Tiny Ninja Dreams

The last month has been a whirlwind. I went through two interviews and even an investigation—turns out I’m a boring case, which is a relief both as a doctor’s patient and now for the police department. They offered me the job, and I’ve been working all week. I love it so far.

The people are kind and welcoming, the work is different every day, and—confession—I have my own locker with my name on it, like you see in the TV shows. I may only be doing admin work, but it totally scratches my inner FBI agent/tiny ninja itch. And honestly? Standing there, seeing my name on that locker, felt pretty badass — tiny ninja status achieved. (Just playing!)

But there was a moment this week that went deeper than all of that.

I was working on a subpoena when a memory came rushing back. I was about eight years old, sitting at our kitchen table, and I remember telling my mom, with all the seriousness in the world, “I just want to do something important.” I didn’t know what that meant exactly, but I knew it was something deep. My mom smiled kindly and suggested, “Well, you could help me make a grocery list.”

Even back then, I knew that wasn’t quite it.

But as I sat at my new desk this week, it hit me—this was it. My little girl inside finally felt satisfied. It was almost adorable how happy she felt, sitting there with a stack of paperwork, knowing that what she longed for all those years ago had quietly unfolded into reality.

For the first time, I feel like all the pieces of me are being used for something that matters. The spiritual care I’ve done in church, the mental health care through coaching, and now the justice work—all of it matters. And all of it meets me here, in a place where I can see so clearly how much people need Jesus, how much they need hope, how much they need to know that this isn’t the end of their story.

And maybe that’s the real “important thing” I’ve been chasing since I was eight—reminding people that they have a choice, and that there’s still life ahead.

Because isn’t that how God works? He takes all the pieces—the ones we thought didn’t fit, the ones we didn’t understand—and shapes them into something bigger than we imagined. We don’t have to rush it or force it; we just keep showing up. The gap between who we thought we’d be and who God is shaping us to be isn’t failure—it’s an invitation.

Sitting at that desk, with my tiny ninja heart beaming and my little girl inside finally content, I realized—He’s been telling an important story with my life all along.

Where might God already be weaving pieces of your story together, even if you can’t see the full picture yet?