Miracles, signs and wonders?

Have you ever dropped the baton? Were you going too fast, staggered, slipped, dropped? Usain Bolt never dropped the baton. Not once in a major competition. When Jamaica shattered the world record in the 4x100m relay at the 2012 London Olympics, Bolt snatched the baton at the finish line like a man grabbing history. He wasn’t supposed to keep it, but eventually they let him, not because the baton held the power – it didn’t – but because it marked the moment. The baton wasn’t the win. The race was. The girl on the track after the race couldn’t take it from him. Have you seen how tall and imposing Bolt is…?

In Church life, we sometimes hear talk of “passing the baton.” The heart behind it is right – we want to equip the next generation, but the metaphor can quietly and wrongly reshape how we see the call of God. It suggests we hold something central and then hand it off. Intact – that ministry is a possession we can simply pass on, but in Scripture, calling isn’t passed down – it’s heard. It’s responded to. It’s lived.

Paul doesn’t write to Timothy saying, “Here’s my ministry, take it.” He says, “What you have heard from me in the presence of many witnesses entrust to faithful men” (2 Timothy 2:2). It’s a pattern of life, shaped by the gospel, that is to be seen, trusted and multiplied. Not a baton to be handed over, but a life to be followed. It’s lifestyle: gift, call and character modelled in full view.

Paul goes further still, “Be imitators of me, as I am of Christ” (1 Corinthians 11:1). That’s not about copying Paul’s methods. It’s about sharing his aim. He didn’t offer his style. He offered his pursuit. Jesus, always Jesus. Obedience. Intimacy. Trust. That’s what he called others into.

And for those struggling to find their “calling” today, this is helpful and vital. The ‘calling’ isn’t a job title or a ministry role. It’s following Jesus. With every breath, every step. It’s trusting the Spirit’s quiet promptings, year by year. Some search anxiously for the right label, the right lane. But ‘calling’ emerges not in a lightning bolt, but in faithful footsteps.

Your ‘calling’ – what you are doing or meant to be doing – can be discovered by looking around. What fills your shelves and stirs your heart? A cook owns dozens of cookbooks because their heart leans toward the kitchen. A mechanic’s world is surrounded by tools. Passion leaves a trail. Often, the things God stirs in you are already visible. The books you collect, the conversations you return to, the tasks you lose track of time doing – these are not distractions. They may well be signposts.

Don’t expect the Spirit to draw you into things with neon lights. He calls with a whisper, not a marketing plan and a set of options. New wine is poured into new wineskins (Mark 2:22). That means He’s always doing something fresh, and often it won’t look like the version you grew up, or started with. That’s why we can’t afford to hand down yesterday’s baton as if it’s the gold standard. The Corinthian church – chaotic as it was – flowed in remarkable overflow of spiritual gifts. Lacking nothing. Today, many believers long for the same, yet settle for much less, because the baton handed to them was safe, post-modern, seeker-friendly not Spirit-led. What are we wanting to pass on that we are not actually experiencing ourselves? That’s why some things need to be contended for and why the baton must stay firmly in God’s hand. He’s not building an institution; He’s building a people. The Church doesn’t rise or fall on human succession plans. Christ is the Head. The Spirit trains and empowers. He still speaks, still leads, still calls.

Hebrews urges us to run with endurance, “looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith” (Hebrews 12:1–2). Not looking to the past. Not waiting for someone to hand us something. We run because He calls.

So if you’re waiting for a baton – stop. Instead, watch where the Spirit is stirring. Let your heart respond. Follow the whisper, not the hype. Point others to Christ, not to your role, your function or your label. The race is open to all who will run. Eyes fixed. Heart surrendered.

The baton? That stays in His hand. Where it belongs.

Before you leave home …

By the side of a pool in Croatia I mused about Luke 9:23, and what follows next flowed from that! I’m a bit of a routine person. Each morning begins the same; sandwiches, keys, phone accompanied by one or two coffees, depending on the night before or how distracted I am by the morning news. It’s the same most days; lunch to be picked at over the keyboard, access to the car, connection to everything and everybody else.

Normal life – but Jesus calls you to carry something far more costly – something you’re far more likely to forget. “If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me” (Luke 9:23).

Not occasionally, not when it feels spiritual. Daily. The cross isn’t sentimental or symbolic. It’s not glitzy golden jewellery – perish the thought. It’s an instrument of death. A Roman cross meant only one thing – you were leaving, and you weren’t coming back. Sell your stuff – put everything on Vinted.

Jesus didn’t say, “Add me to your day.” He said, “Come and die.” That’s not poetic, it’s practical. The way we interpret that is different to the way Jesus’ hearers would have done. We adopt the easiest route, a bit like fasting where we assume that fasting means not watching tv, or something similar, but not missing food! No, to follow Christ is to kill the flesh, not manage it. To reckon yourself dead to sin, not flirt with it. “So you also must consider yourselves dead to sin and alive to God in Christ Jesus” (Romans 6:11).

That word “consider” or “reckon” isn’t abstract. It’s not a suggestion. It’s a clear, calculated act of war. You are not who you were. Teh old man is dead. The flesh has no rightful claim – but it doesn’t go quietly.

And reckoning doesn’t mean sitting still. You don’t drift, slip-trip into holiness. You fight for it. And the battlefield isn’t out there somewhere-it’s in your pocket, in your feed, in your thoughts, in your tone when no one’s around. The flesh whispers constantly, and gently. It comes dressed as a suggestion, a curiosity, a comment, a shortcut. Apps and alerts engineered to feed desire and hijack your attention, click-baiting you into anything but follow hard after Christ.

Paul couldn’t be more emphatic, “Make no provision for the flesh, to gratify its desires” (Romans 13:14). Don’t make room for it. Don’t let it breathe. Don’t bargain with it. Pull the plug.

But don’t fight empty-handed, don’t stand alone. Wrap yourself in the Word. Let it dwell in you richly-not as decoration, but as daily bread. Memorise it. Meditate on it. Reach for it when your flesh starts talking back. “Take…the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God” (Ephesians 6:17). Without it, you’re walking into battle barehanded. If you’re not feeding on Scripture, you’re feeding the flesh by default.

And you’re not meant to fight it in isolation. This isn’t a solo mission. Jesus calls individuals, but He forms a body. You need brothers and sisters who see your blind spots, speak truth into your excuses and your quirks, and walk with you when the road gets steep. “Bear one another’s burdens, and so fulfil the law of Christ” (Galatians 6:2). You weren’t built to carry your cross alone. That’s another ‘mic drop’!

You don’t grow in grace by coasting. You grow by seeking. “Grow in the grace and knowledge of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ” (2 Peter 3:18). You can’t steer your life into blessing while the handbrake is on. You can’t just hope for holiness, you’ve got to pursue it. Obedience isn’t legalism – it’s allegiance.

Paul puts it bluntly, “Those who belong to Christ Jesus have crucified the flesh with its passions and desires” (Galatians 5:24). That’s not a metaphor. That’s identity. You don’t excuse sin. You don’t rename it. You drag it to the cross. You hold it there until it dies. Rinse & repeat.

And tomorrow, when you grab your sandwich, your keys, your phone—when you open your Bible app, when you brew that coffee—remember what matters most. Reckon yourself – consider yourself dead to sin. Feed on the Word. Be ruthless with your habits. Be careful with your time.

And above all, take up your cross. Again. And again. Until obedience stops feeling like pressure and starts feeling like joy.

Jesus didn’t just carry His cross to save you. He carried it to show you how to walk. So walk with Him, eyes up, cross on your back. Not just following rules. Following the King.

And don’t give up.