"And I didn't have one of those, angels sing, lights ring, boom. This was just being who you are, who you're created to be in the context of the kingdom and the Lord saying, and now I'd like you to do this. And then would you please do this? And this will be your next season, one step after another."
Lord, help us bear your name so that it points to Your son and his work. It is holy.
We pray today for your kingdom to come in its fullness. And until that time, Lord, would you help us live as if to be the kind of kingdom people that proclaim your good news, welcome others, share what we have. May your will be done around all of your creation on earth as it is in heaven.
My name is Trish, and I’ve spent more than thirty years serving in ministry. I was ordained in 2008, and I’ve served as the executive pastor and priest at a large Anglican church in the Midwest. It has been one of the greatest privileges of my life.
What surprises many people is that I didn’t grow up in church. I didn’t grow up hearing the Gospel. In fact, I came to faith later in life, and my path into ministry was anything but conventional.
In the early 1990s, my husband and I worked for Boys Town, living in a group home with seven teenage boys while raising our own two young children. Part of our work included taking the boys to church each week—not necessarily for spiritual reasons, but as part of a behavioral and life-skills program. Church attendance was meant to provide structure, community, and an opportunity for the boys to earn privileges through positive behavior.
But something unexpected happened. Our two little children fell in love with church.
When our season at Boys Town ended and we moved back home, our children deeply missed their church community. That caught my attention. At the time, my husband was practicing Buddhism, and I wasn’t a believer at all. But I knew I wanted our children to have the freedom to explore faith for themselves.
So, we visited a church in our hometown—ironically, the same church where my husband had once served as an acolyte years earlier. Our kids hated it. It wasn’t what they expected. But when I walked through those doors, something happened to me. I felt something I had never experienced before, and I knew I wanted to come back.
I asked the children’s ministry director if I could sit in the classroom with my kids and maybe help. Looking back, I still laugh. I showed up in a Budweiser T-shirt, shorts, and red cowboy boots—looking like an absolute hot mess. And nobody cared. Nobody made me feel awkward. Nobody made me feel like I didn’t belong. They remembered my name. They welcomed me before I believed. They let me serve before I understood what faith even was.
That changed everything.
Before long, I was dressing up in bathrobes to act out Bible stories, climbing into a wetsuit to teach the story of Jonah, and doing whatever it took to help kids engage with Scripture. Back then, we didn’t have video curriculum.
I was the video.
Then one Sunday, standing in the back of the worship center while the pastor preached, I had a moment I will never forget. I remember thinking, Oh my goodness... I believe this. And almost immediately after, Now what am I going to do?
That was 1993, and it changed the course of my life.
Over the years, I continued serving wherever the church needed me. I worked in children’s ministry, student ministry, administration, leadership development—whatever was needed. Eventually our senior pastor, Patrick, invited me onto staff, and what began as volunteering became a calling.
As I served, I noticed something about how God had wired me. I came alive helping other ministers do their work. I loved solving problems, creating welcoming environments, building systems, equipping leaders, and making space for people to encounter Jesus. I discovered that ministry wasn’t just about standing on a platform—it was about creating the conditions where others could flourish in their calling.
In 2005, our church entered one of the most difficult seasons in its history as we left the Episcopal Diocese. It was a painful and deeply emotional time. These weren’t institutional relationships we were leaving—these were people we loved. For a season, our church found spiritual covering through the Church of Uganda, and during that time I had the privilege of learning from leaders like Henry Orombi and Zac Niringiye.
It was Bishop Zac who first asked me a question I had never seriously considered: Have you ever thought about ordination?
Honestly, I hadn’t.
But, often, the LORD invites you into something different than what you had planned.
I traveled to Kampala for discernment, where the process was beautifully simple and deeply personal: live among us, serve with us, and let your life speak for itself. In 2008, I was ordained to the diaconate.
The following year, I received another unexpected invitation—this time to priesthood. In 2009, I was ordained as a priest and eventually discovered that I was the only woman in that particular Anglican movement at the time. That came with its own complexities, but it also taught me one of the most important lessons of my life: calling isn’t about proving yourself. It’s about faithfully serving wherever God places you.
Around that same time, I sat around a conference table with Todd Hunter and a small group of leaders dreaming about what would eventually become C4SO. We imagined a diocese committed to church planting, spiritual formation, sacramental life, and leadership that made room for both women and men to serve fully in their calling.
Back then, it was just a handful of us around a table.
Today, I look around at the leaders God has raised up in C4SO, the churches that have been planted, and the lives that have been transformed—and I’m still in awe.
People often ask me what it’s been like to serve as a woman in ministry. The truth is some of my greatest barriers weren’t external—they were internal. I grew up in a generation of women who were taught to fight for a place in the world, pound the glass ceiling, and get loud. While I care deeply about women in leadership, my agenda has never been about gender as many would have like it to be.
My agenda has always been Jesus.
If the Holy Spirit is raising up a woman, yes and amen. If the Holy Spirit is raising up a man, yes and amen. My passion has always been helping people recognize what God is doing in their lives and having the courage to say yes.
That yes has come with sacrifice. There were seasons where I worked too much, carried too much, and said yes to things God never asked me to do. The Lord has been faithful to teach me not just how to serve—but how to surrender. And if there is one thing I know for certain, it’s this: The most beautiful life you can live is the one fully surrendered to God.
