Pieces of Purpose

Where do I start? How about we start at the beginning.

As a child, I was mature. I loved being around adults. From an early age, I felt the need to do what was right. My family—especially my cousins—will tell you that I was known as the “snitch” because if they were doing something wrong, I would tell on them.

One of my cousins often tells the story of a time we went to the pond with my granddaddy. We were just little kids. She wanted to go swimming and had planned to jump into the pond while my granddaddy wasn’t looking. I stopped her by telling her I was going to tell.

At the time, it probably seemed like I was just being the family tattletale.

But now, as I comb through my memories, I realize that moment may have saved her life. We couldn’t swim, and she could have drowned.

Now I see that this was part of the plan.

Don’t get me wrong—God gives us choices. But sometimes He sends signs, angels, or even people to help guide and protect us when the road gets hard.

The question is: Are we listening?

Do we recognize God’s gentle urging through the people He places in our lives?

Truth be told there are so many moments that God makes himself known but we count them out as little things until something big happens.

I felt my cousin’s death was a tragedy because she didn’t die at an old age. But I am coming to the realization that this was always a part of her story. She was my aunt’s only child and left behind four children, two of whom are still minors.

What I am coming to see is that even though, at times, she may have felt irrelevant or unseen in this life, she wasn’t. So many people have come forward and shared how kind she was and what a sweet spirit she had. As I began reflecting on her life and what she meant to me, I realized that not every day was sunny or happy, but it was full of love and care for one another.

Isn’t that what God requires of us—that we love Him and then love others?

Each of us comes into this world with a purpose. I have to believe that she fulfilled that purpose, and because she loved Jesus and accepted Him as her Savior, she is now with Him.

Through her death, one thing I have learned is that there are some situations that only God can help you through, and He alone should receive the glory for it.

In 2 Samuel 24, David orders a census of Israel’s fighting men. At first, this may seem strange because censuses were taken at other times in Scripture. But David was convicted after doing it because his heart had shifted. Instead of trusting God, he had begun placing confidence in the size of his army. God had always been Israel’s strength, not the number of soldiers they possessed. It was never about the military—it was about where David placed his trust. God will not share His glory with anything or anyone else.

As I walk through this season of grief, I realize the same is true today. No person, no plan, and no earthly strength can carry us through a valley like this. God alone deserves the glory for comforting our hearts, bringing healing where there is unimaginable pain, and carrying our family—especially my aunt—through the valley of the shadow of death.

Even in tragedy, He remains faithful.

So, there have been several moments throughout my life, from childhood until now, when I have felt the presence of angels.

I wholeheartedly believe that angels are with us. I also believe that children are sometimes able to see and accept things from the spiritual realm in ways that adults often dismiss or explain away.

When I was around eight or nine years old, my granddad became very sick. At the time, I didn’t know what was wrong with him. I just knew he was in a lot of pain. Today I know he had prostate cancer. My mom tells the story of how he was diagnosed at sixty-nine. When the doctors gave him the diagnosis, he simply said, “Well, you have to die from something.” He never went back for treatment, yet he lived another ten years.

During that time, we would often go to my grandparents’ house. One night, my granddad was in severe pain. Whenever he had those painful moments, he would go into the bathroom, fill a bucket with water, pour it into the bathtub, and repeat the process again. I suppose it helped take his mind off the pain.

That night, we stayed over just to be there with him. Looking back now, I realize my granddad was nearing the end of his earthly life. I remember my parents making a pallet in the living room for us to sleep on. Sometime during the night, I woke up. My dad was asleep, but my mom was still awake in my grandparents’ bedroom.

I raised my head and looked toward the bathroom. There stood the most beautiful little girl, clothed in a white unlike anything I had ever seen before. She was standing quietly, looking toward the bathroom. Somehow, I had the unmistakable sense that she was looking for my granddad.

I have often reflected on that moment. I cannot prove what I saw, and I understand that others may explain it differently. But I know what I experienced as a little girl, and today I realize what a deeply meaningful moment it was for me. Whether God allowed me to glimpse one of His angels or simply gave me a moment of comfort that I would understand years later, that memory has stayed with me for the rest of my life.