Love Over All: Love Gathers

Love Over All: Love Gathers

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Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins. Offer hospitality to one another without grumbling.
1 Peter 4:8-9 (NIV)

Every month of 2020, we introduce a new verse and look at a different aspect of what it means to put on Love Over All. We love everything about Love Over All (read more about it here) and can’t wait to share these amazing verses and ways to live them out with you!

November’s theme is Love Gathers.

Jesus was the ultimate gatherer — not only because crowds flocked to hear Him teach and watch Him heal, but because Jesus welcomed people exactly as they were. Throughout the gospels, we see the way Jesus gathered people to His heart with soft words, gentle truths, and small interactions filled with love.

He looked up to see Zaccheaus in the tree. He sat with the woman at the well. He called Peter to join Him out on the water. He stopped to find the bleeding woman. He invited children to come near. He forgave the criminal on the cross. Wherever Jesus was, He saw individuals and made space for their stories and their needs.

Often we think of gathering together or offering hospitality in terms of sharing a meal or hosting a celebration. This usually involves food, planning, and preparation of a physical space. But this year, more than ever, we’re challenged to think about what hospitality means a little differently.

Maybe what God is calling us to do right now isn’t to bake a pie, plan an event, or tidy up the house for guests to feel welcome. Maybe He’s simply calling us to come together in spirit — inviting one another into the lonely, difficult places in our hearts that need to be reminded of His love. Maybe it looks less like a party and more like being emotionally present for another long video chat. Maybe we gather up moments at the grocery store or in a neighbor’s driveway where we pause long enough to move beyond small talk to lean, really listen, and speak a deeper word of love.

Maybe this month we think less about opening our doors and more about gathering people closer to the heart of Jesus.

Tell us some creative ways you plan to offer hospitality or safely gather together this year.

 

The Hospitality of Being Present

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“Does everyone at your company feel like a failure because all of your patients die?” My eighteen-year-old son genuinely wanted to know.

I explained to him that end of life care is not about dying. It’s about helping people live as well as they can during their final days. For people in the hospice industry, death isn’t failure; it’s the completion of life.

In a society of doers, fixers, and achievers, the contentment that hospice employees find in their work can be difficult to understand. Our culture measures worth by success. Value is correlated to productivity. Identity is defined by what we can do rather than who we are.

And yet, so often in the work of caring for the dying and grieving, we aren’t able to fix anything. We are called to be present, to enter into a space that is broken, and to hold raw pain with another person to ease their suffering.

Paul writes to the Corinthians, “Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God” (2 Corinthians 1:3-4).

In this passage, the Greek word used for comfort is parakaleó, which translates as “to encourage,” as well as “to console.” Encouraging and consoling are not fixing. The comfort Paul describes is coming alongside and offering hope, inspiring courage, and alleviating or lessening grief and sorrow. We don’t magically remove another’s burden; we help carry the weight.

Before working in hospice, I was a stay-at-home mom for twenty years. “Homemaker” is what I put in the box for occupation. But I haven’t just been a homemaker for my husband and our three sons. I’ve been a homemaker for my community as well. For the past decade, I have invited young adults to gather weekly with my family around our dinner table. These meals are not characterized by impressive entertainment or one-way mentorship. We share meals to share life.

In the early years of opening my front door and inviting others to my table, I had no idea that God was guiding me on a journey that would make hospitality my passion and hospice my career. As a young homemaker with limited resources, my dinner table was simply my best offering to a community of twenty-somethings who expressed a need for greater connection, support, and authenticity. And then when our oldest son began his college career, the need for supplemental income directed my path towards hospice.

At my new hire orientation, a training manual stated that hospices originated in medieval times when people opened up their homes as a place for weary and ill travelers to find rest and care on a long journey. The word “hospice” comes from the Latin word hospes meaning host, and hospitium meaning hospitality. Reading those sentences created a moment of wonder, and I was reminded again that life is never a series of random detours. Our personal narratives are crafted by a loving God who is faithful to use all things for our good.

Modern hospice care is still about inviting people to find rest and care at the end of a long journey, and my job is to offer support to families and friends mourning the death of our patients. I can’t fix the pain and longing of their loss, but I can be present with them in their grief. I can listen to the stories of their loved ones. I can guide them towards hope and restoration.

Bereavement counseling is my profession, but hospitality will always be my life’s work.

The care I continue to offer at my dinner table is similar to the support I provide in hospice. I welcome young adults into my home to walk beside them in a season of loss, transition, and growth. I don’t give answers or solutions to their questions and struggles. I offer my home as a place where they can find rest and care on the road they are traveling between university life and adulting. I invite them into the rhythm of a weekly meal where we sit with one another and break bread and remember that no matter what we do or where we go, our identity is that we are beloved children of God.

Presence is an underutilized resource in a culture that values fixing. Our greatest offering is often not what we do or say; it’s inviting others into a sacred space where stories are heard, unique qualities are valued, burdens are shared, and joys are celebrated. This is true at a hospital bed as well as at our dinner tables.

While a career in hospice is not the right fit for everyone, the practice of hospitality is an invitation that anyone can share. Regardless of whether you break bread in an apartment or a spacious home, around a farmhouse table or sitting in a circle on the floor, with a homemade loaf or a store bought baguette, when we gather family, friends, neighbors, and strangers to be fully present one another around our dinner tables, our homes are transformed into a sacred place of parakaleó where rest, healing, and restoration are found in community.

Originally written by Wendy Kessler in October 2019

Seen by God in the Loneliness of Marriage

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She gave this name to the Lord who spoke to her: “You are the God who sees me,” for she said, “I have now seen the One who sees me.”
Genesis 16:13 (NIV)

Life changes I hadn’t seen coming knocked the wind out of me, and I’m short of breath, trying to make sense of the misunderstandings and buried resentments, straining to imagine a future where things don’t hurt so much between my husband and me.

The changes have exposed the complicated knots that have formed over the course of our marriage from the lack of clear communication and intentional efforts to know one another, and I stand in a sea of bitterness and rage, anger and unforgiveness, resentment and a faltering faith that things will get better.

I wonder how two people so different from each other can make it work. How do we find a way through the tangle of differences that personality, family background, communication style, and love languages create?

I’m desperate to be known, to be heard, to have the burden shared, but I know it’s not easy for others to enter into pain. I see the discomfort on my friends’ faces when I open the door to my unending crisis and see them looking around at the mess, not sure what to say. They try to offer suggestions for why it might be. They ask pertinent and helpful — though tiring — questions. They try to comfort me with “at least” statements, wanting to tether me to the silver lining, but instead of feeling known, I feel even more unseen, nearly invisible.

The unresolved tensions in my life are too heavy to bear, so I close the door to my mess, letting my friends off the hook and comforting them by saying that things will get better for me.

The vulnerability hangover and the weight of holding everyone else’s discomfort make me want to hide in a little corner and curl up like a child. I pull a blanket of silence around me, and in this quiet place I wrestle with God, with the gospel, with what it means to love and die in this commitment of marriage. I cry out and beg, “Do You see me, God?” and I get wrecked by His gentle response of love, by His holding me like no one else can.

I wish the years of hurt could be touched and healed by God with the zap of a lightning bolt. I wish I could labor through the pain with an epidural and come to a place of relief as quickly as others would like me to, as quickly as I would like to. But is resurrection even possible when what needs to die hasn’t finished dying yet?

Like the browning and falling of leaves in autumn, there’s a process to the dying, and it will not be rushed. Everything that has been in our marriage is being put through the fire, and what needs to die must die for new life to eventually be brought forth.

And is this not the way of Christ? Dying is part of life in Him. It was the way He chose to bridge the gap between us, the way He chose to love us.

He understands this way of death and the process of becoming, and He does not need the mess to be cleaned up before He will sit with us. Instead, He walks with us in the dark, guiding us to the light of hope, and He assures us along the way, “I see you, I know you, and I love you.”

God, even when it seems that no one can or wants to understand my pain, You already know. You have been in that dark place before. You understand the wait, the longing, and the breakthrough that new life can bring, so I pray the same for this hard place in marriage when things feel hopeless and so lonely. Be with me, and I pray for the strength to keep going. Amen.

Written by Grace P. Cho, as published in Take Heart: 100 Devotions to Seeing God When Life’s Not Okay

Our newest devotional, Take Heart: 100 Devotions to Seeing God When Life’s Not Okay, is full of stories of women sharing from the depth of their pain and struggle when life wasn’t okay. Each day includes a Scripture passage, a devotion, and a prayer that will encourage your heart no matter what you’re walking through. Take Heart is now available for purchase, and we are so excited for this book to land in your hands!

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The Blessing of an Unlikely Calling

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At the end of my freshman year of college, I applied for a leadership position in the campus ministry I’d been a part of all year. I wasn’t sure what area would be the best fit, but I figured I could probably lead a small group or be part of the event-planning committee. Instead, I was asked to be part of the technology team, running sound equipment and creating videos with less-than-state-of-the-art equipment.

I couldn’t believe it! Clearly when the people making decisions sat down to assign roles, they ended up with my name and an opening on the tech team and decided that would be good enough. I couldn’t imagine anyone in charge really knew me and came to the conclusion that I should be the one taking a stack of VHS tapes to the library to manually edit them into a promotional video!

Spoiler alert: As it turns out, using technology has played a large part in every part of my career and ministry since then.

Several years later, when my husband and I joined five other couples to plant a new church in our community, we decided that each couple would focus on one specific ministry area. We were certain we’d be assigned discipleship — we loved all things small group related! But no. My husband and I were told that we’d be heading up the Fellowship Ministry, teaching our first church members about community and planning the monthly potlucks.

Again, I was so shocked and so hurt! I could do more than plan a potluck! I wanted to do something more important! More valuable! More . . . impressive.

I can’t even pretend that this is a spoiler, because I’m sure you’ve guessed already. Yes, as it turns out, fellowship (and community and even hospitality) is something that’s become incredibly meaningful to me over the years.

Over the years, God has used this pattern to teach me a few things. First, He knows me better than I know myself. Second, even if nobody else knows me, God does, and His plans for me will not fail. Third, the gifts and ministries I consider the least important can be quite significant when I obey and surrender to His will.

At the beginning of this year, I felt that God was laying a big dream on my heart. I had recognized a need in myself and in my community, and He brought to mind a plan for addressing it. By early March, I had a partner and we had a plan. And then . . . well, you know.

The world stopped turning there for a while, and all my great plans fell apart. Even my medium plans fell apart, if you want to know the truth, and I haven’t yet recovered a single one. I’m drowning in extra responsibilities and “unprecedented” anxiety, and a productive day is one where everyone in my house is fed and reasonably clean. My days and my mind don’t have room for extra projects right now. My schedule refuses to allow me the space for big dreams and big callings.

And yet, not everything is out of my control. There are still some things I can choose and can do. This is why, when life came to a screeching halt this spring, I started writing notes each week.

Every week since my kids didn’t return to school from spring break, I’ve sat down with a stack of note cards and stamps, and I’ve written notes. Updates on life for those I can’t easily text. Check-ins with long-distance friends. Encouragement for those struggling so much more than me — reminders that they’re not alone and that we will make it through this season.

It doesn’t take long. It’s such a small thing. I rarely hear back from anyone I write to. But, thankfully, I don’t need a spoiler or hindsight to know that God is using this unlikely calling to minister to people — including me. It does my heart good to reach out, to think of others, to make this small action a habit.

All the personality, spiritual gifts, and strength-finding tests in the world have never revealed to me the most significant (and sometimes sneaky) ways God has used me to love His people. These unlikely callings have taken me by surprise over and over again, and I’m finally seeing the blessing in them.

For we are God’s masterpiece. He has created us anew in Christ Jesus, so we can do the good things he planned for us long ago.
Ephesians 2:10 (NLT)

What unlikely or surprising way has God used you to make a difference? Could He be inviting you into something like that right now?

 

The Breath of God Hovers Over Us

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How do you do this without breaking down crying? How do you teach this content over and over again? Why are you not curled up in the fetal position, rocking back and forth?

I am asked these questions a lot by my adult students who for the first time are learning the historical context for racial injustice — past and present. My teaching assistants and I put an enormous amount of effort into ensuring that our learning environments are a psychologically safe space for our students to bravely learn. We are like nurturing moms who don’t want our babies to ever feel pain. And regardless of how much we buttress our students, the world and its realities can be harsh. So, of course, they inevitably experience discomfort, turbulence, and growing pains. 

Sometimes, the pain of newly learned truths is twofold. First, students lament over how the inhumane treatment of people groups was written into policies and normalized culturally. Then because they were never taught the historical context for our structural inequalities, students are disappointed in their institutions of education. They feel betrayed and bamboozled. The reckoning is sharp and heavy. The ache strikes a human cord and demands their attention. Dazed by devastation, some students seem to be suspended in breathlessness, simultaneously puzzled by the past and a pending future.  

Sitting in the intersection of grieving the past, recognizing the consequences in the present, while daring to envision a significantly different future can be exhausting. As the instructor, when I observe that students are overwhelmed with anguish, I direct us to take a collective pause — to take a breath. I encourage students to feel their emotions telling them that this is important. Though this intersection seems desolate, and this pause feels desperate, the breath is packed with possibility.  

In that breath, I am reminded of ruach — the breath of God that hovered over chaos in the process of creating. 

In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth. Now the earth was formless and empty, darkness was over the surface of the deep, and the Spirit of God was hovering over the waters.
Genesis 1:1-2 (NIV)

It is this same hovering breath of God, inherent with creativity, that redeemed His people from Egypt.

 . . . like an eagle that stirs up its nest, and hovers over its young, that spreads its wings to catch them and carries them aloft.
Deuteronomy 32:11 (NIV)

Innately creative, nurturing, and redemptive, the breath of God hovers over us. Where there is chaos, God breathes creativity and redemption. Where there is cacophony, God breathes consonance and unity. In ruach, we have space to experience the discomfort of becoming aware of wrongs while also expecting a more beautiful creation. 

So when students ask me, “How do you teach this stuff without crying?” or “Knowing what you know, how can you smile while you are teaching?” I share my perspective, my story.  I’ve known the historical context of racial injustice for a long time. Though I feel the weighty disappointment, it is not new to me. It’s like a persistent dull pang aligning me with God’s desire for a healed humanity. I remain connected to the pain so I maintain the motivation to pursue healing. However, I am propelled forward, not necessarily by the trauma or the wound, but by the certainty of ruach.

Several years ago when I was prompted to design the course that I, and now others, teach, Holy Spirit showed me a vision: A revolving door continuously welcoming those who want to learn, equipping them for transformation. 

I happily teach content exposing the ugliness of racist beliefs, policies, and practices, believing it will have the same liberating impact on my students as it did on me. I smile because I have the honor of teaching folks who have chosen to bravely learn and who have chosen me as their guide, at least for the duration of the course. I rejoice at witnessing thousands experience the revolving door. The burden that I carry is not the weight of past racial injustice but of the vision of ruach hovering. While I live in the present (a manifestation of the past), I lean into and glean heavily from a future in the process of being created. 

The truth is that sometimes I do break down and cry at the blatant disregard for human dignity and value. And there have been a few times that I cried out in despair, “God, are You really there? And have You gone to the dark side?” Then I realize that when I focus on the noisy chaos, I miss the beauty of ruach. Before you or I even experienced today’s trauma, God had already created a way forward to redemption, a way to learn and grow — a revolving door, perhaps. 

May we choose to breathe with the breath of God. Ruach Elohim is with us, hovering, creating, commanding chaos into order, rescuing us, and taking us higher.

When the Answer You Prayed for Isn’t What You Hoped For

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I was thirty-eight years old when Barry and I got married. Because of my age, we took the business of getting pregnant very seriously, but as happens to many women, each passing month was disappointment after disappointment.

For the first time in my life, I found myself longing for a child. I prayed and prayed, and when it finally happened, I was so surprised at the positive sign on the pregnancy test that I dropped it!

The first few weeks of my pregnancy were a blur of absolute joy. At our sonogram, we learned we were having a boy, and we couldn’t be more excited.

Then one day, we received a phone call that interrupted our happiness. Our doctor told us to come to her office to discuss the results of the amniocentesis test I had taken because of my age.

I’ll never forget that day.

We sat on one side of her desk as she sat on the other with a brown folder in front of her. I don’t remember everything she said, but I do remember this: “Your baby is incompatible with life.” Barry and I sat in silence, stunned. I stared at her as if she were speaking a foreign language. Then she said something that snapped me back into reality. She recommended performing a termination the following day.

“No!” I said vehemently. “Absolutely not! This little one will have every day God has planned for him to live.”

After that day, I didn’t know how to pray. I’d asked God for this little one, and now he might be gone before I could even hold him. Over the next few weeks, I cried countless tears. Then, during one of my early morning Bible reading times, I read the parable of the persistent widow, and these words stuck with me:

One day Jesus told his disciples a story to show that they should always pray and never give up.
Luke 18:1 (NLT)

I drove to the beach that day, thinking about these words. The beach was deserted with only the seagulls as my companions. Taking my shoes off, I walked to the edge of the water and prayed like I’d never prayed before — out loud to the wind, the waves, the birds, and to my Savior.

Jesus! My heart is aching. I don’t understand this at all, but I just want to declare here and now that we are in this together. I’ve always needed You, but right now I need You more than I ever have. I don’t know how this will end, but I’m not letting go of You for one moment. You didn’t promise me happiness, but You did promise You would never leave me.

Something shifted in me after that prayer. I had no idea how long I would be able to carry our son, but my prayers became relentless — not for a perfect outcome but for the presence of the perfect Father.

In my thirty-fifth week of pregnancy, my doctor called to tell me she’d made a mistake. Another patient’s result went into my chart and mine into hers. Now every year on my son’s birthday, I pray for the other mother who got a very different phone call than mine.

I don’t know what kind of battle you’re facing right now, dear sister. It may be for a child, your family, your marriage, your health, or your very sanity, but I want you to know this: When we pray and refuse to give up, our circumstances might not change, but we’re changed by the love of our Father who never lets us go.

Lord, You know the burdens we’re carrying. Sometimes we’re tempted to stop praying because we don’t see the answer we want, but today we choose to believe You love us and You are listening. So we will pray and never give up. Thank You for never giving up on us. In Jesus’ name, Amen.

 

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Every moment spent with God is a moment spent on the most important relationship of your life. With Sheila’s help, you can start your lifelong conversation with God right now.

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Giveaway closes at 11:59pm CST on October 30, 2020. Open to US addresses only. Winners will be notified by email.

When Politics Threatens to Divide the Bonds of Friendship

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I’m a morning runner. I awake before the sun rises and pound the pavement before daybreak. Working out before dawn requires discipline or, in my case, accountability.

For the last several years, I’ve met a handful of devoted friends for early runs. In the blanket of morning darkness, we congregate at the local trail. Within minutes of arrival, we canter down the path. Headlights attached to our foreheads illuminate our route and warn of fallen debris.

The mileage flies by as the company makes the time go quickly. We spend those precious miles chatting about all sorts of things. Our conversation fluctuates between the mundane and the meaningful. In one breath, we can discuss everything from fashion to faith.

Within the last several months, I’ve started to run with Beth. She arrives for runs as if she stepped off the pages of a fitness magazine. Beth radiates beauty, and not just the sort that’s skin deep. Her deep-rooted faith and fun personality pours meaning and brightness into her words. As sisters in Christ, I savor Beth’s sage advice and biblical counsel.

On a recent run, the discussion ventured into politics. Beth divulged her thoughts. My eyes widen in disbelief. I was shocked as our opinions differed greatly. As one who detests conflict, I anticipated holding my tongue over our differences.

Yet, my hold didn’t stick.

I couldn’t help myself.

I unleashed my views.

While I was careful to maintain a non-combative tone, an awkwardness hung over our remaining miles. Clearly, we weren’t seeing eye to eye.

We finished the run and parted ways, and I spent the ride home rehashing our conversation. As fellow believers, how could we differ so wildly in our viewpoints? I pondered how Jesus would want me to handle our divide. How would He want me to move forward with Beth?

While 2020 may seem uniquely historic in its political discord, Jesus experienced a similar tumultuous climate at the height of His ministry. It was a divisive time as the Roman empire ruled over Israel with an iron fist. The Jewish people varied in their response. Some Jews worked for the Romans collecting taxes from their fellow countrymen, while others vehemently opposed Roman occupation and enacted violence on the Roman soldiers.

In such a contentious environment, one would assume Jesus would stick with compatible people.

Not Jesus.

When Jesus selected His twelve disciples, He added two men on opposite sides of the political spectrum. In His inner circle, He included Matthew, a tax collector, and Simon, a zealot who resisted Roman rule.

In modern terms, I imagine this is like placing contrasting political pundits next to each other at the Thanksgiving table.

Clearly, this was a recipe for disaster.

Why didn’t Jesus just pick a side? Avoid hanging out with those with such strong opposing opinions? Surely it would have been easier for the disciples to be a like-minded crew.

I imagine Matthew and Simon engaged in a few heated discussions, but it didn’t seem to separate the men or the disciples. They discovered a unity in Christ that was bigger than their discord over politics. These twelve men were linked in their love and commitment to Jesus.

Only Jesus.

When thinking about how to move forward with Beth, I ponder the familiar adage, “What would Jesus do?” I believe Jesus would encourage a friendship between two women with diverging opinions. God put Beth into my life as a friend and sister in Christ. He wants what unifies us to be greater than what divides.

We sit on different sides of the political spectrum, but we serve the same Lord.

We may disagree about who sits in the Oval Office, but we agree on who sits on the heavenly throne.

We don’t see the world the same, but we see each other as fellow daughters of Christ.

Politics may divide, but in Christ we find our common ground.

When You Don’t Want to Run the Race

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At one time or another in your life, and maybe that time is right now, you’ll feel flattened and despondent from what is being asked of you. In a season when I felt the same, I shared what I was going through with my friend, Alli. The crux of my agony and angst was this: I was plumb terrified to walk the road the Lord was asking me to walk. I didn’t want to do it — I didn’t know if I could do it.

Alli is one of those gals whom God uses to lift the Rockies right out of their mountain chain through her words and prayers. On this particular call, as I relayed the nitty gritty details of this particular situation, she offered me a treasure box by way of a story she had read that I have thought about no less than 837 times since she told it — a story about a woman named Pennie Shephard.

As a young teen, Pennie fell and broke her tailbone. And as a result of the accident, she suffered chronic pain well into her adult years. The pain she endured felt as if someone was stabbing her in the back, and she couldn’t even get out of bed in the morning without her husband’s help. To sleep through the night, she tried ice packs, heating pads, and other avenues to no avail. From sunup to sundown, life was agony, and Pennie felt overwhelmed and depressed.

Pennie’s doctor diagnosed her with post trauma arthritis and degenerative disc disease, and there was no cure outside of a miracle. So, not a day went by when Pennie didn’t pray for that miracle. One morning as she was praying, she heard these words in her heart: Run to your miracle. Pennie found this odd because any movement at all brought no small amount of pain. She’d never been a runner, and the thought of picking it up now terrified her.

Still, she vowed to do so and enter a race. Since a marathon seemed to be the race of all races, she committed to training for one. With her family’s support and doctor’s permission, Pennie pressed on and pushed through unimaginable suffering all while watching her diet and arising at 3am each day to get in a long run before her work and family responsibilities began. The training brought no relief from the pain, but Pennie . . . “was determined to pay the price of progress and to not give up.”

Shortly before the marathon, Pennie’s knee went out. The night before the race, she could barely walk. Still, she was bent on getting to the starting line, even if that meant someone would carry her there.

The next day, Pennie hobbled up to the starting line with Scripture passages written all over her arms and legs by her husband and daughters. As she stood at the starting line, she realized that while her knee hurt, her back didn’t hurt at all! Her doctor, who acted as her trainer, suggested they begin the race by walking to test out the knee. A mile and a half later, Pennie knew she could run the race. And she did — she crossed the finish line seven hours later.

In Pennie’s own words, “I did not receive my miracle at the finish line. I got my miracle at the starting line. All I had to do was show up. It doesn’t take running a marathon to get a miracle. In my case, it took obedience and commitment.”

On that phone call with me, Alli summed up the story with these words: “While we’re all called to finish the race God assigns each of us to run, the fascinating thing about Pennie’s story here is the gift God gave her in simple obedience. When we’re faithful to follow through on what God asks us to do, we may not even have to run the race before we receive the blessing. Stay faithful to prepare for this race, Kristen. Keep going and do not quit!”

Maybe like me you don’t want to run the race God is asking of you either. Your heart isn’t in it, let alone your entire body. I get it, I really do. But maybe we can just do the next thing to prepare for it anyway. Even if doing so feels like pushing a boulder up Pike’s Peak, we prepare just the same. Maybe you’ll be given the miracle before the race even starts. But if you aren’t, you’ll be prepared and set up for success just the same.

If life feels a little (or a lot) like agony right now, keep going. The pain is real. But it’s also the price of progress. Keep going.

Do not give up.

We can make it to the starting line — and to the finish line, too.

Remarkably and Wondrously Made

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For it was you who created my inward parts;
you knit me together in my mother’s womb.
I will praise you
because I have been remarkably and wondrously made.
Your works are wondrous,
and I know this very well.
My bones were not hidden from you
when I was made in secret,
when I was formed in the depths of the earth.
Your eyes saw me when I was formless;
all my days were written in your book and planned
before a single one of them began.
Psalm 139:13-16 (CSB)

Friends, what a year it has been so far. Today, let’s take a moment to step away from the chaos to quiet our hearts and remember Whose we are.

We were wondrously made by the hands of our Creator God, who formed the world with love and breathed life into each of us. As we sit and read these words, as we run errands, take care of parents or children, as we drink our coffee or tea, take note of your breath, pause and be aware of His presence, and praise God for how He’s made you good.

Lord, thank You for creating us with beauty and wonder. We praise You for choosing to dwell with us and within us through Your Holy Spirit. Amen. 

Being Brave Even When We Feel Afraid

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I honestly don’t know if there has ever been a time when I felt brave. But also, will we ever truly feel brave to do the things God calls us to do? Really, I don’t think it matters. We are not called to to live based solely off our feelings because they can come and go and change depending our circumstances.

Instead, we are called to live according to the Word of God. His Word never changes. It stands the test of time, and it holds true for us regardless of how we feel.

A couple of years ago, my word for the year was “more.” I wanted more of God, more of His promises, more of His presence manifested in my life, more of His purposes revealed. I wanted to serve, give, and devote more to Him. But sometime during that year, my word shifted to the word “brave.”

The truth is, I’m not a risk taker. I am Miss Play-It-Safe. I’m practical and logical, and I think things through dozens of times before I ever come to a decision. But God had so many new opportunities mapped out for me that year that required me to be brave. He placed me in spaces and with people who challenged me because He wanted to enlarge my capacity. And in order for Him to do that, I would need to answer His call to be brave.

The story of Gideon in Judges 6-8 chronicles an ordinary man called to be brave by an extraordinary God. In the beginning of chapter 6, we find that the Lord has given the Israelites over to the Midianites because they had done evil in His sight. But God, being loving, forgiving, and compassionate, heard their cries and decided to rescue them through Gideon. God sent an angel to find him, where he was hiding from the Midianites in a wine press. He had no idea what would come next.

When the angel of the Lord appeared to Gideon, he said, “The Lord is with you, mighty warrior.”
Judges 6:12 (NIV)

Gideon replied with every excuse he could:
If you’re with us, why is this happening?
Why have You abandoned us?
My clan is the weakest!
I am the least in my family.

Does that sound familiar? I know I give God every reason why I can’t do the thing He has called me to do, and He responds to me as He did to Gideon:

Go in the strength you have.
I will be with you.
Do not be afraid.
You are mighty.

What an encouragement to know that God sees us as mighty warriors! My prayer is that we learn to stand strong on the foundation that God understands who we are and yet still calls us to do great things. We can trust that if God calls us to do something, He will also equip us to do it. Because we are in Him and He is with us, He calls us brave.

In what area of your life is God calling you to be brave? What is holding you back?

Where Are You, God?

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I’ve been asking God where He is.

On Sunday, my church family sang these words: I am chosen, not forsaken. I am who You say I am. You are for me, not against me. I am who You say I am.

I hung my head and raised my hands and wondered if faith sometimes looks like singing through the sadness, like coming empty but showing up anyway.

Although there have been lessons worth learning along the way, this summer has felt much more like the wilderness than the Promised Land. I have more questions than answers, and my hands hold more unknowns than certainties. But somewhere in the desert, somewhere in between what once was and what will be, I’ve started to ask a familiar question in a new way.

There’s an old note on my phone from nearly four years ago, several rambling sentences about John 11 and Mary’s short, honest, and vulnerable question. For years, this familiar story has continued to draw me in, leading me back to her words. I’ve read the story over and over again, wondering what I was missing, why I couldn’t get away from her question.

In the middle of her deep sadness and disappointment, frustration and confusion, Jesus comes and Mary asks, “Where were You?” In other words, Why didn’t You come sooner? Why didn’t You change this, prevent this, fix this, heal this? Where were You when I needed You?

I’ve said those things. I’ve wondered where He went and why His timeline differs so greatly from my own. I’ve walked laps around hospital hallways, and I’ve been the one wheeled into an operating room. I’ve said heartbreaking goodbyes, struggled with singleness, wrestled in the dark through night terrors, and fought against the message He gave me to share.

I’ve asked why.

I recently went back to John 11, this time reading the story aloud. Once. Twice. And then I heard it, my own voice reading “Where were You?” in a different tone. Still desperate, but eager. Still confused, but hopeful and expectant. Could it be?

Maybe, instead of pointing a finger, Mary was looking for fingerprints.

What if we said those same three words not as an accusation, but as a hope-full question, asking Him to reveal to us where He was in the middle of the mess?

Where were You, Lord? I believe that You never truly left. You were always here, right here, present and faithful and good. Show me Your fingerprints. Give me eyes to see the thread of Your goodness running through.

I’ve asked why plenty of times. Now, I’m learning instead to ask where.

When I look back over the story He’s given me, flip through the pages and consider the chapters I’ve lived, there’s one constant running through: His presence.

He’s the pillar of cloud in the day, leading the way as a Guide through the wilderness. When night falls and darkness closes in, He’s the pillar of fire lighting up the sky. He’s the God who comes near and stays close, who sits with us in our sadness and comforts us with His love. He’s the provider of manna and mercy each and every morning, always enough for whatever the day may bring.

He’s with us in the big and the small, leaving His fingerprints on every page of the story, forever reminding us: Remember My goodness here. Look around. Do you see Me? I’ll hang the clouds in the sky and fling stars into the velvet night all so that you remember in both daylight and darkness, I’m with you always.

When I look back on each season, I see a thousand reasons to believe that He really can work all things for good. This is my story and my song, and so I’m asking, “Where were You?” even as I look for fingerprints. I’m trusting that He isn’t done working and declaring that as I’m waiting, I’ll keep on watching. He’s already here, present and good, faithful and kind in every valley and on every mountaintop and every step in between.

Where have you seen God’s fingerprints lately?

Trusting His Plan Even When We Don’t Want To

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I am a big fan of watching home makeover shows. Fixing up old homes, renovating a space, making places in your home work better, organizing — I love all of it! Not only are they fun to watch, but I love the inspiration that comes from them. There is always something great I can take away and use in my own home.

I was watching one of my favorite shows the other night when something struck me. It happens time and again. The homeowners talk with the designer, excitedly telling her what they don’t like about their home, what isn’t working, what they need fixed, and what they would like out of their home. The designer takes that info and goes to work, designing what they want and need. She meets back with them to go over her plans, and there’s that face. The excitement is gone, and the couple look at each other like, “Um, no.” They question everything they just heard, and they aren’t on board with her plan. They don’t think certain things will work. They think something is going to look bad. They just don’t want to listen.

I look at the designer’s face when this happens, and she doesn’t understand the opposition. She’s the professional — the one who was hired to do the job. She put her experience, schooling, and expertise into creating a great plan, but then she’s not trusted.

How many of us, including me, treat God like this at times? He asks us to trust Him with His plan for our lives. He asks us to listen to His voice and follow His way. But sometimes we just don’t want to. We aren’t sure His plan is what we want or if it fits into our own plans. We think we know better, and we want to do things our way instead. We don’t want to budge. We want an easier way. We doubt Him and question His instructions.

It would be easy to trust and follow God if we could see His plans, right?

It takes great courage not to know what is ahead and to step out in faith to trust God, listen to Him, and follow His plan. His journey for us won’t always be easy or make us happy in the moment, but He has a purpose even when we can’t see it. He loves us so much, and His plan for our lives is good.

But we have to do more than just hear or read God’s Word. We must truly listen and follow it; we have to do what He says.

Do not merely listen to the word, and so deceive yourselves. Do what it says.
James 1:22 (NIV)

We are called to listen to Him, one day at a time, and obey His will even if we don’t understand what is to come.

Most of the time in these makeover shows, the homeowners do come around at the end. When they see the completed job, they totally love what was done in their home, and often with tears in their eyes, they say it looks better than they would have even imagined. They see then that they should have trusted the professional all along.

God has a wonderful plan for your life, and it is better than anything you thought you wanted or needed. We don’t need to question it and doubt Him. Listen, follow, and trust God’s expertise even when it’s hard — especially when it’s hard.

However, as it is written: “What no eye has seen, what no ear has heard, and what no human mind has conceived”  — the things God has prepared for those who love Him.
1 Corinthians 2:9 (NIV)

Even in the Midst of the Storm, He Is Your Refuge

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As I sat in the waiting room of the emergency department that mid-December evening, I tried not to give in to the scary thoughts swirling through my mind. Hours later, as I laid still for the CT scan to check for abnormalities in the blood vessels of my brain, I was too anxious to pray. All the Scripture verses I knew fled my mind as I tried not to imagine the worst. Instead, I dredged up my faith and repeatedly chanted to myself, “Thank You, God. Everything is okay.”

It wasn’t a stroke, but the diagnosis didn’t really sink in until the next morning when I was brushing my teeth. I couldn’t spit out the toothpaste but sort of dribbled instead.

Bell’s palsy.

Unilateral facial paralysis.

I couldn’t eat or drink without embarrassing myself. My smile had become a mockery of its former self; only the right side of my face moved. My left eye streamed pretty much non-stop. I couldn’t raise my left eyebrow, and my hearing on that side sounded strangely muffled.

I took an extended sick leave from work. The days stretched out before me, punctuated only by sleep and the frequent beeps of my phone’s alarm reminding me to take my medication. My parents had kindly taken my kids until Christmas so I could have time to rest.

In the early days, I offered up desperate prayers and pleas to God for a quick and full healing despite knowing that recovery could take up to a year.

I was so sure that my case would be different. But when the days turned into weeks and I didn’t recover as quickly as I expected, I flatlined spiritually. I had no motivation or inclination to pray or read my Bible. I felt numb and alone.

January arrived and for the first time in years, I started a new year without any personal, business, or career goals. I had only one burning desire: full medical recovery.

I’m blessed to have a job where I can work from home, so after six weeks off, I was able to resume work. I was not recovered but no longer “unwell.” During this time, I began to see tiny improvements. For example, I could roll my upper lip, which also meant that I could use a straw. This was progress!

Then the pandemic hit. The government announced a lockdown and schools closed. My husband is a frontline worker, and my parents were out of the country. I felt distraught. How would I cope with working and looking after two children singlehandedly while also trying to recover? The doctors had stressed the importance of resting and taking things easy. How was that going to happen with two energetic children underfoot?

I felt as if I’d been journeying slowly through a dark valley but had suddenly became stuck with no way out.

It wasn’t until halfway through June, six months into my recovery and still in the middle of lockdown, that I came to a startling realization: despite having many days when I felt harried by all that was expected of me, I was somehow coping. Despite my spiritual numbness, God’s presence had been with me through the dark times, though I didn’t always feel it.

The road to recovery is taking longer than I ever expected, but each day I see His hand perform a new miracle, in the twitch of an eyelid or in a smile that’s slowly starting to tilt the right way, and I’m encouraged.

One of my favorite verses from Scripture says, “I will never [under any circumstances] desert you [nor give you up nor leave you without support, nor will I in any degree leave you helpless], nor will I forsake or let you down or relax My hold on you [assuredly not]!” (Hebrews 13:5 AMP)

Through this scary and overwhelming year, there were times when I wondered if God was still listening. But looking back, I see that I couldn’t have made it this far if He had let go.

I was never alone.

This season has given a new depth to my faith. Each day is a deliberate act of trusting and leaning into God’s rest. Despite the raging storms that cause my heart to shake, I know that “I’m in the shadow of the Almighty whose power no enemy can withstand” (Psalm 91:2 AMP). What great comfort to dwell in His secret place and have Him as my refuge.

From the Soil of Dead Dreams

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Build homes, and plan to stay. Plant gardens, and eat the food they produce. . . . And work for the peace and prosperity of the city where I sent you into exile. Pray to the Lord for it, for its welfare will determine your welfare.
Jeremiah 29:5,7 (NLT)

We were so sure about the call to ministry on our lives even before we got married. It was what connected us as a couple, the thing that took us from one address and assignment to another, and eventually to Germany together. Germany was one of our last stops, the last clear call we heard from God, our last hope to see if something in ministry might actually work out for us in the long haul. But what had once felt like the greatest purpose of our lives — both as individuals and as a couple — started to feel like wearing clothes in the wrong size. We wrestled to make them fit, constantly adjusting and readjusting the way we looked at the future.

After Germany, we moved back to the States, and after another year of full-time ministry, we left it. We stepped into a landscape of wilderness and silence. We began living lives we didn’t imagine we would be living, in a place I never wanted to live in.

We clung to each other as we wrestled through the slow grief of our dreams dying. There were days of melancholy and longing, repeated prayers of pleading to be called back to what was, tearful nights, and quiet, lonely dinners. The days piled up one after another, seemingly void of purpose. The nagging feeling that we were doing something wrong, or that we ourselves were wrong and not good enough to be in ministry, followed me around like an ugly shadow.

I wish I could say it became easier after a few rough months. But the death of anything never comes easy. And for years the grief of those dead dreams kept coming back without invitation. But we tended to the simple things right in front of us. We started noticing the neighbors around us. We moved toward the ones we didn’t choose, the ones chosen for us. These tiny things became our seeds. We watered them with tears of grief, the ache of discontent, and slivers of hope. And over time our tiny, imperfect offering of dreams come undone became a beautiful garden. It was in this garden that I began to learn how to be still and to receive. This unexpected garden began to nourish us.

I see now what I couldn’t see ten years ago: the death of my dream was not the death of God’s dreams for me.

God, this doesn’t look like I thought it would, and it’s breaking my heart. Yet I’m in a place of learning how to be still and how to receive, and my hands are open to Your plan. Nourish me in this unexpected garden and help me see that the death of this dream is not the death of Your dreams for me. Amen.

Written by Tasha Jun, as published in Take Heart: 100 Devotions to Seeing God When Life’s Not Okay

Our newest devotional, Take Heart: 100 Devotions to Seeing God When Life’s Not Okay, is full of stories where women share from the depth of their experience, pain, and eventual hope as they struggled through times when life was not okay. Take Heart is now available to purchase and we are so excited for this book to land in your hands!

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Wise in Our Own Eyes

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I looked out our kitchen window and knew disaster awaited.

“Boys,” I yelled outside. “Aim your golf club in the opposite direction or someone’s going to break a window.”

Two of our three sons agreed. “Okay, Mom. No problem.” And yet there was one hold-out to my simple request. With all the gumption our twelve-year-old could muster, he insisted, “Mom, there’s no way my golf ball will hit the window. I know what I’m doing.”

He’d laid down the gauntlet, and after a feisty dialogue about choices and obedience, I thought it resolved. While he was convinced that there was no pending problem, I assumed he’d obey, but minutes after our exchange, I heard it! That “professional” golfer hit and shattered the very window of which I had warned him. I was livid.

“All I asked you to do was to aim your swing in the opposite direction! How difficult is that for you? It’s not. It’s simple.”

“Mom, I’m sorry. I was so sure that I wouldn’t hit the window.”

The golf ball stayed lodged in the shattered glass for over a year. Without any additional lectures needed, it served as a visual reminder, a marker of sorts. I only had to point at it, and he remembered this life lesson.

Our son didn’t set out to crack this window. His heart attitude didn’t declare, “I will purposely disobey my mom because I want to do her wrong.” Rather it stemmed from the Scripture, “Every man did that which was right in his own eyes” (Judges 21:25 KJV).

Our son acted on his own authority and with the belief that he knew better. Ultimately, his twelve-year-old wisdom and knowledge failed him. While my sin might not be as outwardly defiant as his, I too have done the same more often than I care to admit.

As a mom of five, I’m no stranger to Proverbs 3:7: “Do not be wise in your own eyes; fear the Lord and shun evil.” I admit I’m a big fan of this verse for our kids, but in turn, the Lord opened my eyes to how strategically relevant it is in today’s culture. In leadership, the workforce, politics, and even parenting books, everything screams, “My opinion is right!”

I can dismiss much of the pride and rhetoric as I hone my critical thinking skills and even learn from those I disagree with, but my heart grieves when I see people — including myself — elevate opinions above the truth of Scripture. It has me asking, Lord, are we becoming a generation so wise in our own eyes that we are missing out on Your glory by doing so?

In a potluck society where we bring to the table a few Scripture passages dished up with a side of personal opinions, it results in a smorgasbord that no longer fully aligns with God’s Word. Once considered sharper than a two-edged sword, its authority becomes dulled to a butter knife amidst compromise. We read books and topical articles about the Bible. We listen to our favorite authors and podcasters to glean what they think about certain chapters. And while there’s nothing inherently wrong with that (I sure hope not since I’m an author and a Bible teacher,) if that’s the only foundation for our faith, we will be swayed by other people’s conclusions — as smart as they could be — instead of first engaging with God and learning from Him as we read His Word.

When we spend time diving into Scripture passages, inductively studying the context of verses and making observations, He reveals new insights. I’ve heard it said, “We can’t know the will of God if we don’t know the Word of God.” Wow, I need a pouring out of grace with that one because I’m often guilty of not spending enough time with Him!

Ultimately, I’m reminded of the golf ball day, of being “wise in my own eyes.” Our son was so sure he knew better, and I’m often right there with him. He earnestly believed his actions were correct, so he chose his opinions over my trusted authority. Isn’t that often our problem?

We confuse truth and opinion when we think we know better than the Word of God, but as the Lord continues to mold us, I pray we grow in righteousness as our own sins are revealed and that we utter wisdom and truth boldly without compromise.

Our family now laughs about that golf ball exchange, but it continues to serve as my tangible reminder that true wisdom is found at the foot of the cross, not at others’ feet.

Imitate What Is Good

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Dear friend, do not imitate what is evil, but what is good. The one who does good is of God; the one who does evil has not seen God.
3 John 11 (CSB)

Just as children learn to copy their parents’ behavior (both good and bad), we are the same with our Heavenly Father. When we have seen God and experienced His love and grace, we will start to look like Him, act like Him, love like Him, and welcome others as He did us. Earlier in the chapter, John commends Gaius, to whom this letter is written, that he has been walking in the truth and that it shows in the way he welcomed and treated fellow believers. In contrast, Diotrephes, refused to welcome them, going so far as to kick out from the church anyone who tried to do so.

John 13:35 says, “By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another.”

Our lives will bear fruit depending on whom we follow. As those who proclaim Christ as Lord and Savior, may our love for one another invite others to know Him too.

How have you seen glimpses of God in the Church or in your community recently?