By Jennifer Greene-Sullivan
This week, I have been reading through Zechariah. According to my reading plan, I should have moved on several days ago, yet I remain in chapter thirteen because I sense the Lord is still teaching me something. Sometimes the greatest lessons are not found in moving ahead but in slowing down and listening.
The greatness of God has always fascinated me. His sovereignty, omniscience, and holiness stretch my understanding beyond what my finite mind can fully comprehend. Instead of answering one of my theological questions this week, the Lord quietly asked me one of His own.
“Why are you doing what you’re doing?”
That question followed me long after I closed my Bible. Am I reading Scripture because I genuinely desire to know Jesus more or because I want to complete another day’s assignment? Am I serving others because I love them or because I enjoy being noticed? The Lord reminded me that while people often see our actions, He sees the intentions behind them.
A year ago, I attended a women’s conference in South Georgia. Everything about the event was beautifully done. The worship was vibrant, the teaching was excellent, and the fellowship was refreshing. Then, during one worship song, I sensed the Lord whisper to my heart, “How do you like My clanging cymbals?”
Immediately, my mind went to Paul’s words in 1 Corinthians 13. Without love, even the greatest gifts become empty noise. The Lord wasn’t asking me to evaluate anyone else in the room; He was asking me to examine my own heart because He alone knows the motives no one else can see.
The more I study David, the more I realize why Scripture describes him as a man after God’s own heart. David experienced incredible victories, but he also endured devastating failures. What set him apart was not a flawless record but a heart that continually returned to the Lord in humility and repentance.
This past year, Jesus has been teaching me the same lesson in unexpected ways. Some of my sweetest moments with Him have not happened while teaching a class, singing into a microphone, or standing before a congregation. Instead they happened quietly in my tiny house office with an open Bible, a watercolor brush in my hand, and worship music filling the room. There was no audience to applaud, no deadline to meet, and no one to impress. There was only Jesus, patiently shaping my heart.
The intimate moments with Jesus reveal intentionality most clearly. In these moments, I must ask myself these questions:
When no one is watching, do I still love Him? When no one notices, do I still worship? When no one applauds, do I still obey?
Those questions have reminded me why torn wings still fly. We do not keep flying because our circumstances are easy or because our efforts are recognized. We keep flying because the Lord continues transforming our hearts until our greatest desire is simply to know Him more and love Him well.
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