When I begin to speak with You, my Lord, a tremor rises in the sky of my heart. It feels as though something vast is waiting, something no tongue can ever carry, no ear can ever fully receive. A truth that escapes the net of words, a hymn only silence knows.
And then—suddenly, the words fall away. I am left with stillness, a stillness so deep it becomes my only voice.
Before You, O my Lord, I stand stripped of every mask. Pride crumbles into dust, achievements scatter like broken glass, desires fade like shadows at dawn. What I clung to as color returns to pale dust. What I claimed as mine becomes nothing at all.
This world with its glitter, its vanity and hunger, its painted dreams and fleeting triumphs, how easily they vanish in Your light. What seemed eternal proves to be smoke upon the river of time.
And so it is with laughter and sorrow, with love and its shattering, with hope and the hollowness it leaves behind. All dissolve, like morning mist torn apart by an unseen wind.
Yet one truth endures, one flame does not die: You. Only You. Beyond all measure, beyond all decay, only You remain.
So I bring what little I have. I offer silence as my gift. I lift my unfallen tears as prayer. I lay down this fractured heart as an offering at Your feet.
For You know already, every word before it takes shape, every thought before it finds breath. You know the wound behind the smile, the sorrow that hides behind steady eyes. You know the tears that never fall, the prayers that never cross the lips, the longing that burns only in the chamber of silence.
O my Lord, You are the light within that silence. You are the companion who never leaves. You are the dwelling place of my soul, the beginning and the endless return.
And so I rest in You. Not in triumph, not in despair, but in the quiet that holds all things. I rest in You, my silence, my prayer, my eternal Home#
Love— at first, it blooms as a tender feeling, a gentle stirring of the heart, like a flower kissed by morning dew.
But to keep on loving— that is no longer just a feeling, it is a long journey, where patience, forgiveness, and sacrifice become the brushstrokes that paint a vibrant canvas.
Love finds its wholeness when it is held close even in storms, when anger melts in the warmth of forgiveness, when two hearts learn to embrace even imperfections.
Here love becomes art— for it takes more than emotion to endure; to nurture love is the true act of creation.
Not everyone masters this art, for not everyone is an artist.
Because when you feel with your whole soul, you don’t simply move through life— you carry it. ?
You carry the sorrow, the silence, the grief, and the loneliness etched into the faces around you— and at times, it feels unbearable, as if it might break you in half.
You ache to heal what’s wounded. To mend what’s shattered. To hold every hurting heart you encounter.
And for as long as you can recall, the world has told you it’s “too much.” That you’re “too tender.” That you care beyond measure.
That your gentle heart is a flaw in a world that worships hard edges.
But I’ve let go of that lie. And I want you to let go of it too.
Because in a time when it is easier to look away, to scroll past, to harden and grow cold— to keep caring is not a weakness.
It is a gift. It is power. It is rare courage.
To love with such fullness that your chest aches to embrace the whole world— that is not fragility, Love. That is strength.
And no matter what anyone whispers or shouts— love has never been a defect.
So if you, like me, feel the weight of it all—
Do not shrink. Do not harden. Do not apologize.
Always remember this—
The world does not crumble because people love too much.
