A Cloud the Size of a Man’s Hand

As I write this, I’m on the balcony of our place in Nice, France. It’s just past midnight on a Sunday. The street below is still alive with people — strolling, shopping, laughing like it’s early evening. The air is perfect, about 70°F (or 21°C, as they’d say here), and the Mediterranean Sea sits somewhere off in the dark to my left — vast, silent, invisible. To my right, the mountains rise up from the earth with tiny lights flickering across their faces, like stars that chose to live low instead of high. The view is beautiful. And yet, I find myself looking for something more.

Starting the Journey

When I found out I’d be going on this trip — through London, Kosovo, Albania, and now France — I was filled with expectation. I love the nations. I love people. I believe God is moving globally, and I hoped to be part of it, even in a small way. I also knew this trip would be different. Traveling with three little kids meant I wouldn’t be speaking or leading. My role would be quieter — more “Dad,” less “minister.” But even that was part of the mission. I wanted my kids to be exposed to the world God loves, to cultures beyond our own, to the bigness of the Church.

But something unexpected happened.

Same Streets, Same Soul

Everywhere we went — from the bustling city center of London to the quiet alleys of Tirana, the restaurants in Gjakova, the tourist-filled promenades of Nice — I started to notice a sameness. The hotels were different brands, but the rooms were nearly identical: same smell, same wall art, same artificial polish. Beautiful cities started to blend together. Nice places began to feel hollow. And under the surface of it all, I kept sensing the same thing in people: apathy.

Not anger. Not hostility. Just… a dullness. A devotion to the day-to-day. A general comfort with superficial things.

The Afghan Man

One conversation in London still echoes in my heart. I met a man from Afghanistan who told me what it’s like to return home under Taliban rule. Before he crosses the border, he has to grow out his hair and beard — otherwise, it could cost him his life. Once, on a visit to see his sick and nearly dying father, a border guard grabbed him by the hair and said, “If I see you like this again, I’ll kill you.” He told me he keeps his hair short in London because it’s normal for his work. But in his homeland, it’s dangerous. Just that one detail — a haircut — could be a death sentence.

The contrast was jarring. We were standing in one of the freest, wealthiest cities in the world, talking about survival over style. And I couldn’t shake the thought: We’re so free… and yet we’re so numb.

The Church that Burns

There were glimpses of light, though. At Ekklesia21 in Nice, we were welcomed with open arms and warm hearts. We were even served a homemade lasagna lunch — simple, personal, unforgettable. I got to catch up with my friend Marc, who’s lived in Nice his whole life. He’s a young dad with three little girls and a heart that’s full of life. We talked about the desire for more children — a conversation that felt surprisingly rare in this part of the world, where families are often smaller and cultural norms don’t always encourage fruitfulness.

In Kosovo, I saw a different kind of beauty — humble, grounded, deeply spiritual. The people at Gjakova Family Church radiated something real. There was dignity in the servers, joy in the believers, and love that crossed every language barrier. In Albania, I felt the hunger of a culture still finding its footing. Young believers full of questions, full of potential. Moments like these gave me hope.

Small moments. But real ones.

The Cry for Rain

Throughout the trip, I kept thinking about Elijah. In 1 Kings 18, he tells his servant to go and look toward the sea, expecting the storm that hadn’t come yet. Seven times the servant looked. Nothing. Then finally, a report: “I saw a cloud the size of a man’s hand rising from the sea.” That tiny cloud was all Elijah needed. He knew what it meant. Rain was coming.

That’s how I feel.

I haven’t seen revival break out. I haven’t seen the sweeping move of God I long for. But I’ve seen a few clouds. Small signs. Flickers of hunger. Authentic faith in the little storefront churches with nothing to sell. Believers who still burn. And I believe it’s a sign: the rain is coming.

Why We Must Want the Gifts

I don’t despise people chasing pleasure. In fact, I get it. If you don’t know Jesus, it makes perfect sense to reach for the best experiences this world has to offer — the finest hotels, the dream vacations, the cars, the parties, the highs, the comforts. If there’s nothing more, then why not?

But once you’ve tasted the goodness of God… everything else becomes what it is: the same thing, over and over again, in slightly different packaging. It’s all just noise when you’ve heard the whisper of the Holy Spirit.

Paul told the Corinthians to “eagerly desire the greater gifts” (1 Cor. 12:31). That word eagerly matters. Desire matters. No one gives a gift to someone who doesn’t want it. But the Father delights in giving gifts to children who ask, seek, knock, and burn for more.

If we don’t desire the gifts of the Spirit — the presence of God, the move of the Holy Spirit in our lives — we’ll fill our years with lesser things. We’ll spend decades chasing a nicer house, a better vacation, or a new circle of friends — while the actual treasures of heaven go unopened.

What I’m Holding Onto

So no, I haven’t seen the downpour. But I’ve seen the cloud. And it’s enough to keep me praying.

I want my kids to grow up not just seeing the world, but seeing the Kingdom. I want to be part of the generation that really wants God — more than we want likes, comfort, money, or distraction. I want to be someone who makes room for the Spirit of God to fall. Who still believes in fire from heaven. Who still expects the latter rain.

And if you’re reading this, maybe you’ve seen the cloud too.

Let’s not get numb. Let’s not get bored. Let’s not settle for artificial when the glory of God is waiting to be poured out on people who really, really want it.