The Good News of God’s Love

The Good News of God’s Love

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I could hardly wait for the morning my husband and daughter left town for a daddy-daughter getaway. I secretly planned a trip to Six Flags with our two younger sons. It was a hero gift for my thrill-seeking boys; no doubt, they would consider me a rock star. I wasn’t going to be one of those fraidy-cat mamas, either. I’d ride every ride with them and re-live my own youth, where debilitating fear meant nothing compared to peer pressure.

My bravado lasted all of one ride. In one mighty gust, the Georgia Cyclone blew away every smidgen of courage I had summoned.

Strapped in my seat with the boys safely in front of me, I clenched my eyes shut and started pleading with God before we ever left the station. I have an irrational fear of heights, so prayer is vital. It calms me enough to stave off cardiac arrest.

In this case, however, height wasn’t the problem. I had forgotten the iconic wooden roller coaster would feel like someone beating you with broomsticks and baseball bats. If I lived through it, I was unsure I could ever walk again. Jerked along those tracks at 50mph and dropped five-and-a-half stories at a time, I actually worried who would drive Thomas and Stephen home if their mother became an instant paraplegic.

I could not wait to get off that crazy train. It was the longest 108 seconds of my life. (What a difference twenty years had made!)

I’ve felt that way over the past twelve months or so. While last year started with the best of times for me personally, it quickly devolved into something else entirely. With 2020’s parade of unfortunate events — like a ride on that iconic wooden roller coaster — I just wanted to stop the madness.

And, now, here we are.

At times, I’ve been deeply grieved. This country has felt more like the Divided States of America, and hearts have become cauldrons of hostility, a dangerous brew of rage and rights. The consequences have brought daily headlines that stir fear, anxiety, and anger.

And as we continue to wrestle, I hope we can remember that we are a people with hope! The good news of the gospel is greater than any bad news of the day. 

Isn’t it heartening to think about the word gospel? God knew the state of the world we’d be born into, and He offered exactly what was desperately needed: good news.

That good news arrived in human form when God gave us the gift of Himself. In His incarnation, through the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus, we’re given a life-giving, peace-yielding message of hope.

As I’ve prayed for you, the (in)courage family for which I hold great affection, I wonder if your once-strong faith feels more like a memory than reality. Are you having a hard time handling ___________? That blank could be filled with any number of reasons, each one a fiery dart taking aim at your heart. Maybe you’ve found yourself questioning God, full of doubt, and struggling to know how to respond in light of the world around us? How can we find peace amid uncertain and tumultuous circumstances? Is there a way to become the change we long to see in our world? Is there anything we can do to strengthen a faith battered by protests, the pandemic, politics, and the piles of disappointment?

I’m living proof there is. A year ago, I shared my story with the world, and I’m more convinced than ever that God is at work in our wandering.

Sure, a lot has happened between then and now — 2020 was an explosive amalgam of cataclysmic, history-making events — but the Bible has not changed. We can trust the truth of Scripture. In fact, it’s the only truth we can trust.

In Luke 9:23, Jesus shows us a way to deepen our faith:

And he said to all, “If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me.”

His words were simple calls to action, but not easy ones. They all require intention, a deliberate choice to be obedient to Jesus.

In believing and receiving Jesus as the Way, Truth, and Life, we go after — or follow — Him. “Denying ourselves” is where it gets harder because we must surrender the right to our rights. This is where I think many of us struggle because the idea of “surrender” is contrary to a me-focused culture. We feel entitled to “have it my way.” So, it’s crucial to remember that the cross was an instrument of death, the gruesome weapon that killed our Savior. Taking up His cross is a call to our death, of relinquishing and laying down our way to take up His way.

Following Jesus helps us to become more like Him. When Jesus is our focus, fear, anger, and anxiety diminish, and our faith flourishes. When we allow His perfect love to fill our hearts and govern our lives, we change. Then, the world can change as we learn to love as He does.

It is Christ’s love for us that moves us to love Him and others, empowers us to change, and increases our faith. Love always, always, triumphs over hate.

The Treasure of Wisdom

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Choose my instruction rather than silver,
and knowledge rather than pure gold.
For wisdom is far more valuable than rubies.
Nothing you desire can compare with it.
I, Wisdom, live together with good judgment.
I know where to discover knowledge and discernment.
All who fear the Lord will hate evil.
Therefore, I hate pride and arrogance,
corruption and perverse speech.
Common sense and success belong to me.
Insight and strength are mine.
Because of me, kings reign,
and rulers make just decrees.
Rulers lead with my help,
and nobles make righteous judgments.
I love all who love me.
Those who search will surely find me.
I have riches and honor,
as well as enduring wealth and justice.
My gifts are better than gold, even the purest gold,
my wages better than sterling silver!
I walk in righteousness,
in paths of justice.
Those who love me inherit wealth.
I will fill their treasuries.
Proverbs 8:10-21 (NLT)

We are always in need of wisdom — wisdom to say the right things at the right time, to do what is right on this side of history, to pause and stay quiet, to listen and consider. We need wisdom to choose between what’s good and what’s best, to know how to walk with integrity in our workplaces, in our parenting, in our friendships. We need wisdom to love others well, to treat others with kindness, to know how to live as Jesus did.

James 1:5 assures that if we ask for it from God, He will give it to us generously. And our Proverbs passage today tells us that with wisdom, we will gain discernment, good judgment, and knowledge — everything we are desperate for today. As we seek to find truth and clarity, direction and vision this year, let’s come before God and ask Him for the wisdom we need to navigate our lives and our world, to love ourselves and our neighbors well, and to “walk in righteousness and in paths of justice.”

He Is There to Meet Us in Our Deepest Need

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Alone again. That’s how she must have felt as she walked to the well by herself that day.

But she wasn’t alone for long. Jesus was waiting for her there, in the place where He knew she would soon be. She had no idea who He was and didn’t understand why He was talking to her and asking her to give Him some water. First off, He was a man, and men didn’t talk to women in public. He was also Jewish, which was obvious by what He was wearing, and Jews didn’t associate with people like her.

When He spoke, she heard gentleness in His voice, kindness and humility in His simple request for a drink.

In His eyes, she saw acceptance not judgment, pursuit not avoidance, love not hate.

Many of us know her as the Samaritan woman, but years ago I decided to start calling her Sam to make her feel more like the real woman she was. A woman just like me. A woman who who struggled with hurt, rejection, and loneliness. A woman who needed to be pursued and loved, despite her failures and her flaws.

Jesus was on His way to Galilee that day, but Scripture tells us “He had to go through Samaria” (John 4:4). Yet theologians would tell us Jews considered Samaritans to be the scum of the earth and would do everything they could to go around Samaria — but not Jesus.

He had to go through Samaria. I believe it was because He knew Sam would be there.

Women usually traveled to the well together in the cool of the day to avoid the heat of the sun since they carried heavy jars filled with water back to their homes. But Sam went by herself, during the hottest part of the day.

Instead of avoiding the scorching heat of the sun, it is likely Sam went to the well at noon to avoid the scorching pain of others’ judgment, slander, and rejection. Having been married five times and currently living with a man who wasn’t her husband, Sam knew how painful it was to have others say unkind things about you and to you.

Jesus knew as well. He also knew, that while Sam was running an errand that day, she was also running from those who knew of her failures, shame, and imperfections. Pursuing her with His perfect love, Jesus timed it so she would run into Him.

He initiated conversation and asked her for the only thing she had to offer, a drink of water. It wasn’t much, but it was the beginning of a conversation that changed everything for her. Yet it wouldn’t have happened if Sam had decided to give Jesus some water and get back to her to-do list.

Sam stopped, and she stayed. She let time unfold into a meaningful dialogue, not knowing Jesus would speak the very words of assurance, understanding, and acceptance her heart needed to leave a life that left her so empty.

Jesus intentionally pursued Sam in one of the loneliest parts of her day, and in the same way, He pursues us in the midst of our sometimes lonely and imperfect lives.

He is there when you’re going through the motions, aware of what needs to be done but unaware of how you’re going to do it all.

He is there during endless days filled with projects, Zoom calls, online schooling, diapers, or laundry when you’re wondering if you’ll ever find structure or meaning in the monotony of it all.

He is there when you’re criticizing yourself and questioning whether you have what it takes to be a godly woman, wife, mom, or friend.

He sees you. He notices all you do. And He knows what you long for.

Jesus is the only One who can meet our deepest need to be known, accepted, and pursued simply because of who we are.

And today, He wants you to know this: He is pursuing you with the gift of His perfect love — love that is patient and kind, love that keeps no record of your wrongs, love that won’t give up on you or me.

Wherever you are, whatever you are doing, you are not alone. Jesus is there.

 

Strolling Through Tension with Our Savior

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Snow is falling outside my window. The children across the street are playing in it, running around with wagons, toy shovels and baseball bats (?) — doing what kids do best. They’re having fun. I soak in their sounds of joy because, as you well know, we’ve had one long, hard year.

Feeling overwhelmed, I almost ask myself a wrong question: How did we get here? Instead, I finally do something unusual. Or, as the Bible recommends, I take a break just to “be still.” I turn off cable, stop scrolling, clear off my desk, sit myself down. Then I do nothing. No reaching for my Bible. No calling a friend to process feelings. No writing a blog post to hear myself think.

Instead, in the stillness, I begin to think of something I hadn’t thought about in weeks — an online cardio class (of all things). My husband suggested it a few weeks ago. It’s on Zoom and in real time.

I’m lukewarm about it, to tell the truth. But I find the link and register. In an hour, when the class starts, I open Zoom, and I hear something I haven’t heard in almost a year.

“Hi Patricia!”

This greeting — without meaning anything more than hello — is the kindest thing I’ve heard in too long a time. It’s just a hi.

The teacher, a forty-something physical trainer, is taking the class through its warmups. “Step right. Step right. Two times. Two times.”

To do all the steps and arm movements, I have to do something I’d often forgotten to do this past year: stop thinking about anything else. There’s no multi-tasking in this class, not for me anyway.

Instead, for forty-five minutes, I have to just move, follow the instructions, not second-guess the teacher.

Later, of course, I think of the beauty of always doing that — just following the Teacher, obeying His instructions, repeating His moves, and not second-guessing Him.

“Follow me” is how Jesus put it (Luke 5:27). He was speaking to Levi, the tax collector, whose tax vocation was despised and seen as sinful. Walking up to his tax booth, however, Jesus spoke the words. Then without questioning, Levi (also known as Matthew) “got up, left everything and followed him” (Luke 5:28).

What a beautiful, remarkable response. At the word “follow,” Levi understood its Hebrew meaning — halakh, meaning “walk” — was like Jesus saying, “Walk with Me.”

That’s our invitation from the Lord today: Walk with Me. Not behind Me, running after Me, always trying to keep up — never close enough to truly know Me. Likewise, don’t walk before Me — getting ahead of where I’m going, taking charge of what you don’t control or fully understand.

In the disruptive days of an overheated political era, there’s no better instruction than to walk with the Lord. Strolling along. No hurry. Ignoring pressure.

When we walk with Him, we don’t get lost or off track. No matter where He goes, trudges, or climbs, God invites us to stick close by, setting our pace to His, keeping our eyes on Him, reflecting His stride and not our own. Walking alongside Him, we take on His character and ways, words and means — no matter what else is erupting or occurring.

What we find is a Holy Guide who doesn’t let any strife, pressure, or upheaval boiling around Him affect Him. Thus, earlier in the fifth chapter of Luke’s gospel, after Jesus heals a man with leprosy, even touching the man, “crowds of people” pressed in to hear Him and be healed of their sicknesses by Him. (Luke 5:15). They plead with Him, demanding attention. Our worries, fears, and conflicts do the same.

But how did Jesus walk through such minefields? He “often withdrew to lonely places and prayed” (Luke 5:16).

Strolling along with Him, we can do the same. (We may even learn to play sometimes like little children.) The world may seem to be unraveling — our nation and neighborhoods, homes and hearts sometimes in tatters. But when we obey the Teacher, moving like Him along the road of life, He simply offers this reminder: Walk with Me. Not too fast. A holy stroll.

Then, when we do, we never walk alone.

Learning to Blossom as Cultural Image Bearers

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I was sitting in a virtual chat room one day with women of all ethnicities, talking about our stories and our ethnic roots, when all of a sudden I found a surprising kindredness with my white sisters. Though it can often feel like our stories and experiences are as starkly different as night and day, in that moment I discovered something new. Each of the women there had become disconnected from their ethnic roots, albeit in different ways.

I first shared my story with the group. Much of my story is intertwined with my mother’s. She immigrated to the U.S. in the 70s and during that time lost most of her connection with her own family. It’s a painful story, but it’s not fully mine to tell. I can say, however, that I’ve never met some of my aunts and uncles. I’ve also never met my Ba, my grandmother. There are days where the ache in my heart for my family makes it hard to breathe. I so wish I knew my Indian grandmother. I wish I could tell her who I am and show her pictures of my own family. More than that, I wish I could get to know her, hear stories of her life, while cooking something together or sitting at the table drinking chai. I know parts of my mom’s story, but a lot of what pertains to her family is still shrouded in mystery. It’s something we rarely speak about — it’s still too painful.

Growing up, I wish I had been connected to my mom’s family. I wish I knew what it was like to be surrounded by fellow Indians, who all looked like me, dressed like me, ate the same foods, and celebrated the same things. There is an innate desire in all of us to be known and loved by our families, to have deep bonds and live life together. Often times when we are disconnected from them, we become disconnected to our deep sense of culture and identity too.

Interestingly, as some of the other women then shared, they realized they too felt disconnected from their ethnic roots. One woman with Swedish heritage recounted how her grandparents had immigrated to the U.S. and proclaimed, “We are now American. We are no longer European.” Another shared in tears about how her Dutch parents refuse to share any of their family story with her as an intentional way to disconnect from their ancestral past. Many other women reiterated similar stories. Many of my dear friends are transracial adoptees who have never met their birth parents. I have also spoken to many Black women who feel similarly because of the history of slavery and the way their ancestors were violently uprooted from their African homes. Perhaps you feel this disconnect in your own story as well.

It was a tender conversation and one that united us despite our ethnic and geographical differences. Here was a group of diverse women who, for all different reasons, were wanting to reconnect with their roots and flourish in the way God created them to. We were each created as cultural image bearers after all. In Genesis 1-2 we see that our cultural identity is encoded into the very heart of what it means to be God’s image bearer. Humans were stamped from the very beginning with the imago Dei so that we could be God’s representatives on earth. Every culture with its unique bodies, voices, thoughts, actions, and values reflects a piece of God Himself. Seeing, embracing, and living out our faith through our unique cultural identities and expressions is how we become fully alive.

But as many of my sisters asked that day, what does blossoming look like when you don’t have a model to build from? How do we flourish as cultural image bearers when our history has been stripped from us and reconnecting with our roots feels like an impossible task?

For those of you who feel disconnected from your past, for those who can’t speak to their parents (or whose parents won’t speak with them), I want to offer two words of encouragement:

1. Lean into your culture’s global story.

I’m encouraged by the stories of Indians throughout the global diaspora. Often times, part of the global Indian story becomes inspiration for the ways in which I continue to develop my own cultural identity. The same can be true for you and your cultural roots. Think about your ethnic heritage and the specific people group(s) you’re connected to. Consider this: What are the attitudes, mindsets, and values embedded within your ethnic heritage? What are the stories that are valued and passed down within your cultural community? Who are your culture’s heroes?

This is where reading plays an important role. Whether you have Nigerian, Cambodian, German, Italian, or Russian roots, you can do some digging by picking up a history book and learning about a historical past that you’re connected to. Go to your local library or search Google and find some folktales and legends from your culture. Read them, discuss them with your family and friends, and reflect on how your own story both interweaves and disconnects from the story of your global community.

2. Create new traditions and expressions.

There are a lot of traditions that I celebrate in my home with my husband and children that I didn’t celebrate growing up. There are Indian holidays that I’ve chosen to integrate into our family rhythm, new foods that I’ve learned to cook, and new figures and heroes in the history of global Indian Christianity that I now look up to and seek to emulate.

When our pasts have been stripped from us, God extends us the grace and creativity to create something new. In the same way that He promises to make all things new, He invites us as co-laborers to find our story within God’s story. What it means for you to be Korean or Hawaiian or Colombian or Polish or South African will always be unique to you as an individual, and that’s not something to be ashamed of.

Learning to blossom as a cultural image bearer will take time. The process will be slow, and that’s okay too. Be gentle and patient with yourself and allow God’s spirit to guide you on a beautiful journey of becoming fully alive.

State of (in)courage 2021: What Will Be Our Compass?

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Sisters, I want to talk with you about where (in)courage is headed in 2021. You are our people, our community. You choose to spend time here in the (in)courage living room, soaking up words and stories, sharing pieces of your own hearts in the comments. We are so deeply grateful that you do.

As Community Manager, every year I feel an intense excitement in looking ahead for what God wants for (in)courage. But after a year like 2020, it would feel like a miss to barrel full-steam ahead into hopes and dreams without first making space to acknowledge the great sorrow we’ve endured collectively and individually.

Tears well immediately to the surface just thinking about it. We have lost loved ones to the coronavirus, which also robbed the dignity of saying goodbye. Hospitals remain packed with COVID patients. Lord, bring your healing! Livelihoods have been threatened and forever altered. Racial tensions rose as awareness of injustice increased. Political sides became like battle lines, separating family members and neighbors. Word-wars waged over social media leaving everybody wounded. Many churches and schools closed their doors and have yet to reopen. What is right? What is safe? The questions reverberate — they ricochet like sharp arrows we can’t dodge. The grief is too much. Our mental health has fractured. Our country remains broken and divided. Hope can feel too heavy to keep carrying. Truth can seem too elusive. Which voices can we trust? Which sources actually advocate for our best interest?

Friends, if you feel heavy and burdened and like hope is an unraveling thread that you’re losing your grip on, you’re not alone. But know this: God never loses His grip on us.

Will the next twelve months continue the same late-night anxiety and early-morning uncertainty, alarming headlines, widening divides, prolonged loneliness, and unrest of all kinds that marked 2020? I don’t know.

There’s one thing we don’t have to wonder about: the faithfulness of God and reliability of His Word.

Over and over, Scripture beats the drum of God’s fierce with-ness.

When facing the great unknowns of transitioning from their wilderness years and stepping into the Promised Land, Joshua and the Israelites hung on the assurance that “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” (Deuteronomy 31:8).

When facing down a great storm that threw the disciples into a flurry of fear and panic, Jesus reminded them that His very presence had the power to right the boat and calm the raging waters (Luke 8:22-25).

In the face of our own trouble and uncertainty, God alone is our steady rock. Our sure footing. Our refuge and ever-present help (Psalm 46:1).

As we look at 2021 as a community of Christian women, let’s anchor ourselves in the unshakable Truth! Let’s stake our hope, our future, our way forward in God’s Word.

2 Timothy 3:16-17 clearly says, “All Scripture is inspired by God and is useful to teach us what is true and to make us realize what is wrong in our lives. It corrects us when we are wrong and teaches us to do what is right. God uses it to prepare and equip his people to do every good work.”

I love how the Message translation says it, too: “Every part of Scripture is God-breathed and useful one way or another — showing us truth, exposing our rebellion, correcting our mistakes, training us to live God’s way. Through the Word we are put together and shaped up for the tasks God has for us.”

2020 has undone us like no other. Yet, through the Word, we are put together.

Oh, how I wish I could reach through these screens to cup your face in my hands, gently shake your shoulders, and hug you tight, sister! (Of course, no COVID in my dream world.) I want us to look into each others’ eyes and preach the truth to one another. Over and over, as many times as it takes for us to remember that we are not alone. We are not unequipped. We are not without a compass in the storm.

This year we will continue to champion our (in)courage core values to build community, celebrate diversity, and become women of courage by being rooted in the Word.

In addition to the honest stories you find here every day at (in)courage from our team of amazing writers, we are thrilled to study God’s Word more intentionally as a community through our new Courageous Bible Study Series! Every three months, we will release a new Bible study that will help you walk more closely with Jesus and make an impact for the kingdom of God right where you are.

Our first six-week study is Courageous Simplicity: Abide in the Simple Abundance of Jesus… and we want to invite YOU to study God’s Word with us!

Join the Courageous Simplicity Online Bible Study!

Beginning February 1, gather online with your (in)courage sisters as we learn together how to fix our eyes and our lives on Jesus! All you need to do is:

  1. Register for the Online Bible Study.
  2. Get your copy of Courageous Simplicity.
  3. Check your email for info + an invite to our private Facebook Group.

We’ll send the weekly teaching videos out via email so if you don’t have Facebook you can still participate. Also, we have created some great resources to help you lead this study with your church or a group of friends. Get your leader guide — it includes leadership tips, ice-breakers, discussion questions, and six teaching videos!

Sisters, are you ready? May we let the power of God’s Word steady our hearts, transform our minds, and set the course for our future.

What truth are you clinging to as you start 2021?
How will you let Scripture be your compass?

 

Fearfully and Wonderfully Made by a Loving God

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I was curled up on my cat-scratched yoga mat, rocking and crying. This is a frequent occurrence so I wasn’t alarmed, but the thought that God was near to me in my pain made me sob even harder — how could my perfect Creator see me like this?

I live with autism, and what had prompted this meltdown was a simple, harmless question:

“What are you learning in your time with God this week?”

For a few months, I’ve been meeting weekly with a spiritual counselor through online video sessions. She asks this question every week, and because of this, I felt as though I should have been better prepared with a verbal answer.

“I . . . I don’t know.”

Memories and images of my daily devotional times flooded my mind, but no words accompanied them. I wanted to be able to express the sweetness I felt that God was near even as the weight of the pandemic was setting in again, but my mind felt disconnected. Translating thoughts into words is what gives me the most trouble in counseling (and in general), and I could feel my speech slipping away from me.

As my counselor waited, I lost my ability to maintain eye contact, which is another challenge. I have to make a conscious effort to be polite and to show interest in that way — even through a screen — and it slipped. I thought I could feel her expectant and disappointed gaze as she gave up and moved on to the next question:

“What have you been reading in the Bible this week that has stood out to you?”

I tried to remember what I’d read. There had been a specific verse I was meditating on — I had written it down! Something in . . . Matthew. It had been the theme and aspiration of my week. However, the more I wanted the words to come, the further they felt from my lips.

I started “hearing the silence.” My mind swirled into a sea of dissonance as I heard my fan roar, my earphones hiss, the computer fan whirl, all while a violin in my mind started whizzing through a Hungarian folk tune. I call this “drawing a blank” because I struggle to communicate using words, though my mind during the session was anything but empty.

“I . . . I can’t seem to remember. My mind is buzzing. I’m sorry.” And then I dissolved into tears.

Apart from my family, my counselor was one of the first people — and the first fellow believer — I “unmasked” with. Even though there was already an established trust between us, I still felt uncertain and terrified that she might not believe me or that she would hold my disorder against me. I had always been taught in church to “always be prepared to give an answer” (1 Peter 3:15b NIV), and I was afraid I had just failed.

The shaming didn’t happen. Realizing I was done speaking for the day, my spiritual counselor took over, speaking words of encouragement from Psalm 139 and praying over me. Although I was unable to respond at the time, I realized these words had made an impact as I reflected back on them after the episode had passed:

You have searched me, Lord, and you know me. (verse 1)
Before a word is on my tongue, you, Lord, know it completely. (verse 4)
What I understood: God understood what I was trying to convey.

I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well. My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place, when I was woven together in the depths of the earth. (verses 14-15)
What I understood: I was created with neurodiverse wiring for a purpose. God knew what I was going through and was not embarrassed by my behavior.

Search me, God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts. See if there is any offensive way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting. (verses 23-24)
What I understood: While this situation was out of my control, I am still accountable for the intent of my actions. I can work with my counselor to be able to answer this question next time — and if I can’t, God still sees and uses my efforts.

I write this as an encouragement to others who may feel they don’t have the “perfect” words to respond to someone in distress: we can hear your comforting words of truth even if they don’t appear to be helping in the moment. For me, an autistic meltdown is about releasing sensory triggers, but what happens in the moment of the meltdown is saved for later processing and reflection. There are others who may require complete silence, and that is okay as well.

Sometimes I feel so alienated from my body, and I question why I was created like this. I wish I could appreciate all the beauty in the world without my senses being overwhelmed, without melting down, and without getting exhausted. I take comfort that as our Creator, God knows all of the inner turmoils and challenges you and I face, no matter what our situations may be. Because of His grace and love, I can say with confidence: I am autistic, and I am fearfully and wonderfully made by a loving God.

 

Learning to See Beyond Me

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I have a bad habit of walking too fast.

This serves me well when I’m trying to get some exercise and burn off extra calories from last night’s bowl of chocolate chip mint ice cream (please tell me I’m not the only one). But it’s not helpful when I’m walking through my house while simultaneously working remotely, negotiating with teenagers, and doing the laundry. Let’s just say I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve stubbed — and broken — a toe on a table leg or bed frame. Few things throb quite as strongly as a busted baby toe. Although small and seemingly inconsequential, a broken toe quickly becomes all I can feel and think about, the pain all-consuming and blinding.

Even so, I still catch myself moving too fast. My life feels completely overwhelming. And often I’m so focused on where I’m headed and what I need to accomplish that I fail to give attention to everything else around me. I’m like a train, determined to get to the safety of the station that I’m oblivious to the scenery I pass on my way. Problem is, I sometimes plow through more than table legs, including the people in my path, without a second thought.

Like a bruised baby toe, difficult life seasons — like the one we’re all currently in the middle of — can be all-consuming. Whatever our unique crises and challenges, our individual pain throbs like a bruised and broken toe until it’s all we can think about. Personal challenges blind us to the individual challenges of the people all around us. This is understandable, for a time. Pain, by its very nature, requires attention. It’s an alarm that alerts us to the fact that something is wrong. We must heed the warning so that in time we may heal.

But temporary attention can easily slip into a habit of self-consumption. We think our trials are bigger than the next person’s, our struggles more impossible and life-altering than what another endures. Learning to ‘see beyond me’ is about choosing to slow down, to make space, to listen, and to intentionally resist the isolation of individual pain in order to share life — and its heartaches — together. At best, we’re simply clueless. At worst, we’re utterly hardened and unmoved.

Therefore if you have any encouragement from being united with Christ, if any comfort from his love, if any common sharing in the Spirit, if any tenderness and compassion, then make my joy complete by being like-minded, having the same love, being one in spirit and of one mind. Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit. Rather, in humility value others above yourselves, not looking to your own interests but each of you to the interests of the others.
Philippians 2:1-4 (NIV)

Following Jesus’ example of humility before God, Paul urges each of us to learn to see (and serve) beyond ourselves. This doesn’t mean beating ourselves to a pulp in constant, tireless service without caring for our health and families. And this doesn’t mean completely disregarding the very real day-to-day pain points that require our honest attention.

But this does mean that we willingly, intentionally, consciously strive to see the faces and challenges of the real people all around us and that we seek to serve them with the same tender compassion and tangible love we ourselves have received from the Savior Himself.

I’m guessing, if you’re anything like me, the past year of near constant national and global crises has left you a bit near-sighted. It’s understandable, my friend. I’m right there with you. I’m juggling more than enough tension and difficulty within the four walls of my home. I have little energy or mercy leftover for anyone else.

And yet, we are people saved by a God who left the comfort of heaven for the predicament of earth. And if I want to follow His lead, as much as my tired flesh will allow me, I need to intentionally push against the self-consumption that tempts me to grow callous and hardened to the needs of a broken world.

Want to join me? Here are a few questions I’m learning to ask when I’m with others. I may not be able to solve their problems or cure their pain, but I can listen. And I can see.

  • What is the best part of your life right now?
  • What is the hardest thing in your life right now?
  • What is it like for you, day to day?
  • What do you wish was different about your day-to-day life?
  • What has been helpful for you over the past few days/weeks/months/year?
  • What do you wish people knew about you?
  • What gives you a sense of peace or joy right now?
  • What do you need more of?

Remember, learning to “see beyond me” isn’t about solving problems or fixing what’s broken. It’s about choosing to slow down, to lift our heads and see beyond our own agendas and stubbed toes, to make space, to listen, and to intentionally resist the isolation of individual pain in order to share life — and its heartaches — together.

God’s Promises in Our Wandering

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The angel of the Lord found Hagar beside a spring of water in the wilderness, along the road to Shur. The angel said to her, “Hagar, Sarai’s servant, where have you come from, and where are you going?”

“I’m running away from my mistress, Sarai,” she replied.

The angel of the Lord said to her, “Return to your mistress, and submit to her authority.” Then he added, “I will give you more descendants than you can count.”

And the angel also said, “You are now pregnant and will give birth to a son. You are to name him Ishmael (which means ‘God hears’), for the Lord has heard your cry of distress. This son of yours will be a wild man, as untamed as a wild donkey! He will raise his fist against everyone, and everyone will be against him. Yes, he will live in open hostility against all his relatives.”

Thereafter, Hagar used another name to refer to the Lord, who had spoken to her. She said, “You are the God who sees me.” She also said, “Have I truly seen the One who sees me?” So that well was named Beer-lahai-roi (which means “well of the Living One who sees me”). It can still be found between Kadesh and Bered.
Genesis 16:7-14 (NLT)

Perhaps you’re facing difficulty that feels unbearable. Perhaps you’ve been used or abused, left alone and unloved. Maybe you found yourself in a bad situation — and made it worse. Perhaps the promises you were made turned out to be false, or maybe the gifts you were offered were rescinded. Let Hagar’s story encourage you! Though she had a child with her mistress’s husband, though she provoked her mistress until her abuse was returned, though she ran away from her problems — God didn’t turn away from Hagar.

Take heart from God’s faithfulness to Hagar, and share her hope in Him. God’s promises are always true and will always be fulfilled. They will meet you in the hard place — even if you are running away — just as the angel met Hagar with God’s promise right in the middle of her wandering. His promises will always provide real hope despite the circumstance.

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

Seeing the Full Picture When We Look Back

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When darkness tries to roll over my bones
When sorrow comes to steal the joy I own
When brokenness and pain is all I know
I won’t be shaken, no, I won’t be shaken
 “Stand in Your Love” by Josh Baldwin

I sang along to the worship song, not mindlessly but not completely focused either. Suddenly, tears began running down my face, and my brain registered the words my heart was already wrestling. Watching the first online church service of the year, I remembered something that hadn’t made my best-of list for the previous year, my Christmas letter, or my annual photobook for the grandparents.

Like everyone, I’d spent the past few weeks reflecting on one of the most difficult years, searching for any  highlights and favorites, blessings and gratitude. Never one to pretend that life is perfect, I’m usually quick to acknowledge the struggles I’m facing. (Like the year that my daughter broke her leg and spent nearly ten months in some form of a cast? Incredibly difficult, which I told every single person who asked and many who didn’t.) But who wants to hear about the year that my faith was, in fact, deeply shaken?

You can search every shelf, but you won’t find a card that shouts, “Joy to the Lord! This year I doubted God!”

The truth of 2020 for me was that for one of the first times in my life, I questioned God’s goodness. I questioned His sovereignty. I questioned my own adherence to beliefs that weren’t doing a thing in the face of a particular grief.

I also published two books! Took a spontaneous road trip with my husband and kids! Survived working at home while also helping my kids do school at home!

How could all of that be true at the same time? In the same year? How could a big, wonderful, beautiful year also contain some serious anguish and doubt that shook me to my core? How could one small season hold the weight of enormous blessings and crushing burdens?

I’m not sure how it’s possible, but I know it’s true. Last year was ugly and beautiful, disappointing and delightful, and surprising in the best and worst ways. All of the amazing things that happened aren’t less true or less valuable because of my struggle. And the fact that I wrestled with my faith in a new and painful way wasn’t reduced by the fact that I experienced a lot of joy. Our lives are full of both joy and pain — often at the very same time. And that’s okay. We can acknowledge both. We can hold both.

And we can worship God through both.

I’m thankful that song reminded me of the hard parts of last year, because in my efforts to choose joy and focus on the positive through the holidays and my year-end reflections, I’d left out half the story. The good parts of the year are actually richer because of the thread of pain and doubt and struggle that winds through the weeks and months. Only by seeing the good and the hard intertwined and overlapping do I see how faithful God has been to me.

He’s not just here when I’m happy. He’s not just here when I’m grateful. He’s not just here when I’m rock solid, believing with all my heart. He’s here, always, no matter what. He’s here no matter how much my circumstances, my life, my heart change. He’s here, and He never changes.

Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today, and forever.
Hebrews 13:8 (CSB)

Last year was a lot, and the Lord was there for every good, bad, and in-between bit of it. And I won’t forget it.

How was God faithful to you last year?

 

Can We Dream Again?

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This week, I had the privilege of being a part of some celebrations commemorating the life and legacy of the Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Also, for the first time, I participated in the The National Day of Racial Healing, and with February, aka Black History Month, right around the corner, I have been reflecting on being God’s voice in my sphere of influence.

In elementary school, I remember being taught about Dr. King and his leadership in the movement to secure human rights for Black and all poor Americans. School lessons presented him as an ambassador for nonviolence and an architect of the civil rights movement. Beyond school, I learned that because of his crusade against global imperialism, his out-spoken opposition to the Vietnam War, and his campaign for the poor, the U.S. government considered Dr. King to be the most dangerous man in America. Almost sixty years after his assassination, we are still gleaning and learning from his revolutionary vision.

Out of all that I’ve learned from his life, I am most inspired by how his speech, “Normalcy Never Again” (from August 28, 1963) was amended. We know this as the “I Have a Dream” speech. Originally, it included nothing about a dream. Though Dr. King had referenced dreams before, he was told by his advisors not to mention them in this speech. But during his oration, singer Mahalia Jackson, The Queen of Gospel, shouted to Dr. King to tell the massive assembly about the dream. Without hesitation, Dr. King launched into an improvisation, resulting in his most recognizable rendering.

I was taught much about Dr. King as a scholar, a pastor, and a revolutionary, and I was very familiar with the vision he spoke of that day:

So even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream. I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal . . . 

But when I learned that he was given dreams, the speech spoke to me in an entirely new way. I was enthralled and inspired by his prophetic voice! For me, this meant that Dr. King wasn’t laying out his personal goals or his ideals for the future of America, as I had been taught in elementary school. Instead, he was simply a conduit passing along God’s dream, God’s vision for us and to us. He was resonating God’s voice to ears that needed to hear of a future that encompassed hope and healing for a hurting and confused nation.

Every thought and feeling about our country’s struggle with all kinds of social -isms and schisms have been on full display for a while now. Honestly, I am somewhat relieved to see that the struggle is widespread, as opposed to isolated to a small corner of the country. Widespread means that at least we are wrestling altogether.

But as we do, I wonder, Can we dream again? Who is willing to be a conduit for God’s vision for humanity? While we are learning and unlearning, resisting and advancing, how many of us will simply be His voice — authentically, now, in this moment, for those who need to be inspired by a glimpse of the future? I pray that we have the capacity to reach for dreams that resonate beyond our today to inspire and guide future generations.

The thing about God’s dreams is that they don’t come from a place of fear, trepidation, and reservation. They are given by the One who knows the end from the beginning. They’re fashioned from love, assurance, and generosity, and they propel us forward into the future, fueled by hope. Because we trust the Dream Giver, we can employ faith to follow the visions He gives us.

Despite our rocky road, I believe that we are on the path of manifesting the dream relayed by Dr. King. As I have benefited from the dreams spoken before me, I must also be a voice resonating God’s vision beyond my today.

“In the last days,” God says,
“I will pour out my Spirit upon all people.
Your sons and daughters will prophesy.
Your young men will see visions,
and your old men will dream dreams.”
Acts 2:17 (NIV)

May the future benefit from your God-given dreams, and may you have the courage to speak them into being. 

Choosing Thoughtfulness Over Defensiveness

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I unwrap my brand spankin’ new 2021 calendar, the old timey kind made of card stock that you hang up somewhere like it’s the 1900s. I love new calendars, and I love fresh starts. But this year, I’m disheartened to find several of the same old disturbing problems following me into 2021. Certainly, I find this to be true in my personal life, concerning situations that affect me and my immediate family only. And even with a more wide angle view, I find this to be true on a broader national landscape too, concerning issues that follow and trouble many of us.

The calendar pages display definitive ends to seasons, but real life does not.

Looking out my office’s picture window, I take notice of the snow that’s hanging around in spite of the fact that our last snowstorm was a few weeks ago. One interesting thing about living in Colorado Springs is that while it frequently snows over the course of our fourteen months of winter (haha), it melts quickly. With over three hundred days of sunshine a year, it doesn’t stick around. But this latest snow has stuck around, encouraged to do so by cold temperatures the sun can’t overcome.

In life, too, it can feel like the warmth can’t overcome the cold.

Winter will do what winter does: bring chilly temps and snow. It’s best not to fight the facts on the weather — or our own troubles. While we can always count on God making all things new and hope getting the last word, we aren’t guaranteed right-here-right-now expiration dates on our troubles. We aren’t even guaranteed they will come to an end while we trod along on this broken and beautiful planet.

So, I make a cup of hot sweet and spicy orange tea. I pull out the red and black buffalo check flannel socks and stretch them over my size 11 feet. Even if I don’t particularly relish the season I’m in, I can still do what I can to restore a mindset for the good things it brings.

Chief of these is to get my hind-end in the Word of God each day, because in the words of Ann Voskamp, “God’s Word to you is never a passing word or line — God’s Word is your very lifeline. In tumultuous times, there is only one voice that can calm seas. When the sun rises in the window every morning, it comes on fire with a message to say, The One who is the Word wants to have a word with you.”

I read the Word to communicate with God and to know what He wants to communicate with me. And I read it to best know how to communicate with others too.

I have a choice each and every day: I can demonstrate the light and warmth of Christ to others or I can douse it.

In general, when it comes to processing things, I’m a crockpot set on low. It takes time for me to know how to say what I think about something. But there are those topics and viewpoints that can provoke me to quickly provide a knee-jerk response. And every time I do so, almost without fail, I regret what I say or write. I regret the way I’ve communicated it.

However, every time I’ve taken a beat (or a day or a weekend) to think about what I want to communicate, I’ve never regretted it. Pausing before posting doesn’t lessen the validity of my viewpoint or the courage of my conviction. But it lessens any biting tone or defensiveness I might bring to the conversation.

In general, I want to be one who engages with thoughtfulness rather than defensiveness. I want to reflect Christ by dealing with and not deflecting from the matter at hand.

So, the next time I read something and think, “Hmmm, I don’t really agree with that!” I will remember I have a choice in how I respond. Will I bring a spirit of dignity or divisiveness to the conversation? This doesn’t mean I pretend to agree with someone whose opinion is different from mine. No, I can bring dignity to the conversation and still disagree with what is said. However, I want to do this from a place where the Holy Spirit leads me to respond rather than Kristen reacting with her Big Important Opinion. When I refuse to slam out an immediate response, my words are more likely to reflect dignity over defensiveness.

It’s late afternoon now, and golden shafts of sunlight brighten up the snowy landscape. While I may not be able to control one whit of what’s going on outside my window, I can control how I respond to it.

Through word and action, I can choose to be the way someone else experiences the warmth of Christ. And in one small way, I contribute to a more hopeful season, no matter the calendar date.

Go Ahead and Light the Candles

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As a new year begins and we say goodbye to all that 2020 held, I find myself returning to the lesson of a lit candle.

For years, I stored half a dozen candles in a cabinet, always waiting for a “better day” or the “best time.” Each unlit wick told the story: at some point along the way, I began to act as if candles are only meant for parties, celebrations, or magical moments. Regular life was extra ordinary — rarely extraordinary — and so they sat gathering dust day after day, month after month.

Instead of savoring them, I saved them. And then in the middle of one of those regular days, two questions began to stir inside, refusing to let go while gently offering a new lens to look through: What if I chose to live like the ordinary of right now is beautiful? What if I slowed down long enough to appreciate the small things, to count each one as grace?

Nothing about my circumstances changed, yet everything, even the candles stored away in a cabinet, suddenly held a hint of possibility and promise. While I waited for a “better” day, grace patiently waited for me to open my eyes and accept the invitation to slow down, see, and savor the small gifts that were hidden in plain sight.

They were always there, as easy to find as a child playing hide-and-seek, the curtain shaking with giggles as tiny toes stick out underneath.

For far too long, I overlooked the beauty of the ordinary while waiting and wanting for something more, something bigger, something better. It wasn’t until I began to see there’s always meaning in the mundane and glory in what seems common that I reached for the lighter and watched wisps of smoke waft into the air.

It’s simple and it’s small, and much like using the “good china” for a regular Tuesday evening meal, lighting a candle won’t change the world. But it changes how I see the world. Maybe, in some small way, those are the same thing. Maybe, when looking through a lens of grace, the ordinary becomes extraordinary one flickering flame at a time.

Here at the beginning of a new year, after many months of collective heartbreak, change, and loss, it’s a lit candle and a now-empty cabinet that remind me of an old truth: Light is always breaking through, and even in the dark, there is One who is making all things new.

In Matthew 5, Jesus says, “You are the light of the world — like a city on a hilltop that cannot be hidden. No one lights a lamp and then puts it under a basket. Instead, a lamp is placed on a stand, where it gives light to everyone in the house. In the same way, let your good deeds shine out for all to see, so that everyone will praise your heavenly Father.”

The God who often chooses the small things (1 Corinthians 1:28) paints a picture with everyday household items, calling us not to hide or to worry or to wait for a better day, but to be a light in the darkness in the most ordinary of ways.

Lighting a candle is not the answer to all our problems. It won’t end world hunger, solve global warming, eliminate human trafficking, or provide a solution to a global pandemic. But when it seems like the world is going up in flames, perhaps the small and simple act of lighting a candle on a regular day is one way to push back the dark.

Maybe this right here is holy.

Maybe this is the better day, the special occasion.

No matter what this year may bring, may we savor the small things as we look through a lens of grace. Let’s light candles to celebrate, to lament, to mark this ordinary moment as worthy of beauty. After all, hope often grows in the dark, and Light always, always wins.

 

An invitation: I imagine that today, much like the last week and month and year, holds big feelings for every single one of us. No matter what you’re feeling today, I invite you to the small and simple act of lighting a candle. Let’s be women who savor the small and look through a lens of grace. (If you post a picture of your flickering flame on Instagram, tag @kaitlyn_bouch and @incourage so we don’t miss it.)

Reflections on My Relationship with Stuff

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My mother liked to say that stuff is a good Bible word. Although it sounds casual and not-very-biblical, stuff is found in thirteen verses in the King James Version, such as 1 Samuel 25:13 which says, “. . . and there went up after David about four hundred men; and two hundred abode by the stuff.” When my family sold our home of fifteen years and bought another at the end of November, it revealed a lot about my relationship with stuff, not only the areas where my relationship with it is healthy but also the ways I’ve allowed stuff to become an idol to people or times past.

When my mother, grandmother, and great-aunts all passed away within a short span of years, it felt like the guardians of my family history were gone. I couldn’t rely on my memories alone, so I turned stuff into shrines. Quilts that the women in my family meticulously stitched by hand were put away and preserved as relics of the past. The heavy green crystal goblets my mother used every day of my childhood were carefully boxed and stored in our basement.

I treated family heirlooms as sacred objects instead of enjoying them the way they were intended. The women they represented were no longer physically present in my life and I preserved these objects in honor of their memory. In my desire to ensure no harm would come to my family’s treasures, I guaranteed they could no longer perform the everyday functions for which they were designed.

In addition to stuff with obvious value, I also kept things — for sentimental reasons — that I’m sure the original owners would have already discarded. These objects do not embody my family and compiling junk does not honor them. In our new house, we no longer have a basement, so it quickly became clear that finding a place to store them would be overwhelming (if not impossible) if we want to keep a neat, uncluttered home.

I’ve finally had to face the uncomfortable truth: my shrine of stuff wasn’t a space issue, it was a heart issue. I no longer have room to spare for objects that serve no purpose in our lives. I over-invested in untouchable, earthly treasures for too long.

Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth, where moth and rust doth corrupt, and where thieves break through and steal:
But lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt, and where thieves do not break through nor steal:
For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.
Matthew 6:20-21 (KJV)

When I filled the kitchen cabinets in our new kitchen, I unpacked my mother’s crystal goblets and placed them on an easily-accessible shelf. We use them every day now. I’m sure she would be pleased.

I’ve carefully washed and freshened one of our treasured quilts and used it for the first time. I plan to put it on the bed in our guest room, where the handiwork of my ancestors will cover my children and grandchildren in sleep. The thought makes me smile. Surely this is as it was intended to be.

I asked the Lord to give us opportunities to be generous in our new home: to help us create a place filled with warmth and hospitality. That requires us to release and use the things we have rather than holding tight and hoarding them.

In these introspective early days of the new year, I invite you to join me as I continue to examine my relationship with stuff.

Have you preserved treasures that should be used or saved items that should be released?

 

If you want to learn more about natural health for you and your family this year, Dawn’s book It All Began in a Garden might be just what you need.

Shame Grows in the Dark

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I was five years old when I sat naked in the empty bathtub of my neighbor’s basement bathroom and asked her why she was stuffing a towel at the bottom of the door. She responded, “I don’t want my dad to know we’re in here.”

The memories of what occurred between me and my thirteen-year-old friend are fuzzy and fractured, but the feeling of shame comes to me vividly.

Not yet in the first grade, shame became my constant companion — a grim shadow that whispered, “You’ll never be good enough or smart enough or pretty enough.” On the days the shadow felt strongest, I felt weakest.

I lived with my shadowy companion and watched as it darkened milestones, celebrations, and relationships. It told me who I was and who I couldn’t be. It told me hope is wishful thinking and love is a fairy tale. It disguised cynicism as realism, and it coached me how to be the best at seeing the worst.

After suffering under shame’s firm hand for many years, I finally looked behind me at the darkness and mustered the courage to pull my shame into the light in front of me. In the light, I could finally see it for what it was.

As a child, I would leap to my bed after turning off the light, imagining the monsters lurking in the dark. As an adult, I find myself still imagining the worst when darkness invades my life. An overactive imagination can shift from the darkness outside of us to the darkness inside of us.

Shame causes us to hide parts of ourselves in the dark where we cannot see the truth. We forget what is true and real about ourselves and believe lies.

I believed things like:
· God won’t forgive me.
· Grace is for other people, not me.
· If people really knew me, they wouldn’t love me.
· This is what I deserve after the choices I made.

In the dark, these lies continue to grow until they smother the truth.

Bringing my shame to the light began with sharing my life story with a small group of women in a healing discipleship program called Freedom Session. As I shared the highs and lows of my life story and fought to keep reading through blurry eyes, the women responded with empathy and acceptance.

The voice of shame that used to snide, “If people really knew you, they wouldn’t love you” was a liar.

That first step gave me the courage to confess every painful, shame-filled part of my life to a friend and then to my husband. It was a deep confession — a painful confession. Yet neither one judged me for what I did or what others did to me.

They showed me grace, forgiveness, and unconditional love — the same things shame had always told me were out of my reach. Knowing the truth set me free (John 8:32), and I experienced a complete healing of my shame. There were no secrets left in my life; there was no fear that I would be “found out.”

That chapter of my life revealed a stark before and after story of dark versus light — of shame versus grace. Having an intimate knowledge of living life in the dark drives me to quick confession now. I still sin and fall short, but it’s easier for me to bring all the ugly parts of myself to God because the sting of conviction and confession pale compared to the pain of sin left to linger in the shadows.

Ken Dyck (the creator of the Freedom Session program) says that sadness, not bitterness, is the healthy response to our past pain. I believe we can say the same for our shame.

When I felt burdened by shame, I couldn’t feel sadness for my past and what I experienced. My shame told me that everything was my fault and I needed to punish myself for it. This deepened the pain and delayed my healing.

When I handed my shame over to God, I received the gift of sadness. We rarely want to feel sadness, but it’s a gift of grace. It allows us to extend God’s mercy and compassion towards ourselves.

If you’ve spent time in counseling or therapy, as I have, your therapist may have prompted you to do an exercise where you picture a moment of your childhood that triggers your pain, shame, or fear. Then, you were told to imagine yourself sitting beside the child you, offering the love and protection that you didn’t feel in the past moment.

It’s a powerful exercise.

It’s an image I bring to my conscious mind whenever I feel overcome by uncomfortable emotions. Sadness for my past drives me to wrap my adult arms around the five-year-old version of me and tell her I love her. Sadness heals what shame destroys.

When we bring our shame into the light, we experience God’s all-encompassing grace that destroys our self-loathing and expands our self-compassion. In the light, we can finally see ourselves — and our pain — through the loving eyes of our Heavenly Father.

Fellowship with God and My Word for the Year

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There is something about a new year and the turning of a calendar that gives me a sense of hope. I don’t think the world as a whole will suddenly change overnight. But I am reminded that God unfolds His plans slowly and steadily. He isn’t in a hurry like most of us are. He isn’t as concerned with an end goal as much as the process.

I spent the last few days of 2020 thinking about what my word for this year would be and what God might want to do in and through me. Without fail, our faithful God repeatedly confirmed the word through sermons, a podcast, and in worship. The word was consecrate.

To consecrate means to make or declare something sacred or to dedicate something formally to a religious or divine purpose. At first, I was a bit overwhelmed by the word, but after talking with some trusted older women in my life, I knew it was the right word. It’s the word I need for this year.

In 2020, I didn’t experience the same kind of pain or trauma as the vast majority of the world did. I had a great deal of normalcy with some minor inconveniences. The hard season I walked through much of last year had nothing to do with the pandemic. I wholeheartedly believe God wanted me to return to close communion with Him without all the distractions of the world, and I know I didn’t do a good job of that. Any of the extra free time I had I quickly occupied with TV shows and movies and friends and even church activities.

With my word for the year, I believe the Lord is giving me another chance. It will be my choice to engage in a deeper fellowship with Him. There are a million and one things in the world that I can’t control, but what I can control is where I place my faith, hope, and trust.

My word comes from Isaiah 44. In this chapter God speaks a spiritual blessing over Israel and reminds them of His preeminence and His promise of restoration.

And like Israel, in Christ, we are consecrated unto Him and set apart for His glorious purposes. In Him, we belong to the Lord.

This one will say, ‘I am the Lord’s’;
another will use the name of Jacob;
still another will write on his hand, ‘The Lord’s,’
and take on the name of Israel.”
Isaiah 44:5 (CSB)

We live in this world but are not of it. If nothing else, 2020 reminded me that I am a citizen of heaven. When all of this temporary and fleeting existence around me passes away, I will still be here. You will still be here. We will live with the Lord for all eternity. My hope should never rest in what is seen. My hope is literally the man Christ Jesus. And He is your hope as well. He never changes. He is faithful forever and always. We are His, bought with His precious blood, and sealed into covenant with Him until the day of redemption.

He feeds on ashes.
His deceived mind has led him astray,
and he cannot rescue himself,
or say, “Isn’t there a lie in my right hand?”

Remember these things, Jacob,
and Israel, for you are my servant;
I formed you, you are my servant;
Israel, you will never be forgotten by me.
I have swept away your transgressions like a cloud,
and your sins like a mist.
Return to me,
for I have redeemed you.
Isaiah 44:20-22 (CSB)

Too often I am fooled into believing something or someone else can be my savior. I look to friends or leaders. I look to positions or titles. I look to wealth and accumulating possessions. I may even look to political parties and candidates. Sadly, I even look to myself for all of the answers. All of those things in my life are a shaky foundation, because Christ alone can be my Savior — and yours too.

Before the foundations of the world, God had the intention to form us in our mother’s womb, forgive our sins, and restore relationship with Himself. That plan has stood the test of time because it’s His Word. His Word always goes forth and accomplishes its purpose. It never returns void.

Perhaps more than ever before, we can see our need for a Savior. We will never find salvation in earthly people or things. Our only hope is Jesus. Our salvation lies in His death and resurrection, and our restoration is guaranteed through the continuing work of the Holy Spirit.

. . . who says to Jerusalem, “She will be inhabited,”
and to the cities of Judah, “They will be rebuilt,”
and I will restore her ruins.
Isaiah 44:26 (CSB)

God is in the restoration business. It’s just one of the many things He does best. When we sin, when we miss the mark, the Father is always waiting with arms wide open for us to return to Him. That is what I am going to do this year. I’m returning to solitude and lingering in His presence, to diving deep into Scripture and listening for His still small voice.

Last year, I let other voices including my own grow louder than the voice of the Holy Spirit. I drifted away from fellowship with Him into the arms of other loves. But each new day brings new mercy. I pray that this year is marked by considerable time spent with our eyes locked on the One who sees us. He is where we find our identity, forgiveness, redemption, and hope.

Have you chosen a word or verse for the year? If so, what is it and why?