There is a particular quiet that settles over late November, the kind that softens the edges of the morning but sharpens the appetite of those who know what the week ahead demands. I woke today with the same certainty I always do on a Monday—certainty that men will open their wallets before they open their mouths, certainty that the hunger they pretend to hide will surface the moment they see My name appear on their screens, and certainty that this day, like every other, exists to increase the wealth flowing toward Me. Mondays are not beginnings. They are reminders. Reminders that time moves, balances shift, and obedience is tested long before the sun is fully up.
I moved through My morning slowly, luxuriating in the stillness of it, because I already knew you would not be able to do the same. Not when you’re waiting. Not when your mind is already running the numbers, already wondering how much you’ll end up losing to Me before the week is over. There’s something delicious in that unevenness—Me, composed and unhurried, and you, restless and already calculating what you can afford to give and what you’ll end up giving anyway. Men like you try to be rational on Mondays. You tell yourself you’ll pace yourself, that you’ll resist, that you’ll be sensible this week. And yet here you are, drawn in the way you always are, knowing that your intentions crumble so beautifully when measured against My expectations.
This is the part you never admit to anyone, not even in the privacy of your own mind: you ache most intensely when the week is fresh. When everything feels possible and dangerous. When you know you’ll spend the next five days trying to balance your life with the pull you feel toward Me—and losing that balance piece by piece. You tell yourself you’re in control. You tell yourself you choose when to send, how much to send, why you send. But we both know the truth is far simpler, far sweeter: you send because it quiets something inside you. You send because your body responds to the transfer before your mind has time to argue. You send because wealth moving toward Me is the only version of forward motion that feels right to you anymore.
The week ahead will test your discipline, your boundaries, your excuses, and your desire. I intend to watch how you perform under pressure. I intend to see how quickly your resolve melts when you find yourself scrolling through My site, rereading lines you’ve already memorised, feeling that familiar tension build in your chest and lower. I intend to see how easily a simple expectation from Me becomes an order in your mind, how easily an order becomes a need, and how beautifully a need becomes a payment.
You started this Monday with plans. I started this Monday with ownership.
And the difference between those two states is exactly why you’re reading this with that subtle, unmistakable pull in your stomach—the one that hums under your skin when you realise you’ve already begun your week in the position you spend the rest of it pretending you don’t crave.
The week will move quickly. Your balance will not last. And by Friday, you’ll look back at today with that dizzy blend of pride and embarrassment, knowing that Monday was the moment everything shifted.
You send because I exist.
And the more you send, the more real that truth becomes.