When God Called Me Forward

Something has been stirring in my heart for months.

It began as a whisper at the end of last year and turned into a roar this spring. This past month in particular has felt like a spiritual overhaul — a clearing out, a shedding, a dismantling of everything I thought I needed to be in order to be loved, successful, seen.

I have been battling a deeper layer of people pleasing. A sneaky, persistent addiction to validation. A compulsive need to prove, to earn, to "do it like the others," to nitpick every word, every post, every part of myself that didn’t measure up to some external yardstick. It’s been a war between my spirit and the programming that told me: worth is something you hustle for.

But this isn’t the kind of rock bottom where you want to die. I’ve been there. I know that kind of darkness.

This was different.

This was a rock bottom that said: "You can’t live like this anymore."

And so, I prayed.

"God, help me hear You. Help me become who You are calling me to be. Let me create what You made me for. Help me soften the resistance in my heart."

I didn’t know that prayer would break me open.

What followed were weeks of emotional chaos. Days where I wanted to hide. Nights where I cried without understanding why. But even in the confusion, I knew something sacred was happening. I knew God was expanding me — my heart, my leadership, my capacity to hold deeper pain, truth, and beauty. I was being prepped for deeper devotion. Deeper trust. Deeper surrender.

It cracked me open to myself. To others. And most importantly, to Him.

Control had always made me feel safe. I mistook performance for power. I believed doing would yield results. And when it didn’t, I spiraled.

"What is wrong with you, Shilpa?" I would ask.

I forgot everything God had already walked me through. I forgot my own bravery, my faith, my heart. I started living from my head again — overthinking, analyzing, hustling — instead of from my heart, where God speaks.

Until it broke me.

And maybe that’s the point.

Maybe we need to break to receive the kind of love that heals. Maybe our hearts need to be cracked wide open to let God in.

I’ve always known when I was about to do something brave.

There’s a whisper. There’s a lump in my throat. There are tears I can’t explain.

The first time I felt this was when I walked away from my first marriage.

I had grown up in a church that wounded more than it healed. It was about appearances, gossip, shame — not God. So I left as soon as I could. Even when I married someone who came from a similar church culture, I only went out of obligation. I wanted no part of it. I believed I didn’t need church to know God. And for a time, that felt true.

But recently, something shifted. God led us to a new church. We started sitting in the back. And then slowly, I began moving forward, row by row. One day, I found myself in the front.

And then they announced baptisms would be held on April 27th.

Something stirred.

My first thought? "Hell no."

I brushed it off. Told myself it didn’t mean anything. I even rationalized that my husband would be out of town, so I could wait and do it later. Wait until it was convenient. Until it was “perfect.”

But today, I showed up to church forgetting what day it was. As I walked in, I realized it was baptism Sunday. I watched strangers being prayed over, dipped into water, and rise up new. And the tears came again.

Memories flooded in. Seven years ago, the week I met Isaac, we went to a church service together — and they were doing baptisms that day. I cried then too. But I didn't understand why. So I buried it.

Have I been ignoring all the calls?

Suddenly, I knew.

This was my moment. To close a decade. To bury the version of me that survived off validation, people-pleasing, self-betrayal. To say goodbye to the girl who earned love instead of believing she was already worthy of it.

When the pastor said there would be another opportunity to get baptized during the second service, I whispered to myself, "Shit. I’m going to do this."

All the excuses came up.

No one is here. Isaac isn’t here. You should wait.

But something louder said, "Now."

So I said yes.

They handed me a change of clothes. I sat in silence, tears falling, heart pounding. It was just me and God.

I walked into that tub.

And I wept in front of strangers.

But I barely noticed them.

This was between me and Him.

A line drawn in the sand. A declaration:

I surrender.

Use me.

I want to hear You clearer. I want to trust You deeper. I want to say yes faster.

Later, I shared everything with Isaac. And even though he felt FOMO, he understood it was meant to be this way.

This moment reflects exactly what I guide my clients through:

A holy reckoning. A private becoming. A walk into a new identity that doesn’t require anyone else’s approval.

It’s a journey that cracks you open to receive the love you’ve always longed for. A journey that anchors you in who you really are — not the version you had to become to survive.

This was my walk with God.

The same God I called out to when I was being molested as a child. The same God who saved me when I almost ended my life. The same God who gave me strength to walk away from a broken marriage. The same God who loved me when I confessed the ugliest parts of my past. The same God who guided me to love again, to serve again, to rise again.

He’s been walking with me all along.

And now, I’m walking with Him.

In public. In private. In the waters. In the wilderness.

I was baptized today. But really?

I was reborn.

If this touched you, moved something in your spirit, or cracked your heart open a little wider—I'd love to hear from you. Leave a comment, share this post, or reach out. 

With all my love, Shilpa