For most of my life my thoughts felt like fog—thick, drifting, and familiar. I didn’t realize how many of them had been shaped by rejection or how profoundly they influenced the quality of the mental and emotional air I breathed. Renewing our minds is not a soft idea; it is a transformational, whole-person shift. I did not understand that at first. For years I lived inside the old patterns of rejection—breathing stale emotional air, unaware of what it was doing to my spirit. Have you felt that? The heaviness of thoughts that circle, spinning like storm clouds gathering, pressing down on your chest and whispering lies you don’t want to hear?

As I learned about the brain and YHWH’s design for human thought, it became clear: the way we think shapes the way we live. It determines whether we inhale the fresh air of YHWH’s love or stay trapped in a fog of old beliefs that don’t reflect His truth, His heart, or His affection toward us.

When I first read Tommy Newberry’s The 4:8 Principle, I paused at his statement that the average person thinks nearly fifty thousand thoughts per day. He writes that “every thought moves you either toward your God-given potential or away from it. No thoughts are neutral.” I remember sitting with that truth, stunned. My mind wanders like a child weaving through a crowd, losing itself in imagined scenarios—conversations that never happened, fears that never came to pass. And my body responds as if they had. I wondered, How many of these fifty thousand thoughts help me breathe in YHWH’s love? And how many pull me back into the old chains of rejection?

Throughout this book we’ve moved from breaking the glass of rejection to stepping out into the open air of belonging and love. But a key part of living outside the glass is learning to think in alignment with YHWH’s truth, not our old wounds. Paul’s words in Romans 12:2 offer the clearest direction: “Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God’s will is—his good, pleasing and perfect will” (NIV).

The transformation is real. Neuroscience now confirms what Scripture has proclaimed for thousands of years. Newberry notes that scientists can measure how every thought releases electrical and chemical signals that influence cells throughout the body. A single thought—whether fearful or hopeful—creates a biological reaction. No wonder Paul urges us to think about “whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise” (Philippians 4:8, ESV).

Whatever we dwell on shapes us. Thoughts are the oxygen of our inner world. If renewing the mind is the act of opening a window, then YHWH’s love is the fresh wind sweeping through, clearing the stale, stagnant air, lifting the weight of fear and doubt. Perhaps you’ve experienced that sudden relief when a breeze finds you, loosening the heaviness you didn’t know you were carrying?

Neuroscientist Dr. Caroline Leaf, in her book Switch on Your Brain: The Key to Peak Happiness, Thinking, and Health, writes that “every thought has emotions as part of its structure, and they are stored in the nonconscious mind. When the thoughts move into the conscious mind, we feel the emotions of the thoughts.”

When a thought rises into awareness, we feel its emotion—whether joy, fear, or sadness—even if the situation that triggered it is long past. This validated what I had sensed for years: my body remembered rejection even when my mind didn’t want to. A memory, years later, can still sting.

Leaf’s research echoes Paul’s teaching in 2 Corinthians 10:5: “Take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ” (NIV). She explains that leaving thoughts unexamined distorts the brain’s wiring, affecting emotions, decision-making, focus, and even physical health. In contrast, capturing thoughts creates healthy neural pathways. A painful memory transformed into a hopeful vision allows us to breathe more deeply, as if the air itself carries YHWH’s promise.

YHWH is not simply giving us spiritual advice; He is offering the roadmap to a healthy life—body, mind, and spirit. Leaf notes that chronic negative thinking acts like stress on brain cells, shrinking the hippocampus, weakening memory, and disrupting emotional balance. This is often seen in depression, anxiety, and other disorders. The good news is this: YHWH built reversibility into the brain. With intention and practice we can change the way we think. He does not ask us to renew our minds without giving us the capacity to do so. Restoration is already wired into our biology.

For much of my life rejection trained my brain to expect abandonment before it appeared. Can you relate to this? My thoughts bent toward fear, caution, and emotional bracing. And though I loved YHWH, I struggled to believe that He loved me or to feel His love consistently. Maybe you’ve experienced that, too—the dissonance between what you know and what you feel.

Renewing my mind was supposed to feel simple. People made it sound like flipping a switch: stop thinking negative thoughts. Changing my thoughts, though, felt like learning to breathe in a different atmosphere. Slowly I came to realize that I had lived on recycled emotional air for years—like someone trapped in a sealed room, unaware that there was a window or that it could open. The beginning of renewal was unlatching that window and letting YHWH’s love flood in.

Our unconscious thoughts stem from upbringing, values, and experiences—especially painful ones. Rejection creates a distorted mirror, convincing us that we are unworthy, invisible, or hard to love. But Scripture insists on the opposite: “Consider this: The Father has given us his love. He loves us so much that we are actually called God’s dear children. And that’s what we are” (1 John 3:1, GW).

I recalled Niagara Falls—standing and watching the water surging forward in a wild, unstoppable torrent, gathering speed as it neared the precipice and then hurling itself over the edge in a shimmering curtain of turquoise and white, thundering so loudly that the roar seemed to vibrate through my chest. That is what YHWH’s love is like—beautiful, relentless, impossible to stop. Renewing our minds is what helps us keep breathing in that love, again and again.

When we renew our minds we let YHWH reshape the internal mirror. We allow His truth to become the lens through which we view ourselves. This is not easy, but it is possible. Below are eight ways to overcome negative thinking and emotions:

Eight practices to renewing your mind

1. Pray and ask YHWH for help and guidance. YHWH can turn around even the most tangled inner life. If words fail, simply whisper, “Father, help me.” He hears. He responds.

2. Focus on the strengths and skills YHWH has given you. Every gift reflects His intentional design. What has He placed in you that reveals His love?

3. Make a list of good memories. Return to them when you feel low. Let the joy of those relived moments remind your brain what goodness feels like.

4. Be aware of your thinking and emotions. Notice them instead of suppressing them. Awareness is the first step toward transformation.

5. Speak truth over yourself. Use Scripture as your grounding. Declare the Word out loud when lies whisper in the background.

6. Forgive yourself and try again. Renewal takes repetition. YHWH’s mercy meets you every morning.

7. Recognize when you need to be alone. Sometimes solitude creates space for clarity. Let quiet time reveal what needs attention.

8. Practice positive thinking and feeling. Gratitude shifts mental chemistry. Focus on YHWH’s goodness, and let joy rise steadily.

Renewing the mind is not about pretending or forcing positivity. It is about allowing YHWH to reshape the internal atmosphere in which we live. When rejection has been your oxygen, YHWH’s love may feel unfamiliar at first—lighter, softer, freer. But the more you practice the more naturally you can breathe in His goodness, His truth, His love—and be transformed by it.

Prayer

Father, make me aware of my thoughts throughout the day, and gently remind me when my mind drifts toward fear, doubt, or old lies. Help me to retrain my mind to dwell on Your truth, Your hope, Your love. Teach me to see myself and the world through Your eyes, to think the way Yeshua thinks, and to respond with grace, patience, and joy. Guide me as I learn to recognize negative thoughts and replace them with Your promises. Help me to meditate on what is pure, lovely, and praiseworthy and to delight in the unique and wonderful ways in which You have fashioned me. I declare that I have the mind of Yeshua, that my thoughts are rooted in Your love, and that my spirit is free to breathe deeply of Your goodness. May my life reflect the hope, joy, and peace that come from thinking and living in alignment with You.

Application

Record a negative thought you often dwell on. Then rewrite it as a positive, truth-filled statement grounded in Scripture.

Example:

Negative: My life will never amount to anything.

Truth: YHWH has a plan and a purpose for my life.

Scripture: Jeremiah 29:11.

Journal prompt

How do you feel after reading about renewing your mind and changing the way you think? Do you believe you can do it? What is one thing you can do today to start the change?

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To read more about healing from early childhood rejection in this series, click on the links: Introduction, Distrust, Worthlessness, Loneliness, Depression, Hopelessness, Anxiety, Fear, Anger, Grief, Unforgiveness, Love Oneself, ‘aheb, hesed, racham, Hosea, Messiah, Agapaó, Apostle John, Holy Spirit, Apostle Paul, Confess, Pray, Worship, Rest, Cope, Exercise, Nourish, Dance OR…

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For years, I carried the pain of rejection quietly—through relationships, disappointments, misunderstandings, loss, and the deep feeling of not fully belonging. Even when life looked “fine” on the outside, there was still an ache within me that constantly questioned my worth, my value, and whether I was truly loved.

Over time, I began to realize how deeply rejection can shape the way we see ourselves, others, and even YHWH.

The Hidden Impact of Rejection

Rejection often affects us in ways we do not immediately recognize.

It can make us:

• Strive endlessly for approval

• Fear vulnerability

• Battle anxiety and hopelessness

• Become trapped in perfectionism or people-pleasing

• Withdraw and isolate ourselves

• Feel emotionally exhausted and unseen

And many times, we don’t realize that rejection is sitting at the root of it all.

That is why I wrote Finding Freedom from Rejection.

Writing From the Healing Journey

I didn’t write this book from a place of having everything perfectly figured out. I wrote it from the healing journey itself — the messy, honest, sacred process of allowing YHWH to meet me in the places I tried to hide.

Page by page, He began revealing something my heart desperately needed to understand:

His love was never based on my performance, my past, or other people’s acceptance of me.

His love was constant.

His love was faithful.

His love remained.

Who This Book Is For

This book is for the person who has ever felt:

• Unseen

• Abandoned

• Overlooked

• Unwanted

• “Not enough”

It is for those who feel exhausted from trying to earn love or terrified of losing it.

It is for the person who smiles outwardly while silently carrying pain inwardly.

And most of all, it is for those who long to experience the healing love of YHWH in a deeper way.

The Companion Journal & Healing Journey

My prayer is that this book would not simply inspire readers emotionally, but lead them into genuine transformation.

Because healing is not always instant.
And freedom is often a journey taken one surrendered step at a time.

That is why I also created the free downloadable companion journal.

The journal was designed to help you:

• Slow down

• Reflect honestly

• Pray intentionally

• Process painful emotions

• Invite YHWH into deeper places of healing

Sometimes healing begins simply by becoming honest before Him.

Sometimes freedom begins by finally allowing yourself to be loved.

Freedom Journal

24MB ∙ PDF file

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The Freedom Journal is a guided companion journal created to accompany Finding Freedom from Rejection, helping readers process rejection, reflect deeply, and encounter the healing love of YHWH in a personal way.

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You Are Deeply Loved

You do not have to stay trapped in the cycle of rejection.

YHWH’s love is stronger than the labels placed on you.
Stronger than the wounds you carry.
Stronger than the lies that told you that you were unwanted.

You are deeply seen.
Deeply known.
Deeply loved.

And healing is possible.

If you choose to take this journey, my prayer is that you would not only find freedom from rejection — but that you would discover the security, peace, and belonging that can only be found in the love of YHWH.

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Healing often arrives quietly, like the soft rise and fall of breath. Sometimes that breath stirs movement. Sometimes it becomes dance.

For so many years rejection had tightened everything inside me—my chest, my thoughts, even my sense of worth. I lived constricted—behind thick glass—not realizing that I didn’t know what freedom felt like. But as YHWH began to restore me, something unexpected stirred—movement, rhythm. A desire not simply to breathe but to express the breath He had returned to me.

I didn’t expect dance to become part of this journey, but once it came I recognized it immediately for what it was: an invitation to delve more deeply into YHWH’s love. A full surrender. You may have noticed that tug—the sense that your body wants to respond to something YHWH is doing in your heart.

Long before modern research explained the benefits of movement, Scripture had already declared that dance is a form of worship. The psalms are filled with imagery of bodies responding to YHWH’s goodness. “Let them praise his name with dancing,” the psalmist writes, “. . . because Yahweh takes pleasure in his people” (Psalm 149:3–4, GW). Pause at that word “pleasure.” YHWH isn’t merely tolerating our praise. He is captivated by it, thrilled by it; He rejoices over it.

Imagine that for a moment: the same YHWH who formed galaxies also smiles when you sway to music in your kitchen or tap your foot to a worship song or lift your arms because something in the melody feels like freedom. This amazes me. Somewhere deep inside, dancing before YHWH reminds me that I am wanted, welcomed, and enjoyed. That, after years of inhaling the stale air of rejection, His love is life-giving oxygen.

One of the most vivid images YHWH used to speak to me about His delight is a memory of my daughter when she was little. When a child dances, do you pause and really observe them? Children don’t choreograph; they don’t worry about rhythm or angles or how they look. They move because something inside them naturally responds to music. Their little bodies sway with wonder.

I remember my daughter twirling in the living room, her hair flying, her face lit up with joy. She wasn’t performing—she was expressing something deep and untouchable. Watching her moved my heart. If I could delight in her so deeply by watching her spin in the afternoon light, how much more must YHWH delight in me, His daughter, when I move with joy before Him?

Scripture tells us that dance is more than just praise—it is celebration. When King David brought the Ark of YHWH back to Israel, he didn’t walk solemnly behind it; he danced “with all his might” (2 Samuel 6:14, NIV). Can you picture that scene? Dust rising from the ground, tambourines clapping, people shouting, and David spinning with joy—breathing deeply, fully alive in YHWH’s presence. No wonder Scripture points out that there is “a time to mourn and a time to dance” (Ecclesiastes 3:4, NIV). Dance is the movement that breaks open mourning.

One of the ways in which YHWH broke the effects of rejection in me was through movement. Healing, for me, wasn’t only through prayer and Scripture—though those activities were foundational. It came about also in the way YHWH invited my body to participate. I didn’t understand it at first. But the more I learned the more I realized that dancing was doing something profound.

Neuroscientists Julia Christensen and Dong-seon Chang explain in Dancing is the Best Medicine that dance is a catalyst for neuroplasticity—the brain’s ability to form new connections. Dancing stimulates areas of the brain connected to memory, decision-making, and emotional regulation. It encourages flexibility not only in the muscles but also in the mind. When we move to music we are rewiring ourselves toward vitality. You can feel this effect yourself—notice how your body relaxes when a favorite song plays, how a simple rhythm smooths your thoughts.

Dr. Peter Lovatt has spent years studying the relationship between movement and mood. He explains in his book The Dance Cure: The Surprising Science to Being Smarter, Stronger, Happier that dancing releases dopamine—the “feel-good” chemical that enhances energy, motivation, and hope. As someone who carried a load of silent depression for years, I noticed the shift. Dancing invigorates me, especially when I engage in it as worship and celebration of my Creator.

Movement reconnects us to the One who first breathed life into our bodies. When I think about breathing in YHWH’s love, I often imagine standing at Niagara Falls, hearing the unending roar and feeling the relentless flow. That continuous motion mirrors YHWH’s love—steady, powerful, and endlessly renewing.

Dance reflects that same rhythm. The inhale and exhale of each step. The swell of movement. The way music lifts the chest and pulls the body forward. When we dance we participate in creation’s rhythm, the rhythm that has been pulsating since YHWH spoke the world into existence. Can you sense YHWH’s presence in the rise and fall of your breath?

During my university days, I unexpectedly discovered how dance could lift the heaviness left by rejection and depression. I lived in a bed and breakfast where students rented rooms upstairs, and the elderly owner—an experienced ballroom dancer—offered to teach me. At the time, I didn’t yet understand how deeply depression had darkened my days; I only knew the oppression crushing me, as if the world itself had dimmed inside me.

But when he taught me those first steps—slow, quick-quick, slow—I felt a weight in me lift. He later invited me to community dances, and though I didn’t understand all of the emotional and spiritual dynamics at the time, I discovered that when I danced I breathed differently. My mind cleared, and joy felt more possible. Looking back, I realized that YHWH was planting seeds of healing long before I recognized my need for them.

In this season of learning to breathe fresh air—to stay inside YHWH’s love rather than outside it—dance has become a spiritual practice for me. Not performance. Not perfection. But presence. Jude writes, “Keep yourselves in the love of God” (Jude 21, ESV). Dance is one of the ways I do that. It’s the way I come back home to the truth that rejection doesn’t get the final say. It’s how I remember that YHWH’s love isn’t still or stagnant—it’s moving, flowing, filling.

Dancing helps me stay aligned in His love because it keeps me connected—body, mind, and spirit. When I move I feel tension dissipate. I breathe more deeply. I feel lighter. And in those moments I sense YHWH whispering, “This is what freedom feels like. Stay here, in my love, with Me.”

I want to gently invite you into this experience. Not to impress anyone. Not to perform. But simply to breathe. What kind of music stirs you? Something soft and reflective? Something lively that makes your heart beat a little faster? Try one song. One small moment of movement. Let your body and spirit respond. You may feel silly at first—I did. But give yourself permission. You may discover that your body and spirit have been longing to move.

If you want connection, consider trying a group class like Zumba or line dancing. Moving in sync with others has a way of loosening the ties of loneliness. If you want quiet, dance alone in your living room with the curtains closed. YHWH sees you. And He delights in you.

Whether we dance alone in our living rooms or in a circle with others, every step, sway, and lift becomes a way to reconnect—body, mind, and spirit—with the One who loves us. Movement reminds us that healing isn’t only internal; it flows through our physical being, releasing tension, restoring joy, and opening our hearts to YHWH’s presence. In dance, we learn to breathe freely again, to inhabit our bodies fully, and to celebrate the love that has always been waiting for us.

Prayer

Father, thank You for creating my body with rhythm. Teach me to move with You without fear or self-consciousness. Free me from anything that holds me back from experiencing joy in Your presence. Let my dance be praise, celebration, and communion with You. Help me discover that movement can bring healing, connection, and delight. And when I dance, let me feel the fresh air of Your love flowing through me.

Application

Choose one song today—any song that stirs something inside you. Find a private space and allow yourself to move. Notice your breathing. Notice how you feel in your chest, your shoulders, and your spirit. Imagine YHWH smiling over you, delighting in your movement.

Journal prompt

What emotions surfaced as you danced? Did you feel a release of tension? Did you sense YHWH’s presence? Describe what the movement stirred in you—physically, emotionally, mentally, and spiritually.

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To read more about healing from early childhood rejection in this series, click on the links: Introduction, Distrust, Worthlessness, Loneliness, Depression, Hopelessness, Anxiety, Fear, Anger, Grief, Unforgiveness, Love Oneself, ‘aheb, hesed, racham, Hosea, Messiah, Agapaó, Apostle John, Holy Spirit, Apostle Paul, Confess, Pray, Worship, Rest, Cope, Exercise, Nourish

OR

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Endnotes:

Epigraph:Maya Angelou, quoted in “Sacred Dance Quotes,” Sacred Dance Guild, accessed May 13, 2023, https://sacreddanceguild.org/about/sacred-dance-quotes/.

1. Julia F. Christensen and Dong-seon Chang, Dancing is the Best Medicine: The Science of How Moving to a Beat is Good for Body, Brain, and Soul (Vancouver: Greystone Books, 2018).

Peter Lovatt, The Dance Cure: The Surprising Science to Being Smarter, Stronger, Happier (San Francisco: HarperOne, 2021).

“Hey Babe, they offered me the job. I need to respond soon. What do you think?” The decision sat before us like an open gate neither of us knew whether to walk through.

I slipped the phone back into my pocket and sighed. Sour, stale air lingered in my nose and mouth. Staring out the floor-to-ceiling window, I watched as a plane came in for a landing, hitting the ground hard with a bit of a bump. Is that going to be our fate if we accept—are we meant for a different destination?

My husband and I had been volunteering for a year and a half when he felt that our season was drawing to an end. He sought work opportunities all over the country and many offers came pouring in. This one, in particular, checked all the boxes, except one. The location would take us even further from family and friends, landing us in the middle of the Pacific Ocean on the Big Island of Hawaii.

The thought of missing birthdays, Sunday dinners, and ordinary moments with the people we loved suddenly felt heavier than the excitement of a new opportunity. No more walks or coffee dates with my new friends where we volunteered. No more bonding over shared victories or challenges. I wondered how many more goodbyes my heart could survive.

Moving to Hawaii meant placing an even greater distance between us and the people we loved. Far from my aging mother. Far from my sister raising the two energetic boys I adored. Far from my daughter, freshly venturing out on her own.

I twisted my wedding ring, scanning the spacious, overcrowded terminal. Heat crept up my neck. My fingers dampened against the plastic luggage handle. I was standing at the threshold of an entirely different future. An unknown one. Taking a deep breath of stale air, I closed my eyes and offered up a simple plea, Father, please show me the right path.

Looking up, my eyes caught a young woman with blonde hair and laughing eyes. She smiled as she brushed past me. Her dark pink sweatshirt with large white letters spelled, “H-A-W-A-I-I.”

Are you giving me a sign? If this is really the path we’re supposed to take, I’m going to need something clearer than a sweatshirt.

The flight attendant called from the PA, “We will now begin general boarding. We invite groups 1 and 2 to line up on the left. Please have your boarding pass and ID ready. I repeat, we invite groups 1 and 2 to line up on the left.”

The room woke up. Some passengers stood and hurried toward the line as though boarding early might somehow make the pill-box cabin more comfortable. Others shuffled in their seats. My chest tightened like the clothes in my compressed carry-on. One by one, passengers stepped forward when their group was called. Each person moved toward a destination already chosen.

I dug out my phone and typed my reply, “About to board. Will respond by the end of the day.”

Finding my aisle seat, I sat down and noticed the empty window seat. Knowing the plane was full, I waited for the passenger to arrive before buckling up. People shuffled by as I pondered our life-changing decision. Overhead bins banged shut. I leaned my head against the seat in front of me and squeezed my eyes closed, focusing on the response I needed to give my husband. Peace evaded my heart like a child playing hide and seek.

I breathed in the recycled air deeply in a feeble attempt to relax. To focus. To think. Instead, my thoughts roared through my mind—untamed and howling like a fierce gust leaving carnage behind. Somewhere between the waiting area and the boarding gate, it hit me. I was deciding whether I trusted God with the unknown.

“Excuse me,” a sweet voice said. “That’s my window seat beside you.”

I looked up and there she was—the same girl with the pink sweatshirt.

Both of us buckled into our cramped seating. The chaos in the cabin settled, and the engine hummed beneath my feet. A flight attendant walked by with a basket of earphones. I looked over and asked where she was headed.

“I’m going to a friend’s wedding,” she replied.

“I noticed your sweatshirt. Are you from Hawaii or did you visit?”

“Oh, I lived there for years. I loved it. I had so much fun. The weather was gorgeous, the lei flowers were intoxicating, the ocean water was so clear, the sunsets were out of this world. It all felt like paradise.” She went on and on about the beauty of Hawaii.

And then she asked me what my plans were. I shared with her my husband’s job offer and how I was struggling to make a decision. She listened. She smiled. We talked at length in an easy, comfortable way. Relief inched its way back into my heart.

But it wasn’t long before the questioning returned as I sat uncomfortably in the seat. Turbulence struck. I stared out at the sea of bobbing heads. What if we moved there and regretted it? This decision is too big. How do I know for sure this is the right thing to do, God?

After the plane landed and passengers began gathering their belongings, I turned to thank my new friend. She stretched and smiled sleepily as the line slowly moved toward the exit.

“Thank you,” I said softly.

“You’re welcome,” she replied.

Then she smiled again and said, “I think I’m your sign.”

I froze. Hours earlier, I had silently asked God for something more than a pink sweatshirt. Out of every passenger in that crowded airport, she had ended up in the seat beside me.

A warmth spread through my chest as we stepped through the gate and into our separate futures. I drew in a deep breath of fresh air. For the first time all day, peace finally found me.

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A simple meal has the power to shift the rhythm of a day. The sweet crisp of an apple, the warm comfort of fresh bread, or the grounding richness of roasted vegetables—these small aspects of nourishment bring life to both body and spirit. Food does more than fill our stomachs; it shapes how we feel, think, and even receive YHWH’s love. For those of us who have carried early wounds of rejection, learning to nourish our bodies is intimately connected to learning how to breathe in fully of His love.

When rejection becomes the soundtrack of our lives, we often learn to survive on tiny sips of air, never daring to breathe deeply. Staying in YHWH’s love means learning to inhale again—to take in what is good, true, and nourishing for the long walk of healing—physically, mentally, and spiritually.

Scripture reminds us that YHWH designed nourishment as part of His love from the very beginning. “Their fruit will be for food, and their leaves for healing” (Ezekiel 47:12, ESV). Food and healing have always been connected. Yet when we grow up in the shadow of rejection, nourishment—whether physical, mental or spiritual—can become confusing. We may not feel worthy of tending to our own needs. We may settle for whatever is easiest, quickest, or most numbing. In what areas do you notice this tendency in your own life—for reaching for what fills quickly rather than for what truly nourishes?

In Part One we explored how rejection leaves deep imprints on our bodies, minds, and spirits. Unprocessed trauma can distort the way we perceive love, making us hesitant to receive YHWH’s grace. The body, mind, and spirit cannot fully flourish when we are depleted. But eating well—choosing foods that restore rather than deplete—can create space in our bodies for clarity, energy, and the simple ability to accept YHWH’s love without resistance.

Science confirms what our bodies often already know. Our stomachs and brains are connected through the vagus nerve, the longest nerve in the body. This vital connection allows the gut to communicate directly with the brain, influencing mood, memory, and mental clarity. Have you ever noticed your mood shifting after certain meals?

Dr. Siri Carpenter, an award-winning science journalist, highlights how gut bacteria play a crucial role in both physical and mental health, noting that “gut bacteria produce hundreds of neurochemicals that help the brain regulate basic physiological processes as well as mental processes such as learning, memory and mood.” Remarkably, these bacteria are responsible for producing nearly all of the body’s serotonin, a key chemical that affects both emotional well-being and digestive activity. The meals we choose, then, are not simply fuel—they are conversations with our minds, shaping the way we respond to the world and how open we are to YHWH’s love.

When we rely heavily on ultra-processed foods, the effects are immediate and lasting. The excess sugars, salts, additives, and empty calories that dominate the shelves of our grocery stores may be convenient, but they starve our bodies of essential nutrients, leaving us tired, foggy, and emotionally unstable.

Multiple studies show the link between diet and mental health: improvements in depression, anxiety, and cognitive clarity appear when ultra-processed foods are reduced and whole, nutrient-dense foods are prioritized. Simply put, our brains and hearts perform better when our bodies are fed well. What foods tend to leave you foggy, anxious, or depleted? Which ones help you feel clearer and more grounded?

Genesis 1:29 offers us this truth: “I have given you every plant yielding seed that is on the face of all the earth, and every tree with seed in its fruit. You shall have them for food” (ESV).

YHWH created the earth’s natural bounty for our nourishment, including fruits, vegetables, whole grains, seeds, nuts, and legumes. These foods are rich in the vitamins, minerals, proteins, and healthy fats our bodies need to function optimally. When we eat them our physical energy increases, our mental clarity sharpens, and our emotional steadiness improves. Eating well is not simply a physical act; it is a way to honor YHWH’s design, a spiritual discipline that opens our hearts to His presence.

My personal journey with food has been a rollercoaster. Over the years I experimented with various dietary approaches, learning through trial and error the foods that nourished my body and those that drained it. Sugar, while offering a fleeting dopamine rush, left me crashing and irritable. Processed meals offered convenience but stole clarity and vitality. It took patience, trial, and prayerful discernment to discover how to feed my body in a way that supported both health and spiritual receptivity. Your experience may look different, but your body also has a story to tell. What is it trying to say?

Eating well is not simply about discipline; it is about creating the conditions for life to thrive. Our bodies are YHWH’s temples, vessels of His love and instruments for His work (1 Corinthians 6:19). When I eat nutrient-rich meals I feel stronger, calmer, and more capable of embracing YHWH’s presence. Juicy oranges; a hearty soup; and a cold, zesty salad are not mere pleasures. They are reminders that YHWH sustains us in ordinary, everyday acts of care. They are tangible expressions of His love reaching into our bodies, preparing us to breathe in more freely of His love.

This physical nourishment is deeply connected to emotional and spiritual health, particularly for those of us who have suffered from wounds of early rejection. When our bodies are depleted, our minds sluggish, and our hearts defensive, it is difficult to fully receive YHWH’s love. But when we feed ourselves well we restore the foundation of our entire being. As a forest thrives when nourished by sunlight and water, we flourish when our bodies are nurtured. Eating well becomes an act of cooperation with YHWH’s design, a daily rhythm of trust and care.

Every small step I took toward health made it easier for me to experience YHWH’s love. When my mind was clearer my prayers became more honest. When my body wasn’t drowning in exhaustion, worship felt authentic rather than forced. When my stomach wasn’t in distress my emotions didn’t spiral as quickly. Nourishment created space—space for breath, space for truth, space for YHWH.

As I paid closer attention to how food affected my body, I began noticing a similar pattern in my spiritual life. Just as processed foods left me tired and unfocused, certain habits—constant busyness, striving for approval, or trying to prove my worth—left my spirit depleted. They filled the moment but offered little lasting nourishment. But when I slowed down to breathe in YHWH’s love—reading His Word slowly, whispering quiet prayers, or simply sitting in His presence—I felt something deeper being restored. It was like lifting my face into the mist at Niagara Falls and inhaling a love far greater than my wounds.

Paying attention to the foods that truly sustain us allows us to notice how we feel physically, emotionally, and spiritually. Are there certain foods that leave you anxious or irritable? Do others restore energy, patience, and calm? By noticing, abiding, and praying for guidance we actively participate in YHWH’s work of restoration in our lives.

Staying nourished—physically and spiritually—isn’t about perfection. It’s about presence. It’s about paying attention to what strengthens us and what weakens us. It’s about recognizing that YHWH designed our bodies, minds, and spirits to function best with the goodness He provides.

Isn’t it interesting that Scripture often uses food as a metaphor for YHWH’s presence? Yeshua calls Himself the Bread of Life (John 6:35). The psalmist invites us to “taste and see that Yahweh is good. Blessed is the person who takes refuge in him” (Psalm 34:8, GW). YHWH doesn’t tell us to stand back and admire His love from a distance; He tells us to take it in. To consume it. To nourish our souls with it.

YHWH cares about every part of us. The same YHWH who formed Adam from the dust and breathed life into his lungs is the YHWH who longs to breathe His love into ours. The same YHWH who created fruits, grains, seeds, and greens to feed our bodies created Scripture, prayer, and His abiding presence to feed our spirits. The same YHWH who carved the path of Niagara Falls wants His love to rush through the dry places in our souls, bringing life where rejection once stole our breath.

We are made to be nourished. Not simply to survive but to flourish. To breathe deeply. To stay aligned with the One who loves us with an everlasting love (Jeremiah 31:3). To live in such a way that our bodies, minds, and spirits all echo the same truth: YHWH’s love is my sustaining strength.

The path to nourishment does not need to be overwhelming. Begin with small steps: replace one processed snack with fresh fruit, sip water instead of soda, or enjoy a handful of nuts instead of chips. Over time these incremental choices build a rhythm that strengthens the body, steadies the mind, and frees the spirit. Each mindful bite is an opportunity to honor YHWH, to restore ourselves, and to breathe more freely of His love. When our bodies are nourished our hearts and minds can open without restraint, and we can drink deeply of the joy that comes from His presence. As you consider your own rhythms of nourishment, where do you sense YHWH inviting you to make one small shift toward greater thriving?

Prayer

Father, thank You for the natural foods You have created to nourish and sustain my body. Help me choose meals that restore my health, support my energy, and prepare my heart to receive Your love fully. Teach me to notice the ways in which food affects my mood, my focus, and my connection to You. May every meal remind me of Your provision, Your care, and the abundant life You offer.

Application

Pair a daily moment of nourishment with a spiritual rhythm. For example, while preparing breakfast, read a single verse. While drinking water, breathe deeply and thank YHWH for sustaining you. While eating lunch, whisper a short prayer of gratitude. Let your meals become reminders that He is the One who fills, sustains, and restores.

Journal prompt

Reflect on the meals that leave you feeling nourished and energized. How do these meals affect your body, your thoughts, and your ability to sense YHWH’s presence?

buy me a ☕️

To read more about healing from early childhood rejection in this series, click on the links: Introduction, Distrust, Worthlessness, Loneliness, Depression, Hopelessness, Anxiety, Fear, Anger, Grief, Unforgiveness, Love Oneself, ‘aheb, hesed, racham, Hosea, Messiah, Agapaó, Apostle John, Holy Spirit, Apostle Paul, Confess, Pray, Worship, Rest, Cope, Exercise

OR

buy the book

Endnotes:

Epigraph: Ezekiel 47:12 (ESV).

Siri Carpenter, “That Gut Feeling,” Monitor on Psychology 43, no. 8 (September 2012): 50-55, https://www.apa.org/monitor/2012/09/gut-feeling.

“The fear of Yahweh is a fountain of life in order to turn one away from the grasp of death.” — Proverbs 14:27 (GW)

The phrase fear of Yahweh can feel unsettling at first. It can stir images of distance, judgment, or a God who must be approached carefully, as though He is waiting for us to fail.

But Scripture is inviting us into something deeper.

The Hebrew word often translated as fear is “yir’ah”—a word that carries a richness we don’t always capture in English. It can mean awe, reverence, and a deep awareness of God’s presence. Not a fear that pushes us away, but one that draws us near with humility and trust.

This kind of fear changes everything.

It shifts our posture from hiding to drawing close, from striving to surrender. It opens our eyes to who Yahweh truly is: holy, yes—but also kind, compassionate, and unwavering in His love.

Proverbs calls this fear a fountain of life.

A fountain doesn’t take from us. It doesn’t withhold or measure out just enough. It gives—freely, continuously, abundantly. We come thirsty, and it meets us there. We come weary, and it refreshes us.

This is what it means to live in the fear of Yahweh. It is to live turned toward the source of life itself.

And then there is the contrast: the grasp of death.

Not always physical, but often deeply personal. It can look like the quiet weight of rejection, the echo of words that told you you weren’t enough, or the pressure to earn what should have been freely given. It tightens slowly, almost unnoticed, draining life instead of giving it.

But Yahweh’s heart is not to leave us there.

He does not stand over us with accusation. He does not reinforce the lies that have shaped our identity. Instead, He gently draws you away from everything that steals life and leads us toward what restores it.

To fear Him is to recognize that His ways lead to life—and to trust Him enough to turn toward them. It is to believe that His love is not fragile or conditional, but steady and sustaining.

When we begin to see Him rightly, something begins to loosen.

We no longer approach Him with hesitation, wondering if we are enough. We come thirsty, knowing He is the only One who satisfies. We come weary, trusting that He restores.

And slowly, gently, His presence breaks the grip of everything that once held us.

The fear of Yahweh is not a doorway into fear. It is a doorway out of it.

It leads us to the One whose love does not drain us, but fills us—
again and again.

Prayer

Father,
Teach me what it truly means to fear You. Not with anxiety or distance, but with a heart that stands in awe of Your goodness. Where I have misunderstood who You are,
renew my mind with truth. Help me to see You clearly—as a God whose love gives life and never takes it away. Draw me closer to You, and lead me away from anything that pulls me toward emptiness or death. Let Your presence be the place I return to—
again and again—until I am fully restored.

Do you wake up so exhausted that even sitting on the edge of the bed feels impossible? That was me, day after day, during my decade-long battle with chronic fatigue. Twelve hours of sleep could barely scratch the surface of the exhaustion I was experiencing. My body felt heavy, my mind foggy, my spirit weary. This kind of exhaustion shapes everything—our thoughts, our emotions, even our hope. On my worst days getting out of bed felt like running a marathon, yet I learned that moving—even when every fiber of me resisted—was essential and transformative.

Exercising might have seemed like a mountain I could never climb, but even walking a few steps outdoors became a lifeline. There is power in movement, in the way it resets the body, refreshes the mind, and prepares the spirit to breathe in YHWH’s love—like stepping into a quiet clearing after wandering through dense woods.

Our physical, emotional, mental, and spiritual states are distinct yet deeply intertwined, like threads in a woven rug. Strengthening one strengthens the others. The benefits of exercise are well documented. Even small amounts can improve health, mood, and energy, while consistent activity allows our entire being to flourish.

Scripture reminds us that our bodies are temples: “Do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit within you, whom you have from God?” (1 Corinthians 6:19, ESV). Caring for our bodies becomes an act of worship, a way of remaining rooted in YHWH’s love. What would it look like for you to honor your body this week? Not perfectly—just intentionally. One small choice can realign our heart toward our Creator.

Through exercise we reduce the risk of illnesses like heart disease, strokes, type 2 diabetes, and even certain cancers (Centers for Disease Control and Prevention). Moving our bodies strengthens bones and muscles, helps manage chronic conditions like arthritis, and promotes restful sleep. Even gentle stretching in the morning can awaken energy, improve circulation, and prepare us for the day. I like to stretch before anything else, letting my muscles wake gradually while my mind quiets and centers on YHWH. Notice how your body feels when you take five minutes to stretch, breathe, and wake fully into the day.

Emotionally, exercise acts like a balm. Increased heart rate releases neurotransmitters—dopamine, serotonin, and norepinephrine—that regulate mood and alleviate anxiety or depression. Our nervous system responds, stress is mitigated, and we feel more alive. Each time our heartbeat quickens our body releases chemicals designed by YHWH to lift our mood and stabilize our mind. This acts as a physical reminder that YHWH strengthens those who are weary and lifts up the weak. When we place our hope in Him our strength is renewed; we find the energy to rise above challenges, move forward without exhaustion, and keep walking even when the path feels long.

For those of us carrying the scars of childhood rejection, physical movement can act as a gentle healer. Sometimes a brisk walk or a swim can quiet the storm of old memories and worries. When old wounds rear up, what kind of movement helps calm your body? Pay attention to what brings you back to centering on the One who breathes life into you.

The mental benefits of exercise are just as compelling. Research from the National Library of Medicine demonstrates that physical activity encourages the growth of new neurons in a process called neurogenesis, enhancing memory, learning, and overall cognitive function. Activities that raise our heart rate—jogging, brisk walking, swimming, dancing—stimulate the brain, while learning new skills, whether a sport, instrument, or cooking, challenges neural pathways and keeps our minds resilient. Even small activities, like using our non-dominant hand or taking a different route to work, provide mental stimulation that keeps our brain active and engaged.

Walking in nature is my favorite form of exercise. I remember one late afternoon when the air was crisp and fragrant with autumn leaves, each step crunching like a gentle drum beneath my feet. Something about the rustling branches and warm sun against my skin reminded me that I wasn’t walking alone. Scripture tells us, “You make known to me the path of life; in your presence there is fullness of joy” (Psalm 16:11, ESV). On those quiet trails, surrounded by creation’s steady rhythm, I could feel that fullness—His presence threading through the spaces rejection had once hollowed out.

With each small attempt to move I discovered a deeper truth: my strength was never meant to proceed from me alone. Scripture echoes this reality, reminding us, “My body and mind may waste away, but Elohim remains the foundation of my life and my inheritance forever” (Psalm 73:26, GW). Movement allowed me to step out of the haze of depression and fatigue, even in small increments, and reminded me that there is hope.

Physical activity also combats loneliness. Joining a gym or sports team or simply walking with a friend can foster connection and accountability. The companionship of others mirrors YHWH’s intent for community, allowing the spiritual benefits of movement to expand. Shared exercise provides conversation, laughter, and encouragement—the very same nourishment our souls crave.

Even small moments of activity matter. YHWH designed our bodies to benefit from movement. Exercise supports the spiritual dimension of our lives in ways that are subtle but profound. When our bodies feel capable, our minds are clear, and our hearts become more peaceful, we can commune with YHWH more fully. Negative thoughts and shadows from rejection have less room to linger. Paul writes, “Physical training is of some value, but godliness has value for all things, holding promise for both the present life and the life to come” (1 Timothy 4:8, NIV). Caring for our bodies through exercise is an act of spiritual discipline that enhances our capacity to remain in YHWH’s love. What simple activity could you try today?

Exercise does not have to be strenuous or lengthy to be effective. Sometimes simply walking to the mailbox, taking the stairs, or stretching at your desk is enough to stimulate circulation, release tension, and awaken the spirit. I’ve found that pairing movement with intention—prayer, listening to worship music, or simply noticing the world around me—heightens the spiritual benefit. My mind and body align with YHWH’s rhythm, and in those moments I feel truly alive.

The act of exercising also cultivates gratitude. Each step, stretch, or stride becomes an acknowledgment of the gift of a body designed to move, to breathe, to interact with the world. Psalm 18:32–33 promises, “El arms me with strength and makes my way perfect. He makes my feet like those of a deer and gives me sure footing on high places” (GW).

When I walk along a sunlit path my heart often swells with awe at the intricacy of creation and the beauty of being alive to witness it. Exercise in this way becomes a conduit for spiritual renewal, connecting the physical, emotional, mental, and spiritual threads of life into a tapestry of gratitude and presence. Where in your body do you notice gratitude rising naturally? Pay attention to those moments—they’re invitations.

Rejection can make our bodies tense, our minds anxious, and our hearts hesitant to trust again. But movement has a way of releasing what we’ve held too tightly. As we breathe deeply and move gently, we are reminded that YHWH’s love is not something to brace against but something to rest in. Scripture paints this tender picture: “He will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings you will find refuge” (Psalm 91:4, NIV). Each stretch, each step, and each inhalation becomes a reminder that we are sheltered, protected, and cherished—even in the places where others have wounded us.

I encourage you to begin with small steps of activity. Even fifteen to twenty minutes of walking a day, stretching, or gentle movement can awaken a cascade of benefits for body, mind, and spirit. Focus on the sensation of your muscles lengthening, your heart rate rising, and your lungs filling with air.

Over time I discovered that exercise was never just about physical strength. Each small step, each stretch, each quiet walk outdoors became a reminder that healing often unfolds gradually. Movement helped clear the fog of exhaustion, quiet anxious thoughts, and reconnect my heart with YHWH’s steady presence. As our bodies begin to move, our minds often follow, and our spirits find room to breathe again. What once felt impossible can slowly become life-giving. In these small rhythms of movement we learn to care for the bodies YHWH has entrusted to us, and in doing so we rediscover something deeper—renewed energy, quiet resilience, and the gentle assurance that we are not walking this path alone.

Prayer

Father, thank You for the gift of movement and the strength You provide. Help me to honor my body as Your temple and to incorporate exercise into my daily routine. Remind me that every step, every stretch, every breath is a chance to draw closer to You. May I feel Your presence with me as I move, and may my mind, body, and spirit be renewed as I receive Your love.

Application

Choose one simple form of movement to practice for the next seven days—such as a five-minute morning stretch, an evening walk, or gentle breathing exercises. Before you begin each time, whisper a short prayer like, “Father, meet me here.” Pay attention to how this small ritual changes your energy, mood, and awareness of His presence.

Journal prompt

What thoughts, fears, or beliefs tend to get in the way of exercising or caring for your body? Write honestly about where these might have come from and how YHWH might be inviting you into greater freedom.

buy me a ☕️

To read more about healing from early childhood rejection in this series, click on the links: Introduction, Distrust, Worthlessness, Loneliness, Depression, Hopelessness, Anxiety, Fear, Anger, Grief, Unforgiveness, Love Oneself, ‘aheb, hesed, racham, Hosea, Messiah, Agapaó, Apostle John, Holy Spirit, Apostle Paul, Confess, Pray, Worship, Rest, Cope

OR

buy the book

Endnotes:

Epigraph: Anonymous

1. “Physical Activity for a Healthy Weight,” Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, accessed May 2, 2023, https://www.cdc.gov/physicalactivity/basics/pa-health/index.htm.

2. Patrick Z. Liu and Robin Nusslock, “Exercise-Mediated Neurogenesis in the Hippocampus via BDNF,” Frontiers in Neuroscience 12 (February 7, 2018), https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC5808288/.

The air thickened, heavy with the scent of ash and scorched earth. It burned in my lungs with every breath.

Stars fell from the sky like dying embers, streaking the horizon before disappearing into the chaos below.

The ground beneath us convulsed—rising and falling like a violent wave—throwing us off balance. Dust filled the air, dry and bitter against my tongue.

Mountains shifted from their foundations.
The sky itself seemed to split apart, as if it were being torn open.

The wind howled.
Stone crashed.
Voices cried out in the distance.

Every sound merged into a single, overwhelming roar.

All that once seemed unshakable was giving way—and we stood in the middle of it, exposed and hopeless.

“It’s ok,” someone shouted. “Don’t fear.”

Wait. What?

I have always thought of the book of Revelation with fear—Judgment. Destruction. Images too overwhelming to hold without trembling.

Seals breaking open.
Trumpets sounding.
Bowls of wrath poured out.

The earth shakes.
The seas churn.
Humanity faces the weight of its rebellion.

And yet—What I didn’t expect… what I had somehow missed all along… was the steady, unrelenting thread of hope woven through it all.

Revelation does not begin with destruction.

It begins with a vision of Jesus—glorious, radiant, and fully alive—standing among His people.

He speaks to the churches.

Not to condemn them outright,
but to call them back.
To strengthen them.
To remind them:

He sees.
He knows.
He cares.

Even in correction, there is invitation.
Even in warning, there is love.

Then the scene shifts.

Heaven.
A throne at the center of everything.

Before anything unfolds, we are given this anchor:

God is still on His throne.

Worship surrounds Him.
Nothing that follows is outside His authority.

And when the scroll is brought forward—the one that holds the unfolding of history—no one is found worthy to open it except Jesus.

The Lamb who was slain.

This is the heartbeat of hope in Revelation:

The One who holds the future is the One who gave His life in love.

As the seals are opened and the world trembles, we see suffering, conflict, and loss.

But we also see something else.

Prayers rising before God.
Martyrs remembered—not forgotten.
People marked as His own.

And in the midst of chaos—

a multitude too vast to count
standing before the throne
worshiping.

Even here…
redemption is unfolding.

The trumpets sound. The earth shakes again.

Yet even these judgments are restrained—measured. Not total. They are warnings, not the end.

A call to return. A reminder:

God is patient.
God is merciful.
He is not eager to destroy—
but to restore.

Then the curtain is pulled back even further.

We see the deeper battle—
the dragon, the beasts, the systems of deception and power waging war against God and His people. It is sobering. But it is not without hope.

Because standing in contrast to every force of darkness…

is the Lamb.

Not striving.
Not struggling. Standing. Victorious.

And then—the turning point.

Babylon falls.

Everything corrupt, prideful, and opposed to God collapses. What once seemed unshakable…
is no more.

Heaven rejoices—not in destruction itself,
but in the justice and righteousness of God revealed.

At last, Jesus returns.

Not as the suffering servant—
but as the conquering King.

Evil is defeated.
Death is destroyed.
Judgment is made right.

Something even more beautiful unfolds…

A new heaven.
A new earth.

The noise of destruction gives way to the quiet of restoration.

Tears are wiped away.
Pain is no more.

God dwells with His people—

not at a distance,
not behind a veil,
but fully, intimately, forever.

What was lost in the beginning
is not just restored—

it is made new.

And suddenly, the fear I carried into Revelation begins to dissolve.

Because this book was never meant to leave us trembling in despair.

It was meant to anchor us in hope.

Yes, there is judgment.
Yes, there is shaking.

But all of it leads somewhere.

All of it is moving toward redemption.
Toward restoration.
Toward a future where love has the final word.

Revelation is not just a warning about the end—

it is a promise about what lies beyond it.

A promise that no matter how dark the world becomes,
no matter how unstable life may feel—

God remains sovereign.
The Lamb remains victorious.
And those who belong to Him are never forgotten.

So when everything feels like it’s falling apart—
when the ground beneath you shifts
and the sky above you feels uncertain—

remember this:

the story is not over.

Hope is not lost.

The One who holds the beginning
also holds the end.

And He is faithful.

Hold on.
Keep going.
Have faith to the very end.

It was early morning after my night shift at the donut shop. The house smelled faintly of coffee and oatmeal, mingling with the faint tang of yesterday’s dishes left to dry. My dad’s unfinished pot of oatmeal sat cooling on the stovetop, steam no longer curling lazily into the cold kitchen air.

My mother waited on the couch, hands clasped tightly, knuckles pale, shoulders hunched as if bracing against an invisible weight. Her voice trembled when she whispered, “Can we talk?” A quiver caught in the word talk, and it scraped across the quiet room like a screeching violin string.

Sunlight streamed through the sliding glass back door, slashing warm gold across the wood floor, dust motes floating in the light. Outside, black-capped chickadees flitted to the feeder, their wings fluttering with a sharp whir, and soft chirps punctuated the silence of the house.

I sat beside her, hesitant, feeling the couch sag beneath me. Then, through trembling lips, she whispered, “I never loved you,” and collapsed into tears, shoulders shaking, breath catching in ragged sobs. My chest tightened, heart pounding so loudly it felt as if it might burst through my ribs.

For a long moment I couldn’t breathe. My stomach knotted, and my hands pressed against the couch cushions until the fabric dug into my palms. I was eighteen—old enough to work through the night but not old enough to process the tidal wave of emotions those words unleashed. Yet her confession answered a question I had carried for years: Why can’t someone love me?

Why can’t I feel loved?

Stunned, I didn’t have a voice to respond. Her tears fell in hot, wet streaks across her cheeks, her shoulders shaking with each sob. She asked me to forgive her, her voice cracking, lips trembling, the raw sorrow in her tone cutting through me. Compassion flowed for this sorrowful woman, but my chest still ached with confusion and disbelief.

“Yes, Mom, I forgive you,” I whispered, though uncertainty lingered in my throat. I could only wonder how one couldn’t love their own child. My fingers flexed into tight fists on my lap, nails pressing into my palms. Unbeknownst to my mother, a tiny life grew at the time inside me. I loved this baby fiercely, and the stark contrast made it almost impossible to comprehend how she couldn’t have loved me.

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I’ll never forget that day. I learned that my mother’s confession was not born of cruelty, but of illness. Postpartum depression had quietly stolen her capacity to bond, to feel, to attach. At the time, I had no language for that reality—only the ache of one who believed she was unlovable. Understanding the cause did not erase the wound.

I was an emotionally, mentally, and spiritually struggling young adult. Decades passed after that pivotal revelation, largely made up of a string of broken relationships, navigation through single motherhood, and lifelong depression. Little did I know that most of it stemmed from those early childhood rejection wounds.

Over the years I sought help from many sources: friends, family, counseling, the medical field, and God. Even though I made progress in understanding my wounds and managing my emotions, there remained a distance between YHWH and me that was difficult to explain.

YHWH’s love for me was an abstract concept, not a tangible reality. It was like watching Niagara Falls from behind a thick pane of glass. I could see the mighty waterfall cascading in relentless power, its white spray sparkling in the sunlight, but I couldn’t feel the mist wetting my skin or cooling the air around me. I could glimpse the churning river below but couldn’t hear the deafening roar or smell the sweet freshness carried by the wind. I could marvel at the beauty and know that the falls existed, but I couldn’t step into the scene, couldn’t let it soak me completely, couldn’t experience the full force of the water pounding over the edge.

And with every glance the distance pressed on me like a physical weight. I longed to break through the barrier, to feel the power and presence of YHWH’s love rushing over me, cleansing me, holding me. Instead I was left on the outside, craving contact, aching with frustration, and haunted by the knowledge that something so magnificent existed just beyond my grasp. Every attempt to “feel” it—the prayers, the study, the quiet moments of reflection—felt like reaching toward the spray that never quite touched my skin. YHWH’s love was real, overwhelming in its magnitude, but somehow I could not step fully into it. And that separation, that yearning, left me raw, desperate, and endlessly searching. Do you sometimes feel that way, too—aware of YHWH’s love but struggling to experience it fully in your life?

Rejection is lethal. Its effects seep into every part of us—body, soul, and spirit. Like the invisible damage left by an earthquake, the trauma of rejection is often immeasurable, lingering silently into adulthood. Rejection can be intentional, a purposeful withholding of love, or unintentional, as in my case, the result of a mother incapable of loving me fully.

Your story may look different from mine, and rejection wounds may not be the same, but the ache it leaves can follow us for years. Whether your wound came from a parent, a partner, a friend, or a community, the scars of rejection can shape our identity in ways we may not even recognize—until YHWH begins to uncover them.

As a little girl I sat on the wooden pew in our church while the congregation sang the hymn “Isaiah 49.” There’s a line asking if a mother can forget her baby, and it always brought me to tears. In those moments my spirit connected with YHWH in ways I could not fully understand. It would be more than a decade before I learned the truth of my mother’s inability to love me during my early years.

Can a mother forget the baby at her breast and have no compassion on the child she has borne? Though she may forget, I will not forget you! (Isaiah 49:15, NIV)

The physical effects of rejection are well documented. Research dating back to the 1920s reveals that babies deprived of affection, touch, and nurture can die within two years. Dr. Montagu’s article “They Could Not Live Without Love” details this stark reality. Rejection can be an unseen killer. And the damage does not fade with age—it intensifies.

The psychological effects are equally profound. Do you feel the squeeze of anxiety or the sting of worthlessness? Psychiatrist Bessel van der Kolk explains in The Body Keeps the Score that trauma reshapes the body and brain, altering stress responses, hormonal activity, and information processing. Trauma leaves lasting imprints that ripple into adulthood.

Rejection also wounds the spirit. Proverbs 18:14 informs us that “the human spirit can endure in sickness, but a crushed spirit who can bear?” (NIV). Bible scholar Derek Prince calls rejection the deepest wound a person can endure, leading to loneliness; misery; despair; hopelessness; and even death, at times by suicide.

Finding Freedom from Rejection: Breaking Through the Glass to Embrace YHWH’s Love explores ways to overcome the devastating symptoms of rejection, what Scripture reveals about YHWH’s love, and practical steps toward abiding in it. Joy, peace and love need not slip like sand through clenched hands.

No matter where you are on this journey—beginning, middle, or nearing the end—YHWH wants to pour His healing balm over your spirit, ease your pain, and lavish you with His love.

And that is why I wrote this book.

Not from a place of having it all figured out, but from years of searching, healing, and slowly learning how to move from knowing about YHWH’s love to actually experiencing it. This journey changed me—and I believe it can change you, too.

If you’ve ever felt rejected, unseen, or struggled to truly receive God’s love, this book was written with you in mind.

Inside, you’ll discover how rejection takes root, how it shapes your identity, and—most importantly—how Scripture reveals a way out. A way into healing, wholeness, and a deeper, more personal experience of YHWH’s love.

You don’t have to stay stuck in the patterns of your past. You don’t have to live at a distance from the love your heart longs for.

You don’t have to stay behind the glass.

If you’re ready to begin your journey toward healing and freedom, I invite you to take the next step.

Get your copy today and start stepping into the love that has been waiting for you all along.

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Endnotes:

1. Carey Landry, “Isaiah 49” hymn, Breaking Bread, vol. 39 (Portland, OR: OCP, 1975), #601.

2. Ashley Montagu, “They Could Not Live Without the Love,” European Institute of Perinatal Mental Health, accessed April 13, 2023, https://eipmh.com/they-could-not-live-without-the-love/.

3. Bessel van der Kolk, The Body Keeps the Score: Brain, Mind, and Body in the Healing of Trauma (New York: Penguin Books, 2014), 53.

4. Derek Prince, “Nature and Causes of Rejection,” Derek Prince Ministries, accessed April 13, 2023, https://www.derekprince.com/radio/586.

5. Derek Prince, “Results of Rejection,” Derek Prince Ministries, accessed April 13, 2023, https://www.derekprince.com/radio/587.

I lived that way for a long time—through eight years of higher education, long teaching days, evenings ferrying my daughter to activities, and extended seasons of caring for loved ones. My body never had a chance to recover. When my father passed away after years of decline, I finally felt the crash. Years of unprocessed stress wrapped around me like a heavy quilt—stifling, suffocating, familiar.

It took me a while to realize that my inability to cope was rooted not only in external pressures but in internal ones. Chronic stress had become the language of my soul, a way my body expressed fear: fear that I wasn’t safe, seen, or loved. For those of us who experienced early rejection, our bodies remember. Adrenal glands overwork, sleep cycles falter, and our hearts can’t recognize peace. Deep breathing feels impossible when fear constricts the chest.

Stress is part of life. Acute stress, as the Yale researcher Rajita Sinha explains, helps us respond to immediate challenges, but chronic stress is different. It whispers fear: life is unsafe, you must control everything, survive at all costs. Chronic stress is not only physical; it becomes spiritual. When our souls operate in a posture of defense, the windows to YHWH’s love remain closed.

My heart had felt like a sealed room, heavy with the scent of stale air. The curtains were drawn, the light dim. I had wanted to open the windows but didn’t know how. YHWH’s love felt beyond my reach—blocked by years of unhealed pain, the kind that began long before I had words for it. The ache of early rejection had erected an invisible glass wall, keeping love on the other side. Rejection had taught me to protect myself, but in doing so I shut out the very love I longed for.

I noticed how much of my body’s inability to cope was connected to my soul’s restlessness. Cortisol—the hormone our bodies release in response to stress—was running my life. I learned from a nutritionist that my adrenal glands were exhausted. She encouraged me to recalibrate, to breathe deeply, and to walk outside. I remember thinking, How can I with so much on my plate, when everything depends on me? Do you recognize this feeling? Is your plate full?

Our bodies are designed to mirror the rhythm of grace. When we breathe in deeply we receive; when we exhale we release. YHWH created us to live in that sacred rhythm—inhale love, exhale fear. Yet rejection often reverses that pattern. We inhale anxiety and exhale the need to manage everything. No wonder we feel suffocated.

Notice how your body reacts when you’re stressed—perhaps your shoulders tighten, your breath quickens, or your stomach knots. These are invitations, not interruptions—signals reminding us to pause and breathe in YHWH’s love once again.

The Cleveland Clinic describes how cortisol affects every system in the body—our metabolism, immune function, and even our sleep. YHWH designed our bodies to flourish when we live in peace. Yeshua says, “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. Not as the world gives do I give to you. Let not your hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid” (John 14:27, ESV). That peace is not dependent on our circumstances; it’s rooted in our connection to Him.

As YHWH began healing the places rejection had wounded, I started to cope differently, noticing Him in simple moments—the rustle of trees, the evening sunset, the quiet of prayer. Life no longer felt like something to control; it became a space to be present. I was learning to abide in His love.

Here are ways I continue to integrate His presence into my daily rhythm. These are practices of coping, ways to align my body, mind, and spirit with His steadying love:

Twelve practices of coping

1. Pray. Prayer changes everything. When we pray, we hand control back to the One who holds all things. It realigns our hearts to the rhythm of His love, helping us cope with anxiety and the weight of responsibility. Notice your breath as you pray—inhale His presence, exhale what you cannot carry.

2. Sing. Singing opens the lungs and lifts the spirit. Worship releases feel-good neurotransmitters that soothe both body and soul. Singing helps us cope by shifting focus from fear or stress to the joy and presence of YHWH. “I will sing forever about the evidence of your mercy, O Yahweh” (Psalm 89:1, GW).

3. Listen to music. Worship music can bring stillness where chaos once lived. Let it fill your home like the sound of distant water, reminding you that His love is steady and sure. Music helps us cope by calming racing thoughts and grounding us in His presence.

4. Rest. Rest is sacred. It restores energy, replenishes the mind, and steadies the emotions. Intentional pauses help us cope with overwhelm, allowing our bodies and spirits to realign with YHWH’s peace.

5. Breathe deeply. Take slow, intentional breaths. Imagine inhaling the cool mist of Niagara Falls—pure, rushing, alive. Each breath helps us cope by releasing tension, easing fear, and reconnecting with the rhythm of His love.

6. Sleep intentionally. “I fall asleep in peace the moment I lie down because you alone, O Yahweh, enable me to live securely” (Psalm 4:8, GW). Sleep allows our bodies to recover and our minds to reset, giving us strength to cope with challenges with clarity and calm.

7. Nourish your body. Food is a gift, designed to replenish, delight, and energize. Eat vibrantly, eat well, eat with gratitude. Mindful nourishment helps us cope by providing the energy and resilience we need to face stress and care for our minds, bodies, and hearts.

8. Exercise. Move your body in ways that bring joy—walk, stretch, swim, dance. Exercise reduces stress hormones, lifts the mood, and strengthens both heart and mind. Movement helps us cope by releasing tension and restoring balance.

9. Retrain your thinking. Restoration unfolds as we renew the mind. Replace negative thoughts with truth, fear with peace, shame with love. This practice helps us cope by calming the mental chatter that drives anxiety and by giving our hearts steady ground in YHWH’s promises.

10. Get sunshine. Step outside, feel the warmth on your skin, listen to birdsong. Sunlight resets our internal rhythm and lifts our spirit. Connecting with creation helps us cope by grounding us in the present moment and reminding us of God’s faithfulness.

11. Laugh. Laughter releases tension, lightens the mind, and expands the heart. Laughing helps us cope by breaking the grip of stress and fear, restoring perspective, and reminding us that joy is available even in hardship.

12. Delight in life. Take time to savor simple pleasures—nature, a warm drink, creative work. Being present in life helps us cope by shifting focus from what we cannot control to the gifts and beauty around us, keeping our hearts anchored in His love.

As we practice these daily rhythms—praying, singing, listening, nourishing our bodies, moving, retraining our thoughts, enjoying sunlight, and savoring life’s small joys—we are training our bodies, minds, and spirits to cope with the pressures and anxieties of life. Each breath, each intentional action, each pause to notice YHWH’s presence becomes part of a sacred rhythm that steadies our hearts, quiets mental chatter, and restores perspective.

Coping is not about perfection or control; it’s about returning again and again to this steady flow, letting His love meet us where we are, and allowing His Spirit to guide us through stress, fear, and uncertainty. In these small, consistent practices, we find the strength to navigate life’s challenges, the clarity to respond rather than react, and the peace that comes from knowing we are held, sustained, and loved.

Prayer

Father, help me to face today with calm and clarity. When anxiety rises, remind me to pause, breathe, and lean on Your strength. Guide my thoughts, steady my heart, and teach me to respond with Your peace instead of fear. Fill me with Your presence, renewing my energy and helping me navigate each challenge with trust in You.

Application

Choose one practice from the list above—prayer, rest, or deep breathing, for example—and commit to it this week. Notice how your body feels as you make space for stillness.

Journal prompt

Describe a time when you felt completely at peace—perhaps standing near the ocean, walking in the woods, or sitting with coffee. What did YHWH’s presence feel like at that moment? How might He be inviting you to breathe in that same peace again today?

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To read more about healing from early childhood rejection in this series, click on the links: Introduction, Distrust, Worthlessness, Loneliness, Depression, Hopelessness, Anxiety, Fear, Anger, Grief, Unforgiveness, Love Oneself, ‘aheb, hesed, racham, Hosea, Messiah, Agapaó, Apostle John, Holy Spirit, Apostle Paul, Confess, Pray, Worship, Rest

OR

buy the book

Endnotes:

1. Rajita Sinha, “Chronic Stress,” Yale Medicine, accessed May 9, 2023, https://www.yalemedicine.org/conditions/stress-disorder.

2. Cleveland Clinic, “Cortisol,” accessed May 9, 2023, https://my.clevelandclinic.org/health/articles/22187-cortisol.

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Rest

“Christ didn’t say, ‘I will give you rest from sorrow.’ He said, ‘I will give you rest in sorrow.’ . . . He didn’t promise insurance from trouble, but assurance in the midst of trouble.” —Billy Graham

I had prayed for rest so many times, yet my body seemed unable to receive it. My pillow cradled a mind crowded with unfinished thoughts and unspoken fears. Does this sound familiar? Maybe your heart has known this space, too. Sometimes the soul holds its breath—tight, anxious, unable to release the weight of everything it carries. That’s often how life feels when rest slips out of reach.

Rest isn’t about taking a nap or going on vacation. It’s about allowing your whole self—body, mind, and spirit—to breathe again in the presence of YHWH. When we’ve been hurt by rejection or driven by performance, rest can even feel unsafe, as though pausing might cause everything to fall apart. But it’s precisely there, in the stillness, that YHWH invites us to inhale His love and exhale our striving.

Merriam-Webster defines rest as ‘freedom from activity or labor; a peace of mind or spirit.’ That phrase ‘peace of mind or spirit’ reminds me that rest is not merely a pause from doing, but a return to our true state of being in God’s presence. Remember, “Whoever dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty” (Psalm 91:1, NIV).

Our culture glorifies motion. The hum of productivity fills the air like constant machinery. We live in a world that rarely pauses. By the time I graduated high school in the late 1980s the shift from one-income households to two-income necessity was well underway. The message was clear: to thrive—or at least survive—you must work more.

And I did. Like many others I learned to fill my days with work and responsibility. Yet inside something was fraying. I had not learned the sacred rhythm of rest—the kind that allows the soul to breathe in YHWH’s love.

Life is busy: school, work, sports, family, volunteering, church, and endless digital noise. The pace rarely slows. Even moments meant for rest often leave us more drained as we engage instead in frenetic entertainment. Our minds stay tethered to the noise. Have you noticed how even silence feels foreign at times? That awkward moment when the device is down and there’s nothing to distract you? Yet it’s in that stillness that healing happens.

Without rest rejection’s wounds fester. The body tenses. The mind races. The heart closes. Eventually we find ourselves back behind the glass fogged with condensation—unable to see clearly, gasping for fresh air.

Medical professionals often speak of the necessity of rest in order for healing to take place. It strengthens the immune system, improves focus and mood, and renews emotional balance. But what science calls rest Scripture calls Sabbath—part of a divine rhythm woven into creation itself.

After six days of creation YHWH rested (Genesis. 2:2)—not because He was tired but because He was finished. Completion, peace, and delight filled that seventh day. And He blessed it, not as a suggestion but as a sacred pattern.

When I was a young mother and teacher I often pushed past that rhythm. I’d ignore the signs—headaches, exhaustion, irritability—believing that I needed to keep moving. But, eventually, the body demands what the soul has been missing.

I remember one afternoon sitting in my classroom, the chatter of children fading as I stared out the window. My head throbbed. My chest felt tight. I wanted to cry, but I was too tired to invest the energy even for that. I realized that I hadn’t truly rested in months—not physically, not emotionally, and definitely not spiritually. I was suffocating on my own striving.

When I think of rest now I picture Niagara Falls—the roar, the mist, the endless flow of water. Standing there, even in my imagination, I feel small, yet deeply alive. The air itself pulsates with energy and renewal. That’s what resting in YHWH’s love feels like. His presence is constant, powerful, unending. But when rejection has taught us to brace for impact, even His love can feel overwhelming—like facing the first light of dawn, beautiful but almost too bright for our eyes to take in.

For years I didn’t realize how early rejection had shaped my relationship with rest. I equated rest with vulnerability. To slow down meant to risk feeling once again—to face the ache of what I’d buried. But as YHWH gently healed my heart, I learned that rest is not weakness but an opportunity for worship.

Yeshua said, “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest” (Matthew 11:28, NIV). This is not an invitation to escape life but to enter His peace. Rest is the exhaling of surrender—the holy pause wherein we allow His Spirit to fill our lungs with new breath.

YHWH designed our bodies to heal when we rest. Sleep is not a luxury; it’s a necessity. When we sleep, cells are repaired, memory consolidates, and the mind resets. Psalm 127:2 says that “he gives to his beloved sleep” (ESV). What a tender image—rest as a gift of love.

We are not machines. Even the strongest among us eventually breaks down in the absence of pause. If you’ve been pushing through exhaustion, maybe it’s time to ask yourself: What am I afraid will happen if I rest? For me, rest once felt like failure. But over time I’ve learned that allowing myself to rest is an act of surrender, of trust. It’s saying, “YHWH, I believe You’re still at work, even when I am not.”

Practical rhythms help. Keep a consistent sleep routine. Create space for quiet before bed—turn off the noise and let stillness become a lullaby. Whisper a simple prayer as you breathe deeply: “You are my peace, Yeshua.”

Our minds are constantly processing—emails, conversations, plans, worries, to-do lists. The noise rarely stops. Have you tried to listen to multiple people speaking at once? It’s impossible to hear anyone clearly. The same happens when our thoughts compete for attention. Sometimes the most spiritual thing you can do is to step away from the noise.

When I taught elementary school I often spent my lunch break sitting in silence—no music, no talking, no screens. I’d breathe. Listen. Let the stillness settle like dew resting quietly on new leaves. Those few moments grounded me for the rest of the day.

Emotional rest is just as vital. Rejection, disappointment, and stress drain our emotional reserves. When we don’t pause those feelings build up like pressure behind a dam. The smallest thing can make it burst.

Identify what brings you peace—perhaps gardening, painting, music, or walking. I find emotional rest when I’m walking in nature. Sunlight peeks through the trees, and a breeze caresses my face. Each breath feels like freedom. Rest doesn’t mean avoiding emotion; it means giving space for emotion to breathe.

Beneath all our striving lies a deeper need—the need for spirit rest. Rejection fractures our sense of belonging. We begin to carry invisible burdens, believing that we must earn YHWH’s love or prove our worth to Him. Spiritual rest is the opposite. It is the quiet of knowing we are already loved.

Hebrews 4:9–10 reminds us that “there remains a Sabbath rest for the people of God, for whoever has entered God’s rest has also rested from his works as God did from his” (ESV). Spiritual rest is not idleness—it’s intimacy. It’s breathing in the truth that Yeshua’s work is enough. Yeshua tells us in Mark 2:27 that “the Sabbath was made for man, not man for the Sabbath” (ESV). The gift of rest is not about rules but about relationship.

One of the most healing practices I’ve discovered is breath prayer—an ancient form of meditation in which each inhale and exhale becomes communion with YHWH. Choose a short Scripture or phrase, such as “You are my peace. I rest in Your love.” Sit comfortably. Inhale slowly, imagining YHWH’s love filling your lungs. Exhale, releasing fear, tension, and self-effort. With each inhale, say silently, “You are my peace.” With each exhale, “I rest in Your love.”

As you breathe, picture standing near waterfalls—the mist cooling your face and the roar surrounding you. That’s the sound of YHWH’s love: steady, powerful, unending. Let your soul breathe with Him. Five minutes of this practice can realign your entire being—body, mind, and spirit.

Learning to stay in the flow of YHWH’s love requires learning a new rhythm. A rhythm that mirrors the breath of YHWH—inhale love, exhale striving. Healing is not about eliminating all tension; it’s about returning, again and again, to His steady rhythm. Every time we breathe deeply in His love we realign our hearts to the truth that we are safe, seen, and held.

If you’ve been running on empty—if your soul feels weary and winded—pause. Step outside. Feel the air on your skin. Listen to the wind moving through the trees, the whisper of creation that still worships its Creator. Let it remind you that His love is constant, His peace is near, and His rest is for you.

Prayer

Father, thank You for creating me with limits and for designing rest as a sacred rhythm. Teach me to breathe in Your love and release my striving. Help me find stillness in Your presence and strength in Your peace. Renew my body, refresh my mind, and restore my spirit. Like the waters of Niagara, let Your love pour over every weary place in me.

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To read more about healing from early childhood rejection in this series, click on the links: Introduction, Distrust, Worthlessness, Loneliness, Depression, Hopelessness, Anxiety, Fear, Anger, Grief, Unforgiveness, Love Oneself, ‘aheb, hesed, racham, Hosea, Messiah, Agapaó, Apostle John, Holy Spirit, Apostle Paul, Confess, Pray, Worship

OR

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Cornelius, a Roman centurion who feared God, is described as someone who prayed continually and gave generously. When an angel appears to him, he says something remarkable: “Your prayers and your alms have ascended as a memorial before God.” Acts 10:4

In another place in Scripture, David expresses a similar image when he writes, “May my prayer be set before you like incense; may the lifting up of my hands be like the evening sacrifice.” — Psalm 141:2

Both passages give us a picture that is both poetic and deeply meaningful. They invite us to imagine our prayers rising upward like fragrant incense before YHWH.

Can you picture it?

In the ancient world of Israel, incense was burned regularly in worship. The fragrant smoke would rise slowly from the altar and fill the sanctuary with a sweet aroma. It symbolized devotion, reverence, and the prayers of the people being lifted to God. The scent lingered in the air, marking the space as holy.

David uses this image intentionally. He asks that his prayer be received like incense—something pleasing, something offered with humility and devotion.

Then centuries later, in Acts 10, we see this imagery come alive again. Cornelius was not standing in the temple offering incense, yet heaven still recognized his prayers as an offering. His devotion rose before YHWH in a beautiful way.

What’s interesting is that the angel did not mention only Cornelius’s prayers. He also mentioned his alms—his acts of generosity and care for others.

In other words, the love he showed people rose before God as well.

This means something deeply comforting for us: the smallest acts of love are seen and enjoyed by YHWW.

A quiet act of generosity.
A meal made for someone who is struggling.
A word of encouragement offered at just the right moment.
Patience shown when it would be easier to react in frustration.
Forgiveness given when no one else knows the cost.

From our perspective, these moments can feel ordinary. They often happen in the hidden places of daily life where no one else is watching. Sometimes they feel so small that we wonder if they matter at all.

But Scripture gives us a different picture.

Just as incense slowly rose from the altar and filled the temple with fragrance, the love we show in ordinary moments rises before God. Our quiet acts of compassion become offerings that He sees, remembers, and delights in.

YHWH is not only attentive to dramatic moments of faith. He notices the quiet faithfulness that fills ordinary days.

Every act of kindness reflects His heart.
Every moment of compassion echoes His character.
Every sacrifice made out of love carries the fragrance of worship.

Imagine YHWH watching His children throughout the day—seeing the unnoticed generosity, the quiet forgiveness, the small decisions to love when it would be easier not to. None of it escapes His attention. He sees you.

And more than simply noticing, He delights in you.

The world often celebrates the loud, the impressive, and the visible. But God treasures the hidden moments of love that reflect who He is.

So the next time you choose kindness, generosity, patience, or compassion—even when no one else sees—remember this:

YHWH notices.

Your love rises like a fragrant offering in the most meaningful way.

Father,

Help me to live each day with a heart that reflects Your compassion. Teach me to love others through simple acts of kindness, generosity, patience, and grace. Even when no one else sees, remind me that You do. May the love I show, the words I speak, and the compassion I extend rise before You like a fragrant offering. Shape my life so that in both the small moments and the significant ones, I reflect Your heart.

“If you don’t worship . . . you’ll never experience God.”

—Dr. David Jeremiah

I remember sitting alone on my bedroom floor one evening, guitar in hand, trying to play a worship song through tears I couldn’t stop. My chords were messy, my voice cracked, and I felt more broken than holy. But as I whispered the lyrics anyway, something shifted. The heaviness that had pressed against my chest all day loosened, and I felt His presence settling gently.

Worship is powerful because it is our humble response to the majesty of YHWH. It’s a full-bodied “yes” to His holiness—expressed through our voices, our posture, our stillness, our instruments, and our hearts. When we worship we are breathing in the fresh air of His divine love, inhaling His presence and exhaling all that once separated us from Him.

Peter described this beautifully in 1 Peter 2:9: “You are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people for his own possession, that you may proclaim the excellencies of him who called you out of darkness into his marvelous light” (ESV).

After breaking through the thick glass of rejection and into the healing air of His love, my whole being can’t help but cry out in worship. Do you feel this way, too? There is a moment when your soul suddenly exhales, and peace, joy, and love wash over you. Worship is that sacred moment when heaven’s air fills our lungs and the heaviness of the day lifts.

Did you know that all creation worships YHWH?

In Nehemiah 9:6 the Israelites declared, “You alone are Yahweh. You made heaven, the highest heaven, with all its armies. You made the earth and everything on it, the seas and everything in them. You give life to them all, and the armies of heaven worship you” (GW).

Even Niagara’s unending cascade joins that song, echoing the heartbeat of heaven. Every drop that falls is another hallelujah rising to YHWH. The mist rises like incense, the water crashes in endless surrender, and the sheer power of it leaves you breathless. That’s creation worshiping its Creator—unceasing, unrestrained, and full of awe.

Yeshua affirmed this truth when He entered Jerusalem riding on a colt. The people laid down their cloaks and shouted praises. The Pharisees told Him to silence the crowd, but Yeshua replied, “If they keep quiet, the stones will cry out” (Luke 19:40, NIV).

Can you imagine that? Even the rocks—still, silent, unyielding—bursting into song if humanity refused to worship?

The angels, too, worship YHWH. Revelation 7:11 describes John’s vision: “All the angels were standing around the throne and around the elders and the four living creatures. They fell down on their faces before the throne and worshiped God” (NIV). From heaven’s throne room to earth’s smallest pebble, all of creation joins in one magnificent anthem of praise.

At the birth of our Messiah the night sky filled with radiant sound: “Suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God and saying, ‘Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace among those with whom he is pleased!’” (Luke 2:13–14, ESV).

Worship takes many forms because it flows from every part of who we are—body, soul, and spirit. As there are many Hebrew words for love—among them aheb, hesed, and racham—there are also many for worship, each capturing a different expression of our adoration.

The primary word is shachah, meaning “to bow down, to prostrate oneself, to worship.” It’s used in Judges 7:15: “When Gideon heard the account of the dream and its interpretation, he bowed [shachah] in worship. Then he returned to the camp of Israel” (NASB) and declared victory.

In those moments when your body is low and our heart is open before YHWH, His nearness feels undeniable. These humble postures say, You are great, and I am Yours.

Another Hebrew word for worship is barak, meaning “to bless, to kneel.” Daniel, a captive in Babylon, bowed down, kneeling (barak), three times a day to pray and give thanks to YHWH (Daniel 6:10). And in Psalm 89:52 the author declares, “Thank [barak] Yahweh forever. Amen and amen!” (GW).

I used to wonder why we bless YHWH—shouldn’t He be the one blessing us? But to bless Him is to adore Him, to speak words that honor His name. When my daughter was little she once asked that same question. Reading the psalms made me realize that blessing YHWH is an act of worship itself—a returning of love to the One who first loved us.

Then there is tehillah—“praise, song of praise, adoration, glory.” Psalm 71:8 reads, “My mouth is filled with your praise [tehillah], and with your glory all the day” (ESV). This word suggests singing, not speaking, our adoration. Have you noticed how a song can break open your heart in ways mere words cannot?

Another word, shabach, means “to shout” or “to proclaim loudly.” Psalm 145:4–6 captures this: “One generation shall praise [shabach] Your works to another, and shall declare Your mighty and remarkable acts. On the glorious splendor of Your majesty and on Your wonderful works, I will meditate” (AMP). Sometimes I imagine David out in the fields, shouting his praise to YHWH while his sheep grazed nearby. The sun warmed his back, the breeze carried his song, and heaven itself leaned in to listen.

This kind of worship isn’t timid. It’s the praise that echoes through generations—the shout of a redeemed heart!

The word halal means “to praise, to boast, to shine, to celebrate, to glory.” It’s the root of “Hallelujah.” When halal is combined with yah, a shortened form of YHWH’s name, it literally means “Praise YHWH.” This word is most often used in the psalms.

Then there’s yadah, meaning “to give thanks, to praise, to confess” using our hands in reverent thanksgiving. First Chronicles 16:34 reads, “Give thanks [yadah] to Yahweh because he is good, because his mercy endures forever” (GW). When we lift our hands it’s as if our souls are reaching upward, grasping for more of His presence.

The word zamar means “to sing, to make music, to praise.” It often means to make music accompanied by the voice. Psalm 71:22 says, “I will give thanks to you as I play on a lyre. I will make music [zamar] with a harp to praise you, O Qedosh Yisrael” (GW).

When I used to play an instrument—however imperfectly—I felt the air vibrating around me, carrying my worship upward. The sound felt alive, like breath turned into melody. Worship in any form fills the atmosphere with His presence.

Did you know that YHWH sings over us, too? The word ranan means “to sing, shout for joy, rejoice.” It is used in Zephaniah 3:17: “Yahweh your Elohim is with you. He is a hero who saves you. He happily rejoices over you, renews you with his love, and celebrates over you with shouts of joy” (GW). Imagine standing at the edge of Niagara Falls, the mist rising, the water roaring like an anthem—and feel it as the sound of YHWH’s love celebrating you.

A dear friend once told me how he had overcome depression in his teen years. His youth pastor had advised him to worship YHWH whenever dark thoughts flooded his mind. “Satan can’t reach you when you worship,” his pastor had explained. “He hates humility.”

Each time despair tried to suffocate him my friend lifted his voice in praise. Slowly the heaviness began to lift. Worship became oxygen—each song a deep inhaling of hope, each praise an exhaling of pain.

When you turn your focus toward YHWH the suffocating weight begins to lift from your chest. Worship draws us back into the open air of His love—the kind of love that blows through every locked room of our soul like the wind sweeping across Niagara Falls—powerful, cleansing, alive. Worship realigns us with who YHWH is and who we are in Him. It invites us to breathe deeply again after rejection has left us gasping.

Different postures of worship reflect humility—bowing, kneeling, shouting, singing, raising hands, playing instruments. But worship is not limited to physical expression. It can be the quiet turning of the heart toward YHWH in a crowded room or the silent awe that infuses us when words fall short.

Have you found that worship changes your circumstances? Maybe it softens a hard heart, brings peace into chaos, or reminds you that you’re not forgotten. When we worship with unbridled zeal we find our true place—we are one with the Creator of heaven and earth, one with His love.

When you stand in that place of worship, take a moment to breathe. Feel the rhythm of your inhaling and exhaling. Let your breath be your prayer. You are alive in His love—the love that draws you into faithful devotion (aheb), the love that remains steadfast (hesed), and the love that tenderly holds you (racham).

That love is the air you were created to breathe.

Prayer

Father, I want to worship You with all of my being. Teach me what it means to surrender fully and breathe deeply in Your love. Like the roar of Niagara Falls, let my worship flow endlessly before You—powerful, steady, and alive. May every breath I take echo creation’s praise; may it be mist rising like incense before Your throne. As I worship, help me to remember that I am part of creation’s symphony—the wind, the waves, the thunder, and the falling water all cry out Your name. Let my life join their song. May my worship be a waterfall of love back to You.

buy me a ☕️

To read more about healing from early childhood rejection in this series, click on the links: Introduction, Distrust, Worthlessness, Loneliness, Depression, Hopelessness, Anxiety, Fear, Anger, Grief, Unforgiveness, Love Oneself, ‘aheb, hesed, racham, Hosea, Messiah, Agapaó, Apostle John, Holy Spirit, Apostle Paul, Confess, Pray

OR

buy the book

There is something unmistakably healing about breathing in the fresh air after a long storm—the kind that fills our lungs with the scent of renewal. Prayer is like that breath. It opens us to the living presence of YHWH, wherein the stale air of rejection and striving is replaced by the gentle breeze of His love. The very essence of prayer is communion—our inhaling and exhaling with the divine.

Prayer is not simply words—it’s a relationship. Throughout Scripture prayer takes many forms: cries for help, whispers of repentance, songs of praise, or sighs too deep for words. Each one is a meeting place between our hearts and YHWH’s heart. Without that continual communication we lose the flow of His love that keeps our souls alive and clear. Prayer keeps us breathing the clean air of His presence rather than the suffocating smog of isolation.

For years my prayers had felt one-sided, as if I were tossing pebbles into the sky and waiting for a ripple that never came. Maybe you’ve poured out your heart in prayer, only to sense silence in return. It wasn’t until I understood how prayer flows from love—YHWH’s love for me and mine for Him in return—that my conversations with Him became life giving.

As Stormie Omartian writes in Praying YHWH’s Will for Your Life: A Prayerful Walk to Spiritual Well-Being, “Until we are living in the will of God, we are destined to have lives that are unfulfilled and incomplete.” That alignment comes through time spent in His presence, through the steady rhythm of talking, listening, and being still with Him.

When Moses descended Mount Sinai his face shone with YHWH’s glory (Exodus 34:29–35). The Israelites stood back in awe, unable to look directly at him. Now, through Christ, we are invited into that same communion. YHWH no longer speaks to one person at a time on a mountain—He breathes His presence into all who seek Him. When we spend time with Him our countenance changes, too. Prayer leaves a glow upon the soul that no rejection can dim.

Prayer is not a ritual; it’s communion—the steady inhalation and exhalation of being known and loved by YHWH. The more time we spend with Him the more we reflect His character. Think of your closest friend—perhaps of the way you finish each other’s sentences, sense each other’s moods, and communicate without words. Prayer builds that same intimacy with YHWH.

When I was a young believer I didn’t understand this. I prayed because I thought I was supposed to. My prayers were filled with requests—pleas for healing, direction, help—and often ended in frustration when nothing seemed to happen. It took healing from the wounds of rejection, the kind we explored in Part One, for me to realize that prayer isn’t about results but about relationship. I didn’t need to strive to be heard; I needed to rest in being loved.

YHWH isn’t distant. He draws near to the one who seeks Him: “Those who seek me diligently find me” (Proverbs 8:17). YHWH delights in our presence. Are you aware that the Creator of the universe looks forward to your company? That He waits for your voice, like a friend hoping for your call?

The apostle Paul urged believers to “pray without ceasing” (1 Thessalonians 5:17). At first that sounds impossible. How can we pray all the time when life demands so much? Yet as Rick Warren writes in The Purpose Driven Life, YHWH “wants to be included in every activity, every conversation, every problem, and even every thought.” Prayer can become like breathing—woven into everything we do. While you drive, cook, fold laundry, or walk in His glorious nature, you can breathe out your thoughts to Him and breathe in His peace.

Still, there is a special kind of fellowship that happens when we set aside everything else. When we sit in stillness and intentionally commune with YHWH, the air changes. The noise inside us quiets, and we can hear His gentle voice. Below are eight ways in which Scripture invites us to pray—simple rhythms that help us breathe deeply of His presence, of His love.

1. Praise YHWH.

King David wrote, “Enter his gates with thanksgiving, and his courts with praise! Give thanks to him; bless his name!” (Psalm 100:4). Praise opens the door to His presence.

In Acts 10 the prayers of Cornelius rose like a fragrant offering before YHWH. Likewise, David said, “May my prayer be set before you like incense” (Psalm 141:2, NIV). Can you picture it? The air of heaven scented with our praise—YHWH inhaling our worship with joy.

2. Thank YHWH.

Paul urged the Colossians, “Be thankful . . . [Sing] psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, with thankfulness in your hearts to God” (Colossians 3:15–17). Gratitude shifts the atmosphere. It reminds us that every breath is grace.

Even when circumstances are painful, we can thank Him for His presence within them. I’ve learned that gratitude is not a denial of pain but a declaration of faith. Do you ever notice the times when thankfulness lightens your spirit, like the scent of rain after a dry season?

3. Confess to YHWH.

Confession clears the air. It’s the exhaling that makes room for a deeper inhaling of grace. “If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us” (1 John 1:9).

Sometimes we grieve YHWH without realizing it. I often ask, “YHWH, is there anything in me that’s hindering our closeness?” His Spirit gently reveals what needs to be released. When I repent quickly I can feel the heaviness lift, like fog dissolving in sunlight.

Sin keeps us behind glass, unable to feel His love. But confession—honest, humble confession—lets the breeze of mercy rush in again.

4. Talk to YHWH.

Talk to Him as you would to a trusted friend. He longs to dialogue with you. Yeshua said, “Ask, and it will be given to you; seek, and you will find” (Matthew 7:7, NIV).

When my daughter calls to talk—no agenda, no need, only wanting connection—it fills my heart with joy. YHWH feels the same way when we speak with Him about our day, our dreams, our worries. He already knows all of it, but He wants to hear it from us.

5. Yield to YHWH.

Prayer is not only talking; it’s surrender. James reminds us, “Submit yourselves therefore to God” (James 4:7).

I’m a planner by nature. I like my day and seasons scheduled. But the more I pray the more I realize that surrender is the only way to breathe freely. Yielding to YHWH’s timing—trusting that He sees beyond what I can—releases peace.

You may have tried to control an outcome, only to feel suffocated by anxiety. What if, instead, you were to surrender, exhaling your felt need to know and inhaling His perfect will?

6. Love YHWH.

In Deuteronomy 6:5 we are given advice: “Love Yahweh your Elohim with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your strength” (GW).

Love is the heartbeat of prayer. Without love prayer is reduced to rattling off a list. But when love fuels our words, we are transformed. I often whisper throughout my day, “I love You, YHWH.” Sometimes I wait for His reply to echo back: “I love you, too.” Do you pause long enough to hear Him say that to you?

7. Wait on YHWH.

This may be the hardest part of prayer—waiting. Stillness doesn’t come easily for me. My mind jumps from one thought to another: what to prepare for dinner, that old conversation, the cat’s empty bowl. Yet when I quiet my soul I sense His presence like a soft wind through trees.

“Let go of your concerns! Then you will know that I am Elohim” (Psalm 46:10, GW). Stillness allows us to feel His racham—His tender, motherly love—surrounding us. It is in that quiet place that our hearts synchronize with His.

8. Listen to YHWH.

Yeshua tells us, “My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me” (John 10:27). YHWH still speaks—through His Word, through His Spirit, through peace that surpasses our understanding. Listening is the inhalation of prayer. It’s the way we receive revelation, direction, and reassurance, the way we hear the rhythm of His heartbeat and recognize the sound of His love moving within us.

Intimacy with YHWH deepens as we spend time with Him. The more practiced we become in prayer, the less we fall back into rejection’s patterns. We start breathing in the rarified air of His love. Prayer becomes our steady rhythm: inhale His presence, exhale our burdens.

So, find your quiet place today. Maybe it’s on a walk beside the sea or in your favorite chair before sunrise. Sit. Breathe. Invite Him in. Tell Him you love Him. Ask if He wants to say something. Listen. Respond. Listen again.

Let the Holy Spirit guide you into that sacred rhythm of love—a rhythm that will keep you breathing fresh air all your days.

Prayer:

Father, teach me to breathe with You. Help me understand the many ways in which I can commune with You and stay aware of Your presence. Reveal the moments in my day that belong to You alone. Quiet my heart when I’m restless. Let our time together become the rhythm of my life, in which I inhale Your love and exhale my worries.

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To read more about healing from early childhood rejection in this series, click on the links: Introduction, Distrust, Worthlessness, Loneliness, Depression, Hopelessness, Anxiety, Fear, Anger, Grief, Unforgiveness, Love Oneself, ‘aheb, hesed, racham, Hosea, Messiah, Agapaó, Apostle John, Holy Spirit, Apostle Paul, Confess

OR

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Endnotes:

Epigraph: Stormie Omartian, The Prayer That Changes Everything (Eugene: Harvest House Publishers, 2005), 152.

1. Stormie Omartian, Praying God’s Will for Your Life: A Prayerful Walk to Spiritual Well-Being (Nashville: Thomas Nelson, 2018), 9.

2. Rick Warren, The Purpose Driven Life (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2002).

The Comfort I Rarely Question

As I’ve been meditating on the time of Amos and the behavior of the Israelites, I’ve felt the Holy Spirit gently—and persistently—pressing on my heart. I’m starting to recognize myself in the people Amos was sent to confront. And that awareness is painful. The Israelites were not godless people. They were God’s people. They knew the Scriptures. They celebrated the feasts. They believed God was with them. And yet, they had grown too comfortable to notice who was being crushed under the weight of that comfort.

That realization has unsettled me. It has caused me to look closely at my own comfortable life.

I have grown up in North America, surrounded by stability and provision. I have always had a roof over my head. I have owned or had access to a vehicle. I’ve had education, career opportunities, food on my table, and choices—so many choices. Even in seasons of struggle or loss, my baseline has still been one of comfort by global standards. I have never wondered where my next meal would come from. I have always had the security of clean clothes.

And lately, I’ve been asking myself questions I don’t particularly enjoy facing.

Have I become too comfortable?

Comfort is subtle. It doesn’t announce itself as sin. It doesn’t feel rebellious. It feels deserved. Normal. Safe. Yet, comfort can dull compassion not through cruelty, but through distraction.

When was the last time I truly took care of the poor? When was the last time I visited the elderly, those whose lives have grown quiet and unseen? When was the last time inconvenience interrupted my routine for the sake of mercy?

These are the kinds of questions the book of Amos forces me to sit with.

When Faith Turns Inward

The Israelites of Amos’s day reclined on luxurious beds made of ivory while the nation decayed around them. They sang worship songs while ignoring injustice at the city gates. They assumed that blessing meant approval, that prosperity meant God was pleased. Amos shattered that illusion. God was not impressed. In fact, God said He despised their songs because righteousness and justice had been abandoned.

I don’t read Amos and think, “How terrible they were.” I read Amos and think, “How easy it is to become them.”

The Holy Spirit has been showing me that comfort can quietly replace dependence on God. It can shrink our spiritual vision until faith becomes private and inward, disconnected from how we treat the most vulnerable. Amos reminds us that devotion is not proven by how passionately we worship, but by how faithfully we love.

Amos Isn’t Just History

This devotion isn’t a call to guilt—it’s a call to awareness. To honesty. To repentance. God did not send Amos because He wanted to destroy His people, but because He wanted to wake them up. That same loving warning is echoing in my heart today.

So I’m praying differently now. It started with sincere and utter repentance. I’m not asking God to bless my comfort, but to interrupt it if it’s costing me compassion. I’m not asking for ease, but for eyes to see and courage to respond. I don’t want to live a life that looks faithful on the outside while ignoring the heart of God on the inside.

How about you?

Prayer
Father, forgive me for the ways comfort has softened my obedience and dulled my compassion. Forgive me for overlooking the poor, the lonely, the elderly, and the unseen. Search my heart and show me where I have confused blessing with approval. Teach me to live with open hands and an attentive spirit. Restore in me a love for justice, mercy, and humility. Lead me to love as You love, even when it disrupts my comfort. Amen.

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It’s here, in the open air of YHWH’s mercy, that love meets us. The same love we discovered in Part Two—the aheb love that chooses us, the hesed love that remains steadfast, the racham compassion that tenderly holds us, and the agapaó love that heals rejection’s deepest wounds—this love in its fullness now surrounds us.

Part Three of this journey is about breathing fresh air—staying rooted in His folds of love. Like standing near Niagara Falls, confession fills the soul with the cool rush of renewal—the inhalation of His grace, mercy, and love and the exhalation of shame. Confession is the act of unblocking what has been suffocating our spirits. It’s not meant to punish; it’s meant to purify.

Confession doesn’t push us away from YHWH; it draws us close enough to breathe the same air He breathes. To confess is to come out from behind the thick glass into the atmosphere of grace and to finally feel His love filling our lungs.

YHWH Himself extends this invitation in 2 Chronicles 7:14: “If my people who are called by my name humble themselves, and pray and seek my face and turn from their wicked ways, then I will hear from heaven and will forgive their sin and heal their land.” His words afford both correction and compassion—an open door to healing through humility. Confession isn’t about shame; it’s about restoring connection. When we turn toward YHWH we inhale His love, and in that love we find healing.

There was a season when my prayers felt like whispers against a thick pane of glass—heard by no one. I was weary, sick in body and soul, asking YHWH again and again why I couldn’t feel His nearness. For years chronic fatigue had shadowed my days. I sought medical help, changed my diet, tried to rest, and prayed without ceasing, but nothing lifted the heaviness.

Then one quiet morning YHWH answered—not with healing but with revelation.

In Jeremiah 29:13 He reminds us, “You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart” (NIV). When I sought Him with all the vitality that was left of mine, He brought a memory to mind—of a moment I had long buried.

I was in my mid-twenties, walking the bright hallways of a university, when I met someone who made my heart race. The connection felt alive, electric. Yet before I reached out I clearly heard the Holy Spirit whisper, “No.” I ignored the caution and sent the handsome man a message anyway.

That single act of disobedience led to a relationship that would ultimately leave me shattered and ashamed. I knew it wasn’t right, but I clung to it out of fear of rejection. My need to feel wanted outweighed my willingness to obey.

When the relationship ended I stuffed the pain deep down inside. I moved forward, pretending the past was a closed book. But YHWH doesn’t heal what we seek to hide. My heart was still wounded, my body weary, and my spirit distant. Like David, I was familiar with the weight of unconfessed sin. “When I kept silent about my sins,” David cried, “my bones began to weaken because of my groaning all day long. . . . My strength shriveled in the summer heat” (Psalm 32:3–4, GW).

That was me—drained, dry, gasping for air.

But, as David had done, I finally admitted my sin. “I made my sins known to you, and I did not cover up my guilt,” David continued. “I decided to confess them to you, O Yahweh. Then you forgave all my sins” (verse 5).

When I confessed it felt like the first full breath I’d taken in years. The air changed. The heaviness began to lift. I could feel YHWH’s presence again—the same love that had once pursued me was now wrapping me in mercy.

Confession clears the fog that clouds our discernment.

Years after that failed relationship I entered another one—this time with the best of intentions. I told myself that I was being wise, that I had learned from the past. But deep down I had never sought YHWH’s heart. I reasoned my way into what I wanted.

When doubts began to surface I pushed them aside. I even asked YHWH for “signs,” testing Him with prayers, much as Gideon had done with the fleece (Judges 6:36–40). Gideon’s heart, however, had been humble and uncertain, seeking confirmation to obey. Mine was fearful and self-willed, seeking permission to stay where I was.

Each “sign” I received seemed to confirm what I wanted to hear. I thanked YHWH, thinking I was being obedient, even as my peace quietly faded. When my friend questioned my clarity I felt defensive. How could she question what YHWH had “shown” me?

Months later, after sleepless nights and with a hollow heart, I fell to my knees and cried out. YHWH answered—not with the affirmation I had expected but with truth: “Do not be unequally yoked together with unbelievers” (2 Corinthians 6:14, NKJV).

The truth pierced through my confusion like sunlight through morning mist. I realized that the signs I had thought were divine had been filtered through my disobedience. My heart had wanted something YHWH had never promised.

When I later read Psalm 7:14, “Whoever is pregnant with evil conceives trouble and gives birth to disillusionment” (NIV), the Holy Spirit illuminated that verse in my heart. I had conceived disillusionment by clinging to my own will. The signs I had thought came from YHWH were hollow echoes of my own desire.

That realization both broke and freed me. I confessed both the sin of my disobedience and the pride of assuming I could hear YHWH clearly while refusing to surrender. And when I did, peace returned like wind through an open window.

Confession is not a punishment—it’s communion. It’s the moment when our spirit exhales self-reliance and inhales divine love. When we confess we don’t come to a Father waiting to condemn us. We come to One who already knows and is eager to restore us. He meets us with love that heals every fracture caused by rejection.

Confession invites us back into intimacy. It clears away the debris between us and YHWH so that His abundant love can blow freely again through our hearts. This is how we remember that He has never left us—even when shame tried to convince us otherwise.

When we humble ourselves before YHWH, as 2 Chronicles 7:14 promises, He not only forgives our sin but also heals our land. That “land” can be our soul, our relationships, or the inner terrain that rejection had once scorched dry. His love restores what sin had eroded.

Confession makes room for YHWH’s Spirit to move. It is the first intake of freedom after years of suffocating under guilt. And as we breathe in that love we find that it doesn’t just forgive—it renews.

If you’ve been walking with YHWH but still feel distant, ask Him to search your heart. He will never shame you, but He will reveal what’s clogging your spirit.

In the same way the falls at Niagara never stop flowing, His compassion never runs dry. Confession isn’t the end—it’s the beginning of breathing again. It’s the moment His Spirit refreshes what was weary and restores what rejection had once eroded.

Each confession is an act of faith—faith that YHWH’s love is bigger than your failure. Faith that He still delights in you. Faith that His healing wind will fill the space rejection once occupied.

When we confess, we are not stepping into judgment; we are stepping into His love.

Prayer:

Father, You are the air my soul needs. I come before You, humbled and ready to breathe again. Show me anything that has separated me from Your love—any sin, any self-deception, any hidden pride. I confess it all before You. Thank You that Your love forgives, heals, and restores what was broken. Fill me with Your Spirit and teach me in Your grace to once again breathe freely.

Application:

Find a quiet place and take three slow, cleansing breaths. As you inhale, whisper, “Holy Spirit, You are my breath.” As you exhale, release whatever it is that burdens you—fear, guilt, shame, regret. Then write down any sin or area of disobedience that comes to mind. Confess it to YHWH aloud, and then tear or burn the paper as a physical symbol of His forgiveness. Inhale again—this time, breathe in His love.

Journal prompt:

Reflect on a time when you felt distant from YHWH. Were there unspoken words coming between you? Ask Him to show you what might be preventing you now from breathing in His love freely. Write down what you sense Him saying, and describe how your spirit feels after confessing it to Him.

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To read more about healing from early childhood rejection in this series, click on the links: Introduction, Distrust, Worthlessness, Loneliness, Depression, Hopelessness, Anxiety, Fear, Anger, Grief, Unforgiveness, Love Oneself, ‘aheb, hesed, racham, Hosea, Messiah, Agapaó, Apostle John, Holy Spirit, Apostle Paul

OR

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To read more about healing from early childhood rejection in this series, click on the links: Introduction, Distrust, Worthlessness, Loneliness, Depression, Hopelessness, Anxiety, Fear, Anger, Grief, Unforgiveness, Love Oneself, ‘aheb, hesed, racham, Hosea, Messiah, Agapaó, Apostle John, Holy Spirit, Apostle Paul

Some drifted slowly, compromising one decision at a time. Others outright rejected God’s ways. But the root was the same: their hearts were no longer postured toward reverence, obedience, and love for the Lord. They ruled, they built, they fought battles—but they did not honor God.

God had already made His expectations clear long before Israel ever had a king. Moses laid it out simply in Deuteronomy:

“And now, O Israel, what does the LORD your God require of you but to fear the LORD your God, to walk in all his ways, to love him, to serve the LORD your God with all your heart and with all your soul.” (Deuteronomy 10:12)

This wasn’t about performance. It was about posture.

Honoring God Begins in the Heart

Honoring God is not primarily about external behavior, though our actions matter. It is first a heart posture—a deep, settled reverence that recognizes who God is and who we are in relation to Him. To honor God is to take Him seriously. To value His voice above all others. To align our lives with His ways not out of fear alone, but out of love.

David understood this. Unlike many kings who came after him, David continually returned to the Lord, even after grievous sin. Why? Because his heart remained soft toward God. In Psalm 96, David writes:

“Give unto the LORD the glory due unto his name; worship the LORD in the beauty of holiness.” (Psalm 96:8–9)

To give God the glory due His name means we recognize Him as Creator. We acknowledge that everything we are and everything we have flows from Him. Worship, then, becomes a response—an offering of honor rooted in awe and gratitude.

What Happens When We Don’t Honor God

The book of Kings shows us the cost of dishonor. Kings who ignored God’s commands often justified their choices, adopted the practices of surrounding nations, and trusted their own wisdom. The result was spiritual decay that eventually affected entire generations.

Dishonor always distorts perspective. When God is no longer honored, something else takes His place—power, comfort, success, approval, or control. And none of those make stable kings, steady leaders, or whole people.

This isn’t just ancient history. It’s a mirror.

Honoring God in Everyday Life

Honoring God is not limited to worship services or spiritual language. It shows up in how we live ordinary life.

We honor God when we trust Him enough to obey Him, even when His ways feel costly or countercultural. We honor Him when we steward our gifts, time, and influence in ways that reflect His character. We honor Him when we acknowledge that our abilities are not self-made, but God-given.

Everything He has done for us—our salvation, our daily provision, His patience and mercy—deserves honor. Everything He has gifted us to do—our work, creativity, leadership, care for others—can become an act of honor when offered back to Him.

Honoring Others as an Extension of Honoring God

Scripture consistently connects honoring God with honoring people. When we honor others, we reflect the heart of a God who values His creation.

We honor others by treating them with dignity, kindness, and patience. By listening instead of dismissing. By loving instead of using. By recognizing the image of God in them, even when it’s hard to see.

Yeshua made it clear that how we love people is deeply connected to how we love God. Dishonor toward others often reveals a heart that has lost sight of God’s grace.

Honoring Ourselves Without Self-Exaltation

This part can feel uncomfortable, but it matters. Honoring God also includes honoring ourselves—not through pride or self-centeredness, but through stewardship.

When we rest, we honor God’s design. When we set healthy boundaries, we acknowledge our limits. When we care for our bodies, minds, and souls, we recognize that we are not machines—we are beloved creations.

Burnout, neglect, and constant striving are not badges of honor. Rest is not laziness; it is obedience. Even God rested.

A Life That Gives God His Due

The tragedy of many kings was not that they were imperfect—it’s that they refused to make God their center. Honoring God is not about never failing; it’s about continually reorienting our hearts toward Him.

May we be people who give YHWH the glory due His name—not just with our words, but with our lives.

A Prayer

Father God,

We acknowledge You as holy, faithful, and worthy of all honor. Forgive us for the ways we have minimized You, ignored Your voice, or trusted ourselves more than You. Reorient our hearts toward reverence and love.

Teach us to fear You rightly—not with terror, but with awe. Help us walk in Your ways, love You deeply, and serve You with all our heart and soul. Show us how to honor others with humility and kindness, and how to honor ourselves through rest and wise stewardship.

May our lives reflect the glory due Your name. Let everything we do be an offering of worship.

Amen.

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The Apostle Paul said much about love. He didn’t write about it as theory or poetry. He wrote as someone who had been ambushed, undone, and rebuilt by the love of YHWH. His letters pulse with the certainty of a man who knew—from the marrow—that there is no pit so deep God’s love cannot reach it. That is why he could proclaim: “. . . neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord” (Romans 8:38–39 ESV).

Paul wasn’t offering comfort from a distance. He was speaking from the ruins of his old life—from the dust where Yeshua met him.

Before Damascus, Paul lived behind his own wall of blindness. A scholar of the law, faultless by his own account (Philippians 3:4–6), he knew the Scriptures but had never encountered Love Himself. Righteousness was something he chased, never something he received. But on the road to Damascus, Yeshua shattered the glass. Light pierced through his certainty, his defenses, his self-made identity. And in that brightness, Paul was undone by love.

I often imagine what that moment must have felt like—the brilliance, the heat, the shock of falling to the ground, the voice calling his name. It was not judgment. It was mercy. Perhaps you, too, have had a moment when YHWH’s love broke through your defenses—when a long-hidden barrier cracked and the light spilled in.

In that single encounter, Paul’s world changed. He went from persecuting the church to proclaiming the gospel, from wielding control to surrendering everything. And from that surrender, he began to write and live out what it means to be fully known and loved by YHWH. I think that’s why his words still cut through the centuries. He wasn’t preaching theology; he was describing what it felt like to be completely consumed by the love that once seemed out of reach.

The significance of this verse lies in what Paul is really trying to say: that there is no realm, no season, no force, no failure, and no shadow that can outrun the love of Yeshua. The love he met on that Damascus road was not fragile or conditional; it was a love that pursued him into darkness and carried him into purpose. This is why Paul could anchor his entire identity in the love of YHWH—because he had experienced what happens when love invades the very places we believe are beyond redemption.

When Paul says nothing can separate us, he is declaring that love is the truest constant in the universe. Not our wounds. Not our circumstances. Not our past or our fears about the future. Only love remains. This is the bedrock of abiding: not holding on to God, but resting in the truth that God never stops holding on to us.

When Paul prayed for the Ephesians, his longing was unmistakable: “. . . that you, being rooted and established in love, may have power . . . to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ” (Ephesians 3:17–19 NIV). Paul wasn’t asking for them to develop a theological concept or articulate a doctrine. He was pleading for something far more intimate—to be rooted in love the way a tree anchors itself deep into the earth, drawing its life from a source unseen. Paul knew that unless love became the foundation beneath their feet, everything else in their spiritual life would be unstable. Knowledge alone cannot hold us when old wounds resurface. But love—love that holds, surrounds, and permeates—can steady even the most fragile heart.

Paul didn’t want them to merely understand God’s love. He wanted them to experience it—to feel it the way he felt it when the light of Yeshua poured through his shattered glass. Paul knew that only the Spirit could expand their inner capacity enough to receive a love so wide it covers every failure, so long it stretches beyond every season, so high it lifts us out of shame, and so deep it reaches into the places we believed were beyond repair.

For Paul, love wasn’t something to study but something to encounter. And once you encounter it, you are never the same. Are you experiencing that kind of love—the kind that doesn’t just reach your mind, but saturates your entire being?

Paul describes love not as an abstract virtue but as a living force. In 1 Corinthians 13:4-7 (NIV), he revealed: “Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.”

Each phrase describes the flow of divine love—gentle yet unstoppable. But how often do we read that passage as a checklist for how we should love, instead of an invitation to first receive love? I used to try so hard to be patient, to be kind, but inside, I was still trying to earn what YHWH was freely offering. My childhood wounds had trained me to measure my worth through performance, and that striving kept the glass intact.

If you’ve ever tried to live out love without first letting yourself be loved, you know how exhausting it is. Love cannot flow from an empty heart. And yet, we often hold ourselves hostage behind guilt or shame, keeping a record of our wrongs, refusing to forgive our own failures. But Paul said love “keeps no record.” That includes the record we keep against ourselves.

Can you sense the invitation in that? To finally lay down the self-condemnation, to stop pressing your forehead against the cold glass of regret, and let YHWH’s warmth melt through?

Paul ends his great discourse on love by saying: “These three remain: faith, hope, and love. But the greatest of these is love,” (1 Corinthians 13:13 NIV). Why is love the greatest? Because faith anchors us. Hope sustains us. But love transforms us.

Love is the language of the Kingdom. It is the atmosphere of Heaven. It is what reshapes us from the inside until we begin to reflect the One who loved us first.

I think again of Niagara Falls—how sunlight hits the mist and turns it into a thousand tiny rainbows. When the light meets the water, beauty refracts everywhere. This is what happens when the light of YHWH’s love meets our brokenness. The places that once distorted love become the very places where His glory shines. The same glass that once kept love out becomes a prism for grace.

And now, as this part of our journey ends, we are stepping into the place Paul prayed all believers would enter—a life rooted and established in love, not just touched by it. A life where love is not a moment or a miracle, but the home your heart dwells in.

Prayer:

Father, thank You for the love that nothing can separate me from—neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future. Help me to dwell fully in that love, to let it flow through every part of my heart, mind, and soul. Holy Spirit, guide me into all truth and show me how deeply I am chosen, held, and beloved. Teach me to receive Your love not as a concept but as life itself, and to reflect it to others with patience, kindness, and freedom. Let me remain in Your love each day, resting, trusting, and walking in the fullness of Your grace.

Application:

Spend five minutes in silence today. Imagine yourself standing beneath the waterfall of YHWH’s love, feeling His presence touch every part of you.

Journal prompt:

Reflect on Paul’s words in Ephesians 3:17–19 and Romans 8:38–39. How have you personally experienced the “depth, width, height, and length” of God’s love? Where in your life do you still hold back from fully receiving it? Write about what it might look and feel like to abide in that love every day, letting it saturate your thoughts, choices, and relationships.

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To read more about healing from early childhood rejection in this series, click on the links: Introduction, Distrust, Worthlessness, Loneliness, Depression, Hopelessness, Anxiety, Fear, Anger, Grief, Unforgiveness, Love Oneself, ‘aheb, hesed, racham, Hosea, Messiah, Agapaó, Apostle John, Holy Spirit

OR

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“Only the holy spirit, the spirit of the Lord, can transform us.” —Joseph Prince

Many of us who have been rejected begin our journey with YHWH longing to understand and experience His love. As we walk with Him, as we invite Him into the deeper places, His love becomes more of a reality. Still, even after healing begins, something in us may hesitate to receive that love fully. Not because we are broken in the way we once were, but because we are still learning what it means to remain—settled, grounded, and at home in His presence.

This is where the Holy Spirit steps in. Not as a distant mystery, but as the nearness of YHWH Himself.

For years, I believed in God’s love and even caught glimpses of it—light shining through the pane of glass. The glass isn’t the same now; it has been cleaned, tended, and softened. But it’s still a barrier of sorts, a thin layer of self-protection shaped by years of surviving without tenderness. And yet, even now, even here, the Spirit continues to draw closer, not to expose my weakness but to deepen my capacity to receive.

If you’ve ever felt disconnected from YHWH’s love—like you can’t feel what others seem to feel—know this: nothing is wrong with you. Your heart has simply learned to protect itself. The Spirit knows how to reach the parts of you that even you can’t access.

Who is the Holy Spirit?

We can answer with theology—Comforter, Helper, Counselor. We can quote Yeshua’s promise: “And I will ask the Father, and he will give you another advocate to help you and be with you forever—the Spirit of truth” (John 14:16–17 NIV). But knowing His titles is different from recognizing His presence in the quiet places of our own hearts.

The Spirit does now what He has always done. Genesis says the Spirit of YHWH hovered over the waters—over emptiness, over formlessness, over places waiting for life (Genesis 1:2). He hovers still. He moves over the parts of our hearts that have healed and the parts still taking shape. His work is not rushed. His love is not distant. He draws near in both strength and tenderness.

When we experience rejection in our early years, our hearts adapt for survival. We learn to hide the most vulnerable parts of ourselves, protecting them from pain. But in that protection, we also shut out love. We grow into adults who can believe in YHWH’s love but not feel it.

The Spirit’s role is to heal that disconnection—to soften what has been hardened and to reveal YHWH’s love in the places where we’ve walled ourselves off. He makes YHWH’s love tangible. What we once viewed from a distance, we begin to experience. What once felt like a concept becomes something we sense with our whole being.

And yet, many of us are still learning how to step closer. Not because we fear love as we once did, but because love this abundant feels weighty. It feels like surrender. The Spirit is the One who gently leads us into that nearness, helping us lean into the flow instead of standing behind the rail.

Over time, I’ve learned that the Spirit doesn’t pressure us to break the remaining glass—He warms it. He breathes on it from the inside. He shows us how to trust the Father’s love in deeper ways than we knew before. The healing is no longer about survival; it’s about abiding. It’s about living at ease in love that once felt impossible.

Yeshua said, “As the Father has loved me, so have I loved you. Abide in my love.” (John 15:9 ESV). Abiding requires presence. And presence is what the Holy Spirit provides. He brings us back when our minds wander. He steadies us when old patterns pull. He whispers hope when memories try to cast shadows. He guides us “into all the truth” (John 16:13 ESV)—not just the truth about YHWH, but the truth about how loved we are.

The Holy Spirit is YHWH’s love made present. He helps us move from knowing to abiding, from glimpsing to receiving, from stepping close to living soaked in the mist of God’s affection.

And as we remain, love becomes less something we reach for and more something we rest in. The falls don’t diminish. The water doesn’t slow. The Spirit invites us to stand there—heart open, soul awake—letting the fullness of God’s love wash over us again and again.

Scripture paints the Spirit’s work as gentle and powerful all at once. He comes as breath (John 20:22), as wind (Acts 2:2), as fire (Acts 2:3), as living water flowing from within (John 7:38–39). He is the One who reminds us of everything Yeshua taught (John 14:26), who intercedes for us when we don’t have words (Romans 8:26), who testifies to our spirits that we are God’s children (Romans 8:16). Every description points to this truth: He does not merely inform us of YHWH’s love—He imparts it.

In John 14:16 (NIV), Yeshua described the Spirit as an advocate. The word advocate means helper, comforter, and one who stands beside. Yeshua knew our hearts would need healing. He knew the trauma of rejection, the ache of abandonment, the sting of being misunderstood. He sent the Holy Spirit to hover over us in those very wounds.

The Spirit doesn’t merely comfort us; He re-teaches us how to love and be loved. He restores what rejection tried to erase.

Paul wrote that “ . . . God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us” (Romans 5:5b ESV). I used to imagine that as a gentle flow, a quiet stream. But the more the Spirit heals, the more that picture changes. His love is not a trickle—it is an outpouring. It is more like Niagara Falls: the unrelenting rush of water, the sound that shakes the air, the mist that settles on your skin and wakes your senses. When you stand before the falls, you don’t simply observe; you feel it. The power moves through you.

But many of us approach YHWH like tourists at a distance, standing safely behind the rail, admiring the view but afraid to step closer. The roar of His love feels too powerful, too uncontrollable. The Spirit’s invitation, however, is not to observe but to enter in—to move beyond the barrier and stand in the mist of His love.

What keeps you standing back? What childhood messages still tell you that love will drown you, that it’s safer to stay dry behind the glass?

The more I walk with Him, the more I see that the Spirit’s work is not merely to comfort injury—it’s to cultivate intimacy. He takes the love we’ve discovered in YHWH and deepens it until it becomes the atmosphere we breathe. He teaches us to stay. To sit. To linger. To cease striving. To trust the One who loves us with an everlasting love (Jeremiah 31:3).

Yeshua told us to abide in His love. Abiding is spiritual work—Spirit-enabled, Spirit-sustained. The Holy Spirit helps us recognize the Father’s affection in daily life, helps us return when fear nudges us away, helps us rest instead of brace, receive instead of analyze.

He guides us into all truth (John 16:13), and that truth is not abstract. It is personal. It is the truth that we are chosen (Ephesians 1:4), beloved (1 John 3:1), held (Psalm 139:10), and never abandoned (Deuteronomy 31:6).

The Spirit is the steady presence reminding us that we belong. That YHWH delights in us. That love is not fleeting. That we are safe to draw near.

As healing continues, the question is no longer, Why can’t I feel His love? Instead, it becomes, How deeply am I willing to receive? How close am I willing to stand? What would it mean to live daily in the mist, not the margins?

The Holy Spirit is YHWH’s love made palpable—inviting, enveloping, ever-near. The One who brings us from discovery into dwelling, from hunger into fullness, from distance into abiding. The One who stands with us at the edge of the waterfall and gently says, “Come closer. There is more.”

Prayer:

Holy Spirit, thank You for being the nearness of YHWH’s love in my daily life. Teach me to remain, to dwell, to rest in the love that You pour into my heart. Warm every place that still hesitates, and draw me deeper into trust. Let the presence of the Father become as real to me as the mist of a waterfall—constant, awakening, and impossible to ignore. Guide me into all truth, especially the truth of how deeply I am loved. Let Your presence be the atmosphere I breathe and the home where my heart finally settles.

Application:

Set aside ten unhurried minutes today to sit in silence with the Holy Spirit. Place your hand over your heart and take a slow breath, asking Him to make you aware of His nearness. Don’t strive to feel anything—simply invite Him to help you remain in YHWH’s love. Read John 15:9 aloud, slowly, letting each word settle in you. As you sit, pay attention to any sense of warmth, peace, or gentle reassurance. End your time by thanking the Spirit for being the One who helps you dwell in the Father’s love moment by moment.

Journal prompt:

Write about a recent moment when you became aware—however subtly—of the Holy Spirit’s presence. What were you doing? What shifted inside you? Reflect on how the Spirit is helping you abide in YHWH’s love in this season of your journey. Are there places within you that feel more open or at rest than they once did? Describe what abiding in His love looks and feels like for you today.

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To read more about healing from early childhood rejection in this series, click on the links: Introduction, Distrust, Worthlessness, Loneliness, Depression, Hopelessness, Anxiety, Fear, Anger, Grief, Unforgiveness, Love Oneself, ‘aheb, hesed, racham, Hosea, Messiah, Agapaó, Apostle John

OR

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“ . . . for love is from God, and whoever loves has been born of God and knows God. Anyone who does not love does not know God, because God is love.” —Apostle John

We can stand at the edge of Niagara Falls, watching millions of gallons of water rush forward, yet remain untouched behind thick glass. We can hear the thunder of the water colliding, but feel none of its mist on our skin. That’s what YHWH’s love can feel like when we know about Him intellectually but have never truly experienced Him. The apostle John, who walked with Yeshua and leaned against his chest, understood the difference—he knew that YHWH is love and longs to pour it into our lives.

When John wrote those words, he was not offering a theological statement—he was sharing a personal revelation. He spoke this truth to new believers after years of walking with Yeshua. John had eaten with Him, traveled dusty roads beside Him, and witnessed miracles that defied logic and awakened the soul. He had stood so close to the Son of YHWH that he could hear and feel His heartbeat.

John saw love with eyes that had watched Yeshua kneel to wash his feet. He heard love in the gentleness of Yeshua’s voice as He told the weary and brokenhearted, “Your faith has made you well.” He felt love standing at the foot of the cross as his teacher and friend hung dying, still forgiving. Yeshua did not come to impress the powerful or gain favor among the religious elite. He came to heal the broken, lift the weary, and extend compassion to those pushed aside. He came for us—you and me. John’s message is one of love that is both seen and felt.

During his years with Yeshua, John came to understand that divine love is not simply something YHWH gives; it is who YHWH is. That understanding compelled him to write, “See what kind of love the Father has given to us, that we should be called children of God; and so we are” (1 John 3:1a, ESV).

John’s journey began beside the Sea of Galilee. He and his brother James were mending nets with their father when Yeshua called to them: “Follow me” (Mark 1:19–20). Without hesitation, they left everything behind. Imagine being at your workplace—mid-task—when someone you barely know invites you to abandon your routine and follow Him into the unknown. Would you go? John did. Perhaps he sensed something holy in that moment, something in the way Yeshua looked at him—a love deeper than reason.

From that moment, John’s life transformed. For three years, he and the other disciples lived with Yeshua. They listened, learned, and observed Him closely. They saw what compassion looked like when embodied in human form. Yet John’s relationship with Yeshua went even deeper than most.

Three key events in Scripture highlight this closeness. The first is the resurrection of Jairus’s daughter (Mark 5:21–43). Jairus, a synagogue leader, pleaded with Yeshua to heal his dying child. When news came that she had died, Yeshua pressed forward anyway. Only John, Peter, and James were invited to witness the miracle firsthand. John saw the power of love that conquers death.

The second is the Transfiguration (Matthew 17:1–11). On a high mountain, Yeshua took the same three with Him to pray. His face shone like the sun, His clothes radiant as light, and Moses and Elijah appeared beside Him. A cloud enveloped them, and the voice of YHWH declared, “This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased; listen to him.” The men fell in awe. John didn’t hear about YHWH’s love—he heard it spoken.

The third is the Garden of Gethsemane, hours before the crucifixion. Yeshua brought all His disciples but chose John, Peter, and James to go farther with Him into the garden. There, under the weight of sorrow, Yeshua confided, “My soul is overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death . . .” (Matthew 26:38, NIV). John saw love under pressure—love that agonized, yet obeyed.

Through these experiences, John witnessed both the glory and the grief of Yeshua. Several times in the Gospel of John, he refers to himself as “the one whom Yeshua loved.” Though it may sound odd today, in ancient writing, the third-person reference was common. More importantly, it reveals John’s identity—not in what he did, but in who loved him.

At the Last Supper, that love was visible. Reclining around the table, Yeshua announced that one of them would betray Him. Peter motioned to John, seated beside Yeshua, to ask who it was. Scripture describes John as “leaning close to Yeshua” (John 13:25, NOG). Only one who feels utterly safe leans in that way.

Later, at the cross, love reached its fullest expression. As Yeshua hung dying, His mother and a few faithful followers stood nearby, including John. Seeing them, Yeshua said to His mother, “Woman, here is your son,” and to John, “Here is your mother” (John 19:26–27, NIV). In that moment, Yeshua entrusted what was most precious to Him—His mother—to His beloved disciple. From that day, John cared for her in his home.

John had seen love in every season—teaching, healing, suffering, dying, and rising again. So when he later wrote, “Beloved, let us love one another, for love is from God,” he was not offering an ideal but a reality he had lived. “Anyone who does not love does not know God, because God is love. In this the love of God was made manifest among us, that God sent his only Son into the world, so that we might live through him. In this is love, not that we have loved God but that he loved us” (1 John 4:7–10, ESV).

If YHWH is love, whoever abides in love abides in YHWH—and YHWH in them. John’s message was both simple and radical: to know YHWH is to love, and to love is to know YHWH. Yet we often resist this truth. From Eden onward, people have turned from love, choosing independence over intimacy. YHWH has never rejected us—we have rejected Him. Still, His love remains, waiting for us to return.

For many, the idea of YHWH’s love feels distant. We may know about it intellectually, yet not experience it fully. I first sensed YHWH’s love as a child, sitting in church, singing hymns on a wooden pew. It was a quiet, steady warmth, something sacred and unseen that settled deep in my soul. That memory became an anchor through years of striving to feel it again. For a long time, wounds from rejection kept me from experiencing it fully.

The danger of glass is its illusion of closeness. Like standing behind a window watching Niagara Falls, you see the power, beauty, and motion—but feel none of its mist on your skin. YHWH’s love is like that waterfall—unceasing, powerful, overflowing. When pain, shame, or rejection build a glass wall in our hearts, that love only reaches us from a distance.

What would it look like for you to let that glass shatter? To let His love rush in like water over the edge of Niagara, drenching every part of your soul?

John’s life testifies that divine love is not distant—it is tangible. It leans close. It whispers truth. It walks with us through grief and joy alike. John didn’t hear Yeshua say, “Abide in my love” (John 15:9, ESV); he lived it.

When I imagine John in his later years—his hair silvered, his hands weathered by work—I picture him reflecting on the days he walked with Yeshua. Perhaps he remembered the warmth of that upper room, the light in Yeshua’s eyes, the sound of His laughter. And maybe he smiled, realizing that what he once felt beside him now lived within him. That is the mystery of love John understood: YHWH is not simply with us—He is in us.

Have you felt that kind of love—one that doesn’t merely surround you, but fills you entirely?

John wanted his readers to know that love is the evidence of YHWH’s presence. “No one has ever seen God,” he wrote, “but if we love one another, God abides in us and his love is perfected in us” (1 John 4:12, ESV). When we love others, we reveal the invisible. Love makes YHWH visible through our lives.

To love is to open ourselves—to risk being hurt, misunderstood, or rejected. But when our love flows from YHWH’s love, it is no longer fragile. It is infinite, drawn from an eternal source. Like a waterfall that never stops pouring, YHWH’s love keeps flowing, cleansing, and renewing everything it touches.

Prayer:

Father, thank You for showing me what true love looks like through Yeshua. Help me to receive Your love fully, so that it can fill every part of my heart. Heal the wounds that have kept me from experiencing Your presence and help me trust in Your perfect care. Teach me to love others from the overflow of Your love, not from my own strength. May Your agapaó guide my words, actions, and thoughts each day. Let Your love shine through me, revealing Your presence to those around me.

Application:

Embody YHWH’s love today through a simple act of kindness—something unexpected, perhaps to a stranger.

Journal prompt:

How did the above activity make you feel? What shifted in you?

buy me a ☕️

To read more about healing from early childhood rejection in this series, click on the links: Introduction, Distrust, Worthlessness, Loneliness, Depression, Hopelessness, Anxiety, Fear, Anger, Grief, Unforgiveness, Love Oneself, ‘aheb, hesed, racham, Hosea, Messiah, Agapaó