There comes a moment in a woman’s life—not with loud thunder or fireworks—but in the quiet after being stretched too thin, after loving too deeply, after sacrificing so much of herself that she almost disappears.
For me, that moment came in the middle of heartbreak I could no longer deny.
I realized I had given too much of myself to someone who couldn’t, or wouldn’t, see my worth.
For years, I waited for him to change.
I stayed—hoping, praying, bending.
Even when my heart trembled. Even when it hurt. Even when it broke.
I gave in to his whims, even when it meant silencing my own voice.
I let him lead, even when he bruised my spirit with words, with hands, with silence.
He buried me in debt—maxing out credit cards in my name—and still, I carried the load. Quietly. Alone. For the sake of “family.”
Because he was the father of my children.
Because I believed in love.
Because I hoped that one day, he would finally see.
But instead of love,
he gave me blame.
Instead of support,
He gave me rage.
Instead of safety,
he gave me silence—the kind that screams you are not worth protecting.
When he could no longer use me—when I had nothing left to give—he looked at me like I was nothing.
Like I had no value.
Like I no longer existed in his world unless I obeyed him.
He expected me to follow like a servant.
No voice. No resistance. Just submission.
And if I dared to say no, if I stood up, even a little—
He exploded.
I wanted to scream.
I wanted to fall to the ground and just give up.
I wanted someone to hold me and say, “This isn’t your fault.”
But there was no one.
Only me.
Only the tears I wiped quietly at night.
Only the weight of motherhood, of unpaid bills, of debts he left behind under my name.
Only the aching wish to be enough—for someone, anyone.
Yet… even in the thick of that darkness,
even as his words pierced through my sense of self,
something in me stirred.
Not loud.
Not dramatic.
But certain.
A voice—not outside of me, but deep within—rose through the noise:
“You are stronger than this.”
“This is not your ending—this is your turning point.”
“You will rise from this. And one day… this will become the story that sets another woman free.”
That voice—my intuition, my divine compass—kept me grounded when everything around me fell apart.
It reminded me that I am not what he said I am.
I am not broken.
I am not powerless.
I am a woman who still chooses to rise.
That voice guided me when I had no one else to turn to.
It whispered truths that my mind tried to silence, but my soul could not ignore.
That whisper didn’t come from fear.
It didn’t come from the logic of how things should be.
It came from a sacred place I had forgotten.
A divine compass deep within.
And that’s when Divine Intuition by Lynn A. Robinson found me—or maybe, I finally listened.
Because this book?
It’s not just about trusting your gut.
It’s about remembering that your inner voice is a direct line to God.
That quiet nudge? That inner knowing that reassures you when nothing makes sense?
That’s not just imagination. That’s divine guidance.
As a foreigner in Japan, I’ve walked lonely roads. I’ve had to translate not just language, but emotions and pain that no one around me could see.
I had no map. No guide. No partner to hold my hand.
Only burdens.
Only noise.
Only the silence of homesickness and responsibility.
But beneath all that… there was still me.
A quiet nudge kept whispering, “There’s more to this. And you’re not alone.”
This post isn’t just about a book.
It’s for every woman, mother, and dreamer who has ever been told she was “too much” or “not enough”—sometimes both in the same breath.
It’s for the ones who carry too much, give too much, and yet somehow are told they aren’t doing enough.
Lynn A. Robinson teaches us something no one else does:
That the most important wisdom doesn’t come from outside us—it flows through us.
Your inner voice isn’t broken.
It’s buried beneath noise, fear, and conditioning.
But it’s there. Alive. Steady. Waiting.
If you’re exhausted from trying to “figure it all out”…
If you’re standing at a crossroads, heart aching and unsure what comes next…
If you’re silently whispering, “There must be more than this…”
Then this post is your invitation to go inward… to come home to yourself.
Because the voice you’ve been taught to ignore?
The whisper you once called “just a feeling”?
It’s actually the divine… speaking through you.
Let’s awaken that voice—together.
Chapter 1: Directions from God — Learning to Trust the Whisper Within
There were days I walked the quiet streets of Japan with a thousand questions in my heart, and not a single answer in sight.
I didn’t just feel far from my homeland—I felt far from myself.
And even farther from God.
I had no roadmap. No clarity. No support system to say,
“Turn here. Don’t go there. You’re on the right path.”
Just the daily survival of motherhood, bills in a language I couldn’t fully read, and the quiet ache of dreams that felt forgotten.
But then, there would be moments—subtle, fleeting, often in silence—when something stirred in me. A whisper. A nudge. A gentle pull that seemed to say:
“There’s more. Keep going.”
At first, I ignored it. Who was I to believe I could rebuild my life, follow my dreams, or even hear God clearly? But the more I stayed still—the more I dared to listen—the more I realized: this quiet whisper inside me was real.
And that’s exactly where Divine Intuition begins—with a powerful truth from Chapter 1:
“Intuition is God’s telephone.”
— Kenny Loggins, quoted in the book
We All Carry a Belief About God—Even If We Don’t Know It
Lynn A. Robinson opens the book with a question we often ignore:
Who or what is God to you?
Whether you picture a loving Creator, a judging authority, or just a universal energy, the truth is—we all carry an image. And that image shapes how we live, how we love, and most importantly… how we listen.
Growing up, I was taught to imagine God as someone far away—high up in the heavens, seated on a grand throne, watching us from a distance. We were told to pray, repent, and plead, hoping He would come down and fix our lives if we were good enough or sorry enough. It was a God who felt holy… but distant. Powerful… but hard to reach.
And for years, that belief stayed with me.
So when life got heavy—when I found myself far from home, in a country where I barely spoke the language, raising two children alone, carrying the weight of broken promises, and trying to survive each day—I kept praying to that same faraway God.
“Please… help me.”
“Please… give me a sign.”
“Please… tell me what to do.”
But the skies were quiet.
And I began to wonder—was He even listening? Was I not praying hard enough? Was I too broken to be heard?
Then one night, after the girls had fallen asleep and the silence of our little home in Japan wrapped around me like a heavy blanket, I sat alone on our bed, exhausted. Tears in my eyes. No answers. No signs. Just this quiet ache in my chest.
That’s when I felt it—not a voice, not a miracle. Just… a gentle sense.
A calm knowing in my body that whispered,
“You already know. You’re not alone. Just trust.”
It wasn’t the voice of the God I grew up with.
It wasn’t loud or commanding or wrapped in thunder.
It was soft, inner, sacred—and for the first time in a long time, it felt like truth.
Reading Divine Intuition helped me finally give that experience a name.
It reminded me that God doesn’t always speak from the clouds.
Sometimes, He speaks through us—through our gut feelings, our heart’s nudges, our tears, our dreams, our deep inner knowing.
Intuition, as Lynn Robinson writes, is not a gift for the special few.
It’s the Divine GPS we all carry within us.
And once I began to trust that voice—once I believed that the wisdom inside me wasn’t just fear or imagination, but sacred guidance—everything changed.
I stopped begging for signs.
And I started listening for whispers.
What Is Intuition, Really?
Webster’s defines intuition as “quick and ready insight.”
But Lynn gives us something deeper:
It’s “a way of knowing, of sensing the truth without explanations.”
It’s when you feel something is right—or wrong—without needing to rationalize it.
And when you’re a woman rebuilding your life in an unfamiliar country, intuition becomes your compass.
I’ve felt it every time I wanted to say “no” but was pressured to say “yes.”
Every time my heart pulled toward writing, even when logic told me, “Are you sure about this?.”
Every time I had to make a hard decision as a mother with no one else to turn to, and the only guide I had was the quiet knowing in my chest.
Intuition vs. the Inner Critic
They say, “Follow your heart.”
“Trust your gut.”
“Listen to your inner voice.”
But what if your inner voice… isn’t kind?
What if it’s the voice of all the people who hurt you?
What if it sounds like the parent who dismissed you, the partner who doubted you, or the world that told you you’re too much, too little, not enough, or far behind?
Lynn A. Robinson asks a powerful question in Divine Intuition that hit me right in the soul:
“How can you tell the difference between your intuition… and your deepest fears?”
And oh, that question sat heavily in my chest.
Because for the longest time, I couldn’t tell the difference either.
I remember standing in front of a decision—one of those big, life-defining ones.
My body felt calm… but my head screamed:
“What if you fail?”
“You’re a mother now, you can’t take risks.”
“You don’t have the luxury to dream.”
The war between my intuition and my inner critic was loud.
But slowly—through silence, through journaling, through trust-building moments with myself—I began to understand something that Lynn so beautifully teaches:
Your intuition feels like peace.
Your inner critic feels like panic.
Even if the intuitive choice scares you, it will carry a kind of stillness. A clarity. A “yes” in your body that makes sense even if your mind doesn’t understand it yet.
What Intuition Feels Like in Real Life
As a foreigner in Japan, I’ve faced moments when I had no one to ask.
No friend to call. No mentor nearby. No clear answer. Just me, standing in front of uncertainty.
And this is what I’ve learned:
- My intuition feels calm, even in chaos.
It’s the steady ground beneath my feet when everything else is shaking. - My inner critic feels loud, rushed, and urgent.
It pushes me from a place of fear and shame:
“Do it now or else.”
“You’ll regret this.”
“You’re going to disappoint everyone.” - My intuition feels like alignment.
It’s a quiet “yes” in my chest, even when logic says “no.” - My inner critic feels like an old echo.
A broken record of someone else’s voice I’ve internalized over time.
Lynn writes that intuition speaks in a “loving, supportive tone,” and that when you’re in tune with it, it guides you gently, not forcefully.
She encourages us to ask when unsure:
Does this voice feel wise, loving, and calm?
Or does it feel afraid, judgmental, and harsh?
That simple awareness changed my life.
I started catching my inner critic in action.
I began saying: “That’s not my truth. That’s my trauma talking.”
And in its place, I began to hear a softer, deeper voice:
“You’re doing better than you think.”
“Rest now. You’ll know when it’s time.”
“You are enough.”
Tuning Out the Critic, Tuning In to My Soul
Learning to hear my intuition is still a journey—but it’s become a sacred practice in my life.
Here’s what Lynn recommends (and what I’ve personally found life-changing):
- Create silence.
I’ve learned that intuition doesn’t compete with noise.
I make time—even just five minutes—to sit quietly, breathe, and listen. - Name the voice.
When that harsh inner critic shows up, I pause and ask,
“Whose voice is this really? Is this truth, or is this fear?” - Trust your body.
Lynn reminds us that the body often knows before the mind does.
I pay attention to how my chest feels, how my stomach reacts, how my breath changes.
Truth feels expansive. Fear feels tight. - Journal with honesty.
I write without filters. Often, I ask:
“What is my intuition trying to tell me?”
And the answers come—slowly, quietly, but clearly.
Your Divine GPS Is Already Within You
So many of us are searching—chasing signs, hustling through checklists, desperately hoping we’re on the “right” path.
But what if… You already are?
What if the signs you’ve been waiting for aren’t outside you, but within?
This first chapter of Divine Intuition reminded me of something precious:
God isn’t out there somewhere.
God speaks through our bodies, our dreams, our longings, our instincts.
And when we stop long enough to hear it?
We realize—we’ve always known the way.
We just needed permission to trust ourselves again.
Let this be your permission.
✨ Your journey doesn’t start with a plan.
It starts with a whisper.
And that whisper… is Divine.
Chapter 2: Your Intuitive Gift
There’s a quote at the start of Chapter 2 that nearly stopped me in my tracks:
“Sometimes when we’re waiting for God to speak, He’s waiting for us to listen.”
— Martha Bolton
And oh, how that resonated with me.
For the longest time, I kept praying for a sign.
I thought divine guidance would come with a loud voice from the sky, an unmistakable miracle, or someone showing up at my doorstep saying,
“Here is the answer. Here is the way.”
But no one came. No voice echoed from above.
Instead, something softer arrived—like a ripple in my soul. A subtle knowing. A quiet pull. A peace that didn’t make sense but felt so right.
That, I’ve learned, was my intuition.
And it wasn’t a gift given to a chosen few.
It was something I had all along.
A Gift You’ve Always Had—You Just Forgot How to Use It
In this chapter, Lynn Robinson reminds us that intuition is a divine resource, not just a feeling. It’s a deep well of wisdom that doesn’t come from logic or reasoning—but from alignment with God, or divine intelligence, or whatever name your heart feels at peace with.
It’s not separate from your faith—it’s a bridge to it.
Psychologist Carl Jung even described intuition as one of the four core psychological functions:
“It explores the unknown and senses possibilities which may not be readily apparent.”
That’s exactly what intuition has done for me here in Japan.
When I couldn’t see a clear future…
When fear clouded my vision…
When every decision felt risky or uncertain…
It was my intuition that gently whispered:
“There is a way forward. Trust what you feel, even if you can’t explain it yet.”
The Gift That Grows With Practice
Lynn compares developing intuition to learning a skill—like a new language, a musical instrument, or a new software program. The more you use it, the sharper and more natural it becomes.
And just like I had to practice listening, speaking, and navigating life in Japan’s complex systems—I also had to practice trusting myself.
I wasn’t born knowing how to mother two children in a foreign land.
I didn’t wake up one day suddenly knowing how to rebuild a life from the ashes of broken trust, financial struggles, and emotional pain.
But with every decision I made from my gut…
Every time I followed that inner voice, even when it didn’t make sense to anyone else…
I became stronger. Clearer. Braver.
Intuition, Lynn says, can become second nature—your personal GPS, powered by divine intelligence and shaped by experience.
How We Receive Intuition
Lynn beautifully explains that intuition comes in many forms—not just one.
It’s not always a voice or a dream. Sometimes, it’s a symbol, a physical feeling, or an inner knowing you can’t explain.
Here are some of the ways I’ve experienced it, just as she describes in the book:
1. Images and Symbolic Pictures
There are days when I close my eyes during prayer or journaling, and instead of words, I see flashes of images.
One time, I kept seeing a vision of a path lined with cherry blossoms, even though winter was still here.
It didn’t make sense until months later—when I finally launched my blog. That image of the blooming path now makes me think of rebirth, beauty after hardship, and seasons of becoming.
It was a glimpse of what was coming, before I even knew how to get there.
2. Inner Voice
This is the most common for me—the still, quiet voice I used to ignore.
It rarely speaks in complete sentences.
Sometimes it just says:
“Wait.”
“Now.”
“No.”
“Go.”
I’ve learned not to question the simplicity of that voice.
Because every time I listened, I avoided something I couldn’t yet see.
It’s the same voice that urged me not to send that email I was angry about.
The same voice that told me, “Share your story—someone out there needs it.”
The same voice that said, “Write. Trust. Keep going.”
3. Feelings and Physical Sensations
There were moments I’d get chills out of nowhere. Or I’d feel a tightening in my chest when I was about to make a choice that didn’t align with my spirit.
Lynn calls this your emotional radar. And once you learn to read it, it becomes your truth-teller.
My body often tells the truth before my mind does.
Intuition: Your Ally in Parenting, Healing, and Dream-Chasing
What I love most in this chapter is Lynn’s reminder that intuition is not just for big life decisions. It’s for everyday guidance—with your children, your relationships, your creative work, and even your healing journey.
I can’t count how many times I’ve felt something was off with my kids—even before they said a word.
Or how I’ve sensed someone’s intentions before their actions revealed them.
Or how a blog post idea just landed in my spirit out of nowhere—and turned out to be exactly what someone needed to read.
Intuition is not random.
It’s God’s way of staying close to us… quietly, constantly, lovingly.
Your Intuition Is Holy
Here’s the truth this chapter brought back to life in me:
Your intuition is not just “a feeling.”
It’s a sacred language. A spiritual tool. A direct connection to divine wisdom.
You don’t need to be perfect to hear it.
You don’t need to earn it.
You don’t need to figure it all out.
You just need to slow down, listen, and trust.
And slowly—beautifully—you’ll begin to move through life not with fear or doubt… but with faith, clarity, and peace.
You already have the gift.
Now, it’s time to use it.
Chapter 3: The Nudges That Know Before You Do
I used to think that if God wanted to speak to me, He’d send thunder or angels, or at least a clear sign. You know—something big. Something that would erase all my doubts and say, “This is what you’re meant to do.”
But that’s not how it happened.
Instead, it came like a whisper…
A tug in my heart when everything else said give up.
A soft knowing when my world was falling apart.
A gentle nudge that wouldn’t stop, even when I tried to ignore it.
That’s how I’ve come to understand Divine Intuition.
And here’s what I’ve learned:
God may be quiet—but He is persistent.
If a dream, idea, or path is meant for you, it won’t leave you alone. It shows up in books you randomly open. In songs on the radio. In words, a stranger says that somehow hit your heart exactly where it hurts. It’s those moments we call coincidence—but they’re not accidents. They’re reminders. Winks from the universe. Loving nudges from something far wiser than our thinking minds.
When the World Goes Quiet, Intuition Speaks Louder
There was a time when I felt stuck—financially, emotionally, spiritually. I was praying and waiting for some kind of sign, a direction, a breakthrough. But instead of answers, I felt silence.
So I did something simple—I went for a walk.
No phone, no expectations. Just me and the breeze.
I started to quietly count all the things I was still grateful for. And slowly, my heart softened. My mind calmed down.
Then, almost like popcorn, ideas started coming—tiny bursts of inspiration for how I could move forward. Nothing dramatic. Just small, doable things I hadn’t thought of before. But somehow, they felt right.
That walk changed everything.
And that’s the thing—intuition doesn’t always arrive like lightning. Sometimes, it’s found in the quiet between our thoughts. It’s not a voice that shouts. It’s the one that stays, even when you’ve stopped believing in yourself.
Intuition Comes in Mysterious Ways
Sometimes, intuitive nudges arrive through unexpected events:
- You’re thinking of someone—and they call.
- You’re stuck on a problem—and hear someone talk about it on TV.
- You’re in a bookstore, and a book literally falls off the shelf—and it’s exactly what you needed.
It’s what Carl Jung called synchronicity—two things that seem unrelated but are deeply connected. And it’s what I now call divine guidance, wearing everyday clothes.
One of my favorites is something a woman once shared:
“I was desperate for answers. I walked into a bookstore, and a book fell off the shelf and landed at my feet. It was Divine Intuition. That book saved my life.”
I believe her because I’ve had my own moments just like that.
How Intuition Feels Inside
Sometimes your intuition speaks through your body. You feel a lightness, a calm, or even a quiet excitement about one decision—and a heaviness or confusion about another.
It’s like Yoda said in Star Wars:
“You will know through peace and calm.”
Even when the decision is difficult—when it hurts, or involves letting go—if it’s the right path, there will be some peace in your soul.
That’s how you know.
How to Hear Your Intuition (A Simple Practice)
Here’s a gentle exercise that Lynn shares, and one I’ve come to treasure—especially when life feels heavy and confusing.
Try This:
- Write a few sentences about a challenge you’re facing.
Let your heart speak freely—don’t filter your pain or confusion. - Ask your heart a question.
Not a yes/no question, but something open and curious like:
“What’s the next right step for me?”
“How can I find peace in this situation?”
“What do I need to know right now?” - Sit quietly. Breathe. Listen.
Be still long enough for your inner voice to whisper.
Then write whatever comes. No judgment. Just flow.
The first words may feel awkward or unsure, but keep going. The deeper truth will find its way through.
Even if the answer feels small or incomplete, trust that it’s part of something greater.
Answers don’t always come all at once—but the more you listen, the louder they become.
My Gentle Reminder to You
If you’re in a place where life feels unbearable…
If you’re constantly giving, hoping, loving—and still being met with rejection or pain…
Pause.
Listen.
God is not silent.
He is not distant.
He is speaking through your intuition, guiding you back home to yourself.
I will keep saying this: You are not broken.
You are just becoming.
And these nudges, these whispers—they are not the end of your story.
They are your invitation to rise.
Your Intuition Is a Sacred Gift
You don’t need to earn your intuition. It’s already part of you.
You don’t need to be perfect or enlightened to hear it.
You just need to be open. Gentle with yourself. Willing to listen—even when it’s inconvenient.
Because when you do, life starts unfolding in ways you couldn’t have imagined. And suddenly, you’re not just surviving—you’re living guided.
Chapter 4: Make Your Dream Come Alive Again
There was a time—not too long ago—when I stopped dreaming.
Not because I didn’t want to. But because life… just got too heavy. The weight of survival, motherhood, loneliness in a foreign land, and constant emotional bruises made dreaming feel like a luxury I couldn’t afford. I would go to bed exhausted, wake up anxious, and repeat it all again—day after day. I had forgotten that I once had fire in me. I had dreams, hopes, and passions that made me feel alive.
But when everything around you tells you you’re not enough, when even the one person who should support you only brings blame, rage, and fear… your dreams quietly retreat. And you start to believe the lie that maybe, just maybe, this is all there is for you.
Learning to silence my mind, just listening to the whisper of my soul.. something’s shifted.
It wasn’t dramatic like lightning from the sky. It was subtle—like a warm nudge in my chest in the middle of folding laundry or staring blankly out the window while the kids played. A voice from deep within would rise and whisper:
“What if this isn’t the end of your story?”
“What if the life you dream of is still possible?”
“What if you stopped surviving… and started living again?”
At first, I doubted it. I argued with that voice. “But I don’t have enough. I’m not smart enough. I’m stuck.” But intuition, when it speaks from a place of divine love, doesn’t shout. It doesn’t argue. It simply waits… and nudges… and reminds.
And so I began listening again.
I started journaling the little ideas that came to me when I was quiet—those strange but beautiful daydreams that would rise in traffic or just before falling asleep. I gave myself permission to imagine: What would I do if I wasn’t afraid? What would I create if no one were watching? What kind of life would I live if I truly believed I was worthy?
That’s when I remembered: The dream was always there.
It never disappeared. It just got quieter. Pushed to the background. Not because I stopped believing in it… But because I had to survive.
Because I had mouths to feed, debts to pay, wounds to heal. Because I was drowning in responsibilities that should’ve been shared, but instead, they were all on me. I was carrying the weight of an entire family while trying to hold myself together. And in all that noise, I told myself:
“Not now.”
“Later, maybe.”
“Once I get through this mess.”
But in truth, my soul was starving.
You see, I’ve always dreamed of writing—not just for the sake of words, but to inspire, to heal, to awaken the tired hearts like mine. I’ve longed to create something that would outlive me. A legacy of light. A message of hope. A voice that says: You can rise from anything. You are the light the world needs.
And I dream—not just for me, but for my children. For my family back home in the Philippines, who have never stopped believing in me, even when I couldn’t believe in myself. Even from miles away, their love carried me through the darkest days. Their prayers, their “Kaya mo ’yan” encouragements, their unwavering faith in my heart and potential—that’s the soil my dream is planted in.
I dream of giving them something better.
A life that’s not just about surviving paycheck to paycheck.
A life where peace isn’t a luxury.
A life that feels safe, full, meaningful.
I want to break the cycle.
I want to be the one in my family who rises, who honors our story, who turns pain into purpose.
But Sometimes… That Dream Feels Too Big for a Woman Like Me
I’ll be honest—there are nights when I lie awake wondering:
Who do I think I am to dream this big?
What makes me think I’m capable of success?
What if I fail and disappoint everyone?
But that’s when I hear it—the gentle voice, my intuition, God’s whisper rising from the silence:
“You are capable.”
“You are worthy of the dream I placed in your heart.”
“You wouldn’t have this desire if you weren’t also equipped to fulfill it.”
“You’re not dreaming too big. You’re finally dreaming true.”
And just like that, my heartbeat softens. My spirit exhales. I remember again that the dream isn’t foolish—it’s faith. It’s not too late. It’s never too late to reclaim what’s always been mine.
So I Keep Going—Not Because It’s Easy, But Because It’s Sacred
Every blog post I write, every word I pour into the page, is a piece of my healing. A step toward my freedom. A message to my daughters that no matter what life throws at you, you rise.
And yes, the dream sometimes feels too audacious. Too far. Too bold.
But so what?
I’ve already survived the impossible. Why not reach for the miraculous?
Lynn A. Robinson reminds us that our dreams are not random—they are divine guidance from within. A compass from God, lovingly pointing us back to our purpose.
I don’t need to figure out every step. I just need to follow the next right nudge. And when I do—when I honor my joy, my inner yes, and my soul’s longing—something magical happens.
I come back to life.
Now I Ask Myself These Questions—Maybe They’ll Help You Too:
Does this dream awaken something in me?
Is this aligned with my deepest values?
Would I need help from above to make it happen?
Will this help me grow into the woman I was meant to become?
Will this bless others, too?
When doubts creep in, I whisper this prayer to my God:
Dear God, I’m ready to rise. I’m ready to live again. Please guide me through my intuition. Speak to me in ways I’ll understand. And when I’m afraid, please remind me that you’ve placed this dream in my heart for a reason. I trust you. Amen.
So if you’re reading this and you’ve forgotten your dream… I want to say this to you, from one soul to another:
It’s not too late.
You’re not too old. Too broken. Too anything.
There’s still a fire in you. There’s still time. There’s still you.
Dream again. Your intuition is already waiting to lead the way.
Chapter 5: Opening Your Mind to the Divine
“You are never alone or helpless. The force that guides the stars guides you too.”
— Shrii Shrii Anandamurti
For most of my life, I believed that hearing the voice of God—receiving divine guidance—required something extraordinary. I imagined saints, gurus, or holy people sitting in silence for hours, their minds emptied and their spirits floating beyond this world. I thought maybe that was the only way to access truth, wisdom, or peace.
But I’ve come to realize… the Divine doesn’t require perfection. It only asks for presence.
You don’t need a cushion on a mountaintop or a perfect track record. Sometimes, all you need is a quiet moment in the middle of chaos. A whispered prayer in the middle of tears. A deep breath when everything feels like it’s falling apart.
For me, that’s when I’ve felt the Divine most—right in the midst of my mess.
My Journey Back to the Voice Within
There was a time when I didn’t trust my intuition—because I didn’t even know it was there. I was constantly rushing, overthinking, and worrying about survival. As a mother in a foreign land, juggling broken dreams, emotional wounds, and an uncertain future, it felt like I had no room to pause.
But something began to shift.
I started to notice that amidst all the noise—my husband’s rage, my fears, the pressures of being “strong”—there was still a soft, steady voice within me. It never shouted. It was never forced. But it was always there, waiting for me to listen.
This voice wasn’t coming from outside. It was born from within.
And every time I listened… I found a little more peace. A little more courage. A little more of me.
Simple Ways I Learned To Open My Mind to the Divine
Lynn A. Robinson reminds us that the Divine speaks to each of us uniquely—and it doesn’t have to be complicated. Here are a few gentle practices that have helped me reconnect to my inner wisdom:
Mindfulness Meditation
When my mind is racing or my heart feels heavy, I return to my breath. I sit quietly—even for just ten minutes—and let the world slow down. I say to myself, “This moment is safe. I am held. I can let go.”
Some days I cry. Some days I feel nothing. But every time, I leave the silence with a little more clarity.
If I get distracted, I gently remind myself: I’m not here to be perfect. I’m here to be present.
Sometimes I whisper a mantra like “I am safe” or “I am loved.” Those words become anchors when everything else feels like it’s drifting.
Walking Meditation
When sitting feels too hard, I walk.
Not to go anywhere, but to feel here.
Sometimes I whisper a question to the sky:
“What is the next step for me?”
“How can I choose peace today?”
And I let the wind, the trees, the distant sounds carry answers I didn’t expect.
This is how I walk with the Divine—not by escaping life, but by walking through it slowly.
Guided Imagery Meditation
There are days when my heart feels too heavy, and I need help tuning into peace. That’s when I do guided meditation. I close my eyes and let the words lead me into a space where I can rest, receive, and remember who I am.
I imagine light surrounding me. I see myself smiling, free, writing at a desk by a window, with my daughters laughing nearby.
Even if I return to problems afterwards, I bring back hope with me. And that hope helps me keep going.
Questions for Divine Guidance
Here are some questions I now ask myself when I feel lost, anxious, or doubtful:
- What if I knew that everything I’m worried about is already being worked out for my highest good?
- What if I trusted that I have the wisdom, strength, and guidance I need—right now?
- What if I knew that no matter what happens… I will still be okay?
These aren’t just questions. They are invitations—to trust deeper, to listen closer, and to believe in something greater than fear.
Learn to Listen…
I’ve realized that divine guidance isn’t a lightning bolt.
It’s not always loud, obvious, or immediate.
More often, it’s a quiet knowing. A warm nudge. A thought that brings peace instead of panic.
It’s that inner whisper that says:
“You are stronger than this.”
“This is not the end—it’s just a portal of your becoming.”
“One day, your story will be someone else’s light.”
And I believe… that day is already beginning.
Chapter 6: Divine Surrender
“Parachutes aren’t proven trustworthy by simply carrying them around. They show their power the moment you leap. The same goes for trusting God—faith only makes sense once you take that jump.”
There’s a quote that always makes me smile, even on days when I feel like crumbling. It’s from Mother Teresa:
“I know God won’t give me anything I can’t handle. I just wish He didn’t trust me so much.”
Honestly? I’ve felt that way more times than I can count—especially as a mother raising children in a land that isn’t mine, carrying wounds no one sees, and trying to make sense of a life I didn’t imagine would turn out this way.
But what I’ve come to learn—sometimes through silence, sometimes through tears—is this:
There is a sacred unfolding happening beneath the surface of everything.
Even when life feels messy or broken, it’s all part of a divine design. Like an enormous, cosmic jigsaw puzzle, each of us holds a small but irreplaceable piece. We might not see how our piece fits. We may question why we were given this struggle or that detour. But from a higher view, nothing is wasted. Every setback, every heartbreak, every quiet act of courage—it all belongs.
You Don’t Need to Know It All
Before, I used to stress over every detail—how things would work out, how I’d survive, how I could make life better for my daughters. I thought I had to fix everything all at once.
But life, I’ve discovered, is not a problem to be solved. It’s a mystery to be lived.
We’re not meant to know the entire path. We’re simply asked to take the next faithful step.
That next step is whispered to us through intuition—the soft voice of God that speaks without noise, without pressure, without fear.
Like Blossoms, Unfolding Without Force
There’s this beautiful thought I once read:
“Don’t try to force anything. Let life be a deep let-go. See how God opens millions of flowers every day without forcing the buds.”
And isn’t that so true? When we try to control or rush the process, we often feel more lost and anxious. But when we loosen our grip—even a little—and trust that something greater is guiding our lives, things begin to open naturally.
That’s what surrender looks like:
Not giving up…
But giving over.
Not quitting…
But trusting.
When You Don’t Know What to Do—Let Go
If you’re in a season where everything feels too much, too heavy, too uncertain—I invite you to try what changed everything for me: the Surrender Box Practice.
It may seem small, almost too simple. But I promise, it’s sacred. And it works.
When you give your burdens to God—truly let them go—you open the door for healing, clarity, and unexpected miracles.
The Surrender Box Practice — My Way of Letting Go
I discovered this practice at a time when I was desperate to feel peace again. My heart was heavy, my spirit tired, and I was clinging to fears that never seemed to end. I didn’t have the money for therapy. I didn’t have anyone to truly talk to. But I had one thing left—faith.
I started a practice that became my sanctuary. It’s simple. Gentle. But it changed me.
It’s called the Surrender Box.
Here’s how to do it:
1. Write Down the Worry
I take a small card or piece of paper and pour out what’s breaking me.
Something like:
“Dear God, I don’t know how to move forward in this marriage. I’m exhausted. My children need a mother who can stand tall—but I feel like I’m slowly disappearing. Please take this from me.”
2. Turn the Worry into a Question
After I pour my heart out, I transform it into a gentle question.
“How can I find strength to protect my peace without hurting those I love?”
“What’s the next step to rebuild my life with purpose and dignity?”
3. Enter a Sacred Inner Space
Even if I’m just sitting on the edge of my bed, I close my eyes and imagine a place of peace.
Maybe a quiet garden… or the warmth of God’s arms.
I breathe slowly. I soften. I surrender.
4. Speak… Then Listen
I gently speak the words I wrote. I ask the question.
Then I listen—not with logic, but with presence.
Sometimes the answer comes as a feeling, an image, or just a soft sense of peace.
Other times, there’s only silence.
And even then, the act of releasing is enough.
5. Place It in the Surrender Box
Finally, I place the card into a simple white box I keep near my journal.
As I close the lid, I say softly:
“God, this is Yours now. I release it. I trust You.”
I can’t explain how it works. But each time I do this, my soul breathes again.
You Are Not Alone
If there’s one truth I’ve come to realize through all my struggles—from being a foreigner in Japan, a mother fighting to stay strong, a woman with a dream buried under bills and broken promises—it’s this:
I am not alone. And neither are you.
There were moments I thought I was the only one walking through this wilderness…
…The only one awake at 3 a.m., crying silently so the kids wouldn’t hear.
…The only one who felt ashamed for not “having it all together.”
…The only one smiling outside while breaking inside.
But over time, through the quiet nudges of intuition and the divine whispers that visited me when I needed them most, I started to see the truth:
Everyone has their own desserts.
Just because you can’t see someone else’s pain doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.
Like Lynn Robinson writes, these “spiritual deserts” often don’t show up in ways others can see. Many carry invisible scars—loss, betrayal, illness, fear, guilt, loneliness—but they walk around pretending they’re fine, just like we do.
And knowing that?
It softened something in me.
It reminded me to be gentler with myself… and with others too.
I began to understand that my suffering didn’t make me weak—it made me human.
And in those raw moments where I surrendered my pain and simply said, “God, I can’t do this without You,” I didn’t just feel relief…
I felt a connection.
To God.
To other souls quietly walking their own rocky paths.
To a deeper truth that whispered, You are not alone. You never were.
Divine Guidance Questions to Ask When You’re Stuck
Sometimes we just need the right questions to bring light into the fog.
These are my go-to reflections when I use my Surrender Box or sit quietly with God:
- What if I knew for certain that everything I’m worried about would work out okay?
- What if I believed that I have the inner wisdom to handle anything that comes my way?
- What if I trusted that even if life throws something painful at me… I’ll still be okay?
Final Thoughts: Surrender Is Sacred Strength
If you’re reading this and you feel like you’re at the end of your rope…
If your life feels like it’s unraveling, or you’ve lost yourself somewhere along the way…
Take a breath.
Then take another.
You don’t have to fix it all right now.
You don’t even have to understand the next five steps.
All you need is the courage to surrender what you can’t carry… and listen for the next gentle whisper of divine intuition.
Because when you release… You rise.
And when you surrender… You make space for the miracle.
7: Between Two Worlds
“Learn to get in touch with the silence within yourself, and know that everything in this life has a purpose. There are no mistakes. No coincidences. All events are blessings given to us to learn from.”
— Elisabeth Kübler-Ross
They say the most painful breakdowns often carry the seeds of the most sacred breakthroughs.
On the outside, I learned to wear my smiles like armor. I’ve walked the streets of Japan, bowed politely, showed up at school events, kept our home together, and smiled in front of neighbors—looking like I had it all together. But deep inside, I often felt like I was standing between two worlds. One that demanded I stay strong, quiet, and composed. And another that was falling apart, full of quiet anguish, buried dreams, and an ache I couldn’t explain.
That’s what Divine Intuition taught me. Lynn Robinson described it so well—how many people live with an outer life that looks beautiful, accomplished, and picture-perfect… while inside, they are collapsing. And unless someone truly listens, they wouldn’t know the battles we fight in silence.
As for me, I’ve lived this duality every day.
There were mornings when I woke up with a heavy chest, wondering if I could keep going. Nights when I’d cry alone in the dark, asking God if He could still see me. Days I looked around my life—my house in Japan, my children, my aching heart—and wondered, Is this really all there is?
Yet even in the loneliest moments, I could feel something—an invisible presence, a voice not from the outside but from deep within—urging me to hold on.
“This is not where your story ends.”
“This is where your soul begins to rise.”
Living Between Two Worlds
There is something sacred about standing at the edge of a spiritual awakening. One world is everything you’ve ever known—your survival, your past, your pain, your fear. The other is unfamiliar and uncertain… but it whispers of peace, freedom, abundance, and alignment with your higher calling.
I feel like I’ve been straddling those two worlds for so long. The world of a struggling immigrant mother trying to survive each day. And the world of a woman who carries an audacious dream—to write, to inspire, and to leave behind a legacy more beautiful than the life I was handed.
At times, it feels foolish. Who am I to believe I can rise above all this?
But then comes the whisper. Divine. Gentle. Reassuring.
“You are not alone.”
That line from Lynn’s book broke me open. She said something that stayed with me:
“Everyone falls into a spiritual desert at some point in their life. You may not see it on their face. But inside, everyone has walked through seasons of fear, shame, and doubt.”
That’s what I needed to hear: that I’m not crazy. That I’m not broken. That I’m not the only one.
And maybe… neither are you.
Embracing the Void
There’s a place in life I’ve come to know far too well—a strange, silent space where everything feels unfamiliar… even me.
It wasn’t like I fell apart all at once. No. It was gradual. Like one day, I just woke up and didn’t know where my energy had gone. I wasn’t exactly depressed. I wasn’t broken. But I wasn’t fully alive either. I was somewhere in between.
Now I understand that this space—this uncomfortable middle—is what Lynn Robinson calls the void. It’s that season when your soul quietly whispers:
“You can’t go back to who you were… but you’re not yet who you’re meant to become.”
I felt this when I was trying to hold my family together in Japan, far from home, with bills piling up and no one to lean on. I was physically present, going through the motions—taking care of my children, cleaning the house, trying to smile through it all—but inside, I felt hollow. Something sacred within me had been dimmed.
Lynn writes that the void often comes just before a major transformation. But during those long nights, I couldn’t see that. All I felt was confusion. I kept asking God, “Is this really all there is? Am I still seen? Am I still loved?”
And yet, looking back… I was being prepared.
Sometimes the life we built has to crack wide open—not to destroy us, but to release us. The striving, the old dreams, the pressure to keep performing, to keep proving, to keep pleasing… it was all falling away.
That season of “not knowing” was actually sacred. Painful, yes. But holy. It was my soul’s way of saying:
“Enough. Stop running. Come home to yourself.”
I used to pray for answers. I wanted clarity, direction, a voice from the heavens telling me what to do. But instead, what I received was silence. Stillness. And in that silence, something surprising happened… I heard myself again. My real voice. The one I buried under fear, obligation, and exhaustion.
“You don’t need to chase your old life,” it whispered.
“You’re being called to create a new one.”
And slowly, I began to believe it.
I started journaling again. I began writing not for money or approval, but for healing. For freedom. For truth. I tuned into my intuition, that divine inner voice I had long ignored. I remembered who I was before the world told me who I should be.
The truth is, the void often appears when life is asking us to let go of who we used to be… to make space for someone new to emerge.
It’s uncomfortable. It’s uncertain. It often feels like you’re floating with no direction. But that stillness? That space where nothing seems to make sense anymore? That’s sacred ground. That’s the space where your soul is rearranging itself.
In one of my quiet moments of prayer and reflection, I felt a message deep in my heart. It wasn’t loud, but it was clear:
You are in a transition. This season won’t last forever. Trust the process. Surrender the old version of yourself—the woman who always had to be strong, trying to be perfect, a submissive wife, and pleasing everyone else. You’re being called to soften. To forgive. To open your heart. To serve from a place of love, not pressure. There’s more joy ahead than you can imagine—if you’re willing to let go.
Those words didn’t come from outside. They came from within—from a place I now recognize as divine intuition.
I cried when I heard them, not because I was afraid, but because I knew it was true. I had been clinging to my old life—my old identity—out of fear. I thought that if I let go, I’d lose everything. But the longer I stayed in that version of me, the more distant I felt from the woman I was created to be.
As Parker J. Palmer so beautifully said:
“Darkness is not the whole of the story—every pilgrimage has passages of loveliness and joy—but it is the part of the story most often left untold.”
I had been tempted to hide the darkness—to pretend my hope never wavered. But in truth, I’ve had nights filled with fear, moments where I questioned everything. I’ve knelt on my bedroom floor crying, not knowing how I’d survive another day. But I also know this:
The void is not the end.
It’s a bridge.
It’s a sacred space between who you were and who you are becoming.
Four Gentle Ways to Navigate the In-Between
Coming out of the void doesn’t happen in a flash of light or a dramatic breakthrough. There’s no magical switch that suddenly says, “Congratulations! You’re back to your old self!”—because you’re not meant to be your old self.
The truth is, this transition takes time. It asks us to slow down, breathe deeply, and listen more closely to what’s happening within. I used to fight the uncertainty, always trying to fix, to rush, to control. But now I understand—there’s an inner compass guiding us. One we can trust, even when we can’t see where we’re going yet.
Here are four gentle, grace-filled ways I’ve learned to reconnect with that compass—and maybe they’ll help you, too.
1. Make Space for Quiet
When life feels unsteady, our instinct is often to stay busy—scrolling, replying, posting, planning, overthinking. It makes us feel like we’re in control. But during my transition, I realized that all that noise was drowning out the one thing I truly needed to hear: myself.
I learned to sit with stillness. Not perfectly, but intentionally. Some mornings, while my children were still asleep, I’d sit by the window with a cup of tea and just watch the sky. Sometimes I prayed. Sometimes I cried. Sometimes I just listened. And in that quiet, I started to feel… held.
This kind of silence isn’t empty. It’s full of whispers from your soul. Answers come when we stop searching and start receiving.
2. Notice Tiny Joys
One morning, I walked to the store alone for the first time in weeks. I was tired, mentally drained—but then something caught my eye. A small flower blooming through a crack in the pavement. Just like that, I smiled.
Healing doesn’t always come in huge miracles. Sometimes, it looks like finding comfort in a stranger’s kindness, laughing at your child’s silly joke, or hearing your favorite song unexpectedly. These are divine nudges, gentle reminders that life is still beautiful—even here, even now.
Let your heart collect these tiny gifts. They are clues that light is already returning.
3. Ask Your Heart What It Needs
I used to lead with my head. Logic, reason, to-do lists, deadlines—that’s how I tried to survive. But in this uncertain space, all those strategies stopped working. I had to ask myself something deeper:
“What does my heart need right now?”
Some days the answer was simple: rest. Other times it was harder—like asking for help, forgiving myself, or dreaming again after being disappointed so many times.
One gentle practice I do is placing my hand over my heart, closing my eyes, and asking softly, “What would comfort me today?” The answers that come are never loud or demanding—they’re kind, small, doable. Like taking a walk, calling a loved one, journaling, or simply breathing deeply.
Your heart knows the way. We just have to remember how to listen.
4. Trust That You Are Being Guided
This part took me the longest to believe… but I promise you, it’s true:
You are not walking this road alone.
Even when I felt invisible, even when I doubted everything—somehow, the right book would land in my hands, a friend would message me at the perfect time, or a message from a podcast would speak exactly to what I was feeling. That’s not a coincidence. That’s divine guidance.
If there’s a dream inside you—whether it’s writing, healing, helping others, starting something new—it was placed there. Not randomly, but purposefully. And if God placed it there, He will give you what you need to see it through.
So don’t give up on your vision. You’re not behind. You’re not lost. You’re just being prepared.
Gentle Invitation for Your Soul
If you’re in a transition right now, try this simple reflection tonight before bed:
- What brought me a moment of peace today?
- What is my heart asking for that I’ve been ignoring?
- What would it feel like to trust that everything is unfolding just as it should?
You are not falling apart. You are being remade. And this in-between place? It’s not a punishment. It’s a sacred pause. A holy invitation. An act of love from your soul calling you home.
And I promise you… When you come out of this, you won’t be the same.
You’ll be softer, stronger, and far more you than you’ve ever been before.
Lost Between Worlds, Found by Faith: A Reflection from the Quiet Spaces of My Life 🌙
There’s a strange in-between space I’ve come to know deeply. A quiet wilderness. A space where you’re not who you used to be, but not yet who you’re becoming. It’s a place without clear answers, where time feels slower, and everything that once made sense no longer fits. Lynn Robinson calls it “the void.” I call it the place where my soul started to awaken.
In Japan, I have lived in this void for longer than I care to admit. Surrounded by the buzz of busyness, the clatter of motherhood, and the politeness of a culture that values silence, I often found myself in the thick of transition—with a smile on my face and a storm in my heart.
I tried to push through it. To keep “doing” so, I wouldn’t have to feel so lost. I ran from the silence by keeping myself busy: cleaning, cooking, scrolling, researching—anything but stopping. But nothing worked because the only way out of the void is through it.
This chapter reminded me: It’s okay not to have it all figured out. It’s okay to feel empty. Because emptiness is often where God whispers the loudest.
I remember one quiet evening, when the kids were asleep, and I stepped outside to get something in the car. It was winter. Cold air, quiet streets. And something about that stillness pierced me. I stood there longer than I meant to, just staring at the stars above our Japanese neighborhood. And in that moment, I realized—I was exactly where I needed to be. Not because I had all the answers. But because I had finally stopped running.
Japan has taught me how to be still in ways I never imagined. How to walk slowly. How to find peace in a cup of coffee. How to breathe even when everything feels uncertain. And slowly, day by day, the guidance came—not all at once, but just enough to keep me going.
A kind word from a stranger at the park.
A dream that stayed with me after waking.
A sudden inspiration to write something that’s been buried in my heart for years.
These weren’t coincidences. They were divine breadcrumbs—reminders that my inner compass still worked, even when I felt completely lost.
And now, when I feel that heaviness again, I ask gently:
“What does my heart need today?”
Not what others expect from me. Not what my to-do list demands. But what my heart needs. Sometimes, it just needs kindness. Or quiet. Or a short, teary prayer while the children nap.
What I’ve learned from this chapter—and from my own journey—is that transition is not a detour. It’s a sacred passage. A time when we’re being refined, not punished. Prepared, not forgotten.
If you’re in that space too—between heartbreak and healing, between what was and what could be—please hold on. Your void is not empty. It’s pregnant with purpose. Something beautiful is forming in you, even now.
And as for me? I may still be between two worlds, but I’ve stopped fearing the silence. Because now I know: God lives there too.
The Journey Within: A Final Reflection
If you’ve made it this far, then something in your spirit has been quietly whispering, nudging, and pulling you closer to a truth that’s always been yours: You are not alone. You are guided. And your intuition is sacred.
Through each chapter of Divine Intuition, we’ve walked hand in hand through uncertainty, fear, desire, heartbreak, surrender, and hope. We’ve learned that our intuition is not some mysterious gift reserved for a chosen few—it is a divine language, a soul-deep knowing, woven into the fabric of who we are.
We’ve uncovered how to…
Trust our inner compass even in seasons of silence.
Surrender when life doesn’t go as planned—and discover peace in letting go.
Ask questions that invite divine answers.
Find strength in transition, knowing that the “in-between” is sacred too.
Hear God’s whispers through dreams, feelings, synchronicities, and sudden bursts of inspiration.
As for me, this journey hasn’t just been about reading a book. It has been about coming home to myself. To that still, quiet voice I tried to silence for years. Living in a foreign land as a mother, a woman, and a dreamer—this book became my lifeline. A reminder that no matter how far I feel from “home,” I am always divinely connected, spiritually guided, and deeply loved.
And here’s what I know now:
When we follow our intuition, we follow God’s fingerprints on our souls.
There are still more chapters in this book—chapters filled with even more tools, stories, meditations, and divine truths waiting to awaken your inner wisdom. What we’ve explored together is only the beginning.
So if this series has touched something deep in you—if it made you pause, breathe, cry, or dream again—then I invite you:
Read the book. Sit with it. Let it speak to you. Let it change you.
Because you deserve to hear the voice of your own soul—and to follow it with courage, clarity, and joy.
Your intuition is not broken.
Your journey is not a mistake.
And your dreams?
They are divine instructions from a God who knows your heart.
Now, go gently—and boldly—into your own sacred becoming.
The answers are already within you.
Just listen.
