Vessel

There are moments when I step onto the platform, or simply into a room where worship is about to begin, and I’m struck by the sacredness of it all. I’ve done this many times, yet every time feels fresh. Leading others into the presence of God isn’t just a responsibility—it’s a privilege that humbles me. No matter how familiar the songs or how often I’ve walked through the motions, there’s always a moment when I remember: this ground is holy. I’ve been entrusted with the hearts of people from so many different walks of life, each carrying their own story. God chose me to steward a moment none of us have ever known, one we’ll never get back, yet its impact will last forever. That truth is humbling, if you ask me.

What fascinates me is that I can never truly get used to it. I keep showing up. Repetition, fatigue, disappointment, frustration, or discomfort can never dull the edges of my praise. Every time I see someone’s heart open in worship, every time I feel the tangible weight of God’s presence in the room, I’m reminded that this is bigger than me. I’m just a vessel, a guide, a witness to something far greater. It reminds me of the widow in 2 Kings 4—her jars were empty, her debts pressing in, and all she had was a small measure of oil. Her desperation led to obedience, and her obedience led to a miracle. God multiplied what only He could; the jars never ran dry, her household was provided for, and her sons lived from that overflow. Leading others into God’s presence feels the same way—what feels small or empty in me becomes His abundance for others.

There are times I feel like I have little to give. But when I look around the room and see every voice raised, every hand lifted, every heart surrendered, I’m reminded that it’s all part of the overflow of His work through a surrendered vessel. I don’t have to carry it alone. He’s with me, moving on their behalf—and the beautiful part is that He’s working on mine too. What an exchange.

This posture keeps me in awe, gratitude, and expectancy. I don’t want to grow too familiar. I don’t want to lose the wonder of it all. Leading others into the presence of God, flowing from the overflow of my intimacy with Him, is who I am continually becoming. And every time, without fail, it leaves me undone in the most beautiful way.

Often, you’ll see me weeping while I’m worshiping. It gets pretty uncontrollable. It’s not emotion for emotion’s sake. It’s awe. It’s the weight of watching Him move in a room. It moves me deeply to see others being touched by the One who holds us all so closely. In those moments, I’m reminded that this is holy, and I get to witness it up close.

Have you ever heard someone say, “Thank you for your yes”? What I’ve learned is that your yes isn’t just for those around you. Yes, He will use it for others, but it’s also for you. It shapes you. It stretches you. It forms you in ways you may not even recognize at the time. One day, you’ll look back on that sacred moment, one none of us had ever known, and realize how it stayed with you like an echo, quietly guiding you to where you are now.

There’s a song by Bishop G.E. Patterson that says, “You won’t leave here like you came in, Jesus’ name…” Every time I hear it, I think about what happens in these moments of worship. A moment with Jesus truly changes everything. Desperation turns into obedience. Obedience turns into a miracle. And the miracle isn’t just for one person, it’s for all who are willing to receive it.

Like the widow’s jars filled with oil, what is given to God never runs dry. What we surrender, He multiplies. Guiding people into His presence is sacred work, and I will never treat it as ordinary. There is a freshness that brings refreshing, a life-giving grace that continually reminds me why I keep showing up, fully surrendered. And honestly, I wouldn’t have it any other way.