This is a storytelling piece: part memory, part reflection, and all heart. It may read a bit longer than usual, but I pray you’ll stay with me to the end. May it speak to you in the places where words once failed you, and may it lead you back to the One whose Word never does.

There was a young girl, somewhere between the ages of eight and ten, who learned early on the weight of words. After her parents separated, she would sometimes meet her father, usually on a Friday, after his shift ended at a nearby train station in New York City. He would call ahead, not from a cellphone but a landline, asking her to be there at a certain time. Sometimes he’d mention bringing her shoes, money, maybe clothes for the new school year. He'd say, “Be there by this time.”

And she believed him. Every time.

Armed with a few quarters for the payphone, she’d wait. Every arriving train became a flicker of hope. The doors would slide open—hope. Then close again—disappointment. And still, she’d wait. Because in her logic, he’s my father. He said he would come.

But most of the time, he didn’t.

The calls would go unanswered. The promises would quietly unravel.

And yet, the hope, that innocent, stubborn hope remained. Not because she didn’t understand absence, but because she couldn’t understand why someone would say something and not follow through.

The unanswered calls and unkept promises, laced with the slow unraveling of trust, became a pattern. Not just in childhood, but through adolescence and into adulthood. The setting would change. The people, too. But the rhythm was familiar.

In time, someone else came into her life. Someone she cared for deeply. Someone who spoke the kinds of words that make the heart lean forward. A different kind of love, yes, but still love. Still hope.

She wanted to believe him. And she did, again and again. Not out of foolishness, but because hope had become a kind of blueprint. A map she followed from memory, carved long ago at a train station where a little girl waited for her father to arrive. Where she had learned to hold onto the promise, even when the person didn’t appear.

This new person, this man, he spoke directly. Not vague gestures or group-aimed sentiments, but words meant for her:

“I like you.”
“I want us to have a future”
“You’re special to me.”

Such words were never casual.
Words like these don’t vanish; they stay long after spoken.
When they’re spoken to you, for you— they carry memory.
They reveal something about the one who spoke them.
They stay with the one who heard them, kept… or not.

But again…
Doors opened.
Hope rose.
And when no one stepped through, the familiar ache settled back in.

“…But even if that were possible, I would not forget you.” (Isaiah 49:15)

What she didn’t know, yet, was that the Father had been watching all along
The One who formed her in her mother’s womb.
The One who numbered her steps and knew every strand of hope braided with disappointment.

The One who had seen every ache, every unanswered call, every time she believed and was met with silence.

Did you know, that she would soon see Him?
That the Father would whisper to her spirit that words do carry weight?
And that their weight is felt most deeply when tied to the One who spoke them first?

“Then God said, ‘Let there be light’; and there was light.” (Genesis 1:3)

And that light would come into her life.
Not through promises made by fragile hands, but by the One whose words create worlds. By the One whose Word became flesh, not to vanish, but to dwell.

Scripture tells us in James 3:5–6 that the tongue, though small, can set a whole forest on fire, a wildfire born from careless sparks.

And how many hearts, how many promises, have been burned down by a spark someone never bothered to contain?

In Proverbs 18:21, we are told that “life and death are in the power of the tongue.”

And in Matthew 5:37, Jesus says: “Let your ‘Yes’ be yes, and your ‘No,’ no.” Anything more, He warns, comes from a place of confusion, deception, or harm

"Death and life are in the power of the tongue,
And those who love it and indulge it will eat its fruit and bear the consequences of their words.” (Proverbs 18:21)

And God always speaks life.
And when He speaks, His Word fulfills what it was sent to do.

“So shall My word be that goes forth from My mouth;
It shall not return to Me void,
But it shall accomplish what I please,
And it shall prosper in the thing for which I sent it.” (Isaiah 55:11)

If you're reading this and any part of it mirrors your own story—whether it came through a parent, a partner, a friend, or even through the things you yourself once said but couldn’t carry, know this:

God saw you.
God sees you.
He saw you in the silence.
He sees you in the ache.

And He still draws near.
Whether you’ve been on the receiving end of broken promises, or you’ve been the one who struggled to keep them, He doesn’t turn away. He remains. And He invites you to believe again, not in people who merely speak, but in the One who is the Word made flesh.

“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God… and the Word became flesh and dwelt among us.” (John 1:1, 14)

If you’ve ever felt forgotten,

left standing at life’s train station with no one arriving.

If you’ve ever been let down by someone who said “I’ll be there” and never came,

If you’ve ever felt like words were just noise, or that promises are fragile things.

Just know this…

God keeps His word. He speaks love and it stays. He speaks your name and He sees you.

May His Word be with you always

- Jivean, Of Paper and Light

The Weight of Words

After the Hope, Before the Answer

The Sacrifice: When Light Meets the Soul