There’s a quiet beauty in a prayer whispered by a child—a faith untainted by doubt, a belief that even the smallest voice will reach heaven. I was that child once, whispering secrets to the sky, believing God would listen. Yet, for years, it felt like those prayers floated into the vastness, unanswered. But God hears whispers too. I still remember the ache of wondering if I could ever truly belong. Camps in the big city were always bittersweet. While others laughed over shared jokes and lives, I clung to my book—alone in a crowd. My whispered prayer was simple: Lord, don’t forget to give me a tribe of my own. And then, I think of another prayer, spoken through tears: “If I’m not saved now, I don’t know.” Conviction weighed heavy on me, yet assurance felt so far away. I wrestled with whether this God I read about truly wanted me. Love, in those days, felt like a distant story sprinkled through the Bible and strung together by Sunday school lessons. Life moved forward, and with it came d...
" When we pray, He answers. When we cry, He hears. We are not alone—God is with us, Emmanuel ." I’m not crying out for answers anymore. I’ve learned that wisdom does not reside in demanding explanations from the One who owes us none. More so, the One who works all things together for our good even in the depths we wish to escape - if we love Him. Is praise reserved for the bright moments, when life is 'as it should be' and the warmth of God’s presence is unmistakable? Or does it belong, too, in the darkness, when peace seems far away and we’re left to wrestle with life’s harsher realities? This past week has been one of those stretches that seem to pull life in every direction—hospital walls, responsibilities piling up, love slipping through fingers, and the familiar ache of growing pains. Still, I remind myself—none of us are exempt from this rhythm. We all have our share of valleys. God has no favourites. We aren’t shielded from hurt. We each carry our own set of c...