A Shared Language of Grace - Personal blog of Trisha Rapley, Australian Author.

He spoke about Jesus the way I do.

Not with performance. Not with pressure. But with love—quiet, sincere, and unafraid of tenderness. His faith was not a tool to convince or correct; it was a language of the heart. When he spoke of Christ, it was as though he was remembering someone he had once known closely, even if distance had grown between them.

There was no urgency in his words. No demand that others arrive where he had not yet fully stood. He spoke of Jesus with reverence, not requirement—with hope, not expectation. And that is how I knew his faith was real.

Because true faith does not coerce. It invites.

We did not speak of God as a doctrine to be defended, but as a presence to be trusted. Jesus was not an argument between us—He was a shared breath. A knowing. A quiet agreement that love, when anchored in God, never needs to be forced.

He spoke of grace the way one speaks of light—something freely given, not earned.

Of mercy as something alive, not conditional.

Of Christ as someone who walks with us, not ahead of us, shouting commands.

And in that, I saw myself.

Not mirrored in certainty, but in posture. In humility. In the gentle hope that God is patient enough to meet us wherever we are, and loving enough to wait until we are ready to return fully to Him.

There was no expectation placed on his faith—or mine. No timeline. No pressure to become more spiritual, more righteous, more “ready.” We understood that God does not rush the hearts He is healing.

We spoke of Jesus with trust in His promise, not anxiety over its fulfilment.

And that trust mattered.

Because when you love someone in Christ, you do not try to be their saviour. You do not demand their transformation on your schedule. You do not weaponise scripture or measure progress. You love them where they stand—and you leave the rest to God.

I did not love him with the hope of changing him.

I loved him with the hope that one day, in God’s time, he would be reunited with the fullness of what was always promised to him. The way we all are—slowly, imperfectly, faithfully drawn back home.

There was something holy in that hope.

Not desperate.

Not romanticised.

Just rooted.

A belief that God finishes what He begins, even when the journey takes longer than we expect.

Even when detours feel permanent.

I never needed him to believe like me.

I only needed him to believe that God is good.

And he did.

He believed that Jesus meets people in love, not fear.

That grace precedes obedience.

That restoration is relational, not transactional.

And so we spoke of Christ not as something to achieve—but as Someone who remains.

I did not pray for him to become who I needed him to be. I prayed that God would continue revealing Himself gently, patiently, personally—without interference from me.

Because love that trusts God does not hover. It releases.

And in that release, I learned something sacred: loving someone through Christ means believing in God’s promise more than your own desire. It means trusting that even if paths diverge, the same Shepherd knows how to gather His sheep.

Whether side by side or miles apart.

There was peace in that knowing.

Peace in loving without expectation.

Peace in hoping without attachment.

Peace in trusting that God’s promise does not expire just because we cannot see it yet.

He spoke about Jesus the way I do—not as a destination, but as a companion. Not as a rulebook, but as a Redeemer. Not as a demand, but as love made flesh.

And if one day we are reunited—not by chance, but by God’s design—it will not be because we held tightly. It will be because we both trusted the same promise.

That God, who is faithful, always finds His way back to the hearts that speak of Him in love.

A Shared Language of Grace - Personal blog of Trisha Rapley, Australian Author.

A Shared Language of Grace - Personal blog of Trisha Rapley, Australian Author.