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Saved by Grace |
The judge, a middle-aged woman with glasses perched low on her nose, shuffled through the folder in front of her.
âMiss Jensen. This is your third offense in under twelve months. Shoplifting, again. This time from an electronics store.â
Mariah's heart pounded. She stole a glance at her public defenderâa young, tired man with a bad tieâwho looked more nervous than helpful.
The prosecutor snorted. âShe had over a hundred dollarsâ worth of merchandise in her coat.â
âItâs just headphones,â Mariah muttered.
The judgeâs eyes narrowed. âItâs theft. And itâs a pattern.â
The lawyer came to his feet. âYour Honor, Mariahâs home situation is... difficult. Her mother works nights. No stable supervision. Sheâs not violent. Weâre asking the court to consider an alternative sentence.â
The judge exhaled through her nose. âMiss Jensen, if I see you in here again, I wonât be so lenient.â
Mariah stared at a spot on the floor. Better than looking at the eyes judging her from the gallery.
âIâm assigning you sixty hours of community service,â the judge continued. âTo be served at Grace Fellowship Church. I believe they have a youth mentorship program. You'll report twice a week, beginning Monday.â
Mariah blinked. A church?
âSeriously?â she said before she could stop herself. âWhat am I supposed to do thereâpray the bad out of me?â
The judge raised a single eyebrow. âYou might be surprised what changes in the right environment. Court is adjourned.â
The gavel came down with a dull thud. Mariah didnât flinch.
Relieved but confused, she left the courtroom wondering what anyone expected her to do in a church.
On Monday morning, Mariah stood outside Grace Fellowship Church, staring up at the stained-glass windows that caught the morning light. She pushed through the heavy doors, expecting judgmental staresâbut none came.
The church smelled of incense and polished wood, a stark contrast to the sterile courtroom. She hesitated until a short, dark-skinned woman in her sixties approached with a soft smile.
âYou must be Mariah. Iâm Pastor Jean, the coordinator of the youth mentorship program.â
Mariah grunted. âYou the one babysitting me?â
Pastor Jean didnât miss a beat. âIâm the one whoâll put you to work, yes.â
Mariah followed her into the fellowship hall, where a dozen kids sat on a carpet circle with markers and construction paper. The air smelled of glue, graham crackers, and something oddly warm.
âTheyâre working on posters for this monthâs theme: âKindness in Action,ââ Pastor Jean explained. âYouâll help where needed. Set out supplies, guide games, lend a hand.â
âDo I have to talk to them?â Mariah asked.
Jean laughed. âEventually.â
The first sessions passed like a slow-moving punishment. The kids were loud, clingy, and completely uninterested in Mariahâs silent glares. One girl asked if Mariah was âa grown-up or just tall.â Another offered her a sticker and called her âMiss Hoodie.â
Mariah stuck it out. At least it wasnât jail. She could count hours like stitches in a woundâtemporary, ugly, and soon to be gone.
Then came Jalen.
He was quiet, probably around seven, with large glasses and a nervous grip on everything he touched. He rarely spoke but hovered near Mariah like her shadow. One day, she helped him find his lost sneaker. The next, he handed her a crayon. It was simple, but it got to her.
One rainy Thursday, while the children made thank-you cards, someone asked Pastor Jean to sing.
Jean strummed a few chords on a battered guitar. The kids joined in, giggling through the verses.
Mariah sat off to the side, arms crossed, but her foot tapped along.
Without thinking, she hummed. Then whispered a line.
Jean glanced at her, surprised. âYouâve got a good ear.â
Mariah stiffened. âI wasnât trying to sing.â
âWell, maybe you should.â
Mariah rolled her eyes. âNo offense, but Iâm not exactly a singer.â
Jean smiled. âGrace doesnât care whether you can sing or not.â
That night, Mariah couldnât sleep. Her mom was on the late shift again. The house was quiet, empty in all the ways that mattered.
She remembered the feeling when sheâd sungâeven just a little. Not like she was good, exactly, but like something in her had remembered how to feel.
The next week, she stayed late to help clean up. Jalen handed her a napkin with crayon scribbles on it. A stick figure with long black hair and âThank you for helping me not be scaredâ written across the top.
Mariah stared at the paper, throat tight. âWhyâd he give me this?â
âHe trusts you,â Jean said gently.
Mariah tucked the napkin into her pocket. She didnât answer.
She found herself arriving a few minutes early. Still wore her hoodie. Still rolled her eyes at the mention of prayerâbut she stayed. She even smiled, sometimes.
One afternoon, Jean invited her to sing with the kids during closing circle. Mariah hesitated.
"I don't perform in front of an audience," she said. "I can't sing.â
âYou already have,â Jean said. âAnd you werenât bad.â
Mariah glanced around. The kids were waiting. Jalen gave her a thumbs-up.
She exhaled. Then nodded.
Her voice was hesitant, but real. When it ended, no one clapped, but Jalen whispered, âThat was pretty.â
Mariah looked down, startled. âYou think so?â
He nodded solemnly.
Several weeks later, Mariah stood in the church parking lot on her last day of community service, the sun setting in orange and pink hues. She watched the children run around, their laughter filling the air with a sense of joy she hadnât felt in a long time.
Pastor Jean approached her, smiling. "You did great, Mariah. The kids really took a liking to you.â
Mariah shifted. "Thanks," she mumbled, unsure what to do with praise.
As she turned to leave, Jalen ran up, his face beaming. "Are you coming back next week?" he asked.
Mariah hesitated. She glanced at Pastor Jean, who raised an eyebrow in silent encouragement.
With a small smile, Mariah crouched to Jalenâs eye level. "I... I'll try," she said, surprised by her own sincerity.
Jalen grinned and hugged her tight.
As he ran back to the group, warmth settled in Mariahâs chestâforeign, but not unwelcome.
She turned to Pastor Jean. âThanks for giving me a chance,â she said, the words strange but comforting.
Jean smiled knowingly. "You're welcome here anytime, Mariah. Remember that."
With a nod, Mariah walked away from Grace Fellowship Church, her steps lighter than theyâd been in a long time.
đď¸ An Echoes of Faith Story
For the first time in a long while, she wasnât walking away from somethingâshe was walking toward it.