Looking Beyond What You Can See

 Looking Beyond What You Can See

Have you ever gazed at the horizon, where the ocean meets the sky, and wondered where it truly ends? From the shore, we see only a faint line separating them—a line that is never fully certain. No matter how much we squint, the sky and ocean seem to blend together. And yet, they remain distinct, constantly influencing one another: wind shapes the currents, and the ocean’s evaporation brings rain to the land.

Similarly, the Bible tells us that the heart is the source from which every part of our life flows. Our actions, words, and decisions are rooted in the heart, and the heart, in turn, is shaped by the choices we make each day. A moment of complaining may seem small, but repeated over time it can become a habit, replacing gratitude and trust with discontent. Conversely, a heart filled with joy in Jesus leaves no room for complaint.

Like the ocean and sky, the heart and life are intricately connected. That is why God commands us to guard our hearts above all else. Protecting our hearts is essential to living the life God has planned for us. When our hearts are filled with God’s Word, joy, faith, and trust, our choices naturally align with His will. When we neglect this, however, our hearts become vulnerable to the influences of the world—the sights we see, the words we hear, and the actions we take. Every choice either strengthens our faith or diminishes it.

Watch over your heart with the vigilance of a soldier stationed in a tower. From this vantage point, dangers can be seen early, allowing swift action to protect what matters most. Neglect, however, leaves the heart exposed—and a life unguarded is a life at risk. 

 "Above all else, guard your heart, for everything you do flows from it" Proverbs 4:23

Look at the Birds

 “Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they?” Mat. 6:26

Look at the Birds

A week ago, I read a headline that surprised me: bird watching can slow the aging process. Who knew that something so simple—just watching birds—could sharpen the mind and brighten the spirit? 

I live in an apartment whose window opens onto a giant green tree. Every morning, before my alarm rings and while the sun stretches its first golden rays, a chorus of birds wakes me. Sometimes I’m annoyed—disturbed from sleep, longing for silence. Yet even in that irritation, I see a quiet lesson: day after day, these tiny creatures are cared for by their Creator. If they are watched over with such care, surely we, His children, are not forgotten. 

“Look at the birds of the air…” Jesus invites us to notice the small, the delicate, the overlooked. “Are you not much more valuable than they?” And yet, so often, our hearts cling to worry—bills, deadlines, the month ahead.

Watching the birds shifts my gaze from fear to faith. Their freedom, their small songs, remind me that God is attentive, sovereign, and faithful. A simple shift in focus—lifting my eyes, redirecting my thoughts—calms a racing mind and steadies a weary heart. It is no longer about circumstances. It is about the One who holds all things.

Now, when I lie awake and hear the morning chorus, I do not groan. I pause. I listen. I praise. In their songs, I feel love reflected back to me. I am reminded: I am held, I am valued, I am loved. And as I watch and listen, I sharpen my perception, strengthen my memory, and quiet my worries.

Look at the birds. Watch. Learn. Remember. Trust.

bird watching-slows-ageing

A Personal Story

I’m starting March with a personal story and reflection on my recent encounters with opportunism, rather than one of my usual faith-based tales. Sometimes, it’s important to share what really happens and learn from it. I hope this serves as encouragement for you to focus on what truly matters most.

Opportunism Versus Faith

Call me old-fashioned, but I like to begin with dictionary definitions.

According to Merriam-Webster, opportunism is “the art, policy, or practice of taking advantage of opportunities or circumstances, often with little regard for principles or consequences.” It represents a self-serving approach to situations, commonly used in politics or personal affairs to achieve immediate or personal gain—sometimes at the expense of ethical considerations.

Faith, on the other hand, is defined as “allegiance to duty or a person; loyalty, fidelity to promises, sincerity of intentions, or firm belief in something for which there is no proof.”

You may be wondering: what do these two words have to do with one another? Are they related at all?

In truth, they represent everyday choices—a way of living. Although opportunism and faith differ greatly in action, their root is the same: the heart. One prioritizes self; the other prioritizes others. An opportunist acts in favor of personal gain, regardless of the harm it may cause. A faithful person is bound by conviction to place others before themselves.

Why am I making this distinction? Because when you experience both of these lifestyles through the people around you, you cannot help but be impacted—either deeply hurt or deeply blessed.

Let me share a few personal experiences.

In October of last year, I received the most dreadful phone call from my father. My mother was in the emergency room, about thirty-five minutes from where I lived. As my husband drove me to the hospital, my mind flooded with a storm of emotions.

When we arrived, my father met us outside and told us she hadn’t made it.

My heart broke. My legs gave way beneath me.

My father and husband helped me into the room to see her. I caressed her forehead while trying to process the doctor’s words. After he left, a hospital staff member came in to discuss arrangements.

That’s when I noticed my mother was still wearing her pearl earrings and her gold necklace with a heart-shaped ruby. I managed to remove the earrings, but I couldn’t unclasp the necklace.

Ten minutes later, when I returned to the room, it was gone.

Taken.

The nurse could not explain what had happened. In my grief, I did not pursue it. I had more urgent matters to handle. But there it was—opportunism. Someone taking advantage of our deepest sorrow without a trace of conscience.

Outrageous.

Then, at the end of November, I asked my husband to mail the Christmas cards I had lovingly handmade for friends and family abroad, including my son’s birthday card. The postal clerk asked whether he wanted to add tracking, but since they were “just Christmas cards,” he declined.

The cards never arrived.

Not one.

My son never received his 22nd birthday card. My family and friends never received their Christmas greetings.

Opportunism again—someone disregarding integrity for personal gain.

Disgraceful.

And yet, that is not the whole story of humanity.

In my youth, I had the opportunity to study theology. On weekends, I visited members of a small congregation in a very poor village. Each Sunday, I spent time with a different family, and what I encountered in their homes was love without measure. Though they had little, they offered me the very best they possessed. I never once felt like a burden; instead, I felt welcomed, valued, and truly cherished.

Precious memories.

Years later, shortly after we moved abroad, my husband needed urgent surgery. I felt alone and vulnerable in a new country. He was working while I was studying. We had two young boys. How would we make ends meet?

The pastor of the church we had just begun attending brought us food hampers for months, along with homemade meals. No questions asked. No expectations. No conditions.

Just help.

Providential.

I could continue describing encounters with opportunism and the scars they left. I could even excuse such behavior by saying it is ingrained in culture, present at every level of society.

But I would rather count my blessings.

There are people who live by a different code—like the one described in Hebrews 11:1:

“Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.”

They have not seen the Savior, yet they believe in Him. They live as though this world is not all there is. They treat others as they themselves would wish to be treated.

There are hearts full of self—and hearts full of Jesus.

Which one are you?

The Door

 John 10:9

There are things only children can see—things adults forget or choose not to believe. Only a few grown-ups keep that childlike sight, choosing to believe despite how strange it may seem in adulthood.

I am one of those child-adults. I still remember when I first heard of it—when I first saw it. It was unforgettable.

“Wait, what did you hear? What did you see?”

I’ll tell you. But I must start at the beginning.

As a little girl, I went wherever my parents took me—grocery stores, supermarkets, the local library, and church. Church was the most interesting place of all. I understood why we went to buy food or borrow books, but church puzzled me. Every Sunday, people sang together and then suddenly became silent when a man began to speak. They nodded as if they understood everything. I didn’t. I just waited for Sunday School.

I loved Miss Vera’s classroom. She was kind and gentle, and being there felt safe.

One Sunday morning, on our way to church, something happened. My father—usually a careful driver—lost control of the car. We swerved toward a tree and missed it by what felt like an inch. “Help us, Lord!” my mother cried. The car stopped. Dad was pale; Mom was speechless.

The first thing Dad did was take Mom’s hand and mine and pray, “Lord, thank You for helping us when we needed You most. We praise You in the name of Your Son, Jesus. Amen.”

I knew he wasn’t speaking to us—but to someone else. I had heard about God, yet I wondered: Who was this Lord? Who was His Son? Why could no one see Him? What did He look like? What did He sound like?

That morning in Sunday School, Miss Vera showed us a poster shaped like a door. She read, “I am the door. If anyone enters through Me, he shall be saved… and find green pastures.”

She explained that Jesus, the Son of God, was the door—not one that leads to another room, but one that leads to a place no one has ever fully seen: a place of peace, where sorrow and hate cannot enter. But to go through that door, we must believe in Him and turn away from sin—lies, hatred, dishonesty, disobedience.

I was astonished. Jesus is a door? How could that be? Yet more than confusion, I felt longing. I wanted to see that place.

That night, I asked my mother why Jesus was called a door. She smiled and said He is also light and love. He came to lead us out of darkness, to save us, and to give us eternal life. We prayed together, and I fell asleep thinking about light shining in the dark—because darkness had always frightened me.

That night I dreamed.

I stood in a long hallway filled with doors. Behind each one were rooms full of toys and sweets. I wanted to stay, but I was searching for Jesus—the door. I couldn’t find Him. I began to cry.

Then I heard a voice: “Come, child. This is the way.”

I followed the voice until I reached a small wooden door—smaller than all the others. It seemed too small for me to enter. But I remembered: I must believe. I turned the knob.

Light burst forth—brighter than the sun. Beauty beyond words. And there He was.

He took my hand and said, “This is yours forever. I will always be with you. Do you believe?”

“I do,” I answered.

I woke with a peace and joy I had never known. I told my parents everything. They rejoiced and thanked Jesus for loving us enough to take our place on the cross.

Years passed. I grew older. Sometimes I was tempted to dismiss the dream as just a dream. But then I remembered: Jesus said we must become like children to enter His kingdom. A child does not analyze—she believes.

So I choose to believe.

I choose to trust the One who loves me so deeply that He gave His life for mine, who opened the door to heaven and calls me by name.

And you—have you heard His voice? Have you found the door?

If not, seek it. Listen carefully. You will hear your name.

Look for the door.

 "I am the door: by me if any man enter in, he shall be saved, and shall go in and out, and find pasture". John 10:9

Like The Flower of Grass - The Reason Behind It

Like the Flower of Grass
“For all flesh is as grass, and all the glory of man as the flower of grass.
The grass withereth, and the flower thereof falleth away.”
— I Peter 1:24

There is something both tender and urgent in these words. Life is compared to grass — fragile, temporary, here for a season and then gone. Like the flower of grass, we bloom for a moment. We are given breath, purpose, opportunities… and then time quietly moves on.

This truth has gently pressed upon my heart.

Like many things we attempt in life, there comes a moment when we feel the need to share what has been placed within us. For me, speaking my thoughts out loud has never been easy. Words sometimes disappear before they reach my lips, lost somewhere along my train of thought.

Have you ever waited for your turn to speak, holding tightly to something meaningful you wanted to say—only to forget it when the moment finally comes? That has often been me.

While spoken words may fade, imagination endures. I have always loved creating stories—small fictional reflections that express truths often difficult to explain plainly. Yet storytelling is not my only means of sharing what lies deep within my heart; I also draw on personal experiences and reflect on how they connect to God’s word.

If life is truly like the flower of grass, then we cannot afford to wait. We cannot postpone sharing what is eternal. God’s Word — living and enduring — is my inspiration. It deserves to be spoken, written, and shared while we still have breath.

So here I am, stepping forward in faith, offering these inspirational reflections. My prayer is that they will encourage, uplift, and perhaps plant a small seed of hope in someone who needs it.

Welcome to my blog