I THOUGHT IT WAS GOD'S WILL | PART TWO
The late afternoon sun streamed through the window, spilling long shadows across the polished wooden floor. Dust motes floated like tiny fireflies in the golden air.
John sat at the edge of his bed, phone resting in his trembling hand. His chest rose and fell quickly, anticipation drumming through him as he pressed the call button.
Outside, the steady chirp of birds mingled with the distant hum of traffic, yet inside his room all other sounds faded, leaving him in a cocoon of expectancy.
The line rang twice. Then her voice came—soft, warm, carrying the melody of grace that filled the silence.
Mary (softly):
“Hello, John! I was just thinking about calling you. How are you this afternoon?”
“Hello, John! I was just thinking about calling you. How are you this afternoon?”
Her greeting flowed into his heart like cool water on thirsty ground. John’s lips stretched into a smile, breath catching as he leaned closer to the receiver, voice trembling with eagerness that betrayed his joy.
John (smiling):
“I’m… great! Even better now that I hear your voice. I was hoping we could talk a bit.”
“I’m… great! Even better now that I hear your voice. I was hoping we could talk a bit.”
His words seemed to brighten the room itself. From the other end, Mary’s laughter drifted like a light breeze across a still afternoon—gentle, airy, and wrapping the moment in warmth.
Her tone rang light and joyful, touched with affectionate teasing.
Mary (laughing lightly):
“Of course! I’d love that. You sound happy… more than usual. Did the Lord visit you again this morning?”
“Of course! I’d love that. You sound happy… more than usual. Did the Lord visit you again this morning?”
Her playful question carried both tenderness and curiosity, as if she were gently probing his heart. John chuckled, heartbeat quickening, his voice flowing out on the tide of affection he could no longer hold back.
John (chuckling):
“Perhaps. Or maybe He sent an angel in the form of… you.”
“Perhaps. Or maybe He sent an angel in the form of… you.”
His boldness startled even himself. On the other side, Mary gasped softly, her breath quick against the receiver.
Yet her tone slipped into playful mischief, her voice carrying the balance of tease and tenderness.
Mary (teasing):
“Oh, John! That’s quite bold of you. I’ll let it pass… for now.”
“Oh, John! That’s quite bold of you. I’ll let it pass… for now.”
Their laughter met in the middle of the line, echoing like a secret only the two of them could share.
John leaned back against the wall, eyes shutting for a moment as he pictured her smile, the gentle tilt of her head, and the way her words felt like sunlight streaming into the hidden corners of his heart.
Mary’s voice came gentle and sincere, carrying quiet hope.
Mary (gentle):
“You know, I’ve been praying about meeting someone who shares the same vision and love for the Lord. Talking to you… it feels like an answer.”
“You know, I’ve been praying about meeting someone who shares the same vision and love for the Lord. Talking to you… it feels like an answer.”
Her voice lowered, carrying the weight of prayer fulfilled. John’s chest swelled, a bright ache burning beneath his ribs.
Tears pricked the edge of his eyes, and when he inhaled, his tone came soft, awed, like a man beholding the first glimpse of a promise blooming before him.
John (awed):
“Exactly! That’s how I feel too. I’ve been waiting, praying for God’s will. And now… it feels like a dream.”
“Exactly! That’s how I feel too. I’ve been waiting, praying for God’s will. And now… it feels like a dream.”
His confession trembled with truth. On her side, Mary’s tone shifted into a careful hush, as if her words were a fragile gift, wrapped gently in reverence and offered without rush.
Mary (softly):
“Then let’s be honest with each other from the start. Share our hearts, our hopes… our fears too.”
“Then let’s be honest with each other from the start. Share our hearts, our hopes… our fears too.”
Her whisper lingered like a prayer carried on the wind. John nodded though she could not see him, jaw setting with resolve.
His fingers tightened around the phone as though holding on to a sacred trust. His reply came calm, steady, the sound of a man committing to truth.
John (nodding):
“I will. I want us to be transparent, to build something solid, guided by God.”
“I will. I want us to be transparent, to build something solid, guided by God.”
The line between them seemed to glow, carrying more than sound—it carried covenant. For the next hour, their voices wove together in laughter and reflection.
John spoke of his childhood, his longings for ministry, and the quiet dream of raising a family anchored in faith.
Mary responded with equal openness—sharing her aspirations, her favorite scriptures, and tender testimonies of moments when God’s unseen hand had guided her life.
Outside, the sun sank lower, painting the heavens with strokes of orange and pink.
The shadows lengthened across the floor of John’s room. With the phone pressed gently to his ear, he felt warmth spreading through his being—joy mingled with reverent hope.
Deep within, a certainty took root: he had found someone set apart, someone special, in God’s perfect timing.
The days after their first long video call passed in a blur of laughter, sweet texts, and whispered dreams.
John found himself falling deeper each evening, his heart tethered to Mary with threads he thought divine.
He imagined a future with her—a shared life of faith, love, and quiet Sunday mornings. Every message made his chest swell with hope.
In time, the two of them confessed their love to one another and vowed to marry in the future, promising that nothing would separate them.
But one evening, after a particularly joyful call, John noticed her tone shift. Her voice carried a strange weight—lighter, rehearsed almost, as though she were preparing to unburden her soul.
She exhaled softly, her lips parting with hesitation, her eyes lowering as if afraid of her own words.
Mary (softly):
“John… I’ve been praying, really praying, about us. And I feel… I feel God is asking me to step back. To trust Him completely, even if it means letting go.”
“John… I’ve been praying, really praying, about us. And I feel… I feel God is asking me to step back. To trust Him completely, even if it means letting go.”
The words fell like stones into John’s chest. His eyes blinked rapidly, the light dimming, his joy faltering like a candle caught in a restless wind.
His voice broke through, cracked and trembling, carrying the ache of a man watching his dream dissolve before his eyes.
John (stunned):
“Step back? But… Mary, I thought… we were following His will together.”
“Step back? But… Mary, I thought… we were following His will together.”
The air thickened with silence. Mary’s hand reached absently for the edge of her scarf, fingers fidgeting as her smile weakened under the weight of his wounded gaze.
Her lips moved slowly, as though her heart strained to shape the words.
Mary (hesitant):
“I know… it’s hard. But sometimes His plan isn’t what we expect. I… I need to obey Him.”
“I know… it’s hard. But sometimes His plan isn’t what we expect. I… I need to obey Him.”
The sanctuary of John’s heart quaked, sorrow and confusion intertwining like storm clouds.
His chest rose heavily as if every breath labored under disbelief. His voice dragged, thick with pain and shock.
John (pain):
“You mean… break up? Mary, I—”
“You mean… break up? Mary, I—”
Her hand lifted gently, palm trembling in a small pleading gesture. She shook her head, eyes moist but steady, cutting short the words forming in John’s throat.
Her voice came soft and pleading with resolve.
Mary (pleading):
“Yes. I’m sorry, John. Please understand this… in the name of God. It’s for His will.”
“Yes. I’m sorry, John. Please understand this… in the name of God. It’s for His will.”
Before he could speak again, the screen darkened. She had hung up. The silence that followed was suffocating, wrapping itself around John like chains of despair.
The dream he had cradled fractured within him, shards piercing the deepest places of his heart. That night stretched long, filled with whispered prayers and restless questions.
John sank to his knees, his whole body heavy with anguish, his tears falling unchecked upon the floor as he clasped his hands tightly. His voice trembled into the silence, searching for heaven’s ear.
John (whispering):
“Lord, did I mishear Your will? Did I fail to guard my heart?”
“Lord, did I mishear Your will? Did I fail to guard my heart?”
The words lingered in the stillness, echoing back against his own chest. His heart felt torn between faith and confusion, a storm of sorrow pressing down like a weight too heavy to bear.
The room seemed darker, and yet in the quiet he still longed for God’s answer, hoping that somehow his pain would be turned into peace.
Weeks passed in slow torment. He prayed without ceasing, hoped against hope, and tried to let go.
Yet the truth he never knew was that Mary had quietly opened her heart to another man—one who had been courting her in secret while John believed their love was secure.
One Sunday morning, the chapel glowed with golden rays filtering through high windows, casting beams upon polished chairs and the floral fragrance at the altar.
John sat quietly, head bowed, searching for peace in worship. The hum of prayer and soft hymns wrapped around him like a tender balm.
But then, a sudden announcement pierced the air through the pastor’s microphone, striking him like a thunderclap.
The man of God spoke with cheerful excitement, not knowing that his words were about to shatter John’s fragile heart.
Pastor (cheerful):
“Let us rejoice as we celebrate the union of Sister Mary and Brother Mark! May the Lord bless their marriage!”
“Let us rejoice as we celebrate the union of Sister Mary and Brother Mark! May the Lord bless their marriage!”
John’s head snapped upward. His heartbeat thundered violently, ears ringing. His eyes locked on the sight—Mary radiant in white, her hand interlaced with another man’s.
The sanctuary blurred into shadows as if the ground beneath him threatened to give way.
Later, the courtyard lay open under the afternoon sun, its warmth resting on the tiled floor.
Trees at the edges swayed lightly in the breeze, their shadows moving across the ground in slow patterns.
John’s steps dragged as he crossed the wide space, each footfall heavy as though chained to the earth. He spotted a figure standing near the fountain, a still shape that he knew was Mary.
His Bible hung at his side, pressed tight against his leg, his chest rising with troubled breath. His lips trembled, his voice breaking loose like water pressed through a cracked vessel.
John (pain):
“Mary…”
“Mary…”
His cry seemed to strike the open air, the brightness of the courtyard holding a silence so sharp it pierced him.
Mary turned slowly, her posture composed, her movements steady like calm water unshaken by storm.
John took a halting step forward, the words catching in his throat before finally breaking free.
John (anguished):
“Why? Why did you… do this?”
“Why? Why did you… do this?”
His plea hung in the bright, silent air, failing to break the composure of Mary before him.
Her eyes glimmered with quiet stillness—serene, yet holding distance. Her lips parted with a firmness that did not waver.
Mary (calm):
“John… I did what I felt God wanted. He directed my steps. My heart is in His hands, and this is His will.”
“John… I did what I felt God wanted. He directed my steps. My heart is in His hands, and this is His will.”
Her words fell with the weight of stone upon his heart. John’s body shivered with anguish, his grip tightening on his Bible until his knuckles whitened.
His face bent low, his voice cracking as pain broke through like a river breaching its banks.
John (broken):
“But… we… I thought… we were His plan together. I gave my heart fully, Mary. Did you… did you ever care?”
“But… we… I thought… we were His plan together. I gave my heart fully, Mary. Did you… did you ever care?”
The courtyard seemed to grow still, the breeze pausing as if to listen. Mary’s gaze lowered for a fleeting moment, softness flickering across her eyes like sunlight touching water.
Yet when her lips moved again, her words held firm, anchored in something beyond sentiment.
Mary (steady):
“I cared… but sometimes caring isn’t the same as following His desires. I had to trust Him, John. I hope you will too.”
“I cared… but sometimes caring isn’t the same as following His desires. I had to trust Him, John. I hope you will too.”
Her figure turned away, white gown swaying in the breeze, her laughter now intertwined with another man’s presence.
John stood frozen, watching as she walked hand in hand with the man he never expected.
The courtyard seemed to darken, her voice echoing in his ears like betrayal turned into living memory.
Later that night, the world pressed down upon him. In his small apartment, shadows lengthened across the quiet room. Moonlight spilled faintly upon the floorboards.
John knelt beside his bed, his tears tracing the wooden frame, his voice rising like incense from a broken vessel.
John (praying):
“Lord… forgive me… forgive me for trusting too easily. Forgive me for giving my heart without guarding it. Strengthen me, Lord… help me to rise above the pain.”
“Lord… forgive me… forgive me for trusting too easily. Forgive me for giving my heart without guarding it. Strengthen me, Lord… help me to rise above the pain.”
The room grew still as his words rose like incense, the silence deep and heavy as though heaven bent low to listen.
Moonlight stretched across the floorboards, wrapping him in pale silver glow.
His shoulders shook, yet in the midst of his weakness a faint peace pressed upon his spirit—a whisper of Presence that did not leave him though his heart bled.
Time rolled on—days folding into weeks. Yet each dawn found John bowed before the Lord, pouring his anguish into Scripture and prayer.
Slowly, in that sacred place of surrender, the bruised reed began to straighten.
The fire of sorrow yielded to the gentle oil of healing.
His heart, though scarred, learned again to beat in rhythm with the One who promised: “I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee.”
TO BE CONTINUED...
Written by Agbemawle Atsu Norvishi
© All Rights Reserved. Shared freely to bless and inspire.
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