Come, Sister: Come to the Altar

Come, Sister: Come to the Altar

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It’s been a while since I’ve gone to the altar for prayer.

I could give all the backstory, justify all the reasons, and make up all the excuses. But, the fact remains — my prayer life, lately, has become purely private. That is, until this past week when a crisis came upon my family. I’m trembling even as I write this, tears forming despite my wildest efforts to suppress them, push them down until my face is tidy and tells the world that I’m fine, just fine.

If I could tell you the story, I would. But, truth is, it doesn’t take much imagination to meet me in the valley of my sorrow, because I know you have your own valleys of sorrow.

Valleys where you’ve had to vacate the place you call home.

Valleys where death has touched and taken life from your loved ones.

Valleys where violence has shattered any sense of safety you felt.

Valleys where struggle is the only sight your eyes have seen.

Valleys where loved ones have left and never returned.

Valleys where sickness has seeped into your story.

Valleys where hope is far from the horizon.

Valleys where your world has broken because . . . fill-in-the-blank.

Just a few Sundays ago, I walked into church, my heart pounding against the cage of my chest. I spread a thin smile across my face like a veil, a curtain drawn to hide the horrors held within my heart. But the Holy Spirit sees the hurt and hopelessness we try to hide — and the heart of the Father is moved when we are found fragile, fragmented, and frozen in fear.

I wanted to hide my hurt, but God wanted to hear my heart. And, so, God did what only God can do. God tapped on my shoulder, whispered in my ear, put a flame beneath my feet, and moved me to make that first step towards the altar. The invitation to step forward for prayer was like a call I couldn’t ignore, like God’s finger on my chest, pointing precisely to the place where fear and pain swelled, where trauma and tears swirled into a new color, a new kind of grief.

I walked up and received prayer. You know — that hands-laid, tears-flowing, snot-dripping, Spirit-filled, truth-whispered-in-your-ear kind of prayer. I fought the instinct to carry my cares all by my lonesome. I chose, instead, to cast my cares upon the Lord and into caring community.

I don’t know how you feel about prayer or what you believe about the practice of it. I don’t know if you pray in the pages of your journal or when, if ever, you’ve last gone to the altar for prayer. I don’t know about the horrors you’re holding inside your heart, or the lies you are fighting as you navigate life, loss (all little and large), and love. Perhaps hope is exhausted and patience has waned. Maybe the cares you cradle are too complicated to categorize. Maybe the situation is so uncertain that it’s unutterable, it’s all too much to make it make sense to anyone else, much less to yourself.

While there’s a lot I don’t know about your story, this one thing I do know: The altar can be a place to access the truth that we cannot, at times, ourselves recall. Through prayer, we can be reminded that nothing is unfathomable for the Father. By pouring out our hearts and having our hearts poured into, we can be reminded that no person is too far gone, no need is too great, no wound is too deep, and no fear is too strong for the love of God.

Come, sister. Come to the altar. Let church be now — on your computer (or phone) and in the comments. Let every typed word be the casting of your cares upon the Lord and into caring community. If you’re carrying a burden, relinquish it. If you’re worried about a loved one, say no more and simply speak their name. If you’re in need of provision, make it known.

Come trembling, come tired. Come filled with fears, come with longing and tears. Come with feeble faith, come broken and unsure. Come with a well of words, come speechless. Come doubting and in denial. Come angry and defeated. Come crying, come crawling.

Let God point precisely to the place where fear and pain swell. I’ll be here, hand in God’s, hearing your heart’s every ache, and praying with and for you in the comments.

Come. 

 

Listen to Rachel’s devotion here or wherever you stream podcasts & share with a friend.

How God Sends Hope When the Waves Won’t Stop

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A few years ago, as winter melted into spring and beauty bloomed all around, I packed a suitcase and my sadness and flew to see friends.

The trip was on the calendar long before grief swept in turning the technicolor of spring to black and white. The shock and vibrancy literally springing up outside didn’t match the shock and devastation inside, but everything was already planned so I flew across the country with a carry-on — confusion suddenly coloring everything: every old memory, every future hope, and every current unknown.

I showed up holding my breath, certain the women were (and are) trustworthy and kind… but on the heels of a loss I didn’t choose or want, I arrived with both: a genuine smile and a broken heart.

What was up had crashed down, spring felt like winter, and in the midst of so much that wasn’t right, I was left with tears running and my hands full of questions.

That is, until one morning a voice gently said, “Kaitlyn, open your hands. You’ve poured out for a long time. It’s our turn.”

Only two of the women knew the details, but they sent out a group SOS on my behalf. It was the most beautiful blindside. A pile of Truth to speak to the lies. Rachel prayed and I wept as page after page, envelope after envelope landed in my open palms. And the two who understood the whole story quietly whispered, “They don’t know. We didn’t say. But we all wanted you to have something to hold onto until the storm stops.”

Despite not knowing the details, my friends offered their words like buoys of hope and anchors of truth, each one its own lighthouse in the deep and in the dark. After we all returned home, I read one card each day. When I finished, I started reading them all again from the beginning. Their words were manna in a storm that continued to rage.

The words mattered (matter), but more than that, it was the community saying, You’re safe and beloved, we see and we’ll stand here holding your arms until it’s all said and done.

In Exodus 17:9, with the Israelites under attack, Moses does something wildly unexpected. “Choose some of our men and go out to fight the Amalekites,” he said to Joshua. “Tomorrow I will stand on top of the hill with the staff of God in my hands.”

Scripture says that Moses and two of his friends, Aaron and Hur, climbed the hill. “As long as Moses held up his hands, the Israelites were winning, but whenever he lowered his hands, the Amalekites were winning. When Moses’ hands grew tired, they took a stone and put it under him and he sat on it. Aaron and Hur held his hands up — one on one side, one on the other — so that his hands remained steady till sunset” (Exodus 17:11-12 NIV).

The minutes slowly ticked by. Sweat dripped. His friends found a rock, a place to rest while the battle continued. His muscles spasmed. Perhaps doubt began to whisper, loneliness drawing near as Moses watched from afar. But then, suddenly, the weight was shared, the load lighter, the heaviness lifted as his hands were held by friends who stayed near, standing by his side and shouldering the pain.

His hands remained steady till sunset.

It’s in this place that Moses built an altar called The Lord is my Banner.

For me, it was a couch in a hotel room, hands open and held up by friends who offered the gift of words in the wilderness, every card a reminder that I wasn’t alone in the chaos before me, each woman pointing me toward the One who is good and kind and faithful in every storm.

I wish, after all this time, I could say that the sun set and the battle ended and now everything feels like spring. I wish I could paint a picture of beauty from ashes, new life growing in the place of loss.

The truth is, I have a pile of cards but there’s no beautiful bow on my story. Not yet, anyway. The storm was cruel and the waves haven’t hushed. I’m drenched through but still standing, heartbroken but hands full.

The truth is, there may not be a bow on the way, at least this side of eternity. I hate that, so very much, for me and for you. But if you can, friend, open your hands. The God of abundance is a Good Father, a Great Friend, familiar with storms, and able to provide manna in all shapes and forms.

May these last lines from the pile of cards be that for you today. Tear off a piece. Pass it along. God won’t run out.

You are held and chosen. No one, no circumstance, nothing can make those truths untrue.

You are deeply loved and seen by Christ. And: you aren’t alone.

Keep clinging to hope. The garden of your life will surely grow new blooms.

—

A few weeks ago, we all gathered again. This time, I packed two cards in my carry-on, knowing the roles would soon reverse as we stood around the two women who planned that first beautiful blindside, filling their hands with words to carry into the coming days. Sometimes, our friends hold our hands up. Sometimes, we get to be that friend. But always – always – our friend Jesus remains, a faithful banner of love over every season, present in every storm.

 

Listen to Kaitlyn’s devotion here or search “(in)courage” on your favorite podcast app!

Own What Is Most True

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“Speak, Lord, for Your servant is listening.”
I Samuel 3:9

About a decade ago, I could’ve convinced anyone that I was thriving. I was happily married, I was writing and performing my own music, I was leading worship — my dream job. But I knew I wasn’t living in freedom.

In every room I stepped into, I was afraid to stand out in any way. Every time I’d take the stage, I felt like I was hitting a wall. Instead of just taking inspiration from other artists, I was constantly comparing myself to them. And no matter how I “performed” or how people responded, in my mind, I’d always come up short. This often left me feeling like a fraud, or even worse, a failure. As God opened my eyes, I came to see that so much of my potential was being stunted by my fears.

Consider what fear does to us.

If you spot a herd of buffalo stampeding toward you, your body is designed to explode with fear. That surge of adrenaline fuels you to run for your life. God created us with emotions for our good. Fear, sadness, anger, and joy are the body‘s way of communicating something we need to know. Fear, sadness, and anger are all natural responses to trauma and pain. But when the hurt is allowed to fester, when we don’t face our pain, those same feelings can turn on us and begin to bully us. That’s where I was. Rather than facing the messiness of my past, I tried to ignore it, and it turned on me.

In Life of the Beloved, Henri Nouwen writes, “Every time you feel hurt, offended, or rejected, you have to dare to say to yourself: ‘These feelings, strong as they may be, are not telling me the truth about myself. Even though I cannot feel it right now, the truth is that I am the chosen child of God, precious in God’s eyes, called the Beloved from all eternity, and held safe in an everlasting embrace.’” Nouwen’s holy words were an invitation to me to own my inherent belovedness. They set me on a path to discover my identity as a beloved child of God.

We’re all trying to figure out who we are, right? I think too often we write the “good parts” about ourselves in pencil and the “bad parts” in pen — or in thick permanent marker. We look in the mirror, and we own all the ways we believe we’re not good enough. We don’t simply hear them and let them roll off our backs. Instead, we treat them as gospel truth.

The reality is that we are all pilgrims on a journey. We have not yet arrived; we are works in progress. We are sinners who will make some mistakes and take some hits. But we fear that these shortcomings define us. Rather, the core of our identity is that we are loved by God. Period.

Maybe, like me, you’ve been living in fear. One woman looks in the mirror and hates what she sees staring back at her. One man catches his reflection in a storefront window and worries that his bad choices will destroy him. A child living in a chaotic home tries to be good so that he or she won’t be left alone. Sometimes we don’t even notice that we’re allowing our fears to drive us.

I’m still on the journey to embrace my belovedness. Every day, I have to make the choice to believe the truth of who I am and to reflect the glory that God has put in my life.

Nouwen’s invitation to me all those years ago — to embrace the fullness of my belovedness — is the same one I want to extend to you. Romans 11:29 tells us, “For God’s gifts and His call can never be withdrawn” (NLT). You were not made to be owned by your fears. Rather, the unalterable and undeniable truth is that you were created, from the beginning, as beloved. It’s who you are. And nothing could ever take that away.

God, as You show me my heart, I can see how I’ve allowed fears to own me. Help me to find myself in You. Remind me that my feelings, and the thoughts that spring from them, do not define me. Only You can define me. And You say that I am Your beloved, chosen child. I am precious in Your sight. And from the beginning of time, I have been Yours. Lord, be with me on this journey. Teach me how to embrace my belovedness daily. Open the eyes of my heart, and open my ears to hear Your voice, that I might embrace the truth of who I am: Beloved. Amen.

Questions to Ask Yourself:

  • Do I know, in the depths of my heart, what it is to be beloved?
  • What are the lies, beliefs, or thoughts that are bullying me?
  • What is owning me today?

—

We all have an inner voice that tells us we’re not worthy of love, especially God’s love. Our flaws, fears, and mistakes fill us with guilt and shame. But Sarah Kroger’s song and new devotional, Belovedness, is a reminder that it’s the heart of God to pursue and embrace His people — no matter our history, because He has reconciled us to Himself! Sarah’s book, Belovedness: Overcoming Your Inner Critic, is based on the lyrics of the song and includes devotions, selected Scriptures, prayers, and insights from Sarah that will walk you through the process of defeating your critical voice and accepting God’s unfailing love.

Silence your inner critic with the affirmation of God’s deep, sincere love for you.

We LOVE this special lyrical devotional, and we think you will too… so we’re giving away FIVE copies*!

To enter, just leave a comment answering one of Sarah’s questions above.

Then tune in to the (in)courage podcast this weekend to listen in on a conversation with Becky Keife and GMA Dove Award-nominated artist, songwriter, and worship leader Sarah Kroger. Their conversation will bless you for sure!

 

*Giveaway open to US addresses only, and closes on 5/11/2025 at 11:59 pm Central.

How God Uses Our Willing Hearts, Not Our Résumés

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I recently received an invitation to write for a respected and well-known Christian ministry. Just as humbled and honoured as I was when I was invited to be a part of (in)courage, I sat at my desk, re-reading the email in disbelief. I was asked to submit a couple of my pieces for their review so I could be considered for the contributor team. Much like the excitement and nervousness I experienced when I was invited to join (in)courage, it took me a while to fully grasp this new invitation.

Why me? 

In all transparency, I often struggle with inadequacy and impostor syndrome regarding opportunities like this. The only writing I have done in the past includes shopping lists and notes for teachers, if those count. My knowledge of literature and writing is limited; I am unfamiliar with many books, authors, genres, and topics that commonly arise in conversations with other writers. 

But there I sat at my laptop, fingers eagerly poised, ready to dance across the keyboard to compose new writing samples. But I typed and deleted, typed and deleted, trying to recall all the messages the Lord had placed in my heart to share – the insights He reveals to me during our moments together at my kitchen table as I pray and study His Word. But why couldn’t I recall them? Why weren’t the words flowing like they do when I discuss powerful readings with my mother-in-law as she washes the dishes or when a revelation from the Lord touches my heart and brings me to tears?

It was quiet, but I was not ready to give up!

I sat there for a few hours, curating a beautiful devotional. It included all the required elements based on the given parameters, and I felt satisfied. And then, I didn’t. I started deleting, adding, and rearranging words, but nothing sounded right.  Tired and frustrated, I passionately closed my laptop and called it a night!

I lay in bed, fed up and confused, my eyes refusing to close. In the safety of the room’s darkness, I quietly wept, asking, “Why, Lord? Why is this so difficult? Why would you present this opportunity if you know I’m not good enough?” As my tears soaked the pillow, I prayed and fell into silence. 

It’s fascinating what occurs when we become quiet. 

My mind began to drift back to my high school band days. I played the flute but secretly wanted to play the clarinet — not for any practical reason, but simply because, as silly as it sounds, I wanted a reed and that charming little pink case it came with. Yes, the reed and that pink case!

As I reflected on the reed that night and the following day, the Lord spoke to my heart regarding the article I attempted to “curate.” 

He said, “Ligia, you are to be my mouthpiece. The reed may seem insignificant and useless to those who aren’t musicians, but it plays a crucial role in the melody produced by the instrument. Yet, without the reed placed in the instrument’s mouthpiece and without the breath of the musician flowing through it, it serves no purpose. The reed cannot create on its own what it was designed to contribute as part of an instrument that requires breath to function.”

“Ligia,” the Lord continued, “This instrument symbolizes the task I have assigned you, the places and spaces I have invited you into; you are the reed. I have placed you precisely where my breath can flow through to create what only I can impart to you through the Holy Spirit.”

That was it. I had been depending on my limited abilities, thoughts, and inspirations. I made it about myself, and the truth is, apart from Jesus, I can do nothing.

At that moment, the Holy Spirit met me gracefully and brought me to 1 Corinthians 1:26-31 MSG. 

“Take a good look, friends, at who you were when you got called into this life. I don’t see many of “the brightest and the best” among you, not many influential, not many from high-society families. Isn’t it obvious that God deliberately chose men and women that the culture overlooks and exploits and abuses, chose these “nobodies” to expose the hollow pretensions of the “somebodies”? That makes it quite clear that none of you can get by with blowing your own horn before God. Everything that we have — right thinking and right living, a clean slate and a fresh start — comes from God by way of Jesus Christ….”

God doesn’t choose us because we are flawless individuals who meet every requirement or because we are “the brightest and the best.” He chooses us because He sees what we often fail to see in ourselves: a willing heart, a genuine love for Him, and a desire to honour Him and bring Him glory despite our imperfections. We are to be His vessels.

Today, I encourage you to be a reed. Allow the Lord to place you precisely where His breath can move through you. As you inhabit the spaces entrusted to you, fill the air with His love and glory for His divine pleasure, remembering that apart from Him, we can do nothing.

 

Listen to Ligia’s devotion here or wherever you stream podcasts.

Holding Tight to What’s Good

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9 Don’t just pretend to love others. Really love them. Hate what is wrong. Hold tightly to what is good. 10 Love each other with genuine affection, and take delight in honoring each other. 11 Never be lazy, but work hard and serve the Lord enthusiastically. 12 Rejoice in our confident hope. Be patient in trouble, and keep on praying. 13 When God’s people are in need, be ready to help them. Always be eager to practice hospitality.

14 Bless those who persecute you. Don’t curse them; pray that God will bless them. 15 Be happy with those who are happy, and weep with those who weep. 16 Live in harmony with each other. Don’t be too proud to enjoy the company of ordinary people. And don’t think you know it all!
Romans 12:9-16 NLT

Life feels really heavy sometimes, doesn’t it? With so much division, heartache, and unknowns swirling around us, it can be tempting to let our hearts grow cold or closed off. But God gives us a different way — a better way — to live and love, right here in Romans 12.

He invites us to a love that’s real. Not surface-level, not obligatory, not “love” just because it sounds nice — but a love that digs deep, shows up, and truly cares. A love that holds tightly to what is good even when the world around us feels anything but good.

And notice, it’s not all about big, flashy gestures. It’s about steady faithfulness.

  • Work hard.

  • Serve God with passion.

  • Be patient in trouble.

  • Keep praying, even when you don’t see the answer yet.

  • Practice hospitality — not only when it’s convenient, but because people need to know they’re seen and welcomed.

  • Bless even those who make your life difficult.

  • Celebrate with the joyful. Sit in sadness with the grieving.

  • Stay humble. Stay teachable. Stay connected.

This isn’t just an instruction manual for surviving hard times — it’s a guide to thriving with a heart that looks more and more like Jesus.

Friend, we’re in this together. You’re not expected to do all of this perfectly or all at once. But every small step of real love, every choice to honor, serve, bless, and pray — it matters. It shapes us. It shines light into dark places. And it brings the Kingdom of God a little closer here on earth.

Let’s Pray:
Take a moment today to ask God to root these words deep in your heart.
Pray for strength to love well, even when it’s hard.
Pray for hope to keep going when you’re tired.
And as a special step of encouragement, pray for the person who commented before you.
May we hold tightly to what is good, together.

Even in the Silence, He Is There

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The world didn’t stop. It kept turning, kept moving forward, as though nothing had changed. But for me, everything had.

I remember stepping outside that tragic morning, my heart shattered beyond words. My neighbor stood in his yard, watering his flowers, exclaiming about what a beautiful June day it was. I could barely comprehend his words. How could anything be beautiful in this moment? My voice came out flat, almost detached from the reality crashing around me: “Well, my son just died, so I don’t know how beautiful a day it is.”

I wasn’t trying to be harsh. I was trying to grasp the weight of what had just happened — what it meant for our family and how it would change everything . . . while, for my neighbor, life carried on as usual. The stark contrast was almost too much to bear.

Grief has a way of making everything around you feel distant, like you’re watching life from behind a thick pane of glass. You see it, but you’re not part of it. You exist in a different space — one that is heavy with sorrow and filled with deafening silence.

The silence was the hardest. The absence of his cries — though I could still smell him, see his clothes, his toys, his things — swept over me like a crashing wave, ready to drown me. And, quite frankly, I secretly wanted to succumb to it. There was a tangible void, a gaping hole in my heart that I didn’t think could ever be whole again, could ever beat the same, function the same. The space where his laughter should have been . . . it all pressed in on me, suffocating and inescapable. Even my prayers felt swallowed up in the void. I would whisper my son’s name, cry out to God, but all I got in return was silence.

Had God forgotten me?

I had always believed in God’s presence, but grief has a way of testing even the deepest faith. If God was with me, why did I feel so alone? Why did my prayers seem to go unanswered? How was I even supposed to pray through this kind of pain? What does one say to the Almighty when the weight of loss makes it hard to breathe, when words fail, and all that remains are broken sobs and silent pleas?

Tears were the only words I could speak. And, yet, even in that silence, He was there.

It wasn’t in a loud, dramatic way. There was no booming voice or parting of the sky. But slowly, quietly, He met me in the stillness. It was in the way a friend sat beside me, offering no words, just presence. It was in the soft whisper of Scripture that surfaced in my heart: “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit” (Psalm 34:18 NIV). It was in the gentle peace that, over time, softened the rawness of my sorrow.

God wasn’t absent. He was mourning with me.

Over time, God started healing the ravaged and broken pieces of my heart in a new way; a way that would never be the same — not the same perspective, not the same attitude toward time spent with loved ones, not the same way I saw problems and disappointments. God began to take my old heart and make it new, different, stronger, braver, bolder, and forever impacted.

I think of Mary and Martha when their brother Lazarus died. They had sent word to Jesus, but He didn’t come right away. When He did, Martha met Him with questions, while Mary fell at His feet in sorrow. And Jesus — before He performed the miracle, before He called Lazarus from the grave — wept.

He didn’t rush their pain. He didn’t tell them to move on. He stood in the silence of their grief and He wept with them (John 11:35). The Savior of the world, God in flesh, mourned alongside those He loved. Such grace that He does the same for us.

God doesn’t just see our grief — He knows it. He willingly gave His only Son to die for us, to suffer in our place. And while I will never fully grasp the depth of His sacrifice, I know the pain of losing an only son. That realization shifted something in me. God, in His love, bore the unbearable to redeem us, to bring hope, to ensure that death would not have the final word.

Grief isn’t something we walk through alone. Even when God feels silent, He is still present. He is in the quiet moments, in the tears we cry in the dark, in the arms of those who hold us when we have nothing left to give. He is the God who weeps with us, the God who stays.

If you are in that place of silence where the world moves on while your heart still breaks, take heart. Even in the silence, He is there. We do not grieve as those who have no hope (1 Thessalonians 4:13). The empty tomb tells us that death does not have the final word, that sorrow is not the end of our story. And, until the day we see our loved ones again, we can rest in this truth:

The One who conquered death is still holding us in the silence.

 

Dear (in)courage sisters, as Mother’s Day approaches, we share this guest devotion in hopes that you feel seen by God. No matter what Mother’s Day means to you, whether your expectations are met with joy or you feel the ache of disappointment, may His comfort wrap around you. Feel free to share your story in the comments — we’d love to encourage you.

If You’re Looking for Jesus, Let it Go

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“Let it go,” the princess croons. “Can’t hold it back anymore.” If you were parenting (or grandparenting) in the early 2010s, that refrain likely echoed through your house or your minivan. For years, my kids twirled through the living room, belting out their adorable (albeit off-tune) renditions of the catchy ballad with full-bodied joy.

I used to think it was a song about glittery snow and fierce independence. But these days, I hear something deeper in the chorus — an invitation to release what’s weighing me down so I can move toward the One who lifts me up.

Not long ago, I sat in a quiet pew while my pastor led us through John 18. We were entering Holy Week, moving toward the garden where Jesus would be betrayed. We read about soldiers and torches. A kiss of betrayal. And then these haunting, holy words from Jesus:

“I told you that I am he. If you are looking for me, then let these men go.”
John 18:8 NIV

The pastor spoke of Jesus’ steadfast love in the face of violence and fear, setting the stage for what was to come. But as I sat in the stillness of that sanctuary, something stirred. It wasn’t audible. But it was real. I sensed the words bend toward me. It was almost as if the Spirit turned them inward and whispered: “If you’re looking for me, Kayla… let it go.”

I don’t know how to explain it exactly, except to say this:

Sometimes, through the mystery of the Living Word, God meets us in the very words we thought we already understood. And something new is revealed — not changing the text, but changing us as we encounter it again.

That morning, I had walked into church herding my (slightly older but still wild) kids, and holding tight to a recent hurt. I’d replayed it all in my mind: my need to be right, my desire to be seen. I had no intention of releasing it or forgiving those who had inflicted pain.

But in that moment, I knew: If I was looking for Jesus, I needed to let them —let it— go.

What is the Spirit inviting you to let go of?

So many of our attachments tangle themselves into our identity. We confuse the burden we hold with who we are. But here’s the deeper truth:

You are never more fully yourself than when you are with the One who formed you from the dust — the One who is whispering a thousand resurrections into your life, if only you’ll look and let go.

Scripture is full of sacred invitations to release what is not ours to hold, full of reminders that if we’re looking for Jesus, we don’t need to do anything else except surrender (in other words… let it go).

  • If you’re looking for Jesus, let your need to be right go.
     “In humility, value others above yourselves…” (Philippians 2:3)
  • If you’re looking for Jesus, let your guilt and shame go.
     “There is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.” (Romans 8:1)
  • If you’re looking for Jesus, let your bitterness go.
     “Forgive as the Lord forgave you.” (Colossians 3:13)
  • If you’re looking for Jesus, let your fear of the future go.
     “Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you.” (1 Peter 5:7)
  • If you’re looking for Jesus, let your thirst for control go.
     “Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding.” (Proverbs 3:5)
  • If you’re looking for Jesus, let the weight of the past go.
     “See, I am doing a new thing!” (Isaiah 43:19)

I wonder… what do you need to let go of?

If your arms are full of resentment, of fear, of self-sufficiency, you won’t be able to receive the embrace of the One who longs to gather you close, to shelter you beneath His wings (Psalm 91:4). But when you move toward Jesus and let go of what you’ve been clinging to that hasn’t been serving you, you experience freedom. (And you’ll be able to extend that freedom to others, too.)

When Jesus stood in the garden, He was fully aware of what was coming. He still stepped forward. He didn’t resist. He didn’t run. He surrendered so others could be free.

And now, through the mystery of the Living Word, I wonder how it might reorient our hearts to remember that the One who spoke then still speaks today.

“If you’re looking for me… let it go.”

If Jesus made Himself known to the very people who mocked, maligned, and murdered Him, don’t you think He’ll make Himself known to you?

Jesus moves toward. Toward the hurting. Toward the searching. Toward you.

Letting go might feel like a loss. But Jesus tells us something mysterious and wild: Loss leads to life.

He tells us this in Matthew 16:25: “Whoever wants to save their life will lose it, but whoever loses their life for me will find it.”

Resurrection begins in the quiet of surrender. The empty tomb, the very center of hope, was once a place of letting go.

If you’re looking for Jesus, you’ll find Him. You might just have to let a few things go.

Imagine Jesus whispering to you: “Dear one, are you looking for Me? You just need to let ____ go. I’m here. I always have been.”

What are your arms full of today? What might God be inviting you to release? What might it look like to let go? 

If this stirred something in you, you might enjoy Year of Breath, Kayla’s free weekly newsletter of breath prayers, reflections, and soul care for the journey.

 

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

Prayer in the Era of Self-Help

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“I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.”
John 16:33 NIV

When things go wrong, my first instinct isn’t always a posture of prayer. Instead, I often adopt a posture of self-help. I act as if my theology is something along the lines of, “I’ve got this,” instead of, “God’s got this.”

You might not say it out loud, but deep within you, you might be thinking, “God is great and all, but if I want something done, I’ll have to do it myself.” And let’s face it, so many of us have poured out our hearts to God, only to feel like our prayers were just an echo in the darkness.

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

One morning, after a particularly long night, I was studying a verse in John. “In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world” (John 16:33 NIV). I kept looking at the tiny, three-word exclamation in the middle of that verse: “But take heart!”

Jesus didn’t say, “Take matters into your own hands.”
He didn’t say, “Take control.”
He said, “Take heart.”

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

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

Don’t give up now. You are never as powerful as that moment when you fall to your knees in prayer.

By Jennifer Dukes Lee from the (in)courage devotional journal, 100 Days of Strength in Any Struggle.

The Glory of Cheering Each Other Onward

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Last spring, my daughter decided to try track and field. In our city, there’s a large community program where the kids participate in all kinds of events, competing alongside others in their age group in a not-too-competitive way. They get ribbons for each event, up to 6th place. No kid is left behind, and they all learn so much. It’s pretty great.

So my girl signs up, and we all go to her first track meet. She’s doing the baseball throw. She’s doing hurdles! And then, they call her name to run the 800-meter. If you, like me, don’t speak sports, the 800 is twice around a standard-size track. TWICE. Running! Maybe it’s the non-athlete in me, but that is a long run… and she was, at the time, a little 8-year-old second grader.

She stepped onto the track all smiles and took off. For a while, she held her own. And then, as she started her second lap, in the way that only a mom could see from across a set of bleachers, a football field, and a really long track, I saw her start to fade. First, her smile turned into more of a grimace. She tried to keep running, but then, clutching her side, she started to walk. As every other runner finished ahead of her, leaving her alone on that last lap, she began to cry… and so did I.

I felt so helpless watching her struggle. I couldn’t do a single thing to help her besides cheer my loudest, which was hard to do with tears on my cheeks and a lump in my throat. I turned to my husband and asked, “How are we supposed to watch this? I can’t bear it!”

And then.

I saw her coaches, who had been cheering her on from the middle of the track, beeline towards where she was limping along. Coming up beside her, they kept cheering, shouting her name, and telling her they believed in her! She could do it! She was gonna make it!

I saw her fellow second-grade teammates follow the coaches, pumping their fists and hollering, “You got this, girl! You can do it, I believe in you!” and running right alongside her. They layered themselves inside the track, and then more kids from other teams joined them, yelling encouragement and waving and making sure she kept going.

I saw my girl keep pushing along that track. I saw her spirit buoyed and her heart bolstered. I saw her start to laugh through her tears. I saw her press on.

And then she crossed that finish line with such joy and pride. Her teammates swooped around her, jumping up and down, and her coaches clapped, and her mom just kept crying in the stands, because there were so many lessons happening in real-time and it was just too much:

  • We are never alone.
  • We are never truly left behind to endure by ourselves.
  • There will always be someone one step ahead of us; even if we want to be where they already are, we need to run our own race as they pave the way.
  • Encouragement is indeed a superpower.
  • We can feel big feelings and let them propel us to action.
  • We are capable of more than we know.
  • Girlfriends really are just the best!

I mean. Take your pick of the lessons that were on display during that moment, and most of them go back to the glory of cheering someone across the finish line.

Throughout our lives — and throughout the Bible — we see story after story of the power of simply showing up for someone. Friendship, support, and encouragement can truly change everything.

Elizabeth cheered on her young, pregnant cousin Mary, and together they carried babies who would change history. Ruth clung to Naomi when they had no one else, making the road ahead less frightening and opening the door to a new future. Jesus chose misfits and outcasts for His inner circle, and changed their lives in countless ways with just an invitation to follow Him.

We see verse after verse about friendship, encouragement, and how to love one another well:

“Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.”
John 15:13 NIV

“Keep on loving each other as brothers and sisters. Don’t forget to show hospitality to strangers, for some who have done this have entertained angels without realizing it!”
Hebrews 13:1-2 NLT

“Friends love through all kinds of weather...”
Proverbs 17:17 MSG

Look. I know we all have our moments. We all have our opinions. And right now, there’s a solid sense of us versus them in the world. But we are created to help. To run beside someone having a hard time. To cheer from wherever we stand. To encourage others when they feel most depleted, offering our strength for the taking.

There are so many ways to be there for one another.

Who can you run alongside and cheer on to the finish line? What goal do you need to keep chasing? Is there something you’re enduring through gritted teeth? How can you empower someone coming up behind you in age or stage?

PS: My daughter decided to do track again this year — and has not yet run the 800 again. Also, in case you were wondering, you bet we went out for ice cream to celebrate after that track meet.

 

Listen to Anna’s devotion below or wherever you stream podcasts. Just search “(in)courage”!

Rest, Recharge, and Renew Your Mind

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Need a recharge in your life? So did our (in)courage writers. While our writing team was together earlier this week, each writer received a copy of this new Devotional Crossword Book: Renew Your Mind. We’d love to share an excerpt with you today! May your heart be recharged and renewed.

We’ve all experienced the ill-timed red, flashing “2% Battery” notification on our phones, reminding us to charge our device soon or else it will no longer work properly.

Feeling drained of energy can have the same effect on our souls. Our bodies and minds were not meant to operate on high levels of stress without renewal. They are trying to “notify” us when we get sick, when we are irritable with friends and loved ones, and when our thoughts are spinning wildly — especially at 3:30 a.m.! We need to recharge regularly, or we simply won’t be effective in the life God has for us.

Not only do we usually need more sleep, but we need REST. Psalm 23:2 (NLT) says the Lord “lets me rest in green meadows.” I love the idea that God LETS us rest! Often, we think we need permission, don’t we?

Even Jesus broke away in nature to recharge, rest, and talk to His Father. If Jesus needed time to renew His focus and His body, then certainly we can and should. Rest is not only good; it was God’s idea.

What recharges you? Perhaps a walk outside, breathing fresh air, brings renewed focus. Sometimes adjusting your schedule from too many commitments can bring about more peace and less “frazzle.” Maybe a cup of chamomile tea and a crossword puzzle help you unwind after a stressful day. Listen to your body when it lets you know its battery is getting low.

Be kind to yourself because God cares about you.

In the Devotional Crossword Puzzle Book: Renew Your Mind, the process of solving crossword puzzles becomes an opportunity for meditating on Scripture and important biblical concepts. Each entry is focused on renewing the mind, with themes such as Replace, Remember, Refresh, Restore, Recharge, and more.

With 36 insightful devotions and thought-provoking crossword puzzles, the Devotional Crossword Puzzle Book: Renew Your Mind will help you reconnect with the Source of true peace and joy. Solving each puzzle gives you moments to reflect on God’s Word, letting eternal truths sink deep into your soul.

Get comfy, grab a pencil, and get ready for your heart to be inspired, your spirit to be refilled, and your mind to be renewed! 

We LOVE this devotional puzzle book, and we think you will too… so we’re giving away FIVE copies*! To enter, just leave a comment below.

*Giveaway open to US addresses only, and closes on 5/2/2025 at 11:59 pm Central.

When Your Identity Has Been Hacked

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I picked up my daughter-in-love’s phone call. “I think you need to check your blog. Your website has been hacked.”

I raced to my laptop and pulled up my blog, Balancing Beauty and Bedlam.

“No, NO, NO!!!!” I screamed. My daughter scrambled down the stairs. “What’s wrong, Mom?”

Plastered across my blog pages were unknown pictures accompanied by a foreign language. Remnants of my original site were still there, but my entire livelihood had been taken over by an identity thief. A decade’s worth of stories stolen. I attempted to log in, but my password had been changed and the liars renamed it as their own.

Right out from under me, a master manipulator bulldozed his way into my life and uprooted decades of memories and milestones. In full-on panic mode, my body responded in a visceral way.

Why would someone do this to me? Who can I call to help right this wrong? I felt violated, angry, helpless, and foolish. I didn’t know where to turn. It took months to unravel that violation and devastated the income my family relied on.

Identity thieves are crafty, cunning, and quick. They examine our weaknesses and know exactly how to exploit them. While I’ve installed safeguards that alert me to fraud, the attacks have continued through the years — but I’m prepared now to fight back.

Many of us can relate to that panicked moment when something precious has been stolen. It may not be a blog hack, but perhaps a wallet or social security number. Maybe your Facebook or email account was hijacked, and you found yourself held hostage by deception.

When that occurs, we spend hours, even weeks, alerting people to the fraud. We show multiple forms of proof of who we really are. We track down expenses, close accounts, and shout from the rooftop that’s not our true identity.

When our identity is finally restored, money returned, systems secured, and passwords reestablished, we regain access to the freedoms and security we had lost. Then our anxiety lifts and relief floods in.

I still remember when my first hack occurred, how I spent all my energy fighting back against this invisible enemy until my identity had been secured. Yet I can’t remember the last time I fought that hard against the most cunning of all identity thieves. Why don’t we put that same effort into exposing Satan’s strategies?

There are two realms. The seen and the unseen. The physical and the spiritual. Good vs. evil.

Jesus reminds us, “The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full” (John 10:10 NIV).

Yet we allow Satan to boss us around. He bullies his way into our hearts and minds, planting seeds of doubt, deception, shame, and inadequacy because his whole desire is to steal our true identity and discount our esteemed value as beloved daughters, image bearers of the Most High God.

Last week, our young adult daughter fell victim to an elaborate identity scam.

“You have no idea how believable it was, Mom. They knew years of my personal information. They knew all of my history. I was exhausted and my guard was down.”

Torn between rage at the thief and frustration that we so easily fall prey to lies, I realized the difference between my blog hack years ago and our daughter’s identity theft: She pleaded for help to fight this battle.

In full momma bear mode, I knew how these counterfeiters worked. I understood the opponent’s ultimate goal and stepped into battle on her behalf. We laid down truth and put up guard rails together.

Friends, we must learn to fight back against the devil’s schemes with the same dogged determination. Satan knows our struggles and focuses on our past sin patterns. He wants us to live in our flesh and replay past hurt.

As we wrestle with doubt, the enemy will mimic our voice. He’ll say things to us in a way that sounds like us. A young mom shared an example of this with me: “My husband deserves someone more whole and healed. I can’t conquer [past struggles]. I’m never going to be the mom our son deserves.”

I stopped her, identified the first-person lies Satan taunted her with, and told her that this was not God’s truth for her life. I said out loud as a reminder to both of us that our new birth in Christ is what determines our identity. When we name Jesus as Lord, the gift of the gospel is that God restores our identity as His children. How dare we give the enemy an inch when we have the indwelling, life-giving, enemy-crushing, abundant freedom of new life.

Satan has no hold on us — but when it comes to dealing with all identity thieves, complacency is not an option.

Peter talks about having “minds ready for action ” (1 Peter 1:13 CSB). In the original Greek, the verb is continuous and active, meaning this isn’t a one-time effort. It’s a daily commitment to stay alert and to keep preparing our minds for the challenges and battles we’ll face along the way.

Are we rooted in the truth of Scripture? Do we have others to come alongside us? Are we stretching our minds by becoming critical thinkers? All those are necessary to be battle-ready.

Our daughter now pays $10 a month to a company that alerts her to fraud. A small price for freedom.

Don’t we all desire to live in the true freedom that Christ offers? Then together, let’s agree to fight back against Satan’s identity theft.

 

Listen to Jen’s devotion here or wherever you stream podcasts.

By the Creator Who Doesn’t Make Mistakes

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Sister, lean in close and hear this today:

You are not invisible. You are not forgotten. You are not too much.

You are fully seen, completely known, and deeply loved by the God who made you.

That’s not a warm and fuzzy sentiment; it’s a sacred truth woven into the fabric of Scripture. Psalm 139 invites us to behold a breathtaking picture of how intimately God knows us — not just the curated version we let others see, but the real us. The overwhelmed us. The grieving, tired, insecure, struggling, striving, doubting us. All of it.

“O Lord, you have examined my heart and know everything about me.
You know when I sit down or stand up. You know my thoughts even when I’m far away.”
Psalm 139:1–2 NLT

He knows our thoughts before we think them. He sees our decisions before we make them. He hems us in, behind and before, and lays His hand upon us. This is not a God who stands at a distance. This is a Father who stays close.

Sometimes we feel lost in our own lives. Like everyone else got the map, the purpose, the clarity — and we’re fumbling in the dark. But Psalm 139 reminds us: God’s light is never dim. Even when the path feels hidden, even when sorrow clouds our vision or anxiety presses in, we are never out of His sight. And never without His care.

“I can never escape from your Spirit!
I can never get away from your presence!
If I go up to heaven, you are there;
if I go down to the grave, you are there.”
Psalm 139:7–8 NLT

Friend, you are not alone in your struggle. Whatever season you’re walking through — whether it’s full of joy or full of tears — God is right there. Nearer than your breath. His presence is your anchor. His promises are your firm place to stand.

And it gets even more personal:

“You made all the delicate, inner parts of my body
and knit me together in my mother’s womb.”
Psalm 139:13 NLT

The same God who hung the stars took the time to knit you together. You weren’t mass-produced or haphazardly formed. You were crafted — intentionally, wonderfully, purposefully. Yes, even with the parts of yourself you wish you could change. Even with the weaknesses that wear you out. Even with the story you didn’t ask for. You were made with care and love by the Creator who doesn’t make mistakes.

So take heart today. You are God’s daughter. Not by accident, but by design. Your identity isn’t found in your performance or popularity or how put together you feel. Your identity is rooted in the One who made you, sees you, and will never stop pursuing you with goodness and mercy.

Let’s stop striving to be someone else and start living in the freedom of who we already are in Christ: known, chosen, seen, and held.

You don’t walk alone.
You never have.
You never will.

When Nowhere Feels Like Home

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When someone asks me where I’m from, I hesitate.

I’ve never quite figured out how to navigate the small-talk staple without it becoming a trick question. My brain kicks into overdrive as I mentally scroll through the list of possible answers. By birth, I’m from Georgia. By parental lineage, I’m from Texas. By personal preference, I’m from Alaska. To give any one of those answers wouldn’t be entirely wrong, but neither do any of them feel entirely right. Instead of naming a hometown, I’ve made a habit of plastering on a wry smile and announcing, “I’m from nowhere.”

Inevitably, my answer catches people off guard. Their eyebrows knit together and their foreheads wrinkle in confusion as they try to make sense of my response. For a split second, I wonder if I should have simply picked an easy answer. To do so, though, would be disingenuous.

Growing up as the oldest child in a military family, I spent the first eighteen years of my life bouncing around the United States. My mother, who spent most of her own childhood in a single house, minutes away from her grandparents, often lamented the constant moves my siblings and I endured. As a child, I didn’t fully understand the apologies she made. And, though I knew my life was different from the lives of most of my friends, uprooting every couple of years was the only way of life I’d ever known.

It wasn’t until I started college that I began realizing what I might have missed out on. During freshman orientation, when my new friends talked about the homes they left behind — towns they’d lived in most of their lives — I couldn’t relate. The house I’d left was one I’d lived in for a measly two years. I didn’t leave best friends; I left surface-level acquaintances. I didn’t leave a place that formed me, or neighbors that watched me grow up, or a community whose history I’d watched unfold. At best, my roots were shallow. I never learned what it means to belong.

My husband and I have lived in our current town for eleven years now — more than triple the length of time I’ve lived anywhere else. Even still, I get The Itch: an unshakeable sense that it’s time to move, to leave, to start over somewhere new. It’s what keeps me from hanging pictures on our walls or investing time and energy into decorating our home well. While part of me longs to settle in, to believe that I have created stability for myself, the truth is that I feel just as unmoored now as I did when I was a teenager.

Long before I began wrestling with what it means to have a home, Moses wrote about the same longing. In Psalm 90, Moses declares, “Lord, you have been our dwelling place in all generations” (Psalm 90:1 ESV). Moses knew what it was to live without permanence. He spent forty years in Egypt after being taken from his people as a child, then forty years as a shepherd in exile, followed by forty years wandering through the wilderness with the Israelites. Moses was always moving, never settling, never fully belonging where his feet were. And, yet, despite a lifetime of displacement, he named God as his dwelling place.

The Hebrew word Moses uses for “dwelling place” is מָע֣וֹן (maon), a word which can describe both physical and metaphorical places. For the Israelite people, a dwelling place was more than just a place of shelter and safety — it was also representative of an identity and community. Home wasn’t just where they lived; it was who they were and how they were known. In calling God his dwelling place, Moses invites all of us — whether we’re wanderers or not — to view home through a different lens. Our home is not a place, but a Person.

I think I’ll always tell people who ask I’m from nowhere, and I don’t anticipate that the tension between wanting to settle and wanting to leave will ever subside completely. But, if God is my maon, my dwelling place, then I’m not unmoored. I am not without a place of belonging. I am not without a home.

If you know God, no matter where you are, you’re home too.

When the Volume Turns Down: Meeting God in the Quiet

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I work at a library.

My title is early learning associate (aka, “the story time lady”), but while I do spend a lot of time with kids and kids’ books, part of my day is also spent on general library duties like shelving books, answering customers’ questions, offering recommendations for what someone should read next, or explaining how to use our public printers. Every morning before we open our doors, my co-workers and I buzz through the shelves pulling books that have been requested by customers at other branches. And every morning as I do this, I pop in an earbud and listen to a podcast episode or audiobook.

One morning earlier this month, I was dismayed to realize my earbuds had somehow disconnected from my phone. As they refused to play the mystery I was in the middle of, I groaned. “Don’t make me listen to my thoughts!” I said out loud. A co-worker passing by gave me a knowing smile as she tapped her own earbud to start up the tunes she works to each morning.

I’d made a joke about avoiding my own thoughts, but it wasn’t all that funny.

As I sat down to write this article a few days ago, I realized that my habit of hiding from emotional pain — which inevitably shows up uninvited should my mind have a single quiet moment — has reached a tipping point. It’s possible, I had to admit, that I’ve evaded my own emotions so thoroughly that I could no longer access them. My feelings and impressions, my questions and observations had been so deeply buried that thoughtful insight was proving difficult at best and, I feared, could be impossible at worst.

For a writer, this is disastrous. If I can’t peer inside my heart and mind to find a nugget of truth to share, I’ll never meet a deadline again. But this isn’t just an issue for writers. My apologies for being the bearer of bad news here, but I think this particular affliction is an issue for any of us who want to connect with God.

If we spend every waking moment filling our ears and hearts and minds – even with good things! – we aren’t leaving room for God to move within us. Don’t get me wrong. God can absolutely speak to us through music or books or other people’s words – and He does. But when it comes to that still small voice that comforts or moves us, well, we can hear it a lot easier when we take a moment to turn down the volume.

We see this with Elijah, the Old Testament prophet who ended up running for his life — right after faithfully serving the Lord through a season of bold ministry. Overwhelmed by fear, danger, and injustice, Elijah spiraled into deep despair. He even begged God to let him die. But instead of rebuke, God sent an angel who offered something surprisingly simple: a snack and a nap. After that, Elijah journeyed forty days and nights to a mountain, where God invited him to stand at the entrance of a cave — because that’s where he would encounter the presence of the Lord.

As Elijah stood in that cave, a hurricane passed by – but he didn’t hear God’s voice. Then an earthquake shook the ground – but he didn’t hear God’s voice. Next, a fire blazed – and still, Elijah did not hear God’s voice. It was only when the winds and flames faded away, when the ground settled, and when the volume was turned down that Elijah heard God.

Then He said, “Go out, and stand on the mountain before the Lord.” And behold, the Lord passed by, and a great and strong wind tore into the mountains and broke the rocks in pieces before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind; and after the wind an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake; and after the earthquake a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire; and after the fire a still small voice.
1 Kings 19:11-12 NKJV

The Lord spoke in a still, small voice. Other translations call it a quiet voice or a gentle whisper. Regardless of the exact phrase, it was something that couldn’t have been heard over my favorite Spotify playlist, an audiobook or podcast playing in my earbuds, or the natural–and not-so-natural–disasters of the world.

The day that the Lord spoke directly to Elijah on that mountain, it happened when everything got quiet.

And Elijah isn’t the only one we see in the Bible slowing down and getting quiet in order to connect with the Lord and be refreshed. Jesus Himself spent time alone in the desert before beginning His ministry. During His time traveling and teaching, Jesus frequently escaped the noise and chaos to pray and hear from His Father.

Before selecting the twelve apostles, Jesus spent the night in prayer. (Luke 6:12-13)

When He heard the news of John the Baptist’s beheading, Jesus went away to grieve alone. (Matthew 4:10-13)

After teaching and feeding thousands of people, Jesus sought solitude to refresh His soul. (Mark 6:41-46)

If Jesus was intentional to seek out quiet, shouldn’t we?

This world is noisy. Our minds and lives are noisy. It can be tempting to let that noise insulate us from the hard things hiding in the corners of our hearts. Let’s resist the temptation and lean into all God has for us. There is great joy and refreshment waiting in the quiet.

How can you carve out a moment of quiet to be still and listen for God today?

 

Listen to Mary’s devotion here or on your favorite podcast app.

Before You’re Anything Else, You’re This

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When was the last time you truly considered your most central identity — as a daughter of God?

Candidly, for me, it had been a while. I too often define myself by what I do — hustling, producing, meeting expectations — rather than by who I am in Christ.

But a few weeks ago, I had an awakening. I was invited to help lead a group of about 100 Christian women writers, communicators, and ministry leaders at a soul-care retreat in Colorado. My role was to pour into these women. These are women who spend so much of their lives pouring into others.

The conference was aptly named Daughters First, a reminder that they weren’t writers first, pastors first, podcasters first, ministry leaders first, or (thanks be to God) social media platforms first. They were, and would always be, daughters first — daughters of the King.

And in a way that only God could orchestrate, this retreat wasn’t held in a generic hotel conference room, but in a legit castle. It was a historic English Tudor-style castle, called Glen Eyrie, nestled in the foothills of Colorado Springs.

So there we were, a bunch of daughters in a castle with a King.

For three solid days, I poured my heart into these women. It was my literal job, but it was also my joy. I know how lonely and exhausting ministry work can be, so I wanted to remind them of this truth: God affirms them, not because of their work, but because of their being. He loves them, comforts them, protects them, and shepherds them.

Near the end of the retreat, a woman asked me a simple question: “What did God speak to you at this retreat?”

In that moment, I didn’t have an answer.

I had been so focused on offering hope and healing to others that I hadn’t paused long enough to receive it myself.

It occurred to me much later that what God was speaking through me… He was also speaking to me.

I, too, was a Daughter First.

Not an author first.
Not an (in)courage writer first.
Not a speaker or ministry leader first.
Not even a mom or wife first.

I am a Daughter First.

I don’t regret a single moment of the work I did in that place; after all, that’s why I had been invited. But it took me a few days to realize that God had me there for a reason, too.

When I got home, I reread the words from my own talk about what it means to be a daughter. And I felt like God was gently saying, 

Those words were for you, too, Jennifer. You’re my daughter, and I’m glad you came to the castle to spend time with Me.

His words settled in my heart like healing balm, especially in the midst of a busy season. They reminded me of the moment in Scripture when Jesus turned to the woman who reached for the hem of His garment, for healing. It’s the only time in all of Scripture that Jesus calls someone Daughter.

He looked at her and said, “Daughter, your faith has healed you” (Mark 5:34 NIV).

And that’s His message for you today, too.

Like me, you are a minister of God’s Good News. You may not do it from a podium or the pages of a book, but you are ministering to neighbors, grocery store clerks, family members, Uber drivers, and even the growliest TSA agents. Every day, you have opportunities to share God’s love.

Keep doing that. It matters.

And also:

Take a moment today to let God minister to you.

The words of grace and kindness you so freely offer to others? Let your King speak them over you.

Because before anything else, you are a daughter first.

God Will Meet You in Your Messy Spaces

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Have you ever felt like everyone else was given the handbook to life, and somehow you missed that day of class?

We are bombarded with messages that acquiring stuff is the goal. Every TV ad, Instagram influencer, and sponsored TikTok video shows the same thing: This one thing will change your life. How many times in a movie do we see someone shopping, buying the right outfit, and suddenly all their problems are solved? (They get the job, the guy, and the admiration of everyone around them.) But we rarely see the beauty of not buying the _______ (fill in the blank).

We ride a rollercoaster of feeling less than, noticing a need, acquiring more, then suddenly feeling like we have too much stuff — most of which we barely use. We feel suffocated by our surroundings, purge and donate things, only to find ourselves starting the same process over again a couple of months later.

If this is you, friend, you are not alone.

Yes, some people are more naturally orderly than others. Often, we marry them or give birth to them — and drive each other lovingly crazy — but I digress. If you feel like everyone “gets it” except you, let me share a few truths:

  1. You are not broken.
    Cluttery women are some of the kindest, most generous, and most creative souls I’ve ever met. If you needed a waffle iron, they’d be the first to offer it (if they can find it).
  2. You are not lazy.
    Just because you struggle with clutter doesn’t mean you don’t work hard. Most of the time, we can replace the label lazy with more accurate words like overwhelmed, overcommitted, or overstressed. When we use specific, nonjudgmental language, we can start addressing the real issues.
  3. You are not alone.
    I have a Facebook group of over ten thousand women all dealing with the same problems. They can be honest with each other because, for the most part, they don’t know each other in real life. The shame of clutter can keep us isolated and hopeless. But when we see others struggle and also begin to change, we realize we can do it too. Those are the first small steps to hope.

As the daughter of a hoarder, I never learned the skills I needed to care for my home, my space, or even myself in certain ways. But hope is the deep belief that with God’s help, we can change.

James 1:5 (NIV) says, “If any of you lacks wisdom, you should ask God, who gives generously to all without finding fault, and it will be given to you.”

I love the deeper meaning of the word “wisdom” (Greek: sophia) that James uses. While sophia can mean God-given insight, it also encompasses general knowledge or skill. Yes, we always want God’s deeper insight, but we can also ask to be guided to the knowledge and skills we need.

Ask God to surround you with people, books, and practical instructions to make lasting changes in your life when it comes to dealing with clutter (or whatever you’re struggling with today). Also, ask Him to help you understand your own heart and worries — those insecurities that keep things in your home that ultimately steal your peace.

If you are currently struggling with clutter, can I gently invite you to consider why you keep it?

  • Is it fear?
    If you look at something you haven’t used in five years but don’t want to let it go because “I might need it someday,” that might be fear talking. Fear says, What if I can’t replace it? or What if I regret letting it go?
  • Is it guilt?
    If you’re hanging on to a turtle statue you don’t really like because “But ______ gave it to me,” you may need to address guilt. One of my biggest decluttering challenges was learning to separate things from the people who gave them to me. I don’t need seventy knickknacks to show I love my aunt. I keep what’s precious and let go of what someone else would value more.
  • Is it shame?
    If your first thought when deciding whether to donate a pair of shoes you’ve only worn once is “But I spent so much money on these,” shame could be at play. Shame over spending habits, an inner critic that calls you wasteful, or even a parent’s voice. Keeping those shoes in your closet won’t bring back the money you spent. Let those shoes become someone else’s favorite pair.

Friend, know this: God is ready to meet you in the middle of your clutter. He longs to replace your overwhelm with His wisdom and grace. As you step forward — one drawer, one stack, one closet at a time — remember that you are not alone, and you are not behind.

God’s mercies are new every morning, and that includes mercy for your messy spaces and overwhelmed heart.

Today, ask Him for wisdom — and trust that He will give it to you generously. Then take one small action step. Toss the expired coupons, donate the shoes you never wear, or let go of that turtle statue. Watch how God shows up in the everyday details, guiding you from chaos to peace — one faithful step at a time.

Need a community to help you kickstart your decluttering? Join Kathi and her team over at Clutter Free Academy. Just answer a couple of questions to get in the Facebook group, and you will find not only wisdom, but daily, gentle encouragement.