The Weight of What Has Not Yet Been Born

There are moments when the air grows heavy without explanation and when sorrow arrives before a face can be found to carry it.

Moments when the spirit senses danger not as a thought, but as a pressure.

This was one of those moments.

The room was full. The voices overlapping, bodies moving, life unfolding as usual. Yet there was something unseen pressed inward. Quiet. Urgent. Dark. It felt like death hovering nearby, not belonging to one soul in particular, but close enough to demand attention. The instinct was to search and to pray, to listen, to move through the room hoping clarity would appear.

Nothing did.

The impulse to speak rose quickly.

So did fear.

Time passed. Opportunities narrowed. Silence settled in and began to feel reasonable, almost like the stillness that happens after a struggle. Comforting. Someone else spoke, brushing the edge of what had been sensed, and it became easy to wonder if that was mercy… or if hesitation had learned how to wear the mask of wisdom.

That is when the weight of it landed.

Because prayer is often offered in these moments.

Listening, too.

But obedience requires more than perception. It requires a response.

And sometimes, silence is not humility.

Sometimes stagnancy is not patience.

Sometimes waiting is not faith, but fear dressed in restraint.

There is a responsibility that comes with discernment, and it is frightening. Not because of what is seen, but because of what might be mishandled. The fear of speaking too soon wars with the fear of staying silent too long. The fear of misrepresenting God battles the fear of refusing to represent Him at all.

And so many choose quiet.

Not out of rebellion, but out of trembling.

The body remembers what the mind tries to forget. Past wounds teach caution faster than theology can undo it. Speaking feels like exposure. Like stepping into fire. And yet the gift, the calling, the assignment remains, whether acknowledged or not.

Titles complicate things.

Labels loom heavy.

They conjure images of certainty, confidence, voices that never shake.

But calling rarely begins that way.

Most often, it begins with a reluctance to be seen. A desire to serve without being named. A longing to be trained, refined, taught, rather than elevated too quickly and left unequipped. The truest hunger is not for influence, but for faithfulness. Not for recognition, but for alignment with the one who brought us here.

Still, self doubt clings.

There is fear of arrogance.

Fear of self-destruction.

Fear of losing the quiet, sacred closeness that has taken so long to build and the fragile trust that finally feels rooted.

And then, instead of words, understanding comes through a dream.

In the dream, there is pregnancy.

Not sudden. Not shocking. The life has been there for some time, growing unseen. What causes fear is not the promise, but the birth. Not the calling, but the moment it requires movement to be brought forward. 

A place of examination appears, a doctor’s office, a threshold of evaluation, and it becomes clear that this is not punishment. This is preparation. Submission. Training. Learning how to carry what has been given without crushing it or letting it die unopened.

Others appear, members of the body, the community of faith and there is no hesitation now. Connection replaces isolation. Embrace replaces the distance felt. It is in that closeness, a revelation settles in. 

Belief in God is not the same as embracing faith in God working through a willing vessel.

And that realization does not bring shame.

It brings release.

Because the gift was never owned.

It was entrusted.

Hands are laid in prayer. Support is given. And it becomes clear that this calling cannot be walked alone. It requires voices that steady, people who cover, guides who stand close when knees tremble. Obedience was never meant to be solitary.

When the dream ends, the truth remains.

The birth is not being rushed.

The title is not being chased.

The identity is not being forced.

What is being formed is obedience.

And perhaps that is what calling truly is, not noise, but faithfulness. Not visibility, but surrender. Not confidence in self, but trust in God’s timing and methods.

There are promises still growing.

Gifts still developing.

Words not yet released.

But they are not forgotten.

They are examined, not exposed.

Delayed, not denied.

Heavy, because they are His.

And when the time comes

when what has been carried is finally brought forth

it will not be because of boldness alone,

but because silence was no longer allowed to masquerade as obedience.