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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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 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 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.  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.

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.

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.

"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.

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.

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.

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.

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 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.

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.

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.

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.