Harvest of Grace

There comes a time when you stop running. Not because you’ve figured everything out, but because you’re tired. Tired of pretending you’re okay. Tired of smiling when your heart is heavy. Tired of wondering if there’s more to life than just surviving. And in that stillness — in that moment where everything feels quiet and loud at the same time — something inside you whispers, “I want to know God.” Not religion. Not rules. Just… God. The real One. The One people talk about but you’ve never really met. The One you’ve heard stories about but never felt close to. And maybe you don’t know where to start. Maybe you’ve never opened a Bible. Maybe you’ve been hurt by people who claimed to know Him. But still, something in you is reaching. That’s grace.

This candle isn’t just a scent. It’s a symbol. A small flame in a world that feels dark. Apple harvest — warm, familiar, comforting — like a hug from someone who doesn’t need you to explain yourself. It’s the kind of scent that makes you pause. Makes you breathe. Makes you remember that you’re still here. And maybe that’s the point. You’re still here. Still searching. Still hoping. Still open. And that’s enough.

You don’t need fancy words. You don’t need to be perfect. You don’t need to know everything. You just need to be willing. Willing to say, “God, I don’t know how to do this, but I want to try.” Willing to admit that you’ve been carrying things alone for too long. Willing to believe — even just a little — that maybe you were made for more than pain and confusion. That maybe, just maybe, there’s a love that doesn’t leave. A grace that doesn’t judge. A God who sees you and still chooses you.

This is your harvest season. Not you’ve done everything right. But because something is growing in you. Something sacred. Something strong. Something soft. And it’s okay if you don’t have the words for it yet. Just light the candle. Let the scent fill the room. Let the flame remind you that you’re not too far gone. You’re not too broken. You’re not too late. You’re being called — gently, quietly, intentionally. And that’s grace.