When I was a kid, my dad was a certified instructor for Stephen Covey’s The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People, primarily in corporate settings. As a result, nearly every car ride of my childhood was soundtracked by Covey’s measured voice via cassette tape.
One of Covey’s central principles was this: Begin with the end in mind.
It’s a solid rule for business and planning. Most Americans don’t. Retirement gets delayed. College tuition sneaks up. Health is postponed until it can’t be. We drift without design. That’s what Socrates spoke of as the “unexamined life.”
And there is biblical wisdom in that instinct—to begin with a view to the end—but with a crucial difference. In Scripture, the “end” does not originate in our minds. It exists in God’s.
He is the main character of the human story. We are not the authors; we are the supporting cast. Friends and villains alike, we are forever moving across the stage of His purposes.
I think this is an important distinction.
This afternoon, during an online RENEW.org Learning Community event, I heard Dr. Carl Williams of Harding University—co-author with Bobby Harrington of Trust and Follow Jesus—speak on discipleship. (If you’re unfamiliar with this simple, effective, reproducible disciple making guide, order a copy.)
But in Dr. Williams’s presentation, he offered a perspective that lodged in me: focus on making your beginning.
“Friends and villains alike, we are forever moving across the stage of His purposes.”
The “end in mind” of Old Testament prophecy is breathtaking in scope: a day when the whole earth will be filled with the knowledge of the glory of God; when God’s kingdom stands unshakable; when the nations stream to Mount Zion to learn the ways of Israel’s God. The language is expansive, universal—so sweeping that one could be forgiven for drifting toward postmillennial expectations. History itself seems to lean that way, taking the long view.
And in one sense, it has.
Over the last two thousand years, Jesus’ movement has crossed continents. Churches now exist in nearly every uttermost part of the earth, faithfully bearing witness to the gospel. Hospitals. Universities. Human rights. The abolition of slavery. Care for the poor. Much has been set right along the way. The gospel has proven astonishingly generative.
But here’s the subtle danger.
It is easy to become dazzled by that grand vision—to begin imagining yourself as part of something large, visible, and historic. Easy to turn your own sense of calling into a subtle idol. Easy to mistake scale for faithfulness, and platform for obedience. We start dreaming about doing something great for God, while overlooking the small, demanding work directly in front of us.
“We start dreaming about doing something great for God, while overlooking the small, demanding work directly in front of us.”
Yet here is the paradox:
Jesus did not begin by taking a platform and calling the world.
He began by calling a few.
Yes, there is that great Johannine moment when Jesus says that when He is lifted up, He will draw all people to himself. The cross becomes the cosmic magnet. But before the cross, before the crowds, before the nations—there were fishermen, tax collectors, and zealots gathered around a rabbi on dusty roads.
He did not start with scale but proximity.
He did not begin with systems but souls.
This is where Covey’s principle—I believe—gives way to an even more excellent way than mere habits of successful planners and executives.
Jesus did not merely begin with the end in mind.
He began with the beginning in mind.
He understood that the renewal of the world would come through slow, patient, relational formation of disciples who make disciples. That the kingdom advances not first through institutions, views, platforms, or movements—but through apprentices. Through meals. Through long walks. Through correction, failure, forgiveness, and shared life.
“He understood that the renewal of the world would come through slow, patient, relational formation of disciples who make disciples.”
Make no mistake. God’s end is global.
But His method is personal.
And that remains the logic of discipleship.
We are tempted to imagine that faithfulness looks like impact at scale—bigger reach, broader influence, visible success, record numbers and spectacles.
Jesus seems less interested in that. He wagers the future of the cosmos on a handful of folks willing to learn His way of life.
Which suggests something humbling. The kingdom does not arrive through our grand strategies. The upshot, however, is that God is moving toward the end He has in mind through ordinary people saying yes, one life at a time.
God holds the end. We are entrusted with the beginning. So, who in your life are you inviting to trust and follow Jesus?
