The first raindrops of the season tapped lightly against my window, each one a reminder that some things could not be rushed. I opened my Bible, the pages cool beneath my fingers, and let the words of Isaiah 41:10 echo in my mind: "Do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God."
I had begun attending the early morning devotional group in the campus chapel. At first, I hesitated, worried I might appear too eager, too visible. But as I sat among the students, the aroma of coffee and old wooden pews around me, I realized I was not alone. Others carried burdens, doubts, and fears just as I did. Their prayers intertwined with mine, a chorus of shared faith.
Later, while revising notes in the library, I noticed a classmate staring blankly at her textbook, frustration etched across her face. I walked over and offered to explain a concept she had missed. Together, we worked through the problems, and her grateful smile sparked a warmth in my chest. Faith wasn't only in prayer—it lived in small acts of service, in patience, and in the willingness to show up for others.
That evening, I paused on the balcony, watching the rain collect in tiny puddles on the pavement below. Each drop reflected light, dancing like the hope that had slowly begun to grow inside me. Even when the days felt overwhelming, even when doubts returned, I realized my anchor was not circumstances—it was faith.
And as I closed my journal, I whispered softly, "I am not perfect, but I am held." Outside, thunder rolled in the distance, but inside, I felt steady, rooted, and ready for whatever came next.