But God Knew
The house fire certainly did not feel like an answered prayer.
At the time, it was another thing going wrong—another circumstance I never would have chosen. But looking back now, I can see something I could not see while standing in the middle of it: God knew that fire would help lead me to Matt.
For nearly ten years before that, I had been a single mother. I married my high school sweetheart at 18. I had saved myself for marriage and entered it believing I was beginning the family and future I had always prayed for. By 23, I was divorced and raising my little boy, Kade, largely on my own.
Those were not easy years. I struggled with depression and wondered whether the family I dreamed about would ever happen for me. Somewhere along the way, I made God a promise: if He ever gave me the desire of my heart—a family and a man who would truly love not only me, but my child—I would tell people what He had done.
I had no idea He was already writing that story.
I had actually met Matt years earlier, on August 26, 2018. That date would not mean anything to most people, but August 26 was also my former wedding anniversary. For years, it represented something that had not worked out. I never imagined God would eventually give that date an entirely different meaning.
Matt and I remained acquaintances on social media while life continued taking both of us down roads neither of us expected. One of Matt’s roads nearly took his life.
He was diagnosed with a rare, aggressive colon cancer. He underwent major surgeries, became critically ill, and spent approximately two weeks in a coma. His doctors were not sure he would survive.
But God knew.
Matt survived.
Years later, after the house fire disrupted my life, circumstances brought Matt and me together in a way neither of us had planned. Even one of our first outings felt like another little wink from God. We went to Noccalula Falls—a place connected to my previous marriage and another chapter of my life. God seemed to be taking dates, places, and circumstances I associated with endings and quietly giving them new meanings.
But the greatest answer to my prayer was not simply that Matt loved me. It was watching him love Kade.
For years, that had been my greatest concern about finding love again. I did not want someone who merely accepted that I had a child. I wanted someone who would genuinely love my son. Matt did.
Today, Kade is not simply “my son” to him. Matt plans to legally adopt him. The little boy I worried might never know what it felt like to be completely chosen by a father now has a man who wants to give him his name. And the single mother who wondered whether anyone would ever choose both of us is now engaged to marry him.
Our story has not been a fairy tale where meeting each other made every hardship disappear. Shortly after we got together, Matt lost three grandparents within a matter of months. We have walked through medical appointments, financial struggles, unexpected expenses, and enough home repairs to last a lifetime.
And then there is our little blue house.
It has belonged to Matt’s family for generations. His great-grandparents, Goldie and Kathryn Mosley, built it, and their family became part of the history of our little Alabama community. Now we are making our own life there.
It is an old house with plenty of character—and apparently plenty of opinions about being renovated. We have dealt with old cast-iron plumbing, septic problems, flooring, and one repair after another. I joke that apparently God believes in restoring old houses, too.
But maybe that is exactly why this little house belongs in our story. When I look at our lives now, one word keeps coming to mind: restoration.
Restoration after divorce. Restoration after cancer. Restoration after loss. Restoration after fire. Restoration of a family. Even restoration of an old little blue house.
So many things I once saw only as losses eventually became pieces of something I could not see yet. When my marriage ended, I did not know. When I spent nearly a decade raising my son alone, I did not know. When Matt was fighting for his life, he did not know. When the fire happened, I did not know. When old dates and places began appearing again in a completely different chapter, I did not understand why.
But God knew.
He knew there would be life after cancer. He knew there would be love after divorce. He knew there was a man who would not just love me but would choose my child, too. He knew some of the circumstances that looked like endings would become roads leading us home.
Today, Matt and I are engaged and looking forward to becoming Mr. and Mrs. Mosley. We are raising Kade, restoring our little blue house, laughing through the chaos, and building the ordinary family life I once prayed desperately for.
Somewhere, another woman may be standing in the chapter I once stood in—divorced, fighting cancer, raising a child alone, grieving a loss, or staring at a life that looks nothing like the one she prayed for. I hope our story reaches her.
Because sometimes, when all we can see are the ashes, God can already see the restoration. We just do not know it yet.
But God knew.
About the Author
Chryston Mickle is a 33-year-old mother, caregiver, and lifelong Alabama resident. After nearly a decade of single motherhood, she is engaged to Matt Mosley and looks forward to becoming Mrs. Mosley. Together they are raising her son, Kade, and restoring the little blue house Matt’s great-grandparents built generations ago. Chryston hopes her testimony reminds women that divorce, loss, illness, and unexpected detours do not have to be the end of their story. She believes God still gives beauty for ashes and restores what once seemed lost. She lives in Boaz, Alabama, with her family and their much-loved collection of dogs, cats, and everyday chaos.
Contact: c.m.mickle@gmail.com | Boaz, Alabama
