I didn’t know I had begun a race

until I felt the breath of heaven at my back—

whispering, Keep going, daughter.

The path wasn’t marked,

no banners, no cheering crowds,

just quiet mornings lit by purpose

and late-night prayers that stitched my soul back together.

There were days my feet felt heavy

with choices that cost me more than sleep.

There were nights when silence

felt louder than the world I had walked away from.

But something holy kept pulling me forward—

a yearning deeper than fear,

a calling stronger than the storms.

I learned that sacrifice isn’t losing—

it’s planting.

And every seed I placed in the dark

was watered by hands I could not see.

For on the other side of the veil,

family waited—

kūpuna with eyes bright as dawn,

ancestors who knew my name

before I ever learned my own.

They watched as I stood alone

yet never alone—

moving through the refining fire,

shedding old skin,

choosing light when shadows begged me to bend.

I walked with angels

even when I thought I walked in silence.

Two years.

Two sacred, stretching, sanctifying years.

Every tear was counted,

every prayer recorded,

every act of courage echoed in eternity.

The mission was not stamped or assigned—

it was carved by the Lord into the chambers of my heart.

And I said yes.

Again and again, I said yes.

And then one day,

without an audience, without applause,

I crossed an invisible finish line.

No tape to break—

only a veil that thinned,

only the warmth of heaven rising

as a chorus of family whispered,

We felt every step. You carried us with your faith.

And because you ran, we rise.

I didn’t win a medal.

I won myself back.

I won my purpose back.

I won a life aligned with eternity.

And now—

with the dust of the journey still on my feet,

I stand stronger, clearer,

wrapped in the peace of a God

who never left me wandering.

This was my race of becoming—

my mission of remembrance,

my offering to those who came before me

and those who will follow after.

And though the finish line was invisible,

the victory is not.

It lives in my voice,

in my covenant heart,

in my restored identity as a daughter of the Light.