Pain into Purpose
From grief to grace: how one woman transformed her deepest loss into a mission to serve forgotten families and children in rural Appalachia.
Turning Pain Into Purpose
There are moments in life that divide time into before and after. Moments of extraordinary joy, moments of unbearable loss, and moments when we are called to decide what we will do with both.
My story has been shaped by all three.
I have spent much of my life caring for people in rural Appalachia, advocating for families who too often feel forgotten, and fighting for access to healthcare and opportunity. Yet some of the greatest lessons I have learned about compassion, perseverance, and purpose did not come from a classroom, a clinic, or a boardroom. They came through my own family.
One of the greatest blessings of my life was the adoption of my daughter, Jaida. Adoption taught me something profound about family: love is not limited by biology. Family is built through commitment, sacrifice, faith, and the decision to show up for one another again and again.
Watching Jaida grow into the woman she is today has reminded me that a child's beginning does not have to determine the limits of her future. When children are surrounded by people who believe in them, encourage them, educate them, and give them opportunities, their lives can take extraordinary paths.
That belief—that every child deserves someone in their corner—would later become even more deeply rooted in me through the greatest heartbreak of my life.
In January 2020, I lost my son, David Shane Meade—our Davey.
There are no words adequate to describe the loss of a child. Grief changes you. There is no returning to the person you were before.
But I eventually realized that although I could not choose what had happened to me, I could choose what I would do with the love I still carried for my son.
I could allow pain to have the final word, or I could ask God to help me turn pain into purpose.
From that prayer and that love grew Davey's Back-to-School Shuffle.
What began as a way to honor Davey's memory has grown into a tremendous community effort centered on children and families. We provide backpacks, school supplies, new clothing, shoes, food, healthcare services, and other necessities—along with something that cannot be placed in a backpack: the knowledge that someone sees you and cares about your future.
At our main event this year alone, we served more than 2,200 children and families.
When I look across a crowd that large, I do not simply see a number. I see individual children. I see grandparents raising grandchildren. I see parents working hard and still struggling to make ends meet. I see children who may walk into school carrying burdens that their teachers and classmates will never know.
And I see possibility.
Through Davey's legacy, we have also established scholarship opportunities to encourage young people to pursue their education and their dreams. Education can change the trajectory of an entire family, particularly in rural communities where opportunities can sometimes feel distant.
But our vision is growing.
Our goal is to build a permanent warehouse and community resource that will become Davey's Closet—a place where families can access clothing, shoes, school supplies, hygiene products, household necessities, and other essential items throughout the year, not simply during one annual event.
We also envision Davey's Closet as a place of opportunity.
The facility will be available during evening hours so children and young people who do not have reliable internet access at home can have a safe place to connect, complete schoolwork, study, and access resources many of us take for granted.
Because in today's world, a lack of internet access can become a lack of educational access.
A child should never fall behind simply because there is no computer or reliable internet connection waiting at home.
My faith is at the center of why I continue this work.
Through the greatest joys and deepest valleys of my life, I have held tightly to my belief in Jesus Christ and His mercy. One name for God has become especially meaningful to me: El Roi—the God who sees me.
He sees the mother grieving when everyone else has gone home.
He sees the child who feels invisible.
He sees the grandparent unexpectedly raising grandchildren.
He sees the family deciding whether to buy groceries, medicine, shoes, or school supplies.
He sees the person who wonders whether anyone understands how hard they are trying simply to keep going.
And I believe He calls us to see them, too.
That belief is also why I continue to advocate for grandparents' rights. Grandparents are too often treated as peripheral to the family when, for many children, they are their stability, their history, their caregivers, and sometimes their greatest advocates.
I often think of grandparents as the roots of the family tree.
Branches can stretch high and far, but strong branches need deep roots. Grandparents carry family history, traditions, wisdom, faith, and unconditional love from one generation to another. When circumstances fracture families, grandparents are frequently the people quietly standing in the gap for children.
Their voices matter. Their relationships with their grandchildren matter. And I will continue fighting to ensure those relationships are recognized and protected.
Being an influential woman, to me, has never been about having a title or being the loudest voice in the room.
Influence is what happens when we use what we have lived through to make someone else's journey a little easier.
It is choosing service over recognition.
It is opening doors and then holding them open for the women and young people coming behind us.
It is refusing to allow tragedy to be the end of the story.
My life has taught me that some of our deepest pain can become the soil from which our greatest purpose grows. I would never have chosen some chapters of my story. But I can choose what I write with the chapters that remain.
So I will keep serving.
I will keep advocating.
I will keep building.
I will keep fighting for children, families, grandparents, and communities that deserve to be seen.
And I will keep saying Davey's name—not only in remembrance of the son I lost, but through every backpack placed on a child's shoulders, every scholarship that opens a door, every family helped through Davey's Closet, and every child who discovers that his or her circumstances do not determine the future.
If my story offers another woman anything, I hope it is this:
Your pain does not have to be the end of your purpose.
Sometimes the very place where your heart has been broken becomes the place where you discover how deeply you can love and serve others.
I move forward because I believe in the mercy of Christ. I move forward because I know that even in the darkest moments, El Roi is still the God who sees us.
And because He sees us, we have a responsibility to see one another.
That is the legacy I hope to leave.
That is how I choose to turn pain into purpose.
And that is how Davey's light continues to shine.
