“Wait for the Lord: Be strong and let your heart take courage; Yes, wait for the Lord.”
Psalm 27:14
“Though the path is plain and smooth for men of good will, he who walks it will not travel far, and will do so only with difficulty, if he does not have good feet: that is courage and a persevering spirit.”
Saint John of the Cross
Calling isn’t a single moment—it’s a continuous unfolding. It shifts, deepens, and sometimes surprises us. Not long ago, my life changed dramatically. And I responded. I didn’t just sit in the tailspin—I prayed, I listened, and I stepped forward.
For years, I chased success. I tried to get ahead, but never quite arrived. I wasn’t the woman with the dream job, or the perfect mother, or the flawless wife. I was just me. And I wanted more—something meaningful. Something that felt like it mattered to God.
I realized that if I was going to keep struggling, it needed to be for a purpose greater than myself. Greater than earning a buck. I had never truly gone after what I wanted. So I began searching. And I made a change.
That search brought new struggles and unfamiliar goals. I started praying—fervently. I knew the answers wouldn’t always be easy or comfortable. But I kept praying. A kind woman at a local sewing store handed me a prayer card for Our Lady, Untier of Knots. She gave me several, encouraging me to share them. That simple act felt like a nudge from heaven. I was being asked to change. And one decision, in particular, was being forced upon me—not by my own doing, but by the choices of others.
Around that time, I began the 54-day novena known as Nineveh 90. I started seeing Saint Francis of Assisi everywhere—his name, his image, his words. It deepened my reflection. And through it all, God had my back. He knew where He was sending me.
One day, sitting in a doctor’s office, a thought passed through my mind: Why don’t you finish that degree? Go help people. At first, I thought God was telling me to go after my nursing degree. But over time, I understood—He wasn’t calling me to a profession. He was calling me to a purpose. He was asking me to care for His people.
That shift changed everything. It wasn’t about credentials or career paths—it was about presence, compassion, and service. Whether I was at home, at work, or in line at the grocery store, the invitation remained the same: Care for My people.
My husband and I had agreed: if I wasn’t finished in two years, I’d return to work. That moment came—right around the time of COVID. And so, I’ve returned to my previous employer. The journey continues.
But what I learned through not having my job is that God will provide. He will take care of us. I never felt abandoned. We never went without. We had enough. Not more than we needed, not less—just enough. It felt like the kind of peace wealthier people might chase, but we didn’t have to chase it. It was given.
I had let go of money and found trust.
Letting go didn’t mean letting go of responsibility. It meant loosening my grip on fear. It meant opening my hands to receive what God had already prepared. And in that surrender, I found peace.
I still feel called to give. I try to find little ways to serve others, to offer kindness, to be present. But I often wonder if I’m doing enough. I don’t always feel as successful in that calling as I believe God hopes for me to be. Still, I keep trying. I keep praying. I keep listening.
What I’ve learned is that my calling isn’t tied to a title or a grand plan. It’s about caring—for God’s people, wherever they are. It’s about showing up, even when it’s quiet and unseen. It’s about trusting that small acts of love matter.
I’m still praying, still learning, still waiting on the Lord’s guidance. Sometimes, we must walk the road less traveled. Sometimes, we must jump when prompted by the Holy Spirit.
Do you feel a stirring in your heart? A calling? A change you’re being nudged toward? Then pray. And jump. God’s got your back. That doesn’t mean it will be easy. But anything worthwhile rarely is.
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