Prefer to listen? 🎧 Saved by Grace is now available as an audio on YouTube — click here to listen for FREE!
 |
| Saved by Grace |
The judge, a middle-aged woman with glasses perched low on her nose, shuffled through the folder in front of her.
“Miss Jensen. This is your third offense in under twelve months. Shoplifting, again. This time from an electronics store.”
Mariah's heart pounded. She stole a glance at her public defender—a young, tired man with a bad tie—who looked more nervous than helpful.
The prosecutor snorted. “She had over a hundred dollars’ worth of merchandise in her coat.”
“It’s just headphones,” Mariah muttered.
The judge’s eyes narrowed. “It’s theft. And it’s a pattern.”
The lawyer came to his feet. “Your Honor, Mariah’s home situation is... difficult. Her mother works nights. No stable supervision. She’s not violent. We’re asking the court to consider an alternative sentence.”
The judge exhaled through her nose. “Miss Jensen, if I see you in here again, I won’t be so lenient.”
Mariah stared at a spot on the floor. Better than looking at the eyes judging her from the gallery.
“I’m assigning you sixty hours of community service,” the judge continued. “To be served at Grace Fellowship Church. I believe they have a youth mentorship program. You'll report twice a week, beginning Monday.”
Mariah blinked. A church?
“Seriously?” she said before she could stop herself. “What am I supposed to do there—pray the bad out of me?”
The judge raised a single eyebrow. “You might be surprised what changes in the right environment. Court is adjourned.”
The gavel came down with a dull thud. Mariah didn’t flinch.
Relieved but confused, she left the courtroom wondering what anyone expected her to do in a church.
On Monday morning, Mariah stood outside Grace Fellowship Church, staring up at the stained-glass windows that caught the morning light. She pushed through the heavy doors, expecting judgmental stares—but none came.
The church smelled of incense and polished wood, a stark contrast to the sterile courtroom. She hesitated until a short, dark-skinned woman in her sixties approached with a soft smile.
“You must be Mariah. I’m Pastor Jean, the coordinator of the youth mentorship program.”
Mariah grunted. “You the one babysitting me?”
Pastor Jean didn’t miss a beat. “I’m the one who’ll put you to work, yes.”
Mariah followed her into the fellowship hall, where a dozen kids sat on a carpet circle with markers and construction paper. The air smelled of glue, graham crackers, and something oddly warm.
“They’re working on posters for this month’s theme: ‘Kindness in Action,’” Pastor Jean explained. “You’ll help where needed. Set out supplies, guide games, lend a hand.”
“Do I have to talk to them?” Mariah asked.
Jean laughed. “Eventually.”
The first sessions passed like a slow-moving punishment. The kids were loud, clingy, and completely uninterested in Mariah’s silent glares. One girl asked if Mariah was “a grown-up or just tall.” Another offered her a sticker and called her “Miss Hoodie.”
Mariah stuck it out. At least it wasn’t jail. She could count hours like stitches in a wound—temporary, ugly, and soon to be gone.
Then came Jalen.
He was quiet, probably around seven, with large glasses and a nervous grip on everything he touched. He rarely spoke but hovered near Mariah like her shadow. One day, she helped him find his lost sneaker. The next, he handed her a crayon. It was simple, but it got to her.
One rainy Thursday, while the children made thank-you cards, someone asked Pastor Jean to sing.
Jean strummed a few chords on a battered guitar. The kids joined in, giggling through the verses.
Mariah sat off to the side, arms crossed, but her foot tapped along.
Without thinking, she hummed. Then whispered a line.
Jean glanced at her, surprised. “You’ve got a good ear.”
Mariah stiffened. “I wasn’t trying to sing.”
“Well, maybe you should.”
Mariah rolled her eyes. “No offense, but I’m not exactly a singer.”
Jean smiled. “Grace doesn’t care whether you can sing or not.”
That night, Mariah couldn’t sleep. Her mom was on the late shift again. The house was quiet, empty in all the ways that mattered.
She remembered the feeling when she’d sung—even just a little. Not like she was good, exactly, but like something in her had remembered how to feel.
The next week, she stayed late to help clean up. Jalen handed her a napkin with crayon scribbles on it. A stick figure with long black hair and “Thank you for helping me not be scared” written across the top.
Mariah stared at the paper, throat tight. “Why’d he give me this?”
“He trusts you,” Jean said gently.
Mariah tucked the napkin into her pocket. She didn’t answer.
She found herself arriving a few minutes early. Still wore her hoodie. Still rolled her eyes at the mention of prayer—but she stayed. She even smiled, sometimes.
One afternoon, Jean invited her to sing with the kids during closing circle. Mariah hesitated.
"I don't perform in front of an audience," she said. "I can't sing.”
“You already have,” Jean said. “And you weren’t bad.”
Mariah glanced around. The kids were waiting. Jalen gave her a thumbs-up.
She exhaled. Then nodded.
Her voice was hesitant, but real. When it ended, no one clapped, but Jalen whispered, “That was pretty.”
Mariah looked down, startled. “You think so?”
He nodded solemnly.
Several weeks later, Mariah stood in the church parking lot on her last day of community service, the sun setting in orange and pink hues. She watched the children run around, their laughter filling the air with a sense of joy she hadn’t felt in a long time.
Pastor Jean approached her, smiling. "You did great, Mariah. The kids really took a liking to you.”
Mariah shifted. "Thanks," she mumbled, unsure what to do with praise.
As she turned to leave, Jalen ran up, his face beaming. "Are you coming back next week?" he asked.
Mariah hesitated. She glanced at Pastor Jean, who raised an eyebrow in silent encouragement.
With a small smile, Mariah crouched to Jalen’s eye level. "I... I'll try," she said, surprised by her own sincerity.
Jalen grinned and hugged her tight.
As he ran back to the group, warmth settled in Mariah’s chest—foreign, but not unwelcome.
She turned to Pastor Jean. “Thanks for giving me a chance,” she said, the words strange but comforting.
Jean smiled knowingly. "You're welcome here anytime, Mariah. Remember that."
With a nod, Mariah walked away from Grace Fellowship Church, her steps lighter than they’d been in a long time.
For the first time in a long while, she wasn’t walking away from something—she was walking toward it.
🕊️ From the Echoes of Faith Collection
Enjoy more heartfelt stories from the Echoes of Faith collection—each one crafted to uplift, inspire, and reflect God's presence in everyday life. Read more stories »
No comments:
Post a Comment