I never planned to get into angel messages for kids. I had no clue this was even a thing. Eventually, most folks refrain from discussing such things, much less acting on them.
Even though I was sitting on the porch with a mug of cold tea (twenty minutes was when it had gone cold), thinking of the odd but beautiful moments with my six-year-old. Moments that, weirdly enough, cracked something wide open inside me.
Not in a bad way. Rather, more like… a soft unraveling.
In fact, it started on a Tuesday. Not a significant Tuesday. Just the regular kind—the kind where you forget to switch the laundry and dinner turns out kinda sad.
Anyway, my daughter, Ellie, had one of her big-eyed questions again:
“Mom, do angels send letters?”
I blinked. “Like, in the mail?”
“No, like, messages. In your head. Or dreams.”
I asked, “What kind of message would you want from an angel?”
She paused. “In fact, I’d want them to tell me if I’m doing okay at being brave.”
And just like that, something about that landed. That click. That moment where the world slows just enough for you to feel your heart shift.
Because Kids Are Closer to Magic Than We Are
I used to think being an adult meant having the answers. Or pretending convincingly. However, here’s the thing: kids? They ask the questions we’ve all stopped letting ourselves consider.
Ellie started talking more and more about her angel. She named it Pebble. Which, yeah, isn’t what you’d expect an angel to be called. I asked why, and she just said, “It’s small and quiet and easy to carry.”
And yeah, that got me.
From that point on, she’d leave notes under her pillow, like little prayers with crayon handwriting.
And you know what? I started answering them. Not as me—never signed them “Mom.” Just a scribbled “Love, Pebble.” A soft reassurance. A gentle nudge. Things like:
“You were brave today at the dentist. Moreover, when it was scary.”
or
“It’s okay that you cried. Crying is part of courage.”
Eventually, somewhere in that pretend game, I started seeing how powerful it was. For her. Surprisingly, it was powerful for me too.
A Cup of Tea and an Unexpected Message
Now, you should know something else. Around this same time, I started a little ritual for myself. Nothing fancy—just five minutes with tea and no noise. I called it “sipping serenitea” as a joke. I even wrote it on a sticky note and slapped it on the cabinet.
But that little joke stuck.
After a while, those still five minutes started to feel like more than just a short pause. One morning, a line appeared—soft, precise, out of nowhere. I didn’t ponder for long. I folded it onto a napkin and slipped it in with Ellie’s lunch.
And she came home holding the napkin like it was gold. She said, “Pebble gave me a good one today.”
And I’ll be honest, I cried in the bathroom for a solid ten minutes.
Not a glamorous cry either. The snotty, towel-muffling, mascara-runs kind.
Sip, Breathe, Repeat
I read something online—probably while doomscrolling insomnia away—about this ritual called seven sips to bliss. Supposedly, you take seven sips of tea, one for each area of your emotional self: trust, presence, love, acceptance, and… I forget the rest. I didn’t buy into the whole system, but I liked the idea.
So I started doing it. Just counting out slow sips. One… two… three…
Moreover, somewhere around sip five, I’d start thinking about what “Pebble” would say to me. Not Ellie. Me. The tired mom who hadn’t washed her hair in four days. The woman who was so used to clenching her jaw that she forgot what her own smile felt like.
Turns out, those messages weren’t just for my kid.
I needed angel messages for kids too. I just didn’t know I was allowed to have them.
Rewriting My Own Childhood
Indeed, I won’t go too deep into this, but let’s just say I didn’t grow up in a home where soft things like feelings or angels had much space. We were more of the “toughen up” and “life isn’t fair” crowd. Even though it may build grit, on the other hand, it also builds a kind of silence inside you.
As a result, when Ellie asked me what my angel was called, I panicked. I didn’t have one.
But then I made one up—Sage. Similarly, I permitted myself to listen for that quiet, kind voice I never had as a kid. Nevertheless, out loud. Just a whisper in my head when I was losing it over spilled cereal or waking up at 3 a.m. for no good reason.
“You’re trying. That’s enough.”
“You don’t have to fix everything tonight.”
“However, you’re still worth love, even messy.”
It’s Not About Religion—It’s About Reconnection
People hear “angel messages for kids” and instantly think of glowing wings and harp music. In fact, that’s not what it’s been for us.
It’s more like soft nudges. A feeling. Eventually, a sentence that drifts into your mind when you most need it. Sometimes it is your wisdom. Other times? I swear it comes from somewhere beyond me.
Furthermore, Ellie doesn’t ask who’s writing the notes. Meanwhile, she just beams every time she finds one, tucked in her sock drawer or under her cereal bowl.
And me? I keep sipping serenitea. Moreover, I keep taking those seven sips to bliss, even on days when it feels silly. Because something in me has shifted.
I look for those messages now. It was for her and for me. In addition to that, for the scared little girl I used to be.
And Maybe That’s All It Is
Maybe this isn’t magic in the way you read about in books. Maybe no angels are dictating these notes from clouds.
Nevertheless, the magic is in choosing to listen anyway. To believe, just for a second, that something or someone wants us to know we’re not alone. Whereas, love is whispering somewhere.
Yet, I still don’t know if Pebble is real. Or Sage.
Whereas, I do know that Ellie walks a little taller when she finds those notes. And I breathe a little deeper when I write them.
So yeah, maybe this weird, wobbly journey into angel messages for kids started as a make-believe game.
However, it turned into something a whole lot more real.
And that’s the part I’ll never stop believing in.
