Sarah knelt beside her worn cot, the thin blanket doing little to ward off the chill seeping through the cracks in their shack. Her stomach growled, a familiar ache. “Dear God,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, “please, please send us some food. Mama’s so tired, and little Ben is crying again.”
She’d prayed this prayer every night for weeks. Their crops had failed, and Papa had gone to find work in the city, but no word had come. Mama’s face was etched with worry, and Ben’s tiny frame was growing thinner.
Sarah’s eyes stung with tears. “Why, God? Why don’t you answer?” she whispered, feeling a flicker of doubt she’d never known before.
The next morning, the sun barely peeked through the dusty window before Ben’s whimper woke her. Mama’s cough rattled through the small space. Sarah felt a wave of despair wash over her.
“Sarah, child,” Mama said, her voice weak, “go see if Mrs. Peterson has any scraps. She’s always been kind.”
Sarah nodded, her heart heavy. Mrs. Peterson, the widow who lived at the edge of town, was known for her generosity, but Sarah hated to beg.
As she walked, she remembered the story Pastor John had told last Sunday. About the persistent widow who kept asking the judge for justice. “Jesus said we should always pray and not give up,” Pastor John had said, his voice booming.
Sarah clenched her small hands. “But how long, God?” she whispered to the wind. “How long do we have to wait?”
She reached Mrs. Peterson’s small cottage and knocked timidly. Mrs. Peterson opened the door, her face creased with concern. “Sarah, child! You look so pale.”
“Mama and Ben are hungry, ma’am,” Sarah said, her voice trembling. “We have no food.”
Mrs. Peterson’s eyes filled with tears. “Oh, my dear. I’ve been praying for you. Come in, come in.”
She led Sarah to her kitchen, where a pot of steaming stew sat on the stove. “God has been good,” Mrs. Peterson said, stirring the stew. “Just this morning, a man came by with extra vegetables and a rabbit. He said he felt led to share.”
Sarah’s eyes widened. “Led by God?”
Mrs. Peterson smiled. “Yes, child. God hears our prayers, even when it seems like He’s silent. Sometimes, He answers in ways we don’t expect, at just the right time.”
Mrs. Peterson filled a large pot with the stew and packed a basket with bread and dried fruit. “Take this home to your mama and Ben. And tell them to never lose hope.”
As Sarah walked home, the pot heavy in her hands, she felt a warmth spreading through her, a warmth that wasn’t just from the stew. She understood. God hadn’t forgotten them. He was working, even when she couldn’t see it.
When she reached home, Mama’s face lit up as she saw the food. Ben’s cries turned into happy gurgles. As they ate, Sarah told them about Mrs. Peterson’s story, about the man who felt led to share.
“God is good,” Mama said, her voice filled with gratitude. “He hears our prayers, and He provides. We must never stop believing.”
Sarah nodded, her heart overflowing. She knew that even when times were hard, even when it seemed like God was taking a long time, He was always faithful. And she knew that she would keep praying, keep believing, and keep persevering, trusting in His perfect timing.
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