When Claire found the eviction notice taped to her front door, all the strength left her body. She slumped onto the splintered porch steps, clutching the paper like it might dissolve if she held it tightly enough. After months of scraping by, picking up extra shifts, and praying she'd make rent... it wasn't enough.
The afternoon sun pressed heavy against her, and Claire closed her eyes, letting the tears seep out unchecked. She had done everything she could. And still, she was losing everything.
She hadn’t been to church in months—what was the point when you couldn't even buy groceries? If faith was supposed to move mountains, then why did her mountains just keep getting taller?
The screen door creaked, and little Eli, her six-year-old, padded out barefoot. "Why are you sad, Mama?" His voice was careful, like he was asking permission to understand.
Claire wiped her face and forced a smile. "Just tired, honey. Go on inside."
But Eli sat beside her instead, tiny knees pulled to his chest. He hummed a little tune, off-key and soft—the one she used to sing at bedtime about how Jesus loved the little children.
After a moment, he glanced at her, frowning like he was remembering something important. "Don't worry, Mama. Remember what Pastor John says? 'Jesus loves us even when things go wrong.' He won't forget us."
Something cracked open inside Claire, something aching and raw. Eli believed with such simple certainty. No hesitation. No resentment. Just trust.
She had been trying so hard to fix everything on her own, as if faith were reserved only for the days when life was beautiful and easy. She had forgotten that faith wasn’t about avoiding storms—it was about knowing who walked with you through them.
That night, long after she put Eli to bed, Claire sat at the kitchen table under the dim light of a single bulb. The eviction notice lay before her, the numbers and dates sharp as knives. She had no plan. No backup. Only a whisper of hope prickling in her chest.
She clasped her hands together, bowing her head. "Jesus," she whispered, voice breaking, "I have nothing left but You. If faith is all I have... help it be enough."
The next morning dawned crisp and bright. Claire bundled Eli into her rickety car to drive him to school. In the parking lot, a woman from church—Mrs. Sanders—spotted her and hurried over.
"I don't mean to pry," Mrs. Sanders said, breathless. "But you’ve been on my mind all week, and God kept pressing me to check on you."
In a tumble of tears and confession, Claire told her everything. To her astonishment, Mrs. Sanders hugged her tight and said, "Sweetheart, our church has a benevolence fund. We'll get you caught up on rent—and there's a part-time job opening at the church office. If you want it, it's yours."
Claire couldn’t remember the last time she cried from relief. She bent her head, overwhelmed, heart swelling with something fierce and beautiful: gratitude, hope, and that unshakeable knowledge that she was not alone after all.
Later that night, after dinner, Claire tucked Eli into bed. He blinked up at her sleepily. "See, Mama? Jesus didn’t forget us."
Claire kissed his forehead, pressing her lips to his warm skin. "No, sweet boy," she whispered. "He never did."
In that small house with its squeaky floors and flickering lights, Claire’s heart beat steady and sure. Faith didn’t make life easy—but oh, it made it beautiful. And that was enough.
—
Bible Verses:
When Claire found the eviction notice taped to her front door, all the strength left her body. She slumped onto the splintered porch steps, clutching the paper like it might dissolve if she held it tightly enough. After months of scraping by, picking up extra shifts, and praying she'd make rent... it wasn't enough.
The afternoon sun pressed heavy against her, and Claire closed her eyes, letting the tears seep out unchecked. She had done everything she could. And still, she was losing everything.
She hadn’t been to church in months—what was the point when you couldn't even buy groceries? If faith was supposed to move mountains, then why did her mountains just keep getting taller?
The screen door creaked, and little Eli, her six-year-old, padded out barefoot. "Why are you sad, Mama?" His voice was careful, like he was asking permission to understand.
Claire wiped her face and forced a smile. "Just tired, honey. Go on inside."
But Eli sat beside her instead, tiny knees pulled to his chest. He hummed a little tune, off-key and soft—the one she used to sing at bedtime about how Jesus loved the little children.
After a moment, he glanced at her, frowning like he was remembering something important. "Don't worry, Mama. Remember what Pastor John says? 'Jesus loves us even when things go wrong.' He won't forget us."
Something cracked open inside Claire, something aching and raw. Eli believed with such simple certainty. No hesitation. No resentment. Just trust.
She had been trying so hard to fix everything on her own, as if faith were reserved only for the days when life was beautiful and easy. She had forgotten that faith wasn’t about avoiding storms—it was about knowing who walked with you through them.
That night, long after she put Eli to bed, Claire sat at the kitchen table under the dim light of a single bulb. The eviction notice lay before her, the numbers and dates sharp as knives. She had no plan. No backup. Only a whisper of hope prickling in her chest.
She clasped her hands together, bowing her head. "Jesus," she whispered, voice breaking, "I have nothing left but You. If faith is all I have... help it be enough."
The next morning dawned crisp and bright. Claire bundled Eli into her rickety car to drive him to school. In the parking lot, a woman from church—Mrs. Sanders—spotted her and hurried over.
"I don't mean to pry," Mrs. Sanders said, breathless. "But you’ve been on my mind all week, and God kept pressing me to check on you."
In a tumble of tears and confession, Claire told her everything. To her astonishment, Mrs. Sanders hugged her tight and said, "Sweetheart, our church has a benevolence fund. We'll get you caught up on rent—and there's a part-time job opening at the church office. If you want it, it's yours."
Claire couldn’t remember the last time she cried from relief. She bent her head, overwhelmed, heart swelling with something fierce and beautiful: gratitude, hope, and that unshakeable knowledge that she was not alone after all.
Later that night, after dinner, Claire tucked Eli into bed. He blinked up at her sleepily. "See, Mama? Jesus didn’t forget us."
Claire kissed his forehead, pressing her lips to his warm skin. "No, sweet boy," she whispered. "He never did."
In that small house with its squeaky floors and flickering lights, Claire’s heart beat steady and sure. Faith didn’t make life easy—but oh, it made it beautiful. And that was enough.
—
Bible Verses:
