Tag: ChristianCreative

It was a rainy Monday.
I was sitting on a bench, waiting for a bus.

But I guess I wasn’t just waiting for the bus.
I was waiting for an answer.
Waiting for something to fill the void I’ve been carrying.
Waiting for the ache inside me to ease up — even just a little.

The weather matched my mood, but oddly, I’ve always liked gloomy days.
There’s something comforting about the rain — the soft rhythm of droplets falling, the way the street glows under the lamp post light.
It feels honest. Like the world isn’t pretending to be okay.

I sat quietly for a while, then noticed an old man across the bench, watching the rain with the same stillness.
He saw me, smiled, and waved. I walked over and sat beside him.
We both didn’t seem to mind the wet bench.

“Why are you sitting here alone?” I asked. “Don’t you have someone to keep you company?”

He chuckled. “And why are you alone, young lady?”

I smirked. “If I had someone with me, I would’ve asked him to join me.”
Then added, “I guess I feel lonely. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a… Beau.”

He laughed gently. “Even if you had a Beau, he couldn’t go with you everywhere. Sooner or later, you’ll have to learn how to be alone. Even family and friends can’t be with you all the time.”

I nodded. “I know… it’s just, I’ve been doing life on my own for so long. I’m tired.
I don’t just long for a Beau — I long for a breakthrough.
I’ve been working so hard for half my life. It’d be nice to be taken care of for once.
To travel again, to walk unfamiliar streets and taste local food.
To speak a language I still can’t pronounce.
To fly — not as a passenger, but the one in the cockpit.
To have a Beau. And little beaus.”

He chuckled again.

“I get it,” he said. “We all have our longings.
As humans, we carry emptiness sometimes — the need for someone to ask, ‘Are you okay?’
To really see us. Hear us.”

Then he shifted his gaze toward the nearest lamp post.

“Describe the street,” he said.

“Dark. Damp. It’s still raining.”

“What else?”

“Lamp posts.”

He smiled. “Yes. Look at how the light touches the street.
Wherever that lamp shines, even the wet concrete seems to glow.
The darkness is still there… but everything the light touches becomes softer. Brighter. Beautiful.”
He turned back to me.
“So whatever it is you’re longing for — talk to God about it. He is your lamp.

Tell Him, ‘Father, I am tired. Frustrated. My heart aches.’
He listens.
I’m sure He’s listening to us now.”

I didn’t speak right away.
The rain had softened into a drizzle — less storm, more lullaby.

The ache was still there, but it didn’t feel as sharp.

I looked at the old man — at the wrinkles shaped by both sorrow and kindness, the quiet strength in his presence.
He wasn’t trying to fix anything.
He just sat there with me. And somehow, that was enough.

I smiled, more to myself than to him.
“Thank you,” I whispered.

He nodded, eyes still on the glow of the lamp post.

“Just remember,” he said, “we may sit alone… but we’re never truly waiting alone.”

The moment passed. But something in me stayed.

So I stayed on the bench a little longer —
Not to wait,
But to rest.