Our voices matter, because they echo His

There was a time in my church experience when I began to wonder if my voice mattered at all.

And if I am being really honest, I still wrestle with that question sometimes.

I can still see the room clearly in my mind.

A gathering of women, shoulder to shoulder, hearts carrying quiet heaviness.

Their wrestles slipped out in whispers, almost hesitant, like words too sacred to say aloud.

Questions of faith.

Questions of belonging.

Questions that mirrored my own.

I recognized them... because I had lived them.

And something inside of me stirred.

It felt almost holy, like a nudge from heaven.

A thought that maybe, just maybe, I was supposed to speak into that space. To hold up hope, to remind them they weren’t alone. But when I tried, my words didn’t seem to land the way I hoped. Sometimes they fell flat. Other times they were brushed aside, quickly measured and filtered, as if someone else got to decide what was “safe” or “appropriate.”

I remember the sting of being given a label: unsafe.

Not because I was trying to dismantle belief, but because I chose to sit with people in the tender, fragile middle of their faith questions. Because I didn’t rush them past the wrestle, but leaned into it with them.

That word pierced. Unsafe.

It made me want to retreat, to shrink, to stay quiet and let others carry the conversation.

But here’s the thing. In the quiet, after the hurt, I always found myself going back to Jesus.

I think of how He met women.

How He saw them.

Really saw them.

The way He called them by name.

The way He invited them to tell their story, to bear witness, to lead.

He never silenced them.

He never hinted that their wrestle disqualified their testimony. He gave them space. He gave them a voice.

And when I remember that, it changes everything. Because my voice was never meant to come from permission or approval. It was always meant to flow out of Him, from His authority, from His call.

So I keep speaking. Sometimes my voice shakes. Sometimes the words don’t land in the room where I hoped they would. Sometimes they aren’t even welcomed. But I can’t escape the feeling that He placed them in my heart for a reason. For someone who might be listening quietly, wondering if their own wrestle disqualifies them.

Maybe that is the truth I need to hold on to most: our voices matter because they echo His.