I hate running. Well, let’s just say I have a strained relationship with it. I (somewhat) enjoyed tennis workouts and sprints when I was in the thick of high school training, but long-distance running has always hit differently. Probably because my shins don’t feel too hot when they hit the pavement. I’ve always gotten excruciating shin splints when I run too much, so I’ve interpreted that as a sign to avoid the activity in general. 

After going through denial that just because running might not be the best thing for my body but that I do, in fact, need to move my body, I found a new favorite activity: cycling. There are so many things I love about cycling (the fun music and low impact being some of the top reasons), I could go on and on about it for days. But I’ll spare you that laundry list of reasons. 

Recently, though, I was peddling my legs so furiously in a spin class I thought I might fall off the bike, and then something unexpectedly divine happened. That’s the thing about divine moments—they usually reveal themselves whenever we least expect them. (Side note: this is one of the things I love most about God. He meets us where we are. He speaks to us in all kinds of ways—even in a spin class). 

The instructor prompted us to increase the resistance on our bikes and shift our bodies side to side to help us get up the “hill,” and before long, I was huffing and puffing as if I’d never worked out a day in my life. It was a fight. But I was set on making it to the end of that particular song without stopping. Amidst my heavy breathing and internal debate to stay moving or sit down, I looked up. 

The girl staring back at me in the mirror was on a mission. And something so beautiful—and so simple—happened next, that it’s hard to find the right words to report the following 30 seconds. 

Not only was I moving side to side in both agony and determination, but so was the entire class. Twenty-some people were pushing past their limits, moving in unison in the backlit studio, a sense of unity and collectivity surging from the room. Each of us was in there for our own reasons, coming in with different physical realities and goals, and would eventually leave to go our own ways. But what happened in that studio in West Des Moines, Iowa, for just a few minutes, was sacred. Each of us fought and worked and did not give up in unison. The sight of us moving together almost brought me to tears. It was striking. Simple. Fleeting. And then I remembered that I was on a physically exhaustive mission and the emotions fell away pretty quickly. 

You can laugh at or downplay or look past this simple story, but the truth is that faith, at its core, is really simple. Love God, love others. One body, many parts. Three characters of the Trinity, one God. And one of the undeniable, repetitive, foundational elements of the Christian faith is unity. Working together, on purpose, for a purpose. God designed us to be in community. Marriage entails two people becoming one. God Himself is three in one. There is something significant about one, about unity, about coming together. 

In those 10 seconds of the cycling class, I experienced a glimpse of glory, a clear depiction of what could be—of what God intended for creation—and I never want to forget that snippet of time (and I don’t think I will because I almost fell off my bike after that hill—I’m telling you, it was a toughie!). 

A few factors played into that moment on the bike. The first thing was that each of us showed up. Literally. That is the first piece of what happened. We all decided to attend the 12:15 class that Monday, and we were each physically present. 

Secondly, we each brought our full selves. We brought what we had to give, and then some. We pushed ourselves. We had to work for it (trust me—we did). And with a short-lived glance in the mirror, I saw something so much bigger and glorious than a cardio workout. 

I saw what could happen if each of us—you and me—brought our gifts and our full selves to the table. If we pushed past the discomfort and small obstacles trying to keep us from serving God and others. I saw what the Church could look like if we made it less about rules and politics and perfection and just loved other people. I saw God’s beautiful design for creation, in an unexpected and exciting venue. 

Wherever you are, whatever you are doing, I just really need you to know that your gifts matter. You were not randomly created, and your talents and passions were intentionally woven into the fabric of your soul, your personality, and your purpose. No matter where you are, or what the voices around you are saying, your gifts are needed. God didn’t put anyone elsewhere you are—He put you there with your specific talents and gifts. On purpose, for a purpose. Not the girl next to you; you! Yes, you!

So I want to ask you today. What is it for you? 

Do you love to write? Do you love to cook a good meal? Do you love getting people together, or listening to your friends when they’re going through a hard season? Are you especially heartbroken for the homeless or those battling severe illnesses? Whatever it is for you—even if it seems small or silly, like making people laugh—let me assure you. That gift is needed. Desperately. Right where you’re at. Not a more polished or put-together version of you, not the future-you who “has it all figured out.” No. Right here, right now, God can use you, and I promise that He wants to and He will. He has big plans for you, girlfriend. 

I’ll admit—it can be intimidating to think this through. It can lead to a bigger question of “what am I doing with my life? How can I use these gifts on a grander scale? What should I be doing with my life? Do I need to change my major or transfer or change my trajectory or change jobs to use my gifts professionally?” 

As someone who’s walked that road—and all of those questions—many times, let me assure you: no. You don’t have to do anything big or drastic. You don’t have to put a stake in the ground and declare a major shift in your life. God’s not calling everybody to sell all their possessions and pursue ministry full-time (but if that’s where He’s leading you—don’t let me stop you!). Most likely, there’s a way you can integrate your gifts into this very week. It doesn’t have to take an extraordinary amount of time or become anything fancy or official. It can take 15 minutes. Simple as that.

One of my favorite authors, Hannah Brencher, talks about this a lot. She teaches about discipline and passions quite a bit, and she is always advocating for the power of 15 minutes. You may not have 10 hours to work on a project or reach out to people (actually, you probably don’t have those 10 extra hours laying around), but 15-minute increments add up when we are diligent about them. 

So rest in this:

We need you. We need your gift. Even if it looks like there are already a lot of people doing it, whatever “it” is, nobody else is YOU, and nobody else has it woven into your life and your network and your resources exactly as you do. God chose you and placed you where He needs you right now. 

So what are your next 15 minutes going to entail? How can you show up this week? 

Because when you do, and I do, and those around us do, too, something so beautiful will happen there aren’t even words for it. Heaven on Earth. On Earth as it is in Heaven. Beauty. Glory. And I don’t know about you, but not only do I want to see it, but I want to be a part of it. And you can be, too. Here’s to another week, and another opportunity to show up together, as one.