For most of my life, I thought I knew Jesus. My image of Him came from pop Catholicism, Easter sermons, and Hollywood movies where He looked untouchable, glowing, and serenely above it all. I imagined Him like Superman in sandals, tossing miracles around as easily as a magician pulls rabbits from a hat. He seemed immune to doubt, unaffected by the atmosphere around Him. But after a year of listening daily to the Gospels on the Hallow app, I started meeting a very different Jesus: a Jesus who is deeply human, relational, and, most shockingly, vulnerable.

The scene that changed everything for me is in Nazareth. Matthew 13:53–58 describes how Jesus returned to His hometown synagogue to teach. The people were amazed but sneered, “Isn’t this the carpenter’s son?” Their familiarity blinded them. The passage concludes: “He did not do many miracles there because of their lack of faith.” Mark 6:5–6 is even more stark: “He could not do any miracles there, except lay His hands on a few sick people and heal them. He was amazed at their lack of faith.” Luke 4:28–30 shows their hostility escalating until they drove Him out and nearly threw Him off a cliff.

The Gospels are crystal clear. This is not Jesus deciding not to waste His power. This is Jesus unable to act because the atmosphere itself suffocated His miracles. The room’s disbelief severed the connection. Divine power flows only where faith breathes life into it. Without faith, there is no circuit, no current, no oxygen. He came ready to give, but the air was dead.

That realization floored me. Jesus wasn’t punishing anyone. He wasn’t holding back out of pride. He entered Nazareth wide open, prepared to heal, but the faithless atmosphere rendered Him powerless. Like a flame starved of oxygen, the miracles simply died. This doesn’t make Him less divine; it makes His humanity even more real. Even knowing who He was—the Messiah, the Son of God—He felt the sting of rejection. He healed a few, then walked away, not because He was offended, but because there was nothing left to work with.

Faith here isn’t about earning God’s favor. It’s the medium through which His power moves. In Nazareth, the room was barren, and so the miracles stalled. Where faith existed, the current flowed. The disciples provided that faith, breathing life into His mission. They amplified His power, and He poured authority into them to heal and preach. His divinity was never hoarded; it multiplied where belief made space.

This moment also reframes His thirty hidden years. Pop culture makes it seem like Jesus simply appeared at thirty and started tossing miracles. But those decades of study, prayer, and humility were preparation for this: a ministry completely dependent on relational power, not raw force. Even after all that, Nazareth still saw only Joseph’s boy. Their disbelief blinded them to who stood before them.

Nazareth is not just a story; it’s a warning. If the disbelief of His childhood friends could hobble the Son of God, how much more does unbelief drain us? We need people who keep the current alive, who breathe faith into our lives. Jesus needed that. So do we.

This scene should be central to how we understand Him. It shows a Messiah who bleeds emotionally, whose power dies in dead rooms, and who walks away not out of anger but because the grid is down. The Gospels don’t sanitize this. They show us a God whose power is not over us, but with us—power that only lives where faith gives it breath.

Maybe that’s the miracle. And maybe—just maybe—He’s still walking into rooms today, searching for oxygen.

After surviving the werewolf ambush on the Old Svalich Road, the adventurers reached Kresk, the last settlement before the mists swallow the valley. The guards at the gate opened only when they saw the Martikovs’ wagon of wine. But their allies’ patience was thin; the severed head of Henrik, the coffin maker, and the party’s haggling over wine had soured trust. One barrel was given to Burgomaster Dmitri Krezkov. He warmed slightly, explaining Kresk survived by not provoking Strahd. He offered one path to shelter: the Abbey of Saint Markovia. His warning was clear—when its bells toll, screams echo across the village.

The party climbed the 800-foot switchback to the abbey. Mists choked the valley below, frost lined the stone. Scarecrows posed as false guards along the walls. Inside, they met Otto and Zygfrek, mongrelfolk sentries—patchworks of man and beast—who bickered until Sören demanded to see the Abbot. Reluctantly, they led the party into the courtyard, where locked pens held howling mongrelfolk, the twisted remnants of the Belview family.

A chained bat-winged woman hissed as Sören approached. From the well, another creature—spider-eyed, frog-handed, crow-footed—lunged at Daermon. The rogue’s rapier struck true; Traxidor’s radiance finished it. The courtyard erupted in cries of “Murder!”

Inside, they found the Abbot—handsome, serene, with the bearing of someone more than mortal. Beside him sat Vasilka, a pale, scarred woman in a red dress, mute and unnaturally perfect. The Abbot welcomed them, but his sadness deepened when told of the slain mongrel. He explained: the mongrelfolk were the Belviews, lepers he healed but could not cure of madness. They begged for animal traits, and he gave them their desires. Now they breed, fight, and rot in cages.

He revealed his greater purpose: Vasilka. Crafted from corpses, refined by his hand, she is to be Strahd’s bride.

“To redeem a soul as black as Strahd’s, he must first know love.”

The Abbot asked them to find her a wedding dress. When questioned why he would aid Strahd, he answered with rapture: Strahd must be redeemed, not destroyed.

Sören sensed the truth with Divine Sense—the Abbot is Celestial. When pressed, the Abbot unleashed his true form: wings of radiant fire, eyes without pupils, sword and lance of blazing light.

“Behold an angel of the Morning Lord. See me and know despair.”

The party collapsed under the weight of his divine presence. The light faded, but the judgment in his gaze remained.

The Abbot’s servant, Clovin—a two-headed mongrelfolk with a crab claw—led them to their quarters. There they met Ezmerelda d’Avenir, a Vistani monster hunter with a prosthetic leg. She packed to leave, unimpressed by their bravado.

“You’re reckless. Strahd will break you.”

She called the Abbot insane and departed into the cold night.

The bell tolled, and the mongrelfolk howled like a hundred beasts. At dinner, the Abbot dismissed his servants, served Red Dragon Crush wine, and cabbage stew. Sören refused to eat. The Abbot did not eat either—he patiently taught Vasilka to hold a spoon, coaxing her like a child.

Despite warnings, Sören, Radley, and Daermon explored the abbey’s upper floors. Traxidor stayed behind. They passed through rotted offices, into an infirmary with doors marked Surgery, Nursery, and Morgue. Shadows emerged—spectral undead that drained not blood but strength. Memories of the Death House returned as their vitality faded.

They fought, but the darkness pressed hard. At the last moment, Traxidor burst in, the Amulet of Ravenkind blazing. His Channel Divinity seared several shadows to nothingness; a Guiding Bolt destroyed the last. The party staggered back to their room, weak and shaken, collapsing into uneasy sleep.

The Abbot waits for a wedding dress. The mongrelfolk whisper “murder.” Ezmerelda hunts alone. And somewhere far above, Strahd smiles, patient as the grave.

Meritus Media isn’t just another digital agency. It’s not a growth hack lab, a content mill, or a stitched-together team of Upwork freelancers. It’s a convergence—a rare blend of what still works, what used to work, and what should work when it comes to visibility, credibility, and influence.

That’s why I joined.

It’s why I stepped behind the Meritus shield—why I aligned my decades of SEO, ORM, and digital strategy experience with a crew led by Mike Falkow and built on the legacy of Sally Falkow.

A Legacy That Still Leads

Sally Falkow is a name that belongs in any serious digital PR curriculum—if such a thing existed. I’ve known her for 20 years. She’s not a pioneer in the tech-bro sense. She’s a veteran of real PR: press releases by fax, journalist calls by phone, media earned—not bought.

She was ahead of the curve before social media had a name. She helped shape the Social Media News Release. She launched The Proactive Report in 2003 and wrote SMART News: How to Create Branded Content That Gets Found in Search and Shared on Social Media. She earned PRSA’s APR, trained 2,500+ execs, and was PR News’ PR Trainer of the Year.

Her legacy? Treating journalists as collaborators, not targets. Earning coverage through relevance. And blending the language of PR with the structure of search.

From Mizuno to Meritus

Sally and I first worked together at Social Ally. One of our first projects? A blogger campaign for Mizuno Running. Instead of paying for posts, we offered influencers shoes to test, run in, and review—if they wanted. No scripts. No contracts.

It worked. Real people wrote real things. Trusted voices moved the needle. That same spirit lives on at Meritus.

What Meritus Does

Meritus Media is full-spectrum. Not bolted-on services. Not a list of tactics. A strategic system where each part strengthens the next:

• Digital PR with a journalist’s eye

• Reputation Management that creates narrative

• SEO that’s technical, strategic, and brand-aligned

• Influencer Outreach built on relationships, not rates

• Web Dev & UX that marries story and performance

• Social Media with tone, not just timing

• Content Strategy that serves both people and platforms

From schema to storytelling, long-tail search to crisis response—everything is integrated.

The Falkow Factor

Mike Falkow, Sally’s son and now CEO, brings creative and technical fluency. Former surfer, art director, actor, and developer, Mike leads with instinct and insight. He’s growing Meritus’ footprint across LA, Tampa, and the UK. His brother Jonathan “Cokey” Falkow handles European development with the same mix of charm and clarity.

Together, they carry forward Sally’s DNA—updated for today’s world.

Why I’m Here

Because this model works. Because these people are real. Because Sally’s relationship-first, journalism-first, clarity-driven ethos isn’t a pitch here—it’s the standard.

Clients aren’t budgets. They’re collaborators. Success isn’t clicks. It’s momentum. Trust. Visibility with gravity.

The Future

Visibility now is hybrid: earned and owned, organic and engineered. Built with the heart of a journalist and the brain of an SEO.

That’s why I joined Meritus.
That’s why I’m building with this team.
And that’s why, if you’re tired of duct-taped digital and tired ideas, you should be watching.

Let’s get to work.