Gods Been Reading my LinkedIn

Every Sunday morning, I walk into church ready for peace.

I’m not there for networking. I’m not there for sermon analytics. I’m there to sit in God’s house, breathe deep, and reset my soul from a week of rejection emails and recruiters named Kayla who ghost you right after saying “You’re a top candidate!”

But for the past few months, I’ve become increasingly suspicious that my preacher has access to my LinkedIn account.

Because every week, without fail, the message somehow directly addresses my job search trauma. Like, uncomfortably directly. Like, “Were you behind me at Starbucks on Tuesday when I cried into a bacon gouda sandwich?” directly.

Let me walk you through it.

A few Sundays ago, I sit down—minding my own business, not even looking holy yet. Worship ends, I’m relaxed, finally present. And then Pastor John gets up and says:

“Some of y’all have been praying for jobs, but the Lord said no—not because you’re not qualified, but because He’s protecting you from the nonsense up in that building.”

Excuse me??

I sat up real quick. Looked around. Made eye contact with the usher like, “Did you tell him?”

Because I literally said that exact phrase in my prayer the night before:

“God, protect me from nonsense—but maybe give me a paycheck with it?”

I shook it off. Coincidence, I thought.

Next week? I walk in. Sit in my usual spot—third row, left side, right in the path of conviction.

Pastor opens his Bible and says:

“Some of y’all are tired. Not from running marathons, but from refreshing Indeed every 6 minutes.”

I choked on my peppermint.

The lady next to me gave me the side-eye like I was disrupting the anointing, but I couldn’t help it. How did he know I spent 43 minutes on LinkedIn the night before rewriting my headline to “Strategic Operational Growth Specialist (Open to Work)”?

It keeps happening.

Another Sunday he says:

“You keep asking God to open a door, but you’re camped out in front of the wrong building.”

I almost walked out.

I thought, “Maybe I should turn my résumé into a prayer request and just hand it to the deacons.”

One week he said:

“Stop begging jobs to value you. You’re not leftovers. You’re the full meal.”

I stood up like he said my name.

Even the choir paused like, “Whew, that hit Alex.”

Y’all. This man is preaching from the Book of Career Transition and Second Interview Psalms.

I tried to ignore it. I even skipped one week just to reset the algorithm. Came back two Sundays later, and this time he hits me with:

“Some of you keep checking your inbox looking for man’s approval, when God already approved you.”

At that point I was looking under the pulpit for a hidden camera.

I even tried throwing him off. I changed my LinkedIn headline to something vague:

“Just a man on a mission.”

Next Sunday?

“You don’t need a title to walk in your calling.”

I GIVE UP.

At this point, I think Pastor John either has spiritual Wi-Fi or a secret recruiter account, because this man is out here preaching customized sermons for my unemployment journey.

But the wild thing is… he’s not wrong.

Every week, as much as I laugh and cry and look around like I’m being punk’d—those sermons hit.

Not just because I’m unemployed. But because I’m seen.

By a God who doesn’t need an ATS to find me.

By a Savior who doesn’t reject me after Round 2.

By a calling that isn’t based on job titles, but on purpose.

So yeah—I’ll keep showing up.

Because if the preacher wants to read my LinkedIn… at least somebody’s looking at it.