What’s Still True When You’re Not “Fine”

What’s Still True When You’re Not “Fine”

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On a recent morning I told God I wasn’t fine. Nope, I was tired of stupid COVID-19. Frustrated over being far away from my family. Grieved over people being mean on social media. Maybe you can relate?

I used a roll of toilet paper as tissue because that’s what we do in our house (so if there’s another shortage not only will I not be able to pee, I won’t be able to cry properly either). I got up and paced across the room. At one point I paused to read the little canvas sign on my desk I’ve had for a decade now. It says, “She knew that many were the plans in her heart but that God’s purpose would prevail” (based on Proverbs 19:21).

Did I still know many were the plans in my heart but God’s purpose would prevail? Right now in this moment? True confession: The past year has been hard on my faith. I’ve wrestled with questions, struggled with doubts. I’ve said to God more than ever, “I don’t get it” and/or “I don’t like it.”

I talked to someone recently who implied I wasn’t supposed to have doubts or certain emotions. It upset me so much I had to leave for a few minutes and go for a walk to calm down. As a licensed counselor, I’ve studied the neuroscience behind what we feel and why God biologically created us with emotions. They aren’t good or bad; they’re simply messengers. (Even anger, which is often criticized the most, tells us there’s been an injustice, a goal blocked, or value violated.) It’s what we do in response to our emotions that matters.

Also, I’ve struggled with anxiety and depression throughout my life. In 2018 and 2019 I had a season of remission — my longest ever. But with all that’s going on in this world, I’ve had to fight harder than ever not to relapse. I’m still standing, but I’ve not won the battle every day. Statistics say I’m not the only one, that a third of Americans are experiencing clinical levels of anxiety and depression right now. Really, considering all we’re going through as humanity, it’s understandable. Sometimes we can do all the right things, but life happens and we struggle.

So when I asked myself, “Do I know that many are the plans in my heart but that God’s purpose would prevail?” what I really meant was, “Do I feel this way today?” The honest answer? No. Not at all. I felt weary, confused, a bit lonely, anxious, and like I just wanted a cookie.

And that’s okay. God knows our emotions are complex. He built our brains, breathed life into our fallible human bodies, gave us a fight-or-flight response. The way we feel isn’t proof of whether or not our faith is real. (Although it might be proof we need a nap.)

What was proof of my faith? That I was ugly-snot-crying into toilet tissue telling God I didn’t understand what the heck He was doing and furthermore that I wasn’t sure I liked it and maybe He could just hurry up and fix the whole world, starting with me. (It seems the Psalmist often did the same, only with fancier words and no toilet tissue.)

The word “know” in Scripture is often deeper than intellectual facts; it’s about intimacy. It’s about vulnerability and laying ourselves bare, holding nothing back. So, in that sense, the answer to my question was “yes.” Somewhere deep down I still knew, still believed God wasn’t done with the world or me yet. I think you do too — even if right now you’re wiping away tears, yelling at the sky, dodging doubts, or your soul feels as numb and unnerving as a foot that’s fallen asleep.

It’s okay to have whatever emotions we do, or none at all, but there’s one thing I don’t want us to embrace: shame. Shame over our anxiety and depression. Shame over our “lack of faith.” Shame over how we can’t get stuff done. Shame that comes from thinking we must be the only one.

We’re in a hard place, all of us, and we’re going to make it through. We’re going to heal, regain our strength, even dream again. But right now we’re still in the messy middle. So for one more day we fight on, cry, laugh, yell, pray. Because we know, we still know that many are the plans in our hearts but that God’s purpose will prevail.

Holley’s new book is on sale! The Powerful Purpose of Introverts: Why the World Needs You to Be You ebook is only $1.59 (for a limited time). Already have a copy? Gift an ebook to your favorite introverts!

You’re Right Where You’re Supposed to Be

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The Christmas tree still stands happy and bright at our house, the wreath still hangs on the door, and half the neighborhood must feel the same way I do: I’ll get to it, but just not yet.

Most years, I relish the first few days of the new year. I set aside a couple of hours to sit down with my planner, a goal-setting journal, and a cup of coffee. I plug headphones into my ear, closing myself off from the noise of the world (i.e. the living room where my desk is), and I enter into intentional me-and-God-dreaming time.

It’s one of my favorite things to do whenever January rolls around. It helps me envision the coming months so I can live with and on purpose.

But this year is starting off on the same note last year ended with. Instead of a bang, it’s more of a hum, and the thrill of what’s to come is missing.

It’s strange not to feel the excitement, especially when I’m someone who loves starting new things and having vision and a call toward something. I’m usually the person telling other people about living with intentionality and how important it is to have that one word for the year.

And because this is all unusual for me, I’m paying attention. I’m taking note of the emptiness that doesn’t feel sad or weird but peaceful. I’m reframing it and calling it open space. I’m noticing my pace and how slow it is. It’s slow but not behind. It’s right on track, to the same step as God’s. I’m recognizing the shift in my heart for the place God has me in as a work-at-home, suburban mom, whose basic day mostly involves managing other people’s lives, making sure there’s food for dinner and that homework is done. It’s a life I didn’t aspire to or even want in my 20s, but here I am, actually enjoying it and seeing God in it now.

It’s not better or more right or even more glorifying to God one way or the other — whether you’re in a similar season in life or you’re in a season of adventure and risk. Both are ordained by God, and God is everywhere — in every season, at every pace, in every in-between place.

I often wonder about the unwritten parts of Jesus’s life, about the moments when He might’ve felt the ordinary to be ordinary, even though He was God. Did He relish it — this being human, of making His home here on this earth, of dwelling with us? Did He delight in the repetition of the small things, knowing all things? Did He look forward to the day when He would get baptized by John, His cousin, and thus begin His years of ministry?

He was familiar with it all — the mundane and the miraculous, the boring and the busy, the years when one faded into the next and the year when His life would come to an end and He would make eternity a reality for us.

He calls it all good, every part.

Every time I ask God if there’s something I should be looking for — a vision He might be showing me that I’m missing or a yes or no I should be saying or a path I should be taking — He says the same thing back to me:

You’re right where you’re supposed to be.

Even now, with no word for the year or goals or planner in hand, with the Christmas tree still twinkling, oblivious to its time having passed, with no plan for how I should grow or what I should become this year, God says it’s okay — good even, and I’m starting right there.

 

When the Spirit of God Hovers

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In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth. The earth was formless and empty, and darkness covered the deep waters. And the Spirit of God was hovering over the surface of the waters.

Then God said, “Let there be light,” and there was light. And God saw that the light was good. Then he separated the light from the darkness. God called the light “day” and the darkness “night.”

And evening passed and morning came, marking the first day.
Genesis 1:1-5 (NLT)

Perhaps “formless and empty” describe the season you’re in or the year you’ve had. It seems as though nothing good or generative is happening and that you’re stuck in a holding pattern. Or perhaps you can’t see past the darkness that lays heavy on you, one that you haven’t been able to shake for a while.

Then the story of creation may be what you need to hear today. When the Spirit of God hovered over the surface of the waters (water often symbolizing chaos and death in the Bible), movement happened, light came to be, and the first day began.

Creativity.
Transformation.
Hope.

Our Creator God is the same today as He was then. May His Spirit hover over you, creating beauty, breathing new life, and instilling hope into your soul.

Navigating Through the Fog of Uncertainty

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I grew up in Chicago where winters were punctuated by blustery winds, snow drifts, and icy roads. I remember having to put on all the layers to bundle up before school and the strange sensation of my nose hairs freezing when I stepped outside our front door in the morning.

After college, I moved to Central California to chase a career as a newspaper journalist. My first winter in California was decidedly different. People wore boots for “cozy fashion” rather than necessity, and I had to reckon with fog.

Fog terrified me.

The San Joaquin Valley where I live is known for tule fog — a thick ground fog that lingers in this area during the colder winter months because of the mountain ranges that surround it.

The fog is disorienting because you can’t see very far in front of you or around you. When you’re driving through it, you have to travel slowly because other cars or obstacles may be shrouded in the dense, suffocating mist.

In so many ways, 2020 felt like a fog — full of uncertainty, heavy with decision fatigue, and unprecedented changes. Some of us weathered depression, anxiety, sickness, and fear of the unknown day after day. It was difficult to find the way forward. We were isolated from our people, our comfortable routines, and any sense of normalcy. The reality is that might not entirely change now that we have turned the calendar page to 2021.

Several times in the book of Exodus, God reveals Himself through fog and thick clouds. In Exodus 19, the Lord said to Moses, “Behold, I am coming to you in a thick cloud, that the people may hear when I speak with you, and may also believe you forever” (Exodus 19:9 ESV).

Later in Exodus 24, Moses went up Mount Sinai and the cloud covered the mountain again. “The glory of the Lord dwelt on Mount Sinai, and the cloud covered it six days. And on the seventh day he called to Moses out of the midst of the cloud” (Exodus 24:16 ESV). After this, Moses goes into the cloud and stays there for forty days and forty nights. God shelters Moses and speaks to him in this hidden place.

As I scroll through my memory, God reminds me of seasons in my own life where I was navigating the fog. In 1999, when I first moved to California, I was recovering from a broken heart. I was disillusioned with relationships and found it difficult to move forward, to trust again. I went through a long season of challenges, but God continued to reach out to me.

In 2008, my husband Ericlee lost his job right before Christmas when I was pregnant with our second daughter. Our future felt scary and uncertain, but in the same way God provided manna for the Israelites in the wilderness, He provided miraculously for our needs.

In 2014, when Ericlee was diagnosed with stage four cancer, I found myself in a thick fog. I could not understand why we would have to face this disease in the prime of our ministry life and with three young daughters. Even in my husband’s death, God proved faithful again and again. He was present with me in the fog.

In 2018, our family navigated a lot of changes, including leaving our beloved school, church of two decades, and neighborhood. I grieved these losses and felt forlorn about the future. Again, God spoke to me in the thick clouds and brought me comfort and new hope that flourishing was possible.

In hindsight, I see the fog did eventually lift in all those cases. God brought clarity and healing, all in due time. But the most important part to remember is that His presence was with me through the fog.

Sometimes God uses foggy and uncertain times in our lives to draw us to Himself so we can learn to trust Him. When we keep our eyes focused on Him in the midst of uncertainty, He can be like a good set of fog lights penetrating the darkness for us.

I’ve lived in Central California for more than twenty years now. My attitude about fog has somewhat shifted. Fog no longer represents fear to me. The fog ushers in our winter and cozying up at home with my people. When I see the tule fog weaving its way through our hills and streets, I think of Christmas and the new year.

Fog is a fresh reminder that God meets with us in our uncertainty and our longing. He is faithful to us even in the winter seasons of the soul.

 

Dorina is hosting the Walk Run Soar 21 in ’21 challenge starting Monday, using her new devotional book, Walk Run Soar. If you have a goal to move your body and connect more with God in 2021, join her here. Walkers and runners welcome!

Lord, Help Us

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So let us come boldly to the throne of our gracious God.
There we will receive his mercy, and we will find grace to help us when we need it most.
Hebrews 4:16 (NLT)

Gracious God, we need you.
We need your mercy to mend our broken hearts.
We need your grace to make a way forward.
Thank you for inviting us to your throne.
Thank you for hearing our cries for truth, justice, and restoration.
Grow us in wisdom, humility, compassion, and love for our brothers and sisters.
Spirit, groan where our words fall short and our sight fails.
Lord, help us.
You are able.
We are on our knees and expectant.
Amen.

 

You Are Worth Loving in the New Year

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My father left when I was seven years old, but I always held out hope that one day he might come back to see me again.

When it came time for my birthday each year, I secretly believed a card from him would arrive. Since I walked home from school, I was always the first in my family to check the mailbox. But, as each year passed, I never did find what I longed to arrive from the post office.

When I graduated from high school and stood at the podium giving my graduation speech addressing my senior classmates, I still looked for him in the stands. I thought maybe once I turned eighteen, my father would appear in the crowd as it dispersed. I imagined it to be like an after-school movie special and I would finally be reunited with the man who was missing from my life.

But no such person came forward to shake my hand or call me daughter. And that’s when I decided it was time to grow up and to stop wishing for such things. I remember getting on an airplane for the first time to fly down south to Los Angeles to go to college. As I sat looking out the window, seeing the city I grew up in disappear as the plane climbed into the clouds, I remember whispering to Jesus, “It’s just you and me, Jesus. Thank you for taking care of me. I love you.” Then, I decided to stop wondering why my father left and why he never came back for me. A new exciting chapter of life and my future was opening up to me and I was happy to leave my questions in the past.

I told myself that my Heavenly Father was the only dad who took care of me all these years anyhow. I had asked Jesus to come into my heart when I was seven years old, sitting in the back of an old-fashioned revival meeting one night. From the moment I heard words read from a book called the Bible – that God loved me so much, He sent His only Son to suffer and die for me – I went from being a little girl who had been abandoned to becoming the adopted daughter of my Heavenly Daddy. And because I loved reading books like gobbling chocolate chip cookies, I didn’t read the Bible as a manual for life. I read the Bible as love letters from God, who was now my Forever Father. I wanted to know everything about Jesus and He would be the one I would rely on from that day forward.

The Bible became the one loving voice in my life. My diary entries journaling how I felt, my questions, heartaches and dreams, and the promises I found in the Scriptures became intermingled in one place. God’s love whispered to me like a song in the night and Jesus became my all in all.

God takes our broken pieces and makes beautiful things with the touch of His love.

I never would have guessed that years later, once I became a mom of two boys, I would stumble on an old birth certificate and decide to investigate the secrets of my childhood. With Jesus as my guide, I began a search for answers to the questions I once abandoned: Where was my father and why did he leave?

God cares about our stories. Your story matters.

I’ve always tried to fit in, to be “normal” like everyone else around me. But, as my journey for answers unfolded, I discovered the broken pieces I tried to hide about myself were the very things God celebrates as beauty. You are no less beautiful, friend!

God invites us to embrace our true worth, because brokenness is made beautiful in God’s love.

During the pandemic last year, I began to write my third book about this journey to find my father and share what God taught me about brokenness made beautiful.  I am writing this book to empower each woman to blossom in her true worth.

As I captured my stories on paper, God brought me back to His faithful promises in the Bible that comforted, strengthened, and encouraged me as a little girl. I believe each woman who reads this new book will gain the same encouragement to celebrate who God created her to be. As I learned to make sense of the past in light of God’s truth, I was renewed with peace, courage, and joy to face my challenges today in the present.

As we step into the new year, I want to cheer you on with a few of God’s beautiful love notes for your soul. Hear God’s whispers of love to you today:

You are my beloved. You are mine.
The Lord who created you says, “Do not be afraid — I will save you.
I have called you by name — you are mine.
Isaiah 43:1 (GNT)

I will always hold you tenderly through the night with my love.
By day the Lord directs His love,
at night his song is with me – 
a prayer to the God of my life.
Psalm 42:8 (NIV)

I will always take care of you. No matter what.
Though the mountains be shaken and the hills be removed,
yet my unfailing love for you will not be shaken nor my covenant of peace be removed.
Isaiah 54:10 (NIV)

I will always be faithful to love you with kindness.
I have loved you with an everlasting love; I have drawn you with unfailing kindness.
(Jeremiah 31:3 NIV)

As I share the most vulnerable stories of my heart to release my new book this year, I’ll be holding onto these promises from God, my Forever Father. He’s holding onto you, too. As you step into the new year, turn from fear and uncertainty and look down. Embrace your true worth as God’s beloved daughter. See Jesus folding His hand into yours, tenderly whispering, You are worth loving in the new year. You are my beloved.

How is God’s loving voice speaking into your new year?

Want more of God’s love + soul relief this year? Sign up here for Bonnie’s Beloved Newsletter.  Follow my broken-made-beautiful journey, as I release my new book about finding your true worth as God’s beloved daughter! Follow me on Instagram & Facebook @thebonniegray. Join my newsletter here!

All Along the Way, He Is There

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Our mint-green Prius rested halfway between the lines of one parking space and the next, evidence that my husband had stumbled into the emergency room the day before.

When he called, I was blow drying my hair, getting ready for a day of writing.

“I’m on the way to the hospital,” he said, his voice strangely grave. I grabbed my keys, ready to race to my car when he called again.

“Babe, I don’t think I’m going to make it,” he said.

“To the hospital?”

“No, I don’t think I’m going to make it.”

I threw my car keys back in my purse and called an Uber, telling them it was urgent. A car arrived four minutes later. I ran out the door, wondering if I was going to find my husband somewhere between my home and the hospital. As I gave instructions about the route I knew he had taken, I thought back to the week before.

We were planning a trip to celebrate a big anniversary.

We had saved for months. Not only were we going on a trip, but we were bringing along all our kids and their little ones. Our family had talked of nothing else for weeks. Just a few days earlier, however, I went in for an annual exam. It had been a long time since my battle with Stage 3 breast cancer as a young mom. I had gone through chemo, surgery, and radiation and beat the odds. So many years had passed these visits became simply routine, which is why I hadn’t expected these words:

We found something. It was cancer. It was back.

Richard and I decided to take the trip anyway. When we got back, I’d fight cancer one more time. And now my cancer diagnosis, though important, was not the most pressing issue. Though he didn’t have a single contributing factor that made him a candidate for heart disease, the doctors told me he was in the midst of a massive heart attack.

We eventually labeled that year as our #doubledouble season: his double bypass and my double mastectomy and reconstruction. We laughed about that hashtag. The truth is, however, there were a lot of times we couldn’t laugh at all.

The moment I stood in the parking lot was one of them.

We had a freak ice storm the night before. I shivered as I tried to open the car door, frozen shut. When I finally got in, I scoured the car for an ice scraper. I turned on the heater as high as it would go. I chipped at the ice on the windshields with a cup I found on the floorboard.

It was futile. Suddenly, it was all too much.

Cancer . . . again.
My healthy-eating, half-marathon-running husband being prepped for open-heart surgery.
And where was the stupid ice scraper?

I rested my head on the steering wheel and sobbed. I wept and wailed in that ice-igloo of a car. This was the first “marker” of that hard season.

Throughout the Old Testament, there are stories of encounters with God. Those who had them built altars in remembrance of that significant meeting with God.

That day in the Prius a marker was formed out of my tears and questions. It was an encounter. I didn’t have to pretend. I didn’t have to put on a mask. I was invited to to walk into God’s love and care because I’m His.

A lot has happened since that year. Today, I’m healing from my third and final surgery, and thankfully I’m cancer free. Richard is cycling and walking miles again. Though I say that so easily, it didn’t come easily. If I look back, I see markers littered all the way from that hospital parking lot to this very moment.

Markers that celebrate the deeper reality of God’s goodness.
Markers where God’s people wrapped around us.
Markers where I wept, where I wrestled, where I looked at all the plans and schedules and dreams that were put to the side for a season and wondered if life would ever be the same.

If these markers had words written on them, they would read: I will meet you there.

I’ve learned that this is where sorrow and joy intersect in the midst of struggle. God meets us in our sadness. He meets us in the sweetness of victories. God meets us when we are down, when we are up, when we are in a waiting season of loss, grief, or uncertainty.

All along the way, He is there.

While it seems a new season, an easier one, is approaching, I’m grateful for the markers littered behind for they will help me build the ones ahead.

If you are in a hard place, He will meet you there. You don’t have to pretend, put on a mask, or hide how hard it all is. Instead, you will find Him waiting to walk through every part of it with you.

 

Welcoming Courageous Simplicity!

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Just as you have received Christ Jesus as Lord,
continue to walk in him,
being rooted and built up in him and established in the faith,
just as you were taught, and overflowing with gratitude.
Colossians 2:6-7 (CSB)

My hands, clasped tight, jostled up and down with the rhythm of the train. On this first of many commutes downtown, I sat in the first car and tried to pray as building after building passed by. Today marked the first day of a new job, and I had all the typical emotions connected with that. I was excited and nervous, giddy and terrified. A million thoughts raced through my mind. I wanted to do well today, to do great things and make a mark. I wanted to be confident, to make it look as though I belonged.

As I was praying for these things, something made me pause. Something didn’t feel right. As the doors of the train opened and closed yet again, I wondered about my prayer. What was I really praying for and why?

In the midst of my desire to impress and succeed, I had forgotten to express simple gratitude to God for this new job. I had been so focused on myself that I had lost sight of God’s hand and sovereignty over it all. I wouldn’t even have this job without His divine orchestration.

Immediately my prayer changed course. I began praying a simple list of thank-yous. I thanked God for giving me this job. I thanked Him for opening this door, for bringing me to this place, for making this dream possible.

Then I began looking around. My eyes gazed out the window and watched the rising sun. I thanked God for this new day, for His mercies and faithfulness in my life. The more things I found to be grateful for, the more I was able to breathe deeply and relax my body and mind. In fact, by the time I stepped off the train, I felt full of joy and peace.

It’s amazing how powerful humble gratitude can be. Remembering what God has done is a simple way not only to calm our nerves, but more importantly to reorient our focus and give thanks in any circumstance.

Story by Michelle Reyes

Cue the confetti! Today we celebrate the launch of our NEW Bible study! Courageous Simplicity: Abide in the Simple Abundance of Jesus is now available where books are sold. 

Courageous Simplicity is the first of four Bible studies coming this year from (in)courage. We are so excited to invite you on this journey, knowing that we can draw on Christ for courage of our own. You can sign up to join our upcoming online study, and we will send you the first week for FREE! Also, are you a Bible study leader in your neighborhood, small group, or church? Sign up right here and we will send you additional resources to help you lead your personal small group through Courageous Simplicity!

Celebrate with us, won’t you? We’re truly excited about these new Bible studies from our community, and we so hope you’ll join us this year as we continue to become women of courage.

If You Feel Anxious About the Future, Do This

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The bags under my eyes were as dark as the evening sky the night I saw those two pink lines appear on the white stick. I was pregnant — again. Mixed with the undeniable joy for the gift of new life growing inside me was a rising current of anxiety. I was already exhausted and stretched thin by caring for my one-year-old and two-year-old. How was I going to handle another baby? How could I possibly be a good mother to three kids, three and under?

I felt uncertain about the future and inadequate in my ability to handle it.

As the weeks went on and my belly began to swell, so did the constant swirl of worries and questions. How would our growing family fit in our little rental house that already felt too squeezed? How would we afford a car that could fit three car seats? What would I do when my husband was traveling and all three children needed something and there wasn’t enough of me to give?

The joy of this new season of motherhood was dimming under the darkness of my anxious thoughts. It felt impossible that I’d be able to do enough or be enough to make my looming circumstances turn out okay.

One morning while my two little boys played, I pulled out my Jesus Calling devotional, desperate for a lifeline of hope. I turned to the current date and read the opening line, written from the perspective of Jesus talking to us:

Anxiety is a result of envisioning the future without Me.

Noah crashed his toy cars. Elias swatted at the plush elephants on his mobile. And Jesus reached into my ordinary day and reminded me that He was with me. The devotion went on with this encouragement, “Remember the promise of My continual Presence; include Me in any imagery that comes to mind.”

In that moment, I realized that all the pictures in my head about what my future as a mama of three littles would look like didn’t include Jesus. Of course I was destined to feel overwhelmed on my own! But I wasn’t on my own — God was with me. In the thick of diaper explosions and toddler meltdowns, in the middle of vegetable revolts and teething woes, at the park and pediatrician’s office, when I had extra support and when I was parenting solo, Jesus would be beside me.

Deuteronomy 31:8 says, “The Lord is the one who will go before you. He will be with you; he will not leave you or abandon you. Do not be afraid or discouraged.”

In Colossians, Paul reminds us that Jesus “is before all things, and by him all things hold together.”

I can’t find a Scripture that says, “You (child of God) have to hold all things together.”

It doesn’t exist! So why do we sometimes live like it?

Friend, what areas of your life are uncertain right now? Do you imagine all the hard things that the next season of singleness, marriage, or parenthood, of your career or education or retirement will hold and wonder how you’re going to possibly hold it all? Are you struggling to enjoy the blessings of the season you’re in because you’re weighed down by feelings of inadequacy or anxiety about the future?

It’s time to put Jesus in the picture!

Fretting about my life as it would be down the road based on my limited perspective and ability was not drawing me closer to Jesus. Rather, my worry was creating an unintentional wedge between me and God. The more you worry, the bigger the gap between God’s presence and your awareness of it.

2 Corinthians 10:5 tells us, “We demolish arguments and every proud thing that is raised up against the knowledge of God, and we take every thought captive to obey Christ.”

Pride says, I have to handle this all on my own. Fear says, I will be unequipped and alone. But the knowledge of God says, “Do not be afraid or discouraged, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go” (Joshua 1:9).

Taking every thought captive means putting God rightly at the forefront of every thought and picture in our mind. Whether it’s a new baby, a big move, job loss, illness, or family crisis, there will be things that make the future feel scary and uncertain. But when anxiety about tomorrow’s uncertainties creeps in, you can make an intentional choice to include Jesus in everything you envision.

That unexpected blessing of a baby who made me freak out is now eight years old. Jude’s life has taught me how to hear Jesus calling, to see Him with me now, and to trust that He will be with me through every future unknown.

 

A Prayer of Trust to Begin the New Year

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Let love and faithfulness never leave you;
bind them around your neck,
write them on the tablet of your heart.
Then you will win favor and a good name
in the sight of God and man.
Trust in the Lord with all your heart
and lean not on your own understanding;
in all your ways submit to him,
and he will make your paths straight.
Do not be wise in your own eyes;
fear the Lord and shun evil.
This will bring health to your body
and nourishment to your bones.
 Proverbs 3:3-8 (NIV)

Even though we wish we could see all that is to come this year, let’s open our hands and trust God with the unknown. His goodness, love, and faithfulness continue to be true for us.

Lord, there is so much ahead of us that we can’t foresee, so much we wish we could control but can’t. We hold all the questions, desires, and longings out to You. We want to trust You, but we acknowledge that we need help with that sometimes. Help us. Thank You that we can be anchored in faith when we are tethered to You. In Jesus’ name we pray, amen. 

How can we pray for you?

On this first Sunday of 2021, let’s hold space for one another in prayer. Leave a prayer request in the comments and then pray for the person who commented before you.

 

The Ministry of Snacks

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It had been months since we’d spoken. No ill wishes or big falling out, nothing dramatic at all, just a quieted text thread and a pandemic ending any get-togethers. Then one day, she called. Not even texted, she straight called me on the actual phone. She said, “I’m dropping off a box on your porch! Be there soon.”

I’d just had my fourth baby. My other three kids were distance learning. I was still on maternity leave, covered in days of spit-up and sweat, the hormones still coursing through my frazzled body and brain. I’d mentioned somewhere online that the dishes and snack requests in my kitchen were never-ending and how it would be nice to have a break from the constant asks for and remnants of food.

My friend saw that mention online and showed up on my doorstep with snacks. So. Many. Amazing. Snacks. She brought fruit snacks and cheesy crackers, Pop-Tarts and mug cake mix. She also brought several prepared meals, complete with desserts, so all I had to do was pop them in the oven. She included little fun surprises and treats that she knew would bring each of us joy and save me at least a week of food prep.

That box of snacks and food was like manna.

Not only did it save me time in planning a week of meals and snacks, it saved me ordering them from the grocery store, driving for pick up, bringing them home and putting them away. Her gift removed a huge task from my brain and to-do list. It brought us all such joy, the fun of having new-to-us items (I mean, she really brought the good stuff!), and most of all, it gave me a major jolt of love.

Are you familiar with the five love languages? The idea is that each of us is wired to both give and receive love in several specific ways, with one way usually being the most meaningful to us. The five languages are quality time, acts of service, gifts, words of affirmation, and physical touch. Depending on the recipient, each of these acts can convey love. It’s a helpful lens through which to view the ways we can offer love, asking “How can I best minister to their individual, handcrafted, made-by-God heart?”

Most adults and kids gravitate toward a certain language. In our home, we have two quality time loving hearts, a physical touch seeker, and an acts of service lover. My language is gifts, though my husband likes to say that my love language is actually “being thought of.” Basically if someone does something, anything from any of those five languages, without prompting from me, it feels to me that they were thinking of me and that I mattered enough for them to act on those thoughts.

When my friend dropped that box of snacks off at my door, she loudly declared my love language. She saw my post, took it to heart, shopped with me in mind, and delivered a box of love. She spoke care through the ministry of snacks.

Wouldn’t it be a gift to the world if we truly lived like that? Reaching out whenever our heart is nudged in the direction of a friend. Sending a text or card. Offering up words of heartfelt prayer. Dropping off a few basic groceries or a fancy coffee. Picking up the actual telephone and calling them. Going over for a (socially distant/masked/outdoor) visit. Helping with the kids or laundry. It doesn’t take much, really, to let people know that they are being thought of and cared for. It doesn’t take mountain-moving acts to speak love languages and to act on them in ways both big and small.

All of these acts scream love, no matter what love language the recipient speaks. What could it look like for you to love your neighbor in a “being thought of” kind of way? I assure you, this kind of love is a ministry in and of itself. When God calls us to love our neighbor, small acts of love count too.

2020 brought a lot of change and challenge. May this still very new year bring ministry, hope, peace, joy, and great acts of love in all forms.

Happy New Year!

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Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation.
The old has passed away; behold, the new has come.
2 Corinthians 5:17 (ESV)

Wishing you the happiest New Year’s Day!

May you feel peace knowing that you are a new creation in Christ, that He will renew your heart and offer fresh mercies every day. May you resist the pressure and temptation to fill up a blank calendar with lofty resolutions and appointments that will stretch you thin. May you remember that you are more than any goal met, any resolution kept, any to-do list checked. You are loved just as you are, and may you find rest in that truth.

Happy New Year, friends!

Tomorrow Is Full of Fresh Mercies

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Then it will be as though I had sprinkled clean water on you, for you will be clean — your filthiness will be washed away, your idol worship gone. And I will give you a new heart — I will give you new and right desires — and put a new spirit within you. I will take out your stony hearts of sin and give you new hearts of love. And I will put my Spirit within you so that you will obey my laws and do whatever I command.
Ezekiel 36:25-27 (TLB)
Today is the last day of the year, and tomorrow brings with it a new year and a fresh start.

No matter what you’ve faced this year — the hard, challenging, or painful, the lovely, exciting, or beautiful — tomorrow is full of fresh mercies. Because of God’s grace and forgiveness, we are offered a new heart and a new spirit. When we accept the gift of a new year and a new life in Christ, God promises to give us a heart that is once again soft and a spirit that is open to His guiding.

As we close out this year, reflecting on all that has happened in the past 365 days, all the ways we’ve grown and struggled and loved and learned, let’s remember that a new day is coming. God will give us a new heart — as well as a new year!

Happy last day of 2020, friends!

The Inner Simplicity We All Long For

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Don’t be impressed with your own wisdom.
Instead, fear the Lord and turn away from evil.
Then you will have healing for your body
and strength for your bones.
Proverbs 3:7-8 (NLT)

My husband teases me that I’m a hoarder. His ultra-minimalistic outlook says I hang on to way too many items of both clutter and sentiment. I disagree. I also choose not to count the multiple stacks of books currently on my desk as evidence that he’s right. But compared to many, our home and possessions are pretty streamlined.

I don’t have cabinets full of knickknacks, and I prefer cleared-off countertops and tables. But with three kids and daily deposits of school papers and junk mail, my wish isn’t always my reality. Still, I think most people would characterize our material life as fairly simple.

My spiritual life, on the other hand, isn’t nearly as tidy.

While I can find relief purging the junk drawer, donating unworn clothes, and throwing out all the mismatched Tupperware lids, I find it much more difficult to get rid of the unnecessary “junk” in my heart — the noise that threatens to crowd out God’s voice.

I wish it weren’t so. I wish I were more disciplined. I wish I had better boundaries on social media and that I never got sucked into late-night or early-morning scrolling. I long to spend as much time in God’s Word as I do messaging friends and traveling down viral video rabbit trails.

I yearn for quiet. Yet at any given time, I have no less than a dozen tabs open in my internet browser. Yes, I know this slows down my system, but I like to have all the information I might need within a fingertip’s click-reach. I choose this multi-tab lifestyle, yet my head spins with spreadsheets to fill out and articles to read and to-dos to check off my ever-growing list.

It’s a tension I hate, but I also dread the thought of giving it up. I fear the what-ifs — what if I’m missing something important? Deep in my soul, I desire simplicity — like I was made for it — but I’m slow to give up the complexity that masquerades as comfort and convenience.

As I face my inner frazzle, I have to admit that what I really need is more of Jesus. Oh, how I need Him. I long for quiet, for His still small voice to be louder than all the noise. Or better yet, to hush the noise of the world so that His whispers might be the single echo in my heart.

Story written by Becky Keife

A life of simplicity, an un-frazzled mind, and a contented heart come not from what the world tells us to pursue but from trusting God. When we focus on Jesus rather than on what others are doing or thinking, we find a simpler life that allows us to rest and be at peace with who we are. Inner simplicity comes when we stop seeking wisdom in our own eyes or in the eyes of others, and start seeking wisdom from the Lord.

Courageous Simplicity is about learning to fix our eyes and our lives on Jesus Christ. On our own, we can’t do enough or be enough. With God, we have everything we need.

If life feels cluttered, complicated, or chaotic, we get it. God is inviting us to experience a different pace and peace. Oh, how we need it! This study will help you release control of what frays your soul and will lead you to true refreshment. As you train in the spiritual practice of simplicity, you will discover the God who loves you lavishly and wants to show you how to live with a heart open and surrendered to His presence. Start the new year with us by learning to live in the peace and freedom of having and being enough.

Sign up for a FREE week of our new Courageous Simplicity Bible Study! Together, we’ll learn how to abide in the simple abundance of Jesus.

Join us on the journey to Courageous Simplicity.

When the Unexpected Becomes an Invitation

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Every alarm wailed as my three-year-old son’s heart rate skyrocketed. Another hallucination had overtaken him, and this one elicited nothing but terror. Eyes overcome with panic, his screams reverberated throughout the ER. His small-but-strong body fought to get away as my husband held him close, doing everything he knew to soothe him. Nothing worked.

I looked away. My hand covered my mouth, hoping that holding my breath would keep the tears at bay. But I couldn’t shake the dread. For the first time in ten years, I feared I might lose another son.

“No, God. Not again.” My prayers were small but desperate, the words failing to do justice to the ache. My mind scrambled for something to hold on to, anything that might keep my faith from slipping.

All night long our son’s hallucinations continued, wavering between a world we could not see and horror we could not take away. I sat with him in his hospital bed, doing my best to calm him and to keep all the wires monitoring his vitals from getting tangled. While the doctor reassured us that his small body would soon right itself as the substance he had ingested worked its way out of his system, all we could do was wait.

Eventually the nightmare subsided, both for him and for us. Twenty-four hours later, he was released from the pediatric ICU. We were tired but thankful to be taking our son home. We knew all too well what it was like to leave a hospital with empty hands and hearts, and the privilege of taking home our boy was not lost on us.

Back at home, I was grateful but unsettled. Our son’s personality, speech, and ability to use his own body gradually re-emerged. Each toothy smile was a gift. While our prayers had been answered, I felt strangely hollow, like I was still waiting for God to arrive.

I told myself, “I should know better. Have I forgotten everything God has done?”

You see, ten years prior, I had whispered in a cold ultrasound room, “I cannot do this.” And ten years ago, God met me in unimaginable grief. Slowly, gently, Divine Love made Himself known as my soul wretched in pain. Slowly, gently, His presence pulled me through the loss of our second-born son. Darkness is no match for His light.

And yet, why did I find myself in the shadows yet again — especially when the outcome had been so different? Where I thought hope would be alive, God seemed hazy at best. I felt like I had betrayed Him — that by failing to see His goodness in the present I had cheapened what He had done in my past. Shame’s black tendrils crept inward.

My mind became plagued with questions, and my emotions did gymnastics, twisting me in all sorts of unnatural ways. Until, there it was: a glimpse. I caught that first flicker of knowing I so desperately needed — all through a few words from a friend. Full of compassion, grace, and wisdom from one who had also experienced loss, Tarah reminded me, “You knew His nearness regardless of how you felt. There’s no other way to explain crying out to Him.”

In that hospital room, my soul knew what I could not see. My spiritual reflexes had turned toward God in my need as I flung desperate prayers in His direction. Faith was at work; I just didn’t see it. But what my flesh could not feel or my eyes detect, my spirit had already confirmed: God was near.

And just like that, shame left. In the days that followed, I waited for the Gentle Knowing to reveal Himself further, for another peek behind the curtain. I knew that someday, somehow I would again “look upon the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living” (Psalm 27:13). Because while my faith was far from neat and tidy, God was not far off. This barren ground would become a place of remembrance.

In the days that followed our hospital scare, our family was able to get away. A pre-planned vacation turned into a much-needed pause. Little did I know that was where God would make Himself known. In a hundred little things His nearness was evident: an eruption of laughter, the sound of water meeting the shore, the taste of chocolate-raspberry ice cream, a tiny hand slipping into mine.

God did not show up with grandiose answers or neon signs but through the simple pleasures found in shared presence with one another. In small moments, faith that was once slippery found new life, an invitation to let go of what was broken and turn toward Him — into a land ripe with promise, into a new place of remembrance.

Stress, Sin, and the Aftermath of Christmas

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One by one, I clicked “Remove.” I deleted items from my Amazon cart with a sigh. I wouldn’t be getting these things this year, not now, maybe not ever. Something inside of my chest was twisting. Perhaps the pang was guilt. I was grab-happy when I saw “Swipe up” on Instagram this year. All the little things added up. I overspent. I busted our budget. With the angst of everything in our world, I medicated with shopping. My weak spot is wanting my kids to feel extra special at Christmas. On Christmas Eve, I run up and down the Target aisles getting just a few more things to fill their stockings. I want my children to run out on December 25th with hearts beating in anticipation. I want their eyes to widen and their voices to squeal. I want to buy their happiness. I want to buy mine too.

Nothing messes with my soul as much as money does.

I felt the pang of greed as I unsubscribed from online shops. I imagine my life with all the clothes, shoes, and styles I want hanging in my closet and I can almost taste satisfaction. But the closer I get to being satisfied, the further away it seems to get. My happiness is a moving target. I have so much, yet I can’t see what I have when my eyes are only fixated on the things I don’t have. I hate this about myself. I don’t like my continual search for stuff to bring me peace. Instead of peace, all I feel is anxiety. It eats away at me. I manage my angst with my search for more. My appetite is endless. So I buy, buy, buy until I’m almost bankrupt.

I know material things don’t bring peace. I know more experiences don’t make life meaningful. But my eyes are always on the lookout to be filled up. I want to plan the next trip, start the next project, or dream a new dream. I have a lust for life. But I think this lust is just a way to avoid my loneliness. I try to fill my loneliness by buying whenever I need a quick adrenaline rush. I long for the next adventure because my heart isn’t satisfied with what I have. I fantasize about another life because I can’t accept the one God’s given me. If I live with what I have, I have to face my soul and the reality of my shortcomings. I have to see my own sin. I have to acknowledge there is something broken inside of me I can’t fix. And right now, I can’t change the numbers on the scale or my credit score. It makes my skin itch and my heart race.

I avoid looking at my statement. I want to pretend everything is okay. I want to live in denial that we can’t pay the balance. It hurts. It’s hard to say no to myself and to my kids. For me, greed and envy have an evil rivalry. If I’m not craving more stuff, I am jealous that others have what I want. Sin can feel inescapable. I keep trying to click my way out of feeling miserable inside.

Perhaps the current state of my stressed-out soul is an indicator of where I’ve let my hope lie.

Just days ago, I walked through the room with torn wrapping paper and ribbons ankle high. Christmas has come and gone like the fury of a winter storm. In the hustle of more, I think I’ve missed what it means to live with less. When Christ became human, He emptied himself. God Himself became less. He became a baby, innocent, pure, unblemished, and perfect. The image is divine. It stirs joy in my soul. The Bethlehem scene doesn’t have Pottery Barn furniture and gold finishes. The stable is dirty, smelly, and on the backside of the city. Yet, when I think about the birth of Jesus, I can see hope. When I’m clicking on links and devouring deals, what I’m really looking for isn’t more stuff. I am actually looking for Jesus. Jesus is found when I am depleted, strapped, and sulking. He is right there.

When I am at the end of myself, drowning in bills, my greed, and intoxicated with jealousy, God is near. When I feel a deep soul hunger, I’m actually hungry for Jesus. When I want to wrestle my sin away, God whispers, “Come closer.” He is inviting me to move closer to the manger. God is inviting me to less. From the outside, less seems miserable, yet as I step closer to Christ, I can see that less is actually everything. I loosen my grip on all the things I want. I open my hands. I let go.

My Amazon cart is empty. After a few minutes, I can’t even remember what was in there. Instead, I press my empty hand to my chest. Here, Jesus is with me in my brokenness and broke-ness. But instead of feeling stress, I feel satisfied.