Faithfulness to God: Living for an Audience of One

I recently returned from an incredible mission trip to Kenya. There were so many experiences I hope I never forget.

The joy of believers despite difficult circumstances. The excitement of worship. The children who shared their dreams for the future. And the remarkable difference a single borehole – or well, as we would say – has made in a community.

But one of the most important lessons I brought home had nothing to do with the ministry in Kenya. Instead, it was about my ministry – and even more about myself.

In Kenya, I had the privilege of seeing the impact of a ministry launched 35 years ago in a bar! Three and a half decades later, that ministry has reached tens of thousands across Africa and into Europe and the United States. Its temporal impact cannot be overstated. Its eternal impact will likely dwarf that.

But the ministry I observed was years in the making. Years of prayer and struggle and setbacks. And when I compare the impact of my writing and teaching ministry, I am easily frustrated. I get frustrated with the lack of views my articles receive, the exceedingly small size of my reach. But I also get frustrated because I’ve taught Bible studies for years, and have no idea what, if any, impact I had on the lives of the women I taught. And, yes, I even still get frustrated at the small, often unnoticed acts of daily life including laundry, cooking, and running errands.

But something happened in Kenya that challenged all those frustrations and reminded me of something I know yet still need to be reminded of constantly: I don’t do what I do – in writing, teaching, or cooking – for applause or recognition. I do it for an audience of One.

Let me repeat that: I write, I teach, I serve, for an audience of One.

When Nobody Notices

I think most of us know what it’s like to do things nobody seems to notice.

If you’ve raised children, you certainly know. You wash clothes, prepare meals, clean the house, run errands, and get up the next morning to do it all again. Much of that work goes unnoticed, unless it doesn’t get done.

Serving in the church can feel that way too. You can teach Sunday school for years, pray faithfully for people who never know you’ve prayed for them, or spend hours preparing for a ministry event that barely anyone attends.

You can give, encourage, cook, clean, write, lead, and serve, and still sometimes wonder whether any of it makes a difference.

We know that our work matters. At least, we know it intellectually. But when life is difficult and we’re tired, being unnoticed can begin to feel a lot like being unimportant.

And that’s when we – when I – need to remember who we’re really serving.

An Unexpected Lesson in Kenya

Ironically, it was being noticed in Kenya that reminded me how important it is to serve an audience of One.

Last May, the founder of the ministry our church supports, Bishop David Thagana, launched a book I had edited for him. During the editing process, I frequently communicated with Vincent, a Kenyan journalist who had helped Bishop David write his initial manuscript.

I was hoping to meet Vincent during our trip, but that hadn’t been confirmed before we arrived. We had a busy itinerary for this vision-casting trip as our church considers where to best partner with the local ministry.

As it turned out, the only time Vincent had to meet me was Sunday morning at church. But not in Nairobi, where he lives. Instead, he drove two hours late on Saturday, spent the night, and met our team outside the church Sunday morning.

What a joy it was to meet this man in person and spend a few minutes talking about his work, the writing process, and the second manuscript he said I should be getting by years’ end. The biggest surprise, though, was not in the meeting or the conversation. It was what happened after our conversation ended and we turned to head into the church building.

Vincent hugged me, and said he had to head back to Nairobi.

He had driven two hours just to meet me. And was grinning ear to ear as he said goodbye and started the two-hour return journey.

Sunday was his only day off. And he didn’t have the time to stay for the service but needed to head home.

I was stunned by the effort he made simply to meet me. In fact, I was speechless and teary-eyed – and not for the last time on that trip.

You see, Vincent wasn’t the only one.

Everywhere we went, people seemed to know who I was. Bishop David had made sure people knew about my work on his book, and people repeatedly went out of their way to express their appreciation.

I hardly knew how to respond.

But the most meaningful moment came toward the end of our trip, as we met at the ministry headquarters in Nairobi.

I learned what has happened to and through that book since May. It has been shared in multiple European countries, opening doors of ministry partnership. It has been sold throughout Kenya and in other African nations, again, spreading the reach of the gospel through this ministry.

Even more astonishing is what the ministry has done with the proceeds of those sales:

• Provided scholarships to four university students
• Provided scholarships to 11 high school students (all high school student in Kenya attend boarding schools)
• Purchased a cow – a source of sustenance and income – for a family
• Purchased a variety of supplies for a few of the eight children’s homes this ministry operates

I had tears in my eyes as I listened.

When I was sitting at my computer for almost a year, as I navigated editing a manuscript from a first-time author, whose first language wasn’t English, and with multiple cross-cultural miscommunications to smooth out, I was often frustrated and wondered if the effort was worth it.

I never imagined this book would have such a significant, and international, impact. And strangely enough, all that recognition reminded me that recognition isn’t the point.

I’m deeply grateful for the recognition and appreciation I received in Kenya. It meant more than most people will ever know.

But I don’t want to need it.

Whatever You Do, Work for the Lord

Paul writes:

“Whatever you do, work heartily, as for the Lord and not for men, knowing that from the Lord you will receive the inheritance as your reward. You are serving the Lord Christ.” (Colossians 3:23–24, ESV)

Notice that Paul doesn’t limit this instruction to ministry, missions, or what we might consider important spiritual work.

Whatever you do.

That includes the ordinary work of life. Raising children. Caring for aging parents. Preparing meals. Doing laundry. Encouraging a friend. Serving behind the scenes at church.

It also includes work that never receives recognition.

The question isn’t whether anyone notices what we’re doing. The question is whom we’re doing it for.

Jesus addressed this issue in Matthew 6 when He warned against practicing righteousness for the purpose of being seen by others. Whether giving, praying, or fasting, the temptation is the same: to seek the approval of people rather than the pleasure of God.

And Jesus repeatedly reminded His listeners that our Father sees what is done in secret (Matthew 6:4, 6, 18).

Nothing we do in faithful obedience to Him is hidden from His sight.

A Woman Who Simply Served

One of my favorite examples of this kind of faithfulness is Tabitha, also called Dorcas, in Acts 9. Scripture tells us that she was “full of good works and acts of charity” (Acts 9:36). But not much more. We don’t know whether Tabitha was wealthy or poor, married or single, young or old. We aren’t told that she taught large crowds or held an important position in the early church.

What we do know is that she served others. When Tabitha died, the widows gathered around Peter, weeping and showing him the clothing she had made for them. Think about that. These women weren’t talking about her influence, accomplishments, or how well she knew Scripture. They were holding up the evidence that she lived Scripture.

Clothes she had sewn to meet practical needs for the most destitute group in society. An ordinary woman with an ordinary skill, meeting ordinary needs – and sharing the love of Jesus in life-changing ordinariness.

God chose to preserve her story in Scripture, and through Peter, He raised her from the dead.

I wonder whether Tabitha ever imagined that her simple acts of kindness would be remembered thousands of years later. Probably not. She was simply doing what God had equipped her to do, serving the people He had placed in her life. Or, as we might say today, she just did the “next right thing.”

And that was enough.

Wherever you are in your ordinary life with your ordinary skills and the ordinary needs around you, when you do the next right thing with the love of Jesus, eternity echoes with grace we’ll never know this side of glory.

Be like Tabitha. Be ordinary. Be faithful. And serve – or write – for an audience of One.