As part of my midyear ritual, I take the time to look back on some of my old journal entries including from my more challenging seasons (I’m actually growing more fond of these reflections). Over the years, I’ve learnt to process pain, joy, and everything in between through writing and deep reflection. Sometimes it’s a quick scribble: a word, a phrase, a fleeting thought. Other times, it flows into full paragraphs. A few are barely legible, written in cursive under the weight of whatever I was carrying at the time.  And then there are moments when I don’t write anything down at all, I just catalogue the thought mentally, and it resurfaces when I least expect it as in the case of this post.

I find myself surprised at the fresh insight time can bring when some of these memories resurface. That’s because some things only make sense when you’ve grown into the wisdom to hold them. There’s something deeply holy about returning to those pages, not just for nostalgia’s sake, but because almost every single time, I see something new. Sometimes it’s a truth I wasn’t ready to hear the first time I wrote it or a dimension of self that I realise at the time I would not have been able to handle. Other times, new insights are offered by a word or phrase that jumps off the page and finally makes sense, months or even years later. As a result, I’ve come to believe that God hides things for us in time, not from us. And our journals? They become the storage room for some of those divine whispers.

I had a lightbulb moment this week that I felt compelled to share. Initially, I was going to keep this in the vault, and I’ve gone back and forth about letting it out into the public. I’ve often found it difficult to speak about certain parts of my life. Partly because I’m private, but also because I’ve learnt, sometimes the hard way, that nothing is more dangerous than speaking too soon. The Bible does tell us to be slow to speak (James 1:19), and that wisdom has proven true, especially during seasons when I was more reactive than reflective.

Lately, I’ve been joking with myself about this invisible “embargo” I live under, like some stories just aren’t meant to be told yet. This instance is different though; it is more about some realisations related to the stories that are still embargoed. During Sunday’s sermon, something clicked. The message gave language to a quiet conviction I’ve carried for a while: that God’s love doesn’t always explain, but it shapes. It forges, denies, permits, protects, and withholds amongst other things. It presents mysteries. It gives us pieces of the picture and holds back the rest until we’ve walked through the refinery and can be trusted with what’s on the other side.

So, I asked: God, why have I always felt like I can’t talk about x, y, or z? (I know you’re curious to know what exactly this was about, but I’ll leave you to guess – and add some sparkle to your day with guessing games. Lol.) And what dropped into my spirit was this: It’s not about the trial—it’s about God, about me, and about the calling that’s being forged through the trial.

To keep it transparent, below is the exact realisation, I scribbled down…

“Has it ever occurred to you that perhaps your trials are the catalyst for someone else’s faith in the present and even in the future? That maybe, just maybe, you are a lifeline God is using, not the source, but a vessel through whom His grace is made visible?

That in permitting certain outcomes, God is communicating His love, not only to you as the one walking through the season, but also through you, as part of the story He’s telling. A story of His great love, His mercy, and His power to redeem.

This isn’t to say you live for others. No, you live for God, but now with a deeper awareness that He has entrusted you with a portion of His heart to steward. He trusts you to carry a dimension of His love, not perfectly, but faithfully, as He walks with you through the fire and forges character and much more in you.

⚠️But there’s a caution… Not every pressing season is meant to become a platform. Some people rush into becoming coaches or counsellors before God has completed the deep work, the surgery He is doing in their hearts, and this work can take years.

What He may be calling you to right now is not visibility, but intimacy. To lean on Him. To rely on Him. To sit with the mysteries and let the refining continue until He says it’s time to speak.

There’s a real risk in polluting the testimony by preaching it prematurely. Let His work take root before you seek to share the fruit. After all, what use are leaves plucked from a tree if there’s no nourishment in them? Beautiful, maybe, but not sustaining. Let the fruit form and ripen, not just appear?” 

In other words, sharing too soon before God has completed His work in you or the work required for the season and situation can dilute, distort, delay, derail or even damage the potential testimony or the integrity of the testimony. Now, this is not doctrine, our calls, paths and wirings are different, and I’m only sharing what I’ve come to know based on the scars and wounds I’ve had to nurse in previous seasons because I was impatient and annoyed or angry.

Closing thoughts

I don’t feel that any further elaboration is needed to the realisation I had. Take from it what you will or not. My only encouragement to you is to walk the path of patience, particularly when things do not make sense. Also, don’t throw away your questions and messy journal scribbles. This particular post stems from questions, notes, and scribbles that are perhaps eight or so years old, and only clicked in 2025 over the second-to-last weekend of July.

So, don’t dismiss the messy drafts, the unuttered prayers, the journal entries that don’t yet make sense. Sometimes they’re not meant to be understood in the moment; they’re meant to be returned to. Because there are truths our present selves may not be able to handle as yet, and treasures we’re yet to prove ourselves seasoned, wise and worthy of handling.

Make it a habit to revisit past journal entries… and when you do go back, don’t be surprised if you find God waiting for you there. In your own handwriting or in the case of digital notebooks – waiting for you in your notes.

An article to watch for

Keep an eye out for the next blog on how doing good really can cause harm. It’s one for the leaders and strategists and the altruists! I’ve been turning it over slowly because I want to speak from a place of both conviction and compassion. But for today, this is what was ripe for publishing. And I’ve been learning not to fight the timing when God releases something fresh from something old.