Fantasizing about how I'd be under my duvet, kicking my legs, and blasting on my favorite songs while being teleported into another world. A world that the words of the author built immaculately in my mind. Reading was always an escape from reality, because for the longest time I felt like an alien in the real world. It was almost as though in the world of books I was seen, heard, understood, and even considered. It was my safe haven, my special unwinding. It was the one thing I felt no one could take from me.

I remember the first time I wrote a poem. It was in my secondary school, inspired by a book I was just reading. I can never forget how the eyes of my friend lit up when I hesitantly shared it with her. The way her face lit up is forever engrained in my memories. How she read, smiled, and even just shook me out of so much shock and enthusiasm. And then I thought to myself, "My words made sense?" I couldn't believe anything I wrote could provoke some sort of emotion in anyone. I thought to myself, I made a person feel with what I wrote?" 

That was the moment something shifted in me. After that, I didn't stop. I wrote on everything, and I loved showing my friends; watching their reactions and having great conversations afterwards are still some of my best memories.

I write not just because it's entertaining, but because the work of a writer somewhere in the world made me feel like I mattered even though they knew absolutely nothing about me. I thought that was the best feeling till something came from me.

 Came from my most random and seemingly mundane thoughts and feelings. I couldn't believe people cared to stop and read, make comments, correct, or even share my work.

It didn't give me an identity, but it revealed what was already within me. It opened my eyes and gave expression to a potential I was not even conscious of. It reminds me and still reminds me that I really do matter and there's a place for me. The true joy is touching someone with my art, healing, creating joy, or that sense of belonging. My mind and my pen are like my superpowers. It reminds me there's a well within me that I haven't even tapped yet, and this well will be a blessing to me and my world. This is why I write.

Reading gave me an escape, but writing let me create that escape for someone else. Being seen through my words made me realize I also had something valuable inside to say.

To some, fatherhood means presence, emotional availability, protection, and unconditional love. To others, it may mean absence, emotional distance, pain, or experiences too complex and tormenting to even speak about.

The first experience a child has with the concept of fatherhood is usually through their earthly father. Sometimes, when those experiences are painful or confusing, it becomes difficult to associate the word “father” with safety, love, intimacy, or comfort. It may even become difficult to relate with God as Father. This also does not mean that those who had healthy relationships with their earthly fathers automatically have a full understanding of the Father heart of God.

There was something so particular about the way Jesus prayed that the disciples had to ask Him to teach them how to pray. I sometimes wonder what they saw when they watched Him speak to God. They most likely knew God as mighty, victorious, and powerful. After all, throughout the Old Testament, God revealed Himself as the One who fights for His people and wins battles for those He calls His own.

Yet even with all their reverence and knowledge of this mighty God, something was still missing.

They watched Jesus pray and saw the one thing they did not realize they had been missing all along: intimacy.

The disciples had already seen religious people pray. They had heard public prayers before. But there was something different about the way Jesus related to God. Then Jesus taught them something that changed everything. “When you pray, say: ‘Father…’”What a profound statement. Jesus was not simply teaching a prayer format. He was revealing access, intimacy, and identity. No one had revealed or related to God with that level of closeness before. The foundation of Christian prayer was never technique, routine, tradition, or religion. It was a relationship. Not just Master, Judge or distant Creator but Father.

Jesus humbling Himself and coming in human form was part of God’s desire to bring us into the revelation of His fatherhood and into the reality of our sonship through Christ. That is why scripture says, “You received the Spirit of adoption by whom we cry, ‘Abba, Father.’” Romans 8:15. For the people hearing Jesus speak at that time, this level of intimacy was radical.

I may not know the kind of relationship you have had with your earthly father. Earthly fathers are imperfect reflections, and sometimes deeply distorted reflections, of what fatherhood was meant to be. But God is not simply a larger version of our earthly fathers. God is love. He is patient, kind, safe, present, protective, faithful, and near. He is the steady source of identity, healing, formation, and unconditional love. He has called us His own and freely gave Himself to us through His Son.

I do not know what you have been through or how your experiences may have shaped your understanding of fatherhood, but give this heavenly Father a chance. Allow God’s character to redefine what “father” means instead of allowing human failures to define God for you. This God is faithful.

If prayer is communication with God, then Jesus gives us the truest foundation upon which to approach Him. If you are tired of performative religion and empty routines without true depth, I invite you into the reality of the Father heart of God. Everything changes when you begin to relate with Him from this place.

That is what gives us boldness to come before the throne of grace because we are not unwanted orphans. We are chosen sons and daughters in Christ. Get to know Him as Father.
Experience intimacy.
Experience healing.
Experience true worship.
Experience the kind of growth you once thought was unattainable. He is a good Father.

Give Him the opportunity to reveal His nature to you, to show you His heart, and to heal the distorted perspective of fatherhood you never asked to carry.

And when you go to Him in prayer today, say, “My Father…” He is right there with His arms wide open.

Especially in those seasons where it’s almost like you’re begging for “a sign” just something!

Or when you’ve become accustomed to a certain atmosphere or feeling or experience that seems to affirms His presence every time you come before Him.

What happens when the familiar becomes unfamiliar? When the very evidences you’ve unconsciously placed your trust and hope in seems to be dragged from beneath your feet?

Does this mean God isn’t there?

That His word wasn’t true when He said “I would never leave you nor forsake you”?

Absolutely not.

The presence of God is a necessary reality of who He is. When he says “men ought always to pray” there is an assurance embedded in the command that there is a God who is always there to hear.

The feelings we have in His presence are just one expression, one channel amongst many.

It’s safety to build castles on what is familiar, but He is more than what we have deemed familiar.

Gravity we cannot see but we trust when we throw a pen up it WILL come down.

We cannot see the air but we trust when we breathe in our lungs will fill. Sometimes we see the evidence of air as it rustles through the trees, however even in stillness we cannot deny its existence.

So why should the stillness of an experience make us question the reality of God?

The reality and presence of God are true not because of our feelings or what we have come to identify as “God is here” but because scripture consistently reveals Him to be so.

This is what we build on, the truth in scripture revealing His unchanging nature.

His presence is not a negotiation and it is where we must draw our conclusions from.

From that which is doctrinally true before what is experientially felt.

The experience is real too, the warmth, tears, the overwhelming sense of His nearness. But they were never meant to become the foundation.

Because what happens when the feeling leaves?

What happens when you pray and hear nothing, when you worship and feel nothing, when you search for the familiar evidence and find only silence?

You trust. Not because you understand what you feel, but because you know the person who made the promise to always be with you.

And perhaps this is part of what it means to trust God, to have faith in the Person and promise of God above the limits of our own understanding.

To believe that even when God feels unfamiliar, He has not become unfamiliar to Himself.

He is still God.

And He is still there.

the fear of making a mistake,

of taking the wrong step,

knowing one wrong move could change everything.

But no one talks about the fear of knowing.

Facing a reality that could change everything,

a reality you’ve held onto for so long.

Having to step out of the comfort of the familiar

into the unknown of the known.

Sometimes, maybe is a refuge,

a place to hide,

a quiet excuse wrapped in uncertainty.

Because as long as it’s “maybe,”

you don’t have to decide,

you don’t have to move,

you don’t have to let go.

But when maybe becomes clarity,

it comes with a call,

to respond to truth,

to step forward,

to release what was,

and live in what has been revealed.

Because even the known

carries its own unknown.

And sometimes…

the scariest truth is this

I’m afraid to admit

that I don’t want to know.

Words that hover, left unclaimed.

Words abandoned as untrodden territory.

The unspoken words that trap us in wondering.

They pull us back into the past,

into moments that could have been healed,

feelings that could have been explored,

futures that might have been brought into the present.

If only something had been said.

We often expect a single person to magically know

how we think, how we feel,

as though humanity grants telepathy.

But words unsaid are not a sign of depth;

they are a fragile safety humans cling to.

As if being close means being understood without sound.

A silence we mistake for protection,

Not realizing it’s quietly eroding

The beauty, the depth

of what the relationship could’ve become.

That’s why conflict remains unresolved,

Why the “silent treatment” once examined reveals itself to be immensely pointless.

Why old friends and lovers return,

to revisit memories of when they were young and in love,

searching for what they felt but never voiced,

touching yesterday with trembling hands

and hearts heavy with regret.

Great opportunities never experienced because potential was caged up in silence.

And I find myself overwhelmed and deep in thought

not by what was said,

but by the weight of what never was.

The reckless abandon that they say true love demands. 

Throwing caution to the wind and deciding to fall without looking to see if there are arms to catch you? 

What’s the safety in that? 

Not just to love but to fall in love.

To allow a person to become such an object of affection without the constraint of restriction.

To have the guarded places of your heart laid bare before another person, without conditions. 

I’d say to fall in love is to love foolishly . 

It’s reckless. 

It’s disruptive. 

Disruptive to the things you said you’d never do. To the boundaries you thought you’d never bend 

To the things you learn because you care.

The language that translates intention to action.

It is becoming in sync with someone who moved from a stranger to being your world. 

An investment worth more than a thousand pieces of gold when falling with the right person. 

Intimacy dancing to the rhythm of knowing. 

Happily choosing to out-love each other. 

To truly be naked and unashamed 

To fall in love is such a beautiful thing 

To not just receive love, but to pour it out in joy, tears, hope that this love is enough. 

And perhaps that is the beauty of falling.

You never really know if there will be arms waiting to catch you.

Yet somehow it’s a risk we choose to take. 

You simply decide that being known, being loved, and loving in return is worth the risk of falling.

Jesus came and changed the order of things 

Jesus doesn’t say, “Thus says the Lord.”

He says, “Verily, verily, I say unto you.”

What prophet would speak a thing that the Lord God had not spoken?

He looks at Nicodemus in John 3 and says, “Verily, verily, I say unto you.”

In Matthew 5, He says, “You have heard that it was said…

“But I say unto you.”

He wasn’t just one to deliver the message of God.

He was the message of God. 

He was the One that the prophets spoke of.

He needed no introduction. He was the Word Himself. Jesus didn’t say, “Thus says the Lord,” because he had the authority to declare the will of God. What man has the authority to declare the will of God?

The one that declared  “Before Abraham was, I AM.” Because he exists for all eternity.  This Jesus was there before the world began. He is here now and will be in the world to come.

This Jesus who by the power on that cross has disarmed principalities and powers and made a public spectacle of them. The One to whom God has given a name that is above every name, that at the mention of the name of Jesus every knee would bow and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord.

The one who in death conquered death. Jesus who disarmed the works of the enemy.

This Jesus did not just come from out of nowhere in Matthew’s gospel!

He was there before the foundation of the world.

In Genesis, we see God bringing forth creation by His Word and then John comes and says,

“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.”

This Word was God.

And this Word became flesh and dwelt among men!

His story was not a tragedy, it was and is victory! In Psalm 24, we see Jesus the Sovereign.

The One before whom the gates are commanded to lift their heads,

Who is this King of glory? 

The LORD of hosts. The Lord strong and mighty! This is the One the kings of the earth set themselves against but this Jesus 

receiving dominion, glory, and a kingdom.

A kingdom that will never pass away.

This Jesus is enough.

The express image of the invisible God.

The only one through whom we have salvation.

The way, The truth and The life! 

 There is no name under heaven given among men by which we must be saved.

What prophet can save?

What prophet can speak and say, “In My name…”?

What prophet can say that demons will flee at the mentioning of his name or cause the blind to see and the lame to walk? 

Jesus never had to say, “Thus says the Lord,”

because He is the Lord.

So He said, “Verily, verily, I say unto you.”

What a Lord.

What a Saviour.

This Jesus is enough

And He is Lord.

I always thought that was such a sad philosophy to live by. 

A false sense of security masquerading as wisdom. An armor that becomes  a shield between the beauty of the possibilities of life.

But the paradox of opening up to life is not the guarantee of a tearless or tearful journey . Sometimes you may receive exactly what you hoped for and sometimes you might sit with the quiet ache of “why’s” and “what if’s”. 

And I  think that this is the spice of life. The experiences that come, the unexpected turns. The moments that make you laugh until your stomach hurts and the ones that leave you staring at the ceiling why something so small could hurt so much. Everything is a ripple effect and it’s all interwoven into the perfect story God has already written.

How sad would it be to live a life without expectations. To play it so safe we never give ourselves the opportunity to be surprised by joy. Dulling our senses so much so  we would not be able to perceive blessings when they come our way. How sad would it be to protect ourselves from the pain of disappointment to the point that we protected ourselves from wonder and becoming. 

Today I'm hurting.

And that is not an easy yoke to carry. There is disappointment sitting at the pit of my stomach and  I'm not trying to convince myself that it isn't there. But I'm also so grateful to God that I have felt joy so abundantly enough to notice its absence.  Grateful that my heart so resilient can still reach out and grasp a piece of life without knowing what the outcome would be. That my heart can beat in a rhythm of hope. 

Expectations bring new seasoning to life. Disappointments may come and take away that taste, but perhaps it’s not the end of a meal but to open a chapter of a new taste. 

So yes, I'm disappointed today. But tomorrow I stand again. For this is the day that the  Lord has made, I will rejoice and be glad in it. 

So I'll keep expecting.

Perhaps I'll be disappointed. Perhaps I won't.

But I refuse to be ruled by the fear of disappointment that convinces us to not live fully.

I don't want to fear disguised as strength 

I don't want to dress in the false  costume of wisdom. I don't want safety that costs me from the beauty of being alive.

I want to feel

I want to laugh until my sides hurt and cry until there is nothing left in me. 

I want to heal, to rejoice, 

I want to taste all of it. 

I want to live.

 Where the expression of love is not based on assumptions but on a longing to truly know another. There is something sacred about being discovered. About someone choosing not to see you merely through their own lens, but taking the time to see you through yours.

In Genesis 4:1, "Adam knew Eve his wife," and the product of that knowing was conception. Yes, the passage speaks of the conception of a physical child, but I believe it hints at something even deeper. Scripture could have simply said Adam lay with Eve, yet it chose the language of knowing. It reminds us that true intimacy is not merely physical. It begins long before bodies meet. It begins with hearts that are willing to discover one another.

Jesus echoes this same language in John 17:3 when He defines eternal life as this: that they know You, the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom You have sent. Not simply knowing about God, but knowing Him.

Perhaps that has always been the language of love.

The fruit of knowing your partner is a life of endless adventure because yearning never ceases. You begin to dance in rhythm with the music of their life because you've learned their steps. Discovering them becomes an invitation into the thrilling unknown.

You learn them as they morph through seasons.

You read them like your favorite novel, the one you never want to put down. You gather new words into your vocabulary like hidden treasure. You notice the subtle shifts, the dreams they've grown into, the fears they've left behind, and the joys that make them come alive.

You don't rush.

You dwell.

You listen more than you speak. You ask questions and you give time to hear the tales of their life. The people, the places, and the experiences that shaped them into who they are.

In true love, the art is found in the brushstrokes of knowing. Intimacy is the artist that paints a fuller picture over time, revealing beauty layer by layer.

As they slowly unravel before you, finding joy in the safety of being truly seen, you realize that love is less about arriving and more about remaining.

Remaining curious.

Love does not assume.

Love inquires.

Love listens.

Love learns.

I believe that to love is to remain curious, spending a lifetime discovering someone and never growing tired of learning who they are.

Shattered into a thousand million pieces.

It slipped from my fingers again, and once more it broke.

Fragments scattered everywhere. Pieces missing. Beams of light seeped through the cracks because it was incomplete.

I looked at my reflection and saw something I had seen countless times before, yet somehow it looked different.

I saw me.

Or at least, what I thought was me.

A distorted version of myself, shaped by the broken mirror I was looking through.

How could I ever expect to see a whole image in a broken mirror?

I’ve looked into this mirror a thousand times. Every glance seemed to tell a story about who I was. But I eventually realized something profound:

The quality of my reflection was never dependent on me.

It was dependent on the quality of the mirror.

Before I question what my eyes behold, I must first examine what I’ve chosen to see myself through.

My broken mirror made me adjust things that never needed changing.

At the same time, it hid the very parts that truly needed to be transformed.

As long as I kept looking through broken glass, I could never truly know myself.

Because a distorted mirror can never produce an accurate reflection.

There is only one true mirror.

Not the ones crafted by human hands.

Not the reflections offered by people’s opinions.

Not the mirrors formed by my  success, failure, trauma, rejection, or applause.

This Mirror was there in the beginning.

Everything that was made came through Him.

Everything finds its truest identity in Him because He alone is Truth.

This Mirror is the Word of God.

It doesn’t merely reveal an image it reveals my essence.

It exposes without condemning.

It corrects without crushing.

It realigns, reshapes, and restores until the reflection staring back at me looks exactly like the One who designed me.

In its light, deception is exchanged for truth.

Shame gives way to sonship.

Distortion yields to glory.

For this Mirror is held by the One who knew me before I was formed in my mother’s womb, and who already stands at the end of the story I have yet to live.

Gone are the days of piecing together my identity from shattered fragments.

Gone are the days of mistaking broken reflections for the truth.

Now I behold the perfect, unchanging Mirror of the Word.

And as I keep looking into Him, the broken places within me become whole.

For only the true Mirror can reveal the true me.

“And we all, with unveiled faces, beholding as in a mirror the glory of the Lord, are being transformed into the same image…” 2 Cor 3:18

After all this time? I mean, she’s about to become my wife. Yet my heart pounds louder in my chest like a teenager who just saw his crush. Just like the first day I saw her, my attraction is magnetic. And like that day, I keep muttering to myself, “There’s something about this girl.”

Right now, I’m terrified my vows won’t be half of what she deserves. How could my words convince anyone, let alone this congregation, that I’m head over heels for her? But I have to try. She always says that when she looks into my eyes, she finds strength. I hope she can’t see me trembling beneath her sparkling gaze.

I swallow hard. Wipe my sweaty palms against my pants. Place them behind my back. Exhale shakily.

The Pastor leans in. “Son, you have to put up your big boy pants and read those vows to this beautiful lady. And I hate to break it to you, but you’ve got some competition.” He whispers the last part and pats my back. The congregation laughs. I try to laugh too, but he’s right. I have competition in winning her heart every single day.

I set my eyes back on her. I have to tell these people exactly who Mirabel Joan Daniel is to me. She is looking at me with love and patience, not rushing me as I gather my thoughts. All I want to do is sweep her off her feet.

I glance at my best man. He hands me the scroll with my vows, rolled neatly and tied with a purple ribbon, her favorite color. “You’ve got this, man.” I nod. The paper rolls to my waist. The congregation murmurs wows. I smile. Clear my throat. It is time.

“My Mira, I never thought a man like me could be undone by a woman’s presence. I have always been guarded, never letting anyone in. I never thought I was worthy of love. Yet here I stand. Even now, my heart stumbles whenever I look at you. You make me nervous in the best way. You make me dream in colors I did not know existed. I am so in love with you. You are beautiful.

I have fixed not just my eyes, but my heart for eternity with you. Without an iota of doubt. Every time I look at you, everything changes. It is like hope is renewed in me. It feels so unreal, sometimes I have to pinch myself.”

The congregation laughs knowingly. Their joy steadies me. I clear my throat and square my shoulders. It is time to go deeper.

“I am beyond captivated by you. You always find a way to render me utterly speechless. You have shown me God’s kind of love, the reckless, unconditional, undeserving kind. Your presence in my life, despite my flaws, has shown me that I am deeply loved by God. There is nothing I could have done to deserve a gem like you.”

I lift my eyes to her. Tears brimming. Suddenly, I do not need the scroll. I hand it to my best man. My heart hammers in my chest. I step forward. Eyes locked. I hope she sees how hopelessly in love I am.

Face to face now, just a few feet apart. I hold her face in my hands. I do not know if this is allowed, but I do not care. I hold her gently like a delicate flower, scared that if I do not, I will wake up and this is a dream. She steps closer. Perfect.

Gazing at my star, tears flow. I memorize every inch of her face, soft eyes, sculpted nose, full lips. I store it in my heart forever.

I never expected my voice to break as I continue.

“Mira, how could I ever fully express how you have turned my world upside down? The privilege of having you by my side these past months has made me realize I cannot go back. Life without you? It would not make sense. You are my biggest fan, my loudest cheerleader, my best friend, my girl.”

She smiles warmly. “Mira, my life makes sense with you. You have seen my strengths, but more importantly, my weaknesses. And that did not scare you. Instead of running, you stayed. You cried with me, laughed with me, prayed for me, and prayed with me.”

The torrent of emotions nearly knocks me to my knees. I pause. Take a breath. She is worth every word. Every moment.

I place my right hand on my chest, tilt her chin slightly, eyes locked.

“This heart is all yours. I do not have perfect words, but I vow this day, before God, our friends, and family, to love you with all of me. To choose you every day, when it is easy, when it costs me. To stand with you in valleys and dance with you on mountains. To hold you with faith when fear comes. To love you with Christ’s love when my strength runs out.

You are not just the woman I love. You are the miracle I get to walk beside. I promise to spend my life proving the boy who whispered, ‘there is something about this girl,’ was right. You are my heart, my hope, my home, and I will spend every day proving my love is endless, unwavering, entirely yours. I want to dance with you beneath the stars when we are young and under the moonlight when we are old and grey. I want to be the epitome of perfect love to our children someday. Mira, I will do right by you. I will not let you down. I choose you today. Tomorrow. Forever.”

We just stand there, eyes locked, truly seeing one another. Applause surrounds us, but the world has shrunk to her. I glance at her father, tears in his eyes. He nods, and all I feel is honor and gratitude.

I smile at my bride. Step back. And realize fully that I, Dylan Xavier Junior, am the luckiest man alive.

The pastor places a hand on my shoulder. “You did good, son. You did well.”

I look at Mirabel. She is stunning. I smile and mouth, “I love you.” She returns it. “Forever and always.”

            All eyes were on me now, all the focus was on me. Those few seconds of waiting in anticipation for my answer felt like I was teleported through the time capsule of our love story. My heart was beating twice as fast, I felt every trickle of sweat run down my body beneath my dress. I looked to the congregation to see wide smiles and expectant faces all waiting for my answer. I would have never thought I'd be found in a gorgeous white dress on the altar of God with the man of my dreams before my eyes.

              He was so beautiful. He was obviously very physically attractive but this beauty had a depth that illuminated from within. There was a tenderness to him that made anyone warm up to him. A nature of stoicness he had that made you feel like no arrows by day or night could smite you. He was my Knight in shining armor. These traits cohabited in a harmony so rare that made him truly marvelous. Dylan had a passion for helping people, birthing new ideas, sparking hope, reinventing and changing the narrative of every situation. He was incredibly patient, gentle, and consistently kind to all. He was a safe space of shelter, my safe haven. Dylan was the epitome of love. How could I say no to this man? Finally, with a wide smile of my own, heart swelling and with all the certainty in the world  I said “I do”. I turned to look at my parents who were sitting gallantly and with tear-stained cheeks, they cried tears of joy as they looked back at me. 

            The Pastor then spoke into the mic “ This lovely couple would now share the vows that they have prepared. Let's start with the bride, ladies first of course.” He said in a warm yet goofy tone sending rippling laughter through the whole congregation. As I looked into Dylan's eyes, everyone else melted away, nothing else mattered, it was I and Dylan in our little world. He mouthed an “I love you” and it was all the strength I needed to carry on.

          “ Dylan Xavier Junior, my lover, my best friend, my everything. Words fail to capture the depth and richness of  my love for you.  You found me at a point where I felt love had deserted me, when I felt so alone. I remember when you walked into that cafe with your blue Jeans and black hoodie and it got me wondering why this weirdo would wear a black hoodie in the summer, it was forty degrees!” The congregants began to laugh and make funny remarks. “Little did I know that my life would change forever from that day. Your intentionality and your friendship were such a blessing to me but having you as mine was a union agreed in the heavens. You never gave up on me, on us no matter what challenges life throws our way. You saw the vision of us and you kept moving forward.” Tears began to well up in my eyes. I looked up to stop them from falling. But the emotions came in waves. After some seconds I continued.

          “From the far side of the chasm you held me in your sight, you crossed over every great divide, left behind past hurdles to the future sometimes I couldn't see.” At this point I couldn't hold my tears anymore, I let them fall, and apparently he couldn't too. Even in His tears, he looked so extraordinary, his eyes were still brimming with warmth and strength. I had to keep going.

“ I couldn't comprehend what you saw in me that made you unconditionally fight for our love. Even in my insecurity and uncertainty, you would hold my face so delicately, look into my eyes and  tell me words like “Mirabel, I want you. I need us”. 

            Many times when I was weak, you were my shoulder to cry on, my pillow to squeeze, my therapist. You listened to me without judging and corrected me in love when I was wrong. I know I can be so emotional sometimes, some may even call me a handful” The congregation chuckled knowingly. “But you knew how to carry me just right.” I looked up at him and couldn't help but  mirror the small smile on His face. 

        “I've seen you grow into greater versions of yourself with such grace, strength, and meekness. I've watched you move past your fears and become stronger each time you face them head-on. I've watched you grow in wisdom and understanding, and of course, have fallen deeper for you with each passing day. Dylan you've  taught me that my vulnerability was not a weakness but a gift of life to embrace. You also taught me how to channel this weakness as a currency for vitality and strength. You never hid your weakness, fears and troubles from me either even when it was hard. I would always count it a privilege to be your safe haven, your soft landing.”

.        At this point I couldn't hold the tears, they came down in showers. I was overwhelmed with so many emotions all at once. I couldn't contain them. The Pastor however didn't rush me, he let me feel he let me cry. My chief bridesmaid and best friend who was to be wiping my tears was wiping hers, the irony. But she held my right shoulder and gave me a comforting squeeze. I took a deep breath and looked into those eyes again and found the strength to carry on till the end. His face was still, hands held together at his back, shoulders tensed and eyes unmoving to anything else but me. This was his “I'm about to cry face”. 

“Baby, don't cry,” I said and he was able to muster a small chuckle. I turned to the congregation to offer a little apology but not one face looked annoyed. Most were just in awe of all that was going on at the altar. My dad, held my mum's hands tightly on his thigh trying to comfort her as she wept almost as badly as I did. I cleared my throat and continued to speak;

       “Dylan my baby, I want to always be your soft landing, the place where you call home, the place your heart finds true and steady peace. I want to hold you when you're down and jump to the skies with you when you're up. I want to know you more, to love you more, to care for you more. With you, I see the assurance of happily ever after. I love you Dylan. I am in love with you. Till death do us part, this is my love confession to you.”

     The whole congregation had erupted in claps and screams of joy but I barely heard them. All my senses were focused on one man. Tears still traced paths down his cheeks, but his gaze held a depth I had never seen. Then with a voice thick with emotions, he whispered 

“Mirabel, my heart is yours forever. This is my commitment to you.”

Before God ever spoke, the Spirit moved.

Genesis tells us that the earth was formless and empty, darkness covered the face of the deep, and the Spirit of God was hovering over the waters. Then came the words, “And God said…”

The movement of the Spirit preceded the speaking of the Word.

Then, after God spoke, creation responded.

Again and again the pattern repeats:

God said.

It was so.

God saw that it was good.

That alone is profound.

When God speaks, it is so, and it is good.

His Word never falls to the ground without accomplishing what He intends. Isaiah echoes this truth beautifully:

“As the rain and the snow come down from heaven… so shall My word be that goes out from My mouth; it shall not return to Me empty, but it shall accomplish that which I purpose.” (Isaiah 55:10–11)

But Genesis 1 reveals something even deeper.

In Genesis 1:11, God doesn’t simply create vegetation. He establishes a principle:

“Let the earth sprout vegetation: seed-bearing plants and fruit trees on the earth bearing fruit with seed in it, each according to its kind.”

That phrase, “according to its kind,” is repeated throughout the chapter. God was embedding a law into creation itself: every seed reproduces after its own kind.

A mango seed will never produce an orange tree.

The harvest always reflects the nature of the seed.

Then, after the flood, God declares:

“While the earth remains, seedtime and harvest… shall not cease.” (Genesis 8:22)

He wasn’t creating a new principle. He was affirming that the order established in creation would continue for as long as the earth exists.

Then I remembered something Jesus said.

In the parable of the sower, He explains plainly:

“The seed is the word of God.” (Luke 8:11)

That changed everything for me.

God’s Word is not merely like a seed. It is seed.

Every word God speaks carries within itself the life and the power to become what He has spoken.

So when God speaks a promise over your life, He isn’t merely making a declaration. He is sowing a seed.

And because He designed creation to reproduce according to the seed that was sown, His Word can only produce after its own kind.

If He speaks peace, peace is the harvest.

If He speaks life, life is the harvest.

If He speaks healing, healing is the harvest.

If He speaks restoration, restoration is the harvest.

The earth has been wired by its Creator to respond to His Word.

This is why Isaiah can say His Word never returns void. It is living seed. Once sown, it accomplishes exactly what God intended.

Genesis, then, is doing more than telling us how God created the world. It is revealing how God governs it.

The Spirit moves.

The Word is spoken.

Creation responds.

The seed is planted.

The harvest comes according to its kind.

And every single time God speaks, it is so, and it is good.

a pain that asks for sympathy it has no right to claim.

Because how do you grieve

what was never yours to lose?

Somewhere between laughter and late replies,

between the way your name used to arrive easily on my screen

and the way silence now announces itself,

something shifted.

I didn’t notice the exact moment

only that my heart learned your absence

while you were still very much alive.

You were my friend.

And then quietly,

Almost inconveniently

you became the place my thoughts wandered to when the day slowed down.

They reduced it to a crush

As though language had a word small enough to make grief seem harmless.

We don’t talk like we used to.

Not in the way that stretches time,

not in the way that feels like being understood without effort.

Our conversations have thinned,

like a thread pulled too many times,

and I keep waiting for you to notice the fray.

To adjust your comfort, just a little,

the way I have rearranged my heart to make room for you.

What hurts most is not rejection

you never rejected me.

You never even knew.

The wound is phantom,

a pain where no incision was made,

a heartbreak without permission.

I miss you.

Not the idea of you,

but the you who used to call,

the you who lingered in conversations,

the you who felt close without trying.

I miss something that still exists,

just not for me anymore.

And the cruelest irony remains

you were never mine.

So why does my chest tighten like something was taken?

Why does my heart ache as though love was withdrawn,

when it was never offered?

Perhaps the heart does not need ownership to feel loss.

Perhaps it only needs proximity,

possibility,

and the quiet hope that maybe

just maybe

things could have stayed the same.

This is not a broken heart in the traditional sense.

It is a phantom wound

proof that even imagined futures

can leave very real scars.

 When we hate something, we turn away from it. But God, in love, turned toward us. Through His Son, by His blood, He bridged the distance our sin had created and faced us once again.

What manner of love is this, that we should be called His very sons? A dimension of love too vast for the human mind to fully comprehend. An extravagant love that saw life in death, beauty in ashes, and hope where there seemed to be none.

Because His heart was set on the joy of knowing that we would be His, He endured the agony of the cross, despised its shame, and now sits exalted at the right hand of the throne of God.

A love so great that He embraced death to conquer death. The Son of God became the Son of Man so that the sons of men might become sons of God.

Oh, what a Father's love stretched wide even while we were still in sin, reaching to restore to Eden all who would believe.

I came across this tweet a few days ago, and immediately, my mind went to Jesus.

He lived. He loved. He lost. He felt. Fully God, yet fully man, He embraced the entirety of the human experience. He did not bypass the fragile dance of life or take shortcuts through suffering.He did it for many reasons, but I'll mention two.

First, He stepped into our humanity to show us a rhythm worth following a pattern for living. He became the Way through this intricate tapestry of days. Second, He did it so we would never doubt that He understands. Every ache. Every betrayal. Every unanswered prayer. Every grief.

Like a cloak, He wrapped Himself in the sin that separated us from the Father, and like a faithful shadow, its consequences followed Him. In what seemed like the blink of an eye, the voices that once praised Him became the same voices that mocked Him. He came to save the very people He loved, but His victory first wore the garments of shame.

Sorrow knew His name, and suffering was His constant companion. Men turned their eyes from Him, stripping Him of honour until He was counted as nothing. But the anguish that bent His shoulders was never His own. He gathered our grief into His embrace and clothed Himself with the weight of our brokenness. We mistook His silence for guilt and His suffering for judgment, believing Heaven itself had abandoned Him.

They pointed accusing fingers. They called Him names. They dressed Innocence in the garments of guilt and crowned Love with the title of villain.

Yet, with a heart surrendered to the Father's will, He walked meekly toward the perfection of faith, embracing agony without resisting it and wearing humiliation without retaliation.

He struck a pose upon that cross that forever altered the course of history and rewrote the story of humanity.

Arms stretched wide enough to welcome the world. Feet fastened together upon an old rugged cross.

They thought they placed a crown of thorns upon His head. Little did they know they were crowning the King who would wear a kingdom of redeemed souls.

Every thorn.

Every wound.

Every drop of blood.

Each one told a story louder than death itself.

He willingly surrendered to the punishment that purchased our peace at the cost of His own life.

They called Him names as He died what looked like a villain's death.

But three days later, the grave lost its argument.

He rose, proclaiming victory.

Sin loosened its grip. Death surrendered its sting. Chains fell away.

And everyone who believes walks in the freedom His "villain's" death secured.

The Sun, oh how she burned and shined
Her light announcing her essence even before you feel her presence
She did not just burn, she became
As though radiance was simply another word for her existence

What enthralled the Moon even more is that she did all that her self
The moon only glowed because the sun burned
And even in the voidness of darkness, her rays reminded creation of life

People looked at the moon and called him beautiful,
never realizing every silver edge they admired was borrowed from the sun 

Still, he did not resent her for shining harder but he loved deeper
Not knowing how to explain why distance felt like devotion. 

They were moments they almost met, eclipses
Brief rebellion against the laws of longing

His earnest desire was something more than just proximity
An insatiable yearning for time to stand still with her by his side

But even then, he never wanted to cast a shadow at the expense of her shine
One had to disappear for the other to be seen fully
And he accepted that cost

Maybe that is what impossible love was
To revolve around someone endlessly
Held by a gravity that asks for nothing yet changes everything

But even in another galaxy, the moon would still turn toward her
Still carry her light through his darkness
Still reflect her across every night that tried to swallow him

This was how the moon loved the sun
Timeless, raw, passionate and selfless.