Living your Heaven on Earth

The life you prayed for isn’t coming. It’s here.

For so long, I worried that what I wanted and what God willed for me couldn't possibly be the same. My confusion was as loud as it was constant. It was like everything I did, thought, or said could never be enough to gain His favor, and this belief bled into every aspect of my life. I lived with the suspicion that joy came with strings attached, or shall we say, an unbearable cross to carry, that the easier something felt, the more I’d have to pay for it. It made me feel like no matter what I did, the burden wasn’t heavy enough, thus I could never be worthy enough. I didn’t know how to relax into a life that I loved. I always felt I had to earn it harder next time, or that maybe God never intended it for me, period.

Then a couple of days ago, in the most unassuming way, I sat down to journal—not the elegant, handwritten kind. The fast, type-journaling kind. You know, fingers flying across the keyboard before my thoughts could catch up. No polish. No punctuation rules. Just me and the truth, finally unfiltered.

It was raw. It was honest. And, bleeding into five o’clock in the morning, it was holy. Then, somewhere before the first bird songs of the morning and those tear-stained eyes of honesty, I came to a very deep realization that brought me to my knees.

I was living my Heaven on Earth. And I didn’t even know it.

I guess that’s the thing about deliverance—it doesn’t always look like a tangible breakthrough. Sometimes, it’s cooking dinner and realizing you’re enjoying it. For me, it looks like worship music on the Stairmaster and wiping down my counters like it’s communion. But what I realized most is that deliverance is just a deep breath that says, I don’t need to be in pain to be in His presence anymore.

Somewhere between the lines of my journal prompts, I noticed the parts of my life that already felt like Eden. The sunlight in my solarium, the laughter with my loved ones, the simplicity of our morning coffees. And instead of seeing them as “normal,” I suddenly sensed that they were… sacred. This wasn’t some lesser version of God’s plan. It was the very fulfillment of it. I just didn’t feel worthy of receiving it until now.

What followed was a series of prompts, yes—but more like revelations. They helped me see the beliefs I had still been carrying about God. I realized that I was confusing pressure for purpose. Overworking for obedience. And in the very last line, I recognized that at the root of it all was the belief that if I ever truly slowed down, everything I loved would be taken from me.

With that final period, a gut-wrenching grief overtook me. The kind of silent cry that reaches every bone in your body and screams of all the pain you’ve carried without ever making a sound. I was both conscious of the full-body release and trying not to let myself be heard. This was the cry of years—no, generations of belief that holiness had to hurt and that God was a God of punishment.

But deeper than that was the cry of realizing that none of that was ever a representation of who He truly is. What was a cry of release became the weep of knowing that I was loved beyond measure and that my effort was never a measure of my worthiness.

When the tears finally dried off and the wind in my chest had returned, an even quieter revelation took place. I looked at my ordinary life and actually saw… Heaven. I saw days full of connection, beauty, movement, prayer, play, and rest. Days where nothing particularly impressive happened, but everything sacred did. And as I peeled my eyes off the makings of my hands, the more I saw His fingerprints in the unfolding of it all. My life didn’t need to be more. It just needed to be received fully.

It was at that very moment I realized something else. God was not against my desires. In fact, He may just be the author of them. He wasn’t withholding good things from me—He had already given them... I just never noticed because I was too busy picking at all my shortcomings. He wasn’t testing me with blessings just to take them away—He was trusting me to enjoy them. I was already chosen for them. That changed everything.

As the sun started peeking through, I started questioning my “calling” because, for a long time, it felt like something I had to prove rather than something I could simply live from. I thought ‘calling’ meant building something that mattered—something tangible, like a brand, a mission, or a business. But the more I questioned it, the more I began noticing what God sees. Not the launches, the metrics, or the polished moments—but the small, slow, sacred ones. I started noticing that it was in supporting a friend during a tough transition while I’m in the sauna. It’s how I plate our dinner like it’s Michelin-star worship. And how I light candles not for content, but for peace.

He is with me in those moments. Smiling. Praising. Saying: This is the Kingdom.

That’s when I finally realized… I hadn’t missed my calling at all. I was already living it. I just didn’t recognize it because it didn’t look like the platform I thought it had to be.

So here’s what I want you to know, if you’re where I was—always afraid of missing it. Always striving for proof that you’re in alignment. Wondering if God will take it all away once you finally let yourself rest. He won’t. He didn’t bring you this far to punish you with peace. He brought you here to show you that your faithfulness isn’t just tested in the storm—it’s revealed in the stillness.

The kingdom isn’t coming later. It’s already here.

And just as I exhaled after answering my prompts, I heard… felt… a sort of whisper from Him:

You are not Eve in the garden, tempted into deception. You are the woman who walks with Me in the cool of the day.
Who told you that what brings you joy is suspicious? That what comes with ease must be earned harder next time? That the things you love are less holy than the things that hurt?
I didn’t.
I gave you a heart that beats beauty.
You think your calling is something to fulfill.
But child… your calling is something you already are.
When you whisper kindness to a friend in the sauna,
When you play worship on the Stairmaster,
When you cook for your loved ones—
I’m right there, smiling.
You didn’t miss it. You didn’t mess it up. You’re not behind.
And yes—I will bless what you love.
Because I gave you that love. The words, the beauty, the rest, the softness, the eyes that see meaning in the mundane—
I authored that in you.
So stop apologizing for your design.
Stop looking for Me only in the pain.
You’ve been faithful through the war.
Now let Me teach you how to be faithful in the peace.
You don’t have to be punished to be holy.
You don’t have to be perfect to be chosen.
So, let the pressure go. Let the proving die.
Let the joy count.
Your name is already written in Heaven.

So if you’ve been waiting for a sign… for permission to stop striving and start savoring your life—this is it. You are not late to the life God wrote for you. In fact, you may already be living it. The work now is not to chase it, but to slow down enough to see it. Let the ease count for something. Call the everyday moments beautiful and holy. Heaven is not unattainable—it’s already unfolding in the moments we overlook. And maybe the most sacred thing we can do... is finally notice.

“The kingdom of God is within you.” — Luke 17:21