I used to think you had to be special for God to use you,
but now I know you simply need to say yes.
I love playing practical jokes on my buddies. My friend Doug made the big mistake of telling me one time where he was going to celebrate his tenth wedding anniversary. He had rented the penthouse suite at a fancy hotel and was going to surprise his bride with an overnight stay. It was way too tempting for me not to come up with a prank.
A few days later, Sweet Maria and I went to the fancy hotel and checked in as if we were Doug and his wife. I walked up to the clerk at the front desk and confidently said that I was Doug and wanted to know if our room was ready. The room was prepaid so they tossed me the room key and asked me if there was anything they could do for me. I told them there indeed was and I’d be calling down from the room soon—I had a list. Sweet Maria and I skipped to the elevator that rocketed us to the top floor of the hotel to a huge pair of doors. We each grabbed a handle and turned at the same time. We were greeted by a magnificent room, the kind that a professional interior decorator had dressed from top to bottom. On the far side of the room was a wall of windows with a stunning view of the city on one side and the bay on the other. It was a spectacular view, and the room was enormous. I think it must have had its own zip code.
I picked up the phone, which went straight to the front desk, and we ordered room service. We had lobster for the first course. For dinner: lightly sautéed vegetables over rice and salmon. For dessert: actually, I’m not sure what the dessert was, but the table-side server set it on fire. It was so cool we ordered seconds. We turned on some beautiful music and danced. We laughed. We had them send up ice cream—just because we could. After we had finished soaking in the panoramic views and the last of the plates had been cleared, we signed the waiter up for a big tip, tidied the room, and split.
When Doug and his wife checked in to the hotel several hours later, they were led to their magnificent room by a slightly confused but compliant bellman. Hadn’t they already checked in? What a fantastic night they had, I’m told. The next day, when Doug went to check out, the concierge slid the bill across the counter. Doug’s eyes popped when he saw a four-hundred-dollar room service bill.
From our house the next morning I was imagining what must have been his futile protest over and over in my head as I smiled. “Hey, wait! I didn’t order room service! I didn’t order seconds! Extra ice cream? I would never leave a tip this big!”
Then the nickel must have dropped when he realized I had pranked him as he groaned under his breath, “Bob!”
Doug’s been trying to get back at me for years. But he can’t, because I’m a lawyer. You don’t get into and through law school like I did without gaining a few street smarts.
A few years later, however, I received a phone call from a fellow who introduced himself through a heavy accent as the ambassador from Uganda. I immediately thought, Yeah, right, and you have my home phone number. I knew it had to be Doug or someone he put up to the task. I listened intently as the caller spoke and I played along.
“So, Bob. I’m aware of what you have been doing in Uganda over the past several years with the children in the jails and with the judiciary. I’m very pleased and want to thank you on behalf of the president. In fact, I am so pleased that I want to know if you would consider something.” I couldn’t wait to hear what Doug had cooked up.
“I want to know if you will be counsel for the Republic of Uganda.”
Counsel? I thought. Uganda needs a lawyer? Why? Does someone owe them money? And why would they want me to be their legal counsel anyway?
No matter. This was just Doug’s weak attempt to get even for the hotel incident. I covered the phone and whispered to Sweet Maria, “It’s Doug. He’s playing a prank on me. I’ll tell you more in a second, but you’re about to hear me say yes a lot, okay?”
Yes after yes left my lips, and the conversation ended with Doug or his hired gun saying he was leaving for Uganda and would call me back in about two months when he returned.
“Yes, of course,” I replied. “Have a nice trip. Great to talk to you. Say hello to everyone from me.”
The next two months were busy and passed in a blink. I hadn’t given much thought to Doug’s call and kind of figured that his joke had gone its course. And then the phone rang.
The caller introduced himself again as the ambassador from Uganda. Through his thick accent, which was a spot-on match to the voice from the first call, he said, “Bob, I only have a few minutes. I want you to know that you need to meet me in New York on Saturday.” I remembered that I had decided to say yes no matter how outlandish the request was.
“New York? Yes, you bet.” I was feeling some moxie and said, “I was hoping you’d ask. See you there!” The person with the accent gave me the address of one of the nicer hotels in Manhattan.
I was in for an adventure, for sure. But to drop everything and hop on a plane all to make my friend feel like we were even—it was a lot to concede, even for me. But a yes is a yes, so off I went.
When I got off the plane at Kennedy Airport a few days later and headed downtown to the hotel, I was thinking, I may have gotten Doug for a four-hundred-dollar lobster dinner, but he’s getting me back and then some. Look at me. I just flew across the country to New York so I could supposedly be Uganda’s lawyer. I shook my head and quietly chuckled as the taxi driver drove me into the city. Getting out of the car at the hotel, I fully expected to pick up a note card in the lobby from Doug that said, “You came all this way. Go ahead and get the lobster—it’s on me!” I was milling about in the hotel lobby and saw an entourage pull up with little Ugandan flags waving above the headlights. Then several members of Uganda’s government strode into the lobby. I hadn’t even considered that this could be real, so I was shocked. I hesitated even identifying myself and thought I could slip back to the airport unnoticed.
Ambassador Kamuninwire came bouncing up. “I’m Ambassador Kamuninwire.”
“Of course you are!” I replied as I gave him a hug. The ambassador was a jolly, brilliant, and affable man who looked to be in his late fifties. He had a heavy yet wonderfully British accent, as do most Ugandans. He isn’t the kind of guy who walks—he gallops. He has the swagger of a high school quarterback and the smile of a pastor. He is the kind of guy you instantly feel like you’ve known for years.
The ambassador gathered the dignitaries from Uganda around him and with one arm around my shoulder introduced me. “This is our new consul for the Republic of Uganda.”
“Consul?” I laughed out loud. “You said that you wanted me to be ‘counsel,’ you know, a lawyer, right?” The ambassador didn’t skip a beat.
He let out another one of his jolly laughs. “No, Bob, I said consul, not counsel! We want you to be a diplomat representing the Republic of Uganda to the United States.” He continued, “I’ve got the paperwork all completed. All you need to do is give me a couple of passport pictures and I’ll submit it to Uganda’s parliament for approval.”
I did what I told Sweet Maria I’d do every time he asked me to do something. I said yes.
Four months passed without any further updates, but then word came that the parliament for the Republic of Uganda had approved the appointment. I got a call shortly thereafter from someone with a stern voice, the kind of voice that doesn’t approve of monkey business and wears dark blue suits. It was the State Department informing me of the customary FBI background check being done on my file. “I have a file? How cool is that?” Apparently all of my misdeeds must have been overlooked, and I was approved by the State Department for appointment as consul for the Republic of Uganda to the United States. My diplomatic credentials were issued within weeks, and my family and I planned for the big ceremony.
At this point, someone told me about the perks of being a diplomat. First, I would get some really cool license plates. With those, I can literally park anywhere. On the sidewalk, on the grass, on second base in Fenway Park, in your garage, wherever. Second, I get a set of Ugandan flags to put on my car. I pictured those diplomatic license plates and a couple of Ugandan flags on my ride. Sweet! Finally, and definitely the coolest part, is that you get a card from the State Department that gives you diplomatic immunity. I wasn’t exactly sure what diplomatic immunity meant, so I asked around to see if I could kill someone. Not someone important, of course, but someone normal—like Doug. I never got a call back on that question, so I’m operating under the assumption that I can.
I think God sometimes uses the completely inexplicable events in our lives to point us toward Him. We get to decide each time whether we will lean in toward what is unfolding and say yes or back away. The folks who were following Jesus in Galilee got to decide the same thing each day because there was no road map, no program, and no certainty. All they had was this person, an idea, and an invitation to come and see.
I like the passage in Scripture where God chooses Moses to lead. Moses puts up a fight, saying nobody will follow him. God gives him three miracles to perform to establish confidence with his audience, but Moses protests again, saying he stutters and can’t speak and asks God to please choose somebody else. When Moses protests yet again, God gets a little angry and instructs Moses to take Aaron with him. I don’t think it was because Moses needed Aaron but because Moses mistakenly thought he had to be somebody important in order to be part of what God was going to do.
I can relate. I’m the guy checking into my buddy’s room to spend a bunch of his money on room service. Then I’m the guy who thinks he’s being pranked. Then I’m the guy who thinks he’s being asked to be a lawyer when really he’s being asked to be a diplomat. Then I’m the guy who is sticking Ugandan flags on his car. Am I the right guy? I don’t know, but I’m the guy being asked, and the last thing I want to do is miss an opportunity or make God mad, so I just keep saying yes. Maybe God is doing some inexplicable things in your life. Each of us gets to decide every time whether to lean in or step back—to say yes, ignore it, or tell God why He has the wrong person.
There’s this beautiful story in the Bible about a guy named Joseph that a friend of mine named Don tells all the time. The story of Joseph has more turns in it than a mountain road in Colorado. It’s an emotional roller coaster, but it ends up with Joseph being second-in-command in Egypt. And twice at the end of the book Joseph says that the reason God put him where He did was to save many lives. And if you think about it, the reason God chose Moses was to save many lives. And the same goes for Jonah and Peter, all the apostles, and Jesus. And us, too, for that matter. We were all meant to save many lives. God is always trying to save lives, and it seems like He usually uses the least likely people to do it.
So the next time God asks you to do something that is completely inexplicable, something you’re sure is a prank because it requires a decision or courage that’s way over your pay grade, something that might even save lives, say yes. You never know— there might be some cool flags in it for you.