Stand Before The Creator

Stand Before The Creator

By Kateb Nuri-Alim Shunnar

Some days, when life feels like it’s pressing down on my chest and even the sky seems tired, I catch myself drifting. Not far just back a bit. Back to that creaky porch swing where my grandmother used to sit with a fan in one hand and wisdom in the other. She didn’t say much, but when she did, her words had weight like they’d been dipped in truth and left out in the sun to dry.

She once told me, “Boy, one day you gon’ have to stand in front of the Almighty. Everything you done, everything you thought, said, or meant to do it’ll be right there with you. So keep your hands clean and your heart even cleaner.”

She said it calm, like it wasn’t just something she believed but something she’d seen. Like she’d already been in the room with God and came back with the story.

And man, that stuck with me.

Ever wonder what it’d feel like to really stand before the Creator? Not in some picture-perfect, movie-scene type of way but raw. No filters. No titles. Just you. Just Him.

Like standing barefoot in front of a hurricane…

Or trying to hide your tears in a place where truth is the only language spoken.

A Summer Lesson in My Grandmother’s Garden

I remember this one day hot enough to fry your worries on the sidewalk. I was ten, maybe eleven. I’d told a lie. Something small, not even worth remembering, but my grandma… she could smell the truth like rain coming.

She didn’t scold me. Didn’t even look disappointed. Just called me to her garden, pointed at this droopy tomato plant that looked like it had given up on itself.

“That right there,” she said, “is what lying does. Might look alright on the outside, but inside? You’re shriveling up.”

She handed me the watering can.

“Water it anyway. Just ‘cause something’s hurt don’t mean it ain’t worth saving. Same goes for you. Tell the truth. Water your spirit.”

Now, I didn’t get it then. But over time, when life got messy and I’d lost parts of myself in the confusion, that memory came back. Clear as day. And I started pouring truth back into my soul like water into dry roots.

A Bit of Soul-Poetry

What if grace was a rhythm

And your breath was the beat?

What if kindness had a scent

And it smelled like your grandma’s house at dusk?

What if every act of patience

Was a brick in your mansion on the other side?

And what if the quiet choice to forgive

Echoed louder in heaven

Than all the noise we make trying to prove we’re right?

And here’s a little something I’ve been chewing on lately:

One day when it’s all said and done we’re gonna line up.

No suits. No designer names. No “likes” or followers.

Just souls. Just stories. Just the truth.

And when that light hits us?

All the little games we played, the grudges we carried like trophies, the shade we threw just to feel tall they’ll fall away like dust.

And I don’t know about you, but I wanna meet that moment with a heart that’s been softened by living.

Not hardened by winning.

Some folks will be standing there with clean records but dusty hearts.

Others? They might be battered and bruised, but full of compassion.

And I got this feeling the second group’s got a better chance of hearing “Well done.”

Now Let’s Talk About Peace

Peace ain’t some magical thing floating in the air, waiting for you to grab it.

Nah it’s hand-built. Day by day.

Made from every “I’m sorry” you actually meant, every “I forgive you” you didn’t feel like saying but said anyway.

It’s carved out of the moments you chose love over ego.

Stillness over screaming.

Grace over being right.

Peace is earned in the quiet places.

So here’s my ask:

Make peace. Like, today.

With your brother who never called you back.

With your cousin who borrowed and didn’t repay.

With that old version of you that keeps showing up in your regrets.

Even with God if y’all haven’t talked in a while.

Pick up the phone. Write the letter. Say the prayer. Let go.

Let Me Say This Before I Go

The world’s gotten loud.

Louder than ever.

Everybody’s yelling to be heard, to be right, to matter.

But when the noise dies down, and your name gets called,

God won’t ask you how clever you were.

Or how many receipts you kept.

He’ll ask you how you loved.

Who you helped.

What kind of light you carried in a dark room.

So, before your time’s up whenever that is make it count.

Say what needs saying.

Love with both hands.

Apologize even when your pride protests.

And stay soft. Even in a hard world.

That softness? That compassion? That’s the stuff heaven remembers.

So yeah… one day, we’ll all stand before God.

And when that moment comes, I pray we ain’t trembling with regret but glowing with grace smiling like we just made it home.