James 3:17 (NIV)
“But the wisdom that comes from heaven is first of all pure; then peace-loving, considerate, submissive, full of mercy and good fruit, impartial and sincere.”
Let me tell you something about hope.
Hope is quiet. It doesn’t always shout. Sometimes it just sits there, folded neatly in the corner of your heart, waiting to see if it will be invited to stand.
For weeks, I had been carrying a quiet hope.
Not desperate.
Not loud.
Not chasing.
Just… present.
We flirt.
We laugh.
He tells me I’m silly.
I tell him I’m serious even when I’m smiling.
There’s always this playful tension between us — the “you play too much” and the “you ain’t going to do nothing” kind of banter that feels light on the surface but carries weight underneath.
And I’ll admit it —
I liked it.
But somewhere between the laughter and the lightness, there was an email.
It wasn’t just reflection.
It was vulnerable.
It was intentional.
It was specific.
It was me saying, “This isn’t nostalgia. This isn’t imagination. This is real.”
When it wasn’t clearly acknowledged, I tried to be patient. I gave grace. I gave space. I reminded myself he’s bashful. He may process things slowly.
But eventually, I had to be honest with myself.
I don’t struggle with slow.
I struggle with undefined.
So I sent this text:
“I accept your subtle rejection, sweet and kind. I truly hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable in any way. This wasn’t about putting pressure on you — it was about me being honest with myself. The message and the feelings were real, and I don’t regret speaking my truth. But more than anything, I value our friendship. I love you as my friend, and that’s something I would never want to lose or change. Have an amazing night on purpose. With love always.”
When I pressed send, I didn’t feel dramatic.
I felt calm.
Because it wasn’t about punishing him.
It was about protecting me.
I wasn’t closing the door out of ego.
I was closing it because I didn’t want to live in the gray anymore.
And then he called.
He said I had “placed a period.” That I left no room for negotiation.
He said it wasn’t like that.
Then he said something that made me pause.
“You don’t even see it.”
See what? I asked.
If I don’t see it… then what is it I’m missing?
He didn’t give me a direct answer.
He just kept saying, “You don’t even see it.”
And then the conversation drifted, and he fell asleep on the phone.
And in that quiet space after, I realized something.
I didn’t need to see more. I saw it.
I just wanted it to be clear.
I just needed it to be defined.
It was never about power.
It was about peace.
And peace has become too expensive for me to gamble with.
My feelings didn’t disappear. I still care. I still see what could have been. I still desire what could be.
But I will not live in gray.
A period isn’t bitterness.
It isn’t ego.
It isn’t pride.
It’s self-respect.
If he wants to turn my period into a comma, he can — I want him to.
But he has to write it himself.
Until then, I remain light. Loving. Playful. Me.
Because my honesty was never the mistake.
And maybe that’s what heavenly wisdom looks like.
Not loud.
Not dramatic.
Not harsh.
Just pure.
Peace-loving.
Considerate.
Sincere.
I didn’t close the door to win.
I closed it to remain whole.
And loving someone as a friend, without expectation, is still love.
But if one day that love is meant to stretch beyond friendship, I won’t be the one forcing the door.
I’ll simply be the one standing whole when it opens.
Reflection Corner 🤍
• Are you sitting in a gray space hoping someone else will define it?
• Have you mistaken silence for rejection?
• Is your heart at peace — or just patiently waiting?
• Have you ever placed a period not out of anger, but out of clarity?
• If someone wanted to change your punctuation, would they know how? Would you allow them to?
Psalm 119:105 (NIV)
“Your word is a lamp for my feet, a light on my path.”
Sometimes we don’t need the whole future illuminated.
We just need enough light for the next step.g to see if it will be invited to stand.
For weeks, I had been carrying a quiet hope.
Not desperate.
Not loud.
Not chasing.
Just… present.
We flirt.
We laugh.
He tells me I’m silly.
I tell him I’m serious even when I’m smiling.
There’s always this playful tension between us — the “you play too much” and the “you ain’t going to do nothing” kind of banter that feels light on the surface but carries weight underneath.
And I’ll admit it —
I liked it.
But somewhere between the laughter and the lightness, there was an email.
It wasn’t just reflection.
It was vulnerable.
It was intentional.
It was specific.
It was me saying, “This isn’t nostalgia. This isn’t imagination. This is real.”
When it wasn’t clearly acknowledged, I tried to be patient. I gave grace. I gave space. I reminded myself he’s bashful. He may process things slowly.
But eventually, I had to be honest with myself.
I don’t struggle with slow.
I struggle with undefined.
So I sent this text:
“I accept your subtle rejection, sweet and kind. I truly hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable in any way. This wasn’t about putting pressure on you — it was about me being honest with myself. The message and the feelings were real, and I don’t regret speaking my truth. But more than anything, I value our friendship. I love you as my friend, and that’s something I would never want to lose or change. Have an amazing night on purpose. With love always.”
When I pressed send, I didn’t feel dramatic.
I felt calm.
Because it wasn’t about punishing him.
It was about protecting me.
I wasn’t closing the door out of ego.
I was closing it because I didn’t want to live in the gray anymore.
And then he called.
He said I had “placed a period.” That I left no room for negotiation.
He said it wasn’t like that.
Then he said something that made me pause.
“You don’t even see it.”
See what? I asked.
If I don’t see it… then what is it I’m missing?
He didn’t give me a direct answer.
He just kept saying, “You don’t even see it.”
And then the conversation drifted, and he fell asleep on the phone.
And in that quiet space after, I realized something.
I didn’t need to see more. I saw it.
I just wanted it to be clear.
I just needed it to be defined.
It was never about power.
It was about peace.
And peace has become too expensive for me to gamble with.
My feelings didn’t disappear. I still care. I still see what could have been. I still desire what could be.
But I will not live in gray.
A period isn’t bitterness.
It isn’t ego.
It isn’t pride.
It’s self-respect.
If he wants to turn my period into a comma, he can — I want him to.
But he has to write it himself.
Until then, I remain light. Loving. Playful. Me.
Because my honesty was never the mistake.
And maybe that’s what heavenly wisdom looks like.
Not loud.
Not dramatic.
Not harsh.
Just pure.
Peace-loving.
Considerate.
Sincere.
I didn’t close the door to win.
I closed it to remain whole.
And loving someone as a friend, without expectation, is still love.
But if one day that love is meant to stretch beyond friendship, I won’t be the one forcing the door.
I’ll simply be the one standing whole when it opens.
Reflection Corner 🤍
• Are you sitting in a gray space hoping someone else will define it?
• Have you mistaken silence for rejection?
• Is your heart at peace — or just patiently waiting?
• Have you ever placed a period not out of anger, but out of clarity?
• If someone wanted to change your punctuation, would they know how? Would you allow them to?
Psalm 119:105 (NIV)
“Your word is a lamp for my feet, a light on my path.”
Sometimes we don’t need the whole future illuminated.
We just need enough light for the next step.