How to Let Go and Release What’s in Your Hands

How to Let Go and Release What’s in Your Hands

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I arrived at the mall on a mission to revive my water-damaged cell phone. My phone had been stuck in recovery mode for nearly twenty-four hours. The “restore” screen appeared with every attempt to reboot, taunting me as carefully I followed the instructions. After countless tries, I gave up trying to fix it on my own.

Gripping my iPhone, I stepped into the store and prepared myself for the tech’s upgrade pitch. I loved my mini device and had zero interest in the new iPhone. Moreover, I didn’t think my phone had backed up my data before it crashed. I didn’t need a new phone; I needed my old phone with my information — and the possibility of losing all my personal content bothered me.

“This is a great time to trade in your phone for a free upgrade,” the tech told me. “We’re accepting phones in any condition. Even water damage.”

Though persuasive, his sales pitch failed to move me. I shook my head and adamantly refused. I just needed someone to repair my device. Please and thank you.

As I rattled off a myriad of reasons I wanted to keep my outdated phone, an inner voice broke through the chatter, interrupting my monologue: “Why do you insist on holding on to something that is broken? Let it go.”

The question immediately silenced me. My eyes watered upon hearing the still yet firm voice. The Lord had spoken. I slid my phone in the tech’s direction and surrendered my device.

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll trade it in.”

I knew the Lord was dealing with me, His question spotlighting an inner struggle much deeper than an inoperable cell device. God used that moment in the store to show me myself: my tendency to hold on to things longer than necessary and staying tethered to what I’ve outgrown — jobs, places, people, friendships, relationships. Even when those things had run their course.

There is something reassuring about dwelling in the familiar. We’ve lived there for a while. We know what to expect. We wrap ourselves in the familiarity like a security blanket providing warmth and comfort on a brisk morning. But our comfort zones give us a false sense of control and relief. The familiar can cloud our perspective and judgment. We resist surrendering with clenched fists, convincing ourselves that what we hold in our hands is the best thing for us, even when it’s marred beyond recognition. Dead. Broken.

I had convinced myself that my phone would work fine if they just repaired it, but in reality, my phone had started deteriorating long before water seeped into the hardware. The battery stopped holding a charge, forcing me to carry around a portable charger everywhere. The performance lagged. And, for good reason, nobody requested using my camera to take pictures. But . . . there I was, doing everything in my power to force that phone to work and keep working for me.

Comfort zones can be a breeding ground for stagnation and immobility. I can recall times I’ve settled out of comfort, allowing fears and doubts to order my steps instead of the Maker who knows me and calls me by name. Sometimes, I rely too much on my limited knowledge instead of listening to God’s instruction to trust in Him with all my heart and, leaning not on my own understanding, submit all my ways to Him (Proverbs 3:5-6).

We serve The One who can do “immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to His power that is at work within us” (Ephesians 3:20). We can all reflect on moments when God came through at the right time, answering prayers in unexpected ways, flooding our hearts with awe and wonder. He upgrades our lives in the best way.

When I received my upgraded phone, I discovered my data had backed up accordingly, nullifying my fears. Nothing was lost, but much was gained. Since my upgrade, I’ve never once desired to have the old model back. I wished I had let my phone go sooner.

When God leads us to part from something, we might wrestle with relinquishing control and trusting the process. But, letting go and releasing “what is” will ultimately make room for what’s next.

I’m thankful for His gracious promptings, beckoning us to open our hands and let go, awakening us to possibilities, and reminding us there is more.

What God Plants Grows + A Garden-Fresh Recipe

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I dream of being a gardener. You know, one of those green-thumb, botanical life-givers who not only knows how to put plants in the soil and make them grow but also knows how to keep them alive. Maybe even one of those people who can look at a single leaf and quickly rattle off the scientific name (otherwise known as the two-part binomial. Yes, I looked it up.)

Alas, my gardener dream isn’t likely to come true. Not only do the pace and responsibility of my day-to-day life with six children and a full-time job absorb the time needed for such an endeavor, but I also have an itty-bitty problem I can’t seem to overcome:

I kill green things.

It’s like I have poison in my fingers, and every green thing I try to grow ends up dead in my hands. In my defense, I’ve managed to keep every one of my offspring alive, which I celebrate with great joy. Thank You, Jesus. But plants? Flowers? Hanging baskets and herb gardens? I’m the caretaker of the dead. My house is a graveyard of gardening dreams.

Even so, every spring I drive myself to Home Depot and spend a small fortune buying annuals to plant around the outside of my house. Reds and purples, yellows and pinks. Pansies, petunias, impatiens, and geraniums. The more color, the better. The more plant life, the better my life.

Until, of course, they die. As lovely as they are when I put them in the ground, they don’t keep their color — or life — for long, God help me. By July, the plants I so lovingly cared for gasped a final goodbye. My husband remarks with a smirk, “How about we take the money we spend on flowers and just throw it away? Skip the work and save time.”

“Hardy-har-har. Not funny,” I tell him. Then, I get back to work digging the holes that will become my flowers’ tombs. No one can accuse me of a lack of effort or good intentions.

This past week, I was hanging out in the book of Mark, chapter four, to be exact. And in this particular part of Mark’s Gospel, Jesus talks a lot about seeds and plants and keeping green things alive. Although I’ve read His words here multiple times, a new story caught my eye:

“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. And what He plants won’t end up a graveyard.

Lately, as I’ve watched the news and engaged in hard conversations with friends in places of suffering, my heart weighs heavy with all I don’t understand. At times, it appears as if life is withering and God is absent or uninvolved. I ache for this broken world filled with such pain. It seems everywhere I look, I see death and destruction and disappointment. I wonder if any good can come from so much that is wrong.

Can God bring life from what appears already dead?

And then I read Jesus’ words again. And I’m reminded that ours is a God of life, not death. He entered into the human experience, taking on mortality, so we would always, always have hope of new life.

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, even when I sleep, I can rest. Because tomorrow will be filled with the color of new life.

by Michele Cushatt, from the (in)courage archives

And now a brand new recipe for you!

Thank you to our friend Nancy C. for putting together this delicious recipe that tastes like the goodness of springtime and fresh garden produce. Put those farmers’ market or backyard garden tomatoes, bell peppers, cucumbers, and herbs to good use! We hope you try this pasta salad with loved ones this season. Friends, scroll down for the recipe and to download a FREE printable recipe card!

Pepperoni Pasta Salad

Download the FREE recipe card here!

Prep Time: 35 minutes
Bake Time: none
Makes 6-8 servings

INGREDIENTS:

  • 1 (12-oz) package uncooked rotini pasta
  • 1 orange bell pepper, chopped
  • 1 cup chopped red onion
  • 2 cups grape tomatoes, halved
  • 1 cup chopped cucumber
  • 2 (2.25-oz) cans sliced black olives, drained
  • 1 (14-oz) can quartered artichoke hearts, drained, and cut in half
  • 1 (8-oz) package small fresh mozzarella balls or pearls
  • 1 (5-oz) package pepperoni, cut in half
  • 1 cup of your favorite Italian salad dressing
  • For garnish: shaved or shredded Parmesan cheese and chopped fresh parsley

INSTRUCTIONS:

  1. Cook pasta according to package directions. Drain, then rinse with cold water.
  2. In an extra-large serving bowl, combine the pasta, bell pepper, red onion, grape tomatoes, cucumber, black olives, artichoke hearts, mozzarella pearls, and pepperoni.
  3. Toss these ingredients together, then pour the Italian salad dressing over this mixture and toss again until everything is coated.
  4. Before serving, sprinkle the bowl of pasta with Parmesan cheese and chopped fresh parsley. Or, put the pasta salad in individual serving bowls and then add the Parmesan cheese and parsley toppings to each bowl, then serve.

Note: You can make this pasta salad several hours ahead of time and refrigerate until ready to serve.

Find these beautiful serving dishes, tea towel set, and salt & pepper sprinklers in the Mary & Martha home collection, from DaySpring. And tell us – what’s your favorite springtime, garden-fresh recipe?

Let’s Learn to See Beyond the Offerings We Don’t Understand

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It happened like clockwork every morning in the few extra minutes before school started. I would ride my yellow and blue Nishiki bike to school, park and lock it at the bike station, and then walk to our outdoor classroom pod to wait. Irene was always there, standing between our 5th-grade classroom doors with her backpack on. She held a plastic grocery bag in her hands — and the only thing that differed from day to day was the kind of candy inside.

Irene was quiet, and part of that might have been a language barrier. I don’t remember if she was new to the school — after all, it was my first year after living in Tokyo for four years. But I do remember how she struggled to find words once our conversation moved beyond “hi” or “thank you.” My family returned to the States, or “back home,” as others called it, but everything felt foreign to me. All of fifth grade felt like survival, trying to adjust to school in a place that was supposed to be familiar but wasn’t. I mostly missed what had been.

Once I arrived at school, I’d take my backpack off and sit on the concrete in the shaded area of our classroom’s pod. I’d smile at Irene, and once I smiled or said hi, she’d slowly walk towards me, holding the plastic bag open. Mostly it was full of candy. It was a mini trick-or-treat session for classmates who arrived early enough. Almost everyone took something she offered in a quiet exchange. I remember asking her where the candy came from once, and she just nodded and gestured for me to take more.

The rules of friendship and recess took some time to get used to that year. For everything that felt different from life in Tokyo, some things were universally the same. Connection still required jumping in. And like the game of Red Rover we played at recess — just because everyone else was doing it (and I hated it) — jumping in never felt gentle, safe, or kind.

I don’t remember seeing Irene at recess. I asked a friend who was in her class if she gave out candy throughout the day, and the friend said, “Yeah. She’s just trying to give candy away to get friends.” Something about the way my friend stated the obvious stunned me. It stunned me so much that I’m still thinking about it, over three decades later.

I look back after all these years, regretful. Knowing what I know now about loneliness and friendship, about being an outsider and all the things we do to try to find connection and belonging, I look back and wish I had understood more then. I wish I would’ve thought more of Irene and all she was trying to communicate and offer, instead of myself, hungry for candy and hungry to find my own sense of acceptance and belonging.

I look back now and wonder what I offered others in exchange for friendship. I wonder now, after all these years, who Irene really was.

I was a lonely kid too, that year, and many other years of my life. It took a while for me to think beyond my own longings and aches, because it took a long time for me to know that I could even acknowledge those things. If I had known to pay a little more attention to my pain, longings, and aches as a kid, maybe I would’ve been able to see hers too.

Jesus was a master at empathy and connection. In so many of His interactions and intentional storytelling, He pointed to the pain and longing of His friends and listeners to connect them not just to one another, but to those they villainized and wanted to keep marginalized.

When religious leaders brought an “adulterous woman” before Jesus, ready to stone her, Jesus gently reminded them how much they had in common with her.

When Jesus’ followers wanted to usher kids away from all the things they deemed “important” — as if kids were only an interruption– Jesus named them the most treasured in His Kingdom come.

When the woman with the alabaster jar poured everything on Jesus’ head and feet and then wiped His feet with her tears and hair, many of His friends accused the woman of being wasteful and uncivilized, and judged Jesus for associating with her at all. They didn’t know that her offering was an act of love and connection, one of beauty and worship they could learn much from.

So many didn’t understand the depth of who Jesus was, or scoffed at the upside-down Kingdom He embraced. I am prone to do the same. I think about all of this, and it reminds me of Irene, standing outside of that California classroom pod with a bag full of candy, but so much more to offer than that, and so much more that fifth-grade me failed to see.

May we be people who seek to see the way Jesus sees. May we see the treasure behind outstretched bags of candy, see beyond our own fears, and face the aches that connect us.

 

Listen to Tasha’s devotion here or wherever you stream podcasts. 

The Kind of Friend I Want to Be

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The material felt cool on my skin as I slipped on the white dress inside the bridal store’s fitting room. My sister, niece, and mom waited for me to parade on out and show them the next option. I stepped out from behind the curtain, basking in their excitement. I looked in the long mirror and felt beautiful. I knew it right away: this was the dress I wanted to get married in.

If you’ve been around (in)courage, you know that marriage is something I have prayed for… for years. Some days I wondered if God had forgotten about this desire of my heart, but He always reminded me to keep on asking.

And now, five years after asking God daily for a husband who loves Him and loves me, here I am. I get to marry the love of my life this summer. The wedding preparations are well underway. The date is set, the wedding bands secured, and the dress I tried on in that fitting room is purchased.

I’ve been engaged for two months now, but it still hasn’t sunk in yet: I am a bride.

A few weeks ago, the writers of (in)courage got together for our annual retreat. After dinner one evening, I went up to meet them in a common room, but found myself walking into a surprise wedding shower. I couldn’t believe it. They placed a tiara and a veil on top of my head. My (in)courage sisters had written me love letters with marriage advice and prayers. They surrounded me, praying over me and for my marriage. They gave me money for our honeymoon.

It brought tears to my eyes for numerous reasons: these dear friends of mine – many who have known me for over a decade and have been witnesses for so much of my life – are now witnesses to this next chapter. But that wasn’t what moved me most. What moved me the most was their willingness to celebrate me, despite what they might be facing in their own lives. Many in that room are still praying for things to come. And yet, it didn’t stop them from celebrating.

I hesitate to write about this, because I know how tender it can be when you’re still praying for the thing you’ve been praying about for years. But the reason I decided to is because these friends of mine showed me the very definition of “rejoice with those who rejoice”.

I want to be that kind of friend.

So often, I can mourn with those who mourn, but find it far more challenging to rejoice with those who rejoice – especially when they’re rejoicing over something I haven’t seen come to fruition in my own life yet.

It can feel too painful to celebrate a friend when I want exactly what they seem to have. My natural inclination is to hide or buy a pint of ice cream. But what if, instead of running or hiding, we let it spur us into celebration? What if, even in our tenderness, we consider it an invitation to embrace hopefulness for all God could do?

It’s easier said than done, I know. And my heart is so tender towards you. But I want you to know: God has not forgotten you or overlooked you. You are His, totally and fully.

God mourns with those who mourn and He rejoices with those who rejoice.

I want to, too.

I want to be the friend who celebrates God’s faithfulness in the life of another. Who buys the tiara, and the veil, and writes love cards and marriage advice.

I want to trust God enough that, no matter what my life may look like, I can celebrate what He is doing in the life of another.

So today, I celebrate you – and all the goodness you see in your life. And today, I mourn with you – and wait with hope for all the prayers you’re still waiting to see answered.

Let’s be the kind of friends who can do both.

 

Listen to Aliza’s devotion here or wherever you stream podcasts. 

When Answers Don’t Come, But Jesus Still Does

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The phone rings. I say an innocent hello. Unexpected news fills my eyes with tears, my thoughts with fears, and the conversation with unanswerable questions. It’s been awhile now, but I still remember.

Have you ever gotten a call like this? Most of us will in this lifetime. If not a call, then there will be a surprising moment, a sudden fissure in the foundation of our existence that leaves us shaken and confused.

Where is God in those moments? Does He even care about such things?

I think of Nicodemus, the Pharisee who came to Jesus with uncertainty and questions. He didn’t do so in broad daylight; “He came to Jesus at night” (John 3:2). We can come to Jesus in the dark, feeling our way through the shadows, and show up in His presence when it feels like the sun has gone down in our lives.

Nicodemus likely chose this timing because of fear. We, too, can come to Jesus when fear makes our hearts beat hard, with trembling hands and worry creasing our foreheads. Jesus doesn’t say, “Get rid of your fear, then come.” No, He is a show-up-as-you-are God. Our emotions don’t intimidate or offend Him, our humanness doesn’t surprise Him. He is glad we are here, no matter how we arrived.

In this conversation with Nicodemus, Jesus speaks words we know well today: “For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life” (John 3:16 NIV).

I’ve heard this beloved verse a thousand times, yet it brings tears to my eyes as I type this morning. I realize in a new way that Jesus is saying, “Nicodemus, long before you came to me, God chose to come for you.” The same is true for all of us. And God came not out of duty or obligation, not with a sigh of annoyance or a roll of His eyes. No, God loved, so He put skin on and came.

Not only did God come, but He did so without condemnation. “For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but to save the world through him” (John 3:17 NIV). So often, when we think of approaching God with our hurts, frustrations, disappointments, and doubts, we picture Him as distant or critical.

But the voice of our inner critic isn’t the voice of the One who loves us. In our most tender moments, Jesus offers the gentleness of grace, the “welcome home” of a dear friend, and the comfort of one who knows what it means to weep.

Jesus finishes His conversation with Nicodemus by saying, “Whoever lives by the truth comes into the light” (John 3:21 NIV). This is a beautiful transition. Nicodemus comes in the night, and Jesus ends by inviting him into the light — the same invitation He still has for each of us.

What does this look like in our day-to-day lives? It can be as small as pausing right now to say, “Jesus, I come to You in the night, in the dark places of my life. I bring you my questions and fears, my longings and hurt, my hopes and sorrows. Thank You that long before I ever came to You, You came for me, and You have never stopped. I trust You to meet me with love in this moment. I release everything and everyone to You. With Your grace and great gentleness, bring Your light where I need it most today. Amen.”

We come to Jesus in the night to know we are not alone. We come to remember how much we’re loved. We come to place our questions before the only One who has the truth we need even more than answers.

If you’re in a season of unanswered questions because of broken trust or hurt in a relationship, Holley’s online course, Heal After You’re Hurt can help. Angela, a graduate, said, “It was exactly what I needed at exactly the right time.”

 

Listen to Holley’s devotion here or search “(in)courage” on your favorite podcast app!

Six Simple Ways to Bring Peace on Memorial Day

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Our family will visit the cemetery today. Someone from the American Legion will hand us poppies. The pastor will say a few words to those who’ve gathered.

And then, we will bow our heads for a moment of silence. No one will speak. The air will fill with birdsong and the sound of flags flapping in the breeze.

In that moment, I will pray as I always pray: for peace to rule in hearts everywhere.

That’s how I’ve celebrated Memorial Day since I was a kid – with a few moments in a cemetery, observing and remembering. Maybe your Memorial Day looks similar to mine. Or maybe you’ll spend your day at a lake or a park or around the grill in your backyard. Wherever you may be today, may your day be filled with peace. And may you find a way to share a bit of your peace with the people around you.

The world feels short on peace these days, doesn’t it?

Mother Teresa once said, “If we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten that we belong to each other.” I worry, sometimes, that we forget that we really are in this together. It’s a noisy, hectic, I’m-right-you’re-wrong world out there. Today, I want to make a special effort to be less concerned with making a point and more concerned with making some peace.

If there really is going to be peace on earth, as the song says, “Let it begin with me.”

If there will be peace on Facebook,
or around the dinner table,
or in a sanctuary,
or out in this warring world,
or in a family squabble,
or in the midst of a protest,
or on a lake,
or in some legislative chamber under a golden dome,
or in a world groaning under its own weight . . .
if there be peace here, or if there be peace anywhere on earth, then let it begin with me.

Here are six ways you can create peace in your life today:

Serve someone. There’s so much wrong in this world, which makes us angry and sad — as it should! One great way to bring more peace into the world is to bring a little peace to someone whose life is in turmoil. That’s one powerful way of taking our anger and turning it into a higher purpose. Find a person or organization near you who could use a bit of the love that you have within your heart.

Heal one piece of the wound within you. It’s hard to “pass the peace” when our insides are in turmoil. Take time this week to tend to your pain. It can feel overwhelming to think about fixing all that aches within you. If necessary, pick one piece and tend to it. Take that bit of wound to a trusted friend. Pray about it with your pastor. Write it on a slip of paper and burn that paper in your own personal bonfire as a way to say, “Good riddance.” (Invite a friend and ask her to bring the marshmallows.)

Point out the good you see. Take a picture of something that made you smile and post it to your social media channels. Of course, there is a time and place for us to use our social media platforms to point out injustice, but there is also a time and place for us amplify the good. Go, therefore, and show us your kittens, sunsets, and cute babies.

Resolve at least one conflict in your life this week. There may be someone who has gotten on your last nerve or who has stepped on your toes in a major way. The elephant is still in the room. Talk about that elephant, release it into the wild, and then move within that freed-up space toward a resolution.

Forgive someone. Nelson Mandela famously said, “Resentment is like drinking poison and then hoping it will kill your enemies.” You don’t have to forget, but when you choose to forgive, you have decided to stop drinking the poison.

Find inner peace. There are a lot of places one can go to find peace – a hiking trail, a sanctuary, the beach. But ultimately, the only way we’ll find true peace is when we look to Jesus.

“And let the peace that comes from Christ rule in your hearts.”
Colossians 3:15 (NLT)

From the (in)courage archives.

 

Listen to Jennifer’s devotion here or find it on the (in)courage podcast wherever you stream!

Share with a friend to encourage her heart, too. 

Seen by the God Who Sees

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Over the past week, I have planned and cooked meals, scrubbed toilets, purchased white string cheese for one child and orange string cheese for another, ordered more tissues and dish soap to arrive on my doorstep, and vacuumed up dog hair under the table.

I’ve changed my kids closets over for both size and seasons; today I’m diving into the shoes to do the same. I’ve restocked the shower with body wash and distributed toilet paper to all the various empty rolls. I’ve wiped counters and cleared the table in one fell swoop. I’ve prayed with and for my kids and tucked little curls behind little ears at night — both ears, not just one, because I know she likes it tucked behind both.

I’ve brushed and wiggled teeth and hollered for hands to be washed (I don’t need to see them to know they’re dirty). I’ve helped with math and texted pictures to Grandma. I’ve tossed favorite T-shirts into the washing machine and poured water in the dog’s bowl. I’ve watered the preschool plant project and moved it into the sunshine to try and keep it alive another day.

All in a week. A typical, run-of-the-mill week. Extraordinary all mixed up with the mundane.

As a mother and woman, I constantly perform acts of tiny service that go unseen. All day, every day. The bittiest of details, done with barely a thought. Just thirty-seven years into being a woman and eight years into mothering, I’m still learning these are finely tuned, carefully honed skills and marks of the craft.

And because you are a woman and a mother in your own unique way, I know you likely do the same.

We are the managers of the minutiae, keepers of the details that make a home run and hearts sing, whether that home is a small apartment with roommates or farm house with kids and chickens running wild. We are the knowers of small things, of favorites and things not-so-loved. We can read a heart in one glance. We can heal with a hug. We can calm with a word. We are the hosts of each other, the middle-of-the-night texters, the hearts that reach out when we feel a friend needs us.

Moms, caretakers, grandmas, babysitters, teachers . . . we are all a mother of sorts, and as such, we are the unseen do-ers. We are the people of hidden service, who have learned to do things swiftly and silently in a second-nature sort of way. At times, that has rendered me feeling powerless and small. Unimportant and unimpressive. Even though I know that if I disappeared, tasks would be left undone (Hello, favorite T-shirt going unwashed. Hi, dog hair un-vacuumed for a week.) and all the things I set in place could fall apart, it’s easy to throw an “I don’t matter” pity party for myself. It’s easy for me to look to my husband, kids, co-workers, roommates, or friends for affirmation that may never come.

It’s a good thing we have a God who adores and affirms women.

We have a God who appeared first to women after rising, who believes in women and has used their hands throughout history to do His good work, who sees us — both as we are and as we will be.

We have a God who sees motherhood as a valuable calling and in His wisdom gifts us individually to mother others in the place we are. Each and every one of those invisible tasks is seen, etched in His mind as He delights in you.

“For the Lord your God is living among you.
    He is a mighty savior.
He will take delight in you with gladness.
    With his love, he will calm all your fears.
    He will rejoice over you with joyful songs.”
Zephaniah 3:17 (NLT)

He. Delights. In. You.

Yep, you. You, who are a weary mother. You, who are not a mom to children of your blood. You, in the office cubicle. You, who diligently serves on the behind-the-scenes committees at church. You, who texts your friends to check in. You, who hasn’t had an evening to herself in way, way too long. You, who loves being a mom. You, the woman who maintains countless unseen tasks, holds things together (sometimes by a thread) and balances plates like a boss.

You are beloved to Him. God delights in His daughters. The end.

As kids, my own mom used to tell us, “I am woman. Hear me roar!” as she tarred the driveway, hung sheetrock in the basement, juggled our schedules and her jobs, and tenderly cared for her parents, her family, and her friends.

May we roar. May we celebrate our sisters and friends as they find their own roars. And may we feel the glow of love from our God who adores us and who sees every tiny act of service.

By Anna E. Rendell from the (in)courage book — A Mother’s Love: Celebrating Every Kind of Mom. 

The Gift of Remembering Things I Never Want to Forget

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The aging mind is no joke! I’m quite sure it’s a combination of menopause coupled with increased stimulation from heavy tech usage and information overload!

I never believed I’d ever succumb to the betrayal of my very own brain mid-sentence while looking square in the face of someone I totally recognize yet, somehow, cannot for the life of me produce a name. But, rest assured, it has happened! Worse yet, I’ve been halfway into a deep conversation where my next relevant thought takes a deep dive into the abyss of who knows where? In those moments, a silent panic ensues, and I’m left with questions like, “What in the world just happened?”

I have always been a list maker because it helps me remember things, but it also provides the feelings of accomplishment as things are crossed off and completed. In addition to my list making, I appreciate the preservation of a good story, and the benefits provided when reflecting backwards over life. A solid look back can bolster faith and inform tomorrow’s hope, and we all need hope, right? Years ago, I traveled for work and began the practice of journaling about the places I traveled, people I met, and experiences I had. Most importantly, I integrated prayer journaling into my routine — and I continue to do this practice today!

While making to-do lists and journaling are two different things, they both provide a satisfying solution to remembering things. If I need to remember to buy milk, put it on the list! If I need to remember the faithfulness of God in a season of life, check the prayer journals!

You get the idea…

I cannot tell you how I have absolutely loved being able to look back and see the faithfulness of God all over my life throughout the years. When my hope tank is low, I can find quick and reliable encouragement by taking a walk down memory lane in my journals. My journaling practices have certainly evolved over the years; I now take a more fun and creative approach by using stickers along with colored pens and highlighters. I often print sticker pictures of people I am praying for and place them inside my journal. My journal is my own little sacred space to meet with God in an intentional way. Seeing the faces of those I love allows my prayer time to gain holy traction within my heart. I get excited about intercession!

I use the same general format that I’ve found works well, because an organized structure gives me the guide needed for staying on track. For example, I have monthly prompts sorted by specific topics like friends, family, personal, church, community and then long form journal space for general conversations, and gratuitous prayers with God. I include a section for writing out scripture that helps me memorize God’s word and hide it away in my heart.

I’ve come to recognize my prayer journaling practice as my own “stones of remembrance” ritual, as talked about in Joshua 4:1-24. I encourage you to read the entire story at your leisure. In paraphrasing, the Israelites crossed the Jordan River, which miraculously stopped flowing. God instructed twelve men, one from each tribe, to take twelve stones from the riverbed to serve as a tangible reminder of God’s mighty hand and a sign to future generations.

I, too, hope my prayer journals serve as memorial stones of legacy, echoing hope for the future about all God has done in my life. For now, my journals serve me with a powerful reminder of God’s faithfulness throughout the various seasons of my life — both big and small. Journaling gives my stories a place to rest while also allowing me to go back and remember the many things I never want to forget!

Spiritual Power Tools

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Living on eight acres comes with both positives and negatives. For example, it’s amazing to sit on my back patio with a pine-covered mountain rising up to the sky and no signs of other people or city life. It’s quiet, wild, and deeply peaceful. However, the downside of that beauty? Someone has to take care of it. And it’s a lot to take care of.

About 70% of our property is covered with pine trees and scrub oak — mostly scrub oak. Pine trees are maintenance-free for the most part, but scrub oak is wild and tenacious. Also known as Gambel oak, it is drought-tolerant and highly adaptable to its environment. It also has a strong root system that spreads like a bad virus. That means, every summer, I’m outside with my pruning shears trying to keep the forest from swallowing my home. It’s like a terrifying scene from a sci-fi movie.

If I skip even one summer of back-breaking work, the scrub oak covers the walkway and wraps its arms around the eaves. I’m not opposed to hard work, and I love being outside. Even better, I have an amazing pair of pruning shears, a gift from a friend in the gardening business. But by July, after spending nearly every weekend trying to tame the forest threatening our house, I’m exhausted. No matter how hard I work, no matter my determination, the task is bigger than my strength. I know this because of my sore muscles and swollen hands. 

A couple weeks ago, my husband came home after running errands and announced, “I got you something. A gift.”

My husband isn’t much of a gift giver, so I was intrigued.

“Really? Are you serious?”

He smiled. “I think you’re going to like it.”

After another trip to his truck, he came back with a box, opened it, and pulled out a black and yellow power tool. At that point, I was pretty sure the gift was for him, not me. “I am not amused,” I said, eyebrows raised.

He was undeterred. Turning toward the closest scrub oak, he pushed a button and got to work. My man had bought me a pair of powered pruning shears. Not the most romantic gift, but magical just the same. And highly effective. In minutes, he’d accomplished more than I could in a couple of hours. My hands and shoulders wanted to cheer.

Stunned, I smiled: “Thank you!”

The spiritual life often feels like holding a small pair of pruning shears against an expanse of forest.

I desperately want to be more like Christ, to think and feel and act like Jesus did. But my sin problem is real. And sanctification — the process of progressively becoming more and more Jesus-shaped — feels impossible some days. No matter how good my intentions or how hard I try to do better and be better, I still fail too often. I take care of one problem only to find three more popping up in its place. The task is bigger than my strength. 

But God never intended for me to become more like Jesus with a pair of self-powered pruning shears. Yes, He calls me to be conformed into the likeness of Jesus (Romans 8:29). But He knows I could never accomplish this God-sized work in my own strength. That’s why He gave us a gift:

“But the Holy Spirit produces this kind of fruit in our lives: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. There is no law against these things!

Those who belong to Christ Jesus have nailed the passions and desires of their sinful nature to his cross and crucified them there. Since we are living by the Spirit, let us follow the Spirit’s leading in every part of our lives.”
Galatians 5:22-25 (NLT)

The Holy Spirit is our God-given spiritual power tool. He lives in us, drawing us to the Father, illuminating truth, convicting our hearts, and then empowering us for repentance, renewal, and deeper faith. It’s not about trying harder, but trusting more. Yes, our sin problem is legit. But the Holy Spirit has the power we need to overcome it.

 

Listen to Michele’s devotion here or find the (in)courage podcast on your favorite streaming app!

When I Don’t Know How I Feel

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We got in the car, and I immediately slumped into the passenger seat as if I’d just run a marathon. As my husband pulled out of the parking lot, I could feel my body slipping into a state of nausea and exhaustion — responding as if something disappointing or frustrating had happened. But we had just come from a really great meeting about my kids’ education. And the day before that, my husband and I had a good conversation that answered some personal prayers.

Yet my body was acting as if it had been in a fight and needed to recover.

Later that night, I experienced one of the most intense bouts of sickness I have ever had. It was so abrupt and draining that it took me days to recover. I wondered if I had picked up some kind of virus or perhaps food poisoning. But as I began to process this with the Lord and my husband, I recognized that there was something deeper going on.

Whenever I am in the midst of stressful circumstances, I don’t always feel that weight on my mind. I actually get really intentional about capturing any lies or negative thoughts. But many times I find that my body is saying something different. Even then, the physical symptoms don’t last very long.

This moment was a tipping point for me because my body wasn’t reacting to the increase of stress, but rather the release of it. I don’t think I fully comprehended how much my concern over my kids and provision for our family was affecting me internally. After those meetings, even my husband said he could literally see the relief on my face — and in the days that followed, it was as if my mind had finally exhaled, and my body followed suit.

Even though I was intentional about not letting stress take hold in my thoughts, it seemed I wasn’t as successful at keeping it out of the deeper places in my heart.

Somehow, there was a disconnect between what I was experiencing and what I was internalizing. Even as a child, I remember repeatedly asking God to tell me how I felt — so much so that I wrote a song with that question as the foundation of the lyrics:

Can you tell me how I feel?
Can you tell me what’s going on in my heart?
About every inch and every part, of me?
Can you tell me how I feel?

Even in my late childhood and early teenage years, I recognized there were areas within me that I couldn’t comprehend or discern with my natural mind. Places in my heart that struggled beyond the usual implications of puberty and growing adolescence. Words filled multiple journals, highlighting the multitude of cares that I needed to cast before the Lord. Yet I knew that at certain times, even the tip of my pen couldn’t dig deep enough to drag out what was bothering me.

This points to a level of inadequacy that is not a cause for condemnation. We can’t see all or know all in the world around us or in the many layers within us. Perhaps that is why Romans 8:26-27 (NIV) says:

“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. And he who searches our hearts knows the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for God’s people in accordance with the will of God.”

That night, and the days after my post-meeting sickness, I knew that there were areas in me that I needed the Holy Spirit to uncover. I needed His peace at a cellular level. I needed His Word to divide between joint and marrow (Hebrews 4:12). I needed His Word to shine upon my steps and my path (Psalm 119:105). I needed to sit and be still at His feet (Luke 10:38-42), continually choosing Him as my one focus over all other pressing things. I needed Jesus to bring to light the things that have been afflicting my subconscious. I needed His gentle hands to loosen my grip on the worries I’d been holding so tightly to.

I needed the deep, soul-level rest that God offers to our entire being.

Rest isn’t just about physical stillness. We can, in fact, experience His rest in every part of our bodies, every part of our lives. We can abide in Jesus as He abides in us (John 15). His Word can dismantle all the obstacles that cause us to stumble and push out the lies we may incorrectly believe — even at the unseen, minute level.

This is the opportunity and joy of dwelling with the Lord and Him dwelling within us.

Today, you may not know the melody of my song, but maybe you, too, need the hum of those lyrics above. Ask the Lord to search your heart and bring peace to the places you cannot see.

As a way to practice slowing down and meditating on God’s Word, my friends and I created a resource that invites you to rest with Jesus: A Moment with Jesus: 10 Minute Prayer and Meditation.

 

Listen to Jenny’s devotion here or wherever you stream podcasts. Just search for (in)courage!

When You’re the Oldest Woman in the Room

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Not so long ago, I was in the thick of mothering three kids — juggling all the plates of home, school, extracurriculars, and work. If you’ve been there or are there, you know life can be a busy blur, hectic in mostly good ways. You learn what people say is true: “The days are long” — sometimes so, so long! — “but the years are short.” In too quick a blink, that season is over. 

In empty nesting, it seems birthdays arrive faster and years get even shorter. It still surprises me when I realize I’m the oldest person in the room. How am I in my sixth decade, for goodness’ sake?! Nevertheless, I wholeheartedly believe that life is a gift at every age, and each day is reason enough to celebrate. 

Several years ago, I attended a women’s event led by a well-known ministry leader around my age. In front of 1,000+ women, she made self-deprecating remarks, recognizing she was the oldest woman on the stage and minimizing herself. It bothered me. She joked about her age, almost apologizing for it — missing a chance to champion the older women in the room. This would’ve been a perfect moment to help younger women see the value of those they might be tempted to consider irrelevant, and to help older women see how much they still have to offer.

The speaker’s comment was made in passing, and I doubt many attendees gave it a second thought. But years later, it’s the only thing I recall her saying that night. Had she feared being seen as old and obsolete? If so, I could relate (even though I wish I didn’t). But God, through the Holy Spirit’s transforming work, took my irritation and began fashioning a pearl. I started recognizing the benefits that can only come with age.

Too often, aging is viewed through the lens of decline and loss — aching joints, graying hair, aggravating forgetfulness, and decreasing relevance. But these things don’t tell the entire story. Growing older brings unexpected gifts we just don’t talk about enough — the kind that only come with time, experience, and evolving perspective.

I’m thankful God has something to say about aging, too. Job 12:12 (NASB) tells us advanced years bring wisdom and understanding. I can think of plenty of things in my past I’d do or process differently if I knew “then” what I know now. Psalm 92:14 (ESV) says the righteous will “still bear fruit in old age.” As long as we’re here, we can impact the Kingdom and the people around us. And, Proverbs 16:31 (ESV) tells us gray hair is a crown of glory! Mine is currently in hiding, but my friends know I’m all about a tiara. When gray peeks out, my hairdresser enthuses, “Darling! Your wisdom is showing!” She gets it.

What God gives us with age isn’t accidental — it’s the result of His perfect timing.

Let’s practice looking at life differently. Let’s believe what God says and focus on the positives that come with age. When we do so, we’ll see that growing older isn’t just about what we lose — it’s also about what we gain. I’ve noticed plenty of benefits:

Growth in your faith. If you’re a long-time believer, there’s a point at which you realize you “knew so much more” in your 30s than you do now. Bless us all. What I’ve learned is that God always has something new to teach us, and it’s exciting to realize there is no end to learning more about His grace, love, forgiveness, joy, peace, kindness….

Greater Emotional Resilience. We get better at managing stress and emotional roller coasters. We’re able to see difficult circumstances more clearly and to respond thoughtfully rather than overreacting. Coping skills are honed with time.

Sharper Priorities. As time goes on, people tend to care less about superficial concerns and more about what truly matters: a deep and abiding faith, meaningful relationships, and time well spent.

More Time for Passions and Purpose. Being past the stage of raising a family or working outside the home offers a chance to serve others in church and community, explore hobbies, travel, or start something new. Whether it’s painting, mentoring, or joining a church choir, there’s more time to rediscover old passions or cultivate new ones.

Confidence in Who You Are. Aging often brings a stronger sense of self as we better understand our identity in Christ. The pressure to impress or conform fades, replaced by a growing confidence in who God says we are as His daughters: loved, treasured, and valued. 

Stronger, Deeper Relationships. With age, I’ve learned to protect relationships that matter to me. Friendships deepen, family is cherished, and conversations become more authentic.  

Gratitude for Life’s Everyday Joys. Whether it’s the ritual of morning coffee or tea, laughter among friends, or a spectacular sunrise, aging enhances our ability to savor the moment right in front of us. What we once took for granted, we no longer do. 

Instead of dreading or fearing aging, we can reframe it as a season brimming with opportunity.

We can revere women with crowns of glory, and thank God we’re forever His works in progress. If you’re an “older” woman, fight to see the benefits you’ve gained with age and tell the younger women in your life.

And own it when you realize you’re the oldest woman in the room.

 

Listen to Robin’s devotion here or wherever you stream podcasts.

Could Your Desperation Be the Key to God’s Power?

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There’s a question I’ve been chewing on for quite some time. I can’t get it out of my head. It goes like this:

What if the display of God’s power in our lives is directly related to acknowledging our need for Him?

In the midst of personal crisis, national unrest, or a global pandemic, people ask, “Where is God?” Here’s what I’m coming to believe more than ever: He’s in our need. He’s in our lack. He’s present and powerful when we’re ready to admit how desperate we are without Him.

The end of our rope is the beginning of God’s grace. This is true in our individual circumstances and in our desire to make this world a better place.

Mother Teresa said, “I alone cannot change the world, but I can cast a stone across the waters to create many ripples.”

I can’t help but think of the famous story of how God used one small stone to create mighty waves of change. I’m thinking of the rock that took down a mighty giant. Goliath was the nearly ten-foot-tall Philistine warrior who threatened to destroy the Israelite army. Day after day, for forty days, Goliath came forward and challenged any man from the opposing side who had enough guts to face him. The future of both nations rested on this single man-to-man battle. Whichever side was victorious would get their enemy’s land, wealth, and surviving citizens. Saul was king of Israel at the time, and not one soldier in his mighty legion was willing to fight such a powerful opponent with everything on the line.

The Israelites were woefully aware of their insufficiency, but they failed to understand that God’s power was what they really needed. Enter David. David was a young shepherd and the youngest of eight sons; his father sent him to the battlefield to bring provisions to his brothers. When David got to the front lines and heard about the dire situation his people faced, he didn’t hesitate to offer his help.

What made the young shepherd willing to face an opponent that hundreds of grown men trained in combat wouldn’t? Was it because David was simply conceited, like his older brother suggested? Did he think so highly of himself that he believed he could accomplish what no one else could? I don’t think so.

David’s uncanny courage came from knowing that it would be God’s power that would defeat the giant. And he was willing to be the conduit. Without a breastplate or sword or spear, David approached Goliath with nothing but a sling and pouch full of river rocks. He took one smooth stone, placed it in his sling, and let it soar. The rock sank into the Philistine’s forehead, taking down the ostensibly unconquerable soldier.

A sheep-tending little brother stood victorious on the battlefield, showing God’s undeniable power.

So what does an old Bible story that reads more like a mythic fairy tale have to do with us? While it’s unlikely that you or I will ever be asked to save a nation by slaying an epic giant, we each are destined to face opportunities to help when the odds are stacked against us. Surely we will see someone in need and look down at our own measly stones and be tempted to think, It’s impossible for someone like me to make a difference.

The right response is, “Yeah, it is impossible — without God. But with God, all things are possible.”

David wasn’t responsible for the outcome. He was responsible for hearing God, responding in faith, and showing up. An entire nation of people was changed because of it.

We offer our pebble. God’s power magnifies the ripples. He accomplishes with a simple stone what we cannot do on our own.

Isn’t this just the message we all need right now? When the world’s problems loom large and your ordinary life stretches you thin, is it still possible to be a difference-maker? Absolutely! One small, intentional, God-powered act of kindness at a time.

The Simple Difference: How Every Small Kindness Makes a Big Impact will help you see more of the people in front of you, more of God’s lavish love for you, and more of His power within you.

Why I Stopped Apologizing for Changing

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If I had to choose a coast, I’d choose the West Coast every time. Living in a landlocked, flat state has made me deeply appreciate the beauty of towering trees, majestic mountains, and the crashing waves of the Pacific Ocean. I know the East Coast offers similar wonders, but as someone with curly hair, the humidity and heat of the Atlantic are not for me. So when I vacation, I choose the Pacific, almost without fail.

For the past four years, the ocean has become my sacred retreat. It’s where I walk barefoot in the sand, feel the mist on my face, and let the roar of the waves quiet the noise in my soul. I can sit for hours, mesmerized by the rise and fall of the sea — its power, its rhythm, its voice that cannot be silenced. There’s something about the water that awakens all my senses to a kind of shalom I can’t put into words. It feels like a release, a holy exhale, even if only for a moment. Sometimes, it seems as though when the tide pulls the sand back into the ocean, it takes my worries with it.

The ocean has become therapy for my soul — so I keep going back.

This year, I noticed something different. The waves were higher. The shoreline had shifted. The landscape no longer looked like it did on my first visit. And in that moment, I was reminded: everything changes. The ocean changes. I change. Everything in creation is subject to change — except God.

God is not created. He is Creator. He is the one constant, the unchanging anchor in a world of shifting tides.

“For I the Lord do not change…” (Malachi 3:6 ESV)

“Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today, and forever.” (Hebrews 13:8 ESV)

“The grass withers, the flower fades, but the word of our God will stand forever.” (Isaiah 40:8 ESV)

Throughout Scripture, we are reminded of these truths that steady our faith: God is faithful. He is constant. His Word is unchanging, even when everything around — and within — us is in motion. God doesn’t change, even in the midst of a fickle and fading world.

As I stood on the shoreline, I realized how much I’ve changed since that first visit. My body has changed with age. My mind is still healing from the burnout of being a healthcare worker. My soul has stretched and matured in ways I didn’t expect. Most of these changes weren’t ones I chose — they were hard, unwelcome, even resisted. But they came anyway. Because change is inevitable.

Earlier that morning, I stood in front of the mirror and criticized the sun spots spreading across my face. I cursed the weight clinging to my thighs and belly. I cried looking at old photos — where my hair was straightened — remembering when I felt prettier. I joked with friends about the brain fog and aches brought on by perimenopause. But deep down, I was grieving.

Maybe it’s the filtered images on social media. Maybe it’s the unattainable beauty standards or our culture’s obsession with staying forever young. Somewhere along the way, I forgot: Change is not failure. It’s part of being alive.

And yet, the ocean isn’t trying to hide its changes. It still roars. It still draws people from all over the world to come and stare into its depths — and find peace. The ocean doesn’t apologize for how it’s changed — and neither should I. Neither should you.

I have changed. And that’s okay.

Who I am at the core remains unchanged: I am a child of God. My purpose endures — to glorify Him with my life. I can roar like the ocean. I can take up space, even with all the ways I’ve shifted and grown.

When my high school friends wrote “Don’t ever change” in my yearbook, they had no idea how deeply I’d internalize that message. But everything created is meant to change. The temptation is to resist it. But instead of wrestling, I’m learning to cling to the One who never changes — and to trust His promises, because they never fail.

On that shore, God gently reminded me: He doesn’t love the past version of me. He doesn’t love the future version of me. He loves me — just as I am today.

So I don’t need to criticize, curse, or cry over the changes I’ve experienced or will walk through in the seasons to come. I can learn to be present. I can learn to cherish the woman in the mirror.

Because everything is supposed to change.

And maybe you need that reminder too. Friend, instead of mourning who you used to be — or striving for a version of yourself that doesn’t exist yet, I pray that you will be reminded that God hasn’t changed, and neither has His love for you. Let His constancy anchor you. Let His love settle you.

 

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

Living Worthy of Your Calling

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“Therefore I, a prisoner for serving the Lord, beg you to lead a life worthy of your calling, for you have been called by God. Always be humble and gentle. Be patient with each other, making allowance for each other’s faults because of your love. Make every effort to keep yourselves united in the Spirit, binding yourselves together with peace. For there is one body and one Spirit, just as you have been called to one glorious hope for the future.”
Ephesians 4:1-4 NLT

Sister, you have been called.

Not just to a job, a role, or a title, but to a life. A life of purpose. A life set apart for God’s glory. A life that matters.

Some days, it doesn’t feel that way. Maybe you’re knee-deep in laundry, overwhelmed at work, or wondering if anything you do actually makes a difference. Maybe the weight of discouragement or comparison is pressing hard against your heart. But hear this:

Your life is not an accident. Your days are not wasted. You are created on purpose for a purpose.

Paul’s words in Ephesians 4 remind us to live worthy of our calling. That doesn’t mean we have to hustle for our worth or prove our value. No, our worth is already secured in Christ. Instead, it’s an invitation to walk in a way that reflects the One who called us. To choose humility over pride. Gentleness over harshness. Patience over irritation. Love over judgment.

It’s a high calling. One we can’t fulfill on our own. But here’s the good news: We’re not meant to. God’s Spirit in us empowers us to live with intention. His grace sustains us when we fall short. His strength carries us forward when we feel weak. And we don’t walk this road alone. We are part of one body, bound together in love and anchored in the hope of Christ.

So today, wherever you find yourself — whether in the mundane or the momentous — live knowing that you are called. Your life matters. And by God’s grace, you can walk worthy of the calling He has placed on you.

Lord, thank You for calling me to a life of purpose. When I feel discouraged or distracted, help me fix my eyes on You. Fill me with Your Spirit so I can walk in humility, love, and patience. Remind me that my life matters, not because of what I do, but because of who You are. By Your grace, may I live worthy of the calling You have placed on me. Amen.

 

Eve Reclaimed Her Purpose…and So Can You

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If any woman has been misunderstood and had her purpose misinterpreted and miscounted, it was Eve. She made the worst choice of her life on her very worst day. She took and ate the fruit from a tree that God instructed her and Adam not to touch. This disobedience was significant enough to potentially thwart God’s original purpose for her. Yet, by God’s grace, it didn’t.

In Genesis 1:26-28, God instructs Eve to be exceedingly fruitful; like Adam, she is to multiply, fill, conquer, and subdue the earth. Yet, even after Eve’s disobedience, this purpose was never taken from her. Eve was created with purpose, for purpose, and from purpose. As a woman also made in God’s image, so too are you.

Gender does not determine purpose, nor does failure. God’s words and instructions in Scripture define your purpose.

I can envision how the expulsion from Eden and the loss of trust in what should have been a blissful union with Adam might have caused Eve to lose her voice and sense of purpose for a time. Eve’s insecurity that arose, after disregarding God’s command in the garden and losing unhindered access to His presence, must have deeply affected her. This insecurity may have hindered her ability to dream or to believe in reclaiming what she had seemingly lost. The fear of failing again may have started to dictate her choices, as she contemplated that if she gave in to fear and temptation once, it could easily happen again.

Has insecurity ever held you back? Has the fear of failure or rejection ever limited you? Does it ever seem there are forces opposed to you living and leading with purpose? Is there a situation where you’ve felt misunderstood or rejected and in need of expressing your voice again? 

I encountered all of the above after only a few years in ministry. Recovering from rejection, misunderstanding, or even personal failures can be challenging . . . but it is possible. In Genesis 4, after Eve has gone through the devastation of a broken relationship with God, and a broken family, we read that she reclaims her purpose when Seth is born.

Genesis 4:25 says, “She gave birth to a son and named him Seth, saying, ‘God has granted me another child in place of Abel.’” Seth literally means anointed, appointed, positioned with purpose, placed intentionally. Seth’s life ushered in a new opportunity — for himself and many others — to live with purpose.

Even in the face of the most significant ramifications and hardships after The Fall, Eve influenced the next generation, and generations to come, to rise and serve the Lord. Despite her disobedience, God wasn’t done with Eve. By His grace, she reclaimed her purpose — and so can you. The same redemption given to Eve has been passed down through the ages and is extended to you as a female image-bearer.

Often when we struggle to understand why we consistently feel inadequate, we forget about the nuances and the nature of our sinful world. We find someone to blame and frequently resort to saying the issue lies with the church, pastor, male leadership team, spouse, family, or God. However, after working with hundreds of women over the past few decades, I can confidently assert that the primary source of opposition to purpose comes from within.

You might be the one silencing your own voice. Your core beliefs about your identity and intrinsic value are central to your ability to influence and lead in Kingdom work. Your core — the essence of who you are — is a mix of character, clarity, courage, and confidence.

At your core, you must believe that you have inherent value, created as an image-bearer of God and reflecting His character. This is the character piece.

You must be clear on your why, who, and what. This is the clarity piece.

You must believe that obeying God is the foundation of your brave “Yes” to stepping up and speaking out in your situation. This is the courage piece.

You should be able to enter rooms and sit at tables, fully aware that if God has opened a door, you can walk confidently through it. This is the confidence piece.

Do not doubt, for a second, that you were created for a Kingdom purpose at this very moment. The struggle is real, but so is God’s redemption. My prayer is that you believe God has called you for a purpose. Like Eve, even after your worst choice on your worst day, you can receive God’s forgiveness and impact the present and future generations through His purpose-driven guidance for your life.

The Lopsided Bowl That Taught Me About God

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A while back, I signed up for a pottery class — one of those “sip something, spin some clay” situations. I’d watched people do this on Instagram, and they made it look effortless. Very aesthetic. Very soothing.

Our instructor walked us through the steps and made it sound super-easy. Before I even sat at the wheel, I started eyeing the shelf of student samples. One bowl caught my eye. It had delicate fluting, a symmetrical shape, and a gorgeous glaze.

“That’s what I’ll make,” I whispered to myself.

I’m nothing if not ambitious.

So I sat down at my wheel with a big glob of clay and not much in the way of natural talent.

Turns out, it’s a lot harder than it looks.

My masterpiece? A lopsided, slightly awkward little vessel. It was kind of charming, if you squint at it from one angle. Definitely not fluted. Definitely not shelf-worthy. But it was a vessel just the same — able to be filled and able to be used.

As I stared at that humble little pot, spinning slowly on the wheel, I thought of God, the Divine Potter.

Scripture calls our Lord the Potter. And guess who’s the clay?

Yeah, us. We are the clay. Humbling, am I right?

“But now, O Lord, you are our Father;
    we are the clay, and you are our potter;
    we are all the work of your hand.”
Isaiah 64:8 ESV

God shapes our lives — sometimes through gentle nudging, sometimes through pressure, sometimes through starting over.

O.K. God. Cool. Sounds just fine in theory. But Oh. My. Word… how many times do we climb up onto that wheel ourselves, determined to be both the clay and the Potter?

We hustle.
We manage outcomes.
We set five-year plans.
We try to form a version of ourselves that looks more “shelf-worthy.”

Here’s the thing I’m learning:

We are not called to mold our lives into something impressive. We are called to yield to the Potter who is forming something eternal.

God gives us dreams, and FOR SURE, we can chase those dreams with boldness and hope. We can do cool stuff with the clay God gives us.

But make no mistake: We don’t shape God into our image. He shapes us into His.

Can I be honest? Sometimes the vessel that He gives me? Well … it looks …. off.

There are days I look at my life and think,
“This wasn’t the plan.”
“This isn’t what I pictured.”
“This isn’t what I prayed for.”

It doesn’t look pretty on the shelf.

Thank God for this truth right here: He is not after perfect vessels. He’s after surrendered clay. Even a crooked vessel, when formed by the Potter, can carry something sacred.

Our lives may not look like someone else’s on the shelf. But we were never meant to be mass-produced.

That’s true for me, and that’s true for you, my (in)courage friend. Your vessel, your life, is one-of-a-kind, purpose-filled, and capable of holding His Spirit.

Pray with me?

Here I am, Lord.
Clay in Your hands.
Mold me according to Your plans, not mine.
Shape me into something that carries Your glory, not my own.
Even when it’s messy. Even when it’s different than I imagined.
Amen.

 

Listen to Jennifer’s devotion here or on the (in)courage podcast!