Reaching for Connection

In school I heard it argued that we, as Christians, ought to form an assault on the 10/40 window (a Christian geographical term for the countries which still have yet to be prostheletized) in order that all might be "reached" with the gospel so that we may finally go to heaven...

In churches I hear it argued that if I truly loved Jesus that I would be talking about Him constantly, that His message would be forever on my lips. I've also heard it argued that if I truly loved people that I would be fervently, actively and presently trying to "reach" those around me.

According to the book Louder Than Words: Non-verbal Communication by A. Barbour, only 7% of communication is verbal. The rest of communicating is made up by 38% vocal (tone, pitch, volume, rhythm, etc) and 55% body movements.

It is amazing to me that, of all communication, what you say carries the least weight against how you say it and and not near as much as to how you show it. Yet we hear so much demand on our words.

I love that word "reached". Because "reaching" doesn't imply speaking at all; in fact, by definition it is a movement, "the stretching of a hand or arm in a specified direction in order to touch or grasp something." You might even call it, "connecting."

What a beautiful picture.

What's even more beautiful about connecting is that it is a humble bond in which you are not the only giver. With every connection I find myself being fashioned more and more into that woman I so long to be.

Psalms 34:8 says, "Oh, taste and see that the LORD is good!..." The last thing I want is for people to only know Jesus by what they've heard spoken. I want people to know God because they connected to Him when they connected to me; to be able to say that they know God because they know me, that they have seen God because they've seen me, and that they've tasted a bit of God through my hospitality.

In my experience, though limited against some, I have found that it is not what I say that impacts people, but what I don't say married with what I do that miraculously and graciously carries the affect. Every now and again God hands me a few sentences to verbalize, but more often than that I find Him bidding me sit, bidding me listen, bidding me touch, bidding me hold, bidding me stay, bidding me kiss, bidding me cry, bidding me laugh, bidding me move.

It all kinda brings a whole new meaning to the phrase, "Shut the hell up."

...think about it.