Strong Enough to Lean In

Strong Enough to Lean In

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

In the last few months, I’ve had a fractured elbow, a gum tissue graft, and a massive, infected cyst removed from my neck. I’ve been miserable, in pain, and rendered helpless at some points along the way.

I’m not used to asking for help, accepting care, and taking a break, and these past few months, I’ve had to do all of the above. My husband faithfully bandaged, unpacked, cleaned, and rebandaged the surgical site on my neck. My daughter brushed my hair while my arm was wrapped in a sling. My friend sent coffee money when the baby stopped sleeping and my mouth—swollen and stitched—could only handle icy liquids.

While I am not great at accepting it all, I’m learning that in a way, being dependent is a good thing. My friend calls it being “strong enough to lean.” And so, lean I will, right into the arms that hold the strongest. I’m learning to lean in, depend on, and accept the care God offers me all the time. And that care reminds me of a mom.

God wants to care for us like the best mother there ever was — ready to help put our minds at ease, invite us to practices that help our whole selves, and/or give us a kick in the pants to shake it off and get moving. Maybe a combination of it all because that might be what we really need.

Just as the best mother ever constantly thinks about and cares for her children, God does the same for us. He cares for us, and He’d like us to care for ourselves too. That care might look like a doctor’s appointment to check on that weird thing, or like drinking that glass of water, or going to bed early, or praying when you’re worried. It might also look like accepting help from a friend, admitting when things are a big deal and when we need to be taken care of.

Let’s be strong enough to lean in — to God and others — and let’s do what we need to do to take care of ourselves well.

by Anna E. Rendell, from 100 Days of Strength in Any Struggle

Our new book, 100 Days of Strength in Any Struggle, will take you on a journey of learning to see God clearer and to know Him deeper in the middle of your struggles. As you experience pain, move through daily challenges, or get bogged down by anxieties big or small, you’ll learn to find Him right in the middle of it, ready to strengthen you and give you rest.  

These 100 devotions from the writers of (in)courage provide lifeline Scriptures and real-life stories to help you grow stronger with Jesus one step at a time. Every day you’ll be prompted to write down where you are finding God’s strength. No answer is too small. You might find God’s strength in a song, a sunset, or a timely text message from a friend. By intentionally looking for God’s strength every day, at the end of your journey, you’ll be able to look back and see 100 ways God’s strength met you and sustained you even if your circumstances didn’t change.  

You’ll be reminded that you were never alone and that God is stronger than you imagined — and so are you. 

Order your copy of 100 Days of Strength in Any Struggle today! It launches in February, so preorder and you’ll be the first to have it in your hands. We cannot wait for you to read this book.

 

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

What You Need to Know About Winter and Sadness

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For months it’s been dark and getting darker when I leave the house in the morning to walk my youngest to the bus stop. The journey is short – just down to the end of the cul-de-sac – and yet, one step out under the pre-dawn sky reminds me of the vast mercy that stretches over each new day. Each time we step out onto the driveway, I look for the gentle reflective light of the moon. Each day, the moon is there, even when she’s shy and hides behind the clouds. My daughter and I see who will find her first, then we point out what stars and planets we can find.

I dread getting up early and sigh over having to bundle up and head out into the elements. But there’s something about the cold air, and stepping out into the last threads of darkness and night that also beckons me. The air is a “wake up!” announcement for my lungs and body. I breathe it in and feel my need for it.

Venus shines like a beacon in the early morning sky these days – she stood watch during the transition between fall and winter. Before dawn, she’s there, like a divine reminder that there’s beauty to uncover in the seasons I resist.

I’m not a scientist, nor am I knowledgeable in astronomy. However, I believe that God speaks to us through everything He’s lovingly created. On days when I pay attention, I find love notes in the quiet sky I would never have chosen to witness in the first place.

This year, I’ve felt winter quietly permeating my being and inner world. Alongside the festivities and fun, I’ve been carrying a deep ache for people I love with struggles that cannot be fixed in the way I would choose if I could. I feel such an ongoing ache for the world as I read and take in news headlines. There are Palestinian children buried under rubble and a genocide keeps unfolding — just one of countless global tragedies unfurling every day. In the same small space on my phone where I read the news, I get a text message about a BOGO-free deal that communicates more urgency than the news headlines about war and devastation. The reality of living in a “May the odds be ever in your favor” culture alongside such horror and destruction feels like a madness too heavy to bear.

Last year at this time, I read Katherine May’s book Wintering, and it was such a kind and wise guide for me. I re-read a few chapters this week to remind myself of what I appreciated and needed last winter. This year, I need it again.

“Doing those deeply unfashionable things — slowing down, letting your spare time expand, getting enough sleep, resting — is a radical act now, but it is essential. This is a crossroads we all know, a moment when you need to shed a skin. If you do, you’ll expose all those painful nerve endings and feel so raw that you’ll need to take care of yourself for a while. If you don’t, then that skin will harden around you.” -Katherine May

I’m reminded that though joy and pain can co-exist, and it almost feels trendy to say so, Jesus came into a world with layers of pain He did not fix overnight. He lived through it all in the same way we do now. Year after year He grew and navigated these tensions and oppression, pain and sadness. Jesus made room for the winter seasons of the soul. In His sermon on the mount, in Matthew 5:1-12, He said that those of us who struggle, those who are sad – the ones who are living through dark winters and do not run from them – are blessed.

It’s not the triumphant, popular, goal-crushing, or outwardly happy ones who are closest to Him – it’s the ones who are almost done for inside, the ones who are grieving things lost, the ones who are without and in need, the ones who are lonely and hungry for love, the ones who care so much their hearts feel like they will break under the weight of it all, the ones who stay tethered to love like a child, the ones who are underestimated and ridiculed for their faith.

I read that Venus’ surface is hot enough to melt lead. She’s covered with volcanoes and raw heat – she spins in the opposite direction of our planet. I imagine her angry over having no shifts, no seasons, no anticipation for anything different than what is, no relief – only the kind of fire that burns and devours life. I think of how often I’ve wished winter seasons away. Yet, how much have I missed by doing so?

May we winter and be sad. May we winter as needed, knowing we do not do so without the nearness of Jesus.

 

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

 

Be Still . . . And Trust He Is There

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I heard a bird outside my window, singing loudly and chirping in the coldness. I looked for him in my hydrangea bush, thinking I would find him perched on one of the outstretched branches. With no success, I could not see him. Yet . . . I still heard him — a birdsong in the bleakness of winter.

I knew he was out there, so I stubbornly kept looking. Leaning forward, craning my neck in all directions, until I finally found him in the last place I thought he should be — singing his heart from the middle of my cold, hard sidewalk.

How I wished I could be like this bird. Not afraid of the cold. Confident in the exposure. Singing in the hardness. Instead, I was hiding on my sofa, in my fuzzy pajamas, surrounded by a snowy blanket of soggy tissues. My confidence and joy were gone after my divorce, custody battles, and now an unplanned hysterectomy.

But God was trying to show me something through this bold, beautiful little bird. God was calling to me, singing His song for me and quieting my sobbing with His love. He reminded me that His joy — a joy that I did not have to produce on my own — would be my strength.

We expect to find God in branches of blessings — in a happy family, a successful job, a warm house, and a stress-free life. We think if we do not have them, He does not care for us. We think that if everything goes wrong, we did something wrong . . . as if He turned away the moment we fell away.

Listen . . . God is calling us. Keep listening, for He is singing in the coldness of our discomfort. In the hardness of our struggles.

He is calling us to find Him. He is calling us to love Him. He is calling us to see that He is there, in our messy mess — in the battle — singing a promise of victory.  

“The Lord your God is in your midst,
    a mighty one who will save;
he will rejoice over you with gladness;
    he will quiet you by his love;
he will exult over you with loud singing.”
Zephaniah 3:17 ESV

Where was God in my divorce? In the court-filled days when I fought for the custody of my only child? In the hysterectomy shattering any possibilities for future children? In all my battles ending in failure?

He was there. Even there. Always there.

Through my feathered friend’s song, I was gently reminded how to be still and listen for God’s call.

Be still . . . and trust He is there, even in the bleakness. Be still . . . and know that He is God. He will never change His mind about His love for us. His grace will never be withdrawn from us. Nothing we ever do will cancel what He has already done for us.

He is singing out my name — a name engraved on the palms of His hands. He is singing in the middle of my darkness, my sickness, my loss. He is singing, even when I mess up, fall down, and get turned around.

God is calling, promising I will find Him: “You will seek Me and find Me, when you seek Me with all your heart. I will be found by you” (Jeremiah 29:13-14).

God is calling, asking that I trust Him: “For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans for welfare and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope” (Jeremiah 29:11).

God is calling . . . so I hold out my hands full of hopes and dreams and place everything at His feet. Then I still myself, and listen for Him with all my heart, mind, and soul.

And, in the quiet — in my cold, hard bleakness — I hear God’s loving melody calling for me, drawing me closer with His song of joy.

 

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

A Stranger, Spilled Coffee, and Blessings in Disguise

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My husband walked in the door, plopped my cappuccino on the counter, and said something that didn’t make sense: “Enjoy your coffee. Dan bought it.”

Who the heck is Dan? I thought. But at that particular moment, my need for coffee (or was it caffeine?) far exceeded my need for additional information. This was the second over-priced coffee drink Tad had gotten for me that morning; the first was an unfortunate casualty of him tripping on the tall first step at his brother’s back door. Thankfully, he managed to save my niece’s cold brew.

I took two big sips before bothering to ask, “Who’s Dan?”

Dan, it turned out, was a benevolent stranger.  When my husband reached for his wallet to pay for the order, Dan stepped in and told the barista, “I’ve got this.” Surprised, my husband initially protested before finally accepting Dan’s Christmas Eve Eve gift.

Random acts of kindness are natural conversation starters, aren’t they? My husband learned that Dan had been ringing bells for the Salvation Army’s red kettle with his grandchildren that morning, and Tad explained the unfortunate circumstances that led to his second coffee shop visit in an hour. (Even though I shed a few tears when my first cup was dropped, I had assured Tad I was fine to pop a pod in the Keurig. But he knew I was looking forward to a fancy, frothy holiday treat, and ignored my objections.)

My cappuccino tasted exponentially better because it came with a wonderful story. While Dan’s kind gesture made my day, it also got me thinking about how easy it is to bless those around us. But it doesn’t always have to cost you in dollars and cents. Often, blessing others simply requires prayer and intention.

Miss Christine embodies this sort of thoughtfulness. Sweeter than sugar, Miss Christine lives in the retirement community where I work. Daily she prays about who might need a blessing. She’ll tear a page from one of DaySpring’s Prayers to Share Pass-Along Notes and trust the Holy Spirit to guide her to just the right person. With twinkling eyes and a joyful countenance, she’ll slip that little note into your hand and tell you the Lord told her you could use a blessing today. At 92 years old, this darling pixie demonstrates that we can never age out of sharing the love of Christ.

People like Dan and Miss Christine inspire me to “go and do likewise.” They’re vibrant examples of what it can look like to “let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven” (Matthew 5:16 NIV).

When you encounter someone whose delight is in the Lord, you know it. You’re drawn to their light like a moth to a flame. It’s not just because there’s something particularly wonderful about that person; it’s because you’re drawn to the Holy Spirit working in and through them.

The allure of an unbridled Holy Spirit in you is magnetic… undeniable… inescapable. Way too often I get in the way, talking myself out of whatever that divine prompting is nudging me to do. Do you know what I mean? So, what can we do to be bolder in our faith, bring glory to God, and bless those around us in the process?

Maybe liberating the Holy Spirit in our lives begins with believing the Gospel we profess. When we remember and trust that Jesus’s life, death, and resurrection have made a difference in our lives – when we notice how the Gospel changes everything – how can we not share the love, joy, and kindness extended to us through God’s infinite and unconditional love?

If you’re anything like me, the new year already has you thinking about resolutions, goals, or one word that will be your guiding principle for the months to come. What if we devoted our minds and hearts to knowing and loving God this year? 1 John 4:7-11 (NIV) speaks to this –

“Dear friends, let us love one another, for love comes from God. Everyone who loves has been born of God and knows God. Whoever does not love does not know God, because God is love. This is how God showed his love among us: He sent his one and only Son into the world that we might live through him. This is love: not that we loved God, but that he loved us and sent his Son as an atoning sacrifice for our sins. Dear friends, since God so loved us, we also ought to love one another.” 

Knowing and loving God go hand in hand; the better we know God, the greater our capacity to love Him. And it shows. What better way to begin a year than by investing in the most important relationship in our lives?

So, darling friends, don’t cry over spilled coffee. It might just be a blessing in disguise.

 

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

 

The Best Way to See God’s Fingerprints in Your Life

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Praise the Lord, all nations!
Glorify him, all peoples!
For his faithful love to us is great;
the Lord’s faithfulness endures forever.
Hallelujah!
Psalm 117 CSB

January is a natural time for making goals and embracing fresh starts. But it’s also the perfect season for praise! A time to intentionally remember who God is and what He has done in our lives.

No matter how your 2023 ended or whether you’re dreading or delighting in the start of 2024, we can all answer the psalmist’s call to praise the Lord, to glorify Him, to raise a hallelujah!

Praise primes our hearts to see God’s love, to see His fingerprints of faithfulness all over our lives.

Sometimes God’s love is like a flashing neon sign you can’t miss. It comes in the declaration of “cancer free,” a check received exactly when you needed it, a reconciled relationship you had written off, freedom where there was once total bondage. And sometimes, His faithfulness is like a fingerprint whose smudge you would likely miss if you weren’t trained to look for it. His faithfulness is marked by an encouraging text from a friend, a parking spot in the rain, leftovers so you don’t have to cook dinner, a bird’s morning song.

Whether we categorize God’s kindness and care toward us as “big” or “small,” the truth is that His faithful love for us is GREAT! And it will never end.

How have you seen God’s faithful love in your life as this new year begins? Share in the comments so we can praise Him together!

 

God Is Not Concerned With the Number on Your Scale

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I’ve been at war with my appearance for longer than I care to admit. Weight, age, shape, strength, speed — there’s always been something I’ve told myself isn’t enough. I’ve felt physically lacking for most of my life. Now, as a woman in her forties, I’ve been hit with the double whammy of worrying about the scale and shouldering shame from seeing the signs of aging that creep across my face and neck.

The five pounds I’ve been trying to shirk for the last six months won’t budge, all the old tricks from my youth seemingly fail me. The lotions and serums I’m smearing around my eyes and under my chin are busting my bank account. They’re also not changing the creased skin that looks back at me in the mirror.

It all feels like a losing battle. . .

On a morning walk to Starbucks one Tuesday, I hear God ask, “What do you value? Do you think your shape is why I love you?” These are not the prophetic words I want. Still, they cause me to relax a bit . . . like I’ve put down a load I didn’t even know I was carrying. Maybe this is the weight that’s been tipping the scale every time I step on it? Maybe these are the five pounds I’ve been trying to shed?

Shedding spiritual weight isn’t easy, though, so I push back at God. “You’ve got the wrong person, God,” I say, sounding like Moses when God asked him to do something he didn’t think he could do. Change is ahead, but I’m not sure I want to shed these emotional five pounds. Can’t I just lose the weight from my thighs and arms instead? Those are the real problem areas, not this bigger thing He’s trying to turn me toward.

The truth is an unholy confession: I want my body to change, not my heart. Even as I resist, I think about Adam and Eve naked in the garden. Peaceful. Open. Without mirrors. Without scales. Without denim that shrinks with every passing wash and year. After He created them, God didn’t give Adam and Eve instructions on how they should look or what workout would yield the leanest physique. He didn’t tell them to increase their protein and skimp on the carbs. Instead, we read in Genesis 1:29, “And God said, ‘Behold, I have given you every plant yielding seed that is on the face of all the earth, and every tree with seed in its fruit. You shall have them for food.'” (ESV)

God provided plants for food. God told them to eat without worry.

God has never cared about my BMI. I understand this even as I’m still grabbing at those five pounds He’s trying to release from my shoulders . . . the weight I’ve been carrying for all these years. The weight that tells me I didn’t move enough or that I ate too much. The weight that critiques why I don’t look the way I think I’m supposed to look.

“Supposed to look” is an ideology as old as the Bible. We see it in Samuel expecting Jesse’s son, Eliab, to be the future king, merely because of his good looks. And, though we’re told that David is handsome himself, we’re quickly set straight that he is chosen for his heart.

God doesn’t look at the scale to evaluate our worth. He doesn’t clock the pace on our morning run; He isn’t a trainer screaming at us to work harder, jump higher, eat only chicken and broccoli. Instead, God looks at the heart. And, as long as my heart is steering me toward an external goal for happiness or value, I know that what God sees is my pain and distrust in His plan for me. He sees me doubting that I was truly created in His image. But now I see, that being created in His image doesn’t mean we come in one standard of physique — rather, it’s the strength of heart. This is what He is trying to teach me; this is the burden that He’s trying to release me of. 

This is the weight that will be lost when I step on the scale.

As it goes with these things, in the time I’ve sat down to write these words to you, my faith has been tested. My jeans feel a bit snug and I’ve put on a few extra pounds . . . now I feel the burden pressing down on my back again. This won’t be a one-and-done healing. The holy heart work that must be done is a daily redirection away from the world’s ideals and a determined stride toward God’s promises.

And so, I continue on this journey — as do you — one day at a time.

We Need More Salt

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Cooking is one of my favorite hobbies. Growing up with a dad who was a chef helped ignite a passion in me for food and confidence in the kitchen even as a young girl. I am a rule follower by nature, but when it came to cooking I didn’t have to stick with the rules, so it was a creative outlet for me. 

In the kitchen, I get to omit or add ingredients based on how the food looks and tastes, which makes the process fun. But I have always been cautious with salt because if you add too much, there is nothing you can do to fix it. So I have my husband taste test and, more often than not, I have to add more salt. Salt is necessary. You can add all the spices, but it is only once you add salt that you can actually taste all the flavors. Salt enhances the goodness of the dish, which makes you want more of it and leaves you satisfied.

In Matthew 5:13, Jesus says to His followers, “You are the salt of the earth…” (NIV).

Salt served even greater purposes during biblical times and culture than it does today. In Leviticus 2:13 and 2 Chronicles 13:5, we read about the salt of the covenant. Salt was used as a purifier and a preservative. Salt symbolized something as holy, set apart for God. So when Jesus tells this crowd they are the salt of the earth they might have been shocked. He was essentially welcoming them into the covenant community, but He wasn’t talking to the religious elite or priestly class, He was talking to regular, everyday people. And instead of telling them to do certain things to belong, He tells them they already do!

“You are the salt of the earth,” Jesus says. Salt — vital, necessary, acceptable, useful, worthy; this was His promise to the people.

Did you know that salt comes from water? Jesus often refers to Himself as Living Water:

“Let anyone who is thirsty come to me and drink” (John 7:37 NIV). “… but whoever drinks the water I give them will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give them will become in them a spring of water welling up to eternal life”  (John 4: 14 NIV).

So then if we are salt that means we are formed from Jesus and have qualities like Him. It is not in our own power that we can be salt, but it is Christ in us.

If you grew up in church, you may have heard salt used for ministry names. I was in a college Bible study group called SALT, and it was an acronym for Servants After the Living Truth. It was predominantly Indian –American Christian students who gathered together every Thursday night to worship and study Scripture. We even had royal blue t-shirts with a salt shaker graphic. SALT was like church and family time for most of us. SALT provided godly friends and helped me stay firm in my faith — but I don’t think this is what Jesus meant when He called His followers to be salt.

Jesus didn’t declare we are the salt of heaven. We are called to be the salt of the EARTH, set apart as holy to God to preserve and purify the places we step foot each day.

To be salt as Jesus calls us is to go into places that are bland and broken, and make those places beautiful and good.

To be salt is to walk into every room knowing you have a God-given purpose and influence in that room.

To be salt to is shift the atmosphere of the spaces we sit in every day by the way we interact with those in our world. The neighborhoods, schools, and workplaces we walk into should be different because we are there!

How often do we truly live like salt though?

Jesus came to invade our hearts and minds with the Truth and transform the world with the Good News. Jesus came to change everything. Just as the Father sent Jesus into the world, so Jesus sends us (John 17:18 NIV).

But many of us are like me with cooking — overly cautious about putting salt into the pot, afraid of what might happen. So we just gather together with our Christian t-shirts instead of going into the world and bringing Jesus to those who need Him. Instead of being Jesus’s world-changing salt, we have simply become salty — angry, defensive, irritated, and overly sensitive. Too much salt in one dish is not desirable and will only leave a bad taste in someone’s mouth.

Jesus warns us of the danger of a diminished witness. He says if salt loses its saltiness, it’s good for nothing. You might as well throw it out and trample it underfoot (Matthew 5:13). There are so many causes of our diminished witness today: hypocrisy, leadership failures, political idolatry, mistreating people, lack of empathy, and the list goes on.

What if as followers of Jesus made an intentional choice to BE salt? Let’s refuse to be salty, and choose instead to be the salt of the earth, making wherever we go richer, better, and more satisfying because of Jesus in us. 

 

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

 

New Year, Same God

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It’s already a new year?! 2024! I can hardly believe it! It seems as though we were all just ringing in the new year of 2023. I think I have a complicated relationship with New Year’s. I think it tends to be one of those “truths in tension” as my friend Abi calls it.

I love getting a new planner and wall calendar. I love looking forward to the events and gatherings to come, new friends to be made, and new dreams to be dreamed and realized. New years are filled with infinite possibilities and high levels of hope. Sounds great, right?

So here is where the tension lies: all of those aspects of a new year are exciting, but there is also something about a new year that brings a tinge of regret. I reflect on the past year and regret some of the things I did and didn’t do, dreams yet to be accomplished, words spoken and unspoken.

For me, 2023 was a whirlwind of highs and lows. Life took me for a ride. Tighter budgets, health challenges, traveling, pursuing my passions, church life, gaining friends, and losing them. See? It’s a lot. And that’s not even including all of the world events we’ve all been walking through together.

My walk with the Lord has also had its fair share of ups and downs . . . seasons of intimacy and seasons of wilderness and everything in between. I’m sure many of you have faced trials, hardships, successes, and wins. Joys and sorrows often transpire hand in hand.

God has shifted my perspective over the final weeks of 2023. I want this new year to be different. I don’t want to walk in regret or lament over all of the disappointments. I want to stand upon the firm foundation of His truth and promises. I want to learn, grow, and be refined. I want to see this past year through His viewpoint and with the hope that only Jesus brings.

I often forget that with every rise of the sun and every turn of a calendar year, our God is the same. Hebrews 13:8 reminds us that Christ is the same yesterday, today, and forever. He never changes. He never fails. He never wavers.

When the chaos of life surrounds us, God is the sure and steadfast anchor of our souls. He is our solid rock when the storms of life rage around us. He is our strong tower of protection against the enemy.

When the world and people promise to deliver but fall short, He never does. He is faithful to keep His covenant promises. He does not lie and is true to His Word.

One of my favorite verses about God’s faithfulness is found in 2 Timothy 2:12-13. Here we find a few of God’s responses to our actions. If we do this, then God will do that. Verse 13 is the best news for us in our flawed humanity: “If we are faithless, He remains faithful — for He cannot deny Himself.”

Everything about the nature and activity of God is faithful. Faithful is who He is and what He does. Our goal should be to live lives pleasing and acceptable to a Holy God. But, when we are prone to wander away, He is faithful to pursue us. When we fall into or choose to sin, He is faithful to hear our confession and lavish us with His forgiveness.

Jesus is called Faithful and True according to Revelation 19:11. His faithfulness never depends on us or our circumstances. His faithfulness is attached to His character — not ours. Oh, what beautiful news for us, His daughters. We don’t have to strive for God to be faithful to us. We get to rest in who He loves being to us.

I am trusting in our good and faithful Father this year. He is the faithful One that can redeem any situation and mend all things broken. He restores our hope. How great is His faithfulness!

Is the new year filling you with regret or hope? How do you need God to show Himself faithful to you?

 

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

 

4 Reminders to Cling to When You’re Tired of Trying So Hard

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I was still nursing my first cup of coffee when my twelve-year-old barged into our kitchen with far too much enthusiasm and a very loud announcement:

“Mom, I’ve decided on my New Year’s Resolution!”

This should be interesting, I thought. He can’t even remember to brush his teeth. Still, not wanting to rain on his pre-pubescent parade, I dug deep for a smidgen of adult maturity, wiped the smirk off my face, and asked, “That’s great! What is it?”

He smiled, so very pleased with himself. “I’ve decided I’m going to talk less.”

Aaaaaaannd then he spent the next hour telling me all about it. God help me, all attempts at restraining my eye rolls failed about 15 minutes in.

Twelve-year-old boys aren’t the only ones who struggle to keep their promises. Regardless of good intentions, too often I set a goal for myself that takes far too long to achieve, if I achieve it at all. I have no problem seeing areas in need of self-improvement, identifying aspects of my character that need attention, or growth edges in my relationships that need smoothing. But there are two significant problems with my best attempts at personal renovation:

ONE, I often underestimate the work required. Turns out, self-improvement projects are time-consuming and expensive, in every sense of the word.

And TWO, despite my best efforts, some projects feel hopeless. There are aspects of my character and behavior that I’ve been tackling tirelessly for decades. I’m embarrassed to admit there are days when those flaws show little evidence of growth. My quick tongue, unforgiving spirit, negative thought spirals, and critical self-talk for starters. Anyone else?

Why am I such a difficult student? Why do I continue to struggle with the same sins and character flaws, year after year? Why do these weaknesses and shortcomings continue to plague me, despite the time and effort I’ve invested in trying to overcome them? Although I know I’ve grown and I am convinced I am not the same impulsive, immature youth I once was, some days all I can see is how much further I’ve yet to go. It feels like running a marathon and discovering, after several hours of sweaty effort, I’m still in the first mile.

Although I am not the woman I once was, I am not yet the woman I want to be. And some days I feel completely exhausted from trying so hard with so few results. This is why I love, love, love Paul’s encouragement in his letter to the Philippian church:

“I thank my God every time I remember you. In all my prayers for all of you, I always pray with joy because of your partnership in the gospel from the first day until now, being confident of this, that he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.” 
Philippians 1:3-6 NIV

He who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion. Or, as Eugene Peterson translated in his Message version: “There has never been the slightest doubt in my mind that the God who started this great work in you would keep at it and bring it to a flourishing finish on the very day Christ Jesus appears.”

A flourishing finish. I like that. It feels like heaven.

Here’s the good news for you and me, the hard-working, self-improving sort who lay awake at night, tossing and turning over our failures, only to wake up and work our fingers to the bone trying to “do better” and “be better”, only to discover we still fall so short of the mark:

The person responsible for self-improvement isn’t you. Or me. We already know we don’t have what it takes. So here are a few reminders to cling to when you’re weary of trying so hard:

  1. You are in process. From the day of your birth until the day of your death, you are in process. You will never be able to check the box of human perfection, even if you sign up for every self-help course, attend every church service, and regularly see your therapist. The work of becoming (or, in church lingo, sanctification) is never done until you’re done.
  2. Owning your faults feels like freedom. There’s an uncommon strength in the simple act of taking responsibility for failure. Rather than hiding, covering up, or blame-shifting, saying “It’s my fault. I’m sorry. Will you please forgive me?” leads to incredible freedom. Owning our failures not only does wonders for our relationships, but it’s like a high-end car wash for the heart. It feels fresh and clean, like a second chance.
  3. You can’t self-help yourself to wholeness. I’m all for counseling, mentoring, reading books, and practicing new skills. But I must remember that although my efforts toward growth and maturity matter, God alone is the master gardener.
  4. God is the finisher. We cannot carry ourselves across the finish line. None of our hard work and bootstrapping can propel us over the chasm between us and holiness. But there is good news! God can. And God will. As Jesus said on the cross, “It is finished” (John 19:30 NIV). He did the work, so you and I can finally rest.

God the Father, the One who made you and claimed you, is the Master Builder overseeing the total renovation of your heart, mind, and soul. And what He started, He will finish, to a flourishing end.

I was right. That does feel like heaven.

 

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

Pour out Your Heart on the Page  

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Rise during the night and cry out.
    Pour out your hearts like water to the Lord.
Lamentations 2:19 NLT

Most days after school, I spent fifteen minutes writing notes to God. I think I was twelve or thirteen. I didn’t even call myself a Christian then. But every afternoon, I peeled open a small, light-blue journal and begged God for friends. 

There was a group of girls who gave themselves a special name, and being part of their group was the hope of every junior high girl I knew. So I’d sit down and scribble my heart out to God: God, please let me be invited into this group. When I see so-and-so after fifth period, please let her ask me to join. 

Day after day after day. 

Finally, at some point, I gave up. I gave up on hoping to be invited in and on whether or not God cared. What I didn’t realize is that before I gave up, I’d been building a little habit. 

Years later, it was almost instinctual for me to open up a journal and write my heart out. The God I wondered about years before—the One I thought didn’t care and didn’t answer me, the One I was pouring my heart out to — was the One I now knew. And I already knew how to talk to Him! Throughout those years of honesty and unanswered prayers, I was building a posture I had no idea I would come back to like a muscle with memory. 

Think about your most honest journal entry. What if you addressed it to God? 

God wants our honest feelings. Our emotions and true thoughts aren’t too much. They aren’t a liability; they are a pathway to intimacy and true growth. 

The anxiety and worries that wake us in the night have a welcome place to go. The contents of our hearts do not have to stay inside and hidden. What would you say to God if you were twelve or thirteen again? What would you say if you knew God’s ears and heart were wide, wide open? 

by Tasha Jun, as published in 100 Days of Strength in Any Struggle

You can’t do this life on your own . . . and you’re tired of trying. You need evidence that God is still present and good when everything around you tries to convince you otherwise. You need help and encouragement to keep going when the one next step is simply too much. We get it.  

What if you could actually see God clearer and know Him deeper in the middle of your struggles? What if you don’t have to muster up more grit, determination, and wisdom on your own but could tap into the source of true, unfailing strength? Here’s the good news: You can.  

You are stronger than you think because God is closer than you know.  

Our new book, 100 Days of Strength in Any Struggle, will take you on a journey of learning to see God clearer and to know Him deeper in the middle of your struggles. As you experience pain, move through daily challenges, or get bogged down by anxieties big or small, you’ll learn to find Him right in the middle of it, ready to strengthen you and give you rest.  

These 100 devotions from the writers of (in)courage provide lifeline Scriptures and real-life stories to help you grow stronger with Jesus one step at a time. Every day you’ll be prompted to write down where you are finding God’s strength. No answer is too small. You might find God’s strength in a song, a sunset, or a timely text message from a friend. By intentionally looking for God’s strength every day, at the end of your journey, you’ll be able to look back and see 100 ways God’s strength met you and sustained you even if your circumstances didn’t change.  

You’ll be reminded that you were never alone and that God is stronger than you imagined — and so are you. 

Order your copy of 100 Days of Strength in Any Struggle, our new devotional journal from (in)courage!

It launches in February, so preorder now and you’ll be the first to have it in your hands. We cannot wait for you to read this book.

 

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

Instead of More Resolutions, Try Unforced Rhythms

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I’m a few days late as I flip the wall calendar from December to January. I stand at my office door and survey the scene. An exercise bike (the one I insisted my husband carry up a flight of stairs) collects dust in the corner. Last year’s empty journals, half-filled planners, and discarded daily devotionals lie in stacks on my desk.

My goals that failed to materialize line my graveyard of New Year’s Resolutions. Shoulds, woulds, and coulds are etched into the epitaphs of the ghost of New Year’s Past:

  • Here lies all you failed to accomplish.
  • Maybe if you’d tried harder.
  • New year, same bumbling you.
  • Where’s your resolve?

As we settle into a new year, maybe you also reflect on your resolutions that never lived a full and vibrant life. Maybe if you’re like me, you feel shame about it.

We set resolutions because we want to be better. (And I pray that, in all my days, I continue to grow and learn and become more of who the One who made me created me to be.) Working toward what we hope for is not a bad thing, but if we’re not careful, it’s so easy to believe the lie we’re often sold: That if we try a little harder or are a little more disciplined, we’ll achieve all our heart desires. We’ll finally be worthy.

Self-improvement is a multi-billion dollar industry because, as humans, we ache for something more. Something that will fill us with meaning, with purpose, with life. Sometimes, we think our efforts will earn us a better standing with others – and even with God. But when we place our hope in ourselves, we’re bound to be worn out and disappointed when our striving doesn’t fill the void.

As Jesus gathered the disciples, He didn’t tell them to list out their three goals and outline five actionable points to achieve them and then live a prosperous life.

Instead, He said the opposite: “Get away with me. And I’ll show you unforced rhythms of grace.”

What if, instead of using resolutions as a measuring stick for meaning, we intentionally reflect on the rhythms we integrate into the real, messy, complicated, wonderful lives we’re living?

The Message paraphrase of Matthew 11:28-30 puts it like this:

“Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me — watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly.”

As we settle into the new year, consider these questions before beating yourself up over resolutions that may have fizzled out:

  • Am I trusting God’s love enough to rest?
  • Am I walking and working with God – or am I working to earn favor that is freely given?
  • Am I sharing my life in love with others?
  • Am I, in light of Christ’s compassion, living with integrity, mercy, and generosity?
  • Am I, with God’s help, folding in rhythms of the fruits of the spirit into the very fabric of my being?

Instead of beating myself up for not using my planner as much as I’d hoped, I’m taking stock of what is filling my days, my months, my very life in the first place. Instead of mourning the ways I’m convinced I’ve failed, I’m considering how I might, with God’s help, intentionally integrate a life of faith into the comings and goings of my actual days.

We may look at our graveyard of goals, but God looks at the heart.

As you reflect on what was and is to come, let this new year be a reset for your soul. Sure, set some goals if you’d like. Make a plan. None of that is bad. (I still buy a new calendar and planner every year.) But whether or not you set any resolutions, consider how you, too, might dance in the unforced rhythms of grace in the coming days.

May this prayer I wrote in my book Every Season Sacred be words to borrow as you journey through this year:

Creator God, You breathed us into being out of dirt and dust. You are not done with the forming and fashioning of who we are and who we are becoming. In You, each of us is invited into infinite possibilities for who we might become. Protect us from influences that whisper lies, distorting the divine shape of our hearts and minds, bodies and souls.

God, we know You are forever speaking into the contours and crevices of our lives. Carve mirrors into our hearts so we might examine and reflect on who and what we have allowed to form our days and our lives. When we have allowed our false selves to become hardened in the fires of life, call us back so we may return to being formed by love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.

Soften our harsh edges, and form us into Your image, through Christ alone. Amen.

 

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

Start Your Year with Prayer

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I call on you, my God, for you will answer me;
    turn your ear to me and hear my prayer.
Psalm 17:6 NIV

We are one week into the new year. One week into getting back into the groove of post-Christmas life. Perhaps one week of setting goals and making plans. Or maybe one week of wishing you could burry your head, ignore all the could’s or should’s, and just go back to bed. However you’re feeling on this seventh day of 2024, one thing we can agree is worthy of our attention is prayer.

Prayer is the invitation to an ongoing conversation with God. It’s how we get to know His heart and how we share ours with Him. Prayer helps turn our hearts from our own concerns to the goodness of God’s character. From wallowing to worshipping. From fixating on our inadequacy to focusing on Christ’s sufficiency. Prayer is the opportunity to let our petitions lead us to praise. Because no matter the circumstances we face, Jesus, indeed, is worthy of our gratitude and praise.

So let’s take time to pause in prayer together. Share your heart in the comments and take a moment to pray for the woman who comments before you.

What a beautiful gift that God promises to hear our prayers — and that as sisters in Christ, we can tenderly bear witness to those prayers as well.

 

Take Heart. We’re in This Together.

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None of us are immune to the burdens and pains of this life. Though we have a God who loves us, we all experience loss, hardship, and disappointment. And in the midst of it all, it might feel as though we’re all alone, with no one to understand us, no one to guide us, no one to let us know they’ve been there too.

Sometimes, in those seasons of life that ache beyond words, we just want to hear that it’s okay to not feel okay. We want to know we’re not alone in this chasm of loneliness we stand in. We want to be held by arms that bear the scars of similar wounds.

In our most vulnerable moments, we need more than pithy statements that attempt to assure us that all will be well. Instead, we need one another’s stories. Stories create a space for us to be — to be known, to be validated in our feelings and experiences, and to give us words to express what we might not have been able to say before.

We can find ourselves and God again in one another’s stories, opening the door to let hope come through once more.

We won’t be able to understand why hard things happen in this world or in our lives, and that is okay. We can sit in the tension of that reality together. And not only do our suffering and pain connect us together in our humanity, but they also connect us to Christ, who bore it all on the cross. He held the tension between heaven’s holiness and the world’s brokenness, and though we all long for resurrection, we have a God who stayed in the tomb — in darkness, in death, in time suspended — before He rose again on the third day.

And these are His words to us:

“In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.”
John 16:33 NIV

From the introduction of  Take Heart: 100 Devotions to Seeing God When Life’s Not Okay by the (in)courage community.

We hope each story in this book is an offering of hope to know that we’re in this together.

 

 

For When You Keep Looking Back Where You No Longer Belong

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I’m not sure why I keep doing this, driving by my childhood home. What am I expecting to see or feel? What am I looking for?

I feel compulsive and conflicted as I drive by the house . . . but I tell no one that I’ve done it again. I drive slowly one way, then I turn my car around and slowly drive back from the opposite direction.

I was three years old when my family — shrouded with violence and plagued by my father’s alcoholism — moved into this house, right on through the back door. The house looks nothing like it did sixty-three years ago. The once-open carport is now enclosed. The yard is cluttered with outside lawn items. Several trees that were in the backyard are now gone — huge oaks from long ago, under which I found sanctuary from the violence that engulfed my little, scared life inside the house.

I fight the urge to stop, to knock on the door, and ask if I can look inside. I wonder how many families have lived in the house over the past sixty-three years, and I pray that the hostility left when we moved out.

I look at the windows of the rooms residing on the other side of the outside walls. The window above the kitchen sink holds memories of my mother standing, washing dishes with her hands in soapy water, seemingly symbolic of a need to wash away the chaos. Her transfixed eyes looked longingly toward the light, maybe daydreaming of a tranquil life she had never known, not even in her childhood.

I see the double windows in the dining area which, when open, released the “hard to breathe air” that seemingly stagnated above the table where silent, nervous children and parents sat. My eyes move to see the triple window in the living room — a room that holds memories too painful to name. This window reflected the live Christmas tree each year, stuck in a bucket of wet dirt and adorned with multicolored lights that reached toward the ceiling, reminding us all to look up at the star’s holy light.

Sometimes, I think if I continue to drive by this heap of devastating memorabilia, I’ll metaphorically turn into a pillar of salt, just like Lot’s wife. I feel cursed to be living within ten miles of this house. But then, before I give in completely to the sadness, I make another turn at the end of this neighborhood street and head toward another house — a church house.

I stop in the parking lot of the church and I gaze at the stained-glass windows. I remember the colorful Sunday morning light that reflected on the golden, oak pew where I sat beside my mama. I see the white double doors where my small feet — wearing shiny patent leather shoes — crossed the threshold each Sunday to a sacred space that saved my life. I recall the faces of individuals who sat around me, many of whom, unbeknownst to me, knew of my silent pain.

If I listen hard enough, I can hear the hymns being sung. But then . . . I remember the here and now, and I find myself back in real-time. Filled with unexplainable peace, I circle the parking lot and head back to my present-day home — a home where I belong.

The irony of these periodic “drive-bys” is that I presently have a wonderful life. I remain a strong follower of Jesus Christ. I am surrounded and supported by a body of believers and my current house is calm and serene. However, I live with a form of PTSD. When life becomes stressful, my childhood emotions are replicated and unexpected memories erupt. The stress of giving care to my ninety-six-year-old mother (who suffers from dementia) has triggered memories from my troubled childhood. 

Thankfully, I am slowly learning how to manage stressful triggers, and my instances of “looking back” are getting farther and farther apart.

We can only speculate as to the reasons why Lot’s wife defied the instructions to not look back. Some theological commentators agree she was looking back with a longing to return. In her willful disobedience, she gazed where she no longer belonged, and her life ended.

Like Lot’s wife, I no longer belong where I once lived. But, unlike Lot’s wife, I found belonging where the Lord brought me. Though I can’t return to my childhood home, I’ve found belonging with the church family that loved me unconditionally during my childhood pain.

If you find yourself looking back where you no longer belong, call on Jesus Christ who brings hope and healing amid all your longing.

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

Truth for when You’re Wounded by Someone’s Sharp Words

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It was my freshman year of college. I was sitting in the dining hall with a group of classmates. We were telling stories and one upperclasswoman was sharing something when it sparked a memory for me. In my young and immature mind, I started to open my mouth to interrupt with what I wanted to say, but then, I thought better of it. My quick lean-in was met by an equally quick lean away. I was still learning.

The student who was speaking at that moment was universally respected and admired. She was dynamic, funny, and sought-after. A leader in every sense of the word. And when she saw my shift in engagement, she asked me what was happening.

I told her that she’d reminded me of a story but I didn’t want to interrupt.

And then, in front of upperclassmen and fellow students, she looked me in the eye and said, “No, you did want to interrupt because you just wanted to be the center of attention. You always do.”

Her words stuck in me like barbs. I felt my face go red from humiliation. Fighting back my tears, I made an excuse to leave and took my tray to the dish collection area, walking back to my dorm as quickly as I could.

I was gutted by her pronouncement to my 19-year-old self. I felt small and embarrassed.

When you live in the middle of downtown Chicago, there are few places to hide in a moment of intense vulnerability and shame, so I found refuge in the stairwell. I managed to hide for a bit until there was a click and the door opened. It was her, and she asked if we could talk one-on-one.

This is surely the moment we will make peace, I thought. Perhaps she knows I’m hurt.

But as we sat in her room, I was met with her telling me I was selfish and that my motives were self-centered. That my heart and intention were to outshine others. I walked out of the room, devastated. I didn’t turn to the Bible for truth or encouragement, I just took her words as red letters.

It shifted the way I existed around the others on my dorm floor. Did they all feel like I was being selfish when I told stories or made jokes? Did they all believe I wanted to be the center of attention? The best way forward, as far as my wounded self could tell, was to get smaller and stop showing up. So I did. For months, I stopped myself from engaging with those dear friends in that community because I was so terrified of who she had so confidently told me I was.

Years later, when I got offered a dream job at a ministry, I woke up one morning in a panic. There was no way I could take this job because I was doubting that my motives could be good. What if I think I want to help others but really I just want to be the center of attention? This opportunity was probably too good to be true. I seriously considered backing out of what would be one of the most formative seasons of my life, all because of a careless comment made by someone who probably doesn’t even remember that interaction.

For years, in moments of pivotal growth, I could hear her voice in my head. If I was going to say something in a public way, I second-guessed. If I was going to share news, I assumed I was being selfish. Those words were not just about that moment, but I was accused of being selfish all the way down to my heart and motives. It was the kind of one-two punch I couldn’t recover from.

I was nineteen. Of course I was learning to not interrupt. Of course I loved my friends. Of course my intentions were good. But in that year of adjusting to college and feeling so very insecure, the words of a senior who was established and carried the social clout were the ones that stayed.

If you’ve met me, you know that I am passionate and community-driven and can be loud. And for a long, long time, I assumed those were the very worst things about who I was.

This is what happens when we anchor our confidence in the opinions of others. Are we all selfish and sinful? Yes. Is there a place for gentle rebuke and accountability? Yes. But scripture reminds us that  “Gracious words are a honeycomb, sweet to the soul and healing to the bones” (Proverbs 16:24 ESV). The way that we pour into others with our words matters. I am so sure many of us remember words that wound long after the bleeding stops.

So today as I write these words to you, friends, know that they’re a miracle. I almost didn’t keep writing. I almost didn’t pursue ministry. I almost didn’t say yes to what God had for me, but He has reminded me over the years that we’re all in process, and at the end of the day, who He says I am carries the most weight.

If you are carrying sharp words spoken over you in a moment of true unkindness, consider this a post just for you. Imagine me sitting across from you and saying, “Those words weren’t for your good or growth.”

But you know what words are? God’s. And He’s got a whole lot of truth to build us up in his Word. So open it up and soak in the truth, sister. We’re all a mess and we all fall short — but we’re also deeply loved and redeemed and moving toward wholeness.

May we use our words to preach goodness and beauty and life until our voices go hoarse.

 

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

A Letter From God to Help You Get Through the Year Ahead

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If you were to stand at my house front, knock your gathered palm on the wood of my door, I’d welcome you in and lead you up the stairs littered with toys. I’d take you to the closet in my boys’ room, point upwards, and show you the wooden chest laid high on that top shelf, collecting layers of dust and who knows what else.

“There it is,” I’d say. “All my journals and all my letters.”

Then I’d point out the other boxes and bins, all stuffed with more letters from my youth until now. I’d walk you down the stairs to the room where my desk sits, and I’d open up drawers — the ones with postcards and envelopes shoved inside. I’d tell you to look at the wall in front of my desk to see the clippings of cards and the notes I’ve pinned up.

  • One, from a friend who became family, reads: Dear Sissy, I miss you so dearly. Thank you so much for always sending a note…
  • And another, from a childhood friend: We’re excited to have moved to a town that we hope to call home for a long time…
  • And another, from my high school chorus teacher: Hello my wonderful friend, all is well up here…
  • And another, from a fellow author and friend: Sweet Rachel, you have inspired me! I can’t wait for your book #2 ♥…
  • Then, a note from my son, simply scribbled: To Mom…

After all this — showing you my stacks of cards and letters — I’d sit you down and tell you why I keep these words within my reach. Pinned on walls. Put up on the fridge. Stored in boxes and bins, saved from weeks and years ago and kept safe, forever in my heart.

As a child, I moved a few times. And, with that, I’d grown accustomed to missing people. I moved around the fifth grade and missed out on starting middle school with my best friends. Then I moved again at the end of middle school, leaving new friends and losing my place on the softball and tennis teams. I sought so desperately to cling to the ones I loved — writing letters was a way to hold the line of connection.

I wrote letters because I didn’t want to let go of the ones I loved. I wrote letters to say (and hopefully receive and read) all the things I needed to say and hear . . . a way to remind myself of all things beautiful and enduring and true.

And so, here I am — here you are. We are standing at the precipice of yet another new year. And, already it is a melting pot of anticipation and pain. Already, it is an achingly beautiful tapestry of hardship and hope. Already, it is ripe with opportunity and adversity.

I know this because this is how all years go. Every year is a pull and tug of beauty and brokenness, a marathon of highs and lows, a landscape of valleys and mountaintops.

Who knows what the year will bring? Children who come back home. Healing from diseases. Mending of marriages. Or, perhaps, our pain from the past will carry over? The limp that lingers. The jaded job search that continues. The ache that remains from a friendship fallen out.

For all that we carry and all that we’ve yet to come across, sometimes we need more than just one word for the year — we need a whole letter… a whole book, a whole Bible full of promises to help us preserve and get through the year ahead.

So, instead of simply inviting you into my house and showing you the letters I’ve saved, here is one of your own. This inspired letter, creatively written by me and infused by the Word of God, is for you — written as if from God’s heart to your own.

As you look out upon the start of another new year, may this letter remind you of all that is beautiful and enduring and true.

Dear Daughter,

I see you. (Psalm 33:13-15)
I see you as you were, as you are, and as you will be. (Psalm 139:1-10)
Look to Me; turn to Me. I am Your help.
I am the Maker of the heavens and the earth, and I am the Maker of all your moments.
Look to Me, for I am the only One, in all the heavens and the earth, that can hold you and help you. (Psalm 121:1-2)
I hear you, daughter. I hear you when you pray and I hear you when you are in pain. (1 John 5:14, Psalm 118:5-6)
Do not look to yourself for answers, rather look to what you know is true of Me. (Proverbs 3:5-6)
Trust in Me. (Psalm 25:1-2)
Delight yourself in Me. (Psalm 37:4)
Look to Me, and Me alone, for divine direction. (Psalm 37:5)
I am He who leads you. (Psalm 32:8)
I am He who loves you. (Psalm 36:7)
My love is never far away.

Experience healing and hope through prose and poems that give space and grace for grief with Rachel’s new book, The Matter of Little Losses.

 

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