Chapter 4 I brought this ma

Bur!ed Alive.

(for miracle)

Episode 4️⃣

"Where's the car?" My daughter quizzed, her voice laced with a hint of panic, as we all started looking around, our eyes scanning the crowded parking lot with a sense of growing unease. We had all been so caught up in the excitement of our outing that none of us had paid attention to where we had parked the vehicle. Now, as we stood there, surrounded by rows and rows of unfamiliar cars, we realized that we had no idea where our trusty vehicle was waiting for us. My daughter's question was met with a chorus of shrugs and confused glances, as we all started to retrace our steps, trying to remember the last time we had seen the car. We had been having such a great time together, laughing and chatting, that we had let our guard down and now we were paying the price. The sun was starting to set, casting long shadows across the parking lot, and we knew we had to find the car soon or risk being stuck there for the night. With a sense of determination, we split up, each of us searching a different section of the lot, calling out to each other every now and then to see if anyone had found it. But as the minutes ticked by, our hopes started to dwindle, and we couldn't help but wonder if we would ever see our beloved car again.

"Go Sammy, go inside and call your father" I said to my son, my voice firm but urgent, as I gestured towards the house. Without hesitation, he dropped his bag on the ground, the contents spilling out, and dashed towards the front door, his little legs moving as fast as they could. He flung open the door and disappeared inside, leaving me standing there, anxiously waiting for what felt like an eternity. I could hear the sound of his footsteps echoing through the hallway, followed by the sound of him picking up the phone and dialing. I paced back and forth on the porch, my mind racing with thoughts of what could be happening. And then, after what felt like an eternity, the door burst open and Sammy and his father rushed out, their faces etched with concern. They both looked at me with a sense of urgency, their eyes asking "what's wrong?" without needing to say a word. The tension was palpable as they hurried towards me, their footsteps quick and purposeful, their faces set with determination. It was clear that something was amiss, and we needed to act fast.

"What's going on? Where's the car?" My husband asked, his voice laced with a mix of confusion and concern, as he looked around the empty parking space, his eyes scanning the surrounding area with a sense of disbelief. He had been so sure we had parked the car right there, in that very spot, but now it was nowhere to be seen. He turned to me, his brow furrowed, his eyes searching mine for answers. "Did we forget where we parked it?" he asked, his tone hinting at the possibility that we might have made a silly mistake. But I shook my head, my expression serious, my mind racing with worst-case scenarios. "I don't know," I replied, my voice tight with worry, "but we need to find it. Now." The urgency in my tone seemed to snap him into action, and he quickly pulled out his phone to call the parking lot's customer service, his fingers flying across the screen as he tried to get some answers. Meanwhile, I started pacing back and forth, my eyes scanning the surrounding area, hoping against hope that the car would magically reappear. But deep down, I knew that was just wishful thinking. Something was off, and we needed to get to the bottom of it.

"What's going on? I don't understand. Who took the car from here?" I asked, my voice laced with frustration and confusion, as I stared at my husband, hoping he could provide some answers. But he just ignored me, his expression fixed on some unknown point ahead, as he strode purposefully around the house, searching for the car as if it were a small, misplaced object. I watched him, incredulous, my mind racing with questions. How could he be so calm? Didn't he realize the gravity of the situation? Our car, our reliable, trusty companion, was gone! I felt a surge of anger and helplessness, and I turned away from him, my eyes brimming with tears. I stomped back into our bedroom, the door slamming shut behind me, and I collapsed onto the bed, my body shaking with sobs. I buried my face in the pillow, trying to muffle my cries, but they only seemed to grow louder, more insistent. I felt like I was drowning in a sea of uncertainty, and I didn't know how to keep my head above water. The tears flowed, hot and relentless, as I mourned the loss of our car, and the sense of security it had represented. I lay there, feeling lost and alone, wondering how this could have happened, and what the future held.

"Oh God, what sort of temptation is this?" I lamented, my voice cracking with despair, as tears dripped down freely from my face, streaming down my cheeks like a river of sorrow. I felt like I was being tested, like my faith was being stretched to the breaking point. How could this be happening to me? To us? We had always been good people, trying to live a righteous life, and yet, here we were, facing this trial. I couldn't help but wonder if I had done something wrong, if I had somehow brought this upon myself. The tears flowed uncontrollably, a manifestation of my anguish and frustration. I felt like I was drowning in a sea of uncertainty, with no lifeline in sight. My heart was heavy, my spirit crushed, and my mind racing with thoughts of despair. "Why, God, why?" I cried out, my voice echoing through the empty rooms, searching for answers that seemed to elude me. The tears kept falling, a relentless reminder of my pain and suffering, as I struggled to come to terms with the hand that fate had dealt me.

My husband walked into the room, his footsteps quiet on the floor, and made his way over to where I was sitting, his eyes filled with a deep concern and understanding. He sat down beside me, his presence immediately comforting, and gently placed his hand around my shoulders, pulling me close in a warm and reassuring embrace. His touch was like a balm to my soul, soothing my frazzled nerves and calming my racing thoughts. I felt a sense of security and safety wash over me, as if everything was going to be okay, as long as he was by my side. He didn't say a word, but his silence spoke volumes, telling me that he was there for me, that he understood my pain and was willing to bear it with me. His hand tightened around my shoulders, holding me close, as if he could absorb my sorrow and carry it for me. I leaned into his embrace, feeling the warmth of his body, the strength of his arms, and the love in his heart. In that moment, everything else faded away, and all that mattered was the comfort and support of my husband's embrace.

"Please, let this occurrence not make us start doubting God," my husband said in a low, gentle tone, his voice filled with a deep conviction and faith. "All these are just mere temptations," he continued, his words a soothing balm to my troubled mind. "Temptations that will come and go, but our faith in God must remain unshaken." He spoke with a calm assurance, his eyes fixed on mine, as if to will me to believe. "We must not let the enemy win by allowing doubt and fear to creep into our hearts. We are children of God, and we must stand firm in our belief, even when the road ahead seems uncertain." His words were like a steady anchor, holding me fast in the midst of the storm. I felt a surge of hope rise up within me, as I realized that he was right. We couldn't let this trial define us; we had to define it, by our response to it. We had to choose to trust God, even when we couldn't understand, even when the pain was raw and real. My husband's words were a reminder that our faith was not based on circumstances, but on the unchanging character of God. And with that, a sense of peace began to settle over me, a peace that surpassed all understanding.

I turned swiftly, my head spinning around with a suddenness that left my neck aching, and looked at him with a piercing gaze, my eyes locking onto his as soon as I heard those words escape his lips. My body language was tense, my shoulders squaring, my spine straightening, as if preparing for a fight. My eyes narrowed, scrutinizing his expression, searching for any hint of doubt or uncertainty. I was determined to read his face like a book, to uncover the truth behind his words. My gaze was intense, almost palpable, as I sought to bore into his very soul. I was hungry for reassurance, for confirmation that he truly believed what he was saying. And so, I looked at him, my eyes drinking in every detail, every nuance, every flicker of emotion that crossed his face. I was searching for a glimmer of hope, a beacon of light in the darkness that had enveloped us. And as our eyes met, I felt a spark of connection, a sense of understanding that went beyond words. In that moment, I knew that we were in this together, that we would face whatever challenges came our way, side by side, with faith and determination guiding us forward.

"Mere temptations you say?" I repeated, my voice laced with a mix of desperation and disbelief, as I gazed at my husband with tears-filled eyes. "We were given just three days at the palace to leave this place, and tomorrow is the last day," I reminded him, my words trembling with anxiety. "So, how do you expect us to leave this place?" I asked, my tone imploring, as if begging him to come up with a solution. "People around here don't even talk to us," I pointed out, my voice cracking with emotion. "So how do we go out from this village to the park in town, which is about 30 minutes drive?" I questioned, my mind racing with the impossibility of it all. The tears kept dripping down my face, like a relentless rain, as I felt the weight of our situation bearing down on me. "We're trapped, with no clear escape route," I thought to myself, as the reality of our predicament hit me like a ton of bricks. "How can we possibly make it out of here, when the whole village seems to be against us?" I wondered, my heart heavy with despair. And yet, even in the midst of all this hopelessness, I clung to the hope that my husband's words had kindled within me. I held onto the belief that, somehow, someway, we would overcome this trial, and emerge stronger on the other side.

"We will leave here when God wants us to leave," my husband said, his voice calm and reassuring, but also firm and resolute. But his words only seemed to fuel my frustration and anxiety, and I felt a surge of anger and desperation wash over me. I dropped his hand down from my shoulders, my movements abrupt and angry, as if rejecting his attempt to comfort me. I felt like he wasn't understanding the gravity of our situation, like he was just sitting there, waiting for a miracle to happen, without taking any action. I was tired of waiting, tired of hoping, tired of praying. I wanted solutions, not sermons. I wanted a way out, not words of encouragement. And so, I pulled away from him, my eyes flashing with anger, my heart heavy with disappointment. "That's easy for you to say," I thought to myself, "but what about our children, what about our future, what about our very survival?" I felt like we were stuck in a never-ending nightmare, and my husband's words were just a cruel reminder that we were at the mercy of forces beyond our control.

"I'm sorry, but I'm beginning to doubt God in this case," I said, my voice cracking with emotion, as tears streamed down my face. "I know in His word He says that He will fight our battles and we shall hold our peace," I continued, my words punctuated by sobs. "But, what's happening in our own case?" I asked, my voice shaking with desperation, as I struggled to reconcile the promises of God with the harsh reality of our situation. "Where is God in all this?" I wondered, my mind racing with questions and doubts. "Has He forgotten us? Has He abandoned us to our fate?" I felt like I was crying out to a silent heaven, my prayers and pleas seemingly falling on deaf ears. The pain and frustration of our circumstances were taking a toll on my faith, and I couldn't help but wonder if God was truly with us, or if we were just alone, fighting a losing battle. My sobs grew louder, as I poured out my heart, searching for answers, searching for hope, searching for a glimmer of light in the darkness that had enveloped us.

"You're beginning to doubt God so soon?" my husband asked, his voice filled with a mix of surprise and concern, as if he couldn't believe I was wavering in my faith so quickly. "I don't believe this," he continued, his tone gentle but firm, as if trying to shake me out of my doubts. "Are you now doubting God just because of these little temptations the devil has put before us?" he asked, his words a reminder that our struggles were not a reflection of God's power or love, but rather a test of our faith. "Listen to me," he said, his voice filled with conviction, as he reached out and took one of my hands in his, his touch warm and comforting. "We shall testify at the end of all of these," he said, his eyes locked on mine, his gaze filled with a deep faith and trust. "Trust me," he added, his voice soft but reassuring, as if to say that he had been through similar struggles before and had come out victorious. "We will get through this together, and we will emerge stronger and more faithful on the other side." His words were a balm to my soul, a reminder that I was not alone in my struggles, and that God was still with us, even in the midst of our trials.

"So, how do we now go out of here?" I asked, my voice shaking with desperation, as I leaned on my husband's shoulder, seeking comfort and guidance. "And how do we feed?" I continued, my mind racing with the practicalities of our situation. "We can't just stay here forever, waiting for a miracle to happen. We need food, we need shelter, we need a way out of this place." I sobbed, my body trembling with anxiety and fear. "And how do we find the car?" I asked, my thoughts consumed by the logistics of our escape. "It's been taken from us, and without it, we're trapped. How are we supposed to get to the town, to find help, to start anew?" I felt like I was drowning in a sea of uncertainty, and I clung to my husband, hoping he could provide a lifeline. "We can't do this on our own," I thought to myself, "we need a way out, and we need it now." My sobs grew louder, as I poured out my fears and worries, seeking reassurance and hope in my husband's embrace.

"God will make a way," my husband said, his voice filled with a calm and steadfast faith, as he wrapped his arms around me, holding me close. "And as for the car, we will have it back if God wants us to," he continued, his words a gentle reminder that our fate was not in our hands, but in the hands of a loving and sovereign God. He smiled, his eyes shining with a quiet confidence, as if he knew that God was already working out a plan for our deliverance. "We don't need to worry, my dear," he said, his voice soft and reassuring. "God is our provider, our protector, and our guide. He will make a way for us, even in the midst of this darkness. And if He wants us to have the car back, He will restore it to us in His perfect time." His words were a balm to my soul, soothing my fears and doubts, and filling me with a sense of hope and trust. I felt a weight lifting off my shoulders, as I realized that our situation was not hopeless, and that God was still in control. My husband's smile was contagious, and I found myself smiling too, as I felt a sense of peace wash over me.

"We only have today to leave," I said to my husband, my voice laced with a sense of urgency and desperation, as I gazed at him with pleading eyes. "We can't stay here any longer, we have to get out of this place today," I emphasized, my words tumbling out in a rush. "The palace has given us an ultimatum, and if we don't leave by the end of the day, who knows what will happen?" I worried aloud, my mind racing with worst-case scenarios. "We can't take any chances, we have to act now," I pressed, my tone firm and resolute. "We have to find a way out of here, today, no matter what it takes," I declared, my determination and courage renewed. "We can't let fear hold us back, we have to trust in God and in ourselves, and make a move," I encouraged, my voice filled with a sense of purpose and resolve. "Today is our chance, let's take it and make the most of it," I urged, my words a call to action, a reminder that our fate was in our hands, and that we had the power to shape our own destiny.

"There's nothing too big for God to do," my husband said, his voice filled with conviction and faith, as he held my hands in his, his eyes locking onto mine with a reassuring gaze. "No matter how impossible our situation may seem, God is able to turn it around," he continued, his words a reminder of the limitless power and potential of our Almighty God. "He is the God of miracles, the God of wonders, and the God of breakthroughs," he declared, his voice rising with excitement and passion. "He is the One who parted the Red Sea, who brought down the walls of Jericho, and who raised Lazarus from the dead," he reminded me, his words painting a picture of a God who is capable of achieving the impossible. "So, no matter what we're facing, no matter how big or small the challenge may be, we can trust that God is able to handle it," he said, his hands squeezing mine in encouragement. "We just need to have faith, to believe, and to trust in His goodness and His love for us," he added, his voice filled with a sense of hope and optimism. And then, with a confident smile, he made some declarations, speaking words of life and victory over our situation, his faith and confidence inspiring me to believe that indeed, nothing is too big for God to do.

Whenever I heard even the slightest sounds, my heart would race and I would rush outside the house in a state of panic, my mind racing with thoughts of the palace guards coming for us. I had never been so scared in my entire life, the fear gripping my heart like a vice. Every creak of the floor, every rustle of leaves, every distant voice or footstep made me jump with anxiety, my senses on high alert, my eyes scanning the surroundings frantically for any sign of danger. I was like a nervous wreck, my nerves stretched to the breaking point, my imagination running wild with worst-case scenarios. I would rush out into the open, my eyes scanning the horizon, my ears straining to pick up any sound, my heart pounding in my chest like a drum. And when I saw nothing, I would breathe a sigh of relief, my tense muscles relaxing slightly, only to be replaced by a sense of dread and foreboding, knowing that the next sound could be the one that heralds our doom. The fear was suffocating, crushing me under its weight, making it hard to breathe, hard to think, hard to function. I was trapped in a never-ending cycle of fear and anxiety, my mind and body exhausted from the constant strain.

My husband walked into the living room, his footsteps quiet on the floor, carrying his Bible tightly to his chest as if it was a precious treasure. I raised my head immediately, my eyes fixed on him, my curiosity piqued by the determined look on his face. "Where are you off to?" I asked him, my voice laced with a hint of concern, but he ignored me completely, his gaze fixed on some point ahead, his jaw set in a firm line. He didn't even flinch, didn't even acknowledge my presence, just kept walking towards the door with a sense of purpose that made me feel a shiver run down my spine. I watched him, my eyes wide with wonder, as he opened the door and slipped out into the unknown, leaving me behind with only my thoughts to keep me company. The silence that followed was deafening, the only sound being the soft thud of the door closing behind him, and I was left to wonder what was going on, where he was going, and why he had chosen to shut me out. The Bible clutched to his chest seemed to be his only companion, his only source of comfort, and I couldn't help but feel a pang of worry and uncertainty.

There was nothing to eat, not a crumb, not a morsel, not a scrap to satisfy our growling stomachs. The pantry was bare, the fridge was empty, and our bellies were growling with hunger. Even my poor kids, innocent and helpless, were stuck in the other bedroom for hours on end, without even a sip of water to quench their thirst. I could hear their faint whimpers and cries, their tiny voices asking for something, anything, to eat or drink, but I had nothing to give them. The weight of that responsibility, the guilt of not being able to provide for my own children, was crushing me. I was left alone in the living room, lost in thought, my mind racing with worries and fears. I thought about our situation, about how we had ended up here, about how we were going to get out of this mess. I thought about my husband, about where he had gone, about what he was doing, about whether he was even thinking about us. I thought about the future, about what lay ahead, about whether we would ever find a way out of this darkness. And as I sat there, surrounded by the silence and the emptiness, I felt like I was drowning in a sea of desperation, with no lifeline in sight.

"Maybe he wants to go back and try his luck in one of these shops," I said to myself in whispers, my voice barely audible over the sound of my own doubts and fears. "Maybe he thinks he can find a way out of this mess, maybe he thinks he can provide for us again," I thought, my mind racing with possibilities. But deep down, I knew it was just a faint glimmer of hope, a desperate attempt to cling to something, anything, that could get us out of this darkness. And so, I turned to the only One I knew could truly help us. "God, please save your own," I pleaded, my voice cracking with emotion. "I know I have doubts, I know I have failed you time and time again, but please, look not upon all these negative thoughts of mine towards you. Please, see the desperation in my heart, see the love I have for my family, and show us mercy." I added, my words tumbling out in a rush, my heart pouring out its deepest fears and desires. "We need you, God, we need your guidance, your protection, your provision. Please, don't abandon us now, when we need you most." I prayed, my whispers turning into sobs, my body shaking with the weight of our situation. And as I prayed, I felt a small sense of peace, a small sense of hope, that maybe, just maybe, God was listening, and that maybe, just maybe, He would answer our prayers.

Immediately he left, I sprang into action, my hands shaking as I bolted the door from behind, trying to shut out the uncertainty and fear that lingered outside. I then collapsed back onto the couch in the living room, my mind racing with thoughts and worries, trying to make sense of everything that was going on. The silence was deafening, and I was lost in my thoughts, trying to process the events of the day. But after just a few minutes, the peace was shattered by the sound of knocks on the door, which made my heart almost pop out of my chest. My eyes were glued to the door, my body tense and rigid, as I wondered who it could be. I paused, frozen in fear, and didn't respond, hoping that whoever it was would go away. But the knocks repeated again, this time more insistent, and my son, sensing my fear, summoned the courage to ask, "Who is it, Mommy?" his small voice trembling with uncertainty. I tried to respond, but my voice was caught in my throat, and all I could do was shake my head, my eyes still fixed on the door, wondering who was on the other side, and what they wanted.

"Who is it?" my son asked, his small voice trembling with uncertainty, as he looked up at me with wide, curious eyes. The knocks on the door had startled him, and he could sense my fear and anxiety. He took a step closer to me, his tiny hands clenched into fists, as if ready to defend me from whatever unknown threat was lurking on the other side of the door. "Who is it, Mommy?" he repeated, his voice a little louder now, his tone a mix of fear and bravery. I tried to respond, but my voice was caught in my throat, my mind racing with worst-case scenarios. I shook my head, trying to reassure him, but my eyes remained fixed on the door, my heart pounding in my chest. The knocks came again, more insistent this time, and my son's eyes widened even further, his face pale with fear. "Mommy, who is it?" he asked again, his voice barely above a whisper, his small body tense with anticipation.

"It's me, Layla," we heard, the voice on the other side of the door calling out in a soft, gentle tone, a tone that was familiar and comforting. The sound of her voice was like a breath of fresh air, a ray of hope in the midst of uncertainty. My son's eyes lit up with recognition, and he looked up at me with a questioning gaze, as if seeking permission to open the door. I hesitated for a moment, my mind still racing with doubts and fears, but something about Layla's voice put me at ease. I nodded slowly, and my son, sensing my approval, quickly unbolted the door and swung it open, revealing Layla's worried face on the other side. Her eyes scanned our small apartment, taking in the scene of chaos and disarray, and her expression turned from concern to shock. "Oh, my goodness," she exclaimed, her voice filled with empathy, "what's happened here?" she asked, her eyes locking onto mine, searching for answers.

I slowly made my way towards the door, my heart still racing from the unexpected knocks, and gently unbolted it, my hands trembling slightly as I turned the lock. As I opened the door, my eyes widened in surprise, and my jaw dropped in astonishment. Lo and behold, Layla was standing there, a warm smile on her face, and in her hands, she was carrying a beautiful wicker basket, adorned with a vibrant veil that cascaded down her head like a waterfall of color. The basket was overflowing with an assortment of goodies, and the aroma of freshly baked bread and roasted vegetables wafted up, filling my senses and making my stomach growl with hunger. I was taken aback by the sight, my mind struggling to comprehend the unexpected kindness that Layla was showing us. My eyes met hers, and I saw a deep empathy and understanding there, a sense of solidarity and support that warmed my heart. I felt a lump form in my throat as I gazed at the basket, my eyes welling up with tears of gratitude. "Layla, what have you done?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper, my words trembling with emotion.

"Where are you off to?" I asked, my voice filled with surprise and curiosity, as I stepped outside into the bright sunlight, my eyes squinting slightly from the sudden change from the dimly lit interior of our small apartment. I had been so caught up in my own thoughts and worries, and Layla's unexpected arrival with the basket of goodies had been such a welcome distraction, that I hadn't even noticed she was preparing to leave. Now, as I looked at her, I saw that she was indeed getting ready to depart, her veil adjusted, her basket secure in her hands, and a determined look on her face. "You're leaving?" I asked, my tone a mix of surprise and concern, my mind racing with questions. "Where are you going? Is everything okay?" I added, my eyes scanning her face for any sign of trouble or distress. Layla's expression was calm and reassuring, but I could sense a hint of urgency behind her eyes, a sense of purpose that made me wonder what was driving her to venture out alone, with a basket full of food, into the unknown.

"Please help me bring down the basket, ma," she said, her voice laced with a hint of desperation, already struggling to hold the heavy load, her arms trembling beneath the weight of the overflowing basket. The veil that covered her head was slipping, and her face was scrunched up in effort, her eyes pleading for assistance. The basket, beautifully woven from natural fibers, was precariously perched atop her head, threatening to topple over at any moment, its contents spilling out in all directions. Layla's hands were grasping at the basket's edges, her fingers straining to maintain their grip, but it was clear she wouldn't be able to hold on for much longer. Her words were a gentle request, but the urgency behind them was palpable, and I quickly rushed to her side, my heart filled with compassion and concern. "Let me help you, Layla," I said, my voice soft and reassuring, as I reached out to gently lift the basket from her head, my hands closing around the sturdy handle, and carefully lowering it to the ground, the contents settling with a soft rustling sound.

I immediately reached for the basket, my hands closing around the sturdy handle, and helped her to bring it down, our movements synchronized as we carefully lowered it to the ground. As the basket settled, Layla bent down, her movements graceful and fluid, and removed the veil that had been covering her head, revealing her beautiful, radiant face. Her eyes sparkled with a hint of mischief, and a gentle smile played on her lips as she turned to me, pointing at the basket with a slender finger. "See, ma?" she said, her voice full of excitement and pride, "I brought food for you and your family. I knew you were struggling, and I wanted to help." Her words were like a balm to my soul, filling me with gratitude and warmth. I gazed at the basket, my eyes widening as I took in the array of delicious dishes and fresh produce, the aroma of freshly baked bread and roasted vegetables wafting up, making my stomach growl with hunger. "Layla, you didn't have to do this," I protested, my voice filled with emotion, but she just smiled and shook her head, her eyes shining with kindness.

"I brought this ma", Layla said.

"How?! From where?!" I quizzed in exclamation, my voice rising in astonishment, my eyes wide with wonder. I couldn't fathom how Layla had managed to acquire such a bounty, such a cornucopia of delights. The basket was overflowing with an assortment of dishes, each one more mouthwatering than the last. There were steaming hot loaves of bread, freshly baked and fragrant, alongside succulent roasted vegetables, their colors vibrant and inviting. The aroma of slow-cooked stews and savory meats wafted up, making my stomach growl with hunger and my taste buds tingle with anticipation. I couldn't believe that Layla, dear kind Layla, had gone to such lengths to provide for us, to nourish us, to sustain us. "How did you do this, Layla?" I asked again, my voice filled with awe and gratitude. "Where did you find such abundance?" I pressed, my curiosity getting the better of me. "You're a miracle worker, Layla!" I exclaimed, my words tumbling out in a rush of excitement and joy.

She gave a shy smile, her lips curving upward in a gentle, bashful arc, and then scratched her head, her slender fingers weaving through her dark, lustrous hair with a hesitant, self-conscious gesture. Her eyes sparkled with a hint of mischief, and a faint blush crept up her cheeks, as if she was both pleased and embarrassed by her own generosity. The scratch of her head was a subtle, endearing motion, a fleeting moment of vulnerability that revealed her humble, unassuming nature. It was as if she was trying to downplay her kindness, to brush it off as no big deal, even as her eyes shone with a quiet pride and satisfaction. The gesture was so understated, so unpretentious, that it only added to her charm, making me feel even more grateful and touched by her thoughtfulness.

"My savings, ma," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, as she drew a circle on the floor with her big toe, the gentle scratching sound filling the silence. Her eyes cast downward, her gaze following the motion of her toe, as if tracing the path of her own generosity. The circle she drew was imperfect, a little wobbly, but it seemed to encompass the basket, the food, the love she had shared with us. It was as if she was drawing a boundary around her kindness, defining the space where her heart had poured out its abundance. The simple gesture spoke volumes about her humility, her willingness to give without expectation of return or recognition. The circle was a symbol of her selflessness, a reminder that true generosity knows no bounds, no limits, no expectations. As I looked at the circle, I felt a lump form in my throat, my heart swelling with gratitude for this dear, sweet girl who had given us so much more than just food.

"Your savings?" I quizzed, my voice rising in astonishment, as I folded my arms across my chest, my eyes wide with wonder. "What have you been doing, Layla, that you have savings?" I asked, my curiosity piqued, my mind racing with questions. I couldn't fathom how this young girl, who had always been so selfless and giving, had managed to accumulate enough resources to make such a generous gesture. Had she been secretly working, earning money, and saving it away? Had she been scrimping and saving from her own meager allowance? The thought of it was incredible, and I couldn't help but feel a sense of pride and admiration for her resourcefulness and determination. "You're a mystery, Layla," I said, shaking my head in amazement, "a constant surprise. How did you do it?" I pressed, my eyes locked on hers, eager to hear the story behind her savings.

"After my aunty's husband passed away, she gave me some money before I was brought back to the village," Layla explained, her voice filled with a sense of responsibility and wisdom beyond her years. "So, I gave the money to my grandma to keep for me, trusting that she would safeguard it until I needed it. I had intended to use it to buy my Christmas clothes and shoes, but then I realized that you needed it more than I do. And besides, Christmas is just a few months away, and I have faith that God will provide. There's nothing that God cannot do," she said with a smile, revealing a well-arranged dentition that sparkled like pearls. "If He decides to surprise me with clothes and shoes for Christmas, no problem. And if there are no clothes or shoes, I still wouldn't mind. Once there is life, there is hope," she added, her eyes shining with a deep understanding of the mysteries of life. Her words were like a balm to my soul, soothing my worries and fears, and filling me with a sense of gratitude and wonder at the resilience and generosity of this young girl.

I didn't even know when tears rolled down my cheeks, streaming down my face like a river, as I was overcome with emotion. If a child as little as Layla can have such unshaken faith in God, trusting in His provision and goodness even in the midst of uncertainty, then what excuse do I have to doubt? I, who have been questioning what God can do because of these little temptations and challenges. The weight of my own doubts and fears crushed me, and I fell on my knees immediately, with closed eyes, and started to cry and worship God. My kids, who had been watching from a distance, heard my voice and rushed out to see what was happening, but then paused with mouths agape as soon as they saw the content of the basket. Their eyes widened in wonder, taking in the abundance of food and goodies that Layla had brought, and they looked at me with a mixture of confusion and understanding, as if to say, "Mother, why are you crying? Hasn't God already provided for us?" And in that moment, I knew that I had been humbled, that my faith had been renewed, and that I had been reminded of the power of trust and obedience.

I pulled the basket closer and began to bring out its contents, my hands trembling with excitement and gratitude. As I unpacked the basket, I couldn't believe my eyes - it was like a treasure trove of blessings! There were two bunches of fresh, ripe bananas, a handful of juicy oranges, a half bag of sachet water, a container of cooked rice wrapped in nylon, a selection of beverages, a pack of biscuits, a few soft drinks, and a loaf of freshly baked bread. Each item was a testament to Layla's thoughtfulness and generosity. As I gazed at the spread before me, I felt my heart swell with appreciation and love. I then raised my head to look at her, my eyes locking onto hers, and I saw a warm, gentle smile spreading across her face. Her eyes sparkled with kindness and compassion, and I knew in that moment that she had seen the depths of our need and had responded with a generosity that went beyond mere words. I felt a lump form in my throat as I tried to express my thanks, but all I could manage was a whispered "thank you" that seemed so inadequate compared to the bounty she had brought us.

"All these for us?" I quizzed, my voice trembling with emotion, as tears streamed down my face like a river. I couldn't believe the abundance of blessings before me, the sheer generosity of this young girl who had given us so much more than just food. I looked at her, my eyes searching for answers, and she nodded, her head bobbing up and down in a gentle, reassuring motion. Her eyes never left mine, her gaze filled with a deep understanding and compassion, as if she knew exactly how much we needed this blessing. "Yes, ma," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper, "all these are for you and your family. I wanted to help, to make a difference, no matter how small." And with that, she smiled, a radiant, warm smile that lit up her whole face, and I felt my heart overflow with gratitude and love for this precious child who had given us so much more than just a basket of food.

My kids busted into tears, their faces contorted in a mix of shock, gratitude, and joy, as they took in the magnitude of Layla's kindness. My son, overcome with emotion, reached out with trembling hands and grasped Layla's, his small fingers wrapping tightly around hers as if never wanting to let go. He looked up at her with adoring eyes, his face wet with tears, and I could see the depth of his appreciation and love for this angel who had brought hope and sustenance to our doorstep. My daughter, too, was crying, her body shaking with sobs as she gazed at Layla with a mix of wonder and gratitude. She took a step forward, her arms opening wide, and Layla embraced her, holding her close as she wept. The scene was one of pure, unadulterated joy, a moment of raw human connection and love that transcended words and language. In that instant, our family was forever bonded to Layla, our hearts linked in a chain of gratitude and love that would never be broken.

"Thank you," my son said, his voice barely above a whisper, but filled with a depth of emotion that resonated deeply. He looked at Layla with eyes that shone like stars, his gaze overflowing with gratitude and adoration. And Layla, with a gentle, compassionate smile, nodded again, her head bobbing up and down in a soft, reassuring motion. Her eyes never left my son's, her gaze holding his with a deep understanding and connection, as if she knew exactly how much her kindness had meant to us. The silence that followed was palpable, a moment of pure connection and understanding that transcended words. It was as if time had stood still, and all that existed was the three of us, suspended in a moment of pure, unadulterated joy and gratitude. And in that moment, I knew that our family would never forget this act of kindness, this gift of love and generosity that Layla had given us.

"But, what about your mother? I hope she's doing well, and that she's proud of the kind and selfless person you're growing up to be," I attempted to say, my words trailing off as I worried about the potential consequences of Layla's generosity. But before I could finish, Layla cut in, her voice filled with a quiet confidence and understanding.

"Don't worry about my mother, ma," she said, her eyes sparkling with a deep wisdom beyond her years. "She taught me to always help others, no matter what. She'd be happy to know that I'm following in her footsteps. And besides, we have enough, ma. We have more than enough. It's time for us to share our blessings with others." Her words were like a balm to my soul, soothing my worries and fears, and filling me with a sense of wonder and awe at the depth of her compassion and empathy. I felt a lump form in my throat as I looked at her, this young girl who had given us so much more than just food and drink, but a sense of hope and renewal.

"You don't have to worry about that, she doesn't know about it," she said, her voice low and gentle, yet filled with a hint of secrecy and understanding. "I wanted to help, and I knew that if I asked, she might not agree. So, I took the initiative to help in my own small way." She paused, her eyes darting around the room as if ensuring no one was listening. "But please, ma, don't mention it to her. She'd be worried that I'm not thinking about my own needs, and I don't want to cause her any stress." Her words were laced with a deep love and consideration for her mother, and a desire to protect her from any potential worry or concern. I felt a surge of admiration for this young girl, who was not only selfless and kind, but also thoughtful and considerate of those around her. Her actions were a testament to the power of compassion and empathy, and a reminder that even the smallest acts of kindness can have a profound impact on those around us.

"But, what did you tell your grandma that you needed the money for?" I quizzed again, my curiosity getting the better of me as I tried to understand the full extent of Layla's selflessness. "Did you tell her you needed it for school, or for a new dress, or perhaps for a toy you've been wanting?" I asked, my mind racing with possibilities. Layla's face broke into a gentle smile, and she looked down at her feet, her toes wiggling slightly as she shifted her weight. "I told her I needed it for a project at school," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't want to lie, but I also didn't want her to worry. So, I told her a half-truth. I do have a project, but it's not the kind that needs money. It's a project to help others, and I wanted to use the money to make a difference." Her words were like a ray of sunshine, illuminating the beauty and kindness of her heart. I felt a lump form in my throat as I looked at her, this young girl who was teaching me that true generosity and compassion know no bounds.

"It's my money," she said, her voice firm and confident, yet gentle and kind. "I told her before I gave it to her that I would come for it whenever I needed it. I wanted to help you, and I knew that this money could make a difference. So, I took it upon myself to use it for a good cause." She paused, her eyes sparkling with a sense of ownership and responsibility. "Grandma trusts me, and I wouldn't want to betray that trust. But I also know that she would want me to help others in need, just as she has always taught me." Layla's words were a testament to her independence, her selflessness, and her commitment to doing what is right. She had taken charge of her own resources and had used them to make a positive impact on the world around her. I felt a surge of admiration and respect for this young girl, who was demonstrating a level of maturity and compassion that belied her years.

"Thank you," I said, my voice overflowing with gratitude, as I reached out and grabbed both her arms, holding them tightly in a gesture of deep appreciation. I looked into her eyes, and she smiled softly, her face radiant with kindness and compassion. And then, moved by a sudden impulse, I bowed my head and said a short prayer for her, asking God to bless and protect this precious child, to guide her and keep her safe, and to continue to use her as a source of hope and inspiration to all those around her. As I prayed, I could feel a sense of peace and joy wash over me, and I knew that this moment would stay with me forever, a reminder of the power of kindness and generosity to transform lives and bring people together in a shared spirit of love and gratitude. When I finished praying, Layla smiled again, and I could see the happiness and contentment shining in her eyes, and I knew that she felt seen, heard, and appreciated, and that our lives had been forever changed by this encounter.

"Let me run home now before my mother starts looking for me," she said, her voice tinged with a hint of urgency, as she glanced at the time on her wristwatch. "I've been gone for a while, and I don't want her to worry. But I'll be back later, I promise. In case you need anything, I can help you run errands or do some chores. Just let me know what you need, and I'll be happy to assist you." She smiled reassuringly, her eyes sparkling with a sense of responsibility and helpfulness. "I'll come back and check on you, and maybe we can even have a cup of tea together. I'd love to hear more about your family and your story." With that, she turned to leave, her ponytail bobbing behind her as she hurried off down the street, leaving me feeling grateful and touched by her kindness and thoughtfulness. Her offer to help with errands and chores was a blessing, and I looked forward to her return, knowing that she would be a welcome presence in our home.

I never thought about Layla running errands for us. It was only when she said it, with such a natural and effortless ease, that I realised how much we could actually use her help. It was as if she had opened my eyes to a whole new possibility, a whole new way of thinking. I had been so consumed by my own worries and struggles that I hadn't even considered the potential benefits of having someone to help us with the little things. But Layla's offer was like a breath of fresh air, a reminder that there are still kind and selfless people in this world who are willing to lend a hand. And as I thought about it more, I realised that it wasn't just the errands themselves that would be a help, but the companionship and social interaction that would come with them. Layla's visits would be a welcome respite from the isolation and loneliness that had been weighing us down, a chance for us to connect with someone who cared. And so, I felt a sense of gratitude and hope wash over me, knowing that Layla's kindness and generosity would be a blessing to us in more ways than one.

"Ok, thank you so much," I said, my voice filled with genuine gratitude, as a broad smile spread across my face. I felt a sense of relief and joy wash over me, knowing that Layla's kindness and generosity would be a blessing to us in so many ways. I watched as she turned to leave, her ponytail bouncing behind her, and her bright yellow dress fluttering in the breeze. She waved goodbye, and I waved back, feeling a sense of connection and friendship that I hadn't felt in a long time. As she disappeared from view, I felt a sense of peace settle over me, knowing that there were still good people in the world, people who cared about others and wanted to make a difference. I stood there for a moment, savoring the feeling of hope and gratitude that Layla had brought into my life, and then I turned and went back inside, feeling lighter and more optimistic than I had in weeks. The memory of Layla's smile and her kind eyes stayed with me, a reminder of the power of human connection and the difference that one person can make in the lives of others.

After Layla left, I looked towards heaven, my eyes gazing upwards in a gesture of deep gratitude and appreciation. I felt a sense of awe and wonder at the kindness and generosity that Layla had shown us, and I knew that it was a blessing from above. And then, with a heart full of thanks and praise, I said, "God, I thank you for sending Layla into our lives. She is a true angel, a shining example of your love and compassion. Please bless her and keep her safe, and continue to use her as a source of hope and inspiration to all those around her." I paused, taking a deep breath, and then continued, "And Lord, I thank you for reminding me that there is still so much good in the world, that there are still people who care and who want to make a difference. Help me to be more like Layla, to be a source of kindness and generosity to others, and to always trust in your goodness and grace." I felt a sense of peace and contentment wash over me as I prayed, knowing that God was listening and that He was always working for our good.

"Despite everything, You are still mindful of me, dear God," I said, my voice filled with a mix of wonder, gratitude, and humility. "In the midst of all my struggles, my fears, and my doubts, You still see me, You still hear me, and You still care for me. You are aware of every detail of my life, every thought and feeling, every triumph and failure. And yet, despite all my shortcomings and mistakes, You still love me, You still accept me, and You still want the best for me." I paused, taking a deep breath, and continued, "Your kindness and compassion are beyond understanding, Your grace and mercy are beyond measure. You are a God who sees the deepest, most hidden parts of my heart, and yet You still choose to love me, to bless me, and to use me for Your purposes. I am so grateful, so humbled, and so amazed by Your goodness and faithfulness. Thank You, dear God, for being such a loving and attentive Father to me, even when I least deserve it."

Well, we moved the things Layla brought into the house, trying to settle back into some sense of normalcy after the chaos of the past few days. But our reprieve was short-lived, as after only about an hour, Layla ran back to our house, her face etched with worry and urgency. "Quickly, come quickly!" she exclaimed, barely able to catch her breath. "The palace guards have taken your husband away! They found him preaching in the village and now he's being brought before the King!" My heart sank, and I felt a wave of fear wash over me. We sprinted to the palace, our feet pounding the ground in a desperate bid to reach my husband before it was too late. When we arrived, we saw him on his knees, his head bowed in submission, before the imposing figure of the King. As soon as the King's eyes fell on us, he barked an order, his voice cold and unforgiving. "Kneel beside your husband," he commanded, his gaze fixed on me with an unyielding intensity. I felt a shiver run down my spine as I obeyed, my knees trembling beneath me as I took my place beside my husband, unsure of what fate lay ahead.

"You see this husband of yours," the King said, his voice dripping with disdain, as he pointed a long, accusatory finger at my husband, who remained kneeling, his eyes cast downward in a gesture of submission. "He's very stubborn," the King continued, his tone dripping with frustration, "He refuses to see reason, refuses to obey the laws of the land, and insists on spreading his rebellious ideas to others." The King's gaze then shifted to one of his subjects, a tall, imposing figure with a stern expression, who stood at attention, awaiting the King's command. "Commander Marcus," the King barked, his voice echoing through the throne room, "take this man away and throw him into the darkest dungeon in the land. Let him rot there for a while, perhaps that will teach him some sense." The Commander nodded curtly, his eyes never leaving my husband's face, and gestured to two burly guards who moved forward, their hands grasping for my husband's arms, ready to drag him away. I felt a surge of fear and panic, my mind racing with thoughts of what the future held for my husband, for me, and for our family.

"Are you sure you laid the charm properly on that path he walked through?" the King asked, his voice laced with skepticism, as he turned to the witch who stood beside him, her eyes gleaming with a malevolent intensity. "I specifically instructed you to ensure that the spell would ensnare him, and yet, he still manages to spread his poisonous ideas and defy my authority," the King growled, his face reddening with anger. "Did you perhaps make a mistake, or was your magic not strong enough?" he sneered, his tone dripping with disdain. The witch's face twisted into a scowl, her eyes flashing with defiance. "My magic is potent, Your Majesty," she spat, her voice low and menacing. "I laid the charm exactly as instructed, and it should have worked. Perhaps the problem lies not with my spell, but with the man himself. He may be more powerful than you realize." The King's expression darkened, his eyes narrowing into slits. "I will not be undone by some upstart preacher," he snarled, his voice cold and deadly. "See to it that the charm is strengthened, and that he is brought before me once more. This time, he will not be so lucky."

"Yes, Your Highness, but it caught fire as soon as he passed," the subject replied, his voice trembling slightly as he gestured to the scorched earth where the charm had been laid. "I swear, I followed the witch's instructions to the letter, and the charm was set in place exactly as she had specified. But as soon as he walked through, it ignited, and the flames were so intense that they were extinguished only by the palace guards who rushed to put them out." The King's face turned beet red with rage, his eyes bulging with fury. "Fool!" he bellowed, his voice echoing through the throne room. "You must have done something wrong! How could a simple charm fail so spectacularly?" The subject cowered, his eyes cast downward in fear. "I-I don't know, Your Highness. Perhaps...perhaps he has some sort of protection or blessing that countered the charm?" The King's expression turned even darker, his mind racing with the implications. "Protection or blessing?" he repeated, his voice low and menacing. "We shall see about that. Commander Marcus, take this subject away and throw him into the dungeon. And as for the preacher...I will deal with him myself."

"I wonder what kind of human he is," the King thundered, his voice booming through the throne room like a clap of thunder. "Despite all our evil plans, he keeps scaling through them, like a mountain climber ascending a treacherous peak. We lay snares for him, and he avoids them with ease. We cast spells to ensnare him, and he breaks free like a wild stallion. We send our guards to capture him, and he slips through their fingers like sand in an hourglass." The King's face was red with rage, his eyes flashing like lightning as he paced back and forth in front of his throne. "What sorcery does he possess, that he can defy us so? What magic does he wield, that he can outwit us at every turn?" The King's subjects cowered in fear, their eyes cast downward, as their ruler's anger and frustration poured out like a tempest. "I will not be foiled by this preacher!" the King bellowed, his fist shaking with rage. "I will not be defeated by his cunning and guile! I will crush him, like a bug beneath my heel, and I will do it soon!"

"When the wicked spring as the grass, and when all the workers of iniquity do flourish, it is that they shall be destroyed forever," my husband replied, his voice calm and steady, with a gentle smile spreading across his face. "Psalm 92:7," he added, his eyes shining with a deep faith and conviction. "The Word of God is clear, Your Majesty," he continued, his gaze never leaving the King's face. "Though the wicked may seem to prosper for a time, their success is but a fleeting illusion. For in the end, it is justice and righteousness that will reign supreme, and those who have defied the Lord will be brought low." The King's face darkened with anger, his eyes flashing with indignation, but my husband's words were like a balm to my soul, a reminder that our hope and trust lay not in the whims of earthly rulers, but in the eternal and unchanging God.

"Look, your God may be powerful, but since you're not even ready to leave despite my warnings, I think a better punishment would do," the King said, his voice dripping with malice and contempt, as he turned to the elders who stood beside him. They nodded in agreement, their faces grave and solemn, and then rushed forward, their long robes billowing behind them. They gathered around the King, their heads bent in unison, and began to speak in whispers in a language that we couldn't understand. The words sounded like a dark and sinister incantation, a mysterious and ancient tongue that sent shivers down my spine. The King's eyes gleamed with a malevolent light as he listened to their whispers, his face twisted in a cruel smile. I knew that we were in grave danger, that the King's wrath was about to unleash a terrible punishment upon us. My heart raced with fear as I clutched my husband's arm, my eyes fixed on the King's face, waiting for the verdict that would seal our fate.

"Ehen, if he refuses to leave by this time tomorrow, let him be buried alive!" The King raged in anger, his voice echoing through the throne room like a thunderclap. "Let him be entombed in a pit of darkness, with no escape from the weight of the earth above him. Let him suffocate under the crushing pressure of his own stubbornness. Let him taste the bitter fruit of his defiance!" The King's face was red with fury, his eyes blazing like hot coals as he slammed his fist on the armrest of his throne. "I will not be disobeyed! I will not be defied! I am the King, and my word is law!" The elders nodded in agreement, their faces grave and unyielding, as the King's guards moved forward, their eyes fixed menacingly on my husband. I knew that we were running out of time, that the King's patience was wearing thin, and that our very lives hung in the balance.

To be continued..