Anna stared at the cracked ceiling of her small apartment, a lump rising in her throat. The heating bill sat unopened on the kitchen table, next to a fraying Bible she hadn’t touched in weeks. Winter had crept in early this year, and so had the doubts. Maybe God had forgotten her. Maybe hope was something better suited for children’s Christmas pageants and people who didn’t have overdue notices piling up.
The knock at the door was soft, hesitant. Anna wiped at her eyes quickly, mustering a shaky “Come in.” It was Mrs. Porter from next door, balancing a plate wrapped in foil and a knitted scarf draped over her arm.
“I made too much stew,” Mrs. Porter said, bustling in with a cheery smile. “And I thought you might like this—it’s getting so cold out.”
Anna blinked back new tears. No one had given her anything in a long time. She had prided herself on being the giver: the one who stayed late at the food bank, who bought winter coats for kids at church. But life had shifted without warning, tipping her once-steady world into pieces she couldn’t seem to gather.
She thanked Mrs. Porter stiffly, feeling the scars of pride tighten around her heart. Accepting help felt like defeat. Yet, as she sat there later, spooning the warm, savory stew into her mouth, Anna felt something within her bend—soften. It tasted of more than potatoes and broth. It tasted of kindness. Mercy. Grace.
That night, the loneliness in Anna’s heart cracked open just enough to let light in.
The next morning, the ache in her chest not gone but quieter, Anna did something she hadn’t in weeks—she picked up her Bible. It fell open to 2 Corinthians 9:6–8, about sowing generously, about how God could bless abundantly so that in all things, at all times, she’d have all she needed to abound in every good work.
“But I have nothing left to give,” she whispered into the silence.
Her eyes slid to the scarf, still draped across the chair. Her heart stirred. Maybe giving wasn’t always grand gestures or perfectly met needs. Maybe it was showing up with what you had, however small. Maybe God wasn’t asking her to pour from an empty pitcher, but to receive His love so she could overflow again.
That afternoon, scarf bundled around her neck, Anna walked to the community center. Her steps were slow at first, weighed down by uncertainty. But when she pushed open the door and saw the familiar bustle—kids with noses red from the cold, volunteers laughing while stringing up garlands—her heart warmed.
She spent the evening wrapping donated gifts, her laughter joining the others. Someone handed her a mug of cider. Someone else squeezed her shoulder in thanks. Anna found herself smiling, real and wide, for the first time in weeks.
The wonder of the evening wasn’t that her problems vanished. The bills still waited. The winter still pressed in tight. But Anna wasn’t carrying it all alone anymore. She had been found, fed, given to—and now, she could give back.
As she walked home under a sky dripping with stars, Anna murmured a quiet prayer, one she hadn’t known she still had: “Thank You, Lord—for never giving up on me. For teaching me to give, even through my emptiness.”
A soft snow began to fall, dusting her coat, glinting in the streetlights like little whispers of promise. Hope, it seemed, had found its way home again.
—
Bible Verses:
Anna stared at the cracked ceiling of her small apartment, a lump rising in her throat. The heating bill sat unopened on the kitchen table, next to a fraying Bible she hadn’t touched in weeks. Winter had crept in early this year, and so had the doubts. Maybe God had forgotten her. Maybe hope was something better suited for children’s Christmas pageants and people who didn’t have overdue notices piling up.
The knock at the door was soft, hesitant. Anna wiped at her eyes quickly, mustering a shaky “Come in.” It was Mrs. Porter from next door, balancing a plate wrapped in foil and a knitted scarf draped over her arm.
“I made too much stew,” Mrs. Porter said, bustling in with a cheery smile. “And I thought you might like this—it’s getting so cold out.”
Anna blinked back new tears. No one had given her anything in a long time. She had prided herself on being the giver: the one who stayed late at the food bank, who bought winter coats for kids at church. But life had shifted without warning, tipping her once-steady world into pieces she couldn’t seem to gather.
She thanked Mrs. Porter stiffly, feeling the scars of pride tighten around her heart. Accepting help felt like defeat. Yet, as she sat there later, spooning the warm, savory stew into her mouth, Anna felt something within her bend—soften. It tasted of more than potatoes and broth. It tasted of kindness. Mercy. Grace.
That night, the loneliness in Anna’s heart cracked open just enough to let light in.
The next morning, the ache in her chest not gone but quieter, Anna did something she hadn’t in weeks—she picked up her Bible. It fell open to 2 Corinthians 9:6–8, about sowing generously, about how God could bless abundantly so that in all things, at all times, she’d have all she needed to abound in every good work.
“But I have nothing left to give,” she whispered into the silence.
Her eyes slid to the scarf, still draped across the chair. Her heart stirred. Maybe giving wasn’t always grand gestures or perfectly met needs. Maybe it was showing up with what you had, however small. Maybe God wasn’t asking her to pour from an empty pitcher, but to receive His love so she could overflow again.
That afternoon, scarf bundled around her neck, Anna walked to the community center. Her steps were slow at first, weighed down by uncertainty. But when she pushed open the door and saw the familiar bustle—kids with noses red from the cold, volunteers laughing while stringing up garlands—her heart warmed.
She spent the evening wrapping donated gifts, her laughter joining the others. Someone handed her a mug of cider. Someone else squeezed her shoulder in thanks. Anna found herself smiling, real and wide, for the first time in weeks.
The wonder of the evening wasn’t that her problems vanished. The bills still waited. The winter still pressed in tight. But Anna wasn’t carrying it all alone anymore. She had been found, fed, given to—and now, she could give back.
As she walked home under a sky dripping with stars, Anna murmured a quiet prayer, one she hadn’t known she still had: “Thank You, Lord—for never giving up on me. For teaching me to give, even through my emptiness.”
A soft snow began to fall, dusting her coat, glinting in the streetlights like little whispers of promise. Hope, it seemed, had found its way home again.
—
Bible Verses:
