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.

Dear Younger Me: A Letter to the Kid Who Got Me Here Against All Odds.

June 15 marked my 29th birthday. As I begin this final year of my twenties, I want to take a moment to connect with you and revisit the conversations we missed or pushed aside.

For the first time in my life, I’ve become quite skilled at wearing a mask…, one that hides the emotions I struggled to express, no matter how hard I tried. This facade, over time, has become my haven.

Let’s go back to the day you were born. Mom told me how terrified she was. With no access to proper healthcare, she had to give birth alone on a dark, cold winter day at home. As I reflect on this, it shows me that somehow, from the very first moment I entered this world, I was fighting to survive, facing the brutal realities of extreme poverty. To make matters worse, by the time I was just nine months old, I had already lost my father… Well, you know all this, but for the sake of the story, let me continue.

Fast forward to your first day of school: a six-year-old girl walking two hours to school and two hours back every single day, barefoot and wearing a hand-me-down uniform that was far too big. Through rain or shine, winter or scorching summer heat, those days remain vivid in my memory. Do you know why? Because they haunt me every night as I try to sleep. It was a nightmare. Yet throughout all those years, one thing stayed constant in my heart: prayer. From primary school through high school, my faith and hopes for a better future never wavered. They carried me forward through fear and trauma.

I want you to know that I remember the sacrifices you made for us to be here today. Your entire life was a fight. While others enjoyed their childhood, you were busy trying to escape yours.

Then, one day, everything changed. You received an acceptance letter to the university of your dreams, for the degree you had always wanted. What a moment that was. It felt like every prayer you had whispered over the past fifteen years was finally being answered.

But just a few weeks later, all that hope was shattered. Because on the 31st of May 2016, the final biopsy and scan results came back positive for a soft tissue sarcoma cancer diagnosis. Just like that, you had to drop out. Yet, through prayer, hard work, and sheer determination, you fought your way back into university a year later, even while undergoing chemotherapy and battling the effects of the illness. Your selflessness during that time was nothing short of heroic. You kept saying, “God, please give me just enough strength to finish my degree and provide a better life for Mom and my disabled sibling.”

Looking back, I’m grateful you didn’t give up. I know it was unbearably hard, and that’s why I need you to hear how proud I am of you. You were stronger than I ever imagined possible.

Since your diagnosis, you’ve faced multiple recurrences, yet still, you completed your internship and community service. And now, you’re a registered pharmacist and a writer. You proved time and time again that anything is possible if you work hard and trust God while doing it.

For the past six months, things have been the hardest, and each day feels like an impossible challenge. We’re going through a difficult phase in this journey called life, and even though it feels like we’re failing in every way, I wanted to take a moment to tell you how proud and grateful I am. It’s an honor to know you’ve always had my back. You are strong, courageous, and a survivor of so many battles.

In the future, I hope you can set that mask aside and allow yourself to feel everything without apology. Embrace your raw, messy, imperfect self. You are worth it. You are enough. I see you, and I love you, always.

By: Mutshidzi Kwinda

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My name is Charlotte Mugabe, and in 2023, I experienced one of the most challenging periods of my life. On the 3rd of June 2023, I was preparing to go out with my girlfriends to celebrate my birthday, little did I know that day was going to be the start of a fight for my life. I glammed up for the day, and I was looking good, and everything was good. My husband went to drop me off at the restaurant to meet up with my friends. My friends and I had dinner, enjoying good conversation, laughing, and doing all the fun and girly stuff. Behold, all of a sudden, I felt hot and I couldn’t breathe and my heart was beating out of my chest. Everyone started to panic; I panicked as well. I thought that was it, I was going to die. My girls began praying for me, and it got a bit better. I then later went to the clinic that night, and they just dismissed me, saying it could have been something I ate that made me feel that way. 2 days passed, I was better, then on the third day I started to feel weird, like every time I ate I would feel food coming back to my throat and be stuck there.

It was horrible; I went from doctor to doctor with them prescribing the same medicine that would not work, all of them telling me it was due to acid reflux. I did everything they asked me to do, but nothing worked. tried Chinese medicine, Indian medicine, our own traditional medicine, was ineffective. At that point, I had lost a lot of weight and was still not getting answers. We prayed, people prayed from my church, other churches as well, I even gave up on myself, that dying would have made it easier. I remember calling my mother and telling her that I was tired and I just wanted to die. The only time I would catch a break was when I would fall asleep at night. It went on from June to November, still with the same pain but no help. It got to a point whenever I would leave the house I would feel like I am dying (my heart beating fast and having difficulty breathing), even when people came to see me or call me I would get the same feeling, could this be witchcraft I would ask myself I mean I am African, or was I going crazy/mad. I recall a Pastor from my church visiting me with a group of friends.

He saw me, and he was terrified. He then went to tell one of the psychiatrists from church, who later saw me and was able to diagnose me differently from all the doctors I had seen. I was so happy to get a different diagnosis, like this could be it. He said Charlotte, you have an anxiety disorder and this was in December 2023, when I started getting sick in June. No one knew what was wrong with me, which could have prevented all of the drama I went through, as some people do not realise it when they have mental disorders. A lot of women go through this in silence because of so many stigmas attached to the ‘mental illnesses’. I started my healing journey right there after the diagnosis, and I am happy to say I am way better with the help of my family, psychiatrist, therapist and my church family. Also, I wouldn’t have done this without prayer. It has been a journey, I am only sharing a glimpse of what I went through, because Hell is the only word that comes to mind when I think of the journey.

To this day, I still wake up at night and cry my eyes out. I am still here by God’s grace!!!

By Charlotte Mugabe 

Social media handles:

Facebook: charlotte mugabe-mudavanhu

Instagram: charlotte mugabe-mudavanhu

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Heavenly Father,
hear my weeping prayer.

I am a rotten apple,
a bad element,
of the holy and sacred equation.

Unloved,
unworthy,
undeserved, I am,

because of me planting demonic seeds,
and watering them,
in my lifeless and dead spiritual garden.

I saw unholy statutes,
that enticed me,
and I took a sip of sins,
and bad deeds.

In my time of deep darkness,
I always thought,
that You had given up on me.

Please forgive me.
Let Your blood,
spilled on the cross,
flush away my iniquities.

Your grace,
bestowed upon me,
is the only source of life,
that offered me renewed hope.

Create in me,
a new and refreshed heart, O God.

Revive a steadfast,
and contrite spirit within me.

Set my heart and mind free,
from the demonic meditations,
of pain and disappointment.

Help me to be still,
peaceful,
and content.

Forgive me,
Holy Spirit,
forgive me.

Paint away my transgressions,
with Your paintbrush of grace,
and mercy, O Lord.

Assist me,
Holy Spirit.

I feel so alone,
and this season of loneliness,
is hurting me deeply.

Yet, I feel serene sensations,
within my heart,

urging me to let go,
and trust You,
to transform my sinful nature,
and make me a new creation.

For You were always there for me,
even when I wasn’t there with You.

You gave me daily,
and bountiful reassurance,
of who You are.

Without me offering,
worldly sacrifices to You,

You remain a glorious,
and gracious God.

By Itebogeng

Diary Of a Black Christian Woman

Journal Of a Black Woman

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