The night was thick with silence, the kind that pressed close against your ribs and made breathing feel like effort. Leah sat curled on the cold stone steps outside her door, hands wrapped around a chipped mug of tea she hadn’t sipped. It was her third night here — three nights of pleading G-d for an answer, any answer. And all she had gotten in return was the wind.
A week ago, the world had shifted. Her job, the modest teaching position she’d loved for more than a decade, was gone — budget cuts. "It isn’t personal," they had said kindly, as if that softened the blow. But for Leah, it was deeply personal. Without it, who was she? What would she build her days around? And even scarier — how would she pay the rent?
She hadn’t told her parents yet. Or her sister. Every day she woke, shouldering the silence, forcing herself to move, to smile when she bought groceries, to pay the bus driver. At night, she spoke to G-d in cracked whispers, laying her heart bare in the darkness, and waited. Waited for something — a dream, a sudden call, a voice. But nothing came back but empty stillness.
"I am trying," she murmured into the dusk, tears slipping down her cheeks. "I am trying so hard to trust You."
The wind stirred the bushes lining the courtyard. Leah pulled her sweater tighter, drawing her knees to her chest. A moth fluttered awkwardly toward the light above her door, bumping clumsily against the bulb again and again. She watched it, oddly mesmerized. It didn’t seem discouraged; it simply kept trying, a tiny creature drawn by something it could almost touch.
You are not alone.
The thought wasn’t a voice. It was softer than that, more like something breathed straight into her heart. Leah closed her eyes against the sudden wave of emotion. A verse she had learned long ago as a child shimmered into her mind: "Before they call, I will answer; while they are yet speaking, I will hear."
Was it possible that G-d was listening — not absent, but working silently, gently, in ways she couldn’t yet see?
The sound of feet interrupted her wonder. She blinked and looked up. Little Ezra from the third floor, not more than five years old, was approaching her, his cheeks pink from the chilly night air. Without a word, he reached out, pressing something small and crumpled into her hand before scampering back upstairs.
Leah unfolded it. A simple dandelion, picked from the cracked sidewalk — the kind most grown-ups thought of as weeds. But here, in her trembling fingers, it looked like a star that had fallen just for her.
She laughed through her tears, the sound surprising and sweet. Maybe answers didn’t always come with trumpet blasts or lightning bolts. Maybe sometimes they came on the wings of moths and dandelions, in the comfort of a child’s innocent offering.
G-d was here. Even in the silence. Especially in the silence.
Leah pressed the dandelion to her heart and whispered, "Thank You." Then she stood, her legs a little steadier beneath her, and stepped back inside, the night no longer quite so heavy.
Tomorrow was still uncertain. But tonight, she knew this: she was heard, she was held, and she was not alone.
—
Torah and Tanakh Verses Inspiring This Story:
Psalm 34:17–18 — "The righteous cry out, and G-d hears, and saves them out of all their troubles. G-d is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit."
Isaiah 65:24 — "Before they call, I will answer; while they are still speaking, I will hear."
Jeremiah 33:3 — "Call to Me and I will answer you, and will tell you great and hidden things that you have not known."
Deuteronomy 31:6 — "Be strong and courageous. Do not fear or be in dread... for it is G-d your G-d who goes with you. He will not leave you or forsake you."
Isaiah 41:10 — "Fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your G-d; I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with My righteous right hand."
The night was thick with silence, the kind that pressed close against your ribs and made breathing feel like effort. Leah sat curled on the cold stone steps outside her door, hands wrapped around a chipped mug of tea she hadn’t sipped. It was her third night here — three nights of pleading G-d for an answer, any answer. And all she had gotten in return was the wind.
A week ago, the world had shifted. Her job, the modest teaching position she’d loved for more than a decade, was gone — budget cuts. "It isn’t personal," they had said kindly, as if that softened the blow. But for Leah, it was deeply personal. Without it, who was she? What would she build her days around? And even scarier — how would she pay the rent?
She hadn’t told her parents yet. Or her sister. Every day she woke, shouldering the silence, forcing herself to move, to smile when she bought groceries, to pay the bus driver. At night, she spoke to G-d in cracked whispers, laying her heart bare in the darkness, and waited. Waited for something — a dream, a sudden call, a voice. But nothing came back but empty stillness.
"I am trying," she murmured into the dusk, tears slipping down her cheeks. "I am trying so hard to trust You."
The wind stirred the bushes lining the courtyard. Leah pulled her sweater tighter, drawing her knees to her chest. A moth fluttered awkwardly toward the light above her door, bumping clumsily against the bulb again and again. She watched it, oddly mesmerized. It didn’t seem discouraged; it simply kept trying, a tiny creature drawn by something it could almost touch.
You are not alone.
The thought wasn’t a voice. It was softer than that, more like something breathed straight into her heart. Leah closed her eyes against the sudden wave of emotion. A verse she had learned long ago as a child shimmered into her mind: "Before they call, I will answer; while they are yet speaking, I will hear."
Was it possible that G-d was listening — not absent, but working silently, gently, in ways she couldn’t yet see?
The sound of feet interrupted her wonder. She blinked and looked up. Little Ezra from the third floor, not more than five years old, was approaching her, his cheeks pink from the chilly night air. Without a word, he reached out, pressing something small and crumpled into her hand before scampering back upstairs.
Leah unfolded it. A simple dandelion, picked from the cracked sidewalk — the kind most grown-ups thought of as weeds. But here, in her trembling fingers, it looked like a star that had fallen just for her.
She laughed through her tears, the sound surprising and sweet. Maybe answers didn’t always come with trumpet blasts or lightning bolts. Maybe sometimes they came on the wings of moths and dandelions, in the comfort of a child’s innocent offering.
G-d was here. Even in the silence. Especially in the silence.
Leah pressed the dandelion to her heart and whispered, "Thank You." Then she stood, her legs a little steadier beneath her, and stepped back inside, the night no longer quite so heavy.
Tomorrow was still uncertain. But tonight, she knew this: she was heard, she was held, and she was not alone.
—
Torah and Tanakh Verses Inspiring This Story:
Psalm 34:17–18 — "The righteous cry out, and G-d hears, and saves them out of all their troubles. G-d is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit."
Isaiah 65:24 — "Before they call, I will answer; while they are still speaking, I will hear."
Jeremiah 33:3 — "Call to Me and I will answer you, and will tell you great and hidden things that you have not known."
Deuteronomy 31:6 — "Be strong and courageous. Do not fear or be in dread... for it is G-d your G-d who goes with you. He will not leave you or forsake you."
Isaiah 41:10 — "Fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your G-d; I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with My righteous right hand."
