For most of my life, I strived to become the Proverbs 31 woman — that noble example of faith, diligence, and grace. I measured myself against her as though she were a mountain I needed to climb, a list of virtues I had to perfect to prove my worth. Yet lately, as I’ve walked deeper into healing, I’ve discovered something profoundly freeing: she was already within me. The traits I admired — courage, compassion, wisdom, creativity, generosity, and strength — were not qualities I needed to acquire; they were gifts I had carried all along. They had simply been twisted through pain and early wounding. Love had become people-pleasing. Strength had become striving. Compassion had turned to exhaustion. Wisdom had been silenced by fear. Yet even in distortion, these qualities bore the fingerprints of divine design. Healing has not been about becoming someone new but rather remembering who I was before the world’s pain reshaped me. Each area of restoration mirrors the values God wrote into my soul: • Faith that anchors me when storms arise. • Love that gives freely, not for approval but from overflow. • Service that uplifts without losing self. • Creativity that mends what was broken and paints hope anew. • Courage that faces truth with grace. As the Holy Spirit untwists what trauma distorted, I’m witnessing the redemption of these very traits. What once felt like weakness now radiates divine strength. What once sought validation now finds rest in being seen by God. It’s as though the Proverbs 31 woman has stepped out from within the shadows of my striving and begun to breathe again — not as an ideal to chase, but as the truest reflection of who I already am in Christ. 📖 "She is clothed with strength and dignity; and she shall rejoice in time to come." — Proverbs 31:25 (NKJV) 💡 Reflection: Where have your God-given strengths been twisted by pain or misunderstanding? What would it look like for those traits to be redeemed through grace? 🤔 🎺 Affirmation: I am not striving to become her — I am remembering her. The Proverbs 31 woman is already alive within me, redeemed by grace and restored through healing. 🙌 Prayer: Father, thank You for creating me with every virtue needed to live out Your call with grace and strength. Heal the places where pain distorted Your image in me. Redeem what has been twisted, restore what has been broken, and let the fullness of who You designed me to be reflect Your glory. Teach me to walk in quiet confidence, clothed in dignity, wisdom, and love. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

The quiet that follows conflict may seem calm to an adult, yet to a child, it hums with unspoken tension. It can feel louder than the argument itself. The air feels heavy, the smiles feel strained, and love feels distant. Children often internalise it as danger, not peace. They learn to tiptoe through rooms heavy with unspoken words, reading emotional weather forecasts in facial expressions, tone shifts, or the absence of sound. They learn to read the pauses between words, the footsteps in the hallway, and the sighs behind closed doors. They come to fear silence as much as anger, because silence, too, can wound. 💔 I know that silence well. It followed me from childhood into adulthood, shaping how I handle conflict even now. But my last line — “It’s followed me through childhood all the way into adulthood” — holds the weight of both grief and recognition. That awareness is where healing begins. It names what so many carry quietly: that fear of stillness, that unease when calm feels unsafe because it once meant disconnection. My familiar has always been to withdraw — to retreat into stillness, to keep the peace by disappearing into quiet. Yet God has been gently teaching me that silence need not always mean danger. When surrendered to Him, it can become a sanctuary of peace — a place where He heals the echoes of fear and fills the space with His presence. He speaks not through the chaos, but through the calm that follows it. His voice is gentle, yet it restores courage, allowing the frightened child within to breathe again. 📖 “He makes the storm a calm, so that its waves are still.” — Psalm 107:29 (NKJV) 💡 Reflection Prompts • What memories or emotions surface for you when silence feels heavy or unsafe?🤔 • How have past experiences shaped the way you respond to conflict or withdrawal today?🤔 • What does it look like for you to invite God into the silence — not as a void, but as a place of peace?🤔 • What gentle step could you take this week to speak, reconcile, or rest rather than retreat?🤔 🎺 Affirmation I no longer fear the quiet. With God beside me, the silence is no longer empty — it is sacred space for healing and truth to grow. 🙏 Prayer Lord, You see the child within me who learned to hide when the shouting stopped and the silence began. Teach me that not all quiet is dangerous. Fill those spaces with Your love, so that I may no longer retreat from peace but rest in it. Heal the parts of me that still tremble when calm comes, and teach me to trust Your stillness as safety. In Your presence, may my silence become prayer, and my heart find rest. In Jesus' Name, Amen.

This image speaks volumes — it captures the heartbreak of betrayal with such quiet power. One person holds the bow, arrows still in hand, while the other stands wounded yet embracing — a picture of forgiveness in the midst of pain. My reflection echoes something deeply human and painfully familiar. When I sense unease but silence it — afraid of judging, of being “too much” — I often end up paying a high price. Yet those gut feelings are not mere suspicion; they’re discernment, a whisper from the Holy Spirit protecting my heart. 📖 “The prudent sees danger and hides himself, but the simple go on and suffer for it.” — Proverbs 22:3 (NKJV) I have lost count of the number of times throughout my life that I've gone against my uneasy gut feelings when meeting people for the first time, thinking I'm just being prejudiced, only to be stabbed in the back. Each time I’ve been “stabbed in the back,” it wasn’t because I lacked love — it was because I gave it freely. The pain reminds me that empathy without discernment can wound me, but discernment without empathy can harden me. The art is learning to keep my heart soft and my eyes open. I’ve lived my values — love, compassion, integrity — even when others haven’t. That’s not weakness; that’s courage. The same heart that bleeds is the one capable of deep healing. 💡Reflection: • When have I silenced discernment for fear of being unkind?🤔 • What might it look like to trust that gentle warning next time without losing compassion?🤔 🤲🏻Prayer: Lord Jesus, thank You for being my defender when I’ve been betrayed. Teach me to listen when Your Spirit nudges and to recognise the difference between fear and discernment. Help me to forgive without reopening wounds and to love wisely with Your truth as my guard. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

What we know Catherine Thomson Hogarth was born 19 May 1815, Edinburgh, and married Charles Dickens on 2 April 1836. Wikipedia+1 They had ten children together over the next fifteen-plus years. Charles Dickens Info+2Wikipedia+2 In 1858 the couple separated. Dickens retained control over the home and the narrative; Catherine left the house and lived apart. Wikipedia Letters and newly-analysed documents show Dickens accused Catherine of mental instability and inadequate domestic performance. smithsonianmag.com+1 For decades, Catherine’s side of the story was overshadowed by Dickens’ public persona of moral champion and champion of the oppressed. Modern scholarship is working to re-examine Catherine’s voice and plight. Bates College+1 I can hardly bear to think of it without my heart tightening in anger after reading this. The injustice of it all — how could he write with such compassion for the poor and oppressed, yet treat his own wife with such cruelty?🤔😡 Catherine gave him ten children, buried three, and still managed to serve, to love, to hold a home together while the world applauded his genius. What burns within me is not only his betrayal but the silence of those around him. The children who turned against her. The sister who stayed with him. The community that believed his polished lies because it was easier than facing the truth. Such manipulation, such control — how it mirrors every story of power that silences love, every time truth is twisted until the victim seems to be the villain. 📖 “Woe to those who call evil good, and good evil; who put darkness for light, and light for darkness.” — Isaiah 5:20 (NKJV) I feel a righteous fury rise within me, yet beneath it runs a deeper grief. I imagine Catherine — tired, lonely, and humiliated — packing her things while the world looked away. I think of her as she clutched the letters he once wrote in love, the last proof that she had ever been cherished. That image makes me weep. Still, she chose silence over slander. She bore her cross with quiet courage, entrusting her name to the God who sees in secret. Her restraint becomes her testimony; her dignity, her defiance. 📖 “Commit your way to the Lord, trust also in Him, and He shall bring it to pass… He shall bring forth your righteousness as the light, and your justice as the noonday.” — Psalm 37:5–6 (NKJV) I think of my own life, the moments I have been unseen, unheard, or misjudged while quietly carrying burdens no one else could see. The times I longed for vindication, for someone to tell the truth. Yet like Catherine, I am reminded that God Himself is my defender. My worth does not depend on the world’s applause but on His gaze of love. Her story strengthens the fire in me. It reminds me why integrity matters more than image, why compassion must begin at home, and why truth is sacred even when it costs everything. 📖 “The Lord is near to those who have a broken heart, and saves such as have a contrite spirit.” — Psalm 34:18 (NKJV)  So I let my anger breathe — but I do not let it consume me. I turn it into intercession for every woman silenced by power, for every heart that has loved deeply and been discarded, for every soul still waiting for justice. Considerations of injustice This is an example of someone who wrote eloquently about the suffering of others yet failed to see the suffering in his own home. The tension between Dickens’ public advocacy and his private behaviour is stark. Catherine was performing the extraordinary labour of motherhood (ten pregnancies, child-loss, household management under the weight of Dickens’ success), yet her toil appears to have been unacknowledged, demeaned, and finally discarded. The marital and social structures of Victorian England granted Dickens far more power and reputation than Catherine had. While he had the public pulpit and pen, she had to labour quietly, emotionally and physically. That imbalance in power allowed Dickens to control the narrative of their separation, casting Catherine as the problem rather than acknowledging the mutual complexity of their marriage, his ambitions, his sins, his failings. Catherine walking away with dignity despite her losses — her home, her marriage, the public respect — makes her a figure of resilience in the face of injustice. 💡A faith-centred reflection In the gospel of our Lord, we find a call to see the hidden, to honour the weak, to give voice to the silent. I believe Catherine’s story reminds us of this: “The Lord … sets the solitary in families; He brings out those who are bound into prosperity; But the rebellious dwell in a dry land.” — Psalm 68:6 (NKJV) Catherine was one of the bound — by culture, by expectations, by a marriage that became a story of abandonment more than companionship. We honour her by remembering. She endured what many would have thought impossible: the loss of multiple children, the public shaming, the erasure of her contribution. Yet she preserved her dignity and her request that the early love letters be published as proof that she once was loved into being. Wikipedia+1 Her story invites us to ask: Who else in history (or in our own circles) has been erased, mischaracterised, made silent by power, by fame, by narrative control?🤔 Where have I been silenced or dismissed when I was simply carrying too much?🤔 What truth in me longs to be seen and set free?🤔 Personal application for Us As you speak to hearts broken, overlooked, or wounded, you are doing the holy work of giving voice to the hidden. Catherine’s life can serve as a mirror: Encourage those who feel invisible that their story matters. Remind the oppressed that their worth is not determined by those who ignore their labour. Challenge systems (within relationships, workplaces, churches) where power is abused under the guise of compassion. Provide hope: though Catherine’s voice was subdued in her lifetime, it is rising again in scholarship, remembrance, honour — and that, in itself, is an act of justice. 🗣Affirmation: I am seen by God. My voice matters. My quiet strength carries heaven’s approval, even when earth withholds its praise. 🙌Prayer: Heavenly Father, thank You for being the God who sees the unseen and defends the forgotten. You know the cries of those who have been silenced, the hearts wounded by betrayal, and the women who have carried burdens in secret. I bring before You every Catherine—every soul who has endured injustice and been blamed for another’s sin. Wrap them in Your peace. Heal the wounds that others have ignored. Where power has been misused, bring repentance and truth into the light. Teach me to carry righteous anger without letting it turn to bitterness. Make my heart a vessel of both compassion and courage, so that in all things, I may reflect Your justice wrapped in mercy. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Some seasons in life feel like standing on a quiet platform after the train has already pulled away. You can still feel the wind of its passing — the sting of missed chances, the ache of goodbye, the whisper of what if. Yet not every train is meant to carry us where we’re called to go. Some simply pass through to remind us of what still needs healing, what must be released, or what faith looks like when we can’t yet see the next arrival. 📖 “For we walk by faith, not by sight.” — 2 Corinthians 5:7 (NKJV) God’s timing is never late; it is layered with purpose. The waiting platform becomes holy ground when we trust His timetable. In the stillness, He prepares our hearts, strengthens our legs for the journey ahead, and whispers, “Be still, I’m bringing something better.” So, if a door closes, a person walks away, or a dream seems to slip beyond reach, don’t run after it. Stand firm, breathe deeply, and look up. The right train will come — one that carries peace, purpose, and promise. And when it does, you’ll know it’s time to step aboard. 💡Reflection: What “train” in your life have you been tempted to chase?🤔 How might God be inviting you to wait with trust instead of striving?🤔 🙌Prayer: Lord Jesus, thank You for teaching me to wait with hope, not haste. When I feel left behind or forgotten, remind me that Your plans never miss their timing. Help me rest in Your faithfulness, trusting that the train You’ve prepared for me will come — right on time. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

The more I pursue my healing, the more I uncover the woman God originally designed me to be — not the shy, timid, introverted version I once believed I was, but one who is bold, radiant, and courageous. Healing has not made me someone new; it has simply revealed who I was beneath the layers of fear and false belief. Courage and confidence have not preceded obedience; they have followed it. Every act of faith — every trembling yes to the prompting of the Holy Spirit — has drawn me out of hiding and into the light of divine purpose. There was a time I mistook humility for silence, and meekness for shrinking. Yet God, in His tender love, is showing me that true humility is not about diminishing myself but allowing His strength to shine through me. The shy girl was never the full story — she was the cocoon. The woman emerging now is evidence of His refining fire. I used to see pressure as punishment, but I am learning it is often the place where God does His most transformative work. Diamonds are formed in hidden places — under immense heat and crushing weight — yet their beauty tells of endurance, not ease. The same God who forms the diamond in darkness is shaping me in the depths, polishing the rough edges of my character until His light reflects through every facet. What once felt like breaking is becoming. What once felt like loss is revealing hidden treasure. The more I surrender, the more I see that healing is not the end of a journey, but the unveiling of identity — the discovery of who I have always been in Him. 📖 "For you were once darkness, but now you are light in the Lord. Walk as children of light." — Ephesians 5:8 (NKJV) 💡Reflection: • What parts of your old self are being refined, not erased, through your healing journey? 🤔 • How has obedience revealed courage in ways you didn’t expect? 🤔 • Where might God be forming something precious under pressure right now? 🤔 🎺Affirmation: I am not who I was — I am who God says I am. I am being refined, not reduced. My courage is rising from the furnace of obedience, and His light shines through the cracks that once made me hide. 🙌 Prayer: Father, thank You for the beauty You bring from pressure. Teach me to trust the process of Your refining love, even when the fire feels fierce. Strengthen my heart to walk boldly in who You created me to be — confident, courageous, and radiant with Your glory. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Today would have been your birthday, Mom. Our hearts still ache from the space your absence left, yet there’s a quiet joy in knowing you’re celebrating in Heaven — whole, radiant, and free. I can almost picture you laughing with the angel choirs, your voice woven into their song of eternal praise. Down here, the memories linger like soft echoes — your gentle hands, your tender heart, your laughter that could brighten even the weariest day. The ache reminds us of the depth of love shared, and though our loss still feels fresh, we find comfort in knowing that love has not been severed, only transformed. Your legacy lives on in every prayer whispered, every act of kindness, every moment we choose to love as you did — fully, fiercely, and with grace. 📖 “And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes; there shall be no more death, nor sorrow, nor crying.” — Revelation 21:4 (NKJV) Until we meet again, we hold you close in our hearts. Love and miss you always, Mom / Granny Lice 🤗💞

There’s something sacred about watching a child create. Give a toddler a paintbrush, and they will fill the world with fearless colour. Play music, and they will dance with abandon. Hand them crayons, and they’ll draw stories that make perfect sense to Heaven. We are all born this way — unafraid to express the divine spark within us. We are made in the image of the Creator Himself — designed to mirror His creative nature through art, words, song, and imagination. 📖 “So God created man in His own image; in the image of God He created him; male and female He created them.” — Genesis 1:27 (NKJV) This is the first recorded moment where Scripture speaks of someone being filled with the Holy Spirit — not for preaching, but for creating. God anointed Bezalel to craft beauty for His dwelling place. 📖 “Then the Lord spoke to Moses, saying: ‘See, I have called by name Bezalel... and I have filled him with the Spirit of God, in wisdom, in understanding, in knowledge, and in all manner of workmanship.’” — Exodus 31:1–3 (NKJV) Yet somewhere between childhood wonder and adult responsibility, something shifts. Words wound us, and comparisons cage us. The need for approval dims the light that once flowed so freely. Society teaches us that if it's not generating income, it's not worth pursuing because there's no time for "fun" activities. We stop creating not because the gift has left us, but because our hearts have learned to protect themselves. Creativity, then, becomes more than expression — it becomes healing. Each stroke of paint, each song, each poem is a whispered prayer that says, “I’m ready to live again.” In creating, we let the Holy Spirit touch the tender places, transforming pain into beauty and fear into freedom. 📖 “He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.” — Psalm 147:3 (NKJV) When we create, we partner with the One who first created us — the Artist of our souls. We return to childlike faith, where love leads and shame loses its grip. May we never stop colouring outside the lines of fear, for every act of creation is a step closer to the heart of God. Every act of creation — whether painting, writing, or song — becomes worship when done for Him. 📖 “Whatever you do, do it heartily, as to the Lord and not to men.” — Colossians 3:23 (NKJV) Creativity unfolds in divine timing; what we make in partnership with God carries eternal beauty. 💡 Reflection: I don't remember what I did for creativity as a little child, but in my teenage years, I did a lot of colouring, and in high school, I wrote poetry. Over the past nine years, the Lord has given me seven keys to healing, and all but one relate to creativity. He has restored my faith and reframed the lies I had come to believe that I can't sing, draw, paint, dance, write, or speak. • What was your favourite way to create as a child — to sing, draw, dance, imagine, or build?🤔 • How did it make you feel?🤔 • When did you first begin to doubt your creative voice or hide your self-expression?🤔 • What moment or words silenced your song?🤔 • In what ways do you sense God inviting you to rediscover joy through creativity today?🤔 • How does creating (painting, writing, cooking, singing, etc.) help you connect with the Holy Spirit?🤔 • What fear, comparison, or lie might God be healing through your creative process right now?🤔 • How can you make space in your daily rhythm to create simply for the joy of being with Him?🤔 🙌Prayer: Lord, thank You for placing creativity within me — not as a talent to prove my worth, but as a pathway to healing. Restore the innocence of my imagination, the courage of my voice, and the joy of my expression. Let my art, in whatever form it takes, become worship that brings You glory. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

In March this year, I attended the Speakers Institute Premiere Bootcamp for the very first time, after experiencing the free viewing in January. Something in me knew I had to return—not as a spectator this time, but as a participant ready to face the very thing that once made me tremble. Like Moses, I had often felt inadequate, asking God for an Aaron to do the talking because I so often forgot what I was about to say halfway through a sentence. Having been raised with "Children must be seen, not heard", and a lack of conversations, the lie, “I can’t speak,” had buried itself so deeply within my heart that even the thought of public speaking made my body tremble. Although public speaking still scares the hell out of me, I’ve realised it’s a necessary skill to learn for my calling. My journey with the Tribe has brought huge improvement in confidence and speaking within my Encounter Groups. Each time I step forward, the trembling lessens, and faith grows stronger than the fear. 📖 "Then the Lord said to him, ‘Who has made man’s mouth? Or who makes the mute, the deaf, the seeing, or the blind? Have not I, the Lord? Now therefore, go, and I will be with your mouth and teach you what you shall say.’" — Exodus 4:11–12 (NKJV) That verse became real to me in those days. Through tears, vulnerability, and courage, a team of volunteers stood beside me like armour-bearers — patient, kind, and unwavering. They believed in me when I could barely stand in my own belief. Their compassion helped me peel back the layers of fear and rediscover the voice God placed within me. This weekend, I had the immense honour of "paying it forward" — serving among the incredible Speakers Tribe crew, supporting 19 courageous attendees on their transformational journeys. To serve among such selfless, inspiring hearts felt like standing on holy ground. What an honour and privilege to walk alongside this tribe — to give, to witness, and to grow together. I am so deeply grateful to be part of this journey. If you long to speak with confidence, share your story, or simply find your authentic voice in a safe, empowering community — this experience is truly extraordinary. 🌿 📖 "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me." — Philippians 4:13 (NKJV) This journey reminds me that courage is not the absence of fear but the decision to keep showing up despite it. God doesn’t ask for perfection — He asks for obedience. Each time I stand to speak, I am reminded that my voice is not my own; it is a vessel for His message of healing and hope. When I surrender my trembling to Him, He transforms fear into faith and hesitation into holy confidence. 💡Reflection: What fears have silenced you, and how might God be inviting you to trust Him with your voice?🤔 When have you felt inadequate or fearful about something God was calling you to do?🤔 How does remembering that God equips and speaks through you change your perspective on your weaknesses?🤔 Who has stood beside you, encouraging you to believe in the voice God placed within you?🤔 What practical step can you take this week to strengthen your confidence and use your voice for God’s glory?🤔 How might you “pay it forward” by supporting or encouraging someone else in their own journey from fear to faith?🤔 🙌 Prayer: Dear Lord, thank You for calling me beyond my fears and teaching me that my weakness is a canvas for Your strength. When my heart trembles and my words falter, remind me that You are the One who speaks through me. Let every word I share carry Your truth, Your compassion, and Your light. Help me to use my voice to build, to heal, and to bring glory to Your Name. Strengthen others who are learning to speak their truth in faith. May we all find courage in Your presence and peace in Your promise. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.n

For the past two years or so, I’ve been waking up between 3 and 5 a.m. regularly. Honestly, I don’t always feel like getting up and have turned around and gone back to sleep on many occasions. However, when I do get up to spend time with the Lord, my days just flow so much better. There’s a peace that lingers, a clarity that carries me, and a sense that I’ve already aligned my heart with His before the noise of the world even begins. It’s not about discipline — it’s about desire. The Holy Spirit meets me there, gently reminding me that His presence is worth the surrender of sleep. Those quiet hours are where my strength is renewed and my spirit recalibrated to grace. 📖 “Now in the morning, having risen a long while before daylight, He went out and departed to a solitary place; and there He prayed.” — Mark 1:35 (NKJV) There is a sacred stillness before dawn — a hush when the world has not yet stirred, and the weight of heaven leans close to the earth. This is the hour where God moves most deeply, not because He has changed, but because we have. When the heart is fully surrendered and the noise of the world has not yet begun, we step into a holy invitation. It is not convenience that draws us — it is faith. In those quiet hours, between 3am and 5am, when sleep still clings to our eyes and comfort begs us to stay in bed, the Spirit whispers, “Rise, beloved.” This is not about routine; it is about revelation. It is not about performance; it is about presence. It is not about eloquence; it is about honesty. For in that hour, when a woman rises to pray, her tears become seeds in heaven’s soil. Her whispers are not lost to the dark — they echo in the courts of God. It is a prayer not polished but poured out, not scripted but surrendered. Heaven bends low to listen for one thing only: truth from the heart. Such prayer is warfare wrapped in worship. It silences demonic voices, shatters strongholds, and commands peace to reign. The enemy trembles because he knows that a woman who prays before dawn is not to be trifled with. Her intercession becomes a shield around her home, her family, her mind, and her future. This kind of prayer does not just change circumstances — it changes you. It forges strength in silence, births oil through obedience, and anchors faith in intimacy. These are the women whose eyes carry light that cannot be dimmed, whose presence calms storms, and whose lives quietly testify: “I have met God in the dawn.” They do not pray to be seen. They pray because their spirit knows what is at stake. They have found the secret place where victory is won before the day begins. 💡 Reflection Prompt What would it look like to meet God before the noise begins? What burden might lift if you rose early and whispered, “Here I am, Lord”? 🙌🏻 Prayer Father, awaken me before the dawn. Teach me the power of stillness and the strength of surrender. Let my prayers carry the fragrance of faith and the fire of intimacy. May my tears water seeds of breakthrough, and may my life become an altar that burns quietly before You. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

There is something so sacred about long-term friendships — the kind that have weathered every version of who you’ve been. The ones who saw you stumble and still stayed beside you. The ones who believed in your goodness when you doubted it yourself. They’ve watched you change, break, heal, and rise again, yet their love never shifted with the wind. Such friends are a quiet reflection of God’s heart — steadfast, gracious, and true. They remind us that real love isn’t conditional upon performance or perfection. It’s presence. It’s staying when it would be easier to walk away. It’s holding space when words fall short. It’s celebrating small steps and believing for the breakthrough when faith feels thin. 📖 “A friend loves at all times, and a brother is born for adversity.” — Proverbs 17:17 (NKJV) True friendship is covenant, not convenience. It bears the marks of grace — laughter shared, tears witnessed, prayers whispered in the dark. When we find souls who love us through every phase — loud or quiet, near or distant, strong or searching — we glimpse the faithfulness of Christ Himself, who never leaves nor forsakes us. So when you find those hearts, hold them close. Water them with gratitude. Let them know how deeply you cherish their presence on your journey. Because friendship, the kind that endures seasons and storms, is one of life’s most beautiful proofs of divine love. Reflection Question: • Who has stood beside you through your seasons of change? 🤔 • How might you show them your gratitude this week? 🤔 🙌 Prayer: Father, thank You for the precious gift of friendship — for the ones who have walked beside me in joy and in pain, who have reflected Your steadfast love in their patience and grace. Teach me to be a faithful friend in return, to love deeply, forgive quickly, and nurture the bonds You have blessed me with. May every friendship in my life bring You glory and remind others of Your unfailing love. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

There is a holy clarity that arrives when strength runs out. When all pretence is stripped away, and we find ourselves face-to-face with our own breaking, the room grows honest. Smiles that once seemed safe now reveal their scaffolds or masks, and the noise of flattery fades into silence. It is there — in the quiet rubble of what once held us — that truth begins to speak. Some hands will weigh you down under the guise of help, while others will lift you with gentleness that asks for nothing in return. These are the sacred ones — the few who kneel beside your wreckage, name your light when you cannot see it, and whisper hope into the dust. I think of the words from Steve De’lano Garcia: “Take their fingers like a promise, gather your ribs like a prayer, and rise — not to shame the silent, but to honour the truth that survived in you when nothing else did.” There is something profoundly Christlike in that rising — not a triumph of pride, but a resurrection of truth. Even in the shadows, His hands reach first, not to measure our fall but to lift us into grace. 📖 “The Lord upholds all who fall, and raises up all who are bowed down.” — Psalm 145:14 (NKJV) 💡Reflection: • Who knelt beside your wreckage? 🤔 • How might you honour them (and the God who sent them) by the way you rise?🤔 🙌 Prayer: Lord Jesus, thank You for the few who stayed when others turned away, for the hands that helped me rise and the hearts that reflected Yours. Teach me to discern mercy from manipulation, and to carry gratitude instead of bitterness as I rise again in Your light. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Endings matter — sometimes even more than beginnings. We pour so much heart into welcoming people in, yet often forget that farewells deserve the same intention. Off-boarding shouldn’t be just business or a tick-box exercise. It is a sacred moment of meaning, gratitude, and closure. What if we designed our endings with the same care and creativity we give to new beginnings? Imagine a thoughtful off-boarding programme called “Your Next Move” — crafted to bring clarity, dignity, and continued connection. Instead of a cold goodbye, we’d celebrate the journey shared and bless the path ahead. Recently, I experienced a season that tested integrity, dignity & ability to heal through disappointment in profound ways. After months of faithful service and a sudden silence — six months without meaningful communication — I received a termination letter giving just four weeks’ notice. There were no conversations, no farewells, no moments of human connection until long after my contract had already ended. It left me feeling rejected, unseen, and abandoned — not only as a professional but as a person. The ache was not simply about employment ending, but about the way it ended: without acknowledgement, honour, or closure. I had poured my heart into relationships and work that mattered deeply to me, only to be met with silence. Through tears and prayer, I brought that pain before God, asking Him to teach me how to respond with grace rather than bitterness. Slowly, I began to see that even in endings that lack dignity, He remains faithful. What others leave unfinished, He redeems. 📖 "The Lord is near to the brokenhearted, and saves those who are crushed in spirit." — Psalm 34:18 (NKJV) That experience deepened my conviction that endings matter. Integrity is not only tested in how we begin but in how we close a chapter. I still believe relationships, even professional ones, deserve to end with honour, gratitude, and blessing — because people’s worth extends far beyond contracts and timeframes. A farewell could become a moment to honour the person: to gather around their favourite foods, share meaningful words (and a few tears), give thoughtful gifts — perhaps a book of memories, tokens for their next chapter, or small treasures for their family — and most of all, to mark the ending well. Why does this matter?🤔 • Because endings signal what we truly value. • Because the way we say goodbye shapes how those who stay feel about belonging and trust. • Because a person’s worth extends far beyond their job title or end date. Goodbyes don’t have to be awkward, sterile, or uncaring. They can be beautiful moments that reinforce the truth Marcus Buckingham so eloquently expressed: 📖 “A beautiful goodbye reinforces the message that people’s worth as human beings extends far beyond their time with the organisation.” I couldn’t agree more. May we learn to end well — with gratitude, grace, and blessing — so every chapter closes with the same love that began it. 💡Reflection: When you think about the way a season or relationship ended, what emotions surface for you?🤔 How might God be inviting you to process those endings with grace rather than regret?🤔 What would it look like to design a meaningful farewell or closure in your current context — whether at work, ministry, or in friendship?🤔 How do your endings reflect your values?🤔 In what ways can you offer honour and blessing to someone who is transitioning out of your life or organisation?🤔 🙌🏻Prayer: Lord, help me to see endings not as failures but as sacred thresholds. Where I have felt unseen or dismissed, heal my heart and teach me to walk in grace. Let every closure become an altar of surrender, where You write the final word with compassion and purpose.

Excellence has always been woven into the fabric of who I am. From a young age, I felt its pull — a deep desire to do things well, to give my best, to make beauty out of what others might overlook. Yet, somewhere along the way, that pure longing for excellence was twisted into perfectionism. Wounding shaped my understanding of worth. I believed love had to be earned through performance and acceptance was conditional upon doing everything “just right.” What once was a reflection of God’s character — order, diligence, and grace — became an exhausting pursuit of approval. Perfection demanded; excellence invited. One enslaved me; the other frees me. Over time, the Holy Spirit has been tenderly restoring this part of me. Through brokenness, I learned that God never required perfection — only surrender. Excellence, in His Kingdom, is not about flawlessness but faithfulness. It’s about offering what’s in my hand with a pure heart and trusting Him with the outcome. It’s doing my work unto the Lord, not for the applause of men. 📖 "Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for human masters." — Colossians 3:23 (NIV) Now, I model excellence not as a performance, but as a posture — a way of living that honours God in the details. It shows up in how I create, how I serve, how I lead, and how I love. It’s reflected in the quiet commitment to do things well even when no one is watching, and in the grace to rest without guilt when it’s time to stop. When excellence is quietly punished by overuse, and mediocrity is quietly rewarded with comfort, teams begin to fracture. The ones who care the most — the high performers — start to dim their light, not out of weakness, but exhaustion. Carrying what others neglect soon feels less like teamwork and more like neglect disguised as loyalty. True leadership is stewardship. It recognises that excellence needs nurture, not exploitation. When we fail to guard the time and energy of our most faithful contributors, we erode not only their trust but the very culture we’re trying to build. 📖 "The labourer is worthy of his wages." — Luke 10:7 (NKJV) Protect your high performers. Hold your low performers accountable with grace and truth. Honour effort, not just outcome. Because when we tend the soil of excellence, everyone grows. 💡 Reflection: How has God redefined excellence in my life, and what does it now look like when I express it from a place of peace rather than pressure? 🤔 🎺 Affirmation: I no longer chase perfection; I embody excellence through peace, purpose, and presence. My work, my art, and my leadership are offerings of love — reflections of God’s grace and goodness within me. 🙌 Prayer: Father, thank You for redeeming what once was driven by fear and turning it into a reflection of Your beauty. Teach me to walk in true excellence — the kind that flows from rest, not striving; from love, not performance. May my life be a quiet testimony of faithfulness that glorifies You in all I do. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Writing is a beautiful way to let your pain out. When you share your story, you release it from being trapped within you. It’s as though you’re saying goodbye to a monster that once lived inside — one that fed on silence, shame, or fear. Sandra Marinella wrote: “Writing is a beautiful way to let your pain out. As you share your story, you release it from being stuck inside of you. This can feel like saying goodbye to a monster who has been living in you.” There is truth in those words. Writing doesn’t simply record your pain — it redeems it. Each time you name what once hurt you, you strip it of its power. Every sentence becomes an exhale, every paragraph a small resurrection. Through ink and honesty, you make room for healing. Faith anchors this process. Because when you place your story in God’s hands, it no longer defines you — it refines you. Every scar becomes a testimony of grace, every broken chapter a place where light can enter. For me, writing has always been more than words on a page; it has been a lifeline. It helps me process my thoughts and capture what’s stirring in my heart so I can return to it later, prayerfully and reflectively. I’ve been processing life through writing for decades. In my teenage and young adult years, I found comfort in poetry — raw and unpolished, but honest. Later, I turned to blogs and Facebook posts as places to share what God was teaching me along the way. These days, my This Is My Story page ( https://www.trixiscreations.com/this-is-my-story) has become my sacred outlet — a home for reflection, testimony, and the unfolding beauty of redemption through words. 📖 “Cast all your anxiety on Him, because He cares for you.” — 1 Peter 5:7 (NKJV) When you pour out your heart through words, you are not merely writing — you are releasing. You are no longer carrying the weight alone. The page becomes a sacred meeting place between your wounds and God’s healing touch. May your story become a river, cleansing the hidden corners of your soul. May your words bring release, not just for you, but for those who will one day read them and realise they’re not alone. 💡 Reflection: What story have you been holding inside that still aches to be told? What truth needs to be written so your soul can finally breathe again? 🤔 🎺 Affirmation: My story holds power. As I release my pain through words, I invite God’s healing and turn my wounds into witness. 🙌 Prayer: Lord, thank You for giving me the courage to write what once silenced me. Help me release my pain with honesty and grace, trusting that every word I offer becomes a step toward healing. Let my story bring light to others who walk in similar shadows. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

There are some friendships that mark your soul like gold lines in broken pottery—subtle yet unbreakable. She was that kind of friend. Not flawless, but faithful. Not loud in her care, but steadfast in her presence. She didn’t need to fix me; she simply stayed. When my laughter thinned into silence, she listened. When my strength faltered, she held space. When others turned away, she remained—proof that real connection still exists. Her friendship became a quiet sanctuary where I could breathe, be seen, and begin again. I only have one, maybe two friends who reach out to me from time to time—just because they thought of me and wanted to know how I’m doing. For most of my life, I’ve been the one reaching out to everyone, carrying the conversations, tending the bonds. Yet now, I’ve learned to focus on those rare few who reciprocate, who reach back with the same gentleness I’ve offered. Those are the friendships that hold steady, the ones that breathe mutual grace and understanding. True friendship isn’t about constant cheer or perfect understanding. It’s about showing up when it’s hardest to do so. It’s about holding loyalty, trust, and grace in the same hand—and offering them freely. 📖 “A friend loves at all times, and a brother is born for adversity.” — Proverbs 17:17 (NKJV) I’ll always be grateful for the kind of love that stays—not because it must, but because it chooses to. 💡Reflection: • Who has stayed beside you through your darkest valley? 🤔 • How might you honour them today with words or actions of gratitude? 🤔 🙌 Prayer: Lord, thank You for friends who remain when life feels uncertain. Thank You for their loyalty, patience, and grace. Help me to love with the same constancy—to be a safe place for others as You are for me. Let every act of friendship reflect Your faithful heart. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

For most of my life, I tried to be who I thought others wanted or needed me to be, until I had almost forgotten who I truly was. My journey has been as much about rediscovering who God created me to be as it has been about healing my heart. Authenticity builds trust, and trust builds lasting connections. When your heart remains the same in private as it does in public, people glimpse the truth of who you are. Let your actions mirror your values, not the attention you seek. The most respected souls are those who stay genuine, even when no one is there to applaud them. Be the same at church, at work, and at home. True integrity does not shift with setting or audience. It is the quiet strength of a heart anchored in truth — steady, sincere, and unafraid of being known. Heaven honours what the world often overlooks — the quiet obedience of a faithful heart. Your life speaks louder than your words when what you do aligns with who you are. 📖 “The integrity of the upright will guide them, but the perversity of the unfaithful will destroy them.” — Proverbs 11:3 (NKJV) 💡Reflection: Where in your life have you felt the pressure to be someone you are not, and what would it look like to show up as your true, God-created self in that space?🤔 🙌🏻Prayer: Lord, thank You for creating me with purpose and intention. Teach me to walk in integrity and to be the same wherever I am — at home, at work, and in community. Help me to live from the truth of who You created me to be, not from fear or the expectations of others. May my life reflect Your love and truth in all I do. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Neglect does not always bruise the skin, but it always bruises the soul. It looks like a child whose laughter fades into silence because no one ever leaned in to listen. It sounds like a tiny heart learning that tears are inconvenient and joy must earn its place. It feels like the emptiness that lingers when love was present in duty but absent in delight. Lack of nurture, unspoken affirmations, and blessings withheld leave an emptiness they'll spend a lifetime trying to fill. That child grows up. Now they are the adult who flinches at kindness, who struggles to trust, who long to be held yet fear being seen. Their wounds whisper through generations, not because they are wicked, but because pain unhealed finds another vessel to inhabit. Broken homes shape broken hearts. Broken hearts shape broken worlds. Every “I’ll do it later,” Every “Stop bothering me,” Every time we choose our phones over their stories, we teach them that connection is not worth fighting for. If we long to heal a generation, we must begin by seeing — truly seeing — the one before us. Listen when they speak. Hold them when they tremble. Say sorry when you fall short. Be the safe place you once needed. Love is not convenient. Love costs time, attention, humility, and grace. Yet only love has the power to break the curse of neglect. 📖 "Above all things — have fervent love for one another, for ‘love will cover a multitude of sins.’" — 1 Peter 4:8 (NKJV) 💡Reflection: Whose voice in your life might need to be heard today — a child, a friend, or perhaps your younger self?🤔 How can you embody love that listens, heals, and restores rather than reacts or withdraws?🤔 What does being present look like for you this week?🤔 🙌🏻 Prayer: Lord Jesus, Teach me to see as You see. Open my heart to the quiet cries I’ve overlooked and the little ones — young or grown — still longing to be known. Help me to love without haste, to listen without defence, and to bring Your healing presence into every place I dwell. May the curse of neglect end with me, and may Your love write a new story through my life. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

Too often, we say, “That’s just who I am!” because we’re afraid or ashamed to face the deeper issues. Those words can become walls — self-protective defences that keep us from healing. They might sound harmless, even self-accepting, but beneath them often lies a silent agreement with pain, fear, or sin. Most recently, I realised that shyness is just fear masquerading as personality. I wasn’t always shy. Shyness was a trauma response — a shield of self-protection formed by years of neglect, betrayal, bullying, and mockery. It became a way to stay safe, unseen, and unhurt. Yet God wouldn’t command us to be bold and courageous if He had created some to be shy. He calls us to step out of hiding and into His light, to trade fear for faith and timidity for trust. I used to think I was just an introvert, but now I believe we often become introverted because we fear rejection. Most people will naturally be more open, expressive, and even extroverted when placed in an environment where they feel safe and supported. Safety births authenticity; love makes room for freedom. Over the past five years, I’ve been unravelling layer upon layer of bitter expectancies, judgments, inner vows, and foundational lies I came to believe through trauma — not only my own but that which has filtered down through generations. Each layer has required courage to face, truth to expose, and grace to heal. It’s been humbling work — not the kind that earns applause, but the kind that rewrites a legacy. 📖 “If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.” — 1 John 1:9 (NKJV) Every time I’ve brought a hidden wound or wrong belief to Jesus, He’s met me with mercy. His truth has untangled lies, His love has softened my defences, and His blood has silenced the generational echoes of shame and fear. What I once accepted as “just who I am” is being transformed into who I was always meant to be — whole, free, and anchored in Christ. 💡 Reflection: What phrases or self-definitions have you used to protect unhealed pain?🤔 Which generational patterns might God be inviting you to confront with His truth?🤔 What would freedom look and feel like if those layers were lifted?🤔 🙌Prayer Jesus, thank You for patiently uncovering the layers of pain, pride, and fear that have shaped me. I surrender every inner vow, judgment, and lie that has bound me to the past. Replace them with Your truth, Lord — truth that heals, restores, and renews. May my freedom become a testimony that sets others free. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.

There’s a quiet grief that lives in families — the unseen weight passed from one generation to the next. It’s heartbreaking how many children grow up carrying the burden of their parents’ unhealed pain, mistaking it for their own. When we become parents, the responsibility shifts. It’s no longer about what we didn’t receive; it’s about what we now choose to give. Our children deserve love, stability, and peace — not the echoes of our past pain. Pain that’s buried alive doesn’t disappear. It festers beneath the surface, eventually spilling out sideways — through anger, silence, or control — and we bleed all over those we hold most dear. The only way to stop the cycle is to bring it into the light of Christ, where confession and repentance break the power of generational curses. 📖 “Therefore if the Son makes you free, you shall be free indeed.” — John 8:36 (NKJV) The truth is, we are shaped not only by our parents’ genes but also by their wounds. They, too, were doing the best they could with unhealed hearts. I’ve been doing the deep heart work with Jesus — layer by layer — to let His love and truth rewrite my story, so that my boys and their children may walk in freedom. Healing yourself is one of the greatest gifts you can give your child. Every surrendered tear, every honest prayer, every moment you choose forgiveness over bitterness — it all becomes a seed of generational blessing. 📖 “He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.” — Psalm 147:3 (NKJV) May we be the ones who choose to stop the cycle, to stand in the gap, and to let mercy flow through us like gold in the cracks of a family restored. Reflection Questions: What generational patterns or wounds have you recognised in your family line?🤔 How has God invited you to respond — through forgiveness, confession, or prayer?🤔 What legacy of blessing do you want to leave for the generations after you?🤔 🙌Prayer: Lord Jesus, thank You that through Your Cross, the power of every generational curse is broken. Teach me to walk in humility and repentance, bringing every inherited pain to You. Heal my heart so that my children may inherit freedom, not fear. Let Your mercy rewrite our family story from generation to generation. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.