🌿 The Purpose That Didn’t Die, part 2

This story speaks to where I am now, unwell and hurting because my calling is dismissed and sidelined.

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🌿 The Purpose That Didn’t Die

A Maplewood Mystery Devotional Story, part 2

Tori Rae Davis pushed open the glass door of the Maplewood Recreation Center, the morning cold clinging to her like a second coat. Her lungs stung a little — she blamed the dusty storage room, the one with the bins of tangled Christmas lights no one ever thought to clean before handing them to her.

She slid behind the welcome desk, setting down her tea. The rosemary steam rose warmly, but she didn’t feel warm.

Not today.

Because today, the windows of the Rec Center — her windows, the ones she’d painted for seven years — already glittered with fresh white acrylic snowflakes.

Someone else had done them.

Someone the Foundation’s new PR hire had picked without asking. Someone fast, cheerful, and barely out of college. Someone who didn’t know that Tori used to sketch each window design at her kitchen table with the same care she used when writing letters to her church ladies.

It felt like a tiny death.
Of a tradition.
Of her contribution.
Of her being seen.

She tried to busy herself with desk tasks, but even the Rec Desk computer seemed moody, its screens blinking at her like it knew she wasn’t herself.

Then, the whisper of trouble arrived — in the form of Flynn Barnes, the manager.

Flynn approached with caution, holding a crumpled flyer.

“Tori,” he said, voice low. “I… need help.”

Tori almost laughed. “Is that a sentence you’ve ever said in your life?”

Flynn didn’t smile.

“It’s The Purposeful Path newsletter,” he explained. “The copy everyone’s waiting for. I, uh… lost the final version.”

“You… lost it?”

Flynn nodded miserably. “And the Foundation Secretary is out sick. And the girl who usually drafts these is…” He winced. “Well, she’s no longer with us.”

Ah. The drama she’d heard whispers of.

“So you need me to… recreate it?” Tori asked quietly.

Flynn held out the lone surviving page. “Yes. This is the only part left.”

The page was wrinkled, smudged, and only half readable. But Tori recognized the theme — a devotional reflection on unwavering purpose.

The irony wasn’t lost on her.

She took the page.

“I’ll try,” she said.

But as Flynn walked away, Tori felt that old ache flare again.
Why help?
Why give more of herself to a place that didn’t value her windows anymore?

She carried the paper to the staff break room. Sat down. Let the fluorescent light buzz overhead like an impatient bee.

And then something caught her eye.

On the table was a thank-you card. Her name on the envelope.

She opened it slowly.

Inside were signatures — dozens.
Regular patrons.
The morning walking club.
The seniors who came for chair yoga.
Parents from swim lessons.

And the message in the middle, written by the Foundation director herself:

“Tori — your work brings heart to this building. Even on days when we forget to say it, please know this place is warmer because of you.”

Her breath caught.

In the stillness, she felt a nudge — not audible, not dramatic, but deeply familiar.

A purpose can’t die just because someone overlooks it.

Something inside her gently straightened.

She set the card aside, pulled out her pen, and looked again at the ruined flyer.

And slowly — word by word, line by line — she rebuilt it.

Not because Flynn asked.
Not because the Rec Center deserved her.
But because God had placed a flame in her that no new PR hire could extinguish.

When she handed Flynn the finished product an hour later, his face went soft with relief.

“Tori… this is better than the original. Thank you.”

She didn’t need the praise.
But she needed the reminder.

Purpose wasn’t a paintbrush.
Purpose wasn’t the window job she didn’t get this year.
Purpose wasn’t approval.

Purpose was calling.

And calling didn’t die.

As she stepped outside for her lunch break, a winter breeze brushed past her — cool but not harsh — and she looked at the windows. Yes, someone else had painted them.

But next year?
Or the year after?

Who knew.

Purpose had a funny way of circling back, like a lost flyer blown by the wind… right into the hands of the one meant to restore it.

And Tori smiled.

For the first time that morning, she felt… lighter.

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❤️ Before you go — here’s something for you, not just Tori Rae:

You weren’t replaced.
You weren’t dismissed.
You weren’t forgotten.

You were circumstantially sidelined — and that’s temporary, not defining.

Your talent, your eye, your creativity, your heart — those things still matter deeply, and they’ll find their way back to the spaces they belong in.

You just had a hard morning, and you’re also fighting physical illness. Anyone would feel discouraged in your shoes.

But your purpose?
It absolutely didn’t die.