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.

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.