Live it and Say it!
LIVE IT AND SAY IT
I’ve never loved the saying: “Your life is the only Bible some people will ever read.”
Don’t get me wrong—I get it. I even agree with the intent. It’s meant to remind us that how we live matters. That people are watching. That our actions should reflect the heart of Jesus.
Absolutely. No argument here.
But somewhere along the way, that saying turned into a bit of a cop-out.
Like, “I’m not great at talking about my faith…so I’ll just live it.”
Which sounds noble. But if we’re not careful, what we’re saying is,
“I’ll just be nice, hope they figure it out, and let those with “the gift of evangelism” do the talking.”
But then Paul hits us with this:
"But how can they call on him to save them unless they believe in him? And how can they believe in him if they have never heard about him? And how can they hear about him unless someone tells them? And how will anyone go and tell them without being sent? That is why the Scriptures say, 'How beautiful are the feet of messengers who bring good news!'" (Romans 10:14–15, NLT)
Paul is saying what we all know deep down: people don’t just absorb the gospel from our vibes. At some point, they have to hear it.
Because your neighbor might think you’re kind because life’s always gone your way.
They might think you’re generous because your bank account’s huge.
They might believe you’re forgiving because your parents raised you well.
They might even think your peaceful vibe is because you’re just a good Buddhist, or Sikh, or atheist.
But they won’t know it’s Jesus—they won’t know the good news that saves them—unless someone tells them. Unless someone says it.
And that someone? That’s us.
But what happens when we don’t go and tell? When we live it but never speak the Good News?
TUCO WOULDN’T GO
Tuco is a 95-pound working-line Doberman, a machine built for power, endurance, and an unwavering work ethic.
When he wants to!
Last week, on my staycation, he and I were hiking at Red River Gorge, aiming to scramble up Indian Staircase—a short four-mile round trip with only 800 feet of elevation gain. Nothing crazy. Nothing hard—especially not hard for Tuco. He’s done it before. Five times.
We reached the steepest section, a 50-foot stretch where roots twist through the dirt like a natural jungle gym. It’s not technical, but you do need to pay attention to where you put your hands and feet. If you try, you’ll make it.
I climbed up without a second thought, expecting Tuco to follow. But when I turned around, I saw the look.
If you’ve ever had a dog long enough, you know the look. It’s the one that says, Yeah, I see you, but I don’t feel like doing that.
Tuco planted his feet. He was 100% capable of going up that 50-foot adventure with me. But on that day? He looked at Indian Staircase like a soon-to-be ex-girlfriend and said, Yeah... we’re done here.
I gave him a minute. I gave him five. He halfheartedly, partially ducked under a washed-out root a few times, looked up at me like, This is dumb, and sat back down.
I wasn’t about to hoist a 95-pound Doberman up the climb like a duffel bag, and I certainly wasn’t going to get into a battle of wills. Tuco had spoken.
So, we turned around. No summit, no panoramic views. No joy of achieving the actual objective of our journey together. Just an unwilling dog and a hike back down.
JEFE WILL
So what do you do when your adventure companion—your four-legged, loyal K9 sidekick of nine years—decides he’s served you long enough and now only wants to protect the house, swim in the pond, eat, and chase fire?
You get a dog that will.
Watch this video.
Meet Jefe.
("Boss"—if you're brushing up on your Spanish.)
He’s 7.5 weeks old, all fluff and oversized paws, but do not be fooled. Jefe is a working-line German Shepherd. His parents? Working dogs. Grandparents? Working dogs. Great-grandparents? You guessed it—working dogs. And his uncle? He’s the current IGP World Champion.
Now, unless you have a friend in active-duty law enforcement, it’s entirely possible you’ve never met a working-line German Shepherd. They’re different from the pet store or backyard-bred GSDs you see at the park or your neighbor’s.
For generations, they’ve been bred and selected for drive, grit, problem-solving, and handling pressure. They’re the kind of dog who wakes up thinking, Let’s do something difficult together.
So, if Tuco decides that finishing the objective of the hike is optional these days, I’ll give a different dog the opportunity to adventure with me!
Tuco knows the thrill of adventure. But on that day? He decided it just wasn’t his thing anymore.
I’m still his person. He’s still my dog. There’s still a patch of sun on the living room floor he’s claimed as his throne and backyard fire-pit flames to chase. But the part of the relationship I love most—the part I was made for—the adventure? He’s going to skip or pass on it.
Not because he couldn’t. But because he wouldn’t.
But man… am I fired up for Jefe. This little fluff ball is ready, able, and itching to adventure—to hike, climb, and take the field for ring sports. I’ve got big plans for him. Good ones. And he’s already showing me: he’s down for the ride.
So, the question comes up again. What happens when we don’t go and tell? When we live it, but never speak the Good News?
Like Tuco was unwilling… I’ll use Jefe, who is.
BURIED OPPORTUNITY
In Matthew 25:14-30, Jesus told a story about a wealthy man who was heading out of town and decided to entrust his money to three of his employees. He handed one guy five bags of silver, another guy two, and the last guy just one. Then he left. No instructions, no roadmap, just, Here you go—do something with it.
The first two got to work. They invested, hustled, and doubled what they had been given. The third guy? He panicked. Dug a hole. Dropped the silver in. Patted the dirt down. And called it a day.
When the boss came back, he was thrilled with the first two. “You doubled it? That’s what I’m talking about! You’re getting a promotion. More responsibility. More reward. More adventure.”
Then he turned to the guy who had buried his opportunity.
The boss didn’t pat him on the back. He didn’t say, Hey, at least you didn’t lose it. No, he fired him on the spot. “If you weren’t going to do anything with it, I could’ve given it to someone else who would.”
And that’s exactly what he did. He took the money away from the guy who buried it and handed it to the one who had proven he could be trusted with more.
DON’T MISS OUT ON THE ADVENTURE
Jesus was talking about us. About what happens when we sit on what God has given us—our faith, our calling, the gospel itself.
God has entrusted us with something of infinite value. He has handed us the opportunity to share His kingdom. To invite people into the greatest, most life-changing relationship they will ever know. And He expects us to do something with it.
But when we don’t?
The parable makes that clear. The master will not let that one bag of silver sit in the ground. He will take it and give it to the person who will use it.
God works the same way. His mission will move forward. People will hear about Jesus. The question is—will we be part of it? Will we get to enjoy the adventure with Jesus on his mission? Or will we find a slice of sun coming through the window and just lay around waiting to be fed?
Because if we don’t go, He’ll still move. The mission won’t stop. The adventure will carry on—just with someone else.
And we’ll miss it.
But what if we’re like Jefe?
What if we’re the ones who wake up saying, Let’s go. Let’s do something hard. Let’s chase something eternal today.
What if we’re the ones who walk with God into the wild unknown, into the lives of others, into the kind of moments you never forget?
God’s got good plans. Wild ones. And they’re already in motion.
We just have to be willing to say yes to the adventure.
That is why the Scriptures say, “How beautiful are the feet of messengers who bring good news!" (Romans 10:14–15, NLT)
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