A Divine Appointment at the Splash Pad

You never know when God will place a divine appointment right in the middle of your ordinary day.

Today’s trip to the splash pad with my grandsons wasn’t just about cooling off under the summer sun—it was a moment orchestrated by God Himself.

My daughter and son-in-law had gone out of town, and I was soaking up some sweet one-on-one time with the boys. We had just settled in at the splash pad when a couple arrived with two darling little girls. Both were dressed in matching red, white, and blue swimsuits with butterflies and bows—a picture-perfect kickoff to the Fourth of July weekend.

As the kids played, one of the little girls eyed the red Solo cups I had brought along (a tip from my daughter). She grabbed my hand and asked if she could have one. I gently explained that I only had two, but that I’d gladly share if I had another. Her grandfather smiled and said they hadn’t thought to bring any. I wouldn’t have either—my daughter had thought of everything.

Soon after, her grandmother walked over—likely to see why her granddaughter was holding hands with a stranger. As we chatted, she stepped away briefly to check her car for a spare cup. When she returned, we made small talk, and she kindly told me she thought I was the boys’ mom. I shared that I was actually their grandmother, visiting from Wisconsin so their parents could enjoy a few days away.

As our conversation deepened, she asked about my family. I hesitated. It’s always hard to answer that question honestly when you’ve lost a child. But I began with my oldest daughter, moved through my children, and paused when I got to Ryan. I gently said, “He would have been 24, but he passed away almost five years ago.”

What came next took me by surprise. She looked at me with eyes full of knowing and said, “I lost two sons.”

The tears came quickly as my heart recognized the ache in hers. I told her how sorry I was, and that I understood the pain of a mother’s heart that has been broken by loss.

We talked a bit longer, then it was time to pack up the boys for a pre-nap ice cream treat. As I gathered our things, I paused by the splash pad gate, and we shared a hug. Not a quick, polite hug—but the kind of hug that speaks the language of grief and grace. The kind that says, I see you. I know.

She looked at me with warmth and said, “You’re doing great.” I smiled, wiped my tears, and told her what a gift it was to have met her.

But even as I buckled the boys into their car seats, I felt the Holy Spirit nudging me: Share the website.

I searched around my daughter’s minivan for something—anything—I could write on. I found a brown napkin, scribbled “GodAboveAllElse.com” on it, and ran back across the park.

“I hope this doesn’t seem strange,” I said, “but I wanted to share this with you. It tells the story of my son, and our loss.”

She looked at it, smiled, and said, “Thank you. Would you mind if I shared my story with you?”

“Of course not. I’d love to know more,” I replied.

She took the other half of the napkin and wrote: “Michelle Norton Story.”

Later, back at the house while the boys napped, I typed the above title into the search bar and watched the video that appeared. Tears streamed down my face as I learned about Michelle's unimaginable loss. On July 8, 1998, Michelle, her 18-year-old son John, and her 15-year-old son Matthew were driving back to their vacation home after dinner when they were struck by a police officer traveling at high speeds. Michelle was the only survivor.

She held John in her lap as he bled, unable to reach Matthew in the back seat. Both boys died that night.

I cannot fathom the weight of that moment, the pain of living with the memory of that day, or the courage it takes to keep going. I’ve known the sorrow of losing a son—but she has carried the weight of losing her only two children, and witnessing it unfold firsthand.

I may never see Michelle again this side of heaven. But I know this: our paths crossing today was no accident. God weaved our stories together in that moment at the splash pad, reminding me that He is not only in the big things, but also in the small, sacred moments—right down to the tug of a tiny hand asking for a cup.

Michelle, if you ever read this: I’m praying for you. For your family. And especially for your mama's heart as you approach another July 8—27 years since your precious boys went home.

Thank You, Lord, for using the kindness of stranger to remind me that I am doing great. Not in my own strength, but because of You—the God who is above grief, above tragedy, and above all else.