When I was a kid, I always thought I would miss out on something. That fear consumed me. I worried that my friends would meet without me, that my boyfriend would find someone better, or that I’d miss a rare moment of laughter and joy with my family.
In school, there was always an in crowd—the group that made life look better than the life I had been given. That’s what I began to fear missing out on.
In seventh grade, I finally got the chance to sit at those tables, to walk home with that group, to be included. But the more time I spent there, the more I realized something: I wasn’t meant for that table. I was meant for something different.
I’d like to say I learned my lesson then, but the truth is—even now at forty-two—I still have moments when I look at the circles I’ll never be invited into and feel that old fear of missing out rise again.
A few years ago, I received a prophetic word that changed everything. The Lord reminded me that there was a seat at the table prepared for me—not a table of man’s making, not one built on prominence or popularity, but one the Father Himself had set. There, a seat was reserved for me.
That moment marked a turning point. It was the beginning of me becoming the woman who would write these words.
Because now, I don’t care about the tables of man. The more I walk with Him, the more I know: If I were offered a seat at those tables today, I’d likely decline.
For I have found my place at the Father’s table— and that’s where I belong.
Reflection
True belonging isn’t about fitting in—it’s about being chosen. The Father’s table is never crowded, never exclusive, and never closed. There’s a seat with your name on it, waiting for you to rest, be seen, and be known.
It’s a habit I’ve always had — to hold tightly to what I’ve hoped, prayed, and longed for. In many ways, it came from believing it was my job to make things happen instead of simply giving my yes as they unfolded.
But over the past few seasons, I’ve learned something powerful: what is meant for me will be — and what isn’t, no matter how hard I try to force it, will not.
There may be moments that look like success, but in the end, those things will flow right through my hands like water. Even knowing this, the hardest lesson has been realizing that what is meant for me will never receive my full attention as long as I’m still holding on to what isn’t.
The Dream in the Field
In 2024, I had a dream.
I was standing in a vast open field — grass stretching as far as the eye could see. To my right were tools, many tools. To my left were bricks of varying sizes. And before me on the ground lay a set of blueprints.
Then I heard the audible voice of God say, “It’s time for you to build.”
I asked, “What would You like me to build?” He replied, “I’d like you to build My house.” I frowned slightly and said, “I don’t want to do it alone.” And He answered, “You aren’t alone. I am with you, and as you begin to build, others will come alongside you.”
That dream became a turning point for me — as a minister, a daughter, and an image-bearer. But I didn’t fully understand it at the time. I thought it was about building a ministry, a business, or a title. What I failed to see was that it was actually an invitation to build differently — from intimacy, not ambition.
It was a call to step away from the systems I thought I needed and to embrace the freedom that exists only in Him.
His Yoke Is Easy
Not long ago, I sat with the scripture that says, “My yoke is easy, and My burden is light.” (Matthew 11:30)
For so long, those words puzzled me. Because often, those who “walk with Him” talk about how hard life is — full of battles, challenges, and pain. But I began to wonder: what are we carrying that makes what should be light feel so heavy?
Maybe, like me, you’ve picked up things that were never yours to carry. Because when God gives you something to carry, He also gives you the grace and provision for it.
Work vs. Tarry
I started to notice the difference between working and tarrying. When we work with Him, there is provision, increase, and life. But when we tarry in our own strength, it feels like climbing uphill and never reaching the top.
In Zechariah 4, there’s a vision of two olive trees pouring out oil — a prophetic picture of the indwelling Christ and the unending flow of His Spirit. Religion often teaches us that we must fight, strive, and struggle. But scripture tells us that when something is of Him, even the mountains before us become plains.
When something is born of His Spirit, we don’t have to fight for it — it simply flows.
Learning to Let Go
This doesn’t mean we stop showing up, studying, or working diligently. But when we no longer sense the life of Christ in what we’re doing, it’s time to pause — to ask Him to reveal the door that no man can shut.
The door that leads into the realm of rest, love, and abiding in Him.
Why do I write this? Because for so long, I believed I had to perform, achieve, and prove my worth to God. But His love was never meant to be a place of striving — it’s a place of abiding.
So if you’re tired of trying to fit into systems of striving and sacrifice — let go.
Let go, and wait for the blueprint of your eternal design — the one written in Christ that reveals who you truly are.
Because letting go doesn’t mean losing — it means making room. It opens your eyes to see what He truly has for you. And sometimes that means allowing Him to redefine and reframe what you thought was meant for you.
Scripture Meditation
“Not by might, nor by power, but by My Spirit,” says the Lord of Hosts. — Zechariah 4:6 “My yoke is easy, and My burden is light.” — Matthew 11:30
In The Heart Of The Father 