Chosen: A Love Story at Breakfast

As I sit at Breakfast at Bowood by Niche, a place I had been introduced to only just a week prior, I quickly realize that I have been placed here—not by coincidence, but by divine orchestration. Seated beside me at the café bar are a Black woman and a young girl. Their connection feels deep, yet something about their energy suggests newness. Moments later, I come to understand why.

Before they take their first bite, the little girl leads a simple, familiar prayer:

"God is good, God is great, let us thank Him for our food. Amen."

And in true Black mother fashion, her mother follows with a prayer so profound, so full of love, that it could soften even the hardest of hearts:

"I pray that this second chance for my new daughter is both a space for reinforcement and affirmation—of her power, her gifts, her beauty, and my love for her."

I sit frozen, my spirit pulled into her words, and in silent agreement, I whisper "Amen" in my mind. The weight of what I have just witnessed settles deep within me.

I turn to her, compelled to acknowledge the beauty of that moment. "That was a beautiful prayer," I say.

She thanks me warmly, her presence as radiant as the morning light filtering through the café windows. As we exchange introductions, she tells me her name is Rebecca. I offer mine in return: T. Moore.

I hesitate for a moment, then ask, "Is this your daughter?"

She smiles—a smile that carries both pride and a depth that words cannot capture. "Yes."

That "yes" is more than confirmation; it is a declaration, a promise, a covenant of love.

Our conversation naturally pauses as they continue their morning together. I watch, deeply moved, as Rebecca invests in her daughter’s excitement. They challenge each other, playing intellectual games—naming states, countries, and oceans, guessing famous people from all backgrounds. There is joy in their exchange, an unspoken understanding that love is being cultivated in real-time.

As their meal winds down and they prepare to leave, I take a moment to express my gratitude. "It was an absolute pleasure meeting you," I tell Rebecca. Then, I turn to the little girl and ask, "And what’s your name?"

In the softest voice, she replies, "My name is Sage."

At that moment, I witness something sacred. Their eyes meet—a silent, shared understanding that they are stepping into a new chapter together. Whether today marks the beginning of their journey as mother and daughter, or if they have been walking this path for years, what I feel is undeniable: newness. Transformation. Chosen love.

I sit with this thought long after they leave. I think about my own daughter, Dynver Lauryn, and the unshakable commitment I have to choosing her every single day.

To Rebecca—thank you for choosing Sage. The world is a little brighter because of choices like yours.

And to Sage—you are chosen. That makes you special. Never doubt that God’s plan for you is greater than anything you could ever imagine.

If you’re reading this, I urge you to quiet the noise, silence the distractions, and sit with the truth of your own existence. Your life has a calling. You were chosen for something extraordinary. Walk in it.