The Slow Burn: In the Ashes of Doubt

I had a dream.

I was swimming somewhere deep in the Amazon, jungle air thick, water brown, canopy overhead swallowing all but a ribbon of light. A small wooden dinghy drifted at the bank, but I leapt into the river. The current wasn’t fierce; it carried me just enough to feel alive, like adventure itself was flowing through my veins.

Then I saw it.

A snake…long, dark, and deliberate, tracked me along the shoreline. Its tongue flicked, its eyes locked mine, daring me to look away. When it finally launched into the water, it wasn’t just a creature, it was a challenge. A mirror of fear, an embodiment of the things we’d rather avoid. I searched for a stick, anything to defend myself. Nothing. The serpent surged closer, fangs bared. One foot from my face…

I woke up.

Startled. Heart racing. Safe in bed. But the dream lingered.

Like a Culebra twisted tight, life knots itself around us: fear, temptation, brokenness, hidden things. Sometimes the current feels calm, and sometimes it carries serpents our way. The choice is never whether danger exists; it’s how we face it.

For me, the dream wasn’t about the jungle or the snake. It was about being willing to stare straight into the eyes of what hunts me and admit…I can’t do this on my own. That’s when you realize faith isn’t a dinghy on the bank, it’s the lifeline pulling you out of the water.

Now, I’m not usually one to lean into dream interpretation, but I did what most of us do…I Googled it. Turns out, staring down a snake means I’m staring down my fears. Facing challenges head-on. So I had to ask myself: What am I afraid of?

Brolo isn’t just an idea. It’s love poured into every groove, every ember, every connection. It’s immersive and analog, a throwback to when life slowed down and people lingered. But here I am, in uncharted waters, swimming toward purpose, and suddenly, there’s a challenger. Something that doesn’t want me to succeed. Not a clean, quick strike either, but a venom that seeps slow: draining belief, bleeding hope, suffocating vision.

Failure wouldn’t just be fangs in my cheek…it’d be the slow death of watching people see me fall short. But I’m not wired to quit. Fear is only perception. And perception, like smoke, can vanish in the wind.

Some call it a premonition. I call it opposition.

Because I’ve felt the enemy’s embrace. Fear disguised as comfort. Lies disguised as limits. The kind that pigeonholes men who forget they were created to be conquerors. But through Christ, I have a birthright. My place isn’t earned by hustle or grit…it’s anchored in the unearned grace of God.

Enemies don’t attack what they don’t see as a threat.

So here I stand. Living on a prayer, yes, but also living on conviction. Brolo isn’t just cigars. It’s guerrilla warfare. Spiritual combat in a velvet glove. A spark in the dark. A fire on the porch. A brotherhood that refuses to bow to fear.

Send the snakes. I will not back down. The anointing is upon me. Through cigars, I preach the good news: that connection heals, conversation restores, and community ignites.

Next week, I’ll be in Nicaragua, sitting at the tables, smoking blends for Brolo. And the questions keep circling in my head. What if they suck? What if they connect? What if I fail?

But the truth is…the journey matters more than the destination. Every leaf, every draw, every handshake is part of something bigger than a single cigar. Who knows who I’ll meet along the way? Each one carrying their own story, their own struggles. And deep down, whether they’d ever admit it or not, every one of us is in need of a Savior.

My role isn’t to control the outcome; it’s to carry the mantle. To pursue excellence in the craft, to steward this brand and this brotherhood with integrity, and to trust that what’s meant to be will fall into place.

Because maybe Brolo isn’t about finding the “perfect blend.” Maybe it’s about finding connection in the imperfections, the conversations that light up around the table, the people drawn together by smoke and story.