God Hears Simple Prayers Like “Help Me”

God Hears Simple Prayers Like “Help Me”

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The end of the day and the end of my rope occurred simultaneously. Under the nighttime sky, I curled up in a chair, wrapped a blanket around me, and cried a desperate prayer during a desperate time. Help me. Nothing else to pray; nothing left to say.

Another fight with my husband left me empty, tired, hurt, and angry. He spoke ugly things and I retaliated. A volley of nasty remarks and finger-pointing accusations. Help me.

When the verbal barrage ended, we retreated to separate spaces. I sought refuge under the stars while my husband found sanctuary in front of the television. In the darkness, I felt sick and sad deep in my soul. Hard questions with no easy answers flooded my mind.

After years of marriage, why was communicating so hard?

Why were we constantly wounding each other with our words?

Why did we give Satan a foothold in our marriage through that ugly exchange?

I searched the sky for a rescue plan as the list of questions grew. The moon as my witness, maybe God would perform a marriage miracle. Maybe a shooting star would grant me a changed spouse. Maybe my husband would seek me out, tell me he was sorry, and declare his love. But none of those happened. There were no cosmic interventions. Help me.

Time on my deck provided an opportunity to replay the heated battle. As my tears fell, I hung my head in shame but no one was around to notice. Heartache stirred up a reminder from God’s marriage guide and I was guilty on all accounts. I had violated what God outlined in His love chapter, 1 Corinthians 13:

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.  Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.  It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.
1 Corinthians 13:4-7 (NIV)

Love is patient instead of flying off the handle.

Love intentionally chooses kindness instead of being mean and snarky.

Love doesn’t boast by yelling louder than your spouse.

Love isn’t easily angered even when your hot button gets pushed.

Love keeps no record of wrongs, so destroy the notebook of your spouses’ missteps.

Conviction poked my heart; a gentle nudging from the Holy Spirit. My head knew to ask forgiveness for my displeasing part but my heart still hurt. I didn’t want to face him and possibly risk another confrontation. So, I ignored the Holy Spirit and plodded off to bed alone. I needed more time and space and sleep brought both. Battle-weary, I buried my heart and sadness under the blankets and hoped my dreams would reveal this was just a crazy nightmare. Help me.

The next morning, my husband was up early and gone before I woke. On the kitchen counter, I found a note with no apology. He wished me a good day and signed it, A and F.

Always and Forever.

Those two words sounded like hope; they felt like love. He chose to take a baby love-step to close the gap that we ripped open in our marriage. A small gesture, but I held that piece of paper like a precious olive branch extended in peace. It sparked a tiny flame of encouragement to keep on keeping on.

Always and Forever meant he was still in the marriage and we would figure out the rest. Yes, the sting was still there and the wounds still fresh. But, he was staying in the game and I resolved to do the same. No-one was skipping out, because . . . love always protects, always trusts, always hopes, and always perseveres.

God hears simple, desperate prayers like help me. Our Heavenly Father meets us in our dark, lonely places and loves us when we feel unloved and unlovable. His precious blood covers all our marital messiness . . . and more. If we hide His Word in our hearts, when we cry out in desperate times, He will whisper Holy reminders.

Our marriage is a work in progress — hard work and God will show us the way. We are two believers and two sinners living, working, and loving in a fallen world. Like many marriages, there may not be a fairy tale ending nor a happily ever after but small steps in the direction of each other instead of the door.

Help me grew into Help us.

And God will.

What If You’re Not Actually Missing Out?

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My 15-year-old got in the car after another late soccer practice. Under the glow of the parking lot lights, I could see his red cheeks and sweat dripping down the back of his neck. Carting my sons around to various practices and sporting events can feel like a Groundhog Day-esque experience — same drill, different day — but something about this night landed differently.

I looked at my firstborn and was undone with awe at the remarkable person he has become. So very handsome and smart and strong. Hardworking, respectful, and fun. I love the way he jokes with me and also shows affection. (Teenagers who hug their mamas are a treasure!) I could say the same thing about my other two boys.

Turning on the main boulevard toward home, I started to cry.

Tears flooded my cheeks, not just at the wonder of being a mom and watching babies grow into young men who I love (and also really like); I cried because my dad never got to see it.

It was my father’s birthday, the fourteenth he’s celebrated in heaven instead of having lemon meringue pie at Marie Calendar’s or garlic bread and extra meat sauce at Vince’s Spaghetti. I thought about my dad all day. Missed him. Wished I could see him. But after many years, the once intense grief now felt more like a gentle longing — until Noah got in the car.

Suddenly a new dimension of loss erupted like a long-dormant volcano.

It wasn’t just that my dad had missed out on more than a decade of holidays and baseball games, graduations, milestone birthdays, and competitive card games. I was keenly aware of how he’d missed out on knowing us.

And isn’t that our deepest longing? To be known?

My two oldest boys have grown in stature since their grandfather’s passing, from babes in diapers to muscular bodies that tower over me. (My youngest wasn’t even born yet.) But they’ve also grown leaps and bounds in personhood. Jude with his witty sense of humor and tender heart for Jesus. Elias with his endless words and entrepreneurial spirit. Noah with his quiet grit and excellence in all he does. And their Grandpa Ralph has missed all of it.

Then the ache went deeper. Not only are my sons growing and changing day by day, but so am I. I’m a different person than I was fourteen years ago. If only I could relate to my dad from the place of healing and groundedness in Jesus that I now live in. If only my dad could see how 28-year-old Becky was just a shadow of who 42-year-old Becky would become. If only we hadn’t missed out on so much time together…

I poured out all my sorrow to Jesus. Then He said to my spirit, You’re not missing out. You’re just waiting.

With that, peace and joy flooded my heart — not erasing my grief but coloring it with fresh hope for the family reunion awaiting me. A time when all the tension and turmoil that clouded my relationship with my dad will be replaced by wholeness and perfect love. A time when grandsons and grandpa will know and appreciate the fullness of who God created them each to be. A time when hours and months and years will never feel lost or wasted, only enjoyed and redeemed.

Heaven is not a fairytale ending that only exists in storybooks or a man-made silver lining. Heaven is real. Fixing our hope on the restoration to come completely changes our experience in the waiting.

Paul writes, “For we have heard of your faith in Christ Jesus and your love for all of God’s people, which come from your confident hope of what God has reserved for you in heaven” (Colossians 1:4-5 NLT).

Do you have confident hope for what God is storing up for you in heaven?

Later in his letter, Paul affirms the importance of keeping the truth of heaven in the forefront of our minds:

“Since you have been raised to new life with Christ, set your sights on the realities of heaven, where Christ sits in the place of honor at God’s right hand. Think about the things of heaven, not the things of earth. For you died to this life, and your real life is hidden with Christ in God.”
Colossians 3:1-3

Our real life is not the one here on earth, marred by loss and brokenness. Our real life is the one to come!

What grief weighs heavy on your heart today? What do you feel like you’re missing out on? What has your soul groaning, “It’s not supposed to be this way?” Tell Jesus about it. Tell Him everything that makes you sad and achy and wish it would be different. Then open your heart to receive what He wants you to know about it.

When we think about the things of heaven, our waiting is weighted with joyful expectancy.

One day my family will be reunited and restored. One day we will truly know and be known by my dad.

Thankfully we don’t have to wait for that to be true with our Heavenly Father. He already sees my children, pursues time with them, and delights in who they are becoming. The Father already knows me fully, loves me perfectly, and works all things together for my good.

We never have to wait for that to be true.

 

I Have a Love-Hate Relationship with the Holidays. You, Too?

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In the attic of my mind, where dusty cobwebs sit tangled and untouched, I keep vivid snapshots of past Christmases, the ones celebrated with tinsel on trees and stockings stuffed with small surprises.

In my heart, I hold a home where I collect memories of Thanksgiving gatherings, all of us seated in a sacred circle around Grandma’s kitchen table.

Holding these memories feels like holding a snow globe. At first, they’re beautiful—perfect and pristine. But when you shake the globe, that small world becomes blurred and obscured in a storm of synthetic snow.

Three weeks from today, our calendars will call upon us, ringing with alarms to remind us that Thanksgiving has come . . . that, Thanksgiving is here. I will wake and roll to my bedside, fumble into my house slippers, and drag my two aching feet across the cold floor, until I reach the darkened room where I light my candles, my little corner of the world where I cast all my cares upon the only One who can carry them. I will sit slouched in the same chair that I’ve sat and slouched in for the last three months, and I will ponder what I should pray, asking the holy One how a human like me might hold all the tension of a day like Thanksgiving, a day painted thick with both the pain of the past and all the promise of the present.

I am a mixed woman and in my skin, I carry the stories of diverse descent — I am ever discovering facts about my family history, ever naming the nuanced narratives of Thanksgiving and what it means for my people, and ever juggling nostalgic traditions along with the sorrow that surrounds this holiday’s formation.

I am a seeking woman, ever in search of the truth about Christmas. I love the carols and the greeting cards that carry tidings of comfort, but I hate the promotional Christmas-themed content and commercials that have already inundated our social media and stores. I love the gesture of giving gifts, but not when consumerism comes at the expense of our planet, one of God’s greatest gifts to us.

I am not a grinch; I’m just a girl seeking out ways to honor these holy days.

I am not a scrooge; I’m just a woman wanting to truly see the sacred in this season.

I’m just a believer wishing it was all written out in the Bible, or spelled out in the sand, or whispered loud in the wind. I’m not content with making guesses; I just want God to tell me how to do all of this right. What does God think about Thanksgiving? What does God say about Christmas?

Do our Christmas pageants and homemade pies bring God pleasure? Are we breaking God’s heart when our plastic presents pile up on this here planet? How do we honor holidays that hold histories of harm while making space for how they stir up stories of hope? How do we celebrate with joy when grief feels greater? How do we move forward in festivities when we’ve often lost loved ones along the way? How do we slow down and savor this season though it always seems to slip right through our hands? How do we hold our traditions in tandem with truth? How do we believe that God, our Emmanuel, is near and not bound between the books of the Bible?

I have a love-hate relationship with the holidays, and I bet you do, too. I bet you feel as much jaded as you do joyful. Though we are filled with gratitude for all God has done, we are also filled with grief for the weariness of this world. Though we believe in the miracles, we are also baffled by the mystery. Though we long to celebrate, we also long for certainty and to know if we’re doing any of this right.

Every year about this time, when the trees shake naked and the wind blows cold, I begin my annual oscillation, shifting back and forth between belief and doubt, wonder and fear, asking God to show me how to hold the days ahead. And while this year feels no different, and though I cannot claim to have all the answers, here is what I sense the Spirit saying to me:

The holidays are simply holy days.

As with any ordinary day, God is the One who makes holy the messy, the mundane, the magical, and the mystery. The only right way to go about the holidays is the same way we go about any other ordinary day — we invite God into our every moment. As with any other ordinary day, we make a humble home for God in the messy, mundane manger of our hearts. In our rising and our falling, in our coming and our going, in our laughing and our weeping, in our celebrating and our seeking, we focus on God, forever.

No matter the tensions you carry about the holidays ahead, may you hear the whisper of God inviting you to see the holy in all of your days.

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Friends, I’d love to hold space for any tensions you may be carrying or facing as we enter the holidays. Comment below and share a little bit about what you’re going through — I’d love to encourage you.

The Election May Be Over, But May Our Important Relationships Move Ever Onward

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I’m gonna shoot straight with you: Today, the day after our presidential election in the United States, is one of my least favorite days — no matter who wins.

On this day every four years, I’m on social media minimally because, as one with friends and family who fall on all points of the political spectrum, half the people I know are despondent or mad-as-you-know-what while everyone else is throwing an absolute party.

In reality, I know there’s a large number of folks who aren’t “all in” with their candidate; they’re not so much voting for someone as against someone else. But still, as an enneagram 2 who absorbs tension like my hair absorbs humidity, the dichotomy between the more passionate people fills me with anxiety. I want to curl up in a ball, hide under my bed, and not come out for six months or so.

But because I’m an actual grownup with actual responsibilities, including the luck-of-the-draw that is having an article up today, there will be no such hiding!

If I don’t enjoy being around tension, as I’ve already said, you’ll be 0% surprised that I don’t want to add to it, either. In particular, I don’t want the important relationships in my life to suffer because I sit on the opposite side of the proverbial fence with a loved one or ten.

As a gal who’s not afraid to feel my feelings, I admit there have been times I’ve felt triggered because of another person’s strong views that opposed my own, especially if those views concerned a topic I care deeply about. But the older I get, the more my bandwidth for engaging with potentially contentious people shrinks. I won’t do it over social media, period, because too much is lost in translation through that incomplete way of communicating.

In person, I’ll only do so with those I trust to engage with me respectfully and productively — whether we think alike or not. Otherwise, no thank you.

But not everyone feels the same way.

So herein lies my question: How do you maintain a relationship with your loved one when you don’t share the same views—and their views keep coming up in the conversation? And therefore your relationship?

If you’re both levelheaded, perhaps you can discuss your differences calmly and reasonably. Thankfully, I have several friends with whom this is possible. But if someone gets bent out of shape because of an opposing viewpoint, the tension can take off faster than a prairie fire with a tailwind. ⁠

In light of that, here are three principles and practices that help me avoid letting opposing viewpoints come between me and my friends or family members:

Badgering the cat is a choice. Ivy is our kitty cat, and her mere existence just sticks in the craw of our dog, Rafa. Rafa simply refuses to rest when Ivy is in his vicinity. He stares at her. He follows her. He gets all up in her business. Eventually, he gets close enough to Ivy that she hisses or swipes at him, and then he dramatically shrinks back with offense.

As all of this unfolds, I say things like, “Rafa, leave Ivy alone. Rafa, mind your own business. RAFA, YOU CAN CHOOSE NOT TO BADGER THE CAT.” Every time, Rafa chooses to badger the cat.

But with wisdom and maturity, we can choose differently. If we take offense over a friend’s position, we don’t have to act on that offense. When we realize that keeping our opinions to ourselves doesn’t invalidate those opinions, we can relax rather than react.

Keep a few “tension-diffusing” phrases in your back pocket. My sister taught me my favorite phrase: “You may be right about that.” I love that because it conveys to the other person that you’re listening and hearing what they’ve said. It’s respectful yet non-committal. So, if someone badgers you or you just feel riled up, you can respond with, “You may be right about that!”

Keep a big-picture view. Jesus didn’t beat around the bush when he said, “As I have loved you, so you must love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another” (John 13: 34-35 NIV). Sharing your perspective that another may disagree with can certainly be done in a loving way. On the other hand, prioritizing being “right” over maintaining a good relationship with someone is usually not a loving approach. Our motive makes the difference.

If, like me, you’re plumb haggard by all the election talk, that means you’re probably in community with folks carrying various points of view too. If so, you’re in good company. Jesus’s disciples included folks on opposite sides of the political spectrum, such as Matthew and Simon. Pastor Scott Sauls writes in his book Jesus Outside the Lines:

“Included in the Twelve are Simon, a Zealot, and Matthew, a tax collector. This is significant because Zealots worked against the government, while tax collectors worked for the government. . ..Despite their opposing viewpoints, Matthew and Simon were friends. . .”

The big picture view says that at the end of the day, loving people well can look like accepting that you don’t have to agree with them to love them.

This election may be over, but may our important relationships move ever onward.

For more practices and principles from Kristen on how to be a good friend to those you disagree with, visit here.

Comparison Is a Sign of Distrust

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“Consider how the wild flowers grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you, not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these.”
Luke 12:27 NIV

“How old is your daughter again?” I asked.

“Fourteen months!” she responded.

Yup, just as I thought, her daughter was only a month older than my youngest, and yet my daughter was sitting in the stroller instead of playing. Why? Because she couldn’t keep up with the other kids as they ran, jumped, and climbed. My daughter was born with Down syndrome, which physically includes lower muscle tone than the typical child. This means that her timeline to do what typical kids her age are doing takes longer. Almost immediately, my mood plummeted.

We’ve all read the saying, “Comparison is the thief of joy,” right? Oof, I can attest to that. I wish it were as easy as saying, “Well, just don’t compare!” But sometimes, telling ourselves to stop comparing means we hinder breaking down why we compare in the first place, which is necessary to stop comparing.

Why was I comparing? Because I felt like she was left out, I was impatient, and most of all, I didn’t trust God’s timeline and provision for her. But as Scripture tells us, the wildflowers don’t toil and labor, and yet they grow exactly the way God intends.

Why did I let comparison steal my joy and amplify my doubts about my beautiful wildflower? So what if it takes her a little longer to do the things that kids her age are doing? So what if she never does something they do? She has her deliberate timeline, and my role as her mom isn’t to rush or push her but to guide and support her. I don’t need to toil and labor and worry! I need to trust.

The next time I saw this mom friend, I combated any initial comparative thoughts with one of openhanded trust. Over time, that surrender has meant greater joy in playdates and trust in God’s plan for my daughter.

Dear Lord, I say that I trust You, but I keep parts of me hidden. Help me open my hands and release my grip. I don’t want comparison or worry to take any more time. Amen.

Reflect: Where are you when it comes to comparing in your life? Do you see how it steals your joy? Where is your distrust louder than your trust?

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Life is full of ups and downs. We have an idea of what’s good for us — but it doesn’t always match God’s plans for us. How do we learn to trust God’s timing, provision, plans, and perspective when we’re dealing with the unexpected?

Author Shruthi Parker has some words to say about that! Her new book, Living Open-Handed: Devotions for Surrendering Control and Finding Joy in the Unexpected, invites readers to surrender control to God’s all-sustaining power and His very good will as they discover how to appreciate the ins and outs and ups and downs that life brings. Through selected verses, devotions, prayers, and reflection prompts, this 90-day devotional will leave readers with a growing sense of faith — and maybe even an unexplainable joy — in the curveballs life throws at them.

Shruthi says, “I did not write this book from a place of being an expert but rather from a place of weakness. Repeatedly, challenging life circumstances kept me craving the balm of Scripture and truth every day, and the one little flame that kept my heart hopeful in the chaos was knowing God was good. I needed to hear it continually while also learning to surrender in all things, and this book was born. When I discovered my daughter was deaf, when my husband had cancer, when, when, when . . . God showed me I didn’t need a situation to have a neat ending to have joy. I just needed Him. And oh, the joy there is! If out-of-control situations make you feel like you can’t catch your breath, or fear feels too familiar day in and day out, this book is for you.”

Isn’t that so good??

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

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

 

*Giveaway open to US addresses only and will close at 11:59 pm central on 11/13/24.

 

 

Remember This When Tension Rises and Anxiety Soars

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I cried in class last month, blinking furiously, not out of embarrassment but because I couldn’t see the page full of notes in front of me, and I didn’t want to miss a word.

Nearly ten years ago, I applied to seminary. My phone’s camera roll still holds the moment forever frozen in time: an acceptance letter held in trembling hands, glassy eyes, and my smile a mile wide.

The dream was paused before it officially began due to finances. But every Tuesday I drive across town to the divinity school on my old college campus, walk through a maze of hallways I still know by heart, and take copious notes in one of the Lay Academy classes. Although there’s no credit given toward a degree, it’s a wonderful opportunity to learn.

This year, when I read the fall course options, I knew I’d move my entire workweek around if necessary so that I could return to the classroom again. For two hours every Tuesday, two dozen men and women scribble notes, ask questions, and occasionally struggle to see through tears as we learn about Women in the Ancient Church, specifically the 2nd-5th centuries.

This might be the nerdiest sentence of my life, but I teared up when I grabbed a fresh notebook and new highlighters for the first day of class. My throat was tight with emotion as I walked across the campus that is forever near and dear to my heart, a place that has changed so much this last decade and yet will always, in some ways, be home.

But I wiped actual tears in room N101 as we read the prison diaries of Christian women who were martyred.

Every entry was descriptive and clear – the women knew exactly what was coming their way in a matter of days – but each one included the word hope and each was written with joy. I was both sobered and strengthened by their words centuries later.

I had never heard their names before, but they were there – the women were there – and their legacy of faith and belief points to one Name alone.

The following week, I stood with six other women, all of us spanning several generations, as we read from a transcript of second-century court proceedings. A decade has passed since I held a seminary acceptance letter in shaking hands, but the paper now in my hands trembled as we gave voice to the testimonies of seven Christian women on trial together. It was, in a way, an acceptance letter passed through the centuries, as one by one we declared the words of the women who went before us, each one refusing to deny the Name of Jesus Christ.

The air was thick, our eyes wide, and the room completely quiet except for a whispered “wow” that slipped into the silence as we returned to our seats. In the weeks since, with tension rising and anxiety soaring as we near Election Day in the United States, I’ve unexpectedly found myself returning to the words of the early Christians. Surely, in their humanity, they felt worry and anxiety over what the coming days would hold. And yet their words drip with peace, gratitude, hope, and deep joy.

The outcome of tomorrow’s election results will have a significant impact, affecting flesh and blood lives for generations, and I do not in any way mean to minimize this truth. But there is another truth running deeper, echoing from words spoken centuries ago: the Kingdom will not be shaken.

There have been difficult days before and there will be others ahead, no matter what tomorrow holds (or the next day, or the next, or the next). Jesus told us this would be the case, but He left a promise for us among the pain:

“I have told you these things, so that in Me you may have [perfect] peace. In the world you have tribulation and distress and suffering, but be courageous [be confident, be undaunted, be filled with joy]; I have overcome the world.”
John 16:33 AMP

The story is still being written, but we already know the end.

We the people are fractured and divided, but we the children of the Kingdom are forever secure.

Presidents and policies will pass away, but there is a Kingdom that remains, and so we have every reason to be filled with hope. Not a flimsy hope that comes and goes, but one that holds because we are forever held by the One who, even now, is seated on the throne.

May we rest in that truth and may we seek the flourishing of the place where we live (Jeremiah 29:7). In the words of Dr. Lucretia Carter Berry, “May we be people of peace, with voices of hope, doing the hard work of love.”

Our actions matter. Our words in both conversations and comment boxes will leave a legacy. After all, here we are in 2024 and the Christian women of the second century are still speaking, a truth that holds through the ages: the Kingdom will not be shaken.

May we listen with kindness, love well, and live with hope and deep joy. May we remember: The story is still being written, but we already know the end.

For more hope-filled encouragement, free lock screens for your phone, and book recommendations from Kaitlyn, follow her on Instagram!

A Prayer of Surrender

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“Let love and faithfulness never leave you;
bind them around your neck,
write them on the tablet of your heart.
Then you will win favor and a good name
in the sight of God and man.
Trust in the Lord with all your heart
and lean not on your own understanding;
in all your ways submit to him,
and he will make your paths straight.
Do not be wise in your own eyes;
fear the Lord and shun evil.
This will bring health to your body
and nourishment to your bones.”
 Proverbs 3:3-8 NIV

Even though we wish we could see all that is to come, let’s open our hands and trust God with the unknown. His goodness and love continue to be true. Always. It’s who God is. His faithfulness endures through every generation. Our path is made straight by Him.

Lord, there is so much ahead of us that we can’t predict or understand, so much we wish we could control but can’t. We hold all the questions, desires, and longings out to You. We want to trust You, but we acknowledge that we need help with that sometimes. Help us. We believe, help our unbelief. Thank You that we are anchored in faith when we are tethered to You. We surrender our plans and our anxiety and open our hands to receive your wisdom and direction. In Jesus’s name we pray, amen. 

How can we pray for you?

On the first Sunday of every month, it’s our joy to hold space to pray for one another. Leave a prayer request in the comments and pray for the person who commented before you.

This Is a Reminder That God Is Holding Your Hand

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It was 1:00 a.m. and I’d been awake for seventeen hours.

Three days past my first baby’s due date, I didn’t know what to expect. When my water broke at 8:30 p.m. the evening before, my husband and I switched into fast gear. Gathering our “go” bags and rushing to the car distracted me from my contractions. As we drove forty-five minutes to our hospital I made phone calls, telling our loved ones, “This is it!” and “She’s coming!”

By the time we reached the delivery room, I was ready for relief. I changed into an oh-so-comfortable paper gown, and we buckled up for the ride. A few hours later, all was quiet. The nurses had adjusted the lighting, surrounding us in shadows. Across the room, my husband draped diagonally across a chair, asleep. He’d been up since 6:00 a.m. the morning before, working hard all day and then rushing here. I thought about how that upright wooden chair must’ve made an uncomfortable bed.

Another contraction hit and panic engulfed me. Until then, nurses had been in and out. But now my room was conspicuously empty. I can’t handle this, I thought. The contractions hurt too much and we had a long way to go. I struggled through the pain, my body tensing and fighting progress. 

Then, I sensed the Holy Spirit whisper: Rachel, pray through each contraction.

Why hadn’t that occurred to me before? Far too often, prayer comes to be my last thought in a crisis rather than the very inhale and exhale of my life.

A machine print-out unraveled beside me, tracing a wiggly line of peaks and valleys. I set my heart on talking to God and depending on Him for each mountain of pain. Instead of waking my husband, as I normally would have, I threw myself upon my Creator to carry me. 

And a wonderful thing happened — a verse came, as vibrant and personal as a love note: “Do not fear, for I am with you; Do not be afraid, for I am your God. I will strengthen you, I will also help you, I will also uphold you with My righteous right hand” (Isaiah 41:10 NASB). 

The comfort was so real, and I outstretched my hand on my bed as though it was being held. I could feel the warmth of God’s hand — the One who recorded my days before one of them came to be, the One who knit together this baby within me. He was holding me and the life of my precious daughter.  

Twelve hours later, along with an epidural-induced nap and many shed tears, we seemed no closer to the finish line. My baby wasn’t descending, my body wasn’t responding to the signals my uterus was sending, and labor’s drumming was taking its toll on me. Carefully monitoring the baby’s heartbeat, the on-call doctor made a decision. Locking her eyes with mine, she spoke calmly but firmly: “We need to do a C-section. The baby is showing signs of distress.”

The next half hour was a blur. Within minutes, they wheeled me out the door and down the hall. My husband was barely in his surgical suit and booties before they began the incision. I lay exhausted, strapped down, bleeding, and shaking. Fear thrummed through me, as I waited to hear if everything was okay. The room became a whirlwind, finally crescendoing with the sound of a newborn’s fluid-choked cry — perhaps the most welcome sound in all the world. My husband briefly held her, then she was whisked away to receive oxygen. Soon I was settled in a recovery room.  

We made it through! The epic delivery we awaited for forty weeks, my water breaking, the long labor, the pain that loomed insurmountable, the middle-of-the-night hand-holding with my Almighty God, and the emergency that placed me under a scalpel — it all culminated in this moment. Before heading home, my delivery nurse stopped in to say, “Rachel, I want you to know you have a God watching out for you.” She told me that when the doctors opened me up, they realized my placenta was rupturing. “We could have lost you both,” she said. “You have a God watching out for you.”  

There are few moments when the shroud of earthly fog parts, we glimpse the eternal, and we see behind the scenes. This was one of those times. My God sat next to me, held my hand and reminded me not to fear. He upheld me and my baby, steading my doctor’s hand and saving my daughter just in time. And, in case I missed the realization, He sent my nurse to remind me of His grace in my life that day.

When I see it . . . and even when I don’t . . . He holds my life in His hands, carrying me through the hardest mountains. And if I have a God watching out for me, I know you have a God watching out for you, too. He is holding you, even through the heaviest and hardest of moments. Come what may, know and believe that He is carrying you through every heartbreak and every birth, every valley and every peak, every dark night and every bright day.

May you feel the warmth of His hand, just like I did that day, and may you sense Him reminding you not to fear.

Look for the Light

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I grew up on the central coast of California, a place full of natural beauty. We had the Pacific and wine country and hills that wove throughout the county. We were within driving distance of redwoods and mountains, and it snows every 18 years or so. But there was one thing we did not have: the Northern Lights. I now call Massachusetts home, and I’m much further north, but the chances of seeing them is still pretty darn slim.

I’d seen photos and videos before, putting the Northern Lights on my list of wonders I wanted to witness. I couldn’t imagine how amazing it must be to see the sky light up with shades of green and red, dazzling every onlooker in the darkness. I assumed that I would have to plan a whole trip to Scandinavia during peak season, careful to do what I could to get there at the right moment. And then, I’d have to pray it wasn’t overcast.

Deep down, I knew that seeing the Northern Lights would require planning.

And then, this summer, I was at a friend’s wedding in Georgia when my newsfeed filled up with images of the Northern Lights in Massachusetts. My friends and neighbors were capturing shots of the amazing and rare moment, and there I was, in the wrong place at the wrong time.

So imagine my surprise when I sat with friends at a trivia night the other evening and suddenly, everyone was running outside to take photos of the sky. I couldn’t believe it and I shouted to my boyfriend to stop eating dinner and come take a look.

There, right over our little New England town, the sky was stained red, ebbing and flowing in breathtaking movement.

We finished trivia after placing 8th and when we went back outside, it had disappeared. As we drove back to my apartment, I felt a pull to find a dark place and try again to see what I’d hardly even taken in between rounds of questions about U.S. Presidents and 1990s hockey.

We turned toward a local lake and parked near the dock, the sky as black and starry as ever, but no sign of aurora borealis. It was starting to get cold and after a while, we decided to give up… when suddenly, over the horizon, a ghost-like vertical blob appeared. It felt like my eyes were playing tricks on me. But sure enough, it got stronger. I pulled out my phone to take a picture and it automatically went to “night mode.” What I saw on the screen was brighter and clearer than what my naked eye could take in.

You see, our eyes work like camera lenses in that they take in light and that’s how we can see in the dark. The more light you have, the more you can see. This is obvious when we think of daylight. But when it’s nighttime, we can’t take in a whole lot because there’s not enough exposure to light.

Cameras are different from our eyes because they can pull in more light, and therefore they pick up images like the Northern Lights better than our limited human vision. If I hadn’t opened my camera lens, I would have certainly seen faintly what the camera made plain: the lights were there and they were beautiful.

Sometimes, I’m watching for the Light of Jesus in dark seasons and I feel sad because I don’t see Him. In moments of lament or overwhelm, it’s easy to believe in only what we see or sense, but the beauty of God is that He is who He is, whether or not we see Him.

Just because I don’t feel God’s nearness doesn’t mean He is not near. Just because I don’t see His goodness doesn’t mean He is not good.

Psalm 119:105 (KJV)says, “Thy Word is a lamp unto my feet, and a light unto my path.”

When we see our lives through the lens of Scripture, we’re opening ourselves up to light when it’s otherwise dark. We’re looking with more exposure to a brightness that allows us to see the beauty we’d otherwise miss or see faintly.

Take heart, friend. There is beauty before you. You just need the right lens to see it.

The Real Monsters Aren’t in Haunted Houses

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“Did you sign up?” my roommate asked me as we lingered in our dorm hallway.

“Yes! And I got my boyfriend to sign up, too!” I replied, giddy with anticipation.

It would be the perfect Saturday evening. I looked out the window at the gold and red leaves scattered across campus and could picture it: Me in my plaid scarf and peacoat, looking adorably autumnal while sipping apple cider on a hayride.

Fellow first-year students loaded the old-school yellow bus, ready to pay our $10 fee to embark on a new adventure. We left our downtown college campus for the outskirts of the country, where a tiny ski hill had been transformed into a fall wonderland.

The ride was off to a bumpy start. I shared a seat with my boyfriend and kept sliding into him with every sharp turn. As the driver zoomed onto the highway, he nearly collided with a bread delivery truck.

Little did I know, the evening was about to get a lot scarier.

We finally arrived at our destination in one piece and climbed off the bus. We were told to meet in three hours and given tickets to the attractions. 

The fall adventure that ensued was not what I had in mind. 

We joined the line of people waiting to get on the hayride. When we reached the front, we realized too late that we were not in line for a hayride at all. I had inadvertently signed up for a terrifying haunted house – rated five skulls on the scary scale! Werewolves and mad scientists jumped out in strobe-lit rooms, and we were warned to watch out for rats as hissing air hit our ankles. I thought I might faint.

Just when I thought we’d survived the ordeal and could finally retreat to the chateau to sip that cider, a teenager dressed as a vampire informed me that we had only finished the first part of the haunted house. There were multiple parts! 

This time of year, we’re bombarded with spooky stories and decorations crafted to put a chill down our spines. But it’s much easier to admit that a jumpscare from someone in a mask frightens me than to confront the real monsters hiding in my closet: my fears about the future, my wonderings if whether work matters, the loneliness that creeps up on me when I least expect it.

What haunts your life?

Maybe you thought you’d be further along in your career by now, and you’re anxious about what that means for your future. Or perhaps a relationship that once brought you joy is in pieces, and now you’re scared of the unknown ahead.

The thing about our fears is that when we try to push them away, they don’t stay hidden for long. Have you ever laid in bed at night, only to have your mind replay every worry and whisper every what-if?

Fears fester in the dark, but in Christ, you have the power to bring them to light.

When we finally escaped the never-ending maze of haunted houses that cold October night, I was exhausted. Determined to redeem the evening, I convinced my friends we still had time for cider. We huddled in the building, unwinding our scarves and shedding our jackets for the warm, well-lit room with no monsters in sight.

We laughed about the night’s shenanigans as we sipped our steaming mugs. But as we made our way to the parking lot under the starry sky, my heart sank. It was empty. We had missed the bus! I had been scared of the fog machines and flashing lights, but now a deeper fear set in: how would we ever get home?

I felt panic rising. My boyfriend could see the tears welling in my eyes. “What are we going to do?” I asked, imagining us stranded forever. (I have always had a vivid imagination.)

He calmly reached for his flip phone and called his brother, who lived nearby. “He’ll be here in ten minutes,” he said, closing his phone with a reassuring snap.

Life is unpredictable. It’s scary, then it’s not, and then it’s scary all over again.

We’re not guaranteed a life without fear. Fear is a normal part of being human – and it’s a normal part of being a human who loves Jesus, too.

When fears and what-ifs surround me, I remember three things I took away from my college adventure to the haunted house:

  • Go toward the light. Darkness may surround you, but it doesn’t have the final say. God’s goodness and glory get the last word. When what haunts you feels overwhelming, remember John 1:5 (NIV): “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.”
  • Name your fears. There is power in simply acknowledging the monsters that hide under our beds. Sometimes, I think saying I’m scared makes me weak or shows a lack of faith. But when we name our fears, we can begin to move through them. And when we’re brave enough to name our fears, we can cast them on God because God cares for us. (1 Peter 5:7)
  • Don’t do it alone. When I realized we missed the bus, I panicked. But I wasn’t alone. Let others into your fears. Galatians 6:2 reminds us, “Carry each other’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ.”  Those willing to walk through the scariest parts of life with you are the ones to hold onto. (That boyfriend became my husband!)

When fears keep you up at night, remember: just as a child with a nightmare calls out to their parent, you can trust that God — the Light of the world — will be with you through every scary moment.

Staying Curious When You Want to Run Away

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We’d been dating for several months when he dropped the bombshell.

In all fairness, he didn’t realize it was a bombshell. He just shared his political leanings, including how he and his family of origin typically voted in local, state, and national elections. It was a random conversation, nothing emotionally charged. Nothing to indicate a significant shift. Just information shared in passing between two people who were dating but still getting to know each other.

The problem? I was raised in a family that was rooted firmly and squarely in the opposing party.

I don’t remember how the conversation even started, but I do remember where we were and how I felt when it happened. The moment he identified his political affiliation, I felt like I had been slapped. We stood on opposite sides of an impossible war. There was no reconciling this difference. As much as we had in common, including our Christian faith, this was a massive and unbreachable divide. And just that fast, I considered ending our relationship. How could we possibly move forward?

I’m a bit embarrassed now to admit how shocked and appalled I felt at learning his political affiliation. I thought he was a good Christian man who loved Jesus and tried to follow Him in his day-to-day life. How could he side with a political party that seemed to be clearly on the opposing side? How could he identify with any party other than the one I voted for? My family history is thick with patriotism and men who served our country in the military during multiple international wars. I respected these relatives of mine, both living and deceased. A sense of national pride was core to my family’s identity. With one simple, offhand admission, my view of this person — as a man, a potential husband, and a believer — completely changed.

With the benefit of hindsight, I’m surprised how quickly I devalued and disregarded him because of our apparent political differences. To my young and idealistic self, this was a deal breaker, a relationship ender. There was only one seemingly right answer to this test question, and he’d answered incorrectly. Because I equated real faith with a specific political party, his political leanings made me question the legitimacy of his faith and thus the legitimacy of our relationship. And somewhere along the way, I’d come to believe you could only be in a deep and meaningful relationship with people you agreed with, especially about something this important.

When I told him as much, his face mirrored my own shock, but for a different reason. He couldn’t understand my disappointment or the arrogance and judgment that came packaged in my voting record. At first he thought I must be joking. Then his chuckle of laughter turned defensive. I don’t blame him. My rejection of him as a person had been quick and complete and was because of something he didn’t believe warranted such a divide.

By some minor miracle of grace, he forgave my arrogance and we continued the conversation. And it’s a good thing, too, because we’ve enjoyed a beautiful marriage together for more than two decades now. In those twenty years, we’ve walked through many elections and even more conversations. And I came to discover, not long after that initial conversation, that we had far more commonalities than differences when it came to our convictions. He was indeed a man of deep faith, a faith that in many ways was stronger than my own. I just hadn’t withheld my judgment long enough to stay engaged, to connect, and to listen.

It’s good to be principled, to hold deep convictions and live them out with consistency and passion. But when we love our principles and positions to the exclusion of the people standing right in front of us, we’ve lost sight of the gospel—our good news.

You see, Jesus entered into relationship with us when we were actively rebelling against Him. We stood on the opposite side of an impossible divide. There was no way to reach a compromise, no negotiating or converting. We were separated, completely and irrevocably. He had every right to exact judgment and walk away, to let us die in our isolation. He was 100 percent in the right, and we were 100 percent in the wrong.

But rather than walking away, Jesus walked toward, knowing we could do nothing to bridge the divide ourselves. Romans 5:8 (NIV) says, “But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” Jesus chose to reconcile us to God at His own cost, taking on Himself the judgment we deserved. Why? Because He loves us.

Instead of rejection, grace. Instead of punishment, love.

Staying engaged in conversation with someone you disagree with is difficult under any circumstances, but even more so when the topic of discussion is emotionally charged. This could include conversations around parenting, politics, health care and choices, end-of-life decisions, religion, finances, morality, education, legislation . . . you get the idea. We have more than enough scenarios in which we might clash. How- ever, avoiding, retaliating, or shutting down difficult conversations and the people you disagree with actually causes you more harm than you realize. It stunts your spiritual growth, inhibits your emotional maturity, limits your pool of potential relationships, and may keep you in a place of loneliness and isolation. Few people want to be friends with a person who is always right.

Navigating difficult conversations isn’t easy. If you feel overwhelmed by or resistant to the idea, I get it. I would rather avoid conflict and tension at all costs. But we have a Jesus who, rather than dodging disagreements, pressed into relationships. That’s the kind of person I want to be too.

If conflict makes you want to shut down, tune out, or walk away, consider these five practices that can help you love well even when you disagree.

1. Stay grounded in your gospel identity. When different convictions and positions become a dividing line in our relationships, it’s often a result of misplaced identity. For example, if my identity is rooted in my political party, I will struggle to connect authentically with anyone who doesn’t share my position. However, you and I are called to find our identity in the saving love and grace of Christ. He defines who we are—not our various positions and affiliations. When we remember that our foremost identity is a sinner saved by grace, we will find it is much easier to connect with other sinners saved by grace.

2. Stay curious and ask questions. There is a direct re- relationship between my emotional state and my ability to stay curious. The more charged I feel, the less I’m able to stay curious. I find that simply reminding myself to stay curious keeps my emotions in check. How did they come to that conviction? What part of their story am I not aware of? Why might they feel so passionate about their position or so threatened by mine? Staying curious is not easy, but it is possible. And sincere questions are the open door to that kind of engagement.

3. Listen. Listening isn’t simply allowing someone to talk while you formulate your rebuttal. Listening involves your ears, your eyes, and your heart. True listening requires you to put a pause on your position and defense and instead connect with the person. It requires you to resist judgment and instead listen to the words, heart, and intent of the person speaking. It means staying in a place where you want to be in relationship more than you want to be right.

4. Communicate empathy. This may be obvious, but people want to feel heard, including you. Once you’ve listened and asked questions, find at least one connecting point to which you can honestly say, “I can see how you would feel that way” or “I understand where you’re coming from.” Empathy is possible even when you disagree. And it will go a long way to bridge a divide, even if neither of you changes your position.

5. Restate the value of the relationship. At the end of every hard conversation—and perhaps multiple times throughout—it’s critical that you remind yourself and the other person that what matters most is the relationship. This will keep you focused on the ultimate outcome you hopefully both want—a respectful, mature, thriving relationship—in spite of the potential messiness of the conversation. And if you persevere in your pursuit of this goal, you won’t just save the relationship, you’ll likely make it even stronger.

When you find out that someone you care about has a staunchly different opinion or belief than you, it’s so much easier to write them off or build an emotional wall. But what seems easiest in the moment won’t serve us or our relationships well.

It’s time to choose a different way, one that is more humble, curious, and compassionate.

This excerpt from Come Sit with Me was written by Michele Cushatt.

With the U.S. in the throes of election season, we knew this was the perfect time to share Michele’s words from our (in)courage book, Come Sit with Me: How to Delight in Differences, Love through Disagreements, and Live with Discomfort.

Let us send you the introduction and two FREE chapters so you can start reading right away! Sign up here.

When Your Neighbor’s Garden Is Untended

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There’s a house around the corner from mine, on a corner itself. There’s nothing remarkable about it. . . until you see the backyard. Each summer, someone in that house plants the most meticulous garden. We’re talking rows of corn, pumpkin vines trailing in a little patch, cucumbers draping over a tall arched gate, carefully plotted onions and carrots, tomatoes popping red among the greenery, watermelons, and whatever else I can identify as I peek in on daily walks or drives past that corner. There are also fruit trees — apples and pears and something else I can’t quite make out without actually trespassing. So I smile at the idea of whatever is growing in that corner of the yard.

It’s a beautiful little sanctuary, and I just imagine the sweet gardener making it all happen.

How cool, I think to myself. What a gift to cultivate a little bitty homestead right here smack-dab in the middle of suburbia. I sure wish I could, but my yard doesn’t lend itself to a new garden plot. I have a couple of raised beds tucked under the eave on one side, and that’s about all I can muster.

Then, over the last several weeks, months even, I noticed the produce in that sweet garden had become overgrown and begun to rot right where it was once so carefully tended. The watermelons are splitting. Apples lay brown and slimy underneath the tree. The corn stalks are brown and brittle-looking. The hardy tomatoes still pop bright red against the withering plants while whole onions lay on top of the soil, unearthed by who knows what.

Whoever once so carefully planted all of that glory has let it just go to seed, to rot and waste.

Now when I drive or walk past the corner house, I shake my head, tsk-ing under my breath. What a shame, I think to myself. A full-on harvest, just sitting there, ripe and waiting to be picked and enjoyed. Who would do that? Why would they do that? I wonder.

It’s hard for me to understand because as a rule-follower, I do think we are responsible for what we’ve planted, responsible for sowing whatever grows. It’s up to us to look for the fruit. Jesus talks a whole bunch about gardening, and sowing, and reaping, and plants, and weeds. He says our faith can be as small as a mustard seed and yet move mountains. He speaks of burning weeds, of threshing floors full of chaff, and whispers echo of the Eden that could’ve been. Shouldn’t we pay attention?

Of course.

But also, we must have grace when we see another’s untended garden.

I don’t know what’s going on in this neighbor’s life. For all I know, whoever carefully planted that garden moved out. Maybe they were injured, or got really busy with a new job, or just plain didn’t feel like keeping up with it. I’ve never even met whoever lives there, so it can’t be up to me to make judgments on what they’re doing with their garden, badly as I want to (and I’ve had to hold myself back from trespassing to pick my fill!).

Perhaps that owner looks out the window at the apples falling off the tree, and gives thanks for being able to spend time with an aging parent, instead of doing yard work. Maybe they see the vegetables, once excitedly planned for and now bruised and pocked, and give thanks for time well spent planting it with a loved one.

I think about my own garden beds, sitting empty and unplanted in my backyard. For the last several years, I’ve planted those two raised garden beds and worked on them all summer, but this year, for whatever reason, I just couldn’t pull myself together enough to do it. I was busy, it was hot, and I guess that was all it took to deter me. In the same way, I’ve thought about how easy it might be for a passerby to assume that the wear and tear on my home is overlooked or even intentional. We could use new siding, new windows, and definitely some landscaping. The kids’ toys stay strewn about longer than I’d like, and the fire pit needs a thorough cleaning out.

When I start to look with exasperation at the never-ending project list that is my house, I could reframe it with the same grace I’m learning to extend my non-gardening neighbor. I could remember the fun Friday nights spent with family and friends around that bonfire pit, laughing and talking till there was nothing but glowing coals. I could remember sunny Saturday afternoons when the kids played outside for hours. I could give thanks for my well-worn, lived-in, cozy home instead of just seeing repairs that need to be made.

Maybe it’s the same with that garden. Maybe for whatever reason, unnecessary for me to know, that gardener simply can’t get out to maintain and harvest it. Should I knock on the door to help? Well, that’s another post for another day. But for now, what I can offer is a small smile as I drive by, a hefty dose of grace, and nothing but kindness in my heart no matter what I see languishing in the garden — and that extends to my own home and heart too.

I can promise to try, anyway.

Be inspired this season with Anna’s devotional, Pumpkin Spice for Your Soul: 25 Devotions for Autumn. It includes 25 devotions on all things autumn, recipes, and tips for staying in the moment this season.

A Crowded Kitchen Is a Holy Place

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There was a time when I wore my ability to “do it all” as a badge of honor. Hosting family gatherings meant late nights, early mornings, and a constant whirlwind of activity. I wanted my people to be able to come to our home and completely relax. Every detail was taken care of, and no one had to lift a finger, because … well, I would make it all happen. But amid my well-intentioned frenzy, I missed out on the moments I was working so hard to create.

Last year, as I faced the prospect of another holiday gathering, I felt a familiar wave of exhaustion wash over me. I was pre-tired. That is not how I wanted to approach our time together. I wanted to be excited about it, not dread all the work and the weariness afterward.

With a mix of hesitation and hope, I reached out to my family with a simple request: “What meal would you like to bring, cook, and clean up for our Thanksgiving weekend? Roger (my husband) and I will take care of the main meal, but I would love for each of you to prepare a meal that you love.”

And friend, the response was overwhelming — not just in their willingness to help, but also in the enthusiasm with which they embraced the idea. Our adult kids started to call and brainstorm: “Can we do breakfast on Saturday?” and “I’ve got the best recipe for baked Hawaiian roll sandwiches!”

As I watched the plan unfold, I was reminded of one of my favorite verses that I love to share with others, and I need to apply often:

“Two are better than one, because they have a good return for their labor:
If either of them falls down, one can help the other up.
But pity anyone who falls and has no one to help them up.”
Ecclesiastes 4:9–10 NIV

What a beautiful truth this turned out to be. By sharing the load, we weren’t just dividing tasks; we were multiplying joy. (And part of that joy? Seeing how my kids stepped up.)

I realized that in my previous attempts to shoulder much of the responsibility, I had inadvertently denied my loved ones the opportunity to contribute, feel needed, and be an integral part of our family tapestry. By letting go of control, I opened the door to a richer, more collaborative experience.

As I reflect, I’m struck by the second part of our focus verse: “If either of them falls down, one can help the other up. But pity anyone who falls and has no one to help them up.” How often had I been the one to fall — into stress, exhaustion, or frustration — with no one to help me up because I hadn’t allowed anyone close enough to see my struggle?

By embracing a community approach to hosting, I not only lightened my own load but created a support system where we could all lift each other up. When the turkey cooked twice as fast as expected, it wasn’t a crisis. It was an opportunity for teamwork as we rearranged serving times and moved our Code Names game to after dinner instead of before. Alone, this would have been a crisis. Together? It was a chance to bond by overcoming a challenge.

If you are considering a more collaborative holiday celebration, here are a couple of tips that might help you get started:

1. Ask early. The closer you are to your celebration, the harder it gets to ask for help. Ask now for people to plan a meal (or a dish or two if your guests are sharing just one meal).

2. Ask what their “specialty” is (or what they’d like it to be). I have one child who loves to cook breakfast and another one who is learning to make pasta. Let them do their thing. (And for the kid who doesn’t cook at all? He was in charge of garbage and recycling and helping with dishes.)

3. Have a “Help List.” Each year, before everyone gets to the house, I create a list of tasks that people can help with. In the past, when helpful friends and family have asked what they can do to pitch in, I’ve been stumped in the heat of the moment (and the kitchen). But with the “Help List,” I know exactly what is needed. Here are some examples:

    • Take the dog for a quick walk.
    • Create the cheese tray. (I have all the cheese, meats, pickles, olives, etc. in a drawer in the fridge.)
    • Set the table.
    • Set up the drink bar.
    • Fill the ice bucket.
    • Hand-wash big pots and pans.
    • Make coffee.

Having the “Help List” not only helps me, but it helps those I’m celebrating with feel that they’re a part of things.

As you approach your next family and friends gathering, I encourage you to embrace the wisdom of Ecclesiastes. Look for ways to involve others, to share both the work and the rewards.

Remember that in God’s economy, our need for help is not a liability but an opportunity for connection and grace.

Incorporate meaningful rest into your life, take care of your future self, and enjoy delicious recipes with Kathi’s new cookbook, Sabbath Soup: Weekly Menus and Rhythms to Make Space for a Day of Rest.

God Will Meet You There

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Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego replied to the king, “Nebuchadnezzar, we don’t need to give you an answer to this question. If the God we serve exists, then he can rescue us from the furnace of blazing fire, and he can[f] rescue us from the power of you, the king. But even if he does not rescue us, we want you as king to know that we will not serve your gods or worship the gold statue you set up.”
Daniel 3:16-18 CSB

God can rescue us, but even if He does not . . .

This, friend, is the power of peace.

We don’t keep our hearts from being troubled because God promises that bad things will never happen. Jesus Himself acknowledges that is this world we will have trouble. (John 16:33). But His peace goes before us and is with us; He has overcome the world! So no matter what happens here on earth, today or tomorrow or next year, our future is sealed! Does the degree of peace in your life show that you believe it?

So what happens after Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego’s bold refusal to worship Nebuchadnezzar’s statue? In a nutshell, Nebuchadnezzar gets really, really mad. He commands the three men be tied up and the furnace be turned up seven times hotter than normal. It was so hot, in fact, that the soldiers who carry the prisoners to the edge of the furnace are themselves consumed by the flames and die! Then Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego fall into the blazing fire.

And God meets them there.

When the king looks down into the furnace, he sees the three men walking around, unharmed, accompanied by a fourth person whom Nebuchadnezzar describes as “a son of the gods.” At this, the king commands Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego to come out of the furnace. When they do, not a single hair on their heads is singed and not even a thread of their clothes smells like smoke.

And the king, who at first threatened to execute anyone who wouldn’t worship him, turns in worship to the only one who deserves it:

Nebuchadnezzar exclaimed, “Praise to the God of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego! He sent his angel and rescued his servants who trusted in him. They violated the king’s command and risked their lives rather than serve or worship any god except their own God.
Daniel 3:28 CSB

Like a flame leaping in the air, those words sear my heart: his servants who trusted in him.

Whatever is happening in your life today, you can have peace knowing God is in control. Your life is not dictated by an economic recession or a wicked king. God’s goodness cannot be thwarted by a hurricane or hurt feelings. Your life isn’t at the mercy of a layoff or leukemia or a loved one who chooses to stop loving you. Only Jesus can be your never-changing peace.

That’s His promise to you.

A PRAYER FOR TODAY

God, thank You for promising to always be with me no matter what fire or storm I face. I trust You. Continue to teach me how to choose Your peace over my own fear. This week help me cling to Your promises instead of my own anxieties. You are powerful and good. I believe that — even when I still have to endure hard things. Thank You that I don’t bear them alone. Amen.

From Create in Me a Heart of Peace Bible Study by Becky Keife

 

Read This if You’ve Lost Your Home or Feel Displaced

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We hadn’t been home in over 240 days — and it’s not because we were traveling the world.

It was a storm, the kind that is utterly predictable in Oklahoma. And yet, somehow, this storm brought on damage that we never saw coming. We were traveling the beaches of Florida, peacefully asleep in a hotel, when a storm back home dropped a massive tree on top of our house. When we returned home, one day after the storm hit, we saw our cozy corner of the neighborhood had been turned into a hub filled with generators, chainsaws, and more tree debris than a photo could possibly convey. I pushed back the tears welling in my eyes as my neighbor embraced me. How could wind move such a massively anchored tree? And how would we even begin to clean this up?

In the midst of all the chaos, a dear friend sent me a prayer in a voice recording. Sweaty, after an afternoon of anger-racking tiny branches, I let her voice play into my earbuds while I wandered the backyard. God, you care about the spaces we occupy, she prayed. As the recording played those words, I wondered if they were true. Does our actual physical context matter to God? Does our home really matter to Him? This grief was nothing compared to other parts of my story, yet I found myself wondering if God really cared about this seemingly “lesser” loss. The next few weeks became characterized by searching for that one pair of shorts, the kitchen spatula we accidentally packed away, and stories in scripture that would answer my burning question:

God, do you really care about the spaces we occupy?

The Old Testament is filled with stories of displaced people. Whether it’s deserts, foreign lands, or temporary shelters, God uses the physical location of His people to remind them of His promises. The story of Joseph is a prime example. Sold into slavery by his brothers, Joseph is uprooted to a foreign land and imprisoned. He occupies the bottom of a well and the cold floor of a prison, but eventually, God intervenes in a way that lands him at the right hand to Pharaoh, ultimately bringing to fruition a plan that would restore his family, save a nation, and lead God’s people out of slavery. A stunning moment comes after his father Jacob dies. His brothers realize that the death of their father may pave the way for Joseph to seek revenge on them for having wrecked his life, but Joseph is moved by love for his brothers. With a spirit of forgiveness (that should give us serious pause), Joseph says: “You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good to accomplish what is now being done, the saving of many lives” (Genesis 50:20 NIV). Joseph saw that God had been with him at each marker on the timeline of his life, and with the helpfulness of hindsight, Joseph’s faith had anchored him.

The evolution of Joseph’s circumstances gives me whiplash, but reading it through the lens of physical spaces awakens me to a sense of God’s provision for the long term. When I catalog all the places that Joseph finds himself — the bottom of the well, a prison floor, Pharaoh’s palace — I see the through line of not only God’s bigger story of redemption but also God’s presence with Joseph in every space he occupied. Joseph was never alone or forgotten; he was never not seen by God.

From the window of our rented downtown apartment, I prayed I could apply a bit of Joseph’s perspective to my circumstances. The dwelling place of our temporary rental mattered as much as my storm-torn house, because . . . even there, God was meeting with me. My folding chair in the window had become a backdrop to the story God was writing in my heart about place, community, identity, and home. I realized that the storm and this unexpected detour was never about me going back home, but about God making His home in me, awakening me to His work wherever I happen to live.

In Revelation 21:3, we see a beautiful glimpse of God’s ultimate plan for creation when John hears a loud voice declaring, “Look! God’s dwelling place is now among the people, and he will dwell with them. They will be his people, and God himself will be with them and be their God.” In the end, God will make His home with us forever. Heaven will come to earth and God himself will occupy this space. There won’t be a foreign context anymore because He will restore the order and safety of the Garden. Right now, I am remembering this hope as I unpack boxes in my freshly restored home. Indeed, God cares about the spaces we occupy because He occupies them, too.

Lord, come and make Your home in us — amen.

Who Is Your Everyday Hero?

by

The flash flood and tornado warning sounded as I texted my son who was driving down Interstate 40 on his way to Boone, North Carolina for a football reunion. “They just canceled the App State University football game. I think you should turn around.”

We’d stalked the weather reports and a cancelled reunion never crossed our mind. For the North Carolinians who live hours from the coast, we mimicked the drill for our icy winter storm preparations. With bathtubs filled, gas cans ready for generators, and cozy candles to light, many NC friends tucked into bed awaiting additional alerts. While our area incurred minimal damage, nothing prepared our Western neighbors for the catastrophic devastation that shifted the landscape of North Carolina in hours.

Entire town centers wiped away. Weeks without power or running water. Lives lost. People still unaccounted for. It’s unfathomable.

Whatever you witnessed online doesn’t begin to cast a glimpse of the gruesome reality. Yet amidst the devastation, we also watched everyday heroes birthed amidst heartbreak. On Friday, ordinary folks hunkered down awaiting a storm, but by Saturday, they heroically, miraculously maneuvered through liquid mud.

Scared and sacred moments intertwined as hundreds of everyday heroes trekked miles on foot over downed trees, demolished roads, and through impassable terrain to find and save stranded strangers cut off from society. Neighbors helping neighbors. Requests that only twenty-four hours earlier would have seemed unimaginable. The marvel of the human spirit turned strangers into lifelong friends.

People rally amidst catastrophe.

With so much heaviness, thousands of everyday heroes representing varying social, economic, and political backgrounds descended on Western North Carolina as common folk — people like you and me — became the lifeline of hope and restoration for a hurting world. It’s still happening. The Church is flourishing as it puts on love and intersects the swing pendulum of emotions of the people: grief and gratitude, cursing and courage, anger and awe — all simultaneously simmering amidst water bottles and generators. No one asks for your voting preference or ID. The Church is no longer about a building or budget, denomination or specified expectations; the focus is only enveloping others with unquestioning care and compassion.

And while we react with awe to doors flinging wide open with sweeping gestures of hospitality to strangers, this is nothing new. Did you know that this kind of generous, radical necessity for hospitality began in the Old Testament and it wasn’t only modeled during times of disaster? It was part of their Mosaic Law – a mandate.

“And if a stranger dwells with you in your land, you shall not mistreat him (or do him wrong). 34 The stranger who dwells among you shall be to you as one born among you, and you shall love him as yourself; for you were strangers in the land of Egypt: I am the Lord your God.”
Leviticus 19:33-34 KJV

Throughout the Scriptures, God tells His people to welcome and love the stranger. Within the context of that ancient culture, the Mosaic Law laid out expectations for the host to house, offer food, wash feet, and keep their guests from harm — it was an obligation to focus on the stranger in need. Considered a breach of honor if either the host or the guest refused, strangers and even enemies were welcomed as guests. With no hotel, gas station, or grocery store on the corner, communities lived interconnected and their safety and survival depended on the kindness of strangers.

Does an obligation like this feel overwhelming? It sure does. I received so many texts this month saying something like, “The need seems daunting. I don’t know what to do.”

I believe one of Satan’s tricks is to paralyze us with uncertainty and assault our thoughts by mocking our inability. And yet I page through the Scriptures looking for the verse that states, “You’re scared? Unfit? Nervous to be out of your comfort zone? Then don’t bother because I need someone more capable.”

Nope, it never says that. Scriptures declare the exact opposite. Through His grace and favor God sees fit to use us when we’re completely and unequivocally unworthy and unqualified for the task.

God has given us everything we need to put on love and be an everyday hero in our own hometown. We don’t need a hurricane to shift the landscape of our neighborhood or workplace, school, or playground for His glory, but we need a softened heart sensitive to His spirit. With ears eager to hear and eyes searching for opportunities, every encounter matters to Him no matter how small it might appear.

A casserole meal doubled to share with an exhausted mom.
Fall leaves raked for the neighbor who is struggling.
A favorite coffee brought to a discouraged coworker.
A note of encouragement to a frazzled teacher.
Brownies brought to the house with an opposing political sign.

Everyday heroes write the story of their lives with unseen acts of hospitality and servanthood.

It’s in these everyday moments when the wonder of the gospel is revealed in a new way – an opportunity to be the image bearer of Christ, to be transformed more into His likeness so He gets the glory.

I’m still sad and overwhelmed, but I’m looking for stories of everyday heroes all around me. Won’t you join me?

I’d love to hear your story of an everyday hero who impacted your life.

Hurricane Milton had not hit at the time of this writing. Our heartfelt prayers go out to all those who are suffering through the devastation of that storm as well.