Peace in the Midst of the Storm

Peace in the Midst of the Storm

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I thought I was fine.

Sure, the whole world seems to have turned upside down on itself over the past month. And yes, having four kids home all day, every day, while two grown-ups try to work and manage homework isn’t ideal. And, yes, I’ve been a little under the weather — likely a random virus, nothing serious. But I’m holed up at home to be on the safe side.

I was fine, totally fine. So I thought.

And then after a long day of work and another hour making a home-cooked dinner, one unnamed thirteen-year-old made one too many critical comments, and I went from okay to out-of-control.

So maybe I’m not so fine after all.

Life has been hard lately with very little rest and recovery. There’s lots of tension and anxiety and chaos. Adults who struggle to physically get all the things done in a twenty-four-hour day are being followed by children who gripe and complain because they have no understanding of all that hangs in the balance. And then there’s the unrelenting news and ever-changing realities, none of which last long enough for any of us to find some solid ground and get our footing.

We’re like too many passengers, crammed into a too-small dingy, thrust out into the wide-open sea and then caught in a furious and terrifying storm:

One day Jesus said to his disciples, “Let us go over to the other side of the lake.” So they got into a boat and set out.
As they sailed, he fell asleep. A squall came down on the lake, so that the boat was being swamped,
and they were in great danger. The disciples went and woke him, saying,
“Master, Master, we’re going to drown!”
Luke 8:22-24 (NIV)

I understand the disciples’ panic, their ability to go from okay to out-of-control in the span of seconds. My squall may not come in the form of rain and wind, but it’s just as terrifying, just as damaging. And more often than I want to admit, I’m the source of its sting — in my impatient responses and curt replies, my critical remarks and unforgiveness. When the tension and anxiety and chaos rise, my peace and self-control go down.

And you want to know something else? The funny thing about tension and anxiety and chaos is that the first things we often let go of are the things we need the most:

Quiet
Prayer
Meditation
Bible reading
Solitude

It seems there isn’t time for it, not enough energy for it.

A few days ago, I realized once again how insecure, irritable, and overwhelmed I felt. It wasn’t so much about world events, moody teenagers, and this cold I can’t shake. It was more about where I was putting my focus in the middle of it all.

I was so caught up in the chaos of the storm I forgot that Jesus was in my boat. And if I wanted to find a way to stay afloat, I needed to remember the only One who could offer me true peace.

So today’s agenda?

Inner quiet (because my house will be anything but quiet)
Prayer
Scripture
Meditation
Thoughtfulness
Rest

“Where is your faith?” He asked the disciples (vs. 25). He asks the same of you and me.

And for today, I remember that although my world rocks and the wind roars, my faith is with Jesus. He sits in my boat, even while the storm grows. That means my Peace is with me, right here, right now, no matter what comes.

 

[bctt tweet=”Our Peace is with us, right here, right now, no matter what comes. -@MicheleCushatt:” username=”incourage”]

Let’s Stop Telling Each Other How to Grieve

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I’m not sure if I screamed or cried out, but something I did brought my mom rushing to my room as I stared blankly at the cordless phone in my hand. My brain and my heart weren’t processing the news I’d just received, and I wasn’t sure what to do next. I had just learned that my friend, the one I’d seen in my dorm room just hours before, was dead.

Now that I’m a mom — and a couple decades older — I can only imagine what my mom thought in that moment. But as I sat in shock, in grief, I knew that she would certainly know what to do next.

And she did. It just wasn’t what I wanted to do, as it turns out. In hindsight, I realize that day was when I began learning that everyone grieves differently.

The blur of that weekend has erased my thought process and my intentions, so I don’t know what I actually wanted to do after my friend died. But I know what I did not want to do and that was to help my mom cook and clean. At nineteen years old, I didn’t understand the logistics involved in opening our home to my college friends who were driving down for the funeral. Pragmatic as I find myself now, as a wife and mom, as a doer and a fixer, casseroles and clean towels simply did not seem important in the face of crying and talking and hugging and sleeping.

I also didn’t understand that people grieve in different ways. Weeping might be the obvious reaction to tragedy, but it’s certainly not the only reaction.

Somehow, that week made room for both reactions — and what I understand now is that both were legitimate (and necessary) ways to respond to grief. Turning to tangible tasks and making the practical a priority doesn’t mean a person is not devastated; it just means she’s grieving differently than the one who can’t stop crying and only wants to take another nap.

Some of us kick into high gear when disaster strikes, baking bread and planning services. Some of us make outlandish comments or outrageous decisions in the heat of the moment. Some of us lay down on the floor or on the bed, determined to never rise again. Some of us start committees or organizations; some of us write letters and sign petitions; and some of us move on like nothing happened, acting as if we’re fine, everything’s fine, it’s JUST FINE.

Some of us find ourselves screaming, “Why?” at the cemetery, only to dissolve into laughter a few minutes later when our friend Clairee suggests hitting Ouiser Boudreaux as a way to channel our anger. (That’s Steel Magnolias I’m talking about, in case you don’t know.)

When our hearts break, when our lives fall apart, when the world seems to be burning, none of us knows what to do next — and then we just do whatever we need to do. We grieve the way we were taught or the way that makes it stop hurting for a minute or two. We grieve the way we grieve, whether that makes sense to anyone else or not.

Grief seems to be the common denominator of these times. Whether it’s personal or global, recent or ancient, we all seem to be grieving the loss of someone, of something. And while our suffering unites us, our methods of reacting and processing and coping sometimes divide us. It’s just one more way expectations trip us up, when we assume others will need what we need and do what we do. In an effort to reassure ourselves that our own reactions are right, we decide that everyone else must fall in line behind us.

But we’re just not wired that way. Each one of us was created unique, and our diversity in experience and personality mean that even when we’re grieving for the same reason, we won’t necessarily go about it the same way.

And that’s okay.

All of this seems harder while we’re isolated and alone, often feeling our emotions escalate in the face of fear and uncertainty. Seizing the moment and choosing joy feel impossible to many of us when grief is in the mix, and our gratitude and positive outlooks feel forced at best and completely false at worst. Then again, leaning into extra family time, finally finishing that project or that book, and getting back to the basics of board games and baking projects might be just the reprieve someone else needs to get through this difficult season. Neither response is the right or wrong way to handle things. Neither one is better or worse, proof of a person’s level of grief (as if that’s a thing that can be measured).

No, see, we all break differently. We all grieve differently. And we all take those differences with us into the most challenging of seasons.

Maybe this year is the moment we can finally remember that, accept that, even embrace that. Maybe we can erase phrases like “moving on” from our vocabulary. Maybe we can remember that a bright smile doesn’t necessarily mean a heart’s no longer broken. Maybe, no matter what or how our loved ones (or we) are missing or resenting or processing or handling what’s going on right now, we can offer grace or the benefit of the doubt or the simple understanding that not one of us is exactly the same.

Maybe we can stop telling each other how to grieve.

 

[bctt tweet=”Each one of us was created unique, so even when we’re grieving for the same reason, we won’t necessarily go about it the same way. And that’s okay. -@marycarver:” username=”incourage”]

Our Hope for This Easter

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Mary was standing outside the tomb crying, and as she wept, she stooped and looked in. She saw two white-robed angels, one sitting at the head and the other at the foot of the place where the body of Jesus had been lying. “Dear woman, why are you crying?” the angels asked her. “Because they have taken my Lord,” she replied, “and I don’t know where they have put him.” 

She turned to leave and saw someone standing there. It was Jesus, but she didn’t recognize him. “Dear woman, why are you crying?” Jesus asked her. “Who are you looking for?” She thought he was the gardener. “Sir,” she said, “if you have taken him away, tell me where you have put him, and I will go and get him.”

“Mary!” Jesus said. She turned to him and cried out, “Rabboni!” (which is Hebrew for “Teacher”).

“Don’t cling to me, “ Jesus said, “for I haven’t yet ascended to the Father. But go find my brothers and tell them, ‘I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.’” Mary Magdalene found the disciples and told them, “I have seen the Lord!” Then she gave them his message.
John 20:11-18 (NLT)

We celebrate this Jesus — the One who conquered death and rose again, the One who sees us and calls us by name, the One who meets us in our grief and hopelessness.

He is risen.
He is life.
He is with us.

Our message to others today is the same as Mary’s then: we have seen the Lord! May this bring comfort to our lives and may the power of the resurrection be evident in our lives, even now. Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ.

Happy Easter!

 

[bctt tweet=”We link arms with you this Easter as we celebrate the resurrection of Jesus. Because He lives, we have hope. ” username=”incourage”]

Love Audaciously During This Crisis

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The weight of disappointment demanded my attention. I could feel panic encroaching, threatening to crowd out my peace. When I was a child, my mom used to say that I was highly perceptive. Now, some friends describe me as highly sensitive or as an empath. However you call it, I have the tendency to feel as though I am living through the pain and loss of a tragic event even though it’s thousands of miles away —  Hurricane Katrina, 9/11, mass shootings, refugee crises, to name a few.

I remember during the aftermath of 9/11, I attended a prayer vigil. I was so overcome by our collective grief that I began loudly sobbing and wailing. I’m sure everyone thought I must have known someone who died in the attack, but I did not.

Following Hurricane Katrina, I had to turn off the news reports. Even though I personally knew no one impacted by this tragedy, the collective injury and trauma clung to my body.

But this time is different. Beyond trauma and sorrow, I began to feel a twinge of panic. I wondered if we, the United States, understood that we are not a force of exceptional individuals, immune to the rest of the world. The traditional American narrative does not portray us as a part of the world’s body but as a whole entity unto ourselves. We believe we are a superpower. So I wondered if we would know how to move humbly in alignment, as one with the rest of the world in order, to do what humanity needed.

Initially, I heard more concern for the life of the stock market than for the lives of people. I witnessed leaders expressing frustration and hesitation when they needed to act, without haste, in the best interest of the countless people in their charge. I heard a young executive say, “The coronavirus only kills old people and people with compromised immune systems, so I don’t need to worry about it. People are overreacting!”

I wondered if this young executive had grandparents. And if so, had he considered them as he championed for inaction? I wondered if he even knew which of his friends had respiratory issues. And to make matters worse, overt and pronounced anti-Asian sentiment had become the accepted conduit for advancing political and social agendas. One of my students of Asian descent told me that his family is more afraid of the anti-Asian racism than they are of catching the virus.

But as the impact of the virus pressed into our reality, I witnessed movement that snuffed out the flicker of panic threatening to engulf me. My twelve-year-old nephew had a heart-to-heart chat with his grandmother, my mom. He told her that because her husband is in the older, at-risk age group, she needed to take a break from her job where she came into contact with lots of people. He didn’t want his grandma exposing his grandpa to danger. The twelve-year-old audaciously acted on behalf of his eighty-two-year-old grandpa, and joy flooded my soul! So much so that I burst out laughing!

There is hope!

Jesus, resurrected and in conversation with Peter, emphasized the significance of taking care of His sheep (John 21:15-17). Three times, Jesus related Peter’s love for Him with providing and caring for His sheep. Sheep are vulnerable. They represent those who are susceptible to being overlooked, wounded, exploited, or erased. Sheep need someone to care for them, to see them, to protect them. Sheep need a shepherd — a Jesus, a Peter, a twelve-year-old audacious grandson.

Often times, as followers of Jesus, we view ourselves as “His sheep” only, and yes, each of us are like vulnerable sheep at some point in our lives. But I am realizing that there are many times I choose to act as a sheep, when in reality, I have the privilege, potential, and power to serve as a Jesus or a Peter. I am learning to reconcile how my love for Jesus positions me to see and value the marginalized — those pushed to the edges of society. I am striving to accept the Shepherd’s mandate — to see, love, and protect those who society deems disposable.

It is an honor to love Jesus, and it is a privilege to take care of His sheep.

May this crisis be fertile ground to grow our capacity to love audaciously. May we allow the One who liberated Jesus from the grips of death to free us from our fear-imposed limits. May our love for Jesus posture us to cultivate a community where we thrive as one. 

Amen.

 

[bctt tweet=”May this crisis be fertile ground to grow our capacity to love audaciously. #covid_19 #community #loveoverall -Lucretia Berry (@brownicity):” username=”incourage”]

Redeemed, Forgiven, and Free

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On Good Friday I went to Catholic Mass. It was early April, the kind of day that is damp and heavy. No matter the year, on Good Friday I can’t help but think: Jesus is going to die today. The morning of mourning consistently makes that truth feel fresh once again — a gaping wound ripped wide open. Soon, love would gush down the side of a wooden cross, declaring me whole, declaring me free. The Savior of the world would be deep in the midst of saving me.

I attended by myself. It was me, Jesus, and a few hundred other people. I had been to a Catholic Mass a handful of times before, but not to that specific cathedral. It was beautiful and huge, sweeping across the city. It seemed as though anyone in the world could look up and see the steeple.

The stained glass mesmerized me. I wished I had arrived earlier, if only to be able to study them closer. I sat and fiddled with my fingertips instead. There was a kneeler in front of me. How many knees had bent there? How many prayers had been uttered? It was immediately reverent, and I felt a lightness sway inside my chest.

Halfway through the service, a few men started to carry a large wooden cross down the middle aisle. They set it down gently, sturdily at the front. One by one, the hundred people stood from their pews and made their way to the cross. They knelt before it, and I watched as they placed their lips to the wooden base. I watched them kiss the cross.

I started to cry then, because I knew — I knew — I wouldn’t be able to. I could never kiss the cross. My muscles screamed at me to get up and go, to stand in the line and press my lips against the cross of Jesus. But I willed my body to stay in the suddenly small pew, which seemed to be shrinking beneath me. My tears increased as they wove their way down my cheeks, and I felt envious of the people around me who didn’t feel ashamed, who were able to get up and kiss the cross of their Savior. I looked down at my lap. Forgive me for my shame.

The shame engulfed me. I thought maybe I’d drown beneath the weight of it. I thought, “My shame is taking over me.” I was fearful, desperately so. Fearful that I was Peter, fearful that I was Judas, fearful that I would deny Him, or betray Him, or refuse to kiss the foot of His cross.

Oh, Jesus, forgive me for my shame.

The adulteress in John 8:1-11 came to mind. That’s who she’s known as: the adulteress. Can you imagine if that’s how you were known? For your deepest, most shameful act? I can hardly bear the thought.

Jesus was teaching when the adulterous woman was brought to Him, which means He would have been surrounded by people. Not only was she labeled for her sin, but she was also being called out on it in front of many people.

The Pharisees threw her in front of Jesus. I can’t imagine that they were gentle with her, certainly not regarding her as someone precious or loved.

The Pharisees were a tricky group, always wanting to force Jesus into a catch-22. “This woman was caught in the act of committing adultery,” they continued. “In the law Moses commanded us to stone such women. So what do you say?” (John 8:4-5).

I picture the woman standing there in front of Jesus, tears coursing down her face — the shame surrounding her, defining her identity, deciding her destiny.

Jesus did not look at her. Instead He stooped down and began to write something on the ground below Him. The Pharisees, of course, wouldn’t give up. They continued to pester Him, until Jesus stood and said, “The one without sin among you should be the first to throw a stone at her” (v. 7). Then He bent down again, continuing to write on the ground.

I wish I had seen the faces of the people who stood there after Jesus said this. What did the Pharisees say? What did the crowd think? But more than all of this, how did the woman — the one who had been shamed, ridiculed, and called an adulteress — feel?
One by one, the people left. No one could throw a stone, because no one was without sin. Eventually, Jesus stood. He and the woman were the only ones left. “Woman, where are they?” He asked her. “Has no one condemned you?” (v. 10).

I wonder if she brushed her tears away with the back of her hand. “No one, Lord,” she answered (v. 11).

Jesus looked at her and said the words that must have changed the entirety of her life. “Neither do I condemn you,” said Jesus. “Go, and from now on do not sin anymore” (v. 11).

I never kissed the cross that Good Friday. There was too much shame inside of me. I can’t kiss the cross. There are too many things I have done, too many lies I have told, too many times I have abandoned You.

But Jesus.

He would stand up. We would be the only ones left. “Where are they?” He would ask me. “Has no one condemned you?”
“No one, Lord,” I could answer.

I could look into His eyes — His eyes filled with goodness, reminding me who I am: someone who is precious and loved. “Neither do I condemn you,” Jesus would tell me. “Go, and from now on do not sin anymore.”

This post was written by Aliza Latta and originally appeared in the (in)courage Devotional Bible.

 

[bctt tweet=”On this Good Friday, may we remember the God who entered darkness to bring us into light. He is God with us. ” username=”incourage”]

Who Can Help Ease the Changes We Face

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When we were stationed in Hawaii, I homeschooled for one very, very, very long year. Let’s just say it wasn’t a raving success because I let distractions interfere as much as my kids. This proved especially true with those subjects I didn’t really like — namely, anything involving the left side of my brain.

One thing said more than once by my actual 2008 self to my three young children was, “Hey, y’all, let’s go to the beach and count sea turtles and call it math!” Not surprisingly, my kids were happy to oblige.

But since Jesus loves me, He gifted me with a good local friend on the island who was also a tried-and-true homeschooling mama. She shared her homeschooling smarts and relaxed, yet productive, ways with me, and lo and behold, the kids and I miraculously made it through the curriculum that year.

At that time, I may have been new to homeschooling, but I was an old hat at being a military wife.

Yesterday, a friend and military wife posted something on Facebook along the lines of, “Welcome to the world of having the government ruin your plans.” While the parallel to this current COVID-19 crisis isn’t perfect, military folks are just some of the people who know what it’s like to have their plans derailed with little notice. After all, many a military family has felt the whiplash reality of thinking and preparing they’re moving to one place and finding out last minute they’re moving somewhere else. Or that they’re not moving at all because their military member is deploying. Or maybe they already moved, say, to the East Coast, but all their household goods were inexplicably transported to the West Coast.

In some ways, the world at large is getting a taste of what our military friends have already experienced.

In some ways, those parents overseeing their kids’ remaining school year at home are getting a taste of what our tried-and-true homeschooling friends have already experienced.

A well-known quote by Mr. Rogers says that when the news gets scary, we should look for the helpers. While this COVID-19 crisis is in one way or another new to all of us, some folks have spent a portion of their lives dealing with certain ripple effects it has caused.

Today, I see military families and homeschooling families as two kinds of helpers. If that’s you, might you share a little of what you do to make your world — and this world we find ourselves in these days — spin a little more smoothly within the context of your own personal experiences?

My eyes are always scanning the horizon for ways you and I can see our specific season through the filter of God’s care and provision. I love to write stories — specifically about change — that help you make sense of your own and help you see where you are with more hope and less worry.

In light of this and my history as a military wife, I offer you this bit of encouragement within the context of this verse from Acts:

From one man he made every nation of men, that they should inhabit the whole earth; and he determined the times set for them and the exact places where they should live.
Acts 17:26 (NIV)

Military families accept that God chooses their location, not Uncle Sam. But all of us, regardless of how often we’ve physically moved locations, are living in a new location of sorts right now. It’s also good to remember the Lord has determined this time for you to be where you are. And while we may all feel like this virus and all its ramifications came straight out of left field for us, the Lord saw it coming, and He will see you and I to the other side of it.

These are foreign feeling days to be sure. So, we rest in the facts of our faith, that God has gone ahead of us and will lay out a way for each of us to make it through. At the same time, He’s with us as we walk this foreign land.

As with any change, the change isn’t the end. God’s grace and goodness are. As we live and move within unprecedented times, may God’s grace and goodness show up for us in unprecedented ways too. And may our eyes be open to the many, many helpers God graciously provides along the way.

 

[bctt tweet=”As we live and move within unprecedented times, may God’s grace and goodness show up for us in unprecedented ways too. -@Kristen_Strong:” username=”incourage”]

When You Need a Miracle in the Messy Middle

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A few years ago, my family spent week after week sitting in waiting rooms and hoping for answers. Just a few hours before the light of Easter morning began to stretch across the sky, my phone lit up with one of the worst text messages of my life.

Exactly two years prior, on the greatest In-Between day, I began writing Even If Not. At the time, I thought it was a blog post in the making. But those words about darkness and difficult seasons, about looking for the light and finding God’s goodness in every storyline and every in-between? Those words became a book. And two years later, with my phone and my book in front of me, I wrestled.

I was tired of waiting rooms, of the unknown, of sorrow and sickness. I wanted Sunday.

_____

With Easter approaching, I’ve spent the past few weeks thinking about those three important days on the church calendar.

Good Friday: the darkest and most horrific day in history.
Saturday: the in-between of silence, doubt, and confusion.
Sunday: the resurrection of Jesus Christ, the fulfillment of promises kept, the reason we call Friday “Good.”

The more I reflect on these days, the more I find myself attaching times or seasons of my life with each one.

A brain tumor diagnosis at seventeen? Good Friday.

Being declared cancer-free? Sunday.

Spiritual warfare and depression? Good Friday.

Seeing a relationship reconcile after four years of seemingly unanswered prayers? Sunday.

But most of the time, I’m living in Saturday. I’m desperately holding onto what I believe to be true, and I have faith that He will remain faithful, and yet life feels chaotic. Hearts break and loved ones leave, and sometimes it seems like darkness gets the final word.

We know that our Savior is victorious, but even still, Saturday exists.

There is silence. There is confusion. There is weeping. And we are full of questions because everything has changed so very unexpectedly. What then? Where do we turn in the in-between? What do we do when life doesn’t look like what we expected or hoped for?

Because most of us, if we were truly honest, would say that we are the Saturday people.

Friday holds sorrow and Sunday holds joy, and here we are, living life somewhere in-between.

It’s easy for us to skip Saturday when we think of Easter, to gloss over and hurry through to resurrection. We know Sunday is coming, and so we’re eager to turn the page. But they didn’t know, and to them the story was simply . . . over.

Saturday morning dawns, and Jesus is still in the grave. All traces of hope are replaced with doubt and shame, guilt and grief.

It’s more comfortable to skim over Saturday and move on to bright colors and hands raised, to worship songs and “He is risen” declarations. But there’s a miracle in the middle, a truth we miss when we rush through:

God is with us in our waiting, working all things for our good and His glory.

When time stood still and the Messiah took one final breath, the story didn’t end – a page simply turned.

They hid in an upper room, not realizing they were actually in a waiting room. Sunday was already on the way.

_____

Saturday teaches us to wait while clinging to hope when all seems lost. Saturday reminds us to gather together and look for the light. It’s in the Saturday seasons that we discover even when everything feels like it’s falling apart and our world is spinning mad, He is present and He is holding us together.

He is the God of the Already’s even when we’re in the thick of it. He is power and promise, good and gracious, mighty and merciful.

I knew it. I believed it in my bones. And yet my phone sat atop my book, the screen glowing with an update that challenged me (invited me?) to say it once again.

And so I did the only thing I knew to do — I lit a candle to defy the darkness, and then I reached for a piece of a paper and a pen. Tears splattered down and smeared the ink, but I kept writing until I really and truly meant it.

Even if not. Even if not. Even if not.

In the in-between, in the middle of the story, I want to be a woman who chooses “even if” instead of “what if.”

And so I filled the page while I waited for Sunday to come.

Because the glorious truth is, it always, always does.

If you’re walking through a Saturday season, this is what I’m praying over you and for you today:

Lord, may we be faithful in this in-between as You have been faithful to us in every season. Thank You for coming for us, choosing to walk with us, and promising to return again. In the dead of night, You slipped into the world You made. You stepped into the darkness and promised to be the Light. In every in-between, as we live with questions and trust that You’re the answer, help us keep our eyes on You. Teach us to choose “even if” instead of “what if.” We love You, and we wait with hope, believing that You are ever with us and You do not make mistakes. Sunday is already on the way.

If you’re currently walking through a middle place, desperate to see God’s goodness in the chapters you wouldn’t have necessarily chosen, Even If Not: Living, Loving, and Learning in the in Between is for you. You have not been forgotten or overlooked. There is beauty, even here, and you are not alone.

[bctt tweet=”In the in-between, in the middle of the story, I want to be a woman who chooses ‘even if’ instead of ‘what if.’ – @kaitlyn_bouch:” username=”incourage”]

God Holds It All Together

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He is before all things,
and by him all things hold together.
Colossians‬ ‭1:17‬⁣ (CSB)

This is the promise for today: God holds it all together so I don’t have to. 

It’s normal to want to control something when everything seems to be out of our control. We try out schedules and rhythms, but with the constant changes that bombard us every day, it’s often more than we can handle. It’s okay that we can’t. It’s okay that we’re falling apart. We don’t have to hold it all, friends. God’s arms are wide enough to hold it all and hold it all together.

 

[bctt tweet=”This is the promise for today: God holds it all together so I don’t have to. ” username=”incourage”]

Becoming What We Behold

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Just in time for Mother’s Day, meet the newest (in)courage book — A Mother’s Love: Celebrating Every Kind of Mom — which is available TODAY! (in)courage writer and team member Anna Rendell compiled this book with all women in mind so that we can celebrate those who made us, shaped us, helped us grow, and loved us well — whether they’re our (or anyone’s) mothers or not. Take a peek into our newest book with this excerpt and a few pages from the book. We hope you love this special collection of stories, Scripture, and art!

I go through dozens of Grandma’s collected pieces of china, each one delicate and fine. And my mom has a story for each one:

“Oh, that was the candy dish! If I snuck a piece, I had to lift the silver lid just right, so it wouldn’t make any noise.”

“She set out that dish and filled it with nuts, served with this silver spoon at every church ladies’ circle meeting.”

“She put mashed potatoes in that bowl!”

I scour the Internet for details on the precious china and glassware, and what I find makes me gasp. Each piece is worth actual dollars! Some pieces are worth several actual dollars! The day I loaded her white Havilland china into the back of the minivan, I drove almost as carefully as the day we brought our firstborn from the hospital.

As I set each dish, plate, and cup in its new home in my china hutch, I pause to really look at them — and marvel at what I see. Light and tiny but very much present atop of plates are lines where knives scraped across them decades ago. She actually used these!, I think.

And that thought strikes me hard because I am a saver. Gardenia perfume I wore on my wedding day? I spritz it on my wrists only on our anniversary. Beautiful teacup from my wedding shower? I haven’t used it since. Crisp white linen napkins, received for our engagement? I only bring them out for Christmas dinner. All these gifts, literally collecting dust.

Most likely, their giver wouldn’t be too happy if they knew their gifts were just taking up space instead of bringing joy on a regular basis. While some things are more meaningful when held onto, the idea of leaving my best things unused doesn’t sit well in my heart.

Because if I can’t bring myself to use the good dishes on a Tuesday night, what else do I hoard and squirrel away? My best listening ear, reserved for only dear friends in crisis. The best of my servant’s heart, reserved for those who can somehow serve me back. The best of my God-given gifts, reserved to the point where they become buried, and I argue when He asks me to use them.

It’s as though we believe the things we save could save us.

“Don’t hoard treasure down here where it gets eaten by moths and corroded by rust or — worse! — stolen by burglars. Stockpile treasure in heaven, where it’s safe from moth and rust and burglars. It’s obvious, isn’t it? The place where your treasure is, is the place you will most want to be, and end up being.”
Matthew 6:19-21 (MSG)

I’ve heard it said that “you become what you behold” — wisdom from 2 Corinthians 3:18. What am I becoming if I am holding back the best of my things, and the best of myself — both out of fear?

My grandma never held back. She brought out the good plates and lit the candles on the dining room table for lasagna dinner on Wednesday nights. She always had a full candy dish waiting for us. She never withheld her listening ear or her love. Her warm and wrinkled hands were ready for holding, and her arms open wide for hugs. She was generous with her love, her time, and her costume jewelry collection.

There is deep power in the loving of others, and we are able to both give and receive that when we gather around the table and give our best.

Grandma’s dishes now live in my china hutch and kitchen cupboards. Over time, I will add to the faint knife scrapes on the plates, so that when my kids go through them in sixty years, they too will have stories to tell.

An excerpt from A Mother’s Love, from the (in)courage community. Story written by Anna Rendell. 

A Mother’s Love: Celebrating Every Kind of Mom is full of reflections of God’s heart and unique and diverse stories from the (in)courage community that offer heartfelt encouragement to all sorts of mothers, whether they be mothers in the traditional sense, mothers in the spiritual sense, or mother-figures who break the mold. It is sure to help any woman share a meaningful gift with a mother-figure who has been impactful in her life.

And since it releases TODAY, we want to celebrate by giving away FIVE book sets! Just leave a comment on this post, and you’ll be entered to win a copy of A Mother’s Love — one copy for you, and another to gift to a mother-figure or friend. It’s a beautiful gift for all the special women in your life!

Order your copies of A Mother’s Love today!

**Giveaway closes on 4/10/2020. Winners will be notified via email.

 

[bctt tweet=”Celebrate the mother-figures in your life with @incourage’s new book, A Mother’s Love: Celebrating Every Kind of Mom — available today! #amotherslovebook” via=”no”]

Laying a Solid Foundation for These Days

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I’ve been staring at a blank screen for hours. With tensions soaring and our immediate future unknown, there’s so much noise. With the push and pull of voices, statistics and graphs, declarations and dissension, I’m hesitant to be one more voice throwing words to the wind, yet our quarantine has evolved quite differently than most.

When our adult children sensed an upcoming lock down in their large cities, our “Just Open the Door” lifestyle took new meaning. They traveled home bringing friends who’d also been displaced. Between twelve of us, we come to our table with a variety of backgrounds, personalities, fears, job uncertainties, cancellations, and dashed dreams. Mix in the tightly wound togetherness of sharing four bedrooms and we’re a petri dish of gospel-life learning.

Laying a foundation of core biblical truths has been a critical narrative threading through our time together, and here’s what I’ve clung to:

1. Rest and Refresh

There are no guides entitled “Seven Suggestions for Surviving and Thriving in a Worldwide Pandemic.” We’re navigating new levels of mental, physical and spiritual fatigue. Everyone’s stressors and situations are different, yet He promises, “Come to me, all of you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take up my yoke and learn from me, because I am lowly and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls” Matthew 11:28-29 (ESV).

Run your burdens to Him. He is the only true source of rest and refreshment, and I desire our home to symbolize Isaiah 28:12 — for it to be a place of rest where the weary can rest and be refreshed.

2. Realign

Our hearts, souls, and thought lives weren’t created to handle the myriad of information being thrown at us. I’ve found it critical to pare down opinions and input.

Our feelings, though valuable gifts that help us experience life, are notoriously horrible captains. Our feeling are valid, yet overwhelming. If we allow altered emotions to steer us through our quarantine, focusing solely on our personal suffering, it’s a crash waiting to happen. I choose to believe that even amidst suffering, nothing happens to us that hasn’t passed through the hand of God first. He is full of grace, mercy, and love and will ultimately use the purpose in our pain for His glory.

Wholeheartedly loving God and believing in the truth that He loves us infinitely more than we can ever imagine requires that we anchor our feelings in His Word and keep careful watch over what fills our hearts and minds. Turn off the news. Mute Facebook. Stop scrolling. Allow your soul to breathe, so you can focus on the only sure foundation – His living Word.

3. Retreat

Part of our family’s manifesto is, “May our home be a safe, refreshing haven where everyone is loved, valued, and welcome; a soft place to land where real life happens.”

With twelve people quarantined under our roof, there’s a lot of real life happening. In order to elevate from survival mode to a place of refreshment, let grace abound. Generously give people the benefit of the doubt (especially online) and grant permission to literally retreat before you say things you’ll regret.

No foul (unwholesome) language should come from your mouth, but only what is good for building up someone in need,
so that it gives grace to those who hear.
Ephesians 4:29 (CSB)

Yesterday tensions were high. I disagreed with others’ assessments so in order for me to live out that verse, I physically retreated and high tailed it outside. That was the most biblical thing I could do in the moment.

4. Reach Out

One of Satan’s successful strategies is to create isolation and loneliness in the hearts of women. I’ve spent  years combatting this tactic by encouraging women with the gospel message of Just Open the Door. So with this quarantine, my heart has been in shambles since I know how serious the consequences can be. What a gift to see how women are still reaching out, practicing traveling hospitality, and continuing to love their neighbors in generous and creative ways during this age of social distancing.

A sure fire antidote to help our hearts shift from a sense of panic to peace is to focus on others. “How can I make Jesus known to someone else today?” Reaching out will look different for everyone in the age of “just shut the door,” but we can show up and make a meaningful difference in the lives of other people. Show up. Check in. Send a text. Give some cookies. Reach out and share your life.

5. Rejoice

Amidst fighting fear and financial disruption, amidst cancelled weddings and scary medical diagnoses, amidst crying kids and temperamental teenagers, He is still on the throne. He makes no mistakes and is working all things together for His glory and goodness. In Christ alone, He is enough for our darkest hour.

In the middle of the mess, actively pursue gratitude and rejoice. As we fight to seek beauty in our new normal, we won’t waste this unique moment in history.

Today I’m rejoicing in the easy recipe success, pizza by candle light, a Zoom call with grandparents, dancing in our kitchen, my yard sale vase donning flowering weeds, and one clean junk drawer. For those who name Jesus as Lord, we have a promise of His eternal glory. What a day of rejoicing that will be.

Over on my instagram stories, I’m documenting both the beauty and the bedlam of everyday life. Please join me as we fight to find the beauty and offer the gift of gratitude.

How are you choosing joy today?

 

[bctt tweet=”In Christ alone, He is enough for our darkest hour. -Jen Schmidt (@beautyandbedlam):” username=”incourage”]

Love Over All: Love Sacrifices

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But God proves His own love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.
Romans 5:8 (CSB)

Every month of 2020, we will 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!

April’s theme is Love Sacrifices.

It is hard to imagine and fully understand the grace-filled work of the cross. The sacrifice is staggering. And while we will probably never be asked to sacrifice at that level, we are still instructed to live in a way that is sacrificial. A life that puts others first. A life that cheerfully gives. A life that is lived hands open, palms up, ready to receive the assignments God has for us. Quite possibly an assignment that will bring a sacrifice of time, talent, or treasure. Maybe all of the above.

And the small sacrifices count too — especially in this particularly vulnerable, worrying, and unusual time of a pandemic. Fear is around every corner, and many people have sacrificed their usual routine and sense of normalcy. We can’t simply run to the grocery store or the coffee drive-thru. Some of us are sacrificing work time to teach our children at home. Others have sacrificed their jobs. Many have sacrificed visits with family members and friends to keep them safe and healthy. Others have even sacrificed their health as they serve on the front lines of healthcare and other essential industries.

These sacrifices are not overlooked — not by us, and not by Him.

This month, as we continue to prepare our hearts for Easter Sunday, let’s challenge ourselves to recognize the sacrifices we are making, with a heart grateful for what we do have. May we give thanks for the ultimate sacrifice Jesus made, as He gave His life on the cross, even as we were still sinners. And may we remember that our sacrifices can draw us closer to the heart of God.

Love sacrifices.

 

[bctt tweet=”May we remember that our sacrifices can draw us closer to the heart of God. #lovesacrifices #loveoverall” username=”incourage”]

A Letter to Our Future Selves
in the Age of Coronavirus

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I wrote this post a while ago, in what I’ll call “the beginning.” The post was written back then for good reason: We have deadlines here at (in)courage. Our stories are carefully reviewed and edited, talented designers create those pretty graphics you see here every day, and someone has to handle all the technical things that make this website possible.

So, I am writing this post after only a short time in self-quarantine.

By the time you read this, that will seem like ages ago.

So, let’s title this one: “A Letter to Our Future Selves in the Age of Coronavirus.”

Think for a moment where you were a couple of weeks ago. Can you see through the fog to remember? Can you recall your fears and anxieties? Do you remember the early decluttering projects, and the weird luxury of time on your hands? Did you paint the bathroom and finally put photos into albums? How many puzzles did you finish? Remember those funny first memes on social media, a silly but needed respite from all the heaviness of the press conferences? On the one hand, the days presented new challenges for all of us, but for so many of you who have been running and hustling, perhaps this new time in our history gave you the unexpected opportunity to simply be still.

Doesn’t that seem like forever ago?

That “forever ago” is the one from which I’m writing these words. And they are echoing forward to find you today.

As I wrote this post, you and I had only begun the uncomfortable existence of being closed in. Our movements were just beginning to be restricted by new rules. We had started using phrases we had never used before – phrases like “social distancing” and “self-quarantine.”

When I wrote this, I had hoped that by the time you’d be reading this on a Saturday morning in April, the virus would have vanished into thin air. My hope was that we’d all have gone back to our regular patterns of bumping into one another at our favorite restaurants, sitting next to each other on the bleachers, shaking hands, not worrying about germs on the door handle, and hugging at the back of the church – the physical one, not the one we do on Facebook Live.

Maybe by the time you read this, someone I love will have gotten sick. It scares me to write it out like that, but it’s possible. Maybe the rules restricting my movement will have been tightened. Maybe I really will have run out of toilet paper. Maybe I still won’t be able see the light at the end of the tunnel. I fear that friends will lose their jobs or struggle to pay the bills because the boss had to close up shop.

I don’t know. I just don’t know.

I remember, once upon a time, when I would plan out my life weeks, or even months, ahead.

“Next week, I’ll get a haircut.”

“By May, I’ll have the landscaping beds planted.”

“By summer, I’ll have my next book written.”

“By fall, she’ll be in college.”

I don’t do that so much anymore.

In a strange way, I think that’s the gift we’ve been given. The inability to plan far ahead into the future is the strange gift of this awful time — to live in the moments and minutes and hours, instead of the days and weeks and months.

More than any time in recent history, we are learning what it means to live in the “right now.” And the right now holds so much loveliness, not the least of which is a deeper understanding that God actually is running the show down here on Planet Earth.

We can make our plans, but the Lord determines our steps.
Proverbs 16:9 (NLT)

Go ahead and make your plans. That’s what I will say to my future self. But I’ll add this: Hold your plans loosely because you never know what tomorrow or even the next hour may bring. You don’t get to know what’s up ahead. God alone sees what’s coming.

So let’s do this instead: Let’s treasure every single moment. It’s all a gift. It really is.

What is an unexpected gift for you that has come out of
this unusual season we’ve been in?

 

[bctt tweet=”The inability to plan far ahead into the future is the strange gift of this awful time — to live in the moments and minutes and hours, instead of the days and weeks and months. -@dukeslee:” username=”incourage”]

Layer by Layer, God Heals

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My dear mom fell down the stairs recently and landed on a hard basement floor. She was in pain, but who wouldn’t be after falling down the stairs? Nothing was bleeding and she could move everything, so she thought she was okay. But when she went to use the door handle, she knew something was wrong. A trip to the urgent care showed that she had broken her arm.

My siblings and I grew up on a farm, back before electronics would have fought for our attention, so we spent a lot of time outside. Even though broken bones might be somewhat common in childhood, there was not one broken bone among us ever. So having our mom have the first broken bone in our family was shocking.

Since I knew nothing about broken bones, I did a little research, and I have to say, “Wow!” I came away amazed. God made us in such an awesome, intricate way. There was a lot of terms and explanations that went well over my head, but my takeaway was that our bodies have been made extraordinarily.

When we break a bone, our body has an immediate reaction and goes right into working to heal the fracture. Our body goes through a series of steps as the bones work to renew themselves. It is a finely tuned sequence of events, but it takes time.

Mind, body, or soul, we all are a little broken. We have pain and disappointment. We have rejection, anger, and hurt in our lives. Some more than others, some more often than others. Just like bones need to heal through a process, so do we. No matter how nice it would be, it is not going to happen overnight. God works on us and heals us layer by layer. In that hard and slow place, turn to Him, invite Him in, and pray.

Lord, be gracious to us; we long for you. Be our strength every morning, our salvation in time of distress.
Isaiah 33:2 (NIV)

Healing is a process we don’t have to go through alone. We sometimes think God isn’t working in our lives, but He is, right where we are. God has a process, and though progress might seem slow, that doesn’t mean it isn’t happening. Healing takes time, and it isn’t easy.

There are steps we can’t skip just so we can get to the end. Each step has a purpose. Believe me, I know it can be frustrating when we are broken and aren’t seeing results or healing fast enough. We try to deal with it by ourselves because we don’t want to wait. We may even want to turn to things for quick relief or distraction from our brokenness, but those things will always be temporary. Only God’s healing is not temporary.

We have the promise that God makes all things new. All things means each of us and all our brokenness — one layer at a time, one tedious step at a time. And when the time comes and healing happens, we will be able to share our story of how God saw us through. One way or another, He will. He always does.

He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.
Psalm 147:3 (NIV)

Trust the One who created you. Just like a broken bone, bit by bit, layer by layer, God heals.

 

[bctt tweet=”Trust the One who created you. Just like a broken bone, bit by bit, layer by layer, God heals. -Jennifer Ueckert:” username=”incourage”]

What Works Better Than Worry

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The phone call comes. Hard news on the other end of the line. I listen and nod. By the time I hang up I feel a weight on my shoulders, like it all depends on me. I begin to worry. This is what I can do, isn’t it? I can carry this around like a dog with an old bone. I can gnaw and twist, bury it and dig it up again. Surely this will be helpful; certainly this will save the day.

But into that place of fear there comes a God-whisper in my heart: Your worry cannot change the world, only I can.

Luke 12:25 says, “Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to your life?”

Who of us by worrying can make the prodigal come home, the marriage be restored, the meeting go well, the weight come off, the lights come on, the kids stay safe, the wrong be undone, the project turn out right?

Worry is seductive because it feels like control. If we are worrying, then we must be taking action. We must be turning the tide. But this is only a distraction and deception. It’s a shiny object for us to chase to keep us from going to the One who can actually get it done.

When I realize this, it doesn’t feel like a rebuke; it feels like a relief. Jesus, in all His gentleness and kindness, His extravagant mercy and care, has taken the boulder from my hands and said, “It doesn’t depend on you.” As I picture this, I see the scars on His own palms, hear His voice on the cross saying, “It is finished.”

Isn’t that what we really want to know? That someone is taking care of it, of them, of the situation, the circumstance, the thing that makes us make our pillow soggy with salty tears. This is what God says He will do. He will look out for the sparrows with their wispy feathers and fragile bones. And for us too, with our tender hearts and glass lives.

And even when the worst comes, when everything shatters, He can make it (and us) whole again.

After the call, I sit on the edge of my bed and listen to a song, headphones in my ears, hands folded on my lap. I whisper, “God, I release this person I love to You.” I add more words, requests, and hopes. I will say this again in the kitchen, in the car, as I sit in a coffee shop. Because it takes more than one time to win the battle against worry. It’s an ongoing choice, one we falter with often. This is all right because Jesus understands what it is to be human.

What frees our hearts isn’t worry; it’s worship. In other words, taking all the hard things to Someone who cares for us. Choosing to trust and let go. Believing through the blood, sweat, and tears, He will mysteriously work it all together for good.

Here’s what we can rest in today: The only One who has ever been able to bear the weight of the world on His shoulders is still strong and loving enough to carry all that concerns us too.

If you need a little extra encouragement right now, Holley has a wonderful resource: What Your Heart Needs for the Hard Days: 52 Encouraging Truths to Hold On To

 

[bctt tweet=”Even when the worst comes, when everything shatters, He can make it (and us) whole again. -@HolleyGerth:” username=”incourage”]

Let’s Hold onto Promise Over Panic

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Several weeks ago, Bonnie Gray wrote a post about being a woman of promise, not panic. She wrote, “You are a woman of promise and purpose: God’s promise is to love and care for you. When others panic, you have the power to bless them at a time when we all need connection most.”

We want to encourage you to be women who hold onto the promises God has given us over the panic we often feel as we worry about our loved ones, our neighbors, and the uncertainty of what’s to come. Over the next few months, we will be sharing verses along with a promise to go with it, and we hope these posts will help ground you in truth and peace in the midst of anxiety and stress.

We are in this together, friends.

Trust in the Lord with all your heart,
and do not rely on your own understanding;
in all your ways know him,
and he will make your paths straight.
Proverbs 3:5-6 (CSB)

Here’s the promise for today: God will show us where to go when we trust in Him.

Even though we don’t know how things will be tomorrow, next week, or even in three months, we can trust that God knows what is ahead for us. He leads the way on the path He has us on. Hold onto His hand, and trust Him with every next step.

 

[bctt tweet=”Here’s the promise for today: God will show us where to go when we trust in Him. #promiseoverpanic” username=”incourage”]

A Mother’s Love: Celebrating Every Kind of Mom

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Over the past week, I have planned and cooked meals, scrubbed toilets, purchased white string cheese for one child and orange string cheese for another, ordered more tissues and dish soap to arrive on my doorstep, and vacuumed up dog hair under the table.

I’ve changed my kids closets over for both size and seasons; today I’m diving into the shoes to do the same. I’ve restocked the shower with body wash and distributed toilet paper to all the various empty rolls. I’ve wiped counters and cleared the table in one fell swoop. I’ve prayed with and for my kids and tucked little curls behind little ears at night — both ears, not just one, because I know she likes it tucked behind both.

I’ve brushed and wiggled teeth and hollered for hands to be washed (I don’t need to see them to know they’re dirty). I’ve helped with math and texted pictures to Grandma. I’ve tossed favorite T-shirts into the washing machine and poured water in the dog’s bowl. I’ve watered the preschool plant project and moved it into the sunshine to try and keep it alive another day.

All in a week. A typical, run-of-the-mill week. Extraordinary all mixed up with the mundane.

As a mother and woman, I constantly perform acts of tiny service that go unseen. All day, every day. The bittiest of details, done with barely a thought. Just thirty-seven years into being a woman and eight years into mothering, I’m still learning these are finely tuned, carefully honed skills and marks of the craft.

And because you are a woman and a mother in your own unique way, I know you likely do the same.

We are the managers of the minutiae, keepers of the details that make a home run and hearts sing, whether that home is a small apartment with roommates or farm house with kids and chickens running wild. We are the knowers of small things, of favorites and things not-so-loved. We can read a heart in one glance. We can heal with a hug. We can calm with a word. We are the hosts of each other, the middle-of-the-night texters, the hearts that reach out when we feel a friend needs us.

Moms, caretakers, grandmas, babysitters, teachers . . . we are all a mother of sorts, and as such, we are the unseen do-ers. We are the people of hidden service, who have learned to do things swiftly and silently in a second-nature sort of way. At times, that has rendered me feeling powerless and small. Unimportant and unimpressive. Even though I know that if I disappeared, tasks would be left undone (Hello, favorite T-shirt going unwashed. Hi, dog hair un-vacuumed for a week.) and all the things I set in place could fall apart, it’s easy to throw an “I don’t matter” pity party for myself. It’s easy for me to look to my husband, kids, co-workers, roommates, or friends for affirmation that may never come.

It’s a good thing we have a God who adores and affirms women.

We have a God who appeared first to women after rising, who believes in women and has used their hands throughout history to do His good work, who sees us — both as we are and as we will be.

We have a God who sees motherhood as a valuable calling and in His wisdom gifts us individually to mother others in the place we are. Each and every one of those invisible tasks is seen, etched in His mind as He delights in you.

For the Lord your God is living among you.
    He is a mighty savior.
He will take delight in you with gladness.
    With his love, he will calm all your fears.
    He will rejoice over you with joyful songs.
Zephaniah 3:17 (NLT)

He. Delights. In. You.

Yep, you. You, who are a weary mother. You, who are not a mom to children of your blood. You, in the office cubicle. You, who diligently serves on the behind-the-scenes committees at church. You, who texts your friends to check in. You, who hasn’t had an evening to herself in way, way too long. You, who loves being a mom. You, the woman who maintains countless unseen tasks, holds things together (sometimes by a thread) and balances plates like a boss.

You are beloved to Him. God delights in His daughters. The end.

As kids, my own mom used to tell us, “I am woman. Hear me roar!” as she tarred the driveway, hung sheetrock in the basement, juggled our schedules and her jobs, and tenderly cared for her parents, her family, and her friends.

May we roar. May we celebrate our sisters and friends as they find their own roars. And may we feel the glow of love from our God who adores us and who sees every tiny act of service.

Let’s remember this truth in the days ahead. Just in time for Mother’s Day, I’d love to introduce the newest (in)courage book — A Mother’s Love: Celebrating Every Kind of Mom. I compiled this book with all women in mind so that we can celebrate those who made us, shaped us, helped us grow, and loved us well — whether they’re our (or anyone’s) mothers or not.

In this beautiful book, I’ve gathered unique and diverse stories from the (in)courage community that offer heartfelt encouragement to all sorts of mothers, whether they be mothers in the traditional sense, mothers in the spiritual sense, or mother-figures who break the mold. A Mother’s Love: Celebrating Every Kind of Mom is full of reflections of God’s heart, sure to help any woman to share a meaningful gift with a mother-figure who has been impactful in her life, a new mom in her circle of friends, or a close loved one facing the joys and challenges of motherhood. A Mother’s Love releases on April 7th. . .

. . . and to help you celebrate the women in your life, we’re giving away FIVE books BEFORE you can buy them! Just leave a comment on this post, and you’ll be entered to win a copy of A Mother’s Love before it releases on April 7th.

Pre-order your copies of A Mother’s Love today!

**Giveaway closes on 4/3/2020. Winners will be notified via email.

 

[bctt tweet=”You are beloved to Him. God delights in His daughters. The end. – @annaerendell in A Mother’s Love, the new book from @incourage:” via=”no”]