Echoes of Faith| A Second Chance| Short Fiction

 

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A Second Chance

The doors of the county jail creaked open one last time for Christian Magnum.

At twenty-five, his steps outside felt like he was learning how to walk again. He had traded his orange jumpsuit for a plain white T-shirt and jeans his grandmother, Mama Nell, left for him. The sun, brighter than he remembered, hit his face like a second baptism.

He looked up at the sky. “Thank You,” he whispered.

Christian was a smart, quiet kid from West Haven. But the streets were loud. His dad left early, and his mom worked herself into an early grave, and by fifteen, survival meant rolling with the wrong crew. By seventeen, he was arrested for robbery. At twenty-one, he was back inside again—this time, for assault during a drug deal gone sideways. No one died, but someone could have. That was the wake-up call.

In prison, Christian met Chaplain Dorsey, a silver-haired man with laugh lines around his eyes and the calm of someone who knew storms firsthand.

“I see something in you, son,” Dorsey had said. “You’ve still got purpose. God hasn’t thrown away the clay.”

Christian read Scripture out of boredom, then curiosity, then conviction. The parable of the Prodigal Son hit him hardest—the idea that someone could squander everything, yet still be welcomed home.

Now free, Christian had a new mission: make amends, one day at a time.

Mama Nell lived on the corner of Walker and 3rd. She was waiting on the porch when he arrived, arms crossed, her full chest rising with a breath. “You got my house keys?” she asked flatly.

Christian smiled sheepishly. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Then go wash your hands before touching anything.”

Mama Nell didn’t do hugs, but her love ran deep. She had prayed for him daily—sometimes with tears, sometimes with grit. She gave him the back room, a plate of hot cornbread, fried chicken, candied yams, collard greens, and one rule: “You better walk with the Lord in this house.”

One week later, Christian found work at Rebuild, a community center run by ex-cons and former addicts who had turned their lives around. They offered after-school programs, job training, and a boxing gym for at-risk youth. Jay Sparks, the founder, had been to prison himself and didn’t sugarcoat anything.

“You mess up, we hold you accountable,” he told Christian. “But if you fall and get back up? We’re here for you.”

Christian cleaned floors, folded chairs, and kept his head down. In time, respect followed.

One afternoon, while running errands for Rebuild, he saw one of his old crew members across the gas station parking lot.

“Yo, C! I got work for you if you want it. Easy money, just like old times.”

Christian’s pulse quickened. He remembered the rush, the power, the lie of control. But then he thought of Mama Nell. Of Chaplain Dorsey’s quiet words: “Grace isn’t just about being forgiven—it’s about choosing different when no one’s watching.”

He shook his head. “Nah. I’m building something real now.”

A week later, life shifted again.

He was standing in line at the grocery store, picking up items for Mama Nell, when he heard a soft familiar voice behind him. “Christian?”

He turned—and froze.

“Porsha?”

She looked good. Grown. Confident. Her hair pulled into a sleek bun, a gold necklace catching the light. But it was the little boy standing beside her—wide-eyed, dark-skinned, and with Christian’s exact dimples—that knocked the air out of his lungs.

“Who’s lil man?” he asked, even though his heart already knew.

Porsha’s jaw tightened. “This is Jalen.”

Christian dropped his eyes to the child. “Hi, Jalen.” He smiled gently. “I’m—”

“Just someone I used to know,” Porsha cut in. “Come on, baby.”

And just like that, she was gone.

Later that evening, he sat on Mama Nell’s porch, staring into the streetlights.

“I know Jalen is my child,” he muttered. “He looks just like me. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“What could you do about it?” Mama Nell said while sipping tea. “You were locked up. That girl was scared. Alone. She moved on with her life.”

“But he’s my son.”

“Yes,” Mama Nell said quietly. “You made him, but it don’t make you a father. What you gonna do about it?”

Christian made several attempts to contact Porsha through calls, texts, and even a letter, but she never replied. Left with no other option, he applied for visitation rights. "I'm not looking for a fight," he explained to the court clerk. "I just want to know my son."

The process was slow. Expensive. Humiliating. He had a piece of a job, no degree, no credibility. Just a criminal record and a deep ache in his chest every time he passed the park and saw dads pushing swings.

The first court date was brutal. Porsha stood on the opposite side of the room with her new fiancé—a man with a buttoned-up shirt and clean record.

“I don’t want my son around him,” she said flatly. “He’s unstable. Dangerous.”

Christian sat still. He didn’t argue. Just listened.

Afterward, the judge ordered a review: employment status, living situation, and parenting classes.

“Until you can show you’re stable, there will be no visitation,” the judge said. “Child support is still expected.”

Christian nodded, jaw tight. “Yes, Your Honor.”

Despite the challenges, Christian stayed committed. He kept working at Rebuild, investing in the young people who reminded him of himself. While his past lingered, his present pulled him forward.

One night after class, he passed by the park. It was nearly empty, except for a woman on a bench watching a child on a slide.

It was Porsha.

He nearly turned away, but something in him said, “Now.”

He approached slowly. “Hey.”

Porsha's eyes widened as she looked up at him, her expression no longer guarded.

“I’m not here to argue,” he said. “Just wanted you to know I’m trying. I have a job. I’m paying child support. I’m taking parenting classes. I’m not the same man.”

She looked at him for a long moment, then over at Jalen.

“He asked who you were,” she said quietly.

Christian smiled. “What did you say?”

They both chuckled softly.

Trying not to betray the ache in his chest, Christian asked softly, “Are you still with that guy?”

She nodded.

“Does he treat you right?”

“Yes. He’s good to Jalen, too.”

Christian nodded. “That’s all I could hope for. Just… don’t shut me out. Please.”

She didn’t answer. But she didn’t walk away either.

At the next hearing, Christian presented his binder. The judge flipped through every document. Porsha remained quiet.

“I’m granting supervised visitation,” the judge said. “One hour a week for now. Re-evaluation in six months.”

Christian’s hands shook as he said, “Thank you.”

When Jalen finally walked in with Porsha, Christian’s heart skipped a beat. The boy looked at him curiously. Christian knelt to meet him eye-to-eye.

“Hey there, Jalen. I’m your dad,” he said softly.

Jalen studied him a moment, then tentatively reached out. Christian felt a lump rise in his throat as he took the boy’s small hand.

They colored for the whole hour. Jalen talked about school and his dog and how he liked French fries but hated peas. Christian listened like it was gospel.

At the end, Jalen hugged him without being asked.

Six months later, the court granted unsupervised visits. Porsha started texting updates. Sometimes even sent pictures. Christian never overstepped. He always said thank you.

One evening, he and Jalen sat on the porch of Mama Nell’s house, eating popsicles.

“I’m glad you’re my dad,” Jalen said.

Christian nodded slowly. “Me too.”

“Where were you before?”

Christian took a breath. “I made some mistakes. Grown-up mistakes.”

Jalen leaned against him. “I’m glad you’re here now.”

Christian swallowed hard. “Me too, lil man. Me too.”

Mama Nell watched them through the screen door, a tissue in her hand and tears finally rolling.

“He’s gonna be alright,” she whispered to the Lord.

And this time, she didn’t cry from worry—she cried from hope.

Matthew: The Tax Collector Turned Disciple

 

Matthew: Tax Collector Turned Disciple

The story of Matthew, one of Jesus’ twelve disciples, is a profound reminder that no one is beyond the reach of God’s grace. Known first as a tax collector—an outcast among his own people—Matthew’s life exemplifies transformation, obedience, and the quiet power of a simple “yes” to Jesus. His journey from a reviled profession to writing one of the four Gospels offers a compelling picture of what it means to be a true servant of God.

Matthew’s Life Before Jesus

Matthew, also called Levi, was a tax collector in Capernaum. In the eyes of his fellow Jews, tax collectors were traitors—collaborators with the Roman Empire who were known for exploiting their own people for personal gain. Because of this, they were not only disliked but considered ritually unclean and spiritually corrupt.

Despite his status and wealth, Matthew likely lived a life of social isolation. Though surrounded by coins and ledgers, he was cut off from his own community. He would have been familiar with scorn, distrust, and rejection.

Yet Jesus saw him.

The Call of Matthew

In Matthew 9:9, we find a brief but powerful moment: “As Jesus went on from there, he saw a man named Matthew sitting at the tax collector’s booth. ‘Follow me,’ he told him, and Matthew got up and followed him.”

That’s it. No questions. No hesitation. Just obedience.

Jesus didn’t ask Matthew to clean up first. He didn’t question his past. He simply offered an invitation—and Matthew responded with his whole life.

This moment speaks volumes about the nature of Jesus’ ministry. He chose people the world overlooked. He invited the outcasts. He called those others had written off. And He turned them into disciples.

A Changed Life

Matthew left behind more than his job. He left behind the identity others had placed on him.
His first act as a follower of Jesus was to open his home and throw a banquet—not for the religious elite, but for other tax collectors and sinners (Luke 5:29). Matthew understood what many still struggle with today: when grace finds you, you invite others in.

The Pharisees were quick to criticize Jesus for associating with such people, but Jesus responded: “It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick… For I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners.” (Matthew 9:12-13)

Matthew’s conversion reminds us that salvation is not based on status, merit, or worthiness. It's based on Jesus’ call and our willingness to follow.

Matthew’s Gospel

Matthew is traditionally credited as the author of the Gospel that bears his name. Writing primarily for a Jewish audience, Matthew emphasized Jesus as the long-awaited Messiah, fulfilling Old Testament prophecy.

His Gospel contains some of the most foundational teachings of the Christian faith, including: 

• The Sermon on the Mount (Matthew 5–7)
• The Great Commission (Matthew 28:19-20)
• Parables, miracles, and the genealogy that traces Jesus’ royal lineage

It’s remarkable that the man once known for numbers and taxes became the one who recorded the words of the Savior for generations to come.