“That’s right, we all know what God’s done.”

Those were Sandee’s opening words — an acknowledgement of the grace that had already carried me this far. We were standing on holy ground, celebrating the culmination of a journey through D-School, and her voice gently ushered in what the Father wanted to speak over me next.

“ Thank you, Father. So Lord, we want to come on the release trip.”

A holy pause. Then she said it.

“Yeah, yeah. In this new name and space, and what You’ve done, thank You and I get Pinocchio.”

At first, I laughed. The imagery was unexpected — a wooden puppet with tangled strings, longing to be real. Yet, as she gently unpacked it, something stirred deep in my spirit. Pinocchio did become a real boy, didn’t he? He had a carpenter who carved him, cared for him, and longed for a son. There was love at the centre of it all.

She spoke of the Father — my Father — who also longs for His children to come alive. To be free. To be real. Not performance, not striving, not wooden obedience… but true identity rooted in love.

"End of the strings,” she said. “You’ll be able to live life."

I let those words soak in. The old strings of fear, people-pleasing, self-protection, and striving… cut loose. The Father was drawing me into a new season, into the wholeness of being His daughter — fully alive, fully seen, fully real.

There was even mention of fun — of play — in the Father’s toyshop. A reminder not to take myself so seriously, to delight in Him as He delights in me. To let joy bubble up and imagination lead. To rediscover wonder.

I bless this newness, Lord. I bless the realness. I bless the love You’ve lavished over me. Thank You for severing the strings that bound me to lies and illusions. Thank You for calling me not only Your servant but Your daughter.

You created me with care, and You are the One who makes me real — not through my own effort, but through the breath of Your Spirit and the love of Your Son. Just like Pinocchio, I’m learning how to live — really live — as the beloved.

Let me laugh with You in the toyshop. Let me run barefoot through the garden. Let me be real.

You are being formed in love, dear heart. Not carved out of duty, but carefully shaped for joy. Bless the newness. Bless the realness. Keep dancing with the Father.