When God Calls Bigger but Fear Says Wait...A Busy Mom's Journey to Purpose

Some callings arrive like thunder. Mine has been more like a whisper that will not leave.

It shows up while I am folding laundry. It sits with me in the pickup line. It follows me into the kitchen when one kid needs help with homework, another needs a snack, another has big feelings, and another has somehow lost a shoe we just saw ten minutes ago.

I am 40 years old, raising four kids, carrying the beautiful weight of marriage, motherhood, home, faith, and purpose. I know God has put something in me that is bigger than my current routine. Writing. Speaking. Serving foster youth. Helping teen girls who age out of foster care and need more than a good wish and a pamphlet.

My husband and I believe we are called to open a place for these girls. A safe place. A steady place. A place where love has structure and hope has a room with clean sheets.

And still, if I am honest, fear often says, “Wait.”

Not the kind of wait that comes from wisdom. The kind that comes from wondering if we will fail.

The calling feels holy and inconvenient

I used to think calling would feel clear all the time. I thought if God gave an assignment, the next step would arrive with a highlighted map, extra energy, and childcare already handled...until I met my Bear Bear!

That has not been my experience.

My calling has come while life is full...really full!

Four children do not pause because their mother has a dream in her heart. Dinner still needs to happen. Bills still need to be paid. Appointments still fill the calendar. Someone always needs something washed, signed, packed, cleaned, or explained.

There are days when the idea of writing a book, speaking to women, or building a home for teen girls aging out of foster care feels deeply alive in me. There are other days when I wonder if I can even finish an online Wal-Mart order.

That tension can make a woman question everything.

Did I hear God right?

Am I being selfish for wanting more?

Should I wait until the kids are older?

Do I need more training, more money, more confidence, more proof?

Those are real questions. They deserve prayer, not shame. But I am learning that a full life does not always mean a closed door. Sometimes it means God is teaching me to carry purpose in a grounded way.

Not rushed. Not reckless. Not buried.

Fear often disguises itself as wisdom

Fear rarely comes to me yelling. It sounds responsible.

It says:

• You should wait until you know more.

• You should wait until the kids need you less.

• You should wait until you cannot be criticized.

• You should wait until failure is impossible.

• You should wait until the dream feels safer.

  
  

The problem is that some of those sentences carry a little truth. It is wise to prepare. It is wise to count the cost. It is wise to care about timing, family health, finances, training, and the emotional needs of vulnerable youth.

But fear twists wisdom into paralysis.

Wisdom says, “Prepare well.”

Fear says, “Do nothing until you can guarantee the outcome.”

Wisdom says, “Ask for help.”

Fear says, “Ask so many people that their opinions drown out God’s voice.”

Wisdom says, “Start with the next faithful step.”

Fear says, “If you cannot do the whole thing now, you are not ready to do anything.”

I have had to ask myself a hard question: Am I waiting on God, or am I waiting for a version of obedience that will cost me nothing?

That question stings. It also brings clarity.

Because I do not want to call fear “discernment” just because it keeps me comfortable.

Motherhood is not a detour from purpose

For a long time, I treated motherhood and calling like they were competing for the same space.

If I poured into my children, I felt like I was neglecting the bigger work. If I dreamed about ministry, writing, speaking, and foster care advocacy, I felt guilty for wanting anything beyond my home.

But what if motherhood is part of the preparation?

Raising four children has taught me patience in a way no classroom could. It has taught me how to listen when someone cannot explain what they feel. It has taught me how to stay steady when emotions run high. It has taught me that love needs both tenderness and boundaries.

Those lessons matter.

Aging out youth need more than inspiration. They need adults who understand consistency. They need safe rhythms. They need people who can handle disappointment without leaving. They need someone who knows that healing is often slow and rarely neat.

Motherhood has also shown me my limits.

That matters too.

If my husband and I are called to open a home or program for teen girls aging out of foster care, we cannot build it on emotion alone. Compassion may start the vision, but structure will help protect it.

We will need training. We will need mentors. We will need legal guidance. We will need community partners. We will need financial planning. We will need rest, accountability, and a clear understanding of what we can and cannot provide.

That does not make the calling less spiritual. It makes it more faithful.

God can provide a vision in prayer, then ask us to steward it with research, paperwork, policies, and wise counsel.

The dream is bigger than a building

When I picture the aging out facility my husband and I feel called to open, I do not just see walls and rooms.

I see a teen girl walking in with trash bags and guarded eyes, wondering if this place will be like the others.

I see a kitchen where she learns to cook something simple and feels proud.

I see someone helping her fill out a job application, practice a budget, open mail, schedule an appointment, and understand that mistakes do not make her disposable.

I see prayer offered, not forced.

I see birthdays remembered.

I see boundaries held with love.

I see trusted women sitting at a table saying, “You are not alone. You are not too much. Your future is not over.”

That kind of work is sacred. It is also serious.

Teen girls aging out of foster care carry stories that deserve respect and care. Their lives are not a project. Their pain is not a platform. If we serve them, we must do it with humility.

That means my writing and speaking cannot just be about my dream. They must grow into tools that serve the mission.

Maybe the writing opens hearts.

Maybe the speaking builds awareness.

Maybe the stories God gives me help gather people who also care about this need.

Maybe the first step is not opening doors tomorrow, in a few months, or even in the next few years. Maybe the first step is becoming the kind of woman who can carry the responsibility when those doors open.

A safe room can become a sign that someone is expected and wanted.

I am learning to take steps without demanding certainty

I used to think courage meant feeling brave. Now I think courage often means obeying while my hands are still shaking.

I do not know the full timeline. I do not know every detail. I do not know how God will provide, who will come alongside us, or what the final model will look like.

But I am learning that uncertainty is not the same as absence.

God can be present in the unknown.

So I am asking better questions now.

Instead of asking, “Can I do all of this right now?” I am asking, “What is mine to do next?”

Instead of asking, “What if we fail?” I am asking, “What would faithfulness look like even if this is hard?”

Instead of asking, “Am I too late at 40?” I am asking, “What has God been preparing in me for 40 years?”

That shift matters.

At 40, I am not starting from nothing. I am bringing years of life, mistakes, healing, marriage, motherhood, faith, and experience. I am bringing the strength that comes from surviving seasons I did not think I could survive.

I am also bringing a more honest view of myself. I know I cannot do this alone. I know excitement is not enough. I know good intentions do not automatically create safe outcomes.

That is not discouraging. It is grounding.

God-sized work still requires human obedience, planning, and humility.

The next faithful step may be smaller than I expected

When a dream is big, small steps can feel almost insulting.

Write one page?

Make one phone call?

Attend one training?

Ask one foster care professional for guidance?

Pray with my husband again?

Save a small amount toward the vision?

Share the burden with one trusted friend?

None of that feels as dramatic as opening the doors to a home for teen girls. But dramatic is not the same as faithful.

The next step might be to keep writing every week, even when no one sees it yet.

It might be to speak at a small gathering before I ever stand on a larger stage.

It might be to learn more about licensing, trauma-informed care, nonprofit structure, mentoring, housing models, and the real needs of young women leaving foster care.

It might be to volunteer with an existing organization first, not as a shortcut, but as a way to learn with humility.

It might be to let my children see me follow God in stages, not in perfection.

That may be one of the greatest gifts I can give them.

I want my kids to know that their mother loved them deeply and still obeyed God bravely. I want them to see that serving the family and serving the world do not have to be enemies. I want them to learn that calling is not always convenient, but it is worth listening to.

My husband and I do not have to carry it alone

One of the sweetest parts of this dream is that my husband feels it too.

That does not mean we always process it the same way. It does not mean we always move at the same pace. Sometimes one of us feels ready to run while the other sees the risks more clearly.

But shared calling is a gift.

We need honest conversations. We need prayer that is more than a quick sentence before bed. We need room to name fear without judging each other for it.

We also need people around us who can speak truth.

Not everyone should have access to a fragile dream. Some people will dismiss what they do not understand. Others may project their own fear onto your obedience.

But wise counsel is different. Wise counsel does not flatter or crush. It asks good questions. It points back to God. It helps us see blind spots. It cares about the people we want to serve, not just the excitement of the vision.

For us, the right circle may include pastors, foster care professionals, counselors, nonprofit leaders, attorneys, financial advisors, and families/freinds who have already served aging out youth. Not because we need approval from everyone, but because we need to build with care.

This calling is too important for ego.

I can obey before I feel ready

There is a sentence I keep coming back to: readiness and obedience are not always the same thing.

If I wait until I feel completely ready, I may never move.

There will always be laundry. There will always be needs in my home. There will always be reasons to second-guess the timing. There will always be people more qualified, more connected, more organized, more polished.

But God did not ask me to become someone else before saying yes.

He asked me to bring Him what I have.

A heart for girls who need safety.

A marriage willing to pray and build.

A gift for words.

A story still being written.

A home full of lessons.

A fear that has not disappeared, but no longer gets the final vote.

This does not mean I rush. It means I refuse to bury the calling under excuses. It means I can move slowly and still move. It means I can honor my family season and still prepare for the future.

Maybe today’s obedience is one page.

Maybe tomorrow’s obedience is one phone call.

Maybe next month’s obedience is one meeting, one class, one conversation, one saved dollar, one open door.

And maybe, over time, all those small yeses will become the path I kept asking God to reveal.

The takeaway I am holding onto

I do not know exactly when my husband and I will open the doors to the place we see in our hearts. I do not know how God will connect every dot.

But I know this: fear is not a trustworthy shepherd.

God is.

So I am choosing to stop waiting for perfect courage. I am choosing to write while the house is loud. I am choosing to pray even when the plan feels too big. I am choosing to learn, prepare, ask questions, and take the next faithful step.

I am still a busy mom.

I am still 40.

I am still raising four kids.

I am still afraid sometimes.

But I am also called.

And if God is patient enough to grow the vision in me all these years, I can be brave enough to keep saying yes, one step at a time.