Borrowed Grace
2 Corinthians 12:9 — “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.”
This isn’t about me—it’s about how God insists on using borrowed grace to keep my voice alive.
We all face moments of uncertainty. I’ve often heard that the urge to quit is strongest right at the edge of breakthrough—whether you’re training for a marathon, finishing a degree, closing your first deal, or waiting for the phone call you’ve prayed for.
I’ve lived that tension before. When my second daughter was born, though full term, her heart rhythm echoed that of a preemie. For fifteen days she remained in the NICU, and I remember fleeing the hospital whispering Hagar’s words: “I cannot watch my child die.” That night, overwhelmed and admitted myself with mastitis, I thought the promise was slipping away. Yet while doctors worried over me, the NICU called: She is ready to come home.
That tension—fear pressing against breakthrough—is the same tension I feel now as I wait for my book to breathe. Just as I once watched my daughter’s fragile rhythm, I now watch this manuscript in gestation, wondering if it will thrive.
Yesterday I wrote about fulfillment, yet most of the day I felt unfulfilled. I can live with not trying and receiving nothing in return. But for me, to try and fail feels unacceptable. I refuse to have my word come back void. If I don’t try, fine. But if I do, I want results.
I’ve been writing since childhood, in many languages. I never thought English would be the one God would use to call me back to writing. English is not mine—it is borrowed grace. Yet God is adamant: write.
Waiting for a book to be published feels like waiting for a child to thrive—trusting that the God who began a good work will finish it. And yes, yesterday I admitted I felt depressed. Why is everything taking so long? So I prayed. I let the tears fall when words failed. And the Lord stayed silent. He likes to let me speak.
After praying, I opened my browser to check my author’s site. And I stumbled upon something unexpected—a reflection of my brand, tied together in ways I hadn’t seen before. It was as if God whispered: Here. Look. The stones I gave you are not wasted.
I always joke with God and say, especially when I’m throwing shade, “It’s a show‑no‑tell in this joint.” And last night, He showed me—practically shoved it in my face: “Look at how far we’ve come.”
Why share this? Because it does two things: it gives new readers a clear picture of Katiana Writes: A Kat’s Tale and all it offers. But more importantly, it captures the way God moved. Sometimes we expect God to speak, but instead He moves. His silence is not absence; it is invitation—to stay alert, to notice, to trust that His grace is enough to carry us through.
