Restored by grace

MELODIES OF GRACE

The days since Nandi started therapy felt like stepping into a faint sunrise—dim at first but slowly growing warmer. She had attended three sessions so far, each one a small step in a journey she was still learning to navigate. The knot in her chest hadn’t completely disappeared, but there were moments—brief flickers of light—where breathing felt easier.

Her third therapy session had ended with Mrs. Tembo encouraging her to practice letting go of the weight she carried, one piece at a time. That thought stayed with her as she made her way back to her dorm that day, and now, as she stared at her phone’s reminder for today’s appointment, it didn’t feel as daunting as it once had.

Nandi ran her fingers over her open notebook, trying to focus on her pharmacology notes. But her mind wandered to last week’s session and the unexpected sense of relief she had felt afterward. Maybe today would be the same.

The Bible verse she had read last night, “Do not fear, for I am with you...”, echoed in her mind as she slipped on her shoes and grabbed her bag. Therapy still made her nervous, but she was beginning to see it as a space where she could be honest—not just with Mrs. Tembo but with herself.

The campus was unusually quiet for a weekday morning. Nandi sat on her bed, staring at her open notebook. She had been trying to study pharmacology for the past hour, but the words blurred together on the page, refusing to make sense. With a frustrated sigh, she tossed her pen onto the desk.

She glanced at her phone: Therapy Appointment – Today at 11:00 a.m.

It was her fourth session with Mrs. Tembo, and while the nerves hadn’t completely disappeared, they had dulled to a faint hum in the background. Therapy was no longer just a daunting task; it had become a space where she could let down her walls. Slowly, layer by layer, she was learning to share the thoughts she had buried for so long.

Nandi stood, stretching her arms above her head. The morning light streamed through the window, warming her skin. She ran her fingers over her Bible, which lay open on her desk. Her eyes skimmed over the verse she had read the night before:

"Do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand." (Isaiah 41:10)

She didn’t feel particularly strong, but the verse lingered in her heart, like an ember refusing to go out.

---

The counseling center was bathed in soft morning light as Nandi walked in. The familiar scent of lavender greeted her, easing the tension in her shoulders. She checked in with the receptionist and made her way to Room Three.

“Good morning, Nandi,” Mrs. Tembo greeted her with a warm smile. She was dressed in a soft green blouse, her ever-present notebook resting on her lap.

“Morning,” Nandi replied, settling into the chair across from her. She fidgeted with the hem of her sweater, her nerves making a brief appearance.

“How has your week been?” Mrs. Tembo asked, her voice calm and inviting.

Nandi hesitated, gathering her thoughts. “Better, I think. I’ve been trying to focus on school, and… I’ve been reading my Bible more. It helps, sometimes.”

“That’s wonderful to hear. What have you been reading?”

“Isaiah 41:10,” Nandi said softly. “It talks about God strengthening us, even when we feel weak. I’ve been trying to believe it.”

Mrs. Tembo nodded thoughtfully. “Faith can be a powerful source of strength. What about your interactions with others? Have you been spending time with friends?”

Nandi bit her lip. “Not really. I mean, I talk to my roommate sometimes, but I’ve been avoiding people. It’s just… easier.”

“Easier, but does it make you feel better?”

Nandi shook her head. “No, not really. It makes me feel more… isolated.”

“Isolation can feel safe, but it often robs us of the connection we need to heal,” Mrs. Tembo said gently. “Why do you think you’ve been avoiding people?”

“Because I don’t want them to see how broken I am,” Nandi admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Broken is a strong word,” Mrs. Tembo said, leaning forward slightly. “What makes you feel that way?”

Nandi hesitated, her fingers twisting in her lap. “I’ve made so many mistakes. I’ve let people down. And my family… they’re a mess. It feels like I carry all this… baggage, and I don’t want anyone else to deal with it.”

“That’s a lot to carry on your own,” Mrs. Tembo said, her voice soft. “But healing doesn’t mean pretending the baggage isn’t there. It means learning to unpack it, one piece at a time, and trusting that there are people who will walk with you through it.”

Nandi blinked rapidly, tears pricking her eyes. “I don’t know how to do that.”

“You’re already doing it,” Mrs. Tembo said with a small smile. “Every time you come here and share your story, you’re taking a step toward healing. And it’s okay if those steps are small.”

They talked for another forty minutes, diving into Nandi’s fears and the walls she had built around herself. By the time the session ended, Nandi felt drained but lighter, as if she had set down a piece of the weight she had been carrying.

The walk back to her dorm was peaceful, the warm sun filtering through the jacaranda trees. As she passed one of the campus lawns, the sound of music caught her attention.

A small group of students had gathered beneath the shade of a large tree, their voices harmonizing beautifully as they sang a familiar worship song. One student strummed a guitar while others clapped along.

Nandi slowed her steps, drawn to the sound. The lyrics were simple but powerful:

"You are Alpha and Omega, we worship You, our Lord…"

The melody stirred something deep within her. She stopped a few feet away, hesitant to join but unable to walk away. The joy and peace radiating from the group were magnetic.

One of the girls noticed her and smiled. “Hey! You can join us if you’d like.”

Nandi hesitated, her heart pounding. “Oh, I’m just passing by,” she said quickly.

“You’re welcome anytime,” the girl said warmly before turning back to the group.

Nandi lingered for a moment longer before continuing to her dorm. The music followed her, lingering in her mind even as she climbed the stairs to her room.

That afternoon, she decided to study in the cafeteria instead of her room. The hum of conversation and the clinking of dishes provided a comforting background noise.

As she sat down with her tray of food and textbook, a familiar voice called out, “Nandi! Is that you?”

She looked up to see Thandi, one of her classmates, approaching with a bright smile.

“Thandi, hi!” Nandi said, surprised but pleased.

“Mind if I join you?” Thandi asked, already pulling out a chair.

“Not at all,” Nandi replied.

They fell into an easy conversation, talking about classes, upcoming exams, and campus life. Thandi’s cheerful demeanor was infectious, and Nandi found herself laughing more than she had in weeks.

As they finished their meal, Thandi asked, “By the way, have you ever been to the campus fellowship? It’s really amazing. They meet every Friday evening under the jacaranda trees.”

“I’ve seen them before,” Nandi admitted.

“You should come,” Thandi said enthusiastically. “It’s such a great way to unwind and connect with people. Plus, the worship is incredible.”

Nandi hesitated. “Maybe. I’ll think about it.”

“Do more than think about it,” Thandi said with a wink. “I’ll save you a seat.”

---

That evening, Nandi sat at her desk, staring out the window. The events of the day played over in her mind: the therapy session, the music on the lawn, the conversation with Thandi.

For the first time in a long while, she felt a flicker of something she hadn’t dared to hope for: belonging.

She opened her Bible and read Isaiah 41:10 again, her heart quiet but expectant.

“Maybe I’ll go,” she whispered to herself.

And as she closed her eyes to pray, a quiet peace settled over her, like the first note of a melody waiting to unfold.