Denise's Song
Coincidence Committee Journal (Secret Ways to Get Good Things Done) Stardate:11232425.902
Part 1: Denise’s Song
The Joy of Return
I was born with two gifts:
hope and faith.
Barrenness came for both…
a silent assassin.
But God took pity on my sorrow
and answered with a son.
You, child of Egypt.
Lost,
yet never abandoned.
Marked. Beloved.
What we built,
no court could dismantle.
No agency could erase.
No words could undo.
Your room awaits,
the table has been set.
Gifts waiting to be opened,
birthdays missed,
Christmases silenced,
the joy skipped, now doubled.
They waited, like I did.
Like hope did.
How many prayers
rose in the dark?
How many nights
did I hold the silence
and call it faith?
The ache was real.
The waiting, holy.
Somehow, in that in-between space,
Holy places were found.
Silence was part of the gift.
Now I glow,
from the fire that refined me
at the mercy seat.
Now:
the weight of you in my arms.
The sound of ‘Mom’ on your lips.
The scent of your hair
catching my tears.
Soft kisses.
Little big hands.
A knowing earned
in the proving ground of hope.
I give glory to God,
who sent me my son.
Gifts for the eternities.
My hope. My faith. My Family.
Returned in fire and in joy.
Glory to the Father,
whose plan was wiser than my pain.
Who shaped my waiting into wisdom,
Separation dies today.
Love has outlived it.
Trumpets rise from silence,
“He is home. He is risen.”Part 2: “A Place Prepared of God”
(A devotional reflection on the exile of the Holy Family)
Every Christmas, we read Luke 2 to remember the joy of Christ’s birth. Bethlehem — a cradle, a manger, the song of angels. This year, let’s continue the story into Matthew 2 — to remember the protection, the journey, and the quiet miracle of survival in a period of exile..
Before He could even walk or speak, the Savior’s earthly story became one of danger, displacement, and divine protection.
After the wise men departed, Joseph was warned in a dream:
“Arise, and take the young child and his mother, and flee into Egypt, and be thou there until I bring thee word.”
(Matthew 2:13)
So, in the dark of night, Mary and Joseph gathered their few belongings, wrapped the child in cloth, and left everything familiar behind. The same desert that had once swallowed Israel’s exiles now opened as a road of deliverance.
The Flight and the Fury
Herod the Great, threatened by rumors of a newborn king, issued the order that all male children under two years old in Bethlehem should be killed. It is one of the most heartbreaking passages in scripture — the Massacre of the Innocents. Yet it’s into that violence and fear that the Lord intervened with revelation.
Joseph didn’t question the warning. He didn’t hesitate or wait for clearer directions. He arose that very night and fled. Their obedience turned a path of peril into a corridor of protection.
They crossed through Judea, past Gaza, and into the borders of Egypt — a journey of more than two hundred miles through harsh desert terrain. And there, far from Herod’s reach, the family waited.
The Transformation of Egypt
It is almost poetic that the land of bondage became the land of refuge.
Egypt had been the place where Israel once groaned under the weight of slavery, crying for deliverance. It was the site of plagues and hardness of heart, of Pharaoh’s pride and Israel’s exodus. Yet in the Lord’s perfect design, that same land became a cradle of protection for His Son.
The very soil that once bore the blood of oppression now sheltered divinity.
Isn’t that just how God works?! He turns the enemy’s ground into holy ground.
The prophet Hosea had spoken it centuries earlier:
“When Israel was a child, then I loved him, and called my son out of Egypt.”
(Hosea 11:1)
Matthew would later quote that line directly, seeing in it both prophecy and pattern — the Christ child retracing the footsteps of ancient Israel. Here we see another parallel in Egypt: Just as Moses led the children of Israel out of bondage, Jesus would one day lead all humanity out of sin and death.
The Death of the King
While the Holy Family dwelt in Egypt, Herod’s wrath consumed him. History tells us that near the end of his life he suffered terribly — diseased in body and spirit, tormented by fear of rivals, even ordering the deaths of his own sons. His passing marked not only the end of an earthly tyrant but the turning of divine justice.
When Herod died, an angel again appeared to Joseph in a dream, saying,
“Arise, and take the young child and his mother, and go into the land of Israel: for they are dead which sought the young child’s life.”
(Matthew 2:19–20)
The oppressor perished, and the exiles returned. The wilderness had done its work.
The Woman and the Child
The story echoes through Revelation 12, where John sees a vision of “a woman clothed with the sun, and the moon under her feet, and upon her head a crown of twelve stars.” She gives birth to a male child “who was to rule all nations,” and when the dragon seeks to destroy them,
“the woman fled into the wilderness, where she hath a place prepared of God.”
(Revelation 12:6)
That phrase — a place prepared of God — is one I’ve selected to focus on today.
It tells us that God is never caught off guard by evil. Long before the danger comes, He is already preparing the refuge. Long before the exile, He is preparing the road home.
Egypt was not a coincidence; it was a provision. A place prepared of God.
The Refugee King
Elder Patrick Kearon said in his talk ‘Refuge from the Storm,’at the April 2016 General Conference:
“As a young child, Jesus and His family fled to Egypt to escape the murderous swords of Herod.”
When we think of refugees today, or anyone displaced by violence or disaster, we should remember that the Redeemer of the world began His mortal journey as one of them.
The Prepared Land
I sometimes wonder about the people they met in Egypt — they became instruments in the Lord’s design. The “prepared land” was not only geography; it was people whose hearts were ready to receive the Holy Family.
That gives me hope — that any of us can become part of God’s prepared places. We can make our homes, our wards, and our hearts sanctuaries for those fleeing the storms of life.
No place, no person, no heart is beyond redemption. The Lord can make refuge out of ruin, peace out of pain, safety out of sorrow.
The Pattern of Deliverance
This pattern — danger, flight, refuge, deliverance — repeats throughout scripture.
Noah built an ark. Israel crossed the sea. Lehi fled into the wilderness.The early Saints left Nauvoo.
And through it all, the Lord provided a place prepared.
Sometimes that place is physical; sometimes it is spiritual — a testimony, a covenant, a community. Whatever form it takes, it is evidence of His awareness of us long before we are aware of Him.
The Silence of Waiting
I also think of the waiting. There are seasons in all our lives when we are not moving forward quickly, when we are simply surviving in a quiet place far from where we thought we’d be. Those moments, too, are holy. They are the Egypt years — the hidden years of preparation before the ministry begins.
The Death of Herod Within
Eventually, Herod died. But Herod is also a symbol — the old tyrant within us that seeks to destroy innocence, faith, and divine potential. The Lord calls each of us out of the reach of our own Herods: fear, pride, addiction, resentment. The journey may be long and the wilderness hard, but there will come a day when the oppressor’s voice is silent, and the angel will say, “Arise, it is safe to return.”
Modern Echoes
Today, we witness similar shadows of violence — wars, persecution, and displacement. It’s tempting to view them politically, but the spiritual truth is deeper: evil still seeks the life of the innocent. Yet God still prepares places of refuge — homes that open, hearts that receive, and faith that endures.
Elder Kearon’s message is that we can become those places of refuge. We can be the Egypts God prepares for others.
Just think, as Elder Kearon acknowledged, “As members of the Church, as a people, we don’t have to look back far in our history to reflect on times when we were refugees, violently driven from homes and farms over and over again.” How grateful were the members of the early church to the people and places who served as Egypts during a time of persecution.
When we minister, when we forgive, when we comfort, we become part of the Lord’s geography of grace — the network of safe places He creates through willing hearts.
The Broader Exodus
The Holy Family’s journey into and out of Egypt foreshadows the entire mission of Christ. He entered the world’s darkness to redeem it from within, walked its roads, bore its burdens, and emerged victorious. Egypt was only the first step in that great Exodus — the movement from mortality to immortality, from bondage to resurrection.
A Place Prepared for You
Revelation’s promise is not only for Mary and the Christ child; it’s for us.
When we face danger, uncertainty, or despair, there is still “a place prepared of God.” It might be a friend who calls at the right time, a verse that speaks peace, or the quiet reassurance of the Spirit in the night.
God prepares our Egypts before we know we’ll need them.
He prepares deliverance before we cry for help.
And He prepares a Savior before the world even recognizes its peril.
Reflection
If I could summarize this chapter of Jesus’s life in one sentence, it would be this:
God’s protection is always ahead of the storm.
He prepares lands, hearts, and moments — transforming what once enslaved into what now shelters. Egypt’s story, like ours, is one of redemption.
The child who fled there would one day stretch out His arms to deliver all of us from death and sin. He would call us out of every Egypt we’ve ever known.
May we have the faith of Joseph to listen when the warning comes,
the endurance of Mary to walk the desert road,
and the courage of the Child to transform the world simply by His presence.
And when the next night journey comes — as it surely will —
may we remember that the wilderness is not abandonment;
it is a place prepared of God.
Part 3: The Voice that Refused to be Silenced
What Happened in Court — And What Cannot Be Taken From Us
Friday’s hearing was not the outcome I’d prayed for, but I left the courtroom with something I did not expect: peace. And gratitude. And a deeper certainty that even when human doors close, God opens windows no one can shut.
I want to offer a brief update for those following our journey, without sharing anything that would violate the privacy of others or the confidentiality of the proceeding.
1. I Was Heard
For all the procedural barriers, all the exhaustion, all the distance, all the filings, the judge did something sacred: she listened. She was kind, patient, and she looked at me.
When she gestured to the 500+ pages I had submitted, and said she had read them all, our eyes met and I placed my hand over my heart. It was the only thank-you I could give without words.
That moment alone was worth every mile, every copy charge, every late night.
2. My Standing Was Denied (But Not My Voice)
The law is strict about who can speak in these cases. There are five categories: parents, guardians, legal representatives, medical professionals, and educational advocates. Former foster parents are not included.
So the judge dismissed my petition on legal grounds. That part is simple. But the deeper truth is this: I still got to speak. I still got to testify to the love of a child who called me “Mom.”
I still got to tell the Court that he deserves to be heard in his own voice. And remarkably, I believe that message landed.
3. Barriers and Blessings
It would be dishonest to pretend the road wasn’t difficult. I was placed in the gallery, not at counsel table. I had no phone, no access to real-time information, no accommodations for hearing difficulties. My previous ADA request had been declared “moot,” and there was not enough notice to file a new one.
It felt, at moments, like being set up to fail. But then, the Lord made a way! Brian was allowed to sit with me and he was allowed to speak. He used his voice well - just a single simple statement that landed like with the weight of gravity.
We walked in alone, but Heaven made sure we were not outnumbered.
4. A Quiet Victory the System Can’t Measure
Yes, the petition was dismissed. But something far more important happened: the judge decided to hear directly from the child.
For months, doors have closed around his voice. Layers of protection became layers of insulation. Adults spoke about him, but not with him. Still, something shifted in that courtroom. Something softened.
The judge may decide that in order to truly understand, she must speak with the child herself. That’s a victory no brief could have secured. That’s an answer to prayer.
5. What Cannot Be Taken
The system shut its door. But God opened a window. And even though I have no recognized standing, and even though the law draws a narrow circle around who counts and who doesn’t, here is what remains unmovable:
I was his mother in every way that counts. He loves us. We love him. Nothing can erase that. And when he reaches the age of majority, no one will stand between us again.
6. What I Carry Forward
I am grateful. Grateful for the strength to stand before a court and speak truth. Grateful that my voice was not silenced. Grateful that the judge heard enough to want to hear more from the one person who matters most.
Mostly I’m thankful that what God joins in love cannot be severed by paperwork.
For now, I return to prayer. To faith. To the work of waiting. To the joy that cannot be taken from me. Because love outlives separation. And in the end, love always finds its way home.