A Small God Wink on an Ordinary Day

This week I had something tender happen.

I had a day that I had been thinking about my mom all day.

Not in a heavy way exactly, just that steady ache that sits underneath everything.

The kind you carry while you wash dishes and answer messages and try to be present in conversations.

I didn’t talk about it.

I didn’t explain it to anyone.

I barely even prayed about it, just a quiet thought that kept rising to the surface...I miss her.

Sometimes grief doesn’t interrupt the day, it just walks beside you through it.

At the end of the day, I went to check the porch for a package I was waiting for, but what I found instead... when I opened the front door there was a pot of yellow flowers on the porch.

Bright yellow. Almost cheerful.

Yellow was my mom’s favorite.

The person who brought them couldn’t have known what the day felt like for me. They didn’t know what memories had been replaying in my mind since morning. They didn’t know about the quiet longing I hadn’t put into words. And yet there they were waiting, right at the end of an ordinary day.

It made me pause.

Not because it was a grand miracle, but because it was so gentle.

So personal.

I have come to believe heaven often speaks in small ways.

Not to overwhelm us, but to remind us we are seen.

That our silent prayers are still heard.

That love doesn’t end where we think it does.

Standing there on the porch, holding those flowers, I felt that familiar reassurance settle in. The kind that doesn’t answer every question but steadies your heart anyway.

Just a small God wink.

And for a moment, the distance between here and there didn’t feel quite so far.