You Will See Me Rise
There are moments when rising does not roar.It breathes. It gathers itself in the quiet, where wounds have learned to listen and hope has learned to wait. This is not the story of sudden victory, but of holy persistence—the kind that grows beneath the soil long before it dares to meet the sun. I did not rise because the pain ended.I rose because something eternal whispered, You are not finished.What follows is not a testimony polished by time, but a living remembering. A tracing of the sacred fingerprints left in places I once thought abandoned. Here, I name the falling, the waiting, and the slow awakening of strength that comes not from striving, but from surrender. You will see me rise—not above the ashes, but from within them.