There Are No Accidents

When Seasons Begin to Overlap

Lately, I have been thinking a lot about timing.

How certain moments in life don’t just happen on their own, they seem to arrive alongside something else.

As I prepare for the Farmers Market, I find myself remembering my father more deeply.

The season of his passing.

And the two…
feel connected.

Not in a way I can fully explain.
But in a way I can feel.

Like a melody coming together, notes that were always meant to meet.

The Way the Day Began

This morning began the way my mornings have come to begin.

Quietly.
With gratitude.

Thank you, God, for another day.

But today felt different.

Because today, I woke up with a plan.

A clear one.

I could see my kitchen before I even stepped into it.

What would be measured first.
Which dough would be mixed and set aside.
What would rest overnight.
What would be baked first.
How each loaf would be cooled, packaged, and prepared.

How it would all come together.

How it would arrive at market.

Where everything would be placed.

There was a steadiness in it.

A sense of order that didn’t feel forced.

It felt…given.

The Question That Keeps Returning

And as I moved through those thoughts, one question kept returning:

Is this coincidence?

Or is something being woven together here?

Is this timing…
or is it purpose unfolding?

Because when I look at where I am right now, what I am building, what I am preparing for, and what I am being asked to step into,

I cannot separate it from what came before.

From who shaped me.
From what was placed in me long before I ever knew I would need it.

My Father

My father was my guy.

My beacon.
My True North.
My strength.
My hero.

He was a coach.

And not just in title.

In the way he lived.
In the way he led.
In the way he showed up for the people entrusted to him.

Over the years since his passing, I have heard the same thing again and again.

From former players.
From fellow coaches.
From colleagues.

“He taught me some of the most important lessons of my life.”

And they meant it.

You could hear it in their voices.

A Moment I Will Never Forget

Near the end of his life, some of his former players came to the hospital to say goodbye.

One of them shared a story.

He told my dad that he had been coaching his own son’s football team.

And throughout the season, he would tell stories about Coach V.

About the lessons he had learned.
About the way he had been coached.
About the kind of man my father was.

My dad had become a legend…
to a boy he had never even met.

And then he told him this.

They were in a game.
Down by a few points.

In a sideline huddle, his son looked at him and said:

“Dad…what would Coach V do?”

I will never forget the look on my father’s face.

For a moment…he was back on that field.

Back in it.

Seeing what his life had meant.

The color returned to his face, just for a moment.

It was brief.

But it was everything.

What Was Planted Early

My father was also a man of faith.

Quiet.
Steady.
Unwavering.

When my brother and I were young, he signed us up for Bible camp one summer.

At the time, I don’t think I understood what that meant.

But that was where I was first introduced to God.

Where I made the decision, at ten years old, to turn my life over.

A seed planted early.

One that would carry me through seasons I could not have imagined then.

What I Am Beginning to See

As I stand here now, preparing for this next chapter,

I can see it more clearly.

The discipline.
The structure.
The way I think through a process from beginning to end.

The way I show up.
The way I prepare.
The way I care about what I am building.

That didn’t start here.

That was given to me.

There Are No Accidents

I don’t believe this is random.

This timing.
This season.
This convergence of memory and movement.

I believe it is all connected.

That what was planted years ago is now being lived out in ways I am only beginning to understand.

That the lessons I watched, the love I was given, and the faith that was introduced to me so early,

have been quietly shaping me for this moment.

Not just to bake bread.

But to build something with intention.
To serve.
To show up.
To lead in my own way.

A Quiet Knowing

There is a peace that comes with that realization.

A quiet knowing that I am not starting from nothing.

That I am carrying something forward.

That the things that mattered then still matter now,

just expressed differently.

In a kitchen.
Through bread.
Across a table.

An Invitation

If you find yourself in a season where things feel like they are coming together in ways you didn’t plan,

pause for a moment.

There may be more meaning there than you realize.

Threads you cannot yet fully see.

Lessons that were planted long ago
beginning to take shape in the present.

For me, it feels clear:

There are no accidents.

Only moments that, over time, begin to reveal what they were always meant to become.

Warmly,
Kathy
Art of The Crumb