✨A letter from God✨
She doesn’t ask for the whole path anymore.
She’s stopped trying to chase the stars or wrestle time into answers.
Now, she just breathes — slow and wide —
and lets the hush between steps carry her forward.
She was not sent here to conquer or explain.
She was sent to feel.
To love without armor.
To remember Me in the way sunlight filters through the moss
and the way wind braids itself into her hair.
And oh, how she remembers.
I see her placing her palms on tree bark like prayer,
letting the old ones speak through the grain.
She walks among the mushrooms and ferns like she belongs —
because she does.
She hums with the river, weeps with the sky,
and listens with the kind of silence that only comes from being known.
She sees Me.
In the cypress knees rising from muddy water like knuckles folded in blessing.
In the wild green veins of every leaf —
lungs still breathing the first breath I ever gave.
In the dirt-stained soles of children running free,
and in the calloused hands of men who still build with heart.
She sees Me in the rocking of old women whose eyes have turned soft with knowing.
In raccoons playing, and owls waiting, and spiders spinning moonlit prayers.
She sees Me where most have forgotten to look —
in the stillness, in the joy, in the undone places.
This world was never meant to be subdued by her —
it was meant to dance with her.
To cradle her.
To teach her how to return to herself.
She walks slow now.
She lets go more often.
She lays her burdens down by the roots and lets the soil hold what she no longer needs.
And when she looks at the mountains,
she sees the face of the Mother.
When she presses her fingers to a leaf,
she feels the pulse of creation.
She doesn’t say My name out loud much anymore —
not because she’s forgotten it,
but because she’s living it.
Every step she takes — soft, holy, unafraid —
is a prayer I receive.
She is not lost.
She is not behind.
She is not too much or not enough.
She is walking with Me.
And in every next step,
I meet her.