I stand here, witness to a shelter God shaped
not from stone,
but from the quiet, patient ways He mended me.
A refuge lifted from the ruins of every moment
His mercy refused to let define my story.
For years,
I mistook strength for silence
but even the softest prayer can rise like wind,
and mine learned to swell
because God understood my trembling
before it ever touched my lips.
This place, His making
isn’t just somewhere to hide;
it breathes with the memory
of battles I thought would end me
yet left me standing.
Its doors hold the imprint of fears
my Father pressed into the past.
Its watchposts lean into the sky
because He has guarded both my midnights
and every new morning.
Do not call these walls fragile;
they were shaped by the One
who refuses to let my soul collapse.
Every beam carries His assurance,
every layer His voice
reminding me that surviving
is not disgrace, but grace.
I learned a fortress isn’t meant
to keep the world out,
but to remind the heart inside my heart
that it lives under His covering.
So I turn the lock on doubt
and pull wide the openings
where His Spirit enters,
letting courage breathe its way
through every hidden room of me.
So, If you see me standing higher than before,
it isn’t pride, it is gratitude.
Gratitude to the Most High
who raises me, and keeps on raising me.
For even iron can falter,
but the life held in His hands
learns to rise again and in rising,
His stronghold becomes my freedom.
UbdaPoet
©2025
Christ a poet 