We Can Take Our Time and We Don’t Have to Fake It

We Can Take Our Time and We Don’t Have to Fake It

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All throughout my twenties, I was involved in an extroverted, evangelical ministry. It took me a long time to realize that I didn’t really fit there. I remember the moment it was clear to me, though it would take years more for me to act on it. I was at a retreat, and the speaker, an Anglican priest, was talking about solitude. I don’t remember what he said; I remember the way he talked about faith and spirituality and how his way of being made me feel. And I remember feeling, from my head to my toes, that everything in me naturally leaned towards this contemplative way of being.

When I look back now, it all makes sense. Part of my childhood was growing up in Tokyo, where contemplative ways of being abound. And then later on, as a newer Christian, I can remember devouring books and how I would find my way to books by Henri Nouwen and other contemplative Christians without knowing they were named as such, and feel so at home in their words. All of it confirms what’s always been true of me:

I’m a contemplative soul.

When it comes to fashion, sometimes we try on lots of styles before we understand what colors and cuts fit our skin tone and body shape. Plus, our bodies shift and change over time. And sometimes we just plain change our mind about what we like and don’t like. It’s natural to want to look back and feel annoyed or upset at entire decades or seasons of the seemingly wrong fit, and wonder, why did I wear that? Or, why did I think I fit there? 

But there’s another way to look back at our younger selves. A gentler, kinder, and more helpful way to see and receive who we were then and who we are becoming now is to embrace how it’s all connected. We can acknowledge how something didn’t fit quite right, how we tried to wear it anyway, and also acknowledge the layers, nuance, and grace woven within those times. Styles, jobs, and dare I say political leanings can make sense for us for a time, and not for us forever.

Do you ever feel too old or too far along in whatever you are entrenched in to take a step towards coming home to yourself?

Have you ever wondered what it would be like to listen to the core of who God made you to be?

I’ve needed all these decades, these starts and stops, and life transitions to be right where I am today. It’s taken over four decades for me to be ready to start school and be trained as a Spiritual Director – a new journey and one that’s been an invisible odyssey in the making. I’m only a couple of months in and yet, over and over again, I find myself exhaling. All of it feels like one little homecoming after another. I am not too late. God’s shalom is not bound by the lies of “too late”, “too old”, and “should be by now”.

No matter how old we are, or what kind of season of life we are in, we can always take a step towards our own becoming.

God’s shalom — His wholeness and restoration — is always tending to our becoming.

God’s shalom is always reaching for our true selves, reminding us how intricately and intentionally we’ve been created in love.

Since the start of 2024, I’ve been carrying a breath prayer around and I’ve needed it all year so far. It’s a reminder that brings me back to the core of who I am and was inspired by Romans 12:9 in The Message, which reads, “Love from the center of who you are, don’t fake it.”

Pray this with me:

I can love from the center of who I am (breathe in)
I don’t have to fake it (breathe out)

May we lean into the center of who we are and who we’ve been created to be.

It’s not too late to lean into God’s shalom at work in your soul and your story.

Whatever your age and season in life, what part of your true self is reaching out from the core of who you are?  Through each twist and turn, how are you still becoming?

What to Do When the Polling Place Divides You

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I’m in the booth to your left, the one tucked up against the corner of the restaurant. It smells like fries and bacon, and the waitress brings two glasses of water in tall mason jars.

I picked this table for a reason. I’ve sat here many times with my husband when it seemed like we were worlds apart on the issues of the day. Suffice it to say, he and I haven’t exactly seen eye to eye when we vote. But this is the table where my husband and I sit after every political election to have dinner and conversation together. For as long as I can remember we’ve done this after leaving the polling place just up the street from here.

The polling place — it’s where the roads of our marriage have diverged when our ink pens hover over tiny ovals on secret ballots.

Election after election, we walk into the polling place, cast our ballots, and walk out, side by side. In time, the awkwardness of this marital divide has softened, even when our differences haven’t. We often joke on our way back to the car, “Did our votes cancel each other out again?” Sometimes they do; sometimes they don’t.

But always we have come here, to this table.

Long ago we made the decision to break bread together in the form of a shared plate of buffalo wings. We talk. We listen. And yes, we even disagree. This has never been easy. There have been tears at this table—mine. There has been defensiveness and eye-rolling—again, mine. There have been uncomfortable conversations that we carry back through the front door into our home. But believe it or not, we have learned from each other at this table and have found common ground from time to time.

Whenever I think about this table, it gives me hope.

Maybe you’ve been feeling like no one has room at the table for you anymore because of the way you feel about politics, parenting, climate change, alcoholic beverages, policing, critical race theory, religion, science, divorce, international adoption, vaccines, or public education. The list is unending.

Chances are, you are living in the tension of being misunderstood. And maybe these days you feel rejected or abandoned. Without warning, you lost a treasured friendship that fractured over a difference of opinion. You just found out your next-door neighbor unfriended you last week.

If there’s a way forward, the path feels hidden. But ignoring our differences doesn’t actually make anything safer. It just makes us more insulated and divided. Here’s what we risk if we don’t find a way forward: we will each end up sitting at a table of one.

If we have to agree with every single person in our church on every single issue, we will be sitting in a church of one.

If we have to agree with our neighbor on every single issue, we will live in a neighborhood of one.

A book club of one. A Bible study of one. A living room of one. A family of one.

We’re all going to sit alone at Thanksgiving and Christmas and even the communion table where Jesus beckons us to “Take and eat.” A table of one.

I know how uncomfortable it is. Every election cycle, every news story, and every political event has the potential to set off fireworks in my own home — and not the pretty kind but the explosive, cover-your-ears-and-run-for-cover kind.

But my husband and I have finally come to a place where our divisions no longer shock us. In the same way, our global divisions should not shock us.

Scott and I got married knowing full well that we didn’t always agree. But we got married anyway. Here’s why: because we loved “us” more than we hated what was different.

That conviction is what keeps us coming to this table twenty-five years later. Maybe that’s a starting place for each of us today: We can love “us” more than we hate what is different.

I understand how hard this is, but silence isn’t working (and neither is shouting on Facebook). I know of friends who haven’t talked in more than a year because of divisions over recent events. These friends used to sit at the same table, vacation together, worship together. As days turn to months turn to years, that gap will continue to widen unless it’s dealt with.

Maybe we could try this instead.

Instead of unfriending that college roommate with her unending rants on social media, use the Facebook Like button to let her know you love the photo of her kid holding up his new driver’s license.

Instead of arguing with your dad over how he voted, listen as he tells you what he’s been thinking. (We can listen without agreeing and still enjoy the Thanksgiving turkey!)

This doesn’t mean that the hot-button issues aren’t important. They are. But if our divisions create an all-or-nothing mentality, then we’re all missing out. So instead of focusing on everything that divides, let’s find points of connection. We might not agree with the way our next-door neighbors parent their children, but when we get to know them, we might realize that we both share a fondness for historical fiction and sushi.

I understand that sushi won’t save the world. And I know that this vinyl booth tucked into the corner of a small-town restaurant won’t right all the wrongs.

But like the old song says, “Let there be peace on earth, and let it begin with me.”

And with you.

Right here, at our table of two.

This excerpt from Come Sit with Me was written by Jennifer Dukes Lee. 

With the U.S. in the throes of election season, we knew this was the perfect time to share Jennifer’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 rest of Jennifer’s chapter, “Table of One”, plus the introduction and another FREE chapter! Sign up here.

How to Help Your Friend Who’s Suffering (It’s Not What You Think!)

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Since surviving cancer (at least thus far!) I have the honor of receiving countless kind requests from strangers asking what they can to do support a friend who’s just received terrible news.

Whenever I hear the question, a highlight reel of gifts from friends and family flashes through my mind. Chemo caps when I lost my hair, restaurant gift cards for our family, handmade quilts, candles to light in prayer. My best friend started a GoFundMe and stocked our freezer with meals. My college friends left their own kids at home to help mine after my mastectomy. My siblings and parents flew across the country to stay with us for weeks. Our church kept a meal train going for so long that it still brings tears to my eyes.

Every time someone asks me what to get for their newly diagnosed bestie, I also remember the story of Job—and one particular line that I adore.

When Job’s friends heard of his terrible suffering — the loss of his children, servants, animals, and his own health — they leave everything behind “to console and comfort him” (Job 2:11 NRSVUE). What happens next is breathtaking: “They sat with him on the ground seven days and seven nights, and no one spoke a word to him, for they saw that his suffering was very great” (Job 2:13).

Job’s friends offer a powerful portrait of support in suffering. Not only were they willing to hold vigil with him for seven days and seven nights, but they said nothing.

They knew Job’s grief was so huge that silence was the only fitting response. They didn’t try to explain everything, or tell him how he should feel, or try to cheer him up, or advise him to get over it, or assure him that this was God’s plan.

They sat down. And shut up. I adore them for it.

Because while we long to leap into action when our loved one is hurting, what people need most often is our presence. We want to bring casseroles and cards. We want to cook for them, clean their house, and care for their kids. We want to buy them funny socks, thoughtful books, comfy blankets, or beautiful flowers.

But the truth is that when your life is falling apart, what matters most is to know that you aren’t alone. To have friends who will stay with you even when they don’t know what to say.

Ironically, what happens next to Job fills up the rest of his book — and frustrates him to no end. His friends end up opening their mouths and don’t stop talking. Most of the Book of Job is their long-winded speeches and Job’s exasperated rebuttals. These men are trying to make sense of the mystery of suffering and the problem of pain — but humans have yet to find airtight solutions to the deepest struggles of our existence.

By the end of the Book of Job, God shows up and speaks to Job directly: a stunning exchange that most of us have longed for in prayer. Yet even God’s words offer less of a clear answer and more of an invitation into humility when faced with majesty.

“Where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth?” God asks (Job 38:4).

“Have you entered into the springs of the sea
or walked in the recesses of the deep?

Have the gates of death been revealed to you,
or have you seen the gates of deep darkness?

Have you comprehended the expanse of the earth?
Declare, if you know all this.” (Job 38:16-18)

God speaks as the Creator, reminding Job (and all of us) that we weren’t there at the dawn of time when God hung the stars, wrangled the weather, and designed each animal. But even God’s strong statements are not meant to shame Job. Instead, they affirm that God has been always present—in all of creation, in every life.

When our lives fall apart, we can trust that God who commanded the cosmos and created the cells in our bodies will never leave our side.

So as much as I’d love to give you a quick clickable list of ideas for the perfect care package for your ailing friend, I want to whisper this wisdom to you first. The same truth that I learned from my friends and Job learned from his:

What matters most is simply that we show up for each other.

Yes, the cash and gift cards made cancer treatment bearable for my spouse and five kids. Yes, dinners and groceries relieved so much stress in those awful months. Yes, everyone’s prayers were the most powerful part of my healing: mighty and mysterious in ways I will never understand this side of heaven.

But the ways people simply offered their presence became an enormous gift. Some sat on my couch or crawled next to me in bed. Some cleaned my kitchen and played with my kids. And some showed up for me just as powerfully from afar: a quick text, a prayer via email, or a beautiful photo to say I’m with you. I love you. I can’t fix this, but I will not leave you.

Job’s friends sat in the silence with him, for seven days and seven nights. Whatever way we show up for our suffering friends, even sitting in the dark, will be a gift they’ll never forget.

No Matter What Happens Next

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“I have told you these things so that in me you may have peace. You will have suffering in this world. Be courageous! I have conquered the world.”
John 16:33 CSB

Take a moment and think of a challenging situation or trial. Maybe it’s an issue at work, a conflict with a close friend, or an inner struggle you have never even named. Hold it in your mind. Feel the tension it causes in your body. Let the mental and emotional weight you carry transfer to your physical body. Now add Jesus to your picture. Right in the middle of that family crisis or worrisome visit to the doctor, imagine Jesus is sitting beside you. No matter what happens next, He’s not leaving.

Take a deep breath. Inhale the gift of His presence.

This is the peace of Jesus. Not that your circumstances will instantly change or that the road ahead will be free of painful potholes and disheartening detours, but that God the Son in the person of Jesus Christ and the Holy Spirit whom He sent go with you.

He has existed since before the foundation of the world, and He is the foundation of our present and our future. Paul explains it like this in Colossians 1:15–20:

“He is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn over all creation.
For everything was created by him, in heaven and on earth,
the visible and the invisible,
whether thrones or dominions
or rulers or authorities—
all things have been created through him and for him. He is before all things,
and by him all things hold together.
He is also the head of the body, the church;
he is the beginning, the firstborn from the dead, so that he might come to have
first place in everything.
For God was pleased to have
all his fullness dwell in him,
and through him to reconcile
everything to himself,
whether things on earth or things in heaven,
by making peace
through his blood, shed on the cross.”

What does it mean that Jesus has overcome the world? It means death doesn’t have the final say. It means Jesus’s blood conquered the spiritual chaos caused by sin.

There is no peace without Jesus. Thank God we have Him.

By Becky Keife from Create in Me a Heart of Peace.

 

Burdened by Life? May Your Weights Become Wings

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Recently, after I told my mother that my hands reminded me of hers, she said:

“You have hands that have done the work.”

We rocked in my new turquoise farmhouse chairs, discovered at a local thrift store. Our hands were in the same position, holding the rockers as we looked towards my Eastern Tennessee yard, surrounded by lush foothills. Our hands had the same short nails and gentle grip. 

Looking down, I noticed our veins, like tributaries or small rivers, etching in and out of mountainsides. I noticed how my skin, almost overnight, had revealed cells like stars, stretching over the bone. Just like her. I hear my children shriek of silly from the house inside. When did I become the mother? How has time morphed so that looking at our hands side-by-side, I see myself in hers?

Like my mother, my hands have wrung themselves, held themselves, reached out for the hands of others. Outstretched, they have praised, lifting up into the air with hesitation and then abandon. They’ve been clasped together in prayer — desperately pleading, seemingly bleeding.

For years, I struggled with addiction and untreated, undiagnosed trauma symptoms. My life was centered on how I could escape pain — through drugs, men, food, screens . . . the list goes on. God felt far away — and I, far away from Him.

We’ve both been through similar traumas, my mother and I. We’ve both lived with unhealthy patterns, both unsure that we’d ever escape the fear, the stuckness, and the prison of the mind that living in years of undiagnosed trauma symptoms can create.  

Yet, today we are here — with the same hands, we build; we love; we write; we nurture. 

We have the hands of women who have done the work to heal, both having turned to God and relied on Him. We have taken what we’ve learned from this reliance and put it all into action. Today, we live to spread a message of hope to others. 

In the classic devotional, Streams in the Desert, Lettie Cowman recounts an old fable about how birds first got their wings. The story goes something like this: 

“They [the birds] were first made without wings. Then God made the wings, set them down before the wingless birds and said to them, ‘Take up these burdens and carry them.’

[ . . . ]

For a short time the load seemed heavy and difficult to bear, but soon, as they continued to carry the burden and to fold the wings over their hearts, the wings grew attached to their little bodies. They quickly discovered how to use them and were lifted by the wings high into the air. The weights had become wings.”

Our burdens can become wings. The things that threaten to keep our gaze turned to the ground will tilt our souls and our sights heavenward if we let them. Our traumas can help us to fix our eyes, not on the seen tragedies of our experience, but on the unseen hope of God. If we trust that God is God of both our weights and wings, then we’ll see He can’t help but do something amazing with the work of our hands, no matter what we’ve been through or what traumas have haunted our families.
When we look at our hands and see all we are and have come through, may we may notice that those same hands have always been held in His.

Using Our Physical and Emotional Scars to Build Empathy

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I didn’t catch the irony last month when I edited a passage in my novel about people hiding their metaphorical scars… the day before I had major surgery to reconnect the fragments of my broken right humerus (the bone of your upper arm) with a plate and screws. My incision line runs in a diagonal from the inside of my shoulder to the outside of my elbow and required 49 staples to close. Unless I’m mistaken, I’ll wear a scar I cannot conceal for the rest of my life.

After the occupational therapist removed the steri-strips and we saw the puckered line and staple marks, my children, who would have been as prepared as anyone, couldn’t look. I could hardly stand it myself. My husband (who has the strongest stomach) keeps a photographic record of my progress.

I thank God the accident and surgery are a little further in the rearview mirror when I go to bed each night. Only time will tell how this experience changes me, but I feel different already.

When fellow (in)courage contributor Kathi Lipp checked on my progress, she said, “I love when people share their scars with me.” Kathi said that scars show what people have been through, and she feels honored when people trust her with their stories. Those are the people she wants surrounding her in a crisis or when she needs to be buoyed. Her comments made me ponder what I’ve learned from this experience and how it will help me relate to other people. 

I’m more aware of what it feels like to be lonely, forgotten, and isolated (I haven’t driven since August 11th). I now know what it’s like to be in constant pain or discomfort. Frustrated by my inability to do ordinary things. Overwhelmed by my circumstances. Terrified of not healing well.

I’ve wondered if certain places or situations would trigger something like PTSD. Almost four weeks to the day after surgery, my daughter and I attended the doubleheader that ended the Braves’ regular season. We sat up high where the incline was steep, and an older man seated three rows above us fell. Somehow, he cleared two rows of seats and landed against the back of ours. His leg came to rest on my daughter. He lay on his side, right arm pinned beneath him. It terrified me. I couldn’t take my eyes off his arm, searching for evidence of whether he’d broken it. People helped him to his seat, but I was still trying to discern how badly he was hurt.

Afterward, I turned forward again and cried. It was all too familiar, too soon, too much for me. I hate feeling hijacked by my emotions, but I won’t be surprised if this happens again when I’m faced with someone else’s accident or injury. (FYI: someone called medical personnel, who checked the man out and deemed him okay.)

No one gets through life unscathed. Not all of us are visibly marked, but sometimes internal wounds can cut deeper than those we can see.

After the resurrection, Jesus chose to wear the visible scars of His crucifixion. Like a character in a sci-fi movie, He could have healed them without a trace if He chose, but He didn’t. He bore the marks of the punishment He received on our behalf.

Then he said to Thomas, “Put your finger here; see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it into my side. Stop doubting and believe.”
John 20:27 NIV

Did Jesus keep His scars as a sign of His empathy?

He knows what it means to be wounded. And only He can heal us.

Since my injury and surgery, I’ve had a hard time finding things to wear. I can’t lift my arm very high, which makes it hard to get into most clothes, and my shoulder has to be accessible at occupational therapy twice a week. So I have a new wardrobe of clothes that bare one or both shoulders. Will I wear them later, when I can raise my arm again and no longer need them? I think I will. It comes down to whether or not I try to hide my scars.

Jesus didn’t hide His. Indeed, these scars are part of me now.

We all bear the marks of trauma, even if they’re invisible to the eye. Let’s consider how our scars can make us more empathetic to those around us.

Taking Your Stress to God

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No one was more surprised than me when those dinner plates left my hands and went through the kitchen window. Even now, it’s hard for me to share that terrible moment openly, even though it happened many years ago. As a Jesus-loving woman, I never thought that I would lose control in such a spectacular way.

After I unfroze from the horror of seeing what I’d done, I grabbed a broom and dustpan, hoping to erase the evidence of what I’d done. I looked at the broken plates and cried. The only thing that survived my meltdown was a white Corelle mug that blessedly honored its no-break guarantee.

While that mug didn’t break, it was time to admit I finally had.

That morning, I was overwhelmed by circumstances out of my control, and the pressure of stress, fear, and anxiety swelled up within me like air inside a giant party balloon. Those emotions grew instead of me, stretching my ability to cope. All it took was one terrible fight for me to pop. I exploded like a latex balloon all over the people around me.  

Have you ever popped because of stress or overwhelm? Perhaps you screamed at the kids, slammed some doors, withdrew, or isolated yourself. These are all common responses when too much stress overwhelms our lives.

Do you think about who is impacted by your stress and how it affects them?

Is it the people that you love, like friends and family? Perhaps it’s people that you lead at work or church. It could be random people that you let into your life. Regardless of who it is, it’s unfair to them when our stress explodes.

Years ago, I experienced two crucial a-ha moments that helped me stop blaming others for my stress and protect my relationships from my stress. Ultimately, I had to learn to take my stress to God instead of taking it out on others. The first a-ha moment was learning the difference between stress and stressors:

Stress: Your body’s response to how you’re handling the world around you.

Stressors: The people, places, or things you’re reacting to.

Why is this distinction important? If we blame stress other people, we will make them responsible for our stress. Then, we will treat them like enemies by weaponizing our stress and using it against them. We may launch angry words and grenades or run people over with our tanks of controlling behaviors.

In fact, Satan would love it if you took your stress out on the people closest to you. Ultimately, Satan wants you to confuse your reaction with your relationship in hopes that you will destroy your relationship with your response.

However, God invites us to take our stress to Him instead of taking it out on others.

The first step in taking your stress to God is remembering that Jesus has already won your victory over the worries of this life.

“I have told you all this so you may have peace in me. Here on earth, you will have many trials and sorrows. But take heart, because I have overcome the world.“ John 16:33 NLT.

Where we focus on problems, Jesus leads with peace. Our stress happens when we believe that our problems are too big to be covered by the peace and power of Jesus. We’re reminded that Jesus has overcome the world, so whatever is stressing you out today may be too much for you, but it’s not too much for God to handle for you.

The second step is specifically about not taking your stress out on others. I developed this Stress Clarity Exercise to remind me not to blame others for my stress. If you have people in your life that you associate with your stress, try this exercise:

Stress Clarity Exercise: ________ is not the cause of my stress.

Even though I feel _________ because of ____________, I will not blame my reactions on it/them.

My reaction is my responsibility.

I pray that this simple tool equips you to take your stress to God instead of taking it out on others. Note: Even though your stress reaction is your responsibility, you can do this exercise and activate protective boundaries where needed.

The blessing of taking our stress to God is an opportunity for us to let God take care of our stress and worries so that we can take better care of the people closest to us.

 

Barb’s new book and Bible study, Stronger Than Stress equips you to win the battle of stress and overwhelm with ten spiritual practices that teach you to live with less stress and more peace every day.

One Step at a Time: How Jesus Met Me in My Darkest Moments

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I was a new, sleep-deprived mom to a 4-month-old daughter. I struggled to keep up with the basic things like getting out of bed, showering, and eating meals. I was rapidly losing a lot of weight, my body drowning in all my clothes, and wads of hair falling out, so I stopped brushing it altogether. 

And, whether I wanted to admit it or not, my marriage had already begun to fall apart.

No one knew about my hardships; I chose to suffer in silence. I endured and made do with what I had left to give. It wasn’t much. As my daughter, now long past those baby years, put it best in her Mother’s Day card to me last year, I loved her by caring for her even when I couldn’t love myself.

Motherhood was everything I had ever wanted. Not all women are blessed with this gift, so how could I complain? Yet I was deeply struggling. I carried guilt and shame like a badge.

I had walked so far away from God that I was sure He also didn’t want me. He was probably mad, so how could I ask for His help? (But don’t get me wrong, I was desperate for help.)

In my desperation, all I could think was that it wasn’t supposed to be this way. This is the one conversation I must have missed with all the moms who went before me and all their advice. Why didn’t anyone tell me motherhood would be so hard? Don’t get me wrong, I loved my daughter — but each moment felt like my soul was slowly dying, and I was barely holding on.

I didn’t know it then, but I know it now: I was battling postpartum depression.

Compounding my depression was the fact that my husband no longer loved me. The man I married, whom I trusted with my heart and my future, took my flaws and punished me by choosing a life without me and seeking comfort in someone else’s arms. I felt rejected, unwanted, uninvited, and invisible once again — my heart shattered just as I was starting to heal from the pain of an invisible childhood.

I remember trying to make the best of the busy days filled with what seemed to be never-ending diapers and constant nursing. The long sleepless nights—interrupted by competitions to see who could cry the longest: baby or me. (I always won!)

I struggled through those days, repeatedly convincing myself that this difficult phase would eventually pass, just like other challenges in my life. However, this time, I didn’t actually want time to pass. I didn’t want to miss out on precious moments with my baby girl. I wanted to savour every single one of them. I wanted to be the best mom and give her the love and care she deserved. 

But I was depleted and unsure if I could do it all.

In silence, I often fought suicidal thoughts. Fought against despair and the burning desire of just wanting to meet Jesus. I can’t pinpoint the moment that changed for me; maybe it was a collection of moments that helped me overcome. Little miracles I couldn’t afford to miss. Like the moon shining through our bedroom window. Like gently kissing my daughter’s face as she nursed during the night. Like the friend who stopped by with groceries to help me make ends meet and ensure I was cared for. 

God wasn’t far, after all. He was right there.

My marriage eventually ended. Now entirely alone, I found myself more heartbroken than before. Through it all, a tiny flicker of hope echoed in my heart with the words found in Romans 8:39: “Nothing in all creation will ever be able to separate us from the love of God”– nothing!

The song “One Step at a Time” by R&B singer Jordin Sparks frequently played on the radio. I listened to it every day on repeat, and even though it’s far from a worship song, I heard God speaking to me through the lyrics. God is so intentional in using things that appeal to us to communicate.

Day by day, one step at a time, Jesus helped me through.

Now, that baby girl is seventeen. She’s bright, beautiful, and has a contagious smile. She plans to go to university and has a deep love for others. A lot has changed in the last seventeen years. Through all the lessons I’ve learned and all the stories of God’s grace I could share, one thing is certain: He has remained faithful.

Today, let me remind you that God is near, even in the darkest moments when you are battling suicidal thoughts, depression, or anxiety. My God is mighty to save you, just as He saved me. God’s people, including me, are willing and ready to pray and journey with you during this challenging season. You are not alone! And if no one has ever told you, you are essential to this world, and you have a purpose, my friend.

So don’t give up; just take it one step at a time.

“So we’re not giving up. How could we! Even though on the outside it often looks like things are falling apart on us, on the inside, where God is making new life, not a day goes by without his unfolding grace. These hard times are small potatoes compared to the coming good times, the lavish celebration prepared for us. There’s far more here than meets the eye. The things we see now are here today, gone tomorrow. But the things we can’t see now will last forever.”
2 Corinthians 4:16-18 MSG

The Giver of All Good Gifts

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Christmas is coming. I know! But it will be here before we know it, and with that knowledge, plus the fact that our family has four birthdays during the season (September, October, November, and December), I need to start my preparation work as far in advance as possible to help me be able to actually enjoy the holidays.

So bear with me, because I’m going to talk about Christmas a little bit today. In October.

My birthday was last week (yep, I have the October birthday in our house), and to celebrate, my husband took me to a local dinner theater’s performance of White Christmas! We drove out to the theater through the colorful leaves bordering the freeway, the chill in the air that only autumn can bring, and were transported to the holidays the minute we stepped foot inside. And I was thrilled!

See, I’ve been shopping all year long. I keep a spreadsheet for Christmas gifts and another sheet for ‘holidays other than Christmas’, and I track what I buy throughout the year so that it doesn’t get buried under the bed or lost to the abyss of the basement storage shelves. This way I can shop the best sales and deals at any season, and be ready for birthdays and Christmas giving ahead of time.

After reading that, it may not come as a surprise to hear that my love language is gifts. I clap like a little kid when someone gives me a thoughtful gift that shows me they really know who I am — especially outside of my birthday or Christmas. Receiving a gift on a plain old non-holiday day makes me all mushy inside because I know I’ve been thought of by someone I love. It’s not even the actual gift itself; it’s that I was present in someone’s mind and on their heart strongly enough for them to take action. That’s why I turn to mush.

I think that’s why I’ve always loved Psalm 139, especially verses 17-18 which say:

“How precious are your thoughts about me, O God.
    They cannot be numbered!
I can’t even count them;
    they outnumber the grains of sand!”

Constantly on the mind of the Savior. I can’t even.

When I was a camp counselor, I would take my girls down to the beach. I’d have them lick their fingertip, stick it in the sand, and then count the grains of sand on their fingertip. Baffled looks on their faces, I’d then tell them to try to count the grains of sand on just our stretch of beach. Then the sand underneath the lake. Then the sand on all the beaches on all the lakes (and here in Minnesota, we’re known as the land of 10,000 lakes!). Then outward to the oceans, and those beaches…

There’s no way to count all that sand. It’s literally impossible.

And God says He thinks of us MORE than there are grains of sand. Always on the mind and heart of the Lord? Good gracious. It’s too much to take in.

Even deeper than the wonder of someone who gives the perfect gift just because we were on their mind, God was thinking of us yesterday, today, and forever onward. You are always on His mind. He was thinking of us when He sent the gift of Christmas over 2,000 years ago, and we can receive that gift at any time of year, on any day, at any hour.

Wrapped in strips of cloth and tucked into straw, He is a Gift that keeps giving to us in ways big and small. A lovely snowfall that keeps you cozy at home? Gift. A meal on your table each evening? Gift. One or two dear friends in your life? Gifts. Family that loves you unconditionally? Gift. A church home, a steady job, a perfect red leaf on the sidewalk, a warm bed… these are some ways He sends His love. And as we receive them, unwrapping each gift as if it were a shiny box with a big bow under the tree, God delights in our joy and thanks.

While I don’t know if receiving gifts is your love language, I do know our God loves sending them to you. We only need to open our hands, our hearts, our homes… and receive.

If you too would like to get a head start on your holiday shopping, our friends at DaySpring have got you covered with their Gift Guides! They have it all: a gift guide for the introvert, for the busy mom, for the guys in your life, for the kiddos, and more. There are also gift guides by price point — I love a good holiday helper to keep me on budget!

Find all the gift guides right here, and get a head start with thoughtful, meaningful, beautiful gifts from DaySpring.

Patience Today for Maturity Tomorrow

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It didn’t take long to determine the car wasn’t safe to drive. The tires were completely bald, and the internal metal wires were exposed. The tires could fail at any time, making it risky to drive. For now, the car needed to stay parked in the safety of the driveway. The only remedy? A brand new set of tires. Yep, FOUR of them. To the tune of $1,300.

Ouch.

My friend told me the story as we caught up on the events of the prior week. Her teenage son was dealing with one of the more difficult challenges of adult life—car maintenance. He needed the car for work, not to mention hanging out with his friends. But $1,300?! That price tag was difficult for a grown, full-time employed adult. But for a teenage boy working a part-time job, it felt near impossible. So she talked to him about working extra hours on the weekend and saving rather than spending for a few weeks. As difficult as it was to navigate, my friend knew these were important lessons for a young person — the value of hard work, delayed satisfaction, and caring for our belongings.

She didn’t, however, expect his response later that day.

“Mom, I found a used car for only $4,500.”

WHAT?!

“It’s got a lot of miles — over 100,000. And it needs some work. But it’s only $4,500. And if I sell my car and get a loan for the rest, it won’t be too much. I can’t afford new tires, so I’ll just get a different car.”

And that’s when my friend and I shared a laugh. This wasn’t the first time one of our teenagers wasn’t thinking clearly about the real cost of their decisions.

It doesn’t make sense, does it? Rather than save money and put in extra time and effort for a few weeks, he was willing to dump the car and spend three times as much for a used car that needed just as much work and a loan that would last for a couple of years. To him, it was easier to throw away what wasn’t working than to invest a little time in fixing what he already had.

I’m about to lay down some hard-to-hear truth. You ready?

Sometimes you and I have the maturity of a teenager when it comes to our relationships. We may not junk-yard a car because of bald tires, but how many times have I walked away from a relationship, a situation, a church, or faith because it grew a little worn around the edges? Rather than invest extra time working through a challenge, I’d rather drop it in a landfill of unaddressed issues and turn my attention to something easier.

I wonder: What is the long-term cost of my lack of resilience? What is the high price tag I’m paying by giving up when my character and maturity would be better served by digging in? I suspect I’m not the only one with a landfill full of learning opportunities I’ve missed simply because I preferred immediate relief.

“As a prisoner for the Lord, then, I urge you to live a life worthy of the calling you have received. Be completely humble and gentle; be patient, bearing with one another in love. Make every effort to keep the unity of the Spirit through the bond of peace.”
Ephesians 4:1-3 NIV

My friends, it’s time you and I grow up a little bit. It’s time to put our teenage ways behind us and start living and loving like those who know the long-term value of forgiveness, love, and faithfulness. Let’s stop junk-yarding people and problems just because they are difficult to manage. Instead, filled with the Holy Spirit and eternally loved by a faithful Heavenly Father, let’s bear with each other, showing extraordinary patience as we allow our challenges (and the Holy Spirit) to make us more like Jesus.

Yes, the immediate price tag can be a bit tough to take. Growth requires us to press in when we want to pull away, to persevere when we want to quit, to stay engaged and connected when we’re tempted to shut down. But the reward for today’s perseverance and patience is a life that grows up to look a little more mature (and a little more like Jesus) tomorrow.

Where Do You Go When You’re Thirsty?

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“My people have committed two sins:
They have forsaken me,
    the spring of living water,
and have dug their own cisterns,
    broken cisterns that cannot hold water.”
Jeremiah 2:13 NIV

You might be wondering, What’s a cistern? A cistern is a holding tank for water that is dug into the ground. The water inside a cistern is still, unmoving. In juxtaposition to “living water,” this water is dead.

A cistern is intended to be leakproof. But what happens when the lining cracks or the internal structure breaks? It can no longer hold water. Adding more water to a broken cistern is futile. Expecting a broken cistern to provide life-giving water is pointless.

It would be unthinkable for a person to walk past a bubbling artesian spring of clean water and instead choose to exert tremendous energy digging and filling a cistern in order to draw from the stagnant water source. It just wouldn’t make sense. Yet this is exactly what the people of Israel had done in their spiritual lives.

This is exactly what we often do in our own lives. And it grieves the heart of God.

“They have forsaken me.” Can you hear the anguish and disappointment in those words? Being refused and abandoned by His chosen people brought great pain to God’s heart. He feels the same way when we turn away from Him today.

We may not worship statues made of gold or call on the name of foreign gods like the people in Jeremiah’s time, but have you ever put your trust in something or someone other than Jesus? Think about it.

Where do you go for purpose, significance, and security? Where do you turn when you’re thirsty for truth and yearning for peace?

As I examine my own heart before the Lord, I have to admit that at times I’m not so unlike the Israelites. I can forget all that God has done to rescue me from bondage, forgive my sins, and invite me into a relationship of love and freedom with Him. I can slip into the trap of believing that other water sources, other life sources, are just as good and satisfying as God.

Some of my cisterns look like Instagram scrolling and seeking satisfaction from the stale water of likes and comments. I’ve dug cisterns of relationships and work projects — returning again and again to something that has value but was never intended to be an endless source of nourishment and fulfillment.

Maybe you’ve dragged your thirsty soul to the cisterns of online shopping or too many glasses of wine. Maybe you’ve neglected the living spring of God for the broken wells of politics, self-help books, the latest fad diet, or your bank account balance.

When you’re scared and confused, do you rush to God and the living spring of His Word for wisdom and truth, or are you quick to turn on the news or ask a friend’s advice? When you’re lonely and longing to feel loved, do you ask the Spirit of our living God to surround you and minister to you, or do you reach for that tub of ice cream or the arms of someone who isn’t your husband? When you’re anxious and hurting, do you run to the Living Water, the Prince of Peace in prayer, or do you rush to Facebook, Amazon, or a romance novel?

Friends, it’s time to recognize the cisterns we’ve dug. It’s time to confess that we’ve habitually visited these leaky, polluted cisterns.

It’s time to choose living water.

By Becky Keife from Create in Me a Heart of Peace

 

Looking for your next Bible Study? Create in Me a Heart of Peace combines relatable stories, biblical insight, personal reflection, and practical application so you can receive the fullness of God’s peace and share it with others. This study is perfect for small groups or to go through on your own. Grab your copy. 

 

When You Wish You Were the Orange Tree + a Recipe for Candy Corn Cookies

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One of our neighbors down the street has a tree that turns a brilliant orange every fall. I love driving toward my house and looking up to see those brightly colored leaves; it makes me smile every time.

Sometimes, though, my eyes drift toward the big tree in the corner of my yard. The one with boring yellow leaves, always turning later than the others on the street.

And I can’t help but wish I had my own orange-leaved tree.

My favorite fall leaf color is bright orange — the red-orange, not the yellow-orange. Something about the brilliance of the hue or the contrast with a bright blue fall sky makes my heart beat a little faster.

At times, I find myself coveting my neighbor’s tree full of orange leaves, but I also find myself wishing I could be the orange tree.

I wish I could be the tree full of vibrant leaves, early in the season, catching every passing eye among a line of plain green or yellow plants.

I wish I could be the one that everyone stops to admire, pauses to photograph, smiles at, and feels inspired to appreciate this season, this miracle of God’s creation.

I wish I could be the orange tree.

But is it possible that being the orange tree isn’t all it’s cracked up to be?

What about that yellow tree, the one that takes its time turning into something other than plain, something not-so-common? Its metamorphosis might come later than the other trees on the block, but when it does, it stands out all the more against the harsh, empty branches of its neighbors. It stands proud in the corner of my yard, finally getting its chance to shine, full of light, color, and nature.

Or how about those red trees? You can’t miss them, although — at least in our area — they aren’t all that common. They’re usually the smaller trees and the bushes, the ones that are most likely overlooked every other month of the year. But come October and November, they are set on fire, burning bright and beautiful in their own way.

And then there are the pale orange trees, those yellow-orange ones I specifically labeled “not my favorite.” They don’t have the contrast the red-orange ones do with the blue autumn sky, but put them in a crowd of darker-hued trees, and wow, do they pop! Even though my brain knows those trees bear only leaves, my eyes always think they are offering flowers — buds of life that glow against the darker shades of the crowd.

Speaking of the darker shades of the crowd . . . evergreens don’t get the joy of bursting into multi-colored flames every fall. No, they stay green as their name indicates, steady and solid throughout the changing seasons. They anchor the hillside and the tapestry God paints for us, standing back to let the rainbow of oaks and maples and fruit trees own the stage.

Just yesterday I noticed one more color I’d overlooked before. Early on, some leaves turn a dark, burnt orange. And when the rainy days turn the sky slate gray, those dark orange leaves fly stark against the dreary backdrop, creating a visual drama that happy, shiny leaves simply can’t pull off.

Can you believe God created all these different trees with all their different gifts for us?

Then God said, “Let the land sprout with vegetation — every sort of seed-bearing plant, and trees that grow seed-bearing fruit. These seeds will then produce the kinds of plants and trees from which they came.” And that is what happened . . . And God saw that it was good.
Genesis 1:11-12

Of course, He did. And He did the same with us.

Maybe you’re not the brilliant orange tree, turning early and shining bright. Maybe your leaves are a more subtle shade or change later in the season — or even not at all.

Perhaps you’ve spent months or years feeling small and overlooked and you can’t imagine a day when you burn red and dazzle those who see you peeking out from the corner or from under those other big trees.

You may only find your gifts show up during the dreary days, in a crowd, or as you support those around you. Or maybe you are an orange tree, and your day to turn just hasn’t arrived yet.

No matter what kind of tree you are, you are magnificent.

You’re a masterpiece drawn by the Creator of all, designed for just the right time.

And you shine.

Don’t envy the orange tree . . . or the red one . . . or the evergreen or the yellow leaves or the clever tree with several shades showing at once.

No, stand tall and reach high with your unique colors and seasons and far-reaching branches and roots.

You are exactly the tree you were created to be.

Article by Mary Carver from the (in)courage archives.

 

And now a fun fall recipe just for you!

Can you feel it in the air? Mornings have a little more chill to them, leaves on trees are changing colors, coffee shops have updated their menus to feature all the pumpkin spice things… Fall is really, truly, and FINALLY here! Bake up these simple cookies, especially fun to make with the kids in your life. Use them to jazz up a dessert table at Bible study or satisfy that October sweet tooth. 

Scroll down for the recipe (courtesy of our friend Nancy), table styling suggestions, and to download a FREE printable recipe card!

Candy Corn Cookies

Download the FREE recipe card here!

Prep Time: 10 minutes
Bake Time: 10 minutes
Makes 22 cookies.

INGREDIENTS:

  • 1 (15-ounce) box yellow cake mix 
  • 1/2 cup canola oil 
  • 2 large eggs 
  • 1/2 cup white chocolate chips, plus a few Tbsp. more for adding to the tops of cookies after baking 
  • 1/2 cup candy corn, for adding to the tops of cookies after baking 

INSTRUCTIONS:

  1. Preheat oven to 350˚F. Line two baking sheets with parchment paper; set aside. 
  2. In large bowl, mix together the dry cake mix, oil, and eggs, blending well. Stir in 1/2 cup white chocolate chips (save the remaining chips for later). 
  3. Scoop cookie dough by tablespoonfuls onto the prepared cookie sheets, spacing 2 inches apart. 
  4. Bake at 350˚F for 10 minutes. Remove from oven and press 2 to 3 pieces of candy corn and a few white chocolate chips into the tops of the cookies while they’re still warm. Then transfer cookies to a wire rack to cool completely. 
  5. Store cookies in an airtight container at room temperature for up to a week. 

To create the beautiful look that Nancy created here, use the Thankful Table Runner, the Grace & Gratitude Dip Bowls and Dinner Plates, and serve cookies on the Grace & Gratitude Accent Plates. Then call a friend and share a cuppa with these festive fall cookies! Find these pieces and more in the full Mary & Martha collection — now available at DaySpring.com.

And tell us – which autumn tree color is your favorite?

Biblical Ways to Love Yourself Today

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Who struggles with self-criticism? (Raises hand.) I’ve talked with thousands of women through my work as a writer, counselor, and life coach. One of the most common phrases I hear is, “I don’t know how to stop being so hard on myself.”

I think many of us were raised to believe self-criticism is necessary in order to be “good.” We have to keep ourselves in line. Make sure we do the right thing. Meet expectations. But I’m learning in ever deeper ways that Jesus came to rescue me from being “good” just as surely as He came to rescue me from being a sinner.

What do I mean? I think trying to be “good” is the modern-day version of living under the law. It’s about following rules instead of living freely in an intimate relationship with God. It’s about trying to achieve perfection instead of wholly trusting in grace. It’s about proving why I should be loved instead of resting in the belief that I already am.

I am not very likely to ever rebel (although there was that season in college…). But I am likely to show up every day of my life as someone who has to hustle to prove her worth, who hears a voice of condemnation in her mind, who feels like maybe she could be just a little bit better. I need Jesus to rescue me from all of this.

I also recently read an article that explained self-criticism activates our flight-or-fight response in the same way an external threat does. When we live with chronic self-criticism, we become a threat to ourselves. When we do this for years, research shows it can lead to emotional issues such as anxiety and depression as well as physical symptoms. Safety is a basic requirement for well-being, and self-criticism makes us feel unsafe with ourselves.

I cringe when I type those words because they feel so true in my life. Our culture talks so much these days about avoiding toxic relationships and making sure we have safe people in our lives. But this aspect is often overlooked — the first person we need to feel safe with is ourselves.

How do we do so? By loving ourselves in the same ways God has called us to love each other. God didn’t say, “Love everyone else, but it doesn’t matter how you treat yourself.” God is just as grieved when we treat ourselves poorly as He would be if we did the same to someone else.

I sat in a lovely coffee shop one morning, latte next to me, the chatter of a dozen conversations around me, and looked up every verse in the New Testament with the phrase “each other.” I compiled a list and then replaced “each other” with “Holley.”

Here are a few examples…

Love Holley. (John 13:34)
Stop condemning Holley. (Romans 14:13)
Be an encouragement to Holley. (Romans 15:32)

Now you try it…

Love (your name).
Stop condemning (your name).
Be an encouragement to (your name).

Does doing this for yourself feel harder than doing it for a friend? Yep, me too. I think loving ourselves is not something we can accomplish on our own, just as we can’t love others on our own either. I don’t think I have the capacity as a human to love other humans the way God does — and that includes loving myself.

My first tendency when I read the list I created with my name in it was to once again feel like I was failing at something and to believe I should feel guilty about not doing this better, too. Then I laughed because I could see my inner critic at work again.

So instead I paused and prayed, “God, please supernaturally empower me to love myself the way you love me.”

Isn’t this what obedience means? It is simply aligning ourselves with the heart of God.

Tim Keller said, “Shalom experienced is multidimensional, complete well-being — physical, psychological, social, and spiritual; it flows from all of one’s relationships being put right — with God, within oneself, and with others.”

The work of God in our lives is to bring us deeper into Shalom until that work is completed when we are Home with Him forever. Part of that work, of things being made right in our lives, includes healing our relationship with ourselves.

Sometimes the hardest person to love is ourselves.

Loving yourself is not prideful. Loving yourself is not selfish. Loving yourself is simply aligning with the heart of God toward you.

For a free downloadable version of Holley’s complete list, click here for 15 Biblical Ways to Love Yourself Today.

The Legacy You Leave

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I will never forget the emotions that surrounded the opening of a certain cardboard box that had just been delivered to our tiny apartment in the late eighties. It seemed massive to my young childhood eyes…as if I opened a wardrobe of sorts that would whisk me to a different land.

I can still remember the wonder and excitement my brother and I felt as we pulled each item out of the box. It was filled with VHS tapes, activities, and other resources to help strengthen our faith. My first Bible was in that box, a beautifully illustrated masterpiece that opened my eyes to more than I could imagine. I can still envision the colors and strokes of paint that added texture to the Bible stories that were forming my own story.

My mom ordered that box for us. I don’t even know how she afforded it considering the effort it took to keep our little family afloat.

This season was just one of my parents’ multiple separations until they officially divorced about six years later. When my mother first arrived in the United States to join my father as he worked on his degrees — and she started hers — I don’t think she expected to spend most of her time alone. She’s often told me how hard it was to come from Nigerian culture where new mothers were surrounded with intentional care in their first year postpartum, to landing in Alabama, not knowing what to do with the newborn she’d just delivered from her body and without support.

In those early years through the birth of my siblings, my mom was in a place of heightened desperation. So she surrounded us with a small church community. She brought us with her to prayer meetings where the voices of other Nigerian immigrants bellowed and echoed around us. At those gatherings, unrelated aunties stroked my hair as they beseeched the Lord God Almighty on behalf of themselves and so many others.

Even though this was a time of strain and struggle and rejection, I look back on those years with fondness because that is where my faith solidified. Jesus wasn’t just a story or a Sunday school lesson on the flannel board (my favorite!). He was real and tangible in my house because He was all we had to cling to.

My mom walked out more heartache than I can imagine but I watched how she continued to cling to the Lord. I heard her prayers, saw the creases in her Bible, and felt her protection in the decisions she made (and didn’t make) to give us her best.

Some may grow up in families with massive inheritances and financial stability. Even though that was not the case for my family, I feel as if I was richer than most because my mom gave us an inheritance that will not fade or decay. She not only taught us about the Lord, but she showed us that He was trustworthy through her actions and experience. In her darkest moments, the light of her dependency on Christ still burst through, beckoning me to know God for myself too.

One of the most fascinating stories to me is the one of Naomi and Ruth. I adore reading about the redemption and the love that unfolded. But the part that encourages me the most is that in the middle of their heartache and grief, Ruth decided that she wanted Naomi’s God to be her God. She wanted the Lord that was with Naomi to be with her too (Ruth 1:16-17).

We are familiar with Ruth’s words of devotion but perhaps we sometimes forget the circumstances that formed them. Ruth didn’t say these words out of the overflow of comfortable, victorious times. They were declared amid grief, uncertainty, and inevitable transition. Somehow Naomi’s determination to cling to the hand of the Lord — even when she felt He had turned it against her — impacted Ruth deeply.

You may feel like your past journey or current one is so filled with struggle that it would be hard for anyone to wrestle out some sort of redemption. But you have no idea the type of legacy you leave from those hard places. Because it’s not about what you feel like you can or can’t do, but about the One you stubbornly cling to, even if it’s just grasping a tiny thread of the tassel hanging from His robe.

I don’t think my mom ever felt like she had much to give us in those seasons but she, in fact, gave us everything. Everything. She offered us, and still does, glimpses of what it means to live our lives not anchored on circumstances, but on the Rock who will never fail.

You Won’t Learn Everything from a Kindergartner But You Can Learn Something

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I was not long out of college when we visited my boyfriend’s (now husband) family friends. They were a large, three-generation ranch family in Nevada, and the patriarch and matriarch had immigrated from Italy. Their English was broken and beautiful.

One of their grandchildren, Dana, was about five years old at the time. She was a darling, precocious little thing, who entered the room like sunshine: bright and uninvited, with a beaming countenance that might as well have been a shot of Vitamin D. Dana was the sort of child who could climb into your lap without permission and coax the sweetest smile from the sourest of dispositions. To her, everyone was a friend waiting to be made.

Her behavior reminded me of a familiar refrain from Maya Angelou: “…people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.” Dana came expecting the best from you, so that’s usually what she got. Her joie de vivre was contagious. It is telling I still remember her name.

I’ve thought about Dana through the years – decades – since I met her, wondering if she retained that dazzling spirit as she grew up. I can’t help but hope so.

We need the kind of people in our lives who help us recapture the joy of being alive. Expecting the best. Assuming you’re wanted and loved. Liking you for no reason other than you’re the only person in the room or yours is the nearest lap to be filled.

What if we lived like everyone we met was a friend waiting to be made?

And what other lessons might we learn from a child?

In a surprising admonishment, Jesus challenged His followers to follow the example of children –

“And they were bringing children to him that he might touch them, and the disciples rebuked them. But when Jesus saw it, he was indignant and said to them, ‘Let the children come to me; do not hinder them, for to such belongs the kingdom of God. Truly, I say to you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God like a child shall not enter it.’ And he took them in his arms and blessed them, laying his hands on them.”
Mark 10:13-16 ESV (and a similar passage in Luke 18:15-17)

Jesus had a strong reaction to the disciples when He observed their response to children being brought to Him; He was indignant. In fact, Jesus told them they would miss out on the kingdom of God if they didn’t receive it like a child.

So, what might it look like for us to come to Jesus like children?

Perhaps we see a glimpse of this through the relationships we have with dear friends and family. Think about how you feel when you’re planning to spend time with someone with whom you share mutual love and affection. You’re likely eager and expectant. Because of the depth of your relationship, you feel safe, secure, and free to be fully yourself. You want to hear everything they have to tell you, and you’re comfortable sharing the most private pieces of your heart. You’re glad to see them come and sad to see them go.

Could this be how children intuitively felt around Jesus?

As children of God, we are known, wanted, cherished, and loved beyond the bounds of any human relationship. Maybe children have an easier time believing this to be true, and their response is simply to give back what they’ve been given, to reflect the love and acceptance they’ve received.

Why is it that what comes so naturally for a child isn’t so easy for grown-ups?

Maybe it’s harder for us to sense and receive God’s perfect love as we get older because we carry the baggage of a broken and imperfect world. We’ve been hurt by people we love in a thousand different ways. It’s hard to comprehend or even imagine the beauty and goodness of God’s love because the way we love has limits and conditions and restrictions.

Faith initiated by Christ out of love is about relationship, not rules. And, our faith flourishes when we get to know God personally and intimately, not just know facts about him. Children haven’t acquired a lot of head knowledge yet, but from an early age, they sure understand heart knowledge.

What might it look like for us to “receive the kingdom of God like a child”? I suspect it looks a lot like Dana — joyfully, expectantly, trusting God to deliver all He promises.

We might not have learned everything we need to know in kindergarten, but the somethings we learned are worth remembering. They might just hold the keys to the kingdom.

Come Sit at My Table

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Panic coursed through my veins. And that’s no surprise; it’s one of the scariest situations a human can live through:

The first lunch period at a new school. In fourth grade.

I thought I was going to be in the clear. You see, my new teacher, Mrs. Berkowski, had assigned me a “buddy” for my first week so I could learn what to do in this new and strange school, meet some people, and feel a little less awkward. (When, really, aren’t fourth graders primarily made up of awkward?)

As I grabbed my Happy Days lunchbox with The Fonz giving me his double thumbs up, I started to follow my teacher-assigned buddy, Valerie, and her group of giggly friends to the outside lunch tables.

Once she realized I was following her (maybe a little too closely), Valerie turned around, blocked my path, and said, “You’re not sitting with us. I only have to be your buddy during class.”

I am still convinced, to this day, that there is nothing that can hurt a soul more than cutting words from a nine-year-old.

So, The Fonz and I went to sit at an empty metal table so I could eat my PB&J and sliced carrot sticks without bothering anyone else. I understood my place, and it was alone.

I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes. I hung my head and bit the inside of my cheeks to keep from crying in this new place. I didn’t want anyone to see me break down. It would just be one more reason to not belong.

Hunched over my lunch, trying to become as small as I possibly could, I didn’t notice a girl walk up to my side, but I did hear the words, “You can sit at my table.”

And that’s when I had to keep from crying again — this time from relief. I gathered up my food and carton of milk, and The Fonz and I joined Brooke and one of her friends. For the rest of the lunch period I hardly talked. I was just so grateful to be sitting at the table with other people instead of alone.

And now, any time someone:

  • asks me and my husband out for lunch after church
  • brings a meal to our house when one of us is sick
  • sets up a coffee date
  • shares the eggs their chickens laid
  • invites me over for dinner,

I remember that feeling.

The feeling of not being alone anymore.

The feeling of “come sit at my table.”

The feeling of moving from “weird new kid” to “part of the gang.”

The feeling of belonging.

What my fourth-grade little heart longed for, and what my grown-up self recognizes now, is that my friend Brooke embodied the words of Jesus in Matthew 25:35–40 (NIV):

“‘For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.’

Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?’

The King will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’”

That simple invitation to “come sit at my table” changed more than just a lunch period. It changed my understanding of kindness, connection, and the profound role that simply sharing a meal plays in our lives. It reminded me that even the smallest gestures, like offering a seat or sharing food, can have a life-changing impact.

It did for me.

Food has always been more than sustenance; it’s a universal language of love and community. When we break bread together, we nourish not just our bodies but our souls. Every shared meal becomes an opportunity to say, “You are seen, you are valued, you belong.”

In a world where loneliness often whispers in the quiet moments, extending a hand — and a meal — can turn isolation into togetherness. Let’s be the ones who scooch over and make room at our tables, the ones who see those sitting alone and say, “Come, sit at my table.” Because when we do, we meet a double need: we feed the hunger and form the connection.

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If you’re looking for a way to easily love the people around you with nourishing food, plus incorporate meaningful rest into your life while taking care of your future self, order Kathi’s new cookbook, Sabbath Soup: Weekly Menus and Rhythms to Make Space for a Day of Rest.

Sabbath Soup would make a great Christmas gift for all the women on your list. The book includes over 100 recipes (not all of them soup), reflective prayers, and strategies to take a day of rest every week.

When you order before October 12, you’ll also receive access to Kathi’s “Sabbath Soup Shortcuts” to help you get dinner on the table with a lot less effort. Redeem Your Preorder Here.

Place your order to get your freebies. . . AND also enter to WIN one of five copies that we’re giving away*! Leave a comment on this post telling us about your favorite way to spend your Sabbath or invite someone to your table and be entered to win.

Then be SURE to tune in to the (in)courage podcast this weekend for a heartening conversation with Becky Keife and Kathi Lipp, all about real hospitality and more. Listen in on your favorite podcast app!

 

*Giveaway open to US addresses only and will close at 11:59 pm central on 10/13/24.