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​ If only you knew how close you are to the version of you you’ve prayed for.  There are shifts happening in your spirit long before they manifest in your life. Your growth is happening quietly, in your decisions, in your mindset, in your desire to become better. Every hard season has been carving you. Every lesson has been shaping you. Every prayer has been building you. If you could see what heaven sees, you would understand why the battle got heavier, it’s because you’re close. Closer than you think. Closer than you feel. Closer than your fears suggest. Don’t stop. You’re walking toward the very thing you once begged God for. Light Lamp

​ *HEALING* Healing is not loud.  Sometimes it looks like you choosing peace again today.  Healing doesn’t always look like breakthroughs or big victories. Sometimes healing is choosing not to pick an old wound today. Sometimes it’s choosing rest instead of overthinking. Sometimes, it’s saying, “This hurt me, but I won’t let it define me anymore.” Healing is a thousand tiny decisions, most of which nobody sees. It’s waking up and deciding to try again. It is catching yourself slipping back into old patterns and gently redirecting your mind. It’s acknowledging the pain without letting it sit on the throne of your life. Healing is quiet but quiet progress is still progress. And every small choice toward peace is a victory heaven celebrates.

I was having a discussion with a friend recently. After I opened up and shared a bit about what I’ve been going through, she looked at me and said, “Temi, you don’t even look like it. You look like someone who can employ people!” I smiled and immediately claimed it. That’s not the moment to start saying, “Ahhh, for where?” or “Me ke?” No. Learn to agree with good words. When people speak life over you, don’t reject it out of humility. Receive it in faith. Speak it over yourself. Pray it until it becomes your reality. You may not have it yet, but you can grow into it. Because sometimes, what people see in you is not where you are, it’s where God is taking you. So when next someone says, “You look blessed.” “You look like a CEO.” “You carry grace.” Smile and say, “Amen,that’s my reality loading.” Be positive. Speak positive. Claim every good word. And watch how your life starts aligning with the very things you once only hoped for. Temilade Alokan Light Lamp

ENSURE YOU READ TILL THE END. “Bisola, do you know you’re not getting any younger? When are we coming to eat wedding rice?” The question came with laughter, but it landed like a stone. She smiled politely, but her eyes dimmed for a second. People never knew she cried herself to sleep most nights, praying that love would find her too. Then there’s David, a married man whose wife has been trying to conceive for four years. Every family gathering comes with the same question, “So when will you two give us a baby?” He laughs awkwardly and says, “Soon by God’s grace.” But only God knows the pain behind that forced smile. And Tolu? She’s been job-hunting for months. Each “Any job yet?” cuts deeper than the rejection emails. She’s tired, but she still wakes up, dresses up, and tries again. We say things jokingly, casually, without realizing how heavy they can sound to someone fighting silent battles. Depression doesn’t always look like tears; sometimes, it’s the quiet friend who no longer pic...

​ She didn’t break, she transformed. And that’s why she glows differently now.  They looked at her story and expected to see someone shattered. But what they didn’t know was that pressure doesn’t always produce destruction. sometimes it produces evolution. She went through things that could have hardened her,but instead they refined her. She faced betrayals that could have made her bitter, but instead they made her wise. She walked through seasons that should have left her empty, but instead they made her whole. She didn’t break. She bent. She grew. She molted the old version of herself , the one that needed validation, the one that was afraid to speak up, the one that settled. Now she glows differently, not because life suddenly became easy, but because she finally became aligned with who she was meant to be. Her glow came from the rebuilding. From the deep inner work. From surviving the things meant to dim her. Her light is her testimony.

“Bisola, I’m tired,” Teni whispered, staring at her reflection. “No matter how hard I try, it’s like I’m never enough.” Her voice trembled, that kind of trembling that comes from fighting quiet battles nobody sees. I smiled gently. “You don’t have to be perfect, you know?” She looked at me, confused. “Then why does it feel like everyone else has it together?” I chuckled softly. “Because we all post our polished parts and hide our broken ones.” Silence. Then tears. “You can still be loved while you’re learning,” I told her. “You can be growing and still be God’s favorite. Perfection isn’t the goal, grace is.” She sighed. “So, I don’t have to keep pretending?” “No, you don’t,” I said. “Even God never asked for perfection. He asked for surrender.” We sat there quietly, letting those words sink in. It was as if peace finally entered the room, softly whispering, “You’re enough.” And maybe that’s what someone needs to hear today, You don’t have to be perfect to be chosen. You just have to ke...

​ Sometimes God slows you down so He can show you what you were too busy to notice.  There was a season in my life when everything felt like it was moving backwards. Plans that once flowed easily began to stumble. Doors I thought would open effortlessly suddenly became heavy. I kept asking, “God, why are You slowing me down when I’m finally ready to run?” But the more I struggled to push forward, the more life insisted that I pause. And in that stillness,  the one I didn’t choose  I started to see what I had been too busy to notice. I noticed the habits that were draining my strength. I noticed the people who clapped for me publicly but resented me privately. I noticed the warning signs I had ignored because I was too focused on getting ahead. I noticed me, the me I had been neglecting. God wasn’t punishing me. He was protecting me. He was whispering, “Slow down. Let Me show you what you missed.” And what I saw in that pause changed everything.  Sometimes the slowdow...

Before anyone knew who Esther truly was, they already had names for her. “Stubborn.” “Too emotional.” “Troubled.” “Complicated.” People never waited to hear her story, they just reacted to her scars and Esther, she learned to shrink herself so her wounds wouldn’t make anyone uncomfortable. She learned to smile so her sadness stayed polite. She learned to apologize for things that were never her fault. Everywhere she turned, someone had something to say about who they thought she was. One evening, after another day of whispered judgments, Esther locked herself in her small room. She sat on the floor, back against the bed, feeling the weight of every label pressed against her chest. She cried, not because the names were true, but because she was tired of defending a story no one cared to understand. “I’m tired, God,” she whispered. “I’m tired of being explained, criticized, and misunderstood. I’m tired of carrying things You never gave me.” And in that quiet, fragile moment, a voice rest...

There are nights when the silence feels louder than prayer. You scroll, you sigh, you stare at your phone, not because you want attention, but because you just want someone to see you. Not the strong you. Not the “I’m fine” you. Just you, tired, soft, and human. Sometimes, what we call desire isn’t always lust, it’s loneliness dressed in human form. It’s the ache to be held, to have someone whisper, “You’re safe here.” But here’s what I’ve learned: longing isn’t sin, it’s proof that you were designed for connection. The danger is when we try to fill spiritual hunger with physical fixes. When the heart is empty, the body starts begging for what only peace can give. So today, if your soul feels restless, don’t shame yourself, breathe. Let God hold you in the quiet. Let His love reach the parts touch can’t heal. Because sometimes, what we really need isn’t a body beside us, it’s comfort that stays even after the lights go off. You’re not broken for wanting love. You’re just learning that ...

It’s not just advice, it’s a gentle shake from life itself. These are the little reminders we often ignore until life forces us to learn them the hard way. Each piece is written for the woman who’s trying, growing, and learning to stand strong, one season at a time. This series is for the girl who’s tired but still hopeful. For the one balancing dreams, faith, and reality. For the one who knows she’s meant for more, but just needs that push. So, dear girl, wake up. Wake up to wisdom. Wake up to purpose. Wake up to growth. Because your becoming is too beautiful to sleep through. Temilade Alokan Light Lamp

“Don’t worry, I’ll marry a rich man,” she said jokingly. We both laughed, but I knew that was how many girls actually think. Waiting for marriage like it’s an escape plan from responsibility. But here’s the truth, there’s a special kind of joy that comes from having your own before marriage. Your own income. Your own mind. Your own sense of purpose. Because when you bring something to the table, you don’t sit at it afraid. You sit with confidence , knowing you’re not a liability but a help meet. Not a burden, but a blessing. Marriage was never designed to be your financial upgrade; it’s supposed to be a partnership where two whole people come together, not half and full. So girl, wake up. Stop waiting for a “rich guy” to be your breakthrough. Work, build, learn, grow. Let your value speak before your beauty does. There’s a certain pride that comes with saying, “I can take care of myself but I’m grateful God sent me someone to share the load with.” Because true wealth isn’t just in what...

​ I once sat in a seminar where everyone kept nodding, you know that “yes, that’s true” kind of nod but months later, nothing had changed. Same people, same complaints, same stories. That’s when it hit me: Between hearing and doing lies the bridge called success and not everyone crosses it. We love motivation. We love the rush of new ideas. But after the excitement fades, most people go back to comfort. They take notes they’ll never open, say “I’ll start tomorrow,” and live in a loop of learning without doing. If you’re one of those who just listens, marks attendance, and never takes steps, you’re doing yourself more harm than good. Because wisdom without action fades into noise. Start small. Act on one thing you’ve heard today. Make that call. Send that email. Register for that course. Apply for that job. Post that idea. Don’t just be a hearer, be a doer. Because results don’t come from what you know, they come from what you do with what you know. Temilade Alokan Light Lamp

I’m not where I used to be, but I’m not quite where I thought I’d be either. I’m somewhere in between the space called becoming. Becoming is messy. It’s waking up with faith one day and fear the next. It’s learning to forgive people who never said sorry, and letting go of versions of yourself you once needed to survive. Some days, I bloom. Other days, I break. But even in the breaking, I’m learning that growth still happens in the dark, like seeds buried in soil, unseen but not forgotten. Becoming means giving yourself permission to be a work in progress. To rest when you need to. To start again without shame. To celebrate small steps that nobody else claps for. I used to think I had to have it all together. Now I know, grace holds me together even when I fall apart. God doesn’t rush the process; He redeems it. Every delay, every detour, every disappointment is still being woven into something beautiful. So if you’re in that in-between space too, breathe. You’re not behind. You’re just...

This is me. Not the perfectly curated version you see online. Not the girl with everything figured out, but the one still learning how to breathe through uncertain seasons. I’ve had days when I prayed and nothing moved. Nights when I cried so quietly, even my pillow stayed still. I’ve smiled through storms just so no one would ask, “Are you okay?” Because sometimes, explaining your pain feels heavier than carrying it. But this is me, unfiltered. The real version. The one who’s walked through shame, failure, and silent wars with her own mind. And yet, I’m still here. Not perfect, not polished but present. I no longer need to act strong all the time. I’ve learned that vulnerability isn’t weakness; it’s truth in motion. It’s saying, “Yes, I’m still healing, but I’m still hopeful too.” The filters may hide the tears, but they can’t hide the grace that keeps me standing. Because every time life broke me, God rebuilt me quietly, piece by piece, stronger than before, softer too. So this is me...

There was a time I hid my scars. The moments I failed. The seasons I begged God in secret, and the times I smiled in public just to hide the cracks. I thought strength meant silence. That faith meant pretending everything was fine. But then life happened and I realized, healing begins where hiding ends. Now I tell my story differently. Not from shame, but from survival. Because the same God who saw me break also watched me rise. I’m not ashamed of my journey — the debts, the disappointments, the delays. They taught me dependence. They stripped me of pride and clothed me in grace. You see, the enemy loves to whisper, “Don’t tell them what you’ve been through, they’ll judge you.” But I’ve learned that what once embarrassed me has now become the evidence of God’s faithfulness. So no, I’m not ashamed, not of my scars, not of my process, not of my story. Because those scars are proof that I survived what was meant to destroy me. I’m not ashamed of my waiting season, because it taught me pat...

I used to think healing meant bouncing back quickly. Smile again, move on, don’t look like what you’ve been through. But now I know, healing is not a race. It’s a slow, sacred walk. Some days, you’ll wake up strong. Other days, you’ll wake up and feel the sting again, the loss, the disappointment, the scar that still burns. That doesn’t mean you’ve failed; it means you’re still human. Healing takes time, real time. Time to cry without shame. Time to forgive yourself. Time to breathe again after being choked by pain for too long. God never rushed the sunrise; it happens gradually. And He’s not rushing your healing either. He’s patient with your process, even when you’re not. Every tear you’ve cried, He’s counted. Every sigh, He’s heard. And while you’re trying to rush through the pain, He’s more interested in what He’s growing in you through it. So don’t compare your recovery to anyone else’s. Don’t despise your slow days — they’re holy too. You’re not broken; you’re becoming whole agai...

There was a time I thought sexual purity was just a church thing. Something pastors preached about, not something people really lived. Until I met myself in a quiet season, the season where God started asking me, “Who owns your body?” I won’t lie, i know it is not easy. It’s not easy to say no in a world that celebrates anything goes. It’s not easy to stay grounded when your flesh screams and your emotions rise. But somewhere in my journey, I discovered this, purity isn’t about shame, it’s about strength. It’s not about saying “I’m better,” it’s about saying “I belong to God.” I’ve had moments I wanted to give in. Moments I questioned, “Does it really matter?” But every time, I hear that still, gentle whisper: “Your body is Mine, and your worth is not up for debate.” So I chose purity, not because it’s popular, but because peace lives there. Because purpose breathes there. Because I want to look back and know I honoured God, even when no one was watching. If you’ve fallen before, pleas...

There’s a kind of nakedness that has nothing to do with the body. It’s the kind that strips your soul, the one where life undresses your strength, your pride, your plans, and leaves you standing there, vulnerable before God. I remember the season I was laid bare. Nothing was working, not my plans, not my strength, not my prayers the way I expected. I had no more masks to wear, no more “I’m fine” to say. Just me, raw and broken before the One who already knew. That’s the thing about nakedness, it exposes what we try to hide. It forces us to admit, “God, I can’t do this alone.” It’s uncomfortable, humbling, and yet… it’s holy. Because it’s in our nakedness that healing begins. When we drop the act, when we stop pretending, when we let the tears fall, God starts to clothe us with grace. He replaces shame with strength, and fear with peace. Sometimes, He allows life to strip you, not to embarrass you, but to rebuild you. To remind you that you were never meant to cover yourself, He is your...

Sade sat on her bed, scrolling through social media again. She saw the new phone, the new bag, the new shoes and for a moment, her heart sank. “Why don’t I have that yet?” she whispered to herself. Then a quiet thought came: You’re not the only one figuring things out. You’re not the only one who doesn’t have that money yet. You might even be surprised at what people earn, some months it’s plenty, some months it barely stretches. We all pack our lives according to our pulse, our pace, and our journey. Let me tell you something, I still buy thrift wears. There were times I couldn’t even afford to give tailors materials to sew outfits. Even in my early working days, I struggled. There are still things I can’t afford today. I check myself every time I want something: “If I buy this now, will it affect me for months?” I remember craving wigs I couldn’t afford. Not blends, not even the cheap ones and some I still can’t bring myself to buy because that money can settle bills. So here’s my ru...

Tomi sat in her room with the lights off again. Phone in hand, tears quietly running down her face. Messages unread. Calls ignored. She wasn’t angry, she was just… tired. Tired of trying. Tired of waiting. Tired of pretending to be okay. She whispered softly, “God, if You’re still here, please give me one reason to keep going.” Silence. Then another wave of tears. But in that silence, something still small stirred inside, a whisper she almost missed: “I’m still here, even when you don’t feel Me.” It wasn’t loud. It didn’t fix everything. But it was enough to make her breathe again. Enough to choose one more sunrise. You see, sometimes healing doesn’t come in lightning bolts, it comes in small, quiet reminders that you’re not alone. When life feels too heavy to carry, that’s when grace bends low to carry you. If you’ve ever been there, numb, exhausted, ready to disappear, this is your reminder: You’re not a mistake. You’re not forgotten. You’re not beyond redemption. Your tears are pray...

Deborah was the kind of woman who believed in showing up, early, faithful, and expectant. But lately, even showing up felt heavy. She had been waiting, for a job, for love, for a change. And the longer she waited, the quieter God seemed. She watched others move forward while she stood still. “Maybe I’m not favored enough,” she thought. But grace gently whispered, “You’re not forgotten. You’re being formed.” You see, the wait isn’t punishment, it’s preparation. God hides some blessings until your heart can hold them. He delays some things not because you’re undeserving, but because what’s ahead requires a stronger version of you. One day, Deborah received an opportunity that made her forget the pain of waiting, a door that didn’t just open but welcomed her with peace. Then she realized: the wait wasn’t wasted. Every delay had direction. Every silence had purpose. So if you’re in that long waiting room of life, don’t confuse silence for absence. He hasn’t forgotten you, He’s perfecting w...

Ada sat at the edge of her bed, holding her phone, staring at yet another rejection email. She laughed, not the joyful kind, but the kind that hides frustration. She whispered under her breath, “God, what exactly am I doing wrong?” Everything felt confusing. She had prayed, done her best, believed, yet every door seemed to close. It felt like God was silent — like Heaven was on “do not disturb.” But what Ada didn’t know was that even when life feels blurry, God’s hand is still steady. Sometimes, trust means walking blind while holding onto a voice you can’t see but still recognize. That night, Ada decided to pray differently. Not “God, fix it,” but “God, help me trust You while You’re fixing it.” And slowly, peace began to replace her panic. Weeks later, one “no” led her to an unexpected “yes” a path she never planned, but one that felt like home. Then she understood: God’s silence wasn’t abandonment; it was alignment. So if you’re reading this and nothing makes sense right now, breath...

Fola was always doing something, Learning, working, hustling. She feared that if she stopped, she would fall behind. So even when she was exhausted, she kept saying, “I can’t rest now.” But one evening, after yet another long day, she broke down in tears and said, “God, I’m tired.” And in the stillness, she heard the whisper of peace, “You can rest and still rise.” Somewhere along the way, we confused rest with laziness. We thought slowing down meant we lost our drive. But the truth is even seeds rest before they bloom. Rest doesn’t mean you’ve stopped growing; it means you’re gathering strength for the next stretch. It’s okay to pause. It’s okay to breathe. You don’t have to prove your productivity to be purposeful. Even Jesus rested. Even the ocean pauses between waves. Why then do you feel guilty for resting? Fola took a break that week. She slept, prayed, journaled, and just breathed. And when she woke up the next morning, her heart felt lighter not because everything changed, but ...

Esther used to think growth would always be visible, Loud achievements, big moments, clear signs that God was moving. But then came a season where everything went silent. No new job, no big news, just quiet days that all looked the same. At first, she panicked. “God, am I stuck?” she asked. But what she didn’t know was that stillness doesn’t mean stagnation, it often means transformation. There’s a quiet side to becoming that no one claps for. It’s when you’re learning discipline, when you’re healing from what broke you, when you’re unlearning old ways to make room for new grace. It doesn’t look exciting, it looks hidden. But that’s where true growth happens. The seed doesn’t make noise when it grows. It breaks quietly, roots deeply, and rises slowly. That’s how God grows you too. So if your life feels quiet right now, no spotlight, no announcement, don’t despise it. Heaven is still writing your story, even in silence. The quiet side of becoming is sacred. It’s where God strengthens wh...

Ada used to over-explain herself. Every time someone misunderstood her, she felt the urge to defend. Every time someone doubted her effort, she worked twice as hard just to be seen. She was tired not from life, but from trying to prove she was enough. Until one day, her mentor looked at her and said, “Ada, stop trying to prove what grace has already approved.” That sentence stayed with her. The world teaches us to prove, prove your worth, prove your success, prove your relevance. But God says, “Be still.” Because you don’t need validation to be valuable. Some people will misunderstand your silence. Some will question your pace. But that’s okay. You’re not living to meet their expectations, you’re walking in divine direction. You don’t have to post it to prove it. You don’t have to rush to show results. You don’t have to match anyone’s timeline. When you know who you are and Whose you are, you stop performing for approval. You realize peace is louder than explanation. So breathe. You ar...

“Delete that one, my hair didn’t sit right.” “That one too, my skin looks too rough.” Sade had taken twenty pictures and didn’t like any. She sighed and said softly, “Nothing about me feels perfect anymore.” Her friend smiled and said, “Maybe that is the point, maybe grace isn’t supposed to be filtered.” And that’s when it hit her. We have been taught to present only the polished parts of our lives, to edit out the flaws before anyone can see them. But God’s grace doesn’t edit, it embraces. Unfiltered grace is messy. It’s falling and still being loved. It’s crying and still being called chosen. It’s failing and still being covered. Sade realized she didn’t need to look perfect to be purposeful. Her story, with all its cracks and pauses, was still worthy of being told because that’s how light shines through. So, she stopped deleting. She posted one photo. Imperfect, real, raw and wrote, “This is me, unfiltered. Still growing. Still loved.” And that’s the beauty of unfiltered grace, it r...

Tola used to post every milestone, Every new job, every answered prayer, every small win. But lately, she went silent. No updates, no long captions, no “God did it” posts. People began to wonder, “Is she okay?” But she was. She had just discovered a different kind of peace, the kind that doesn’t need to prove, just to exist. You see, there’s a glow that doesn’t come from filters or flashlights. It comes from a quiet place — where you stop explaining and start trusting. Where you realize you don’t need to announce what God is still building. Sometimes, silence isn’t emptiness, it’s growth in progress. God often does His best work in hidden places, where applause can’t distract you and comparison can’t reach you. Tola stopped trying to prove her light and started protecting her peace. And slowly, she noticed something, she was glowing differently. Not loudly. Not publicly. But inwardly. Deeply. Beautifully. Because there’s a kind of glow that comes only from surrender, from knowing your ...

“Smile, don’t let them know you’re struggling.” That’s what Kemi whispered to herself before taking another selfie. She smiled brightly, clicked “upload,” and within seconds, hearts and comments flooded in. “Pretty!” “Soft life!” “You’re glowing!” But nobody knew she cried that morning over unpaid bills. Nobody saw the anxiety behind that beautiful picture. She was glowing but not from joy, from exhaustion. That’s the pressure of appearance, looking fine while falling apart. Trying to prove you’re okay because the world only applauds success stories. We’ve made life a stage performance, smiling in public, breaking in private. We filter our pain but post our progress, forgetting that healing happens when we stop pretending. Dear one, it’s okay not to glow all the time. It’s okay to have silent seasons where nothing looks beautiful but everything is being built. Because the truth is, real growth doesn’t always look attractive; sometimes it looks like waiting, praying, and crying your way...