The Faith That Lives Here

God of the Details 
Nothing Is Wasted. Not Even That.  
 

 

There were times I begged God for a burning bush; 
some big, loud, sky-splitting moment that said, 
“Nicole, this is Me. You’re on the right path.” 
 
But instead of fire from the sky, 
He sent a feather on the windshield. 
A hummingbird outside my window. 
A song playing in the grocery store that said exactly what I needed to hear, at the exact moment I was about to give up. 
 
And I realized something: 
God don’t always move in fireworks. 
Sometimes, He moves in fragments. 
 
In the right person calling at the right time. 
In a stranger saying “you have a beautiful spirit” when you feel invisible. 
In a bill being paid just when your lights were about to get cut off. 
In your child laughing on a day you thought you were failing them. 
 
That’s God too. 
The quiet, meticulous, I-see-you-and-I-care kind of God. 
 
He’s not just the God of miracles, 
He’s the God of gas money. 
The God of peace on the bus commute home. 
The God of open windows when doors slam shut. 
The God of giving you just enough strength to not text that man back. 
 
He is not random. 
And neither are you. 
 
I’ve come to believe that every little detail,  
even the weird delays, the “wrong” turns, the relationships that fell apart right when you thought they were solid,  
are woven together by divine design. 
 
That time you didn’t get what you wanted? 
That was protection. 
That job you lost? 
It made room for the one that would actually bless your life. 
That “no” you cried over? 
It was God’s not yet. 
 
I used to roll my eyes when people said “everything happens for a reason.” 
But now? 
I don’t just believe it. I live it. 
 
Because I’ve watched God gather up the broken pieces of my life like a quilt... 
sewing meaning into misery. 
Covering me with warmth I didn’t even know I needed. 
 
He is not the author of chaos. 
He is the keeper of order in a world that sometimes feels upside down. 
And when I look closely, when I really pay attention, 
I see His fingerprints on everything. 
 
Not just the big moments. 
 
But the details. 

Unfiltered moments of faith

 He Anointed My Scars...
 
I didn’t ask for this ministry. 
I didn’t pray for pain so I could preach about it. 
But here I am, standing in the center of a calling I never saw coming. 
 
I thought I was just trying to survive. 
Trying to raise my sons. 
Trying to outrun shame. 
Trying to stay clean and keep the pieces of my heart from shattering all the way. 
But what I didn’t know… 
Was that God was already turning every bruise into a blueprint. 
 
Every heartbreak? 
Now I recognize it in my clients’ voices before they even name it. 
Every time I was left, lied to, looked past? 
I now sit across from women who carry that same ache in their eyes, and I don’t flinch, because I remember. 
 
There’s a knowing in my spirit that can’t be taught in school. 
Because this kind of ministry doesn’t come from textbooks, it comes from testimonies. 
 
I don’t speak from theory. I speak from trenches. 
 
I’ve cried in parking lots after smiling through sessions. 
I’ve prayed for people who reminded me of the ones who hurt me. 
I’ve held the hands of addicts while remembering the days I didn’t think I deserved to live. 
 
This is holy ground I’m walking on. 
It didn’t come with a pulpit or a title. 
But it came with power. 
 
Not the kind that needs recognition. 
But the kind that can look at a person drowning in shame and say, 
“You are still worthy. You are still loved. And you are still called.” 
 
Because I’ve been there. 
 
I’ve been the one with track marks on my spirit. 
The one who thought, “If people knew the truth about me, they’d walk away.” 
But God didn’t walk away. 
He walked with me. 
 
And now I walk with others. 
 
That’s what this is. 
This ministry. 
This sacred, gritty, healing work. 
It’s the echo of a God who never wastes a single tear. 
The ripple effect of grace that started in my own pit… and turned into a lifeline for someone else. 
 
So, no. I didn’t ask for this ministry. 
 
But I accept it with trembling hands and a full heart. 
Because every time I pour from what once nearly killed me… 
I see life begin in someone else. 
 
And that? 
That’s resurrection. 
That’s redemption. 
That’s Jesus. 

Walking with GOD through everything

 Forgiving the People Who Weren’t Sorry 
I Set Them Free… and Found Out It Was Me 
 
They never said sorry. 
And for a long time, I waited. 
I waited for the confession. The phone call. The “I was wrong, and I see how I hurt you.” 
But silence became their final word. 
And I had a decision to make: 
Do I carry this pain for the rest of my life, or do I let go, even if they never asked me to? 
 
Forgiveness doesn’t feel fair. 
Not when they were reckless with your heart. 
Not when they lied, left, betrayed, used you, or turned your love into a joke. 
Not when they got to move on, and you were left with the cleanup. 
 
But God started showing me something I didn’t want to hear: 
 
Forgiveness isn’t for them. 
It’s for me. 
 
It’s not about denying the pain or pretending it didn’t happen. 
It’s about refusing to let bitterness take root and define me. 
It’s about laying down the weight they handed me, 
and saying “No. You don’t get to live in me rent-free anymore.” 
 
I’ve forgiven people who never gave me closure. 
I’ve released the hands of men who broke promises with straight faces. 
I’ve made peace with parents who should’ve protected me but didn’t. 
I’ve stopped rehearsing imaginary conversations where I “win” the argument... 
because peace doesn’t come from proving your point. 
It comes from proving your freedom. 
 
And let me be real, I still grieve. 
Some days I wish I could make them understand what they did to me. 
But God whispers, 
“Daughter, I saw it. I was there. Vengeance is Mine… but healing is yours.” 
 
So I choose healing. 
I choose to forgive the unrepentant. 
To bless the ones who wounded me. 
To write about them with clarity, not cruelty. 
To rise without dragging their names through the dirt. 
 
Because I don’t want to be a woman who holds onto hurt just to feel powerful. 
I want to be a woman who walks in resurrection. 
 
That means leaving behind what no longer serves me... 
even if it never said “I’m sorry.” 
 

"If this faith lives anywhere, it lives in the way i keep going. It is my life. My story. My legacy."

The sassey project ii