The Grace to Go

Sometimes you need the grace to go to a foreign land. Or you need grace to push through fatigue and enter a crowded room.

I’ve been to twenty-five countries, and entered each one eager to meet people, explore, and learn. But ask me to walk into a roomful of young people in the evening, strike up a conversation with random strangers, and make the conversation count for eternity, and I revert to the timid high school nerd of yesteryear.

But that was my assignment one recent Sunday evening. We had just heard a sermon on the Grace to Go, during which my concentration wandered and my introvert batteries blinked on. I was out of juice. Did I have it in me to socialize another two hours? A high contact sport for me?

And then the speaker talked about the grace to go—mostly about going overseas. But I needed the grace to go across the hall, right now, on the closing song, and so a prayer formed in my heart.

“Lord, give me the grace to go into that dinner. Give me the energy and extroversion I need. Lead me to the people you want me to speak to, and may all my conversations count.”

The service ended, the crowd flowed out, me along with it, managing some weak nods and smiles along the way.

A Trifecta

I bantered with the servers before turning from the buffet to scan the room. Cliques were forming, and missionaries were fanning out according to our instructions: only one missionary per table unless there were no tables left. Don’t huddle amongst yourselves (we’re all teenagers at heart).

I spotted one table with a young lady sitting alone, scrolling on her phone. I headed over. Though her body language screamed, “Don’t come near me,” I asked if I could join her. Without making eye contact, she nodded noncommittally. I feel you, honey. I’d rather sit with my friends too.

As she slowly wrapped up business on her phone, I introduced myself.

“And what do you do?” she asked, eyeing my lanyard that marked me as a global partner. The question sounded forced, but when I told her I worked with artists, she lit up.

“I’m an artist!”

Ah Lord! A divine appointment?

I settled in for an important conversation, one that would count for eternity. But another young lady joined us, then a couple—a painter and a filmmaker! My people Lord! Thank you!

After some preliminaries, including swapping photos of artwork on our smartphones, everyone sort of paired off. The filmmaker began asking me questions on call—an unusual line of questions, so I asked him if he felt called to missions.

“Yes,” he answered, something I rarely hear.

As he shared his heart, his plan, his thinking, I wondered if this filmmaker was my divine appointment. I encouraged him with Scripture and tips from my experience, and he nodded soberly and thanked me.

But his girlfriend was fidgeting, so they excused themselves, as did the other ladies. I looked across the table at a young man who had slipped in, I know not when, and he smiled brightly. I invited him over and he scooted over to the empty chair next to me.

After another series of question from him on call prompte me to ask the same question, “Do you feel called into missions?”

“I don’t know,” he answered. “I don’t even know if I’m a Christian. Whoa! Three divine appointments?

Teshuva (The Turning)

“Tell me your story,” I responded.

A young man of Jewish faith, he had felt an urgency to read the Bible last fall. In January, he attended the church, and now here he was at the mission conference. But he knew he wasn’t “following all the rules.”

“What rules?” I asked, ready to talk about grace.

“The one where you have to follow Jesus.”

“Oh right. That’s unavoidable. Is it hard for you as a Jewish man to accept Jesus as the Messiah?” I asked, anticipating his response.

He nodded slowly, his expression clouded now, and my heart went out to him. Breaking from his culture, his family, and his religious background would be daunting. If he proceeded on his present course, he would offend people to whom he was profoundly connected. Yet if God was calling—and it seemed He was—this could well be his future.

Picking up clues from his story, I shared some relevant scriptures and he brightened again. Before we concluded, I asked him if he had read Isaiah 53, which he hadn’t. He made a note on his phone. And then he was gone, excusing himself as “super tired!”(funny, I’m not tired at all)—and melted into the crowd in the foyer.

Go Anyway

The grace to go. Whether we feel like it or not. Energy or not. Intimidated or not. If we’re called, we go. God has promised to supply what we need, when we need it.

And we go because, if you’ve hung with Jesus any length of time, you know you might see a miracle. I left that dinner sobered and grateful. God answered my prayer with not one but three divine appointments. I arrived in fatigue; I left in awe and energized.