Some parents don’t have stable bonds with their adult children because they haven’t acknowledged the things they did that hurt them as children — the words, the silences, the absence of protection. When a child grows up carrying unspoken wounds, those experiences don’t simply fade with time. They often settle into the child’s emotional foundation, shaping how they learn to trust, love, and see themselves.   Parents may sense the distance but not understand its roots — moments where the child felt unheard, unloved, or unprotected. The barrier becomes self-guilt for the parent and unspoken pain for the child. Neither side wants to re-open the wound. Years pass, conversations stay surface-level, and both quietly wonder why the closeness they long for never arrives.   True reconciliation takes courage: for the parent to take responsibility without defensiveness, for the adult child to share their pain without fear of being dismissed, and for both to meet in the uncomfortable space where healing can finally begin.   Just the other day, I saw an echo of this truth in Misha. His reaction — the look in his eyes, the tightening in his voice — felt like a reflection from my own past, before my healing journey. I knew that feeling: the sting of not being heard. It hit me with compassion for him, grief for the weight of that moment, and an ache of recognition that perhaps my past patterns had played some part in shaping his.   Yet alongside the ache, I felt a wave of gratitude. Healing has changed how I hear. Before, I might have met his tension with my own, or reasoned my way through without really listening. Now, I can lean in, slow down, and listen beyond the words — into the ache beneath them. That simple act of hearing differently is one way the cycle begins to break. 📖 "And I will restore to you the years that the locust has eaten." — Joel 2:25 (NKJV) God redeems even the echoes.   I don’t need to remember every moment where I may have caused pain. The Holy Spirit can bring to mind what needs to be restored at the right time, not to shame me, but to heal what the enemy tried to steal. My part is to stay open, ready to own my wrongs when they surface, and willing to meet my children in the places where they need to be heard and seen.   💡Prayer: Lord, thank You for the grace that allows me to see echoes of my past with both clarity and compassion. Help me to respond to Misha — and to anyone carrying unspoken wounds — with the gentleness and understanding I once needed myself. May my listening, my humility, and my love become places where healing can take root and grow. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Jesus never shaped His life to fit the expectations of people. His heart was set on one thing — to please the Father. Every choice He made was anchored in obedience, even when it meant saying no, walking away, or facing rejection. 📖 "For I have come down from heaven, not to do My own will, but the will of Him who sent Me." — John 6:38 (NKJV)   People pleasing is not love. Love will say no when yes would cause harm. Love will correct, not to shame, but to restore. Love will set boundaries that protect the heart. Love will stand for justice, even if it costs the approval of the crowd.   The pathway of love is paved with truth — truth that sometimes feels like a sting before it feels like healing. And yet, in walking this path, we learn to love as Jesus loved: with courage, with conviction, and with a heart fully yielded to the Father’s will.   May we be people who love deeply enough to tell the truth, gently enough to restore, and bravely enough to follow Jesus even when the road narrows.   🙌Prayer: Lord, help me to lay down my need for approval and lift up my desire to please You above all else. Teach me to love in a way that reflects Your heart — willing to correct, to protect, and to stand for what is right, no matter the cost. Keep my feet steady on the pathway of love, always anchored in Your truth. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.   Affirmation: I choose truth over approval and love over comfort, for my heart belongs to the Father.

Since I embarked on my journey of healing five years ago, I have learnt to embrace the fireball of pain in order to pursue wholeness. Heart surgery — the kind that goes beyond the physical and reaches the deepest chambers of the soul — is hard. Yet remaining broken is even harder.   Much like an operation for broken bones is followed by the pain of recovery, so too is heart healing accompanied by pain until the wound is fully restored. There are moments when the ache feels unbearable, when every raw edge is exposed. In those moments, it is tempting to run, to numb, to retreat.   Yet, it is here — in the heat of the refining fire — that I’ve found Him closest. Jesus came, not to sidestep my pain, but to meet me in it. He came to heal the broken-hearted and to bind up their wounds, gently and completely.   📖 "He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds." — Psalm 147:3 (NKJV)   Prayer: Lord Jesus, thank You that You are not afraid of my brokenness. Thank You for meeting me in the middle of my pain and for walking with me through the fire until the healing is complete. Give me courage to face the parts of my heart that still need Your touch, and grace to keep trusting You through the process. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Some words have a way of holding up a mirror to your soul. When I read L.R. Knost’s reflection, I couldn’t help but think — this is me. This is who God has shaped me to be. "Here’s to the bridge-builders, the hand-holders, the light-bringers, those extraordinary souls wrapped in ordinary lives who quietly weave threads of humanity into an inhumane world. They are the unsung heroes in a world at war with itself. They are the whisperers of hope that peace is possible. Look for them in this present darkness. Light your candle with their flame. And then go. Build bridges. Hold hands. Bring light to a dark and desperate world. Be the hero you are looking for. Peace is possible. It begins with us." — L.R. Knost When I read those lines, I could almost hear the Holy Spirit whisper, “This is what you were made for.” It is a calling not of fanfare or recognition, but of quiet, steady faithfulness — walking into the shadows with a light that has been kindled by Christ Himself. 🌉The Bridge-Builders Bridge-builders aren’t afraid of the messy middle. They stand in the gap when relationships fracture, when communities splinter, when understanding feels out of reach. Building bridges is costly — it takes time, humility, and patience — but it is kingdom work. Christ Himself became the bridge between God and humanity, and now we are called to be bridges for others. 🤝The Hand-Holders There’s something profoundly human about holding another’s hand — not just physically, but emotionally and spiritually. It’s the act of saying, “You are not alone. I will stand with you in this.” Hand-holders are often found beside hospital beds, in prayer circles, or in the quiet presence of a friend’s grief. They don’t rush the process. They simply stay. 🔦The Light-Bringers Light-bringers carry hope into dark spaces. They don’t deny the reality of the shadows, but they refuse to let darkness define the story. The light they carry isn’t their own — it’s the light of Christ within them, a flame that no circumstance can extinguish. 📖 "Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works and glorify your Father in heaven." — Matthew 5:16 (NKJV)   This is the work I know I am called to — the sacred weaving of connection, healing, and hope. Whether in an art studio, a prayer circle, or over coffee with someone whose world is crumbling, I want my life to be a bridge to the heart of God.   It isn’t always easy. The world often feels at war with itself, and darkness can be thick. Yet, I have learned that even the smallest flame — a kind word, a gentle hand, a steadfast presence — can change the atmosphere.   So I choose to keep building bridges where others burn them, to hold hands when people are tempted to let go, and to carry light where the night is at its deepest. Not because I am strong on my own, but because His light burns within me, and it cannot be extinguished.   🙌Prayer: Lord, thank You for entrusting me with the calling to be a bridge-builder, a hand-holder, and a light-bearer. May my life reflect Your love in the quiet and unseen places. Use me to bring hope where there is despair, peace where there is conflict, and light where there is darkness. In Jesus’ Name, Amen. You are not just looking for a hero, beloved. By His grace, you already are one. Keep shining. Peace is possible. It begins with us.

I have learnt, in the raw ache of my own valleys, that the opposite of depression is not joy. Joy may feel unreachable in those heavy seasons, like sunlight behind a wall of grey. The opposite of depression… is expression.   When words fail, when prayer feels too fragile to form, when the heart is too sore to dance — create. Pick up a paintbrush, a pen, a lump of clay. Scribble without worrying if it’s “good.” Let colour bleed across paper. Let melody spill out in quiet hums. Let your soul speak in whatever language it can manage.   📖 "He has put a new song in my mouth — praise to our God." — Psalm 40:3 (NKJV)   Art is not about perfection; it is about presence. It’s about being here — truly here — in the moment where your hands move and your soul exhales. Creative expression doesn’t always fix the pain, but it gives it somewhere safe to go.   So create, create, create. For it is the soul’s medicine.   🙌Prayer: Lord, thank You for the gift of creativity that breathes light into dark spaces. When my heart feels heavy and my spirit weary, draw me into the gentle work of creating with You. Let my expression be an offering, a lifeline, and a testimony that even in the valley, beauty can be born. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.   You are not broken beyond mending. Your creativity is a God-given stream, and when it flows, healing begins.

There are moments when I catch myself wondering: If I’m not creating, serving, or giving — am I still enough? 🤔   It’s an old whisper, one that’s been around since I was little. Back then, being helpful, quiet, or “good” seemed the only way to feel safe and seen. Now, as an adult, I know in my head that my worth comes from being a beloved daughter of God. Yet my heart sometimes falters when I’m not actively holding something or someone together.   This doubt has been shaped by repeated experiences that echo the same wound: Being overlooked or ignored in relationships, both personal and professional. Having my contributions undervalued or replaced. Shifts in others’ attitudes toward me without explanation, leaving me wondering, “Did I do something wrong?” 🤔 Witnessing dishonour and injustice — especially in places that should be safe — which reinforces the fear that goodness and faithfulness are not always rewarded. These moments press on old, deep-seated childhood memories of not feeling “good enough” or worthy of protection and delight. Even though my faith affirms my identity in Christ, the emotional residue of these past wounds sometimes whispers that my voice, presence, or gifts could be dismissed again. This is why affirmation, trust, and honour in relationships mean so much to me — because they speak directly to the part of my heart that longs to feel secure, chosen, and valued without condition. These are the times the Holy Spirit gently reminds me: “Your identity is not in your doing, it’s in your being — in Me.”   📖 "See, I have inscribed you on the palms of My hands." — Isaiah 49:16 (NKJV)   That means before I create, before I serve, before I speak or write or give — I am already chosen, already loved, already enough. No title, project, or applause can add to that, and no silence or rejection can take it away.   So I breathe. I lay down the heavy need to prove my worth. I picture myself cupped in the nail-scarred hands of Jesus, where love is not earned but given freely. Affirmation: “I Am Seen, I Am Cherished” You are not overlooked. You are not replaceable. You are not here by accident. Your life carries the fragrance of Heaven, and your presence shifts the atmosphere in ways you cannot always see. Even when others turn away, Heaven leans in. Even when you are ignored, the Lord sings over you. Even when your worth is missed by human eyes, it is treasured in the heart of God. Your value is not up for debate — it is sealed by the blood of Jesus. 📖 "You are precious in My sight. You have been honoured, and I have loved you." — Isaiah 43:4 (NKJV)   🙌Prayer: Lord Jesus, thank You that my value is secure in You, not in what I accomplish or how much I give. Teach my heart to rest in the truth that I am enough because I am Yours. Silence the whispers of doubt and help me receive Your love as my only measure. Father, thank You for calling me by name, for writing my story in the palm of Your hand, and for seeing me fully when others have looked past me. You have never once turned away from me, and in Your gaze I am safe. I lay down the weight of having to prove my worth. I release the need to earn love through constant giving. I surrender every old wound that still tells me I am invisible, unworthy, or too easily replaced. Holy Spirit, whisper Your truth into the places where lies have lived too long. Remind me that my identity is unshaken by the opinions of man, and that I am hidden in the safety of Christ. Let Your voice be louder than the echoes of my past. Teach me to stand in the confidence of being chosen, seen, and cherished. Let my heart rest in Your unwavering love, so that I give not to earn, but because I am already overflowing. Replace striving with stillness, fear with faith, and doubt with the unshakable knowing that I am Yours. May my life be a testimony that Your love is enough, and that my worth has always been fixed at the Cross. In Jesus’ Name, Amen. Today, I choose to believe that I am deeply loved — even in my stillness.

Today I felt Holy Spirit drawing me to hold up certain areas of my life against the light of truth. There are times when my heart, though filled with love, slips into carrying loads that were never mine to bear. This has often looked like stepping into roles out of fear of letting others down rather than out of obedience to God. Serving From Pressure I recognise that sometimes I volunteer at Elijah House schools not because I am specifically called in that moment, but because I see the shortage of hands and feel the quiet pressure of, "If I don’t, who will?" While my love for the ministry is genuine, I see how false responsibility can blur the line between Spirit-led service and people-pleasing exhaustion. 📖 "Each one should carry their own load." — Galatians 6:5 (NIV) Saying Yes Too Often — Boundaries and Love In the same setting, I also notice my difficulty in saying no. My compassion makes me want to fill the gaps, but sometimes my "yes" costs me rest, peace, or time that was meant for another assignment from the Lord. This is not the overflow of grace, but the burden of false responsibility. The Weight of False Guilt Then there is the ache with Elias. When his attitude shifted so suddenly last September, I found myself questioning: Did I do something wrong? Yet there has been no clear word from him, nor a conviction from Holy Spirit. This is where false guilt creeps in, convincing me to wear chains that Jesus never placed on me. 📖 "If it is possible, as much as depends on you, live peaceably with all men." — Romans 12:18 (NKJV) The truth is, I can only walk in integrity, love, and humility. Beyond that, the other person’s response rests with them and with God. I am not required to take responsibility for someone else’s silence or distance. My Core Values as Anchors Looking again at my own values reminds me of what God has placed within me: Faith and Spirituality as my highest priority. Love expressed through compassion and service. Integrity, courage, and creativity as gifts to share. Growth, balance, and rest as necessary companions. Measuring success not by ambition but by impact and healing. These anchors steady me when false guilt whispers or when false responsibility pulls too heavily on my heart. A Gentle Framework for Discernment To guard my heart, I now carry a simple discernment practice: Pause & Pray — “Holy Spirit, is this mine to carry?” Assignment Check — Has God clearly asked me to do this? Ownership Check — Am I taking responsibility for another’s choices or feelings? Motivation Check — Is my yes from love, or from fear and approval-seeking? Fruit Check — Does this bring peace or drain it? If the answer is no, then I must release what is not mine to carry, and replace it with His peace. 🙌Prayer of Release Lord, I release what is not mine to hold. Forgive me for carrying false guilt or stepping into roles You never assigned. Teach me to discern quickly, to say yes with joy, and no with peace. May my service flow from Your leading, not from pressure or fear. Help me trust You with the gaps I cannot fill. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

There’s a subtle ache that comes when you realise not everyone in your circle is actually in your corner. Some people are experts at the public clap yet carry a private competitiveness that chips away at peace. They smile with you but quietly hope for your stumble, just enough to feel ahead. This energy is sly, hiding in plain sight until you feel the absence of safety in their presence.   Pay attention to the fruit of their actions, not just the noise of their words. Notice who checks in when you are quiet, who speaks well of you when you’re not there, and who stands beside you when you have nothing left to give. Loyalty is rarely loud. Real love shows up in ways that presence alone cannot prove.   📖 "A friend loves at all times, And a brother is born for adversity." — Proverbs 17:17 (NKJV)   Prayer: Lord, give me discernment to recognise the difference between those who only appear close and those who are truly for me. Help me guard my heart without becoming hard, and surround me with people who carry Your love in both word and deed. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.   You are worthy of friends who protect your peace, guard your heart, and celebrate your wins without envy. Choose wisely, and keep walking with those whose presence feels like safety.

Life humbles us all. One day you’re standing tall, certain of your steps, and the next, the ground beneath you shifts without warning. Success can be fleeting, failure inevitable, but courage — the choice to rise again — builds something in you that cannot be taken away. It’s not the number of victories or the absence of mistakes that shapes us. It’s the willingness to keep showing up, even when the path feels foggy, when the room is silent, when no one notices. Growth often happens in that in-between space, where you’ve fallen but not yet risen, and you decide — by faith — to move forward anyway. 📖 "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) I have learnt that the ones who see God’s promises fulfilled are rarely those with the easiest journey. They are the ones who kept going, quietly, prayerfully, even when it felt like the cost outweighed the gain. Their eyes were fixed not on the applause of people but on the steady gaze of the One who never leaves. 🙌Prayer Lord, when my heart feels tired and the way ahead uncertain, strengthen me to keep moving forward in Your will. Teach me to trust that even in the silence, You are shaping my character and preparing my harvest. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.  Affirmation I will keep going, not because the journey is easy, but because God is faithful.

A steak can be $7 from a butcher, $10 at a supermarket, $25 at a diner, and $150 at a high-end restaurant. Same steak. The only thing that changed was the location. Sometimes, we feel “cheap” because we’ve been in rooms where our gifts weren’t recognised, our hearts weren’t cherished, or our voice wasn’t valued. That doesn’t mean we’ve lost value; it may simply mean we’ve been in the wrong place to be seen for who we truly are. 📖 "For you were bought at a price; therefore glorify God in your body and in your spirit, which are God’s." — 1 Corinthians 6:20 (NKJV) You were bought at the highest price imaginable — the blood of Jesus. No market, no environment, no opinion can lower that worth. If you’re feeling overlooked, perhaps it’s time to ask the Lord where He wants to place you — somewhere your God-given value will be honoured, your presence will be life-giving, and your calling will flourish.

There is a way of listening that goes beyond the ears. It is the hearing of the heart. Yet when the heart is tender from past wounds, every word can arrive wearing a disguise — sounding sharper than it was meant, or weighted with meanings the speaker never intended. Unhealed hurts act like a filter, tinting what we hear with the colours of rejection, betrayal, or fear. We think we are hearing them, but we are really hearing our pain.   Healing re-tunes the ear of the soul. It allows us to separate what is being said now from what was spoken then. As Jesus restores the broken places, He silences the accusations of the past so that present truth can be received in peace. 📖 "He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds." — Psalm 147:3 (NKJV) 📖 "My sheep hear My voice, and I know them, and they follow Me." — John 10:27 (NKJV)  When we let Him heal our hearts, our listening changes. Conversations become clearer. Misunderstandings shrink. Our responses grow gentler. We stop defending old battles and start discerning present truth.   💡 Reflection: When have I misunderstood someone because I was hearing through the filter of my wounds? 🤔 What might Jesus want to heal in me so that I can hear more clearly? 🤔 How do I respond differently when I feel safe and loved? 🤔

There comes a moment when God whispers, “It’s time to move forward,” and you realise that saying yes to the life He has for you will cost you the one you’ve been clinging to. It will cost you your comfort zone — the familiar patterns that once felt safe but now feel too small. It will cost you your sense of direction — because faith often asks you to step before you see. It will cost you relationships and friendships — some will drift, some will break, and some will reveal they were never truly aligned with where God is leading you. It will cost you being liked, even being understood — because not everyone will celebrate the transformation taking place in you. 📖 "For we walk by faith, not by sight." — 2 Corinthians 5:7 (NKJV) Yet, in losing these things, you will discover what was never meant to stay. You will find the ones who truly see you — not just the version of you that fit their comfort, but the person God has been patiently calling forth. You will trade being liked for being loved. You will trade being understood for being known. You will step away from what was built for who you no longer are, and into the space where His grace fits you perfectly. Let it go. Not as an act of loss, but as an act of faith. Because the other side holds the people, places, and purpose you were made for all along. Lord, give me the courage to release what no longer carries Your breath, so I can walk freely into what You have prepared for me. Help me trust that what is meant for me will meet me on the other side of obedience. In Jesus’ Name, Amen. You are not losing — you are making room.

Today I saw him again. There was no urge to run — a minor miracle in itself — but what tested me most was sitting still as he spoke about the importance of building relationships in teams and all those wonderful leadership nuggets I hadn't experienced while being ignored. Everything inside me wanted to scream, "You didn't do that for us." My heart wanted to lay bare the truth, to pull back the curtain and reveal the gap between his words and his actions. Instead, I stayed composed, letting the Holy Spirit hold my tongue. The last six months of being ignored, dismissed, and made to feel like a discarded Christmas present — wanted for a moment, appreciated while I was useful, then set aside without thought or care — destroyed all the safety and trust I felt in the months before. Hearing him talk stirred the memory of that rejection, the dismissal without goodbye, the silence that still echoes. Sometimes it's not the things we do but the things we don't that cause the most pain to those who have experienced the trauma of neglect. And yet, I’m learning that strength isn’t always speaking my mind; sometimes it’s choosing not to pour my heart into soil that cannot receive it. God sees the truth without me having to defend it. He has already measured my worth, and it was never in the keeping of one man’s opinion. 📖 "Set a guard, O Lord, over my mouth; Keep watch over the door of my lips." — Psalm 141:3 (NKJV) 📖 "The Lord is my vindicator; therefore I will wait for Him." — Isaiah 54:17 (paraphrased) 🙌Prayer: Lord, You know the weight of unspoken truth. Thank You for giving me the grace to hold steady when my heart wanted to speak out of pain. Teach me to trust that You will vindicate in Your time. Let my silence be strength, not suppression, and keep my heart tender even in the presence of those who have hurt me. In Jesus’ Name, Amen. 💡Reflection: When have I chosen silence in order to protect my peace, and how did God meet me in that moment? 🤔 Sometimes victory is not in having the last word, but in keeping your peace when everything in you wants to defend yourself. The One who truly knows will always have the final say.

Last night, Clive came home from The Gathering. I had planned to join him to go for drinks beforehand, but the coughing fits from this stubborn phlegm kept me home. When he returned a few hours later, he shared something that caught me off guard. Apparently, Elias had mentioned receiving 500 systems from Business Blueprint and how, when checking into 1Brain, he noticed the amount of work I’d done. He told Clive I’d done a great job. The words were kind, but they came from the wrong mouth at the wrong time. Four months ago, Elias ended my contract in favour of a virtual assistant and when my last day arrived there was no formal goodbye, no recognition nor send-off. The silence then spoke louder than any affirmation could now. That dismissal had pierced deeply, fuelling the prayer ministry session last month when I realised rejection, abandonment and self-sabotage were woven into the fabric of this wound. Hearing praise second-hand only stirred the ache of being unseen in the moment it mattered most. What’s especially painful is that the affirmation came in a way that didn’t allow me to receive it directly, from the person who should have acknowledged my value when it mattered most. When we’ve been wounded before, it’s not just the event itself that hurts — it’s the echoes that follow, each one whispering the same old lie of “not enough” & "replacable". Even when truth slips in (“you did a great job”) the delivery can sting when it's too little, too late, or if it bypasses the heart that needed to hear it. This is one of those moments where I imagine the Holy Spirit standing close, not to erase the pain with platitudes, but to steady my breathing so the dagger doesn’t define me. Because the truth is: my worth isn’t wrapped up in contracts, titles, or someone else’s ability to see me. I'm not defined by who notices me, when they notice, or how they tell me so. It is held in the unshakable hands of the One who never overlooks me. He saw every detail I poured into that work and calls me faithful. 📖 "Behold, I have inscribed you on the palms of My hands." — Isaiah 49:16 (NKJV) 📖 "The Lord will perfect that which concerns me; Your mercy, O Lord, endures forever." — Psalm 138:8 (NKJV) Prayer: Lord, You know how much I longed to hear those words directly. I release the sting of hearing them second-hand and the ache of being overlooked. Thank You for seeing my labour and loving me beyond my performance. Anchor my worth in You alone. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.💡 Reflection: When have I received affirmation too late, and how can I let God’s truth speak louder than the delay? 🤔 Even late praise can be reframed into a testimony when placed in God’s hands. In the Kingdom, nothing is wasted — not the work, not the waiting, and not the words that came sideways.

There’s a shadow that has followed me all my life — rejection.   It doesn’t knock politely. It lurks over my shoulder, waiting for an unguarded moment to whisper lies into my soul. Sometimes it strikes with the blunt force of a slammed door. Other times, it slides in subtly, convincing me that maybe I’m too much, too loud, too different. I have learned this: rejection is not a verdict. It is a valley. Every great leader — every prophet, every reformer, every soul who dared to obey God’s call — has walked through this valley before stepping into the fullness of their assignment. Moses was rejected by his own people before leading them out of Egypt. David was left out of the lineup before being crowned king. Even Jesus was “despised and rejected by men” before becoming the cornerstone of our salvation. Rejection will try to rewrite your name, to make you question your worth and muzzle your voice. It will tempt you to shrink back so you don’t risk the ache again. Yet God’s call has never depended on the vote of the crowd. You were not called to be popular. You were sent to lead. The valley of rejection can become a refining fire — burning away the need for approval, clarifying your purpose, and deepening your dependence on the One who called you. I am learning to stop asking rejection for permission to exist. I will not let it define me. I will let it refine me. Reflection: Where has rejection tried to rename you?🤔 How can you speak God’s truth over that lie today?🤔 Prayer: Lord, when rejection whispers its lies, remind me of Your truth. Anchor my worth in Your love, not in the applause of others. Refine me through the valley, and let me emerge steadfast, humble, and bold in my calling. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Sometimes when someone we love is hurting, the ache to make it better feels like a wildfire in our chest. We want to fix it — patch the broken pieces, give answers, offer solutions. It feels like love to rush in with tools and advice. But true love isn’t always about fixing. It’s about staying. It’s learning to be the safe place, not the rescuer. It’s holding space when the pieces are too scattered to gather. It’s offering the kind of presence that whispers, “You don’t have to carry this alone.” I’ve had to learn this, painfully and patiently. Especially when someone I love is falling apart — not because they want to — but because life has undone them. In those moments, I’ve found the greatest gift I can give isn’t answers... It’s my arms. My stillness. My steady breath beside theirs. My quiet agreement with their pain that says, “You don’t have to be fixed to be loved.” 📖 "Bear one another’s burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ." — Galatians 6:2 (NKJV) When we rush to fix, we might unintentionally send the message that they’re broken, or that their pain is inconvenient. Yet love — real love — makes room for the mess. It lets the tears fall without trying to catch them all. It sits in the silence, even when the silence is heavy. It doesn’t try to erase the struggle. It honours it. 📖 "Rejoice with those who rejoice, and weep with those who weep." — Romans 12:15 (NKJV) People may forget the solutions we tried to give. But they will always remember the warmth of the embrace. The cup of tea handed wordlessly. The text that simply read, “I’m here.” These quiet acts of love create sacred spaces where healing can breathe. If you’re someone who loves deeply — you’ll feel this tension. The ache to help. The helplessness when you can’t. But let me remind you: Presence is powerful. You don’t need to have the right words. You don’t need to have it all figured out. You just need to stay close. 🌿 Prayer Lord, teach me to love like You do — not with quick fixes, but with quiet faithfulness. Let my presence reflect Yours: patient, kind, and safe. Help me resist the urge to fix what only You can heal. Teach me to be a haven, not a hero. In Jesus’ Name, Amen. You, dear heart, are not called to carry everyone’s pain. But you are called to love. And love, in its truest form, looks like presence — humble, unhurried, and unwavering. Stay tender. Stay close. You’re doing holy work.

There’s a holy chemistry to grief — a sacred science woven into the fibres of our humanity. Tears, often misunderstood, are not signs of fragility. They are the body's divine way of unburdening sorrow. One of my earliest memories is from when I was three, maybe four years old. I was crying — just wanting to be seen, to be comforted — when my head was shoved under the cold water tap. The shock took my breath away. I gasped, swallowed my tears, and made an unspoken vow: Never cry again. From that moment on, I fought back every tear and boxed up my emotions, believing that showing pain was unsafe.   That vow not to cry was one of the first I had to repent of and renounce on my journey of inner healing. I also had to repent of the expectancy and judgment that emotions were unsafe and chaotic. It took fifty-four years before I finally allowed myself to cry my cries, scream my screams, and grieve my losses.   I remembered Sandra, a dear friend, saying in one of her lessons, “If you’d allow yourself to cry, you wouldn’t have to cry through your nose,” referring to her constant sinus issues. I must admit, my own sinuses have improved substantially since I’ve allowed myself to cry. God, in His mercy, has been unravelling that vow, gently teaching me that tears are not weakness — they are release. That He bottles every one. That what the enemy once used to silence my emotions, He can redeem as streams of healing.   Did you know your body produces three types of tears?🤔 Basal tears – gentle guardians that keep your eyes nourished Reflex tears – defenders that flush out smoke or dust Emotional tears – born from heartbreak, love, loss, or deep relief Only emotional tears carry stress hormones. Only these tears carry the pain we sometimes cannot speak.   📖 "You number my wanderings; Put my tears into Your bottle; Are they not in Your book?" — Psalm 56:8 (NKJV)God designed us with release valves. Tears are not weakness — they are sacred expressions. Every drop has purpose. Every tear is counted. Perhaps you've been told you're too sensitive. Too emotional. Too much.   Yet what if... you're simply wired for healing?🤔   Tears do not mean you're falling apart. They are healing in motion. A mercy-wash for the ache within.   So, dear heart — When was the last time you cried?🤔 Did something shift?🤔 Did your soul sigh in that quiet exhale?🤔   Don’t resist the tears. Let them fall like rain upon the parched ground of your grief. Let them baptise the pain you’ve carried silently for too long.   💧 Grief has chemistry. 💧 Tears are not weakness… they’re release. Prayer: Lord, I bring You my hidden sorrow and the tears I’ve held back for too long. Help me to trust that each tear is noticed, each ache known. Let my release become the beginning of restoration. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Some women are adorned in silks and lace, but I — I am clothed in something far rarer. I wear the quiet strength of the man who knows me. Who has seen every fractured piece of my story for 34 years and still holds me with reverence. Clive’s love is not performative, not perfection, but presence — unwavering and faithful. His arms have become my safest place on earth. He doesn't just look at me with affection; he sees the woman I was, the woman I am, and the woman I’m still becoming. He honours all of her. His touch carries the weight of loyalty. His embrace tells me: You’re safe. You’re home. These words capture it perfectly: ✨ The most beautiful clothes that can dress a woman… Aren’t silk, lace, or velvet. They are the arms of the man who knows her soul, Who worships her not just with his eyes, But with his touch, his loyalty, his love. The kind of arms that make her feel like the most sacred thing he’s ever held. That wraps around her not just in passion, but in protection, in pride, in permanence. In his embrace, she is more than stunning — She is safe. She is home. She is loved so deeply that no designer could ever replicate the beauty of what it feels like to belong completely to someone. Because when a woman is loved right, his arms become her favourite outfit — and her smile, his finest accessory. ✨It reminds me of a truth found in the Word: 📖 "He who finds a wife finds a good thing, and obtains favour from the Lord." — Proverbs 18:22 (NKJV) Clive has loved me through seasons of strength and seasons of sorrow. He has chosen me again and again — not just in vows, but in a thousand quiet moments of kindness. His arms have never felt like cages; they’ve always been wings. A Prayer of Gratitude Abba Father, thank You for the precious gift of covenant love. For a husband whose arms carry not only strength but gentleness. Thank You that in Clive’s embrace I find refuge, laughter, and rest. May our love reflect Your glory — selfless, sacrificial, and steadfast. Let our marriage be a shelter for others, a picture of Christ’s love for His bride. Teach us to keep choosing each other, to honour, protect, and uplift. In Jesus’ Name, Amen. --- Dear heart, If you’ve never known this kind of love, don’t give up hope. The One who holds your soul most tenderly is Jesus — and He calls you beloved, cherished, chosen. You are never alone.💗 You are safe. You are seen. You are so deeply loved. 💗

Sometimes, when the room gets quieter and the phone stops ringing, when invitations dry up and people slip away without explanation… it stings. Especially for a heart like mine — one stitched together by love, connection, and the desire to walk alongside others. I’ve often wrestled with the silence that follows someone's departure. Was it something I did?🤔 Something I didn’t do?🤔 Yet lately, I’m beginning to see that God’s hand is sometimes most tender in the pruning. We often think loss means failure or rejection. But what if it’s protection? What if God, in His mercy, shortens the guest list of your heart because He overheard conversations, saw motives, and discerned intentions that you couldn’t?🤔 📖 "Do not be deceived: 'Evil company corrupts good habits.'" — 1 Corinthians 15:33 (NKJV) Some people come into our lives for a reason — to teach us, challenge us, or mirror something we need to heal. Others enter for a season — their time with us wrapped in a specific assignment or chapter. And a rare few? They're for a lifetime — the soul companions who grow with us, pray with us, and stay through every valley and mountaintop. I used to grieve when circles shrank. Now I pause and ask, “Lord, is this Your pruning or my pushing?” Because sometimes it is me withdrawing — wounded, weary, or afraid. And when that’s the case, I bring that pain to the feet of Jesus. But other times… it’s Him. And when it's His doing, no amount of striving will bring that person back. Nor should it. This pruning is not punishment. It’s preparation. God refines our circle to protect the purity of the calling. To make room for peace. To align us with those who walk in integrity, who water our faith instead of draining it. 📖 "Can two walk together, unless they are agreed?" — Amos 3:3 (NKJV) So today, I release the ones who were only meant for a season. I bless them. I forgive where needed. I cherish the lessons, the laughter, even the tears. And then, I lean in — more deeply — to the One who never leaves. Because in the end, I’m not running after people who walked away. I’m walking with the God who stayed. You are not losing people — you’re gaining clarity. And in that clarity, you’ll find a sacred space where your heart can breathe again. You are not too much, too sensitive, or too broken. You are simply being refined for relationships that mirror the way God loves — with truth, compassion, and staying power. 🙌Prayer: Father, thank You for seeing what I cannot. For hearing what I did not. For protecting my heart, even through painful goodbyes. Teach me to trust Your timing and to surrender relationships that no longer align with where You’re leading me. Heal the grief of separation and fill every empty space with Your love. Help me discern who is for a reason, a season, or a lifetime — and to honour them accordingly, without bitterness or regret.In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Grace is when God gives us good things that we don't deserve. Mercy is when He spares us from the bad things we do deserve. And blessings? Oh, blessings are when He is generous with both. This morning I sat with that thought — how unrelenting His kindness is. How undeserved His affection. How breathtakingly lavish His gifts. Not gifts wrapped in glitter and gold, but gifts like peace in the storm, strength for the weary, hope when it all seems dark. 📖 "Oh, give thanks to the Lord, for He is good! For His mercy endures forever." — Psalm 136:1 (NKJV) He is generous not just with what He gives, but with who He is. Even when my prayers feel fragile and my gratitude feeble, I remember: I’ll never run out of reasons to thank Him. Because even in the breaking, He is blessing. Even in the waiting, He is working. God is good… all the time. And all the time… God is good. ✨ 🪶 Holy Spirit, thank You for covering me in Your grace, holding back what would harm, and pouring out what heals. Open my eyes today to see the blessings hidden in plain sight. May gratitude rise like incense from my heart, not only for what You've done — but for who You are. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.