Standing at the Gate

The realisation hit me somewhere between overthinking a WhatsApp message and reheating my tea for the third time. I was waiting. Not in the cute, patient way that saints on stained-glass windows wait. No, this was the kind of waiting that felt noble on the surface but was really just well-dressed hesitation. I kept telling myself I was “seeking clarity” or “waiting for the right season,” but deep down, I knew: I was standing at the gate, spiritually dressed and going nowhere.

You see, gates are funny things. They’re technically entry points, but if you stand at one long enough, it starts to feel like a destination. You make it home. You decorate it. You even give yourself awards for showing up there every day. But the truth is, no matter how well you accessorise hesitation, it’s still hesitation.

For the longest time, I thought stepping into purpose required thunder, angelic background vocals, or at the very least, a church-sanctioned certificate. Turns out, what it really requires is obedience, and a slightly uncomfortable dose of courage. And courage rarely arrives looking like a superhero. Sometimes it shows up as a shaky “yes” in a staff meeting or the decision to speak up when staying silent would be easier.

That’s when I realised how easy it is to confuse being faithful with being passive. I thought I was being “submissive to process” when really, I was hiding in plain sight. You can’t claim you’re waiting on God when He’s already opened the gate, handed you the shoes, and you’re just sitting there, staring at your feet.

Somewhere along the way, I had also convinced myself that influence was reserved for the loud, the eloquent, or the officially titled. Meanwhile, there I was, sitting in boardrooms, classrooms, and late-night DMs, holding real influence, but shrinking from it. Playing small because I thought holiness meant invisibility. As if fading into the background would somehow make me more righteous. Spoiler alert: it doesn’t. Humility isn’t silence. And obedience isn’t procrastination in a prayer shawl.

I used to think the biggest spiritual battles happened in churches. But lately, I’ve found them unfolding in Excel sheets, kitchen sinks, and the tension between speaking the truth and keeping the peace. The battlefield isn’t always dramatic, it’s often disguised as Tuesday. It’s not just about demons and deliverance; sometimes it’s about whether or not you reply to that email with grace when someone’s tone deserved fire and brimstone.

What’s wild is how many of us are sitting on kingdom assignments, waiting for someone to lay hands on us before we move. But what if your call doesn’t need a committee? What if the gate is already open, and heaven’s just waiting on you to walk through it?

This shook me.

Purpose, I’ve come to realise, isn’t a fixed address. It’s portable. It’s not about where you work, it’s about how you show up. It’s not waiting for you on a stage, it’s probably hanging out at your kids’ bedtime or sitting quietly in your Monday morning meeting. And no, it doesn’t always come with applause or clever hashtags. Sometimes it comes with dirty laundry and unreturned calls and doing the right thing when no one’s watching. That’s purpose too.

These days, I’m asking different questions. Not “What am I called to do?” but “How am I stewarding where I already am?” Not “When will my breakthrough come?” but “Have I walked through the gate that’s already been opened?” Because here’s the hard truth: fear often dresses itself as reverence. And if you’re not careful, you’ll mistake your fear of failure for spiritual wisdom.

But I’m done romanticising the gate. I’m done treating preparation as permanence. There are communities that need healing, systems that need light, and lives waiting on your yes, not your polish. You don’t have to be perfect to be obedient. You just have to move.

So maybe this is your reminder, too. Maybe you’ve been circling a call that feels too big or too mundane. Maybe you’ve been waiting for perfect timing, a better version of you, or a thunderclap of divine certainty. But maybe, just maybe, the only thing missing is your step forward.

Let’s not stay at the gate when the door is open. Let’s not sing songs about courage and then whisper our way through life. Let’s show up boldly, quietly, imperfectly, but show up all the same.

Because gates weren’t made for settling. They were made for crossing.