The room was silent except for the faint crackle of a dying candle. Its flame flickered low, casting a warm, trembling glow on the man’s face.
Shadows danced across his features, deepening the lines of worry carved by years of struggle. His eyes steady yet heavy seemed to hold stories too weighty for words.
His name was Emmanuel.
That night, Emmanuel sat alone, his back against the wall, his hands clasped tightly together. Not in strength but in surrender. Life had not turned out the way he had hoped. Dreams once bright had faded into disappointments. Opportunities slipped through his fingers like sand. And though he had tried to remain strong, something inside him was quietly breaking.
He looked into the small flame before him, as if searching for answers hidden in its glow.
“God… are You still there?” he whispered.
The question hung in the air, fragile and honest.
For a long time, there was no response at least not the kind he expected. No thunder. No voice. Just silence. But it was not an empty silence. It was the kind that invites you to listen deeper.
Emmanuel’s mind drifted to a memory from years ago, when his mother would pray over him before sleep. “Even in darkness, God’s light never leaves you,” she used to say. At the time, he believed it easily. But now, surrounded by what felt like endless night, belief seemed harder to hold.
The candle flickered again, almost going out.
Emmanuel leaned forward instinctively, shielding it with his hand.
And then it struck him.
The flame was small weak, even. Yet it refused to die. Not because it was strong, but because it was protected. Because something stood between it and the darkness.
He froze.
“What if… that’s me?” he murmured.
What if all this time, even in the moments he felt abandoned, God had been quietly shielding him? Not removing the darkness, but preserving the light within him?
Tears gathered in his eyes—not from pain this time, but from realization.
He thought of the times he should have fallen completely… but didn’t. The doors that closed, only for something better to open later. The strength he somehow found on days he was certain he had none left.
Maybe God had never left.
Maybe God had been there in the silence, in the waiting, in the unseen protection.
Emmanuel exhaled slowly, his grip loosening. For the first time in a long while, peace settled over him not because his problems had disappeared, but because his perspective had changed.
He bowed his head.
“Lord… I don’t need all the answers tonight,” he said softly. “I just need to know You’re with me.”
The candle steadied.
Its light, though small, seemed brighter now—reflecting in Emmanuel’s eyes, no longer weighed down by despair but quietly renewed with hope.
He stood up, not as a man who had everything figured out, but as one who had remembered something essential: that faith is not the absence of darkness, but the decision to trust God’s light within it.
And as he stepped away from the wall, leaving the flickering flame behind, he realized something even deeper.
The light he had been searching for… had been inside him all along.
