Sacred Presence

A reflection on intimacy, stillness, and the quiet love of God.

There's a kind of intimacy that doesn't need to be loud.

It doesn't need words, grand gestures, or constant motions.

It's slower. Softer. Unspoken.

I've learned this mostly from God...

a love that stays even when I have nothing to offer.

A love that holds space. That lingers, not out of obligation, but because it wants to be near.

But I didn't always know this kind of love.

There was a time I thought intimacy had to be earned.

That I had to be perfect to be loved.

That silence meant abandonment.

That if I wasn't useful or cheerful, I'd be left behind.

I went through a long season of isolation.

Not just emotional- but physical.

There were days, even weeks, where I hardly saw anyone.

I spent most of my time alone... quiet rooms, silent days,

disconnected from everything and everyone

And when the world kept moving without me, I started to wonder if I even mattered,

But in that stillness, in that silence... He met me.

He didn't break the silence with noise.

He entered it with presence.

He didn't force healing.

He didn't rush me out.

He just stayed.

He became my companion when no one else was there.

My healer when I didn't have words for what hurt.

My comfort when all I could do was sit beside the weight of life.

And that was when I began to understand what intimacy really is.

Not someone who comes to fix you.

Not someone who needs you to perform.

But someone who stays, I'll stay. Even here.

That's what I saw in this photo.

Two people sharing a moment, not facing each other, not speaking...just being.

Together in silence.

Together in ache.

And still... there's something deeply tender in it.

Intimacy, in a quiet, unspoken way. The kind that comes from simply being present... Even in silence. Even when there are no words. Just choosing to stay. That's love. Holy in its quiet. Sacred.

Sometimes love looks like that.

Not dramatic. Not loud.

Just quietly there.

Now I understand that intimacy doesn't mean being fully understood.

It means not being left.

That's what God has done for me.

That's what healed me.

And slowly, that's what I'm learning to give.

Because a love that remains... especially in silence, especially in brokenness...

is not just kind.

It's sacred.

It's holy.