“It’s the fire of a woman that warms a place” – Christie Manj
Many times, I’ve wished I could hide beneath the fold of God’s cloak — to press my fingers to my ears to hush the noise, to still the chaos, to escape the ache of a world that never stops demanding. Noise has a thousand tongues and many faces: the wrestle of expectations, the ache of comparison, the ticking of your own imagined timeline… not to mention society’s endless chatter, the strain of relationships (family, friends, and lovers all the same) and the weight of a world always at war with itself. Noise isn’t just headlines or heartbreak; it’s the clash of opinions, the pressure to perform, the whispers of not-enough.
Somewhere along the way, it becomes clear: the world reflects the heart of its people, just as the heart absorbs the cry of the world. The conflict isn’t one-directional, it’s cyclical. The unrest within people fuels the chaos outside, and the world’s noise, in turn, stirs the unrest within. It’s a haunting symmetry — poetic, perhaps, but never pretty. There’s an endless dialogue between the soul and its surroundings, both longing for harmony yet speaking in discord. Some noise global, some personal, but all loud enough to drown the whisper of peace.
Thankfully, grace has never been afraid of noise. It enters the chaos not to calm it, but to call you higher. All of us need grace, but grace has no use for hiding. It refines conquerors. I learned that no one outruns the noise, not when it lives within and around you. Legs can’t outrun the speed of sound, and they certainly cannot outrun the speed of restless thoughts. So I stopped running, and started rising. I saw that fleeing from the noise was futile; I had to soar above it. I had to be courageous; and not in the loud, performative way the world defines it, but in the quiet, deliberate strength of obedience. The kind that stands even when trembling, that chooses faith when feeling falters, that trades emotion for endurance, and replaces comfort with calling.
As women, even in our softness, we are summoned to stand tall. That’s the paradox of womanhood — as soft and tender as we are called to be, the world still demands our strength. Yet true power has never been in loudness or force, but in the fire of a woman that warms a place. I used to think gentleness meant stepping back. But grace taught me the opposite. You can be soft and still unshakable; you can burn with purpose and still embody peace.
For too long I mistook stillness for safety, until eventually, I understood that real safety is discovered in courage, not concealment. Hiding feels harmless at first, but in this quiet game of hide and seek, you either find yourself… or resurrect the monsters you thought you buried. You either uncover purpose, or give life to the things that were meant to die.
Initially, hiding feels secure — retreating into comfort, shrinking beneath the weight of what you cannot control, convincing yourself that silence protects you. That’s not quite the lesson we were meant to take from Bird Box, ladies. Hiding doesn’t heal; it hardens. You begin to mistake isolation for peace, when really it is fear disguised as rest. The longer you hide, the more your fears learn your name. They grow in the darkness of that hiding place, fed by avoidance, by silence, and by the illusion of control. Before you know it, the sanctuary you seek can twist into the prison you fear; and within the blink of an eye, the cave you call safety can easily become your cage.
Wrapping my head around the idea that life isn’t linear was difficult. From our earliest moments as little girls, we’ve all — at least once — envisioned our version of perfection and timeliness. The age we’d have it all together. The season where purpose would arrive neatly packaged, with no detours or delays. We mapped our milestones like clockwork — graduation, career, love, stability, fulfilment — as if God Himself were bound by our calendars.
But life, I’ve learned, unfolds more like a tapestry than a timeline. Some threads are bright and immediate, others are buried deep, waiting for their moment to shine. The beauty isn’t in the predictability — it’s in the divine interruptions, the pauses that feel like punishment but are really preparation. With faith I’ve learnt refinement is gently woven, it cannot be rushed. When I stopped demanding a straight line, I started to see fingerprints of greatness even in life’s curves.
It’s important that even in difficulty, you learn to see those fingerprints of greatness; divine evidence that something larger than yourself is quietly in motion. Sometimes the start of greatness doesn’t look like an open door; it looks like delay, detour, and even disappointment. In those moments depth is crafted. What seems damaged and dry, brittle and barren is often the perfect ground for transformation and reinvention.
Duty is what called me out of the shadows of self-preservation and into the light of divine purpose. It whispered that courage is not the absence of fear but the refusal to let fear dictate destiny.
The world is full of noise. It breathes, it bends, and it certainly finds a way to sustain itself. The more you try to escape it, the louder it becomes. But somewhere along the way, I learned that noise isn’t necessarily an interruption — it’s an invitation. Only in the midst of it do you begin to understand the shape of your own thoughts, the texture of your strength, the sound of your own truth.
Every step forward for me became an act of defiance against hesitation. It demanded focus, grit, and clarity. Challenges became opportunities to sharpen my edge, and every choice to lean into discomfort, built momentum I didn’t know I had. I began to unveil a brilliance I had only glimpsed in dreams. Purpose stopped being abstract and became the framework for every action, every decision, and every victory.
Silence is comfortable (trust me I’d know) but it doesn’t always reveal you. Noise does. It exposes what is fragile and what is firm. It teaches you to listen differently — not for quiet, but for clarity. And maybe that’s what growth really is: learning to stand tall, unflinching, even when the world screams relentlessly around you.
Whether it’s pursuing your career, pursuing love, pursuing deeper faith, or pursuing the rediscovery of self — you cannot do it from the shadows. Growth requires a certain level of visibility. Healing requires honesty, and purpose requires participation. The world will tell you to wait until you’ve perfected yourself before you step forward, but the best reinventions often unfold with the prerequisite that you come as you are — unpolished, uncertain, and still in progress. Hiding won’t spare you from pain, fear or confusion; it will only rob you of transformation.
We fear becoming who we’ve never been, even when that person is everything we’ve ever wanted to be.
Christie Manj
Every step you take towards purpose, no matter how trembling, is an act of faith. Because the truth is, courage isn’t found in the absence of fear, but in the decision to move anyway. For me, I had to trust that the same God who called me, would also carry me.
Diamonds take it from me, true safety isn’t in retreat; it’s in presence. The safest place is forward, deliberate, and unflinching. There is discomfort in growth, but also a rare peace in knowing you didn’t stay small. The greater risk lies in shrinking back, in silencing your gifts, dimming your brilliance, and muzzling a voice that was built to move mountains. You cannot catch a train you never showed up to meet. Fortune meets those who act boldly, not those who linger in shadows. Even miracles need a meeting place.
From today onwards see the unknown as a proving ground, not a threat. Eventually when your story unfolds, you will see that every unseen thread was leading you to a place of perfect purpose.
When life presses, sparkle – signed with love, Diamond.…
thediamondsofgrace 
Leave a comment