Saturday night settled softly over Jessica's home, like a quiet whisper from God.
She sat by her window, journal open, legs tucked beneath her. The lights were low, worship music playing gently in the background—an instrumental version of "You Know My Name." The scent of cinnamon tea rose from the mug beside her.
Pen in hand, she paused and prayed.
"God… I know You are enough for me. You always have been. But if You've written someone for me… let him be someone who's fallen in love with You first. Someone who seeks Your voice more than mine. Someone who doesn't complete me—but stands beside me, complete in Christ."
She exhaled, her heart light but full.
"And God… if he ever walks into my life, don't let him find me desperate—let him find me devoted."
She closed her journal with a soft sigh and looked up at the ceiling.
"I'm Yours first. And always."
Down the hallway, her mom called out:
"Jessica! Don't forget tomorrow's lunch—we're hosting after church. And no leaving your Bible in the microwave again!"
Jessica chuckled. "It was once!"
From her brother's room: "That Bible's been through spiritual warfare and reheated pizza."
She grinned.
Life at home was chaotic, but sacred.
A mixture of sermons, sarcasm, and slightly burnt toast.
She wouldn't have it any other way.
---
Meanwhile across town, Michael sat on his porch, Bible open on his lap, guitar leaning by his side. A gentle breeze stirred the pages.
Michael had just finished reading from Proverbs.
His eyes lingered on a verse in Psalm 27:
"Wait for the Lord; be strong and take heart and wait for the Lord."
He exhaled slowly, then prayed aloud, "
I want what's from You, Lord. Not what's forced. I don't need flashy—I need faithful. If she's out there… keep her in Your hands. Whoever she is… keep her close to You. And keep me grounded. I don't want to find her out of desperation. I want to find her out of obedience."
His thoughts flickered back to the café.
That journal, those words
That handwriting.
It stayed with him, like the melody of a song unfinished.
---
Sunday morning came like grace—unexpectedly beautiful and already blessed.
Before heading to church, Jessica spent an hour in prayer, and she left with a warm smile and a peaceful heart.
She got ready and slipped into a soft pastel dress, her wavy hair falling loose over her shoulders. She arrived at Gracepoint Community Church with Lydia, already in serving mode.
"Notes again?" Lydia teased, watching Jessica tuck folded cards into pew Bibles.
Jessica nodded. "I just want someone to read something and feel like God sees them."
She laid a final note down, unaware it would reach the very person she had prayed for the night before.
---
Meanwhile, Michael and his mom arrived at Gracepoint Downtown for the first time. Their branch was temporarily closed for renovations, and Gracepoint had many branches—but this one, today, was the one he'd felt drawn to.
Michael walked in quietly, eyes scanning the unfamiliar space. A greeter welcomed them, and they took seats near the middle.
A small card in the Bible on his seat caught his eye. Curious, he picked it up.
His heartbeat shifted.
The handwriting.
It was the same one he had seen on a journal weeks ago in the café—the one that stirred something in his spirit before he ever saw a face.
The card read:
"You are not late. You are right on time. Welcome home."
He blinked, heart slowing down and speeding up all at once.
"She's here," he whispered under his breath.
He didn't know her name.
But he was starting to know her heart.
---
The sanctuary filled with a holy hush as worship began.
The first note sent a hush through the room.
Michael rose to his feet slowly, holding the card, slipping it gently into his Bible.
The music poured in like rain after drought.
"I know breakthrough is coming… by faith, I see a miracle…"
As the drums built and voices rose, something holy hovered.
Jessica stood across the room—eyes closed, hands open.
Michael stood on the opposite side—jaw tight, eyes misted.
They were singing the same truth.
Praying the same surrender.
Breathing the same presence.
---
As the final worship song faded, Jessica stepped into her volunteer role, helping Lydia prepare the communion trays.
She moved down the aisle with purpose and grace, gently brushing past Michael as she reached across to adjust a tray.
"Excuse me," she said softly.
Michael looked up.
She didn't meet his eyes.
Just the gentle tone, the presence, the scent of something warm and sweet.
He caught only a glimpse—her side profile, brown skin glowing in soft light, wavy hair cascading.
Before he could say anything, she had moved on.
He stood still.
It was her.
Even if he hadn't seen her full face—he knew.
And he didn't need confirmation yet.
God had already whispered something that didn't require eyesight—only insight.
---
Jessica knelt to help a child retrieve a crayon beneath the chair row. She smiled, offered a sticker, and said, "Jesus loves artists, you know."
Michael watched from afar.
Not because he was captivated by beauty.
But because something inside him whispered:
"She is prayed up. Planted. And close to Me."
He held the welcome note in his hand again.
Smiled.
"Whoever she is," he whispered, "she knows what she wants… just like me."
And heaven whispered back,
"Almost."