Chapter 3 Devotional Breakdown: When God Tells You to Write It Down

Chapter 3: Everything I Write Comes to Pass

River sat at her kitchen slash office table, coffee cooling beside her, her journal open to a fresh page. Today, she was filled with a raw, almost electric sense of purpose she hadn’t felt in a long time. Over the years since she dedicated her entire existence to Yahweh, she hasn’t had to force the day’s events. The only things that end up on her calendar are all things October related. As River sat at her desk, her journal balanced on top of her lap, because the space was too small to have everything evened out, her mind drifted. She was an introvert by nature, someone who never felt the need to be out in the world making herself known. To her, the quiet solitude of her apartment was a sanctuary. Leaving the house for something as ordinary as doing laundry was enough of a task, never mind the idea of making herself visible on a stage in front of a crowd. She looked down at her journal, thoughts swirling between doubts and the courage she clung to every day.

It wasn’t just the crowd that bothered her. Being an introvert was one thing, but in the quiet, alone, she often found herself in a relentless, unseen battle. River had grown to recognize the true enemy that crept in the shadows of her mind, whispering the lies of failure, unworthiness, and doubt. It was a constant skirmish with Satan himself, who whispered too often, trying to masqueraded as her own voice. Trying to cast shadows over her confidence. She could almost hear him, slipping into the quiet of her thoughts, sowing doubt and distrust, convincing her that God had turned His back on her. Never. No matter what she’ve done in the past, Paul’s words in Ephesian ring true as the rest of the bible.

She shook her head, refocusing on the page. Many people don’t even consider how much of ‘their thoughts’ actually belong to the defeated king of Hell, she mused to herself. How often had she been pulled into believing those thoughts, the ones that said she was too small, too flawed, too unworthy to speak of God? She was sure of one thing—Satan was a full-time job, tirelessly crafting his art of sabotage, especially when it came to silencing those who know their authority and are walking in their living testimony. Those who know they are a child of the Most High and are called to shine while spreading the Gospel.

Today, though, she felt something different. This internal battle was tiring, yes, but she felt a spark. She could sense the quiet strength that Yahweh had given her, a confidence she couldn’t fully explain. As she closed her journal, River felt a wave of calm, but there was a small, nagging practical problem: the conference was in just a few days, and she didn’t have a single outfit that wasn’t either worn out or faded. And, thanks to her freelance income being inconsistent at best, buying a new anything wasn’t an option. She had just enough for the essentials, meaning anything October related - and that was that. She learned a long time ago, don’t worry about the provision of tomorrow, the Lord will provide as He promised in Exodus. River use to put all her energy into trying to make a great name for herself, someone who will be remembered, a footprint on Earth. Then she came across Myron Golden’s Youtube Channel and everything changed. His way of explaining and deciphering the Bible was unlike anything taught before. Dr. Myron said, don’t waste your energy making your name great. Just do great, just keep your principals, just do what you promised to do and in return your name will be great.

A glimmer of hope came when she remembered a couple of “fancy” tops she’d buried somewhere in her closet. With a resigned sigh, she gathered up her laundry basket and made her way to the nearby laundromat, mentally promising herself that whatever she wore, she’d rock it with confidence.

There was purpose here, a reason she was being nudged to step out and make her voice heard, no matter how hard the enemy tried to keep her hidden. Keep her from stepping into her divine purpose. “Not today Satan,” said out loud. Looking at the clock, seeing that it was already after 10, she loaded her trunk with her two hampers and headed to the laundromat on the Danforth.

River pushed through the laundromat’s squeaky glass doors, the sound of humming dryers and the hum of fluorescent lights washing over her. There was no better scent than cleaning products, her inner OCD thoughts agreed. She picked a machine near the back, where it was a bit quieter, and started sorting through her laundry. While the machine whirred to life, she sank into one of the hard plastic chairs and pulled out her journal to go over her speech notes. What was she going to speak about? What made her testimony relatable to this group of women, she thought. How do I decide which one? Then she remembered and heard Dad whisper, “lean not on your own understanding,” Proverbs 3:5-6. She thanked Him and was glad that she had a personal road map attached to her spirit.

“You could make a real difference,” she thought, her pen frozen mid-sentence. Your words might be the very thing some woman out there needs to break free from her own doubts.

Just then, Jeremiah’s deep, rumbling voice broke her from her thoughts. He was standing over her, tall and steady, as though he had always been there, like an anchor.

“Lost in thought?” he asked, his eyes filled with a gentle curiosity.

Without looking up, momentarily thrown off, before giving a faint smile. “You could say that. Seems like the enemy’s always trying to sneak in where he doesn’t belong.” Wow, that was unexpected, did I just say that to a complete stranger. Eager to put the outspoken thoughts behind her, she continued in her journal. Now she really had no intentions of looking up. Could this day get any more transparent.

It felt as though a divine current was flowing through her, urging her to write—no, to declare. Inspired by the Book of Habakkuk, she picked up her pen and began.

As she wrote, River thought of the Prophet Habakkuk, how he had been led to record his own vision and heartache over the iniquities he witnessed. She felt that same ache for the world she saw around her—the injustices, the burdens that women carried, unspoken and unseen, every single day. Yahweh seemed to be whispering encouragement to her through every verse: Write your vision down, for it will come to pass.

With each word, she felt more certain that her desires and dreams were not hers alone—they were her purpose.

There was such a long pause, I almost forgot there were even any words exchanged between us. I felt him nod, “That’s his game. But you know, when God calls us, it’s almost like a beacon. You get stronger, but so do the attacks.”

River took in his words, feeling their weight. “Sometimes I feel like it’s more than I can handle, you know? But... I also know that maybe it’s not even about me. Maybe it’s about something much bigger. I know that in his twisted mind, he believes that if he takes me out somehow it’ll shift and tilt the game in his favour. I know how egotistic that sounds, but hey a wise woman goes against her spirit, especially the sound of her Father” Did I, yep. I just did it again. My Yahweh, what is going on with my mouth today, it’s like it has the case of diarrhoea overload. But I have to admit, it truly is a relief to just openly speak of Father and scripture without the listener getting annoyed or secretly calling me a Jesus freak. Mind you, there’s totally nothing wrong with being a Jesus freak because if I’m going to be anything it’s sure going to be for Jesus. If I’m going to be a freak, it’ll definitely be a freak for JC. I’ve lost friends, heavens, even family (but they’ll never admit it). I’ve lost followers because I chose the Lord.

That’s when she felt it—a quiet, yet powerful presence. Being an empath, she learned to silence the emotions (but never in public, never where there’s a possibility of danger). Definitely chopping this up for surgery later. I’ve been in survivor mode since I was, well since forever and I learned that analysing specifics in public takes away from my immediate surveillance of my surrounds. If it was an immediate danger than Brain Hospital it goes. I wanted to believe everyone had a stronger pull to good than evil, but after 40 years- it’s the complete opposite. But, I still have faith that they’ll choose the right path. A girl’s gotta dream and pray. But this does not explain the odd sense of release and calm she felt. Get it together girl, someone’s talking to you, at least nod like you’re listening. She looked up to see him: a man towering well over six feet. A delectable, 6’5 to be exact, built like he’d walked straight off a battlefield. He had that “been through it” air about him, something about the way he held himself with a calm but undeniable intensity. Yep, yep, yep, yep, yep (Ducky from the Land Before Time’s voice rung through my head). His skin was a rich caramel, and his eyes, grey and twinkling, seemed to spark with a curious light as they met hers. Salt and pepper hair (more salt than pepper) escaping the braids at his temple. A full mouth turned into a slow, easy smile as he inclined his head in greeting. His voice, deep and honeyed with a husky rasp, washed over her as he said, “Mind if I take this seat?”

River blinked and then her eyes seemed to be in a race to see which one can blink the most in the moment. She had to shut them tight, just to get them to slow down. Angels, she wasn’t expecting that AT ALL, taken off guard, but after she remembered she had a voice and that NOW was the best time to use it -smiled back with a subtle nod. “Sure, go ahead. Not much real estate here.”

He chuckled, the sound warm and rumbling, and set down his own basket next to hers. River’s pulse quickened. Ohhh I can listen to that sound for the rest of my life. Wow, girl. Slow down and tighten those panties up. There was something about his words, the way he looked at her, that made her feel seen, understood and surprisingly calm. River had always felt uneasy and in a constant fight or flight mode around men. And for the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel like she had to make light of things. She just felt… safe.

“Name’s Jeremiah,” he said, sticking out a hand, large and calloused, but gentle.

“River,” she replied, feeling the firmness of his handshake.

“You come here often?” he teased lightly, a slight smirk tugging at his lips. His voice was smooth, and every r rolled with a quiet confidence that seemed to melt the walls around her guarded heart.

She laughed, a low, surprised sound. “Oh, ya’know, it’s the spot to be at, right? High-end, bustling social scene and all.”

He laughed with her, and she noticed the glimmer of appreciation in his eyes. But there was more than that—a depth to his gaze, as though he could see past the sarcasm and right into the core of who she was. It was unnerving, but something about it was comforting, too.

“So, River, do you always carry that journal around? Seems important,” he noted, nodding towards the notebook on her lap.

“You could say that,” she said with a small smile, glancing down at it. “I’m a…( she was about to say writer, but decided on author… just felt more ‘write’ she added the afterthought with a chuckle) I’m an author. Or, well, I’m designed to be. But this… this is more than that. It’s… it’s like my conversations and writer’s road map from God.”

There was a glimmer of recognition in his eyes. “Ah, the Book of Habakkuk. 'Write the vision; make it plain.' You’ve got purpose.”

River’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. It wasn’t every day you met someone who could casually quote scripture with that kind of depth. AND look like that.

“You know your scriptures,” she replied, both impressed and intrigued.

“I’ve been known to crack open a bible here and there,” he answered with a wink, sitting back in his chair. “Some verses stay with you, especially the ones about justice and vision. Sounds like you’re carrying something big there.”

River’s walls came down just a little. “It’s… it’s a lot to carry sometimes. I feel like I’m supposed to share my story, but sometimes the words get tangled up, you know?”

Jeremiah nodded, his gaze softening. “Sounds like you’re meant to carry it. People need to hear from someone who’s walked through fire. They need hope, they crave for faith. But they get stuck in translation, they get stuck in the thought process, never truly acting on it. They want to hear from someone, especially from someone who knows what it’s like to fight their way through.” Jeremiah’s gaze softened, his voice low and steady. “ It’s about all the people who need to hear what you have to say. Those words? (Looking down at my journal). They’re not just yours—they’re yours to share and spread. And He doesn’t call the equipped; He equips the called.” Oooohh child, if I could jump up and scream Amen, (but I think I already made enough ‘impressions’ for one day). “Seems like you missed your calling, you should hang up the GQ Magazines and start preaching.” “GQ aye,” he said as he raised his eyebrow with a sexy ass smirk. Mumbling to myself, mane this diarrhea mouth, needs a plug.

She let out a slow breath, the words settling into her spirit. She wasn’t alone in this fight. The doubts and whispers would come, but Yahweh had given her the strength to silence them, to turn her thoughts toward Him, to declare victory over her mind.

As their clothes spun in the washers, they continued talking, each word peeling back another layer. He told her about his recent move from Chicago and his new position at the East York division. And when he talked about his family, his values, and how much he valued resilience, she realised there was much more to him than just his strength and strikingly good looking presence.

After what felt like only a few minutes, the washers dinged, and as he moved to transfer his clothes to the dryers, she gathered up her wet pile, dumped it into the hamper (she’ll hang dry these at home, she may not be able to pay for them to be dry cleaned, but hanging is free) and made her way to the backdoor. He grinned as he stuffed a handful of darks into the dryer, casting her a playful look.

“Guess I’ll be seeing you at the conference then, Ms. Writer,” he said, giving her a wink that sent her stomach flipping in a way she hadn’t felt in ages.

River took a step towards the door and was caught off guard. “You, um… you’re going?”

He shrugged, his grin widening. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

As she strolled out, her eyes lingered on his broad shoulders and that easy confidence. Part of her wanted to brush it off, chalk it up to a random meeting, but another part of her knew Yahweh worked in mysterious ways. And as she gathered her things, her mind wandered to her journal, her vision, and the question that echoed in her thoughts.

Was it possible this meeting was part of a bigger plan? As if to answer her question, she heard Father’s voice “For I know the thoughts I have for you daughter, thoughts to prosper…” That’s my Dad, great sense of humour and nope it was not lost on me that his name was Jeremiah (29:11) that He spoke those words to. Thanks dad.

“Alright, Yahweh,” she murmured, her voice a soft promise. “If You’re guiding me to share my story, to lift up these women, I’ll do it. I’m putting it all on You to provide for me.”

For the first time in a long time, River actually felt ready. Faith it, til’ you make it.

As always Girlfriend, it was a pleasure sharing with you. See You Next Week Friday

Love always,

Val

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