The Paradox of Desire

There’s a strange moment that happens when you finally receive what you once prayed and hoped for. At first, it feels like joy fulfilled like proof that waiting was worth it. But then, with time, you realize something else; you’ve grown past the very thing you once wanted so badly. The version of you that prayed, fasted, saved, and dreamed for it has shifted. What you chased with passion no longer fits the person you’ve become. And instead of fulfillment, a new longing rises.  While this doesn’t mean the gift is worthless, it often means your soul has outpaced your old desires and that’s okay.

Still, it makes you pause and ask: are our desires truly insatiable? Are we doomed to endlessly chase after something more, something just out of reach? Or could this restlessness be less of a burden and more of a whisper, an invitation pointing us back to the only One who satisfies?

In today’s fast-paced, ever-turning world, we often find ourselves chasing what feels distant, as though tomorrow owes us clarity. We carry hope like a credit slip, living “on tab,” postponing joy until the day our desires finally arrive. Yet in doing so, we trample past the sacred currency of the present, mismatching wants with true needs, exalting what glitters and dismissing what’s been graciously given. The truth is, what we hold now is neither small nor insufficient. It is provision, measured and meaningful. And unless we awaken to this consciousness of valuing the present, we risk mismanaging the very gifts placed in our care for today. Scriptures reminds us, “Whatever your hand finds to do, do it with all your might” (Ecclesiastes 9:10). That means today matters. The task before you matter. The season you are in is not a placeholder, it is God’s stage for your growth, joy, and obedience.

The paradox of desire is this: God wired us with longings, but He never meant for our longings to be our master, neither is it up to us to fulfil every one of those desires. It is written;“He has also set eternity in the human heart” (Ecclesiastes 3:11), but with it comes the call to seek Him, as Scripture reminds us, “You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart” (Jeremiah 29:13).

These desires, by God, will stretch us, and drive us to achieve great things, but they are not the measure of our worth. They point us forward, but they are not the anchor of our joy. Only God Himself is enough. As Jesus said, “Your Father knows what you need before you ask Him” (Matthew 6:8).

So what if we learned to rest here—in the now? What if instead of anxiously striving for the next thing, we trusted that God is already in tomorrow, arranging the thickets, setting the stage, preparing the provision? Maybe contentment would no longer mean settling for less but learning to feast fully on what’s in front of us.

Tomorrow is not a surprise to Him. And today is not a waste for us. It is enough.

The Blindsided-ness of Faith

There’s something both terrifying and beautiful about following God: you often can’t see what’s ahead.

Faith has a way of leading you into rooms you never planned to enter, conversations you didn’t script, and seasons you didn’t prepare for. One moment, life feels like a straight road with clear signs. The next, you’re walking with no map, only a voice saying, “This is the way, walk in it.”

The truth is, faith blindsides us because it refuses to work on our terms. It dismantles our neat timelines and calculated plans. It teaches us dependence in ways nothing else can.

Think of Abraham on Mount Moriah, lifting the knife in obedience, when suddenly a ram appeared caught in the thicket. It’s easy to say God made the ram appear in that moment— but what if we pause to see the deeper wonder? That ram might have wandered off days before, climbing the same mountain Abraham was sent to. Step by step, unnoticed, it moved into position, waiting for the exact moment when faith and provision would meet.

That’s the nature of God’s hand: He doesn’t always impose His reality upon us with spectacle but manifests Himself through the fabric of our everyday experiences. What we call coincidences are often divine harmonies; things like the right person at the right time, the open door just when you’re ready, the “chance” conversation that changes everything. Sometimes it’s the missed flight that spares you from harm. Other times it’s the job delay that positions you for something greater. Or even the quiet moment when a friend accepts a long-forgotten social media request and it becomes the start of the relationship you didn’t know you needed.

I’ve learned that the blindsided-ness is not God being cruel or distant, but God being Father. Because if I could see every turn, I wouldn’t need to trust Him. If I could calculate every outcome, I would only rely on myself.

Sometimes God calls you to move without the full picture. To step into a role, a city, a project, a conversation and you don’t yet know why. The faith walk is often less about clarity and more about confidence in Who is leading.

And here’s the paradox: what blindsides you in the moment often becomes the very proof of His faithfulness later. You look back and realize, “Oh… that’s why He led me this way. That’s what He was protecting me from. That’s the blessing I couldn’t see yet.”

Faith blindsides us, but it never abandons us. It’s the holy invitation to trust that even when you can’t see ahead, you are fully seen, fully known, fully guided.

Why I Finally Started This Blog

Why I Finally Started This Blog

I remember one quiet afternoon many years ago, I went on a Date with Destiny.

I had walked into the old Botanical Garden in Calabar, Cross River State. Once a bustling zoo, it had gradually become a tranquil corridor of trees and time, after the animals were moved elsewhere. That day, I came with a drink in hand and questions in my heart, ready to commune with nature and the parts of me I often ignored.

I’ve always carried an inner compass. A gentle guide that whispers what to do, where to go, and when to wait. And on that day, I was seeking clarity about my life’s central question:
“What is the one thing - that if I did it fully - I would have fulfilled destiny?”

I sat with that question in the stillness of the trees, and I left with an answer, clear as light: I was born to write.

And suddenly, it all made sense. Writing has always been the most natural, most familiar thing. It didn’t matter the format; whether it was journaling my prayers, crafting strategy memos at work, or composing lengthy reflections, I came alive when I wrote.

But life kept moving. And I kept deferring.

Each year brought its own demands — career progress, projects, success. On paper, everything looked right. I had no lack. My steps were ordered. But inwardly, something was always missing. A quiet ache I could no longer silence.
Not for a better job. Not even for a new season. But for obedience to the call I kept postponing.

I began to realize I was like the people God spoke to through Haggai. (Haggai 1:2-9). Building everything else. Neglecting the House of the Lord within me.

This blog, these words, they are my act of obedience.

Not to showcase, not to perform, not to prove anything.
But to build the altar I left in ruins.
To give voice to what God has always whispered in me.
To return.

What This Blog Is — and Isn’t:

It’s not a portfolio.
It’s not a side project.
It’s not a step on a personal brand ladder.

It is a place of language , to say what’s often felt but rarely voiced. It’s where I make sense of the ways I see the world: through faith, through purpose, through growth, through work, and through womanhood.

This blog is a quiet rebellion against performance. It’s an invitation to reflect, to realign, to remember.

I’ll share stories, some that sound like prayers, my posts may trigger questions that wait with you in the dark. And reflections that linger long after the scroll has ended. I don’t know where this path will lead , only that the time has come to walk it.

So whether you’re here by divine accident or a long-followed breadcrumb, I’m honored to have you.

May these words feel like home.
Let’s grow together.

Sary Moonchild.

The Book of Nehemiah

Rebuilding the Walls

Recently, I joined a new church community, and it has been a blessing to me. Before I started attending physically, I had observed them online, joining in their services and programs regularly. If I saw a program where the lead pastor would be preaching, I would stream it too.

One thing that endeared me to the church was the active role the pastor’s wife played in services. She was well worded — and it showed. The love and regard the members gave her on a Sunday morning when she ministered made me want to be part of such a balanced family. Not one ‘superhero pastor’ and so many questionable things, but a healthy body where each part matters.

Another thing I love about my new church family is the habit of communal word study. This is in close tie with the acts of mercy, but for today, word study takes the lead for its direct relevance here. At the end of each month, in the last midweek service, we are invited to share what we’ve learned. Even as an online worshipper before, I’d always feel like I missed out on that fellowship of one-mindedness with the brethren. It takes deliberate effort to make a people of one mind, and this church ensures we get it — diving into more than one book of the Bible each month. Minding the same things together. I’m certain the same is replicated in many local assemblies, and it’s always such a rich experience.

This month, we are in the Book of Nehemiah. The caption gave it away, I know. But still — we are in Nehemiah. And while the plan is to take it one chapter a day, alongside other books, I’ve been drawn deeply into the story of one man.

A man passionate about the beauty, dignity, and glory of Jerusalem. When he heard of her state, he wept for many days, fasting and praying with every breath. He maintained his focus, paying the price of building in the midst of opposition and always being battle ready. If he had waited for the naysayers and scorners to stop talking, the wall might never have been built, and the gates never restored.

Proverbs says, “Like a city whose walls are broken through is a person who lacks self-control” (Proverbs 25:28). Without boundaries, life keeps happening to you. One emergency after another. Barely getting by — paycheck to paycheck. Or even if you’re making ends meet, never truly satisfied; as though your belly is a pit or your pockets have holes.

But if, like Nehemiah, you take stock and give yourself an honest review, it should spur you into a more determined, blinders-on focus. And here’s the thing: most people won’t be comfortable with that. They’re used to your broken-down walls — your lack of boundaries, your high tolerance for low-impact conversations, your unclear path — and they’ve learned how to exploit that.

The responsibility lies with you. The Lord has already granted you favor by the good hand of God upon your life. You have every resource you need to live according to purpose, to rebuild your walls, to set boundaries, and to be accountable for your choices. Every grace is supplied.

And when you finish building, just like Nehemiah, it will be said of you: “When all our enemies heard about this, all the surrounding nations were afraid and lost their self-confidence, because they realized that this work had been done with the help of our God” (Nehemiah 6:16). People will adjust. Just focus on the task God has committed to you — and at the end, it will be obvious that the Lord has done it.

Your Desk Is Not Too Small for God

Because what seems small to man may be the altar God has chosen.

We tend to think altars must be massive, elevated, or drenched in spectacle. But sometimes, they are laminated with paper and coffee rings, nestled in cubicles, or dimly lit home offices. We often reserve the sacred for Sunday and the spectacular. But your desk - yes, your ordinary, overlooked workspace - might be the stage of something deeply spiritual.

Consecration isn’t confined to the pulpit. It is the daily offering of our time, our thoughts, and our labor unto God. And in this age of hustle, it takes courage to pause and see that the space where you respond to emails, review reports, take calls, or serve clients is not outside of God’s gaze. In the quiet hours between meetings and the moments when no one sees, we are being shaped. We are not just working; we are becoming.

Paul Tillich, in his profound work The Eternal Now, speaks about the mystery of time and presence:

“The mystery of the future and the mystery of the past are united in the mystery of the present.”

He reminds us that eternity enters time not in rare, dramatic interventions but in every real present; every moment of full presence. When we live consciously, work consciously, and honor the time we’re given, we experience kairos, i.e., divine timing; even in mundane tasks.

Work as Unto the Lord

Scripture reminds us in Colossians 3:23:

“Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for human masters.”

This is not just motivational advice. It is a redefinition of workplace identity. You are not just a banker, a teacher, a designer, a customer care agent. You are a servant of God in disguise; clothed in KPIs and job descriptions, doing sacred work in secular settings.

To work consciously is to work consecratedly. It is to be awake to the divine weight of your daily labor. Even when the desk seems hidden, or the task seems menial, heaven is watching how you handle what you’ve been given.

Reimagine Your Work

Let this be your reminder:
Your desk is not too small for God.
Your schedule is not too packed for worship.
Your output is not too “corporate” to be consecrated.

If God could breathe on five loaves and two fish, He can breathe on your 9 to 5. The question is: Will you invite Him in?