“Life is like a banana split. It is not one ingredient that makes it whole, but many, each added with intention, creating something you could never build alone.” Tiara Christopher

I did not see it while it was happening.

I did not know I was being assembled, piece by piece, layer by layer, by a God who was intentional about every detail of my life.

All I knew were moments.

Conversations.

Opportunities that felt small at the time but now carry weight.

Looking back, it was never random.

It was a process.

Like a banana split, nothing comes together all at once. Each part is placed with purpose. The foundation is laid first, the vanilla ice cream. Then the banana is placed in between, separating and holding it together. Then come the sprinkles, added not for necessity, but for distinction. And finally, the cherry on top, the piece that completes it, the part that makes everything make sense.

I could not see how it all connected then.

But now I can.

God was assembling something in me that I would one day be able to taste, recognize, and finally understand.

And what is even more profound is this:

The people He used to build it never met each other.

They did not know they were connected.

They did not know they were contributing to the same outcome.

But each of them carried a piece.

There are four people who have never met, yet their lives converged through mine in a way that could only be orchestrated by God.

It began with my ninth grade English teacher, Ms. Margo Rudd, who saw my ability and poured oil onto it. She stirred up my writing gift and expanded it through culture and history, taking me to museums once a month.

We also had lunch once a week, every Wednesday to be exact, exploring foods I would not have known at that age, Mediterranean dishes, falafel, Greek salads, sushi, and more.

Ms. Rudd was more than my English teacher. She was my catalyst. The one who saw the oil that was already there before I did. She became the weight and permanence of my foundation in writing. She may even be the reason I naturally intertwine text, because she taught me how to listen deeply, how to hear a song and unpack what the artist was truly communicating to the audience.

And when I think about it, that stayed with me. My love for music in my writing. My ability to converge what may appear to be foreign subjects and bring them into one.

What she exposed me to was not just art or history, but culture and perspective. It was depth. It was the beginning of seeing beyond what was in front of me. I did not fully understand it then, but in the birth of my book, The Art of Translating Pain: A Restorative Writing Workbook for Healing, Wholeness, and Transformation, I can now see clearly that what Ms. Rudd began, Mark continued.

Mark Lenker, Teaching and Lead Librarian for Research and Education, became the continuation of what God was building in me. If we are using the metaphor of a banana split, Ms. Rudd was the ice cream, but Mark was the banana. You cannot have this dessert without both.

Mark took what Margo saw and brought it into structure.

Like the banana placed in between the ice cream, separating and holding it together, this is what Mark did with my writing. He separated my theories, teaching me how to analyze them through articles and books, while also holding everything together by showing me how to properly intertwine research into my work.

Step by step, he elevated my writing. He taught me how to implement research and how to find sources that supported the theories forming within me.

And what is even more notable is that Mark did not ask to be my editor. I asked him. At the time, he had not yet published a book himself and did not believe he was qualified to edit one. Still, I kept sending him chapters of my first unpublished manuscript, I’m Possible.

Looking back, what is striking is not just what he saw in me, but what I saw in him. The same recognition. The same confirmation. What God was building in me, I could already see forming in him. That exchange was not accidental. It was alignment.

The skills I developed under him sharpened everything. My writing gained substance. My thinking gained structure. I learned how to analyze statistics and apply them in real time as it relates to my work. This was a turning point.

What once lived inside of me as thought began to stand on a credible foundation. What I carried started to make sense outside of me, because I began to discover other authors and researchers who saw what I saw.

And that matters, especially in psychology, because you do not want to feel isolated in your thinking. You want confirmation that what you are observing has been seen, studied, and is worthy of deeper pursuit. This is what I call a writer’s heaven.

Then came the sprinkles, my Bishop.

Under his teaching, I learned how to take what is complex and make it clear. My bishop had a way of discerning what lay beneath the surface, then breaking it down so it could be both understood and applied.

Through him, I learned to engage complex ideas without becoming overwhelmed; to slow them down, sift through them, and translate them for others.

And in doing so, my writing, my reverence in listening, and my lens deepened.

This expanded my ability to move between different worlds, more specifically the two I have come to navigate: worldly and Kingdom work. As an intertextual, convergent writer, I am able to take what often appears to be separate or even opposing, such as the Bible and yoga, and bring them into thoughtful alignment. This is not said to boast, but to accurately name the gift.

And then, the cherry on top.

My web developer, Nail. Simply by observing me, watching me take notes everywhere I went, she saw value in what I was doing. She encouraged me to become the church Scribe as I call it. Then she went further, creating my website for free and even hiring help to ensure it was completed before my Les Brown conference. 

During our church’s annual corporate fast, I believe it’s important to acknowledge this: although I was not actively participating in the fast, I still received the benefits of it as a member of the body.

In a time when I did not fully understand what God was doing, she called me and instructed me to create a thirty, sixty, and ninety day plan. This became the final stirring that impregnated me with my new book, “The Art of Translating Pain A Restorative Writing Workbook for Healing, Wholeness, and Transformation.”

That phone call shifted everything. 

And now the banana split is complete.

Ice cream. Banana. Sprinkles. Cherry. No need for whipped cream; I’ve always found it to be an unnecessary topping, full of carbs with no real taste.

Each piece placed at the right time. Each person carrying a different function. None of them knowing each other, yet all of them connected through me.

It is as if God kept it in a freezer where nothing was lost—where the ice cream never burned and the banana never hardened, but everything remained perfectly preserved for such a time as this. I feel God saying, “Tiara, my daughter, it’s time for dessert.”

But not just any dessert. The banana split is ready to be served to humanity. And as I reflect on the nonprofit I once started but never finished. I called it, “Serving Humanity” where I prepared meals in my home and brought them to encampments, feeding thirty to forty people at a time, I now understand: that was only a glimpse.

He is the Creator of this banana split. What a mighty treat indeed.

Our inheritance is created by God, preserved by God, and served to humanity at the appointed time.

This is the divine hand of God.

As I sit with all of this, I see a pattern. Foreign worlds merging throughout my life. Different people, different disciplines, all meeting in one place, through me.

God sent them as instruments, shaping me like clay on a wheel and I am only now coming into the realization of it.

It is as if I am standing in the tension of both moments at once: like Apostle Paul, whom God called “a chosen instrument of mine” (Acts 9:15, ESV), and like the clay in the potter’s hands in Jeremiah, being formed on the wheel (Jeremiah 18:6, ESV).

Both shaping and sending. Both becoming and being used. All at once, in real time; for  such a time as this.

I thought I was simply interested in rhetoric, psychology, and culture. But what if I was naturally drawn to these things because they were already placed inside of me?

Scripture teaches that before we were formed, God knew us (Jeremiah 1:5, ESV). That means the oil was always there.

Like the widow in Scripture who was instructed to pour from what she already had, she was not given something new. She was told to use what was already in her possession, and as she poured, the oil multiplied (2 Kings 4:1–7, ESV).

This is the oil I have always carried, and now it is flowing in real time. It is not something newly given, but something revealed. And it is flowing so heavily that even standing near me, you may find it spilling over onto you.

God is the Creator. He is the One who placed the oil within me and positioned each person in my life with intention. Ms. Margo Rudd as the vanilla ice cream, the foundation, steady and essential. Mark as the banana, brought in to hold structure, separating and supporting what needed clarity. Bishop as the sprinkles on an already prepared treat, bringing that finishing touch, the one who could take what felt complex and make it plain, adding depth and understanding as I grew as a new believer. And Nail as the cherry on top, the bridge, the one who helped carry it forward, walking me directly toward purpose.

Because some of us are like me, we need God to hold our hand and lead us step by step. When Scripture tells us that the steps of a man are established by the Lord and that we are to trust in Him and not lean on our own understanding, it is not symbolic, it is necessary (Psalm 37:23, ESV; Proverbs 3:5–6, ESV). Without that guidance, everything begins to lose form, just like a banana split left unattended begins to melt.

Each serving their role in the process, nothing out of place, nothing without purpose, bringing me into a place of growth where what was placed in me could mature and ripen in its appointed time (Ecclesiastes 3:1, ESV).

I am not fully ripe yet. I am not ready to be taken off the tree. But harvest season is near.

It is like a cherry tree. As a child, I loved picking cherries. If you pick one too early, it is sour. If you leave it too long, it rots. But when it is picked at the right time, it is perfectly ready.

The cherry still bursts when you bite into it. It does not wait to be understood. It just is.

And that is how this feels.

I am that moment.

Ripe and ready, yet still a mess.

Whether you take it all in at once, or let it settle, letting each layer reach you in its own time, it does not change what it is.