A Glimpse of Grace

Mara always knew her son Eli was different. While other children laughed and ran around the courtyard playground, Eli often stood apart—lost in his own quiet world. The other kids didn’t understand him. They teased him, called him "four eyes" for the thick glasses strapped tightly around his head. Some mocked the hearing aids in both his ears, but Eli never seemed to notice—or care. His light brown hair curled at the edges, and his soft eyes rarely reflected hurt. He was only five, but Mara often thought he carried the weight of someone much older.

She blamed herself. She blamed the man who disappeared before Eli was even born. She blamed her own broken childhood, and sometimes—though it made her feel guilty—she blamed God. At just sixteen, she'd been walking home from school when everything changed. And when she told her mother the truth, she was met not with comfort but accusations. Her mother refused to believe her, called her names no girl should ever hear, and cast her out of the house when her pregnancy became too visible to hide.

The shelter they placed her in wasn’t the worst place. It was cleaner than the house she grew up in, and the people there—though tired and overworked—were at least kind. Meals came regularly, and the chill of winter didn’t seep through the walls. Unlike her mother’s home, there weren’t new “uncles” showing up every month. Mara shared the space with other scared, pregnant teens who didn’t know what came next. The counselors urged them to consider adoption, and Mara often saw the longing in the eyes of visiting couples. But something inside her held back. This child—this tiny, fluttering presence inside her—was the first thing that made her feel whole.

When Eli arrived three weeks early, doctors explained that a virus during pregnancy had caused some developmental issues. But that diagnosis also came with support. The agency helped Mara get a small apartment and a modest check each month. She became legally independent, something her mother didn’t fight.

Mara never resented motherhood. Eli became her entire world. His laugh was her favorite sound. They would blast music and dance like no one was watching. She read to him every night—his favorite was *Jack and the Beanstalk*. He would burst into giggles whenever she grumbled out the giant’s “Fee-fi-fo-fum.” He loved chicken nuggets and mac and cheese but wrinkled his nose at green beans—until she called them “magic beans” like in the story.

Eli told her stories too. He struggled with his speech, still working with a therapist each week, but every word was gold to Mara. He once told her he’d “gwow up” and get a dog named “Wadah.” Pets weren’t allowed in their building, so he carried around a stuffed dog everywhere instead.

They walked a lot, sometimes stopping for ice cream. Eli insisted on trying a new flavor every time. His curiosity was endless. He'd point at buildings and ask how they were made. One day, they passed a church. He stared at the tall steeple, the cross, and the people walking inside dressed in their Sunday best. Then he saw the Nativity display.

“Mama,” he said, “why’s the baby all naked? He’s cold!”

Mara froze. She remembered learning about baby Jesus long ago, before her parents split, before her world had turned dark. Back when she'd still believed. Now, all that faith felt like a forgotten dream. A tear slipped down her cheek.

“Don’t cwy, Mama,” Eli said gently, reaching for her hand. “That baby’s gonna be okay.”

After that, he couldn’t get enough of Jesus stories. He begged for more every night. Mara borrowed illustrated Bible books from the library, and together, they read through them. Eli was fascinated. She couldn’t bring herself to crush his hope. Maybe one day, when he was older, they’d talk about what she really felt. But for now, she kept the magic alive—alongside Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy.

One night, after reading about Jesus’s resurrection, Eli’s eyes welled with tears. He placed Mara’s hand over his chest. COUTINUE....... ON NXT POST