How God’s ‘No’ to My Dream School Was a ‘Yes’ to the Local Church

“Congratulations!” “Felicitări!” “Baie geluk!”

Each student welcomed me to the school in his or her native language. I’d never gotten overexcited about college acceptances, but this university was made for me. It boasted superior academics, a majority-international student body, and immersion in a new country every semester. With my burgeoning desire for international missions and knack for languages, it was a no-brainer.

My parents, I knew, would be hesitant. They kept saying I needed to be part of a church in college, and I responded that I’d be part of seven churches around the world. Nevertheless, I prayed for wisdom, just as I prayed that God would change their hearts.

God’s ‘No’

The more counsel I sought, though, the more advice I got to prioritize Christian community. My discipler explained that Christians are united in such a way that the spiritual health of one affects the spiritual health of the rest (Eph. 4:15–16). My pastor said, “It’s better to have one Christian friend than to go to the best university in the world.” My small group was studying the Psalms, and I meditated on the fact that God wrote out all my days (Ps. 139:16). It seemed ridiculous to try to compete with that for control over my life. My parents weren’t budging, and as options dwindled, I realized with frustration that the response to my prayer was clear.

The more counsel I sought, the more advice I got to prioritize Christian community.

After getting accepted to a university in Washington, DC, with a strong church nearby, it was settled. Emotionlessly, almost mechanically, I declined the admission offer from my dream school.

By my peers’ standards, my choice was disappointing. Whenever I described the forward-thinking, globe-trotting experiences afforded by my dream university, I watched my friends’ faces fall from amazement to confusion when I said I turned it down to be part of a church in college. On Instagram, I was bombarded with calls to romanticize my life and travel the world, and I fended off feelings of regret when I saw pictures of my would-be classmates exploring Seoul together.

But by the time I started school, I still had no question that God wanted me there. My certainty, though blind, was certainty nonetheless.

God’s ‘Yes’

One Friday night, after I’d been attending Capitol Hill Baptist Church for a few weeks, I left campus to finish the church’s membership classes. In a small room, the other students and I sat as the pastor explain the church’s covenant. I listened apprehensively for the responsibilities we’d have to commit to, expecting a task list. Instead, I heard lines like these: “We will exercise an affectionate care and watchfulness over each other”; “We will not neglect to pray for ourselves and others”; “We will rejoice at each other’s happiness and bear each other’s burdens and sorrows.”

“This means,” the pastor explained, “that each of you is welcome into my life. Any of you can simply ask to come over for dinner, and we’ll gladly fold you in.”

I was dumbstruck. I’d never seen such unabashed hospitality. Far from a list of rules and responsibilities, this covenant was like a marriage covenant—a commitment to love and to serve above all else. I’d sensed there was something different about this church, and I realized it was driven by nothing more or less than the gospel itself.

Weeks went by, and my excitement only grew. When those back home asked how my freshman year was going, classes were among the last things I discussed. I jumped into stories about the sermon series on Ephesians, the church couple’s house I crashed every Saturday night, and the booming congregational singing. And I wasn’t faking it. I didn’t embellish details just because I wanted to give my parents a nice progress report.

The church was where I was spending the majority of my free time and experiencing exponential personal and spiritual growth.

A few months in, it became clear my dream school would’ve been a spiritual nightmare. I would’ve had to look for a new church every semester in a language I didn’t know. Previously, I was unaware of the gravity of God’s command to not forsake assembling together (Heb. 10:25) and of how our regular attendance contributes not only to our spiritual health but to the health of Christ’s body as a whole (Eph. 4:11–16).

I became painfully aware of the dangers of a slow erosion of the conscience and how it leads many to make a “shipwreck of their faith” (1 Tim. 1:19). I marveled at the thought that God might have protected me from learning this lesson the hard way.

It became clear my dream school would’ve been a spiritual nightmare.

One Sunday morning, I sang “How Sweet and Aweful Is the Place” with our congregation as I waited to walk up to the baptismal: “Lord, why was I a guest? / Why was I made to hear Thy voice, and enter while there’s room . . . ?”

My voice stopped. The rest of the verse was lost to the wave of emotion that overtook me. How was it that God, who had so often used my foolish desires to teach me about himself, allowed me to avoid the consequences of what could’ve been my biggest folly yet? Why was he so kind as to turn the tide of my heart that week and bring me to the most spiritually flourishing season of my life? Remembering my stubbornness, I wanted to recoil at the disproportionate love God had lavished on me in spite of myself.

Better Pursuit

My adamancy that I’d be best prepared for missions by traveling seems comical now. My years at Capitol Hill Baptist taught me that consistent membership in a faithful, gospel-preaching church is the best preparation anyone can have—not just for missions but for all parts of the Christian life. I’m better equipped now to open my home to those in need, study Scripture analytically, and invite others to help me fight sin.

Although my life today is a far cry from the radical overseas experience I envisioned after college, it’s marked by joyful, committed membership to a faithful body of believers. It’s where God has me right now, and after a taste of his plans compared to mine, I don’t want anything else.

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