There is a tender kind of becoming that asks not for haste, but for holy patience. This is the story of a soul emerging—from the spiral sanctuary of a snail’s shell to the upright grace of a woman, arms lifted in quiet praise.

She does not rush her unfolding. Each stage is a devotion: the remembering of limbs, the awakening of breath, the slow turning outward to meet the world. What if becoming is not about an act of discipline but one of devotion?

This piece is a prayer for all who are still in the in-between. It honours the sacredness of timing, the beauty of

soft beginnings, and the awe that
rises when we finally dare to be seen
not as perfect, but as whole.

May we honour the sacredness of our own timing.