What Now? Helpful Tips and Spiritual Truth for Post-Pandemic Life

What Now? Helpful Tips and Spiritual Truth for Post-Pandemic Life

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I’m sitting in a coffee shop this morning. It’s brand new, with white walls and wooden floors that reflect the light. There’s art in my latte, the smell of cookies in the air, and a dozen or so people scattered around me. During the pandemic, this was one of the things I missed most — the simple joy of sitting in a coffee shop. But rather than the relief and gratitude I thought I’d feel when life started getting back to normal, I sometimes feel numb and weary. You too?

A story that comforts me in this strange season is the biblical one of Elijah and his showdown with pagan prophets. The prophets and Elijah each build an altar and ask their god to send fire. The pagan prophets spend all day praying with no results. When it’s Elijah’s turn, God shows up and shows off. It’s a clear and undeniable victory.

So Elijah celebrates, has a spiritual high that lasts for years, and never experiences discouragement or defeat again. The end.

Nope!

Elijah gets a threat from wicked Queen Jezebel, runs away into the wilderness, sits down under a tree, tells God he’s ready to die, and falls asleep. So God zaps him with lightning for his lack of faith.

Thankfully, that’s not what happens either.

God sends an angel with snacks and water for Elijah, who eats, drinks, and takes another nap.

What’s going on here? In many ways, it’s the same thing you and I are experiencing in those numb and weary moments. Elijah has been in fight (showdown) or flight (running away) mode. Elijah’s human resources are depleted. God doesn’t rebuke him for this; instead, He provides the rest and resources needed.

We, as humanity, have been in flight-or-fight mode for a long time now too. Maybe you’ve been in “fight” mode as an essential worker on the front lines, a parent suddenly wrestling with at-home schooling, or an employee fighting to keep your job. Maybe you’ve been in “flight” mode because you had to isolate yourself.

As we start to come out of this pandemic, it seems all we’d feel would be joy and gratitude. But the reality is flight-or-fight takes an enormous amount of energy, and we’re exhausted. This doesn’t mean we don’t have faith; it means we’re frail humans. God understands this reality, as He did with Elijah. So how do we help our bodies transition out of flight-or-fight mode?

First, we need to give ourselves permission to feel whatever we do today. If we’re tired, it’s okay. If we’re grieving, it’s okay. If we’re giddy, it’s okay.

Next, we need to ask, “What does my body need right now?” That might be a nap, some good food, and a big glass of water.

Our bodies also need to start feeling safe again. One simple way to do this is by practicing box breathing. Breathe in through your nose for four, hold your breath for four, exhale for four, hold your lungs empty for four. Then repeat a few times until you feel calmer.

Then we can ask, “God, what truth do You want to speak to my heart today?” After his naps and snacks, Elijah goes to the Mountain of God. While he’s physically restored, he’s still spiritually depleted. Elijah tells God he’s the only prophet left. In other words, he’s believing a lie familiar to all of us, “I’m the only one . . . ”

As a response, God tells Elijah, “Go out and stand on the mountain in the Lord’s presence” (1 Kings 19:11). There’s a mighty earthquake, wind, and fire, but God is not in any of them. Then there is the sound of a gentle whisper. Scripture doesn’t tell us what the whisper said, but its message is still clear — Elijah is not alone, God is with him. It’s the truth he needs to replace the lie he’s been believing.

And, finally, we can ask, “Who do I need to be in this with me?” After revealing His presence, God tells Elijah to find several men who follow Him too. We’re not intended to do life alone, even though we’ve been forced to in many ways this past year. Reaching out to even one person can make a difference.

Speaking of connecting, a friend just walked through the door of the coffee shop where I am right now. She leaned over to give me a quick hug and, even though it’s safe now, I flinched — another reminder that my body and mind are going to need time to recover. Yours are too, and that’s okay.

Let’s be gentle with ourselves and each other as we make the transition to a “new normal.” Let’s release any expectations of how we’re supposed to respond. Let’s do what God did with Elijah, what He still does with us too — remember we’re human.

If you want more help transitioning out of flight-or-fight mode and moving forward in faith, you’ll find it in Holley’s new ebook, Fear, I’m Over You: a 21-day Challenge to Live with Less Worry and More Courage (and it’s only $1.99 right now).

This Is What Success Looks Like

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You are talented.

Before you shake your head, deny those words, and click the little red X on this page, let me ask you a question:

Do you remember the parable of the three servants who were given different amounts of talents?

In Matthew 25, Jesus tells a story about a master who gave specific amounts of talents (money) to three servants before leaving for a trip. Upon his return, they were to give the money back. Two of the servants chose to invest what they had received while the third servant got to work digging a hole in the ground for safekeeping, hiding what was entrusted to him.

At the time, coins were called “talents.” But if we think of “talent” in our modern context, considering it to be a skill or a gifting, then I confess all too often I live like the third servant.

The gift God gave that brings me joy is the same thing that has the power to glorify Him as I encourage others: the written word.

And yet for many years, I buried the words. Instead of offering what was given back to the Giver, I believed someone else would say it better, write it better, do it all better than I ever could. Many years have gone by, but even now, even after publishing a book, even after writing (and publicly sharing) hundreds of thousands of words, God is still teaching me how to walk in obedience when I’m tempted to reach for a shovel.

Sometimes this looks like obediently saying “yes” when I’m scared I won’t be ________ (fill in the blank) enough.

Sometimes it looks like obediently saying “no” while trusting He won’t keep me from something that is for my good and His glory.

But it always, without fail, looks like keeping my eyes on Him as I faithfully take the next step and leave the end result in His hands.

Looking back at the parable, I’m struck by how the master left for “a long time” (25:19). The entire chapter points to the return of Christ for His Bride, and while we’re sometimes quick to say “Come Lord Jesus” when disaster strikes, I wonder what we’re doing (and how we’re living) as we wait for the return of our generous Lord, the Giver of all good things.

In Matthew 25, both servants who invested their talents presented double the previous amount. By using what they had instead of hiding it away, the talents themselves grew. One servant went from five talents to ten. The other went from two to four.

Amazingly, because they each did the best they could with what they were given, they received the same reply: “Well done, good and faithful servant! . . . Come and share your master’s happiness!” (Matthew 25:21)

The numbers weren’t important.

To look through the lens of 2021: It isn’t about Instagram followers, email subscribers, getting a book deal, having “enough” in your savings account or the title of “influencer.”

It’s about stewardship. It’s about open hands and a heart willing to share what was given instead of burying a gift deep down inside for safe-keeping. It’s about faith and obedience, not about having a platform.

You aren’t responsible for your sister’s talents. I’m not responsible for yours, and you aren’t responsible for mine. You don’t have to do the work of someone with five talents if you’ve been given two, but you are called and entrusted to be faithful with what you have received.

Your talent — your gifting — might be your story. Daring to share what God has done or what He is teaching you is one way to offer glory back to Him. Perhaps your talent is singing or art, listening or writing, speaking or cooking. You might have the gift of discernment or an extra dose of humor. I don’t know what God has given you, but I’m certain He’s given you something that is meant to be shared.

The success of your ministry isn’t dependent on the size of your ministry, so let’s look past the numbers and focus instead on obedience. You don’t have to be the best. You don’t need to win it all, climb a corporate ladder, hold a title or rank at the top of a list.

Just play your note. Sing your song. Write your story. Make your art. Be generous with your gifting, and instead of looking left or right at others or burying your talent in the sand, just do your thing bravely.

It will come at a cost, surely. But one day soon, we’ll bow before the Giver and every ounce of all we’ve given back to Him will be worth it one-hundred-times over as these words echo into eternity:

“Well done, good and faithful servant! . . . Come and share your master’s happiness!”

Becoming by Looking Toward Jesus

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‘Twas the week of the book launch, and everything was a bit crazy — stressful even. I was torn between wanting to do my best work and the deep desire to surrender to whatever God had in store. It was exciting, overwhelming, and a little disorienting. 

So naturally, during the busiest work week I’ve ever had, we decided to take a trip. 

My sister was home and wanted to go to our grandparents’ cabin a few hours north. We didn’t want to miss out, and I couldn’t think of a healthier way to follow up the stress of work than to go to a cabin with no cell reception.

We packed our bags, piled into the car, and navigated north up some hills and into the woods. My three-year-old noticed us using Google maps, and in an attempt to convey where we were headed, I told her, “We are that blue circle, and we’re going up, up, up to the red one.”

“Are we driving up to the sky?” she laughed.

“Isn’t it helpful to see exactly where we are so we can point ourselves in the right direction?” I said to her. Immediately, I turned to my husband and said, “I’m writing that down!” Because YES — it is helpful to see exactly where we are so we can point ourselves in the right direction.

So where are you, and in which direction are you headed? What are you growing toward? Who are you becoming? Are you becoming more like Jesus, or are you becoming more like your favorite social influencer on Instagram? Like plants growing in the direction of the sun, we grow toward something even if we’re totally unaware of it.

Day by day, whether we realize it or not, we are becoming. We expand in new directions as we experience life. And just as plants grow toward the sun because it nourishes them and gives them life, if we set the Lord as our destination, our direction, then every little turn along the way leads us toward Him. 

I don’t know about you, but I don’t often stop to think about my growth, my direction, or my intentions. However, lately, I’ve been doing three things that have made all the difference in pointing myself back to Jesus:

  1. Leaving my phone plugged in on the kitchen island when I go upstairs at night.
  2. Reading on my Kindle before bed.
  3. Opening my Bible first thing each morning (before picking my phone back up again from the kitchen island).

These are baby steps, but they’re helping me be intentional about where I’m headed.

I’ve spent the past year learning it matters less what we produce and more who we’re becoming. So let’s figure this out, shall we? Let’s grow toward and become more like the One who gives us life and life abundantly.

A few years back, Margot Groner stumbled upon a wordsearch book in her local grocery store and started a routine of solving one before bed each night. She quickly realized that wordsearches weren’t living up to their potential. They’re not just little books to help you pass the time. They could be a way for us to pause, reflect, and enjoy; they could even be a way to spend time with the Lord if what was inside them was intentional. In The Wordsearch Book: Becoming, Margot pulled together quotes and Scripture on real-life needs and created word banks out of them. In this book, you’ll find over 70 word searches, along with devotions and journaling prompts for you to soak up all the goodness.

The pages walk you through what it looks like to grow in the direction of goodness and become all you were meant to be. It asks questions like: Who are you becoming? Who do you want to become? And most importantly, how can we become more like Jesus?

The Wordsearch Book: Becoming is your childhood wordsearch book all grown up and gorgeous! 

So fun, right? Well, good news — we’re giving away FIVE copies*!

To enter, leave a comment on this article sharing how you stay pointed in the right direction, and we’ll choose five winners.

Also, tune in tomorrow, June 9th at 11:00am central, on Facebook for a conversation with author Margot Groner and (in)courage Community Manager Becky Keife as they discuss The Wordsearch Book: Becoming.

*Giveaway open to US addresses only and will close at 11:59pm CST on June 11, 2021.

A Remedy for Hearts Distracted by Comparison

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A few months after my husband and I lost our one-month-old daughter to a fatal chromosomal condition, we were invited to join a group of friends for a Friday night cookout. The invitation was kind and we accepted, but I wasn’t prepared for my reentrance into society as a bereaved mother. I felt clumsy and afraid of others’ thoughts, potentially awkward conversations, and the sorrow that might be stirred up. But I knew I couldn’t continue avoiding people. 

When we arrived, the mood was festive, but the Alabama air felt uncomfortably warm. The humidity mixed with my nerves caused my cotton dress to cling to my sticky skin. I fidgeted with the fabric and wiped the dew from my arms. My eyes nervously scanned the room. There were balloons and burgers and boisterous laughter. Though I recognized familiar faces, I felt entirely out of place.

And then I saw her. 

We had met less than a year prior, both with swollen bellies and glowing round faces. She was the first to give birth. Twin baby boys. A couple of weeks later, I went into labor with my daughter. My friend came home from the hospital with two healthy babies. I was now seeing them for the first time, watching as she juggled car seats and their small wriggling bodies. A sad joy came over me, unlike anything I’d experienced before. I felt a sincere, quiet celebration for her and the double portion of her blessing, but the empty ache of my own arms left my heart throbbing. The comparison distracted me, doubling the portion of my pain.  

I endured the night with small talk and a forced smile, doing my best to swallow the complicated grief churning within me. Later that night, in the privacy of my bathroom, I wept and cried out to the Lord. I was stuck in comparison, focused on what my friend had and what I didn’t. I let my thoughts run rampant. Her abundance magnified my lack. She seemed favored; I felt forgotten.  

My comparison and lament led me to the story of Jesus reinstating Peter. In John 21, we witness the intimate moment between Jesus and Peter as they walk and talk together. When Jesus speaks of how Peter will die, Peter turns and looks away. His eyes land on someone else — John. Naturally, as Peter’s eyes shift, so do his thoughts. He asks, “Lord, what about him?” (John 21:21 ESV). 

How many times have I done and asked the same thing? Lord, what about her? 

Jesus’s response in the next verse is probably not the one we’d expect or want to hear, but it is the one we all need. Jesus replies, “If it is my will that he remain until I come, what is that to you? You follow me!” (John 21:22 ESV)

I reread those words and let them trail off as I contemplated them, turning them over and over again in my mind. What is that to you? You follow me. In other words, What happens in her life is not of concern to you. You focus on me.  

This was not the only moment of distraction for Peter. Most of us are familiar with the story of Peter’s boldness compelling him to walk out onto the water with Jesus in Matthew 14. Focused on Jesus, Peter experiences the miracle with Jesus. Everything is fine (more than fine!) until Peter shifts his gaze from Jesus to the wind and waves around him. When Peter takes his eyes off Jesus and focuses on the seemingly unfavorable circumstances surrounding him, he starts to sink.  

We can become so easily distracted by circumstances and hindered by comparison. When our focus slips, we lose sight of Jesus and start to sink. Our hearts and minds wander away. Maybe we sink into depression, defeat, panic, or anxiety. Maybe we wander into doubt and question our worth or God’s love and goodness. Maybe we start to think God is unfairly holding out on us. 

Thankfully, the remedy for our hearts reeling from comparison is to remember what God has done and refocus on Him. We can recall His faithfulness to His character and promises and remind ourselves to stay in our own lane, focus on the race before us, and steward whatever He has given us. 

We find this encouragement in Hebrews 12:1-3 (NIV): 

And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith. For the joy set before him he endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. Consider him who endured such opposition from sinners, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart. 

The circumstances we face can be downright difficult and scary, and comparison can cause us to lose heart. But as we realign our hearts with God’s, we rise up from pain and panic pushing us down and find our peace, rest, and renewal in Him. Recentered and refocused, we too can walk on the water of whatever is in front of us. We can run our race with unhindered endurance and confident freedom in Christ that will compel and carry us to the finish line. 

So, today, let’s consider how we can keep our eyes on Jesus and center ourselves on Him.

Three Ways to Walk Through Difficult Change You Didn’t Want or Ask For

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“If one more thing falls in our lap, I don’t think I can take it.”

I said those words in spring of 2020, partly to God and partly to my husband. And like a siren call made to steer the sea ship toward destruction, guess what fell into our laps soon after I uttered the words?

Another difficult change I didn’t want or ask for.

It came on an unusually hot summer morning. I heard my husband call out from his office, “Hey honey, can you come in here?” I walked into the room, and he relayed the news we’d been waiting for — but news that didn’t go our way, news that broke my heart.

The air in the room, like the news delivered, became obscenely oppressive. I dropped into his office chair, more because my legs gave way than because I was consciously sitting down.

I started breathing shallow and quick, tears falling down my face. It felt like a certain measure of sacred life would never return to normal. I knew this would be a definitive line of demarcation in my life of before and after.

The changes of 2020 touched most aspects of our lives: our hearts, our families, our life stages; relationships, fellowship, and friendships.

More than once, we asked this to heaven: How long, oh Lord?

Of course, some of the changes were difficult yet expected. But when so many changes that were not expected or wanted hitch themselves to the wagon of the expected ones, you can want to take to your bed, pull the covers tight around you, and get lost in a piled-up plate of nachos or Netflix.

(Ask me how I know.)

Maybe your last several seasons or years had multiple changes smacked into you too. Changes such as:

The pandemic stole your job, your home, your loved one’s life.

A change of heart stole your marriage, your definitive plans, your mental health.

The national division and international turmoil stole that trip, that friendship, that familial harmony.

There’s nothing wrong with turning toward favorite treats or television shows for a little while. But as God has thankfully seen me through to the other side of those difficult changes of 2020, I want to pass on three longer-lasting coping mechanisms that helped me get from where I was, neck deep in the muck and mire, to the better place I am today:

  1. Be honest with just one person about how you’re really doing. Whoever you can count on to count your own heart as precious — your mama, your sister, your friend — tell her how you’re doing. Text or call her about getting together this very week, on a phone call or in person, and tell her you’re gonna need a little time to share some things out loud. Get the thoughts and feelings from the inside to the outside.
  2. Serve your family, your friends, your neighbors. Do a small handful of things to intentionally get out of your own head and be a blessing to someone else. That is, serve other people. When joy is elusive, be the way someone else receives joy. So, share the tacos, text the word of encouragement, or watch the neighbor’s kids for the afternoon. Serve someone else and watch how the Lord serves you by bringing joy right back to your own weary heart.
  3. Get your hind end in the Word. While it’s important to process our struggles with others and to serve others, we want to plant truth into ourselves on the regular. I know some life stages make this more regularly attainable than others. But even if you can only get a few verses in while you scramble the eggs or fold the laundry, it will not return void. It will strengthen you from the inside out.

Through active rather than passive waiting, we can make it through the difficult changes in our lives. And make no mistake: You will make it through your season of change upon change. You will.

You will see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. Because if God was good before these changes — and indeed He was because He is good all the time — He is good now and will give good things within these hard changes, too.

Looking for another way to actively wait as you walk through your difficult life change? Consider preordering my devotional book, When Change Finds You: 31 Assurances to Settle Your Heart When Life Stirs You Up.

When You Face a Terrible Tuesday

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We’ve all had days when everything seems to go wrong in a short span of time. I’m not speaking of tragedies, but a series of first-world problems strung together to really mess with our attitudes. Welcome to my Terrible Tuesday. Nothing about this day made me want to sing, “This is the day the Lord has made, let us rejoice and be glad in it” Psalm 118:24 (ESV).

It began at 1:30am when our college son’s shell-shocked voice woke me out of a deep slumber, “I’m okay, but my car is totaled.” While he stood yards away, a drunk driver had flipped onto his car. He was safe, but financial repercussions abounded.

Hours later, our oven short-circuited while I baked fifty homemade scones for a local coffee shop delivery. It wasn’t the worst thing to happen, but it was challenging for my home business.

Lastly, the finale to my terrible Tuesday: As I pounced into herculean cleaning mode preparing for my first “Moms Night Out at Jen’s” since quarantine lifted, our well water pump broke. Fifteen young moms were coming in a few hours, and with no running water, that meant no flushing toilets either. That was my reality.

Though I’m not one to be overly dramatic, I admit to raising my fist for a brief moment, “Seriously, Lord? In twelve hours, we’ve had a totaled car, an oven fiasco, and now a broken pump? All this amidst our step of faith to fix up The Becoming Cottage? Can You give me a break?”

I yelled to my brother who was trying to help outside, “We serve a God who raises people from the dead and turns water into wine. Surely, you can strike that thing in Jesus name and water will flow!”

He smirked. I prayed. No water.

I knew how much all the moms had been looking forward to gathering. As their mentor mom, I’d been waiting in expectation to create a safe space to reconnect after an exhausting mothering year for us all. Stress-wise, canceling was the wise move, and friends assured me that everyone would understand if I postponed. But in that moment, I had a choice. Even though my frazzled spirit already felt defeated, I knew that if this much opposition swirled against our evening, there was no way I could cancel. I would not stand in the way of how the Lord would move through our time together. He was up to something special, so I begged Him to take my terrible Tuesday and transform it into changed lives.

The powerful interactions that happened are too much for this article, but would you believe that while I expected fifteen women, twenty-five showed up? And not only did they show up, but they were early? Do you know how much I accomplish in the last ten minutes before my gatherings? I digress, but I share the details over on my instagram.

All evening I took mental snapshots of women laughing, crying, connecting, and even sharing with absolute strangers.The repeated theme overwhelmed me.

Chaos came in, but grace flowed out.

I don’t recommend hosting a house full of people with no water, but we must extend invitations now more than ever. Start small until open-door living becomes second nature.

As we begin to experience the fullness, richness, and joy that comes from practicing one simple life-giving invitation to another, we unleash the promises of God in ways we’d never expect.

After a year of isolation, hospitality takes a bold kind of courage, but you can do this. Pursue it with the knowledge that Christ is enough. If you feel like you can’t do it, hear Him remind you, “You’re right. You can’t. But I can.” Hospitality is where He can teach you bold new lessons about trust, humility, faith, and love. And wow, did I experience growth in both trust and humility that Tuesday!

When I replay this truth about God’s sufficiency to transform lives in spite of me, I see again that it’s not about me. I have nothing to prove. He delights to work through my imperfections. If people are blessed and impacted, it’s only because He’s gracious to take a broken, weary, and completely frazzled woman and use her desire for serving Him to point others to Jesus.

Let this truth sink deep and receive it as absolute freedom: Stop striving for the unattainable. Stop worrying about what others think of your performance. Focus solely on your One-person audience, knowing this focus will always lead you to loving others.

Throughout the evening, women hugged my neck (that alone got me emotional) and thanked me for not canceling. Over and over, they told me they’d been waiting so long for this and how it was exactly what their hearts had needed.

Sweet friends, if He can work through my terrible Tuesday when I had to slip away to pour jugs of water down a toilet (and yes, we had more crazy moments), just imagine the other miracles He can perform when we step out in faith during our ordinary, everyday lives. He unlocks the door to so many meaningful possibilities in our lives.

Kingdom adventure awaits as we shift our focus from “not on this terrible day” to “Yes, Lord, I am here for it.” God’s promises are for the taking when we choose to show up.

If I had canceled that evening, I would’ve missed out on the chance to declare, “This is the day the Lord has made, let us rejoice and be glad in it.” It was certainly a day to rejoice and be glad because of what He had done.

Put on Your Pearls and Thank God

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Again, the kingdom of heaven is like a merchant looking for fine pearls. When he found one of great value, he went away and sold everything he had and bought it.
Matthew 13:45-46 (NIV)

I don’t often wear pearls. But when I do, I remember the struggle.

My husband gave me a beautiful strand of pearls during a hard season of life. It was a lavish gift for a sweatpants-wearing mom who hadn’t left the house in weeks. Our third baby was born prematurely and spent the first months of life tethered to a heart monitor.

There was a new job, a new baby, a new set of challenges, a new season to navigate. And it all made me feel very old (and tired).

The day he brought the wrapped pearls home was the first day we attempted to get me out of the house. I laughed at the gift because they seemed so inappropriate for my dirty hair and weary body. But my sweet husband was determined to celebrate the new things in our lives, even though some of them were hard.

He carefully fastened the lustrous strand around my neck, and I traded my t-shirt for a dressy top. We loaded up the baby and her siblings, the medical gear, and the diaper bag, and drove the two short miles to our favorite restaurant.

Within a few minutes of sitting down, the waiter accidentally dumped the pitcher of sweet tea into my new diaper bag just as a terrible stomach bug was beginning in my preschool son. I carried him to the bathroom, where he got very sick. I propped open the door and tried to wave down a waiter to grab my husband, who was busy mopping up tea, jiggling a fussy baby, and regretting the whole idea.

We left the restaurant before we even ordered — a sad, soggy, stinky mess. We had a puker in the car and a fragile newborn. It was the car ride of nightmares.

I laughed and cried in my pearls the two miles back home.

Every time I see those pearls hanging in my jewelry box or around my neck, I remember that night. The irony of the pearls and the puke weren’t lost on me.

But it took a while for me to remember how pearls are formed.

Pearls are created in oysters due to an irritant, usually a grain of sand. Grit. Pearls are the outcome of struggle. They are rare and priceless, unique and treasured. They are a product of irritation and are created as a defense against something that is hard, something that doesn’t belong.

A pearl is a product of suffering. It is a healed wound.

And it takes perseverance and grit to produce anything. Life is filled with struggle. But the hardship and trials are not wasted. Our struggle is irritating and annoying. Sometimes it’s heartbreaking and horrible. But it’s producing something good within us.

I don’t know what your struggle is today or what it will be tomorrow.

Struggle is a part of living, but when we know we are producing something good, it helps us through it.

So put your pearls on, girl, and thank God in the midst of it. Something good is coming.

God, even when everything seems to be going awry, I see You. I see beauty right in the middle of the hard things, the messiness, the aching, and the fear. I am clinging to the hope that something good is coming, that something good will be produced from the grit and struggle, that there will be treasure to behold after this hardship. In Jesus’ name, amen.

This devotion was written by Kristen Welch and appears in our devotional Take Heart: 100 Devotions to Seeing God When Life’s Not Okay.

How a Productivity Junkie Is Learning to Rest

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I’ve been a performer and achiever for as long as I can remember. When I was three, I was thrilled to master riding a two-wheeler before my older sister. When I was seven, I raced my best friend Jack to see who could climb to the tippy top of a towering tree first. Growing up, I took every honors class and joined every school club, sports team, and student council I could.

In high school, it was edging toward midnight and I was working to finish a term paper, again. I sat in our upstairs landing in front of a huge clunky white Macintosh computer feverishly typing away (probably waiting for the dial-up internet to connect. Bless.)

“Rebecca Dee!” my mom called up from the bottom of the stairs. “Are you still doing homework?”

“Yeah, almost done,” I lied.

“It’s too late! Just go to bed and take the B!” she hollered.

Go to bed and settle for a B? Stop striving and accept less than the best? It was the most preposterous suggestion my adolescent ears had ever heard. Clearly, I suffered from “The Triple P”: People-pleasing, Perfectionist, and Performance issues. (Well, I guess that’s four p’s.)

I’m not sure when or how the belief took root — maybe out of my desire for control and security as a child of divorce, maybe as the youngest of three sisters who was desperate to be noticed. Whatever the reason, I believed I was what I achieved. Maybe sometimes I still believe that.

My default is to hinge who I am on what I produce. But I’m learning to combat my natural tendency with the truth: God loves me because I am His daughter. Period. Unattached to what I do, I am loved by God.

Any personal growth I’ve had in this area of my life is rooted in understanding my identity in Christ. God’s gentle, patient guidance keeps drawing me back to Himself again and again and again. (He for sure gets all the credit.)

Part of my journey has been learning to reframe the way I see rest and productivity. Rest is not a hindrance to performance — like my high school self adamantly believed; rest is its own kind of productivity. Without physical sleep and mental breaks, we simply cannot perform to the best of our ability. Even more, rest is essential to experiencing God. Certainly, the Lord’s command to keep a Sabbath points to how serious He is about rest. He put it in the top ten things He wanted His people to make central to their lives in Him. I could write a whole article or twenty on the Sabbath alone!

But today I’m reminding myself, and maybe you need to hear this too, that taking productivity off the pedestal I’ve placed it on isn’t meant to be a once-a-week act of trust and surrender. Rest is not reserved for a Sunday full-stop. Rest can (and dare I say, should) be part of our everyday lives, seven days a week. Even more, what if rest isn’t just pausing productivity and ceasing striving? What if rest is joy and soul care? What if rest is experiencing the fullness of life in slow moments weighed down with gratitude and wonder?

This is what I’m learning. And it’s marvelous and hard in a weak-muscle-getting-stronger kind of way. As I choose to believe I am loved for who I am and not for what I do, I am able to love myself, others, and God even more. It’s the craziest thing.

Here are my current favorite ways to rest:

  • Read a novel
  • Take a long shower
  • Nap when I’m tired
  • Be present at my boys’ baseball games
  • Schedule coffee with a friend
  • Play a card game
  • Go on a neighborhood walk or local hike

My friend Mindy has started painting to rest, relax, and enjoy the wonder of color and quiet moments. I asked her if I could invite myself over to try it with her sometime. It won’t be productive or performative. It won’t be something to check off my list or post on Instagram. But I have a hunch God will meet me there. In the same way He meets me in the delight of a complex fictional character or morning sunshine illuminating leaves like mini green lanterns, in the same way He whispers comfort to my soul as I drift off to sleep for an afternoon snooze or cheer on my boy who as he makes a great catch, God’s presence will be with me.

Elevating my own productivity puts the focus on me. Leaning into creative rest retrains my heart to focus on God — the provider of everything I need.

The Lord is my shepherd;
I have all that I need.
He lets me rest in green meadows;
he leads me beside peaceful streams.
He renews my strength.
Psalm 23:1-3a (NLT)

I’ve heard it said before that we are human beings, not human doings. May we choose to be in Him, with Him, today.

The Big Things Are in the Small Things

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It’s hard to be creative when you don’t feel well. It’s hard to be creative when you don’t feel well and it’s your job. It’s hard to force creativity. It seems the more you try to force it, the harder it is to find it. I haven’t stepped into my art studio for some time. I’ve done small things here and there — I’ve sketched ideas, made prints, but I haven’t done any painting.

However, recently, even though I wasn’t feeling well, I walked into that room, put on my paint smock, put on some music and started grabbing all the paint colors that were calling to me and waiting for me to get back to painting. I grabbed one of my wooden crosses, and I just started to paint.

I loved squeezing the paint out of the tubes. I loved the feeling of the cool, smooth paint under my fingertips. I loved seeing the colors move and blend on the wood. I loved watching the clear water turn colors when I swirled my brush in it to clean it off.

I loved every moment of all of it.

I wondered why I hadn’t made myself paint sooner? I still didn’t feel the best, but that didn’t really matter. For that block of time, my heart was all about the joy of blending colors, worship music, and the meaning of the cross.

Later in the day, I noticed some green paint under one of my fingernails. No matter how much I wash my hands after painting, there always seems to be bits of paint that make it through. I pointed it out to my husband, “Look at this gorgeous color of green I was using today. I don’t typically use this color, but I am loving it.” Happiness welled up inside me, and I smiled when I realized I was pointing out the paint color on my nails instead of the changes my autoimmune disease was having on them.

It seems that has been all I’ve been noticing lately — the hard things, the sad things, the struggles, the illness, the disappointments. It was so refreshing to have changed my perspective to something beautifully simple, like paint — to a pretty green paint to be exact.

It really is hard not to focus on the struggle. It’s hard not to let our attention stay on the problems and issues and worries. And it’s especially hard when we’re in the middle of the struggle and it’s all we can see around us, behind us, and even in front of us.

Don’t let struggle steal your joy.

Sometimes we need to remind ourselves, or have someone gently remind us, that it’s okay to just let it go for a moment. Yes, it’s still important. Yes, it probably needs at least some of our attention. Yes, we can’t just ignore it, but we can set it aside and take a break from it.

Turn your attention elsewhere. Enjoy every bit of something else — the sun on your skin, the smell of fresh air, the sound of birds, the feel of book pages, the taste of your tea or coffee, the rhythm of music, the feeling of paint on your fingers. Find joy in the small things because God meets us there. The big things are in the small things because God is so good!

This is the day which the Lord has made; let’s rejoice and be glad in it.
Psalm 118:24 (NASB)

Whatever you may be facing today, set aside the hard and have a moment of joy. God will help you handle what is ahead, but take the time to enjoy an incredible, awe-inspiring, soul-lifting moment with Him.

God has made this day! Live full of His joys!

With Our Eyes Lifted Higher, We See Him

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Me? Dragging? That’s not my usual state. Most days, I can talk myself off a cliff, lift myself up, move from feeling down by turning my back on trouble and turning my heart to God.

But a couple of weeks ago, I was dragging, needing help and knowing it. Lying in bed, I told my churning mind to shut down the noise and stop the infernal clatter. Finally, then, I could hear God’s Spirit whisper, I am your Lifter.

He’s the same Lifter we praised here a few weeks ago when another (in)courage writer, Jennifer Ueckert, shared a gorgeous story about the “Lenten rose” plant, whose flower heads look down — unless they’re lifted up. It was a lovely and robust lesson, sending me back to Psalm 3:3, the verse about God lifting our heads. I couldn’t stop noodling over it, hoping perhaps to discover in it one more nugget of godly help.

So, I looked again at that old psalm and reflected on David writing it — his life in shambles and his rebellious son Absalom scheming to take him down with a mutiny army. Yep, family drama. As David cried, “I have so many foes, Lord!” scoffers doubted that God would bother to deliver him. David’s reply?

But you, LORD, are a shield around me,
my glory, and the lifter of my head.
Psalm 3:3 (ESV)

This is faith talk. Real deal. (Just as Jennifer said.) So, David points us to another thing God’s lifting accomplishes: it puts our eyes on higher ground. Lifted up, we turn our eyes from things lower than His glory: popularity, praise from people, personal achievements, or other earthly barometers.

David, as king, could have such things, but he learned to focus, however, on the true Lifter. Feeling low, David looked to the Lord for a pickup that actually worked.

For me, I’ve started turning off the news more times than not, spending time, instead, looking to the presence of our shielding, glorious, lifting God.

Is that escapism? Or am I, like David, giving myself more time to look to God for hope? To say, God, You’re lifting me high — far above the confusion, drama, drudgery, worry, lies, and insults I sometimes face. He lifts my eyes not to ignore trials but to get closer to Him because He can handle them.

With our eyes lifted up, our trials become smaller. We can see our way more clearly — to see God, His might and glory, and also to see ourselves. We’re not the failures we call ourselves nor are we “less than” others as we often but wrongly believe.

Instead, when our eyes are lifted high by Him, we gain a new perspective. We see His sovereignty, not our nagging problems. All the stuff churning below us stays down there — still churning but not dragging us back down because we see the Conqueror defeating it.

“I lift up my eyes to the hills,” God’s people sang as they traveled up the dangerous, twisty road to Jerusalem. Bandits awaited, but the pilgrims focused on God, singing, “My help comes from the Lord” (Psalm 121:1-2 ESV).

And after His resurrection, Jesus told Mary Magdalene to tell the brothers, “I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God” (John 20:17 NIV). Then, she rushed to the disciples with the news: “I have seen the Lord!”

When He lifts us, we too can see Him as He is — our shield and mighty glory. Is that view worth it for Jennifer and I both to rejoice here over the same Scripture within a few weeks of each other?

It is, for this reason: He is rejoicing, in turn, over us — singing over our joy, loving us for seeing that, lifted by Him, we are shielded week after amazing week. Then, what does this look this? His great glory.

Let’s Plan on Cultivating Courageous Habits

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Hi. My name is Anna, and I am a die-hard fan of physical, paper, hold-in-my-hands planners.

Yes, we use Google calendar for family calendar-ing and planning, but I still have a spiral-bound planner that sits on my desk and keeps my head in the game and organized.

I’ve had a paper planner since elementary school, and I’ve kept many of them too. Looking back through them brings me a sweet, bless-her-heart moment as I page through what I considered important enough to log.

School assignments, work deadlines, appointments for me, my husband, and my kids. Birthday parties, church, volunteering, events, sports, outings with friends, trips, and meal plans. I’ve kept track of most of my life in spiral-bound sheets of paper, the blank squares of the monthly layout beckoning while the lined weekly pages wait to be filled with to-do tasks. I don’t get fancy with decorating or using tons of stickers — just my trusty, favorite black ink pen and the occasional sticky note or paperclip. And I log it all.

But then there was a global pandemic. It hit hard and fast and impacted every aspect of almost everything. Life as I knew it was cancelled, and I kid you not — I put my planner away in a drawer and closed it tightly so I didn’t have to keep experiencing the pain of crossed out events. For a while, even meal planning was cancelled because my brain just couldn’t handle the planning. Routines and habits went out the window, and it seemed as though our whole life was odd, off, and a little bit unreal.

I was knee-deep in survival mode, and every inch of it was reflected in my sad, crossed-out, stowed-away, old planner.

One day, when things were still closed and life continued to be weird and kind of scary, I bought a new planner. I grabbed a pen and started filling in times for my kids’ distance learning classes, online library story times, church committee meetings on Zoom. I made a dentist appointment and wrote it down. I made a meal plan.

And with each stroke of my trusty black pen, filling in blank lines and empty squares, I felt like I was taking a stand against the hopelessness of the pandemic. It wasn’t the same as before, but it was something and I was doing it.

Filling in my planner became my act of trust and defiance.

I found that as I used my paper planner, I was able to begin rebuilding my routines and habits. They may not have been steps toward lofty goals, big dreams, or even inspiring ideas, but I was able to wash my face and brush my teeth every night. I started filling my water bottle regularly. I made one meal plan, then another, and another. I read the Scriptures on the planner pages (DaySpring planners like this one include Scripture!). I built up and added onto each small habit I’d re-started, using my planner to keep track.

Although it was filling up with very different activities and nothing was yet “normal,” I no longer wanted to shove my planner into the back of a drawer. I let it take up its spot on my desk again. I was grateful to have anything at all written inside, thankful to be clawing out of survival mode and proud to be courageously returning to habits and routines.

When everything was vastly out of my control, God used a planner to give me some direction and joy.

By Anna E. Rendell

What if creating the life you long for doesn’t hinge on the huge decisions you might face but on the daily habits you have the power to make? How do we make sure our ordinary days add up to joy, growth, impact, and change? By cultivating a life of small, courageous daily habits, which is simple to do with our Courageous Habits Planner!

Each month in the Courageous Habits Planner, we introduce a new Courageous Habit. Rather than a one-size-fits-all recipe, these habits are intended to help you assess areas of personal and spiritual growth you’d like to focus on, and then implement new patterns in your life that will lead to lasting and life-impacting change. In addition to a new habit each month, you’ll also find an inspiring weekly verse and place to track your habits. Make it personal, friend! Only you can decide what new habit is right for you right now, and writing it down will help you practice it today and remember it tomorrow!

At (in)courage, we know real transformation doesn’t come by our own strength. Real courage to get through a hard day or busy season or even an amazing year doesn’t come from just gritting our teeth and hustling harder. True courage comes from God’s unwavering presence. God-given courage paired with a commitment to cultivate small habits has the power to make our days and months meaningful with personal growth. Start now with the Courageous Habits Planner!

And to help, we’re giving away THREE (in)courage Courageous Habits planners!

Just leave a comment on this article telling us about your experience with or love for paper planners. We’ll draw three lucky winners.

*Giveaway only open to US addresses and will close at 11:59pm on June 4, 2021.

Plan on Praising God in the Puddles

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Growing up in Oklahoma, I was used to the reality that spring comes in like a lion and out like a lamb. That lion translates to tornado sirens, hail, destructive winds, and waking up in the middle of the night to run to our safe spot, which was usually a bathroom in the middle of our house. We’d lie in the bathtub with a mattress pulled over our heads, while we prayed that the tornado wouldn’t hit our house.

I remember the night our phone rang and how my Dad’s face changed to shock, mixed with relief, as he listened to my grandfather shouting, “We’re alive. We’re alive.” Their house and neighborhood had been leveled by a tornado, but God had spared them. 

Last week, it was a bad weather day that started before the sun rose. I watched the news as our meteorologist told us who was in the path of the storm. I prayed against the storm like Jesus did — to be calm and still. I watched reports of school buses with children getting stranded in floodwaters.

Black clouds rotated as I drove home from dropping my daughter off at school. I continued to pray as I tried to see the road through torrential rain. I called my parents to meet me at my house so we could get into our storm shelter. I listened for the sound of hail hitting my roof and the sirens warning me a tornado was present. Thankfully, our area was under danger but no damage was done. But going through a storm is exhausting.

By that afternoon, the sun started to peek back out as we all began to survey the damage. I saw splashing in a flooded yard, and there was a black bird taking a bath — fluttering, splashing, and enjoying the plentiful water that God had sent. This black bird had experienced what I just did, taking cover as best as she could. 

As I watched this puddle bath, the Holy Spirt graciously reminded me that God is working out all things together for my good, even the storms. 

In that moment, I knew God allowed the storm to encourage me in my faith, so I could realize again that He answers my prayers.

As our local weatherman reminds us during tornado season, “Don’t be scared; be prepared.”

What if we took the same posture in our daily lives? To not be scared of the storms in our lives, for they will come, but to be prepared for how we will battle in prayer and walk in faith. To plan on celebrating what God will do as we splash in puddles with praise. 

The storms in your life are a reminder to use the power and authority God has given you and to witness God fight for you, answer your prayers, keep His promises, and love you through it. 

I was overcome with the thought of how we can be like this little black bird. Watching her gave me hope to carry on, just like when we watch someone go through their own storm and come out on the other side — not just surviving but praising God for the puddles left behind.

Praising God through your storm can give someone else pause and hope in their hard times.

Whether your storm looks like taking the wrong advice, a business deal gone bad, a relationship that ended, a health issue you’re still dealing with or a child that has rebelled, God promises in Isaiah 43:1-3 and 18-21,

Fear not, for I have redeemed you;
    I have called you by name, you are mine.
When you pass through the waters, I will be with you;
    and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you;
when you walk through fire you shall not be burned,
    and the flame shall not consume you.
For I am the Lord your God,
    the Holy One of Israel, your Savior.

 Behold, I am doing a new thing;
    now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?
I will make a way in the wilderness
    and rivers in the desert.
The wild beasts will honor me,
    the jackals and the ostriches,
for I give water in the wilderness,
    rivers in the desert,
to give drink to my chosen people,
   the people whom I formed for myself
that they might declare my praise.

Our part is to remember we are God’s chosen and to be patient, allowing God to get us through the rising waters, fire, and wilderness. 

I don’t know about you, but I’m impatient. I want God to do the working out now and to prevent the rising waters, flames, and hardships from even happening. But I wonder if we forget that the storm is a chance to praise God. I wonder if our impatience and if some of the messes we find ourselves in are because we didn’t give God space and time to make the floodwaters into a beautiful springtime bath. What we consider a delay by God in His answer for our prayers is not an unfulfilled promise. 

I realize your storm probably isn’t literal like mine was the other night, but we will all find ourselves in some type of storm where we will need God to work it out. And we want Him not just to work it out but to work it out for our good. I believe that deep down we want to experience His love so our lives can be full of His praises, and I’m thankful that with the current state of our lives and our world, we can hope in His rescue and provision and that God promises it. 

The storms in our lives give us courage to pray and see God answer in His good time. Until then, let’s plan on celebrating in the puddles after the storm and praise God for His kindness to us even now. 

What storm are you living through that God is giving you the opportunity to come to Him, to see Him protect you, and to give you the opportunity to praise Him afterwards?

Stop Apologizing for Who You Are

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Sometimes, the first thing I do when I come downstairs in the morning is apologize for sleeping “so late.” It is after 7am, I suppose.

I’m a night owl by design. My body’s ideal schedule would be sleeping from 1am to10am, like a teenager on a Saturday. I come by this desire naturally; it’s literally in my bones. My mom has been retired for more than five years, and when I’m up putzing around (or watching Netflix) at midnight I know I can text her to chat because she’ll be awake. The late-night to late-morning schedule that my body longs for? My mom has it too, and finally in retirement life, after single mothering and teaching in an elementary school for more than thirty years, she finally gets the chance to own her body’s natural rhythm to sleep late to late.

When my kids get up before 7am, my husband tends to be the one to get up with them. I mean, sometimes “getting up with them” equals setting out cereal for them and turning on PBS, but still. He’s awake, and I am asleep. Or dozing at its finest, I should say. I hear my kids running like a herd of elephants and asking for more food and enjoying their early morning; I just cannot seem to make my body do anything about it. When I finally amble downstairs, almost fully awake, I stumble in with apologies. And every time I do, my husband says, “Why are you sorry? We’re all good.” It’s both the epitome of grace and the best kind of real-life love.

Yet, even with his kind reaction and encouragement, the guilt floods and the apologies persist. Both are totally self-inflicted and due to the picture I’ve created in my head of what a “good mom” is:

Up before the sun.
Reading her Bible at the counter.
Waiting for her kids to walk in.
Coffee made. Dressed. Smiling. Ready.

I am none of these things. Not a single one. Some people are morning folk, chirpy like a robin. I am like a nocturnal hedgehog, all spiky and not at all chipper. You know what my son told me when he was six? One morning, my little angel boy told me that before I have my coffee in the morning, I’m like a Bergen . . . from the movie Trolls. In case you do not have an overly honest six-year-old boy around, the Bergens are gray, grumpy, cranky, snaggletoothed, snarly giants with really messy hair. So yeah, I guess you could say I’m not exactly on in the mornings.

But at 10pm, I am on. I write. I clean the toilets. I bake. I binge my current favorite series on Netflix. I read. I finish a crossword. I work. Basically, 10pm is when I am one of the sparkly, singing, shiny, nice Trolls (the opposite of a Bergen, thankyouverymuch.) I rock the midnight oil instead of the morning dawn.

My body’s internal clock does its own thing, but often I feel an urge to apologize for it. Here’s the thing, though — I think God instilled it into me on purpose, just like my eyes are blue, and I can (and love to) sing, and I’m right-handed, and my empathy level is off the charts. Those are God-given traits I can cultivate but not fight. It would never occur to me to apologize for any of those traits. And really, since He made us by His design, hand-picking each and every bitty detail of who we are, why should we feel a need to apologize for any of it?

This isn’t about nature vs. nurture. This is about shedding the guilt for that which makes us who we are, because who we are is His, and nothing about us surprises Him.

God is not surprised that I can’t function before 7am. He is not surprised that I wrote most of my books with James Taylor as my soundtrack, or that I cook while listening to terrible 90’s hits. God is not surprised by my tendency towards selfishness. He is not surprised when I procrastinate. God is not surprised when I get overwhelmed, when I cry at the drop of a hat, when I get silly with my family. He’s not surprised by anything I do because God wired me Himself.

Does God have other feelings about my actions and personality? I bet He does. There are always better choices I could make that lead me nearer to His heart. But surprise? I don’t think so. And when I begin to apologize for who I am, God cups my face in His hands and gently says, “Why are you sorry? They’re all good . . . and so are you.”

Tomorrow morning, when I stumble down the stairs around 7:30 to an already bustling kitchen and lean into my husbands open arms, instead of “I’m sorry,” I’m going to go with “Thank you.” I’m going to whisper thanks to the One who formed me (and knows I’m a late sleeper, too).

God hasn’t given us a spirit of fear or self-condemnation, but He has instilled in each of us gratitude. Let’s practice leaning into appreciation instead of guilt and stop apologizing for who we are. Because, friends, every part of us is unsurprising to Him — internal clocks, questionable music choices, selfish ways and all — and we can breathe deep with thankfulness for it all.

Stay and Remain in His Love

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Every day my husband leaves for work, and our daughter Mea, like a little duckling, follows him outside. He gathers her up in his arms, kisses her, then proceeds to start his truck and drive away. I stand in the driveway beside her as she waves frantically at his departure. We move from the driveway to the middle of the street and watch his truck become toy size. I try and negotiate a way to get her back inside because I am still in my sweats and nightshirt, but Mea doesn’t budge. She waves her hands high until he turns the corner and his truck is out of sight. Once he is gone, I can nudge her back inside and, finally, get on with my day.

I don’t like goodbyes. Especially the goodbyes when a “hello again” can’t be penciled in on the calendar. This month, two family members are moving and taking my nieces and nephew with them. I’ve been lucky enough to have my family close by. For years, we’ve gathered for holidays, Sunday lunches, and summer swims. It has always been joyous and convenient. One family is moving to Texas and another Florida. I have no idea when we will all be together again.

We gathered for Mother’s Day and as we prayed before the meal, our arms looped in and around each other’s arms like pretzels. It felt safe. After the kids played tag, burned things in the bonfire, and finished the coconut cake, we all slowly said goodbye. There were tears and laughter to ease off the sadness, but days that once seemed so normal will now be “remember when” stories. I wanted to scream, “Please don’t leave!”

I’m not good with transition or change. I always order the same Starbucks drink. I don’t like trying new restaurants, and I’ve been driving the same car for, well, forever. But there is so much transition right now. Soon, my son will enter high school, and my youngest will start preschool. For the first time in fifteen years, I won’t be managing nap time or changing diapers. To be honest, this change scares me. Who am I without a baby? What do I do with my time? What do holidays look like without all of our extended family?

Transition is painful. The anticipation of it is grueling. I am tempted to pretend it isn’t coming. I look away at other more delightful things. I focus on the positives. I binge-watch old episodes of my favorite TV show. I distract myself from reality just long enough not to feel the sting of it. But we are all in some sort of transition. We’re all pressing on the gas and looking in our rearview mirrors. We’re scattering new seeds and pulling up unwanted weeds. We’re always starting something new and letting go of something old. We aren’t called to do transition perfectly, but we can learn how to do it well.

I remember the words of Jesus before He transcended to heaven. He walked, talked, and lived among the disciples and hundreds more after His resurrection. His words of love before He left them went like this, “As the Father has loved me, so have I loved you. Now remain in my love” (John 15:9 NIV). The word that stands out to me the most is — remain. Stay. Up until the very last moment, Jesus stayed with those He loved. He invited them to remain in His love. Even in the change, the only constant is Christ’s love.

I lean into the love of Christ today. With every word of my sad story of change, I trust in the sturdiness of God’s love. I don’t have to glance away when goodbyes are coming. I don’t have to only find the pretty. I can hold grief and gratitude in the same hand. Transitions can be hard. I can keep them at arm’s length, or I can enter them with the hope that God’s arms will reach me no matter what uncontrollable circumstances come my way. I can be like my daughter who waves goodbye enthusiastically until the very last moment.

The invitation to you, dear sisters, in the midst of change is to remain in Christ’s love. Lean heavy on His side. Loop arms with His. No matter how scary or unwanted the transition may be, God’s invitation is to remain in His love.

Responding to Violent Words with Words of Peace

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Last year, I received an email I wasn’t supposed to. From the opening line onward, there was a detailed list of complaints that an individual held against me with insults and slander throughout. It was one of the most painful emails I’ve ever read. At the core of the matter were differences in theological positions but also a dislike of me as a female speaker and leader. Even worse, this person was sharing their thoughts with a large group of fellow brothers and sisters in Christ, asking them to boycott me and my work. I would have never known about any of this except somehow my email address was accidentally included.

I wrestled for a long time with what to do with that email. Should I respond? Should I reach out to the person? Should I expose this email to the online world and vindicate myself of what I felt to be false accusations? After much prayer and counsel from respected friends and the elders of my church, I chose not to respond.

Sometimes we can engage with folks who truly desire to have a productive conversation and are willing to engage us with mutual respect. We can clarify, perhaps educate too when necessary. But usually when negative words come flying at us, the best thing we can do is to first hold our own tongues. We can exercise self-control and choose not to sling the metaphorical mud back at our accuser.

Jesus models for us how to respond to violent words with words of peace. Jesus, our Prince of Peace, gives us peace at all times in every way (2 Thessalonians 3:16). In fact, Jesus’ peace is to rule over our hearts (Colossians 3:15), and He encourages us by saying, “Blessed are the peacemakers for they shall be called sons and daughters of God” (Matthew 5:9). The writer of that email had no interest in personally engaging with me, and I knew that fighting back, even defending myself, would not lead to peace. In fact, speaking angry, hurtful words back at my accuser would have only created more division and tension, not reconciliation.

Violence of any kind only perpetuates more violence. We often think of violence only in terms of our bodies, but words can be just as damaging. James 3:6 says, “The tongue also is a fire, a world of evil among the parts of the body. It corrupts the whole body, sets the whole course of one’s life on fire, and is itself set on fire by hell.” Verses 9-10 continue, “With the tongue we praise our Lord and Father, and with it we curse human beings, who have been made in God’s likeness. Out of the same mouth come praise and cursing. My brothers and sisters, this should not be.” Painful words linger with us long after they’ve been spoken. As Xochitl Dixon says, “Negative words often appear to have the sticking power of superglue.” Months, even years, can go by, and the wounds of accusations, insults, and lies can feel just as raw as ever.

Lashing back out, however, is neither helpful nor biblical. Winning an argument may make us feel better for a moment, but it doesn’t show love and peace to a other person. In the movie, You’ve Got Mail, Meg Ryan tells Tom Hanks that she’s always wanted to be able to say just the right words in just the right moment to stick it to someone. When she finally gets her chance, though, she feels terrible afterward. Putting someone in their place never satisfies us in the way we think it will.

I’m continually challenged by the words of Romans 12:17-19, which states, “Do not repay anyone evil for evil. Be careful to do what is right in the eyes of everyone. If it is possible, as far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone. Do not take revenge.” Think about that line for a moment: “If it is possible, live at peace with everyone.” This is incredible and perhaps one of the hardest challenges for us even still today.

We live in an age of cancel culture, of critiquing everyone for everything. Instead of making space for each other, whether it’s our different theological views or stances on the hot topics of the day, instead of learning to live in the tension and awkwardness of finding a way to get along, we say, “It’s my way or the highway.” Everything is either this or that. You’re either on “my team,” or you’re my enemy. None of this is living with a posture and heart for peace.

God challenges us to a better way. He invites us to forgive again and again, to be slow to speak and slow to anger, to cling to God’s Word and find healing in the knowledge and truth of who God says you are. We live in a violent, broken world, but we can be agents of transformation, breaking cycles of violent words and replacing them with words and indeed realities of peace.

Nothing Is Wasted — Even the Pains of Our Past

by

It’s been said that life is a blank page, but because of my mother’s fate, the script for my life was already written.

Ah-Ma was a teenage mail-order bride from Hong Kong married to a busboy working in a noodle shop in San Francisco Chinatown. He left me when I was seven years old.

Six-month-old me and eighteen-year-old Ah-Ma on our back porch in Chinatown

Ah-Ma is “mom” translated from the Chinese Cantonese dialect. The second girl of eight kids, Ah-Ma’s mother chose her to marry a stranger ten years older to immigrate her family to the land of opportunity. She had dreams of a better life, but I had different dreams of my own.

So, what would you do if you found yourself in the middle of a story you never intended to choose for yourself?

I never told anyone about the real story behind Ah-ma or my father because I always felt those were the parts of my story that made me feel weird, flawed, and out of place. So, I just cut those parts of my story out.

All my life, I grew up hiding my heart, trying to be “normal” like everyone else. I was stuck between two worlds: at home, I was Chinese Bonnie, the oldest daughter taking care of my little sister Mei-Mei, walking her home from school, helping with homework, and putting aside my work when it was dinner time. I’d stand over the kitchen sink, swish-swashing bok choy and then I’d throw a wok over the stove top to stir-fry a meal of sliced chicken, julienned green onions, and a generous splatter of minced garlic.

But the minute I stepped outside my doorway, I became American Bonnie, where I felt I could only talk about the things that happy, shiny people talked about. Without a place where I could fully belong, I walked around split into two halves that lived in different worlds and was never fully present in either. It was a bit like the children in The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, who traveled beyond the wardrobe but could never bring Narnia back with them.

I was never whole Bonnie anywhere.

To navigate my life as an adult, as a wife, and as a mom to two boys, I decided to create a new story with my own family. I told myself, Leave the past where it was, Bonnie. I never wanted to talk about the family secrets that left me feeling like I didn’t belong anywhere, but God knew how to reach me — through my curiosity.

One day, I was rummaging in an old file cabinet and stumbled upon an old forgotten birth certificate. I realized I had never seen the home I was born into and set out to find my childhood home and my father in San Francisco’s Chinatown to uncover the family secrets I had run away from.

What I discovered about my past has become my story of how God creates beauty out of brokenness as we discover our true worth in God’s love.

Can you relate to having different parts of your life split up between your private world, where you hide your wounds, and the outside world, where you perform, please, or achieve?

The truth is, we’re all on a journey to find belonging out of loneliness and beauty out of brokenness.

God has given each of us a unique set of cultural heritages, with a rich diversity of stories and different types of families, to show the world He is powerful to carry us through every imaginable human experience. When we open up about our lives and share our stories, others can see that nothing is wasted under the power of God’s loving hand. And because of God’s never-ending, faithful, and healing love, you and I no longer need to hide our brokenness.

God values and treasures the beautiful parts of you that others have overlooked. God tenderly whispers, You are my treasure. I cherish you.

We become beloved.

Over the pandemic, I wrote about my Asian American stories of faith and placed them in a new book named Sweet Like Jasmine. And for the first time, I read those stories to my children, Josh and Caleb. They can see that God was at work in all the parts of my story, and now I stand unashamed, embracing who I am as both Chinese and American and living whole as God’s beloved daughter.

Get a FREE audiobook of my new book Sweet Like Jasmine: Finding Identity in a Culture of Loneliness and exclusive access to the book club by signing up here! I’m so excited to empower you as God’s beloved!