When You Feel Rejected and Unseen

When You Feel Rejected and Unseen

by

The other day, an email popped up in my inbox, one I had been waiting for expectantly. It was from a popular podcaster, and I hovered my mouse over the subject line.

Weeks earlier, I had emailed the podcaster, asking her if she might consider having me as a guest to talk about some of the themes of a book I had written. I felt like my message was a perfect fit for her audience, so I had spent a lot of time crafting my pitch to her.

I clicked on the email and read her words. That’s when my heart sank a little: “Thank you for reaching out about being a guest on our show, but . . . ”

But.

There it was.

A great big — a-hem — but.

Thank you for reaching out, but we have plans to feature other guests this year.

A series of questions ran through my mind as I stared at the email: Didn’t she see the value in what I had to offer? Why did every other guest have something worthwhile to say but not me? Am I not good enough? Am I not relevant?

Later that day, I made the really poor choice to mindlessly scroll through Instagram, pausing long enough on photos of women who clearly were funnier, more relevant, and more interesting than me. I’ll bet that podcaster would love to have these women as guests!

Yes, this really was about as pathetic as you are imagining. (That’s why I almost didn’t tell you about the whole embarrassing thing.)

But then something else happened, and I knew I had to share my insecurities with you.

Over the next several days, I crossed paths with so many other women who were feeling set aside, overlooked, and invisible.

Two writers, with dreams of getting their books published, reached out to me and said they felt hopeless. All they had were stacks of rejections. They didn’t feel relevant.

A friend got passed over for a promotion at her office in favor of someone younger and, in her view, “more savvy.” She no longer felt relevant.

Another friend who’s a stay-at-home mom remarked that she felt invisible and underappreciated at home, like she just “blends into the furniture” — not at all the way she felt when she had a full-time job.

And then, a talented photographer that I follow on Facebook wrote these words to her followers: “Y’all, I am tired. And I am apparently invisible. . . . I’m going to take a break and go introvert for a while. I need some time to be okay with offering myself and my art into the world again, even if it’s not received.”

We aren’t alone in these feelings of invisibility, are we?

We look around sometimes and feel like everybody else has it all figured out. We wish we didn’t care so much about conventional popularity, but it feels like that’s the commodity for success and meaning in 2020.

Even the most popular person you know likely feels it, and no matter how high you climb, it seems like you’ve got to figure out a way to climb higher. In the race to matter more, we face the constant pressure to build online legacies and continually reinvent ourselves. And all of it is killing our focus and creativity because we’re afraid that what we have to offer will never truly be adequate.

This morning, I’d had enough of it all. I opened up the Bible, absolutely desperate for God to show me something —  anything — to help me push aside recurring feelings of irrelevance. I landed on the story of the woman in Luke 8 who had been tucked away in her house for twelve years, needing healing. It’s safe to say she probably felt unseen and unnoticed. When she heard that Jesus was coming, she stepped outside, took a chance, and touched the edge of Jesus’ cloak. Immediately, she was healed.

Pay close attention to what happened next: Jesus asked who had touched him. The woman knew right away that she had been found out.

“When the woman, seeing that she could not go unnoticed, came trembling and fell at his feet” (Luke 8:47 NIV, emphasis added).

Other versions of the Bible say it like this:

“She could not stay hidden.” (NLT)

“She had not escaped notice.” (AMP)

Here’s my favorite: “The woman saw that she was discovered.” (HCSB)

She was not a nameless face in the crowd after all.

She was someone who had just been “discovered” in the most remarkable way possible. Not like the latest, greatest Instagrammer. Not like the newest podcaster on the block. Not like the next big thing to hit YouTube.

She was discovered by Jesus, on account of her reaching out in desperation for Him alone.

We need that kind of healing today. Many of us are desperate to matter more. And when we admit it, that’s when we see clearly what matters most: Jesus.

I don’t know what your dreams are. I don’t know about your rejection. I don’t know the last time you felt invisible. Maybe it’s right now, in this moment. Reach out and touch the hem of Jesus’ robe, and know that you have been “discovered.” You are fully known, fully loved, fully relevant.

Three Things You Can Know About the Future — No Matter What

by

As I wait for my flight, I watch the parade of people (this is before COVID-19 and quarantine). Disgruntled teenagers with caps pulled down over their eyes trail behind determined parents. Bright-eyed couples hold hands with the honeymoon sun still on their faces. A group of grey-headed ladies in pink matching t-shirts laugh and exchange stories while they sip coffee.

I wonder about all of them. Where have they come from? Where are they going?

I realize all over again in that moment God knows the answers. He sees every detail of our lives. He’s been with us in every step we’ve ever taken. This reassures me because no human knows what’s ahead. There are certain to be blessings and moments of happiness. There will also be hard days and tears shed. Some parts of our lives will stay much the same, and others, like it or not, will inevitably change.

A blond, little girl in pigtails walks by with a stuffed brown bear in her arms. Seeing her reminds me of the first time I flew by myself. I was only five years old when I marched up to the ticket counter with a little red suitcase in hand to tell the amused airline employee the plane needed to come so I could go see my grandma. My parents observed from close by and made sure every bit of the trip was in order.

These days, I carry a leopard print laptop bag, and I’ve flown away from my comfort zone many times. But on the inside, that younger self and I still have much in common. We want to know we’re safe, we’re loved, and we’re going to be okay. That’s what gives us the courage to pick up our bag and go.

Psalm 121:8 says, “The Lord will protect your coming and going both now and forever.” This is mysterious to me because difficult things happen, people get sick, and life doesn’t always work out the way I planned. But even if I don’t understand them fully, these words offer hope because whatever may transpire God is still taking caring of me.

Three hundred and sixty thousand people will arrive on this earth today. Some will depart. The other seven billion of us will go about our business — catching flights, rocking babies, showing up for work, and eating birthday cake.

And God will watch over it all. Every coming and going. Every beginning and end. Every dream come true and heartbreak. He has done this for all of history. He is doing so today. He will continue to do so every day of your life.

Here are three things you need to know about your future:

1) God will be there.

2) You will be loved.

3) Nothing will be too much for you and Jesus to overcome together.

You may not know exactly what’s ahead of you, but you can be absolutely certain of Who is with you. You are not a random passenger, nameless and unknown in the crowd of humanity. And the One who travels with you isn’t afraid of your tears, overwhelmed by your struggles or hesitant about entering into your happiness and celebrations.

We are beloved children of the God who breathed life into our lungs and who numbers every hair on our heads. So let’s go boldly into the next moment with the confidence that all things are possible and in the end all will be made right.

 

For more encouragement and a life-changing tool, 15 Minutes to Your Mission Statement: 4 Exercises to Help You Discover Your Personal Strengths and Direction, subscribe to Holley’s blog.

Even Now, God Is to Be Found

by

A loud laugh escapes my mouth, and I’m surprised by its unfamiliarity. It lifts and relaxes my body and spirit in a way I didn’t realize I needed. My six-year-old’s joke is unexpected in its wittiness and timing, and his face radiates delight over making me laugh so hard. I pull him in close and plant one too many kisses on his cheek, thankful for his sweet love and humor. The first few months of being at home together since the pandemic began were filled with anxiety and fear, grief and the constant tension of being in each other’s space. We longed for time alone while wanting to hold each other close and never let go. We all felt the precariousness of life, especially my son.

And still, somehow, this baby of mine has become a big kid before my own eyes. He understands how to meet others in their sadness, tender to their ache. He knows that being silly can brighten a moment, even if it can’t change the mood for long. He is quick to give hugs, full of energy I often can’t handle, and he reminds me there is hope for good, for joy.

And I need to know that joy is not only possible but that it can abound even now. For months, depression has hung around like a smoky haze during wildfire season. It’s kept me lethargic and unmotivated, struggling to create and keep up with deadlines. Just when I think it’s subsided and I have energy like that of my son’s, the sparks fizzle into nothing, and I’m back to the sluggish pace I wish to escape.

I manage to get done what I need to. I bake bread and play games with my family. I work and decorate the house for quarantine birthdays. I know how to function in survival mode even when I’m not well because I’ve done it so much in my life. I can live life on auto-pilot, and no one would know I’m struggling — not even me.

But laughter breaks me from the trance of survival. It makes me pause to be fully present in the moment with my son and to see that I live in the land of the living right now. It reminds me of how precious life is even while the world burns. Growth has not stopped, death has not taken everything from us, and we are still living.

And living for me right now — and all the time — looks like paying attention and being curious. When unrelenting knots form in my neck the weekend of my wedding anniversary, I pay attention and recognize what a difficult year of healing it has been. I voice my pain and care for myself with kindness. When my son is grumpy and crumbles into tantrums, I offer hugs instead of lectures knowing he feels left out from his sister needing space. When the din of social media and the news becomes louder than my soul can handle, I step away and look for glimpses of the divine.

I look for what will give me life so I can keep going. I ask myself what I need and get help where I can. Sometimes it looks like a video call with my therapist after being triggered by current events. It can look like napping when sleep was elusive the night before. It’s listening to a praise song that sings to me the truth I need to hear. And sometimes it’s as simple as sending a funny meme to a friend because I know she’d find it hilarious. We laugh together over text and agree that internet comedy is one of the many things we’re grateful for these days.

Jeremiah 29:13 says, “You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart.”

Even when injustices don’t get rectified, when the healing we fervently prayed for doesn’t happen, when evil prospers, if we seek Him, we will find Him. Laughter reminds me that God is here in the complicated mess — a glimpse of the divine. And this is what I see: He is God of justice, God of comfort, God of miracles, God of joy.

What is giving you life or bringing you joy these days?

Walking with Jesus as Our Pacer

by

When the sheltering-at-home orders began in March, we found ourselves together in the house all day long. On many spring and summer nights after dinner, I’d look at my husband and three daughters and say, “Let’s go for a walk.”

I may have well been saying, “I need to get out of here.” And my people all understood.

We would slip into flip flops and Birkenstocks and head out the front door. According to the dictionary, to walk means “to advance or travel on foot at a moderate speed or pace.”

Our pace was more of a stroll.

Unhurried and unharried, we did not walk with a specific purpose or agenda besides simply breathing some fresh air and being together. We would walk in groups of two or three and settle into a slow pace that enabled us to talk and observe.

My girls know I am a sunset chaser. Ever since my late husband Ericlee soared to heaven in 2014, I have found great comfort in the unique ways God paints the sky each night. The swirl of colors – sometimes in baby pastels, sometimes in richer, jewel tones – always reminds me that God is our Creator and holds all things in His hands.

Our family loves to serpentine through the neighborhood and follow the cul-de-sacs. We make a point of walking down that one street where roses line the walkway. We oooh and ahhh together at the roses twirling their petal skirts. We peek at the ripe fruit hanging over fences and check out the homes for sale.

In those early weeks, we noticed lots of other families were out too. We saw neighbors walking their dogs, groups of tweens riding their bikes and scooters, and even some grandparents ambling through the streets pushing babies in strollers. We waved and chatted socially-distanced, six feet (or more) apart.

We quickly realized these circumstances, which required so many to stay at home, were giving us more points of connection than ever before. We have only been living in this particular neighborhood for two years. My daughters observed there are way more kids living in our neighborhood than we had thought.

My heart also soared when I noted the cultural diversity among my neighbors. We passed many speaking in other mother tongues and with a diversity of skin tones. In an uncertain world, I felt somehow more at home in my own brown skin.

As we were simply putting one foot in front of the other, our little family also connected with each other more too. Sisters, who were frequently squabbling at the dinner table, were naturally linking arms and laughing together as they walked. I had more of a chance to unpack the day’s events and my heart’s worries with my husband Shawn.

Walking is an important mode of transportation mentioned frequently in the Bible. In a spiritual sense, walking with God means to abide with Him, obey His commands, and keep a deliberate pace, following His lead.

Adam and Eve hear God “walking in the garden” in Genesis 3:8. This very vivid description of God tells us something about our heavenly Father. Our all-powerful, all-knowing, omnipresent God longs for personal connection with His children. There is an intimacy that grows in walking together.

Throughout the Old Testament, we read accounts of people of faith walking with God. Enoch lived a total of 365 years walking with His heavenly Father. Genesis 5:24 says, “Enoch walked faithfully with God; then he was no more, because God took him away.”

In Genesis 6:9, we read about Noah walking with God: “Noah was a righteous man, blameless among the people of his time, and he walked faithfully with God.” God was Noah’s pacer and gave him assurance as he built the ark with no sign of rain on the horizon.

Paul reminds us to walk with good form: “ . . . walk in a manner worthy of the calling to which you have been called,  with all humility and gentleness, with patience, bearing with one another in love,  eager to maintain the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace” (Ephesians 4:1-3).

1 John 2:6 also highlights the concept of walking: “Whoever says he abides in him ought to walk in the same way in which he walked.” John is talking about daily living out our faith by following Jesus’ example.

Jesus deliberately chose to walk shoulder-to-shoulder with people. He was the Messiah-King, but He did not travel in a chariot or ride a majestic horse like other kings of His time. He didn’t tool around town in a Tesla or a limousine.

Jesus walked, and He invites each of us to follow Him.

He walked up a great hill carrying a cross and then died on that cross so that every one of us would have the invitation to walk across a path of grace and into heaven one day.

Friend, let Jesus pace you. Resist the urge to run ahead or lag behind. Instead, walk with Him.

 

In what ways has walking brought more connection for you with people or God?

 

Dorina just launched a new devotional book, Walk Run Soar. Sign up for her Glorygram newsletter and get all the insider details about her new book and podcast.

When You Feel Like You Take Up Too Much Space

by

See what great love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! And that is what we are!
1 John 3:1 (NIV)

I love traveling. I love airports too. Flying, though? I hate flying. See, I’m overweight. And while that fact is always present in my thoughts, never am I more aware of my extra pounds than when I fly. I hate flying because I take up too much space.
If I have the choice, I always choose an aisle seat. I hold my breath and suck in my gut and pray that the seatbelt will latch. And then I spend the next few hours squeezing my legs together and digging my elbows into my sides as I try to avoid taking up any extra space — in the aisle, in the seats, in the air.

My scrunched-up and sucked-in body language, along with my apologetic glances and occasional “sorrys” after the inevitable bumps and elbow rubs, is one big apology.

I’m sorry for taking up too much space.
I’m sorry for being too big.
I’m sorry for being in the way.
I’m sorry I’m kind of sweaty from speed-walking to the gate.
I’m sorry I reached over you to turn on my fan.
I’m sorry my leg bumped your leg.
I’m sorry I’m in the way.
I’m sorry you have to sit by me.

Maybe you fit just fine in an airplane seat. Maybe it’s something else that makes you hunch your shoulders and stare at the ground with red cheeks, apologizing for part of who you are, for just being yourself.

Are you clumsy? Perpetually late? Awkward? Too talkative? Too loud? Too quiet? Too sarcastic? Too much? Too real? Too you?

No you aren’t. You are wonderful. You are loved. And when God looks at His creation (that’s you! and me!), He says, “It is very good.” Regardless of how anyone else sees us, we are God’s workmanship and masterpiece — and He lavishes His love on us.

If you’re tempted to apologize for who you are or how you are, please don’t. Remember that you have a right to be here, to take up space — in a conversation, on the airplane, in the grocery store aisle, at the moms group, in the world. And no matter how much space you take up or how you take up that space, you are welcome and wanted and loved.

Thank You, Lord, for being a safe place where I am called good, where I take up just the right amount of space, where I am seen and loved and welcome to be who I am, how I am, just as I am. Even saying that calms my heart and lets me breathe deeper. Give me the strength to truly recognize that no matter how anyone else sees me, I am God’s workmanship and masterpiece, and I am loved. Amen.

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

Our devotional, Take Heart: 100 Devotions to Seeing God When Life’s Not Okay, is full of stories like this. Women sharing from the depth of their experience, pain, and eventual hope as they struggled through times when life was not okay.

We know that for many of us life isn’t okay right now. Everything is different, and the unknowns abound, which is why we see each story in this book as an offering of hope, from one heart to another.

Order Take Heart today!

Joy Is Contagious — Share It with the World Around You

by

A few years ago, I took my daughter Chloe on a three-day trip to Mobile, Alabama, for a combined birthday/high school graduation trip. She knew we were going but not the destination until minutes before we hopped on a bus in downtown Atlanta. The biggest treat in store for her — for both of us, really — was concert tickets to see one of our favorite bands at the historic Saenger Theatre.

I didn’t tell Chloe about the concert immediately. I love surprises and couldn’t wait to see her face when she discovered this one. We strolled around town the evening before the show and I even walked up to the front of the theater, thinking that might give it away, but she didn’t notice the poster. 

Just hours before the show, I told her where I was taking her, and she was as excited as I’d hoped she’d be. We arrived early, bought our souvenirs, found our seats, and then walked around the beautiful old theater. We sat down and pulled out our phones, eager to notify the world where we were and what we were doing.

I noticed a couple in front of us trying to take a selfie, and I smiled at how happy they seemed to be there, just as we were. But when the concert began and we jumped to our feet, I realized how big the man in front of me was. I envisioned a night of shifting and straining to peek through the gaps and get glimpses of the stage.

I knew right then I could fixate on the challenge before me (literally) or decide to wring every drop of joy from a night I’d anticipated for four months.

I chose joy.

As it turned out, the guy in front of me may have been a big man but he was also a big fan. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen someone enjoy a concert so much. His enthusiasm was infectious, a contagious source of joy to those around him.

My daughter FaceTimed a friend when the band performed one of our favorite songs, and our happiness took wing, flying through the night and across the miles, back home to Georgia. The man next to us got such a kick out of Chloe’s friend laughing and dancing on the other end of that line, two friends sharing a moment and a song — joy multiplied.

In spite of the visual obstacle, I enjoyed this concert the most of the four times I’d seen this band.

At the hotel, we took the elevator with a different couple who’d been there too. The woman’s experience was the exact opposite of mine: total disappointment. Her problem wasn’t the performance but the company. She had sat in the balcony surrounded by less-than-avid fans, and it stole her joy.

Not only is joy contagious, but its absence leaves a void.

While we can’t control the people around us or our surroundings, we do determine how we react to things beyond our control. Choosing joy when anger or frustration comes easier takes both work and intention. When the Apostle Paul wrote to the church at Philippi, he instructed them to choose joy, which is only possible if its source is the Lord and not our circumstances:

Rejoice in the Lord always: and again I say, Rejoice.
Philippians 4:4 (KJV)

Sisters, let’s not only choose joy but chase it too. What a brighter world we’ll leave in our wake if we open our hearts to true joy, let it fill us up, and then fling it wide into a waiting world.

 

To Him Who Keeps Us From Stumbling

by

Now to him who is able to protect you from stumbling and to make you stand in the presence of his glory, without blemish and with great joy, to the only God our Savior, through Jesus Christ our Lord, be glory, majesty, power, and authority before all time, now and forever. Amen.
Jude 24-25 (CSB)

We stumble through life, making mistakes, falling into temptations, sinning, and learning the depth and breadth of God’s grace. We look forward to the day when we will be fully redeemed, but in the meantime, God doesn’t leave us on our own to figure things out. He is able to protect us, strengthen us, teach us and guide us to the day we will stand in His glorious presence.

God, our Savior, You understand our humanness. Thank You for not separating Yourself from us even when we sin and when we stumble along. Instead, You come in close, show us the truth, and invite us to live by grace. Your never-ending patience reminds us that we can trust You won’t ever abandon us and leave us to our own demise. When You intervene, may we be open to Your correction and guidance. May we be humble enough to recognize where we’ve gone wrong and repent. And may we be willing to be transformed from glory to glory until we stand in Your presence and see You face to face. Amen. 

An Act of Courageous Simplicity

by

Now a woman suffering from bleeding for twelve years had endured much under many doctors. She had spent everything she had and was not helped at all. On the contrary, she became worse. Having heard about Jesus, she came up behind him in the crowd and touched his clothing. For she said, “If I just touch his clothes, I’ll be made well.” Instantly her flow of blood ceased, and she sensed in her body that she was healed of her affliction.

At once Jesus realized in himself that power had gone out from him. He turned around in the crowd and said, “Who touched my clothes?”

His disciples said to him, “You see the crowd pressing against you, and yet you say, ‘Who touched me?’”

But he was looking around to see who had done this. The woman, with fear and trembling, knowing what had happened to her, came and fell down before him, and told him the whole truth. “Daughter,” he said to her, “your faith has saved you. Go in peace and be healed from your affliction.”
Mark 5:25-34 (CSB)

Twelve YEARS. For twelve years this woman had suffered, bleeding without relief. Because women were considered unclean during their menstrual cycles during ancient times, it’s likely she had spent those years not just weak and possibly in pain, but shunned and isolated, with no one willing to touch her or come near. Desperation had sent her to doctor after doctor through the years, but not one had been able to help her. Instead, we’re told, her condition had gotten worse.

Though we don’t know what treatment this woman had been given in her pursuit of healing, we know that she had “endured much” and was sicker than ever before. The treatment for her affliction may have actually been just as harmful as her illness itself, and yet her desperation pushed her to continue seeking out a remedy. By the time she heard about Jesus she was likely weak, discouraged, and afraid. But this didn’t stop her from trying one more time.

Used to being unseen, unwanted, and untouchable, the woman did not approach Jesus. She did not look Him in the eye and ask for help. She did not cry out in her pain, begging for help. A leader and teacher like Him knew full well He could not come near someone unclean, so she probably assumed.

Instead of inviting Him near her, she kept to the shadows, walking behind Him and reaching out, merely touching His clothing for help, and probably hoping He would not notice. In that moment she found the strength to hope again, to reach for the help she so dreadfully needed, and to believe that healing might still be possible. That hope led her to the Savior and Healer, the only One who could give her true relief.

Her hope — and maybe her healing — gave the woman courage. When Jesus felt power leave Him, He asked who had touched Him. The woman did not hide or run away, though she may have wanted to out of habit. Instead, she fell on her knees before her Healer and Savior and confessed. She didn’t know how He would react or what He would do to her, but she had integrity and respect for the One who had finally cured her disease. What a relief it must have been when Jesus looked at her and simply said, “Daughter, your faith has saved you.”

Perhaps you, too, are suffering an affliction that keeps you isolated and seems incurable. Perhaps you have struggled with something for years — physical or emotional or spiritual or relational — seeking help around every corner but finding no relief at all. Maybe you’ve been fighting a battle for so long that you’ve traded your determination and desperation for resignation and resentment. Don’t give up hope, friend! Don’t settle for distance between you and the Lord; don’t begin believing that isolation is all there is for you.

The beauty of the bleeding woman’s story is that it illustrates how ready Jesus is to heal us. He doesn’t require us to make a formal request; He doesn’t demand that we make payments or promises. He simply wants us to reach out to Him with hope. If we reach out to Him, like the woman of this story reached for His clothing, He will respond. His reaction to our faith and need is reflexive; our faith in His ability to step in activates a loving response from Him every time. He may not heal us in the timing or in the way that we assume is best, but He will not ignore us. He will not leave us bleeding in the road. He will respond to us with grace and peace and help when we need it most.

After years of suffering, after spending everything she had, after being disappointed over and over, this woman still had hope. She still believed that the man she’d heard of, the one teaching and performing miracles, could help her. She still had enough faith to brave a crowd, a reprimand, and another letdown. And this time, it was worth it. Her hope for healing led to her faith in the Healer, and she found freedom from all her afflictions that day. May we be as bold in our belief and as hopeful in our pursuit of help and care from the Lord.

Written by Mary Carver, as published in Women of Courage: a Forty-Day Devotional, from the (in)courage community.

Impacting Others Like Ripples Across the Water

by

In January of 2016, My husband and I made the drive from Northern Virginia to Southern Maryland to spend an evening with family. While the meal was being prepared, my brother, Dan, sister-in-law, Kayla, and I stood in the corner of the kitchen, talking and laughing, as usual. I shared about our recent move and our search for connection. I shrugged and explained that I knew the importance of community, but I just didn’t know how to find it. My brother, six years younger yet so much wiser, said, “If you want to build community and make connections, you need to serve.”

His new wife, Kayla, smiled and nodded. She was living out her mission to love God and others by serving on their church’s hospitality team. She knew a simple cup of coffee could forge a connection, bring a smile, and create community.

I didn’t know the impact this single conversation would soon have on my life. Seeing Dan and Kayla together warmed every heart who knew them. They were brought together by God to impact His Kingdom far beyond what we could comprehend. Dan’s words stayed with me as we traveled back home in search of that community I was craving. I thought about the way he had dedicated his life to serving God and the church through his talent as a musician. In following God’s lead, he was able to bless others with the gifts God had given him. At ages twenty and twenty-one, they both had a clear understanding of where they were meant to be, and it was inspiring to watch them live each day with purpose and intentionality.

One month later, on Valentine’s Day, we received the devastating news that Dan and Kayla had been in a car accident. On their way home from their six-month wedding anniversary dinner, a driver under the influence struck their vehicle, and Dan and Kayla had gone home to be with the Lord.

Our world stood still. We tried to wrap our minds around a future that wouldn’t look anything like the one we had pictured. Each morning brought new waves of grief, and still, as I read the Psalms and prayed for strength, I felt the Lord closer than ever. Losing two people so rooted in their purpose created in me the strongest desire to follow their lead and pursue God’s purpose for my life. A new perspective emerged from my brokenness. For the first time, I craved heaven more than anything on earth.

As my perspective shifted, so did my desire to live differently. I continued to pray for an opportunity to serve the way they did. I loved my career in interior design but felt the pull to pursue something more ministry-minded. In a leap of faith, I left my job and begin the search for a home-based business. Late one evening, my search brought me to the Mary & Martha website for the very first time. I opened the page to find beautiful home decor, Scripture, and a message that read “Welcome, Serve, Connect.” My eyes welled with tears. In my head, I heard Dan’s voice. In my heart, I felt God’s nudge. Purpose-filled products that aligned with my passion. Christ-centered community. Connection. A place to serve. In the midst of my deepest sorrow, my heart was filled with joy to find a place like this.

Within Mary & Martha, I connected with a beautiful sisterhood all across the U.S. I was instantly surrounded by like-minded women who lifted me up, prayed for me, and came alongside me in living out my calling. Four months later, I attended Mary & Martha’s national conference, and stepping into that conference room felt like coming home. Full of warmth, joy, and worship, the weekend with this community was an answer to prayer. They were on a mission to serve and embraced the call to love God and others in all they do.

At the end of the conference, we were handed a beautiful quote by Roy Lessin, co-founder of our parent company, DaySpring. It read, “When a stone is dropped into a lake, it quickly disappears from sight — but its impact leaves behind a series of ripples that broaden and reach across the water. In the same way, the impact of one life lived for Christ leaves behind an influence for good that touches the lives of many others.”

I saw this firsthand through Dan and Kayla’s beautiful lives. I knew that God had led me to Mary & Martha to continue the ripple of good they had begun. Knowing God is in control and working through us in this way brings me peace.

Loss has taught me that every day, every moment, and every conversation matters. As Christ-followers, we are called to reach across our communities, to impact them like ripples across the water. My prayer is that you would be encouraged to build community, make connections, and serve as you live out God’s unique purpose for you.

Each of you should use whatever gift you have received to serve others, as faithful stewards of God’s grace in its various forms.
1 Peter 4:10 (NIV)

What a beautiful story from Jess! Imagine being part of a faith-based company where you create your own schedule, share inspirational products, earn unlimited income, and belong to a sisterhood of women! If you’d like more information, discover the Mary & Martha difference today!

And to get a glimpse of their wonderful products, Mary & Martha is giving away FIVE of these printed canvas magnetic signs, valued at $98! Comment below with what you loved hearing about their company for a chance to win!

 

Giveaway closes 11:59pm CST on October 14. US addresses only. 

The Day I Had a Panic Attack at Costco

by

I was having a panic attack right there at Costco.

It had been years since my last one. I’d shared about my journey of healing from emotional childhood trauma and learning to rest in God’s love in my book, Finding Spiritual Whitespace. I thought my wounds had healed. But as I was working on my new book proposal, preparing to share more vulnerable stories, I went shopping at Costco one day, and after realizing I had forgotten milk, I turned my cart around to go get it when bam! I came face to face with someone who had hurt me from my past. This person had caused deep wounds, taking me years of therapy to heal. I hadn’t seen this person in years since I had learned to establish safe boundaries to keep myself from being harmed through verbal and emotional abuse.

My eyes locked with this person’s, and though I’d wondered if this person would ever soften, what I saw before me made me afraid. My heart rate jumped, pounding like a jack hammer against my chest. I didn’t want to stand there to be hurt again, so I made a beeline and zipped to the back of the store. I am a college-educated, grown mom of two boys. Yet, I hid behind the store shelves. I started having trouble breathing. I was dizzy and nauseous, choking and unable to take full breaths. My body lit on fire, tears pushing from deep.

As I stood there, afraid this person was searching for me in the store to chew me out, I felt God whisper, You are my beloved. You don’t have to hide. You are my daughter.

I didn’t want to call my husband Eric at work because he had critical deadlines, so I decided to find the store manager.

I found Mike.

I was shaky, trembling, and asked, “Hi, this is a weird request, but I need help. I ran into someone from my past who emotionally hurt me, and I’m scared they’ll cause a scene. Maybe they’re waiting for me outside to yell at me. Can you escort me to my car?”

“I won’t let this person hurt you. You are safe. I will help you.” Mike said.

You are safe.

At the sound of these three words, I started crying out of his kindness. God was reassuring me through Mike’s words. ”I’m so embarrassed,” I confessed.

“Don’t be. You’re not the only one who runs into people here who need support. Exes, family members . . . people.” he replied.

Mike looked at me and said, ”I won’t let them hurt you.”

As we left the store, Mike kept reassuring me, saying, “It’s going to be okay,” as he walked me to my car and loaded my groceries in the trunk.

Relieved to know I was safe, I turned to him to share a little more about my story of emotional hurt and healing. I shared how much his kindness and his words meant to me, so he would understand the significance when I said, “You are God’s blessing to me today. Thank you so much, Mike!”

I took a moment to ask him about his thoughts on faith. We chatted a bit. I listened. It turned out that I encouraged Mike too, because he felt so encouraged to know God was using him to bless others.

Friend, I share this story with you to encourage you today. I want you to know that you are worth loving. You can ask for help and draw boundary lines with toxic people. God desires to restore your wholeness and to heal you from your wounds. Sometimes, this will happen through the people He places in your life, so take a step of faith when they cross your path. Be open and receive.

And when you can offer the same kindness to another, pause and be present. Be a refuge and shelter so others can experience God’s comfort.

We are not alone in this journey of life. We are God’s beloved, and we do not need to be afraid.

For I am with you and no one will attack and harm you, because I have many people in this city.
Acts 18:10 (NIV)

How has someone been kind to you during these hard days? How can you be God’s kindness to someone else?

What is your story, friend? Join me in a FREE Online Writer’s Conference where I’ll help you write the God-story in you! Register here to watch free – starting today! Want peace from anxiety? Sign up for my FREE Overcoming Anxiety Webinar here. Share these great resources to encourage your friends!

The Compliment You Should Desire Most

by

When I was a little girl, my favorite thing to hear was that I was weird. Whether the words came affectionately from the lips of my mom or as a critical observation from the kid across the street, I didn’t care. “You’re so weird” made me beam — because I was weird.

I was a girl who happily (and confidently) marched to the beat of my own unrhythmic drum.

When I was seven years old, the year was 1989, and neon green biker shorts with a black polka dot skirt and a fluorescent pink tank top was my favorite outfit. But I took the typical bright 80’s color scheme to my own Becky level. I was sure to compliment my outfit with my beloved canvas dinosaur sneakers I got in the boys’ section. The shoes had boring white laces that didn’t meet my high fashion standards so I swapped them out for primary red.

Add to this charming ensemble the fact that I convinced my older sister to braid my hair in three sections and then crimp my bangs, and weird was probably the word that came to everyone’s mind.

At the tender age of seven, I had yet to grow a self-conscience bone. I was just me. Tree-climbing, alphabet-burping, puzzle-solving, book-loving, roller-blading Becky. And I was hungry for affirmation of what I knew was true — that I was perfectly, wonderfully, and weirdly made.

Gosh, I was a great kid.

At thirty-eight, I’m still great, but somewhere between then and now, my hunger for compliments shifted. Somewhere along the way I stopped wanting to be seen for exactly me, and I started striving to please others.

Instead of weird, I wanted to be beautiful. Instead of unique, I wanted to be accepted, influential, admirable, successful. I started caring about others liking me more than I cared about liking myself.

And even deeper than that, I started forgetting who God said I am — perfectly and wonderfully made — and I tried to cram myself into a mold that wasn’t made for me.

Have you done this too?

It’s natural for our childhood selves to mature into adolescents with greater self-awareness and then into adults with age-appropriate inhibitions. But that doesn’t mean shoving down, casting out, or numbing over the parts of ourselves that make us stand out for the sake of blending in or receiving positive recognition.

If you’re a dreamer, don’t cram yourself into the box of an analytical thinker.
If you’re loud, don’t let the world stifle your voice.
If you’re vibrant, don’t dull your edges.
If you’re intellectual or artsy or stoic or outdoorsy, don’t let an outside voice tell you that another personality or strength is more valuable and attractive.

The amazing thing about God is that He doesn’t make mistakes. Your shyness is on purpose. Your love for a good debate is intentional. Your fast talking or slow processing is not a mistake.

Do we each have areas where we need to grow? Absolutely! We are all on a journey of being refined and becoming more like Christ. But, friend, learning to love and look more like Jesus doesn’t negate the essential beauty of who you are already are.

One of my favorite quotes is credited to Saint Irenaeus, a 2nd century Greek bishop, who said, “The glory of God is man fully alive.”

God receives glory when we’re living into and out of the fullness of who He’s made us to be. Have you ever known someone who just sparkles? Who shines from the inside out, not because of what they did because of Who is in them? The Creator gets the glory when His creation stays true to His intentional design.

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.
Psalm 139:13-14 (CSB)

Do you know that you are God’s remarkable creation? If the belief has slipped into the cracks of time, let me be the one to remind you. Sister, the way God made you is wondrous! You are distinct. Set apart. A one-of-a-kind masterpiece!

What would happen if you lived like it?

These days I’m re-learning how to let the bright and bold confidence of my youth reemerge. I wear the vibrant turquoise tennis shoes that clash with most outfits. I make up silly songs and sing them off-key in the kitchen with my kids. I stay quiet when people expect me to speak. I keep writing about Jesus even if it’s not the popular thing.

I think it’s okay that I no longer want to be known as weird. Instead, I just want to be known as loved.

You are so loved.

Yes, that’s the greatest truth we could spend our lives walking to. When we walk with the assurance that we are God’s beloved daughters — holy and chosen and wonderfully made — we can be confident marching to whatever kind of rhythm and beat He gives us.

 

When We Don’t Have the Words to Pray: Threadbare Prayer Book Giveaway!

by

My girlfriend was in town for a short visit with her family, and I wanted our lunch to be perfect. Our time together was precious to me, and I intended to make the most of it. I arrived at one of my favorite lunch spots a few minutes early to make sure we had just the right place to talk. I snagged a table by the window, ordered my salad and lemon cookie, and settled in to wait.

I began thinking about what I should share and how deep I should go in our limited time together. My husband had recently been released from the hospital, and we were trying to figure out how to return to some sort of normal life for our family of six. I knew my friend would be coming with her own story of loss and grief, and I wondered how I could share without adding to the burdens she was already carrying.

In the middle of my thoughts, I saw her walk through the doors. We hugged, and she ordered her lunch. To say I was grateful we were able to get a lunch date on the calendar would be an understatement. She was a brand-new mom and on a tight schedule. I was glad to simply sit at the same table with her, finding comfort even in the silences between our sentences. God had woven our lives together in extraordinary ways over the last couple of years as we each went through our share of heartache. It had been as though we were volleying support back and forth across an invisible tennis net. When she struggled, I was there for her, and vice versa. We had been stretched thin, and we were both now threadbare.

We quickly got through our meal, covering all the easy subjects before we dove into the hard ones. Eventually, I asked her pointedly, “How are you doing — really doing?” She paused as if searching for the right words and looked down at her hands before making eye contact with me.

“I’m not sure. This trial just felt so . . . personal.”

I understood exactly what she meant. Sometimes, trials feel as though they were tailor-made in such specific ways to cause us pain.

I exhaled and said, “I’m sorry. Maybe it feels personal because it just is.”

Since that day, her words have often come to mind, and I’ve gotten more honest with the Lord, telling Him that my trials feel personal and asking Him to help me make sense of it. And bit by bit, He has been taking my threadbare heart and doing that very thing. I offer Him my pain and confusion, my disappointment and worry, and He offers me comfort and hope through, what I call, Threadbare Prayers. These are prayers For the days when we most desperately need prayer but don’t have the words to form them, #threadbareprayerbook is the guide you need. Enter to win a copy!

That day, after our too-quick lunch date, I asked my friend to give me a verse so I could write a personal Threadbare Prayer especially for her. She shared with me Psalm 3:3:

But you, O Lord, are a shield about me, my glory, and the lifter of my head.

And this is the prayer I wrote for her:

Lord, it wasn’t the first sign of trials that sent me headlong into a pit. But it was the second, fourth, fifth rounds that have greatly discouraged me. Still, I find deep encouragement in knowing that when I come to the end of myself, You are not exhausted. Instead, I can face the enemy, my fears, any trial that comes my way because You wrap me up in Your embrace and provide abundantly in Your presence. You lift my eyes upward, and I know on my worst days and in my fiercest battles that I can cry out to You. I can rest easy knowing that the battle belongs to You.

And for the days when my friend finds herself lacking words to pray, I gave her this Threadbare Prayer: Lord, You wrap me up safe.

A simple prayer can carry us through hard days and seasons. Perhaps you’re in a place where you’ve also come to the end of yourself and need help to pray. Take this Threadbare Prayer then too, and may it remind you that you are embraced, held up by the loving arms of God.

 

In Threadbare Prayer: Prayers for Hearts that Feel Hidden, Hurt, or Hopeless, Stacey Thacker presents 100 simple yet heartfelt devotions to guide you on the days you don’t know what to pray. Each entry in this attractive, gift-worthy devotional contains a Bible verse, a brief thought, and a simple, concise prayer to encourage the reader’s heart.

If you purchase two copies of Threadbare Prayer, Stacey will send you the companion five-day Bible study, The Mender: A Bible Study for Threadbare Hearts. To receive the study, complete this form (Offer ends November 30, 2020).

We know it’s been a very threadbare year for many, so we want to give away FIVE copies of Threadbare Prayer to five of you! Comment below with a verse that you’ve been holding onto in this season for a chance to win.

Giveaway closes October 9 at 11:59pm CST. Open to US addresses only.

What We Can Learn from the Leaves

by

As long as the earth remains, there will be planting and harvest, cold and heat, summer and winter, day and night.
Genesis 8:22 (NLT)

Here in Minnesota, the sticky-hot, long days of summer stretch deep into September, then finally in October the nighttime and early morning air gives way to a chill.

And that’s when the trees know winter is coming. They prepare for it from the inside out.

This knowledge that the trees have feels important, kind of enormous. The trees flourish and reveal their truest selves as their leaves are dying. God has built truth and theology into trees, and I want to sit at their roots and learn.

How do the leaves know when to drop their guard of green and give into the process of dying to themselves? Why do they trust the timing each and every year? Do they lean into it, or do they fight back, stubborn in giving into the inevitable blaze of color?

My eight-year-old loves playing the “Did you know?” game. He loves taking in random trivia and facts, then busting them out in any silence he encounters. It gives me joy when I can mix it up and slip a “Did you know?” of my own in for him. Friends, did you know that most leaves are not inherently green? The green is the cover up. Their green color comes from the presence of a chemical called chlorophyll that thrives in warmer climates and weather. We think of leaves most often as green, yet deep inside the leaf are other chemicals — each with a different color. When the shortened sunlight of autumn returns, the chlorophyll backs off and lets the other chemicals (colors) shine.

Isn’t that incredible? This article sums it up: “Along with the green pigment are yellow to orange pigments, carotenes and xanthophyll pigments which, for example, give the orange color to a carrot. Most of the year these colors are masked by great amounts of green coloring.”

What we think of as a death — the leaves giving in to the coming cold and dying — is actually them revealing their truest selves.

The weather reflects a gradual change. It’s cool; the breezes are still; but deep down at their roots, the trees know major change is coming. They know they are to be robing themselves in color, preparing for a brand-new season of beauty — while some remain green. Are they the ones fighting back, pushing against what they truly are deep inside?

It sounds senseless to fight for remaining faded and tired instead of bursting gold, red, and orange. Instead, we hope the leaves cast off their wilted end-of-summer green and embrace what is deep down in the core, the beauty God has placed there to reveal in His time.

Maybe in the middle of our own everyday mess, mixed right into the struggles, God is preparing us for something. Maybe He wants us to choose to take hold, to dig deeper, to look beyond the mess and frustration, to become the best version of ourselves, to reflect with unquestionable certainty the glory hidden in our hearts because of where God first chose to take up residence.

Let’s yield to living color, the kind that shines brightest when dying to self has happened first.

Lord, may the change quietly filling the air spark the same in my heart. May I allow it to wash over my life, brightening each nook and cranny and sweeping the corners clean of staleness. May cool air fill my lungs as I breathe in Your grace and breathe out the old. May I learn, embrace, marvel at what the trees know. Amen.

This devotion first appeared in Anna Rendell’s book, Pumpkin Spice for Your Soul. Anna welcomed a new baby this fall! Take a peek at her beautiful family!

How can you give in to the work God is doing quietly in your heart?

Love Over All: Love Overcomes

by

I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble.
But take heart! I have overcome the world.
John 16:33 (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!

October’s theme is Love Overcomes.

“In this world you will have trouble,” Jesus said.

And all the sisters and saints said amen. The reality of the world’s brokenness has been evident since the world began. It was true when Jesus walked the dusty earth with His disciples, and it’s true as true can be in 2020.

But Jesus didn’t stop there. Trouble is our reality, but so is victory. “Take heart!” Jesus said. “I have overcome the world.”

When Jesus died on the cross, He proclaimed, “It is finished.” His death and resurrection laid death in its grave. Because of His love, grace, and our adoption as His children, we are given the ultimate gift of eternal life with Him forever. His triumph is our victory too. These truths are fundamental and foundational to our faith, but often, we find ourselves missing out on the victory in the struggle and mundaneness of our ordinary days.

Daily circumstances lead us to wonder things like, How do live with exceptional joy when we face such difficult circumstances? How do we practically live out God’s love and share it with others when our hearts are breaking, our country is shaking, and when we’ve lost jobs or health or hope? How do we look beyond today to live with a perspective of eternity and take heart right where we are?

We look to Jesus. We keep our eyes locked on Him. We remember what He has already done and what He will yet do!

Putting on love over all means remembering that Jesus has not only overcome death but He also daily fights our battles with us. In the middle of the hurt, He invites us to take heart, come near to Him, and hold tight to His promises. He invites us to be messengers of His love and victory just by showing up and loving others.

What are you overcoming in love?

For the Forgotten, Unwanted, Abandoned and Alone

by

I know the feeling of walking into a room and your presence going unnoticed. After months of COVID-19, I know what it’s like to be completely forgotten. I know what it’s like to have friends walk away, siblings drift apart, and job promotions pass you by. I’ve been trapped in the torturous cycle of beauty comparison and house envy. So often, I feel like I am on the outside. No matter what I do or how much I try, I cannot seem to find my place. I cannot drop the weight, finish the task, or make people happy. I know the feeling of pressing my face on a glass wall, always looking in but never good enough to enter.

For all of us outsiders, the call is to lean in close and to know how God sees us. We have to remember the desperate lengths God went to in order to make the broken incredibly beautiful. When we lose sight of how God really sees us, we actually cannot see at all. We need our eyes refocused and adjusted to see the truth. It is so easy to become self-focused and turn inwards. Yet God wants to take our backs bent crippling over and stretch us up outward and open to Him. So for today, if you are feeling self-critical or discouraged, ugly, or unwanted, let us remember how God pursued those who felt just like us.

Arched over the entire Bible, God writes a love story for the one on the outside. Hagar was a servant, cast out and alone. God found her, pursued her, and rescued her. Leah, her name meaning “weary,” was the ugly sister and married to a man who did not love her back. Yet God saw her deepest heart’s desire and blessed her with an abundance of children.

The Lord saw Hannah, sobbing and heartsick for a baby. He heard her and answered. Esther, an orphan, became a queen and saved a nation. Mary, the mother of Jesus, was not even given a proper place to birth a baby, but God provided constant provision for her. The woman at the well, covered in shame, sought refreshment and reprieve. When she came face to face with Jesus, He told her everything she had ever done, and she became free. Martha was anxious and concerned with work, and Jesus invited her to rest.

Over and over again, God moves towards the forgotten, lonely, and unwanted. Over and over again, He sees the hearts of the beaten up, battered, and afraid. He goes out of His way to meet them in their fear and desperation. God is for the outsider, and we can find ourselves in each story of God’s rescue.

How many of us are abandoned, broken, and put out? How many of us huddle at our own shame wells and hope no one sees our sins? How often do we beg God to turn what is infertile to new life?

God is after us, friends. In our places of greatest despair, He chases us down. In our quiet longings and greatest defeats, He moves toward us. If you are feeling discouraged today, look upwards and backwards. Look at all the women in the Bible who have walked the path before you. Lean in close to Christ leaning in toward you. Perhaps your point of pain is the intersection He is waiting at to bring you into His deep, unending love for you.

The Stories Hiding Under the Surface 

by

There’s a story I tell often. I can tell it in a self-deprecating manner that makes people laugh. But the story under the surface — the one that represents my hidden pain — is so much harder to tell. 

Once, I decided I wanted a kitten. For months, I researched how to be a good cat owner. I threw myself into this idea. I called kitten foster moms, I read online forums, I researched the best litter boxes, I asked my cat-owning friends for advice. I believed I could do this, and I believed I could be good at it. 

The only problem was: I’d forgotten I don’t like cats. 

Instead of buying one kitten, I bought two. (Go big or go home, right?) I’d read on some cat blog that kittens are better in pairs because they take care of each other. Terrible advice.

At eight-weeks-old, they resembled fluffy, hyper balls of fur. I drove them back home, took them up to my apartment, and let them free from their cage. And then, as I watched them scamper across my floor, it dawned on me with fresh horror: I don’t like cats. I actually don’t care for pets at all. And I had just bought two of them. 

My friend, Michelle, came by a few hours later to visit the kittens. She found me curled up on my apartment floor, crying. 

“Aliza,” she asked when she opened the door. “What’s wrong?” 

The kittens were jumping on my couch. My eyes were rimmed from crying. “I forgot I hate cats,” I cried to her. “And I just bought two of them! I’m going to be stuck with them for at least twenty years!” 

It was never about the cats. The cats were just a covering for the pain I was feeling. There was something much deeper happening within me.

I was in the midst of grieving my friend’s death and smack-dab in the center of my pain from a sexual assault a few years earlier. The grief over both was too much for me. I just wanted to do something that would take my mind off of it for a while. I wanted to feel tangible love — to love something and have it love me in return. 

I stared at the kittens ransacking my apartment. I realized afresh — sharply, pointedly — that nothing else was going to help me get over my pain. 

I couldn’t move past it. I had to move through it instead. The thought of that felt like my chest was splitting in half. 

We do this often. We use alcohol or scrolling Instagram or pornography or bingeing Netflix or buying cats as our way of trying to forget the stories sitting just under the surface of our hearts. But the distractions never heal us like we want them to. We don’t think we can tell these stories — they feel too vulnerable, too tender to share. We treat our symptoms with distractions instead of tenderly uprooting the cause. 

We think we can mask our pain, but the only way out is through.

I gave the kittens back the next day. When I was back and alone in my quiet apartment once again, I took a deep breath. I got down on my floor. I looked up at my ceiling, and tears poured down my face. 

“I can’t do this anymore, Jesus. The cats didn’t help me. Netflix doesn’t help me. I think I have to feel all of my pain instead. I’m terrified. I need you.”

Over time, I decided to speak my story — the real story of pain and sexual assault and grief — out loud. It took me so long to gather the courage. It started quietly, on a summer evening in a living room with a friend. Then I took it to a counselor’s office. Slowly, I dug it out from under the surface, painfully and tenderly.

We have stories we try to keep under the surface, but those stories are begging to be set free. Give them breath. Show them the light of day. Tell them to someone — just one person. You can start quiet and slow. Choose to take just one step into the light. 

The truth — slowly, carefully, and over time — will set you free. 

And every single step you take towards the truth — every single time you dig your story out from under the surface —  Jesus will be walking right beside you.