Life reminds me often of my limits. My breath is numbered, my strength runs out, and my days will one day come to a close. Yet what I offer to God in obedience and love does not die with me. The brushstrokes of my art, the tenderness of my words, the prayers whispered in hidden places — these are gathered by the Eternal One, who breathes His Spirit upon them.
📖 “I planted, Apollos watered, but God gave the increase. So then neither he who plants is anything, nor he who waters, but God who gives the increase.” — 1 Corinthians 3:6–7 (NKJV)
I am not infinite. My time here is short, fragile, and precious. Yet the work entrusted to me carries the breath of God and continues long after my hands grow still. What is created in Him carries weight beyond seasons, beyond generations, even into eternity.
📖 “Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord from now on… that they may rest from their labours, and their works follow them.” — Revelation 14:13 (NKJV)
This truth comforts me: though I will fade, His work through me will not. My part is simply to be faithful in sowing, painting, speaking, and loving. The increase, the enduring legacy, belongs to Him.
Saturday, 16 August 2025
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