What Do You Believe?

What Do You Believe?

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God, create a clean heart for me
and renew a steadfast spirit within me.
Do not banish me from your presence
or take your Holy Spirit from me.
Restore the joy of your salvation to me,
and sustain me by giving me a willing spirit.
Then I will teach the rebellious your ways,
and sinners will return to you.
Psalm 51:10-13 (CSB)

I picture David face down, vulnerable before the Lord, as his guilt and sorrow pours out from his broken spirit. He was left with nothing but humility, recognizing how broken he was and how deeply he needed to be restored by God. He knew the type of sacrifice God required of him. God wanted his heart, a sacrifice of pride, for it is pride that keeps us from repentance. Repentance must precede restoration. Unlike me for far too long, David was fully aware of this. My pride kept me from a humbled, broken posture before the Lord.

Our world today makes it tough to appear anything but stoic, perfect, and in complete control. Peruse Facebook, and in seconds you’ll see this played out. But we know all too well that on the other side of that screen sits a nearly broken spirit — maybe that person is you. Perhaps you have been running and hiding from your repentance because of fear, doubt, or pride. Or, like me, you question that God will forgive you.

God is far bigger than anything our tiny minds can conceive. We were created to live fully. We must put our unbelief aside and choose to believe that God wants to restore us to a life full of His provision, blessing, mercy, grace, forgiveness, and love. Are you desperate for restoration today? Do you believe that your humbled heart, laid out before Him in repentance, will bring restoration? Do you believe God wants to restore you?

Do you believe He will? I am praying that if you are in a place of needing restoration, you will run to the Father now and trust Him with your broken spirit and humbled heart.

This excerpt is by Tam Hodge, published in the (in)courage Devotional Bible and the Summer (in) the Psalms Devotional Journal. It has been edited from its original form.

 

How can we pray for you?

We want to create a space for you to confess, pray, and connect as a community. Please write a prayer or leave a prayer request in the comments and then pray for the person who commented before you.

Also, we’re journeying through the book of Psalms this summer, and we’d love for you to 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!

 

[bctt tweet=”@incourage has create a space for us to confess, pray, and connect as a community. Join the prayer chain in the comments:” via=”no”]

Staying on the Hard Road

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I remember walking out of the state-of-the-art fertility clinic with my husband. We had come to seek a second opinion from a highly regarded infertility specialist after four years of testing, treatments, and heartache.

Our appointment with the doctor had not gone well. He was arrogant, overlooked our questions, and seemed flippant about our journey as he outlined his proposed course of treatment. We left his office feeling uneasy and confused about what our next steps should be.

As we stepped into the sunshine and walked to our car, I heard the Holy Spirit whisper, “This is not what I have for you.” My husband felt the exact same pull on his heart.

At the time, we thought perhaps the Lord did not like this particular doctor or his chosen methods for helping us, but as the days went by, we both had a stronger sense that God was actually calling us away from infertility treatments as a whole.

The more I prayed about it, the more I sensed God was asking us to lay our efforts aside. It was time to put away the medication, stop the doctor appointments, cease striving, and join Him on the long, hard road of childlessness.

At first, every fiber in my being resisted. I begged God to give us something else to pursue — a different doctor, adoption, natural remedies for healing my body. Over and over, I heard God say, “That is not what I have for you. Come join me on this road through the wilderness.”

To many people, I’m sure it looked like we had just given up and thrown in the towel on our plans to start a family. The truth is, we were (and still are) obediently following God on this hard road that He has called us to. It may not make sense to the world around us, and it occasionally does not make sense to me either, but I know we are doing what He has asked of us and Jesus has sustained us every step of the way.

God often calls us to difficult things. In Matthew 7:14, Jesus said, “For the gate is narrow and the way is hard that leads to life, and those who find it are few.” Did you notice where the hard way leads? It leads to life.

Our difficult calling has a destination. God does not ask us to wander the wilderness aimlessly. Our roads are going somewhere glorious — into the heart of God Himself.

The Greek word used for life is zōē, and it holds a sense of vitality, fullness, animation, and devotion to God. It is the absolute fullness of life with God. This is the same word that Jesus uses in John 10:10 when He speaks about the abundant life. These hard roads are highly profitable if we are willing to stay on them.

Jesus was no stranger to walking difficult roads — His entire ministry was fraught with hardship, and the final days of His life were especially lonely and painful.

From the Garden of Gesthemane to standing trial, being beaten and tortured, and then dying on a cross, Jesus stayed true to the call God had given Him. Jesus had plenty of opportunities to step off His hard road. He could have summoned legions of angels. He could have taken Himself down off the cross. He could have avoided the whole ordeal altogether, but He chose to remain “obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross” (Philippians 2:8).

So how exactly do we stay on our hard roads? What kept Jesus on the course that the Father had called him to? 1 Peter 2:23 gives us the answer to that question, “When he was reviled, he did not revile in return; when he suffered, he did not threaten, but continued entrusting himself to him who judges justly.”

Jesus continually entrusted Himself to God. Over and over, He trusted in the love of His Father and in the eternally redemptive outcome of His plan, and we are invited to do the same.

God desires that we might entrust ourselves daily to Him. We do this simply by walking with Him in prayer, reading His Word, and trusting in His good and loving heart. We can stay the course by following Christ’s example.

Friends, I don’t know what hard road God has called you to right now. Maybe it’s singleness or enduring an invisible illness, maybe it’s working in a job you dislike or living with family members who test your patience every day.

Hard roads are hard. The easy way out is tempting, but if God has called you to walk on a difficult path, He will sustain you on it. So fix your eyes on Jesus, entrust yourself to God, and keep putting one foot in front of another as you journey toward the life in God that awaits you.

This post was originally written in April 2019 by Rebecca Young. 

 

[bctt tweet=”If God has called you to walk on a difficult path, He will sustain you on it. -Rebecca Young:” username=”incourage”]

When You Want to Walk on Water

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I remember when I was giving my daughter a bath years ago when she started to do something strange with her foot.

“What are you doing, hon?”

“I’m trying to walk on water, Mom — like Jesus did.”

She told me her preschool teacher had told her a story about when she was a little girl and how she tried to walk on water in the bathtub and never could. Only Jesus could do that — well, Peter did too.

I asked her, “Why do you want to walk on water?”

She answered, “Because Jesus did and I want to too.”

Isn’t that the way we should think — to want to do the same things Jesus did, to follow His examples in the mundane and the miraculous?

My daughter teaches me so much about what I like to call the Jesus-led adventure — a posture of letting Him lead in every area of our lives, following hard after Him so we can be like Him, and dwelling with Him in the promised land He has for each of us.

I love that she thinks if Jesus walked on water, we can too.

Jesus spoke to them at once. “Don’t be afraid,” he said. “Take courage, I am here!” Then Peter called to him, “Lord, if it’s really you, tell me to come to you, walking on the water.” “Yes, come.” Jesus said. So Peter went over the side of the boat and walked on the water toward Jesus.
Matthew 14:27-29 (NLT)

Peter asked to join Jesus on the water in the middle of the miracle that defined Him as the Son of God. When was the last time we asked to join Jesus in the miracles He’s doing?

Are we looking at current events and uncomfortable with the storm? Or are we asking to join Jesus on the water in the middle of it all? Stepping out of our comfort zone in obedience to God’s calling in each of our lives is exactly what this struggling world needs.

I sometimes forget there were a lot of other disciples in the back of the boat desperately trying to stay in the boat. The other eleven never asked Jesus to call them out of the boat to walk on the water with Him.

But Peter’s faith increased the faith of all the ones shaking in the back of the boat. Their response after Peter did the impossible and Jesus calmed the storm? The others worshipped Jesus, exclaiming, “You really are the Son of God!” (Matthew 14:32-33 NLT)

We want our lives to point to Jesus and to worship Him in such a way that shows others how to worship too. If we ask Jesus to join Him in the miracles He’s already doing, perhaps others will worship Him and say, “Jesus really is the Son of God!”

What are you seeing Jesus do around you but aren’t brave enough to join Him in? By brave enough, I mean joining Him on the water to be with Him, to dwell with Him where miracles happen. It’s not about being brave enough by yourself to get out of the boat or about focusing on what happens when you have a moment of panic like Peter did when the waves got huge. Getting out of your boat is about asking Jesus to join Him in His work, where it’s you and Him and all the power of God at work.

My daughter wants to walk on water with Jesus, and I do, too.

Joining Him in His miracles may look like what the world would call success, serving in the mundane, or probably a combination of both.

For me, I find myself asking for contentment in the day-to-day of motherhood. I ask for the desire to spend focused time with Jesus, instead of scrolling endlessly through online opinions and daily reports on world events. I pray for Holy Spirit-inspired creativity to return so I can fulfill my original callings and for the Lord to give me opportunities to actively serve my neighbors. It doesn’t have to look big from the outside for Jesus to be working in me.

I want to be brave enough to live a life on the waves, no matter if there is disagreement among friends, a global pandemic, financial strain, discomfort in social change, or more uncertainties about my future than I’ve ever known.

And I want to remember Jesus is in the business of miracles, calling our names to join Him, especially when our circumstances look a little scary.

What miracles do you see Him doing in your home, in your neighborhood,
and in the world?

 

[bctt tweet=”Jesus is in the business of miracles, calling our names to join Him, especially when our circumstances look a little scary. -Stephanie Bryant:” username=”incourage”]

Why Admitting You’re Wrong Is Important and Good

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The first half of 2020 has played like the opening lines from a Tale of Two Cities: “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.”

It’s easy to put a finger on the “worst of times.” Bleeding headlines are daily realities for many, but all of us have been impacted on some level. There’s not even a need to rehash the particulars because we’re already so intimately, and sometimes painfully, acquainted.

But what about “the best of times”? How could I suggest such a possibility in the midst of societal, political, economic, cultural, pandemical, and even ecumenical upheaval? In my lifetime, I have never seen our country – or the Church – so battered and bruised, so grievously divided.

If that was where this story ends, it’d be heartbreaking and reason to despair. So, I mean it with everything in me when I say, Thank God, this isn’t the end of our story. I sense we’re in the depths of tectonic shift, and when everything feels uncertain, we need to remind each other what is true: God is still God, and He is always and only good. Thankfully, He remains in control, and not only in an abstract, future sense, but now, in our present world too.

I make a claim in For All Who Wander that explains, in part, why I’m convinced we’re living in the best of times despite the chaos and brokenness: There is no greater evidence of God at work in the world than a changed mind that leads to a changed life.

In this season, I see evidence of God at work in our world because minds are changing. Lives are changing.

Our longing for a better world reveals our desperate need for God. Never have I been more grateful for (in)courage as a companion to my faith. Every essay conveys a powerful and encouraging message of hope, light, and love, pointing to the only Truth that can disperse darkness.

Over the past several years, (in)courage has made a concerted effort to add writers of color. We’ve had the joy of getting to know them through their words here, and I’ve observed how deeply each contributor loves Jesus and cares about you, our precious readers. I’ve seen these women labor over their words to bring glory to God, encouraging and equipping the body while providing invaluable insight.

We tell diverse stories because we’re informed by our unique experiences, but our goal is always the same: to speak truth in love (Ephesians 4:15). Our words are lasers pointing to Jesus, the author and finisher of our faith (Hebrews 12:2 NKJV). We know that He alone is our Hope.

Not one of us claims to “know it all.” We earnestly desire to learn from one another – iron sharpening iron – in order to grow in our faith. We offer our words as a well-worn pair of shoes, so that for a moment, you can walk around in them and see a world so different from your own through a different set of eyes.

We can learn something important, unexpected, and beautiful when we listen with open hearts and ears. But this can only happen when we lay down personal agenda, let go of a need to be “right,” and beg the Holy Spirit to renew and transform our minds, bringing conviction when necessary.

Sometimes we’ll actually realize long-held beliefs or practices are wrong or harmful even when we sincerely didn’t mean it that way. Our intentions really don’t matter; repenting and following the Lord’s leading do.

Like years ago, when I genuinely meant something as a compliment and said to Anthony, a member of a Bible study my husband and I attended early in our marriage:

“When I look at you, I don’t see color.”

As you might conclude, he was a person with skin color different from my own.

For years I used this phrase as a sincere attempt to extol the “virtue” of colorblindness. I thought this was the right way to express equality between white people and people of color. It was a way of suggesting I wasn’t a racist and that I saw people the way God sees them.

I didn’t yet know what I didn’t know, and it certainly hadn’t occurred to me how that the phrase was hurtful. I can’t say whether someone corrected my misguided ideology or the Holy Spirit brought enlightenment, but eventually, thankfully, I realized I was wrong and eliminated it from my vocabulary.

This was all a distant memory until I recently joined a peaceful protest following George Floyd’s death. Among an ocean of signs, a bright green one stood out, a list of familiar hashtags filling its page. The eighth one down was an unexpected trigger. It said #GODDOESNOTSEECOLOR, and I wondered how my Black sisters and brothers felt when they read it. I wanted to tap the well-meaning marcher on her shoulder and help her understand the hurtfulness of that phrase because God sees and values every color.

Like me so long ago, she didn’t yet know what she didn’t know. This may even be the first time you’re noticing the distinction, and there is absolutely no shame in that. We’re learners!

Ecclesiastes 3:7 tells us there’s a time to be silent and a time to speak. Being silent doesn’t equal passivity when we’re listening. Silence allows space to learn (if we’re not being knee-jerk defensive) and for the Holy Spirit to do deep heart work.

Discovering you’re wrong about a thing can be a catalyst for transformation, and admitting it to yourself is a courageous first step in the right direction.

Bravo to the ones who are brave enough to really listen to another’s point of view and to truly reconsider long-held beliefs or ideologies. May we be women of courage who aren’t afraid to pivot.

 

[bctt tweet=”Discovering you’re wrong about a thing can be a catalyst for transformation, and admitting it to yourself is a courageous first step in the right direction. -@robindance:” username=”incourage”]

Will We Judge Young Looters or Learn to Love Them?

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The photo stops me in my tracks. It shows a young man running from Target with stolen goods – some bedding: a package of sheets and a blanket. In the same photo, another young looter pushes a shopping cart filled with a comforter and two floor rugs. In another photo, a young teenager is stealing – what exactly? – an infant’s car seat.

Fascinated, I google “looters at Target” and scores of photos hit my screen. There I see another young man carrying out a floor vacuum. Another is looting kids’ toys – a basketball, a baseball bat, and a doll set, plus a beige floral quilt. A young woman pushes a cart holding a lamp, two floor rugs, a pile of bath towels, and two Mr. Coffee’s.

An odd thought hits me: Who’s getting the second Mr. Coffee?

I ask these questions because recent protests – and the looting that sometimes followed – prompted vicious put downs, even by Christians, against the “lawless” looters, as if these young people were heathens. For stealing a package of bed sheets? Or a pile of bath towels?

Indeed, what are we seeing here? My questions don’t mean I endorse looting or theft from a hard-working business. “Thou shalt not steal,” the Lord declared (Exodus 20:15), and the pronouncement is clear and plain.

Yet during a riot, while tear gas bombards the air and buildings are burning, what kind of teenager uses the chaos to steal a quilt or a car seat for his baby?

Such questions take us deep into the complications of life in our America. We can quickly blame, shame, and point fingers. But does stealing a quilt and a package of sheets make a man or woman a menace to society? A risk to our republic?

Or is the looter struggling to make ends meet? Barely making a living wage, even before jobs dried up during the pandemic? Failing to provide for a family, plus maybe relatives? Desperate to make a hovel feel like a home? Then, someone breaks a store window and there, free and clear, sits the world’s goods and groceries – just waiting for the taking.

What should a mom or dad do in that moment?

Writing about theft in his classic novel Les Miserables, Victor Hugo gives an answer in his main character, Jean Valjean, who has spent nineteen years in prison for stealing a loaf of bread to save his sister’s child from starvation. On his first night free, he’s given a meal and bed for sleeping by a humble clergyman, Bishop Bienvenue.

In desperation, Valjean steals some silver valuables from the bishop’s church and flees, but he’s caught by police. Returned to the bishop to confess, he’ll face even more prison. But the bishop does a remarkable thing. He shows mercy. The silver, he says, was a gift. Then, he gives Valjean two silver candlesticks, telling police Valjean left them behind by mistake.

This bishop’s kindness is the key turning point in the novel, placing Valjean on track to a redeemed life — helping transform a common thief into a man of virtue, who in the end helps transform others.

Just a fictional story? Or a challenge for these times?

Many were inspired, indeed, by the young man who cleaned broken glass and trash from his neighborhood in Buffalo for ten hours after days of protests in June. His reward? A car and a college scholarship.

But my heart? It pulls toward the young people risking arrest and a jail record to pilfer bed sheets and a cart of frozen food. They may have seen little fairness and justice in the world. Or do my words make you roll your eyes – oh, please – as you click to something more cut and dry regarding biblical values and American life?

Do we forget, indeed, the crooked Matthew — the despised tax collector — who, in Christ, became one of the twelve disciples (Matthew 9:9)? Or the thieves in the church at Corinth who were washed clean by the Savior’s blood (1 Corinthians 6:8-11)? Is a young looter worse than Christians who cheat on their taxes (or on their spouses)? Or a believer who cheats God of tithes and offerings?

As we read in Proverbs 6:30-31, “People do not despise a thief if he steals to satisfy his hunger when he is starving” – knowing even if he is caught, “he must pay sevenfold, though it costs him all the wealth of his house.”

How will people of faith decide in these matters? Fight for justice? Show the Savior’s love? Learn to do both?

I don’t have a clear-cut answer. But in times like these, may God help us to arise on His side.

 

[bctt tweet=”How will people of faith decide in these matters? Fight for justice? Show the Savior’s love? Learn to do both? In times like these, may God help us to arise on His side. -@PatriciaRaybon:” username=”incourage”]

An Unveiled Life in the Presence of God

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A city’s gradual emergence from the coronavirus shut down corresponds to a certain atmosphere in its airport. My husband and I took off our masks just long enough to eat subs at a socially distant table, and then, our masks back in place, we settled ourselves near Gate A-3 to wait out the remainder of a three-hour layover in Baltimore.

A pair of uniformed airline employees on their lunch break caught my eye. She, brown-eyed and animated; he, somber and attentive. It soon became obvious this was no business lunch. Their masked interaction at the corner of my eye distracted me from the book I was trying to read.

What in the world would it be like to date with mandatory masking? I wondered. Has Cosmo addressed this in an article yet? I smiled beneath my own mask as I invented titles and tag lines: “COVID-19 Mask Moves: Let Him Know You’re Interested!”

Drawn again to their soft laughter, I looked up just in time to see the young woman lower her mask, unveiling the full radiance of her dazzling smile. It seemed so intimate a gesture. I turned back to my book.

For the last several months, we have all been masked and hidden. We have stayed at home and protected ourselves and our loved ones from infection. At the same time, though, we have cloaked our disappointment as family events and our kids’ milestones have, one by one, been erased from our calendars. We have veiled our loneliness as weeks of lockdown started to make us forget how to function during a coffee date or a face-to-face conversation. We have pulled the curtains on our losses, either too big to put words around or too small to share when others are suffering so much.

Perhaps, in all our safe separation and invisibility, we have forgotten that there is One who sees all, and before Him, we are free to come with unveiled faces. Moses certainly understood what it was to meet face to face with God, but even so, his understanding of the ultimate significance of the Old Covenant under which he lived and labored was, at best, shadowy.

The believer, on the other hand, is privileged with unimpaired spiritual perception: the ability to see the glory of God revealed in Christ — an unobstructed view and an unbelievable freedom:

With that kind of hope to excite us, nothing holds us back. Unlike Moses, we have nothing to hide.
Everything is out in the open with us . . . 
2 Corinthians 3:12 (MSG)

. . . or at least it can be, if we’re willing to take the risk.

Whether or not Moses’s veil and the veiled hearts of his Israelite traveling companions prove to be a helpful metaphor, my fogged glasses and my shallow breathing behind a mask testify to the limitations of veiled living. And this warns me of the dangers of damming up emotions, slamming the door on things I’d rather not deal with, and working hard to project an image that does not line up with the me that lives and breathes (and fails and falters) on this broken ground.

God invites us to enter into His presence and to embark upon an unveiled life. Even while we all stay safe behind our masks, we can choose to live with unveiled hearts. “Nothing between us and God,” urges Paul, “our faces shining with the brightness of his face” (2 Corinthians 3:17).

Your brave yes to God comes in everyday choices, both big and small:

  • When, with no makeup and no fuss, you greet your friend at the door, with no thought for whatever may be pale or blotchy because you trust she’s come to be with the real you.
  • When you raise your hand to volunteer for a job that feels too big, too exposed, but you do it because you believe you’ve been called — and He who calls is faithful (1 Thessalonians 5:24 NKJV).
  • When tears flow because prayer is getting close to the bone, but you go there anyway, knowing that God has an unobstructed view of your heart — and you want a clearer view of His.

I have no idea how long we will be masked and socially distant for our physical safety, but this one thing I know for sure: hiding our hearts behind a veil, hiding our true selves from God and from others is the worst thing we can do for our spiritual health.

When we come to Christ, the veil is lifted. Our lives gradually become brighter, and we become more like Christ. The more we see and grow in our knowledge of God’s faithfulness, the more we will reveal the glory of Christ.

What area of your life do you hear the voice of the Spirit saying,
“Trust me here. Lower your mask. I see you.”?

 

[bctt tweet=”God invites us to enter into His presence and to embark upon an unveiled life, where there’s nothing between us and Him. -@MicheleDMorin:” username=”incourage”]

Pray, Lament, Confess — Repeat

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I sat in the front row of a mostly empty church, hands clasped, mouth covered with a mask. Appropriately spaced throughout the sanctuary were a hand full of pastors and ministry leaders in our city, gathered together for a prayer vigil on account of the hard realities currently facing our nation. Hard realities — that phrase doesn’t even scratch the surface of what is bubbling and surfacing right now. It’s not that racism didn’t exist before this year. It’s not that black and brown bodies have never been oppressed, controlled, or killed before. But it’s the cumulative effect of it all. So much loss and pain has happened in such a short period of time, and the memory of all the lives who have been cut short in the past are all too near.

That evening, I stepped into that space, feeling tired and emotionally fatigued. It’s hard to even explain the roller coaster of emotions that a person of color experiences in witnessing and processing so much death and violence against the Black community.

Anger. Rage. Fear. Emptiness. Pain. Exhaustion.

But tonight was exactly where I needed to be. With my eyes closed and my hands open wide, I received the first prayer of the evening:

God, we lament for what’s happening in our country.
We lament the loss of life You say is valuable, that You say is important, and that was created in your image.
We cry tonight. We lament tonight. We mourn.

One after another, men and women, black, brown, and white, all stood up and lamented the murders of Ahmaud Arbery, Breonna Taylor, George Floyd, Mike Ramos, and so many more. Every single one cried out to God and let the pent-up pain of too many weeks spill out into words before our Father.

I never knew how much I needed to mourn communally until that night. Because we all came together that night to acknowledge, not just the brokenness in our society, but also in ourselves. Lament and confession go hand in hand, and oh, did we all have much to confess. The white Christians present confessed their own sins of racism, of ignorance, and turning a blind eye to the pains of communities of color in the past. Christians of color, including myself, confessed times when we’ve stayed silent and when we’ve chosen not to stand in solidarity for fellow Black and brown men and women.

That night of prayer was the first step toward solidarity with our Black and brown communities who are hurting right now. More than that, it was an act of public witness where we created space to go before God, lift our voices up, hear from His Word, and consider how our own sins and failures have led to our current predicament right now. We prayed together for God to orient our hearts, minds, and bodies toward love and justice.

Lament is a biblical response to the reality of suffering, and it’s what we need right now.

Each of need to take all that we’re feeling and experiencing, and everything happening in our country right now and lay them before our God in heaven. We must pray as the Psalmist does in Psalm 121: “I lift my eyes up to the mountains – where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth.” We’ve all seen or experienced personally the racial tension in our country, and the our starting point for change, for healing, and solidarity moving forward has to begin with lament and confession to God.

So many people are asking me right now what they should be doing. And I get it. We want to do something. There’s a lot of people who are growing in their racial consciousness for the very first time. This topic is completely new to so many and people want to start reading all the books and having all the conversations on race and justice. And those are good things to do in time. But before we act, we need to first lament. Lament the deaths of image bearers. Lament a long, dark history in which Black and brown bodies haven’t been treated as equal to white bodies. Lament our own ignorance to this history — perhaps even our own complicity.

Our aim for this current reality in our country shouldn’t be to just have a conversation on race. Instead, we should lead with lament. Pray, lament, and confess on repeat. That’s what I’ve challenged myself to do during these gut-wrenching days. Every day, a new video, a new threat, a new assault. Lamenting before God is the only way I know to channel my rage. More than that, prayer and lament form the foundation for my activism. Because it’s only if we’re doing these things on repeat that we can humbly begin to have those conversations about race, reparations, and reform.

Friend, will you lament with me today?

Love Over All: Love Speaks

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But speaking the truth in love, let us grow in every way into him who is the head — Christ.
Ephesians 4:15 (CSB)

Every month of 2020, we feature 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!

July’s theme is Love Speaks.

We often equate “speaking the truth in love” with polite gentleness. But truth, even spoken in love, can still hurt. When our eyes are opened to see our weaknesses and blind spots, it pains us to recognize where we’ve been wrong.

Truth convicts us of what we’ve tried to ignore or deny, and having someone point that out to us is love.

Love speaks when people aren’t being treated equally and with dignity. Love speaks when those in power abuse their authority and hurt others. Love speaks when ignorant and racist things are said. Love speaks because unity and diversity in the body of Christ is the dream and getting there is hard work.

Sometimes speaking in love requires courage. What does it mean to love someone deep enough to speak the truth? To love them more than I love their friendship? To love them over all?

This is the kind of love that puts others before themselves. This is the love that speaks truth, kindness, and hope.

Love doesn’t stay silent but speaks up — shouts loud even — so truth can be heard and learned. And when love speaks, may we have ears to hear.

 

[bctt tweet=”Truth convicts us of what we’ve tried to ignore or deny, and having someone point that out to us is love. #loveoverall ” username=”incourage”]

Free Because of Christ’s Great Love

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Now the Lord is the Spirit, and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom.
2 Corinthians 3:17 (CSB)

On the Fourth of July, we take stock of the freedoms we enjoy as Americans. Often, the day is commemorated with barbecues and get togethers, but this year, as the country is a combination of safer-at-home and fully open, people fighting against injustice and racism, and many grieving the death of loved ones, it’s a strange and heavy time.

In celebration or somberness, let’s reflect on the freedom Christ gave us and soak in these words of truth:

The Spirit of the Lord God is on me, because the Lord has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to heal the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives and freedom to the prisoners (Isaiah 61:1 CSB).

For you were called to be free, brothers and sisters; only don’t use this freedom as an opportunity for the flesh, but serve one another through love (Galatians 5:13 CSB).

Then Jesus said to the Jews who had believed him, “If you continue in my word, you really are my disciples.You will know the truth, and the truth will set you free” (John 8:31-32 CSB).

Therefore, there is now no condemnation for those in Christ Jesus, because the law of the Spirit of life in Christ Jesus has set you free from the law of sin and death (Romans 8:1-2 CSB).

Because of Christ’s great love, we are free indeed.

 

Hope for the Long Days

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The secret counsel of the Lord
is for those who fear him,
and he reveals his covenant to them.
Psalm 25:14 (CSB)

I take a deep breath and lean the handle of the mop against the counter top. I feel the stiffness and soreness in my shoulders and back from the vigorous scrubbing I’ve given the floor. I look at the clock on the stove and can hardly believe it. It blinks a mere 8:23 a.m.

How long ago did I wake to my seven-year-old’s urgent whispering to me, “Mommy, Mommy! Paw-Paw peed all over the floor!”? I rolled over in the gray morning light, hurried down the stairs, and stopped on the final step. The first puddles were under the window. Then I noticed a trail that trickled around — all the way around — the loop that connects the living room, kitchen, and dining room of the open-concept downstairs.

My father-in-law, who is in the final stage of Alzheimer’s disease, had wandered downstairs sometime in the middle of the night and fallen. Unhurt but unable to lift himself from a sitting position, he scooted around the downstairs in his overly-saturated nighttime diaper.

I woke my husband. He lifted, changed, and cared for his dad while I mopped. I washed the feet of my three early-rising daughters who had accidentally stepped in some of the mess.

We’re almost two years into full-time care-taking for my father-in-law. We’ve witnessed many losses of personality and ability. Several times we thought surely we were in the valley of the shadow of death. Yet somehow my father-in-law would recover to a new “normal.” For a time. We never know what to expect. There are many levels of grieving and frustration to wade through.

It’s only 8:23 a.m.. Deep breath.

My husband and I share a sad smile as he passes me to go clean himself up. I begin making his coffee. Coffee beans in the grinder, I press down and the churning and chopping begins. The thoughts, the temptations, come quietly now, like a blanket offering sympathetic comfort. But I recognize this scheme. If I let that “sympathetic blanket” drop around my shoulders, I’ll be weighed down with self-focus, not free to run my race this day like the Lord wants me to. I need my eyes fixed on Jesus.

I pray: Lord, I appeal to You. My God, I trust in You. I pour water in the coffee pot and ask the Living Water to pour Himself into me, for “No one who waits for you will be disgraced” (Psalm 25:3).

The tempter continues to try to wrap his blanket around my heart by directing me to the logistics of the day: It’s 8:23 a.m. and you’re already exhausted, physically and emotionally. You didn’t get enough sleep. Again. Now you have to rush to finish breakfast, nurse the baby, get all five kids dressed and to Bible study. No time to do your hair or makeup. You’ll look exhausted and ragged. Again. But it’s okay. Everyone will understand and empathize with you if they know about your morning. You can legitimately “quit” for the day. Puddles of pee and the entire downstairs mopped before breakfast is enough to justify this. Quit. It’s okay. You can quit.

I refuse to quit. Again. To surrender another day, or even part of a day, again. My hope is in you Lord — all day long. I wait for the other Voice I know will come. I preach to myself: In Christ alone my hope is found.

Light seeps in through the slatted window blinds onto the clean floor. I wait. I want the promise. I work on memorizing the words that speak life: “The secret counsel of the Lord is for those who fear him, and he reveals his covenant to them” (Psalm 25:14).

The Lord has taught me that to fear Him, in a practical and tangible sense, looks like obedience. Ordinary faithfulness. So I ask to receive: Please counsel me, Lord. His light comes in this thought: Pray to confuse people. As I obey His secret counsel — my hope is found.

So I pray: Lord, help me confuse people. No matter what my circumstances are, no matter what my feelings are, fill me so full with joy and peace that people have to question the Source. My hope is in You. Not in productivity. Not in enough sleep. Not in my own limited energy and ability. In You alone I trust. 

This is a beautiful truth. If we fear the Lord, He will secretly counsel us. He will show us the way we should choose. May you embrace the peace that passes understanding as you wait for more of Him. No one who waits for the Lord will be disgraced.

This excerpt is by Elise Hurd, 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! Every Thursday, several of our contributors are hosting a video conversation about what they’re learning from a selected psalm. These conversations are so good for our souls and just plain fun! Listen in below as Becky, Robin, and Anna discuss what they’re learning from Psalm 25 (and the 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 this summer? If you haven’t started yet, 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.

Get your copy of the 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’re loving our Summer (in) the Psalms with you.

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

 

[bctt tweet=”May you embrace the peace that passes understanding as you wait for more of Him. #inPsalms2020 ” username=”incourage”]

But the Lord Stood by My Side

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I sat in shock listening. Someone I considered to be a friend had been upset with me for months, and she had been talking about me with a couple of mutual friends.

We had served together on a ministry leadership team at our church for years. Both of us had volunteered countless hours pouring our hearts and our lives into the women of our church. All the while, I assumed we fully supported one another.

But a friend had told her I didn’t agree with her leadership style based on something I’d said in a meeting many months before, when I had been asked to share my perspective on something. She hadn’t been at the meeting, and sadly, what I’d said was taken out of context, repackaged and presented to her in a way that sounded like I had been talking about her. I hadn’t. But instead of coming to me, she’d gone to others to process her hurt.

“Why didn’t someone stand up for me?” I wondered.

In one of his letters to Timothy, the apostle Paul describes a time when life and ministry got really hard. He had been slandered, and no one came to his defense or supported him. Instead, they deserted him.

Yet in the midst of feeling hurt by others and abandoned by friends, Paul tells Timothy that God stood with him and gave him the strength to keep standing in the place where God had called him.

My pain deepened with the realization that someone I knew had spoken against me, but no one stood up for me. Feeling all alone, I started to plan my exit strategy from the leadership team. I didn’t want anything to do with women or ministry if this was where it got me.

But somehow, in the midst of my tears and brokenness, the Holy Spirit reminded me of Jesus — how He had been misunderstood and misrepresented by people He loved. Friends hurt Him, betrayed Him, and abandoned Him, yet He stayed.

He stayed where God put Him — in messy ministry, broken relationships, and hard circumstances. But most of all, Jesus stayed on the cross so we would never have to stand alone.

With God’s strength and the encouragement of a friend, I decided not to quit women’s ministry. Instead, I stayed on the leadership team and worked through hard conversations about what had happened. I forgave those who hurt me. And I took time to heal and slowly trust again. I stayed present in my role and also tried to stay aware in conversations and discern when it was wise to share or hold my opinion in a group setting.

Broken relationships are hard. Betrayal and hurt happen. And I guess today, I just wanted to encourage you that no matter what you are facing at home, work, in your family or friendships — if you are walking through circumstances that have you feeling misunderstood, betrayed, abandoned, or uncertain, there is one thing you can be absolutely sure of: you are NOT alone!

God is with you. He is for you. And He will never, ever leave you.

I pray these words that Paul wrote in his letter to Timothy will bring you the comfort and courage they brought to me:

But the Lord stood by my side and gave me strength . . . 
2 Timothy 4:17a (NIV)

Is God calling you to stay in a position or circumstance you’d rather leave? Is there a relationship, hard conversation, or place of advocacy that leaves you weary and ready to give up? Share in the comments so we can pray for you today.

 

The Healing Posture of Humility

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When it comes to favorite books of the Bible, it’s an unusual choice, but Nehemiah has always been my husband’s favorite.

Perhaps it’s the fact that he works in construction and much of Nehemiah’s thirteen chapters center around the rebuilding of Jerusalem’s walls. The book talks about tools and processes, each section of the wall going back up one at a time. Or maybe it’s because of the concerted team effort, and Nehemiah’s leadership role in gathering everyone to the task. Everyone had to do their part, or the job wouldn’t get done.

Regardless of the reasons, my husband’s love of Nehemiah’s story has become my own. I, too, have spent a good deal of time reading and reflecting on the story of this man who felt burdened to rebuild what had been broken (2 Kings 25).

But what captures my heart most of all, especially in this hard season in which we find ourselves, is Nehemiah’s prayerful posture: humility.

Lord, the God of heaven, the great and awesome God, who keeps his covenant of love with those who love him and keep his commandments, let your ear be attentive and your eyes open to hear the prayer your servant is praying before you day and night for your servants, the people of Israel. I confess the sins we Israelites, including myself and my father’s family, have committed against you. We have acted very wickedly toward you. We have not obeyed the commands, decrees and laws you gave your servant Moses.
Nehemiah 1:5-7 (NIV) 

I confess.

We have acted wickedly.

We have not obeyed.

What fascinates me most about Nehemiah’s confessions is that decades separated him from the destruction of Jerusalem. Although the Babylonians tore down the walls, God made it clear that the battle and Israel’s subsequent enslavement was a direct result of their disobedience to God and their breaking of His covenant. They had rebelled against God. Thus, God gave them over to their enemies. But when we catch up with Nehemiah and his prayer in Nehemiah 1, more than sixty years have passed. The broken walls weren’t Nehemiah’s fault. He didn’t take a club to stone. And he didn’t set fire to the walls. He could’ve prayed, “They acted wickedly” and “They did not obey.”

Instead, he wept. He mourned. He fell to his knees, and he took personal responsibility. Why? Why did Nehemiah confess something he didn’t directly do? Why did he weep and repent when he lived far from the Holy City?

I think it was because he understood the value of communal confession, of looking at injustice and wrong and seeing his complicity. And he knew he too was part of the collective community of humanity that had disobeyed the One True God. And before they tried to rebuild what was broken, they needed to kneel before the Healer.

In our quest to appear more righteous than we are, we often neglect the healing ointment of humility. It’s easier to defend ourselves, assign blame, and prop our so-called righteousness against other’s sinfulness.

“It’s not my fault,” we argue. “So why should I have to clean up the mess?”

But Nehemiah understood that the only right posture to take before a Holy God was one of bowing down — admitting weakness, confessing sin, admitting the innate depravity of our humanity, and calling on the only One big enough to heal.

Whereas blame-shifting destroys, humility builds and, in many cases, heals. We live in interesting times, sisters. The fear and unknowns and racial tensions and injustices have left our cities with broken walls. The destruction is apparent. We can not ignore it.

And yet, blaming won’t help us with rebuilding. Instead, I pray we heed Nehemiah’s wisdom and see his posture as a means of healing our day.

Because there is only One who can help us shore up our walls. But we must first admit we need Him.

Father, I confess: we have acted wickedly. We have not obeyed. Instead of loving and forgiving as You have loved and forgiven, we have resisted and rebelled. So today we kneel in Your presence, admitting our need. We have neither the wisdom nor the strength to rebuild what has been broken, but You do. Give us mercy and grace for this nation and people whom You love. 

 

When You Don’t Have Anything to Look Forward To

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At the beginning of April and then again at the beginning of May, my oldest daughter wrote the months on our dry erase calendar in the kitchen. After neatly writing each date on its correct square, she scrawled, “Stay home!” in big, harsh letters. We all laughed, but in a sad way.

Normally, our calendar is full of practices and appointments, due dates and play dates. Now, it’s blank. Wide open. Empty. And while we certainly have enjoyed more down time and free time, we’ve also struggled — like you might have — with the many things we’ve missed since COVID-19 interrupted our world.

Like so many of you, we’ve marked the days and weeks of this shelter-in-place season with nothing more than checkmarks. We haven’t counted down to anything, save perhaps the last day of school, which meant something completely different than any year before. We’ve barely even noticed when special dates pass us by, choosing to avert our eyes from the calendar of cancellations. It would be a few days later when we’d remember, “Oh yeah, last weekend was when I was supposed to go to the youth retreat” (for my oldest daughter), or “Hey, wasn’t soccer supposed to start in April?” (for my youngest daughter), and “Well, I guess I don’t have to remember where my passport is after all” (that’s all me).

Don’t get me wrong; I’m more than grateful that I can work from home, that my husband has only missed a few days of work and pay, that my family is safe and healthy. But the lack of plans or upcoming . . . well . . . anything is hard on my heart.

I didn’t realize at first what was causing my sense of weariness and the general fog surrounding my mind. (I confess I was quick to blame it on my kids being with me all day, every day!) Why couldn’t I remember what day it was? Why did I keep missing deadlines? Why couldn’t I answer a simple question like, “How was your week?”

Finally, a friend pointed out that my disorientation might be due to my lack of plans. With nothing to look forward to, every day really does look and feel the same. In fact, without an event or activity or goal to plan for or work toward, my days lacked purpose, and I began to feel aimless.

Maybe you can identify with this feeling? Maybe you, too, have felt the weight of an empty calendar or the confusion of a life full of Zoom calls and drive-by birthday parties but still missing real meaning or connection? Maybe we’re still all in this together, but singing that to the tune of a Disney song makes you long for a big game or an opening night or something to write on that blank calendar?

You’re not alone. As it’s been lamented a million times, this is a weird, hard, confusing season for all of us. But more than that, even as economies and communities begin opening up, it’s an uncertain season. This is a time when we are coming face to face with what — or Whom — we put our hope in.

Do we place our hope in the plans we’ve made or in the goals we’ve set and the steps we’ve committed to taking to reach them? Do we place our hope in our ability to invite friends or family to gather, write the date on the calendar, and know that get-together will take place? Do we place our hope in being masters of our own domains, creating timelines and setting dates, buying tickets and paying deposits and registering for events?

I know I have.

But God offers us a better way. And it can be found in the Bible, our anchor in stormy seas or calm ones. The book of Proverbs, in particular, offers many words of wisdom about making plans.

  • Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make straight your paths (Proverbs 3:5-6 ESV).
  • The heart of man plans his way, but the Lord establishes his steps (Proverbs 16:9 ESV).
  • Many are the plans in the mind of a man, but it is the purpose of the Lord that will stand (Proverbs 19:21 ESV).

Those are good words, reminding us that no matter what the world is doing around us God is still in control. And if we look to Him, He will guide us to our next steps on the path He’s prepared for us, a path that travels straight through this difficult season. When we feel weak or confused or weary, we can lean on Him and our trust in His good plans (Jeremiah 29:11). When we’re unsure about what we should do next or if we even have something to look forward to right now, turning to Scripture reminds us that God made plans for us long ago (Ephesians 2:10). Nothing — global upheaval or personal chaos — can change that.

My calendar is still pretty blank, and the summer looms long and daunting for this work-from-home (and slightly introverted) mom unaccustomed to a whole lot more alone time than I will get for a while longer. But when I begin to feel adrift in the sea of space and time untethered by plans and schedules, I’m clinging to my anchor: God’s Word. I’m holding tight to His promises and leaning on His promise of plans for my life.

God knows what day it is. He won’t grow weary, and He knows exactly what’s coming next — for each one of us. And that is something to look forward to!

 

When We Listen, We Hear God

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She was like a blessing chasing me down, pressing her way through the crowd of women to catch up to me. Though I flowed along in the sea of sisters attending the women’s conference, I was a wave that stood out. I am 5’9, deep brown, with gravity-defying, big, bronze-highlighted locks that surround my head like a crown. She reached out and grabbed me. 

“Hi,” she said. “While you were praying in the chapel, God prompted me to tell you something. But you left while I was praying for someone else, so I had to come find you.”

At that point I was a good distance from the chapel, which meant she had run a ways to chase me down. She paused to catch her breath. We stood sideways so as not to impede the flow of women moving from one session to the next. We stood like two pebbles forcing the stream to move around us. 

“God wants you to do something big!” she said. I gave her a smile. I felt she was right, in the general sense that God wants us all to do “something.” And “big” is relative. 

“Do you know what it is?” she asked. I shook my head, looking up and searching my mind as if I might find the answer in a distant memory. 

“No,” I said with authentic cluelessness. 

She seemed a little surprised that I didn’t know. She paused in anticipation of the Holy Spirit’s next instruction for me. “Write!” she said. “Do you write?”

“No,” I replied, committed to my confusion. I was sure she had the wrong person. 

“Start writing, journaling, and it will come. It will come through your writing.”

I nodded with a slight shrug of indifference and merged back into the flow of women moving from one conference session to the next.  

Months later, I noticed that I was journaling more. My journal was a vessel filled to capacity as I poured out prose and poetry. Writing was becoming an exclamation mark accentuating the things that consumed my heart. I’d swell with cares and concerns for the community around me in a way that felt new, strong, and heavy. But what had changed? I was still a wife and mom of three adorable girls. The world had not changed. It was still fractured and suspended in passive hope. 

I really hadn’t noticed that there was a theme to my writing because it was so subtle. But when I paused to allow it to speak to me, it shouted with clarity. I recalled the prophetic woman who chased me down to deliver words that seemed empty at the time. But as I noticed a theme emerging, her words exploded with meaning. I realized that what she meant by “big” meant heavy, hard, cumbersome, and significant. I didn’t want to be the Black woman burdened to address our nation’s festering wound of racism. 

I yelled at God, “No! I don’t want to do this!”

But His encouraging hand remained on my back, pressing me forward. I realized that I had grown complacent with the level of racism in our communities. Beneath the lukewarm desire for diversity in our nation was a broken foundation — its falling pieces stoking and feeding the embers of a fire that had never been extinguished. We’ve been inhaling the toxic smoke of racism for four hundred years, and we can’t breathe.  

I had adjusted to this limited capacity to breathe, and now God was saying, “No more!” It was time to listen and hear God! I was being invited to wholly participate in cultivating and manifesting God’s dream for us. 

I knew the work would be excruciating. I told God, “Yes, I’ve studied anti-racism education. I’ve been immersed in helping heal communities and people with racial wounds. I’m a mom in a multiethnic family, and my father was a police officer. But I will not be heard. I will not be seen. Racism has so consumed us with fear and confusion that I will be labeled ‘divisive.’ I will be accused of stoking the embers. I will say, ‘God wants to heal us from racism,’ and they will dismiss my prophetic voice, my experiences, my intellect, my humanity.”

I was right. It happened. I’ve been ignored, discounted, disrespected. I’ve been shouted down by people who say they love God. It hurt — it still hurts. And the trauma lingers.

And now, in what can only be acknowledged as divine disruption, repair and healing are breaking forth through the broken foundations. As African-Americans struggle to breathe and grieve from centuries of indignity, I am in awe of the world-wide effort to listen, to hear our collective gasp for breath, and to hear God.  

And while we are listening, please hear these truths:

I am a helper, not divisive.
I am equipped to foster healing; I’m not a leftist.
I am an educator, not a mammy.
I am a beautiful woman loved by an amazing man; I’m not a wench!
I am God’s image-bearer, lighting the path to freedom from our destructive ideologies and practices. My goal is aligned with God’s dream for us to be free! 

I used to be complacent. I had no idea that I could make a difference beyond my door. I was wrong. I am exceedingly grateful that God is not satisfied with our inhumanity. Instead, when we listen, we hear God beckoning us to live Jesus’ final prayer — for all of us to be one (John 17:20-23). Let’s not run away. Let’s all allow ourselves to be chosen, chased down, and overtaken by this liberating work.

Blessed are those who hear the word of God and obey it.
Luke 11:28 (CSB)

 

Empowered with God’s Strength

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Lord, the king finds joy in your strength.
How greatly he rejoices in your victory!
You have given him his heart’s desire
and have not denied the request of his lips. Selah
For you meet him with rich blessings;
you place a crown of pure gold on his head.
He asked you for life, and you gave it to him—
length of days forever and ever.
His glory is great through your victory;
you confer majesty and splendor on him.
You give him blessings forever;
you cheer him with joy in your presence.
For the king relies on the Lord;
through the faithful love of the Most High
he is not shaken.
Your hand will capture all your enemies;
your right hand will seize those who hate you.
You will make them burn
like a fiery furnace when you appear;
the Lord will engulf them in his wrath,
and fire will devour them.
You will wipe their progeny from the earth
and their offspring from the human race.
Though they intend to harm you
and devise a wicked plan, they will not prevail.
Instead, you will put them to flight
when you ready your bowstrings to shoot at them.
Be exalted, Lord, in your strength;
we will sing and praise your might.
Psalm 21 (CSB)

In Psalm 20, David prays for deliverance in battle, and Psalm 21 is the praise that accompanies victory. God is one who helps us, who knows the desires of our hearts, and who empowers us with His strength when we go into battle. For every fight against injustice and racism, for every loss we grieve, for every hurt we are forced to be silent about, God sees each one. He hears our prayers, and He fights for us.

This summer, we’re journeying through the book of Psalms. 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 can’t wait to spend Summer (in) the Psalms with you.

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

When You Want to Belong, Try This

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I can still remember the exciting summer of ’91 before my senior year of high school, when educator Marva Collins came to my Oklahoma hometown. While I hadn’t heard of Marva Collins before that time, I learned she was a big deal in the education field who’d been featured in Time, Life, and Newsweek magazines. Ms. Collins and her good work had also been highlighted on the television show 60 Minutes.

I’ve thought a lot about Ms. Collins this week. In reading about her history, I learned that after becoming disenchanted with public and private schools in the Chicago area where she lived, she started her own school: Westside Preparatory. At the end of that school’s first year, every student enrolled scored at least five grades higher on standardized tests. As Ms. Collins garnered national attention (including that of President Reagan, who offered her the post of Secretary of Education), she went on to supervise schools on academic probation inside and outside of Chicago. She helped improve school ratings as well as train over 100,000 teachers and administrators in her teaching methodology.

It was this work of Ms. Collins—training fellow educators—that brought her to my hometown in northern Oklahoma, where she taught a two-week class to elementary students. Through a random drawing at my dad’s work, my younger sister was chosen to participate in that class. My sister and fellow classmates, who represented a range of ethnicities and learning abilities, proceeded to study Latin derivatives, memorize poetry, and study William Shakespeare. They learned to count in eight languages. They learned the Greek alphabet. They learned songs that affirmed all they brought to the world. Yours truly here can still sing every word to the song, “I am a Promise” that Ms. Collins taught her students.

“I am a promise, I am a possibility. I am a Promise, with a capital P…”

Those kids learned so much within those two weeks that even my self-absorbed, seventeen-year-old self was slack-jawed by it all.

How did Ms. Collins’s students’ progress as they did? One reason is because she believed all children were capable of success. Ms. Collins believed, “There was a brilliant child locked inside every student.” If a child struggled, Ms. Collins put the onus on herself.  She stated, “I don’t make excuses — I take responsibility. If children fail, it’s about me, not them.”

I write a lot about belonging, and one of my biggest lessons learned to date is that in securing my own sense of belonging, it helps to think of myself as a Belong-Maker. I saw Ms. Collins’ life as an example of a Belong-Maker — before I had the words to express it. Like Jesus, the original Belong-Maker, Ms. Collins gave kids the gift of being seen.

She brought all children — regardless of race, economic or social status — into the circle of potential like few before her. She had a heart for them, and her actions sprang from that heart — His heart.

Ms. Collins not only brought all kids in to a standard of excellence; she helped remove stumbling blocks that prevented some kids from internalizing this standard for themselves. Ms. Collins had grown up in the South during the time of segregation, but she made sure kids knew excellence wasn’t just attainable for a few cherry-picked folks. It was a habit that anyone could adhere to — and grow towards. Also, Ms. Collins believed that building a child up from the inside out was essential to his or her success in school — and in life.

As a Belong-Maker, holding a spot open for someone — you! — comes very naturally to me. God gave me a welcoming spirit that loves to bring others in. But what doesn’t come so naturally to me is paying attention to obstacles that might prevent someone from moving toward the circle in the first place.

I’m working on not only being a Belong-Maker but an Obstacle-Remover too.

Right now, that looks like speaking up — like pointing an arrow to the injustices our Black brothers and sisters have faced for much too long.

That looks like listening up — so others voices can be heard.

That looks like praying for the Lord to expose the biases within my own heart — so His heart can be exposed.

That looks like hard conversations with those in my circles — so all can better understand what needs to change to fully welcome others in.

More than any other person who walked the Earth, Jesus was a Belong-Maker who gave others the gift of being seen. His death and resurrection removed any obstacle between God and us. What’s more, He also paved the way for us to follow as Belong-Makers and to kick any obstacles out of the way that prevent others from being welcomed in, too.

In this classroom of life, may my eyes and heart stay open to His direction in my location.

Because we’re all a Promise, with a capital P.

Read more about becoming a Belong-Maker in Kristen’s book, Back Roads to Belonging.