I Got Ghosted by Recruiters… So I Went to Church

After applying to what felt like every job on the internet—including one listing for a Junior Happiness Strategist that somehow required twelve years of experience, four references, and fluency in Mandarin—I found myself staring at my laptop with the hollow gaze of a man who has read the words “We’ve decided to move forward with other candidates” more times than he’s heard “I love you.”

It was bad.

My résumé was in its 37th revision. My Gmail inbox had become a psychological minefield. And at some point, I realized I was just praying to the gods of LinkedIn, Glassdoor, and Indeed, hoping one of them would bless me with a recruiter who had a pulse and access to decision-making.

So I did something radical.

I went to church.

Now let’s be honest—I wasn’t planning on going. Sunday morning came around, and I was sitting in my rejection hoodie (you know the one, soft on the outside, unraveling on the inside), staring into my half-cold coffee like it owed me rent. I hadn’t even brushed my hair. But something in me—maybe the Holy Spirit, maybe my last functioning brain cell—whispered, “You need something more than another application portal today.”

So I got up.

I dusted off my “weddings-and-funerals” button-down, gave it a generous spray of Febreze and faith, slapped on some semi-presentable jeans, and walked out the door—half hoping God would speak, half hoping He’d just hand me a job lead and call it even.

The moment I walked into the sanctuary, I was hit with a strange mix of emotions. First, it smelled like purpose and peppermint oil. Second, church is loud. Like… loud. The kind of loud that shakes your chest and reminds you that you have unprocessed emotions. The worship team opened with a song that hit me square in the soul and also in my lower back. I wasn’t ready. I clapped. I swayed. I tried to remember if I was supposed to be clapping on the 2 and 4 or just swaying awkwardly in the back. I settled for both.

And in that moment, I did something I hadn’t done in a while.

I actually prayed.

Not the job-seeker panic prayer—“Please God, I’ll do anything, even sales”—but the real kind. The kind that comes from your gut and your need for something more than a callback. I whispered, “God, if You could just throw me a recruiter with basic communication skills, I’ll tithe in gratitude and unlimited Wi-Fi.”

Then came the sermon.

The pastor walked up, calm and warm, and he said:

“Sometimes God puts you in the waiting room not because He’s punishing you, but because He’s preparing the room you’re about to walk into.”

And I sat there—hoodie-damaged, résumé-weary, emotionally frayed—and thought, Okay, but like… how long is this wait? ‘Cause I’m on my last can of soup and emotionally speaking, I’m being held together by caffeine and a safety pin.

But it landed. It really did. That word didn’t just speak to me—it read me.

Because for the past few months, I’ve been measuring my value by algorithmic responses. Letting bots and auto-rejections define whether or not I was “worthy.” I was praying with one eye on my inbox and the other on my savings account, hoping divine favor could override ATS software.

But maybe, just maybe, this whole season isn’t about landing a job.

Maybe it’s about landing me.

Maybe it’s about surrendering the hustle and sitting long enough to hear a different kind of call—the kind that doesn’t come with direct deposit or dental, but with peace.

After the service, I met an older gentleman named Earl. Retired, suit crisp, eyes kind. He looked at me the way grandfathers look at grandkids who don’t know how to change a tire.

“You’ve got a light in you, son,” he said. “Don’t let LinkedIn dim it.”

I nodded, trying to hold it together, mostly because he handed me a butterscotch candy and a bulletin with a job listing taped to the back. Children’s Ministry Assistant. Part-time. Must enjoy glitter.

It wasn’t the offer I was expecting.

But that moment—that human connection—hit harder than any “We’re excited to move forward” email ever has. I didn’t leave church with a job, but I left with something heavier and lighter at the same time. Hope.

Real hope. Not based on recruiter feedback or status updates. Not dependent on whether someone viewed my résumé on Thursday at 3:42 PM.

Hope that whispers, “You’re still held, even when you feel lost.”

So no, I didn’t get hired that day.

But I did walk out with the realization that maybe I don’t need to refresh my inbox every five minutes today.

Maybe I just need to breathe. To rest. To believe that God’s timing isn’t synced with HR systems or backend portals. But it’s always, always right.

Amen. And also with stretchy pants.