A Year Woven with Grace

A sacred reflection on faith, healing, courage, and the quiet victories that carried me through

As 2025 draws to a close, I pause with a full heart, not to measure productivity or applause, but to honour the holy work God has done in the unseen places. This year was not gentle, yet it was deeply formative. It was a year of pruning, of refining, of learning to remain tender without remaining unguarded. God met me again and again in the margins, in the pauses, in the tears that became prayers. At the centre of everything stood faith, steady and anchoring. Scripture was not an accessory but a lifeline. God’s Word became breath when my chest felt tight, light when the path ahead felt dim. Isaiah 61 was no longer a distant calling; it was a lived experience. Binding broken hearts, exchanging ashes for beauty, rebuilding ancient ruins, starting with my own. Love and compassion marked my days, sometimes at great personal cost. Loving did not always look like closeness. At times, love required discernment, boundaries, and letting go. This year taught me that compassion can be fierce and that obedience sometimes means releasing people God never intended to walk with me into the next season. Family and relationships remained sacred ground. I grieved what could not be restored and gave thanks for what endured. I learned that chosen family can be as holy as blood, and that safe love does not demand performance. A handful of faithful companions proved more valuable than crowds, reminding me that depth will always outweigh quantity. Community and connection continued to pulse through everything I created and facilitated. Encounter Groups, shared tables, creative gatherings, and quiet conversations all became places of healing exchange. God used my story, even the broken chapters, as bridges for others. I watched courage rise in rooms where tears once fell, and hope take root where despair had lingered too long. Service and kindness were not strategies; they were responses. Healing 💔heARTs💖 became more than a name. It became a posture. Giving was not always convenient, yet it was always purposeful. I learned again that service flows best from surrender, not striving. Integrity and generosity guided decisions, both visible and hidden. This year, I asked hard questions about motives, alignment, and stewardship. Choosing what was right often meant choosing what was slower, quieter, and less celebrated. Still, peace followed obedience every time. Courage showed up daily, not in grand gestures, but in staying present. Courage looked like telling the truth, even when my voice shook. It looked like honouring my limits, naming my pain, and refusing to shrink. It looked like trusting God with outcomes I could not control. Creativity was both refuge and offering. Through paint, words, feathers, broken pottery, and gold seams, God allowed me to translate pain into beauty without romanticising the cost. Art became prayer. Writing became witness. What once felt like fragments slowly formed a testimony of restoration. Growth and learning unfolded gently, layer by layer. God did not rush the process. He revealed worth through walking, not arriving. Lessons came through lived experience, through reflection, through the courage to remain teachable. Health, wellness, balance, and rest were ongoing invitations. I learned that tending to my body and soul is not selfish, but necessary. Rest became an act of trust, a declaration that God is at work even when I stop. Freedom deepened, not as recklessness, but as alignment. I grew more comfortable inhabiting my God-given identity, my name, my calling, without apology. Beauty continued to matter, not as ornament, but as a reminder of God’s redemptive nature. Even ambition was reframed, measured not by achievement, but by faithfulness. As I look back, I do not see a year of loss. I see a year of holy exchange. God removed what weighed me down and returned peace. He stripped away illusion and replaced it with clarity. He honoured obedience with quiet joy. I step into the next year grateful, steadied, and deeply aware that every scar carries a story of survival and grace. God knows exactly who should walk with me into the coming season, and I trust His hand completely. 💡 Reflection: • Where did I notice God’s faithfulness most clearly this year? 🤔 • What relationships brought life, and which ones required release? 🤔 • How did creativity become a place of healing for me? 🤔 • What forms of courage did I practise, even quietly? 🤔 • Where is God inviting deeper rest and trust as I move forward? 🤔 🎺 Affirmation: I honour the journey God has carried me through. Nothing was wasted. I am held, restored, and gently led into what comes next. 🙌 Prayer: Heavenly Father, thank You for walking with me through every moment of this year. Thank You for Your patience, Your correction, and Your unending mercy. I place every memory, every lesson, and every hope into Your hands. Lead me forward with wisdom, courage, and peace. Let my life continue to reflect Your love and truth. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

The Pillars That Hold a Life

Ethical leadership as a sacred calling, not a public performance

I paused with this image and felt the weight of it settle gently in my chest. Four pillars, steady and unmoving, not decorative, not loud, simply faithful. Ethical leadership was never meant to be impressive. It was always meant to be enduring. Integrity stands first, quiet and costly. It asks for obedience when applause is absent, for truth when compromise would be easier. Scripture reminds us why this matters: 📖 "The integrity of the upright guides them, but the perversity of the unfaithful destroys them." — Proverbs 11:3 (NKJV) Integrity is not a personality trait, it is a daily surrender to what is right, even when it costs comfort, reputation, or belonging. Accountability follows, often misunderstood and rarely celebrated. Taking ownership is holy work. It means refusing to outsource blame, choosing repentance over defensiveness, and allowing growth to be forged through responsibility. 📖 "So then each of us shall give account of himself to God." — Romans 14:12 (NKJV) Accountability anchors us in humility, reminding us that leadership begins with stewardship of our own choices. Empathy rises next, a pillar shaped like a heart. Leadership without empathy becomes hierarchy without humanity. Jesus never led from a distance. He touched lepers, wept at graves, and noticed those others overlooked. 📖 "Rejoice with those who rejoice, and weep with those who weep." — Romans 12:15 (NKJV) Empathy does not weaken leadership, it dignifies it. Courage stands last, crowned with fire. Courage is not the absence of fear, it is faith in motion. It is standing for truth when standing costs safety. It is obedience when silence would be simpler. 📖 "Be strong and of good courage… for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go." — Joshua 1:9 (NKJV) However, as I sat with this, one pillar asked to be renamed, not because empathy lacks beauty, but because it often stops short of obedience. Empathy seeks to understand. It listens, feels, and resonates with another’s pain. Compassion goes further. Compassion steps into the suffering and chooses to carry the weight with another. Empathy says, “I see you.” Compassion says, “I am with you, and I will help.” This distinction matters deeply in ethical leadership. Integrity still stands first, unwavering and costly. Accountability still anchors us in responsibility. Courage still calls us to stand for truth. Yet where empathy once stood, compassion now rises, active, sacrificial, and Christlike. Jesus was never merely empathetic. Scripture tells us again and again that He was moved with compassion, and when He was, something happened. 📖 "So Jesus had compassion and touched their eyes. And immediately their eyes received sight, and they followed Him." — Matthew 20:34 (NKJV) Compassion touched. Compassion healed. Compassion fed the hungry, lifted the broken, defended the vulnerable, and restored dignity. Compassion did not observe suffering from a safe distance, it entered the struggle and bore the cost. Ethical leadership shaped by compassion refuses neutrality in the face of pain. It does not simply acknowledge injustice, it confronts it. It does not only understand hardship, it responds with action. Compassion turns insight into intervention and care into courage. 📖 "But whoever has this world’s goods, and sees his brother in need, and shuts up his heart from him, how does the love of God abide in him?" — 1 John 3:17 (NKJV) Love that remains theoretical is incomplete. Compassion proves love by movement. Replacing empathy with compassion sharpens the pillar, not softens it. Compassion demands something of us, our time, our comfort, our resources, our presence. It is costly, inconvenient, and deeply holy. When leadership is rooted in compassion, miracles still follow. Not always the kind that draw crowds, but the quiet kind that restore hope, rebuild trust, and heal hearts long after the moment has passed. Courage burns away fear and leaves conviction standing. Together, these pillars do not prop up platforms. They hold up people. They sustain families, communities, ministries, and legacies long after titles fade. Ethical leadership is not about being seen, it is about being faithful. If no one ever applauds your integrity, heaven notices. If accountability costs you approval, God calls it wisdom. If empathy makes you misunderstood, Christ calls it likeness. If courage leaves you standing alone, remember you never stand without Him. 💡 Reflection • Where has integrity recently asked something costly of me 🤔 • In what area is God inviting me to take deeper ownership 🤔 • Where have I understood pain but stopped short of action 🤔 • Who is God inviting me to walk alongside, not just feel for 🤔 • What burden might the Lord be asking me to help carry right now 🤔 • How can compassion reshape the way I lead and love 🤔 • Who has the Lord placed in my path to be led with compassion, not hierarchy 🤔 • What truth am I being called to stand for with courage right now 🤔 🎺 Affirmation I am rooted in integrity, guided by accountability, led by compassion, and strengthened with courage. My leadership reflects Christ, even when unseen. I choose compassion that moves, love that acts, and leadership that reflects the heart of Christ. 🙌 Prayer Lord Jesus, Anchor my life in truth. Strengthen my resolve to do what is right, even when it costs me. Teach me Your compassion, the kind that does not turn away when love becomes costly. Move my heart beyond understanding and into obedience. Help me to step into the struggle where You are already at work, carrying burdens, restoring dignity, and bringing healing. Let my leadership mirror Yours, grounded in truth and alive with love. Teach me to lead with humility, to own my choices with grace, to see people with Your compassion, and to stand courageously for truth. Let my life be a quiet testimony of faithfulness that honours You. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

As I Look Back on this Year I am Proud of Myself

Honouring the quiet courage it took for me to keep going

As I look back on this year, I pause here for a moment and choose to be proud of myself. I laughed when joy found me, letting light spill through even the smallest cracks. I cried when sorrow weighed heavy, allowing truth to flow instead of hardening my heart. I showed up for myself every single day, even when my strength felt thin and the path ahead felt unbearably steep. I embraced the fireball of pain rather than running from it. I chose healing, again and again, even on the days when giving up would have felt easier and quieter. I faced what hurt, named what wounded me, and trusted God enough to step into the refining fire, believing He could redeem what felt unbearable. I refused to quit on my dreams. I kept moving forward when rest would have looked like retreat, and I stayed when walking away felt tempting. Faith carried me on the days when my resolve ran low, and grace met me when I had nothing left to offer but honesty. This year did not break me. It shaped me, softened me, and strengthened me in ways that cannot be measured by outcomes or applause. God saw every unseen step, every whispered prayer, and every brave decision I made to keep going. 📖 "The Lord is near to those who have a broken heart, And saves such as have a contrite spirit." — Psalm 34:18 (NKJV) I let this be my gentle reminder: perseverance is holy, endurance is beautiful, and continuing in faith is victory, even when the road has been long. 💡 Reflection • Where did I show courage this year, even if no one else noticed? 🤔 • What pain did I face rather than avoid, trusting God with my healing? 🤔 • In what ways did God sustain me when my own strength ran out? 🤔 🎺 Affirmation I honour the journey I have walked. God has been with me in every step, and I am proud of the faith and courage it took for me to keep going. 🙌 Prayer Father God, thank You for carrying me through this year. Thank You for seeing every tear, every effort, and every quiet act of perseverance. I place what was heavy into Your hands and receive Your grace for the road ahead. Continue Your healing work in me, and help me walk forward with hope and trust in You. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Your Pain Is Not a Competition

Why comparison silences the heart, and why God never measures our suffering against another’s

I have heard it said, far too often and far too casually, that no matter what you are going through, someone else has it worse. I have never liked that statement. My heart has always pushed back against it, because it does not comfort, it dismisses. Those words do not soothe pain, they shrink it. They quietly tell a hurting soul that their tears are unnecessary, their ache excessive, their grief inconvenient. They teach us to minimise what is breaking inside us, to swallow our cries, to stay silent so we do not become a burden. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, we learn to hide. This is one of the reasons I buried and numbed my pain for much of my life. I would look at others who seemed to have it worse and, without realising it, invalidate my own suffering. The “suck it up, buttercup” culture I was raised with taught endurance without empathy, resilience without tenderness and it's far more conducive to breeding depression than it is to comforting the broken-hearted. There is also an uncomfortable truth beneath that mindset. Other people’s tears unsettle us when we have not yet learned how to be compassionate the way Jesus is compassionate. We rush to fix, minimise, or silence pain because we do not know how to sit with it. That is precisely why He came. Yet pain is not a competition, and suffering is not measured on a scale. A broken heart is still broken, even if another heart appears more shattered. Wounds do not heal because someone else is bleeding more visibly. Scripture never asks us to compare our pain. Jesus never stood before the weary and said, “Others have it worse.” He said, 📖 "Come to Me, all you who labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest." — Matthew 11:28 (NKJV) He invites the burdened, not the ranked. He sees each sorrow fully, personally, tenderly. Yes, someone may have it worse, that may be true. Yet that truth does not invalidate your pain. We are all broken in different places, in different ways, at different depths. We are all human. We all carry stories that ache to be heard. We all need room to lament, to speak, to be held in compassion. Jesus came for this very reason. 📖 "He has sent Me to heal the broken-hearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and recovery of sight to the blind, to set at liberty those who are oppressed." — Luke 4:18 (NKJV) Most importantly, we are never alone. Never abandoned in our grief. Never unseen in our struggle. 📖 "The Lord is near to those who have a broken heart, and saves such as have a contrite spirit." — Psalm 34:18 (NKJV) God does not compare wounds. He draws near to them. Your pain matters. Your tears matter. Your voice matters. You are allowed to cry out. You are allowed to need comfort. You are allowed to take up space with your healing. 💡Reflection • Where have I minimised my pain because I believed it was not “bad enough” 🤔 • What messages about emotion and strength shaped how I learned to cope with hurt 🤔 • How might my healing deepen if I allowed Jesus to meet me exactly where I ache 🤔 🎺Affirmation My pain is seen, my heart is held, and my healing matters to God. I am not alone, and I do not need to earn compassion by comparison. 🙌 Prayer Lord Jesus, You came to heal the broken-hearted and bind up their wounds. I bring You every place where I learned to harden instead of heal. Teach me how to receive compassion without shame and to extend it with Your gentleness. Thank You for drawing near to me, not asking me to compare my pain, but inviting me to be held. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

A Prayer for the Woman I Am Becoming

A sacred whisper of hope, healing, and gentle becoming as I look toward 2026

I pray today for the woman I will become in 2026. I hold her gently in my heart, as one would hold a fragile yet precious seed, trusting the soil it is planted in and the hands that tend it. I pray for health, in her body and in her mind. May her thoughts be steadied by truth, her breath unhurried, her nervous system no longer braced for impact. May she find rest easily and may peace feel familiar rather than fleeting. I pray for stability and security, not only in provision, but in her sense of self. May she stand on ground that no longer shifts beneath her feet. May she look at what she has built, brick by faithful brick, and feel a quiet, holy pride, not rooted in striving, but in perseverance. I pray that calm wraps around her after how tiring this year has been. May the weariness loosen its grip. May the vigilance soften. May her shoulders finally drop as she realises she no longer has to carry everything alone. I pray that she has strength to keep going when things feel heavy, and wisdom to pause when pushing is no longer required. May she know the difference between courage and exhaustion. May she choose gentleness without guilt. I pray that she grows confident in this truth, that she is already enough. Not becoming worthy, not proving her value, not earning her place. Already enough, deeply known, fully seen, and lovingly held. I pray that she finds genuine happiness, the kind that settles rather than sparkles, and the courage to create a life that aligns with her values, her calling, and the quiet convictions God has written on her heart. May 2026 be the year she looks at herself and recognises the woman she once dreamed of becoming. Not because everything is perfect, but because healing has taken root and truth has replaced old lies. May her spark return, not in a rush, or under pressure, but like dawn light creeping across the horizon. Soft. Certain. Unstoppable. 📖 "Being confident of this very thing, that He who has begun a good work in you will complete it until the day of Jesus Christ." — Philippians 1:6 (NKJV) 💡Reflection: • What does “enough” look like for me as I step into 2026 🤔 • Where have I been carrying weight that God never asked me to hold 🤔 • What small signs of returning spark can I already see within myself 🤔 🎺Affirmation: I am held in God’s faithful hands. I am becoming, at His pace, in His care, with grace for every step. 🙌 Prayer: Father God, I place the woman I am becoming into Your hands. Heal what is weary, strengthen what is fragile, and restore what has dimmed. Lead me gently into the fullness of who You created me to be. I trust You with my growth, my future, and my becoming. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

When Loyalty Replaces Love

A gentle but necessary reckoning with control, conscience, and the heart of Christ

“You can still be friends with people who leave your church. We aren’t in gangs.” I saw the words on the screen and my heart ached in recognition. It should not need saying, yet here we are. I have seen this pattern far too many times, and I have experienced it personally over the course of my life. People leave churches not because they have lost their faith, but because they no longer feel at home. Something subtle shifts. Safety erodes. Belonging quietly slips away. Instead of being met with curiosity, care, or blessing, they are treated as though they have committed an offence. Suddenly, they are no longer welcome to visit. Their presence becomes awkward. Their name is spoken with caution, if it is spoken at all. What once felt like family becomes a closed door. This kind of ostracism wounds deeply. It teaches people that belonging was conditional all along, that love lasted only as long as agreement or proximity remained intact. For many, the deepest pain is not in leaving the building, but in realising they have been erased from the heart of a community they once trusted. Jesus never modelled this. He never withdrew permission to care. He never demanded distance as proof of righteousness. He never punished people for maintaining relationships. He walked freely between spaces, tables, and communities, confronting only one thing with consistency: hardened hearts disguised as spiritual authority. 📖 "For where two or three are gathered together in My name, I am there in the midst of them." — Matthew 18:20 (NKJV) Christ’s presence is not confined to one building, one leadership team, or one expression of worship. He walks with His people. He meets them in different rooms, different congregations, and different seasons. When we attempt to gatekeep Him, we reveal more about our insecurity than our faith. Recently, I was deeply grieved to hear that a man was told off for visiting a church simply because he was related to someone who had left, someone leaders had taken issue with. No misconduct, no disruption, no wrongdoing, just association. Guilt by proximity. Punishment by connection. That is not shepherding. That is fear dressed up as loyalty. The Church was never meant to function like a closed circle, a guarded territory, or a loyalty test. We are not a brand protecting image, nor a gang enforcing silence and separation. We are the Body of Christ, and bodies do not amputate healthy limbs because of unresolved conflict. 📖 “By this all will know that you are My disciples, if you have love for one another.” — John 13:35 (NKJV) Love does not blacklist people. Love does not control relationships. Love does not demand that others cut ties to prove allegiance. When churches begin policing who you are allowed to love, speak to, or visit, something sacred has quietly shifted. Jesus never operated this way. He welcomed the one others whispered about. He touched those deemed problematic. He refused to reduce people to labels, histories, or affiliations. He did not withhold compassion because of someone else’s offence. 📖 “For where there are envy, strife, and divisions among you, are you not carnal and behaving like mere men?” — 1 Corinthians 3:3 (NKJV) What grieves me most is not the rule, but the message it sends. You are only welcome if you are unconnected to pain. You may belong only if your relationships are approved. You are safe here, as long as you do not remind us of unresolved wounds. That is not the Kingdom. I am a person who carries a strong sense of justice. God formed that in me early. When injustice appears cloaked in spiritual language, something in my spirit aches. I have watched trauma silence truth. I have seen fear train good people to comply rather than discern. I have also seen Jesus restore dignity by gently calling people back to love, courage, and conscience. 📖 "Stand fast therefore in the liberty by which Christ has made us free, and do not be entangled again with a yoke of bondage." — Galatians 5:1 (NKJV) Freedom in Christ includes the freedom to love people without permission slips. It includes the freedom to honour relationships even when others are uncomfortable. It includes the courage to say, quietly but firmly, “This is not right.” Unity is not enforced by exclusion. Purity is not preserved by shaming. Order is not maintained by fear. The fruit of the Spirit does not require boundary guards to survive. 📖 “For God is not the author of confusion but of peace.” — 1 Corinthians 14:33 (NKJV) If your faith requires you to abandon compassion, something has gone wrong. If belonging demands that you sever loving ties, it is no longer belonging, it is control. The fruit of the Spirit will always look like love, never loyalty tests. Peace does not humiliate visitors. Peace does not interrogate motives. Peace does not punish the innocent for another’s departure. If someone leaves a church, the most Christlike response is humility, reflection, prayer and continued kindness. Love does not evaporate when people move on. Relationship does not become betrayal when paths diverge. The Church should be the safest place to walk into, not a place where association alone makes you suspect. If our communities cannot hold love and disagreement at the same time, then we have replaced discipleship with control. The Gospel never needed loyalty tests. It only ever asked for love. 📖 “And above all things have fervent love for one another, for love will cover a multitude of sins.” — 1 Peter 4:8 (NKJV) May we never confuse guarding reputation with guarding hearts. May we never trade compassion for compliance. May we remember that Jesus did not build a gang, He formed a family. May we never confuse unity with uniformity. May we never sacrifice people on the altar of institutional comfort. May we always choose the harder, holier path of love. 💡 Reflection: • Where have I seen loyalty quietly replace love, even in subtle ways 🤔 • Have I ever felt pressured to distance myself from someone to “belong” 🤔 • What would it look like to respond more like Jesus in moments of tension 🤔 • Where have I felt pressure to choose loyalty over love 🤔 • How do I discern when obedience to Christ calls for courage rather than compliance 🤔 • In what ways is God inviting me to love more freely and fear less 🤔 🎺 Affirmation: I choose love over fear, truth over control, and Christ over culture. I belong to Jesus, not to systems built on exclusion. I am free to love boldly, wisely, and without permission. 🙌 Prayer: Lord Jesus, You are the Good Shepherd who never manipulates, never coerces, and never withholds love. Heal the places where fear has distorted what should be sacred. Restore Your Church to the simplicity of loving You and loving people well. Give me courage to stand for what is right with humility and grace. Teach me to walk in truth without bitterness and in love without fear. Lord Jesus, guard my heart from hardness and my faith from fear. Teach me to love without conditions, to welcome without suspicion, and to walk in truth with humility. Heal the places where Your Church has wounded instead of welcomed. Shape us again into a body marked by grace, courage, and compassion. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Justice Carriers

When heaven leaves a word on your pillow and trusts your heart to carry it

I woke with only two words in my mind, like a fragment of parchment pressed into my spirit before dawn: “justice carriers.” The rest of the dream slipped away, yet the weight of those words remained, gentle but insistent, asking to be held rather than hurriedly explained. Scripture shows that God often does this. He gives a word before He gives the picture. He entrusts the meaning before the memory. The dream fades, yet the assignment stays. To carry justice is not to shout the loudest or to win arguments. Justice in the Kingdom is rarely sharp-edged. It is steady, embodied, lived. A justice carrier walks slowly enough to notice the wounded, bravely enough to speak truth when silence would be safer, and humbly enough to leave outcomes in God’s hands. Justice carriers do not manufacture justice. They bear it. They carry it into rooms where injustice has been normalised. They hold it in their choices, their boundaries, their refusals to participate in harm. They reflect the heart of a God who sees, remembers, and acts in His perfect time. 📖 "He has shown you, O man, what is good; and what does the LORD require of you but to do justly, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with your God?" — Micah 6:8 (NKJV) Perhaps the dream did not need images because the word itself was enough. Perhaps it was not something to watch, but something to be. Justice carried quietly, faithfully, over a lifetime. I do not need to force meaning onto it today. I let the word rest. I let it unfold. God is patient with His revelations, and He trusts me with weighty things. As this word settled, another thread surfaced from my story. During a prayer ministry session with Sandra in 2020, she identified me clearly and unequivocally as a person of justice, a woman of justice. She named this not as a personality trait, but as a God-given identity, leading me to declare in prayer, “I am a valiant warrior. I am a woman of justice. I am like my heavenly Father.” That naming brought clarity to something I had carried since childhood without language for it. Because I am, at my core, a justice person, the abuse I suffered as a child was not only traumatic, it was profoundly unjust at a spiritual level. When my mother held my head under water, my spirit did not only experience fear, it encountered a violation of what was right and ordered. Sandra named this as a trauma to the spirit, something that was utterly incomprehensible to a justice-bearing soul. She helped me see the deep conflict that followed. There was an innate desire in me to fight for what was right, to resist wrong, to bring justice. Survival, however, taught me silence. I learnt that speaking up or resisting only caused more anger, more danger. Self-protection required withdrawal, compliance, and hiding. The cost of that suppression was high. Sandra gently explained that when the righteous anger that naturally rises in a justice person has nowhere safe to go, it turns inward. What was meant to confront injustice instead became anxiety and depression. She validated that anger without condemning it, reminding me that it is like God to be angry at injustice. In that ministry moment, she prayed for me to be set free to be the woman of justice I was created to be, released from the need to hide, withdraw, or comply with what is wrong. She affirmed that God did not create me to accept evil, but to resist it. Remembering this now, years later, I see how gently God has been weaving my healing. The words justice carrier were not new. They were a continuation. A maturing. No longer justice that must fight loudly or prove itself, but justice that can be carried, embodied, and lived without fear. 💡 Reflection • Where have I been quietly carrying justice without naming it? 🤔 • In which spaces has God asked me to hold truth with mercy rather than force? 🤔 • What would it look like to trust God’s timing instead of demanding immediate resolution? 🤔 🎺 Affirmation I am entrusted with holy weight, not because I strive, but because God knows my heart. I carry justice with mercy, truth with humility, and courage with love. I am held as I hold what He has given me. 🙌 Prayer Lord God, You are righteous and just, slow to anger and rich in mercy. Thank You for trusting me with Your words, even when I do not yet understand them fully. Teach me how to carry justice the way You do, without bitterness, without fear, without striving. Let my life reflect Your heart, and let Your timing guard my soul. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

When “Just Joking” Wounds the Heart

A gentle call to truth, honour, and love in the way we speak

📖 "Let no corrupt word proceed out of your mouth, but what is good for necessary edification, that it may impart grace to the hearers." — Ephesians 4:29 (NKJV) Why speech wounds deeper than bones and why God calls us to speak life I have seen this too often, and I have felt it personally. Name-calling brushed off as banter. Sharp remarks hidden behind laughter. Hurt disguised as humour. Truth is frequently spoken in jest, yet truth does not lose its power simply because it is wrapped in a smile. The old saying claims that sticks and stones may break bones, while words can never harm. Real life tells a different story. Bones heal. Bruises fade. Words, however, can lodge deep within the soul, shaping identity, self-worth, and safety long after the moment has passed. Verbal wounds often outlive physical ones, quietly influencing how a person sees themselves and how they relate to the world. Humour that carries contempt plants seeds of disrespect and dishonour. Laughter does not cancel the impact, and intention does not erase injury. Calling something “humour” does not automatically make it acceptable. When words wound, the wound is real, no matter how casually they were delivered. When someone finds the courage to say, “That hurt,” the moment calls for humility, not defence. “I was just joking” should never be used as a shield. Acknowledgement heals where excuses harden. A sincere apology restores dignity. A willingness to change reveals maturity of heart. 📖 "Death and life are in the power of the tongue, and those who love it will eat its fruit." — Proverbs 18:21 (NKJV) Words are never neutral. They either carry life or release death. Every sentence bears fruit, whether spoken in anger, carelessness, or jest. What we speak eventually returns to us, shaping our relationships, our atmosphere, and our witness. Real humour does not require tearing someone down. It does not belittle, shame, or diminish. True wit builds connection without leaving bruises. When so-called jokes repeatedly cross boundaries, the issue is not sensitivity, it is insensitivity. God calls His people to a higher standard, one marked by grace, restraint, and intentional love. We have all worn labels that were never ours to carry. Words flung casually, idiot, numbnut, dumb-ass, dummy, worthless, as if they were harmless nicknames rather than quiet blows. Names that shrink a person, reduce complexity and strip dignity, all while being dismissed as humour or frustration. In recent years, heavier labels have joined them. Nazi. Racist. Conspiracy theorist. Titles hurled not to seek understanding, but to end conversation. They are often used when someone dares to think differently, ask uncomfortable questions, or hold an opposing view. Once such a label is applied, listening stops. Dialogue closes. The person is no longer engaged as a human being, but dismissed as a caricature. Labels have power. They simplify what God created with depth. They silence rather than discern. They wound rather than correct. When we name someone by a slur instead of engaging their heart, we are no longer seeking truth, we are exerting control. 📖 "Let no corrupt word proceed out of your mouth, but what is good for necessary edification, that it may impart grace to the hearers." — Ephesians 4:29 (NKJV) 💡Reflection • Have there been words spoken over me that still ache long after the moment passed?🤔 • Where have I minimised my pain by telling myself, “They were only joking”?🤔 • Have I ever used humour to deflect responsibility for words that wounded another?🤔 • What fruit has my speech been producing lately, life or quiet harm?🤔 • What would it look like for my words to become places of safety and honour?🤔 • What labels have been spoken over me, jokingly or seriously, that I have quietly carried as part of my identity?🤔 • Which words still echo in my thoughts when I feel unsafe, misunderstood, or dismissed?🤔 • Have I ever accepted a label that God never gave me, allowing it to shape how I see myself or limit how I live?🤔 • In moments of disagreement, have I used labels to reduce or dismiss others rather than engaging them with curiosity and respect?🤔 • Where might I need to renounce false names spoken over me and receive again the name God calls me by?🤔 • What fruit has my speech produced in others lately, dignity and life, or shame and withdrawal?🤔 Take a moment to sit with these questions before the Lord. Ask Him to gently reveal Take a moment to sit with these questions before the Lord. Ask Him to gently reveal any false identities that need to be laid down, any lingering word-wounds that require His healing touch, and any patterns of speech He longs to refine with grace and truth. 🙌Closing Prayer Father God, You are the God who speaks life into chaos and light into darkness. I bring my words before You, the ones I have spoken and the ones that were spoken over me. Where careless speech has left bruises on my heart, I ask You to heal what still hurts. Where my tongue has wounded others, convict me with kindness and lead me into repentance. Teach me to speak with wisdom, humility, and love. Guard my mouth from careless humour and sharpen my awareness of how my words land, not just how they are intended. May my speech impart grace, restore dignity, and reflect the heart of Christ. Let my words be instruments of life, not death, and may the fruit of my tongue bring healing, peace, and honour to those You place in my path. In Jesus’ name, Amen.

The Quiet Seats at the Table

When Christmas lights dim, love remembers what truly matters.

Christmas is not measured by how bright the lights glow or how many gifts gather beneath the tree. Its truest weight is carried in quieter places, in the people who sit gently within our hearts. These are the ones we miss, the ones we love, the ones we would hold just one more time if heaven allowed it. Some chairs feel painfully empty during this season. Some names are whispered instead of spoken aloud. Some memories arrive unannounced and linger longer than expected. God is not offended by this tenderness. He draws near to it. 📖 "The Lord is near to those who have a broken heart, And saves such as have a contrite spirit." — Psalm 34:18 (NKJV) Love has a way of finding those who feel forgotten. Warmth has a way of reaching those who feel broken. Hope has a way of reminding weary hearts that they are seen, held, and remembered by God Himself. Even on the hardest days, even when the celebrations feel hollow, even when grief quietly tugs at your sleeve, you are deeply loved. Not overlooked. Not dismissed. Not alone. God sits with you in the quiet. He remembers every name you carry. He gathers every tear. Nothing you hold in your heart is wasted in His hands. 💡 Reflection: • Who are the quiet ones sitting in your heart this Christmas season 🤔 • Where have you felt loneliness most deeply, and how has God met you there 🤔 • What would it look like to invite Jesus into the tender places you usually keep hidden 🤔 🎺 Affirmation: I am seen by God, even in the quiet places. I am held in love, even when my heart feels heavy. I am not forgotten, and I am never alone. 🙌 Prayer: Jesus, You know the names I carry and the ache I sometimes cannot put into words. Thank You for sitting with me in the quiet and holding what feels too heavy to carry alone. Let Your love find every lonely place, Your warmth heal what feels broken, and Your hope gently remind me that I am deeply loved. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Woven for Healing

A visual map of grace, mercy, and calling woven together in Christ

There are traditionally seven spiritual gifts drawn from Romans 12:6–8, often called the motivational gifts. These are not titles we choose; they are graces revealed through fruit, consistency, and the way love naturally flows through a life surrendered to Christ. 📖"Having then gifts differing according to the grace that is given to us, let us use them: if prophecy, let us prophesy in proportion to our faith; 7or ministry, let us use it in our ministering; he who teaches, in teaching; 8he who exhorts, in exhortation; he who gives, with liberality; he who leads, with diligence; he who shows mercy, with cheerfulness."   Rather than guessing, I have prayerfully discerned my gifts by observing the patterns in how I write, create, lead, shepherd, listen, and restore. Gifts show themselves quietly, through obedience, endurance, and compassion lived out over time.   Below is a ranked reflection, from most evident to least evident, based on my life, my Healing 💔heARTs💖 work, my encounter groups, my writing, my art, and my way of loving people.   💖 The Heart of the Wheel At the very centre sits a heart, rendered in soft ivory and gently restored with fine gold kintsugi lines. This heart is not cracked beyond hope. It is mended, honoured, and strengthened through grace. A single white feather rests close by, a quiet sign of the Holy Spirit’s nearness and gentle guidance. At the heart’s centre, written in delicate script: Mercy This is the wellspring from which everything else flows. 📖 "Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy." — Matthew 5:7 (NKJV)   🛞 The Wheel Structure The wheel unfolds into seven petal-like segments, radiating outward from the heart like a flower opening in stillness. Each segment carries one gift, with its visual weight reflecting how strongly it is expressed in my life. The palette is restrained and intentional: Maroon for depth, covenant, and calling Ivory for tenderness, surrender, and purity Gold for God’s refining and redemptive work   🌸 The Seven Gifts (Clockwise from the Top) 1. Mercy This is the anchor of the wheel and the lens through which every other gift is expressed. Mercy in me looks like presence without judgment, patience with process, and compassion that does not rush healing. This gift asks for stewardship, rest, and clear boundaries, because when mercy is depleted, everything else strains. 📖 "He has sent Me to heal the broken-hearted." — Luke 4:18 (NKJV)   💡Guided Reflection Where have I felt most drawn toward the pain of others, even when it cost me emotionally? 🤔 When does compassion begin to tip into overextension for me? 🤔 What boundaries help me steward mercy without hardening my heart? 🤔 How is Jesus inviting me to receive the same mercy I so freely give? 🤔   🙌🏻Prayer Lord Jesus, teach me to steward the mercy You have entrusted to me. Help me to love without rescuing, to remain present without losing myself, and to rest in Your compassion as deeply as I offer it to others. Amen.   2. Exhortation (Encouragement) This gift gives voice to hope. It calls weary hearts forward, not with pressure, but with invitation. It strengthens through truth wrapped in gentleness, often expressed through words, prayer, story, and beauty. 📖 "Therefore, comfort each other and edify one another, just as you also are doing." — 1 Thessalonians 5:11 (NKJV)   💡Guided Reflection What themes consistently emerge in the encouragement I offer others? 🤔 When have my words helped someone rediscover courage or clarity? 🤔 How do I remain anchored in truth while still speaking with tenderness? 🤔 Where might God be inviting me to encourage myself with the same grace? 🤔   🙌🏻Prayer Father God, place Your words upon my lips. Guard me from fear or performance, and let my encouragement always flow from truth, love, and obedience to You. Amen.   3. Teaching Teaching flows in quiet clarity. It translates Scripture into language the wounded heart can receive. It favours reflection over instruction and understanding over performance. 📖 "A word fitly spoken is like apples of gold in settings of silver." — Proverbs 25:11 (NKJV)   💡Guided Reflection What truths has God patiently taught me through lived experience? 🤔 How does my own healing shape the way I share Scripture? 🤔 Where might I be tempted to explain rather than listen? 🤔 How can I create space for others to discover truth, not just receive it? 🤔   🙌🏻Prayer Lord, make me a faithful steward of Your Word. Teach me to speak with clarity and humility, to listen as much as I teach, and to honour truth with love. Amen.   4. Serving (Helps) Service shows up faithfully and without noise. It prepares, organises, follows through, and carries responsibility as an act of love rather than obligation. 📖 "Through love serve one another." — Galatians 5:13 (NKJV)   💡Guided Reflection Which acts of service feel life-giving rather than draining? 🤔 Where might I be serving out of expectation rather than calling? 🤔 How do I discern when to step in and when to step back? 🤔 What does Jesus model for me about humble, sustainable service? 🤔   🙌🏻Prayer Jesus, You came not to be served, but to serve. Teach me to serve from love rather than obligation, and to follow Your pace instead of my own striving. Amen.   5. Giving Giving is expressed not only through resources, but through generosity of time, creativity, presence, and emotional availability. It pours out trustingly, believing God to replenish what love releases. 📖 "He who gives, with liberality." — Romans 12:8 (NKJV)   💡Guided Reflection In what ways do I most naturally give of myself? 🤔 When does generosity become depletion for me? 🤔 How do I practise receiving without guilt or resistance? 🤔 What rhythms of rest allow giving to remain joyful? 🤔   🙌🏻Prayer Gracious God, help me to give freely and wisely. Teach me to trust You as my source, to receive without shame, and to rest in Your provision. Amen.   6. Leadership Leadership appears as shepherding rather than commanding. It leads by example, integrity, and faithfulness, inviting others to walk rather than demanding they follow. 📖 "Shepherd the flock of God which is among you." — 1 Peter 5:2 (NKJV)   💡Guided Reflection Where do others naturally look to me for steadiness or direction? 🤔 How do I balance humility with responsibility? 🤔 When have I led most effectively by presence rather than instruction? 🤔 What does Christ’s model of servant leadership correct or affirm in me? 🤔   🙌🏻Prayer Good Shepherd, lead me as I lead others. Keep my heart humble, my steps faithful, and my authority rooted in love rather than control. Amen.   7. Administration Administration serves the calling rather than defining it. It brings order when needed, structure in service of people, and clarity without rigidity. 📖 "Let all things be done decently and in order." — 1 Corinthians 14:40 (NKJV)   💡Guided Reflection What systems or structures currently support my calling well? 🤔 Where does organisation feel burdensome rather than helpful? 🤔 How can I invite support in areas that drain my energy? 🤔 What order is God inviting me to establish for the sake of peace? 🤔   🙌🏻Prayer God of order and peace, help me to establish structures that serve life, not stifle it. Grant me wisdom to organise what matters and grace to release what does not. Amen.   ✨ The Outer Ring — Isaiah 61 Encircling the wheel is an unseen but ever-present mantle drawn from Isaiah 61. These gifts were never given for self alone, but for the rebuilding of lives, hearts, and ancient ruins. 📖 "He has sent Me to bind up the broken-hearted… to give them beauty for ashes." — Isaiah 61:1–3 (NKJV)   💡 Closing Reflection This wheel is not a hierarchy of worth, but a map of flow. When mercy is honoured and protected, the whole wheel turns smoothly. When mercy is neglected, every other gift labours. My calling is not to become louder or harder, but to remain faithful to the mercy entrusted to me, stewarding it with wisdom, rest, and grace.   🙌🏻 Prayer of Commissioning Lord Jesus Christ, I place every gift You have entrusted to me back into Your hands. I receive them not as achievements to display, but as stewardships to honour. Let mercy remain the centre, kept soft by Your presence and strengthened by Your truth. Commission my exhortation to speak life, my teaching to carry wisdom, my service to flow from love, my giving to remain generous and free, my leadership to reflect Your shepherd heart, and my administration to bring peace rather than pressure. Guard me from striving, comparison, and self-reliance. Anchor me instead in obedience, humility, and abiding trust. May these gifts serve Your Kingdom, heal the broken-hearted, and rebuild what has long lain in ruins. I receive Your sending with reverence and joy. In Jesus' Name, Amen.

When the Lights Glow but Hearts Ache

The unseen grief, the holy hush and the healing power of being truly seen

Christmas Eve often looks gentle from the outside. Lights glow warmly, windows shimmer, smiles are practised, and familiar songs play softly in the background. This image tells the truer story. Behind those doors are people grieving children, partners, parents, siblings. There are hearts navigating first holidays without someone dearly loved, bodies holding it together in public and falling apart in bathrooms, hands setting empty places at tables because love still remembers. Some are choosing rest instead of cheer. Some are surviving minute by minute. Some are laughing for the children while hurting quietly inside. Some are lighting a candle, rereading old cards, starting new traditions, or simply getting through the night. None of it is weakness. All of it is courage. Here is the part we so often forget. Empathy is not only kind, it is healing. To be seen and understood can calm an overwhelmed nervous system, lower stress in the body, and allow the heart to rest for a moment. Compassion offered gently can ease a heavy body. Compassion received can remind a weary soul that it is not alone. Even the giver is changed by it. 📖 "The Lord is near to those who have a broken heart, and saves such as have a contrite spirit." — Psalm 34:18 (NKJV) Tonight, let cheer be optional. Move slower. Speak softer. Offer patience where you can, including to yourself. We never truly know what someone is carrying, and most of the time, we are carrying more than we let on. If all you do tonight is breathe, rest, and make it through, that is enough. I know many of you are struggling. You are not alone. I see you. November to January used to be my trigger season too. This year, my heart is turned outward in prayer for those walking through this tender stretch. May you feel held, even quietly, even unseen. 💡 Reflection • Where might I be rushing myself when God is inviting gentleness instead 🤔 • Whose unseen grief could I honour with patience or quiet compassion today 🤔 • What would it look like to allow myself to feel without fixing or performing 🤔 🎺 Affirmation I am allowed to move at the pace of my healing. God sees what I carry, and His nearness meets me exactly where I am. 🙌 Prayer Lord, You see every hidden tear and every brave step taken just to get through the day. Draw near to the broken-hearted tonight. Wrap Your comfort around those who are grieving, weary, or barely holding on. Teach us to be gentle with one another and with ourselves. Thank You that Your presence does not require us to be cheerful, only honest. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

The Gift That Heals

A Christmas reflection on reconciliation, mercy and the courage to begin again

This Christmas, what may matter more than gifts is the quiet exchange of apologies, the brave choosing of peace, the holy work of forgiving and the tender unfolding of healing. Wrapping paper fades and ribbons loosen, yet words spoken in humility linger and love released takes root. The manger reminds us that God did not send a thing, He sent Himself. Christ arrived not adorned with splendour but clothed in vulnerability, drawing near to broken hearts with mercy strong enough to mend them. Healing often begins where pride bows low and grace is allowed to speak. Forgiveness is not forgetting or excusing what wounded us. Forgiveness is placing the weight of justice into God’s faithful hands and freeing our own hearts from carrying what was never meant to be ours. Peace follows when truth is spoken gently and apologies are offered without defence. Restoration grows when love leads the conversation. 📖 “Be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, even as God in Christ forgave you.” — Ephesians 4:32 (NKJV) This is the gift that lasts beyond the season. Reconciliation does not always restore what once was, yet it opens the door to what can be healed now. Christmas invites us to step across thresholds with humility, to choose mercy over memory, and to let love do its quiet, courageous work. 💡Reflection: • Where is God inviting me to offer an apology that brings peace 🤔 • Is there a forgiveness I have delayed that He is gently calling me to release 🤔 • How might healing begin if I chose humility over being right 🤔 🎺Affirmation: I choose the greater gift. My heart is free to forgive, my words are guided by grace, and Christ’s peace guards me as I walk in love. 🙌 Prayer: Lord Jesus, thank You for coming close to our brokenness. Teach me to forgive as I have been forgiven, to speak with tenderness, and to choose peace where it is within my reach. Heal what has been wounded and restore what has been strained. I place my trust in Your mercy and follow Your way of love. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

When the Body Cries What the Soul Has Carried

An unexpected Christmas Eve, where buried pain surfaced, was named, and gently released in the presence of God

This morning, I was reading a newly posted LinkedIn article, F.I.N.E. The Vow Not to Cry ( https://www.trixiscreations.com/this-is-my-story/f.i.n.e.-%E2%80%94-the-vow-not-to-cry). I had scheduled it to go live today, though I had written it weeks ago, in a different emotional space, at a different point in the journey. Reading it now felt strangely confrontational, as though my own words were holding up a mirror. I also spent some time revisiting the vision God gave me in November 2020, *A Soup Kitchen for the Soul (https://www.trixiscreations.com//this-is-my-story/a-soup-kitchen-for-the-soul) *. I had promised to send it to Caroline to help me navigate the practicalities of setting up the Learning & Growth Community Hub with tax compliance in mind. Returning to that vision stirred both gratitude and weight, the holy kind that carries responsibility alongside calling. I then headed upstairs to shower before going to The Crate to roll towels, followed by picking up a Click & Collect order from Countdown. As I have done countless times before, I picked up the washing basket with freshly tumble-dried laundry and tipped it onto the bed to fold and put away. After that, I dropped it onto the floor again, replaced it with dirty laundry I had gathered, and turned back towards the bed. That was the moment my body stopped me. A sudden, severe cramp seized my back and completely incapacitated me. I knelt down and then lay myself across the foot end of the bed, hoping the pain would ease quickly. Instead, a crushing sensation came over my chest, making it difficult to breathe. Fear flooded in, followed by terror, dread, and an overwhelming sense of helplessness. It felt eerily familiar, much like the recurring nightmares I have had throughout my life since becoming a Christian. In those dreams, I am pinned down and crushed, unable to breathe. I try to call on Jesus, but the words will not come out, until eventually I shout His Name out loud and wake up distraught. I had another one of those earlier this month and woke Clive because I shouted so loudly in my sleep. The sensations in my body that morning mirrored those dreams almost exactly. I called out for Clive to come and help rub some Ice Blue into my back, hoping it would ease the cramping and release my breathing. Panic rose fast and loud in my thoughts, this is going to cause us to have to cancel Christmas. Clive went downstairs to fetch Panadol and warm a beanbag. By the time he returned, I was crying loudly and uncontrollably. Misha heard and came upstairs. I had no idea where it was all coming from, though I discerned that it may have been a spiritual attack. Clive prayed for me, and I asked him to phone Peter for prayer. When Peter did not answer, we tried Ester. Ester immediately slipped into prayer ministry mode. She gently began praying off trauma and asked questions to help us discern what was surfacing. What came up was confronting and painfully familiar. • Fear, terror, and dread tied to an expectancy of failure, connected to the weight of the calling I carry. • A deep-rooted belief that there is no help for me. • The belief that if I do not do it, nobody will. • Judgement towards Mum and Dad for not helping me when I needed them. • Judgement towards Mum for shoving my head under the water when, as a three-year-old, I cried for her attention. Once again, I forgave Mum and Dad for not being there for me as a child. For the first time, I finally acknowledged and expressed the pain of having my head shoved under water simply because I cried for my mother’s attention. As I named it out loud, something shifted. I felt the tension in my body snap, as though a tightly wound cord had finally been cut. Again, I repented for my lack of trust and for my inability, and unwillingness, to rest. I do not remember everything that was prayed, but I clearly recall Clive calling me a pillar for our family and for the community. Those words landed with both tenderness and truth. After prayer, Clive dashed to Countdown to collect the Click & Collect order. Misha stayed with me to ensure I did not move until he returned. When Clive got back, he helped me undress so I could finally take the shower I had come upstairs for in the first place. He rubbed more Ice Blue into my back, and for the next hour or so, I simply sat in my La-Z-Boy with a heated beanbag, allowing my body to settle. This was not how I anticipated Christmas Eve to begin. Jesse and Ice arrived much earlier than expected. I had not even started cooking yet, since dinner was planned for 6pm. We ended up doing Christmas gifts around 3pm and began cooking shortly after, while the kids played board games. All is well that ends well. In the end, we shared a beautiful Christmas, filled with good food, laughter, and the quiet grace of a God who knows exactly when the body needs to cry what the soul has carried for far too long. 📖 “He gives power to the weak, and to those who have no might He increases strength. Even the youths shall faint and be weary, and the young men shall utterly fall, but those who wait on the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings like eagles, they shall run and not be weary, they shall walk and not faint.” — Isaiah 40:29–31 (NKJV) 💡 Reflection • Where has my body been holding what my words were never allowed to express 🤔 • What familiar patterns, dreams, or physical responses might be inviting me to deeper healing 🤔 • In what ways has God been faithful to meet me when my strength, breath, or language ran out 🤔 • What would it look like to trust God with rest, not just responsibility 🤔 🎺 Affirmation I am not alone in carrying what once felt too heavy to name. God meets me in my weakness, listens to my body, and brings gentle release where I could not free myself. I am held, helped, and sustained by His grace. 🙌 Prayer Father God, thank You for being near when my body cried what my soul could no longer carry in silence. Thank You for Your mercy that reaches into hidden places and Your love that does not turn away from pain. I bring You my fear, my weariness, and my long-held burdens, and I place them into Your faithful hands. Teach me to trust You with rest as much as with obedience, and to believe that help is not something I must earn or carry alone. Cover my body, mind, and spirit with Your peace, and continue Your healing work in me. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Christmas Eve, Gently Held

When holy stillness becomes the doorway through which Peace quietly enters

Christmas Eve arrived not with fanfare, but with gentleness. The kind of gentleness that does not demand attention, yet changes everything. The house felt softer, the light warmer, time less insistent. There was space to breathe, to notice, to remember what truly matters. There was something sacred about this evening. It carried expectancy without pressure, joy without noise. It reminded the heart that God often chooses the ordinary and the overlooked to do His most extraordinary work. A stable. A manger. A baby wrapped in borrowed cloth. Love arriving quietly, yet powerful enough to heal the world. Gratitude rose easily. Gratitude for presence over perfection, for connection over performance, for the simple grace of being together. Gratitude for memories held, for losses honoured, for hope still glowing gently in the corners of the heart. The evening did not rush past. It lingered. It invited reflection. It whispered that God is near, not only in celebration, but in stillness. Not only in fullness, but in longing. Not only in joy, but in tenderness. 📖 "For unto us a Child is born, unto us a Son is given; and the government will be upon His shoulder. And His name will be called Wonderful, Counsellor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace." — Isaiah 9:6 (NKJV) Peace did not arrive loudly. It settled. It rested. It stayed. Christmas Eve was wonderful, not because everything was perfect, but because God was present. 💡Reflection: • Where did I notice God’s gentleness today 🤔 • What expectations did I release in order to receive His peace 🤔 • Which quiet moments am I being invited to treasure rather than rush past 🤔 🎺Affirmation: I am held in holy stillness. God is near to me, right here, right now. His peace rests upon my heart, steady and sure. 🙌 Prayer: Heavenly Father, thank You for meeting me in the quiet and the ordinary. Thank You that You do not strive for attention, yet Your presence changes everything. Help me to recognise Your nearness, to welcome Your peace, and to treasure the sacred pauses You give. May my heart remain open to the gentle ways You come. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

You Don’t Fit Anymore

When transformation outgrows familiar rooms and obedience costs comfort but releases holy fire

This year, I have grown much. In some ways, I have been transformed. God has done deep, necessary work in me, renewing my mind, refining my heart, and calling me higher. Yet my environment has largely remained the same. The rooms did not shift simply because I did. The systems stayed comfortable. The rhythms stayed familiar. That realisation carries both grief and clarity. Grief, because growth often creates distance. Clarity, because stagnation is not a failure of transformation, but confirmation of it. When God changes you, what no longer grows with you will begin to feel tight, quiet, and misaligned. Not everything that once held you can steward who you are becoming. And so I release the expectation that transformation must be collective to be valid. Obedience is personal. Growth is holy. Fire is costly. I honour those who stay, but I will not dim what God has ignited in me to preserve comfort, mine or theirs. I am not out of place. I am out of season for what no longer grows. I just don’t fit the system anymore. This year, God delivered me from it. He gently, firmly shut doors I kept propped open as backup plans, relationships that tethered me to what felt familiar but was quietly suffocating my fire. What I called stability, heaven named limitation. What I called wisdom, God exposed as fear wearing a respectable coat. The warfare did not come to destroy me. It came to clarify me. It exposed the moment of decision: remain in the tug of war, protecting comfort and control, or step forward into the unpopular unknown where obedience costs reputation and ease. Many feel it now, that deep, unsettled discontent, because the path ahead looks undignified. It does not flatter the ego. It does not reward compliance. It requires surrender. It will not be applauded by those who thrive on tame Christianity. Few have chosen to embrace the fire, not because it was unavailable, but because comfort remained an option. Familiar patterns felt safer than surrender. Predictability felt kinder than transformation. The cost of change felt too high for those who had learned how to survive without burning. Tame Christianity has failed us. We cannot stay in those rooms and keep burning. They will keep dimming our fire, softening convictions, muting our voice and sanding down the edges God deliberately formed. They call it unity, balance, wisdom, or order, yet it often becomes a quiet agreement to stay small, silent and manageable. 📖 "I know your works, that you are neither cold nor hot. I could wish you were cold or hot." — Revelation 3:15 (NKJV) This realisation carries both grief and clarity. Grief, because growth often creates distance. Clarity, because stagnation is not a failure of transformation, but confirmation of it. When God changes me, what no longer grows with me begins to feel tight, quiet, and misaligned. Not everything that once held me can steward who I am becoming. I am learning that outgrowing an environment does not mean I am proud, impatient, or unloving. It means God has moved me, even if others have chosen to remain. Fire always exposes choices. Some step closer. Others step back. Both reveal where the heart is anchored. God is not raising a generation of polite spectators. He is awakening the ones who carry holy fire, the ones who cannot pretend any longer, the ones whose obedience will look foolish to the religious and dangerous to systems built on control. In 2026, we do not need quieter believers. We need surrendered ones. We need those who fear God more than man, who choose faithfulness over fitting in, who would rather burn than blend. 📖 "Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind." — Romans 12:2 (NKJV) This is not rebellion. It is consecration. The wild ones are rising, not wild in chaos, but wild in devotion, courage, and truth. They are here to call the Church out of the dark ages of religion and back into a living, breathing relationship with Jesus Christ. They are here to restore what was lost, to speak what was silenced, and to carry light into places that have grown comfortable with shadow. Yes, you. You know who you are. 💡Reflection • Where have I stayed out of comfort, rather than obedience 🤔 • Which doors did God close that I secretly tried to reopen 🤔 • What part of my fire has been dimmed to remain acceptable 🤔 • What would faithfulness look like if I stopped managing outcomes 🤔 🎺Affirmation I release every system, relationship, and identity that no longer aligns with God’s call on my life. I choose holy fire over comfort, obedience over approval, and truth over safety. I was not made to fit in; I was made to burn for His glory. 🙌 Prayer Father God, thank You for delivering me from what could not carry the weight of who You are forming me to be. Give me the courage to walk forward without backup plans, without compromise, without fear of man. Guard my heart from bitterness and keep my fire pure. Let my life honour You, even when the path feels undignified. I choose faithfulness over fitting in and surrender every step to You. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Kindness Is Not a Transaction

When love flows from who you are, not what you hope to gain

I saw the words today and they stayed with me. Shoutout to people whose kindness isn’t a strategy but a way of life. That's not kindness. There is, indeed, a name for it: Niceness. Niceness is often polite, agreeable and outwardly pleasant, yet quietly calculating. It measures return. It offers warmth with strings attached. It smiles while asking, What will this cost me, and what will I gain?🤔 Kindness is different. Kindness flows from the heart that has been loved first. It is not performative. It does not keep score. It does not withdraw when unreciprocated. Kindness gives because it reflects the nature of Christ within us, not because it guarantees safety, approval, or advantage. Jesus was not nice. He was kind. He loved without leverage. He served without a strategy. He healed without demanding loyalty in return. He spoke truth even when it cost Him reputation, comfort, and ultimately His life. His kindness was not an exchange; it was an outpouring. 📖 "But when the kindness and the love of God our Saviour toward man appeared, not by works of righteousness which we have done, but according to His mercy He saved us." — Titus 3:4–5 (NKJV) True kindness is anchored in mercy. It is steady when misunderstood. It remains gentle even when it is not rewarded. It chooses love because love is who God is. Living this way requires discernment. Kindness does not mean self-betrayal. It does not mean tolerating harm or manipulation. It simply means that whatever we give, we give freely, honestly, and without hidden motives. Kindness as a way of life is a quiet witness. It reveals whose heart we are formed by. 💡Reflection: • Where have I confused niceness with kindness in my own life 🤔 • Do I ever give with an unspoken expectation attached 🤔 • How does Jesus model kindness differently from people-pleasing 🤔 🎺Affirmation: I choose kindness rooted in Christ, not niceness shaped by fear. I am free to love without strategy, to give without calculation, and to walk in truth with grace. 🙌 Prayer: Lord Jesus, shape my heart after Yours. Remove every trace of performance, fear, or hidden motive from the way I love. Teach me to be kind as You are kind, grounded in truth, guided by wisdom, and led by love. Let my life reflect Your mercy in quiet, faithful ways. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

What This Year Revealed

A gentle reckoning of faithfulness, courage, creativity, and return

This year did not reveal how much I could produce. It revealed where I chose to remain faithful and where God was quietly inviting deeper alignment. Where I showed up consistently I showed up in writing, where truth, prayer, and reflection found their voice. I also showed up for Speakers Tribe, committing to practise speaking and leadership even when confidence wavered. I chose courage over comfort, presence over perfection, and growth over hiding. I kept showing up for people, for healing work, and for obedience, trusting that faithfulness in small, unseen moments still carries eternal weight. Where I drifted or got distracted Although I created in writing, I drifted in the studio. I did not create nearly as much visual art as I had planned. The space that once felt like refuge became easier to avoid, as fatigue, doubt, and responsibility crowded out the quiet courage required to create without pressure or outcome. I recognise now that this drift was not failure, but information, pointing to areas that needed rest and gentler care. Where I surprised myself I surprised myself with resilience and discernment. I named what hurt instead of spiritualising it away. I chose boundaries where I once chose endurance. I walked away from tables that required me to shrink, even when forgiveness had already been given. A steadier boldness is taking root, not loud or performative, but anchored in truth. Where I know I am capable of more I am capable of returning to the studio without striving. I am capable of leading and speaking from wholeness rather than over-functioning. I am capable of trusting God with my pace, not just my plans. I sense more clarity ahead, more alignment, and more freedom to build what God has been quietly preparing, without apology or fear. This year reminded me that growth is not about fixing myself. It is about awareness, obedience, and learning to walk forward with God, one faithful step at a time. 📖 "It is vain for you to rise up early, to sit up late, to eat the bread of sorrows; for so He gives His beloved sleep." — Psalm 127:2 (NKJV) 📖 "The Lord will perfect that which concerns me; Your mercy, O Lord, endures forever; Do not forsake the works of Your hands." — Psalm 138:8 (NKJV) 💡 Reflection: • Where did faithfulness look quiet rather than impressive this year 🤔 • What did my moments of drift reveal about what I truly need 🤔 • Which spaces am I being gently invited to return to with grace 🤔 • What would it look like to trust God with my pace, not just my purpose 🤔 🎺 Affirmation: I honour the faithfulness God sees, even when others do not. I am becoming more aligned, more whole, and more courageous with each step I take. God is not finished with me, and His timing in my life is good. 🙌 Prayer: Father God, thank You for walking with me through every faithful step and every moment of hesitation. You see where I showed up and where I grew tired. Teach me to return gently to the places You planted joy and calling in my life. Help me to trust You with my pace, my creativity, and my leadership. Lead me forward in alignment, rest, and obedience. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Time Is Your Testimony

A gentle call to honour God with our presence, preparation, and punctual hearts

Time speaks. Long before we say a word, our choices reveal what we value. Where we arrive early, we show honour. Where we rush in late, we quietly confess that something else came first , effectively sowing disrespect and dishonour. Punctuality has always been an important part of my character. I was taught early that people’s time is valuable, and that honouring someone includes honouring their time. Respect is not only spoken, but it is also demonstrated. How we arrive says as much as what we say. I once had a pastor who used to say, “If you’re five minutes early, you’re still late.” That phrase stayed with me, not as pressure, but as perspective. It was a reminder that readiness matters, that presence deserves preparation, and that honour begins before the moment itself. If we can be on time for work, we can be on time for worship. Every weekday, many of us rise early, prepare carefully, and structure our mornings with intention. We do this out of responsibility, discipline, and respect for authority. We understand that punctuality communicates reliability and honour. How much more, then, should we prepare our hearts and our time when we come before the Lord?🤔 Worship is not an interruption to our schedule. It is the reason our lives have meaning. It is the sacred meeting place where heaven touches earth, where weary hearts are lifted, and where God is enthroned among His people. Being on time for worship is not about legalism or perfection. It is about honour. Honour says, “You matter.” Honour says, “I prepared for You.” Honour says, “You are worthy of my first and best.” When we come early, we come prepared. When we come prepared, we worship more freely. When we worship more freely, God is glorified. 📖 “Honour all people. Love the brotherhood. Fear God. Honour the king.” — 1 Peter 2:17 (NKJV) The Kingdom of God is a culture of kindness, courtesy, respect, and honour. Our timing is part of our testimony. It teaches our children, encourages our leaders, and reflects the posture of our hearts before God. Let us give Him not our leftover moments, but our intentional ones. Not our rushed arrival, but our ready hearts. Not what remains, but what we have purposefully set apart. 📖 "I was glad when they said to me, ‘Let us go into the house of the Lord.’" — Psalm 122:1 (NKJV) May our gladness be seen not only in our singing, but in our preparation. 💡Reflection: • What does my use of time reveal about what I truly value 🤔 • Where might God be inviting me to bring greater honour and intentionality 🤔 • How does my example shape the faith culture of those around me 🤔 🎺Affirmation: I honour God with my time, my presence, and my preparation. My life reflects reverence, gratitude, and love. 🙌 Prayer: Father God, thank You for the gift of time and the privilege of meeting with You. Teach me to order my days with wisdom and honour. Help me to prepare my heart, not rush Your presence, and to give You my best, not what is left over. May my life quietly testify to Your worth and Your goodness. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Forgiven, Not Returned

Choosing peace without reopening the wound

I forgave, yet I am not sitting at that table again. Forgiveness does not require returning to what harmed you. It releases the offence into God’s hands while choosing wisdom for the road ahead. Healing often asks us to move forward without revisiting spaces that weakened our spirit or dimmed our joy. God honours a heart that forgives and protects its peace, for peace is not fragile when it is guarded by truth. Setting boundaries is not bitterness, it is obedience. Love can forgive without giving access, and grace can be extended without self-betrayal. Discernment teaches us where to stand and when to step away, not out of fear, but out of reverence for what God is restoring within us. 📖 “Do not be deceived: ‘Bad company corrupts good character.’” — 1 Corinthians 15:33 (NKJV) You are allowed to forgive, heal, and walk forward without taking that seat again. Some tables were never meant to host your future. Your calling deserves space to breathe, your heart deserves safety, and your obedience is seen by Heaven. 💡 Reflection: • Where has God invited you to forgive without returning? 🤔 • What boundary is He asking you to honour as an act of obedience? 🤔 • Which environments help your character flourish, and which quietly erode it? 🤔 🎺 Affirmation: I forgive freely, choose wisely, and protect the peace God has entrusted to me. I walk forward unburdened, anchored in truth, and strengthened by discernment. 🙌 Prayer: Lord Jesus, thank You for teaching me how to forgive without losing myself. Grant me wisdom to honour boundaries that protect my heart and calling. Heal what was wounded, strengthen what remains, and guide my steps into places that nurture life and truth. I trust You with every release and every decision. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Different Swords for Different Battles

Understanding the spiritual weapons God places in our hands

Different spirits require different swords to battle and overcome. Not every fight is won the same way, and not every heaviness is lifted by striving harder or thinking clearer. God, in His wisdom, gives us specific weapons for specific battles, and discernment is knowing which one to lift in the moment. The spirit of heaviness does not retreat from reasoning. It does not loosen its grip through analysis or self-effort. It yields to a sword far more powerful and often far more costly to the flesh: spontaneous praise. Praise, offered in the middle of weariness, confusion, or sorrow, is not denial. It is defiance. It is a declaration that God is still God, even when feelings lag behind faith. When praise rises unprompted by circumstance, it pierces through the fog and reminds the soul who sits on the throne. 📖 "To console those who mourn in Zion, to give them beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness." — Isaiah 61:3 (NKJV) The garment of praise is not decorative. It is armour. It is worn deliberately, often when the body feels heavy and the heart feels tired. Praise shifts atmospheres, not because emotions suddenly change, but because heaven responds to surrender. Praise realigns the soul with truth when lies have grown loud. Spontaneous praise is especially powerful because it bypasses performance. It rises raw, honest, and unpolished. It may sound like a whispered thank You through tears or a song sung with trembling breath. God honours that offering, not for its volume, but for its trust. The enemy seeks to silence praise because he knows its power. When praise flows, heaviness loses its legal ground. Joy begins to return, not as forced happiness, but as quiet strength. Peace follows, steady and unshakeable, anchored in the presence of God rather than the absence of trouble. Some seasons call for prayer. Others call for fasting. Some require stillness. Yet when heaviness presses in, praise is often the sword heaven places in your hand. Lift it. Swing it freely. Let worship do what words cannot. You were never meant to carry heaviness alone. God has already provided the weapon for this battle. 💡Reflection • Where have I been trying to reason my way out of heaviness instead of worshipping my way through it 🤔 • What does spontaneous praise look like for me in difficult moments 🤔 • How might praise become a daily practice rather than a last resort 🤔 🎺Affirmation I choose to wear the garment of praise. Even in heaviness, I lift my voice, knowing God is faithful, present, and victorious. 🙌 Prayer Father God, thank You that You never leave me defenceless. Teach my heart to praise You, not only when life feels light, but when it feels heavy. Let worship rise from the depths of my soul and break every weight that does not belong to me. I receive Your joy, Your peace, and Your restoring presence today. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Removed for a Reason

When God’s closure is not rejection, but mercy quietly at work

God removed you for a reason. Sometimes God removes us not to punish, but to protect. What felt like rejection was, in truth, redirection, even when it arrived without gentleness. You questioned yourself, replayed conversations, and wondered why it had to end that way, unaware that heaven had already intervened. Perhaps He heard conversations you never did. He saw intentions hidden behind polite smiles and felt the weight of motives you were never meant to carry. God discerned doors that appeared open, yet would have led you into harm, delay, or a quiet heartbreak. In His mercy, He closed them before they could cost you more than you were ready to lose. So if you were taken out of a place, a relationship, or a season you begged to remain in, trust this: He had a reason. What felt like loss was mercy in disguise. One day, with healed eyes and a steadier heart, you will thank God for the removal that saved you. Not everything you wanted was good for you, and not every door you prayed for was meant to stay open. Some endings come so your faith may deepen, your discernment may sharpen, and your heart may remain tender without being shattered. God did not remove something to leave you empty. He removed it to make room for what will finally meet you in peace. 📖 "The steps of a good man are ordered by the Lord, and He delights in his way. Though he fall, he shall not be utterly cast down; for the Lord upholds him with His hand." — Psalm 37:23–24 (NKJV) 💡 Reflection • Where have I interpreted God’s protection as rejection? 🤔 • What might the Lord have been shielding my heart from in that ending? 🤔 • How can I entrust future doors to God’s wisdom rather than my desire? 🤔 🎺 Affirmation I trust God’s removals as much as His provisions. He orders my steps in love, and every closed door is an invitation into deeper peace and wiser belonging. 🙌 Prayer Father God, thank You for loving me enough to protect me, even when I did not understand. Heal the places where endings still ache, and give me eyes to see Your mercy woven through every closed door. Teach me to trust Your wisdom above my own desires, and lead me into what is good, safe, and life-giving. I place every unanswered question back into Your faithful hands. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Consecrated

A life gently set apart, not by striving, but by surrender

This year did not shape me by accumulation. It shaped me by yielding. When I look back over the four seasons I walked through, the truest word is not productive, nor resilient, nor even transformed. The word that rests most faithfully over my journey is consecrated. Consecration has been quieter than achievement. It has not been marked by applause, but by alignment. It has been the sacred decision, made again and again, to belong wholly to God, not only in calling, but in character. I did not merely endure the seasons. I allowed them to do their holy work. In the winter, I released what could no longer travel with me. Old identities, misplaced loyalties, survival patterns that once kept me safe but no longer kept me whole. Letting go cost me something, yet it freed me to breathe again. In the spring, tenderness returned. Hope surfaced gently, not as a rush of certainty, but as a quiet permission to trust God with my becoming. I learned that growth does not require force, only faithful tending. In the summer, love stretched me outward. I gave generously, served faithfully, created boldly, not to prove my worth, but because love had taken deeper root. My creativity became an offering, my service an altar. In the autumn, discernment ripened. I learned to recognise when grace had lifted, when a chapter had completed its assignment. I chose obedience over nostalgia, trusting that God’s endings are as purposeful as His beginnings. Consecration has changed how I measure success. I no longer ask only, What did I accomplish? 🤔 I ask, What did I surrender? What did I keep pure? 🤔 What did I carry with integrity? 🤔 This year refined my values rather than expanding my resume. Faith anchored me. Love guided me. Integrity steadied my steps. Courage kept me honest. Creativity flowed as worship. Rest became an act of trust. Freedom grew from obedience, not independence. 📖 "I beseech you therefore, brethren, by the mercies of God, that you present your bodies a living sacrifice, holy, acceptable to God, which is your reasonable service." — Romans 12:1 (NKJV) I emerge from this year less scattered, more centred. Less driven, more devoted. Less defined by roles, more rooted in identity. Consecrated does not mean set apart from the world. It means being set firmly within God’s hands. I am not merely stepping into a new year. I am stepping forward as someone who knows to whom she belongs. 💡Reflection: • What did God gently remove from my life this year to make room for greater wholeness? 🤔 • Where did obedience matter more than outcome in my journey? 🤔 • How has my understanding of success shifted through surrender? 🤔 • In what ways has my heart become more aligned with God’s values? 🤔 🎺Affirmation: I am consecrated unto God. My life is an offering shaped by love, obedience, and grace. I belong wholly to Him, and that is my greatest security. 🙌 Prayer: Lord, thank You for the seasons that refined my heart and aligned my steps. I offer You all that I am and all that I am becoming. Keep me faithful, yielded, and attentive to Your voice as I move forward. May my life continue to reflect Your holiness, Your love, and Your purposes. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

The Sword of Praise

A gentle yet powerful reflection on lifting the weight of heaviness through worship

There are burdens that do not come from poor choices or lack of effort. They arrive quietly, settling on the shoulders, pressing into the chest, clouding the mind, and slowing the body. Scripture calls this weight by name, a spirit of heaviness. It works subtly, placing heavy yokes upon the soul, burdens that feel impossible to carry alone. For some, this heaviness looks like debt that never seems to lift, despite diligence and prayer. For others, it shows up as depression that drains colour from the days, fatigue that sleep does not mend, or even a physical heaviness that resists every attempt to shift it. The common thread is not weakness or failure, it is pressure that exceeds human strength. Different battles require different weapons. Not every struggle is met with striving or analysis. Some are only broken through worship. 📖 "To console those who mourn in Zion, to give them beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness." — Isaiah 61:3 (NKJV) The spirit of heaviness is disarmed by genuine praise. Not polished performance, not forced positivity, but honest worship that rises even when the heart feels low. Praise shifts the atmosphere because it shifts our gaze. It lifts the eyes from the weight to the One who carries us. Praise is a sword. It cuts through despair, loosens heavy yokes, and reminds the soul of truth when emotions feel overwhelming. When praise rises spontaneously, spoken or sung in the midst of struggle, it becomes an act of spiritual warfare rooted in trust. This is not denial of pain. It is defiance against despair. There is freedom in learning which weapon to reach for. When the burden feels too heavy, let praise be the first response, not the last resort. Heaven meets that sound with strength. 💡Reflection: • Where have you noticed a heaviness settling in your life that feels beyond your own strength to lift 🤔 • What does genuine praise look like for you in seasons when joy feels distant 🤔 • How might your atmosphere change if praise became a daily, spontaneous practice 🤔 🎺Affirmation: I am not crushed by heaviness. I am clothed in a garment of praise. God meets me in my worship and lifts every burden I cannot carry. 🙌 Prayer: Father God, You see the weight I have been carrying. You know the burdens that feel too heavy for my soul. I choose to lift my voice in praise, not because everything is easy, but because You are faithful. Clothe me with the garment of praise, break every heavy yoke, and restore joy where heaviness has tried to settle. I trust You to lift what I cannot. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

It’s Hard to Admit When Something’s Over

A holy release, a gracious ending, and the courage to trust God with what comes next

It’s hard to admit when something’s over. Sometimes we don’t want to admit to ourselves that the grace has lifted from a job, a role, a position, a ministry, or even a relationship. Admitting it means that we have to do something about it, and that can feel frightening, costly, and deeply unsettling. Deep down, though, we know when something has reached its expiration date. It no longer brings joy, only weariness. It no longer energises, it depletes. What once felt light now feels heavy. What once stirred expectancy now brings dread. What once felt like home now feels like survival. There was a time when you prayed for this. You were grateful then, and you still are. It was perfect for who you were in that season. It simply no longer fits who you have become. And that is not failure. There comes a moment in every assignment when God, in His gentleness, says: 📖 “To everything there is a season, a time for every purpose under heaven.” — Ecclesiastes 3:1 (NKJV) A release is not rejection. An ending is not abandonment. It is often the clearest sign that obedience has been completed. As this year draws to a close and we step toward 2026, I find myself once again in a season of transition. We always knew this church would be temporary, and Clive has never truly felt at home here. It is time to move from a place where we are merely tolerated into a place where vision and ministry are celebrated. John Maxwell teaches that when your environment no longer inspires growth, it is time to change your environment. That truth has become our compass as we begin this new year. Four years ago, we shifted under the weight of vaccine passport wounding. I laid choir on the altar and, in time, received an unexpected upgrade into the worship team. That laying down was painful, yet it was holy. This time, the laying down cuts even closer. I am releasing the worship team and flag dancing. I will miss it dearly, just as I missed choir. Still, I sense God whispering of a fifth function being added to my studio, a place of dance and worship and wordhip, a sacred space where creativity and devotion meet. I trust that one day, when the vision has fully come to fruition, God will add a choir director, and I will once again take my place among the voices. Obedience often looks like loss before it looks like fruit. 📖 “For we walk by faith, not by sight.” — 2 Corinthians 5:7 (NKJV) In the weeks ahead, I will rearrange my studio to make room for the Nexus Connect Learning and Growth Hub. What is ending is making space for what is being born. Leaving well matters. Exiting with gratitude honours what was, even as we bless what will be. Just because something is finished does not mean that you are finished. 📖 “Being confident of this very thing, that He who has begun a good work in you will complete it until the day of Jesus Christ.” — Philippians 1:6 (NKJV) God has so much more waiting on the other side of your obedience. The door closing behind you is not a punishment, it is protection. The path ahead is not emptiness, it is preparation. Walk forward gently. Carry gratitude with you. Trust the One who releases you. 💡 Reflection: • What has God been quietly signalling is complete in this season 🤔 • Where might obedience be inviting you to release something you once loved 🤔 • What new space is being created in your life through this ending 🤔 🎺 Affirmation: I honour the seasons God has entrusted to me. I release what is complete with gratitude, and I step forward in faith, trusting that God is leading me into what is next. 🙌 Prayer: Heavenly Father, thank You for every season You have walked me through. Give me grace to release what is complete without fear or regret. Heal every tender place where letting go feels costly. Lead me forward with clarity, courage, and trust. I place my future in Your hands, confident that You are faithful to finish what You have begun. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

The Cost of Your Oil

A sacred reflection on crushing, worship, and the unseen price Heaven remembers

Oil is never produced in comfort. Olive oil only comes through crushing. The olives are pressed, squeezed, and broken until what is hidden inside is finally released. There is no shortcut, no gentle alternative, no way to bypass the pressure and still call it oil. Your anointing was born the same way. Every betrayal. Every silent night. Every tear you cried when no one saw. Every season where you kept serving while bleeding. Every moment you whispered “Yes, Lord” when your flesh longed to say “No.” None of it was wasted. All of it mattered. That was God pressing oil out of you. You did not receive this mantle cheaply. You did not step into this assignment easily. What Heaven entrusted to you came at a cost your soul remembers, even when your mouth has grown quiet about it. This is why not everyone understands your praise. They see the oil. They do not see the crushing. They witness the worship, but they never walked through the nights that taught you how to kneel. There are things God places inside a person that do not come cheaply. Your anointing has a cost. Your worship carries a story. Your oil holds a journey that only Heaven fully understands. When we think of the alabaster box, we often picture Mary breaking the jar and pouring out the costly fragrance on Jesus. What is easy to forget is this truth: before the oil ever touched His feet, it had already cost her everything. The sacrifice began long before the moment of worship. People will always judge what they did not pay for. Judas criticised Mary. The disciples questioned her. The room murmured with misunderstanding and offence. Yet the only One she was pouring it out on defended her. Why?🤔 Because only Jesus knew the price behind her worship. People who never paid for your oil will call it wasteful. People who never carried your cross will say your devotion is too much. People who never survived your wilderness will label your obedience dramatic. Still, the Lord speaks over you the same words He spoke over her: 📖 "Let her alone. She has done a beautiful thing to Me." — Mark 14:6 (NKJV) Your oil may offend people, but it blesses Heaven. Your worship is not excessive. It is honest. Your obedience is not dramatic. It is forged. Your praise is not loud without reason. It carries the weight of survival, surrender, and love poured out at His feet. Jesus knows the cost. Heaven remembers the crushing. What you offer Him has never gone unnoticed. 💡Reflection: • Where has God been pressing oil out of me through unseen seasons? 🤔 • Whose opinions have I allowed to make me question the value of my worship? 🤔 • What has my obedience cost me, and how has God met me there? 🤔 • In what ways is my praise a response to survival, not performance? 🤔 🎺Affirmation: My oil is sacred, my worship is costly, and my obedience is beautiful to God. Heaven knows the price I paid, and Jesus receives my offering with delight. 🙌 Prayer: Lord Jesus, You alone know the cost behind my worship. You saw the nights, the tears, the obedience that felt hidden and heavy. Help me release the need to be understood and anchor my heart in Your approval alone. Receive my oil, shaped through surrender and love, and let it bless Your heart. Teach me to worship without apology and obey without fear. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Who I Am in Christ

A sacred remembering of identity, values, and the life shaped by belonging

There are days when my heart needs more than reassurance. It needs alignment. A gentle returning to the truth of who I am, not as the world measures or names me, but as I am known by God. Reading through the declarations of Who I Am in Christ feels like stepping back onto holy ground. Each line steadies me, like stones placed in a river, helping me cross seasons that might otherwise sweep me away. These are not lofty ideals to strive for. They are settled truths, already spoken, already sealed. I am called by God by my name. I am engraved on the palm of His hands. I am delivered from the power of darkness and made new in Christ. When I pause with these words, my striving softens. I remember that my life is not accidental, nor is my calling fragile. I have a purpose for living, one shaped by His counsel, not by comparison or approval. I am never forsaken. I have a Father. I am the temple of the Holy Spirit, receiving a kingdom that cannot be shaken. These truths ground me deeply. They explain why faith and spirituality sit at the very centre of my life. Everything else flows from there. Love, service, creativity, courage, and compassion are not things I try to manufacture. They are the natural overflow of belonging to Him. I am loved with an everlasting love. I am crucified with Christ, and yet alive with His life within me. I am the light of the world, not by my own strength, but because His light lives in me. I am more than a conqueror, an ambassador for Christ, accepted in the Beloved. This is the soil from which integrity grows. This is why generosity matters more to me than ambition, and why success has never been measured by applause. I am beloved and chosen by God. I am healed by the wounds of Jesus. I am free from condemnation and complete in Christ. When I hold these truths close, I understand my deep pull toward compassion. Love is not an abstract idea to me. It is an action, shaped by mercy, tenderness, and the desire to restore what has been broken. I know God’s voice. I have all my needs met in Christ. I have everlasting life and the power to take my thoughts captive to the obedience of Christ. These declarations speak into growth and learning, reminding me that transformation is a journey walked with Him, not a destination reached by effort. The Lord is my rock and my salvation. I have received power from the Holy Spirit to heal the sick, cast out demons, and stand firm against the enemy. I forget what lies behind and press forward with Christ. This is where courage takes root. This is why I stand against injustice and remain steadfast, even when it costs me comfort. I have received the same power that raised Jesus from the dead. I am redeemed from the curse of the law. I always triumph in Christ. These truths reshape how I view health, wellness, balance, and rest. Caring for myself is not indulgence. It is stewardship, allowing me to continue serving with grace rather than exhaustion. I value freedom, though I treasure security more. I cherish beauty, especially in creative expression, yet I know it is always secondary to love and faith. Creativity, for me, is a language of healing. A way to help others see themselves through heaven’s eyes. Achievement and ambition sit quietly at the edge of my life, never driving me, never defining me. Impact matters more than recognition. Lives touched matter more than milestones reached. All these truths weave together into one living declaration. My identity in Christ shapes my values, and my values give expression to my identity. This is the life I am growing into, gently, faithfully, one surrendered step at a time. 📖 "Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; old things have passed away; behold, all things have become new." — 2 Corinthians 5:17 (NKJV) 💡Reflection: • Which truth about who I am in Christ feels most anchoring for me right now 🤔 • How do my values flow from my identity rather than from expectation or pressure 🤔 • Where might God be inviting me to rest more deeply in belonging instead of striving 🤔 🎺Affirmation: I am known, chosen, and held in Christ. My life is rooted in faith, shaped by love, and guided by truth. I walk forward with courage, creativity, and compassion, trusting that God is faithfully at work in me and through me. 🙌 Prayer: Father God, thank You for calling me by name and anchoring my life in Christ. Help me to live from the truth of who I am in You, not from fear, comparison, or striving. Let my values remain aligned with Your heart, my love remain active, and my service remain gentle and faithful. Teach me to rest where You rest and to walk boldly where You lead. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

The Dream God Placed in You

A gentle reminder that what God planted in your heart has not expired

“God placed that dream in your heart for a reason, and no delay, detour, or quiet season can cancel what He has destined for you.” Hey dreamer, Perhaps you have grown quiet about it. Life unfolded, plans shifted, and somewhere along the way you began to wonder whether it still mattered. Yet deep down, you know the truth. It never truly left your heart. That dream is not gone. It is waiting, resting beneath the surface, patiently trusting for your faith to rise again. Nothing was wasted, neither the waiting nor the struggle. Every pause carried purpose, every detour held a lesson, and every silent season became sacred ground. God may have been teaching you to trust Him more deeply through it all, not just with the outcome, but with the process. He has been shaping your heart, strengthening your roots, and preparing you for what will require endurance as well as courage. If He entrusted you with the vision, He will also give you the grace, the strength, and the provision to walk it out, step by step. Not all at once, not in your own power, but in steady partnership with Him. Do not give up simply because it became hard. Keep moving, not perfectly, but faithfully. Faithfulness often looks small and quiet, yet Heaven honours every obedient step. There will be seasons of waiting, questions, and battles. His promise still stands. 📖 “I will never leave you nor forsake you.” — Hebrews 13:5 (NKJV) You are not behind. You are being prepared. Keep dreaming with God. The dream still lives, because the Giver of the dream never left. 💡Reflection: • What dream has God placed in my heart that I have grown quiet about 🤔 • Where have I mistaken waiting for being forgotten 🤔 • How might God be preparing me, not delaying me 🤔 🎺Affirmation: God’s timing is at work in my life. What He has planted in me will come to fruit in its appointed season, and I choose to trust Him with every step. I am being prepared, not postponed. 🙌 Prayer: Father God, thank You for the dreams You place within our hearts, dreams born of Your love and purpose. Faithful God, You see the dreams I carry and the seasons that have tested my hope. When waiting feels heavy and silence feels confusing, help me to trust You more deeply. I bring You my waiting, my questions, and my weariness. Renew my faith where it has grown tired, and teach me to trust You step by step. I place my dreams back into Your hands, knowing You are faithful to complete what You have begun. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Art Is the Heart’s First Language

A gentle reflection on creativity, healing, and the courage to create again

Everybody is creative, because we were made in God’s image. Creativity is not a personality trait reserved for the talented or the brave. It is a birthright, woven into us by a Creator who spoke worlds into being and called them good. Did you notice, children sing🎶 before they speak🗣, paint🎨 before they write✍️, and dance💃 as soon as they can stand🧍‍♂️?🤔 Long before language forms on the tongue, expression flows from the heart💗. Art is the heart’s first language, instinctive, untrained, and fearless. The tragedy is not that we lose creativity, but that we learn to bury it. The key🗝 is often not discipline or technique, but healing the 💔heartbreak that caused us to stop creating. Many of us carry quiet lies we have come to believe: • I’m not creative! • I can’t sing! • I can’t dance! • I can’t draw! • I can’t paint! • I can’t write! • I can’t speak! These are only the visible tips of the iceberg. Beneath them often lie moments of wounding that taught us it was safer to stop trying. A parent who failed to affirm our drawing or didn't attend our school plays. A comparison to siblings that planted shame. A teacher who called our work “not good enough.” A laugh, a look, or a careless word that lodged itself deep in a tender heart. Over time, saying “I can’t” can feel easier than admitting the deeper truth. Fear of not being good enough feels less vulnerable when disguised as inability. Silence feels safer than risking rejection again. For a decades, I believed each one of these lies myself. Yet God, in His mercy, began to give me the keys to dismantle them, one by one, turning places of shame into redemptive stories of healing, courage, and restored voice. I have learnt this along the way: if you have a voice, you can sing and speak🗣. If you have hands, you can draw, paint🎨, and write✍️. If you have feet, you can absolutely dance💃. Creation was never meant to be earned or perfected. It was meant to be expressed. What often holds us back is not lack of ability, but a belief structure that whispers we should not even try. Yet Scripture reminds us that we were created to reflect Him. 📖 "So God created man in His own image; in the image of God He created him; male and female He created them." — Genesis 1:27 (NKJV) Creativity is not about performance. It is about participation, joining God in bringing beauty, meaning, and truth into the world in ways that are uniquely ours. When creativity is healed, hearts soften, voices return, and courage quietly awakens. God is gentle with the places where we stopped. He does not demand that we create perfectly, only that we come as we are. As wounds are named and tended, creativity often rises again, not loud or impressive, but honest and free. You were never meant to be silent where God placed a song. You were never meant to hide what He called good. 💡Reflection: • When did I first learn to believe I was “not creative” 🤔 • What memories surface when I think about creating freely 🤔 • What would it look like to create without striving for approval 🤔 • Where might God be inviting me to gently begin again 🤔 🎺Affirmation: I am created in God’s image. Creativity flows through me as a gift, not a test. I am allowed to begin again, gently and without fear. 🙌 Prayer: Lord, You are the Creator of my heart and the Healer of my wounds. I bring You the places where my creativity was silenced, shamed, or buried. Touch what still aches, restore what was lost, and awaken what You placed within me. Teach me to create with freedom, humility, and joy, trusting that You delight in my offering. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

When Fear Rises in the Chest

A gentle testimony of tears, tenderness, and the God who sits with us in the ache

When Fear Rises in the Chest A gentle testimony of tears, tenderness, and the God who sits with us in the ache There are days when the body speaks before the mind can find words. The tears come suddenly, the chest grows tight, and fear brushes against the heart like a cold wind whispering through familiar cracks. This morning became one of those moments. For the past few months I've been quietly observing a subtle shift in a friendship and it stirred something far deeper than the present circumstance, awakening echoes that once lived in the shadows of childhood places forgotten by the world yet remembered by my body. After the wave crashed, I cried. I slept and in that small surrender, something softened. My headache and nausea eased their grip. My nose remains blocked, almost as though grief is still finding its way out, yet the sharp edges of the moment have gentled. Clive brought me ginger beer and lunch — a quiet kindness, a reminder that love still finds me. Tearfulness lingers, a mix of sadness and fear, although fear seems the louder voice today. Fear of losing connection, fear of being quietly set aside, fear of repeating old pages of a story Jesus has been rewriting. 📖 “He shall gather the lambs with His arm, and carry them in His bosom.” — Isaiah 40:11 (NKJV) Yet even here, I sense Him. The One who does not rush me through the pain, the One who sits with me in the half-light and reminds my trembling heart that fear does not get the final word. 📖 "He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds." — Psalm 147:3 (NKJV) Fear may rise, yet love rises higher. Tears may fall, yet His presence falls closer. This story is not the same as the old ones, even though it brushes their edges. I am learning to pause, breathe and let Him hold the places that once held me captive. Healing comes in layers, and today He touched another. 💡Reflection • When fear rises in my chest, what memory or belief feels touched beneath the surface? 🤔 • How does my body tend to speak when my heart feels threatened or unseen? 🤔 • Where can I notice Jesus’ comfort in the ordinary kindnesses around me today? 🤔 • What truth do I most need to hear right now about my worth and belonging? 🤔 🎺Affirmation I am held, seen, and deeply loved. Jesus stays near to every trembling place within me, and nothing — not shifting relationships nor old fears awakening — can diminish the truth of who I am in Him. I am safe in His arms, steady in His gaze, and sheltered by His unfailing love. 🙌 Prayer Holy Spirit, thank You for gently easing the heaviness in my body and calming the trembling in my heart. Thank You for the tears that softened what fear had tightened. Whisper Your truth into every anxious place within me and remind me that I am never on the outside of Your affection. Wrap me in Your nearness, steady my breathing, anchor my worth, and continue healing the layers that rise unexpectedly. I trust You with the tender places. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Legacy That Awakens

When calling, courage, and creativity meet the quiet work of God in a willing heart

The Zoom room was alive with presence and possibility at the Speakers Tribe gathering today. Words were shared, courage was stretched, and something sacred unfolded in the ordinary act of showing up. Craig opened the space sharing on leadership and impact. One line landed deep in my spirit: “Legacy isn't what you leave behind; it’s what you awaken in others.” Then came the question that gently pressed on the future: What is it that you need to upgrade in 2026 that is going to take yourself to the next level?🤔 Everyone had an opportunity to share. As I spoke, clarity rose with the words. Early next year we are launching our community hub, and with it will come far more speaking, especially online. Videos are part of that calling, even though I have been quietly avoiding the camera. No more hiding. Not from the lens, and not from the calling God has been patiently unfolding. Prajesh then asked the question beneath the strategy, the one that always matters most: What is your why?🤔 My answer came from lived experience, not theory. Depression is one of the leading causes of disability worldwide. One in every six New Zealanders will experience it at some point in their lives. I know that pit of despair, having spent most of my life clinging to a rope so frayed and slippery it felt like someone had greased it just for fun. For many years I believed that I can’t sing. I can’t dance. I can’t draw. I can’t paint. I can’t write. I can’t speak. Those lies are heartbreakingly common, and they keep far too many people bound. Over the last few years, God has placed keys for healing hearts into my hands, and every single one of them looks like creativity. Each former I can’t has been lovingly transformed into an I can. Art, words, colour, story, and courage have become doorways back to life. 📖 “And He said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for My strength is made perfect in weakness.’” — 2 Corinthians 12:9 (NKJV) My why is simple and fierce at the same time. I want others to reignite with the flame of creativity so their hearts, and their health, can be restored. I want to change the world 🌎 one broken 💔heart💖 at a time. The world is full of broken hearts, which means there is holy work to do. 📖 “The Spirit of the Lord GOD is upon Me, Because the LORD has anointed Me To preach good tidings to the poor; He has sent Me to heal the broken-hearted, To proclaim liberty to the captives, And the opening of the prison to those who are bound.” — Isaiah 61:1 (NKJV) That is my why. Janine’s response felt like a gentle sealing of the moment. She reflected on the growth she has witnessed this year, the way I receive feedback, return refined, and keep showing up braver each time. Her words were not flattery but affirmation of fruit formed through faithfulness. This tribe does more than sharpen skills. It awakens courage, calls forth truth, and reminds me that legacy is not loud. It is lived, offered, and multiplied in others. I left this gathering grateful, steady, and quietly resolved. The camera no longer feels like an enemy, but a doorway. If legacy is what we awaken in others, then I will keep showing up, speaking, creating, and trusting God to breathe life through it all. Today I honour the hands that held me steady and the dream that rises for 2026 I'm grateful to for a wonderful year of support and growth, a year where encouragement became the quiet scaffolding that held my heart as God shaped new courage within me. This community has been a gentle place of sharpening, stretching, and learning to stand a little taller in the call God has placed on my life. I am looking toward next year with expectancy, trusting the One who authors each season. My 2026 upgrade now holds two more sacred assignments: writing my Healing 💔heARTs💖 book and a mini Ten X. These feel like holy invitations, whispered by the Holy Spirit into the deep places where purpose takes root. May every step ahead be shaped by obedience, anchored in peace, and fuelled by the grace that has carried us this far. There is beauty waiting to unfold, and I am grateful to walk this unfolding with this team. 💡Reflection: • What fears am I being invited to face as part of my calling in this next season 🤔 • Where have old “I can’t” beliefs quietly limited my obedience 🤔 • How might God be using my lived story to awaken hope in others 🤔 🎺Affirmation: I am not defined by the lies I once believed. I am led by God’s truth, shaped by faithfulness, and called to awaken life in others through courage, creativity, and compassion. 🙌 Prayer: Heavenly Father, thank You for the way You redeem every broken place and turn it into a testimony of hope. Give me courage to step fully into what You are asking of me, even when it feels uncomfortable or stretching. Anoint my words, my creativity, and my willingness to be seen, so that others may find healing and freedom through You. Let my life awaken hearts to Your restoring love. In Jesus’ Name, Amen. Legacy That Awakens “Legacy isn’t what you leave behind; it’s what you awaken in others.” — Craig Johns My response I once believed a long list of “I can’ts.” God met me there and turned each one into an “I can” through creativity and healing. Now my legacy is simple, to help awaken hearts, restore hope, bring joy and change the world one broken heart at a time. — Patrizia “Trixi” Schwartz

6 Surprising Truths About Shame, Identity, and Why You Feel Stuck

Uncovering the hidden narratives that shape your reactions, relationships, and sense of self

Have you ever felt as though you were fighting an invisible enemy in your own mind, dear heart — or noticed how one careless word can unravel an entire day?🤔 I have. There hasn't been a day in my life that I've not known shame. So many of us carry truths in our heads that never quite settle into our hearts. Our lives become shaped not by what we know, but by hidden beliefs and unhealed wounds that whisper their own stories beneath the surface. These unseen narratives become quiet architects, forming the framework of our reactions, our relationships, and even the way we see ourselves. This journal entry explores six surprising truths that reveal why we feel stuck at times, why certain patterns keep repeating, and why the journey to healing is often more about remembering than learning. These insights offer both clarity and a gentle invitation to freedom. 1. Forgetting Who You Are Means Forgetting God There is a scene in The Lion King that echoes the cry of many hearts. Simba, ashamed and running from who he was created to be, hears Mufasa say: "You’ve forgotten who you are, and so you have forgotten me." The moment shame distorts our identity, it often distorts our view of God as well. When we believe we are unworthy, irreparably broken, or defined by past mistakes, the image we hold of God becomes shadowed by our own pain. The Israelites forgot who they were, and their kingdom withered. In the same way, when we forget our identity in Christ, the "kingdom" entrusted to our influence suffers. 📖 "I have called you by your name; You are Mine." — Isaiah 43:1 (NKJV) Reclaiming identity is not merely emotional work, it is holy work. It restores both our vision of God and our calling in His kingdom. 2. Shame Tempts You to Think Small Shame shrinks the soul. It convinces us to see giants as undefeatable and ourselves as insignificant. When the spies returned from the promised land, they said: "We seemed like grasshoppers in our own eyes." Their identity was still shaped by slavery. David, facing Goliath, saw things differently. He did not focus on the size of his enemy but on the greatness of his God. Shame distorts reality. Faith restores it. 📖 "For with God nothing will be impossible." — Luke 1:37 (NKJV) 3. Your Brain’s Alarm System Can Get Stuck "On" Trauma can train the amygdala — the brain’s alarm system — to fire even when the danger has long passed. When it hijacks the logical brain, no amount of reasoning can talk it down. This is why some reactions feel illogical, overwhelming, or "too much." They are not moral failures; they are physiological memories. Understanding this brings compassion. Healing begins not with self-condemnation but with gentle awareness. 📖 "He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds." — Psalm 147:3 (NKJV) 4. "Nice" Is Not a Fruit of Holy Spirit "Niceness" is often fear dressed in courtesy — a survival strategy born from the need to avoid conflict or disapproval. It is not the same as kindness, love, or faithfulness, which are the true fruits of Holy Spirit. Niceness performs. Love transforms. Releasing the need to be "nice" frees us to walk in truth, courage, and Spirit-led compassion. 📖 "Speaking the truth in love." — Ephesians 4:15 (NKJV) 5. Childhood Lies Can Become Walls Against Adult Truth Some of the deepest wounds are formed long before we have language for them. The "foundational lies" birthed in childhood — through trauma, neglect, or the absence of needed affirmation — often become so deeply rooted that adult truth cannot find a place to rest. Scripture or encouragement may be heard, yet they bounce off the heart because the underlying soil has not been healed. Healing begins when the lie is exposed, allowing truth to take root at last. 📖 "Behold, You desire truth in the inward parts." — Psalm 51:6 (NKJV) 6. Your Overreactions Are a Map to Unhealed Wounds When your reaction is far bigger than the moment, your heart is revealing a deeper truth. The "big feelings" are not the problem — they are the map. They point to an older wound, still waiting for healing. This is not failure; this is invitation. 📖 "Search me, O God, and know my heart." — Psalm 139:23 (NKJV) Conclusion: From Architect to Archaeologist We often try to build a better life atop cracked foundations, then wonder why everything keeps collapsing. Healing invites us to become archaeologists rather than architects — to gently uncover the buried lies, the forgotten wounds, the places still held captive by yesterday. What if your deepest struggles are not evidence of failure but markers of where God longs to bring freedom? He meets us not at the surface, but in the hidden depths where truth restores and love rebuilds. 💡 Reflection • Where have I forgotten who I am in Christ, and how has that shaped my decisions? 🤔 • Which area of my life feels "small," and what shame-rooted belief may be influencing that? 🤔 • What recent overreaction might be pointing to an older wound needing healing? 🤔 • Which foundational lie have I believed that Holy Spirit may be gently bringing into the light? 🤔 🎺 Affirmation I am seen, known, and loved by God. My identity is secure in Him, and He is healing every hidden place with truth and grace. I am not stuck — I am being restored. 🙌 Prayer Holy Spirit, thank You for shining Your gentle light on the hidden places of my heart. Help me to see myself as You see me, to recognise the lies I have believed, and to walk in the fullness of the identity You have given me. Heal every wound that still echoes in my reactions, and lead me into freedom with Your tender wisdom. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Drawn Out by God’s Hand

Annointed for the Journey Ahead

I felt a little gutted when I realised I had accidentally cancelled the recording of the word spoken over me after Freedom Day on Saturday. I wanted to savour every syllable, every cadence of the Father’s affirmation. Although the recording is gone, the essence of His voice has stayed with me, and I am grateful for the notes I managed to capture. They feel like fragments of gold gathered from a riverbed — small, yet glimmering with truth. Something in me longed to hold that moment, to replay it and let the truth of it wash over me again. Yet even without the recording, the I'm grateful for those fragments that seem to carry the weight of Heaven. “The Lord is drawing you out.” Those words rest in me like a steady heartbeat. There is a holy invitation woven through them, a gentle pulling away from the familiar and into the expansive unknown God has prepared. It feels as though He is beckoning me beyond the places where I have shrunk back, beyond the borders I once believed were fixed. There is movement in His whisper, a summons into deeper waters, and I feel it stirring courage where familiar fears once lived. Those words felt like a gentle hand beneath my chin, lifting my gaze. I have sensed His pull for years, subtle and steady, almost like a tide changing beneath my feet. Hearing it spoken aloud was like receiving confirmation of something He has already been whispering into the quiet corners of my heart. “There are many gifts He’s given you that you haven’t even discovered yet. Explore those gifts a spend time with Him.” These words feel like sunlight breaking through cloud. They remind me that God sees dimensions of me I have not yet encountered. He remembers the treasures He hid in me long before I ever knew to look for them. They have been waiting for their appointed time, like seeds resting beneath winter soil. I sense His delight in the unveiling, His joy in the becoming. They stirred something deep within me. It felt like an invitation into discovery, a reminder that the journey is far from finished. Hidden wells remain untapped. Creativity, compassion, leadership, wisdom — layers of them waiting to unfold in His presence. It felt aligned with everything the Lord has been shaping in this season, where faith becomes the wellspring for service, courage, kindness, integrity, and healing. It feels like both instruction and embrace. It is not a command born of pressure but an invitation shaped by love. Explore with Him, not for Him. Discover with Him, not alone. The presence of Holy Spirit is the lantern in the quiet corridors of my own heart, illuminating gifts that were never meant to be dormant. These gifts do not grow in striving. They grow in communion. “Speak with confidence to the one before you.” This settles into my spirit with both weight and gentleness. Confidence has often felt like something to earn, yet here the Lord seems to speak of it as something to receive. When He sends me to stand before someone, He has already anointed the moment. My voice, shaped by tenderness, truth, and the journey He has walked me through, carries an authority that is not my own. It comes from the One who heals hearts, binds wounds and speaks life into ruins. This line has kept echoing in my spirit. It felt less like instruction and more like commissioning. God was not directing me toward stages or crowds but simply toward the heart right in front of me. Ministry is not about the many. It begins with the one — the one who is hurting, the one who is searching, the one He places in my path. He was reminding me that His anointing flows just as powerfully in the quiet, unseen moments as it does anywhere else. “You are anointed.” These final words feel like warm oil flowing over the bruised places of my identity. Not anointed for performance, but anointed for presence. Anointed to carry His compassion, His creativity, His healing, His wisdom. Anointed to stand where He places me, to speak what He breathes, to love in alignment with His heart. I feel the assurance settle like dew over the hidden corners of my soul. 📖 "Your eyes saw my substance, being yet unformed. And in Your book they all were written, the days fashioned for me, when as yet there were none of them." — Psalm 139:16 (NKJV) They settled over me like a mantle. Not heavy, not overwhelming, simply true. They felt like a gentle affirmation from the Father, speaking identity into places where I have often doubted myself. The God who saw my unformed frame is still revealing the chapters He wrote for me. None of this is accidental. None of this is lost. Though the recording slipped away, the word remains, etched into my spirit by the One who speaks with everlasting kindness. The prayer minister’s excitement only magnified this sense of holy anticipation. She wrapped up with a bright, almost breathless exclamation: “I almost wish I was in your shoes!” as though she could see something unfolding that I have only begun to glimpse. Her joy felt like confirmation that Heaven is smiling over this season, that the Lord Himself is delighted to draw me out, to deepen His gifts in me, and to anoint the work of my hands. Although the recording was lost, the heart of the message lives on. Nothing spoken in His presence is ever truly lost. Today I rest in that truth, grateful for what He is awakening within me. 📖 "For the gifts and the calling of God are irrevocable." — Romans 11:29 (NKJV) 📖 "Do not neglect the gift that is in you." — 1 Timothy 4:14 (NKJV) 📖 "The steps of a good man are ordered by the Lord, and He delights in his way." — Psalm 37:23 (NKJV) These Scriptures rose gently in my spirit as I pondered the word spoken over me. They seem to stitch themselves seamlessly into the message I received — a divine reminder that what God deposits cannot be stolen, silenced, or erased. Every hidden gift is held in His safekeeping until the appointed moment of unveiling. 💖Heart Reflection I find myself reflecting on how often I have sensed God drawing me beyond the familiar, beyond what I have believed myself capable of. This word felt like a tender awakening to the truth that discovery is part of discipleship, that growth is part of obedience, and that courage is what makes room for anointing. It reminds me that confidence is not rooted in my adequacy but in His faithfulness. 💡Reflection Prompts • Where have I sensed God drawing me out of hiding in this season? 🤔 • What gifts might be lying quietly within me, waiting for invitation and exploration? 🤔 • How do I feel when I hear the words “You are anointed,” and what tender places do they touch? 🤔 • What would it look like to speak with confidence to the one before me, trusting Holy Spirit to guide? 🤔 • Who is the “one before me” that God may be inviting me to speak to with confidence and grace? 🤔 • How do I feel when I hear the word *anointed* spoken over me, and what rises in my heart as I sit with it? 🤔 • What fears soften when I remember that anointing is God’s work, not mine? 🤔 🎺Affirmation I am being gently drawn out by the Lord who delights in me. There are gifts within me waiting to bloom, treasures hidden for their appointed time. Every gift within me is timed, purposed, and protected by His hand. I walk in His anointing, not in my own strength, and I speak with confidence because He goes before me. I walk forward with confidence, not because I am enough in myself, but because His anointing rests upon me with intention and love. 🙌 Prayer Father, thank You for the word spoken over me, even in the parts I can no longer recall. Thank You that Your voice is never lost to me, that Your truth lingers long after the moment has passed. Draw me out into the places You have prepared. Reveal the gifts You planted within me and teach me to explore them with You. Father, thank You for the tender ways You confirm what You are awakening within me. Teach me to recognise the gifts that are yet unseen, and draw me into deeper places of discovery with You. Strengthen my voice to speak with confidence to the ones You set before me, knowing I am anointed for Your purposes, anchored in love and guided by Holy Spirit. Hold my heart steady as I walk into the new things You are calling me toward. Let Your anointing settle upon me with peace and clarity, and let my life echo the truth of Your calling. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

A Rainbow at the Threshold

A tender reflection on showing up for the one Jesus treasures

There it was, arching gently across the sky as I approached the church last night — a soft, holy ribbon of colour stretched like a promise over the road. The air still held the scent of rain, as though heaven had breathed out moments earlier. The light touched everything with a quiet glow. My heart felt that familiar stirring, the one that whispers, "I am here." It felt fitting that a rainbow greeted me on the way to our Encounter Group, especially since this gathering is a space where hearts are tended, tears are honoured, and Jesus is invited to meet us in our breaking. I had prepared the room, prayed over the chairs, and waited with expectation for those who were registered. Only one arrived. Two sent apologies. The rest simply never came. I will be honest — disappointment brushed against my heart, like a cold wind sneaking under a closed door. I felt the ache of it, the wondering, the labour of love that sometimes feels unseen. Yet as I sat with that single precious attendee, a tender truth rose within me, steady and bright. Jesus always goes after the one. 📖 "What man of you, having a hundred sheep, if he loses one of them, does not leave the ninety-nine in the wilderness, and go after the one which is lost until he finds it?" — Luke 15:4 (NKJV) He never measured ministry by numbers, crowds, or applause. He measured it by love. He went where the need was. He lingered with the overlooked. He made time for the heart in front of Him. Last night, I was reminded that His way is still the same. My calling is not to gather many, but to show up faithfully for whoever comes. Even if it is only one. Especially if it is only one. As I drove home, that rainbow stayed with me — a quiet arch of covenant, a reminder that God keeps His promises even when attendance is thin and hope feels small. The sky seemed to say, "Trixi, love the one in front of you. I see every seed you sow. Nothing is wasted." 💡 Reflection • Where have you felt unseen or disappointed recently, and what might Jesus be whispering to you in that place? 🤔 • How has God used moments of "smallness" to reveal His heart to you? 🤔 • What does faithfulness look like in the quiet, hidden assignments He entrusts to you? 🤔 🎺 Affirmation I am held, led, and strengthened by the God who treasures the one. My small offerings matter in His Kingdom. Nothing done in love is ever wasted. 🙌 Prayer Jesus, thank You for meeting me on the road with a rainbow of promise, and again in the quiet room where only one heart arrived. Teach me to honour the ministry of the small, the unseen, and the deeply precious. Strengthen me to show up with love, grace, and expectancy, trusting that You are always at work. Bless every person who longs for healing, and guide me to be Your hands and heart for whoever You bring. In Jesus’ Name, Amen. I carry this truth forward tonight: even when attendance falters, purpose does not. Jesus meets us in the one, and that is enough.

He Holds You Steady in the Shifting

A sacred pause for the weary heart, held and upheld by God

Tonight, I let myself be honest. I am tired, not only in body, but deep within my soul. This year has stretched me in ways I never anticipated, and there were moments when faith felt fragile, chosen one breath at a time. God saw every silent battle. He watched me wipe away tears no one else noticed, steady my breathing, and whisper yes to Him even when my heart felt heavy. I see now what I could not see then. The doors that closed were not rejection; they were protection. The answers that delayed were not neglect; they were preparation. When it felt as though nothing was happening, God was carefully arranging what I was not yet ready to hold. He was never absent. He was attentive, gentle, and faithful. As November faded, something shifted quietly within me. Not with noise or urgency, but with peace settling where striving once lived. December feels different. Lighter. Not because everything is resolved, but because I am being upheld. I am no longer forcing outcomes or chasing clarity. I am trusting the One who holds time, seasons, and my heart. Peace is coming, not as a reward for endurance, but as a gift of grace. Clarity is unfolding, slowly and kindly. Breakthrough is near, not loud or dramatic, but tender and sure. What God is bringing will arrive without striving, because what comes from Him never needs to be chased or begged for. 📖 "Fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you, yes, I will help you, I will uphold you with My righteous right hand." — Isaiah 41:10 (NKJV) Tonight, I rest in this truth: I am seen, I am held, and I am not behind. God knew I needed this before December even began. 💡Reflections • Take a moment to sit with these, without rushing your answers.🤔 • Where have I been carrying weariness in silence this year?🤔 • Which closed door can I now recognise as God’s protection rather than rejection?🤔 • What delay might have been preparing my heart, not punishing it?🤔 • Where am I still striving instead of trusting God’s gentle timing?🤔 • What does it look like for me to enter December with peace rather than pressure?🤔 🎺Affirmation Read this slowly, aloud if you can, and let it settle. I am seen by God, even in my quietest battles. I am upheld by His righteous hand when my strength feels small. I do not need to force what God is preparing. I trust His timing, His protection, and His kindness toward me. Peace, clarity, and breakthrough are coming, gently and surely. 🙌Prayer Father God, I bring You my tired heart and my year-worn soul. Thank You for seeing every tear, every deep breath, every act of faith that felt costly. Forgive me for the moments I mistook Your protection for rejection, and Your preparation for delay. Help me release striving and receive Your peace as I step into this new season. Uphold me with Your righteous right hand, and teach me to trust You fully, gently, and without fear. I rest in You tonight. In Jesus’ name, Amen.

Where the Trigger Points to Truth

When God uses the stirred places to lead us into freedom

There are moments when something small brushes against an old wound and the whole heart flinches. It may be a tone of voice, a memory, a silence, or a look that echoes the ache of another time. These are not signs of failure, they are gentle indicators of where God is longing to pour His healing. Triggers reveal the places where our stories were interrupted, the corners of the heart where fear or shame still whispers, the moments where we learned to protect rather than trust. They uncover what still hurts so that mercy can enter the very fracture we once hid. Scripture reminds us that truth is not a weapon against us, it is the doorway to our freedom: 📖 "You shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free." — John 8:32 (NKJV) The truth that heals is not cold or clinical. It is the truth spoken by the One who sees us with unwavering compassion. Jesus does not expose the wound to shame us; He reveals it to restore us. Each trigger is an invitation into deeper honesty with Him, a holy summons into the places we have long carried alone. Sometimes the shaking is not about the present moment at all. It is the echo of a younger version of ourselves still waiting to be comforted, still waiting to be held. When we allow Holy Spirit to enter that memory, that emotion, that unfinished chapter, He begins to unravel the lie and replace it with His truth. Healing is the journey from reaction into revelation, from panic into presence, from hiding into being known. It is the slow, sacred process in which God turns the trembling of our hearts into testimony. 📖 "He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds." — Psalm 147:3 (NKJV) Your triggers do not disqualify you. They are the very places where heaven is most near. They show you where the trauma once lived, so that His truth can finally set you free. 💡 Reflection • What recent trigger might be pointing to an old wound that still longs to be healed? 🤔 • Where do you sense Holy Spirit inviting you to look beneath the reaction and into truth? 🤔 • What would it look like to respond with compassion to the younger version of yourself in that moment? 🤔 🎺 Affirmation I honour the stirred places of my heart, recognising them not as signs of weakness but as invitations into deeper healing. God meets me in every fracture with tenderness and truth. 🙌 Prayer Holy Father, thank You for the gentle way You reveal the places within me that still ache. Help me to see triggers not with shame but with hope, trusting that each one marks a place where Your healing is drawing near. Guide me into truth, surround me with Your compassion, and restore every hidden wound with Your love. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Worship in Its Purest Form

When Brokenness Becomes the Altar God Delights In

There is a worship that rises from the hidden cracks of a heart that has been stretched, pressed, and undone. It is not the kind of worship that fills a room with sound, although it may. It is the quiet offering of a soul that has walked through fire and still turns its face toward God. It is the trembling yes, the whispered hallelujah, the lifted eyes that refuse to be dimmed by sorrow. This worship is not loud, yet it is honest. It is not perfect, yet it is surrendered. It is not effortless, yet it is faithful. It carries the fragrance of someone who has every reason to step back, every reason to close their heart, every reason to give up, yet chooses instead to lean into the One who has never let them go. 📖 "The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit, a broken and a contrite heart — these, O God, You will not despise." — Psalm 51:17 (NKJV) God treasures this kind of worship because it is not built on feelings; it is built on love. It is the choice to let His goodness speak louder than pain, His truth speak louder than lies, His nearness speak louder than the echoes of old wounds. This is the worship of the brave. The worship of the ones who show up even when their hearts feel heavy. The worship of those who know that obedience in the valley is as holy as praise on the mountaintop. It is the sound of trust taking root in the dark soil of adversity. It is here — in the breaking, in the stretching, in the surrender — that worship becomes pure. It becomes the very place where heaven bends low, where the Holy Spirit breathes comfort into the cracks, where Jesus Himself draws near to the crushed in spirit. 📖 "The Lord is near to those who have a broken heart, and saves such as have a contrite spirit." — Psalm 34:18 (NKJV) 💡 Reflection • Where has God invited you to worship through your weakness rather than your strength? 🤔 • What part of your heart feels too tender to offer, and what would it look like to bring that place to God today? 🤔 • How might your worship shift if you saw brokenness not as disqualification but as offering? 🤔 🎺 Affirmation Your worship, even in the days when it feels small or strained, is precious to God. He receives every trembling note, every quiet surrender, every lifted gaze. You are held, cherished, and met in the very place where your heart feels least capable. Nothing offered in love is ever overlooked by Him. 🙌 Prayer Jesus, thank You for meeting me in the places where I feel fragile and worn. Teach me to worship from a heart that is surrendered rather than striving. May my offering be pleasing to You, not because it is perfect, but because it is honest. Draw near to my broken places and fill them with Your light. Strengthen my trust, steady my steps, and let my life be a continual song of love to You. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Understanding Depression Through a Biblical Lens

How Spiritual Roots Shape the Emotional Landscape of the Heart — With My Testimony of Freedom

There are moments when the human soul feels as though it sinks beneath its own weight, when sorrow lingers like morning mist and hope appears dim and far away. Scripture reminds us that our battles are not only flesh and blood, that the unseen realm touches us more deeply than we often realise. Depression, through the lens of Dr Henry W. Wright and the A More Excellent Way teachings, is not merely a diagnosis; it is a tender signal that something in the spirit has been wounded, silenced, or separated from the Source of life. 📖 "A merry heart does good, like medicine, but a broken spirit dries the bones." — Proverbs 17:22 (NKJV) This understanding does not dismiss the chemical or physiological reality. It simply lifts the veil to show that behind the imbalance lies a deeper spiritual disconnection — one Christ longs to heal. Spiritual Roots of Depression Depression is not seen as a flaw or a failure; it is the soul’s cry for reconciliation. These teachings describe depression as the emotional and physiological expression of conflict within the spirit. When the heart is burdened by a distorted sense of self, unresolved fear, or broken connection, the body follows the lead of the inner life. 1. The Wound of Self-Rejection At the very centre is a fractured relationship with one’s own identity. Self-rejection, self-hatred, guilt and suicidal thoughts tear at the fabric of belonging. When a person cannot accept themselves, the body begins to interpret life through this inner war. The hypothalamus senses the emotional conflict; the limbic system interprets it; the pineal gland slows the release of serotonin. Suddenly the body bears witness to the unseen battle. The result is not weakness but deep weariness — a tiredness of the soul that spills into the body. Unloving spirits and accusation deepen this chasm, turning the heart inward against itself. 2. Separation on Three Levels Depression often arises where connection has been starved: • separation from God and the comfort of His love • separation from oneself through guilt or condemnation • separation from others through broken relationships When these distances widen, the heart feels unsafe. The body responds in kind. 3. Fear, Anxiety, and the Unquiet Heart Fear stands as a powerful architect in the unseen realm. It shapes thought patterns, alters brain chemistry, and slowly drains hope. When fear and anxiety go unresolved, the body compensates by reducing serotonin. What begins spiritually becomes encoded in neurochemistry. Yet heaven has always understood that the origin lies deeper than the brain; it begins in the story of the heart. 📖 "Perfect love casts out fear." — 1 John 4:18 (NKJV) 4. Generational Legacies Many walk beneath weights they did not choose. The absence of nurturing in childhood leaves unseen fractures. Patterns of abandonment, harshness, or emotional distance echo through generations. Familial spirits reinforce the lie: You are not wanted. You are not enough. You do not belong. Bipolar or manic depression is often described in these teachings as the fruit of many generations of men who could not, or did not, provide safety and acceptance. Christ stands ready to break every pattern the enemy has woven through bloodlines. The Chemical Component — Not Denied, but Completed Traditional medicine describes depression as a chemical imbalance involving serotonin, dopamine, or norepinephrine. This is true, yet it is not the whole story. The spiritual perspective teaches that the chemistry follows the state of the soul. Medication can stabilise the imbalance, but it does not reach the origin of the wound. Peace cannot be manufactured by pharmaceuticals because peace is a Person. The Holy Spirit does what no prescription can. Antidepressants can help a person breathe while the deeper work begins. They simply cannot offer the wholeness that comes from spiritual healing. The Pathway to Overcoming Depression Healing begins when the roots are gently lifted from the soil. 1. Reconciliation • Returning to God and receiving His love • Accepting oneself as He created • Restoring relationships where possible 2. Repentance Repentance is not punishment. It is a turning toward life. It breaks the enemy’s legal right to accuse and afflict. 3. Ownership and Authority Depression is not destiny. Taking ownership restores authority. Choosing the law of God — truth, love, and peace — uproots the spiritual forces that shaped the emotional climate. 4. Renewing the Mind Scripture becomes medicine for the soul. Gospel truth rewrites the pathways shaped by fear and rejection. The Word silences the unloving spirit and restores identity. 📖 "Be transformed by the renewing of your mind." — Romans 12:2 (NKJV) A Picture to Understand It Imagine your emotional life as a garden. Self-hatred, fear, rejection, and guilt are like invasive weeds. They poison the soil and twist the roots. The body’s chemistry responds to the condition of the soil. Medication is the fertiliser that helps a plant survive the poisoned soil. Spiritual healing — repentance, reconciliation, truth — is what removes the weed so the garden can flourish again. Christ does not shame the weary garden. He kneels in the soil, lifts the broken stems, and tends the roots with tenderness. My Testimony — Delivered From the Spirit of Heaviness There was a time when depression was the air I breathed. It wrapped itself around me so early in life that I believed it was part of my personality. I lived beneath a cloud I could not name, a heaviness that never left. Suicidal thoughts were not occasional intruders; they were familiar shadows that whispered at the edges of my days and pressed in during the nights when I felt alone and unseen. There were seasons when I honestly did not know how I would make it through another day. I carried blame that was not mine. I wore shame like a second skin. All the while I served, loved, raised a family, ministered, and showed up for life — yet inside, I was drowning quietly, believing that if people truly knew my thoughts, they would turn away. I tried everything the world offered: self-help, counselling, distractions, strength, sheer will, and years of pretending to be fine. Nothing reached the root. Everything changed when the Holy Spirit began to reveal the spiritual roots beneath the symptoms. He uncovered the layers of self-hatred I did not even recognise as such. He exposed the fear, the inherited patterns, the rejection, the silent agreements I had made with the enemy. He showed me the generational grief I had absorbed as a child. He did not shame me for it. He simply said, “This is not who you are.” As I began to repent, renounce, forgive, and receive truth, something miraculous happened. The heaviness began to break. The intrusive thoughts lost their power. The despair that once felt permanent started dissolving. The cloud lifted. For the first time since childhood, I experienced days of pure light. Hope did not feel foreign anymore. Peace became my normal, not the exception. Joy returned not as a fleeting emotion but as a steady undercurrent in my spirit. God delivered me. Not all at once, but faithfully, layer by layer, root by root. He replaced the spirit of heaviness with the garment of praise. 📖 "To console those who mourn in Zion, to give them beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness." — Isaiah 61:3 (NKJV) I am living proof that depression is not a life sentence. It is not your identity. It is not the final chapter. Christ heals what medicine cannot reach. He restores what was broken before you ever knew how to name it. He delivers the captives, even when the prison bars were invisible. I once lived in the shadows. Today I live in His light. That is the power of Jesus. That is the mercy of God. That is the testimony I carry. Conclusion: A More Excellent Way The thread woven through these truths is simple yet profound: our physical health is deeply connected to our spiritual well-being. Our relationships with God, ourselves, and others profoundly influence the health of our bodies. This perspective does not reject medicine; it expands the conversation. It invites us to consider the roots beneath the symptoms, the stories beneath the pain, and the spiritual pathways that may be shaping our physical lives. It asks a gentle but powerful question: • Are you weighed down by physical issues that medicine has no answers for?🤔 • What if lasting health requires not only treating the body but healing the spirit?🤔 • Could this be the more excellent way?🤔 • May I gently encourage you to consider exploring the spiritual roots that may be influencing your health?🤔 Some profoundly insightful resources that shaped my own healing journey are: • Deliverance and Inner Healing by John Loren Sandford and Mark Sandford • Transforming the Inner Man by John Sanford • Elijah House Prayer Ministry • A More Excellent Way (https://amzn.to/4p9wJCt) by Dr Henry W. Wright • Exposing the Spiritual Roots of Disease (https://amzn.to/3XXe6pc) by Dr Henry W. Wright You can also visit Dr. Wright's Be in Health website for more teaching, testimonies, and helpful resources: https://www.beinhealth.com/ Sometimes the key we have been searching for is not in the body but in the heart — and healing begins the moment truth meets the hidden places we did not know were still hurting. 🙌 Prayer Father God, thank You for being the One who sees into the deepest parts of my heart. Thank You for lifting me out of the heaviness that once defined me and for breaking the chains that held me captive for so many years. I praise You for replacing despair with hope, darkness with light, and confusion with clarity. I ask that You continue to heal every place within me that still needs Your touch. Wrap me in Your peace, renew my mind through Your Word, and anchor my identity in Your unfailing love. May my testimony bring comfort, courage, and deliverance to others who are walking through the valley of heaviness. Let every word point back to Your glory, Your goodness, and Your redeeming power. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Held in His Goodness

Noticing the quiet mercies that sustained my soul when I could not see them

Today I felt a gentle stirring in my spirit, reminding me that I am sitting right in the middle of God’s goodness. Not because everything around me is easy, predictable, or comfortable, but because His presence has been carrying me in ways I have not always recognised. As I look back, I see the quiet trails of His mercy woven through the details of my days. The whispered prayers I prayed through tears, the ones I thought evaporated into the air, found answers in unexpected ways. People appeared at the exact moment my heart felt fragile, as if heaven nudged them toward me, offering comfort, truth, or simply presence. The heartbreaks that once felt like they would undo me somehow became places where healing eventually found me, even when I didn’t know how to begin. Even on the nights when fear felt too heavy, something in me kept breathing, kept trying, kept reaching. None of that was accidental. Every moment was held. His goodness has never been reserved only for the comfortable seasons. It has lived just as faithfully in the disorienting ones. The hard places shaped me, deepened me, and strengthened the core of my faith in ways peace never could. His grace has been the reason I survived what should have broken me. It is the reason I stand where I stand today. Now, as I begin to notice His fingerprints in the places that once felt chaotic or confusing, I understand something profound: I have not walked a single moment alone. His goodness has been my shelter, my strength, my unseen support. I see now how His hand was present even in the chaos, weaving redemption through threads I once thought were fraying beyond repair. I see how He never left me for a single heartbeat. And something in me whispers, If His goodness carried me this far, it will also carry me forward. 📖 "Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life." — Psalm 23:6 (NKJV) Tonight, I rest in that. His goodness behind me. His goodness beneath me. His goodness ahead of me. His goodness all around me. 💡 Reflection • Where have I seen small or hidden signs of God’s goodness in this season? 🤔 • Which answered prayers have I overlooked because they arrived quietly? 🤔 • What difficult moments shaped me in ways I now recognise as grace? 🤔 🎺 Affirmation I am surrounded, upheld, and gently led by the goodness of God. Nothing in my story has been wasted, and nothing in my future is without His care. 🙌 Prayer Father, thank You for the goodness that holds me even when I cannot see it. Thank You for every quiet mercy, every unseen protection, and every answered prayer that carried me to this moment. Teach my heart to recognise Your hand in all things and to rest in the certainty that You are with me. May Your goodness continue to lead me forward, shaping me with grace and strengthening me with hope. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Where the Heart Speaks Through the Body

How hidden emotions settle into our physical frame, and how Christ invites us into gentle release

The body is more honest than the tongue. It carries what the heart cannot voice and what the mind has learned to hide. Every ache tells a story. Every tight place remembers something the soul once survived. Yet none of these messages come to shame us. They are invitations — tender signals that a loving God is ready to meet us in the places we have buried the deepest. 📖 "For You formed my inward parts; You covered me in my mother’s womb. I will praise You, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made." — Psalm 139:13–14 (NKJV) This body map is not meant to diagnose but to illuminate. It is meant to restore the language between your heart and your frame, so healing can flow where pain has made its home. 1. Hips — The Deep Wells of Grief & Held Emotion Some emotions sit so deep they never find words. The hips, with their strong protective muscles, often cradle grief we did not feel safe to release. Tears stored here create pressure, tightness, and unexpected weeping when stretched. 📖 "He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds." — Psalm 147:3 (NKJV) Jesus comes to the hips to loosen what sorrow tightened. He whispers, “You are safe now. Let the tears fall.” 2. Shoulders — Carriers of Burdens Never Meant to Be Yours Responsibility becomes heavy when it is carried alone. The shoulders clench when life feels like a weight, long before the mind admits its exhaustion. 📖 "Cast your burden on the Lord, and He shall sustain you." — Psalm 55:22 (NKJV) Jesus invites you to lay down what was never yours to carry. The weight lifts when the heart returns the burden to its rightful place — His hands. 3. Lower Back — Fear of Instability & the Ache of Uncertainty When the foundations of life shake — finances, relationships, belonging — the lower back braces. It stiffens as though trying to hold up a crumbling world. 📖 "My God shall supply all your need…" — Philippians 4:19 (NKJV) Jesus steadies what feels fragile. He becomes the support you feared you lacked. 4. Jaw — Silenced Anger & Words Never Spoken The jaw tells the truth about what we never said. Clenching at night is the soul’s attempt to voice emotions that were never welcomed. 📖 "Let all bitterness, wrath, anger… be put away from you." — Ephesians 4:31 (NKJV) Jesus meets the jaw with permission. Permission to feel, to speak, to heal, to release. 5. Chest — The Chamber of Heartbreak & Sorrow The chest tightens to guard unprocessed sadness. Shallow breath. Constricted ribs. Protection born of past pain. 📖 "Hope deferred makes the heart sick." — Proverbs 13:12 (NKJV) Jesus breathes new life into constricted places. He restores hope where disappointment made a home. 6. Neck — Misalignment, Inner Conflict & Truth Unspoken The neck connects what you think with what you live. Tension here often reveals the cost of self-betrayal or the pain of living against your convictions. 📖 "You shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free." — John 8:32 (NKJV) Jesus aligns the soul with truth. He breaks the bondage of silence. 7. Stomach — Anxiety, Dread & Trauma Stored in the Gut The stomach is the second place emotions speak loudly. Nausea, knots, churning — signs that the nervous system is carrying more than the heart can hold. 📖 "Be anxious for nothing…" — Philippians 4:6–7 (NKJV) Jesus calms storms hidden beneath the ribs. He speaks peace into the places fear has lived longest. 8. Hands — Control, Overwhelm & the Fear of Letting Go Clenched fists. Restless fingers. Hands that cannot relax often belong to a heart afraid of losing control. 📖 "Be still, and know that I am God." — Psalm 46:10 (NKJV) Jesus gently unfurls the fists. He teaches the heart that surrender is not loss — it is freedom. 9. Knees — Resistance to Change & Fear of Surrender The knees bend so we can move forward… and so we can bow. When change feels threatening, the knees stiffen. 📖 "Trust in the Lord… and He shall direct your paths." — Proverbs 3:5–6 (NKJV) Jesus strengthens knees that tremble. He leads you into new seasons with holy courage. 10. Sinuses — Tears you were never allowed to release This tender region often holds the sorrow we learned to “hold together” for the sake of others. Congestion, pressure, or recurring sinus discomfort can reflect grief that was stifled, emotions pushed down, and moments where you were expected to stay strong when your heart longed to weep. The face carries the ache of what was never expressed, while God gently calls those hidden tears into His healing light. 📖 "You number my wanderings; put my tears into Your bottle; are they not in Your book?" — Psalm 56:8 (NKJV) As I sit with this tender truth, I recognise how deeply my own body once spoke the language of unhealed pain. This visual map is not distant or theoretical for me. It mirrors my lived experience. For so many years, my body carried the weight of trauma in the hips that ached without reason, shoulders that felt permanently braced for impact, and a lower back that tightened whenever uncertainty came near. My jaw clenched through the nights, my chest held sorrows I could not yet name, my stomach churned with anxieties I didn’t understand, my hands gripped the world as though everything depended on me, and my knees locked in fear whenever change approached. This is exactly how my body carried most of my trauma. Yet as I have walked with Jesus through healing over these past five years, something holy has unfolded within me. Each area of pain has softened. Each knot of fear has loosened. Each burdened place has slowly begun to breathe again. Healing has not been instant; it has been sacredly gradual. Layer by layer, the Holy Spirit has touched the hidden corners of my story and brought release where there was once tension, hope where there was once dread, and comfort where there was once silence. I stand today with deep gratitude, knowing I have experienced huge improvement in all these once-painful places. My body is no longer a battlefield. It is becoming a sanctuary. This journey is a reminder that God wastes nothing. Even the body’s cries become pathways to healing when placed in His gentle hands. 💡 Reflection Prompts Sit quietly with the Holy Spirit and ask: • Which part of my body speaks the loudest today? 🤔 • What emotion might be stored there that I have not acknowledged? 🤔 • Jesus, what truth do You want to speak into this place? 🤔 • Who or what do I need to release into Your hands? 🤔 • What memory do You want to heal as You touch this part of my body? 🤔 🎺 Affirmation My body is not betraying me; it is revealing where my heart needs gentleness. Jesus is healing me from the inside out. I am safe, held, and deeply loved. 🙌 Prayer Jesus, my Healer, Thank You for crafting my body with such wisdom and tenderness. Thank You for the way it speaks when my words fall silent. I invite You into every tight place, every ache, every story written beneath my skin. Touch the grief in my hips, the burdens on my shoulders, the fear in my back, the silence in my jaw, the sorrow in my chest, the misalignment in my neck, the anxiety in my gut, the control in my hands, and the resistance in my knees. Heal me layer by layer, memory by memory, breath by breath. Restore my body to peace, my soul to wholeness, and my heart to the freedom You designed for me. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

When Raised Voices Reveal Unheard Hearts

A gentle reflection on conflict, connection, and the longing beneath our loudest moments

I have begun to notice something tender and unsettling within myself, a truth rising quietly from beneath the surface of everyday conversations. Whenever I feel unheard or dismissed, my voice lifts without thought, as though volume could carve me a place in the moment. It is not anger that drives the sound higher; it is longing — the ache to be seen, understood, and held with care. Arguments often begin long before words are spoken. They start in the hidden places where emotions run amok after feeling invalidated, overlooked, or pushed aside. Conflict becomes the language we slip into when connection feels too far away, and sometimes the trembling of our raised voices is simply the sound of a wounded heart reaching outward. In those moments, my husband hears fighting, although my heart is quietly pleading, "Please hear me. Please see me." I never set out to battle him; I simply want to bridge the gap between us. It is striking how so much of our tension has nothing to do with disagreement and everything to do with longing. Scripture reminds me that our words carry profound weight, shaping the spaces between us: 📖 "A soft answer turns away wrath, but a harsh word stirs up anger." — Proverbs 15:1 (NKJV). I am learning that the softness Scripture speaks of is not weakness; it is wisdom. It is self-awareness. It is the gentle strength of pausing long enough to ask, "What is my heart really trying to say?🤔" The Holy Spirit continues His faithful work in these areas, drawing me inward before I move outward. He reminds me that healing invites honesty, yet also invites humility; that I can stand in truth without needing to shout; that I can share my feelings without fearing dismissal. Healing teaches us that volume is often a form of self-protection and that the fundamental transformation begins when safety grows in the relationship. When I look beneath the raised voice, I find tenderness. When I look beneath the frustration, I see fear. When I look beneath the conflict, I find longing for connection. These discoveries do not shame me; they free me — showing me that the deeper story is not about anger, but about yearning. 💡 Reflection • Where have I raised my voice this week because my heart felt unseen or unheard? 🤔 • What emotions sit beneath my loudest moments, and what do they say about my needs? 🤔 • How might I communicate my pain with gentleness rather than volume? 🤔 • What would it look like to slow down and recognise the longing beneath another person’s defensiveness? 🤔 🎺 Affirmation I am learning to speak from my heart rather than from my hurt, and God is teaching me how to create connection instead of conflict. I am held, understood, and strengthened as I grow. 🙌 Prayer Father, thank You for the gentle ways You reveal truth within me. Teach me to recognise the tender places that rise when I feel unheard. Fill my words with grace, patience, and clarity. Help me to respond with wisdom rather than reaction, and to see the needs beneath the voices of those I love. May my home become a place where understanding grows and connection deepens. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

The Quiet Space Between Us

When Silence Protects the Heart Yet Feels Like Distance

Silence is not always a shutting out. Sometimes it is a trembling "I need a moment" whispered by a soul trying to breathe again. It is emotional self-protection, a pause to steady the heart when old wounds flare and the past rises louder than the present. The difficulty is that our silence, though meant to shield us, can feel like rejection to someone else. Human hearts interpret absence through the lens of their own history, so what we intend as retreat for safety may be received as abandonment or dismissal by others. This is the tension we carry when brokenness meets relationship: our wounds do not stay contained within us, they ripple outward and touch others too. There is mercy when we recognise this. Healing begins when we bring our inner world into the light with gentleness, inviting understanding rather than leaving others to guess. There is grace when we say, "I am quiet because I am tender, not because I am turning away." There is restoration when we choose compassion for ourselves and compassion for the one who misreads our silence. 📖 "A soft answer turns away wrath, but a harsh word stirs up anger." — Proverbs 15:1 (NKJV) Softness is not weakness. It is the courage to speak truth with kindness, to name what hurts, and to remain present without hiding behind walls that feel safer than connection. You are learning to steward your heart with wisdom. You are learning that boundaries are not barriers, and that healing invites honest conversations, not silent suffering. May God meet you in the quiet, steady you with His peace, and teach you how to navigate both vulnerability and love in ways that honour Him and bring life to your relationships. 💡Reflection • Where have I mistaken someone’s silence for rejection, and what deeper story might have been hidden beneath it? 🤔 • When do I withdraw to protect my heart, and how might I communicate that tenderness more gently? 🤔 • What does God want to teach me about giving and receiving grace in the quiet spaces of relationship? 🤔 🎺Affirmation I am learning to navigate silence with wisdom and grace. My heart is held, understood, and guided by God, who brings clarity where confusion once lived. I am growing into deeper compassion for myself and those I love. 🙌 Prayer Jesus, thank You for meeting me in the quiet and giving language to the places I struggle to express. Teach me to honour my heart without causing unnecessary pain to others. Grant me courage to share gently when I am tender, and wisdom to discern when silence is necessary for healing. Let Your peace govern my responses and Your love fill the spaces where misunderstanding once lived. Restore connection where distance has formed and guide me into relationships marked by truth, grace, and compassion. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

When Silence Becomes a Story

A tender, honest reflection on emotional self‑protection, parental quietness, and the echoes they leave in the heart

Silence is not the cold shoulder; it is emotional self‑protection. 💫 It is the cave we crawl into when our inner landscape feels too overwhelming to expose. It is the trembling pause where we try to steady ourselves, hoping the world will wait long enough for our breathing to return to normal. Silence can be a shield, a soft retreat, a way to survive when the heart feels too bruised to speak. Although I know silence can be a form of self‑protection, it has also been the very thing that pierced me most deeply. Over the years, Mum and Dad’s silence has not felt peaceful or neutral. It has felt like being ignored, rejected, and abandoned. Their quietness became a language of absence, a message that whispered, You are too much, you are unseen, your feelings do not fit here. A child does not interpret silence as exhaustion or uncertainty; a child interprets silence as unworthiness. That kind of silence weaves itself into the soul. It becomes the lens through which we view every pause, every unanswered message, every moment when connection feels distant. It shapes how we protect ourselves, how we relate, how we love, how we hide. The very silence that wounded me became the silence I later used to survive. Yet the sad reality is that in our wounding, we wound others. Silence, meant to guard our fragile places, can land as rejection. Withdrawal, meant to bring calm to the storm within, can be felt by others as abandonment or dismissal. This is something I may have inadvertently done to those closest to me — especially my husband and children — when I retreated into my pain. I never meant to shut them out; I was trying to keep myself from falling apart. My silence was not punishment. It was a trembling attempt to find ground beneath me. 📖 "He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds." — Psalm 147:3 (NKJV) 📖 "When my father and my mother forsake me, then the Lord will take care of me." — Psalm 27:10 (NKJV) These verses sit together like gold lines of kintsugi, mending what broke long before I had words for it. God sees the quiet places where human love failed us, and He steps gently into the void. Jesus does not shame us for the ways we learned to survive. He honours the child who felt alone, and He tends to the adult who still hears echoes of that loneliness. Healing begins when we allow ourselves to tell the truth — the truth about where silence protected us, and the truth about where silence wounded us. Awareness is not condemnation; it is an invitation. An invitation into repair, restoration, and re‑learning how to stay present without abandoning ourselves or others. 💡 Reflection: • Where has silence been a shield for you, and where has it been a wound? 🤔 • What childhood beliefs rise up when someone grows quiet? 🤔 • How have your earlier experiences shaped the way you respond to loved ones today? 🤔 • What might Jesus be whispering to the younger you who felt unseen? 🤔 • What gentle truth could you offer the people who were impacted by your silence? 🤔 🎺 Affirmation: My silence does not define my worth. Jesus sees every wound from the past and every place where I protected myself because I did not know another way. I am learning new patterns, receiving deeper healing, and growing into courageous connection. I am fully seen and fully loved. 🙌 Prayer: Jesus, please enter the quiet places that shaped my heart. Heal the wounds left by parental silence and the ways that silence still influences my relationships today. Restore what was lost, mend what was misunderstood, and teach me how to remain open, present, and safe in Your love. Let my voice carry gentleness, clarity, and truth as You continue to bind up the broken places within me. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

When Tears Are Silenced

How restrained weeping affects the body, burdens the soul, and reshapes our story

There is a quiet ache that settles in the heart of every child who learns too early that tears are dangerous. The moment a little one decides that crying is costly, something deep within them reshapes their understanding of safety, need, and belonging. Tears were God’s gift, a release valve for the body, a cleansing for the heart, and a language for the soul. Whenever that language is cut off due to a lack of safety and comfort, something sacred is forced underground. Here is a tender exploration of what happens when tears are withheld, whether by choice, fear, or necessity. 1. The Heart Learns to Hide When tears are forbidden, the heart begins to grow quiet. It starts to compartmentalise pain, placing it in sealed rooms rather than allowing it to move through. The child who once cried naturally becomes the adult who says, "I am fine," even when their soul is unravelling within. What was meant to be expressed becomes pressed down and taught to stay silent. 📖 "The spirit of a man will sustain him in sickness, but who can bear a broken spirit?" — Proverbs 18:14 (NKJV) The brokenness still exists, simply hidden from view. 2. The Body Carries What the Heart Cannot Release Unexpressed tears have a way of slipping into the body. Muscles tighten, breath shortens, sleep becomes restless, and the jaw learns to clench. The nervous system remains on high alert because everything inside is waiting for permission to let go. Some cannot cry, not because they are strong, but because their bodies have been trained to survive without the relief tears would have offered. The human body was crafted with breathtaking wisdom. Even our tears speak — each drop carrying a story, a prayer, and chemistry that reflects the emotions that formed it. Whenever someone learns to silence their tears, the consequences reverberate through the body, the nervous system, and even the delicate sinuses. Tears Are Not All the Same: The Chemistry of Sadness, Joy, and Stress God designed three types of tears, each with their own purpose. • Basal tears nourish and protect the eyes. • Reflex tears appear when something irritates the eyes. • Emotional tears are the miracle tears woven from our innermost feelings. Their chemical makeup is entirely unique. Emotional tears contain: • Stress hormones • ACTH (adrenocorticotropin) • Prolactin • Leucine-enkephalin (a natural painkiller) • Manganese • Higher levels of electrolytes • Emotional toxins the body needs to release Tears shed in sorrow carry high concentrations of stress chemicals, cleansing the body of what weighs it down. Tears of joy or laughter contain fewer stress hormones and higher levels of endorphins. Emotional tears are part of God's detoxing design. They are a gift for regulating our nervous system and restoring hormonal balance. When Tears Are Not Cried, the Body Pays the Price Uncried tears are not inert. Those stress chemicals remain within the system, moving into the bloodstream, muscles, and face. This is why people who cannot cry often report: • Headaches • Face tension • Sinus pressure • Jaw tightness • Neck strain • Shallow breathing • A tight band across the forehead Those tears were meant to flow outward; when held back, their chemical load circulates within the body. This leads to inflammation, congestion, and heightened stress responses. The nervous system stays in "fight, flight, or freeze," because the release valve has been locked. 📖 "Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but when the desire comes, it is a tree of life." — Proverbs 13:12 (NKJV) Not only does the heart grow sick, the body does too. The Link Between Suppressed Tears and Sinus Issues The sinuses are finely tuned, delicate spaces with mucous membranes designed to stay open, lubricated, and gently drained. Chronic emotional suppression affects the sinuses in three key ways: 1. Inflammation from Stress Chemicals — Stress hormones intended to be released through tears stay trapped, increasing inflammation in mucosal tissues. These hormones increase inflammation in mucosal tissues — particularly in the sinuses. This swelling narrows drainage channels and increases pressure. 2. Tension in the Face — People who refuse to cry often tighten their eyelids, jaw, nose bridge, and forehead. Eyelids, jaw, nose bridge, and forehead tighten, restricting drainage. 3. Emotional Freeze Mirrors Physical Freeze — The “Frozen” Emotional State Mirrors a Frozen Sinus State. Emotional freeze often becomes physiological freeze. What is locked in the heart becomes locked in the head. People raised where crying was unsafe often develop: • Chronic sinusitis • Post-nasal drip • Non-allergy congestion • Pressure headaches • Pain behind the eyes • Sensitivity around the nasal bridge The root is not physical alone, but emotional suppression made bodily. 3. Empathy Becomes Difficult Tears soften us. They allow us to enter into another's pain. They teach us how to feel with others. Refusing to cry often creates emotional distance — a survival instinct that helps a child cope with overwhelming environments. That tender little heart learns to observe pain from a distance rather than entering into it. Those who cannot cry often struggle with vulnerability and trust. 4. Anger Becomes the Substitute Emotion When tears are silenced, anger becomes the language the heart feels safest expressing. It is louder, less vulnerable and more in control. Anger becomes armour for the one who was never allowed to weep. Yet under anger’s heat often lies a river of uncried tears longing for release. 📖 "Cease from anger, and forsake wrath; do not fret — it only causes harm." — Psalm 37:8 (NKJV) 5. Compassion Towards Self Diminishes The inability to cry often turns inward as a harsh inner critic. If tears are weak, then need is weak, and softness becomes shameful. The person who cannot cry comforts others effortlessly but struggles to comfort themselves. 6. Relationships Are Affected Tears build connection. They signal trust, intimacy, and safety. A person who cannot cry struggles to be fully known. Loved ones may sense the distance, though they may not understand it. When a person cannot cry, vulnerability becomes foreign, though their capacity for love remains deep. 7. Spiritual Roots: When Tears Were Silenced in Childhood Many adults who cannot cry once made childhood vows: • "I will be strong." • "I will not need comfort." • "I will not cry again." These vows create spiritual and emotional blockades. 📖 "The Lord is near to those who have a broken heart, and saves such as have a contrite spirit." — Psalm 34:18 (NKJV) God saw every tear, even the ones that never fell. 8. Healing Begins the Moment Tears Return The consequences of never crying may be severe, though not permanent. God knows how to lead His children back to tear-soaked ground. He knows how to thaw what was frozen. Healing often begins the moment the first tear falls — not as weakness but as worship, not as loss of control but as surrender into the hands of a Father who holds every drop. 📖 "You number my wanderings; put my tears into Your bottle; are they not in Your book?" — Psalm 56:8 (NKJV) For decades, I lived beneath a vow made at three or four years old after my head was pushed under cold water for crying. I covered my mouth and vowed never to cry again. That vow shaped my emotions, my nervous system, and even my physical health. When the Holy Spirit uncovered this vow, , the tears I had suppressed since childhood finally found release. The vow shattered. My chest softened. My sinuses loosened. As the tears returned, so did: • Sinus relief • Facial relaxation • Deep breaths • Warmth • Peace 👉🏻 Read: The Water Was Cold — A testimony of a vow, a frightened little girl, and the healing that came when tears were finally allowed to flow. https://www.trixiscreations.com/this-is-my-story/the-water-was-cold Every tear is noticed, honoured, and held. 9. A Final Whisper of Hope If your tears were silenced, ignored, punished, or shamed in childhood, God is restoring what was stolen. God is restoring what was stolen. He is teaching your heart a new language — the language of safety, tenderness, and holy release. You were never meant to carry pain alone. Tears are part of His design for healing. Tears are detox. Tears are worship. Tears are freedom. God is bringing back to life the very part of your heart that once had to hide. 📖 "Those who sow in tears shall reap in joy." — Psalm 126:5 (NKJV) I have lived this story. The vow not to cry shaped my body, my sinuses, my nervous system, and my relationship with emotion. Yet God has been gently restoring this sacred gift to me — drop by drop, moment by moment. I have already begun reclaiming that sacred gift. Each tear that falls now is not a sign of returning weakness but of a returning heart — awake, alive, and learning to breathe again. 💡 Reflection • Where in your story did tears become unsafe? 🤔 • What emotions sit just beneath the surface, waiting for permission to be felt? 🤔 • How might God be inviting you into a gentler way of being with your own heart? 🤔 • What would it look like to allow tears to become worship rather than weakness? 🤔 🎺 Affirmation God welcomes my tears. My heart is safe to feel again. Healing flows where my tears fall. 🙌 Prayer Father, thank You for designing tears as a gift of healing. Thank You for seeing every tear that never had the chance to fall. I ask that You restore what was frozen within me and gently reopen the pathways of my heart. Make it safe for me to feel, to soften, and to release what I have carried alone for far too long. Teach my body the rhythm of peace again and let my tears become worship, surrender, and freedom. In Jesus' Name, Amen.

The Generous Way of Jesus

Discovering purpose through a life poured out in love

Jesus lived with an open hand and an open heart. He had no earthly wealth to boast of, yet Scripture reveals Him as the most generous person who ever walked this earth. He gave His time to the lonely, His energy to the weary, and His full attention to every soul who drew near. He lived a life marked by joy because He understood the profound truth He later affirmed: 📖 "It is more blessed to give than to receive." — Acts 20:35 (NKJV) Generosity was not something Jesus practised when He had excess. It was the overflow of who He was. His giving flowed from a heart anchored in the Father’s love, a heart that trusted the provision of Heaven even when His hands held little. There is a holy beauty in that simplicity, a reminder that generosity is never about having more, it is about becoming more like Him. When we give — our time, our resources, our encouragement, our presence — something shifts within us. We step into the very design God wove into our souls. We align ourselves with the heart of Christ, who poured Himself out for the world. If you feel stuck or uncertain about your purpose, generosity often becomes the doorway through which clarity returns. Start small. Meet one quiet need. Speak one word of life. Offer one act of service. Every offering becomes a seed, and every seed begins to reshape your inner landscape. The true blessing of generosity is not what returns to us, although God is faithful to provide. The real gift is the transformation that takes place within — the slow, gentle shaping of our hearts into the likeness of Jesus. May every act of giving draw you deeper into the joy He promised. 💡Reflection: • Where is God inviting me to give from the heart today? 🤔 • What small act of generosity could I offer that reflects the love of Jesus? 🤔 • How has giving in the past shifted my sense of purpose or identity? 🤔 • What fears keep me from giving freely, and what truth does God speak into those fears? 🤔 🎺Affirmation: I am becoming who God designed me to be, one generous offering at a time. His joy flows through every act of love I give. 🙌 Prayer: Father, thank You for the example of Jesus, whose generosity flowed from pure love. Shape my heart to reflect His spirit of giving. Teach me to offer my time, my energy, and my resources with joy and trust. Help me recognise the needs around me and respond with compassion. May every act of generosity draw me deeper into the purpose You have prepared for me. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

When Self‑Hatred Breaks — Healing Begins

A gentle testimony of how unseen rebellion wounded my body, and how repentance opened the door to freedom

There is a tender place in my story where the Lord peeled back a layer I had carried for most of my life. Some stories we carry silently for years, sometimes for decades, before we dare to name them. My journey with self‑hatred is one of those stories. It shaped how I saw myself, how I treated myself, and how I expected others to treat me. It was woven into the deepest layers of my identity long before I understood its cost. It was subtle, familiar, woven into my thoughts like background noise. I never recognised it as sin, never imagined it could grieve His heart. I simply believed it was the truth about me. For decades, I held myself to impossible standards. I judged myself harshly, criticised every flaw, condemned every shortcoming and believed the lie that I was unworthy of being loved, seen, or chosen, undeserving of care, and unacceptable in the eyes of others. I pushed myself harder than anyone else ever would, punishing myself for past failures and convincing myself that disappointment was my portion. I judged myself more severely than anyone else ever could. I rejected parts of myself that God had lovingly created. I called myself names He never once spoke over me. I believed lies about my worth and hid behind perfectionism, self‑protection and inner vows. What I never realised was that this deep self‑rejection was more than emotional pain. It became a form of spiritual rebellion because it stood in direct opposition to what God says is true about me. Not rebellion in the sense of defiance, but rebellion through agreement with a lie. Rebellion through rejecting what God calls good. Rebellion through partnering with shame instead of truth. When I hated myself, I was unintentionally opposing the One who created me, the One who calls me beloved, chosen, and wonderfully made. The Holy Spirit revealed, with such gentleness, that self‑hatred is not humility and it is not harmless. It is the quiet refusal to agree with God's love. It is the inner voice that says, "I know myself better than You do, Lord," and "My opinion of me outweighs Yours." It is distrust wrapped in self‑protection. It is unbelief clothed in familiarity. This revelation came during my healing journey, at a moment when I felt the deep ache of worthlessness rise again. The Holy Spirit whispered, not in condemnation, but with such compassion: "This is rebellion, beloved — not because you are wicked, but because you were wounded. You have believed another voice above Mine." Those words broke something open in me. I saw how self‑hatred had become a fortress, a place where I hid from love and resisted the truth of who Jesus says I am. It had shaped inner vows, bitter judgments against myself, false refuges, and patterns that kept me small, silent, and afraid. It had become the lens through which I saw everything, even God. So I did the only thing I could do — I brought it to Him. I repented. I renounced every agreement with self‑contempt. I laid down the belief that I was unworthy of love, caring, compassion and acceptance. I asked Jesus to forgive me for rejecting the one He so dearly loves. I invited His truth to rewrite the places where self‑hatred once ruled. And He came. He did not come with judgment, but with restoration. He washed over me with love that was patient, holy, and unashamed. He reminded me that I am His workmanship, His beloved daughter, fearfully and wonderfully made, and that to despise myself was to despise the work of His hands. 📖 "You are altogether beautiful, My love; there is no flaw in you." — Song of Solomon 4:7 (NKJV) 📖 "We are His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works." — Ephesians 2:10 (NKJV) As I repented for the hidden rebellion of self‑hatred — for agreeing with the enemy's voice over God's, for rejecting His workmanship, for dishonouring the daughter He formed — something shifted again inside me. It did not feel dramatic. It felt like surrender. It felt like letting go of a heavy garment I had worn far too long. After that repentance, I began noticing something unexpected. The allergies that had plagued me for decades, especially during the mornings and change of seasons, began to reduce. The constant irritation, the heightened reactions, the sensitivity that made my body feel fragile — they softened. Days passed, then weeks, and I realised the intensity had dropped significantly. The connection became clear. My body had been responding to the poison of inner hatred. When I broke the agreement with it, the symptoms began to lose their grip. 📖 "I will praise You, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made." — Psalm 139:14 (NKJV) 📖 "Beloved, I pray that you may prosper in all things and be in health, just as your soul prospers." — 3 John 1:2 (NKJV) Self‑hatred wounds the soul. The wounded soul affects the body. Yet Jesus restores all three — spirit, soul, and body — through the Cross. When I repented, I was not simply rejecting a mindset. I was renouncing a spiritual agreement that had shaped my life. I was turning toward the truth of who God says I am. I was stepping out of rebellion and into alignment with His heart. The healing that followed — both emotional and physical — was His kindness. Self‑hatred lost its grip that day. It still whispers sometimes, as old memories do, yet it no longer has authority. I know now that agreeing with those lies is stepping into rebellion, and agreeing with His truth is stepping into freedom. Jesus is teaching me to love who He created. To honour the story He is writing. To see myself through the eyes of the One who formed me with intention, purpose, and tenderness. I share this as part of my journey of becoming whole — learning that healing is not only about overcoming trauma, but also about surrendering the ways we have stood against the Father's love without even realising it. His kindness leads us to repentance, and repentance leads us home. 💡Reflection: Where have I believed lies about myself that oppose God's truth? 🤔 How has self‑hatred shaped vows, expectations, or behaviours in my life? 🤔 In what ways might self‑rejection or self‑hatred be affecting my body or my relationships? 🤔 How is the Holy Spirit inviting me to see myself through the Father's eyes today? 🤔 What would it look like to agree with God's love today? 🤔 🎺Affirmation: I am beautifully made, deeply loved, and fully accepted by the God who crafted every part of me with purpose and delight. I choose to align with His truth about me. I break the agreement with every lie that opposes His truth and step into the freedom of being His beloved. 🙌 Prayer: Jesus, thank You for revealing the hidden roots of self‑hatred and for gently leading me into repentance and freedom. Thank You for healing not only my heart but also my body as I aligned myself with Your truth. Teach me to love what You love, especially when that love is directed toward me. Heal the places that still tremble and rewrite my heart with Your gentleness. Teach me to see myself as You see me, to honour the workmanship of Your hands, and to walk daily in the liberty You purchased for me. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Spiritual Fathers and Mothers

A reflection on the sacred calling to guide, steady, and nurture the generations

The need for spiritual fathers and mothers is rooted in their irreplaceable role in discipleship, generational transition, spiritual guidance, and bringing God’s order into chaotic times. These seasoned, steadfast pillars offer the kind of mature leadership essential for nurturing and equipping those who come after them, ensuring the kingdom advances with wisdom, love, and holy resilience. Defining Spiritual Fathers and Mothers Apostle John describes spiritual fathers and mothers as those who “know Him who is from the beginning.” This knowing is not intellectual alone, it is experience shaped by years of walking with God, often through fire, sorrow, disappointment, and the unexpected mercies that follow. They understand deeply and unshakably that God can bring order and light out of chaos and darkness. A spiritual father or mother is often someone who has: • Walked with God for decades, long enough to see His patterns of faithfulness. • Endured trials, sorrow, and suffering, emerging refined rather than bitter. • Learned by lived experience that God really does turn all things to good. • Attained a high level of spiritual maturity, remaining strong in the Word and faithful in the fight of faith. The prophet Malachi declared that in the last days God would turn the hearts of the fathers and mothers toward the children, and the hearts of the children toward them. This calling is not optional, it is a holy summons for mature believers to arise into a fresh anointing for their generation. The Need for Mentorship and Generational Transition One of the greatest needs in the kingdom today is the intentional raising of the next generation. Strong, steady spiritual fathers and mothers provide the bridge between seasons, ensuring the wisdom of heaven is not lost but carried forward. 1. Training Future Leaders: Their assignment includes training and equipping young adults — helping them grow into the fathers and mothers they are destined to become. 2. Guiding the Young: The young desperately need fathers and mothers, and cannot step into their calling without them. They are invited to run with the generals, learn from them, and ultimately run further. 3. Facilitating Maturity: Fathers and mothers help believers move through the stages of growth described by John — from children who simply know their sins are forgiven, to young men and women who are strong in the Word, to those who know Him who is from the beginning. The tragedy of the Western church is that many have remained spiritual children when they should have become steady, wise, resilient adults in the faith. 4. Passing Authority: Apostolic fathers raise up gatekeepers and stewards, passing the keys to them. Their desire is to arrive in heaven empty, having poured out everything entrusted to them. The Need for Stability in Chaotic Times Spiritual fathers and mothers carry a calming presence. They help younger believers discern God in seasons where life feels formless, dark, or confusing. • Countering Chaos: They help the young recognise that chaos never intimidates God. The Holy Spirit still hovers over the darkness and is always ready to bring forth light. • Operating in Spiritual Authority: They understand that knowing "Him who is from the beginning" means walking in the unshakable truth that God’s order stands above all earthly turbulence. • Intercession and Assignment: Fathers and mothers labour in intercession — opening what heaven desires opened and closing what heaven desires closed. They touch heaven in prayer until God responds. • Leading to Freedom: Their leadership is marked by unconditional love and persistent prayer, echoing Moses who led whole nations from bondage to freedom. Spiritual fathers and mothers translate the theology of God’s sovereignty into lived reality. Through their lives, they demonstrate that God still brings light out of darkness and order out of chaos, inviting the generations behind them to walk securely in His truth. A Personal Reflection I often think of how different my life might have been if I had grown up with spiritual parents guiding me. There are choices I may have made differently, paths I may have avoided, and wounds that might never have formed. The ache of that absence is real. It is a grief for the wisdom I never received and the support I quietly longed for. Yet in that longing, God has revealed something tender and profound. The absence of spiritual parents did not weaken me; it shaped me into someone who carries deep compassion, discernment, and resilience. I became what I never had. I learned God’s heart in wilderness places, discovered His faithfulness without earthly models, and found my voice in seasons where no one could speak for me. This is why younger hearts feel safe with me. This is why I nurture instinctively. This is why I guide gently and see deeply. I carry the very anointing I once longed to receive. 📖 "And we know that all things work together for good to those who love God, to those who are the called according to His purpose." — Romans 8:28 (NKJV) God has not simply healed those unparented places, He has repurposed them and for that I'm truly grateful. I did not inherit wisdom; I became wisdom. My story is not late. My calling is unfolding at the appointed time. Something beautiful unfolded recently, and it has caused me to pause. Shortly after Aunty Delice’s passing in early October, one of the older ladies who attended the Speakers Tribe bootcamp with me in March reached out on LinkedIn just to see how I was doing. She lives in the South Island — Christchurch, if I remember correctly. We caught up over Google Meet, and since then we have stayed in touch, usually every fortnight. She told me she loved my energy, wanted to stay in the know with how I was doing and has been incredibly supportive during this current season. As I reflect on her presence, her kindness, and the way she checks in with me, the thought gently rose in my spirit: Could this be the Lord answering my prayer for a spiritual mother?🤔 It is a tender possibility, and one that feels like holy timing. Perhaps God has been preparing this moment for years, waiting until my heart was ready to receive such a gift. 💡 Reflection • What spiritual fathers or mothers has God placed in your life, and what have they taught you? 🤔 • Where might you be called to step into spiritual parenthood for someone else? 🤔 • Which parts of your story reveal that you “know Him who is from the beginning”? 🤔 🎺 Affirmation You are part of a story much bigger than your own. Heaven has woven you into a generational tapestry, where your journey, faith, and healing will ripple outward to bless those who come after you. 🙌 Prayer Father, thank You for the spiritual fathers and mothers who have gone before us, whose faithfulness has shaped our paths. Strengthen them, bless them, and raise up many more. Form our hearts to be wise, steady, and surrendered, that we may one day carry the mantle of spiritual parenthood with grace. Teach us to love well, pray deeply, and guide the younger ones entrusted to us. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

The Water Was Cold

A testimony of a vow, a frightened little girl, and the healing that came when tears were finally allowed to flow

Set Free at Dawn

A testimony of repentance, release, and the God who heals even what we normalise

There was a season in my life when every morning began with pain. I woke up around 5 am. to a familiar knot twisted deep in my stomach. It had become such a constant companion that I no longer questioned it. I accepted it as part of my day, part of my body, part of my normal. I prayed about many things in that season, yet strangely, I never connected these cramps to anything spiritual. I simply lived around them. Then came D-School. One of the sessions explored the theme of spiritual rebellion, not the loud, dramatic kind often imagined, but the quiet resistance of a heart that had been wounded and learned to protect itself. As I listened, something in me tightened. I recognised that I had carried areas where I had stood back from God, clinging to control with an inner vow that whispered, "I will handle this myself." I did not call it rebellion at the time, yet that is exactly what it was. Holy Spirit, gentle and unhurried, placed His hand on that hidden place. I felt the weight of conviction, not in shame, but in invitation. He was showing me a root I had never named. So I did what I have learned to do on this healing journey. I brought it to Him. I confessed the rebellion. I renounced the vow to protect myself. I surrendered the places where fear had silenced trust. I asked Jesus to forgive me and to take His rightful place in that part of my heart. Nothing dramatic happened in the room except for the tears. No shaking. Only a deep inward exhale. The next morning, I woke as usual and waited for the pain to hit. It had become so normal that I almost braced for it without thinking. Except it never came. The knot was gone. The twisting was gone. The dread was gone. My stomach was calm for the first time in years. A quiet stillness settled where pain had lived, and I knew immediately that something had shifted the moment I repented. What my spirit released, my body also let go. 📖 "He restores my soul." — Psalm 23:3 (NKJV) 📖 "Where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is liberty." — 2 Corinthians 3:17 (NKJV) From that day to this one, the cramps have never returned. Not once. Not even faintly. The healing was complete because the root had been dealt with. It became one of the clearest testimonies in my life that God cares about the things we think are small, the symptoms we normalise, the aches we silently endure. His compassion reaches into the places we forget to pray about. This testimony reminds me that true healing often begins with repentance. When we come out of agreement with the things that keep us distant from His heart, we make room for His peace to settle where pain once ruled. I share this today to honour the One who sees every hidden wound, every clenched muscle, every place in our bodies where unspoken battles have quietly taken their toll. Jesus is still the Healer. He still sets captives free. Sometimes the chains are loud and visible, and sometimes they slip off in the quiet of dawn when we realise the pain never arrived. 💡Reflection: • Where might my heart still be holding places of quiet resistance before God? 🤔 • What physical symptoms have I normalised that could be connected to deeper heart matters? 🤔 • How is Holy Spirit inviting me into deeper trust and surrender today? 🤔 🎺Affirmation: I am held, seen, and gently restored by the God who heals not only my heart but also the places where my body has carried silent battles. His freedom is my inheritance. 🙌 Prayer: Jesus, thank You for being the Healer of my whole being. Thank You for meeting me in places I once hid, for lifting rebellion from my heart, and for bringing peace to my body. Lead me gently into deeper surrender, and show me any areas where I still hold back from Your love. May Your freedom continue to multiply in my life. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Beyond the Body: 7 Unconventional Truths About Why We Get Sick

Exploring the hidden intersections between our spiritual life and our physical wellbeing

Many of us know the frustration of living with chronic illness. We face unexplained symptoms, receive diagnoses with no apparent cure, and often discover that, for all its incredible value, modern medicine does not always offer answers or cures. We pray for healing and follow doctors' orders, yet the sickness lingers, urging us to wonder what we might be missing. Dr Henry Wright's life work reveals a profound truth: there is an often-overlooked spiritual dimension to our physical health. His teachings do not focus on disease management but on disease eradication and prevention. His central framework is striking in its simplicity and depth, presenting spiritually rooted disease as the fruit of separation on three levels: separation from God, separation from ourselves, and separation from others. This reflection explores seven of the most impactful truths that flow from this framework. They gently challenge our conventional understanding of health and invite us to consider a more excellent way. 1. God's Perfect Will Is Not Merely to Heal You — It Is to Keep You from Getting Sick This principle shifts our entire perspective. It does not mean God is unwilling to heal; it reveals that His primary desire is not intervention but prevention. His perfect will is that we live in a state of divine health, so sickness is unable to take root. God's perfect will is not to heal you; His perfect will is that you do not get sick. 📖"And the very God of peace sanctify you wholly; and I pray God your whole spirit and soul and body be preserved blameless unto the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ — 1 Thessalonians 5:23 This transforms how we approach our spiritual walk. Rather than waiting until we are unwell to seek God for deliverance, we are invited into a lifestyle of divine alignment. Scriptures such as Exodus 15, Deuteronomy 28 and Psalm 91 assure us that obedience and intimacy with God protect us from disease. The focus moves from reactive healing to proactive wholeness. 2. An Estimated 80% of Diseases Have a Spiritual Root At the heart of this teaching is a startling revelation: the majority of illnesses, especially chronic and incurable ones, originate in a spiritual problem. Physical symptoms are not dismissed; they are understood as manifestations of a deeper spiritual unrest. About 80 percent of all diseases have a spiritual root with psychological and biological expressions. Our modern worldview often separates the physical from the spiritual, yet the early meaning of "disease" was a lack of ease — a lack of peace. When peace erodes, our bodies eventually reveal the fracture. Healing, therefore, must involve addressing the spiritual root, not just the physical branch. 3. The Tripartite Root of Spiritual Dis-ease Spiritually rooted disease is understood to be the direct result of separation on three primary levels. When a person is not at peace (dis-ease), this is considered a spiritual issue that stems from a breakdown in relationships on these three dimensions: 1. Separation from God  This level involves separation from God, His Word, His person, and His love. Disease follows this relationship breakdown. Diseases in one's life can result from separation from God and His Word in specific areas of life. The breakdown of a relationship with God is primary and is found right there in Deuteronomy 28. 2. Separation from Yourself  This separation is characterised by not accepting yourself, not loving yourself, self-hatred, self-bitterness, self-accusation and suffering from guilt and condemnation. If an individual does not accept themselves, they are removing themselves from God's sustaining power of life. This separation opens the individual up to the enemy. Many autoimmune diseases, such as lupus, Crohn’s disease, diabetes (Type 1), rheumatoid arthritis, and multiple sclerosis, are considered to have a spiritual root of self-hatred, self-bitterness, and guilt. 3. Separation from Others  This level involves breaches in relationships with other people. It includes issues such as:     ◦ Bitterness.     ◦ Hatred.     ◦ Envy and jealousy.     ◦ Unforgiveness toward others.     ◦ Anger.     ◦ Competition, performance, drivenness, and lack of nurturing/love. When these spiritual roots (sins or spiritual defects) are addressed and removed, the body is expected to heal itself. The beginning of all healing of spiritually rooted diseases involves making peace with God, accepting yourself, and accepting others. 4. Bitterness and Unforgiveness Are Direct Pathways to Sickness Dr Wright’s research reveals a sobering truth: bitterness is one of the strongest spiritual blocks to healing. This is a clear example of how separation from others creates disease. Bitterness, resentment, and unforgiveness are not merely emotional burdens; they are spiritual conditions that bind the body. Bitterness is described as the first step in a devastating seven-stage progression: unforgiveness, resentment, retaliation, anger, hatred, violence, and murder. Scripture draws a firm line: 📖 "But if you do not forgive men their trespasses, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses." — Matthew 6:15 (NKJV) 📖 "If someone says, “I love God,” and hates his brother, he is a liar; for he who does not love his brother whom he has seen, how can he love God whom he has not seen?" — 1 John 4:20 (NKKJV) 📖 "You have heard that it was said to those of old, ‘You shall not commit adultery.’ But I say to you that whoever looks at a woman to lust for her has already committed adultery with her in his heart." — Matthew 5:27–28 (NKJV) Forgiveness is not only a relational command; it is a spiritual safeguard. Refusing to forgive places us outside the flow of God's healing presence. Reconciliation with others restores our connection with Him and releases health into our bodies. 5. Self-Hatred Can Manifest as Autoimmune Disease One of the most striking and compassionate insights in this framework is the link between autoimmune conditions and separation from ourselves. Diseases such as Lupus, Type 1 Diabetes, Crohn's Disease, Rheumatoid Arthritis, and Multiple Sclerosis often reveal an internal world where a person is spiritually attacking themselves. All autoimmune diseases have a spiritual root of self-hatred, self-bitterness, and guilt. In the body, the immune system attacks living tissue that belongs to the person, mirroring what is happening within: a heart turned against itself. True healing involves far more than suppressing the immune system. It requires forgiveness. dismantling inner judgments, releasing guilt, and learning to see ourselves through God's eyes of love. 6. Fear Is a Primary Spiritual Culprit Behind Many Illnesses Fear is more than an emotion; it is a spiritual force that separates us from God. It undermines faith and binds us in stress, anxiety, and unrest. This spiritual climate often opens the door to conditions such as: High Blood Pressure Asthma Fibromyalgia Multiple Chemical Sensitivities / Environmental Illness Panic Attacks Scripture gives us the divine antidote: 📖 "For God has not given us the spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind." — 2 Timothy 1:7 (NKJV) Power represents the Holy Spirit, love represents the Father, and a sound mind represents the Word — Jesus. When these dwell richly within us, fear loses its authority and its influence on our bodies. 7. Your Ancestors' Patterns Can Impact Your Health Today Many of us can trace patterns in our family lines — whether behaviours, fears, relational fractures, or even illnesses. These are often reflections of what Scripture refers to as generational iniquities. Abraham lied about Sarah being his sister. Isaac later repeated the same behaviour in a similar situation. A pattern of fear travelled down the family line. Spiritual patterns can be inherited, and biological predispositions are often tied to spiritual roots. Yet God provides a way of breaking these cycles. If we do not deal with what has happened in our family tree, our children may inherit our patterns. Recognising, confessing, and breaking these generational issues restores blessing and redirects the spiritual legacy of our line. Personal Testimonies of Healing As I have walked this journey of uncovering spiritual roots and inviting God into the hidden places of my heart, healing has begun to move through my body in ways I never expected. Each testimony carries the gentle fingerprints of the Holy Spirit's compassion and the restoring power of Jesus. The Water Was Cold — A testimony of a vow, a frightened little girl, and the healing that came when tears were finally allowed to flow For decades, I lived under the shadow of a childhood vow I made at just three or four years old, after having my head pushed under cold water for crying. I gasped, covered my mouth, and silently promised myself I would never cry again. That vow shaped my nervous system, my emotional world, and even my physical health. When the body does not release emotional tears, the stress hormones meant to exit through weeping stay trapped. These hormones increase inflammation in mucosal tissues — particularly in the sinuses. This swelling narrows drainage channels and increases pressure. Emotional freeze often becomes physiological freeze. What is locked in the heart becomes locked in the head. People who grew up in environments where crying was unsafe frequently develop: Chronic sinusitis Post-nasal drip Congestion with no allergy source Pain behind the eyes Pressure headaches Sensitivity around the nasal bridge The root is not physical alone. It is emotional suppression made bodily. When the Holy Spirit uncovered this vow, the tears I had suppressed since childhood finally found release. Something shifted in my chest and my sinuses — a loosening, a softening. The chronic tightness and inability to breathe deeply began to ease as the vow broke and the little girl within me was finally allowed to be heard. Set Free at Dawn — A testimony of repentance, release, and the God who heals even what we normalise There was a season in my life when every morning began with pain. I woke up around 5 am to a familiar knot twisted deep in my stomach. It had become such a constant companion that I no longer questioned it. I accepted it as part of my day, part of my body, part of my normal. I prayed about many things in that season, yet strangely, I never connected these cramps to anything spiritual. I simply lived around them until Elijah House D-School. One of the sessions explored the theme of spiritual rebellion, not the loud, dramatic kind often imagined, but the quiet resistance of a heart that had been wounded and learned to protect itself. As I listened, something in me tightened. I recognised that I had carried areas where I had stood back from God, clinging to control with an inner vow that whispered, "I will handle this myself." I did not call it rebellion at the time, yet that is exactly what it was. The Holy Spirit, gentle and unhurried, placed His hand on that hidden place. I felt the weight of conviction, not in shame, but in invitation. He was showing me a root I had never named. So I did what I have learned to do on this healing journey. I brought it to Him. As I repented for partnering with fear and embraced the truth of God's steadfast presence, something broke. I confessed my rebellion. I renounced my vow to protect myself. I surrendered the places where fear had silenced trust. I asked Jesus to forgive me and to take His rightful place in that part of my heart. Nothing dramatic happened in the room except for the tears. No shaking. Only a deep inward exhale. Peace — real, tangible peace — washed through my body. The trembling stopped. My breathing steadied. For the first time in a long time, my body knew rest and I woke up the next morning and ever since, without the familiar stomach cramps every morning. Healing came not through striving but through surrender. When Self‑Hatred Breaks — Healing Begins One of the most profound shifts came when the Holy Spirit exposed the quiet self‑hatred I had carried for years. Allergic Rhinitis had plagued my body for decades, yet no medical solution brought lasting relief. As I repented for the inner judgments spoken over myself — the harsh words, the guilt, the belief that I was never enough — something beautiful happened. My allergies began to settle. My food intolerances have reduced. My body stopped attacking itself in the same way because I was no longer attacking myself spiritually. Freedom came with repentance, and my body responded. Other Moments of Healing Along the Way: There have been countless smaller moments — each one a thread God wove into the tapestry of my restoration: Times when chest pain eased immediately after releasing bitterness. Days when the physical heaviness lifted as soon as I chose forgiveness. Nights when the tightness in my body softened after renouncing lies and embracing God's truth about who I am. Days when backache disappeared after repenting for not trusting God to have my back. These stories are not just memories; they are milestones. Each one whispers the same truth: healing is not merely physical, it is profoundly spiritual. Conclusion: A More Excellent Way The thread woven through these truths is simple yet profound: our physical health is deeply connected to our spiritual well-being. Our relationships with God, ourselves, and others profoundly influence the health of our bodies. This perspective does not reject medicine; it expands the conversation. It invites us to consider the roots beneath the symptoms, the stories beneath the pain, and the spiritual pathways that may be shaping our physical lives. It asks a gentle but powerful question: What if lasting health requires not only treating the body but healing the spirit?🤔 Could this be the more excellent way?🤔 Are you weighed down by physical issues that medicine has no answers for?🤔  May I gently encourage you to consider exploring the spiritual roots that may be influencing your health?🤔 Two profoundly insightful resources that shaped my own healing journey are: A More Excellent Way by Dr Henry W. Wright Exposing the Spiritual Roots of Disease by Dr Henry W. Wright You can also visit his website for more teaching, testimonies, and helpful resources: https://www.beinhealth.com/ Sometimes the key we have been searching for is not in the body but in the heart — and healing begins the moment truth meets the hidden places we did not know were still hurting. 💡 Reflection Prompts Where have I felt separation — from God, myself, or others — and how has it touched my physical or emotional health? 🤔 Which of the six truths resonates most deeply with my current season, and why? 🤔 Are there places of unforgiveness, bitterness, or self-judgement that the Holy Spirit might be inviting me to release? 🤔 What generational patterns have I noticed in my family line, and how might God be asking me to respond? 🤔 How is the Holy Spirit inviting me into a lifestyle of divine health rather than reactive healing? 🤔 🎺 Affirmation I am not at the mercy of my past, my fears, or my family line. I am held, loved, and led by a God who heals from the inside out. His truth becomes my peace, His presence becomes my strength, and His love restores my body, my mind, and my spirit. 🙌 Prayer Father, thank You for revealing the pathways that lead to wholeness. Draw my heart back into alignment with Yours, healing every place of separation — from You, from myself, and from others. Restore peace where fear has lived, pour love where bitterness has taken root, and speak truth where lies have settled into my identity. Break every generational pattern that has shaped my health or my heart, and lead me into the fullness of Your divine design. I welcome the Holy Spirit to guide me gently, restore me wholly, and anchor me firmly in Your love. In Jesus' Name, Amen.

Learning to Speak My Needs with God Beside Me

A gentle reflection on presence, honesty, and the safety found in Him

Today’s guided journey through Proverbs 25 became a soft unravelling of places inside me where pressure, silence, and fear have shaped my responses for decades. I began this study holding the belief that Proverbs offered practical advice and heart checks. As I walked through each verse, I discovered how deeply those truths were meant to reshape not only my thinking but my emotional patterns. It is the glory of God to conceal a matter, But the glory of kings is to search out a matter. I realised how much the weight of responsibility and the ache of feeling overlooked have influenced my reactions. These two have often pulled me between opposite extremes: withdrawing into silence or over-functioning to hold everything together. I saw so clearly that my desire to avoid conflict or tension has kept me quiet when my heart longed to speak. Proverbs 25 gently presented another way. A way of presence rather than pressure. A way of wisdom rather than haste. A way of gentle strength rather than silence. I recognised that my greatest struggle lies not in caring for others but in naming my own needs without fear. Step by step, I could see how the fear of causing trouble had shaped my instinct to freeze under pressure. That freeze often led to regret — the quiet sorrow of knowing I hadn’t spoken truthfully in the moment. I saw how much I feared that asking for time or space might cause people to disengage or lose interest. Yet the Holy Spirit revealed a deeper truth: real relationships can bear the weight of pauses. Those who withdraw when I express a simple need were never truly present in the first place. As I moved deeper into the chapter, I felt something shift. The soft, steady whisper of God’s heart came forward: I am safe to speak truth. I am held even in moments of tension. My needs do not threaten genuine connection. They reveal it. The smallest, kindest step for me now is simply to breathe before responding, creating space for God to enter the moment. I realised that with one quiet prayer — "Lord, be with me right now" — everything changes. His nearness brings reassurance. His presence brings peace. His companionship brings a quiet boldness that makes truth speakable. I ended the study with this tender realisation: I can speak my need to God, who will walk with me through difficult moments. Inviting Him brings safety, clarity, and guidance into my words and actions. From that place of presence, I can respond with confidence and honesty. This is the wisdom Proverbs 25 has planted in me today — a wisdom that steadies, strengthens, and gently sets my heart at peace. 💡 Reflection • Where do I most feel the pressure to respond immediately, and what happens in my body when that moment comes? 🤔 • What truth feels hardest for me to speak, even in safe spaces, and why? 🤔 • How might pausing to breathe help me notice God’s nearness before I react? 🤔 • What small need could I name this week as a practice of gentle strength? 🤔 🎺 Affirmation I am safe to speak the truth because God is with me in every moment. His presence steadies my heart, His wisdom guides my words, and His love gives me courage. I do not lose connection by being honest; I deepen it. I walk in gentle strength, faithful presence, and holy confidence. 🙌 Prayer Jesus, thank You for inviting me into a wiser, gentler rhythm of responding. Teach me to breathe before I speak, to pause long enough to sense Your nearness, and to trust that honesty builds peace. Help me release the pressure to hold everything together and rest in the truth that You are with me, guiding my words with tenderness and clarity. Let my heart be shaped by Your wisdom and my voice be strengthened by Your love. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

When God Promotes You

A gentle meditation on holy disruption and the grace that leads us forward

When I read Jennifer Eivaz’s words — “When God promotes you, it will produce personal chaos…” — something in my spirit whispered, "Yes, I know this place." It is the threshold between what has been and what is becoming, the sacred middle where everything feels unsettled and yet undeniably God-orchestrated. Promotion in the Kingdom rarely looks polished. It often begins with a shaking, a loosening of what once felt stable, a holy disorientation that reveals how tightly we have held to the familiar. The disruption is not punishment. It is preparation. It is the Father gently turning our face toward the new horizon He has already prepared. 📖 "For You have been a strength to the poor, a strength to the needy in his distress, a refuge from the storm, a shade from the heat." — Isaiah 25:4 (NKJV) The old rhythms no longer fit. The grace that once sustained us in the last season seems to lift, urging us to follow the cloud into unfamiliar territory. There is a holy invitation in that moment: cling to God wholeheartedly, not to what once made us feel safe. It is tempting to turn back to what we understood, to the roles we mastered, to the places where our confidence felt intact. Yet the cloud has moved. His grace is now found in the new place and not the old. Every step forward requires trust, courage, and the quiet resolve to say, "Lord, if You are leading me here, I will not shrink back." I have felt this recently — the inner chaos, the stretching, the recalibrating. Growth has required a letting go of old narratives, old comforts, old versions of myself. The refining has been uncomfortable, yet threaded with a profound sense of God’s nearness. He steadies my breath. He invites me to lean in. He teaches me to find balance in His presence rather than in my own understanding. 📖 "Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge Him, and He shall direct your paths." — Proverbs 3:5–6 (NKJV) There is something deeply tender about the way God leads us through transition. He does not rush us. He does not shame us for trembling. He simply stays close, guiding, strengthening, and assuring us that the upheaval is evidence of His hand at work. This is the grace of promotion — the grace found in surrendering the comfortable to embrace the calling. 💡Reflection: • Where have I felt the "personal chaos" of God moving me into a new season? 🤔 • What familiar places or patterns am I being invited to release? 🤔 • How is God drawing me to rely on His presence more deeply during this transition? 🤔 • What new grace do I sense in the place He is leading me now? 🤔 🎺 Affirmation: I am held, guided, and strengthened by God as I step into the new places He has prepared. His grace meets me where the cloud has moved. 🙌 Prayer: Father, thank You for the holy disruptions that draw me deeper into Your purpose. Strengthen my heart when the path feels unfamiliar, and steady my steps as I follow where You lead. Help me discern the shift of Your cloud and trust that Your grace awaits me in the new place. Teach me to cling to You with courage, peace, and expectancy. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Action Builds Confidence

A reflection on courage, becoming, and the sacred rhythm of doing

There is a quiet courage that rises whenever I choose to step forward rather than hold back. The words of Jim Rohn have been echoing in my mind: "We can develop a new discipline of doing rather than neglecting." His voice reminds me that confidence is not something I wait for but something I build with every small, faithful step. 📖 "For we walk by faith, not by sight." — 2 Corinthians 5:7 (NKJV) I used to believe confidence was a feeling, a certainty that would somehow arrive one day, announcing that I was finally ready to speak, to lead, to step into who God called me to be. Life, however, has taught me a gentler truth. Confidence grows within the act of obedience. It breathes through the moments when I choose to prepare, to practise, to show up. The value is not found in the applause I may receive, but in the woman I am becoming through every step of doing. Another statement has been resting on my heart: "It's not what we get that makes us valuable, but what we become in the process of doing that brings value (confidence)." Those words speak to the very marrow of my journey. I spent so many years doubting my abilities and shrinking beneath the weight of old lies. Yet every time I step forward, my voice strengthens. Not because I have arrived, but because I am growing. There is value in who I am becoming. Confidence is not the prize at the end; it is the fruit of the process. As a growing speaker, these truths invite me to keep choosing action, even when my hands tremble. Each draft, each rehearsal, each imperfect attempt becomes a brushstroke in the masterpiece God is shaping. My voice is not a performance; it is an offering. 📖 "Being confident of this very thing, that He who has begun a good work in you will complete it." — Philippians 1:6 (NKJV) These statements also reach into the hearts of those I am called to speak to. Many carry the same hesitations I once lived under. They believe confidence is a prerequisite for starting, when in truth, confidence is born in the very act of beginning. They need to hear that taking the smallest step can awaken something powerful inside them. Transformation rarely happens in the stillness of fear; it awakens in the forward movement of courage. My message to them is simple and tender: you do not need to feel ready to start. You only need to begin. God meets you in the doing. He strengthens you in the stretch. He builds confidence in the very places where you once felt weak. 🎺 Affirmation I grow stronger with every step of obedience, and confidence rises within me as I walk forward in faith. 💡 Reflection • What step of doing has God been inviting me to take lately? 🤔 • Where have I been waiting for confidence instead of building it? 🤔 • How is God shaping who I am becoming through each small act of obedience? 🤔 🙌 Prayer Lord Jesus, thank You for reminding me that confidence is not something I must wait for, but something You shape within me as I choose to step forward. Teach me to trust the process, to walk in obedience, and to honour the quiet courage You are growing in me. Strengthen my voice, steady my heart, and help me lead others with the same grace You have poured into me. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

When Repentance Reveals the Heart

A reflection on David, Saul, and the God who looks beneath the surface

Saul tried to take David out, yet David still stepped into the throne. Betrayal may slow the journey, although it can never cancel the calling. If God anoints a life, He carries it through. The path may bend through desert places and long waits, yet His promise remains steady. David has always captured my heart because he was a man after God's own heart. He was far from perfect. He stumbled, he sinned, he made choices that broke God’s heart and his own. He was deeply human, and his humanity shows us the tender truth that God does not demand flawlessness, only a heart willing to turn back. David’s story teaches me the beauty of quick repentance. Each time he fell, he ran straight into God's presence, not away from it. He grieved his sin, owned his failure, and surrendered without excuses. There was honesty in him, raw and unvarnished, like clay laid open in the Potter’s hands. Saul on the other hand showed what happens when the heart resists that holy unravelling. His repentance was shallow, wrapped in self-preservation rather than surrender. Whenever he was caught in sin, he shifted blame, justified himself, or tried to save face. His words reached God’s ears, yet his heart remained closed. The difference between the two was not perfection but posture. David leaned toward God like a flower turning to light. Saul hid in the shadows of his own fear and pride. Their stories remind me that calling rests not on flawless obedience but on the humility to yield. God can shape any heart that stays soft in His hands. 📖 "The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit, a broken and a contrite heart — these, O God, You will not despise." — Psalm 51:17 (NKJV) When I look at my own life, I see the places where betrayal, misunderstanding, or accusation tried to silence me; yet God still whispered, "Rise." He teaches me again and again that no earthly opposition can overturn a heavenly anointing. He honours the heart that returns to Him, even trembling, even bruised. I am reminded that the throne David stepped into was not seized by force but received through faithfulness. His journey was shaped less by the hostility of Saul and more by the tenderness of God. That is the story I want my own life to echo. 💡 Reflection: • Where do I sense God inviting me to return with a softer heart today? 🤔 • Are there places where I have explained away my actions rather than repenting honestly? 🤔 • How has God sustained my calling through seasons when others misunderstood or opposed me? 🤔 🎺 Affirmation: My calling is safe in God's hands. Nothing done against me can undo what He has spoken over me. My heart remains teachable, tender, and open to His shaping. 🙌 Prayer: Father, thank You for the stories of David and Saul that teach me the value of humility and the beauty of true repentance. Keep my heart soft, willing, and responsive to Your leading. Where I have defended myself instead of surrendering to You, uncover those places gently. Shape me into a person after Your own heart, one who rises not through striving but through trust. Protect the calling You have placed within me and lead me in Your everlasting way. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

God Is Stirring a Boldness in You

When Courage Begins to Rise Where Fear Once Lived

There are moments when the whisper of God becomes unmistakable, when His presence begins to move in the quiet places of the heart with a certainty that cannot be ignored. Today felt like one of those moments. As I read the simple yet stirring words, "God is stirring a boldness in you that fear cannot silence," something within me shifted. It felt like a gentle yet undeniable awakening, a holy invitation to step further into the woman He has been shaping me to become. There has been fear, of course. Fear of getting it wrong, fear of being misunderstood, fear of stepping into spaces I once avoided because my confidence felt too fragile to hold me upright. Yet God has been working beneath the surface, weaving courage through the tender places that had once been overwhelmed by the echoes of past wounds. He has been strengthening my voice, steadying my feet, and teaching my heart to lean into His truth rather than my old narratives. 📖 "For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind." — 2 Timothy 1:7 (NKJV) This Scripture feels especially alive today. The fear that once tried to muffle my voice no longer has the authority it once held. God is awakening a strength that does not roar loudly but stands steadily, like a flame that refuses to be extinguished. It is boldness shaped by His Spirit, not by human striving. It is the quiet kind of courage that walks forward even when the way still feels unfamiliar. Perhaps this boldness has been building for a while now, rising gently with every healed memory, every whispered prayer, every step of obedience. Maybe boldness is not the absence of trembling but the willingness to move anyway because God is the One who calls, equips, and sustains. There is a holy shift unfolding — a reclaiming of identity, a strengthening of purpose, a deepening of trust. Fear may try to speak, yet its voice is losing its power. God is stirring something far stronger, far truer, and far more deeply rooted in His heart. 💡 Reflection • Where has fear tried to silence your voice lately? 🤔 • What is one small step of boldness God may be inviting you to take today? 🤔 • How does knowing God goes before you change the way you face challenges? 🤔 🎺 Affirmation You are rising in God’s strength, not your own. His boldness is awakening within you, steady and unshakeable, and His love will carry you forward with grace. You are held, empowered, and seen — beautifully equipped for the path ahead. 🙌 Prayer: Jesus, thank You for the courage You are forming within me. Thank You for every place where fear once ruled and where Your presence now brings peace, strength, and clarity. Stir in me a boldness that reflects Your love and truth. Teach me to walk forward with a steady heart, trusting that You go before me. Help me to honour You in every step I take, knowing that Your Spirit empowers me to live with holy confidence. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Chosen and Crowned

A reflection on the hidden weight of calling and the God who lifts the humble into purpose

When a woman is chosen by God, life often feels unbearably heavy, almost as though every blessing arrives clothed in the garments of a curse. The path set before her rarely looks noble or glorious; it is carved through valleys where she is tested, attacked, and betrayed. Disappointment shadows her steps like an unwelcome companion, whispering lies of being overlooked or forgotten. Yet beneath the ache, something sacred is forming. Every trial becomes preparation, and every wound carries the fire of refinement. Delays that once felt cruel begin revealing themselves as divine protections, held within the tender hands of the One who sees the end from the beginning. At the appointed moment, she rises. She discovers that she is not merely surviving; she is chosen. God’s strength steadies her shoulders, and His love becomes the crown she never realised she was being shaped to bear. Her pain transforms into purpose, her trials into testimony. What once broke her now builds her. The same God who allowed the stretching now anoints her with authority, positioning her for influence birthed in humility and forged through perseverance. 📖 "And who knows whether you have come to the kingdom for such a time as this?" — Esther 4:14 (NKJV) In this sacred unfolding, she learns that her calling was never about ease; it was always about faithfulness. She becomes a living echo of Esther’s courage, standing in the place God prepared for her long before she understood the weight or wonder of being chosen. He crowns her not because she strove for greatness, but because she surrendered to His shaping. 💡 Reflection: • Which trials in my life have become places of refining rather than defeat? 🤔 • Where might God be delaying something as an act of protection rather than withholding? 🤔 • How have I seen His strength lift me in moments I felt least deserving? 🤔 • What does being "chosen" mean for my next courageous step of obedience? 🤔 • 🎺 Affirmation: You are not overlooked. You are being shaped, strengthened, and positioned. God has woven resilience into your spirit, and He will reveal the fullness of your calling in His perfect time. 🙌 Prayer: Father, thank You for the honour of being chosen, even when the journey feels weighty. Strengthen my heart to trust Your refining work and to walk with courage into every place You call me. Restore my confidence, crown me with Your grace, and help me rise into the purpose You have written over my life. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Carry Each Other’s Burdens

Allowing God’s love to flow through willing hands

There are moments when someone we love finds themselves wandering through a valley so shadowed that words feel small, and comfort seems out of reach. Yet this is precisely where the tenderness of Christ longs to move — not in grand gestures, but through the quiet presence of one heart willing to draw near. Scripture reminds us with gentle clarity: 📖 "Bear one another's burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ." — Galatians 6:2 (NKJV) Every time we pause to notice the ache in another’s story, every time we offer a listening ear or a prayer whispered in faith, we become a vessel of His compassion. The darkest valleys are never meant to be walked alone, and sometimes the miracle God sends is simply the warmth of a friend who refuses to look away. This is His invitation: not to fix what we cannot fix, not to carry what only He can redeem, but to show up with the steady assurance of His love. We become living echoes of His heart when we let kindness rise above convenience, when we choose presence over distance, and when we allow Holy Spirit to guide our steps into someone else’s midnight. There is a holy beauty in this shared pilgrimage. No valley remains untouched by light when the love of Christ meets a burdened soul through obedient hands. 💡Reflection: • Who in my life may be quietly carrying a heavy burden that needs my gentle presence today? 🤔 • What small, tangible act of love could reflect Christ’s compassion to someone walking through a shadowed season? 🤔 • How might I invite Holy Spirit to guide my steps toward those who need encouragement right now? 🤔 🎺Affirmation: You carry the heart of Christ within you, and your willingness to love makes invisible valleys brighter. Someone’s breakthrough may begin with your kindness. 🙌 Prayer: Jesus, open my eyes to the weary ones around me. Let my heart be soft and responsive, ready to pour out the compassion You so freely give. Teach me to carry the burdens of others with grace, humility, and wisdom. Hold us steady as we walk together, and let Your light break through every valley we face. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Learning to See Yourself Without Them

A gentle reflection on rediscovering your God-given identity after emotional neglect

There is a quiet ache that settles in the soul when you realise how much of your life was shaped by longing for the gaze of someone who could not, or would not, truly see you. Emotional neglect teaches you to read the room before you read your own heart, to measure your worth through someone else’s expression, to shrink or stretch yourself depending on what kept the peace. The irony, as the quote so tenderly captures, is that you spent years fighting for their attention, only to discover that healing requires you to stop looking outward and begin looking inward. The Lord, in His gentleness, invites you into a different kind of seeing — not the frantic scanning for approval, but the stillness that comes from being known by Him. 📖 "O Lord, You have searched me and known me. You know my sitting down and my rising up; You understand my thought afar off." — Psalm 139:1–2 (NKJV) Emotional neglect creates hollow spaces inside the heart. Yet these very hollows become the places where Holy Spirit whispers identity, truth, and belonging. You begin to realise that the One who formed you in secret has always seen you, always cherished you, always held the fullness of your worth long before anyone else noticed. Healing means learning to listen to your own breath again. It means asking gentle questions without fear of judgement, noticing what brings peace, what causes tension, and what Holy Spirit is highlighting within. It means letting God rewrite the mirror that others cracked. Identity rebuilt in Christ is not shaky. It is not dependent. It is not fragile. It is anchored in Love Himself. 🎨 A Soul Remembered Like a piece of pottery once overlooked on a shelf, the Master Artist lifts you into His hands, traces your edges, sees the beauty beneath the dust, and restores every fractured place with gold. Emotional neglect may have hidden your shine. God’s healing reveals it. 💡 Reflection Prompts • Where have I relied on others to define my worth? 🤔 • What small signals in my body tell me when I feel unseen or dismissed? 🤔 • Where do I sense Holy Spirit inviting me to reclaim my own voice? 🤔 • What does God say about my identity in His Word, and how can I lean into that truth today? 🤔 🎺 Affirmation You are seen by God, loved beyond measure, and held with a tenderness no human neglect can erase. Your identity is safe in Him. 🙌 Prayer Father, thank You for seeing me fully, even in the places where others did not. Heal the wounds left by emotional neglect and teach me to see myself through Your eyes. Restore the parts of me that were shaped by striving and replace them with the peace of knowing I am Yours. Lead me into a deeper awareness of my worth, and let Your love become the mirror I trust. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Tears That Tell the Truth

A gentle meditation on the courage it takes to feel deeply

There is a sacred honesty that rests within tears; a truth carried in quiet drops when the heart can no longer pretend that everything is fine. Those moments when the voice falters often become the very doorway through which the soul steps forward, revealing what words cannot hold. Tears have always been storytellers, carrying unspoken ache and unfiltered love in their fragile shimmer. Sometimes it is not weakness that wets the eyes but courage. Something inside us dares to be seen. Something once hidden finds the bravery to surface. Even Scripture reminds us that God pays attention to every tear, holding them with tender understanding. 📖 "You number my wanderings; put my tears into Your bottle; are they not in Your book?" — Psalm 56:8 (NKJV) It is comforting to know that tears are never wasted in the Kingdom of God. They water the ground where new strength will grow, softening the soil of the heart so healing can take root. They are evidence that love was real enough to matter and brave enough to be expressed, even when it led us through pain. When tears rise, they often reveal where we long for restoration, where disappointment bruised us more deeply than we admitted, and where hope is still reaching for the light. Jesus Himself wept; His tears were a testament to compassion, connection, and divine empathy. Nothing about our tears is foreign to Him. In the moments when emotion spills over, the Holy Spirit meets us gently, reminding us that vulnerability is not a failing; it is a holy invitation. Healing often begins not in the silence of holding ourselves together but in the honest release of letting ourselves feel. 💡 Reflection • What pain or longing sits behind the tears you’ve tried to hold back lately? 🤔 • Where might God be inviting you to let go of being strong and simply be held? 🤔 • How have your tears revealed something true about your love or your hope? 🤔 • What would it look like to honour your emotions instead of apologising for them? 🤔 🎺 Affirmation Your tears are not signs of weakness. They are whispers of truth, courage, and unseen strength. God treasures every drop and meets you tenderly in each one. 🙌 Prayer Jesus, thank You for seeing the quiet places of my heart where words fail and tears begin to speak. Thank You for holding every sorrow, every longing, and every unspoken ache with divine compassion. Strengthen me where I feel fragile and teach me to trust that You gather every tear with purpose. May my vulnerability become a doorway to deeper healing, deeper hope, and deeper intimacy with You. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Folded Into Peace

A quiet meditation on order, service, and the God who sees every hidden offering

There is something oddly soothing about gathering a chaotic pile of towels and watching it transform into a neat, gentle display of order. The soft rhythm of folding becomes its own steady heartbeat. The quiet roll of each cloth feels like a whispered prayer. The simple satisfaction of seeing chaos become calm reminds me how even the smallest acts of service can turn into a quiet offering of love. Interestingly enough, Sandra spoke about chaos and thresholds at last weekend’s Life Beyond Trauma seminar, and something in me stirred when I remembered it this morning. Chaos is not simply disorder; it is holy invitation. It is often the threshold between what was and what is becoming, the doorway God uses to usher us into healing we did not even know we needed. I have been volunteering to do this almost every day this year. Usually, Roland and I stand at the counter in the Business Lounge at The Crate, immersed in intense conversations while our hands move almost automatically like a factory line. I fold and he rolls them to fill up the crates for the bathrooms. He was not in this morning, so I slipped upstairs into the laundry, tucked away from sight, and allowed the stillness to wrap around me. It felt right to fold and pray, unseen and unhurried fo.r the next hour. As I gathered the unruly pile of towels, I felt that familiar tug in my spirit. The soft rhythm of folding became more than a task. The quiet folding of each cloth felt like a gentle unravelling of the knots within me. Watching chaos settle into calm reminded me that perhaps there is more to this small ritual than meets the eye. I have never been one to do things to be seen. What began as a practical task, a ministry of helps, has become a tender ritual that steadies my thoughts. These small white towels seem to mirror the moments in life that feel jumbled, scattered, and out of place. As I roll them and place them into the crate, I am reminded that God is a God of order, peace, and gentle restoration. Much like Roland and I care to do this with excellence, God quietly arranges what feels messy. He even cares about the details no one else notices. 📖 "Let all things be done decently and in order." — 1 Corinthians 14:40 (NKJV) In the quiet corners of the day, He meets me. In the hidden tasks, He strengthens me. In the small, faithful rhythms, He restores my soul. 📖 "Whatever you do, do it heartily, as to the Lord and not to men." — Colossians 3:23 (NKJV) The pile never complains or rushes me. It simply waits for loving hands to shape it back into purpose. In the same way, my heart often feels like that first photo — a heap of undone edges, weary from many things. The second photo feels like hope — evidence that intentional care and a willing heart can turn anything into beauty. These quiet moments remind me that even the most mundane tasks can be threads in the tapestry of service. God sees. God smiles. God strengthens. Nothing is wasted when done in love. 💡 Reflection: • Where might God be inviting me to find peace in the simple, unseen tasks? 🤔 • How do small acts of order bring rest to my heart and mind? 🤔 • What is one ordinary routine that becomes sacred when I invite God into it? 🤔 • Where in my life do I feel a little like that first pile of towels — jumbled, overwhelmed, or out of place? 🤔 • What simple rhythm or daily act might God use to bring calm and clarity back into my spirit? 🤔 • How is God inviting me to serve quietly in this season, trusting that He sees every unseen offering? 🤔 • Where in my life does the chaos feel less like a burden and more like a threshold God is inviting me to step across? 🤔 • How is God using simple daily rhythms to bring clarity, healing, or grounding into my spirit? 🤔 • What hidden acts of faithfulness is He using to shape me for the next season? 🤔 🎺 Affirmation: I am held by a God who brings order to my chaos and peace to my heart. Even my smallest acts of service carry eternal worth. I am being gently led across holy thresholds. God brings order to my chaos, calm to my spirit, and purpose to my hands. 🙌 Prayer: Jesus, thank You for meeting me in the quiet places, in tasks that feel small yet carry deep significance and steady my soul. Teach me to serve without seeking notice and to rest in the assurance that You see every hidden act of love. Teach me to recognise the thresholds hidden inside my everyday rhythms. Bring Your peace into the scattered places of my heart and guide me with tenderness into the order You are establishing. Shape me through each unseen offering and make me attentive to Your presence in the quiet moments. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

When Water Finds Its Way In

Learning to Breathe When Plans Are Washed in Unexpected Storms

There are days when you step into the studio with purpose in your heart and a vision in your hands, only to feel that first unexpected splash under your feet. What was meant to be a gentle afternoon of preparing for tomorrow’s paint party suddenly and this afternoon's Healing 💔heARTs💖 Encounter group shifts; water has seeped through the mat again, a quiet reminder of Tuesday’s heavy rain. It catches you off guard, unsettles the rhythm, and pulls you back to memories of the 2023 floods that tested more than the foundations of this room. This makes it the fifth time since then, and the weight of that repetition rests on the chest for a moment longer than it should. There is a pause where disappointment rises and tiredness whispers, yet the Lord meets us even here. He steps into the puddles with us, steady and unshaken, reminding us that His presence is not confined to the moments that run smoothly. Plans may derail, yet His grace steadies the heart. Storms may seep in, yet His strength clears the path. 📖 "When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow you." — Isaiah 43:2 (NKJV) Sometimes the holiest thing we can do is acknowledge the frustration, breathe, lift our eyes, and let Him guide us forward one step at a time. Even if the first step is taken with wet feet. 💡Reflection: • Where have unexpected storms tried to unsettle your peace recently? 🤔 • What rises in your heart when plans fall through, and how might God be meeting you there? 🤔 • How has God carried you through waters in the past, and what does that remind you about today? 🤔 🎺Affirmation: I am not alone in unexpected storms. God stands with me in every flooded place, steadying my heart and guiding my steps with love. 🙌 Prayer: Jesus, thank You for meeting me even in the places that feel inconvenient, overwhelming, or wearying. Strengthen my heart when plans unravel, and remind me that You are present in every detail. Help me notice Your nearness, lean into Your grace, and walk forward with peace, regardless of how the day begins. Restore joy to my preparation and bless the work of my hands. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Raising a Generation That Knows Connection

A reflective post on leadership, healing, and the responsibility to rebuild what was lost

This morning’s Business Leader Breakfast left me carrying thoughts that continue to echo through my heart, stirring something deeper than professional curiosity. These were not just leadership insights; they were invitations to look at generations coming behind us with compassion, accountability, and hope. Elias spoke about the younger generation — not with criticism, but with deep concern and responsibility — a call to seasoned leaders to pause, understand their world, and shepherd them with grace. Many of today’s young adults never had the chance to develop relational maturity in the way previous generations did. COVID-19 shaped their schooling, their social worlds, and their emotional development. They are digital natives who can navigate screens effortlessly; however, asking them to pick up a phone and have a real conversation often triggers reluctance and anxiety. Quite frankly, I know that angst all too well, having grown up in a house where parents were always working and when home, they were emotionally absent. I judged them as uncaring, cold and distant and vowed never to become like them. In my judgment, I dishonoured them and set myself up for sowing and reaping, resulting in becoming just like them and repeating the same patterns. Sound familiar?🤔 AI now handles the simple tasks that once helped build confidence in young workers. Those small stepping stones that once nurtured emotional resilience have been replaced by technological shortcuts. Elias asked a question that continues to sit with me: What are we, as mature Christian leaders, doing to guide this next generation in ways that honour our faith and their humanity? 🤔Business culture often prioritises results over relationships; however, Jesus calls us to make disciples, not machines. We are meant to be people who see, guide, nurture, and uplift. Then there are the repercussions of the COVID-19 lockdowns. The ten or twelve-year-olds of today were young children when the world shut down. They couldn't learn to read faces hidden behind masks. They missed the natural social cues that shape emotional intelligence. Their development lagged through no fault of their own. Yet, my opinion may not be received well by my generation. I believe that it reaches even deeper than the pandemic. We have raised these generations while carrying our own unhealed wounds. Many of us grew up without emotionally present adults, then entered parenthood or leadership unequipped. We were busy working, overwhelmed, or distracted by the digital world. Conversations became sparse. Family dinners disappeared. Emotional expression was often suppressed rather than guided. We did not consistently model communication, emotional regulation, conflict resolution, or healthy attachment — so our children learned what they lived. If we never learned to have meaningful conversations with the adults in our world, how could we have naturally taught our children to have them?🤔 When conversation is unfamiliar, fear and avoidance grow. When connection lacks safety, anxiety takes root. Relational avoidance often springs from relational neglect. Much of the reluctance this young generation feels around phone calls or personal interactions is not a mystery, nor is it rebellion; it is a symptom. A mirror— reflecting back the places where we, as parents, caregivers, leaders, and communities, were absent, overwhelmed, distracted, or simply unequipped. Children become emotionally mature when raised in emotionally mature environments. Children become secure when raised by secure adults. Children learn empathy from being empathised with. Children learn courage when someone stands beside them long enough to show them how. If we never learned meaningful conversation in our own childhood, how could we have taught it to the children entrusted to us? 🤔 Children become emotionally mature when raised by emotionally mature adults. They become secure when surrounded by those who model security. They learn empathy from being empathised with. They learn courage when supported long enough to try. There is good news: we have an opportunity to undo so much of the damage. Generational trauma is not permanent; it can be interrupted.. Emotional disconnect is not destiny; it can be healed. The tide can turn — and it can begin with us. It starts with ownership. We must take ownership of our part in what we see around us. We must acknowledge where we have contributed to the fragmentation we see among younger generations. We must repent where necessary, ask for forgiveness where relationships have been strained, and choose intentionally to model something better. Connection is always learned from someone who offers it first. We must repent where our lack of presence created gaps, seek forgiveness where relationships have been strained, and choose intentionally to model connection again. Healing begins with humility. Restoration begins with responsibility. If we want to empower younger generations to rise above their anxieties and cultivate meaningful relationships, it starts with us — with rebuilding the dinner tables, restoring conversations, and choosing presence over productivity. It begins with slowing down long enough for their hearts to feel seen. The buck can stop with us, and the blessing can begin with us. We have the privilege — and responsibility — to be the turning point. 📖 "Train up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not depart from it." — Proverbs 22:6 (NKJV) 💡 Reflection: • Where have I unintentionally modelled disconnection, and how can I begin restoring connection today? 🤔 • Who in the younger generation is God inviting me to invest in with patience and presence? 🤔 • What conversations, rhythms, or family practices need to be restored or rebuilt in my own world? 🤔 • What fear or avoidance in myself have I passed down, and how can healing begin with me? 🤔 🎺 Affirmation: I am a restorer of connection, a carrier of compassion, and a bridge for generations. Healing flows through me as I choose presence, grace, and intentional love. The buck stops with me, and the blessing begins with me. 🙌 Prayer: Lord Jesus, thank You for entrusting me with influence, leadership, and the privilege of shaping lives around me. Please heal the places in me that did not receive connection, so that I may offer connection freely. Restore what has been lost in our families, our communities, and our younger generations. Teach me to be present, patient, and courageous as I guide others toward emotional and spiritual maturity. May my life carry Your compassion, and may my leadership reflect Your heart. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Anger as a Trauma Response

When eruptions reveal the deeper wounds Jesus longs to heal

This morning, as I reflected on the teaching from our seminar and the conversation with Roland that followed, I sensed a tender invitation from Holy Spirit to look again at anger — not as a moral failure, but as a messenger of the heart. So much of what we call "anger" is not anger at all; it is the eruption, the overflow, the visible flame of something buried far beneath the surface. Unhealed pain never stays quiet, and trauma buried alive stays alive. It may lie dormant for a time, but eventually it rises, often disguised as anger, irritation, defensiveness, or emotional overwhelm. These responses are not random. They are survival mechanisms — the heart’s attempt to protect itself when it feels unsafe, unseen, dishonoured, or unheard. Anger is part of the fight response — a trauma response that forms when a person has lived through experiences too overwhelming to process. These roots may reach back decades, sometimes even to childhood, infancy, or the womb. Trauma overloads the capacity of the heart, and the body carries what the soul cannot yet speak. 📖 "He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds." — Psalm 147:3 (NKJV) 🌋 Anger and the Wounded Heart The trauma material reminds us that unresolved wounds affect every part of our being — emotional, mental, physical, and spiritual. Trauma can: • Disrupt sleep and rest • Trigger anxiety and hypervigilance • Impact concentration and memory • Cause chronic pain, body tension, and physical illness • Lead to depression, shame, hopelessness, or emotional numbness • Create patterns of withdrawal, people-pleasing, performance, or control These are not signs of weakness. They are signs of a heart trying to survive. Trauma teaches the body and the nervous system to stay on high alert. For some, the eruption of anger is simply the moment the internal pressure becomes too great to hide. 📖 "Search me, O God, and know my heart; try me, and know my anxieties." — Psalm 139:23 (NKJV) When anger rises like a volcano, it often feels sudden and overwhelming, as though something inside finally burst through the surface. Yet beneath every eruption there is always a story. Anger is not the root; it is the visible flame of deeper, quieter pain waiting to be acknowledged and healed. Anger becomes the eruption only when the heart has already reached capacity. The surface heat is simply revealing a tender place below, a place Jesus longs to touch with kindness, truth, and restoration. 🌋 The Eruption (What We See) The outward expression — the raised voice, the sharp tone, the withdrawal, the sudden reaction — is simply the overflow. Like lava spilling over the edges of a volcano, anger shows us that something internal has been brewing for a long time. If left unchecked, anger can spill into hurtful words, broken connections, and cycles of shame. Yet Jesus does not meet us with judgment when we erupt; He meets us with understanding. 📖 "He restores my soul." — Psalm 23:3 (NKJV) He sees beneath the lava. He sees the heart. 🌋 The Hidden Volcano (What’s Beneath the Surface) Below every eruption lies a landscape of tender emotions: • Fear — of being abandoned, rejected, or misunderstood • Hurt — wounds still aching, memories still alive • Injustice — something deeply unfair that pierced the soul • Disappointment — hope deferred, expectations unmet • Shame — feeling not enough or too much • Rejection — the sting of not being chosen or valued • Guilt — feeling responsible for what was never ours to carry • Helplessness — the sense of losing control • Overwhelm — when life becomes too heavy to hold These are not sins. These are wounds. These emotional layers form the molten core beneath the “volcano.” When pressure builds and the heart has no safe release, the eruption follows. This is why anger is not a primary emotion; it is a secondary response, a signal pointing toward something underneath that Jesus desires to bring into His light. These are the beloved places Jesus moves toward — with tenderness, not accusation. 📖 "He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds." — Psalm 147:3 (NKJV) 🌋 The Levels of the Heart (Before the Eruption) 1. Calm — feeling grounded, peaceful, connected. 2. Unsettled — unsure, stretched, or challenged. 3. Bubbling Up — frustrated, worried, nervous. 4. Rumbling — annoyed, upset, stressed, close to erupting. 5. Exploding — overwhelmed, reactive, out of control. Each level is an opportunity to pause, breathe, and ask Jesus: "What is stirring beneath the surface of my heart?" He never rushes us. He never shames us. He waits for us to invite Him into the deeper layers. 🌿 A Sacred Invitation Anger may feel like a problem, but in the Kingdom, it is often an invitation: • To look beneath the eruption, not just at the behaviour • To name the wound, not condemn the heart • To recognise the false refuges we have leaned on • To surrender the idol that promised safety but delivered burden • To let Jesus tend the places where pain still lives Anger is not the enemy. It is the flashlight revealing where the heart still aches. It is the Holy Spirit whispering, “There is something here I want to heal.” 🌿 Idols, False Refuge, and Tender Places Sandra’s words echoed deeply: “If you are angry, someone has touched your idol.” Not an idol of rebellion, but an idol of protection — the places where we have leaned on false refuge to survive. When anger rises suddenly and intensely, it often reveals: • a place where we were never validated, • a voice that was silenced, • a boundary that was ignored, • a need that went unmet, • a wound that was never seen. False refuge can take many forms — coping mechanisms, self-protection, perfectionism, withdrawal, or even control. They promise safety but ultimately burden the soul. When these places are touched, the heart reacts. Jesus does not shame us for this. He moves toward the pain beneath the reaction. 🌋 The Volcano Within: What Jesus Sees Jesus sees the little child who learned to survive by staying silent. He sees the teenager who endured too much too soon. He sees the adult still carrying wounds that were never resolved. He sees the heart longing for safety, connection, and peace. He sees the trauma hidden beneath the behaviour. Anger is never the full story — it is the smoke that reveals the fire underneath. 💡 Reflection: • What emotion might be hiding beneath my anger today? 🤔 • Where did I learn that expressing need or pain was unsafe? 🤔 • Which part of my heart still feels unheard or dishonoured? 🤔 • What false refuge have I leaned on to feel safe? 🤔 • What is Jesus gently revealing beneath the eruption? 🤔 🎺 Affirmation: You are not defined by your anger. Jesus sees the tender truth beneath your reactions and meets you there with compassion, not condemnation. Every eruption becomes an invitation into deeper healing, rest, and restoration. 🙌 Prayer: Holy Spirit, reveal the unhealed places that sit beneath my anger. Bring Your gentle light to every wound, memory, and fear still held in my heart. Dismantle every false refuge and draw me into the safety of Jesus’ love. Heal the places where trauma has shaped my reactions and restore my heart to peace. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

When Anger Points to What Still Hurts

A gentle reflection on secondary emotions, tender idols, and the sacred invitations hidden within our strongest reactions

This morning’s conversation with Roland lingered with me long after the words settled. It reminded me of something Elijah House has taught so faithfully: anger is almost always a secondary emotion. It is not the beginning of a story; it is the evidence of one. It is a stink finder, the smoke rising from a deeper fire, a present day fruit, a compassionate signal from the heart that something unhealed is still calling for Jesus. During the weekend's Life Beyond Trauma seminar, Sandra’s teaching deepened this truth even further. She recalled a pastor who once said, “If you are angry, somebody has touched your idol.” Those words were not meant to shame; they were meant to illuminate. They invite us to look beneath the reaction with honesty and courage. Sandra shared a moment when a family member dishonoured her so deeply that she became “so mad I saw stars.” She nearly passed out from the force of it. Later she realised the root was her pain around feeling unheard and dishonoured, a part of her heart that had not yet been fully healed. That intense reaction was never just about the moment. It was the echo of earlier wounds. It was a place where Jesus longed to bring restoration. In Elijah House, we are taught that pain buried alive never dies; it mutates. It shifts shape, hides beneath coping mechanisms, settles in the shadows until it finds its way out sideways. It rises through anger, defensiveness, withdrawal, control, or even a sudden wave of emotion that feels far too big for the situation at hand. The Cross remains the only place where these old wounds find effective death and true healing. Sandra’s reflection on idols of the heart wove seamlessly into this truth. Idols are not always carved images; they are the subtle allegiances we form in the quiet. The Kingdom of self is built every time we reach for: • a false refuge, • a coping mechanism, • an escape, • a medicator, • a behaviour that promises comfort but steals wholeness. When these things become habit, compulsion, or the place we run to for safety instead of Jesus, they become idols. Sandra reminded us soberly that every idol requires a sacrifice — peace, intimacy, relationships, clarity, emotional health. Yet she also shared a profound hope: the desert, the trauma places, and the barren seasons can become either a place where idols are built or a place where Jesus brings revelation. Every strong reaction becomes an invitation to ask: • “What has been touched in me?” • “Where am I still tender?” • “What am I protecting?” • “What false refuge have I learned to trust?” There is such gentleness in Jesus when these things surface. He never shames. He seeks the bruise beneath the behaviour, the memory beneath the anger, the wound beneath the fire. Only He can dismantle idols without crushing the heart they grew around. 📖 "He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds." — Psalm 147:3 (NKJV) 📖 "Search me, O God, and know my heart; try me, and know my anxieties." — Psalm 139:23 (NKJV) Anger, then, becomes a gift when approached with honesty. It becomes a guide pointing us not to shame but to the places where Jesus is already knocking, already drawing near, already preparing to heal. 💡 Reflection: • What emotion might be sitting beneath my anger today? 🤔 • Which reaction this week felt bigger than the moment itself? 🤔 • What idol might have been touched — approval, control, safety, reputation, comfort? 🤔 • Where have I reached for false refuge instead of Jesus? 🤔 • What might Jesus be inviting me to surrender or bring into His light today? 🤔 🎺 Affirmation: You are held by a God who sees beyond your reactions into the tender truth of your story. Even your strongest emotions are invitations into deeper freedom. Nothing is too tangled for His healing, and nothing is too hidden for His restoring love. 🙌 Prayer: Holy Spirit, reveal every place where my reactions point to unresolved pain. Show me the idols I have built in the quiet places of my heart and lead me away from false refuge into the rest that only Jesus can give. Heal the wounds I have buried, dismantle every false comfort, and turn the desert places within me into spaces of revelation. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

A Diamond in the Wrong Hands

When Worth Remains, Even When Unseen

There is a quiet ache that rises when value goes unrecognised. The image of a rough stone beside a brilliant-cut diamond reminds me how easily worth can be overlooked when held by hands that do not understand its beauty. A diamond in the wrong hands is treated as ordinary; however, its essence never changes. Its brilliance remains, waiting for the right light. I have learned through many seasons that an environment, relationship, or moment that cannot honour what God has placed within me does not diminish the gift, the calling, or the worth He wove into my life. My value is not determined by those who cannot see it. My potential is not reduced by those who mishandle it. My beauty is not lessened when misunderstood or ignored. 📖 "For the Lord does not see as man sees; for man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart." — 1 Samuel 16:7 (NKJV) There is comfort in knowing that God sees the diamond even when others see only a stone. He knows the hidden facets, the internal fire, the years of pressure that shaped something precious. Nothing about His workmanship becomes less simply because someone else fails to recognise it. There have been seasons in my own life when I felt unseen or undervalued, moments where my heart whispered, "Maybe I am ordinary after all." Yet God, in His kindness, kept reminding me that worth is not bestowed by people. It is breathed by Him. People can mishandle, misunderstand, or misjudge — nonetheless, they cannot alter what He has made. In the right hands, a diamond is treasured. In the right environment, it shines. In the right season, its beauty becomes unmistakable. This truth brings deep rest to my spirit: being in the wrong place never changes my essence; it simply reveals that God intends to move me somewhere I can flourish. 💡 Reflection: • Where have I felt undervalued, and what might God be inviting me to see about my worth today? 🤔 • Which environments make my God-given brilliance shine most naturally? 🤔 • What does it mean for me to trust that God sees me fully, even when others do not? 🤔 🎺 Affirmation: I am God-crafted, God-valued, and God-seen. No misplaced season can dim what He has placed within me. 🙌 Prayer: Lord Jesus, thank You for seeing my heart when others may overlook it. Thank You for shaping me with intention, beauty, and purpose. Help me rest in the truth that my worth comes from You alone. Lead me into environments where Your light in me can shine freely, and guard my heart from every lie that whispers I am less than You created me to be. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Resting Where God Places Me

Reflections on Serving, Being Seen, and Learning to Rest

There are moments when an ordinary conversation becomes a mirror, held gently by the Lord, revealing where He has been reshaping the innermost parts of my heart. Today’s conversation with Elias felt like that, a quiet affirmation, a gentle correction, and a reminder that God’s wisdom is always kinder than my striving. He stopped by the front desk for coffee, having returned from spending several days in China and then came towards me, where I was working in the business lounge. There was a softness to the moment, a grace I had not felt for a long time. No anxiety rose in my chest, no tightening of the breath. It seems my last prayer ministry session has begun to soothe the bruising of the past year’s wounding, easing places that once felt raw and guarded. What followed was an unexpected, encouraging conversation — one that reminded me of the gentle ways God restores confidence and relationships.  When he asked how the Life Beyond Trauma seminar went, my heart warmed instantly. It was brilliant, not because I was on the ministry team, but precisely because I wasn’t. I had expected to serve, to lead, to carry responsibility. That is usually where I find myself. Yet God whispered a clear no through Peter’s message: “We have enough volunteers. You can just come and soak.”  It still feels strange to write that. So often I equate serving with obedience, busyness with purpose, and silence with invisibility. The Lord is steadily, compassionately unravelling that belief. He placed me in the room as a daughter, not a soldier, and in doing so, He positioned me exactly where I was most needed.  Elias then spoke about the email I had sent out with all the details about the Life Beyond Trauma event. He asked if I had written it myself or copied it from someone. When I told him it was mine, he spoke words that caught me off guard. He said the writing was incredibly good, good enough that he questioned whether someone else had written it. The personalised stories, the flow, the clarity. He even rated it among the best of the copy he has read. I stood there, a little stunned. I felt that familiar mixture of gratitude and discomfort. I have always done a lot of processing with writing, yet I often hesitate to trust the gift God has placed in my hands. Elias simply said, "Don't underestimate your ability. God's given you a talent. Embrace it." A truth that landed warmly.  We spoke about the event being fully booked — over two hundred people — and I shared how this seminar included new teachings on chaos and thresholds, all resonating deeply with my current season. I can feel the Holy Spirit stirring the next pieces in me, unveiling what needs tending. I told him how God repositioned me this weekend, keeping me off the team so I could simply be present for one of my precious Encounter Group ladies who was struggling on Friday. I noticed her shoulders curved inward, the way her head hung down into her chest. Had I been on the team, I would have missed that holy assignment. I would not have been able to sit beside her, hover protectively and offer presence and comfort. Neither would I have been able to check in on all the others in our group who came. The Holy Spirit knew. He always knows.  God knows exactly where He needs me, and when. He places us where love can find us, or flow through us, even when we think we belong somewhere else. Elias then spoke gently about serving. He said it is important not only to serve, but to be served, because discipleship grows in both directions. I admitted this is where I am learning — asking for help, receiving and allowing others to be present for me. These are new muscles being strengthened for me. I told him I was working on it, and he nodded in response, "We are all a work in progress." We spoke about thresholds, that in-between place where something has ended, but the next thing has not revealed itself. I told him how the teaching stirred things inside me that I still need to sit with and pray through. I am in a threshold season myself. There are doors that feel half-open, invitations that feel half-formed, and a sense that God is unravelling old patterns so He can rebuild something truer, slower, and stronger. He asked about Clive and my trip to Wellington last month and I shared how the weather was wild at first, and how I have finally learned that travelling does not need to be a mission to see and do everything. There is rest even in exploration. Clive enjoyed not being rushed all the time and I enjoyed slowing down. I used to treat every holiday as a mission: see everything, do everything, squeeze meaning out of every moment. It was survival disguised as productivity. After last year’s ministry session with Sandra, something has softened within me. I no longer need to chase every view to prove the trip was worth it. I no longer need to force beauty into every moment. I can rest now. Clive can rest too. We wandered, lingered, returned early, and moved slowly. It felt like breathing again.  We spoke about his recent trip to China. He shared with that familiar spark in his eyes how vast the world feels when you step into places where nothing looks familiar, not the language, not the rhythms, not even the coffee menu. It sounded like an adventure, and he agreed with a quiet laugh. I smiled, realising that in different ways, the Holy Spirit has been doing the same in me. We laughed about how different we are. His wife calls him a traveller who does not travel because he rarely does anything touristy and he told me stories of navigating China through WeChat translations and blind guesses at Luckin Coffee.  It was ordinary conversation, threaded with small glimmers of God’s grace — the kind that whispers, "See, you are healing. You are growing. You are no longer who you were this time last year."  Yet even in that simple exchange, there was a theme: Learning to release control. Learning to trust the process. Learning to lean into what God is doing rather than forcing what I think should happen. Today reminded me that healing often happens quietly, not in the dramatic moments, but in everyday exchanges where fear no longer leads, wounding no longer speaks first, and your heart rests instead of bracing. Even though I felt ignored, betrayed, rejected, and abandoned by him earlier this year, I have finally been able to forgive from the heart. God is doing something gentle in me. I can feel it and in time, pray that trust and friendship will be rebuilt. That is the quiet invitation the Lord keeps placing in front of me. 📖 "He makes me to lie down in green pastures; He leads me beside the still waters. He restores my soul." — Psalm 23:2–3 (NKJV) Rest is not a retreat from calling; rest is part of the calling. Rest is where God strengthens what He has entrusted to me. Today reminded me of that again. 💡 Reflection Where have I noticed subtle shifts in my heart that show I am healing, even if no one else sees them? 🤔 In what situations do I still struggle to receive rather than serve, and what might God be inviting me to in those situations? 🤔 How do I recognise the Holy Spirit’s gentle redirection when plans change unexpectedly? 🤔 What conversations have recently affirmed gifts in me that I have been hesitant to embrace? 🤔 What threshold season am I standing in, and what is God forming in me as I wait? 🤔 🎺 Affirmation I am learning to walk with a quieter heart — steady, seen, and supported by the God who restores me from the inside out. Nothing about my healing is rushed or overlooked. Heaven celebrates every step I take, even the ones that feel small. I am growing, I am held, and I am becoming who God always knew I could be. 🙌 Prayer Father, thank You for the gentle ways You guide my heart toward wholeness. Thank You for the conversations that affirm what You have placed within me and moments that reveal how far You have brought me. Teach me to rest when You call me to rest, to serve when You ask me to serve, and to receive when You send people to care for me. Help me recognise Your loving hand in every redirection and trust that You always place me exactly where I am meant to be. Continue to strengthen my confidence, refine my gifts, and deepen my sense of belonging in You. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Red November — When Home Became a Border

A personal remembrance of loss, conviction, and the quiet faith that carried me through exclusion into calling

Four years ago this month, everything changed. Yesterday, on Red November, New Zealanders gathered in remembrance and solidarity, not to stir division, but to honour the cost carried by so many. The cost of mandates. The cost of silence. The cost of being told you had no place unless you complied. It was a moment to acknowledge both the seen and unseen losses, health, careers, communities, faith in institutions, and for some, even their very sense of belonging. This is my story. It is only one thread among thousands, yet every thread matters. The mandates triggered me back into childhood lies, chaos, manipulation, and control trauma. The depression I had so painstakingly overcome for just over a year threatened to overwhelm me once more. I was appalled and deeply ashamed at the apartheid our authorities were implementing, and at the speed with which nations, and even churches, embraced vaccine passports to enforce it. Communities were separated based on medical status, with devastating consequences. Where I was born, in Germany 🇩🇪, it was called the Holocaust. Where I was raised, in South Africa🇿🇦, it was called apartheid. This was no different to me. It was medical apartheid and discrimination. I had spent my life standing against apartheid, and I was not about to stop. In solidarity with those being marginalised, I chose not to take the injections. My father’s history of blood clots placed me at increased risk, as clotting was already a known side effect. I refused the shots and said no to discrimination, knowing full well what it would cost me. By 5 December, I hit an all-time low. The news that my art classes would restart only for the double-jabbed cut deeply, yet nothing prepared me for the sting that followed when I eagerly opened an email from my church, my home, my family, asking for welcome team volunteers. My heart leapt at the chance to serve again. Clicking the link felt like a door slamming shut. “No, not you.” A vaccine passport requirement excluded me. I was too upset to finish reading the message. Only later did I learn that smaller gatherings for the “undisclosed” were mentioned almost as an afterthought. How could the very place that had nurtured my faith now draw lines through its family 🤔 How could we speak of the Body of Christ when part of that Body was deemed unwelcome in the house of worship 🤔 It grieved me deeply to see how mandates became a dividing wall in places meant to be refuges of grace. Everything I held dear, the art, the choir, serving at the community kitchen, even January’s B-School, hung in the balance of a passport I could not, in good conscience, obtain. My allergies and family medical history made the risk too high, yet beyond that, I could not submit to a system that marginalised others for their convictions. By 12 December, the weight had only increased. I learned that volunteering at Mairangi Bay Art Centre would also require a passport. It became clear that churches implementing passport systems were effectively forcing staff and volunteers to comply. We had hoped for small gatherings across the board, spaces where everyone could remain included without anyone needing to backtrack on deeply held convictions just to serve. That hope quietly slipped away. Everything that had helped me remain strong in my victory over depression rested on a requirement authorities refused to exempt me from, despite my allergies, past medication reactions, and my father’s medical history. In doing so, the church I had called home for three years effectively told me I was no longer welcome in the building. How does one remain part of a family when they are not allowed to come home for family celebrations 🤔 Quite honestly, if this had happened before all the Elijah House prayer ministry I received the year prior, I would have likely crawled back into the pit. Around this time, I also began struggling with my breathing. Anxiety tightened my chest, and my doctor prescribed an asthma pump again, something I had not needed for years. I lost the church I had called home. I lost the choir that felt like a second family. I lost the welcome team I had served with joy. Friendships I believed were strong could not withstand the pressure of those days. Some faded quietly, others ended with painful clarity. I watched people I loved being cut off from their own families, banned from gatherings, and treated as outsiders in their own communities. My trust in the medical establishment, and in our government, was shattered when I watched my husband suffer injury after receiving the Novavax injection. Nothing prepares you for that kind of fear, or for the silence that follows when you seek help and find none. The division cut through workplaces, churches, friendships, and neighbourhoods. These wounds did not disappear. Much was simply swept under the rug. The medical apartheid created by mandates fractured communities and consciences alike. The injustice, trauma, and grief of those months did not vanish. Many still carry wounds few speak of openly. I nearly fell back into depression during the first lockdown, yet God intervened. Bible journaling became my refuge, a way to breathe through the suffocating despair and process what threatened to overwhelm me. 📖 "The Lord is near to those who have a broken heart, and saves such as have a contrite spirit." — Psalm 34:18 (NKJV) I did not return to the life I had before. I stepped into something entirely new, reshaped by loss, yet marked by unexpected grace. 📖 "The Spirit of the Lord God is upon Me, because the Lord has anointed Me to preach good tidings to the poor; He has sent Me to heal the broken-hearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and the opening of the prison to those who are bound." — Isaiah 61:1 (NKJV) My path shifted toward creativity, ministry, and healing work. God used what was taken to form something deeper, helping others make sense of their stories while I continued to tend my own. This is what I lost. This is how it impacted my family. This is how my life changed. The mandates took much from me, yet they also pushed me into a new calling, a place where God continues to restore what was broken. 📖 "Stand fast therefore in the liberty by which Christ has made us free, and do not be entangled again with a yoke of bondage." — Galatians 5:1 (NKJV) 💡Reflection Where did loss reshape your faith rather than destroy it 🤔 What convictions did you hold onto, even when it cost you dearly 🤔 Where did exclusion or silence wound your sense of belonging 🤔 What losses have you never fully named or grieved 🤔 How has God met you in the rubble of what was taken 🤔 What new calling emerged through the pain 🤔 🎺Affirmation I am not forgotten, discarded, or disqualified. God sees what was taken, honours my convictions, and continues to restore my life with purpose, dignity, and grace. I am not defined by what was taken from me. God is restoring, redeeming, and re-weaving my story with purpose and grace. 🙌 Prayer Lord, You see the losses we carry and the wounds that remain unseen. You know the cost of exclusion, the grief of loss, and the ache of betrayal. Thank You for meeting me in my darkest moments and for guiding me into a new calling shaped by truth and compassion. Heal what was broken, restore what was stolen, and teach me to walk forward without bitterness, anchored in Your love and faithfulness. I place my story, and the stories of all who suffered, into Your loving hands. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Divine Realignment

When God Turns Not Enough into More Than Enough

I heard a whisper settling deep into the quiet places of my heart today, a holy reminder that realignment often comes wrapped in unsettling shifts. There are moments when God gently disconnects us from influences that once felt familiar, even comfortable, yet were quietly draining life from our spirit. This is the kindness of divine correction, a holy severing that frees us to breathe again. 📖"So they all ate and were filled, and they took up twelve baskets full of the fragments that remained." - Matthew 14:20 He is the God who breaks the chains of limitation, the unseen burdens, the inherited expectations, the whispers of unworthiness, and the strongholds that have attempted to define us. He clothes us in a mantle of authority, not born of striving but of surrender. This mantle enables us to take back what the enemy attempted to steal: our peace, our prosperity, our purpose. There is a holy courage rising within me, steady and sure, reminding me that I am not called to live beneath the weight of my circumstances. I am called to walk as His daughter, restored and realigned. Do not look at your present limitations. God multiplies the little, blesses the broken, and uses the willing. My "not enough" becomes "more than enough" in His hands. 📖 "And my God shall supply all your need according to His riches in glory by Christ Jesus." — Philippians 4:19 (NKJV) 📖 "Now to Him who is able to do exceedingly abundantly above all that we ask or think…" — Ephesians 3:20 (NKJV) This is my season to stand in faith and trust the One who transforms scarcity into abundance, fragmentation into fullness, fear into holy confidence. 💡 Reflection: • Where have I been viewing myself or my resources as "not enough"? 🤔 • What limitations is God disconnecting me from in this season? 🤔 • How is He inviting me to step into a new mantle of authority? 🤔 • What does “divine realignment” look like in my life right now? 🤔 🎺 Affirmation: I am walking into divine realignment. God is multiplying my little, blessing my broken places, and shaping my willing heart into something beautiful. My "not enough" is becoming "more than enough" in His hands. 🙌 Prayer: Heavenly Father, thank You for realigning my heart, my path, and my purpose. Thank You for disconnecting me from every limitation and every influence that hinders my growth. Fill me with courage as I step into the authority You have given me. Multiply what I offer, bless what is broken, and use me for Your glory. Turn my "not enough" into "more than enough" according to Your goodness and power. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Honouring the Voice That Helped Me Heal

Honouring the voices that helped me rise again

📖 "He heals the broken-hearted and binds up their wounds." — Psalm 147:3 (NKJV) Over these past five and a half years, I have often marvelled at how tenderly God used Sandra’s Navigating the Times and Seasons webinar to rescue me at a point when I felt myself slipping back into old shadows. Those three days of teaching became a lifeline, a gentle hand pulling me away from the edge and anchoring me once again in hope. It marked the beginning of my healing journey, one slow breath and one surrendered step at a time. Every teaching that followed — countless live sessions and video lessons — has helped unwrap the bandages around my heart. God has used her voice to peel back layers that were never meant to stay hidden, and He continues to meet me in every lesson with fresh grace. Watching her teaching series multiple times with my Healing 💔heARTs💖 Encounter Groups has become its own sacred rhythm. These lessons never grow old. Each time we revisit them, another layer softens, breaks open, or is restored. It feels like the Holy Spirit gently lifts one veil after another, revealing truth that heals and hope that breathes again. I remain deeply grateful for Sandra’s passion to heal the broken-hearted. Her obedience continues to transform lives, including mine. Thank you, Sandra, for pouring out your life so selflessly, loving so generously, and serving with a heart fully yielded to God. 🤗💞 I stand with you in your vision to change the world 🌎 one broken 💔 heart at a time. It has become part of my own calling, woven into everything I create, teach, and hold space for.

Healing the Roots

From Womb Wounding to Bold Living

This morning, I found myself in a heartfelt conversation at The Crate — one that began quite casually but quickly turned deeply personal. We were talking about life, resilience, and faith when my own journey through depression surfaced. I was gently asked how I overcame it, and in that sacred moment, I sensed God opening a door to share not only my story but His deliverance. What followed was an honest discussion about how God heals the hidden roots of pain — the foundational lies we unknowingly build our lives upon. Lies like "I'm a mistake," “I’m not enough,” “I don’t belong,” or “I shouldn’t be here.” These are the silent beliefs that shape our identity long before we can give them words. Yet, the beauty of God’s mercy is that He doesn’t just patch over our wounds — He restores us from the inside out. When His truth begins to take root, fear loses its hold. He replaces shame with peace, confusion with clarity, and despair with hope. Through His love, we rediscover who we truly are — fearfully and wonderfully made, deeply wanted, and divinely purposed. ✨ This is the story of how God restores our identity from fear to faith. 1. The Lies We Come to Believe So many of the lies we live by take root before we even understand the world. Every experience gives us a perception, and if our parents never taught us the truth, those perceptions become our reality. One of the biggest lies I ever believed was this: “I shouldn’t be here.” I was born post-abortion, literally after another life was ended. We often fail to realise how this affects children in the womb, because we are spiritual beings. My first response to life was “I shouldn’t be here — I’m a mistake.” That’s where I came into agreement with the lies of Satan. He whispered, “You shouldn’t be here,” "You're a mistake" and I believed it. That agreement opened a door — a foothold for the enemy. When we say, “I’m a mistake,” the enemy says, “Let me help you with that,” and then surrounds us with people and experiences that reinforce that lie. 2. The Spiritual Impact of Womb Experiences This was all pre-birth. The womb should be a place of safety, yet when it is marked by fear, rejection, or trauma, that child absorbs it. If a mother discovers she is pregnant and her first thought is “Oh no,” that baby feels it. Even if she later loves the child deeply, that initial rejection can leave an imprint that echoes, “I’m not wanted.” I carried that for decades. When abortion occurs and repentance never follows, it spiritually opens a door. Every subsequent baby can be affected, carrying that same spirit of death over their life. I have fought that spirit my entire life — because, without knowing it, I had come into agreement with death instead of life. Science even confirms what Scripture has always said: children feel their mother’s emotions. When a mother’s emotions are in turmoil, a baby may decide deep down, “It’s not safe to feel,” and numbness becomes their protection, but when we push down emotions for too long, they will eventually come out sideways and we will erupt like volcanoes. That’s what depression really is — a numbing of the soul. Healing requires repentance, forgiveness and telling our bodies a new story: “Live.” “Breathe again.” “Heart, live again.” 📖 "I have come that they may have life, and that they may have it more abundantly." — John 10:10 (NKJV) 3. Fear, Personality, and the Mask of Shyness For decades, I hid behind the belief that I was shy and introverted. I lived with social anxiety and avoided people — yet deep inside, I loved people. What I later discovered is that what I called “shyness” was actually deep rooted wounding. If you watch children, babies are naturally expressive and open. Then experiences start to shape them and some begin to retreat. Shyness often begins in childhood as a response to pain, fear, or rejection. It’s not a personality trait — it’s fear masquerading as personality. God tells us repeatedly, “Do not be afraid. Be bold and courageous.” Shyness is the opposite of boldness and if it were part of His design, He wouldn’t call us to boldness. When He created Adam and Eve, they were not ashamed. Shyness and hiding came only after the Fall. Over time, I realised that the more I healed, the more I became who I was meant to be — bold, joyful, and connected. One day, someone told me, “I see you as an extrovert.” I laughed at first. My husband of thirty-three years said, “No way, you’re not extroverted.” because he has only ever known the unhealed, introverted version of me. Yet I knew — something inside me had changed. Healing had uncovered the real me. 4. Unmasking Wounds Hidden as Traits God didn’t create us to be shy, prideful, or angry. Those are masks born from wounding. Pride and anger are other ways we protect ourselves from pain. Everyone is wounded in some way, and often, what we call our personality is actually our self-protection. Many wounds can’t even be traced back to clear memories without the assistance of the Holy Spirit because they begin in the womb. We assume that’s just “how I am,” when in truth it’s what I learned to be to survive, but according to God’s original design, we were created for love, connection, and community. Social anxiety, fear of people, or hiding away are not God’s design — they are symptoms of the wound. Healing restores us to the freedom and boldness we were born for. 📖 "For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind." — 2 Timothy 1:7 (NKJV) 5. Coming Back to Life Healing requires turning away from lies, breaking agreement with death, and choosing life again. When we speak words like “I shouldn’t be here,” we must repent and replace them with God’s truth: “I am fearfully and wonderfully made.” Healing is the journey from numbness to feeling again, from hiding to shining, from fear to faith. It’s learning to tell your heart, “You are safe now.” “You belong here.” “You were created on purpose, for purpose.” As I continue to heal, the shy, introverted girl disappears, and the woman of courage — the one God intended — begins to stand tall. 📖 "I will praise You, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made; marvellous are Your works, and that my soul knows very well." — Psalm 139:14 (NKJV) 💡Reflection: • What lies about yourself have you unconsciously agreed with? 🤔 • How might those lies have shaped your sense of identity or belonging? 🤔 • What truth does God speak over those lies today? 🤔 • How can you invite Him into the places of fear to restore courage and love? 🤔 🎺Affirmation: I was fearfully and wonderfully made. I choose life, love, and courage. Every wound in me is being healed by His truth, and I am becoming who He always saw me to be. 🙌 Prayer: Father, thank You for breathing life into me from the very beginning. Thank You that even in the womb, You knew me and called me by name. I repent for every lie I believed about not being wanted, seen, or worthy. Break every agreement I have made with fear or death, and replace it with Your truth and light. Restore boldness, joy, and peace to every part of my being. Help me live with courage, knowing I was created on purpose for Your purpose. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Living for an Audience of One

Choosing Heaven’s Applause over Human Approval

There will always be opinions and critics — voices that question, misunderstand, or misjudge. Yet I have learned to still my heart before the One who truly sees. I no longer live for applause, affirmation, or agreement from people. My gaze is fixed on Jesus. My purpose is to obey His voice, even when no one else understands. When I stand before Him one day, it will not be the crowd whose words echo through eternity. It will be His voice — the voice that calms storms and heals hearts — saying, “Well done, good and faithful servant.” That is the reward I seek. That is the sound I long to hear. That is the sound worth living for — the affirmation that echoes through eternity. Living before an audience of One means surrendering the need to please, choosing obedience over applause, and allowing your worth to be measured by Heaven, not human approval. It is a daily act of trust, a quiet offering of love that says, “Lord, all I do, I do unto You.” When your focus shifts from performing for others to pleasing the Father, peace replaces striving, and purpose blossoms where pressure once lived. You begin to live on earth as it is in Heaven — fully seen, fully known, and fully loved. So I choose to live on earth as it is in Heaven, before an audience of One. Every act of service, every word spoken in love, every hidden moment of obedience — they are all offerings laid before His feet. I live to carry a mantle, not to chase a platform, guided by the conviction that Heaven’s applause matters far more than human recognition. I'm moved by love and compassion, led by courage, and sustained by creativity that heals and restores. That’s the essence of living for an audience of One — eyes fixed on Jesus, hands extended to others, and heart anchored in grace. 📖 "Whatever you do, do it heartily, as to the Lord and not to men, knowing that from the Lord you will receive the reward of the inheritance; for you serve the Lord Christ." — Colossians 3:23–24 (NKJV) 💡 Reflection: • Where have I sought human approval more than divine affirmation? 🤔 • What would it look like today to live purely for God’s “well done”? 🤔 • How can I honour Him in the unseen, ordinary moments of faithfulness? 🤔 • Whose approval am I seeking most in this season — people’s or God’s? 🤔 • What might obedience look like if I stopped fearing misunderstanding? 🤔 • How can I offer my work, my art, or my service as worship to Him alone? 🤔 🎺 Affirmation: I am not defined by opinions or applause. I live to please my Father, walking in obedience, humility, and love. I live for an audience of One. My worth is not measured by the noise of approval, but by the quiet smile of my Saviour. My reward is hearing His voice and following where He leads. 🙌 Prayer: Lord Jesus, help me keep my eyes fixed on You when distractions and opinions surround me. Teach me to live for Your approval alone, resting in Your truth rather than striving for validation. May my every word and action bring You glory, both in quiet service and bold obedience. Let my life be a reflection of Heaven’s values here on earth — pure, steadfast, and devoted. Let my heart seek only Your pleasure and not the fleeting praise of men. Strengthen me to obey You in the unseen places, confident that You see and reward in love. May every breath, brushstroke, and word become worship before You. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Healing as an Act of Love

Choosing growth so those I love don’t bleed from my unhealed wounds.

A love language we rarely mention is when someone works on themselves for the sake of the relationship. True love doesn’t just offer affection — it offers accountability. It is choosing to take responsibility for one’s own healing, to tend to the old wounds and untamed triggers that could otherwise become someone else’s burden. The opposite of this posture is resignation — the “That’s just how I am” that shuts the door to growth. Yet love was never meant to be stagnant; it is refined in humility and made holy in transformation. You deserve someone who recognises their harmful patterns and courageously seeks change, not one who expects you to endure them. That’s why I’ve invested time, energy, and resources to pursue my healing over the past five years — so God may be glorified and my loved ones no longer be bled on because of old wounding. I want my words, my touch, and my presence to bring life, not the residue of past pain. I long for my heart to be a vessel where God’s restoring love flows freely — not a place where the wounded parts of me leak onto those I cherish most.📖 "Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a steadfast spirit within me." — Psalm 51:10 (NKJV) 💡Reflection: • What does it look like to love others through your own healing journey? 🤔 • How has God used self-awareness to deepen your relationships? 🤔 • Which parts of your heart is He inviting you to surrender for His restoration? 🤔 🎺Affirmation: My healing is an act of love. As God restores me, His love overflows through me — bringing peace, safety, and grace into my relationships. 🙌 Prayer: Lord, thank You for revealing that healing is part of holy love. Teach me to take ownership of my heart, to confront my triggers with truth, and to let Your grace shape my responses. May those around me feel Your peace through my growth and humility. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

When the Protector Doesn’t Protect

Finding God’s comfort when those meant to guard your heart turn away

This morning, as I was listening to my audio Bible, a thought surfaced that gripped my heart. It was the story of Tamar, daughter of King David. It's a story that still breaks my heart every time I read it. She was violated by her brother Amnon, a moment that shattered her purity, dignity, and sense of safety. Yet the deepest wound, I imagine, wasn’t only the act itself, but what came after. When her father, David, heard of what had happened, Scripture records his response in one haunting line: 📖 “Then King David heard of all these things, and he was very angry. And Absalom spoke to his brother Amnon neither good nor bad. For Absalom hated Amnon, because he had forced his sister Tamar.” — 2 Samuel 13:21–22 (NKJV) Yet though David was angry, he did nothing. He did not confront Amnon, nor comfort Tamar. The silence that followed was deafening. And perhaps even more piercing than the violence was what came after — the absence of protection, the quiet dismissal of her pain, and the loss of safety within her own family. Some translations record David’s words: “Has your brother been with you? Never you mind.” (2 Samuel 13:20, paraphrased). What pain must have pierced Tamar’s soul in that moment — when the one person who should have defended her honour and comforted her tears turned away instead. The betrayal of trust. The absence of protection. The abandonment of love. I understand that pain. Having been molested as a teenager, I know what it is to carry a wound that no one seemed willing to acknowledge. To live in a quiet sackcloth of shame, wearing invisible ashes that others refuse to see. For years, I bore that silence — a heaviness not just from what happened, but from the unspoken message: You’re on your own. Yet even here, in this place of brokenness, God met me. He is not like the kings of this world. He is the Father who sees, the Defender who restores, the Healer who never looks away. 📖 “The Lord is near to the broken-hearted, and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” — Psalm 34:18 (NKJV) He weeps over every injustice done in secret. He gathers every tear that others ignored. He wraps the violated and forgotten in His tender presence and whispers, “You are Mine. I saw it all. I will heal what was stolen.” What Tamar’s story teaches me is this: human protection can fail, but divine compassion never does. God is still writing redemption over the places that once held despair. The ashes of yesterday are the soil in which He plants tomorrow’s beauty. 📖 “To give them beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness.” — Isaiah 61:3 (NKJV) 💡Reflection: • Have there been times when those meant to protect you turned away? 🤔 • How has God shown Himself to be your Defender in those hidden places? 🤔 • What might “beauty for ashes” look like in your story today? 🤔 🙌 Prayer: Father, thank You that You see what others overlook. Thank You that no pain is wasted in Your hands. Heal the wounds of rejection and betrayal within me. Restore the voice that shame once silenced, and let my life testify of Your compassion and power to redeem. Clothe me, Lord, not in sackcloth, but in Your beauty and strength. In Jesus’ Name, Amen. 🎺 Affirmation: Even when others failed to protect me, God never abandoned me. I am seen, known, and loved beyond measure. ✨ A Note from My Core: This reflection comes from the very heart of who I am — a woman whose faith is her foundation, whose compassion compels her to reach for the broken-hearted, and whose courage refuses to let pain have the final word. My story is one of restoration — turning ashes into beauty, sorrow into song, and fear into freedom through the healing love of Jesus Christ.

Relationships Build Loyalty — Presence that Strengthens Trust

Leadership that values people above productivity.

Something that deeply struck me recently was learning that John Maxwell touches base with his longtime assistant every single day — 365 days a year. That level of intentional connection isn’t about control or obligation; it’s about care. It’s about remembering that relationships, not results, are the foundation of leadership. True loyalty isn’t demanded — it’s grown. It blossoms in the soil of consistent presence, genuine respect, and shared purpose. Checking in daily says, “You matter.” It communicates trust, not supervision; partnership, not hierarchy. As someone who treasures relationships and seeks to lead from love, this resonates deeply with me. Leadership, whether in ministry, business, or community, is never about managing outcomes — it’s about nurturing people. When we invest time in others, when we see them not just as contributors but as companions in the journey, we build something unshakeable. For me, this truth is a quiet reminder to keep showing up. To lead with intentionality. To value every conversation as sacred ground where connection, encouragement, and growth can take root. 📖 “Be devoted to one another in love. Honour one another above yourselves.” — Romans 12:10 (NIV) 💡 Reflection: • How intentional am I about maintaining relationships that matter? 🤔 • What simple act of daily connection could strengthen trust with someone I lead or serve? 🤔 🎺 Affirmation: I lead with presence, not pressure. My consistency builds trust, my kindness builds loyalty, and my heart builds connection. 🙌 Prayer: Lord Jesus, teach me the power of consistency in love. Help me to see people the way You do — worthy of time, attention, and grace. Let my leadership reflect Your heart: faithful, relational, and steadfast. May every check-in, every word, and every moment carry Your presence. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Face It Until You Make It

Resilience, not Pretence — Choosing Courage over Performance

There’s a dangerous myth that whispers, “Fake it until you make it.” It teaches us to polish what’s broken, to hide our struggles behind smiles and to pretend strength where there is only exhaustion. We all know that "I'm F.I.N.E." is a lie we tend to live when we're not. Yet true growth doesn’t bloom in pretending. It begins in the soil of honesty — where we face what hurts, what failed, and what still needs grace. God never called us to perform our faith; He calls us to persevere through it. The refining fire isn’t for faking — it’s for forming. Every stumble, every tear, every moment of uncertainty becomes sacred ground when faced with humility and courage. 📖 “My brethren, count it all joy when you fall into various trials, knowing that the testing of your faith produces patience.” — James 1:2–3 (NKJV) When you face it — not fake it — you grow stronger. You rise again, a little wiser, a little braver, a little more like Christ. Growth isn’t glamorous; it’s gritty. You will fall. You will fail. You will face it again. Yet each time you get back up, heaven cheers, and purpose deepens its roots in you. 💡 Reflection: • What challenge am I being invited to face instead of fake today? 🤔 • How has God used past failures to form strength and resilience in me? 🤔 • Where can I offer myself grace in the process of becoming? 🤔 🎺 Affirmation: I choose to face life with courage and truth. My strength is not in pretending to be whole but in trusting the One who makes me whole again. 🙌 Prayer: Lord, help me to face what feels impossible with faith instead of fear. Teach me to rise after every fall, knowing Your mercy meets me there. Strip away pretence, polish my perseverance, and form Christlike resilience in my heart. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Don’t Just Be Available… Be Obedient🔥

True service begins when our hearts bow before His will.

In this generation, it is easy to mistake busyness for devotion. We fill our calendars with ministry, show up faithfully every Sunday, and volunteer for every event. Yet even in the midst of constant activity, it is possible to miss the whisper of His voice. Availability impresses people, but obedience pleases God. God is not seeking exhausted believers running from one task to the next. He is seeking surrendered hearts — broken vessels who will humbly say, “Lord, not my way but Yours.” 📖 “To obey is better than sacrifice, and to heed than the fat of rams.” — 1 Samuel 15:22 (NKJV) Obedience is rarely convenient. It stretches our comfort, confronts our pride, and dismantles our timelines. Yet every time we choose obedience, we move from simply being present to being positioned — prepared for His power to flow through us. Before saying, “Lord, use me,” we must first be willing to pray, “Lord, change me.” He is not looking for more volunteers; He is looking for vessels who will listen, yield, and move when He says, “Go.” When availability meets obedience, ordinary moments become divine appointments. 💡Reflection: • Have I been serving out of duty or out of intimacy with God? 🤔 • What is one area where God is asking me to obey, even when it’s uncomfortable? 🤔 • How can I make space in my daily life to truly listen for His direction? 🤔 🙌 Prayer: Father, forgive me for the times I have mistaken busyness for obedience. Teach me to serve not out of striving, but from surrender. Align my heart with Yours so that every act of availability becomes an act of obedience. May Your will shape my steps, and Your love steady my heart. In Jesus’ Name, Amen. 🎺 Affirmation: I am not just available — I am obedient. My life is yielded to His leading, and I find rest in His perfect will.

Letting Go of Control: The Gentle Unravelling of Fear

Learning to trust God with the parts of ourselves we’ve tried to hide.

Control often disguises itself as responsibility, excellence, or even love. Yet beneath the surface, it’s usually fear in another form — fear of rejection, fear of being misunderstood, fear that if people truly saw us, they might turn away. So, we keep busy. We perfect. We please. We manage every detail to keep our world safe and predictable. But control is a fragile shield. It keeps others out, yes — but it also keeps healing from coming in. When we begin to meet the parts of ourselves we’ve hidden — the insecure, the angry, the weary, the tender — something holy happens. In that meeting place, grace whispers, “You are still Mine.” 📖 “There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear.” — 1 John 4:18 (NIV) When love begins to seep into the cracks of our defences, we no longer need to micromanage how others see us. We start to rest in how God sees us — fully known, deeply loved, and already accepted. People-pleasing loses its grip. Perfectionism softens. The frantic striving to prove our worth gives way to peace. God invites us to surrender control not to leave us exposed, but to free us. To replace our anxious grasping with His steady, sovereign hand. To trade the exhausting illusion of control for the liberating truth of trust. 💡 Reflection: What part of yourself have you been trying to manage, fix, or hide from others — or even from God? How might you begin to meet that part with love and acceptance today? 🤔 🎺 Affirmation: I no longer need to control how others see me. I am safe, seen, and loved by God, even in the parts I’m still learning to accept. 🙌 Prayer: Father, teach me to rest in Your love instead of trying to control my world. Help me to see the beauty in my imperfections and the freedom that comes from surrender. May Your perfect love cast out every fear that drives me to grasp or please. Heal the hidden places in my heart and remind me that I am already accepted in You. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

What Happens in Childhood Doesn’t End in Childhood

Healing the echoes of our early stories through God’s redeeming love

Childhood is where the first seeds of who we are were sown. Some were planted in rich soil — love, safety, and delight — while others took root in rocky ground, watered by fear, neglect, or confusion. Those early years formed the rhythms of our hearts, the ways we attach, trust, and dream. Even when we grow tall and move far from those days, the roots of childhood stretch quietly through the corridors of our adult lives. The phrase “what happens in childhood doesn’t end in childhood” reminds us that unhealed pain does not simply fade with age. It lingers, shaping how we see ourselves, how we love, and how we respond to life’s challenges. Trauma, loss, and unmet needs carve pathways in the brain and heart — patterns that can echo in anxiety, perfectionism, people-pleasing, or fear of rejection. Yet, those same pathways can be renewed when love — especially God’s love — begins to flow through them again. 📖 “He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.” — Psalm 147:3 (NIV) Healing is not about rewriting history; it is about inviting Jesus into it. When we bring our inner child — the one who felt unseen, unheard, or unloved — into His gentle presence, something sacred happens. His compassion reaches into places time cannot touch. The memories that once felt frozen begin to thaw in the warmth of His truth. Healing is a process, not an event. Some days will feel like freedom, and others like grief resurfacing. Yet, every tear is a baptism of renewal — proof that something deep within us still believes restoration is possible. 📖 “The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” — Psalm 34:18 (NIV) When we allow God to meet us in those early wounds, He rewrites the story not by erasing it, but by redeeming it. The same childhood that once held pain becomes the soil where empathy, strength, and compassion grow. What once broke us can become what builds us — shaping us into vessels of comfort for others. 💡 Reflection: • What part of your childhood still feels unfinished or unheard? 🤔 • Where might Jesus be inviting you to revisit the past — not to relive the pain, but to release it? 🤔 • How has God already used your past to help you comfort others? 🤔 🎺 Affirmation: My story is not over. What began in pain is being rewritten in grace. Jesus is healing the child within me so the woman I am can walk free. 🙌 Prayer: Dear Lord, thank You for seeing every chapter of my story — even the ones I tried to forget. Teach me to bring my childhood memories to You, trusting that Your love can heal what time could not. Help me to forgive where I’ve held on to pain, and to receive the restoration You long to give. Let Your truth speak louder than the lies I learned in fear. Make my heart a place of wholeness and peace, where Your Spirit dwells and redeems all things. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Your Breaking Is Birthing Something Beautiful

When the crushing becomes creation, grace is at work.

Everyone longs for the anointing, yet few are willing to endure the breaking. Everyone desires the crown, yet not all are ready to carry the cross. Still, remember this: God will not use an unbroken person. Brokenness is not punishment — it is preparation. Grapes must be crushed to make wine. Olives must be pressed to release their oil. Diamonds are formed under pressure. Seeds break open and grow in the darkness. So if you find yourself in a season of breaking, take heart — you are not being destroyed, you are being refined. The cracks are where His light gets in. The tears you’ve sown in pain are watering the soil of your next season. 📖 “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love Him, who have been called according to His purpose.” — Romans 8:28 (NIV) God is moulding you into something far more radiant than you can imagine. Every crushing moment is birthing the fragrance of Christ within you. Every pressing is producing an oil that will one day heal others. If you believe God is working through your brokenness, whisper a faith-filled Amen — not to impress heaven, but to disappoint hell — and share this truth with someone who needs to remember that beauty is being born right now in the breaking. 💡Reflection: • What season of breaking have you been resisting instead of trusting? 🤔 • How might God be transforming your pain into purpose right now? 🤔 • What fragrance of Christ is being released through your current refinement? 🤔 🎺Affirmation: Even in my breaking, I am becoming. God’s hands are gentle in the crushing, faithful in the pressing, and sovereign in the shaping of my life. 🙌 Prayer: Lord Jesus, thank You for being near to the broken-hearted. Help me see that my breaking is not the end but the beginning of something beautiful. Teach me to trust Your hands when I cannot see Your plan, and to remember that every pressure, every tear, and every surrender is drawing me closer to Your likeness. Refine me, restore me, and use my story for Your glory. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

F.I.N.E. — The Vow Not to Cry

When strength became silence, and silence learned to bleed

I was three, maybe four years old, when I learned to stop crying. I remember standing there — small, tearful, wanting my mother’s attention. All I wanted was time with her, to be held, to be seen. Instead, she shoved my head under cold water. The shock stole my breath. I gasped, covered my mouth, and made a vow that day: I will never cry again. That inner vow wrapped itself around my heart like armour. I told myself I wouldn’t need hugs, comfort, or softness. I would not ask for love. I would be strong — or at least appear to be. I grew up being F.I.N.E. — Fractured, Insecure, Numb, and Exhausted. For decades, that word became my survival code. “I’m fine” meant I’m holding it together by a thread. It was the language of control, the mask of someone who learned early that her needs were too much. Beneath that silence lived a river of uncried tears — tears that my body would one day reveal through pain, pressure and inflammation. 📖 “The Lord is near to those who have a broken heart, and saves such as have a contrite spirit.” — Psalm 34:18 (NKJV) Years later, my mother told me she once found me in the living room — quiet and still. I had fallen while climbing on the TV unit and split my lip open. Blood was streaming through my fingers, yet not a single tear fell. I just stood there, hand pressed over my mouth, frozen not a sound. That image pierced me when I remembered it. The little girl who had learned that tears were dangerous now stood silently bleeding, unwilling to cry even in pain. My body remembered the vow even when my mind had forgotten. That moment became the mirror to my soul. I began to see how deeply that vow shaped my life — how it stole my ability to receive comfort, how it numbed joy as well as pain. The silence that once kept me safe had become a prison. Yet even in that frozen moment, Jesus was there. I believe He knelt beside that trembling child, whispering, “You don’t have to hide your pain anymore. I can hold it. I can hold you.” When I finally repented and renounced that vow, my body began to heal. My sinuses cleared. My chest loosened. My tears — once imprisoned — became prayers. Each one felt like a baptism, washing away years of self-protection. I was no longer drowning in grief; I was being freed by grace. 📖 “Those who sow in tears shall reap in joy.” — Psalm 126:5 (NKJV) The vow that once kept me “fine” broke under the weight of divine love. The little girl who had stood silent and bleeding learned to weep again. 📖 “He will wipe away every tear from their eyes; there shall be no more death, nor sorrow, nor crying.” — Revelation 21:4 (NKJV) 💡 Reflection: • What vows of self-protection have shaped your story — and what might God be inviting you to release? 🤔 • What memories still hold your tears hostage, waiting to be redeemed by His touch? 🤔 • What would it look like to let your tears become an offering instead of a sign of weakness? 🤔 🎺 Affirmation: I am no longer defined by silence or strength without softness. My tears are holy; my heart is safe. The vow is broken. Love has found me, and I am free to cry, to need, and to be healed. 🙌 Prayer: Abba Father, Thank You for finding me in every hidden place — even in the memories I thought were too painful to revisit. Thank You for loving the little girl who believed she had to be fine while her heart bled in silence. I release the vow that bound me to strength without comfort. I welcome Your healing presence into the places where cold water silenced my cries. Wash away every residue of fear and shame. Let my tears water new life, and may every drop become a testimony of Your compassion. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Held in His Hands

Trusting God’s Timing in Every Season

There are moments in life when God’s whisper feels like the only thing keeping us steady — a quiet assurance that He has not forgotten us. Today, He speaks gently over your heart: “Every detail of your life is in My hands. I am working all things together for your good. What I started in you, I will bring to completion. The dreams I planted in your heart and the purpose I designed for you — it will all come to pass in My perfect timing. Do not fear or be discouraged. My love for you is unfailing, unshaken, and unending. I have not forgotten you, and I will not abandon the work of My hands. Even in seasons where you don’t see progress, trust that I am moving behind the scenes, aligning the right people, opportunities, and moments for your breakthrough.” 📖 “The Lord will perfect that which concerns me; Your mercy, O Lord, endures forever; do not forsake the works of Your hands.” — Psalm 138:8 (NKJV) Every seed God has planted in you is still growing, even beneath the soil of unseen seasons. Like a potter shaping clay, His hands are steady — forming purpose from pressure and beauty from brokenness. Nothing is wasted when your life rests in His care. 💡 Reflection: Where in your life do you need to release control and trust God’s unseen work? 🤔 🎺 Affirmation: I am held in the loving hands of my Creator. His timing is perfect, His promises sure, and His love unshaken. 🙌 Prayer: Father, thank You for holding every part of my story in Your faithful hands. Help me to trust Your timing when I cannot see progress, and to rest in Your steadfast love. Let Your peace quiet my striving as I wait for the fulfilment of Your promises. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

I’m Possible: Creativity as Restoration

When Healing Becomes the Art of Becoming Whole Again

I know that I will one day speak on stages and in stadiums — it’s not a question of if, only when. Because this is what I’ve learned: People often say, “I’m not creative.” I used to believe that too. I said, I can’t sing, I can’t dance, I can’t draw, I can’t paint, I can’t write, I can’t speak. Those weren’t truths; they were wounds — ways of protecting myself from shame and rejection. Yet God, in His mercy, gave me seven keys for healing, and six of them were creativity, because creativity isn’t about talent — it’s about restoration. It’s rest. It’s joy. It’s the place where our hearts remember how to breathe again. Every “I can’t” in my life became a story of redemption. Now, I do all six. Creativity has become my conversation with God — a sacred exchange where pain becomes colour, words become wings, and silence becomes song. It’s where I find healing and restoration through faith and expression. 📖 “With God all things are possible.” — Matthew 19:26 (NKJV) 📖 “He has sent Me to heal the broken-hearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and the opening of the prison to those who are bound.” — Isaiah 61:1 (NKJV) So now I know this: Nothing is impossible — because with Him, I’m possible. 💡 Reflection: • Where have you believed the lie that you are not creative? 🤔 • What story of healing might God be waiting to write through your hands, your voice, your movement, or your imagination? 🤔 🎺 Affirmation: I am God’s masterpiece in progress. Every brushstroke of my life carries His grace. What once was broken, He is making beautifully whole. 🙌 Prayer: Father, thank You for the gift of creativity — for the ways You heal and restore what was once wounded and afraid. Help me to see myself as You see me: capable, beloved, and full of divine potential. Teach me to create from a place of rest and joy, and to use my gifts to reflect Your heart to the world. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

The Real Flex as an Artist

Staying Rooted in Your Artistry When No One’s Clapping

The real flex as an artist isn’t going viral — it’s staying rooted in your artistry when no one’s clapping. There’s a quiet strength in the artist who keeps showing up — brush in hand, heart open — when no one’s watching, sharing, or applauding. The courage to create without recognition is its own kind of faithfulness. We are our own worst critics when it comes to art. We’ll hail someone else’s painting as magnificent long before we’ll accept our own as merely good enough. Yet when God, the Master Artist, made man in His own image, He looked upon His creation and said, “It was very good.” 📖 “Then God saw everything that He had made, and indeed it was very good.” — Genesis 1:31 (NKJV) That truth still humbles me. God, who painted galaxies and sculpted mountains, called His work good — not perfect. If the Creator Himself found joy in the process, who are we to despise ours?🤔 For more than a year, this painting has sat on my easel — sky, mountain, forest, and water — waiting for me to finish the train that winds its way through the valley. I’ve hesitated to pick up the brush, afraid to mess it up. Afraid of ruining what’s already beautiful in its unfinished state. But isn’t that how we often live?🤔 Pausing mid-journey because the next step feels risky. We procrastinate, not from laziness, but from fear — fear of imperfection, of exposure, of not being “enough.” Yet God never asked for perfection. He invited participation. Perhaps this canvas is a quiet metaphor for my life — for every dream I’ve delayed and every vision I’ve left half-painted. The courage lies not in completing it flawlessly, but in continuing, trusting that grace will fill the gaps my skill cannot. True artistry flows not from performance, but from presence. It’s the courage to create when inspiration feels distant, to paint with praise when no audience gathers, and to rest in the knowing that God delights in the process as much as the product. 💡 Reflection: Where in your creative or spiritual life are you hesitating to continue because you fear imperfection? 🤔 How might God be inviting you to pick up the brush again, trusting Him with what you cannot perfect? 🤔 🎺 Affirmation: My art is an act of worship. Whether seen or unseen, finished or unfinished, it is good — because the One who made me is good. 🙌 Prayer: Father God, thank You for breathing Your creative Spirit into me. Teach me to see beauty in what You see as good. Help me silence the critic within and rest in Your affirmation rather than the world’s applause. May my art — however flawed, however incomplete — be an offering of worship to You. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

500 Stories — A Tapestry of Grace

Celebrating every word, wound, and wonder that shaped my journey of becoming.

500 stories.  500 threads of grace, woven through laughter and loss, courage and surrender, faith and failure, love and healing. 500 glimpses into lives touched by God’s redemptive love. 500 testaments that healing is possible, hope is alive, and beauty truly does rise from ashes. When I first began writing This Is My Story on trixiscreations.com, I never imagined how vast the canvas would become. Each post began as a whisper — a fragment of truth carried by the Holy Spirit — slowly forming into a mosaic of redemption. Together, they tell not only my story, but the story of a God who restores, redeems, and renews through every chapter of our becoming. What started as an act of obedience became a sacred altar — a place where I laid down my heart, page by page, and found it beating stronger under His touch. 📖 “The Lord has done great things for us, and we are filled with joy.” — Psalm 126:3 (NIV) Each story holds a heartbeat — of faith rekindled, of courage found in the breaking, of beauty revealed in ashes. From the trembling beginnings of my healing journey to the radiant unfolding of Healing 💔heARTs💖, every piece is a testimony that God truly wastes nothing. He has taken the fragments — the bruised seasons, the silent prayers, the journals soaked with tears — and turned them into art, into words, into light. Five hundred stories may sound like a number, but for me, it feels like a promise fulfilled: That no voice is too small, no pain too deep, no past too fractured for His redeeming love. As I look back, I see not just what I’ve written, but who I’ve become — a daughter restored, a storyteller healed, a vessel of hope for others still finding their way home. 📖 “They overcame him by the blood of the Lamb and by the word of their testimony.” — Revelation 12:11 (NKJV) Every story has been an act of worship — a way of saying, “Here I am, Lord, still writing, still believing, still becoming.” 📖 “Let the redeemed of the Lord tell their story.” — Psalm 107:2 (NIV) To everyone who has read, wept, or whispered me too — thank you. You’ve turned this journey into a shared song of grace. We are living proof that stories heal when they’re spoken, and hearts mend when they’re seen. 💡 Reflection: • What story in your life is God still writing through the cracks and the quiet? 🤔 • Where has His grace rewritten your pain into purpose? 🤔 🎺 Affirmation: Every story matters — even the unfinished ones. My words are not wasted; they are seeds of healing, sown in faith and watered by grace. 🙌 Prayer: Father, thank You for the gift of story — for the way You redeem our brokenness and turn it into beauty. May each word written continue to glorify You and draw hearts closer to Your love. Teach me to keep writing from a place of truth, tenderness, and trust, knowing that You are still the Author and Finisher of my faith. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Restoring What Distance Broke

On mothering, regret, and the God who heals what we could not hold.

There are things I would do differently if I could relive those early years. Back then, I didn’t understand how sacred the bond between a mother and her child truly was — that trust is learnt at a mother’s breast, through presence, warmth, and the rhythm of being held. When that bond is interrupted, it leaves an invisible fracture that often resurfaces in adulthood, especially when life feels overwhelming. I see it now in the quiet distance of my own children — their self-sufficiency, their hesitance to share their hearts, not out of defiance, but because somewhere along the way, the safety of connection was disrupted. I grieve that. In judging my parents, I became like them and made many of the same mistakes I once resented. The very patterns I swore I’d never repeat found their way into my own mothering, quietly passed down like unspoken legacies. Now, I see it in the fruit of my boys — their guardedness, their independence, their need to protect their own hearts. And yet, even this recognition is grace, because seeing truth is the beginning of redemption. For I serve a God who redeems what time has eroded, who restores what was fractured by fear or ignorance. He turns “the hearts of the children to their fathers, and the hearts of the fathers to their children.” — Malachi 4:6 (NKJV) It’s never too late to acknowledge where we fell short, nor too late to pursue restoration. Love has a way of finding the cracks, filling them with mercy, and making something beautiful again — like kintsugi gold threading through broken pottery. If we want to live in our children’s memories, we must be present in their moments — the first steps, the whispered words, the small victories. It is in those ordinary, sacred spaces that trust is formed and love takes root. 💡Reflection: • Have I forgiven my parents for the ways they fell short, and in doing so, freed myself from repeating their patterns? 🤔 • What steps can I take today toward reconnection and grace? 🤔 🎺Affirmation: I release judgment and receive grace. I am not bound to repeat old patterns — in Christ, I am made new, and so are my relationships. 🙌 Prayer: Father God, thank You for the mercy that meets me even in my regrets. Forgive me for the ways I judged my parents and for repeating the very wounds I sought to escape. Teach me to mother — and to love — from a place of grace, not guilt. Heal the spaces where distance took root and let Your love flow between us again. Turn our hearts toward one another and restore the beauty of connection. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Trust Begins at Mother's Breast

A reflection on nurture, attachment, and the restoration of hearts across generations

There are moments in life when truth lands not as a judgment, but as a quiet, piercing ache — the kind that makes you pause and whisper, “If I knew then what I know now…” I once believed that placing my children in daycare was a necessity, part of the rhythm of modern life. Everyone around me seemed to do it. Yet deep down, something in my spirit grieved. I now see with clarity that what the world calls normal often stands far from God’s design. Trust is first learnt at a mother’s breast — in the warmth of her arms, the steady rhythm of her heartbeat, het consistent presence and the gentle gaze that tells a child, You are safe. You are seen. You belong. I look back now and see how easily we, as mothers, can be led by the world’s systems instead of God’s design. So many of us handed our babies to others too soon — not out of neglect, but out of pressure, exhaustion, or the belief that independence was progress. 📖 “Yet You are He who took me out of the womb; You made me trust while on my mother’s breasts.” — Psalm 22:9 (NKJV) When that primal bond is disrupted too soon, a child’s heart adapts for survival. They learn independence before safety, silence before expression, control before comfort. And those early wounds lie dormant until the structures of adulthood begin to crumble under pressure. Then, suddenly, the old ache resurfaces — the unspoken longing for closeness, for safety, for connection. Just look at the emotional disconnect between adults and children today, and you’ll see the ripple of that deprivation. It's in being present in those childhood moments that relationships, trust and safety to share are built. I now see the consequences in my own children — "That's a good question. " in reply to enquiring how they are, their quiet distance, their hesitancy to share their hearts. It grieves me, yet it also humbles me. Because even in regret, God whispers redemption. If we want to live in our children’s memories, we must be present in their moments — the first steps, the whispered words, the small victories. It is in those ordinary, sacred spaces that trust is formed and love takes root. This is not written from blame, but from awakening. We parented with what we knew, not with what we understand now. Grace reminds me that regret can become a doorway — not to condemnation, but to restoration. 📖 “He will turn the hearts of the fathers to their children, and the hearts of the children to their fathers.” — Malachi 4:6 (NKJV) This verse anchors me in hope. No mistake is final in God’s story. The same hands that knit our babies in the womb can reweave the torn threads of trust. His love restores what our humanity mishandled. When we confess, when we choose to reconnect, when we let love lead again — He breathes new life into the bond. God, in His mercy, turns the hearts of children back to their fathers and mothers, and the hearts of parents back to their children. He weaves healing through honesty, humility, and renewed connection. I cannot rewrite their beginnings, yet I can choose how the next chapter unfolds — with presence, tenderness, and truth. 📖 “As one whom his mother comforts, so I will comfort you.” — Isaiah 66:13 (NKJV) It’s never too late to nurture, to listen, to hold our children close — even if they’re grown. It’s never too late to model repentance, humility, and tenderness. Trust may take time to rebuild, but grace is patient. God’s heart beats with restoration, and He delights in mending what was once broken. 💡 Reflection: • What memories or beliefs about nurture and trust need healing in your story today? 🤔 • What memories or beliefs about nurture and trust need healing in your story today? 🤔 Where have distance or busyness robbed me of presence? 🤔 • How might God be inviting you to restore what was once broken — in yourself, your children, or your lineage? 🤔 • Where have you seen the long echo of early emotional disconnection — in yourself, your children, or your relationships? 🤔 • How might God be inviting you to participate in His restoring work today? 🤔 🎺 Affirmation: I am no longer defined by what I didn’t know then. By God’s grace, I am learning to love better now — to nurture, to listen, and to rebuild trust with gentleness and truth. I am not bound by regret. I am part of God’s redemptive story — healing, learning, and loving in new ways. 🙌 Prayer: Father, thank You for opening my eyes to see both the beauty and the brokenness of what shaped me. Forgive me for moments when I followed the world’s patterns instead of Your design. Heal the attachment wounds within my family, and let Your love rebuild what distance has undone. Restore trust where fear once lived, and remind us that it’s never too late to begin again. Heavenly Father, thank You for Your mercy that covers every regret and breathes life into every broken bond. Forgive me where I fell short, and help me to see through Your eyes — to love my children, my family, and myself with the same tenderness You have shown me. Heal the places where trust was lost and let Your love flow freely between generations. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

The Truth About Apologies

Learning to heal what sorry alone can’t mend

"Sorry" has become one of the most overused words in our vocabulary. We say it when someone bumps into us, when silence feels uncomfortable, or when we simply want to avoid conflict. Yet most apologies, if we’re honest, are just that — conflict avoidance. True repentance goes far deeper than words. Real apologies have three sacred parts: 1. Acknowledgement — I see the hurt I caused. 2. Responsibility — I admit it was me. No excuses. 3. Change — I choose to act differently. Everything else is surface-level — social lubrication to smooth over discomfort rather than transform the heart. Saying “sorry” when we step on someone’s toe is right and kind. But when we step on someone’s heart, “sorry” isn’t enough. That wound deserves more than a polite word — it calls for forgiveness sought and repentance lived. Apology may ease tension, but repentance restores relationship. Apology seeks relief; repentance seeks renewal. The first says, “Let’s move on.” The second whispers, “Let me be different.” 📖 “Godly sorrow produces repentance leading to salvation, not to be regretted; but the sorrow of the world produces death.” — 2 Corinthians 7:10 (NKJV) 💡 Reflection: • Where have I used “sorry” as a way to avoid discomfort rather than pursue healing? 🤔 • What does true repentance look like in my relationships today? 🤔 🎺 Affirmation: I choose truth over convenience. I seek forgiveness where I have caused pain and invite God to change what words alone cannot. 🙌 Prayer: Father, teach me to walk in humility and truth. Help me see when my words fall short of the healing You desire. Give me courage to seek forgiveness where I’ve caused pain, and grace to change what needs transforming. Let my life reflect Your heart — honest, gentle, and willing to grow. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

The Power of Your No — Guarding the Gates of Purpose

Learning to honour your boundaries so your yes can carry Heaven’s weight.

There is a sacred power in the word no. Not the harsh, defensive kind, but the kind that protects what is holy — the kind that guards the gates of your purpose. Every no spoken in wisdom strengthens the impact of your yes. So often, we equate kindness with compliance. We overextend, overcommit, and overgive until our peace leaks through the cracks of exhaustion. Yet saying yes to everything isn’t love — it’s leakage. Love has boundaries, and even Jesus withdrew from the crowds to rest, to pray, to realign with the Father’s will. Every yes is an investment of time, energy, and heart. When you scatter them everywhere, the things that truly matter — the vision God placed within you — are left undernourished. Just because you can do something doesn’t mean you should. Skills are gifts, but calling gives them direction. Align your yes with Heaven’s purpose for your life. Let your boundaries be the borders of peace where your vision can flourish. Protect your passion from distraction, and you’ll find that your yes will begin to move mountains. 📖 “Let your ‘Yes’ be ‘Yes,’ and your ‘No,’ ‘No’; for whatever is more than these is from the evil one.” — Matthew 5:37 (NKJV) 💡 Reflection: • Where in your life have you been saying yes out of obligation instead of conviction? 🤔 • What boundaries could you set this week to honour your God-given vision? 🤔 🎺 Affirmation: My no is not rejection — it is protection. I honour God’s calling by saying yes only to what aligns with His purpose for me. 🙌 Prayer: Father, teach me the wisdom of discernment — to know when to step forward and when to rest. Help me to honour You with my boundaries, and to align every yes with Your will for my life. Guard my heart from distraction and fill me with peace as I walk in purpose. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

The Law of Invisible Progress

Trusting God’s work beneath the surface

There are seasons when the soil of your life looks barren — when nothing seems to be breaking through, and your effort feels swallowed by silence. Yet beneath that still surface, something sacred is stirring. The roots are reaching deeper. The unseen is aligning. A couple of years ago, my counsellor asked me to draw myself as a tree. What emerged on the page was a strong, sturdy trunk with deep roots and lush green branches reaching heavenward — yet not a single piece of fruit in sight. When she gently asked why there was no fruit, I realised it was because I couldn’t see any in my life. I had been sowing faithfully, but I hadn’t witnessed the impact my seeds were making in others. Even with the Healing 💔heARTs💖 Encounter Groups and the Community Paint Parties, it took more than three years before I began hearing the occasional ripple of feedback — a story passed along through the grapevine, a testimony whispered in gratitude, a quiet confirmation that something beautiful was indeed growing. There have been many moments when I’ve questioned why I keep showing up, especially when the harvest seems slow and unseen. Yet time and again, the gentle whisper of Scripture steadies me: be faithful in the little. That reminder roots me again in the truth that my part is obedience, and God’s part is fruitfulness. There is a holy mystery to progress that happens underground. Like a seed hidden in the soil, so much of growth takes place where no eye can see. God often hides our progress so we’ll learn to trust His unseen hand — to keep watering, keep tending, keep believing that He is at work even when there is no visible bloom. He wants us to keep seeking Him, not the outcome. The waiting stretches our faith and strengthens our character until we’re ready to hold what He’s been preparing. 📖 “Let us not grow weary while doing good, for in due season we shall reap if we do not lose heart.” — Galatians 6:9 (NKJV) Every prayer whispered in faith, every act of kindness unseen by others, every tear sown in surrender carries eternal weight— none of it is wasted. Heaven keeps careful record of your obedience. The invisible work of today becomes tomorrow’s visible harvest. So keep showing up, even when nothing seems to move. Keep sowing, even when the ground looks hard. Your perseverance is not in vain. What feels like stillness is God’s quiet construction — a season of roots before fruit. The roots are forming; the branches are stretching; and in His perfect time, fruit will appear — not for our glory, but for His. 💡 Reflection: • Where in your life do you sense God asking you to trust the unseen process? 🤔 • What helps you stay faithful when progress feels invisible? 🤔 🎺 Affirmation: I am growing in grace even when I cannot see it. God is working beneath the surface of my life, turning hidden obedience into visible fruit in His perfect time. 🙌 Prayer: Father, thank You for reminding me that progress is not always visible. Teach me to trust Your timing and Your process, even in the silent seasons. Strengthen my heart to keep sowing faithfully, believing that every seed planted in love will bear fruit in due season. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

33 Years of Us — Still Choosing Each Other

Celebrating love, laughter, and the grace that keeps us growing together.

Tonight we marked another beautiful chapter of our story with a delightful dinner and dessert — a simple yet sacred celebration of love, friendship, and the life we continue to build side by side. Each shared smile and gentle touch reminded me that true love isn’t found in grand gestures, but in everyday faithfulness — in choosing one another, again and again, through every season. Every year adds another layer to our love — one shaped by faith, softened by grace, and strengthened through the storms we’ve walked through hand in hand. We’ve seen each other at our best and at our breaking points, yet somehow, love keeps leading us back home to one another. Tonight, as we shared a quiet dinner, my heart brimmed with gratitude. Each passing year deepens the meaning of love — not merely the feeling, but the daily choice to nurture, forgive, listen, and grow. 📖 "Above all things have fervent love for one another, for love will cover a multitude of sins." — 1 Peter 4:8 (NKJV) Love, for me, has always been more than romance; it is compassion in motion, a reflection of God’s heart. It’s holding space for each other’s dreams, walking through valleys hand in hand, and laughing over shared desserts when words are few but hearts are full. Love, at its truest, is not about perfection, but presence. It’s about showing up — even when life feels heavy, even when words fall short. It’s laughter over shared memories, the comfort of familiar hands, and the grace that bridges our differences with understanding. Our journey together hasn’t been perfect, but it’s been real — anchored in faith, strengthened through storms, and softened by grace. Life has thrown us a bunch of curveballs, but here we are, still standing stronger than before. Every milestone reminds me that love is both a sanctuary and a refining fire, teaching patience, humility, and deep joy. We’ve grown not just older, but closer — learning to listen with our hearts, forgive quickly, and treasure the gift of simply being together. Love, after all, isn’t found in grand gestures but in the quiet, daily choosing — to show up, to stay, and to keep believing in the “us” God has woven over time. 📖 “Let all that you do be done in love.” — 1 Corinthians 16:14 (NKJV) Happy 33rd Anniversary, Schatzi. You are still my constant — my calm and my cheerleader, my safe place and my greatest adventure. I love that we can still laugh until tears fall, that we know each other’s stories by heart, and that we choose each other, again and again, even when life isn’t perfect. Three decades and more of laughter, tears, dreams, and growth — and still, your steady love remains my anchor. You’ve believed in me when I doubted and hated myself, lifted me when I felt weary, and loved me through every version of who I’ve become. What a gift it is to walk through life hand in hand with someone who sees both the woman I am and the one I’m still becoming. Thank you for being my partner in faith, my voice of reason, and my quiet strength when storms have come. What a gift it is to still laugh together, dream together, and rest in the quiet knowing that our hearts have found home. 💞 📖 “And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.” — 1 Corinthians 13:13 (NIV) Here’s to all we’ve weathered, all we’ve learned, and all the new chapters still to be written. 💞 I love you to the moon and back.😘 💡Reflection: How has your understanding of love matured through the seasons of your life together? 🤔 🎺Affirmation: Our love is a living testimony of God’s grace — steady, forgiving, and full of laughter. 🙌 Prayer: Father, thank You for the sacred gift of partnership — for the joy of sharing life, laughter, and faith with the one You’ve joined to my heart. May our love continue to reflect Your faithfulness, growing deeper and more beautiful with each passing year. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Coach Me and I Will Learn

The posture of a teachable heart

True growth begins with humility — the willingness to be guided. When someone takes the time to coach me, I open my heart to listen, absorb, and apply. Learning is not just about gaining knowledge; it’s about transformation through relationship. Just as iron sharpens iron, so one person sharpens another. 📖 “Let the wise listen and add to their learning, and let the discerning get guidance.” — Proverbs 1:5 (NIV) Challenge Me and I Will Grow The stretching that strengthens the soul Growth never happens in comfort. It’s in the challenge — the stretching of faith, the testing of endurance — that I discover new strength within me. Each challenge, though uncomfortable, becomes a divine invitation to rise higher, to mature, and to trust God more deeply. 📖 “Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance.” — James 1:2–3 (NIV) Believe in Me and I Will Win The power of encouragement and faith Few gifts are greater than belief — when someone sees potential in me before I can see it myself. That belief ignites courage, restores confidence, and reminds me of the One who never stops believing in His children. With faith spoken over my life, I can run my race with endurance and grace. 📖 “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.” — Philippians 4:13 (NKJV) 💡 Reflection: Who has coached, challenged, or believed in you in a way that changed your life? How can you now be that person for someone else? 🤔 🎺 Affirmation: I am teachable, resilient, and full of potential. With God’s strength and the encouragement of others, I am growing into the fullness of who He created me to be. 🙌 Prayer: Father, thank You for the people You’ve placed in my life to teach, challenge, and believe in me. Help me stay humble in learning, courageous in growth, and steadfast in faith. May I, in turn, pour that same encouragement into others, reflecting Your love and grace. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

When Fear Writes the Script

The unseen inheritance of spiritual compromise

When my husband and I chose our wedding date — 31 October 1992 — we were very intentional. We wanted a day unshared by birthdays or other special events, a date that would belong solely to us. Back then, Halloween hadn’t yet reached South African shores, so the idea of our anniversary clashing with it never crossed our minds. Three decades later, it still saddens me that this sacred day — once a pure celebration of covenant love — has become surrounded by imagery that glorifies fear, death, and darkness. What was meant to honour union and life now often echoes with a message that celebrates the very things Christ came to conquer. My awareness of spiritual darkness began long before that, though. As a child, my mother — desperately seeking comfort and direction — turned to fortune tellers and mediums. I remember her taking us with her once when I was about ten. She was searching for light in places where only shadows dwell. One of those fortune tellers told her that my father would die, and that I would one day become a teacher. In my little-girl heart, fear and confusion took root. I decided that I would never become a teacher, just to prove her wrong — because I didn’t want Dad to die. What I didn’t realise was that, in that moment, I had unknowingly made an inner vow — a silent agreement with fear — and in doing so, came into alignment with the enemy’s lie. For years, I resisted the very calling God had placed upon me. Every opportunity to teach or speak stirred something deep and uncomfortable inside me, as though I were fighting against my own purpose. Only recently did I understand why. The enemy had used a seed of fear to silence the gift God intended for good. Yet this is the beauty of redemption: what fear distorts, grace restores. God, in His mercy, peeled back the layers of my resistance and revealed that the “teacher” I once rejected was part of His divine design all along. The anointing I ran from was the very one He meant to use for healing and truth. 📖 “You cannot drink the cup of the Lord and the cup of demons; you cannot partake of the Lord’s table and of the table of demons.” — 1 Corinthians 10:21 (NKJV) It took years to understand that spiritual compromise — even in seemingly innocent ways — opens doors we were never meant to walk through. The spiritual realm is real. Curiosity or comfort outside of Christ’s truth may feel harmless at first, but it carries unseen consequences. What begins as curiosity can become captivity when it drifts from His Word. Yet in His kindness, God turns even our darkest agreements into opportunities for restoration. Through repentance, prayer, and surrender, He redeems what deception once claimed. The name of Jesus still holds absolute authority — breaking every chain and silencing every false prophecy spoken over our lives. 📖 “Therefore submit to God. Resist the devil and he will flee from you.” — James 4:7 (NKJV) Looking back, I see now how the enemy tried to bury my purpose under fear — but God resurrected it through grace. My teaching anointing has become a source of healing, not harm; light, not loss. The enemy may have written fear into my childhood, but God has rewritten it with freedom, purpose, and truth. For me, 31 October will never be about Halloween. It will always represent covenant — the sacred union of marriage and the faithfulness of God who redeems every story, even the ones shadowed by fear. 🕊️ A Loving Caution: If you’ve ever entertained what seems like harmless fun around Halloween or sought comfort in things that promise light outside of Christ, I encourage you to take it to prayer. Ask the Holy Spirit to reveal anything in your heart or home that doesn’t belong. Repentance isn’t about shame — it’s about freedom. God’s love doesn’t condemn; it restores. But don't just take my word for it. Read this account from an ex-satanist on Halloween: "People have been desensitised about the occult and the realities of satanism." If you don’t believe me. When you meddle with the demonic, its effects do not stop with you. The doorway you open can echo through generations — touching your children and your children’s children. I know this not merely from Scripture but from experience. 💡 Reflection: • Have you ever made an inner vow or agreement rooted in fear? 🤔 • Are there words spoken over you that need to be broken or redeemed? 🤔 • What gifts or callings have you resisted because of past pain or fear? 🤔 🎺 Affirmation: I walk in the light of Christ. The blood of Jesus covers my life and cancels every agreement made in fear. My inheritance is freedom, and my calling is blessed. 🙌 Prayer: Lord Jesus, thank You for Your mercy that rewrites every fearful story with grace. Forgive me for the times I’ve resisted Your calling or sought safety outside of Your truth. I renounce every false word, every inner vow, and every lie that has silenced Your voice in my life. Redeem what was stolen, Lord, and awaken the gifts You placed within me. I choose Your truth and Your light. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Loving from a Distance

A reflection on grace, boundaries, and discernment in love

It’s important to love all people — yet it’s also wise to love some from a distance. Love doesn’t mean blind access; it means choosing truth over pretence and peace over pretense. Some hearts are simply not safe to hold close. They are not honest, trustworthy, or kind enough to be invited into the sacred spaces of your life. Loving them from afar isn’t bitterness; it’s discernment. It’s recognising that love, in its purest form, does not require proximity — only sincerity. Forgiving doesn’t mean returning. Compassion doesn’t mean tolerating harm. We can pray for people, wish them healing, and still protect our peace. Even Jesus withdrew at times to quiet places, teaching us that boundaries are not barriers to love, but expressions of wisdom. 📖 “Above all else, guard your heart, for everything you do flows from it.” — Proverbs 4:23 (NIV) 💡 Reflection: • Where do you need to create distance without closing your heart? 🤔 • How might you practise love that is both kind and wise? 🤔 🎺 Affirmation: I can love people deeply without losing myself. Distance doesn’t diminish love — it preserves peace. 🙌 Prayer: Father, teach me to love as You love — without resentment, yet with wisdom. Help me recognise when to draw close and when to step back, trusting that healthy boundaries honour You. May my love reflect Your grace, even when it must be expressed from afar. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

When Rejection Becomes Holy Ground

Finding belonging in the heart of the One who was also rejected

Rejection has been the story of my life — from family to friends, and even within the Church. For as long as I can remember, I’ve felt like the one standing on the outside, looking in. I’ve watched others belong with ease while I carried the ache of being unseen, unheard, or misunderstood. Yet when I trace the thread of this pain, I find myself standing beside Jesus. He, too, knew the sting of rejection — from His hometown, from those He came to save, and even from His closest friends in His darkest hour. 📖 “He was despised and rejected by men, a Man of sorrows and acquainted with grief.” — Isaiah 53:3 (NKJV) What a comfort it is to realise that the Saviour of the world understands. He doesn’t merely sympathise — He identifies. Every time I’ve felt left out or forgotten, He has whispered, “I know that pain.” Every time I’ve stood outside the circle, He has invited me closer to His heart. In the silence of rejection, I’ve discovered a sacred intimacy — a fellowship with the One who was wounded yet remained love. What once felt like abandonment has become a holy place where God meets me tenderly, reminding me that belonging begins not with people, but with Him. 📖 “The stone which the builders rejected has become the chief cornerstone.” — Psalm 118:22 (NKJV) The world may have labelled me as “other,” but Jesus calls me chosen. The tables I was excluded from were never meant to define me. My place has always been at His table — the one built from mercy, grace, and unending love. 💡 Reflection: • Where have I mistaken rejection as abandonment, when it was really God’s redirection toward intimacy with Him? 🤔 • How has Jesus met me in the places I felt most unwanted? 🤔 • What might it look like to rest in the truth that I am already accepted and beloved? 🤔 🎺 Affirmation: Even when others turn away, I belong to Jesus — the One who was rejected so I could be accepted forever. 🙌 Prayer: Lord Jesus, You understand the ache of rejection more deeply than anyone ever could. Thank You for meeting me in my loneliness and turning my wounds into places of communion with You. Teach me to see rejection not as failure, but as sacred redirection toward Your love. Anchor my identity in You alone — my Cornerstone, my belonging, my home. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

The Legacy of Love

Reclaiming tenderness as the truest inheritance of faith

We’ve inherited a legacy of fear — not the holy, reverent kind that draws us closer to God, but the quiet, generational fear that whispers we must withhold love to protect or strengthen others. Many of us grew up believing that too much love would spoil a child, that kindness would invite disrespect, and that gentleness would erode authority. We were taught to temper tenderness, to guard affection behind discipline, to withhold softness for the sake of strength. Yet, this is a distortion of truth. Love does not ruin children. Kindness does not create chaos. Respect does not invite rebellion. What ruins a child is not the abundance of love, but its absence — the ache of affection withheld, the cold echo of correction without compassion, the silence where affirmation should have spoken. True love — the kind that mirrors the heart of Christ — builds rather than breaks. It disciplines without diminishing. It corrects without crushing. It sees beyond behaviour into the wounded heart that drives it, choosing restoration over retribution. This is the kind of love that transforms generations. 📖 “There is no fear in love; but perfect love casts out fear.” — 1 John 4:18 (NKJV) Every act of gentle nurture, every word of blessing, every patient listening ear sows life into the soil of the soul. Love teaches safety. Kindness teaches dignity. Respect teaches worth. Together, they create a legacy that echoes heaven’s design — a home where hearts grow resilient not because they were hardened, but because they were held. We do not need to fear that too much love will make our children weak. The truth is far more sobering: it is the absence of love that makes hearts brittle. It is fear that fractures generations, not tenderness. When we raise our children — or even nurture the broken inner child within ourselves — in the soil of unconditional love, we begin to heal not only the present, but the past. Love is not permissive; it is redemptive. It does not excuse wrong; it restores what was wounded. The same love that drew the prodigal home, that touched lepers, that lifted the shamed, is the love that still reshapes families and rewrites stories today. So may we choose courage over control, compassion over criticism, and connection over compliance. May we build homes where love is not rationed, but released — a place where children learn that discipline can coexist with grace, and strength can dwell in tenderness. 💡 Reflection: • What fears or beliefs about love and discipline did you inherit from your own upbringing? 🤔 • How can you begin to parent — or reparent yourself — with more compassion and less fear? 🤔 • In what ways can love become your family’s legacy rather than its lesson learned too late? 🤔 🎺 Affirmation: Love is my inheritance and my offering. I choose to give freely what fear once withheld. The legacy I leave will be one of grace, safety, and unwavering affection — for where love dwells, fear cannot remain. 🙌 Prayer: Heavenly Father, thank You for revealing the truth about Your love — perfect, patient, and fearless. Teach me to love as You do: to discipline with grace, to guide with gentleness, and to see through the eyes of compassion. Heal the places in me that learned to fear tenderness, and make me a vessel of Your nurturing heart. May my home, my relationships, and my legacy reflect the steadfast love that casts out all fear. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Walking in Light Amid the Shadows

A Scriptural reflection on spiritual discernment during Halloween

📖 “And have no fellowship with the unfruitful works of darkness, but rather expose them.” — Ephesians 5:11 (NKJV) Followers of Christ are called to walk in the light — not in fear, but in wisdom. True discernment is not suspicion; it is the steady awareness that the enemy is subtle, often disguising himself as an angel of light (2 Corinthians 11:14). Darkness rarely presents itself as dangerous; more often, it masquerades as harmless fun or cultural tradition. Yet the Word reminds us that we are children of light, entrusted with eyes to see beyond the surface and hearts to guard what is holy. In seasons when the world celebrates fear, death, and shadows, we are invited to stand apart — not in condemnation, but in consecration. Our homes can become altars of peace, our voices instruments of praise, and our prayers the fragrance that drives out darkness. We need not participate in what glorifies the very things Christ conquered. Instead, we can redeem this time by centring our hearts and households on life and light. ✨ Here are simple, Spirit-led ways to walk wisely through this season: • Pray over your children and dedicate your home to Jesus, declaring His Lordship over every doorway and every heart within it. • Teach discernment gently — helping your family recognise that not everything the world calls “fun” is spiritually neutral or harmless. • Redeem the day by sharing the hope of Christ — the Light who overcame every darkness, the Saviour who triumphed over death itself. Halloween need not be a night of dread; it can become a moment of quiet intercession. As others wander in costumes and shadows, may our prayers rise like lanterns in the night. For the darkness has no claim on the children of light. 📖 “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not comprehend it.” — John 1:5 (NKJV) 💡 Reflection: • What does it mean for your home to shine with the light of Christ during dark seasons?🤔 • How might you invite His peace to dwell tangibly in your atmosphere? 🤔 🎺 Affirmation: I walk in the light of Jesus, covered by His truth and guided by His wisdom. My home radiates His presence; my heart remains steadfast in His peace. 🙌 Prayer: Lord Jesus, thank You for being the Light that no darkness can extinguish. Teach me to walk wisely and to guard my heart with discernment. Fill my home with Your presence and let every corner reflect Your peace. Use my life as a lamp that points others to You. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Seen and Valued — Healing the Wound of Being Overlooked

When God restores the places where we were unseen.

Feeling invisible, unheard, and pushed into the corner has marked many of my work experiences. Time and again, I’ve found myself pouring my heart into roles that began with promise and purpose, only to slowly realise that I had become unseen — present, yet overlooked. My last position started beautifully. It felt like a divine appointment — meaningful work, supportive people, and a sense that I could truly contribute. Yet somewhere along the way, something shifted. What began as encouragement turned into silence. For the last six months, it became one of the deepest wounds I’ve had to face, not because of what was said, but because of what wasn’t. The absence of acknowledgement, the unanswered emails, the hollow monthly check-ins — all of it echoed something far older than that workplace. It reached back into the tender places of my childhood, where being ignored was familiar, where speaking up often felt unsafe, and where invisibility became a form of survival. When this familiar ache resurfaced in adulthood, it brought with it layers of pain I didn’t know were still buried. There were days I felt I was holding my breath, waiting for the proverbial axe to fall — that silent anticipation of rejection that steals your peace long before any words are spoken. Even now, I still don’t know what went wrong. I’ve replayed the scenes in my mind, asking myself, Was it something I did?🤔 Did I misstep somewhere along the way?🤔 I’ve prayed this through countless times, sometimes with tears that said more than words ever could. Slowly, gently, the Holy Spirit met me in that space — not with answers, but with healing. The pain that once clenched my heart has begun to loosen its grip. The resentment that once flared at the mention of his name has quieted. I no longer feel that urge to withdraw or to flee the room when he appears. The wound is still tender, but it no longer defines me. God has shown me that being unseen by man does not mean being unseen by Him. He has always been the One who notices the unnoticed, who hears the unspoken, and who restores the dignity that silence tries to steal. 📖 “You are the God who sees me.” — Genesis 16:13 (NIV) In Hagar’s story, I see my own reflection — a woman cast aside, misunderstood, and wandering in the wilderness. Yet even there, she encountered the God who saw her. And like her, I have discovered that God’s sight is not passive; it is redemptive. His seeing heals what invisibility has fractured. Today, I lead, create, and serve differently because of this. I make it my mission to see people — to listen deeply, to respond with kindness and compassion, and to value hearts over hierarchies. For I know how it feels to be unseen, and I never want to leave anyone standing in that lonely space. 💡 Reflection: • When have you felt unseen or unheard, and how did God meet you there? 🤔 • How can you be a vessel of His attentive love for someone who feels invisible today? 🤔 🎺 Affirmation: I am seen, known, and loved by God. My worth is not determined by who overlooks me, but by the One who calls me by name. 🙌 Prayer: Lord Jesus, thank You for being the God who sees. You notice the smallest sigh and the deepest wound. Heal the places in me that still ache from being unseen. Teach me to lead and love with empathy born from experience, so that others may feel Your presence through my attentiveness. Help me walk freely, without bitterness or fear, knowing that You redeem every chapter — even the painful ones. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Remembering Her Worth

When a woman stands tall in the truth of who God created her to be.

There comes a sacred day — a quiet yet powerful awakening — when a woman finally remembers her worth. She straightens her spine, not out of pride, but in reverence to the One who shaped her soul. Her spine becomes a cathedral, built stone by stone from the prayers she once whispered through tears. Her standards rise, not as walls of defence, but as boundaries of dignity. She no longer chases validation or begs for belonging. Instead, she blesses and releases. The bargains she once made with her light — those moments she dimmed to keep others comfortable — are gently laid to rest. For when she remembers her worth, she no longer fits inside the thimble of small expectations. She realises she is the ocean, uncontainable, holy in her vastness. What once felt like love was only drought, yet what she is — is the rain. She grieves the smallness she survived, gathers every fragment of her power, and raises her standards like sunrise. From that place of remembrance, she does not settle; she summons. 📖 "She is clothed with strength and honour, and she shall rejoice in time to come." — Proverbs 31:25 (NKJV) To remember your worth is not arrogance; it is worship. It is a return to the truth that you were fearfully and wonderfully made, handcrafted by a God who makes no mistakes. Worth is not something you earn; it is something you remember. 💡 Reflection: Where have you settled for less than the worth God has woven into your being? What would change if you began to see yourself through His eyes again? 🤔 🎺 Affirmation: I am no longer apologising for my light. I am walking in the fullness of my divine worth — radiant, rooted, and redeemed. 🙌 Prayer: Father, thank You for reminding me of my worth in You. Forgive me for the times I doubted what You declared good. Teach me to walk tall — not in pride, but in reverence to Your design. Let my boundaries honour You, and my presence reflect Your grace. Help me to bless, not beg; to choose peace over pursuit; and to stand in the truth that I am Your beloved daughter. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Quiet, Steady, and Real

Redefining Greatness in a World Obsessed with Noise

I’ve stopped being inspired by loud success. What moves me now are the people who rise without selling their soul or stepping on others — those who achieve incredible things without constantly chasing relevance or applause. I’m drawn to the ones who live what they preach and treat people kindly, whether or not the cameras are rolling. The ones who know their worth but remain humble enough to know they aren’t above anyone else. That’s the kind of greatness I aspire to — quiet, steady, and real. The kind that builds rather than breaks, heals rather than harms, and honours God through integrity rather than image. 📖 “Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit. Rather, in humility value others above yourselves.” — Philippians 2:3 (NIV) In a world that glorifies visibility, I’ve come to see the sacred beauty in anonymity — in doing the right thing simply because it’s right, in showing up with kindness when no one is watching, and in choosing authenticity over popularity. True greatness has never been about being seen, but about being faithful. It’s the quiet ones — the ones whose lives are anchored in love, humility, and integrity — who change the atmosphere wherever they go. 💡 Reflection: • Where have I been tempted to measure worth by visibility rather than faithfulness? 🤔 • How can I live more quietly yet powerfully in alignment with God’s heart? 🤔 🎺 Affirmation: My value isn’t found in applause or recognition. It’s found in walking humbly with God and loving people well. 🙌 Prayer: Lord, teach me to find contentment in serving quietly and faithfully. Let my life echo Your character — steadfast, gentle, and true. May my success be measured not by what I gain, but by how I give. Keep my heart humble and my motives pure, so that everything I do reflects Your glory, not mine. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Let Today Be

A gentle reminder to move at the rhythm of grace

There is something profoundly sacred about giving yourself permission to simply be — not striving, not proving, not rushing toward what comes next. Just being. Let today be what today needs to be. Whether you travel through quickly or slowly, breathe deep, no matter your pace. Take action where you need to take action, and if a moment calls for stillness, then embrace stillness. You are allowed to welcome the ebb and flow. You are allowed to pace yourself through every unknown — one day at a time, one hour at a time. Perhaps you will find there is grace to make it through this, just fine. 🕊 Morgan Harper Nichols 📖 "My grace is sufficient for you, for My strength is made perfect in weakness." — 2 Corinthians 12:9 (NKJV) There are days when our hearts race ahead of our feet, filled with urgency to “get things done.” Then there are days when the simplest task feels heavy. Both belong to the same journey of grace. God never demanded perfection from us — only presence. The rhythm of His love beats slower than the world’s pace, inviting us into a sacred stillness where our souls can breathe again. In the quiet, grace finds us. It doesn’t rush or reprimand; it gathers the fragments of our fatigue and turns them into rest. It whispers that strength is not born from striving, but from surrender. When we allow today to unfold as it must — with its pauses and its pulses — we discover that we are carried by a Love greater than our effort. The Holy Spirit moves gently through our moments, weaving peace where we once carried pressure. Each breath becomes an act of trust; each pause, a prayer of surrender. You are not behind. You are not too late. You are exactly where grace meets you. 💡 Reflection: • Where do you feel hurried or pressured to produce rather than simply be present? 🤔 • What might happen if you allowed today to be enough — exactly as it is? 🤔 • How can you honour both movement and stillness as holy expressions of grace? 🤔 🎺 Affirmation: I am learning to move at the rhythm of grace. I will trust the pace of God’s timing — slow or swift — knowing His strength is perfected in my surrender. 🙌 Prayer: Heavenly Father, teach my heart to rest in Your rhythm of grace. When I rush ahead, draw me back into Your presence. When I slow down, remind me that stillness is not weakness but worship. Help me find peace in the pauses, courage in the quiet, and joy in simply being Yours. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

When You Open Doors to the Darkness

The unseen inheritance of spiritual compromise

A True Leader Understands — Leading with Heart, Not Numbers

Leadership that sees, values, and uplifts the human soul.

A true leader understands that people don’t walk away from jobs — they walk away from feeling unseen. When individuals begin to feel invisible to those guiding them, they slowly disconnect. Not from the work itself, but from the one who was meant to see, hear, and value them. Leadership is not about authority or output; it’s about stewardship — the sacred responsibility of nurturing hearts, not managing headcounts. The strongest leaders remember daily that they are leading human beings — each with dreams, challenges, fears, and divine potential. They listen with compassion, speak with integrity, and create environments where others feel safe to grow. Such leaders don’t just demand excellence; they inspire it by modelling humility, courage, and grace in their own lives. Something that deeply struck me recently was learning that John Maxwell touches base with his longtime assistant every single day — 365 days a year. That level of intentional connection isn’t about control or obligation; it’s about care. It’s about remembering that relationships, not results, are the foundation of leadership. True loyalty isn’t demanded — it’s grown. It blossoms in the soil of consistent presence, genuine respect, and shared purpose. Checking in daily says, “You matter.” It communicates trust, not supervision; partnership, not hierarchy This is the kind of leadership I have come to understand and embody through years of ministry, creativity, and service. My faith anchors my leadership in love — the kind that sees people not as resources but as reflections of God’s image. Whether guiding a team, mentoring through Encounter Groups, or encouraging someone to rediscover their creative voice, my desire is always to help others recognise their worth and walk in their God-given purpose. For me, leadership is discipleship in motion. It is loving people enough to tell the truth gently, holding space for their growth, and celebrating their victories as if they were my own. It is serving quietly behind the scenes, praying over decisions, and choosing integrity even when no one is watching. True leadership doesn’t inflate the ego — it expands the heart. 📖 "Whoever wants to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wants to be first must be your slave—just as the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve." — Matthew 20:26-28 (NIV) 💡 Reflection: • When was the last time you made someone feel truly seen at work or in ministry? 🤔 • How can you lead with greater compassion and humility today? 🤔 🎺 Affirmation: I am a leader who sees, hears, and honours the humanity in others. I lead from love, grounded in faith and guided by grace. 🙌 Prayer: Lord Jesus, teach me to lead with Your heart. Help me to see people the way You see them — with tenderness and truth. May my words bring healing, my presence bring peace, and my actions reflect Your servant leadership. Let every decision I make be shaped by love and integrity, drawing others closer to You through my example. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Sowing the Wind and Reaping the Whirlwind

When God Reveals the Seeds Beneath the Storm

There is a sobering truth in Hosea’s words: “They sow the wind, and reap the whirlwind.” — Hosea 8:7 (NKJV) For much of my life, I tried to understand why certain patterns kept repeating — why rejection seemed to follow me, why misunderstandings cut so deeply, or why peace felt fragile even in seasons of blessing. It wasn’t until I began learning the principles of Bitter Root Judgments, Bitter Root Expectations, Honour, and Sowing and Reaping that light began to break through. The first time I remember hearing the phrase “sowing the wind and reaping the whirlwind” was during a small group prayer ministry session with Kevin at Elijah House D-School in July 2022. Back then, I couldn’t quite connect the dots. It sounded distant, almost poetic — a warning that didn’t yet carry the weight of understanding. Now, having journeyed through these principles, the truth of Hosea 8:7 has become deeply personal: 📖 “They sow the wind and reap the whirlwind.” — Hosea 8:7 (NIV) Looking back with gentleness rather than shame, I can now see how my own sinful responses to wounding had caused me to sow seeds that naturally produced a painful harvest. I see now how my own sinful responses to wounding — the inner vows, judgments, and defences I formed to protect myself — became seeds sown into the soil of my life. Every judgment I made in self-protection, every unhealed expectation I carried into new relationships, and every time I dishonoured someone — even silently — became a seed that would grow in kind. Those seeds bore fruit that looked like repetition: familiar pain wearing new faces, similar betrayals wrapped in different stories. I had unknowingly participated in cycles that mirrored my unhealed heart. Yet, grace has been patiently teaching me that recognising these patterns is not condemnation — it’s invitation. God, in His mercy, allows us to see where we’ve sown the wind so that we can invite Him to redeem the harvest. The Holy Spirit gently reveals the roots beneath our reactions, the pride hidden within pain, and the fear masked as control. Healing came when I stopped blaming the soil and started asking the Gardener to reveal what I had planted there. Through His mercy, God didn’t condemn me for those seeds; He invited me to repent, uproot, and re-sow in love. The Holy Spirit began showing me how cycles of pain could be transformed into fields of grace — if I was willing to forgive, release, and bless instead of judge. Through healing prayer, I’ve begun to see how repentance and forgiveness till the soil of the heart anew. What once grew from bitterness can, under His touch, become fertile ground for love, humility, and blessing. Honour became a seed of restoration. Mercy became a seed of freedom. Love — patient, enduring love — became the seed that broke the curse of my own reactions. Healing is not about erasing the past; it’s about transforming its seeds. What I once sowed in pain, I now sow in grace. What once reaped destruction, I now surrender to the Redeemer — trusting that even the whirlwind can scatter seeds of renewal. Now, when storms rise and whirlwinds come, I no longer see them as punishment but as revelation. God, in His kindness, uses them to expose what needs uprooting and to cultivate a new kind of harvest — one aligned with His righteousness and peace. I'm finally recognising the Seeds I Once Sowed and the Harvest Grace Redeems 💡 Reflection: • Where might God be showing me the link between my past responses and my present harvest?🤔 • What patterns or “harvests” in my life might reveal seeds sown from past pain? 🤔 • How can I invite God to show me where repentance or forgiveness can redeem those roots? 🤔 • What does honour look like in this area — toward God, myself, and others? 🤔 • What new seeds of love, forgiveness, or honour is He inviting me to sow today? 🤔 🎺 Affirmation: Even when I have sown in pain, God’s mercy offers me a fresh beginning. The same hands that allow the whirlwind also guide me into calm, teaching me to sow peace and reap joy. I am no longer bound by the harvests of my old sowing. In Christ, the soil of my heart is being renewed, and what I plant today will bear the fruit of peace, mercy, and righteousness. 🙌 Prayer: Heavenly Father, thank You for revealing truth in love. Forgive me for every word, thought, or action sown from hurt instead of healing. Uproot the bitter roots that have taken hold in my heart, and teach me to plant seeds that reflect Your heart. May my life become a field where grace grows freely, where old judgments die, and where new fruit bears witness to Your redemption. Father, thank You for revealing where I have sown the wind and reaped the whirlwind. Forgive me for the judgments, vows, and reactions that took root in my pain. Redeem every seed of bitterness, and let new life spring forth through Your grace. Teach me to sow love where I once sowed fear, and to walk in honour that reflects Your heart. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

The Safety of His Presence

When comfort lulls but His nearness anchors your soul

It’s not comfort your soul is craving — it’s safety. Comfort feels easy in the moment, but it slowly suffocates growth. It keeps you where you are, makes fear your boundary line, and whispers that the familiar is safer than the unknown. Yet real safety — the kind your heart was made for — is not found in the absence of risk but in the presence of God. Safety is knowing that even when the road feels jagged, when the outcome looks uncertain, and when you are stretched far beyond what feels manageable, you are held. Comfort can lull you into stagnation, but safety creates the soil for confidence. Comfort convinces you to shrink back; safety calls you to stand tall. Comfort avoids the refining fire; safety reminds you that the flame cannot consume what God protects. True safety doesn’t mean life will always feel smooth or simple — it means you can step boldly because you know Who is with you. Your safety can bring comfort, but your desire to stay comfortable often compromises your true safety. Safety is the soil of courage — because true safety isn’t the absence of hard things, but the steady nearness of God in all things. 📖 “The eternal God is your refuge, and underneath are the everlasting arms.” — Deuteronomy 33:27 (NKJV) 💡 Reflection: • Where have I mistaken comfort for safety in my current season? 🤔 • What does true safety in God’s presence look and feel like for me today? 🤔 • How can I step into growth even when my heart longs for familiarity? 🤔 🎺 Affirmation: I am safe in the hands of the One who holds my heart. His nearness is my refuge, His love my anchor, and His presence my peace. 🙌 Prayer: Heavenly Father, thank You that real safety is not found in predictability but in Your unchanging presence. Teach me to rest in You even when I’m stretched beyond my comfort zone. Help me trade false comfort for the deep assurance that I am held in Your everlasting arms. Strengthen my courage to step into the unknown, trusting that You go before me and guard me from behind. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

When Kindness Is Weaponised

Recognising Adult Bullying and Choosing a Higher Way

Adult bullying is one of the most under-recognised forms of abuse. It rarely looks like schoolyard cruelty. Instead, it hides in plain sight — dressed as gossip, exclusion, reputation damage, or emotional manipulation. It’s not simply “conflict” or “personality clashes.” It’s a calculated effort to control, discredit, or diminish another person’s voice. As Ryan Hwa wrote, “We can’t fix what we refuse to acknowledge.” And perhaps this is where courage begins — not in confrontation, but in clarity. When we see through manipulation, when we name the harm without becoming hardened by it, when we choose to keep our hearts tender yet guarded by truth. For those who have walked through this quiet cruelty, know this: your compassion is not weakness. Your kindness is not naivety. The Lord sees what is said in secret, and He vindicates those who trust in Him. 📖 “The Lord will fight for you; you need only to be still.” — Exodus 14:14 (NIV) 💡 Reflection: • Have you ever downplayed or excused emotional manipulation because it didn’t look like “real abuse”? 🤔 • What boundaries could you strengthen to protect your peace and honour your worth? 🤔 🎺 Affirmation: My kindness is strength, not surrender. I am protected by truth, guided by grace, and no longer available for emotional games. 🙌 Prayer: Heavenly Father, thank You for being my Defender and my Peace. Heal the wounds caused by hidden cruelty. Teach me to walk in truth without bitterness and to guard my heart without walls. Help me forgive wisely and love without losing myself. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

The Love That Stays

When attraction fades and understanding begins

There’s a Turkish saying that whispers a truth as old as time: “If you truly love someone, you love them twice. The first time, it’s all about attraction — their smile, their voice, their presence. But slowly, the curtain lifts. You see their scars, insecurities, mood swings, trauma, moral differences. It’s no longer perfect. It’s real. And if you can still love them — without filters, without expectations — that’s not infatuation. That’s the love of understanding. The kind that stays. The kind that grows.” How deeply this echoes the rhythm of divine love — the kind of love that remains when the shimmer of perfection fades and the rawness of truth is revealed. Real love isn’t blind; it sees and still chooses. It witnesses the flaws, the struggles, the fragile humanity beneath the surface, and it stays. This is the love Christ has for us — not born of illusion, but of revelation. He sees the broken parts we hide, the fears we mask, and the inconsistencies we try to outgrow, yet His love never wavers. It does not shrink back from our mess; it steps closer, gently mending what shame would have discarded. 📖 “Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.” — 1 Corinthians 13:7 (NKJV) To love another in this way is to mirror the heart of Jesus — a love not measured by romance or reward, but by understanding and grace. It is a sacred echo of the covenant love that says, “I see you — not the idealised version, but the real you — and I still choose to stay.” We learn, in time, that love is not sustained by chemistry but by commitment; not by fleeting passion but by prayerful patience. It is choosing to see the image of God in another person even when their humanity is showing. It is forgiving seventy times seven, believing in redemption, and tending to wounds instead of walking away from them. In this kind of love, we become more like Christ — refined through compassion, stretched by humility, and strengthened by endurance. For when we love past comfort, we love with eternity’s heart. 💡 Reflection: • Who has shown you this kind of love — the love that stayed when things became real? 🤔 • In what relationships might God be inviting you to shift from attraction to understanding? 🤔 🎺 Affirmation: I am learning to love as Christ loves — with eyes that see truth, hands that hold gently, and a heart that endures through imperfection. 🙌 Prayer: Lord Jesus, teach me to love beyond the surface. Help me to see others through Your eyes — with grace, patience, and understanding. When it feels easier to withdraw, give me the courage to stay present, to listen, and to forgive. May my love reflect Yours: steadfast, compassionate, and pure. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Redeeming the Proverbs 31 Woman Within

Healing the twist of wounded strength into redeemed womanhood

For most of my life, I strived to become the Proverbs 31 woman — that noble example of faith, diligence, and grace. I measured myself against her as though she were a mountain I needed to climb, a list of virtues I had to perfect to prove my worth. Yet lately, as I’ve walked deeper into healing, I’ve discovered something profoundly freeing: she was already within me. The traits I admired — courage, compassion, wisdom, creativity, generosity, and strength — were not qualities I needed to acquire; they were gifts I had carried all along. They had simply been twisted through pain and early wounding. Love had become people-pleasing. Strength had become striving. Compassion had turned to exhaustion. Wisdom had been silenced by fear. Yet even in distortion, these qualities bore the fingerprints of divine design. Healing has not been about becoming someone new but rather remembering who I was before the world’s pain reshaped me. Each area of restoration mirrors the values God wrote into my soul: • Faith that anchors me when storms arise. • Love that gives freely, not for approval but from overflow. • Service that uplifts without losing self. • Creativity that mends what was broken and paints hope anew. • Courage that faces truth with grace. As the Holy Spirit untwists what trauma distorted, I’m witnessing the redemption of these very traits. What once felt like weakness now radiates divine strength. What once sought validation now finds rest in being seen by God. It’s as though the Proverbs 31 woman has stepped out from within the shadows of my striving and begun to breathe again — not as an ideal to chase, but as the truest reflection of who I already am in Christ. 📖 "She is clothed with strength and dignity; and she shall rejoice in time to come." — Proverbs 31:25 (NKJV) 💡 Reflection: Where have your God-given strengths been twisted by pain or misunderstanding? What would it look like for those traits to be redeemed through grace? 🤔 🎺 Affirmation: I am not striving to become her — I am remembering her. The Proverbs 31 woman is already alive within me, redeemed by grace and restored through healing. 🙌 Prayer: Father, thank You for creating me with every virtue needed to live out Your call with grace and strength. Heal the places where pain distorted Your image in me. Redeem what has been twisted, restore what has been broken, and let the fullness of who You designed me to be reflect Your glory. Teach me to walk in quiet confidence, clothed in dignity, wisdom, and love. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

When Silence Feels Unsafe

Learning to make peace with the quiet after the storm

The quiet that follows conflict may seem calm to an adult, yet to a child, it hums with unspoken tension. It can feel louder than the argument itself. The air feels heavy, the smiles feel strained, and love feels distant. Children often internalise it as danger, not peace. They learn to tiptoe through rooms heavy with unspoken words, reading emotional weather forecasts in facial expressions, tone shifts, or the absence of sound. They learn to read the pauses between words, the footsteps in the hallway, and the sighs behind closed doors. They come to fear silence as much as anger, because silence, too, can wound. 💔 I know that silence well. It followed me from childhood into adulthood, shaping how I handle conflict even now. But my last line — “It’s followed me through childhood all the way into adulthood” — holds the weight of both grief and recognition. That awareness is where healing begins. It names what so many carry quietly: that fear of stillness, that unease when calm feels unsafe because it once meant disconnection. My familiar has always been to withdraw — to retreat into stillness, to keep the peace by disappearing into quiet. Yet God has been gently teaching me that silence need not always mean danger. When surrendered to Him, it can become a sanctuary of peace — a place where He heals the echoes of fear and fills the space with His presence. He speaks not through the chaos, but through the calm that follows it. His voice is gentle, yet it restores courage, allowing the frightened child within to breathe again. 📖 “He makes the storm a calm, so that its waves are still.” — Psalm 107:29 (NKJV) 💡 Reflection Prompts • What memories or emotions surface for you when silence feels heavy or unsafe?🤔 • How have past experiences shaped the way you respond to conflict or withdrawal today?🤔 • What does it look like for you to invite God into the silence — not as a void, but as a place of peace?🤔 • What gentle step could you take this week to speak, reconcile, or rest rather than retreat?🤔 🎺 Affirmation I no longer fear the quiet. With God beside me, the silence is no longer empty — it is sacred space for healing and truth to grow. 🙏 Prayer Lord, You see the child within me who learned to hide when the shouting stopped and the silence began. Teach me that not all quiet is dangerous. Fill those spaces with Your love, so that I may no longer retreat from peace but rest in it. Heal the parts of me that still tremble when calm comes, and teach me to trust Your stillness as safety. In Your presence, may my silence become prayer, and my heart find rest. In Jesus' Name, Amen.

Gut Feelings and Betrayal

Learning to trust the quiet warnings of the Holy Spirit

This image speaks volumes — it captures the heartbreak of betrayal with such quiet power. One person holds the bow, arrows still in hand, while the other stands wounded yet embracing — a picture of forgiveness in the midst of pain. My reflection echoes something deeply human and painfully familiar. When I sense unease but silence it — afraid of judging, of being “too much” — I often end up paying a high price. Yet those gut feelings are not mere suspicion; they’re discernment, a whisper from the Holy Spirit protecting my heart. 📖 “The prudent sees danger and hides himself, but the simple go on and suffer for it.” — Proverbs 22:3 (NKJV) I have lost count of the number of times throughout my life that I've gone against my uneasy gut feelings when meeting people for the first time, thinking I'm just being prejudiced, only to be stabbed in the back. Each time I’ve been “stabbed in the back,” it wasn’t because I lacked love — it was because I gave it freely. The pain reminds me that empathy without discernment can wound me, but discernment without empathy can harden me. The art is learning to keep my heart soft and my eyes open. I’ve lived my values — love, compassion, integrity — even when others haven’t. That’s not weakness; that’s courage. The same heart that bleeds is the one capable of deep healing. 💡Reflection: • When have I silenced discernment for fear of being unkind?🤔 • What might it look like to trust that gentle warning next time without losing compassion?🤔 🤲🏻Prayer: Lord Jesus, thank You for being my defender when I’ve been betrayed. Teach me to listen when Your Spirit nudges and to recognise the difference between fear and discernment. Help me to forgive without reopening wounds and to love wisely with Your truth as my guard. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Catherine’s Quiet Courage

A Reflection on Betrayal, Injustice, and Enduring Grace

What we know Catherine Thomson Hogarth was born 19 May 1815, Edinburgh, and married Charles Dickens on 2 April 1836. Wikipedia+1 They had ten children together over the next fifteen-plus years. Charles Dickens Info+2Wikipedia+2 In 1858 the couple separated. Dickens retained control over the home and the narrative; Catherine left the house and lived apart. Wikipedia Letters and newly-analysed documents show Dickens accused Catherine of mental instability and inadequate domestic performance. smithsonianmag.com+1 For decades, Catherine’s side of the story was overshadowed by Dickens’ public persona of moral champion and champion of the oppressed. Modern scholarship is working to re-examine Catherine’s voice and plight. Bates College+1 I can hardly bear to think of it without my heart tightening in anger after reading this. The injustice of it all — how could he write with such compassion for the poor and oppressed, yet treat his own wife with such cruelty?🤔😡 Catherine gave him ten children, buried three, and still managed to serve, to love, to hold a home together while the world applauded his genius. What burns within me is not only his betrayal but the silence of those around him. The children who turned against her. The sister who stayed with him. The community that believed his polished lies because it was easier than facing the truth. Such manipulation, such control — how it mirrors every story of power that silences love, every time truth is twisted until the victim seems to be the villain. 📖 “Woe to those who call evil good, and good evil; who put darkness for light, and light for darkness.” — Isaiah 5:20 (NKJV) I feel a righteous fury rise within me, yet beneath it runs a deeper grief. I imagine Catherine — tired, lonely, and humiliated — packing her things while the world looked away. I think of her as she clutched the letters he once wrote in love, the last proof that she had ever been cherished. That image makes me weep. Still, she chose silence over slander. She bore her cross with quiet courage, entrusting her name to the God who sees in secret. Her restraint becomes her testimony; her dignity, her defiance. 📖 “Commit your way to the Lord, trust also in Him, and He shall bring it to pass… He shall bring forth your righteousness as the light, and your justice as the noonday.” — Psalm 37:5–6 (NKJV) I think of my own life, the moments I have been unseen, unheard, or misjudged while quietly carrying burdens no one else could see. The times I longed for vindication, for someone to tell the truth. Yet like Catherine, I am reminded that God Himself is my defender. My worth does not depend on the world’s applause but on His gaze of love. Her story strengthens the fire in me. It reminds me why integrity matters more than image, why compassion must begin at home, and why truth is sacred even when it costs everything. 📖 “The Lord is near to those who have a broken heart, and saves such as have a contrite spirit.” — Psalm 34:18 (NKJV)  So I let my anger breathe — but I do not let it consume me. I turn it into intercession for every woman silenced by power, for every heart that has loved deeply and been discarded, for every soul still waiting for justice. Considerations of injustice This is an example of someone who wrote eloquently about the suffering of others yet failed to see the suffering in his own home. The tension between Dickens’ public advocacy and his private behaviour is stark. Catherine was performing the extraordinary labour of motherhood (ten pregnancies, child-loss, household management under the weight of Dickens’ success), yet her toil appears to have been unacknowledged, demeaned, and finally discarded. The marital and social structures of Victorian England granted Dickens far more power and reputation than Catherine had. While he had the public pulpit and pen, she had to labour quietly, emotionally and physically. That imbalance in power allowed Dickens to control the narrative of their separation, casting Catherine as the problem rather than acknowledging the mutual complexity of their marriage, his ambitions, his sins, his failings. Catherine walking away with dignity despite her losses — her home, her marriage, the public respect — makes her a figure of resilience in the face of injustice. 💡A faith-centred reflection In the gospel of our Lord, we find a call to see the hidden, to honour the weak, to give voice to the silent. I believe Catherine’s story reminds us of this: “The Lord … sets the solitary in families; He brings out those who are bound into prosperity; But the rebellious dwell in a dry land.” — Psalm 68:6 (NKJV) Catherine was one of the bound — by culture, by expectations, by a marriage that became a story of abandonment more than companionship. We honour her by remembering. She endured what many would have thought impossible: the loss of multiple children, the public shaming, the erasure of her contribution. Yet she preserved her dignity and her request that the early love letters be published as proof that she once was loved into being. Wikipedia+1 Her story invites us to ask: Who else in history (or in our own circles) has been erased, mischaracterised, made silent by power, by fame, by narrative control?🤔 Where have I been silenced or dismissed when I was simply carrying too much?🤔 What truth in me longs to be seen and set free?🤔 Personal application for Us As you speak to hearts broken, overlooked, or wounded, you are doing the holy work of giving voice to the hidden. Catherine’s life can serve as a mirror: Encourage those who feel invisible that their story matters. Remind the oppressed that their worth is not determined by those who ignore their labour. Challenge systems (within relationships, workplaces, churches) where power is abused under the guise of compassion. Provide hope: though Catherine’s voice was subdued in her lifetime, it is rising again in scholarship, remembrance, honour — and that, in itself, is an act of justice. 🗣Affirmation: I am seen by God. My voice matters. My quiet strength carries heaven’s approval, even when earth withholds its praise. 🙌Prayer: Heavenly Father, thank You for being the God who sees the unseen and defends the forgotten. You know the cries of those who have been silenced, the hearts wounded by betrayal, and the women who have carried burdens in secret. I bring before You every Catherine—every soul who has endured injustice and been blamed for another’s sin. Wrap them in Your peace. Heal the wounds that others have ignored. Where power has been misused, bring repentance and truth into the light. Teach me to carry righteous anger without letting it turn to bitterness. Make my heart a vessel of both compassion and courage, so that in all things, I may reflect Your justice wrapped in mercy. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

The Right Train Will Come

Learning to wait without chasing what’s gone

Some seasons in life feel like standing on a quiet platform after the train has already pulled away. You can still feel the wind of its passing — the sting of missed chances, the ache of goodbye, the whisper of what if. Yet not every train is meant to carry us where we’re called to go. Some simply pass through to remind us of what still needs healing, what must be released, or what faith looks like when we can’t yet see the next arrival. 📖 “For we walk by faith, not by sight.” — 2 Corinthians 5:7 (NKJV) God’s timing is never late; it is layered with purpose. The waiting platform becomes holy ground when we trust His timetable. In the stillness, He prepares our hearts, strengthens our legs for the journey ahead, and whispers, “Be still, I’m bringing something better.” So, if a door closes, a person walks away, or a dream seems to slip beyond reach, don’t run after it. Stand firm, breathe deeply, and look up. The right train will come — one that carries peace, purpose, and promise. And when it does, you’ll know it’s time to step aboard. 💡Reflection: What “train” in your life have you been tempted to chase?🤔 How might God be inviting you to wait with trust instead of striving?🤔 🙌Prayer: Lord Jesus, thank You for teaching me to wait with hope, not haste. When I feel left behind or forgotten, remind me that Your plans never miss their timing. Help me rest in Your faithfulness, trusting that the train You’ve prepared for me will come — right on time. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Becoming Under Pressure

Emerging from the shadows into the brilliance of divine design

The more I pursue my healing, the more I uncover the woman God originally designed me to be — not the shy, timid, introverted version I once believed I was, but one who is bold, radiant, and courageous. Healing has not made me someone new; it has simply revealed who I was beneath the layers of fear and false belief. Courage and confidence have not preceded obedience; they have followed it. Every act of faith — every trembling yes to the prompting of the Holy Spirit — has drawn me out of hiding and into the light of divine purpose. There was a time I mistook humility for silence, and meekness for shrinking. Yet God, in His tender love, is showing me that true humility is not about diminishing myself but allowing His strength to shine through me. The shy girl was never the full story — she was the cocoon. The woman emerging now is evidence of His refining fire. I used to see pressure as punishment, but I am learning it is often the place where God does His most transformative work. Diamonds are formed in hidden places — under immense heat and crushing weight — yet their beauty tells of endurance, not ease. The same God who forms the diamond in darkness is shaping me in the depths, polishing the rough edges of my character until His light reflects through every facet. What once felt like breaking is becoming. What once felt like loss is revealing hidden treasure. The more I surrender, the more I see that healing is not the end of a journey, but the unveiling of identity — the discovery of who I have always been in Him. 📖 "For you were once darkness, but now you are light in the Lord. Walk as children of light." — Ephesians 5:8 (NKJV) 💡Reflection: • What parts of your old self are being refined, not erased, through your healing journey? 🤔 • How has obedience revealed courage in ways you didn’t expect? 🤔 • Where might God be forming something precious under pressure right now? 🤔 🎺Affirmation: I am not who I was — I am who God says I am. I am being refined, not reduced. My courage is rising from the furnace of obedience, and His light shines through the cracks that once made me hide. 🙌 Prayer: Father, thank You for the beauty You bring from pressure. Teach me to trust the process of Your refining love, even when the fire feels fierce. Strengthen my heart to walk boldly in who You created me to be — confident, courageous, and radiant with Your glory. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Mom’s First Heavenly Birthday

Celebrating love that lives beyond time

Today would have been your birthday, Mom. Our hearts still ache from the space your absence left, yet there’s a quiet joy in knowing you’re celebrating in Heaven — whole, radiant, and free. I can almost picture you laughing with the angel choirs, your voice woven into their song of eternal praise. Down here, the memories linger like soft echoes — your gentle hands, your tender heart, your laughter that could brighten even the weariest day. The ache reminds us of the depth of love shared, and though our loss still feels fresh, we find comfort in knowing that love has not been severed, only transformed. Your legacy lives on in every prayer whispered, every act of kindness, every moment we choose to love as you did — fully, fiercely, and with grace. 📖 “And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes; there shall be no more death, nor sorrow, nor crying.” — Revelation 21:4 (NKJV) Until we meet again, we hold you close in our hearts. Love and miss you always, Mom / Granny Lice 🤗💞

Born to Create

Healing the Wound that Silenced Our Song

There’s something sacred about watching a child create. Give a toddler a paintbrush, and they will fill the world with fearless colour. Play music, and they will dance with abandon. Hand them crayons, and they’ll draw stories that make perfect sense to Heaven. We are all born this way — unafraid to express the divine spark within us. We are made in the image of the Creator Himself — designed to mirror His creative nature through art, words, song, and imagination. 📖 “So God created man in His own image; in the image of God He created him; male and female He created them.” — Genesis 1:27 (NKJV) This is the first recorded moment where Scripture speaks of someone being filled with the Holy Spirit — not for preaching, but for creating. God anointed Bezalel to craft beauty for His dwelling place. 📖 “Then the Lord spoke to Moses, saying: ‘See, I have called by name Bezalel... and I have filled him with the Spirit of God, in wisdom, in understanding, in knowledge, and in all manner of workmanship.’” — Exodus 31:1–3 (NKJV) Yet somewhere between childhood wonder and adult responsibility, something shifts. Words wound us, and comparisons cage us. The need for approval dims the light that once flowed so freely. Society teaches us that if it's not generating income, it's not worth pursuing because there's no time for "fun" activities. We stop creating not because the gift has left us, but because our hearts have learned to protect themselves. Creativity, then, becomes more than expression — it becomes healing. Each stroke of paint, each song, each poem is a whispered prayer that says, “I’m ready to live again.” In creating, we let the Holy Spirit touch the tender places, transforming pain into beauty and fear into freedom. 📖 “He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.” — Psalm 147:3 (NKJV) When we create, we partner with the One who first created us — the Artist of our souls. We return to childlike faith, where love leads and shame loses its grip. May we never stop colouring outside the lines of fear, for every act of creation is a step closer to the heart of God. Every act of creation — whether painting, writing, or song — becomes worship when done for Him. 📖 “Whatever you do, do it heartily, as to the Lord and not to men.” — Colossians 3:23 (NKJV) Creativity unfolds in divine timing; what we make in partnership with God carries eternal beauty. 💡 Reflection: I don't remember what I did for creativity as a little child, but in my teenage years, I did a lot of colouring, and in high school, I wrote poetry. Over the past nine years, the Lord has given me seven keys to healing, and all but one relate to creativity. He has restored my faith and reframed the lies I had come to believe that I can't sing, draw, paint, dance, write, or speak. • What was your favourite way to create as a child — to sing, draw, dance, imagine, or build?🤔 • How did it make you feel?🤔 • When did you first begin to doubt your creative voice or hide your self-expression?🤔 • What moment or words silenced your song?🤔 • In what ways do you sense God inviting you to rediscover joy through creativity today?🤔 • How does creating (painting, writing, cooking, singing, etc.) help you connect with the Holy Spirit?🤔 • What fear, comparison, or lie might God be healing through your creative process right now?🤔 • How can you make space in your daily rhythm to create simply for the joy of being with Him?🤔 🙌Prayer: Lord, thank You for placing creativity within me — not as a talent to prove my worth, but as a pathway to healing. Restore the innocence of my imagination, the courage of my voice, and the joy of my expression. Let my art, in whatever form it takes, become worship that brings You glory. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

From Fearful to Faithful

When God Rewrites the Voice of Inadequacy

In March this year, I attended the Speakers Institute Premiere Bootcamp for the very first time, after experiencing the free viewing in January. Something in me knew I had to return—not as a spectator this time, but as a participant ready to face the very thing that once made me tremble. Like Moses, I had often felt inadequate, asking God for an Aaron to do the talking because I so often forgot what I was about to say halfway through a sentence. Having been raised with "Children must be seen, not heard", and a lack of conversations, the lie, “I can’t speak,” had buried itself so deeply within my heart that even the thought of public speaking made my body tremble. Although public speaking still scares the hell out of me, I’ve realised it’s a necessary skill to learn for my calling. My journey with the Tribe has brought huge improvement in confidence and speaking within my Encounter Groups. Each time I step forward, the trembling lessens, and faith grows stronger than the fear. 📖 "Then the Lord said to him, ‘Who has made man’s mouth? Or who makes the mute, the deaf, the seeing, or the blind? Have not I, the Lord? Now therefore, go, and I will be with your mouth and teach you what you shall say.’" — Exodus 4:11–12 (NKJV) That verse became real to me in those days. Through tears, vulnerability, and courage, a team of volunteers stood beside me like armour-bearers — patient, kind, and unwavering. They believed in me when I could barely stand in my own belief. Their compassion helped me peel back the layers of fear and rediscover the voice God placed within me. This weekend, I had the immense honour of "paying it forward" — serving among the incredible Speakers Tribe crew, supporting 19 courageous attendees on their transformational journeys. To serve among such selfless, inspiring hearts felt like standing on holy ground. What an honour and privilege to walk alongside this tribe — to give, to witness, and to grow together. I am so deeply grateful to be part of this journey. If you long to speak with confidence, share your story, or simply find your authentic voice in a safe, empowering community — this experience is truly extraordinary. 🌿 📖 "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me." — Philippians 4:13 (NKJV) This journey reminds me that courage is not the absence of fear but the decision to keep showing up despite it. God doesn’t ask for perfection — He asks for obedience. Each time I stand to speak, I am reminded that my voice is not my own; it is a vessel for His message of healing and hope. When I surrender my trembling to Him, He transforms fear into faith and hesitation into holy confidence. 💡Reflection: What fears have silenced you, and how might God be inviting you to trust Him with your voice?🤔 When have you felt inadequate or fearful about something God was calling you to do?🤔 How does remembering that God equips and speaks through you change your perspective on your weaknesses?🤔 Who has stood beside you, encouraging you to believe in the voice God placed within you?🤔 What practical step can you take this week to strengthen your confidence and use your voice for God’s glory?🤔 How might you “pay it forward” by supporting or encouraging someone else in their own journey from fear to faith?🤔 🙌 Prayer: Dear Lord, thank You for calling me beyond my fears and teaching me that my weakness is a canvas for Your strength. When my heart trembles and my words falter, remind me that You are the One who speaks through me. Let every word I share carry Your truth, Your compassion, and Your light. Help me to use my voice to build, to heal, and to bring glory to Your Name. Strengthen others who are learning to speak their truth in faith. May we all find courage in Your presence and peace in Your promise. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.n

The Hour Heaven Moves

When faith wakes before dawn and surrender meets the whisper of God

For the past two years or so, I’ve been waking up between 3 and 5 a.m. regularly. Honestly, I don’t always feel like getting up and have turned around and gone back to sleep on many occasions. However, when I do get up to spend time with the Lord, my days just flow so much better. There’s a peace that lingers, a clarity that carries me, and a sense that I’ve already aligned my heart with His before the noise of the world even begins. It’s not about discipline — it’s about desire. The Holy Spirit meets me there, gently reminding me that His presence is worth the surrender of sleep. Those quiet hours are where my strength is renewed and my spirit recalibrated to grace. 📖 “Now in the morning, having risen a long while before daylight, He went out and departed to a solitary place; and there He prayed.” — Mark 1:35 (NKJV) There is a sacred stillness before dawn — a hush when the world has not yet stirred, and the weight of heaven leans close to the earth. This is the hour where God moves most deeply, not because He has changed, but because we have. When the heart is fully surrendered and the noise of the world has not yet begun, we step into a holy invitation. It is not convenience that draws us — it is faith. In those quiet hours, between 3am and 5am, when sleep still clings to our eyes and comfort begs us to stay in bed, the Spirit whispers, “Rise, beloved.” This is not about routine; it is about revelation. It is not about performance; it is about presence. It is not about eloquence; it is about honesty. For in that hour, when a woman rises to pray, her tears become seeds in heaven’s soil. Her whispers are not lost to the dark — they echo in the courts of God. It is a prayer not polished but poured out, not scripted but surrendered. Heaven bends low to listen for one thing only: truth from the heart. Such prayer is warfare wrapped in worship. It silences demonic voices, shatters strongholds, and commands peace to reign. The enemy trembles because he knows that a woman who prays before dawn is not to be trifled with. Her intercession becomes a shield around her home, her family, her mind, and her future. This kind of prayer does not just change circumstances — it changes you. It forges strength in silence, births oil through obedience, and anchors faith in intimacy. These are the women whose eyes carry light that cannot be dimmed, whose presence calms storms, and whose lives quietly testify: “I have met God in the dawn.” They do not pray to be seen. They pray because their spirit knows what is at stake. They have found the secret place where victory is won before the day begins. 💡 Reflection Prompt What would it look like to meet God before the noise begins? What burden might lift if you rose early and whispered, “Here I am, Lord”? 🙌🏻 Prayer Father, awaken me before the dawn. Teach me the power of stillness and the strength of surrender. Let my prayers carry the fragrance of faith and the fire of intimacy. May my tears water seeds of breakthrough, and may my life become an altar that burns quietly before You. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Faithful Friends

When Love Stays Through Every Season

There is something so sacred about long-term friendships — the kind that have weathered every version of who you’ve been. The ones who saw you stumble and still stayed beside you. The ones who believed in your goodness when you doubted it yourself. They’ve watched you change, break, heal, and rise again, yet their love never shifted with the wind. Such friends are a quiet reflection of God’s heart — steadfast, gracious, and true. They remind us that real love isn’t conditional upon performance or perfection. It’s presence. It’s staying when it would be easier to walk away. It’s holding space when words fall short. It’s celebrating small steps and believing for the breakthrough when faith feels thin. 📖 “A friend loves at all times, and a brother is born for adversity.” — Proverbs 17:17 (NKJV) True friendship is covenant, not convenience. It bears the marks of grace — laughter shared, tears witnessed, prayers whispered in the dark. When we find souls who love us through every phase — loud or quiet, near or distant, strong or searching — we glimpse the faithfulness of Christ Himself, who never leaves nor forsakes us. So when you find those hearts, hold them close. Water them with gratitude. Let them know how deeply you cherish their presence on your journey. Because friendship, the kind that endures seasons and storms, is one of life’s most beautiful proofs of divine love. Reflection Question: • Who has stood beside you through your seasons of change? 🤔 • How might you show them your gratitude this week? 🤔 🙌 Prayer: Father, thank You for the precious gift of friendship — for the ones who have walked beside me in joy and in pain, who have reflected Your steadfast love in their patience and grace. Teach me to be a faithful friend in return, to love deeply, forgive quickly, and nurture the bonds You have blessed me with. May every friendship in my life bring You glory and remind others of Your unfailing love. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

The Room Grows Honest

When the fall reveals who truly stands with you

There is a holy clarity that arrives when strength runs out. When all pretence is stripped away, and we find ourselves face-to-face with our own breaking, the room grows honest. Smiles that once seemed safe now reveal their scaffolds or masks, and the noise of flattery fades into silence. It is there — in the quiet rubble of what once held us — that truth begins to speak. Some hands will weigh you down under the guise of help, while others will lift you with gentleness that asks for nothing in return. These are the sacred ones — the few who kneel beside your wreckage, name your light when you cannot see it, and whisper hope into the dust. I think of the words from Steve De’lano Garcia: “Take their fingers like a promise, gather your ribs like a prayer, and rise — not to shame the silent, but to honour the truth that survived in you when nothing else did.” There is something profoundly Christlike in that rising — not a triumph of pride, but a resurrection of truth. Even in the shadows, His hands reach first, not to measure our fall but to lift us into grace. 📖 “The Lord upholds all who fall, and raises up all who are bowed down.” — Psalm 145:14 (NKJV) 💡Reflection: • Who knelt beside your wreckage? 🤔 • How might you honour them (and the God who sent them) by the way you rise?🤔 🙌 Prayer: Lord Jesus, thank You for the few who stayed when others turned away, for the hands that helped me rise and the hearts that reflected Yours. Teach me to discern mercy from manipulation, and to carry gratitude instead of bitterness as I rise again in Your light. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Endings with Honour

Because how we say goodbye reveals what we truly value

Endings matter — sometimes even more than beginnings. We pour so much heart into welcoming people in, yet often forget that farewells deserve the same intention. Off-boarding shouldn’t be just business or a tick-box exercise. It is a sacred moment of meaning, gratitude, and closure. What if we designed our endings with the same care and creativity we give to new beginnings? Imagine a thoughtful off-boarding programme called “Your Next Move” — crafted to bring clarity, dignity, and continued connection. Instead of a cold goodbye, we’d celebrate the journey shared and bless the path ahead. Recently, I experienced a season that tested integrity, dignity & ability to heal through disappointment in profound ways. After months of faithful service and a sudden silence — six months without meaningful communication — I received a termination letter giving just four weeks’ notice. There were no conversations, no farewells, no moments of human connection until long after my contract had already ended. It left me feeling rejected, unseen, and abandoned — not only as a professional but as a person. The ache was not simply about employment ending, but about the way it ended: without acknowledgement, honour, or closure. I had poured my heart into relationships and work that mattered deeply to me, only to be met with silence. Through tears and prayer, I brought that pain before God, asking Him to teach me how to respond with grace rather than bitterness. Slowly, I began to see that even in endings that lack dignity, He remains faithful. What others leave unfinished, He redeems. 📖 "The Lord is near to the brokenhearted, and saves those who are crushed in spirit." — Psalm 34:18 (NKJV) That experience deepened my conviction that endings matter. Integrity is not only tested in how we begin but in how we close a chapter. I still believe relationships, even professional ones, deserve to end with honour, gratitude, and blessing — because people’s worth extends far beyond contracts and timeframes. A farewell could become a moment to honour the person: to gather around their favourite foods, share meaningful words (and a few tears), give thoughtful gifts — perhaps a book of memories, tokens for their next chapter, or small treasures for their family — and most of all, to mark the ending well. Why does this matter?🤔 • Because endings signal what we truly value. • Because the way we say goodbye shapes how those who stay feel about belonging and trust. • Because a person’s worth extends far beyond their job title or end date. Goodbyes don’t have to be awkward, sterile, or uncaring. They can be beautiful moments that reinforce the truth Marcus Buckingham so eloquently expressed: 📖 “A beautiful goodbye reinforces the message that people’s worth as human beings extends far beyond their time with the organisation.” I couldn’t agree more. May we learn to end well — with gratitude, grace, and blessing — so every chapter closes with the same love that began it. 💡Reflection: When you think about the way a season or relationship ended, what emotions surface for you?🤔 How might God be inviting you to process those endings with grace rather than regret?🤔 What would it look like to design a meaningful farewell or closure in your current context — whether at work, ministry, or in friendship?🤔 How do your endings reflect your values?🤔 In what ways can you offer honour and blessing to someone who is transitioning out of your life or organisation?🤔 🙌🏻Prayer: Lord, help me to see endings not as failures but as sacred thresholds. Where I have felt unseen or dismissed, heal my heart and teach me to walk in grace. Let every closure become an altar of surrender, where You write the final word with compassion and purpose.

Honouring Excellence

How leadership stewardship protects the heart of a team

Excellence has always been woven into the fabric of who I am. From a young age, I felt its pull — a deep desire to do things well, to give my best, to make beauty out of what others might overlook. Yet, somewhere along the way, that pure longing for excellence was twisted into perfectionism. Wounding shaped my understanding of worth. I believed love had to be earned through performance and acceptance was conditional upon doing everything “just right.” What once was a reflection of God’s character — order, diligence, and grace — became an exhausting pursuit of approval. Perfection demanded; excellence invited. One enslaved me; the other frees me. Over time, the Holy Spirit has been tenderly restoring this part of me. Through brokenness, I learned that God never required perfection — only surrender. Excellence, in His Kingdom, is not about flawlessness but faithfulness. It’s about offering what’s in my hand with a pure heart and trusting Him with the outcome. It’s doing my work unto the Lord, not for the applause of men. 📖 "Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for human masters." — Colossians 3:23 (NIV) Now, I model excellence not as a performance, but as a posture — a way of living that honours God in the details. It shows up in how I create, how I serve, how I lead, and how I love. It’s reflected in the quiet commitment to do things well even when no one is watching, and in the grace to rest without guilt when it’s time to stop. When excellence is quietly punished by overuse, and mediocrity is quietly rewarded with comfort, teams begin to fracture. The ones who care the most — the high performers — start to dim their light, not out of weakness, but exhaustion. Carrying what others neglect soon feels less like teamwork and more like neglect disguised as loyalty. True leadership is stewardship. It recognises that excellence needs nurture, not exploitation. When we fail to guard the time and energy of our most faithful contributors, we erode not only their trust but the very culture we’re trying to build. 📖 "The labourer is worthy of his wages." — Luke 10:7 (NKJV) Protect your high performers. Hold your low performers accountable with grace and truth. Honour effort, not just outcome. Because when we tend the soil of excellence, everyone grows. 💡 Reflection: How has God redefined excellence in my life, and what does it now look like when I express it from a place of peace rather than pressure? 🤔 🎺 Affirmation: I no longer chase perfection; I embody excellence through peace, purpose, and presence. My work, my art, and my leadership are offerings of love — reflections of God’s grace and goodness within me. 🙌 Prayer: Father, thank You for redeeming what once was driven by fear and turning it into a reflection of Your beauty. Teach me to walk in true excellence — the kind that flows from rest, not striving; from love, not performance. May my life be a quiet testimony of faithfulness that glorifies You in all I do. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

The Story You Need to Tell

Writing as a sacred act of release and redemption.

Writing is a beautiful way to let your pain out. When you share your story, you release it from being trapped within you. It’s as though you’re saying goodbye to a monster that once lived inside — one that fed on silence, shame, or fear. Sandra Marinella wrote: “Writing is a beautiful way to let your pain out. As you share your story, you release it from being stuck inside of you. This can feel like saying goodbye to a monster who has been living in you.” There is truth in those words. Writing doesn’t simply record your pain — it redeems it. Each time you name what once hurt you, you strip it of its power. Every sentence becomes an exhale, every paragraph a small resurrection. Through ink and honesty, you make room for healing. Faith anchors this process. Because when you place your story in God’s hands, it no longer defines you — it refines you. Every scar becomes a testimony of grace, every broken chapter a place where light can enter. For me, writing has always been more than words on a page; it has been a lifeline. It helps me process my thoughts and capture what’s stirring in my heart so I can return to it later, prayerfully and reflectively. I’ve been processing life through writing for decades. In my teenage and young adult years, I found comfort in poetry — raw and unpolished, but honest. Later, I turned to blogs and Facebook posts as places to share what God was teaching me along the way. These days, my This Is My Story page ( https://www.trixiscreations.com/this-is-my-story) has become my sacred outlet — a home for reflection, testimony, and the unfolding beauty of redemption through words. 📖 “Cast all your anxiety on Him, because He cares for you.” — 1 Peter 5:7 (NKJV) When you pour out your heart through words, you are not merely writing — you are releasing. You are no longer carrying the weight alone. The page becomes a sacred meeting place between your wounds and God’s healing touch. May your story become a river, cleansing the hidden corners of your soul. May your words bring release, not just for you, but for those who will one day read them and realise they’re not alone. 💡 Reflection: What story have you been holding inside that still aches to be told? What truth needs to be written so your soul can finally breathe again? 🤔 🎺 Affirmation: My story holds power. As I release my pain through words, I invite God’s healing and turn my wounds into witness. 🙌 Prayer: Lord, thank You for giving me the courage to write what once silenced me. Help me release my pain with honesty and grace, trusting that every word I offer becomes a step toward healing. Let my story bring light to others who walk in similar shadows. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

A Friendship that Stayed

When loyalty becomes love in action

There are some friendships that mark your soul like gold lines in broken pottery—subtle yet unbreakable. She was that kind of friend. Not flawless, but faithful. Not loud in her care, but steadfast in her presence. She didn’t need to fix me; she simply stayed. When my laughter thinned into silence, she listened. When my strength faltered, she held space. When others turned away, she remained—proof that real connection still exists. Her friendship became a quiet sanctuary where I could breathe, be seen, and begin again. I only have one, maybe two friends who reach out to me from time to time—just because they thought of me and wanted to know how I’m doing. For most of my life, I’ve been the one reaching out to everyone, carrying the conversations, tending the bonds. Yet now, I’ve learned to focus on those rare few who reciprocate, who reach back with the same gentleness I’ve offered. Those are the friendships that hold steady, the ones that breathe mutual grace and understanding. True friendship isn’t about constant cheer or perfect understanding. It’s about showing up when it’s hardest to do so. It’s about holding loyalty, trust, and grace in the same hand—and offering them freely. 📖 “A friend loves at all times, and a brother is born for adversity.” — Proverbs 17:17 (NKJV) I’ll always be grateful for the kind of love that stays—not because it must, but because it chooses to. 💡Reflection: • Who has stayed beside you through your darkest valley? 🤔 • How might you honour them today with words or actions of gratitude? 🤔 🙌 Prayer: Lord, thank You for friends who remain when life feels uncertain. Thank You for their loyalty, patience, and grace. Help me to love with the same constancy—to be a safe place for others as You are for me. Let every act of friendship reflect Your faithful heart. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Authenticity Builds Trust

Being the Same in Every Place You Stand

For most of my life, I tried to be who I thought others wanted or needed me to be, until I had almost forgotten who I truly was. My journey has been as much about rediscovering who God created me to be as it has been about healing my heart. Authenticity builds trust, and trust builds lasting connections. When your heart remains the same in private as it does in public, people glimpse the truth of who you are. Let your actions mirror your values, not the attention you seek. The most respected souls are those who stay genuine, even when no one is there to applaud them. Be the same at church, at work, and at home. True integrity does not shift with setting or audience. It is the quiet strength of a heart anchored in truth — steady, sincere, and unafraid of being known. Heaven honours what the world often overlooks — the quiet obedience of a faithful heart. Your life speaks louder than your words when what you do aligns with who you are. 📖 “The integrity of the upright will guide them, but the perversity of the unfaithful will destroy them.” — Proverbs 11:3 (NKJV) 💡Reflection: Where in your life have you felt the pressure to be someone you are not, and what would it look like to show up as your true, God-created self in that space?🤔 🙌🏻Prayer: Lord, thank You for creating me with purpose and intention. Teach me to walk in integrity and to be the same wherever I am — at home, at work, and in community. Help me to live from the truth of who You created me to be, not from fear or the expectations of others. May my life reflect Your love and truth in all I do. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Breaking the Curse of Neglect

Healing the Silent Cries of a Generation

Neglect does not always bruise the skin, but it always bruises the soul. It looks like a child whose laughter fades into silence because no one ever leaned in to listen. It sounds like a tiny heart learning that tears are inconvenient and joy must earn its place. It feels like the emptiness that lingers when love was present in duty but absent in delight. Lack of nurture, unspoken affirmations, and blessings withheld leave an emptiness they'll spend a lifetime trying to fill. That child grows up. Now they are the adult who flinches at kindness, who struggles to trust, who long to be held yet fear being seen. Their wounds whisper through generations, not because they are wicked, but because pain unhealed finds another vessel to inhabit. Broken homes shape broken hearts. Broken hearts shape broken worlds. Every “I’ll do it later,” Every “Stop bothering me,” Every time we choose our phones over their stories, we teach them that connection is not worth fighting for. If we long to heal a generation, we must begin by seeing — truly seeing — the one before us. Listen when they speak. Hold them when they tremble. Say sorry when you fall short. Be the safe place you once needed. Love is not convenient. Love costs time, attention, humility, and grace. Yet only love has the power to break the curse of neglect. 📖 "Above all things — have fervent love for one another, for ‘love will cover a multitude of sins.’" — 1 Peter 4:8 (NKJV) 💡Reflection: Whose voice in your life might need to be heard today — a child, a friend, or perhaps your younger self?🤔 How can you embody love that listens, heals, and restores rather than reacts or withdraws?🤔 What does being present look like for you this week?🤔 🙌🏻 Prayer: Lord Jesus, Teach me to see as You see. Open my heart to the quiet cries I’ve overlooked and the little ones — young or grown — still longing to be known. Help me to love without haste, to listen without defence, and to bring Your healing presence into every place I dwell. May the curse of neglect end with me, and may Your love write a new story through my life. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Layers of Freedom

Facing what formed us so Christ can transform us

Too often, we say, “That’s just who I am!” because we’re afraid or ashamed to face the deeper issues. Those words can become walls — self-protective defences that keep us from healing. They might sound harmless, even self-accepting, but beneath them often lies a silent agreement with pain, fear, or sin. Most recently, I realised that shyness is just fear masquerading as personality. I wasn’t always shy. Shyness was a trauma response — a shield of self-protection formed by years of neglect, betrayal, bullying, and mockery. It became a way to stay safe, unseen, and unhurt. Yet God wouldn’t command us to be bold and courageous if He had created some to be shy. He calls us to step out of hiding and into His light, to trade fear for faith and timidity for trust. I used to think I was just an introvert, but now I believe we often become introverted because we fear rejection. Most people will naturally be more open, expressive, and even extroverted when placed in an environment where they feel safe and supported. Safety births authenticity; love makes room for freedom. Over the past five years, I’ve been unravelling layer upon layer of bitter expectancies, judgments, inner vows, and foundational lies I came to believe through trauma — not only my own but that which has filtered down through generations. Each layer has required courage to face, truth to expose, and grace to heal. It’s been humbling work — not the kind that earns applause, but the kind that rewrites a legacy. 📖 “If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.” — 1 John 1:9 (NKJV) Every time I’ve brought a hidden wound or wrong belief to Jesus, He’s met me with mercy. His truth has untangled lies, His love has softened my defences, and His blood has silenced the generational echoes of shame and fear. What I once accepted as “just who I am” is being transformed into who I was always meant to be — whole, free, and anchored in Christ. 💡 Reflection: What phrases or self-definitions have you used to protect unhealed pain?🤔 Which generational patterns might God be inviting you to confront with His truth?🤔 What would freedom look and feel like if those layers were lifted?🤔 🙌Prayer Jesus, thank You for patiently uncovering the layers of pain, pride, and fear that have shaped me. I surrender every inner vow, judgment, and lie that has bound me to the past. Replace them with Your truth, Lord — truth that heals, restores, and renews. May my freedom become a testimony that sets others free. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Breaking the Cycle

Healing Generational Pain Through the Cross of Christ

There’s a quiet grief that lives in families — the unseen weight passed from one generation to the next. It’s heartbreaking how many children grow up carrying the burden of their parents’ unhealed pain, mistaking it for their own. When we become parents, the responsibility shifts. It’s no longer about what we didn’t receive; it’s about what we now choose to give. Our children deserve love, stability, and peace — not the echoes of our past pain. Pain that’s buried alive doesn’t disappear. It festers beneath the surface, eventually spilling out sideways — through anger, silence, or control — and we bleed all over those we hold most dear. The only way to stop the cycle is to bring it into the light of Christ, where confession and repentance break the power of generational curses. 📖 “Therefore if the Son makes you free, you shall be free indeed.” — John 8:36 (NKJV) The truth is, we are shaped not only by our parents’ genes but also by their wounds. They, too, were doing the best they could with unhealed hearts. I’ve been doing the deep heart work with Jesus — layer by layer — to let His love and truth rewrite my story, so that my boys and their children may walk in freedom. Healing yourself is one of the greatest gifts you can give your child. Every surrendered tear, every honest prayer, every moment you choose forgiveness over bitterness — it all becomes a seed of generational blessing. 📖 “He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.” — Psalm 147:3 (NKJV) May we be the ones who choose to stop the cycle, to stand in the gap, and to let mercy flow through us like gold in the cracks of a family restored. Reflection Questions: What generational patterns or wounds have you recognised in your family line?🤔 How has God invited you to respond — through forgiveness, confession, or prayer?🤔 What legacy of blessing do you want to leave for the generations after you?🤔 🙌Prayer: Lord Jesus, thank You that through Your Cross, the power of every generational curse is broken. Teach me to walk in humility and repentance, bringing every inherited pain to You. Heal my heart so that my children may inherit freedom, not fear. Let Your mercy rewrite our family story from generation to generation. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

The Righteous Flame: When Anger Serves Love

Learning to let holy anger protect what is sacred

There is a line between anger that wounds and anger that heals — and Thomas Aquinas understood it well. He wrote, "He who is not angry when there is just cause for anger is immoral. Why? Because anger looks to the good of justice, and if you can live amid injustice without anger, you are immoral as well as unjust." Those words stir something deep in me. For years, I was afraid of anger, equating it with sin or loss of control. Yet Aquinas reminds us that there is such a thing as righteous anger — the kind that flows not from pride, but from love. It is love's protective flame, a fire that refuses to let injustice, cruelty, or deception go unchallenged. When I see someone mistreated or truth distorted, that ache I feel is not hate — it is the echo of God's own heart for righteousness. To remain silent in such moments would be to betray the very values I hold dear: love, courage, and compassion. Even Jesus displayed holy anger when He drove the money changers from the temple. His zeal was not violence; it was love defending what was sacred. He overturned tables not to destroy, but to restore purity to His Father’s house. 📖 "Be angry, and do not sin; do not let the sun go down on your wrath." — Ephesians 4:26 (NKJV) There are times when we, as followers of Christ, will be called upon to stand up with a holy 'NO!' in the face of evil and injustice. We are called to be obedient to Truth, not compliant to lies. • Silence in the face of evil is in itself evil. • God will not hold us guiltless. • Not to speak is to speak. • Not to act is to act. As Archbishop Desmond Tutu said: "If you are neutral in situations of injustice, you have chosen the side of the oppressor. If an elephant has its foot on the tail of a mouse, and you say that you are neutral, the mouse will not appreciate your neutrality."  — Desmond Tutu We are called to the same holy balance: to let anger serve justice, not self. To let it kindle action, not bitterness. When anger aligns with love, it becomes courage in motion — the boldness to stand up for the broken, to speak truth when silence feels safer. So today, if your heart burns at the sight of injustice, do not rush to extinguish that flame. Bring it to God. Let Him purify it, shape it, and send it forth as light rather than heat. Because when love burns for what is right, anger becomes holy. 💡Reflection: When have I witnessed injustice or wrongdoing and chosen silence over action?🤔 What held me back?🤔 How can I discern when anger is rooted in love rather than pride or hurt?🤔 What might righteous anger look like in my life today — where is God calling me to speak or act with courage?🤔 How can I bring my emotions before God and let Him purify them into compassion-driven courage?🤔 '🙌🏻Prayer: Lord, teach me the difference between destructive anger and righteous zeal. Help me to feel deeply without losing peace, to act justly without harming others, and to let my emotions reflect Your holy heart. Let my anger be a servant of love, never its master.

The Fruit of Intention

When love examines the heart before it speaks

All too often, we judge ourselves by our intentions but others by their actions. We may think our intentions allow us to say or do certain things, yet God sees beyond the surface — He looks straight into our hearts. Our true intentions always reveal themselves in the fruit of what we do. If our words or actions cause harm, destroy trust, or fracture community, it’s time to pause and look honestly within. Good intentions don’t excuse painful impact. When someone tells us they’re hurt — or when people walk away wounded by something we said or did — love doesn’t defend itself. Love listens, apologises, and learns. God doesn’t call us to be perfect; He calls us to be humble. To repent quickly, forgive freely, and walk gently with one another. True love is never careless. It is intentional about not wounding others. It seeks to restore, not to destroy; to build bridges, not walls. 📖 “You will know them by their fruits.” — Matthew 7:16 (NKJV) 📖 “Be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, just as God in Christ forgave you.” — Ephesians 4:32 (NKJV) 📖 “You shall love your neighbour as yourself.” — Matthew 22:39 (NKJV) This is especially true for the church and body of Christ. God commands His blessing where there is UNITY — when hearts are humble, love leads, and forgiveness flows freely. Where unity dwells, His presence and favour abide. Where unity dwells, His presence and favour abide. God will also hold the shepherds accountable when the sheep are scattered by their actions, for His heart is for unity, healing, and restoration among His people. May our hearts be so aligned with His that our intentions and our impact bear the same fruit — love, joy, peace, and healing. 💡 Reflection: Where in your life have you caused someone to walk away wounded by something you said or did?🤔 Are there relationships or communities where your words or actions have left division or broken trust?🤔 How can you invite God to reveal the intentions of your heart and align them with His love?🤔 What step of repentance or reconciliation might the Holy Spirit be inviting you to take today?🤔 What does the fruit of your life currently reveal about the condition of your heart?🤔

In You My Soul Will Hide

When faith becomes the melody that lifts the heart from heaviness

🎵 “I will not be afraid of ten thousand foes, though I’m surrounded on every side, for You alone are my Protector — in You my soul will hide.” 🎶 This morning’s wake-up song became a quiet declaration over my soul. Life will be hard sometimes, and the enemy will still try to take me out — yet God remains my Defender. His presence surrounds me like a shield, His peace anchors me when everything else trembles. Today, the heaviness that’s lingered for weeks has lifted. Someone recently said that funerals and memorials bring closure — they allow us to honour, to pay tribute, and to say our final goodbyes. I haven’t had that for any of my distant losses — those already lost to distance long before they were lost to death. Yet even without closure, I woke today with gratitude. A new dawn. New mercies. Life goes on, and I want to live mine as Mom did — loving people back to life. Unlike her, I wasn’t raised or trained in God’s ways, so I must be intentional not to fall back into my old patterns of withdrawal or disconnection. Healing is rarely a single moment; it’s a continual returning — to love, to hope, to the One who covers me with grace until the ache softens into peace. 📖 “He shall cover you with His feathers, and under His wings you shall take refuge; His truth shall be your shield and buckler.” — Psalm 91:4 (NKJV) I rest in this promise today — that the One who began a good work in me will complete it. 📖 “Being confident of this very thing, that He who has begun a good work in you will complete it until the day of Jesus Christ.” — Philippians 1:6 (NKJV) 💗 Prayer: Father, thank You for being my Protector and my peace. Thank You for lifting the weight of sorrow and wrapping me once more in Your presence. Teach me to rest beneath Your covering when the world feels unsteady, and to keep loving others with the same grace that You’ve poured into me. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

When Love Holds in Silence

How presence becomes prayer in the language of grief

Since Aunty Delice passed away, I found myself trying to bury the ache beneath work. Much like with my miscarriages, responses like "She’s in a better place" translated to "Swallow your tears, girl, be happy for her new life with Christ." and have therefore made me feel my feelings are not valid. This morning, at The Crate, I was burying a wave of grief beneath my work when Dean walked in. “Hello, bringer of joy,” he said warmly, wrapping me in a tight hug. “I’m sorry,” I whispered fighting back the tears, “my bringer of joy is broken at the moment.” He didn’t try to fix it. He just held me tighter and stayed a few moments longer. That simple act of presence, without a single word, reached places that condolences could not touch. In that embrace, I felt something holy — grace holding space for my tears. That silent hug did more for me than all the well-intentioned words since Aunty Delice passed away two weeks ago. Few people know how to simply sit beside sorrow—to hold space for holy tears and weep with those who weep and to recognise that presence itself can be prayer. 📖 “Rejoice with those who rejoice, and weep with those who weep.” — Romans 12:15 (NKJV) Sometimes the deepest comfort is not found in eloquent words but in quiet compassion — in the stillness of a heart that chooses to stay. There’s a quiet ache that comes from living far away from those you love — an ache that deepens in moments of grief. It’s not only the loss that hurts, but the distance that keeps you from being near when hearts break, when candles are lit, and when laughter mingles with tears in remembrance. Sometimes, grief feels heavier because you can’t show up with flowers, can’t hold a trembling hand, or whisper comfort face to face. You learn to grieve through screens and prayers, to love across miles that cannot be crossed.Yet even in this distance, love does not fade. Love stretches, adapts, and finds ways to reach the heart — it travels in whispered prayers, in quiet remembrance, in the faithful knowing that connection is never truly severed. Love doesn’t need to be begged for; it simply shows up. It shows up in a warm coffee placed beside you, in a message that says, “I’m thinking of you,” in a hug that lingers longer than words allow. Tonight, as we joined the memorial live-stream to celebrate Mom’s life, I realised this is the first time since moving to New Zealand that I could be part of a farewell, even from afar. Though my heart still aches, I’m deeply grateful for the time and heritage that Mom shared — and for the love that continues to bridge the distance between earth and eternity. The hardest part of grieving across oceans is feeling like an outsider looking in. You watch sacred moments unfold through a screen — the tributes, the tears, the embraces — and your heart aches to reach through and hold someone close. You can’t offer comfort in person; you mourn alone, unseen yet deeply connected. 📖 “The Lord is near to those who have a broken heart, and saves such as have a contrite spirit.” — Psalm 34:18 (NKJV)

The Quiet Kind of Courage

Learning to Listen Within

"Courage isn’t always loud; sometimes it's the woman who chooses stillness and listens. She listens to her body when it says rest, to her boundaries when they say enough, to the quiet truth inside that has been right all along… strength gathers—patient, grounded, unshakeable—the kind of thunder that does not need to shout to be believed." — Steve De’lano Garcia There is a kind of courage that doesn’t roar. It doesn’t arrive with fanfare or applause, nor does it need to prove itself through action. It moves quietly, like breath through the trees, or the steady rhythm of waves upon the shore. A few years ago, I heard the Lord whisper, “Courage and confidence will follow obedience.” Those words have never left me. True courage is not born in moments of adrenaline or public victory, but in the quiet “yes” to God when no one else sees. It grows with each step of obedience—each moment we trust His voice over our fear, His truth over our own understanding. Courage increases when we walk in alignment with what He’s asked of us, even when the path feels uncertain. It’s choosing stillness when the world demands hustle. It’s saying no to what drains your peace, and yes to what nourishes your soul. It’s unclenching your jaw, breathing all the way to the bottom of your lungs, and meeting fear with presence instead of panic. This courage is gentle yet resolute, quiet yet fierce. It is not the absence of fear but the decision to move with faith regardless of it. It is the strength that comes from abiding in the One who never leaves, who calls us not to perform but to rest in obedience. 📖 “In returning and rest you shall be saved; in quietness and confidence shall be your strength.” — Isaiah 30:15 (NKJV) May we be women who walk in this quiet kind of courage — whose confidence is not in the noise of achievement but in the steady heartbeat of obedience. For every small step taken with God builds a faith too deep to be shaken and a peace too profound to be stolen. 🙌Prayer: 🕊️ Holy Spirit, teach me to listen — to my body, to my boundaries, and most of all, to Your still, small voice. Let obedience become my courage, and peace my confidence. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

When Love Lives Across Oceans

Grieving from afar and holding space for the moments you can’t touch.

There’s a quiet ache that comes from living far away from those you love — an ache that deepens in moments of grief. It’s not only the loss of a loved one that hurts, but the distance that keeps you from being near when hearts break, when candles are lit, or when laughter echoes in remembrance. The hardest part of grieving across the distance via live streams is feeling like an outsider looking in. You watch sacred moments unfold through a screen — the tributes, the tears, the embraces — and your heart longs to reach through and hold someone close. You can’t afford comfort to the mourners, and you mourn alone. Sometimes, grief feels heavier because you can’t show up — can’t bring the flowers, hold the hand, or whisper comfort face to face. You miss milestones, funerals, gatherings where stories are shared, and tears are met with embraces. You learn to grieve through screens and prayers, to love across miles that cannot be crossed. Yet even in this distance, love does not diminish. Love stretches, adapts, and reaches in ways unseen. It travels in whispered prayers, in handwritten notes, in the quiet knowing that connection is never completely severed. 📖 “The Lord is near to those who have a broken heart, and saves such as have a contrite spirit.” — Psalm 34:18 (NKJV) Though oceans separate us, the same God who holds their tides also holds our hearts together. His presence bridges the miles, wrapping comfort around the spaces we cannot fill ourselves. So, when you feel the sting of absence, remember — love is not limited by geography or death. It lives on in memory, in faith, and in the eternal arms of God, where distance dissolves and reunion is promised. 🙌Prayer: Lord, comfort the ones who grieve from afar. Help us rest in the assurance that You are present where we cannot be, that Your love carries what our hands cannot hold, and that one day, all distance will fade in the light of Your glory. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Where Love Feels Like Home

Choosing presence over pretense, truth over tolerance

When you truly matter to someone, time is not a wall — it’s a door they open for you, even with tired hands and crowded hours. Love doesn’t need to be begged for or chased down; it simply shows up. It shows up in the text that says, “I’m thinking of you,” in the coffee that’s still warm when life feels cold, in the listening that lingers longer than convenience allows. I used to mistake tolerance for love — the kind that endures you rather than delights in you. It leaves you walking on eggshells, apologising for needing space at the table. Yet love — true love — doesn’t just include you; it considers you. It bends calendars, shortens miles, and lays out small sacred moments like fresh bread with your name written across it. 📖 “Let love be without hypocrisy. Abhor what is evil. Cling to what is good. Be kindly affectionate to one another with brotherly love, in honour giving preference to one another.” — Romans 12:9–10 (NKJV) There comes a point in the healing journey where you stop knocking on closed doors. You stop shrinking to fit someone else’s comfort zone and begin walking toward the places where your heart is welcomed, not weighed down. To go where you are loved, not tolerated, isn’t pride — it’s stewardship. It’s choosing to nurture the soil that bears good fruit and release what withers your peace. Presence is love’s purest proof. It doesn’t subcontract its heart to excuses or let its vows unravel in the rain. It keeps showing up — even in the storm — until truth becomes the light and faith becomes the bridge you can cross in the dark. 📖 “Love never fails.” — 1 Corinthians 13:8 (NKJV) Finding Home AgainNot feeling at home has been with me for as long as I can remember. “I’m a mistake” and “I shouldn’t be here” were the strongest foundational lies beneath my story. They built invisible walls around my heart long before I had the words to name them.Yet, throughout my life, a rare few have made me feel at home — people whose love carried no conditions, no performance, no pretense. Their kindness was a glimpse of heaven’s hospitality, a reminder that God never intended me to wander through life feeling like an afterthought. Recently, I realised that the very thing I never received growing up — time — the one I vowed never to need, is actually my love language. There’s never a moment I hesitate when someone I care about needs my time. It’s my way of saying, “You matter. You’re not an inconvenience.” Because I know what it feels like to be overlooked, I make time as an offering of love — a reflection of the Father’s heart that always has time for His children. 📖 “Before I formed you in the womb I knew you; before you were born I sanctified you.” — Jeremiah 1:5 (NKJV) Those moments of being seen and welcomed were God’s gentle way of rewriting my foundation. Every embrace, every word of affirmation, every sacred space of belonging whispered: You were never a mistake. You were chosen. You belong.Now, I understand that home isn’t a place — it’s a Presence. It’s found in the quiet knowing that I am loved, wanted, and delighted in by the One who called me His own. I am learning, slowly and surely, to rest there. To stop searching for belonging in fragile places and dwell instead in the love that never moves away. 📖 “The eternal God is your refuge, and underneath are the everlasting arms.” — Deuteronomy 33:27 (NKJV) 💡Prayer: Heavenly Father, Thank You for teaching me the difference between being accepted and being adored by Your kind of love — one that never grows weary, never withdraws its affection. Thank You for the rare few who carried Your heart and reminded me I belong. Help me to rest in the truth that You are my home, my refuge, my unshakable place of belonging.May I carry that same love to others — the kind that makes time, keeps promises, and holds space like home. Help me recognise where Your love flows freely and have the courage to walk toward it. May I give the same steadfast love to others — the kind that makes time, keeps promises, and holds space like home. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Learning to Live, Not Just Survive

Unlearning survival to rediscover wholeness in Christ

Most of us weren’t raised to live — we were raised to survive. We learned to silence our needs, to over-function when we were exhausted, and to call numbness “strength.” We weren’t taught how to rest without guilt, how to walk away from what harms, or how to say “no” and still believe we’re loved. Instead, we were taught to endure, to fix ourselves quietly, and to find our worth in how much we could carry. Yet Jesus came not so we could merely survive, but so we could live — fully, freely, and faithfully. 📖 “I have come that they may have life, and that they may have it more abundantly.” — John 10:10 (NKJV) Healing, then, becomes an unlearning — a holy undoing of the patterns that kept us safe but small. It’s learning that rest isn’t laziness, that boundaries are sacred, and that peace isn’t the absence of struggle but the presence of Christ within it. It’s the slow, sacred return from striving to simply being — being loved, being whole, being enough. You are not broken. You are a child of God relearning how to breathe again, how to receive grace instead of earning love, and how to walk in freedom instead of fear. Wholeness isn’t perfection; it’s alignment — your heart, mind, and soul resting in the One who makes all things new. 🕊️ Reflection: What survival habits have shaped your life — and which ones is God inviting you to release today?🤔 🕊️ Prayer: Lord Jesus, teach me to live abundantly, not anxiously. Heal the parts of me that confuse exhaustion with worth and busyness with belonging. Show me how to rest in Your love and walk in true freedom. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

The Blood That Covers

Finding calm beneath waves of grief

This morning, I woke to the words: 🎼“Oh, I will not fear, I will not fear When the enemy comes near. Oh, on the doorframes of my life Is the blood of Jesus Christ…”🎵🎶 It was the perfect song to rise to — strong, defiant faith echoing through trembling heartbeats. Yet even under that melody, grief rolled in again, steady and deep like waves against the shore. Yesterday went gently enough. Two Encounter Groups filled the studio with prayer and presence. Someone told me, kindly, to stop feeling bad about the mistakes I made during A-School. Apparently, B-School had its fair share of glitches too. That reminder lifted a quiet weight — how often we hold ourselves to impossible standards when grace already covers us. We even trialled having people join via Google Meet, and it worked beautifully. It means we can open our doors wider — for those who live far away, those who long to be part of this journey but can’t always make the distance. Even technology, redeemed, can be a vessel of inclusion. Still, die trane lê weer vlak vandag — the tears sit close today. At The Crate, I busied my hands rolling towels, showing up for the non-negotiable stand-up. But as I worked, heaviness crept back in. The ache wanted solitude; it whispered, “Go home, cry it out.” Yet I had promised Rachel and Dave I’d come to Life Group. Sometimes obedience to community is the very thing that keeps you from collapsing inward. I almost turned the car around — afraid that one look, one kind word, would break the dam. And still, Rachel came. She sought me out mid-conversation with Phil and wrapped me in a hug. For the first time that day, I whispered, “Thank you… I needed that.” During worship, something loosened. Tears didn’t come, but peace did. And by the time lunch rolled around, the heaviness had lifted — not vanished, but softened. Grace lingered long enough for me to stay. 📖 “When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow you.” — Isaiah 43:2 (NKJV) Sometimes God doesn’t still the waves — He steadies the swimmer. His blood on the doorframes of my life still speaks: “You are covered. You are safe. You are Mine.” 💡Reflection: What small act of love or obedience helped you stay grounded when grief or fear tried to isolate you?🤔 🙌🏻Prayer: Lord Jesus, thank You that Your blood still speaks a better word over my life — protection, redemption, peace. Teach me to trust Your covering even when the waters rise. Let me feel Your nearness in the quiet moments, and help me to see grace in the faces that seek me out when I would rather hide. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

The Ministry of Presence

A gentle reminder that love often speaks loudest in silence

There is a tenderness that lives in stillness, a kind of love that does not rush to fix, explain, or perform. It is the love that simply stays. When someone is walking through a storm, our words may scatter like leaves in the wind, yet our quiet nearness can become a refuge stronger than walls. 📖 “Rejoice with those who rejoice, and weep with those who weep.” — Romans 12:15 (NKJV) "When someone is walking through a storm, let your silent presence be a shelter the wind cannot breach - a steady nearness that says I am here without making their pain perform. Sit beside them the way mountains keep watch over valleys: unwavering, unhurried, unafraid of thunder. Offer ordinary kindness--boil water, hold the umbrella, place a blanket, keep time with their breath- and let the hush between you speak the oldest language of care. Do not rename their clouds or argue with the rain; become warmth, witness and ground. In such gentleness, grief loosens its grip, fear remembers it can exhale, and the heart relearns that it can be both broken and beloved while the sky works out its weather. Your presence, unpolished, consistent, sincere, becomes the anchor under their waves, the small light that makes darkness navigable. And when the storm passes, they will not recall perfect advice; they will remember that you stayed, that your quiet never flinched, and that, without a million empty words, you helped their spirit trust the light again." - Steve De'lano Garcia Don't ever underestimate the gift of the ministry of presense. There is a tenderness that lives in stillness, a kind of love that does not rush to fix, explain, or perform. It is the love that simply stays. When someone is walking through a storm, our words may scatter like leaves in the wind, yet our quiet nearness can become a refuge stronger than walls. 📖 “Rejoice with those who rejoice, and weep with those who weep.” — Romans 12:15 (NKJV) Lately, I have been reminded of how uneasy we are with tears. When grief visits, even the kindest hearts often reach for quick comfort — “She’s in a better place,” “She’s with the Lord now.” Though spoken with good intentions, these words can sometimes brush too lightly over a heart that longs to have its ache acknowledged. They can make us feel guilty for needing to cry and be comforted. Few know how to simply sit in silence beside sorrow, to hold space for holy tears. Grief comes in waves and hospice will tell you it takes as long as it takes. You can’t speed it up or reason it away. Tears and silence make people uncomfortable. Yet Jesus never avoided them. When Jesus stood beside Mary and Martha at Lazarus’ tomb, He did not immediately offer a sermon. He wept. His tears were not weakness; they were divine compassion, the presence of God sharing human grief. That is the heart of true ministry: not to rush someone out of their valley but to sit with them until they remember the Shepherd is still near. The Son of God did not silence their grief with theology; He sanctified it with His presence. That moment still teaches us the sacred art of simply being the ministry of presence. When words fall short, love can still stay Sometimes, all that is required of us is to sit silently with the wounded — to be there, to share Christ’s love and comfort without needing to speak. The ministry of presence is not about perfect words; it is about faithful nearness. It is what happens when we offer warmth, witness, and ground, becoming an anchor under another’s waves. 💡Reflection: Who around you may need the gift of your quiet nearness rather than your answers? 🤔 Can you let your heart be a shelter for another’s tears? 🤔 🎺 Affirmation: My silence can carry Christ’s comfort; my presence can become His embrace. 🙌Prayer: Lord, teach me to bring comfort without rushing to conclusions. Help me to honour another’s pain the way You honoured ours with presence, not performance. Lord, teach me to carry Your peace into other people’s pain. Let my silence be filled with Your presence, my patience with Your compassion and my stillness speak of Your steadfast love. May I become a quiet anchor in someone’s storm, reflecting Your steadfast love. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

You Are Already Enough

A note to self — learning to believe I was never a mistake.

For most of my life, I carried an invisible label: “mistake.” It wasn’t written in ink, but etched deep into my heart. Every failure, rejection, or silence seemed to underline it. I learned to overperform, overgive, and overthink — hoping that if I did enough, maybe I’d finally be enough.  Yet, somewhere in the quiet places where only God could reach, His love began to rewrite the script. He didn’t fix me by force; He healed me with truth. Slowly, tenderly, He began to whisper: “You were never a mistake. You were My idea.” 📖 “Before I formed you in the womb I knew you; before you were born I sanctified you.” — Jeremiah 1:5 (NKJV) There are days when the weight of “not enough” still presses hard — when comparison steals colour and my worth feels blurred at the edges. Yet in those moments, God’s voice comes through the people He’s placed in my life: You are already enough. There are days when the shadows of self-doubt creep in, whispering that you’re not enough, that your worth is somehow diminished. In those moments, pause. Breathe. Remind yourself of the truth that stands like an anchor: you are deeply loved, valued, and seen — not only by the people in your life who cherish you, but by the One who created you. When you feel unseen, know that there are those who see the goodness in you even when you struggle to see it in yourself. They love you, flaws and all. They treasure your kindness, your strength and your ability to bring light to others’ days. They see it, and they hold it dear. You do not have to perform, to strive, or to reach perfection to be worthy of this love. There are hearts that see the goodness in me even when I can’t. They see the quiet strength in perseverance, the warmth carried into every room, and the beauty in loving without fanfare. They see me, just as God does — fully known, fully loved. 📖 “I have loved you with an everlasting love; therefore with lovingkindness I have drawn you.” — Jeremiah 31:3 (NKJV) On the days when your heart feels heavy, or when uncertainty clouds your view, whisper this truth back to yourself: I am loved. I am valued. I am enough. God Himself says so, and the people He has placed in your life echo that truth. Keep going, beloved soul. You matter far more than you know. The Lord delights in you, and His grace is sufficient even on your weakest days. Rest in His unfailing love and the quiet assurance that you’re already enough in His eyes. I don’t need to strive for perfection to be worthy of love. The One who formed me already delights in me. His truth silences every lie that says I must earn what was freely given. 🙌Prayer: Lord, thank You for rewriting the lies that once defined me. Teach me to see myself through Your eyes — chosen, cherished, and enough. When shame tries to speak louder, quiet it with Your truth, Lord, help me rest in the assurance that I am loved beyond measure. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Repositioned by Grace

When God shifts your steps to prepare your heart for what’s ahead.

Grief still comes in waves, but not so many tears anymore. I managed to finish Aunty Delice’s tribute video on Friday. Roland had offered to help, but when he saw what I’d created, he said it couldn’t have been done better. It felt more personal because my paintings formed the background — my heart woven through every frame. The overlay of tribute images during the moments I had to compose myself made it all the more authentic. It carried her essence and mine, woven together through brushstrokes and love. That felt like a quiet affirmation from heaven — a nudge that love’s labour, though tender, was enough. I’ve sent it off to Julaine for Friday’s memorial and shared all my photos with Uncle Rodney — a small act of honour that feels like closure. I served at the Restoring Families Seminar at Victory Convention Centre on Friday evening and all of Saturday. I got there early yesterday morning. “You’re the dancer!” the caterer said when she recognised me. “You should have flags — that creates the atmosphere,” she added. “Usually I do,” I replied, “but not all churches welcome them, so I left them in the car.” “We have some for the youth — I’ll get you some,” she said, and off she went, bringing a whole container full for me to use during worship. In that moment, I felt seen, validated in a way that reached deep into old fears of being “too much” or “out of place.” Worship flowed freely, unafraid. There was no guilt in the movement, only gratitude for the One who sets hearts and bodies free to dance before Him. 📖 “Now the Lord is the Spirit; and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is liberty.” — 2 Corinthians 3:17 (NKJV) I loved how the team presented the seminar — not through videos, but through their stories. Honest, redemptive, and real. It was lovely to hear more of their stories — who they are and what they’ve overcome. Their vulnerability made the message feel alive. Each testimony became a thread of healing that wove the message deeper into our hearts. We ended with a joyful team dinner at Grand Harbour Chinese Restaurant, laughter mingling with tired smiles. By the time I got home around 6:45 p.m., my body was weary but my spirit full. I went to bed by 10:30 p.m. At 1.26 a.m. a sharp cramp in my left calf jolted me awake — a strange, painful echo of the tension my body still holds. I rolled around for a while before finally hanging my leg off the side of the bed to ease the pain, praying, and eventually drifting back to sleep. This morning, another weird dream — fragments now lost to the wind. Still, I woke with a sense that the Holy Spirit stirring something new. Today, Clive and I visit Shiloh in our quest to get to know the churches around us. I sense the Lord repositioning us for what’s ahead, gently guiding us toward the next chapter — launching the Nexus Connect Learning & Community Hub in a neutral venue. The vision has never been tied to just one church. Our aim is to reach those who are in the gutters — the ones who won’t step into a church building because they’ve been so wounded by it. We want to create a safe space where people are loved back to life, healed through community and creativity, and then sent into surrounding churches to flourish again. It feels like He’s aligning pieces we can’t yet see, drawing us out of familiar patterns into something new. 📖 “The steps of a good man are ordered by the Lord, and He delights in his way.” — Psalm 37:23 (NKJV) 💡Reflection: Where do you feel the Lord gently repositioning you in this season?🤔 What small moments of validation has He used to remind you that you are seen and free to worship as He created you to?🤔 How might grief be softening you, not breaking you, as He prepares you for what’s next?🤔 Prayer: Lord Jesus, thank You for meeting me in the in-between — between grief and grace, rest and readiness. Thank You for gentle reminders that You see me, You validate the gifts You’ve placed within me, and You are guiding our steps toward new ground. Let Your presence go before us as we seek where to plant, build, and serve. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

The Hill and the Monster Truck

Finding refuge on my knees

Last night I had another strange dream. I don’t remember all the details, but one part stood out so vividly. I stumbled down a hill and found myself struggling to get back up. Suddenly, I heard a noise behind me. When I looked back, I saw a huge monster truck coming down the road, with crowds of raging people at its sides. The road curved sharply at the bottom, making the truck’s descent feel even more threatening. Fear gripped me as I tried to get back on my feet to move out of the way. I ended up walking on my knees as fast as I could, desperate to find a safe place where I could rise again. Just as I turned the corner at the bottom, I woke up. As I sit with this dream, I sense its weight. Hills so often remind me of struggles or tests — those seasons when the climb feels impossible and my footing slips. The monster truck felt overwhelming, unstoppable, like the pressures and voices that sometimes barrel toward me in life. Yet even on my knees, I was still moving. I was still reaching for safety. I realise that the dream echoes something deeper: when life presses me down, my first posture is kneeling — a posture of humility, of prayer, of surrender. It’s not weakness; it’s strength. It’s the place where I find God’s refuge. 📖 "When I am afraid, I will trust in You." — Psalm 56:3 (NKJV) I love how even my subconscious seems to know: the safest place is with Him. My safe clearing at the bottom of the hill glowed with light. That is where I run into His presence. 💡Reflection: Where in my life right now do I feel like I’m stumbling down a hill?🤔 What “monster trucks” are pressing in, threatening to overwhelm me?🤔 What does my safe space with God look like in this season?🤔 How might my knees — in humility and prayer — actually be the ground where my strength is renewed?🤔 Today, I hold onto the truth that I am never safer than when I kneel in trust before Him. Even when fear looms behind me, His light goes before me. I am seen, carried, and sheltered in His love. 🙌Prayer: Lord, when pressures close in like unstoppable forces, remind me that even on my knees I can keep moving toward You. Teach me to see humility and surrender not as defeat, but as the doorway into safety and strength. Lead me into Your refuge and help me rise again in Your light. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

The Double Grief of Living Losses

When goodbye comes twice

As my memorial scrapbook album has steadily grown over the years, I have found myself adding yet another page, another name, another story. Each addition carries weight, but the hardest ones to grieve are those I lost while they were still alive. Relationships that unravelled, hearts that grew distant, people who became unreachable long before death ever arrived. In many ways, death was only the second, more final goodbye. This is a grief not often spoken of: mourning the presence that remained physically but was gone in every other way. It is the sorrow of what could have been, compounded when death seals the unfinished chapters. These are the double griefs — losses that echo twice through the soul. 📖 “The Lord is near to those who have a broken heart, and saves such as have a contrite spirit.” — Psalm 34:18 (NKJV) Yet even here, I sense God’s nearness. He is not afraid of the complicated tears. He gathers both the grief of absence and the grief of unfinished stories into His hands. My scrapbook becomes more than a record of loss; it becomes a testimony of love, of presence once shared, and of His healing touch over my heart. Where grief lingers, His grace lingers longer. 💡Reflection: Which “living losses” still tug at my heart, and how can I bring them into God’s healing light?🤔 How might I use my scrapbook not only to remember, but to release each name into His care?🤔 If you are grieving today, whether the loss of presence through death or through life’s unravelling, know that your sorrow is seen. God does not dismiss the ache of double goodbyes. He draws close, holding both your memories and your heart in His everlasting arms. 🙌🏻Prayer: Father, You see the layers of my grief — the spoken goodbyes and the silent ones. Heal the places in me where I still mourn what was lost before life ended. Help me entrust each story to You, knowing that Your love is greater than death, distance, or brokenness. Thank You for being near to the broken-hearted and for weaving redemption even through my tears. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

The Sacred Weight of Last Photos

Cherishing the fleeting glimpses of love and presence

There are photographs tucked into albums and frames that I now realise are the last with certain loved ones. At the time, they seemed so ordinary — a family gathering, a shared laugh, a quiet moment around a table. Yet now they hold a sacred weight, whispering, "This was the last time." Time with loved ones is precious. We cannot always know which smile, which touch, or which conversation will be the last. The ordinary becomes extraordinary in hindsight, and the photos capture more than faces; they capture presence, love, and belonging. 📖 "Teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom." — Psalm 90:12 (NKJV)  My heart aches with both gratitude and longing as I turn these pages. Gratitude that God gave me the gift of these people, these moments, these memories. Longing, because I wish I had savoured them even more while they were unfolding.  Yet, even here, grace flows. These photos remind me not of what I have lost, but of the love that was given. They are reminders of God’s faithfulness in surrounding me with relationships that reflect His heart. They are treasures of memory, echoes of eternity. 💡Reflection: Who in my life do I need to be more intentional about savouring time with?🤔 How can I live so that love, laughter, and faith become the legacy captured in my “ordinary” days?🤔 If you are holding a “last photo” today, may you also hold the comfort of knowing that love is never wasted. Each captured smile is a testimony of God’s goodness and a call to savour the sacred ordinary of today. 🙌Prayer: Lord, teach me to number my days rightly. Help me to pause in the busyness and savour the people You have placed around me. May I not wait until a photo becomes the “last” to treasure a moment. Let my presence, my love, and my words be a blessing to those I hold dear. Thank You for the gift of memory, of photographs, and of the love that outlives time. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Included vs. Considered

Moving from overlooked presence to cherished intention

There is such a difference between being included and being considered. Inclusion says, “You can come.” Consideration says, “We thought of you when making the plan.” One checks a box; the other checks the heart. For much of my life, I have felt overlooked — sometimes not even included. That ache runs deep, because being left out speaks to the child within who longs to be seen, valued, and chosen. Yet even when I was included, it often felt like there was still a gap — the absence of true care, of being remembered in the details. Reading Anthony D Brice’s words struck me like a gentle light: to be considered is to be thought of with intention, with love. It means someone has already set a place at the table, already woven me into their plans, already seen my value without me needing to prove it. 📖 "Let each of you look out not only for his own interests, but also for the interests of others." — Philippians 2:4 (NKJV) This Scripture reveals the heart of Jesus — He didn’t just include us; He considered us. Long before we asked, He planned redemption. Long before we felt the ache of loneliness, He promised His presence. To be considered is to be loved with foresight. 💡Reflection: Where in my life do I feel merely “included,” and where do I feel truly “considered”? 🤔 How is God inviting me to lean more deeply into places where I am seen, valued, and cherished?🤔 🌸 Closing thought: I no longer need to chase inclusion. I will sit only where I am seen, go only where I am valued, and remain only where I am considered. 🙌 Prayer: Lord Jesus, thank You that You have always considered me. You saw me before I was formed, You planned my days before I lived them, and You set a place for me at Your table. Heal the wounds of being overlooked and teach me to rest in the truth that I am chosen, valued, and remembered. Help me also to extend this same intentional love to others, not just including them, but truly considering them. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Rare Hearts That Keep Giving

On carrying tenderness in a world that prizes hardness

There are words that stop you in your tracks because they name what your heart has long carried in silence. Steve De’lano Garcia’s words did that for me today.  "There is a rare breed of people who bet their whole heart and never ask for odds: they keep their word even when it hurts, they step into storms for the sake of someone else's sunshine, they give the last of their warmth to hands that may never hold them back; they walk the extra mile on blistered feet and still ask if you need a ride; they pour love into empty rooms and tuck hope into beds that have never learned their name, and when the echo does not answer, they do not grow smaller -they grow steadier; they stay kind in a world that profits from hard edges, they stay soft in a season that praises stone, and they pay a quiet price for it, again and again, with tears wiped in the dark and smiles set straight at dawn; yet even through the ache, they keep a small light for the day another rare heart appears- equally brave, equally loyal, equally willing to meet them in the deep; to the givers, the forgivers, the selfless lovers: keep being beautiful, guard your tenderness without burying it, let the cold world be cold and choose to be warm, take every small moment like a breath you mean to keep, and know this--your love is not wasted; it is a seed, and one day it will fall into hands that know how to grow it." It speaks of a rare breed of people who give their whole heart without asking for odds, who love when it hurts, who stay soft when the world demands stone. Reading it brought tears, because it resonated so deeply with my own journey. I have known what it feels like to pour warmth into empty rooms, to sow kindness into places where my name may never be remembered. I have known the ache of wiping tears in the dark and smiling at dawn, carrying the quiet price of love that costs without return. Yet in those very moments, I have also known the steadying hand of Jesus, the One who sees what others may never notice. 📖 "And let us not grow weary while doing good, for in due season we shall reap if we do not lose heart." — Galatians 6:9 (NKJV) This verse reminds me that nothing given in love is ever wasted. Love is never lost; it is a seed. The soil may seem barren now, but God Himself is faithful to water and bring fruit in His time. Our tenderness, our loyalty, our willingness to keep loving in the face of rejection or silence — all of it matters to Him. 💡 Reflection: Where have you been sowing love that feels unseen? How might God be inviting you to trust Him with the unseen fruit? 🙏 Prayer: Lord, thank You for reminding me that love is never wasted. When the ache feels heavy and the cost of tenderness feels too much, steady my heart in You. Help me to guard my tenderness without burying it, to remain kind in a world that grows cold, and to trust that You are bringing a harvest in Your perfect time. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

No Lie Lives Forever

Truth’s patient pursuit through shadows and masks

Lies may cover for a season, but they never remain hidden forever. Every mask worn, every betrayal carried out, every manipulation crafted leaves a mark, not just on the people wounded, but upon the soul of the one who weaves them. For a moment, deception might feel like safety, power, or advantage. Yet God sees, and nothing escapes His gaze. Shadows grow heavy, and the bridges burned today often spark the fires that will one day expose falsehood. You may deny, twist, or charm your way through stories, yet you cannot outrun truth. When it comes, it does not simply remove the mask — it reveals the wreckage left behind. So hide, if you must. Pretend, if you choose. But know this: no lie lives forever, and no cruelty goes unpaid. God is not mocked, and His timing is never late. Justice waits, patient yet certain. 📖 "For there is nothing hidden which will not be revealed, nor has anything been kept secret but that it should come to light." — Mark 4:22 (NKJV) 💡Reflection: Are there places in your life where truth is waiting to be spoken, yet fear has kept it silent?🤔 What would it look like to invite God’s light into that place today?🤔 '🙌🏻Prayer: Lord, thank You that You are truth and that You see all things clearly. Where I am tempted to hide or cover up, give me the courage to bring it into the light. Where I have been hurt by deception, bring healing and restore trust in Your goodness. Let my life be anchored in integrity, built not on shifting lies but on Your unshakable Word. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

The Grief of Obedience

A surrender that feels like loss, yet leads to life

Obedience isn’t always radiant and full of rejoicing. Often, it comes cloaked in tears. It feels like death to our will, a burial of our pride, and a surrender of the comforts we cling to. It may look like leaving when your heart longs to stay, keeping silent when every fibre of your being burns to speak, or loosening your grasp on something you love deeply — not because you no longer care, but because God is asking you to trust Him for what lies beyond. Every act of obedience carries its own grief. Abraham’s heart surely ached as he lifted the knife over Isaac (Genesis 22). Moses gave up the splendour of Pharaoh’s palace to walk with a complaining people in a barren desert (Exodus 3–4). And Jesus, in Gethsemane, with sweat like drops of blood falling to the ground, still whispered: 📖 “Not My will, but Yours be done.” — Luke 22:42 (NKJV) Obedience can feel like loss. Yet each surrender opens the door to God’s glory. Each relinquishing becomes the soil where new life rises. What feels like ashes in your hands can become the canvas where God writes His beauty across tear-stained skies. Jesus reminds us: 📖 “Blessed rather are those who hear the word of God and obey it.” — Luke 11:28 (NKJV) So if your obedience feels like grief today, take heart. God is not taking something from you — He is leading you to something greater. Obedience may hurt, but it also heals. It may cost, but it also crowns. One of my biggest areas of struggle with obedience is the call to prayer in the early hours of the morning. It’s as though the Holy Spirit gently stirs my heart while the world still sleeps, inviting me into the quiet, sacred space where heaven whispers. Yet my body resists, longing for the comfort of blankets and the stillness of rest. There’s a grief in that tug of war — between spirit and flesh, longing and lethargy. The call to rise feels heavy, and yet, every time I choose to answer, I’m met with a Presence so tender, it’s as if dawn itself bows in reverence. In those early hours, before the noise of the day intrudes, His voice is clearest. It’s not about performance or perfection; it’s about communion — the deep heart exchange that can only happen in stillness. 📖 “O God, You are my God; early will I seek You; my soul thirsts for You; my flesh longs for You in a dry and thirsty land where there is no water.” — Psalm 63:1 (NKJV) Obedience in these moments feels like dying to comfort so that I might awaken to glory. It is costly, but it carries the fragrance of love — a quiet yes whispered in the dark, trusting that what He has to say is worth the sacrifice of sleep. Let’s face it, who wants to be up between 3 and 5 a.m. when everyone else is sleeping — especially in winter, when it’s so much warmer and cosier under the covers? Yet even in that reluctance, there’s an invitation. However, when I rise, weary but willing, I find strength not my own. His presence wraps around me like dawn light, and the grief of obedience becomes the grace of encounter. 💡 Reflection:  What area of obedience feels most costly to you right now? How might God be inviting you to trust that His presence will meet you there? 🙌🏻 Prayer: Lord, teach me to embrace the hidden beauty of obedience, even when it feels like loss. When You call in the quiet hours, help me to respond with love, not reluctance. Let every sacrifice of sleep become a seed of intimacy, and every act of surrender a song of trust. May my heart rise to meet Yours in the stillness. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Led by the Spirit, Not by Feelings

A reflection on discerning emotions without losing purpose

The enemy knows that if he can trap us in our emotions, he can blur our vision and derail our obedience. Offence, fear, and insecurity are his subtle tools to cloud our sight. He whispers lies, magnifies hurts, and stirs up comparisons, all so we would walk in circles instead of stepping forward into the calling God has set before us. Emotions themselves are not wrong. God created us with feelings — they are like colours on the palette of the soul. They allow us to experience joy, sorrow, compassion, grief, and delight. Yet, when feelings take the lead, they can become stormy waves that toss us to and fro. Cloudy emotions, if left unchecked, delay obedience and dim the clarity of God’s direction. 📖 "For as many as are led by the Spirit of God, these are sons of God." — Romans 8:14 (NKJV) We were never called to be driven by feelings. We are called to be led by the Holy Spirit. To live Spirit-led means acknowledging our emotions, but not bowing to them as masters. It means learning to express them righteously, anger without sin, grief with hope, joy with humility, love with purity. When surrendered to God, even our deepest emotions can become vessels of grace. Tears become intercession. Anger becomes fuel for justice. Fear becomes an invitation to trust. Joy becomes strength.   💡Reflection: Where have I allowed feelings to cloud my obedience to God’s voice?🤔 How can I acknowledge my emotions honestly while inviting the Holy Spirit to lead me?🤔 What practical step can I take today to move from being led by feelings to being led by the Spirit?🤔 🙌🏻Prayer: Holy Spirit, thank You for the gift of emotions. Teach me to express them in ways that honour You. Guard my heart from being ruled by offence, fear, or insecurity. Lead me in truth, clarity, and love. Please help me to walk by faith, not by sight, and by Spirit, not by feelings. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Her Final Psalm: When Love Leads Home

On tears, legacy, and the holy hush of goodbye

Today, the tears I’d been holding back finally came. It happened as I read Uncle Rodney’s post — his tender words about Aunty Delice’s final days on earth. The story of their last reading together, Psalm 91 — her favourite psalm — undid me. They were reading the very words that had anchored her faith for decades when she fell silent and slipped toward eternity. There is something achingly beautiful about that image: two souls wrapped in prayer, dwelling “in the secret place of the Most High,” until one is called home. 📖 “He shall cover you with His feathers, and under His wings you shall take refuge.” — Psalm 91:4 (NKJV) Uncle Rodney’s letter carried both the ache of absence and the glow of gratitude. After fifty-seven years of shared life, love, and ministry, his words reflected the strength of covenant — love that endures storms, children, decades, and even the veil between earth and heaven. Reading his tribute stirred something deep within me — a remembering of how Aunty Delice stepped in with grace and generosity to take up my mother’s responsibilities during my wedding and for my family. Her care was steady, practical, and full of love. She sewed my wedding dress, baked our cake, and wrapped every detail with the kind of tenderness that speaks louder than words. Her life was the sermon that showed me what love in action looks like. I wept because her story mirrors my values — faith, family, service, compassion — the very things she helped awaken in me. I wept because the kind of love she lived doesn’t end; it multiplies. It seeps into generations and echoes in our own tenderness toward others. 📖 “Here is the one thing I crave from God, the one thing I seek above all else: to live my life so close to Him that He takes pleasure in my every prayer.” — Psalm 27:4 (Passion Paraphrase) That was her daily prayer — and now it’s her answered one. 💡Reflection: Whose faith has shaped yours, and how might you honour their legacy by the way you love and serve today?🤔 🙌🏻Prayer: Lord, thank You for Aunty Delice’s legacy of love and devotion. Thank You for the way her faith shaped generations. Help me to live as she did — unhurried in love, unwavering in faith, and unafraid of surrender. Let her example draw me closer to You each day, until the moment faith becomes sight. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Inner Peace Over Prestige

Choosing alignment with God’s values over the lure of success

Some costs are hidden until they begin to gnaw at your soul. Prestige, recognition, or opportunity may look radiant on the outside, yet if it requires you to betray your God-given values, the price is too high. Peace is fragile when fear is driving your decisions. Yielding to fear of loss can push you to say “yes” where your spirit is whispering “no.” To comply for appearances is to trade away the very treasure Christ has entrusted to you — His peace. 📖 "Peace I leave with you, My peace I give to you; not as the world gives do I give to you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid." — John 14:27 (NKJV) 💡Reflection: Where have I felt pressured to compromise my values for the sake of approval or opportunity?🤔 What situations rob me of peace, and how can I invite God’s guidance into those places?🤔 How might I practise courage by saying “no” when something dishonours my faith, integrity, or calling?  ✨ May you never trade the calm waters of your soul for the crashing waves of false success. You are seen, held, and guided by the One who calls you His beloved. 🙌Prayer: Lord Jesus, thank You for the gift of Your peace that guards my heart and mind. Help me to recognise when something is too costly for my soul, no matter how prestigious it looks. Strengthen me to stand firm in my values, to choose integrity over fear, and to rest in the assurance that Your way leads to life. Let me measure success not by worldly standards but by faithfulness to You. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Ahab’s Silence Enables Jezebel’s Chaos

When passivity opens the door, destruction walks in

The spirit of Jezebel wreaks havoc among the nations because the spirit of Ahab has caused good men to cower in apathy and say nothing. Jezebel thrives where Ahab abdicates. Her manipulation finds fuel in silence; her intimidation grows strong where courage has gone weak. In Scripture, Ahab was king, but his crown held little weight because he surrendered his authority. Jezebel filled the vacuum, murdering prophets, silencing truth, and twisting justice. Yet God raised up Elijah—a voice that did not bow, a prophet who dared to confront lies with holy fire. 📖 "And so it was, while Jezebel massacred the prophets of the Lord, that Obadiah had taken one hundred prophets and hidden them…" — 1 Kings 18:4 (NKJV) There are times when we, as followers of Christ, will be called upon to stand up with a holy ‘NO!’ in the face of evil and injustice. We are called to be obedient to Truth, not compliant to lies. Silence in the face of evil is in itself evil. God will not hold us guiltless. Not to speak is to speak. Not to act is to act. 📖 "For if you remain completely silent at this time, relief and deliverance will arise for the Jews from another place, but you and your father’s house will perish. Yet who knows whether you have come to the kingdom for such a time as this?” — Esther 4:14 (NKJV) As Archbishop Desmond Tutu said: “If you are neutral in situations of injustice, you have chosen the side of the oppressor. If an elephant has its foot on the tail of a mouse, and you say that you are neutral, the mouse will not appreciate your neutrality.”  Today, the same spirit seeks to muzzle God’s people, but silence is agreement, and apathy is partnership with destruction. The call of Elijah still resounds: will we bow, or will we stand?🤔 Meowing time is over. It is time to roar with holy boldness, to rise as the lion-hearted people of God, declaring His truth with love and courage. We are not the Lion, but it has fallen on us to release His ROAR into the earth. Let us choose courage over comfort. Let us rise with truth, love, and holy boldness, knowing that our God still answers by fire. Reflection: Where have I remained silent when God was calling me to speak truth?🤔 Am I willing to trade comfort for courage, even if it costs relationships or reputation?🤔 How can I prepare my heart to be an Elijah voice in my generation?🤔 Prayer Heavenly Father, forgive me for the times I’ve bowed to fear or stayed silent when You called me to speak. Strengthen me with holy courage to stand for truth, to resist manipulation, and to walk in integrity. May my life echo Elijah’s cry — that You alone are God. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Faithful in the Small Things

God’s personal encouragement to keep trusting His timing and promises

📖 "His lord said to him, ‘Well done, good and faithful servant; you were faithful over a few things, I will make you ruler over many things. Enter into the joy of your lord.’" — Matthew 25:21 (NKJV) Beloved heart, God is speaking a tender yet powerful word over you today: "You have been faithful in the small things, and now I am trusting you with more. I have seen how you kept a good attitude, even when it was hard. I have watched you bless others while you were waiting on your own blessing. Now get ready: increase is coming. I am releasing new opportunities, new influence, and new resources. People who did not notice you before are going to seek you out. Doors you could not open are going to fly wide open. What you have prayed for in private, I will reward you with in public. Keep believing — it is all coming together!" Let these words settle deep into your spirit. God notices every quiet act of obedience and every hidden prayer. He treasures the unseen seasons where you served faithfully, often without recognition. Nothing has been wasted. 💡Reflection: Where have you been faithful in the small things, even when no one saw?🤔 Which private prayers are you still holding before the Lord?🤔 How might you prepare your heart for the new doors He is about to open?🤔 💖 May today’s assurance give you courage to keep trusting. The God who sees in secret is bringing everything together in His perfect time. 🎨Creative Prompt: Take a blank page and draw or paint a door flung wide, golden light pouring through. Around the doorway, write or illustrate the prayers and promises you are believing God to fulfil. 🙌Prayer of Faithfulness and Increase Heavenly Father, Thank You that my life is anchored in You — my foundation, my strength, my joy. You see the small acts of obedience, the quiet prayers whispered in the dark, and the moments when love, kindness, and courage were chosen over ease. Lord, I bring my faith and spirituality before You, asking that it always remain my highest priority. Let every act of service, every creative offering, and every relationship I nurture be an overflow of Your love. May my compassion for others mirror the compassion of Christ. Father, where I have walked faithfully in hidden places, I trust Your promise that increase is coming. Release opportunities that align with my calling, doors that no man can shut, and resources that bring healing and hope to the broken-hearted. Keep my heart pure with integrity and generosity, so that when favour comes, it glorifies You and not me. Teach me balance and rest, that I may serve with strength and joy. Give me courage to stand against injustice and freedom to live authentically in Your truth. May beauty and creativity in my life always point to Your glory, and may my greatest achievement be measured by lives touched with Your love. I surrender my plans to You, Lord. Let Your will be done, and may my story shine with the radiant seams of Your grace. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Compassion in Action

A soul that sees, feels, and then moves to heal

"A soul that carries compassion is a soul that has walked through fire and chose not to become flame; it learned the weight of grief so it could lift it from others. Its scars are not warnings but seams, stronger where it was torn, proof that tenderness can be engineered from ruin. It knows that gentleness is disciplined strength, that boundaries are a form of care, and that listening is a shelter built from nights when no one came. It does not forget the dark; it uses it as a lantern, turning pain into sight and sight into mercy, so others can find their way back to themselves." Empathy is precious. It allows us to notice, to feel with another. Yet empathy by itself can remain passive, a learned behaviour of acknowledgement without movement. Compassion, however, is empathy clothed in action. It is experience that moves us beyond understanding into tangible love — to bind wounds, to meet needs, to restore hope. When Jesus walked this earth, He did not stop at empathy. The Gospels tell us He was moved with compassion, and every time compassion stirred His heart, something changed. The blind received sight, the hungry were fed, the grieving were comforted, and the lost were found. Compassion became the doorway for miracles. 📖 "But when He saw the multitudes, He was moved with compassion for them, because they were weary and scattered, like sheep having no shepherd." — Matthew 9:36 (NKJV) Empathy is praying for the hungry, but compassion will give them something to eat. Jesus modelled this when He told His disciples: 📖 "But Jesus said to them, 'They do not need to go away. You give them something to eat.'" — Matthew 14:16 (NKJV This is the invitation for us too — to let our scars become seams of strength, to let our past darkness become lanterns of mercy, and to let empathy grow into compassion that acts. It is in those holy moments of action that Christ’s love shines brightest, turning ruins into restoration. 💡Prayer: Lord Jesus, teach me not only to feel the weight of another’s sorrow but to step into their need with compassion. May my scars become testimony, my past pain a lantern, and my heart a vessel for Your miracles of love. Move me beyond sentiment into service, beyond empathy into compassion. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Resting in the Rain

A gentle reminder that stillness is not failure, but preparation for flight

I read today that butterflies rest when it rains, because the drops can damage their wings. How fragile, and yet how wise — they wait until the skies clear before they take to the air again. This week, I too rested. I didn’t serve at Elijah House, and at first it felt uncomfortable. Guilt whispered that I was letting others down. Yet the Holy Spirit’s gentle prompting was unmistakable: be still, pause, breathe. I am grateful I listened. Rest is not weakness, it is obedience. Even Jesus withdrew to quiet places to pray and be renewed. 📖 "Come to Me, all you who labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest." — Matthew 11:28 (NKJV) Storms pass, and when they do, butterflies rise again on wings unbroken. I believe I will too. 💡 Reflection: Where is God inviting me to lay down my striving and rest in His love?🤔 🙏 Prayer: Lord Jesus, thank You for reminding me that even in the storms, I am safe in Your care. Teach me to rest without guilt, knowing that You restore my strength in stillness. May I rise again, renewed, when the time is right. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Kindness That Feels Like Home

Small gestures, eternal echoes of love

Some friends feel like home. Not because they fix or rescue us, but because they never demand that we be anything other than ourselves. With them, silence feels safe, weakness isn’t judged, and even in our messiest moments, we are still chosen. That kind of love is rare. It is holy ground. On Friday, Rose and Harry sat across from me at lunch. Rose’s hands carried two gifts: a scented candle, and a card that reached deep into my heart. Inside were these words: *“Dear Trixi, Thank you for your dedicated service in ministry, the ways which enrich our church. Your selfless acts of service: Elijah House Prayer Ministry, Healing Courses, Painting Lessons, Worship. Your leadership and teaching help and inspire me to grow in my faith. Your love, care, and support create a nurturing place in our church. Thank you for being a true friend to me and all. You…are more than enough. We are blessed to have you! Blessings, Love from Rose 25/09/2025”* Then today, as we got home from church, Caroline arrived unexpectedly, pressing into my hands a little box of home-baked cookies with a note: “Thinking of you my lovely friend. Love, Caroline.” Such gestures catch me off guard. I’m not used to kindness arriving so gently and freely. I’m still learning how to receive without feeling like I need to earn. 📖 "Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, and comes down from the Father of lights." — James 1:17 (NKJV) These small acts of kindness are not small at all. They are God’s reminders that love is alive and tangible, often wrapped in simple offerings — a card, a candle, a cookie. Each one carries a whisper from Heaven: You are more than enough. You are loved, not for what you do, but for who you are. 🙌A prayer: Lord Jesus, thank You for the gift of friends who carry Your heart. Teach me to receive kindness with humility and joy, without fear or striving. Help me to hold these moments as reminders of Your unfailing love. May I also be one who offers warmth, light, and nourishment to others. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Truth That Shakes Comfort

Choosing honesty with courage, even when it costs relationships.

Testifying isn’t something we do because we are amazing Christians. It isn’t a performance or proof of perfection. It flows from the faith we hold close to our hearts, the unshakable knowing that Jesus is the only way we made it through difficult days. Without Him, we would not have survived. When doubt rises and struggles weigh heavily, silence often tempts us. We shrink back, still and lifeless, like a body without breath. That is what the enemy longs for — to quench the flame of the Holy Spirit, to hush the living witness within us. Yet faith is not meant to be buried. When you feel it stirring, when you sense His life springing up in you, speak. 📖 "And they overcame him by the blood of the Lamb and by the word of their testimony, and they did not love their lives to the death." — Revelation 12:11 (NKJV) Testifying is courage in action. It is not about eloquence but obedience. Each time you declare what you believe, you anchor yourself again on Christ, the Rock. Faith becomes the foundation of your works, love flows outward in service, and your story becomes a beacon of hope for others stumbling in the dark. Your voice matters because it carries the witness of His light. 💡Reflection: Where have you allowed silence to smother your testimony?🤔 What story of God’s faithfulness do you need to speak out loud today?🤔 How can honesty, even when costly, become an act of love in your relationships?🤔 🙌🏻Prayer: Lord Jesus, thank You for the gift of testimony and the courage You provide to speak truth with love. Forgive me when fear or doubt keeps me quiet. Stir faith within me and let my words carry Your light to those who are weary. May my life be a witness that glorifies You in all things. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Facing the Storm

A lesson in courage, trauma, and trust

I recently came across a metaphor that stopped me in my tracks. Both buffalo and cows can sense when a storm is coming. The cows, in their panic, run away from it. Yet the storm inevitably catches them, and because they keep running, they remain in it far longer — weary, drenched, and battered. The buffalo, on the other hand, charge directly into the storm. Terrifying at first, yes, but they reach the other side quicker, emerging rested and nourished, able to enjoy the green pastures watered by the rain. It made me think about trauma. How often do we live like the cows, running from our pain, our memories, our fears? In doing so, we stay in the storm longer than we need to. Avoidance feels easier in the moment, but it prolongs the shame, the guilt, and the exhaustion. Healing comes when we stop running away. The way of the buffalo calls for courage. It mirrors the life of faith. To walk through the storm means to face the grief, to let the tears fall, to sit with the memories that ache. Yet in that brave choice, healing comes swifter, because Jesus meets us in the middle of the tempest. 📖 "When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow you. When you walk through the fire, you shall not be burned, nor shall the flame scorch you." — Isaiah 43:2 (NKJV) I don’t want to raise a generation of cows — running endlessly, weary beneath storms they were never meant to carry so long. I long for a generation of buffalo, who know that facing the storm with Jesus leads to peace, strength, and new life on the other side. 💡 Reflection: Think about a storm you may be facing right now. Are you running from it, trying to avoid the pain, or are you willing to face it with Jesus by your side?🤔 What fears surface when you consider walking into the storm rather than away from it?🤔 How have past “storms” shaped you — did avoidance prolong them, or did courage quicken healing?🤔 What would it look like to trust God in the midst of this present storm?🤔 Take a few quiet moments to journal your answers. Invite Holy Spirit to whisper His perspective. Remember, you are not alone. He walks with you through every downpour, leading you to peace on the other side. 📖 "Peace I leave with you, My peace I give to you; not as the world gives do I give to you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid." — John 14:27 (NKJV) ✍️ Journaling Prompts: Facing the Storm with Courage Name the Storm What storm are you currently sensing in your life — whether it’s grief, fear, shame, or uncertainty?🤔 Write it down honestly, without judgement. Buffalo or Cow?🤔 When storms come, do you tend to run away (like the cow), or face them head-on (like the buffalo)?🤔 Describe a time when you did each. What was the outcome?🤔 The First Step Facing the storm begins with one brave step. What small act of courage could you take today that would help you walk through your storm with Jesus?🤔 The Aftermath Think of a past storm you’ve endured. How did God use that season to bring new life, growth, or blessing?🤔 Write about the “green pastures” that followed. God’s Presence in the Tempest In what ways have you experienced Jesus walking with you in difficult times?🤔 How could you remind yourself of His nearness in the storm you face now?🤔 Generational Courage What legacy do you want to leave for your children, grandchildren, or spiritual sons and daughters?🤔 How can you model the courage of the buffalo in a way that invites them to do the same?🤔 📖 "Be strong and of good courage, do not fear nor be afraid of them; for the Lord your God, He is the One who goes with you. He will not leave you nor forsake you." — Deuteronomy 31:6 (NKJV) 🙌 Prayer: Lord Jesus, give me the courage of the buffalo. Teach me not to run away from the storms of life, but to walk through them with You. Hold my hand when fear rises, and remind me that Your presence is my shelter and my peace. May I model bravery, honesty, and faith for those who come after me. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

When Old Wounds Whisper

Finding God’s Steadfast Love in Seasons of Abandonment

Childhood experiences of abandonment can echo loudly in adulthood. The silent vows we made to stay safe — “I must be the good one,” “I must never need too much” — can linger as hidden scripts in our hearts. As children we try to earn love by pleasing others, hide our feelings to avoid rejection, or tiptoe through life to prevent loss. Later, those same fears may drive us to over-give, fear intimacy, or feel ashamed when we draw boundaries. Yet Scripture reminds us that we are never truly forsaken. 📖 "When my father and my mother forsake me, then the Lord will take care of me." — Psalm 27:10 (NKJV). Our God steps into the very places where human love failed and offers unwavering presence. He calls us out of self-protective patterns into the freedom of being His beloved. Reflection & Gentle Steps Toward Healing Notice the old vows. Invite the Holy Spirit to reveal hidden promises like “I must never upset anyone” or “I have to earn affection.” Replace them with truth. Speak God’s Word over each lie: I am chosen, not forsaken. I am His child. Practise safe connection. Begin with small, trustworthy relationships where you can share your heart and be met with grace. Seek prayerful support. Christian counselling, inner-healing prayer, or a mature mentor can help you release the weight of the past. May you sense His steady love today, stronger than every echo of loss. 💡Closing Prayer: Lord Jesus, thank You that You never leave nor forsake me. Heal the places where abandonment’s voice still speaks. Break every silent vow that keeps me from receiving and giving love freely. Teach me to rest in Your faithful arms and to walk in relationships marked by trust, honour, and holy freedom. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Being the Bigger Person

A gentle wisdom: choosing peace over performance

People often say, “Why don’t you be the bigger person?” as if it means endlessly reaching out, fixing, or pouring yourself dry into a relationship that refuses to heal. I used to believe that too — that love meant stretching until I broke, or carrying the weight of reconciliation on my shoulders alone. Yet the Holy Spirit has been teaching me that sometimes, being the bigger person means recognising when to let go. It is not bitterness. It is not unforgiveness. It is discernment. Because not every connection is meant to continue, and not every silence needs to be filled with words. Reaching out repeatedly only to meet the same wall of denial or unresolved conflict drains the life God has placed within us. Love and peace walk hand in hand, and sometimes the most loving thing we can do is to bless from a distance. To release the need to fix what only God can redeem. To trust that in His time, He can bring healing far deeper than our words could manage. 📖 “If it is possible, as much as depends on you, live peaceably with all men.” — Romans 12:18 (NKJV) When I choose peace, I am not choosing weakness. I am choosing wisdom. I am choosing the freedom to walk forward, lightened of the constant weight of striving, into the abundant love and purpose God has for me. 💡Reflection: Where in my life have I mistaken endless striving for true love?🤔 Am I holding onto a relationship out of guilt or pressure rather than God’s leading?🤔 How can I release someone with grace and still walk in love?🤔 🙌Prayer: Lord Jesus, thank You for teaching me that peace is not passive but powerful. Help me to discern when to lean in and when to step back, always anchored in Your love. Guard my heart from bitterness and strengthen me to love without losing myself. Let me rest in the truth that You are the Redeemer of all things, and I can trust You with what I cannot carry. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

The Weight of Words

Redeemed, healed, and rewritten by the Word of Truth

Words. Such small, fleeting things, yet they carry the strength of storms and the tenderness of balm. They can crush a heart already bruised or become the very breath that revives it. They can shame a soul into silence or set it free to sing. They can shatter dreams in an instant or breathe courage into weary bones. They can build walls so high that no one can climb them, or melt defences with a whisper of kindness.   When I think of all the words that shaped my life, my heart aches for the little girl who listened and believed. Words like “I was a mistake,” “I am worthless,” “I will amount to nothing” and countless others. They stuck to my spirit like heavy stones, labels pressed into my soul by the voices and actions of others. Those words built walls around my heart and painted lies across my identity. They whispered shame and echoed unworthiness. Yet even there, even then, God was present — His voice a gentle whisper, waiting for the day I would hear Him louder than the noise. I am so grateful that He redeems, heals, and removes those labels. He takes the jagged shards of our identity and mends them with golden seams of truth. He writes a new name over our hearts — beloved, chosen, worthy, His. Every word is a seed. Once sown, it cannot be recalled, and in time, it will bear fruit. This is why our words must be chosen with reverence, humility, and love. 📖 “Death and life are in the power of the tongue, and those who love it will eat its fruit.” — Proverbs 18:21 (NKJV) 📖 “He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.” — Psalm 147:3 (NKJV) 📖 “Behold, I have inscribed you on the palms of My hands.” — Isaiah 49:16 (NKJV) The words of people may have shaped my early years, but the Word of God defines my eternity. I am no longer what was spoken over me. I am who He says I am. His truth silences the lies and turns pain into purpose. My prayer is that my words — and yours — would echo His heart: not careless or harsh, but vessels of grace. May they lift where others have been pulled down, soothe where there is sorrow, and call forth light where shadows linger. 🙌🏻 Prayer: Lord, thank You for redeeming the broken words spoken over my life. Guard my tongue and purify my speech. May my words carry Your life, not death. Let me speak hope over the hopeless, encouragement to the weary, and truth wrapped in love. Teach me to pause before I speak, to listen before I answer, and to bless instead of curse. Rewrite my story continually with Your truth. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Listening with the Heart

The infographic I reflected on today outlined the 5 Levels of Listening

There’s a difference between hearing and truly listening. The infographic on the 5 Levels of Listening reminded me how often I linger in the shallower waters — waiting to talk, or distracted, only half-present. My lips may be closed, but my mind is rehearsing what to say next. It reminds me that listening isn’t just about ears — it’s about the posture of my heart. Too often, I’ve caught myself in level one — quiet on the outside, but inside, already forming my reply. Other times, I’ve slipped into level two, where distraction steals the gift of being fully present. Yet, when I move toward the higher levels—understanding, recognising emotions, and even sensing what remains unspoken — that’s when true connection happens. It echoes the call of Scripture: 📖 "So then, my beloved brethren, let every man be swift to hear, slow to speak, slow to wrath." — James 1:19 (NKJV) The Hebrew word for “hear” in the Old Testament is shema (שָׁמַע). It doesn’t mean just to perceive sound. It carries the depth of obeying, understanding, and responding with the whole being. To shema is to listen with the heart — attentive, reverent, and ready to act in love. When I choose to listen like this, I move closer to the image of Christ. Jesus listened deeply to those around Him. He heard the cries beneath the words, the blind calling out on the roadside, the bleeding woman pressing through the crowd, the unspoken ache of a rich young ruler. His listening was never hurried; it was spacious, healing, and infused with compassion. To listen this way is an act of love and service. It’s recognising the image of God in the one speaking, honouring their story, their tears, their silence. It’s stepping into empathy, courage, and compassion—all threads that are woven into my core values. And maybe the deepest form of listening is prayer. When I lean in and hear what the Holy Spirit is whispering beneath the noise of my own thoughts, I discover truth, healing, and direction. Listening, at its deepest, is more than a skill. It is a ministry of presence, a way of carrying Christ’s love into ordinary moments. True listening is an act of love. It says: You matter. Your story matters. I see you. It invites us into empathy and even beyond — into discerning what is unspoken, what the soul longs to say but cannot find words for.  May I grow to be a listener who not only hears but helps heal. A gentle challenge for today: Ask Jesus to help you notice where you usually stop. Do you wait only to speak, or do you listen until you can hear what is unsaid? Let each conversation become a small altar where His love is made known. 📖 "He who has ears to hear, let him hear!" — Matthew 11:15 (NKJV) Listening, at its deepest, is more than a skill. It is a ministry of presence, a way of carrying Christ’s love into ordinary moments. May I grow to be a listener who not only hears but helps heal.

A Pillar of Love Remembered

A mother’s embrace that shaped my soul

At 6 am this morning, I woke up to the news that Aunty Delice, my spiritual mom, has gone home to be with the Lord. Just last weekend, she suffered a stroke, and though my heart hoped for a full recovery, Heaven has now gained her tender soul. I first met her in the early 1990s at Julaine’s home cell. She was a mother of five, her youngest only weeks old, and yet she welcomed me into her heart as one of her own. In those days, when I felt so lost and alone, her steady love wrapped around me like a covering. That gift of belonging, of being mothered, has shaped me more than words can tell. I remember countless hours spent at her kitchen counter, conversations that poured balm into the cracks of my young adult heart. Conversations were foreign to me at the time, but I soaked up all I could. Mom knew how to make the lost and lonely feel heard, seen and valued. Two years later, she sewed together the 32 pieces of fabric that became my wedding dress, still hanging in my cupboard. She nursed me back to health with Marmite toast when for prior to the wedding, I couldn’t keep food in, resulting in weight loss so she had to sew me into the dress. Those pieces were a topic of discussion for years to come. She baked the cake and pressed silk flowers into a wine glass to make a topper, a treasure that still adorns my display cabinet as a symbol of her care. I even married out of her home. She modelled the love of Christ and motherhood. Mom love shaped my life in ways I will carry forever. My boys became her grandchildren, and she was "mom" and “Granny Lice” to many a stray youngster. If she wasn't busy in the kitchen preparing a meal, she was almost always with a baby in her arms and a smile of laughter on her face. Almost every photo of her carries that image, arms full of little ones, heart brimming with love. Today, my heart is heavy 💔, sorrow resting deep within😭. Heaven has gained a precious soul, but I have lost a pillar in my life. I don’t yet know why the tears have not come, but I will lean into the Holy Spirit for His comfort, trusting that He will help me grieve in His time and way. 📖 "Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted." — Matthew 5:4 (NKJV) Though my heart feels the ache of loss, I am comforted by the hope we have in Christ that this goodbye is not the end, but only until we meet again. 💞 🙌Prayer: Lord Jesus, thank You for the life of Mom Delice, whose love has been an anchor in my journey. Thank You for the ways she showed me Your heart through her kindness, her mothering, her faithfulness. Comfort her family, and hold us all close as we walk through the valley of grief. Teach me how to mourn with hope, resting in the promise of eternal life. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Listening that Heals

Hearing the heart of God and others

Moving from waiting to talk toward hearing the heart of God and others The infographic I reflected on today outlined the 5 Levels of Listening: Waiting to Talk (Self-focused) — Quiet, but only because you are planning what to say next. Hearing the Words (Distracted) — Picking up parts of the conversation while your attention drifts. Understanding the Message (Focused) — Hearing not just the words but their meaning, listening to understand rather than reply. Recognising Emotions (Empathetic) — Sensing their emotional state and honouring how they feel. Hearing What’s Unsaid (Fully Present) — Picking up the deeper meaning, the things they struggle to express, and what they truly need you to hear. Weaving this into a Christ-centred life The Lord calls us to listen with both heart and spirit. 📖 "So then, my beloved brethren, let every man be swift to hear, slow to speak, slow to wrath." — James 1:19 (NKJV) From self-focus to God-focus: Invite the Holy Spirit before a conversation. Ask Him to quiet the inner noise so you can be present. From distraction to attention: Lay aside the urge to multitask. Eye contact and gentle pauses create space for trust. From words to meaning: Reflect back what you heard. “I sense you’re carrying... Is that right?” shows care. From meaning to empathy: Pray silently as they speak, offering their burden to the Lord. From empathy to discernment: At the deepest level, listen for what the Father is saying, the comfort or truth He longs to impart. A gentle challenge for today Ask Jesus to help you notice where you usually stop. Do you wait only to speak, or do you listen until you can hear what is unsaid? Let each conversation become a small altar where His love is made known. 📖 "He who has ears to hear, let him hear!" — Matthew 11:15 (NKJV) Listening, at its deepest, is more than a skill. It is a ministry of presence, a way of carrying Christ’s love into ordinary moments. May I grow to be a listener who not only hears but helps heal.

Learning to Rest Without Guilt

A tender pause in the healing journey

For four years, my school holidays were marked by dutiful service — showing up, giving my time, energy, and heart without fail. This week was different. For the first time since starting my Elijah House journey, I did not serve at a school during the break. A few weeks ago, I felt the gentle nudge of the Holy Spirit inviting me into something new — a tender season of healing. He began unravelling the old “dutiful daughter” patterns within me, showing me how much of my striving came from wanting to please rather than resting in His love. At first, I wrestled. Guilt crept in after messaging Sandee, almost as if stepping back meant letting the team down. I missed the rhythm of Monday mornings, the familiar drive to Pakuranga. A flicker of FOMO visited me, reminding me of the moments I wasn’t part of. Yet by Tuesday, something had shifted. Apart from praying for the team throughout the day, I felt peace settling in like a gentle covering. I am beginning to learn that “no” is a full sentence. Boundaries are not walls of selfishness, but gates of wisdom that protect the heart. Rest is not absence, it is presence with God — and from that place of presence, my “yes” will one day flow again, not from duty but from love. 📖 "Come to Me, all you who labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest." — Matthew 11:28 (NKJV) 💡Reflection: Where in my life have I been serving out of duty rather than love? 🤔 What old expectations is God inviting me to release? 🤔 How can I practise healthy boundaries without guilt, knowing Jesus calls me into His rest? 🤔 🙏 Closing Prayer: Father God, thank You for teaching me that Your love is not earned through duty but received in rest. Thank You for showing me that boundaries are not walls of selfishness but gates of wisdom that guard my heart. I release the guilt of saying “no” and choose instead to trust the freedom of Your “yes.” May my serving flow not from striving but from love, not from obligation but from delight in You. Holy Spirit, continue to unravel the old patterns and weave in Your truth. Teach me to walk in rhythm with grace, resting in Your presence and rising only when You lead. In Jesus’ Name, Amen. ✨

My Constant Companion

A quiet thanksgiving for the one who walks with me through every season

Still my one and only, my constant support — what a privilege it is to do life with you. Reflections of the Heart As I look back over the years, my heart fills with gratitude. Life has carried us through shifting seasons — joys, trials, laughter, tears, and countless ordinary days. Through it all, your steadfast presence has been my safe place. There is something sacred about knowing that whatever may come, you are there beside me. 📖 "Two are better than one, because they have a good reward for their labour. For if they fall, one will lift up his companion." — Ecclesiastes 4:9-10 (NKJV) Marriage is not just shared moments, it is a weaving of souls. Threads of faith, patience, and kindness form a tapestry of love that only grows richer with time. You have been God’s tangible reminder to me of His faithfulness and grace. Prayer of Gratitude Heavenly Father, thank You for the gift of a faithful companion. Thank You for the laughter that brightens our days and for the strength that carries us through challenges. May our love reflect Your love, and may our unity bring You glory. Keep us anchored in You, that we may continue to walk hand in hand with courage, tenderness, and joy. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Not Called to Average

Living in God’s fullness and abundance

“Average” is what the failures claim to be when their family and friends ask them why they are not more successful. “Average” is the top of the bottom, the best of the worst, the bottom of the top, the worst of the best. Which of these are you? “Average” means being run-of-the-mill, mediocre, insignificant, an also-ran, a nonentity. Being “average” is the lazy person’s cop-out; it’s lacking the guts to take a stand in life; it’s living by default. Being “average” is to take up space for no purpose; to take the trip through life, but never to pay the fare; to return no interest for God’s investment in you. Being “average” is to pass one’s life away with time, rather than to pass one’s time away with life; it’s to kill time, rather than to work it to death. To be “average” is to be forgotten once you pass from this life. The successful are remembered for their contributions; the failures are remembered because they tried; but the “average,” the silent majority, is just forgotten. To be “average” is to commit the greatest crime one can against one’s self, humanity, and one’s God. The saddest epitaph is this: “Here lies Mr. and Ms. Average — here lies the remains of what might have been, except for their belief that they were only “average.” — Gaudet Reading these words is uncomfortable — and that’s the point. Average is not about ability, it’s about choice. It’s the decision to shrink back when courage is required, to silence creativity when it longs to speak, to coast when God calls us to walk with purpose. What struck me most is that “average” wastes God’s investment. Each of us carries unique gifts, stories, and opportunities entrusted by Him — not to be buried, but multiplied. Playing small doesn’t spare us; it robs both us and those we were meant to touch. When I read Gaudet’s words about “average,” I can’t help but think of the years when I felt silenced, disconnected, and unseen. For so long, I settled into the background, believing the lie that I was ordinary — nothing special, nothing remarkable. Yet deep inside, God had already sown seeds of creativity and healing in me, waiting to break through. Rediscovering my creative voice was never about proving I was “better” than average; it was about realising that God never designed me for mediocrity. He placed in my hands brushes, words, songs, and stories — seven keys of healing that all carried the fingerprints of creativity. Each time I dared to sing, paint, write, dance, or speak, I was not just creating — I was choosing life over “average.” Faith has taught me that to play small is to dim the light God entrusted me with. To stay “average” would have been to bury my gifts, but instead He called me to let them shine — not perfectly, but boldly, honestly, and with love. Even failure, when it comes from trying, can echo with meaning. But choosing “average” leaves no echo at all. That’s the saddest epitaph: “what might have been.”So the question becomes deeply personal: Am I living in a way that leaves behind only safe sameness, or am I daring to create, love, risk, and shine — even imperfectly — so that God’s investment in me grows and blesses others?🤔 My creative journey is my testimony: I am not “average.” I am God’s workmanship (Ephesians 2:10), crafted with purpose. Even in my brokenness, He uses golden seams of grace to turn my story into something that speaks life. And so I keep creating, not to be remembered, but to reflect Him. Each brushstroke, each devotion, each gathering becomes my way of saying: “I refuse to settle for average. I choose to live poured out.”

Here I Am to Worship

A morning song of gratitude and surrender

This morning I woke with a melody stirring in my heart — 🎼“Light of the world, You stepped down into darkness, opened my eyes, let me see.”🎵🎶 The words reminded me afresh of the beauty of Jesus, the One who is altogether lovely, worthy, and wonderful to me. They echoed like a gentle prayer rising from within: 🎵Here I am to worship, here I am to bow down, here I am to say that You’re my God.🎶 As the first light of day slipped through my window, I felt my heart respond in gratitude. A new day, another chance to shine Christ’s light into the shadows around me. Another opportunity to let His love spill over into the places that ache for hope. 📖 “You are the light of the world. A city that is set on a hill cannot be hidden.” — Matthew 5:14 (NKJV) Today I choose to walk with open eyes and an open heart, guided by Holy Spirit. I ask Him to align my steps, words, and thoughts with the rhythm of heaven’s song. May my life be an altar of worship — not only in songs I sing but in the love I show, the kindness I extend, and the courage I carry into dark places. 💡Reflection: • What song of worship is stirring in your heart today? 🤔 • How can you let your daily actions reflect a life of worship? 🤔 • Where might the Holy Spirit be nudging you to shine light into someone else’s darkness?🤔 🙌Closing Prayer: Holy Spirit, thank You for filling this new day with light and purpose. Let my life reflect Your beauty and truth. Lead me in paths where Your love is needed most, and keep my heart tender before You. May my worship today be more than words — may it be lived out in every breath and every step. Lord Jesus, I lay this day before You. Be the light that shines through my words, my actions, and even my silence. May others see You in me and be drawn to Your love. Protect my mind from distractions, my heart from fear, and my spirit from weariness. Teach me to worship You not only with my lips but with the way I live. I rest in the truth that You are altogether worthy, altogether lovely, and altogether wonderful to me. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Two Ears, One Mouth

The quiet power of listening well

We have two ears and one mouth for a reason. This simple truth, tucked into the way God designed our bodies, carries a gentle yet profound lesson: listen more than you speak. 📖 "So then, my beloved brethren, let every man be swift to hear, slow to speak, slow to wrath." — James 1:19 (NKJV) Listening is not passive. It is an active, loving posture that says, I value your heart and story. In a noisy world, it becomes an act of compassion to give another person the gift of full attention. It allows us to discern not just words, but feelings and unspoken needs. I do enjoy listening to others; it brings me joy to hear their stories and to hold space for their hearts. Yet I know this has been a journey for me. Being raised in a silent home and having spent much of my life feeling disconnected, I am still learning the skill of active listening. It does not come naturally, but God has been gracious in teaching me how to lean in with love, to listen not only with my ears but with my heart. Every conversation becomes both a practice ground and a gift, shaping me into someone who longs to mirror His attentiveness. When we slow down to hear first, our words carry more weight and grace. Prayer becomes deeper. Friendships grow stronger. Even conflicts soften, because someone has truly been heard. As you move through today, let your ears do the greater part of the work. Speak carefully, with kindness, after the listening is done. 💡Reflection: • When was the last time you felt truly listened to? 🤔 • How did it impact your heart? 🤔 • In your conversations, do you tend to listen to respond, or listen to understand? 🤔 • What practical step can you take today to become more present when someone is sharing their heart with you? 🤔 • How might God be inviting you to listen more closely — to His Word, to His people, and to the whispers of the Holy Spirit? 🙏 Prayer: Heavenly Father, thank You for the gift of ears to hear and a heart to understand. Teach me to listen with patience and compassion, not only to others but also to the gentle leading of Your Holy Spirit. Guard my tongue so that my words may be filled with grace, wisdom, and kindness. May my listening bring comfort, healing, and peace to those around me. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Forgiven to Forgive

A freedom that flows only from the Cross

“Forgive as quickly and as often as you would expect Christ to forgive you.”These words stir something deep in me, because forgiveness is not always easy. Yet, when I pause and remember how quickly Christ forgives me — without hesitation, without conditions — my heart softens. Unforgiveness is like holding shards of broken pottery close to our chest, hoping they will somehow harm the other person, when in truth, they only cut deeper into us. Forgiveness, then, is not excusing wrongs or forgetting pain. It is releasing the weight that binds us, allowing God’s golden grace to flow into the cracks. 📖 "Then Peter came to Him and said, 'Lord, how often shall my brother sin against me, and I forgive him? Up to seven times?' Jesus said to him, 'I do not say to you, up to seven times, but up to seventy times seven.'" — Matthew 18:21-22 (NKJV) Forgiveness is never easy. The sting of betrayal, the heaviness of offence, the quiet ache of repeated hurt — all of these weigh on the heart. Yet Jesus showed us the way of freedom while He was still hanging on the cross, whispering, “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they do.” That moment wasn’t just history; it is the living example that grace flows stronger than bitterness. Forgiving quickly and often is not about excusing wrongs or pretending pain doesn’t matter. It is about laying down the chains that bind us. Offence locks us in prisons of resentment. Forgiveness, however, sets us free. Forgiveness is freedom. It heals the offense lodged in our hearts, lifts the heaviness from our shoulders, and makes space for peace to breathe again. It is love in action — a reflection of Christ’s mercy alive within us. Sometimes, it isn’t just one act of forgiveness, but a repeated surrender — seventy times seven. The same person, the same wound, the same choice to release. In our strength, this feels impossible. Yet Christ, who forgave us before we ever repented, gives us the ability. His love fills the cracks where bitterness once tried to take root. Every time we forgive, we echo the Cross. We declare: “Christ in me is stronger than the offence against me.” 🕊️ Today, I choose to forgive. Not because it’s deserved, but because I have been forgiven much more. 💡Reflection: Who comes to mind when you think of forgiveness that still feels unfinished? 🤔 How might holding onto offence be keeping you bound? 🤔 What would it look like to forgive again — even if it’s the same wound, the same person? 🤔 ✨ You are not defined by the offence done to you, but by the grace that flows through you. Forgiveness is the doorway to freedom — and Christ holds it open for you. 🎨Creative Prompt: Paint or journal the image of a broken chain mended with golden seams. Let this be a symbol of forgiveness turning wounds into testimonies. 🙌Prayer: Lord Jesus, thank You for forgiving me fully, even when I fall short again and again. Teach me to forgive quickly and often, not in my own strength but in Yours. Break the chains of offence in my life and replace them with Your peace. May my heart reflect Your mercy as I walk in freedom. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Your Quiet Influence Matters

A reflection on unseen impact and faithful obedience

God is saying to you today: “You are impacting more lives than you realise. Someone is watching you. Someone will be saved because of you. Someone will keep pushing forward because of your faith. Someone will learn to trust Me because of your example. One day, when you stand before Me in Heaven, you will see the countless lives you've touched, and it will amaze you! Keep walking in faith, keep shining your light, because I am using you in ways beyond what you can see.” 📖 "Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works and glorify your Father in heaven." — Matthew 5:16 (NKJV) There are days when I wonder whether the small, faithful acts really make a difference. The prayers whispered in private. The kindness is extended when no one is watching. The art created from tears and worship, sent quietly into the world like a message in a bottle. Yet today, I sense the Lord reminding me that even the smallest light can pierce deep darkness. Today, I’m grateful that the Lord whispers reassurance that what I’m sowing in secret is bearing fruit far beyond what my eyes can trace. His words speak of hidden ripples: someone will find salvation because I shared hope; another will persevere because they’ve watched my steadfast faith; and still another will dare to trust God because of the gentle way I’ve lived His truth. He reminds me that even when the work feels unseen or unnoticed, Heaven is keeping count. Each act of love, each word of encouragement, each prayer sown in faith becomes a seed in His garden of grace. One day, when I stand before Jesus, I believe He’ll show me a tapestry of lives touched through the ordinary threads of obedience. The smiles, the art, the prayers, the faith in waiting — all woven together into something eternal and beautiful. Until then, I will keep walking in faith, shining His light, and trusting that He is using my life in ways beyond what I can see. 💡Reflection: Where have I seen God use my quiet faith to encourage or inspire others?🤔 What “small things” might I be underestimating that God could be using greatly?🤔 How can I stay faithful and joyful in serving unseen?🤔 🙌🏻Prayer Lord Jesus, thank You for reminding me that no act of love is ever wasted in Your kingdom. Help me to trust that You are working through every seed sown in faith, even those that fall in hidden soil. Teach me to shine Your light without striving for recognition, knowing that Your glory is the true reward. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Stand Firm for Truth

Courage to Speak Out When Silence Feels Safer

📖 "Open your mouth, judge righteously, and plead the cause of the poor and needy." — Proverbs 31:9 (NKJV) There will be moments when you see unfairness unfold and every fibre of you wants to speak, yet fear whispers reasons to stay quiet. Perhaps the wrongdoer is a friend, a leader you respect, or someone with influence. Still, God calls us to rise above fear. His Word reminds us that real courage is not about picking fights; it is about standing firm for what is right even when it is uncomfortable or costly. Christ Himself is our example. He confronted injustice, defended the vulnerable, and never compromised truth for popularity. When we follow Him, we carry His heart for justice and mercy. We do not need to shout to make a difference; often a calm, steady word can be stronger than a storm of anger. 📖 "For if you remain completely silent at this time, relief and deliverance will arise for the Jews from another place, but you and your father’s house will perish. Yet who knows whether you have come to the kingdom for such a time as this?” — Esther 4:14 (NKJV) 💡Reflection: Where might God be inviting you to speak truth with love today — at home, in your workplace, or within your community?🤔 🙌🏻Prayer: Lord Jesus, strengthen my heart to stand firm for truth and righteousness. Fill me with Your wisdom to speak with grace and courage, and help me defend those who cannot defend themselves. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Wake-up Song of Gratitude

A melody of joy rising with the dawn

🎼 Dankie Jesus vir 'n wysie en 'n woord (Thank You Jesus for a tune and a word) Dankie Jesus want ek leef my volle droom Thank You Jesus because I live my full dream) Dankie Jesus vir die vreugde wat U bring ( Thank You Jesus for the joy that You bring)🎵🎶 This little song of praise carries the fragrance of a childlike heart — light, simple, and full of joy. Sometimes our deepest worship is found not in grand declarations but in whispered tunes of gratitude. Like the sparrows that greet the morning with song, our voices can rise to declare the goodness of God before we even know what the day will hold. 📖 "This is the day the Lord has made; We will rejoice and be glad in it." — Psalm 118:24 (NKJV) Every breath, every note, every smile is a reminder that Jesus has filled our lives with His love. Even in the middle of trials, He gives us songs in the night (Job 35:10). Waking up with praise shifts our eyes from the weight of yesterday to the promise of today. May this little chorus become like a gentle alarm for the soul — waking us not just from sleep, but into awareness of His presence. For truly, to live our full dream is to live in Him, and to delight in the joy only He can bring. 🙏 Prayer: Thank You, Jesus, for the gift of a new day and the melody You place in my heart. Teach me to wake with gratitude, to carry Your joy, and to live fully in the dream You have planted in me. May my life become a song of praise that draws others to Your love. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Refined Under Pressure

A meditation on hidden strength and authentic faith

There is something about pressure that tells the truth. Diamonds are forged in the deep, where heat and weight transform common carbon into something of rare beauty. Yet not every glittering stone is a diamond. An imitation may look perfect until it is tested. When life presses down, it can feel like we’re being crushed. Yet in God’s hands, pressure is not punishment, it is transformation. Just as carbon is refined into a diamond under immense weight, so too our faith is revealed in the fire of adversity. This picture holds a spiritual lesson. 📖 “Beloved, do not think it strange concerning the fiery trial which is to try you, as though some strange thing happened to you; but rejoice to the extent that you partake of Christ’s sufferings.” — 1 Peter 4:12-13 (NKJV). Our Father is not cruel. He does not crush to destroy. He allows the squeeze so that our lives reveal what is genuine, grace that endures, faith that does not fracture. Tests of adversity separate surface sparkle from the enduring brilliance of a surrendered heart. If you feel the weight today, remember that hidden strength is rising within you. What is of Christ will not shatter. Instead, pressure will polish it until His reflection shines more clearly. Perhaps you’ve been in a season where the weight feels heavy and the pressure unrelenting. Take heart. What is of Christ will not shatter. Hidden strength is rising within you. 💡Reflection: • Where have recent trials revealed unexpected resilience or exposed areas that still need His refining touch? 🤔 • Write a prayer of trust, inviting Jesus to keep shaping your character into lasting beauty. 🙌Prayer: Lord Jesus, thank You that nothing is wasted in Your hands. When life presses hard, steady my heart. Purify my motives, strengthen my faith, and let Your light shine through every crack until Your likeness is all that remains. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

God’s Rainbow of Promise

A gentle reminder of His covenant love on an ordinary Friday morning

This morning, on the way to The Crate, I was greeted by a quiet spectacle: a rainbow arched like a painted bow across the pale sky. The pavement was still damp from the night’s showers, and a hint of blue broke through the cloud, yet the colours shone as if placed there just for me. It felt like the Lord’s own signature — a whispered assurance of His unchanging promises. The rainbow has always been His covenant sign, first given to Noah after the flood, declaring that mercy triumphs over judgement. 📖 "I set My rainbow in the cloud, and it shall be for the sign of the covenant between Me and the earth." — Genesis 9:13 (NKJV) May we carry this same certainty into our day. Whatever storms have gathered, His Word still stands. His mercy is fresh, His faithfulness unbroken. Today, may every glimmer of colour in the ordinary remind us of the God who keeps His promises, leading us from grey skies into hope-filled blue. Thank You for the rainbow this morning — a radiant reminder of Your faithfulness that never fails. Just as the colours stretch across the sky, so does Your mercy cover every part of my life. Thank You for new beginnings after the storms, for hope that rises even on grey days, and for promises that are steadfast and true. Teach me to pause and recognise these glimpses of Your goodness in the ordinary. May my heart be filled with gratitude and trust, knowing that You keep every word You have spoken. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Seeing Differently

A reflection on how what some call weakness, others see as a gift

There will always be voices that label us as too much or not enough. Too quiet, too sensitive, too weird, too confident. Yet the truth is that God did not design us by mistake. Every detail was lovingly formed in His heart before it was knit into being. For every person who thinks you are too quiet, there is one who sees in you a patient, safe, listening ear. For every person who calls you too sensitive, another honours your ability to feel deeply and love fully. Where some may call you too confident, others find courage and inspiration in your self-respect. The very qualities others criticise may be the balm another soul has been praying for. This is why anchoring our identity in Christ is so vital. When our worth rests in shifting human opinions, we are pulled back and forth like a boat in restless waters. Yet when our worth rests in Him, we stand steady. 📖 "For we are His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand that we should walk in them." — Ephesians 2:10 (NKJV) I am reminded again of my core values — faith, love, compassion, creativity, courage, and integrity. These were not accidental traits but intentional gifts, entrusted to me for a purpose. What someone else calls too much may in fact be just right in the Father’s hands. 🎨Creative Prompt: Paint or sketch an image of a potter shaping clay. Around the clay vessel, write words others have spoken over you that felt like too much or not enough. Then, on the vessel itself, write the words God speaks: Beloved. Chosen. Beautifully Made. 🙌Prayer: Father, thank You that I am Your workmanship. Help me to see myself through Your eyes and not through the shifting lens of others. Teach me to rest in the truth that my weaknesses and strengths alike are redeemed in You. Shape me as the Potter shapes the clay, and let my life reflect Your design. In Jesus’ Name, Amen. You are not defined by another’s labels. You are defined by the One who formed you. Hold fast to His truth and walk boldly in the beauty of who He made you to be.

The Strong Tower

A refuge of safety and song

There are melodies that rise from Scripture and echo deep within our souls. Today it’s this one: 🎼 “The Name of the Lord is a strong tower; the righteous run into it and are safe.” 🎵🎶 How beautiful that His very Name is our protection. Not a distant shelter, but an ever-present tower where safety is not just imagined, it is guaranteed. When storms howl, when accusations sting, when fears creep in like shadows, we are invited to run—not walk—into His refuge. It reminds me that safety isn’t found in control, in people’s approval, or in securing outcomes. True safety rests in the unshakeable, eternal, holy Name of Jesus. A tower higher than my doubts. Stronger than my fears. Wider than my wounds. 📖 “The name of the Lord is a strong tower; The righteous run to it and are safe.” — Proverbs 18:10 (NKJV) 💡Reflection: Where do you run when you feel unsafe or overwhelmed? How might you turn your heart toward His strong tower today? 🙌🏻Prayer: Lord Jesus, thank You that Your Name is a refuge for my weary soul. Teach me to run swiftly to You, not to distractions or self-sufficiency. Be my strong tower, my hiding place, and my peace. In Jesus’ Name, Amen. You are safe, beloved one. Always. Rest in His Name today. 💖

Extend Your Wings

A prophetic blessing of freedom and childlike delight

As I listened to the words spoken over me, I felt the Father’s love wrapping gently around my soul. It was as if the Holy Spirit Himself brushed back the heaviness that has long tried to clip my wings. There was a tender invitation — to stretch them wide again, to dance without fear, to love without hesitation. 📖 "But those who wait on the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings like eagles, they shall run and not be weary, they shall walk and not faint." — Isaiah 40:31 (NKJV) The picture of wings unfolded before me — not fragile, broken feathers, but eagle’s wings, strong and unafraid of the heights. New Zealand once carried the largest eagle in the world, the Haast Eagle, and I believe the Lord was reminding me of the unique strength He has placed within me. Where the enemy tried to silence, limit, or shame, God is renewing courage, creativity, and joy. He delights in me as His little girl twirling before her Daddy. Not judged, not compared, but cherished. There is such freedom in remembering that my worship, whether in dance, paint, or words, is a gift He treasures. The sideways glances and critical comments of others no longer hold weight here. His love is louder. Today, I choose to extend my wings again — to fly in His freedom, to dance in His joy, to rest in His delight. I choose to believe that where the enemy clipped, the Lord has healed, and where there was heaviness, He brings playfulness. 🙌Prayer: Father, thank You for calling me Your beloved daughter. Thank You for delighting in me as I dance, create, and worship. Heal the clipped places of my wings, and teach me to rise again in Your strength. May my life be a prophetic picture of freedom and joy, pointing others to Your love. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Shyness: A False Identity Unveiled

A gentle revelation of fear exchanged for God’s design

I once believed I was simply “the shy and introverted one.” Teachers said it. Family repeated it. Eventually, I wore it like a name tag stitched to my soul. What I didn’t realise then was how quickly labels, especially spoken over us in childhood, can take root and shape how we see ourselves. Shyness became a cage, a false identity I thought was mine. Yet as I grew in Christ, I heard a question whispered in prayer: “Is this truly who I created you to be?” The Holy Spirit began unravelling the tangled threads, showing me that shyness was not my original design but fear masquerading as personality. 📖 "For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind." — 2 Timothy 1:7 (NKJV) Fear painted its brushstrokes across my life, trying to obscure the masterpiece God had formed in my mother’s womb. But when revelation came, I saw it clearly — shyness is not a part of God’s handiwork. It was never written into the blueprint of my being. It was a lie I had agreed with, giving it permission to linger. God calls His children to boldness. 📖 "The righteous are bold as a lion." — Proverbs 28:1 (NKJV). We cannot be both bold and shy; one flows from truth, the other from fear. As His beloved, we are called to walk with lion-hearted courage, not hidden timidity. Here I began to see another layer — the difference between how God created me and what the enemy tried to twist. Introversion, for example, is not a flaw or a false identity. It is a temperament — a gentle strength woven by God Himself. Some are created to be reflective, to find energy in solitude, to notice what others might miss. Even Jesus often withdrew to quiet places to pray (Luke 5:16). This is a holy rhythm, not a weakness. Social anxiety, however, is different. It is a wound — a fear-based distortion, often birthed from rejection or trauma. It whispers, “Hide, or you’ll get hurt,” while God whispers, “Come into the light, you are safe with Me.” Shyness and anxiety are the enemy’s brushstrokes, trying to cover what God has made. The truth is that God restores without erasing our God-given design. He does not take away the contemplative nature of an introvert; instead, He frees it from the chains of fear so that gentleness, depth, and creativity can shine unhindered. His boldness doesn’t always look loud. Sometimes it is the quiet, steady courage to stand, to speak when needed, to love without fear. 📖 "For you did not receive the spirit of bondage again to fear, but you received the Spirit of adoption by whom we cry out, 'Abba, Father.'" — Romans 8:15 (NKJV) Through forgiveness, repentance, and renouncing lies, God began restoring me to my true identity: bold, beloved, and free. No longer hidden behind timidity, I could step forward as the woman He intended. His masterpiece — not faint or overshadowed — but radiant with His light. Perhaps you too have worn a label that was never meant for you. Today, may the Holy Spirit lift that false name, revealing the truth of who you are: wonderfully made, chosen, fearless in His love. 💡 Reflection: What labels were spoken over you in childhood that you may have worn as truth?🤔 Do you see ways where social anxiety has masked itself as part of your personality?🤔 How might God be inviting you to embrace your true temperament (introversion or extroversion) without fear?🤔 What does lion-hearted boldness look like in your life — not loudness, but steady courage in Christ?🤔 🙏 Prayer: Abba Father, thank You for calling me Your beloved. Thank You that You did not give me a spirit of fear but of power, love, and a sound mind. I confess and renounce every false label I have carried — especially the lie of shyness and the weight of social anxiety. Lift these burdens, Lord, and show me the truth of my original design. Teach me to embrace the way You created me, whether quiet or expressive, as a gift. Fill me with the boldness of a lion, anchored in Your love and freedom. Let my life shine with courage and compassion, unafraid to step into the light of who I truly am in You. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Identity — The Original Masterpiece

A gentle unpeeling: discovering the canvas God painted before the world began.

There are times when the river of memory carries debris from storms long gone. A comment, a rejection, a whispered judgement; each one lodges like a dark brushstroke across the face of the masterpiece God painted when He formed you in your mother’s womb. Holy Spirit moves with gentleness and wisdom, revealing what has been overlaid so that the original colours may be seen again. 📖 "I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through Me." — John 14:6 (NKJV) An identity crisis began in Eden and spread into every generation, creating a fog that convinces us the cover-up is actually the original painting. Labels given in childhood — "shy," "too much," "insecure" — slowly become lenses. A sibling’s louder laugh, a teacher’s careless word, the family stories passed down; each becomes another coat of paint the enemy uses to hide the image of God within us. Holy Spirit does not come to shame us. He comes to reveal, to heal, to gently lift those layers. For decades I believed I was an introvert. I carried the weight of social anxiety and labelled myself as painfully shy. It wasn’t until I heard the statement, “If you’re painfully shy it would behoove you to ask Holy Spirit if that was an inner healing issue,” that I dared to bring it before Him. He revealed that my shyness was not who I truly was — it was fruit from unresolved trauma, my social anxiety, the outworking of being a wounded burden bearer. As I’ve walked with Him in healing, the suppressed version of me has begun to give way to my true design. Recently, a few people even called me an extrovert. When I told Clive, he laughed and said, “No way!” because he’s only ever known the suppresed version of me. The more healing comes, the more I remember who I really am, and the more I step into the masterpiece the Father painted from the beginning. I also recognised how my strengths and values had been twisted, leaving me trapped in painful double-binds — wanting to live out love, creativity, compassion and courage, yet feeling paralysed by fear, guilt, and the lies of the enemy. Through recognition, forgiveness and repentance, the Father has been restoring me to my original design. What once held me hostage has become the very place where His freedom now flows. Healing is not just removing pain; it is restoring His intention. As you sit with this truth, invite Holy Spirit to bring revelation. Ask Him where a lens has been formed, and allow His light to expose what is not yours. He will not yank the bandage; He heals with tenderness, not force. Mercy triumphs over judgement and safety invites vulnerability. When the Father is seen as safe, the heart leans in, and the unpeeling happens in love. There are places where generational wounds have taken root. Patterns of anger, fear, perfectionism or shame may feel like a family heirloom, handed down from one heart to another. Jesus bore every curse on the cross. His blood begins the slow, holy work of washing the canvas: revealing the image God intended, restoring purpose and beauty. Practical steps for tender unpeeling: 1. Ask Holy Spirit to show you the first memory where a lie felt true. Name it aloud. 2. Speak truth into that place using Scripture, not as a weapon but as balm. 3. Renounce the lie and declare your truth in Christ. 4. Invite a trusted friend or minister to pray with you and speak life over the hidden masterpiece. 5. Keep a small journal of each layer that peels away so you can see how God restores colour over time. You are not what the enemy painted over you. You are the Father’s original, beloved work — fearfully and wonderfully made, an image-bearer of the living God. Allow His light to rise in the hidden valleys of your heart; watch the debris float away and the river begin to flow again. 🙌A short, soul-tending prayer: Lord Jesus, thank you for the gentleness of the Father and for Holy Spirit who reveals truth. Peel away what is not of You. Wash the canvas of my heart with Your blood and let me see my true self reflected in You. Replace shame with wonder, fear with power, and doubt with the knowledge that I am beloved. Help me to renounce the lies and to walk in the freedom of my original identity. Restore the colours that have been hidden and set my feet to rise in the purpose You have painted for me. In Jesus’ Name, Amen. Affirmation: Today I choose to see myself through the Father’s eyes. I am His original masterpiece, called to beauty, courage and faithful love. You are seen, cherished and being made whole.

When Rejection Shapes Our Blueprint

Rewriting our relationships in Christ’s love

Sometimes, the deepest ache isn’t the sting of another’s rejection but the silent scanning of our own hearts — always bracing, always waiting, always fearing we won’t be enough. When we grow up without a sense of true acceptance, our blueprint for belonging is etched in fear. That blueprint whispers lies into our adult lives: “Don’t get too close, or you’ll be hurt.” “If you give more, maybe they’ll stay.” “Better to leave first than be left behind.” “Don’t bother, because relationships don’t last.” I know this ache. I’ve lived it. It can even drive us to sabotage love before love has a chance to bloom. By the time I was 6, I had concluded that relationships won't last after being the "new kid on the block" 5 times.  13 schools and 34 homes by the time I reached 18 just helped solidify this judgment on life and people. Displacement trauma ran so deep that I never put down roots. Yet, beloved, there is hope. The Master Builder is not finished with us. Our relational blueprints can be rewritten by the One who calls us accepted, chosen, and dearly loved. 📖 "Behold what manner of love the Father has bestowed on us, that we should be called children of God!" — 1 John 3:1 (NKJV) The enemy tries to keep us bound to fear, but God calls us into freedom. In Christ, rejection does not define us, nor does abandonment hold us captive. His love builds a new foundation, one rooted not in fear but in belonging. Like clay in the potter’s hands, He reshapes our broken places into vessels of grace. Where fear once over-gave, His Holy Spirit teaches us balance. Where withdrawal once ruled, His Spirit teaches us courage to stay. Where suspicion once clouded love, His Spirit teaches us to trust His presence in others. Where despair once whispered that relationships don’t last, His Spirit reminds us that His love endures forever. 💡Reflection: Where do I notice myself bracing for rejection?🤔 How might I invite the Holy Spirit to rewrite my “relationship blueprint”?🤔 What Scriptures remind me that I am fully accepted and loved in Christ?🤔 How can I begin trusting that some relationships, by God’s grace, are meant to last?🤔 🙌🏻Prayer: Father, I surrender my old blueprints, the ones written in fear and rejection. Rewrite them with Your love. Teach me that I am already accepted in Christ, and help me walk in the freedom of that truth. Heal the parts of me that sabotage love, and replace them with courage, grace, and trust. May my relationships become reflections of Your steadfast love. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

My Soul Follows Hard After Thee

A song of deep pursuit and holy longing

There’s something about the old songs that rise up unbidden, like treasures hidden deep in the soil of our souls. This morning, my heart hummed an old refrain: 🎶 *“*My soul followeth hard after Thee Early in the morning I will rise up and seek Thee And because Thou hast been my help Under the shadow of Your wings Will I rejoice…” It is the cry of a heart that refuses to be distracted, a spirit determined to cling to the One who gives life. David once penned those very words: 📖 “My soul follows close behind You; Your right hand upholds me.” — Psalm 63:8 (NKJV) That picture of following hard after Him feels like a dance of longing and trust. We don’t pursue Him casually. We run after Him as though our very breath depends on it, because it does. His presence is not an accessory to our lives — it is the essence of life itself. This morning’s whispered melody reminds me that even when I am weary, He holds me steady. My grip may falter, but His right hand never lets go. 🙌Prayer Lord Jesus, keep my heart soft and my feet swift to follow You. When the world distracts me, draw me back with Your steadfast love. Let my pursuit of You be marked by holy longing, not duty, and may my soul cling ever tighter to Your presence. In Jesus’ Name, Amen. 🌸 Always remember, you are seen, cherished, and carried. May your soul rest today in the safety of His upholding hand.

Legacy of Love

A heart that longs to leave lives transformed and souls drawn to Christ

I do not desire to leave behind monuments of my own making, nor a name etched in the halls of fame. What I long for most is a legacy of hearts loved back to life and lives forever transformed by Christ. If, when all is said and done, others can say they saw His reflection in me, then my life will have been well spent.   This desire flows from the very core of who I am and what I value most. Faith is my foundation, love is my compass, and service is my offering. Creativity becomes the vessel through which hope and healing are painted back onto broken souls. Integrity and generosity shape the way I walk, courage anchors me when fear threatens, and compassion reminds me that every heart matters. Success, as the world measures it, holds little meaning to me. True achievement is when someone who was hurting finds wholeness in Christ because love reached them through me. 📖 "Those who are wise shall shine like the brightness of the firmament, and those who turn many to righteousness like the stars forever and ever." — Daniel 12:3 (NKJV) 💡Prayer: Lord Jesus, may the reflection of Your love be so evident in me that others are drawn to You, not to me. Let my legacy be one of lives healed, hearts restored, and souls saved. Teach me to love with Your compassion, to serve with Your humility, and to create with Your Spirit’s inspiration. May every act, no matter how small, ripple into eternity for Your glory. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Still the Storm Within

When melodies remind the soul that Jesus calms our inner seas

I woke this morning with a nauseating headache and the faint ache of clenched teeth. My body seems to be carrying what my heart is wrestling through. Two tablets and a little more rest lifted the heaviness, yet even in the fog of weariness, the Lord placed a melody on my heart. I cannot even remember the old Afrikaans song that came first, only that it was about Jesus. But as I stood under the shower, another fragment rose like a prayer whispered back to me: 🎵 “Want U stil die lewensstorms weereens Heer. Maak 'n molshoop van die berg in my gemoed.” Such tenderness in that reminder — that He stills the storms of life and turns mountains into molehills within our troubled minds. Perhaps it is no coincidence. Pastor David’s recent meeting with the elders has been weighing on me, stirring an anxious undercurrent I cannot always name. I have noticed myself clenching my teeth, as though bracing against impact. He has now sent through a message with his second warning from the elders and his subsequent response. I have not yet read it, let alone replied. My heart hesitates. Yet even here, God meets me. Scripture says: 📖 “Peace I leave with you, My peace I give to you; not as the world gives do I give to you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.” — John 14:27 (NKJV) So before I step into words, decisions, or responses, I need to sit in His peace. To let Him still the storm inside, that I may not react out of fear, but respond in His wisdom and grace. 🕊 A prayer rises with the melody: “Heavenly Father, I surrender the storms within me to You. Calm the mountain of worry into a molehill of peace. Guard my mind, steady my words, and align my response with Your truth. Thank You that I am safe in Your hands, no matter the turmoil around me. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.” Affirmation for today: Even when anxiety clenches its grip, Jesus is the One who stills my storms and brings peace to my inner seas.

ALL Life is Sacred

Rejecting violence and the celebration of harm

Today my heart feels heavy. I'm appalled at the laughing emojis and celebration at someone’s passing and sickened by the cruelty I’ve seen spilling across comment sections online. Words — typed by fingertips running rampant — mock and cheer at the loss of a 31-year-old man with a family. A murder is being applauded, as though life itself were disposable. The darkness of such responses chills me: “He had it coming,” “Think like me or die,” “Stay silent or die.” This is the language of hell’s fury, not of heaven’s light. This portrays a lack of compassion that wounds more than just words. Freedom of belief means nothing if it is met with bullets instead of conversation. A man has lost his life. Loved ones have lost their father, their husband. This is beyond politics — it is about human dignity. Sometimes we just have to agree to disagree. There is something seriously wrong in society when a person is not allowed to freely hold and even teach a view different from another’s without fear of harm. Violence is never the answer. Murder is never justice. 📖 "You shall not murder." — Exodus 20:13 (NKJV) I didn’t follow Charlie Kirk and do not care what his political or religious views are or were. What was done is insanity and totally unacceptable. Children lost their father. A man was murdered because he held beliefs his killer could not accept. To those who celebrate death the death or public execution of anyone who used words, not violence, you are part of the problem. Your voice contributes to the rage, the hatred, the pain. Evil shows itself most brazenly when it whispers death and destruction in the disguise of power. Yet, even in the face of such wickedness, I cling to a holy peace. Charlie was a believer. At the moment he crossed from this world into eternity, he was welcomed with the words we long to hear: 📖 "Well done, good and faithful servant." — Matthew 25:21 (NKJV) This assurance does not erase the sorrow, but it strengthens the resolve. Life is sacred. No matter the chorus of voices that grow careless with human dignity, the truth remains: every life bears God’s imprint, every breath is known and counted by Him. Now, the torch Charlie carried is not extinguished—it has been passed to us. His boldness in faith must stir a holy fire within our bones. To refuse silence. To speak truth in love. To rise in courage, even when the world mocks. May we not shrink back in fear but step forward in holy defiance against evil. May our lives, too, echo heaven’s commendation when the race is finished: “Well done.” Let’s refuse to walk that path. Let’s mourn life lost. Pray for the grieving. May we instead choose to pray for peace, comfort the grieving, and speak words of life when others speak rage. 🙌Closing Prayer: Heavenly Father, we lift before You every grieving heart touched by violence. Restore compassion where callousness has taken root. Remind us of the value of every soul, created in Your image. May our words bring peace, our actions reflect Your love, and our witness point always to the sanctity of life. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Faith, Family & Creativity

A threefold cord that carries me when life feels heavy

When life grows heavy and shadows press close, it is one thing — braided strong like a threefold cord — that keeps me standing: Faith, Family, and Creativity. Faith roots me deep in God’s unshakable love, the anchor that steadies me when storms howl. Family surrounds me with belonging and warmth, reminding me that love is stronger than any burden. Creativity gives me wings, a way to pour beauty into brokenness, to turn pain into colour and story. Together, these three are not separate strands but one lifeline, woven by God’s hand. They are the heartbeat that carries me through the weight of the world and lifts me into hope again. 📖 "Though one may be overpowered by another, two can withstand him. And a threefold cord is not quickly broken." — Ecclesiastes 4:12 (NKJV) 🙌Prayer: Father, thank You for weaving my life together with the threads of faith, family, and creativity. Help me never to take these gifts for granted. May I lean on You, cherish my loved ones, and keep creating beauty even in hard seasons. Strengthen this cord You’ve woven so that it never unravels, but always points me back to You. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

TRUST: The Fragile Bridge of Leadership

Why every relationship stands or falls on this invisible foundation

Trust is the invisible bridge that every relationship walks across. Without it, the journey collapses before it even begins. In leadership, trust is not optional; it is everything. People may admire your vision or applaud your skills, but they will not truly follow unless they trust your heart. Trust is painstaking to build. It grows slowly, plank by plank, through honesty, integrity, and consistency. Yet it takes only a careless word or a broken promise to shatter it in seconds. Once fractured, it can be repaired, but the scars often remain. This is why Scripture urges us to live lives above reproach, to let our yes be yes and our no be no, so that our words carry the weight of truth. 📖 "He who walks with integrity walks securely, but he who perverts his ways will become known." — Proverbs 10:9 (NKJV) Leadership is not about perfection. It is about humility, courage, and the willingness to own our missteps. When we confess, seek forgiveness, and make amends, trust can be restored. In that restoration, followers see not weakness but strength — the kind of strength that reflects Christ. If you lead, lead with a heart anchored in love and integrity. Let your actions echo your words, so those who follow you walk across the bridge of trust without fear it will crumble beneath their feet. 🙌A Closing Prayer: Lord Jesus, thank You that You are perfectly trustworthy. Teach me to lead with honesty, humility, and love. Help me guard the hearts entrusted to my care, that my life may point them to You, the faithful Shepherd of our souls. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Healing Ripples Through Generations

When our restoration becomes the overflow for our family

Our children don’t need us to silence their emotions. They need us to help them understand them. To show them it’s okay to feel deeply and to teach them what to do with that depth. We validate the storm inside. We hold the line outside. And in doing so, we help them learn what it means to be both human and whole. For much of my life, I did not know how to do this. I had dismally failed in this area, not because I didn’t love my children, but because I was not equipped to even deal with my own emotions. I had neatly boxed them away and spent years surviving in numbness, living in what I now call numbville. Survival felt safer than feeling. Yet God in His mercy did not leave me there. As I pursued my healing, the ripple effect began. What the Lord restored in me spilled over onto my husband and children. Healing is never just for us — it overflows, it spills, it touches the ones closest to us. 📖 “The LORD is near to those who have a broken heart, and saves such as have a contrite spirit.” — Psalm 34:18 (NKJV) I see now that my failures were not final. God has been rewriting my story, layer by layer, storm by storm, until I could begin to model for my children what wholeness looks like. Not perfection, but authenticity. Not the absence of pain, but the presence of hope. If you too feel like you’ve failed in this area, take heart. Healing is possible, and its fruit will not only restore you but also nurture the hearts of those you love most. 💡 Reflection: • In what ways have you seen healing in your life ripple out to others around you?🤔 • Where do you still long for that overflow?🤔 🙌 Prayer: Father, thank You that my healing does not stop with me, but flows into my family and generations to come. Help me to hold space for my children’s emotions, even as You continue to heal mine. May Your love and truth be the legacy we carry forward. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Love Calms the Sea

A reflection on how God’s love stills the storms of our hearts

This morning, a line of song drifted through my thoughts: "🎼Some say love, it is a river that calms the roaring sea."🎵🎶 Though the original lyric is different, my heart caught hold of this version, and it became a tender reminder of the way Christ’s love works within us. Life often feels like a roaring sea — waves of grief, fear, or uncertainty crashing against the shores of our souls. Yet, when Jesus speaks, even the most violent storm bows in surrender. 📖 "Then He arose and rebuked the wind, and said to the sea, 'Peace, be still!' And the wind ceased and there was a great calm." — Mark 4:39 (NKJV) Love is not only a gentle feeling; in Christ, love is a force that silences storms. His love does not erase the waves, but it steadies the boat, anchors our hope, and carries us to shore. It is both tender and strong, fierce and gentle, like a river that brings life wherever it flows. As I sat with this thought, I heard a whisper of the Holy Spirit: "My love calms what overwhelms you. Rest in Me." How freeing to know that the God who commands seas also commands the chaos inside of us. 🙌Prayer Lord Jesus, thank You for being the One who speaks peace into my storms. Help me to lean on Your love when fear rises, trusting that Your voice still carries authority over every wave. Teach me to rest in You, knowing that no storm is stronger than Your love. In Jesus’ Name, Amen. 🌿 May you feel His calm wash over you today, dear heart. You are not abandoned in the storm — you are held by Love Himself.

Heaven Hears Honour First

Living the Kingdom Culture of Kindness, Courtesy, and Consecrated Responses

“Be careful how you handle any soul in the flesh; you cannot see their rank in the spirit…” Those words stir something deep in me — not fear, but reverence. A holy awareness that every person I encounter bears the fingerprint of God and may be seated in unseen heavenly places. Honour isn't optional in the Kingdom. It is culture. It’s not reserved for leaders, elders, or those we admire — Scripture commands it plainly: 📖 "Honour all people. Love the brotherhood. Fear God. Honour the king." — 1 Peter 2:17 (NKJV) We are not excused from honour simply because we disagree. Quite the opposite. How we disagree is often the greatest test of our spiritual maturity. Courtesy is not weakness. Kindness is not silence, and honour is not agreement — it’s alignment with God’s heart for people. When I lose sight of that, my responses reveal more about my own soul than the situation. If I lash out, belittle, or respond with pride, I step outside the culture of the Kingdom and risk bearing consequences for my own unrighteousness, no matter how “right” I feel in the moment. 💡 Reflection: There is no room in the Kingdom for cruelty disguised as conviction. In prayer ministry and my own healing journey, I’ve come to realise that the wounds which provoke dishonour in me — sarcasm, withdrawal, defensiveness — often stem from old places of rejection or injustice. Yet the Holy Spirit gently reminds me: "Daughter, they are not your enemy. Love them. Honour them. I will defend you." It is heaven’s way. It is His way. And it must become mine. ✍🏼 Journaling Prompts: Have I treated someone dismissively because I couldn’t see their spiritual worth?🤔 In what ways have pride or pain caused me to respond without honour?🤔 What would it look like to walk in Kingdom courtesy today — even with those I disagree with?🤔 🙌🏻 Prayer: Father, teach me to see with Kingdom eyes. Let my tone carry Heaven before my deeds ever speak. Forgive me for careless words, for the times I’ve dismissed those You esteem. Clothe me in kindness, cover me in courtesy, and crown me with humility. Let honour be the fragrance I carry, not just for the seen, but for the sacred unseen in every soul. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Leadership, Connection, and the Courage to Care

A reflection on love at the heart of true leadership

Leadership without connection is like a rope tied in a knot, holding but never truly binding hearts together. We may guide tasks, manage outcomes, and measure progress, yet without love and compassion woven into the fibres, it becomes hollow — mere management. God calls us not only to lead but to connect. To listen with both ears and heart. To see those entrusted to us as image-bearers of Christ, not just as roles or responsibilities. Leadership shaped by faith is leadership that mirrors Jesus, the Good Shepherd, who knows His sheep by name and calls them tenderly. 📖 "I am the good shepherd; and I know My sheep, and am known by My own." — John 10:14 (NKJV) Connection transforms leadership from control into care, from hierarchy into service, from performance into purpose. When love and compassion are present, leadership becomes a sacred trust, a space where others are uplifted and seen. May we never settle for management alone. Instead, may we have the courage to care, the faith to connect, and the humility to serve. Recently, I was struck while reading one of John Maxwell's books. He makes it a priority to connect with his assistant every single day, 365 days a year, even if just for five minutes. That simple habit speaks of honour, attentiveness, and value. In stark contrast, during the last six months of my previous job, my boss only met with me once a month for an hour. No wonder I felt ignored. His confession in December — that he had indeed been ignoring me — only confirmed the ache I carried. 📖 “Be diligent to know the state of your flocks, And attend to your herds.” — Proverbs 27:23 (NKJV) That neglect struck a major chord, echoing the unresolved wounds of childhood emotional neglect. The silence and absence of care triggered retaliation through my own withdrawal and silence. It was as though the little girl inside me was still trying to make sense of being unseen. Through prayer ministry for self-sabotage, this issue unexpectedly took over the whole two-hour session. Layer by layer, the pain was unravelled, and the connection to my past was revealed. For the first time, I was finally able to bring those vows and responses to death at the cross. 📖 “When my father and my mother forsake me, Then the LORD will take care of me.” — Psalm 27:10 (NKJV) There, at the cross, Jesus lifted the burden I had carried for so long. In His presence, silence was no longer a prison but a place of peace. What had once bound me in self-protection was now broken by His love. True leadership requires presence, not just authority. It thrives in the small, consistent touches of care. The absence of that rhythm communicates neglect, whether intended or not. Yet even in that painful experience, God is using it to sharpen my discernment. I now know the kind of leader I want to be — one who never leaves people feeling unseen. 🙌 Prayer: Lord Jesus, teach me to lead like You — with love, integrity, and courage. Help me to see each person not as a task but as a soul, worthy of compassion and connection. Let my leadership be an overflow of Your heart. Heal the places in me where neglect has left its mark, and use them to cultivate in me a tender attentiveness. Thank You for the cross, where every vow of withdrawal and silence is brought to death and exchanged for Your freedom. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Unmasking Shame

From Hidden Wounds to Healing Wholeness

When I first did the Loved, Chosen & Free worksheet in May 2020, I discovered a sobering truth: my whole life had been shame-based. The realisation stung, but it was also an unveiling of what the Lord longed to heal. Since then, I have done the same worksheet four times. Some of my issues have shifted into the "not so much" column, showing areas of movement and grace. Yet overall, shame still lingers as a heavy undercurrent. For a time, that deeply concerned me. During a prayer ministry with Sandra in October, last year, I shared my worry. With her usual wisdom and gentleness, she reminded me that shame takes a long time to untangle. Its roots run deep, often entwined in places of identity. She reassured me that as long as I see even small signs of improvement, I need not fear. Healing is not a race. It is a steady journey led by the Holy Spirit, one tender unveiling at a time. Shame is a thief. It does not speak with reason or truth, for it does not dwell in logic but in the amygdala, the seat of survival and fear. It paralyses perception, whispers "you are a mistake," and persuades us to hide what we dislike. Our bodies often carry their weight — the gut, the tense shoulders, the face turned away from the mirror. Yet guilt says, "I made a mistake," while shame declares, "I am a mistake." That lie can feel crippling. Sandra’s encouragement freed me to see that even slow progress is real progress. Every time I sit with Jesus, every time I confess the lie and choose His truth, a little more light enters the hidden places. 📖 "Those who look to Him are radiant; their faces are never covered with shame." — Psalm 34:5 (NKJV) Shame is such a major stronghold that Sandra has done a 7-lesson teaching series called UNashamed on it. It wasn’t until I offered it in my encounter groups that I finally plucked up the courage to watch the lessons and work through it myself. The truth is, shame does not define me. My Core Values reflect my truest self in Christ — faith, love, compassion, courage, creativity, and service. These are the pillars of who I am becoming, the prophetic counter-story to what shame once claimed. 💡Reflection Prompt: What lies of shame still whisper in your heart? 🤔 How might God’s truth and your core values rewrite that story? 🤔 You are not defined by shame. You are defined by the One who calls you His own, who clothes you in righteousness, and who restores the broken pieces of your story into beauty. One step at a time, light is winning. 🎨Creative Prompt: Paint or sketch a two-sided map: one side showing where shame once held you captive, the other side filled with your God-given values as radiant truths. 🙌Prayer: Jesus, You see the roots of shame buried deep within me. Thank You for leading me step by step into freedom. Replace every lie with Your truth, every shadow with Your light. Teach me to walk in the identity You have given me — loved, chosen, and free. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Lessons from Women in the Bible

A testimony of God’s healing touch through creativity and surrender.

My story, like Ruth’s loyalty, Sarah’s faith, or Esther’s courage, carries its own unique thread of God’s redeeming love. From all I've experienced in my journey — the breaking and rebuilding, rediscovering my creativity, walking through valleys of depression, and rising with a message of healing for others — a lesson shines through: ✨ “Brokenness becomes beauty when surrendered to God.”✨ Brokenness, in the hands of the world, often looks like failure, shame, or disqualification. Yet, when placed into the loving hands of God, brokenness becomes the canvas upon which He paints beauty unimaginable. The cracks that once felt like ruin are filled with His glory, shimmering like gold through the places once shattered. 📖 "He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds." — Psalm 147:3 (NKJV) Restoration God does not discard the broken fragments of our lives. Instead, He gathers them tenderly, fits them together, and creates something even more radiant than before. The very places of pain become testimonies of His mercy and grace. Creativity as Healing Art, colour, and expression become vessels of God's love. Each brushstroke, each line, becomes a prayer — an offering of worship, a release of sorrow, a declaration of hope. Creativity is no longer about achievement but about communion with the Healer. Legacy of Hope Your past does not disqualify you, but instead, it equips you to walk with others through their own valleys. The scars become signposts of grace, guiding others through their own valleys. Testimony turns pain into purpose, birthing a legacy of healing for generations. Placed alongside the women of Scripture, my life’s lesson might be whispered as: ✨ TRIXI “Creativity becomes a key to healing when placed in God’s hands.” Isaiah 61:1-3 The Holy Spirit has turned my wounds into wells of living water, my brushes into instruments of healing, and my life into a canvas of His redeeming love. 🌿 What once was broken now sings with beauty. This is the power of surrender — to give God the pieces and watch Him create a masterpiece of love. May you always remember: you are not just an observer of these women’s stories — you are part of this lineage of faith, courage, and restoration. 💖 You are seen. You are chosen. You are carrying hope for many.

Breaking the Cycle: Becoming Who God Made You to Be

A reflection on generational healing and the courage to feel what was left unspoken

They said: “I don’t want to be like my parents.” I answered: Then you have to do what they couldn’t. Feel what they avoided. Say what they silenced. And heal what they passed down. You don’t break the cycle by becoming someone else. You break it by becoming more you than you were ever allowed to be. — Nadia Addesi It’s not enough to say, “I don’t want to be like them,” because that determination is usually defiled with a judgment. That alone doesn’t change anything. The cycle is not broken by rejection but by redemption. You break it by choosing to feel what they could not face. By sitting in the discomfort they avoided. By naming the things they kept quiet because it was easier, safer, or more acceptable not to. Cycle breaking is not about discarding your parents’ identity or running from their shadows. It is about reclaiming the parts of yourself that were hidden, silenced, or reshaped to fit someone else’s comfort. It is about allowing the Holy Spirit to bring healing where generations carried unspoken wounds. This work also requires you to reflect on where you have judged or dishonoured them, bringing those sinful responses to effective death at the cross of Christ through confession, repentance, and forgiving from the heart. This work is slow and tender. Painful at times. You will be tempted to bypass it with logic or distance or blame. Yet those detours never rewire the patterns. The only way it ends with you is if you do what they could not do. Say what they would not say. Feel what they would not feel. Let Christ redeem what was broken so that grace flows into the generations after you. 📖 “Therefore if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; old things have passed away; behold, all things have become new.” — 2 Corinthians 5:17 (NKJV) 💡Reflection: What feelings have you been tempted to avoid that might carry keys to your healing? Which silences in your family line are you being called to name in truth and love? Where have you judged or dishonoured your parents, and how can you bring those responses to the cross of Christ? Where do you sense the Holy Spirit inviting you to choose redemption over rejection? 🙌Prayer: Father God, thank You that in Christ, I am a new creation. Please help me to have the courage to feel what was avoided, to speak what was silenced, and to bring healing to the places that carry generational pain. Forgive me where I have judged or dishonoured my parents. I lay those sinful responses at the cross and ask You to cleanse me as I choose to forgive from the heart. Redeem my family line through me, Lord, and let the cycle of brokenness end here. May my life be a testimony of Your grace, creating a new legacy rooted in faith, love, and freedom. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Purpose in the Waiting

Learning to trust the slow work of God

Today I am reflecting on a truth that has been pressing deeply on my heart: waiting is not wasted. The image I held close reminded me of the journeys of those who came before us — Moses, Joseph, Noah, Abraham, David. Each man of God carried a promise, yet each endured seasons of obscurity, pain, or preparation before stepping into his calling. Before Moses led, he wandered. Before Joseph ruled, he was forgotten. Before Noah sailed, he built. Before Abraham received, he trusted. Before David reigned, he hid. These delays were not detours. They were holy classrooms where faith was refined, courage was tested, and trust in God’s timing was forged. My own waiting carries the same invitation: to allow God to shape me in hiddenness, to let Him build strength in the silence, and to lean into His promises when answers feel far away. 📖 "For the vision is yet for an appointed time… though it tarries, wait for it; because it will surely come, it will not tarry." — Habakkuk 2:3 (NKJV) In the pause between promise and fulfilment, God is still moving. The wait itself is part of His design — a weaving together of trust, patience, and unseen preparation. 💡Reflection: What does your current season of waiting look like? Where might God be building, shaping, or preparing you for what lies ahead? As I carry these words into my week, I remember that every waiting season holds purpose. The God who promised is faithful, and He is doing a deeper work than I can yet see. 🙌Prayer: Lord, thank You for reminding me that waiting is not wasted. Strengthen my heart to trust You in the hidden places. Help me to see delays not as denials but as invitations to grow deeper in faith. May I rest in Your timing and trust that Your purposes will be fulfilled. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Headstrong: The Lion, the Eagle, and the Bear

A reflection on holy strength and surrendered fire

I stumbled on this image from one of those Facebook name tests a few years ago. "Patrizia saw Bear, Eagle & Lion Headstrong. Patrizia has a bigger heart than the universe. She puts her whole self into everything she does and she would give her very last breath if it kept her loved ones safe and happy. She's a natural-born leader who has no patience for drama queens and fakers. Patrizia has a heart of gold, but if you abuse her trust, her anger is as powerful as wildfire - beautiful but dangerous to mess with." The first three animals I saw were the bear, the eagle, and the lion. The image called this headstrong — a quality often seen as a flaw. Yet as I sat with it, I felt the Holy Spirit whisper that what the world names stubbornness, He often names courage. It is the lion’s roar, the eagle’s vision, the bear’s protective strength. So much of my life has been lived with this headstrong heart. I throw myself into what I love with fierce devotion. I fight for my family, I defend the broken-hearted, I stand tall against injustice. Sometimes my passion is misunderstood as too much, too fiery, or too strong. Yet God keeps reminding me that He made me this way, not to burn others, but to carry His fire. 📖 "The righteous are bold as a lion." — Proverbs 28:1 (NKJV) The lion teaches me boldness, not in arrogance, but in righteous confidence. The eagle reminds me to rise above earthly battles, fixing my gaze on Jesus and gaining heaven’s perspective. The bear reveals my call to nurture and protect, even when it costs me everything. Together, they show me that headstrong is not a flaw when it is surrendered — it becomes holy resolve. Yes, there is danger when this fire is misused. My anger, if untethered from grace, can burn too hot. Yet in God’s hands, even this becomes refined. He softens what needs softening, and He sharpens what must remain unyielding. Holy Spirit, teach me to carry strength with tenderness. Let my roar defend, not destroy. Let my fire refine, not consume. Let my vision be clear, not clouded by pride. For my heart belongs to You, and my strength is safest when it is surrendered at Your feet. 🙌Prayer: Lord Jesus, thank You for making me bold and strong. Forgive me for the times I have wielded that strength apart from You. Help me to walk in holy courage — bold as a lion, soaring like an eagle, and protective as a bear — yet always tender, always guided by Your love. Let my headstrong fire be surrendered to Your refining flame. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Resting from Duty, Rising in Love

Learning to serve from freedom, not obligation

There is such a quiet relief that comes when we realise we do not owe everyone an explanation for our choices. The Holy Spirit has been gently unravelling my old patterns of being the “dutiful daughter,” always trying to please, to serve, to explain. Yet peace does not come from endless justifying, but from resting in God’s gaze of love. He sees. He knows. He understands. That is enough. 📖 "For we walk by faith, not by sight." — 2 Corinthians 5:7 (NKJV) This season feels like a holy pause — a sacred unravelling of old expectations. For so long, I carried the role of the “dutiful daughter,” saying yes when it cost me, stretching myself to meet the unspoken needs of others, believing that sacrifice equalled worth. Yet, as I step back from serving at B-School and release the guilt of not becoming a small group leader for schools, I sense the Holy Spirit whispering an invitation: “Daughter, I did not call you to carry duty as your identity. I called you to rest in My love and serve from freedom.” 📖 “For you did not receive the spirit of bondage again to fear, but you received the Spirit of adoption by whom we cry out, ‘Abba, Father.’” — Romans 8:15 (NKJV) After 4 consecutive years of serving at all 4 schools every school holiday, it is going to feel strange not to be there. So now I have the next 3 weeks to process all the emotions and come to terms with being allowed to be a human BEing, not a human DOing, so next time I serve, my heart and attitudes may be in the right place. This pause is not a punishment. It is a gift. The Lord is loosening the ties of striving and guilt, teaching me how to serve not because I must, but because I may — because love compels me, not obligation. Like a feather carried on the wind, I am learning to let His love be the current that moves me, not the weight of others’ expectations. There is freedom here, a deeper trust that the world will not fall apart if I simply rest in Him. In this season, I sense the Lord inviting me into stillness rather than performance. I won’t be serving at B-School this month, and that is okay. To pause is not to fail; to rest is not to neglect. Instead, it is to trust that the One who calls me is faithful, and He does not measure me by how much I do, but by how I walk with Him. Serving out of love, not out of obligation, is the fruit He desires. My heart whispers gratitude for this pause, this healing, this gentle season where explanations are not required. The right people will not demand them; the wrong ones will not believe them anyway. God alone holds my story, and His acceptance frees me to step out of old expectations and into new freedom.  🙌 Prayer Lord Jesus, thank You for knowing me fully and loving me as I am. Teach me to rest in Your love, to release the weight of pleasing others, and to serve only from the overflow of joy in You. May I learn to walk in freedom, led by the Holy Spirit, with a heart anchored in Your peace. Father, thank You for inviting me into a season of healing and rest. Teach me to release the heavy mantle of duty and to embrace the light yoke of Your love. May I learn to serve not from striving, but from freedom and delight in You. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Known by God Alone

Resting in His understanding when explanations fall short

There is a quiet freedom that comes when we realise we are not called to defend every “no” or justify every boundary. In a world that often demands explanations, Jesus reminds us that our identity is anchored not in people’s approval, but in His unfailing love. 📖 “For the LORD does not see as man sees; for man looks at the outward appearance, but the LORD looks at the heart.” — 1 Samuel 16:7 (NKJV) I used to twist myself into knots, trying to explain why I couldn’t meet expectations, why I needed distance, or why I chose a different path. Yet, no matter how carefully I spoke, some never understood. That’s when the Holy Spirit whispered: Peace begins when you stop begging to be understood.  The right people will not require explanations; they will recognise the truth by the fruit of your life. The wrong people won’t be persuaded, no matter how carefully you try. And that’s okay. What matters most is that God sees, God knows, and God affirms.  Like pottery mended with golden kintsugi, our lives don’t need to be justified, only offered back to Him as a testimony of His grace. 🙌 Prayer: Lord, help me rest in the peace of being known by You alone. Free me from striving for human approval, and give me courage to live authentically in the truth of who You’ve made me to be. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Your Smile, Your Trademark

A gentle reminder of how Christ’s love shines through us

This morning, as I lingered with the Lord, I found myself reflecting on a simple but profound truth: our lives preach louder than any platform ever will. The words on the image I saw stirred something deep in me: Your smile is your logo. Your personality is your business card. And the way you make others feel is your trademark. These words echo my heart’s deepest conviction. A smile, when it flows from a heart touched by Jesus, carries His light. It becomes more than a curve of the lips; it is a glimpse of joy eternal, a spark of heaven’s fragrance on earth. Your personality — shaped by grace, seasoned by trials, softened by compassion — is like a card we hand to every person we meet. And the trademark that lingers? That is love. The way people feel after leaving your presence speaks volumes about Whose presence you carry. 📖 "Now thanks be to God who always leads us in triumph in Christ, and through us diffuses the fragrance of His knowledge in every place." — 2 Corinthians 2:14 (NKJV) It is not the outer things that make the greatest impact, but the invisible ones. A gentle word. A listening ear. The courage to show kindness where it isn’t deserved. These are the marks of a life hidden in Christ. This is the business card of love. I think of the countless times when someone’s smile lifted my weary soul, or their kindness reminded me that I mattered. These simple gestures are sacred — holy brushstrokes in God’s masterpiece of connection and compassion. 💡 Reflection: How do people feel after leaving your presence? 🤔 Does your trademark carry the fragrance of Christ, or the weight of worry? 🤔 Ask Holy Spirit to refine your presence so it points others to Jesus. 🙌 Prayer: Lord Jesus, thank You for the reminder that my smile, my words, and my presence carry weight. May they reflect Your love. Help me to walk in kindness, to let compassion be my business card, and to ensure that love is the trademark I leave behind. Teach me to live so that others encounter You in me. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Know Your Worth

Don’t fight for a place never meant for you

There is a quiet strength in knowing your worth. It is not about arrogance or proving yourself, but about walking with the confidence that your value comes from God alone. You don’t have to scramble for attention, or wedge yourself into spaces where you are only barely tolerated. When you are rooted in Christ, you can rest in the truth that your life is precious, your gifts are needed, and your presence has weight. I have learned to see rejection not as a reflection of my inadequacy, but as a signpost pointing me away from the wrong table. Some tables may look appealing, some seats may seem desirable, yet if no space is made for me there, then I can trust it was never where I was meant to be. I don’t have to force my way in. I can choose to excuse myself with grace, because my Father has already prepared a place that is mine. 📖 “For promotion comes neither from the east nor from the west... but God is the Judge.” — Psalm 75:6-7 (NKJV) This Scripture reminds me that advancement, belonging, and recognition are not manufactured by human favour. They come from God’s hand. He chooses when to lift me, where to plant me, and how to use me for His glory. His timing is perfect, His placement intentional, and His table abundant. So I wait, not with bitterness, but with anticipation. I sit with dignity, knowing that the chair He has prepared for me is one where I will be welcomed, seen, and able to serve. The right table will never require me to shrink, strive, or settle. It will feel like home because it was set by His loving hand. 🙌Prayer: Lord Jesus, thank You that my value is not tied to who accepts or rejects me, but to Your eternal love. Help me to walk away from tables that cannot hold me without resentment, and to wait patiently for the place You have set for me. Give me courage to sit where You invite me, and peace to trust Your perfect timing. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Catch the Light

Holding onto sunshine and starlight through the shadows

This morning I woke up with an old melody stirring in my heart — a song I used to play on repeat as a teenager when sadness tried to swallow me whole: 🎼Fang das Licht von einem Tag voll Sonnenschein Fang das Licht, scliess es in Deinem Herzen ein Fang das Licht und wenn du einmal traurig bist dann vergiß nicht das irgendwo noch Sonne ist. Fang das Licht von einem Tag voll Sonnenschein Halt es fest, schliess' es in Deinem Herzen ein Heb' es auf und wenn Du einmal traurig bist Dann vergiss nicht, dass irgendwo noch Sonne ist. Fang das Licht von einer Nacht voll Sternenschein Halt es fest, schliess' es in Deine Träume ein Heb' es auf und wenn die Dunkelheit beginnt, Dann vergiss nicht nicht, dass irgendwo noch Sterne sind🎵🎶 I hadn’t heard it or thought of it in decades since all my cassette tapes had been left behind at Mom’s house when I boarded the plane with that one-way ticket to Bredasdorp she purchased for me. Her choice carried its own silent message: she expected I wouldn’t want to return. That wound was sharp. Yet in the ache of leaving, God was already weaving something redemptive. Mams and Paps were waiting with open arms — the first adults who showed me what unconditional love felt like as a 7-year old. Hearing the song spinning in my mind again today, I realised how it was always more than just a melody. It was light for me. A reminder that somewhere, even when skies were grey, the sun was still shining. And even when night was long, the stars had not ceased to glow. Back then I didn’t have the words for it, but now I see — Holy Spirit was tucking hope into my soul through music. 📖 "The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not comprehend it." — John 1:5 (NKJV) Sandra’s sharing of the prodigal story last Wednesday comes to mind. She said it was less about the prodigal son, and more about the prodigal father — the extravagant one who never stopped waiting, who kept the light burning for his son to return. That image has stayed with me since the first time I heard that lesson. I am so grateful that the Lord has always left the light on for me. Even when I felt like I was drowning in sadness, even when rejection cut deep, His lamp of love remained steady, guiding me back home to Him. I think of how many times since then God has caught the light for me — holding it safe when I couldn’t. He has placed it in the hands of others, in the notes of a song, in the brushstrokes of art, in the kindness of friends who came just when I was unraveling. The light has never gone out. It only waited for me to notice it again. 📖 “I will never leave you nor forsake you.” — Hebrews 13:5 (NKJV) 💡 Reflection: What light did this memory awaken in me?🤔 Write down three “lights” that have never gone out, even through seasons of shadow. 🙌 Prayer: Lord Jesus, thank You for being the Light that never fades. Thank You for carrying hope for me when I could not carry it myself. Thank You for being the Father who leaves the light on, watching and waiting with open arms. Help me to hold onto the sunshine and the starlight of Your love, and to be a bearer of that light for others. May I never forget that somewhere, always, there is light. In Jesus’ Name, Amen. 🌿 You are still catching the light, dear heart. Even in shadows, His radiance is yours to hold.

In the Furnace with Him

Where fire refines and His presence remains

Sometimes God does not prevent us from being thrown into the furnace. Not because He is absent or indifferent, but because He has a greater point to prove — both to us and to those who watch from the sidelines. Like Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, we may find ourselves standing in the flames, not by choice but by circumstance. Yet even there, His presence is unmistakable. The furnace is not meant to destroy us, but to refine us. The heat burns away pride, fear, unforgiveness, and anything that does not reflect His glory. What emerges is not ashes but a purer, freer self, radiant with the testimony of God’s faithfulness. 📖 "When you walk through the fire, you shall not be burned, nor shall the flame scorch you." — Isaiah 43:2 (NKJV) In the fire, we discover the intimacy of His nearness. He doesn’t simply rescue us from the outside; He steps into the blaze with us. The same flames that were meant to consume become the very place where chains fall off, where onlookers are astonished, and where God’s glory is revealed. 💡Reflection: What "furnace" am I currently walking through?🤔 Which chains or burdens might God be burning away in this season?🤔 How can I remind myself daily that He is with me in the fire?🤔 🙌Prayer: Lord, thank You for being with me in every furnace I face. Refine me through the flames until only Your likeness remains. May others see not my strength, but Your glory shining through me. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Shout for Joy to the Lord

Loosening the Stiffness, Lifting the Burden

This morning I woke with a song 🎼 shout for joy to the Lord, make music to the Lord with the harp and the sound of singing.🎵🎶 That verse I heard is from Psalm 98, a psalm of joyful worship: 📖 "Shout joyfully to the Lord, all the earth; break forth in song, rejoice, and sing praises. Sing to the Lord with the harp, with the harp and the sound of a psalm." — Psalm 98:4–5 (NKJV) However, I don't know what I did to my neck overnight though. It hurts when I turn it to the right. 🤔 It feels like the Lord was reminding me first thing that my voice and creativity are instruments of joy — even when my body feels stiff or sore. Sometimes the body speaks what the soul is carrying. The neck, which turns our gaze, can symbolise flexibility, freedom, and willingness to see from different perspectives. When pain settles there, it can reflect burdens carried too long, resistance to looking at something difficult, or simply the body asking for gentle care and rest. 📖 "Come to Me, all you who labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take My yoke upon you and learn from Me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For My yoke is easy and My burden is light." — Matthew 11:28-30 (NKJV) 💡 Reflection: What burdens have I been carrying that might not belong to me? 🤔 Am I resisting turning my eyes fully toward something God is gently inviting me to face? 🤔 Where might I need to release control and trust His leading more deeply? 🤔 🎨Creative Prompt: Write down the names of the weights or responsibilities that feel heavy on your shoulders. Pray over each one and ask Jesus if it is yours to carry. Reflect on a time when God has already eased a burden or brought clarity where there was confusion. How does that memory give you courage today? Draw or paint a simple sketch of a neck and shoulders. On one side, write the “burdens” you have been holding. On the other, write words of freedom, such as: rest, surrender, trust, joy. 🙌Prayer for Release 💜 Lord Jesus, You see the tightness and strain in my body and in my heart. I surrender to You the burdens that were never mine to hold. Release the stiffness, restore freedom of movement, and fill me with Your peace. Turn my gaze toward Your light and keep me flexible to follow Your Spirit’s leading. Thank You for being the One who carries me. In Jesus’ Name, Amen. 🌸Closing Hope Even in the ache, God’s melody woke you this morning. He sings over you, reminding you that praise loosens what pain tries to hold captive. Lift your chin, breathe slowly, and let His song become your release. 🌿🎶

Season People

The gentle purpose of temporary companions

Some people are not meant to stay forever. They arrive like passing seasons — not to take root, but to stir what still lies hidden. Their words or actions may press against tender scars, awakening the remnants of unhealed places within us. At first, it can feel jarring, even painful, like winter winds stripping bare the branches. Yet even in this, God works. These “season people” are often the ones who unknowingly help bring us into the light. They press where we still hurt, and in doing so, they invite us to seek healing. They highlight the medicine we carry within, the grace of God that can restore and transform us into a higher version of ourselves. Like autumn leaves, their presence may fall away in time, yet the lessons they leave behind enrich the soil of our souls. They came not to stay, but to make us heal. 📖 "To everything there is a season, a time for every purpose under heaven." — Ecclesiastes 3:1 (NKJV) 🙌 Prayer Father, thank You for the gift of people, whether they stay for a lifetime or only for a season. Help me to receive each one with grace, to learn what You are teaching me through them, and to release them when their season is complete. Where pain has been stirred, pour in Your healing balm. Where lessons have been hard, cover me with Your mercy. Teach me to hold people with open hands, trusting that You are the Author of my story and that every encounter can be used for my growth and Your glory. May I walk forward in freedom, anchored in Your everlasting love. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.