Let’s Change the Way We Think About Ourselves

Let’s Change the Way We Think About Ourselves

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“What’s wrong with me?” I asked myself in a frustrated and condemning tone. I had missed an important Zoom meeting that morning, forgotten to give my daughter her morning medication, and set off our home security alarm, which meant I had shouted that same question inside my head more than once within a few hours. But when I had done it the third time, I noticed it wasn’t just a question, it was a big assumption I made — far too often.

Whether I forget to do something important or don’t know where I put my keys, miss a deadline or mess up dinner, or walk into a room and can’t remember why I went in there, I assume I’m defective. And that morning, I sensed God wanted me to see how damaging it was by showing me what I was doing:

Every time I ask, “What’s wrong with me?” I actually tell myself, Something is wrong with me.

And unfortunately, the damage of my self-criticism doesn’t end with my internal insults. When I Iabel myself as defective, I live in a state of discouragement and distraction, trying to figure out my elusive faults and find a way to hide or fix them. What I really need to fix is what I’m saying to and assuming about myself.

How often do you berate yourself with questions and assumptions that make you feel defective? When was the last time you thought, What is wrong with me?

I think we all do it for different reasons, but I believe we have at least one reason in common. We have a spiritual enemy who is a pro at pointing out all that is wrong with us (real or perceived) and helping us forget anything that is right with us.

Scripture tells us that when Satan lies, he speaks his native language because he is a liar and the father of lies (John 8:44). His intent is to get us to believe lies that make us feel defective, defeated, and discouraged.

It’s what he did with Eve in the Garden. He got her to take her eyes off who she was and all that she had as God’s child, to focus on what she lacked, and to spend her time figuring out how to hide her inadequacies.

Then the man and his wife heard the sound of the Lord God walking in the garden at the time of the evening breeze, and they hid from the Lord God among the trees of the garden. So the Lord God called out to the man and said to him, “Where are you?” And he said, “I heard you in the garden, and I was afraid because I was naked, so I hid.” Then he asked, “Who told you that you were naked?
Genesis 3:8-11 (CSB)

Notice how God asked them who told them they were naked. In other words, “Who told you something is wrong with you?” By asking this question, God acknowledged someone else was casting shame on them — and it wasn’t Him.

He wanted them to know there was another character in their story, someone speaking lies into their hearts, causing them to move away from Him and each other. We have the same enemy who wants us to believe something is wrong with us, too. But aren’t you tired of feeling like something is wrong with you and trying to figure out how to fix or hide your elusive faults? I am.

What if, instead of going along with him, we stopped and asked ourselves, Who is telling me something is wrong with me? Who or what is making me feel defective and defeated? Is it me? Or is it the enemy of my soul telling me lies I so easily believe?

Let’s change the questions we ask and the assumptions we make about ourselves.

We can start by recognizing Satan’s schemes and defusing his deceit with the Truth. For instance, the next time you feel defeated or defective, instead of asking What’s wrong with me?, stop and tell yourself all that is right with you:

You are God’s “workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works” (Ephesians 2:10).
You are “remarkably and wondrously made” (Psalm 139:14).
“In all these things [you] are more than [a conqueror] through Him who loved [you]” (Romans 8:37).

And then ask Jesus to help you remember where you put the keys or why you walked into that closet. Period. The end. With Christ in you, there is nothing wrong with you. Don’t let anyone, not even yourself, convince you otherwise.

What truth do you need to speak over yourself today?

 

More Than a Bite-Sized Bible

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It’s a Sunday night, and I’m watching All Creatures Great and Small, the British TV drama on PBS from Masterpiece Theatre. So, I have a request. “Please don’t bother me,” I ask my husband. “Just allow me one hour of pleasant TV-watching without disruption.” Then like a good-guy husband, he says yes — even watching with me.

We love the program because it takes us away from everyday life. Set in a fictional town in Britain’s beautiful Yorkshire Dales, it tells the adventures of a country veterinarian, James Herriot, as he cares for animals — and placates their owners – while falling in love with the pretty daughter of a country farmer.

Sounds wonderful? It is.

Or, it was.

After the seven-week drama ended its first season, the internet unleashed scores of articles on “the real story” behind Herriot’s adventures. In fact, James Herriot isn’t a real person but the pen name of Alf Wight — a rural vet whose books were semi-autobiographical, meaning his stories were embellished.

Indeed, his life wasn’t all sweet and light. Wight suffered from bouts of clinical depression, according to his now adult children. His TV love Helen was actually named Joan — not a farmer’s daughter but a secretary at a corn mill. His irascible but lovable mentor, known in the series as Siegfried Farnon, was Donald Sinclair, who, by several accounts, hated his depiction in the Herriot books and TV adaptations.

Thus, while the life lessons in All Creatures were sound, beautiful, and good, they skipped over the hardest moments of the real backstory.

I’ve reflected on these things as I’ve watched our struggles as a nation and even in our community here at (in)courage over the past year. As contributors have shared our plights, and readers have replied, some have pushed back, saying, Enough. Stop this nonsense. Just give us the Bible, not the roar.

That was my approach to the Bible for many years. I wanted the Bible without the human backstory. The throbbing conflicts. The bloody persecutions. The divided churches. The family quarrels. To be honest, I wanted Christ without His suffering, His people without their pain.

Instead, I wanted the pretty parts — to know, as Paul wrote, that I can do all things in the power of the Lord. But did I want His Cross? Or all the hurting people gathering underneath it? Or those pesky reminders that Paul wrote of unity in Christ — not because it was happening but because it still wasn’t?

Like many here, I grew up on Bible lore and lessons — loving it all because I loved the takeaways. But I liked the condensed version, short enough to put on a t-shirt or a flowery plaque to hang on a wall.

That thinking is understandable. Life can be hard, scary, or traumatic at its worst. Just watching the news teaches us that.

So, we crave Bible hope and help. We all understand that. But do we want a bite-sized Bible? Just enough to carry us through the day without thinking too hard about what it cost the people who actually wrote it? Not to mention what it cost our Christ? Or costs the people whose hurt we don’t want to hear?

Frederick Douglass, the social reformer, understood this hunger for light without fire, for action without agitation. Those are folks who “want crops without plowing up the ground. They want rain without thunder and lightning. They want the ocean without the awful roar of its many waters.”

After God releases us from problems and our pandemic, some of us might only want quiet from our Bibles — the sweet not the struggle. (And of course, some might want the roar, too.) So, we’re at a crossroads.

We can run from the Bible, with both its whispers and roar, or we can stand in God’s story in the storms of life, learning to hear all of it, even when we just want quiet and rest. That respite is in there, for certain. But God invites us into His whole story, preparing us to hear each other’s — not just the bite-sized, easy-to-swallow versions but His whole story and our own, even when we may disagree.

Then after we plow, after the thunder and lightning, after the roar of the waves, may we experience the harvest, the life-giving rain, and the ocean in all its beauty and wonder. May the complexities of learning from every part of the Bible — and through the stories shared here — ignite our hearts to surrender. Then, we can love.

Making Space For Each Other’s Grief

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The week after the Atlanta massacre, I found myself lying in bed, huddled up in a ball and too nauseous to move. An Asian woman in New York had been attacked, and after a week of nightmares and continuous phone calls mentoring and counseling other Asian Americans who were grieving, this news put me over the edge. I couldn’t eat. I kept feeling like I could throw up at any moment. That’s how visceral my body’s reaction was to the recurring grief and trauma of the hate crimes against my community.

Later that same day I talked with a Latina friend who said she was trying to hold space for the grief of the AAPI community while also struggling with the painful realities at our southern border. In the late hours of the evening, I had a phone call with an African American friend, who immediately broke down because she was hurting for me and the AAPI community and because the Atlanta massacre had triggered memories of George Floyd and Breonna Taylor. 

Then more tragedy struck. My phone flashed with a ticker of the Boulder shooting. It was a reminder that in the midst of racial injustice, mundane evil still exists. People online were talking about how life was just continuing with “normal, senseless killings,” and I think at that point everyone I knew was now grieving for one or more tragedies.

That’s the thing about life. Even in the midst of racial violence and unrest, everyday pains persist — kids struggle with mental health and the strains of virtual school; elderly parents are sick; we are wracked with worry over financial constraints and job instabilities; some of our marriages are not okay; loneliness due to quarantine has become unbearable.

We’re all hurting in different ways, and we need to make space for each other’s pains. 

I’ll admit, it was hard to hear whispers in the wake of the Atlanta massacre that Asian Americans were taking up too much space — that somehow we should stop talking about our pain and be more mindful that other communities are carrying grief right now too. But that’s not the only example of grief comparison I’ve seen. People of all different cultures and ethnicities can fall into the trap of comparing each other’s histories of oppression. We can all be insensitive to the grief of others, especially when we deem their pain as less than our own. 

However, if we try to compete and act as gatekeepers of who can grieve and for how long, we will stay divided forever. If we begin creating parameters about which person or group has suffered more than another person or group, we will become tunnel-visioned and hard-hearted to each other’s pains. We should never tell someone to silence their pain so we can process our own more fully. Nor should we try to silence someone’s grieving by telling them there are worse tragedies in the world. 

We need to find a way for all of us to grieve together side by side.  

In Romans 12:15, the Apostle Paul says, “Rejoice with those who rejoice; mourn with those who mourn.” Paul doesn’t say you’re only allowed to mourn as long as your grieving doesn’t interfere with other people’s grief. We’re just simply called to mourn. As followers of Jesus, we are given permission to make space for our own grief and the grief of others.

We need to be able to say to each other, “My grief is different from yours, and I will not compare the two.” 

The reality is I am a unique individual, therefore my grief is unique to me. You are a unique individual and your grief is unique to you. You may have been bullied in high school because of a physical handicap. I was bullied in high school because of the color of my skin. Can we make space for the pains of racism and ableism as both real, equal, and yet very different?

When I was on the phone earlier with my African American friend, we were both in tears. I knew she was hurting. She knew I was hurting. In the midst of us both carrying so much grief, all we could do was make space to hear how each other was doing and say, “I’m so sorry. I’m hurting with you.” It wasn’t a long conversation. Stringing a lot of words together would have required more emotional energy than either of us had. But presence, connection, and brief verbal affirmations spoke volumes.

When we fight against comparisons, grief can actually become something that binds us together as humans. These deep pains of life are something we all experience in different ways, and the more we recognize this, the more we can give honor to each other’s lives and dignity.

Want to learn more about how to connect across cultures? Pre-order Michelle’s upcoming book, Becoming All Things: How Small Changes Lead to Lasting Connections Across Cultures, which releases April 27. 

You Don’t Need to Cross an Ocean to Find God’s Love

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We slipped past ancient olive trees, their grey-green leaves beckoning us closer. The stillness enveloped us as we walked into the garden of tall, slim evergreens and bare-leaved trees in the coolness of February. Instinctively, we whispered in the sacred space as we took our seats on the low stone wall at the edge of the path. We were on the Mount of Olives.

Last February, my husband and I took a long-anticipated trip to Israel. Our tour group was one of the last to have this experience before the world shut down. In the days leading up to the time in the garden on the Mount of Olives, we had already seen Nazareth where the angel Gabriel announced to Mary that she would be the mother of the Savior. We visited Capernaum, where Jesus did many of His miracles. We sailed on the Sea of Galilee where Jesus calmed the storm and His fearful disciples.

We sat in a garden on the Mount of Olives — perhaps not the exact site of the Garden of Gethsemane — but certainly similar. As we sat on the cold stone wall, we listened to our leader read about Jesus’ struggle in the garden — a struggle to willingly submit to His Father’s plan which ultimately meant betrayal, mockery, pain, and even death. After the Scripture reading, we listened to songs of Jesus’ sacrificial love. While the words “See from His head, His hands, His feet/ Sorrow and love flow mingled down” and “Love so amazing, so divine” played through my headset, tears streamed down my face in gratitude.

Too often, the stories of Gethsemane and Calvary are like well-worn paths in my mind that I’ve traveled so often I no longer notice what they mean. I’ve heard the accounts of Jesus’ suffering so often that the drops of blood, the thorny crown, the cruel nails no longer have the impact they once had. But the time on the Mount of Olives jolted me to awareness — awareness of Jesus’ pain, awareness of His battle with His human nature, awareness of His relentless love for me that propelled Him to the cross despite it all.

Why did it take a trip across an ocean to notice Jesus’ love for me? Why did I need a trip to an ancient garden to internalize His passion? God continually gives evidence of His love in the beauty of this world — even in my suburban Chicago neighborhood. In my ordinary days, He whispers His love through the thoughtfulness of my husband or the smile of a friend. Jesus constantly sends me love letters in His Word.

I determined to pay more attention to God’s gestures of love with a little experiment. While working at my computer, I set a timer to go off every hour or so. When the timer beeped, I stopped for a minute and focused on God’s love. Sometimes I would read or recite a favorite Scripture like, “You are precious in my eyes, and honored, and I love you” (Isaiah 43:4 ESV) or “I will love them freely” (Hosea 14:4 ESV). Other times I would listen to a favorite song about God’s love, immersing myself in the words and music for a few minutes.

As I continued this simple practice, I marveled at the difference it made in my work, my relationships, my attitude. When I focused on how much Jesus loved me right now, I felt less pressure to prove myself through accomplishment. When God’s relentless love filled my soul, I could better share that love with the people in my life without looking for something in return. When I remembered Christ’s unfailing love for me — demonstrated through His agonizing sacrifice — anxiety and doubt fell away.

I still cherish the time I had in the garden on the Mount of Olives, but I learned that you don’t need to go to Israel to experience God’s unconditional love for you. Try my experiment. Set a timer or alarm to remind you to pause several times during the day. During those pauses, remember God’s passion for you through reading His Word or listening to songs of His amazing love.

Remember, God continually pursues an intimate relationship with you and relentlessly loves you.

The Freedom of Our Father’s Boundaries

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Last week, my two youngest children turned fourteen years old. Yes, twins. And yes, twin teenagers. In addition, their older sister — and by “older” I mean only nine months older — is also fourteen years old. For the next three months until her birthday, I am living in a house with three fourteen-year-olds.

Holy hormones, Jesus come quickly.

In all seriousness, there are many things I love about these years. This isn’t the first time my husband and I have raised teenagers — our oldest three boys are twenty-four, twenty-seven, and twenty-nine. We’ve been here, done this. And there is much to love about watching your kids grow into adulthood. Even so, it’s not easy. And it feels a bit weightier than it did ten to fifteen years ago. The world is different than it was then.

For their birthday, our twins finally received their long-dreamed-of cell phone. You could say we’re old-fashioned. We don’t allow our kids to have cell phones until their fourteen birthday, a way for us to preserve their childhood a little longer and ensure they have the maturity to handle such a responsibility. That means, turning fourteen and getting a phone is a big deal in our house. Exciting and fun, yes, but also serious.

Tonight, my husband and I sat down with our kids and went through the boundaries surrounding their new cell phones. We spent quite a bit of time talking about the power of words and pictures and the long-lasting consequences of what we text and post and say, both positive and negative. Then we had them read through the printed contract spelling out those rules, all thirteen of them. To fourteen year olds, these restrictions felt unnecessary, even rigid and controlling. They didn’t like it one bit. And that is precisely why we spent some time explaining why it matters.

My husband began our conversation by reading these words:

“I understand that the rules below are for my safety and that my parents love me . . . I understand that my parents want to give me freedom, while also giving me enough security to make smart choices.”

Freedom. With security.

I restrained a smile, knowing that although my children would sign this document saying “I understand,” they don’t, in fact, understand. They may read the words, hear the words, even acknowledge the words. But at fourteen years old, they only understand the smallest fraction of the apprehension their dad and I feel about all that could potentially go wrong. Life experience has taught us some hard-earned lessons that guide our use of our own cell phones. We know our kids don’t yet have that experience or maturity, but we’re hoping they trust us enough to take our word for it, even if it feels like we’re being unreasonable.

So we set some rules and hold our kids accountable enough to keep them safe. It is the boundaries — and their respect of them — which will provide them the freedom to enjoy the gift, without suffering painful consequences. In short, the restrictions are fueled by love.

As I sat at the kitchen table listening to my husband read the contract and watching teenage eyes roll, I thought of how many times I have, likewise, felt God’s boundaries and guidelines for my life to be unreasonable and rigid. Is God determined to keep us from having any fun? Is He a micromanaging control-freak who loves nothing more than to keep us under His thumb?

My son, do not despise the Lord’s discipline,
and do not resent his rebuke,
because the Lord disciplines those he loves,
as a father the son he delights in.
Proverbs 3:11-12 (NIV)

Freedom with security — they go together. And they are sourced in God’s love for us every single time. That is the beauty of our Father’s boundaries. Boundaries fueled by love are the only way to feel truly safe and free. The only question is: Will you and I trust Him enough to follow Him?

When It’s Time to Wake Up

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This spring, I studied the book of Mark with a small group of ladies from my church. Each Sunday evening, we met on Zoom to dissect a couple chapters of the book and ask each other what stood out to us from the text, what it taught us about Jesus and people, and what God might be saying to us through the passage we read. A few weeks ago we read some verses that left me flustered.

In Mark 13, Jesus tells His disciples that they must stay alert for His return. He cautions them to pay attention and be on guard to be prepared for the end times. In the English Standard Version (ESV), He tells them to “stay awake.”

My friends and I talked about a few other parts of the passage we’d read, but mostly we focused on this passage. Jill said she felt like God was telling her to wake up and Sarah said Jesus’s words made her want to be more intentional about, well, a lot of things. I stared at them both for a moment and then blurted, “I didn’t even remember that whole section about the end times being in this book!”

I knew that I had indeed read that passage, so how, then, did I not remember it?! Why was I so surprised to find this topic in the gospels?!

After talking with my friends I realized that I must have read that whole chapter on autopilot. It was part of a Lent reading challenge I’d joined, and the day that included Mark 13 clearly found me opening my Bible in order to check a box on my to-do list rather than to meet God and listen to whatever truth He might have for me in those holy words. Just like I can sometimes pull into my driveway and realize I don’t remember the miles I drove to get there, reading the Bible on autopilot means part of my brain computed the words on the page but my heart didn’t absorb or process a thing.

As we talked more about the ways we find ourselves sleepwalking through life, I realized that I had been in a bit of a walking coma for a few months now — not just while reading my Bible but also with my work, my relationships, and several healthy habits I know are necessary for me. And now, it was time to wake up!

On the one hand, I was energized by this conversation. After all, isn’t this what spring is for? To wake up from our hibernation and allow the things God has been doing underground to blossom into something beautiful and life-giving? To get back to the work we’re designed for, to do more than the bare minimum at least some of the time? To shake off the heaviness and self-protection of the past season and reach for the sun (or the Son, if we want to extend this metaphor a bit)?

It is, absolutely. But, on the other hand, I also felt a bit disoriented — the way you do when you take a nap and stay asleep too long, the way you do when you wake up in the wrong part of your REM cycle, the way grumpy cartoon bears do when awoken too early.

When Jesus spoke to the disciples and urged them to stay awake, to pay attention, to be on guard, He knew the difficulty of what He was asking. Though they hadn’t yet visited the Garden of Gethsemane for the last time, He knew they would be unable to stay awake and be present during His most anguished moments just before the crucifixion. He knew that, like us, they would get distracted from their mission by grief and fear, by responsibilities and obligations, by doubts and distractions, by the everyday-ness of life.

And yet, He urged them to wake up just the same.

That tells me that Jesus understands my current state of in-between, that He is familiar with the pull of slumber and numbness, that He recognizes the disorientation of the waking process, and that He knows the endurance required to stay alert and on guard. But He still wants us awake and alert — to our lives, to those around us, to the work He’s doing in our hearts and in the world.

Reading about Jesus’s conversation with the disciples (again, ironically paying more attention this time) has both encouraged and challenged me, and I’m asking Him to wake me up. And though my eyes are still a little blurry and my limbs are hibernation-heavy, it’s working — slowly. I’m waking up little by little. I’m paying attention to what God is doing in the world and in my own heart. I’m staying alert for beauty and joy, for injustice and pain, for all the places I can find God and join the work He’s doing.

Perhaps He’s asking you to wake up, too.

Have you found yourself hibernating lately — in shock as you experience circumstances and chaos you never imagined, out of exhaustion or self-preservation, or as a response to pain or loss or confusion? What do you hear when you read Jesus’s words to the disciples: Stay awake! Where do you need to be more intentional? What do you need to pay attention to? Ask Him to help you stay alert, to wake you up to everything He has for you, and together, let’s walk into spring with eyes and hearts open!

My child, listen to what I say, and treasure my commands.
Tune your ears to wisdom, and concentrate on understanding.
Cry out for insight, and ask for understanding.
Search for them as you would for silver; seek them like hidden treasures.
Then you will understand what it means to fear the Lord, and you will gain knowledge of God.
Proverbs 2:1-5 (NLT)

Who Will Defend Me?

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I stumbled down the stairs, willing myself to the downstairs bathroom. I’ve never understood the draw of the early morning hours and at seventeen years old, those hours were tortuous.

Mornings provided predictability. Never a day went by when my parents weren’t cozied up on the sofa engrossed in their morning devotional time, but this day offered something different.

On this particular morning, a transforming moment occurred. I didn’t know it then, but the next five minutes would shape the lens from which I viewed core biblical principles. As I tiptoed into the kitchen, I overheard them — my parents, interceding on behalf of that horrible man. This man was bent on ruining my father’s reputation, lying in order to restore his financial success and in the process destroy ours.

I stood behind the wall eavesdropping, all the while becoming more upset with what I heard.

“Blessing over their family . . . reconciliation . . . harmony . . . forgiveness.”

How could they be praying for our sworn enemy?

My pain was so fresh from this betrayal. Yes, even at seventeen, a neat, orderly world can be turned upside down. How could my parents not be outraged?

I wanted to hear their anger cry, their desire for justice, their prayers demanding that the Lord swiftly correct these terrible wrongs because everyone should know of his falsehoods.

I left for school that morning silent. The answers I desired were not within my grasp, and the justification I needed didn’t occur.

Isn’t it something how, decades later, I still feel the excruciating emotions of that day? Pivotal moments do that to you. They sear your heart in untold ways. As my justice-oriented nature wanted to gather the troops and defend at all cost, my mother’s simple retort rocked my world, “The Lord is the defender of our reputation.”

But what about RIGHT NOW? This isn’t fair! Let’s call everyone. Let’s gather our assembly. Let’s tell them what he’s done. We can create community with a common adversary, and it’s completely within our right!

It took me years to truly understand that their choice was not one done out of weakness but out of strong conviction and strength of character. It’s easy to create dissension among the church, and it certainly doesn’t take much effort to spread gossip and split sides. But to focus on bringing glory to the Lord rather than focusing on bringing glory to oneself is something else entirely.

If you must defend yourself, God allows that. It’s not a biblical mandate to stay silent. Often clarification of miscommunication is necessary. But if you turn the defense of yourself over to God, He will defend you. Maybe not in our convenient time table, but He promises His defense.

A.W. Tozer once said, “I don’t have to fight. The Lord does the fighting for me, and He’ll do the same for you. He will be an enemy to your enemy and an adversary to your adversary, and you’ll never need to defend yourself.” (See Exodus 23:22)

I’ll be honest, I don’t always get this right. In painful relational situations, there’s nothing more I want than to rally the troops, but I am continually reminded of my parents’ early morning intercession. For years, they offered their blessing to an enemy. I’ve come to realize how futile it is to worry about a reputation. If I live my life wholly abandoned to the Savior, He’s got me right where He wants me, and as my kids would say, “He’s got my back.”

Only let your manner of life be worthy of the gospel of Christ, so that whether I come and see you or am absent, I may hear of you that you are standing firm in one spirit, with one mind striving side by side for the faith of the gospel.
Philippians 1:27 (ESV)

I could ponder the age-old question of “Why do bad things happen to good bad people?” or even “Why do the bad sometimes prosper?” I could dig out my college thesis on this very issue with deep philosophical words and months of pondering, but the reality is that I’m a simple girl. I like issues tied up with a simple bow. I want us to agree to disagree and leave as friends. In my Pollyanna-like world, I don’t understand why that can’t happen, especially among believers, but the fact is, we’re sinners, and life is messy.

I’ve seen this firsthand: the swindler stealing a family’s investments, a cheater snagging glory for his own advancement, and even the bully who always gets his way.

And here’s the real rub — sometimes we don’t see the restoration in our lifetime. My parents never recovered from that devastating financial blow. They lost their house and business, but they gained so much more. They created a generational legacy that now spans four generations of children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren living to glorify Him, and He has been so faithful.

It’s really hard for me to grasp why the bad guys sometimes win, but they do. In fact, I feel that more than ever these days. The world is not just, but God is and that’s enough. That’s more than enough.

Have you ever felt the tension between defending yourself and letting God defend you? What did you choose?

Join Our Courageous Joy Online Bible Study!

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Sometimes, we struggle to find joy — even when we know and love the Lord. And sometimes joy shows up in a tangle of other emotions, and we’re unsure which thread to pull. Joy is often found in the company of gratitude and hope; surprisingly, it’s also available through grief and weariness. For most of us, if we had to describe our relationship with joy, we would say, “It’s complicated.”

This Bible study about courageously seeking and sharing joy will help, so let’s dive in together starting May 3rd!

In our Courageous Joy Online Bible Study, 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’re given is not the “all” we were hoping for or expecting.

Here’s what you need to know:

1.  You will need a copy of Courageous Joy to fully participate in the study. We will provide the reading guidelines, discussion questions, inspirational quotes, and video conversations along the way!

2. Sign up for the Online Bible Study (it’s free to join!). Click here to register, and when you do, we will send you the first week of the Courageous Joy Bible study for FREE!

3.  The study starts May 3rd, will run for six weeks in a private Facebook group, and will consist of readings, discussion, and weekly videos. Sign up and watch your email, especially on April 23rd when we send out the link to the private Facebook group.

4.  There will be a weekly email recap sent out throughout the study, so if you do not have Facebook, you’re still able to access the weekly study discussion videos.

Invite a few friends to join you! Share this page with your friends so they can sign up too! If you’re looking for a way to connect with other women in real life, this is a great way to do so. Simply read each week of Bible study, then gather together (in person or online) to watch that week’s video, enjoy your own discussion, and close in prayer. Super fun and low stress, yes?

Digging into Scripture together — with real-life friends and sisters from around the world — makes it that much sweeter.

Together, let’s make Psalm 100 our anthem:

Make a joyful noise to the LORD, all the earth! Serve the LORD with gladness!
Come into his presence with singing!

Know that the LORD, he is God!
It is he who made us, and we are his;
we are his people, and the sheep of his pasture.

Enter his gates with thanksgiving, and his courts with praise!
Give thanks to him; bless his name!

For the LORD is good;
his steadfast love endures forever,
and his faithfulness to all generations.

We can’t wait to get started!

Hope Always, Always Gets the Last Word

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Colorado never gets the memo about spring till around Mother’s Day — if it doesn’t snow on Mother’s Day itself, which it has done before.

I’m not bitter about it AT ALL.

Just the same, it’s not unusual for me to see a small creature scampering in the woods or along a path during April’s “spring-winter.” You can bet the little guy has weighed the pros and cons of being seen. In my own corner of the Colorado pines, I don’t often see chipmunks this time of year because the chipmunk leans towards sleeping more to conserve energy so his tiny self outlasts our long winter. In his underground home, his heartbeat can go from 350 beats a minute to a barely-there fifteen beats. On a warmer day he might risk being seen by an owl or a fox (or you and me) to check his storehouses of seeds and nuts. But all in all, he will err on the side of resting rather than rummaging.

The cottontail rabbit, on the other hand, leans toward activity. From my office window or the nearby trail, I’m more likely to see her darting about. She regularly monitors and practices the three or four escape routes between her food source — twigs and branches good for chewing — and her hollowed-out space for resting. Long ears bent flat across her back, she’ll likely wait for dusk to zig-zag sprint across the snow toward her food before dashing home again.

Both the chipmunk and cottontail are mighty apt at risk management, and what seems like the best course of action one day may not be so the next.

I don’t often think of myself as having much in common with critters, but I too have discovered that in risk management, what works one day may not work the next. This is never truer than when a circumstance or life occurrence you never saw coming runs right into you.

You shake your head and think, I never, ever could’ve predicted this in a hundred million years.

Of course, none of us could’ve predicted a global pandemic. But pandemic aside, I bet you can think of another time when this very thing happened to you or your family. I know I can. As my family prepared for our future to take a turn in one direction, a change we didn’t see coming threw us in the other. Now, let me tell you something about me: I’m an expert at coming up with worst-case scenarios and making plans to divert them. In this particular case, I thought I had foreseen every possible problem. I took measures to ensure the best possible outcome. I’m not talking about anything outlandish or expensive. Rather, I used good ol’ hard work and productivity to take care of things responsibly.

And then came the turn of events only God saw coming, and all my forethought and “responsible planning” didn’t amount to a hill of beans. None of us asked for or wanted this outcome, but it was what we had.

It’s easier for me to daily assess the risk of doing something than to lean under that umbrella of trust where our Dad in heaven invites me. Because yes, while planning ahead is wise, we can’t put all our stock and security in those plans and in those plans working out the way we had predicted.

But sometimes I act like I can. I act like my efforts are the only component that generates desirable outcomes. I’m swept up in all my doing, and I get too far away from God’s voice reminding me, Working hard is a good thing, daughter, but remember I’m the only One in control. You’re not.

When we are discouraged by the apparently slow progress of all our honest efforts, by the failure of this or the other person, and by the ever new reappearance of enemy powers and their apparent victories, then we should know: the time shall be fulfilled. Because of the noise and activity of the struggle and the work, we often do not hear the hidden, gentle sound and movement of the life that is coming into being. But here and there, at hours that are blessed, God lets us feel how He is everywhere at work and how His cause is growing and moving forward.
— Eberhard Arnold

The smaller that big life event became in the rear view mirror, the more our family came around to seeing it with perspective. In the end, that whiplash turn brought so much good, and I took a big step in placing my confidence in God’s plans rather than my own.

I have no idea what God will allow through the front door of our lives for the remainder of this year. However, I do know Jesus is the door. Nothing comes through it without His permission. Nothing makes it through that isn’t, in the end, heavily slanted toward our success. I don’t say that flippantly or with abandon. I say that because hope always, always gets the last word.

In the meantime, I can set myself up to better hear that hidden, gentle sound that is God’s voice and power moving His good plans forward. I can look at the past with gratitude and the future with hope because He is trustworthy.

Dear one, you and I will see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. Believing this is no risk. It’s a promised guaranteed.

We Become What We Behold

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At the end of February, I went to a songwriters retreat where I met amazing, talented people from across the country. Most of us had never met before, but we came together and instantly became family — that’s what can happen when the body of Christ comes together! We came with open hearts and spirits desiring for God to speak to us and through us, and He did.

During the retreat, we were divided into eight groups to brainstorm and write a song together, and at the end of each day, we did a song share with the whole group. The ones on the last night blew me away. Each song was incredible, but what was even more amazing was to see how God led each group to write one around the theme of beholding.

Since that time, the theme of beholding Jesus has continued. I have listened to sermons, podcasts, and songs that keep mentioning the idea of beholding. Then recently, I received a newsletter containing a graphic that said, We become what we behold. I had heard that quote many times before, but the Lord seems to be breathing fresh life on it during this season.

I think this is a word for the Church today. The enemy would love nothing more than to distract us with temporary things — appearance, reputation, popularity, success, comfort, having it all together, being perfect, or sin and being weighed down by it. But those things will only leave us empty and wanting to fill that emptiness with things that won’t satisfy.

As I’ve been meditating on His Word, the Lord has been sweetly reminding me that I get a better view of His nature when I behold Him.

First, in Hebrews 12:1-2, it says,

Therefore we also, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us lay aside every weight, and the sin which so easily ensnares us, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking unto Jesus, the author and finisher of our faith, who for the joy that was set before Him endured the cross, despising the shame, and has sat down at the right hand of the throne of God.

This passage is God’s reminder that we are not alone. With everything that we’ve had to endure this past year, there has been a lot of anger and hopelessness in the world. The weight of it all has been overwhelming, but we don’t need to carry it all by ourselves. Jesus came to set us free from it by actually exchanging our heavy burdens with His light ones (Matthew 11:28-30). When we look to Him to help us run with endurance, He delights to do so. He bore the weight of our sin and the darkness of the world on the cross to bring us lasting freedom. When we behold Him, He gives us the grace to lay aside the weight we carry and live in the fullness of His joy.

Second, Psalm 141:8 says,

But my eyes are toward you, O God, my Lord;
in you I seek refuge; leave me not defenseless.

When we behold Him, He reminds us that He is our refuge and safe place. He protects us from the enemy, from others who wish to harm us, and He even protects us from ourselves when we need it. When our eyes are fixed on Christ, we won’t be so distracted with everything going on around us. We don’t have to build up walls or hide or come up with a clever defense. He runs to our rescue with love, grace, compassion and kindness. He is our defender and shield. He is our strong tower.

Last, in Psalm 16:8, it says,

I have set the Lord always before me;
because He is at my right hand, I shall not be shaken.

I can think of many times throughout my life when I thought people, positions, or the “right” circumstances would sustain me. I thought they would motivate me or fill me or tell me who I am. But they didn’t, and they can’t; they were never designed to. Only God holds that power. He created us in His image, and our identity lies solely in Him. When we behold Him, we’re reminded that He is our firm foundation. His truth about us and His promises for us are sure. When we look to Him and put our hope in Him, we cannot be shaken.

Setting our gaze on the One who sets His gaze on us isn’t always easy, but it is always worth it. The Lord never leaves us unsettled. He never runs away from us. He stands at the ready with arms wide open and pursues us with His freedom, protection, and faithfulness.

How are you beholding Jesus in this season? If you’re finding it difficult to do, I’d love to pray for you!

You Have Something to Offer

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My mouth dropped open at the number on the screen. A few minutes earlier, a friend sent a text that a gift was on the way. “It isn’t much . . . but it’s something!” she said, knowing that medical bills were starting to show up and add up.

Her “not much” brought me to tears. With the click of a button, she completely covered the cost of a medication that I needed to pick up that afternoon.

It wasn’t long before another bill arrived. With no answers in sight, I opened the envelope and skimmed the lines, my eyes landing on the amount insurance would cover: $0.00. I sighed, wrote another check, and mumbled “Really? Nothing? They won’t cover even one penny?” to an empty room.

Two days later, I walked to the mailbox and found a card inside. After months of working on a project for one of my clients, a short and sweet note arrived with this exact sentence:
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“You’re worth every penny.”⁣
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The words were kind, no doubt about it. They would have meant a lot on any day of any month of any year. But more than the phrase, it’s the timing and the specifics that I haven’t been able to shake. Before I held a bill, someone else picked up a pen to write a note with the exact words that I needed.

On a morning when bare branches stood in stark contrast against nearly white skies, I opened Instagram and was instantly hit by a wave of kindness in the middle of winter. Much to my surprise, an acquaintance shared several of my posts with her people, suggested that they click over for more encouragement, and then carried on with her day. In doing so, she pulled out a seat at the table to make a little more room, generously and graciously using that word we all love to hate — her platform — to support another.

These three moments happened over the course of several months. A whole lot of life was lived in between, and yet I continue to come back to these thoughtful gestures.

Each one may have been small to the giver, but they were day-changing, week-making, still-reflecting-on-it-months-later to the recipient.

Three different women offered what they had, and it turned out to be abundantly more.

It reminds me of a story found in all four Gospels. Matthew, Mark, Luke and John each tell of a time when Jesus fed several thousand people with one child’s lunch.

When Jesus, with compassion for the hungry and restless crowd, instructed the disciples to feed those who had gathered, Philip replied “It would take more than half a year’s wages to buy enough bread for each one to have a bite!” (John 6:7)

Quite simply, there wasn’t enough. By any worldly standard, it was impossible. The only solution they could come up with, other than sending the people away, was laughable.

“Here is a boy with five small barley loaves and two small fish, but how far will they go among so many?” (John 6:9)

Does it strike you that the description John gives us — twice — is simply the word small? And yet the story doesn’t end with lack but with plenty.

Each Gospel writer shares their own perspective, but they all have one common theme: abundance.

They all ate and were satisfied, and the disciples picked up twelve basketfuls of broken pieces that were left over. The number of those who ate was about five thousand men, besides women and children (Matthew 14:20-21).

They all ate and were satisfied, and the disciples picked up twelve basketfuls of broken pieces of bread and fish. The number of the men who had eaten was five thousand (Mark 6:42-44).

They all ate and were satisfied, and the disciples picked up twelve basketfuls of broken pieces that were left over (Luke 9:17).

Jesus then took the loaves, gave thanks, and distributed to those who were seated as much as they wanted. He did the same with the fish. When they had all had enough to eat, he said to his disciples, “Gather the pieces that are left over. Let nothing be wasted.” So they gathered them and filled twelve baskets with the pieces of the five barley loaves left over by those who had eaten (John 6:11-13).

It isn’t printed on the pages of Scripture, of course, but each mention of the twelve baskets feels like a wink written right into the story.

Not only did an ordinary lunch become a small offering that satisfied thousands . . .

Not only did a meager offering become more than enough . . .

Even the leftovers are a miracle in and of themselves, plenty for all twelve tribes of Israel and provision for the entire world.

In the hands of Jesus, “not enough” becomes abundantly more.

And sometimes, as three women showed me over the last year, God uses the body of Christ to be the very same to one another.

Whether it’s our resources, our words, our time, our kitchen tables, or our social media feeds, may we be women who believe we have something to offer and then share what we have, no matter how small, trusting that the Giver of all will satisfy and multiply.

Waiting for Spring to Come

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It’s that time of year when life is emerging from the earth. After a long, dark, cold winter, the time has come for all things new. Here in Nebraska, we still swing between winter and spring for a while. We can go from a low of twenty degrees to a high of eighty degrees within a given week. We are tricked into thinking spring is here, but winter still needs its time.

Our excitement gets the better of us and often on those warm days, we roam outside, anxious to see if anything has begun to pop through the dirt yet, knowing it could be any day.

The seeds and bulbs and roots were all put to bed in the dirt over winter. They need their time of rest in the dark and cold before they can be their best. The last time we checked, there was no sign of anything yet, but we have faith. The flowers we planted in hope, given the right time, will emerge and put on their great show. Even though we may not see it, they are doing their thing, working on busting through that dirt.

Year after year, we know this to be true. The time will come. And we also know, there is absolutely nothing we can do to make those flowers come up any sooner once we plant them in the earth. It can be so hard to wait, and we would love to put a rush on it, but they need their time deeply buried.

So we wait.

It is no different with the seasons in life. We know after hard, long seasons, the time will come for that season to end and for a new one to begin. But the wait is so hard. No matter what we are waiting for, it’s hard. Frustrations and impatience tempt us along the way. We want to speed things up instead of allowing the time needed. We want to push it along faster. We want to fix it. We want to heal it. We want to force it. We want a shortcut. But God calls us to be faithful and to trust Him and His timing.

Wait for the Lord; be strong and let your heart take courage; yes, wait for the Lord.
Psalm 27:14 (NASB)

If you’re in the midst of a painful season of waiting, my heart aches for you because I get it. I understand those confusing, difficult seasons, where it feels vulnerable to wait. Sometimes all we can do is pray — pray and wait. Whether the seasons change quickly or don’t change easily at all, we must wait on the Lord, and we can put our faith in Him.

Trust and hope come in the middle of waiting on God. When we move our focus from what we are waiting for to Him, we can find a sense of peace in His plans and hope in Him. 

God is always at work. Just like the work being done in those seeds, bulbs, and roots that we can not see, we can know and trust that God is working on our behalf. Even when we can’t see it, even if it seems to be taking forever, even if we don’t understand, the seasons will change, the plants will burst forth, and God will come through.

After a little more time and another check in the garden, I notice they’re there — the unmistakable little red heads of peonies peeking through the dirt. And although it will be a while before their beautiful blooms appear, there they are, coming out of the dark earth — just like they do every year.

Be encouraged while waiting on God. Your time will come. Trust and remain faithful in your season. While you wait, remember He is right there with you. And He is really what we want after all.

God, the one and only – I’ll wait as long as he says. Everything I hope for comes from him, so why not? He’s solid rock under my feet, breathing room for my soul, an impregnable castle: I’m set for life.
Psalm 62:5-6 (MSG)

Our Hope for This Easter Sunday

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Mary was standing outside the tomb crying, and as she wept, she stooped and looked in. She saw two white-robed angels, one sitting at the head and the other at the foot of the place where the body of Jesus had been lying. “Dear woman, why are you crying?” the angels asked her. “Because they have taken my Lord,” she replied, “and I don’t know where they have put him.” 

She turned to leave and saw someone standing there. It was Jesus, but she didn’t recognize him. “Dear woman, why are you crying?” Jesus asked her. “Who are you looking for?” She thought he was the gardener. “Sir,” she said, “if you have taken him away, tell me where you have put him, and I will go and get him.”

“Mary!” Jesus said. She turned to him and cried out, “Rabboni!” (which is Hebrew for “Teacher”).

“Don’t cling to me, “ Jesus said, “for I haven’t yet ascended to the Father. But go find my brothers and tell them, ‘I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.’” Mary Magdalene found the disciples and told them, “I have seen the Lord!” Then she gave them his message.
John 20:11-18 (NLT)

We celebrate this Jesus — the One who conquered death and rose again, the One who sees us and calls us by name, the One who meets us in our grief and hopelessness.

He is risen.
He is life.
He is with us.

Our message to others today is the same as Mary’s then: we have seen the Lord! May this bring comfort to our hearts, and may the power of the resurrection be evident in our lives, even now. We link arms with you, sisters, as we celebrate the resurrection of Jesus. Because He lives, we have hope.

Happy Easter!

The Moments in the Middle

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Here we are, in day two — suspended between grieving death and anticipating new life. Unlike Mary and the disciples, who two thousand years ago, lived through the grief of what happened on that Friday, we are living post resurrection, in the resurrection. We can grieve the cruelty of the crucifixion while celebrating the gift that followed.  We have already embodied what happens tomorrow on the third day. 

We know the story: The betrayal. The arrest. The cruelty of His crucifixion. Death lurking. His bellow, “My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?” His final breath. Death consuming. The shock and hopelessness of His followers. The burial. Death’s victory. Disbelief and disappointment. And behold the third day — resurrection. Death defeated! A new day.

I used to wonder what day two felt like — the time between devastation and restoration. But then I realized that we’ve all been in second-day situations at some point in our lives. We’ve felt shackled to unbearable grief, pain, or a dead end. When my aunt was murdered, I felt bewildered and without the ability to make sense of the senseless tragedy. Injustices simmered. I still can’t make sense of it. After my miscarriage, the bewilderment was excruciating. I had no desire to hope for another pregnancy, especially if that pregnancy might return me back to the pain of loss. 

In second-day circumstances, there is no fertile ground for hope to take root. There is no substance, sustenance, or fortitude for forward movement. In a second-day situation, we feel stuck. Our circumstances feel final. Our life feels futile. Our ability to imagine a brighter day is paralyzed. When we are at the end of a tragedy, we find it almost impossible to see that we may actually be in the middle of a trajectory.

As a mom to a middle schooler, almost daily, I attempt to encourage her to gaze beyond what seems to be the hopeless middle. I consider middle school to be the hell of early teen coming of age. So much so that I assure her there is no amount of money anyone could offer me to go back to middle school. Last week, as I hoped to help her see herself beyond what she considers the travesty of middle school, I was reminded of middle school me.  

In my early teen years, I was the embodiment of awkward and insecure. My identity or what I thought of myself was centered on all the wrong things — superficial, fleeting things. But those temporary things were real and lasting to me. They felt massive and fatal. Each day felt like surviving a nightmare — only to wake up to live through another nightmare the next day. I deemed my life inconsequential. I concluded that I was a disposable leftover from my parents’ divorce. Daily, grief consumed me. I dreamed of ending my life. Leaving my life consumed my thoughts.

One evening, while my youth group leader was teaching, I zoned out. In the moment, I had no idea what Scripture or Bible lesson he was teaching. As I sat among a crowd of teenagers, he turned, looked directly at me, and said, “And that’s why you can not commit suicide.” I was stunned into paying attention! He then went on to talk about the relationship between life and purpose. Though the leader was speaking to a room of teenagers, I believed God was directly addressing me. God extended me an invitation to live through my circumstance, to not give up during the second-day, to peer beyond the devastation of the middle. I was awakened to the truth that God sees me and cares deeply for me. 

As I reflected on the pain and confusion of those years, I decided to write a note of encouragement to middle school me to add a hope-filled perspective to her middle moment from where I stood today:

God knows your name. God created the cosmos to meet your every need. God designed you — uniquely crafted you. You are His masterpiece. You are no one’s leftovers. While the pain of your teenage years seems overwhelming, it is very temporary. However, this pain will leave an imprint of empathy upon you for others. Hold this second-day season loosely. The third day is coming, and you will need both hands to grasp all that it has for you. 

While we plan to celebrate the resurrection tomorrow, may we reflect on the holy space of today — the second day, the moment in the middle, between a dead end and new life. Whether a breath, a day, or decades, there is holy space in between. And for those of us who have lived through second-day circumstances to experience a new day, may we be a source of hope and encouragement for those who are in the middle, waiting for the third day.

Where Is the “Good” in Good Friday?

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I was well into my thirties the first time I cried over the crucifixion of Jesus Christ.

Throughout my life, I had listened to hundreds of sermons about Christ’s death. I had read about it extensively, had even understood that His sacrifice happened not only for the world in general, but for me personally.

Yet it wasn’t until noon on a Good Friday that I wept over it.

The breakdown happened at a very small service in the dimly lit sanctuary of our country church. Fewer than a dozen people were in the room. We sat in chairs circling a large wooden cross, which was laying on the floor. Nails and hammers were strewn about.

The pastor gave a short message, read from the Gospels, and then asked each of us to pick up a nail and pound it into the wooden cross. I moved down from the chair, obediently dropped to my knees, picked up a nail between my fingers, and touched the end, feeling its sharpness. I picked up a hammer, set my nail in place, and pounded it into the wood.

I think we were supposed to do just one nail per person, but I couldn’t stop. I picked up another and another and another after that. I couldn’t stop pounding in nails, and I couldn’t stop counting the cost of it all. Thoughts came flipbook style in my brain, reminding me of my past, my present, and my probable future of sin. I saw the sin of my youth, poor choices, misplaced desires, selfish intentions. I saw my apathy, my disinterest in the pain of others, my side-switching heart that had betrayed Christ time and again.

In a moment, I was the thief on the cross, crying out to Jesus with a shaking voice, “Remember me when You come into Your Kingdom.” He looked upon me with love, and I burst into tears.

The service wasn’t over, but I dropped the hammer to the floor and walked out of the circle, out of the sanctuary, out of the church, wild with grief, as every set of eyes followed me out the door, maybe wondering, “What in the world just happened to Jennifer?”

Or maybe they knew I had just experienced a new depth of Christ’s love for me.

I walked across the highway that separates our white-steepled church from the cemetery. I leaned on the graveyard fence, staring out at rows of headstones. So much sorrow, so much death. Yet, the sun shone so brightly overhead that I had to squint. Robins chirped in the trees, annoying me with their cheerful songs. I wanted to shout to them, “Stop, just stop! Don’t you realize that Jesus suffered an unthinkable death?”

I didn’t say that. But I did ask myself this: Where is the “good” in Good Friday, God? Why so much pain? Why couldn’t there be another way?”

The tears and the questions birthed something in me. In that moment, my soul was being awakened to my great need for Jesus, not just once, but every single day.

I don’t like to gaze upon a cross and see a man hanging in pain while paying the debt I couldn’t pay. But I must.

All these years later, I wonder if we all need to weep at cemetery fences during Holy Week. I wonder if we all need to pound nails into wooden crosses and come to terms with the necessity of Christ’s death. I used to wear a t-shirt with the words, “I am the wretch the song refers to,” and maybe I need that reminder a little more often than I think I do.

These days, we all hear a lot of inspiring messages about finding our purpose, recapturing our peace, reclaiming our joy, or making time for rest and self-care. On and on it goes. And I believe all of those messages are vital.

But what about our sin? Why don’t we talk about sin, our very own sin, more than we do?

When we don’t see the gravity of our sin, we don’t really see our need for Jesus. Until my own Good Friday moment, I had missed my own wretchedness. And candidly, I still do. I get caught up in living my comfortable life, giving God a daily list of demands and hoping He’ll come through for me.

I wonder, today, if we need a little bit more Good Friday in all our days. Not that we ought to crucify ourselves — or each other — over and over again. Jesus died once and for all, and yes, He overcame the grave, crushing the enemy forevermore.

But when we gaze upon the cross, it sweetens the victory found in an empty tomb. It insulates us from watering down the Good News into some sort of prosperity gospel that tells believers that a life in Christ leads to comfort and success. God didn’t promise easy lives. He calls us to the pain of sacrifice that demands something of us. He calls us to take up crosses and follow Him.

On Sunday, we will celebrate Easter. But before we do, let’s look upon the Friday hill from which a red-stained sacrifice flows fresh.

Let’s see it for what it is — a full payment for a debt we owed but simply couldn’t pay. He loves us that much.

And that’s what puts the “good” in Good Friday.

Imperfect? That Might Be Exactly What Someone Needs Right Now

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Thank you for being imperfect. Does that sound strange? Let me explain…

One morning at breakfast I announced to my husband that I’d be doing something hard that day. “What is it?” he asked, thinking he’d perhaps forgotten a doctor’s appointment or book interview. “Hanging out with people,” I replied.

After being in a pandemic so long, my social skills feel like weak muscles and I have to give myself reminders like, “Remember to smile. Ask people questions about themselves. Tell someone you like her shirt.” It makes me think of years ago, in my early twenties, when I went to the library and checked out every book on making people like you.

True confession: Last March when most of us had to stay home because of COVID-19, at first I relished the silence of my home office and lack of social obligations on my calendar. I didn’t have to worry that everyone was hanging out without me because no one was hanging out with anyone. But over time I started missing people with a depth I hadn’t anticipated as an introvert.

So when restrictions finally started lifting, I joined a small group study through a local church. We followed the guidelines carefully, meeting on an outdoor patio and staying a few feet apart. We spent most of our time discussing a book, which was comfortable territory for me. But this week the leader invited us to just “hang out” and I felt nervous.

I arrived at the same time as a neighbor who walks to the study each week. We felt surprised to find the door locked (we’d been told to let ourselves in). It turned out our lovely, much-loved leader told herself that surely no one would want to just come hang out with her, so she was a few minutes away at the grocery store. Her daughter let us in to a house with laundry scattered across surfaces, dishes in the sink, normal life happening.

When our leader came home she was still in her pajamas, no make-up, and she kept apologizing. At one point her enthusiastic dog leaped across all of our laps like a rabbit and stole a coffee cup. It was chaotic and messy . . . and just what I needed.

I realized I’d been craving the imperfection of in-person relationships. That’s what you can’t find online in the perfect pictures and touched-up selfies. I wasn’t lonely for a space where everything was in place or for people who had it all together. I was lonely for imperfection and reality, for the quirks and crazy dog, for the dishes in the sink.

I sometimes think I want a carefully curated life. Isn’t that what the world tells us we need? Hide the messes, put on your make-up, clean your counters. As we start coming out of this season of pulling back because of the pandemic, let’s also give ourselves permission to leave behind unrealistic expectations that make us feel alone and confined.

I’m so glad Jesus said, “Love each other” (John 15:17), not “Impress each other.” He came not to a throne but to a messy manger, not to a palace but to walk dusty streets with ordinary people, not to a spotless corner office but a cross. And because He did, we can have real relationships with each other. We can show up as we are and choose empathy over image, authenticity over accomplishments, grace over trying so hard to look good all the time. Whew. 

The first step? Simply pausing and asking God, “How do you want me to let someone into my life today?”

So many times I think what I want is “perfection” but these last few months have made me realize, even as an introvert, that what I really long for is people. Humans who say the wrong thing, act awkward, run late, track mud into the house, and sometimes stretch my social skills. I don’t want the empty, perfect house. I want to hang out.

Have you been thinking about writing but putting it off because you feel pressure to do it perfectly? Holley’s writing course, Be a Kick-Butt Writer by Friday: Beat the 7 Biggest Mistakes Writers Make so You can Reach People and Your Creative Potential, will empower you to stop feeling stuck and start bravely sharing the messages God has placed in your heart.