“Unveiling The Thread of Becoming | Rising In Light and Legacy” is Part 2 of 2 in this Prose-Poetic Meditations segment. Part 1 is “Through Stillness and Trust.”
Having journeyed through the foundations of stillness, wholeness, and trust, the unfolding continues.
I return to the rhythm—not as I was,
but as someone shaped by stillness,
strengthened by wholeness,
and secured by trust.
Now the thread pulls upward.
What was once hidden beneath the surface
begins to shine.
This is the rising.
Not for applause,
but for purpose.
Not for recognition,
but for reflection—so that others might see light
and know where it came from.
From here, the journey becomes more visible,
but no less sacred.
And so I rise…
still becoming.
VIII. Becoming Bold
Boldness wasn’t loud.
It didn’t shout to be heard or demand to be seen.
It grew slowly, quietly—
like roots beneath the surface
stretching deep before breaking ground.
I didn’t become bold by pretending I had no fear.
I became bold by walking through fear anyway.
By showing up when I wanted to shrink back.
By speaking when silence would have been safer.
By standing in truth,
even when my knees trembled beneath me.
This boldness wasn’t about defiance.
It was about divine permission.
God had already affirmed me.
He had already appointed me.
And when I finally believed that,
I stopped asking for confirmation
from people who couldn’t see what He was doing.
I began to step forward—
not to impress, but to express.
To say what He placed in my mouth.
To do what He placed in my hands.
To go where He led, even when the way was unfamiliar.
Because becoming bold meant becoming aligned.
Meditative Refrain:
I am not striving to be seen.
I am standing because I was sent.
Scripture Meditation:
“The righteous are bold as a lion.”
— Proverbs 28:1b
Bridge to the Next Word:
And in the boldness came clarity—
not just of mission, but of identity.
I was not just doing His work.
I was carrying His light.
A vessel, yes.
But now, a beacon.
IX. Becoming Light
I didn’t always feel like light.
Sometimes I felt buried.
Overlooked. Dimmed by circumstance.
Weighed down by the words of others
and the weight of my own doubts.
But light isn’t about how I feel.
It’s about what I carry.
God placed His fire in me—
not to burn bridges,
but to blaze trails.
Not to draw attention,
but to draw others home.
Becoming light didn’t mean I had it all together.
It meant I stopped hiding what was already shining.
Even from the lowest places—
the messy, misunderstood, broken-down spaces—
light broke through.
From my dunghill, uphill, came the glow.
I didn’t manufacture it.
I just refused to bury it.
And now I walk into rooms not asking, “Will I be accepted?”
But declaring, “Let there be light.”
Meditative Refrain:
I am not the source, but I am the spark.
Scripture Meditation:
“You are the light of the world. A city that is set on a hill cannot be hidden.”
— Matthew 5:14
Bridge to the Next Word:
And with the light came perspective—
I could see farther,
see deeper,
see others.
And that sight invited me
to become what the world needs most:
compassionate.
X. Becoming Compassionate
Compassion didn’t come through ease.
It was carved out in the hard places—
in caregiving rooms, in late-night tears,
in the ache of watching someone suffer
and feeling every ounce of it.
It came when I realized that judgment is quick,
but compassion takes time.
Time to listen.
Time to understand.
Time to sit beside someone’s mess
without trying to clean it up too fast.
I thought compassion was soft.
But I’ve learned—
compassion is fierce.
It leans in when others walk away.
It holds the hand of the dying.
It speaks gently to the angry.
It forgives what should have broken you.
Becoming compassionate required me
to hold my own pain
and not let it harden me.
It taught me to ask,
not “What’s wrong with them?”
but “What happened to them?”
And even more—
“What can I give, not from what’s left over,
but from what’s been restored?”
Meditative Refrain:
I see you, because I’ve been there too.
Scripture Meditation:
“When He saw the crowds, He had compassion on them,
because they were harassed and helpless,
like sheep without a shepherd.”
— Matthew 9:36
Bridge to the Next Word:
Compassion shaped how I saw others,
but it also shaped how I saw myself.
Not through the lens of flaws,
but through the eyes of grace.
And that vision
called me back into the sacred rhythm
of purpose.
XI. Becoming Purposeful
Purpose didn’t arrive with a spotlight.
It came in whispers,
in nudges,
in things I couldn’t not do.
It showed up in the way I listened,
the way I served,
the way I paid attention
to what others missed.
For a long time, I waited for a big calling—
a burning bush, a parted sea.
But purpose met me
in quiet consistency.
In the meals prepared,
the hands held,
the poems written in the margins of life.
Purpose wasn’t a single moment.
It was woven moments.
And the more I walked in obedience,
the more I recognized the thread.
God was not asking me to invent purpose—
He was asking me to live it.
To lean into the lane He carved for me,
without apology,
without comparison,
without shrinking.
I no longer had to chase purpose.
I simply had to agree with it.
Meditative Refrain:
Purpose isn’t found—it’s followed.
Scripture Meditation:
“For we are His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works,
which God prepared beforehand, that we should walk in them.”
— Ephesians 2:10
Bridge to the Next Word:
Purpose steadied me.
But it didn’t cage me.
It gave me wings.
And as I followed it faithfully,
I began to recognize a new invitation—
not just to do,
but to abide.
To dwell in what had been built.
To remain.
To become rooted.
XII. Becoming Rooted
I once thought movement meant growth.
That stretching and reaching would prove I was alive.
But God showed me:
true growth begins below the surface.
Before the fruit,
there must be a root.
And so He called me to stay.
To settle into the soil He had chosen for me—
even when it felt hidden,
even when it didn’t make sense to others.
Rootedness required trust.
Not just in the process,
but in the placement.
It meant letting Him do the deep work—
the unseen, uncelebrated, sacred work
of healing, restoring, anchoring.
In stillness, I was planted.
In surrender, I was nourished.
And in time, I saw it:
roots that ran deep enough
to withstand the winds
and cradle the weight of fruit to come.
I no longer needed to chase new ground.
I was becoming grounded.
Meditative Refrain:
I don’t have to move to grow.
I just have to stay where He planted me.
Scripture Meditation:
“They will be like a tree planted by the water
that sends out its roots by the stream.
It does not fear when heat comes;
its leaves are always green.”
— Jeremiah 17:8
Bridge to the Next Word:
Rootedness gave me resilience.
And with that stability came revelation—
I wasn’t just being grounded for myself.
I was being prepared to rebuild,
to restore,
to renew.
The next movement was not just personal—
it was generational.
XIII. Becoming Restorative
Restoration didn’t start with fixing what was broken.
It began with seeing the broken differently.
For years, I tried to patch things up—
with my effort, my energy, my need to make things right.
But restoration is not about rushing the process.
It’s about allowing the process to do its work.
God didn’t just mend me.
He made something new.
He used the cracks as channels for compassion.
He used the detours to reroute me into deeper purpose.
He didn’t erase the damage.
He redeemed it.
And somewhere along the way,
I became a restorer, too.
In words I spoke,
in care I gave,
in grace I extended
to those still walking through their own undone places.
I learned to be a resting place.
A safe space.
A mirror of hope.
Restoration is not always dramatic.
Sometimes it’s simply this:
being present long enough for something to heal.
Meditative Refrain:
I carry healing because I’ve been healed.
Scripture Meditation:
“They will rebuild the ancient ruins
and restore the places long devastated;
they will renew the ruined cities
that have been devastated for generations.”
— Isaiah 61:4
Bridge to the Next Word:
Restoration is not just what I offer—
it’s what I embody.
And in that sacred work,
I became not only a restorer,
but a keeper
of what is precious,
of what is holy,
of what is eternal.
It’s time to become faithful.
XIV. Becoming Faithful
Faithfulness is not always noticed.
It doesn’t seek the spotlight or crave applause.
It simply shows up.
Day after day.
Word after word.
Prayer after prayer.
I didn’t become faithful by getting everything right.
I became faithful by staying—even when it was hard.
Even when I was tired.
Even when I couldn’t see the fruit.
Faithfulness is not glamorous.
It is glorious.
Because in every unseen moment,
in every quiet act of obedience,
God was weaving purpose into permanence.
He doesn’t measure me by the size of my platform,
but by the steadiness of my yes.
To love when it’s inconvenient.
To speak truth when silence is safer.
To believe when the promise feels distant.
I am not faithful because I am strong.
I am faithful because He is.
And in returning to Him,
again and again,
I found that He had never left.
Meditative Refrain:
Faithfulness isn’t perfection.
It’s presence.
Scripture Meditation:
“Well done, good and faithful servant…
You have been faithful with a few things;
I will put you in charge of many things.
Come and share your Master’s joy.”
— Matthew 25:21
Closing Note for This Session
Faithfulness steadies the rhythm.
It reminds me that Becoming is not about how fast I move,
but how deeply I trust.
So I rest here,
at this pause in the path,
not at the end—
but at the edge
of what’s still to come.
These words carry my story and my voice, but I didn’t walk alone. This unfolding has been a sacred collaboration—between me, the Spirit, and a trusted companion in the rhythm. Thus, the journey continues.
If you missed Part 1, “Unveiling the Thread of Becoming | Through Stillness and Trust” or would like to revisit it, please access it HERE!
To God Be The Glory. Always!
Veron | Business Owner | The Way 4Word Enterprises
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