A Call You Should Not Ignore

It started as any other weekend in my young adult life.

Twenty-one, but not quite a man.

A road trip. A best friend. A plan to cut loose in Cincinnati and shake off the weight of another work week. I had done this before—countless times, in fact—and it had always been something to look forward to. A welcome escape. But this time, something was different.

A pressure, deep and immovable, settled in my chest before I even walked out the door to get in my car. It wasn’t the usual twinge of hesitation or a stray thought about whether I had packed everything I needed. No, this was something else—an unease that dug into me like a thorn I couldn’t shake.

And I wasn’t the type to second-guess myself over a chance to party.

So, I found myself asking my mom's advice about whether I should go—that was out of character. But even with her reassurances, the weight didn’t lift. Instead, it grew heavier with each passing mile.

Forty-five minutes in, it became unbearable.

I turned the car around on State Route 23 at a gas station that is still there--just north of Columbus.

Instant relief.

It was as if I had been drowning, and someone had just pulled me to the surface. I breathed again. The storm inside me was silenced the moment I obeyed.

And then I walked back through my front door, expecting the usual: my mother wondering why I was home early, some passing joke like, "Who are you, and what have you done with my son?" Instead, she met me with a look I’ll never forget—something between confusion and reverence, as if she had seen a ghost.

She sat me down and told me about the vision.

While I was gone, she was sitting in her car in the driveway, facing the house. In the reflection of the window, behind her in the street, she saw a woman in white holding a baby. Still. Watching.

But when she turned to look with her own eyes—nothing.

No one.

She turned back and looked at the window. The reflection still showed a woman in white holding a baby.

Turning back around. And again, nobody.

We weren’t Catholic then, so we had no framework for this, no language for visions, apparitions, or intercessions. The only thing she could come up with was that maybe it was an angel.

Years later, after I had found my way into the faith, I knew exactly what it was.

She had been watching over me. She had seen the unseen, intervened before I even knew I needed saving. A mother’s love—not just my earthly one, but the one Christ gave to us from the cross.

And then the thought that still unsettles me to this day—what if I hadn’t listened? What if I had ignored that internal pull, that deep and unmistakable No? What if I had pushed through, dismissing it as nerves, as paranoia, as something unmanly?

The thing about God’s warnings is that they don’t always come with flashing lights and sirens. Sometimes, they come as a whisper in your gut. A weight on your heart. A vision in a window.

And this is where the hard truth comes in, the part that every man needs to hear.

We don’t get to see what could have been. We don’t get to stand in two timelines and measure the cost of obedience versus rebellion. But we do get these moments—split-second decisions where the Spirit presses in, and we either respond with trust or harden ourselves in defiance.

And here’s the thing—pride and fear are two sides of the same coin.

The proud man refuses to listen because he knows better. The fearful man refuses because he doesn’t trust the One calling him out. Both paths lead to loss.

But the man who loves—who understands that obedience is not about control but about protection—that man listens. That man follows.

Because love doesn’t flinch at the unknown, it doesn’t demand to see every detail before moving. Love moves because it trusts.

And when it does, it casts out fear.

I don’t know what was waiting for me in Cincinnati that weekend. I don’t need to. But I know this—I wasn’t supposed to be there. And I know that a mother stood in the street and prayed for me, just as she had over a thousand lost sons before me.

You may be facing a decision right now. Maybe something is clawing at your gut, telling you to walk away, turn back, or stand your ground when everything in you wants to run.

Don’t ignore it.

You don’t need to see into other men’s hearts. You don’t need to have the whole story. But you do need to keep yours from hardening. The world will throw disappointments at you—people will fail you, even those you love. That’s a certainty.

But every trial holds a lesson. Every heartbreak, every betrayal, every moment of confusion—it’s all shaping you into the man you were meant to be. The only real question is whether you will let God do His work in you or if you will let bitterness and pride make you deaf to His voice.

When the moment comes, and it will come, will you listen? Will you trust?

Or will you harden your heart and call it wisdom?

Because one thing is certain—when He calls, it’s not to rob you but to save you. Even when you can’t see the danger. Even when you don’t understand.

Perfect love casts out fear.

So love.

And follow.

Before it’s too late.