Chapter 10: The Small Miracles

It had been a few weeks since Noah made the conscious decision to keep seeking, and though his questions still lingered, something had shifted. The doubt that had once suffocated him now felt more like a shadow that followed him around, but not as an enemy—more like a companion on this strange journey of faith. It was there, but it didn't have the power it once did.

Noah's search didn't feel like a desperate chase anymore. Instead, it was a quiet pursuit, one that made him more aware of the world around him. He wasn't expecting grand signs or miraculous visions, but as he walked through each day, he began to notice something different.

It started with small things. At school, he found himself laughing more with his friends, the weight of his doubts momentarily forgotten in the shared joy of a funny moment or a casual conversation.

At lunch, he sat with Eli as usual, and this time, Noah felt a deeper sense of connection. They were talking about a random topic, something trivial, when Noah caught a glimpse of Eli's eyes—a quiet kindness that seemed to radiate from him.

Eli wasn't the most vocal about his faith, but every once in a while, he would say something that struck Noah. Like that day, when they were talking about their favorite books, and Eli casually mentioned how he loved reading Proverbs.

"There's so much wisdom in it," Eli had said, "I try to live by it. Proverbs helps me when things don't make sense."

Noah hadn't expected to be so moved by something so simple. But there it was again—an echo of the faith he had been searching for. It was small, but it meant something. It was a reminder that faith didn't have to be perfect to be real.

When Noah got home that evening, the house was quiet. His parents were both working late, and Leah was out with friends. Noah settled into his room, where his Bible sat waiting for him. He hadn't opened it in a few days, but something urged him to pick it up again.

He flipped it open to Proverbs, just like Eli had mentioned. His fingers hovered over the pages, and then they landed on a verse that caught his attention:

"The fear of the Lord is the beginning of knowledge, but fools despise wisdom and instruction." (Proverbs 1:7)

Noah read it again. And again. It wasn't some earth-shattering revelation, but it felt like a small miracle. It reminded him that wisdom wasn't something that could be rushed—it came with time, and it required a willingness to learn. He wasn't going to have all the answers overnight, and that was okay.

The next morning, something even smaller but equally significant happened. Noah was walking to his first class when he noticed a boy sitting alone in the hallway, his backpack beside him, staring down at the floor with a far-off look in his eyes.

Noah hesitated for a moment. He didn't know the boy. They had never spoken. But something in Noah's chest stirred—something that felt like the faintest whisper of a nudge.

He approached the boy, his heart beating faster as he tried to think of something to say.

"Hey," Noah said, his voice quieter than usual. "You okay?"

The boy looked up, startled at first, then gave a small, sad smile. "Yeah, I'm just... tired, I guess."

Noah didn't know what else to say, but he sat down beside the boy, offering him the smallest gesture of support. They sat there in silence for a while, and then Noah spoke again.

"If you ever need someone to talk to, I'm here."

The boy looked at him, his eyes softening a little. "Thanks, man."

It wasn't much, but it felt like a small miracle to Noah. A simple act of kindness that bridged the gap between two people who had never spoken before. In that moment, Noah realized that maybe faith wasn't always about having the right answers or feeling like everything was perfect. Sometimes, it was just about showing up, being present, and offering whatever little light you could to someone else.

As Noah walked to class, he felt a sense of peace, a quiet knowing that he wasn't as alone in this journey as he had thought. There were moments of grace, even in the small things. Even in the uncertainty.

That night, after dinner, Noah found himself once again sitting by his window, looking out at the stars. The questions still lingered in the back of his mind, but he didn't feel the same overwhelming sense of confusion.

He closed his eyes and said a prayer, one that felt different from the others he had said before.

"God, I don't know why things happen the way they do, but I'm starting to see You in the little things. I don't need all the answers. I just need to know You're with me. And I feel like I'm starting to see You more clearly."

Noah smiled softly as he finished the prayer. There were still so many questions left to answer, so many things he didn't understand. But for the first time in a long time, he felt at peace with the not-knowing. He wasn't alone in his journey, and he didn't need to have everything figured out.

He had faith that, little by little, the answers would come. Maybe not all at once, but piece by piece. And that was enough.