From the moment I could speak, my mother, a Sunday school teacher with a heart full of faith, taught me and all my siblings how to pray. It began with simple words of gratitude before meals. Then came morning prayers for guidance, which we prayed as sunlight crept through the curtains. At night, just before sleep takes over my body, I would press my hands together and tell God about my day.

As I grew a bit older, so did my prayers. Sunday school lessons turned the Lord’s Prayer into second nature, recited as easily as my ABCs. Prayer became routine, steady, like breathing.

But now?
Now, my prayers don’t come in neat, memorized lines. Some days, they’re raw.Unfiltered. A choked-out “Why me?” when the pain digs its claws in deep. Other days, when laughter comes easy and the weight lifts, my prayers spill over: Thank you. Thank you. Thank you, Lord.

Living with chronic pain is like living with a thief, one that steals moments without warning. One second, I’m fine… the next, pain shoots through my body like lightning, and the world shrinks to just me and the ache. But this journey has taught me something… Life is fragile. Borrowed time. And in that truth, I’ve learned to cherish the small things, the warmth of a cup of tea, a friend’s voice on the phone, a quiet morning when my body lets me breathe.

Prayer isn’t what it used to be. It’s no longer just reciting words I learned as a child. It’s alive. Messy. Real.

Sometimes, it’s a yell into the dark. Other times, it’s a heart-to-heart with God, tears rolling down my cheeks, some from joy, some from the kind of pain that makes you whisper, “How much longer… for how long do I have to suffer?” Some nights, when words fail, I sing through the hurt because worship doesn’t need perfect words.

In the quiet, I remember my mother’s voice guiding those first prayers. I wonder if she knew she was planting seeds of hope that would hold me up on days when standing felt impossible. Her faith still lights my path, even when I can’t see the way forward.

These days, my prayer is simple… God, May Your Will Be Done – not mine. Whether that means a moment’s relief or strength to endure, I’m learning to trust Him with it. To center myself in Him, even when the storm rages.

Because prayer isn’t about having the right words. It’s showing up with your broken pieces and saying, “Here I am. Again.” It’s knowing you’re heard, even when the only thing you can offer is silence.

And that? That’s enough. A promise that keeps me going, a light that never goes out.

By: Mutshidzi

The post The Prayers That Held Me~ By Mutshidzi appeared first on Sheevolves.world.

Society, my home,
Society, my refuge,
From time unknown,
You have been my haven.

I cry, I weep,
When all I see is that you are now
A technologically torn area.
What was our unity force
When I wandered into the depth and breadth of your beauty
Has become our contender.

We have become adversaries
And strangers in one abode.

Society, I cry,
Society, I grieve.
I stand on segregated ground
As I ask, “Is what I am experiencing an illusion?”
Alas, it is reality.

When shall we embrace again?
Waltz like the world is meant only for the two of us?
When shall we awaken to the truth
That little by little, we are alienated?
Our umbilical cord cut off
By our engrossed desire to quench
The need for recognition by the unknown,
The desire to feed the greedy but never satisfied sphere.

Society, my home,
Society, my place,
Society, my friend.

Written By
Cathrine Banda

The post Society My Home By Catherine Banda appeared first on Sheevolves.world.

Church, my safe space
Church, my home ground
Church, my pillar of strength
I come to you and feel the connection
I rely on you for any other burdens that weigh on me
Church, you are the way and light to salvation.

Pastors have taken over
Pastors have changed it all
Pastors have seen the gap
Then, who do we run to help
We expect to find a pillar in them
Pastors and greed have taken over and spread the doubts to the worshipers.

They say Money is a source of evil
They say Money dictates decisions
I say Money makes the world go around regardless
They say Money is a drive to turn on the congregation.

Church, you are my safe place
The Church is our common ground
Church in you, we find comfort
Church, my pillar of strength
Regardless of changes and trials, Church, you are for us.
Church, you are the way and light to salvation.

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I was born into a Muslim home, where the teachings of the Quran and the traditions of our faith shaped the way I saw the world. I studied the Quran, completed Walimot, and followed the customs of my upbringing, but there was always a feeling deep within me that something was missing. I longed for a deeper understanding of God, a force beyond rituals and ceremonies. That yearning stayed with me throughout my school years, especially in secondary school.

The school was a time of loneliness for me. I was reserved and found it challenging to connect with others. I walked alone most of the time, never truly fitting in with any group. I had classmates, workmates, and talk-mates, but these were more surface-level connections than true friendships. Though I thought I had friends, I never felt like I belonged. It was as if I were a stranger in my world, searching for something but not knowing exactly what it was. When I entered Lagos State University, a cousin introduced me to the Baptist Students Fellowship (BSF) on campus. It felt like a new chapter had begun. The warmth and acceptance I found in the BSF community were unlike anything I had ever experienced. For the first time, I felt welcomed and loved for who I was, not just for my background or outward actions.

But it wasn’t just the community that drew me in; it was the presence of God. I vividly remember a BSF choir and drama retreat that became the turning point in my life. During that retreat, something shifted within me. I encountered God in a way I never had before. It was as though He had revealed Himself to me in a way that I could no longer deny. For the first time, I understood that Jesus was not just a figure from the past but a living, breathing Savior ready to dwell in my heart. As I meditated on this truth, the words from John 1:14 echoed in my mind: “And the Word became flesh.” Then, I realized Christ was not distant or untouchable. He was close, intimate, and ready to walk with me through every season of my life. God, the faith I had been searching for; a personal relationship with God through Jesus Christ.

Transitioning from my Muslim background to a Christian faith wasn’t easy. There were moments of doubt, confusion, and even fear. I was leaving behind everything I had known, stepping into a world that was unfamiliar to me. But even in the moments of uncertainty, I could feel God’s presence guiding me. His hand was steady, showing me that His plan for my life was more significant than anything I could
have imagined.

Over time, my faith grew deeper, and so did my sense of purpose. I realized that my journey was not just for me; it was meant to be shared. Evangelism became a natural outflow of my transformation. I wanted to reach others who were lost and share the hope and love I had found in Christ. This desire led me to my first mission trip with The Mercy Prevail Ministry to Aderupoko, Abeokuta, in April 2023. Serving in a remote village was a life-changing experience. It opened my eyes to the realities of life beyond the city and deepened my commitment to spreading the love of Christ to those in need.

As my faith and purpose grew, so did my passion for writing. I realized that writing wasn’t just something I enjoyed; it was a calling. Through my writing, I could share the stories of my journey, the lessons I had learned, and the hope I had found in Christ. Writing became a way for me to inspire
others, to reach hearts with the message of God’s love. Alongside my writing, I also pursued a passion for hair styling.

I launched a brand called Hairology, where I could use my creativity and skills to serve others. It wasn’t just about doing hair but showing love, kindness, and care in everything I did. Everyone sitting in my chair was an opportunity to make a difference, no matter how small. I feel a deep sense of purpose as I look to the future. My faith is the foundation of everything I do, and I am committed to continuing my growth, service, and writing journey. I want to keep inspiring others, sharing the love of Christ, and being the hands and feet of Jesus in every season of my life.

Looking back on my journey, I see the hand of God in every step I’ve taken. From the struggles of loneliness in school to the moment I encountered Christ, every experience has shaped who I am today. The greatest lesson I’ve learned is that God’s plan is always greater than our own. Even when the road seems unclear or complicated, His purposes come through in ways we may only sometimes understand. I want my story to encourage anyone who may be struggling or searching for meaning. God is faithful, and His love is unchanging. If you are looking for hope, purpose, or a relationship with the One who created you, know  He is ready to meet you right where you are.

Trust Him with your journey; He will guide you to the place He has prepared for you.

The post FROM LONELINESS TO PURPOSE appeared first on Sheevolves.world.

When the sunset fades, and the stars disappear,
When the darkness deepens, and my heart does fear.
And when the tunnel’s grip seems endless and wide,
My weary body and soul, side by side.

On days when prayers repeat, a desperate cry,
“Why me?” I ask, with tears that won’t dry.
Lord, help me find strength in the darkest of nights,
And guide me through life’s most troubled lights.

When pain ravages, and breathing is a test,
When my heart aches, and my spirit is oppressed.
Lord, reach out to me, and take my hand,
Remind me of Your goodness, in this troubled land.

Remind me of why I’m here, and what I face,
Remind me of Your love, and Your gentle, healing pace.
Lord, remind me of who You are, so true,
My Creator, Redeemer, forever shining through.

Written by Mutshidzi

The post Dear God appeared first on Sheevolves.world.

In the light of Christ, my spirit soars,
He is the Truth, the Way, the Life—my core.
In every word, His promise shines,
Validation flows through these heartbeats of mine.

With confidence, I rise and stand,
My voice, a flare, my purpose, a plan.
With will and passion, I forge my path,
In every endeavor, I embrace His grace.

Dedicated, I commit, my heart in the fray,
Excellence, my guide in all that I say.
Accountable and true, I walk this road,
A reliable soul, in His love bestowed.

Through faith and strength, I find my might,
With Jesus beside me, I ignite the light.
In every challenge, I shall prevail,
For in His name, I cannot fail.

Written by  Azwi-Hilton

The post A Testament of Faith appeared first on Sheevolves.world.

What a journey it’s been! I’m so grateful to my creator for waking me up to my true self. At first, everything in my life changed in a way that didn’t make sense. I was losing everything.

Then Chapter 33 happened – the age that flipped everything. I realized I’m extraordinary, yes, a child of the soil. I’m different, yes, a child of the Nguni’s. I’m chosen, yes, a child of the stars. And being in the world is okay but not part of it.

I realized that my creator is within the great Mama, the elephant. The divine magic and wisdom made me for a greater purpose. That’s when meaning started to form in my life, and everything changed. Building my relationship with my creator has been my greatest gift.

When I say everyone disappeared, I mean it. Because when the High Most claims you back from this crazy world, she removes all the noise, all of it so you can solely focus on your divine power and presence in Spirit and in truth as the WOMB (MAN).

Bulelwa is my name, which is Xhosa and it means: “We Give Thanks.” Growing up, I always wondered why this name. As I got older, I realized that my Grandmother was telling me who I am, the child of the high most; so I should always give thanks for everything in my life, especially the little things, being in Gratitude energy.

Throughout my childhood, I always felt different. I just didn’t fit in. Luckily for me, I enjoyed my solitude and individuality. Like the ocean, I flow with the Rhythm of my soul, the King. My differences were never an issue because I never seemed to follow others; I wanted to be different, as opposed to what is viewed as cool, hip, and trendy. I created my path, which shaped my true essence of leadership.

Like everyone’s, my life journey has never been easy. I’m not perfect and not trying to be, but my motto is to always operate from my heart space, which is love. That’s what carried me in times when I felt like giving up… when I was heartbroken, depressed, and detached from everything.

When you have love in your heart, even if you are not loved or accepted, appreciated or valued by the world, family, or friends, our creator is love – the 5th element of nature, always there guiding you. That’s why it’s so important to put our trust in the higher power, not this world. Our creator is love.

Chapter 33 was a game-changer for me. Not only am I living my true purpose, but I also share with others to understand that all is within. The true KINGDOM of heaven starts with you inside. So this is me breaking down my spiritual journey so far. Our growth never ends. I’m just sharing my relationship with my creator.

Below are some elements of life that I believe in and can relate to:

Extraordinary
Being extraordinary is the power given to us to help ourselves and others, pouring wisdom and sharing to evoke the great spirit within others. Healing doesn’t happen without forgiveness. We have to let go of the pain, the past, and our childhood trauma so we don’t join the pity party movement. True evolution starts with understanding that we are part of something bigger than us. We are ancient, we are divine, and we are chosen for these times, this generation to serve others, not be served.

The Soil
When we truly accept that we are connected to nature, we truly understand the meaning of Ubuntu. Nature is not just a green thing and trees and flowers. Nature is a part of us, we are her children. The disconnection is making us sick. Nature is the true healer. The sun activates us through the power of our melanin. As the child of the soil, I make it my duty to educate others on the healing power of nature.

The water stands in full view for us to remember that we lack nothing, we are limitless. The flow of water is limitless. The living water in the river always goes forward, never backward, which teaches us to never give up, and to always be moving towards our dreams, vision, and goals. The majestic presence of the mountain stands in full view as a reminder that seasons come and go, but we stand firm in the great power which is the air that flows within us all, the great Spirit called life force.

Nguni
The power of our DNA goes beyond human and scientific understanding. Humankind emerged from the great mother of all kinds of colors and shades. In the great kingdom of KONG, the four brothers embarked on a journey to explore more. They reached the southern part, where the Khoi San people lived in Harambe and Uhuru. One of the brothers fell madly in love with the beautiful daughter of the Khoisan, and thus the XHOSA PEOPLE were born. The other three continued their journey, crossing the Zambezi River into Limpopo. I am a child of the NGUNI, HERORO, KHALANGA, LANA, HIMA, SHONA, KITUNI, XHOSA, ZULU, AND NDEBELE, my ancestors.

The stars
Our forgotten roots. The time has come for us to stop hiding who we truly are. We have to pay attention to the spiritual shifts that are happening. Listen carefully. We are the ORIGINALS, Ancients. Now is the time to showcase who we are through creativity and storytelling. We have to stop hiding. We come from the stars, into our m… into our mother’s belly, we are the roots. ABBA gives us Fire, THE SUN. Mama gives us WATER, life force. We are spiritual more than the physical.

REMEMBER WHO YOU ARE.
LOVE
ISANUSI BULELWA MASHEZI

Editor: Mutshidzi Kwinda

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All schools had closed countrywide, and students had gone home for the holidays. There was excitement everywhere since it was going to be a long break. On a Saturday morning, we prepared for a Sunday visit to a different church my sister had told us about. According to her story, it sounded pretty different from other churches. We were curious. I remember my father saying, “Churches have never caused grave difficulties”. Mom kept quiet because she was a hard nut to crack. We woke up early that Sunday morning because the church was far from home. “You need punctuality; it’s a different church, you know”, Mom roared.

We took a taxi that dropped us on the side of the road. It was a 30-minute drive. We walked a few steps away from the main road through the plantation. “We have reached”, Sister Milly exclaimed. There was a church and a big house beside it. We were barely on time, and the service had already begun. Like any church, they welcomed us warmly but with a rule. “We don’t enter with shoes inside the church,” a woman said. This was new to us except for Sister Milly, who had been coming there.

The church was a medium-sized building made of mud with white iron sheets and two doorways. On the right-hand side, as you entered, it was a place for females, and on the left was for males. In front was the altar and two chairs on both sides as you faced the congregation. The three chairs were occupied except for one that was empty. Unlike other churches, some church members wore cloaks on their shoulders with colours like blue, white, and red, with crosses on them. I looked around and saw women and gentlemen in their late 20s who looked pale, weak, and hungry. It was difficult to understand why.

“My name is Adam,” the young preacher said as he continued quoting Bible verses. A few minutes after our arrival, I saw a tall, slim, black man outside the church coming towards the church door. No sooner had he entered the church than all the members prostrated. It was the first weird thing we saw, and we followed it accordingly. He started speaking in tongues, and a woman interpreted. At the time, I was taken aback by the church’s practices. “Humans can’t be worshipped whatsoever, particularly the religious ones,” I thought. He later led us into worship and gave a few Bible verses before ending.

“Don, Flair, and Rita move forward,” he called out. Two ladies and a gentleman stood up. “It’s time for receiving messages,” he continued. The ushers stood behind them as he prayed. My eyes were wide open as they lost balance on their feet, became unconscious, and lay on the ground as we waited. I wanted to go home at that moment, but it was impossible since I couldn’t walk home alone. In the meantime, they woke up one by one. They had a story to tell, especially to us, the visitors. They claimed to have seen cunning and lying people. “I saw your church pastor being beaten in hell,” Flair said. “You definitely shouldn’t go back because you might end up punished, too,” he added. Dan said, “I saw angels welcome them.” “Jesus told me that he (my dad) should join us in preaching the gospel”, Rita stated.

Our minds were full of questions. Prostration, tongues, interpretation, and sending people to heaven were new to us. “Come and take questions from visitors, Adam,” the prophet ordered. Mom and Dad asked many questions, which they answered satisfactorily. It seemed like a mind and soul-trapping game. However, they won our hearts and souls. To sum up, we later accepted and became new church members that day. After the service, they treated us to food and drinks. I was dumbfounded the whole evening, still thinking about what happened. Indeed, the way they addressed themselves was strange.

George was the prophet, the high priest, the commander officer, the son of Jesus, and the Dad. He was feared, and no one could go against his word. As we left for home, I heard them tell Dad they would be coming to visit us. We didn’t have much but had enough to feed them. We prepared food and drinks from plantations, gardens, vegetables, and milk from cows and goats and hens and hard cash. Their visit was one week away, so it needed immediate preparation. It was going to be a three-day visit, so Dad invited people to come and attend the services.

Attention, Brethren! Praise God. Come, listen to your prophecy with Prophet George R. at my home. It will take place on 14th December 2017. Edward N. Because people valued and respected Dad so much, they came in large numbers. A group of church leaders and their prophets also came. It was a successful Wednesday and the day that followed. It was indeed some miracle; people kept coming, and three days turned into weeks and months until Dad and Mom gave a land agreement to build a church. It was the start of giving out everything. Upon starting the foundation of the church, the unbelievable happened. The prophet George raised a white flag with a blue cross, which he explained meant the Holy Spirit. It caught the attention of the local council leaders, who thought it was a rebel group that had annexed our village. Dad explained it to them, and they understood.

Prophet George dug one-foot holes where someone could stand with both feet. “Stand in here,” he said as he placed blue cloaks on our shoulders with crosses on them. He ordered Dad to carry him on his back with a machete facing his head. “Is he going to cut Dad?” I thought. It was a ritual he was to perform that we didn’t understand. He also spoke some words we didn’t understand. He buried a stone in the centre of the church foundation before they started building. We didn’t mind as it was about building the church. After building the church, he acted strangely. Sometimes, he only took Krest soda, which he explained meant Christ. In so doing, he was taking the blood of Jesus Christ. He became worse and taught prostration to people, some of whom accepted it and others didn’t. Numbers decreased because people interpreted it differently.

He would take a crate of Krest soda every week, and we would slaughter a goat every two weeks. He preached miracles daily. There were two hills opposite each other and a gully in the middle, which he said God would fill with sand to form a plateau. He claimed my uncle, who had died and been buried two years ago, would rise from the dead. People interpreted this differently but were already trapped. On the coronation day of the new church leaders, he gave them cloaks of different colours like blue, white, and red to wear on their shoulders, with crosses on them. He said whoever he gave the white cloak to represented the Holy Spirit was the one to lie on his bed and be his wife. The red cloak with white crosses was for evangelists, the one with blue crosses was for pastors, and the blue cloaks were for preachers. It looked like a group of cult leaders, which we never understood because this was nothing like religion.

My eldest sister was the one crowned with the white cloak. She had spent one year at home due to misunderstandings within her marriage. She refused it and immediately returned to her marriage without notice. The prophet George had two wives, whom he got by crowning them with white cloaks, and my sister was to be the third. Ester and Resty were his wives we knew about, but they were hardly official. The daily coming and leaving late at night led to adultery among the teen youths and the older ones. It raised much tension from parents who cared about their children. The parents chaired an abrupt meeting and decided to chase

Prophet George from the church and the community. Most feared him because nobody dared to oppose him, not even the local council chairman. He had created fear amongst the people by saying that whoever stood against him would die, and nobody had ever wanted to die. One man was tired of his actions, so he took the lead and chased him from the area. Mr Charles was brilliant and brave and never went against his word. The following day, when they were having breakfast, Charles cleared his throat and said, “Prophet George, you need to pack all your luggage and leave this village and the church too.

Thank you for the word of God you taught us, but we can’t tolerate your behaviour in our community.” George didn’t reply to anything except to curse the people. “Adam, pack my things; we are leaving forever”, he called out. They did everything in a hurry and left before noon. As a result, parents were sure their children were safe, but the movement had drastically affected them. Sadly, the host family had lost almost half of the animals and birds they had slaughtered for him, and the plantations had grown bushy since he discouraged them from working. But we were all relieved and happy; he was gone.

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