I’m still feeling groggy this morning, the blocked nose lingering like fog over my thoughts. I didn’t get up at 4:45 am when I first stirred. Clive was already awake, on his phone — apparently, I’d been snoring. I turned over and closed my eyes again. This cold or flu has clung to me for a couple of days now. My lips are cracked and sore... winter lips for the 3rd time since we've been in New Zealand and honestly… I don’t just feel tired. I feel flat like a battery that’s not just low, but completely flat. Somewhere in the early morning stillness, I had another strange dream. I don’t remember much, only this vivid image — something hanging out of my left eye tooth. When I pulled it, it unravelled like a never-ending bandage until there was a huge pile in my hand. That same tooth had fractured recently. Not long ago — only two weeks — I’d been to the dentist for that exact tooth. The filling had broken. The tooth, mostly patchwork now, was fragile. And even the recent repair has already begun to wear down again. A real-life echo of the dream's imagery. Then, I found myself downstairs, wearing old pyjamas — a long t-shirt top I used to wear in South Africa before the boys were even born. More than 28 years ago. They were on backwards. I hadn’t expected anyone to be there. Yet I could sense Clive and others nearby. Embarrassed, I rushed back upstairs to change — to cover, to make myself more presentable. Isn’t it wild how shame still finds ways to whisper, even in sleep? Yes, that girl still lives somewhere inside me — the one who wore oversized tops, not to be seen, who hadn’t yet mothered, ministered, or mended. That moment pierced deeper than I expected. Why do I still feel the need to hide when the past shows up on me? Downstairs again, Elias was in a neighbouring room. I avoided him, though not from fear or bitterness — only detachment — a quiet ache that no longer feels safe to expose. Oddly, when I saw him at The Crate on Friday, I didn’t feel the urge to leave. I just didn’t feel like engaging. In the dream, he stood at the door, back turned, putting on a cream jacket I’ve never seen before. Something about that image felt symbolic. A departure. A new identity. A distance. Maybe even a finality. Only time will tell where this relationship leads, but for now, the friendship I once cherished is fraying at the edges. Broken trust is hard to mend when safety has been compromised. 📖 "The Lord is near to those who have a broken heart, and saves such as have a contrite spirit." — Psalm 34:18 (NKJV) There are places in me still learning to be seen — as I am now, and as I was then. Even when I wear the past inside out. I'm being reclothed in righteousness, precious one — and no old garment, no foreign jacket, and no broken tooth can ever define me. Today I let this dream be my invitation to shed the past and step into what is new, clothed by grace.

Listen . . . The Spirit of the Lord is calling. Not tomorrow. Not when you feel more ready. Not when the timing seems more convenient. Today. He is calling you now — to His service. Whether to kneel in quiet prayer or to stand in bold conversation. Whether to comfort the broken-hearted or carry out a task unseen by others. Whether it feels insignificant or monumental — it matters. Because obedience is where the power lies. We are His Remnant Army — An army not built on prestige, but on purpose. Some are called to lead. Many are called to follow. But each has a post to hold. A place to stand. A call to heed. So listen, beloved. He is whispering your name. Not with condemnation, but with commissioning. 📖"Arise, shine; for your light has come! And the glory of the Lord is risen upon you.” — Isaiah 60:1 (NKJV) He is calling you to stand — and to keep standing. You will be tried. You will be tested. But do not forget: 📖 "He who is in you is greater than he who is in the world." — 1 John 4:4 (NKJV) Or, as He once spoke into my spirit, "I am not afraid of you. The power that is in Me created the power that is in you." This is the Breaker Anointing. To go first. To stand firm. To carry breakthrough. Not by strength. Not by might. But by His Spirit. The Lord is calling. Will you answer? Not just with your lips, but with your life? The Lord is calling. Listen . . .

They say life is about the journey. Others say it’s about the destination. But I’ve come to see — it’s really about the company. The sacred, imperfect, life-giving company we keep. If you asked me what the most beautiful part of my life is, I wouldn’t name a place, a title, or even a moment. I would simply look around at the ones God has entrusted to me — those I get to love and walk with, stumble beside, laugh with, cry for, and grow alongside. This right here — this is it.

Not everyone who claps is clapping for you. Not everyone who smiles is safe. Sometimes the very ones we trusted with our hearts are the ones who step back when we start to shine. Some relationships begin with thunderous applause — words of admiration, support, shared dreams and late-night prayers. It feels like covenant. Like family. Like forever.

Last night I had a weird dream... In this dream, I was an adult back in primary school — not to regress, but to revisit something formative. I received a report card that implied failure. It wasn’t about a real academic shortcoming, but a deeper internal narrative: "You should be further along by now." This inner critic, rooted in old wounding, may still be trying to measure my worth by performance — even in my spiritual walk.

There’s a sacred kind of grief that comes with hindsight — the ache of seeing where you fell short, especially with the ones you love most. This is a lesson I’ve learnt the hard way on my journey through inner healing. I’ve made all these mistakes and more with my precious boys… and by God’s grace, I’m learning to make amends.

The battle, dear friend, has always been for the heart. Not the surface behaviour. Not the polished persona. Not even the picture-perfect responses we muster for the world to see. Behaviour is merely the fruit — the visible outworking of our heart’s condition. What lies beneath the surface, in the unseen chambers of our being, tells the real story. “The true story of every person is not the story you see, the external story. The true story is the journey of his or her heart.” — John Eldredge & Brent Curtis

There was a time when “frumpy” stung like a thorn in my heart. A word given as a description of a first impression of me, but one that rooted itself deeper than it should have. It became a whisper in my mind every time I looked in the mirror… a lie wrapped in shame, telling me I wasn’t lovely, wasn’t seen, wasn’t enough. Yet God. God saw something different. He didn’t call me frumpy — He called me fearless. He called me radiant, unshakeable, merciful, purposeful, and yielded to His refining hand. He whispered truth into the very place that had once been defined by someone else’s label and as I listened, the old letters began to take on a new life… F.R.U.M.P.Y. — The Transformed Me 🌸 F — Fearless in faith, no longer hiding or shrinking back. 🌸 R — Radiant with Heaven’s joy, reflecting His glory and grace. 🌸 U — Unshakeable, rooted in truth, walking in wholeness and purpose. 🌸 M — Merciful to self and others, moved by compassion not comparison. 🌸 P — Purposeful, clothed in strength and dignity, rising with divine direction. 🌸 Y — Yielded to the Potter’s hand, beautifully becoming all He created me to be. This reframing was more than a poetic exercise. It was a prophetic declaration — a breaking off of old lies and a stepping into the light of my true design. Like dry bones rattling back to life, the name that once brought me shame now prophesies beauty from ashes. 📖 "Do not call to mind the former things, or consider the things of the past. Behold, I will do a new thing…" — Isaiah 43:18–19 (NKJV, paraphrased) As I re-read my core values — faith, compassion, creativity, courage, healing — I saw that these are not things I aspire to. They are the truths I now embody. They’ve been forged in the fire, pressed into clay, painted in gold. So to the girl who once shrank under labels... You are not “too much.” You are not “too little.” You are just right — just as He formed you, seen through eyes of love. 💡 Reflection: What labels have you carried that God never spoke over you? 🤔 How has God reframed or renamed you in this season? 🤔 What acronym could you create from a past label to reflect who you are becoming in Christ? 🤔 🎺 Affirmation: I am not the words that once diminished me. I am God’s radiant daughter, fearless in faith and full of purpose. 🙌🏻 Prayer: Abba Father, thank You for rewriting the stories I believed about myself. Thank You that even what the world called ugly or unworthy, You redeem and repurpose. Help me live out the new names You’ve given me — fearless, radiant, and purpose-filled. Let the words that once wounded now be windows of Your grace. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

For many years after school, I walked through life with an invisible sign slung around my neck: “I’m stupid.” It wasn't written in ink or carved in wood — it lived in my thoughts, shadowed my choices, and whispered lies whenever I dared to dream beyond what I thought I deserved. That sign was hung on me by a system that mistook performance for worth. Even though I earned some distinctions for matric back in 1987, I never pursued further study. I didn’t feel smart. I didn’t feel seen. The truth is, that sign wasn’t born from failure — it was born from striving.

Some lessons arrive slowly, whispered over years of loyal companionship and unspoken expectations. Then one day, like sunlight piercing a crack in the wall, the truth seeps in: they were never really standing with you. I read the words in the image above and felt the ache settle in my chest, not the sharp kind, but that slow, deep sadness that surfaces when the veil is lifted. It’s not just about the friend you lose; it’s about the illusion that breaks.

Today I saw a post that stirred something deep — a challenge framed in stark contrast: Lucifer was cast out of Heaven for disobedience, Adam cast out of Eden for the same… so what makes me, a Christian, think I can live in disobedience and still enter Heaven? It felt like a heavy blow at first. A sharp reminder. But Holy Spirit gently rewrote the narrative in my heart.

In a world where so many hearts carry hidden bruises and silent ache, healing is not just a process — it's a promise. A tender invitation from the One who sees every tear and knows every story. As I sat with the Lord and poured out the heart behind Healing 💔heARTs💖, this visual took shape — a lyrical reflection of the journey many of us find ourselves on.

I felt a little undone after running into Elias at The Crate during the NNT Stand-up this morning. There was a subtle shift though — I didn’t feel the urge to flee the room like I used to. Monday’s prayer ministry softened something inside me, unravelling just enough of the tangled threads for me to stay present.

In the quiet hush of early morning, when the world was still cradled in slumber, I found myself sitting with the Lord — my heart tender, my spirit awake. A gentle unveiling took place. Like peeling back layers of a well-worn canvas, I began to see the strokes of an old, familiar pattern woven through my life.

Losing a job to a virtual assistant in the Philippines had a much deeper emotional impact than I expected. On the surface, the reasoning was clear. Back in September, Elias had already mentioned the possibility, and logically, I understood that the organisation simply couldn’t sustain the administrator’s hourly rate unless major changes occurred. My head accepted this reality; financially, it made sense. Yet when the decision was finally made, my heart reacted in ways I didn’t anticipate. What seemed like a rational, practical shift opened the floodgates of old, hidden pain. In prayer ministry, it became clear that the loss touched something buried far deeper: childhood wounds of feeling replaced, not good enough, unseen in my value. It wasn’t just about a role ending; it was about echoes of little-girl-Trixi wondering, “Am I worthy of staying?”🤔 This is where faith meets the rawness of emotion. Scripture reminds us: 📖 "The Lord is near to those who have a broken heart, and saves such as have a contrite spirit." — Psalm 34:18 (NKJV). God was close even in the sting of rejection, holding the tender parts of my heart that had long been waiting for His healing touch. The rational mind said, “This is necessary for the organisation’s survival.” Yet the soul whispered, “Something deeper is being unearthed here.” It is in these places—where logic collides with old wounds—that God invites transformation. I am learning to see this not as evidence of my insufficiency, but as an opportunity for the Holy Spirit to rewrite the story. What was once a trigger is becoming a doorway into wholeness. Though painful, this moment is not about being replaced, but about being restored—reminded again that my worth is not defined by a role, a wage, or even another’s decision. My worth is anchored in Christ, who calls me chosen, beloved, and irreplaceable. 🙌Prayer: Lord, thank You for being near in moments when rejection stirs old fears. Heal the memories that still ache and replace them with Your truth. Anchor my worth in You alone, and teach me to see endings not as erasure, but as invitations into deeper belonging. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Three years ago today, I closed a sacred chapter — completing Elijah House D-School, the last of what Clive lovingly called my “Alphabet Schools.” It was a quiet victory. No fanfare, just a sense of holy fulfilment as I checked off “study” on my INVEST list. At the time, I didn’t realise that every other item on that list would be marked complete in the years to follow. God was already finishing what He began.

Three years ago today, I quietly completed Elijah House D-School — the last of what Clive affectionately calls my “Alphabet Schools.” With it, I ticked off “study” on my INVEST list, thinking it was the final tick of that box. What I didn’t realise was that each of those INVEST priorities would be visited, shaped, and refined in God’s perfect timing. Three years on, every one of them is now checked off — not in striving, but in surrender.

Tonight, I feel the kind of exhaustion that sinks into your bones — not from busyness, but from deep soul work. Prayer ministry can sometimes feel like spiritual heart surgery — holy, raw, necessary. Today was one of those days.

There are days when showing up feels like planting seeds in dry soil. Quiet, unnoticed, almost thankless. This weekend was one of those days. I had five signed up. Not ten. Not twenty. Just five. I packed double anyway just because I didn’t want to be caught ill-prepared. And wouldn’t you know, a few more came. So I set up again. As with previous events with little or no sign-ups, I could have cancelled. I could have rescheduled, but I showed up and there in that humble room — plastic tablecloths, palettes of paint, hearts quietly opening the Holy Spirit moved.

Tonight there's a weariness in my spirit — and I honour the tenderness it takes to show up for healing, even when it aches. Prayer ministry days can feel like soul-surgery. Gentle, holy, and yet raw. The kind of raw that stirs deep things we thought were buried. Old vows whispered in childhood shadows. Protective walls built in panic. That inner child still trying to earn safety by being perfect, pleasing, or invisible. And when those layers are pierced — lovingly — by Holy Spirit’s light, it’s no wonder we feel undone.