Living Well with Unfilled Longings

Living Well with Unfilled Longings

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Not too long ago, my pastor spoke on the importance of children and family ministry — ironic, considering the unrelenting baby fever sparked by the cute child peeking over her mother’s shoulder only a couple rows ahead.

“This message isn’t just for those of you with kids,” Pastor Billy remarked (Okay, I’m listening), “We’re all a part of the body of Christ, and the body of Christ is a family. When we talk about raising the kids of this church, it applies to us all.”

At my not-so-great-but-certainly-more-honest moments, I don’t want to hear that spiritual mothers can be such an influential part of discipling and raising up the next generation. You see, I’ve felt a desire to be a mom for as long as I can remember, and I don’t particularly love the idea of letting that desire go. I want actual children, not just spiritual children (which sounds kind of funny anyway).

But that morning at church was different. As I sat, oriented toward the cross centered at the front of the sanctuary, I felt myself longing to accept and appreciate the reality that the Church is a family. At that moment, I wasn’t annoyed by the idea; I was grateful.

The reality exists that I may never get married. I may not be able to get pregnant. I may never have kids to call my own. And despite that sobering truth, a part of me is comforted that when the Church reaches beyond the neat family units and into the lives of those who are single and childless, it does provide a glimpse of what I desire — family. The opportunity to mentor and be mentored. People to welcome into my home and around my table.

It’s not the same as sharing a name with a husband and children of my own. Far from it, really. But it reminds me to step back and consider that we’re living in an imperfect world. We were created for something greater than this place can ever offer. Though made for Eden, we reside in a world marred by brokenness and pain instead.

Some days I find that truth to be comforting. Every good thing in this broken world — laughter, beauty, nature, successful careers, music, marriage, motherhood — is all just a glimpse of the good that is to come. Many days, however, that truth is nothing if not downright frustrating. I get so mentally stuck on my life right here, right now, that nothing in me wants to think forward to eternity. I feel defeated. How could some distant hope ever ease the ache, the desperate longing that I feel?

Yet there is something else I know to be true. If I can’t ever look past the here and now to eternity, I will find myself unfulfilled. So often we’re handed good gifts — the ones we longed for, asked for — and we find ourselves confused. We get what we want and even then it isn’t enough.

The restlessness remains.

A Bible teacher named Amy Gannett reminds us that “waiting is a common theme in the human experience.” She reflects on words previously given her by a mentor: On the other side of waiting is more waiting — a frustrating thought, really, if I’m being completely honest.

If that statement is true — that on the other side of waiting is more waiting — then attaining motherhood won’t fulfill me. It’s easy to think that having a family of my own would ease this relentless lack of peace. But a few years down the road — whether I have a family or not — I’ll search for relief in more meaningful relationships, in improved health, in financial stability, in a faith free from doubts. There’s always something feeding the restlessness we feel.

Waiting is unique for the Christian because we wait for something that extends further than this life. There’s hope in that we will one day experience God’s kingdom in full. The question is, what now? What until then? There must be some way to live well with our current unfulfilled longings.

I’ve spent years waiting for something that I cannot yet have. Nothing’s changed. I don’t want motherhood any less than I did before. And while a “once and for all” kind of letting go would be nice, it’s a bit unrealistic for today.

So, for now, the answer is daily surrender.

This doesn’t mean I’ve stopped asking for marriage and motherhood. It doesn’t mean I wait around passively until God gives me what I want. It simply means that I’ve chosen not to let this unfulfilled longing hinder me from moving forward in obedience and trust. In fact, I’ve learned that sometimes obedience and trust means taking action toward something I desire and then surrendering the outcome in God’s hands.

Surrender also means waking up each morning and in prayer, handing over my very real desire to be a mom. It’s approaching my day with gratitude for what I have to counteract the discontentment I feel. It’s recognizing God’s gift of the Church, through which He has given me a family where I will always have a place.

Will I surrender today? Yes. Day after day after day.

 

[bctt tweet=”Obedience and trust means taking action toward something I desire and then surrendering the outcome in God’s hands. -Samantha Swanson:” username=”incourage”]

The Practice of Authentic Praise

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“Hi, most-wonderful-mom-in-all-the-world!”

My fourteen-year-old daughter floated into the kitchen like a fairy carrying glad tidings. I knew better.

“You know you really are the best mom ever.” She flashed me her most convincing smile. I smiled back, but my smirk carried more of a question mark.

“What do you want?” I asked her, leveling her with my best “mom look.” I was determined to skip the meaningless flattery and get right to her true motive.

“Really? That’s so mean! I was being nice,” she argued, pretending to be indignant. Clearly she planned to keep up the charade a bit longer.

All right, I thought. I’ll play along. And then I proceeded to say nothing. Not a word. It only took her about thirty seconds to spill the beans.

“So . . .”

Here it comes.

“Katie wants to know if we could hang out tonight, do a sleepover, watch movies, the normal. Would that be okay?”

There was nothing wrong with her request. She wanted to hang out with friends, something most teenage girls do. But I felt irritated that she couched her petition with insincere praise. That bothered me more than if she’d just asked for the sleepover without the theatrics.

Am I only as loved as my next fulfilled request? Am I not a good mom because of my daily commitment to love, teach, protect, and provide for them? Do I need to prove myself yet again to deserve a little authentic gratitude or praise?

This entire interaction, though common and insignificant, caused me to pause. Over the last several weeks, I’ve been studying the practice of prayer. You’d think after a lifetime of following Jesus, reading God’s word, and actively serving the Church, I would’ve mastered the discipline of it. But I find the more I learn about prayer, the more I’m faced with how little I understand it or utilize it.

It seems my most earnest prayers spill forth when I’m facing a painful problem. Then, driven by overwhelming need and emotion, prayers spill forth without too much effort. But my words are focused almost entirely on my petitions. Sure, I’ll open with a quick mention of God’s goodness, but then I go right to my driving motivation: the problem I want Him to fix, the health challenge I want Him to solve, the provision I need Him to deliver.

But when was the last time I spent long minutes thanking God for what He’s already done? When was the last time I lingered over His nature, celebrating who He is and His presence and goodness, without demanding proof in another performance?

Is my love for God only as deep as His next fulfilled request?

This, then, is how you should pray:
Our Father in heaven,
hallowed be your name,
your kingdom come,
your will be done,
on earth as it is in heaven.”
Matthew 6:9-10 (NIV)

When the disciples asked Jesus to teach them how to pray, Jesus gave them what we now call The Lord’s Prayer, which begins with these two lines of praise. Although not lengthy, these two sentences acknowledge God’s intrinsic value and worth as well as His ultimate authority. It sets the tone of everything that follows, giving voice to the truth that being able to call God our Father and us His children is already gift enough.

I want to grow in my relationship with God, such that I consistently celebrate what He’s already done. Although I will continue to bring my requests and needs before Him, as He’s invited us to do, I want to be more intentional about recognizing and savoring the wealth of what He’s already done. Because more than another divine performance, I need His nearness.

How about you? If you want to deepen your prayers with times of praise and gratitude, here are a few strategies that have been meaningful for me.

  1. Find a quiet place without distractions. I like to sit on my back deck early in the morning before my family wakes.
  2. Open your Bible to a favorite Psalm of praise. I like Psalms 18, 29, 30, 84, 91, and 95-100.
  3. Read it slowly and out loud, personalizing the Psalmist’s words into your own praise for God.
  4. Highlight phrases that stand out to you, perhaps marking the date in the margin.
  5. Using a journal, create an ongoing list of God’s unique qualities that mean the most to you. Add to this list each day you pray another Psalm.

Enter his gates with thanksgiving
and his courts with praise;
give thanks to him and praise his name.
Psalm 100:4 (NIV)

 

[bctt tweet=”I want to be more intentional about recognizing and savoring the wealth of what He’s already done because more than another divine performance, I need His nearness. -@MicheleCushatt:” username=”incourage”]

How to Pray When Healing Doesn’t Come

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On the day my husband received a stage four cancer diagnosis, a group of our closest friends and family gathered at our house to pray. They all crowded in our bedroom and circled around my husband, our three daughters, and me. On one of the scariest days of my life, I was strengthened by the fervent prayers of those in our community.

We cried out to God together for his healing. I knelt on the carpeted floor and with hot tears spilled my worst fears to God in the presence of my friends and family. That time of corporate prayer was powerful and important for all our hearts.

But after my husband’s death in 2014, I wrestled with God. Hundreds of people across the globe had prayed for months for my husband’s healing, and it hadn’t come.

Why continue to pray when our prayers weren’t answered?

As a new widow, I struggled to know how to pray and how to proceed. My faith was strong, but my heart felt fragile. My prayers escaped as desperate whispers on the darkest nights of grief.

But God was patient with me. If He could handle the bold prayers of Paul, the emotional prayers of David, and the heart cries of Job, then He could handle my doubting, imperfect, raw prayers.

Over time, I was reminded that just because we pray doesn’t mean we get our way. We don’t put in a certain amount of time on the prayer time clock to gain a certain outcome. In fact, the purpose of prayer is not to persuade God to do things our way; it’s to draw close to the Heavenly Father and sit in His presence.

Jesus models this for us when He prayed at the Mount of Olives before His betrayal:

And he withdrew from them about a stone’s throw, and knelt down and prayed,
saying, “Father, if you are willing, remove this cup from me.
Nevertheless, not my will, but yours, be done.”
Luke 22:41-42 (ESV)

In this honest prayer, Jesus shows us how to express our hearts to God and how to pray with trust for His will to be done. In the verses that follow, an angel appears to Jesus. He is strengthened by the angel even in His deep anguish.

My heart shifted over time as I realized the purpose of prayer is to connect more intimately with the Father and trust His sovereignty. In my grief, He was close to me. He wept with me. He offered comfort when the ache was heavy and the future seemed hopeless. Now I embrace the sweetness of knowing I can surrender the outcome of every single prayer to a capable and all-knowing God.

I still believe God answers prayers. I believe miracle healings are possible, but I pray differently now. I pray boldly that “if God wills” He would heal my friend, my child, and my neighbor. I preach hope to the wife whose husband battles cancer, to the friend who wonders if his marriage will ever be repaired, to the mother who struggles with her rebellious child. I’ve been in the trenches praying with my people, and I’ve seen God answer prayers quickly, slowly, and in the most unexpected ways.

I also pray that God will give courage, grace, and strength to those who are suffering and enduring pain. My prayers are no longer based on fear and disappointment because He has proved Himself faithful time and again.

Years now after my husband’s death, I am grateful. I am not grateful for his death or our suffering, but I am grateful for the ways God has transformed our grief for His glory. I am grateful God did not reveal the outcomes to me all at once but instead guided me step by step, day by day, prayer by prayer, back into His arms.

This post was originally written by Dorina Lazo Gilmore in August 2018.

How can we pray for you?

Here at (in)courage one of our greatest privileges is turning to God together in prayer. Please leave a prayer request in the comments and then pray for the person who commented before you.

 

[bctt tweet=”I can surrender the outcome of every single prayer to a capable and all-knowing God. -@DorinaGilmore:” username=”incourage”]

Choosing to Make It Through Another Day

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There are days when I don’t want to get out of bed or play with my kids or put on real clothes. My mind feels empty and real conversation feels far too hard. I wake from a daze and find myself giving the kids a bath or reading books or playing marbles and I wonder, “How did I get here?”

There are days when I can’t sleep at night, where thoughts torment me, and I find myself huddled on the bathroom floor, weeping and wishing life didn’t have to be this way.

Nights are filled with Zoom calls, and deadlines feel all the more impossible to meet.

This is quarantine life.

I’m a working mom with no hours during the day to get work done, a woman of color with no physical community to grieve and mourn with, an introvert and an internal processor, who probably bottles up far more emotion than I should. But one day passes and another day comes, and everything starts all over again.

And then the guilt creeps in. I love my kids more than anything in this world. So why am I so impatient with them all the time? Why can’t I just put the deadlines on hold and enjoy the moment? Yes, we’re still in quarantine, but it can’t be that hard to have fun around the house? Shouldn’t I just be grateful to have a house in the first place?

I stare at my body and struggle to see the beauty. Four months with shelter-in-place stripped away all of my new year’s resolutions to better care for my health. But I also fear going outside. Our city has one of the worst positivity rates for COVID-19 in the country, and my son has respiratory issues. The risk is just far too great. But what mom really works out at home? I get one minute into an exercise, and my baby girl demands I hold her. Or it’s nap time. Or it’s lunch time. Or all that movement has upset my bladder and now I need to use the restroom because birthing two kids will do that to you.

My prayers have become smaller lately too. I’ve spent months praying for justice, for the healing of our nation, for systemic change, and for hearts and minds to be changed. Nowadays, I pray for sleep, for one foot to step in front of the other, to make it through each day. Days are not measured in terms of success but by moments of mercy and relief — by those small, precious moments where I can smile and laugh and forget the troubles of the morning.

Tears are ever ready to flow these days. The tiniest altercation on a good day can suddenly make me feel enraged. I’m exhausted by my own emotions and the weariness of my own heart.

But I’m still here. I’m still breathing and fighting and choosing to make it through another day.

The Lord is my Shepherd, even though I am still feel left wanting. The Lord is my Peace, and it is only because of Him that “in peace, I will lie down and sleep, for you alone, Lord, make me dwell in safety” (Psalm 4:8). I might not feel like I’m doing anything great these days, but I can keep choosing to cast my cares before God and commit to sleeping and waking on repeat.

Sometimes, that is enough.

 

[bctt tweet=”I can keep choosing to cast my cares before God and commit to sleeping and waking on repeat. Sometimes, that is enough. -@drmichellereyes:” username=”incourage”]

An Act of Courageous Kindness

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“Lord, God of my master Abraham,” he prayed, “make this happen for me today, and show kindness to my master Abraham. I am standing here at the spring where the daughters of the men of the town are coming out to draw water. Let the girl to whom I say, ‘Please lower your water jug so that I may drink,’ and who responds, ‘Drink, and I’ll water your camels also’ — let her be the one you have appointed for your servant Isaac. By this I will know that you have shown kindness to my master.”

Before he had finished speaking, there was Rebekah — daughter of Bethuel son of Milcah, the wife of Abraham’s brother Nahor — coming with a jug on her shoulder. Now the girl was very beautiful, a virgin — no man had been intimate with her. She went down to the spring, filled her jug, and came up. Then the servant ran to meet her and said, “Please let me have a little water from your jug.”

She replied, “Drink, my lord.” She quickly lowered her jug to her hand and gave him a drink. When she had finished giving him a drink, she said, “I’ll also draw water for your camels until they have had enough to drink.” She quickly emptied her jug into the trough and hurried to the well again to draw water. She drew water for all his camels while the man silently watched her to see whether or not the Lord had made his journey a success.

As the camels finished drinking, the man took a gold ring weighing half a shekel, and for her wrists two bracelets weighing ten shekels of gold. “Whose daughter are you?” he asked. “Please tell me, is there room in your father’s house for us to spend the night?”

She answered him, “I am the daughter of Bethuel son of Milcah, whom she bore to Nahor.” She also said to him, “We have plenty of straw and feed and a place to spend the night.” Then the man knelt low, worshiped the Lord, and said, “Blessed be the Lord, the God of my master Abraham, who has not withheld his kindness and faithfulness from my master. As for me, the Lord has led me on the journey to the house of my master’s relatives.”
Genesis 24:12-17 (CSB)

Before she became the mother of Israel, Rebekah was a simple woman living in Nahor. Abraham sent his servant to find a wife among his family’s people. His servant specifically asked God for a sign of hospitality from a woman in order to know which woman to choose as Isaac’s wife. Without knowing any of that, Rebekah was kind and generous, proving to Abraham’s servant that she would make a fine wife for Isaac. She showed incredible hospitality to Abraham’s servant, giving him a drink from the well, watering his camels, and inviting him to stay with her family.

Abraham’s servant was concerned about finding the right wife for his master’s son, and he was unsure how he would even find one option. He’d been given some strict parameters for this wife-finding expedition, and he was nervous. What if I can’t locate Abraham’s family? What if I can’t find a woman willing to travel so far? What if her family doesn’t trust me? What if I can’t find someone good enough? Rebekah’s kindness was a specific answer to prayer — not just that Isaac would have a good wife, but also that the servant would be able to complete Abraham’s mission successfully.

Abraham’s servant did not have reason to worry as he did. God was guiding him the entire time, leading him straight to the woman He had chosen for Isaac. And Rebekah was lovely inside and out, just as kind as she was beautiful. When the servant picked her out of the crowd to ask for water, she didn’t hesitate. She offered him water and then, going above and beyond, offered to get water for his camels as well. When he boldly asked if her father had room for guests, she eagerly offered their home. And when he finally revealed the reason for his visit, explaining that she would have to leave her home and travel a great distance to meet and marry Isaac, she agreed. And as we learn in Genesis 24:67, Isaac indeed loved her deeply. More than that, we know that their children’s lineage eventually led to the coming of Christ!

Do you ever get “weird” ideas that pop up out of nowhere? Or feel a “random” nudge — to offer help, to share an encouraging word or meal, to invite someone you just met into your event, your home, your life? What if those nudges aren’t actually out of nowhere? What if they’re prompts from God, preparing you to meet someone’s needs, to be the answer to his or her prayers?

What if, by obeying God and offering courageous kindness, you are in turn as blessed as the one you bless?

While it’s not always easy, hospitality is an incredible gift that God’s people can gladly and easily give one another, whether it is as simple as a drink of water or a place to stay the night. Rebekah’s hospitality was exactly the kindness Abraham’s servant needed, and like so many other stories in the Bible, it was yet another way God was preserving the line of Christ unbeknownst to the people involved.

Sometimes what seem like the smallest acts of hospitality are incredible gifts to those who receive them, and even impact the course of salvation history.

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

 

[bctt tweet=”What if, by obeying God and offering courageous kindness, you are in turn as blessed as the one you bless? #courageouskindness -@marycarver:” username=”incourage”]

Learning to Look Forward and Press On

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For weeks my oldest daughter asked me to find out where she could watch Full House. She’d seen the reboot series (Fuller House) at my parents’ house and was itching to watch the original show. I remembered it fondly from my childhood and figured it would be a fun watch this summer, so one day I found the show on one of our streaming apps and hit play.

When the theme song began playing, my head began nodding without my permission. But the thing about knowing every single word of a song I heard nearly every Friday night as a child and hearing it now, as an adult, is that my brain began processing it through a completely different lens — causing no small amount of dissonance.

Whatever happened to predictability — the milkman, the paperboy, the evening TV?
How did I get to living here? Somebody tell me, please!

At first, I chuckled. Who, living in the year 2020, can’t identify with those thoughts? How did we get here? What is happening? Where did our normal lives go? What happened to our plans, our lives, our world? And then, how do we and when will we get back to normal? What did happen to predictability?

The old TV show playing in my living room made me think of a time gone by, but as I thought about that, I began to wonder: What exactly do we mean when we long for the “good ol’ days”?

Whether we’re looking back at the TV shows of our childhood or our pre-pandemic lives before we’d heard of COVID-19, we can get caught up in exhausting our time by focusing on the past. It’s something we’ll never get back, no matter how much we try — something that might just not be as wonderful as our rose-colored lenses want to remember.

Just because something was considered “normal” before — before today, before the pandemic or the protests, before we moved or got a new job or started a business or lost a business or got married or got divorced or had a baby or finished our degree — doesn’t mean it was better or even good. Sure, some things were good, (I still like Full House!), but just because something was from “back then” doesn’t necessarily make it better.

As I thought about all this, I wondered if I was onto something true or if I was simply trying to make myself feel better about my current reality by taking the fond-memory filter off the past. Instead of posing this question to friends or followers, this time I asked God: What’s up with our white-knuckled grip on the good old days and our desperate grasp for a return to so-called normal? Is this where my heart should be? Am I seeing with clear eyes? What should I be striving toward in this season?

Now, I’m not telling you I heard the audible voice of God respond as if He were playing on Hulu alongside Uncle Jesse. But an Old Testament story I haven’t read in years did spring to mind as soon as I dared to ask those questions. The story of Lot’s wife came to mind. You know, the one God turned into salt because she looked back while escaping her horrible hometown?

Yikes! That is one story I have never understood! Why would that come to mind?

Remember Lot’s wife! Whoever tries to make his life secure will lose it, and whoever loses his life will preserve it.
Luke 17:32-33 (CSB)

Oh, right. Maybe because it was so important Jesus Himself referred to it when talking with the disciples, urging them to put their hope and trust in a truly firm foundation (Him!) instead of memories and what they thought they knew before.

Lot’s wife turned into salt not for looking back to the city she’d lived in, but because her actions revealed her heart’s alignment with the sin of the city. Rather than learning from God’s judgment on the city, she longed for what was familiar, even if it went against God’s law and plans. She was so entrenched in the sin of her environment that she refused to move forward into growth and healing.

Flipping through my Bible again, I came back to a passage I knew well. In the book of Philippians, Paul writes about his relationship with Christ, sharing his own experience in order to encourage the believers in Philippi. In chapter 3, he writes:

I don’t mean to say that I have already achieved these things or that I have already reached perfection. But I press on to possess that perfection for which Christ Jesus first possessed me. No, dear brothers and sisters, I have not achieved it, but I focus on this one thing: Forgetting the past and looking forward to what lies ahead, I press on to reach the end of the race and receive the heavenly prize for which God, through Christ Jesus, is calling us”
Philippians 3:12-14 (NLT)

We’re living in dark days right now, and life is hard enough without me taking away your security blanket of nostalgia. I’m not telling you to stop finding solace in comforts, like TV shows from your childhood. But if we’re seeking real solace, if we’re looking for a true way out of our current struggles, if we’re desperate to satisfy our hunger for direction, for certainty, for hope, for everything good our hearts desire, God is clear in His Word: Now is the time to let the past go and look forward to whatever He has for us. 

Now is the time to lean into the Lord who is solid as a Rock no matter what the season, rather than grasping at the mists of a dreamy yesteryear. Now is the time to ask God what He’s doing through all this — whatever “this” might be — and how He wants us to move forward with Him.

Now is the time to look forward and press on.

 

[bctt tweet=”Now is the time to ask God what He’s doing through all this — whatever ‘this’ might be — and how He wants us to move forward with Him. -@marycarver:” username=”incourage”]

Seeing God Beyond My Limited View

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I grew up in a community where the question, “Where do you go to church?”, was like asking someone their last name or asking them in what part of town they lived or worked. In my community — a charismatic, Black, Baptist faith community situated in “Bible Belt” North Carolina — churches punctuated every corner like stop signs. Church steeples, like trees, blended into the landscape, so numerous and seemingly natural that for the most part, I was oblivious to their erected significance. 

The church building was central to our community. The church of my family’s origin is still considered our home church, serving as an anchor for the soul of the community. Our church was not simply a gathering space; it served as the center and compass for a community of folks fostering a common faith perspective. It was also a source of shelter, encouragement, and moral direction. Church was where I was equipped with the agency to restore and build the body — my individual body and the corporate body. My community of like-faith folks served as repair for the soul, rest for the weary, renewal for the mind, and comfort for the heart. 

And also within this very nurturing environment, as a child, I internalized some limiting messaging about the church and her people. I inadvertently perceived church attendance to be the definitive determiner of a person’s value. For example, when I saw a person sitting in a pew each Sunday morning at 11 a.m., I considered her to be worthy of God’s love and attention. But if I didn’t see a person for several Sundays in a row, I assumed her life was in disarray and therefore out of God’s reach. (Yes, I spent a lot of time in church pews!) As children tend to do, I categorized and compartmentalized people to make sense of the world I was growing to understand.  

Fortunately, when we are willing to grow and move — metaphorically or geographically — beyond our social nurseries, God is also there, on the other side of our limited personal and cultural experiences to encourage us to keep growing. With college, marriage, and motherhood came more growth as I moved and lived among communities and spaces where “What church do you attend?” was not considered a colloquial ice-breaker. As a matter of fact, I kept finding myself in spaces and communities where mentioning “church” stirred discomfort. Church was not synonymous with repair, rest, and renewal. Instead, church and church people were associated with shame-imposing, marginalization, and othering — yuck!

But guess who was there in my church-less, pew-less community? God! 

And guess who else was there in my non-Christianese speaking community? People bearing God’s image! Conduits of God’s essence, worthy of God’s favor, love, and attention.

I learned to live God’s love language without relying on the familiarity of my childhood church culture. Living in community with people whose relationship with church was so different from mine, not only broadened my perspective of humanity but also enlarged my capacity to experience God beyond my childhood perception of Him. Essentially, I learned to free God from the theological confines I’d inherited, and once I released God from my little church box, I became more impassioned to love people radically as Jesus loves them.

One day, as our family was settling into a new unchurched community, a mom enthusiastically struck up a “Let’s get to know each other” conversation with me. All was well until she asked me a question that required me to mention “prayer.” I felt her tense up. She walled me off, and then slowly drifted away, increasing the physical distance between us. The overt rejection hurt. But I empathized with her apprehension and precaution. There was a time in my past that I would have deemed her a heathen, unworthy, and invaluable. But God generously graced us with more time and opportunities to get to know each other. And over time, as we worked together to benefit our community, the distance between us grew smaller allowing our love for one another to grow greater.

I think it is somewhat ironic that many of the people who are currently helping to manifest God’s promises in my life do not share my Jesus-centered beliefs. And as we work in community to fiercely love and advocate for the restoration of human rights, there is no expectation for me to suppress or hide my faith. 

When I was a child, I spoke and thought and reasoned as a child. But when I grew up, I put away childish things.
1 Corinthians 13:11 (NLT)

It turns out that my childhood reasoning about how and who God loves and values was, well, childish. I am grateful to have been encompassed by God’s love — both in and beyond the culture of church. I am grateful for the opportunity to exchange my childish view for God’s true love for people and to know that God’s love will always supersede my limited perspective. 

The earth is the Lord’s, and everything in it. The world and all its people belong to him.
Psalm 24:1 (NLT)

 

[bctt tweet=”When we are willing to grow and move – metaphorically and geographically – God is also there, on the other side of our limited personal and cultural experiences. -Lucretia Berry (@brownicity):” username=”incourage”]

Valuing the Beauty of God’s Masterful and Diverse Workmanship

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Years ago, my son raced out of his kindergarten classroom and into my arms and shared a story that I’d long expected but wished we could have avoided. An older student had hurled racial slurs at him during recess.

A white woman interrupted our conversation. “Oh, honey,” she said. “We’re all equal. God doesn’t see color.” Before I could respond, she smiled and walked away.

My son frowned, “God doesn’t see me because I’m brown, Mama?”

“God sees you and loves you,” I said, trying to conceal my anger. Why didn’t I tell the woman that her words hurt me and could have hurt my son if not addressed? Cupping his face in my light-but-not-white hands, I met his gaze. “God chose the color of our skin just like He chose every detail that makes everything and everyone He created special and unique.” I hugged him a little tighter than usual.

He smiled, “That kid needs us to pray for him, huh?”

“Yes, but we also need to ask the principal to make sure this behavior is not accepted.”

That night, my husband and I had our first of many talks about the racism and discrimination our son would face as a Black man in America.

When my son became a teenager, he learned firsthand that his skin color could make him a target for hate, injustice, and abuse in the eyes of some no matter how much of an upstanding citizen he continues to be. On his way home from work one day, a white officer pulled him over without cause. The officer scowled as he cuffed my son, “How can you afford this nice car?” Accusing him of being a drug dealer, the officer slammed him onto the hood of his vehicle. He released my son after checking his license — no excuses, no apologies.

Watching my son sleep that night, I thanked God that we’d spoken honestly with our children about the times when my husband, who holds a PhD and has never broken the law, had experienced discrimination and injustice. We’d prepared both of our sons to respond with exaggerated calmness and respect, in hopes to prevent them from becoming hashtag-statistics when they were the ones racially profiled by authority figures or fellow citizens. We taught them how to reply when boxed-in by stereotypes and cut with racist insults from fellow students, teachers, neighbors, coworkers, strangers, and even church members.

Though God has placed loving people and honorable police officers of all races in our lives, I lament because racism is still the inescapable reality in our world.

Some people claim colorblindness is kind and insist racism doesn’t exist, but my sons and other people of color do not have that luxury. While prayerfully studying Scripture, I’ve learned that racism and injustice were just as destructive in biblical times. But I can’t find anything that leads me to believe our loving Creator doesn’t see color, and I rejoice in the wonderful diversity He intentionally designed and purposed for the good of all.

Sin, especially racism, distorts the beauty of God’s masterful and diverse workmanship, tainting our perception of differences and breeding hate, fear, pride, and a false sense of superiority or inferiority. Sin also blurs our vision so we can’t see our own wickedness, making us quick to anger and judge before we truly listen to others. The psalmist David demonstrates how much we need God to reveal our need for heart-and-mind changes.

Search me, O God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts. See if there is any offensive way in me, and lead me into the way everlasting.
Psalm 139:23-24 (NIV)

My son, now a young adult, still can’t avoid seeing the color of his skin when he looks in the mirror or comes face-to-face with blatant or subtle racism. He experiences the results of systemic, institutional, and generational racism in a system that has been set up against him.

Still, I am hopeful change will come. If not now, surely when Jesus returns.

I’m encouraged when people who are different from one another step out of their comfort zones and stand together in the name of righteousness and justice, which biblically go hand-in-hand.

Hard conversations seasoned with grace lead to people hearing one another without deflecting or becoming defensive. Loving our neighbors with our words, actions, and attitudes helps develop a deeper appreciation of our independent and collective value as God’s beautifully diverse image-bearers.

When we see each other and place God above politics and our believed rightness, we can seek to understand and celebrate our diversity while acknowledging our different experiences. We can hear one another and even disagree with one another with respect and compassion, not the kind of tolerance that assumes “differences” must be swallowed like sour milk.

The road toward healing and racial reconciliation often feels too long and too hard. I’ve forgiven those whose self-proclaimed colorblindness denies the pain that permeates my world. I’ve repented for allowing hurts to grow into resentment. And now, I’m willing to be uncomfortable, to saturate conversations with love so we can all be better equipped to serve the Lord as beautifully diverse brothers and sisters in Christ.

Together, we can rejoice in the color of love, displayed from the lightest to the darkest shades of beautiful that God intentionally created us with — for His glory and for our good.

 

[bctt tweet=”Loving our neighbors with our words, actions, and attitudes helps develop a deeper appreciation of our independent and collective value as God’s beautifully diverse image-bearers. -Xochitl Dixon:” username=”incourage”]

When Awkward Leads to Awesome: The Gift of Difficult Conversations

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I run around our dining-living-kitchen room like I do before company comes over, making sure there isn’t too much dog hair on the sofa or too little water in the garage sale pitcher with sunflowers. I peek into the oven and see the peach crisp is finished baking. I turn off the oven, but I leave the dessert inside.

I don’t want to serve lukewarm peach crisp after dinner. And like any self-respecting Enneagram two, I don’t want to serve lukewarm hospitality either.

As I assemble the simple, six-ingredient salad (arugula, parmesan, salt and pepper with a splash of olive oil and lemon juice), our friends, Salena and Sheldon, walk up the front steps. David opens the door for them, and Salena hands me white and yellow daisies, sunshine wrapped in petals and stems.

Salena herself is sunshine wrapped in dark-hued skin.

David serves up drinks before we pray, and then we serve ourselves arugula salad, sourdough bread, and Bolognese sauce and pasta (or as I like to call it, fancy spaghetti).

It isn’t fancy, but it is tasty.

We sit ‘round our table with the three Strong kids, and as is the case with us, we’re barely into dinner before the conversation turns to Serious Current Events. That kicks off three hours of conversation that deep dives into the middle of so many relevant questions:

What’s the best way to move forward through COVID?

How do we reconcile the issues we care about with the conduct of those holding power?

Why is empathy so hard to come by these days?

While we’ve known each other for over five years now, this conversation is similar to the first one Salena and I had back in 2015.

At that time, while speaking at a function for US Army and Air Force spouses in Colorado Springs, I noticed (and appreciated!) Salena’s kind, positive engagement with my talk on change. After I finished yammering and people were milling about, I introduced myself to her and was immediately put at ease with her effervescent personality. We did the small-talk thing for a little while, and then I basically cannon-balled into the conversational pool by asking her a question that set the tone for our relationship today. At that time, our country’s national headlines focused on altercations between police officers and young black men, much like today. Of course, I had my own thoughts on the subject, but I knew my own perspective couldn’t be the beginning and end of the conversation. Since Salena is a Black woman, I really wanted to know her perspective.

Twisting my hands, I asked, “Salena, I have a personal question for you, and if you’re not comfortable answering, then I totally understand.”

She told me to go right ahead.

“Could you help me understand what’s going on concerning the headlines and the racial division in our country?” Salena answered frankly within the context of her story, both her history and her present life. For two hours, we talked about that, our shared history as military spouses, and about raising sons.

While I have other Black friends I’ve known longer, Salena was the first person I felt compelled to “go there” with — to cross the awkward bridge toward a potentially thorny conversation. We didn’t solve any big issues that night, but after listening to her, I moved closer to understanding the bigger picture of why things are the way they are.

The driving force behind all our subsequent conversations has been the same: to peel back yet another layer of our stories as we listen to one another. We talk about uncomfortable subjects, but it’s not uncomfortable to do so because we each come to the conversation with the goal of understanding the other’s perspective — not airing our own Big Important Opinions.

These days, I’m working on humbly listening more and talking less — period. Salena and Sheldon continue to be gracious friends whom God uses to expose blind spots in the hearts of my family and me.

Back at our house around the decades-old, walnut-wood table, I pass out bowls of maple peach crisp with whipped cream to each person. As Salena takes hers, she drops a good word about conversations in general: “It seems that sometimes, the church is building platforms when they should be building tables.”

We all nod, and I tell her I would be writing that one down. YES to tables over platforms.

YES to talking with rather than talking at.

Scripture says, “Love one another with brotherly affection. Outdo one another in showing honor” (Romans 12:10 ESV). Concentrating on intentionally sitting with and hearing another is a mighty fine place to start.

Forkful of peach crisp midair, I ask Salena another question: “In our first conversation five years ago, was it off-putting to have a white woman come over and ask you the question I did?”

Salena replied that she didn’t feel that way about it because she appreciated the opportunity to engage. She liked being asked the question because she liked that someone cared about what she thought. Most of all, she liked that I listened and believed that her experiences actually happened.

Here’s to humbling ourselves and realizing our own perspective is not the beginning and end of the matter — and others’ perspectives matter.

Here’s to saying yes to crossing the awkward bridge toward an awesome connection.

Here’s to learning and growing through difficult conversations.

 

[bctt tweet=”Here’s to humbling ourselves and realizing our own perspective is not the beginning and end of the matter — and others’ perspectives matter. -@Kristen_Strong:” username=”incourage”]

Love Over All: Love Hopes

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It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.
1 Corinthians 13:7 (CSB)

Every month of 2020, we’re featuring the Love Over All theme verse on the first Sunday of the month. 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!

August’s Theme is Love Hopes.

This time of year usually feels like ushering in a new beginning, often feeling like a second New Year. Most of us continue to live in the rhythm of a school-year schedule long after we graduate. As the pool-and-BBQs season slowly gives way to back-to-school season, there’s nothing like the smell of freshly sharpened pencils, the newness of a blank notebook, and a fresh new planner.

But this year is different. Many of our kids aren’t returning to school as we knew it, either continuing distance learning at home or attending in person with new restrictions and protocols. Our fears are present and changing daily. There’s not much routine to welcome back, but more changes and stark differences than the normal we’re used to. Honestly, it can feel borderline hopeless.

Is there any hope in the air these days, as we continue to walk through the unchartered unknown?

The good news is that yes, indeed, there is. Hope is always in the air, because the newness that Jesus brings us in salvation and in even small daily moments is true hope. It’s the kind of hope that rises above circumstances. It’s the kind of hope that has confidence in the Giver of hope. Jesus. His love bears all, believes all, hopes all, endures all. And through that strengthening kind of love, we can too.

Even in the midst of unrest and unknown . . . Love Hopes.

 

[bctt tweet=”Even in the midst of unrest and unknown. . . Love Hopes. #loveoverall ” username=”incourage”]

Fully Loved and Always Invited by God

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Here we are two months into the second half of 2020. In January, none of us could have possibly expected all that we would go through or all that we would feel over these past several months. I don’t know about you, but I’m exhausted from all of the conversations and the endless arguing online.

Honestly, my soul has been crying out for a bit of quiet and fellowship with intimate community. In some ways I have experienced that fellowship, but in other ways it keeps alluding me. For me, friendship is one of my greatest joys and one of my greatest frustrations, and I keep waiting for the day when they will magically get easier.

These past few weeks have very much felt like the same mountain I’ve seen from every angle. You know the story. You make friends, and you have these expectations. But then you find out or see the group photo of the celebration or girls trip that you weren’t invited to, and there it is again — uninvited. No one wants to feel left out or unwanted, but I’ve spent much of my life just outside of belonging, never feeling good enough.

I’ve been trying my best to navigate these hurt feelings without them turning into anger or offense, but my anxiety has kicked into overdrive. Overwhelm has set in. And shame has sent me spiraling. My instinct is to pull away, build walls, and numb out to avoid pain and confrontation, but as I’ve done my fair share of sitting in the Father’s arms and crying my heart out, I’m praying that my instincts are changing by God’s grace and mercy.

Too often I seek the approval of people. I seek their love and attention. When it doesn’t happen, I’m left feeling empty and alone. But recently, my sweet friend Wendy shared this on a Facebook video: “My security is found in Him alone, in His love, and in nothing else.” Her words have been circling my mind for days, and it has helped me understand these three truths again:

1. God always sees us.

 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)

In Hagar’s lowest moment when she had been overlooked, abused, rejected, and abandoned, God met her. In a very real way He showed up, looked her in the eye, and saw her. That is what I have needed more than anything — to see the One who sees me. Maybe you need to know that too. I love that He is more than willing to look right into our eyes. He never shies away from our mess or hard-to-love places. He sees us.

2. God always loves us.

. . . God is love. Whoever lives in love lives in God, and God in them. We love because he first loved us.
1 John 4:16, 19 (NIV)

Super basic, right? But that’s exactly what I need. God is love and love is what He gives to us. The only reason that we can love Him and others is because He loved us first and planted His love within us. Whenever I don’t feel loved by others for whatever reason, I remember He loves me. He loves us because He couldn’t imagine a world without us in it. He loves us so much so that He created us in His image. He loves us so much that He sent His Son to die a death that we deserved. His love is EVERYTHING for us.

3. God always invites us.

Let us then approach God’s throne of grace with confidence, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help us in our time of need.
Hebrews 4:16 (NIV)

We can always have confidence that the Lord will welcome us into His love and presence. He stands with arms wide open waiting for us to come to Him. We can bring our joys and sorrows, our successes and failures, our anger and contentment. He meets us with no condemnation and every bit of His grace. He even pursues us with the invitation to intimacy with Himself, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.

Jesus is our refuge and safe place, where we are fully known and fully loved. He is our anchor and firm foundation, and our hope is found in Him alone. May we constantly find ourselves running to and gazing on the One who sees us.

In the comments below, share about a time where you felt uninvited
by others but invited by God.

 

[bctt tweet=”God is more than willing to look right into our eyes. He never shies away from our mess or hard-to-love places. He sees us. -@karina268:” username=”incourage”]

I Don’t Know What Tomorrow Will Bring, But . . .

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My hands hover over the keyboard. I don’t want to write this post.

I don’t really want to write any post at all, actually, even though my mind is constantly writing sentences and storylines throughout the day.

Part of me wants to blame it on the pandemic, and while it’s true that I have much less creative energy now than I did back in “precedented times,” I hesitate to put words down today because I know you won’t see them for another few weeks . . . and I don’t know what the world will look like then.

What will fill our newsfeeds? Will we be closer to a vaccine? What worries will weigh on our shoulders? What words of truth will we need to hear?

I don’t know.

I’m pulled back to the present moment as a splash in the background interrupts my thoughts. The sound of children screaming with delight and adults laughing at their joy echos off the buildings surrounding the pool.

Twenty-five summers ago, I wore floaties in that very pool.

Fifteen summers ago, I played games with my cousins, diving to the bottom to retrieve toys and seeing who could hold their breath the longest underwater.

Ten summers ago, I stood on the deck by the pool, took a picture with my family, gave hugs and said goodbyes, and then drove home to pack a hospital bag for brain surgery the next morning.

We come back every year and I say the same words all over again. “Will you take my picture on the deck?” Sometimes I squint from the sun or stand there soaked from a summer storm, but there’s a time lapse of sorts on my camera roll, each photo telling a story summed up in just a few words:

I’m still here.

And so I add another picture, pause to remember, and give thanks.⁣⁣

Ten years later, with criss-crossed legs beneath me and hands slowly writing out these words to the soundtrack of squeals and splashes, it’s remembering that slows my heartbeat. My fingers still with gratitude instead of uncertainty.

Not knowing the future isn’t anything new. I’ve never known exactly what the next day would bring. Control has never been mine to have or to hold.

20/20 vision, it turns out, brings into focus the truth that I don’t know . . . and maybe that’s a gift.

Give your entire attention to what God is doing right now, and don’t get worked up about what may or may not happen tomorrow. God will help you deal with whatever hard things come up when the time comes.
Matthew 6:34 (MSG)

The little girl in the floaties had no idea what was coming fifteen years later, let alone the next day. And if you told the girl holding her breath that five years later she’d have to remember to breathe during her first MRI scan, she wouldn’t fully understand.

The seventeen-year-old standing on the deck didn’t need to know in that moment that over the next decade, mixed in with so many wonderful things, she would have three more surgeries, grieve friendships falling apart, experience spiritual warfare, watch multiple dreams die, and eventually find herself writing these words in the middle of something called a “global pandemic.”

Not knowing the future was a kindness, a gift from the One who knows it all and knew it would be too much.

That day’s trouble was enough. But the most beautiful of truths is this: so was God.

Like manna in the wilderness and new mercies every morning, He was enough for every single day.

Remembering God’s past faithfulness helps us hold tightly to joy in the present and hope for the future.

That doesn’t eliminate our questions, but it guides us to the true Answer.

In Even If Not, I wrote,

God is not staring down at us from heaven and tapping His foot, checking His watch to see just how long it’ll take us to figure this whole ‘life’ thing out. Instead, He is patiently waiting and quietly longing to be the safe place we run to in the dark, the quiet we enter into when the noise of the world is blaring in our ears, the balm to our scars and the healing for our hurts. He never promised to answer all our questions, but He promised to be the Answer to every question we’ll ever face.

Sometimes we get so caught up in figuring out the future that we can’t focus in the present. There’s a time and a place for planning, but if we miss today then what’s the point in worrying about tomorrow? Time spent worrying today is time taken away from praying for the very things that cause us to worry.

God was there at the beginning, is with us in the in between, and will be with us in our tomorrows too. We’re invited to be “careless in the care of God” (Matthew 6), trusting that the One who knows and holds the future also knows and holds us.

I don’t have the answers, and I imagine I’ll still be saying “I don’t know” next time I watch the cursor blink against a blank page.

But I won’t end the sentence there.

I don’t know what tomorrow will bring, but He does.

I don’t know what tomorrow will bring, but He’ll be there.

I don’t know what tomorrow will bring, but He is enough.

And that’s enough.

If you’ve purchased a copy of Even If Not, send me a message . . . I’d love to connect and, if you’d like, mail a print or two your way. (Every chapter begins with an art print, and while they’re all available as free downloads on my website, if you’re anything like me, it sure does help to see Truth framed on a desk or taped to the bathroom mirror.)

[bctt tweet=”Remembering God’s past faithfulness helps us hold tightly to joy in the present and hope for the future. – @kaitlyn_bouch” username=”incourage”]

Holding the Tension of Joy, Grief, and Worry

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My weekend encapsulated one of those magical moments that little girls dream about their whole lives – their wedding day. With months of uncertainty and questions about gatherings due to the COVID-19, the celebration was sweetened by the intense way my niece and her fiancé pushed through struggles and challenges, tears and fears. It was finally their day!

With her faithful father by her side, my niece floated down the venue stairs. Robed in white, her shimmering eyes sparkled with a kind of innocent joy that’s rare these days. She glanced at her daddy and then stepped toward her future groom, clutching his hand with a little excited squeal thrown in for good measure. Long before he knew the name of his daughter’s future spouse, my brother had been praying about the possibility of this day. From start to finish, it was the glorious affirmation of all they’d prayed for — the good and the beautiful that is at the heart of all covenantal wedding days. It was pure joy.

But my weekend also included one of life’s greatest sorrows — the sudden loss of my dear friend’s child. I was at the rehearsal dinner when I received her text. My gasp was audible, so I quickly walked away so as not to dampen the celebratory mood. As I was doubled over with grief, music and dancing, laughter and giggles echoed all around me. But on the other end of the phone, my friend’s heart was splayed open from the devastation over her loss. Her daughter was gone too soon, never to have a rehearsal dinner. We have no guarantees.

Laughter and lamenting. Toasts and tears. All the “firsts” amidst such finality.

How could such emotions co-exist? How was I to function? With fourteen people staying at our home for the wedding, followed by a Sunday worship service (held in our backyard) for young families we mentor, I spent the wee hours of the weekend flushing out Ecclesiastes 3 in my heart. As I begged the Lord for wisdom on how to hold the grief and the joy, I was granted a gift.

There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens . . . a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance.
Ecclesiastes 3:1, 4 (NIV)

As I texted my grieving friend on the morning of the wedding, I shared that while I’d have to compartmentalize my feelings in order to celebrate, my heart wouldn’t be far from hers.

Her response came from someone who has spent decades deeply rooted in a biblical worldview that laid a solid foundation for her theology of suffering. She was understandably angry, completely devastated and living a parent’s worst nightmare, yet she also desired that through her darkest hour her Savior would be glorified.

She texted back, Jen, go rejoice with those who are rejoicing. We will have plenty of time for mourning later.

My memories of that wedding week are so complex, but they’ve taken me to a deeper level with the Lord than I’ve experienced in a long time. We want happy fairy tale days, and though our Lord does graciously give good gifts to His children, we are not guaranteed a life without grief and loss.

We’re all walking through such varied seasons right now, but one thing is certain: God is intricately involved in both our suffering and celebrating. 

I’m reminded that we must ask tough questions in our faith now so that we can have a strong foundation when we face impossible situations, including death and loss. Then, He can comfort us in our most challenging times when we cry out, “Why have you forsaken me?”

I’m sitting in that tension on a more personal level as well. Prior to my niece’s wedding, I had received some scary medical results. I’d wrestled with pain under my left breast throughout the shelter-at-home quarantine, but since all non-essential appointments had been canceled for months, I decided not to worry my family unnecessarily. Once I finally got my appointment, the results of my mammogram showed a small mass where the pain was located.

It could be just a fatty tumor, but honestly, life holds such a perspective shift with what this mass could mean. It’s a gift to process all this even as I write now.

And as I wait for results*, I wonder what’s to come. In complete transparency, I’m worried. Yet, I’m not allowing worry to be used as a weapon to harm me. Satan is trying his best, but instead, I’m taking every single worry for myself, my dear friend and her family, for our future, and wielding it as worship with my eyes fixed on the only Waymaker.

He is here amidst our laughter and lament, amidst our worry and our worship. I know this to be true and choose to continue anchor my heart in His Word. There, I find grace for myself, and there is grace for you too.

*Edited to add: To everyone’s shock and relief, I got my mammogram results, and they were benign. Thanking God for His grace!

 

[bctt tweet=”He is here amidst our laughter and lament, amidst our worry and our worship. -Jen Schmidt (@beautyandbedlam):” username=”incourage”]

Trusting God Even When Our Plans Change

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I had heard about the Saharan dust storm making the long journey from Africa and sweeping across our land here in Nebraska. Although I didn’t understand how dust could travel that far, I thought it was interesting that it would cause our sunsets and sunrises to be more vivid here, and I knew it was something I had to see for myself.

We live in a bit of a valley and are surrounded by huge, thick trees to the west. Unless we venture out, it’s impossible to see sunsets out our door, so I did a quick Google search to see when it would be best to see its effects near us and started to make plans on catching its full beauty.

I looked up ideal sunset times, put it on my calendar, and got my camera ready. My husband would drive me up the hills to get a great view, and when nine o’clock rolled around, we headed out. I had seen some social media postings from other nights by people in surrounding areas that were amazing, so I couldn’t wait to witness it myself!

We waited for the dust to do its thing, but all we could see was the haze it was causing and only pale blue skies. It wasn’t colorful at all — not a drop of the pinks, purples, and oranges I had been expecting. I thought maybe something could possibly change last minute, so we stayed on the hill with camera in hand. But we watched the sun fade and were left with no spectacular show, no vivid colors, no photos to catch the rare moment. Nothing.

Our plans failed and turned into disappointment — much like life for most people this year.

Things are not unfolding as we had planned. The high hopes we may have had going into 2020 have certainly not played out as we had expected. Things that were years in the making have been postponed or canceled altogether. Months of our “normal” lives, of regular routines have all been interrupted by a global pandemic. Who could have predicted or planned that a pandemic would sweep the world and instantly change so much in our daily lives?

The interruptions are frustrating and seem unfair. Life isn’t looking like we had planned in the little and big things. We’re uncertain of the future and don’t have answers. The plans we had changed, and it is uncomfortable, disappointing, and hard. But that isn’t the end of the story. There is still good news!

We can take comfort in knowing that God knows the future. He has the answers. He is not surprised by any of this. Our plans may have changed in unexpected ways, but God does not change.

That comfort we strive for, that peace we long for? There is a way — trust. We can choose to trust even when life isn’t going as we had planned. We can trust there is a bigger, greater plan than anything we could orchestrate or predict. Believing His plan for us is good.

We have to exchange our plans for His plans and remember that in all things there is a purpose.

When my best thought out plans aren’t going as planned, I think of Proverbs 16:9: “In their hearts humans plan their course, but the Lord establishes their steps.” I can plan all I want, but He may have other plans for me. He determines the steps, so I need to live with an open heart and mind. I need to learn to be flexible and deal with disappointments even when I can’t see His purpose or His glory.

God has a plan for how this year is turning out to be, and we can trust Him with it.

With so many plans changed, have you seen some good in it yet?
Share in the comments below so we can all be encouraged!

 

[bctt tweet=”We can take comfort in knowing that God knows the future. He has the answers. He is not surprised by any of this. -Jennifer Ueckert:” username=”incourage”]

For When You’re Wilting

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The righteous thrive like a palm tree and grow like a cedar tree in Lebanon.
Planted in the house of the Lord, they thrive in the courts of our God.
Psalm 92:12-13 (CSB)

These past few weeks I haven’t been praying. I’ve wanted to, but still, I haven’t. “I’m so busy right now,” I told myself. “I’ll talk to Jesus soon. God will understand.” I wasn’t reading my Bible either. I saw it, sitting there on my nightstand, but it had been covered up by other things — glasses of water, notebooks, textbooks, and my laptop.

I had a list of reasons the length of my arm for why I wasn’t praying or spending time with Jesus: I had surgery, my second art show was quickly approaching, and the amount of work college assigns one person is shocking. All those reasons are legitimate, but without any time spent with Jesus, all those reasons were emptying me.

One day while sitting on my bed, I started crying. “I can’t do this anymore, Jesus,” I told Him. “I’m too tired. I’m too overwhelmed. I said yes to too many things. I’m going to have to pull all-nighters for the next month to finish everything I need to do. I’m drowning. No, not even drowning. I’m withering, like I’m shriveling right up.”

If I was a flower, I was a wilted one. Because I’m a verbal processor, I was trying to fill up on people. I would talk to people about how I was feeling: overwhelmed, worried, and anxious about all the things I felt I needed to do. Unfortunately, no human conversation was satisfying me.

Jesus — the real source, the One who takes me and my shriveled-up self and breathes life into me, allowing me to slowly, slowly begin to work my way from a wilted flower to one that can flourish — is necessary for me to survive.

Without Him, I am empty.

Only when I lay myself down, when I give Him my worries and fears and anxieties, including the things that I think must appear so petty to Him, can I finally be full. I want my roots to sink deep into who Jesus Christ is so that I can stand strong and firm, not on my own accord but on His.

I started to pray again. I began writing my prayers down and asking certain people in my life how I could pray for them. I began reading Hebrews, and I focused on how God keeps giving us grace. And slowly (because these things are always a slow, thoughtful process), I have begun filling up again.

I’m no longer wilting. My circumstances have remained the same, but my roots have vastly changed. May I never again be rooted in my own self, but instead ground myself in Jesus: the rock, the One who will forever sustain me.

This excerpt is by Aliza Latta, as published in the (in)courage Devotional Bible and the Summer (in) the Psalms Devotional Journal.

We’re journeying through the book of Psalms this summer, and we hope you are too! In addition to reading a Psalm a day this summer, Becky Keife, our community manager, is hosting a video conversation with other (in)courage writers about what they’re learning from Psalms every Thursday. These conversations are so good for our souls and just plain fun! Listen in below as Becky, Aliza, and Anna discuss what they’re learning from Psalm 92 — and Aliza’s accompanying devotion.

Isn’t it good to study and learn and laugh together? A few of our favorite things right there! Are you journeying through the Psalms with us? It’s definitely not too late! There’s plenty of summer left, and so many wonderful truths waiting in the Psalms. We hope you’ll join us.

Click here to purchase the printed Summer (in) the Psalms 40-Day Devotional Journal for just $7.99! This beautiful printed journal, only available on Amazon, includes forty days of reading selections from Psalms, twenty full devotions from the (in)courage Devotional Bible, and daily reflection questions with lined pages for journaling your answers. This journal is an all-inclusive, one stop shop for your Summer (in) the Psalms journey!

We loving our Summer (in) the Psalms with you.

Get your Summer (in) the Psalms Devotional Journal today!

 

[bctt tweet=”Jesus — the real source, the One who takes me and my shriveled-up self and breathes life into me — is necessary for me to survive. – @AlizaLatta:” username=”incourage”]

When Nothing Changes but God Still Provides

by

In the week after my husband lost his job, I remember the feeling of desperation that crept in at night. I would lie awake in bed, wondering how we were going to make it, financially and practically.

My husband was sending out his resume and applying for positions; he was making calls and networking. But as the weeks piled up, he still had no job offers. I felt overwhelmed every time I thought about our future and how we wanted — and needed — to provide for our children. Emotions in our home ran high.

Nothing changed.

After three months of the same, I felt helpless. I tried to insist that Michael apply more places and send out more copies of his resume. But as the options for job opportunities narrowed down to almost nothing, my husband became clear in his conviction that it was time for us to wait on the Lord rather than pushing ahead with anything we could manufacture on our own.

So we waited. And we prayed. And we prayed more and more. I felt anxious and scared, but we continued to ask God to open a door for us when it seemed like everything was firmly shut. Because while we were truly helpless to make our own way, we clung to the truth that God could do a “new thing” — that He could make “a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland” for our family (Isaiah 43:19 NIV).

I read the Bible with a heart hungry to see God provide for His people. I was stunned afresh by the parting of the Red Sea, and how the Lord tangibly provided a new path for His people to freedom — a path where there had never been one before (see Exodus 14). I was comforted by the beautiful provision of Jesus’ multiplication of the few loaves and fish — and how, in His hands, the little that was brought to Him became enough. Time and again, I marveled at how Jesus offered healing and wholeness and hope for those who came to Him, and how those who looked to Him for provision and grace were given just what they needed.

My faith in God began to grow stronger than my fear, and I started to truly believe that the same God who made a way for the Israelites through the Red Sea would make a way for us. The same Lord who gave food to the hungry and healing for the broken would provide for us.

Still, nothing changed.

But when we were nearly five months out from Michael’s job loss, I had a moment where I looked around at our life. I had been assuming that God’s breakthrough in our lives would look like a new job for my husband. But as I took an account of the months we had been walking through, I realized that we were already living in His care and provision. By His grace alone, we were still standing. We had been able to pay our bills every month. We had food in the fridge and gas in the car. Our kids were thriving and growing. We were in the middle of living out a miracle, and it had happened right under my nose.

Everything had changed — not in our circumstances, but in me.

I saw my life with a new perspective — not through the lens of loss (as real as it was), but through the lens of God’s provision. The unexpected check in the mail — a miracle. The discount on groceries that week — a miracle. Help paying for school supplies — a miracle. The phone call that led to an unexpected job interview — a miracle.

We had what we needed every day. It wasn’t what we would have chosen, and it wasn’t what we wanted. But the Lord provided for us. And in God’s way and timing — nearly seven months after that first week where I couldn’t sleep for fear of the future — He moved us to a new state and gave my husband a new job. He made a way for us. He changed our circumstances.

But first, He changed me.

 

[bctt tweet=”In His hands, the little that is brought to Him is enough. -@annswindell:” username=”incourage”]