There’s a quiet kind of suffering that comes from wanting something too much.
I sat listening to the gentle rain as it fell from the sky, making music all around me.
The fire flickered in front of me, and I found myself lost in its quiet magick, somewhere between the warmth and the rhythm of it all.
And then, a thought drifted through my awareness.
Sometimes, I want something so deeply that I begin to cling to it.
Not gently, not lovingly, but tightly.
So tightly that I forget how to surrender.
Maybe you’ve felt this too.
The way desire can slowly turn into control.
The way it can begin to feel like survival.
I get tunnel vision.
I start trying to force the outcome, shaping it into exactly what I imagined.
As if wanting something deeply enough could make it happen.
As if I’ve forgotten that something greater is holding me.
As if I’ve forgotten that God, that the Universe, sees a wider picture than I ever could.
Because the truth is, everything I have ever allowed in a state of trust and surrender has unfolded with a kind of perfection my mind could never have planned.
And as I noticed this pattern within myself, as I truly saw it, something shifted.
It was as if the simple act of seeing it allowed it to loosen its grip.
In that moment, I felt it.
The depth.
The magnitude.
The love of something far greater than me.
I felt God.
I felt the Universe.
I felt that I was being held within something steady, something intentional, something designed to support me in becoming everything I came here to be.
And suddenly, there was safety.
There was stability.
There was love.
Not something I had to chase or earn, but something that was already available, if I was willing to receive it.
And I realized something that softened me even more.
Everything I had been longing to feel was already here.
The love.
The safety.
The support.
The connection.
It wasn’t coming from where my mind insisted it should.
It wasn’t arriving through the person I had been clinging to.
But it was here.
It felt different.
The hands didn’t feel human, because they were God’s.
The voice didn’t sound the same, because it was God’s.
The connection wasn’t what I expected, because it was deeper than anything I had known.
And yet, if I allowed myself to fully experience it, I could feel it more profoundly than anything I had tried to hold onto before.
It was as if God was gently teaching me what love actually feels like.
What it sounds like.
What it means to be held.
I sat there, gazing into the fire, letting this awareness move through me, letting myself soften into it.
And then another realization arose.
What if this is the standard?
What if God is showing me the depth of love I am meant to receive?
And what if, until now, some part of me has been willing to accept far less?
Maybe you’ve done this too.
Settled for something that almost felt like love, because it was familiar.
Because it was human.
I felt my entire body exhale.
My heart softened.
Something deep within me relaxed.
What if God is holding a standard for me that I haven’t yet learned to hold for myself?
And if I am worthy of being loved like this, fully and unconditionally, then I am also capable of choosing that same standard in my life.
A slow breath moved through me.
I felt myself opening, my energy softening, my heart expanding.
I was already receiving the gift of it.
Being held.
Being loved.
Being led.
Not through force.
Not through striving.
But through feeling.
Through allowing.
Through surrender.
And in that moment, I surrendered a little more.
I closed my eyes.
I let my head gently rest, as if cradled in unseen hands.
I opened my heart.
I softened my body.
I let my soul be seen.
Because for the first time, I felt safe receiving unconditional love.
And maybe surrender doesn’t mean losing what we long for.
Maybe it means allowing ourselves to be loved in ways we never expected.