Eliana leaned her forehead against the cool windowpane, watching raindrops trace crooked lines down the glass. Beyond her small apartment, the city pulsed with life—birthdays, weddings, promotions—celebrations she glimpsed but never touched. One friend after another posted photos of dream homes and dazzling rings, while she clutched a twice-mended coat against her shivering loneliness. It felt as though G-d had passed her over, leaving her dreams tattered while others soared.
She tried to pray, but the words stuck. Instead, she whispered Psalm 37 under her breath, almost without meaning to. "Trust in Hashem and do good; dwell in the land and nourish yourself with Emunah." The ancient words tasted like salted honey—familiar, bittersweet.
Yet a gnawing ache remained: "Why not me, G-d? Why must joy always choose another doorstep?"
That evening, needing air, Eliana pulled on boots and wandered the old streets of her neighborhood. She passed the bakery glowing golden, the flower seller with her lace-wrapped bouquets, the laughing circle of children drawing chalk stars onto the wet pavement. Their joy pricked at her, a reminder of her emptiness.
She turned toward the park. The rain had slowed to a delicate mist. Shadows stretched under the twisted olive trees, and the ground exhaled the rich, ancient scent of soaked earth. Eliana sat on a damp bench, wrapped her arms around herself tightly, and closed her eyes.
She did not hear anyone approach. Only the soft rustle of a coat, the squeal of rubber soles on wet ground.
When she opened her eyes, a little girl stood before her, perhaps five years old, with wild curls and a jacket too big for her small frame. In her tiny hands, she held a bunch of drooping daisies.
"Here," the girl said simply, pressing the flowers into Eliana's lap. "For you."
Eliana stared, stunned. She looked around for the child's parents, but saw no one nearby. She looked back—and the girl was already skipping away, humming a melody that sounded strangely like her mother’s old lullaby, the one Eliana hadn't heard since she sat as a child at her mother’s feet after long, frightening days.
Tears welled up as Eliana cradled the bedraggled bouquet. The daisies weren’t grand. They were slightly crushed, their edges browned—but they were real, given freely, given tenderly.
Something inside her—something dry and hardened—softened beneath the weight of that tiny blessing.
She thought of 1 Peter: "Cast all your burdens upon Him, for He cares for you." Hadn’t she just done that, sitting here exhausted and heartbroken? Wasn’t this small, bruised bouquet an answer—not flashy, not thunderous—but gentle, living proof that G-d saw her?
The aches and delays still lingered, yes. But in that soaked park, draped in mist and loneliness, she felt watched over—not with a gaze that demanded more, but one that said simply: "I have not forgotten you."
For the first time in many long months, Eliana smiled—a small, private smile. She tucked the daisies into her coat pocket and headed home beneath the listening sky, her heart a little quieter, a little braver.
Somewhere, unseen, a new road was opening just for her.
—
Supporting Tanakh Verses:
Eliana leaned her forehead against the cool windowpane, watching raindrops trace crooked lines down the glass. Beyond her small apartment, the city pulsed with life—birthdays, weddings, promotions—celebrations she glimpsed but never touched. One friend after another posted photos of dream homes and dazzling rings, while she clutched a twice-mended coat against her shivering loneliness. It felt as though G-d had passed her over, leaving her dreams tattered while others soared.
She tried to pray, but the words stuck. Instead, she whispered Psalm 37 under her breath, almost without meaning to. "Trust in Hashem and do good; dwell in the land and nourish yourself with Emunah." The ancient words tasted like salted honey—familiar, bittersweet.
Yet a gnawing ache remained: "Why not me, G-d? Why must joy always choose another doorstep?"
That evening, needing air, Eliana pulled on boots and wandered the old streets of her neighborhood. She passed the bakery glowing golden, the flower seller with her lace-wrapped bouquets, the laughing circle of children drawing chalk stars onto the wet pavement. Their joy pricked at her, a reminder of her emptiness.
She turned toward the park. The rain had slowed to a delicate mist. Shadows stretched under the twisted olive trees, and the ground exhaled the rich, ancient scent of soaked earth. Eliana sat on a damp bench, wrapped her arms around herself tightly, and closed her eyes.
She did not hear anyone approach. Only the soft rustle of a coat, the squeal of rubber soles on wet ground.
When she opened her eyes, a little girl stood before her, perhaps five years old, with wild curls and a jacket too big for her small frame. In her tiny hands, she held a bunch of drooping daisies.
"Here," the girl said simply, pressing the flowers into Eliana's lap. "For you."
Eliana stared, stunned. She looked around for the child's parents, but saw no one nearby. She looked back—and the girl was already skipping away, humming a melody that sounded strangely like her mother’s old lullaby, the one Eliana hadn't heard since she sat as a child at her mother’s feet after long, frightening days.
Tears welled up as Eliana cradled the bedraggled bouquet. The daisies weren’t grand. They were slightly crushed, their edges browned—but they were real, given freely, given tenderly.
Something inside her—something dry and hardened—softened beneath the weight of that tiny blessing.
She thought of 1 Peter: "Cast all your burdens upon Him, for He cares for you." Hadn’t she just done that, sitting here exhausted and heartbroken? Wasn’t this small, bruised bouquet an answer—not flashy, not thunderous—but gentle, living proof that G-d saw her?
The aches and delays still lingered, yes. But in that soaked park, draped in mist and loneliness, she felt watched over—not with a gaze that demanded more, but one that said simply: "I have not forgotten you."
For the first time in many long months, Eliana smiled—a small, private smile. She tucked the daisies into her coat pocket and headed home beneath the listening sky, her heart a little quieter, a little braver.
Somewhere, unseen, a new road was opening just for her.
—
Supporting Tanakh Verses:
