2026.08.02 | The Person in Front of Me Might Be the Point

I can get so focused on finding my purpose that I miss the person standing right in front of me. That is not easy to admit, but it is true.

I can overthink calling, timing, decisions, gifting, capacity, and what God wants to do with my life. Meanwhile, my neighbor is outside taking his trash cans to the curb. My coworker is quieter than usual in the break room. My kid is trying to tell me something while I am half-listening and checking my phone. My friend has not replied in a while. The cashier at WinCo looks exhausted. Someone at church is sitting alone with coffee in their hand.
And I am busy wondering whether I am doing something meaningful enough.

Sunday’s sermon gently confronted that in me. Josh talked about Acts 20 and the way Paul traveled from place to place. One phrase stood out: Paul “had given them much encouragement.”

That is easy to pass by. It is not flashy. It does not feel complicated. Paul went through the regions and encouraged the disciples. But what if that is a bigger deal than I usually think?

I tend to want impact to look large. Clear. Measurable. Something with a story attached to it. I want to know that my life is making a difference.

But the mission of Jesus often meets me in ordinary proximity.

The people already near me.
The conversations already happening.
The needs I already know about.
The encouragement I could give, but often delay.

I thought about how many times I have felt prompted to send a text and then talked myself out of it because I did not know what to say perfectly.

Something simple like:
“Hey, I know this week has been a lot. I prayed for you this morning.”

Or:
“I was thinking about you today. No need to reply, but I wanted you to know you matter to us.”

Or even:
“Want to grab coffee this week? I would love to hear how you’re really doing.”
I make encouragement more complicated than it needs to be.

I thought about Sunday mornings too. How often do I walk into church thinking about where I am going to sit, who I normally talk to, or whether I can get my kids checked in on time? Those things are real. But there are also people around me who may have barely made it through the doors.

The mom trying to get three kids into class.
The older man sitting by himself.
The teenager standing near the wall.
The new person looking for the bathrooms.
The volunteer who has been serving all morning and looks tired.
The person who says, “I’m good,” but their face says something else.

Encouragement might be as simple as slowing down long enough to notice.

“Is this your first time here?”
“I’m really glad you came today.”
“Can I sit with you?”
“Thank you for serving our kids.”
“You seemed heavy today. Do you want prayer before you go?”

None of that feels dramatic. But it might matter more than I realize.

I also thought about my week outside of church.

At work, encouragement might look like not joining the complaint spiral for once. It might look like telling a coworker, “I noticed how you handled that. That was really patient.” It might look like asking the person who always seems fine if they are actually doing okay.

At home, it might look like putting my phone face down when my spouse starts talking. It might look like telling my kid, “I love how God made you thoughtful,” instead of only correcting the thing they forgot to do. It might look like apologizing without defending myself first.

In my neighborhood, it might look like learning the name of the person across the street. It might look like offering to bring in a package when they are gone. It might look like stopping for a five-minute conversation instead of waving and rushing inside.

At the grocery store, it might look like patience when the line is slow. It might look like looking the cashier in the eye and saying, “Thank you. I hope your day gets easier.” That is not a sermon. It is just basic kindness, but basic kindness can be a doorway.

Acts 20 reminds me that encouragement is not a small thing.

Paul was headed somewhere. He had urgency. He was moving toward Jerusalem. There were plans, travel routes, companions, risks, and responsibilities. And still, along the way, he encouraged people.

That matters to me because my life does not usually feel spacious. It feels full. There is work, laundry, family, bills, school schedules, appointments, and the low-grade mental noise of trying to keep up.

I can tell myself I will encourage people when life slows down.

But maybe encouragement is part of faithfulness in the middle of a full life.

Not a performance. Not forcing spiritual words into every interaction. Not trying to fix people.

Just paying attention.

Asking the second question.
Praying with someone instead of only saying I will pray for them.
Telling a friend what I see God doing in them.
Inviting someone to church without making it weird.
Being patient with the person who needs more grace than I feel like giving.
Remembering that people need to know they are loved and that they matter.

At the end of the service, Josh said we are going to meet people this week who need to be brought to the foot of Jesus. That sentence has stayed with me.

Because I will.

I will meet them at home when someone needs my attention at an inconvenient time.
I will meet them at work when someone is discouraged but trying to hide it.
I will meet them in traffic when I am tempted to forget that everyone else is human too.
I will meet them in the church lobby when someone is standing alone.
I will meet them in my own family when the people closest to me need gentleness, not just efficiency.

The question is whether I will be paying attention.

I do not have to be impressive. I do not have to know the whole plan. I do not have to see every outcome.

I can be faithful with the person in front of me.

Maybe that is one of the ways Jesus uses ordinary people to bring real hope into ordinary places.