There is a particular kind of transition that doesn’t get talked about enough.
It’s not the moment after the decision is made.
It’s not the clarity of arrival.
It’s the long, sacred, often uncomfortable space before.
The waiting.
The wondering.
The listening.
I’ve been living in that space.
The search and call process in the life of the church is, in many ways, one of the most vulnerable journeys a person can take. It is not just a job search. It is not simply a professional transition.
It is a discernment of call—of vocation—of where your life might meet the needs of the world in a meaningful way.
And when I say call, I don’t mean a job title or a single role.
Call is the ongoing invitation to live with purpose. It is the quiet (and sometimes not-so-quiet) pull toward what gives life—both to you and to others. It is where your gifts, your passions, your experiences, and the needs around you begin to intersect.
For some, that takes shape in ministry.
For others, it is lived out in caregiving, teaching, creating, organizing, advocating, or simply showing up with presence and compassion in everyday life.
Call is not something reserved for a few.
It is something that unfolds within all of us.
And that kind of transition asks something deeper of you.
It asks for trust.
There is an anticipation that builds during a season like this.
Emails that could change everything.
Conversations that carry possibility.
Moments where your heart quietly whispers, “Could this be it?”
And yet, alongside that anticipation is a steady invitation to patience.
Not passive waiting—but active, intentional, grounded patience.
The kind that resists the urge to rush ahead.
The kind that holds excitement and uncertainty in the same breath.
Because the truth is, you can feel ready for what’s next…
…and still not be there yet.
That tension is not a failure.
It is part of the formation.
In the United Church of Christ, we often say, “God is still speaking.”
But in seasons of transition, that becomes more than a phrase.
It becomes a practice.
A discipline of paying attention.
Because when so much feels uncertain, the temptation is to grasp for control—to make something happen, to force clarity, to fill the silence with our own voice.
But discernment doesn’t work that way.
Instead, it asks us to slow down enough to listen.
To listen not only in prayer, but in conversation.
In the wisdom of others.
In the quiet nudges of the Spirit that don’t shout—but persist.
And perhaps most importantly, to listen within ourselves—
to that place where calling and truth meet.
There were moments in this journey when I had to ask not, “What do I want?”
but rather,
“Where is God at work—and how am I being invited into it?”
That question changes everything.
One of the gifts of this season has been a deeper understanding of something we don’t always name clearly enough:
Call is not static.
It evolves.
It stretches.
It grows with us.
In the framework of Abundant Aging, we often talk about life not as a slow diminishing, but as a continued unfolding—a deepening into meaning, purpose, and connection at every stage of life.
Call works the same way.
What we are called to in one season may look very different in another.
A role may shift.
A path may change.
New opportunities—or even new limitations—may invite us into a different way of living out our purpose.
And yet, the call itself remains.
Not as a fixed destination…
but as a living relationship between who we are and how we are invited to love the world.
Trust, then, is not just something we rely on in moments of transition.
It is something that sustains abundant living across a lifetime.
Because to live abundantly is not to have everything figured out.
It is to remain open.
Open to growth.
Open to change.
Open to the ongoing invitations of God.
Trust is what allows us to say yes—
not just once,
but again and again as life shifts.
It gives us the courage to release what was,
to embrace what is,
and to step into what might be.
In this way, trust is not simply about getting through a transition.
It is about becoming the kind of person who can live fully within it.
And here is the truth I am holding now:
Even as I have reached the end of this particular search and call process…
Even as I have said yes to a new call…
I am not arriving at an endpoint.
I am standing at another beginning.
Because accepting a call is not the end of transition.
It is the doorway into a new one.
There will be new relationships to build.
New rhythms to learn.
New ways of listening, leading, and growing.
And so the practices that sustained me in the waiting—
patience, attentiveness, trust—
are not behind me.
They are what I will carry forward.
Because this is what a life of faith looks like:
Not a single call, clearly defined once and for all…
but a lifelong conversation between our lives and the voice of God.
A conversation that continues to unfold,
season after season.
As you reflect on your own seasons of transition—and the ways your life continues to unfold—I invite you to sit with these questions.
Not to answer them quickly,
but to hold them gently:
Transitions are rarely easy.
But they are often sacred.
And in the waiting,
in the listening,
in the courage to trust—
not just once, but throughout a lifetime—
we begin to discover something deeper.
That abundant living is not found in staying the same…
but in being willing to keep becoming.