One Year Locked-In

One Year of Writing — One Year of Being Seen

One year.
It feels impossible to sum it up with those two words, because this space wasn’t born from excitement or ambition to be popular. It was birthed from grief — a quiet ache that needed somewhere to land. I didn’t come here with a plan or an audience in mind. I came here simply because I needed a place to breathe… a place where strangers couldn’t judge me and where I could whisper the truths I was too afraid to say out loud.

But God had other plans.
El Roi — the One who sees me, my favourite name for God.
The One who sees the hidden, the unspoken, the tears I wipe before anyone notices, the parts of me I never intended to reveal.
He saw me even here.
And He turned what was meant to be a refuge into a testimony.

Last weekend, He reminded me again that I am not invisible to Him.

It was bitterly cold — the kind of cold that bites straight through layers and settles deep into your bones.
Minus 26 degrees.
A Superstore parking lot.
Groceries.
A tired mother.
And a little girl who doesn’t yet understand danger.

I had turned on the car to warm it up, tucked Phoebe into her seat, planning to put the groceries into the trunk quickly.
And then — the click.
The doors locked.
Just like that.

My child inside.
My keys inside.
My house keys inside.
And me, standing outside in air that stung like needles and definitely not dressed for the weather.

There is a kind of stillness that comes with fear — not panic, just a deep awareness that you cannot afford to fall apart.
I smiled at Phoebe so she wouldn’t sense the rising tension. I made faces through the window. I told her we were fine. But inside, my mind was racing. My friend got an uber to get the spare key, only for me to remember that my house keys were also locked in the car.

I stood there — shivering, praying, pretending to be brave for a child who calls me “mummy.”

And in that moment, I whispered,
“Holy Spirit… You are the great Teacher. You hear me when I call. Please… teach Phoebe how to open the door.”

It was not a dramatic prayer.
It was a desperate one.

I called out to her gently, “Phoebe, help mummy.”
Minutes passed like hours.
And then, with her tiny fingers and the courage only a child can have, she pushed herself against her straps and unlocked the door.

I gathered her into my arms with a relief that felt like collapsing into grace.
Only then did I notice a family in a nearby car who had been watching everything unfold. When that door opened, they erupted in joy — strangers celebrating a miracle they witnessed from a distance.

It was a small moment in the eyes of the world, but to me it was monumental.
It reminded me once again that God sees me — not only in my prayers, not only in the sacred moments, but in the icy parking lots, the ordinary fears, the mothering, the surviving, the quiet strength He keeps pouring into me.

A year has passed.
A year of being held.
A year of being healed in places I was too scared to admit were broken.
A year of growing, grieving, rebuilding.
A year of being truly, deeply seen by God.

As this year draws to a close, His love has felt heavier — not overwhelming, but anchoring.
He keeps whispering that I am His.
That nothing about my life escapes His attention.
That He is present in the details, not just the destiny.

So to every person who has walked this journey with me — reading, praying, encouraging, sending messages and even unexpected gifts; and yes, even to those whose actions brought me the greatest pain — thank you. Because all of it, every single thread, became part of the story God is weaving.

And as I step forward into a new year, I hold onto this truth:
“For all things are now ready.” — Luke 14:17

When I asked Him, “Lord, what things?”
His answer was simple and profound:

A table.
A feast.
A place prepared with intention —
of revelation, healing, rebuilding, provision, abundance, clarity, and strengthening.
(Isaiah 25:6)

So I extend this invitation not just to myself, but to you:
Come feast with God.
Come into the place He has prepared.
Come into the year where all things are now ready.

With love,
Ife 💛