Unveiling The Thread Of Becoming | Through Stillness And Trust

The Hidden Thread of Becoming Revealed

Long before the script of “Becoming in Rhythm | A Sacred Journey in Thematic Verse” found its way to the page, Becoming had already found its way into my life.

I didn’t realize it then. I wasn’t looking for a theme, a title, or a calling.

But now, looking back across the years, I see the thread and how it wove itself quietly through seasons, roles, and redefinitions.

What felt like fragments were actually phrases in a divine sentence—whispers of something always in motion, always forming.

In 2005, I became a Certified Beauty Advisor with Avon. They released a product line called beComing—elegant, uplifting, exclusive to those trained to carry it.

I wore that badge with pride, not just for the brand but because the word resonated with something inside me. Its meaning wasn’t fully clear at the time.

Shortly afterward, when I named a training group Becoming, the choice felt natural—like reaching for a word already known, already part of the journey.

I thought I was giving it structure. I now realize I was receiving it. Becoming had already begun.

Recognition | Connecting the Dots Across Seasons

When I reflect on the woman I’ve been through the years—daughter, mother, caregiver, teacher, writer—I no longer see separation between the roles. I see rhythm, layers, and formation.

Each role I stepped into became a verse—unwritten at first, but deeply inscribed in the rhythm of Becoming.

Even in moments I questioned my worth, I was being shaped.
Even in detours and delays, I was not lost—I was becoming.

There was no spotlight when I folded laundry in silence.
No applause when I sat beside someone who forgot my name.
No headline when I poured my heart into words I wasn’t sure anyone would read.

But heaven was watching.
God was weaving.
Becoming was working.

What once looked like interruptions, I now recognize as divine punctuation—pauses, commas, and rests in a much larger score.

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Revelation | Becoming Is Ongoing

Here is what I know now:
Becoming never ends.

It is not a single chapter.
It is not a goal to arrive at.
It is a way of being with God.

Becoming is the journey of being formed by Him,
over time, through trust,
by grace.

There are moments when the shaping is gentle—like the stroke of a brush.
There are seasons when it’s more like the pressure of a potter’s hand.
But through it all, I am not abandoned. I am not overlooked.
I am beheld.

This unveiling has shown me that I am not starting over.
I’m continuing what He began.

I am not returning to a calling.
I’ve never left it.

And though the words may shift, and the seasons may change,
the rhythm remains.

I am still becoming.

The next movement unfolds through Prose-Poetic Meditations—a rhythm of reflection and revelation. Each word carries the weight of the journey and the whisper of grace. This is Part 1 of 2.

I. Becoming Still

There was a time when movement meant progress, and noise meant relevance. I used to measure success by what I was doing, what I was producing, how quickly I could pivot from one season to the next. But the Spirit had a different rhythm in mind.

He invited me into still—not as a punishment, not as delay, but as revelation.

It was in the hush of early mornings, when breath steadied and demands quieted, that I began to hear again. Not the voices of expectation. Not the memory of pressure. But something deeper. The voice that shaped the heavens whispered into my soul:

Be still, daughter.
Still enough to feel the weight of My presence.
Still enough to stop managing what I already finished.

And so I stayed. I stayed in that moment longer than I thought I should. I resisted the urge to do, and learned the beauty of being.

Not everything needs fixing. Not everything must be moved.
Some things are sacred because they wait. And I—
I am still becoming.

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Meditative Refrain:
I am not paused; I am placed.

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Scripture Meditation:
“In returning and rest you shall be saved; in quietness and trust shall be your strength.”
— Isaiah 30:15

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Bridge to the Next Word:
Stillness didn’t come to hold me back.
It came to hold me together.
And in that holding,
I saw the shape of something new—
a wholeness not broken by silence,
but made visible through it.

II. Becoming Whole

Wholeness didn’t arrive with fanfare.
It didn’t burst through the door demanding to be seen.
It came gently—on the heels of stillness—like breath returning after grief,
like light spilling into a room you didn’t know had windows.

I used to believe wholeness meant perfection.
Flawless. Seamless. Untouched.
But God rewrote that idea with every cracked place He held together in me.

He showed me that wholeness is not the absence of brokenness,
but the presence of grace woven through it.

It was in the listening—
not just to God, but to myself—
that I recovered pieces I had given away too freely:
to obligation, to comparison, to survival.

And there, in the silence after stillness, I gathered them up—
not to become someone new,
but to remember who I had always been.

The daughter.
The vessel.
The voice.
The breath between burdens.

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Meditative Refrain:
Wholeness is not what I lost—it’s what I reclaimed.

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Scripture Meditation:
“Your faith has made you whole; go in peace.”
— Luke 8:48

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Bridge to the Next Word:
Wholeness prepared me to rise again,
but not to return to the way things were.
I was not meant to go back.
I was meant to be sent.

III. Becoming Sent

Wholeness did not leave me standing still.
It placed a message in my mouth,
a longing in my hands,
and a quiet urgency in my feet.

I didn’t ask to be sent.
I was not chasing platforms or pulpits.
But God had seen my yes
—whispered through tears, written in poems,
offered in caregiving, folded into the rhythm of my days.

And so He called me forward.
Not as someone flawless, but as someone formed.
Not with everything figured out, but with faith enough to follow.

He sent me—not to be impressive, but to be available.
To be present where pain lived.
To speak when silence weighed too heavy.
To serve where others passed by.

Each step I took didn’t make me more worthy.
It simply made me more willing.

And I learned that being sent wasn’t about distance.
It was about obedience.
About being a light at the foot of someone else’s dark.

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Meditative Refrain:
I was not called to arrive. I was called to go.

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Scripture Meditation:
“Then I heard the voice of the Lord saying, ‘Whom shall I send? And who will go for us?’
And I said, ‘Here am I. Send me!’”
— Isaiah 6:8

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Bridge to the Next Word:
To be sent is not to escape the sacred work of healing—
it is to carry it with you.
And even as I walked in purpose,
I began to feel the tension of limits—
and the deeper call to become available.

IV. Becoming Available

It’s one thing to be sent.
It’s another to remain available.
Not just once, but again and again.
Even when it’s inconvenient.
Even when no one sees.
Even when what you’re offering feels small.

I used to think availability meant having space in my schedule.
But God showed me—
It means having space in my soul.

To pause when someone needs a listening ear.
To serve when you’re already stretched.
To say yes when your flesh says no, but your spirit says, “Here I am.”

Availability isn’t flashy.
It’s not announced with trumpets.
It shows up in simple places—
like showing kindness to someone who’s hard to love,
or giving care to someone who may not remember your name.

Being available meant I had to let go—
of my need to control,
of the desire to be understood,
of the urge to prove my worth.

Instead, I became the vessel again.
A quiet offering in the hands of the Master.

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Meditative Refrain:
My time, my gifts, my heart—He can use it all.

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Scripture Meditation:
“Present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which is your spiritual worship.”
— Romans 12:1

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Bridge to the Next Word:
Availability deepened my intimacy with Him.
It softened me.
Strengthened me.
And led me into a rhythm of rest I had never known—
not the rest of sleep,
but the rest of soul.

V. Becoming Rested

I didn’t know how tired I was
until I stopped running for everyone else’s approval.

I thought rest would come after the work was done,
but God invited me to rest in the midst of the work.

He wasn’t waiting for me to finish the to-do list.
He was calling me to come to Him,
to lay down the weight of striving,
the need to perform,
the inner critic that kept rewriting the grace He had already given.

Rest wasn’t laziness.
It was obedience.
It was trust that He could handle the world
even when I stepped away for a moment.

In becoming rested,
I began to hear the rhythm of heaven—
unhurried, unhindered, unafraid.

This was not the kind of rest that came with a vacation.
It was the kind that came with release.

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Meditative Refrain:
Rest is not escape. Rest is return.

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Scripture Meditation:
“Come to Me, all you who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.”
— Matthew 11:28

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Bridge to the Next Word:
In resting, I remembered.
In remembering, I reconnected.
And in that still, whole, sent, available, rested place—
I found something waiting quietly:
joy.

VI. Becoming Joyful

Joy didn’t come with loud celebration.
It arrived in quiet companionship—
in moments where my soul smiled before my face did.

I thought joy was for the big things—
the breakthroughs, the answered prayers, the mountaintops.
But God whispered joy into the ordinary.
Into laundry-folding.
Into soft conversations.
Into unexpected moments of grace that found me
when I wasn’t even looking.

Joy wasn’t a reward.
It was a companion.

It stood beside me in grief
and refused to let sorrow have the last word.
It danced even when tears were still drying.
It hummed a melody of hope
in the spaces where silence used to sit heavy.

Joy didn’t ask me to ignore pain.
It simply asked me to look for light.

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Meditative Refrain:
Joy is not a feeling. Joy is a flame.

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Scripture Meditation:
“You make known to me the path of life;
in Your presence there is fullness of joy.”
— Psalm 16:11

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Bridge to the Next Word:
Joy gave me strength I didn’t know I needed.
It colored my days.
It softened my voice.
And in that joy,
I was drawn into something even deeper—trust.

VII. Becoming Trusting

I didn’t always trust easily.
I had learned to plan, to pivot, to protect myself.
Trust felt like risk.
Like stepping where the ground wasn’t visible.

But God didn’t ask me to leap blindly—
He asked me to walk with Him.
To lean into a love that never fails.
To release the reins I had gripped for so long
and rest my weight in His hands.

Trust began not in my strength,
but in my surrender.

I trusted Him in the big things—
but it was in the small, daily decisions
that trust grew its roots.

In waiting rooms.
In quiet callings.
In long nights of not yet, and long seasons of not now.

He proved faithful in what He withheld
just as much as in what He gave.

And with each step,
I trusted not just where He was taking me—
but who I was becoming as He took me there.

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Meditative Refrain:
Trust is not the absence of fear.
It is the presence of faith.

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Scripture Meditation:
“Trust in the Lord with all your heart,
and lean not on your own understanding;
in all your ways acknowledge Him,
and He shall direct your paths.”
— Proverbs 3:5–6

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Bridge to the Next Word:
Trust brought peace.
Peace brought purpose.
And as I leaned in,
I began to sense something sacred rising within me—
a deeper identity,
a holy confidence,
a quiet, steady boldness.

Closing Reflection

The journey of Becoming is not rushed.
It is a rhythm that invites us to breathe deeper, listen longer, and walk slower.

As this first movement settles, I find myself anchored—
not by answers, but by presence.
Stillness has steadied me.
Wholeness has healed me.
Trust has taught me to stay.

And so, I pause here—not at the end,
but at the sacred edge of what is yet to be revealed.

When your heart is ready,
the next unfolding awaits.

Coming next is Part 2: Rising in Light and Legacy.

To God Be The Glory. Always!

Veron | Business Owner | The Way 4Word Enterprises