I Never Thought I’d Be That Person

(but here I am)

When the answers stopped working, Love met me in the questions. (Esther Joy Goetz)

I never thought this would be the moment that made me feel most alive.

I found myself on a porch overlooking a lake, geese honking in the background, singing at the top of my lungs.

Surrounded by people I might have once dismissed as “too out there,” “too woo woo,” or just not my kind of people, I was completely unguarded—harmonizing, open-hearted, unashamedly present. It was the third night of a spiritual direction and soul care conference I was attending, and something in me felt as if time stopped. I looked around, pausing to take in the moment, and internally clapped for myself.

Because…

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…ten years ago, I would’ve run the other way.

These were not the rooms—or porches—I was trained to enter. These were not the people I was taught to trust. I was raised in a world that prized certainty, control, and clear lines between what was holy and what was heresy. I learned early on how to stay in my lane. And if I veered off, there would be hell to pay—both literally and figuratively.

But somehow, there I was. Laughing. Listening. Singing under the stars and getting goosebumps from both the chilly night and the feeling of being home.

Later that night, curled up in bed and snuggled deep under the covers, I found myself tracing the long, slow arc of how I got here—from the woman who once preached loud, sure, and proud… to someone who now lives in the gentle unknown.

It started, as these things often do, with a question. Just one.

I can’t even remember exactly what it was—only that it arrived quietly, somewhere between a sermon and a sigh, a conversation and a cup of tea. It lodged itself in my chest like a seed I didn’t ask for and wasn’t ready to water.

But it grew anyway.

That one question turned into another. And then another. Until the belief system I had once clung to—so certain, so tightly wound, so clearly outlined—began to fray at the edges.

I had been the color-inside-the-lines one. The “this is what the Bible clearly says” one. The one who stuck to the script, never dared to rock the boat, and sometimes forcefully reminded others to do the same (my kids included, bless their hearts). I was the whitest of white sheep—blending in, playing the part, making everyone in my carefully-contained world proud.

And then…I wasn’t.

The questions wouldn’t stop. Questions about God. About truth. About who gets to decide what is sacred. About why so much love was kept behind so many gates.

With each question, the whiteness of my sheep's coat took on new speckles. A few at first. Then more. Until it was obvious—I no longer matched the flock.

At first, I hid. Tried to scrub away the doubt. Camouflaged the speckles. But there were too many. Too deep.

And with the questions came grief.

I grieved the version of faith that had once held me so tightly. I grieved the people who took slow steps away—some bolting. I grieved the sense of belonging that came from fitting in, from knowing exactly where I stood and what role I played.

I tried to reconstruct the scaffolding, to patch the holes with new, shinier answers. But nothing held. Nothing filled the aching space that had cracked wide open inside me.

And yet—something holy stirred in that hollow place.

What came next wasn’t clarity. It wasn’t more certainty. It was mystery.

Not mystery as a loophole or soft escape, but as a Holy, Playful Presence. A sacred invitation to stop striving. To stand still. To rest in not knowing.

Mystery whispered to me, You don’t have to know everything to be held. You don’t have to be certain to be safe. You can be white, speckled, or the blackest of black sheep—and you still belong.

I now call that Mystery “GLove”—God and Love intertwined, not quiet sure where one ends and the other begins. The One who meets me beyond the gates and rules and checklists. The One who is never threatened by my questions, who welcomes my wonder, and who holds me even when I’m not holding anything together.

There’s something strangely beautiful about no longer needing to belong to a system that only loved me when I stayed in line.

There’s peace in becoming our whole self, even when it costs us the illusion of fitting in.

And there’s a quiet, healing joy in finding others on the path—those who’ve also questioned and unraveled and mourned and healed. People who know how to sit in silence without fixing it. People who can laugh and cry in the same breath. People who carry reverence for what can’t be explained. People who find God everywhere.

This path isn’t easy. It’s long. It’s layered. It asks more of us than most systems ever did.

But it gives us back our truest self—the one we hid, washed away, or covered up.

For me, every painful step has been worth it. Every unraveling. Every goodbye. Every sacred beginning.

Because what I’ve found isn’t just a different way of thinking. It’s a different way of being.

It’s presence.
It’s freedom.
It’s love without conditions.
It’s singing at the top of my lungs on a porch in the mountains of North Carolina, completely unguarded, completely myself.

It’s life.

And I wouldn’t go back.

Not even for a second.

From my heart to yours,
Esther

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If this has touched you and you want to invite others into this space, I would feel so honored if you would connect them with me. It’s really how I get my words and my resources available.

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Reflection Questions:

What questions niggle inside you? About faith? God? Your soul? Life? What do you do when they stir?

(would love for you to share something with our community by leaving a comment)

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