There are moments when an ordinary conversation becomes a mirror, held gently by the Lord, revealing where He has been reshaping the innermost parts of my heart. Today’s conversation with Elias felt like that, a quiet affirmation, a gentle correction, and a reminder that God’s wisdom is always kinder than my striving. He stopped by the front desk for coffee, having returned from spending several days in China and then came towards me, where I was working in the business lounge. There was a softness to the moment, a grace I had not felt for a long time. No anxiety rose in my chest, no tightening of the breath. It seems my last prayer ministry session has begun to soothe the bruising of the past year’s wounding, easing places that once felt raw and guarded. What followed was an unexpected, encouraging conversation — one that reminded me of the gentle ways God restores confidence and relationships.  When he asked how the Life Beyond Trauma seminar went, my heart warmed instantly. It was brilliant, not because I was on the ministry team, but precisely because I wasn’t. I had expected to serve, to lead, to carry responsibility. That is usually where I find myself. Yet God whispered a clear no through Peter’s message: “We have enough volunteers. You can just come and soak.”  It still feels strange to write that. So often I equate serving with obedience, busyness with purpose, and silence with invisibility. The Lord is steadily, compassionately unravelling that belief. He placed me in the room as a daughter, not a soldier, and in doing so, He positioned me exactly where I was most needed.  Elias then spoke about the email I had sent out with all the details about the Life Beyond Trauma event. He asked if I had written it myself or copied it from someone. When I told him it was mine, he spoke words that caught me off guard. He said the writing was incredibly good, good enough that he questioned whether someone else had written it. The personalised stories, the flow, the clarity. He even rated it among the best of the copy he has read. I stood there, a little stunned. I felt that familiar mixture of gratitude and discomfort. I have always done a lot of processing with writing, yet I often hesitate to trust the gift God has placed in my hands. Elias simply said, "Don't underestimate your ability. God's given you a talent. Embrace it." A truth that landed warmly.  We spoke about the event being fully booked — over two hundred people — and I shared how this seminar included new teachings on chaos and thresholds, all resonating deeply with my current season. I can feel the Holy Spirit stirring the next pieces in me, unveiling what needs tending. I told him how God repositioned me this weekend, keeping me off the team so I could simply be present for one of my precious Encounter Group ladies who was struggling on Friday. I noticed her shoulders curved inward, the way her head hung down into her chest. Had I been on the team, I would have missed that holy assignment. I would not have been able to sit beside her, hover protectively and offer presence and comfort. Neither would I have been able to check in on all the others in our group who came. The Holy Spirit knew. He always knows.  God knows exactly where He needs me, and when. He places us where love can find us, or flow through us, even when we think we belong somewhere else. Elias then spoke gently about serving. He said it is important not only to serve, but to be served, because discipleship grows in both directions. I admitted this is where I am learning — asking for help, receiving and allowing others to be present for me. These are new muscles being strengthened for me. I told him I was working on it, and he nodded in response, "We are all a work in progress." We spoke about thresholds, that in-between place where something has ended, but the next thing has not revealed itself. I told him how the teaching stirred things inside me that I still need to sit with and pray through. I am in a threshold season myself. There are doors that feel half-open, invitations that feel half-formed, and a sense that God is unravelling old patterns so He can rebuild something truer, slower, and stronger. He asked about Clive and my trip to Wellington last month and I shared how the weather was wild at first, and how I have finally learned that travelling does not need to be a mission to see and do everything. There is rest even in exploration. Clive enjoyed not being rushed all the time and I enjoyed slowing down. I used to treat every holiday as a mission: see everything, do everything, squeeze meaning out of every moment. It was survival disguised as productivity. After last year’s ministry session with Sandra, something has softened within me. I no longer need to chase every view to prove the trip was worth it. I no longer need to force beauty into every moment. I can rest now. Clive can rest too. We wandered, lingered, returned early, and moved slowly. It felt like breathing again.  We spoke about his recent trip to China. He shared with that familiar spark in his eyes how vast the world feels when you step into places where nothing looks familiar, not the language, not the rhythms, not even the coffee menu. It sounded like an adventure, and he agreed with a quiet laugh. I smiled, realising that in different ways, the Holy Spirit has been doing the same in me. We laughed about how different we are. His wife calls him a traveller who does not travel because he rarely does anything touristy and he told me stories of navigating China through WeChat translations and blind guesses at Luckin Coffee.  It was ordinary conversation, threaded with small glimmers of God’s grace — the kind that whispers, "See, you are healing. You are growing. You are no longer who you were this time last year."  Yet even in that simple exchange, there was a theme: Learning to release control. Learning to trust the process. Learning to lean into what God is doing rather than forcing what I think should happen. Today reminded me that healing often happens quietly, not in the dramatic moments, but in everyday exchanges where fear no longer leads, wounding no longer speaks first, and your heart rests instead of bracing. Even though I felt ignored, betrayed, rejected, and abandoned by him earlier this year, I have finally been able to forgive from the heart. God is doing something gentle in me. I can feel it and in time, pray that trust and friendship will be rebuilt. That is the quiet invitation the Lord keeps placing in front of me. 📖 "He makes me to lie down in green pastures; He leads me beside the still waters. He restores my soul." — Psalm 23:2–3 (NKJV) Rest is not a retreat from calling; rest is part of the calling. Rest is where God strengthens what He has entrusted to me. Today reminded me of that again. 💡 Reflection Where have I noticed subtle shifts in my heart that show I am healing, even if no one else sees them? 🤔 In what situations do I still struggle to receive rather than serve, and what might God be inviting me to in those situations? 🤔 How do I recognise the Holy Spirit’s gentle redirection when plans change unexpectedly? 🤔 What conversations have recently affirmed gifts in me that I have been hesitant to embrace? 🤔 What threshold season am I standing in, and what is God forming in me as I wait? 🤔 🎺 Affirmation I am learning to walk with a quieter heart — steady, seen, and supported by the God who restores me from the inside out. Nothing about my healing is rushed or overlooked. Heaven celebrates every step I take, even the ones that feel small. I am growing, I am held, and I am becoming who God always knew I could be. 🙌 Prayer Father, thank You for the gentle ways You guide my heart toward wholeness. Thank You for the conversations that affirm what You have placed within me and moments that reveal how far You have brought me. Teach me to rest when You call me to rest, to serve when You ask me to serve, and to receive when You send people to care for me. Help me recognise Your loving hand in every redirection and trust that You always place me exactly where I am meant to be. Continue to strengthen my confidence, refine my gifts, and deepen my sense of belonging in You. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

I heard a whisper settling deep into the quiet places of my heart today, a holy reminder that realignment often comes wrapped in unsettling shifts. There are moments when God gently disconnects us from influences that once felt familiar, even comfortable, yet were quietly draining life from our spirit. This is the kindness of divine correction, a holy severing that frees us to breathe again. 📖"So they all ate and were filled, and they took up twelve baskets full of the fragments that remained." - Matthew 14:20 He is the God who breaks the chains of limitation, the unseen burdens, the inherited expectations, the whispers of unworthiness, and the strongholds that have attempted to define us. He clothes us in a mantle of authority, not born of striving but of surrender. This mantle enables us to take back what the enemy attempted to steal: our peace, our prosperity, our purpose. There is a holy courage rising within me, steady and sure, reminding me that I am not called to live beneath the weight of my circumstances. I am called to walk as His daughter, restored and realigned. Do not look at your present limitations. God multiplies the little, blesses the broken, and uses the willing. My "not enough" becomes "more than enough" in His hands. 📖 "And my God shall supply all your need according to His riches in glory by Christ Jesus." — Philippians 4:19 (NKJV) 📖 "Now to Him who is able to do exceedingly abundantly above all that we ask or think…" — Ephesians 3:20 (NKJV) This is my season to stand in faith and trust the One who transforms scarcity into abundance, fragmentation into fullness, fear into holy confidence. 💡 Reflection: • Where have I been viewing myself or my resources as "not enough"? 🤔 • What limitations is God disconnecting me from in this season? 🤔 • How is He inviting me to step into a new mantle of authority? 🤔 • What does “divine realignment” look like in my life right now? 🤔 🎺 Affirmation: I am walking into divine realignment. God is multiplying my little, blessing my broken places, and shaping my willing heart into something beautiful. My "not enough" is becoming "more than enough" in His hands. 🙌 Prayer: Heavenly Father, thank You for realigning my heart, my path, and my purpose. Thank You for disconnecting me from every limitation and every influence that hinders my growth. Fill me with courage as I step into the authority You have given me. Multiply what I offer, bless what is broken, and use me for Your glory. Turn my "not enough" into "more than enough" according to Your goodness and power. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

📖 "He heals the broken-hearted and binds up their wounds." — Psalm 147:3 (NKJV) Over these past five and a half years, I have often marvelled at how tenderly God used Sandra’s Navigating the Times and Seasons webinar to rescue me at a point when I felt myself slipping back into old shadows. Those three days of teaching became a lifeline, a gentle hand pulling me away from the edge and anchoring me once again in hope. It marked the beginning of my healing journey, one slow breath and one surrendered step at a time. Every teaching that followed — countless live sessions and video lessons — has helped unwrap the bandages around my heart. God has used her voice to peel back layers that were never meant to stay hidden, and He continues to meet me in every lesson with fresh grace. Watching her teaching series multiple times with my Healing 💔heARTs💖 Encounter Groups has become its own sacred rhythm. These lessons never grow old. Each time we revisit them, another layer softens, breaks open, or is restored. It feels like the Holy Spirit gently lifts one veil after another, revealing truth that heals and hope that breathes again. I remain deeply grateful for Sandra’s passion to heal the broken-hearted. Her obedience continues to transform lives, including mine. Thank you, Sandra, for pouring out your life so selflessly, loving so generously, and serving with a heart fully yielded to God. 🤗💞 I stand with you in your vision to change the world 🌎 one broken 💔 heart at a time. It has become part of my own calling, woven into everything I create, teach, and hold space for.

This morning, I found myself in a heartfelt conversation at The Crate — one that began quite casually but quickly turned deeply personal. We were talking about life, resilience, and faith when my own journey through depression surfaced. I was gently asked how I overcame it, and in that sacred moment, I sensed God opening a door to share not only my story but His deliverance. What followed was an honest discussion about how God heals the hidden roots of pain — the foundational lies we unknowingly build our lives upon. Lies like "I'm a mistake," “I’m not enough,” “I don’t belong,” or “I shouldn’t be here.” These are the silent beliefs that shape our identity long before we can give them words. Yet, the beauty of God’s mercy is that He doesn’t just patch over our wounds — He restores us from the inside out. When His truth begins to take root, fear loses its hold. He replaces shame with peace, confusion with clarity, and despair with hope. Through His love, we rediscover who we truly are — fearfully and wonderfully made, deeply wanted, and divinely purposed. ✨ This is the story of how God restores our identity from fear to faith. 1. The Lies We Come to Believe So many of the lies we live by take root before we even understand the world. Every experience gives us a perception, and if our parents never taught us the truth, those perceptions become our reality. One of the biggest lies I ever believed was this: “I shouldn’t be here.” I was born post-abortion, literally after another life was ended. We often fail to realise how this affects children in the womb, because we are spiritual beings. My first response to life was “I shouldn’t be here — I’m a mistake.” That’s where I came into agreement with the lies of Satan. He whispered, “You shouldn’t be here,” "You're a mistake" and I believed it. That agreement opened a door — a foothold for the enemy. When we say, “I’m a mistake,” the enemy says, “Let me help you with that,” and then surrounds us with people and experiences that reinforce that lie. 2. The Spiritual Impact of Womb Experiences This was all pre-birth. The womb should be a place of safety, yet when it is marked by fear, rejection, or trauma, that child absorbs it. If a mother discovers she is pregnant and her first thought is “Oh no,” that baby feels it. Even if she later loves the child deeply, that initial rejection can leave an imprint that echoes, “I’m not wanted.” I carried that for decades. When abortion occurs and repentance never follows, it spiritually opens a door. Every subsequent baby can be affected, carrying that same spirit of death over their life. I have fought that spirit my entire life — because, without knowing it, I had come into agreement with death instead of life. Science even confirms what Scripture has always said: children feel their mother’s emotions. When a mother’s emotions are in turmoil, a baby may decide deep down, “It’s not safe to feel,” and numbness becomes their protection, but when we push down emotions for too long, they will eventually come out sideways and we will erupt like volcanoes. That’s what depression really is — a numbing of the soul. Healing requires repentance, forgiveness and telling our bodies a new story: “Live.” “Breathe again.” “Heart, live again.” 📖 "I have come that they may have life, and that they may have it more abundantly." — John 10:10 (NKJV) 3. Fear, Personality, and the Mask of Shyness For decades, I hid behind the belief that I was shy and introverted. I lived with social anxiety and avoided people — yet deep inside, I loved people. What I later discovered is that what I called “shyness” was actually deep rooted wounding. If you watch children, babies are naturally expressive and open. Then experiences start to shape them and some begin to retreat. Shyness often begins in childhood as a response to pain, fear, or rejection. It’s not a personality trait — it’s fear masquerading as personality. God tells us repeatedly, “Do not be afraid. Be bold and courageous.” Shyness is the opposite of boldness and if it were part of His design, He wouldn’t call us to boldness. When He created Adam and Eve, they were not ashamed. Shyness and hiding came only after the Fall. Over time, I realised that the more I healed, the more I became who I was meant to be — bold, joyful, and connected. One day, someone told me, “I see you as an extrovert.” I laughed at first. My husband of thirty-three years said, “No way, you’re not extroverted.” because he has only ever known the unhealed, introverted version of me. Yet I knew — something inside me had changed. Healing had uncovered the real me. 4. Unmasking Wounds Hidden as Traits God didn’t create us to be shy, prideful, or angry. Those are masks born from wounding. Pride and anger are other ways we protect ourselves from pain. Everyone is wounded in some way, and often, what we call our personality is actually our self-protection. Many wounds can’t even be traced back to clear memories without the assistance of the Holy Spirit because they begin in the womb. We assume that’s just “how I am,” when in truth it’s what I learned to be to survive, but according to God’s original design, we were created for love, connection, and community. Social anxiety, fear of people, or hiding away are not God’s design — they are symptoms of the wound. Healing restores us to the freedom and boldness we were born for. 📖 "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) 5. Coming Back to Life Healing requires turning away from lies, breaking agreement with death, and choosing life again. When we speak words like “I shouldn’t be here,” we must repent and replace them with God’s truth: “I am fearfully and wonderfully made.” Healing is the journey from numbness to feeling again, from hiding to shining, from fear to faith. It’s learning to tell your heart, “You are safe now.” “You belong here.” “You were created on purpose, for purpose.” As I continue to heal, the shy, introverted girl disappears, and the woman of courage — the one God intended — begins to stand tall. 📖 "I will praise You, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made; marvellous are Your works, and that my soul knows very well." — Psalm 139:14 (NKJV) 💡Reflection: • What lies about yourself have you unconsciously agreed with? 🤔 • How might those lies have shaped your sense of identity or belonging? 🤔 • What truth does God speak over those lies today? 🤔 • How can you invite Him into the places of fear to restore courage and love? 🤔 🎺Affirmation: I was fearfully and wonderfully made. I choose life, love, and courage. Every wound in me is being healed by His truth, and I am becoming who He always saw me to be. 🙌 Prayer: Father, thank You for breathing life into me from the very beginning. Thank You that even in the womb, You knew me and called me by name. I repent for every lie I believed about not being wanted, seen, or worthy. Break every agreement I have made with fear or death, and replace it with Your truth and light. Restore boldness, joy, and peace to every part of my being. Help me live with courage, knowing I was created on purpose for Your purpose. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

There will always be opinions and critics — voices that question, misunderstand, or misjudge. Yet I have learned to still my heart before the One who truly sees. I no longer live for applause, affirmation, or agreement from people. My gaze is fixed on Jesus. My purpose is to obey His voice, even when no one else understands. When I stand before Him one day, it will not be the crowd whose words echo through eternity. It will be His voice — the voice that calms storms and heals hearts — saying, “Well done, good and faithful servant.” That is the reward I seek. That is the sound I long to hear. That is the sound worth living for — the affirmation that echoes through eternity. Living before an audience of One means surrendering the need to please, choosing obedience over applause, and allowing your worth to be measured by Heaven, not human approval. It is a daily act of trust, a quiet offering of love that says, “Lord, all I do, I do unto You.” When your focus shifts from performing for others to pleasing the Father, peace replaces striving, and purpose blossoms where pressure once lived. You begin to live on earth as it is in Heaven — fully seen, fully known, and fully loved. So I choose to live on earth as it is in Heaven, before an audience of One. Every act of service, every word spoken in love, every hidden moment of obedience — they are all offerings laid before His feet. I live to carry a mantle, not to chase a platform, guided by the conviction that Heaven’s applause matters far more than human recognition. I'm moved by love and compassion, led by courage, and sustained by creativity that heals and restores. That’s the essence of living for an audience of One — eyes fixed on Jesus, hands extended to others, and heart anchored in grace. 📖 "Whatever you do, do it heartily, as to the Lord and not to men, knowing that from the Lord you will receive the reward of the inheritance; for you serve the Lord Christ." — Colossians 3:23–24 (NKJV) 💡 Reflection: • Where have I sought human approval more than divine affirmation? 🤔 • What would it look like today to live purely for God’s “well done”? 🤔 • How can I honour Him in the unseen, ordinary moments of faithfulness? 🤔 • Whose approval am I seeking most in this season — people’s or God’s? 🤔 • What might obedience look like if I stopped fearing misunderstanding? 🤔 • How can I offer my work, my art, or my service as worship to Him alone? 🤔 🎺 Affirmation: I am not defined by opinions or applause. I live to please my Father, walking in obedience, humility, and love. I live for an audience of One. My worth is not measured by the noise of approval, but by the quiet smile of my Saviour. My reward is hearing His voice and following where He leads. 🙌 Prayer: Lord Jesus, help me keep my eyes fixed on You when distractions and opinions surround me. Teach me to live for Your approval alone, resting in Your truth rather than striving for validation. May my every word and action bring You glory, both in quiet service and bold obedience. Let my life be a reflection of Heaven’s values here on earth — pure, steadfast, and devoted. Let my heart seek only Your pleasure and not the fleeting praise of men. Strengthen me to obey You in the unseen places, confident that You see and reward in love. May every breath, brushstroke, and word become worship before You. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

A love language we rarely mention is when someone works on themselves for the sake of the relationship. True love doesn’t just offer affection — it offers accountability. It is choosing to take responsibility for one’s own healing, to tend to the old wounds and untamed triggers that could otherwise become someone else’s burden. The opposite of this posture is resignation — the “That’s just how I am” that shuts the door to growth. Yet love was never meant to be stagnant; it is refined in humility and made holy in transformation. You deserve someone who recognises their harmful patterns and courageously seeks change, not one who expects you to endure them. That’s why I’ve invested time, energy, and resources to pursue my healing over the past five years — so God may be glorified and my loved ones no longer be bled on because of old wounding. I want my words, my touch, and my presence to bring life, not the residue of past pain. I long for my heart to be a vessel where God’s restoring love flows freely — not a place where the wounded parts of me leak onto those I cherish most.📖 "Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a steadfast spirit within me." — Psalm 51:10 (NKJV) 💡Reflection: • What does it look like to love others through your own healing journey? 🤔 • How has God used self-awareness to deepen your relationships? 🤔 • Which parts of your heart is He inviting you to surrender for His restoration? 🤔 🎺Affirmation: My healing is an act of love. As God restores me, His love overflows through me — bringing peace, safety, and grace into my relationships. 🙌 Prayer: Lord, thank You for revealing that healing is part of holy love. Teach me to take ownership of my heart, to confront my triggers with truth, and to let Your grace shape my responses. May those around me feel Your peace through my growth and humility. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

This morning, as I was listening to my audio Bible, a thought surfaced that gripped my heart. It was the story of Tamar, daughter of King David. It's a story that still breaks my heart every time I read it. She was violated by her brother Amnon, a moment that shattered her purity, dignity, and sense of safety. Yet the deepest wound, I imagine, wasn’t only the act itself, but what came after. When her father, David, heard of what had happened, Scripture records his response in one haunting line: 📖 “Then King David heard of all these things, and he was very angry. And Absalom spoke to his brother Amnon neither good nor bad. For Absalom hated Amnon, because he had forced his sister Tamar.” — 2 Samuel 13:21–22 (NKJV) Yet though David was angry, he did nothing. He did not confront Amnon, nor comfort Tamar. The silence that followed was deafening. And perhaps even more piercing than the violence was what came after — the absence of protection, the quiet dismissal of her pain, and the loss of safety within her own family. Some translations record David’s words: “Has your brother been with you? Never you mind.” (2 Samuel 13:20, paraphrased). What pain must have pierced Tamar’s soul in that moment — when the one person who should have defended her honour and comforted her tears turned away instead. The betrayal of trust. The absence of protection. The abandonment of love. I understand that pain. Having been molested as a teenager, I know what it is to carry a wound that no one seemed willing to acknowledge. To live in a quiet sackcloth of shame, wearing invisible ashes that others refuse to see. For years, I bore that silence — a heaviness not just from what happened, but from the unspoken message: You’re on your own. Yet even here, in this place of brokenness, God met me. He is not like the kings of this world. He is the Father who sees, the Defender who restores, the Healer who never looks away. 📖 “The Lord is near to the broken-hearted, and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” — Psalm 34:18 (NKJV) He weeps over every injustice done in secret. He gathers every tear that others ignored. He wraps the violated and forgotten in His tender presence and whispers, “You are Mine. I saw it all. I will heal what was stolen.” What Tamar’s story teaches me is this: human protection can fail, but divine compassion never does. God is still writing redemption over the places that once held despair. The ashes of yesterday are the soil in which He plants tomorrow’s beauty. 📖 “To give them beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness.” — Isaiah 61:3 (NKJV) 💡Reflection: • Have there been times when those meant to protect you turned away? 🤔 • How has God shown Himself to be your Defender in those hidden places? 🤔 • What might “beauty for ashes” look like in your story today? 🤔 🙌 Prayer: Father, thank You that You see what others overlook. Thank You that no pain is wasted in Your hands. Heal the wounds of rejection and betrayal within me. Restore the voice that shame once silenced, and let my life testify of Your compassion and power to redeem. Clothe me, Lord, not in sackcloth, but in Your beauty and strength. In Jesus’ Name, Amen. 🎺 Affirmation: Even when others failed to protect me, God never abandoned me. I am seen, known, and loved beyond measure. ✨ A Note from My Core: This reflection comes from the very heart of who I am — a woman whose faith is her foundation, whose compassion compels her to reach for the broken-hearted, and whose courage refuses to let pain have the final word. My story is one of restoration — turning ashes into beauty, sorrow into song, and fear into freedom through the healing love of Jesus Christ.

Something that deeply struck me recently was learning that John Maxwell touches base with his longtime assistant every single day — 365 days a year. That level of intentional connection isn’t about control or obligation; it’s about care. It’s about remembering that relationships, not results, are the foundation of leadership. True loyalty isn’t demanded — it’s grown. It blossoms in the soil of consistent presence, genuine respect, and shared purpose. Checking in daily says, “You matter.” It communicates trust, not supervision; partnership, not hierarchy. As someone who treasures relationships and seeks to lead from love, this resonates deeply with me. Leadership, whether in ministry, business, or community, is never about managing outcomes — it’s about nurturing people. When we invest time in others, when we see them not just as contributors but as companions in the journey, we build something unshakeable. For me, this truth is a quiet reminder to keep showing up. To lead with intentionality. To value every conversation as sacred ground where connection, encouragement, and growth can take root. 📖 “Be devoted to one another in love. Honour one another above yourselves.” — Romans 12:10 (NIV) 💡 Reflection: • How intentional am I about maintaining relationships that matter? 🤔 • What simple act of daily connection could strengthen trust with someone I lead or serve? 🤔 🎺 Affirmation: I lead with presence, not pressure. My consistency builds trust, my kindness builds loyalty, and my heart builds connection. 🙌 Prayer: Lord Jesus, teach me the power of consistency in love. Help me to see people the way You do — worthy of time, attention, and grace. Let my leadership reflect Your heart: faithful, relational, and steadfast. May every check-in, every word, and every moment carry Your presence. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

There’s a dangerous myth that whispers, “Fake it until you make it.” It teaches us to polish what’s broken, to hide our struggles behind smiles and to pretend strength where there is only exhaustion. We all know that "I'm F.I.N.E." is a lie we tend to live when we're not. Yet true growth doesn’t bloom in pretending. It begins in the soil of honesty — where we face what hurts, what failed, and what still needs grace. God never called us to perform our faith; He calls us to persevere through it. The refining fire isn’t for faking — it’s for forming. Every stumble, every tear, every moment of uncertainty becomes sacred ground when faced with humility and courage. 📖 “My brethren, count it all joy when you fall into various trials, knowing that the testing of your faith produces patience.” — James 1:2–3 (NKJV) When you face it — not fake it — you grow stronger. You rise again, a little wiser, a little braver, a little more like Christ. Growth isn’t glamorous; it’s gritty. You will fall. You will fail. You will face it again. Yet each time you get back up, heaven cheers, and purpose deepens its roots in you. 💡 Reflection: • What challenge am I being invited to face instead of fake today? 🤔 • How has God used past failures to form strength and resilience in me? 🤔 • Where can I offer myself grace in the process of becoming? 🤔 🎺 Affirmation: I choose to face life with courage and truth. My strength is not in pretending to be whole but in trusting the One who makes me whole again. 🙌 Prayer: Lord, help me to face what feels impossible with faith instead of fear. Teach me to rise after every fall, knowing Your mercy meets me there. Strip away pretence, polish my perseverance, and form Christlike resilience in my heart. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

In this generation, it is easy to mistake busyness for devotion. We fill our calendars with ministry, show up faithfully every Sunday, and volunteer for every event. Yet even in the midst of constant activity, it is possible to miss the whisper of His voice. Availability impresses people, but obedience pleases God. God is not seeking exhausted believers running from one task to the next. He is seeking surrendered hearts — broken vessels who will humbly say, “Lord, not my way but Yours.” 📖 “To obey is better than sacrifice, and to heed than the fat of rams.” — 1 Samuel 15:22 (NKJV) Obedience is rarely convenient. It stretches our comfort, confronts our pride, and dismantles our timelines. Yet every time we choose obedience, we move from simply being present to being positioned — prepared for His power to flow through us. Before saying, “Lord, use me,” we must first be willing to pray, “Lord, change me.” He is not looking for more volunteers; He is looking for vessels who will listen, yield, and move when He says, “Go.” When availability meets obedience, ordinary moments become divine appointments. 💡Reflection: • Have I been serving out of duty or out of intimacy with God? 🤔 • What is one area where God is asking me to obey, even when it’s uncomfortable? 🤔 • How can I make space in my daily life to truly listen for His direction? 🤔 🙌 Prayer: Father, forgive me for the times I have mistaken busyness for obedience. Teach me to serve not out of striving, but from surrender. Align my heart with Yours so that every act of availability becomes an act of obedience. May Your will shape my steps, and Your love steady my heart. In Jesus’ Name, Amen. 🎺 Affirmation: I am not just available — I am obedient. My life is yielded to His leading, and I find rest in His perfect will.

Control often disguises itself as responsibility, excellence, or even love. Yet beneath the surface, it’s usually fear in another form — fear of rejection, fear of being misunderstood, fear that if people truly saw us, they might turn away. So, we keep busy. We perfect. We please. We manage every detail to keep our world safe and predictable. But control is a fragile shield. It keeps others out, yes — but it also keeps healing from coming in. When we begin to meet the parts of ourselves we’ve hidden — the insecure, the angry, the weary, the tender — something holy happens. In that meeting place, grace whispers, “You are still Mine.” 📖 “There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear.” — 1 John 4:18 (NIV) When love begins to seep into the cracks of our defences, we no longer need to micromanage how others see us. We start to rest in how God sees us — fully known, deeply loved, and already accepted. People-pleasing loses its grip. Perfectionism softens. The frantic striving to prove our worth gives way to peace. God invites us to surrender control not to leave us exposed, but to free us. To replace our anxious grasping with His steady, sovereign hand. To trade the exhausting illusion of control for the liberating truth of trust. 💡 Reflection: What part of yourself have you been trying to manage, fix, or hide from others — or even from God? How might you begin to meet that part with love and acceptance today? 🤔 🎺 Affirmation: I no longer need to control how others see me. I am safe, seen, and loved by God, even in the parts I’m still learning to accept. 🙌 Prayer: Father, teach me to rest in Your love instead of trying to control my world. Help me to see the beauty in my imperfections and the freedom that comes from surrender. May Your perfect love cast out every fear that drives me to grasp or please. Heal the hidden places in my heart and remind me that I am already accepted in You. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Childhood is where the first seeds of who we are were sown. Some were planted in rich soil — love, safety, and delight — while others took root in rocky ground, watered by fear, neglect, or confusion. Those early years formed the rhythms of our hearts, the ways we attach, trust, and dream. Even when we grow tall and move far from those days, the roots of childhood stretch quietly through the corridors of our adult lives. The phrase “what happens in childhood doesn’t end in childhood” reminds us that unhealed pain does not simply fade with age. It lingers, shaping how we see ourselves, how we love, and how we respond to life’s challenges. Trauma, loss, and unmet needs carve pathways in the brain and heart — patterns that can echo in anxiety, perfectionism, people-pleasing, or fear of rejection. Yet, those same pathways can be renewed when love — especially God’s love — begins to flow through them again. 📖 “He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.” — Psalm 147:3 (NIV) Healing is not about rewriting history; it is about inviting Jesus into it. When we bring our inner child — the one who felt unseen, unheard, or unloved — into His gentle presence, something sacred happens. His compassion reaches into places time cannot touch. The memories that once felt frozen begin to thaw in the warmth of His truth. Healing is a process, not an event. Some days will feel like freedom, and others like grief resurfacing. Yet, every tear is a baptism of renewal — proof that something deep within us still believes restoration is possible. 📖 “The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” — Psalm 34:18 (NIV) When we allow God to meet us in those early wounds, He rewrites the story not by erasing it, but by redeeming it. The same childhood that once held pain becomes the soil where empathy, strength, and compassion grow. What once broke us can become what builds us — shaping us into vessels of comfort for others. 💡 Reflection: • What part of your childhood still feels unfinished or unheard? 🤔 • Where might Jesus be inviting you to revisit the past — not to relive the pain, but to release it? 🤔 • How has God already used your past to help you comfort others? 🤔 🎺 Affirmation: My story is not over. What began in pain is being rewritten in grace. Jesus is healing the child within me so the woman I am can walk free. 🙌 Prayer: Dear Lord, thank You for seeing every chapter of my story — even the ones I tried to forget. Teach me to bring my childhood memories to You, trusting that Your love can heal what time could not. Help me to forgive where I’ve held on to pain, and to receive the restoration You long to give. Let Your truth speak louder than the lies I learned in fear. Make my heart a place of wholeness and peace, where Your Spirit dwells and redeems all things. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Everyone longs for the anointing, yet few are willing to endure the breaking. Everyone desires the crown, yet not all are ready to carry the cross. Still, remember this: God will not use an unbroken person. Brokenness is not punishment — it is preparation. Grapes must be crushed to make wine. Olives must be pressed to release their oil. Diamonds are formed under pressure. Seeds break open and grow in the darkness. So if you find yourself in a season of breaking, take heart — you are not being destroyed, you are being refined. The cracks are where His light gets in. The tears you’ve sown in pain are watering the soil of your next season. 📖 “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love Him, who have been called according to His purpose.” — Romans 8:28 (NIV) God is moulding you into something far more radiant than you can imagine. Every crushing moment is birthing the fragrance of Christ within you. Every pressing is producing an oil that will one day heal others. If you believe God is working through your brokenness, whisper a faith-filled Amen — not to impress heaven, but to disappoint hell — and share this truth with someone who needs to remember that beauty is being born right now in the breaking. 💡Reflection: • What season of breaking have you been resisting instead of trusting? 🤔 • How might God be transforming your pain into purpose right now? 🤔 • What fragrance of Christ is being released through your current refinement? 🤔 🎺Affirmation: Even in my breaking, I am becoming. God’s hands are gentle in the crushing, faithful in the pressing, and sovereign in the shaping of my life. 🙌 Prayer: Lord Jesus, thank You for being near to the broken-hearted. Help me see that my breaking is not the end but the beginning of something beautiful. Teach me to trust Your hands when I cannot see Your plan, and to remember that every pressure, every tear, and every surrender is drawing me closer to Your likeness. Refine me, restore me, and use my story for Your glory. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

I was three, maybe four years old, when I learned to stop crying. I remember standing there — small, tearful, wanting my mother’s attention. All I wanted was time with her, to be held, to be seen. Instead, she shoved my head under cold water. The shock stole my breath. I gasped, covered my mouth, and made a vow that day: I will never cry again. That inner vow wrapped itself around my heart like armour. I told myself I wouldn’t need hugs, comfort, or softness. I would not ask for love. I would be strong — or at least appear to be. I grew up being F.I.N.E. — Fractured, Insecure, Numb, and Exhausted. For decades, that word became my survival code. “I’m fine” meant I’m holding it together by a thread. It was the language of control, the mask of someone who learned early that her needs were too much. Beneath that silence lived a river of uncried tears — tears that my body would one day reveal through pain, pressure and inflammation. 📖 “The Lord is near to those who have a broken heart, and saves such as have a contrite spirit.” — Psalm 34:18 (NKJV) Years later, my mother told me she once found me in the living room — quiet and still. I had fallen while climbing on the TV unit and split my lip open. Blood was streaming through my fingers, yet not a single tear fell. I just stood there, hand pressed over my mouth, frozen not a sound. That image pierced me when I remembered it. The little girl who had learned that tears were dangerous now stood silently bleeding, unwilling to cry even in pain. My body remembered the vow even when my mind had forgotten. That moment became the mirror to my soul. I began to see how deeply that vow shaped my life — how it stole my ability to receive comfort, how it numbed joy as well as pain. The silence that once kept me safe had become a prison. Yet even in that frozen moment, Jesus was there. I believe He knelt beside that trembling child, whispering, “You don’t have to hide your pain anymore. I can hold it. I can hold you.” When I finally repented and renounced that vow, my body began to heal. My sinuses cleared. My chest loosened. My tears — once imprisoned — became prayers. Each one felt like a baptism, washing away years of self-protection. I was no longer drowning in grief; I was being freed by grace. 📖 “Those who sow in tears shall reap in joy.” — Psalm 126:5 (NKJV) The vow that once kept me “fine” broke under the weight of divine love. The little girl who had stood silent and bleeding learned to weep again. 📖 “He will wipe away every tear from their eyes; there shall be no more death, nor sorrow, nor crying.” — Revelation 21:4 (NKJV) 💡 Reflection: • What vows of self-protection have shaped your story — and what might God be inviting you to release? 🤔 • What memories still hold your tears hostage, waiting to be redeemed by His touch? 🤔 • What would it look like to let your tears become an offering instead of a sign of weakness? 🤔 🎺 Affirmation: I am no longer defined by silence or strength without softness. My tears are holy; my heart is safe. The vow is broken. Love has found me, and I am free to cry, to need, and to be healed. 🙌 Prayer: Abba Father, Thank You for finding me in every hidden place — even in the memories I thought were too painful to revisit. Thank You for loving the little girl who believed she had to be fine while her heart bled in silence. I release the vow that bound me to strength without comfort. I welcome Your healing presence into the places where cold water silenced my cries. Wash away every residue of fear and shame. Let my tears water new life, and may every drop become a testimony of Your compassion. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

There are moments in life when God’s whisper feels like the only thing keeping us steady — a quiet assurance that He has not forgotten us. Today, He speaks gently over your heart: “Every detail of your life is in My hands. I am working all things together for your good. What I started in you, I will bring to completion. The dreams I planted in your heart and the purpose I designed for you — it will all come to pass in My perfect timing. Do not fear or be discouraged. My love for you is unfailing, unshaken, and unending. I have not forgotten you, and I will not abandon the work of My hands. Even in seasons where you don’t see progress, trust that I am moving behind the scenes, aligning the right people, opportunities, and moments for your breakthrough.” 📖 “The Lord will perfect that which concerns me; Your mercy, O Lord, endures forever; do not forsake the works of Your hands.” — Psalm 138:8 (NKJV) Every seed God has planted in you is still growing, even beneath the soil of unseen seasons. Like a potter shaping clay, His hands are steady — forming purpose from pressure and beauty from brokenness. Nothing is wasted when your life rests in His care. 💡 Reflection: Where in your life do you need to release control and trust God’s unseen work? 🤔 🎺 Affirmation: I am held in the loving hands of my Creator. His timing is perfect, His promises sure, and His love unshaken. 🙌 Prayer: Father, thank You for holding every part of my story in Your faithful hands. Help me to trust Your timing when I cannot see progress, and to rest in Your steadfast love. Let Your peace quiet my striving as I wait for the fulfilment of Your promises. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

I know that I will one day speak on stages and in stadiums — it’s not a question of if, only when. Because this is what I’ve learned: People often say, “I’m not creative.” I used to believe that too. I said, I can’t sing, I can’t dance, I can’t draw, I can’t paint, I can’t write, I can’t speak. Those weren’t truths; they were wounds — ways of protecting myself from shame and rejection. Yet God, in His mercy, gave me seven keys for healing, and six of them were creativity, because creativity isn’t about talent — it’s about restoration. It’s rest. It’s joy. It’s the place where our hearts remember how to breathe again. Every “I can’t” in my life became a story of redemption. Now, I do all six. Creativity has become my conversation with God — a sacred exchange where pain becomes colour, words become wings, and silence becomes song. It’s where I find healing and restoration through faith and expression. 📖 “With God all things are possible.” — Matthew 19:26 (NKJV) 📖 “He has sent Me to heal the broken-hearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and the opening of the prison to those who are bound.” — Isaiah 61:1 (NKJV) So now I know this: Nothing is impossible — because with Him, I’m possible. 💡 Reflection: • Where have you believed the lie that you are not creative? 🤔 • What story of healing might God be waiting to write through your hands, your voice, your movement, or your imagination? 🤔 🎺 Affirmation: I am God’s masterpiece in progress. Every brushstroke of my life carries His grace. What once was broken, He is making beautifully whole. 🙌 Prayer: Father, thank You for the gift of creativity — for the ways You heal and restore what was once wounded and afraid. Help me to see myself as You see me: capable, beloved, and full of divine potential. Teach me to create from a place of rest and joy, and to use my gifts to reflect Your heart to the world. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

The real flex as an artist isn’t going viral — it’s staying rooted in your artistry when no one’s clapping. There’s a quiet strength in the artist who keeps showing up — brush in hand, heart open — when no one’s watching, sharing, or applauding. The courage to create without recognition is its own kind of faithfulness. We are our own worst critics when it comes to art. We’ll hail someone else’s painting as magnificent long before we’ll accept our own as merely good enough. Yet when God, the Master Artist, made man in His own image, He looked upon His creation and said, “It was very good.” 📖 “Then God saw everything that He had made, and indeed it was very good.” — Genesis 1:31 (NKJV) That truth still humbles me. God, who painted galaxies and sculpted mountains, called His work good — not perfect. If the Creator Himself found joy in the process, who are we to despise ours?🤔 For more than a year, this painting has sat on my easel — sky, mountain, forest, and water — waiting for me to finish the train that winds its way through the valley. I’ve hesitated to pick up the brush, afraid to mess it up. Afraid of ruining what’s already beautiful in its unfinished state. But isn’t that how we often live?🤔 Pausing mid-journey because the next step feels risky. We procrastinate, not from laziness, but from fear — fear of imperfection, of exposure, of not being “enough.” Yet God never asked for perfection. He invited participation. Perhaps this canvas is a quiet metaphor for my life — for every dream I’ve delayed and every vision I’ve left half-painted. The courage lies not in completing it flawlessly, but in continuing, trusting that grace will fill the gaps my skill cannot. True artistry flows not from performance, but from presence. It’s the courage to create when inspiration feels distant, to paint with praise when no audience gathers, and to rest in the knowing that God delights in the process as much as the product. 💡 Reflection: Where in your creative or spiritual life are you hesitating to continue because you fear imperfection? 🤔 How might God be inviting you to pick up the brush again, trusting Him with what you cannot perfect? 🤔 🎺 Affirmation: My art is an act of worship. Whether seen or unseen, finished or unfinished, it is good — because the One who made me is good. 🙌 Prayer: Father God, thank You for breathing Your creative Spirit into me. Teach me to see beauty in what You see as good. Help me silence the critic within and rest in Your affirmation rather than the world’s applause. May my art — however flawed, however incomplete — be an offering of worship to You. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

500 stories.  500 threads of grace, woven through laughter and loss, courage and surrender, faith and failure, love and healing. 500 glimpses into lives touched by God’s redemptive love. 500 testaments that healing is possible, hope is alive, and beauty truly does rise from ashes. When I first began writing This Is My Story on trixiscreations.com, I never imagined how vast the canvas would become. Each post began as a whisper — a fragment of truth carried by the Holy Spirit — slowly forming into a mosaic of redemption. Together, they tell not only my story, but the story of a God who restores, redeems, and renews through every chapter of our becoming. What started as an act of obedience became a sacred altar — a place where I laid down my heart, page by page, and found it beating stronger under His touch. 📖 “The Lord has done great things for us, and we are filled with joy.” — Psalm 126:3 (NIV) Each story holds a heartbeat — of faith rekindled, of courage found in the breaking, of beauty revealed in ashes. From the trembling beginnings of my healing journey to the radiant unfolding of Healing 💔heARTs💖, every piece is a testimony that God truly wastes nothing. He has taken the fragments — the bruised seasons, the silent prayers, the journals soaked with tears — and turned them into art, into words, into light. Five hundred stories may sound like a number, but for me, it feels like a promise fulfilled: That no voice is too small, no pain too deep, no past too fractured for His redeeming love. As I look back, I see not just what I’ve written, but who I’ve become — a daughter restored, a storyteller healed, a vessel of hope for others still finding their way home. 📖 “They overcame him by the blood of the Lamb and by the word of their testimony.” — Revelation 12:11 (NKJV) Every story has been an act of worship — a way of saying, “Here I am, Lord, still writing, still believing, still becoming.” 📖 “Let the redeemed of the Lord tell their story.” — Psalm 107:2 (NIV) To everyone who has read, wept, or whispered me too — thank you. You’ve turned this journey into a shared song of grace. We are living proof that stories heal when they’re spoken, and hearts mend when they’re seen. 💡 Reflection: • What story in your life is God still writing through the cracks and the quiet? 🤔 • Where has His grace rewritten your pain into purpose? 🤔 🎺 Affirmation: Every story matters — even the unfinished ones. My words are not wasted; they are seeds of healing, sown in faith and watered by grace. 🙌 Prayer: Father, thank You for the gift of story — for the way You redeem our brokenness and turn it into beauty. May each word written continue to glorify You and draw hearts closer to Your love. Teach me to keep writing from a place of truth, tenderness, and trust, knowing that You are still the Author and Finisher of my faith. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

There are things I would do differently if I could relive those early years. Back then, I didn’t understand how sacred the bond between a mother and her child truly was — that trust is learnt at a mother’s breast, through presence, warmth, and the rhythm of being held. When that bond is interrupted, it leaves an invisible fracture that often resurfaces in adulthood, especially when life feels overwhelming. I see it now in the quiet distance of my own children — their self-sufficiency, their hesitance to share their hearts, not out of defiance, but because somewhere along the way, the safety of connection was disrupted. I grieve that. In judging my parents, I became like them and made many of the same mistakes I once resented. The very patterns I swore I’d never repeat found their way into my own mothering, quietly passed down like unspoken legacies. Now, I see it in the fruit of my boys — their guardedness, their independence, their need to protect their own hearts. And yet, even this recognition is grace, because seeing truth is the beginning of redemption. For I serve a God who redeems what time has eroded, who restores what was fractured by fear or ignorance. He turns “the hearts of the children to their fathers, and the hearts of the fathers to their children.” — Malachi 4:6 (NKJV) It’s never too late to acknowledge where we fell short, nor too late to pursue restoration. Love has a way of finding the cracks, filling them with mercy, and making something beautiful again — like kintsugi gold threading through broken pottery. If we want to live in our children’s memories, we must be present in their moments — the first steps, the whispered words, the small victories. It is in those ordinary, sacred spaces that trust is formed and love takes root. 💡Reflection: • Have I forgiven my parents for the ways they fell short, and in doing so, freed myself from repeating their patterns? 🤔 • What steps can I take today toward reconnection and grace? 🤔 🎺Affirmation: I release judgment and receive grace. I am not bound to repeat old patterns — in Christ, I am made new, and so are my relationships. 🙌 Prayer: Father God, thank You for the mercy that meets me even in my regrets. Forgive me for the ways I judged my parents and for repeating the very wounds I sought to escape. Teach me to mother — and to love — from a place of grace, not guilt. Heal the spaces where distance took root and let Your love flow between us again. Turn our hearts toward one another and restore the beauty of connection. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

There are moments in life when truth lands not as a judgment, but as a quiet, piercing ache — the kind that makes you pause and whisper, “If I knew then what I know now…” I once believed that placing my children in daycare was a necessity, part of the rhythm of modern life. Everyone around me seemed to do it. Yet deep down, something in my spirit grieved. I now see with clarity that what the world calls normal often stands far from God’s design. Trust is first learnt at a mother’s breast — in the warmth of her arms, the steady rhythm of her heartbeat, het consistent presence and the gentle gaze that tells a child, You are safe. You are seen. You belong. I look back now and see how easily we, as mothers, can be led by the world’s systems instead of God’s design. So many of us handed our babies to others too soon — not out of neglect, but out of pressure, exhaustion, or the belief that independence was progress. 📖 “Yet You are He who took me out of the womb; You made me trust while on my mother’s breasts.” — Psalm 22:9 (NKJV) When that primal bond is disrupted too soon, a child’s heart adapts for survival. They learn independence before safety, silence before expression, control before comfort. And those early wounds lie dormant until the structures of adulthood begin to crumble under pressure. Then, suddenly, the old ache resurfaces — the unspoken longing for closeness, for safety, for connection. Just look at the emotional disconnect between adults and children today, and you’ll see the ripple of that deprivation. It's in being present in those childhood moments that relationships, trust and safety to share are built. I now see the consequences in my own children — "That's a good question. " in reply to enquiring how they are, their quiet distance, their hesitancy to share their hearts. It grieves me, yet it also humbles me. Because even in regret, God whispers redemption. If we want to live in our children’s memories, we must be present in their moments — the first steps, the whispered words, the small victories. It is in those ordinary, sacred spaces that trust is formed and love takes root. This is not written from blame, but from awakening. We parented with what we knew, not with what we understand now. Grace reminds me that regret can become a doorway — not to condemnation, but to restoration. 📖 “He will turn the hearts of the fathers to their children, and the hearts of the children to their fathers.” — Malachi 4:6 (NKJV) This verse anchors me in hope. No mistake is final in God’s story. The same hands that knit our babies in the womb can reweave the torn threads of trust. His love restores what our humanity mishandled. When we confess, when we choose to reconnect, when we let love lead again — He breathes new life into the bond. God, in His mercy, turns the hearts of children back to their fathers and mothers, and the hearts of parents back to their children. He weaves healing through honesty, humility, and renewed connection. I cannot rewrite their beginnings, yet I can choose how the next chapter unfolds — with presence, tenderness, and truth. 📖 “As one whom his mother comforts, so I will comfort you.” — Isaiah 66:13 (NKJV) It’s never too late to nurture, to listen, to hold our children close — even if they’re grown. It’s never too late to model repentance, humility, and tenderness. Trust may take time to rebuild, but grace is patient. God’s heart beats with restoration, and He delights in mending what was once broken. 💡 Reflection: • What memories or beliefs about nurture and trust need healing in your story today? 🤔 • What memories or beliefs about nurture and trust need healing in your story today? 🤔 Where have distance or busyness robbed me of presence? 🤔 • How might God be inviting you to restore what was once broken — in yourself, your children, or your lineage? 🤔 • Where have you seen the long echo of early emotional disconnection — in yourself, your children, or your relationships? 🤔 • How might God be inviting you to participate in His restoring work today? 🤔 🎺 Affirmation: I am no longer defined by what I didn’t know then. By God’s grace, I am learning to love better now — to nurture, to listen, and to rebuild trust with gentleness and truth. I am not bound by regret. I am part of God’s redemptive story — healing, learning, and loving in new ways. 🙌 Prayer: Father, thank You for opening my eyes to see both the beauty and the brokenness of what shaped me. Forgive me for moments when I followed the world’s patterns instead of Your design. Heal the attachment wounds within my family, and let Your love rebuild what distance has undone. Restore trust where fear once lived, and remind us that it’s never too late to begin again. Heavenly Father, thank You for Your mercy that covers every regret and breathes life into every broken bond. Forgive me where I fell short, and help me to see through Your eyes — to love my children, my family, and myself with the same tenderness You have shown me. Heal the places where trust was lost and let Your love flow freely between generations. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.