I sit here, mid-October, watching the leaves fall like tiny funerals, each one descending in silence to remind us that death still reigns over this cursed world. Yesterday, the verdict came down. Bionca Ellis—the smirking butcher of three-year-old Julian Wood—guilty.

A little child, slaughtered in a grocery store aisle, as if life itself had no meaning, by a raging lunatic whose hatred for white is fueled by the normalized common rhetoric of the left.

But this isn’t just one act of madness. It’s a symptom of something far sicker—the open wound of a nation that has forgotten God.

Ellis’s knife didn’t merely pierce the flesh of a young child. It cut through whatever thin veil of innocence we had left. Her grin in court—not sorrow, but satisfaction—was the sneer of evil emboldened.

She laughed, not just at the family she destroyed, but at the entire culture that birthed her. A society too cowardly to call wickedness what it is, too self-righteous to see its own blood-stained hands. And all I could think while watching her is, “I hope she gets the chair.”

Her crime wasn’t random, despite what they say. It was a calculated strike, a ritual in the left’s war to exterminate “whiteness.” Ellis’s knife was no stray blade—it was wielded by a hatred the left has nursed, a venomous rhetoric that paints white skin as the ultimate sin.

I feel the weight of it, a mother’s scream echoing in my bones. The same spirit that plunged a bullet into Charlie Kirk’s neck on a college stage is the one that drove this woman to plunge her blade into a toddler.

The same hatred.
The same ideology of grievance, violence, and vengeance.

They call it “equity.” I call it enmity—rebellion against the very image of God.

The left preaches tolerance. But we all know that they do this while breeding monsters. They baptize hatred and call it “justice.” And when their disciples commit unspeakable acts, the media erases the real motive—because to expose it would expose the movement itself. Every stabbing, every shooting, every desecration of innocence is one more brick in the tower of Babel our culture keeps building to reach heaven without God.

And yet, the silence is deafening. No national mourning. No roundtable about hate. Just a collective shrug while the child’s blood cries out from the ground.

But this is what happens when a nation collectively rejects the Maker. Sin metastasizes into ideology. Hatred is taught as virtue. And the madness we see on our streets is merely the consequence of decades of moral rot. We have sown rebellion and now we are reaping the whirlwind.

It’s easy to look at this woman and see a monster. And a monster she certainly is. But she’s only the grinning face of a deeper horror—a people who have become lovers of self, haters of God, and blind to their own depravity.

America is drunk on its own rebellion. It stumbles through the darkness, laughing at judgment, mocking repentance, boasting in its freedom while shackled to its sin.

I think of the mother of that child—Margot Wood—and her screams echoing in a world too distracted to care. I think of the Kirk family, mourning in a country that sneers at their values. This isn’t just a tragedy, it’s a prophecy being fulfilled. The line between crime and ideology has been erased, and what’s left is open war—not fought with tanks or treaties, but with spirits and lies and blood.

Justice was served in a courtroom yesterday, but justice won’t save us. This is deeper than law. It’s spiritual decay—and no verdict can reverse it. Only repentance and faaith could save this woman now.

But repentance requires conviction, and conviction requires truth—the one thing this culture despises most.

The leaves keep falling outside my window. And I can’t help but think that each one is another life, another nation, another civilization that thought itself immortal until it fell.