Echoes of the Master

Elara sat by the ancient oak tree, its leaves rustling like whispered secrets in the afternoon breeze. Sunlight dappled through its branches, painting dancing patterns on the soft grass where she rested. Her heart, once a tangled knot of questions, now felt like a calm lake, reflecting the clear blue sky. She had been thinking about what her grandmother had told her, about the wise man who walked the earth long, long ago, a man named Jesus. He had spoken words that felt like sunshine on a cold day, words that had stayed with Elara, warming her from the inside out.

She remembered her grandmother’s gentle voice, describing how Jesus had told his friends, “You are the light of the world.” Elara had pondered this for days, her brow furrowed. How could *she*, a little girl who sometimes tripped over her own feet and often felt a bit wobbly inside, be a light? She was still learning, still figuring things out. But now, after feeling that wonderful, warm glow of El Shaddai’s presence, after understanding that the Almighty loved her more than she could ever imagine, the words began to make a different kind of sense.

She traced a pattern in the grass with her finger, picturing Jesus, his eyes kind and full of understanding. He hadn't said, "Only the wise or the strong are the light." He had said, "You are," to everyone. It was like El Shaddai had planted a tiny seed of light inside her, a seed that was now beginning to sprout and grow, pushing towards the sun. And if El Shaddai, the Almighty, could love her and see her light, perhaps others could too. Perhaps *she* could help them see it.