A Heart of Flesh

The Rosary didn’t change my circumstances.

It changed the way I saw them.

I didn’t realise my heart was changing until I started seeing the world differently.

The sunrise looked more beautiful.

People became easier to love.

The hurts I had carried no longer felt as heavy.

I found myself praying for strangers, celebrating the victories of people I didn’t even know, and slowly letting go of the resentment I had once held onto.

Looking back now, I realise none of this happened overnight.

It happened quietly.

It happened faithfully.

And I believe it began with one simple decision.

About two months ago, I decided to start praying the Rosary every night before bed.

There wasn’t one dramatic moment that led me to it. I simply wanted to grow closer to God. I wanted more peace, more clarity, and a stronger prayer life. Looking back now, I don’t think I realised what God was preparing to do through such a simple act of faithfulness.

To be honest, I wasn’t perfect.

There were nights when I didn’t feel like praying, but I prayed anyway. There were other nights where I was so exhausted that I’d fall asleep before I even began. Sometimes one missed night became two… then three… before I’d eventually pick the Rosary back up again.

But I kept coming back.

During the first few weeks, I prayed the Rosary every night without missing a day. It wasn’t long before I noticed something changing - not around me, but within me.

My heart began to soften.

It’s difficult to explain unless you’ve experienced it yourself, but I genuinely started seeing the world differently.

I became more aware of the people around me.

The brokenness in the world affected me in ways it hadn’t before. Hearing someone speak harshly about another person would stay with me. Stories of suffering would bring tears to my eyes. I found myself praying for people I didn’t even know.

Even the smallest moments became meaningful.

I’d drive past someone out for a walk or pushing themselves through a run, and I’d quietly find myself cheering them on from inside the car. I felt genuinely happy watching other people succeed. More than that, I began noticing God’s presence in ordinary moments that I had rushed past for so long.

One memory that has stayed with me happened during my final few weeks at my 9–5.

I decided to start catching the train to work instead of driving. Partly because the commute had become long - sometimes over an hour each way - and partly because I wanted to save money before taking the leap into building Must Seed.

I hadn’t caught a train since I was in Year 10.

For some reason, I found myself genuinely looking forward to it every morning.

I know that probably sounds strange. For many people, catching public transport is simply part of everyday life. And yet I felt so much gratitude whilst doing it.

Instead of sitting in traffic, I was able to quietly watch the world wake up.

Every morning I watched the sunrise through the train window. I watched people beginning their day. Sometimes I would pray. Other times I would simply sit in silence.

Those train rides became some of the most peaceful moments of my day.

What surprised me most wasn’t that my circumstances had changed.

It was that my perspective had.

The sunrise had always been there.

The people had always been there.

God had always been there.

The difference was that, through prayer, my heart had finally slowed down enough to notice.

What surprised me even more was how I viewed the people who had hurt me.

Instead of replaying old conversations or holding onto resentment, I found myself praying for them.

Not because I suddenly believed what they did was okay.

But because I no longer wanted my heart to carry bitterness.

That alone was something I knew I couldn’t have done by my own strength.

I truly felt God’s presence throughout my day.

Not in some extraordinary way, but in a quiet, constant way that brought peace. It felt as though my mind was becoming less noisy, and in that quietness I was beginning to recognise His voice more clearly.

Most nights I wouldn’t even finish the Rosary because I’d fall asleep halfway through.

At first, I worried that I was failing.

I remember wondering, “Is this disrespectful? Shouldn’t I be able to stay awake long enough to finish?”

After reading more about it, I realised something that completely changed my perspective.

I wasn’t falling asleep because I didn’t care.

I was falling asleep with a peaceful heart.

The Rosary had become the final conversation of my day with God, and somewhere between the Hail Marys, my mind had stopped racing enough for me to finally rest.

Recently, I’ve started praying the Rosary every night again.

Almost immediately, I recognised that same change beginning to return.

Because every time I intentionally make space for God, He continues to transform the parts of my heart that I cannot change on my own.

Looking back, I also can’t help but see how this season shaped Must Seed.

As my heart softened, my priorities changed.

The vision became clearer.

Not because God gave me a dramatic sign or revealed every step ahead, but because spending time with Him each day slowly aligned my heart with His will instead of my own. The more I prayed, the less I felt the need to control every outcome.

For me, the Rosary has become far more than words repeated each night.

It has become a place of surrender.

A place where my anxious thoughts become quieter.

A place where forgiveness becomes easier.

A place where God gently reminds me that transformation usually happens slowly, faithfully, and often without us even noticing.

As I reflected on this, I couldn’t help but think of the words from the book of Ezekiel:

“I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit in you; I will remove from you your heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh.” — Ezekiel 36:26

I don’t believe my heart changed because of anything I accomplished.

I believe God was simply asking me to keep showing up.

Even imperfectly.

Even when I was tired.

Even when I missed a few nights and had to begin again.

I’ve also realised something else.

The hardest part wasn’t finding time to pray.

The hardest part was accepting that prayer doesn’t always feel emotional.

Some nights I felt deeply connected to God.

Other nights, I simply prayed because I knew He was worthy of my time.

Looking back, I think both kinds of prayer are equally important.

The nights where I felt overwhelmed by God’s peace reminded me of His closeness.

The nights where I felt nothing at all taught me faithfulness.

And perhaps that is what love really looks like.

Not simply showing up when our hearts are full, but continuing to show up because He is worthy, regardless of how we feel.

If you’ve been struggling to stay consistent in prayer, let this be your encouragement.

Don’t wait until you feel motivated.

Don’t believe you’ve failed because you’ve missed a few days.

Simply begin again.

God is just as present in your return as He is in your consistency.