God’s Love Is the Ocean and All You Need to Do Is Float

God’s Love Is the Ocean and All You Need to Do Is Float

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I learned to swim in Muskoka Lake, nestled in the cottage country of Ontario, Canada. My cousin set up a fishing line with foam duckies attached and looped it across two docks, the lake water in the middle. It was the boundary I couldn’t pass until he deemed me ready. 

One of the first things my cousin ever taught me was how to float. He forced me to lean my entire body back, head tipped into the water, eyes gazing upwards. I had to trust he wouldn’t let me drown. I had to trust the water would hold me. 

It’s one thing to learn to float as a child, when your body weight is light and easy. It’s another thing as an adult. 

Floating is apparently supposed to come naturally, but it doesn’t feel that way for me. Hand me a raft, a pool float, or a tube and I’ll happily relax in a body of water all day. But to lean my body back in the water and trust I’ll stay on the surface? I don’t like it. I don’t like how my eyes have to remain on the sky, not on my surroundings. I don’t like how my mind starts imagining how I might sink. When I stop trusting that I can remain buoyant, I start thrashing in the water. 

The key to floating is surrender. And the key to surrender is to relax. 

I have surrendered a hundred different aspects of my life to Jesus. Or at least, I think I have. My “surrender” has often felt more like gritting my teeth and holding on tight with white knuckles, trying to hand it over to God, while I remain tense and grumpy. But what if true surrender has nothing to do with white knuckles and gritted teeth?

What if surrender looks a lot more like relaxing into an ocean of love? Like leaning your body back and simply floating…

The idea behind the word surrender implies putting your whole weight on someone or something. It requires letting go. It requires trust. We cannot let go of something without having someone we trust to hand it to.

In John 4, Jesus describes the Holy Spirit as Living Water, as a stream or a spring welling up within us. And then we see the same image in Revelation 22, a river of life flowing from the throne of God. 

God’s love is like a river, ever flowing; or like an ocean, stretching as far as the eye can see. You are in the water. You are surrounded by the love of God. His love is on every side of you. His Spirit dwells within you. You don’t have to earn it or prove it or pursue it.

When Peter walked on water in Matthew 14, he was practicing this concept of surrender. He saw Jesus in front of him and he trusted Him. But as soon as Peter took his eyes off Jesus, as soon as he put in his own effort to remain afloat, he began to sink.

Psychologist David Benner says, “Our efforts to stay afloat — that is, our efforts to earn God’s love — are always counterproductive. We must simply open our spiritual eyes and see that we are in the river of God’s love and that our staying afloat and moving along are God’s responsibility. All we have to do is surrender.” 

It turns out that you don’t have to do anything to float. You trust that the water will hold you. You lean back… and simply relax. 

You and I are in the ocean of God’s love. There is nothing that can separate you from Him or His love for you. You are loved by God, and that is — and always will be — the truest thing about you. Whether you see it or not, His love is as close to you as the air you breathe and the skin on your body. His love is a river, and you are in the water.

I’m learning what surrender looks like. I’m learning how to trust. I’m learning that I don’t have to swim or tread water or do laps. The ocean of God’s love surrounds me. 

Feel the warmth on your face and the water on your skin.

Tip your head, lean back… and float.

 

Listen to Aliza’s devotion below or wherever you stream podcasts.

 

The Old Made New

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If you ask my husband, he would tell you that perhaps my worst quality is the inability to throw things away. I am not a hoarder but I have a tendency not to throw out my old clothes even after I get new ones. I had a pair of pajamas that I bought when I was in college for my undergraduate degree. I continued to wear them all through grad school and brought them with me to Oklahoma when I got married. I wore them as I rocked my newborn little girl to sleep, even though by now they had holes and the fabric was getting thin. They weren’t particularly special at all, but they were comfortable.

My husband loves buying me pajama sets. Every Mother’s Day and Christmas I am gifted pajamas, even on random shopping days he points out pajamas for me to purchase. I have all of these new pajamas tucked away in my closet, most only worn once or twice because I still reach for my old pair from my college days.

One day my husband sat me down for an intervention. His tone was firm but one of love. “ I was hoping you would get the hint… these pajamas are literally falling apart. You bought them over 10 years ago when you were a broke college student. Now you are an adult. You can buy real pajamas and wear them.” We laughed and agreed that it was time to get rid of my old pajama pants.

I think often this is how we live as Christians. We invite Jesus into our lives and keep Him in the corner of our hearts, but we still live like we used to because it’s hard for us to fully throw that life out. The old life may have been toxic and broken but it is familiar and therefore comfortable.

But Jesus has paid the price and offers us a brand new life. A renewal of our heart and soul where everything changes.

Christianity is not just an addition of Christ to your life where we think differently about some things, add church attendance to your week, and find a way to not sin as much or be a nicer person.

No, it is a full-on transformation. Everything changes.

“I’ll give you a new heart, put a new spirit in you. I’ll remove the stone heart from your body and replace it with a heart that’s God-willed, not self-willed. I’ll put my Spirit in you and make it possible for you to do what I tell you and live by my commands.”
Ezekiel 36:26-27 MSG

Like any good transformation, there has to be a removal and replacement that takes place. A true renovation process begins with gutting a house of the outdated and broken, not simply painting everything white to cover it up. We can’t simply change our external behavior to look more like Jesus; we have to let Him renew our hearts from corruption and self-centeredness. This new heart that Jesus offers is what allows us to be sensitive to God’s voice, convicted of sin, and desire to live a life pleasing to God.

“You were taught, with regard to your former way of life, to put off your old self, which is being corrupted by its deceitful desires; to be made new in the attitude of your minds; and to put on the new self, created to be like God in true righteousness and holiness.”
Ephesians 4:22-24 NIV

This is a daily choice, not a one-time decision. As my husband with a firm and loving tone reminded me, I pray that you would hear the voice of Christ, reminding you of who you are today and that He would lead you to take the steps of getting rid of the unhealthy and ill-fitting things of your past so you can put on Christ.

 

Listen to Simi’s devotion below or on the (in)courage podcast wherever you like to stream.

Using the Tent Pegs God Has Given Us

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When I was growing up, our family vacations were often camping at national and state parks. There’s something glorious and gritty about setting up a tent and sleeping beneath a star-studded sky. The intoxicating perfume of the forest calms my spirit like a weighted blanket and helps me rest.

A few weeks ago, my oldest and I went camping, just the two of us. I anticipated this special trip with my young adult daughter, who will be heading off to college this fall. We planned to hike a waterfall in the national park, read books in hammocks, cook dinner and roast s’mores over the fire, and enjoy some quality time relaxing together.

However, when we arrived at our campsite, we were met with an unexpected challenge. 

We pulled our bin of camping gear out of our pickup truck. My girl doesn’t waste time. She got right to work laying out the tent and setting up the poles. All of a sudden she looked at me with wild eyes.

“Mom, we are missing a pole!”

“There’s no way!” I replied quizzically.

This was a new tent, and we had just used it the weekend before. But sure enough, I walked over and saw three corners of the tent standing tall while the fourth corner flopped down on the ground. We searched the bags and the car, but there was no pole.

Then we both went into problem-solving mode. My girl suggested we tie the tent to a tree or sleep in our trusty truck. 

I started to imagine our tent collapsing on us midway through the night. Then I started calculating how long it might take us to drive home to retrieve the pole. Of course, we weren’t even sure the pole was at home and didn’t have cell service to call my husband. 

Then I got a lightbulb idea. What if we used one of the skinnier poles designed to hold up the rain fly at the entrance and jerry-rigged it to work as one of the large poles? My daughter was skeptical, but I asked her to let me try it.

I folded the skinnier pole in half at the joint and doubled it up to strengthen it. Much to our delight, the pole fit in with the other poles and was able to bear the weight of the fourth corner of our tent.

As I watched my daughter get to work pounding the pegs into the loops of the tent to secure it to the ground, I started thinking about the story of Deborah and Jael in the book of Judges. 

The time of the judges was like a spin cycle in your washing machine with dirty laundry whirling round and round on repeat. God’s people, and particularly the leaders, continued to turn away from Him. When they rebelled, He allowed them to be taken by the enemy. They cried out in repentance. In response, He often sent a surprising and merciful rescue. And then somehow they found themselves right back in the cycle again, turning toward the idols that lured them away from God in the first place. 

During this time, there was a standout judge named Deborah who was a prophetess and revered leader. Deborah, whose name comes from the word “bee” in Hebrew, was like a queen bee who served God faithfully when many of the male leaders did not step up.

One day God calls on Deborah to challenge and support the Israelite leader Barak in a battle against Sisera, the commander of Jabin’s army. Jabin is the wicked king of Canaan. Both he and his sidekick Sisera seem to have Barak shaking in his boots. 

Barak said to Deborah, “If you go with me, I will go; but if you don’t go with me, I won’t go.” 

“Certainly I will go with you,” said Deborah. “But because of the course you are taking, the honor will not be yours, for the LORD will deliver Sisera into the hands of a woman.”
Judges 4:8-9 NIV

Deborah and Barak set out for battle at Mount Tabor with ten thousand men. Their army overtakes all of Sisera’s army and chariots. Then Sisera panics and flees the scene on foot.

He goes to hide in the tent of a woman named Jael, whose family were known allies to King Jabin. Jael invites Sisera into her tent to hide, and strategically gives him milk to drink and a place to rest. While he’s sleeping, she courageously drives a tent peg through his temple into the ground, and he dies.

This mama knew her true alliance was to Israel. Just as Deborah prophesied, Sisera “falls into the hands of a woman.” Jael is praised for her valiant act in Deborah’s song as “most blessed of women” (Judges 5:24) — a phrase used in the New Testament to describe Mary, Jesus’s mother. 

The violence in this story always makes me wince, but when I think about Jael’s bravery I’m inspired.

She used her resources and everyday skills to defeat the enemy. 

Both Deborah and Jael were wise, strategic, and courageous women who God used in extraordinary ways to lead and rescue His people. 

Friend, it’s unlikely that God will call you and me to take out a warrior with a tent peg, but He can use our strategic minds, our creative hands, and our discerning hearts for His glory.

Dorina helps people discover God’s glory in unexpected places. Subscribe to Dorina’s Glorygram here for details about her coming Bible study, Redeemer: God’s Lovingkindness in the Book of Ruth.

 

Listen to Dorina’s devotion below or wherever you stream podcasts!

Praise Him Anyway

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I sat on the edge of my dad’s bed. I was eager to tell him a story – just like I’d done since I was a little girl. Dad always loved a good story, a deep conversation, or an interesting discussion about anything at all, really. (There’s a reason we called him Philosophical Phil.) 

As I talked to Dad, I could see his trademark smile beneath his oxygen mask, and the way his smile crinkled his eyes at the edges. 

There’s my Dad, I thought to myself. He’s still in there.

His grip on my hand wasn’t as firm as it once was, but he held my hand all the same – just like he’d done since I was a child on our Sunday morning walks to church. His eyes were open, and I could tell he was trying to fully comprehend what I had to say. 

But when it came time for Dad to respond, his words weren’t stringing together like they once did – and it was clear that they probably never would again, until heaven. That broke my heart into a million pieces, because I realized that I’d likely had my last meaningful conversation with Dad here on earth.

Later that day, I went on a walk, crying with each step. Then, I remembered how Dad had lived his whole life with optimism and gratitude, even on the hardest days. He truly was the kind of man who could manage a legit smile underneath an oxygen mask. 

Don’t get me wrong: Dad knew the power of lament. He was not afraid of tears or grief. But thankfulness was a consistent part of his character, and he wanted his kids to live that way too — even on our hardest days, especially on our hardest days. 

 I confess to you that on hard days, my first reaction isn’t to feel thankful.

On hard days, you’d more likely find me trying to pray my way out of the struggle. 

But the truth of the matter is, hard days can turn into hard seasons, no matter how much we pray. So the question becomes, “Will I praise Him anyway?” 

I want to be the kind of person who, even at my lowest:

– Refuses to allow circumstances to dictate my life or my praise.

– Understands that God’s love is above anything that can happen to me or the people I love.

– Knows that God is worthy of praise, always. 

I’m thankful that the Bible shows us how.

Remember King Jehoshaphat? He had a vast army coming against him. Instead of freaking out, he sought the Lord through prayer and fasting. That’s a pretty wise first move when faced with a trial of such magnitude. 

And then he waited. He listened. And he heard from the Lord.

God told him to appoint singers to go ahead of the army, praising God. Take that in for a minute. God didn’t say to send chariots, warriors, or marksmen. The order: Send SINGERS.

“Jehoshaphat appointed men to sing to the Lord and to praise him for the splendor of his holiness as they went out at the head of the army, saying:

‘Give thanks to the Lord,
    for his love endures forever.’”
2 Chronicles 20:21 NIV

I love how their song of praise didn’t start after the victory, but before it.

When we sense a battle ahead of us, we can do the same. We can pray, fast, seek God’s guidance, and yes, even sing in the face of our enemies. 

What does your enemy look like today? Maybe, it’s a conflict at work, a broken relationship, some disappointing news, or the death of someone you love. Maybe you’re under a full-scale spiritual attack right now. If so, sing. Praise God with all of your might. The devil cannot stand to be in the same room as your praise. 

That day, during my walk, I recommitted myself to praise God, no matter what. That’s the way my dad taught me to live. More importantly, that’s the way our Heavenly Father teaches all of us to live. When we are met with misery, we can outmatch it with a melody.  

My dad traded his earthly residence for a heavenly one a few weeks after that moment at his bedside, leaving a legacy of praise. And for as long as I live, I want to be the kind of daughter who lifts her face to the heavens to say, “No matter what I’m going through, God, I will praise You anyway.”

Check out Jennifer’s journal, Stuff I’d Only Tell God, to put gratitude into practice.

 

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

This Is Jesus

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18 This is how Jesus the Messiah was born. His mother, Mary, was engaged to be married to Joseph. But before the marriage took place, while she was still a virgin, she became pregnant through the power of the Holy Spirit. 19 Joseph, to whom she was engaged, was a righteous man and did not want to disgrace her publicly, so he decided to break the engagement quietly.

20 As he considered this, an angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream. “Joseph, son of David,” the angel said, “do not be afraid to take Mary as your wife. For the child within her was conceived by the Holy Spirit. 21 And she will have a son, and you are to name him Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins.”

22 All of this occurred to fulfill the Lord’s message through his prophet:

23 “Look! The virgin will conceive a child!
    She will give birth to a son,
and they will call him Immanuel,
    which means ‘God is with us.’”

24 When Joseph woke up, he did as the angel of the Lord commanded and took Mary as his wife. 25 But he did not have sexual relations with her until her son was born. And Joseph named him Jesus.
Matthew 1:18-25 NLT

Immanuel. God is with us! What greater peace can we find than knowing God’s presence is with us? Let your mind wander through that unfathomable wonder and miracle.

The God who knows the grains of sand that stretch across every desert and shore. The God who counts the wispy hairs on each baby’s head. The God who formed earth, sky, and sea with the power of His words. The God who breathed life into humanity. That God. The Almighty. Who was and is and is to come. He was sent to earth through the womb of a young woman to be with us.

If you’re looking for peace in your bank account balance or the embrace of a significant other, if you’re relying on political policies, landing your dream job, or your mother-in-law finally accepting you in order to have peace — oh, friend. You will be disappointed and tangled in fear and worry again and again. There’s nothing wrong with wanting a meaningful job, a sound government, and healthy relationships. But we cannot allow those things to rule us and dictate our peace.

Centuries before Jesus was born of a virgin, He was called Sar-Shalom, the Prince of Peace. Sar is the Hebrew word translated as “prince,” and it refers to a ruler, a person in authority, a commander, the head, someone of noble birth. Yes, this is Jesus.

Shalom is the Hebrew word translated as “peace” and means “completeness, soundness, welfare.” Yes, this is Jesus.

 

By Becky Keife from Create in Me a Heart of Peace, an (in)courage Bible Study.

 

When We’re Overwhelmed by the Tide of Grief, God’s Love Will Quiet Our Hearts

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Recently, I cleaned up the aftermath left behind after last year’s king tide. 

A king tide is an extremely high tide caused by events that amplify the gravitational pull between the Earth and the Moon. These rare tides occur when the Earth, Moon, and Sun are aligned, compounding the strength of the forces that shape the tide. 

One overcast day, we observed the slow rise of the ocean creep over the bulkhead and flood the sidewalk, surging — inch by inch — into a fifteen-foot swell. At the point when panic began to ensue, as the level reached the bottom of the front step, the water began its retreat back out to sea. Thankfully, the tide left no structural damage. Only a muddy, mucky mess. 

The mess left behind is the mess I rallied strength to face after months of procrastinating. I had to dig deep to find the mental and physical strength to dredge through the muck, overturn rocks, and wash away layers of algae. 

This hesitation to clean up the mess reflected my own hesitation to face what the tide of life brought in last year.

Like a king tide, a great shift in life’s course set off a wave of grief — a grief that slowly rose and rose, overturning layers of sludge and sadness. Unresolved grief over losing my mom, the heartbreak of changing relationships, and health issues surfaced at the sudden and unexpected loss of a beloved pet. Overwhelmed by this tide of grief, I questioned my resolve. Did I need to just “get over” my ache? Even though I mask the depth of this sadness from others as I move forward in daily life, does God know how my heart lingers in an undercurrent of sorrow? 

As I dug through the dirt, overturning rocks and pulling out plants deadened by the tide, I turned over the muck of my own mourning that had been buried for a very long time. As I gave space to acknowledge sorrow, God’s word rose from somewhere in my memory, reminding me of His promise during painful seasons of the past.

See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?
Isaiah 43:19

Our world can be overturned by a king tide, knocking us over and unexpectedly leaving us unprepared for the flood of emotions that will overwhelm us. Yet, as the tide recedes, we will get glimpses of God’s grace in the new life that emerges. 

I grieve the loss of my mother and many other relationships that have shifted from the gravitational pull of this world. But, after a season of loss, the birth of my first grandson brings new life and joy to my heart. I delight in the wonder of his gaze and the sweet way he pats my cheeks with his tender, little hand. 

In the gaze of my beloved grandson, I sense an unconditional love I have not known before. And, through my grandson’s gaze, God reveals a new dimension of His love — a love that delights in me.  That squeals in my presence. That chatters in my ear with words only He understands. 

And when my sweet grandson rests his head on my shoulder to sleep, I sense with new perspective how God longs for me to surrender and rest my head in His presence with the same kind of abandon. 

God does a new thing when we are able to clear out the muck of grief buried in our hearts. He overturns sadness with a tender love — the kind of love that heals with grace. This love is a love that delights in the return and recognition of a beloved face, over and over and over again. This love is a love that comforts, a love that soothes like a pat on the back and the soft Shhhhh I utter to my grandson as I rock him to sleep. 

This love is a love that anticipates being face-to-face with a loved one, trembling with awe and wonder. It is a love called, in Hebrew, racham — the deep, from the deepest bowels, innermost love of a mother. It is the love of a mother I grieve. Even still, it is the love I experience for the first time as a grandmother, healing me and teaching me that, This is how God loves me, too. Deeply, from the deepest bowels, with an innermost love.

Indeed, in the aftermath of overwhelming tides, God quiets all of our aching hearts with His tender love.

What It Can Look Like to Praise in the Middle of a Struggle

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Has the Lord ever reminded you of something so simple, yet so fundamental? This is that. A few weeks ago I had the joy of sharing this reminder with an amazing group of women. I wrote an entry for (in)courage’s newest devotional, 100 Days of Strength in Any Struggle entitled “A New Song of Praise.” The Lord led me to build on what I wrote about with them. I believe He’s wanting more of His daughters to get this reminder.

The season when I wrote that devotion was hard and difficult. Honestly, the current season I’m in is not so far off. God is doing many amazing things in my life. I’m growing in many ways. He’s doing a profound work in me and through me. I’m discovering new facets of His character and ways. I’m making tons of new friends and going deeper with old ones. He is also opening doors for new ministry opportunities. It all sounds great, right? It is.

And yet, there are a few areas in my life that are a struggle. They are the areas where it’s been a consistent battle, where the enemy has been persistent in attacking me. They are the areas where I have to fight to not be discouraged by or lose hope.

That’s much of life, isn’t it? There are mountaintops and valleys, green pastures and harsh deserts.

As I was reflecting on the areas of ongoing struggle in my life, the Lord reminded me of a couple of truths. They are not new truths. But, if you are anything like me, I can so easily forget them.

Hold fast to and remind ourselves of what we know to be true. What is it that we know to be true? God is GOOD! And He can be TRUSTED! How do we know this? We know this by reading His Word and reflecting on His past faithfulness in our lives. Whenever we are in the midst of a trial, we need only to look to the Word of God to be reminded of God’s heart for us and His purpose for our lives.

One of the most impactful ways I get into the Word is to read it out loud. I declare it over myself and my situation. I love Psalm 43:5 (NIV), “Why, my soul, are you downcast? Why so disturbed within me? Put your hope in God, for I will yet praise Him, my Savior and my God.” It couldn’t be any clearer. He is our hope! He is our source! He is our provision! He is everything we need and everything we didn’t know we needed. When I do this, I can feel the faith rising within me.

We are to let others carry our burdens. I don’t much like the word burden. Burdens are just that. Burdensome. They’re heavy. Whenever I am in the midst of something hard, I tend to power my way through and try to figure a way out all on my own. Growing up, that was my only choice. So, when I became a Christian, the Lord had to do a big work in me about this. He has had to tear down my independent nature and mistrusting mindset. He’s had to teach me how to depend on Him as my source and how to trust others for help and support. He’s also had to teach me humility along the way.

Often the enemy will lie to me and try to convince me that I am a burden for needing help. He tries to convince me that I should be able to fix everything by myself, that I don’t need anyone. He tells me that no one cares about me and that no one is trustworthy.

There has also been some shame and embarrassment when I’ve needed to ask for help or accept help when it was offered. God has gently reminded me of the first 10 verses of Galatians 6. My Bible titles the chapter, “Doing Good To All.” Verse 2 specifically says to “Carry each other’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ.” The burdens of this life are not just the sins we are tempted by. It can be everything from our thoughts to our behaviors, the effects of other people’s decisions to health struggles. If you were to name something that is a result of living in a fallen and broken world, that can be a burden.

The Lord knew those things would come. That is why He designed the Church, His Body, His Bride. His heart is for us to be a benefit and a blessing to each other, to be a source of strength and encouragement for one another.

Let’s be vulnerable. Let’s ask for help. Let’s ask for prayer. Let’s accept help and prayer when offered.

God expresses to Paul in his affliction in 2 Corinthians 12:9 that His grace is sufficient for us. God’s power is made perfect in our weakness. Paul exclaimed that he would boast all the more in his weaknesses so that Christ’s power would rest on him. Oh, that Christ’s power would rest on us.

His grace is indeed sufficient for any struggle that comes our way. Thank God that it is a sustaining grace. We can trust Him. And we can trust those who He places in our lives. This is how we can we can praise Him. We thank God for His truth in our lives and how He sets us in His family.

God is our faithful Father.

Jesus is our trusted Friend.

The Holy Spirit is our Comforter.

If you are in the middle of a struggle, I would love to pray for you!

Listen to Karina’s devotion below or wherever you stream podcasts.

Hope for New Life from the Aftermath of Destruction

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My mom was a DIYer and pro upcycler long before there was ever a corresponding television show or hashtag. In the 80s, our cooking utensils sat by the stove in a coffee can my mom spray painted cobalt blue. She also took an old windowpane door and added a fresh coat of white paint, four spindle legs, and a custom piece of glass to make a new kitchen table.

In fifth grade when I volunteered to be The Lonely Goatherd, Mom took a deep breath then went to work making a papier-mâché goat head from a mold of taped-together balloons — with zero Pinterest boards to guide her. (Best goat ever.)

But perhaps my favorite upcycling project my mom ever came up with was after we endured a massive house fire. After the flames were extinguished, the blackened backyard was a clean slate for fresh landscaping. However, a lean budget meant most of my mom’s suburban garden dreams had to be modified. Thankfully, where finances lacked, her endless creativity and ability to envision what no one else could, stepped in.

The back of the house was burned off, leaving a full-scale version of an open-air dollhouse. Given that the whole exterior had to be redone, it made sense to ditch the simple concrete stoop that led to the back door in favor of a larger wood deck. But concrete is expensive to demo and expensive to remove. Enter upcycler superhero. My mom came up with a plan to repurpose that cumbersome and unattractive concrete into a funky and functional stacked retaining wall that would serve as the structural frame of the yard.

For days the neighborhood buzzed with the piercing grind of a jackhammer. Once the stoop was reduced to makeshift stones, the noise stopped and the magic started. Mom sorted through the debris, painstakingly matching jagged paver to jagged paver.

From a pile of rubble, a retaining wall was formed that snaked its way around the perimeter of the yard. On the lower level, grass was planted — a beautiful yard for Easter egg hunts and summer cartwheels. Above the retaining wall was now dedicated space for fruit trees, plants, and flowers.  

Fast forward several years and the devastating smell of smoke and glow of dancing flames had vanished from memory. The charred earth and rubble had long been replaced by a flourishing lawn and established fruit trees. As a little girl, I ran barefoot across the concrete retaining wall, arms out like a tightrope walker. I imagined I was a world-class gymnast, leaping across a balance beam. I paused to bend down and pluck a red strawberry from its little patch. Juice still dripping down my chin, I then reached up and grabbed a ripe plum from its weighty branch. I rubbed the plum on my cutoff jeans, letting soft denim turn the purple fruit into a shiny orb of delight. I sat down on the jagged wall, sunbaked concrete warming my legs, toes resting in the cool grass, and I let the flavor of that perfect plum burst in my mouth.

Now, more than thirty years later, recalling a hundred moments just like that makes my heart burst with gratitude. Gratitude for the carefree wonder of childhood. But also gratitude for the backdrop birthed in my mom’s creativity, and the picture it gave me of God.

The Bible says we are created in God’s image. This means that as image bearers, we reflect what He is like. Whatever is good and trustworthy and redemptive about humanity is a reflection of God’s goodness. So as I celebrate my mom as a phenomenal upcycler, I find an invitation to ponder God’s nature and celebrate Him.

Consider this: a pile of broken concrete is not beautiful; it’s a burden. But, reimagined, that rubble becomes purposeful.

And new purpose births new beauty.

What was left over from a scorching fire that destroyed much of our beloved home, along with our joy and security, what was torn apart by the relentless blade of a jackhammer, what was ordinarily destined for a dumpster — my mom gave new life. And in doing so, she helped usher in a new season of life and joy for our family.

 My mom was a salvager, a creator, a broken-pieces redeemer. A new-story writer. And that is exactly who God is. God takes what is burned and busted up and makes it beautifully purposeful.

Romans 8:28 (CSB) says, “We know that all things work together for the good of those who love God, who are called according to his purpose.” Whether we are suffering through the blackened aftermath of our sin or wounds from the sins of others, whether we’re walking through chronic illness or anxiety, or enduring a season of depression or broken relationships, we can trust that God is not done writing our story.

We can trust that, in God’s loving, creative hands, any source of destruction can eventually be used to resurrect new life.

 

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

 

 

There’s No Way Back to Normal But There Is a Way Forward

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Recently I spent an entire day in the emergency room with one of my kids. Many x-rays and a small surgery later, the doctor said her bones should heal nicely and predicted she’d be “back to normal” in four to six weeks.

In that moment, my daughter and I didn’t dare make eye contact. Because if we’d done so, we could not have contained our disbelief and likely inappropriate laughter at that statement.

“Back to normal?” What does that even mean?

The reality is that our lives haven’t been normal for a seriously long season. Things have changed. We have changed. And even though I’m still trusting God to walk us through this time, I’ve long since given up on ever finding “normal” again.

Perhaps you feel this too?

Now please know, that I have not arrived at this place of acceptance easily or quickly. At times I also still rail against the injustice that is my specific hardship. Every person in my inner circle has heard me shout, “It’s always something!” and most have heard me, more quietly, confess how very tired I am.

But nobody sees when I cry after reading social media posts from friends or acquaintances sharing about an incredibly “normal” thing their family has just done or experienced. “Normal” is such a painfully deep longing when it feels so far from your own reality.

We’re probably never going back to “normal” at my house (and it has nothing to do with the ER visit). I know this. But I also grieve it. I have to fight the urge to put my head in the sand and pretend like this is just a temporary detour, plus the urge to let bitterness bubble up and lash out at anyone unlucky enough to stand too close.

All of that is why I recently rewatched the entire season of Ms. Marvel to get to one scene in the final episode. (Well, that and the fact that I thoroughly enjoyed it the first time around!)

I’ll try to tell you about this without giving away too much, just in case you haven’t watched yet but want to. Our main character is a teenage girl, and in episode six, she tries to help another teen who’s engulfed by grief and rage. He expresses that he just wants things to go back to normal, and the young Ms. Marvel says: “There is no normal. There’s just us and what we do with what we’ve been given.”

The whole scene is powerful (and not just because these kids have superpowers). In just a few seconds, we see a character express something so desperately and vulnerably that most of us have experienced – that deep desire to go back to the time before the thing that hurt us. But in Ms. Marvel’s voice, we also hear the gentle encouragement that while we cannot go back, we have been given a way forward.

Spoiler alert: It’s Jesus. Jesus is the way.

The disciples were so often confused about what Jesus was doing and why, about who He was, and what His rescue plan was for the people. When Thomas questioned where Jesus was about to go and how could he know the way, Jesus said:

“I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me. If you really know me, you will know my Father as well. From now on, you do know him and have seen him.”
John 14:5-7 NIV

But Jesus made it clear: He is the way. Our path forward is to follow Him – not our nostalgia, not our fantasies of normalcy, not what we see others doing. 

So how do we do that? How do we follow the Lord instead of our longings for a different reality?

His words in the book of John give us a clue. He says, “If you really know me…” and I think that’s key. When times are difficult and we’re tempted to look back at the old days and wish for a different life, that’s when we most need to lean into Jesus. That’s when we remember who He has already revealed Himself to be and ask Him to be present in the storm we’re in. 

So we read God’s Word. 

Or we pour our hearts out in prayer until we’ve made space to be filled up by Him. 

We stand in His creation and listen to the story it tells. 

We crank up the music or lift up our hands. We sway to the beat or tap our feet or sit perfectly still and soak up every lyric and note.

However you hear from God, wherever you encounter Jesus — do that, go there. He promises to meet you. And He will show you a way forward that’s better than “normal.”

Now receive these words from God’s heart to yours:

“Do not fear, for I have redeemed you;
    I have summoned you by name; you are mine.
When you pass through the waters,
    I will be with you;
and when you pass through the rivers,
    they will not sweep over you.
When you walk through the fire,
    you will not be burned;
    the flames will not set you ablaze.
“Forget the former things;
    do not dwell on the past.
See, I am doing a new thing!
    Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?
I am making a way in the wilderness
    and streams in the wasteland.”
Isaiah 43:1-2, 18-19 NIV

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

The Gift of My Faults

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“Meg, I give you your faults.”

“My faults!” Meg cried.

“Your faults.”

“But I’m always trying to get rid of my faults!”

“Yes,” Mrs. Whatsit said. “However, I think you’ll find they’ll come in very handy…”
― Madeleine L’Engle, A Wrinkle in Time

Years ago, my husband and I both took a personality test. It ranks 34 core strengths in order of your answers, and from there can guide you into one of four overall domains. My top five strengths (which were empathy, intellection, developer, consistency, and input) truly described who I am, and didn’t overlap at all with my husband’s strengths. The funniest part was that his very top-assessed strength was dead last on my list. We laughed as we realized how that immediately explained so much about our marriage, who we are apart and together, and how it applied to so many aspects of our lives.

That strength? Adaptability.

I love not changing. I cling to tradition. Nostalgia owns my heart. My aversion to adaptability could be described and viewed as a fault. The unknown keeps me up at night, and big changes and shifts in life cause me deep distress that I try to manage with prayer, deep breaths, and M&Ms.

The fact that one of my faults was my husband’s top strength made us laugh and learn. We still refer to it today, years later, continuing to use that tidbit to explain misunderstandings and reactions as it holds true, even now with more miles on our marriage and minivan.

Those miles include depths of change and massive shifts in our lives, adjustments we asked for, and most that we didn’t. I wonder if I took that personality assessment now if adaptability would still score very last in my lineup. And even if it did, I would disagree confidently because I’ve grown tenfold in my ability to adapt.

Some of the growth has come from adapting to changes we asked for, hoped for, and worked for. Things like having kids. Buying a home. Letting our kids choose activities and hobbies that changed our calendar. Even changing up how we dress, eat, exercise, and make decisions. These are all changes that we grow from and mostly come from a pleasant place, which makes adapting less difficult.

Much of our growth, however, is the fruit of changes and choices I didn’t make. Job elimination. Being forced to leave a church. The consequences of others’ choices. The grocery bill from feeding growing children these days. Household appliances that break. Costs that skyrocket. Paychecks that diminish.

These are the changes that take the most work to adapt to, and yet these are the changes that produce the most fruit in our souls and lives. . . if we let them.

Change can indeed terrify me, but if I choose to mire myself to only what’s known and stay stuck and unchanging, boy, would I miss out on many silly and sacred parts of life.

For instance, sports. I am not a sports girl. I am a theater, music, speech team, library, and marching band kind of girl. But my husband is a stellar volleyball player and former coach, loves his Sunday night softball league, and lives to coach our kids’ baseball, football, and t-ball teams (yep, even the toddler is sporty). This was a massive shift for me, filling the calendar with sports practices, weekend tournaments, evening scrimmages, and early morning games. Not to mention driving to it all, shopping for it all, and planning for it all. If I’m honest, it’s not how I pictured myself as a parent. But baseball, track, football, gymnastics, and cheerleading have been part of my parenting life for over a decade, and though I still pout over the schedule and laundry (because good grief, the laundry – and WHO thought white baseball pants were a good idea??) from time to time, I’ve grown to love it.

I hate to think about the joy, silliness, pride, blessings, and growth I could’ve missed out on by stubbornly refusing to adapt to sports being part of our life. Sports gave me the gift of my faults.

There are other things too, other places and cracks where the sacred enters in and flourishes where I thought only dead soil resided.

After my husband lost his job on staff at the church we’d belonged to for twenty years, I thought our church life was over. We weren’t about to darken the door of a sanctuary again, at least not for a good long time. But our kids asked where they were going to attend Sunday school. And when your kids look at you through tears and ask where they’ll worship… you make it happen. So, we tiptoed into a new church building and community, with much trepidation and fear because we knew the cost. We knew what we’d lost. We knew what it would take to adapt to somewhere new, and it was more than we could offer.

With joy, I tell you that this new church has been a balm, and our whole family is thriving there. Again, I hate to think about what we could have missed out on if we’d refused to adapt to a change we didn’t ask for. The leaving of a worship community and the entering into another gave me the gift of my faults.

While adapting to the changes we don’t ask for can drag us right through the mud and into the valley, God the author remains unchanged. Malachi 3:6 (NIV) says straight up, “I the Lord do not change.” And His faithfulness, His consistency, His unchanging nature can soothe our fear of the unknown.

God stays the same so we don’t have to.

He takes our faults and turns them into gifts, offering them in love and creating beauty from ash. Where do you see Him doing this in your life?

 

Listen to Anna’s devotion below or wherever you stream podcasts.

 

 

 

 

Seasons Change, and So Should We

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“I will never move back to this town.” I whispered it as my parents packed the minivan with my college dorm supplies. I was ready to leave and wasn’t going to look back.

And for a long time, I didn’t.

Seasons changed. I changed, too.

I found myself shifting and growing into new versions of myself. I made mistakes and learned lessons that only come with figuring life out as you go. I sat in lecture halls and realized the world was bigger than I ever realized.

I learned. I unlearned. I relearned.

I graduated. Had a job with my very own cubicle. Got married. Became a mother. Bought a house. Moved. Moved again.

I reconsidered things. I looked at life and all its beautiful, terrible glory from different angles. I prayed with an open heart. Sometimes, I was surprised at the miracle. Other times, I was heartbroken at the silence. I read books and kept reading them — novels, memoirs, and how-to’s. 

My world expanded, and so did I.

Change is obvious when we’re in a transitional moment — graduation, marriage, divorce, birth of a child, retirement, diagnosis — take your pick. But we’re always changing, whether we like it or not. Our bodies quite literally renew themselves over time. Skin replaces itself through a natural process every 27 days. We are not the exact same people today that we were a month ago.

As summer will soon give way to fall, no matter what season of life you’re in, what would happen if you approach this transitional time as an invitation to be transformed in the love of God?

We are all capable of change. Every minute, every second of the day, we’re becoming.

So the question is: Who are you becoming?

What have you made up your mind about? Where do you get your news? Who do you interact with who doesn’t look or think like you?

Do you listen to learn or to help craft your argument?

In fourth grade, my teacher invited us to grab our three-ring binders (mine was of the Looney Toons variety) to create what she called our Life-Long Notebook. She helped us take loose-leaf paper and her pre-printed tabs to create an organized place to add our observations about the newly-built butterfly garden, our wonderings about the world, and our hopes for ourselves. She encouraged us to stay curious and open not just in our classroom but wherever our lives took us.

My first college internship was at a local newspaper. My editor, then in her early 40s (I shudder to admit to thinking she was quite old at the time), told me that she stuck around day after day because she was always learning something. She met new people, asked new questions, and learned new things.

You don’t have to be an eager ten-year-old or a seasoned editor at the paper to be a life-long learner. 

A commitment to learning about the world, the people in it, and the God who made it all is a cornerstone of a faithful life. We can trust God with our wonderings because God gave us that spirit of curiosity in the first place. It’s when Christians refuse to learn and grow that we get into dangerous situations.

I’m not the same person I was five years ago, and I hope that in five years, I’ll be a different person than I am now. I don’t want to alter the fundamentals of who I am but want to grow fully into who God created me to be. I want to keep learning – to be, as Romans 12:2 says, transformed by the renewing of my mind. I don’t want to do this to accumulate more knowledge but to more fully love God and love my neighbors as myself.

Spiritual transformation is not always comfortable, but it is sanctifying. Our spiritual walks with Christ are ongoing. We don’t stop learning the vastness and fullness of God, of our world, and of ourselves the day we say a certain prayer or hit a specific milestone.

When I read my Bible, I feel a bit like Alice in Wonderland, opening doors and going down rabbit holes, often finding more questions than answers. The more I learn, the more I wonder. The more I wonder, the more I learn. A life walking with Christ is comforting yet often confounding. The more we embrace a posture of Christian curiosity, the more our worlds get, as Lewis Caroll put it, curiouser and curiouser.

You are allowed to change your mind. You don’t have to draw lines in the sand and dig in your heels.

Take it from me: After fifteen years away, I began dreaming of moving back to my hometown.

I changed.

And by the grace of God, I will continue to shift and change with the seasons, knowing that in all of my shades of becoming, the steadfast love of Christ never ceases.

As we prepare to bid farewell to summer and shift into fall, may you stay curious and live open-heartedly, forming deeper connections with yourself, your neighbor, and the One who breathes every season into existence.

Find reflections and prayers for every season in Kayla’s new book Every Season Sacred.

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

Peace for Your Mind and Heart

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“I am leaving you with a gift — peace of mind and heart. And the peace I give is a gift the world cannot give. So don’t be troubled or afraid.”
John 14:27 NLT

If the world was trying to sell peace, it might give us a brochure with sunset beaches and umbrella drinks. We might see a commercial depicting happy families, big homes, and successful careers followed by tranquil music and towel-clad women receiving spa treatments. The world’s version of peace in the form of financial security and tropical vacations might be enticing, but that temporary pleasure is not the same as true peace.

When the doctor calls with a devastating diagnosis, when the one you thought was trustworthy betrays you, when the stress of regular life simply pushes you to your limit — only one person can provide peace in the midst of it all. His name is Jesus.

How have you experienced the peace of mind and heart Jesus gives? Or where do you need to encounter the gift of Jesus and His peace today? We’d love to hear.

Need more peace in your life? Check out our Create in Me a Heart of Peace Bible study.

Our Longings Are Signposts, Directing Us Home to More of Him

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I once traded ten years of my life for a dream — a dream ten thousand sizes too small and altogether the wrong color for me. You’d think I’d have known better, given what happened to my dad. Given how things turned out for the family in which I grew up. 

But our longings are our longings, aren’t they? And mine was for a house — preferably a lovely, wide-porched, cream-colored country home with plenty of room behind its charming exterior for our growing family to live a life of generous hospitality . . . for God, of course. But first we needed the right house, didn’t we? A settled, rooted place out of which to live said big, holy-purposed life.

And, given what happened with my dad and his house dream, we needed our house sooner rather than later. 

Are such dreams valid? Is God in our longings? 

I was around nine when Dad became gripped with a longing to plant our family of five in an A-frame chalet among towering redwoods. His dream took on the cinnamon hue of those velvet-barked, subtly fragrant giants of coastal California. I’m sure he foresaw the curl of woodsmoke rising into blue skies, no need for privacy curtains, years of family meals around the table, and peace. 

Sure, he and Mom would have to work more and harder to pay for the dream. More of his time spent away from us, commuting to the college in the next county where he added both summer and night classes to his teaching schedule. More of Mom’s time was spent working inside and outside the home while riding the bucking bronco of perimenopause. 

Tension and tears reigned for several years, as my siblings and I saw less and less of Dad and more and more of Mom’s fragility. 

But everything was going to be okay, right? Because now the property was being excavated. Now the foundation was being poured. And now, at last, the sweet scent of sawdust bespoke a promise, as a maze of framing rose into the forest canopy. 

Would things have gone differently if we’d known how soon Dad would be gone? That, ultimately, three of the four years we lived together as a family in that redwood oasis would be spent under the tarry-black cloud of his lung cancer battle?

At first I didn’t notice the parallel between my father’s longing and mine — my obsession with house plans and vacant lots, or the way I spoke to my children of the free and simple Jesus-life, all while privately harboring the farmhouse-shaped craving that owned me. 

And then, at last, my husband and I had it — our cream-colored dream house in the pines! Welcoming porch and spacious kitchen. Hardwood floors and river-rock fireplace. Jacuzzi tub and even a bidet. 

The washboard road of faith lessons it took to get here was behind us. Except that, within the span of a year, ahead of us lay a cliff. A terrifying health crisis for our oldest. Job losses for both me and my husband. My mother’s death. 

Now here I was, shedding tears in my beautiful bathtub, as wrung out and hormonal as Mom had once been. 

We faced a choice — go big or go home. Going big meant fighting to maintain our new digs, contending for bright and shiny (read: demanding) jobs to replace those lost. But what, we’d begun to wonder, might it mean to go home?

Frederick Buechner wrote, as published in The Clown in the Belfry, “If we only had eyes to see and ears to hear and wits to understand . . . we would know that the Kingdom of God is what we all of us hunger for above all other things even when we don’t know its name or realize that it’s what we’re starving to death for . . . The Kingdom of God is where we belong. It is home, and whether we realize it or not, I think we are all of us homesick for it.” 

To “go home” might mean our family could downsize. We could come to a full stop, listen for direction. We could make room for serving Jesus in the ways that moved our hearts. 

Never had we been as sure about anything as this: We’d sell our dream house. Laughter bubbled up — we were free! 

For years now, a quirky, old 1300 square-foot house has provided a home base for discovering what it means to venture further up and further in. For stepping into the most satisfying and meaningful assignments this side of our eventual heavenly home. 

The right color for my longings, I’m learning, is the crisp white of a blank canvas. An empty-handed invitation: Lord, paint me into your Kingdom wherever and however you deem good and beautiful. 

To “go home” is to surrender our narrow ideas of home. It’s to say, I don’t care what lies ahead, if only God will be there. It’s to recognize our longings as signposts, ever directing us home to more of Him.

Feel Like You’re Failing? Take This Lesson from a Lilac Bush

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When I walked through the door, I could smell them before I saw them.

Lilacs — jars full of the cut blooms overflowed on the kitchen table. I inhaled deeply, one of my favorite fragrances and, because of this, one of my favorite flowers. My children had been cutting them from the yard and bringing them in, one handful after another. 

I was given this lilac bush, along with a car full of other treasures, from a local nursery that was going out of business around the time we moved to the farm. We were busy with house renovations and massive repairs around the farm, but I still needed to dig the holes to plant everything we hauled home. I was very pregnant at the time and my sciatica prevented me from making the step-down motion it takes to break ground with a shovel.  

All this to say, there wasn’t a lot of thought put into where to plant my scrawny, root-bound lilac bush. I remember thinking, “Weren’t lilacs once planted by outhouses to mask the smell?” I opted to just stick ours by the chicken coop and see what would happen. And, into the ground it went. 

Over the next few years, this lilac bush lived but it didn’t grow much. In fact, it didn’t do much of anything. It maybe had three or four clusters of blooms per season, but that was it. It didn’t seem to get any taller or bushier. It was just there. Yet, all along our road were examples of tall, thick lilac bushes with showy displays of flowers. It had me wondering why ours was so . . . underwhelming. However, in the grand scheme of raising kids and livestock, troubleshooting my melancholy plant wasn’t high on the list of things to worry about. 

Fast forward to last spring when we decided to move the chicken coop because our ladies needed to be moved to higher ground. All the years of scratching and rooting around in their run carved out a low spot that began to fill with water whenever it rained. So we picked a different spot in the yard, maybe ten feet away, and rotated it 90 degrees. It seemed like a small change that didn’t take much effort, but it made a big difference to our chickens. 

Surprisingly, it also made a big difference to my lilac bush. . .

Over the rest of the spring and all through the summer, it thrived. I felt like I could almost see it growing! Not only taller, but it began to fill out and thicken up too. Suddenly, it all made so much sense. I didn’t pay attention to how much sunlight it would get when we first planted it, sticking it next to the chicken coop. Lilacs love full sun, and ours had been in the full shade of the coop for years. No wonder it hadn’t been doing much of anything. 

Now, as I stand here in my kitchen seeing and smelling the evidence of a flourishing, healthy lilac bush, I keep thinking about this beautiful metaphor. For years, this plant merely survived, stuck in an environment it wasn’t created to be in. Now that it has been given full sunlight (or—depending on your perspective—now that the shade has been removed), it’s thriving.

It endured conditions that were against its nature; stunted but still alive. Now this lilac bush is not just surviving, but living abundantly.  

Just like lilacs were created for direct sunlight, we were created to be in direct relationship with God. Comforted by His presence. Fueled by His warmth. Growing closer and closer to Him every day. Boldly displaying abundant blooms as a living example of the goodness and power of Jesus.

Listen to today’s devotion below or wherever you stream podcasts.

This World Is Not Our Home. But Knowing That Doesn’t Make It Any Less Hard to Live In

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I sit on the bed and look out the window, watching the tree branches sway wild in the wind.

This is not my bed. Not my room, not my home. It is a guest room now; though, over a decade ago, I lit candles in the dark and strummed songs on a guitar every summer when I came home from college and called this room mine. I’ve since moved out. Got married, birthed babies, made a home of my own in a state a ways south of this one.

Yet, here I am. Thirty-five years old and living back home with my mother and two brothers. My sons and I are here for a season, and we’ll be joined by my husband at the end of summer. Wild, I know. But we moved because we’ve been following a shift and taking time to seek where the Spirit is leading us.

In this transitional season, my heart has become heavy with the idea of home. I talk and write about it all the time. I grieve the people and places I left, and I dream about where and when we will plant ourselves in a permanent, new place. Deeper still, beyond this concoction of grief and dreams, it feels like what I’m really waiting for is a home that can’t be built with brick and beams.

A lasting home — an enduring, eternal home. One that sustains and stays steady . . . can’t be shaken or taken or broken. Is immovable. Anchored.

I read my Bible on this bed that is not my own, and Matthew 8:20 tells me Jesus had no home. “Foxes have dens and birds have nests,” said Jesus, “but the Son of Man has no place to lay his head” (NIV).

And, I know. I know this world is not our home. I know that we are strangers in an even stranger land. Just passing through, only and ever looking for the city that is to come. I know that, someday, all strivings will cease, all tears will run dry, and loss will no longer be the legacy on our lips. It’s just . . . knowing that doesn’t make it any less hard to live in this world. It doesn’t magically make the waiting feel worth it. It doesn’t make the troubles disappear, or the lacking and longing evanesce into thin air. 

What do we do when we can’t pray away our pining for place, for home? What do we do when we feel that pang for a permanent place of peace — of rest and relief, right in the here and now?

Maybe you didn’t move, but “home” is a hard reality. Maybe you’re still dreaming of a permanent place to call your own. Something right out of a pastoral painting — a beautiful backyard with breathtaking views.

Maybe you’re waiting for the world to change — waiting for bullets to stop breaking through bodies, waiting for the crime in the streets to cower, waiting for the cure for cancer, waiting for stability and safety in your schools, your state . . . on this whole planet.

Jesus knows what it’s like to have no home, no place to lay his head, no permanent place of peace. He knows, full well, about persecution, poverty, and placelessness. Jesus knows the transient life, living from bags and boxes, so to speak. How to be in a place and, mysteriously, how to pass through it. How to be present in the pain of this world and, yet, how to press forward for the sake of the Father’s plan.

Humbled, Jesus came. Lower than kings, lower than His own creation. Even the slyest and smallest of the animals — untrustworthy foxes and unassuming birds — have a home on this God-breathed planet. But not Jesus. Because home for Jesus was in the palm of His Father’s hand. Home for Jesus was always wherever the Father was working and moving.

Jesus lived to serve, not to stay and settle. And I wonder, am I (are we) in the world to be settled or to be servants? Are we bending with and bowing to the will of the Father? Going where He goes. Partnering with Him, place to place to place.

I am downstairs, now, sitting in a recliner passed down by my Pop, who spent most of his Sunday afternoons here in this home. Pop is home now. Home, home. And I think, what a prize it is to be settled in heaven’s home after a lifetime of following Jesus . . . living and moving and serving in His name.

I look outside the window — the whirling winds have stopped.

And, mysteriously, my yearning heart is calm now, too.

Friends — I’d love to hold space for any thoughts or aches or prayer requests you might have about home. Comment below and share a little bit about what you’re going through — I’d love to encourage you.

Listen to Rachel’s devotion below or find the (in)courage podcast on your favorite app.

Peace in the Middle of the Storm

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I was fine, totally fine. Or so I thought.

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

Rest and recovery have eluded me recently. There’s lots of tension and anxiety and chaos — in my home and in the world. We’re like too many passengers, crammed into a too-small dingy, thrust into the wide-open sea and then caught in a furious, terrifying storm. It reminds me of one stormy day when Jesus’s friends woke Him up in the boat crying, “Master, Master, we’re going to drown!” (Luke 8:24 NIV).

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

The funny thing about tension, anxiety, and chaos is that the first things we often let go of are what we need the most: quiet, prayer, meditation, Bible reading, solitude. It seems there isn’t time or energy for it.

A few days ago, I realized once again how insecure, irritable, and overwhelmed I felt. I was so caught up in the turmoil of the storm I forgot that Jesus was in my boat. To stay afloat, I needed to remember the only One who could offer me true peace.

“Where is your faith?” Jesus asked the disciples (Luke 8:25 NIV). He asks the same of you and me. And for today, I remember that although my world rocks and the wind roars, my faith is with Jesus. He sits in my boat, even while the storm grows. That means my Peace is with me, right here, right now, no matter what comes.

“Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.”
John 14:27 NIV

Devotion by Michele Cushatt from 100 Days of Strength in Any Struggle

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