I woke this morning with a nauseating headache and the faint ache of clenched teeth. My body seems to be carrying what my heart is wrestling through. Two tablets and a little more rest lifted the heaviness, yet even in the fog of weariness, the Lord placed a melody on my heart. I cannot even remember the old Afrikaans song that came first, only that it was about Jesus. But as I stood under the shower, another fragment rose like a prayer whispered back to me: 🎵 “Want U stil die lewensstorms weereens Heer. Maak 'n molshoop van die berg in my gemoed.” Such tenderness in that reminder — that He stills the storms of life and turns mountains into molehills within our troubled minds. Perhaps it is no coincidence. Pastor David’s recent meeting with the elders has been weighing on me, stirring an anxious undercurrent I cannot always name. I have noticed myself clenching my teeth, as though bracing against impact. He has now sent through a message with his second warning from the elders and his subsequent response. I have not yet read it, let alone replied. My heart hesitates. Yet even here, God meets me. Scripture says: 📖 “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) So before I step into words, decisions, or responses, I need to sit in His peace. To let Him still the storm inside, that I may not react out of fear, but respond in His wisdom and grace. 🕊 A prayer rises with the melody: “Heavenly Father, I surrender the storms within me to You. Calm the mountain of worry into a molehill of peace. Guard my mind, steady my words, and align my response with Your truth. Thank You that I am safe in Your hands, no matter the turmoil around me. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.” Affirmation for today: Even when anxiety clenches its grip, Jesus is the One who stills my storms and brings peace to my inner seas.

Today my heart feels heavy. I'm appalled at the laughing emojis and celebration at someone’s passing and sickened by the cruelty I’ve seen spilling across comment sections online. Words — typed by fingertips running rampant — mock and cheer at the loss of a 31-year-old man with a family. A murder is being applauded, as though life itself were disposable. The darkness of such responses chills me: “He had it coming,” “Think like me or die,” “Stay silent or die.” This is the language of hell’s fury, not of heaven’s light. This portrays a lack of compassion that wounds more than just words. Freedom of belief means nothing if it is met with bullets instead of conversation. A man has lost his life. Loved ones have lost their father, their husband. This is beyond politics — it is about human dignity. Sometimes we just have to agree to disagree. There is something seriously wrong in society when a person is not allowed to freely hold and even teach a view different from another’s without fear of harm. Violence is never the answer. Murder is never justice. 📖 "You shall not murder." — Exodus 20:13 (NKJV) I didn’t follow Charlie Kirk and do not care what his political or religious views are or were. What was done is insanity and totally unacceptable. Children lost their father. A man was murdered because he held beliefs his killer could not accept. To those who celebrate death the death or public execution of anyone who used words, not violence, you are part of the problem. Your voice contributes to the rage, the hatred, the pain. Evil shows itself most brazenly when it whispers death and destruction in the disguise of power. Yet, even in the face of such wickedness, I cling to a holy peace. Charlie was a believer. At the moment he crossed from this world into eternity, he was welcomed with the words we long to hear: 📖 "Well done, good and faithful servant." — Matthew 25:21 (NKJV) This assurance does not erase the sorrow, but it strengthens the resolve. Life is sacred. No matter the chorus of voices that grow careless with human dignity, the truth remains: every life bears God’s imprint, every breath is known and counted by Him. Now, the torch Charlie carried is not extinguished—it has been passed to us. His boldness in faith must stir a holy fire within our bones. To refuse silence. To speak truth in love. To rise in courage, even when the world mocks. May we not shrink back in fear but step forward in holy defiance against evil. May our lives, too, echo heaven’s commendation when the race is finished: “Well done.” Let’s refuse to walk that path. Let’s mourn life lost. Pray for the grieving. May we instead choose to pray for peace, comfort the grieving, and speak words of life when others speak rage. 🙌Closing Prayer: Heavenly Father, we lift before You every grieving heart touched by violence. Restore compassion where callousness has taken root. Remind us of the value of every soul, created in Your image. May our words bring peace, our actions reflect Your love, and our witness point always to the sanctity of life. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

When life grows heavy and shadows press close, it is one thing — braided strong like a threefold cord — that keeps me standing: Faith, Family, and Creativity. Faith roots me deep in God’s unshakable love, the anchor that steadies me when storms howl. Family surrounds me with belonging and warmth, reminding me that love is stronger than any burden. Creativity gives me wings, a way to pour beauty into brokenness, to turn pain into colour and story. Together, these three are not separate strands but one lifeline, woven by God’s hand. They are the heartbeat that carries me through the weight of the world and lifts me into hope again. 📖 "Though one may be overpowered by another, two can withstand him. And a threefold cord is not quickly broken." — Ecclesiastes 4:12 (NKJV) 🙌Prayer: Father, thank You for weaving my life together with the threads of faith, family, and creativity. Help me never to take these gifts for granted. May I lean on You, cherish my loved ones, and keep creating beauty even in hard seasons. Strengthen this cord You’ve woven so that it never unravels, but always points me back to You. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Trust is the invisible bridge that every relationship walks across. Without it, the journey collapses before it even begins. In leadership, trust is not optional; it is everything. People may admire your vision or applaud your skills, but they will not truly follow unless they trust your heart. Trust is painstaking to build. It grows slowly, plank by plank, through honesty, integrity, and consistency. Yet it takes only a careless word or a broken promise to shatter it in seconds. Once fractured, it can be repaired, but the scars often remain. This is why Scripture urges us to live lives above reproach, to let our yes be yes and our no be no, so that our words carry the weight of truth. 📖 "He who walks with integrity walks securely, but he who perverts his ways will become known." — Proverbs 10:9 (NKJV) Leadership is not about perfection. It is about humility, courage, and the willingness to own our missteps. When we confess, seek forgiveness, and make amends, trust can be restored. In that restoration, followers see not weakness but strength — the kind of strength that reflects Christ. If you lead, lead with a heart anchored in love and integrity. Let your actions echo your words, so those who follow you walk across the bridge of trust without fear it will crumble beneath their feet. 🙌A Closing Prayer: Lord Jesus, thank You that You are perfectly trustworthy. Teach me to lead with honesty, humility, and love. Help me guard the hearts entrusted to my care, that my life may point them to You, the faithful Shepherd of our souls. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Our children don’t need us to silence their emotions. They need us to help them understand them. To show them it’s okay to feel deeply and to teach them what to do with that depth. We validate the storm inside. We hold the line outside. And in doing so, we help them learn what it means to be both human and whole. For much of my life, I did not know how to do this. I had dismally failed in this area, not because I didn’t love my children, but because I was not equipped to even deal with my own emotions. I had neatly boxed them away and spent years surviving in numbness, living in what I now call numbville. Survival felt safer than feeling. Yet God in His mercy did not leave me there. As I pursued my healing, the ripple effect began. What the Lord restored in me spilled over onto my husband and children. Healing is never just for us — it overflows, it spills, it touches the ones closest to us. 📖 “The LORD is near to those who have a broken heart, and saves such as have a contrite spirit.” — Psalm 34:18 (NKJV) I see now that my failures were not final. God has been rewriting my story, layer by layer, storm by storm, until I could begin to model for my children what wholeness looks like. Not perfection, but authenticity. Not the absence of pain, but the presence of hope. If you too feel like you’ve failed in this area, take heart. Healing is possible, and its fruit will not only restore you but also nurture the hearts of those you love most. 💡 Reflection: • In what ways have you seen healing in your life ripple out to others around you?🤔 • Where do you still long for that overflow?🤔 🙌 Prayer: Father, thank You that my healing does not stop with me, but flows into my family and generations to come. Help me to hold space for my children’s emotions, even as You continue to heal mine. May Your love and truth be the legacy we carry forward. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

This morning, a line of song drifted through my thoughts: "🎼Some say love, it is a river that calms the roaring sea."🎵🎶 Though the original lyric is different, my heart caught hold of this version, and it became a tender reminder of the way Christ’s love works within us. Life often feels like a roaring sea — waves of grief, fear, or uncertainty crashing against the shores of our souls. Yet, when Jesus speaks, even the most violent storm bows in surrender. 📖 "Then He arose and rebuked the wind, and said to the sea, 'Peace, be still!' And the wind ceased and there was a great calm." — Mark 4:39 (NKJV) Love is not only a gentle feeling; in Christ, love is a force that silences storms. His love does not erase the waves, but it steadies the boat, anchors our hope, and carries us to shore. It is both tender and strong, fierce and gentle, like a river that brings life wherever it flows. As I sat with this thought, I heard a whisper of the Holy Spirit: "My love calms what overwhelms you. Rest in Me." How freeing to know that the God who commands seas also commands the chaos inside of us. 🙌Prayer Lord Jesus, thank You for being the One who speaks peace into my storms. Help me to lean on Your love when fear rises, trusting that Your voice still carries authority over every wave. Teach me to rest in You, knowing that no storm is stronger than Your love. In Jesus’ Name, Amen. 🌿 May you feel His calm wash over you today, dear heart. You are not abandoned in the storm — you are held by Love Himself.

“Be careful how you handle any soul in the flesh; you cannot see their rank in the spirit…” Those words stir something deep in me — not fear, but reverence. A holy awareness that every person I encounter bears the fingerprint of God and may be seated in unseen heavenly places. Honour isn't optional in the Kingdom. It is culture. It’s not reserved for leaders, elders, or those we admire — Scripture commands it plainly: 📖 "Honour all people. Love the brotherhood. Fear God. Honour the king." — 1 Peter 2:17 (NKJV) We are not excused from honour simply because we disagree. Quite the opposite. How we disagree is often the greatest test of our spiritual maturity. Courtesy is not weakness. Kindness is not silence, and honour is not agreement — it’s alignment with God’s heart for people. When I lose sight of that, my responses reveal more about my own soul than the situation. If I lash out, belittle, or respond with pride, I step outside the culture of the Kingdom and risk bearing consequences for my own unrighteousness, no matter how “right” I feel in the moment. 💡 Reflection: There is no room in the Kingdom for cruelty disguised as conviction. In prayer ministry and my own healing journey, I’ve come to realise that the wounds which provoke dishonour in me — sarcasm, withdrawal, defensiveness — often stem from old places of rejection or injustice. Yet the Holy Spirit gently reminds me: "Daughter, they are not your enemy. Love them. Honour them. I will defend you." It is heaven’s way. It is His way. And it must become mine. ✍🏼 Journaling Prompts: Have I treated someone dismissively because I couldn’t see their spiritual worth?🤔 In what ways have pride or pain caused me to respond without honour?🤔 What would it look like to walk in Kingdom courtesy today — even with those I disagree with?🤔 🙌🏻 Prayer: Father, teach me to see with Kingdom eyes. Let my tone carry Heaven before my deeds ever speak. Forgive me for careless words, for the times I’ve dismissed those You esteem. Clothe me in kindness, cover me in courtesy, and crown me with humility. Let honour be the fragrance I carry, not just for the seen, but for the sacred unseen in every soul. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Leadership without connection is like a rope tied in a knot, holding but never truly binding hearts together. We may guide tasks, manage outcomes, and measure progress, yet without love and compassion woven into the fibres, it becomes hollow — mere management. God calls us not only to lead but to connect. To listen with both ears and heart. To see those entrusted to us as image-bearers of Christ, not just as roles or responsibilities. Leadership shaped by faith is leadership that mirrors Jesus, the Good Shepherd, who knows His sheep by name and calls them tenderly. 📖 "I am the good shepherd; and I know My sheep, and am known by My own." — John 10:14 (NKJV) Connection transforms leadership from control into care, from hierarchy into service, from performance into purpose. When love and compassion are present, leadership becomes a sacred trust, a space where others are uplifted and seen. May we never settle for management alone. Instead, may we have the courage to care, the faith to connect, and the humility to serve. Recently, I was struck while reading one of John Maxwell's books. He makes it a priority to connect with his assistant every single day, 365 days a year, even if just for five minutes. That simple habit speaks of honour, attentiveness, and value. In stark contrast, during the last six months of my previous job, my boss only met with me once a month for an hour. No wonder I felt ignored. His confession in December — that he had indeed been ignoring me — only confirmed the ache I carried. 📖 “Be diligent to know the state of your flocks, And attend to your herds.” — Proverbs 27:23 (NKJV) That neglect struck a major chord, echoing the unresolved wounds of childhood emotional neglect. The silence and absence of care triggered retaliation through my own withdrawal and silence. It was as though the little girl inside me was still trying to make sense of being unseen. Through prayer ministry for self-sabotage, this issue unexpectedly took over the whole two-hour session. Layer by layer, the pain was unravelled, and the connection to my past was revealed. For the first time, I was finally able to bring those vows and responses to death at the cross. 📖 “When my father and my mother forsake me, Then the LORD will take care of me.” — Psalm 27:10 (NKJV) There, at the cross, Jesus lifted the burden I had carried for so long. In His presence, silence was no longer a prison but a place of peace. What had once bound me in self-protection was now broken by His love. True leadership requires presence, not just authority. It thrives in the small, consistent touches of care. The absence of that rhythm communicates neglect, whether intended or not. Yet even in that painful experience, God is using it to sharpen my discernment. I now know the kind of leader I want to be — one who never leaves people feeling unseen. 🙌 Prayer: Lord Jesus, teach me to lead like You — with love, integrity, and courage. Help me to see each person not as a task but as a soul, worthy of compassion and connection. Let my leadership be an overflow of Your heart. Heal the places in me where neglect has left its mark, and use them to cultivate in me a tender attentiveness. Thank You for the cross, where every vow of withdrawal and silence is brought to death and exchanged for Your freedom. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

When I first did the Loved, Chosen & Free worksheet in May 2020, I discovered a sobering truth: my whole life had been shame-based. The realisation stung, but it was also an unveiling of what the Lord longed to heal. Since then, I have done the same worksheet four times. Some of my issues have shifted into the "not so much" column, showing areas of movement and grace. Yet overall, shame still lingers as a heavy undercurrent. For a time, that deeply concerned me. During a prayer ministry with Sandra in October, last year, I shared my worry. With her usual wisdom and gentleness, she reminded me that shame takes a long time to untangle. Its roots run deep, often entwined in places of identity. She reassured me that as long as I see even small signs of improvement, I need not fear. Healing is not a race. It is a steady journey led by the Holy Spirit, one tender unveiling at a time. Shame is a thief. It does not speak with reason or truth, for it does not dwell in logic but in the amygdala, the seat of survival and fear. It paralyses perception, whispers "you are a mistake," and persuades us to hide what we dislike. Our bodies often carry their weight — the gut, the tense shoulders, the face turned away from the mirror. Yet guilt says, "I made a mistake," while shame declares, "I am a mistake." That lie can feel crippling. Sandra’s encouragement freed me to see that even slow progress is real progress. Every time I sit with Jesus, every time I confess the lie and choose His truth, a little more light enters the hidden places. 📖 "Those who look to Him are radiant; their faces are never covered with shame." — Psalm 34:5 (NKJV) Shame is such a major stronghold that Sandra has done a 7-lesson teaching series called UNashamed on it. It wasn’t until I offered it in my encounter groups that I finally plucked up the courage to watch the lessons and work through it myself. The truth is, shame does not define me. My Core Values reflect my truest self in Christ — faith, love, compassion, courage, creativity, and service. These are the pillars of who I am becoming, the prophetic counter-story to what shame once claimed. 💡Reflection Prompt: What lies of shame still whisper in your heart? 🤔 How might God’s truth and your core values rewrite that story? 🤔 You are not defined by shame. You are defined by the One who calls you His own, who clothes you in righteousness, and who restores the broken pieces of your story into beauty. One step at a time, light is winning. 🎨Creative Prompt: Paint or sketch a two-sided map: one side showing where shame once held you captive, the other side filled with your God-given values as radiant truths. 🙌Prayer: Jesus, You see the roots of shame buried deep within me. Thank You for leading me step by step into freedom. Replace every lie with Your truth, every shadow with Your light. Teach me to walk in the identity You have given me — loved, chosen, and free. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

My story, like Ruth’s loyalty, Sarah’s faith, or Esther’s courage, carries its own unique thread of God’s redeeming love. From all I've experienced in my journey — the breaking and rebuilding, rediscovering my creativity, walking through valleys of depression, and rising with a message of healing for others — a lesson shines through: ✨ “Brokenness becomes beauty when surrendered to God.”✨ Brokenness, in the hands of the world, often looks like failure, shame, or disqualification. Yet, when placed into the loving hands of God, brokenness becomes the canvas upon which He paints beauty unimaginable. The cracks that once felt like ruin are filled with His glory, shimmering like gold through the places once shattered. 📖 "He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds." — Psalm 147:3 (NKJV) Restoration God does not discard the broken fragments of our lives. Instead, He gathers them tenderly, fits them together, and creates something even more radiant than before. The very places of pain become testimonies of His mercy and grace. Creativity as Healing Art, colour, and expression become vessels of God's love. Each brushstroke, each line, becomes a prayer — an offering of worship, a release of sorrow, a declaration of hope. Creativity is no longer about achievement but about communion with the Healer. Legacy of Hope Your past does not disqualify you, but instead, it equips you to walk with others through their own valleys. The scars become signposts of grace, guiding others through their own valleys. Testimony turns pain into purpose, birthing a legacy of healing for generations. Placed alongside the women of Scripture, my life’s lesson might be whispered as: ✨ TRIXI “Creativity becomes a key to healing when placed in God’s hands.” Isaiah 61:1-3 The Holy Spirit has turned my wounds into wells of living water, my brushes into instruments of healing, and my life into a canvas of His redeeming love. 🌿 What once was broken now sings with beauty. This is the power of surrender — to give God the pieces and watch Him create a masterpiece of love. May you always remember: you are not just an observer of these women’s stories — you are part of this lineage of faith, courage, and restoration. 💖 You are seen. You are chosen. You are carrying hope for many.

They said: “I don’t want to be like my parents.” I answered: Then you have to do what they couldn’t. Feel what they avoided. Say what they silenced. And heal what they passed down. You don’t break the cycle by becoming someone else. You break it by becoming more you than you were ever allowed to be. — Nadia Addesi It’s not enough to say, “I don’t want to be like them,” because that determination is usually defiled with a judgment. That alone doesn’t change anything. The cycle is not broken by rejection but by redemption. You break it by choosing to feel what they could not face. By sitting in the discomfort they avoided. By naming the things they kept quiet because it was easier, safer, or more acceptable not to. Cycle breaking is not about discarding your parents’ identity or running from their shadows. It is about reclaiming the parts of yourself that were hidden, silenced, or reshaped to fit someone else’s comfort. It is about allowing the Holy Spirit to bring healing where generations carried unspoken wounds. This work also requires you to reflect on where you have judged or dishonoured them, bringing those sinful responses to effective death at the cross of Christ through confession, repentance, and forgiving from the heart. This work is slow and tender. Painful at times. You will be tempted to bypass it with logic or distance or blame. Yet those detours never rewire the patterns. The only way it ends with you is if you do what they could not do. Say what they would not say. Feel what they would not feel. Let Christ redeem what was broken so that grace flows into the generations after you. 📖 “Therefore if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; old things have passed away; behold, all things have become new.” — 2 Corinthians 5:17 (NKJV) 💡Reflection: What feelings have you been tempted to avoid that might carry keys to your healing? Which silences in your family line are you being called to name in truth and love? Where have you judged or dishonoured your parents, and how can you bring those responses to the cross of Christ? Where do you sense the Holy Spirit inviting you to choose redemption over rejection? 🙌Prayer: Father God, thank You that in Christ, I am a new creation. Please help me to have the courage to feel what was avoided, to speak what was silenced, and to bring healing to the places that carry generational pain. Forgive me where I have judged or dishonoured my parents. I lay those sinful responses at the cross and ask You to cleanse me as I choose to forgive from the heart. Redeem my family line through me, Lord, and let the cycle of brokenness end here. May my life be a testimony of Your grace, creating a new legacy rooted in faith, love, and freedom. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Today I am reflecting on a truth that has been pressing deeply on my heart: waiting is not wasted. The image I held close reminded me of the journeys of those who came before us — Moses, Joseph, Noah, Abraham, David. Each man of God carried a promise, yet each endured seasons of obscurity, pain, or preparation before stepping into his calling. Before Moses led, he wandered. Before Joseph ruled, he was forgotten. Before Noah sailed, he built. Before Abraham received, he trusted. Before David reigned, he hid. These delays were not detours. They were holy classrooms where faith was refined, courage was tested, and trust in God’s timing was forged. My own waiting carries the same invitation: to allow God to shape me in hiddenness, to let Him build strength in the silence, and to lean into His promises when answers feel far away. 📖 "For the vision is yet for an appointed time… though it tarries, wait for it; because it will surely come, it will not tarry." — Habakkuk 2:3 (NKJV) In the pause between promise and fulfilment, God is still moving. The wait itself is part of His design — a weaving together of trust, patience, and unseen preparation. 💡Reflection: What does your current season of waiting look like? Where might God be building, shaping, or preparing you for what lies ahead? As I carry these words into my week, I remember that every waiting season holds purpose. The God who promised is faithful, and He is doing a deeper work than I can yet see. 🙌Prayer: Lord, thank You for reminding me that waiting is not wasted. Strengthen my heart to trust You in the hidden places. Help me to see delays not as denials but as invitations to grow deeper in faith. May I rest in Your timing and trust that Your purposes will be fulfilled. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

I stumbled on this image from one of those Facebook name tests a few years ago. "Patrizia saw Bear, Eagle & Lion Headstrong. Patrizia has a bigger heart than the universe. She puts her whole self into everything she does and she would give her very last breath if it kept her loved ones safe and happy. She's a natural-born leader who has no patience for drama queens and fakers. Patrizia has a heart of gold, but if you abuse her trust, her anger is as powerful as wildfire - beautiful but dangerous to mess with." The first three animals I saw were the bear, the eagle, and the lion. The image called this headstrong — a quality often seen as a flaw. Yet as I sat with it, I felt the Holy Spirit whisper that what the world names stubbornness, He often names courage. It is the lion’s roar, the eagle’s vision, the bear’s protective strength. So much of my life has been lived with this headstrong heart. I throw myself into what I love with fierce devotion. I fight for my family, I defend the broken-hearted, I stand tall against injustice. Sometimes my passion is misunderstood as too much, too fiery, or too strong. Yet God keeps reminding me that He made me this way, not to burn others, but to carry His fire. 📖 "The righteous are bold as a lion." — Proverbs 28:1 (NKJV) The lion teaches me boldness, not in arrogance, but in righteous confidence. The eagle reminds me to rise above earthly battles, fixing my gaze on Jesus and gaining heaven’s perspective. The bear reveals my call to nurture and protect, even when it costs me everything. Together, they show me that headstrong is not a flaw when it is surrendered — it becomes holy resolve. Yes, there is danger when this fire is misused. My anger, if untethered from grace, can burn too hot. Yet in God’s hands, even this becomes refined. He softens what needs softening, and He sharpens what must remain unyielding. Holy Spirit, teach me to carry strength with tenderness. Let my roar defend, not destroy. Let my fire refine, not consume. Let my vision be clear, not clouded by pride. For my heart belongs to You, and my strength is safest when it is surrendered at Your feet. 🙌Prayer: Lord Jesus, thank You for making me bold and strong. Forgive me for the times I have wielded that strength apart from You. Help me to walk in holy courage — bold as a lion, soaring like an eagle, and protective as a bear — yet always tender, always guided by Your love. Let my headstrong fire be surrendered to Your refining flame. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

There is such a quiet relief that comes when we realise we do not owe everyone an explanation for our choices. The Holy Spirit has been gently unravelling my old patterns of being the “dutiful daughter,” always trying to please, to serve, to explain. Yet peace does not come from endless justifying, but from resting in God’s gaze of love. He sees. He knows. He understands. That is enough. 📖 "For we walk by faith, not by sight." — 2 Corinthians 5:7 (NKJV) This season feels like a holy pause — a sacred unravelling of old expectations. For so long, I carried the role of the “dutiful daughter,” saying yes when it cost me, stretching myself to meet the unspoken needs of others, believing that sacrifice equalled worth. Yet, as I step back from serving at B-School and release the guilt of not becoming a small group leader for schools, I sense the Holy Spirit whispering an invitation: “Daughter, I did not call you to carry duty as your identity. I called you to rest in My love and serve from freedom.” 📖 “For you did not receive the spirit of bondage again to fear, but you received the Spirit of adoption by whom we cry out, ‘Abba, Father.’” — Romans 8:15 (NKJV) After 4 consecutive years of serving at all 4 schools every school holiday, it is going to feel strange not to be there. So now I have the next 3 weeks to process all the emotions and come to terms with being allowed to be a human BEing, not a human DOing, so next time I serve, my heart and attitudes may be in the right place. This pause is not a punishment. It is a gift. The Lord is loosening the ties of striving and guilt, teaching me how to serve not because I must, but because I may — because love compels me, not obligation. Like a feather carried on the wind, I am learning to let His love be the current that moves me, not the weight of others’ expectations. There is freedom here, a deeper trust that the world will not fall apart if I simply rest in Him. In this season, I sense the Lord inviting me into stillness rather than performance. I won’t be serving at B-School this month, and that is okay. To pause is not to fail; to rest is not to neglect. Instead, it is to trust that the One who calls me is faithful, and He does not measure me by how much I do, but by how I walk with Him. Serving out of love, not out of obligation, is the fruit He desires. My heart whispers gratitude for this pause, this healing, this gentle season where explanations are not required. The right people will not demand them; the wrong ones will not believe them anyway. God alone holds my story, and His acceptance frees me to step out of old expectations and into new freedom.  🙌 Prayer Lord Jesus, thank You for knowing me fully and loving me as I am. Teach me to rest in Your love, to release the weight of pleasing others, and to serve only from the overflow of joy in You. May I learn to walk in freedom, led by the Holy Spirit, with a heart anchored in Your peace. Father, thank You for inviting me into a season of healing and rest. Teach me to release the heavy mantle of duty and to embrace the light yoke of Your love. May I learn to serve not from striving, but from freedom and delight in You. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

There is a quiet freedom that comes when we realise we are not called to defend every “no” or justify every boundary. In a world that often demands explanations, Jesus reminds us that our identity is anchored not in people’s approval, but in His unfailing love. 📖 “For the LORD does not see as man sees; for man looks at the outward appearance, but the LORD looks at the heart.” — 1 Samuel 16:7 (NKJV) I used to twist myself into knots, trying to explain why I couldn’t meet expectations, why I needed distance, or why I chose a different path. Yet, no matter how carefully I spoke, some never understood. That’s when the Holy Spirit whispered: Peace begins when you stop begging to be understood.  The right people will not require explanations; they will recognise the truth by the fruit of your life. The wrong people won’t be persuaded, no matter how carefully you try. And that’s okay. What matters most is that God sees, God knows, and God affirms.  Like pottery mended with golden kintsugi, our lives don’t need to be justified, only offered back to Him as a testimony of His grace. 🙌 Prayer: Lord, help me rest in the peace of being known by You alone. Free me from striving for human approval, and give me courage to live authentically in the truth of who You’ve made me to be. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

This morning, as I lingered with the Lord, I found myself reflecting on a simple but profound truth: our lives preach louder than any platform ever will. The words on the image I saw stirred something deep in me: Your smile is your logo. Your personality is your business card. And the way you make others feel is your trademark. These words echo my heart’s deepest conviction. A smile, when it flows from a heart touched by Jesus, carries His light. It becomes more than a curve of the lips; it is a glimpse of joy eternal, a spark of heaven’s fragrance on earth. Your personality — shaped by grace, seasoned by trials, softened by compassion — is like a card we hand to every person we meet. And the trademark that lingers? That is love. The way people feel after leaving your presence speaks volumes about Whose presence you carry. 📖 "Now thanks be to God who always leads us in triumph in Christ, and through us diffuses the fragrance of His knowledge in every place." — 2 Corinthians 2:14 (NKJV) It is not the outer things that make the greatest impact, but the invisible ones. A gentle word. A listening ear. The courage to show kindness where it isn’t deserved. These are the marks of a life hidden in Christ. This is the business card of love. I think of the countless times when someone’s smile lifted my weary soul, or their kindness reminded me that I mattered. These simple gestures are sacred — holy brushstrokes in God’s masterpiece of connection and compassion. 💡 Reflection: How do people feel after leaving your presence? 🤔 Does your trademark carry the fragrance of Christ, or the weight of worry? 🤔 Ask Holy Spirit to refine your presence so it points others to Jesus. 🙌 Prayer: Lord Jesus, thank You for the reminder that my smile, my words, and my presence carry weight. May they reflect Your love. Help me to walk in kindness, to let compassion be my business card, and to ensure that love is the trademark I leave behind. Teach me to live so that others encounter You in me. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

There is a quiet strength in knowing your worth. It is not about arrogance or proving yourself, but about walking with the confidence that your value comes from God alone. You don’t have to scramble for attention, or wedge yourself into spaces where you are only barely tolerated. When you are rooted in Christ, you can rest in the truth that your life is precious, your gifts are needed, and your presence has weight. I have learned to see rejection not as a reflection of my inadequacy, but as a signpost pointing me away from the wrong table. Some tables may look appealing, some seats may seem desirable, yet if no space is made for me there, then I can trust it was never where I was meant to be. I don’t have to force my way in. I can choose to excuse myself with grace, because my Father has already prepared a place that is mine. 📖 “For promotion comes neither from the east nor from the west... but God is the Judge.” — Psalm 75:6-7 (NKJV) This Scripture reminds me that advancement, belonging, and recognition are not manufactured by human favour. They come from God’s hand. He chooses when to lift me, where to plant me, and how to use me for His glory. His timing is perfect, His placement intentional, and His table abundant. So I wait, not with bitterness, but with anticipation. I sit with dignity, knowing that the chair He has prepared for me is one where I will be welcomed, seen, and able to serve. The right table will never require me to shrink, strive, or settle. It will feel like home because it was set by His loving hand. 🙌Prayer: Lord Jesus, thank You that my value is not tied to who accepts or rejects me, but to Your eternal love. Help me to walk away from tables that cannot hold me without resentment, and to wait patiently for the place You have set for me. Give me courage to sit where You invite me, and peace to trust Your perfect timing. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

This morning I woke up with an old melody stirring in my heart — a song I used to play on repeat as a teenager when sadness tried to swallow me whole: 🎼Fang das Licht von einem Tag voll Sonnenschein Fang das Licht, scliess es in Deinem Herzen ein Fang das Licht und wenn du einmal traurig bist dann vergiß nicht das irgendwo noch Sonne ist. Fang das Licht von einem Tag voll Sonnenschein Halt es fest, schliess' es in Deinem Herzen ein Heb' es auf und wenn Du einmal traurig bist Dann vergiss nicht, dass irgendwo noch Sonne ist. Fang das Licht von einer Nacht voll Sternenschein Halt es fest, schliess' es in Deine Träume ein Heb' es auf und wenn die Dunkelheit beginnt, Dann vergiss nicht nicht, dass irgendwo noch Sterne sind🎵🎶 I hadn’t heard it or thought of it in decades since all my cassette tapes had been left behind at Mom’s house when I boarded the plane with that one-way ticket to Bredasdorp she purchased for me. Her choice carried its own silent message: she expected I wouldn’t want to return. That wound was sharp. Yet in the ache of leaving, God was already weaving something redemptive. Mams and Paps were waiting with open arms — the first adults who showed me what unconditional love felt like as a 7-year old. Hearing the song spinning in my mind again today, I realised how it was always more than just a melody. It was light for me. A reminder that somewhere, even when skies were grey, the sun was still shining. And even when night was long, the stars had not ceased to glow. Back then I didn’t have the words for it, but now I see — Holy Spirit was tucking hope into my soul through music. 📖 "The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not comprehend it." — John 1:5 (NKJV) Sandra’s sharing of the prodigal story last Wednesday comes to mind. She said it was less about the prodigal son, and more about the prodigal father — the extravagant one who never stopped waiting, who kept the light burning for his son to return. That image has stayed with me since the first time I heard that lesson. I am so grateful that the Lord has always left the light on for me. Even when I felt like I was drowning in sadness, even when rejection cut deep, His lamp of love remained steady, guiding me back home to Him. I think of how many times since then God has caught the light for me — holding it safe when I couldn’t. He has placed it in the hands of others, in the notes of a song, in the brushstrokes of art, in the kindness of friends who came just when I was unraveling. The light has never gone out. It only waited for me to notice it again. 📖 “I will never leave you nor forsake you.” — Hebrews 13:5 (NKJV) 💡 Reflection: What light did this memory awaken in me?🤔 Write down three “lights” that have never gone out, even through seasons of shadow. 🙌 Prayer: Lord Jesus, thank You for being the Light that never fades. Thank You for carrying hope for me when I could not carry it myself. Thank You for being the Father who leaves the light on, watching and waiting with open arms. Help me to hold onto the sunshine and the starlight of Your love, and to be a bearer of that light for others. May I never forget that somewhere, always, there is light. In Jesus’ Name, Amen. 🌿 You are still catching the light, dear heart. Even in shadows, His radiance is yours to hold.

Sometimes God does not prevent us from being thrown into the furnace. Not because He is absent or indifferent, but because He has a greater point to prove — both to us and to those who watch from the sidelines. Like Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, we may find ourselves standing in the flames, not by choice but by circumstance. Yet even there, His presence is unmistakable. The furnace is not meant to destroy us, but to refine us. The heat burns away pride, fear, unforgiveness, and anything that does not reflect His glory. What emerges is not ashes but a purer, freer self, radiant with the testimony of God’s faithfulness. 📖 "When you walk through the fire, you shall not be burned, nor shall the flame scorch you." — Isaiah 43:2 (NKJV) In the fire, we discover the intimacy of His nearness. He doesn’t simply rescue us from the outside; He steps into the blaze with us. The same flames that were meant to consume become the very place where chains fall off, where onlookers are astonished, and where God’s glory is revealed. 💡Reflection: What "furnace" am I currently walking through?🤔 Which chains or burdens might God be burning away in this season?🤔 How can I remind myself daily that He is with me in the fire?🤔 🙌Prayer: Lord, thank You for being with me in every furnace I face. Refine me through the flames until only Your likeness remains. May others see not my strength, but Your glory shining through me. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

This morning I woke with a song 🎼 shout for joy to the Lord, make music to the Lord with the harp and the sound of singing.🎵🎶 That verse I heard is from Psalm 98, a psalm of joyful worship: 📖 "Shout joyfully to the Lord, all the earth; break forth in song, rejoice, and sing praises. Sing to the Lord with the harp, with the harp and the sound of a psalm." — Psalm 98:4–5 (NKJV) However, I don't know what I did to my neck overnight though. It hurts when I turn it to the right. 🤔 It feels like the Lord was reminding me first thing that my voice and creativity are instruments of joy — even when my body feels stiff or sore. Sometimes the body speaks what the soul is carrying. The neck, which turns our gaze, can symbolise flexibility, freedom, and willingness to see from different perspectives. When pain settles there, it can reflect burdens carried too long, resistance to looking at something difficult, or simply the body asking for gentle care and rest. 📖 "Come to Me, all you who labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take My yoke upon you and learn from Me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For My yoke is easy and My burden is light." — Matthew 11:28-30 (NKJV) 💡 Reflection: What burdens have I been carrying that might not belong to me? 🤔 Am I resisting turning my eyes fully toward something God is gently inviting me to face? 🤔 Where might I need to release control and trust His leading more deeply? 🤔 🎨Creative Prompt: Write down the names of the weights or responsibilities that feel heavy on your shoulders. Pray over each one and ask Jesus if it is yours to carry. Reflect on a time when God has already eased a burden or brought clarity where there was confusion. How does that memory give you courage today? Draw or paint a simple sketch of a neck and shoulders. On one side, write the “burdens” you have been holding. On the other, write words of freedom, such as: rest, surrender, trust, joy. 🙌Prayer for Release 💜 Lord Jesus, You see the tightness and strain in my body and in my heart. I surrender to You the burdens that were never mine to hold. Release the stiffness, restore freedom of movement, and fill me with Your peace. Turn my gaze toward Your light and keep me flexible to follow Your Spirit’s leading. Thank You for being the One who carries me. In Jesus’ Name, Amen. 🌸Closing Hope Even in the ache, God’s melody woke you this morning. He sings over you, reminding you that praise loosens what pain tries to hold captive. Lift your chin, breathe slowly, and let His song become your release. 🌿🎶