Reflections of a Faithful Heart

The sun slid lazily into the window, casting a soft, golden glow over the plush pillows and the neatly made bed Grace had spent the last hour avoiding getting out of. It was Sunday morning—her favorite day of the week, which, in theory, should have meant a peaceful start, some time to pray, maybe even a little quiet reflection. Instead, she was lying there, contemplating the mountain of stuff she’d need to do today: lead the youth group, meet with a new client, and somehow, somehow, decide whether she still wanted her engagement with Mr. mommy's boy or not. She rolled onto her side, staring at the ceiling. Her mind was already running through the mental checklist of her life—therapy sessions, church responsibilities, and the ever-present question of whether she was living the life she was supposed to be living. Honestly, the last part was the loudest. At twenty-six, Grace possessed a booming career as a therapist for single people—a fact she often presented with the practiced line, "and no, I am not single, I'm engaged." She loved the sound of it, the validation it offered after a long wait. Six months into her engagement, even her best friends, Gina and Celia, thought it was rushed. Sometimes, in her most honest moments, Grace thought so, too. But she had convinced herself it was God’s will, and if it was God’s will, why wait? Grace sat up, ran a hand through her curls, and sighed. Her phone buzzed on the nightstand. She grabbed it without thinking, expecting a text from Gina about the latest listing, or maybe Celia reminding her to pack her swimwear for their next exotic getaway. Instead, she saw a message from her mother: "Looking forward to church today, sweetheart!" Don’t forget to wear the lovely dress I got you. The pristine white Dior dress that had arrived yesterday evening now had a sender. Of course, her mother would want her to look “presentable”—a term that, in her world, meant heels, a perfectly coordinated outfit, and the unspoken expectation of a flawless, polite smile for the world to see. Grace loved her mother, but the woman’s impeccable fashion sense, enviable faith, and storied 30-year marriage sometimes felt less like inspiration and more like a standard she could never hope to meet. She was the epitome of grace and poise, an artist who owned galleries worldwide yet placed her wealth at the bottom of her list of worth. Her vast heart had led her and Grace’s father to establish charities across the globe. Her love was so immense that Grace often felt she had no right to complain about the constant meddling. With a sigh, Grace swung her legs over the side of the bed. Her reflection in the mirror across the room stared back—a woman with bright eyes, a warm smile, and a face that had seen a lot of life but still held onto its glow. She came from wealth, yes, but she’d learned early that money could buy everything except genuine happiness. That had to come from within—and from her faith. After splashing cold water on her face in the bathroom, she took a deep breath. Today, she resolved, she would start the week with intention. No more going through the motions. She wanted to feel alive, to embrace the purpose God had for her beyond the church pews and her therapy office. As she got ready, her thoughts inevitably drifted to her fiancé, who was still asleep in their shared apartment. Or, more accurately, in the guest room, where he’d taken to sleeping most mornings. She’d grown tired of waking him with her “early morning Holy Spirit” routines. Marcus Vincent was, in his way, a nice guy. Handsome. And a little too comfortable with the knowledge he currently had about Christianity. He could shout in tongues with the best of them, but when it came to actual ambition or deep conversations about faith and purpose? Crickets. He clung to the idea that he would soon be “called into ministry” and thus saw no need to commit to a serious career in the meantime, preferring to treat the stock market like a personal casino, where he gambled huge amounts of money on pure luck. Grace often wondered if he was more in love with the aesthetic of being spiritual than the actual, difficult work of walking it out. She shook her head, a soft, humorless laugh escaping her. The truth was, she’d been feeling more and more like a square peg in a round hole. She loved him, but she could no longer pretend his version of faith was enough for her. Her soul was craving something deeper, more authentic. Dressed in a simple yet elegant dress, her favorite Bible tucked into her tote, she felt a mixture of excitement and nervousness. Today was a new day. An opportunity for renewal. She found her two best friends already waiting in the living room. Gina, the CEO of a multi-million dollar real estate empire, was scrolling through her phone, while Celia, who owned a thriving travel agency, was finalizing details for her next trip. "First Sunday and Dior, okay, miss rich and famous," Gina said without looking up. Grace giggled and checked the guest room. Marcus was still a lump under the covers. “You coming, honey?” A muffled groan came from the pillows. “If the good Lord gives me strength, I’m right behind you, darling.” She left him to it. “Morning,” she said, grabbing her coffee. “Always,” Grace replied. “Though I’m still trying to figure out if I’m conquering or just surviving right now.” Celia grinned. "That’s the spirit! We’re all just trying to get through, honey. But I think today’s the day you start feeling more alive. I feel it in my travel vibes—something’s stirring.” Taking a sip of her coffee, Grace felt a wave of gratitude for these women—her sisters in spirit, her confidantes, her cheerleaders. They knew her better than she knew herself sometimes. As they headed out the door, Grace sent a silent prayer heavenward—asking God to guide her steps, to open her eyes to His purpose. She was ready to listen. And maybe, just maybe, she’d find the courage to finally let go of what was holding her back—a lukewarm fiancé, a career that felt like a job but not a calling, and the doubts that plagued her in the quiet hours.