There’s a quiet beauty in a prayer whispered by a child—a faith untainted by doubt, a belief that even the smallest voice will reach heaven. I was that child once, whispering secrets to the sky, believing God would listen. Yet, for years, it felt like those prayers floated into the vastness, unanswered.
But God hears whispers too.
I still remember the ache of wondering if I could ever truly belong. Camps in the big city were always bittersweet. While others laughed over shared jokes and lives, I clung to my book—alone in a crowd. My whispered prayer was simple: Lord, don’t forget to give me a tribe of my own.
And then, I think of another prayer, spoken through tears: “If I’m not saved now, I don’t know.” Conviction weighed heavy on me, yet assurance felt so far away. I wrestled with whether this God I read about truly wanted me. Love, in those days, felt like a distant story sprinkled through the Bible and strung together by Sunday school lessons.
Life moved forward, and with it came disappointments I hadn’t imagined. I think of the chapter I’ve labeled China. I packed my bags, convinced it was a beginning, only to return home months later with nothing to show. No degree, no language skills, no visible victories. Just me, my suitcase, and a face mask in the suffocating heat of COVID.
I thought that chapter was the ending. I thought I’d failed.
But God—oh, how He makes everything beautiful in its time.
I laugh-cried recently, stumbling upon old photos of those years. So much has changed since then. From the quiet longing of my childhood to the heartaches of my twenties, I see a God who was always working behind the scenes, weaving prayers into realities far greater than I could have dreamed.
The friendships I once begged for? I have them now—rich, life-giving connections that I know are answered whispers.
The success I thought had slipped through my fingers? I graduated best in my program, shaking hands with the President of Zambia. Unreal!
Even love, the kind I doubted was ever meant for me, has found its way into my story. Not always in ways I expected, but in ways that have taught me about grace, about myself, and about the perfect love of a God who never lets go. Even the loves that didn’t last were reminders of His faithfulness.
And now, standing at another ending that doubles as a beginning, I feel that familiar tug of uncertainty. Anxiety creeps in as I wonder if I’m making the right choices, if I’m ready for what’s next. But even here, I am reminded: He leads me.
This story of mine is more than a collection of answered prayers. It’s a testimony of a God who writes far better than I ever could. His plans are higher, His timing is perfect, and His love is unwavering.
"He leadeth me: O blessed thought.”
Until next time,
Wana.
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