The wind carried the scent of earth and rain as Emma sat alone on the hospital bench, her hands twisting the frayed edges of her sweater sleeves. The news from the doctor had blurred into a hum in her ears, like a radio set between stations. Words like "chronic," "long journey," and "no guarantees" floated in and out of her mind. The world felt unbearably heavy, and for the first time in a long while, she didn't know how to pray.
She wanted so badly to believe that healing was just one faithful prayer away. But what if her faith wasn't enough? What if she prayed, and… nothing? A shiver crept up her spine—not just from the cool evening air, but from fear sinking deep into her bones.
Closing her eyes, she let the tears spill over. "Lord," she whispered, "I don’t even know what to ask for. I'm tired. I'm scared. Please... just be with me."
For a moment, nothing changed. The city still hummed, the cool drizzle still pattered on the sidewalk. But then, beside her, she heard the soft scuff of shoes. Emma opened her eyes to see an elderly woman lowering herself onto the bench, a worn Bible tucked under one arm.
"I hope you don't mind," the woman said warmly. "Hospitals have a way of making you feel like you're the only person in the world."
Emma laughed weakly, swiping at her damp cheeks. "That's exactly how I feel."
The stranger smiled, the corners of her eyes crinkling like linen folds. "You aren't alone. Not here, not ever." She patted the Bible in her lap. "I’ve sat on plenty of benches like this. And I can tell you—healing, real healing, isn't just about bodies mending. It’s about our hearts trusting that Love Himself is holding us, even when we can’t see it yet."
Emma swallowed hard. "But... what if I don't have enough faith?"
The woman shook her head gently. "It's not the size of your faith; it's the size of the One you have faith in. Even mustard-seed faith moves mountains, darling." She leaned closer, as if sharing a precious secret. "Sometimes healing doesn't rush in on waterfalls. Sometimes it comes one small, tender drop at a time—and every drop, a promise that God is still with you."
A warmth like sunrise unfurled inside Emma's chest—small, but real. The fear didn't vanish, but it softened around the edges. She looked out across the hospital gardens, where a shaft of golden light broke through the clouds, setting the wet leaves ablaze with color. It was only a moment—a slit in the rain—but it was enough.
Enough to remind her: she was not alone. Enough to believe that prayers whispered in weakness were still strong enough to reach heaven. Enough to hope that healing—heart, soul, and body—was a journey she wouldn't have to walk by herself.
"Thank you," Emma said, her voice steadier now.
"Don't thank me," the woman answered, squeezing Emma’s hand. "Thank the One who heard you the moment you called."
Later, as Emma stood and made her way back inside, she marveled at what faith could look like—not a thunderous explosion of miracles, but a steady, quiet trusting. In the days and weeks to come, there would be more hard moments. But now, nestled deep within her, was something unshakable. A knowing that God was writing a story of healing she was already living, line by beautiful line.
And that was enough.
—
Bible Verses for Reflection:
The wind carried the scent of earth and rain as Emma sat alone on the hospital bench, her hands twisting the frayed edges of her sweater sleeves. The news from the doctor had blurred into a hum in her ears, like a radio set between stations. Words like "chronic," "long journey," and "no guarantees" floated in and out of her mind. The world felt unbearably heavy, and for the first time in a long while, she didn't know how to pray.
She wanted so badly to believe that healing was just one faithful prayer away. But what if her faith wasn't enough? What if she prayed, and… nothing? A shiver crept up her spine—not just from the cool evening air, but from fear sinking deep into her bones.
Closing her eyes, she let the tears spill over. "Lord," she whispered, "I don’t even know what to ask for. I'm tired. I'm scared. Please... just be with me."
For a moment, nothing changed. The city still hummed, the cool drizzle still pattered on the sidewalk. But then, beside her, she heard the soft scuff of shoes. Emma opened her eyes to see an elderly woman lowering herself onto the bench, a worn Bible tucked under one arm.
"I hope you don't mind," the woman said warmly. "Hospitals have a way of making you feel like you're the only person in the world."
Emma laughed weakly, swiping at her damp cheeks. "That's exactly how I feel."
The stranger smiled, the corners of her eyes crinkling like linen folds. "You aren't alone. Not here, not ever." She patted the Bible in her lap. "I’ve sat on plenty of benches like this. And I can tell you—healing, real healing, isn't just about bodies mending. It’s about our hearts trusting that Love Himself is holding us, even when we can’t see it yet."
Emma swallowed hard. "But... what if I don't have enough faith?"
The woman shook her head gently. "It's not the size of your faith; it's the size of the One you have faith in. Even mustard-seed faith moves mountains, darling." She leaned closer, as if sharing a precious secret. "Sometimes healing doesn't rush in on waterfalls. Sometimes it comes one small, tender drop at a time—and every drop, a promise that God is still with you."
A warmth like sunrise unfurled inside Emma's chest—small, but real. The fear didn't vanish, but it softened around the edges. She looked out across the hospital gardens, where a shaft of golden light broke through the clouds, setting the wet leaves ablaze with color. It was only a moment—a slit in the rain—but it was enough.
Enough to remind her: she was not alone. Enough to believe that prayers whispered in weakness were still strong enough to reach heaven. Enough to hope that healing—heart, soul, and body—was a journey she wouldn't have to walk by herself.
"Thank you," Emma said, her voice steadier now.
"Don't thank me," the woman answered, squeezing Emma’s hand. "Thank the One who heard you the moment you called."
Later, as Emma stood and made her way back inside, she marveled at what faith could look like—not a thunderous explosion of miracles, but a steady, quiet trusting. In the days and weeks to come, there would be more hard moments. But now, nestled deep within her, was something unshakable. A knowing that God was writing a story of healing she was already living, line by beautiful line.
And that was enough.
—
Bible Verses for Reflection:
