The Day I Spoke to a Stranger and God Spoke to Us Both

 There are moments in life that do not arrive with thunder or announcement. They do not knock loudly. They do not interrupt your schedule in ways that feel important at first. They arrive quietly, disguised as ordinary time, wrapped in small sentences and passing thoughts. One of those moments is when you look at another human being and decide to speak kindness instead of silence. Not because you are required to. Not because you are correcting them. Not because you have an answer. But simply because something inside you says, “Say something that brings life.”

That is how this message was born.

Not as a sermon. Not as a theological argument. Not as a motivational speech designed to stir emotion for its own sake. It was born out of a simple impulse: to look at someone and say hello, and to mean it. To tell them they are doing a good job, and to mean it. To tell them not to worry about everything all at once, and to mean it. To tell them that today can be a good day, not because circumstances are perfect, but because God is still present, and to mean it.

We underestimate how powerful those words are because they sound small. They do not feel dramatic. They do not sound like something that would change a life. Yet Scripture is full of moments where God’s greatest work begins with a sentence that sounds almost casual. “Where are you?” “Do you want to be made well?” “Why are you afraid?” “Follow me.” These are not elaborate speeches. They are invitations. They are openings. They are God stepping into someone’s inner world and saying, “I see you here.”

And that is what we forget people need most.

We live in a culture that assumes everyone else is fine because they are functioning. They go to work. They answer messages. They smile in public. They scroll past content. They nod in conversations. But functioning is not the same as being held. Showing up is not the same as being seen. Surviving is not the same as being encouraged.

There are people walking through their days carrying invisible questions. Am I doing enough? Am I too slow? Did I miss something? Is God disappointed in me? Am I falling behind? Am I wasting time? Will this ever make sense? These are not questions people usually ask out loud. They live in the quiet places, in the pauses between responsibilities, in the late-night thoughts, in the moments when the house is finally still and there is no distraction left.

That is why words like “hello” matter. Not as greetings, but as recognition. When you say hello to someone with intention, you are not acknowledging their role. You are acknowledging their existence. You are saying, “You are here, and I notice.” That is deeply biblical. God does not relate to us as tasks. He relates to us as persons. He does not address us as problems to solve. He addresses us as children to love.

So when you say to someone, “You’re doing a good job,” you are not declaring perfection. You are recognizing effort. You are recognizing endurance. You are recognizing faithfulness in a world that usually only recognizes achievement. You are doing what God does when He looks at a servant who is tired but still trying. You are speaking into the part of them that feels unseen.

The mind fights that kind of encouragement at first. It wants to argue. It wants to produce evidence to the contrary. It wants to list failures and shortcomings and delays. It wants to remind you of what is unfinished. But God does not define people by their incompleteness. He defines them by their direction. He does not say, “You are only valuable when you arrive.” He says, “I am with you as you walk.”

We forget how much of Scripture is about becoming rather than arriving. Abraham did not start as the father of nations. Moses did not begin as a confident leader. David did not step into history as a king. Peter did not open his story as a bold apostle. They all began as ordinary people with unfinished faith and complicated emotions and incomplete understanding. God did not wait for them to be impressive. He began with them where they were.

So when someone tells you that you are doing a good job, and you feel unworthy of that sentence, that feeling is not humility. It is fear dressed as realism. True humility says, “I know I am not perfect, but I know God is working in me.” False humility says, “Nothing I do counts until I succeed.” That is not how God measures lives.

God measures faithfulness, not speed. He measures obedience, not popularity. He measures trust, not results. And that is why a simple sentence can become a spiritual act. To say to another person, “Don’t worry about that,” is not to deny reality. It is to shift attention. It is to say, “You are not alone with this.” It is to interrupt fear’s habit of dragging tomorrow into today.

Fear always wants to make the future immediate and the present unbearable. Faith lets tomorrow remain in God’s hands. Faith does not pretend everything will be easy. It simply refuses to believe that difficulty equals abandonment. God never promised that days would be smooth. He promised that He would be near.

When you tell someone, “Today is going to be a good day,” you are not declaring that nothing will go wrong. You are declaring that nothing will happen without God’s awareness. You are reminding them that goodness is not the absence of struggle. It is the presence of meaning. A good day is not a painless day. It is a day in which God is still shaping, still guiding, still sustaining.

That is why this message is not about positivity. It is about perspective. Positivity says, “Everything will work out the way you want.” Faith says, “God will be with you regardless of how it works out.” One is fragile. The other is durable. One collapses when circumstances change. The other holds even when they do not.

There is a story in Scripture of a man who sat alone under a tree and asked God to take his life. He believed he had failed too badly to continue. He believed his usefulness had ended. He believed he was alone. God did not respond with argument. God did not respond with instruction. God responded with care. Food. Rest. Presence. Then a question. “What are you doing here?” Not accusation. Not correction. Relationship.

That is how God often meets discouraged people. Not with a lecture, but with companionship. Not with pressure, but with sustenance. Not with explanation, but with nearness.

That is what you are offering when you speak gentle words into someone’s day. You are not fixing them. You are standing with them. You are not solving their story. You are reminding them that God is still writing it.

We have been trained to think that significance must look dramatic. We expect big moments to be the ones that matter. But the Bible is filled with quiet ones that change everything. A conversation at a well. A walk on a dusty road. A meal with a tax collector. A night of prayer. A simple invitation. A whispered “do not be afraid.” These are not cinematic scenes. They are relational ones.

Most of Jesus’ life did not look like ministry. It looked like waiting. It looked like work. It looked like ordinary days. He did not rush to visibility. He did not demand recognition. He grew in wisdom and stature quietly, in places that would never be remembered if not for what came later. God was building something inside Him long before God revealed something through Him.

That is how God works with us.

He does not build people in crowds first. He builds them in solitude. He does not train hearts in applause. He trains them in faithfulness. He does not form character in moments of excitement. He forms it in repetition. And that is why so many people feel as though nothing is happening when, in reality, everything is.

Waiting seasons feel empty because growth is internal before it is external. Roots are invisible before branches are visible. Strength develops before fruit appears. The silence is not absence. It is preparation.

So when you say, “You’re doing a good job,” you are not congratulating success. You are honoring process. You are acknowledging the unseen work of God in a human life. You are naming something that heaven already knows but earth often ignores.

And when you say, “Don’t worry about that,” you are not minimizing their struggle. You are re-centering it. You are saying, “This is not bigger than God.” You are saying, “You do not have to hold this alone.” You are saying, “You are allowed to breathe.”

And when you say, “Today is going to be a good day,” you are not predicting the future. You are choosing a posture. You are choosing to believe that meaning can exist even in difficulty. You are choosing to believe that God can still speak even in ordinary hours. You are choosing to believe that today does not have to prove anything to be worthwhile.

The tragedy is that we reserve these words for others but deny them to ourselves. We are often kinder outwardly than inwardly. We encourage strangers and accuse our own hearts. We remind others of God’s grace while living as though we must earn it. We tell others they are doing well while convincing ourselves that we are behind.

Yet Scripture never portrays God as a taskmaster standing at the finish line with crossed arms. It portrays Him as a shepherd walking beside His flock. A father running toward His child. A companion on the road. A presence in the storm.

So perhaps the most faithful thing you can do today is to speak to yourself the same way you would speak to someone else in pain. To say hello to your own heart. To remind yourself that effort matters. To loosen your grip on fear. To believe that today does not have to be impressive to be sacred.

There is something profoundly spiritual about choosing gentleness in a harsh world. About choosing encouragement in a culture of critique. About choosing trust in a climate of anxiety. These are not passive acts. They are acts of faith. They say, “I believe God is working even when I cannot see how.”

And that belief changes how you walk through your day. It softens your steps. It steadies your thoughts. It widens your compassion. It gives you patience for yourself and for others. It turns ordinary time into holy ground.

This message is not about pretending everything is fine. It is about remembering that God is still faithful. It is not about denying struggle. It is about refusing despair. It is not about hype. It is about hope.

So when I say hello to you, I am not greeting a username or an audience or a statistic. I am greeting a soul. A person with a story. A person with questions. A person with faith that may feel fragile but is still alive. A person who woke up today and kept going.

And that alone is worth acknowledging.

You do not need to solve your entire future today. You do not need to answer every question. You do not need to reach every goal. You do not need to fix every weakness. You only need to take the next step with trust.

And that is enough.

God does not ask you to be finished. He asks you to be faithful. He does not ask you to be certain. He asks you to be willing. He does not ask you to be fearless. He asks you to follow.

And sometimes following looks like nothing more than staying present, staying kind, staying hopeful, and staying open to the quiet work God is doing beneath the surface.

So let today be lighter than yesterday. Let yourself be human. Let yourself rest in the truth that God is not measuring you by speed or success but by trust. Let yourself believe that today can be good not because it will be easy, but because God will be with you in it.

And if all you hear today is this one sentence, let it be this:

Hello. You are doing a good job. Don’t worry about that. Today is going to be a good day.

Not because of what you control.
But because of who walks with you.

There is a strange pressure we put on ourselves to make every day prove something. We wake up with invisible expectations hanging over our heads, as if today must justify yesterday and secure tomorrow at the same time. We carry goals, responsibilities, worries, and self-judgment into the morning before we have even taken a breath. And then we wonder why peace feels so far away. We forget that God did not design time to be carried all at once. He designed it to be lived in pieces. Daily bread. Daily mercy. Daily strength. Daily faith.

This is why a sentence like “Today is going to be a good day” is not naïve. It is disciplined. It is the decision to live where God gives grace instead of where fear invents futures. It is the choice to say, “I will meet God in this moment, not in the anxiety of what has not happened yet.” That is not denial. That is obedience.

Jesus never asked people to believe in years ahead. He asked them to follow Him now. He never said, “Worry about how this will end.” He said, “Take up your cross today.” He never told them to master the whole path. He told them to walk behind Him one step at a time. The kingdom of God is not entered by prediction. It is entered by trust.

And trust looks small when it is practiced daily. It looks like getting up when you are tired. It looks like praying when you feel unsure. It looks like choosing patience when you are frustrated. It looks like refusing bitterness when disappointment would be easier. It looks like kindness when cynicism would be justified. These do not feel heroic. They feel ordinary. But Scripture never calls them small. It calls them fruit of the Spirit.

We underestimate what God does with small obedience. We think transformation must be dramatic to be real. But God does not usually change people by shaking their world apart. He changes them by reshaping their habits. He changes what they believe about themselves. He changes what they expect from Him. He changes what they trust. And that work happens quietly, in repetition, in consistency, in choices that seem insignificant at the time.

That is why so many people struggle to see God at work. They are looking for interruption when God is practicing formation. They are looking for spectacle when God is building substance. They are looking for answers when God is strengthening character.

So when you say to someone, “You’re doing a good job,” you are not ignoring the work still to be done. You are acknowledging the work already happening. You are recognizing that endurance is holy. That persistence is spiritual. That faithfulness matters even when no one applauds it.

This is especially important in a world that measures worth by visibility. Social media rewards performance. Culture celebrates momentum. Success stories are told from the top down. We hear about breakthroughs, but not about the years of quiet faith that preceded them. We hear about victories, but not about the unseen obedience that made them possible.

The Bible tells the story differently. It shows us Moses in the wilderness long before he leads Israel. It shows us Joseph in prison long before he rules Egypt. It shows us David in the field long before he sits on a throne. It shows us Mary in obscurity long before she holds the Son of God. It shows us Jesus in Nazareth long before He speaks to crowds.

God seems almost determined to work in places that will not be celebrated. As if He wants it to be clear that transformation comes from Him, not from attention. As if He wants it to be known that faith grows best when it is not on display.

So when someone is living an ordinary day, and you speak encouragement into it, you are not distracting them from holiness. You are pointing them toward it. You are saying, “God is here too.” You are saying, “This counts.” You are saying, “Your effort matters even if no one sees it.”

And when you tell someone not to worry, you are not dismissing reality. You are confronting a lie. You are confronting the lie that says everything depends on them. You are confronting the lie that says failure is fatal. You are confronting the lie that says delay is defeat. You are confronting the lie that says God is absent when answers are slow.

Worry is not just anxiety. It is a theological statement. It says, “I must control what God has promised to hold.” Faith says, “I will act responsibly, but I will rest relationally.” Faith does not eliminate concern. It relocates it. It moves it from the chest to the hands of God.

And that is why telling someone “Today is going to be a good day” can be a spiritual intervention. It shifts the focus from outcome to presence. It shifts the definition of good from comfort to companionship. It shifts the expectation from perfection to participation.

A good day is not a day without struggle. It is a day with God in it.

A good day is not a day without mistakes. It is a day where grace is still active.

A good day is not a day where everything makes sense. It is a day where trust is still chosen.

This is what it means to live by faith and not by sight. Sight wants evidence. Faith wants direction. Sight wants clarity. Faith wants companionship. Sight wants control. Faith wants connection.

And connection is what people are starving for.

They do not just need solutions. They need reassurance. They do not just need information. They need affirmation. They do not just need answers. They need to know they are not alone.

This is why your voice matters when you say these words. You are not performing encouragement. You are participating in God’s work. You are joining Him in reminding people who they are and who He is. You are echoing His patience. You are mirroring His kindness. You are translating His presence into human language.

The most dangerous lie we believe is that only big actions matter. That only loud faith counts. That only visible obedience is spiritual. But Scripture reveals a God who sees secret prayers, quiet endurance, hidden faith, and unseen sacrifice. It reveals a God who notices what the world overlooks.

That means your ordinary faith is not invisible. It is noticed. Your small steps are not insignificant. They are shaping you. Your quiet prayers are not wasted. They are forming you. Your daily persistence is not meaningless. It is preparing you.

And when you say to someone, “You’re doing a good job,” you are speaking truth into a culture that confuses worth with productivity. You are reminding them that being faithful matters more than being impressive. You are pointing them back to a God who walks with them instead of waiting for them to arrive.

So let this message not just be something you say to others. Let it become something you live. Let your days be shaped by gentleness instead of pressure. Let your words be shaped by hope instead of fear. Let your faith be shaped by trust instead of urgency.

Do not rush what God is forming. Do not despise what looks small. Do not judge what is still becoming. Do not forget that God specializes in slow, deep work.

If you are in a season where nothing feels spectacular, that does not mean nothing is happening. It usually means something is being built that cannot be rushed. Strength takes time. Wisdom takes time. Peace takes time. Love takes time. Faith takes time.

And time with God is never wasted.

So today, if you can do nothing else, do this: be kind. Be patient. Be present. Speak encouragement. Receive it. Believe that God is closer than your fear suggests. Trust that He is working even when you cannot see how. Walk forward without needing everything to be certain.

You do not need to be finished to be faithful. You do not need to be confident to be courageous. You do not need to be fearless to be obedient. You only need to keep walking with God.

And if you forget everything else, remember this one truth: God is not waiting for you to become someone else before He walks with you. He is walking with you now, as you are, where you are, and as you become.

So yes, I will say it again, not as a slogan, but as a confession of faith:

Hello.
You are doing a good job.
Don’t worry about that.
Today is going to be a good day.

Not because you will control it.
Not because it will be easy.
Not because everything will go your way.

But because God will be with you in it.

And that is enough.

Your friend,
Douglas Vandergraph

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