A Trace of Simon
Lydia met Kora in a place that smelled like burnt coffee and second chances.
Not a church.
Not a conference.
Just a quiet community room where conversations happened low and people pretended they weren’t eavesdropping.
Kora was the first to mention God—but casually. No sermons. No intensity. Just gentle comments tucked into everyday sentences.
“Sometimes I think God has a sense of humor,” she’d say.
Or, “I feel like everything happens for a reason.”
Every now and then she’d invite Lydia along.
Nothing pushy.
Nothing loud.
At first, they were in the same place—listening, learning, curious but uncommitted. Faith, for them, was an interesting idea. A conversation topic. Something to admire from a safe distance.
Then Lydia changed.
Not all at once.
Not dramatically.
It started with questions she couldn’t un-hear.
Truth that wouldn’t stay theoretical.
A hunger that refused to be decorative.
She didn’t want to talk about God anymore.
She wanted to know Him.
Kora, on the other hand, loved the stories.
She loved breakthrough testimonies.
Last-minute rescues.
Impossible turnarounds.
The kind of miracles that made great social media captions.
Whenever someone shared how God showed up big, Kora would light up like she personally sponsored the miracle.
But if the conversation drifted toward confession…
or surrender…
or real change…
She’d tilt her head and smile.
“God understands,” she’d say.
And everyone would nod politely.
Lydia stopped nodding.
They didn’t fall out.
No argument.
No dramatic ending.
Life just began to pull them in different directions.
Kora grew into polish.
Lydia leaned into presence.
Kora gathered information.
Lydia embraced transformation.
And without trying to outrun anyone, Lydia quietly outgrew the place where they once stood side by side.
Years passed.
Kora became impressive on paper—educated, respected, booked, busy. Lydia sometimes saw her name attached to projects, panels, and promotions.
She looked successful.
She sounded accomplished.
But there was something restless behind her words now.
One evening, Lydia’s phone buzzed with a message from a name she hadn’t seen in a while.
“Pray that none of the things tied to my choices catch up with me.”
Lydia read it twice.
It wasn’t a plea for change.
It was a request for distance—from consequences.
And in that moment, a familiar story whispered back to her memory. A man long ago who believed enough to be baptized, admired enough to want the power, but never surrendered enough to release control.
Simon had many descendants, Lydia realized.
They were everywhere.
In conference rooms.
In friendships.
In private conversations.
In quiet fears dressed as casual faith.
They believed.
They admired.
They feared.
They calculated.
They wanted rescue without rule.
Escape without surrender.
Coverage without crucifixion.
They didn’t reject Christ.
They just wouldn’t step down from the throne.
Lydia typed back a simple reply:
“I will pray.”
And she did.
But she also understood something she hadn’t fully grasped in the beginning:
Not everyone who walks beside you in curiosity will walk with you into depth.
Some people want to observe God.
Some want to benefit from God.
And a few—quiet, steady, and often misunderstood—want to belong to God.
Friendships don’t always break with harsh words.
Sometimes they end with different hungers.
And different hungers always lead to different roads.
Scripture Anchors
You believe that there is one God. You do well. Even the demons believe—and tremble. — James 2:19
Not everyone who says to Me, ‘Lord! Lord!’ will enter the Kingdom of Heaven. Only those who actually do the will of my Father in heaven will enter. — Matthew 7:21
The He said to them all, “If anyone desires to come after Me, let him deny himself, take up his cross daily, and follow Me.” — Luke 9:23
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