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I didn’t go looking for these things. They found me — in the wilderness, in the silence, in the stripping.

Stillness came first. Heavy. Holy. It taught me to wait when nothing moved.

Then silence — not absence of sound, but presence without noise. It settled like a mantle on my shoulders.

Then came mercy, when I had no one left to accuse.

Then grace, when I saw how often I had failed.

Forgiveness arrived not as duty, but as freedom.

Healing came slowly — not to my body first, but to the fractures within.

Compassion walked in without a word and sat beside my judgments until they dissolved.

Love no longer demanded to be returned. It became who I was.

And hope — hope stayed when all else fell quiet.

Then came freedom — freedom from darkness, from striving, from needing anything outside to be whole.

And now I dwell in peace and quiet — not just in my surroundings, but in the centre of who I am.

I used to chase purpose. Now I carry presence.

What once were lessons are now the furniture of my being. They live in me — these attributes of Heaven — and they go where I go.

I’m not waiting for the world to change. I’m not looking for a door to open, a calling to begin, or a platform to stand on.

I’m waiting for the moment when dust meets divinity.

When the last veil is lifted — and what has been hidden is no longer withheld.

This isn’t about movement. I’ve walked the wilderness. I’ve waited in silence. I’ve died to everything that could die.

This is about resurrection. The kind only God can do.

The soul has been refined.The heart made still. Now, the body groans — not for escape, but for transformation.

Not to be used, but to be unveiled.

Creation waits. I wait. Not in striving — but in quiet readiness.

Glorify me, Lord,with the glory I had with You before the world was.

Be transformed by the renewing of your mind !