Echoes of Faith: The Forgotten Promise| Short Fiction

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The Forgotten Promise

A retired pastor receives shocking news about a granddaughter he never knew. In The Forgotten Promise, faith, grace, and forgiveness intertwine in a moving reminder that God’s answers often come in unexpected ways. Read the full story below »

 The old Bible lay open on the desk. The scent of leather and candlewax lingered in the air, punctuated by the ticking of a brass clock. Deacon Elias Carter sat beside it, his fingers absently tracing the familiar words of Isaiah: "Even to your old age and gray hairs, I am he who will sustain you." But today, the words felt hollow.

Faith once guided Elias like a lighthouse in a storm, grounded by creaking floorboards and the lamp’s glow. Yet, after years of unanswered prayers for his daughter, Jade, he felt like a man wandering a desert without an oasis.

He closed the Bible with a sigh, doubt consuming him. Elias paced the study, the floorboards groaning beneath his steps.

Jade's laughter echoed in his mind, a bittersweet melody since his wife died ten years ago. She had been his light, his joy, until she turned away from everything he held dear. He had prayed fervently for her return, for her salvation, but heaven remained silent, indifferent to his pleas.

As evening fell, Elias sank to his knees by the hearth. The dying embers flickered, casting dancing shadows on the walls. In that dimly lit room, he whispered a final prayer into the silence, a plea for understanding, for guidance, for a sign that he was not alone in his despair.

"God," Elias whispered, voice trembling, "have You forgotten me? Have You forgotten her?"

And then, as if in response to his plea, the phone rang, breaking the stillness—a jarring sound against the quiet backdrop of the ticking clock and Elias's whispered prayers. His heart raced as he hesitated before answering.

"Mr. Elias Carter?" a female voice asked. "This is Officer Rosa Ramirez from Child Protective Services. We've taken custody of Tasha Carter. She said you're her grandfather."

Elias's heart skipped a beat. "Grandfather? Me? I wasn’t aware I was a grandfather."

"Yes, sir," Officer Ramirez replied. "She gave us your name and number. It seems Tasha has been through quite a lot, and she mentioned you as her family. Her mother is Jade Carter."

Elias straightened, his heart quickening. "That’s my daughter."

"We found Tasha alone in an abandoned apartment," Officer Ramirez continued. "She’s safe now, but we need you to come to the station or we will have to turn her over to the state for placement. Are you able to come to the station?"

Elias felt a surge of hope mingled with confusion. A granddaughter he never knew he had, reaching out to him in a time of need. Could this be the sign he had been praying for, a chance at redemption for his failures with Jade? Without hesitation, he assured the officer he would be there shortly and hung up the phone.

His hands trembled as he reached for his coat, the weight of uncertainty pressing on his shoulders. But beneath it all, a glimmer of faith stirred within him once more. Perhaps this was God's way of answering his prayers, of showing him that even in the darkest moments, there was still light.

The drive to CPS blurred. A social worker led him to a room where a six-year-old girl clutched a stuffed dinosaur, her brown eyes meeting his.

"Hi, Tasha," Elias said, crouching down. "I'm your grandpa."

"Mama said you'd come," Tasha whispered.

Tears pricked Elias's eyes. "I'm here now. Where is your mother?"

"I don’t know," Tasha whispered. "She goes out at night."

Elias's heart tightened as guilt washed over him. What experiences had his daughter endured, and what had caused her to feel abandoned and neglected? However, it wasn't the moment to dwell on questions that couldn't be answered right away.

He focused on Tasha, the fragile thread that connected him to Jade. Elias reached out a hand, offering it to the little girl who bore the same blood as him.

"Tasha, would you like to come stay with me for a while? We can wait for your mom together," he suggested gently.

Tasha hesitated, then wrapped her small fingers around Elias's hand. The touch sparked warmth in his chest—a glimmer of hope that this reunion might mend their fractured family.

After signing paperwork, Elias took Tasha home. She fell asleep with the dinosaur, while he lay awake, heart heavy. Where was Jade?

The next morning, Elias called every shelter and hospital in town with no luck. By afternoon, the doorbell rang. Elias opened it to find a gaunt woman in a threadbare hoodie.

"Dad," Jade said, voice cracking.

Elias froze. The daughter he'd prayed for stood before him, hollow-eyed and trembling.

"Jade," she whispered. "Is she here? Is she okay?"

"She's safe," Elias said, stepping aside. "Come in."

Jade collapsed, sobbing. "I tried, Dad. Damien wouldn’t stop. I left, but CPS took Tasha while I was job-hunting. I was too ashamed to call."

"I’m your father," Elias said. "You should never be ashamed to call me." Elias continued, kneeling beside Jade. "We'll find a way to make things right, to keep Tasha safe together. I’m glad you’re home."

Jade clung to him, her tears soaking into his shirt. Her burdens pressed against Elias's chest, but he held her close, offering long-deprived comfort. In that moment, the walls that had divided them for so many years crumbled away, leaving only the raw vulnerability of a father and daughter seeking solace in each other's embrace.

As the sun set, peace settled over the reunited family. Elias sat with Jade on the couch, their hands intertwined in silent solidarity.

"We'll get through this, Jade," Elias whispered, his voice a gentle reassurance. "God doesn't answer prayers the way we expect. I prayed you'd come home—but never imagined it like this. Yet here you are. I have a granddaughter—a blessing I never saw coming."

Jade covered her face. "I'm not worthy of forgiveness."

Elias placed a hand on Jade's shoulder, feeling her guilt like a tangible presence. "None of us are worthy of forgiveness, Jade. It is a gift freely given, not earned through merit. We all stumble and fall along our journey, but it is how we rise from those falls that defines us."

Jade's shoulders shook with silent sobs, the dam of her emotions finally breaking under the weight of her burdens. "I don't know if I can be the mother Tasha needs. I've failed her in so many ways already."

Elias pulled her into a tight embrace, offering the warmth of his love as a shield against her self-condemnation. "We will face this together, Jade. Just like your mother and I raised you. You are not alone in this anymore. Tasha needs her mother, just as much as she needs her grandfather."

Jade clung to him, seeking solace in the unconditional acceptance he offered.

Over the next few weeks, Elias became both guardian and counselor. Tasha blossomed in the safety of her grandfather's home, while Jade battled the weight of her past. She got a job and enrolled in family counseling.

One evening, Elias found Jade on the back porch, staring at the stars.

"You know," she said without turning, "Tasha asked me why I left her. I didn't know what to say."

Elias sat beside her. "Tell her the truth. Tell her you were lost but now you're found."

"But what if I mess up again?"

"Then God's grace will catch you."

Jade sniffled. "I've been angry at God for so long since Mom died. I thought He stopped listening."

"I felt that way for quite a while," Elias confessed. "I still miss her, and then I lost you too. It wasn't until that call about Tasha that things changed. God's answers often surprise us, but He is always at work.”

"Amen," Jade echoed.

Months later, Jade joined Elias and Tasha at church. When the congregation sang "Amazing Grace," she wept, and Elias knew a forgotten promise had been fulfilled—not in the way he'd expected, but in the way only God could orchestrate.

Echoes of Faith: The Gospel Singer's Redemption| Short Fiction

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The Gospel Singer's Redemption

Delores Whitaker once soared as a gospel star, but fame led her down a path of regret and addiction. A divine encounter offers her a second chance in this heartfelt story of faith, redemption, and healing. Her journey is just beginning… read on to discover the rest.

Delores "Dee" Whitaker had a voice that could shake the rafters and stir souls. Once, she had been the queen of gospel, traveling the world, recording award-winning albums, and leading congregations in worship. But that was years ago. Now, at sixty-three, her voice had grown hoarse, her body weary, and her heart burdened with regret. Fame had faded, and with it, so had her faith.

For years, she turned to alcohol to silence the pain of being forgotten. The people who once cheered for her no longer remembered her name, and the industry she had given her life to moved on without her. But the deepest wound came from the strained relationship with her daughter, Rachelle.

Rachelle had grown up in the shadows of her mother’s stardom, neglected by a woman too busy serving the Lord on stage to serve her at home. As a child, she watched her mother praise God in front of thousands but come home too exhausted to tuck her into bed. And as Delores drowned her loneliness in a bottle, Rachelle walked away—not only from her mother but from faith itself.

The only bridge between them was Rachelle’s ten-year-old daughter, Zora. A bundle of joy with an old soul, Zora adored her grandmother. She loved listening to Delores’ old records, singing along to every note. She was the only one who still saw her as the legend she once was.

One afternoon, Zora stopped by for an unannounced visit. "Grandma Dee!" she called as she let herself into the small, dimly lit apartment. The smell of liquor clung to the air.

Delores, in one of her drinking stupors, lay on the sofa with an empty bottle beside her. She had fallen asleep with a cigarette in hand, and the smoldering ash had burned a small hole into the cushion. Zora’s eyes widened in fear.

"Grandma, wake up!" she shook Delores, who stirred and mumbled, her mind clouded with alcohol.

A flicker of movement caught Zora’s eye—a presence in the room, unseen yet felt. And then, as if guided by unseen hands, a gust of wind from the open window pushed the cigarette to the floor, where it fizzled out on the hardwood. The danger had passed—but Zora had seen enough.

Tears streamed down her face as she ran out the door.

That night, Delores awoke to a firm but gentle voice. "Delores Whitaker, do you know how close you came to losing her?"

A man stood in the moonlit room, his presence both commanding and peaceful. His eyes held sorrow, but his face radiated warmth.

"Who—who are you?" Delores stammered, clutching her robe around her.

"A messenger," he replied. "You have been given many gifts, Delores. A voice that lifted nations, a platform that brought souls to God. But the greatest gifts are the ones you turned away from—your family, your faith, your own daughter."

Delores felt her throat tighten. "I never meant to push Rachelle away. I just... I just didn’t know how to be both. A singer and a mother."

"And now your granddaughter is paying the price," the angel said. "She could have been hurt tonight. And it would have been by your hands."

The weight of his words crushed her. She broke down in sobs. "What do I do? How do I fix this?"

The angel extended his hand. "Start where you left off. Call upon the One who gave you your gift in the first place."

Delores swallowed hard, then hesitated. "The cigarette... the fire... it should have spread. But it didn’t. Why?"

The angel’s eyes softened. "Because God is merciful. He sent me to intervene. The wind that knocked the cigarette from your couch? That was not chance. That was His hand, preventing a tragedy you would have never forgiven yourself for. But mercy does not mean you are without responsibility. He saved Zora tonight—but now you must choose to save yourself."

For the first time in years, Delores fell to her knees. "God... if You’re still there... if You can still hear me... help me."

The room filled with a peace she had long forgotten. And in that moment, she knew—God had never left her. She had left Him.

The next morning, Delores called Rachelle. It wasn’t easy. It took days, then weeks, for Rachelle to even consider a conversation beyond pleasantries. But Delores was patient, persistent. She went to counseling. She poured out every bottle in her apartment. She even joined a church—not as a singer, but as a servant.

Months later, on a quiet Sunday morning, Delores stepped onto a church stage for the first time in years. She wasn’t performing. She wasn’t trying to reclaim her fame. She was simply worshiping. And as she sang, she spotted Rachelle in the congregation—tears streaming down her face, Zora holding her hand.

After the service, mother and daughter embraced. It was the first time in decades that they truly saw each other.

And then came the twist Delores never expected. "Mama," Rachelle whispered, "I know how hard addiction is. I’ve been sober for three years. I was too ashamed to tell you."

Delores pulled her daughter closer, realizing in that moment that they had both been fighting the same battle—just on opposite sides of silence.

That night, Delores sat at her piano, playing softly. Zora curled up beside her, humming along. For the first time in a long time, Delores didn’t need the world’s applause. She had something greater.

She had faith. She had a family. And she had another chance.