There’s a gentleness to true invitation. It doesn’t demand attention or require applause. It doesn’t rush or insist. It simply holds out a hand, open and unclenched - and waits.
In a world built on transactions, that kind of offering feels strange. We’re trained to expect a catch. But invitation, at least the kind that shapes A Curious Follower, isn’t about convincing or converting. It isn’t about compelling or correcting.
It’s about presence. It’s about being with.
Invitation is what happens when attentiveness turns outward – when what we’ve noticed becomes something we ask, quietly, can I share this with you?
Presence, Not Performance
Invitation begins in presence. It’s showing up – fully, honestly, quietly – and allowing that to be enough.
I keep thinking back to my university days.
There was a friend who I got to know over countless group lunches at McDonald’s. We’d all sit for ages, half-eaten fries between us, and talk about everything people tell you not to talk about: faith, politics, money, the world. Nothing was off-limits, and nothing was forced.
I was never and will never be a “hell and damnation” kind of friend. More “this is what I believe,” “this is what I’m figuring out,” “this is what I haven’t quite worked out yet.” And somehow, that was enough.
A few months later, this particular friend came to my door – literally knocked – and asked me to pray with him. It wasn’t dramatic. It was simple, special, and human. And then, not long after, he passed away.
I’ve never forgotten that knock. The way presence had quietly become invitation, the way conversation had grown into something deeper without ever being forced.
It taught me that invitation isn’t about grand gestures or perfectly timed words. It’s about how we live – how we show up, listen, and make space. Actions really do speak louder than words.
Open Hands
Curiosity asks, what’s really going on here?
Attentiveness notices, I can see it.
Invitation says, can I share it with you?
It’s the natural next step – a widening of the circle. A way of saying: there’s room for both of us here – to wonder, to wrestle, to breathe.
Open hands are the image that stays with me for this value. They hold but don’t grip. They offer but don’t force. They can both give and receive. They make space for others to meet God without us standing in the way.
To live invitationally is to hold our lives that way – with space in them. It’s how we speak, how we create, how we relate. When I write here, I try to write like that – not to persuade, but to make room. Not to tell you what to think, but to invite you into wondering.
Jesus and the Quiet Invitation
Jesus rarely shouted.
When he did raise his voice, it was at systems of hypocrisy, not at people searching for grace. He didn’t shame people into faith; he restored their dignity. He invited the weary, the curious, the overlooked – not with threats, but with presence. He didn’t shame; he restored. He didn’t demand; he welcomed. He didn’t close doors; he opened them.He asked questions more than he gave speeches. He let people belong before they believed.
“Come and see.”
“Follow me.”
“Come and eat.”
“Do you want to be well?”
Simple, relational words – the language of invitation. He met people in their world: at wells, on roadsides, in living rooms, around tables.
That’s the heartbeat of God’s invitation – not a guilt trip, but spaces of grace.
More Than Words
Invitation is quieter than we expect. It’s carried by actions more than statements.
It’s staying in the conversation when it would be easier to walk away. It’s listening without needing to fix. It’s offering a meal, a message, a moment of attention. It’s letting people see what you love and why it matters, without demanding they agree.
Sometimes the most powerful invitation is just showing up – honestly, consistently, kindly.
To live invitationally is to believe that God is already at work in the world – that love is already moving, already healing, already whispering. We don’t need to bring God somewhere new. We just need to keep our lives open enough to notice where grace is unfolding – and join in.
That might mean art, conversation, hospitality, small acts of generosity, even shared silence. But who am I to give an exhaustive list! It’s about doing what we already do – work, rest, create, eat, listen – in ways that are open and generous.
When we live that way, life itself becomes an offering.
An Open Door
So maybe invitation, at its simplest, is presence with the door left ajar.
It’s the thread that ties curiosity and attentiveness together.It’s a life that says come and see, even when we’re still learning what that means. It’s hands that stay open, even when they’re tired. It’s the courage to say, I don’t have all the answers, but you’re welcome to ask with me. It’s a heart that keeps making space.
And that’s what A Curious Follower is trying to be, not a platform or a project, but a quiet doorway. A place to slow down, to notice, to be present, and perhaps to discover that we’ve all been invited all along.
Josh | A Curious Follower
If any of this speaks to you – if you’re tired of hurry, hungry for something deeper, or simply wondering what a slower, more spacious faith might look like – you might like my upcoming book, The Radical Recall to Rest.
It’s written in the same spirit as this space: slow, attentive, invitational. It’s an exploration of what it means to remember who we are and return to what matters.
And if this reflection resonated, you can also subscribe, share, or leave a comment below. That’s how this little community grows – one open-handed conversation at a time.