And I’ll be honest: it used to birth a minor irritation in me. I didn’t understand it then. Why wouldn’t you want to share what’s coming? Why wouldn’t you want us to know, to anticipate, to rally behind you? But even in that irritation, I was in awe. Their restraint wasn’t just media training. It was discipline. Power. It was the quiet confidence of people who didn’t need to announce everything to validate that it was real.
Now, with more years behind me, I see that silence is not absence, it’s presence. It’s choosing to be deeply rooted, rather than overly visible. And so, I find myself increasingly in conflict with the impulse to share. I’ve come to see that while excitement is sacred, so too is discretion.
There is a time to speak, but there is also a time to be silent, to tend to the fragile thing that is still becoming. This has been the hardest lesson in my personal journey of becoming: to sit with what I know, without rushing to declare it. Not out of fear of other people’s eyes or intentions, but out of a growing respect for the process. I used to think holding back meant I didn’t believe in myself enough.
But lately, I’m learning that restraint can be its own form of faith. Because here’s the truth that’s been finding me in prayer, in solitude, and in the quiet nudges of Spirit: Nothing set by God can be interfered with. Say that again to yourself. Nothing set by God can be interfered with. Not by timing. Not by gossip. Not by envy. Not even by your own impatience.
So what does one do, then, with the bubbling joy of the vision? What does one do with the news that is too beautiful to keep to yourself, and yet too tender to be touched by too many hands? You wait. You water. You prepare.
You surround yourself with people who don’t just want to hear what’s next, but who will help you carry it when the time comes. You write it down in your journal, pray over it, stretch your faith muscles in private. Because the version of you that receives the blessing can’t be the same one who first imagined it. You are also in motion – becoming sturdy enough to hold what’s coming.
There are things I’ve longed for that I once shouted too soon, only to feel exposed when they didn’t come to pass in the way I had anticipated. But even those moments have been a schooling. A spiritual etiquette of sorts. The divine will is never threatened by our missteps, but it does invite us to mature. And maturity, I’m learning, isn’t just about keeping secrets. It’s about carrying things with reverence.
So if you’re like me – brimming with vision, teetering between announcement and alignment – I want to say this to you gently: Don’t silence your excitement. Just root it in trust. Don’t deny your dreams. Just give them time to ripen. And remember: what is set for you is already written. You don’t have to sell it, scream it, or speed it up. Just become ready for it. And when the time is right, we’ll all know. Because it will stand. It will speak. It will be undeniable. And most importantly, it will be yours.