She Wasn’t Lost—She Was Listening
They said I left.
They called it wandering.
Rebellion.
Backsliding.
A season of confusion.
They even called it demonic.
Said it wasn’t of God.
Because anything they couldn’t control, they condemned.
But what they never asked was—
what if I wasn’t lost?
What if I was listening?
There’s a kind of silence that doesn’t come from distance—
it comes from discernment.
Not every absence is rebellion.
Sometimes, it’s refuge.
Sometimes, it’s survival.
Sometimes, it’s the only way to hear something holy without interruption.
I stepped back, not because I stopped believing,
but because I was trying to find something real.
And what I found in the stillness
was a peace that didn’t demand performance.
I didn’t want the noise anymore.
The noise of scripted prayers,
curated smiles,
and tight-lipped answers
to questions that deserved truth.
I always prayed, sitting on that pew—
Please, Jesus… don’t let me die spiritually on this pew.
And He answered.
He sent a visiting evangelist from Germany,
a stranger to my silence,
to lay hands on me and say:
“God has heard your prayers.
You will not die.
He sees you.”
And I knew.
He wasn’t ignoring me.
He was leading me out.
Out of where He never called me.
Out of the noise that looked holy but felt hollow.
Out of the place where my spirit began to shrink.
Just because the rest of the family may still be in that church
doesn’t mean it’s your birthright.
It might just be the trauma they’ve mistaken for tradition—
passed down from generation to generation,
dressed in loyalty,
but never rooted in truth.
They called it wandering.
But God called it obedience.
What they called “wandering”
was actually a return—
not to church, not to rules,
but to the presence that never left me.
Because I was never lost.
I was being found—on the inside.
And now?
Every day feels like an exhale.
I see you.
Not the version you present—
but the one whispering prayers under your breath,
asking God if this is really it.
If survival is all He meant by faithfulness.
You haven’t failed.
You haven’t wandered.
You’ve just been waiting for permission to leave what He never built.
Let this be it.
You’re not crazy.
You’re not rebellious.
You’re not broken.
You’re being called out.
And when you finally go,
it won’t be rebellion.
It’ll be rescue.