Growing up in a tiny rural church tucked away
in the Ozarks, I had a spiritual upbringing that
most people would classify now as ultra -low
budget. We didn't have any specialized programs,
we didn't have a sprawling modern facility, and
we absolutely did not have production value.
You know, whatever that is. No fog machines,
no stage lights, no dramatic worship countdown
videos with slow motion wheat blowing in the
background. But we did have people. And one of
the people who shaped my life the most wasn't
the pastor, wasn't a youth leader or youth pastor,
and it wasn't anybody with a fancy title stitched
onto an Awana name badge. It was one of our local
Bible ladies. If you grew up in certain pockets
of the country, you know exactly who I'm talking
about. For decades, there were women who went
into schools and small country churches to tell
stories using flannelgraph. And if you're under
40, Imagine felt cutouts of Abraham, Noah, and
a sheep that looks suspiciously like a cloud
stuck to a fuzzy board. It was basically the
original version of PowerPoint, just softer,
literally. So the Bible lady's name was Henrietta.
Every Sunday morning, before the main service
got going, Henrietta gathered us kids down in
front and told a Bible story. I looked forward
to it every week. Not because she was flashy.
but because she believed the story she was telling.
You can tell when someone believes what they're
saying. You don't look at them and see a performance.
They don't have to force the room to react. They
just are steady. Henrietta also told missionary
stories at Vacation Bible School and a local
church camp. Somehow she made the world feel
big and God feel near. But there was another
side to Henrietta I didn't understand as a kid.
She lived on a modest income. And somehow, this
still amazes me, she gave most of that income
away. She supported missionaries. She helped
small churches buy things they couldn't afford.
She found ways to give out of what little she
had. Nobody asked her to. Nobody was tracking
it on a donor spreadsheet. Later in life, Henrietta
was diagnosed with cancer. And even then, she
kept serving. As long as she could walk into
the church building, she showed up. As long as
she had enough breath to teach kids about Jesus,
she did. And when the disease confined her to
her bed, she didn't suddenly decide she was useless.
Now, she struggled with those feelings, but she
just had a different mission field. She prayed
for the people that visited her, the nurses.
She pointed people to Christ from the place most
of our modern metrics would call the end of productivity.
Henrietta never chased a platform. She never
clung to a role like her identity depended on
it. She never needed applause in order to stay
obedient. She just remained faithful right where
God had placed her. Henrietta did not cross the
finish line with widespread recognition earthly
side, but she finished with fruit. And that redefined
success for me. Scripture never tells us visibility
is the win. It tells us faithfulness is. Welcome
to Grace in the Grind, brought to you by Arrow
& Roots Coffee Company, where faith meets the
everyday. Here we take time to notice God's presence
in the middle of life's busiest moments, to find
encouragement, clarity, and a reminder of His
grace right in the grind of daily life. So grab
your coffee, and let's take a sip of this cup
together. Today I've got January 29th from Arrow
& Roots Coffee Company brewed in an Arrow Press
in a hotel room in Wichita, Kansas. Nothing fancy,
just hot water, good coffee, and a quiet reminder
that faithfulness is usually formed in ordinary
places. Not in the spotlight, but in the repetition.
So as we start this cup, we live in a culture
that defines success by speed, scale, and visibility.
Bigger, faster, and more are the way we think
of it, and those assumptions do not stop at the
church doors. They shape how we think about calling,
ministry, parenting, fruitfulness, and impact.
The American dream trained us to measure life
by the wrong finish line. It taught us to ask,
how far did you get? How much did you build?
How many people noticed? But scripture asks a
better question. Did it produce love? Did it
produce worship? Did it form people who know
God more deeply? Did it leave fruit that remains
when your pace slows down and your capacity changes?
Our anchor passages today are Psalm 71, Ecclesiastes
12, and 2 Timothy 4. And by the end of this cup,
I want you to see the finish line more biblically.
Not the American one, but the kingdom one. Psalm
71 is written from... The perspective of someone
late in life. It's not a psalm of ambition. It's
a psalm of testimony. Verse 18 says, Notice what
he does not ask for. He doesn't ask for his youth
back. He doesn't ask for one more season of public
proof. He does not ask for a bigger role so people
will still know he matters. He asks for enough
sustaining grace to proclaim God's might to the
next generation. The prayer is not, make me impressive
again. It is, keep me steady enough to testify.
Give me enough breath to hand down what is true.
The American dream knows how to celebrate climbing.
It does not know what to do with testimony. Psalm
71 continues, I will hope continually and will
praise you yet more and more. No resume, no scoreboard,
no public metrics, just hope, praise, and time.
That was Henrietta. She did not proclaim the
goodness of God with an arena microphone. She
proclaimed him with consistency, week after week,
year after year, felt board after felt board.
And a lot of churches are held together by saints
like that. more than by the platforms we tend
to notice. Most of us are not really terrified
by wrinkles, by the way. We're not terrified
of really getting old. We're terrified of becoming
unnecessary. We don't mind having wisdom as long
as somebody's still asking for it. But when people
stop asking, we start acting strange. We talk
louder in meetings. We tell the same stories
three times in the same conversation. We offer
intents. unprompted advice to young leaders who
never asked for it. At that point, we're less
like wise mentors and more like spiritual pop
-up ads. Are you sure you want to proceed with
your life without my expert opinion? Psalm 71
pulls us back. You do not have to fight for relevance.
You are called to remain faithful. I saw the
same kind of faithfulness in my pastor, who really
helped raise me in a lot of ways. He was called
Papa Sam. He was joyful, grounded, and pastorial.
He could teach hard truths in a way that made
you feel loved instead of attacked. But he was
not afraid to correct us. One Sunday after service,
a group of us kids noticed leftover communion
bread sitting unattended at the altar table.
One of the ladies in our church baked the fresh
communion bread every time we had communion,
and it was phenomenal. So being feral children
with almost zero survival instincts, we swarmed
that sacred table like starving vultures. Papa
Sam intercepted that operation pretty quickly.
He didn't scream. He didn't yell at us or do
anything like that. He just got serious. He sat
us down and reminded us what the table represented.
He talked about reverence. He warned us that
scripture takes the Lord's Supper seriously.
And what struck me? was this. His correction
did not feel legalistic. It felt loving because
he was caring for our souls, not just managing
our behavior. But the strongest lesson he taught
me came near the end of his ministry. As Papa
Sam aged and his capacity declined, he did not
cling to his title. He did not treat the congregation
like it was his personal legacy project. He intentionally
looked for a younger man to shepherd the people
he loved. He initiated the handoff because he
understood something our egos hate admitting.
The flock did not belong to him. He was a steward,
not the owner. Owners cling to power. Stewards
prepare the handoff. That cuts directly against
the American dream. The world says keep climbing,
keep expanding, maximize influence, and outrun
decline. But Papa Sam lived like scripture was
true. Prepare the next generation. Pass the baton
cleanly. Trust God with what you were never meant
to hold forever. That is what finishing well
looks like. Most of us know how to start. We
know how to build. We know how to hustle. We
know how to push. We know how to redline the
engine and call it dedication. But finishing
well requires release. And release is hard when
your identity has been tied to capacity. When
the season changes, we start measuring ourselves
by what we can no longer do. I can't serve like
I used to. I can't lead like I used to. I can't
produce like I used to. I can't keep the pace
I used to. And shame slips in. We start wondering
if our best days are behind us. But if my best
days are the only days when I had that. highest
output, then my definition of success was tied
more to capacity than to Christ. That's why Ecclesiastes
12 helps us. Ecclesiastes 12 is honest about
limits. Strength fades, eyesight dulls, teeth
fail, and pace slows. This was written in a time
where there probably wasn't a dentist handing
out good dentures down the road, and there definitely
wasn't an optometrist giving out the best contacts
or glasses in the world. These were real issues.
But the teacher does not panic. This is wisdom.
Ecclesiastes strips away the illusion we keep
trying to protect. Life will not always stay
the same. Capacity will change. Value is not
tied to output. And then the book ends with this.
The end of the matter. All has been heard. Fear
God and keep his commandments, for this is the
whole duty of man. That is not defeat. That's
clarity. He does not say, sprint harder before
it's too late. He says, fear God, revere him,
walk before him, worship him, obey him. That
is what outlives you. And that is freeing. Because
if that is the finish line, You can't stop sprinting
like a maniac trying to prove strangers that
you still matter. Very few of us learn this through
gentle meditation. Limits usually show up uninvited
and rude. It's the minor injury that suddenly
takes six months to heal instead of six days.
It's the season where your energy refuses to
cooperate with your calendar. It's when your
body looks at your to -do list and laughs Actual
rest. Now, that's offensive. You wake up one
day and you realize you cannot power through
on four hours of sleep and pure stubbornness
like you used to. And part of you wants to argue
with your body like it's being dramatic. But
you also realize, I don't think I can. Ecclesiastes
stands in the doorway and says, buddy, that argument
is already over. Sit down. Limits do not disqualify
you from usefulness. They clarify your current
assignment. They force the question. If I can
no longer do what I used to do, what does obedience
look like right now? Near the end of his life,
riding from prison while awaiting death, Paul
says to Timothy, I've fought the good fight.
I've finished the race. I've kept the faith.
We quote that verse all the time. It's on all
sorts of random social media posts with a sunset
in the background for some reason. But notice
what Paul does not say. He does not say, Timothy,
look at my numbers. I was wildly successful.
He doesn't say, and I built something impressive.
He says, I kept the faith. A fight implies resistance.
A race implies endurance. Keeping the faith implies
guarding something entrusted to you. Paul is
not checking analytics from his prison cell.
He's describing perseverance. The biblical finish
line is not defined by worldly accomplishment.
It's defined by faithfulness over time. For those
of us shaped by speed, scale, visibility, and
the American Dream's version of success, that
confronts almost everything we were trained to
measure. Most of us are still carrying a scoreboard
around with us. We just won't admit to it. We
changed the vocabulary so it sounds more spiritual.
We don't call it building an empire. We call
it maximizing kingdom impact. We don't call it
chasing attention. We call it stewarding our
influence. But it cannot function the same way.
Paul does not reference a scoreboard, an analytical
chart, or a spreadsheet from prison. He references
faith. You cannot track kept faith on a pivot
table. And that might be one of the biggest things
about it. Henrietta did not interpret declining
health as God throwing her away. As long as she
could teach kids, she taught. As long as she
could serve, she served. And when she was bedridden,
her assignment changed shape. So she bore witness
from her pillow. Papa Sam did not cling to the
spotlight out of fear. He did not confuse stepping
back with failing the mission. He understood
stewardship. Both of them showed us this. Faithfulness
can adapt to the season without losing the substance.
The outward shape may change. The core remains.
The American Dream says if you are not constantly
growing and expanding, you are losing. Scripture
gives us a better sentence. If you kept the faith,
you finished well. You do not have to be impressive
to be faithful. You don't have to... Move fast
to be fruitful. You don't have to be publicly
visible to serve the kingdom of God. Some of
the most important lives in the church were barely
noticed by the culture. They were not trying
to manufacture a legacy. They were aiming for
obedience. When you aim for your own legacy,
you start trying to manage outcomes. But when
you aim for obedience, you leave the fruit with
God. This week, ask two questions. First, What
season of life am I actually in right now? Not
which one do I want to be in. Not which season
am I afraid of entering. Which one am I standing
in right now, today? Second, what does obedience
look like here? Not what did it look like 10
years ago. Not what does it look for someone
online, here, now. It might look like serving
quietly. It might look like stepping back to
make room for others. It might look like mentoring
instead of driving the ship. It might look like
rest instead of frantic expansion. None of those
are lesser forms of Christian obedience. They
may simply be the right form for this season.
And if you're grieving what you can no longer
do, that's not failure, that's transition. Scripture
gives us room to grieve, changing seasons, without
abandoning our post. So typically here, you're
told, hey, if you want to support this, buy a
bag of coffee from Arrow and Roots Coffee Company.
But here's what I'm going to tell you today.
It's great if you can. But if you can't afford
a bag, don't worry about it. Enjoy the conversation.
If you don't like coffee, don't worry about it.
Share this with somebody. Let them enjoy the
conversation. Because ultimately, we want to
continue doing this however we can. If you want
to support that, great. Help us how you can.
If you can't afford to, or just don't like coffee,
that's okay too. We want to be faithful in this
season where God has called us, and we'll keep
doing this. You keep joining the conversation.
A faithful life rarely wraps up with fanfare.
More often than not, it looks like steady obedience
over a long period of time. Ordinary people loving
God, loving their neighbors, trusting him with
outcomes they never lived long enough to see.
That is not a failed life. That is faith. And
it's more than enough. If this episode connected
with a tired place in your soul, we get that.
If you notice someone else that's struggling
with that, share that with them, not as a passive
-aggressive hint. Don't throw it like a spiritual
grenade, okay? Just encourage someone else with
it, if it would help. Thanks for listening to
Grace on the Grind today, where we keep the coffee
strong and our faith stronger. Success didn't
define the finish line. Faith does. We'll see
you in the next cup.