Ella stared at the bank receipt in her hands, the numbers swimming through misted eyes. Two hundred and seventeen dollars. That was all that remained after bills, groceries, and gas. The weight of her failure curled like a stone in her chest. She had prayed. Oh, how she had prayed. Yet here she was — thirty-eight years old, a single mother, and utterly lost when it came to holding her life, and her finances, together.
The afternoon sun slanted through the cracked blinds of her tiny kitchen. Chloe, her six-year-old, sat humming to herself as she carefully glued popsicle sticks together for a school project, her face radiant in innocent concentration.
Ella pressed the heel of her hand against her eyes. "Lord," she whispered, "why does it feel like you're silent?"
It wasn't that she wished for riches. She just wanted enough — enough to not feel crushed by fear every time she opened a bill, enough to tell Chloe yes when she asked if they could get ice cream. Enough to breathe.
Later that evening, after Chloe fell asleep, Ella pulled out her worn Bible almost out of habit. She flipped without thinking, seeking something—anything—that would pierce the numbness. Her eyes landed on a verse she'd underlined years ago:
"Keep your lives free from the love of money and be content with what you have, because God has said, 'Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you.'" (Hebrews 13:5)
She sat back, stunned.
"Be content with what you have..." she whispered aloud. She thought she'd understood contentment. But maybe true prosperity wasn’t measured by numbers at all. Maybe it was something else—something deeper, more enduring.
Tears sprang to her eyes, and she let them fall freely this time, not in despair, but in something closer to surrender. She realized, sitting there in the quiet, that she wasn't alone. She never had been.
The next morning, Ella packed a peanut butter sandwich for herself and bundled Chloe up for the walk to school. On their way, they passed a homeless man sitting on the corner near the bus stop. Without hesitation, Chloe trotted up to him and handed him the sandwich.
"I made it for you!" she said proudly, unaware that Ella had packed it for herself.
Ella opened her mouth to object, but the words caught in her throat when she saw the man's eyes fill with tears.
"God bless you, little one," he rasped, clutching the sandwich like it was gold.
For a moment, time seemed to stretch and shimmer. Ella felt the presence of God so near it almost took her breath away. She realized then that they were richer than she'd ever given credit for—rich in compassion, rich in kindness, rich in love.
That one small act became a ripple through Ella's heart. That evening, she applied for a part-time job at the church's community center. It didn't pay much, but it filled her days with purpose and her heart with hope. She wasn't chasing wealth anymore; she was chasing stewardship, trusting God to multiply what He placed in her hands.
And somehow, mysteriously, life felt...full.
Ella still carried her receipt, folded neatly in her Bible as a reminder of that day: the day she discovered true prosperity was found not in numbers, but in the abundance of God's faithfulness.
She knew now, with a peace too deep to be shaken, that she and Chloe would always have enough — because they had each other, and they had Him.
Always.
—
Scripture References:
Ella stared at the bank receipt in her hands, the numbers swimming through misted eyes. Two hundred and seventeen dollars. That was all that remained after bills, groceries, and gas. The weight of her failure curled like a stone in her chest. She had prayed. Oh, how she had prayed. Yet here she was — thirty-eight years old, a single mother, and utterly lost when it came to holding her life, and her finances, together.
The afternoon sun slanted through the cracked blinds of her tiny kitchen. Chloe, her six-year-old, sat humming to herself as she carefully glued popsicle sticks together for a school project, her face radiant in innocent concentration.
Ella pressed the heel of her hand against her eyes. "Lord," she whispered, "why does it feel like you're silent?"
It wasn't that she wished for riches. She just wanted enough — enough to not feel crushed by fear every time she opened a bill, enough to tell Chloe yes when she asked if they could get ice cream. Enough to breathe.
Later that evening, after Chloe fell asleep, Ella pulled out her worn Bible almost out of habit. She flipped without thinking, seeking something—anything—that would pierce the numbness. Her eyes landed on a verse she'd underlined years ago:
"Keep your lives free from the love of money and be content with what you have, because God has said, 'Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you.'" (Hebrews 13:5)
She sat back, stunned.
"Be content with what you have..." she whispered aloud. She thought she'd understood contentment. But maybe true prosperity wasn’t measured by numbers at all. Maybe it was something else—something deeper, more enduring.
Tears sprang to her eyes, and she let them fall freely this time, not in despair, but in something closer to surrender. She realized, sitting there in the quiet, that she wasn't alone. She never had been.
The next morning, Ella packed a peanut butter sandwich for herself and bundled Chloe up for the walk to school. On their way, they passed a homeless man sitting on the corner near the bus stop. Without hesitation, Chloe trotted up to him and handed him the sandwich.
"I made it for you!" she said proudly, unaware that Ella had packed it for herself.
Ella opened her mouth to object, but the words caught in her throat when she saw the man's eyes fill with tears.
"God bless you, little one," he rasped, clutching the sandwich like it was gold.
For a moment, time seemed to stretch and shimmer. Ella felt the presence of God so near it almost took her breath away. She realized then that they were richer than she'd ever given credit for—rich in compassion, rich in kindness, rich in love.
That one small act became a ripple through Ella's heart. That evening, she applied for a part-time job at the church's community center. It didn't pay much, but it filled her days with purpose and her heart with hope. She wasn't chasing wealth anymore; she was chasing stewardship, trusting God to multiply what He placed in her hands.
And somehow, mysteriously, life felt...full.
Ella still carried her receipt, folded neatly in her Bible as a reminder of that day: the day she discovered true prosperity was found not in numbers, but in the abundance of God's faithfulness.
She knew now, with a peace too deep to be shaken, that she and Chloe would always have enough — because they had each other, and they had Him.
Always.
—
Scripture References:
