The storm rattled the windows, sending tremors through the tiny farmhouse that Addie had called home all her life. She sat curled up by the fireplace, knees to her chest, heart pounding like a drumbeat too fast to dance to. Fear always found her on nights like these—pressing against her ribs, whispering of all the disasters that could unfold by morning.
She closed her eyes and willed herself to pray, but the words stuck somewhere between her worry and her throat. It had been six months since Mama passed, and Addie still hadn't found her footing. The world felt unsafe without her mother’s faith stitched into the very air of their home.
"You mustn’t let fear take root, Addie," Mama used to say, smoothing back her hair with gentle hands, "God’s peace is stronger. You just have to lean into it.”
The wind howled, and the lamp’s flame sputtered. Addie wrapped herself tighter in the worn quilt Mama had made years ago, every patch a prayer. She felt silly—a grown woman, felled by a little thunderstorm. But loneliness clawed sharper than fear sometimes.
In a moment of breathless honesty, Addie whispered into the room, “Lord, I’m scared. I don’t know how to be brave. I don't know how to let go.”
The words were brittle, thin as porcelain on her lips. But somehow, just speaking them cracked open something deeper.
She remembered the verse Mama had recited so often, it had anchored itself in Addie's memory even if she'd pushed it away lately: "For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and love and a sound mind."
Addie pressed her face into the quilt and began to pray—not with eloquent speeches or rehearsed lines—but simply laying every worried piece of herself before Him.
Minutes—or maybe hours—passed. The fire softened to gentle embers, and something shifted inside her, like the first fragile notes of birdsong after a long winter. It wasn’t that the storm outside calmed. It still raged. But somehow, the storm within her was quieter. Smaller.
She stood slowly, crossing to the window. Rain blurred the world beyond into a haze of silver and charcoal. In the distance, the old oak tree—the one Mama had planted when Addie was born—stood strong, rooted firmly despite the battering winds.
A laugh, delicate as lace, slipped from Addie's mouth—a laugh stitched with relief and reverence. She realized then: she wasn't alone, not truly. Fear might have company in the world, but so did faith. So did hope. And God Himself had promised never to leave her.
The peace that unfolded wasn't loud or showy—it was steady, like a friend's hand slipping into hers in the dark.
"I trust You," she whispered, smoothing her palm on the cool glass. "Even when I'm afraid. Especially then."
The storm passed by morning, leaving behind air sharp with clarity and fields shimmering wet under a pale glory of sunrise. Addie stepped onto the porch wrapped in Mama’s quilt, breathed in the clean, rain-sweetened air, and felt it settle deep inside her: a quiet certainty that whatever storms still lay ahead, she wouldn’t be facing them alone.
Her heart, once knotted tight with fear, unfurled gently toward the day—and toward the God who had seen her through.
—
Bible Verses for Reflection:
The storm rattled the windows, sending tremors through the tiny farmhouse that Addie had called home all her life. She sat curled up by the fireplace, knees to her chest, heart pounding like a drumbeat too fast to dance to. Fear always found her on nights like these—pressing against her ribs, whispering of all the disasters that could unfold by morning.
She closed her eyes and willed herself to pray, but the words stuck somewhere between her worry and her throat. It had been six months since Mama passed, and Addie still hadn't found her footing. The world felt unsafe without her mother’s faith stitched into the very air of their home.
"You mustn’t let fear take root, Addie," Mama used to say, smoothing back her hair with gentle hands, "God’s peace is stronger. You just have to lean into it.”
The wind howled, and the lamp’s flame sputtered. Addie wrapped herself tighter in the worn quilt Mama had made years ago, every patch a prayer. She felt silly—a grown woman, felled by a little thunderstorm. But loneliness clawed sharper than fear sometimes.
In a moment of breathless honesty, Addie whispered into the room, “Lord, I’m scared. I don’t know how to be brave. I don't know how to let go.”
The words were brittle, thin as porcelain on her lips. But somehow, just speaking them cracked open something deeper.
She remembered the verse Mama had recited so often, it had anchored itself in Addie's memory even if she'd pushed it away lately: "For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and love and a sound mind."
Addie pressed her face into the quilt and began to pray—not with eloquent speeches or rehearsed lines—but simply laying every worried piece of herself before Him.
Minutes—or maybe hours—passed. The fire softened to gentle embers, and something shifted inside her, like the first fragile notes of birdsong after a long winter. It wasn’t that the storm outside calmed. It still raged. But somehow, the storm within her was quieter. Smaller.
She stood slowly, crossing to the window. Rain blurred the world beyond into a haze of silver and charcoal. In the distance, the old oak tree—the one Mama had planted when Addie was born—stood strong, rooted firmly despite the battering winds.
A laugh, delicate as lace, slipped from Addie's mouth—a laugh stitched with relief and reverence. She realized then: she wasn't alone, not truly. Fear might have company in the world, but so did faith. So did hope. And God Himself had promised never to leave her.
The peace that unfolded wasn't loud or showy—it was steady, like a friend's hand slipping into hers in the dark.
"I trust You," she whispered, smoothing her palm on the cool glass. "Even when I'm afraid. Especially then."
The storm passed by morning, leaving behind air sharp with clarity and fields shimmering wet under a pale glory of sunrise. Addie stepped onto the porch wrapped in Mama’s quilt, breathed in the clean, rain-sweetened air, and felt it settle deep inside her: a quiet certainty that whatever storms still lay ahead, she wouldn’t be facing them alone.
Her heart, once knotted tight with fear, unfurled gently toward the day—and toward the God who had seen her through.
—
Bible Verses for Reflection:
