"If you are faithful in little things, you will be faithful in large ones." — Luke 16:10

I’d taken my Mum out for breakfast for her birthday. Time spent talking with her is always my absolute favourite thing in the world. Processing life and faith and lessons learned together with her is one of the greatest joys and encouragements that exist in my life. 

This particular day, we were discussing Christian growth, and how God uses His Word and opportunities to grow people into leaders. I related to her the story of a man I admired for his many faithful years of ministry work, how at one point in his life, he sat in a corporate office and was asked by a very successful man how he became such a good leader. Surrounding him on the walls of the office were certificates of leadership studies and achievements, and the man was floored that someone in such a position would ask him the question. He put it down to leading on beach missions for many years. I could see how all those years of saying yes to God helped mold and shape him into the leader he is now, and I marvelled that there are yet Christians who do not seem to grow in the same way. 

“It’s like, God starts by offering you a crayon,” Mum said. “When you pick up and draw with the crayon for a while, God then offers you a water-based marker, and then a paintbrush. Then he gives you a pencil, and from there as you get better with it, a pen. After this, you’re offered a permanent marker, and then a wide paintbrush, and before long, you’re painting the side of a building. But it had to start with you saying ‘yes’ to the crayon. If you never pick up the crayon, you’ll never paint the side of a building. You won’t grow. By the time your friend found himself in that office, he’d already painted so many buildings, but he had to start with the crayon.”

I was really struck by this metaphor. Coming home, I was still turning it over in my mind as I stood in the sun, hanging washing on the line. I was thinking of someone I know, who, though a Christian, seemed to have no interest or desire to be a part of any kind of ministry or mission, even though people very close to them were passionate about it. For a long time I have wondered why this was so. The memory of Mum’s analogy and the answer suddenly hit me like a meteorite. I said out loud to myself, right there at the clothesline, pegs in hand:

“It’s because they never picked up the crayon.”

Cooking for a camp full of boys was one thing. Leading girls was another. Girls were weird. Girls wouldn’t like me. But the need for girl leaders outweighed the need for cooks, and so I reluctantly raised my hand. Turns out the girls adored me. I sat and wrote calligraphy in all their notebooks, let them braid my hair, and read stories to them around the fire. I fell in love with these girls that were my sole responsibility for a week, and I looked forward to the next year I could be with them again, praying with them, and sharing with them God’s Word. 

The paintbrush God handed me was transitioning into leading at the youth group of my church. Every fortnight, and more often if I could, I would show up to lead 30-40 kids with a great team at my church, because I now knew that I didn’t hate kids, and they didn’t hate me either. I helped lead worship, and–thanks to the experience of sharing my testimonies at ag camps–I wound up preaching at youth a couple of times a term. 

My permanent marker moment was directing ag camp. I had a small team, little knowledge of who they were, and barely a meeting to pull us together, but I showed up with a whole lot of trust in God and a whole lot of scared stiff to boot. God pulled us together as an incredible team, and the camp was a success. I thought I’d never do anything so terrifyingly stressful and fantastically good again. 

After chasing these various ministries around as a volunteer, a couple of years later, God offered me the thick, wide paintbrush. I was offered a position on staff with Scripture Union. I remember exactly where I was: on a mission at Tamworth Country Music Festival, sitting under a tree in the shade of a 40 degree day, on the phone when the words came through. 

“Are you interested in a job with SU?” 

Time seemed to stop for a moment. I could feel my fears rising to the top, anxiety flooding my brain with every reason why I should say no. “It’ll be scary, you’ll have to talk to so many people you don’t know, you have no idea what you’re doing, you don’t even know if you can do this, you’re out of your depth, you’ll fail, you’ll disappoint, you can’t–” It would have gone on forever except I heard a sound come out of my own mouth unbidden. 

“Yes.”

I can’t help but have the greatest compassion for the Christians I see who never seem to have the courage to pick up an ugly crayon and give it a go. I can see the way it brings a hardness to their hearts; keeping them from being sensitive to opportunities from God, and causing them to overcommit to what they claim to despise. I don’t think I ever really hated kids. I was just afraid of what it would cost me to love them. I was afraid of the effort it would take, and how it would hurt to fail, and maybe I was afraid that I would actually like it more than I expected in the end.

One of the more inspiring quotes I’ve ever heard I heard from a 31 year old woman who died of cancer this year. She was only a year older than me. She said, “Don’t you want to see what happens if you don’t give up?” In that same vein, my challenge to you is, “Don’t you want to see what happens if you say ‘yes’?”

Who knows what might happen if you say yes? 

Oh it can be difficult, but trust me–trust Jesus–it is worth it. 

I pray you pick up the crayon.