Today, a sweet, precious woman came in to establish care.
I recognized her immediately.
A few weeks ago, she had attended an aesthetics event I hosted. She sat quietly, listened intently, and carried herself with such a gentle kindness. Lately, that’s the kind of spirit I’ve found myself craving.
As we talked, she shared some of the darkest chapters of her own life. She had recently made the courageous decision to walk away from things that no longer served her. It was a powerful act of choosing herself, and I admired her deeply.
Somewhere during the appointment, I remembered that I had given her a copy of my book, Heroine. I had handed one to every woman who attended that event. I signed most of them, but I can’t remember if I signed hers.
If I didn’t, I wish I had.
Because after today, I know exactly what I would write:
“Thank you for praying for me.”
She smiled and said something that stopped me cold.
“I know you from church.”
Years ago, my aunt had desperately asked her friends to pray for me while I was trapped in addiction. This woman was one of them.
“I prayed for you,” she said.
Over and over, my aunt had asked.
And over and over…she prayed.
Neither of us had connected the dots until today.
She had already chosen me as her healthcare provider before realizing I was the same woman whose name she had carried before God all those years ago.
I sat there in complete shock.
James 5:16 says,
“Confess your trespasses to one another, and pray for one another, that you may be healed. The effective, fervent prayer of a righteous person avails much.”
In that moment, I knew.
She had unknowingly prayed her own provider into healing.
She told me she had often wondered if her prayers had ever made a difference.
They did.
They mattered more than she could have imagined.
As I cared for her that day, I could feel the Spirit of God filling the room. It wasn’t dramatic. It was quiet. Peaceful. Holy.
People often thank me for helping them.
But sometimes I wish they knew the truth.
People like her helped save my life.
Their prayers carried me when I couldn’t carry myself.
Their faith held on when mine was gone.
Those prayers became part of the foundation God used to rebuild me.
And now, after all these years…
It’s my turn to serve her.
I don’t know if she will ever fully understand what her faith meant to me.
But I hope she knows this:
God heard every single prayer.
Every one.
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