Cashing Out Comfort for Calling

It was still dark when I left my aunt’s house—one of those quiet Saturdays where the world feels like it’s holding its breath. I hugged her tightly at the door, the kind of hug that says thank you without needing words. As the Lyft pulled away, the streetlights blurred past the window, and I felt the weight of everything I’d been carrying settle into the seat beside me.

The airport greeted me with its familiar choreography—lines, bins, belts, bodies moving in practiced rhythm. I slipped through security and finally released a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. Not relief yet—just permission to pause. When it was time to board, I found my seat, buckled in, and then it happened.

I exhaled.

This wasn’t the everyday kind of exhale. This was the kind your body takes when it no longer has to fight. The kind that comes after seasons of bracing, pushing, proving. My shoulders dropped. My jaw was unclenched. I turned toward the window as the plane waited on the runway, and in the stillness of my heart I heard it—soft but certain: Well done.

I smiled, because I knew that voice. It could only be God.

I was the girl who bet it all on obedience. The girl who trusted that this was His plan. I cashed out my 401(k). I said yes to graduate school, believing it would open the door to a new career, a new chapter. I endured overt racism—the kind that announces itself loudly—and covert racism—the kind that smiles while it wounds. Still, I loved it. I laughed. I lived. I gained friends who felt like family, and I lost some who were only meant for a season.

As the memories played like a highlight reel in my heart, I knew this wasn’t goodbye forever. I’d be back to California. And right on cue, See You Again by Wiz Khalifa and Charlie Puth floated through my mind—fitting, tender, true.

This exhale was different. It wasn’t just relief—it was completion. It was knowing that you finished, and you finished well. It was the quiet confidence of a daughter who knows her Father is pleased.

I’ve never had a problem with finishing. I love checking the boxes, completing tasks, and moving on to the next thing. The problem, I realized, wasn’t finishing—it was the quality of my finish. Too often, in my drive to get things done, I convinced myself that “done” was enough. And in my mind, it was. On to the next!

But a shift happened. I started to realize that finishing is important, but finishing well is what pleases God. It’s not just about completion; it’s about care, intention, and leaving things in a state of wholeness.

When I began considering a new role, one thing I spent a lot of time thinking about was whether I would be able to leave my current role well. I wrestled with that idea because it felt like doing so would have been forced or rushed. Sure, I could have made it work—but finishing well doesn’t feel rushed. Finishing well feels like freedom, like rest.

When the team ultimately decided to go with another candidate, I wasn’t upset—I was excited. That rejection felt like God gently saying, “You’re not done yet.” Like a steak pulled off the grill too soon, I still needed more time to cook, to season, to be ready.

And in that moment, I realized: finishing well isn’t about rushing to be done. It’s about honoring the process, respecting the assignment, and walking in the freedom that comes from completing with intention.

I am a firm believer in the fact that God will not allow you to get to a place ill-prepared, ill-equipped or ill-informed and that makes me excited because when I get there everything I need will be cultivated and there will be alignment.

This is the thing, that feeling I had on that plane leaving California and returning back to Dallas, I have had that feeling over and over again, in different circumstances as well, I want to continue to have it in my walk with Christ. So my encouragement for you is to finish and finish well. Finish in a manner where you know God is proud. Finish well so you can rest without guilt or shame.