Learning to Look Forward and Press On

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

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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”]

Prayer in the Era of Self-Help

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I am not proud to admit that when things go wrong in my life – or in the lives of the people I love – my first instinct isn’t always a posture of prayer.

Instead, I too often adopt a posture of self-help. I act as if my theology is something along the lines of “I’ve got this,” instead of “God’s got this.” Or weirder still: “If I worry about this enough, it will resolve itself.”

I suppose this attitude is a byproduct of the culture in which I was born and bred. The concept of the “self-made man” is so pervasive we buy into the notion that our fates are in our own hands. We believe that with enough hard work, we can get what we want – a bigger house, a better job, a more fit physique, an idealized social status.

If you’ve lived long enough under that sort of ethic, you can begin to think that prayer is no more than a beautiful expression of faith. You might not say it out loud, but deep within you, you might be thinking, “God is great and all, but if I want something done, I’ll have to do it myself.” And let’s face it, so many of us have poured out our hearts to God, begging Him to move urgently, only to feel like our prayers were just an echo in the darkness, especially when we show up at the graveside service.

I found myself falling into this way of thinking recently when one of my children was facing a particularly difficult challenge that had us all in tears. I sat awake many nights in a row devising plans to “fix the problem.” I thought about ways to confront, correct, or control what was happening.

One morning, after a particularly long night, I was studying a verse in John. “In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world” (John 16:33 NIV).

I kept looking at the tiny, three-word exclamation in the middle of that verse: “But take heart!” Jesus didn’t say, “Take matters into your own hands.” He didn’t say, “Take control.” He said, “Take heart.”

Taking heart is not a posture of self-help. It’s the posture of humility. Indeed, it’s the posture of prayer. Prayer is the acknowledgement that we’re not running the show — God is. It is a way of saying, “I trust Your ways more than mine, Lord.”

I think now about the dozens of biblical heroes whose very lives illustrate the power of prayer. Here are just a few:

Hannah prayed — and birthed a son (1 Samuel 1:1-20).
Esther prayed — and a nation was delivered (Esther 4:15-17).
Daniel prayed — and the mouths of lions were snapped shut (Daniel 6).
Moses prayed to see God’s glory — and he got the greatest show on earth (Exodus 33:12-23).

It wasn’t their muscle or intelligence or strategic planning that worked. It was their willingness to fall to their knees.

One prayer really can change everything, so don’t underestimate the power of your prayers. Don’t fall for the lie that your prayers have to be said a certain way to count. Don’t give up asking. Not now! God hears you, and no prayer is ever, ever wasted. Ask and ask again because even when our prayers don’t change our circumstances, those prayers are changing us.

What are you praying for today? Maybe you’re like Hannah, praying for a child to hold. Or maybe you’re praying for a child to come home, to be healed, to turn back around from where he’s headed.

Maybe you’re like Esther, praying for a nation.

Maybe you’re like Daniel, and that lion you’re praying against is the one who’s been preying on your family.

Maybe you are like Moses, and you just want to see God.

Ask. Pray. It changes things. And then keep your eyes open because His answer might just blow you away.

Remember Peter? He was in prison, and the church kept praying for him. One night, an angel appeared in Peter’s cell. Chains fell, and Peter walked out the door. Even Peter couldn’t believe what was happening! He went to Mary’s house, where the church had been praying. A servant named Rhoda answered the door, and she was so shocked, she forgot to let him in!

Keep your eyes open for a Rhoda-styled surprise. Don’t give up now. You are never as powerful as that moment when you fall to your knees in prayer.

How can I pray for you today?

 

[bctt tweet=”One prayer really can change everything, so don’t underestimate the power of your prayers. -@dukeslee:” username=”incourage”]

Joy Comes from Being His

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Let the whole earth shout triumphantly to the Lord!
Serve the Lord with gladness;
come before him with joyful songs.
Acknowledge that the Lord is God.
He made us, and we are his —
his people, the sheep of his pasture.
Enter his gates with thanksgiving
and his courts with praise.
Give thanks to him and bless his name.
For the Lord is good, and his faithful love endures forever;
his faithfulness, through all generations.
Psalm 100 CSB

When stress and anxiety don’t let up, how do we shout triumphantly to the Lord? How do we come before Him with joyful songs? Joy isn’t easy to embrace when we’re overwhelmed and when grief and loss are closer companions on this journey than we’d like.

But verses 3 and 5 of Psalm 100 guide us toward joy. We acknowledge that the Lord is God, the One who made us and to whom we belong. We are in His care, shepherded by His strong hand, and His faithful love for us endures forever. His constancy is reason for praise. With our hands and hearts open before Him, let’s enter into His presence singing songs of His faithfulness.

God, help us to remember the times You’ve walked with us and how You haven’t changed in the midst of all the changes happening around us. Fill us with Your joy. Amen.

This summer, we’re journeying through the book of Psalms. Join us! 

Click here to purchase the Summer (in) the Psalms 40-Day Devotional Journal for just $7.99! This beautiful 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 studying!

We’re loving this summer spent (in) the Psalms with you.

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

 

[bctt tweet=”We are in God’s care, shepherded by His strong hand, and His faithful love for us endures forever. #inpsalms2020″ username=”incourage”]

Lord, Make Us Tenacious

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Grief lies like a foot of flood water in our home. I’m not wading through it all the time, but when I hear of another death — because of COVID, because of police brutality, because of depression, because of chronic illness, because of old age — the waters rise, and it feels as though I can’t tread water long enough to keep myself afloat.

It’s not only loss of life that keeps me trudging through grief. It’s the daily reminders that Black bodies are not safe, that anti-Asian racism is still alive, that people feel stripped of their rights for having to wear masks while others don’t have access to the same kind of privileges or resources or freedom. Grief mingles with wrath and lament and hopelessness, and I don’t have the energy to envision what it could be like in the future.

Twice last week, I cried myself to sleep. I couldn’t pinpoint exactly what was wrong, which only added frustration to the restlessness I already felt. Every night, I try to push anxiety to the edges of my mind, but it shows up center stage when my body finally relents and lets me sleep. But instead of rest, anxiety turns sleep into hours of vivid dreams that keep my mind unsettled.

But morning comes anyway, unfazed by the world burning. The sun shines through the slats of the window blinds, telling me it’s time to start the day whether I want to or not. It’s true — the day must be lived. Breakfast must be made, work must get done, fights between children must be managed. Decisions about the future must be weighed even though everything may change again in a day’s time.

News and important conversations are happening, but I’ve become slow at processing information. I hear and read words, but my mind only seems to catch half of it — if that. I feel the pressure to catch up to everyone else, but I know the learning and unlearning process when it comes to anti-racism work, deconstructing our faith from white supremacy, and allyship is a never-arriving road.

People say things won’t go back to normal, and I really hope they don’t. History tends to repeat itself, but I want what needs to be burned to be burned away. I want the broken systems of our country to be fully exposed, so we can no longer look away and say it’s not our problem. I want the Church to get a good look at herself so we can see that so many things are not right and well just because we say it in Jesus’ name. I want the prejudices and biases I’ve learned and lived with to fall off like scales from my eyes.

So even though I wish all the chaos and pain would end already, I think we’re just in the middle of it. We can cross our fingers and shut our eyes tight, hoping for things to calm down or be in denial of what’s really happening around the world. We can even cry out for revival and renewal, but as I’ve written before, is resurrection even possible when what needs to die hasn’t finished dying yet?

I don’t think we’ll get through this by gritting our teeth. It will require more from us than we’re comfortable with, and for me, I don’t know if I have the tenacity to keep going or if I’m brave enough to face what will come.

When I think about what else might happen in the months ahead, what sacrifices will need to be made, what lives will still be lost, my chest tightens with anxiety. I feel helpless, so I close my eyes, take deep breaths, and remember those who came before me.

I remember my grandfather-in-law who recently died at the age of ninety-one. He had lived and fought through war times, eventually immigrating from Korea to the United States to give his children and future generations a chance at opportunities he didn’t have. I remember my own grandmother, who was widowed at a young age and raised her three children as a single mother. I think about Black men and women who marched and fought during the Civil Rights Movement and how their protests, their blood, their words, their lives paved the way for equal rights — not just for the Black community but also for many others, including Asian Americans like myself.

I wonder how they did it — how they lived through and survived trauma, how they kept going when it felt hopeless. I wish for the kind of grit they had, and then it dawns on me: Everyone who came before us gained tenacity because they endured the difficulties they had to live through. They didn’t have a choice but to go through the fire, wade through the waters, and now they are our cloud of witnesses, as Romans 12:1 says. They’ve run this race, and now it’s our turn to endure hard things, fight for the right things, and persevere.

I imagine their hands behind our backs, supporting us, anointing us, and Jesus in front of us. He endured trauma and death at the hands of religious leaders and law enforcement. Jesus was abused and beaten, hung on a cross to die slowly until He couldn’t breathe anymore. When we are weary, when we can’t see what’s ahead, when we grieve and lament in anger and sadness, we can look to Him who endured it all and trust that He will help us persevere.

Lord, make us tenacious. Help us to endure. We look to You. Amen.

 

[bctt tweet=”Those who came before us have run this race, and now it’s our turn to endure hard things, fight for the right things, and persevere. -@gracepcho:” username=”incourage”]

Love Is Still Stronger Than Fear

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Loving other people can feel like stepping across a field of land mines sometimes. Perhaps this is truest of all online. So many angry words, sharp-pointed opinions, destructive assumptions. Why do we do this to each other?

I’ve come to believe this: We are most angry when we are most afraid. It’s the old flight-or-fight response built into our bodies from the beginning. Some of us flee, but others of us pick up our guns and load them with words. We think we are saving ourselves, maybe even saving the world, but we are destroyers in disguise.

I recently talked about this with two friends and fellow writers. During our conversation, this verse came to mind: “There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear” (1 John 4:18). We, as humans, tend to think if we can have things our way, then the world will be better. So we fight our fear aggressively and forcefully. We post and shout. We raise our fists and our voices.

But what if instead of spewing those angry words and that tirade online, we simply go to the person who is standing in our kitchen today and say, “I love you and I am for you”? Or we reach out to someone who is different from us because we also fear what we don’t understand? And if we’re spending all our time saying, “Here’s my opinion,” then we’re not listening, not understanding. Fear wins.

One of my friends asked, “What would it be like if we made a commitment to fight for each other instead of with each other?” It’s a question worth considering if we want to defeat fear. Because if we live with swords drawn in defense, then we are always on guard, looking for the next fight, seeing threatening shadows in every corner.

When (in)courage first started over a decade ago, I created a Commitment of Words and we all agreed to it. I find myself thinking of it again with everything that’s going on in our world today.

A Commitment of Words

We commit to using our words to defend and heal, not to harm.

We will not gossip. We will not belittle.

We will guard our sisters by always speaking the best about them, encouraging them into all God would have them to be and offering grace instead of condemnation.

We will be loyal and loving, remembering that even if we disagree, we still fight on the same side — never against each other.

We will use our words to build up and not tear down, to bring hope and not hurt.

We offer our words as powerful weapons to fight for each other on the side of all that is good, right, and true.

We have a Protector. He is good. He is wise. He is kind. And here’s what we need to know: God hasn’t asked us to be right all the time. He has called us to love. This is the harder, braver choice because it requires opening our hearts instead of our mouths. It’s about seeing each other not as threats but as people made in the image of God. It means we lay down our weapons and go, with arms wide open, down a path that could very well lead to a cross.

At first we might be scared. This is not the easy option, after all. But it is the fiercehearted one. And it’s the only way back to grace and peace, mercy and hope, humility and kindness.

I still believe this: love is stronger than fear.

God, You are the Maker of all human beings, those who are most dear to us and those with whom we disagree. Give us eyes to see others as You do, a heart that has compassion like Yours, and the strength to keep on loving. Amen.

Will you join me in this Commitment of Words today?

 

Are you a writer called to use your words to bring hope and encouragement to the hearts of others? Holley created a course to help you! Find out more now.

[bctt tweet=”Love is about seeing each other not as threats but as people made in the image of God. #loveoverfear -@HolleyGerth:” username=”incourage”]

When Roses Preach About Healing from Trauma

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I’m not very good at keeping plants alive. I forget to water them. I leave them in the sun, and sometimes they become parched. I even have a penchant for killing succulents.

That said, I love flowers. Watching them grow and bloom makes my heart swell.

In this time of COVID-19 and sheltering at home for months, I’ve been longing to see more things grow. My heart needs light and color when the world is swirling with disappointment, cancellations, sickness, and racial tension.

A few months ago, I went to a local nursery and picked out two new rosebushes to plant at my house. I walked the aisles and finally chose from among the dozens of varieties.

I’m always drawn like a magnet to the two-toned roses. I picked out two tea rose varieties – one called the “Dark Night,” which promised roses with crimson petals and yellow centers, and the other named “Double Delight,” with velvety white petals that gave way to bright magenta at the edges.

We planted my rosebushes on an overcast day before the heat hit hard. We packed fresh, organic soil around the base of each rosebush and watered them generously. I started a new routine of going out every evening to check on my rose bushes. I felt maternal and nurturing, watering them nightly.

The first week all their leaves and blooms shriveled up and fell to the ground. The second week the stems turned brown as well.

Was I doing something wrong? Watering too much or too little?

I enlisted the help of my mother-in-law, who is the “plant doctor.” She has a knack for reviving any little haggard plant and propagating even the smallest cuttings. She assured me that the rosebushes were okay.

“They’ve just been through trauma,” she said. “Keep watering them. You can’t water roses too much.”

So, I kept watering and wondering.

A week later, my mother-in-law came over again and declared, “We need to prune the rose bushes.” I delivered a set of garden clippers and some gloves and watched her carefully clean off all the dead leaves and trim back all of the branches.

She showed me how the stems were turning green again and the places where new shoots were emerging. I breathed a sigh of relief.

“Keep watering them every day,” she reminded me.

So I did.

The stems looked bare. Thorns poked out in all directions like bad morning hair. There were no blooms in sight. But I held onto hope. I knew my babies had been through shock after being transplanted to a new place with different soil.

Like all of us in this strange season, they needed to be watered. They needed to root in the new soil. They needed extra grace when it came to producing. They needed extra attention until they could be brought back to health and blooming again.

I recently hosted a workshop for women leaders where a few of my friends who are experts spoke about trauma. My friend, Dr. Deshunna Ricks, taught me that we experience trauma in a variety of ways, including direct experience, witnessing an event, hearing about something that’s happened to someone close or a member of one’s race. We can even be harmed by repeated exposure to a traumatic event on social media.

Friend, we all have experienced trauma of some kind in our lives. Even this time of COVID-19 and racial unrest in our country has been traumatic for many of us. As women, many of us are leading, parenting, and ministering to people who also have endured trauma in their lives. Trauma affects the brain and our ability to function. We need to speak life and love to ourselves and others affected by trauma.

My friend Whitney inspired me to look at the story in John 4 of the Samaritan woman, who met Jesus at the well through a new lens. This woman had endured trauma. She had five husbands in a time when women were not allowed to divorce men. She carried the burden of relational trauma and perhaps other kinds of abuse. She was an outsider in her community. Even the disciples questioned Jesus for having a conversation with this Samaritan woman. Men did not talk to women, and Jews did not talk to Samaritans, a people group considered unclean by the Jews.

Jesus went to the well with the purpose of healing this woman and revealing Himself as the Messiah.

He tells the woman, “Anyone who drinks this water will soon become thirsty again.  But those who drink the water I give will never be thirsty again. It becomes a fresh, bubbling spring within them, giving them eternal life”
John 4:13 (NLT)

Jesus spoke to her about a living water that runs like a spring and nourishes, heals, and brings eternal life. This water differed from the water that came from a well. Jesus declared that He was the Messiah who brings new life.

The woman was transformed by her encounter with Jesus. She was used by God in her healing and granted the privilege of declaring her testimony to her community. Like the Samaritan woman, we need to be nourished by God’s Living Water, which brings us to flourishing.

Last week, I stepped outside and squealed with wonder when I saw a flash of crimson. Layers upon layers of velvet petals cupped that one glorious bloom. My first “Dark Night” rose embraced the daylight and declared that she, too, had been transformed by the Master Gardener.

Like my rosebush, we need nourishment after trauma. We need to be patient with the healing process. We need to speak love to ourselves and others. We need to trust the Master Gardener is rooting us anew and shaping His roses for the future.

Dorina has written more on how God has designed each of us to flourish for His glory in her Bible study, Flourishing Together: Cultivating a Fruitful Life in Christ. Details here.

 

[bctt tweet=”As we deal with the trauma in our lives, we need to be nourished by God’s Living Water, which brings us to flourishing. -@DorinaGilmore:” username=”incourage”]