Johanna

"Johanna Dumay!"

The sound of my name echoed through the hall, crisp and commanding. I rose to my feet, smoothing the folds of my dark toga over the dress beneath, and took my first step toward the stage.

"Finally," I breathed, a quiet smile finding my lips.

The University President stood at the center, diploma in hand, his gaze steady as mine met his. When the paper touched my palms, my heart leapt.

Thank You, Jesus...

"Congratulations," he said with a slight bow.

I returned the gesture and whispered my thanks, then turned toward the rows of graduates below and bowed in honor of the rite.

When I lifted my head, my eyes were caught by a familiar face in the crowd—my grandmother, her smile alight, her pride shining like the sun. Tears threatened to spill as joy welled up within me. I smiled back, radiant and trembling, before stepping down from the stage.

But one absence weighed on me. Aunt Riza's seat remained empty. A part of me had known she wouldn't come, yet another part had still hoped. She had never embraced my faith, never softened her disapproval, yet I could not deny her place in my story. For it was through her support in my earliest schooling that I had even reached this day. God, indeed, works in ways both painful and profound.

And by His grace, I had forgiven her. Truly forgiven her. Once, I thought it impossible; yet the moment it happened, it was as though chains had shattered. Freedom breathed through me, and forgiveness became one of the sweetest victories of my life.

⸻

"I'm so happy for you, Anna..."

I turned to Melchour beside me, his voice warm and steady.

"Thank you," I said, my hand slipping into his. It had been two years since God wove him into my life, and still, he remained one of the clearest blessings I'd ever received.

"Look," I whispered, resting my head on his shoulder. "The skies are on fire."

Before us, the horizon burned in hues of crimson and gold, the sun setting the heavens ablaze.

"Beautiful," he murmured. "But not as on fire as my love for you."

I laughed under my breath, shaking my head.

"Oh, Mr. Melchour Eyasan, you truly are a terrible sweet-talker."

He only drew me closer. "Perhaps. But even in its clumsiness, it is the truth."

Heat rose to my cheeks, and I could only chuckle, whispering, "Whatever..."

He shifted slightly, his voice turning thoughtful. "By the way, are you ready for Sunday? You'll be speaking at our outreach church's anniversary."

My chest tightened. I had nearly forgotten.

"Yes," I said slowly, "I've prepared a message. But I'm nervous. I've never preached at something so special before."

"Anna," he said, turning toward me with gentle certainty. "You've walked with God for years now. You know He will be with you as you speak. And remember"—his lips curved into a smile—"He anointed you for this."

"Stop..." I murmured, hiding my face against his chest.

He lifted my chin, meeting my gaze with unwavering calm. "You'll be fine, Anna. By His grace, you will do well."

And in that moment, the fear loosened its hold. A quiet peace settled over me. I smiled, my heart steady once more, and simply nodded.

Melchour
The congregation erupted in applause as Johanna stepped toward the pulpit. Her long raven hair was drawn back into a neat, intricate bun, with a few loose strands framing her face. She laid her Bible upon the pulpit, and when her lips curved into a smile, something within me stilled. Fascination gripped me, and gratitude rose sharp in my chest. There she stood—clothed in the Presence of God, her voice carrying power.

She began to speak, and the hall hushed.

"A blessed day, brethren!" she greeted, her words answered by a chorus of voices.

I leaned forward, listening, as her voice rang with conviction. She reminded us of something we often forget—our need, our hunger, for God.

"Then Jesus declared, I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never go hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty."

Her voice carried weight, each word echoing in the room.

"Yes, all of us hunger. We live in a world that glorifies the self—a generation of me-centeredness. Just as Paul wrote to Timothy: In the last days men shall be lovers of themselves. Some hunger for money, some for knowledge, some for pleasure, some for fame..."

She paused, drawing a deep breath before continuing.

"I know each of us has our own lives, our own priorities, our goals. It may be your education, your family, your livelihood, your business... but my question for you is this: how much do you hunger for God?"

Her words cut deep.

"Today, brothers and sisters, God calls us to renew our hunger for Him. Enough with complacency. God is searching for people who will cry out, There must be more than this!—people willing to make their lives all about Him. And I assure you..." she lifted her voice, "just as Jesus said in Matthew 5:6, Those that hunger shall be filled!"

I could feel gladness rising in me. To hear God's Word proclaimed through her lips was overwhelming. She was far more than I had ever asked for—more than I deserved. For this, I will praise God for the rest of my days.

"Before I close, brethren," she said, her voice steady, reverberating through the room, "I want to share a story. A testimony I've carried in my heart for a long time—one that now must be declared."

She closed her Bible and let her gaze sweep over the congregation. The room shifted, quiet with anticipation. She drew in a breath, and I watched as she began to speak.

Johanna
Two years ago, my life was nothing like it is now. Misery was my companion, and brokenness was my name. I kept running from my struggles, yet no matter how far I went, they followed me. I tried to fill the emptiness in my heart—with people, with vices, with fleeting pleasures—but none of it ever satisfied."

As the words left my lips, memories came rushing back like shadows.

"I thought my passions would give me meaning. I sang, I performed, I tried to live for the stage. And yet... even when I was surrounded by applause, the silence inside me remained."

I paused, and my chest tightened at the memory of that night.

"And then... there was the night I almost ended it all. The night I thought my story would close in darkness. But God intervened. He sent one of His servants, a man of God, who found me unconscious behind a bar and carried me to the church. From that moment on, God began to move in my life in ways I could not explain. It was then I realized—His love had been chasing me all along, even while I was chasing everything else."

I drew a steady breath, my voice soft but sure.

"I never imagined that a God like Him—the God who sets the stars in their orbits, who shaped the heavens and carved the earth, whose beauty is beyond words—would choose to love someone like me. A woman sinful, rebellious, and proud. And yet, His love is unconditional. His love is beyond comprehension."

A smile touched my lips as I lifted my eyes.

"He didn't just love me... He set me free. Free from shame, free from my past. And now, despite all my failures, He uses me for His glory. Not because of my strength, not because of my effort—if it were up to me, I would never have stood a chance. But by His grace, I am who I am today."

I let my gaze sweep across the room, meeting the eyes of those seated before me.

"And if God could do this in my life..." My voice steadied, carrying both weight and hope.

"...then He can do it in yours too."