My Story, My Song

My Story, My Song

By Kateb Shunnar

Holding On When Letting Go Seems Easier

Everyone’s got an opinion, right? And that’s fine. I respect that. But for a minute just one minute hear mine. Don’t argue, don’t judge. Just sit with it. Like you’re sitting on a riverbank, watching the water swirl around rocks, leaves floating past, nothing perfect, nothing neat, but moving. That’s how I want you to feel this. My story. My song.

No matter how violently the ground quakes beneath me, I’m not letting go of my faith. Not ever. Life has this way of making you think everything’s falling apart. And maybe it is, in ways that look real ugly. But my faith? It’s stubborn. And yes, maybe ridiculous to some, but it keeps me anchored. Logic doesn’t guide this. Evidence doesn’t help. All I know is the Creator has never failed me. Never. And I trust Him.

Even if I lost everything every dime, every little possession, every ounce of strength I’d still hold on. I could be bedridden, running a fever, the walls closing in, feeling like a shadow in my own life, but my connection to the Creator? Unbroken. My trust runs through the good, the bad, the ugly, the messy. Sickness and health. Joy and heartbreak. Laughter and tears. And don’t get me wrong faith doesn’t make life easy. It makes life bearable. And beautiful in ways you don’t see coming.

I’m not stuck. I’m not stagnant. Some days, it feels like nothing’s moving, but I know better. I won’t listen to frustration, ego, or feelings that swing like the wind. I won’t listen to other people’s noise either. Opinions, advice, social media, gossip all that’s distraction. I walk by faith, not sight. My eyes may see rubble, but my heart sees resurrection. My sight may see loss, but my soul sees purpose.

The Creator has been too good to me for me to quit on Him over one prayer that wasn’t answered the way I wanted. And maybe that’s the thing maybe what I wanted wasn’t good for me at all. Maybe what I resisted was exactly what I needed. The Creator sees farther than I do. Human understanding? Limited. Way too limited.

I’ve had to learn patience. Trust. Sometimes the lesson comes in loss, disappointment, sickness, heartbreak. And here’s the kicker you don’t always see the lesson when it’s happening. Only later, when the dust settles. So, patience. Trust. Faith.

And this isn’t just abstract. I learned a lot of this from the riverbanks. My grandparents, Celestine and my grandfather bless their souls they taught me the real rhythms of life. We used to go fishing, crabbing. Cold mornings, wet boots, hands smelling like salt and bait. My grandfather, steady as a rock, sitting there with his line in the water, never flinching. He’d grin at me, like he knew something I didn’t. “The sea’s patient,” he’d say. “It gives when it’s ready, not when you are.”

And my grandmother, always right there, handing me tools, steadying my hands, showing me how to bait a trap or pull in a crab without losing a finger. She’d laugh when I got it wrong, shake her head at me, but always teach. That’s life, isn’t it? Mistakes, lessons, patience, guidance. You can’t rush it. You can’t fake it. You can’t cheat it.

I’ll tell you a story I carry in my heart. Pure folklore I made up, but it stuck because it’s true in life. There was a village by the sea, suffering through a drought. Crops dead, animals starving, people losing hope. They tried everything chants, dances, arguments, blaming each other. Nothing worked.

Then there was an old woman. Bent over, eyes sharp, a crooked back, a laugh that sounded like a wheeze. She said, “I’ll bring the rain.” People laughed. “You? That frail thing? The rain won’t even look at you.” She laughed louder. “Maybe. But I’ll be ready.”

She planted seeds in dry riverbed soil, watered them from tiny cups, talked to them, scolded them, sang to them. People kept laughing. Weeks later, clouds broke. The seeds sprouted. Lush. Green. She danced like a fool in her little patch while everyone scrambled, panicked. She hadn’t changed the rain. She changed herself. Faith, readiness, patience she had them. That’s me. That’s why I hold on.

Faith isn’t neat or perfect. Sometimes it’s messy, like the time I tried baking bread and skipped steps. What came out wasn’t bread. It was a brick. I laughed. Faith feels like that sometimes clumsy, awkward, human. But the Creator’s recipe never fails. My job isn’t to improvise; it’s to trust.

Sometimes holding on feels exhausting. Like carrying a candle through a hurricane. But the longer I hold, the stronger it burns. Storms teach. Trials temper. And when I fall, the hand that lifts me is steady. Faith grows strongest not in calm, but in chaos.

I know some call me naive, maybe even foolish. Fine. If being a fool means trusting the Creator instead of my shaky logic, I’ll wear that. If being stubborn means standing firm when others bend, I’ll wear that too. Because I’ve seen what happens when you let go. Nothing grows. But hold on? The sweetest fruit comes.

So yes, I hold on through loss. I hold on through sickness. Through storms that strip life bare. Because the Creator is with me in victories, defeats, illnesses, heartbreaks, tears no one sees. I trust Him. He’s never failed me. He never will.

Be still and know…

[You can fill in the blank—I trust you will say the right words.]

Love,

Kateb

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In my sleep  last night  The Creator  told me slow down for a second. Stop trying to drown Me out with all your plans and agendas. I see you running, pushing, thinking you have to do everything on your own. But listen, your life? It’s not just a series of random choices or “what-ifs.” It’s a story, and I’m holding the pen. You don’t need to wrestle it from My hands. Trust me, it’s heavy if you don’t know how to hold it.

I called you before you even knew you needed calling. I justified you even before you understood grace. And the path I’ve set? It leads to glory you just have to walk it, step by step. It’s not about doing it all perfectly. Heck, it’s not even about doing it all. It’s about letting Me guide you while you keep your eyes, ears, and heart wide open.

I know you hear the world screaming. It’s loud out there, right? But My Word? It’s a lamp when your feet feel lost, a flashlight cutting through the fog. If you silence everything else even just for a minute you’ll hear Me. Really hear Me. And I’ll carry you when your arms get tired and your mind starts spinning. You were never meant to shoulder it all alone.

So, breathe. Let go of the frantic grasping. Keep your heart soft, your ears tuned, and don’t be afraid to stumble a little. I see you. I know you. And yes I’ll guide you. Even when you feel like you’ve missed the mark, even when life feels messy. I’ve got you.

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I share these words with you my readers embrace them.