From Chaos to Calm

After a while…
the need to be heard
at full volume
begins to dissolve.

The rooftops grow silent.
The flames you once fed
with trembling hands
no longer feel like power—
only exhaustion.

What you burned
never built a home.

And somewhere along the way,
you realize—
not every echo returns,
not every seed takes root,
not every mountain
was yours to climb.

The grace you poured out
like water in a desert,
the love you offered
with open, unguarded hands—
it did not come back
the way you imagined.

And still…
you are here.

So instead of fighting
what refuses to bend,
you loosen your grip.

Not in defeat—
but in awakening.

You release the need
to be answered,
to be chosen,
to be understood
by those who never learned
your language.

Your hands, once reaching outward,
begin to rise—
not in desperation,
but in devotion.

Upward.
Open.
Steady.

God…
I see You now
in the quiet I once avoided.

I hear You
not in the thunder—
but in the space
where my striving used to live.

And I am ready.

Something within me
has shifted its weight.

My posture bows
without breaking.
My prayers soften
without losing strength.

No longer a demand—
but a surrender.

Not my will,
with all its urgency and illusion—

but Yours,
vast and unseen,
unfolding in perfect time.

Lord…
I trust You
in the waiting,
in the silence,
in the becoming.

And for the first time—
peace does not feel
like something I must chase,

but something
that has finally
found me.

And in that stillness,
I discover—
I was never abandoned,
only being led
through the fire
that taught me
how to stand
without burning.

Now I do not shout
to be seen.
I do not break
to be rebuilt.

I simply remain—

rooted,
refined,
and quietly certain

that what is meant for me
will not pass me,

and what passes me
was never meant
to hold space for me.

And I refuse to fight for
space where my heart never belonged.

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