Content warning: This story contains mentions of suicide, self-harm, and trauma. This story is written for an adult audience.

Midnight-black shadows cascaded over the bright blue-painted walls of a studio-apartment-sized home. Crickets chirped outside a barely cracked open window that displayed an open, blanketed heavenly sky. The stars themselves twinkled like gems across a desert landscape, a place of solitude to be one with nature and God himself. Tonight, the isolation crafted a perfect prison for God’s own creation to sentence and lock herself in. A perfect breeding ground for doubt, insecurity, fear, and loneliness to creep inside the solitary human being miles from the nearest town. A self-imposed exile was never meant for a young, petite woman encased in freckles. Tears streamed from her emerald-green eyes.

Sniffles and subtle crying hiccups escape from her, matching the cricket chirps that broke the suffocating silence. The single source of light came from the phone in her trembling hands, barely hanging on with her tight grip. It highlighted the blueish hue of the walls, in spite of her failing grip. The ginger-red strands of hair on her head matched the burning inferno of emotion bubbling inside her soul. Her willpower to shut the phone off and attempt to sleep drained as she stared at the chat message displayed on the screen. She wiped her puffy face as if it would keep her tears at bay. But it was feeble as she sat fixated, unable to stop herself from reading, rereading, and allowing the haunting words to sink into her heart:

Ally: I don’t know what you want from me, Emily. You’re self-centered, and this is why I can’t be friends with you. Goodbye, and have a nice life.


Emily had no idea what could’ve happened to their friendship. Did it really take a mere misunderstanding to shatter years of what they worked so hard for? They’ve been friends since 8th grade, or at least she believed that was the case. How could Emily have known that the local minister she’d known since she was twelve years old would run into them? That he would look at Ally, tell her that Emily has prayed for them during their arguments, all to have their night out ruined by Emily’s act of kindness, with her turning the other cheek? Literally.

Emily sniffed as she threw her phone against the wall, not caring at this point if it shattered. It was a cheap piece of junk anyway. She began to sob uncontrollably, wondering why she was ever created and brought into the world. Her right hand trembled, reaching for the handgun on the nightstand, determined to just end it. Her fingertips barely grazed the butt of the gun when she heard a soft knock. A puzzled look came across her features, wondering who could be at the door at three in the morning.

None of her family, her friends, not even Ally knew she was there alone. Emily cautiously placed the handgun under the pillow and rose from her bed, careful not to make a noise. She inched closer to the door as the soft knocking noise occurred once again. Whoever stood on the other side was clearly persistent and not going away anytime soon. Emily silently wondered if death was impatient and ready to collect her soul. She quickly brushed the thought aside, swallowing her hesitation, and opened the door a bare minimum crack. Before her stood a tall man with soft, brown eyes and messy, shoulder-length hair. The wind outside barely ruffled his long, black robes.

“Can I help you?” she asked in a low pitch, careful to hide the tremble in her voice. What could this stranger be doing here so early in the morning? It wasn’t as if there was much to admire within a mile of Buckeye in this hellhole that was Arizona. She envisioned a million scenarios, ready to slam the door shut and call 911 if she had to. If death really wanted Emily Pichard, she wanted to leave life on her terms and by her will alone. The man before her gave a warm smile, like a long-lost cousin happy to see her.

“Forgive me for the disturbance ma’am. I was sent here to minister to you on behalf of my congregation. Would you like me to come in? I promise I won’t take much of your time,” she heard the man answer in a warm tone. Emily stood frozen as she wondered why a pastor from a Lutheran church would be calling at this hour. Her mind raced as the prospect of death knocking became more of a reality to her. She dared not show it, scanning around the stranger to determine if anybody besides him was there.

“Sure,” Emily answered with hesitation, still wary about the gentleman before her. Who was this stranger? Is this a sick prank? Is he a Lutheran minister? No, she knew Ally was not Lutheran and openly mocked the name of Jesus every time religion was even mentioned. The only relative she could think of that sought membership in a Lutheran church was her deceased Uncle Mike. Regardless, she slowly undid the lock and opened the door to invite the stranger in.

“Can I get you anything? Water, tea, coffee?” Emily asked without glancing at him, while maintaining a level of hospitality. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but there was something about him that made her feel uncertain. She sensed no danger from the minister, and it wasn’t as if he was carrying a weapon. Her courage swelled, and she met his kind gaze, which was enough to allow a smile in return. It reminded her of how her father would look at her when she was a young child, like a princess who was worthy to be loved and adored by a prince. The expression spoke of genuineness, rare for the broken mess of a society she existed in, along with the rest of humanity.

“Thank you. Water would be most appreciated,” the minister said. It took Emily a few seconds to pull away from his gaze; immediately, a mixture of emotions washed over her. Who the hell was this random minister? Surely, he had better things to do than waste his time on her. She had to find answers, one way or another. She opened the mini fridge by her bed, grabbed the water bottle, and silently handed the minister the drink.

“So, if you don’t mind me asking, Father, what’s your name?” The remark escaped her mouth without proper thought, and she gave a small chuckle. She felt a little embarrassed, as she knew full well Lutherans are typically known as Pastor, not Father. If Ally were present, she would feel even worse and would be openly mocked for her misspoken words.

“You’ll have to forgive me, Pastor; I haven’t been to any church congregation in a long time. I think my involvement in the church died with my faith long ago,” she added with a sad smirk at the thought, trying not to let the pain of her past swim up to the surface. It was not until she felt a warm hand placed upon hers that Emily looked up into the minister’s eyes. She swam in his warm, kind gaze as he cast a small smile in her direction.

“That doesn’t mean love isn’t here, Emily. Even now, your Father in Heaven is with us in this room,” the minister said and handed her a nearby tissue. Emily sniffed as she began to dry her eyes. The pain of her friend, Ally, abandoning her, the sting of the rejection, was enough to make her break down in tears. Never mind the fact that the minister somehow knows her name. That reminded her of an old Bible verse.

“Look, I don’t know how you know my name. Or why you’re here, or why I’m chosen to be spared from a sentence I deserve. But I’m too far gone. I am a self-centered woman; I’m not worthy of love. Even God knows. Please don’t waste any more time on me.” Tears streamed down her face. At this moment, he placed a hand upon her head, slowly brushing down to lift her face up to his gaze.

“Oh, Emily, you are treasured beyond measure. ‘Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by your name; you are mine,’” the minister softly whispered as her mouth widened at his choice of passage. Emily stared into his patient eyes as if she were looking into the face of God himself. She could only smile at his comforting words as his palm cupped her right cheek.

“Isaiah 43:1. I always recited it Freshman year,” Emily softly said as her eyes landed upon a scarred, deep tract along his sleeve. It was then that she began to pull away, stunned to see the wound along his left wrist. Tears once again surged, and she felt at a loss for words for what she had witnessed.

“Who are you?” Emily trembled at what she began to comprehend. She felt his right thumb wipe her tears as he tilted her head to meet his gaze once again. His warm smile never left his face as his right thumb caressed her left cheek. If there were ever a time of peace, it was now, as if his face radiated love and peace.

“Who do you say that I am?” he said, and Emily instantly recalled the line from a movie she loved that involved Jesus in a diner, a prideful businessman, a broken child, a believer, and a couple on the brink of divorce. She loved the actor who played Jesus, Bruce Marchiano. She desired for the day to see Jesus, and it became clear as the words written in red in her Bible. She could no longer contain herself and embraced him. The man himself didn’t hesitate to hug her in return as she buried her face in his chest. She knew one thing for certain: love was here, holding her in his arms like the Good Shepherd. Even in her Valley of Death, love was always going to be here and by her side.

“My Lord, my Lord,” she whispered as she began to sob.

But the man softly shushed as he patted her back. This continued for minutes, hours, heaven only knew how long, until she felt a wave of exhaustion come over her. She felt the weight of her body lighten like a feather as her Savior supported her, and she rose up. She lay down, her eyelids heavy, her vision blurred with tiredness, as the blankets covered her.

“I’m not going anywhere. I’ll never forsake you. Now sleep, dear child. We’ll see each other again. This is not goodbye. I love you, Emily,” he said in a soft tone as he kissed her forehead. The last thing Emily recalled before she drifted off to sleep was that her savior placed a Bible nearby her bed and lifted the gun that she could only surmise had dropped from underneath her pillow. The words echoed in her mind and gave her permission to have a peaceful dream, which reassured her she would see her savior again. Someday.

Editor: Shannon Hensley