Some of God’s greatest invitations begin in the places we try hardest to hide. When I think about my calling, I’m reminded of how often God whispers long before we’re ready to listen. For me, that whisper began when I was just a kid standing in church, singing songs with a sincerity bigger than my understanding. Even then, I felt God tugging on my heart, nudging me toward ministry.

But sensing and surrendering are two very different things. So I ran.

Not dramatically. Not rebelliously. I just learned how to stay close enough to the calling to feel safe—but far enough away that I wouldn’t have to truly obey it. I picked up a guitar and hid behind it. Playing let me serve without being seen. It allowed me to participate without stepping fully into what God was shaping in me.

My mom saw right through it.

She has always supported me, believed in me, and encouraged me in ways I didn’t fully appreciate at the time. She would tell me she could see God’s hand on my life. She would gently nudge me, saying things like, “You’re meant to lead worship one day.” But every time she said it, I resisted. I shook my head. I tucked myself deeper behind the guitar. I tried to convince both of us that support from the background was where I belonged.

And yet—even in my resistance—she kept believing. She kept praying. She kept reminding me of what God had already placed in me, even when I didn’t want to admit it.

That’s one reason I connect so deeply with the story of Jacob. Jacob was chosen, blessed, and called, but he spent so much of his life running—running from Esau, from his past, and even from the identity God had spoken over him (see Genesis 25:19–34; 27; 28:10–22; 32:22–32 for Jacob’s story). But God doesn’t abandon runners. He meets them. He redirects them. He wrestles them into becoming who they were created to be.

And He did that with me.

The turning point in my life wasn’t a conference or a planned decision. It came on an ordinary Sunday morning when my dad, who had faithfully led worship for years, was in so much pain in his back that he couldn’t even stand up. I’ll never forget the look on his face, the way he tried but simply couldn’t do it. In that moment, someone had to step forward.

And I knew—deep down—it had to be me.

Every fear I had ever buried came rushing up. This wasn’t me hiding anymore. This was me stepping into the very thing I had been avoiding for years. But I loved my dad, and I knew he needed help. So, with trembling hands and a hesitant heart, I stepped up to lead worship for the very first time.

And that’s when everything changed.

The moment I started leading, something shifted inside of me. It wasn’t polished or perfect, but it was surrendered. And I felt God meet me—not because I was confident, but because I was finally willing. In that moment, the calling I had outrun for so long became undeniable. My mom’s prayers made sense. The stirring from childhood made sense. The hiding behind a guitar suddenly felt small in the light of what God was revealing.

That day didn’t just have me fill in for my dad—it redirected my entire life. It opened a path into ministry far greater than anything I could have imagined. And here’s what I want you to hear: God has a plan for you, even if you feel unprepared or unwilling.

You may feel unequipped. You may feel inadequate. You may even feel like you’ve spent years running. But if God could use someone who tried to hide behind a guitar, someone who resisted encouragement, someone who doubted himself—He can absolutely use you.

Your weakness doesn’t disqualify you; it makes space for His strength. Your reluctance doesn’t frustrate Him; it invites His persistence.

And your running doesn’t stop His calling; it simply delays the moment He meets you with grace.