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.

And He has, but there were moments I couldn't see it. 

One of those moments came after the team had spent months preparing for a very important meeting. Local leaders were there to honor some of the work we had done. I had given my heart to this work and I was proud of all we had accomplished together.

Someone I served with was speaking on our behalf. I respected her deeply. I loved her. She gave a great speech about all she had sacrificed, and all it took to accomplish what she had accomplished, she named everybody in the room and how they were part of it, but she never named me. In that instant, it felt like every sacrifice I’d made, the time, the energy, the missed moments with my family, had been dismissed...wasted. 

Don't miss this...they weren't wasted, they weren't even being dismissed and I will write more about this later. Just know, in that moment, I felt humiliated and it stung like betrayal.

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 justly, 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? Where's the justice in that?

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

I was conflicted. “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.

I learned, my value wasn't in question. It just wan'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. I prepared a way for 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 out? How might He be shaping you through those moments of quiet obedience?