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Seasons of Becoming: A Journey Back to Truth

Mine is a brain that can’t stop wandering. I have lacked a way to tame my thoughts. When you have a void, it’s obvious to try filling it with all things and see if they fit. But when they don’t, you become wholly frustrated, you feel lost, you feel forgotten, you feel like the world is ending. You feel like you are drowning, and there’s no one to hold your hand. No one to save you.

Is this how everyone feels when they walk this life alone? Is this what it’s like when we try to do things on our own, forgetting the One who writes our stories? Or when we chase after things that were never meant to sustain us? I don’t like the feeling. I never did. But maybe that’s where life meets us, at the crossroads of longing and learning.

(I am just picking you guys up from where I left you here Walks and Seasons of Life – remember?)

Seated here, I realize how much life has unfolded since my last words found you. The girl who once wrote about seasons changing now understands that they don’t always shift on schedule. That sometimes, winter lingers, and sometimes, what looks like spring is only a brief pause before another storm.

Earlier this year, I took a bold step and joined Shujaa, an apprenticeship program that runs for the whole of this year. In the months since, I have confronted the rawest parts of myself; my past, my choices, my identity. I have had to unlearn things I once held dear and relearn the truth about who I am. Not who the world told me I should be, but who I have always been in Christ.

For the longest time, I sought love in all the wrong places. I chased validation, thinking it would fill the hollow spaces within me. But love, real, unshakable love; was never meant to be found in mere human hands. It was always in the One who formed me, the One who calls me His.

I have made mistakes. I have been bruised by my own decisions and by the expectations of a world that never really sees the heart. But in these wounds, I have found grace. I have learned that my identity is not something I need to strive for, it is something I already possess. I am a beloved daughter, a royal citizen with a Kingdom vision, a sage learning wisdom, a warrior on a mission, and a friend in the community. My task is not to create myself, but to activate who I already am.

The journey has not been easy. Healing never is. But I am no longer walking in circles, trying to force pieces into a puzzle they were never meant for. I am walking with the One who goes before me, beside me, and within me. And He – He is greater than anything in this world.

So, here I am. Back with a bang. Not because I have everything figured out, but because I finally know where to anchor myself. The seasons have changed, but this time, I am not merely surviving them: I am becoming through them.

The sun will rise and we will try again.

❤️I WAITED 👑🔖

At the end of it all, when life finally slows down enough for reflection, I want it to be said, clearly and without explanation, that I waited.
Not that I rushed.
Not that I forced doors open.
Not that I settled because time was moving and pressure was loud.
But that I waited.
I waited for the money.
I waited for the marriage.
I waited for the car.
I waited for the house.
I waited for the peace.
I waited faithfully.
Waiting is not passive. It is not empty. It is not lazy. Waiting is loud on the inside. It is full of questions, calculations, prayers, tears, hope, disappointment, courage, and restraint. Waiting is choosing obedience when shortcuts are available. Waiting is trusting God when logic is impatient and fear is convincing.

There are days I am clapping while I wait. I am genuinely celebrating others; weddings, keys handed over, cars purchased, milestones announced. I show up. I smile. I applaud. Even when my heart quietly asks, “God, when will it be my turn?” I clap anyway. I refuse to let jealousy poison my spirit or comparison rob me of gratitude. I learn how to celebrate without resentment and how to bless without bitterness.
And then there are days I am wailing and waiting.
Days when the weight of responsibility feels heavier than faith. Days when prayers come out raw and unpolished. Days when I am tired of being strong, tired of believing without evidence, tired of trusting timing I don’t understand. I cry and I wait. I let the tears fall because faith doesn’t mean pretending everything is okay, it means staying even when it isn’t.
There are moments I am crawling.
Barely moving. Barely hopeful. Dragging myself forward with nothing but stubborn belief and whispered prayers. Crawling through financial pressure. Crawling through unanswered prayers. Crawling through loneliness. Crawling through disappointment. Crawling through seasons where effort doesn’t seem to equal reward.

And even there; low, exhausted, stretched thin ~ I am still waiting.

I ask God real questions.
I ask Him when it will be my turn.
I ask Him if He sees me.
If He remembers me.
If He knows how hard I’m trying.
Sometimes I even ask Him if He forgot about me.
And still ~ I wait.

I wait for money; not just to spend, but to steward. Not for excess, but for stability. For freedom. For provision that doesn’t come with panic. I wait to earn honestly, grow wisely, and build patiently. I refuse shortcuts that cost me my peace. I refuse wealth that demands compromise. I wait for provision that aligns with purpose.

I wait for marriage, not as a rescue, not as validation, not as proof that I am chosen, but as partnership. I refuse relationships where someone thinks they’re doing me a favor by choosing me. I wait for love that meets me with respect, safety, and intention. I wait for someone who doesn’t compete with my growth but celebrates it. I wait for something built, not borrowed.

I wait for the car, not just movement, but momentum. For progress that feels earned. For independence that doesn’t choke me with debt. I wait for the version that comes without anxiety attached. I wait because rushing would cost me more than patience ever will.

I wait for the house, not just walls, but rest. A place that feels like peace, not pressure. A space that holds laughter, healing, prayer, and growth. I refuse to force milestones just to prove I am not behind. I wait for the house that comes with stability, not stress.

But most of all, I wait for peace.
The kind of peace money can’t buy.
The kind marriage doesn’t guarantee.
The kind success doesn’t automatically bring.
The peace that settles your spirit even when life is still unfolding. The peace that tells you you’re not late, you’re aligned. The peace that allows you to sleep at night knowing you didn’t betray your values to arrive early.

Waiting teaches me restraint in a world addicted to shortcuts. It teaches me that not every opportunity is divine and not every open door is God. Waiting teaches me that preparation matters, that timing matters, that character matters.

I wait while people underestimate me.
While some write me off quietly.
While others accept me but don’t expect much from me.
While a few assume whatever comes my way is luck or pity instead of promise.
I don’t argue.
I don’t explain.
I don’t rush to prove.
I wait.

Because waiting is not absence, it is alignment. It is God shaping me into someone who can hold what I’m asking for without losing herself. Someone who won’t fumble the blessing because she skipped the process.
And when the day comes, when the money is steady, when the marriage is real, when the car is mine, when the house feels like home, when peace finally settles deeply, I don’t want the story to be about luck.

I want it to be said that I waited.
That I waited faithfully.
That I waited when it hurt.
That I waited when it felt unfair.
That I waited when giving up would have been easier.
That I clapped and waited.
That I wailed and waited.
That I cried and waited.
That I crawled and still waited.
That I trusted God when my hands were empty and my heart was tired.
And when He comes through because He will, I will know it wasn’t coincidence. It was obedience. It was patience. It was faith in motion.

I waited.
And He did not forget me.

The Promise Deserves The Process

There is a quiet truth life has been teaching me in layers, seasons, and sometimes through loss: once the process is compromised, the promise gets undervalued. It sounds simple, almost obvious, but living it is a different story. This realization didn’t come to me in theory, it came through lived experiences, missteps, impatience, and moments where I watched things I deeply desired slip away.

For a long time, I believed that wanting something badly was enough. That passion, intention, and prayer could substitute discipline, patience, and consistency. I thought if my heart was in the right place, the journey would somehow arrange itself. But life has a way of correcting what enthusiasm alone cannot sustain.
There were seasons when I was more in love with the outcome than with who I needed to become to sustain it. I admired the finish line, the title, the stability, the validation, the sense of arrival, without respecting the daily, often boring work that leads there. I wanted results that required roots I had not yet grown.
So I rushed. I skipped steps. I leaned on shortcuts dressed as “opportunities.” I convinced myself that speed meant favor. But when the results came too early or without depth, they felt fragile. They felt undeserved. They felt easy to lose.
Some seasons are meant to stretch us quietly. To build emotional muscle. To teach restraint, wisdom, and discernment. Yet I’ve had moments where I resisted those slow seasons. I pushed myself into spaces I admired without asking whether I was fully formed for them.
When pressure came, I cracked. When responsibility increased, I shrank. Not because I was incapable but because I had bypassed preparation. The process I tried to escape was the very thing meant to stabilize me.

Sometime this year, during one of my hardest moments, I called a very close friend and pastor because I felt overwhelmed and tired of carrying pain that didn’t seem to end. As we spoke, he said something that stayed with me: “Sharon, unless you pass this exam and graduate this class, God will not promote you.” I remember telling him how hard it felt, how confusing it was to understand God in that moment. I cried deeply not because I didn’t believe, but because I was exhausted. I wanted the pain to end. I wanted to move on without another lesson attached to it.

Looking back now, I understand what he meant. Some seasons are not meant to be escaped; they are meant to be completed. What feels like delay is often divine insistence on depth. What feels like repetition is refinement. And what feels like punishment is often preparation in disguise.
Not all shortcuts are visible. Some live inside us.

There were times I avoided doing the deeper emotional work; healing, self-honesty, accountability, boundaries. I told myself I had “moved on” when I had only buried things. I rushed forgiveness without understanding. I embraced new beginnings without closing old chapters properly.
And later, the same patterns returned, just wearing different faces. The promise of peace, clarity, or wholeness felt postponed, not because it wasn’t meant for me, but because I hadn’t yet allowed the process to refine me enough to hold it.
I’ve always known I carry potential, skills, vision, capacity. But potential is only raw material. Without discipline, structure, and consistency, it remains unused or misused.
There were opportunities that came before I had fully cultivated my character or systems. And when they did, I struggled to maintain them. It wasn’t punishment. It was exposure; exposure of areas still under construction.
I’ve learned that gifts can open doors, but only preparation keeps them open.
One of the hardest things to sit with is this: sometimes what feels like loss is actually protection. Sometimes what feels like delay is correction. And sometimes what feels like “God taking something away” is really life revealing that the foundation wasn’t strong enough yet.

A promise mishandled hurts more than a promise delayed.

Because when it slips away, it carries disappointment, self-doubt, and grief. But it also carries a lesson, one that gently whispers: you’re still becoming.
With time, reflection, and grace, I’ve begun to see the process differently. Not as punishment. Not as resistance. But as preparation.
The process teaches patience where impatience once ruled.
It teaches discipline where excitement once led.
It teaches identity before achievement.
It teaches depth before display.
Now, I’m learning to slow down without guilt. To sit with the work. To grow roots before expecting fruit. To let my character catch up with my calling.
Today, I move with more intention. I no longer chase outcomes just to say I’ve arrived. I ask better questions:
Am I ready to sustain this?
Have I honored the becoming?
Am I willing to grow quietly before being seen?

I am learning that the process doesn’t delay the promise, it protects it. And when the time is right, what comes will not feel fragile or borrowed. It will feel earned, stewarded, and deeply aligned.

And so I close this chapter with a steadier heart, choosing to honour the long road instead of rushing to the finish line, trusting that every slow, quiet, disciplined step is shaping me into the woman who can finally hold her promise without fear of losing it again.

A Letter to My Future Husband: Love, Faith, and Purpose

I don’t know your name yet. I don’t know the curve of your smile or the exact timbre of your voice when you whisper goodnight. I don’t know how you weep when life breaks you or how your laugh sounds when it bursts out unrestrained. But I believe, truly, deeply, that when you come, my soul will know.

Not because it’ll feel like a fairytale, but because it will feel like home. Like something in me finally exhaling. Like peace after a storm that tried to swallow me whole. You’ll walk in, and something ancient in me will recognize you, not just as a man, but as a promise fulfilled.

You see, I’ve prayed for you. Not the light kind of prayer that brushes past heaven, but the kind that scraped through my chest and poured out as tears. I’ve fasted. I’ve waited in the quiet. I’ve whispered your name into the dark even when I didn’t know it yet. I’ve told God, “Let it be him, the one who sees me as I am, and stays anyway.” I’ve asked for you when I had nothing left to offer but a trembling hope on shaky legs.

I have known ache, love. Deep, soul-wounding ache. Not just from absence, but from almosts. From doors that opened halfway and never fully let me in. From people who said the right things but couldn’t carry the weight of my heart. From moments where I gave, and hoped, and waited, only to be told I was too much. Too tender. Too intense. Too emotional. Too present.

But I know now: I was never too much. I was just too much for someone who wasn’t you.

Still, I waited. Not perfectly, but faithfully. I’ve sat in rooms full of people and still felt the hollow echo of loneliness. I’ve smiled and poured into others while silently asking God, “When will it be my turn?” There were days I doubted you existed. Nights I nearly stopped believing. I wrestled with God like Jacob, not just for a blessing, but for a promise. Like Paul, I’ve carried my own thorn: longing. A holy ache that reminded me I was made for love that hadn’t yet arrived.

There were times the wait almost broke me. Moments I whispered, “Lord, did You forget?” Nights I stared at the ceiling, wondering if someone could carry the fullness of my love without growing weary of it. Days I doubted if I was enough, too loud in my laughter, too deep in my feelings, too much in my dreams.

But God whispered, “You are not too much. You are just enough for the one I’ve designed for you.”

So I’ve been learning to dance in the hallway while the door to our forever remained closed. Learning to love my own company so I never place the burden of fulfillment on you. Learning that I am already whole, not because you complete me, but because Christ already did.

But when you come, it will still be more.
Not a completion – but a multiplication.
Not a rescue – but a revelation.
Not a fairytale – but a covenant.

And I promise, by God’s grace, I won’t come to you as a damsel in distress, but as a woman walking in destiny. I will come carrying vision. Wrapped in prayer. Eyes full of wonder and arms ready to build with you. I’ll be your helper, your encourager, your safe space, your biggest cheerleader, your softest place to land.

Because the Word of God says, “He who finds a wife finds a good thing and obtains favor from the Lord”. When you find me, you’ll find more than a woman, you’ll find a good thing. A blessing. A partner in purpose. A testament that God still honors those who wait.

When I say yes to you, it will not be just for the easy days. I will say yes to growth, to the midnight talks, the tough decisions, and the sacred work of choosing us every day. I’ll say yes to being your peace when the world is loud, your prayer when the load is heavy, your hand to hold when words run dry.

I will cover you in prayer. I will speak life over you, even when life feels like drought. I will fast when you are weary and lift up your name when your knees feel too tired to kneel. Because this is kingdom love. And I am not here for just a wedding; I’m here for purpose.

Ecclesiastes 4:9–10
“Two are better than one, because they have a good reward for their toil. For if they fall, one will lift up his companion…”

That’s what I’m coming to do. Not just love you, but lift you.
Not just build a home with you, but build the Kingdom with you.

When you forget who you are, I’ll remind you.
When you doubt your calling, I’ll echo heaven’s voice: You were chosen before the foundations of the earth.
When fear tries to paralyze you, I’ll remind you that perfect love casts out fear, and we do not walk by sight, we walk by faith.

Our love won’t be perfect, but it will be holy. There will be days we stumble, but grace will be our rhythm. There will be nights we disagree, but forgiveness will be our anchor. Because God is not just writing a love story for us: He’s writing a legacy.

When I think of you, it’s not with desperation, but with sacred hope. I pray for the little boy you once were and the man you are becoming. I bless the roads you’ve walked and the mountains we will climb together. I ask God to keep you hidden in Him until it’s time, for both of us.

I believe the wait will be worth it.

Until the day I hear your voice call me “mine,” I will keep preparing a heart that loves deeply, forgives easily, and worships endlessly. I will keep becoming. I will keep building a life you can walk into and call home.

Because when you come, it won’t just be the end of a chapter, it will be the beginning of the greatest assignment we’ve ever known. You and I, hand in hand, not chasing a perfect picture, but carrying out a divine purpose.

So, until you come;

I’ll remain…
Still healing. Still hopeful. Still chosen.
Still His. Still praying. Still becoming.
And always, always waiting in promise.

Forever,
Your Future Wife

When Church Hurts… But Jesus Still Heals

Church hurt is real, and it leaves marks that few can see but many carry silently. It’s not dramatic or attention-seeking to acknowledge it. It’s honest. It’s brave. Because for many, the pain didn’t come from the world, it came from inside the very place they thought was safe. Maybe it was judgment when you needed understanding. Gossip when you asked for prayer. Or rejection when you finally built the courage to show up with your broken pieces, hoping someone would help you gather them back together.

That kind of pain cuts deep. It shakes the foundation. It can leave you wondering, If this is God’s people, what does that say about God?

And yet, Hebrews 10:25 encourages us: “Let us not give up the habit of meeting together, as some are in the habit of doing, but let us encourage one another and all the more as you see the Day approaching.”

This isn’t a push to return to harmful places or to ignore trauma. It’s not an order to “just get over it” and sit back in the same pew. No. This is a tender, Spirit-breathed reminder that we were made for connection; for community that heals, not harms. For gatherings that build up, not tear down. It’s less about buildings and more about belonging.

Because the truth is: we are the Church. Not the programs, not the polished sermons, not the praise team. Us. The living, breathing body of Christ. Where you are, the Church is.

To the one who’s been hurt in church settings:

You are not crazy.

You are not overly sensitive.

You are not rebellious for walking away.

You are not weak for needing time to heal.

You are seen. You are still chosen. You are still called.

Paul reminds us in Ephesians 2:8-9: “For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God not by works, so that no one can boast.”

That means none of us earned our spot in God’s family. Not by perfect behavior. Not by ministry involvement. Not by never missing a Sunday. We are here only because of grace. Every single one of us is a sinner saved by mercy. So how dare we boast? How dare we forget?

We must be so careful, careful not to cast people aside because their sin looks different from ours. Careful not to become gatekeepers of grace, forgetting that our own story is soaked in it. Sometimes, the loudest voices in church buildings shout hardest against sins they don’t understand, while whispering over the ones they themselves commit. But God sees through all of it.

Sin is sin. Period. And mercy is mercy. Thank God for that.

Jesus didn’t come for the already-clean. He came for the messy, the wounded, the lost, the addicted, the confused, the doubting, the angry, the tired. So if someone fell in public and we label them “too far gone,” we have forgotten how we ourselves were lifted up in private.

You don’t have to hide your pain to belong. You don’t have to be perfect to be loved. You don’t have to perform to be accepted.

Your identity in Christ is not “the wounded one.” You are:

A child of God (John 1:12)

A royal priesthood (1 Peter 2:9)

The righteousness of God in Christ (2 Corinthians 5:21)

Forgiven, redeemed, and sealed by the Spirit (Ephesians 1:7,13)

No rejection can undo that. No church board. No leader’s words. No silence from a pulpit. No exclusion from a ministry team. None of it defines you. Jesus does.

And Jesus is still gentle. Still kind. Still healing the brokenhearted. Still welcoming the ones the crowd pushed away. Still whispering, “Come to Me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.” (Matthew 11:28)

You are not too far gone. You are not disqualified. You are not second-class in the Kingdom.

Healing takes time. And it’s okay to go slow. It’s okay to unlearn. It’s okay to be cautious. But don’t let the failure of people distort the face of Jesus. Let Him reintroduce Himself to you outside of all the noise. He’s not waiting for you to “snap out of it.” He’s walking with you in it.

You still belong.
You are still part of the Church Jesus is building.
And nothing anyone did can take that away.

Your story matters. Your healing matters. And your voice especially now, is needed. The Church becomes healthier when we listen to the ones who’ve been bruised and believe them. We grow when we stop pretending and start loving like Christ.

So take your time, but don’t lose hope. Jesus is nothing like those who misrepresented Him.

You are loved. You are His. And you’re not alone.

♥️HAVE YOU TAKEN IT TO THE LORD?♥️

How many times have topics arised and you didn’t bother because it didn’t look like your cup of tea? I’m not a mother of a daughter but I know how I would feel if my son was a daughter and was defiled by a pedophile or got pregnant at a young age, or was depressed because she aborted and I wasn’t close to walk with her through that, I’d go crazy. I mean seriously I have an option of acting like the alarming rise in the number of teenage pregnancies doesn’t bother me, but hey I’m tender towards these parents. Having been in the same space, I’m tender towards the girls. It does bother me more than it should. How can I sleep knowing that I have a role to play in all these? Knowing that hope is being lost out there? Knowing that I was once there and the world wasn’t kind a bit to me but I managed? Knowing that a girl could use what I have to share? Knowing that I’m now in the space of a mother and I have the capacity to share what I would have done with my younger self if I was my own mother? Knowing that while I was in that space I left words unsaid and now I don’t expect these girls to speak out but I can share that now and cut the girls some slack?

George Washington Carver~ No individual has any right to come into this world and go out of it without leaving behind him (or her) distinct and legitimate reasons for having passed through it!”

Have you ever thought about the needless pain we bear? The peace we forfeit? What would you do if you heard there was an answer? Well here, We go through so much pain that we need not to. We worry about so much that we shouldn’t be. The one who created us asks us to take it to him. The reason as to why we suffer when we shouldn’t it’s because we don’t take it to the Lord in prayer. We are worried that it’s impossible to help the girls at the same time as their mothers. That society has long taken the side of the mother in fear that supporting the pregnant girl would be translated as condoning early pregnancies. What has that done if not wounding the mother of tommorow? We can decide to things differently. Beautiful Scars started out as a motivation to embrace scars.

Is anyone among you in trouble? Let them pray. Is anyone happy? Let them sing songs of praise. Is anyone among you sick? Let them call the elders of the church to pray over them and anoint them with oil in the name of the Lord. And the prayer offered in faith will make the sick person well; the Lord will raise them up. If they have sinned, they will be forgiven. Therefore confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed. The prayer of a righteous person is powerful and effective.
James 5:13‭-‬16 NIV🧡

If we stand on God’s word, God will stand by His word. It’s the prayers we pray when we feel like we want to quit praying that can bring the greatest breakthroughs.
Prayer is the way we take our hands off and let God put His hands on. Prayer is the difference between you fighting for God and God fighting for you.

♥️HAVE YOU TAKEN IT TO THE LORD♥️

Leaving the 99 to find the one sounds hilarious until you are the one, he who carries his own water knows the weight; too much sense in one sentence huh?
In my life I had have so many things to disagree with but today I’m forced to get another point of view. This question i have asked myself for so long but it didn’t matter until I realized it would affect me like it does everyone. Am I agreeing because it will favour me or because I know I would want that for anyone let alone myself?. Tough, right?
How many times have topics arised and you didn’t bother because it didn’t look like your cup of tea? I’m not a mother of a daughter but I know how I would feel if my son was a daughter and was defiled by a pedophile or got pregnant at a young age, or was depressed because she aborted and I wasn’t close to walk with her through that, I’d go crazy, I mean seriously I have an option of acting like the alarming rise in the number of teenage pregnancies doesn’t bother me, but hey I’m tender towards these parents. Having been in the same space, I’m tender towards the girls. It does bother me more than it should. How can I sleep knowing that I have a role to play in all these? Knowing that hope is being lost out there? Knowing that I was once there and the world wasn’t kind a bit to me but I managed? Knowing that a girl could use what I have to share? Knowing that I’m now in the space of a mother and I have the capacity to share what I would have done with my younger self if I was my own mother? Knowing that while I was in that space I left words unsaid and now I don’t expect these girls to speak out but I can share that now and cut the girls some slack?
I’ll quote George Washington Carver, “No individual has any right to come into this world and go out of it without leaving behind him (or her) distinct and legitimate reasons for having passed through it!”

🌻WALKS AND SEASONS OF LIFE🌻

Have you ever felt alone? No, not because you didn’t have people around you, people that claimed to want to love you forever, but because none was on the same page as you?I would say I had normalized such kind of a life. I’m not saying I have been lonely my whole life all I’m saying is that I have learned the true meaning of walks and seasons of life. I have listened to quotes like elevation requires separation. While all these seemed to give me hope I had to accept it all. The past couple of days have been hard in my life. Are you wondering if I was attacked or robbed? Yes,I was.

I was attacked by the future; There are days your thoughts will trip on the future and then the rest is never the same again. When I thought about the future it scared me, it made me loose my mind. The thought of a small Girl that felt like she was well aligned for the future she desired only to find out that she was wrong.I didn’t think there’d come a day I’d have to share this story I have kept writing in my head but always denied my pen the chance to bleed for me. Well at least my pen was the only friend that stood by me when I needed some rescue. In my life I have learned that times will come when everything makes it looks like a Sunday, when everybody is willing to tell you that they love you, yet you can’t pinpoint exactly what makes you sad. Times when you will wake up crying but you are the only person who can understand how it feels to accept that there is journey you’ll have to take alone sooner or later.
If I was writing a letter to the younger self I’d tell her how much I wish I’d go back to her and prepare, but No.
I’ll have to face this head on. I’ll be brave for once. If you have kept reading to get to see that place where I’ll mention what exactly scares me,I guess it’s this point.
Change is inevitable, I guess we all know. A decision to go through change is one of the biggest,but the bravery to admit that you’ll go through the change alone hasn’t been easy to master. Yes, that’s what I’m talking about. A Small Girl who has known men as preys, A girl who has always seen herself as a toy that any man is always interested to chase. A girl who has grown to hate all the men that tore her,all the men that stole away from her, a girl who ended up giving birth to a man. Now tell me, how easy does it get ? To grasp that I can choose to see him as a different man and train him up differently or I should soak up in my tears and give in to my fears?

A time has come where I’m the only person who can go through what I want. A time where I’ll have to take up this journey alone. I’m mastering the courage. I have been patient enough to learn how to be alone. This next step, People can only cheer, they can only psyche me up,above that; I’m the only person who can.
From here i will have to travel back in time, Visit all the areas I have been afraid to talk about. All the areas i couldn’t write a letter about. I have decided to move on with life as a happy girl, I’m ready to let off all the pieces of me that belong to the past. I’ll visit these areas and give back it’s pieces to make peace. I’m ready to be the change before I make the change. Are you asking how you can walk with me through this? Simple, just read; like I said in this journey nobody can travel with me; friends, family, squads they can only watch, read, cheer and psyche me up. As I set off, I have the desire of coming back to this moment. Wish me luck.

👑 CAPTURED AND CROWNED 🦋

Dear God,

I am naked before you,I understand that you are omnipotent, omniscient and so this is not me questioning your ability,this is me seeking answers for questions too disturbing in my life.

See,I remember how good it looked like at first or rather let me use the word “Easy”.Yes it seemed easy and ofcourse possible,I thought it was going to be a walk in a park,I thought all troubles,doubt,untrust and sorrow was now over;I don’t know if I was wrong but I don’t understand.

I felt like I had healed,like it was finally over,we talked ,I smiled,I felt the ease ,I was unburdened by you😭and I enjoyed the freedom that came with you listening to me ,with you talking to me…I felt like I now had the father I lacked.This is not to doom the moments we have had together , ofcourse I do treasure them and I yearn for more💕,but before that I wanna know something. Why is it that everytime I thought I healed, everytime I felt like I now had the freedom I seek for,everytime I thought it was all over ,I believed it,you made me believe it,but a single insecurity and it all comes crumbling down at my feet.

Like a building without foundation,like a wall shaken by destroyers,I don’t get it.I crush down worse than before,I feel the pain worse than before, I’m not able to take it.. it’s like I am a sieve…I keep seiving until I can’t take any more solute…I don’t know God..I need answers.

I know that you are for me,I know that you are working for my own good. I know that I’m a chosen generation,but I don’t know what you want from me. What is it God that you want from me,Is it to trust you everytime this happens..that things will get better? That I will get better? Is it to understand that all your works are for my own good? Is it for me to fight my insecurities? Is it to be grateful because there are people going through worse ?Isaiah 41:10, Have you not asked me to remain confident in you? That you will strengthen me and hold me up with your victorious hand?
Remember your promises to your daughter God😭 Remember me Daddy.
Hebrews 13:5 I will never leave you or forsake you💯❤️

Then I heard him hold my hand and reminded me;

Romans 8:28 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.

So is my word that goes out from my mouth: It will not return to me empty, but will accomplish what I desire and achieve the purpose for which I sent it.
Isaiah 55:11 NIV
💥✨

Then I felt an everlasting peace in heart and the assurance of a father❤️.

DEAR DAUGHTER ✍️❤️

My daughter, you never have to search far for Me. You are released from searching, from believing you don’t have what it takes to be with Me, hear Me, live with Me. You are chosen. I chose you before the world was formed. You are the rescued one, and I delight in being with you. I equip you to hear Me, to be near Me, to walk beside Me.As My daughter, you are My heir, heir to a kingdom where you know, without question, you are home. I am your home. I am the place where you lay your head and where everything makes sense. You don’t need to attempt to make sense of this world swirling around you—but I want you to feel it. I want you to feel for it. I want you to notice how it hurts and where there is need and how you are made, just as you are, chosen to live in this world, knowing it needs to know the way home. You know the way home.

You know the sound of beauty ringing, of hope coming in battle for your heart. You know pain and surrender and wanting more than what you can see.Look close now. See Me. See Me seeing you. See Me looking at this world. Recognize its pain and its ache to know there is more—the more you know. Go deeper with Me now. Let Me show you more of what I see, how I feel, how you are the one who can go forward, brave one, into the path I’ve set aside, just for you. There is a path for you, you know, a place where your feet know where to step and your hands know how to love. You have ideas and a heart designed for loving this person, right here, and this one, right here. The people in your life right now? Look closely now. Listen carefully now. You know how to love them. You know what to do next. Heed the whispers of your heart, the whispers that come from the place you know, the only place you can trust, the place where you began and begin again, the voice of Home.

You are designed for this—this moment, this moment of rescue and hope. I have come for you. Stay home. It is the only way to go out and bring others Home.

Yours,

God❤️