A Door of Hope

A Door of Hope

by

None of us are immune to the burdens and pains of this life. Though we have a God who loves us, we all experience loss, hardship, and disappointment. And in the midst of it all, it might feel as though we’re all alone, with no one to understand us, no one to guide us, no one to let us know they’ve been there too.

Sometimes, in those seasons of life that ache beyond words, we just want to hear that it’s okay to not feel okay. We want to know we’re not alone in this chasm of loneliness we stand in. We want to be held by arms that bear the scars of similar wounds.

In our most vulnerable moments, we need more than pithy statements that attempt to assure us that all will be well. Instead, we need one another’s stories. Stories create a space for us to be — to be known, to be validated in our feelings and experiences, and to give us words to express what we might not have been able to say before.

We can find ourselves and God again in one another’s stories, opening the door to let hope come through once more.

We won’t be able to understand why hard things happen in this world or in our lives, and that is okay. We can sit in the tension of that reality together. And not only do our suffering and pain connect us together in our humanity, but they also connect us to Christ, who bore it all on the cross. He held the tension between heaven’s holiness and the world’s brokenness, and though we all long for resurrection, we have a God who stayed in the tomb — in darkness, in death, in time suspended — before He rose again on the third day.

And these are His words to us:

“In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.”
John 16:33 NIV

From the introduction of  Take Heart: 100 Devotions to Seeing God When Life’s Not Okay by the (in)courage community.

We pray each story in this book is an open door of hope, to know that you’re not alone.

 

 

 

 

The Ministry of Mess

by

The blank pages of my new planner stared back at me, full of possibility and — if I’m honest — a bit of shame. Would this be the year I finally organize our chaotic, blended family life into neat little boxes? Another year of wondering if I’d ever get it “right.” I turned over the blank pages in my planner ready for a fresh start.

A new year. A new plan. A new perspective.

I kicked off that new year with a family meeting, my planner in hand. I confessed that I was a grump to live with most days. My desire for things to “go right” often outweighed my desire for our family to “be right.”

I told myself that this would be the year that I would get our home and schedule under control. I told myself if only the house was clean, I would be happy and content.  And, believe me, when the house is clean I am definitely more relaxed and easier to get along with. (My people agree.)

This seems like it should be enough motivation to keep a tidy home.  

It’s not.  

In just a few short hours, the satisfaction of a clean house was replaced with me feeling agitated and overwhelmed. From little league to band concerts and college visits, we bounced from one activity to the next, bringing a parade of paraphernalia in and out of the home.

Though outwardly I hustled to keep up with my responsibilities, inwardly there was a shouting match between my indignation with no one helping and my guilt of feeling inadequate. 

When I confessed my struggle to the nervous-looking faces at our family meeting, the silence was awkward. You could tell they weren’t sure what to say. My brave teenage stepdaughter went first. “I don’t work on Mondays, and I can cook dinner on that day.”  

Through the brave, “I’ll go first” of my bright-eyed girl, God was showing me that I’m only alone when I isolate myself in my struggles. In the year that followed, our home did not always stay clean and our schedule certainly didn’t slow down. But, I began to see shifts in my own perspective . . . and this, in turn, made our home a more peaceful place.

If you’re feeling overwhelmed in your home life, here are some truths that helped shift my perspective from my own inadequacy to God’s goodness. I hope these truths will help you, too.

  • This is temporary. The years pass so quickly and family dynamics change. While the days are long, the years are short. It’s okay for me to give a little more or a little less than I feel I should. 
  • This is lasting. Kids become adults, and then they have a choice of who I am in their life. If I want to be an influential part of their future, then I need to act in our present struggle like we are going to be loving each other for a lifetime. 
  • I am privileged. I have people. (Some days too many people to keep up with.) I choose to remember the trust given to me by God and the privilege to have so much, even on the craziest days.
  • Lighten up. Those harsh words I spoke years ago and carry guilt for? My kids often don’t even remember. When we mess up, it’s a chance to model asking for forgiveness and move on.
  • Take it easy. This is the hardest for me because I love schedules, checklists, goals, and hard work. But my kids love me — not what I accomplish.
  • Laugh. If I’m not laughing at our perpetual chaos then I’ve forgotten one of the above… 

My inadequacies are not an invitation for another year of self-improvement and strategies. My deficiencies are meant to point me to a God who can provide above and beyond who I am and what I even ask for. 

“For this reason I kneel before the Father, from whom every family in heaven and on earth derives its name. I pray that out of his glorious riches he may strengthen you with power through his Spirit in your inner being.”
Ephesians 3:14-16 NIV

Now, when I open my planner, I see more than just boxes to fill. I see Monday night dinners made with love by my stepdaughter. I see laundry getting done — sometimes perfectly folded, sometimes not. Most importantly, I see evidence of God’s grace in our beautiful mess.

Those blank pages aren’t waiting to be filled with my perfect plans anymore. They’re waiting to record the story of how everyone in our family ministers to one another, making room for Jesus right in the middle of our messy chaos.

More Mending, Tending to, and Withness This Year

by

One of my favorite picture books is about a little fox named Pandora. The illustrations are beautiful – both whimsical with a little bit of melancholy, just like the story itself. The book opens with, “Pandora lived alone, in a land of broken things,” and the first time I read that sentence, and every time afterward since then, I’ve felt the words as if they’ve reverberated somewhere deep in my soul.

The book goes on to tell the story of how Pandora goes from one broken thing to the next, gathering them to mend and repair, reconstruct and tend to, until she meets a little bird who, like the inanimate things she’s found, is also broken. He cannot fly as he was made to. I don’t know how many times I’ve read this book, but as the first month of this new year comes to an end, Pandora feels like just the reminder I need.

I no longer set New Year’s resolutions or goals, and for the last few years, I haven’t been able to settle on a word. Those practices have been helpful to me in the past. I love how some of these “new year” practices encourage reflection and self-awareness, and I know they can be helpful tools. I may go back to using some of them in the future. However, in recent years, I’ve needed to release them and reframe how I acknowledge passing through the threshold between one year and another.

I like to reflect on my becoming, and the becoming of the world around me. Like Pandora, I want to acknowledge that I live in a world of broken things with a heart that often feels lonely in its longing and aches. But instead of drowning in the seemingly doomed reality of that, I want to find the things within and around me that I can gather, tend to, repair, and be with, even while my heart aches.

Pandora, who doesn’t know how to fix the little blue bird in the way she’s fixed other things, chooses to tend to the bird with her presence. She watches him mend towards more and more life until he’s finally flying again. It’s a beautiful story. And after all that withness and work, it seems the goal only leads to losing this new friend. Pandora, left alone again, seems to wonder what the point is.

Have you ever been there? Did the fruit of your work or effort or faith turn out to look nothing like you thought it would? Did you pour yourself, your heart, and your hands into something or someone, only to lose what you thought you’d be able to keep?

The first month of this new year is almost over, winter might be dragging on whether it’s the actual weather or the wintering of your soul. Maybe you are crushing your goals and full of hope – if that’s true, that’s wonderful and I wish for more of that for you. But if you find yourself in another place – a place of doubt or questions, of deconstruction or loneliness, I want you to know that you aren’t alone and that hope is not gone. In fact, hope is for the ones who often find themselves a little lost and in the dark. No matter how broken or overwhelming, how cold or confusing it feels right now: you are still becoming and hope will not stop coming for you.

If it’s helpful, here are a few prompts to help you peer into your own brokenness and becoming, and the brokenness and becoming of the world around you. Take a minute to write your responses in a journal, or invite God into your time of reflection.

  • What things in my heart, mind, and body need tender care and attention right now?
  • What in my life needs mending and repair?
  • What one thing can I help tend to or mend in my home or family or community?
  • Who needs my simple presence right now?
  • Where can I plant a seed or prune a branch for the sake of my own and the world’s becoming?

I won’t spoil the ending of Pandora’s story here, because I truly hope you will go and experience it for yourself as it’s told and illustrated on the page. But I will say the message of the book might just be the reminder we all need: every act of mending and repair reaps and ripples so much further and deeper than we can ever dare to hope for or imagine. Every act of tender care, each moment of attention given to ourselves or another, every mend and stitch, matters and is done as unto God. These acts are tending to our further collective becoming and the coming of the kingdom of God right here and now.

And maybe that’s all we need more of this year.

In 2025, I want to keep becoming one who tends to, stays with, and mends. I want to live in this lonely world of broken things and believe that even here, Jesus came and is still with us, growing us into more life upon life, so that we may together live it to the full, despite everything.

 

Listen to Tasha’s devotion below or on your favorite podcast app.

The Lord Redeems the Day

by

Throughout my life, I’ve watched the Lord come through for me in ways that are special, intimate, and uniquely personal. I want you to know that He will do the same thing for you. His character is to give us beauty for ashes, joy in place of mourning, and praise instead of despair (Isaiah 61:3). He is a good, good God. 

In 2017 my husband, Darian, and I were looking for a piece of property to build our forever home on the lake outside of our small town. We had been looking for roughly two years. During that same time, my brother was going through some struggles of his own. He was making decisions that were not helpful to himself or his family. We had been earnestly praying for him to recognize what he was doing and make a change in his life. Through phone calls and conversations he had with friends and family, we found he had come to those realizations. 

As a family with open arms, we were all expecting him to make a full 180 in his life. Instead, on July 20, 2017 we received the tragic news that my brother had passed away. I’ll never forget the day the phone call came. I was out scouting the land to potentially build our forever home on. I had driven my Jeep to a piece of property overlooking the lake when my phone lit up with my brother’s number displayed. I knew right then that something was wrong. It was in that place, admiring such a beautiful view, where I received the devastating news. 

The Bible says in 1 Thessalonians 4:13 (NLT), “And now, dear brothers and sisters, we want you to know what will happen to the believers who have died so you will not grieve like people who have no hope.” Grief is real. It hurts. On this earth we will feel sadness. Yet, when we know our loved ones are in heaven we relish in the hope that we will see them again. I’m so thankful for the Lord. Even in such sorrow, He holds you near. He’s close to the brokenhearted and He binds up our wounds (Psalm 147:3). I can’t imagine grieving without the hope the Lord brings. I don’t know how people live without Him. 

The Lord brought me comfort, especially during that next year as my heart was healing. In the midst of many tears, wondering what I could have done differently and wishing it were all a bad dream, He had people praying for me, calling, texting, and checking up on me. He made sure I knew He still had not left me nor forsaken me. He was so good to me in those moments, which is just like God – He surpasses our expectations and is faithful to show us His extravagant love. 

As the weeks moved on, Darian and I agreed we didn’t want the piece of property I was parked on when I heard the news. It also didn’t fully fit the criteria in our hearts. We had a very particular list we were praying would be part of our forever home. Darian and I wrote every specific detail we were praying for down on a piece of paper. The list was vast and seemingly impossible. It spanned from being on a cliff  with a cove to having space for life groups and family to gather, pine trees and a ceiling high enough to fit my towering Christmas tree. 

Wouldn’t you know it, exactly one year later, on the anniversary of my brother’s passing, we signed the papers on our new home. It had every single item on the list. I had to laugh when they told me the closing date, July 20, 2018. God is so good. In John 10:10 (NLT), Jesus tells us, “The thief’s purpose is to steal and kill and destroy. My purpose is to give them a rich and satisfying life.” 

Jesus in all of His goodness redeemed that day for me. He took a day that the devil tried to steal and destroy and  turned it into a day of rejoicing. It did not bring my brother back, but it did show me, even in the darkest moments, that God loves me, sees me, and is for me. I will see my brother again someday and what a glorious day that will be.

But while I’m here, I’m so thankful for a God who loves me enough to redeem the hard days. He will do the same for you. 

 

Listen to Tyra’s devotion here on wherever you stream podcasts.

The Lifter of My Head

by

I was standing at the kitchen sink, elbow-deep in suds (and silent complaints) when I heard the message, loud and strong.

Slow down. Look up.

The words rang clear as a bell in my mind. All day and all week (maybe all year?) I had been grousing and venting, feeling overwhelmed and overworked as a new mother. Back then we had two children, a toddler and a baby, and their constant needs wore down my patience and energy every day. I had wanted this life, had prayed and dreamed for marriage and motherhood, but the reality of what these callings demanded from me, body and soul, felt like more than I could give.

Slow down. Look up.

One small boy was tugging at my sleeve and another was crawling over my feet when the words rose up within me. Only two short phrases and four small words. But my head snapped to attention as if I had heard them hollered aloud.

What did God mean? Slow down: that was easy enough to figure out. We all move too fast in this busy, breakneck world. But look up? What was I supposed to see?

I held the words close all summer, and then for the next year. Slow down. Look up. As with any good word, I stumbled and faltered in my attempts to follow its truth. Slowing down was easier. I tried to move more mindfully through my days. I gave my children more space and time, trying not to rush them. I kept my calendar a bit less crowded. I aimed to start my days at a slower pace, turning first to prayer.

But looking up? That still stumped me. Maybe God meant raising my eyes to the cross on the wall, to remember Jesus in the center of my busy life? But that didn’t feel like enough. Maybe I was supposed to look out the window or slip outside to behold the beauty of creation in the wide sky above me? That didn’t feel complete either.

Then one evening, when my husband came home after a long day for both of us, I stretched up to hug him and felt my body relax as my head tipped back to smile at him. Look up. Not only did looking up bring me to the eyes of my beloved, but suddenly my shoulders and neck felt more relaxed than they had in weeks. Looking up felt like coming home, body and soul.

Later I discovered something marvelous in prayer, digging into the Psalms. A new-to-me name for God that gathered together everything I yearned to find in a weary, worn-out season of life.

“But you, O Lord, are a shield about me, my glory, and the lifter of my head.”
Psalm 3:3 ESV

The lifter of my head. I had never known God by this name. Never thought about the beauty of God lifting my eyes to the heavens. Never imagined Jesus cupping my chin in His hands with a loving smile. Never made the connection between how good it felt when I lifted my head and lowered my hunched shoulders — and how good it felt to return to prayer and remember God’s promises.

All of this was held in one simple phrase. The lifter of my head.

That kitchen epiphany happened years ago, but I can still hear the quiet, loving words echo in my mind. Slow down. Look up.

Since that day I have carried this name for God like a prayer in my pocket during the hardest moments of my life: grief, loss, and suffering. If this name for God were true, then it had to be true always. Even here, even now, You are still the lifter of my head.

And on beautiful days, too — when warm sun breaks through dark clouds, when a friend’s encouragement gives a boost, when my teenagers spare a rare hug, or when a song on the radio turns my gloomy mood around — I remember:

“You, O Lord, are a shield about me, my glory, and the lifter of my head.”

When you are discouraged, God is the lifter of your head.

When you are grieving, God is the lifter of your head.

When you are weary and worn and wandering far from faith, God is still the lifter of your head.

Most importantly, none of us have to lift our heads by our own strength. God alone raises us up: the Creator who made our bodies, the Healer who touches our pain, the Light who directs our paths, and the Wisdom who guides our steps. If Lifter of My Head is part of God’s own name and nature, then we can let our heads gaze upon goodness again, shining full and bright in the face of Love itself.

Slow down. Look up. How might The Lifter of Your Head be calling to your heart today?

For more encouraging reflections on life after loss and healing after suffering, check out Laura’s weekly essays at The Holy Labor.

 

Listen to Laura’s devotion here or on your favorite podcast app!

Know Who Made You

by

You made all the delicate, inner parts of my body
and knit me together in my mother’s womb.
Thank You for making me so wonderfully complex!
Your workmanship is marvelous—how well I know it.
Psalm 139:13-14 NLT

Sometimes it can be tempting to look at ourselves and be critical of what God has made. (Amen? I know it’s not just me.) Really, God, with the ADHD? And why would you make me with limited vision? What exactly were you thinking with these hips? And the anxiety? Really, God?

The psalmist is convinced that God is the One who made us, and I’m going to believe that an intentional God had a purpose when He made me. And when He made you.

I don’t pretend to understand God’s intentions, but if I use my prayerful imagination, I can perhaps begin to explore what God might possibly have had in mind. For example, I’ve heard that folks who aren’t neurotypical, or have other types of physical or emotional challenges, can have a tender heart for those who face their own challenges. I’m not going to pretend to know why some folks struggle with anxiety or depression, but I do know that God is very present to those who know they need Him.

Your one-of-a-kind design by God likely includes some incredible gifts and passions, and it also may include some challenges. And I’m confident that God can use those challenges for your good and for the good of others. Ask God to show you how.

Consider the ways in which you have been critical of how God made you. Then, one by one, offer those to God and ask God how He sees each one.

God, I believe that You are the One who made me, on purpose. Give me Your vision for the parts of myself I don’t yet love, and show me what You have in mind for me. Amen.

Dive into a 100-day devotional by Chrystal Evans Hurst, 100 Days to Discovering the Gift of You, about being who God made you to be in the midst of life’s challenges. When our plans don’t succeed, when turmoil arises, or when we have to take unexpected detours in life, it can be difficult to trust what God is doing and our place in it. But understanding the depth of God’s love and the truth of His Word can help us retrench, rebuild, and move forward. Over the course of 100 days, Chrystal will steward readers through this process and help them discover their unique gifts, emerge more confident in God, and become more excited about the future He has in store. Here’s a peek inside 100 Days to Discovering the Gift of You at a word from Chrystal:

“Have you discovered the gift of you?

If you’re like many women I know, it’s possible that you aren’t yet entirely convinced that you are a one-of-a-kind wonder — a gift from God to the world.

And I get it. Maybe the last few decades just didn’t unfold the way you once imagined. Or perhaps there was an unexpected rupture — a death, a medical challenge, a divorce — that you never expected. Or there may have been other obstacles that kept you from living the dreams you had for your life. I understand.

And I also believe that you can embrace the gift of who you are.

I know that you’ve been doing your best. I know that you wake up and make the most of each day that you’re given. And I also know that who you are is worth naming and owning and celebrating. And I believe that embracing the gift of who you are is possible. I believe that, wherever you are today, you can discover the gift of you.”

What a great pep talk! This is exactly what you’ll find in Chrystal’s new book, 100 Days to Discovering the Gift of You.

Order your copy today. . . And, enter to WIN one of five copies that we’re giving away*! Leave a comment on this article and be entered to win.

Then be SURE to tune in to the (in)courage podcast this weekend for a conversation with Becky Keife and Chrystal. Listen on your favorite podcast app!

 

*Giveaway open to US addresses only and will close at 11:59 pm central on 2/17/25.

Why We Can’t Take “Together” out of the Gospel

by

When my children were small, I wanted them to know Jesus. As the African-American mother of bi-racial children, I desired a church where my kids could see the gospel of Jesus lived out in a loving way between people of different races and cultures. It bothered me that I’d grown up singing that Jesus loved all the children — red and yellow, black and white — but I’d seen Jesus-followers look at other-colored brothers and sisters in Christ in unloving ways.

I’d seen an advertisement about a new church meeting in a school. I grew up in a traditional Black Baptist church, so it was a little weird going to church at a school. As I opened the doors, I wasn’t surprised that none of the adults looked like me. But I was shocked when two small African-American children ran by and disappeared around a corner. I looked for their parents but gave up and went into the auditorium. People were friendly, but it was still uncomfortable for me. It was a similar feeling that my Caucasian friends would describe when they drove across the unfamiliar side of town at night and got caught at a traffic light.

The pastor came out and introduced himself by his first name, Lee. My eyebrows raised because that kind of informality was shocking to me. At some point in the message, Lee mentioned that he and his wife were foster parents and I realized that those two little Black kids were his foster children.

That was the moment I decided I would attend that church.

Not only was I grateful to hear Lee teach about the gospel, but he also lived the gospel — lived like he truly believed God loved the whole world, meaning all people. The pastor not only embraced color but invited color into his home with love.

Far too many Christians get defensive or uncomfortable when skin color comes up in church. Let’s not forget that color was divinely created by a holy God and therefore, inextricably woven into the gospel story. Racism is an injustice against God’s creation that grieves the heart of God. Therefore, our problems with race and color need the blood of the cross, too!

For centuries around the world, the topic of race is and has been one of the biggest barriers between Jesus-followers. Even after the massive civil rights movement of 2020, the most segregated space in America is still within our churches. If the gospel that we preach is only to people who look like us, we’re robbing ourselves of witnessing the full beauty and glory of what a colorful gospel looks like. The early church shows us an intentionality few churches have today. Most of all, the early church shows us the blessings that we’re missing out on.

After the Day of Pentecost, Peter taught and thousands came to Christ. Then, Acts 2:39-47 documents how all the believers met together. Who were all the believers? You better believe that “all” included Jesus-followers from different races and cultures who’d come to Jerusalem. They had differences in how they looked and lived, but they still intentionally tucked themselves around communal tables. Look at what happened next. Notice the word “together” after their activities:

“Every day they continued to meet together in the temple courts. They broke bread in their homes and ate together with glad and sincere hearts.”
Acts 2:46 NIV

After the sermon, people didn’t have to continue to worship together, meet together, or eat together, but they chose to! As a result, non-believers were attracted to the remarkable community. Non-believers were probably astonished by the unlikely love and shocking unity between people who looked and lived differently. That visual scene plus the power of the gospel message resulted in many non-believers getting saved (Acts 2:47).

It’s my belief that we can never be the best version of the gospel if we’re not connected to those who look different from us but are an essential part of our “together.”

As a Black person, I’ve wondered often why God created us with different skin colors because it has created much hardship and heartache. Yet, God shifts the atmosphere of any struggle when we let Him in. So, if God’s character is love, grace, holiness, and justice and we invite God into the abyss of our racial struggles, then God’s glory will overpower what we can’t fix on our own.

In the most well-known civil rights speech of all time, Dr. Martin Luther King cast his vision. Notice how Dr. King’s words reflect the beauty of the Jesus-followers’ togetherness in Acts 2:

“I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight, and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together.”

Dr. King is right. God’s gospel glory is revealed when we as believers are intentional about standing together. Maybe today God is prompting you to pray about finding the Jesus-followers who are the other part of your “together.”

Originally published on January 16, 2023.

 

Lift Your Eyes: How Shifting Your Focus Changes Everything

by

“Set your minds on things above, not on earthly things.”
Colossians 3:2 CSB

What fills your thoughts today? Is it the weight of parenting struggles or longing for a new career? Maybe your mind feels trapped in a spiral of anxiety, or numb with depression. Perhaps you’re fixated on goals, hoping your hard work will pay off, or burdened by the physical pain that dominates your body.

Whatever occupies your thoughts, Scripture gently challenges us: “Set your minds on things above, not on earthly things.”

But what does “things above” mean?

It means heaven. God’s full presence. His unmatched power. It’s His throne room, where He hears and answers our prayers. It’s the Father’s house with many rooms, a place of eternal belonging He is preparing for us right now. It’s a place of healing, where tears no longer fall, sorrow no longer stings, and joy knows no bounds. It’s a place of awe, wonder, and unending worship. A place of forever love.

Take a deep breath. Let that sink in. What else comes to mind when you think about “things above”?

The contrast is clear: our earthly lives are often defined by brokenness, sorrow, and daily struggles. God doesn’t ask us to ignore these realities or pretend they don’t matter. He knows they do. But He invites us to shift our focus — not because our problems disappear, but because fixing our thoughts on Him changes how we endure them.

When we set our minds on things above, we remember where our true hope lies. We remember that God’s power, peace, and promises are greater than any earthly pain. His love steadies us when life feels chaotic.

So, how might this shift in focus transform your day? Instead of dwelling on the burdens you’re carrying, pause to picture the eternal promises waiting for you. Remind yourself that the God who created heaven is also holding your heart right now.

Set your mind on Him, and let His truth give you peace for today and hope for tomorrow.

Truth for When Fear and Anxiety Take Control

by

Most mornings throughout the school year were the same. Wake my two children, get them dressed and fed, hand off lunch boxes and backpacks, pray the armor of God over them, and get them out the door and headed to the bus stop.

If we ran short on time, I would pray the same prayer once they were on the other side of the door. The armor of God is a marvelous spiritual truth with great imagery. Who wouldn’t want their children to be girded with the belt of truth, the breastplate of righteousness, shoes of the gospel of peace, the shield of faith, the helmet of salvation, and the sword of the Spirit as they head into each new day?

But there was a problem. My confidence in their safety each day was dependent upon the words I prayed. It became a ritual that I believed was necessary in order for God to protect them. If I forgot to pray, I would immediately become fearful that I had put my children in harm’s way.

My fear that a failure to pray might cause my children harm spoke volumes about how I viewed my heavenly Father. Would a good father remove his hand of protection over his children just because a well-meaning mother was too tired or distracted to pray? Looking back now, that seems absurd. But I didn’t always believe in God’s essential goodness.

Sure, I believed in God. I’d given my life to Jesus. I’d experienced the power of the Holy Spirit. But, if I’m honest, God always seemed a little distant and scary. Less like a comforting parent, more like a taskmaster. In time, this belief began to be revealed in my prayer life. I tried to pray with the “right” words. I prayed only for the sake of pushing back fear and anxiety. I prayed with pleading and bargaining, like I was the persistent widow (Luke 18:1-8 NIV), pounding on the door of the unjust judge. But our God is not an unjust judge — He is a loving Father!

He is not waiting to smite us or our loved ones if we don’t pray the right words at the right time — He delights in our prayers.

What is your view of our heavenly Father? Do you see Him as an ever-present comforter? A faithful protector? The One who loves you most? Or do you view Him more like the unjust judge who didn’t care about others or what they thought? When fear threatens to consume us, it’s important to remember that God isn’t waiting for us to pray the perfect prayer before He comes to our aid. He is a good Father who always has our best interest at heart.

Now, I realize that my view of God was grounded in a fear of punishment. A fear that even if things seemed good, the other shoe was sure to drop. Why? Because I didn’t feel worthy of God’s love. I believed He might help if I showed my faithfulness in prayer, but that was all on me. I’d put my trust in my ability to please, or perhaps appease, Him. But that’s not what God was looking for. All He ever wanted was a heart open to His love.

Beloved, God is for you, not against you!

I sometimes wish I could go back and whisper this truth to myself, the young mom who was so fearful to send her children out the door each morning. I wish I could tell her that God really does love her, and her children too. I wish I could tell her that it really will be okay. I would tell her, “The Lord himself goes before you and will be with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged” (Deuteronomy 31:8-9 NIV).

Beloved, even if you don’t yet believe this, it’s okay. That doesn’t change who God is. Simply ask Him to reveal more of His love to you. Ask Him to show you His tender goodness. Surely, He is a good Father who delights to give good gifts to His children, and His perfect love really does drive out fear.

What If Waiting Isn’t a Season?

by

My mom texted me the word: savor. 

She was telling me to savor the day I had ahead of me, but the word rang true in so many ways. How much of the goodness of God do I miss, simply because I don’t slow down long enough to open my eyes and savor it? 

Savor it.

Most of the time, I don’t know how to savor the moment, the day, whatever is right in front of me because I’m waiting for the next thing to unfold. I trick myself into thinking, “Once this happens, then I can savor it…”

I am coming to understand that all of life is waiting. Yet, I keep falling for the trap that if I can just get what I want – my dreams fulfilled, my prayers answered – then I won’t have to wait anymore. 

Christians talk a lot about seasons. As a pastor myself, I’ve started to notice how often I do this. I find myself asking someone in my congregation, “How is this season going?” or “How can I pray for you in this season?” It’s not that I dislike the metaphor of seasons. God made seasons and where I live in Canada we get all of them. It can be helpful for me to see my life through that lens – to know sometimes I’m living in a cold winter, or through change like autumn, or new growth like spring, or the beauty of summer. 

But what if waiting isn’t a season? 

All of life is waiting for something: a proposal, a job, a baby, more money, the stoplight to turn green. We sit in waiting rooms, we wait for healing, phone calls, a text to come through, for things to get better. We wait for a spouse, for kids to come back to us, for “the season to end.”

It turns out, waiting isn’t a season at all. We’re always waiting for something. 

I hate that revelation. I hate waiting. I want to get to the next thing, and I want to get there right now. 

In Scripture, waiting isn’t impatient or frustrated. When the Bible talks about waiting on the Lord, it’s referring to a trusting, joyful anticipation of what God might do.

Imagine that! Imagine, in your waiting – whatever you might be currently waiting for – you started to see it less as a season that hopefully will end soon, but more as an opportunity for deeper trust and joyful anticipation of what God might do.

Listen to these words from Isaiah 40:28-31 (NASB):

“Do you not know? Have you not heard?
The Everlasting God, the Lord, the Creator of the ends of the earth does not become weary or tired.
His understanding is unsearchable.
He gives strength to the weary,
And to the one who lacks might He increases power.
Though youths grow weary and tired,
And vigorous young men stumble badly,
Yet those who wait for the Lord
Will gain new strength;
They will mount up with wings like eagles,
They will run and not get tired,
They will walk and not become weary.”

This passage fills me with fresh hope and anticipation of all God might do while we wait. It turns out, the goal of waiting is not to simply kill time until we get what we want.

The goal of waiting is to stir up joyful anticipation of what God might do next. The text says it all: we get tired; God doesn’t. 

It’s okay to get tired of waiting. I don’t think that’s wrong. But I just don’t want to miss out on what God could be forming in me during the waiting. The new strength He’ll bring. The trust He’ll deepen. Or perhaps even, the joyful anticipation and wonder of all He could do…

That’s something I’m excited to savor. 

 

Listen to Aliza’s devotion below or on your favorite podcast app!

For the One Who Is Walking through Grief

by

I’m sitting in a coffee shop on a beautiful morning. My thoughts return to several recent losses in my life and I tell myself, “You have to be okay.” But then I realize, I would never say this to someone I love. Why is it so hard to be gentle with ourselves in our most tender moments?

If you struggle with this too, or you know someone who’s grieving, here are words you can borrow today…

It’s understandable that you feel grief. It is a sacred emotion. Grief tells us about who we have loved and what we have lost. It whispers to us, “This mattered.” It reminds us, “Life is fleeting, treasure it.” Jesus wept outside the tomb of Lazarus even though His friend would soon be resurrected. He wept because, in this world, all is not yet as it should be.

You are made for relationships that do not end in death.
You are created for joy that is unbroken by tragedy.
You are destined for a forever Home untainted by loss.

Your grief gets heavier when you say, “I shouldn’t feel this way” because then you must carry shame and guilt too. The truth is, you should feel this way. Grief is the way we process pain, the bridge we cross from loss into our new normal. And grief isn’t only for when someone we love is no longer here.

Grief is for dreams that don’t come true.
Grief is for relationships that end too soon.
Grief is for every time you imagined what could be, then experienced a different reality.

God is not angry with you for your grief. He is not telling your heart to hurry up. He is not accusing you of not trusting enough. No, the God who weeps, who is close to the brokenhearted, is with you. The Messiah was prophesied to be, “a man of sorrows, acquainted with deepest grief” (Isaiah 53:3 NLT).

He is also the giver of hope. Not the cotton candy kind, not the sort of hope that feels like a spiritual band-aid slapped on an open wound. No, the kind of hope that says after the cross comes the empty tomb, after the darkest night comes the morning, after the tears comes the moment when they will be wiped away forever.

Do not seek to banish your grief, to hide it in shame, to ask it to never come again. It is your companion in this life. Open the door to it, give it a seat at the table of your heart, offer it a bowl of soup or a bit of bread, let it tell you its stories and its truth. It has much to teach you.

When the time is right, grief will slip away for a while. You will wake one morning with the sun in your eyes again. Grief will return many times; it will be a lifelong visitor. But it is hope that will stay, that will prop its feet up on your furniture and open the curtains to let the light in. The Giver of that hope will always be with you too.

When you feel joy, you align with the heart of God.
When you feel sorrow, you align with the heart of God.
There is no emotion you can experience that will separate you from His love.
He is as near to you in your aching as He is in your celebrating.
God welcomes your tears. He makes space for your sadness. He is fully present in your pain.

“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted; he rescues those whose spirits are crushed.”
Psalm 34:18 NLT

Do you need gentle reminders of truth each day this year? You’ll find them in Holley Gerth’s new devotional book, 365 Truths for Every Woman’s Heart. Download a free excerpt here.

 

Listen to Holley’s devotion below or on your favorite podcast app!

The Hard and Beautiful Path of Choosing Repentance Over Resentment

by

Confession: I have harboured anger, resentment, and bitterness against others. At times, I don’t easily forgive and feel justified in my unforgiveness, and though I desire humility, pride has won its fair share of fights. I try hard to love others well but often fall short when I conclude that withholding my love is well-deserved. 

Can you relate? If so, I’m sharing this raw part of me so you can know that you’re not alone. 

God is repeatedly teaching me that when we choose Jesus, we choose a different way of living – not one where we play judge and jury over the offenses of others and we let our emotions hand down the verdict.  Choosing Jesus means allowing the Lord to help us process our feelings and change us from the inside out so we can be a light to others and bear fruit that will bring Him glory.

A couple of years ago, I was hurt by the words and actions of someone I looked up to, respected, and cared for — someone I held in high regard and admired. As a result of the hurt they inflicted and the brokenness I felt, anger started to grow within me. That anger grew into resentment, which became bitterness. I knew these feelings weren’t serving me well, and they most likely contributed to the lack of peace I often felt.

My mind and heart were in a wrestling match: what I knew to be true versus the feelings that overwhelmed me. But surely the Lord understood, right? After all, isn’t He the One who gave me the capacity for these emotions? I wanted to follow Jesus, but I also wanted this person to apologize. If they just owned their wrong, this could all be made right, I reasoned.

For two years, I carried the burden of unforgiveness and secretly held the sin of resentment and bitterness toward this person.

Earlier in this fall, after a time of confession with the Lord in prayer, He brought me to James 5:16 (NLT): “Confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed. The earnest prayer of a righteous person has great power and produces wonderful results.”

I sensed the Holy Spirit saying to my heart, “Ligia, you must now call the individual, confess what you have been carrying against them, and ask for their forgiveness.”

Tears began to well up in my eyes. I had so many questions brewing: Why? Why me and not them? They claim to follow Him and love Jesus too. Certainly, doesn’t the Spirit of God speak to them as well?

Like a toddler, I tried bargaining with the Lord to get out of what He asked me to do, hoping He would change His mind.

A few days later, I came across a verse I had read many times before, but it had never spoken to me as vividly as it did on this day. Philippians 2:8 (KJV) says, “And being found in the fashion of a man, He humbled Himself and became obedient unto death—even the death of the cross.” The words “He humbled Himself and became obedient unto death” hit me hard. I, too, want to be obedient to my Father, but what’s the price I am unwilling to pay? If I love Jesus the way I say I do, then don’t I also have to be humble? 

This isn’t the easy message of prosperity often preached. This is the raw and real call of Jesus: pick up your cross and follow Me. Not to prove yourself but to humble yourself and embrace the opportunity for God to complete the “good work” He began in you. As Paul reminds us in Philippians 1:6 (CSB): “I am sure of this, that he who started a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.”

A few weeks later, I finally made that difficult phone call. (I am human, and God is still working on my response time.) My palms were clammy and my heart raced as I spoke. Unsure how to begin the conversation, I found courage through the Holy Spirit’s guidance and my heartfelt confession. With a trembling voice, I fessed up to my wrongdoing and apologized. However, what followed wasn’t a hallmark moment. Instead of a deep gasp followed by words of repentance from the other end, there was an uncomfortable silence, soon broken by a defensive reply. No reciprocated apology or acknowledgment of the bravery and humility it took to make this call. It wasn’t the outcome I had hoped for. Yet, this was not about me but about fulfilling the footsteps of Jesus in obedience to my Father.

We can trust that the Holy Spirit continuously speaks to our hearts as our counselor and guide — we just have to listen and obey. When we choose disobedience and justification over conviction and repentance, we explicitly silence the Holy Spirit, creating barriers to the freedom we frequently pray for.

My friend, be assured that the Lord is at work in you! When He asks us to do hard things rooted in His Word and spoken by His Spirit, He sets us on the path of completing the good work He already started. Our obedience is our partnership, which is the key to the freedom we desperately desire.

 

Listen to Ligia’s devotion below or anywhere you stream podcasts!

Wishing for “Normal” and Seeing God’s Character

by

I knew early on our daughter was different. She wasn’t walking. She skipped crawling. I ached when I heard other toddlers forming beautiful little words, like mama or dada, while she remained silent. It turned out she couldn’t hear for the first several years of her life. Fixing her hearing was just the beginning of the long journey of advocating for our daughter.

There are many faith songs about surrendering to God and trusting His plan, but if I’m honest, I’d rather sing those songs than live them. However, that’s not the call of the faith we profess. We often can’t understand what God is doing, but we are called to trust that He knows better and will work it for our good.

There was a time (or seven) in our journey with Lila where I thought I could fix her with the newest therapy, the greatest miracle supplement, or praying hard enough. I have since stopped believing that if she were more “normal,” she would have a better life.

God didn’t make a mistake when He weaved her genes together and made her just so. This leads me to believe He is showing a part of Himself through her.

She watches others open a gift and cries with joy, jumps up and down, and hugs them, as if she were the one receiving it. Give me boundless joy like that! She walks down to the neighbor’s house and asks them with intensity, “And how was your day?” Give me others-centered awareness like that! I almost missed out on God in her by wishing my circumstances were more “normal.”

We can have faith that our lives and their interruptions will accomplish God’s good purpose. And perhaps, once we start believing this to be true, we can open our white-knuckled grip and receive a better gift than we could imagine: Jesus.

It was never about our circumstances. It was always about Him.

“For just as the heavens are higher than the earth,
so my ways are higher than your ways
and my thoughts higher than your thoughts.”
Isaiah 55:9 NLT

By Jami Nato as published in 100 Days of Strength in Any Struggle

What if you could actually see God clearer and know Him deeper in the middle of your struggles?

You don’t have to keep trying to muster up more grit, willpower, or wisdom on your own. You can tap into the source of true, unfailing strength. How?

In our favorite devotional journal, 100 Days of Strength in Any Struggle, you’ll discover where strength really comes from: Jesus, the One who holds everything together. As you experience pain, move through daily challenges, or get bogged down by anxieties big or small, you can walk with your favorite (in)courage writers and learn to find Him right in the middle of whatever you face, ready to strengthen you and give you rest.

You are stronger than you think because God is closer than you know.

 

Listen to today’s devotion here or find the (in)courage podcast on your favorite app!

An Overachiever’s Reminders About the Secret of a Good Life

by

We’re now two weeks into the new year. Already I’m exhausted. And annoyed. Everywhere I turn someone is promising me that I could (and should) look better and feel better. I should be further along in my career and my relationships could use some work. Not to mention, am I exercising enough? Eating enough protein? Getting enough sleep? I mean, who can sleep when there’s so much self-improvement to do? And yet, all the commercials and courses promise me more happiness and more success if I buy this and do that.

Ultimately, behind all the marketing lingo and promises of improvement sits an irritating (and terrifying) message: Who you are and the life you’re currently living isn’t enough, Michele. You need to do more, be more. 

The problem? This “not enough” message isn’t a hard sell. Many days I’d agree. The tension between what I long for and what is feels a lot like disappointment. Solomon said it well in Ecclesiastes:

“When I surveyed all that my hands had done and what I had toiled to achieve, everything was meaningless, a chasing after the wind; nothing was gained under the sun.”
Ecclesiastes 2:11 NIV

They say that the book of Ecclesiastes is a book for midlife crises; perhaps that isn’t far off. For the record, I’m not in a crisis, but I am certainly in mid-life. And I’ve discovered there is a unique perspective in this season that is as sobering as it is freeing. You see, I’m learning there are never enough hours in a day to get my to-do list done. No amount of exercise will guard me against getting older. No amount of dieting will finally produce a perfect body. No book on relationships will guarantee a marriage without conflict or photograph-worthy relationships with adult kids. No amount of working and saving will boost my bank account enough to buy my way out of a health crisis.

In fact, I suspect I could do everything right and still end up with a life that looks entirely wrong.

Whew. What a bunch of bad news, yes? What in the world are we to do with this hard truth? Quit exercising, working, eating healthy, and growing in relationships? If no amount of bootstrapping effort can produce guaranteed results, why bother trying? Sounds like a mid-life crisis in the making.

And yet, Solomon provides the secret, the wisdom he learned even while navigating a sobering mid-life perspective:

“He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the human heart; yet no one can fathom what God has done from beginning to end.”
Ecclesiastes 3:11 NIV

The secret to Solomon’s wisdom (and an overachiever’s peace) isn’t working harder or working less. It’s about trusting “what God has done” more.

You see, if we want a guaranteed, beautiful result, we need to tie ourselves and our plans to the God of eternity. We need to relinquish our hold on our earthly destinies and grab hold of the One who holds the cosmos in His hands. To do this, I regularly remind myself of the following truths:

  1. Life (and people) on this side of heaven will never look like heaven. Don’t expect it to.
  2. Hard work matters. But it’s less about getting certain results and more about offering up honest worship.
  3. “To live is Christ and to die is gain” (Phil. 1:21). Care for the body is about stewardship, not self-worship.
  4. Three of Jesus’ last words on the cross were, “It is finished” (John 19:30). Believe Him. The most important work has already been done.

Who I am and the life I’m living doesn’t look anything like what I imagined. That is true. No course, curriculum, or marketing campaign can deliver what I need and want most. But my God can. And He will. He will make everything beautiful in its time. I believe this. Thus, I choose to stop putting so much weight on my efforts and, instead, trust in His.

 

Listen to Michele’s devotion below or on the (in)courage podcast wherever you stream!

What to Do with Your Middle-of-the-Night Anxiety

by

“Rise during the night and cry out.
 Pour out your hearts like water to the Lord.”
Lamentations 2:19 NLT

Most days after school, I spent fifteen minutes writing notes to God. I think I was twelve or thirteen. I didn’t even call myself a Christian then. But every afternoon, I peeled open a small, light-blue journal and begged God for friends. 

There was a group of girls who gave themselves a special name, and being part of their group was the hope of every junior high girl I knew. So I’d sit down and scribble my heart out to God: God, please let me be invited into this group. When I see so-and-so after fifth period, please let her ask me to join. 

Day after day after day. 

Finally, at some point, I gave up. I gave up on hoping to be invited in and on whether or not God cared. What I didn’t realize is that before I gave up, I’d been building a little habit. 

Years later, it was almost instinctual for me to open up a journal and write my heart out. The God I wondered about years before—the One I thought didn’t care and didn’t answer me, the One I was pouring my heart out to — was the One I now knew. And I already knew how to talk to Him! Throughout those years of honesty and unanswered prayers, I was building a posture I had no idea I would come back to like a muscle with memory. 

Think about your most honest journal entry. What if you addressed it to God? 

God wants our honest feelings. Our emotions and true thoughts aren’t too much. They aren’t a liability; they are a pathway to intimacy and true growth. 

The anxiety and worries that wake us in the night have a welcome place to go. The contents of our hearts do not have to stay inside and hidden. What would you say to God if you were twelve or thirteen again? What would you say if you knew God’s ears and heart were wide, wide open? 

by Tasha Jun, as published in 100 Days of Strength in Any Struggle

Your Waiting Is Not Wasteful

by

I’m holding her blue knit shawl when she asks me. My nine-year-old daughter asks me to come outside in the dim light of evening, to sit with her, to wait with her, and — to watch her — as she plays with the kittens.

She sees the shawl and the needle, because I’m about to sew a rip for her, and she says, “No Mum. Just you. Please just come, and sit, and watch. No shawl.”

I’m ashamed to say I brought the shawl. I sat and stitched and soon, she went inside, leaving me on the deck in the low light with the kittens. The request had seemed extraordinary, unnecessary. It was her shawl after all, and it needed fixing. Wasn’t I helping her by doing this? And wasn’t I still there, with her, and why did she need me to just watch? Couldn’t I do both? After all, I had an endless list of things to do like making supper and school lunches and. . .

She was gone. The moment, over. Lost, forever. And I could hear His gentle whisper. “Martha, Martha. . .” Yes, I could even hear the crack of alabaster, the splash of oil, the gasp of the disciples, “Why this waste?”

It had felt like a waste, this sitting and watching. But it’s all He asks, and it’s all He’s ever wanted.

“Remain here; watch with me,” Jesus cried in the garden, this place of Genesis where life first sprung, where God Himself walked with man and talked with him and made His home with him. We began in a garden, friends. A place of beauty and rest. A place trailing with vines and flowers and communion. But we chose to leave. We chose to toil. To sew the shawl.

After all, this is what society values, and even church, with its multiple ministries and Bible studies and the pot of coffee to fuel us onward. And in it, we miss it. We miss Him.

To wait with Him, to watch Him at work, this is what it means to abide. “As the branch cannot bear fruit of itself, unless it abides in the vine, neither can you, unless you abide in Me” (John 15:4 NKJV).

A few days later Aria tries again, kind of like how God always tries again, because His mercies are new every morning. “Mom, will you just sit and watch me play piano? Come here please, sit on this couch, and just watch.” I was happy to. And even as I sat and observed her hands moving across the ivories, even as I applauded and her hazel eyes met mine, I saw her . . . and I saw Him.

To wait on someone, as in a restaurant, means to serve them. To wait on Jesus is to serve Him. Waiting is not wasteful. It is obedience.

“Waiting does not diminish us, any more than waiting diminishes a pregnant mother. We are enlarged in the waiting. We, of course, don’t see what is enlarging us. But the longer we wait, the larger we become, and the more joyful our expectancy.”
Romans 8:24-25 MSG

In the waiting and the watching, our souls expand, making room for joy. This is the secret place, my friends, this place of contentment as Paul calls it, this place of abide.

A few mornings later, Aria and I stood waiting for the bus together. She wore her shawl. The sun broke like alabaster and spilled pink across the morning. And my daughter sang, “I am thankful. . .”

Oh, the things our children teach us, friends. Let’s not miss it for the world.