Guarding My Heart: A Journey in Trust

Over the years, I have become deeply convinced of one thing: we must be aware of the movement of our hearts. The thoughts and feelings that stir within us are not inconsequential—they reveal the inner direction of our souls. I have come to believe that every good feeling—love, peace, joy, hope—flows from the Spirit of God who dwells within us. But what about those negative feelings that so often disturb the quiet of our hearts—hatred, fear, anxiety, restlessness, or sadness? They surely do not come from God, the source of all goodness. They come from the one who seeks to rob us of peace and distance us from the Father’s tender care.

Why then should I entertain such feelings? God’s children are called to trust, not to worry; to believe, not to fear. My life’s journey has taught me to rest in His providence, confident that He is love itself and that He desires nothing but good for me.

Practising the presence of God—being aware that He walks with me in every moment—has become my strength. It has quieted my fears, dispelled my doubts, and filled me with peace even when the road grew dark. This truth shone most vividly during one of the most painful seasons of my life—when my husband was diagnosed with kidney failure and had to undergo a transplant.

In the days leading up to the surgery, he carefully tied up all his pending responsibilities, made his farewells to family and friends, and even recorded a short voice note for our children—a message of love, courage, and faith. On the morning of the surgery, he handed it to me with a quiet smile. The night before, I had not slept—not because of fear or anxiety—but because I longed to savour every moment by his side, aware that it might be our last together. I sat by his bed, gently caressing him, whispering prayers, and watching him sleep, surrounded by a strange and holy stillness.

When morning came, we prayed together, called our dear friend Lilly—his donor—and prayed with her as well. Before our children joined us, we took a quiet selfie together, and later, a joyful group photo before he was wheeled away to the operating theatre. It may seem paradoxical, but peace enveloped us. God’s presence was unmistakable.

Through it all, I have learned that peace is not the absence of pain or uncertainty but the Presence that holds you in the midst of it. Even in darkness, I have known light. Even in loss, I have felt love. As I look back now, I can say with quiet conviction—God has been faithful and good. Always.