BetSeber

BetSeber

By NadiaReligion & SpiritualityChristianity
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BetSeber episodes

  • On Waiting Periods....

    Hello,

    my fellow human beings.

    Today, I am

    here as a humble mortal navigating a small frustration. You know, the
    kind that feels so minor yet somehow manages to demand an audience
    with your soul? Well, here we are. Yesterday, I reflected on
    my Habakkuk
    3 podcast, and I was overwhelmed with gratitude
    because—guess what?—God did show up. He answered those prayers.
    But today? Today is one of those days where I feel like I’m
    standing in line at Heaven’s Help Desk, and the line is… not
    moving.

    It reminds me

    of Leviticus
    8. Before the priests could perform their duties, before
    they could step into the sacred, they had to wash themselves. This
    isn’t a casual rinse-off; this was a deliberate preparation to show
    up before God, clean and ready to do the work. So here I am,
    spiritually washing myself before jumping into the content for the
    three podcasts I’ve lined up next. Because, darling, I don’t know
    about you, but sometimes the prep is just as holy as the delivery.

    Now, something

    that stood out to me in Leviticus
    8 is how often it says, “Moses did exactly as God
    instructed.” Over and over. Moses followed clear, step-by-step
    instructions like he was assembling divine IKEA furniture. And let’s
    be real—don’t we all want that? I don’t just want vague ideas
    like “trust the process” or “God’s timing is perfect.” I
    want instructions.
    “Step one: do this. Step two: do that.” Like Moses had.

    And here’s

    where things get real. A friend of mine follows this ex-Satanist
    turned Christian, and when they describe the detailed rituals they
    used to perform, it makes me feel like we, as Christians, are showing
    up to a cosmic battle wearing flip-flops and wielding pool noodles.
    Where are our tools, our ceremonies, our clarity? Yes, the abstract
    nature of God’s guidance is beautiful—it allows us to apply it in
    our own way. But sometimes, I crave something more tangible.
    Something specific.

    Speaking of

    specifics, I’ve been working on my first course, Chastity
    PT, for ten days now. Ten. Days. And you know what’s
    funny? I’m impatient. I mean, what even happens in ten days? I
    don’t think there’s an animal on Earth that gives birth in such a
    short time. Yet here I am, expecting my project to be fully grown and
    ready to conquer the world. I keep reminding myself, “Naudia,
    it’s brand
    new. Be patient.” But patience is not my strong suit.

    At night,

    during my downtime—which I’ve nicknamed “dark time” (shoutout
    to my bodily
    fluids podcast)—I re-evaluate. I listen to the
    day’s recordings, tweak them, and add some zazazoom with sound
    effects and songs. Music is my gift, my love language, and I want to
    share that with you. But here’s the kicker: copyright.
    My biggest frustration.

    So, I’ve made

    a decision. For the next month, until the 22nd of December, I’m
    pressing pause on new sound effects and tracks. I’ll only use
    what’s already on my laptop. I’m giving it to God, letting Him
    work on my heart. Maybe by the end of this month, I’ll realize my
    podcast is good enough as it is. Or, maybe, He’ll give me a backup
    plan. Either way, I’m surrendering it.

    And here’s

    where we land for today: I’m washing, waiting, and trusting. Maybe
    Moses had it easy with his divine instructions, but maybe, just
    maybe, the abstract nature of faith is the gift. It teaches us to
    trust, to adapt, to lean in. So, let’s see what God has for me—and
    for you—in this waiting season. Stay tuned.

    I am not blind, nor am I living in some kind of oblivious bliss.

    The irony of my frustration isn’t lost on me. Maybe, just maybe,
    the sound effects and the music I’m so attached to are the
    modern-day equivalent of yeast or honey in the sacrifices described
    in Leviticus. And if you’ve followed my previous podcasts, you’ll

    19 min
  • The Birds Singing - What did the birds say

    "It’s

    a Friday afternoon. Roughly 5 p.m. The sun hangs low in the sky,
    flirting with the horizon, painting the air in hues of gold and rose.
    Summer is humming, alive with its own rhythm. And me? I’m shutting
    down.

    I lie on my bed

    in my little bush nook, tucked away in a quiet corner of Pretoria,
    Suwanne, the capital of South Africa. Here, surrounded by the
    whispers of nature, I feel a stillness—a pause. The birds are
    singing to each other, their melodies dancing through the warm air
    like old friends catching up after a long week.

    As I listen, my

    mind drifts to Louis Giglio and his guerrilla-style theatrics. I
    can’t help but remember his powerful illustration from 13 years
    ago, showing how the whales of the deep and the stars of the heavens
    join forces in a cosmic symphony to sing, How
    great is our God.

    And oh, my

    heart can’t help but hum along:

    Sing

    with me, how great is our God,
    Oh, we’ll see how great, how
    great is our God.

    Or in Hebrew,

    because the spirit speaks every language:

    Kado,

    Adonai, Shiyuki Kado, Adonai,
    Awechat Lehi, Ki Kado, Aloai.

    And while these

    words echo in my mind, my brain becomes its own orchestra. I can feel
    it, lovelies. In the right frontal corner, the violinist is busy,
    taking in the melodies, the meanings, the magic of the moment. The
    information bounces across to the left side—the logical side—asking
    questions. Birds chirping...what does it mean? What’s the symbolism
    of birds?

    To the right

    side again, the whispers of the soul: It’s
    Shabbat. It’s Shabbat.

    To the left

    side: What
    do we know about Shabbat? What are the traditions, the archives, the
    theories?

    And the

    birds—they keep singing, a conversation unbothered by my internal
    chaos.

    In that

    instant, my mind feels alive, like a child on a trampoline, bouncing
    higher and higher. Or better yet, a kid on a jumping castle—idea,
    grow, idea, flower, idea, spread. It’s an explosion of color and
    sensation. Each thought blooms like a wildflower, releasing its aroma
    into the air.

    And I don’t

    stop it. I don’t analyze it. I don’t try to categorize it. I just
    let it swim. I let it all swirl together—memories, melodies,
    sensations—until they’re one beautiful, chaotic symphony of
    being.

    Isn’t that

    what life is, my darlings? A tapestry woven of fragments, some
    orderly, others wild, all coming together to create something
    breathtakingly whole?

    In this moment,

    lying on my bed, surrounded by the whispers of birds and the hum of
    Shabbat, I feel it. I don’t just hear the song of
    creation—I am part
    of it. The sun, the birds, the stars, the whales, the heartbeat of
    the earth—they’re all singing together. And I? I’m singing
    too."

    "Last

    year, 2023, I started my year with the most beautiful visualization
    dream. It was vivid, alive, and left me breathless. I was in this
    huge tidal pool by the sea. Not just any tidal pool—no, this one
    was magical. It was protected yet wild, calm yet vast, with water so
    clear it glistened turquoise under the tropical sun.

    There was a

    deep end, and we dove in, holding our breath as we plunged into the
    cool, refreshing depths. Like playful dolphins, we would dive down,
    swirl around, and shoot back up, leaping into the air as if gravity
    was a suggestion, not a rule. It wasn’t just swimming—it was
    dancing. We became ballerinas of the surf, pirouetting through the
    waves, soaring up and over each other, only to descend back into the
    embrace of the water.

    When we had our

    fill of the depths, we moved to the shallow end to snorkel. And what
    we discovered there—oh, my lovelies—it was otherworldly. An
    underwater Atlantis revealed itself, a hidden world teeming with

    15 min
  • On Change....

    Hello
    there, my lovely, bright, and shining beacons of hope. Let’s dive
    right in, shall we? I’ve got something bubbling on the stove—a
    rich, flavorful stew of thoughts, musings, and a sprinkle of quantum
    reality.

    So here’s the

    setup: you know those life-affirming, slightly smug articles that pop
    up—"Nine Signs You’re Evolved," "Seven Traits of
    Highly Intelligent People," or my personal favorite, "How
    to Tell You’re Basically a Unicorn in Human Form." Every time
    I read one, it’s like flipping through a checklist of yes,
    that’s me! followed by a smug sip of tea.
    Except… adaptability.
    Oh, darling, adaptability! The villain of my story.

    See, I’m not

    the "roll with the punches" type. I’m the type who, when
    Spotify starts recommending podcasts instead of playing my music,
    wants to draft a strongly worded letter to their CEO about
    boundaries. And don’t even get me started on Google Podcasts
    pulling the plug. It was perfect! Clinical, functional, no funny
    business. Music on Spotify, education on Google—everything in its
    place. And then poof! Chaos. I’ve been wandering in the digital
    desert without my podcast oasis.

    And now? Now

    Playground is closing shop. My sacred space for AI art! My prompts,
    my hours of learning, my courses! Gone. Just like that. It feels like
    losing a meticulously curated garden to a freak storm. I want to
    scream into the void, "Why, universe, why?"

    But here’s

    where quantum physics might offer a whisper of solace, even if it’s
    the kind that makes you roll your eyes. The quantum world is chaotic.
    Electrons jump unpredictably, particles can be in two places at once,
    and nothing—absolutely nothing—stays put. The only constant is
    change. The Mayans, brilliant as they were, believed in
    cycles—creation and destruction, growth and renewal. They knew, in
    their timeless wisdom, that the end of one thing was always the
    beginning of another. And the Bible? It’s filled with stories of
    wilderness wanderings and reinvention. Think of Noah, building an ark
    in a storm of uncertainty, or the Israelites figuring out how to live
    free after Egypt.

    So maybe, just

    maybe, the lesson here is adaptability in disguise. Not the kind that
    asks us to be okay with everything (because, honestly, who is?), but
    the kind that nudges us toward resilience. The kind that says,
    "Alright, Google and Playground might be gone, but where else
    can I grow? What new systems can I create?"

    And you know

    what, darling? Sometimes these shifts aren’t about us losing ground
    but about us leveling up. The universe doesn’t clear out your
    garden without planting seeds for something bigger, something you
    haven’t even imagined yet. Maybe it’s time for us to be quantum
    gardeners. Planting, trusting, embracing the messy,
    unpredictable cycles of life.


    13 min

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All about God, Jesus and the Holy Spirit on this one!