Category: faith

  • God, Why Do You Love Me?

    God, why do You love me

    when I keep forgetting

    how to love myself?

    When I bargain with faith

    and doubt You on the hard days,

    when my prayers sound more like exhaustion

    than praise.

    Why do You stay

    when I run,

    when I close my fists around pain

    and call it protection?

    You’ve seen the mess.

    The anger.

    The nights I questioned

    whether breathing was enough.

    Still—

    You never looked away.

    You loved me before I learned

    how to be gentle.

    Before I knew how to stay.

    Before I believed I was worth

    the patience You give so freely.

    Maybe You love me

    because You see what I can’t—

    the becoming.

    The quiet strength.

    The heart that keeps choosing

    to wake up.

    God, I don’t understand

    a love that doesn’t flinch,

    doesn’t keep score,

    doesn’t leave when I’m heavy.

    But if this is grace—

    then let me rest in it.

    Let me believe

    that even broken things

    are held.

  • Grace in the Now

    God lives inside you—

    you already found Him.

    In the quiet refusal to give up.

    In the breath you took

    when quitting would’ve been easier.

    In the part of you that still reaches

    for light

    even with shaking hands.

    You keep looking outward,

    as if holiness only exists

    somewhere far away,

    but grace has been pacing your chest

    this whole time,

    patient,

    unimpressed by your doubt.

    The devil lives in memories.

    In the old scenes he replays

    until they feel prophetic.

    In the nights he convinces you

    that what hurt you once

    gets to define you forever.

    He doesn’t need claws or fire.

    He just hounds you

    with what already happened.

    With words you can’t unsay.

    With moments you survived

    but never forgave yourself for.

    God doesn’t shout over that noise.

    He waits.

    In the present.

    In the now.

    In the choice to stop letting yesterday

    put its hands around your throat.

    You aren’t lost.

    You’re distracted by echoes.

    And every time you choose this moment—

    every time you stay—

    you loosen the devil’s grip

    and remember where God has been

    all along.

    Inside you.

  • Life Is a Drop in the Ocean

    Life is a drop in the ocean—

    small, trembling,

    lost before it ever knows

    it was falling.

    We spend our days

    trying to matter,

    trying to make ripples

    in a world that swallows sound

    and swallows sorrow

    with the same quiet indifference.

    A single drop

    against a limitless tide—

    that’s what we are.

    Fleeting.

    Fragile.

    Here and then gone,

    folded into something

    too big to understand.

    But maybe

    that’s the strange beauty of it—

    how one drop still shimmers

    before it sinks,

    how it reflects a whole sky

    in the moment before release,

    how it becomes part

    of something vaster

    than it could ever imagine.

    Maybe life is small,

    maybe it’s brief,

    but it’s not meaningless.

    Even a drop

    changes the ocean

    in some quiet,

    unseen way.

    And maybe

    that’s enough.