This One Thing Will Remain All the Days of Your Life

This One Thing Will Remain All the Days of Your Life

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I’ve spent much of the past twelve months as a patient at a psychiatric day hospital — a squat, rectangular building on the edge of a town just outside of London.

On my first day, I was terrified. Despite working in mental health awareness and advocacy for over a decade, stigma and fear hung around my mind like cobwebs. What would the other patients be like? What would the staff be like? Would I be locked in?

My fears were swiftly allayed when I was greeted by the kind-faced nurse I’d spoken to on the phone the day before.  She was gentle, guiding me through the surprisingly well-kept unit (a stark contrast to the run-down mental health offices I’ve been going to for nearly two decades).

I sat on the edge of the blue leather-like sofa, gazing around through unfocused eyes. How had it come to this, I wondered.

The other patients chatted as I jumped at every laugh or loud noise, unsure what to do with myself. Gingerly, I picked my journal out of my bag and began to write, my pen articulating thoughts my mind hadn’t even realised I was having.

I didn’t know then that this place and the staff in it would become a sanctuary. Back then, this psychiatric day hospital was like a distant planet. Now, it is closer to home than I could ever have imagined.

It has been my place of safety, and the staff have become as familiar to me as friends. They have seen me at my very worst . . . disassociated from the world, at the end of myself, and unable to stop my tears or thoughts from running faster than I could keep up with.

If these months have been a season of pruning, then my branches are bare. I have questioned everything in my life — even my very life itself — as mental illness seized the driving wheel and took with it my sanity. I am emerging, at the slowest pace, a different person… one who is officially disabled and unsure of what comes next.

Back in my teenage years, I learned that the language of lament was the only thing that could keep me connected to God in seasons like this. In those years, I could offer nothing but the rawest, most rage-filled thoughts. Now, I see that those, too, can be prayers.

For many months, I haven’t been able to muster raw or rage-filled thoughts. I have been wordless for the first (and I hope the last) time in my life. All I have been able to do is cry and pray that Romans 8:26 is true: “In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us through wordless groans.”

I’m surprised my faith hasn’t been pruned away alongside everything else that has been lost. But the truth is, God has felt closer to me in my “not doing” than I could have imagined. I’m too anxious and overwhelmed for church, too weak for service, too tired to seek a redemption story amidst the wreckage.

And, yet, this belief has grown greater: I am beloved by God.

From the start, before I ever lifted a single finger, I was included in the creation of humanity that was called “very good.” All of the volunteering, and working for Christian organizations — none of it made me more loved. All my wide, empty days, the lacerating pain, the disability — none of it has made me less loved.

The same is true for you, too.

As a friend of mine says, we could lay down and never lift a finger again and remain as loved as we are in all our busyness and bustle. My branches may be bare . . . but, as I remain in Jesus’ love, I remain connected to the vine from whom all life flows. John 15:9 tells us, “As the Father has loved me, so have I loved you. Now remain in my love.”

I don’t know what comes next for me when I leave this place in which I have remembered and experienced the love of God so profoundly. I do not know what yet may grow and bloom, bear fruit. But I know that as I remain in Him, I remain loved . . . forever.

And, for now, that is enough.

What a Mental Health Drop-in Center Taught Me About Church

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I didn’t know there were people in there, inside this place with a sign that said “Flower Main” on Main Street. It was a flower shop without flowers. Although, I’d soon come to realize the flowers were really the people. Each day, I walked past this shop that looked empty until, one day, the Spirit told me to enter. He said, “I want you to start a Bible study there.”

“Inside a flower shop, Lord?”

But it wasn’t a flower shop. It was a mental health drop-in center.

The doorbell clanged when I entered. A man with a dark mullet and twinkling eyes told me I’d dropped something. I looked around for whatever I’d dropped and he began to laugh. Later I would learn he was seventy, though he looked fifty. He said I’d dropped my shadow.

There was a pool table, a few couches, a couple of TVs, and lots of light shining through the windows at the front of the store. It was the perfect place to grow flowers, I thought. The man with the mullet led me to the back where there was a large rectangular table with plastic chairs full of people who smiled and waved or simply stared at me. They were eating together in this place full of light, and a man named Stan* told me to sit down and eat, too, because it had been his turn to cook that day.

Slowly, I started a Bible study in that flower shop. . .

We began by the TV, all scrunched up on cushions and awkwardly singing as I strummed my guitar, Dan crooning at the top of his lungs and Geoff playing his banjo. Over time, we moved to the couches by the windows where the light streamed in as people walked by. Sometimes, Stephanie was there with her baseball cap and her red-painted nails. She would ask me to play “O Canada” and when we sang “Amazing Grace,” tears streamed down her face.

Occasionally, Tyler was there, too . . . when he wasn’t high. Often, he’d take a break in the middle of singing to go smoke a joint. Then, he’d return to listen as we played hymns and sang.

Tyler knew the gospel. He grew up in a home with a pastor for a father who beat him. Geoff knew it, too. He‘d always make jokes until, one day, I asked if they’d heard the story of Lazarus. When nobody responded, Geoff said quietly, “He didn’t come. He waited until Lazarus died.”

That’s when Geoff told us he could never enter a courthouse because, once, someone beat him so badly that now metal detectors go off because of the metal plates holding his body together.

I fit in here, with the once-addicts trying to get sober and the unseen longing to be seen. I don’t know about you, but I wish all churches were flower shops with windows letting light in and couches we could feel comfortable on.

One time, Tyler pulled me to the side and said he wanted to feel Jesus again . . . like how he used to feel Him at Bible camp when he was a kid. He said he’d been walking along the path at Bible camp and heard Someone laughing behind him. No one had been there, but he’d known it was the Holy Spirit and suddenly he’d begun laughing, too, and had kept on laughing for hours. He wanted that again.

I said, “Let’s pray,” because that’s all I know how to do. We prayed that Jesus would touch him in the same way again. That weekend, Tyler began to read the Gospel of John, and as he read, laughter welled up in him and he laughed for four hours straight. This twenty-year-old man who’d been beaten by his pastor-father, and whose brother had overdosed on a riverbank, sat there laughing with the joy of Jesus.

I keep going back. I can’t stay away from this church. Some days it’s hard. Some days the addictions seem to be winning. But we just keep on singing “Amazing Grace” and holding each other’s hands and praying for the light to take over the dark.

And it always does.

Friend, you’ve got a Jesus who wants to fill you so full that you’ll laugh for hours. You’ve got a Jesus who will put you back together after the world beats you apart. You’ve got a Jesus who loves when you sing off-key and who understands when you’ve had a bad day and who just wants to sit and have a meal with you.

Wherever you are, sister, whatever you’re going through, may the light take over the dark.

*All names have been changed to protect privacy.

Listen to today’s devotion below or on your favorite podcast platform!

 

Your Mess Doesn’t Tell the Whole Story

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You know the book, If You Give a Mouse a Cookie, where one single event sets off a whole chain of events in the life of a little mouse and the boy who gave him the cookie? I feel that book on a soul level.

The other evening, I slipped out the front door to water my plants. I have just a few flowerpots on the front stoop and two hanging baskets of begonias. We’ve had a lot of rainy days lately, so I haven’t needed to water much, but this week held a stretch of dry days. So, I got my watering can and headed out into the dusky light.

While watering, I noticed the cobwebs stuck in the eave over my front door. I saw that the recent migration of cottonwood fluff had taken over the corners behind the antique milk can from my grandpa-in-law’s farm, the Red Wing Crock, and both lanterns that flank the front door.

Looking down at the front step décor brought my gaze to the sidewalk that leads us home, which is cracked and in need of a power wash.

Thinking about power washing the sidewalk reminded me of the weird splotches that appeared on the garage door, and I wondered if they could be power washed off or would have to be painted over.

Painting the garage door made me think of how badly our house needs a paint refresh, but really our siding just needs replaced. Decades of harsh Minnesota winters, blazing summers, spring hailstorms, and just general living have worn down those original boards and it’s beyond time for repair.

I sigh, knowing that’s just the outside of our home… just a snapshot of the billion unfinished tasks that catch me in the wee hours when I’m awake thinking of the endless to-do’s and wishing I was asleep. I’m the mouse but with a gross cookie, like one made with salt in place of sugar, and instead of crumbs I’m leaving behind a trail of tasks that never ends.

I’m not only thinking about the tasks and the fixes and the repairs, I’m thinking about what it looks like to gaze at them from the street or front lawn. Woodpecker holes and a driveway that needs resurfacing, and I wonder if people think we don’t care?

I wonder if it looks like we don’t miss the framed artwork that was never hung back up after we took them down for the holidays. I wonder if it looks intentional, as if we enjoy the peeling paint on the platform underneath the (waiting to be replaced) air conditioner. I wonder if guests perceive our ‘lived-in’ style (read: toys, sometimes dishes, always laundry lurking) as preferred.

I know that’s how things look from the outside. I know that the surface layer doesn’t tell the whole story; it’s always what’s on the inside that counts. But I still want the cobwebs swept and holes patched and laundry done, because I don’t want my mess to be the whole story.

Then a few of my favorite stories from Scripture float across my mind and I think of two women with messy lives who lived long, long ago, and the encounters they had with Jesus that changed everything.

Just then a woman who had been subject to bleeding for twelve years came up behind him and touched the edge of his cloak. She said to herself, “If I only touch his cloak, I will be healed.” Jesus turned and saw her. “Take heart, daughter,” he said, “your faith has healed you.” And the woman was healed at that moment.
Matthew 9:20-22 NIV

Jesus, tired from the long walk, sat wearily beside the well about noontime. Soon a Samaritan woman came to draw water, and Jesus said to her, “Please give me a drink.” He was alone at the time because his disciples had gone into the village to buy some food. The woman was surprised, for Jews refuse to have anything to do with Samaritans. She said to Jesus, “You are a Jew, and I am a Samaritan woman. Why are you asking me for a drink?” Jesus replied, “If you only knew the gift God has for you and who you are speaking to, you would ask me, and I would give you living water.”
John 4:5-30 NLT

Those women were not perceived well by anyone looking in off the street. Pushed aside by friends and family, right into the margins with their mess. Their circumstances are open to a side-eye glance from anyone walking by. Their lives were, quite probably, not what they’d intended to cultivate.

And yet, Jesus made it a point to meet them. To begin conversation and offer healing of all kinds. He knew what they cultivated in their hearts, even if it didn’t match their outward appearance and situations. He knew their mess didn’t tell their whole story.

I love those stories because they show exactly who Jesus is. He’s the one to stretch out a hand. The one to meet us exactly where and as we are. The one who goes first with empathy and care and kindness. The one who makes us feel so confidently loved that we can shed our fears and boldly proclaim that love.

I’m not even sure how to wrap this up; I certainly don’t have a neat bow or anything of the like. But I do know that after watering my flowers, I also swept the cobwebs out of the corners. I walked down the drive, collected the mail, and turned around to see the glowy lights of the garage highlighting my little house. I knew that waiting inside was my family, the dishes left sink-side from a favorite dinner, and books waiting to be read before bedtime. Music was playing and laughter was pouring out of the playroom. A culture we’ve cultivated and given thanks for, hard at work. Things we’ve done on purpose, despite the mess that it may appear to be from the sidewalk.

And I smiled, knowing God sees the real us no matter the mess of our home, hair, health, or circumstances.

Listen to today’s devotion below or on your favorite podcast platform!

When You Wonder If Your Pain Will Last Forever

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A few months ago I injured my knee. I moved a whole bunch of tables and chairs at work and, somewhere between reminders to myself to “lift with my legs, not with my back,” I twisted one of my knees.

It didn’t hurt right away, but once it did, the pain lasted for several weeks. Knee braces, ice packs, and ibuprofen became regular parts of my routine. I grew accustomed to hobbling from here to there and assuring anyone around that I’d catch up in a minute. I tried to be upbeat about it, determined not to inconvenience anyone or appear out of shape and middle-aged. But the truth is, I was hurting, both physically and emotionally.

The thing about physical pain is that it can easily become all-encompassing as it prevents us from going about our days the way we did before. As we make accommodations while simultaneously attempting to ease our discomfort, we can quickly forget what life was like before the pain began.

My twisted knee hurt, but it wasn’t serious. And I knew — or at least I was pretty sure — it wouldn’t last forever. Eventually, I would heal and my knee would be as good as new. But despite knowing this, I slipped into a gloomier outlook pretty fast.

Would my knee hurt forever?

Was I destined to limp and predict stormy weather from now on?

Do knee braces ever look cute? What if I got a purple one?

I’m not that old, but I’m not that young . . . have I entered my bad knees era?

When my knee didn’t grow stronger and my pain didn’t subside after a few weeks of babying it, I really did wonder if perhaps this was just how it would be from now on. I feared this new pain was permanent.

Have you ever felt that way?

Perhaps your pain wasn’t a twisted knee but a broken heart. Maybe you didn’t slip under the waters of a physical ache but an emotional or spiritual one, desperate for relief and increasingly afraid it would never come. Have you ever wondered if “this season” is just how things are now?

Knee pain aside, I’ve felt that way for a while. My family has faced serious struggles the past few years, and while nobody is in crisis today, I know it’s just a matter of time before I’m hit with another blowup or betrayal, another confession or confrontation that sends me back to my knees.

This season is challenging and the most honest voice in my head whispers, “What if it’s not a season?”

The reality is that what we hope is temporary sometimes sticks around forever. Sometimes, the thing we’re promised will get better never does. The pain cannot be healed and the broken thing cannot actually be put back together. Sometimes this is the way the story plays out — and the worst part is that we don’t know when this time is a “sometime.”

So what do we do when a season lasts too long, and we don’t know when it will end?

What I’ve learned as my particular season has dragged on (and on and on) is that we must look the uncertainty in the eye and acknowledge its part in our pain. As my counselor is forever advising me, we must feel our feelings. Denying that we don’t know when our difficult situation will end and stuffing ourselves with toxic positivity and empty promises only exacerbates the injury, whether it’s a physical one or something less tangible but no less painful.

Responding to our hard season (or, even worse, to someone else’s) with “It could be worse!” or “At least you have [fill in the blank]” are admonishments disguised as encouragement, adding insult to injury. We don’t need platitudes for our pain; we need compassion. And we need honesty. We need Lamentations. We need the sad Psalms. We need Jesus, who never once flinched in the face of suffering, even His own.

“I remember my affliction and my wandering, the bitterness and the gall. I well remember them, and my soul is downcast within me.”
Lamentations 3:19-20 NIV

My soul is in deep anguish. How long, Lord, how long? . . . I am worn out from my groaning. All night long I flood my bed with weeping and drench my couch with tears.
Psalm 6:3, 6-7 NIV

“Jesus said to his disciples, ‘Sit here while I pray.’ He took Peter, James and John along with him, and he began to be deeply distressed and troubled. ‘My soul is overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death,’ he said to them.”
Mark 14:32-34 NIV

In these seasons that go on way too long, finding the courage and humility to ask for — and accept — help is also a must. We must grasp onto the hope of a God who promises to be with the brokenhearted (Psalm 34:18) and remember that no matter our struggles, nothing can separate us from the love of God (Romans 8:38-39). But I suspect I’m not the only one who finds those things slightly easier to do than simply facing our pain and the uncertainty it brings.

So today, if you’re in a season that has gone on way past its expiration date, perhaps so long you’re tired of the word “season” altogether, I am here to sit with you and accept that this is hard. This is hard, and we don’t know what will come next. But we’re here together, and so is our Lord.

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

Faith, Love, Forgiveness

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Dear children, let us not love with words or speech but with actions and in truth.
I John 3:18 NIV

What I have come to know as a therapist (and human) is that one of the best ways, if not the best way, to connect with someone is to let them know you care by creating a “safe zone” for them. You do this by sitting and listening (without reprimand or judgment), not trying to correct, fix, or change them — just listening and letting them know they have been heard, understood, and seen. What this really involves is learning how to meet people where they are. Meet them in their greatest joy or deepest pain.

At times when words are elusive and you don’t know what to say, just acknowledge, “I don’t know what to say to you right now, but what I do know is that I want to be here for you.” When you are able to say that to another person, they immediately feel connected to you, understood by you, and safe; they don’t feel alone anymore. This fosters a sense of belonging . . . like family.

God has His own version of “meeting people where they are,” and it’s found in Romans 12:15 (NASB): “Rejoice with those who rejoice, and weep with those who weep.” This extraordinary passage of Scripture implies that if there is reason to celebrate, then celebrate joyfully. And if there is reason for weeping, then weep and do so deeply. God is the Creator and Author of all emotions, which are meant to be felt and expressed both as individuals and together in community.

First John 3:18 reinforces this call to love one another fully. John writes, “Dear children, let us not love with words or speech but with actions and in truth” (NIV). In modern-day language, another way of saying this verse might be: Love shows up! I experienced this on a very personal level not long ago, when my mother passed away. God’s own people were in fact the hands and feet of Jesus to me and my family in very practical ways. They met me where I was in my grief and supplied my needs, some of which I didn’t even know I had. And if they didn’t know what to say or do, they prayed or sent a gift card or brought my favorite coffee to me or delivered food or sent a text of encouragement. The list goes on and on because love shows up — in many ways and in different forms. It sacrifices for those it serves.

The more we look beyond ourselves, the closer we connect to others and to God. So the gift of serving is really a reflection of our love for God spilled out to others so they can see Him more clearly.

Devotion by Susan Goss, as published in the Faith, Love, Forgiveness Devotional Journal

It’s so easy to get caught up in things we can’t control, to get stuck in places we don’t want to be, and to listen to and believe messages that simply aren’t true. When around you the world is whirling and you don’t know what to grab onto, hold on to these three things: your faith in Jesus, His unconditional love for you, and the forgiveness He promises you. Experience all three with the new devotional journal Faith, Love, Forgiveness, by Susan Goss!

Susan Goss and Beth Moore grew up together in Northwest Arkansas, have stayed dear friends for decades, and now share their hearts for Faith, Love, and Forgiveness together in the Introduction:

“It is our hope that this devotional journal will help you focus on where you truly are in these three areas. How strong is your faith? Do you feel His love for you? Are you expressing His love to those around you? Are you forgiving yourself for the past? Are you accepting God’s mercy with an open heart?

One of the most wonderful things about God is . . . He doesn’t expect perfection. In fact, He knows it’s not possible. The two of us have not always gotten it right either. But it’s in those moments when we feel unsettled, like it’s all falling apart on us, that we have learned to turn to God. To have a heart-to-heart with Him. To ask Him to strengthen our faith, to fill us with His love, and to release us from the pain of unforgiveness. Maybe it’s time for you to have this type of honest conversation with your Creator.”

Order your copy today . . . and leave a comment below for a chance to WIN a copy*!

Then join Becky Keife this weekend on the (in)courage podcast for a conversation with Susan about this very special new journal. They dive deep into forgiveness — what holds us back and how to move forward with Jesus. Don’t miss it!

*Giveaway open to US addresses only and closes on 6/30/24 at 11:59 pm central.

Listen to today’s devotion below or on your favorite podcast player!

Creating Belonging in Our Busy Lives

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I’ve been thinking about my American Girl doll. Well, I’ve been thinking about what it would have been like to have an American Girl doll. The dolls in the catalog, with their accompanying accessories and historical fiction books, represented a world of belonging and adventure. While I never had a doll to call my own, I squealed each time the catalog boasting $100 dolls would land in our mailbox.

Those glossy pages held a world of wonder where I could belong.

While I might not have had a fancy doll, the immersive nature of the books (and the people having adventures within them) transported me. During my childhood summers, I’d lose myself in stacks of American Girl books from the library, journeying alongside Molly in her WWII-era adventures and Samantha in her Victorian drama. Each story was a portal to another world, another time.

I saw echoes of my experiences in each girl’s personality.

In books, I belonged.

I’m not the girl with sunburns and skinned knees reading books in a treehouse anymore, but belonging has been swirling in my thoughts again this summer. As a mom, I slice watermelon and clean up puddles left behind from melting popsicles, and I can’t help but wonder about the shape of the world and my place in it.

Belonging happens in places, yes (shout out to the public library), but the deepest part of belonging happens with people.

As much as I still enjoy immersing myself in a captivating book, I can’t help but yearn for the uncomplicated friendships of my childhood, too. Flourishing friendships as a child, teen, college student, and young adult seemed to happen overnight. But now, with four children (one of whom has significant disabilities), work deadlines, and various youth sports games cramming our calendars, making friends is a different story.

At a recent little league baseball game, I watched how (seemingly) effortlessly the other parents seemed to connect, laughing and chatting like old friends. I wondered, Am I the only one struggling to make these connections? Despite considering myself an extrovert, I’ve found that forging deep connections with others has become increasingly challenging as the years have ticked by. My family moved during the pandemic and now we lack the bonds many seem to share.

Surely, I haven’t been the only mom on the bleachers, wondering how everyone else knows each other.

The moments when I feel like I’m peering into the party instead of being part of it remind me of the power and importance of extending belonging to others. If I heed the call to do unto others as I want to be done to me, I have to remember that belonging isn’t just about being accepted but actively welcoming others into our circles. It’s about swinging the door open wide from the other side, too.

As temperatures rose and we settled into new summer schedules, my husband and I decided to get a pass to the local pool to get out of the house with the kids. As we plopped our towels on the chairs and sprayed sunscreen on small shoulders, we looked around at the little social bubbles. Once again, it seemed like everyone already knew each other!

I couldn’t help but feel a pang of loneliness, a sense of being outside looking in. But then, a friendly face recognized my son from school. She not only took time to introduce herself to us but also introduced our kids to other kids their ages. At that moment, I felt a glimmer of belonging, a sense of welcome.

Belonging can unfold in a book, a neighborhood pool, or a worn church pew.

And it all matters.

Cultivating belonging takes time and effort. It might not always look like getting the shiny, expensive doll, but like being tucked away in a treehouse with stacks of books for hours in the golden light of summer. It might not look like an immediate social circle, but like someone going out of their way to say hi and offer a few connections.

We often desire instant community, envisioning it as something immediate and seamless. But just as the books brought me a deeper sense of belonging than any plastic doll could have, our understanding of community often unfolds in ways we don’t expect but genuinely need.

It’s the long talks, the shared experiences, the gentle introductions that write our stories of belonging.

Whether you’re in a season of thriving community or hoping to find spaces where you belong, find comfort in the promise that the One who made you offers the most genuine kind of belonging. In Christ, we have the most profound, most innate sense of belonging. We are known and called beloved.

As Psalm 139:1-3 (NIV) says, “You have searched me, Lord, and you know me. You know when I sit and when I rise; you perceive my thoughts from afar. You discern my going out and my lying down; you are familiar with all my ways.”

We can bring our whole selves – our dreams, our failures, our penchant for Colonial-era childhood fiction books – and we don’t have to explain a thing. We don’t have to worry about saying something wrong or being outsiders looking in.

While we might yearn for something we don’t have (hello, matching girl-and-doll historic outfit sets), we can rest in the deepest, truest sense of belonging because Jesus offers His whole self to us – and beckons us to do the same.

God knows us fully and completely. God genuinely enjoys being in our presence. Like being lost in a good book or an unexpectedly delightful conversation with friends, we can experience God’s deep, abiding love anytime, anywhere. This sense of belonging, this feeling of being known and loved, is what I strive for in my human relationships, and this divine belonging is what I find solace in when those relationships sometimes fall a little short.

In the family of God, there are no cliques (or bougie doll clubs). As Ephesians 2:19 (NIV) reminds us, “Consequently, you are no longer foreigners and strangers, but fellow citizens with God’s people and also members of his household.”

Jesus welcomes outsiders and those who wonder if they’ll ever find their people.

So, how do we cultivate belonging in our daily lives? How can we, with our busy schedules, foster deep connections and friendships? Here are a few strategies that have worked for me and might resonate with you, too:

  1. Look up: Whether at the park, at a community event, or in the church pew, take a moment to be present. Look up from your book (or phone) and engage with those around you.
  2. Say Hi: Don’t wait for others to come to you. Channel your brave inner child and be the one who says hello; introduce yourself and make the first move. (It’s often the first step that’s the hardest!)
  3. Invite: Whether it’s for coffee, a playdate, or a simple walk, extend an invitation. You might be surprised how many people are looking for connections just like you.
  4. Join: Participate in community activities, book clubs, or church groups. Being part of something larger than yourself can help build those meaningful connections.
  5. Show Up: Consistency matters. Keep showing up, even when it feels awkward. Over time, these small offerings of presence build a foundation for deeper relationships.

Belonging shifts and changes during different seasons of life, much like the unfolding stories in our favorite book series. Belonging is a tale worth living and sharing, chapter by chapter. It’s never too late to write a new story – your story.

Come to think of it, I might just join a summer book club. 

Listen to today’s devotion below or on your favorite podcast platform!

Why It’s Okay to Be a Doubting Thomas

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But Thomas (called “Twin”), one of the Twelve, was not with them when Jesus came. So the other disciples were telling him, “We’ve seen the Lord!”

But he said to them, “If I don’t see the mark of the nails in his hands, put my finger into the mark of the nails, and put my hand into his side, I will never believe.”

A week later his disciples were indoors again, and Thomas was with them. Even though the doors were locked, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you.”

Then he said to Thomas, “Put your finger here and look at my hands. Reach out your hand and put it into my side. Don’t be faithless, but believe.”

 Thomas responded to him, “My Lord and my God!”

 Jesus said, “Because you have seen me, you have believed. Blessed are those who have not seen and yet believe.”
John 20:24-29 CSB

Years ago I was so certain about my faith. I could spit out answers to questions by mining a verse. I had ideas about what a “real” Christian looked like; based on behavior I felt like a reasonable judgment could be made regarding salvation. Never mind that Scripture teaches only God knows the heart of man (1 Kings 8:39). I may not have given voice to my thoughts, but my spirit sure was critical.

Somewhere along the way, questions began stirring in my mind, the kind that pushed against conventional teaching. I observed a disconnect between the values so many in the church were living (me included) and the way Jesus, His disciples, and the early church operated. Sunday school answers weren’t enough, and I realized I didn’t actually believe some of the things I had once professed.

I felt guilty — sinful — about my questions and doubts. My inner dialogue defeated me, but I didn’t feel like I had the freedom to question the status quo. That was heresy, right? Who was I to question?

And then the Lord spoke right to me through my pastor, a Sunday morning sermon that liberated my captive heart:

God isn’t offended by your doubts. You aren’t sinning if you ask questions. Questions and doubts might be evidence that God is wooing you, creating a path for you to know Him better (especially if you’re seeking Him for answers). God will exhaust any means to draw you to His side.

Instantly, I was released from a stronghold of guilt. My questions were the means by which God was calling me to a more intimate relationship with Him. There was a newfound freedom in my faith.

God didn’t want me to rely on the faith of anyone else — my husband, family, friends, or church leaders. To a degree, my faith was secondhand, an extension of the faith of others. He wanted me to know Him, personally and experientially.

This is one reason I love Thomas, a doubter and yet one of Jesus’ twelve apostles. I can identify with his need to see Jesus himself following the resurrection. He wasn’t content to rely on the testimony of others. He longed for first-hand faith.

Eight days after some of the disciples had seen the resurrected Christ return, He invited Thomas’ touch and urged him to believe. Thomas recognized Jesus for who He was and proclaimed Him as his Lord and God. Jesus revealed Himself to Thomas because He knew what Thomas needed.

Then Jesus did something incredible: He extended a blessing for those who believe, sight unseen. Yes, we can know Him through His Word, experience God in creation, and even see glimpses of Him in other believers, but the time to meet Him face to face hasn’t come . . . yet.

I can hardly wait.

Is yours a first-hand faith? Are you struggling with doubt and questions? Do you identify with Thomas and his need to experience Christ himself? I’d love for you to share how God has met you when you needed Him most!

This devotion was written by Robin Dance and first appeared on (in)courage here.

The Holy Spirit Can Meet You + Recipe for Spinach-Artichoke Strata

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“May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.“
Romans 15:13 NIV

The truth is that there is not one day in all of the calendar that gives time and space enough for the vast nuances that come with being human. New Year’s Eve will always fold out and be forgotten. Independence Day will always remind us of the ways we are not yet fully free. Mother’s Day will not always bring the depth of rest that mothers crave, and Father’s Day will not always fulfill our hearts to feel the love of a father.

But the Holy Spirit can touch you — the Holy Spirit can reach deep into every hidden place you hold within your heart. The Holy Spirit can meet you in the chasms on the calendar — the gaping holes in which you are waiting to see and sense love show up on a day like today.

by Rachel Marie Kang, as featured in the (in)courage 2024 Agenda Planner

The mornings are cool, the days can be hot, and school is out for summer. If you find yourself hosting a gathering or brunch, or maybe you need a new meal to add to your menu planning rotation, we’ve got just the recipe for you! Invite friends over for brunch and serve this delicious Spinach-Artichoke Strata with a platter of croissants and a fresh pot of coffee. It’s the perfect way to spend a morning!

Scroll down for the recipe (courtesy of our friend Nancy), download a FREE printable recipe card, and read till the end to find the perfect serving pieces!

As you assemble this savory dish for a summer gathering or brunch, pause for a moment, ask the Holy Spirit to meet you right in the kitchen, and recall how truly loved you are by the One who created you and calls you Beloved Daughter.

Spinach-Artichoke Strata

Download the FREE recipe card here!

Prep Time: 20 minutes
Bake Time: 60 minutes
Makes 4-6 servings.

INGREDIENTS:

  • 5 cups cubed, crusty bread (cut into 1″ cubes)
  • 2 Tbsp. olive oil
  • 3/4 cup chopped onion
  • 3/4 cup chopped red bell pepper
  • 6 cups fresh baby spinach leaves
  • 1 (14-oz.) can quartered artichoke hearts, drained
  • 2 1/2 cups shredded Monterey Jack cheese, divided
  • 5 large eggs
  • 1 1/2 cups milk
  • 1/2 tsp. salt

INSTRUCTIONS:

  1. Preheat oven to 350˚F. Grease a 2-quart baking dish; set aside.
  2. In a large skillet, heat oil over medium heat. Add chopped onion and red bell pepper; cook for 4 minutes. Add in the spinach leaves and cook another 3- 4 minutes, until spinach is wilted and onion and pepper are tender. Remove skillet from heat. Stir in artichokes; set aside.
  3. In a large bowl, add the cubed bread, the onion/spinach mixture from the skillet, and 2 cups of shredded cheese, tossing everything together well. Add this to your greased baking dish, spreading mixture evenly.
  4. In another bowl, beat the eggs, milk, and salt together. Pour this mixture over the bread mixture in the baking dish. Cover and refrigerate for at least an hour or overnight.
  5. Cover with foil and bake at 350˚F for 30 minutes, then uncover, sprinkle the top with the remaining 1/2 cup cheese, and bake uncovered 30 minutes longer, or until top is lightly browned and knife inserted in center comes out clean. Let cool for 10 minutes, then cut and serve.

To get the aesthetic Nancy created, use the Simply Elegant Baking Set. Serve cream and sugar in the Simply Elegant Sugar & Creamer set, and use the Grace & Gratitude Accent Plates to serve the strata. Finish the spread by setting out these Tea Towels as napkins, a table square, or a table runner, and you’re ready for a beautiful brunch!

Find these lovely pieces and more at Mary & Martha by DaySpring.

May you remember that “the Holy Spirit can touch you … can meet you in the chasms on the calendar — the gaping holes in which you are waiting to see and sense love show up on a day like today.”

The Goodness of the Lord in the Land of the 50+ Living

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I was born on Memorial Day, 50 years ago this past Memorial Day. ⁠

My birthday felt especially sweet this year because my husband and daughter threw me a party with my very favorite things: family + friends + drinks + country music + CAKE (!!!). It felt doubly special to have a party because, as every May baby knows, birthdays this month (like December birthdays) are often relegated to the corners of the schedule. Not because our families and friends don’t care about us. Rather, because when you have a birthday in May, it’s going to be shoehorned between All The Calendar Things. End-of-year school parties and award nights. Sports banquets. Band concerts. Graduation ceremonies. Last year, we moved my daughter into her summer school apartment on my birthday. The year before that, that same daughter graduated high school on my birthday.

So, it was fun to spend this year celebrating with loved ones and talking about life, eating delicious cake, and laughing till my sides split.

I don’t begrudge birthdays; I like to reflect on them and the years they represent. Because turning 50 feels especially momentous, I’m opening my journal to share some of what I’ve learned at this point in my life. If you’re near (or past!) the half-century mark, chime in with your own lessons and blessings found within this stage. If you’re younger, may you read and know there is much good to be had in the land of the 50+ living!

There is freedom in caring less, period.  I’m one who’s default is to care a lot, and overall I like that this quality makes me empathetic. But when caring a lot veers into ruminating on what other people think about me, I’m caring too much. At this point in my life, I don’t have much time or interest in guessing what people meant when they said this or did that — or worrying about what they thought of me when I said this or did that. In the words of my friend, Maria, “Don’t fear 50… it’s so liberating!”

Giving people the benefit of the doubt is a relational superpower. Giving people the benefit of the doubt gives life to all your relationships. Not giving the benefit of the doubt will strangle the life right out of them. While genuine relationship problems need to be addressed, being hard to offend will draw folks to you like a bee to honey.

Not everyone will like you. If you’re like me, you’ve spent a lot of time knowing this in your head but rejecting it in your heart. I used to think I could win over folks who were on the fence about me. But that just means I’m losing before I’ve started because if people are my people, they don’t need to be won over. They’re already with me. At 50 I actually appreciate that not everyone likes me because then I don’t need to worry about investing in those people. It’s a helpful limitation that points me to where my interpersonal efforts are wanted and appreciated. If Jesus was okay with not everyone liking Him, we can be okay with it, too.

Making friends at this stage of life is harder… and easier. As I get older, finding friends is harder because there’s less opportunity to rub shoulders with other women. However, I’ve found that it’s easier to keep friends I do make because we both have a more “laid back” nature that’s hard to offend. While there are exceptions to this, we generally give each other more breathing room, so we enjoy our friendships more. We ain’t here for the drama.

The Empty Nest years are different but good. I used to think that once the kids were out of the house, life wouldn’t shine and sparkle as it had when they were home. That’s simply not true. Of course, trials still find me in this stage of life, and I truly do miss the kids’ full-time presence under my roof. But the empty nest years have proven to bring their own blessings — a welcome surprise.

A well-placed “I’m sorry” covers many a mistake. I’ve made many mistakes in parenting my children, being a wife to my husband, and being a friend to others. I often wish I could go back in time to do a better job years ago and… yesterday. And yet I’ve found that a sincere apology forms a bridge from one person to another keeping relationships intact.

God is faithful, and Jesus is with us.  I’ve learned that while walking through difficulties, the Lord’s faithful presence is a comfort that I wouldn’t have experienced to the degree I did without the hardship. Of course, I would’ve loved to have avoided those hardships altogether. Yet, within the hardship there was no denying the powerful presence of Christ. Regarding Matthew 14:22-33 when Jesus walks on water during a storm toward a boat holding His disciples, Beth Moore writes, “Christ walked on water before He calmed the storm. …We want Christ to hurry and calm the storm. He wants us to find Him in the midst of it first.”  During hard seasons of my life, welcoming the presence of Jesus may not immediately calm each storm. But I am calmed within each storm.

If these are just a few of the lessons the Lord has been gracious to teach me in my first five decades, I can’t wait to see what the next 50 years hold. What a privilege it is to enjoy another year of life. As I look to the year ahead, taking time to reflect helps me better appreciate my many gifts — my people, my health, and my leftover birthday cake.

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

The Most Important Thing I Learned from My 84-year-old Neighbor

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I sit in my neighbor’s living room. Watercolor landscapes and abstract canvases with bold colors grace each wall, evidence of her love of art and former life as an artist. Knickknacks and artifacts from around the world adorn bookcases and side tables. I’ve heard the story of the native woman carved in shiny driftwood and the Eskimo etched in soapstone. But there are so many treasures that tell pieces of my aged friend’s treasured past, places she’s lived, people she’s known.

Though we’ve spent time together regularly for the past three years, I sense there are still countless layers to her story I do not know.

I’ve brought over cups of tea – chamomile with a little sugar for her, decaf vanilla chai for me – and flaky butter croissants. I enjoy watching her enjoy.

She tells me a story I’ve heard more than once, but I don’t mind. She’s my first true friend from the Silent Generation, and I know it’s a gift to have earned her trust. Even with some stories that loop on repeat, I learn something new every time we’re together.

But perhaps the greatest thing I’ve learned from her is resiliency.

My friend grew up in Germany during World War II and she endured terrible conditions and witnessed horrific things. And it birthed in her resiliency. After high school, she moved to a different country and had to learn a new language and navigate a new culture. Her resiliency grew. She married a man from another country and they built their life together on the euphoria of young love and the pain of prejudice for being a mixed-race couple. Her resiliency solidified further.

Later she became an engineer and was often the first woman in her company to ever hold that position, which made her the target of both admiration and sexism… and yes, she became more resilient. Years later her ability to endure and overcome served her well as she battled a rare cancer. Indeed, through chemo and surgery and radiation, she was resilient.

Now she shifts on her burgundy tweed sofa and I can tell her back is still hurting from a recent fall. But she smiles. I know if I ask how she’s feeling she’ll give me the same answer she always gives, “Everything’s hunky-dory. I can’t complain!”

But the truth is, she could complain. (We all could complain, and often do.) She could complain about being lonely and not running or painting or traveling like she used to. She could complain about missing family across the globe and never being able to have children of her own. She could complain about how our street hasn’t been repaved in more than a decade or how California taxes just keep going up.

Instead, I look at my neighbor, who has become a friend who feels more like family, and I see a woman with deep wrinkles and papery skin who has chosen gratitude over grumbling and resiliency over resentment.

Her life reminds me that I can choose this beautiful narrow path too.

“I say my prayers and thank God every day. Life is an adventure,” she tells me. “You’ll meet a lot of interesting people and you won’t believe where life will take you if you’re not afraid of a challenge. I never took the easy path, and I was always grateful.”  

Her eyes still twinkle beyond decades of great pain and sorrow, great joy and adventure.

I imagine Jesus sitting next to her on the textured couch, eyes twinkling too. I imagine Him beaming when she tells a story that tickles her memory and brings forth a school-girl laugh. I imagine Him bowing His head and tearing up when her mind flickers back to seasons of agony and heartbreak.

And I imagine Jesus leaning in close saying,

Yes, in all things my Father works for the good of those who love Him. (Romans 8:28)

Yes, daughters, do not grow weary or lose heart. I endured the cross so you can endure whatever you face. (Hebrews 12:1-3)

Yes, don’t give up! In me you will never be overcome or crushed. Affliction and persecution will come but in Me you’ll find unending joy and unconditional love. (2 Corinthians 4:7-18)

In my mind’s eye, I look at Jesus and I know He isn’t advocating for us to shove hard things under the rug or slap on a mask of false positivity. No, He’s offering us the truth:

When we rely on God all things really are possible – and our capacity for resiliency is just one example.

We can allow disappointment and bitterness to choke out our zest for life and trust in God. Or we can let life’s hurdles and hardships be like arrows pointing us deeper to the heart of Jesus.

We have a Savior who knows every manner of suffering… and is living truth and proof that difficulty and death are not how the story ends.

Consider this and feel free to share in the comments:

  • What would it look like to allow your suffering to increase your resiliency?
  • How might God want to use your resiliency to increase your joy and encourage others?

Listen to today’s article below or find the (in)courage podcast on your favorite platform.

Want to Know How She Does It? She Listens to the Holy Spirit

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I want to know how Elizabeth stayed in seclusion for five months when she was pregnant with John the Baptist. What prompted her to disappear that long? What empowered her to make a decision such as that?

I wonder how the widow with oil willingly let her sons go into the town, knocking on doors and asking neighbors, known and unknown, for empty jars. How did she find the faith to follow Elisha’s advice? How did she push past the grief of losing her husband and the simultaneous guilt of nearly losing her sons? How did she find that sudden surge of strength to sell jars and jars of oil and pay off her debt, though there was much to despair of?

And, was it surrender, or strategy, or the Spirit of God when Jochebed, mother of Moses, set her baby boy in a basket along the bank of the Nile, only to watch him be seen and soothed and saved by Pharaoh’s wife?

I want to know . . . have to know.

Because, when I skim through Scripture, I see story after story of what seems like women making definitive decisions in the middle of difficult dilemmas. I know, just as well as the next woman, that there is more than meets the eye when it comes to making courageous choices amid life’s complex circumstances.

What will I tell my sons, one week from today, when all of our boxes and belongings are packed up and stacked away in storage? How will I convince them that all will be well, even though the decision to move came from merely listening to a nudge?

A notion.

A knowing.

An inkling.

A feeling.

How do I tell my kids — and the curious, caring family and friends surrounding us — that we are stepping out in faith and risking rootedness, routines, and relationships for a good ending that isn’t even guaranteed?

I am between a rock and a hard place. Bills are begging. My marriage needs mending. The future for my family feels far and unsure. We need rest, we need a reset, we need restoration. Still, while I wait on God, I am moving forward in faith and trust. Daily, I am desperately seeking His guidance — but also? Best believe I am making decisions that feel right in my gut.

I am the widow with oil, unreservedly stepping into new skills. I am Elizabeth, unapologetically retracting and releasing the fear of my motives being misunderstood. I am Jochebed, torn over letting some beloved things and people go, and yet somehow still trusting in a promise I can’t yet see or say for certain.

Seven months ago, when the air was cold and frigid, my friend, Kate, preached an Advent sermon that arrested my attention and sank deep into my bones. Of the Annunciation, she preached about the moment just before Mary says, “I am the Lord’s servant… May your word to me be fulfilled” (Luke 1:38 NIV).

What comes in the moment just before Mary’s compliance, however, is a question: “How will this be,” asks Mary, “since I am a virgin?” (Luke 1:34 NIV).

Mary asks a quintessential question, one quite like our own — not simply a why, but rather a how. Not merely a want to know the probable, but a need to know the practical.

The answer to this question, and all of life’s how questions? My friend Kate says this: “It will always, still, ever and only be . . . the Holy Spirit.”

Want to know how Elizabeth did it? She was filled with the Holy Spirit. And the widow with oil? She listened to Elisha, a man of God filled with the Holy Spirit. I have to believe Jochebed was filled with the Holy Spirit because she had a supernatural power to really see and save her son.

Want to know the way you and I will know how in all we say and do?

It will always, still, ever and only be . . . the Holy Spirit.

Someday, a year from now, when I pull our boxes out of storage and settle into a new home, I will look back and remember how courage and clarity came when I chose to listen to the God-whispers stirring within my heart. I will remember how divinely God intervened in every desire, decision, and dilemma. A little nudge here, a messenger and a promise, or two, there. . .

There won’t always be a roadmap or guidebook giving all the right answers. There won’t be writing on the wall or a blueprint mapping out the intricate details of God’s plans and promises.

But . . . there will always, still, ever and only be the Holy Spirit. He, my dear friends, is how we will do every hard and holy thing.

Pray This Prayer:
Teach us how, Lord. Not simply how You’ll do it — but how we can and should. Teach us to listen to our hearts, Lord, where You humbly make Yourself at home. Teach us to listen to those nudges and notions. Those rooted knowings. Those fleeting feelings. Those inexplicable inklings. You are ever leading as we lean in and listen to You. Amen.

Friends — I’d love to hold space for any pressing situations or difficult decisions you’re currently facing. Comment below and share a little bit about what you’re going through — I’d love to encourage you.

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

At Last Your Love Has Come Along

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My husband has never been the most romantic of men and he knows it. But all I know is that after our first date of thin crust pizza and an animated movie, I involuntarily started singing At Last by Etta James as I walked towards my car at the end of the night.

If you know the rest of the lyrics, you remember that Etta serenades us with the revelation that her love has come along. But how could that be happening for me after one date — and if I’m being honest — after avoiding the guy I’d initially embarrassed when he first asked me out three years before? How could love be coming along for us when we came from totally different spheres, educational backgrounds, ethnic origins, and definitely different countries?

As the single pastor on staff at a large church, I was often teased that my husband would come rowing from a far-off way, since apparently he couldn’t be found in the congregation or community of Huntsville, Alabama. I guess they were right in a way since he stepped off a plane from Iceland in 2002 and worked himself so deeply into the community that he found home and became a home for many. It is that sense of belonging and safety I felt when I was around him. It is what drew me and romanced me because he was joyful and passionate and steady… and everything I needed.

All these layers of difference and belonging, of culture and home, ebb and flow within the pages of my debut novel, Her Part to Play. The main characters, Adanne and John, couldn’t be more unalike, and I haven’t even started on the initial dislike that permeates their first meeting. Yet, a new thing starts to spring forth for the both of them — something unexpected, yet longed for. 

“See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?
I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland.“
Isaiah 43:19 NIV

I recall the times I bemoaned what seemed to be seasons of wilderness and wasteland, not even considering that the desires of my heart could spring up from those places. But isn’t that the way of our Lord? We may have been wandering or thirsting for so long that the breakthrough we’re waiting for seems to come out of nowhere and yet is exactly what we need. A longed-for surprise, a severing of old ways to make way for the uncomfortable, yet comforting new.

Adanne is a hometown girl from a small town in Alabama, rooted in her family’s culture and legacy. What does she have to do with this Hollywood actor filming his next movie — and revamping his dwindling career — in her beloved Hope Springs? John is everything she doesn’t want and her town is the last place he wants to be. Yet, perhaps what they need may be closer than they know, revealing their core desires for safety, authenticity, and home. Adanne and John discover much of this and more throughout their story and in the intricacies of their interactions.

“I guess it’s time to film my part before I look for someone to play this part.” 

John waved the phone at her before stashing it in his back pocket. 

Adanne folded the cape and held it to her chest. 

“Well, if I see someone eligible around here, I’ll be sure to send her your way. Maybe . . .” Her words were tentative, as if offering a wobbly olive branch with her coming suggestion. “Maybe what you need is a small-town woman who isn’t caught up in all the glitz and glamour.” 

Adanne carefully placed the cape on the empty chair in front of her, wiping imaginary dust from the seat back with her slender fingers. His breath hitched for the slightest moment at the compassion in her eyes. 

“Maybe someone down-to-earth will be less likely to make you fall . . . and break your heart.”
(Excerpt from Her Part to Play)

New situations and new seasons might be new doors God is opening for us, but they could also be what was there all along — once we are free enough to have eyes to see.

The day Etta’s song lyrics flitted through my mind wasn’t the first time my husband tried to pursue me. I won’t dig into our miscommunication and mishearing of accents and how I invited a group of co-workers to a date that was just meant for two. But even though I didn’t initially perceive it, a new thing was still on its way for me. A romance of Godly proportions was springing up for me despite the years of distance, despite the voices of inner doubt and fear, and amid the differences that should have hindered but instead brought us together. 

As I hummed under the setting sun that day, I leaned in to listen to the serenade of the Father who declared that, yes, home can be found here too. 

What new thing is God revealing in your life, despite the obstacles that say otherwise?

Her Part to Play is Jenny Erlingsson’s debut novel and is described by Library Journal as “warm, funny, and faith-filled.” This “endearing romance,” according to Publisher’s Weekly, focuses on Adanne, a woman who accepts a last-minute job as a makeup artist for a movie that’s filming in her small Alabama hometown. But the money hardly seems worth having to face the actor who got her fired from her last job in Hollywood. Sparks fly on and off the set, but will either of them follow the pull of their heart and find belonging with each other despite the differences that could pull them apart?

Award-winning author Patricia Raybon describes Her Part to Play as a “sparkling, stunning debut” featuring “a modern romance with old-fashioned courage and depth.”

Her Part to Play is a perfect read for the summer and is available now wherever books are sold. . . but leave a comment on this post and you’ll be entered to WIN* a copy for yourself!

Then join Becky Keife this weekend on the (in)courage podcast for a conversation with Jenny about this very special debut novel. Don’t miss it!

*Giveaway open to US addresses only and closes on 6/23/24 at 11:59 pm central.

Listen to today’s article or anywhere you stream podcasts.

Body Doubling: Finding Strength in Community as the Body of Christ

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In my role as a coach to writers and other creatives, I employ a variety of techniques to help my clients grow. I teach goal setting and other productivity strategies, but I have come to find that almost nothing I advise is as effective as one simple technique: body doubling.

If you are not familiar with the term (and don’t worry, I wasn’t either a couple of years ago), body doubling is a strategy used primarily in the ADHD community. When a project seems too difficult, being in someone else’s physical presence (even virtually) while you complete it helps you better accomplish that task.

In my mastermind group, we get together virtually every morning for an hour, say what we’ll be working on, and then reconvene at the end of that hour to share our progress. We turn off our microphones, and sometimes our cameras, and just work. And for some reason, we all get more done than if we had tried to do the work on our own.

A few years ago, I don’t think I would have tried body doubling. I have always been convinced that my problem has been laziness, and if I just buckled down and really pushed myself to work, I could finish my tasks.

One of the big lies that we have been told in our culture is that you somehow earn extra gold stars if you do it all yourself without help. It’s okay to be the helper, but to be the one who needs help — well, that’s just not a good look.

But what I’ve learned is that I need community more than just about anything else in my life, and not just on an emotional and spiritual level, but also in practical aspects like my work, managing my home, and serving my people.

The New Testament implores us to keep meeting together, to hang out together, and to do life together. It makes sense for the spiritual parts of our lives, but it is also critical for the practical.

“And let us consider how to stir up one another to love and good works, not neglecting to meet together, as is the habit of some, but encouraging one another, and all the more as you see the Day drawing near.”
Hebrews 10:24-25 ESV

We meet together for love (the spiritual) and good works (the practical).

When we gather together (online) for our group time, we start by sharing a little bit of what’s gone on in our lives since we last met. Sometimes, one of our members has had a hard day. Another wants to share a win. And we love on and encourage each other. Then we share what we want to accomplish in the next fifty minutes and get down to business. At the end of our time, we come off of mute, share what we accomplished, and promise to meet together tomorrow.

There is something so encouraging in knowing that there are other people “in the room” who are cheering me on and are there to witness the work. People who are invested in my win as I am in theirs.

If you have spent too much time trying to go it alone, grit your teeth, and just get through it, try these techniques to see if God’s design for community can help you check some things off your to-do list:

  • Struggling with that report at work? Ask a coworker to sit in the conference room with you for an hour, and while they work on their spreadsheet, you knock out that report.
  • Working from home? No problem. Jump on a Zoom call for an hour with a friend or colleague. While both of you are silently working, you will stay more focused just because you know the other person is there.
  • Need to clean out a closet at home? Ask your husband to sit in the room with you and go through his tech box that he’s been needing to go through, or do it with a roomie who needs to clean out her email inbox. You both will get more accomplished.

God’s design for community didn’t stop at church attendance. He designed us to need each other.

In a world that often glorifies self-sufficiency, let us have the courage to embrace God’s design for community, recognizing that by working together and supporting one another, we can not only accomplish more but also experience the joy and fulfillment that comes from living life as it was meant to be lived.

Discover the unexpected joys of community and homesteading in The Accidental Homesteader. This humorous and inspiring book shares hard-won wisdom to help you accomplish more, gain fresh perspective, and find contentment wherever you call home.

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

So Great Is His Faithful Love

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1 My soul, bless the Lord,
and all that is within me, bless his holy name.
2 My soul, bless the Lord,
and do not forget all his benefits.

3 He forgives all your iniquity;
he heals all your diseases.
4 He redeems your life from the Pit;
he crowns you with faithful love and compassion.
5 He satisfies you with good things;
your youth is renewed like the eagle.

6 The Lord executes acts of righteousness
and justice for all the oppressed.
7 He revealed his ways to Moses,
his deeds to the people of Israel.
8 The Lord is compassionate and gracious,
slow to anger and abounding in faithful love.
9 He will not always accuse us
or be angry forever.
10 He has not dealt with us as our sins deserve
or repaid us according to our iniquities.

11 For as high as the heavens are above the earth,
so great is his faithful love
toward those who fear him.
12 As far as the east is from the west,
so far has he removed
our transgressions from us.
13 As a father has compassion on his children,
so the Lord has compassion on those who fear him.
14 For he knows what we are made of,
remembering that we are dust.
Psalm 103:1-:14 CSB

We know Father’s Day can stir up a wide range of emotions. Joy and gratitude for some. Grief and disappointment for others.

We also know that God cares for all our emotions and experiences and is faithful to meet us wherever we are today.

And, we know that God is the Good Father we’ve always needed. His compassion never fails. His love never ends. His forgiveness is boundless. His goodness and grace are more than we could think, ask, or deserve.

May we spend time today meditating on the character of our Heavenly Father, remembering His benefits, and blessing Him with all our souls.

What attribute of God stands out to you from today’s Scripture?

God Welcomes Our Grief and All of Our Questions

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One day, I was frantically scouring my kitchen drawer, desperately hunting for a can opener.

When I found it, suddenly, a bittersweet wave of melancholy engulfed me. In a daring display, grief audaciously barged into my day, casting a somber shadow into the depths of my mind. How could a simple can opener have such power to trigger me?

In a fleeting instant, I found myself reminiscing about a treasured memory of my dear friend, Christina. The memory unfolded to the time she was on her way to my house to pick me up for church. She called and said, “Hey, don’t judge me for this, but . . . can you bring your can opener with you?” She told me she made coffee and wanted to add evaporated milk to it. When she finally arrived, I got into her car and handed her the can opener. “Girl, how old is this thang?” she asked, jokingly.

She always had a way of making me laugh . . .

As my kitchen became a stage, and this recollection of her unfolded, I could hear the faint echoes of her laughter over the low hum of the fridge. I couldn’t help but chuckle when the thought crossed my mind of her asking if my can opener was from the 1800s. She promised that she’d replace it with a modern one, but she never got a chance to. It’s crazy how there were so many things we planned, yet she never had the chance to accomplish those plans.

I can recall the day my dear friend passed away — I was awakened by the gentle movements of my daughter in my womb. I was filled with pure joy as I counted down the final two weeks until my baby girl’s arrival. I was also blissfully unaware of the phone call that would soon shatter my happiness, leaving me utterly devastated. Seven years later, the anniversary of her death still brings memories of the heart-wrenching phone call.

After Christina’s passing, my phone rang incessantly, as friends and family reached out to express their condolences. Most of the calls began with an awkward silence, followed by expressions of sympathy and well-intentioned advice, such as, “Try to find strength for the baby,” and, “Don’t question God.”

I didn’t know how to be strong, and I had so many questions accompanied by anger.

For six grueling months, I tried to suppress my grief and curiosity. I shifted my focus to navigating motherhood for a second time. Yet, I found myself juggling grief and joy, unsure of how to fully embrace their coexistence. The depths of my anguish ran so deep, it silenced my prayers. I submitted to the deception that my prayers didn’t matter, and I thought if I questioned God, it would be a daring and audacious betrayal.

My pastor preached a sermon that impacted me and allowed me to confront my grief. Later that day, I had a conversation with God in the privacy of my bathroom. It took me a while to utter the questions I suppressed for so long, but when I did, I was consumed by a surge of emotions. It was as if a mighty wave crashed upon the shores of my consciousness, leading to thought-provoking questions. God, why did she have to die? Didn’t we have great faith? Did she do something wrong? Why didn’t You heal her? What’s the reason for this?

My grief demanded answers and it ignited a profound curiosity within me. Yet, God met me where I was and He welcomed my pain and questions. 

For so long, I was taught not to question God and I thought doing so was inherently wrong. But then, I discovered that God actually embraces curiosity . . . and I was relieved to know that God welcomes our questions.

This encounter that I had with God awakened another memory I had with Christina. I had taken her to the emergency room because she was nearly unconscious. Intravenous fluids were administered and, after twenty minutes, I heard her mumbling under her breath. “It’s not worth it,” she whispered. “Let it go, let it go.”

As she gradually regained her strength, she raised her voice and said, “Forgive . . . forgive.” In the moment, I was confused. But, in looking back, I believe God helped me recollect that memory to show me that He was dealing with her heart at the time. After pondering this, God led me to Isaiah 55:8, “For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways.”

In fact, God showed me that He heard our prayers. While we were praying for physical healing, He saw it fit to heal her heart and allowed internal healing.

When faced with the inevitable trials of life, it’s important to remember that God never promised life would be without suffering. Oftentimes, during these trials of suffering, our curiosity is sparked . . . compelling us to seek answers and understanding. Beauty lies in not having to suppress our emotions and deepest questions. Instead, we can find solace in respectfully approaching God with our questions, knowing that He is always ready to listen and provide guidance.

Let Us Thank Our Heavenly Father For His Love

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Today is different from any other day I’ve ever experienced.

In just hours, my family will lay my dad’s remains to rest after a quiet church service. Eighteen months ago, I moved my parents from their small farming community to live near me in Kansas City. My mom needed help caring for my dad. Dementia stole his memory, while Parkinson’s disease stole his mobility.

He was confined to a wheelchair and his rugged Levi jeans were replaced with diapers. But, unlike many end-stage Parkinson’s patients, Dad was still able to swallow . . . which meant he was able to eat. We were so grateful for this answer to prayer.

His ability to eat was no small thing. Dad thought everything was better with bacon, which he loved about as much as he loved my mom’s chocolate chip cookies. In fact, the last thing he ate the day before he left this earth was an entire sheet of cookies straight from the oven.

Remembering this brings us joy, even on this painful day. Tucked between hard memories are these soft pillows of goodness, a comfort for our hearts as we grieve. The quiet minutes before I leave for the church offer more pillows of goodness — a chance to remember all God’s blessings during this hard journey. 

Maybe you aren’t facing end-of-life issues for yourself or a loved one, but perhaps you’re facing end-of-marriage issues. Maybe you’re not physically sick but you’re worried sick over a wayward child. Perhaps you aren’t mourning the death of your dad but you’re mourning the lack of a dad for your children. Perhaps your father or your child’s father was, or is, absent due to separation, substance abuse, or health issues. Maybe it’s because of work demands, misplaced values, or mental illness.

At times, each of us will face something unbearably difficult. In John 16:33, Jesus says that we will all go through hard times. Yet, He also promises to give us everlasting joy, reminding us that He has overcome this pain-filled world. The loss of my dad? That qualifies as a trial — and so does whatever you’re facing today. Friends, I know this hard season may last for a while, and I know that I need to lean on my heavenly Father and His promises. So, I’ve bookmarked Psalm 136, and have welcomed its twenty-six verses to give me twenty-six reasons to give thanks for God’s faithful love. You’re probably familiar with the first verse: “Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good! His faithful love endures forever.” Psalm 136:23 is my favorite verse: “He remembered us in our weakness. His faithful love endures forever.”

Throughout my life, my dad was a pillar of strength whenever I was a puddle of tears. Now that he’s no longer here, I’ve been feeling weepy and weak. Although, perhaps, “weak” isn’t quite the right word. I think the better word is “weary.” As I’ve kept myself busy with all the tasks associated with a loss like this — partly out of necessity and partly out of an attempt to distract my bruised heart — I’ve become worn down. Maybe you’ve been there, too, whether because of a death or a move or a job change or the end of a relationship. Between being busy and deeply sad, we can end up so shaken and weary.

When this happens, God invites us to lean on Him . . . to accept the peace that surpasses human understanding. This is what is promised in Philippians 4:6-7: “Don’t worry about anything; Instead, pray about everything. Tell God what you need and thank him for all he has done. Then you will experience God’s peace, which exceeds anything we can understand. His peace will guard your hearts and minds as you live in Christ Jesus.”

When we feel weary, we need God’s Word to empower and remind us that we are more than conquerors. Those seasons when we feel weary with grief and exhaustion are exactly the times we most need to remember God’s promises: 

Friends, if you’re in the middle of a hard season today, I encourage you to rest your soul and join me in thanking our heavenly Father for His love and constant presence. I pray we can remember His truth even when we are weary and our world is shaken. Let us thank Him for being our Daddy, our Abba, who invites us to rest in His love until we rest in His arms.

Listen to today’s devotion at the player below or wherever you stream pods.