Lucas was an orphan.
Not the kind who grew up in foster homes with loving families — he had been through shelters, institutions, and the hurried glances of social workers. From a very young age, he had learned not to expect anything from anyone. Silence was his best friend, and loneliness, his only certainty.
That's why, when he stumbled into a small church in the city center, he expected nothing. He was just escaping the rain, the noise, the weight of the world. It was a simple building, without grandeur, but something inside made him stop. Maybe it was the warmth. Or the soft music echoing through the walls. Maybe it was simply the fact that someone looked into his eyes and said, "Welcome."
It was a Calvinist church — something he had never even heard of before.
During the first few services, Lucas remained quiet, sitting in the back pews, just observing. But little by little, the words began to pierce through his armor.
Sermons about sovereignty, grace, and purpose hit him in a way no TV series or physical training ever had.
There, he learned he wasn't a mistake. That even his pain, his empty days, and sleepless nights — all of it was part of something greater.
He discovered he didn't have to carry the weight of the world alone.
God was sovereign. God was just. And above all, God was present.
For the first time, Lucas felt he wasn't alone.
People called him by name. They prayed with him. They listened without rushing.
And more than anything, they taught him that he was known and loved by God — even before he had ever been known by any man.
It didn't heal every wound.
But it gave meaning to them.
And that was already a beginning.