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September 27, 2024. The World Race had sent a team to the Blue Ridge Mountains of North Carolina. They woke up early, groggy-eyed in a wooden cabin nestled among towering trees soaked by the rain of Hurricane Helene.

The day was supposed to start at 10 a.m. By 8:00 a.m., the storm’s grip had tightened. Winds howled in the trees. Rain punched the rooftops. And then—boom. The cabin doors flung open.

“Everyone out. Now. Head to the dining hall.”

In minutes, the team shoved what they could into their backpacks—wallets, phone, toothbrush, cereal. They ran uphill, soaked and shivering, to the dining hall where the entire World Race squad huddled, wide-eyed, watching the woods. Giant trees were falling behind the building.

The Smack That Split the Mountain

Around 9:10 a.m., the team waited. Mitch stood by the window.

Suddenly, he yelled out, “GUYS. TREE. MOVE!!”

The earth groaned—and a thunderous crack snapped through the mountain. It wasn’t just a tree. It was a living skyscraper of bark and leaves, uprooted by wind and water, plummeting toward the shelter.

SMACK.

The tree pierced the dining hall, shattering roof beams like toothpicks.

Screams. Cries. Chaos. People scrambling, some barefoot, some slipping in mud, everyone scared out of their minds.

They bolted out of the room.

The Escape

Water was surging underfoot like a river, thick as soup. Six feet of mud pulled at our shoes. Girls were screaming. Trees cracked like gunshots. It was like the apocalypse.

Marshall took point. The sprinted through the rain, toward high ground.

The dining hall was split open. The east wing obliterated. The bathroom—flattened. If anyone had gotten up to go to the bathroom, they wouldn’t have made it.

The Should Be Dead

The team sat on a hill, crying. Not just from fear, but from the reality: they could have died.

They huddled close, trembling in the cold, draped in mud and silence. The only noise was the rain, and the cracking of trees that hadn’t fallen yet.

No phones. No signal. No way out.

Kate had jumped from the dining deck in panic—her ankle twisted badly. But she was alive. They all were. The cabins were crushed. The hill behind them—washed out. The creek? Now a raging flood. 911 never came.

Crossing Over

Eventually, men from the retreat center came. They tied a rope across the torrent that had once been a trail and helped the team climb down through what now looked like a scene from The Revenant. Water everywhere. Feet slipping. Heart pounding.

And then they were out. Safe. Cold. Exhausted. Alive.

No one had phones. No passports. No service. Most of the team’s personal items were gone, swallowed by the mud.

But they had each other. They had breath. And most of all—they had proof that God still does miracles.

“Why Weren’t We Crushed?”

They asked themselves that question a hundred times as they sat in the emergency shelter. There’s only one answer.

God wasn’t done with them yet.

The team realized “we are here for a reason.” Called. Protected. Saved—not just from death, but for purpose.

Maybe it’s to share the story. Maybe it’s to go out into the world and remind people that when the mud rises, when the winds scream, when everything seems ready to collapse—He is still in control.

Debriefing

Debriefing the team they realized this lesson: “We have to trust the One who sees what you cannot. Who wakes you early. Who pushes open doors. Who says, “Run now.”

He is not done with you yet either.

We may feel buried—but we are breathing.

And that breath is a miracle.

God has done so much to redeem the devastating impact of Hurricane Helene. This week 115 volunteers are working to put families back in their homes. Every week more volunteers more arrive – over 2,000 in all. They are part of Adventures.org‘s commitment to help restore the homes of 500 families in the Swannanoa Valley.

The post Caught in a Mudslide! The story of how we barely escaped appeared first on Radical Living.

A deeper story of calling, formation, and the future of missions

It usually starts with a plane ticket, a packed duffel bag, and a nervous sense of adventure.

For many in Gen Z, short-term mission trips have become a rite of passage. A week in a new country. New food. New culture. Real need right in front of them. And for a moment, the world feels wider—and God feels closer.

I’ve seen it over and over again. Eyes lighting up in the presence of poverty and joy. Hands reaching out. A teenager in tears at the end of a worship night in a tin-roof church.

Something shifts. But all too often, it doesn’t last.

A few weeks later, back home, the pictures are still there—but the fire has faded. Not because the experience wasn’t powerful. But because a week, for all its potential, isn’t enough to carry someone into a life of purpose.

It’s not a failure of mission. It’s a failure of formation.

Gen Z is one of the most spiritually hungry, globally aware generations we’ve seen. But they’re also deeply tired, bombarded by distraction, and cautious with commitment. Many feel like they’re carrying a calling they don’t know how to name. They want to help—but they don’t know where to start. And they don’t want to sign up for something unless it feels real.

So here’s the tension: they show up. They go on the trip. But when the trip ends, so often the question that haunts them is, Now what?

Because what Gen Z needs isn’t more adrenaline. The world doesn’t just need passion. It needs people who’ve been formed. They need depth. Roots. A space to wrestle with calling and identity and risk—before they try to build a life that matters.

This is a space that Christian colleges and ministries used to fill. But Gen Z knows that the answer it’s looking for is not found in classrooms. They’re looking for reality – real relationships, community and purpose.

That kind of depth takes time. Intentionality. A community that tells the truth, listens well, and holds space for the long road.

There are answers

College may be broken, but there are those who are trying to bring solutions. Looking for community? Excel College, Unbound, Antioch College, and College of Athens all can give you a degree track wrapped in an experience of community.

Looking for purpose? 8,000 Hours, Faith Driven, and World’s 25 Greatest Problems can get you started.

I have been deeply invested in answering this question of “how do give young people the gift of spiritual formation after the World Race?”

One of the best answers I’ve got is Journey School. It begins with a 3 month experience in Albania and Italy that gives you the opportunity to continue on. Get a degree if you want or just focus on getting intense preparation for a life of impact while in community.

Journey School doesn’t begin with a textbook. It begins with a question: Who are you becoming?

At Journey School, students live in community, serve globally, and learn how to carry their faith into every part of their future. They study Scripture not just to pass a quiz, but to hear the voice of God. They learn to lead teams, to listen across cultures, to ask better questions. They travel. They serve. They fail. They pray again. They grow.

I’ve watched them wrestle with real-world problems—not in theory, but on the ground. I’ve seen them engage with poverty, loneliness, injustice, climate, addiction—not with pity, but with humility. They meet partners who’ve been building in silence for years. They realize that solutions don’t come quickly. That God’s Kingdom doesn’t move at the pace of social media. And that their gifts matter—but only when rooted in love.

It’s not flashy.
It’s not easy.
But it’s the only kind of learning that lasts.

If you’re in your late teens or early twenties—and you’re tired of feeling scattered…
If you’re spiritually curious, but unsure how to grow…
If you care about the world’s brokenness, but wonder what your place is in the story…

Then maybe it’s time to stop rushing toward a career and start moving toward calling.

Maybe the gap year you never planned is actually your invitation into purpose.

Real community. Real faith. A path toward becoming the kind of person the world needs most.

The post Why Your Short-Term Mission Trip Wasn’t Enough appeared first on Radical Living.

Cambodia’s Killing Fields was the greatest social justice cause of my generation. When the call went out to help the hundreds of thousands of Khmer refugees pouring into Thailand, I was ready to go.

Some might say that decision took courage, but the tragedy of genocide was so compelling, I couldn’t say no. It didn’t matter that I was 21 and leaving behind a woman whom I’d marry in less than a year, something had to be done.

The refugees we served in the Prasat refugee camp needed so much, but the first thing they needed was food and shelter. We helped put them back on their feet economically by setting them up in business as pig and chicken farmers.

And so, after graduating, off I went to Indonesia and then the Dominican Republic to start microenterprise organizations that would contextualize those same economic development principles.

But I had to ask, “After these people have grown their companies and created new jobs, so what? Was this God’s point or is there more?”

I sensed that there must be something more. And it was then that God showed me that he cared enough to speak. I’d always heard that Christians are supposed to have a personal relationship with Christ, but my relationship never felt personal. I wanted more than stale religion – I wanted something that I would be prepared to die for.

God speaking to me and saying he loved me changed everything. It changed me at my core – it changed my identity and purpose.

I was thrilled to see that the name of Jesus really does have power. I experienced the reality of prayer – its power to connect man to God’s presence, voice and direction. And in that connection, I learned, is the answer to every other social justice issue of life.

Every refugee needs a home and a job, but without Jesus at the center, a Christian’s social programs are hollow.

Years later when I was leading a team of 900 young people to help the most HIV-infected country in the world, I was asking the Lord for his direction. God reminded me of what he’d shown me years earlier. “Woe to me if I don’t preach the gospel.”

We were partnering with a governmental organization and we were told to not share our faith as we taught in schools around the country. But we were there because of our faith and we owed the young people we were talking to an honest conversation about where they could find hope in the midst of so much despair and death.

As I stood before our volunteers, this is what I shared. And as they went out, they did so with renewed faith.

Sometimes life gets distilled down the core things you believe. And it’s then that you have to take action that requires your courage. I’m so thankful that I’ve had these moments in my life where I had to make tough choices. As I reflect, it’s the moments where I acted on faith that have made the difference.

The post Times In My Life When Courage Was Required appeared first on Radical Living.

For years, the narrative about young people is that they are leaving the church in droves. Headlines warn of secularization, of a “nones” movement rising, and of faith being diluted into lifestyle branding. But a quieter, more surprising story is emerging under the surface—one that we’re only just beginning to understand.

Recent Barna research points to a significant groundswell of spiritual openness among Gen Z and Millennials. Nearly three in ten young adults who do not identify as Christian still affirm a personal commitment to Jesus. Even more striking, two-thirds of Gen Z respondents say they prayed to God within the past week. More than a third report reading Scripture in the same time frame.

It doesn’t always fit our categories. This isn’t just nominal church attendance repackaged. Nor is it a simple case of deconstruction leading to deconversion. It’s something else—something alive, growing, still raw around the edges.

They are reaching for God in the silence.

Emily is an example of a young person seeking more of God. Her story was woven with disillusionment and pain—church trauma, mental health struggles, fractured family ties. And yet she had come to the edge of the world to ask God if He was still real. Like so many others in her generation, she didn’t come to our ministry looking for better theology or a set of rituals. She came looking for an authentic relationship and for a community where she could be accepted.

I’ve seen this hunger again and again. It often comes unannounced, not through churches but through burnout, through longing. These young adults have grown up in a world saturated with distraction and performance. But beneath the noise, there is an aching question: Is anyone out there?

They are not looking for platitudes. They are looking for presence.

This revival—if we can call it that—is not platformed. It’s quiet. It’s happening on long walks, in journaling sessions, in whispered prayers in the middle of the night. It’s messy, as most true revivals are. The metrics are less about attendance and more about intimacy.

Many of us in the older generations have spent years lamenting their disengagement. But what if this is our moment to simply notice what God is already doing? What if we’ve been asking, “How do we bring them back?” when the better question is, “How do we honor the hunger that’s already there?”

We do this by making space. By sharing our own scars. By stepping back from stage lights and into sacred listening. By telling them they are not alone in their doubts and desires.

If you spend time around Gen Z long enough, you’ll hear the faint drumbeat of awakening. It may not look like past revivals, but it bears the same Spirit. The same Jesus who walked among the broken-hearted is walking among them now.

The post Gen Z’s Quiet Revival: A Hunger Stirring Beneath the Noise appeared first on Radical Living.

What if God looked you in the eyes today and said:

“You are free to choose.
You have all the time, money, and education you need.
You cannot fail.”

How would you respond?

Most of us live our lives hemmed in by limitations—real or perceived. Fear of failure is a gatekeeper we rarely question. We ask, “What’s safe?” or “What will people think?” but not, “What has God placed in my heart to do?”

Years ago, I came to understand that God was less interested in my performance than in my yes. He wasn’t waiting for me to become perfect—just willing. And that willingness had to begin with honesty.

Inventorying Desire

The question isn’t just, What do I want? It’s, What desire has God placed in me that I’ve been too afraid to name out loud? Pain has a way of stripping us bare, of helping us discard false selves and surface-level ambitions. It’s in that place of broken clarity that God often whispers the truth about who we are—and what we’re called to do.

But too often, instead of listening, we reach for comfort. We play small because it feels safe. We give ourselves to busyness and call it faithfulness. We say we’re waiting on God when really, God has already spoken—we’re just afraid to act.

God’s Revolution Begins With Your Yes

In Revolution of a Broken Heart, I shared how my real journey didn’t begin until I was willing to have my heart broken—until I let the pain of the world touch me deeply enough to make me move. That’s when ministry stopped being something I did and became who I was.

And that kind of movement—the revolution Jesus invites us into—requires an answer to this question: What would I do if I knew I could not fail?

It doesn’t have to be dramatic. It might be helping a ministry to orphans (like this one). Or writing a book. Or forgiving someone who hurt you deeply. It might be saying yes to foster care or finally launching that dream God planted decades ago. It might be simply choosing to live honestly, no longer hiding behind pretense.

Listening Prayer: Ask the Question

In The Art of Listening Prayer, I encourage readers to ask God direct questions—and then wait for His answer. Here’s one to start with:

“Lord, what have You placed in me that I’ve buried in fear or forgotten in busyness?”

Quiet yourself. Listen. Write what you sense Him saying. Risk believing that it’s Him. Then take a small step of obedience.

God doesn’t give us freedom so we can remain caged. He gives us freedom so we can fly.

So I’ll ask you plainly:
If you could do anything—anything at all—and you knew you wouldn’t fail… what would you do?

And what’s stopping you?

Photo: Thanks to Armand Khoury

The post What Would You Do If You Couldn’t Fail? appeared first on Radical Living.

I remember a season in my life that felt like a slow-motion collapse. Karen, and I had five small children we were raising. Toys and diapers seemed to be scattered everywhere. My job hadn’t worked out. We were in survival mode, heads down, trying to make it through each day. ​

In the midst of this, I was doggedly giving my all to God. I was exhausted, but afraid to let go. I was rendering to him what I thought he wanted.

Render is a word we don’t use much. We read it in the Bible. When asked if we should pay taxes, Jesus answered, “Render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar’s.” In other words, “if you owe it, pay it.”​

The Illusion of Control

In those days, I was rendering nonstop, hoping my efforts would sustain us. Rendering is active and transactional. It’s the artist painting, it’s the helper assisting, and it’s the leader strategizing. And that was me. But beneath the surface, I was driven by fear and a desperate need to maintain control.

The Call to Surrender

Then came the breaking point. My strength wasn’t enough. My plans were faltering. I was weary. ​I was doing everything I could. I was rendering—offering prayers, time, money, belief. We had surrendered our comfort. But the truth was, I hadn’t fully surrendered my expectations. I still clung to the belief that if I just rendered enough, if I did my part well enough, God would give us the outcome I wanted.

But God isn’t a transaction. He’s a Father. And sometimes, a good Father says no. Or not yet. Or simply holds us in our ache without explanation.

Rendering: Doing for God

Are you rendering or surrendering? Maybe your caught up in a cycle of rendering and don’t know how to break free. It’s easy to get caught up in rendering—doing, producing, offering. The artist renders beauty. The servant renders help. The disciple renders obedience. For most of my life, I’ve rendered nonstop for the sake of the Kingdom. Missions, leadership, writing, mentoring—I’ve tried so hard.

And it felt noble and sacrificial. As if I could serve my way into favor. As if my offering could shape the outcome.

But there comes a moment for all of us when rendering runs out of steam. When the need is too deep. When the healing doesn’t come. When our kids are still struggling. When the marriage doesn’t get better. When we realize we can’t fix what’s broken.

Surrender: Letting Go to Be Held

That’s when the deeper invitation comes. Not to do more, but to let go.

Surrender isn’t glamorous. It’s often quiet and hidden. Sometimes it feels like failure. But it’s in that place—on the other side of our limits—that God meets us.

I had to surrender not just the outcome—but my right to understand the outcome.

And in that surrender, something unexpected happened: peace. Not a peace that explained everything, but a peace that held me in the tension. A peace that whispered, “You’re not alone.”

Rendering from Surrender

Don’t get me wrong—rendering can be beautiful. But it has to come from a surrendered heart. Otherwise, it’s just performance.

The artist creates most powerfully not from ego, but from brokenness. The servant offers most freely not from guilt, but from grace. The disciple follows best not by force, but by faith.

When we surrender, rendering becomes a joy—not a burden. It becomes worship—not work.

An Invitation

If you’re tired from trying so hard, maybe it’s time to stop doing and start yielding. Maybe the healing hasn’t come because the real healing needs to start in you. Maybe God isn’t asking you to render anything right now—just to surrender everything.

Not as a last resort, but as your first response.

Lay it down. The outcomes. The expectations. The need to understand. Let it fall to the ground.

And in that empty space, you might just find the presence of a Father who’s been waiting—not for your performance, but for your heart.

The post The Key to Spiritual Growth: Surrender appeared first on Radical Living.

When I was 37, I sat across from a young man named Miguel in the dusty streets of Tampico, Mexico. He showed me the scar on his stomach where someone had stabbed him. He was just a teenager. He asked me, “What am I supposed to do with my life now?” He had narrowly escaped death, but had no roadmap for life.

I didn’t have the answers then. I only knew that his life mattered—and that mine needed to reflect that truth. That moment haunted me, shaped me, and became one of the many inflection points that drew me into a different kind of ambition—one that doesn’t settle for comfort but reaches for legacy. One that Rutger Bregman calls Moral Ambition.

A Different Kind of Ambition

Bregman’s book Moral Ambition speaks to those who, like Miguel, are asking, “What should I do with my life?” But it also speaks to those of us with enough privilege to forget that question, or avoid it altogether. He invites us to aim our talents not at accruing titles or trophies, but at solving the world’s greatest problems.

It’s the same holy disruption I’ve written about for years—the moment when you realize life is not about safety. It’s about obedience. It’s about listening to God’s whisper in the quiet: “Will you follow me to where it hurts?”

Why This Matters

Bregman’s vision isn’t just inspirational—it’s uncomfortably practical. He suggests the best and brightest should tackle climate change, global poverty, preventable disease. Not out of guilt, but because these are the most strategic problems we can solve with a life well spent.

In Revolution of a Broken Heart, I wrote that “Breaking your heart enables God to reshape it to look like His own.” This is what Moral Ambition calls us to—a reshaping of what we think ambition should look like. Not the ambition to climb, but the ambition to serve. Not to be noticed, but to be poured out.

It’s Not Naïve—It’s Necessary

The world doesn’t need more Christian professionals who quietly disappear into boardrooms while their God-given fire dims. It needs risk-takers. Builders. Listeners. People willing to ask not “What job will make me successful?” but “What pain am I called to enter into?”

That’s the shift Bregman calls for. And it echoes the cry of The Art of Listening Prayer: If we slow down long enough to ask God the right questions, He will often lead us into unexpected, even dangerous places. But always meaningful ones.

Align Your Career With Your Conscience

Moral Ambition isn’t just theory. It’s a map. Bregman shows how to align your career with your conscience, how to take small steps toward massive change, how to move from inertia to impact. It’s like a compass for those who sense they’re called to more but don’t know where to begin.

He doesn’t sugarcoat the cost. Like any calling worth chasing, it will require surrender. But the cost of not surrendering is greater still. Talk to people who are nearing death and you’ll find, this is their greatest regret.

Final Thoughts

Young or old, you’re standing at a crossroads. You can spend your days accumulating things that will one day rot, or you can spend them investing in the eternal. Rutger Bregman offers a framework for choosing the latter. If you’re brave enough to listen, it just might change your life.

And if you’re like Miguel, still wondering what to do with your one life, maybe this book is God’s way of starting the conversation.

“The real measure of success lies not in what we accumulate, but in what we contribute.” – Rutger Bregman

What will you do with your one life?

Take the Next Step
Buy Moral Ambition
Learn more about the World’s 25 Greatest Problems
Or simply start here: journal your answer to the question, “What problem in the world most breaks your heart—and what if that’s exactly where you’re called to serve?”

The post ‘What Will You Do With Your One Life?’ appeared first on Radical Living.

In my first job out of college, a mentor I trusted turned on me. I remember him trying to make me feel better by saying, “I don’t hate you, Seth.”

I didn’t respond, but inside I thought, “Well, that’s reassuring!” I felt shocked, betrayed—and for a year, I saw myself as a victim.

This pattern repeated twice more. Each time I clung to the narrative that my bosses didn’t appreciate my skills. I was a victim. My confusion lingered for years.

I didn’t understand what God was doing until one day while mowing my lawn, I felt him speak to me: “You know that season when you were fired and felt worthless? That wasn’t your mentor doing that to you. That was me promoting you. Your internship had ended. I had to pry your hands off the wheel to show you a new path.”

I felt the Lord asking, “Would you want to still be there?”

“No.”

“You were there to be prepared for your next assignment,” he showed me.

What a revelation! Tears came as I realized: I hadn’t failed—God had been forming me. I wasn’t a victim. I was being prepared.

I had always believed the verse, “All things work together for good for those who love God,” but often only in theory. When I had cried out to God for rescue, and nothing changed, I couldn’t see how the pain was part of his plan.

But seeing my story through his eyes changed everything. My old boss wasn’t a persecutor—he was a tool in God’s hands. That painful exit became a doorway into one of the best seasons of my life.

Betrayal is one of life’s most disorienting experiences. It shatters expectations and leaves us reeling. Whether it’s a friend who walks away, a spouse who leaves, or a leader who fails you—the wound cuts deep. We ask, “Why would God allow this?”

But what if the betrayal wasn’t an end? What if it was a doorway?

We often miss the shift because we’re still rehearsing the pain. We label ourselves victims—wounded, discarded, sidelined. But sometimes the pain itself is a sign: you’ve learned what you needed to learn. You’re not being cast aside—you’re being called up, and is God is quietly saying, “You’re ready.” Ready to lead with humility. Ready to speak with the weight that suffering brings. Ready for the next level—not in your strength, but in the strength forged in fire.

Scripture shows us this pattern. Joseph is betrayed by his brothers—only to be elevated to save many. David is hunted by Saul—but formed into a king in the wilderness. Even Jesus is betrayed by Judas, setting in motion the redemption of the world.

We think betrayal means we’ve failed, or God has abandoned us. But often, it’s the opposite: we’re on the verge of something new.

How do we avoid mistaking God’s promotion for betrayal?

First, listen beneath the pain. Ask God, “What are you removing so something new can grow?”

Second, resist the urge to fix or vindicate yourself. Sometimes God’s strategy is silence, allowing him to work in secret.

Third, stay open to his redirection. What feels like a door slamming may be the Spirit steering you toward an unexpected assignment.

So if you’re in a season of betrayal, take heart. You may not be losing—you may be being led.

Trust the Shepherd, even when he leads you through shadows.

The post Stop Victim-Thinking! Betrayal Is God’s Backdoor to Promotion appeared first on Radical Living.

I remember a time when God spoke to me in a way that seemed unmistakable. It was not what I wanted to hear and it put me in a very uncomfortable position that required my courage. When God speaks, he’ll sometimes do that to you.

I was 31 and we had five small children. We were attending a Presbyterian church in West Palm Beach, part of a denomination known as the “frozen chosen” because of their doctrine. But the church was just a couple of miles from our home and we liked the children’s ministry and small group ministry.

Behind the scenes, the board of elders was having a conflict with the pastor. In the middle of this, somehow, I got asked to be an elder. This made no sense since I was a young man. The Bible gives the qualifications of an elder in 1 Timothy 3:1-7 and Titus 1:6-9.  Basically, you need to have a good reputation. Also, as a Presbyterian elder, you need to pledge allegiance to five things John Calvin said.

I was no Presbyterian. I remember the eldership confirmation hearing. They asked, “What do you believe about Calvin’s five points?”

I responded, “I don’t know. We’re new here. I’m maybe a three point Calvinist.”

But they appointed me as an elder anyway. I think they needed my vote to help settle their wrangle with the pastor.

We had lots of meetings. And eventually, we asked him to leave. This did not go down well with the congregation. It was messy and the elder board was a clumsy committee. A number of people were hurt and confused, the pastor and his family included.  They left the church feeling victimized.

Months  passed. We needed to pull the church together. We prayed about calling a church meeting over the Thanksgiving holiday. And I thought I heard the Lord say, “The pastor is going to attend your service. Reconciliation will happen.”

So I prayed, “Lord, I pray that you would do this. If the pastor shows up at the meeting, I pray that we will be reconciled.”

When the evening for the Thanksgiving service came, I was seated near the front. I turned around to scan the audience, and sure enough, there at the back of the sanctuary sat the pastor and his wife just as I had heard God say he would.

Now the Lord spoke to me again, “You are to go to the front and publicly apologize to him and his family for the breach in the relationship.” My heart began to pound. How embarrassing!

I struggled with my thoughts. “Was that really God? What if I’m just imagining all this?”

Finally I stood up and went to the microphone and started to talk. “When I was made an elder in the church, I didn’t feel like I was old enough or qualified enough. We had to try and care for this church. But we hurt people.”

Looking at the pastor in the back of the church, I said, “George, I know we hurt you and your family. I wish it could have been different. I’m so sorry for the pain you’ve had to bear.”

Afterwards, I went to the back of the church and we hugged.  His wife told me, “Thank you!  You don’t know how much that means to us.  This has been hanging over our heads since we left the church.”

What an awkward place our group of elders had been in! We didn’t know what to do. Yes, the Bible gives general principles, but we needed guidance in walking them out. The last thing I wanted to do was publicly apologize to the pastor.

But through prayer – listening prayer – God showed me how to do it. It was the beginning of a season where, as I listened, the Holy Spirit began speaking to me more clearly.

The post Listening Prayer May Send You Into Awkward Places appeared first on Radical Living.