You’re ridiculous. But seriously, you’ve got this.
Gray
I know. That’s probably why I feel better already.
My lips curve into a quiet smile as I set my phone down.
He’s nervous, but he’s still him.
And somehow, that combination only makes me like him more.
I swipe on a layer of gloss, run my fingers through my curls one last time, and step back from the mirror. My reflection looks calm enough, but my stomach’s a different story. I signed up to help with check-in—smiles, directions, welcoming people as they arrive. Simple enough. Except nothing about this feels simple.
I’m still figuring all of this out. The verses I’ve been reading, the conversations I’ve had with Gray—they make sense, and I like what I’m learning. But part of me wonders if I’m just pretending. Smiling, nodding, acting like I belong when half the time I’m still unsure.
That thought lingers for only a second before something steadier brushes over me. A peace I can’t explain. Almost like an invitation. So I do what I’ve seen Gray do a hundred times—I pray.
Lord, help me be faithful tonight. Give me joy as I welcome every person who walks through those doors. Help me make them feel seen, wanted, like they belong here. Let this night be beautiful. Let it be real. Fill my cup, Father.And if there’s something You want to show me…open my eyes.
I breathe out and for the first time all evening, I actually feel ready.
I look at the time, realizing I’m running a little behind.
I grab my sneakers, slipping them on quickly, and toss my denim jacket over my shoulders.
Then I head out the door, ready for whatever God has planned tonight—because something tells me, it’s going to be more than just good music and pretty lights.
By the time I pull into the church parking lot, I’m five minutes late. I park quickly and rush toward the entrance, my heart pounding from more than just nerves.
When I step into the lobby, I freeze.
There, glowing across the entryway, are the photo backdrops I designed. They stretch higher than I imagined, vibrant and alive, splashed with watercolor skies and threaded with golden light. “He is Worthy.” “Night of Praise.” Words I typed on my laptop in the quiet of my bedroom now stand like banners, welcoming the whole church.
It doesn’t even look like my work anymore. It looks holy.
My throat tightens, tears stinging at the corners of my eyes.
Can God really use my designs in a way that will bring tears to the eye?
I’ve heard the pastor say it before—how God takes the gifts He’s placed in us and turns them back into worship.But I never thought it could be true for me. Not with my mess. Not with my fractured faith and all the doubts I still wrestle with.
Yet here it is. My design skills. My restless late-night edits. My obsession with color and fonts. All of it, offered up to Him—and somehow turned into glory.
Not because it’s perfect. Not because I am.
But because He can breathe purpose into anything.
The thought rushes over me, so heavy and so tender I can’t hold it back. I press a hand to my chest, trying to steady the rise and fall, and whisper, barely audible over the hum of people gathering, “Thank You, Lord. Thank You for letting me be part of this.”
Then I head toward the volunteers, weaving through the buzz of last-minute prep and warm greetings. I find my spot at the welcome table just as the doors open and the first wave of guests filters in.
Tonight isn’t about me.
But it feels good to be doing more than just attending this space, but also contributing.
And the joy of it—the honor of it—feels even better than last night’s kiss.
Well, almost.
