Through the Fog

Tag: faith

  • No One Determines Our Worth

    Photo Credit-Aleksey Kuprikov

    No one determines our worth—

    not the ones who doubted us,

    not the ones who left,

    not the ones who tried to shrink us

    into something quieter

    so they could feel louder.

    We are not defined

    by the people who couldn’t see us.

    We are not measured

    by the moments that broke us.

    We are not small

    just because someone else

    was afraid of our size.

    Our worth was carved into us

    long before the world decided

    to name our scars.

    It lives in our survival,

    in our softness,

    in the way we rise again

    even when the ground trembles.

    No one determines our worth—

    we do.

    We rewrite the story,

    we choose the truth,

    we decide who we are

    and who we refuse

    to ever be again.

    And if anyone tries

    to tell you otherwise,

    let them talk.

    Let them underestimate.

    Let them watch you grow

    into everything they swore

    you’d never become.

    Because here’s the secret

    they never wanted us to know:

    our worth is ours.

    Untouched.

    Unbroken.

    Undeniable.

    And we don’t need permission

    to rise.

  • Grandparents Are the Foundation

    Grandparents are the foundation —

    the quiet strength beneath generations.

    They are the hands that held the family together,

    the voices that carried stories through time,

    the hearts that gave love without asking for anything in return.

    They teach us patience by living it.

    They show us resilience not through words,

    but through the way they kept going

    even when life gave them reasons not to.

    When I think of my grandparents,

    I think of steady hands, warm kitchens,

    and a kind of love that didn’t need to be spoken.

    It was in the way they looked at you when you walked through the door,

    in the meals they made without asking what you wanted,

    in the way they remembered the small things you forgot to say.

    They built a world for us —

    brick by brick, sacrifice by sacrifice.

    And even now, when some of them are gone,

    I still feel their presence in the quiet moments.

    In the smell of coffee at dawn.

    In the songs that remind me of home.

    In the parts of me that still believe love can last forever.

    Grandparents are the foundation —

    of our stories, our strength, our becoming.

    And no matter how far we go,

    a piece of us will always be built from them.

  • I Am Not of This World

    I walk among the kingdoms of men,

    but my heart does not dwell here.

    The stones beneath my feet are foreign,

    the riches of this earth turn to dust in my hands.

    They build towers of pride,

    they chase after shadows,

    but I hunger for what does not fade.

    I am a sojourner,

    a pilgrim in a land not my own,

    searching for a city whose foundations

    are not built by human hands.

    The world calls me to bow,

    to trade truth for comfort,

    but I cannot kneel to what perishes.

    There is a fire within me not lit by this earth,

    a voice that whispers of home,

    a kingdom unseen yet nearer than breath.

    I am not of this world—

    though I walk its valleys,

    though I taste its sorrows,

    though its storms beat against me.

    I belong to another place,

    and until I see it with my eyes,

    I will live as a stranger here,

    with my heart set on what is eternal.