Reaching You... Reaching Me
I’ve been reaching out—old friends, new friends, saints, strugglers, wanderers, and warriors. Phone calls. Face-to-face. Heart-to-heart. Not small talk… soul talk. I’m reforging bonds that time tried to rust. Silver cords, silver threads—whatever poets call them—I call them lifelines. God-woven. God-tethered.
Some people you haven’t seen in years, and when you meet again it’s like the calendar bows and whispers, Welcome back. Others… there’s that holy awkward silence, that wide-eyed pause, until the Spirit Himself slips into the room and stitches hearts together with invisible thread:
Like mind. Like heart. Like faith.
So let me say this without stuttering:
If you get a call, a text, a knock from “little Johnny,” it isn’t because I want something.
I’m not trying to fill a pew.
I’m not trying to bait you into a church service like a salesman with a quota.
Hear me—
I have zero agenda except Jesus Christ and Him crucified.
He said, “I am the light of the world.”
Then He turned around, looked us dead in the eyes, and said, “You are the light of the world. You are the salt of the earth.”
He didn’t stutter.
He didn’t revise it.
He branded it into our bones.
And when two lights meet—
even if one’s flickering, even if one’s dim, even if one’s been hiding under a bushel for ten long years—
the room explodes in brightness.
It reminds me of that old children’s song we used to sing with more truth than we ever understood:
“This little light of mine… I’m gonna let it shine.”
So if I reach out of the blue, if your phone lights up with my name after months or years of silence, don’t you dare think I’m running a church agenda. Don’t think I’m recruiting. Don’t think I’m fishing for anything more than your heartbeat.
I’m just a man
with a flame inside,
trying to let my little light shine
before the darkness gets any ideas.
And I love you—
more than you know,
more than I’ve said,
more than I’ve shown.
Let’s shine. Together.