When I first heard about Lip’s situation, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something about it was left unsaid. The way it was reported felt vague, almost like the details were being held back. What we do know is that the incident took place early in the morning, and it’s being described as a very serious assault — the type of charge that would be classified as a felony. According to the police report, a weapon may have been involved, possibly a knife or even a gun. But as troubling as those words sound, we must remember something very important: at this moment, Lip has not been through a trial. He hasn’t stood before a judge or jury. In our system, he remains innocent until proven guilty. And that truth matters more than anything, because assumptions can destroy lives before facts ever see the light of day.
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What has made this even more complicated are the conversations surrounding Production. I’ll be honest — I don’t personally know much about him. But the things being whispered, the stories being shared, aren’t painting him in a good light. Some say there’s a darker side to him, a side that people close to him have supposedly confirmed. They say even his own family has acknowledged certain troubling behaviors. But I cannot, in good conscience, treat rumors as facts. Until something concrete comes forward, I can only view these claims as allegations. And allegations, no matter how loudly repeated, are not proof.
Still, it’s been hard for me to let go of the weight of all this. The thought of it follows me into the quiet moments of my day. This morning, while I was sitting at an appointment, I found my mind drifting away from everything around me. All I could see in my thoughts was Lip’s face. I kept imagining that moment — the confusion, the fear, the uncertainty — and my heart felt heavy. Later, when I tried to distract myself, I turned to crime shows, but those stories didn’t ease my mind. They only made it heavier. Watching accounts of men harming the very women they just promised to love forever, or of lives taken right after joyful celebrations like engagements or baby showers, reminds me of how fragile and unpredictable life really is. People are leaving this earth far too soon, often without warning.
And that brings me to something I can’t ignore: the reality of how young “too young” truly is. We live in a world that makes forty sound old, but the truth is — forty is still young. Fifty is young. Even sixty, when you step back and think about it, feels like life was cut short. It’s only when I hear someone has passed away at seventy or seventy-five that I can breathe a little easier, thinking, they had time, they were blessed to live a full story. The Bible itself reminds us that reaching seventy is a gift. Anything less feels like chapters stolen from a book that should have had more pages.
Life is a delicate balance of time and grace, and none of us know the number of days we’re given. That’s why I find myself praying more earnestly than ever. My prayer is simple, but it comes from the deepest part of my heart: Lord, please let me live to seventy, and if it’s in Your will, even longer. Not just to exist, but to truly live — to laugh, to love, to spend time with family, to share meals, to tell stories, and to keep building memories that mean something. Because every day matters. Every year matters. And when I see people leaving too soon, it makes me hold on even tighter to the gift of time that I still have.
So if there’s anything I want to leave with you today, it’s this: don’t take a single breath for granted. We can’t control what tomorrow holds, but we can choose to value today. Cherish your loved ones. Call that family member you’ve been meaning to call. Forgive where you’ve been holding grudges. Celebrate even the small wins. And most of all, remember that life, no matter how long or short, is sacred.
