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Jordan’s heart pounded louder than the café’s espresso machine. She had perched herself at a rickety, sun-worn table on the shop’s patio, trying to breathe through the nerves. Her coworker, Jen, was late—which suited Jordan just fine. Every extra moment bought her more time to pray, to quell the swirl of anxiety in her gut.
“Lord,” she murmured, fingers tracing the rim of her latte cup, “I want to share Your love. But if it’s up to me alone, I’ll bungle it. Help me do this with grace.”
A balmy breeze fluttered the corner of her dog-eared Bible, reminding Jordan of the day she first opened it with trembling hands and a fresh desire to step beyond her comfort zone. She’d recently attended a church seminar on evangelism—her pastor called it “Share Jesus Without Fear.” The concept felt radical to Jordan, who typically froze when conversations leaned spiritual. Yet something in her heart flickered with possibility: maybe God could use an ordinary, anxious soul like hers to shine a light.
She remembered how that nudge to talk about Jesus first appeared. Jen, a bright-eyed colleague, had confided in Jordan about her restless nights and heavy questions. “I keep feeling like something’s missing,” she’d admitted in a hushed tone over lunch one day. Jordan felt the Spirit’s tug then—“Ask her about faith.” But fear clinched her jaw shut, and the moment slipped away.
The regret gnawed at her for weeks. At last, an opportunity: Jen texted to say her anxiety was worse than ever. She needed a friend. Jordan blurted an invitation: “Coffee. Let’s talk.” And now she sat in the café’s swirl of chatter and caffeine, praying she wouldn’t let fear steal the moment again.
Jen rushed up, a little breathless, sliding into the seat across from Jordan. Her eyes carried shadows, the kind that appear when worry and emptiness pile high. “Sorry I’m late,” she said, forcing a small smile, “Work was a circus.”
“No worries,” Jordan said softly. She offered a gentle grin. “We have plenty of time.”
Jen exhaled, grateful. “Honestly, I—I feel so lost, Jordan. I don’t understand why life seems pointless sometimes.”
A voice whispered inside Jordan: “This is your cue. Ask the question.” The old Jordan might’ve backpedaled, letting Jen’s words float without a response. But a new boldness—something that had been stirring since that evangelism seminar—rose in her. She summoned a quiet breath, said a quick mental prayer, then ventured, “Jen, do you ever think about spiritual things, or wonder if God has a role in it all?”
Jen blinked, seeming caught off-guard but not repelled. She fiddled with the edge of her napkin. “I was never big on religion, to be honest, but... yeah, I do wonder if there’s a bigger reason we’re here.”
Jordan’s pulse fluttered. This was exactly what she’d prayed for: a crack in the door. Be gentle, she reminded herself. “I get that,” she said. “I used to ask a lot of the same questions. Maybe we could look at something in the Bible that really helped me?”
When Jen nodded, Jordan’s heart soared. Not because she’d scored some “evangelism win,” but because it felt like the Lord Himself was guiding this moment. She opened her tattered Bible to John 10:10, letting Jen read the words for herself: “I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full.”
Jen’s brow furrowed, a curious tilt to her head. “So, Jesus promises a full life. Do you think that’s just religion-speak, or does He really mean it?”
Jordan shrugged, honest excitement shining in her eyes. “I believe He means it literally—like, not a perfect life, but a purposeful one that finds its center in a relationship with Him. When I realized that emptiness inside was a sign I needed God, it changed everything.”
Jen stared at the verse again. “I wish it could be that simple,” she murmured.
“Would you wanna see more about what Jesus says?” Jordan asked. “Or is this too weird?”
Jen smiled—an actual, sincere one that chased away some shadows. “It’s not weird,” she said. “It’s... interesting. I’d like to read more.”
Jordan inhaled relief, a silent thank You, Lord echoing in her soul.
That night, as Jordan lay in bed, the lingering adrenaline gave way to second-guessing. Did I come on too strong? Did I share enough verses? Maybe I should’ve said— She stopped herself, recalling the words from her church’s seminar: “We’re not responsible for the outcome, only for stepping out in love. God handles the heart-work.”
She prayed for Jen’s heart, falling asleep with a new peace. She might be trembling, but she wasn’t alone in this. Like Moses stumbling over excuses, like David confronting Goliath with more faith than fear, Jordan trusted God to multiply her timid offerings.
A week passed before Jen texted again: “Busy schedule, but I’d like to pick up where we left off—this Jesus stuff.” Jordan nearly dropped her phone in surprise. The Spirit had indeed been stirring behind the scenes!
They reconvened at a bookstore café, sipping smoothies among rows of fiction and bestsellers. This time, Jordan had bookmarked verses in Romans: 3:23, 6:23, 10:9-10. “Let’s see,” she began, flipping pages. “I’ve found these helpful in understanding the whole picture of why we need Jesus.”
Jen read them herself—something Jordan’s pastor recommended. “Let them lay eyes on Scripture, so they engage with God’s Word directly,” he’d said. As Jen read Romans 3:23—“All have sinned and fall short of the glory of God”—she exhaled. “So we’re all broken, basically.”
“Yeah,” Jordan said softly, “none of us measure up to God’s perfect standard, which leads us to—uh, to spiritual death, essentially.” She pointed to Romans 6:23. “But God doesn’t leave us hanging. He offers eternal life through Christ.”
A flicker of concern crossed Jen’s face. “Doesn’t that mean I have to be some perfect saint or join a rigid religion?”
Jordan shook her head emphatically. “It’s more like stepping into a relationship that transforms you over time. Think of it like... letting God’s grace wash over your brokenness and give you a new direction. It’s not about instant perfection; it’s about receiving a gift.”
Jen stared down at the pages, her eyes brimming with unspoken questions. “I’m not sure I get it all,” she confessed, “but it feels real... different from what I assumed religion was about.”
Jordan’s heart swelled with compassion. “God, help me. She’s so close.” She reached across the table, gently resting a hand on Jen’s. “Take your time,” she said. “I’m here to walk alongside you, no pressure. God’s patient—and so am I.”
Over the following weeks, they met for short lunch breaks, discussing more verses, and Jordan showed Jen the story of Jesus with the Samaritan woman (John 4). She emphasized how Jesus meets us in everyday moments, offering living water to our thirsty souls. Jen found the conversation refreshing—and surprisingly free of judgment or churchy jargon.
Each get-together, Jordan felt the old fear tugging—Am I messing up? Should I push for a ‘decision’ now?—but she resisted. She prayed daily for Jen’s heart, remembering Paul’s words: “I planted the seed, Apollos watered, but God made it grow.” Jordan concluded that if the apostle Paul needed God’s empowerment for boldness, then her own shaky knees were no disqualifier for the Spirit’s work.
One brisk evening, the pair met again—this time at Jen’s request. They sat in Jordan’s car after a casual Bible study group Jordan had invited her to. Jen’s eyes glistened in the streetlight. “I... I can’t shake this feeling that God’s calling me,” she said quietly. “I’m starting to think Jesus is who He said He is. And I want... I want that relationship.”
Jordan swallowed a surge of emotion. She drew a shaky breath. “Then... we can pray right now. It’s not magic words, but it’s telling God you believe in His Son, that you want His forgiveness, that you surrender your life to Him.”
Jen nodded. Right there, in the hush of a parked car, she whispered a halting prayer—asking for God’s grace, admitting her need, accepting Jesus as Lord. The sincerity in her voice made Jordan’s eyes brim with tears.
When the prayer ended, Jen exhaled like a long-held breath had finally escaped. A fragile smile crept across her face. “So... that’s it? I’m, like, forgiven?”
Jordan gave a gentle laugh, hugging Jen. “Yes. It’s the beginning of walking with Christ. He’s been drawing you all this time—this is just the start of an amazing journey.”
As Jen pulled away from the car, there was a soft glow of hope in her expression—like someone who’d just caught a glimpse of dawn after a long, dark night. Jordan leaned her head back against the seat, heart bursting with gratitude. She felt humbled. God had taken her timid attempts and turned them into something transformative for Jen’s soul.
In the following weeks, Jen found a renewed sense of purpose, joy, and a thirst to learn more about Scripture. Jordan watched in awe. She recalled the crippling fear she used to have about evangelism. Now, she saw clearly: It was never about me being eloquent or fearless. It was about offering God the little I had—my heart, my willingness—and trusting Him to do the rest.
One Sunday, they stood side by side at church, singing worship songs that took on new meaning for both of them. Jordan realized how far beyond her comfort zone she had come—and how it turned out to be the safest place after all, because God’s love meets us there.
As they left the sanctuary, Jen clutched Jordan’s arm. “By the way,” she said, eyes shining, “I’ve got this friend who’s been really down. I was thinking we could invite her to coffee and, y’know... see if she wants to hear about hope, too?”
Jordan smiled wide. “Absolutely,” she said. “Let’s ask God to guide us again.”
May this narrative remind you that bold evangelism isn’t about having all the answers or executing a slick presentation. It’s about stepping beyond your comfort zone, fueled by love, trusting the Spirit to guide every stammered sentence. Like Jordan, you can discover that when you offer your hesitant heart, God meets you—and the people you’re reaching—with transforming grace.
So take that step of faith. Ask that open-ended question. Offer to read a verse together. Let fear know it doesn’t have the final say. Because somewhere out there, someone like Jen is waiting, longing for hope—and God might just use your ordinary words to introduce them to His extraordinary love.
