When you've been in a situation of lack and somehow come out of it, you tend to develop an unhealthy appetite or habit around the very thing you once lacked. As if taking it all in now would guarantee its longevity in your life or give you some form of forever possession of it.   When we don’t have a heart that trusts and rests in our Provider, that’s when the unhealthy appetite grows stronger. It feeds and strengthens the flesh, while weakening and starving your spirit man.   You feel your spirit man’s growling stomach, how weak it has become because of your negligence. Maybe no one else can see it, but you can feel it. And yet, you choose to turn a deaf ear to the cry. The yearning to be fed.   But the more you ignore it, the quieter it becomes. “Finally, some peace,” you think. But that’s not it. You’re killing it. Slowly. And as it gets quieter, a void begins to grow. Restlessness.   You have everything you need. You look fresh, seemingly living in your soft era, but you just can’t shake off the feeling of emptiness.   Will you continue down this path or trace your steps back to where you missed it?   Will you become addicted to this feeling of emptiness and restlessness, or will you look for peace?   Not peace from those things you thought you couldn’t get enough of at the beginning.   Not the things you tried to find solace in when you chose to ignore the growling of your spirit man.   But peace from the One who was with you when all your now-precious possessions weren’t there.   “My peace I give,” He said, “not as the world gives.”   Why not go back to Him? Yes, you’ve strayed, but you’re not a lost cause. He leaves the ninety-nine, remember?   Just take a chance. Try it. What’s the worst that could happen?   “Where do I start from?“ “I don’t know how it’s done anymore.“ “It’s been a while.“   All you need is sincerity and a broken heart. A broken and contrite heart, the Lord will never turn away.   Take this first step. Close your eyes and tell Him all about it. Confess your misdoing, honestly. Pour it all out. Cry it all out.  

Some call me self-absorbed. Selfish, even.   Because I don’t check up — like a nurse making routine rounds, like a doctor with a clipboard in hand.   They say I don't reach out. But maybe — just maybe — it's because I’m the one in need of reaching. I'm not indifferent. I'm drowning. Desperately.   I’m the one in need of help.   These burdens I carry, the responsibilities, the decisions I have to figure out, the expectations I juggle — they’re piling up.   Stacked like storey buildings on my head, too heavy for me to even look left or right.   And when I try to sit — just for a second, try to breathe, try to rest — the whole structure comes crashing down.   It buries me. It bruises me. It tries to take my life.   Help. I can’t breathe. I’m suffocating.   These bricks of worry — they’re not just heavy, they’re lethal.   How do I escape? Is there even an escape?   Oh — look. Someone’s passing by. I know them. We go way back. Maybe they’ll help. Maybe—   “Get lost. When last did you check in on me? When last did you care how I was doing? And now you need help? Oh puhleez.”   The building collapses again. The bruises sting. What now?   The cycle repeats itself. Over. And over. And over.   And then — I go quiet.   People pass by. I stop speaking. I stop waving for help. I just sit there.   Still.   And the world becomes a silent timelapse of strangers living.   Then silence deepens. And darkness joins in.   A sickening silence, mingled with pain, and heartache, and echoes that never get a reply.   —————————————————————- This is for anyone silently drowning under the weight of expectations. For those who haven’t had the strength to ask for help or who asked once and were turned away. This is your voice too. You are not invisible.   Would love to know what this brings up for you. Let’s talk.

Mother Teresa – Gentle Wisdom 1. Love begins with small acts.You don’t have to do anything massive to be impactful. Holding someone’s hand, offering a warm smile, showing up—these count. In a world obsessed with grand gestures, Mother Teresa reminds us that true greatness lies in tiny, often unnoticed acts of love. 2. Compassion is a universal language.She cared for the dying, the poor, the abandoned—no questions asked. Her life says, “You don’t need to understand someone fully to love them deeply.” A simple bowl of soup or a clean bed can preach louder than any sermon. 3. Serve in silence.We live in the era of “pics or it didn’t happen.” But not every good deed needs a post. Mother Teresa showed that real service doesn’t crave a stage. It's content to serve behind the scenes, quietly changing the world—one life at a time.

Aimee Semple McPherson – Bold Faith 1. Faith can be creative.This woman had a flair for the dramatic—literally. She used theatre, radio, and powerful storytelling to bring the gospel alive. Her life says, “Don’t box your faith in.” Creativity isn’t a distraction; it’s a megaphone for truth. 2. Boldness is part of obedience.Aimee didn’t play it safe. She preached at a time when women weren’t “supposed” to, and she did it with courage. Her boldness reminds us that when God calls you, it might look strange to the world—but you still go. 3. Use your gifts fearlessly.She could speak, sing, dramatize, and organize a whole crusade with flair. Her life says, “If God gave you a gift, don’t hide it.” Whether you’re a quiet writer or a dramatic speaker, use what you’ve got—fully, joyfully, fearlessly.

He is a true replica of God—because God is the real and ultimate Father. A father is not just a male. That’s why, in the definition of a male, “father” is not included. God doesn’t have the characteristics of a male. That means God wasn’t called “Father” because He belongs to the male species. A heroic father stands by and with his children and family, catering to their needs. A true protector. Kudos to them!