Let’s Cheer Each Other On Today

Let’s Cheer Each Other On Today

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I’m standing at the finish line of a half-marathon. I see my daughter, Lovelle, round the final corner of the race. The course ends with a hill, and I watch as she climbs it along with other runners, each step requiring extra effort because of the steepness.

Our daughter is one of the most resilient people I know. She came into our lives when she was twenty after a decade of infertility for us and a lifetime of difficulty for her. She has taught me so much about what it means to be brave and strong. So on this day I do what I have for years now, I cheer her on.

Others around me do the same for their loved ones. Parents cheering on children. Friends yelling encouragement, “You can do this!” Coworkers wearing matching shirts showing up to support one of their own.

I thought of this scene recently with what’s going on in our world. We’re in a race we didn’t train for or expect. Some of us are facing steeper hills than we ever have, like the loss of a job, dream, or someone we love. Many of us are missing milestones, like graduations and weddings. All of us are facing fear and uncertainty, which have always been part of being human.

I wrote Cheering You On: 50 Reasons Why Anything Is Possible with God before COVID-19. I wrote it because my daughter didn’t get to hear the words I wish she had growing up. I wrote it because I now also have a granddaughter and I want her to know as soon as she can that God is her biggest fan. I wrote it because as a life coach, counselor, and author who has engaged with thousands of people I know life isn’t an easy walk in the park.

Therefore, since we also have such a large cloud of witnesses surrounding us . . . Let us run with endurance the race that lies before us, keeping our eyes on Jesus, the source and perfecter of our faith. For the joy that lay before him, he endured the cross.
Hebrews 12:1-2 (CSB)

Today we are runners in a race none of us would have chosen, one whose finish line we can’t yet see. We’re also, like I was at my daughter’s half-marathon, witnesses to the journeys of others. We can help each other keep our eyes on Jesus. We can trust there is still joy ahead of us. We can, most of all and more than ever before, choose to cheer each other on.

Download a free gift from Holley and DaySpring for you and the people in your life, Cheering You On: 5 Reasons Anything Is Possible with God. You can also find more Covid-19 resources from DaySpring here.

 

[bctt tweet=”We can help each other keep our eyes on Jesus. We can trust there is still joy ahead of us. We can, most of all and more than ever before, choose to cheer each other on. – @holleygerth” username=”incourage”]

Peace for a New Day Tomorrow

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I look at the list of assignments my daughter has, and I feel overwhelmed by the amount of work that needs to get done for the day. Blame it on the pandemic, on working from home, on the kids having a hard time doing school on the computer, but the list is long today because we didn’t get much done the last few days. Each week has brought new changes to the way my children learn from their teachers, turn in work, or get assessed. There are more platforms than I can keep count of, let alone logins and passwords for each one and for each kid. I’m someone who heavily relies on my internet browser to save my passwords, so with everything going on, even the littlest thing feels like too much.

Suffice it to say, I’m struggling. My kids are struggling. Our attitudes have been prickly, our patience on its last drops, and our grief comes out in meanness toward one another and nightmare-filled sleep.

I have dreams about my teeth falling out or the world coming to an end. I dream about a real life day where I get everything on my to-do list done, only to wake up tired with everything still on the list unchecked and looming heavy over my head. The night doesn’t guarantee rest, and it’s not just me.

My son has started screaming at night again. He hides under the blankets because he’s scared of burglars coming to our house — his imagination as wild and apocalyptic as mine. But hiding under the blanket only makes his body overheat, which then brings new nightmares to his little mind.

He cries out in fear then anger that it’s too hot, and too often, I can’t hold back my anger toward him. It’s a vicious cycle, and every night is a game of nightmare roulette. Will we get enough sleep or will we be woken up every couple of hours to shouts of “Mommyyyy!”? My husband and I wonder if this will ever end or if this is our lot in parenting life.

But when sanity holds sway and compassion fills my heart, I cradle my son and wipe away his tears and sweat. I tell him to take deep breaths, and together we breathe in and out — his head against my chest listening to my heart, our bodies in sync with our breaths. I feel his tense body relax, and we enter together into the presence of God. I pray for peace over his body, his mind, and soul. I pray for God to meet him in his dreams — that even there, he would experience God’s strong love for him. I pray for his thoughts to be filled with good, lovely, pure things, and that we’d be able to sleep uninterrupted till the morning.

I lay him down on his bed and flip his pillow to find a cooler side. I rub his back and tell him I love him, that God loves him, and I retreat back to my room with flickering hope that it won’t happen again in a couple of hours.

I lie in bed weary, but my mind turns toward tomorrow. I think about what school will be like, how many more assignments we’ll be behind in, and then I give up — there’s nothing that thinking and worrying can do for me.

I pray the same prayer over myself as I did for my son, and I take deep breaths with my palms open and my eyes closed.

We don’t know when things will start to feel normal, and it may be that things will keep evolving and we’ll have to keep adjusting. But our hope isn’t attached to what was or what will be. Our hope is in the One who’s with us here and now — through sleepless nights and overwhelming days. He, who is unseen, sees us in all our weariness and grief. He holds us and our children close, speaks words of love over us, and tells us to rest in His embrace.

Let these words speak life to you when everything has become too much and rest eludes you: Deep breaths and peace for a new day tomorrow.

 

[bctt tweet=”Our hope isn’t attached to what was or what will be. Our hope is in the One who’s with us here and now — through sleepless nights and overwhelming days. -@gracepcho:” username=”incourage”]

He Sees the Whole Landscape Even Now

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The other day we made turkey-and-cheese sandwiches on sourdough bread and packed oranges and a plate of cookies my friend made into a cooler bag. We piled the five of us into our royal blue truck and went for a drive. Some local friends recently posted pictures on Facebook of a beautiful lake they found about an hour from our house, and I had to see it with my own eyes.

I needed some fresh air and an excuse to drive. I needed space to think.

It had been four weeks of sheltering at home during COVID-19. Our souls needed space to breathe on that Good Friday.

“Where are we going, Mom?” my middle girl needed to know.

“Somewhere we’ve never been before,” I replied. “It’s an adventure!”

She looked at me side-eyed. She wasn’t satisfied with my answer.

Thankfully, my husband is always up for the ride and goes along without lots of questions.

We drove toward the expanse of mountains just beyond our city. They were vast, blue, hopeful from this vantage point. Great, billowing clouds hovered above the hills.

“That’s beautiful,” my oldest daughter whispered from the back seat. I smiled quietly to myself and kept driving.

We turned right off the main highway on Road 200 heading toward the town of North Fork. The road meandered and curved. We galloped past dilapidated houses and breathtaking fields dressed in yellow wildflowers. Squirrels dashed across our path, and wild turkeys played tag in the brush.

We finally found a sign that pointed to Redinger Lake. At least we knew we were headed in the right direction. The road narrowed, and pavement gave way to gravel. I noted that only one vehicle could fit around the steep curves so it might get interesting if someone was trying to drive the other direction.

We drove and drove and drove. My littlest one started feeling car sick so we made her close her eyes and try to rest. I could feel our collective adrenaline rising as we sat quietly, eyes peeled out the window.

No signs of water.

In so many ways, this is how the last several weeks “sheltering at home” and staring down the barrel of a COVID-19 pandemic have felt. We didn’t know what was ahead. We didn’t know how long the journey might be. We tried to stay hopeful, but we were also aware of the danger, sickness, and grief so many were experiencing. It was hard to trust. It was hard to stay the course.

I felt all kinds of pressure as the driver. Not only was I navigating my own emotions, but I was also trying to balance the feelings and fears of my family. I kept looking at my husband, asking him what the GPS said. I had decision fatigue. Simple things felt heavy and hard. And some days the news changed every hour so we simply leaned toward each other and prayed.

Then I saw it out of the corner of my eye: a slip of brilliant blue. Could it be? There, between the trees!

Yes, it was water.

“Maybe we should turn around, Mom,” one of my girls said exactly at that moment..

“Oh no, check this out!” I pointed.

We rounded the bend and below us we could see the curve and line of the lake. Blue sky gave way to verdant green hills that dipped down low to rippling water. The lake — a huge lake danced before our eyes.

Here’s the truth: we never made it down to water’s edge that day. The journey was just too long, and we worried about getting home before dark. I finally pulled the truck over, and we snapped a family photo. I gazed out over the landscape for just a few moments.

Although it was vastly different, I couldn’t help but think of the hill Jesus climbed so He could fulfill His purpose. All of these rugged trees meeting the serene water reminded me of that rugged cross holding His body.

And just as we cry out to God today if there’s any way to avoid all this suffering, our own Savior cried out too, saying, “Father, if you are willing, remove this cup from me. Nevertheless, not my will, but yours, be done” (Luke 22:42, ESV).

He accepted His calling. He embraced the inconvenient, the illogical, the isolation, the senseless, and the suffering of it all. He walked with His Father every step of the way.

We, too, must journey on.

We must keep driving on this windy road.

We must give ourselves permission to grieve and lament our losses.

We must cling to hope that there’s a lake and water and respite just around the bend.

We must trust the Father who sees the whole landscape even now.

What’s one way God is calling you to step forward in hope right now?

 

Subscribe to Dorina’s Glorygram newsletter for weekly encouragement, recommendations for families “sheltering at home,” and all the behind-the-scenes details about her coming book, Walk, Run, Soar.

 

[bctt tweet=”We must trust the Father who sees the whole landscape even now. -@DorinaGilmore:” username=”incourage”]

Held When I’m Overwhelmed

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Do not fear, for I am with you;
do not be afraid, for I am your God.
I will strengthen you; I will help you;
I will hold on to you with my righteous right hand.
Isaiah 41:10 (CSB)

This is the promise for us today: God holds me when I am overwhelmed.

There is just so much right now. Everyday there are new changes to how we are to behave and distance ourselves from one another. There are the canceled plans going all the way through the summer and the unknown of what fall will bring. There is the stress from having to be and do all the things at home while also having both too much time and not enough time. It is all so overwhelming.

But we can cry out for help from the One who holds us tightly by the hand and never lets go. When we need somewhere to turn or someone to comfort us, we have God to hold us when everything becomes too much. He is right here with arms wide open to carry us through these days.

 

[bctt tweet=”This is the promise for us today: God holds me when I am overwhelmed. #promiseoverpanic” username=”incourage”]

Going Through the Five Stages of Grief in a Global Pandemic

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In the ten and a half years I’ve written for (in)courage, never have I thought so much about how the world in general — and admittedly my world in particular — could change between the day I submit my words and the day you read them. 

Life under a shelter-at-home order feels a little like the five stages of grief but in no predictable order. My husband, children, and I seem to be in different stages at different times. 

Our youngest daughter is firmly planted in stages one and two: denial and anger. At fourteen, I think her reaction stems from annoyance that her world has been turned upside down and from the fear she’s seen in me. The measures I take to clean groceries delivered to our home seem ridiculous and extreme to her. It must be unsettling to realize the people who’ve always protected you are no longer sure they can. If the coronavirus stood before her in tangible form, I have no doubt she would beat it senseless.

Our two other teens resort to something that resembles stage three: bargaining.

It reminds me of a typical parent/teen conversation: “Don’t worry, I won’t have an accident” — to which we reply, “No one plans to have an accident or they wouldn’t be called accidents.” 

They think promising not to get too close to people will make everything okay and that their good intentions can protect them. They believe it too. And I have to be the one to remind them that the virus has infected lots of careful people with good intentions. I hate it.

Initially, I threw myself into isolation with the gusto of an Enneagram 3 who could buckle down and work without the distraction of outside commitments. I moved my blog to a new host. I started building a website for my new book. With no morning appointments, I easily slid deeper into my natural night owl tendencies. 

Before long, I was staying up most of the night and having trouble sleeping. I worked a lot but desperately needed rest. As the days trickled by, I realized what really kept me awake at night: fear.

My husband works in an essential industry. He manages a printing facility that provides labels for medical and food products among other things, and I’ve had trouble trusting God to protect him and therefore us. I know this doesn’t compare with those whose loved ones work in the healthcare field, but still. It’s very real. I won’t belittle your fears if you don’t belittle mine.

He can’t hide in his office. Everyone needs him. And that exposes him to the twenty-two other people who work there and indirectly, to whomever they’ve come in contact with. My brain burrows down into some very dark rabbit holes if I let it and many days I fail to put faith over fear.

If he couldn’t work and wasn’t receiving a paycheck, it would create another type of stress. I’m not sure which is worse — lack of income or increased exposure — but I find myself looking out the window and envying neighbors taking walks or working on home projects together instead of worrying about who’s standing too close to their husbands. 

This is my youngest son’s senior year. Last February, I wrote about how I dread graduation years. (Ironically, I said, “I’m already bracing myself for spring of 2020.” I had no idea.) We don’t know when or if he’ll have a graduation ceremony or a state meet for his final track season. His plans to leave on a nine-month mission trip in September are on hold. 

None of us know what the future holds next week, next month, or next year. If left unchecked, this uncertainty can lead to overwhelming fear, and I’ve found myself clawing my way out of that pit too often. 

Things started to change one Sunday evening when I decided to do everything I could and trust God to do the rest. (He doesn’t need my help, but it makes me feel better.) The eve of each new work week would send me into a tailspin and I didn’t want to go back into that place again. I didn’t want to feel like a victim filled with fear, but a victor filled with faith.

So I asked my husband for the names of each co-worker. I read them one by one and begged God to build a wall of protection around them and their families. I sent them bottles of hand sanitizer. They can be hard to come by, and I didn’t want any to do without. 

The fifth stage of grief is acceptance, but I’m calling it faith. No matter what happens, I know that God is good, all the time. Our enemy may be invisible but can still be defeated.

I don’t know what will happen tomorrow, but I know Who holds tomorrow, the next day, and the one after that. And I trust Him.

 

[bctt tweet=”I don’t know what will happen tomorrow, but I know Who holds tomorrow, the next day, and the one after that. And I trust Him. -@DawnMHSH:” username=”incourage”]

Why I’m Getting Back to Basics Again

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Last week was spirit week for our elementary school, and the teachers were very clear: If this is stressful or overwhelming, scrap it. That’s basically how they’ve been with this whole new school-at-home thing, and I am so thankful. My kids understand that there’s something in the air that they’ve never felt before. They see the masks at school lunch pick-up and in the grocery store parking lot. They know their school, our church, and favorite restaurants are closed. They know we can’t go to dinner at Mormor’s house or play with the neighborhood kids.

It’s weird and not normal and they have every right to their feelings.

And so do you.

My kids go between rocking at-home learning and playing in the backyard and doing online church to completely and totally falling apart over what seems to be the tiniest thing. I myself vacillate between panic, despair, overwhelm, fear, and a smidge of hope-laced silver lining.

My mind is especially racing with the overly available and advertised things to do, especially with kids. Listen, I don’t have more free time than I did pre-coronavirus. I’m still working, and so is my husband — both of us now from home (which is absolutely a complete privilege, I’ll be the first to say). We’re guiding our three little kids through preschool, kindergarten, and second grade via ninety-seven iPad apps, various daily assignments, video call check-ins, worksheets, and recess in the backyard. (I refuse to say homeschooling or teaching. I’m guiding. I’m not choosing curriculum or purchasing books or anything; I’m helping them through the lessons their actual teachers provide.) My porch is a one-room schoolhouse. There are more meals and snacks and fingerprints and spills and time together than ever. My dishwasher is running constantly. I am not bored or looking for projects or more things for my kids to do.

I am aiming for C-level parenting/wife-ing/schooling, because a C is still a passing grade, and no one is asking me to be more than that — but the pressure gets to me when I see the constant sharing of more resources and educational things my kids can do online. I have to say NOPE. I cannot handle one more thing added to my task list. Or theirs. I’m just trying for that C. I’m getting by.

There is no shame in getting by. It’s a pandemic, not a vacation from real life.

Between a first trimester that kept me either on the couch or in the bathroom for four months (did I tell you I’m expecting my fourth this fall?!) and an abrupt end to every single routine we’ve ever had, I’m feeling the need to renew my word of the year from several years back — basic. I’ve reached new levels of sloth. My water intake and nutrition are shot. I haven’t been walking. My sleep is interrupted and short, and so is my temper. I’m a planner with an empty calendar and no end in sight. It’s all wreaking havoc on my brain and heart.

Now that the nausea and hit-by-a-truck exhaustion of the first trimester are behind me (finally, at twenty weeks along!), I’m ready to do a little more, but none of this “quarantine hustle” junk I keep reading about. As I did years ago, I need to focus on the basics.

Rest. Water. Good food. Walking. Brushing my teeth. Getting dressed (and yeah, “day jammies” are a thing and they count.) Meal planning. One load of laundry at a time. Reading books instead of scrolling. Basics.

That’s what I need and what I can offer my kids. I found out during my original year of getting back to basics that reviving them can change a life, re-right things that have been upended, and allow space for growth.

Remember, we’re aiming for C-level parenting these days, and getting our basics in can help, even if our bar is low. Fueling our tanks with genuine care can lead to fueling theirs with patience, peace, and joy. The basics are not big things, just one little thing at a time, and that’s what makes them possible. It’s like building blocks of wellness for grownups. And once they’re solidly laid down, other higher bar things can be added on. But not until then.

So if you rage a little when you see another free resource or meme about having time but not discipline, and your house is trashed and your soul is stretched, let’s sit together. You’re still Wonder Woman, you know. We all are. We are doing the best we can, and that is ENOUGH. Feel the feelings, let the kids feel theirs, and get back to the basics (again). Let’s hang in there, together.

What basics have been running low for you that can be revived?

 

[bctt tweet=”We are doing the best we can, and that is ENOUGH. -@annaerendell:” username=”incourage”]

How to Stop Overthinking and Why Our Brains Get Stuck Ruminating

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I have a confession: I usually hide my worries pretty well, but with COVID-19, sheltering in place, and “homeschooling,” my children have turned into 24/7 truth-tellers, picking up on my stress.

I was sitting on the couch one day, scrolling through my phone, when eleven-year-old Caleb came over and said, “Mom, what’s wrong? You look so upset!”

“I am?” I said, switching to my nothing-is-wrong voice. “No, I’m not upset.”

“Yeah, you are. Did I do something wrong?” He looked at me with concern.

I was caught red-handed. I was overthinking. I was replaying my problems like ticking off a grocery list, except everything I was ruminating about was not good for the soul. The chaos of my thoughts showed on my face.

With each week passing with COVID-19, not knowing what’s going to happen next, we are all absorbing a lot of chaos – not just in our homes, adjusting to changes, or the news – but chaos in our hearts and minds as we overthink.

But God can bring order out of our chaos. We know that when He first created the world, He started in a place of darkness of chaos and then brought order into it.

With God’s love, we can shelter in peace as we shelter in place.

The coronavirus isn’t the only thing we need to be saved from. We need rescue from our overthinking. We need God’s peace.

Today, I’d like to share a soul care tip to help you stop overthinking and stop the cycle of rumination. It’s one of forty practices, based on science and inspired by God’s word, that helped me heal from anxiety as I shared in my book Whispers of Rest. I know it will help you too!

Here’s the tip: One way to experience God’s peace is to do something with our hands. 

The part of our brains that ruminates, overthinks everything, and replays problems we can’t solve (that’s why we obsess over them) triggers the fight-or-flight response. It’s actually the way God created our brains to protect us. When we have a problem, our minds kick into a mode where we think about the problem until it’s solved. So, it’s working the way God designed our problem solving skills to work.

But when we’re processing something that can’t be solved, because it’s unknown or uncertain, that’s when anxiety kicks in. Our bodies respond with heart-pounding anxiety and overthinking.

Everyone experiences anxiety differently, like not being able to sleep or simply feeling anxious. But we can break that rumination by doing something with our hands.

Our nervous system can only handle processing a certain amount of information before we are overwhelmed – kicking our body into the fight or flight response of stress and anxiety. So, the repetitive motion of creating things with our hands, whether drawing, playing music, gardening, or photography, returns calm to our system.

So, what is it that returns calm to you? God can use it to save us from the chaos in our minds and hearts.

God’s developed in you some passion or interest that you enjoy. You don’t have to be great at it. That’s not the point. The point is that God wants to bring peace and joy through simple things you enjoy making with your hands.

So, when you feel you’re overwhelmed with the news and you worry about your loved ones or whatever is happening, give yourself permission to do something with your hands. Researchers find that when we do things in repetitive motions, we enter a state of flow.

Have you heard of “finding your flow”? Finding your flow is similar to meditation. Your body returns your heart rate and blood pressure to a state of rest, as in meditation. So, maybe you’ve never thought of it that way, but the interests God has given you is actually a gift of meditation. You can meditate through doing things that you enjoy!

Finding your flow activates dopamine, which eases stress and increases happiness. It’s God’s natural mood enhancer! One study showed 3,500 people with depression found 81% reported feeling happy once they started knitting.

So, don’t minimize the things that give you rest and joy. They’re often the first things we start letting go of when we’re stressed, but they may be the very ways we can experience God’s peace in the midst of anxiety.

As you practice this soul care tip, your soul will be refilled and you will be able to offer the peace you experience to those you love. In response to my son’s concern, I hugged him saying, “You haven’t done anything wrong. I’ve been working too hard, thinking about too much stuff. Everything’s okay. Let’s take a break and do something fun!” God’s peace surrounded us, and we rested in each other’s embrace.

What is something you enjoy doing that brings you peace or rest?

Want more practical tips to shelter in peace and lower anxiety?  Sign up for “7 Prayers & Promises to Calm Your Soul” & my Weekly Soul Care Tips! You can download this free resource to use to pray and receive what God promises us. Sign up here!  To help encourage you, I’m launching a Whispers of Rest Book Club on May 11! I’ll cheer you on! Join here.

 

[bctt tweet=”Soul care tip for anxiety in a pandemic: Find your flow and free your heart. Make something with your hands. -@thebonniegray:” username=”incourage”]

Love Over All: Love Prays

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Don’t worry about anything, but in everything, through prayer and petition with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus.
Philippians 4:6-7 (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!

May’s theme is Love Prays.

Don’t worry. Two small words that pack a punch because how can we not worry? Everyone is worrying right now. We are worried, and we are fearful — especially right now with all the current events splashing into our newsfeeds and personal lives. Economical fears. Fear of illness. Fear for our loved ones and neighbors. Financial fears. Some people are worrying about when and where their next meal will come from, while others worry about their job security. Some of us are expectant mothers, worried for ourselves and our newborns-to-be. Fear is pervasive these days.

So how in the world can we not worry? If we don’t worry, what could we fill all that time with?

Prayer. Prayer. Pray about everything, and the space formerly occupied by worry will be replaced with peace. Grab a journal or open up a note on your phone, list all the things that are worrying you, and then pray. Give them over to the One who hears and cares. At the end of the month, take a look back to see what actually happened. We might be amazed to see what God’s done in His love for us. And we may be amazed to find ourselves less worried and more peaceful, knowing deeply that Love prays.

 

[bctt tweet=”Pray about everything, and the space formerly occupied by worry will be replaced with peace. #loveoverall #loveprays” username=”incourage”]

Tell God How You Really Feel

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I let my kids see me cry.

It happened again on one of our daily family walks during the fourth week of quarantine. In these confining times, fresh air and moving our bodies is one way we keep tethering ourselves to hope and the gift of each other. My husband and I walked ahead as our three sons trailed behind us finding the best sticks and planning their next Minecraft building adventure.

The sky was a breathtaking blue. Glorious white cumulous clouds puffed in happy bunches above. I smiled at my boys’ cheerful chatting, yet my heart ached with each step. Tears lingered at the edges.

We passed a house with a gorgeous Japanese maple. Her delicate crimson leaves are my favorite. My husband talked about the workbench he was building and when we might get our stimulus check. The air was perfectly crisp and clean. But it was hard for me to breathe.

Finally, I softly spoke aloud what my body was screaming.

“My anxiety is flaring up again. It’s actually been pretty awful for the past week. I’m constantly on the verge of crying. I could unravel at any moment.” Saying it opened the dam. The tears fell fast.

“Even in moments like this where I’m happy to be with the family and grateful for the beauty around us, there’s this weight I can’t shake. I hate feeling like this.”

My husband just listened, as he usually does when I talk about feelings and experiences he can’t relate to.

We walked along the upper fence line that borders the local middle school. I gazed out on the track, smoother from fewer feet treading it, the inner grass greener than the days my oldest boy played soccer on it. Beyond the track sat the Little League baseball fields. Freshly raked dirt, untouched. Carefully groomed greens now growing longer. My boys should be swinging their hearts out at home plate. I should be sitting in those metal stands cheering and eating Red Vines.

I close my eyes and pretend to smell the famous thick-cut French fries in the snack shack window. I imagine the crack of the bat and kids chanting in the dugout.

I let the tears keep falling.

The boys catch up to us. Playing their favorite game of stepping only on the cracks, they weave in and out of us on their imperfect path. Elias, nine, catches my hand, gives it a squeeze before bounding to the next crack. Noah, eleven, noticed my tears. “What’s wrong, Mom?” he asked.

“Oh, I don’t know. I just have a lot of feelings right now. I guess I’m crying because I’m really grateful for our family, yet I’m also really sad for all the hard things going on in this world. I don’t know. My anxiety is back and it’s just a bunch of different things I can’t really explain.”

Jude, my seven-year-old, came up and wrapped his little arm around my back.

“It’s okay, Mom. You’re just really emotional. I get that way sometimes too. Sometimes I need to cry even if I don’t know why. I’ll just walk with you, okay?”

“Okay,” I said. “I would like that.” Then more tears fell. My aching heart was full of more love than sorrow. Or perhaps the added love made space for the sorrow to be seen, to breathe.

Jude and I walked arms wrapped around each other for quite a while. He gently rubbed my back and asked what we would have for lunch and if I wanted to take a nap. “You can sleep with Gray Bear if you want to.” Gray Bear is my stuffy-loving boy’s favorite friend.

This precious moment made my heart nearly burst. And I nearly missed it.

It’s not easy to be vulnerable in front of anyone, including our children. I’m prone to stuff the feelings I can’t name or explain. Plus, I want to be strong for my family and friends — a reliable source of support, a rock they can lean on. And if I’m really honest, I’m also afraid of how my un-fine places will be received. Will someone be okay to just be with me?

Without realizing it, I can build the same well-meaning walls and hold onto the same fears with God. I don’t always want Him to see my tangled feelings, anxiety, and overwhelm. But the truth is He already sees it all — and He loves me through it.

The day after my tearful walk I woke up early and put pen to paper. I journal-prayed every thought and emotion. I asked God to meet me in the unraveling of my knotted mind and heart. I told God how I really felt. No filters. And He met me there.

Trust in him at all times, you people; pour out your hearts to him, for God is our refuge.
Psalm 62:8 (NIV)

If you’re feeling tangled or weepy today . . .

If anxiety is thrumming in your chest or fear is knotting up your neck . . .

I encourage you to tell someone. If there’s a hand you can grab, grab it. If there’s a shoulder you can cry on, lean in. But mostly? Mostly tell God how you really feel. Let Him carry the weight of your burden. Let Him catch your falling tears. When we take our struggles out of the darkness of isolation, the Light comes in.

 

If you need more reminders that God sees you and is with you in the thick of it, sign up for Becky’s brand new, free 5-day Devotional from YouVersion. Click here to get started! Or open your Bible App and search “No Better Mom” in the Reading Plans.

 

[bctt tweet=”The truth is God already sees all my tangled feelings, anxiety, and overwhelm — and He loves me through it. -@BeckyKeife:” username=”incourage”]

Stories of A Mother’s Love…
plus a deal and a giveaway!

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Mothering may not look like what we thought it would look like.

It doesn’t look like it does in the movies or TV shows. It doesn’t look like most of our social media feeds or our friends’ lives or any version of what we thought it would look like at all.

It may look like loving other people’s children. It may look like loving your neighbors’, your nephews and nieces, the kids growing up in your home, and the kids growing up in your church.

Mothering looks like life lived between. The shots between frames shared online. The moments that go unnoticed. The tiny spaces between the highs and lows. Right there, between the funny and the serious.

Mothering is delightful, difficult, beautiful, brutal, blessed, terrifying, sweet, good, and hard.

Mothering is surprising, mundane, ordinary, and extraordinary. Mothering is tender, fierce, glorious, gritty, and a gift.

Mothering may not look a thing like you thought it would. It may not be anything like you pictured. But no matter what it looks like to you, for you, mothering is everything.

– Anna Rendell in A Mother’s Love: Celebrating Every Kind of Mom

We’ve been hearing about the ways our new book, A Mother’s Love, compiled by (in)courage writer Anna Rendell, has been impacting the hearts of women, and we can’t get enough of their stories. So today, we’re highlighting a few from our community! Read on for the ways this book has touched their hearts — and don’t miss the special deal + giveaway!

You have created a masterpiece to bless all women. My heart swelled as I read each sentence, feeling God’s love deeper and deeper. Thank you!
– Mary

Anna – thank you! I’m sitting here in tears, because this is the first time I have seen acknowledgement in the Christian world of a mother who has lost a child “to red tape.” Our loss is felt no less deeply. Our loss is no less significant because “you still have 3 other children.” Our loss still hurts after fourteen years have passed, and after the birth of another baby. Our loss is still a loss. Thank you for seeing us. Just . . . thank you.
– V.

So beautifully written, Anna. I am a blessed mom of one after many years of trying/treatments, and a mom to thirty-one fourth graders in my classroom (which now is through computer — Google Classroom and Screencastify!) I think EVERY kind of mother is covered in your writing — so thoughtful to every end!
– Andree

These stories and devotions move me in so many ways. They bring back memories, they teach me how to love more deeply with grace, and they bring great honor to God. A true tribute to mothers and the power of Love.
– Mary

I read an excerpt from Anna’s book in HomeLife Magazine this month and was so moved, tears welled up in my eyes. I have a four and a half year old and a five month old, both boys, and have just come out of a season of postpartum depression, complicated by job loss following my return from maternity leave. It is by the grace of God that I have gotten over to the other side, and I thank God every single day, multiple times per day for giving me strength to do so. I immediately thought of all the mothers in my life and friends who are mothers of all sorts. I plan on purchasing several for Mother’s Day gifts. Anna, I know this book is amazing!
– Allison

See what we mean? Such wonderful testimonies about the way this book has woven its way into hearts.

Fun news: A Mother’s Love: Celebrating Every Kind of Mom is now available for only $10 at DaySpring! Such a great deal! We know these days are full of the unknown. This is the perfect time to send a copy to a friend as a blessing and day brightener and to keep another copy to page through yourself when you need to take a moment to encourage your heart. A Mother’s Love is filled with stories from the (in)courage community, brief devotions, Scripture, beautiful artwork, lined pages for your reflection, and Biblical encouragement.

Giveaway!

To help you celebrate a mother-type figure in your life, we’re going to give away a copy of A Mother’s Love AND a set of the coordinating Hey Momma cards, as shown above! Did you know the artwork throughout the book matches the cards? Every picture is absolutely adorable. To enter, just leave a comment telling us to whom you’d send one of these cards. We’d love to ‘meet’ them!

Let’s celebrate the mother-figures in our lives.
Get your copy of A Mother’s Love today for just $10!

 

[bctt tweet=”Mothering is surprising, mundane, ordinary, and extraordinary. Mothering is tender, fierce, glorious, gritty, and a gift. – @annaerendell in #amotherslovebook: ” username=”incourage”]

Giveaway open to US addresses, and will close on 5/5. Winner will be notified via email.

When the Fear Just Won’t Stop

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I stopped counting the days since our stay-at-home mandate in California was put in place. It has been for many days. Throughout the past few weeks, I’ve experienced a wide range of emotions: shame, anxiety, guilt, and even apathy. I’ve screamed at children, cried in the shower, and had a million dance parties. I’ve cried over viral videos on YouTube and lost my cool when I couldn’t keep up with the laundry. Overall, I’d say there is one residual feeling: fear. When will this all be over? What does this mean for my kids’ schooling? Will my husband still have a job? Fear. Fear. Fear.

When fear pops up, I defend or attack it. I feed my fear with Google searches, worst-case scenarios, WebMD, and Dateline. I constantly fear “the bad thing” happening one day in my life. I fear pain, emotional separation, or being controlled by others. I fear my husband dying and my kids getting hurt or not following Jesus. I fear the spread of this virus. I fear not being good enough or letting people down. I worry about a shooter walking into our church sanctuary. I don’t like surprises or when the weather changes unexpectedly. I have a fear of rodents and plane crashes and the sounds outside my window.

My anxiety churns over in my stomach like a wave tumbling and toppling on the shore. When I look at God, others, or myself with eyes of fear, my only responses are to flee, fight, or freeze. I rarely feed my fear with the promises that God is deeply abiding with me, loving me no matter what the circumstances are. I don’t dwell on the truth of God’s provision over my life and my loved ones. But when I see the world with eyes of love, everything is a request for or an offer of love. Love transforms everything into a gift to give or to receive.

At the table of my soul are many voices. Some voices scream while others are hushed. Some of the voices are kind, slow, and observant; others are suspicious, harsh, incriminating, and mean. Most of my life I’ve let the loudest voices have the most power. Voices of people who don’t like me, fear, responsibility, sadness, critical, and self-hating voices are really loud at my table. Quiet voices are grace, anger, love, doubt, confidence, and forgiveness. My fear voice has been so loud for so long, and I’ve fed it with more fear. It’s like my voices of fear and distrust huddle at one end of the table, scheming something awful into happening.

But not anymore. I’m taking the mic back. It’s not good for my soul to let fear have the final say. I’m learning a new way.

Instead of the loudest voices dominating my thoughts, I’m learning to let Jesus and I co-lead the conversation. Every emotion is welcome at the table of my soul, even the most uncomfortable ones. But no one takes over being the boss. No single voice dominates, pushes, or murders another voice. Jesus always gets veto power. He sees the whole picture, my entire purpose, and the path I’m being led on. All the other voices have a secret motive or are shortsighted, but God’s perspective isn’t bound by time and space but by eternity. He is the One guiding the conversation; His voice is the only one that feeds me with love. Every voice is met with love. At the table of my soul, God draws me back together. All of me is welcome, whole, and at home.

When I stay with all of me at the table, the war within me settles. There is a way through fear that doesn’t require me to get rid of it. The goal is never to overcome fear, silence fear, or dominate fear. The goal is to be with my fear with Jesus. This is the only way.

On the next countless day of coronavirus, I let my fear surface. I let it drift in and out of my soul. I don’t shirk it off or push it down. I pull out a chair and stay right there. The process won’t always be pretty. It won’t go perfectly, but I will be with the One who is perfect, and this is good. At the table of my soul, there is love.

 

[bctt tweet=”The goal is never to overcome fear, silence fear, or dominate fear. The goal is to be with my fear with Jesus. -Anjuli Paschall:” username=”incourage”]

When ‘What If’ Worries Fill Your Mind

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Aren’t two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them falls to the ground without your Father’s consent. But even the hairs of your head have all been counted. So don’t be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows.
Matthew 10:29-31 (CSB)

Today, we’re holding on to this promise: I can trust God because He cares for my every worry.

What if I lose my job?
What if my parents get sick?
What if my kids get hurt and we have to go to the hospital right now?
What if I can’t handle my work and my child’s education?
What if I get worse in my mental health and I can’t reach out for help?
What if what we have in the bank can’t carry us through this time? 

Each of these worries is real and painful. We don’t have to pretend that we’re not worried or act like trusting in God means living nonchalantly. But we can trust Him because He cares for every single one of our worries. You are not insignificant in His eyes or overlooked by Him. He, who has counted every single hair on your head, cares about your well-being and your life. Let’s turn our worries into whispered confessions and ask for help to trust in Him.

 

[bctt tweet=”Today, we’re holding on to this promise: I can trust God because He cares for my every worry. #promiseoverpanic” username=”incourage”]

Death Is Not the End

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I’ve distracted myself in every way I can think of. 

I’ve watched hours of Netflix. I’ve read books about murder mysteries and a book on staying awake to love (by my fellow (in)courage sister, Anjuli, and I highly recommend it). I’ve eaten bags of chocolate mini eggs and worked out so hard in my living room I can barely walk the next morning. (Hopefully, the workouts cancel the chocolate.) I even signed up for a dating app. I thought finding love in the middle of a pandemic might help unfurl some of the loneliness coiled deep within me.

It turns out talking to boys on a dating app just makes me long more for Jesus. Distractions do nothing to truly satisfy what I need most.

I’ve wanted to forget that the entire world feels like it’s shutting down around me, like the people outside my windows and door aren’t suffering and splintering apart at a distance. 

The loneliness and sorrow and pain and fear are practically tangible. I can almost feel them in the breeze as I open my backdoor to let air into my apartment. 

I go on daily video calls with my church family to offer encouragement, reassurance, and truth. We remind each other daily that we will get through this. We pray and we read Scripture, knowing in the depths of our spirit that God is good and that He will bring good from this. 

But the pain persists. Living in the midst of a pandemic is painful.

And when I feel pain, I want to distract myself. I want to numb out. I want to escape. I don’t want to sit in this new reality, alone in my apartment. I am afraid of giving in to my loneliness, afraid of a tsunami of grief, afraid of thinking about how long this might all last. 

Last night, I couldn’t fall asleep. I stayed up crying, tears dripping hasty and forceful onto my pillow. I cried for all of the people who are going to lose someone to this virus. I cried for all of the funerals that will take place — maybe months down the road, after we’re finally allowed to come back together. I cried and I cried. 

But even as I mourned and grieved — the loss we are feeling, and the losses yet to come — I held onto one solid truth, grasping it firmly with both of my hands: Death is not the end. 

Tears leaked from my eyes, but I said aloud to Jesus, “Death is not the end. You conquered death. It’s not the end.” 

In a world that has screeched to a stop, a world riddled with fear and anxiety over death, I am holding firm to this truth. This truth does not remove all of our pain. Even this morning, I was reading in John when Jesus went and brought back Lazarus from the dead. But before He resurrected him, He wept. He, too, felt the pain over death. And He, more than anyone, knew it was not the end.

I hold onto this truth in defiance against this virus and against the sin that mars our world. Death is not the end. We have more than this life on earth. There will be a day where all of this pain and sadness will come to a halt, full stop. We will live in eternity, and the time we’ve spent here will feel like seconds.

This is the Good News — the news I forget almost daily. But let this wash over you, even as you feel the pain and sadness bearing weight on our world right now: Death is not the end.

Can you breathe in and feel that?

Jesus defeated death. He has conquered it.

He will wipe every tear from your eye, and there will be no more death or sorrow or crying or pain. All these things will be gone forever.

 

[bctt tweet=”Breathe in the good news today: Death is not the end. We have more than this life on earth. -@alizalatta:” username=”incourage”]

Love Sacrifices for the Sake of Others

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Before I met the Lord at the age of nineteen, I didn’t know I needed a Savior, but I knew all about God. I went to Mass every Sunday. I even prayed to Him through the tears of my difficult childhood. I would characterize my relationship with Him as very superficial. I didn’t know what I was missing.

If you would have asked me then if I was going to Heaven, I would have said yes. I was a pretty good kid. I didn’t get into a ton of trouble. I wasn’t a cause for worry or concern. I was a good person. That merited eternal life, right? I didn’t know what I didn’t know.

On the night I met the Lord, the veil over my eyes was lifted. I had a revelation. Even though I was good, my good wasn’t good enough. My good would never be good enough. Me on my best day would never warrant me eternity. My righteousness to Him was as filthy rags.

It shook me. I was a sinner, and I was in need of a Savior. There, in a Thursday night service at LSU among a room full of college students, I confessed Christ as my Lord and Savior. That day changed everything. It changed how I viewed God, myself, and the world.

This present era we find ourselves definitely tops the list of uncharted territory. We are surrounded by an enormous amount of fear and uncertainty. We do not know what the future holds, but we assuredly know Who holds the future.

. . . but God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.
Romans 5:8 (ESV)

The header for Romans 5 in my Bible says “Peace with God Through Faith.” Don’t we need more peace and more faith today possibly more than ever? My church has been consistently reminding each other that church has never been about a building; the Church is us. It’s you and me, the very temples of God’s Holy Spirit.

My friend Aimee has been saying this can be our finest hour as Christians. It totally can be. We have a rare opportunity to make choices that will display how the love of God is shown.

This is such a beautiful time where the Church can be the Church beyond the walls of the church. There are countless open doors around us to be the hands and feet of Jesus. Who around you is suffering? Who around you is feeling far from Him? Who are around you doesn’t yet know Him?

We were made for deep and intimate connection. I pray that we would not be afraid to connect with those around us during this season. Reaching out can look like you and your kids baking for your neighbors, taking walks and asking your neighbors if they or someone they know needs prayer. It can be making grocery store trips for the elderly in your neighborhood and church. It can also look like having genuine conversations with neighbors you don’t know very well and asking them how they are doing and even if they have a relationship with God.

The world has strayed so far off the beaten path. All of us have clung to every idol under the sun — the gods of money, entertainment, sports, and even education. But right now they’ve all been stripped away. This is a time when the enemy of our souls can so easily come against us and blind the lost to His love. All he wants to do is distract us and tempt us to become self-focused, to worry or numb out.

May we be a people who find ourselves in the secret place with the Lord so He can love us and send us out with His love, His truth, and His purpose. May we be a people who make the most of our now unhurried schedules. May we be a people who rise up in bold faith in the midst of a world gripped with fear.

We are here for such a time as this.

We, the body of Christ.

We, His ambassadors.

We, the salt and light.

We, the kings and priests.

So much of the world is frightened, hurting, and confused. So many in the world are lost, broken, and dying. What better time to sacrifice and lay down every desire and proclaim the truth of the gospel found in Romans 5:8 and love our neighbor? For the joy set before Him, Christ endured the cross. His joy was a redeemed relationship with His creation. God knew before He ever even formed Adam that sin would enter the world and separate us from Him. He knew, and He still created us in His own image. He still went to great lengths to pursue us at our worst, and He pursues us to this very day.

God loves the world that He made. It is His heart that all would come to know Him. He made the greatest sacrifice, and now is the time we can show His love to others and to share the good news.

Tell me about a time when you sacrificed in order to share the gospel,
meet a need, or simply love someone with the love of God.

 

[bctt tweet=”This is such a beautiful time where the Church can be the Church beyond the walls of the church. #loveoverall #lovesacrifices -@karina268:” username=”incourage”]

Walking with the Resurrection

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Today’s passage is a bit longer, but we invite you to take your time reading it. Imagine yourself in this story, walking with Jesus in the midst of confusion, grief, and hopelessness.

Now that same day two of them were on their way to a village called Emmaus, which was about seven miles from Jerusalem. Together they were discussing everything that had taken place. And while they were discussing and arguing, Jesus himself came near and began to walk along with them. But they were prevented from recognizing him. Then he asked them, “What is this dispute that you’re having with each other as you are walking?” And they stopped walking and looked discouraged.

The one named Cleopas answered him, “Are you the only visitor in Jerusalem who doesn’t know the things that happened there in these days?”

“What things?” he asked them.

So they said to him, “The things concerning Jesus of Nazareth, who was a prophet powerful in action and speech before God and all the people, and how our chief priests and leaders handed him over to be sentenced to death, and they crucified him. But we were hoping that he was the one who was about to redeem Israel. Besides all this, it’s the third day since these things happened. Moreover, some women from our group astounded us. They arrived early at the tomb, and when they didn’t find his body, they came and reported that they had seen a vision of angels who said he was alive. Some of those who were with us went to the tomb and found it just as the women had said, but they didn’t see him.”

He said to them, “How foolish you are, and how slow to believe all that the prophets have spoken! Wasn’t it necessary for the Messiah to suffer these things and enter into his glory?” Then beginning with Moses and all the Prophets, he interpreted for them the things concerning himself in all the Scriptures.

They came near the village where they were going, and he gave the impression that he was going farther. But they urged him, “Stay with us, because it’s almost evening, and now the day is almost over.” So he went in to stay with them.

It was as he reclined at the table with them that he took the bread, blessed and broke it, and gave it to them. Then their eyes were opened, and they recognized him, but he disappeared from their sight. They said to each other, “Weren’t our hearts burning within us while he was talking with us on the road and explaining the Scriptures to us?” That very hour they got up and returned to Jerusalem. They found the Eleven and those with them gathered together, who said, “The Lord has truly been raised and has appeared to Simon!” Then they began to describe what had happened on the road and how he was made known to them in the breaking of the bread.
Luke 24:13-35 (CSB)

The two disciples were walking in the suspended days between Jesus’ death and resurrection. After following Him all those years, they must’ve felt abandoned and empty, lost and bewildered. As they argued, were they hashing out with one another was and wasn’t true? And in the midst of their arguing and grieving, Jesus shows up and walks with them. He explains the truth about Himself again and shares a meal with them, as He probably had done many times before, and in the breaking of bread, they realize who He is.

We seem to be living in suspended days as well. Every day, we try to figure out what we’re supposed to do, and it’s confusing. We seem to be sheep without a shepherd as we navigate this pandemic, but God will show up here and now. We are not without our Leader, our Shepherd, our God. Through a meal or someone’s kindness, through overwhelming generosity or someone’s gentle answer, through His Word and through Zoom prayer meetings, we can see Him still. 

Lord, teach us again Your truth during this time. Show up as You did then for the disciples on the road to Emmaus and burn within our hearts the hope of Your resurrection. Amen. 

 

[bctt tweet=”Through a meal or someone’s kindness, through overwhelming generosity or someone’s gentle answer, through His Word and through Zoom prayer meetings, we can see Him still. ” username=”incourage”]

The Flowers Fight for Us

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I can’t seem to get over the flowers these days.

For the last three weeks, the farthest I’ve gone from my home is about half a mile. Most days after lunch, my family and I take a quick walk around our tiny neighborhood loop. We’ve been sheltering-in-place, like much of the rest of the country, and these daily walks have given us some stability while the rest of our lives float in uncertainty.

The house behind us has a row of daffodils standing at attention like bright yellow soldiers who guard a white picket fence. There are light pink magnolias on a side street close to ours, and lavender crocuses surprise us at the base of mailboxes and tree trunks.

On our walks, I see people in the neighborhood I’ve never seen before. We silently obey the social distancing rules, taking turns shuffling our bodies into the street so others can have the sidewalk while we pass. I see weariness in their eyes — even the cheerful ones. No one looks put together. The loss of our clean-cut hair confirms this common understanding that we’re all hanging by a thin thread.

The news today predicts more job losses, more death, more waiting, more disparities, and more discouraging numbers than I can keep count of. I cry with gratitude when I see photos of nurses and doctors whose red marks and indentations, paths of stress and sorrow, line their faces. My friend with an autoimmune disease, a nurse, texts me to say how scared she is before heading into a COVID unit, and the fear I feel for her is visceral. I feel a gash in the face of hope when I read vitriolic accusations online, get a message about someone else who’s lost their job, or feel the anxiety rising in my Asian American body when I am in public and don’t know how a stranger will respond to my existence beside theirs, like Grace wrote about here.

The world weeps, and yet God still speaks through petals and green stems.

Every year between October and April, I manage to forget how beautiful spring is. But this year, it’s more than my yearly winter amnesia. The flowers this year seem audacious. The weight of COVID-19 hasn’t kept them from rising. These gentle symbols of resurrection stand straight up to salute the sun.

My kids bring their own cameras on our short walks. They take note of dandelions and find funny faces, hairstyles, and personalities in the shapes of the trees. We observe tiny gray fish in the neighborhood retention pond, witness a duck take flight from the water, and look at the greenish pond scum lining the rocks by the water’s edge. We’ve become a family of tourists in our own neighborhood. We are thirsty for wonder.

We pass by an elderly gentlemen’s house and notice that he’s in the garage. Stopping on the sidewalk from fifteen feet away, my husband calls out for him, asking him how he’s doing, if he’s holding up okay. He’s wearing a gray sweatshirt and black athletic shorts, carrying an American flag out to place in the holder on the outside of his garage. My boys run ahead after waving hello. He asks our daughter how she is by name, smiling gently at her as she grips her Daddy’s leg. I tell him to let us know if he needs anything, reminding him we’re just down the street, always home, and happy to pick up anything he might need. His smile widens and he looks at my husband, then me, and says, “I’m much older than you, but I still remember how scared we were when polio was going around. We were all so scared. Everyone was scared.”

He has the best yard in the neighborhood, and it’s not for any kind of suburban competition. We often see him outdoors, caring for every patch of grass, tree, and flower bed living around his home like they are his children.

He pauses, then says, “It feels scary right now, but we’ll get through it.”

His words pull me from the intensity of our current pandemic, and I think about how many sorrows and springs he’s already lived through. I wonder if he’s always paid such close attention to the flowers and people’s feelings, as he seems to today.

I keep going back to the account of Lazarus’ death in the book of John. The Holy Spirit brings it to mind, and I linger in the sentences where Martha tells Jesus that if only He was there, things would’ve been different. I feel her desperation below my ribs where I keep the same haunting questions undercover.

And every day, on our walk, He nudges me back towards the flowers. He shows me how they fight with tenderness and mercy and reminds me to do the same. He relieves me of my fear for a moment, as He refocuses my sight on the blooms and the neighbors He’s placed all around me. There’s so much to notice, consider, and love – even in loss and a continued quarantine. He reminds me that He weeps and waters the earth with all of our sorrow, and tomorrow, though it feels too late, He will always come.

I think He’ll come with flowers.

 

[bctt tweet=”Through flowers, God shows us how they fight with tenderness and mercy and reminds us to do the same. -@tashajunb:” username=”incourage”]