Editor's note: Enjoy today's devotion written for Devotionals Daily by Sara M. McDaniel, author of The Bright Side of the Other Side.
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I have now seen the One who sees me. — Genesis 16:13
I stood and gazed at the porch of a crumbling cottage that I didn’t know would change my whole life. But something sacred stirred in that broken-down house. And I knew, somehow, this was where restoration would begin, not just for the walls and windows, but for my soul.
My divorce had drained me in ways I still struggle to name. It wasn’t just the end of my marriage. It was the slow unraveling of everything I believed to be true. Grief showed up in multiple, tiny, exhausting moments. Climbing into bed alone. Folding laundry. Watching my friends celebrate the birth of a new baby. I felt hollow, like the light had gone out inside me. Smiling took effort. Hope felt distant. I wasn’t sure who I was anymore, much less who I was becoming.
After my divorce, my parents strongly urged me to move back home to Louisiana, but I had built a life in Texas. I had an amazing job, friends, roots, and routines. Going back felt like surrendering to a version of myself I’d already outgrown.
And then, three years after the ink had dried on the divorce papers, three long years of trying to rebuild, recover, and find my footing, I had a moment that changed everything.
As I drove away from a delightful dinner with one of my favorite customers, the air shifted. The world got quiet, like it was holding its breath. And then, as clearly as if someone were sitting in the passenger seat with me, I heard it: “It’s time to move home to Louisiana.”
Just like that. No warning, no buildup. Just a holy interruption that caught me mid-breath and left my heart pounding.
I wasn’t even praying. But when God speaks, your soul knows.
And mine did, even though I wasn’t fully ready to admit it.
“Umm, no God. I’m perfectly happy right here in south Texas,” I said out loud.
He continued, “Think how much I love you. How much your parents love you. It's time to move home.”
I argued. I reasoned. I reminded God of all the progress I had made, of the life I had finally built in Texas after crawling out of the wreckage. But that still, small voice didn’t budge. It was firm, steady, and patient. God wasn’t calling me backward. He was calling me deeper. And that terrified me.
I laid it all out before Him. I was raw, unfiltered, and my words were probably not theologically sound. “God, if You’re really calling me to move back to Louisiana, You’re going to have to make it painfully obvious. If this is You, then move every mountain, open every door, and close every other path. Make it so clear that even I can’t miss it.”
Where I would live specifically was top of mind. Up until this point, I had lived in cookie-cutter houses, where every wall looked the same and nothing whispered history. But I craved something different. A place with chipped paint, crooked charm, and roots deeper than mine where I could settle in, breathe deeply, and begin to heal.
I also wanted to live close to my parents. And I wanted to walk to the library, pass neighbors who knew my name, and linger on sidewalks shaded by historic Magnolia trees. As the list of what I hoped for began to take shape, I knew, logically, the chances of finding it all in one place were slim. A historic home full of character. A safe, walkable community. Proximity to my parents. Access to an airport for work. It felt like too much to ask. But still, a small part of me whispered, What if? What if God really could piece together all the longings in my heart into one place, one plan, one front porch with a key in the door and purpose tucked inside?
- With God, all things are possible, right?
I flew home to Louisiana in early December, still carrying the quiet tension of what-if in my heart. On the drive home from the Shreveport airport, several signs along I-20 pointed passersby to businesses in Minden, and a spark lit in my mind. Tucked about forty minutes south of my parents, Minden proudly wears the title “The Friendliest City in the South,” a bit of charm that felt almost too cheerful to take seriously. It hadn’t even made my wild-card list of places to consider moving.
A few days later, in a car borrowed from my mom, I drove down the brick streets of the historic residential district. As I entered an area surrounded by a beautiful, central park, I saw it: a stunning, sorrowful cottage, overrun by a wild tangle of Red Tip Photinias and lots of broken windows. The front porch sagged beneath rotted columns. Shingles were nonexistent in places. And yet, there was something beautiful about it. It sat among a row of beautifully restored homes like the last, lingering page of a chapter waiting to be rewritten.
The moment I saw this broken-down, Acadian-style cottage, time seemed to stand still. It was as if Heaven leaned down and gently placed this cottage in front of me, whispering, “Here. This is where it begins. Your life begins anew now.”
I needed to believe that beauty could still be found in the broken.
That even after all I’d lost, there was still wonder waiting for me. And God, in His tenderness, knew that. I like to imagine Him smiling and whispering over me like a quiet promise. The kind He offers to each of us. The gentle reminder that even in the in-between, we are held.
“I see you, Sara.”
And He sees you, too, my friend.
Prayer
God, help me trust Your leading, even when I can’t see what’s ahead. Remind me that You see me, hold me, and can bring beauty from broken places. Amen.
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Written for Devotionals Daily by Sara M. McDaniel, author of The Bright Side of the Other Side.
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Your Turn
Where might God be inviting you to trust Him with a new beginning? What broken place in your life might God be preparing to restore? ~ Devotionals Daily