Two years ago, a pastor friend called to tell me about a job opening at a large church in the South Hills that she thought I would be perfect for. I told her that I was not interested, and yet she continued to reach out every few weeks asking if I had reconsidered. “The congregation is lovely and welcoming. The building is beautiful. There are so many children and families!” But I was not ready to make the leap.

At the time, there was just too much going on in my life and the world. COVID vaccines had only recently become available to the public. In-person ministry programs were beginning to resume at my church. I was struggling to cope with the daily effects and restrictions of a new chronic illness. The political climate and injustices happening in our country were affecting my relationships with family members, friends, and congregation members. For the last few years, I had watched churches across the country sign their own death warrant through both malicious action and apathetic inaction toward the way our world was hurting. It was hard for me to filter through the muck and get to where God was. I was ready to give up on church and vocational ministry. I just could not see its value in my life anymore.

All the while, my friend kept pestering me about this job opportunity. It took a few months for her to finally wear me down, and by June I decided to apply. I was fairly certain that I did not want to work for a church and thought I had no chance at this job, so I decided there was nothing to lose. If I was meant to continue with church, the job would work out. If not, I was ready to set aside church and find a new path.
From my first interview, I could tell Westminster was a special place, and now almost two years later I know that to be true. Seeing the Spirit move through Westminster has refreshed me in ways I could not have imagined were possible, and to be honest, it all crept up on me. We often look for God in the big moments, but how often do we consciously open our eyes to her presence in the seemingly mundane?
On Wednesday nights, I marvel at the questions our fifth and sixth graders are wrestling with. On Sunday mornings, it brings me joy to see so many children feel at home in worship and Sunday school. In texts, emails, and passing conversations, I can see and feel how alive this body of believers is. There is no need to look for signs of life because this church body is dancing and running and shouting God’s love for the world to hear.