This morning, I was reading a newly posted LinkedIn article, F.I.N.E. The Bow 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.

💡 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.