It’s hard to put into words what it feels like when something you poured your soul into — late nights, prayerful edits, hours upon hours of quiet service — is replaced without warning. No conversation. No acknowledgement. Just… gone.

That’s what happened with the MBCC church website.

I had spent countless hours designing, refining, uploading, and praying over each page. It wasn’t just a task to me — it was an offering. A labour of love given to the Lord and to the community I belonged to. A sacred space being built with beauty, clarity, and care, so that hearts could find what they needed. So that people could feel welcomed, seen, and drawn into connection.

Then, without notice, the elders decided to implement a completely new website — erasing everything. My work, my structure, the quiet creative fingerprints of my soul… all gone.

I found out by accident. A passing mention, followed by a click… and there it was. A new layout. A different voice. Not mine.

The ache was deeper than I expected.

Not because I need credit. That’s never been the point. I serve behind the scenes because it’s my heart’s call.

Yet still… I cried.

It wasn’t just about a website. It was about being unseen. Unacknowledged. Brushed aside without honour or a conversation. It stirred old wounds of not being considered, of being replaceable, not good enough. Of my quiet devotion being deemed invisible once again.

For a while, I wrestled with sadness. With anger. With the temptation to withdraw.

But Holy Spirit, in His gentle way, met me there.

He reminded me of a deeper truth: my offering wasn’t for man. Every late-night upload, every careful font choice, every photo cropped with love — it was seen. Not one act of service goes unnoticed in the Kingdom.

So I sat with Him in the stillness and He whispered, “You didn’t lose anything. You sowed. What they replaced, I received.”

That changed everything.

I’m learning that sometimes, the fruit of obedience isn’t applause. Sometimes, it’s silence. Sometimes, it’s loss. Yet still — there’s glory in it. Because my reward isn’t found in recognition, but in obedience, intimacy, and eternal seeds sown in secret.

So I bless them.

I release it.

I let it go and I keep creating, keep serving, keep loving — not because others always deserve it, but because He is worthy of my yes.

May my heart always stay soft, even when my work is misunderstood or undone. May I keep loving with courage and integrity, even when no one says “thank you.”

Because He sees. He always sees and that is enough.