2025 CFCA National Conference: A Reflection

Quiet Yes, Loud Transformation

I didn’t say yes to lead the opening presentation because I had a spiritual epiphany or felt a burning in my chest.

Honestly? No one was volunteering, and I just wanted to end the meeting.

That’s how I ended up coordinating the opening number at this year’s National Conference — not performing, just keeping things moving: tweaking scripts, helping with videos, managing props, schedules, and reminders. It wasn’t centre stage, but it mattered.

At the time, I thought I was just filling a gap. But as it turned out, I had unknowingly stepped into something deeper. I wasn’t just helping. I was being formed.

Being part of the service team gave me a front-row seat to grace unfolding in people.

Shy members stepped out in faith — dancing, acting, speaking up. You could see their nerves, but also their courage outshining the fear. Some had never done anything like this before. Yet they showed up. Boldly. Beautifully.

And then there was my husband. If you know him, you’ll understand why this is what we call a miracle.

He’s the most introverted person I know — someone who avoids attention at all costs. But there he was: dancing, acting, showing up. He didn’t say much, but his presence said everything. I played it cool, but inside, I was amazed. That wasn’t just confidence. That was transformation. That was grace.

They weren’t alone. All around me, people I’d known for years were showing up in ways I hadn’t seen before — stepping out of comfort and into calling. It was clear: something new was awakening in all of us.

Called to a New Life

This was my first time attending a CFCA National Conference, and honestly, I wasn’t sure what to expect. I came to listen to the talks, to learn, to mingle with other members — both old and new faces. I also came to be present — not knowing that in that presence, I’d find something deeply personal.

What I didn’t expect was to cry during one of the praise and worship.

It brought me back to my teenage years in the Philippines. I grew up with very little — not much money, not many choices — but we held on to faith. I remember gatherings where everyone cried openly, kissed the crucifix, raised their hands high. We weren’t shy about our hunger for God because, back then, faith was all we had.

And I did too. I cried. I surrendered. I didn’t care who was watching.

But as I grew older, as life became more stable and “comfortable,” something changed. I learned to hold back. To stay composed. I stopped allowing myself to be vulnerable in front of others, even in worship.

But in that moment — standing among a sea of worshippers — I felt a stirring I hadn’t heard in years.

“Stop hiding.”

And just like that, I was young again, not in age, but in spirit. I remembered what it was like to rely on God not as a last resort, but as my only source of hope.

It wasn’t poverty I missed. It was that kind of faith — that deep, unfiltered trust in a God who provides, sustains, and sees.

So I whispered a prayer I didn’t even know I still needed to pray:

“Lord, bring me back to that kind of dependence on You.”

Not to hardship. Not to fear. But to the kind of faith that says, You are enough. And You always have been.

Learning to Listen

One of the talks that resonated with me most was about discernment — not just about making decisions, but about noticing how God is already at work around us. Father Archie reminded us that while circumstances shift, God’s message remains constant.

It made me reflect on how easily we miss His quiet nudges — the simple invitations to love, to serve, to show up. That weekend, I saw those signs in the smallest acts: people stepping out of their comfort zones, offering what they had, and doing it all with grace. Sometimes, the clearest call is the one already in front of us.

Pilgrims of Hope

Before we all headed home, one line stayed with me:

We are pilgrims of hope.

There was something grounding about that reminder — that we are all on a journey. Pilgrims don’t always know the exact road ahead. They stumble. They start over. They get tired. But they keep going — not because it’s easy, but because they believe in the One who walks with them.

That’s what this conference was: a shared journey. One where we didn’t always feel ready, but something within us kept moving forward.

Because being called to a new life in Christ doesn’t always mean starting from scratch. Sometimes, it simply means responding — again and again — with courage, openness, and trust that grace will meet us there.

Moving Forward

Now that the lights have dimmed and the group chats have quieted down, I carry that quiet “yes” with me.

Not because I did anything extraordinary — but because I saw what God can do with the ordinary.

We’re still pilgrims. Still learning. Still being called — not just to serve, but to live.

To live in grace, in courage, in purpose.

To live a new life in Christ.

To God be the glory.