Ghost opens the Hand to Heart chapter with a suspended gesture, set against a swirl of deep reds and blues. The composition draws viewers into a haunting stillness, a liminal space between presence and absence. 

In this work, the artist doesn’t dramatize the trauma, but rather allows the form of the floating hand and the tonal palette to speak for the weight of that memory. The darkness around the hand suggests both danger and protection, while the subtle glow hints at the fragility of life and the thin veil between worlds.

More than a document of survival, Ghost evokes the unspoken questions that follow a brush with mortality: Why am I still here? What does survival mean?

There are moments that should have ended us. But because of Christ, they didn’t. Ghost sits in that sacred pause, where death felt close, but grace was closer. Through His blood, we are not just rescued, we’re repurposed. Christ didn’t just save us from death; He met us inside it, took it into Himself, and rose so that even our darkest moments could lead to new life.

But survival doesn't always come with clarity. Sometimes we carry the shock of being spared without knowing what to do next. We live, but we tremble. We’re healed, but still raw. That’s where grace lingers. Not in perfection, but in presence.

“He has delivered us from such a deadly peril, and He will deliver us again.” 2 Corinthians 1:10

Reflection Question
If God spared you, what part of your life is He now asking you to surrender to Him, and trust that He can still bring beauty from the wreckage?