Witness

Excerpt from He Reached Down

“You will be my witnesses… to the ends of the earth.”

Acts 1:8 (NRSVue)

Most of the time, I don’t say anything.

I just try to be there.

• To notice.

• To listen.

I used to think witness meant only sharing a testimony.

Now I think it means living one.

Not loudly.

Not with signs or slogans.

Not with the pressure to prove anything.

Just… presence.

Christ walked beside people long before He preached to them.

• Sometimes, He didn’t preach at all.

• Sometimes, He just wept. Or healed. Or asked, “What do you want me to do for you?”

• Sometimes, He was just there.

Unhurried. Attentive. Interruptible.

I want to live like that.

To witness is not just to hold a microphone—it’s also to hold space.

It’s to walk slowly enough that someone else can join you.

It’s to bring peace into the room—not by words, but by being rooted in the One who is peace.

To carry Christ into a room.

Not as a sermon. Not as a strategy. Just as a presence.

I try to become the towel,

the basin,

the bread.

I try to see without solving.

To respond without rescuing.

To love without being asked.

Some days, I fail.

Some days,

I’m too distracted,

• too tired,

• too proud,

to see what’s right in front of me.

But I return.

I show up again.

I pray again.

I ask again: “Lord, who do You want me to notice today?”

To witness is not to shine.

It’s to carry the light.

And to trust that,

somewhere,

someone may see by it.