Kofi did not go to the church that morning.

He knew what day it was. Good Friday had always meant something growing up. Silence. Reflection. A kind of quiet that asked you to look at yourself.

But this year, he stayed away.

Not because he didn’t believe.

Because he wasn’t sure he deserved to stand there.

He walked instead.

No destination.

Just movement.

The village was quieter than usual, like even the noise of life understood that today was different. Somewhere in the distance, a hymn carried through the air, soft and steady.

Kofi slowed when he passed the church.

The doors were open.

Voices inside, gentle, certain.

He stopped.

Just for a moment.

Then he shook his head and kept walking.

“I shouldn’t go in,” he muttered.

The words felt small but true.

Because something in him felt… off.

Not broken in a way anyone could see.

Just not right enough.

Not clean enough.

Not ready.

The things he had said
The things he had done
The things he knew he should have done
but didn’t

They stayed with him.

Quiet.

Persistent.

He reached the edge of the trees, where the land opened just enough for the wind to move freely. He sat down, elbows on his knees, hands hanging loosely, staring at nothing in particular.

“I don’t think I’m doing this right,” he said after a while.

No one answered.

Just the wind brushing past.

“If today is about Him…”

He paused.

But he was thinking of Jesus Christ.

“If He gave everything… then what am I doing?”

The question sat heavier than he expected.

He exhaled slowly.

“I try,” he admitted.

“Sometimes I really do.”

His voice dropped.

“But I get tired. Or I forget it. Or I just… choose what’s easier.”

He rubbed his hands together, as if he could wipe something invisible away.

“And then days like this come, and I feel like I missed it.”

The wind shifted slightly.

Not stronger.

Just enough.

And something in the quiet changed.

Not outside.

Inside.

A thought came, clear and steady.

He didn’t wait for you to get it right.

Kofi frowned.

He hadn’t meant to think that.

But it stayed.

Unmoving.

He looked down at his hands.

“If that’s true… then why do I feel like I have to fix myself first?”

Silence.

But not empty silence.

The kind that holds something.

He thought about everything he carried.

Not loud guilt.

Not something anyone else would notice.

Just the quiet weight of knowing he could be better.

And then another thought came.

Just as steady.

He chose you knowing all of that.

Kofi’s chest tightened.

He leaned back slightly, staring up at the sky through the thin break in the trees.

For the first time that day, he didn’t feel pushed away.

He felt… seen.

Not for who he should be.

But for who he was.

And somehow, that didn’t feel like rejection.

It felt like something closer to mercy.

“So it’s not about getting everything right first,” he said quietly.

The words came slowly, like he was learning them as he spoke.

“It’s about… coming as I am.”

The wind moved again.

Soft.

Certain.

Kofi let out a long breath.

“I don’t think I’ve been failing,” he said.

The thought surprised him.

“But I’ve been carrying things like I have to earn something that was already given.”

He sat there for a while longer.

Not searching for more answers.

Not forcing anything.

Just… sitting in it.

Then he nodded once.

A small, quiet decision.

“Okay,” he said.

No audience.

No performance.

“Then I’ll try again.”

Not perfectly.

Not all at once.

Just again.

He pushed himself up slowly.

Dusted his hands against his trousers.

And turned back toward the path he came from.

The church was still there.

The doors still open.

The voices are still soft.

He didn’t rush.

He didn’t hesitate.

He just walked.

And for the first time in a long while

He didn’t feel like he had to become someone else before he could belong.

He just had to come

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