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

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

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

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

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

Day after day after day. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your Waiting Is Not Wasteful

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Let God Define the Good

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I love to read multitudes of words in all the various forms they come in. But sometimes it’s not a lengthy passage that stirs my devotion. Sometimes a simple phrase or even a single word captures my attention completely — a snippet speaking to everything I didn’t know I needed. Things like:

Be patient with yourself. This one jolted me years ago when a dear friend sat by my side in the back hallway of our church as I cried over something that seemed so silly, yet I couldn’t easily get over it. She reminded me to be patient with myself. I don’t know why this had never occurred to me before, but I found immense comfort in the realization that just like I was patient with other people, I could be patient with my own self.

Identity, Intimacy, Influence. This alliteration has been the core of my desire to cultivate a deep walk with Christ. Identity, intimacy, and influence are trigger words for me that remind me to remain anchored in my identity in Christ, to not shy away from cultivating intimacy with Him, and to trust that organic influence comes not because I strive to make something happen but out of the overflow of my abiding in Christ (John 15).

Let God define the good. When I heard this on a podcast while driving a couple of months ago, I almost pulled over on the side of the road. A woman was sharing about her time overseas, and what life looked like when she returned home. I can’t remember the bulk of everything shared, but that one powerful phrase has stuck with me since I heard it. This will forever be added to my wheelhouse of words that encourage and compel me to keep my eyes on Jesus.

“Let God define the good” lifted a weight off my shoulders. Even now, those words provide a deep breath and an exhale. I don’t have to muster what I think good should look like for my marriage or family or ministry or whatever. I don’t have to wallow in despair when what I expect doesn’t materialize the way I think it should.

Letting God define the good doesn’t disregard the tangible struggle or frustration we may feel. This mindset doesn’t justify hurtful moments or actions that are not right. It’s simply an invitation to submission and surrender. Just like God deemed what He made “good” at creation, we can let Him define what is good even now.

Even if we can’t see the good. Even if it is more or less than we expect. We can lament and repent, we can dream and be content. And in all of it, we can declare, God, I’m going to let You define the good.

When I allow God to define the good in my circumstances, I exchange my disappointment for His desires. In that exchange, He works all those things out for my good.

“And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.”
Romans 8:28 NIV

If you need (like I do!) to surrender your pen to the true Author and Finisher and absolute Definer, here is a prayer:

Yes, Lord, we will agree with Your Word, define the good for us this year. God, define what it looks like to thrive and flourish, what it looks like for us to run upon heights where only Your wings can take us. God, define us.

Speak the words that only You can say. Breathe into us the way You breathed life into Adam’s lungs, that body of dirt rung from the earth — that body set in motion by what came forth from Your lungs. Help us to long for what You love. What You love is us and You called us good and decided that it was good to come, with us, as one of us, to bring us closer to You.

Jesus, You encountered discomfort, toil, and tension, yet for the joy set before You,You endured what we never could because Father God defined it as good. You defined us as worthy to be pursued. So Lord, we’ll let You define our good. It may not look like what we see to the left or the right of us, but instead of comparison and strife, we choose to lean into the words You’ve written over our lives. And in Your good, we’ll delight. Amen.

 

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

The One Thing That Can Change Everything

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The past two years have brought with them the greatest sorrow of my adult life. Cruel, rare, and unfamiliar diagnoses became the story my loved ones are living. Glioblastoma, Li-Fraumeni Syndrome, peripheral nerve sheath tumor, breast cancer… Really, God?

It’s all so much for one family to bear.

When I was younger, and not yet tested to this extreme, my husband and I would try to put ourselves in the shoes of friends or family when trial or tragedy befell them. We’d ask each other, “How would I want  to respond if something like ‘this’ happened to me?” We’d consider the circumstances in light of our faith, and imagine what a God-glorifying response might look like. Talking through real-life scenarios allowed us to think about and plan how we’d hope to react to a given situation.

Time has revealed that what is easy in theory, isn’t always so easy in practice.

To be honest, I’ve been disappointed in my reactions to our family’s hard circumstances. I’m not doing a great job of practicing what I profess. Rather than remembering the Good News of the gospel, I’ve focused on feeling hopeless and helpless because there’s so little I can do. Prayer doesn’t seem like enough.

In recent years, I’ve had dear friends walking out their own stories of grief and trauma, and they manage to be “all glory to God” in the midst of their trials. Not surface-level Pollyanna-ism, but earnest, hard-fought-for, beautiful responses to the kind of stuff no one should have to experience. Their inspiring responses have pointed me to Jesus in a way that makes me want more of Him.

It is also then that condemnation often creeps in. A convincing and faith-rattling tool of the devil, condemnation tempts me to compare myself to those who respond “better” than me. When that happens, I’m putty in Shame’s hands.

Having followed Jesus most of my life, I’m aware of what the Bible teaches about hardship. (Like how James says we should consider it all joy when we face all kinds of trials because it’s the path to God’s perfecting work in us.) But there’s an angry, grief-informed stubbornness to my heart these days. Too often I refuse to surrender to God’s plans and instead lean deeper into my heartache.

How can I trust in God’s goodness and believe His promises amidst the pain and suffering all around me? In moments of overwhelming grief, I wonder how anyone can.

The answer, at least in part, lies within my question: I can’t trust God’s goodness or believe His promises on my own. I don’t have the strength to manufacture hope or faith in the face of overwhelming grief. That’s the point. Belief, hope, and trust are not things I can produce — they are gifts of grace given by the Holy Spirit. If I could conjure them myself, why would I need God at all?

There’s freedom in understanding you can’t do what you weren’t made to do in the first place. My inability to “just believe” reveals my deep need for the Spirit to do in me what I cannot do on my own.

 Jesus told us He would send a Helper (John 14:16-17, 25-26 ESV) who:

  • would be with us forever
  • is the Spirit of truth
  • dwells with us
  • is in us
  • is sent by God
  • teaches us all things
  • reminds us what Jesus says

What a gift! The Holy Spirit is God’s active presence in our lives, the supernatural power that fuels belief and hope and trust in the first place.

Last month, I attended an evening of worship with friends, and the theme was Jesus – The Light of the World. The Holy Spirit revealed something powerful to me about the sad and hard season in which I find myself, through the wisdom of Katherine Wolf:  “When the feeling of hope failed me, the habit and practice of hope carried me.” Light bulb moment.

When the feeling of hope failed me, the habit and practice of hope carried me….

Maybe for the first time, I recognized how my feelings were undermining my faith. Pain demands attention, and when I’m preoccupied with the circumstances that cause pain, I take my eyes off Jesus. How can you see God when you’re focusing on something else? It had never occurred to me to develop a habit of hope.

We’re nine days into a new year. Maybe you aren’t a resolution setter or yours are already unset (wink), but today is as good a time as any to establish a habit — to practice hope, belief, and trust in the goodness of God. For me, that looks like compiling a list of Scriptures that speak to these things and literally writing out Practice Hope, Practice Belief, Practice Trust on sticky notes attached to my computer.

If we’re consistent with our practices, spiritual muscle memory will carry us when trials and tragedies knock on our door and feelings overwhelm us. Practicing elements of our faith won’t make things perfect, but cultivating habits can train our hearts to make room for the Holy Spirit.

And, while we may not get the miracle or change in circumstances for which we’re praying, God will be changing us to hope, believe, and trust in Him. Our reactions to life’s sorrows will be different as a result. The active presence of God in our lives is the one thing that can change everything.

Including me and you.

The Most Awkward Encounter Jesus Has…

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I was born in India and moved to Dallas when I was seven years old. For most of my life, I was the only person who looked like me in the rooms I walked into, which would remind me that I was an outsider. I felt like everyone was staring at me — but I felt invisible at the same time.

Like many immigrants, I tried to just blend in and belong. I would never ask for anything more, even when I wanted it because I didn’t think I deserved it. I knew I may never get to sit at the table and should just be grateful to be in the room. A part of me also feared being rejected because I was different. Even my name, Simi, announced to everyone that I was an outsider.

Last year, God helped me heal from this mentality. For too long, I had allowed the world to show me who I was based on how they treated or responded to me on a given day. The root of this lie I believed for so long was not understanding of my identity and worth.

Recently I read about the Canaanite woman in Matthew 15 who goes out to meet Jesus; this is perhaps one of the most awkward encounters we see in Jesus’ ministry. (Not because of her, but because of Jesus.) It is also one of the few times Jesus uses the words “great faith.”

For context, the Canaanites were a group of people considered cursed by God because of their enmity with Israel. They were also idol worshippers. So automatically, the Canaanite woman’s culture, religion, and tradition make her an outsider who had no claim to the promises of God. Yet she comes crying to Jesus out of sheer desperation, asking for healing for her demon-possessed daughter.

A similar scene plays out again and again in Jesus’ ministry. People were constantly seeking Jesus for healing and bringing the sick and oppressed to Him. But this time, Jesus responds differently. Jesus ignores her plea. The disciples see Jesus’ silence to this outsider and ask Jesus to send her away. As if His silence wasn’t confusing enough, when Jesus does speak to her, His words are harsh and cold. He replied to this desperate mother, “It is not right to take the children’s bread and toss it to the dogs” (Matthew 15:26 NIV).

It is almost as if Jesus is trying to push her away, but this woman only pulls in closer to Him, kneeling before Him. “’Yes it is, Lord,’ she said. ‘Even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their master’s table’” (Matthew 15:27).

This woman’s boldness to go to Jesus and her audacity to ask again and again is so inspiring. Even Jesus is amazed at her “great faith.” 

Too often when we pray and God seems silent, we become offended or disappointed. We assume that God doesn’t care about our lives or that He thinks we are insignificant. But those are the moments God uses to grow our faith, just like He did with this Canaanite woman.

James 1:3-4 (CSB) teaches us “that the testing of your faith produces endurance. And let endurance have its full effect, so that you may be mature and complete, lacking nothing.”

Great faith has to be produced. Her desperation made her pursue Jesus but He used her persistence to produce great faith.

Friend, it is easy to pull away when you feel pushed down by life. It is hard to keep praying for the same thing when God seems silent. Maybe you have felt like God has rejected you, doesn’t care, or thinks you are insignificant. But the Canaanite woman’s story shows us that sometimes God doesn’t immediately answer our request because He wants us to spend more time talking to and pursuing Him. God doesn’t just want to answer that one prayer, He wants to produce great faith in us so that we can run this race with endurance.

This encounter isn’t about how Jesus changed His mind and gave in to her request. It’s about Jesus changing her mind about who she believed she was — an outsider who didn’t deserve the blessing of God and couldn’t belong to the family of God.

The Canaanite woman went home with her miracle, but also with the knowledge of her identity and worth.

Friend, if you feel unseen, unheard, or like an outsider, let this story remind you: You are not invisible to God. You are not insignificant. He sees you, knows you, and invites you to draw closer to Him. When you persistently pursue Jesus, even in moments of silence or confusion, you will discover more than an answer to your prayers — you will discover His heart for you.

Your identity and worth are not determined by the world or your circumstances but by the God who calls you His own. Pull in closer to Him, and let Him meet you there.


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

One Word to Help You Hear the Good Shepherd in 2025

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For the last few months, my parents have been living with us because of flooding in their home. While major renovations happened at their house about 15 minutes away, we savored quality time all together with Nana and Papa for the holidays.

My dad turned 82 this year, and one of his personal challenges in this senior season of life is that he is hard of hearing. We all have learned to adjust the way we communicate with him. We have to speak louder and make eye contact so he knows we are talking to him.

He wears in-the-ear hearing aids most of the time, which are custom-fit for his ears and amplify the sound waves to clarify what he hears. I can always tell when he’s taken out his hearing aids or the batteries are running low because my mom has to raise her voice or touch him to get his attention.

As I’ve watched my daddy struggle with his hearing, I’m filled with compassion. Failing body parts are certainly par for the course for all of us as we age. Even in my 40-something body, I feel new aches and pains, hormone roller coaster rides, and longer recovery periods after workouts or long work days.

As I approach 2025, I don’t want to take my hearing for granted in a physical or spiritual sense. That’s why I’m choosing the word “hear” as my word of the year.

I want to tune my ears to hear God’s voice above the noise and discern His direction for my daily life.

For the past 14 years, I have chosen a word of the year. As I follow that one word, I find myself on a treasure hunt of sorts. I dig through Scripture to see how that word is used and where it’s repeated. This provides a framework for me when I study the Bible and as I talk with the Holy Spirit throughout the day.

My word themes have connected year after year like bright bulbs on a string of twinkly lights. One year’s lessons flow into the next year and spark another set of lessons. God has taught me so much through these words: Joy, Grace, Mercy, Glory, Redeem, Flourish, Behold, Wonder, Abundance, Soar, Rejoice, Hesed (the Hebrew word which translates to lovingkindness), and this past year the word See. These words have shaped my life, my writing, and even my focus. 

In 2024, I learned to see God in new ways. I journeyed with Hagar through Genesis 16 and learned about how she named God El Roi, meaning “the God who sees.” I learned to open my eyes to see how God might be at work in the world, through my family, and in my circles of influence.

Studies show that our technology is actually reshaping our brains so it’s harder to concentrate on one thing. I feel this in a deep way. I am so easily distracted by social media notifications, shiny new projects, and too many options in the grocery store. I’m often drooping with decision fatigue by the end of the day. This is the main reason I want to continue this spiritual practice of choosing one word to focus on each year and why I’m being intentional to hear Him this year.

In the Bible, the words “listen” and “hear” are often translated as “obey” or “to give heed to.” Listen and obey also have the same root in Greek, which shows they are inextricably tied together. Listening or intentional hearing is not just allowing something to go in one ear and out the other. I’m learning that hearing my Heavenly Father is about listening and obeying Him.

In his book, The Listening Life, Adam McHugh writes, “In a sense, the Scriptures are a tuning fork for adjusting our ears to the tone of God’s voice.”

This year I want to soak more in the Scriptures. Daily time in God’s Word can be about learning and gaining knowledge, but it’s also one of the clearest ways we hear God’s voice personally. It’s like stepping into a quiet pasture, away from the chaos, where we can hear Him calling us by name.

Jesus illustrates this so beautifully when He describes Himself as the Good Shepherd in John 10. He says:

“The sheep hear his voice, and he calls his own sheep by name and leads them out. When he has brought out all his own, he goes before them, and the sheep follow him, for they know his voice.”
John 10:1-4 ESV

I love this image: the Shepherd who calls out and the sheep who respond. The voice of Jesus leads us — if we are willing to listen and follow.

I want to make more space to hear the Holy Spirit’s voice in my life in 2025. I believe He has specific assignments for you and me, but we need to dig into His word, pray and listen regularly, and enlist trusted mentors to help discern those assignments. These practices are like my daddy’s hearing aids: they amplify God’s voice in our lives so we can hear Him clearly and obey.

And here’s the beautiful truth: our Good Shepherd hears us, too. He cares about our hurts and hang-ups, our heartaches and harvests. He laid down His life for us. We can trust Him to lead us to green pastures and still waters.

Friend, it’s not too late to choose a word of the year! What’s one word you can follow into 2025 that will help you tune into Jesus, the Word who became flesh? (Need some help? Take this short Word of the Year quiz from our friends at DaySpring!)

Dorina helps people feast on the glory of God through her books, Bible studies and weekly Glorygram.

Why Smaller Steps Make Bigger Changes in a New Year

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For many years, I made grand New Year’s resolutions. I would resolve to go to the gym more, eat healthier, learn a new language, get more sleep, and read the whole Bible — all in one year.

But within a few weeks, I’d give up because it was all too much. I felt like a failure because I wasn’t able to keep the promises I made to myself. Then I’d repeat the pattern the following year.

However, several years ago, I stopped making resolutions because I found them inherently problematic. While resolutions work for some, they can be overwhelming for others because they force you to think too big. Resolution-makers tend to be overly ambitious. Suddenly, just because the calendar turned over, you’ve committed to walking 15,000 steps a day, drinking a gallon of water daily, starting a hobby, reading the Bible in 365 days, and going to bed earlier every night. That’s a lot to handle all at once.

If you are great at keeping resolutions, that’s amazing. I celebrate with you! But if you’ve repeatedly blown your resolutions, I’m here to help you develop a manageable method for building good habits into your life.

First of all, if you’re a resolution-breaker, know that you’re not alone. A multitude of studies show that the majority of resolution-makers abandon resolutions within the first two months; many don’t make it two weeks.

If resolutions aren’t working for you, there’s a more effective strategy. It lies in the power of small changes, bite-sized habits, and immediate goals.

Try this. Pick one doable thing you can do tomorrow to make life better. Focus on the present-day commitment, rather than fixating on whether you can persevere for 365 days in a row. Over time, by showing up daily, a habit will form.

When you’re ready to tackle another goal, build another practice into your life — until it, too, becomes a habit. Continue the pattern, folding in new habits as you’re able.

That’s the wisdom behind Zechariah 4:10 (NLT) which says, “Do not despise these small beginnings, for the Lord rejoices to see the work begin.”

The verse comes from a vision God gave to Zechariah during the rebuilding of the temple in Jerusalem. The task of rebuilding was monumental, and there were many challenges, including discouragement caused by the people comparing the new temple to the grandeur of the previous one. (Raise your hand if you’ve ever compared your progress to someone else’s.)

But God reminded the people not to undervalue the start of their work, however small it seemed. The beginning was worth rejoicing because it marked the first steps of progress toward fulfilling God’s promises.

The same is true for us.

Even a habit that starts small can grow into something significant under God’s guidance.

That’s the philosophy I eventually adopted. Because of that, I’ve been able to grow in all of those habits I mentioned earlier. I regularly go to the gym and consistently eat healthy foods. I’ve read through the Bible in a year(ish) many times. I have a 778-day streak on Duolingo, an app where I practice Portuguese and Indonesian. How? By building doable habits into my life – one “small beginning” at a time.

This year, remind yourself it’s okay to start small. If you want to finish the Bible in the next year or two, commit to what you can do today, like reading for 10-20 minutes. Then, be deliberate about doing it again tomorrow. If you want to walk 10,000 steps a day, start with 5,000 today. Add steps until you reach your goal.

Give yourself a little bit of grace and time. Celebrate the gratification of reaching an immediate goal. It will give you the boost you need to keep going, day after day.

In this new year, focus on progress, not perfection. Trust that God can use your small beginnings and grow them into something beautiful.

 

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

Pausing for Prayer: Starting the Year Together in Faith

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“I call on you, my God, for you will answer me;
    turn your ear to me and hear my prayer.”
Psalm 17:6 NIV

Here we are, just a few days into the new year. Maybe you’re trying to find your rhythm after the holidays. Perhaps you’re energized, setting goals and making plans. Or maybe you feel overwhelmed, longing to pull the covers back over your head and hit pause on it all.

Wherever you find yourself on this fifth day of 2025, one thing remains constant: prayer is worthy of our time and attention.

Prayer is God’s invitation to draw near, to connect our hearts to His. It’s a lifeline of hope, turning our focus from us to Him — from our struggles to His faithfulness, from our fears to His perfect peace. Prayer shifts us from wallowing to worshiping, from dwelling on what we lack to praising Christ for His sufficiency.

Prayer is not a monologue but a conversation. It’s a sacred space where our requests can rise and our hearts can rest, knowing we are heard.

God hears you, friend. He sees you. And His ear is inclined to the cries of your heart.

Let’s pause together today. Share your prayer requests in the comments, and then take a moment to lift up the woman who commented before you. Let’s carry each other’s burdens to the throne of grace and celebrate the promise that God not only hears us — He answers.

What a privilege to stand together as sisters, united in faith and prayer.

You are not alone. Let’s pray.

 

A Letter from God for the New Year

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If you were to stand at my house front, knock your gathered palm on the wood of my door, I’d welcome you in and lead you up the stairs littered with toys. I’d take you to the closet in my boys’ room, point upwards, and show you the wooden chest laid high on that top shelf, collecting layers of dust and who knows what else.

“There it is,” I’d say. “All my journals and all my letters.”

Then I’d point out the other boxes and bins, all stuffed with more letters from my youth until now. I’d walk you down the stairs to the room where my desk sits, and I’d open up drawers — the ones with postcards and envelopes shoved inside. I’d tell you to look at the wall in front of my desk to see the clippings of cards and the notes I’ve pinned up.

  • One, from a friend who became family, reads: Dear Sissy, I miss you so dearly. Thank you so much for always sending a note…
  • And another, from a childhood friend: We’re excited to have moved to a town that we hope to call home for a long time…
  • And another, from my high school chorus teacher: Hello my wonderful friend, all is well up here…
  • And another, from a fellow author and friend: Sweet Rachel, you have inspired me! I can’t wait for your book #2 ♥…
  • Then, a note from my son, simply scribbled: To Mom…

After all this — showing you my stacks of cards and letters — I’d sit you down and tell you why I keep these words within my reach. Pinned on walls. Put up on the fridge. Stored in boxes and bins, saved from weeks and years ago and kept safe, forever in my heart.

As a child, I moved a few times. And, with that, I’d grown accustomed to missing people. I moved around the fifth grade and missed out on starting middle school with my best friends. Then I moved again at the end of middle school, leaving new friends and losing my place on the softball and tennis teams. I sought so desperately to cling to the ones I loved — writing letters was a way to hold the line of connection.

I wrote letters because I didn’t want to let go of the ones I loved. I wrote letters to say (and hopefully receive and read) all the things I needed to say and hear . . . a way to remind myself of all things beautiful and enduring and true.

And so, here I am — here you are. We are standing at the precipice of yet another new year. And, already it is a melting pot of anticipation and pain. Already, it is an achingly beautiful tapestry of hardship and hope. Already, it is ripe with opportunity and adversity.

I know this because this is how all years go. Every year is a pull and tug of beauty and brokenness, a marathon of highs and lows, a landscape of valleys and mountaintops.

Who knows what the year will bring? Children who come back home. Healing from diseases. Mending of marriages. Or, perhaps, our pain from the past will carry over? The limp that lingers. The jaded job search that continues. The ache that remains from a friendship fallen out.

For all that we carry and all that we’ve yet to come across, sometimes we need more than just one word for the year — we need a whole letter… a whole book, a whole Bible full of promises to help us preserve and get through the year ahead.

So, instead of simply inviting you into my house and showing you the letters I’ve saved, here is one of your own. This inspired letter, creatively written by me and infused by the Word of God, is for you — written as if from God’s heart to your own.

As you look out upon the start of another new year, may this letter remind you of all that is beautiful and enduring and true.

Dear Daughter,

I see you. (Psalm 33:13-15)
I see you as you were, as you are, and as you will be. (Psalm 139:1-10)
Look to Me; turn to Me. I am Your help.
I am the Maker of the heavens and the earth, and I am the Maker of all your moments.
Look to Me, for I am the only One, in all the heavens and the earth, that can hold you and help you. (Psalm 121:1-2)
I hear you, daughter. I hear you when you pray and I hear you when you are in pain. (1 John 5:14, Psalm 118:5-6)
Do not look to yourself for answers, rather look to what you know is true of Me. (Proverbs 3:5-6)
Trust in Me. (Psalm 25:1-2)
Delight yourself in Me. (Psalm 37:4)
Look to Me, and Me alone, for divine direction. (Psalm 37:5)
I am He who leads you. (Psalm 32:8)
I am He who loves you. (Psalm 36:7)
My love is never far away.

Written by Rachel Marie Kang, originally published on January 3, 2024.

In the Bleak Midwinter

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“In the Bleak Midwinter,” originally written as a poem by Christina Rossetti and later set to music composed by Gustav Holst, is one of my favorite winter hymns. Even though it was originally titled “A Christmas Carol”, and it’s in the Christmas section of the hymnal, and we sing it during Advent and Christmas, and it talks about the newborn Jesus and His mother… it just doesn’t scream CHRISTMAS to me. I don’t know why. Here, take a listen to one of my favorite versions by James Taylor.

To me, the picture painted in this hymn is the barren, stark, grey landscape of well, midwinter. Here in Minnesota, we should be shivering with arctic air and our grounds covered in a deep blanket of snow. Yet, this year has been one of the mildest on record with little to no snow cover around the state. Even Christmas and New Year’s felt unrecognizable when we are so used to ones of white; these special holidays kind of felt like just more cold days in a string of many.

The trees are bare, the grass is brown, and the flowers are dead. Everything around me is cold and gloomy, without the usual glittering icy beauty of our typical winters. Events that normally bring joy and fun to our cold winter season have been canceled; ice castles and sled dog races, ice fishing competitions and cross-country skiing, ice skating and sledding with friends — all put on hold.

My local family and friends fall into one of two categories: either they are thrilled with the milder-than-normal temperatures and lack of snow, or they’re bemoaning both.

Guess which camp I’m in.

I’ve always said, “If it’s going to be cold, it may as well be beautiful and snowy!” We still have to deal with finding coats and packing the kids’ daily snow bags for school but without the payoff of a snow fort, snow angel, or even snowball fight. (For those of you outside the chilly midwest, a snow bag includes all the gear one may need for wintertime outdoor recess: boots, gloves, hats, scarves, and snow pants. And yes, the kids go outside for recess unless it’s below zero.) Thus far this year we’ve been relegated to a brown, barren landscape. To me, a snow-covered landscape is anything but bleak. Snow on snow is the dream, my ideal for an already-cold winter. To me, the uncovered, dead, earth is where bleakness lies on display.

In the bleak midwinter, frosty wind made moan,
Earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone;
Snow had fallen, snow on snow, snow on snow,
In the bleak midwinter, long ago.

There are other kinds of bleak, deeper kinds beyond frozen ground. When I see these lyrics, I find myself wondering about the bleak state of the world when Jesus entered it, walked it, lived it. We know He experienced and witnessed depravity and hardship, poverty and injustices, smarmy streetcorner preachers and judgy neighbors. Surely the world was bleak, sullied from the Garden it once was.

We read in Scripture that with a bite and a blind eye, darkness fell. Eden was lost forever and the world became bleak. Sometimes when I stumble on a horrifying news story, hear of another school shooting, see the division carved by an exhausting political landscape, or think about the wars happening right now across the globe, I am overcome in a way that feels similar to the realization of Eden’s fall. I want to crawl into bed and hide under the blankets, blocking it all out.

But even then I couldn’t block it out of my heart, and I don’t think Jesus was ever able to either.

Our God, heaven cannot hold Him, nor earth sustain;
Heaven and earth shall flee away when He comes to reign.
In the bleak midwinter a stable place sufficed
The Lord God Almighty, Jesus Christ.

No, God sent His Son to live in it. To muck around with blue-collar workers, to live with family and the drama that accompanies it, to walk a mile in our very own shoes until His unjust death. To dirty His feet and suffer alongside the marginalized. To be forced to find beauty in a dusty, dry, barren, and bleak world that isn’t Home.

Heaven couldn’t contain Him indeed.

What can I give Him, poor as I am?
If I were a shepherd, I would bring a lamb;
If I were a Wise Man, I would do my part;
Yet what I can I give Him: give my heart.

And so many did give Jesus their hearts, lambs, and gifts. He was shown love by many in His life; frosty and sharp as the world could be, there was light. Jesus had dear friends, family who adored Him, and people who wanted to know Him more deeply. Even at the end, His people showed up and watched, prayed, stayed through the bleakest hour.

It’s love that pushes us through when the bleakness of midwinter seasons threatens to swallow us whole.

If we look closely, we can see His beautiful face around every snow-free corner, each wintering and bare tree, and even in the brown blades of grass covering our bleak midwinter land.

May we give Him our hearts. May He come and reign.

 

This article by Anna E. Rendell is from the archives and featured in the Everyday Faith Winter Magazine.

Open Doors, Discipleship, and Our Faithful God

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This year, the Lord surprised me in many ways. He opened the doors for several new ministry opportunities. He provided for me through dear friends. He worked new gifts within me and through me.

I’ve shared about my church going out into our city to share the Gospel. That has had ripple effects over the last several months. Many people have come into relationship with Jesus. Many were healed. Many were set free from addictions and destructive mindsets. Many returned to the faith they had walked away from. God has been so good and so faithful.

Then, I’ve shared about a new professional business women’s social group in my city. That has been one of the biggest gifts in my life. I’ve met new women who are talented, passionate, ambitious, encouraging, and bold.

I knew the Lord was calling me to expand my tent pegs like Isaiah 54 describes. But I wasn’t exactly sure what that would look like. At one of the gatherings, I met two young adult women in line for a photo booth. We did the small talk thing. We talked about our passions. We joked and laughed. It was a good time. At the end of the night, they wanted to stay connected with me.

It honestly shocked me. It’s not normal for me to have women who are 20 years younger than me wanting to hang out with me. I started a group text and we began to chat and figure out when we could all meet. We recently had a two-hour brunch. It was a sweet time.

My prayer was for them to feel the love of the Father, to feel seen, heard, and valued. I asked a ton of questions. I listened intentionally. I spoke into situations they are facing with biblical wisdom and insight. We laughed and dreamed together.

I believe the Lord answered my prayer and the prayers of those interceding for our time together. He gave me a vision for discipleship that I hadn’t really walked out before. Most of the people I have discipled were already believers, usually young in their faith, and often youth or college students. I have loved every moment of that ministry for the last 25 years.

But, I feel like the Lord is doing a new thing in me and through me.

I don’t know every detail or what the full plan will be. I am trusting in the perfect leadership of the Holy Spirit. I am trusting in Him to give me His words to speak at the right time. I pray that I see these young women the way He sees them and love them the way He loves them. I pray for a heart of compassion and grace towards them. I pray that their hearts are softened to His love and the gospel. I pray that I am faithful to plant and water seeds.

At the beginning of this year, I wrote about our God being the same. I think going into 2025, He has me still camped out there. 2024 held many hard things for me, as I’m sure it did for many of you. There was doubt and fear and worry that came for me. There were situations where I needed only the provision that the Lord could bring. There were friendship struggles. There were questions about my future and my calling. I shed tears in prayer. Friends spoke life and hope into circumstances that I thought might crush me.

Despite every hard thing, the Lord remained faithful.

I love Hebrews 10:23 (CSB): “ Let us hold on to the confession of our hope without wavering, since he who promised is faithful.” That is my desire for every day of 2025. I want to hold fast to the confession of Jesus being my hope — not money or titles or circumstances or the cares of this world. When I stumble, His steadfast love is there to steady me.

The Lord is faithful to keep me and you. He is faithful to save the lost. He is faithful to heal the sick and deliver those in torment. He loves us with an unconditional, unchanging, and never-ending love.

He is faithful at all times, in every way. I’m in awe of His faithfulness towards us.

If you need to be reminded of God’s faithfulness to you, I’d love to pray for you!

 

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

Before You Make New Plans for This New Year, Read This

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“Call to me and I will answer you and tell you great and unsearchable things you do not know.”
Jeremiah 33:3 NIV

If given the choice to know what the year ahead will hold or let it all remain a mystery to day-by-day unfold, most of us would probably choose to know. Mystery breeds uncertainty. Uncertainty often causes us to grasp for control.

But what if the mysteries and uncertainties of life were actually meant to compel us to call on God? To propel us to reach out to Him. To lean into Him. To surrender to Him and linger with Him.

The fact that God invites us to call to Him is our assurance that He listens to us. And not only does He listen to our questions, doubts, dreams, desires, and concerns, but He also answers us!

At the start of this new year, may you experience God’s gift of peace knowing that every uncertainty ahead is an opportunity to trust your loving Savior. May you resist the pressure and temptation to sprint ahead of God’s plans and fill up a blank calendar with lofty resolutions and commitments that will stretch you thin.

May you remember that you are more than any goal met, any resolution kept, any to-do list checked. You are known by God. You are His child to whom He turns His ear.

You are loved just as you are.

May you find rest in that truth.

A prayer for this very new year:

Lord, there is so much ahead of us that we can’t foresee, so much we wish we could control but can’t. We hold all our questions, desires, and longings out to You. We want to trust You, but we acknowledge that we need help with that sometimes. Help us remember who we are, through the lens and truth of who You are. Thank You that we can be anchored in faith when we are tethered to You. In Jesus’ name we pray, amen. 

Happy New Year, friends!

Because of God’s Faithful Love, You Were Not Overcome

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The faithful love of the Lord never ends!
    His mercies never cease.
Great is his faithfulness;
    his mercies begin afresh each morning.
I say to myself, “The Lord is my inheritance;
therefore, I will hope in him!”
Lamentations 3:22-24 NLT

You made it to the end of the year. Because of God’s faithful love, you were not overcome. You did not perish — nor will you ever if your trust is in Him. Today is the last day of 2024, and tomorrow ushers in the start of a new year . . . along with God’s faithfulness to see us through it all.

No matter what you’ve faced this year, tomorrow is full of new mercies. Because of God’s grace and forgiveness, we are offered a new heart and a new spirit:

“And I will give you a new heart — I will give you new and right desires — and put a new spirit within you. I will take out your stony hearts of sin and give you new hearts of love. And I will put my Spirit within you so that you will obey my laws and do whatever I command.”
Ezekiel 36:26-27 TLB

As we close out this year, reflecting on all that has happened in the past 365 days, all the ways we’ve grown and struggled and loved and learned, let’s remember that a new day is coming. God will give us a new heart — as well as a new year.

Happy last day of 2024, friends. May your heart feel renewed, refreshed, and ready to welcome every ounce of God’s faithful love and new mercies ahead in 2025.

When the Shadows of Real Life Threaten Your Holiday Joy

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Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, the American nineteenth-century poet who penned the words to one of our beloved Christmas carols, “I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day,” experienced more than his fair share of heartache. Years before writing the stanzas that became that Christmas staple, HWL lost his first wife following a miscarriage. Seven years later, he married Francis Appleton. Together, they made a home in Cambridge, Massachusetts and had six children, one of whom sadly died in infancy. Then, one evening in 1861, his close-knit family suffered another devastating blow. As Francis sealed envelopes with hot wax, her skirt caught fire, and she didn’t survive the burns. HWL, severely burned himself in an effort to help Francis. He grieved the loss of his wife deeply.

A committed abolitionist, HWL later gave his eighteen-year-old son, Charles, permission to fight for the Union army during the Civil War. When Charles was wounded and nearly paralyzed shortly before Christmas 1863, he was sent home to recover. Overwhelmed with young children to care for, his oldest son’s recuperation, and a country he loved in the throes of war, HWL heard bells ringing in Cambridge on Christmas Day.

It was then that he wrote his now famous poem, “Christmas Bells” acknowledging the real suffering and devastation that can’t outrun the real stubborn, determined way of Hope:

And in despair I bowed my head;
“There is no peace on earth,” I said;
For hate is strong,
And mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!”

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep;
“God is not dead, nor doth He sleep;
The wrong shall fail,
The right prevail,
With peace on earth, good-will to men.”

***

Several years ago, my family walked through a heckuva trial that dragged on and on with no end in sight. As Christmas approached that year, I begged God to please, please bring a positive resolution before Christmas Day so we could experience a happier holiday that year.

Alas, no positive resolution came.

On Christmas Eve of that year, I asked myself:

How can I be merry and bright when my circumstances feel miserably broken?

For all previous Christmas seasons, I could co-exist with the struggles of real life and still enjoy my Bing Crosby tunes, sparkling tree lights, and Christmas sugar cookies. But that year, I couldn’t relish any of it. Our Very Big Ordeal loomed like Goliath over me, and our shadowy circumstances threatened to swallow me right up.

Eventually, I turned to Scripture, reading of Gabriel’s visit to Mary.

“The angel answered her, ‘The Holy Spirit will come on you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you; therefore the child to be born will be called holy—the Son of God’.”
Luke 1:35 ESV

Before Mary gave birth to Jesus, she had to first receive the miracle formed in the shadows. She had to sit in the shadow of the Most High.

Miracles form in the shadows, and we never know when one will show up smack-dab in the middle of real life.

A few sentences before Luke 1:35, we read Gabriel’s words,

“And he came to [Mary] and said, ‘Greetings, O favored one, the Lord is with you! But she was greatly troubled at the saying, and tried to discern what sort of greeting this might be. And the angel said to her, ‘Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God.’”
Luke 1:28-30 ESV

When we’re overshadowed by troubles, not only could those shadows precede a miracle, but God tells us within them, do not be afraid. I am with you. What’s more, though it rarely feels like favor in the moment, the truth is that God can take what we’re going through and, in His hands, turn it into a surprising provision of grace — somehow, someway.

If things look different for you this Christmas and New Year season, there’s no shame in being sad about it. That’s real life. Following that shadow of sadness, perhaps a miracle will come. Perhaps from the sorrow and brokenness will come a new truth or tradition that will bless you for decades to come. Maybe something will change for the better, and maybe it won’t. Either way, you and I serve ourselves well when we let go of our expectations that the holiday season (or life!) will only be good if it looks a certain way.

We also serve ourselves well when we read hopeful stories of those “great cloud of witnesses” who lived through every kind of uncertainty on the spectrum with no guarantee of outcomes. Yet they believed:

God is not dead nor doth He sleep.
In the end, the wrong shall fail and the right prevail.
With peace on earth, goodwill to men.

My situation wasn’t resolved by New Year’s Day and in reality, not by the next one either. Miraculously, though, I can see today — years later — how God continues to birth miracle after miracle from that dreadfully dark time.

Christmas Day may have come and gone, but may we still be acutely aware of how God births miracles in the dark. May we remember He turns our impossible into possible (Luke 1:37). When we start to doubt or forget this, may we take our eyes off of what’s around us and instead look toward our Emmanuel, Jesus — the Way, the Truth, and the Real Life who is with us always.

If loneliness is the shadow that threatens your seasonal joy, perhaps this resource could be of help to you.

 

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

An Invitation to Remember God’s Faithfulness This Year

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“I will make known the Lord’s faithful love
and the Lord’s praiseworthy acts,
because of all the Lord has done for us—
even the many good things
he has done for the house of Israel,
which he did for them based on his compassion
and the abundance of his faithful love.
He said, “They are indeed my people,
children who will not be disloyal,”
and he became their Savior.
In all their suffering, he suffered,
and the angel of his presence saved them.
He redeemed them
because of his love and compassion;
he lifted them up and carried them
all the days of the past.”
Isaiah 63:7-9 CSB

2024 is about to end — can you believe it? As we settle our hearts after the celebrations and chaos of the holidays, let’s pause and remember God’s faithfulness this year. We would love to hear from you:

  • What prayers have been answered? 
  • At what moments did you see or hear God clearly? 
  • Who in your life has shown you more of God?
  • When things were hard, how did you experience God’s nearness?

God loves us more than we can imagine. We are His people, His children. God is and has been steady, unshaken, present, and compassionate in the midst of all that this year has brought.

Breathe in God’s grace for you. It is enough.

How Studying Theology Taught Me God Is Right There on the Dance Floor With Us

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Another lifetime ago, or so it seems, I was a ballet dancer.

This fun fact comes in handy for ice breakers and team building activities, but I try to keep conversations about my dancing years on the surface. Truth-be-told, pain filled those years. I used ballet as an escape. I used ballet as a way to abuse my body. I used ballet to disconnect my heart and my head from the truth of my belovedness.

During a particularly demanding run of Sleeping Beauty, I danced the solo role of one of Aurora’s fairies. The dance, simultaneously dainty and languid, showed off my feet and my fingers in a way that I really liked. One day during rehearsal, I made a small choice that I considered minor. I slightly changed the position of my arm — barely just a little. I remember seeing another ballerina extend her arm in a similar way when she performed this same dance, and I thought it looked so beautiful. But that barely-there alteration resulted in the ballet director dramatically halting the pianist and berating me for daring to change the choreography. For her, this alteration directly challenged her authority. Because, when it came down to it, I’d signed a contract and, thus, my job was just “dancer.” I was required to perform the steps according to the choreography that was coordinated with the music.

That was the day I decided I didn’t love ballet anymore.

It took me several decades to reconcile my broken relationship between ballet and my body. Surprisingly, studying theology helped this reconciliation more than anything else. You see, now I am a mother. A wife. A caregiver. I’m training to be a hospital chaplain. I teach the Bible and study theology. Out of all of the truths I’ve learned inside and outside of seminary, my biggest, most important revelation has been: the way we view God will ultimately affect how we view everything else. One example of this is how I’ve viewed God as a berating master choreographer. My duty, then, as a believer demanded that I “perform the choreography.” Discipleship felt like one grand performance. My job as a faithful follower consisted of striving to execute my steps perfectly. In time, I approached holiness, sanctification, obedience, and faithfulness through this lens of perfection. These qualities weren’t something that I depended on the Holy Spirit to direct. Instead, I worked towards those things on my own and, y’all . . . it didn’t work.

I abused my body, convincing myself that arduous work counted as a sacrifice. Theologically, I told myself I couldn’t pursue things like joy and beauty because “I was dying to myself.” I didn’t believe that my voice had meaning or that I had any real agency. My priority, my main purpose, merely consisted of donning my costume and playing my character. I did this at church, too. I kept my mouth shut, put a smile on my face, and pretended in the pews. I pretended I wasn’t in pain. I pretended I wasn’t lonely. I pretended lots of things. But mostly, I lived in a state of constant terror, worried that one wrong move might set off the ill-tempered choreographer and that my misstep — no matter how small — would result in public shame. In my brain, God was like my former choreographer. And I feared the idea that God might rebuke me for daring to, in any way, deviate outside of the role religion handed me.

But studying theology helped me realize that God is less like the director or the ticket box salesperson. God is less like the owner of the theater or the highest-paying donor. God is more like the divine dance. He is inviting us to participate in a dance party rather than a performance. God isn’t worried about us ruining the choreography or losing our footing. He just wants to enjoy dancing with us. God is inviting us to try new steps, take risks, and trust in His kindness. He wants us to invite more people to the party. God is right there on the dance floor with us, showing us what it looks like to participate in the dynamic of His grace and goodness.

In the world of theological studies (and even in everyday life), many of us are curious about the particulars — the semantics and the mechanics. Proper form and technique. Orthodoxy and doctrine. And there’s a place for all of that, sure. But God isn’t screaming at us to get our act together, work harder, or comply. He is not sitting in the director chair with legs crossed, a scowl on His face. God is leading us, smiling with us, resting with us, and teaching us what it’s like to enjoy moving together.

I encourage you to ask yourself questions like How do I view God? and Why? Because when we wonder about God, He loves to reveal who He is. God loves to replace the lies we tell ourselves with an invitation to draw closer, empowering us to depend fully on His divine grace. And as you slowly, gently, carefully, replace those lies with truth, I hope you heal knowing that God loves you, God is with you, and God is good.

Mostly, I hope you enjoy the dance.