Welcome to Echoes of Faith, a publication of Lady Leo Publishing dedicated to sharing stories that inspire, encourage, and transform. Through inspirational fiction, faith-centered reflections, personal testimonies, and uplifting features, Echoes of Faith celebrates the power of hope, grace, and redemption in everyday life. Our mission is simple: Real Lives. Real Faith. Real Change.
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| The Witness |
Tia Carter is facing twelve years in prison for a crime she didn't commit, and the only man who can prove her innocence is too afraid to come forward. With the trial already underway, an unexpected new intern helps her public defender follow a forgotten clue to the missing witness—but finding him may be easier than convincing him to speak. Let the story speak to your heart—scroll down to begin.
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| The Horse that Won't Cross |
Chelsey knows Cedar Ridge Trail almost as well as she knows Scout, so when her trusted horse suddenly refuses to go forward, her frustration quickly grows. What she discovers beyond the bend will teach her an unexpected lesson about trusting God when the path ahead doesn't make sense. Let the story speak to your heart—scroll down to begin.
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| Don't Tell Ian |
Gabrielle’s discovery confirms everything Emily told Ian—but the truth leaves his friends angry and looking for justice. Ian insists revenge isn’t the answer, but once he walks away, Gabrielle, Lee, and Riley begin making plans of their own.
Episode 15 | Don't Tell Ian
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| What Gabby Overheard |
While Ian remains at the hospital with Emily, Gabrielle and Lee are still at the school dance. But an overheard conversation in the girls' restroom reveals the cruel truth about Jordan—and confirms that Emily wasn't imagining any of it.
Episode 14 | What Gabby Overheard
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| The Boy Who Wasn't Real |
Ian finally gets the chance to speak with Emily at the hospital. What she tells him about a boy named Jordan reveals a cruel deception—and the events that left her feeling completely alone.
Episode 13 | The Boy Who Wasn't Real
Where is the Brian Sessions
As Baylor City reels from the latest fire, Rachel’s fractured memories suggest Colin may not be the only danger lurking in the shadows. Meanwhile, Cassandra’s search for answers leads to another troubling question—where in the world is Brian Sessions?
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| The Faith Creek Mysteries |
Tessa gathers her sisters and reveals the truth about the case Jonah was investigating before he was shot. When they learn it involves the fifteen-year-old disappearance of Lena Wyatt, Tessa and Rae decide to find out what their father uncovered.
Episode 8 | The Case He Never Solved
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| The Day God Provided Manna |
Before Moses led us out of Egypt, I was a stonecutter.
My father had cut stone before me, and his father had labored beneath Pharaoh before him.
We were born into bondage and expected to die in it.
My father did.
But I lived to see the sea open.
I lived to gather bread from the wilderness.
And I lived to hold a son in my arms who had never been a slave.
Scroll down to read…
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| Nympha: The Woman Who Opened Her Home |
Scroll down to read…
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| The King Who Burned The Word of God |
I am Eliam of the House of Adriel, a scribe in the court of King Jehoiakim. On that winter day, I had been given a simple task: keep the king's fire burning.
There are three things a man learns quickly in a king's court: keep your records straight, keep your ears open, and keep your opinions to yourself.
I was particularly skilled at the third.
My father used to say a man's tongue could cause him more trouble than both his feet combined. Considering the number of men I had watched stumble over their own words before the king, I believed him.
So I wrote.
Orders. Accounts. Names. Taxes. Decisions made by men important enough to expect their words preserved long after everyone else had forgotten the conversation.
I understood the value of words.
I also understood their danger.
Especially when they belonged to Jeremiah.
Everyone in Jerusalem knew the prophet's name.
Some called him a man of God. Others called him a traitor who seemed determined to find destruction behind every sunrise.
In the palace, we were more careful.
Walls have ears.
Palaces have considerably more.
Jeremiah had been warning Judah for years. Repent. Turn from evil. Return to the Lord.
Few at court enjoyed hearing it.
King Jehoiakim least of all.
Then came the scroll.
I first heard of it when Micaiah hurried into the palace.
Men who bring ordinary news walk.
Micaiah did not.
He had heard Baruch son of Neriah reading the words of Jeremiah before the people at the house of the Lord.
By the time he finished telling the officials what he had heard, the room had changed.
I had seen powerful men receive reports of approaching armies with less concern.
They sent Jehudi and others to bring Baruch—and the scroll.
I remember watching the door after they left.
“You think it's as bad as Micaiah says?” another scribe whispered beside me.
I dipped my reed into the ink.
“If it isn't, we'll know soon enough.”
“And if it is?”
I looked at him.
“That is why God gave scribes quiet work.”
He stopped asking questions.
When Baruch arrived, he carried the scroll beneath his arm.
Nothing about it looked remarkable.
That bothered me.
Danger should announce itself somehow.
A drawn sword gleams.
An approaching army raises dust.
A scroll simply waits to be opened.
The officials told Baruch to sit and read.
So he did.
Jeremiah's warnings filled the chamber.
Judgment.
Calamity.
A nation refusing to turn from its wickedness.
I watched the men around me.
No one laughed.
No one whispered.
When Baruch finished, the officials looked at one another in fear.
“We must tell the king all these words.”
My stomach tightened.
There are moments when a servant wishes powerful men would reconsider their devotion to duty.
This was one of them.
They questioned Baruch about how the scroll had been written.
“Jeremiah spoke all these words to me,” he told them, “and I wrote them with ink in the book.”
One of the officials leaned forward.
“Go and hide, you and Jeremiah. Let no one know where you are.”
Baruch left without argument.
The scroll did not.
It was placed in the chamber of Elishama the secretary while the officials went to speak with the king.
I stared at it after they had gone.
So much fear contained in rolled parchment.
I wondered whether Jeremiah understood what his words had done to the room.
I would soon learn they had not yet done nearly enough.
Winter had settled over Jerusalem, and the king was sitting in his winter chamber when we were summoned.
A brazier burned before him.
I remember that fire.
Small.
Ordinary.
Necessary against the cold.
The officials told Jehoiakim about the scroll.
The king listened, then ordered Jehudi to bring it.
I stood near the wall as Jehudi returned with Jeremiah's words in his hands.
The room grew still.
Jehudi began to read.
Three or four columns.
That was all.
The king held out his hand.
Someone passed him a scribe's knife.
I knew that knife well. We used blades like it to trim parchment and sharpen reeds.
Tools for creating words.
Jehoiakim used it to destroy them.
He cut the columns from the scroll.
For one foolish moment, I thought he intended to set them aside.
Then he dropped them into the brazier.
The parchment curled.
Ink disappeared beneath orange flame.
No one moved.
Jehudi continued reading.
The king cut again.
Another piece fell.
Then another.
Read.
Cut.
Burn.
I had copied enough documents to know what it took to fill a scroll. Hours bent over parchment. Ink staining the fingers. Eyes aching in poor light. A single careless stroke scraped away and written again.
But this was more than a scribe's labor.
These were the words Jeremiah said the Lord had given him.
And our king was feeding them to the fire.
Elnathan stepped forward.
“My lord, do not burn the scroll.”
Delaiah and Gemariah joined him.
The king would not listen.
I watched the flames consume another section.
No one tore his garments.
No one cried out.
I thought of my father then.
He had served in the court of King Josiah when I was young.
Once, years before, another book had been read before another king.
My father had come home shaken.
“The king tore his clothes when he heard the words of the Lord,” he told us.
I had never forgotten it.
Josiah had torn his garments.
His son tore the scroll.
By the time Jehudi finished reading, nothing remained but ash.
The king ordered Jeremiah and Baruch seized.
They were not found.
And I returned to my work.
That is what servants do when kings behave as though nothing has happened.
We return to our work.
But for the first time in my life, I could not make my hand steady.
Several days passed before I heard the whisper.
I was sorting records when another scribe leaned close.
“Jeremiah has written it again.”
I stopped.
“What?”
“The scroll.”
I stared at him.
“The king burned it.”
“I know.”
“Every word.”
“So I hear.”
I lowered my voice. “Then what did Jeremiah write?”
The man glanced toward the doorway.
“The same words.”
He started to leave, then looked back.
“And more.”
For a long moment, I sat without moving.
Then I laughed.
Quietly, because I was still a man who valued keeping his head attached to his shoulders.
But I laughed.
All that cutting.
All that fire.
All those ashes.
And the words had returned.
I had spent my life believing that a scribe preserved words by putting ink to parchment.
King Jehoiakim believed he could destroy them by putting parchment to flame.
We were both wrong.
The parchment had never been the source of their power.
Years have passed since that winter.
I have copied the commands of kings whose voices are now silent. I have recorded names belonging to men whose bones have long since returned to dust.
Ink fades.
Scrolls crumble.
Kings die.
But I still remember the fire in Jehoiakim's chamber.
And I remember what came after.
The king burned the scroll.
God spoke again.
👑 An Echoes of the Court Story
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| Mile Marker 42 |
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| The Woman Before Me |
Seven months into her marriage, Trisha still struggles to find her place in a family shaped by the memory of the woman who came before her. But when she discovers Simone’s journal in the attic, she finds something she never expected—prayers written for a woman Simone would never meet. Scroll down to let the story speak to you.
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| The Porch Light and the Dog Bowl |
While her son serves overseas, Denise Ellis keeps two quiet promises each evening: she turns on the porch light and fills his old Labrador Duke’s bowl. But when a late-night phone call shakes her faith, Denise discovers that waiting doesn’t have to mean living in fear—and that some lights are kept burning by hope. Scroll down to let the story speak to you.
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| Growing Up Smart |
Ian Smart's prom night comes to an abrupt halt when an urgent phone call forces him to make an unexpected choice. As he and Fiona rush to the hospital to support a classmate in need, Ian discovers that doing the right thing often requires the greatest sacrifice.
Episode 12 | The Longest Night
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| Growing Up Smart |
With the dance only hours away, Ian Smart's day is anything but ordinary. Between helping Rev. Crabtree navigate a church dispute, enduring his mom's playful teasing, and being surprised by Fiona's special plans for the evening, Ian has plenty to keep him smiling. But when an unexpected encounter with a classmate reveals that someone may be carrying a burden alone, Ian is left with a growing concern he can't ignore.
Episode 11 | The Price of the Costume
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| Growing Up Smart |
The dance is finally here, and Ian Smart can't believe he'll be attending his first high school dance dressed as Napoleon. As he spends the afternoon with his father preparing for the big night, a heartfelt conversation reminds Ian just how much family means. Later, a stop at DeeDee's with his friends is filled with laughter and excitement—but one quiet conversation leaves Ian wondering if something is troubling Riley.
Episode 10 | The Big Night
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| The Keeper |
As old secrets collide with present dangers, Obadiah realizes one of his own has gone farther than expected. Meanwhile, Laric, Allen, and Zanna discover that the mystery surrounding Colin reaches back to one of Judah's darkest kings. And while heroes race to save lives, Antioch calmly watches the next phase of his plan fall into place.
After Jonah reveals the truth behind his secret investigation, Tessa returns to her childhood home, where familiar rooms and old memories force her to confront just how much has changed in a single day.
Episode 7 | The Weight of Silence
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| Bring Him Home |
For three long years, Marcus Bennett has prayed the same heartfelt prayer: "Lord, bring my son home." While the world believes hope has faded, heaven has never stopped listening. In the unseen Celestial Chamber of Requests, one father's plea sets a divine mission into motion. Scroll down to let the story speak to you.
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| Ruth in Boaz Field |
My name is Dalia, and I've spent more harvests in the fields of Bethlehem than I care to count.
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She came with Naomi, the older woman with the tired eyes and the sharp tongue. The two of them arrived in town like a storm had blown them in from somewhere far away, and in a way, it had. Ruth was the Moabite daughter-in-law, the one who had left her own people to stay with Naomi when everything in their lives had gone sideways.
I remember the first morning she stepped into the field where I was gleaning.
She did not look like someone expecting special treatment. She looked like someone who had already decided she would do whatever hard thing needed doing and complain later if there was time.
“Are you Dalia?” she asked me.
I blinked. “I am.”
“I’m Ruth,” she said. “Naomi said you might know which edges of the field are safest to start in.”
Safest. That word alone told me a great deal.
People like to think gleaning is simple. It is not. It means bending all day under the sun, picking up what the reapers leave behind, and praying your hands are quick enough and your strength is enough and your dignity survives the whole thing. Some women laughed while they worked. Some groaned. Some kept one eye on the overseer and one eye on the next patch of grain.
Ruth? She just kept moving.
She worked as if she had made a bargain with the day and intended to keep her side of it. Not once did she ask for pity. Not once did she act as if her trouble made her important. She bowed her head, gathered what she could, and carried it in her basket as if she had always belonged among the poor and hardworking.
By midday, the sun was fierce enough to make everybody mean.
I found Ruth near the far end of the field, carefully gathering stalks with her fingers.
“You ought to rest,” I told her.
She gave me a tired little smile. “I can rest when the work is done.”
I snorted. “Then you’ll never rest.”
That made her laugh, and I was surprised by how quick and light it sounded. There was grief in her face, yes, but there was something else too. Something steady. Something stubborn in the best possible way.
Then Boaz came.
Now, if you had asked the women in Bethlehem who Boaz was, they would have given you a different answer depending on whether they liked him. Some said he was wealthy. Some said he was honorable. Some said he was too generous and would ruin us all by making kindness look easy.
I thought he was all of those things.
He came into the field with the assurance of a man who knew exactly where he belonged, but he did not walk like a king. He walked like a man who understood work. He greeted his reapers, asked after them, and spoke with a voice that carried warmth without weakness.
“The Lord be with you,” he said.
“And the Lord bless you,” they answered.
Then his eyes landed on Ruth.
Now, I may not be the sharpest stone in the road, but even I noticed it.
He looked twice.
Not in a rude way. In a careful way. The way a man looks when he has seen something unexpected and realizes it matters.
Boaz turned to his overseer. “Whose young woman is that?”
I nearly choked on a husk.
Whose young woman? I had to bite my lip to keep from smiling. Ruth had that same expression that people wear when they’ve been noticed after trying very hard not to be noticed at all.
The overseer answered, “She is the Moabite woman who came back with Naomi. She asked permission to glean, and she has been here from morning until now.”
Boaz nodded slowly and walked toward her.