How to Heal or Destroy with Words

How to Heal or Destroy with Words

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I still remember where we were standing. My bare feet were sticking slightly to her linoleum floor as we talked in the doorway of her family’s kitchen. There’s only one part of that conversation that I still hear clearly in my memory now. She told me that someone described me as “boring Tasha.”

That day, I shrugged the comment off because I didn’t know how else to respond. It was a little comment. My good friend didn’t have mean intentions in telling me what was said, but those words stuck. The description of “boring” knocked on the door of my heart, and I let it move in and unpack its bags.

The words that we let fall from our mouths have power. James describes the tongue like the rudder of a ship or a wild animal that must be tamed in James 3:3-6:

When we put bits into the mouths of horses to make them obey us, we can turn the whole animal. Or take ships as an example. Although they are so large and are driven by strong winds, they are steered by a very small rudder wherever the pilot wants to go. Likewise, the tongue is a small part of the body, but it makes great boasts. Consider what a great forest is set on fire by a small spark. The tongue also is a fire, a world of evil among the parts of the body. It corrupts the whole body, sets the whole course of one’s life on fire, and is itself set on fire by hell.

Those simple words shared by my friend directed the way I viewed myself from behind the scenes of my life for years after that seemingly insignificant moment.

That was over twenty years ago.

It’s taken Jesus’ relentless pursuit of my heart — days that turned into years of reading my Bible and living in community with others who spoke truth and grace to me — to believe what’s actually true about me. What’s actually true couldn’t be further from the word “boring.” You and I are masterpieces, created by the God who made the galaxies and the beautiful cluster of stormy, sea-blue irises that bloom outside my window every spring.  

What if the words you casually said today stuck with someone for the next twenty years or more, wrapping around them like a set of caged bars and hindering how they move forward in the world from this day on? Or what if the words you intentionally spoke today stuck with someone and set them free to move into the places God purposed for them to be with courage, confidence, and conviction?  

Rather, speaking the truth in love, we are to grow up in every way into him who is the head, into Christ, from whom the whole body, joined and held together by every joint with which it is equipped, when each part is working properly, makes the body grow so that it builds itself up in love.
Ephesians 4:15-16 (ESV)

Some of us need to put into practice taking words and thoughts captive before we speak them or keep them.  

Some of us need to learn to speak up and say the words God meant for us to speak: words of truth that affirm the Imago Dei in every one of us. Not speaking up when we should is just as dangerous as speaking when we shouldn’t. Proverbs 16:24 says, “Gracious words are a honeycomb, sweet to the soul and healing to the bones.” 

Our world continues to bear the weight and impact of a global pandemic along with all the pain and injustice of systemic racism. We are all facing loss, uncertainty, and division. In light of that, let’s be people who remember that our words wield great power. God meant for each of us to speak words of truth, sandwiched between grace and love. In a time of great need, our words have the power to soothe thirsty souls and heal the fractured bones of our land.

 

[bctt tweet=”Some of us need to learn to speak up and say the words God meant for us to speak: words of truth that affirm the Imago Dei in every one of us. -@tashajunb:” username=”incourage”]

A Holy Fire

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My city has been on fire this week.

The Scandinavian meat market that my mother grew up walking to — sawdust crunching under her feet once inside. A hard-worked-for Hmong market. Owned by a pair of brothers, a distillery that, due to COVID, began producing gallon jugs of hand sanitizer. A Mexican panadería, formerly a florist that my mom rode her bike to as a kid to peer in the display windows. Neighborhood gas stations and groceries. Post offices and banks. Hundreds of other businesses, buildings, cars, and restaurants — broken, damaged, destroyed, looted, burned. Flames licked the sky and feet hit the ground.

And while the fires raged, hearts burned.

Here in Minneapolis — where my mom lived her entire life, where I was born, grew up, and now near where I live and raise my family — our hearts are burning over a devastation that goes far beyond buildings. Last week we watched in horror as a local police officer knelt with the weight of his body on the neck of a black man. That man, named George Floyd, died under a knee.

Minnesota usually brings to mind immediate images of 10,000 lakes, subzero frozen winters and stunning autumn leaves, the expansive beauty of the Boundary Waters Canoe Area, muggy summers. It’s hockey and farming, a vibrant theater and arts culture, slow small-town charm alongside the bustle of urban high-rises. It’s a giant cherry on a spoon, the haunting call of the loons on lakes of deep blue, and families of all cultures and makeup.

But this week, the scenes coming out of my beloved state were starkly, vastly, completely different. A life was taken. Stolen and broadcast on video. And while a building can be rebuilt, a life once lost is gone. We mourn and grieve the end of George Floyd’s life, and the lives taken before his.

As Minneapolis burns, it’s impossible not to also grieve the destruction of neighborhoods and a beloved city. There’s grief for both as these scenes showed a side of the city, and of people, that most would rather not acknowledge. Eugene Cho put it beautifully when he wrote, ” . . . some of us feel . . . Pain at the sight of chaos and violence but deeper pain behind what caused these actions.”

And at the root of the burning in our hearts and our city is the unresolved wounds of racism. Our hearts are burning with the fire of injustice, and it’s even appropriate liturgically, as today is Pentecost Sunday.

They saw tongues like flames of fire that separated and rested on each one of them.
Then they were all filled with the Holy Spirit . . .
Acts 2:3-4 (CSB)

More fire. This one, holy.

At (in)courage, we’ve long proclaimed that we are better together, that there is room for all at the table. But for too long, our sisters (and brothers) of color have had to fight for a seat. They have had to claw their way to being heard at all. They have been oppressed, persecuted, minimized, and ignored. As I’ve leaned in and listened to people who don’t share my same background, what I’ve learned to see and hear is that these actions are wrong. I’ve been made aware to declare them as evil, and not how God intended for His children to live.

Just as our bodies have many parts and each part has a special function, so it is with Christ’s body. We are many parts of one body, and we all belong to each other.
Romans 12:4-5 (CSB)

This isn’t just lip service, friends. This is design. We were literally made to function together with each other. When one part suffers, the rest of the body limps along. It doesn’t work properly.  What happens to one happens to us all — for real — and that’s how God intended it to be, on purpose.

And right now, across the country, our sisters of color are in pain and unrest.

We need to feel the pain of lives lost to the inhumanity of racism. We need to feel the tension of how our privilege can distance us from wanting to feel the pain. We need to lean into the fire and know the flame with our sisters. We need to do the hard work of listening, of learning, of loving well. We are many parts of One Body, connected in and by and for Christ.

Our hearts are on fire, and as on Pentecost, we need to let them burn so that we may be filled with the Holy Spirit and empowered by Him to come together as many parts of one body.

At (in)courage, we are fortunate to have contributors from diverse ethnic, racial, and cultural backgrounds. Behind the scenes, we’ve had the privilege of growing together through challenging, awkward at times, honest, grace-filled conversations on race, racism, and hopes for healing our collective and personal racial wounds. And one thing we’ve learned about ourselves is this: We don’t mind going first with our own messy stories so that you are empowered to grow and have your own challenging, awkward at times, honest, grace-filled conversations.

You’re invited to one such discussion.

Tune in as five (in)courage contributors and team members talk together about our experiences, offering their stories, insights and questions. We pray you’ll see yourself reflected in the conversation, and be inspired to look deeper into your own heart and those around you. Watch the video on Facebook (or here on Instagram) and add your voice to this ongoing conversation. Our prayer is that you would then be inspired to have additional conversations yourself with the people in your life.

For additional insight, here are a few resources from (in)courage contributors for you to dig into:

Brownicity, by Dr. Lucretia Berry

Being Asian American in the Midst of COVID-19 by Grace P. Cho

{Better Together} Week 7: How Do I Actually Love My Neighbor As Myself? by Alia Joy

{Better Together} Week 5: How to Nurture a Cross-Cultural Friendship by Deidra Riggs & Michelle DeRusha

How to Create a New Kind of Normal for Our Children by Deidra Riggs

 

[bctt tweet=”Our hearts are on fire, and as on Pentecost, we need to let them burn so that we may be filled with the Holy Spirit. – @annaerendell: ” username=”incourage”]

What in the World Is God Doing?

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At the beginning of the year, when my husband and I realized we already had half a dozen dates spoken for, we sat down at our kitchen table to coordinate our calendars. We knew if we didn’t pencil them in, we might just find ourselves double-booked. For us, it was unusual to know so many dates this far in advance. As empty nesters who don’t need to arrange childcare anymore — last-minute road-tripping is how we roll.

Seeing all those fun things blocked off in black and white got me excited. Something special was scheduled for every month through mid-summer, and some months even had two special occasions! I couldn’t recall another year that had had so many back-to-back opportunities. Bless my children’s and sister’s hearts; they had the pleasure of enduring me repeatedly regale my/our fabulous upcoming plans —  For All Who Wander book promotion, weddings, graduations, work-related and family travel. 2020 was shaping up to be a lively year, a spectacular beginning to a new decade.

Of course, nothing like a little global pandemic to remind you that “life is what happens while you’re busy making other plans.” One by one, we watched those saved dates fall like dominoes. Profound disappointment quickly extinguished my previously palpable excitement.

I observed something interesting about how I was processing the impact and implications of sheltering in place, social distancing, and everything else related to COVID-19: I felt guilty for being frustrated and disappointed over all my cancellations and inconveniences. As I began comparing my situation to the effect and losses others were experiencing, I was ashamed. Functionally speaking, I was assigning a greater value to “big” losses (children’s much-anticipated birthday parties; high school and college seniors missing proms, end-of-year-parties, and graduations; baby and bridal showers, anniversary parties, weddings; lost income, job loss, business failure; and in the saddest cases, health and even life), but giving zero weight to my own. On this imagined spectrum of “worthy enough to warrant disappointment, frustration, or grief,” my losses didn’t even register. In effect, I was telling myself I wasn’t allowed to have any feelings at all because my circumstances weren’t as bad as their circumstances (and “their” pretty much meant anyone other than myself).

As I said in a recent post about what I was doing to counter social distancing fatigue following a cancelled book event, “To pretend our losses aren’t valid because they don’t compare or are ‘too small to matter’ isn’t the right response. Every loss and disappointment matters to us as individuals because it’s the truth of our reality.” Our feelings matter because our circumstances matter because our lives matter to God. Certainly, we should always regard and be sensitive to others. At the same time, now is a pivotal time to check perspective and thoughtfully consider what we value as important.

Our entire world has been disrupted by the coronavirus. With the exception of Antarctica (which has no permanent residents and is currently in winter with temps averaging between -20°— -30°), every continent has reported cases of COVID-19. As I’ve processed my own inconveniences and disappointments through a lens of sensitivity to others and with kindness and grace to myself, one question keeps coming to mind:

What in the world is God doing? 

The only way we can even begin to understand what in the world God is up to is to have our eyes on Jesus. I keep returning to the story about Peter, when he had to step out of a boat and walk on turbulent water to get to Jesus (Matthew 14:25-33). As long as Peter was looking at Jesus, he was fine; but as soon as he shifted his eyes toward the wind, he began to sink. The more fierce the coronavirus-wind blows, the more determined I am to focus on Christ. When I don’t, I start sinking, which thankfully turns me right back to God.

What in the world is God doing? is a question I’ve posed countless times in recent weeks, sometimes changing my inflection or word emphasis to ask an almost entirely different question. Though there’s no way you or I can answer it in full, at least we can in part. I’ll kick us off with three things I see God doing in our world, and I hope you’ll continue with your own observations in the comments.

  1. God is working in His children. As my schedule cleared, I sensed God working in my heart to prioritize what was most important. When it’s quiet enough to hear, when I’m less busy doing and instead simply being, I’m able to see that there isn’t anything more important than my relationship with Him. If it’s been a while, take a moment and read all of Psalm 46. It begins with, “God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble . . . ” and after a lot of turmoil on earth, it continues with “‘Be still, and know that I am God.'” There’s something to the stillness of this season that ushers us into greater intimacy with God. Being still helped me to receive the love and encouragement God was offering me through His Word, as I saw how much I matter to Him again and again.  
  2. God is making Himself known through people. It has been beautiful watching the Church rise up and serve those in need (and let’s face it, all of us have been in need of toilet paper at some time or another!). I don’t know how many times I’ve been asked, “How are you doing? No, how are you really doing?” The genuine care and concern I see — for friends and family, neighbors, and especially strangers — has reminded me that we get to be Jesus with skin on to a world that is desperate to see Him. Sometimes we may even be entertaining angels unaware (Hebrews 13:1-4 ESV).
  3. God is reminding us we aren’t made for this world. 1 John 2:15-17 cautions us not to love the world and that it’s passing away; Philippians 3:20 declares our citizenship is in heaven. I don’t know about you, but there were so many things I counted on and clung to just a few weeks ago that don’t seem to matter so much anymore.

God is on the move even now. Let’s keep keeping our eyes on Him.

What do you see God doing in the world?

 

[bctt tweet=”There’s something to the stillness of this season that ushers us into greater intimacy with God. -@robindance:” username=”incourage”]

When You Don’t Know What to Pray

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I had been unplugged from almost all forms of media for the past couple weeks, not because I wanted to escape the uncomfortable uncertainty and loss that has become our new reality. It was more of an intentional decision to help me be more fully present in everything leading up to my son’s wedding.
The ceremony and celebration would look a lot different from what they had planned: a very small gathering of immediate family and the bridal party — all standing and sitting at least six feet apart. But the things that mattered most would still be the same.
Ever since they got the news that COVID-19 regulations were shutting down venues or limiting gatherings to only ten people, our families and friends started praying. We asked God to do more than they could imagine and to show up in ways that were undeniably Him on their wedding day. We asked Jesus to give them peace and direction as they made hard decisions and faced big, new, and unexpected expenses.
The wedding was beautiful, and we all enjoyed every God-soaked moment of their day, and all the little celebrations leading up to it.
The day after the wedding, I knew it was time for me to step back into the non-wedding world to find out what was going on in our country and around the world. I googled COVID-19, looking for an update from someone I trust to tell me where we were with antibody testing, virus testing, vaccine studies, hoping that confirmed cases and deaths had come to a big stand still.
As my eyes scanned through the details of an online article, I read that the U.S. was inching towards 100,000 COVID-19 deaths and worldwide cases were over 2.5 million. I didn’t just see numbers, I felt the weight of loss for others who had said unexpected and sorrowful goodbyes to family and friends, neighbors and co-workers, schoolmates and grandparents.
No one I know personally has been infected, but that doesn’t matter. God has put a passion in my heart to pray for those walking through this valley of the shadow of death. I want to pray so powerfully and effectively that heaven and earth are moved and this disease is stopped.
But sometimes when I pray, the words I am saying don’t feel like enough; it’s as if I am only scraping the surface of the overwhelming needs of hundred’s of thousands of people and those who are caring for them. I want God to give me powerful and specific words to pray.
And just as I notice the weight of pressure I am putting on myself to say the right things so God will take action on what I am praying for, I remember:

Prayer isn’t about saying or asking the right things — it’s about building a relationship with God by talking and listening to Him.

Have you felt this struggle too? The pressure of what to say when you pray. If so, you are not alone. That day I had to remind myself that there isn’t a formula for getting prayer right and that God isn’t listening for the perfect combination of words or measuring how well I pray.

But when we do long for more power and confidence in our prayers, Scripture tells us how to find it: This is the confidence which we have before Him — that if we ask anything according to His will, He hears us.

Basically, when we pray God’s Word, we pray God’s will.

In recent weeks when I haven’t known what all to pray, I’ve reminded myself that God’s Word is “alive and active.” And I’ve looked for scriptures to pray, asking Jesus to make His Words come alive in each family’s and individuals’ lives who have lost someone to COVID-19.

And on those days when this pandemic leaves me feeling like my life is spinning out of control, I’ll pray through Jeremiah 29:11-13:

Lord, You know the plans You have for me and my family, plans to give us a future and a hope. You promise to listen and lead when we come and talk to You. Today I choose to trust Your heart and Your plans when my life doesn’t look at all like I thought it would right now. Lord lead my decisions and align my direction with Yours. Even though things are hard and uncertain right now, I trust the plans You have for me.

I’m so grateful for the gift of being able to talk to God, even when I don’t know what to say. And I’m getting more comfortable with just sitting still and letting Him whisper His promises and then simply asking for their fulfillment in my prayers.

What is a favorite verse of yours that you could pray for others and for yourself today?

Click here to visit Renee’s blog for a FREE download of 5 Powerful Scripture Prayers.

[bctt tweet=”When we pray God’s Word, we pray God’s will. -@ReneeSwope:” username=”incourage”]

Will Being Humble Heal Us?

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I’m on the phone with my friend, and she’s crying. “I’m sorry,” she apologizes. “But I’m so angry.” (Anybody else felt that emotion in recent weeks?) But before I reply, my friend gets quiet. “No, actually I’m afraid.”

Indeed, our whip-sawed emotions have been through the wringer. Dare I even mention the word “pandemic” – aware that more than a few are weary of hearing about it?

Still, my friend is afraid. Her close relatives are hospital workers. “Two nieces and a cousin – all on the front lines.” But when my friend asks people to please stay home, to not rush to open their states and businesses – so hospitals aren’t overrun with more infected people – my friend gets called names. “‘Snowflake’,” she tells me. “But also worse.”

And wearing a mask? “Not in my town,” she says. “A mask means you’re a traitor. Most people don’t believe the death reports. One woman told me everybody who dies now is ‘counted as covid’ – including a man whose wife shot him during an argument.” My friend laughs at the absurdity of the situation.

Oh, what a tangled web we weave.

And then those locusts?

“What? Locusts?” my husband frowns, confused when I mention yet another problem. I show him news photos of “hundreds of billions” of locusts swarming now in East Africa, “threatening crops and livelihoods,” according to the BBC.

And how is that a problem of humility, you might ask? I’m struggling, indeed, to bring this all together, but we’ll start with this:

When I . . . command locusts to devour the land or send a plague among my people . . .
2 Chronicles 7:13 (NIV)

Yes, that’s God speaking. King Solomon is listening. He’d asked God what people could do if they sin. And no, I’m not saying the Lord sent the locusts or the coronavirus  – especially not as punishment for one sin or another.

As a metaphor for bad times, however, God’s answer to Solomon is worthy of our attention. Thus, it pleads, in straightforward words, that during trying times:

If my people, who are called by my name, will humble themselves and pray and seek my face and turn from their wicked ways, then I will hear from heaven, and I will forgive their sin and will heal their land.
2 Chronicles 7:14 (NIV)

God is speaking, indeed: First, get humble. But what does He mean to “humble ourselves”?

It’s a question most of us, if we’re honest, can answer. C.S. Lewis simplifies it this way, “Humility is not thinking less of [ourselves]; it’s thinking of [ourselves] less.” In that way, then, “humbling ourselves” is all those things many of us often don’t do – ceasing from arguing, getting quiet before God (Psalm 62:1 NLT) and before one another.

Reflecting on such things and desperate, as you are, for healing in our land – and across our world – I challenged myself to list ways I can be humble:

  • Get quiet before God.
  • Seek the Lord’s face – that is, His presence.
  • Abide in Him, tarrying in His way.
  • Listen.
  • Confess my sin to God and to others.
  • Cease to judge.
  • Be gracious.
  • Forgive.
  • Be lowly.

Or, as my late mother would say, “Girl, hush.”  Then quiet, on our faces before God, we hear His remarkable voice:

Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.
Matthew 11:28-29 (NIV)

Yes, being humble makes us more like Jesus — the Healer of our land and of us. At His feet, we rest in His beautiful presence — praying, turning from our wicked, ornery, resentful, tiresome, judging, hypocritical ways. Then, the sound and fury of this pandemic? He heals it. And as people work together, not against one another, He heals us.

My friend and I, discussing this, agree to stop feeding our fears and anger by turning humbly to the Lord and getting out of His way.

What follows after? Our hearts change — the soil of our spiritual land cleansed. And are we surprised? Our Father is right about how to stop plagues and locusts that afflict our territory. Get humble. Then, as we yield, He moves the mountain.

 

[bctt tweet=”Being humble makes us more like Jesus — the Healer of our land and of us. -@PatriciaRaybon:” username=”incourage”]

A Beautiful Scar to Remind Me
of My Daughterhood

by

Do you have any scars? Most of us have at least one. Each scar tells a story. Take for instance this two-inch scar on my right hand.

“Everybody hustle so we can make it in time for church,” I called out to the empty hallway. Five kids tumbled out. As a newly single mom, hurrying my children seemed to be my chief occupation. Never mind the fifty-plus hours a week I spent as a senior book editor at a major publishing house. I longed to sleep in and rest. But worship together was a priority. We all needed it. So in the hallway upstairs I held one on my hip as I brushed hair and tied ribbons. Time to go. Again.

I vividly remember sliding my youngest down from my hip and onto the landing. She’d just learned to hold the railing to walk down rather than scooting on her hind end. She took my hand in hers. Then, as my foot hit that top stair, something happened. I slipped. Her little eyes grew wide as she let go. Feet-first I slid down, fast. I reached backward to slow my fall and felt bones pop.

At the bottom I bit back a scream. Or maybe I screamed. Who knows? I was struggling to stay conscious. My girls rushed down. “Are you okay, Mommy?” one asked. The seven-year-old asked if she could get me a cold Coke to help.

“No, Love. Just get my phone. Quick, like a bunny,” I begged. The last number I’d dialed was bestselling author Colleen Coble’s, in town for a book festival. We’d worked on so many books together we could finish each other’s sentences.

Colleen is famously great in a crisis.

She answered on the first ring, then raced over with her husband, Dave. They took me to the hospital while a neighbor stayed with the kids. What would I have done without Colleen? Honestly, I can’t imagine.

Long story short: two metal plates and twenty-six screws later, I was released from the hospital. The doctor said I’d need to take off two months from work.

Two. Whole. Months.

But how would I manage? I’d been barely holding it together with two good hands.

My sweet mom came from South Carolina to help. My girls slept on sleeping bags in my room to be close to me. When they awoke, Mom quietly shooed them out to feed them breakfast and drive them to daycare and school while I slept in. She changed my bandages, got prescriptions filled, made sure I ate. She chauffeured me to doctor appointments and physical therapy until I could drive again.

One day Mom looked up from spreading jam on yet another peanut butter sandwich and said, “You’ll be going back to work soon. What will you do differently so you don’t fall again?”

Mom had raised me to know my Bible. We both knew Proverbs 16:18 by heart: “Pride goes before destruction and a haughty spirit before a fall.” A literal fall down some stairs made it clear that trying do too much on my own had nearly wrecked me. This fall was a grace. A time to reset. And it was time to make some changes.

More than change, I wanted something deeper. What was it Jesus had said? “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened. I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart and you will find rest for your souls” (Matthew 11:28-29).

This rest Jesus promises here is more than a good night’s sleep—or even a two-month leave of absence from a job you love. Gospel-rest is a bone-deep infusion of peace — peace that comes from recognizing my daughterhood in Christ. By grace, I’m God’s own daughter. And God is way bigger than me. God is good. God is trustworthy. God is sovereign. There’s so much rest in this truth.

I’m not a mom of littles anymore. And these days I don’t parent alone. Four years ago, I married my soulmate — a man of exceptional character and strong faith who loves me so well. He supports, protects me, and he even slows me down when I hurry. My husband encouraged me to write, noting that I knew plenty about writing books. Why not write for myself? So I did. And I do.

Every time I hold a pen or reach for my keyboard, a two-inch scar reminds me of God’s faithfulness and my daughterhood. I rest in that.

Faithful Daughter: True, Inspiring Stories Celebrating a Mother’s Legacy and Love is about the mystifying, crazy-making relationships between mother and daughter. It includes thirty-plus essays by some amazing women, including New York Times bestsellers, a Poet Laureate, a psychologist, a celebrity chef, a former prostitute, a woman who runs an orphanage in Haiti, and more. Their heartfelt, sometimes raw, remembrances beckon us to lean in emotionally and reflect on our own lives.

In Faithful Daughter, we discover there’s hope for those of us who’ve survived even the most seriously messed up relationships.

 

GIVEAWAY!*

We are all daughters of God, and we want to give a copy of this new book away to FIVE of you! Leave a comment on this post telling us your favorite thing about being a daughter of God, and you’ll be entered to win one of our FIVE copies!

*Giveaway will close at 11:59pm CT on 5/29/2020. Open to US residents only. 

 

[bctt tweet=”Gospel-rest is a bone-deep infusion of peace — peace that comes from recognizing my daughterhood in Christ. #faithfuldaughterbook -Ami McConnell:” username=”incourage”]

A Beautiful Scar to Remind Me of My Daughterhood

by

Do you have any scars? Most of us have at least one. Each scar tells a story. Take for instance this two-inch scar on my right hand.

“Everybody hustle so we can make it in time for church,” I called out to the empty hallway. Five kids tumbled out. As a newly single mom, hurrying my children seemed to be my chief occupation. Never mind the fifty-plus hours a week I spent as a senior book editor at a major publishing house. I longed to sleep in and rest. But worship together was a priority. We all needed it. So in the hallway upstairs I held one on my hip as I brushed hair and tied ribbons. Time to go. Again.

I vividly remember sliding my youngest down from my hip and onto the landing. She’d just learned to hold the railing to walk down rather than scooting on her hind end. She took my hand in hers. Then, as my foot hit that top stair, something happened. I slipped. Her little eyes grew wide as she let go. Feet-first I slid down, fast. I reached backward to slow my fall and felt bones pop.

At the bottom I bit back a scream. Or maybe I screamed. Who knows? I was struggling to stay conscious. My girls rushed down. “Are you okay, Mommy?” one asked. The seven-year-old asked if she could get me a cold Coke to help.

“No, Love. Just get my phone. Quick, like a bunny,” I begged. The last number I’d dialed was bestselling author Colleen Coble’s, in town for a book festival. We’d worked on so many books together we could finish each other’s sentences.

Colleen is famously great in a crisis.

She answered on the first ring, then raced over with her husband, Dave. They took me to the hospital while a neighbor stayed with the kids. What would I have done without Colleen? Honestly, I can’t imagine.

Long story short: two metal plates and twenty-six screws later, I was released from the hospital. The doctor said I’d need to take off two months from work.

Two. Whole. Months.

But how would I manage? I’d been barely holding it together with two good hands.

My sweet mom came from South Carolina to help. My girls slept on sleeping bags in my room to be close to me. When they awoke, Mom quietly shooed them out to feed them breakfast and drive them to daycare and school while I slept in. She changed my bandages, got prescriptions filled, made sure I ate. She chauffeured me to doctor appointments and physical therapy until I could drive again.

One day Mom looked up from spreading jam on yet another peanut butter sandwich and said, “You’ll be going back to work soon. What will you do differently so you don’t fall again?”

Mom had raised me to know my Bible. We both knew Proverbs 16:18 by heart: “Pride goes before destruction and a haughty spirit before a fall.” A literal fall down some stairs made it clear that trying do too much on my own had nearly wrecked me. This fall was a grace. A time to reset. And it was time to make some changes.

More than change, I wanted something deeper. What was it Jesus had said? “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened. I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart and you will find rest for your souls” (Matthew 11:28-29).

This rest Jesus promises here is more than a good night’s sleep—or even a two-month leave of absence from a job you love. Gospel-rest is a bone-deep infusion of peace — peace that comes from recognizing my daughterhood in Christ. By grace, I’m God’s own daughter. And God is way bigger than me. God is good. God is trustworthy. God is sovereign. There’s so much rest in this truth.

I’m not a mom of littles anymore. And these days I don’t parent alone. Four years ago, I married my soulmate — a man of exceptional character and strong faith who loves me so well. He supports, protects me, and he even slows me down when I hurry. My husband encouraged me to write, noting that I knew plenty about writing books. Why not write for myself? So I did. And I do.

Every time I hold a pen or reach for my keyboard, a two-inch scar reminds me of God’s faithfulness and my daughterhood. I rest in that.

Faithful Daughter: True, Inspiring Stories Celebrating a Mother’s Legacy and Love is about the mystifying, crazy-making relationships between mother and daughter. It includes thirty-plus essays by some amazing women, including New York Times bestsellers, a Poet Laureate, a psychologist, a celebrity chef, a former prostitute, a woman who runs an orphanage in Haiti, and more. Their heartfelt, sometimes raw, remembrances beckon us to lean in emotionally and reflect on our own lives.

In Faithful Daughter, we discover there’s hope for those of us who’ve survived even the most seriously messed up relationships.

 

GIVEAWAY!*

We are all daughters of God, and we want to give a copy of this new book away to FIVE of you! Leave a comment on this post telling us your favorite thing about being a daughter of God, and you’ll be entered to win one of our FIVE copies!

*Giveaway will close at 11:59pm CT on 5/29/2020. Open to US residents only. 

 

[bctt tweet=”Gospel-rest is a bone-deep infusion of peace — peace that comes from recognizing my daughterhood in Christ. #faithfuldaughterbook -Ami McConnell:” username=”incourage”]

I Don’t Know How to Lead Right Now

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“They will fight against you but will not overcome you, for I am with you and will rescue you,” declares the Lord.
Jeremiah 1:10 (NIV)

God calls Jeremiah to be a prophet during a time of upheaval in Israelite history. God says, “Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, before you were born I set you apart.” But Jeremiah is unsure of himself saying, “I do not know how to speak; I am too young.”

Isn’t this how so many of us feel right now as we lead our homes, our churches, our communities? As we try to facilitate important conversations at our tables and online or make decisions that impact others far and wide? As we try to explain to our children what’s happening and figure out how to best care of our aging parents and medically fragile family members?

In the midst of all those concerns, God says to us, “Do not be afraid; I am with you.”

So when what’s before us seems over our head, let’s hold on to this promise today: God is with me when I am afraid.

 

[bctt tweet=”When what’s before us seems over our head, let’s hold on to this promise today: God is with me when I am afraid. #promiseoverpanic” username=”incourage”]

Longing and Finding Mooluk

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There’s a word in Hindi called mooluk, which more or less translates to “home, sweet home.” It’s a word that means far more than just a place of belonging. When someone says, “I’ve found mooluk,” they say it with both joy and pride because they’ve not just found a place to rest, but a space where they can be their full cultural selves and feel understood and loved. I’ve longed for mooluk my whole life. But growing up, I lived without a community to call my own. I was the lone brown-skinned Indian girl in an all-white town. No one in my school, my church, or my neighborhood looked like me or lived life like me, and I felt that keenly.

To be completely honest, sometimes my existence in high school felt like one extended experience of humiliation. The boys in my class had a running joke about the way I looked. One time, as I sat down at a desk, a boy stood up and shouted, “Hey, look at Michelle! She’s so ugly.” Never in my life had I wanted to be more invisible than in that moment. I still remember the way all eyes turned to look at me and an immediate roar of laughter and pointing fingers erupted across the room. Another guy leaned over and said, “You know no one’s ever going to date you, right?” All I could do was hang my shoulders low and sink down as far as I could into my chair, hoping it would swallow me whole.

These were spaces that I would never feel at home. There was no room for a young, brown-skinned, Indian American girl to belong. I was the outsider and the misfit. And sadly, this reality was all I ever knew. I lived that way for so long, I didn’t think another reality was possible. For a long time I convinced myself that there was no place for me to fit in.

But praise be to God that has all changed recently. Thankfully, over the past decade, Christians of color have become more visible in our society. The phenomena of social media have allowed us to collectively raise our voices, center our experiences, and most importantly, find each other. The immediacy of spaces like Facebook and Twitter have helped me begin to connect with people both online and in person just like myself. I’ve discovered a whole world of people with bi-cultural identities, including fellow Asian American women, both in ministry and outside of it. They are people whom I can turn to and say, “You too?” and immediately we know. We know each other’s experiences, pains, and wounds because we’ve had them ourselves. We can walk that journey of healing and restoration together, and even laugh along the way, because that’s what’s possible when you have friends who see you and value you just for who you are.

We are living in strange times right now. In the midst of COVID-19 and quarantine, Asian Americans like myself are also navigating the contagion of racism. Many of us have been insulted, shouted at, spit on, and worse. My personal experiences and those that I’ve witnessed taking place in the Asian community are all triggering the experiences I had growing up. I know all too well what it’s like for someone to point at you and see that look in their eye that screams other. This kind of vitriolic hate and abuse against people of color like myself is what makes me not always feel at home in my country. But in the midst of all this, God in His mercy has also gathered a collective Asian American community for me to journey this difficult road together.

Recently, I attended the Someday Is Here live event in Los Angeles, and I said to myself, “I’ve found mooluk.” It was in that communal space that I experienced for the first time the joy of feeling understood, known, and wanted without having to explain myself. I felt my body relax and my spirit at ease. In that space, I could laugh and be myself and not think twice about every word coming out of my mouth. That is mooluk. It’s what I’ve found with these Asian American women across the country, and I praise God that He’s finally brought me to a place where I can feel like I belong with all of me, and I can know peace.

Sister, you were created with a beautiful cultural identity that reflects God’s image to the world. This is part of who God made us to be. We cannot flourish and thrive and feel at home unless we are able to fully lean into our God-given cultural identities. The way you were made was on purpose. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Don’t believe the lie that your skin color, your beauty, your body, your customs, your views of the world, your expressions and everything that makes you you are unwelcome, less than, or without value. And whether it’s in this life or the next, you can trust that God is working to restore all things, including the joy, beauty, and pride of who we are as cultural beings. Home is coming for all of us. May that truth encourage you today.

 

[bctt tweet=”We cannot flourish and thrive and feel at home unless we are able to fully lean into our God-given cultural identities. -@drmichellereyes:” username=”incourage”]

For Your Memorial Day: Six Ways to Find Peace
in a Noisy World

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Our family will visit the cemetery today. Someone from the American Legion will hand us poppies. The pastor will say a few words to those who’ve gathered.

And then, we will bow our heads for a moment of silence. No one will speak. The air will fill with birdsong and the sound of flags flapping in the breeze.

In that moment, I will pray as I always pray: for peace to rule in hearts everywhere.

That’s how I’ve celebrated Memorial Day since I was a kid – with a few moments in a cemetery, observing and remembering. Maybe your Memorial Day looks similar to mine. Or maybe you’ll spend your day at a lake or a park or around the grill in your backyard. Wherever you may be today, may your day be filled with peace. And may you find a way to share a bit of your peace with the people around you.

The world feels short on peace these days, doesn’t it?

Mother Teresa once said, “If we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten that we belong to each other.” I worry, sometimes, that we forget that we really are in this together. It’s a noisy, hectic, I’m-right-you’re-wrong world out there. Today, I want to make a special effort to be less concerned with making a point and more concerned with making some peace.

If there really is going to be peace on earth, as the song says, “Let it begin with me.”

If there will be peace on Facebook,
or around the dinner table,
or in a sanctuary,
or out in this warring world,
or in a family squabble,
or in the midst of protest,
or on a lake,
or in some legislative chamber under a golden dome,
or in a world groaning under its own weight . . .
if there be peace here, or if there be peace anywhere on earth, then let it begin with me.

Here are six ways you can create peace in your life today:

Serve someone. There’s so much wrong in this world, which makes us angry and sad — as it should! One great way to bring more peace into the world is to bring a little peace to someone whose life is in turmoil. That’s one powerful way of taking our anger and turning it into a higher purpose. Find a person or organization near you who could use a bit of the love that you have within your heart.

Heal one piece of the wound within you. It’s hard to “pass the peace” when our insides are in turmoil. Take time this week to tend to your pain. It can feel overwhelming to think about fixing all that aches within you. If necessary, pick one piece and tend to it. Take that bit of wound to a trusted friend. Pray about it with your pastor. Write it on a slip of paper and burn that paper in your own personal bonfire as a way to say, “Good riddance.” (Invite a friend and ask her to bring the marshmallows.)

Point out the good you see. Take a picture of something that made you smile and post it to your social media channels. Of course, there is a time and place for us to use our social media platforms to point out injustice, but there is also a time and place for us amplify the good. Go, therefore, and show us your kittens, sunsets, and cute babies.

Resolve at least one conflict in your life this week. There may be someone who has gotten on your last nerve or who has stepped on your toes in a major way. The elephant is still in the room. Talk about that elephant, release it into the wild, and then move within that freed-up space toward a resolution.

Forgive someone. Nelson Mandela famously said, “Resentment is like drinking poison and then hoping it will kill your enemies.” You don’t have to forget, but when you choose to forgive, you have decided to stop drinking the poison.

Find inner peace. There are a lot of places one can go to find peace – a hiking trail, a sanctuary, the beach. But ultimately, the only way we’ll find true peace is when we look to Jesus.

And let the peace that comes from Christ rule in your hearts.
Colossians 3:15 (NLT)

This post was originally written by Jennifer Dukes Lee in May 2017.

 

[bctt tweet=”Wherever you may be today, may your day be filled with peace. And may you find a way to share a bit of your peace with the people around you. #memorialday -@dukeslee:” username=”incourage”]

For Your Memorial Day: Six Ways to Find Peace in a Noisy World

by

Our family will visit the cemetery today. Someone from the American Legion will hand us poppies. The pastor will say a few words to those who’ve gathered.

And then, we will bow our heads for a moment of silence. No one will speak. The air will fill with birdsong and the sound of flags flapping in the breeze.

In that moment, I will pray as I always pray: for peace to rule in hearts everywhere.

That’s how I’ve celebrated Memorial Day since I was a kid – with a few moments in a cemetery, observing and remembering. Maybe your Memorial Day looks similar to mine. Or maybe you’ll spend your day at a lake or a park or around the grill in your backyard. Wherever you may be today, may your day be filled with peace. And may you find a way to share a bit of your peace with the people around you.

The world feels short on peace these days, doesn’t it?

Mother Teresa once said, “If we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten that we belong to each other.” I worry, sometimes, that we forget that we really are in this together. It’s a noisy, hectic, I’m-right-you’re-wrong world out there. Today, I want to make a special effort to be less concerned with making a point and more concerned with making some peace.

If there really is going to be peace on earth, as the song says, “Let it begin with me.”

If there will be peace on Facebook,
or around the dinner table,
or in a sanctuary,
or out in this warring world,
or in a family squabble,
or in the midst of protest,
or on a lake,
or in some legislative chamber under a golden dome,
or in a world groaning under its own weight . . .
if there be peace here, or if there be peace anywhere on earth, then let it begin with me.

Here are six ways you can create peace in your life today:

Serve someone. There’s so much wrong in this world, which makes us angry and sad — as it should! One great way to bring more peace into the world is to bring a little peace to someone whose life is in turmoil. That’s one powerful way of taking our anger and turning it into a higher purpose. Find a person or organization near you who could use a bit of the love that you have within your heart.

Heal one piece of the wound within you. It’s hard to “pass the peace” when our insides are in turmoil. Take time this week to tend to your pain. It can feel overwhelming to think about fixing all that aches within you. If necessary, pick one piece and tend to it. Take that bit of wound to a trusted friend. Pray about it with your pastor. Write it on a slip of paper and burn that paper in your own personal bonfire as a way to say, “Good riddance.” (Invite a friend and ask her to bring the marshmallows.)

Point out the good you see. Take a picture of something that made you smile and post it to your social media channels. Of course, there is a time and place for us to use our social media platforms to point out injustice, but there is also a time and place for us amplify the good. Go, therefore, and show us your kittens, sunsets, and cute babies.

Resolve at least one conflict in your life this week. There may be someone who has gotten on your last nerve or who has stepped on your toes in a major way. The elephant is still in the room. Talk about that elephant, release it into the wild, and then move within that freed-up space toward a resolution.

Forgive someone. Nelson Mandela famously said, “Resentment is like drinking poison and then hoping it will kill your enemies.” You don’t have to forget, but when you choose to forgive, you have decided to stop drinking the poison.

Find inner peace. There are a lot of places one can go to find peace – a hiking trail, a sanctuary, the beach. But ultimately, the only way we’ll find true peace is when we look to Jesus.

And let the peace that comes from Christ rule in your hearts.
Colossians 3:15 (NLT)

This post was originally written by Jennifer Dukes Lee in May 2017.

 

[bctt tweet=”Wherever you may be today, may your day be filled with peace. And may you find a way to share a bit of your peace with the people around you. #memorialday -@dukeslee:” username=”incourage”]

God, I Want to Know You More

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I pray that the God of our Lord Jesus Christ, the glorious Father, would give you the Spirit of wisdom and revelation in the knowledge of him. I pray that the eyes of your heart may be enlightened so that you may know what is the hope of his calling, what is the wealth of his glorious inheritance in the saints, and what is the immeasurable greatness of his power toward us who believe, according to the mighty working of his strength.
Ephesians 1:17-19 (CSB)

We can’t know God without God’s intervention. We can study the Scriptures as thoroughly as the Pharisees had done and yet still miss the message of the gospel. We can attend church faithfully for all our lives and not experience Him. It is only by grace and by the Holy Spirit’s revelation that we can know Him, understand the riches of His wisdom, the hope we have in Him, and the power of His strength.

Though our God is mysterious and unfathomable, He wants to be known by us, and it’s through His Word, through community, and most importantly through His Spirit, who lives in us, that He will make Himself known.

If you’re feeling far or blocked from Him, ask for the Spirit to give you wisdom to understand. Then have eyes to see and ears to hear what He shows you.

 

[bctt tweet=”Though our God is mysterious and unfathomable, He wants to be known by us.” username=”incourage”]

The Prayer That Brings Peace

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I read her words and knew I could’ve written them myself:

It seems the more I pray, the more difficult things become . . . A friend said, “Father, when does she get a break?” I am aware of my tendency to pity parties. But right now, I just want to quit.

Although I’d never met this woman, didn’t even know her last name, I felt a kindred connection. I knew what it was like to experience unrelenting circumstances, with no relief. I, too, had friends who regularly commented on my seemingly endless string of tough breaks.

And, like my online friend, I’d prayed for decades, bent knees, petitions raised, and tears shed. I’d begged the God I believed in with all my heart to answer my prayers.

And yet, at times, it seemed all I received in response were more hard times. Yes, I too experienced days when I wanted to quit.

The apostle Paul knew about unrelenting circumstances. In 2 Corinthians 11, he lists some of the difficulties he’d endured, things like homelessness, beatings, stonings, sleeplessness, hunger, pain, fear, thirst. He knew hardships far more difficult than anything I’ve known or can imagine. And I have no doubt he prayed faithfully for God to bring relief to his pain, to change his circumstances. Even so, he continued to suffer.

And yet, in his letter to the Philippians, Paul wrote these words:

Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.
Philippians 4:6-7 (NIV)

Do not be anxious about anything?! How is that possible? How does a man — or woman — who has faced years of suffering, in spite of prayers for relief, find real peace?

The answer, I believe, sits at the end of verse 5 in four simple words:

“The Lord is near.”

Not “The Lord might be near” or “The Lord will be near someday.” But the Lord IS near. As in today, right now, smack dab in the middle of whatever impossibility in which you find yourself.

Paul found what he wanted most of all in God’s nearness. He believed it was worth it to keep praying, to keep presenting his requests to God day after day, regardless of whether or not he got the answers he desired. Why? Because God’s presence mattered more to him than any relief to his pain. And in God’s presence, he found real peace.

I admit, sometimes that doesn’t feel like enough. I want a microwave faith, the kind that gives me, in seconds, quick relief and immediate comfort. Which is why, at times, when my prayers feel fruitless, I’m tempted to quit.

And yet, love compels us to continue. The kind of love that desires God himself more than even our own lives. A love that is so wooed by His nearness that we find a measure of peace even in our pain. Because we have a God who so loved us, that He gave his only son for us, enduring pain so we could have, forever, Him.

Peace doesn’t come when our circumstances change. Real peace comes when we enter in with the One who is already near, the presence of a God who never leaves.

Yes, I believe love prays. And although I’m not there yet, I want to be the kind of woman who is so in love with her Jesus that she continues to bring her petitions to the pain of the cross.

And the Prince of Peace who meets me there.

 

[bctt tweet=”The Lord is near — as in today, right now, smack dab in the middle of whatever impossibility in which you find yourself. #loveoverall #loveprays -@MicheleCushatt:” username=”incourage”]

Why I Don’t Want to Say, “Let’s Get Together Sometime!” Again

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I found out on Facebook.

Needing a break from my work, I clicked over to Facebook and scrolled. Scrolled and scrolled, stopping occasionally to click, but mostly scrolling. Then my eyes latched onto a short post from an old friend, and I froze.

Well, my scrolling finger froze, but my brain began spinning. What? How could this be? Was she sick? What happened? And then . . . I guess we’re never going to get together to catch up.

One of my best childhood friends died last month. My good friend who posted the announcement said it might have been an aneurysm. One minute she was fine; the next she was gone. As I read the news, I was flooded with a familiar regret.

Because my oldest daughter is in sixth grade this year and has, at times, been fully immersed in tween friend drama, my own tween friendships have come to mind frequently over the past several months. When my daughter cried about missing her friends who are in different classes this year and how she felt when some of those friends ignored her at lunch, I was immediately transported to my own middle school.

I spent all of my sixth grade year trying desperately to hold onto old friends who were rapidly becoming the “popular” girls. I also spent the year sitting next to my friend with the best big bangs and the funniest nicknames and the most infectious giggle. We had inside jokes and slumber parties, and we were totally BFF (best friends forever). But part of my friend-heart was never hers because I was holding out for those cool girls to finally realize they liked me after all.

At the end of our sixth grade year, my friend who’d been next to me all year announced she was moving. Her parents were getting divorced, and she was moving away with her mom. She was leaving, and I’d wasted all year taking her for granted because I wanted the popular girls to like me.

I thought of all of this when I heard this same friend had died. Not because I still felt guilty (although, fine, I did), but because I’d missed another chance to spend time with her much more recently. After living a few states away for years, she’d moved back to our hometown, just a few miles away from where I live now. When I saw that announcement (on Facebook, of course), I said what we all say, all the time: “We should get together!”

She agreed, we added some smiley face emojis, and then never talked again.

We didn’t get together. We didn’t catch up. We didn’t reconnect or reminisce. We didn’t do anything, and now it’s too late.

I’m not sharing this story to place my regrets on your shoulders. And even though beating myself up for being human is my default setting, I’m not allowing myself to wallow in shame here either.

But I am trying to learn from this experience.

A few months ago, we had no idea what was coming around the corner. I suppose that’s true for every season of every year; we can’t predict the future! But what has taken place this spring has been so alarming, so unprecedented, so life-altering that it certainly falls under the category of “didn’t see that coming”!

We didn’t know. We couldn’t have guessed. But even if we had, I wonder what we would have done differently. Who would we have hugged or visited or finally met for that lunch we’d been talking about forever? What project or errand or getaway would we have done right then, when we could? Would we really have done anything differently?

I’m not sure I would have. I think sometimes we have to learn the hard way; I certainly do.

But now that I’ve done some more hard learning, I’m praying that God will keep me mindful of this feeling without letting me be swallowed by regret. I’m praying that from now on I will prioritize people over my schedule. I’m asking Him to give me the motivation to redeem the time He’s given me — whether that’s time at home or time in the world. I’m praying for a heart that understands and accepts that we aren’t given any earthly guarantees but also trusts the Lord and doesn’t fear for the future.

It’s a tall order. I’m asking God to change me down to the very foundation of who I am — to make me more like Jesus, who seized every moment of mission and relationship He was given but also rested and recharged when He needed to. This all-or-nothing, procrastinating woman with misplaced priorities is a far cry from what Jesus modeled. But I trust that He will continue the good work He’s begun in me until I truly am who He created me to be (Philippians 1:6).

As our world yearns for all the things we’re missing, I’ve heard some people ask, “What will you do when things get back to normal?” Friends have shared the first place they want to go or the first person they want to visit, and these are good things. But I have spent a lifetime planning what I’ll do in the future — on Monday, when I finish this project, when I lose weight, when my husband stops working nights, when we’re not so busy. Now I want to ask God what He has for me to do right now.

I can’t get back the time I might have spent connecting with an old, dear friend. And we can’t go back to early 2020 and do all the things we were later kept from doing. But I can move forward in Jesus’s footsteps. I can reach out to a friend today. I can pick up the phone to — gasp! — call someone instead of text. I can look my kids in the eyes and let loose a belly laugh when they act ridiculous and play outside even though I really need to start dinner. I can pick up my Bible and let the Lord speak to me instead of hitting snooze one more time.

And when I don’t (because not one of us can do it all right, all the time — especially when handling a worldwide crisis!), I can leave my regrets at God’s feet and start again.

How has this pandemic changed the way you think
about how you want to live differently?

 

[bctt tweet=”I have spent a lifetime planning what I’ll do in the future. Now I want to ask God what He has for me to do right now. -@marycarver:” username=”incourage”]

When I Come Out on the Other Side of This

by

I started the year off in a full sprint. January and February were unusually full and overflowing with travel, special events, and project deadlines. The hyper pace of this type of perpetual, uninterrupted hustle and bustle does not come naturally to me, nor do I long for it. I prefer a rhythm of balanced activity and pause, so I’m still wondering how I managed to over-schedule myself. 

But somehow, in the midst of two months, inundated with planning, writing, traveling, teaching, and parenting, there were a few free, quiet seconds. And in the expanse of those few seconds, I discerned that after February, I would get to pause — catch my breath. I saw a vision of me diving deep underground, beneath the earth’s soil. I know that technically diving into solid soil is impossible, but visions and unctions aren’t limited by our finite expressions of how things work in the natural realm. This vision gave me a sense of relief — a sense of calm. I longed for the placidity and welcomed the space to breath. I surveyed my calendar, saw that post-February was wide open, and therefore, I would be gliding back into my rhythm of balanced activity and pause —YES!

NO! A few weeks into quarantine life, I felt like I had been buried deep beneath the earth’s sod, but the sense of tranquility that I previously longed for had evaded me. The pause I looked forward to was not really a break if the whole world was broken. My rhythm of balanced activity and pause was nowhere to be found. At that point, I couldn’t even remember what my old rhythm felt like. I grieved the loss of normal. And when I heard people talking about getting back to normal, I thought to myself, “Normal is dead! Normal is no longer with us! Normal is not coming back!” And honestly, I didn’t have the strength to force the present extraordinary situation into normal’s old trappings. 

Every waking moment required my best intention and fullest attention. Each day seemed to offer old inquiries in the form of new trivial pursuits — from the menial (Where do I buy toilet paper?)  to the massive (How do I attend the funeral of a loved one?). The search for answers was grueling. The answer to both was I don’t. This daily adapting was exhausting, but adapting daily was necessary in order to thrive. All of the rethinking and relearning from what was normal was taxing! Being confined was suffocating. The loss of predictability was heavy. Contemplating what is to come was weighty.

But I remembered the vision of being underground and thought of the seed. The seed is buried deep underground, encompassed by the soil, pressed under the weight of the very element designed to grow it. The soil is endowed with the intelligence to summon the seed to leave its state of dormancy and become a plant, a tree, a forest. Before it can unfurl itself into the light of day above the earth’s surface, the seed must first be cultivated by the soil.

During this time of abnormal and discomfort, I liken myself to a seed being cultivated. Although heavy, I trust the weightiness of this time to command growth, to prepare me for my next stage of living, to propel me beyond my present state.

I can grieve the loss of what was, but I know losses make room for gains because Christ’s love leaves no deficits — no empty spaces. Though I am still in the depths of this, and though like a seed, I am still buried out of sight, the new has already begun. 

For I am about to do something new.
See, I have already begun! Do you not see it?
I will make a pathway through the wilderness.    
I will create rivers in the dry wasteland.
Isaiah 43:19 (NLT)

I have already begun to see new life cultivating in my home and family. While we’ve had to abandon work, school, and activities outside the home, daily we get to eat dinner together, play together, and spend hours loving on each other. Due to my husband’s work schedule, eating dinner together daily hasn’t been an option for us for several years. And while I lost my work-from-home-alone time, my girls get to see what it looks like for me to create through writing, teaching online, and leading an organization. 

Spending concentrated time with my family is like looking in a mirror all day long. I’ve seen parts of myself — good and ugly — that went unnoticed in my former rhythm of life. But during this forced extended pause, I’ve been able to work on the ugly parts and celebrate the good parts. 

During this time of buried beneath the weight of all of this, I am a seedling holding on to the hope of new things. May we all be fully cultivated and prepared for the next stage of purpose even as we’re underground right now.

 

[bctt tweet=”I can grieve the loss of what was, but I know losses make room for gains because Christ’s love leaves no deficits — no empty spaces. -Lucretia Berry (@brownicity):” username=”incourage”]

No Social Distancing Between Us and God’s Love

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Nothing can ever separate us from God’s love.
Romans 8:38 (NLT)

This is the promise we can cling to today: God’s love is not distant even when I feel alone.

Loneliness makes us feel as though a chasm created cruelly by life has been placed between us and others. We can feel lonely when we’re by ourselves or perhaps more painfully, when we’re surrounded by people. As we’ve experienced social distancing for the past two months and possibly for much longer, being and feeling alone takes a toll. We are weary. We are aching. We are longing. And though we may need to continue social distancing from one another, God’s love is not distant at all. It is near to us, living within us, and nothing can separate us from it.

 

[bctt tweet=”This is the promise we can cling to today: God’s love is not distant even when I feel alone.” username=”incourage”]