Right On Time - Michelle Addo

“I’m late!”

Nia’s breath came in short, panicked gasps as she bolted out of the house, nearly tripping over the step as she hurried toward the bus stop. Her heels clacked against the pavement, the sound echoing through the quiet Sunday morning. She had exactly ten minutes to get to church before service started—and before Pastor Graham noticed her empty seat. Again.

The weight of exhaustion sat heavy on her shoulders, pressing her down like a burden she couldn’t shake. Working two jobs, helping her mother with her medical appointments, and trying to keep her own life together was already too much. Then this morning, her alarm hadn’t gone off, and now she was running behind.

She reached the bus stop just as the bus was pulling away.

“No, no, no!” she groaned, waving her arms frantically. The driver didn’t even glance back.

She bent over, pressing her hands to her knees, sucking in deep breaths.

Why, Lord? Just why?

She wanted to cry, but there were no tears left. Not for something as small as missing a bus.

With no other option, she yanked her phone from her purse and called for a rideshare. Ten minutes. If traffic was on her side, she might just make it.

Slumping onto the bench, she muttered, “Lord, I’m trying. I really am.”

It wasn’t just about being late to church. It was about everything.

She tried to be faithful. She tithed when she could, she prayed—even when her words felt empty. But lately, it seemed like nothing was working in her favor. Bills kept piling up, her job was demanding more hours, and despite all the sacrifices she made, her family barely acknowledged the weight she carried.

Her mother needed her. Her younger cousin—who had been staying with them since her aunt went to jail—needed her. And even at work, people depended on her. Yet, when she needed someone? When she needed encouragement, help, or just a break? Silence.

What else did God want from her?

A gentle breeze rustled through the trees, carrying the scent of freshly cut grass. Nia closed her eyes, inhaling deeply, willing herself to calm down.

Then a voice broke through her thoughts.

“Excuse me, miss?”

Nia opened her eyes and turned. An older woman with silver-threaded braids sat beside her. Her deep brown skin was lined with years of wisdom, and she held a small, leather-bound Bible in her lap. She wore a pale blue dress, the kind that grandmothers wore to church, the kind that carried the scent of shea butter and anointing oil.

“You alright?” the woman asked, her voice warm like a hymn sung on a quiet evening.

Nia forced a smile. “Yeah, just… running late.”

The woman chuckled softly. “Ain’t nothing wrong with late, as long as you get where you’re going.”

Something about the way she said it made Nia pause. She exhaled slowly. “I guess. Just feels like I’m always playing catch-up. I try so hard, but it’s never enough.”

The woman nodded knowingly. “Life’s heavy, ain’t it?”

Nia hadn’t realized how much she needed someone to say that. Her throat tightened. “Yeah.”

The woman flipped through her Bible and stopped at a page, her finger resting on a verse. “You ever read Isaiah 40:31?”

Nia frowned, trying to recall it. “That’s the one about… ‘they that wait upon the Lord,’ right?”

“Mmm-hmm.” The woman’s eyes twinkled. “It says, ‘They shall mount up with wings like eagles; they shall run and not be weary; they shall walk and not faint.’”

Nia blinked, the words settling into the cracks of her weary heart.

“You been running so hard, baby,” the woman said gently. “But you ain’t meant to do it alone. You need to let the Lord be your strength, not just your last resort.”

Nia’s lips parted, but before she could respond, her phone dinged.

Her ride was here.

She looked up to thank the woman—but the bench was empty.

Her heart skipped. She scanned the sidewalk, looking left and right, but the woman was nowhere to be seen.

Wasn’t she just here?

Nia’s skin prickled. Had she imagined the whole conversation? She glanced down at the ground, expecting to see the woman’s Bible, a purse—something to prove she had been there. But there was nothing.

She hesitated before stepping into the car. A strange sense of peace settled over her.

Lord, was that You?

The words of Isaiah 40:31 replayed in her mind, soft but firm.

By the time she reached the church, the choir had just begun singing. She slid into the back row, smoothing down her dress, trying not to draw attention.

Up front, Pastor Graham stood at the pulpit, his voice steady and strong. “Some of us have been running for so long, we’ve forgotten that God never called us to do it all on our own.”

Nia’s breath caught.

Was that a coincidence?

The pastor continued. “We live in a world that tells us to hustle, to keep pushing, to handle everything ourselves. But the Bible tells us, ‘Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.’”

Nia swallowed hard.

Matthew 11:28.

She didn’t realize how tired she was until that moment.

All the striving. All the pushing. All the ways she had tried to hold her world together with nothing but her own strength.

The woman at the bus stop—who had she been? A stranger? An angel?

Or just another reminder that God saw her?

The choir’s voices swelled, harmonizing into a song she hadn’t heard in a while.

“I almost let go… I felt like I just couldn’t take life anymore…”

Nia’s breath hitched. She remembered her mother playing that song when life felt impossible. She used to sing it in the kitchen while making cornbread, wiping her hands on her apron, her voice shaking but never breaking.

She used to tell Nia, “If you still breathing, God ain’t done with you yet.”

Maybe she had forgotten that. Maybe she had let life convince her that being tired meant being alone.

Nia bowed her head, gripping her hands together.

“Lord… I hear You.”

And for the first time in a long time, she believed it.

She wasn’t too late.

She was right on time.