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It's not the call; It's the Caller

Sun, 11 Oct 2026 22:10:19 GMT

How will We answer?

There are moments in life when we feel something stirring deep within us. It’s the desire to do something meaningful, accomplish something that matters, create something that doesn’t yet exist, or simply begin a journey whose destination we can’t clearly see.

The strange part is that these desires rarely come with guarantees. They don’t arrive with a roadmap, a timeline, or the certainty that we’ll succeed. More often than not, they come with questions, doubts, and the uncomfortable realization that we may not be enough for the task we feel called to pursue.

So, we stand at a crossroads.

Some of us dismiss the feeling. We convince ourselves that it’s impractical, unrealistic, or simply wishful thinking. We wait for the feeling to fade and return to what is familiar.

Others lean into it. They can’t quite explain why, but something inside refuses to let the idea go.

Even without certainty, they begin asking,

What if?

But then another question emerges.

How can we know what we’re actually supposed to do?

Do we wait patiently for a door to open, trusting that what is meant for us will eventually find us? Or do we begin knocking on doors, taking one step after another, trusting that our steps are leading us closer to our purpose?

Perhaps the better question isn’t whether we should wait or whether we should work.

Perhaps the question is this:

What does faith actually look like while we’re waiting?

It surely isn’t stagnant or waiting around for permission!

Maybe faith is responding to an invitation.

And perhaps Kavanah is our decision to answer that invitation with intention, even when certainty hasn’t arrived.

When we feel a genuine calling, perhaps what we’re really experiencing is an invitation to begin. Not an invitation with a guaranteed outcome, but an invitation to take the first faithful step. We can take comfort in this truth: we already possess the capacity to become everything that calling will require of us. That doesn’t mean we already have every skill, qualification, dollar, or answer. It means we possess something even greater; the ability to grow into them. If we were already fully prepared, our calling wouldn’t require faith. Instead, it invites us to move before we can see the entire path, trusting that each intentional step is shaping us into the person the journey requires.

Perhaps you don’t have the experience today. Then the journey may teach you.

Perhaps you don’t have the credentials. Then the work may lead you to pursue them.

Perhaps you don’t have the financial resources. Then your path may introduce you to opportunities, partnerships, or provisions you could never have anticipated. And if you don’t have every answer, you will often discover them one faithful step at a time.

I’ve come to believe that one of two things almost always happens. Either we develop the knowledge, strength, character, relationships, and resources we need along the way, or we encounter the people who possess what we lack and are meant to walk part of the journey with us. Very few meaningful callings are fulfilled alone. They are built through learning, persistence, community, and grace.

This is why I find so much encouragement in the stories of Scripture. The men and women we admire throughout the Bible were rarely given a detailed roadmap. Abraham didn’t know where he was going. Moses didn’t believe he was capable. Esther couldn’t predict the outcome of approaching the king.

Yet they showed up.

Their confidence wasn’t rooted in certainty about the path before them.

It was rooted in trust.

It’s not certainty in the calling; it’s certainty in the One who’s calling.

Their stories remind us that we were each created uniquely, with gifts, experiences, and opportunities that cannot be replicated by anyone else. Our calling isn’t about becoming someone else. It’s about intentionally becoming who we were created to be.

Perhaps that is why their stories continue to inspire us thousands of years later. They resisted the urge to quit when logic suggested they should. They continued walking when certainty was nowhere to be found. In doing so, they created generational ripple effects that continue to teach us what faith looks like when logic reaches its limits.

Perhaps the greatest lesson they leave us is this: God doesn’t ask us to have certainty in the journey. He asks us to have faith in Him.

Perhaps the best example I can offer is my own.

When I first decided to put my words into the world through Substack, I had no idea what would come of it. I didn’t know if anyone would read what I wrote, if it would resonate, or if it would ever become something bigger than the quiet desire that had been growing in my heart.

But I knew I had something I was meant to say.

I wanted to uplift, inspire, and encourage people to see themselves as uniquely loved individuals—created with purpose, incomparable to anyone else, and entrusted with work that only they can do. I wanted to remind people that their lives matter, not because of what they accomplish, but because of who they were created to be.

I also carried another hope, one that felt almost too big to say out loud. I wanted to create something that would outlive me.

Has that happened?

Not yet.

Will I ever see the full fruit of my labor?

I honestly don’t know.

But I’ve realized that those questions no longer determine whether I keep writing.

What keeps me writing is something much deeper.

Living with Kavanah (living with intention) brings me a joy that is too meaningful not to share. Every time I choose to write, I feel like I am answering the invitation that God placed before me.

The outcome belongs to Him.

My responsibility is simply to answer the call faithfully.

If one person finishes reading these words feeling a little more hopeful, a little more loved, or a little more courageous than they did before, then every hour spent writing will have been worth it.

Which brings me back to the question that started all of this.

Do we wait for the right door to open, or do we go knocking?

I don’t think it’s either-or.

I think our responsibility is to become the kind of person who recognizes the right door, has the courage to knock, and the wisdom to walk away when it isn’t the one meant for us. Some doors will open. Some will remain closed for reasons we may not understand. And sometimes, the path we’re meant to walk won’t have a door at all.

We’ll be called to build one.

Perhaps what is meant for you does find you.

But it rarely finds you standing still.

It finds you learning.

It finds you growing.

It finds you serving.

It finds you risking failure.

It finds you becoming.

Maybe destiny isn’t simply something we wait for.

Maybe it’s something we grow into.

Perhaps the question isn’t whether the path is certain.

Perhaps the question is whether we are willing to answer.

Hineni.

Here I am.

Not because I know exactly where this road will lead.

Not because I have every answer.

Not because success is guaranteed.

But because I trust the One who called me.

Psalm 37:5 reads: “Commit your way to the Lord, and trust in Him and He will act.”

Be encouraged to read the whole Psalm and see how beautifully you are sustained.

Live with intention.

Answer with courage.

Trust the Caller.

Until next time,

Sharon Montanez-LeDuc
Living with Kavanah

Sometimes the Blessing Is the Becoming

Thu, 14 May 2026 14:25:14 GMT

How Life’s Hardest Seasons Often Shape the Strength We Later Rely On

One of the hardest truths to accept is that not every blessing arrives in the form we expected.

Sometimes we pray for ease…
and receive growth instead.

Sometimes we ask Hashem to remove the challenge…
and instead discover strength through enduring it.

This can feel frustrating in the moment, especially when life feels heavy, uncertain, or delayed.

But often, the hidden blessing is not only in what happens to us.

It is in who we become through it.

The patience you developed.
The empathy you gained.
The courage you were forced to build.
The clarity that emerged through discomfort.

Many of the qualities we admire most in others are born through seasons they never would have chosen.

I have reflected on this deeply throughout my life.

During my childhood, life evolved in a way that forced me to mature rather quickly. At the age of twelve, I found myself helping care for my mother after a hernia surgery that took a very long time to heal. Thankfully, my father was always there to support us, but our family responsibilities shifted significantly during those years.

Back in the early nineties, while many kids my age were focused primarily on school, friends, and normal teenage activities, I learned how to:

pay bills in person
cook and clean regularly
help care for elderly family members
change the bed sheets of a loved one while they remained in bed with dignity and respect
keep a family member with Alzheimer’s engaged and entertained
serve as the eyes and ears during doctor’s appointments for my parents, who were already older

At the time, I often questioned why life felt so different for me.

For many years, part of me wondered if I had been robbed of a “normal” childhood.

But as life unfolded, I slowly began to understand something I could not see then:
those early experiences were shaping me.

They taught me how to remain calm during crisis.
How to anticipate needs.
How to sit with people through suffering.
How to navigate difficult conversations with compassion and steadiness.

The very things that once felt unfair became some of the tools that later helped me survive difficult seasons of my own life—and help others navigate theirs as well.

This does not mean hardship itself was the blessing.

It means Hashem created blessing through the hardship.

That awareness changes how we walk through difficult moments.

Instead of asking only:

“When will this end?”

We begin asking:

“What is this season building within me?”

That shift creates Kavanah.

Intentional living means understanding that growth is rarely accidental. Many of life’s deepest transformations happen quietly over time, inside seasons that initially felt uncomfortable, painful, or uncertain.

And often, we do not fully understand the purpose of those seasons until much later.

This Thursday morning, before the week closes, reflect honestly:

How have I grown recently?
What challenge strengthened me?
What quality might Hashem be building within me right now?

Because sometimes the blessing is not the outcome.

Sometimes the blessing is the becoming.

Living with Kavanah Practice:

Before ending today:

identify one way you are stronger than you were a year ago
thank Hashem for one lesson learned through difficulty
acknowledge one area where growth is still unfolding

Growth rarely happens without stretching.

But stretching is often where blessing begins.