Philippians 1:21

There are times when pain is not physical. There are no bruises or bleeding. No abscesses or wounds to be cleaned. Nothing to be plastered or stitched up. No, it's invisible. It is pain that lives in heart and festers the soul. 

This form of suffering doesn't show up in scans. It's not measured in millilitres or temperature, or tracked through charts. It's the slow erosion of the will to endure. It's the grief that calcifies in the chest. It's the hopelessness that makes every breath feel like a burden.

For those of us who've been there – truly been there – death begins to look less like a thief in the night, and more like a gentle hand, extended in silence. Not cruel, but kind. Not cold, but calm. Because sometimes, death is not the enemy. It is release; it is mercy.


How much agony can a heart carry before it caves? I don't know. Perhaps, I will never know. But this I do know. Paul was right. 

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For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain.

– Philippians 1:21

You Say I Am, So I Become

A false accusation. 

Unfair. Unjust. Unwarranted.

With one careless sentence, 

you decided who I am and how I am 

– with “always,” “every” and “never.” 

So why bother fighting it? Nope, I'll leeeean into it. Because there’s no point correcting this skewed version of me you’ve already committed to. Your mind is made up, and your judgment is louder than the truth. Decision made; conclusion set. So yes, I'll make it easier for both of us. I’ll wear the label you stuck on me. 

I am who you say I am.

After all, if I’m going to be punished for the crime, 

I might as well stop pretending I’m innocent. 🤷‍♀️