✨ Reflection ✨

God shakes things to get our attention—so He can reveal something to us.

And that’s good news, even when the situation feels bad.

Scripture says the shaking involves removal. The removing of things that can be shaken—created things. God is intentionally changing something in the physical to replace it with something in the spiritual.

Why?

Because He sees how attached we’ve become to what we can see, touch, and control. To the things our five senses are comfortable with. When we get illegitimately attached to the wrong kingdom, God will create a disturbance to detach us.

We’re supposed to live in this world—but we’re not supposed to be tied to it.
It was never meant to be our ultimate obligation.

So disruption is what He brings.

When God creates a disturbance, it is an uncomfortable situation designed to produce something better from the spiritual realm for our lives. It’s usually not desired. Not preferred. Not welcomed. Nobody asks for it.

But if you will tune your ear—if you will listen—you’ll discover that God is speaking when He disrupts the natural order of things.

He’s revealing that you are part of an unshakable kingdom.

He’s also showing us why we can’t be overly tethered to this world, this culture, this system. Because He will shake it. And if all your eggs are in that basket, you’ll be shaken too.

It’s the things that are attached that get shaken.

If there’s an earthquake on the ground, the people in the air aren’t shaken—because they’re not attached. And what God wants to do is lift us into a higher spiritual reality. A kingdom that isn’t attached—so it doesn’t shake when everything else does.

When the floor is pulled out from under everything around you, when systems collapse, when stability disappears—God is allowing the shaking to reveal what cannot be shaken.

It doesn’t mean the circumstances aren’t real.
It means they’re no longer in control.

They’re no longer dictating.
They’re no longer calling the shots.

Because the kingdom you belong to is unshakable.

So when your world feels turned upside down—when things are in discord—God is saying something very specific:

Time to go deeper.

Disturbance is an invitation to go deeper.

And how do you go deeper?

Scripture says—since we are receiving a kingdom that cannot be shaken, let us show gratitude.

That’s the instruction.

Because the natural response when everything is shaken is to complain. To resist. To say I don’t like this, I don’t want this, I don’t agree with this.

But gratitude is what anchors us when everything else is moving.

— LeYonce

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© L’Tanya Arhemaword Publishing, LLC. All rights reserved.

✨ Reflection ✨

There’s a warning in Scripture that feels heavier the more you sit with it.

If they did not escape when they refused the One who warned them on earth, how much less will we escape if we turn away from the One who warns from heaven.

At one time, His voice shook the earth.
But now He has promised something more.

Yet once more—I will shake not only the earth, but also the heavens.

That phrase—yet once more—means removal. It means everything that can be shaken, everything that is created, everything that is temporary, everything that was never meant to last, will be disturbed.

So that what cannot be shaken may remain.

God is drawing a contrast.
Between what shakes and what doesn’t.
Between what was made and what is eternal.
Between systems we trust and the kingdom we belong to.

To shake means to disturb the natural order of a thing.

So when God shakes something, He’s interrupting what we assumed was normal. He disturbs the patterns. He disrupts the routines. He flips what we thought was stable. He tweaks what we thought was settled.

And Scripture says—do not refuse Him who is speaking.

Because when God disturbs something, it’s not random.
It’s communicative.

He is speaking.

Sometimes He knows we won’t listen unless He shakes what we’re leaning on. Unless He messes with what we’ve grown comfortable trusting. Unless He disrupts what we thought would never move.

The shaking is not punishment.
It’s revelation.

And here’s the assurance—we have received a kingdom that cannot be shaken.

Not a system.
Not a structure.
Not a routine.

A kingdom.

So when everything else trembles, when the natural order feels unstable, when what used to work no longer holds—this is not the moment to turn away.

This is the moment to listen.

Because God shakes what can be shaken so we can finally stand on what cannot be moved.

— LeYonce

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© L’Tanya Arhemaword Publishing, LLC. All rights reserved.

✨ Reflection ✨

You can contain valuable things.
But if you’re not hooked into the engine, you’re not going anywhere.

You may look full. Gifted. Capable. Productive.
But if you’re not connected, you will never arrive at your Creator’s intended destination.

That’s the strategy of the enemy—to steer us away from kingdom purpose. Not always through destruction, but through distraction. To keep us busy while disconnected. Occupied while unplugged.

What you need to understand about your kingdom purpose is this—you are custom-made. Not off the rack. Not mass-produced. The proof is in your fingerprints. No two are alike because you were never meant to be like anyone else.

You were uniquely created.
Uniquely crafted.
Uniquely called.
Uniquely gifted.

All for a kingdom assignment.

And if you’re not kingdom-minded—kingdom-oriented—you will miss that assignment. You’ll settle for a career and lose the license. You’ll live for what pays you instead of what places you. Many people work every day and never arrive at life because they were never plugged into the unshakable kingdom.

The kingdom is jurisdiction.
It is rule.
It is the realm of God.

And God claims full authority over what He creates.

We are His workmanship—created in Christ Jesus for good works that He prepared beforehand for us to walk in. Not to invent our own path. Not to improvise purpose. But to step into what already exists.

God has a purpose.
But to discover it—and to live it—you must be kingdom-minded. That means allowing the rule of God to operate in every area of life.

Even the ordinary.
Especially the ordinary.

Whether you eat or drink.
Whether you work or rest.
Whether you build or wait.

Nothing is meant to be disconnected from Him.

The moment you unplug, you lose the power that was meant to flow through you.

And God’s goal has always been connection.

— LeYonce

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© L’Tanya Arhemaword Publishing, LLC. All rights reserved.

✨ Reflection✨

I’m in a season of realizing just how much I didn’t know—and how patient God has been with me anyway.

There’s a kind of holy disruption that happens when revelation finally lands. Not loudly. Not dramatically. But deeply. It makes you stop and ask—what have I been doing all these years? What was I learning? What was I missing?

I grew up in church. Performative church. Singing church. Shouting church. Transactional church. We believed in God. We felt Him. We honored the Spirit. But we didn’t always understand jurisdiction. We didn’t always understand kingdom.

And now—here I am—half a century plus into life, sitting with concepts that feel both brand new and long overdue. Kingdom purpose. Kingdom order. Kingdom alignment. Not religion. Not routine. Not performance. Authority. Assignment. Citizenship.

I used to hear certain teachers and think they were too deep. I couldn’t follow. Not because they were unclear—but because I wasn’t formed for that language yet. I see now that revelation has timing. And timing is mercy.

This season feels like inventory. Not condemnation—inventory. A loving reordering. God hasn’t been absent. He’s been patient. He’s been waiting for me to be ready to see what I couldn’t carry before.

I’m learning that conversion is not the finish line. It’s the doorway. We were created for the kingdom. Converted back to the kingdom. And then invited to align with the purpose we were always meant to walk out.

This is a lot to take in. And yet, I’m not overwhelmed—I’m in awe.

Awe changes posture. Awe quiets performance. Awe makes you sit instead of striving. Awe makes you listen instead of rushing to explain.

I don’t know yet how I’ll write about this in the future. I don’t know the form or the direction. I just know the desire is there. And for now, that’s enough.

Everything is being ordered by Him.
And I am learning to let that be enough.

— LeYonce

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© L’Tanya Arhemaword Publishing, LLC. All rights reserved.

✨ Reflection ✨

Today reminded me that growth doesn’t always arrive loudly.
Sometimes it shows up quietly—in awareness, in gratitude, in finally seeing what has always been true.

I spent years thinking strength meant endurance.
Handling everything. Carrying everything. Explaining nothing.

What I’m learning now is that strength also looks like discernment.
Knowing when to be still. Knowing when to speak. Knowing when to stop overextending myself in places that were never meant to hold me.

I’m in a season of clarity.
Not the kind that answers every question—but the kind that settles the soul.

I’m learning who I am.
I’m learning whose I am.
And I’m learning that boundaries don’t mean isolation—they mean peace.

There’s a difference between being alone and being at rest.
Between absence and alignment.

I don’t feel the need to rush what’s unfolding.
I don’t feel the need to prove what God has already affirmed.

What’s meant for me will find me.
What’s not no longer has access.

And today, that understanding feels like enough.

— LeYonce

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© L’Tanya Arhemaword Publishing, LLC. All rights reserved.

✨ Reflection ✨

Not Everything Is Communal. Not Everything Is for Play.

Somewhere along the way, access began to be confused with permission.

Communal began to feel automatic.

And restraint—once taught as wisdom—started to feel optional.

But not everything is shared.

Not everything is for play.

And not everything that is visible is available.

There was a time when respect was learned early—through limits. You understood that certain spaces, certain items, and certain resources required care. They weren’t feared, but they were handled with intention. You didn’t touch everything simply because you could. You learned discernment.

Today, that lesson is often skipped.

When everything is treated as communal, nothing is valued.

When everything is treated as recreational, nothing is handled with care.

And when gratitude is not taught, generosity quietly becomes invisible.

Boundaries are not unkind.

They are instructional.

They teach stewardship.

They teach awareness.

They teach respect for what belongs to someone else—whether that is space, time, labor, or resources.

Generosity does not mean obligation.

Access does not mean entitlement.

And presence does not mean permission.

I can be welcoming without being unguarded.

I can be generous without being careless with myself.

I can enjoy people without overextending my space.

It is well with my soul.

If this reflection resonated with you, consider supporting the work by visiting the shop. Every purchase helps sustain the writing, the reflections, and the continued work of truth-telling with clarity and care.

Le’Yonce

© L’Tanya ArhemaWord Publishing, LLC. All rights reserved.

✨ Reflection

This week, I struggled with trust.

Not because I don’t believe God —

but because I’m tired of living in lack.

Savings ran out.

Bills kept coming.

And I was faced with a decision that tested whether I would trust what I see — or trust what God said.

Fear talked loud.

Faith whispered.

I stood at a crossroads where the flesh offered relief and the Spirit offered alignment.

I knew what not to do —

and still felt the pull to do it anyway.

Conviction came before comfort.

And then God, in His mercy, made another way.

Not a shortcut.

Not a loophole.

A lawful, honest path that kept me in alignment — with Him and with the land.

Later, I paid a bill I could barely afford.

No backup.

No safety net.

Just prayer.

I went before God and reminded Him of His own words —

not because He forgot, but because I needed to remember.

He is my Provider.

He is my Source.

He is El Shaddai.

If He feeds the birds, He will not abandon me.

I don’t want to wander in fear the way Israel wandered in the wilderness.

I don’t want survival to keep me from promise.

So today, my instruction is simple:

Take care of today.

Trust God with tomorrow.

— LeYonce

If this reflection resonated with you, my work lives in the shop. Support is never an obligation—only an invitation.

© L’Tanya Arhemaword Publishing, LLC. All rights reserved.

✨ Reflection — 365 Days Later

This time last year, I was sitting on a cruise ship on New Year’s Eve, asking myself, how did I get here?

My mother had died earlier that year—February 2024. Not even a full year had passed. And then, six months later, my life shifted again. I was sitting at breakfast with my sister and my niece at the back of that ship, staring at the ocean, thinking… how did I get here?

As the day moved toward the festivities that night, something in me broke open. I began to cry uncontrollably. Right there. In front of everyone. I could not stop it.

That was the first time I realized this season was going to be different.

My sister looked at me and said, why don’t you think you deserve real love?

That question stopped me. Because I had never let myself sit with it. I had always carried everything alone. Always.

Now here I am, 365 days later.

It’s December 31st again. I’m not on a ship. I’m not on my way to beautiful Puerto Rico. But I am standing at my window, looking out at white snow, thanking the Lord for order, alignment, and wholeness.

This year, I have been in His presence—seeking healing, restoration, forgiveness, and understanding. I’ve been reading the Bible and praying without ceasing. Establishing a real relationship with Him for the first time in my entire life.

I am free.

I am at peace.

I am healed—but I still have healing to do.

I am no longer bound. No longer tied up or tangled in the things that once held me. I don’t see life the way I used to. I don’t see people the way I used to. I don’t survive the way I used to.

I’m thriving.

I’m trusting.

I know where my help comes from.

I see clearer now. I hear better now. My discernment is sharper now. I am humble. I am meek.

Thank God, I’m not who I used to be.

I am an author. I have a book currently available. I have another book releasing in 2026. I have a publishing company. I am a witness for the Lord. I am an ambassador for Christ. I understand my purpose.

And most importantly, I have a relationship with the most important Person.

— LeYonce

If this reflection resonated with you, my work lives in the shop. Support is never an obligation—only an invitation.

© L’Tanya Arhemaword Publishing, LLC. All rights reserved.

✨ Reflection

There’s a bird that keeps coming back.

Morning — it perches on my camera like it pays rent.

Evening — it returns and sets off the motion sensor like a soft knock on the door.

Not loud. Not needy. Just present.

At first I thought it was confused by the weather.

Turns out, maybe it just knows where safety lives.

And that feels fitting — because here I am, the last Monday before the year closes, standing on the other side of what I once called hell.

This time last year, everything fell apart. Or so I thought.

But it wasn’t destruction — it was awakening.

Order finding me. Alignment catching up to me.

Wholeness being restored piece by piece.

Twenty twenty-five didn’t break me.

It rebirthed me.

So now, as twenty twenty-six approaches, I’m not rushing.

I’m not chasing.

I’m not asking to be spared — I’m already standing.

Like that bird — I know where to return.

I know what peace feels like.

I know what it means to arrive without explaining myself.

If this reflection met you where you are,

you can find the book in the shop,

and ongoing reflections under the Reflections tab.

A welcome discount is available — please feel free to take advantage of it. WELCOME10

LeYonce

© L’Tanya Arhemaword Publishing, LLC. All rights reserved.

✨ Reflection

There was a time I stayed quiet about what I was learning — how I figured things out, how I made my way through publishing, how I asked the questions nobody was answering out loud.

Not because I didn’t want to share — but because I didn’t yet understand why I was being trusted with the knowledge.

I see it now.

Everything I’ve learned along the way wasn’t just for me. It was preparation. It was positioning. It was God saying, pay attention — somebody is going to need this.

I don’t believe in secrets. Secrets don’t build community, and they don’t help people grow. There is room for everybody who is serious about their story, their work, and their obedience. Nobody should be struggling in silence trying to figure out what can be learned step by step.

That’s why I started my publishing company — to break silence, not protect information. To share what I’ve experienced, not posture like I arrived overnight.

I’m not here to do the work for you. I’m here to walk with you through what I’ve already walked through — so the process feels possible, not overwhelming.

If you’re ready to start where you are, the foundational Author Kit is available now. And for those who want more structure, more clarity, and a full system — I’m building that too.

This is about access.

This is about stewardship.

This is about giving back what was freely given to me.

I write to be a terror to the enemy.

If this work blesses you, supports you, or helps you move forward, I invite you to visit my shop and explore what’s available. Every purchase helps me continue the work — sharing, building, and making the path clearer for the next author.

Le’Yonce

© L’Tanya Arhemaword Publishing, LLC. All rights reserved.

✨ Reflection ✨

There is a difference between building and becoming.

Some seasons are loud—full of plans, movement, and visible progress.

Other seasons are quieter, asking for attention rather than action.

I’m learning not to rush past the quiet.

This is where the work settles.

Where truth takes root.

Where purpose is refined without performance.

Writing has always been my place of return.

Not to impress, not to explain—but to remain honest.

To listen long enough for clarity to rise.

I’ve learned that fruit doesn’t always come from expansion.

Sometimes it comes from staying present with what is already growing.

So I honor this moment.

The steady pace.

The unfolding.

The grace to keep showing up without needing the full picture.

What’s meant to reach others will do so—

in its own time,

in its own way,

without force.

For now, I write.

I reflect.

I trust the process that is shaping me as much as the work itself.

Supporting this work helps me continue creating and sharing what God places on my heart.

Le’Yonce

© L’Tanya Arhemaword Publishing, LLC. All rights reserved.

✨When Protection Is No Longer Required ✨

There was a time when I was trying to have a voice because I had been silent for so long.
I didn’t yet know how to use my voice — only how to protect it.
So I learned to be blunt.

There was a time when I was blunt because I had to be.
It was how I protected myself.
It was how I stayed safe.
It was how I made sure my words didn’t get twisted or ignored.

Bluntness wasn’t a flaw — it was armor.

Recently, I listened to myself speak on a video. Nothing was wrong with what I said. I wasn’t harsh. I wasn’t out of control. But I could hear it. I could hear a version of me that needed to be firm because softness once felt unsafe.

And then I realized something — I don’t live in that body anymore.

I’m in a new place now. A new way of being. And while I don’t regret who I had to be, I can hear where I can soften.

This is new for me.
Softness doesn’t come naturally.
Awareness doesn’t come automatically.

For most of my adult life, bluntness was my default. Now, I’m learning to listen to myself as I speak — to be attentive to my tone, my pace, my intention. Not to police myself, but to honor where I am now.

It’s an effort.
It’s practice.
It doesn’t always flow.

Sometimes I catch myself after the words leave my mouth. Sometimes I hear it while I’m speaking. And sometimes, I practice in small, quiet ways — even with technology — just to train myself to speak gently without shrinking.

This isn’t about becoming someone else.
It’s about becoming more present with myself.

I’m not losing my strength.
I’m learning that I don’t need armor where there is peace.

Supporting this work helps me continue creating and sharing what God places on my heart.

Le’Yonce

© L’Tanya Arhemaword Publishing, LLC. All rights reserved.

✨ Rest, Release, and Realignment

This week crept up on me. I didn’t plan a reflection. I didn’t sit with a scripture or a thought. I just lived. And somewhere in the middle of all that living, I realized God had been teaching me quietly.

I’ve been sleeping deeper. Not the kind of sleep that comes from exhaustion, but the kind that comes from alignment. When your soul finally stops wrestling, your body feels it first.

I’ve been releasing things that aren’t mine to carry. Papers, decisions, responsibilities that belong to grown men — not me. And I felt the peace in my chest when I handed it over. That alone was a testimony.

I’ve been learning new systems, new processes, and new parts of myself. Editing, formatting, organizing files — none of it scared me this time. I didn’t rush. I didn’t panic. I let myself learn.

And then God slid a financial blessing in the back door. A refund at the exact moment I needed it. Not loud. Not flashy. Just right on time.

I even walked into a space I once said I would never enter again. And it didn’t break me. It didn’t move me. That’s growth you don’t brag about — you just notice it and whisper thank you.

So no, I didn’t have a planned reflection this week. But I had a lived one. Rest. Release. Realignment. And every part of it reminded me that I’m still becoming her — quietly, consistently, and in ways I don’t always see until I sit down and put the pieces together.

Supporting this work helps me continue creating and sharing what God places on my heart.

Le’Yonce

© L’Tanya Arhemaword Publishing, LLC. All rights reserved.

✨ One Year Later… ✨

✨ One Year Later… ✨

One year later, I’m not revisiting the details.
I’m acknowledging the distance.

Today marks the anniversary of a breakup that once felt heavy, disorienting, and consuming. At the time, I didn’t know what life would look like on the other side of that ending — I only knew something had to change.

And it did.

One year later, I’m not measuring progress by pain anymore.
I’m measuring it by peace.

I notice the quiet now.
The steadiness.
The way my body no longer braces for what’s coming next.

There was a time when protection was necessary to survive what I was in.
Now, protection is no longer required.

I don’t regret what it took to leave.
And I don’t rehearse what I endured to justify my freedom.

I’m grateful — not just for getting out, but for what remained:
clarity, discernment, and healing I could not have produced on my own.

God met me in the breaking.
And one year later, I can see what He carried me through.

This anniversary doesn’t pull me backward.
It reminds me how far forward I’ve come.

Today, I stand free — and God receives the glory.

Supporting this work helps me continue creating and sharing what God places on my heart.

Le’Yonce

© L’Tanya Arhemaword Publishing, LLC. All rights reserved.

✨When the Clouds Start to Lift

This week I realized something I didn’t have the strength to see a year ago. When you’ve been through a season that almost took you out, you don’t see the clearing right away. You just survive. You just breathe. You just hold on.

But then one day, the storm clouds shift. The air feels different. And you realize that what once wrecked you doesn’t have the same power anymore.

I’ve been isolated for a long time, not because I wanted to be, but because God was protecting me. I can look back now and see that the same Spirit people thought was pulling me away was actually covering me. The same silence they didn’t understand was the place where God was rebuilding me.

And now that things are lifting, I see why the Word matters the way it does. You have to keep it inside you. You have to be able to speak it when life tries to pull you back into old patterns. That’s why David hid the Word in his heart. That’s why he said he prepares a table before me in the presence of my enemies. That’s why you walk through the valley without fear — because you’ve learned who walks with you.

As I step back into spaces I once said I’d never enter again, I know it’s not my strength that carried me here. It’s God showing me that healing is real, and growth is steady, even when it’s quiet.

I’m also starting to understand why certain books, certain words, and certain messages didn’t hit me back then. They weren’t for that season. They were for this one. Now everything I lived through in my first book — every break, every birthing pain, every transformation — is echoed in what I’m reading today. It’s confirmation that nothing I went through was wasted.

I’ve always lived intentionally. Everything I do has purpose behind it, even when people don’t understand me or misread me. Sometimes it hurts to know that the people who’ve eaten with you, walked with you, and said they loved you still don’t really know your heart. But God knows. And honestly, that’s enough.

I’ve always understood the scripture about loving indeed and in truth. I learned that young. And the older I get, the more I see how rare that kind of love really is. Folks say the word love easily, but very few live it.

This week reminded me: God does. God loves intentionally. And so do I.

Le’Yonce

© L’Tanya Arhemaword Publishing, LLC. All rights reserved.

✨ Reflection: I Never Learned How to Be Selfish ✨

I never learned how to be selfish.
Not once.
Not ever.

Selfishness was a language nobody in my life ever taught me —
not because it was sinful,
but because my childhood didn’t leave any room for it.

From the beginning,
I was raised to be responsible.
Raised to be needed.
Raised to be the one who carried.
Raised to be the one who handled.
Raised to be the one who made sure everyone else was okay.

I was a caregiver before I was even old enough to understand what care meant.
I was giving long before I ever learned I had permission to receive.

I didn’t have the luxury of being a child —
I had assignments.
A mother depending on me.
Sisters depending on me.
A household depending on me.

And what I didn’t realize until today
is that I became so used to carrying everybody else
that I forgot what it felt like to be carried.

I forgot what it felt like to be someone’s concern.
Someone’s priority.
Someone’s “let me check on you.”
Someone’s “let me help you.”

And that’s why this moment with my sons hit me so hard.
Not because the snow was deep,
but because the silence was.

Not because the driveway was full,
but because my heart was empty.

They didn’t call.
They didn’t check.
They didn’t notice.
They didn’t lift.
They didn’t show up.

And I realized something today I was never ready to admit:
My children have always had a mother — but I haven’t had adult sons who show up as sons when it matters. And sitting with that truth…
it aches.
But it also frees.

Because now I understand why I’ve felt so invisible in the places where I should’ve felt held.
Now I understand why I over-gave, over-supported, over-invested, over-loved —
I was doing for them
what nobody ever did for me.

I wasn’t being selfless —
I was being conditioned.

Conditioned to put myself last.
Conditioned to swallow pain.
Conditioned to never ask for help.
Conditioned to accept neglect as normal.
Conditioned to take scraps and call it “love.”

But today, God touched the part of my heart
that has never been allowed to exist:
the part that needs.
The part that wants.
The part that deserves.
The part that matters.

And He whispered,
“Daughter, it is not selfish to want to be loved.
It is not selfish to want to be checked on.
It is not selfish to want reciprocity.
It is not selfish to want honor.”

For the first time ever,
I finally understand that selfishness isn’t the enemy —
self-neglect is.

And I have lived a lifetime of self-neglect
because that’s what my childhood taught me was holy.

But God is rewriting that.
Right here.
Right now.

He is teaching me that strength doesn’t mean silence.
That motherhood doesn’t mean martyrdom.
That love doesn’t mean over-functioning.
And that honoring myself
is not rebellion —
it is obedience.

So yes,
I am grieving the truth about my sons.
And yes,
I am grieving the truth about my family.
But I am also reclaiming something I’ve never had before:

Me.

My needs.
My voice.
My space.
My peace.
My right to be loved in the same way I have loved.

I didn’t learn selfishness as a child.
But I am learning self-priority as a woman.
And God is walking me into it
one revelation at a time.

Le’Yonce

© L’Tanya Arhemaword Publishing, LLC. All rights reserved.

✨When Truth Finally Shows Up at the Door

I didn’t expect to wake up to this kind of clarity.
Not today.
Not in a moment that should’ve been all joy, all celebration, all look what God just did.
And in a way, it is still all of that.
Because God kept His word.
God handed me an assignment.
I obeyed.
And the glory of this book — this birth — belongs to Him alone.

But truth has a way of walking in the door uninvited
and sitting right next to your joy.

And today…
Truth came in quietly.
Sat across from me.
Folded its arms.
And said,
“Daughter, look.”

And I looked.
And I did not like what I saw.

I came home from Detroit tired but grateful —
full of testimony, full of God, full of purpose —
only to pull up to a driveway covered in untouched snow.

No shovel moved.
No tire tracks.
No footsteps.
No “Ma, you good?”
No “You made it home safe?”

Just silence.
Heavy, cold silence that matched the weather.

And in that stillness, something inside me cracked —
not in anger, but in recognition.

A mother knows when something is wrong.
But a woman knows when something has been wrong for a very long time.

And today, the woman in me finally spoke up.

I realized I have been holding onto an image of my sons
that does not match the reality of their actions.

I have covered them, defended them, protected them,
given them grace they did not earn
and patience they did not return.

I thought that loving them hard
would turn into them learning how to love me back.
I thought raising boys meant I would one day be treated like a mother.
I thought the investment of eighteen years
would come home to me in the form of simple care,
simple presence,
simple concern.

But God flipped the mirror today,
and I saw the truth:

I raised sons.
But I have not been treated like a mother.

And that truth?
It aches.
Deeply.
Silently.
Honestly.

Not out of bitterness.
Not out of rage.
Out of realization.

Because I have supported every dream they whispered.
I have held every crisis in my chest.
I have covered every mistake in prayer.
I have shown up in ways nobody ever wrote down —
financially, emotionally, spiritually.

And yet today,
the first hands lifted to celebrate my dream
were not theirs.

And I’m allowed to say that.
I’m allowed to feel that.
I’m allowed to admit that the silence hurts.
Because silence is also a language.

But here is the part I did not expect:

The disappointment didn’t take my peace.
It introduced me to it.

Because somewhere between the snow and the silence,
God whispered something I wasn’t ready for:

“Daughter, stop romanticizing people I have already revealed.”

Whew.

So here I am —
hurt but awake,
aching but steady,
seeing clearly but still choosing peace.

Because yes, my sons are my sons.
But their choices are theirs.
And their lack is not my failure.
And their distance is not my punishment.
And their absence is not my reflection.

It is theirs.

My story is still holy.
My moment is still sacred.
My book is still a miracle.
My obedience is still an offering.

And the truth I met today?
It is simply part of my healing.

I refuse to keep pretending people are showing up for me
when the proof says otherwise.
I refuse to cover what God is uncovering.
I refuse to dim the truth to protect anyone’s feelings
at the expense of my own heart.

I’m not angry.
I’m awake.
I’m not hardened.
I’m honest.
I’m not bitter.
I’m finally balanced.

And as for the rest —
the distance, the disappointment, the realization —
I will let God deal with that.

Because I am a living witness.
I didn’t think that I would be one of those living to witness Revelation —
but here I am, seeing the Scripture unfold in real time.

As The Message Bible says in 2 Timothy 3:1–5:
“Don’t be naive. There are difficult times ahead.
As the end approaches, people are going to be self-absorbed, money-hungry, self-promoting, stuck-up, profane, contemptuous of parents, crude, coarse, dog-eat-dog, unbending, slanderers, impulsively wild, savage, cynical, treacherous, ruthless, bloated windbags, addicted to lust, and allergic to God.
They’ll make a show of religion, but behind the scenes they’re animals.
Stay clear of these people.”

It’s in the Bible.
I’m watching it.
I’m living it.
And God is revealing the truth in front of my eyes.

Today, truth showed up at my door.
And this time…
I answered.

By Le’Yonce

© L’Tanya ArhemaWord Publishing, LLC. All rights reserved.

My Peace Is My Proof

The Week I Realized I Made It

(Weekly Reflection — November 25)

This week didn’t come quiet.
It didn’t come easy either.
It arrived with the weight of everything I’ve survived… and the grace of everything God brought me into.

Sometimes healing doesn’t announce itself.
It just shows up in moments —
small ones, ordinary ones —
and suddenly you realize you’re not who you used to be.

I sat with my book in my hands,
the physical proof,
the thing I cried over, prayed over, wrestled with.
And I didn’t feel the pain anymore.
I felt purpose.

I felt God’s fingerprint on a story that tried to break me —
and failed.

There’s a moment in every healing journey
when the wound stops talking
and the wisdom begins to speak.
And that’s where I am.
Not perfect.
Not finished.
But whole enough to tell the truth with clarity
and carry it with honor.

I don’t know what you’re facing.
I don’t know what tried to silence you.
But I do know this:
what was meant to destroy you
will one day sit in your hands as a testimony.

This week, I didn’t just publish a book.
I stepped into a version of myself I’ve prayed about for years.
Quietly.
Softly.
On God’s timing.

And I’m learning that sometimes the biggest breakthrough
doesn’t look like loud celebration.
It looks like peace.

My peace is my proof.

Le’Yonce

© L’Tanya ArhemaWord Publishing, LLC. All rights reserved.

What God Preserved Me From

Reflection for November 22, 2025

Today, I found myself sitting with a kind of clarity I didn’t expect. There’s a certain kind of understanding that only comes when God knows you’re finally strong enough to hear the truth without breaking. And honestly… that’s where I am.

Last night, I sat across from someone connected to my past — a past I’ve healed from, a past I’ve written through, a past I’ve prayed myself out of. And even as I listened, even as I learned things I never knew, even as stories unfolded, my spirit stayed steady. I wasn’t angry. I wasn’t jealous. I wasn’t longing.

I was simply… aware.

For the first time, I truly saw the reality of what God pulled me out of. Not just the man — but the lifestyle, the chaos, the cycles, the spiritual assignment that was designed to drain me. I always knew it could have been worse, but hearing the details made me realize it would have been worse… if God hadn’t stepped in when He did.

And you know what kept rising up in me?

I didn’t need him — I just loved him.
And there is no shame in loving someone honestly.

People can talk. People can twist the story. People can paint themselves as the victim. That’s life. That’s human nature. That’s the world God warned us about. But the truth remains:
I loved with integrity.
I gave with purity.
I showed up with loyalty.
I invested with sincerity.
And I didn’t give out of ego — I gave out of heart.

What I’m learning is this:
Some people don’t love you — they love what you represent.
They love what you open up in their life.
They love the doors that come with you.
They love the experiences they would’ve never reached on their own.
And if you’re not careful, you think they love you…
when really, they love the benefits of you.

Accepting that truth hurts, but accepting it also frees you.

And today… I am free.

I’m not ashamed of anything I did.
I’m not embarrassed by how I loved.
I’m not sitting here wishing I could erase the past.
Because everything I walked through shaped the woman I am now — awake, discerning, healed, and finally honest with myself.

I don’t need validation from anyone connected to the situation.
I don’t need apologies.
I don’t need explanations.

What I needed, God already gave me:
truth, clarity, and closure.

I also understand something else now — something deeper:
I need a man, but not that man.
I need a man who is whole.
A man of God.
A man who knows himself and doesn’t fear growth.
A man who values partnership, not opportunity.
A man who doesn’t depend on me to become, but comes to me as a man already becoming.

What I had before wasn’t that.
And I can finally say that without bitterness.
Just truth.

So this reflection isn’t about him.
It’s about what God shielded me from — the things I didn’t see, the things I didn’t know, the things my heart wouldn’t have survived.

I’m still processing.
I’m still unpacking the magnitude.
But what I do know is this:

God preserved me.
God saved me.
God freed me.
And God elevated me.

And for that, I am grateful. all begins with an idea. Maybe you want to launch a business. Maybe you want to turn a hobby into something more. Or maybe you have a creative project to share with the world. Whatever it is, the way you tell your story online can make all the difference.

Don’t worry about sounding professional. Sound like you. There are over 1.5 billion websites out there, but your story is what’s going to separate this one from the rest. If you read the words back and don’t hear your own voice in your head, that’s a good sign you still have more work to do.

Be clear, be confident and don’t overthink it. The beauty of your story is that it’s going to continue to evolve and your site can evolve with it. Your goal should be to make it feel right for right now. Later will take care of itself. It always does.

Le’Yonce

© L’Tanya ArhemaWord Publishing, LLC. All rights reserved.