Thoughts on Love and Everything In Between – Part 4
Hidden on Purpose
A blind man, after being healed by Jesus, says,
“Yes,” he said. “My sight is coming back! I’m beginning to see people, but they look like trees, walking trees.” — Mark 8:24 TPT
Summer 2023.
The light was glistening, and my eyes were heavy. I had just returned to myself, slowly recollecting the events of the past few hours. And then it hit me — I had done it again. I had prayed that prayer. One that now lingers around me like a sacred declaration. It haunts me.
Medically speaking, can heartbreak cause real physical pain? I used to think it was a myth. Life had already handed me my fair share of disappointments, so I knew better than to rush to the ER over a broken heart. But that night? That night was different.
It was past midnight, and I could feel my spirit slipping. My chest burned in ways I had never known. I had been moving like a ghost all week, counting down to Friday — the only day I felt permitted to break down. I left work early, walked out of the train station near my apartment, and then it began. The weeping. Full-on, unrestrained grief. I don’t recall much else from that night, but I do remember the moment I realized my body couldn’t take it anymore. I was empty. I had reached my limit. My body was beginning to shut down.
Then came the prayer. As with many kairos moments in my life, I felt something rise up from within me, as though Heaven intervened to save me from myself. I didn’t overthink it. I just spoke:
"Lord, hide me in the deepest parts of You. Guard me so jealously, so fiercely, that I may only be found by a man who must search Your heart to discover me."
It wasn’t a long prayer. Simple and real. And the next morning, I felt lighter. I remember waking up to sunlight streaming into my room, and for the first time in weeks, I smiled. You know that Bill Withers song Lovely Day? That was me.
Still, the healing wasn’t instant. Alongside the romantic heartbreak, I hadn’t just lost a relationship, I had lost a spiritual home. My church. The community that had once been my anchor had become part of the ache. So I wandered for a while, spiritually homeless but still clinging to God.
Those months were what I call my time in Heaven’s auto workshop. God was doing something under the hood. Quietly but intentionally, He was fixing me. And though I didn’t fully understand the process, I had peace because I knew I was in His will.
Eventually, an acquaintance invited me to a prayer marathon at her church. I hadn’t prayed for more than fifteen minutes in months, but something told me to go. That morning in January, God came. Fully, wholly, lovingly — He came for me.
If you’ve been following my journey, you may remember when I spoke about my Nineveh season. That chapter of my life was painful, but it forced me to turn around. God had been trying to get my attention, and I had finally stilled long enough to listen. Once I did, everything began to realign. He started to show me the bigger picture — a destiny I couldn’t have imagined. This blog? It’s one of the fruits of that redirection.
Today, I often joke and say, “I am a Tree.” Like the man in Mark 8 who saw people like walking trees, I’ve come to accept that I’m intentionally hidden. Hidden for protection. Hidden for purpose. Hidden until the right one seeks not just me, but the heart of God.
Some women ask God to remove their veil so the right man can find them. I’ve stopped asking. My prayer now is, “God, protect what You’re building.” And if that means I’m a Tree until the appointed time, so be it.
I have no more love to waste. No more heartbreaks to volunteer for. And in the meantime, I’m okay being held — not by a man, but by the One who made me.
David the Psalmist perfectly captured the state of my heart in Psalm 18:1–2:
I love you, Yahweh, and I’m bonded to you, my strength!
Yahweh, you’re the bedrock beneath my feet, my faith-fortress, my wonderful deliverer, my God, my rock of rescue where none can reach me. You’re the shield around me, the mighty power that saves me, and my high place.
Next week, I’ll wrap up this series by reflecting on what I’ve learned about love, purpose, and how the two have always been deeply intertwined in my story.