I walked out of Little Cesar Pizza on Sunset Avenue holding two pizzas in my seven year-old hands. Perhaps it was the intoxicating smell of Italian flatbread goodness or the concentration of trying to balance the long pizza box in my hands, but I had unknowingly walked into a circle of gang members standing around jeering at two females yelling at each other.

And what? The girl in the fitted, white tank top and extra large jeans yelled again in the face of the other girl, And what?! What are you going to do about it? I froze. I couldn’t move. Stuck with pizza in my arms and terrified stiff, I watched two girls engage in a medieval battle over a man.

The other girl was going ballistic. Hands-waving, fingers-waging, neck-moving-dramatics caused everyone to gather around until the next move would be made. From what I gathered, both women were caught fighting for a philandering man, which meant there was to be a battle over territory in the concrete jungle where we all lived.

The crowd watched as girl number two screamed threats and talked a big game, while girl number one stood there, arms crossed, pursed lips, and unwaveringly asked, And what? What are you going to do about it?

Even as a seven year-old, I still remember the girl gang member shouting all the things she was going to do, how she was going to kill her, how her cousin’s neighbor’s brother was going to beat her down, how she was going to ruin her life for cheating with her man. But the confidence of the girl in the white tank top and extra large jeans astounded me. She knew nothing was going to happen until someone took a first move; until the yelling and shouting turned into action.

Over twenty years later I still remember the fight. I remember the gang members and cholas fighting. I remember the fear I felt waiting for something to happen. I remember the power of the statement, And what?

Six months ago I had an And what conversation with God. I was saying all the things I wanted to do, all the people I wanted to help, all the problems that needed to be fixed—and then it hit me. Something needed to be done. But I didn’t think I could do anything about it.

It was as if God heard all my yelling and promises and asked, And what? What are you going to do about it?

I can’t do everything. But I have to do something.

I’m leaving the best job in the world to pursue something scary and new because I want my words to have weight… I want my words to matter… I want to recklessly abandon all in my life that is safe to do something that only God can do:

Change the world in the name of love.

As I chronicle this journey [the successes, failures, and triumphs], I hope trailblazers forged their own paths and respond like Isaiah when the Lord called him: Here I am! Send me.