Jamie Foxx: A Stroke of Divine Humility

The North Georgia Mountains were draped in a December chill, a kind of bone-deep cold that only seeps in after dusk. I was nestled on the couch, a mug of lukewarm tea in hand, contemplating the miracle of cable knit blankets while watching "Jamie Foxx: What Had Happened Was..." on Netflix. I'd caught wind of his health scare through the usual gossip channels – YouTube explainers narrated by AI voices that dissected celebrity meltdowns with the fervor of ancient philosophers debating the meaning of existence. TMZ sightings were treated like spotting the Loch Ness Monster.

I never cared for celebrities, saw them as folks in fancy costumes, reciting lines. Give me a good plumber any day. I always thought if actors didn’t get respect during Shakespeare time when they were considered to be common vagrants and beggars, then why should they now. I never understood deifying these people, like they're some kind of golden calf. Exodus 20:3 immediately comes to mind - "You shall have no other gods before me."

I tuned in hoping for some P Diddy dirt. The internet was practically combusting with accusations! The sheer audacity of it all! It felt like the carefully constructed facade of Hollywood was crumbling, revealing the rotten foundation beneath. Jamie Foxx and P Diddy were known to run in the same circles, and like everyone else, I wanted to see what would emerge.

What I saw, however, was something far more… human.

There he was, Jamie Foxx, in all his beige-leather-clad glory (a fashion choice that was questionable even before the sweat started to glisten). Jamie Foxx, the man of towering talent and ego, who referred to himself in the third person with a flair that was both charming and insufferable, had always seemed larger than life. With his beige leather ensemble that washed him out under stage lights, he was a spectacle in every sense.

But as the special unfolded, I was unprepared for the raw vulnerability Jamie displayed.

He spoke candidly about his stroke, an event that had stripped away the glossy veneer of fame and left him grappling with his mortality. His testimony was a battle cry, both against his own demons and in search of redemption. About the fear, the humility, the rediscovery of faith. He was still dropping F-bombs like punctuation, a habit he clearly hadn't kicked, but every time he spoke of God, his voice cracked with emotion, his eyes glistened.

This wasn't the ego-driven Jamie Foxx I thought I knew. This was a man wrestling with his soul, baring it all for the world to see. A stroke took down Hollywood's darling. I watched, transfixed. It was as if we were witnessing a man wrestling with his soul on stage, a struggle that resonated deeply with me.

And then the tears came. Not for him, but for me. Because suddenly, I wasn't just watching Jamie Foxx on TV. I was seeing myself. I was nineteen again, waking up in a sterile hospital room, a nurse's voice a distant echo: "Do you want to see your baby?" Baby? I had a baby? My memories were scrambled, a mangled mess like a dropped bowl of alphabet soup.

I’d had a massive stroke two days before giving birth. Hypertension, preeclampsia, gestational diabetes - the triple threat of a high-risk pregnancy, all conspired to nearly kill me. I had to relearn how to speak, how to walk, how to hold a baby, all while trapped in a relationship with a man-child and his overbearing momma. My body had betrayed me. My life became a cruel joke. Learning to speak and walk again while figuring out motherhood in a toxic relationship was a nightmare I wouldn’t wish on anyone. Yet, it was in those moments of vulnerability that I found God, and He found me.

Watching Jamie, I saw a kindred spirit navigating a similar path.

Seeing Jamie Foxx up there, vulnerable and honest, it was like staring into a mirror. We both faced the monster of mortality. I was happy this man was finding God, but it also saddened me he had to go through a stroke to get there. It felt like he was ripping back the curtain, letting in a sliver of actual light.

I hope his courage – which was so obvious he was nervous speaking about his faith – will give others the same courage to publicly share their faith. His courage to share his journey publicly gave me hope that others might find strength in vulnerability. I know that the world needs it. From the crime to the sexuality to the youths with no light, the world needs to hear the good word.

Maybe that's what it takes. Maybe sometimes, God has to knock us down to lift us up. To strip away the arrogance, the self-reliance, the blind faith in our own plans, so we can finally truly see Him. The experience effects your life experiencing, life path, and your soul.

Now, years later, watching Jamie Foxx share his story, I understand. It's not about punishment; it's about redirection. It's about Him whispering, "I'm here. I've been here all along. Just let go." And that whisper, I realize, is the most powerful force in the universe. As I reflect on my journey and Jamie's, Proverbs 16:18 comes to mind: "Pride goes before destruction, a haughty spirit before a fall." Both Jamie and I were humbled by our experiences.

Our strokes, harsh as they were, were the crucibles through which our spirits were refined. They taught us that the true measure of a person isn’t their fame or fortune but their faith and humility. By embracing this truth, I keep this lesson close, constantly reminded that through humility and faith, God will always guide and lift us back to His grace. This verse serves as a constant reminder to me that true strength lies not in self-sufficiency, but in humility and reliance on God. It's a lesson etched onto my soul, a compass pointing me toward a life lived in His grace. Because sometimes, the harshest falls are the gentlest awakenings.

AUTHOR: Sarah Lester

LOCATION: United States