I was barely nineteen years old when I answered a phone call from my youth pastor, Chris. He and his good friend, Walt, were planting a church together with their families in Fountain Inn, and he wanted to invite me to an informational gathering. TJ was invited, too. We were “all in” from the very beginning given that this particular man was someone we trusted wholeheartedly. And although we didn’t know his friend well, we were acquainted with him through the various youth events we had done with his church while we were in high school.
I was nearly twenty-one years old when I answered another call from the same man. We had visited the new church plant as often as we were able to in the first year of its birth, but it wasn’t as often as we wanted because we were students at Clemson. We were still “all in,” even though it was more behind the scenes via prayer that first year. He called me to ask me to sing at the first birthday bash for the church plant, and I giddily agreed to be a part of it. That was the beginning of my time behind a microphone at Capstone Church, thirteen years ago.
The next seven years were spent leading and serving nearly every weekend. As long as I was in town, I was leading. I was trusted by our worship pastor at the time with big and small things, and I gained confidence as I learned what it meant to go from a girl with a pretty voice to a woman who believed God equipped her to lead well with humility and power. Those seven years were some of the most formative years of my entire life, and I think of them often; I probably always will. If I could only share one lesson I learned during that season, it would be this: no moment is a small moment, because they all develop our character more than we realize.
I was twenty-seven years old when I stepped out of a night of worship, sat on the curb in the parking lot, and sobbed until my shirt was soaked. Our worship pastor was entering a new season that was taking him away from Capstone Church, and I was wrestling with how people could praise God with smiles and hands raised during his send off. So, instead of letting auto-pilot mode take over, I decided that crying on my knees was the better offering for me in that moment. I wrestled with questions like, “Why do relationships end?” and “Why can’t seasons last forever?” and “Am I really the only person who is sad that this is happening?” and “What are we going to do without him?” and “How am I supposed to lead a church when I have always been the one to follow?”
I was so scared in that moment, mainly because I didn’t know what was coming next. And as a person who thrives in big-picture thinking, that was paralyzing. Now that I’ve had six years to consider that significant moment and those heavy questions, I can see that was the moment that I began to shift. It was the first time I remember laying my brave face down somewhere that wasn’t in the secret of my room. I was so desperate to hear from and be near to God in the moment. That was my only concern. My sister followed me outside after a few minutes that night, as we have done for each other our entire lives, but it was the first time I remember not caring if she was the only person who saw me like this: weak, weepy, afraid, confused, hurt, vulnerable.
I think a lot of the tears fell because I was so afraid that I was being called to lead Capstone Church in a new, much heavier way. And I felt neither qualified nor accepted to be the one to do that.
Nevertheless, that is what I have done for the last six years.
I have not been perfect at it, and I have failed at many things. I have acted foolishly and apologized many times for hurting the people I love and lead. But my heart has remained for God and for His people even in spite of my shortcomings; a big part of that has been believing that His heart is for me, too. Through it all, Jesus has been my hiding place, the catcher of all I drop, the mender of all I break or has broken around me, the confident voice of truth confronting all my insecurities with grace. I take no glory for all the goodness and fruit the past six years have planted and watered and harvested, but it has been one of the most humbling opportunities I have had. People have stepped in, stepped out, and stepped away as I have lead, and my desire has consistently been to honor all of them even when the honor was not reciprocated (which was rare, praise God).
Six years later, I am now thirty-three years old. I have cried countless more times since that Sunday night in September I mentioned before, and I have learned to let the shame fall with the tears a little more every time. The weight of carrying the burdens of others can squeeze your heart until it cries out, especially when you forget the need to lay it down at Another’s feet. Sometimes I have cried out in pain, other times I have cried from crippling sorrow, and I’ve even cried while laughing because the joy goes so deep, all the way down to the bone. Tears say it better than words sometimes.
And now, I find myself on the cusp of another change in seasons, with a new story on my lips. One I want to share with you now:
At the end of 2022, I am stepping down as Worship Director of Capstone Church.
I wrestled over this decision and marched around God's promptings for months and months, and I am ready to surrender and step into the new season I believe He is inviting us all into. I don’t believe this change in seasons is only for my good, but for the good of us all.
Because I imagine people will be curious and I want to be as transparent and delicate as I can with this transition: Capstone will still be our home, and I am stepping down on good terms with leadership. I simply believe God 1) is inviting me into a season of being hidden and 2) will provide who we need to lead us through the next season(s). I can’t remember a time where I’ve ever truly been hidden in ministry, even as a little girl. I am acquainted with the temptation to hide, but to be hidden is different. There is no shame or embarrassment involved in the latter; only a desire to listen to Holy Spirit and be loyal only to my Lord. To be known in a way that is quiet, and press in to slower rhythms. To learn another depth of the art of listening before speaking.
My voice has always turned heads, for better or for worse (and I say none of that haughtily, only as observation).
I am not naive enough to think it still won't from time to time, but for the next season (however long that is) I believe God is inviting me to give my best yes to Him alone. To come back to the heart of worship, as I have sung many times. I am grateful to accept His invitation to learn what it really means to offer my crown, my most prized of gifts, back to Him. To remember that it is not mine to hold onto.
Because if I'm holding all of these things in my hands, I miss an opportunity to hold His.
Honestly, I am very sad and have grieved this privately for some time. At the same time, I am, also, expectant for what God is up to. I've heard many clear words and received enough confirmations to believe there is more fruit in store this way.
The way of obedience.
This has been a year of pruning in many ways (for me and my family personally and for Capstone, as well), and I am making peace with being a part of the pruning. But I cling to this: even when life takes, God continues to give. And even when I am asked to offer something I care deeply about to Him, He will continue to give. I don’t believe I have ever out-given God; I never could.
That’s just His nature, to give and give and give.
I don’t know how old I’ll be the next time a significant shift in my life happens. But I believe it will eventually come because so many others have before. I pray it finds me with Jesus, whether standing or sitting or kneeling or weeping or dancing.
And I pray the same for you.
May grace cover us all, as it always does and according to our need for it.
And finally, a prayer for my past, present, and future; the lyric I pray would be true all my life:
“Heart of my own heart whatever befall;
Still be my vision, O Ruler of all”
May it be true for all of us who seek the face and heart of the Lord. Hallelujah!