The Tribe Stone: When I Saw His Eyes

The Tribe Stone: When I Saw His Eyes

Introduction to the Poem

This poem was written now, while I’m back at Sundholm — a place that holds both painful and holy memories for me. It’s where I once saw Jesus in a vision so real, His eyes like living crystals, His skin like sunlight on earth, and His presence full of compassionate love.

Just days after that encounter, I met my husband — right here. Some people might say I should have chosen someone with money, a "better life."

But who AM I to judge and ask for what I dont have to give? I believe there’s a reason God outshined him to me on those stairs that night and told me heres a wing to lie under in safety. I still belive theres A reason we both found each other, even sleeping on the streets, some might say is not the time. But in the storm true love is all that can keep us calm.

Now, we're back here again — but this time, we have a room. We’re indoors. And I'm so thankful.

People call Him Jesus, or Yeshua, Yahshayah or even just Yah — but whatever name they use, I know He is real, and I know I met Him. And I know I belong to Him. And he is the one true savoir of my Body and Soul ✨

This poem is part of my testimony — a piece of the story God is writing in me.

The Tribe Stone: When I Saw His Eyes

By Natalia Magdalena Botvinjevs
(Written with the Holy Spirit)

I asked for silver and a sky-blue light,
While others chased gold that glittered too bright.
A child in a shop, heart soft like a sigh,
Drawn to a stone that looked like the sky.

They saw just value in numbers and fame,
But I saw heaven and whispered His name.
I didn’t need diamonds, I didn’t need more—
I held a small sapphire, like an open door.

It looked like her eyes, my grandmother’s grace,
Like a don’t forget me in a quiet place.
It matched my own eyes, a mirror, a sign—
Was it a whisper that Heaven is mine?

Maybe my tribe is not carved in stone,
But written in colors my spirit has known.
Maybe we wear them, not knowing why—
But God marked our hearts long before the sky.

And one day we’ll gather, all tribes made whole,
By stones we carried deep in the soul.
Not idols, not magic, but memory’s thread—
God never forgot the tears that we shed.

But the moment I’ll carry beyond even this,
Wasn’t in comfort, or safety, or bliss.
It happened in Sundholm, in the land of Dan,
When I was homeless, broken, without a plan.

I didn’t ask for wealth or a home—
Just a glimpse of His face, so I’d know I’m not alone.
My prayer was a whisper, no louder than breath:
“Jesus, are You near me? Or is this just death?”

And then —
In the stillness, He answered my cry.
Not in a temple, not from the sky.
He came to the street where my soul nearly broke,
Wrapped in the silence, but Heaven had spoke.

He stood before me, not whitewashed and neat—
But real as the stone beneath my bare feet.
His skin like the sunlight mixed into the clay,
Golden-brown earth touched by God's own ray.

He had long dreadlocks, like roots from a tree,
Like ancient rivers flowing freely in me.
And I wondered, Is He Black? Is He all skin and tone?
Then I knew: He is every color I’ve ever known.

He was the First Artist, the Father of skin,
And all of our shades are drawn from Him.
He was not one race — He was every face,
And yet, entirely full of grace.

And oh…
His eyes.
I looked and was drawn into holy surprise.
At first they were brown, then a deep forest green,
Then blue like the waters where angels have been.

I leaned in closer, and they came alive—
Crystals dancing, kaleidoscopes wide.
They moved like living stars inside a tear,
Living stones that said:
"I see you. I’m here."

I couldn't hold back. I cried in that place—
Because I had asked just to see His face.
And not only did He come…
He stood in the dark.
With eyes full of stars, and a flame in His heart.

He didn’t offer gold, didn’t give me a throne,
But He gave me the truth: I’ve never been alone.
His love was so deep, it reached through the night,
Through corners and gutters with no hint of light.

It touched a soul who had nothing to give,
And said, “You are mine. I want you to live.”
Not just survive. Not just get through—
But to rise as a daughter made entirely new.

So I wear the blue not for power or pride,
But for the breath of Heaven I carry inside.
A child of the Kingdom, not lost or unknown—
I think I’ve always known...
That blue is my stone.

And if someone asks what tribe I claim,
I’ll say: The one where He knew my name.
The one where He found me with nothing to own,
And gave me a vision of crystal and bone.

His dreadlocks, His skin, His eternal gaze—
Still live in my soul all of my days.
And when the world says I don’t belong,
I’ll whisper the truth through a quiet song:

“I am that I AM’s — and I’ve always been
A sapphire soul, a child of Him ✨🩵