Same Calling. New Expression.

Written of April this year but never posted. 

I didn’t go into this weekend expecting anything to shift.

My husband and I went to Rise.

And honestly—we didn’t just randomly decide to go.

A friend of ours has been inviting us for a while.

More than once.

Consistently.

And if I’m being real… we’ve been hesitant.

Not for any big reason.

Just… life. Timing. Headspace.

We just hadn’t said yes.

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But this time, we did.

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I was open… but not looking for a moment.

Not chasing a feeling.

Not needing anything dramatic.

Just present.

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But somewhere in it—

the message, the worship, the focus on resurrection…

the reality of God’s presence not being distant, not being occasional—

something in me woke up.

Not new.

Not unfamiliar.

Just something I had quietly put on a shelf.

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There are parts of you that don’t disappear.

They just get quiet.

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And the more I’ve sat with it…

the more I’ve realized this didn’t just happen in isolation.

The conversations.

The interactions.

The words from people I trust and admire.

The timing of things unfolding in our lives.

None of it feels random.

It all feels… connected.

Not forced. Not obvious.

But intentional in a way that only makes sense when you step back and look at it as a whole.

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I believe a lot of that is tied to something deeper.

The prayers my parents have been sowing over us.

The ones you don’t always see working in real time.

The ones that don’t announce themselves.

But show up—quietly, steadily—

in moments like this.

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Life fills up.

Responsibilities shift.

You step into roles that require different parts of you.

And without even realizing it,

you step out of others.

Not because they weren’t real.

Not because they didn’t matter.

But because they didn’t have a place anymore.

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For me… that was worship.  Not in the act but in leading corporately. 

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And if I’m being honest—

it didn’t just drift.

There’s a reason it went quiet.

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I grew up in the church.

That world wasn’t foreign to me.

It was familiar.

It was foundational.

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But at some point…

it started to feel performative.

Not all of it.

But enough of it.

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And I think that’s what shifted something in me.

I started asking different questions.

What does it actually look like to love people?

Not just people who look like us, think like us, believe like us—

but people who don’t?

What does it look like to build real relationships?

The kind that aren’t dependent on agreement or appearance?

By the time I moved to Lubbock for grad school, I felt very much on the outer fringe. Circles I had once engaged strongly in, largely disappeared and then came whispers.

“She left ministry…”

“She x-Y-Z….”

However, no one actually had a direct conversation with me to understand what was actually going on. 

My thought was if no one cares enough to find out why, then why do I want to be part of those circles. 

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And I stepped outside of what was familiar to figure that out.

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This weekend—even something as simple as seeing a post that didn’t celebrate the resurrection—made me pause.

Because I know the person.

I know enough to understand where that perspective comes from.

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My first thought on seeing the post wasn’t judgment.

It was reflection. Like what must this person believe to find agreement in this? It was focused on what have we done as the “body” of believers that leads someone to that specific action. 

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How do we come across to someone who doesn’t believe?

Or doesn’t want to believe?

When we post “He is risen”…

what do they see?

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Because if we say we love God—

but that love doesn’t show up in how we treat people…

what are we actually communicating?

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Some of the most painful things I’ve experienced—

and some of the worst things I’ve witnessed—

have come from people who would say they’re “in the church.”

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And when you’re on the receiving end of that…

when people are saying things about you that aren’t true,

speculating about your life like it’s theirs to interpret—

it does something to you.

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It can leave you jaded.

It can make you question everything.

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I remember thinking:

Is this what I want to be a part of?

Is this what God’s love is supposed to look like?

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And if I’m being real—

it wasn’t my faith in God that shifted.

It was my trust in His people.

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But God.

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Because instead of walking away completely,

I started searching.

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What should this actually look like?

And how do I live it out—consistently, not performatively?

How do I build relationships that reflect something real?

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I haven’t always gotten it right.

There have been moments I’ve missed it completely.

Handled things wrong.

Responded out of hurt instead of truth.

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But I’ve learned to take ownership of that.

To make amends.

To grow.

To do better the next time.

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Because this—

this matters too much to fake.

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At my core, I’ve always been a worship leader.

Not just on a platform.

Not just with a mic.

It’s how I’m wired.

It’s how I process.

It’s how I connect to God when I don’t have the right words.

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And for a long time, that expression was visible.

Structured.

Consistent.

In rooms.

With people.

And then… it wasn’t.

Not suddenly.

Not dramatically.

It just slowly moved out of the center.

And I let it.

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This weekend reminded me of something I already knew…

but hadn’t been living from:

The same Spirit that raised Christ from the dead

lives in me.

Not in moments.

Not in environments.

In me.

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That doesn’t expire.

It doesn’t go quiet just because I did.

It doesn’t disappear because my life shifted.

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What hit me wasn’t, “go back.”

It wasn’t a pull to perform.

Or lead the way I used to.

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It was simpler than that.

Clearer than that.

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I haven’t lost it.

I’ve just been expressing it differently.

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The writing.

The lyrics.

The way I’ve been processing everything I couldn’t name…

That was worship.

It just didn’t look like what I was used to.

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And I think that’s what I’m stepping into now.

Not a return.

An alignment.