There is a quiet ache in realising that loyalty, as precious as it is, can be misplaced. We sometimes cling tightly to friendships, relationships, or commitments long after the other person has already let go. Our hearts, stitched with threads of faithfulness, do not easily unravel. Yet when loyalty becomes one-sided, it turns from beauty into burden. Loyalty, in its truest sense, reflects the very heart of God — steadfast, unchanging, and faithful. 📖 "Through the Lord’s mercies we are not consumed, because His compassions fail not. They are new every morning; great is Your faithfulness." — Lamentations 3:22–23 (NKJV). His loyalty never expires, but human loyalty is fragile. It withers when not nurtured with respect, consistency, and love. To stay loyal when the other person has withdrawn is not godly sacrifice; it is self-neglect. Jesus never called us to tie ourselves to places of dishonour, where kindness is abused and peace is stolen. Instead, He invites us to discernment — to release with grace what is no longer life-giving and to make room for relationships where mutual honour can flourish. It takes courage to say, “This season has ended.” It feels like breaking pottery in your hands, jagged edges cutting the skin of your soul. Yet even in that breaking, God mends with His golden grace, just as in the art of kintsugi. What was once fractured can become more beautiful in His restoring hands. Your loyalty is not wasted when you let go. It becomes seed sown — a testimony that you are a person of integrity, even if the other chose differently. As you release expired loyalties, you create sacred space for new connections that will value your presence, echo your love, and reflect your faithfulness. ✍Journaling Prompts: Where in my life have I been holding on to expired loyalties?What does mutual loyalty look like to me?How can I invite Holy Spirit to help me release relationships that no longer honour my presence? 🙌Prayer: Father, thank You for teaching me the value of loyalty. Help me to see clearly where my loyalty has been misused or unappreciated. Give me courage to release what has expired, and grace to walk forward without bitterness. Mend the broken places with Your golden love and bring people into my life who will honour the gift of loyalty. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

They said: "Hurt people hurt people." I answered: Not always. Some hurt people spend their lives making sure no one else feels what they did. Some break cycles. Some build safe spaces. Some turn pain into purpose. Hurt people don’t just hurt people. Hurt people heal people too. Some become more patient. Some become more intentional. They move through the world carefully because they know what it feels like to be on the receiving end of someone else’s pain. They hold back words until they’re sure those words won’t wound. They overthink before they act. They hold space with tenderness. It’s not because they’re naturally better at it—it’s because they’ve lived through the ache of being around someone who never learned how to deal with their own pain. At the same time, it is true that some hurt people do cause harm. Some lash out. Some withdraw. Some repeat the only patterns they know because their nervous system recognises chaos as home. Pain can echo, or it can be redeemed. It’s not black and white. Hurt doesn’t always multiply hurt. Sometimes it awakens awareness. Sometimes it builds havens of safety. Sometimes it shapes people who are fiercely committed to being nothing like what they grew up with. Pain, when surrendered to God, becomes a seed that births compassion. What someone does with it depends on what they’ve learned, what they’ve been given, and how far they’ve walked with Him. 📖 “He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.” — Psalm 147:3 (NKJV) My Healing 💔heARTs 💖 Mission My mission with Healing 💔heARTs💖 is simple yet sacred: to change the world one broken heart at a time. Through creativity, compassion, and Christ-centred healing, I seek to create safe spaces where pain is not wasted but transformed. Broken pieces become mosaics of beauty, tears become rivers of restoration, and stories once silenced become testimonies of hope. ✍️Journaling Prompts: • In what ways have I turned my pain into purpose or safety for others? • Are there places where unhealed hurt still spills over into my relationships? • How might I invite Holy Spirit into those tender places today? 🙌Prayer: Lord Jesus, You know the hidden places where hurt still lingers. Thank You for meeting me there, not with condemnation but with healing. Teach me to choose love instead of repeating cycles of pain. Shape my scars into wells of compassion, that others may find safety and hope through You. In Jesus’ Name, Amen. ✨ You are not only the product of your pain, dear one. You are a carrier of His healing presence. Your story can become a refuge for others.

Sometimes the path ahead feels like mist rising from the valley floor—there is vision of a destination, but no clarity of the steps leading there. I find myself waiting for a map, longing for directions, yet the Lord gently reminds me that His presence is the only compass I truly need. 📖 "And the Lord, He is the One who goes before you. He will be with you, He will not leave you nor forsake you; do not fear nor be dismayed.” — Deuteronomy 31:8 (NKJV) When I picture God walking before me, I see His steady form ahead, like a shepherd leading the way. The path itself shifts and unfolds only as I move forward, each stone appearing as my foot lifts in faith. His Word shines just enough light for the step I’m on, never the whole journey at once. 📖 "Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path." — Psalm 119:105 (NKJV) He rarely floods the whole path with light, but He gives us just enough to take the next faithful step. Like walking a candlelit trail — you can’t see the whole journey, only the stone in front of you. This requires trust — trust that He knows the road even when I do not, trust that His hand will steady me when the ground feels uneven, trust that His timing is perfect and trust that His light won’t go out. 📖 “For we walk by faith, not by sight.” — 2 Corinthians 5:7 (NKJV) My values remind me what this pathway looks like: Faith first — I walk by faith, not sight, trusting that God’s leading is enough. Love & compassion as paving stones — every act of kindness and service becomes a step forward. Creativity as markers — the art and words I release are like trail signs pointing toward hope. Courage as a lantern — even when the fog hides the turn ahead, courage shines enough light to take the next step. Like Israel following the pillar of cloud and fire, I am called to follow, not to control. The path is revealed in the walking, not the waiting. He gives me just enough light for today, and that is enough. 🙌A Pathway Prayer: Lord, You are the One who goes before me. When I feel lost or overwhelmed by the unknown, remind me that I am not called to see the whole journey but to stay close to You. Place courage in my heart when the way feels hidden. Help me to notice the small stepping stones—acts of love, creativity, and service—that move me closer to Your vision. Thank You for being my lamp and my guide, giving me just enough light for the step I’m on. In Jesus’ Name, Amen. 💡Reflection: What does the “big vision” God has shown me look like?🤔 Write it down. Where do I already see small stepping stones of love, service, or creativity that could be part of the path? 🤔 How can I shift my focus from trying to see the whole way to simply trusting the One who leads me? 🤔 ✨ Affirmation: I don’t need to see the entire road. My Shepherd walks before me, and step by step, He gives me enough light to keep moving forward.

📖 "For we walk by faith, not by sight." — 2 Corinthians 5:7 (NKJV) Holy Spirit, my Helper, thank You for stooping down to meet me where I am. In moments where my knees shake and my heart quivers, You come alongside, whispering truth and steadying my spirit. Thank You for Your gentleness that lifts me up, for Your peace that anchors me, and for Your love that never lets me go. Teach me to rest in Your sufficiency and to see my weakness as the very place Your glory shines. 📖 "Now hope does not disappoint, because the love of God has been poured out in our hearts by the Holy Spirit who was given to us." — Romans 5:5 (NKJV) 🎵🎶 Holy Spirit, move me now, make my life whole again. Spirit move over me. Would You come into every area of my life where there is lack? Would You fill it? Fill it with Your blessing. Pour Your oil of joy. Thank You for a garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness. Thank You for a brand new day, for giving me life in a brand new way. Thank You. Many of us wrestle with those same feelings of inadequacy, especially when we long to serve well and not burden others. Yet Scripture gently reminds us that weakness is not a flaw to hide, but the very soil where God’s grace takes root. 📖 "And He said to me, My grace is sufficient for you, for My strength is made perfect in weakness." — 2 Corinthians 12:9 (NKJV) When you hesitate to ask a question, it may feel like you’re exposing a lack. Yet from heaven’s perspective, you’re creating an opening for connection, humility, and growth. Questions are not evidence of insufficiency; they are bridges — doorways that invite deeper relationship, understanding, and dependence on Holy Spirit. Think of a child asking their father, “Why?🤔” That question is not a sign of failure but of trust. The Father never rebukes us for leaning in, for seeking clarity, or for needing reassurance. He delights when His children come close. In ministry, asking questions can feel like a trembling step. Yet those very questions may create a safe space for others to share their hearts honestly. Your weakness becomes the doorway for God’s glory to shine, and His strength steadies the trembling places. 📖 "Through the Lord’s mercies we are not consumed, because His compassions fail not. They are new every morning; great is Your faithfulness." — Lamentations 3:22–23 (NKJV) ✨ Journaling Prompts Where do I feel most weak today, and how might God’s strength be revealed in that place?🤔 How have I experienced the Holy Spirit stooping down to meet me in moments of trembling?🤔 What does “a garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness” look like in my life right now?🤔 In what ways can I let go of striving and lean into His sufficiency?🤔 How might I serve others this week out of the overflow of His grace, rather than my own effort?🤔 When I read that “the love of God has been poured into my heart,” what picture or sensation rises within me?🤔 Where have I seen His mercies appear “new every morning” in my life recently?🤔 🙌Prayer: Jesus, stand beside me, guide me as I live my life. Teach me what I need to know, help me with my work. Let me serve You and others, that I may be worthy of God's grace. Holy Spirit, pour Your love afresh into my heart today. Wash over the places that still ache from rejection and silence. Let Your comfort meet the little girl within me who once felt unworthy of asking. Transform her tears into hope that does not disappoint. Teach me to live from overflow, not emptiness, and to offer others the same comfort You so tenderly give me. Father, thank You for the garment of praise You offer me in place of heaviness. Teach me to clothe myself daily with gratitude for Your mercies, faithfulness, and sustaining presence. Even in the furnace of cleansing, help me to lift my eyes to You, trusting that the fire is refining and not destroying. Wrap me in Your love, and let my praise rise as a fragrance pleasing to You. In Jesus’ Name, Amen. 🗣Affirmation of Hope: I am clothed in His mercies, strengthened in my weakness, and filled with His unfailing love. Each day I rise with new hope, wrapped in a garment of praise.

Teaching people how to regulate emotions is not a luxury, nor is it an optional skill for a select few. It is crime prevention. It is addiction prevention. It is suicide prevention. It is generational healing. When we equip hearts with tools to navigate emotions, we change the trajectory of families, communities, and nations. Without this foundation, we raise adults who implode, explode, or shut down at the first sign of discomfort. With it, we raise people who can pause, breathe, reflect, and respond with grace instead of violence. Emotional regulation is not just a "soft skill." It is survival. It is how we cultivate a society where disagreements don’t lead to dehumanisation, where accountability is not mistaken for attack, and where conflict doesn’t have to end in violence. 📖 "So then, let us pursue the things which make for peace and the building up of one another." — Romans 14:19 (NKJV) To be quite honest, this is an area I have struggled with all my life. I learnt early on to box my emotions, because to me emotions weren’t safe. I didn’t get angry often, but when I did, it was like a volcano erupting — years of suppressed pain bursting forth. Slowly, with the tender leading of Holy Spirit, I am learning that emotions are not my enemy. They are signals, invitations to pause, to feel, to bring what is stirred up into the presence of God. Instead of fearing them, I am discovering how to steward them with gentleness and grace. I am also learning to righteously express my emotions — not in destructive ways, but in ways that honour God, protect relationships, and release truth with love. Imagine a world where children are taught to name their feelings instead of being shamed for them, where young adults are taught that tears are not weakness, and where leaders model how to process anger without destruction. This is the soil in which wholeness grows. This is the path toward cycles of blessing rather than cycles of brokenness. 🙌Prayer: Lord Jesus, teach us to walk in Your ways of peace. Help us to be tender with the tender-hearted, patient with the struggling, and gracious with ourselves. May we be people who carry Your love into our conversations and conflicts. Heal the places in us that learned to fear our emotions, and instead, let Your Spirit guide us into freedom and self-control. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

There was a time when I felt the need to pour out long explanations, desperately trying to make others understand my heart. I would string together paragraphs, hoping that the weight of my words could bridge the gap between my soul and theirs. Yet, in the process, I drained myself. Now, I have learned that the ones who truly care do not require essays to validate my feelings. The right people listen even when I speak in whispers. They see the meaning behind my silence, noticing the tender places I cannot always explain. With them, I am not required to beg for understanding, because love makes room for both my words and my quiet. It has taken years to release the urge to over-explain, but freedom came in realising this: love that demands constant proof is not love at all. Care that requires endless paragraphs is not care but performance. Real love is safe. It holds space for my pauses, my silences, my trembling attempts at expression. It is found in the presence of those who meet me halfway, who choose to lean in rather than turn away. 📖 "Let every man be swift to hear, slow to speak, slow to wrath." — James 1:19 (NKJV) This Scripture reminds me that listening is an act of love. Those who love us well will listen deeply, without rushing, without demanding explanation after explanation. They will notice the quiet parts of us and cherish them, even when words fail. Today, I rest in the comfort of knowing that I do not have to force anyone to hear me. My worth is not measured by how many words I speak, but by the truth that I am fully seen and loved by God. He hears even the prayers I cannot utter, the sighs of my soul, and He calls me beloved. 🙏 Prayer: Lord Jesus, thank You for the safety of Your love, where I do not need to prove myself or explain endlessly to be understood. Help me rest in the assurance that You see the hidden places of my heart, and that those who are meant to walk with me will recognise both my words and my silences as valuable. Teach me to love others with that same quiet attentiveness. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

People sometimes say, “You could’ve talked to me.” Yet what they really mean is, you could’ve stepped into a space where your words would be dismissed, twisted, or used against you. That’s not conversation, that’s survival mode. True dialogue requires humility and accountability, but without those, every exchange feels like a courtroom cross-examination, not a safe place to be seen. I’ve learned that when accountability isn’t part of someone’s language, every attempt at honesty becomes a trap. Words lose their meaning, responsibility is deflected, and the tables are turned until the other person is somehow the victim and you are painted as the villain. It leaves you drained, unheard, and carrying a weight that was never yours to bear. 📖 “Do not be deceived: God is not mocked; for whatever a man sows, that he will also reap.” — Galatians 6:7 (NKJV) God calls us to walk in truth. He calls us to bear one another’s burdens, yes, but not to carry false guilt or step into endless cycles of misunderstanding. Protecting your peace is not selfish — it is stewardship. It is recognising that you do not owe explanations to those who are committed to misunderstanding you. You do not owe your clarity or your energy to someone who only shows up to argue, defend, and win. Instead, you owe your heart the safety of peace, the gentleness of truth, and the grace of boundaries. You owe yourself the still waters where healing can take root, not the storm of endless strife. Protecting your peace is not walking away from love; it is walking towards the kind of love that is safe, pure, and anchored in Christ. ✨ Today I remind myself: I choose peace. I choose accountability in my relationships. I choose to let honesty be the language of love, and when that language is absent, I choose not to translate chaos into my soul. 🙌Prayer: Lord Jesus, thank You for being my peace when words fall short and conversations turn into battlegrounds. Teach me to walk in wisdom, to know when to speak and when to stay silent, and to guard my heart without hardening it. Help me to forgive quickly, to set boundaries kindly, and to keep my eyes fixed on You — the One who never misunderstands me. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Respect is the glue that holds relationships, teams, and organisations together. In the Kingdom of God, respect is not optional — it is a reflection of His heart. A culture of kindness, dignity, honour, and respect mirrors the very character of Jesus, who treated each person with worth, even in disagreement. Disagreements will always come. Yet we are called to engage in them with honour, remembering that unity does not require uniformity. Respect allows us to speak truth in love, without tearing one another down. When we hold fast to respect, we create spaces where honesty and safety flourish, where hearts can be both heard and healed. 📖 "Let nothing be done through selfish ambition or conceit, but in lowliness of mind let each esteem others better than himself." — Philippians 2:3 (NKJV) Respect builds trust. It restores what has been broken and allows growth to thrive. Without it, relationships fray, teams splinter, and communities weaken. With it, God’s Kingdom culture thrives — filled with compassion, courage, and integrity. 🙌Prayer Holy Spirit, help me to carry a heart of honour in all my relationships. Teach me to value others as You do, to listen with patience, and to speak with kindness. May respect be the atmosphere I carry into every space, reflecting Your Kingdom culture wherever I go. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Everybody is creative. This is not a privilege reserved for a chosen few, nor is it limited to artists, writers, or musicians. Creativity is woven into the very fabric of who we are because we were made in the image of a Creator God. It is the imprint of His nature upon us. 📖 "So God created man in His own image; in the image of God He created him; male and female He created them." — Genesis 1:27 (NKJV) As children, we live this truth freely. Every child sings boldly, dances without hesitation, scribbles colour across pages, and paints with fearless strokes. With no thought of comparison or judgement, they create because it is in their nature to do so. Their art may be messy, their voices imperfect, their dances untrained — yet they are expressions of joy, authenticity, and freedom. Somewhere along the way, many of us begin to shrink back. A careless word, a lack of encouragement, or a moment when someone told us our drawing looked wrong or our song was out of tune begins to silence the vibrant expression we once carried so naturally. Slowly, the crayons are put away, the dancing stops, and the songs fall quiet. What once flowed with ease becomes guarded, hidden, or forgotten. Yet the truth remains: the spark of creativity never disappears. It may lie dormant under layers of fear, shame, or self-doubt, but it is still there — waiting to be rekindled. When you find the creative venture that makes your soul sing, whether painting, gardening, writing, cooking, building, or problem-solving, you rediscover the childlike joy that once came so easily. You step into a space where peace steadies you, joy overflows, and purpose ignites. Creativity is not about perfection. It is about expression. It is about reflecting God’s beauty and truth through the unique gifts He has placed in you. The world does not need polished copies; it longs for authentic voices and genuine colours — your colours. ✨ Prayer: Lord, thank You for planting creativity within me as a reflection of Your image. Heal the places where discouragement or harsh words silenced my expression. Awaken in me once again the freedom of a child — to sing, dance, paint, and create without fear. May my creativity glorify You and bring healing, joy, and hope to others. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

This morning's Business Leaders Breakfast left me feeling scraped raw, as though someone had taken a grater to my heart. The conversation circled around the power of asking questions — how great leaders are those who ask, listen, and draw people out. It sounds so simple, so natural, yet for me it felt like sitting under a spotlight, exposed. Because here’s my truth: I learned very early that asking questions was not safe. Questions were punished with cold water, broken crockery, angry silences. Questions marked me as needy, inconvenient, or defiant. Even now, decades later, I feel that same knot in my stomach when I want to ask. To speak curiosity aloud still feels like a risk I might pay dearly for. When I shared that struggle in the group, my voice trembled. I half-expected dismissal or awkward silence. Instead, the conversation softened. Someone reminded mentioned the wound so many carry having been raised with "children should be seen, not heard". Another nodded knowingly. My confession had unearthed a hidden truth many hold but rarely name. Yet the weight lingered. by the time we broke into groups for prayer, my heart felt so heavy that I asked for prayer. I left that meeting unsettled, and later, I couldn't get settled down to focus on my work. Eventually I headed downstairs my “thinking chair”. Tears came. I called Clive, and in his usual way, he made space for me to unravel — even threatening to do his “grumpy dance” to make me smile. That tenderness reminded me: safe people exist. Questions may once have been dangerous, but not all spaces are like that anymore. 📖 "Call to Me, and I will answer you, and show you great and mighty things, which you do not know." — Jeremiah 33:3 (NKJV) God is not threatened by my questions. He welcomes them, even treasures them. He does not snap, punish, or turn away. Instead, He bends close, listens, and answers with wisdom far beyond what I could grasp alone. If the King of the universe invites me to ask, then perhaps learning to ask again is not just healing but holy. Maybe questions are not weakness at all. Maybe they are doorways into connection, into understanding, into grace. Healing begins here — not in silencing the trembling voice, but in daring to ask again, trusting that love will meet me there. 🙏 Prayer Lord Jesus, You know the wounds that taught me to stay silent. Heal the fear that still lingers when I long to ask, to seek, to knock. Teach me that in Your Kingdom, curiosity is not punished but welcomed. Give me courage to bring my questions to You first, and then to safe people You place in my path. May every question become a step into deeper relationship, both with You and with those I love. In Jesus’ Name, Amen. You are not alone if asking feels risky. You are seen, heard, and held by the One who delights in your voice. May you find courage today to whisper your questions, trusting that the God who calls you beloved will always answer with love.

I’ve learned not to hold people hostage to who they used to be. We all carry versions of ourselves that no longer fit — the mistakes we made, the things we didn’t know, the pain we caused when we didn’t yet understand our own. I’ve seen how easily someone can be reduced to their worst moment, how quickly a past version becomes the only version others choose to remember. Yet the truth is, people outgrow their old skin. They stumble, they learn, and if life allows, they try to do better. They grow. They change. We all have chapters we wish we could rewrite. That doesn’t mean we haven’t earned the right to start a new one. I’ve seen friends become softer, more patient. I’ve seen people who once lived in chaos become anchors for others. Growth isn’t always loud or dramatic—it’s often quiet, steady, unglamorous. But it’s real, and when we dismiss someone for who they were, we miss out on who they’ve worked so hard to become. No one should be permanently defined by a version of themselves they’ve already outgrown. We’re all in motion, figuring things out, trying again. And if we can give that grace to ourselves, we should be willing to offer it to others, too. I, too, have changed drastically over the past five years and would not appreciate being labelled for who I once was. My heart, my faith and my understanding have deepened, and though I still stumble, I know God is shaping me daily into someone new. 📖 “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) 🙌Prayer: Lord, help me to extend grace to others as You have extended grace to me. Teach me to see beyond the past into the new work You are doing in each life. May I never reduce someone to who they once were, but instead celebrate the quiet miracles of growth You bring forth in their story. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

As children, many of us learned that silence was survival. Staying quiet kept the peace, kept us safe, kept us small enough not to be noticed. Silence was our armour, fragile yet necessary in the chaos. Yet what once protected can later imprison. Silence in adulthood no longer shields us — it isolates us. It costs us our truth, our boundaries, our ability to be fully seen. That is why finding your voice — trembling, shaky, or loud — is revolutionary. It is not only about speaking up, it is about reclaiming safety in a new way: standing in truth instead of shrinking from it. 📖 "For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind." — 2 Timothy 1:7 (NKJV) As parents, this choice carries even greater weight. When we use our voices with honesty and respect, our children learn that safety is not found in silence but in authenticity. They learn that love does not demand they mute themselves to be accepted — they can speak, cry, question, or even disagree and still belong. Every time we choose voice over silence, we are not only healing ourselves, we are breaking generational cycles. We are teaching the next generation that their truth is not a threat but their power. May we courageously model this: voices steady with grace, seasoned with love, and grounded in Christ. For in Him, our words do not destroy, they build. They light the way for freedom and belonging. Prayer Holy Spirit, help me to use my voice with courage and tenderness. Heal the places where silence became my safety, and teach me how to walk in the freedom of truth. May my words bring life, healing, and safety to others — especially to the children watching me. In Jesus’ Name, Amen. 🌿 You are not too small. You are not too much. You are seen, heard, and cherished by the One who calls you His own. Let your voice rise, for it carries His truth.

“Always remember you are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think.” This is a truth I have wrestled with for most of my life. I sometimes downplay my speaking gift, seeing myself more as an artist than a communicator. I wrestle with the bigness of my mission — “change the world 🌍 one broken 💔heart💖 at a time” — and wonder if I am really capable. I hold back certain dreams — books, wider stages, global ministry reach — because they feel almost too audacious. Making waves feels like a tall order for someone who was raised to shut up and do as told. Yet the Holy Spirit keeps reminding me that waves are not always violent storms. Sometimes they are gentle ripples that slowly, steadily reshape a shoreline. 📖 “Open your mouth wide, and I will fill it.” — Psalm 81:10 (NKJV) My upbringing may have trained me into silence, but my new life in Christ has rewritten the story. The waves I am called to make are not born of rebellion, but of obedience. They come from the courage to speak when prompted, the tenderness to paint healing where there was once shame, and the boldness to stand when silence would be easier. Even the smallest ripple of obedience can grow into waves that reach shores I may never see. That is the beauty of Kingdom impact — it multiplies beyond my sight. My art speaks, my words paint, and together they tell the story of the broken being made whole. 📖 “Now to Him who is able to do exceedingly abundantly above all that we ask or think, according to the power that works in us.” — Ephesians 3:20 (NKJV) I am not either an artist or a communicator. I am a storyteller of redemption, through every medium He places in my hands. I don’t need to roar to make waves. Sometimes my whisper, my brushstroke, or my written word is enough to stir the waters of someone’s heart. Each act of love, each testimony of healing, each truth spoken in faith is a wave already in motion. 🙌Prayer Lord Jesus, thank You that You rewrite my story. Where silence once ruled, may Your courage flow. Where fear tries to hold me back, let obedience carry me forward. Help me trust that even the smallest ripple can grow into Kingdom waves. Use my voice, my brush, my pen to reach the broken-hearted with Your healing love. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

For most of my life, silence was survival. As a little girl, I learned that crying only led to punishment, that asking questions was dangerous, and that speaking up risked rejection. My earliest memories are cold water, broken crockery, hiding in cupboards — moments that told me my voice had no value. That lie stayed with me for decades. It’s why public speaking feels like standing exposed under a harsh light, why even recording myself feels unbearable. Deep inside, there’s still that little girl who fears that if she speaks too much, she’ll be ignored, shamed, or cast aside. When Ashish asked me at The Gathering about my public speaking, I admitted it’s not the stage that frightens me most — it’s my own voice. Listening to it still feels foreign, uncomfortable, almost unsafe. Yet, slowly, God is unravelling the silence. He’s been showing me that connection is not just my message, it’s my calling. As I process my story in writing, prayer, and in the safe circle of ministry groups, I’m learning to risk more — to ask questions, to receive kindness, to let others in. Even something as small as saying “yes, please” to a cup of tea has become a milestone of growth. 📖 "The Lord your God in your midst, the Mighty One, will save; He will rejoice over you with gladness, He will quiet you with His love, He will rejoice over you with singing." — Zephaniah 3:17 (NKJV) This week, my focus has been on the challenge of asking questions. I keep hearing that good leaders ask good questions. Yet for me, this feels like standing at the edge of a cliff — both longing to step forward and fearing the fall. When I share something I've been told with Clive, he can so naturally ask, “So what? And what about this? And what about that?” But when I hear him, I freeze. I find myself thinking, Do I look like a reporter? I don’t know how to frame the questions, even though I desperately want to understand and connect. It’s not a lack of curiosity; it’s the weight of a wound. As a prayer minister, this becomes even harder. A two-hour ministry session relies heavily on asking questions — 90% of the time is spent listening, discerning, and gently inviting the person to go deeper through the right questions. And sometimes I feel paralysed by it, worried that I won’t find the words, that my silence will betray my inadequacy. The truth is, the struggle to ask questions is deeply connected to my struggle with speaking at all. Both are rooted in the same soil — the childhood decision that my voice had no value, that silence was safer. Yet, I sense God’s invitation here. Not to shame myself for hesitating, but to see this as another layer of healing He is unwrapping. Each small step matters — whether it’s saying yes to a cup of tea, daring to speak in front of others, or formulating one simple question in prayer ministry. It is growth. It is learning. It is healing. 📖 "If any of you lacks wisdom, let him ask of God, who gives to all liberally and without reproach, and it will be given to him." — James 1:5 (NKJV) I may not yet feel confident in asking people questions, but I am learning to ask God. And perhaps that is the first, most important step. I see now that rejection has many layers, and healing comes in many layers too. Every conversation, every prayer session, every trembling step into vulnerability is another stone rolled away from the tomb of silence. God is teaching me that my voice does have value — not because it’s polished or perfect, but because it carries His story of redemption. If He can lift a girl who once believed she was a mistake into a woman who now stands and speaks of hope, then there is no wound too deep, no silence too strong for His love to redeem. So I keep speaking — haltingly, imperfectly, but faithfully — trusting that every word is another seed of connection.

We often think of healing as armour — a way of fortifying ourselves to withstand pain, anxiety, and sorrow. Yet for many of us, pain has become a familiar companion, something our bodies and souls have long adapted to. The unfamiliar guest is joy. Happiness can feel almost threatening because it asks us to trust, to open, to receive. 📖 "You will show me the path of life; In Your presence is fullness of joy; At Your right hand are pleasures forevermore." — Psalm 16:11 (NKJV) I recognise this in my own journey. Trauma taught me to expect loss, to anticipate disappointment, and to brace for rejection. In some ways, I learned to survive sorrow more easily than to rest in joy. Joy requires vulnerability. It asks me to believe that goodness will not be ripped away. It invites me to accept that beauty can remain without being broken. This is why healing is not just about patching up wounds but about preparing the heart to receive. Like soil softened after a long drought, healing tills the ground so seeds of joy may finally take root. Healing teaches me to say yes to laughter without fearing it will vanish, yes to peace without questioning its permanence, and yes to love without doubting my worthiness. It is the courage to hold joy gently in open hands rather than gripping it tight in fear of losing it. 🌿 Prayer: Lord Jesus, teach me to be as open to joy as I once was to sorrow. Break the lie that happiness is fleeting and unsafe. Heal me so that I may not only endure pain but also fully embrace joy, love, and hope. In Jesus’ Name, Amen. May you know today that you are not only surviving — you are becoming a vessel strong enough to hold joy, beauty, and peace without apology. You are worthy of happiness that lasts.

Our values are like the unseen roots of a tree — they anchor us when storms come and quietly nourish the fruit of our lives. When they are rooted in Christ, every decision, relationship, and act of service grows from a place of love, faith, and integrity. This picture of a heart-shaped tree is a reminder that what is hidden in our foundation will always shape what blooms in our branches. Just as a tree draws life from its roots and spreads its branches wide, so our lives flourish when grounded in the values Christ calls us to live by. These values shape how we love, serve, and walk with integrity each day. They are not simply aspirations but guiding truths that keep us steady in every season. 🌳 Faith — The centre and anchor of life. Faith is the root system that draws deeply from God’s living water. Without it, nothing else holds. With it, every other value finds its strength. 🌱 Love & Integrity — The deep roots that uphold all else. Love compels us to give, while integrity ensures we walk honestly before God and people. These roots create a foundation that can withstand pressure and testing. 🍃 Family — Cherishing meaningful connections. Family, both biological and spiritual, provides the canopy of belonging. It reminds us that relationships are God’s chosen place for nurture, forgiveness, and joy. 🍃 Creativity — Bringing joy, healing, and expression. Creativity is like blossoms on the branches, surprising us with colour and fragrance. It is God’s gift to restore beauty where there was once only brokenness. 🍃 Rest — Valuing balance and replenishment. Rest is the quiet rhythm of the tree, a pause between seasons of growth. It is essential for sustaining health and offering shade to others without becoming depleted ourselves. 🍃 Growth — Pursuing continual learning and transformation. Growth is the stretching of branches towards the light. It represents the willingness to keep reaching higher, trusting that God is shaping us through every stage. 🍃 Freedom — Living authentically in alignment with God’s calling. Freedom is like the open space around the tree, allowing us to stand tall without being confined. It gives us the courage to live honestly and joyfully. 🍃 Courage — Standing boldly for truth and justice. Courage is the strength of the trunk, steady and unyielding. It allows us to face storms, defend the vulnerable, and remain steadfast in conviction. 🍃 Wellness — Stewarding health to serve more fully. Wellness is the healthy circulation of life within the tree — the sap that carries nourishment. It reminds us that caring for body and soul is a holy act of stewardship. 📖 "He shall be like a tree planted by the rivers of water... whose leaf also shall not wither." — Psalm 1:3 (NKJV) When we live from these values, we live as trees planted firmly by the water, providing shade, fruit, and beauty for others. They remind us that who we are in Christ is not defined by striving or achievement but by roots that go deep in Him. From this foundation, we can face storms, embrace seasons, and bear fruit that brings glory to God and healing to those around us.

A reflection from my devotional this morning... Love to me has always come easily when it comes to others. My life is centred on serving, uplifting, and caring for those around me. Loving my neighbour has never felt like a burden; it is joy. The harder task has always been turning that same love inward. There was a time when I hated everything about me — my name, my looks, even the face staring back at me in the mirror. Words I would never dare speak over another person, I hurled mercilessly at myself. I wore the crown of self-loathing, heavy and cruel. In these past five years, God has been unravelling those lies. I still remember Sandra’s word of knowledge — that I am not a waste of time, effort, or money. Those words pierced my heart like light breaking into a darkened room. Since then, I no longer live in the prison of self-hatred. Yet, to say I truly love myself feels like a stretch. Perhaps I am still learning what that really looks like. 📖 "You shall love your neighbour as yourself." — Mark 12:31 (NKJV) I see now that compassion cannot remain one-directional. If I long to be kind, patient, and forgiving with others, then the same compassion must flow toward me. Not because of achievement or worthiness earned, but because I am His beloved, made in His image. So I begin with whispers of kindness: I forgive you. I see you trying. I am proud of you. Maybe love begins there — in speaking to myself the way I would to a weary friend. 🙌A Prayer of Self-Compassion Lord Jesus, teach me to see myself through Your eyes. Help me extend to my own heart the same gentleness I so freely give to others. Heal the places still tender from old wounds, and remind me daily that I am Your beloved. Let the compassion I long to receive rise up within me as a gift of Your grace. In Jesus’ Name, Amen. 💖 If you're reading this and you can relate, may I remind you that you are not a waste of time, energy or money, dear heart. You are worth the love you so freely pour into others.

Love to me is spelt T.I.M.E. first, acts of service next, followed by affirmation and then touch. However, due to trauma of neglect, I had decided very early in life that I wouldn't need any of them, leaving me with a double-bind — the longing for what God designed me to need, and the vow made in the ache of neglect to deny those very needs. 📖 "It is not good that man should be alone." — Genesis 2:18 (NKJV) Even from the very beginning, God declared that relationship is not optional. We are designed for love, affirmation, touch, and presence. When those needs aren’t met, our soul learns to fear them as dangerous.   My core values (time, love, compassion, relationships, faith, service) all breathe the truth that love is meant to be received and given freely. Yet there's the pain of that little girl who decided, “I won’t need anyone,” as a way to survive. It’s almost like she's trying to close the tap on thirst — but the body was still made for water. That inner vow, made to protect my heart, became both shield and prison.   This morning, a simple offer of tea opened a doorway into something much deeper. Tiffany asked if I wanted a cup as I was leaving The Crate, and when she reminded me to ask if she forgot to offer. I found myself saying, “I’m not good at asking,” and with that, a brief conversation ensued about innervows and practised ways of self-protection that need to be put to death at the cross, but they have a tendency to spring back to life.   What a holy moment tucked into something as ordinary as a cup of tea. Isn’t it amazing how God often uses the smallest exchanges to uncover the deepest roots? Tiffany’s simple kindness brushed up against an old wound — the little girl who once vowed, “I won’t ask, I won’t need, I’ll manage on my own.”   Even though I’ve already renounced that vow, my heart is still tenderly unlearning the habit. Those vows run deep because they were woven in survival, and survival habits rarely dissolve overnight. They cling until safety feels stronger than fear.   I realised how hard that still is for me and suddenly I was back with the little girl who had vowed never to need, never to ask, never to risk disappointment. That made me think there may be other unspoken promises your younger self made: “If I don’t ask, I won’t be disappointed.” “If I don’t need, I won’t be a burden.” “If I’m strong enough on my own, I can’t be hurt again.” Each one a layer of self-protection… and each one, now, a layer the Lord longs to tenderly peel away. The habit of silence, of holding back from asking, is like a well-worn path in my soul. Yet healing is happening.   It’s strange how those early inner vows burrow themselves into the soil of our hearts, resisting even the most tender offers of care. Trauma taught me that needing made me vulnerable, so I silenced those needs. Yet God created us for love — for time, affirmation, touch. Denying them only hardens the soil where His love longs to grow.   Healing often comes in layers. First, we renounce the vow. Then, we begin to notice the old habits. And slowly, almost quietly, we practice new responses. Each “yes please” is like loosening the soil around roots that were once bound tight.   📖 "Ask, and it will be given to you; seek, and you will find; knock, and it will be opened to you." — Matthew 7:7 (NKJV)   I have grown a lot. Before, I would have declined even if my heart longed for the warmth of a cup in my hands. Now, when offered, I say “yes, please.” It may seem small, but every “yes” is a crack in the old armour, a place where light seeps in. Saying “yes, please” when love is offered has been my first step toward freedom. It is no small thing. Each acceptance loosens the soil around old roots, allowing something new to grow.   Yet today’s conversation opened another layer. I realised the next step is not only receiving what is offered. The next step is scarier still: learning to ask when I need or desire something. Not waiting to be offered, but letting my voice rise with trust, knowing I am worthy of being heard. Tears came as I realised there is still more to heal, more of those childhood vows to untangle. Yet tears are holy — they water the ground where new freedom is being planted.   The Father smiles at my small yeses. He sees not weakness but trust. He welcomes my asking, not as a burden but as beloved intimacy. He is teaching me that to need is not shameful, and to ask is not weakness, but rather the courage to believe love will meet me there. It is faith.   🙌Prayer Lord Jesus, You know the vows I made as a little girl, born out of pain and fear. Thank You that You are unravelling them with gentleness and truth. Teach me to ask without fear, to receive without shame, and to rest in the knowledge that I am worthy of love. Heal every place in me that still resists Your care. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.   ✨ Dearest one, if you are struggling in this area, may I remind you that you are not alone and you are not behind. You are on a journey. Each small step into asking, each tear shed, is part of your healing journey and watering new freedom. Each small "yes" is a victory song. God is patient, and His love is undoing what neglect once wrote into your story. You are seen, you are cherished, and you are free to need. You are loved and your needs are safe in God's Hands.

Sometimes people don’t need fixing, advice, or solutions. They simply need someone to draw near with no agenda. To sit quietly without trying to make the pain disappear. To listen without judgement. To care without condition. This is what I’ve come to know as the ministry of presence. It is the love that looks someone in the eye and says, “I see you. You are not alone. I’m here for you.” Jesus Himself modelled this. He wept at Lazarus’ tomb before performing a miracle. He sat at tables with the broken and the misunderstood. His presence carried healing long before His words did. 📖 "Bear one another’s burdens, and so fulfil the law of Christ." — Galatians 6:2 (NKJV) Sometimes the holiest thing we can do is to stay. Not to speak, not to explain, not to fix, but simply to sit in the ashes with someone until the first glimmer of hope breaks through. This is how we love people back to life — with patience, tenderness, and presence. 🙌Prayer: Lord, help me to carry Your love into the silence of another’s suffering. Teach me to sit with them without rushing to fix, to bring comfort by simply being there, and to trust that Your Spirit moves even in the quiet. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

You want to know what really breaks a generational curse?🤔 It’s not in lofty declarations alone, but in the quiet courage to let your children tell you when something you’re doing is hurting them… and to respond without defensiveness or dismissal. For too many of us, silence was the rule of survival. Our pain was minimised, our voices ignored, and our hearts quietly trained to believe that love meant swallowing the ache. When we choose differently, when we allow our children to speak truthfully without fear of being shut down, we change the script. This is the beginning of a new legacy — one marked not by pride or shame, but by humility and listening. Every time we resist the urge to explain away their hurt, every time we kneel low enough to hear the tremble in their words, we are dismantling patterns of hardness and sowing seeds of trust. 📖 "Fathers, do not provoke your children to anger, but bring them up in the training and admonition of the Lord." — Ephesians 6:4 (NKJV) It is not weakness to admit we have caused pain. It is Christlike strength. For the cross itself was God bending low, taking responsibility for what was not His fault, so that reconciliation could flow. If He could humble Himself, surely we can too. 🌿 Prayer: Lord Jesus, give me ears that are tender and a heart that is humble. Teach me to pause before defending myself, and instead make room for my children’s voices. May healing flow through my willingness to listen, and may generational chains be broken as love and understanding take root in my family. In Jesus’ Name, Amen. ✨ You are not just raising children — you are writing a new story, one where honesty, compassion, and grace become the inheritance you pass down.