Part 6: The Cost of the Call

There are moments in life when you know you are doing exactly what God called you to do… and it still hurts.

There was a season of my life when God called me to leave my home and family to serve on mission, managing a program that would help children who were living in a crisis. It was a call that required sacrifice, and I knew that going in.

When I made the decision to step into that season, God made something clear to me:

There would be suffering. 

He didn’t tell me how.
He didn’t show me what kind.
He simply whispered it into my spirit:

“This path will include suffering.” 

And I said yes.

Not because I wanted the pain, but because I trusted the One who called me. I knew He would be with me, and I knew the work mattered. So, I left the comfort of home. I left my husband and my children, and I went to work, doing what I believed God had assigned to me.

It was the hardest thing I’d ever done.

There were sacrifices I didn’t even know how to articulate. Missed birthdays. Long nights. Isolation. And yet, I held onto the belief that God was in it. That obedience would bear fruit. That He would use every bit of the sacrifice.

Then came the moment I didn’t see coming.

We were hosting an important meeting—one I had spent weeks preparing for. Local leaders were there, people I had invested in relationally and professionally. I had given my heart to this work. I was proud of it.

Someone I served with was joining us. I respected her deeply. I loved her. But our relationship could be tense, and that day, in front of the very people I had worked so hard to build trust with, she humiliated me. 

I don’t believe it was intentional. But it stung like betrayal. It hit like a punch to the gut.

In that instant, it felt like every sacrifice I’d made, the time, the energy, the missed moments with my family, had been dismissed, even erased, by a single moment of carelessness.

I was furious. Hurt. Confused. My mind spun with what I should say, how I’d confront her, explain what she had done, make her see the impact. I wasn’t looking for a fight; I just wanted to be seen. I wanted her to know that I had paid a price to be there, and I deserved better.

And I wanted to do it right, so I took it to God. I prayed for the words. I asked Him to help me say it with grace and clarity.

But God had something else in mind.

Three days into this mental wrestling match, I heard Him speak, clearer than I had heard Him in a long time:

“I don’t want you to do or say anything.” 

Wait—what?

Surely, I misheard. Surely You don’t want me to let this go?

So, I asked again. And again, He kept saying the same thing, “I don’t want you to do or say anything.” 

I was stunned. “God, how does that make sense? You’ve been teaching me to value myself as Your child, created in Your image, and loved. Am I supposed to just let this go? After everything I’ve given?”

And that’s when He said:

“Yes, my child. You are so loved and so cherished. And this...this is humility.” 

And in that moment, I remembered what He had spoken to me before I ever said yes to the assignment:

There will be suffering. 

This was part of it. This humiliation. This heartbreak. This moment that felt like everything was unraveling, it was part of the path He had prepared me for, even though I didn’t know it at the time.

And what I learned was this:
My value wasn’t in question. It just wasn’t about me.
Yes, I mattered, and He would use that moment to shape my character, but He was at work and up to much bigger things than I could comprehend.

That moment wasn’t about whether I was worthy. It was about whether I would keep my eyes on Him.

I’ve come to believe this:

Knowing who I am gives me the strength to stand up for myself, my rights.
But knowing who He is gives me the courage to lay down that right for the greater good. 

This wasn’t about weakness. It was about spiritual strength.
It was about trusting that my silence wasn’t surrender, it was obedience.

And in the quiet that followed, God did what only He can do:
He ministered to me.
He strengthened me.
He reminded me:

“I see you. I called you. And I am with you.” 

That’s the cost of the call sometimes. It doesn’t always come with applause. Sometimes, it comes with silence, misunderstanding, and the ache of being unseen. But obedience to God is never wasted. It always yields something deeper, something eternal.

Reflection Prompt: 

Has God ever asked you to stay silent when everything in you wanted to speak? What might He be forming in you through those moments of quiet obedience?