When I was 14, I remember riding in the passenger seat of our family mini-van, looking out the window on a bright summer day. I turned to my mom and said, “One day, I’m going to do something big for God. I don’t know what it is, and I don’t know how, but it’s going to be big.”

The conviction in my heart was so strong. If I could have grabbed my mom’s head between both of my hands and downloaded the knowing that I had straight into her being I would have. Because I didn’t want to just talk. I hesitated to tell her because what if that’s what it was? Just fourteen-year-old talk?

Understand that I had not just returned from summer camp or had some experience where I saw Jesus flashing like a neon sign. I just knew. But what I didn’t know was what “big” looked like because what people consider “big” is not usually what God considers big. But I was willing to do whatever it took to get there and I was okay with whatever it ended up looking like. Even then I had a sense that God could do miraculous things with a life that is radically surrendered to Him.