I’ve read the account in Acts of the conversion of Saul/Paul many times. But I just reread it a couple weeks ago, and something really struck me this time.

Have you ever noticed how little it took to win Paul’s heart for Christ?

I mean, sure, there was the miracle–the blinding light (which his companions saw too), the voice from heaven (which they couldn’t hear). That’s enough to get anyone’s attention. But that Voice…He spoke only a few words. “Saul, Saul, why are you persecuting me?” and then, when Saul asked Him who He was, “I am Jesus, whom you are persecuting.”

That was it. That’s all it took to change the life of a man who went on to be one of the most influential Christians in history. Jesus didn’t need to explain to him why he shouldn’t be persecuting Him. He didn’t need to explain that He was the Son of God. He didn’t need to say, “And now I need you to repent and turn over a new leaf and go and sin no more.”

All He had to do was state His name. State that Saul was persecuting Him. Not just the followers of the Way, not just the fledgling church, but Christ himself.

If we put the pieces together, we get the impression that Saul had never met or heard Jesus directly during His ministry on earth, but we also know that Saul studied under Gameliel in Jerusalem, so it’s quite likely he was there in the capital while the events of the Gospels were playing out. He may never have met Jesus, but he certainly knew of Jesus. And like his teachers, he clearly thought that Jesus was not only full of hot air, but a danger to the God Saul loved.

Because Saul loved God with a deep passion. He was zealous for his faith–that’s why he wanted to protect it from heresy, and to paraphrase C.S. Lewis, Jesus was either truly the Son of God, a madman, or a heretic, there’s no in between. No room to call Him “just a good teacher.” Saul wanted to stamp out those early Christians because he fully believed they were trying to tear apart the true faith in God.

Until that road to Damascus. Until that light blinded him. Until that voice came to Him. Saul clearly knew, as his senses were overwhelmed with heaven, that this Light, this Voice, belonged to none other than God. He clearly knew that he was in the presence of the One he loved above all others.

Then that Voice gave him an equation. The Voice, clearly God, identified Himself as Jesus.

And that’s all it took. All it took for Saul to become Paul, to be willing to go to his enemies and listen to the Truth they bravely, riskily told him. All it took to turn him from persecutor to apostle.

Which is fitting–because that’s so similar to how Christ called all His disciples, isn’t it? All He ever had to do was say, “Follow me.” And the fishermen left their nets. The tax collectors left their money. The zealots left their missions.

As I pondered this, I had to ask myself…what does it take for us today? Not just to call us to Christ, but to recognize Him? What if He says to us:

I am Jesus, whom you bypassed on the corner because I smelled bad and had no place to lay my head.
I am Jesus, whom you cursed because I love the politician you hate.
I am Jesus, whom you opted not to help because you were saving up for that thing you didn’t really need.
I am Jesus, whom you cast out of your city, your state, your country, because you called me undeserving to be there.
I am Jesus, whom you dismissed because I didn’t speak English well enough.
I am Jesus, whom you said got what I deserved.

Our Lord tells us in the Gospels that what we do to the “least of these,” we do to Him. And when it comes to mission trips or seving at shelters or even prison ministries, we’re quick to identify it with that lesson.

But are we as quick to see Him in the people we meet in our day-to-day lives? Are we as quick to remember that Christ loves that politician we denounce so much that He died for them? Are we as quick to remember that how we interact with everyone is how we interact with Jesus? Do we remember that it’s love He wants us to be remembered for?

I find myself wondering frequently what happened to those companions who were with Saul when the light blinded them. They couldn’t hear the voice, just a sound like thunder. Why? Were their hearts too hard? Or was the thunder and light enough to convince them too? Did they go with Saul to hear the Good News? Did they accept it?

Or did they turn around and go back to Jerusalem, shaking their heads as they told the Sanhedrin, “Another one bites the dust. He was sucked in by the teachings of that false prophet.”

I can’t count the times I’ve heard Christians say they wished they’d been alive to see Jesus in the flesh. And I get that…but why do we think it would have been different? Most people who heard Him didn’t become part of that first Church. Most people who followed Him were only in it for the meal He provided, the miracles, the easy stuff. When the teachings got difficult, they shook their heads and walked away. Most people who heard His voice didn’t hear His voice. It was just thunder in their ears. They saw the Light, but then they blinked and turned away.

Saul had a heart always chasing after God–he was just wrong, at first, about the direction. But all it took was that “I AM” moment for him to redirect his entire life. To go from accomplice-to-murder to martyr-at-heart.

Are my eyes as ready to be blinded by Him? Is my heart as ready to change? Are my ears so attuned to Him that I hear the directions He gives, or is He thunder to me?

Would I be Saul…or one of his unnamed companions? Would I give up my own understanding, my preconceived notions, my definition of faith if and when He calls me to a path I’d thought was wrong?

Are a few words from Jesus enough to change our whole life?

A couple weeks ago, a couple things happened in the course of a few hours that made me pause and think, not just of who I want to be, but of who I don’t want to be.

It started with an author newsletter that came into my inbox a couple days before. In this newsletter, the author in question mentioned a very strong political opinion that I very strongly disagree with, LOL. I believe I said something to my husband along the lines of, “And she’s lost me.”

Then, on the day in question, another newsletter of hers came into my inbox. I scrolled down to the bottom and clicked “unsubscribe,” so of course it took me to the page where you confirm that choice.

And I sat, and I looked at that button, and I thought, “Is this who I want to be? Do I really want to disassociate myself with someone just because we disagree about one particular political stance?”

I stared at the button for a few seconds. And then I closed out that window, leaving my subscription intact. Why?

Because I don’t want to be the kind of person who creates an echo chamber for herself. I don’t want to be the kind of person who just stops listening to people I disagree with about something. Nope. In fact, I want to be the kind of person who seeks out those opinions I don’t always agree with. Because if I don’t hear them, don’t engage with them in my own heart and mind, don’t love them through our disagreements, I run the risk of becoming a two-dimensional, thoughtless bigot.

That’s not who I want to be.

On that same evening, I saw a comment on a post of mine on Instagram in which someone blasted me for becoming Catholic. Now, this was on that post a couple weeks ago about visiting other churches and how I didn’t fully appreciate this until becoming Catholic. I know whenever I post something publicly about this change, that I open myself up for all the “Catholicism is a cult” comments. And I expected it on my blog post here, honestly. Still, I was a bit surprised to see it on Instagram for some reason (don’t ask me why). (For reference, it looks like the commenter deleted her original comment, and hence all our many, many replies to each other, so no point in going to look, LOL.)

Naturally, I saw this comment right before bed, too. Which means that I went to bed wondering if my response was good enough, loving enough, compelling enough. Wondering if I had responded with grace enough to this comment of “I used to read your books, but now I don’t.” I wondered if I’d shown the love of Christ brightly enough.

I got up the next morning, and there was another reply, saying that she hoped I truly did still write for Christ (part of my reply to her), but that Catholicism was still wrong.

Coming up with a reply made me again consider who I want to be…and who I don’t.

I don’t want to be the kind of person who shuts down conversation–ever. I want to be the kind of person who encourages it.

I don’t want to be the kind of person who ignores those who disagree with me. As Dale Carnegie teaches so well in the amazing book How to Win Friends and Influence People*, a gracious reply to an argumentative comment can win friends that neither a caustic reply nor ignoring them can. I have made this my policy–any time I get comments or emails that attack, I do reply–with love and understanding. I first seek to understand their point and where they’re coming from. I want to address any disappointment I have caused. I want to consider their stance. I want to honor the time they’ve taken to reply to me. I want to appreciate them.

I obviously don’t agree when someone says, “Yeah, but you’re still wrong.” But I can grant that they believe it, and that their beliefs are valid. I can appreciate that the parts they’re focusing on have truth to them, even if I’ve been satisfied that they’re parts of a greater truth with more nuance than I think that subject alone conveys. I can even appreciate that they’re so passionate about a given topic that they would go out of their way to comment about it on someone else’s post.

I won’t be the person who dismisses others for their beliefs.

I won’t be the person who lets disagreement tarnish the love that should be at the core of my faith.

I won’t be the person who lets offense lead to broken relationship, even with a veritable stranger.

I won’t be the person who devalues someone because we have different opinions or understandings.

You and I probably agree about a lot. We probably disagree about a little. And you know what? That’s not only fine, that’s good. It’s through disagreement that earnest dialogue is begun. It’s through dialogue that people come to deeper understanding of a topic. It’s through that quest for deeper understanding that we learn more and more about this awesome God we serve. It’s through that deeper understanding of God’s glory that we develop deeper and better love for one another and for the world.

I won’t be the person who chooses hatred or disagreement instead. I will be the person who chooses love.

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I love dreaming. Planning. Setting goals.

Every Friday, I take stock of what I’ve accomplished that week. Every Friday, I write out my list for what I need and hope to get done in the week to come. The lists are fluid, yes–sometimes things crop up that I’d forgotten or hadn’t known were coming. Sometimes we have sick days. Sometimes my finished list bears no resemblance to my goals list. But still, I love doing it.

Part of it is because by writing it down, I’m no longer caught up in how I feel the week went–instead, I’m looking at the fact. Far too often, one frustration makes us feel like the whole day or week has been a waste, when in fact, the impact to the facts is much smaller than that. Or conversely, sometimes I feel like I’ve gotten a lot done…but my list says otherwise.

When the calendar year turns over, I always take it as an opportunity to reflect on the whole year that has just passed and look ahead to the year to come. I make lists, set out my goals, work on my plans. I know they won’t all happen, but by putting down all my thoughts, I then have something I can refer back to when it comes time to prioritize what to do each day, each week, each month.

My goals for 2025 are…ambitious. But for the first time in the history of my yearly list-making, they’re also delayed.

Radiation therapy started for me on December 26, 2024, and the scheduled end date was January 16, 2025. As I was making all my plans, I kept looking at the calendar and realizing that I couldn’t really start on much until that biggie was out of the way.

I didn’t know how tired I’d be–they warned that by the end, exhaustion could hit hard.
I did know that a lot of my time was going to be spent traveling to and from the hospital 90 minutes away.

Mornings are usually my time for devotional and Bible reading, for morning prayers, and then for creative work. But those first couple weeks of January, I didn’t know what I would be able to do.

So…I kept my plans for the first 16 days of the year pretty minimal. I thought of 2025 as having a “soft opening” or a “soft start.” Time to work out the kinks. Time to plan in more detail so I could hit the ground running in February. Time to focus on a few limited things.

Last year I got my husband planners called the Monk Manual, which focuses not just on what you have to do, but on your attitude, your feelings, your relationships, your gratitude, and your insights. He really enjoyed the process, so this year we both got Monk Manual annual planners, which has calendar pages for the whole year as well as weekly planning sections, room for notes, and so on. I loved sitting down with it in early January and getting it all set up. Putting down the things I know will be on my schedule, and getting to know the weekly sections.

I love that each day, there’s room to write down your priority tasks. At the end of each day, there’s space to write down your gratitude and your insights. There’s space for listing your biggest accomplishments of the week, your meaningful moments, what God has taught you. There’s encouragement to pay attention to the habits you want to build, a change you can make in the week to come, how you’ve tended your relationships, and even what you’re looking forward to.

All of this comes down to what I’ve been working to embrace in the last several years–intentional living. Because it isn’t about what we do, it’s about who we are. And who, through that intentionality, we become.

2025 has started off with a lot of doing…but oddly, the time that doing requires has also given me more time than usual to focus on my being. Car rides are great time to think, to talk things over with my husband (on days he’s driving), to tend the relationship with my dad (on days he takes over). Those unexpected overnight stays in a hotel near the hospital so my treatment isn’t interrupted by snow give some time away from the chores of home where I could focus on spending time with God and working out that intentionality for the weeks to come.

And I’m especially excited because in February, I’ll be doing another soft-start, for a program I’ve had it in my heart to build out for several years, called Writers’ Cross Training. The idea behind this program is just like physical cross-training for athletes–where we keep in mind our primary focus (say, writing books), but strengthen that by working on all aspects of our life, including physical activity, healthy eating, family time, community building, marketing, reading… It’s all about intentionality and balance so that we avoid creative burnout and make ourselves stronger all round. I’ve invited a few people to join me February through May at various points in their writing journey, and with their help, I intend to get this program fitted out so that it works for ANY creative (especially writers) at ANY point in their own writing. I can’t wait to see how it goes! January has been taken up a lot by planning for this, and I’m loving it.

As always, I have to smile at God’s timing for it too. I’ve had the idea for at least two years, maybe more, but lacked the specific ideas for how to implement it. As I was on vacation in December of 2024, though, those specific ideas began to come, and excitement built in my heart, so I reached out with my ideas to those writing friends at various stages. And oh, the quick replies…of how several of them had just (as in JUST when the email came in) been praying about this very thing, and my email brought tears to their eyes and hope to their chest. Which in turn let me know that this really is the right time to get the program put together.

So while 2025 may be a rolling, soft start for me…it’s an exciting one. This is the year I’ll finish cancer treatment. This is the year I’ll launch this new program. This is the year I’ll take my new intentionality to a new level. And I can’t wait to see what God does in the next few months.