There are photographs tucked into albums and frames that I now realise are the last with certain loved ones. At the time, they seemed so ordinary — a family gathering, a shared laugh, a quiet moment around a table. Yet now they hold a sacred weight, whispering, "This was the last time." Time with loved ones is precious. We cannot always know which smile, which touch, or which conversation will be the last. The ordinary becomes extraordinary in hindsight, and the photos capture more than faces; they capture presence, love, and belonging. 📖 "Teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom." — Psalm 90:12 (NKJV)  My heart aches with both gratitude and longing as I turn these pages. Gratitude that God gave me the gift of these people, these moments, these memories. Longing, because I wish I had savoured them even more while they were unfolding.  Yet, even here, grace flows. These photos remind me not of what I have lost, but of the love that was given. They are reminders of God’s faithfulness in surrounding me with relationships that reflect His heart. They are treasures of memory, echoes of eternity. 💡Reflection: Who in my life do I need to be more intentional about savouring time with?🤔 How can I live so that love, laughter, and faith become the legacy captured in my “ordinary” days?🤔 If you are holding a “last photo” today, may you also hold the comfort of knowing that love is never wasted. Each captured smile is a testimony of God’s goodness and a call to savour the sacred ordinary of today. 🙌Prayer: Lord, teach me to number my days rightly. Help me to pause in the busyness and savour the people You have placed around me. May I not wait until a photo becomes the “last” to treasure a moment. Let my presence, my love, and my words be a blessing to those I hold dear. Thank You for the gift of memory, of photographs, and of the love that outlives time. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

There is such a difference between being included and being considered. Inclusion says, “You can come.” Consideration says, “We thought of you when making the plan.” One checks a box; the other checks the heart. For much of my life, I have felt overlooked — sometimes not even included. That ache runs deep, because being left out speaks to the child within who longs to be seen, valued, and chosen. Yet even when I was included, it often felt like there was still a gap — the absence of true care, of being remembered in the details. Reading Anthony D Brice’s words struck me like a gentle light: to be considered is to be thought of with intention, with love. It means someone has already set a place at the table, already woven me into their plans, already seen my value without me needing to prove it. 📖 "Let each of you look out not only for his own interests, but also for the interests of others." — Philippians 2:4 (NKJV) This Scripture reveals the heart of Jesus — He didn’t just include us; He considered us. Long before we asked, He planned redemption. Long before we felt the ache of loneliness, He promised His presence. To be considered is to be loved with foresight. 💡Reflection: Where in my life do I feel merely “included,” and where do I feel truly “considered”? 🤔 How is God inviting me to lean more deeply into places where I am seen, valued, and cherished?🤔 🌸 Closing thought: I no longer need to chase inclusion. I will sit only where I am seen, go only where I am valued, and remain only where I am considered. 🙌 Prayer: Lord Jesus, thank You that You have always considered me. You saw me before I was formed, You planned my days before I lived them, and You set a place for me at Your table. Heal the wounds of being overlooked and teach me to rest in the truth that I am chosen, valued, and remembered. Help me also to extend this same intentional love to others, not just including them, but truly considering them. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

There are words that stop you in your tracks because they name what your heart has long carried in silence. Steve De’lano Garcia’s words did that for me today.  "There is a rare breed of people who bet their whole heart and never ask for odds: they keep their word even when it hurts, they step into storms for the sake of someone else's sunshine, they give the last of their warmth to hands that may never hold them back; they walk the extra mile on blistered feet and still ask if you need a ride; they pour love into empty rooms and tuck hope into beds that have never learned their name, and when the echo does not answer, they do not grow smaller -they grow steadier; they stay kind in a world that profits from hard edges, they stay soft in a season that praises stone, and they pay a quiet price for it, again and again, with tears wiped in the dark and smiles set straight at dawn; yet even through the ache, they keep a small light for the day another rare heart appears- equally brave, equally loyal, equally willing to meet them in the deep; to the givers, the forgivers, the selfless lovers: keep being beautiful, guard your tenderness without burying it, let the cold world be cold and choose to be warm, take every small moment like a breath you mean to keep, and know this--your love is not wasted; it is a seed, and one day it will fall into hands that know how to grow it." It speaks of a rare breed of people who give their whole heart without asking for odds, who love when it hurts, who stay soft when the world demands stone. Reading it brought tears, because it resonated so deeply with my own journey. I have known what it feels like to pour warmth into empty rooms, to sow kindness into places where my name may never be remembered. I have known the ache of wiping tears in the dark and smiling at dawn, carrying the quiet price of love that costs without return. Yet in those very moments, I have also known the steadying hand of Jesus, the One who sees what others may never notice. 📖 "And 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) This verse reminds me that nothing given in love is ever wasted. Love is never lost; it is a seed. The soil may seem barren now, but God Himself is faithful to water and bring fruit in His time. Our tenderness, our loyalty, our willingness to keep loving in the face of rejection or silence — all of it matters to Him. 💡 Reflection: Where have you been sowing love that feels unseen? How might God be inviting you to trust Him with the unseen fruit? 🙏 Prayer: Lord, thank You for reminding me that love is never wasted. When the ache feels heavy and the cost of tenderness feels too much, steady my heart in You. Help me to guard my tenderness without burying it, to remain kind in a world that grows cold, and to trust that You are bringing a harvest in Your perfect time. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Lies may cover for a season, but they never remain hidden forever. Every mask worn, every betrayal carried out, every manipulation crafted leaves a mark, not just on the people wounded, but upon the soul of the one who weaves them. For a moment, deception might feel like safety, power, or advantage. Yet God sees, and nothing escapes His gaze. Shadows grow heavy, and the bridges burned today often spark the fires that will one day expose falsehood. You may deny, twist, or charm your way through stories, yet you cannot outrun truth. When it comes, it does not simply remove the mask — it reveals the wreckage left behind. So hide, if you must. Pretend, if you choose. But know this: no lie lives forever, and no cruelty goes unpaid. God is not mocked, and His timing is never late. Justice waits, patient yet certain. 📖 "For there is nothing hidden which will not be revealed, nor has anything been kept secret but that it should come to light." — Mark 4:22 (NKJV) 💡Reflection: Are there places in your life where truth is waiting to be spoken, yet fear has kept it silent?🤔 What would it look like to invite God’s light into that place today?🤔 '🙌🏻Prayer: Lord, thank You that You are truth and that You see all things clearly. Where I am tempted to hide or cover up, give me the courage to bring it into the light. Where I have been hurt by deception, bring healing and restore trust in Your goodness. Let my life be anchored in integrity, built not on shifting lies but on Your unshakable Word. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Obedience isn’t always radiant and full of rejoicing. Often, it comes cloaked in tears. It feels like death to our will, a burial of our pride, and a surrender of the comforts we cling to. It may look like leaving when your heart longs to stay, keeping silent when every fibre of your being burns to speak, or loosening your grasp on something you love deeply — not because you no longer care, but because God is asking you to trust Him for what lies beyond. Every act of obedience carries its own grief. Abraham’s heart surely ached as he lifted the knife over Isaac (Genesis 22). Moses gave up the splendour of Pharaoh’s palace to walk with a complaining people in a barren desert (Exodus 3–4). And Jesus, in Gethsemane, with sweat like drops of blood falling to the ground, still whispered: 📖 “Not My will, but Yours be done.” — Luke 22:42 (NKJV) Obedience can feel like loss. Yet each surrender opens the door to God’s glory. Each relinquishing becomes the soil where new life rises. What feels like ashes in your hands can become the canvas where God writes His beauty across tear-stained skies. Jesus reminds us: 📖 “Blessed rather are those who hear the word of God and obey it.” — Luke 11:28 (NKJV) So if your obedience feels like grief today, take heart. God is not taking something from you — He is leading you to something greater. Obedience may hurt, but it also heals. It may cost, but it also crowns. One of my biggest areas of struggle with obedience is the call to prayer in the early hours of the morning. It’s as though the Holy Spirit gently stirs my heart while the world still sleeps, inviting me into the quiet, sacred space where heaven whispers. Yet my body resists, longing for the comfort of blankets and the stillness of rest. There’s a grief in that tug of war — between spirit and flesh, longing and lethargy. The call to rise feels heavy, and yet, every time I choose to answer, I’m met with a Presence so tender, it’s as if dawn itself bows in reverence. In those early hours, before the noise of the day intrudes, His voice is clearest. It’s not about performance or perfection; it’s about communion — the deep heart exchange that can only happen in stillness. 📖 “O God, You are my God; early will I seek You; my soul thirsts for You; my flesh longs for You in a dry and thirsty land where there is no water.” — Psalm 63:1 (NKJV) Obedience in these moments feels like dying to comfort so that I might awaken to glory. It is costly, but it carries the fragrance of love — a quiet yes whispered in the dark, trusting that what He has to say is worth the sacrifice of sleep. Let’s face it, who wants to be up between 3 and 5 a.m. when everyone else is sleeping — especially in winter, when it’s so much warmer and cosier under the covers? Yet even in that reluctance, there’s an invitation. However, when I rise, weary but willing, I find strength not my own. His presence wraps around me like dawn light, and the grief of obedience becomes the grace of encounter. 💡 Reflection:  What area of obedience feels most costly to you right now? How might God be inviting you to trust that His presence will meet you there? 🙌🏻 Prayer: Lord, teach me to embrace the hidden beauty of obedience, even when it feels like loss. When You call in the quiet hours, help me to respond with love, not reluctance. Let every sacrifice of sleep become a seed of intimacy, and every act of surrender a song of trust. May my heart rise to meet Yours in the stillness. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

The enemy knows that if he can trap us in our emotions, he can blur our vision and derail our obedience. Offence, fear, and insecurity are his subtle tools to cloud our sight. He whispers lies, magnifies hurts, and stirs up comparisons, all so we would walk in circles instead of stepping forward into the calling God has set before us. Emotions themselves are not wrong. God created us with feelings — they are like colours on the palette of the soul. They allow us to experience joy, sorrow, compassion, grief, and delight. Yet, when feelings take the lead, they can become stormy waves that toss us to and fro. Cloudy emotions, if left unchecked, delay obedience and dim the clarity of God’s direction. 📖 "For as many as are led by the Spirit of God, these are sons of God." — Romans 8:14 (NKJV) We were never called to be driven by feelings. We are called to be led by the Holy Spirit. To live Spirit-led means acknowledging our emotions, but not bowing to them as masters. It means learning to express them righteously, anger without sin, grief with hope, joy with humility, love with purity. When surrendered to God, even our deepest emotions can become vessels of grace. Tears become intercession. Anger becomes fuel for justice. Fear becomes an invitation to trust. Joy becomes strength.   💡Reflection: Where have I allowed feelings to cloud my obedience to God’s voice?🤔 How can I acknowledge my emotions honestly while inviting the Holy Spirit to lead me?🤔 What practical step can I take today to move from being led by feelings to being led by the Spirit?🤔 🙌🏻Prayer: Holy Spirit, thank You for the gift of emotions. Teach me to express them in ways that honour You. Guard my heart from being ruled by offence, fear, or insecurity. Lead me in truth, clarity, and love. Please help me to walk by faith, not by sight, and by Spirit, not by feelings. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Today, the tears I’d been holding back finally came. It happened as I read Uncle Rodney’s post — his tender words about Aunty Delice’s final days on earth. The story of their last reading together, Psalm 91 — her favourite psalm — undid me. They were reading the very words that had anchored her faith for decades when she fell silent and slipped toward eternity. There is something achingly beautiful about that image: two souls wrapped in prayer, dwelling “in the secret place of the Most High,” until one is called home. 📖 “He shall cover you with His feathers, and under His wings you shall take refuge.” — Psalm 91:4 (NKJV) Uncle Rodney’s letter carried both the ache of absence and the glow of gratitude. After fifty-seven years of shared life, love, and ministry, his words reflected the strength of covenant — love that endures storms, children, decades, and even the veil between earth and heaven. Reading his tribute stirred something deep within me — a remembering of how Aunty Delice stepped in with grace and generosity to take up my mother’s responsibilities during my wedding and for my family. Her care was steady, practical, and full of love. She sewed my wedding dress, baked our cake, and wrapped every detail with the kind of tenderness that speaks louder than words. Her life was the sermon that showed me what love in action looks like. I wept because her story mirrors my values — faith, family, service, compassion — the very things she helped awaken in me. I wept because the kind of love she lived doesn’t end; it multiplies. It seeps into generations and echoes in our own tenderness toward others. 📖 “Here is the one thing I crave from God, the one thing I seek above all else: to live my life so close to Him that He takes pleasure in my every prayer.” — Psalm 27:4 (Passion Paraphrase) That was her daily prayer — and now it’s her answered one. 💡Reflection: Whose faith has shaped yours, and how might you honour their legacy by the way you love and serve today?🤔 🙌🏻Prayer: Lord, thank You for Aunty Delice’s legacy of love and devotion. Thank You for the way her faith shaped generations. Help me to live as she did — unhurried in love, unwavering in faith, and unafraid of surrender. Let her example draw me closer to You each day, until the moment faith becomes sight. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Some costs are hidden until they begin to gnaw at your soul. Prestige, recognition, or opportunity may look radiant on the outside, yet if it requires you to betray your God-given values, the price is too high. Peace is fragile when fear is driving your decisions. Yielding to fear of loss can push you to say “yes” where your spirit is whispering “no.” To comply for appearances is to trade away the very treasure Christ has entrusted to you — His peace. 📖 "Peace I leave with you, My peace I give to you; not as the world gives do I give to you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid." — John 14:27 (NKJV) 💡Reflection: Where have I felt pressured to compromise my values for the sake of approval or opportunity?🤔 What situations rob me of peace, and how can I invite God’s guidance into those places?🤔 How might I practise courage by saying “no” when something dishonours my faith, integrity, or calling?  ✨ May you never trade the calm waters of your soul for the crashing waves of false success. You are seen, held, and guided by the One who calls you His beloved. 🙌Prayer: Lord Jesus, thank You for the gift of Your peace that guards my heart and mind. Help me to recognise when something is too costly for my soul, no matter how prestigious it looks. Strengthen me to stand firm in my values, to choose integrity over fear, and to rest in the assurance that Your way leads to life. Let me measure success not by worldly standards but by faithfulness to You. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

The spirit of Jezebel wreaks havoc among the nations because the spirit of Ahab has caused good men to cower in apathy and say nothing. Jezebel thrives where Ahab abdicates. Her manipulation finds fuel in silence; her intimidation grows strong where courage has gone weak. In Scripture, Ahab was king, but his crown held little weight because he surrendered his authority. Jezebel filled the vacuum, murdering prophets, silencing truth, and twisting justice. Yet God raised up Elijah—a voice that did not bow, a prophet who dared to confront lies with holy fire. 📖 "And so it was, while Jezebel massacred the prophets of the Lord, that Obadiah had taken one hundred prophets and hidden them…" — 1 Kings 18:4 (NKJV) There are times when we, as followers of Christ, will be called upon to stand up with a holy ‘NO!’ in the face of evil and injustice. We are called to be obedient to Truth, not compliant to lies. Silence in the face of evil is in itself evil. God will not hold us guiltless. Not to speak is to speak. Not to act is to act. 📖 "For if you remain completely silent at this time, relief and deliverance will arise for the Jews from another place, but you and your father’s house will perish. Yet who knows whether you have come to the kingdom for such a time as this?” — Esther 4:14 (NKJV) As Archbishop Desmond Tutu said: “If you are neutral in situations of injustice, you have chosen the side of the oppressor. If an elephant has its foot on the tail of a mouse, and you say that you are neutral, the mouse will not appreciate your neutrality.”  Today, the same spirit seeks to muzzle God’s people, but silence is agreement, and apathy is partnership with destruction. The call of Elijah still resounds: will we bow, or will we stand?🤔 Meowing time is over. It is time to roar with holy boldness, to rise as the lion-hearted people of God, declaring His truth with love and courage. We are not the Lion, but it has fallen on us to release His ROAR into the earth. Let us choose courage over comfort. Let us rise with truth, love, and holy boldness, knowing that our God still answers by fire. Reflection: Where have I remained silent when God was calling me to speak truth?🤔 Am I willing to trade comfort for courage, even if it costs relationships or reputation?🤔 How can I prepare my heart to be an Elijah voice in my generation?🤔 Prayer Heavenly Father, forgive me for the times I’ve bowed to fear or stayed silent when You called me to speak. Strengthen me with holy courage to stand for truth, to resist manipulation, and to walk in integrity. May my life echo Elijah’s cry — that You alone are God. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

📖 "His lord said to him, ‘Well done, good and faithful servant; you were faithful over a few things, I will make you ruler over many things. Enter into the joy of your lord.’" — Matthew 25:21 (NKJV) Beloved heart, God is speaking a tender yet powerful word over you today: "You have been faithful in the small things, and now I am trusting you with more. I have seen how you kept a good attitude, even when it was hard. I have watched you bless others while you were waiting on your own blessing. Now get ready: increase is coming. I am releasing new opportunities, new influence, and new resources. People who did not notice you before are going to seek you out. Doors you could not open are going to fly wide open. What you have prayed for in private, I will reward you with in public. Keep believing — it is all coming together!" Let these words settle deep into your spirit. God notices every quiet act of obedience and every hidden prayer. He treasures the unseen seasons where you served faithfully, often without recognition. Nothing has been wasted. 💡Reflection: Where have you been faithful in the small things, even when no one saw?🤔 Which private prayers are you still holding before the Lord?🤔 How might you prepare your heart for the new doors He is about to open?🤔 💖 May today’s assurance give you courage to keep trusting. The God who sees in secret is bringing everything together in His perfect time. 🎨Creative Prompt: Take a blank page and draw or paint a door flung wide, golden light pouring through. Around the doorway, write or illustrate the prayers and promises you are believing God to fulfil. 🙌Prayer of Faithfulness and Increase Heavenly Father, Thank You that my life is anchored in You — my foundation, my strength, my joy. You see the small acts of obedience, the quiet prayers whispered in the dark, and the moments when love, kindness, and courage were chosen over ease. Lord, I bring my faith and spirituality before You, asking that it always remain my highest priority. Let every act of service, every creative offering, and every relationship I nurture be an overflow of Your love. May my compassion for others mirror the compassion of Christ. Father, where I have walked faithfully in hidden places, I trust Your promise that increase is coming. Release opportunities that align with my calling, doors that no man can shut, and resources that bring healing and hope to the broken-hearted. Keep my heart pure with integrity and generosity, so that when favour comes, it glorifies You and not me. Teach me balance and rest, that I may serve with strength and joy. Give me courage to stand against injustice and freedom to live authentically in Your truth. May beauty and creativity in my life always point to Your glory, and may my greatest achievement be measured by lives touched with Your love. I surrender my plans to You, Lord. Let Your will be done, and may my story shine with the radiant seams of Your grace. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

"A soul that carries compassion is a soul that has walked through fire and chose not to become flame; it learned the weight of grief so it could lift it from others. Its scars are not warnings but seams, stronger where it was torn, proof that tenderness can be engineered from ruin. It knows that gentleness is disciplined strength, that boundaries are a form of care, and that listening is a shelter built from nights when no one came. It does not forget the dark; it uses it as a lantern, turning pain into sight and sight into mercy, so others can find their way back to themselves." Empathy is precious. It allows us to notice, to feel with another. Yet empathy by itself can remain passive, a learned behaviour of acknowledgement without movement. Compassion, however, is empathy clothed in action. It is experience that moves us beyond understanding into tangible love — to bind wounds, to meet needs, to restore hope. When Jesus walked this earth, He did not stop at empathy. The Gospels tell us He was moved with compassion, and every time compassion stirred His heart, something changed. The blind received sight, the hungry were fed, the grieving were comforted, and the lost were found. Compassion became the doorway for miracles. 📖 "But when He saw the multitudes, He was moved with compassion for them, because they were weary and scattered, like sheep having no shepherd." — Matthew 9:36 (NKJV) Empathy is praying for the hungry, but compassion will give them something to eat. Jesus modelled this when He told His disciples: 📖 "But Jesus said to them, 'They do not need to go away. You give them something to eat.'" — Matthew 14:16 (NKJV This is the invitation for us too — to let our scars become seams of strength, to let our past darkness become lanterns of mercy, and to let empathy grow into compassion that acts. It is in those holy moments of action that Christ’s love shines brightest, turning ruins into restoration. 💡Prayer: Lord Jesus, teach me not only to feel the weight of another’s sorrow but to step into their need with compassion. May my scars become testimony, my past pain a lantern, and my heart a vessel for Your miracles of love. Move me beyond sentiment into service, beyond empathy into compassion. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

I read today that butterflies rest when it rains, because the drops can damage their wings. How fragile, and yet how wise — they wait until the skies clear before they take to the air again. This week, I too rested. I didn’t serve at Elijah House, and at first it felt uncomfortable. Guilt whispered that I was letting others down. Yet the Holy Spirit’s gentle prompting was unmistakable: be still, pause, breathe. I am grateful I listened. Rest is not weakness, it is obedience. Even Jesus withdrew to quiet places to pray and be renewed. 📖 "Come to Me, all you who labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest." — Matthew 11:28 (NKJV) Storms pass, and when they do, butterflies rise again on wings unbroken. I believe I will too. 💡 Reflection: Where is God inviting me to lay down my striving and rest in His love?🤔 🙏 Prayer: Lord Jesus, thank You for reminding me that even in the storms, I am safe in Your care. Teach me to rest without guilt, knowing that You restore my strength in stillness. May I rise again, renewed, when the time is right. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Some friends feel like home. Not because they fix or rescue us, but because they never demand that we be anything other than ourselves. With them, silence feels safe, weakness isn’t judged, and even in our messiest moments, we are still chosen. That kind of love is rare. It is holy ground. On Friday, Rose and Harry sat across from me at lunch. Rose’s hands carried two gifts: a scented candle, and a card that reached deep into my heart. Inside were these words: *“Dear Trixi, Thank you for your dedicated service in ministry, the ways which enrich our church. Your selfless acts of service: Elijah House Prayer Ministry, Healing Courses, Painting Lessons, Worship. Your leadership and teaching help and inspire me to grow in my faith. Your love, care, and support create a nurturing place in our church. Thank you for being a true friend to me and all. You…are more than enough. We are blessed to have you! Blessings, Love from Rose 25/09/2025”* Then today, as we got home from church, Caroline arrived unexpectedly, pressing into my hands a little box of home-baked cookies with a note: “Thinking of you my lovely friend. Love, Caroline.” Such gestures catch me off guard. I’m not used to kindness arriving so gently and freely. I’m still learning how to receive without feeling like I need to earn. 📖 "Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, and comes down from the Father of lights." — James 1:17 (NKJV) These small acts of kindness are not small at all. They are God’s reminders that love is alive and tangible, often wrapped in simple offerings — a card, a candle, a cookie. Each one carries a whisper from Heaven: You are more than enough. You are loved, not for what you do, but for who you are. 🙌A prayer: Lord Jesus, thank You for the gift of friends who carry Your heart. Teach me to receive kindness with humility and joy, without fear or striving. Help me to hold these moments as reminders of Your unfailing love. May I also be one who offers warmth, light, and nourishment to others. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Testifying isn’t something we do because we are amazing Christians. It isn’t a performance or proof of perfection. It flows from the faith we hold close to our hearts, the unshakable knowing that Jesus is the only way we made it through difficult days. Without Him, we would not have survived. When doubt rises and struggles weigh heavily, silence often tempts us. We shrink back, still and lifeless, like a body without breath. That is what the enemy longs for — to quench the flame of the Holy Spirit, to hush the living witness within us. Yet faith is not meant to be buried. When you feel it stirring, when you sense His life springing up in you, speak. 📖 "And they overcame him by the blood of the Lamb and by the word of their testimony, and they did not love their lives to the death." — Revelation 12:11 (NKJV) Testifying is courage in action. It is not about eloquence but obedience. Each time you declare what you believe, you anchor yourself again on Christ, the Rock. Faith becomes the foundation of your works, love flows outward in service, and your story becomes a beacon of hope for others stumbling in the dark. Your voice matters because it carries the witness of His light. 💡Reflection: Where have you allowed silence to smother your testimony?🤔 What story of God’s faithfulness do you need to speak out loud today?🤔 How can honesty, even when costly, become an act of love in your relationships?🤔 🙌🏻Prayer: Lord Jesus, thank You for the gift of testimony and the courage You provide to speak truth with love. Forgive me when fear or doubt keeps me quiet. Stir faith within me and let my words carry Your light to those who are weary. May my life be a witness that glorifies You in all things. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

I recently came across a metaphor that stopped me in my tracks. Both buffalo and cows can sense when a storm is coming. The cows, in their panic, run away from it. Yet the storm inevitably catches them, and because they keep running, they remain in it far longer — weary, drenched, and battered. The buffalo, on the other hand, charge directly into the storm. Terrifying at first, yes, but they reach the other side quicker, emerging rested and nourished, able to enjoy the green pastures watered by the rain. It made me think about trauma. How often do we live like the cows, running from our pain, our memories, our fears? In doing so, we stay in the storm longer than we need to. Avoidance feels easier in the moment, but it prolongs the shame, the guilt, and the exhaustion. Healing comes when we stop running away. The way of the buffalo calls for courage. It mirrors the life of faith. To walk through the storm means to face the grief, to let the tears fall, to sit with the memories that ache. Yet in that brave choice, healing comes swifter, because Jesus meets us in the middle of the tempest. 📖 "When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow you. When you walk through the fire, you shall not be burned, nor shall the flame scorch you." — Isaiah 43:2 (NKJV) I don’t want to raise a generation of cows — running endlessly, weary beneath storms they were never meant to carry so long. I long for a generation of buffalo, who know that facing the storm with Jesus leads to peace, strength, and new life on the other side. 💡 Reflection: Think about a storm you may be facing right now. Are you running from it, trying to avoid the pain, or are you willing to face it with Jesus by your side?🤔 What fears surface when you consider walking into the storm rather than away from it?🤔 How have past “storms” shaped you — did avoidance prolong them, or did courage quicken healing?🤔 What would it look like to trust God in the midst of this present storm?🤔 Take a few quiet moments to journal your answers. Invite Holy Spirit to whisper His perspective. Remember, you are not alone. He walks with you through every downpour, leading you to peace on the other side. 📖 "Peace I leave with you, My peace I give to you; not as the world gives do I give to you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid." — John 14:27 (NKJV) ✍️ Journaling Prompts: Facing the Storm with Courage Name the Storm What storm are you currently sensing in your life — whether it’s grief, fear, shame, or uncertainty?🤔 Write it down honestly, without judgement. Buffalo or Cow?🤔 When storms come, do you tend to run away (like the cow), or face them head-on (like the buffalo)?🤔 Describe a time when you did each. What was the outcome?🤔 The First Step Facing the storm begins with one brave step. What small act of courage could you take today that would help you walk through your storm with Jesus?🤔 The Aftermath Think of a past storm you’ve endured. How did God use that season to bring new life, growth, or blessing?🤔 Write about the “green pastures” that followed. God’s Presence in the Tempest In what ways have you experienced Jesus walking with you in difficult times?🤔 How could you remind yourself of His nearness in the storm you face now?🤔 Generational Courage What legacy do you want to leave for your children, grandchildren, or spiritual sons and daughters?🤔 How can you model the courage of the buffalo in a way that invites them to do the same?🤔 📖 "Be strong and of good courage, do not fear nor be afraid of them; for the Lord your God, He is the One who goes with you. He will not leave you nor forsake you." — Deuteronomy 31:6 (NKJV) 🙌 Prayer: Lord Jesus, give me the courage of the buffalo. Teach me not to run away from the storms of life, but to walk through them with You. Hold my hand when fear rises, and remind me that Your presence is my shelter and my peace. May I model bravery, honesty, and faith for those who come after me. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Childhood experiences of abandonment can echo loudly in adulthood. The silent vows we made to stay safe — “I must be the good one,” “I must never need too much” — can linger as hidden scripts in our hearts. As children we try to earn love by pleasing others, hide our feelings to avoid rejection, or tiptoe through life to prevent loss. Later, those same fears may drive us to over-give, fear intimacy, or feel ashamed when we draw boundaries. Yet Scripture reminds us that we are never truly forsaken. 📖 "When my father and my mother forsake me, then the Lord will take care of me." — Psalm 27:10 (NKJV). Our God steps into the very places where human love failed and offers unwavering presence. He calls us out of self-protective patterns into the freedom of being His beloved. Reflection & Gentle Steps Toward Healing Notice the old vows. Invite the Holy Spirit to reveal hidden promises like “I must never upset anyone” or “I have to earn affection.” Replace them with truth. Speak God’s Word over each lie: I am chosen, not forsaken. I am His child. Practise safe connection. Begin with small, trustworthy relationships where you can share your heart and be met with grace. Seek prayerful support. Christian counselling, inner-healing prayer, or a mature mentor can help you release the weight of the past. May you sense His steady love today, stronger than every echo of loss. 💡Closing Prayer: Lord Jesus, thank You that You never leave nor forsake me. Heal the places where abandonment’s voice still speaks. Break every silent vow that keeps me from receiving and giving love freely. Teach me to rest in Your faithful arms and to walk in relationships marked by trust, honour, and holy freedom. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

People often say, “Why don’t you be the bigger person?” as if it means endlessly reaching out, fixing, or pouring yourself dry into a relationship that refuses to heal. I used to believe that too — that love meant stretching until I broke, or carrying the weight of reconciliation on my shoulders alone. Yet the Holy Spirit has been teaching me that sometimes, being the bigger person means recognising when to let go. It is not bitterness. It is not unforgiveness. It is discernment. Because not every connection is meant to continue, and not every silence needs to be filled with words. Reaching out repeatedly only to meet the same wall of denial or unresolved conflict drains the life God has placed within us. Love and peace walk hand in hand, and sometimes the most loving thing we can do is to bless from a distance. To release the need to fix what only God can redeem. To trust that in His time, He can bring healing far deeper than our words could manage. 📖 “If it is possible, as much as depends on you, live peaceably with all men.” — Romans 12:18 (NKJV) When I choose peace, I am not choosing weakness. I am choosing wisdom. I am choosing the freedom to walk forward, lightened of the constant weight of striving, into the abundant love and purpose God has for me. 💡Reflection: Where in my life have I mistaken endless striving for true love?🤔 Am I holding onto a relationship out of guilt or pressure rather than God’s leading?🤔 How can I release someone with grace and still walk in love?🤔 🙌Prayer: Lord Jesus, thank You for teaching me that peace is not passive but powerful. Help me to discern when to lean in and when to step back, always anchored in Your love. Guard my heart from bitterness and strengthen me to love without losing myself. Let me rest in the truth that You are the Redeemer of all things, and I can trust You with what I cannot carry. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Words. Such small, fleeting things, yet they carry the strength of storms and the tenderness of balm. They can crush a heart already bruised or become the very breath that revives it. They can shame a soul into silence or set it free to sing. They can shatter dreams in an instant or breathe courage into weary bones. They can build walls so high that no one can climb them, or melt defences with a whisper of kindness.   When I think of all the words that shaped my life, my heart aches for the little girl who listened and believed. Words like “I was a mistake,” “I am worthless,” “I will amount to nothing” and countless others. They stuck to my spirit like heavy stones, labels pressed into my soul by the voices and actions of others. Those words built walls around my heart and painted lies across my identity. They whispered shame and echoed unworthiness. Yet even there, even then, God was present — His voice a gentle whisper, waiting for the day I would hear Him louder than the noise. I am so grateful that He redeems, heals, and removes those labels. He takes the jagged shards of our identity and mends them with golden seams of truth. He writes a new name over our hearts — beloved, chosen, worthy, His. Every word is a seed. Once sown, it cannot be recalled, and in time, it will bear fruit. This is why our words must be chosen with reverence, humility, and love. 📖 “Death and life are in the power of the tongue, and those who love it will eat its fruit.” — Proverbs 18:21 (NKJV) 📖 “He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.” — Psalm 147:3 (NKJV) 📖 “Behold, I have inscribed you on the palms of My hands.” — Isaiah 49:16 (NKJV) The words of people may have shaped my early years, but the Word of God defines my eternity. I am no longer what was spoken over me. I am who He says I am. His truth silences the lies and turns pain into purpose. My prayer is that my words — and yours — would echo His heart: not careless or harsh, but vessels of grace. May they lift where others have been pulled down, soothe where there is sorrow, and call forth light where shadows linger. 🙌🏻 Prayer: Lord, thank You for redeeming the broken words spoken over my life. Guard my tongue and purify my speech. May my words carry Your life, not death. Let me speak hope over the hopeless, encouragement to the weary, and truth wrapped in love. Teach me to pause before I speak, to listen before I answer, and to bless instead of curse. Rewrite my story continually with Your truth. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

There’s a difference between hearing and truly listening. The infographic on the 5 Levels of Listening reminded me how often I linger in the shallower waters — waiting to talk, or distracted, only half-present. My lips may be closed, but my mind is rehearsing what to say next. It reminds me that listening isn’t just about ears — it’s about the posture of my heart. Too often, I’ve caught myself in level one — quiet on the outside, but inside, already forming my reply. Other times, I’ve slipped into level two, where distraction steals the gift of being fully present. Yet, when I move toward the higher levels—understanding, recognising emotions, and even sensing what remains unspoken — that’s when true connection happens. It echoes the call of Scripture: 📖 "So then, my beloved brethren, let every man be swift to hear, slow to speak, slow to wrath." — James 1:19 (NKJV) The Hebrew word for “hear” in the Old Testament is shema (שָׁמַע). It doesn’t mean just to perceive sound. It carries the depth of obeying, understanding, and responding with the whole being. To shema is to listen with the heart — attentive, reverent, and ready to act in love. When I choose to listen like this, I move closer to the image of Christ. Jesus listened deeply to those around Him. He heard the cries beneath the words, the blind calling out on the roadside, the bleeding woman pressing through the crowd, the unspoken ache of a rich young ruler. His listening was never hurried; it was spacious, healing, and infused with compassion. To listen this way is an act of love and service. It’s recognising the image of God in the one speaking, honouring their story, their tears, their silence. It’s stepping into empathy, courage, and compassion—all threads that are woven into my core values. And maybe the deepest form of listening is prayer. When I lean in and hear what the Holy Spirit is whispering beneath the noise of my own thoughts, I discover truth, healing, and direction. Listening, at its deepest, is more than a skill. It is a ministry of presence, a way of carrying Christ’s love into ordinary moments. True listening is an act of love. It says: You matter. Your story matters. I see you. It invites us into empathy and even beyond — into discerning what is unspoken, what the soul longs to say but cannot find words for.  May I grow to be a listener who not only hears but helps heal. A gentle challenge for today: Ask Jesus to help you notice where you usually stop. Do you wait only to speak, or do you listen until you can hear what is unsaid? Let each conversation become a small altar where His love is made known. 📖 "He who has ears to hear, let him hear!" — Matthew 11:15 (NKJV) Listening, at its deepest, is more than a skill. It is a ministry of presence, a way of carrying Christ’s love into ordinary moments. May I grow to be a listener who not only hears but helps heal.

At 6 am this morning, I woke up to the news that Aunty Delice, my spiritual mom, has gone home to be with the Lord. Just last weekend, she suffered a stroke, and though my heart hoped for a full recovery, Heaven has now gained her tender soul. I first met her in the early 1990s at Julaine’s home cell. She was a mother of five, her youngest only weeks old, and yet she welcomed me into her heart as one of her own. In those days, when I felt so lost and alone, her steady love wrapped around me like a covering. That gift of belonging, of being mothered, has shaped me more than words can tell. I remember countless hours spent at her kitchen counter, conversations that poured balm into the cracks of my young adult heart. Conversations were foreign to me at the time, but I soaked up all I could. Mom knew how to make the lost and lonely feel heard, seen and valued. Two years later, she sewed together the 32 pieces of fabric that became my wedding dress, still hanging in my cupboard. She nursed me back to health with Marmite toast when for prior to the wedding, I couldn’t keep food in, resulting in weight loss so she had to sew me into the dress. Those pieces were a topic of discussion for years to come. She baked the cake and pressed silk flowers into a wine glass to make a topper, a treasure that still adorns my display cabinet as a symbol of her care. I even married out of her home. She modelled the love of Christ and motherhood. Mom love shaped my life in ways I will carry forever. My boys became her grandchildren, and she was "mom" and “Granny Lice” to many a stray youngster. If she wasn't busy in the kitchen preparing a meal, she was almost always with a baby in her arms and a smile of laughter on her face. Almost every photo of her carries that image, arms full of little ones, heart brimming with love. Today, my heart is heavy 💔, sorrow resting deep within😭. Heaven has gained a precious soul, but I have lost a pillar in my life. I don’t yet know why the tears have not come, but I will lean into the Holy Spirit for His comfort, trusting that He will help me grieve in His time and way. 📖 "Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted." — Matthew 5:4 (NKJV) Though my heart feels the ache of loss, I am comforted by the hope we have in Christ that this goodbye is not the end, but only until we meet again. 💞 🙌Prayer: Lord Jesus, thank You for the life of Mom Delice, whose love has been an anchor in my journey. Thank You for the ways she showed me Your heart through her kindness, her mothering, her faithfulness. Comfort her family, and hold us all close as we walk through the valley of grief. Teach me how to mourn with hope, resting in the promise of eternal life. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.