I woke with only two words in my mind, like a fragment of parchment pressed into my spirit before dawn: “justice carriers.” The rest of the dream slipped away, yet the weight of those words remained, gentle but insistent, asking to be held rather than hurriedly explained.

Scripture shows that God often does this. He gives a word before He gives the picture. He entrusts the meaning before the memory. The dream fades, yet the assignment stays.

To carry justice is not to shout the loudest or to win arguments. Justice in the Kingdom is rarely sharp-edged. It is steady, embodied, lived. A justice carrier walks slowly enough to notice the wounded, bravely enough to speak truth when silence would be safer, and humbly enough to leave outcomes in God’s hands.

Justice carriers do not manufacture justice. They bear it. They carry it into rooms where injustice has been normalised. They hold it in their choices, their boundaries, their refusals to participate in harm. They reflect the heart of a God who sees, remembers, and acts in His perfect time.

Perhaps the dream did not need images because the word itself was enough. Perhaps it was not something to watch, but something to be. Justice carried quietly, faithfully, over a lifetime.

I do not need to force meaning onto it today. I let the word rest. I let it unfold. God is patient with His revelations, and He trusts me with weighty things.

As this word settled, another thread surfaced from my story. During a prayer ministry session with Sandra in 2020, she identified me clearly and unequivocally as a person of justice, a woman of justice. She named this not as a personality trait, but as a God-given identity, leading me to declare in prayer, “I am a valiant warrior. I am a woman of justice. I am like my heavenly Father.”

That naming brought clarity to something I had carried since childhood without language for it. Because I am, at my core, a justice person, the abuse I suffered as a child was not only traumatic, it was profoundly unjust at a spiritual level. When my mother held my head under water, my spirit did not only experience fear, it encountered a violation of what was right and ordered. Sandra named this as a trauma to the spirit, something that was utterly incomprehensible to a justice-bearing soul.

She helped me see the deep conflict that followed. There was an innate desire in me to fight for what was right, to resist wrong, to bring justice. Survival, however, taught me silence. I learnt that speaking up or resisting only caused more anger, more danger. Self-protection required withdrawal, compliance, and hiding.

The cost of that suppression was high. Sandra gently explained that when the righteous anger that naturally rises in a justice person has nowhere safe to go, it turns inward. What was meant to confront injustice instead became anxiety and depression. She validated that anger without condemning it, reminding me that it is like God to be angry at injustice.

In that ministry moment, she prayed for me to be set free to be the woman of justice I was created to be, released from the need to hide, withdraw, or comply with what is wrong. She affirmed that God did not create me to accept evil, but to resist it.

Remembering this now, years later, I see how gently God has been weaving my healing. The words justice carrier were not new. They were a continuation. A maturing. No longer justice that must fight loudly or prove itself, but justice that can be carried, embodied, and lived without fear.

💡 Reflection

• Where have I been quietly carrying justice without naming it? 🤔

• In which spaces has God asked me to hold truth with mercy rather than force? 🤔

• What would it look like to trust God’s timing instead of demanding immediate resolution? 🤔

🎺 Affirmation

I am entrusted with holy weight, not because I strive, but because God knows my heart. I carry justice with mercy, truth with humility, and courage with love. I am held as I hold what He has given me.

🙌 Prayer

Lord God, You are righteous and just, slow to anger and rich in mercy. Thank You for trusting me with Your words, even when I do not yet understand them fully. Teach me how to carry justice the way You do, without bitterness, without fear, without striving. Let my life reflect Your heart, and let Your timing guard my soul.

In Jesus’ Name, Amen.