Let’s be honest. When someone says, “obedience to God,” your brain probably doesn’t jump to “funny.” You might picture serious faces, quiet rooms, maybe some guilt, and a whole lot of “do this” and “don’t do that.” But if you’ve ever actually tried to follow God—like really tried—you already know something strange.
It can get hilarious. Like… laugh-out-loud, “this cannot be real,” what-on-earth-just-happened kind of hilarious.
And that’s exactly why Funny Stories About Obedience to God exist. Because obedience isn’t about being perfect. It’s about being willing. And when you’re willing, but human?
Well—get ready for the ride.
When God Says “Go,” and You’re Like… “Huh?”
Let me tell you something right out the gate: I once felt like God told me to give a sandwich to a stranger in a parking lot. Nothing dramatic. Just a sandwich.
But I froze.
Not because I didn’t have the sandwich. I did. It was in my hand. Wrapped. Fresh. Delicious. The guy even looked hungry. But the moment felt weird. Like, what do I say? “Hey there, the Lord hath preparedeth thee this turkey on rye?”
Spoiler alert: I chickened out.
And five minutes later, I watched someone else walk over and hand him a lunch. The guy smiled like he hadn’t eaten in days.
And me? I sat in my car. Staring at my sandwich. Thinking, “Well that was awkward.”
Sometimes obedience doesn’t look like fire falling from heaven. Sometimes it looks like you, in a grocery store parking lot, holding a sandwich, learning the hard way what hesitation tastes like.
(For the record, it tasted like mustard.)
Funny Stories About Obedience to God
What happens when imperfect people try to follow a perfect God? Sometimes… it’s downright hilarious. These Funny Stories About Obedience to God prove that faith doesn’t always look graceful—but it sure makes for a great story.
1. The Time I Tried to Tithe… in Quarters
Tithing. That big, churchy word that often brings a little side-eye, a lot of awkward fumbling through wallets, and sometimes—just sometimes—a lesson you never forget.
I grew up hearing that giving back to God was important. “Give Him your first fruits,” my Sunday school teacher used to say. At the time, I didn’t have fruit.
I had a paper route, a bike with a squeaky chain, and a growing addiction to sour gummy worms. But the message stuck: Give back.
Years later, as an adult, I tried to make that a practice. Some weeks were easy—auto-debit from my bank account and boom, done.
Other weeks… well, life happened. Rent got tight. Bills piled up. And sometimes, despite my good intentions, Sunday rolled around and I had forgotten all about giving.
This story starts on one of those Sundays.
That Morning Feeling
It was one of those sleepy, slow, hit-snooze-five-times kind of Sundays. I barely made it to church on time. I remember it was a guest preacher that morning.
And man, he was on fire. You know the type—pacing the stage, sweating through his collar, voice booming. And then he said something that made me sit up straight.
He paused and looked straight at the congregation. “Some of y’all have been waiting to feel ready before giving.
You’re waiting until you have it all lined up. But maybe God’s just asking for the yes. He’ll take care of the rest.”
And my heart started thumping.
He wasn’t talking to everyone.
He was talking to me.
I knew it. I knew it.
I checked my wallet. Empty.
Checked my phone. No banking app. Forgot my card. Great.
But wait… the car.
The Ziplock Bag of Destiny
Now, a few days earlier, I had cleaned out my apartment and thrown a big old bag of quarters in my glove box. Laundry change.
The kind of stash that builds up when you never want to go to the bank. It had to be at least twenty dollars—maybe more.
And I felt it. That same little nudge I’ve come to recognize as God’s voice. Soft. Funny. A little inconvenient.
“Go get the quarters.”
I stared straight ahead. “God… quarters?”
“Yep.”
“Like… all of them?”
“You said yes.”
“Right. Okay.”
So I grabbed my keys and headed out to the parking lot like I was on a secret mission. I returned five minutes later with a clinking, suspiciously loud Ziplock bag.
The Walk of Noise
Now, if you’ve ever tried to be quiet with a bag of quarters, I can confirm: it’s impossible.
The closer I got to the offering box, the louder it got. Clink. Clink. Clink clink.
People turned. Kids stared.
I felt like a walking vending machine.
My heart was pounding. I smiled awkwardly and dropped the whole bag into the offering bin.
It was not a discreet drop. It was more like someone had dropped a toolbox into a trash can. CRASH—CLINK—KA-THUD.
People jumped.
The pastor looked up.
And in that moment, all I could think was, “Lord, please let these quarters count.”
The Reactions
After the service, I tried to sneak out the side.
Not a chance.
An older man with a deep voice stopped me near the door. “Son, was that you with the coins?”
I nodded, cheeks already red.
He laughed. “That was the loudest tithe I’ve ever heard. But I’ve never seen someone so determined to obey. That’s rare.”
I blinked.
“You reminded me what giving is really about,” he said. “It’s not about how smooth it looks. It’s about the heart.”
We shook hands, and I left church that day both mortified and oddly… full.
What Happened After
Later that week, I got a call from the church accountant.
Now that’s not a call you expect.
She laughed on the phone. “Hey, uh… just a heads up. It took our volunteer team an hour to count your bag of quarters.”
My stomach dropped. “I’m so sorry.”
“No, no. That’s not why I’m calling. I wanted to tell you… that Sunday, we were short on a missions offering we were trying to send out. Your quarters? They made up exactly what we needed—down to the dollar.”
I froze.
I had been embarrassed about the bag.
God had used it to fill a gap.
The Unexpected Lesson
You see, I thought I was just offering loose change. Something small. Something kind of silly.
But God doesn’t see things the way we do.
He saw a willing heart and turned it into provision.
And He taught me something I never forgot:
Obedience doesn’t have to be polished to be powerful.
It can be noisy.
It can be awkward.
It can look downright ridiculous.
But when it’s real? When it’s from the heart?
It moves things.
Even if you feel like you just dropped twenty bucks in quarters into a sacred offering bin in front of two hundred people.
A Funny Thing About Obedience
We always imagine obedience as this neat, holy moment where everything lines up.
But more often? It’s messy. It’s uncomfortable. It’s funny.
It makes you laugh years later because you remember how clunky it felt in the moment—but how perfectly it worked out in the end.
We don’t always see it coming.
That’s the magic.
And for the Record…
That Ziplock bag moment? It’s still a running joke in our church.
They call it “The Great Coin Drop.”
A few months later, someone even made a little sign and taped it near the offering box that said, “Quarters Welcome.”
I still get teased. But it’s the good kind of teasing. The kind that says, “We saw you obey. It made an impact.”
That’s the thing about these funny stories of obedience to God.
They start with nerves, noise, and a whole lot of self-consciousness…
…and they end with growth, grace, and a testimony you could never write yourself.
So What’s the Takeaway?
If you ever feel God nudging you toward something that seems small or silly?
Do it anyway.
Even if it’s loud.
Even if it doesn’t feel “holy enough.”
Even if it comes in a Ziplock bag.
Because that’s the stuff stories are made of.
That’s how lives shift.
That’s how heaven smiles.
And years later, when you’re telling the story to someone else?
You’ll both laugh.
And you’ll both remember:
Obedience may start with coins, but it always leads to gold.
2. God Told Me to Call My Mom. So I Did… at 2 a.m.
One awkward call. One divine moment. And a whole lot of grace in between.
Let me tell you about the night I questioned my sanity—and heard God clearer than ever.
It was a Tuesday. Or maybe a Wednesday. Honestly, I don’t even remember. All I know is that it was 2 a.m., and I was wide awake for no reason at all.
Now, I don’t usually wake up in the middle of the night. I sleep like a rock. Earthquakes, thunderstorms, burglar alarms—nothing moves me. So when my eyes popped open at 2:01 a.m., and I felt completely alert, I was confused.
And then I felt it.
That nudge.
You know the one. Not audible. Not dramatic. Just that deep-in-your-gut, gentle, unmistakable, “Hey… do this” kind of whisper.
It said: “Call your mom.”
Um… Excuse Me, God?
Let’s pause for a second.
Call my mom? At 2 a.m.? Are You serious?
Is there a divine exception clause for waking up sleeping mothers in the middle of the night?
I sat up in bed, staring into the darkness like it would offer answers. My phone was right there on the nightstand, screen glowing faintly, just waiting to ruin someone’s REM cycle.
And that’s when the wrestling started.
Me vs. God. Round 1.
“God, she’s going to think someone died.”
“Call her.”
“She’s going to yell at me.”
“Call her.”
“What would I even say?!”
“Just call.”
Silence.
I laid back down and tried to pretend I didn’t hear it. Pulled the blanket over my head like God couldn’t reach under there.
Spoiler alert: He could.
The Awkward Dial
Fifteen minutes of stubbornness later, I gave in. Mostly out of desperation. That nudge wouldn’t leave.
So I picked up the phone and dialed.
Ring… ring… ring…
She picked up on the fourth ring.
Her voice was groggy. Concerned. “Hello? What’s wrong?”
And just like that, I panicked.
I blurted out: “Nothing’s wrong! I just… I don’t know. I just wanted to call and say hi?”
Silence on the other end.
I braced myself for the sigh, the “are you serious right now?”—maybe even a mom-level scolding.
But instead?
She burst into tears.
The Call That Wasn’t About Me
Now let me give you a little background on my mom.
She’s not dramatic. She’s strong. The kind of woman who powered through night shifts, cooked dinner from scratch, and still had time to iron your shirt in the morning. She’s been through stuff. And she doesn’t break easily.
So hearing her cry? That didn’t just rattle me. It wrecked me.
Through soft sobs, she whispered, “I was just lying here praying… asking God if anyone still cared.”
I couldn’t speak.
I sat there in my dark bedroom, suddenly so aware that I almost didn’t make the call.
She continued: “I’ve just been feeling really alone lately. Like I could disappear and no one would notice. I prayed, ‘God, if You’re still listening, let someone call me. Anyone. Just let me know I’m not invisible.’”
Cue the full-body chills.
I whispered, “He heard you.”
The Divine Timing of a 2 a.m. Nudge
What are the odds?
What are the odds that God would wake me up, at the exact moment, just to make a phone call that I almost didn’t make?
But honestly… I don’t think it was just about the timing.
I think it was about the trust.
God trusted me—with a moment, with an answer, with someone’s silent prayer.
And even though I almost missed it, He used me anyway.
What Followed
We stayed on the phone for 45 minutes.
We talked about everything and nothing. She laughed a little. I cried a little. There was no magic formula, no big solutions.
Just a phone call.
Just love.
After we hung up, I sat on the edge of my bed, holding my phone like it had turned into something sacred.
It hadn’t been a sermon.
It hadn’t been a miracle.
But it had been holy.
Obedience Isn’t Always Epic
I used to think obedience meant doing big things for God.
Like selling everything you own and moving to another continent. Or giving up your job to start a ministry. Or standing on a stage and preaching fire.
And sure, sometimes it is.
But more often?
Obedience looks like calling your mom at 2 a.m. for no apparent reason, even if it makes zero sense in the moment.
Because God doesn’t just move in big lights and booming voices.
Sometimes, He moves through whisper-level love.
What If I Hadn’t Called?
I still think about that.
What if I had ignored the nudge?
What if I had just rolled over and gone back to sleep?
My mom would’ve gone to bed with tears on her pillow. Feeling forgotten. Unseen. Unheard.
Would God have sent someone else? Maybe.
But I would’ve missed the honor of being the one.
The one who showed up. Who listened. Who loved—at 2 a.m.—not because I had all the words, but because I obeyed.
Imperfectly. But willingly.
The Ridiculous Beauty of Obedience
You want to know the funny part?
The next day, I told a friend what happened. Her reaction?
She laughed and said, “Only you would call your mom in the middle of the night because God told you to.”
At first, I felt a little silly.
But the more I thought about it, the more I realized… maybe that’s the point.
Obedience will often look ridiculous to the world.
It won’t always make sense.
People may tease you. Question you. Or look at you like you’ve got four heads.
But if God is nudging? You go.
Even if it’s awkward.
Even if it’s scary.
Even if your mom answers with a sleepy “Hello?” and you panic like a teenager caught sneaking in late.
Because funny doesn’t mean wrong.
Sometimes funny just means human.
And God loves using humans.
Lessons from the Call
Since that night, I’ve learned a few things I carry with me:
1. God Speaks in Stillness.
I didn’t hear Him because I was hyper-spiritual. I heard Him because I was quiet. Awake. Uncluttered.
2. Obedience Can Look Ordinary.
A phone call. That’s all it was. But it changed something deep.
3. You Never Know What’s on the Other Side of Obedience.
You might feel silly. Or scared. But the ripple effect? That’s where the real story lives.
4. Love Looks Like Showing Up.
Even at weird hours. Even when you’re tired. Even when you don’t know what to say.
5. God Is Still in the Business of Connecting Hearts.
Sometimes, He uses a sermon. Sometimes, He uses an awkward 2 a.m. call from a groggy son.
The Follow-Up
That night changed my relationship with my mom.
After that call, she opened up more. We talked deeper. More often. With fewer filters.
She later told me, “That call reminded me that God really does see me. Not just in the big stuff. But in the dark, quiet moments too.”
And me?
It reminded me that obedience isn’t about outcomes. It’s about availability.
You show up.
He does the rest.
Final Thought
So, if you’re ever lying awake and feel that quiet nudge—call someone. Text them. Pray for them. Show up for them.
It might not seem like a big deal.
It might not even make sense.
But trust me…
You don’t want to miss the moment God lets you be the answer to someone’s whispered prayer.
Even if it’s awkward.
Even if it’s funny.
Even if it’s 2 a.m.
3. That Time I Shared Jesus with a Mime
Let me set the scene for you: I was wearing a pizza-stained hoodie, had toothpaste on my cheek, and was very much not emotionally prepared to evangelize to anyone—let alone someone in full face paint pretending to be trapped in an invisible box.
But here we are.
It started like most awkward stories do… with a church challenge.
Our youth pastor, Steve—the kind of guy who drinks cold brew like water and uses phrases like “Let’s get kingdom-minded, fam”—had just finished a fiery sermon on sharing our faith. At the end, he threw out a challenge:
“Share Jesus with at least one stranger this week. Ask God to guide you. He will.”
Now, I’m not the type to ignore a direct challenge. Especially not from a guy wearing a beanie in July.
So I prayed.
“God, I’ll do it. Just… please don’t make it weird.”
Never pray that.
Because God has a sense of humor. A huge one.
Monday: Nothing.
Tuesday: Nothing.
Wednesday: Nada.
By Thursday, I was convinced I’d missed the moment. I even asked, “Was that prayer optional?”
Then Friday came.
The Mime Appears
I was walking downtown, killing time before meeting a friend, when I saw him.
The Mime.
Black beret. White gloves. Striped shirt. The full Charlie Chaplin starter pack.
He was “walking against the wind,” arms flailing slowly like he was stuck in an invisible hurricane.
And that’s when it hit me.
Him. God said. Talk to him.
I froze mid-step.
“God… are You kidding right now?”
Of all the people on the street, God sends me to the one person who literally doesn’t talk back.
I started bargaining.
“What if I just pray near the mime? You know, like spiritually supportive but silent?”
No response. Because that’s not how prayer works.
Approaching the Silent Man
I waited until his invisible wall performance was over and hesitantly stepped closer.
He smiled at me. A big, white-painted, slightly eerie smile.
“Hi,” I said.
He nodded.
“Um… I was wondering…” I scratched my head. “Do you know Jesus?”
I promise you, the second that sentence left my mouth, three people nearby turned to look at me like I’d just asked the mime to marry me.
The mime paused. Then reached into his back pocket and pulled out… a pretend Bible.
He mimed reading. Then pointed to the sky.
“Wait… you’re a believer?”
He nodded enthusiastically and mimed clapping.
I burst out laughing. I couldn’t help it. I had spent all day dreading this moment, nervous about what I’d say, how it would go. And it turned out, the mime already knew Jesus—and apparently, even witnessed for Him in his own mimey way.
He reached out and pulled an invisible rope toward me, then pointed to his heart. Then to the street. Then back at me.
I think he was trying to say: Keep pulling people toward Jesus. From the heart. Right here, where you are.
Either that or he was inviting me into his mime act, in which case—hard pass.
We high-fived (yes, that happened), and I walked away laughing and shaking my head the whole time.
Lessons from a Silent Evangelist
That whole encounter lasted maybe five minutes. But it wrecked me in the best way.
Here’s what I learned from a mime that day:
God Can Use Anyone—Even You
I was waiting for a deep, emotionally stirring moment where someone would cry and say, “Thank you, I needed this.” Instead, God gave me a mime with a pretend Bible and an imaginary rope.
And somehow, it still mattered.
Obedience Isn’t Always Logical
It made zero sense to talk to a mime about Jesus. But God’s nudges don’t always come with logic attached. Sometimes, obedience looks like following a prompt that makes you feel ridiculous. And you do it anyway.
Evangelism Doesn’t Have to Be Serious
We’ve made sharing our faith into this high-pressure, over-prepared thing. But this? This was funny. Silly. Joyful.
And that’s okay. Joy is holy too.
The World’s Watching—So Let Them See You Try
Three strangers stared while I asked a mime about Jesus. But you know what? Maybe one of them thought, “Huh… faith people are weird, but bold.” That’s a seed, too.
I Went Back the Next Week
Okay, confession time: I hoped to find him again. I even brought an actual pocket Bible, thinking maybe we could exchange mime stories and have coffee or something.
He wasn’t there.
Maybe it was a one-time thing. Maybe he was an angel, like one of those Hebrews 13:2 situations.
Or maybe he was just a mime who loved Jesus and had no idea how deeply he impacted a nervous Christian kid that day.
Either way? I’ll never forget him.
And now whenever I hear, “Go talk to that person,” I think of the mime. And I go.
Even if it’s awkward. Even if it doesn’t go as planned. Even if they don’t respond with words at all.
A Final Word for Anyone Hesitating
If you’ve ever felt that tug to obey—whether it’s sharing Jesus, forgiving someone, starting something scary—listen.
Even if it’s weird.
Especially if it’s weird.
God’s in those moments. He has a way of using them to grow your faith, make you laugh, and remind you that you’re never walking alone.
Also… mimes are terrifying but apparently holy.
So there’s that.
4. “God Told Me to Sing”… and I Regret Nothing
Let me start with this: I am not a singer.
I mean, I sing in the car, sure. In the shower? Of course. But on key? That’s a hard no. Somewhere along the way, God handed out gifts and I must’ve been busy microwaving nachos, because singing? Not mine.
So you can imagine my confusion—panic, really—when I felt that unmistakable tug in my heart that said: “Sing.”
Not in private. Not in my car. But out loud. In public. At church.
In front of people.
People with ears.
And maybe worse—people with phones that record things.
The Setup: Just Another Sunday
It was a regular Sunday morning. The kind where your coffee tastes right, your Bible falls open to something oddly specific, and the worship team is five minutes late setting up.
Nothing special. Nothing wild. I was helping in the back with the kids’ check-in, mentally preparing for nap time and snacks. That’s when it hit me.
Hard.
It was not a voice. It wasn’t a cloud parting and angels descending. It was a feeling. Deep. Firm. Unshakeable.
Sing.
That’s all it said.
No explanation. No sheet music. No warning.
I looked around. Everyone else was busy sticking name tags on toddlers or picking Cheerios off the floor. But me? I was frozen. This was not a casual suggestion. This was one of those holy nudges—the kind you can’t un-feel.
I Bargained. Of Course I Did.
“God, listen,” I whispered under my breath, looking like a madwoman. “I know You’re sovereign and all, but I think You got the wrong gal.”
Nothing.
I tried again.
“I’m more of a behind-the-scenes type. A helper. A snack lady. Not a vocalist. Definitely not a soloist. Surely there’s someone more… competent?”
Still nothing.
In fact, the feeling only grew stronger. Like a warm pressure on my chest. You know the kind—equal parts comfort and conviction. Like God was hugging you into submission.
I Fought It With Everything I Had
My heart rate picked up. My palms got sweaty. I ducked into the hallway and started pacing. Because the main sanctuary was right there, and they were still doing soundcheck.
“I could hum quietly,” I offered. “Maybe in the bathroom? Or… maybe I could just… think about singing? That counts, right?”
Nothing doing.
Sing.
Out loud.
Right now.
You guys, I’m not proud of what happened next. I stalled.
I filled a sippy cup. I organized the crayons. I helped a kid glue macaroni to a paper plate with more enthusiasm than necessary. But that tug wouldn’t go away.
It was like a spiritual itch. The more I ignored it, the itchier it got.
Finally, one of the worship team folks popped their head into the kid’s hallway and said, “Hey, we’re short one person. Know anyone who can help with backup vocals?”
You cannot make this stuff up.
I wanted to run.
Instead, I said something I had no intention of following through on: “Yeah. Maybe.”
And Just Like That… I Was on Stage
Next thing I knew, I was holding a microphone. A live microphone. I thought about faking a cough. Pretending to faint. Hiding behind the drummer. But nope. I was there. Everyone else was mic’d up. Lights were on. The countdown was ticking.
And I was definitely about to sing in public for the first time in my entire adult life.
All I could do was pray.
And boy, did I pray.
“Lord, if I’m gonna humiliate myself, at least let it bless someone.”
And then… we started.
The first song was easy enough. I barely whispered. I was the human version of background noise. Nobody noticed me. I was fine with that.
Then came the second song. Slower. More open. And that’s when it hit again.
Sing.
This time, with everything you’ve got.
So I did.
I closed my eyes, forgot who was listening, and just… sang.
Loud.
Off-key.
Emotionally.
From the depths of my flawed, squeaky, joyful little soul.
I think I even threw in a hand raise. Like a full Pentecostal moment. If my family had been there, they would’ve assumed I’d joined a cult. But in that moment, I didn’t care.
Because something broke open inside me.
A fear.
A wall.
That old lie that says, “You have to be perfect to be used by God.”
Gone.
After the Service…
I expected weird looks. Sympathy smiles. Maybe someone gently suggesting I join hospitality instead.
But no.
People came up crying. No joke. CRYING.
One woman hugged me and said, “I don’t know what it was about your voice—but it made me feel something I haven’t felt in years. Like… like it was okay to be a mess.”
WHAT?
Another guy told me he felt like God used my “rawness” (his word, not mine) to break through some bitterness he had been carrying for weeks.
I had to laugh.
Because here I was, sweating through my church blouse, convinced I had single-handedly derailed the entire worship set… and somehow, God used it.
Not in spite of my imperfection. But through it.
What I Learned (Besides Never Underestimate God’s Sense of Humor)
God is not looking for performance. He’s looking for participation.
He wants your yes. Not your flawless.
Obedience rarely feels convenient.
Sometimes it feels terrifying. Embarrassing. Confusing. But it’s never pointless.
You don’t have to be “qualified” to obey.
I didn’t go to seminary. I didn’t have vocal training. I barely knew the lyrics. But that wasn’t the point. The point was saying yes—even if my voice cracked on the high notes.
There is freedom in looking foolish—for the right reasons.
I’d rather be awkward for Jesus than polished for myself. Any day.
Sometimes, God tells you to sing because someone else needs to hear a cracked, human voice remind them of grace.
The world is already full of auto-tuned perfection. What it’s starving for is real.
So… Would I Do It Again?
You know what?
Yes.
A hundred times yes.
Even if my voice still sounds like a goat learning to whistle.
Even if people stare or snicker or whisper.
Because now I know what happens when you follow that holy nudge—even when it makes no sense.
You get to see God show up in the most unexpected ways.
You get to laugh at yourself. A lot.
And best of all?
You get to feel that rush of peace that only comes when your heart and your steps are aligned—shaky, squeaky, but aligned—with the One who calls you.
So if you ever feel God tugging at your heart to do something scary? Something weird?
Sing.
Dance.
Pray in public.
Hug the stranger.
Call your mom at 2 a.m.
Do it.
You may not go viral. You may not even get a thank you.
But you just might change someone’s day.
Or their heart.
Or their life.
Or maybe?
Your own.
And that, my friend, is totally worth it.
Even if you hit the wrong note.
Especially if you hit the wrong note.
5. The Church Potluck Miracle (Sort Of)
Church potlucks are the unofficial Olympics of Christian hospitality. You bring your best dish. You hope it lands.
You pray people don’t secretly scrape it into the trash when you’re not looking. Some folks bring their grandmama’s famous baked mac and cheese.
Others bring store-bought cookies and just slap them on a paper plate to pretend they made them. But everyone shows up with food—and a bit of pride, too.
And that’s where this story begins. With me. And a crockpot full of beans.
I wish I could say it was some divine recipe handed down through generations, but no. I had completely forgotten about the potluck until the night before.
All I had in the pantry was a bag of dry pinto beans and… not much else. But God had been working on my heart lately—about obedience, about not making excuses, about showing up even when I didn’t feel “ready.”
So, beans it was.
Why Did I Say Yes?
Let me back up.
That whole week, I’d felt this little nudge. You know that feeling when God keeps poking at your spirit with the same message, over and over? Mine was simple: “Serve.”
Now I’d love to say I thought He meant something noble, like volunteering with orphans in a remote jungle. But no. God meant: “Sign up to help at the church potluck.”
And like any good Christian who overthinks everything, I asked a million questions.
“Serve with what? I don’t cook fancy.”
“What if people hate it?”
“Does Jell-O count?”
But the answer didn’t change. Just… serve.
So, I did what any reluctant follower would do. I clicked “yes” on the sign-up form and hoped Jesus would miraculously provide a casserole. Spoiler: He did not.
Enter: The Beans
It was 10:47 p.m. the night before the potluck when I stared into my cabinet like it might grow a lasagna. All I found was that bag of dried pinto beans and a can of questionable green chiles. No meat. No seasoning beyond salt and pepper. Just beans.
I soaked them overnight like the internet told me. The next morning, I tossed them in the slow cooker, prayed for a culinary resurrection, and walked away.
About three hours in, I got bold. I added a diced onion, some garlic powder, and all the salsa I could find. It smelled… fine. Not great. Not terrible. Just aggressively bean-y.
I brought the crockpot to church, tucked it in among the shining trays of chicken Alfredo, sweet potato soufflé, and three kinds of pie, and prayed no one would notice mine was the saddest-looking dish on the table.
I even made a little label: “Pinto Bean Surprise.”
I hoped the “surprise” would be that it actually had flavor.
The Miracle (Kind Of)
Now here’s where it gets weird.
The first person who took a scoop was an older lady named Miss Carol. She’s sweet, but known for giving her opinions with zero filter. I braced myself.
She took a bite, paused, and then turned to me and said, “Did you use cumin in this?”
“No,” I said, confused.
“Huh,” she said. “Tastes just like my aunt’s recipe from Mexico. I haven’t had that in 30 years.”
She went back for seconds.
Then another man walked by, scooped some onto his plate, and a few minutes later, came back and asked, “Did you smoke these beans?”
“Nope,” I said. “Just a crockpot.”
“They taste smoked,” he said, shaking his head. “I swear my uncle made something just like this over mesquite. Took hours.”
I laughed. “Well, mine took six hours and a panic attack.”
More people tried it. Some asked for the recipe. I shrugged and told them it was mostly desperation and salsa.
Here’s the Thing
I stood there, completely floored. These beans were basic. Borderline bland, if I’m being honest. But somehow, they were blessing people. Comforting them. Stirring up memories. Making them smile.
And I realized something wild in that moment.
It wasn’t about the beans.
It never was.
God had been asking me to obey—not to impress.
He wasn’t looking for perfection. He wasn’t asking me to whip up a gourmet dish or go viral with a potluck recipe. He just wanted me to show up. To bring what I had. Even if all I had was a bag of beans and a spoonful of faith.
That Humbling Conversation
As I was wrapping up, a young woman I didn’t know came over. She’d been quiet most of the day, sitting alone, picking at her plate.
She tapped my arm and said, “Hey. I just wanted to say thank you for bringing that bean dish.”
I blinked. “Really?”
“Yeah. I grew up in foster care. I only ever lived with one Hispanic family. They made beans like that. Your dish made me feel… home, I guess. Even just for a minute.”
I teared up. Right there in the fellowship hall, next to the mashed potatoes.
God used beans.
He used my last-minute, half-baked, “please don’t let anyone gag on this” dish to minister to someone’s heart. It didn’t make sense. But God doesn’t always make sense in the way we expect.
Sometimes He works through parted seas. Sometimes through prophets. And sometimes… through pinto beans.
Lessons From a Crockpot
That whole day taught me more than any sermon.
God Uses What You’ve Got
You don’t have to be fancy. You don’t have to be the best. You just have to be obedient. Even if that obedience looks like a slow cooker and a hope for the best.
Miracles Don’t Always Look Like Fireworks
Sometimes they look like someone getting a taste of childhood. Or a smile from someone who’s been lonely. Or a moment where someone feels remembered—seen—even through a silly little dish.
Stop Trying to Impress, Just Show Up
We waste so much energy trying to prove ourselves. To be enough. God’s not asking us to be impressive. He’s asking us to be available.
A Final Thought
Obedience can feel small. Like it doesn’t matter. Like it’s just one more box to check.
But obedience is never small in God’s hands. It’s where miracles begin. It’s where lives get touched—even if we don’t see it. Even if it’s just a bean dish in a plastic bowl.
And okay, maybe it wasn’t a real miracle. No one walked on water. The beans didn’t multiply (though they did cause some “movement” later, if you catch my drift). But it was a moment. A holy little whisper in a day full of noise.
It reminded me that God’s power isn’t limited by my ingredients. Or my skills. Or my schedule.
He just wants a willing heart.
And maybe a can of green chiles.
6. When I Baptized Myself by Accident
Let’s just get this out of the way: I cannot cook. Like, at all.
We’re not talking “burns toast sometimes” level. I’m talking “accidentally set off the smoke alarm trying to boil water” level. So when the church newsletter said, “Bring a dish to share for the annual potluck!” my heart sank.
Most normal people would buy something from the store. A nice rotisserie chicken. A tub of potato salad. Some cookies in a plastic clamshell with the store label still awkwardly on them.
But me? No. No, no. I was going to be obedient. I felt it in my soul. That little whisper—“Make something yourself.” Ugh.
I stared at my oven like it had personally offended me.
The “Whisper” Gets Louder
I tried to ignore it. I even walked through the grocery store, trying to compromise with God.
“What about a pre-made lasagna, Lord? I could microwave it. It’s technically cooking!”
Nothing. Silence.
I passed by the boxed brownie mixes and felt a little nudge. Brownies? Okay. That I could try. Brownies were foolproof, right?
Spoiler alert: No, they are not.
Disaster #1: The Great Brownie Fiasco
I get home. I preheat the oven (progress!). I grab the mix, follow the directions to the letter. Oil? Check. Eggs? Check. Water? Check.
I pour it into the pan. I even line it with parchment paper because I once saw someone do that on YouTube.
Then I get distracted. TikTok. Laundry. A 12-minute video about how to fold fitted sheets. You know, the essentials.
Forty-five minutes later, I remember. THE BROWNIES.
I sprint to the kitchen like I’m auditioning for America’s Next Top Firefighter. Open the oven. Smoke. Not a lot, just enough to tell me these brownies are less “gooey delight” and more “paved parking lot.”
But here’s the thing. I took them out, and for some reason… they didn’t look that bad.
Like, maybe I could get away with this? I cut them into neat squares. Arranged them on a paper plate with a little doily underneath (to distract from the taste, obviously). Covered them with cling wrap.
I convinced myself that God honors obedience, not perfection.
And off I went.
Welcome to the Holy Chaos of Church Potluck
Church potlucks are sacred spaces. If you know, you know.
Every table was covered in crockpots. Jello molds from the 70s. Pies that looked like Martha Stewart herself dusted them with love and powdered sugar. Tupperware everywhere. Someone even brought homemade tamales. From scratch. Who even does that?
I slid my brownie plate onto the dessert table and backed away quickly, hoping nobody noticed me.
Enter: The Kid
Fifteen minutes in, I see a small boy—maybe 7 years old—head straight to the dessert table.
He picks one of my brownies. I panic internally.
He takes a bite. Pauses. I hold my breath.
Then he runs—runs—to his mom shouting, “These brownies are amazing!”
His mom, naturally curious, asks where he got them. He points… right at my plate.
She walks over, tries one herself. Nods thoughtfully.
“Oh wow. These are good! Did you make these?”
I had a choice. Lie and live. Or be honest and… well, die inside.
I fessed up. “Yeah, I, uh… tried a new recipe. Kind of winged it, to be honest.”
She smiles warmly. “Well, whatever you did, they’re fantastic.”
I blink.
Wait—what?
The Unexpected Miracle
Over the next hour, people kept coming back for those brownies. Someone asked for the recipe. A teenager took three and said, “Best dessert here.” I was baffled.
These were burned. Like, crispy edges and a dry middle burned.
And yet… people loved them.
It didn’t make sense. Unless—
I looked up and whispered, “Did you… fix my brownies?”
Because I swear to you, God either performed a minor culinary miracle or the people at my church have zero taste buds.
But maybe it wasn’t about the brownies at all.
Obedience, Burnt or Not
Here’s what I learned that day: Obedience doesn’t mean perfection. It just means doing what you’re asked. Even if it’s weird. Even if you stink at it.
God’s not sitting up there waiting to grade your potluck contributions like some heavenly Gordon Ramsay. He’s just looking for a “yes.”
My “yes” came through a crusty pan of half-scorched brownies. But the ripple effect? Who knows?
Maybe that little boy hadn’t smiled all week. Maybe his mom had a hard morning and needed something sweet. Maybe someone saw me, this hot mess express trying her best, and thought, “Well if she can try, so can I.”
Obedience often looks small. Sometimes it smells like burnt chocolate. Sometimes it’s sticky and messy and not at all Pinterest-worthy.
But it’s never wasted.
Would I Do It Again?
Oh, absolutely not. Next year I’m bringing paper plates and calling it holy service.
But I’ll never forget what it felt like to say yes. To follow that nudge. To offer up something imperfect and watch God do something weirdly wonderful with it.
The brownies? Yeah, they were kind of awful. But obedience?
Obedience was delicious.
7. The Holy Nudge to Hug a Stranger
(A funny, awkward, and heartwarming tale of one very unexpected obedience)
Let me start with this: I am not a hugger.
I am the kind of person who gives polite waves from across the parking lot. If you lean in for a hug, I may turn it into a high five. Or a side pat. Maybe just nod and smile.
So, the day God nudged me to hug a stranger? Let’s just say… I was not thrilled.
The Setup
It was a Tuesday. The kind of Tuesday that feels like a Monday wearing a fake mustache. Everything was off. I spilled coffee on my shirt. Got stuck behind a garbage truck on the way to work. Forgot my wallet. You know the drill.
And I was grumpy. The kind of grumpy where you’re nice on the outside but muttering prayers like, “God, please keep everyone far away from me today, amen.”
I stopped at the gas station on my way home to grab a soda and regain a shred of dignity. That’s when I saw her.
The Stranger
She was standing by the ice machine, hugging herself. Not just physically, but emotionally too. You could see it. She looked so alone. Eyes down, shoulders curled in, like she was trying to make herself invisible.
I don’t know how to explain it, but I felt it in my chest. That soft, unmistakable nudge. Not a voice. Just a sense.
“Hug her.”
I actually looked up like, “God, is that You? Because that’s a hard no.”
I mean, who does that? Who hugs random strangers by the gas station ice machine?
I tried to ignore it. Paid for my soda. Walked to the door. But the nudge came again, stronger.
“Hug. Her.”
I sighed so loud the cashier gave me a weird look.
The Inner Debate
This is where the real battle began. I paced around my car like a lunatic.
Me: “God, You can’t just tell people to go around hugging strangers. That’s not safe. Or socially acceptable. Or normal!”
God: Silence. But somehow still saying, “Go.”
So I did what any obedient, stubborn, awkward believer would do.
I stalled.
I pretended to check my tires. I reorganized my cup holders. I drank my soda very, very slowly.
And all the while, she just stood there. Still hugging herself. Still looking like the world had dropped her off and forgotten to pick her up.
The Hug
Finally, I gave in. With the confidence of a nervous cat, I walked up to her.
“Um, hi,” I said, sounding absolutely unhinged.
She looked up. Eyes red. She didn’t respond, just blinked at me like I might be handing out flyers.
I smiled in that panicked, please-don’t-mace-me kind of way. “This is going to sound super weird, and I promise I’m not a creep, but… I just felt like I was supposed to give you a hug.”
She stared. I stared.
Time stood still.
Then… she started crying.
Not like a tear. Like a full-on, trembling, sobbing kind of cry.
She nodded. That’s all. Just a tiny nod.
So I opened my arms, and she walked right in.
I hugged a stranger.
Right there, next to melting bags of ice and windshield washer fluid.
And you know what?
It was the most sacred moment I’ve ever experienced in a gas station parking lot.
The Aftermath
We stood there for maybe thirty seconds. Maybe a minute. I don’t know. But it felt like a lifetime.
When she pulled back, she whispered, “I just asked God if anyone in the world still cared.”
Cue me trying not to cry like a blubbering mess.
She wiped her eyes, said “thank you,” and walked away.
I never got her name. I never saw her again.
But I sat in my car for a long time afterward. Holding an empty soda cup and a full heart.
Lessons from a Hug
You know what I learned from that strange, holy moment?
God’s instructions don’t always make sense. They’re not always convenient or comfortable or even explainable. But they’re always purposeful.
Sometimes obedience looks like Moses parting a sea. And sometimes it looks like an awkward person giving a random hug by a gas station.
And funny thing? Obedience isn’t always this big, dramatic sacrifice. Sometimes, it’s just a simple act wrapped in weirdness and love.
Why It’s Funny—Now
Let me be clear: I was mortified. For like, a solid 48 hours. I kept replaying it in my head, thinking, “Did I actually hug someone at a Circle K?”
But the more I told friends the story, the more I laughed.
Because it’s so me. And also so God.
Me: Nervous. Socially awkward. Non-hugger.
God: Nudging me into something totally out of character… but fully in line with His.
Isn’t that how He works?
He picks the least likely people to do the most surprisingly human things—so nobody can claim the credit but Him.
Let’s Talk Real Obedience
When we think about “obedience to God,” we often imagine big, dramatic moments.
Quitting your job. Moving across the country. Preaching to thousands.
But most of the time?
It’s small stuff.
It’s texting someone when you’d rather scroll.
It’s biting your tongue when you want to snap.
It’s hugging someone you’ve never met because something deep in you knows it’s the right thing.
And when we obey—even in those weird, wild ways—it unlocks something holy. Something healing. Not just for them… but for us too.
What If I Had Said No?
I think about that sometimes.
What if I’d shrugged it off?
What if I’d walked away?
She might’ve gone on feeling invisible. I would’ve missed the chance to be part of a miracle.
Because that’s what it was.
Not a flashy, spotlight miracle. But a quiet one. A healing one. The kind that changes both people forever.
So Yeah… I Hugged a Stranger
And I’d do it again.
(Well, maybe. I still don’t love hugging.)
But I do love that God invites us into the weird and the wonderful. That He uses even the awkward, unsure, socially-anxious among us to spread His love in the wildest ways.
You just have to be willing.
Even if it means standing in front of a gas station, sweating, praying, and eventually hugging a stranger while people drive by wondering what in the world is happening.
Because sometimes, the most powerful obedience is the one that makes you laugh later.
And sometimes, laughter is holy too.
Why Obedience Feels So Weird?
Let’s talk about the elephant in the pews: Obedience feels awkward.
It just does.
Because deep down, most of us are walking contradictions. We want to obey God. We really do. But we also want to know why. We want details. We want timelines. We want guarantees.
And what does God often give?
“Go.”
That’s it.
Just… go.
Now don’t get me wrong. Sometimes the command is clear and calm and spiritual and you feel all warm and fuzzy. But other times?
You’re just standing there in your pajamas thinking, “Did God just tell me to text my ex?”
(He didn’t. Probably. I mean… double-check. But still.)
The Comedy of Being a “Yes” Person
I knew this one guy—let’s call him Joel—who once said yes to God without even knowing what he was saying yes to. He was the kind of guy who got so fired up during worship he’d promise God anything.
So one night, after a really emotional church service, Joel prayed: “God, send me wherever you want. I’m yours.”
The next day? His pastor asked if he’d be willing to lead the middle school boys Sunday school class.
Now if you’ve ever been around twelve-year-old boys… you know.
They smell weird, ask impossible questions, and test every limit known to man.
Joel said yes anyway. God bless him. But two Sundays in, he came to me looking like he’d been to war. He said, “I thought I was going to Africa. Not the basement with these wild little gremlins.”
And yet, weeks later? He told me it was the best thing he’d ever done. He saw them grow. They listened to him. One even brought his Bible without being asked.
Sometimes obedience sounds big in your head. But when it lands? It’s middle schoolers with gum in their hair and questions about dinosaurs in the Bible.
Obedience Isn’t About Getting It Right
Here’s the thing people forget: God doesn’t expect us to get it perfect. Just to get moving.
A lot of times we act like obedience is pass/fail.
Like there’s one right answer. One perfect response.
But have you read the Bible?
Half those people did not get it right the first time.
Moses argued. Jonah ran. Peter denied. Thomas doubted. And don’t even get me started on Samson. That man was a walking warning label.
But God didn’t give up on any of them.
And thank goodness He doesn’t give up on us, either.
Why God Uses the Awkward Ones?
Maybe you’re thinking: “But I’m not bold. I’m not confident. I stutter. I sweat too much. I panic at eye contact.”
Congratulations. You’re exactly the kind of person God loves using.
Because when we mess up—or look foolish—or fumble a moment—but still try?
That’s when people see that it’s not us. It’s Him.
We’re not impressive.
But we’re available.
And in God’s world? Available is way more powerful than impressive.
Let’s Be Real, Though… Sometimes It’s Just Funny
Okay, confession time.
I once tried to obey a little nudge I felt during a worship service. I felt like God was telling me to go encourage this guy who looked super sad.
So I did.
But here’s the thing: I’m not smooth.
I walked up, smiled, and said, “Hey man, I just want you to know that God sees your pain.”
He looked confused.
Then he burst out laughing.
Turns out he wasn’t sad. He had just sneezed and looked tired because of allergies.
So I stood there… speechless. Face red. Foot lodged firmly in my mouth.
And yet, a week later, he told me that moment weirdly encouraged him. That even though I got the “why” wrong, the act of someone coming over made him feel noticed.
God used the awkward.
Again.
Funny Obedience Isn’t Just Accidental
Sometimes it feels like our obedience bloopers are random. But what if they’re not?
What if God actually loves those moments?
What if our weird, fumbled, goofy obedience is part of His design?
He doesn’t need perfect soldiers. He wants real children.
Real people. Who mess up, but keep going.
Who laugh at themselves. And get back up. And try again.
People who obey even when it makes no sense, even when it’s messy, even when there’s mustard on the sandwich and gum on the Bible.
It Teaches Us Not to Take Ourselves Too Seriously
Following God can sometimes feel so… serious.
And yes, obedience matters. Faith matters. But you know what else matters?
Joy.
Laughter.
Not taking ourselves too seriously.
Because when we loosen up, we’re more likely to obey. We’re not paralyzed by perfection. We’re free to try, and fail, and try again.
Like a kid learning to dance.
Have you ever watched a toddler dance? They don’t care if it’s choreographed. They just move.
And that’s what God wants.
Just move.
The Real Win? Intimacy, Not Achievement
Let’s not miss this part.
Obedience isn’t about impressing God.
It’s about walking with Him.
Trusting Him.
Being close enough to hear His whisper—even if you mishear it sometimes.
Because the more you obey, even in the awkward and funny ways, the more your relationship with God grows. And suddenly, you’re not just doing things for God. You’re doing life with Him.
And that’s the whole point.
A Quick Word to the Overthinkers
If you’re still overthinking it… I get it.
I’ve delayed more than once because I wasn’t sure.
But maybe this will help:
If what you feel led to do is loving, kind, patient, humble, or generous—go ahead and do it.
Even if it feels awkward.
Even if you second-guess yourself.
Even if it means you might accidentally tell a guy with allergies that God sees his pain.
God isn’t mad when we try. He smiles.
So try.
When Obedience Feels Like a Joke
Sometimes God’s instructions feel borderline ridiculous.
Like, “Really, God? You want me to pray with my barista right now, while people are in line behind me, tapping their feet?”
Or, “You want me to apologize to her? She literally ghosted me for two years.”
Or, “You want me to wear that shirt? The one with the Christian pun on it that makes me look like I’m in a 90s youth group?”
Yep. Sometimes obedience feels like a joke.
But often? It’s those exact moments that unlock something sacred.
A connection. A healing. A breakthrough.
You’ll never know if you don’t try.
So… Why Even Bother With Obedience?
Let me wrap it with this.
Obedience to God isn’t about rule-following. It’s about relationship.
And funny stories? They’re just part of the ride.
They remind us we’re not perfect.
They remind us God uses real people.
They remind us that even when we mess up, we’re loved.
And honestly? They give us great stories to tell later.
Because nothing beats sitting around a campfire or a living room and saying, “You’ll never believe what happened when I tried to obey God that one time…”
Final Thought
If you’ve ever felt too weird, too anxious, too shy, or too clumsy to obey God, take heart.
You’re exactly the kind of person God delights in using.
So go ahead.
Make the move. Send the message. Offer the sandwich. Teach the kids. Text your ex—wait, no, don’t do that.
But seriously—go ahead.
Be awkward. Be funny. Be human.
God can work with that.
In fact, He prefers it.
Because when we stop performing and start participating, something beautiful happens.
And sometimes? It’s also absolutely hilarious.
