Some people walk into a room and nothing flashy happens—no grand speeches, no dramatic gestures—yet something shifts. The air feels lighter. Hearts feel steadier. Hope feels possible again. That is extraordinary presence, and it is one of the quiet miracles of a life rooted in Christ.
As we saw on Sunday, John the Baptist lived this way. Formed by God “as his servant from the womb,” his entire being was ordered toward one purpose: pointing to Jesus. So when he “saw Jesus coming toward him,” he didn’t need time to analyze or prepare. His spirit recognized the One he had been waiting for, and he simply proclaimed, “Behold, the Lamb of God.” John’s holiness wasn’t loud. It was aligned. His presence revealed Christ.
Maya Angelou once said that people will forget what you said and what you did, but they will never forget how you made them feel. That insight lands differently when you think of it through the lens of discipleship. What if the deepest fruit of holiness is not our words or accomplishments, or our attempts to win souls for heaven but the way Christ’s gifts flow through us—peace, patience, mercy, courage, tenderness—often without us even noticing?
What if your presence is meant to be someone’s first glimpse of God’s kindness today?
The spiritual life isn’t about becoming impressive. It’s about becoming transparent—so that when others encounter you, they sense something more:
a steadiness not your own,
a compassion that surprises them,
a joy that doesn’t match the circumstances,
a calm in the storm of life,
a hope that refuses to dim.
These are the gifts of Christ you carry into every conversation, every room, every ordinary moment. And perhaps that is the quiet goal of the spiritual life: to let Him shape you so deeply that your very presence becomes a blessing.
How is that unfolding in you these days?
Smitten With Goodness 