Still With You: The Long Line Between a Dream and a Miracle

The Dream That Woke Me Up

I woke up at 3 a.m.—groggy, aching, and barely functioning—to try and get J-Hope’s Hope on the Stage concert tickets in Seoul, Korea. My body wanted sleep. My spirit wanted to show up.

I didn’t know if I’d make it through the queue. There were already 41,000+ people ahead of me, and everything in me expected the worst. But even half-asleep, I stayed hopeful. I thought, Maybe I’ll get in. Maybe I won’t. Either way, I showed up. Not for hype. Not just to say I was there. I showed up because something meaningful was stirring.

That kind of determination doesn’t just come from fandom—it comes from something deeper. The desire to be part of something bigger. The willingness to walk into the fog without knowing what’s on the other side.

And strangely enough, that’s the exact place I’ve been standing with my book.

The 41,000-Person Gauntlet

When I logged in, there were over 41,000 people ahead of me in the queue. I didn’t even blink. I’d already decided: if I didn’t get a ticket, I’d be okay. But I kept trying.

Tickets were disappearing out of my cart faster than I could breathe. It was like being in a digital gladiator pit. Every second mattered. There was no luxury to browse—this wasn’t a boutique, it was a battle. But I stayed calm, kept refreshing, and snagged a seat. Actually, two.

They were nosebleeds—the ones nobody’s fighting for. But I didn’t care. I just wanted to be there. I wanted to celebrate Hope. I wanted to be present for something that might never happen again. Maybe the other members would show up. Maybe it would be a BTS reunion moment. Even if not, I was in.

“Commit your actions to the Lord, and your plans will succeed.” —Proverbs 16:3 (NLT)

My friends weren’t so lucky. I told them to use laptops, not phones, but in the heat of it, things happen. By the time they got through, tickets were gone. I felt bad—but it also reminded me that when you want something, even the tools you choose matter.

When that confirmation finally came through—you got the ticket—I just sat in silence. No screaming. No crying. Just quiet disbelief and one whispered thought: I’m going to Korea to see J-Hope!

The Book That Took Just As Much Grit

Publishing 17 Syllables of Me has felt eerily similar to that ticketing experience.

I didn’t always know if I’d make it to the finish line. Formatting tripped me up. The spacing had to be perfect. I kept rechecking my cover. There were moments I felt like I was submitting it into a black hole. But I kept showing up—line by line, day by day.

“You may never know what results come of your actions. But if you do nothing, there will be no result.” —Mahatma Gandhi

Every part of the book was a milestone: choosing haikus, writing reflections, adding insights, learning KDP’s settings. There was no magic. Just movement. I didn’t know what the end would look like—I just kept stepping toward it.

“Faith is taking the first step even when you don’t see the whole staircase.”—Martin Luther King Jr.

When I finally submitted the manuscript, it felt like that same quiet victory. No confetti. Just peace. I had walked through the fog. I had done it.

Soul Insights

1. Milestones aren’t small.

Registering for the pre-sale, checking dates, uploading files, fixing formatting—those weren’t random steps. They were proof I kept going. Every action mattered.

2. Real joy shows up after resistance.

The joy wasn’t instant. It came after the chaos. After tickets slipped out of my cart. After I formatted and reformatted my book a dozen times. The joy came because I stuck with it.

“Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.” —James 1:4 (NIV)

3. Letting go makes space for miracles.

I had to release the outcome. Whether it was the concert or the book, I knew I couldn’t control everything. But God met me in the surrender. That space between effort and outcome is where miracles land.

4. Done is holy.

The tickets weren’t front-row. The book isn’t perfect. But they’re done. That is sacred in a world obsessed with polish.

5. Movement matters more than mastery.

You don’t need to have it all figured out. You just need to move. Dreams don’t show up for those who wait—they reveal themselves to those who walk.

Final Thoughts: Light on the Other Side of the Fog

There are moments when the dream feels out of reach. The loading screen lags. The manuscript won’t format. The outcome is blurry. But those moments are exactly when you learn what kind of dreamer you really are.

You don’t need clarity to keep going. You just need heart.

That’s what this season has taught me—through ticketing queues and haiku edits, through lost seats and late nights. I learned to stay ready. Stay present. Stay surrendered.

And when the moment comes—whether it’s a digital ticket confirmation or a book finally published—pause and let it in.

You stayed the course. You made it through the fog.

And that is worth celebrating.

Your Turn

So tell me—what’s your version of a 3 a.m. dream?

What have you been working toward, quietly, faithfully—without guarantees?

Whether you’re formatting a book, applying for school, launching something new, or just learning how to believe again—drop it in the comments or message me.

Let’s speak life into those visions.

Let’s walk them through together.

Soul Path Insights