Our Story | The White Feathers Ministry | Mission

Our Story

I never set out to write a book about white feathers. I didn’t go looking for signs, and I wasn’t asking God for proof. What happened to us didn’t begin with curiosity or expectation — it began in grief.

In 2016, our family gathered to say goodbye to Rosie — my sister-in-law, Henny’s younger sister, and someone deeply loved. The sanctuary was filled with the quiet heaviness that only loss brings. Flowers lined the altar. Friends and family sat shoulder to shoulder, each carrying sorrow in their own way. Henny and I were seated in the front row, close enough to see every detail, close enough to feel the finality of it all.

The casket rested at the front of the sanctuary. And then, in the middle of that stillness, something happened that neither of us will ever forget. A small white feather appeared above the casket.

It didn’t drift in from a doorway. It didn’t fall from the ceiling. It simply appeared — suspended for a moment — and then floated slowly, gently, almost deliberately, down through the air until it came to rest behind the casket.

Time seemed to slow. I turned and looked at Henny. Her eyes were wide. She had seen it too. There was no mistaking it. We both knew we had just witnessed something extraordinary — not loud, not dramatic — but deeply personal.

After the service, Henny stepped forward and picked up the feather. She held it carefully in her hand, as if she instinctively understood it was something sacred.

At the luncheon that followed, we asked everyone we could: “Did you see the white feather appear above the casket?”

One by one, they shook their heads. No one else had seen it. Not one person. Only Henny and me.

That was the moment it became clear this wasn’t coincidence. This wasn’t imagination. This wasn’t sentimentality born out of grief. This was something meant just for us — a private whisper from heaven in the middle of heartbreak.

My mind immediately went to Scripture: “He will cover you with His feathers, and under His wings you will find refuge.” — Psalm 91:4

That verse was no longer poetic language on a page. It was alive. God was reminding us that He was present — not distant — and that Rosie was safe with Him.

I want to be clear about something. This story is not about chasing signs. It’s not about superstition. The white feather itself was never the point. God does not need symbols to prove who He is. What mattered was what it revealed — that God is near to the brokenhearted, that He sees us in our grief, and that He still speaks in quiet, unmistakable ways.

That first feather was not the end of the story. It was the beginning. In the weeks, months, and years that followed, more white feathers appeared — always at meaningful moments, always when comfort or reassurance was needed most. Each one carried the same message: I am here.

Over time, I realized something important: the white feathers were never about Rosie alone. They were not about angels as an idea, or signs for the sake of signs. They were about Jesus Christ — His presence, His compassion, His promise that death does not have the final word.

Eventually, I felt compelled to write the story down. Not to convince anyone. Not to build a following. But to testify.

Because testimony matters.

If you are grieving…
If you are questioning…
If you are wondering whether God still shows up in personal ways…

I want you to know this: He does.

God doesn’t always speak in thunder. Sometimes He speaks softly — in the middle of a funeral, through a single white feather, reminding us that He is near, that He is faithful, and that we are never alone.

That is how The White Feathers story began.

And that is why this ministry exists — to point people back to God, back to Jesus Christ, and back to the truth that His presence is real, personal, and unchanging.