Jessica sat cross-legged on the hardwood floor of her tiny bedroom, surrounded by an explosion of papers, empty coffee mugs, and tangled thoughts.
A half-eaten sandwich sat forgotten on her desk.
A list of expenses stared at her from her laptop screen.
A sharp ache pulsed behind her eyes.
She pulled her knees to her chest and buried her face in her arms.
"God… I'm trying," she whispered into the quiet, "but I feel like I'm drowning."
The pressure had been building for weeks.
Orders were increasing faster than she could manage.
Supplies were running low.
Deadlines loomed.
And her bank account balance made her stomach twist every time she checked it.
Jessica had fought hard to trust God in the small beginnings.
She had watched Him provide in beautiful, unexpected ways before.
But now the stakes felt higher.
The mountain steeper.
The silence heavier.
A part of her was tired—tired of hoping, tired of waiting, tired of trying to believe when everything around her looked like it was crumbling.
Tears leaked down her cheeks as she pulled her Bible closer.
It fell open to a familiar psalm—the one she had clung to all year:
> "I lift up my eyes to the hills—
where does my help come from?
My help comes from the Lord,
the Maker of heaven and earth." — Psalm 121:1-2
Jessica wiped her eyes and read it out loud again, slower this time, almost like breathing:
"My help comes from the Lord... not from my plans. Not from my striving. Not from the people I think should support me. From the Lord."
She pressed her forehead to the open page.
"Father, I can't do this alone. I don't want to do this alone. I need You. I need You more than I need money or sponsors or success. I need Your favor. Your guidance. Your peace. I surrender again."
A knock at the door interrupted her prayer.
"Jess, you okay?" her brother's teasing voice came through the door.
"You sound like you're losing a wrestling match in there."
Jessica gave a watery laugh.
"Just wrestling with life, Ethan," she called back.
"Need backup? I come with ice cream," he joked.
"I'm good," she smiled weakly. "But thanks."
After he left, Jessica looked around at the chaos around her—the projects unfinished, the business dreams teetering on the edge—and instead of feeling crushed by it, she decided to worship right there.
In the middle of the mess.
In the middle of the fear.
In the middle of the not-knowing.
She turned on her worship playlist, letting soft melodies fill the room.
A song based on Psalm 23 came on, and she sang it, voice trembling:
> "The Lord is my Shepherd
I shall not want..."
Tears streamed down again, but this time they were different.
Not desperate.
Surrendered.
"You lead me, Jesus," she whispered. "Even through valleys. Even through waiting. Even when I don't understand."
Strength began to rise inside her.
Not a roaring, charging kind of strength—
A steady, rooted kind.
A quiet confidence that the God who had called her would also carry her.
---
Later that night, feeling a little braver, Jessica sat at her desk and began researching companies that supported small Christian businesses.
One website after another left her discouraged—either too big to notice her or too secular to understand her mission.
Finally, a small article caught her attention.
Elias Ventures: Quietly Supporting Kingdom Dreams.
Jessica clicked.
She scrolled, heart thudding, as she read story after story of small entrepreneurs—people just like her—who had been helped quietly by this company.
No fanfare.
No strings attached.
Just provision through God's people.
Tears welled up again, but this time with hope.
"Could this be You, God?" she breathed.
Nervous but determined, she wrote a heartfelt email.
> Dear Elias Ventures,
My name is Jessica Maren. I run a small business built on a simple dream—to bless families and glorify God through creative work.
I am seeking sponsorship, but more than that, I am seeking alignment with people who value integrity, faith, and community.
I know the future is in God's hands. If He leads you to partner with me, I will be deeply honored.
In Christ,
Jessica Maren
Before she could overthink it, she clicked Send.
Then, hands still trembling slightly, she knelt once more by her bed and prayed:
"Father, whether they say yes or no, I trust You.
If this is the door You want to open, no man can shut it.
And if it's not, protect me from anything less than Your best.
Lead me, Shepherd. I will follow You all the way."
She opened her Bible one last time and found a verse she didn't remember marking, but it glowed on the page like a promise:
> "See, I have placed before you an open door that no one can shut." — Revelation 3:8
Jessica closed her eyes and smiled through the tears.
"An open door..." she whispered.
She didn't know that across town, that very email had just arrived at Elias Ventures, landing into hands God had already prepared.
Hands connected to Michael.
And though she couldn't see it yet, a door had already begun to swing wide open—one that no fear, no lack, no doubt could close.
Because when God writes a story,
He writes it with love,
In perfect timing,
And in perfect faithfulness.