Bible Verse Of The Day

July 26, 2025

Sanctified Steps: While You Were Still A Long Way off| Luke 15:20 (KJV)

 

While You Were A Long Way Off: Luke 15:20


📖 Scripture:

"But when he was yet a great way off, his father saw him, and had compassion, and ran, and fell on his neck, and kissed him."Luke 15:20 (KJV)


Devotional:

Sometimes we’re so busy staring at the distance between where we are and where we want to be, we forget—God’s already running toward us.

Darren thought he had to earn his way back into his daughter’s life. And maybe you’ve felt the same—that your past disqualifies you from love, from peace, from being seen. But Luke 15 reminds us: God doesn’t wait for an apology to love you. He loves while you’re still on the way.

The Father didn’t stand with crossed arms waiting for explanations. He ran. He ran. Compassion moved Him. Grace carried Him. He didn’t wait for the right words—He responded to the return.

And that’s what God does for us. Even with the weight of regret on our shoulders and unanswered texts still lingering, His love outruns our shame.

If you've ever asked, “What if God forgives me… but they don’t?”—know this: God’s love is not contingent on anyone else’s response. He sees you. Still loves you. Still runs toward you.

Reflection:

  • Have you been trying to earn your way back to grace?
  • Are you afraid that your past disqualifies you from restoration?
  • What if the return was enough? What if the first step was all it took?

Daily Wisdom Insight:

Grace doesn’t wait at the finish line. It meets you on the road.
You don’t have to get everything right before God embraces you.
Healing often begins not with answers, but with a step toward home.

 Application:

Today, write down the name of someone you’re praying for—or someone you need to forgive. Then circle it, like Darren did. Let that be your prayer: a symbol of grace meeting the past with the hope of a new beginning. You don’t have to fix it all… but you can open the door.

Prayer:

Father,

Thank You for seeing me even when I’m a long way off.
I’m tired of carrying regret.
Help me to believe that Your love runs toward me, not away from me.
Give me the courage to return… and the grace to wait for others doing the same.
In Jesus’ name,

Amen.

💬 Discussion Questions:

  • Have you ever experienced someone showing you grace when you didn’t feel worthy?

  • What’s one small way you can extend compassion to someone who may be “a long way off”?

  • How can you model the Father’s heart—one that runs, embraces, and loves first?


Discover More:

Let stories of healing and restoration continue to inspire your journey. Visit the Sanctified Steps page for more devotionals »


                                                                       Step by sanctified step. 💕✨

July 20, 2025

Sanctified Steps: The Blanket In The Storm|Isaiah 26:3 (KJV)

 

The Blanket In The Storm: Isaiah 26:3


📖 Scripture:

“Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace, whose mind is stayed on thee: because he trusteth in thee.” — Isaiah 26:3 (KJV)


Devotional:

Not every storm is meant to be stopped. Some are meant to be endured — with God’s presence wrapped around us like a blanket.

When the winds rise and the lightning flashes, we often pray, “Lord, make it stop.” But sometimes, God doesn’t calm the storm… He calms you.

His peace isn’t a promise that thunder won’t shake your walls. It’s a quiet assurance that while the storm rages outside, your soul can stay warm, steady, and covered.

Like a parent tucking a frightened child into bed, God draws near—not always with solutions, but with stillness, shelter, and presence.

Reflection:

Are you waiting for your storm to stop… or are you resting in the comfort He’s already provided?
Think of Jesus in the boat with His disciples.

The storm raged. The waves beat against the ship. And where was He?
Asleep. On a pillow.

Not because the storm wasn’t real, but because His peace was greater than the panic around Him.

Sometimes, the greatest act of faith isn’t commanding the winds — it’s choosing to rest while they blow.

“And he arose, and rebuked the wind, and said unto the sea, Peace, be still. And the wind ceased, and there was a great calm.” — Mark 4:39 (KJV)


Daily Wisdom Insight:

Peace isn’t the absence of chaos.
It’s the presence of Christ in the middle of it.

The world defines peace as stillness, quiet, and control.
But God's peace isn’t tied to your circumstances — it's tied to His presence.

You can have peace in the hospital room.

Peace in the waiting.

Peace in the middle of the storm when nothing has changed — except that He's with you.

True peace doesn’t come when life gets easy…

It comes when your heart gets anchored.

Application:

Today, instead of begging for the storm to end, ask God to wrap you in His peace. Open your Bible, pray even if your voice shakes, and let His Word be your blanket.

Prayer:

Father,

 the storm hasn’t passed, but I know You’re with me in it.
Wrap me in Your presence today. Calm my heart even if You don’t calm the skies.
You are my blanket of peace. And in You, I can rest.

Amen.

💬 Discussion Questions:

  1. What “blanket” has God used to comfort you in difficult seasons?
  2. Have you ever realized God was comforting you only after the storm passed?
  3. Can you think of a time when God comforted you even though the situation didn’t change?

Discover More:

Stay encouraged with devotionals crafted to strengthen your faith in every season. Visit the Sanctified Steps page »


Step by sanctified step. 💕✨

July 19, 2025

Sanctified Steps: He Still Sees| Psalm 37:25 (KJV)

 

He Still Sees: Psalm 37:25


📖 Scripture:

"I have been young, and now am old; yet have I not seen the righteous forsaken, nor his seed begging bread."Psalm 37:25 (KJV)


Devotional:

There are seasons when faithfulness feels invisible—when doing the right thing still leads to empty cupboards, overdue notices, and quiet tears behind closed doors. Yet Psalm 37:25 offers an enduring truth: The righteous are not forsaken.

Provision may not always come the way we imagined, but God’s care is never absent. In the Echoes of Faith  short story Not Without, a woman struggles silently through lack—unseen by many, but not by God. Her miracle arrived right on time, even though she had stopped looking for one.

God still moves like that.

Reflection:

  1. Are you trusting God even when it looks like He’s not answering?
  2. What does His faithfulness look like in your current season?

Daily Wisdom Insight:

When the prophet Elijah arrived at Zarephath, the widow who met him was down to her last handful of flour and oil. She expected her next meal to be her last. But her obedience to God’s word—feeding the prophet first—opened the door to miraculous provision. The jar didn’t overflow, but it never ran empty.

Sometimes, God doesn’t remove the need. He sustains you inside it.

You may not see abundance, but you will see enough.
You may not understand the timing, but you can trust the Source.
Faith isn’t proven in plenty—it’s refined in lack.

Application:

Reread 1 Kings 17:7–16 and reflect on how God provided for the widow each day—not all at once, but just enough.

Then ask yourself: Where has God given me “just enough” in this season? Who around me might need to be reminded of that kind of sustaining grace?

 Prayer:

Lord,

Help me see Your hand in the small things.
Teach me to trust You for today’s portion without demanding tomorrow’s abundance.
Whether You send provision through a friend, a stranger, or something unexpected—open my heart to receive it without pride and to give without hesitation.
You are faithful, even when my faith is stretched.

Amen.

💬 Discussion Question:

  1. Is there an area in your life where God has given you “just enough” to keep going?
  2. How does the story of the widow encourage your perspective on provision?


Discover More:

Stay encouraged with devotionals crafted to strengthen your faith in every season. Visit the Sanctified Steps page »


Step by sanctified step. 💕✨

Echoes of Faith: Not Without| Short Fiction

Not Without

After years of carrying her family alone, Eboni James faces the looming darkness of disconnection—both literal and spiritually. But just when she thinks God has forgotten her, her light breaks through in the most unexpected way. Let the story speak to your heart—scroll down to begin.


In Little Rock, Arkansas, rain tapped gently against the bedroom window as Eboni James sat cross-legged on the edge of her bed, a stack of unpaid bills spread out before her. The electric bill was overdue. Again.

She pressed a palm to her forehead, whispering a prayer she was too tired to finish.

From the living room, her children’s laughter echoed like sunshine through a storm. Seven-year-old Micah was probably turning their worn-out sofa into a superhero launch pad while his younger sisters, Kenzie and Lila, played dress-up with old scarves and plastic tiaras. They didn’t know the power might go out tomorrow.

Eboni smiled faintly. Thank You, Lord, that they still have joy.

Her phone buzzed.

Toni. The name made her pause—Toni always knew when something was off. Still, she answered, forcing cheer into her voice.

“Hey girl.”

“E! You are not going to believe this,” Toni bubbled. “Deacon Ray asked me out.”

Eboni blinked. “Wait… Deacon Ray? With the always-starched collar and the bass solo during ‘Great Is Thy Faithfulness’?”

“That’s the one. He wants to take me to that new jazz spot off Main Street. I nearly dropped my keys in the baptismal.”

Eboni chuckled. “Well, look at you—First Lady in training.”

Toni laughed. “Stop it. But are you good? You sound… tired.”

Eboni swallowed. “Just a long day.”

Toni didn’t press. “Alright, I’ll call you after the date. Pray I don’t  make a fool out of myself.”

“You’ll be fine,” Eboni said softly. “You always are.”

When the call ended, Eboni stared at the ceiling. Toni had been her best friend since they were twelve—saved the same summer, baptized the same Sunday. Toni was louder, flashier, and always honest.

Eboni hadn’t told her what was going on. She couldn’t. Toni had her own problems. And there was pride—yes—but also something deeper. Eboni was the dependable one. The one who held everything together. The one who once believed God wouldn’t give her more than she could bear.

She looked up toward heaven, her voice barely a whisper. Lord… I’m not asking for more. Just enough. Then she glanced back at the bills, the weight of each one pressing against her chest.

Ten years ago, she stood beside Thomas James in Mount Olive Baptist—the church she’d grown up in. He was her high school sweetheart. After graduation, they got married. Thomas headed to medical school, and Eboni became a wife, mother, and breadwinner.

She worked as a nurse’s aide in local nursing homes and picked up double shifts when needed. She didn’t mind. It was for their future—the one they had prayed for.

And then, everything changed.

Thomas graduated. For a little while, they were on top of the world. But within a year, it all unraveled. One afternoon, he came home and told her he was leaving.

“I didn’t mean for it to end this way,” he said, tossing clothes into a suitcase. “I appreciate everything you did for me.”

“You appreciate me?” she snapped. “I worked my fingers to the bone to get you through school—and this is how you repay me?”

He lowered his eyes. “I know. I feel bad.”

“You feel bad?” she repeated. “What about me? What about the kids?”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “But I want more.”

And he got more—another life, another woman, another child.

Eboni loved her children, but this wasn’t the life she had envisioned. But she still had the church. It was the only anchor she had—the only place she felt loved and safe.

The next day came with gray skies and a chill in the air. Eboni stood at the stove, stirring a pot of beans, when the doorbell rang. She opened it to find Toni standing there with a bag of groceries and a wide, unapologetic grin.

“From that smile on your face,” Eboni said, “the date with Deacon Ray went well.”

Toni beamed. “It was perfect.” She walked inside like she lived there.

Eboni closed the door behind her. “Tell me everything—and don’t leave out a single detail.”

Toni launched into the play-by-play, giddy as a schoolgirl. Eboni listened, smiling when she could, but the looming disconnect date sat heavy on her heart. She had two days to come up with the money.

A quiet pause settled between them.

Then Toni’s voice broke the silence. “Okay, what’s going on?”

“It’s nothing I can’t handle,” Eboni said.

“That’s not what I asked.”

The silence stretched. Finally, Eboni exhaled. “The power’s about to be shut off Monday. I was going to pay it after payday, but… there’s no extra money to stretch.”

Toni’s expression softened. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want to be someone’s prayer request,” Eboni whispered. “I didn’t want to need help. I just… wanted to be okay.”

Toni reached for her hand. “You are okay. You’re faithful. You’re still standing. But even Moses needed someone to hold up his arms.”

Eboni laughed through the lump in her throat. “Don’t make me laugh. I’m already embarrassed. Since Thomas left, I’ve been living paycheck to paycheck. I’m tired, Toni. I don’t see a way out.”

Toni leaned back, arms crossed. “That’s not the Eboni I know.”

“It’s me today.”

“What about you?” Toni asked gently. “Have you asked for help? You always try to carry everything by yourself. You didn’t even tell me.”

Eboni looked away. Toni was right. Pride—and fear of what people might say—had kept her silent.

That night, after the kids were asleep, Eboni found a quiet moment in the hallway outside their room. She leaned against the wall, listening to their soft, even breathing. For a few seconds, she let the tears fall—silent, grateful, and exhausted.

It happened on Wednesday, just as scheduled. She came home from work, juggled her purse and keys, and flipped the light switch.

Nothing.

Her breath caught. She tried another room. Still nothing.

The power was off.

Why would God let it happen? She had prayed, tithed, stayed faithful—even when it hurt. She had believed a door would open. But no miracle came.

Later that evening, Toni arrived with a bag of takeout. “Thought I’d spoil the kids tonight,” she said, cheerfully unaware.

Eboni almost turned her away—ashamed of the dim rooms and flickering candlelight—but Toni was already stepping through the door.

She froze in place. “E… Today was the day, huh?”

Eboni fumbled for words. “No, I… I just didn’t want to turn on the lights. Trying to keep the bill down.”

Toni raised an eyebrow. “You’re the best liar I know. And that’s saying something.”

Eboni gave a weak laugh, her shoulders sagging.

Toni set the food on the counter and pulled her into a hug. “You’re not alone. Keep the faith. Now come on—let’s eat dinner and get to church. The kids are going to want their coloring sheets.”

Eboni had completely forgotten it was Wednesday night Bible study. She wiped her eyes and nodded. “Right. Bible study.”

An hour later, Eboni arrived at Mount Olive Baptist just in time to prep for her class. She greeted a handful of children, passed out coloring sheets, and began a lesson on Jesus calming the storm—ironic, she thought, considering the one still brewing in her life.

She was too focused on her students to notice the whispers in the hallway… or the pastor slipping a folded note into Toni’s hand.

It wasn’t until later that night, after the kids were tucked in and the house was still, that Eboni opened her email and gasped.

Five hundred dollars had been deposited into her bank account via Zelle.

There was a memo attached:

The Lord put you on my heart. Let Him carry you this time. —With Love, Your Church Family

It was enough to pay the electric bill, refill the pantry, and put gas in her car.

Eboni sat at the kitchen table, overwhelmed. The tears that came this time weren’t laced with shame—but with relief. She didn’t feel embarrassed. She felt seen. Held.

Later that day, Toni dropped by and found Eboni humming in the kitchen.

“You look lighter,” she said, sliding into a chair.

“I am,” Eboni said, turning from the stove. “You know what that money meant to me. Don’t try to deny it—I know you were behind it.”

Toni grinned. “I won’t. I knew you weren’t going to ask for help, so I talked to Pastor. He took up a collection after Bible study.”

Eboni nodded, her eyes softening. “Then I’ll be sure to thank the congregation on Sunday.”

That night, after the kids were tucked in, Eboni lingered at the dining table with her Bible. The same one she had opened again and again, even when answers felt far away.

It fell open to Psalm 37—her lifeline.

“Yet I have never seen the righteous forsaken…”

She whispered the words like a vow—not just for herself, but for every woman walking her own dark hallway, wondering if God still sees.

🕊️ An Echoes of Faith Story
For every woman walking her own dark hallway, wondering if God still sees...

July 18, 2025

Echoes of Faith: The Empty Crib| Short Fiction

 


The Empty Crib

When Summer and Thaddeus Sinclair finally give away their nursery after years of waiting, they never expect to receive an adoption referral on the very date they first built the crib—proving that hope often comes back in the most unexpected ways. 
Let the story speak to your heart—scroll down to begin.


Summer Sinclair stood on the front lawn, watching as the final box of nursery items was loaded into the church van. Six months of meticulously gathered hope—crib rails, a changing table, a rocking chair, and a basket of hand-knit blankets—was now headed to a different family. She reached out and brushed her palm along the side rail of the folded crib in the last box; its cool, smooth surface felt like a dream slipping away.

She squeezed Thaddeus’s hand tightly. “We did the right thing,” she whispered, her voice steady even though her heart ached.

He nodded, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and brushing a lock of black hair from her face. “Let someone else use what we always dreamed of,” he said softly. “Maybe it’ll help us move forward.”

Summer exhaled slowly. “I nearly believed that once it was gone, I’d feel relief.”

He offered her a sad smile. “Grief doesn’t work that way.”

They remained side by side as the van drove off, transforming the vacant garage into a repository of memories: ultrasound images, pastel artwork, and the gentle glow of a nightlight. The ensuing silence felt heavier than the anticipation that had once filled the space.

Yet, amidst the echoes of what could have been, a glimmer of possibility flickered in Summer’s eyes. She turned to Thaddeus, her gaze searching his for a shared understanding that transcended words. In that moment of silent communion, they both realized that while one chapter had closed, another awaited its first hesitant steps toward the light.

With newfound resolve settling in her heart, Summer squeezed Thaddeus’s hand before leading him back into their home. The nursery—now devoid of its carefully arranged furniture and soft decorations—stood as a testament to their unwavering hope and resilience. Like a gentle tide soothing the jagged edges of loss, a sense of peace washed over them.

“We’ll create new dreams in this space,” Summer said softly, her voice infused with determination.

Thaddeus nodded, his eyes reflecting a mixture of sorrow and budding optimism. Together, they began to envision a future filled with possibilities.

In the following weeks, Summer and Thaddeus adapted to life without the nursery’s shadow. They redirected their energies toward their jobs—Summer at the graphic design studio and Thaddeus at the law firm. On weekends, they embarked on lengthy hikes, seeking solace for the persistent restlessness in their hearts through fresh air and exercise.

One morning, as they climbed a rocky trail, Thaddeus stopped at a ridge overlook. He turned to Summer, cheeks flushed from the climb.

“Do you remember October 12?” he asked.

Summer’s breath caught. October 12 was the day they’d assembled that crib two years ago—brackets clicked into place, mattress nestled in its rails, a single mobile hung above. That afternoon, they had snapped photos to celebrate.

“I thought I could forget,” she said softly.

He grinned. “You couldn’t have, and neither could I.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, tattered photo. It showed the nursery on October 12, 2023, with gentle afternoon light filtering through sheer curtains. “We kept this locked away in our safe.”

Summer’s eyes shimmered. “I thought I lost it when we sold everything.”

Thaddeus shook his head. “You don’t lose hope that easily.” He folded the picture and tucked it away. “One day, we’ll look back and see that date meant more than sadness.”

She managed a small smile. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

Thanksgiving arrived, bringing its familiar pang of family gatherings and pregnancy news. Summer’s mother served a favorite casserole, while her grandmother murmured blessings. Thaddeus’s cousins fawned over bump photos on his phone. Each joyful announcement pressed against a bruise still healing.

Summer masked her discomfort with a polite smile, excusing herself to the kitchen under the guise of washing dishes. The clatter of plates and running water provided a temporary shield from conversations inevitably gravitating toward children and pregnancies.

As she scrubbed a stubborn stain from a serving dish, Thaddeus slipped into the kitchen, his expression soft with understanding. Without a word, he joined her at the sink, taking over the rinsing as she dried each plate.

“Are you okay?” he asked quietly, his gaze meeting hers in the window’s reflection.

Summer sighed, leaning against the counter. “I’m trying. It just feels like everyone else is moving forward while we’re stuck in limbo.”

Thaddeus set down a plate and turned to face her, his hands finding hers. “We’re not stuck, Summer. We’re just finding our own way—and God has not forgotten us.”

Summer returned his smile, her spirit buoyed by his faith.

A few days later, as they worked side by side in their garden, the phone rang, slicing the calm afternoon. Summer wiped her hands on her smock and answered, bracing herself.

“Ms. Sinclair? This is Marisol Garrison at Grace Adoptions.” The voice was calm and professional.

Summer’s heart fluttered. “Yes?”

“Yesterday, we received a referral. An expectant mother gave birth last night—on October 12—and she has chosen you and Mr. Sinclair as prospective adoptive parents. Could you meet her and the agency’s social worker tomorrow morning at the hospital?”

Summer gripped the phone so tightly her knuckles whitened. Thaddeus appeared behind her, eyes widening.

She cleared her throat. “Tomorrow morning…yes. Absolutely.”

After she hung up, she whirled to Thaddeus. “Did you hear that?”

His voice was thick with emotion. “October 12…our anniversary.”

Tears slid down Summer’s cheeks. “It’s the same day.”

He gathered her into his arms. “It’s more than coincidence.”

The following morning, at the hospital, Marisol guided them into a gently illuminated room. Light filtered through blinds, casting soft stripes across the floor. A teenage girl lay in bed, her dark hair spread on the pillow, her eyes bright with resolve.

“Summer. Thaddeus.” Marisol’s voice was soft. “This is Emily.”

Emily rose and sat back, her posture shy but determined. Without a word, she motioned toward the bassinet beside her bed, then turned away, tears glistening.

Marisol continued, “She’s placed her son with you.”

Emily locked eyes with Summer. "I had a conversation with Miss Garrison, and from what she's shared about you, I am confident that you'll be wonderful parents for my son."

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Thaddeus knelt beside her. “Thank you,” he repeated.

The following day, once all the paperwork was finalized, the nurse gently handed the baby boy to Summer. A wave of warmth surged through her, as though each vacant slat of the old crib had suddenly sprung to life.

Marisol offered a small, compassionate smile. “He’s all yours now.”

“I’ll call him Ari,” Summer said softly. “Ari means ‘lion’—strength for the journey ahead.”

Ari stirred and blinked up at her, his tiny fist curled around her finger, and warmth flooded her chest.

Summer and Thaddeus drove home in a hush of awe and joy. They parked in the driveway and carried Ari inside, placing him on a soft blanket in the center of the living room.

Summer retrieved the faded photograph of their nursery and held it beside him.

“See this?” she asked, voice thick with emotion. “This was October 12, two years ago.”

Thaddeus touched the photo. “And today…”

She smiled through tears. “Today, we fill it.”

She pressed Ari’s forehead gently with her lips. “Welcome home, Ari Sinclair. You’re our miracle.”

Two days later, autumn sunlight streamed through the nursery window, dust motes dancing in the air. The crib—painted soft mint and draped with a hand-knit blanket—stood ready beneath a mobile of clouds and stars.

Summer tucked Ari into the crib, smoothing the blanket beneath his chin. He yawned and reached toward the drifting clouds.

Thaddeus stood beside her, voice soft: “Every empty space is filled now.”

Summer placed her hand on the crib rail, tracing the familiar grain. “And every promise kept.”

They turned off the light and stepped back, leaving Ari in the glow of moonlight. In the hush, his gentle breathing was the sweetest lullaby—proof that hope, once surrendered, could return on the very day we first dared to believe.

🕊️ An Echoes of Faith Story
Sometimes, letting go paves the way for the very miracle you’ve been waiting for.

July 15, 2025

Echoes of Faith: Twenty-For Hours| Short Fiction


Twenty-Four Hours

He was out of time—faith worn thin, hope nearly gone. But in the stillness around midnight, a presence intervened. Sometimes, all Heaven needs is twenty-four hours. Let the story speak to your heart — scroll down to begin.

Warm amber light filled the sanctuary as the hymn faded. Priscilla Dobbins clutched her Bible and offered a quiet 'Amen’. Her husband Paul’s hand rested beside hers. Every Wednesday evening, they came as a family—front row, three children nestled between them, voices lifted in worship.

But even as the final prayer was spoken, Paul’s thoughts drifted. The unpaid mortgage. The bank account hovering near zero. The fourth rejection email that afternoon.

Thirteen years at the Rosemont accounting firm, and he’d been let go without warning after the merger. Severance gone. Savings drained. Interviews drying up.

Headed toward the vehicle, he barely heard Priscilla say, “We needed that word tonight.”

“Yeah,” he mumbled, opening the car door for her.

She looked at him, sensing the hollowness in his response. “We’ll keep praying, Paul. God hasn’t forgotten us.”

He nodded, but deep down, doubt was growing louder than faith.

That night, while the house slept, Paul sat in the living room, the blue light of his laptop casting shadows across the walls. A spreadsheet glared back at him—debts, bills, late fees. No income coming in.

He’d spent the last week calculating something he never thought he’d consider. He still had a keycard to Rosemont. He knew the alarm code, the layout, the location of the safe and archived client checks. It wasn’t a fortune—but it was enough to cover the mortgage and buy time.

He rubbed his face, exhausted.

“I’m doing this for them,” he whispered to himself, glancing at the family photo on the shelf. “Just until things turn around.”

The next night around midnight as the city slept, Paul’s footsteps echoed softly in the stairwell of the office building. His gloves were on. His breath was shallow. Every step forward chipped away at what he used to believe about himself.

He reached the archive office door and swiped his keycard. The lock clicked. He stepped inside.

Then—

"So... this is where your lack of faith has taken you?"

The voice wasn’t loud, but it pierced like thunder.

Stunned, Paul spun around.

A man stood in the shadows, calm and steady, his eyes lit with something that made Paul freeze.

“Who are you?” Paul asked, voice shaking.

The man stepped forward. He wore a blue janitor’s uniform. He appeared to be in his late thirties or early forties, with dark curly hair. His name tag read the name “Alex” and the sleeve bore the words “Caldwell Services”

“I’m someone who’s seen what faith can do,” he said softly. “And what happens when it’s abandoned.”

Paul backed away slightly. “You don’t understand. I’ve done everything right. Church, tithes, prayer. I’m a good man. But nothing’s changing. We’re drowning.”

The man’s gaze didn’t waver. “And now you’re willing to sink further—by stealing what isn’t yours?”

“I’m not stealing,” Paul snapped. “I gave them thirteen years , working day and night. They tossed me aside like worn-out shoes.”

His eyes welled. “I’m doing it for my family. I don’t see another way.”

“There is another way,” the man said gently. “Wait twenty-four hours. That’s all you have to do.”

Paul looked bewildered. “Twenty-four hours? What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about one day. If you have even a small amount of faith, step aside and trust God to handle what happens next.”

Paul’s voice cracked. “Why didn’t you call the police?”

The man gave a slight smile. “I can tell you don’t truly want to do this. I’m just here to remind you. Go home, Paul.”

The room fell silent.

Silence. Paul blinked; he was gone. He picked up the duffel bag and walked out."

An hour later, he was sitting in the dimly lit living room, the encounter's impact still palpable. His thoughts whirled—questions, uncertainties, and a flicker of long-absent hope.

As the clock ticked away the minutes, Paul's gaze drifted to the family photo on the shelf. His children beamed back at him, their innocent eyes filled with trust and love. How close he had come to tarnishing that trust.

The words of the mysterious janitor echoed in his mind, a gentle yet firm reminder of what truly mattered. Could he find it within himself to let go of his desperation and place his faith in something beyond his understanding?

Priscilla entered the room, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She stopped when she noticed him.

“Paul?” she asked gently, kneeling beside him. “What’s wrong?”

He opened his mouth, but no words came.

She placed her hand gently on his. "Did you have a nightmare?”

He shook his head slowly. “No… I was awake.”

She waited.

"I was on the verge of doing something tonight," he murmured softly, "something from which I could never return.”

Priscilla’s breath caught, but she didn’t let go.

“And then someone stopped me,” he said. “He just… appeared. He knew everything. My thoughts. My fear. Told me to wait. Just twenty-four hours.”

Paul looked at her, eyes wide, vulnerable.

“I think… I think I saw an angel.”

Silence settled between them, reverent and raw.

Priscilla didn’t question him. Instead, she drew his hand to her heart.

“Then we wait,” she said softly. “And we trust.”

All he could do was nod.

That night, Paul hardly got any sleep. He lay next to Priscilla, staring at the ceiling with his mind racing and heart filled with questions.

What if it had all been in his head?

What if he’d walked away from the only chance he had to keep them afloat?

But beneath the fear… a flicker of hope had been reignited. A fragile thread of faith, too stubborn to break.

The morning sunlight slowly moved over the hardwood floor while Paul sat at the kitchen table, sipping on a cup of coffee that had grown cold. His gaze repeatedly flicked to the clock. 7:48… 8:02… 8:17…

At 9:13, the phone rang.

Paul jumped and grabbed it. “Hello?”

"Good morning, am I speaking with Mr. Paul Daniels?" a woman asked in a calm tone.

“Yes.”

"This is Christine Boatright from Mitchell & Bright Attorneys. I'm reaching out regarding your uncle, Tristan Beaumont. I regret to inform you that he has recently passed away.”

Paul swallowed hard. “I didn’t know.”

“He left you a small inheritance—just under fifty thousand dollars.”

Paul’s voice cracked. What? Are you sure?”

"We're certain. You can expect the official documents later this week. We'll reach out to you soon.”

He hung up, stunned.

Just as he was about to comprehend the call, his laptop chimed with a notification. It was an email from Mark Jennings, a friend from college he hadn't spoken to in years.

“Heard you're between jobs. I’ve got some clients looking for a freelance accountant. Flexible hours. Good pay. You interested?”

Paul blinked, heart pounding.

Priscilla stepped into the kitchen, rubbing sleep from her eyes.

Paul turned, barely breathing. “You’re not going to believe this.”

She met his eyes with quiet strength. “Try me.”

Six months later, Paul Daniels Accounting opened its doors. It was modest, featuring a compact office, a recycled desk, and a homemade sign crafted by his daughter. Yet, it was entirely his own, founded on faith rather than fear.

One evening, Paul made his way back to the Rosemont office building and headed to the front desk.

"Hi, I'm looking for an employee of Caldwell Janitorial. He’s Caucasian, probably in his late thirties or early forties, about six feet tall, slender, with dark curly hair. His name is Alex.”

The receptionist looked puzzled. "We do work with Caldwell, but we've never had anyone call Alex."

Paul stared. “Are you sure?”

“Positive. I handle the staff rosters.”

He walked out, feeling the warmth of the setting sun on his face.

So… this is where your lack of faith has taken you?

Paul shook his head, tears stinging. The stranger’s statement still seared in his mind.

“Not anymore,” he whispered.

And walked back to his office.

🕊️ An Echoes of Faith Story
Sometimes, all Heaven needs is twenty-four hours.