The Power of Being Winsome

The Power of Being Winsome

by

One spring before I began tutoring high school students in our local Classical Conversations homeschool program, I sat in on another tutor’s class to observe for a day. Latin, British literature, art and music history, logic, biology — the discussions fascinated me as I imagined someday guiding my own students in their study of these subjects.

But the most memorable lesson came during debate when the tutor challenged the class — and subsequently, me — to think about what it means to be winsome. I’m sure I sneaked a peek at the dictionary app on my phone as I analyzed this word that was unfamiliar to me at the time and which the tutor had stressed when she mentioned being “above winning” as the primary objective of the debate.

Dictionary.com defines winsome as sweetly or innocently charming; winning; engaging. I’ve never forgotten the lesson shared by the other tutor or the power of this word over the past eleven years as I’ve guided classes of tenth graders.

Often, my students don’t know whether they’ll need to argue to defend the affirmative or negative side of an issue until the day of the debate. It forces them to be fully prepared, to research until they understand both sides of the issue, and to be able to defend either one. This is a skill which serves them well not only in debate, but also in life. 

Although they may not agree with the position they’re ultimately asked to support, they know it inside out, both pros and cons. It’s their job to come to class prepared to affirm or reject either side. Can you imagine how that level of understanding could benefit us day-to-day with people whose opinions differ from our own?

The desire to win serves us well if our only concern is a judge’s score-sheet, tally marks on a page, or getting the last word. But the desire to be winsome serves us well if we want to win others to our point of view. Winsomeness is key when telling others about Jesus or when we’re trying to be gracious in a tension-filled conversation.

I once heard a man speak at a high school graduation ceremony. He commanded the attention of the crowd and the respect of many simply by the dignity of his presence. But when he opened his mouth, his words were tinged with anger and disdain for people who disagreed with him. Even though his words rang true, his tone repelled the audience. He was the opposite of winsome.

To be winsome is to be persuasive, and a winsome witness for Jesus Christ will always speak the truth in love. We are imperfect people in an imperfect world living imperfect lives. We won’t influence others by our perfect example — it isn’t possible — but by the love we show them.

“By this shall all men know that ye are my disciples, if ye have love one to another.”
John 13:35 (KJV)

Even in the darkest times, as Christians, we carry hope within us because the source of our joy is secure. We touch other people’s lives when we live ours joyously, as winsome ambassadors of Christ’s love.

How can we be more winsome at work or school? Be more optimistic than pessimistic and include those that others leave out.

How can we be more winsome at home? Work to maintain a pleasant atmosphere. If you have children, discipline in love, play and laugh with them.

How can we be more winsome in our friendships? Be an encourager and a supporter — someone who delights in the success of others.

Let your life reflect the love of God by the way you love others.

Do you know someone who is especially winsome? What happens when truth is delivered without love?

 

The Pink Outfit and Learning I Am Worthy of Joy

by

I stood on the escalator next to him, one hand on the rail, as we rose higher to the upper level. It felt so grand to be in such a fine place: the children’s department at The Emporium’s. It wasn’t a place where we usually bought our clothes, but today was different. It was one of my father’s first visits after the divorce. I was excited because he said I could pick out whatever I wanted.

My father shuffled beside me with his greased-up hair, baggy pants, and wiry legs moving in sync with my curiosity. He would pull out something random off the shelves. This is pretty . . . you like?

Then I saw it.

Hanging up high, perched on a special display, was the most beautiful outfit I ever saw: a soft bubble-gum pink corduroy jacket with silver buckles and matching pants. It was perfect. It looked amazing to me. Which one should I get — the jacket or the pants?

As I stood there tippy-toed, reaching up to fish the outfit down, my father told me to stand still and placed the outfit in front of me with one arm shot straight out, eyeing me like an old woman threading a needle.

“Turn around,” he said, pressing the sleeves against my wrists. “It fits. Daddy will buy both for you.”

As I stood there at the checkout register, watching my father pay, I couldn’t believe it. The whole outfit? My heart was bursting, full of something beautiful. It was new, and it was all for me.

Never in a thousand years would I have guessed I’d never have the chance to wear that jacket and those pants out in broad daylight.

When I got home and tried it on in front of the mirror in the hallway, I thought it fit perfectly, but I could tell from my mother’s eyes that this was the furthest thing from the truth.

“You look ridiculous,” she spat.

After dinner, my momma took whatever leftover gunk was found in the sink and dumped it on top of my pink outfit that she’d thrown away, with the tags still hanging off of it. I stood there in that gloomy kitchen devastated.

I don’t have anything good anymore. It’s gone. I felt so lonely. Something I thought was perfect and mine was no longer any good.

Maybe this is when I first learned how completely lonely it feels to hope for joy and how hoping for it meant leaving room for disappointment.

It’s easy when you’re young to believe dreams can come true. But if you’ve ever truly had a perfect moment carry you to a place of belief — whether it was a positive pregnancy test, a romance, a friendship, a parent, your health, a career, or a life-long dream — and then had it taken away, then you know what it feels like to see something perfect end up in the refuse of broken dreams and mismatched opportunities. You begin to wonder whether anything is worth delighting in again.

Is anything really worth enjoying if it can’t last anyway?

Rest and joy can feel dangerous. For some of us, joy is connected to times when it was ruined, when a simple moment of happiness was decimated by a person, place, or thing. After that incident, I didn’t feel like I needed joy.

Then Jesus caught me in an unguarded moment and said, I was there, Bonnie. I stood beside you as you cried. As you looked into the garbage and saw something you loved being destroyed, I was there. And I’m here with you now.

Jesus called to mind a man who was battered, imperfect, and bruised. When the young man asked Jesus, “Who is my neighbor?” Jesus told him a story of a person lying half dead on the side of the road — a man no one stopped to pay any attention to, except the Good Samaritan. I remembered how Jesus said that precious oil and wine were splurged onto this man’s wounds, and that’s when I realized that joy and rest were the oil and wine missing from my life.

I once thought that the wounded stranger in that story was someone else, but now I understood that joy-wounded stranger was me. That man was carried to a place to rest, and Jesus said to my heart, I will never run out of rest for you, Bonnie. No matter how much you need, no matter how long it takes, I will care for you.

Jesus understands the wounds where joy has been demolished. Your wounds are not invisible to Him, and He has an abundance of joy and rest to pour into them. Jesus calls us to create space — to slow down and nurture our souls so He can fill us. 

Your story will be different from mine, but you might have a pink outfit story too where joy was lost. God can help you recover the courage to reach up again and ask for joy — to choose joy. Let’s give ourselves permission to be real, to go beyond surviving, to uncover what feeds our soul today. You are worthy of joy.

“These things I have spoken to you,
so that my joy may be in you,
and that your joy may be made full.”
John 15:11 (NASB)

How are you choosing joy? How is God reminding you that you’re worthy of joy?

Want more joy for your soul? Sign up here for Bonnie’s Beloved Newsletter.  Follow me on Instagram & Facebook @thebonniegray for daily encouragement.  Join my newsletter here! I’ll share honest stories on my faith journey to help nurture your soul & embrace your true worth!

Our Maker Can Handle Our Messes

by

A late night phone call delivered hard news. My mind struggled to keep up as lies unraveled and truth emerged. A family member’s betrayal left me feeling foolish, blindsided, and beyond angry. Years of deception collapsed into a big, complicated mess.

Memories of family beach vacations, holiday celebrations, and dinners around my dining room table appeared tainted and fraudulent. Well-meaning friends offered awkward silence or unsolicited advice. Both felt like salt being rubbed into my wounded heart.

In the months following the difficult phone call, I tried to erase reminders and remove evidence of the person from my life. I purged photos from albums and tossed once-beloved gifts. In precious family pictures, scissors extracted what my heart couldn’t.

In the dark corners of my soul, I envisioned the disheveled family member at my door groveling for forgiveness. But when no apology arrived and no remorse was expressed, the silence invited anger and bitterness into my heart. The deep pit of depression crept closer.

My life was a mess, and I needed help.

In 2 Kings 18 and 19, King Hezekiah faced his own menacing mess. The mighty Assyrians were poised to attack and destroy Jerusalem. But the king handed his problem to the One who could handle it. “Hezekiah received the letter from the messengers and read it. Then he went up to the temple of the Lord and spread it out before the Lord” (2 Kings 19:14 NIV).

King Hezekiah didn’t waste time with worry, freeze in fear, or kick himself for not being stronger. He didn’t try to power through on his own strength, overthink the situation, or pause to elicit advice from his staff. With a formidable foe at the city’s gates, he hitched up his robe, hiked to the temple, and spread the news before his mighty God. “And Hezekiah prayed to the Lord: ‘Lord, the God of Israel, enthroned between the cherubim, you alone are God over all the kingdoms of the earth. You have made heaven and earth.’ ” (2 Kings 19:15 NIV).

Perhaps the king fell prostrate on the floor as his pleas reverberated around the temple’s walls. Maybe Hezekiah’s cries echoed mine: Here you go, God. This is too big, too hard, and too painful. I can’t handle this.

The only way to survive my painful season was to run to God like King Hezekiah. With raw honesty, I emptied my heart. God knew the twisted thoughts that littered my mind and still met me in my heartache. Most importantly, my Maker understood the sting of betrayal and rejection.

Together, we muddled through the mess.

Christian counseling, accountability partners, and Scripture memorization paved the path towards healing. Index cards with verses about forgiveness and hope were taped to bathroom mirrors and kitchen cabinets. God’s Word became a soothing balm for my broken and betrayed heart.

The king’s mess wasn’t unmanageable for God nor was mine. He heard Hezekiah’s prayer and saved Jerusalem from destruction. 2 Kings 19:34 says, “I will defend this city and save it, for my sake and for the sake of David my servant.” The God who heard the king’s pleas in the temple was the same God who heard my late-night cries. God delivered the Israelites from their mess, and He guided me through mine — one baby step at a time.

Dear friend, when we are surrounded by the enemy or wounded by those who claim to love us, we can run to God. He always welcomes us with open arms. Before His throne, we can present our pain, lay down our heavy load, and spread our suffering. Our God is the Maker of Heaven and Earth. Enthroned between the cherubim, He is God over all the kingdoms of the earth, and He can handle our messes.

Joy in Who God Made You to Be

by

So God created human beings in his own image. In the image of God he created them; male and female he created them. . . Then God looked over all he had made, and he saw that it was very good!
Genesis 1:27, 31 (NLT)

Some days I look at my thirty-eight-year-old face in the mirror and wonder how I could possibly be attractive, even to my husband. I notice the pores that never shrank, the blotchiness that makes my cheeks look flushed (but not in a cute way), the fold lines on my neck I wish I could iron out. I see my protruding belly in the mirror and swear I must look thirty weeks pregnant, and wonder if I might regain some of my youthfulness if I could just stop eating whatever i want to.

So I pull on my tummy-tucking jeggings and wear a tunic-length shirt to hide the bulges. I patch up the acne scars and dark bags under my eyes with a stick of concealer and blend in another layer of liquid foundation. It’s nearly impossible to find the right shade for my skin color, so two are often better than one. I curl my stubbornly straight eyelashes, inevitably pulling some of them out, and I wear mascara to give the illusion that my almond-shaped eyes are bigger than they really are.

When God made human beings and finished His work of creation, He looked at all He had made and called it very good. Everything was unaltered, natural, and pure. Nothing was hidden, covered, or shamed, because everything in its most basic form was already very good.

I hardly ever say that what I see in the mirror is very good, and I know there will still be days when I slather on my makeup, curl my eyelashes, and tuck in my belly, hoping to see someone new looking back at me.

I don’t have a face or body the world might deem pretty or sexy, and as time passes, even what seems decent now will soon fade away. But I’m slowly learning to respect what is mine — my almond eyes, my flat nose, my round face — and I’m speaking new words over myself:

You are very good.

Story by Grace P. Cho from Week 3, Day 5 of the Courageous Joy Bible Study

While God clearly places much more value on our insides than our outsides, He is the artist who designed our physical bodies. He made us in His image, and then, when He sat back to evaluate His work, He said it was “very good” (Genesis 1:31). God never looks at us and thinks, Well, if only I’d made her eyes a little bigger or her legs a little thinner or her hair a little smoother . . . no! He looks at us and calls us very good.

In our visually oriented society, it can be hard not to feel critical of our appearance. This world offers no shortage of physical standards that are impossible to meet, leaving us perpetually grasping for something we will never reach. Insecurity about our appearance is a reasonable response, but it means we have believed that what the world says matters more than what the Lord says. The better, healthier, holier response is to turn our eyes away from our own reflection and toward God.

When we gaze upon Him and then see ourselves through His eyes, we can’t help but feel love and joy for the person He’s made us to be. As David wrote in Psalm 34:5, “those who look to [God] are radiant, and their faces shall never be ashamed” (ESV).

What do you see when you look in the mirror? How does your appearance — and your opinion of it — affect how you believe God sees you? Looking at ourselves with affection rather than criticism can be a challenge. How will you courageously find joy in God’s creation when you face yourself in the mirror this week?

God, thank You for understanding how damaging this world can be to my sense of value and worth. Thank You for telling me over and over in Scripture that You made me perfectly and that You think I’m beautiful. I know my heart matters more than my hair or hips. When I’m hard on myself, remind me to turn my gaze to You. Continue to make me more like You every day so that I reflect my Creator inside and out. Thank You, Lord. I love You. Amen.

We hope you loved this excerpt from the Courageous Joy Bible Study, written by Mary Carver and featuring stories from the (in)courage community! Courageous Joy is available wherever books are sold:

Sign up here and we’ll send you a FREE week from each of the Courageous Bible Studies, including Courageous Joy!

 

God Is with Us in Our Callings

by

Then Jesus came with them to a place called Gethsemane, and he told the disciples, “Sit here while I go over there and pray.” Taking along Peter and the two sons of Zebedee, he began to be sorrowful and troubled. He said to them, “I am deeply grieved to the point of death. Remain here and stay awake with me.”

Going a little farther, he fell facedown and prayed, “My Father, if it is possible, let this cup pass from me. Yet not as I will, but as you will.”
Matthew 26:36-39 (CSB)

If you are overwhelmed by what you believe God is calling you to right now, by the way He seems to be stretching you and challenging you in this season, you’re not alone. I, too, have felt my shoulders break under the weight of what I know to be a calling from the Lord. Not just an expectation but a purpose. It can be too much at times, too hard, too demanding, too scary. Just too much.

Our callings can feel terrifying, overwhelming, unbearable.

Certainly, we will experience times when we can’t stop grinning and glowing, feeling God’s pleasure as we run the very race He’s given us. We will celebrate and cry buckets of happy tears and know the peace that comes with seeing Him work in our lives. But other times? That calling we were so excited to answer, that purpose we were so thrilled to fulfill? It will be so heavy we think it might just crush us this time.

It’s no accident that God called you, the weak or weary or unprepared or overwhelmed, to this thing. After all, Jesus Himself in His greatest mission and calling — the cross and the resurrection — was weak and weary, too. Yet He relied on the Father for strength, and He saw His calling through. Just as He was with Jesus, if God has called you to love your neighbor, to serve your family, to minister to your community (and He has), then He will be with you every step of the way, too — even the tentative steps, the shuffling steps, the can’t-take-another-step steps.

We are not alone, though our callings are as unique as we are. And though our callings might never be easy or comfortable, they will always be worth it. God has called us to dive in and no matter how many deep ends we face, He will be with us. He will be with us, and we can do this. He will be with you, and you can do this.

The idea of a calling can be hard to comprehend, but it’s not meant to be mysterious. Listening for and following God’s call doesn’t necessarily mean selling everything you own, abandoning everything you’ve known, and moving across the ocean or even across town. God is infinitely creative, and He’s made a unique plan for each of us.

But what we do know — and have in common — is God’s universal call for us to acknowledge His holiness as well as our own sin, to understand that we are incapable of paying the price required to be forgiven of that sin, and to believe that Jesus made Himself the sacrifice so we could once again be in fellowship with God. After all, the good news of Easter is that Jesus not only paid the penalty for our sins, which was death, but He also overcame death and rose! The power of sin, and the penalty for it, had no hold on Him. He got out of the grave and invites us to one day do the same, if we will only believe. Indeed, He calls us to confess our sins and believe in His work on the cross and the resurrection, and once we do, to share the good news with those around us, and to seek Him and His will for our lives from now on.

What has the Lord been saying to you during Lent? What do you believe He is asking you to do in response?

Excerpt from Journey to the Cross: Forty Days to Prepare Your Heart for Easter by Mary Carver.

It’s not too late to have a meaningful Lenten season. Let us send you a FREE sampler from our Lenten devotional, Journey to the Cross! Journey to the Cross: Forty Days to Prepare Your Heart for Easter was written with women of all stages in mind so that we can all better experience the power and wonder of Easter with intentionality and depth. We hope it will bless your Lenten season.

Get your FREE sampler from Journey to the Cross!

The Courage to Lead by Example

by

Deborah, a prophetess and the wife of Lappidoth, was judging Israel at that time. She would sit under the palm tree of Deborah between Ramah and Bethel in the hill country of Ephraim, and the Israelites went up to her to settle disputes.

She summoned Barak son of Abinoam from Kedesh in Naphtali and said to him, “Hasn’t the Lord, the God of Israel, commanded you: ‘Go, deploy the troops on Mount Tabor, and take with you ten thousand men from the Naphtalites and Zebulunites? Then I will lure Sisera commander of Jabin’s army, his chariots, and his infantry at the Wadi Kishon to fight against you, and I will hand him over to you.’”

Barak said to her, “If you will go with me, I will go. But if you will not go with me, I will not go.”“I will gladly go with you,” she said, “but you will receive no honor on the road you are about to take, because the Lord will sell Sisera to a woman.” So Deborah got up and went with Barak to Kedesh. Barak summoned Zebulun and Naphtali to Kedesh; ten thousand men followed him, and Deborah also went with him.

Now Heber the Kenite had moved away from the Kenites, the sons of Hobab, Moses’s father-in-law, and pitched his tent beside the oak tree of Zaanannim, which was near Kedesh.

It was reported to Sisera that Barak son of Abinoam had gone up Mount Tabor. Sisera summoned all his nine hundred iron chariots and all the troops who were with him from Harosheth of the Nations to the Wadi Kishon. Then Deborah said to Barak, “Go! This is the day the Lord has handed Sisera over to you. Hasn’t the Lord gone before you?” So Barak came down from Mount Tabor with ten thousand men following him.

The Lord threw Sisera, all his charioteers, and all his army into a panic before Barak’s assault. Sisera left his chariot and fled on foot. Barak pursued the chariots and the army as far as Harosheth of the Nations, and the whole army of Sisera fell by the sword; not a single man was left.
Judges 4:4-16 (CSB)

The time of the Judges was a period of great unrest and turmoil in Israel, when “everyone did whatever seemed right to him” (Judges 21:25). Deborah is the only female judge in Israel’s history. She rose up as the judge of God’s people when the Israelites had been sold to King Jabin of Canaan. In her role as judge she settled disputes, but she also served as a prophet, hearing from the Lord and relaying His messages to His people.

Deborah served Israel faithfully as its judge, until finally, the Lord called her to come against the Canaanites. God told Barak to gather troops to defeat Sisera, the commander of Jabin’s army — a mission Deborah confirmed when she summoned Barak and said, “Didn’t the Lord tell you to do this?”

Hearing his calling corroborated by a prophet and judge surely put Barak’s mind at ease, giving him the confidence to gather soldiers to fight the king’s army. However, though Deborah didn’t exhibit any doubt in God’s plan, Barak wasn’t sure enough to go without her. His reasoning may have been that if Deborah believed strongly enough in God’s plan to go to the front lines (and His protection for those who fought), then he would believe, too.

Showing the same faith and leadership she’d exhibited during her time as a judge, Deborah didn’t hesitate when Barak made his ultimatum. She gladly went with him (though she did note that his hesitation would mean he would not receive credit for the victory in the end). Together, Deborah and Barak led the Israelites into battle and ultimately victory over their enemies, bringing peace that lasted for decades (Judges 5:31b).

Have you been given a message from God? Something you feel compelled to share with someone in particular? Is it something that’s hard to say and even harder to hear? Don’t be scared! As James tells us, God will always answer when we ask Him for wisdom — and He will show you exactly what to say and when to speak up. However, when you do, be prepared to walk beside your brothers and sisters being called by God. Whether it’s something uncomfortable you need to say to another believer or the message of salvation to a nonbeliever, show your faith in God and the message He’s entrusted you with. And show your faithfulness by obeying the same exhortation you’ve imparted to others.

Deborah’s leadership in Israel came at a time when Israel needed it most. After her victory, she sings a song to the Lord, saying, “when the leaders lead in Israel . . . blessed be the Lord” (Judges 5:2). By fearlessly leading Israel against its enemies, both in word and deed, Deborah delivered Israel and, for a time, helped them turn back to the Lord. May we do the same, serving God’s people by sharing His message and linking arms with others as we obey it.

Heavenly Father, thank You for giving me a message to share. Thank You for trusting me to be the one to tell people about You. Thank You for believing in me, for believing that I can be brave enough and bold enough to say the things You’ve laid on my heart. I trust You and believe in You, too. And I know You will give me the courage I need to follow You this way. God, I ask for that courage and also for wisdom, for timing, for soft hearts prepared to hear Your truth when I share it. Help me be brave, Lord, please. And if You ask me to lead by example, I pray that I won’t hesitate. I pray that I’ll gladly follow You into the fight, just like Deborah. Give me courage, God. Give me wisdom. Give me everything I need to be Your ambassador here on earth. Thank You, Lord. Amen.

This is an excerpt from Women of Courage: a Forty-Day Devotional by Mary Carver.

Do That Thing You’re Not Good At

by

I rushed into the kitchen to share the great news with my family.

“You guys! I made it! I got a spot in the musical!” My young teenage heart was pumping with pride and excitement.

My two older sisters looked at each other and then back at me. “Mr. Matthews thinks you can sing and dance?”

They burst into laughter, and I almost couldn’t blame them. I was notorious for lacking rhythm and coordination. I tripped on my own feet just walking across the room. Finding a key to sing in and sticking with it wasn’t exactly my strong suit. But I had always dreamed of performing in a big production and our high school had an exceptional theater department. I didn’t let my lack of natural talent deter me. Thankfully, The Music Man required a large chorus, and I had enough spunk to sneak in.

In my twenties, I once knew a guy liked me because when we were camp counselors, he would get up early to sit next to me at morning chapel and tell me what a beautiful singer I was. Only true love or temporary infatuation could make that statement. By unbiased standards, I have a terrible singing voice. Truly. I’m not being modest. No doubt I would be fodder for the blooper reel on American Idol.

While you won’t find me crooning on any stage (or loud enough for anyone who’s not a relative to hear me), I haven’t let my ineptitude hold me back from singing every day.

Each night I stand, sit, or kneel beside each one of my three sons’ beds and sing them a song. My eight-year-old loves Angels We Have Heard on High (even when it’s not Christmas-time) and my other two like Forever Reign. Yep, even my twelve-year-old with hands and feet bigger than his mama’s, who is edging closer to manhood every day, even he still requests my nightly song.

Clearly, it’s not my vocal talent that my children appreciate but rather the time of connection it creates. I scratch their backs and run my fingers through their hair. I whisper prayers of thanksgiving for what has been and hope for what is to come.

This simple routine has become a rhythm of love for this rhythmically-challenged mom.

And it makes me wonder, what is lost when we hide our expressions of love, art, and creativity because they don’t measure up to the world’s standards? What unexpected blessing are we forfeiting because we’re afraid to offer our less-than-stellar efforts?

Maybe you love painting or hand-lettering but your creations don’t compare to those that get thousands of likes on Instagram squares. So you think, Why bother? Maybe you feel drawn to dance but you believe you’re too old or awkward and others would just laugh. Maybe there is a poet inside you but somewhere in the past you were told words weren’t your forte. What if you decided to ignore the voice that said you’re not good enough and instead chose to explore something new — not for the sake of an applaudable performance but simply for pleasure and enjoyment?

When it comes to God, He doesn’t judge your offerings by the world’s talent criteria. He’ll never boo you off stage or unfollow you for not meeting some invisible standard.

He looks at your heart. He listens with the ears of someone who loves you. He receives your contribution as someone who delights in you.

I love the old King James Version of Psalm 100, which begins, “Make a joyful noise unto the Lord.” Melody, no. Harmony, no. Symphony, no. Noise, yes! I can bring my joy and my noise to God, and He welcomes them with open arms.

The Bible is full of imagery not only of people worshipping God through singing and dancing but of God Himself singing over His people. Zephaniah 3:17 says,

For the Lord your God is living among you.
    He is a mighty savior.
He will take delight in you with gladness.
    With his love, he will calm all your fears.
    He will rejoice over you with joyful songs.

Imagine it. You’re tucked in bed, blankets and pillows fluffed exactly how you like them. Right before you drift off to sleep, Jesus leans over you. He kisses your cheek and sings a song of joy over you. He reminds you how proud He is of you, how the way you showed up in your strength and in your weakness made all the difference. He traces the curve of your cheek and tells you how beautiful you are. In that moment, you know again that you are loved.

You are so loved, friend.

Let that love bubble up and overflow today in whatever expression brings you joy. Don’t worry about what others will think of it. God is already cheering you on.

Does it take courage for you to do something you’re not good at? Leave a comment sharing what you love to do. Let’s cheer each other on!

 

The Wisdom to Keep Loving Anyway

by

Her sobs in the darkness stirred me awake. I was confused. My daughter stood over me shaking. I could hardly make out her words. Her hands were practically inside her mouth stuffing her sadness back down inside of her. 

“What is it, Noelle?” I said calmly, still waking up. 

“Mom, I had a dream you died.” She trembled. I couldn’t see her tears, but I could feel them through her words.

I pulled back the covers and invited her in beside me. Her body was chilly, and she instantly suctioned to my skin. 

“Mommy is right here,” I whispered and stroked her hair. 

She was already asleep. My eyes were closed again, and I smiled. It sounds weird, but I smiled. It feels morbid to smile over my daughter’s sad dream, but I did and this is why.

My daughter doesn’t say, “I love you.” I haven’t heard her say those three words in several years. I’m not sure when she stopped. I just remember one day she didn’t reply with those precious words, “I love you too, Mom!”

Noelle is shy and tender and quiet. She holds her feelings close. She doesn’t cuddle either. She doesn’t jump into my arms. When I kiss her forehead, she squirms away. 

For a mom whose love languages are words of affirmation and physical touch, it has been hard for me that Noelle does neither of them. She will make me breakfast in bed, draw me pictures, but never say, “I love you.” She will never let me hug her. 

It’s embarrassing to admit, but there was a season when I stopped saying “I love you” to my daughter because I knew she wouldn’t respond. I didn’t reach for her hand because I knew she would pull it away. I know I am the adult in the relationship, but these small things felt like rejection. So I just stopped doing them. I would hug each of my children goodnight, but when I got to Noelle, I’d just smile and wave.

I think I have the tendency to believe people don’t love me if they don’t receive my love the way I want them to. I’ll love the people who love me back the way I want them to. I’ll love the people who make loving feel good. If someone will affirm my love, I’ll give it to them more. If people reject my love, I’ll stop offering it. I have so many people in my life that give and receive love differently than me. I can make a list of people I know love me, but I don’t believe love me. I convince myself they don’t love me because they don’t show me in a specific way. They don’t love me in a way that makes me feel loved, like with hand squeezes and love notes. So I stop showing up. I stop saying “I love you” the same way I did with my daughter. Slowly, my heart backs away. I think that’s why I smiled when my daughter cried in the middle of the night. I smiled because there was a part of me that believed she didn’t love me. I know that sounds ridiculous, but it’s true. 

God made each of us with unique ways to give and receive love.

When someone doesn’t give or receive love the way you think they should, resist the temptation to believe they don’t love you. The easiest thing to do is to stop pouring out love. But don’t stop. There isn’t just one right way to love. There aren’t just five love languages but millions of ways we can love because we all have our own God-given love stories. We were each designed to love in our own way. I’m tempted to make love in a black and white way, but I’m learning it can be very fluid. It can bend, flex, and bleed different colors. 

Love requires wisdom.

Think about the people in your life right now. Think about your neighbor, your family, or the small group you are in. God has placed each person in your life for a reason. It isn’t an accident. Perhaps as you think about these people, pain arises. Maybe someone has hurt you, rejected you, or treated you unfairly. Hold this person and your pain before Jesus. Hand over your ache, desires, and hopes. Release your plan and your control. Release the way you think the relationship ought to go. Commit this relationship to prayer. God is on the move to bring the healing hope of Jesus to every single relationship in your life. Sometimes He uses us to actively pursue people by showing up day in and day out. Sometimes love looks like waiting for wisdom on how to love well. Either way, let us always love with prayer and by the Spirit.

Right now, God is inviting me to actively pursue my daughter. She needs words and touch even when she is resistant. I’m trying not to take it personally when Noelle’s body remains stiff when I hug her. Even though I know she will shake away, I keep reaching my arms around her day after day. I am also learning to make her favorite meal and take her on special outings because I know it fills her heart to the brim. 

May we be faithful to love the people God has placed in our lives on His terms and not just our own. 

God’s Goodness in Everyday, Ordinary Places

by

Taste and see that the Lord is good. How happy is the person who takes refuge in him!
Psalm 34:8 (CSB)

I’ve been looking for goodness — for that which is sweet, good for the soul, joyful and light; for God’s goodness in everyday, ordinary places. In the middle of a wet and sloppy spring here in Minnesota, it can be hard to remember that possibilities and hope still exist. These days, it seems like the right move to be on the lookout for good.

What I’ve found is that goodness is everywhere — all around, all the time, in all the places.

This week my baby sister will have her second baby and my youngest will turn six months old. My kids are head over heels in love with their baby brother and their newest cousin. We’ve prayed for these babies, waited for their arrivals, celebrated them at socially distanced showers, decorated for them, and waited some more. Bring on the snuggles, the onesies, the pacifiers strewn about, the late-night texts from my sister while we’re both awake and nursing babies, the pure sweetness of a brand new baby. In a world that still holds that delicious newborn baby smell, there is still good.

My youngest daughter starts kindergarten next fall. Hard as I try to clench my fists around the slippery strands of time, it just keeps marching along. It reminds me of when we attended the kindergarten round-up night at our elementary school with our middle daughter, who was absolutely giddy to be there. She was dizzy with the attention of both parents solely focused on her, the prospect of her own desk filled with pencils and folders, a new teacher, new friends, an entire library to browse during elementary school, and the promise of riding a yellow school bus with her big brother. Her joy was overwhelming, and I couldn’t stop grinning big and silly at her happiness and hopefulness. In a world that still holds freshly sharpened pencils and the joy and hope of attending school, there is still good.

This winter, I made soup. When the temperatures dipped below zero, it was time to drag out the stoneware, dutch oven, and slow-cooker. My knife found a rhythm in slicing vegetables, my ears loved the sizzle of browning meat, and my heart gave a leap as I shook seasonings into the pot and suddenly the soup was more than single ingredients standing alone. Adding a fresh loaf of crusty-on-the-outside, squishy-on-the-inside bread and maybe a tossed green salad on the side, and dinner on a cold winter’s night was ready. The satisfaction of cooking is a motivator for me, and the joy it brings me to set a nice table and welcome my family around it is palpable. In a world that holds tables to gather around, family to break bread, and meals to be made, there is still good.

Daily, I dig into my laundry pile. I sort whites and bright colors, add detergent and swish-swash goes the washer. I vacuum up dog hair, fallen from our dog who loves to zoom and barrel dive into our legs. I load the dishwasher, unload the dishwasher, and load it up again, full of dishes on which meals and snacks were served and enjoyed. I pick up tiny toys and stack books on shelves and go to curbside pickup at the store for shampoo and bananas. I check in with family via texts, keep the calendar up to date (paper for me, electronic for my husband), and place books on hold at the library. I plan meals and turn in my hours for work and collapse into bed at the end of the day, thankful for each task ticked off my to-do list and asking for help to finish the leftovers. In a world that holds housekeeping tasks and teems with minutiae-managing, there is still good.

I sit at my computer, typing out words and creating emails, check in on social media and schedule a few posts, attend video meetings and work with our team to integrate editorial and marketing campaigns. I pray over each word published. This work I’m blessed to do is my sweet spot — ministry + business + writing. In a world that holds work that brings deep joy, there is still good.

God, who loves us as much as He did on day one, makes all things work for the good of those who love Him. He thinks of us constantly, more than there are grains of sand. He created the heat of summer, the colors of autumn, the glittering snow of winter, and the newness of life in spring. He went to the grave and back for us, for me and you. In a world overflowing with reminders of God’s love, there is still good.

The walk to school. The sermon at church. The fresh-fallen snow. The width and depth of the ocean. The warmth of the sun. The crisp pages of a new, blank journal. A hot latte. A letter from a friend. A daisy growing out of a sidewalk crack. Your children, friends, and family. A verse in Scripture that speaks straight to your heart. Goodness isn’t hard to find, especially when you’re on the lookout.

May you taste and see the goodness of the Lord, right there in your everyday (which is really anything but ordinary).

Desperate to Be Chosen

by

I knew it would happen, but I forgot how much it would hurt. I had just spent the weekend away with a friend of mine, two depleted mamas making space to simply be and create and laugh and rest. It was only the second time in two years I was away from my daughter overnight, and reentry back home was painful.

“Mama, I don’t want you to hold me. I want Dada.”
“No, Mama, not you!”

Over and over again, as the week went on.

Less eye contact. More distance. Hurtful words. A brick wall built between us — born of sadness, sustained by stubbornness.

The sting numbed my body all over again, just like it did in China in 2018 when I realized my new twenty-month-old daughter preferred my husband over me. After years of grieving infertility, begging God for a baby, and waiting for my girl, I kind of forgot to consider that I might not be all she needed.

When we met Vera, I was able to hold and comfort her first, but after she went to my husband, we soon found out she didn’t want to come back to me. I swallowed my pride and yearning, tears streaming down my face. As mamas (new and old), we know what our babies need, and we’d die to ourselves a thousand times to make sure they feel loved. But that doesn’t mean our feelings always fade as quickly as we’d like.

I was a brand-new mama, with brand-new-mama hopes that were quickly crumbling. The enemy was wedging his way into our sacred space. Her comfort, safety, and well-being were most important. I knew that. I acted on it. But silently, I suffered.

I wanted to be the one she wanted.
I wanted to hold her.
I wanted to comfort her.
I wanted my longing heart to be fulfilled.

That was the problem: I was depending on my new title of “Mama” to be the missing piece, and instead God had something else in mind.

In the midst of my self-doubt, in our two weeks in China, God showed me tiny, beautiful slivers of light and peace, representing the full and strong bond that was to come for Vera and me, little moments paving the way for a big love. And in our two-and-a-half years together since, He’s overwhelmed my soul with the bright and thriving relationship I have with my sweet girl.

But there are days where my insecurities flare up and my faith fizzles out, when my daughter chooses my husband over me, over and over again. And I crack and lock myself in the bathroom to cry.

In 2 Corinthians 12:7-10, we learn that Paul had a thorn in his side:

So to keep me from becoming conceited because of the surpassing greatness of the revelations, a thorn was given me in the flesh, a messenger of Satan to harass me, to keep me from becoming conceited. Three times I pleaded with the Lord about this, that it should leave me. But he said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’ Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me. For the sake of Christ, then, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities. For when I am weak, then I am strong.

My daughter preferring my husband is a thorn in my side.

I believe God keeps it there to remind me that my worth is not in motherhood. Vera cannot, will not, or should not ever feel responsible for making me whole. Only Jesus can do that. And the beauty of it is it means I can take the pressure off myself. I don’t have to try so hard to pry open closed doors or wriggle my way back to the loving space I know exists between my daughter and me. Instead, I can just be the person He created me to be, show her unending warmth and kindness, and in her own time, when she’s ready, she’ll find her way back and settle into my arms.

After a week of being home from my girl’s trip, after caving into the enemy’s lies and then filling back up on God’s truth and finally believing it, Vera let me back in. Full force. Back into the silliness and tenderness of my sweet four-year-old. Back to the fullness of our bond that is not lacking. Back to reaching for me and snuggling into my side.

“I like hanging out with you so much, Mama.”

I felt relief — like we’d made it through the trenches yet again. But I know it only came because of Him. I know it only came because I took a step back, relaxed, and believed deep in my soul that I already love this little girl the biggest and best way I know how. And more than that, He loves me. There’s nothing more for me to prove or do or try, except let go of my desperation to be chosen by her, because I’m fully, graciously, and fervently chosen by Him.

Need Some Joy? Us Too!

by

This year. It’s been a journey — and not like a pretty, ride-off-into-the-sunset kind but more the kind that chewed us up and spit us out. We are all in desperate need of joy — one that’s deeper than a good latte, a beautiful sunset, or even a birthday celebration. We’re in need of the kind of joy that fills our hearts even when it doesn’t make sense to feel joyful. The kind of joy that radiates. The kind that comes from the Lord and is so much deeper, so much more life-giving than the joy of this world.

We need some soul-deep, unshakable, unwavering joy, and we’re pretty sure we’re not alone.

We’re ready to turn away from the world’s counterfeit version of temporary satisfaction and embrace the deep, authentic joy God is offering. So we are thrilled — JOYFUL, if you will — to introduce the second of four Bible studies coming from (in)courage this year . . . Courageous Joy: Delight in God Through Every Season, written by Mary Carver and featuring stories from the (in)courage community!

Isn’t this the perfect topic to follow the year we’ve had??

Courageous joy is both breathtakingly simple and beautifully complex, and it’s what we investigate in this new Bible Study. In Courageous Joy, we’ll dive into the Word of God to learn what He says about joy. We’ll learn to find joy in every circumstance we face and to share it with everyone we encounter. We’ll begin to understand how a person can truly count it all joy, even when the “all” we’ve been given is not the “all” we were hoping for or expecting.

You’re invited to dig deep with us and make 2021 the year we courageously lean into joy!

The Courageous Joy Bible Study is available wherever Bibles are sold, including:

Don’t want to wait to get started? Sign up here and we’ll send you a FREE week from each of the Courageous Bible Studies, including Courageous Joy!

The Mercy of Fresh Starts Every Morning

by

Because of the Lord’s faithful love
we do not perish, for his mercies never end.
They are new every morning;
great is your faithfulness!
Lamentations 3:22-23 (CSB)

As we ate our takeout and queued up our shows on the DVR, my husband and I caught up on the business of the week. We talked again about our daughter’s behavior, and I confessed something I’d realized about the situation. “I can’t start fresh,” I whispered. “My frustrations just keep building and building, and there’s no break, no relief, no blank slate.”

The conversations about our daughter’s disobedience and disrespect began bringing other issues to the table — namely, our tempers. We realized that our short fuses were contributing to the problem, but we didn’t know how to fix it. And I knew that this fresh start thing was part of it.

Without a fresh start, there’s no forgiveness. And without forgiveness, I couldn’t find my way out of the garbage heap of anger. I couldn’t see the light of grace.

Of course, everyone says that admitting your problem is the first step — and it is. But even though this realization — and the courage to describe it out loud to my husband — felt huge, it wasn’t enough. I needed to make a change for our family. I needed to do something different.

I wish I could say that difference happened naturally, on its own, that somehow I magically learned how to forgive and forget and shower my child and myself with grace. But that wouldn’t be true.

What happened instead was that I kept feeling angry and frustrated; I kept losing my temper with my disobedient, disrespectful little girl. And I kept remembering that I am part of the problem. I would put her to bed, so mad at the latest argument and so glad to be finished with the day, and then I would cry because I didn’t know how to stop feeling that way.

But then as I lamented our struggle to her first-grade teacher, something did change. My daughter’s teacher suggested we use the same color-coded behavior chart at home that they use in the classroom. I knew several months into this school year how important the color chart was to my daughter.

Every afternoon, her response to my question, “How was your day?” was what color she was on: A green day was good, average, normal, nothing to see here. A yellow (or even red) day meant she was crying before she even got in the car. A blue or pink day, though, was cause for celebration — high fives and hugs all around!

We’d made a half-hearted attempt to use a color chart at home before, and it didn’t help at all. But at this point, I was not just angry and frustrated; I was disappointed in myself and a little desperate for help.

And it worked. It worked! But not for the reasons I expected.

See, at school the colors came with consequences, and the good colors came with prizes. Plus, students had the added incentive of their classmates knowing where they stood each day. But none of that was in play at home. I wasn’t about to give out prizes for simple obedience, and her baby sister didn’t care what color my daughter was on.

What made the difference was that at the end of the day, no matter how ugly or difficult or red it was, I moved my daughter’s pin back to green. Every day started at green. Every day started fresh, blank, clean. It had the potential to be better or worse, but it started on green.

Something about physically moving that clothespin back to the green spot on our laminated color chart reset my heart, too. Even after the worst days, that simple gesture lifted a burden from my heart. Moving my daughter’s pin back to green let me breathe again. It helped me love her better, again. And it reminded me that because of God’s great mercy I get to start on green each day, too.

Though I struggle to be a good mom some days (or some years), God is the perfect heavenly Father. So it should have been no surprise that His methods work for me, too. God promises to wipe our slate clean, to remove our sin as far as the east is from the west. In the sacrifice of Jesus Christ, He offers us an abundance of mercy — and then He promises to refill that overflowing cup every single day.

Part of the Lent season is humbling ourselves. It is lowering our defenses and our pride, allowing God to strip away our sin and our distractions. It’s the grueling work of meaning it when we say, “more of you, less of me,” to our holy and mighty God. But though we begin this season there, God doesn’t leave us in our guilt and shame. He doesn’t force us out of the garden, naked and trembling. No, instead, He reaches for us and covers us in His grace. He erases every sin we confess and loves us through the entire process.

Just like my daughter gets to start on green, so do we. Even when we’re our most disobedient, we are forgiven. And we get to start over again. When we’re washed clean by the blood of Jesus, we get a fresh start. What a precious gift!

Heavenly Father, thank You for loving me so much better than I can ever love my own children. Thank You for adopting me into Your family and loving me even when I’m as disobedient as a child! And thank You for forgiving my every sin, wiping the slate clean, and giving me a fresh start each day. Because, Lord, I mess up every day. I need Your grace every day. And I’m so grateful for it! Thank You, God. I love you. Amen.

Excerpt from Journey to the Cross: Forty Days to Prepare Your Heart for Easter by Mary Carver.

It’s not too late to have a meaningful Lenten season. Let us send you a FREE sampler from our Lenten devotional, Journey to the Cross! Journey to the Cross: Forty Days to Prepare Your Heart for Easter was written with women of all stages in mind so that we can all better experience the power and wonder of Easter with intentionality and depth. We hope it will bless your Lenten season.

Get your FREE sampler from Journey to the Cross!

One Assumption You Can Make That’s Always True

by

When was the last time you assumed something to be true, only later to discover you were off base? How often do you find your assumptions are wrong? My experience suggests more often than not.

When I wrote For All Who Wander, there were chapters I loved and others I had to fight for when my editor challenged their strength or relevancy. Those ended up being some of my favorites. On the other hand, there was a chapter or two I would’ve tossed without resistance, mainly because I wondered if I landed the point and wanted to be sure my illustrations were substantive and clear.

Imagine my surprise, then, that one of my least favorite chapters turned out to be one of the one most commented on to me. Chapter four, “Testimony Envy,” reveals my perception of how “boring” my conversion testimony is, and how I glamorized other believers’ “Damascus Road” experience. My concern was on multiple levels: a) readers might think the chapter was silly or not substantial, or b) I assumed no one would identify with or connect to my brand of angst on the topic.

My assumptions proved wrong. Time and again, people would mention this particular chapter, writing or telling me they’ve felt the same way. Either they wished their testimony were more exciting or dramatic, or they lamented what it took for God to bring them to their knees and how they envied a humdrum testimony like mine.

The grass may look greener on the other side of the fence, but whatever God plants under our feet is the exact shade of green He intends. Meaning, however you or I came to a saving knowledge of Christ is a story we can share for the glory of God.

If you grew up in a Christian home and can’t recall not identifying as anything other than a Christian, praise God! If you never stepped foot in church and broke every single commandment before meeting Jesus, praise God that He delivered you from darkness to light right when He did!

Regardless of how you came to know God, yours is a story worth telling because it is part of God’s story. He’s the hero every time. What Jesus has done on our behalf to rescue us is nothing short of astonishing grace. It is in Jesus’s life, death, and resurrection we find the gospel, and He expects us to share this good news. “Go into all the world and proclaim the gospel to the whole creation,” He says in Mark 16:15 (and in more detail in Matthew 28:16-20)

Regardless of how shiny or dull you think your testimony is, if you’ve been reluctant to share the gospel with others or you get nervous about sharing your testimony, take a moment and read Acts 10. It’s a masterclass in how to do both, the story of Cornelius, a Gentile, and Peter, a Jew.

Keep in mind that sharing your testimony isn’t only about your conversion to faith — a single moment you “walked the aisle” or prayed to receive Christ. Sharing your testimony is as simple as telling a friend what God is teaching you right now or how He’s working in your life. Peter did that for Cornelius when he explained why he was willing to go to Cornelius’ home (Acts 10:28).

Then, in Acts 10:34-43, Peter shares the gospel. In just a few short sentences, he describes the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus, and the subsequent implications to Cornelius and those present — ” . . . that everyone who believes in him receives forgiveness of sins through his name.”

Why do we find sharing our testimony to be so complicated or intimidating?

What struck me in particular was the posture of both men: they were focused on God. Of Cornelius, we read that he “prayed continually,” and Peter’s vision from God was preceded by prayer. Would they have been moved to such swift obedience — Cornelius to send for Peter and Peter to drop everything and go — had their attention been focused elsewhere?

The testimonies of both Cornelius and Peter point me to Jesus, modeling a faith that is active and purposeful. Their prayer life was powerful and effective, and they humbled themselves to hear from God. And God, in response, revealed Himself to be Lord of all and without impartiality, and the gift of the Holy Spirit was poured out (Acts 10:45).

There are people in your life who are in need of a Savior and those who will meet Him because of your story. If you’ve ever wondered about God’s will for your life, you can always assume that sharing your faith is part of it, and you can do it confidently knowing it’ll point to Him.

(in)courage sisters, who’s willing to share her story?

The Necessary Practice of Remembering

by

My mom used to throw hwatu cards down beside my family and me while we sat on the floor during cold evenings. We played over winter break when it was too dark and chilly to go outdoors, with the sound of Christmas movies keeping us company in the background. We sat close together and close to our low-lying Korean-style table. It was covered with snacks and the sliced fruit my mom served us as both dessert and curated artwork, the way Korean moms do.

I loved the sound of those tiny, plastic, red and white cards slapping the ground like an exclamation.

I studied their pictures as a kid. They were easy to hold in my small hands, and I traced their drawings of flowers, symbols, and seasons with my finger, wishing they could tell me more about where I came from.

Then recently, while trying to remember the rules of the game so I could teach my own family to play for Lunar New Year, I found articles of its origin online. It came from a Japanese game called hanafuda and was brought to Korea during the Japanese Occupation. Before that, the game was inspired by Portuguese traders who traveled to Japan with their own card games.

Japan colonized Korea between 1910 and 1945. My mom was born the year the occupation came to an end, and her entire life from the day she was born has carried the repercussions.

Thinking about all of this made me less enthusiastic about playing.

Historical truths can do that, can’t they? History is always complicated, and whether we like it or not, we are living from its impact.

Our history as the people of God is no less complicated. We are eager to mark and make much of moments of victory, as we should, but we run from the moments that remind us of our capacity for malevolence.

Psalm 53:2-3 reminds all of us — every nation, color, and people — who we are without Christ:

God looks down from heaven
upon the sons of men
to see if any understand,
if any seek God.
All have turned away,
they have together become corrupt;
there is no one who does good,
not even one.

It’s tempting to just ignore the ugly parts of history, slap a “Be kind” t-shirt on, and try to move on. But if we’re honest, that strategy only deals our children and their children a rough hand.

We cannot do better if we forget what’s been done in the past. We cannot do better if we believe that the mere passage of time has the power to make us better humans. We cannot pass a legacy onto our children and their children by singing great worship songs with all of our heart.

Nothing will change from generation to generation in our nation if we believe we aren’t capable of, connected to, and complicit in the atrocities of our ancestors and our neighbor’s ancestors.

When I lived in Germany, I couldn’t walk anywhere in the city without stepping on a brass cobblestone — a stolperstein, literally meaning “a stumbling stone.” They were impossible to miss, and they forced everyone to acknowledge the nation’s history as they went about their everyday life. Alongside of running errands, waiting for the street tram, meeting a friend for coffee, or shopping at the Sunday farmer’s market were these stones of remembrance. Each stone was inscribed with the birth and death of a citizen and victim of Nazi Germany’s holocaust.

In other cities, there are plaques of remembrance placed on known former residences. All of it, whether stones or plaques or memorials, was an intentional communal act of remembrance. They weren’t there to shame Germans who didn’t take part in the Holocaust but to collectively acknowledge and remember what was done, what they had lost and continue to grieve the loss of, and what horrors anyone is capable of. It reminded me of what can happen to any nation when it’s ruled in fear, divided, and when those in power believe a certain group of people is supreme over others and another group is meant to bear the brunt of blame for their problems.

As people of God, we are all called to remember, learn, lament, repent, grieve, and retell stories of redemption through Jesus.

How else can we embody the hope of rebirth, renewal, and rebuilding?

So, now, when my family plays hwatu, they will not only hear about the way my mom slapped cards onto the floor and fed us perfectly sliced fruit like love letters. They will also eventually hear about where the game came from, how my mom finished those game nights carrying a silent but visible sadness, and about the God who meets us in the paradox of our connected pain, as it’s braided and bound tightly to our collective liberation and joy. In their own way and on their own time, my children will need space to lament the pains of the past connected to our family heritage, our spiritual heritage, our nation, and our world, along with the celebration and the goodness of everyday life.

While we laugh, receive joy, and carry hope for renewal, may we also find God as we embrace the necessary spiritual practice of remembering.

When Unity Feels Impossible

by

Lately, I’ve been taking a lot of long social media breaks. Even though my career has led me to start social media for major organizations, co-found (in)courage, and help authors and entrepreneurs creatively utilize social media to grow their businesses, I had become discouraged by my own social media experience.

For me and many others, the social media space started to feel unsafe. I watched as friends ripped each other apart over political preferences, shared their toxic feelings about news stories, and fanned the flames of injustice.

During my social media breaks, I realized I was grieving. I was upset how social media had not unified us but showcased how divided we truly are — and not just from a political, racial, and social standpoint. These divisions looked the same in the body of Christ as they do in the world. Yet God calls us to unity.

Before you get uncomfortable with the word unity, let me clarify.

Unity is not asking you to conform. God does not want us to be the same as each other. We are not bricks made by human design but precious stones coming together to hold His presence as the church.

Unity is not a call to same-ness. God made us each unique in the color of our skin, the texture of our hair, the imagination we hold, the gifts we prepare, the places we dwell, the job we are assigned, the way we each love, and the care we need. We are to live as His individual masterpieces, all around the globe and next door, in every color and culture, glorifying God with our uniqueness and celebrating others for theirs.

Unity is not a word created by current culture. During the last supper, Jesus prayed for you and I and all future believers. If some of Jesus’ last words were to us and on our behalf, I think they hold a lot of weight.

What was His prayer about? Unity.

I pray also for those who will believe in me through their message, that all of them may be one, Father, just as you are in me and I am in you. May they also be in us so that the world may believe that you have sent me. I have given them the glory that you gave me, that they may be one as we are one— I in them and you in me—so that they may be brought to complete unity. Then the world will know that you sent me and have loved them even as you have loved me.
John 17:20-23 (NIV)

Jesus gave us the secret for the purpose of unity and the only way to achieve it. Without the Holy Spirit’s power, unity is impossible.

You and I are one with Jesus and are to be one with each other, just as Jesus and God the Father are one. You and I are to be intertwined with Jesus, just as He is with the Father. Only then can we be fully connected to each other.

God’s goal for us is to be one, unified with Jesus and each other.

Did you notice why Jesus told us to be one? So that the world may believe God sent Him to save the world. So that our neighbors, those we really don’t like and those we would consider evil, would know that God loves each of them like He loved Jesus.

Let that love remove the frustration, bitterness, fear and rage. Let that love remove the hate you have in your heart towards another that looks, acts, or votes different than you. Let that love propel you to look for ways to unify.

Let the goal of winning the argument, trial, or election be overshadowed by your holy assignment — to be intertwined with Jesus, tethered to each other, and actively pouring out love where it’s not deserved.

The body of Christ needs be stitched back together, each part crucial to this message of sacrificial love. We must be unified to accomplish the goal of the church. And we must confess where we each have fallen short to start the journey to being one.

Will there be conflict along the way? Yes. Unity doesn’t mean there won’t be misunderstanding and disagreement. But there is a unified mission: to love God, love others, and make Jesus known to all, without hurting others in the process.

So, when someone speaks of unity, I agree it sounds impossible, especially in the church. But God reminds me that working towards a goal of unity as the body of Christ is not only our earthly assignment but our preparation for heaven.

God tells us our enemy is not against flesh and blood, and yet we act as though they are, forgetting to protect each other from the real enemy with our prayers and loving action.

God reminds us over and over in Scripture that no person is our King since Jesus holds that honor. And yet we sacrifice friends and family for our preferred elected leader.

God made the nations in all their beauty, colors, and glory, yet we forget to celebrate and protect the differences in our neighborhoods and cities. He has brought us graciously together to learn about all aspects of God’s character through unique cultures, food, languages, and skin tones that make up the tapestry of the creative God we serve.

God wants us to remember unity is His idea.

Our unity is based on the Holy Spirit and the love Jesus has for each of us, not on our common ideals, political party, denomination, race, backgrounds, jobs, opinions, or experiences.

Unity in the Kingdom of God is only achievable by the work of the Holy Spirit, first in our individual lives and then as a collective group. Unity is a miracle of God. Let’s choose to be a part of it online and in real life.

Nothing Lasts Forever, Not Even This

by

I pull my coat tighter around me as the winter wind cuts through the layers I wear, causing a shiver to run down my spine. Ice crunches under my feet as I walk through my neighborhood. It is my Sabbath, and although most of the time Sabbath is my favorite day of the week, today I feel restless. 

I bundled myself up as much as I could — hat, scarf, coat, mittens, big sweater, boots — but the wind is cold today. 

I sigh as I walk. I am already longing for spring. I see massive icicles hanging from rooftops — I’d guess they’re more than two feet long, maybe longer. I stop for a moment, wide-eyed. They’re enormous. I whisper a short prayer of safety for anyone who happens to walk underneath one. 

I continue my walk, adjusting my sunglasses against the bright sun. I was hoping this walk would bring a sense of peace and restfulness, but instead I start feeling more antsy. I want spring. I want this pandemic to be over. I want my life to feel different.

A verse gently crosses my mind: There is a time for everything and a season for every activity. 

And suddenly I know: this won’t last forever. Nothing ever does. Not winter time or the pandemic or the stuck feeling I seem to be carrying around with me these days.

It’s a hard and wonderful truth all at the same time — nothing lasts forever. It’s wonderful when it feels comforting: when it’s freezing cold and I want spring weather, when it feels like I can’t handle one more second of this pandemic, when I beg God to change my circumstances, after a break-up or during a root canal. I can take a deep breath and remind myself, “This won’t last forever.”

It’s a harder truth to hold onto when we want to keep things the way they are: when it’s summertime or in the newborn stage, during first kisses or the early days of falling in love, in the midst of a good meal or a sweet friendship, when the pavement smells lovely after the rain or on Christmas morning. It is a hard truth to recognize that those wonderful moments won’t last forever.

Nothing on earth lasts forever. Like Solomon wisely said, there are times for everything — to weep and laugh, to mourn and dance, to be silent and to speak up. Seasons do eventually change. I think maybe that’s why God made four seasons — a gentle, quarterly reminder for you and me that nothing quite lasts forever. 

Snow melts. Buds form. The days get longer, and the sun sets later. 

And yet, there are seasons that can feel everlasting: loneliness, or chronic pain, singleness, or a pandemic. It can seem like they stretch on infinitely. 

But eventually, friend, those will be over, too. I think of Revelation 21:4, one of my favorite verses, “He will wipe every tear from their eyes, and there will be no more death or sorrow or crying or pain. All these things are gone forever.”

This — whatever your this may be — won’t last forever.

The sun starts to set as I continue on my frigid walk, as I ponder the truth I’ve uncovered: how this season will eventually be over. I wonder if I can see God in this season too, even if I’d trade this season in a heartbeat. 

As I turn toward home, once again I see the gigantic icicles hanging from the houses — and I can see God’s handiwork in the icy spears. I feel my heart beating hard, my breath puffing visible wisps around my face — a reminder from God that I am very much alive. I see God in me. 

If I open my eyes and embrace the season I’m in — even if I don’t like it very much — maybe somehow I’ll still see God. 

Through it all — through the hard seasons and the wonderful ones — God will always be with me. And even when the season changes, He never will.