LOOK BEYOND MY STRUGGLE: The seasons of life had never asked for her permission. They came and went—just like Winter, Spring, Summer, and Fall—each bringing its own mix of beauty and pain, warmth and

ndness, the cruelty, the heartbreaks, the healing.
What if she could change something? What if her words, her love, her life, made an impact? That idea struck her like sunlight pouring into a dark room. If she could welcome the light into others, if she could be a vessel of peace and power, maybe others could find the strength to carry on too.
She believed everyone had energy—divine energy—that helped them survive through every season. But what if people forgot that? What if they never felt it at all? She made it her mission to be a light in someone else’s winter.
“We will walk this earth with pride and dignity,” she declared to herself one morning. “We will show strength, even when we feel weak.”
She believed in faith. Not the kind th“Wisdom will enter your heart,” she wrote in her journal that night. “And love will be a delight to your soul.”
Love wasn’t just a feeling—it was a choice. A powerful, intentional act. It grew not when things were perfect, but when people chose each other despite imperfections. “Love me,” she wrote, “not when I’m polished and smiling—but when I’m broken and doubting. That’s when it counts.”
She remembered loving someone so deep her soul would ache in the silence of missing them. And every time they were together, it felt brand new—like meeting for the first time. He had called her his paradise. She called him the king of her peace. Together, they created something stronger than attraction—they created meaning.
“Since you crossed my path,” she whispered once, tracing her finger across a love note he had written, “everything changed. You brought joy into places where only echoes used to live.”
There was humility in her, but also strength—a power to transform thoughts into action, dreams into motion. She knew it wasn’t always easy. Sometimes, she could barely breathe under the weight of life’s demands.
But still—she hoped.
at denied reality—but the kind that stared it down and still chose hope. She had been betrayed before. Used. Left. Taken from. But she never let bitterness grow roots in her heart.
“Having faith in God,” she wrote in bold letters, “is how I survive the foolishness of this world.”
To her, a meaningful life had nothing to do with wealth. It was about breathing—one breath at a time. It was about climbing mountains of struggle with hearts wide open and eyes full of light.
“Love me when I least deserve it,” she said. “That’s when I need it most.”
Because love, real love, was never about convenience. It was about presence. It was honey for the soul, gold in the cold, warmth when the world went quiet.
She knew not everyone would understand. Some would mock her kindness. Others would abandon her spirit. But she didn’t live for their approval. She