The Divine Intervention

We often mark our lives by moments we could never have planned. The ones we only recognize in hindsight as turning points.

Mine arrived in the middle of the night, while I was asleep.

Looking back, I understand why. My waking mind was too rigid, too tightly bound to the identity I believed I was. There wasn’t enough space for something truly new to land. Sleep was the only place where my defenses softened enough for the message to reach me as deeply as it did.

To understand why that dream mattered so much, I have to take you back to that night and to how my cries for help and grace were met in the most unexpected way.

It was the fall of 2019. By all outside appearances, I was living what many would call my best life. I had recently stepped into my “dream job,” running my own company just outside of NYC. I was working with an incredible group of people, servicing some of the most influential companies and organizations in the world. I was traveling internationally for both work and pleasure, making more money than I ever had before, living a single and seemingly free life and enjoying many of the material pleasures I had once imagined would bring fulfillment.

And yet, beneath all of that, there was a deep emptiness. A kind of despair and anxiety that only intensified with each passing day. The louder it became, the more I tried to quiet it. The only way I knew how to cope was to numb myself in whatever ways were available to me at the time, which led to increasingly damaging and self destructive behaviors.

What I came to understand later was that this intense anxiety was the tension point between the life I was living and the life I was meant to live. It was the strain of living as the person I thought I was, shaped by ego and identity, rather than as the being I truly am. My soul was asking for something I didn’t yet know how to give it.

What makes this period especially humbling to reflect on is that I wasn’t new to inner work. I had already spent years immersed in healing and personal development. Whenever pain surfaced, my instinct was to go deeper. I invested thousands of dollars working with gifted healers, shamanic practitioners, psychics and channelers. I studied astrology in an effort to better understand myself. I worked diligently on healing my physical body and addressing emotional wounds on every level I knew how.

And yet, paradoxically, the deeper I went, the harder things seemed to become. Instead of relief, there was more exposure. More rawness. More pain rising to the surface. Eventually, the emotional weight became so heavy that simply living began to feel unbearable.

One night in the fall of 2019 everything changed. I remember my bedroom, my bed and the stillness of the space around me. I was lying there crying, hyperventilating, consumed by grief and despair that felt impossible to escape. There were no words left, only the rawness of pain that had nowhere else to go.

As that pain deepened, it tipped into something closer to desperation. And from that place, I began calling out to a God I wasn’t even sure I believed in. I didn’t have a relationship with God. I wasn’t raised with one. In many ways, I wasn’t even certain such a presence truly existed. But that night, certainty no longer mattered.

I remember pleading, almost shouting into the unknown, asking to be shown that God was real. That if there was ever a moment when divine help could meet me, this had to be it. I asked not for answers or solutions, but for some sign that I wasn’t alone, that the pain wasn’t meaningless and that there was something on the other side of what I was experiencing.

Eventually, exhausted, I fell asleep. I can still remember the feeling of my cheek against my tear soaked pillow as my body finally surrendered.

As morning approached, I found myself in a vivid and unmistakable dream. In it, I was shown that I was meant to create something for children. Not simply books or stories, but a way of speaking to their spirit, of reminding them of something they already know.

At the center of the vision was a series of books powered by the light of a rainbow. It wasn’t presented as a business plan or a checklist. It was an energy, a knowing, a thread that connected everything together.

When I woke up, I remember thinking, what was that?

Whatever it was, it moved me. Without hesitation, I went straight to my desk and began writing and drawing. The pain and anguish from the night before were gone. Not suppressed or avoided, but simply no longer present in the same way. In their place was a quiet sense of clarity and momentum.

That morning was the first time the seed of Little Lightworkers was planted.

In the months that followed, the idea stayed with me. It surfaced in my consciousness and occasionally in the things I felt encouraged to create. I wrote stories. I explored concepts. But I wasn’t ready to fully carry it yet.

Then 2020 arrived, and with it, a complete restructuring of life as we knew it. A new doorway opened for me to follow another dream, one that led me to move to Mexico and into an entirely different chapter of my life. That journey took me in directions I won’t cover here, but it did mean that Little Lightworkers was placed quietly to the side.

Some elements continued to form. Certain pieces were completed. But it was no longer the central focus. Looking back now, I can see that there were other initiations I still needed to move through. Other layers of identity that needed to fall away. Other challenges that would strip me of who I thought I was, so I could eventually become someone capable of holding what Little Lightworkers truly wanted to be.

I honor that journey now, even as I continue to reflect on it.

Sometimes I wonder if that night in 2019 was truly the moment Little Lightworkers was meant to be revealed to me. Or if it was simply the intervention I so desperately needed to stay. I don’t know the answer, and ultimately, I don’t think it matters.

What does matter is the lesson that emerged from it. A lesson about divine timing.

When a vision arrives before we are ready, before the right people are in place, before the world itself has caught up, it can be incredibly challenging. It forces us to release control. To allow time, sometimes months or years, to do the work we cannot rush. To trust that there are pieces moving behind the scenes that we may never fully see.

As I write this in early 2026, it has been six years since that fateful night. And in many ways, I feel as though I am only just arriving at the true beginning of what wants to be birthed through Little Lightworkers. I carry a deep sense of trust and surrender now, knowing that what is meant to unfold will do so in its own time.

I’m sharing this story not as a lesson, but as a lived experience.

Because I know how easy it is to believe that if something hasn’t happened yet, it must not be meant for you. That if the timing feels off, or the path feels too long, or too much would need to change, then perhaps the dream itself was never real to begin with.

My life has taught me the opposite. What it has shown me is that what feels delayed is often simply deepening. What feels impossible is often just waiting for you to become someone who can hold it. Not through effort or control, but through surrender, shedding and trust.

If you’ve been carrying something quietly for years, something that arrived before you had language, support or certainty, I hope this reminds you that it didn’t arrive by accident. Visions don’t come to test us. They come to walk with us, sometimes long before we understand where they’re leading.

What you’re listening for may not need to be forced into form. It may simply need you to stay, to keep listening and to trust that becoming is part of the design.