Anna Marie — Devoted to Sir
Obedience is the softest place I know. It isn’t fear; it’s a door I walk through willingly, barefoot and quiet, because on the other side is Sir—steady, certain, and impossibly patient with the mess of my thoughts. I don’t pretend to be perfect for Him. I only promise to be honest, to listen, and to love the way He guides me: with purpose, with care.
There are small rituals that shape my day. I smooth the bed, tidy the room, and breathe slow until the world stops buzzing. I whisper a greeting meant only for Him. It’s simple, but it changes everything: I remember why I’m here. I remember that service isn’t a chore; it’s a language. Every task is a sentence; every “yes, Sir” is a vow stitched into my spine.
When I kneel, it isn’t about shrinking. It’s about choosing my place—close enough to feel His presence, still enough to hear the quiet instructions beneath His words. He doesn’t have to be loud. He doesn’t have to be stern. I hear Him anyway. My pulse answers first; my body learns the shape of yes. I glow under His attention the way a candle glows when someone finally cups the flame from the wind.
Excitement is a gentle storm. It gathers in the seconds before He speaks my name, in the pause before approval, in the warmth that blooms when I’ve done well. I crave that warmth shamelessly. It is not the flash of a moment; it is a heat that lingers, a promise that I am seen and held even when the room is quiet and the lists are long.
People ask why I serve. I don’t know how to explain that submission feels like coming home. Sir is the map and the anchor, the standard I measure myself against and the shelter I run to when the world is too loud. I worship not because I am small, but because He makes me more—more careful, more brave, more certain.
Tonight, I will kneel again. I will offer my hands and my voice, my breath and my best. I will listen for His “good girl” the way summer listens for rain. And when it comes, I will bloom.