✨ The First Stitch™ ... All I Saw was Death

I didn’t expect to still be here.

For a long time, I lived as if my life were a short chapter—beautiful, meaningful, but nearing its close. After losing one kidney and watching the other struggle, I carried an unspoken assumption that my time would be limited. Not in fear. Just in acceptance.

So I lived lightly.

I laughed. I learned. I played. I showed up online with joy and curiosity, spreading God’s love where I could, encouraging people, sharing moments, connecting hearts. I didn’t hoard dreams or plan far ahead. I poured love freely, assuming the horizon was closer than it turned out to be.

And then… it wasn’t.

The Lord did not bring me home.

Instead, He left me here.

That truth has required a gentle but profound reckoning—not with fear, but with purpose.

A quiet path through a sunlit forest, symbolizing a journey of faith and survival

Living Without Planning to Stay

When you don’t expect longevity, you don’t build infrastructure. You don’t worry about systems, sustainability, or legacy. You focus on presence. On today. On connection.

That season wasn’t wasted. It was formative.

It taught me how to listen, how to love without agenda, how to show up authentically. It shaped communities, friendships, and moments that mattered deeply. But it was never meant to be the end of the story.

I see that now.

Because when God extends a life—especially one you thought might be shorter—it invites a different question:

What are you meant to steward now?

Survival Is Not the Same as Calling

For many of us, survival becomes so consuming that we mistake it for the whole assignment. Staying alive. Getting through. Holding on.

But survival is often just the doorway.

Scripture is filled with people who lived past what they expected—people spared, healed, preserved, redirected. Their extended lives weren’t about comfort. They were about responsibility.

Not pressure.

Not performance.

But stewardship.

I don’t believe the Lord leaves us here accidentally.

Hands planting a young tree symbolizing stewardship and new beginnings

Choosing to Build

Now that the horizon has stretched beyond what I imagined, I face a new challenge: building with intention.

Building means:

• Creating systems that last beyond today

• Investing in relationships that grow deeper

• Nurturing dreams that serve others

• Taking care of the body and spirit entrusted to me

  
  

This shift requires patience and courage. It means moving from a mindset of “just enough” to one of abundance and responsibility.

For example, I’ve started organizing my health care more proactively, not just reacting to crises. I’ve begun mentoring others who face similar struggles, sharing what I’ve learned about faith and resilience. I’m also exploring ways to contribute to my community in lasting ways, whether through volunteering or supporting causes close to my heart.

Each step feels like a small act of building, a way to honor the life I have been given.

Stewardship in Everyday Life

Stewardship doesn’t have to be grand or overwhelming. It can be simple and practical:

• Listening deeply to those around you

• Offering time to help without expecting anything in return

• Being mindful of your health and well-being

• Sharing resources wisely and generously

  
  

These acts build a foundation for a meaningful life, one that reflects the grace of being left here for a purpose.

Journal and pen on wooden table representing reflection and intentional planning

Moving Forward with Purpose

The truth that the Lord left me here is both humbling and empowering. It calls me to live with intention, to steward what I have been given, and to build a life that matters.

If you find yourself in a similar place—unexpectedly still here—consider what stewardship looks like for you. What can you build today that will honor your journey and bless others?

This is not about pressure or performance. It is about embracing the gift of life with open hands and a willing heart.

Since the Lord left me here, I choose to build.

With Love,

deZengo