The Fragrance of Purpose

The Fragrance of Purpose

By the Wayfarer

When life halts and a silence sets in, God may be preparing something greater. Even in the quiet, His purpose rises-like the fragrance of a loaf in the oven.

Have you ever found yourself in a season of unexpected stillness? Where the rhythm you once knew has shifted, leaving you wondering about your place and purpose? Well, friends, I bring a short story of an old friend to you today that has something which may be in common for many of us today.

The hallway was silent except for the gentle creak of the old rocking chair. Alana Mascol sat still, wrapped in a knitted shawl that smelled faintly of cedar and time. Her gaze rested on the worn floorboards of her small country home in the outskirts of Albretta, Canada, but her thoughts wandered far from the familiar.

She'd once lived with purpose—twenty years as a humanitarian aid worker across war-torn borders, flood-ravaged villages, and the forgotten alleys of cities. There, in the thick of crisis and chaos, she often heard people—leaders, volunteers, and even the needy—say someone had been "at the right place at the right time."

She had nodded politely each time, unsure what it truly meant. Was it fate? Was it faith? Or did it really mean anything at all?

Perhaps you've heard these words too-or even wondered if you've missed your moment, your "right place" and "right time."

Now, with her boots no longer muddied from dusty roads and her suitcase tucked away in a closet, that phrase came back to her—echoing louder than ever in the stillness of her days.

Just two nights ago, during a humble home group gathering at one of her church members home down the road, Uncle Tim Giles had spoken about Queen Esther. He had a way of speaking like a farmer sowing seeds-soft, but sure. His weathered hands had opened to the book of Esther as he read aloud: "And who knows but that you have come to your royal position for such a time as this?" (Esther 4:14)

Uncle Giles had looked up from the worn pages of his old leather cover bible, his eyes scanning the small circle of faces. "Esther had no roadmap either," he continued. "Chosen as queen, unsure of her full purpose, she was called to act when her people faced destruction. I would term it as the holocaust in plan of that time. Her courage to step in-to go to the king had saved a nation. God placed her there, in the right place at the right time."

When you read Esther's story, do you see someone extraordinary? Or do you see someone ordinary, called an extraordinary moment?

Alana recalled those words now, sighing deeply as the cold seeped in through the windowpanes. The grandfather clock chimed seven. Hunger stirred, but more than that, the ache to feel useful-to feel seen-distressed deeper. She stood up and walked into the kitchen.

That ache-do you know it? The restless stirring that whispers, you were made for more than this quiet season.

Opening the fridge, she spotted a packet of minced meat and a tray of chopped vegetables she had prepped days ago. "Mince loaf," she murmured. Her hands moved instinctively chopping, mixing, seasoning. On the mission field, food had often been her peace offering, her connection to people from every background. Baking was never just about feeding bellies; it was about offering warmth.

As the loaf baked, a comforting aroma filled her small home. She sat again, now enveloped in the fragrance of garlic, thyme, and memory. The warmth of the oven reached the hallway, like a whisper of reassurance. And again, she thought of Queen Esther and all that Uncle Giles had mentioned that evening. Could this season-quiet and uncertain-be more than just a pause?

What if your quiet season isn't emptiness, but preparation? What if God is using this time to ready you for something you cannot yet see?

Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. She hesitated, curious who might visit on such a cold evening. Opening it, she found Uncle Giles, cheeks pink from the cold and eyes twinkling with kindness.

"I was just thinking of you," she smiled, stepping aside.

"I had a feeling," he chuckled, rubbing his hands together. The smell of the mince loaf made his eyebrows lift. "You've been busy."

She served him a bowl of hot soup and a thick slice of the loaf, its steam rising in gratitude.

Between bites, he looked at her thoughtfully. "Alana, daughter, I believe you are in the right place at the right time."

She paused, setting her bowl aside.

"The church is starting life skills classes for the homeless downtown. We need someone to teach cooking and baking. Something simple, wholesome and human. I thought of you. Would you consider it?"

Alana blinked. Her heart stirred like rising dough. "Me? Do you mean me, Uncle Giles?"

His smile stretched wide. "Yes, you. Who knows? Maybe for such a time as this."

Tears welled up uninvited, not of sadness, but recognition. She understood now. God had not shelved her; He had simply re-sent her—home this time, to a mission still waiting.

My dear friends, “Can you hear it? That gentle stirring in your own heart as you read these words? What door might God be preparing to open in your own "right here, right now"?

Reflection by The Wayfarer

As travellers on planet earth sometimes, we find ourselves in unfamiliar stillness—no sirens, no schedules, no spotlight. Like Alana, we may sit in the quiet asking, why am I here?

But God’s timing is never wasted. Whether in palaces like Esther’s or kitchens like Alana’s, He positions us for purpose. Disruptions can be divine invitations.

As the aroma of your own life’s "loaf" rises, ask the father:

“Lord, is there something You’re calling me to do right here, right now—for such a time as this?”

For His plan is not always loud, but it is always perfect. And you, dear reader, are never forgotten—you are being prepared.