The Kind of Freedom We Actually Need

The Kind of Freedom We Actually Need

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On May 6, 1868, as the United States of America struggled to rebuild and unify after a brutal Civil War, the Grand Army of the Republic (GAR) issued the Memorial Day Act, officially marking Memorial Day as a day for the North and South, White and Black, to honor those who died in the war. Also called “Decoration Day,” observers honored the day by decorating the graves of those who died fighting for what they believed in with flowers. It was also considered a religious observance, calling all citizens to pray for peace.

Today is Memorial Day in the United States, and I’m considering the history of this holiday as well as its significance. My grandfather served in the US Army Air Corps in Europe during World War II. My father served in the Army in Vietnam during the Vietnam War. And now my son and daughter-in-law serve as pilots in the United States Air Force, my son having deployed to the Middle East. Although each one returned from their tour of service alive, they didn’t come back unscathed. My grandfather didn’t meet his firstborn child until he was two years old, and to the day of my grandfather’s death, he couldn’t bear to tell us about his experience. Within months of returning from Vietnam, my father was diagnosed with PTSD, a validation many returning veterans didn’t receive. Even my son, still young in his career, has his hard stories.

Each one of my family members bore the hidden wounds of experiences they never wished for. My grandfather and father have since passed, and yet if you could ask each one they would tell you they’d do it again. Although they dreaded war and prayed for peace, they also believed in freedom. They served to protect those they loved and, hopefully, preserve that freedom.

I am proud of their sacrifice and grateful for it. Thinking of them today sobers me. Even so, what I feel toward them pales in comparison to the gratitude I feel when I consider the sacrifice Jesus made to secure ultimate freedom, for all of us.

You see, if you and I lose sight of the true hero of our human condition, we risk worshipping lesser gods. There is only One whose sacrifice purchased a freedom we can’t lose. He gave His life, in excruciating fashion, so we would ultimately live. And He gave his life willingly, without a fight, because He knew the only way to achieve a world without wars was to lay His weapons down. On the day Jesus initiated His mission, He made it clear the kind of freedom He was fighting for:

“The Spirit of the Lord is on me,
because he has anointed me
to proclaim good news to the poor.
He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners
and recovery of sight for the blind,
to set the oppressed free,
to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.”
Luke 4:18-19 NIV

Yes, today I honor the lives of men and women who lost their lives in war, not just in the United States but around the world. I will look at the black-and-white photos of my father and grandfather with respect, and I will call my son and daughter-in-law to let them know how much I love them.

Even so, I remain cognizant and tender toward the myriad of ways this world and its wars cut and wound us. Ours is a world in need of healing, a people in need of a freedom we can’t secure no matter how loud we scream or how hard we fight. We need more than warriors or weapons or even our own wisdom can achieve for us.

We need a Savior. Hallelujah, we already have Him.

“Then I heard every creature in heaven and on earth and under the earth and on the sea, and all that is in them, saying:

‘To him who sits on the throne and to the Lamb
be praise and honor and glory and power,
for ever and ever!’”
Revelation 5:13 NIV

Amen.

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

 

Sunday Scripture: Joy for Your Heart

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“Your words were found, and I ate them.
Your words became a delight to me
and the joy of my heart,
for I bear your name,
Lord God of Armies.”
Jeremiah 15:16 CSB

Read today’s Scripture slowly. Read it again.

Now let it turn our hearts to prayer.

Lord God,
Please fill me with Your Word. 
Satisfy me with Your wisdom, truth, and love. 
Woo and convict my heart with Your great redemption story.
May Your words be my joy and my delight — sweeter than any dessert I could crave.
Thank You for allowing me to bear Your name, to be made in Your image.
You created me to hear Your voice. I am listening.
Yes, Lord, help me listen.
Amen. 

The Master Gardener + Recipe for Blueberry Chip Muffins

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“This is what the kingdom of God is like. A man scatters seed on the ground. Night and day, whether he sleeps or gets up, the seed sprouts and grows, though he does not know how.”
Mark 4:26-27 NIV

The kingdom of God is like the seed that grows, regardless of our understanding or attention. Its growth is guaranteed, and its longevity is eternal. In other words, when it comes to spiritual botany, God is always at work even when we are not.

He’s a Gardener of green things, living things. What He plants grows. What He nurtures thrives. What He loves blossoms.

So while I may never master my green thumb, I love a Master Gardener. He is tending His seeds even now, doing work I can’t see and performing life-giving miracles I’ll never comprehend. His kingdom is one that will never end. And that means I can rest, because tomorrow will be filled with the color of new life.

by Michele Cushatt, as featured in the (in)courage 2024 Agenda Planner

Does anything scream SUMMER like a garden. . . or a blueberry muffin?? How about one bursting with fresh berries, both sweet and tart in one bite, and maybe a melting slab of butter dripping down the side?

If that’s your idea of a good time, then have we ever got the recipe for you! Invite girlfriends over for brunch in the garden and serve these delicious Blueberry Chip Muffins with a fresh pot of coffee. It’s the perfect way to spend an early summer morning. Or make a platter full for your next family gathering or to bless your neighbors. (And read till the end to find the perfect serving pieces!)

Scroll down for the recipe (courtesy of our friend Nancy) and download a FREE printable recipe card! As you assemble these for a special breakfast or summer hang out, take a breath, pause for a moment, and consider how loved you are by the One who planted, created, and still tends all things.

Blueberry Chip Muffins

Download the FREE recipe card here!

Prep Time: 15-20 minutes
Bake Time: 20-25 minutes
Makes 12 muffins.

INGREDIENTS:

  • 1 2/3 cups all-purpose flour
  • 3/4 cup granulated sugar
  • 1/2 tsp. salt
  • 1 Tbsp. baking powder
  • 1/3 cup canola oil
  • 1 large egg
  • 1 tsp. vanilla extract
  • 1/3 cup plus 1 tbsp. half & half
  • 1 cup fresh blueberries
  • 3/4 cup white chocolate chips

INSTRUCTIONS:

  1. Preheat oven to 350 F. Line a muffin pan with 12 paper liners; set aside.
  2. Blend flour, sugar, salt, and baking powder in a medium-sized bowl.
  3. Mix the oil, egg, and vanilla extract in a small bowl, then mix in the half & half. Pour into the flour mixture and mix everything together until just combined.
  4. Fold in the blueberries and white chocolate chips, mixing them into the batter.
  5. Spoon batter into the prepared muffin cups. Bake at 350 F for 23 to 25 minutes, until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean.

NOTE: You can substitute milk or semi-sweet chocolate chips for the white chocolate chips.

To get the styled look Nancy created here, use the Grateful and Thankful 2-Tier Stand, add cream and sugar to the Simply Elegant Sugar & Creamer, pour hot coffee into a pair of Grace & Gratitude Heirloom Mugs, and use the Grace & Gratitude Accent Plates to serve the muffins. Finish the spread by setting out extra berries in a Grace & Gratitude Dip Bowl, and you’re ready for a beautiful brunch!

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

May you be reminded that the Master Gardener adores you, and may you remind those gathered at your table of His love too.

You Don’t Have to Be Strong All the Time

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I honestly wasn’t sure I would make it to meet my son.

It was the end of March in Minnesota, which meant we were stuck in this in-between — close to warmer days but still absolutely frigid. Slushy streets, overnight freezing. Misleading sunshine with wind chills still in the single digits.

In a lot of ways, waiting for my son to come was like waiting for the seasons to change. Days upon days, I felt like I was losing my mind, wondering if spring would ever come.

Then, on a Monday well after his “due date,” he started to make his way into the world. Not unlike his older sister, he was born in the dead of night, darkness coating the entire experience. It started out peaceful, quiet, and serene . . . but quickly turned into a nightmare. In fact, that’s exactly what I remember incessantly repeating: This is my nightmare. This is my nightmare.

Let me explain.

In 2019, I confidently went into labor with my first-born. I felt strong. I knew I had what it would take to “make it happen,” mustering up the energy and resolve to blaze through delivering our daughter — even in utter exhaustion. This experience ran parallel to an overall theme of over-functioning in my life, where I would often push through and make things happen . . . even at a detriment to my own body and mental health.

By the time I went into labor with our son, a couple of years later, I felt like a completely different person. The year 2020 changed me. (Let’s get real — it changed all of us). For me, this change brought a lot of healing into my life, learning to slow down and be more gentle with myself. I went into labor this time softer. I was able to stay grounded and connected in my body and soul, as well as know the safety and care I had in the team surrounding me.

About halfway through, though, and well into pushing, something stalled. As it turned out, my anterior cervical lip was stuck. Basically, my baby was low enough to trigger my body to push him out though my cervix wasn’t ready. I went from thinking my baby would be in my arms, in mere minutes, to laboring with no end in sight. I cannot adequately explain how excruciatingly painful those next few hours were . . . both physically and mentally.

“You’re going to need to power through,” said my midwife.

It felt like, once again, I was thrown back into that “survival mode” mindset of trying harder. Pushing through. Making it happen. How defeating it was to be stuck on that familiar path. Even more so, I was reeling emotionally. I wondered, Why is this happening to me? Why does it have to be so hard? With what little capacity I had to even think between contractions, I wondered what would have happened if this was happening to someone else, someone who didn’t seem like they’d be strong or capable enough to handle it. 

To be honest, in that moment, I didn’t want to be strong anymore.

I wrestled with God, on my hands and knees, angry that it couldn’t be easier for me. I felt lost, alone, disoriented, and all-too-responsible for the task at hand. I wanted to give up. I wanted to give in to the despair and disappointment, believing I would always be stuck in the tension of difficult and demanding circumstances.

Ultimately, I did deliver a healthy, albeit massive, boy. And, though my body was able to release a baby, my heart could not release the questions I carried or the emotions I felt. What followed were months of postpartum complications, emblematic of a whole life lived in tension. From appointments to specialists to testing and retraining my body, the results all concluded the same diagnosis: I Cannot Relax.

I had to, and still have to, learn to rest. To be cared for and carried just as much, if not more, as what I think is expected of me.

Author and therapist Aundi Kolber says, “Strength does not mean only surviving, but also receiving — having places you feel safe, where you can rest, where you can feel cared for.”

That familiar pathway of holding it together can actually expand into a freeway, journeying alongside others that care for me and carry me when I can’t make it. Where there are resources and help along the way. Where I can learn the “unforced rhythms of grace” that Jesus invites us into. Where the way to the destination is less of a crash and burn and more of a stream in the desert. Where I can relax into the love of my Maker, the Sustainer of my soul.

I don’t have to be strong all the time. It’s like what I tell my kids every night when I tuck them in. “You can rest. You can relax. I’m right here,” I tell them.

I believe God tells us the same.

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

Your Reminder That Jesus Is Already in the Boat

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My phone buzzes. I’m losing the baby, she texts.

Heart sinking, I start writing back to my friend — right when my youngest rushes into the kitchen crying. I toss aside the phone, grab paper towels, and start dabbing his weeping eyes and bleeding knees.

Once his cries have quieted down, I reach for the phone again to respond — only to find a message from another friend. We can’t save this marriage. I’m leaving him.

Bewildered, I lean my back against the wall, my heart aching in a new direction. I hadn’t even gotten to update this long-distance friend on my latest hard health news, but now she’s hurting even more. I whisper a quick prayer and tap out a quick promise of love and support.

While I’m typing, a notification pops up. Today is the anniversary of my uncle’s death, a reminder I set to reach out to my mom and tell her I’m thinking of her on a hard day. But then two more kids burst in the back door, reminding me we’re late to soccer and need to go, go, go. 

Come back to all this later, I promise myself, shoving my phone in my pocket as we rush out the door. 

Jesus, cover it all because I can’t.

Later that night, I’m counting on my fingers all the people who need prayers. Weeping mothers on the news. Families going through desperate times. Friends trying to conceive. Loved ones freshly grieving. Exhausted caregivers. Everyone without enough food, without work, without peace, without a home.

In hard seasons, the life of faith can start to feel like a triage station in the emergency room. Who’s bleeding out? Who’s sick and shaking? Who might be able to wait a moment while we care for others who need it now? 

How often do our texts, emails, and DMs pile up like a heap of prayer requests? Some days I want to step outside and stare up at the sky, shaking my fist and crying out, Don’t You see how much we’re suffering down here?

This is exactly when I try to remember: Jesus is already in the boat with us.

As a child, I’d always pause on that dramatic picture in my Bible. Jesus stretching out His hands over the crashing waves as His friends cowered in the boat. Jesus calming the storm as His friends lifted their eyes to heaven and prayed.

I believed it was a story of a one-time miracle, a powerful show of Jesus’s command over the forces of nature. Little did I know it was the way Emmanuel always is with us.

He’s already in the boat.

The miracle of the story is not simply that Jesus can control the wind and waves. It’s also the truth that God is right next to us during the most terrifying and trembling moments of life. The Incarnation allowed God to come so close to us, to become one of us, to live alongside us — so that whenever storms raged or skies darkened or boats shook, we would know that Jesus was right there.

He’s already in the boat with us.

Like Jesus’s friends, we might feel like we’re shaking Christ’s shoulders, wanting to waken him to the storm that’s gathering around us. We might be crying out in fear, needing Him to know we can’t control the way we’re going.

But no matter what happens, He’s right next to us in the boat.

I can’t save my friend’s baby or marriage. I can’t take away the grief of family members or strangers. I can’t end a war, stop a flood, or feed a hungry world. But the point is not to get our prayer list to inbox-zero. We’ll never reach the end of every need, not this side of heaven. 

But we can cry out to God about every storm we see — not only for ourselves, but for those we love (and those we don’t know). We can trust that grace is at work to calm what we cannot control, even if it takes longer than we want.

During the hardest moments of my life, the best support that anyone offered was the simple, steady reminder that they were in the boat with me. A quick daily text. A photo of a candle lit in prayer. A meal dropped off on the doorstep. A card saying “I’m here for you.” 

How much more powerful and comforting to remember that Jesus is always here in the boat with us, too.

Emmanuel, the God-in-the-boat, knows every storm, every downpour, every barreling wave that threatens to topple us. He has never left our side.

His presence is peace. His trust is deep. His whole life is given for us.

Later that night I sink onto the couch, the house finally quiet and calm. I start replying to everyone I’d been holding close, all those I love in the midst of their own storms. Can a text mend a grieving heart? Can a prayer find lasting love for a friend? Everything feels insufficient.

But then I remember the disciples’ cries to Jesus — “Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?”—and the way He woke right up to calm the wind and the sea (Mark 4:38 NRSV).

If He’s here in the boat with us, too, then He’s still waking up every time we call His name.

He has never left us alone. 

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

If You Feel Like You’re Failing in Your Faith

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Sometimes I feel like the Very Worst Christian on the Planet because my faith seems to have grown more complicated as I’ve matured.

Instead of seeing God’s love and the way He’s working all things together for good in the midst of heartache and trial, I’m sad and angry. And, after all the ways God has shown up and showed off throughout my life – in baby rainbows and strawberry moons and a thousand other ways – I still wrestle with sin, doubt, and unbelief. 

I’m thankful for the insight and encouragement Paul offers about sin in Romans 7:14-25.

“I want to do what is right, but I can’t. I want to do what is good, but I don’t. I don’t want to do what is wrong, but I do it anyway. But if I do what I don’t want to do, I am not really the one doing wrong; it is sin living in me that does it.”
(Romans 7:18b-20 NLT) 

If a hero in the Bible who wrote a quarter of the New Testament wrestled with sin, who am I to think I won’t? 

Our sin nature is tied to our humanity. We despise sin because our standard is perfection. Jesus. We want to please Him – we want to be like Him – and we’re incredibly hard on ourselves when we fall short. I don’t know about you, but I have never spoken as harshly to anyone the way I speak to myself. 

What would happen if we offered the same grace and forgiveness to ourselves that we easily extend to others? 

Now sin, I can wrap my mind around, but it is doubt and unbelief that fuel my feelings of failure. Even though I know feelings can’t always be trusted, the lies they tell us are convincing. But condemnation isn’t the same thing as conviction. Condemnation is from Satan and focuses on our sin, making us feel guilty and ashamed. Conviction is a work of the Holy Spirit, prompting an awareness and sorrow of our sin and leading to repentance and reconciliation with God. Romans 8:1 tells us, “So now there is no condemnation for those who belong to Christ Jesus.”

So, if condemnation is what I’m feeling, I can know it’s not from God.

When I feel like I’m failing God, I’m listening to the lies of an enemy who’s always and only against me, who delights in my despair. Just because I’m angry or sad or asking hard questions and wrestling with the answers, doesn’t mean I’m the worst. It’s honest. And telling the truth of my heart to God (which He knows, anyway) invites Him to speak into my life through His Word and the people who know and love Him. 

And, what if it’s not my faith that has grown more complicated at all; just the reality of a complicated, hard season of life and the consequences of a very broken world?

The world around us can be hard. There are legitimate reasons we struggle in life and faith. Feelings and emotions ricochet like pinballs and rouse doubt, anger, questions, and confusion. And yet… and yet… we have a profound, open-ended invitation to trust God and His promises, right in the midst of our pain and fury.  

It is okay to question God’s plan, to cry out in frustration, and to wrestle with doubt. Raw emotion is not foreign to the pages of Scripture. In the Psalms, we see David pouring out his heart before God, expressing his anger, confusion, and lament. In the midst of intense suffering, Job challenged God and demanded answers. When we’re seeking God, our anger is not a sign of faithlessness but rather evidence of our deep longing for understanding and resolution.

The suffering among people I know and love has reached a level bordering on absurd. Though I’m not one to “borrow worry,” I’m at the place where I wonder, “What next?” If this is the case for you, too, I am so, so sorry. This isn’t how life was supposed to be. 

Trials and tribulations loosen our grip on this world and set eternity in our hearts.  If you feel like you’re failing in your faith or have somehow disappointed God by how you’re responding to circumstances, welcome to the club. 

We can take heart, sisters, because when we rage or doubt or cry or question, we do so with hope, a confident expectation that “….this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, as we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen. For the things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal” (2 Corinthians 4:17-18 ESV).

Our hope is rooted in the assurance that God is faithful to fulfill His promises, even when circumstances seem bleak (Hebrews 10:23). And our faith is not about having all the answers but knowing the One who does. The feelings and emotions we have are valid, but they never, ever, ever diminish God’s love, grace, and goodness. 

Which is the best news to hear when you’re feeling the worst.

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

Come and See: A Devotional for the Ornery Ones

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Are you looking for the perfect gift for a cowboy in your life, or are you a cowboy at heart yourself? We have just the devotional for you: Come and See: Cowboy Devotions to Strengthen Your Ride with Christ by Kevin Weatherby. Kevin is also the author of The Simplified Cowboy Version Bible Paraphrase, which is written in the words of the Old West and is designed as a Bible study tool that will make you feel like you’re “saddled up with Jesus and riding for his brand.”

In Come & See, Kevin walks readers through the gospels in a way that’s easy to understand and inspiring. Here, take a peek at an excerpt to see what we mean:

Gatherin’ Mavericks

When Jesus left there, He saw a guy named Matthew sitting at the Tax Collector’s shack.

“Come on,” He told him and Matthew left everything right there and went with Him.

Jesus went to Matthew’s house and supped with him. A lot of Matthew’s friends, mostly outlaws and politicians that were crooked, came and ate with them and Jesus’s hands. When the Religious-Know-It-Alls (Pharisees) seen this, they asked Jesus’s cowboys, “Why does your trail boss eat with outlaws and no-accounts?”

Jesus heard ’em and said, “The healthy cattle don’t need a Vet, the sick ones do. You need to head off and ponder what this means: ‘I want mercy, not sacrifice.’ Because I haven’t come to round up the gentle cattle, but I have come to gather the mavericks.”
Matthew 9:9–13

Anyone who can sit on a horse without falling off can gather cattle. All you do is take several people, get on the other side of the cattle, and push them toward the pen. But there always seems to be that one cow, or one calf (or both), that refuses to cooperate. They’ll jump fences, and many times we end up roping them. That’s something 99 percent of the world cannot do.

When first-time cowboys are asked how many cattle they gathered, they usually stick their chests out and say, “We gathered ninety-nine.”

Then, when the old hands are asked the same question, they smile and say, “Just one.”

Jesus is an old hand. Better yet, He’s the Top Hand. He didn’t come down here to trail-ride behind a bunch of compliant cattle. He came to rope and doctor the ornery ones that needed saving, not the ones headed to the gate already.

This devotional is for the ornery ones. It’s for the ones who are brushed up, and most of the time, bad-hurt by something and someone. It’s for you — the wild cowboys and cowgirls who are jumping fences or for those willing to work and care for the fence jumpers.

Either one you happen to be, I’m glad we found you.

Cowboy Call
When’s the last time you did something crazy for God? When was the last time you bucked the system and followed Jesus no matter the cost? How long will you wait before you do it again?

—

Come & See: Cowboy Devotions to Strengthen Your Ride with Christ is a devotional for cowboys and country folk who want to go deeper into the truth of God’s Word. 

Immerse yourself in the timeless wisdom of Scripture, wrapped in the authenticity and passion of the cowboy way. Drawing on his own experiences as a seasoned cowboy and devout follower of Christ, author Kevin Weatherby shares powerful insights and relatable stories that will resonate with cowboys and cowgirls of all ages. From the dusty trail to the campfires glow, this devotional will be your trusted companion, guiding you toward a deeper understanding of God’s grace, His purpose for your life, and the profound peace that comes from surrendering yourself to the Almighty. 

In Come & See: Cowboy Devotions to Strengthen Your Ride with Christ, Kevin Weatherby walks readers through the gospels, translating the truth into common language for cowboys to understand and reckon with. His straightforward style and honest approach will resonate with ranchers and country folk seeking to relate to God better, dig deeper into His truth, and walk with Christ day in and day out. 

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

*Giveaway open to US addresses only and closes on 5/24/24 at 11:59 pm central.

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

When You Keep Praying But Nothing Is Changing

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I was angry at God. There were things I had been praying for, praying about, and praying through, yet nothing seemed to be changing. Honestly, it felt like the more I prayed, the less things changed. 

I continued to pray, begrudgingly. I had faith in who God is, which is where my anger was stemming from. I knew God could change things – so why wasn’t He? 

My friends and I had been planning on going to a worship night at a church, and when the evening arrived, I tried everything I could to get out of it. I didn’t want to worship God. I didn’t want to put a bow on things and pretend all was okay.

I wanted to remain mad at Him. 

But I found myself inside a church at a worship night. Maybe God’s voice would break through the thick wall of silence I’d been encountering. Maybe I’d experience a fresh revelation. Maybe my heart would soften under the weight of His glory. 

For the first few songs, I stood with my arms crossed like a petulant teenager. Then, a song began to play about how God always remains the same. Something inside me broke as I sang.

Tears flooded down my face, and the anger that twisted inside me felt a lot like grief. 

You say You are the same yesterday, today, and forever, I prayed. I know You can move in power, I know you can change things…

I cried as I told God how I felt hurt by Him. I didn’t understand why it felt like nothing was changing, even when I knew He could change things. I still don’t understand why sometimes God says yes to some things, and says no to others.

So what do you do when nothing seems to be changing, even when you ask God to change it? 

You keep asking.

It can feel like the worst kind of answer, especially when you’re hurt by what can feel like God’s silence. But Jesus told His disciples to keep asking, to keep seeking, and to keep knocking. Jesus told His disciples stories “to show them that they should always pray and not give up.”

Even when I act like a sulky teen, in God’s incredible kindness, He keeps the invitation wide open: To keep asking. To keep coming. And the reason we keep asking and seeking and knocking and coming and crying and hoping is because God is faithful and trustworthy and always good. 

The mistake so many Christians make is praying only when we feel like it, or praying only when we feel like we’ve tidied ourselves up.

But that’s not the invitation Jesus offers. His invitation through Paul is to “never stop praying.” (1 Thessalonians 5:17 NLT). We can accept His invitation each and every day. When we are crushed with despair, we can come to Him and pour out our hearts. When our prayers are answered the way we asked, we can come to Him with hearts overflowing with gratitude and thanksgiving.

Jesus believed prayer works. In Scripture, He told His disciples over and over to keep praying. Sometimes we see the direct results of our prayer, but for many of us, we won’t understand until we come face-to-face with Jesus in eternity. Often we can’t trace how our prayers change things, but we can choose to trust in our loving Father, even when it feels impossible to understand.

Prayer isn’t about getting what we want; it’s about getting to know Jesus. When we pray, we are in the presence of our loving Father, learning more about who He is and who we are. Prayer always works because it always brings us into the life-changing presence of Jesus.

Contrary to what we might feel, prayer isn’t pointless. I don’t know why some prayers seem to be answered clearly and quickly, while others seem to go unanswered. But I do know prayer always “works” because prayer always brings us closer to Jesus — and the answer is always Jesus.

In your despair, go to Jesus. 

In your gratitude, go to Jesus. 

In your anger, go to Jesus. 

Even when it feels like nothing is changing, go to Jesus. Prayer is the only thing that keeps us steady when we are drowning, because Jesus is the only Person who can hold us firm in the midst of the ground slipping beneath our feet. 

Prayer always “works” because prayer always brings you into deeper intimacy with Jesus. 

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

4 of the Most Relief-Giving Words in the Bible

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If you don’t know what you’re doing, pray to the Father. He loves to help. You’ll get his help, and won’t be condescended to when you ask for it. Ask boldly, believingly, without a second thought. People who “worry their prayers” are like wind-whipped waves. Don’t think you’re going to get anything from the Master that way, adrift at sea, keeping all your options open.
James 1:5-8 The Message

These might be some of the most relief-giving words in the Bible:

“If you don’t know what you’re doing, pray to the Father. He loves to help.”

So often in life we don’t know what we’re doing! We don’t know what we’re doing with our career, with parenting a difficult child, with finding the right treatment for a daunting diagnosis. We don’t know how to help a friend understand our perspective or how to move forward from past trauma.

Today’s Scripture assures us that it’s okay not to know! Because God is here to help.

The NIV translation says it this way: “If any of you lacks wisdom, you should ask God, who gives generously to all without finding fault, and it will be given to you” (James 1:5).

Raise your hand if you’re lacking wisdom today. Pray and ask God for what you need! He is so kind, generous, and faithful to give it. 

For Restless, Sleep-Evasive, Late-Night Hours

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Of course, “spring forward” would fall on the day you have to leave the house, fully ready for a dance competition at 5:30 a.m. You pack four costume changes in garment bags. Tuck accessories, shoes, and extra hairpins into zippered pouches. You stress-snap a few times as you now prepare for bed at an unusually early hour.

By the time your alarm goes off at 3 a.m., you’ve already been awake several times, anticipating the energy and camaraderie that these competition days are made of, yes, but first, the hour you spend with your open Bible and a present Jesus. You’re nearing the end of Mary Demuth’s book, 90-Day Bible Reading Challenge, which you could read faster, but instead your soul lingers in this sacred hour. You whisper verses out loud. Underline it all. Pause to pray and journal. Kneel in surrender.

Thing is, you’ve grown accustomed to being up early, as well as being wide awake in the middle of the night. Sleep’s been scarce ever since the first round of book proposal pitches went out. You expected rejections, but not a simultaneous diagnosis for someone you love that was praying for miraculous healing.

During this season, you’ve cried buckets all over the place — not because you were sad but because God was near. Overwhelming, glory-heavy close. You fell to your knees because you couldn’t stand. Still, you discovered how differently you know God here. You woke throughout the night with the lyrics of worship songs running through your head, as if you never turned the songs off. Repeatedly, you checked the clock to see how soon you could steal away with Jesus.

That time alone with Him before the rest of the world awoke refueled you — it was, and still is, the one thing you won’t miss.

But now, it’s been a year, and you’re still not sleeping through the night. Calling it quits on getting some shut eye if it’s after 4:30 a.m. You wonder, when you’re restless and willing yourself to sleep, sleep, sleep if anyone else is awake, and frustrated. Googling insomnia solutions. Opening Instagram.

The reasons that keep us up at night are varied and persistent: 

  • End stops (we didn’t ask for). 
  • Ampersands (that don’t make sense yet).
  • Em-dashes (with the rest unwritten). 

We worry. Replay. Pray. Formulate plans. Count sheep. Then, hours until our alarm, we scroll. 

It’s just us, we think. But it’s not. I know because, in the wee hours of the night, you’ve asked me to pray for you. You’ve texted, commented, or “liked” my posts late at night.

Although he lived long before our time, King David was also often awake during the middle of the night. I find that bit of comforting knowledge, scattered throughout the book of Psalms. David’s faith is strong, and often praised, but he’s human and he’s honest . . . and I love how relatable he is as he recounts his fears, tears, prayers, and praises.

He doesn’t mince around agony or anxiety. And he’s forthright about sleep often evading him. Here are a couple verses from a Psalm I recently read:

O Eternal One, through the night, I stop to recall Your name. That’s how I live according to Your teachings.
Psalm 119:55

In the middle of the night, I wake to thank You because Your rulings are just and right.
Psalm 119:62

What tugs at me is that David isn’t worried about becoming sleep-deprived or being awake because of worry. On the contrary, waking hours contain barely enough time and space for his burning longing to talk with, think on, and praise God.

David welcomes his sleepless nights because his soul craves more of God. This is why he can’t sleep — he simply can’t get enough.

I’ve tasted this ache just enough to know that it grows. Certainly, hunger whets desire.

One thing I know is true: There’s no end to how much of God we can access. Right in our everyday lives, with concerns big and small. David must have grasped this . . . and that is why he relentlessly sought time with God.

What if you and I couldn’t get enough of God? Maybe we’d seek Him during the day and at night when we can’t sleep.

Instead of worry, we’d turn to prayer.
Instead of our phones, we’d choose our knees.
Instead of frustration, we’d voice our praise.

So, here’s to holy expectancy. God-perspective. Sweet sleep and, when it evades us?

More of Jesus.

What Would It Look Like to Go in God’s Authority?

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Most first-generation Americans will joke and say that we were personal assistants, interpreters, and tech analysts before we could even drive. My immigrant parents often relied on my brother and me to help due to the language barrier, especially with customer service issues. So we would gather at the dining room table to make calls and send emails as a family.

One time there was a cell phone bill that came in the mail with some extra charges and my dad couldn’t get in touch with anyone over the phone. He was busy with work that week and since I was eighteen and could drive, my dad suggested that my brother and I go and talk to our service provider’s representatives at the mall. I was immediately afraid and declined his request. But he quickly reminded me that I use the cell phone the most in our family and he was content with canceling the service altogether. So I agreed to this plan, but I had a lot of hesitations.

“We are just kids, they won’t listen to us . . . and I don’t like math or know enough about all the financial stuff!” I gave him excuse after excuse to make him understand that this plan would fail.

He looked at me grinning and shook his head slowly, “Simi, they don’t know you, but they know me. Just tell them my name. I signed a contract and have an account in my name!”

In a final attempt to change his mind, I pleaded, “But what if they don’t listen to us?”

My dad replied, “Then you tell them: My dad is coming!”

It was like an epic moment from a Bollywood movie, but then my brother and I ruined it by laughing at my dad for being so dramatic.

It makes me think of Moses.

Moses stood before a burning bush with excuse after excuse not to go to Pharaoh and make the big ask, “Let my people go!” He didn’t feel ready or adequate. He didn’t necessarily feel like that was his role to play. God listened to all of his excuses, and like my dad, He told Moses to go anyway.

Moses said to God, “Suppose I go to the Israelites and say to them, ‘The God of your fathers has sent me to you,’ and they ask me, ‘What is his name?’ Then what shall I tell them?”

God said to Moses, “I AM WHO I AM. This is what you are to say to the Israelites: ‘I AM has sent me to you.’”
Exodus 3: 13-14 NIV

This was God’s way of reminding Moses:

You are not going on your authority but Mine. You are not going as a mere man, you are going as My representative and My mouthpiece. Your credentials won’t get you into the door but My power will let them know I am with you.

Often when God calls us to something big we feel too small to carry it out. We shy away from opportunities, conversations, and tables where God invites us to go because we don’t feel equipped. But if He calls you, you are not going in your own strength, wisdom, or authority. You are going in His name and He is with you.

I laughed at my dad that day because to me he was just my dad, familiar in every way, and I didn’t understand his authority to speak to the phone company. I think as children of God, we fall prey to this trap too. We are so familiar with God that we forget His authority.

When God told Moses to go in My power and in My name, Moses didn’t fully grasp it, much like us. He was hesitant. But God showed Moses His authority is sufficient. (Read the whole wild account in Exodus 3-14 for an undeniable picture of God’s power.)

We may not understand it fully, but demons tremble at His name, seas part at His name, giants fall at His name, and the dead are made alive in His name.

Today you may be hesitant but friend, recognize that God’s power is enough to see you through. Speak His name. Say it louder. You may feel small, but your God is big and He is with you.

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


Finding Joy in Unexpected Places (It’s Easier Than You Think)

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I gripped my stomach as ripples of humor turned into roars that opened my mouth wide, and squeezed tears out my eyes and down my cheeks. Laughter triggered by seemingly insignificant causes… simple phrases, witty placement of words, the processes that we as women all go through that we may cry about in the moments of their happening, but laugh about as we look back.

I could barely catch my breath, or catch up with the overwhelming need to release all that had apparently been pent up inside me the last several months. I could not remember the last time I had laughed so deeply or loudly.

The very act of laughing until I couldn’t breathe brought unexpected healing to me. 

“A cheerful heart is good medicine, but a crushed spirit dries up the bones.”
Proverbs 17:22 NIV

On the surface, it didn’t make sense; I sat at a table with women I had just met. Yet in that space, the permission to venture into authentic community had been laid out like the most lush of red carpets. It was an invitation to walk freely into the room, not shielding part of me in fear, but bringing all of my quirks, experiences, nerves, and needs to the table. 

When I got on the plane to attend the (in)courage retreat, I didn’t know that as I stepped foot on the ground — even amid the hard things we carried — I would step into a group that cultivated joy. 

It’s not that joy and laughter had been far from me, but perhaps these feelings had been so weighed down by so much over these past few years that I hadn’t given myself permission to lean in. 

A few years ago, my husband mentioned that I wasn’t as silly as I used to be. I actually didn’t get offended at that moment, which might’ve been my propensity early on in our marriage. Instead, I sat and chewed on his words. Over the years a part of me had taken a back seat to fear. The part of me that used to dance down the hallway of the church or react enthusiastically. But over time my enthusiasm was met with a side eye from others until those side glances lanced my heart and compelled me to simmer down. 

I wonder how often we hinder our joy response because the place we reside has not welcomed it. Joy is not always represented by cackles and roars of exuberant laughter. Joy may show up in the permission to sit silently, to not have to say a word, to just soak in. It may be found indulging in that treat you love, participating in the nerdy activity that you geek out over, or in the favorite book that you’ve read 100 times. 

Joy just might be found as you finally schedule that girls’ night, go on the date with your husband that you’ve been putting off so long, or maybe lie on the floor, set your to-do list aside, and build a Lego castle with your kids. (At least there will be less to step on, right?) Perhaps joy is engaging in a snowball fight with your neighbors, going on a much-needed walk, or lying down for that much-needed nap.

Joy just might be found when you release whatever you’re gripping and remember that you’ve already been found. And then you can decide that if there’s not a safe place to engage in Christ-centered joy, you can give yourself permission to form it for yourself. In doing so, you’ll lay a path for others as you press forward into joy too.

Maybe what is ahead of you in this season is not so much about what you will see or do, but about God wanting to see you, His daughter, flourishing. 

“The Lord your God is with you, the Mighty Warrior who saves. He will take great delight in you; in his love he will no longer rebuke you, but will rejoice over you with singing.”
Zephaniah 3:17 NIV

Consider how much He desires for you to embrace the innate delight that comes from being His. You are the daughter God intentionally and uniquely formed, and He rejoices extravagantly over you.

In what ways has God positioned you to respond in exuberant extravagance too?  

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

The Sloppiness and Surprise of Spring

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I am not a fan of the spring season, for a few reasons.

First, here in Minnesota, spring is sloppy. It doesn’t look like the bright, flowery, fresh springtimes depicted in storybooks or TV shows. Here, the snow is just now melting, the earth is tamped down and wet with mud abounding. Forget blooming flowers and fresh air and bright sunshine; we get dreary damp days and cold soggy nights. Our flowers don’t begin to blossom until long after much of the rest of our country, very near the start of summer. We can’t plant our gardens until well past when some of my friends have already harvested their spring lettuces. Around here we don’t plant until after Memorial Day weekend. It could still snow, you know!

Spring means my mudroom is full. Loaded up with winter parkas, raincoats, and fleece jackets. Rainboots and winter boots, tennis shoes and flip-flops. Dirt and dust are par for the course, along with hats and mittens that badly need a washing. You never know what you’ll need for the weather, so we keep it all at the ready. . . which equates to one full mudroom.

Spring also signals the transition to summer, which means heat and humidity are on their way. Not my favorite. Sure, I do enjoy some aspects of summer (swimming, tending the garden, patio dining, evening walks, and the ease of no coats necessary) but even so, it’s just not my favorite.

Despite all that I grumble about during spring, there is one thing I adore. Since we moved into our home nearly eight years ago, I’ve kept an eye on the rock beds surrounding our front lawn for the first signs of spring. And each year, my hosta burst through the ground, reaching for the sky. They take their sweet time filling out and spilling large into the beds, taking up grand amounts of space they know belongs to them.

I don’t have fancy varieties or do anything special. They were here long before we moved in. We did divide and replant some from their original spots, but that’s it. I do nothing, and every year they bring me such joy. Our house needs a repaint, so we’re really in our beige era, and the pop of bright green that the hosta provides is such a breath of fresh air after a fall and winter of brown.

And isn’t that just like the goodness and grace of God?

Goodness and grace that we do nothing to earn. That we’ve done nothing to deserve. That brightens our day and brings us joy and offers us a moment to breathe deeply, thankful.

In the icy sloppiness of spring, new life bursts through right on time, as if by clockwork. Just when I don’t think I can take one more gray day, a fresh shoot springs up through the rock. Right when I’m convinced that I won’t make it to summer, that the trees will never return to their green leafy glory. . . those hostas pop up and begin their slow unfurling.

And every year I’m surprised. Taken right aback. I never expect the good thing to happen, gaslighting myself that I’ve made it all up and this will be the year it doesn’t happen.

Oh, how He is faithful in our deep-rooted doubting.

When we doubt that His glory could be real, that His story happened, that He makes us new and whole and scrubbed clean, even the hostas declare the Truth.

“Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come: The old has gone, the new is here!”
2 Corinthians 5:17 NIV

“See, I will create new heavens and a new earth. . . “
Isaiah 65:17 NIV

If the hostas can be neglected and dormant for months and months, then rise up on their own at just the right time, we just might be ok too.

Hang in there. Goodness may surprise you, right there in the sloppiness.

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

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How to Find the Courage to Face Yourself

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In the heat of my single motherhood journey, a rare gift was bestowed upon me — an entire summer off. My son embarked on a Floridian adventure with his grandfather, opening the door to weeks of freedom and tranquility. As the countdown began, I envisioned a life of peace, rest, and rediscovery. Little did I know, that those two months would unravel a profound transformation, bringing me face to face with myself. 

The initial days were not the “carefree” oasis I had imagined. Instead, a sense of unease settled in, leading me down a path of unexpected introspection. The quiet exposed the neglected corners of my soul that echoed with unheard cries of grief, unhealed wounds, and unresolved breakups. Buried beneath the layers of motherhood and ministry, my self-esteem had been masked and, for the first time, I had only myself to care for — a daunting realization. 

In the silence, I discovered my struggles and the pain that I had evaded through a bustling, active lifestyle. The freedom I longed for soon transformed into an unexpected encounter with a dark depression. The stillness allowed my soul to speak, and it spoke of aching wounds that demanded attention. 

Dark days followed, marked by reckless and self-destructive behaviors — drinking, smoking, and seeking refuge in unsavory company. The absence of external noise compelled me to create my own, drowning out the uncomfortable truth that awaited me.

This was the realization that I was afraid to confront — a fear that the woman I had curated was no longer recognizable.

In that moment of vulnerability, I chose to unbox my experiences, to delve into the difficult, unpleasant moments that had unraveled my created identity and distorted my perception of God. It was a journey of rediscovery that required the courage to face myself. Paul’s words in 2 Corinthians 12:9 echoed in my heart, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.”

To unbox means to unpack . . . to unfold the layers of our experiences, both painful and joyous. The pivotal lesson I learned is that God’s grace is the key to finding courage in vulnerability. It is in facing our weaknesses that His power dwells within us. Just as Paul boasted in his weaknesses, I learned to embrace the broken pieces of my story as opportunities for divine transformation. 

I realized that vulnerability is not a one-time act but an ongoing process. The layers of my experiences unfolded to reveal not only pain but also moments of profound joy, shaping me into the woman I am today. God’s grace, I discovered, isn’t merely a balm for wounds but a catalyst for divine transformation.

In the quiet surrender to vulnerability, I encountered a profound truth: facing our weaknesses isn’t a sign of defeat but a gateway to God’s power dwelling within us. It’s a paradoxical dance where our brokenness becomes the canvas for His strength to shine brilliantly.  

As we navigate the ongoing journey of unboxing grace, it’s crucial to recognize the need for pauses and intentional repositioning. The clarity gained through vulnerability empowers us to choose wisely amidst life’s unpredictable moments. It becomes a lens through which we see not only the brokenness but the beauty that emerges from the fragments of our stories.

So, dear sister, I invite you to join me on this journey of unboxing grace. Allow the silence to reveal the whispers of your soul and, with God’s grace, find the courage to face yourself. Embrace the transformative power that comes when we lay bare our vulnerabilities before the Creator, confident that His grace is, indeed, sufficient for every unboxing moment. 

Listen to today’s devotion on the player below or where you stream podcasts.

This Is My Immeasurably More

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I wake up and stretch my legs under the high-thread-count sheets. The luxury cotton feels good on my slightly sore muscles, a reminder of yesterday’s five-and-a-half-mile trek along the lake. The cabin is quiet. I tip-toe upstairs to the kitchen and make myself a cup of tea. It’s nice to warm my hands on a hot cup in the chilly mountain air.

Back in my bottom-floor room, I open the blinds to reveal early morning blue skies and a glimpse of deep water in the distance. But the trees are still my favorite. Towering pines dot the view, a reminder that the best things grow slowly with wide branches and deep roots.

It would have been nice to sleep in on this rare morning away from the demands of school schedules and hungry boys. But I’m now the kind of “old” that apparently can’t turn off my internal clock.

My eyes are bleary and I keep yawning. Yet I admit I’ve learned to love the early hours. The joy of being still. Quiet. Not rushing into the day ahead but savoring what is and expectantly waiting for what is to come. Plus it’s easy to linger without someone asking for socks or sandwiches.

So I linger in the Word and with the Word.  

Soon my heart turns to gratitude. Thanksgiving overflows. I’m spending the weekend in Lake Arrowhead with three of my dearest friends. It’s Kyan’s 40th birthday and her husband arranged for us to celebrate in a family friend’s gorgeous home. Four bedrooms for the four of us. A beautifully appointed kitchen and ample room to relax. Walking distance to the village and the lake.

It’s a gift for Kyan – but it’s a gift to us all.

I smile thinking about the slow morning we enjoyed the day before around the table, sharing hearts and stories and Ky’s amazing cinnamon rolls. I smile thinking about the conversation and laughter that accompanied us on our long walk along the lake — the freedom to be silly or serious, chatty or chill. I smile thinking about the tender afternoon tears shed and the encouragement given, friends who see and are willing to be seen.

I almost laugh out loud recalling how we ended the evening with ridiculous facemasks sticking awkwardly to our foreheads, cheeks, and lips like wet old-man skin. I almost peed my sweatpants it was so funny.

How freeing to be in the company of true friends.

The magnitude of the gift is not lost on me.

I gaze out the window and up at the evergreens. The words of Ephesians 3:20 (NIV) bubble up in my heart: “Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine…”, and with this promise, a memory.

The pine needles ripple in the breeze and I think back fifteen years. I remember being a new mom in a new city. I remember loving my baby boy and yet feeling swallowed by loneliness. I feel the memory of how quickly baby boy number two, then three, crashed onto the scene and how the relentless days and exhausting nights and pervasive loneliness nearly crushed me.

I remember how I cried out to God… over and over, again and again… Just give me one real friend.

Now I’m the mom of teens, with body aches and eye wrinkles and the best friends a girl could ask for.

Kyan, Kimberlee, and Sara are my immeasurable more, I say to God.

Truly, I could not have imagined such friends.

Then like a movie montage, the last decade flashes in my mind and I see hundreds of moments stitched together in a tapestry of God’s faithfulness. The first time we met at a mom’s group. A neighborhood walk pushing strollers. A muddy backyard playdate. The first time we had dinner. A summer book club. Serving together on a ministry team. Celebrating birthdays and graduations and births. Mourning aging parents and job losses and health scares. Swapping childcare and sourdough starters.

Hours and hours and hours over years and years and years of life together.

Yes, this is often how God answers prayers.

And now I am keenly aware of the sheer grace and goodness of God’s abundant faithfulness after years of loneliness and desperate tear-filled pleas.

This I know: God is the same God in my dreamy girls’ weekend away as He was in my sadness and solitude. God is the same God in our abundance as He is in our lack. It’s quite a truth to wrestle with.

Today I see so much beauty and purpose in the slow answering of my good desire for good friends. Though at the time, the stitch-by-stitch unfurling of God’s faithfulness was often too incremental to see, too slow for my comfort.

But now? Now I wouldn’t trade His intentional weaving for anything.

I hear the shuffle of feet above me. Sara must be up and about to go on her morning run. Surely Kimber and Ky will be awake soon and ready for coffee. I’ll put a pot on.

But first I wonder where else in my life and yours does the slow stitching of answered prayers seem like no answer at all? Where does loneliness feel heavy and community impossible? Where are we tempted to give up hope that God has heard our pleas and cares enough to respond?

This morning in the mountains is one of my Ebenezer stones, a reminder that God is always, always listening, and always, always still writing the story.

For more stories of God’s faithfulness, follow Becky on Instagram @beckykeife.

Listen to today’s devotion on the player below or where you stream podcasts.

The Comfort You Need on Mother’s Day

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“As a mother comforts her child, so will I comfort you.”
Isaiah 66:13 NIV

We know this day is a complex one, full of many emotions and experiences. You are not alone.

Your (in)courage sisters are praying for each of you today as you remember, celebrate, grieve, or enjoy motherhood and what that means to you. Every single woman who loves, encourages, nurtures, and releases those who become part of the next generation is doing amazing work and is worth celebrating today.

We pray you feel seen by God and folded into His arms of love. No matter what this day means to you, whether your expectations are met with joy or you feel the ache of disappointment, may His comfort wrap around you.

Happy Mother’s Day. Thank you for all that you are and all that you do.