Cora pulled the heavy quilt tighter around her, watching the winter rain tap against the windowpane. Another week had slipped through her fingers, and she couldn't point to a single thing she had done that really mattered. Her heart ached — not for busyness, but for meaning. Was this really it? Waking, working, sleeping? She whispered the question into the dusk: “Lord, is there more for me?”
The silence was steady, almost tender. Cora pressed her forehead against the cool glass and closed her eyes. A memory surfaced — her grandmother’s voice, telling her stories from the Bible, stories where ordinary lives had changed the course of history because they walked with God. Noah, Ruth, Mary. None of them started with a plan. They started with a heart willing to listen.
That night, Cora pulled her dusty Bible from the shelf. Its leather cover was worn soft, the gold pages dulled. She flipped it open, desperate for something — anything. Her eyes fell on Proverbs 3:5-6: "Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to Him, and He will make your paths straight." She read it three times, the words stirring something deep within her.
What if living with purpose wasn't finding the perfect job or reaching some set destination? What if it was choosing, every day, to trust, to listen, and to show up?
The next morning, Cora decided she would start small. She baked a loaf of banana bread and walked it down to Mrs. Hawthorne, her widowed neighbor who rarely ventured beyond her porch. The woman's face creased into a surprised, watery smile as she accepted the gift.
“Oh, how did you know?” she whispered, pulling Cora in for a hug that smelled of lavender and longing. “I’ve been feeling so alone.”
That hug warmed Cora's heart more deeply than any accolade ever could. It was a small thing — a loaf of bread — but in it, she recognized something bigger: God's purpose shining quietly through her.
Over the next few weeks, Cora snuck purpose into her days like notes tucked between the pages of an old book. She sent postcards to friends she hadn't heard from in years. She joined the church's prayer group, sitting quietly alongside others who were also learning to listen to life more closely. She picked up trash on her walks without telling anyone, smiling at squirrels and crows like old acquaintances.
One rainy Thursday, as she left the food pantry where she'd been volunteering, Cora paused on the steps. The air was thick with the scent of wet earth. A little boy slipped free of his mother's grasp and ran up to her, handing her a drooping daisy, its petals battered but bright.
"For you," he said, shy and proud.
Cora knelt to receive it, tears stinging the corners of her eyes. This — this was the miracle. A thousand small moments stitched together by grace. She was no longer searching desperately for her purpose. She was living it.
As she walked home, clutching the daisy like a priceless treasure, she whispered, “Thank You, Lord,” the words carried away on the breeze, a prayer and an anthem all at once.
She was not lost. She was led.
And that was more than enough.
—
Supporting Bible Verses:
Cora pulled the heavy quilt tighter around her, watching the winter rain tap against the windowpane. Another week had slipped through her fingers, and she couldn't point to a single thing she had done that really mattered. Her heart ached — not for busyness, but for meaning. Was this really it? Waking, working, sleeping? She whispered the question into the dusk: “Lord, is there more for me?”
The silence was steady, almost tender. Cora pressed her forehead against the cool glass and closed her eyes. A memory surfaced — her grandmother’s voice, telling her stories from the Bible, stories where ordinary lives had changed the course of history because they walked with God. Noah, Ruth, Mary. None of them started with a plan. They started with a heart willing to listen.
That night, Cora pulled her dusty Bible from the shelf. Its leather cover was worn soft, the gold pages dulled. She flipped it open, desperate for something — anything. Her eyes fell on Proverbs 3:5-6: "Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to Him, and He will make your paths straight." She read it three times, the words stirring something deep within her.
What if living with purpose wasn't finding the perfect job or reaching some set destination? What if it was choosing, every day, to trust, to listen, and to show up?
The next morning, Cora decided she would start small. She baked a loaf of banana bread and walked it down to Mrs. Hawthorne, her widowed neighbor who rarely ventured beyond her porch. The woman's face creased into a surprised, watery smile as she accepted the gift.
“Oh, how did you know?” she whispered, pulling Cora in for a hug that smelled of lavender and longing. “I’ve been feeling so alone.”
That hug warmed Cora's heart more deeply than any accolade ever could. It was a small thing — a loaf of bread — but in it, she recognized something bigger: God's purpose shining quietly through her.
Over the next few weeks, Cora snuck purpose into her days like notes tucked between the pages of an old book. She sent postcards to friends she hadn't heard from in years. She joined the church's prayer group, sitting quietly alongside others who were also learning to listen to life more closely. She picked up trash on her walks without telling anyone, smiling at squirrels and crows like old acquaintances.
One rainy Thursday, as she left the food pantry where she'd been volunteering, Cora paused on the steps. The air was thick with the scent of wet earth. A little boy slipped free of his mother's grasp and ran up to her, handing her a drooping daisy, its petals battered but bright.
"For you," he said, shy and proud.
Cora knelt to receive it, tears stinging the corners of her eyes. This — this was the miracle. A thousand small moments stitched together by grace. She was no longer searching desperately for her purpose. She was living it.
As she walked home, clutching the daisy like a priceless treasure, she whispered, “Thank You, Lord,” the words carried away on the breeze, a prayer and an anthem all at once.
She was not lost. She was led.
And that was more than enough.
—
Supporting Bible Verses:
