Skip to main content

Quiet Faith

I was standing in line at Chipotle the other day, just minding my own business, waiting for my burrito bowl, when I noticed the guy in front of me had a tattoo on his forearm. Nothing flashy—just simple black ink. It read: Luke 1:37.

I didn’t know the verse off the top of my head, so I did what anyone else would do—I looked it up on my phone while the guy was ordering extra guac.

“For nothing will be impossible with God.”
—Luke 1:37

It hit me. Not just the verse, but the way it was presented. No bold lettering. No cross and flames. Just quiet confidence, written on skin. No one else seemed to notice it. He wasn’t talking about it. He wasn’t preaching. He wasn’t even wearing a Christian t-shirt or handing out flyers. Just a guy, getting lunch, carrying a piece of scripture with him.

And it reminded me of something I forget more often than I’d like to admit:
Faith doesn’t always need a megaphone.

We live in a time where it feels like everything’s about the broadcast—what you believe, who you voted for, what you stand for, what hill you’re willing to die on. And yeah, there’s a time to speak up. But there’s also a kind of faith that’s quiet. One that doesn’t shout, doesn’t argue, and doesn’t need applause. It just is.

That tattoo wasn’t for me. It wasn’t for the crowd. I’m guessing it was for him. A reminder he sees every day. A quiet anchor for when life gets loud.

I think a lot of us carry faith like that. Maybe we don’t wear it on our sleeves (or in this case, forearms), but we carry it deep. It shows up in how we work, how we love our families, how we take the high road even when no one’s watching. It shows up in a prayer muttered under our breath on a hard day. In the discipline to do the right thing when it’d be easier not to. In the quiet hope that somehow, in the chaos, God’s still got it under control.

Not all faith needs a stage. Sometimes, the strongest kind is the kind that walks quietly, shows up daily, and leans into the promise that nothing is impossible with God—even when we don’t feel like shouting it from the rooftops.

So to the guy in Chipotle—thanks. You probably didn’t even know someone was paying attention. But your quiet reminder sparked something in me. And maybe that’s what real faith does: it moves, it grows, and every now and then, it reminds someone else that they’re not alone.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Divide, Conquer, and Appreciate the One Who Holds It All Together

This past weekend, my family had one of those classic divide-and-conquer parenting situations. If you're a dad—or really, just a human being in a family—you know the kind: two kids, two tournaments, two cities. One in our hometown, and one in Bettendorf, Iowa. So we split up. My wife stayed back to hold it down locally, and I packed up with one of our boys and headed west. Now, before I go on, let me just say this: I'm not new to fatherhood, travel, or responsibility. I’ve changed diapers on park benches and assembled bunk beds with missing pieces. But traveling solo with a kid—without the glue of the operation, my wife—opened my eyes to a few things I often overlook. We got on the road later than planned (of course), which meant I was already playing catch-up before we even hit the interstate. Normally, my wife sits in the passenger seat, punching in directions, scouting food stops, and handling last-minute hotel details. This time? It was just me and my son—and my slightly ou...
Post a Comment
Read more

The Only Job I Ever Really Wanted

Yesterday, my sister had her first baby—and I don’t think I’ve stopped smiling since. Watching her step into motherhood stirred something deep in me. There’s a beauty in beginnings. A holiness, really. It’s a miracle wrapped in soft cries and tiny hands. I’m so incredibly happy for her and for all the adventures ahead. Sleepless nights, yes—but also heart-bursting joy. The news took my wife and me down memory lane. We have two kids of our own—twelve and ten now. It feels like just yesterday we were pacing the floor with a fussy newborn at 3 a.m., wondering if sleep would ever return. It does, eventually. But while those nights were long, the years were short. Blink, and they’re not babies anymore. They’re full of personality and humor, testing boundaries, growing faster than our hearts can keep up. But I wouldn’t trade it for anything. There’s a lot of hats I wear—husband, teacher, coach, community guy, sometimes handyman (though that one's hit-or-miss). But out of everything I’ve ...
Post a Comment
Read more

Sleepovers, Bathroom Doors, and the Blessing of Chaos

Last night, our house was full of noise, laughter, and the unmistakable sound of youth—my kids had a sleepover. It’s a tradition I both love and… well, let’s say “tolerate.” Don’t get me wrong—I love seeing my kids having fun, building memories that will outlast the pizza stains on the couch and the crushed chips in the carpet. But let’s be honest: sleepovers turn your home into a strange mix of joy and tension. You start to feel like a guest in your own house. At the heart of it, I think what I struggle with most is the sudden change in how we live our lives inside these walls. My home is usually a sanctuary for my boys and me. We’re comfortable—maybe too comfortable. When it’s just us guys, we’re a bit more casual. Bathroom doors are often left open. Conversations are light, sarcastic, sometimes a little weird, and very real. There’s an unspoken code that allows us to be ourselves completely—no need to walk on eggshells or filter every word. But when a sleepover rolls around, that al...
Post a Comment
Read more