining family relationships and honoring leadership was hard. Really hard.

Eventually, the Lord had me remove myself from the church for a season. It was one of the hardest times of my life. My family is a well-known name in Connecticut. We’re connected to other well-known first families in the state. So trying to explain to people why I wasn’t at church, why I had stepped back, was incredibly difficult.

But I didn’t have a choice. I was in the wilderness. And all I could do was listen.

From 2014 to 2018, I was literally just relying on God. I had no direction of my own. I was doing what God told me to do, and I was doing it fearlessly. If the Lord said it, that was truth. That was it. I didn’t care what anybody else thought.

And then, in 2018, He told me to do something that would change everything.

One night, I had a vision. In it, the Lord said, “Tell your story.”

I responded, “Okay, but I am telling my story. I’m writing on my blog. I’m posting on Facebook. What else do you want me to say?”

And the Lord said, “No. I need you to go deeper.”

So I asked, “What does that look like?”

And He downloaded the entire thing. A t-shirt. The front said: “I have a story that will make you believe in God.”The back said: “I was molested.”

Ya’ll. As crazy as that sounds, it never occurred to me that this t-shirt would be considered out of order. Never. The Lord gave it to me. I was going to do it. End of story.

Within a week, the people I needed to make it happen were right in my hand. The t-shirt was done. Then the Lord said, “Wear it.”

I had my first speaking engagement around that time, and God told me to wear the shirt. So I did.

The reactions were mixed. Some people were shocked. They couldn’t believe anyone would put such a bold, blatant message on their body. Others resonated deeply. They came up to me and said, “That’s my story too. How did you get to the point where you could share this so boldly?”

My first time wearing my shirt

The t-shirt went viral. People started buying it. The backs would say different things: I was molested. I was a teen mom. I’m a survivor. People wore their stories on their bodies. I started getting speaking engagements. My inbox flooded with messages from people who just needed someone to listen.

And people were set free. Truly set free. Women who had been carrying shame for decades finally had language for their pain. Survivors found community. The silenced found their voice.

God used that season. He absolutely used it. He got the glory. People’s lives were changed.

But if I’m being completely honest and saying the uncomfortable things, I also used it as an opportunity to validate myself.

The vision was pure. The obedience started pure. But over time, as the rejection and misunderstanding continued, my flesh started to creep in.

Here’s what I didn’t see at the time: I wasn’t just being obedient. I was offended.

I was offended because the people closest to me couldn’t see the God in me. They didn’t believe I was hearing from God in such a radical way. And because I had a speckled past (one that wasn’t clean as snow) I felt like I had to prove that God still chose to speak to me and use me.

So I moved with defiance. I felt like I needed to protect my relationship with God. I needed to show them that He spoke to me, that He used me, that I wasn’t just some damaged girl playing church.

And in that protection, I started leaving a trail of blood.

There were multiple conversations during that season where my leadership would pull me into the office. They would sit me down and talk to me. But those conversations weren’t about understanding me or supporting me. They felt like attempts to get me to see that I was wrong. To shut me up.

And that made me more angry. More resentful. And in moments of frustration, I would spew bitterness. Disdain. I would use my obedience as proof that I was right and they were wrong.

I called it obedience. But it was also retaliation. I called it boldness. But it was also anger. I called it righteousness. But some of it was revenge dressed up in a t-shirt with a powerful message on it.

God was still using me. People were still being set free. The call was still real. But I can look back now and see where my flesh contaminated what started as pure obedience.

During that season, a lot happened. I searched for my biological father. My husband and I lost a child and had to have an abortion. And even in that grief, there was an expectation from some people that we wouldn’t share the truth of what we had to do. Which left me feeling like I was living a lie.

I began to realize that injustice and untruths were deeply frustrating to me. Fakeness. Phoniness. I couldn’t handle it. And I felt like I needed to call it out whenever I saw it.

Eventually, the Lord began to provide healing within me and my family. And He told me to rejoin the church.

I kept asking God, “Why would You send me back to a place where I felt hurt and harmed? Why would You send me back when things haven’t changed?”

And the Lord said, “They may not have changed, but you have changed. And that will change their response.”

I didn’t like that answer. But I went back anyway.

And slowly but surely, I began to see what the Lord meant. Because I responded differently, things were different. I was continuing to grow. Continuing to mature.

But then one day in 2025, I was sitting on the floor of my prayer room, studying my Word. And the Lord brought me to Galatians 2:2-3.

Paul writes: “I went in response to a revelation and, meeting privately with those esteemed as leaders, I presented to them the gospel that I preach among the Gentiles. I wanted to be sure I was not running and had not been running my race in vain.”

And it hit me like a gut punch. The floor dropped out from under me.

Girl, there was another way.

Paul was moving in obedience to a revelation from God. He was preaching a gospel that was controversial, that challenged the religious status quo, that made people uncomfortable. But before he went public with it on a larger scale, he went privately to the leaders.

Not to ask permission. Not to wait for approval. But to honor them by bringing them into the conversation.

He presented what God had given him. He made sure they understood what he was doing and why. And then he moved forward.

I realized in that moment, I had been obedient. But I had not been honoring.

I never went to my leadership and said, “This is what God is calling me to do. I’m not asking for permission, but I’m honoring you by letting you know before I move.”

I just did it.

And in doing it that way, I created unnecessary tension. I was labeled rebellious. I was misunderstood. And some of that could have been avoided (not by compromising the assignment, but by handling it with more maturity).

God still would have gotten the glory. I still would have worn that shirt. I still would have told my story. People still would have been set free.

But the relational fallout, the pain, the division (some of that didn’t have to happen the way it did).

Sitting there on that floor, I had to own something I didn’t want to own, I couldn’t play victim in this completely. I had some wrongness to account for.

If I could go back and talk to my younger self, here’s what I would say:

There’s a bigger purpose in you that God wants to achieve, and this is just the tip of the iceberg. Be obedient. But also move with care.

Because here’s the cost of obedience without honor, it leaves a trail of blood.

It delays you from walking into true freedom and living unashamed. It doesn’t allow you to understand the fullness of what accountability looks like. And it robs you of the space to mature the way God really wants us to mature as people of Christ.

When we move in obedience but refuse to honor the structures and relationships God has placed around us, we’re not just creating relational tension. We’re actually dishonoring God.

Because God values both. He values obedience and He values order. He values boldness and He values wisdom.

And when we act like we only have to choose one, we’re missing the fullness of what He’s calling us to.

Now, here’s the other side of this that I need leaders to hear:

My leadership struggled with the call God had on my life because it was not what they were used to seeing. They were brought up in a time where you swept things under the rug, where you didn’t tell people your business, where you suffered and struggled in silence.

That very narrative is what God used to frustrate my spirit to the point where I moved and did what He called me to do.

But my leadership wasn’t trying to silence me out of malice. They were operating from their own generational wounds, their own teaching, their own framework. My radical transparency threatened the system they had been taught to protect.

I wish they had understood me. I wish those office conversations had been about support instead of suppression. I wish they had asked, “Help us understand what God is doing in you” instead of “Why can’t you just be quiet?”

But I also understand now that they were doing the best they could with the framework they had.

So this post is for two groups of people.

First, to the obedient ones who are moving boldly:

If God is calling you to do something radical, something that makes people uncomfortable, something that challenges the way things have always been done, do it. Be obedient. Don’t shrink back.

But also, examine your heart along the way. Ask yourself, “Is there any part of my flesh infecting what God is trying to do? Am I using this obedience to validate myself? Am I using it as a weapon against the people who hurt me?”

God can use you even when your motives aren’t 100% pure. He can still get the glory. People can still be set free.

But you owe it to yourself and to God to do the heart work. To bring your leadership into the conversation. To honor while you obey. Not because you need their permission, but because maturity knows that obedience and honor can coexist.

Second, to the leaders:

If someone in your church, your family, your circle is moving in a way that makes you uncomfortable (before you label them rebellious, ask yourself: is this actually disobedience, or is this just unfamiliar?)

God is raising up a generation that operates differently than you were taught. They will be more transparent. More bold. More willing to break silence and challenge systems.

And that’s not rebellion. That’s obedience to a God who is doing a new thing.

Your discomfort doesn’t mean they’re wrong. It might just mean you’re being stretched.

And instead of trying to shut them up, try to understand them. Ask questions. Listen. Support them. Because if God is truly moving in them, your attempts to suppress it won’t stop it. It will just create a trail of blood that both of you will have to heal from later.

Here’s what I want you to understand about offense, it operates in the shadows. It convinces you that you’re protecting something sacred when really, you’re just protecting your ego. It makes you feel righteous when you’re actually being resentful. And it keeps you on a battlefield you were never meant to fight on.

As I’ve been examining my own life (my parenting, my ministry, my relationships) I’m seeing how offense showed up in places I didn’t expect. And the enemy used it. He used it to divide me from my family. He used it to keep me angry. He used it to contaminate my obedience with bitterness.

So here’s my challenge to you, my friends on this healing journey with me:

Examine where offense has shown up in YOUR life.

Where have you been operating out of a need to prove yourself? Where have you weaponized your obedience? Where have you called something righteousness when it was really retaliation?

Ask God to show you. And when He does, don’t spiral into shame. Just own it. Reflect on it. Learn from it.

Because the goal isn’t perfection. The goal is awareness. The goal is to stop giving the enemy the power to use offense to keep us trapped on battlefields we were never meant to be on.

I’m 43 years old now. And I’m very aware that I probably have less life in front of me than I do behind me. That awareness makes me want to share what I’ve learned along the way.

Because my words, my stories (this is my legacy).

And listen, y’all, when the Lord decides to call your girl home, you don’t have to write me no obituary. Just tell them to go back to [SanaLatrease.com](http://SanaLatrease.com) and read those blog posts. Because they’ll tell you about the life I lived. The real one. The messy one. The redeemed one.

My hope is that long after I’m gone, these words will still be turning hearts toward God. And part of that legacy is being honest about the seasons where I got it wrong. Not because the call was fake or the obedience was false, but because I allowed my flesh to creep into something that God was doing.

So here’s what I want you to take from this:

God can use you even when you’re not perfect. He can get the glory even when your motives aren’t 100% pure. But that doesn’t mean you don’t have to examine your heart.

Reflection is not the same as regret. I can look back at that season and say, “I would handle that differently now,” without saying, “I shouldn’t have done it at all.”

The assignment from God was real. The call was right. The obedience was necessary. People were set free. God got the glory.

But my execution lacked wisdom. And some of my motives were tainted with offense, bitterness, and a need to prove myself.

Both things can be true.

I’ve learned now how to be both obedient and honoring. I’ve learned that there is a time and a place and a way to say the things the Lord wants me to say while still showing the love and the characteristics of the God we serve.

And I’ve learned that when we’re not examining our hearts (when we’re not asking ourselves, “Did I completely honor God in this season? Was there any part of my flesh that infected what God was trying to do?”) we’re doing more of a dishonor to God than we’d like to admit.

So if you’re in a season where God is calling you to do something bold, do it. Be obedient.

But also be wise. Be honoring. Examine your heart. And trust that God can handle both your obedience and your imperfection.

And if you’re looking back at a season where you moved in obedience but left a trail of blood behind you, don’t spiral into shame.

Reflect. Learn. Grow. And trust that God can redeem even the messy parts of your obedience.

Because He’s still using that t-shirt. He’s still using that story. He’s still using you.

And He always will.

Ya’ll be encouraged in these Unashamed streets - 🩵 Sana