Serendipity

What is faith, if all you’ve ever known of it is pain?
When faith becomes tied to suffering, it no longer feels like hope — only resentment. It becomes a reminder of every failure, every moment where belief felt misplaced.

Many interpret faith through religion, but the faith I speak of is something far more elusive — something even I can’t fully define. It’s a feeling. A quiet persistence. A faith in holding on when everything else falls apart. A faith in wanting more when life offers less.

I lost that faith a long time ago. I became a body without a spirit — moving, breathing, existing, but not living. Faith, I’ve realized, is like a bulletproof vest; it doesn’t stop life’s blows, but it gives you a sense of safety, of comfort. Without it, I was just a child wandering without direction.

Tomorrow, I turn thirty-three. Much of my thirties have been spent resenting who I’ve become.
How is that possible? I’ve become wiser, sharper — in many ways, the best version of myself. Yet, somehow, I felt emptier.

The boundaries that once held me in my twenties had shifted. I was facing new challenges — facing a new me — and this time, I wasn’t content.

Then, mid-year, I met someone — a wonderful young woman. An angel of faith, as I call her. We connected instantly. Within weeks, for the first time in years, I felt alive again.

Through her, I began to see that faith had never left me. It had only gone quiet, waiting for me to open up again. I had been hurt for so long that my soul was stitched together by fragile threads, and when they began to tear, I was terrified.

In Hebrew, there is a word — Arela — meaning Messenger of God.
That is how I know her.
For her privacy and protection, that is the name I will use. But it fits her in every sense. She is a messenger of God.

Slowly, I’m finding faith again. I don’t know where it will take me, but I hope, with time, I can walk forward — beyond fear, beyond loss — and learn to connect again, without holding back.

Thank you, Arela.
You are the angel who shed light upon the darkness that shadowed my spirit —
a messenger not only to protect your identity,
but to help me reclaim my soul.