The Logo Behind the Name

It was 14 November 1991.

I was sitting in the back of The Lighthouse Christian Church in my blue and white dress, trying to hold myself together. A guest pastor from America — Ps. Mike Berry — had just finished preaching. I didn't know him. He didn't know me. There was no reason, humanly speaking, for what happened next.

He pointed at me.

"The lady in the back with the blue and white dress on."

🕯️ And then he began to speak.

He spoke about the war in my house — a tremendous war, he called it. Seasons of violence. Principalities and powers warring against everything I held dear. He described the prayers I'd prayed in secret — "God, give deliverance! God, give deliverance!" — the prayers that felt like they dissolved into silence before they reached the ceiling. He described the feeling of heaven closed, of God seemingly absent, of not knowing how — or whether — He would ever answer.

He described my life. Exactly. In detail. From a platform, in front of a congregation, to a woman he had never met.

And then he said this:

"He's going to remove the heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh."

✍️ I've been thinking about what it means to carry a word for thirty-five years. Not as a weight. As a compass. As a kind of quiet, unshakeable knowing that God has seen you — really seen you — and hasn't looked away.

I have carried that word for thirty-five years.

Through the healing that came slowly — and the healing that came suddenly. Through the tears and the breakthroughs, the setbacks and the surrenders. Through the building of a ministry, the writing of a book, the standing on stages I never once imagined I'd stand on. Through watching God turn the hearts of sons to fathers and fathers to sons — just as the prophecy promised — in my own family, in the most tender and miraculous of ways.

🕊️ Every single word came true.

That's the thing about God's promises. They don't expire. They don't diminish with time. They're not undone by the hardness of the road between the speaking and the fulfilment. He spoke a word over a broken woman in a blue and white dress, and He spent the next three and a half decades making good on it — unhurried, unwavering, faithful beyond all imagining.

🪨 He doesn't speak carelessly. He doesn't point at strangers for effect. When the finger of God singles you out in a room full of people, it's because He's already at work on what He's about to announce.

So when it came time to create a personal brand mark — something that could hold the whole of who I am, the artist, the author, the speaker, the minister, the woman still becoming — there was really only one image that could sit at its centre.

A heart of stone, cracking open. A heart of flesh, alive and warm, emerging on the other side. Gold fire blazing at the divide — because nothing about this transformation has been painless, and nothing about it has been less than glorious. That's kintsugi, isn't it 🤔 — the ancient art of mending what was broken with gold, so the fracture becomes the most beautiful part of the story. Not hidden. Not erased. Illuminated.

✍️ The PS monogram in gleaming gold holds it all — Patrizia Schwartz, the woman the prophecy was spoken over, and the woman God has been faithfully making ever since. The butterfly trails a thread of crimson dust — transformation always begins with surrender, with the willingness to let the old form go so the new one can emerge. The brushstroke arc sweeps upward in deep crimson — passion, sacrifice, and the blood that made every promise possible.

🌱 This isn't branding. This is a testimony with a logo attached.

Ps. Mike Berry pointed at a woman in a blue and white dress and spoke what God already knew. Thirty-five years later, that word is etched into the mark I carry into the world — not as a memorial to what was survived, but as a declaration of what was promised, what was paid for, and what has come gloriously, unmistakably true.

📖 "**For the gifts and the calling of God are irrevocable.**" — Romans 11:29 (NKJV)

🕯️ Sit with that for a moment. The calling God placed on your life — spoken in a church, whispered in the small hours, written in the margins of your Bible, felt deep in your chest before you had language for it — that calling doesn't expire. It waits. It works. It finds you again, even after the longest, hardest seasons, and it says: I haven't forgotten. Neither has He.

The logo carries the prophecy. The ministry carries the fruit. The woman carries the gratitude.

🌱 And somewhere, in a congregation in Auckland in 1991, a blue and white dress was the burning bush God chose to stand beside.