Last week Sunday, I drove two hours to our branch in Delaware after my commissioning, heart racing the whole way. By the time I pulled into the lot, I was two hours late. I walked into the sanctuary bracing for disappointment, but instead I found a congregation, and a room full of youth still earnestly waiting. The weight of that moment humbled me to my core.
I hadn’t even sent a bio. Yet somehow, they’d found pieces of my story online and welcomed me like family. When the minister shared why they chose me as their guest speaker, I couldn’t hold the tears. I genuinely didn’t know how loved and honored I am among these young people, especially the girls who’ve been watching quietly, taking courage from my journey.
That love unlocked me. I put my notes aside and opened my heart. I shared my life, my struggles, and some of the testimonies I usually keep tucked away. Before I knew it, it shifted into a Q&A – hands up, real questions, brave honesty. We talked about life, calling, confidence, mistakes, and mercy. It felt like sitting in a circle, not standing on a stage.
By the time service ended, I was undone in the best way. Their warmth wasn’t performance, it was presence. The hugs lingered, the prayers were specific, and the smiles said, “We see you.” I left feeling both small and seen, emptied and filled at the same time.
I didn’t feel like I deserved any of it. But grace spoke differently. It reminded me that God doesn’t wait for perfect timing or perfect people, He just asks for a willing yes. Even late, even tired, even unsure, He can still pour.
I’m carrying Delaware with me. I’m carrying the girls who looked me in the eye with hope, the boys who asked hard questions, the leaders who chose me without a résumé. I’m renewed in my assignment: to show up, to tell the truth, to keep giving God my yes.
If grace can meet me on a late arrival, it can meet anyone, anywhere. May I never take that for granted. May I steward it well. And may every room I enter feel what I felt that late afternoon, love that waits, welcomes, and reminds us we’re already held.
Xoxo,
Lady Abena.