THE AWAKENING

The “Living” Word: A Short Story

Tamika had been in church all her life. 
Her father was a pastor. Her grandma was constant.
She grew up in the choir, on the usher board, in the pews, in the rhythm of Sunday mornings. 
Tuesday rehearsal, Wednesday Bible Study, Sunday School, Evening Service, Watch Service, Sunrise Service.
She knew the scriptures, the songs, to pray. 
She knew how to show up, how to serve, how to believe.

But somewhere along the way, life started hitting harder than her faith felt. 
And she didn’t know how to reconcile the two.

She wasn’t running from God, not at first. 
But disappointment has a way of creating distance. 
And pain has a way of making you quiet. 
And when life kept life-ing, relentlessly, unfairly, painfully, she found herself avoiding the very God she once leaned on.

Her children were struggling. 
Her family was hurting. 
Her marriage was heavy. 
Her heart was tired.

She wasn’t winning. 
She wasn’t thriving. 
She wasn’t even standing strong anymore.

She was surviving.

And survival makes you numb.

So when Women’s Week at Restore came around, she didn’t go because she had been going. 
She didn’t go out of routine. 
She didn’t go out of habit.

She went because she was breaking.

She went because she needed something, anything, to shift. 
She went because she was tired of pretending she was okay. 
She went because she needed God, even though she was upset with Him. 
She went because she had nothing left to hold onto.

She went because surrender was the only thing she hadn’t tried.

The sanctuary was full that night, but Tamika felt alone. 
Not lonely, just alone with her thoughts, her disappointments, her questions, her exhaustion.

Then the preacher stepped forward, a woman with fire in her voice and compassion in her eyes.

“If you want to receive the Spirit of God,” she said, “come.”

Tamika didn’t move at first. 
She wasn’t sure she deserved to come. 
She wasn’t sure she had the strength to come. 
She wasn’t sure God even wanted her to come.

But something inside her whispered:

Go.

Not because she was strong. 
But because she was empty.

She walked down the aisle with a heart full of questions and a soul full of cracks.

When she reached the front, the preacher leaned in and said one word:

“Surrender.”

Tamika closed her eyes.

And everything changed.

It started as a warmth in her belly…small…like a spark. 
Then it grew. 
Heat rose through her chest, spreading like fire, but not the kind that destroys. 
The kind that heals.

Her knees weakened. 
Her breath caught. 
Her heart rumbled like thunder rolling through her ribcage.

She felt held. 
She felt seen. 
She felt known.

And then she heard it, not with her ears, but with her spirit:

“I am here.”

The words didn’t echo. 
They settled.

Peace washed over her like a wave. 
Tears fell without permission. 
She wasn’t crying from sadness. 
She was crying because something inside her had finally woken up.

She wasn’t the same woman who had walked to the altar. 
She knew it. 
God knew it.

This was her awakening.

In the days that followed, everything felt different.

Scripture wasn’t just familiar, it was alive. 
Prayer wasn’t a ritual, it was a lifeline. 
Conviction wasn’t punishment, it was direction. 
Peace wasn’t fleeting, it was foundational.

She noticed things she used to ignore. 
She felt things she used to numb. 
She heard things she used to miss.

Her spirit had become sensitive, not fragile, but tuned.

She could sense when God was speaking. 
She could sense when something wasn’t from Him. 
She could sense when her peace was being disturbed.

Discernment had awakened in her like a new sense.

And she protected it fiercely.

She guarded her time. 
She guarded her mind. 
She guarded her spirit. 
She guarded her peace.

Not out of fear, but out of reverence.

Because once you’ve awakened, you don’t go back to sleep.

Sometimes she thought about the people who denied God. 
The ones who mocked faith. 
The ones who insisted He wasn’t real.

She didn’t feel anger toward them. 
She felt sorrow.

Not because they were wrong, but because they were missing the very thing their soul was starving for.

They hadn’t surrendered. 
They hadn’t opened. 
They hadn’t awakened.

Not yet.

But she prayed they would.

Because she knew what waited for them on the other side of surrender,
fire, peace, clarity, love, and the unmistakable voice of God saying:

“I am here.”

And so she tucked this story, her awakening, into the Pocketbook of Grace. 
Not as a lesson. 
Not as a warning. 
But as an invitation.

For the woman who is tired. 
For the woman who is hurting. 
For the woman who is disappointed. 
For the woman who is ready.

Because awakening is not for the perfect. 
It is for the willing.

And all it takes is one whispered word:

Surrender.