I was always the quiet one—too shy, too scared, and too insecure. I’d sit in the back of classrooms, avoid eye contact, and pray no one would call on me. My thoughts stayed locked inside, buried beneath layers of self-doubt. I believed my voice didn’t matter, that silence was safer.
But everything changed when I started volunteering at church.
It began with small tasks—setting up chairs, handing out bulletins, helping with coffee. No spotlight, no pressure. Just service. But even in those quiet moments, something stirred. People smiled, thanked me, asked about my day. Slowly, I started speaking—first in whispers, then in full sentences. I realized I had something to say.
One Sunday, a leader asked if I’d share a short devotional with the youth group. My heart raced. I wanted to say no. But something inside me whispered, “Try.” I spent days preparing, rehearsing, praying. When the moment came, I stood trembling—but I spoke. And they listened.
That was the beginning.
Week by week, I grew bolder. I started leading small groups, sharing my story, encouraging others. I discovered that my voice wasn’t just useful—it was powerful. Not because it was loud, but because it was honest. Vulnerable. Real.
Volunteering became more than a task—it became a calling. I began mentoring teens, organizing outreach events, and speaking at community gatherings. I saw lives change, not because I had all the answers, but because I showed up and spoke up.
I found my voice in the place I least expected—among folding chairs and coffee cups, in scripture and shared stories. And once I found it, I couldn’t keep it quiet.
Now, when I see someone sitting in the back, afraid to speak, I smile. Because I know that silence isn’t the end—it’s just the beginning. I reach out, I listen, and sometimes, I invite them to help set up chairs. Because that’s where my journey began.
I was the quiet one. But not anymore.
I found my voice—and I use it to lift others.
