As I prepare to embrace and step over the threshold into a new season – spiritually – I’m pondering what that season may look like. What would the work of my hands be that YHWH has prepared in advance for me to do? I don’t know yet, but adventure calls out loudly and so I enter in with readiness, anticipation, eagerness – and prayer.

I’m also entering in with sadness.

My prayer is that wrapped within this season lies opportunity for me to yield to courage, gather hope and persevere in looking after the widows and the orphans; and feeding the poor. Courage in abundance to stand for righteousness and war diligently against injustice.

Embedded in the layers of this prayer lies this lament for the broken, damaged, the lost and lonely:


I am a woman. I laugh. I cry. I heal.


Empowered by greatness: beloved daughter of a sovereign Creator and omniscient King. His Spirit moves me. His love adorns me.

Each morning I awake to the sound of my heart beating with the strength of life bursting inside me, desiring to break out into a world of destruction, decay and death. This world awaits me.

The eyes of the girl with the swollen belly, they follow me. The grimace of the battle-weary mother with the bent back and sun-beat skin, hangs in the air before me. Their hunger woos me closer still to where it can touch me and clothe me. I cannot resist. It seeps in through my skin.


I am a warrior. I stand. I fight. I feel.


My banner is hope. My weapon is courage. My media is love.

Each day I wander through the wastelands, arid and dusty with lives broken into misfit pieces of regret and trauma. Beggars by the roadside wanting their fill of all things good and promising, and hand-outs that leave them crippled with hope lost of embracing dignity and self-respect. I have it all to give, but yet I hold back some and stumble over little questions with huge answers: how do we get them off the streets, ABBA?

Someone I love and long to lead ‘along the path of righteousness for His Name’s sake’ sends me texts almost weekly. I hear the cry of her shattered heart in every letter and I cringe. What do I say to sow the seed of Life inside her? How do I relinquish my hold on the banner of hope and allow it to seep with Living Waters into her soul to cling to? Where is my courage now? Where is my weapon? Help me, ABBA! Empower me – and let me empower her – to take back her life and surrender it to You instead.

Merciless are the shadows of the weak, the poor and the downtrodden. They accompany me to all the places that I go. They cling to me as I take each bite of three meals a day or more; grateful, yet not content.

Wounds surround me as I take them in through the eyes of the victims I share space with in a room shaped by needs to live. Words mould the flow of breathing from one to another as figures are checked and paper spread to earn yet another profit percentage. But the sound of pain echoes in my ears. Their pain inundates my emotions to bring them to the fore – to strip me of an alibi – an excuse to do nothing.


I am a worshipper. I pray. I trust. I believe.


I am empowered by Love. I am embedded in Grace. When I empower, I am empowered, by a sovereign Father. His Words fill my belly and His Spirit guides my being to wholeness, purpose and intent. So that mercy may reign. So that compassion may flow. So that Love may save and heal.



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