By Carol Colvin

I’ve been teaching others how to create what they want for years now. I always remind them to focus on what they want and why they want it—and to leave the how and the when up to a higher power.

And yet, when it comes to my own goals… sometimes I struggle to take my own advice.

A few years ago, I felt deeply called to help change hearts and minds in my church regarding the treatment and inclusion of LGBTQ people. Two of my three adult children are part of this community. As they were growing up, they internalized painful, harmful messages—both at church and at home. Messages that told them something was dreadfully wrong with them… that they didn’t belong… that they wouldn’t live in heaven with their family after they died… and worst of all, that God didn’t love them.

They kept their secret for years, fearing rejection. My son didn’t come out until he was 21. My daughter waited until she was 28.

I carry deep regrets about the things I said and did that made them believe I would reject them. I ached to go back in time and do things differently.

I couldn’t rewrite the past. But I knew there were other children and teens in my congregation—right now—hearing the same harmful messages. I knew some were hiding who they were, just like my children had. And I wanted to reach them by reaching their parents. I wanted to prevent others from making the same mistakes I had.

I also hoped to help church leaders and teachers learn how to better love, support, and include LGBTQ members.

I saw it all so clearly: training programs for parents and leaders, Sunday evening discussions featuring faithful LGBTQ church members, support groups, community resources. I pictured the love that would grow, the understanding that would blossom. The what and the why filled me with hope and passion.

Then I moved into the how and the when.

I was driven—by guilt, by urgency, by love. I imagined young people agonizing over whether to trust their parents with their truth, and I couldn’t wait. I reached out to my local church leaders, hoping to spark movement and support. But they didn’t share my urgency. They didn’t see the need. Doors that I thought would open stayed firmly closed.

For over two years, I tried. I came up with new approaches, revised my proposals, adapted my tone, but nothing moved forward. Eventually, I gave up.

And I was heartbroken. I felt like I had failed. I had genuinely believed this was a calling from God—to minister to LGBTQ individuals and their families—and I had tried to do it the “right” way, through the existing channels. But the path was blocked at every turn. I felt useless.

So I did the only thing I could: I prayed.

I told God I was done. I said, “I’ll still talk to people. I’ll still tell my story. I’ll still try to help—if you send them to me. One at a time if that’s what it takes. But I’m not organizing another meeting or setting another deadline. I’m letting go of the how and the when.”

And then something amazing happened.

Over the course of just one month, through a series of events and one-on-one conversations I could never have orchestrated on my own, I spoke to over 250 people about my love for the LGBTQ community. I shared my story. I invited them to see differently. There were tears. There were hugs. There were real, tangible shifts in hearts and minds. The very outcome I had dreamed of began to unfold—but not because I forced it.

It happened after I surrendered the how and the when.

The lesson stuck with me. Now, I truly try to follow the advice I give others:

Focus on the what and the why—and let God handle the how and the when.

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