There is a particular kind of moment that fascinates me both as a writer and as a believer. It is not the moment when danger first appears. It is not even the moment when fear reaches its highest point. It is the moment that comes afterward. The realization that something was present all along, quietly standing watch when you thought you were completely alone.

Most of us have experienced a version of this, whether we admit it or not. It might come as a memory that surfaces years later. A time when you narrowly avoided a situation you should not have walked away from. A strange sense of calm during a moment when panic would have made more sense. A sudden change in direction that felt impulsive at the time but later revealed itself as protection.

As a storyteller, I am drawn to these moments because they carry a different kind of tension. Not the tension of immediate fear, but the deeper, more unsettling awareness that unseen forces move through our lives in ways we rarely recognize while they are happening. My characters often discover too late that they were not alone in the dark hallway, the empty road, or the silent house. Sometimes that presence is dangerous. Sometimes it is protective. The uncertainty between those two possibilities is where many of my stories begin.

In real life, we are often far less attentive to these moments. We are trained to look for explanations that feel safe and reasonable. Coincidence. Luck. Timing. We tidy up our experiences with logic because mystery feels uncomfortable. Mystery asks us to admit that we do not control everything, and for many people, that is a difficult truth to accept.

Yet Scripture consistently reminds us that we live in a world layered with both visible and invisible realities. Not all of them are meant to frighten us. Some are meant to remind us that God’s presence does not operate within the limits of what we can see or measure. Protection does not always arrive with warning sirens. Often it comes quietly, almost unnoticed, guiding steps, closing doors, or placing a subtle pause inside our spirit that makes us reconsider our next move.

I have come to believe that one of the greatest gifts God gives us is the ability to sense His presence without fully understanding it. That gentle awareness has saved people from decisions that would have led them into harm. It has redirected lives in ways that only make sense in hindsight. It has provided peace during moments when circumstances offered no logical reason to feel safe.

When I write supernatural thrillers, I try to capture that delicate balance between fear and faith. Darkness is real. Evil is real. But so is protection. So is intervention. So is the quiet authority of God standing in places we cannot see, holding back forces we may never fully comprehend. My goal is not simply to frighten readers, but to remind them that the unseen world is far more complex than we often imagine.

I think about how many times we walk through ordinary days unaware of what might be unfolding around us. We step into our routines, travel familiar roads, and sit in rooms we have occupied countless times before. Everything appears predictable. Everything feels known. Yet if we could pull back the veil for even a moment, I suspect we would be astonished by how active the unseen realm truly is.

There is comfort in that thought, even though it carries a trace of awe. We are not navigating this life alone, even when silence surrounds us and answers seem distant. God’s presence is not dependent on our awareness. He remains steady whether we recognize Him or not. And sometimes, long after a frightening or uncertain season has passed, we are given the quiet realization that we were guided, shielded, or redirected in ways we never saw at the time.

Those realizations change us. They make us more attentive. More grateful. More willing to trust when the path ahead looks unclear. They remind us that fear does not always mean abandonment. Sometimes fear simply means we are standing at the edge of understanding something larger than ourselves.

Perhaps that is why stories of the supernatural continue to captivate readers. At their core, they explore a truth we instinctively recognize. There is more happening around us than we can explain. And somewhere within that mystery is the steady, unwavering presence of God, watching, guarding, and guiding in ways that rarely announce themselves loudly.

So the next time you find yourself looking back on a moment that could have ended very differently, allow yourself to consider the possibility that you were never truly alone. Sometimes the greatest protection is the kind we do not recognize until we are safely past it.

And sometimes the most powerful stories are not about surviving darkness, but about discovering who was standing beside us while we walked through it.