Writers 
THE ROOTS THAT GREW IN SILENCE
I grew in rooms no one clapped for.
In seasons no one posted.
In years that looked like nothing
but were actually everything.
They called it delay.
God called it development.
I used to hate the waiting.
Hate the closed doors.
Hate watching people pass me
while I was still tying my shoes.
I thought I was behind.
I thought God forgot the promise.
But what I didn’t see
was what He was doing underground.
See, trees don’t grow by accident.
Before the leaves, there are roots.
Before the fruit, there is pruning.
Before the platform, there is pressure.
And pressure, when you don’t quit,
turns into power.
So God kept me quiet.
Not to punish me.
But to protect me.
From opportunities I wasn’t ready for.
From versions of success
that would have killed the real me.
From applause that would have made me forget who I was
when I had nothing but prayer and faith.
In the silence, He taught me discipline.
Waking up when no one was watching.
Working when there was no pay.
Forgiving people who never said sorry.
Choosing peace over being right.
Choosing obedience over being seen.
In the silence, He healed me.
Healed the little girl who thought she wasn’t enough.
Healed the wounds I called “personality.”
Healed my need to be chosen by people
so I could finally be led by Him.
And slowly, without me noticing,
I became steady.
Not loud. Steady.
Not perfect. Steady.
Not there yet. But steady.
Now I understand.
The years that felt wasted
were actually invested.
The tears that felt pointless
were watering seeds.
The “no’s” that broke me
were saving me from a “yes”
that I couldn’t carry.
