You know that feeling. Fresh sneakers in your hand, torn between wearing them or tucking them back into the box.

We express this hesitation with the word “sayang.”

“Sayang, baka maputikan.”
“Sayang, baka magasgasan.”
“Sayang, baka mamantsahan.”

We feel the same tug with new bags, watches, and cars. But art collectors have taken this to another level.

When they buy a masterpiece, they often get two copies of it. One original, one fake. They hang the fake on the wall, while the original stays locked in a vault. Safe. Untouched.

On April 25, I woke up to find 500 people had reshared my post.

I wanted to pat myself on the back, but my palms turned damp, and I could feel my heart thumping in my throat.

Two hours later, the number hit a thousand. Chills raced down my spine, and the air felt too heavy to breathe.

I reached for a glass of water, and prayed, “Lord, should I delete this?”

Like the things we buy, our stories have a purpose: to be shared.

They exist to teach, encourage, and connect. But when I saw that over 750,000 people had viewed my post, I hated to admit it, but fear took over.

“What if I get bashed?”
“What if I get trolled?”

I was desperate to tuck my stories back inside the box. I ached to display the “Fake Jed”—the uncontroversial version—and put the “Original Jed” back in the vault where it’s safe.

But as my finger hovered over the delete button, I remembered a story Jesus told.

A servant received a fortune to manage, but out of fear, he buried it in the ground. He thought his master would be pleased to find the treasure intact. Instead, the master was furious.

The treasure wasn’t given to be preserved; it was given to be used.

Sneakers are meant to be worn.
Masterpieces are meant to be seen.
Stories are meant to be told.

God is the Master Artist who created an original version of us.

He would rather see us scuffed-up than stay hidden inside a vault. He prefers the honest stories of our scars over the polished, fake versions He never created.

I know this because He is the God who didn’t just wear His perfect sneakers; He deliberately stepped into the mud to be with you and me.

*

My post is still up. Not because I have overcome fear, but because I am learning to trust the version God created.

Yes.
The sneakers might get dirty.
The masterpiece might get stained.
The story might get bashed.

But they’re better off seeing the world than being underground.

Real waste isn’t in the usage. It’s in the storage.

So lace them up.

“Dahil mas sayang kapag hindi ginamit.”

My kids found their playmates in the neighborhood. They meet up every 4:30 in the afternoon and play until sundown.

Today, Joab came home with a frown.

“What happened?” I asked. “Are you hurt?”

“Not really,” he said.

“So, what’s up with that face?”

“I think Wacky is going to hell.”

I leaned in and asked, “Did I hear you correctly? Wacky is going to hell?”

“Yes, because he always says bad words and whacks us with his toy. He’s bad, Daddy. And bad people go to hell, right?”

I took a deep breath and prayed about what I was going to say next.

“Did you fix your bed upstairs before you played outside?”

His eyes widened, “Sorry Dad, I forgot.”

“Hmm. Is disobedience good or bad?”

“Bad.” He responded as he fixed his eyes on the floor.

“Do you think because you did something bad, I should let you sleep outside of the house tonight?”

He gave me a blank stare.

“Of course not,” I said. “I may discipline you, but I won’t kick you out of the house just because you did something bad. You know why?”

“Why?” he asked.

“Because you are my son. You are part of my family.”

I saw tears welling up in his eyes.

“Look at that kid.” I pointed at the girl outside through a window.

“Who? Mitch?” he said.

“I don’t know her name. But she seems to be a good kid.”

“Why do you say she’s good?”

“Well, she’s cleaning up all the toys everyone left after playing.”

“You’re actually right Daddy, Mitch is a good friend.”

“Do you think I should let Mitch sleep here tonight?” I asked.

“Of course not,” he said.

“Why not?”

“She’s not part of the family.”

“Exactly,” I said. “You stay here in my house not because of what you do, but because of who you are. And you are part of my family.”

Then I continued.

“It’s the same with God. Heaven is not for either good or bad people. It’s for God’s family. Wacky might do bad. Mitch can do good. But unless they become God’s children by believing in Him, they both aren’t entering Heaven.”

*

One of my pastors said we will be surprised when we get to Heaven. Some people we don’t expect are there, and the people we expect aren’t there.

Jesus made this clear in Matthew 7:22-23:

“On that day many will say to me, ‘Lord, Lord, did we not prophesy in your name, and cast out demons in your name, and do many mighty works in your name?’ And then will I declare to them, ‘I never knew you; depart from me, you workers of lawlessness.’”

Like Mitch, there are many people in this world who do wonderful, good things. They clean up, they help others, and they might even do these deeds in God’s name. But doing good does not automatically make you a member of the house.

Whether you do bad or good is ultimately beside the point. The true question of eternity isn’t about the deeds—it’s about whether or not you are a child of God.