The Loving Work of Biting Your Tongue

The Loving Work of Biting Your Tongue

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We were hiding from the heat, sisters in solidarity against vacationing in places that felt as hot as the surface of the sun. While most of our friends lounged by the pool, living their best lives with umbrella drinks and beach reads, the four of us sought refuge in the blessedly air-conditioned hotel room. In the privacy of that room, we could finally admit that we were melting and a little bit hangry (hot + angry) about it.

As we commiserated and cooled off, our conversation quickly turned to deeper topics.

I can still see us in that room, two of us on each of the two beds, facing each other and slowly getting comfort- able. I’m not sure how we got from “I cannot deal with this heat” to “Some spaces aren’t safe for people who look like me,” but we did. Of the four of us friends, one was Black and one was Asian American. As they began to share their lived experiences in the world and on the internet, I was stunned.

Listening to their stories, I was shocked both by what I was hearing and learning and by my own reaction. At one point I sat on my hands in an attempt to remind myself to stay quiet and listen. I’d never before taken the phrase “bite your tongue” as literal advice, but as I felt objections rattling in my throat, I wondered if I would need to actually do it.

Internally I screamed, “But I’m not like that!” I longed to say, “I would never treat you like that—and I’m so mad that someone did!” Words of encouragement and empathy tend to be my friendship superpower, but somehow I knew this wasn’t the time. Somehow I sensed that my expressing rage on my friends’ behalf wasn’t what was needed. It wouldn’t help, and it might even hurt.

I sat in that hotel room in the summer of 2017, listening to my friends talk and carefully asking follow-up questions. It took restraint that I don’t normally exercise, discernment and discipline that can only be attributed to the Holy Spirit. And not only did God make it clear that I should talk less and listen more but He also helped me hear something new, something heart-changing.

When I heard my friends say that they didn’t feel welcome in communities that included very few people of color, my gut reaction was to yell, “But you are welcome! I promise! I want you there! You should feel welcome there!” I don’t think that reaction was completely wrong, but it was coming from a place of ignorance. I didn’t know what I didn’t know, but from that conversation and many more since then, I began to learn.

I’ve learned that I really don’t understand what it’s like to be a person of color in the United States. I’ve learned that having and loving friends from different cultural backgrounds doesn’t mean I know what it’s like to walk in their shoes. And as much as I’ve wanted to say, “We’re all the same!” and move on, glossing over our differences downplays the pain and struggle and the beauty of those very differences. I’ve learned that just because I’m not overtly racist doesn’t mean I don’t have biases or that I don’t benefit from a system rooted in racist assumptions and misunderstandings about people who are different from me.

I’ve learned that I have a lot to learn, and I won’t be able to do that if I open my mouth and shout, “Not me!” and “Not every . . . !” each time the issue of race comes up. I’ve learned that feeling things in my heart is a good start, but it doesn’t actually help my sisters and brothers of color. Well-intentioned emotions aren’t enough.

We have to actually sit down together and listen. Sit on your hands if you need to. Bite your tongue if that’s what it takes to stop yourself from interjecting or refuting what you’re hearing, and just listen. I’m not saying this is easy, my friend. As a white woman, it’s not easy for me to open up my mind and heart to recognize the injustices in this world, things that I simply wasn’t aware of or unintentionally turned a blind eye to. It’s not easy to sit in the tension of what the world is like and how I wish it would be. And I can only imagine that for my sisters and brothers of color it’s not easy to vulnerably share their stories of encountering racism. It can’t be easy to trust that you’ll be believed and not questioned, fully accepted and not secretly rejected.

Sitting together on hotel beds or around dining tables, in conference rooms or church pews and really listening to others whose experiences are unlike our own isn’t easy. But easy isn’t the point. The point is connection. The point is loving one another well.

This is an excerpt by Mary Carver from Come Sit with Me.

Learning, growing, and relating with people whose stories are unlike our own isn’t always easy or comfortable; but it is possible… and worth it!

In Come Sit with Me: How to Delight in Differences, Love through Disagreements, and Live with Discomfort, you’ll find stories from 26 (in)courage writers who bravely go first with their hard, awkward, sometimes heart-wrenching stories to give you real hope for the miraculous (and mundane) ways God works.

Listen to Mary Carver read her entire chapter, The Loving Work of Biting Your Tongue, on this bonus episode of the (in)courage podcast!

 

Don’t Stay on the Mountaintop

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Like many, I think the best part of fall is watching the trees change color, and in my opinion, there is no better place than Colorado. Maybe it’s because I grew up in the great flat state of Texas that I think Colorado is stunning. While we were visiting recently, my family and I decided to do the train ride to the top of Pike’s Peak. I knew we would be able to see all the beautiful trees showing off the fall colors up close on the way up the mountain.

My face lit up with joy as I watched the gold leaves of the Aspen dance in the wind and glitter as the sunshine hit them. There were rows and rows of evergreens that were hundreds of years old but as we got closer to the top, we noticed there were fewer trees. The conductor explained that this is called a timber line or tree line where the trees stop growing because of the harsh conditions of the altitude. The top of the mountain is not meant to sustain life for long periods of time, so there isn’t much up there.

As we got out of the train, the cold wind immediately hit our faces. It was much colder than I anticipated and my kids begged to go inside the visitor center for hot chocolate. But I stood outside and looked at the majestic beauty of nature all around me. It brought me to tears. I took a few pictures to remember the moment and then rushed inside the visitor center myself because the altitude change was starting to hit me.

The train ride up the mountain took one hour but we only stood on top of Pikes Peak for twenty minutes. Mountain tops are magical and wonderful, you truly feel like you’re on top of the world for a brief moment. But it is meant for a brief visitation; we’re not meant to live on the mountaintop.

In Matthew 17, Jesus takes Peter, James, and John to a mountaintop where Elijah and Moses appear. In this moment Jesus reveals a glimpse of His glory. It was surely an awe-inspiring moment! “Peter exclaimed, ‘Lord, it’s wonderful for us to be here! If you want, I’ll make three shelters as memorials — one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah'” (Matthew 17:4 NLT).

Leave it to Peter to speak honestly from the heart like a child. It was as if Peter was saying, “Jesus, this is the happiest and most magical place on earth! Please, can we stay here on the mountaintop?”

But God Himself interrupts Peter with a voice from the cloud that is so magnificent that they all fall on their faces!

We crave the mountaintop experiences but we cannot create our homes there. Life is not lived in the greatest moments or the most exciting parts of life, they are simply a part of our life.

There is a famous speech by Dr. Martin Luther King Jr where he states these words: “He’s allowed me to go up to the mountain. And I’ve looked over. And I’ve seen the promised land. I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people, will get to the promised land. And I’m happy tonight. I’m not worried about anything. I’m not fearing any man. Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord.”

The mountain top he refers to is what we see in Scripture over and over as the meeting place where people met with God, from Abraham to Moses to Elijah to Jesus. This was a place where God would speak to His people to propel their faith for their future.

We all need mountaintop moments where we experience the miraculous provision, power, and presence of God because we live in hard and challenging realities most days. Dr. King’s mountaintop experience fueled the fire deep within his soul to keep fighting for justice and equality for all. It gave him faith in the midst of adversity and struggle, which is why he could say, “I am not worried. I am not fearing any man.”

Like Peter, we often try to pray away the struggles and the suffering; we long to live on the mountaintop. It’s easy to see God on there. There is good all around for us — majestic 360 views — and it’s easy to glorify God when surrounded by beauty. But down below, where we actually walk out life day by day, it is a little harder to see God.

What if the purpose of the mountaintop moment was not to simply post something pretty on social media, but to teach us to look beyond the now and to stir up our faith in Him for the future? What if, like Dr. King, we are supposed to draw strength from our mountaintop moment to keep going in the valleys?

Take time today to reflect on the mountaintop moments of your life, and recall God’s faithfulness. I pray that they will give you vision and faith for the mundane moments of today and the valleys of tomorrow.

 

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

 

Our God, Our Healer

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When you hear the word healing, what comes to mind? This word may bring amazing testimonies to mind or it may bring painful or disappointing memories. My perspective on healing today in my 40s is vastly different than it was in my childhood.

I grew up Catholic in the Bible Belt of the United States. I don’t remember the priest in my church or the nuns in my school ever talking about healing in our lives or God being a Healer. I don’t remember any of the adults around me talking about healing either. I do remember there being lots of conversations about people being sick or dying. There were no real answers or directions attached to those conversations.

Now, I was never a sickly child, so healing for myself was never at the forefront of my thoughts. My grandmother, who I lived with, became sick beginning in my junior high years through high school. She saw numerous doctors and was taking numerous medications. That was the way it was. She passed away during my freshman year of college. During those same years, several family members also passed away.

I never thought anything more than that this was the circle of life. People are born. They live. Then they die. I never knew that people being healed was an option. But I do now. I’ve witnessed it!

With this being a month where we tend to focus on giving thanks, I thought it was fitting to share some of the things that make my heart overflow with gratitude! I am beyond grateful that Jesus is our Great Physician who came to forgive sinners and heal the sick (see Mark 2). I am beyond grateful for the fact that we are healed by His stripes. Jesus was beaten and bruised for our healing. His shed blood paid for our complete healing . . . body, soul, and spirit.

As I’ve gotten older, my body has changed. Things that I never dealt with have all of a sudden become concerns. One of those concerns has been my knees. I’ve never been athletic, but I do love to work out and dance. So, it was a devastating blow in 2018 when I was diagnosed with patella tendonitis in both of my knees. It impacted my life in almost every area. I couldn’t run or work out the way I used to, or kneel to pray at church. It hurt to walk up the stairs to my townhouse and to simply stand up after being seated. But, God!

This past May when I reconnected with my friend Angela, that all changed. She was ministering at an event and ended by praying for people’s needs. I had been prayed for over the years with small glimpses of hope. So, I asked for prayer for something else, but she ended up praying for another woman’s knees over the microphone. I dialed in and told God I received that same healing for myself. And a miracle happened. My knees immediately felt better, but the next day my knees felt amazing! They’ve felt amazing ever since! Five years was a long time to be in pain, but I know God was with me every step of the way. And now I’m so grateful for these six months of healing! 

I can’t think of healing and gratitude without thinking about Chans. A couple of summers ago, my friends experienced something that no one ever wants to experience. Alida and Chans and their teenagers Rylee and Carter were driving to church on a Sunday morning. Chans was in the passenger seat. One minute he was talking and the next minute — nothing. He passed out and then his heart stopped. But, God! On their way to the hospital, the kids got word to the youth pastor and he got word to the whole church. In the middle of the service, we stopped everything and prayed for God to bring life back to Chans’s body. The kids still wanted to come to church, so their grandparents picked them up from the hospital and brought them. Again, we stopped everything we were doing, surrounded them, and prayed for life and strength and God’s resurrection power. The Lord heard and He answered. He restored life to Chans’ body! The doctors had no explanation as to why His heart stopped or why it started again. He stayed in the hospital overnight and went home the next day.

That was the greatest miracle I’ve ever witnessed.

You might be thinking that your loved one didn’t get the miracle you were expecting or praying for. These testimonies are simply to build your faith as to what the Lord can do. My miracle was progressive over the years. Chans’ was in a moment. But, I am still waiting on other miracles along with some of my closest people. I’ve also lost loved ones over the years — but they are fully healed in the presence of the Father. I grieved the deep loss with the confident hope that I will see them again one day.

I’m sure the woman with the issue of blood in Mark 5 had all but given up the little hope she had. But, when she heard Jesus was nearby, she tried one more time to find her healing. She persisted and pushed past the crowd just to touch the hem of His garment. She knew the Scriptures in Malachi that said there was healing in His wings, which was the hem of His garment. She believed His Word over the words of every doctor she had seen. She believed He was who He said He was and that He could do what He said He could do. When God moves, He does it wholly. Jesus also honored the woman’s faith and restored her back to her community after years of being isolated and rejected.

Oh that we would believe that today! Oh that we would believe that Jesus’s blood speaks a better Word! Healing is coming. Sometimes it doesn’t come in the way we expected or in the timing we planned on. But know that it’s coming.

Our God loves us. Our God is faithful. Our God is our Healer.

If you’ve experienced a miracle healing, I’d love to hear about it! If you’re still waiting on one, I’d love to pray for you!

 

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

 

The Practice of Being Unoffendable

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It should have been a small matter. Easily discussed, easily resolved. Only it wasn’t.

It started with a home improvement project. One neighbor tackled a do-it-yourself job on the weekend. But then it rained, and some of the dust and debris from the project drained along the curb toward the neighbor’s house next door. When the rain dried, the curb remained streaked white from the neighbor’s remodeling job, a valid frustration for the neighbor who prided himself on a tidy home, no doubt. But nothing that an honest conversation and a little mutual understanding couldn’t resolve.

Only, neither of those things happened. Instead, harsh words, threats, phone calls, and a neighborhood feud that lasted years, long after the white streaks faded and disappeared.

Today, I witnessed something similar on social media. An account posted a funny Christian meme. Some thought it was silly, worth a chuckle. Others found it offensive, worth a rebuke and rant. For the record, the post contained nothing perverse, profane, or illegal. The overarching tone of the post (as well as the main account) was “all in good fun.” The end result, however, was anything but.

Offense has rapidly become the fabric of our culture. Everywhere I turn, someone is offended. Is our world more offensive than ever before? Maybe. There’s no shortage of profanities and abuses that should turn our stomachs and break our hearts. And sometimes situations require us to call out abuses and injustices. But I don’t think our over-sensitivity toward offense is an external problem; it’s an internal one.

The Roman culture Jesus was immersed in was chock full of reasons for offense. Polytheism. Unrestrained hedonism. Disregard for human life. Over-sexualization. From a value standpoint, Rome and Jesus shared little in common. Even in religious circles, many found a reason to be offended by His message. And yet, Jesus resisted allowing external pressure to become an internal posture of offense. Even more interesting, the rare instances we see Jesus truly offended were when the religious grew too comfortable on their moral high ground.

In other words, Jesus’s offense wasn’t directed at a world that was doing what the world does. It was directed at the God-lovers and grace-receivers who should’ve known better.

So how do you and I become more like Jesus? How do we become unoffendable in a world whose values are often contrary to our own? How do we become light-shiners and joy-givers rather than adding more vitriol to our culture of offense?

Proverbs gives us several good places to start:

“Whoever would foster love covers over an offense,
but whoever repeats the matter separates close friends.”
Proverbs 17:9 (NIV)

“A person’s wisdom yields patience;
it is to one’s glory to overlook an offense.”
Proverbs 19:11 (NIV)

“It is to one’s honor to avoid strife,
but every fool is quick to quarrel.”
Proverbs 20:3 (NIV)

Keeping these proverbs in mind, here are a few practices that have helped me to resist offense and, instead, offer Jesus’s hope and light to a world that desperately needs both:

1. Don’t be surprised when people disappoint. Remember: Without Jesus, you and I would be just as profane and perverse and entitled as the world. Sometimes we still are. The gospel is the only solid ground we stand on. Not morality.

2. Assume positive intent. “Intention impacts emotion.” If you assume someone is purposely trying to hurt, offend, or rile you, your emotions will follow. If you assume the other person is doing the best they can and aren’t necessarily trying to create a stir, your emotions will follow, as well. I remember my late friend Luci Swindoll saying, “Take everything as a compliment. You’ll live longer.”

3. Stay curious. This has been a game changer for me and our family. What does it mean to stay curious? It means choosing a learning posture rather than a judgment posture. This is often best accomplished by observing what is happening rather than feeling stuck in the middle of it. In other words, we want to stay in the executive function part of our brains, not the emotional center of our brains. And staying curious is the road to doing just that. For example, rather than, “What a jerk!” try asking yourself, “I wonder what challenge she faced today that caused her to lash out that way?” OR rather than, “He did that on purpose just to hurt me!” try asking, “I wonder what is weighing on his mind or distracting him? This isn’t his usual behavior.”

4. Gather more information. If someone says or does something that annoys, irritates, or aggravates you, consider the possibility that you don’t have all the facts. In short, PAUSE. Press pause on jumping to conclusions. Instead, ask questions. Get more information. And in the absence of extra information, resist easy conclusions. Rushing to judgment is easy. But wisdom requires patience.

5. Know your limits. Boundaries are good, healthy, and necessary, for all of us. Living without limits is a recipe for disaster. Knowing your limits is a recipe for individual and relational health. Remember: Boundaries aren’t punitive — they’re preservative. They are put in place in an attempt to save the relationship, not squash it. If a certain relationship or social media account is stirring up offense within, take a break. Better to give yourself time to process with Jesus than lash out in a way that only leads to regret.

For now, I pray for the day when those who claim Jesus as their Savior are seen as light-givers and healers. As Paul wrote in Philippians 2, “Do everything without grumbling or arguing, so that you may become blameless and pure, ‘children of God without fault in a warped and crooked generation.’ Then you will shine among them like stars in the sky.” (vs. 14-15 NIV). 

Let’s shine, friends. Stars in a dark sky, leading those who wander home.

 

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

What to Do When Grief Makes Us Angry

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My midwife told me when I was birthing my second baby girl that if I held my breath the contractions would hurt even more. My natural reaction in pain is to tense my muscles and hold my breath to avoid the pain. In childbirth, I needed deep, long, measured breaths to carry me through the pain. Somehow breathing through the pain helped release the pressure instead of holding it at bay until it tumbled like water crashing over a dam.

In my journey of loss, I have learned that, as in labor, we have to breathe through the contractions, the triggers, and the sorrow of grief. Though grief can often feel like a slow, dull ache, there are also times when our grief journeys will feel more intense, like quickened contractions in childbirth or what they call “transition”— that intense period when contractions come right on top of each other before the baby is born.

In Genesis 32, we read about Jacob seeing God face-to-face in his time of need. Jacob is in a hard place. He is fresh out of a crisis with his uncle Laban. He feels distressed and afraid because his brother Esau and four hundred of his men are making their way toward him (Genesis 32:7).

Jacob decides to take his two wives, two female servants, and his eleven children (his closest people) with him across the Jabbok River to protect them. After he sends them to relative safety, he is jumped by a stranger who wrestles with him through the night. 

“When the man saw that he could not overpower him, he touched the socket of Jacob’s hip so that his hip was wrenched as he wrestled with the man. Then the man said, “Let me go, for it is daybreak.” But Jacob replied, “I will not let you go unless you bless me.”
Genesis 32:25-26 NIV

The man asked Jacob his name and then proceeded to rename him Israel because he struggled with God and with humans, and overcame. 

Jacob said, “Please tell me your name.” But he replied, “Why do you ask my name?” Then he blessed him there.” Genesis 32:29 NIV

Jacob was afraid, alone, and physically broken — but that is the precise moment when God chose to bless him. God entered the challenge with Jacob, which may have been a spiritual battle as much as a physical wrestling, and then changed his name to Israel and honored him for prevailing through the wrestling match.

This scene is a good reminder that God can handle our anger, our frustration, our doubts, and our discouragement.

He is with us in our grief even when we are wrestling spiritually.

Friend, I know it might be tempting to just grit your teeth and power through, but expressing our anger and frustration to God can actually help us emerge on the other side with resilience and strength. It’s like breathing through the most intense contractions and releasing the pressure instead of holding our breath through the pain.

You may feel angry about the death of your loved one or the injustice your child experienced. You might feel frustrated that your family has experienced loss. It’s not wrong to have those feelings.

In Ephesians 4:26–27, Paul reminds us: “Be angry and do not sin; do not let the sun go down on your anger, and give no opportunity to the devil” (ESV). In this passage, Paul isn’t saying we should never be angry. He acknowledges that anger may rise in us, but it shouldn’t cause us to sin.

Acknowledge your hard-to-handle feelings. Shout them to God. Breathe through the pain, and be on guard, as Paul highlights, to ensure you do not dwell in your anger or give the devil a foothold. 

I struggled through many of those feelings after my husband died from cancer. I questioned and cried, wrestled and wrung my hands. I laid my lament at Jesus’s feet day after day. Little by little, I learned to breathe through the contractions, and that’s where a deep healing and trust in God were born.

Is there something you are grieving today? Is there a circumstance that makes you angry that you need to name? Write it down or share in the comments.

Pray this prayer with me:

Dear Lord,
Like Jacob, I am wrestling today.
I am feeling the weight of frustration and anger.
Meet me in those feelings.
Help me to see where You are at work in the circumstances.
Give me the fortitude to keep fighting until I reach the truth.
I long to see Your face like Jacob did amid my own struggle.
I long for Your blessing.
In Jesus’s name,
Amen.

—

After the sudden loss of her husband, Dorina felt lost in her grief. In her new guided journal, Breathing Through Grief, she provides a compassionate, giftable resource for those who are processing their own loss, whether of a loved one, a season of life, or a dream. In addition to the twenty-five short devotions that each focus on a different aspect of grief from Dorina’s personal experience, the journal includes special resources such as:

  • breathing exercises
  • reflection questions
  • soul care tips
  • ample writing space
  • advice on how to talk to children about death
  • suggestions on how to approach triggers
  • creative ways to honor a loved one’s memory

If you or someone close to you is walking through loss⁠, let the comforting words in Breathing Through Grief encourage you with the knowledge that you are not alone and bring you a semblance of peace as you continue forward on the road to healing.

We know this book will be a blessing in your life, or the life of someone you love.

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

Then join Becky Keife this weekend on the (in)courage podcast for a conversation with Dorina. Don’t miss it!

 

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Sheep, Hot Chocolate, and Childlike Faith

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I, not unlike Taylor Swift, was born in 1989. I am a 30-something, work a full-time job, and do boring grown-up things like pay bills and say things like, “I really need to go get my oil changed.” When I was a child, I was imaginative and built a play post office in my room that no one came to (because why would they mail something from a pretend post office?) and I had the occasional imaginary friend. I spent my afternoons and weekends pretending, playing Nintendo, and riding bikes around a local church’s giant parking lot with the neighborhood boys.

But one day, I just…grew up. I stopped imagining so much and hopping around so much and laughing so hard and yelling with excitement. And like all of us… I changed. And that’s a good thing! It’s fine to mature, slow down, and settle in a bit. But the other day, I was at a church retreat and I was greeted by a 3-year-old in a wool dress, who grabbed her hem and very joyfully announced to me, “This dress is made of SHEEP.”

Something in me clicked back to that childlike joy and I said to her, “Really??”

She smiled and said, “YES.”

This was big news. This was good news. This was fun news. And we talked about how neat it is that a sheep has wool and we can turn it into things like her purple dress.

I don’t have conversations like that with my friends in small group. I know that wool exists, but I don’t go telling people how it’s made. To children, everything is interesting and everything has a bigger headline.

You can make a dress out of sheep!
The moon is in the sky at night!
If you push a button, you can take a photo!

As the church retreat went on, I noticed this little pack of children running around, throwing themselves into every activity they did, endlessly showing off their friendship bracelets. One boy spent the weekend running, lying down on the ground, and whispering, “Safe!” because he was a baseball player. Another boy was so eager to see my flying drone that he had to be held back so he wouldn’t try to grab it as it hovered near the ground.

There was no formal childcare at the retreat. Instead, we took turns looking after the kids, making sure they didn’t escape the dining hall, and asking if anyone needed help. One father who was there with his two kids held a crying two-year-old. We asked, “What do you need?”

“It would make my life a LOT easier if someone would refill the hot water so he can have some hot chocolate.”

So we went to the kitchen staff and we got some water and we brought back a mug of hot chocolate and it resolved the big feelings of a previously upset toddler.

I believe that children’s church is a fine thing and ministry events geared toward kids are a gift. But as adults, we often miss out when we don’t put ourselves in the midst of our youngest congregants. We forget that we were once children, running around and spreading the news about every little thing. After all, Jesus says He wants us to come to Him like children.

 At that time the disciples came to Jesus, saying, “Who is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?” And calling to him a child, he put him in the midst of them and said, “Truly, I say to you, unless you turn and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.
Matthew 18:1-3 (ESV)

Become like children. Uninhibited. Free. Not holding back or wondering what people will think.

On the last morning of the retreat, a young adult named Danner stood near the table where kids were doing crafts and he said, “I want to help with the kids but I never know what to say to them.”

“I find that if I just ask them basic questions, they’re good to go,” I offered.

Just in front of us, the Sheep Dress Gal was trying to glue wings on a puppet. I leaned over and said, “What do you need?”

“I need help with this chicken,” she said so simply.

“Okay, great. Mr. Danner is going to help you.”

I waved him over and watched as he held a glue stick and then used his bigger hands to press the felt together, offering the simplest support. And I wonder if this is what Jesus meant when he invited us to be childlike. Perhaps we’ve been invited to not overthink and just slow down and ask questions. To notice the very obvious and celebrate the very ordinary. To delight in others and in little wonders. To kneel down and offer a hand.

Because the Kingdom is for all of us, even those who can’t quite read or pay bills or get the oil changed, and when we invite their joy and wonder and delight, we see the Kingdom better.

 

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

Finding Gratitude in the Good and Bad

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A friend recently asked me a question. It came out of nowhere, making me pause and, at the same time, sending my memory down a path that seemingly had only two possibilities. You see, my friend is raising teenagers and sees life through their eyes. She’s seeing the wonder of their innocence, all while scanning her adult mind to predict the moments — and therefore memories — that could come to pass.

When you remember your childhood, is it good? Or is it bad? That’s what she asked. A simple survey between long-time friends. A focus group of comfort, support, and sheer honesty. She wanted my knee-jerk answer. A response off the cuff. Such a profound question had me searching thirty-seven years of memories in attempt to answer her ,As someone who loves the art of stringing a few words together, I gave my big picture answer — childhood was bad. But . . . when I really let myself think through the details of my childhood, then my answer changes — childhood was good. And, I know, it’s not the data she was hoping to collect. To answer both “good” and “bad” meant she’d have to tally both sides. Why bother even recording my answer at all?

The thought lingered in my mind. Then came a wave of nostalgia, a fistful of regret, a pinch of shame, and an outpouring of memories that needed to be pieced together like a puzzle. So, one by one I put the thousands of tiny pieces together until they snapped into place, creating a big picture that made sense of everything that came to my mind. Here is what I realized . . .

It’s as if the most painful memories are the most prominent ones. When asked about my childhood, the first memories that come to mind are those of me moving and saying goodbye to friends when I was in the sixth grade. Then there are the fragmented memories of my parents arguing, me crying whenever I was left out by friends, being teased at school, and fights with siblings.

Still, as soon as these images flashed across my mind . . . so, too, did a few others. As I thought a little deeper, digging into the details of my youth, I remembered my mom writing special notes on white paper napkins and tucking them inside our school lunch boxes. I remember my grandma making brownies with us and letting me lick the bowl of batter. I remember wearing matching nighties with my sister and the way our freshly showered, damp hair drapped down our backs as we watched I Love Lucy with our mom.

I wonder, is this how I view God and His gifts? Do miss the good because I paint a wide brush stroke over all the things that I call bad? Deep down, do I ultimately think that God simply doesn’t care—when I see people battling cancer, find myself still single after divorce, or watch the world suffer in heartache. “Bad” would certainly be the word I’d label life if I only glanced at the big picture.

Perhaps a heart of gratitude reaches a little deeper, finding God’s goodness in the smallest of moments — an intimate smile shared between patients in a waiting room. The newfound joy someone who is blind finds when wrapping his arms around his guide dog. The comfort of a friend sending a thoughtful card or text that simply says, “I’m praying for you.”

These intricate details are like the soft petals of flowers that make up a full bouquet. So beautiful up close and yet they still matter when looked at all together. And as I reflect during this season of thanks, I want my heart to overflow with gratitude for the One who made me and etched out every small piece of my story. Because now, and even then — in my childhood when I felt the sting of tears in my eyes —I see the goodness of God.

God’s goodness is all around us despite the tragedies that strike this broken earth.

No matter what this chapter of life holds, I know God is a good Author. He is the One who sent a neighbor to look over me even though I was sad to live alone. He is the One who sent strong Christian women to befriend me when I was weak and weary after divorce. He is the One who brought me into a church small group with real women who love genuinely and laugh from the soul.

God loves us so much that He weaves goodness into our every moments — even the bad ones. We might be delighted — even surprised — to look back and see how He was there through it all, giving us good gifts and grace . . . like napkin notes in a lunchbox on a bad day.

And for that, I am truly thankful.

Where Will Your Help Come From?

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I lift my eyes toward the mountains.
Where will my help come from?
My help comes from the Lord,
the Maker of heaven and earth.
He will not allow your foot to slip;
your Protector will not slumber.
Indeed, the Protector of Israel
does not slumber or sleep.
The Lord protects you;
the Lord is a shelter right by your side.
The sun will not strike you by day
or the moon by night.
The Lord will protect you from all harm;
he will protect your life. 
The Lord will protect your coming and going
both now and forever.
Psalm 121 (CSB)

When everything seems impossible, when taking the next step seems unbearable, we shout and cry, loudly and silently, asking God to come through, to help. Our prayers don’t go out to a void that can’t reply back to us. Our prayers ascend to the Maker of heaven and earth, and He is ready at all times to hear us, help us, and be with us.

 

When You Feel Alone in the Struggle

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I’ve never thought of myself as an “us versus them” kind of girl. I’m the person who tried never to exclude people at the fourth-grade lunch table because I just so badly wanted to be included. Making sure everyone belonged, every time, was a badge I wore as proudly as the ones I stapled onto my Girl Scout sash in elementary school. (I obviously never earned my sewing badge.)

One of the ways I have been most proud of including people is in my stories that deal with being overweight. If you love me, you might call me “curvy” or “Rubenesque.” But if you’re on the internet, hidden by a computer screen, you might call me “huge” or “gross.” I’ve been called both. By Christians. In God’s love, of course. Because, as I’ve been reminded over and over again, “gluttony is a sin.”

So I wrote an article for all my curvy friends who struggle with their weight. I wrote to say that while you may not always love your body size, God can use it, because others who see your struggle can know that you are a safe person compared to those who appear perfect.

And I heard from women. A lot of women.

It felt great to give a voice to these women who so often feel like the world is not built for them. I heard from a lot of people who said, “This is exactly my story” or “I feel this so deeply.” So many of us have the same story. Because of our appearance, we’ve felt judged before fully stepping into the room. We’ve felt excluded when people critique our perceived weakness before we’ve even had a conversation with them. We’ve felt like “less than” Christians because of our battle with our weight.

But now we curvy girls had found each other, and we could see each other in our shared imperfection. The presumption was, “You are safe and you are loved exactly as you are.” I was excited to know that women who often feel so “other” were finding a measure of hope and peace through my words. Talking about my weight is never easy, but I’m willing to do it so that someone else can feel more seen and less alone.

Can I be honest with you? I even wanted to start a club for Christian women whose BMI is not socially acceptable. I wanted a permanent safe place where we could build a fort and not let any of those mean voices from our everyday lives (or, even worse, the internet) have the password to get in. I had found my people, and we shopped in the plus-size section.

So, I was a little taken aback by the voice message I got from my newish friend, Becky Keife, who started out by saying, “I just need you to know what an impact your article has had on me.” She went on to say that she had never before thought of her weakness as being a shortcut to connection, and she was grateful to have this new perspective, all because I’d been vulnerable in an article.

Why did I find this odd? Because one look at Becky would confirm that she is not and probably never has been plus-sized. I had to take a beat. Why would she connect with my article about being fat?

And to be perfectly honest, for just a moment I thought, “But I didn’t write this article for you.”

It never occurred to me that someone who didn’t look like me could understand or connect with my experience. I was so busy trying to connect with the people who looked like me that I became the one “othering” someone who felt the same pangs of struggle I did, just with a lower BMI.

You see, what I didn’t know about Becky is that she suffers from clinical anxiety. And my article talked about weakness being a shortcut to trust. My weakness? My weight. Becky’s weakness? Her anxiety.

I guess in my own myopic view I thought that someone like Becky couldn’t understand what it felt like to be outside the scope of socially “normal.” But there she was, in a struggle different from but in many ways so much like my own.

It is small and shortsighted of me to assume that a person is not suffering on the inside just because they look like the world’s version of perfect on the outside. Or that they can’t be used by God in the same way I can because their challenges aren’t as visible as mine.

I know all of this on paper. I just get it mixed up in my mind. And my heart.

I confessed all of this to Becky. My assumptions about her seemingly perfect life without the struggle of weight. The idea that she couldn’t relate to me because we hadn’t worn the same size jeans. I’m so glad I was wrong. Becky may not be in my BMI club, but she showed me that the circle of vulnerability and struggle is much wider than I thought. Showing up with our stories and a healing dose of love and grace was the invitation we both needed to enter into each other’s circles.

Later, Becky texted me this one simple sentence: “Assumptions are barriers to connection, but stories are bridges to understanding.”

Exactly.

By Kathi Lipp, adapted from her chapter in Come Sit with Me.

Today’s devotion is an excerpt by Kathi Lipp from our book Come Sit with Me: How to Delight in Differences, Love through Disagreements, and Live with Discomfort. 

Whether you’re in the middle of a conflict without resolution or wondering how to enter into a friend’s pain, this book, with stories from 26 (in)courage writers, will serve as a gentle guide. Discover how God can work through your disagreements, differences, and discomfort in ways you might never expect.

You can hear to Kathi read her entire chapter on this bonus episode of the (in)courage podcast! Click here to listen. 

 

God Will Go Anywhere to Pursue You — Even a Gentlemen’s Club

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It was a Friday night when I pulled into the gentlemen’s club where I worked as an exotic dancer. Like many other nights, before the start of a shift, I would sit in my car and contemplate whether I should go in or drive away. I sat there for several minutes deeply conflicted. Searching for every reason not to go in and just feeling dreadful. After coming to the conclusion that there was no other choice (because expenses were high and rent was due), I turned off the engine. Even from the parking lot, I could hear the music blaring inside the club. My heart pounded inside my chest as panic and anxiety took hold of me. In that moment, I desperately prayed: “Dear God, I hate this place! I hate doing this. I have no strength to do this anymore. Could you please protect me and help me find a way out? Thank you, God, for listening. Amen.” 

A sense of peace washed over me like a summer sunrise. I had never prayed like that and it was my first heartfelt cry out to the Lord. As I got out of the car, somehow, in my heart, I knew Jesus had listened and was with me. He had plans to not only rescue me from that dark and degrading place but His will was to completely remake me.

Days after that night, I decided not to work weekends anymore. (The thought of another bachelor party sickened me.) I had started looking for a church and was soon attending services. Although I felt completely out of place at church, there was a comfort there that I had been longing for. As the worship music played, tears of joy trickled down my face. I knew I was experiencing God’s love for the first time.

One Sunday, a greeter handed me a flyer for a women’s event. Initially, I didn’t think that I would go, but when the day arrived, God’s gentle, faint voice encouraged me. Arriving at the event, I chose an empty table. It had a pink tablecloth with permanent markers and name tags. After I scribbled down my name, more women entered the room and filled up the tables. To my surprise, some sat at my table. While we were making introductions, I observed attentively. Doubts raced through my mind and I was filled with thoughts of condemnation. 

The small talk was excruciating and I wondered, How can I tell anyone that I take my clothes off to make a living? Within seconds, the enemy convinced me that I was despicable and that no one would even remotely relate to my struggles. I believed the enemy’s lies that I didn’t belong at that women’s gathering and that I needed to run. I politely excused myself to use the bathroom but ultimately I went straight for the exit doors. Holding back tears, I got to my car and sobbed uncontrollably. I felt unlovable and helpless, and I gave into believing that I would never get out of the adult entertainment industry. 

Weeks later, while working at the club again, I walked out of the dressing room to find four women sitting in a corner across from the main stage. I asked another dancer, “Do you know who those women are?”  

“Oh, them,” she responded. “They’ve been coming here for a few weeks now.” 

“Do you know why they’re here?” I asked curiously. 

“They say they’re with God or something,” she said. Then she told me to just ignore them, though they did give out favor bags — which isn’t exactly a tip, but it’s still better than nothing. That night, I walked past them every time I left the stage. I was careful to not make eye contact or even look in their direction. The following week, they were back again. Only this time, after getting off stage, I felt a faint inclination to slow down when walking by them. The sweetest voice stopped me and asked if I would like a bag she had made for me. Bewildered and appreciative, I took the white paper gift bag and shyly thanked her. Later, in the dressing room, I pulled a book from the gift bag.

The cover of that book? It read Bible. And, well, the rest is history. Because, just as with all stories in the Bible, mine, too, is the story of God leaving the ninety-nine to find the one lost in the wilderness. Jesus is a pursuer — He pursued me relentlessly and He will pursue you too.

He will go anywhere to pursue you, even to the most unlikely of places. For me, He found and met me where I was — a gentlemen’s club. Sometime after that first night I was ministered to, I went back to church and gave my life to Christ. I left the adult entertainment industry and devoted my life to Jesus, not minding what it would look like or where it would take me.

He rescued, remade, and restored me — and I know He can remake you, too.

Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come.
2 Corinthians 5:17 (ESV)

 

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

How to Keep Caring When the News Is Overwhelming

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I swing the door open, breathing in crisp autumn air as our gentle giant Max meanders into the front yard. His floppy ears, animated expressions, and puppy-like paws remind me of a stuffed animal.

Golden light filters through the sun-drenched canopy of leaves. I look up and feel the beams of hope on my face. Decades-old oaks and maples sway in the breeze, shaking off the last vestiges of a verdant summer, dotting the air with leaves falling like feathers from an old down pillow.

Mighty maples flank our 115-year-old home. Their leaves boast rich oranges and robust golds. Squirrels with fat cheeks full of acorns chase each other up and down the trunks, teasing my dog as he sniffs the fallen leaves.

I look at the peeling paint on our front door, the same one that has whispered welcome home to generations of families who have stepped across the threshold. Just beyond the door, backpacks and sneakers fill the entryway as beeps and buzzes from my kids’ video games fill the air.

I exhale alongside a gust of not-yet winter wind. Max sits at attention, waiting for me as I survey the scene brick by brick.

Home.

I don’t know how to reconcile this peace in front of me with the photos I saw earlier in the day. Pictures of homes that used to hold families like mine had turned to rubble, leaving mounds of mortar where grandmothers cooked meals and fathers read stories.

Between work deadlines and school carpools, I had read just enough global news to be aware of countries on the other side of the globe that were waging war, leaving crumbled communities, smoldering streets, and shattered spirits in their wake.

The real-time photographs I scrolled through on my phone looked like a journalist had captured the rubble with black-and-white film, all the city’s color wiped away.

It’s a world away, the headline proclaimed.

But it’s not a world away, I think as my dog rolls in the leaves.

It’s our world, the one God so loved.

All this pain and suffering is happening now. I don’t know how to hold that reality.

How can it be that mothers rock their hungry babies in bomb shelters while my kids eat after-school cookies at the kitchen table, forgetting to put the lid back on the milk?

What does home look like for a family when war robs life of its color, its vibrant hues suddenly grayscale?

I want to rid my mind of the memory of what I’ve seen. I don’t want to hold onto evidence of a warring world, parts of a puzzle I cannot piece together.

It’s easy for me to speak of beauty, hope, and wonder from this view, my view, one of soft breezes and sturdy bricks. Safety and security are words that not everyone gets to write; I know this. 

My heart constricts. Like David in Psalm 13, I ask, How long, O Lord?

Why does clean, fresh water sit in my dog’s bowl inside our well-stocked kitchen while, at the same time, a mother gives her thirsty child contaminated water because it’s all they have to drink?

I realize I’m still standing in the same place, staring at the same view of home like it’s one of those pictures where a new image will appear if you gaze long enough.

When your heart aches with unanswered prayer, when you feel overwhelmed by the weight of a weary world, remember this: God understands the complex wonderings of a human heart.

Moved in mercy, Jesus took on flesh and became like us. In Christ, we are not left alone as we process pain.

God is in the war zone. God is in the autumn breeze.

There is so much we don’t know; this is true. But we can hold stubborn hope that this, too, is true: God is with us.

To be awake to our seemingly ordinary lives – to the leaves that shimmer in the golden light – is also to be tender to the cries of our warring world, the one God so loved.

We live in a world where peace and war swirl, where the sacred and the profane commingle. In one breath, we give thanks in awe of the goodness of God. And in the next, we cry out, asking God how long the pain will last.

When your heart aches for a widow who weeps on the other side of the world, when you cry for a child caught in the crossfires of war, remember that your compassion for humanity reflects the very heart of God.

You cry for another because He first cried for you.

You pray for another because He first prayed for you.

You advocate for another because He first advocated for you.

You love another because He first loved you (1 John 4:19).

In light of God’s compassion, may you be brave enough to stay tender to the world’s beauty and pain. When the world feels off its axis, may hope-soaked sunbeams warm your tear-streaked face. May you experience Christ alongside you – in both the joy and the sorrow that comes with being human and honoring the humanity of another. May God’s mercy move you to extend mercy to another, knowing that we love because He first loved us.

Find more hope to help you stay awake to the beauty and pain of the world in Kayla’s new book Every Season Sacred, a year-long devotional filled with reflections and prayers to nourish your soul as you nurture your family.

 

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

For the Empty Chair at Your Table

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I packed up my car with one suitcase and two sons. We were heading to my home state to visit family and to celebrate my cousin, soon to be married.

It was a short trip, with not much time for driving down old roads or taking trips down memory lane. But I’ve been missing home, been struggling to make sense of the story that once made space for me — the hometown, the high school that holds my history, the church I came to Christ in, and the big city that’s branded me with a birthmark that is hard to lose and let go of.

There weren’t enough hours in the day for taking detours, but that didn’t stop me from making an impromptu stop while driving back south. With the kids in the car, and time not on my side, I made my way down that familiar Route 17 until I reached the place where the road bends sharp with a turn that takes you right to grandma’s house.

Grandma’s house. A house that once held me — a house that gave me a room to sleep in, somewhere to stay in my high school and college years. A house that gathered all us grandchildren on the holidays — every Christmas sprinkled with silver tinsel and every Easter served warm with venison and deviled eggs.

A house built on historic land, land that holds the legacy of my Native tribe as well as the testimony of a small town stitched through and through with lived-out stories of segregated schools and civil rights in New York. A house with a porch built by the tinkering hands of the grandfather I love and now miss so much. . .

I sat in my car, parked in front of that house, holding back tears and stuffing down the sorrow that was tearing at the seams. Because, how do we live holding the heartbreaking truth close to our chest? That the holidays are here, though the ones we love and miss are not. How will we survive the winter weeks ahead, packing up our cars with suitcases and sons as we head home for the holidays knowing all too well that our once-full tables are now empty, bare?

Because, truly, we want to be thankful at Thanksgiving but it is hard when we carry the grief of loved ones gone too soon. We want to celebrate Christmas but sometimes our hearts feel the ache of loss more than they do the awe of Advent.

And, sometimes we don’t always want or need gifts galore and cheerful songs to bring a smile and brighten spirits. Sometimes . . . we just need someone to acknowledge that the ache is real. Sometimes we just need to hear that while hope is true so, too, is the hurt.

Sometimes we need reminders that it’s okay to miss them, and it’s okay to cry. It’s okay to take the long way back simply because you want to drive by the house they once called home. Sometimes you just need to linger longer, staring at their pictures and praying the same prayer for the hundredth time. Sometimes you can’t put a tidy bow on the pain you feel. Sometimes you need permission to grieve, permission to say their names and remember their stories.

Sometimes you need someone to ask you about your grief, to ask you about the one you love and mourn and miss. No platitudes, no putting tidy bows where pain still pulls.

Sometimes we just need someone to make space for sorrow. To allow for the acknowledgment of all we grieve and grieve and grieve. So as the holidays come rushing in with the wind . . . if and when you feel the pressure to push through pain, to push it down, or to pretend it away, might you turn to these words that I wrote a few years ago. Words that still soothe my heart to this day:

If it was ten days ago, even if it was ten years ago. If it was Covid or cancer, a car accident or a circumstance by chance. Even if you hadn’t yet met them. Especially if you haven’t yet met them. Even when sorrow seeps into the season, and when heartache goes without easing. When you long for the loudness of their laughter, or the silent sureness of their presence — the way their hands held space for the holes and whole of you. For the empty chair at your table, the empty place where their plate would be, should be. There is this — a place within your heart that will never sit empty. For that empty chair at your table . . . let there be remembrance in your midst, let their name live on your lips.

As the holidays come rushing in, so do the memories that remind me of my grandfather, and my cousin, and my eccentric friend — all of them gone too soon. So this holiday season, I won’t fight the grief. I will hold hope in one hand and heartache in the other.

This holiday season I will choose to believe that our tears matter to God, the One who cradles all our little losses and greatest griefs. If you need the same, I hope you do the same. For the empty chair at your table, know that Christ dines with you and dwells within you — even and especially in this.

Friends — I’d love to hold space for the memory of your loved ones. Comment below and share the names of the ones you love and miss. I’d love to hear their story and honor their legacy with you.

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 on your favorite podcast app!

Find the Courage to Ask for the Life You Want to Have

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“And all things you ask in prayer, believing, you will receive.”
Matthew 21:22 AMP

“Puffins! Puffins! Look, puffins!” his voice rang out, catching all of our attention. His small frame, not more than ten years old, jumped up and down as he shrieked, “Puffins, Dad! Do you see the puffins?” His dad just smiled, almost apologetically to the rest of us, at his son’s very loud and obvious enthusiasm. I turned to my husband.

“Do you know what a puffin is?” I asked. He shrugged. “Neither do I,” I said. “But I have a feeling they’re amazing!” He laughed.

By the time our boat reached The Region of the Great Puffins, you can bet all of us on board wanted to see these incredibly famous creatures. And they didn’t disappoint. Puffins are precious. Their miniature bodies resemble tiny toucans. Some swam. Others dove down into the water. Some sat majestically perched nearby. There were thousands of them. And, as you might imagine, the young boy’s enthusiasm spread among us with each adorable puffin we saw. We had gone there to see the glaciers, but the puffins stole the show.

I’ll never look at a puffin the same way again. In fact, when my husband, Jack, and I hit a lull during a walk or adventure, one of us often shouts, “Puffins! Puffins!” We immediately laugh. It’s a reminder that joy is a choice. You can be excited about whatever you want. Could be a puffin. Could be a dog. Could be a perfectly made cappuccino. Could be a sunset. Or a shiny geode. There are countless things to delight you if you will just see them through the eyes of a child. Innocent wonder returns you to a place of presence. It frees you from the pains of your past and your fears of what’s to come. Noticing the abundance of the beauty in God’s creation transforms your life into a walking miracle.

I used to live in Africa as a missionary. We didn’t have much money for gifts during that time. So, when it came to my birthday, I decided to ask for a giraffe. Driving home from an errand, I asked God to let me see a giraffe in the wild. When I told my family, they actually laughed. It wasn’t common to see giraffes. But in my heart, I had a feeling I would. In fact, God let me see more than one giraffe that day. He gave me three.

You get what you ask for in this life. So, ask! You get what delights you. Don’t be shy. Take joy in what’s around you. It could be the puffins. It could be a giraffe. Whatever it is, don’t hold back. Ask. Find the courage to ask for the life you want to have.

Jesus, increase my faith for the things that I ask. Amen.

—

This is an excerpt from the new book, It’s All Good: 90 Devotions to Embrace Your Now, written by Heather Hair. This book will guide you to a place of restoration and peace, and you’ll learn how to simply be with God through the Scripture selections, devotions, and prayers.

If you feel stuck in life, you’re not alone.

It’s so easy for us to get trapped in the pain of our past, allowing it to hurt us day after day after day. On the opposite end, our “bucket list” can leave us feeling “bucket lost” when we pursue, pursue, pursue until we realize we’ve lost touch with the present.

In It’s All Good: 90 Devotions to Embrace Your Now, Heather Hair helps us discover that no matter where our feet are planted, God is always present, working out His beautiful plan for us today and always. You’ll find that God is an all-powerful healer who longs to release you from your pains and past hurts. He longs to release you from your daily struggle and relentless pursuit of your future. The good news is that God’s love can overcome our fears and flaws, and healing is possible. After all, learning how to simply be with God — to actually be still, stand in awe, and do nothing in particular — can transform our minds, help our bodies rest, and give us the peace we’re desperate for.

We know you’ll simply love this book! Order your copy today . . . and leave a comment below for a chance to WIN one of 5 copies*!

Then join Becky Keife this weekend on the (in)courage podcast for a conversation with Heather. Don’t miss it!

 

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

What a Sandwich Taught Me About Jesus’s Love

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This year, my family has had the blessing of having numerous immigrant families stay in our home.

Currently, we have a Venezuelan couple living with us, whom we absolutely adore, and who treat our kids like their own nephew and niece.

Recently at lunchtime, the husband and wife offered to make a sandwich for my son. There was bread and meat and all sorts of toppings sprawled on the kitchen counter and, even though my son doesn’t speak Spanish fluently, he could understand their gesture.

In moments like this, I like to stand back and watch how my kids process and engage with other languages. Sometimes, we as parents are too quick to cut in and “help” our kids, when really part of the learning process is letting them figure out meaning and connection on their own.

So, there my son was, taking in the food displayed on our counter, and it was like I could see the wheels turning in his mind.

Sandwiches look unalike from country to country. Different cultures fill sandwiches with varied types of food. Some cultures eat sandwiches open-faced. Others microwave their sandwiches, preferring to eat them hot. The type of sandwich the Venezuelan couple offered my son was very different from anything he had ever eaten. But they were smiling and pointing, and they clearly wanted to care for him.

My son looked at me and said, “Mom, I don’t fully know what they want to make for me, but I’m going to give it a try.”

I was so proud of him as he turned back to the husband with a thumbs up and said, “Si.” He then proceeded to sit down with them and eat the whole sandwich without any complaints or fuss.

Later, when I asked him why he decided to try the sandwich, he said, “I know they wanted to be nice to me, and I didn’t want to hurt their feelings.” I told my son I was so proud of him for being willing to try new things and consider other peoples’ perspectives.

More than that, I told him that by being willing to try something new, he had shown love and honor to this couple the way Jesus wants us to.

It’s not always easy to receive the hospitality of food around other people’s tables, though, is it?

The theology of table fellowship – in which the people of God are to break bread together for the sake of oneness – is writ clear throughout the New Testament, and yet it is a command that is easier said than done.

Put simply: we don’t always like each other’s foods.

In fact, many of us have very strong opinions about what kinds of food taste good, whether a certain dish will sit well in our bodies, and whether or not a dish has the right nutritional value.

If I were to ask you, “What foods do you not like?” you’d probably be able to come up with a long list! Because we think we know the fullness of what we already like, it’s easy to get stuck in our daily eating habits and have zero to little interest in branching out and trying the cuisines of the people around us.

Having favorite foods or comfort foods isn’t a bad thing in and of itself. But when we prioritize eating food that is familiar and comfortable over accepting table fellowship with people whose cuisine is different from what we’re used to, we are missing opportunities to give and receive the love of Christ.

The gift of table fellowship was a powerful lesson that one of Jesus’ disciples, Peter, had to learn the hard way.

In Acts 10, Peter is called to go to the house of a Gentile, a Roman centurion named Cornelius, to share the gospel. While there, he is also invited to eat with the family, which requires eating a new kind of meat. In the past, Peter would have never even dreamed of touching a meat that he considered “unclean.” But God speaks to him in a vision and commands him to dine with this Roman family as a way to show God’s grace and love.

In this radical moment of table fellowship between Jews and Gentiles, in which unfamiliar food is eaten, the Holy Spirit’s power ushers in and all of Cornelius’ family comes to faith.

Want to know why it’s so important to respectfully try other people’s foods? People will see Christ through your efforts to eat the food that they love most. This is the kind of humble love-in-action that looks out for what’s best for others that Paul writes about in Philippians 2.

So, the next time you’re invited to someone else’s home, eat what they cook for you without complaint.

The next time someone invites you out to a restaurant where the menu feels unfamiliar, choose to go joyfully and ask for their help in picking out a meal.

The next time you smell a new food in the cafeteria, at church, or in your workplace, take a deep breath, smile, and genuinely ask the other person to tell you the story of their dish.

The more we embrace people’s foods, the more we show them that we embrace the fullness of their humanity the way God does.

Trying things that are new and getting out of our comfort zones is hard, but sitting in spaces of cultural discomfort for the sake of the gospel is always worth it.

 

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

Let’s Pray!

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“Be assured that from the first day we heard of you, we haven’t stopped praying for you, asking God to give you wise minds and spirits attuned to his will, and so acquire a thorough understanding of the ways in which God works.

We pray that you’ll live well for the Master, making him proud of you as you work hard in his orchard. As you learn more and more how God works, you will learn how to do your work.

We pray that you’ll have the strength to stick it out over the long haul—not the grim strength of gritting your teeth but the glory-strength God gives. It is strength that endures the unendurable and spills over into joy, thanking the Father who makes us strong enough to take part in everything bright and beautiful that he has for us.”
Colossians 1:9-12 (MSG)

One of our favorite things at (in)courage is linking arms as sisters in Christ through prayer. Today we’re praying the words of Colossians 1:9-12 over you. Go back and read the passage again slowly. There is so much goodness there!

We’d also love to know how to pray for you specifically by name. What’s on your heart today? What area of your life do you want to live more like Jesus? Where do you need His strength or joy today?

Leave your request in the comments and bless another sister by praying for the person before you.

 

How to Make Peace When the World Is a Dumpster Fire

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Several weeks ago, I opened my Instagram feed and noticed some weird activity on a video I had posted many months earlier. Forty-six thousand likes! Have I been hacked? As I clicked on the post, I realized that a fifteen-second video I had made of our neighborhood’s summer block party had unexpectedly gone viral. Wow! This is cool.

The video wasn’t anything special. Just a quick pan of the street from my front porch. Neighbors gathered around folding tables we had set up in the street and kids roamed in packs like happy wild animals. It was my attempt to share a glimpse of our neighborhood magic, and I wrote a quick caption with tips and encouragement to help others engage their neighbors too.

With over two million views, this was obviously striking a chord with people. Again, my first reaction was, “How cool!”

Except it wasn’t all cool.

Most of the comments rolling in were from complete strangers. Some of them were encouraging, but as the video went viral, the comments became anonymous and cutting. For the next several days I had to be really vigilant to delete spammy comments like “DM me and I’ll send you $3,000 tomorrow!” and biting comments like “Must be nice to live in an all-white neighborhood.” My gut reaction was to spew back defensively that my husband is the first Filipino homeowners association president the neighborhood has had and that my Asian kids are the ones on the scooters there to the left. I want to point out Ms. Christina, who goes to the Asian market and brings us special candies and tiger balm every week.

But as I scrolled through nasty comments and messages about our neighborhood, our race, our demographic, and all the unimportant and untrue things being assumed as fact on a post that was meant to stir up kindness, I realized I had to decide how I wanted to treat this dumpster fire.

I could defend myself and add fuel to the blaze. Or I could take a beat and let my pause extinguish the flames.

It seems like more and more, anytime we open our phones and computers, we see someone’s extreme opinions about the latest hot topic — which appears to be almost everything. What a time to be alive, when you can communicate your inner thoughts to pretty much anyone with the click of a Send button!

Chances are you’ve also experienced this phenomenon of the unfiltered response.

I miss not being anxious about relational stress as we approach yet another election year, yet another global health issue, yet another this side versus that side. And before I can even formulate language to describe this anxiety, my body responds for me: I wear my shoulders as earmuffs. My breath quickens. I wince. My brow furrows, blood rushes to my cheeks, and my stomach hurts. If you watch the news, have social media, or talk to a neighbor, you probably know what I mean.

I close the computer and think about it all day. And “it” isn’t just my video gone viral. It’s all the backhanded comments and jumping to false assumptions. It’s the tearing down and creating us-versus-them categories for every possible issue. It’s using our words as weapons and calling it normal. It’s all of it.

I can’t help but think, I wish she hadn’t mentioned that. I wish he hadn’t said it in that way. They make me so mad. Why are people like this? Why can’t we just stop treating each other like this?

And let me say, when I’m about to actively run into an argument after reading Cousin Fred’s entire comments section in his latest fire-breathing post, I instead take a deep breath and consume truth that comes from a living and active God. A God who loves me but isn’t afraid to ask me to check my perspective.

So I pray, I am the problem. Forgive me, Lord, for wanting to murder this person with my words, for believing I am more worthy of Your gift of grace than he is. Give me the supernatural power to love someone I think of as my enemy. I can’t do this on my own.

As believers, we should be people marked not by fear, hatred, or murderous words but by peace. We should desire unity instead of actively seeking out division with our words. We should have the markings of self-control and love, not unbridled tongues that have the power to set the world on fire (see James 3:5–6). I don’t know if I really believed that until the last couple of years, but haven’t we all witnessed the destruction caused by our tongues and how they hold the power of life and death?

We each have personal accounts of our own fractured relationships and devastating losses. But lest this all start to feel a bit depressing, we actually do have great hope. Jesus tells us, “I have said these things to you, that in me you may have peace. In the world you will have tribulation. But take heart; I have overcome the world” (John 16:33 ESV).

Hear Jesus speaking it to you: “In Me you may have peace. Take heart.” Notice how your body responds to the truth. It’s quite different from scrolling through a social media feed. Maybe, if you’re like me, your shoulders come down and your breath slows. As the words of Scripture settle into my heart, I can see things more clearly: We are too quick to scroll conversations and comment threads and assume we are the only ones who know the correct path. But God is our Good Shepherd. He actively searches to bring us back to Himself, reorient our hearts toward Him, and give us the peace of His guidance, care, and protection — even from ourselves.

We are not on our own when we face difficult circumstances and interactions or when we have to navigate complex relationships and complicated feelings. When we see ourselves and others with the right perspective, we remember that our words, whether written in a comment or spoken out loud, have the power to attest to a better word: God is our only hope in this world. And what good news that it doesn’t rest on our human shoulders!

Ask yourself: Where am I tempted to use my words to tear down or divide instead of to build up and bring peace?

By Jami Nato, excerpted from Come Sit with Me

Hey friends, if you resonated with Jami’s story, or if you are dealing with relational tension of any kind, you’re going to want to get a copy of Come Sit with Me. In addition to Jami’s words, you’ll find 25 other (in)courage writers going first with their own faith wrestling and hope wrangling.

Come Sit With Me is available wherever books are sold, and we’d love to send you the introduction and the first two chapters for FREE! Sign up here.

Plus, listen to a bonus episode of the (in)courage podcast to hear Jami read her whole chapter, “Will You Be a Flamethrower or a Fire Extinguisher in the Dumpster Fire of Internet Comments?” Listen here.