Buried Alive (for miracle)

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d no idea where our trusty vehicle was waiting for us. My daughter's question was met with a chorus of shrugs and confused glances, as we all started to retrace our steps, trying to remember the last time we had seen the car. We had been having such a great time together, laughing and chatting, that we had let our guard down and now we were paying the price. The sun was starting to set, casting long shadows a

nxiously waiting for what felt like an eternity. I could hear the sound of his footsteps echoing through the hallway, followed by the sound of him picking up the phone and dialing. I paced back and forth on the porch, my mind racing with thoughts of what could be happening. And then, after what felt like an eternity, the door burst open and Sammy and his

e for answers. "Did we forget where we parked it?" he asked, his tone hinting at the possibility that we might have made a silly mistake. But I shook my head, my expression serious, my mind racing with worst-case scenarios. "I don't know," I replied, my voice tight with worry, "but we need to find it. Now." The urgency in my tone seemed to snap him into action, and he quickly pulled

d racing with questions. How could he be so calm? Didn't he realize the gravity of the situation? Our car, our reliable, trusty companion, was gone! I felt a surge of anger and helplessness, and I turned away from him, my eyes brimming with tears. I stomped back into our bedroom, the door slamming shut behind me, and I collapsed onto the bed, my body shaking with sobs. I buried my face in the pillow,

, trying to live a righteous life, and yet, here we were, facing this trial. I couldn't help but wonder if I had done something wrong, if I had somehow brought this upon myself. The tears flowed uncontrollably, a manifestation of my anguish and frustration. I felt like I was drowning in a sea of uncertainty, with no lifeline in sight. My

a balm to my soul, soothing my frazzled nerves and calming my racing thoughts. I felt a sense of security and safety wash over me, as if everything was going to be okay, as long as he was by my side. He didn't say a word, but his silence spoke volumes, telling me that he was there for me, that he understood my pain and was willing to bear it wi

as if to will me to believe. "We must not let the enemy win by allowing doubt and fear to creep into our hearts. We are children of God, and we must stand firm in our belief, even when the road ahead seems uncertain." His words were like a steady anchor, holding me fast in the midst of the storm. I felt a surge of hope rise up within me, as I realized that he was right. We couldn't let

bt or uncertainty. I was determined to read his face like a book, to uncover the truth behind his words. My gaze was intense, almost palpable, as I sought to bore into his very soul. I was hungry for reassurance, for confirmation that he truly believed what he was saying. And so, I looked at him, my eyes drinking in every detail, every nuance, every flicker of emotion that cro

nd here don't even talk to us," I pointed out, my voice cracking with emotion. "So how do we go out from this village to the park in town, which is about 30 minutes drive?" I questioned, my mind racing with the impossibility of it all. The tears kept dripping down my face, like a relentless rain, as I felt the weight of our situation bearing down on me. "We're trapped, with no clear escape route," I thought to myself, as

comfort me. I felt like he wasn't understanding the gravity of our situation, like he was just sitting there, waiting for a miracle to happen, without taking any action. I was tired of waiting, tired of hoping, tired of praying. I wanted solutions, not sermons. I wanted a way out, not words of encouragement. And so, I pulled away from him, my eyes

ion, as I struggled to reconcile the promises of God with the harsh reality of our situation. "Where is God in all this?" I wondered, my mind racing with questions and doubts. "Has He forgotten us? Has He abandoned us to our fate?" I felt like I was crying out to a silent heaven, my prayers and pleas seemingly falling on deaf ears. The pai

his words a reminder that our struggles were not a reflection of God's power or love, but rather a test of our faith. "Listen to me," he said, his voice filled with conviction, as he reached out and took one of my hands in his, his touch warm and comforting. "We shall testify at the end of all of these," he said, his eyes locked on mine, his gaze filled with a deep faith and trust. "Tru

we need shelter, we need a way out of this place." I sobbed, my body trembling with anxiety and fear. "And how do we find the car?" I asked, my thoughts consumed by the logistics of our escape. "It's been taken from us, and without it, we're trapped. How are we supposed to get to the town, to find help, to start anew?

th a quiet confidence, as if he knew that God was already working out a plan for our deliverance. "We don't need to worry, my dear," he said, his voice soft and reassuring. "God is our provider, our protector, and our guide. He will make a way for us, even in the midst of this darkness. And if He wants us to have the car back, He will restore it to us in His

he end of the day, who knows what will happen?" I worried aloud, my mind racing with worst-case scenarios. "We can't take any chances, we have to act now," I pressed, my tone firm and resolute. "We have to find a way out of here, today, no matter what it takes," I declared, my determination and courage renewed. "We can't let fear

breakthroughs," he declared, his voice rising with excitement and passion. "He is the One who parted the Red Sea, who brought down the walls of Jericho, and who raised Lazarus from the dead," he reminded me, his words painting a picture of a God who is capable of achieving the impossible. "So, no matter what we're facing, no matter how big or small the challenge may be, we can trust that God is able to handle it,"

alert, my eyes scanning the surroundings frantically for any sign of danger. I was like a nervous wreck, my nerves stretched to the breaking point, my imagination running wild with worst-case scenarios. I would rush out into the open, my eyes scanning the horizon, my ears straining to pick up any sound, my heart pounding in my chest like a drum. And when I saw nothing, I would breathe a sigh o

fixed on some point ahead, his jaw set in a firm line. He didn't even flinch, didn't even acknowledge my presence, just kept walking towards the door with a sense of purpose that made me feel a shiver run down my spine. I watched him, my eyes wide with wonder, as he opened the door and slipped out into the unknown, leaving me behind with only my thoughts to keep me c

es asking for something, anything, to eat or drink, but I had nothing to give them. The weight of that responsibility, the guilt of not being able to provide for my own children, was crushing me. I was left alone in the living room, lost in thought, my mind racing with worries and fears. I thought about our situation, about how we had ended up here, about how we were going to get out of

out of this darkness. And so, I turned to the only One I knew could truly help us. "God, please save your own," I pleaded, my voice cracking with emotion. "I know I have doubts, I know I have failed you time and time again, but please, look not upon all these negative thoughts of mine towards you. Please, see the desperation in my heart, see the love I have for my family, and show us mercy." I added, my words tumbling out in a rush, my

oughts, trying to process the events of the day. But after just a few minutes, the peace was shattered by the sound of knocks on the door, which made my heart almost pop out of my chest. My eyes were glued to the door, my body tense and rigid, as I wondered who it could be. I paused, frozen in fear, and didn't respond, hoping that whoever it was would go away. B

ever unknown threat was lurking on the other side of the door. "Who is it, Mommy?" he repeated, his voice a little louder now, his tone a mix of fear and bravery. I tried to respond, but my voice was caught in my throat, my mind racing with worst-case scenarios. I shook my head, trying to reassure

ith a questioning gaze, as if seeking permission to open the door. I hesitated for a moment, my mind still racing with doubts and fears, but something about Layla's voice put me at ease. I nodded slowly, and my son, sensing my approval, quickly unbolted the door and swung it open, revealing Layla's worrie

icker basket, adorned with a vibrant veil that cascaded down her head like a waterfall of color. The basket was overflowing with an assortment of goodies, and the aroma of freshly baked bread and roasted vegetables wafted up, filling my senses and making my stomach growl with hunger. I was taken aback by the sight, my mind struggling to comprehend the unexpected

d been such a welcome distraction, that I hadn't even noticed she was preparing to leave. Now, as I looked at her, I saw that she was indeed getting ready to depart, her veil adjusted, her basket secure in her hands, and a determined look on her face. "You're leaving?" I asked, my tone a mix of surprise and concern, my mind racing with quest

om natural fibers, was precariously perched atop her head, threatening to topple over at any moment, its contents spilling out in all directions. Layla's hands were grasping at the basket's edges, her fingers straining to maintain their grip, but it was clear she wouldn't be able to hold on for much longer. Her words were a gentle request, but the urgency

rkled with a hint of mischief, and a gentle smile played on her lips as she turned to me, pointing at the basket with a slender finger. "See, ma?" she said, her voice full of excitement and pride, "I brought food for you and your family. I knew you were struggling, and I wanted to help." Her words were like a balm to my soul, filling me with gratitude and warm

this ma", L

loaves of bread, freshly baked and fragrant, alongside succulent roasted vegetables, their colors vibrant and inviting. The aroma of slow-cooked stews and savory meats wafted up, making my stomach growl with hunger and my taste buds tingle with anticipation. I couldn't believe that Layla, dear kind Layla, had gone to such len

h crept up her cheeks, as if she was both pleased and embarrassed by her own generosity. The scratch of her head was a subtle, endearing motion, a fleeting moment of vulnerability that revealed her humble, unassuming nature. It was as if she was trying to downp

ttle wobbly, but it seemed to encompass the basket, the food, the love she had shared with us. It was as if she was drawing a boundary around her kindness, defining the space where her heart had poured out its abundance. The simple gesture spoke volumes about her humility, her willingness to give without expectat

had always been so selfless and giving, had managed to accumulate enough resources to make such a generous gesture. Had she been secretly working, earning money, and saving it away? Had she been scrimping and saving from her own meager allowance? The thought of it was incredible, and

hes and shoes, but then I realized that you needed it more than I do. And besides, Christmas is just a few months away, and I have faith that God will provide. There's nothing that God cannot do," she said with a smile, revealing a well-arranged dentition that sparkled like pearls. "If He decides to surprise me with clothes and shoes for Christmas, no pr

tations and challenges. The weight of my own doubts and fears crushed me, and I fell on my knees immediately, with closed eyes, and started to cry and worship God. My kids, who had been watching from a distance, heard my voice and rushed out to see what was happening, but then paused with mouths agape as soon as they saw the content of the basket. Their eyes widened in

tion of beverages, a pack of biscuits, a few soft drinks, and a loaf of freshly baked bread. Each item was a testament to Layla's thoughtfulness and generosity. As I gazed at the spread before me, I felt my heart swell with appreciation and love. I then raised my head to look at her, my eyes locking onto hers, and I saw a warm, gentle smile spreading across her fac

s, and she nodded, her head bobbing up and down in a gentle, reassuring motion. Her eyes never left mine, her gaze filled with a deep understanding and compassion, as if she knew exactly how much we needed this blessing. "Yes, ma," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper, "all these are

with adoring eyes, his face wet with tears, and I could see the depth of his appreciation and love for this angel who had brought hope and sustenance to our doorstep. My daughter, too, was crying, her body shaking with sobs as she gazed at Layla with a mix of wonder and gratitude. She took a step forward, her arms openin

ng up and down in a soft, reassuring motion. Her eyes never left my son's, her gaze holding his with a deep understanding and connection, as if she knew exactly how much her kindness had meant to us. The silence that followed was palpable, a moment of pure connection and understanding that trans

growing up to be," I attempted to say, my words trailing off as I worried about the potential consequences of Layla

And besides, we have enough, ma. We have more than enough. It's time for us to share our blessings with others." Her words were like a balm to my soul, soothing my worries and fears, and filling me with a sense of

room as if ensuring no one was listening. "But please, ma, don't mention it to her. She'd be worried that I'm not thinking about my own needs, and I don't want to cause her any stress." Her words were laced with a deep love and consideration for her mother, and a desire to protect her from any potential worry or conc

Layla's face broke into a gentle smile, and she looked down at her feet, her toes wiggling slightly as she shifted her weight. "I told her I needed it for a project at school," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't want to lie, but I also didn't want her to worry. So, I told her a half-truth. I do have a project, but it's n

sed, her eyes sparkling with a sense of ownership and responsibility. "Grandma trusts me, and I wouldn't want to betray that trust. But I also know that she would want me to help others in need, just as she has always taught me." Layla's words were a testament to her independence, her selflessnes

her, asking God to bless and protect this precious child, to guide her and keep her safe, and to continue to use her as a source of hope and inspiration to all those around her. As I prayed, I could feel a sense of peace and joy wash over me, and I knew that this moment would stay with me forever, a reminder of the power of kindnes

e chores. Just let me know what you need, and I'll be happy to assist you." She smiled reassuringly, her eyes sparkling with a sense of responsibility and helpfulness. "I'll come back and check on you, and maybe we can even have a cup of tea together. I'd love to hear more about your family and your story." With tha

he potential benefits of having someone to help us with the little things. But Layla's offer was like a breath of fresh air, a reminder that there are still kind and selfless people in this world who are willing to lend a hand. And as I thought about it more, I realised that it wasn't just the errands themselves that would be a help, but the companionship a

ing in the breeze. She waved goodbye, and I waved back, feeling a sense of connection and friendship that I hadn't felt in a long time. As she disappeared from view, I felt a sense of peace settle over me, knowing that there were still good people in the world, people who cared about others and wanted to make a difference. I stood there for a moment

nto our lives. She is a true angel, a shining example of your love and compassion. Please bless her and keep her safe, and continue to use her as a source of hope and inspiration to all those around her." I paused, taking a deep breath, and then continued, "And Lord, I thank you for reminding me that there is still so much good in the world, t

eling, every triumph and failure. And yet, despite all my shortcomings and mistakes, You still love me, You still accept me, and You still want the best for me." I paused, taking a deep breath, and continued, "Your kindness and compassion are beyond understanding, Your grace and mercy are beyond measure. You are a Go

s have taken your husband away! They found him preaching in the village and now he's being brought before the King!" My heart sank, and I felt a wave of fear wash over me. We sprinted to the palace, our feet pounding the ground in a desperate bid to reach my husband before it was too late. When we arrived, we saw him on his knees, his head bowed in submission, bef

reading his rebellious ideas to others." The King's gaze then shifted to one of his subjects, a tall, imposing figure with a stern expression, who stood at attention, awaiting the King's command. "Commander Marcus," the King barked, his voice echoing through the throne room, "take this man away and throw him into the darkest dungeon in the land. Let him rot there for

ing growled, his face reddening with anger. "Did you perhaps make a mistake, or was your magic not strong enough?" he sneered, his tone dripping with disdain. The witch's face twisted into a scowl, her eyes flashing with defiance. "My magic is potent, Your Majesty," she spat, her voice low and menacing. "I laid the charm exactly as instructed, and it should have worked. Perhap

hey were extinguished only by the palace guards who rushed to put them out." The King's face turned beet red with rage, his eyes bulging with fury. "Fool!" he bellowed, his voice echoing through the throne room. "You must have done something wrong! How could a simple charm fail so spectacularly?" The subject cowered, his eyes cast downward in fear. "I-I don't know, Your Highness. Per

a wild stallion. We send our guards to capture him, and he slips through their fingers like sand in an hourglass." The King's face was red with rage, his eyes flashing like lightning as he paced back and forth in front of his throne. "What sorcery does he possess, that he can defy us so? What magic does he wield, that he can outwit us at eve

and conviction. "The Word of God is clear, Your Majesty," he continued, his gaze never leaving the King's face. "Though the wicked may seem to prosper for a time, their success is but a fleeting illusion. For in the end, it is justice and righteousness that will reign supreme, and thos

r long robes billowing behind them. They gathered around the King, their heads bent in unison, and began to speak in whispers in a language that we couldn't understand. The words sounded like a dark and sinister incantation, a mysterious and ancient tongue that sent shivers down my spine. The King's eyes gleamed with a malevol

the crushing pressure of his own stubbornness. Let him taste the bitter fruit of his defiance!" The King's face was red with fury, his eyes blazing like hot coals as he slammed his fist on the armrest of his throne. "I will not be disobeyed! I will not be defied! I am the King, and my

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