I love it when the sky makes me feel insignificant. I love it when the wind reminds me that great things in life are not visible. Unseen things weigh the most. I love it when the trees remind me to sway when it's windy and stormy. I love it when there's enough light from the stars when darkness fills the night. I love it when the flowers hold amusement when they see me. I love it when the oceans remind me I won't drown when I sink in the seashore.
I love it when I see my seven-year-old self photograph—full of innocence and joy. I love it when I see two people walk in love, embracing each other's weaknesses and finding strength. I love it when I start finding rhythm in words, turning joys and tears into a piece of art and transcending into spaces I never walked upon but hoping one day, I would be able to venture to those places, the hearts and souls of my readers.
I can't explain the feeling whenever I'm in this space, where I can freely break the barriers, and make bridges, and connections whenever I write. At first, I felt so shy, then I became so powerful and confident, so quiet, and suddenly loud and courageous. It feels like digging deeper into the depths of my soul, shedding the facade, and meeting exactly who I was supposed to be. I would say, I'm certain when it comes to writing, my soul ignites whenever I step into this world, and my eyes spark authenticity and vulnerability that I can't even resist. And in this space, I can experience Him the most. Silence and grace penetrate, finding naked truths that I am just nothing without His presence.
As I wander through this journey, I quietly seek His grace, hoping that one day, somewhere out there, someone will cherish the poems I’ve written. I wonder if the unsent letters I’ve penned have already found their way to the cathedral of his soul even though it won't cost a million dollar. Will the maze of life twist and turn long enough for us to find each other? The thought feels like the gentle flutter of anticipation, a romantic hope that sends shivers down my spine—how fitting for a heart in its mid-twenties.
And yet today, I find myself tuning into the symphony of sounds around me, pondering what stories lie beyond the echoes of longing for love. What other whispers of life are waiting to be captured in words? Writing gently nourishes my soul, as if it's His way of whispering to my spirit, filling my broken cup with grace. Each word feels like a confession, revealing the wreckage of my life and leading me to repentance—a reminder that I was forgiven when He was nailed to the cross. I have been loved since that moment, yet how cruel the world is to forget the truth that brings joy until eternity.
He continually fills my broken cup with grace, restoring and healing with each gentle touch. He writes the pages of my life alongside me, weaving His presence into every chapter. Perhaps the completion of my story, of our stories—the ultimate healing and joy—won’t be found here on earth but in heaven. A place where longing ceases, where we no longer yearn for something or someone, where the world's allure fades away. He will wipe every tear from our eyes. There will be no more death’ or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away. He's excellent in making everything new.
There, we’ll finally see the promises fulfilled for those who trusted His whispers, even as the world grew noisy and dark.
