Reflections of a Faithful Heart

Churching It

The sleek SUV purred to life, a testament to Gina’s success and impeccable taste. As she adjusted the mirror and checked her phone for last-minute messages, Celia, buzzing with her signature travel energy, hummed a tune from the back seat. Grace took a deep breath of the cool morning air, leaning back into the plush leather, trying to quiet the whirlwind of thoughts in her mind.

“You know,” Gina began, glancing at Grace with a familiar, knowing twinkle in her eye, “Today’s the day you stop letting worry steal your joy. We’re praying for you, girl. And maybe, just maybe, I’ll find that perfect house for your next chapter—something that screams ‘Grace lives here, and she’s thriving!’”

Grace chuckled, the sound a little weary. “Thanks, Gina. I appreciate that. Honestly, I’ve been on autopilot for too long. Like I’m serving God, but not really living for Him. You know? I’m doing all the church stuff, but I want more—more purpose, more passion, more realness.”

From the back, Celia nodded enthusiastically. “That’s how I feel about traveling—you need to step out of your comfort zone to really see what life’s about. Maybe you need a spiritual passport stamp or something.”

Their laughter filled the car, a genuine, hearty sound that seemed to push back against the lingering heaviness of the morning. Grace looked at her friends—their vibrant spirits, their unwavering faith, their zest for life—and felt a small, fragile flicker of hope ignite in her chest.

These women were her anchors. Her sisters. They called themselves the Three Hebrew Sisters.

Gina was the superwoman of the group. The youngest of them, she was an architectural genius who could transform any hideous property into a trendy estate. She lived a life of perpetual motion, never spending two consecutive nights in the same city, yet her commitment was such that she hadn’t missed a Sunday service in three years. She joked about making the best use of her private jet, and her status as a millionaire was a mere footnote to her drive. But Grace worried about her. She knew that behind Gina's formidable exterior was a woman running from a piece of her past that remained unhealed.

Celia is the only married woman in the group. She’s been married to her husband for 3 years now but conceiving has been an issue. Her husband is a missionary. He travels a lot, and I’m convinced she started her travel agency because of him, but that’s a story for another day. She’s very intentional and resilient. I admire her strength, but all efforts to get that man to use the hotels, flights or restaurants she booked have failed. He always chooses the most remote villages with no electricity, network or road connectivity. It’s actually frustrating but she never stops.

They arrived at the church as the sun climbed higher, casting a warm, inviting glow over the familiar brick facade. The parking lot was already a bustling mosaic of families and friends greeting each other with heartfelt hugs. Grace loved this energy—the sacred hum of a community gathering, united in love and shared faith.

Inside, the sanctuary was alive with the low murmur of voices, the rich aroma of coffee, and the choir’s soft warm-up notes. Grace moved instinctively toward her usual spot near the front, a place where she could feel both visible and grounded.

As she settled into the pew, her mind drifted back to her morning resolution—about purpose, about being truly alive. She closed her eyes, and the words of Isaiah 30:21 rose in her spirit: "And your ears will hear a word behind you saying, this is the way, walk in it."

“Lord, I’m here,” she whispered into the quiet of her heart, a prayer meant for no one else. “I want to hear from you today." Speak to me. Show me where I’m supposed to go.

Then the music began. The opening chords of "Sing Hallelujah to the Lord" swelled through the sanctuary, and Grace felt it—the familiar, comforting presence of the Holy Spirit settling over her like a warm blanket. It was a profound peace that quieted the noise, a gentle nudge that whispered, "Trust Me." I have plans for you.

The pastor’s voice rang out, full of warmth and conviction. His sermon on renewal and trusting God’s timing felt hand-delivered for her. One scripture, Proverbs 3:5-6, seemed to arc from the pulpit straight to her soul: "Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct your paths." She listened, soaking in every word, letting them seep into the deepest parts of her spirit.

After the service, she lingered, exchanging quick hugs and blessings with members of her church family. Her eyes, almost of their own accord, scanned the crowd, searching for a familiar face. Maybe he made it. Maybe my prayers are working. But there was no sign of Marcus. The realization settled in her stomach not as a shock, but as a quiet, confirming weight. He hadn’t received the strength he’d been trusting God for that morning.

She found Gina and Celia in the fellowship hall, already deep in a discussion that likely involved multi-million dollar listings or exotic destinations.

“Girl,” Gina said, pulling her from her thoughts. “You look a million miles away. Like you’ve checked out of here already.”

Grace offered a weak smile, feeling oddly exposed, as if she’d been caught in a private moment. The feeling was uncomfortable.

“I think I have,” she admitted, her voice softer than she intended. “I finally realized I’ve been holding onto things that weren’t meant for me to carry. It’s like I’m trying to put together a puzzle with half the pieces missing.”

Celia clapped her hands together gently. “That’s my line! The Holy Spirit has been trying to tell you to let go and trust Him. But you haven’t been listening.”

Her words, though playful, struck a deep chord. Everyone around her seemed to have it all figured out. She used to feel that way, too. But not anymore. Right now, she felt profoundly lost.

They sat at a small table, and Grace pulled the new journal from her tote. She had decided today was the day she would begin documenting this new season—her thoughts, her prayers, her hopes.

Gina leaned in. “So, what’s on your mind now? For real.”

Grace hesitated, then a genuine, resolved smile touched her lips. “Honestly? I think I’m finally ready to stop trying to control everything. To stop pretending I have all the answers. I want to walk this journey with faith, not fear.”

Gina nodded, her expression knowing and soft. “That’s the best place to be—trusting God’s plan, even when it doesn’t make a bit of sense right now.”

Grace opened the journal to the first crisp, blank page. Uncapping her pen, she wrote the date and a single, hopeful sentence:

September 12, 2024. It All Started to Make Sense.

Celia reached over and squeezed her hand. “Let go and let God, girl. And remember,” she added, her smile widening, “we’ve got your back.”

As they prepared to leave, Grace looked around the hall—a place overflowing with love, hope, and her newfound sense of purpose. She knew the road ahead wouldn’t be easy. There would be moments of doubt, of longing, of questioning.

But she also knew she was no longer walking it alone. The Spirit was with her. Her sisters were with her.

And most importantly, her ultimate anchor in every storm, Jesus was with her.