The Mark of Christ — My Story

Every Mark scar tells a story.

Physical scars and wounds can often become a source of embarrassment, leading us to feel judged, humiliated, or unseen.
In doing so, we neglect our own humanity — ignoring the imperfections and flaws that make us real.

These marks, both visible and invisible, are not weaknesses.
They are reminders of our resilience.

After facing my own personal battles over the last few years, I’ve come to understand that the Mark of Christ isn’t only about faith — it’s about life.
It has evolved to include those marked by the scars of experience: the wounds of trauma, loss, and healing.

My journey after a Traumatic Brain Injury changed everything.
It forced me to confront not only my limitations, but also my judgments — to recognize the unseen disabilities, the silent struggles, and the quiet courage that so many carry every day.

By giving each person a voice and a platform, we begin to knock down stereotypes and reclaim self-confidence.
The movement celebrates rocking your mark — showing the world who you truly are and what happens when we look beyond a few inches of flesh.

Having a mark is not the end.
It’s the beginning.

The true journey of life is about being the mark — living as a testimony of resilience, faith, and transformation.

The stories in The Mark of Christ Photo Journal come directly from the individuals themselves — raw, beautiful, and unfiltered.
These are the people who have stared adversity in the face and learned to live again — not in spite of their scars, but because of them.

Our Lady of Medjugorje — The Moment I Met God

This is my story — the first of many miraculous moments.

The marks on my body are not random.
They are the map of my pilgrimage — the visible trace of the moment I saw, felt, and met God.

It began in the mountains of Assisi, in a small cave where St. Francis of Assisi once prayed for months at a time.
There were about twenty of us in that sacred space.

As we entered a moment of silence, we held hands and began to pray aloud.
Then, something extraordinary happened.

Someone began to speak in tongues.
Another person fell to the ground.
The air grew thick with the presence of the Holy Spirit — it felt as though a warm blanket had been wrapped around us during a cold winter storm.

After about fifteen minutes, I opened my eyes.
I wasn’t crying. I wasn’t speaking in tongues.

I wanted to feel something divine — but all I felt was frustration.

When we left the cave, I approached one of the priests and asked,

“What am I not getting? Why can’t I cry?”

Still searching for answers, I wandered away from the group and soon got lost.
(Shocker, right?)

I followed a narrow path into a rocky, amphitheater-like cove.
I sat down, opened my journal, and began to write.

“I hear a cry, and still I ask — why not I?”

Then everything went still.
It was as if someone had placed noise-canceling headphones over my ears.
The world fell silent.

And then I heard a voice.

“You don’t have to cry, because I have already done it for you.”

My eyes filled with tears, though none fell.
Then it began to rain.

Each drop echoed through the trees like music — the most beautiful sound I had ever heard.

In that moment, I thought of everyone I loved, wishing they could each experience their own moment with God.
What I didn’t know then was that God was only getting started.

Over the next two weeks, miracles unfolded — moments that defied science and reason.

This is only the beginning.

Want to know more?
You’ll find the rest of the story in my upcoming book, Driving Naked with God — where I share the meaning behind the yellow butterfly that inspired my tattoo, and the divine moments that transformed my life.

Until then, visit DrivingNakedwithGod.com for more stories, reflections, and spiritual inspiration.