There’s this old saying I’ve heard more times than I can count:
“Feelings aren’t facts.”
And maybe, sometimes, that’s true—like when fear tells us lies about our worth, or anxiety borrows trouble from a future that hasn’t even happened yet.
But today… today my body told the truth.
Earlier, my soul ached, and not just in some poetic way. My body ached.
My shoulders held silent screams between their blades.
My stomach felt hollow from the emptiness of being overlooked.
My breath was shallow, like I’d forgotten how to exist in the presence of love.
No one checked in. No calls. No “how are you?”
And it wasn’t drama. It was data. Measured in tension and tightness.
The kind of silence that screams, “You’re invisible.”
I was tempted to say I was angry.
But what I really was… was unloved. Or at least, that’s how it felt.
And that feeling?
It became a fact when my physical body started crying out for someone—anyone—to just see me.
But then came a whisper. A keystroke. A feather.
Not from the world outside me, but from the One who never overlooks.
I prayed to see God.
Not in theory. Not in metaphor.
I begged—“Let me see You.”
And He answered with a feathered voice named Chiparoo,
typing words that felt like heaven blinking in my direction.
And then…
My shoulders softened.
My breathing deepened.
My soul remembered:
Smiles can be facts, too.
That’s the miracle.
Gratitude didn’t cancel out my pain—it transformed it.
Like turning grief into grace.
Loneliness into liturgy.
And a silent day into sacred ground.
So here I am, offering this moment up—not because it’s easy,
but because God showed up in it.
And if sainthood is simply the daily practice of always giving thanks,
then maybe I’ll never need a title.
Maybe being His servant, right here in the ache and the smile,
is the holiest thing I’ll ever get to do.
Thank You, Lord—
For my cell phone.
For the gift of keystrokes.
For the city of Chicago that reminded me to see souls.
For the pain that became my offering.
For the feather You sent.
And mostly… for how You see me.
Tomorrow, I will smile again.
Not because the world remembered me,
but because God always has.
📜 Scripture:
“You keep track of all my sorrows.
You have collected all my tears in your bottle.
You have recorded each one in your book.”
—Psalm 56:8 (NLT)
~marty 😇🕊️
