The Calling

Yesterday, I attended the funeral of a two-year-old child. I sobbed in unison with others through the entire service. I cried for him, for his young parents, so heartbroken, yet exhibiting a deeper faith than I have ever witnessed. Their strength was not loud or polished; it was raw, trembling, and holy. I cried for his family, for his baby sister, and for my dear friends, his grandparents, whose grief is deeper than words can ever express. It humbled me.

A band played progressive Christian music—bold, reverent, beautiful. Through tears, people lifted their hands in worship, celebrating both the precious life that was lost and the God who holds him now. One by one, the entire room rose to its feet. We stood together, hands lifted to heaven, voices joined in unison. We gave thanks for a short, well-lived life, and at the same time we gave thanks for comfort, for grace, for the presence of God in the midst of unbearable sorrow. Tears flowed in unison, reflecting different stories yet one shared ache. On this day, we were not divided nor distracted by the world. We worshiped and gave thanks and held each other up in grief and comfort.

We listened as Colson was honored by his family. With shaking voices, they bravely shared their hearts, their hurts, their faith. The pastor reminded everyone to continue to say Colson's name. To speak of him often, and to remember that his life made an impact worthy of praise and remembrance. He reminded us that all feelings and emotions are welcome. And that God is the almighty Comforter.

While fully emersed in the celebration and reminder, I felt a longing rise in me - an unexpected tug on my heart for God to be the focus of my life. Not an afterthought, not a quiet background presence, not something I reach for only when I’m scared or overwhelmed. I felt an urge for my Creator to become the center of my life. The anchor. The reason. The way.

My faith has carried me through some very dark times. But suddenly, I want more: more stillness, more connection, more willingness to hear God clearly and follow His desires for my life without hesitation. I want to live the life I was created to live, whatever that looks like, whatever it requires of me. And truthfully, I don’t fully know how. Except to listen. To surrender. To stop getting in my own way.

I often make excuses. I distract myself. I scroll instead of pray. I numb instead of notice. And yet, I know with absolute clarity: I don’t want to die with my music still in me. I don’t want to leave this world having held back the very thing God placed inside me to give.

The past few weeks—the diagnoses, the fears, the exhaustion deep in my soul, have forced me into a quiet and necessary reckoning. A clear-eyed look at the life I’m living versus the life I long for. I don’t want to keep searching for myself through screens. I want to find myself through my Creator.

So what do I do? Maybe the answer is simpler than I think. Maybe it begins with a single surrendered “yes.” A willingness to be led. A decision, made each day, to choose listening over noise, presence over distraction, purpose over fear. Maybe the question isn’t “What do I do?” Maybe it’s “Who do I trust?”

And maybe, just maybe, God is already whispering the way forward. All I have to do… is listen.

It is with Thanksgiving in my heart that I thank God for Colson's beautiful life, lived with meaningful impact, never to be forgotten. And I thank our Comforter for surrounding his family during this most difficult time. Please continue to pray for them and cover them in Love.