The Freedom Found on the Other Side of Envy

The Freedom Found on the Other Side of Envy

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I brought a rush of hot, summer air with me as I walked through my friend’s front door. I turned the corner down her hall, and there they were: my friend, just a handful of days postpartum, and her tiny child sleeping wrapped against her chest. Tears blurred my vision. I often cry when my friends have babies.

When she first told me she was pregnant, I had burst into tears.

“You,” I told her with utter sincerity, “are going to be a wonderful mother.”

It was true — motherhood was embedded in her DNA. But I wasn’t sure if it was embedded in mine.

Now, my friend stood up from her chair, a smile stretching across her cheeks, and placed the baby in my arms. I sat on her leather couch and stared at him, overwhelmed by his presence despite how little space he took up in my arms. He was light, precious. I couldn’t get over how tiny his nose was, or how I could feel his lips blowing the smallest stream of air each time he exhaled.

For the next hour, she recounted her birth story. She wasn’t tired like I expected. She was vibrant and energized, as if motherhood had given her distinct purpose and a reason for being on this earth. Her face was awash with color; she bounced around the room even though she had given birth just a few days earlier. She was a woman who had partaken in the miracle of childbirth, and the adrenaline was still coursing through her body.

I held her son in silence while she spoke, my heart racing as I listened. I grew increasingly overwhelmed as she talked — like the very air was closing in on me.

With each word she spoke, the lurching in my chest grew tighter and more pronounced. I didn’t know what to say. Even though neither of us had acknowledged it, I knew everything had suddenly changed. I didn’t know what she needed now that she had a baby. I didn’t know what our friendship would look like now that she was a mother. A chasm had formed between us that I didn’t know how to cross. My envy was thick, and the depth of my loneliness felt inescapable. My friend didn’t know it then, but I wanted everything she seemed to have: a husband, a house, and now, a baby.

I wanted to celebrate with her, but I also wanted to leave. I sat on my hands instead. Eventually, I collected my purse and told her I should go. Her eyes were still radiant. She was in her own beautiful world, and she couldn’t help but glow.

I hugged her, kissed the top of her child’s head, and assured her to call me if she needed anything. Then I climbed into my car and cried.

My envy, pain, and loneliness crowded out my capacity for celebration. I didn’t know how to hold my envy and her happiness together in my hands. I was watching the hopes and dreams I had for myself play out in someone else’s life, and I was terrified that was the way it would always be.

I put my car in drive and cried the entire way home.

I would’ve liked my envy and loneliness to be fixed with a marriage and children. I would’ve preferred God to hand me a husband the way someone hands me French fries at the drive-through window. For so long, I kept my eyes fixed on my friends’ lives. I felt like God was making all of their dreams come true and had somehow forgotten about me.

Instead of keeping my eyes on Jesus and on the adventures He might have in store for me, I focused on what I didn’t have.

The apostle Peter had a similar experience. In John 21, Peter and Jesus share a deeply personal moment that offers much healing and redemption. Near the end of the chapter, Jesus gives Peter a glimpse of how he’s going to die. Talk about intense. Peter doesn’t know how to handle what Jesus tells him, so he awkwardly looks over at John and asks, “Lord, what about him?” (v. 21).

I imagine Jesus keeping His eyes on Peter as He replies, “If I want him to remain alive until I return, what is that to you? You must follow me” (v. 22).

I do this a lot. I look out at the world, and I see my friends getting married and having babies, and I feel my heart shatter a little with fear and loneliness, and I ask Jesus, “What about her? Why is her life going the way she wants it to? Why are her dreams coming true?”

And I think Jesus keeps His tender eyes trained on me and says with kindness, “What is that to you? You must follow Me.”

You must follow Me.

Jesus hasn’t called me to follow my friends. He hasn’t even called me to necessarily follow my dreams. He’s called me to follow Him.

When we trust Jesus, we become free.

Free to live the lives and dream the dreams He has for us.
Free to celebrate what He has in store for our friends.
Free to rejoice instead of envy.

Even if it still hurts a little (which, in all honesty, it does), I can keep my eyes on Jesus through the pain. I can celebrate and rejoice with my friends over what God is doing in their lives, because I can choose to trust Him instead of envying others. Trust is more powerful and brave than envy anyway.

Envy is self-centered. Trust is generous.
Envy is fearful. Trust is courageous.
Envy sees only the negative. Trust chooses, over and over, to see the good.

I can cross our new life-stage divide with arms wide open, ready to celebrate all God has for my friend, and trusting Jesus has adventures in store for me.

And if, in the midst of my celebration and trust, the envy and pain and loneliness still sneak in, I’ll bring every ache into the light of Jesus. Because no matter what happens in the lives of the people around me, I’m choosing to follow Him.

Written by Aliza Latta, adapted from (in)courage’s inspiring book, Come Sit with Me.

Looking for a meaningful summer read? Come Sit with Me is like sitting down with 26 trusted friends, each bringing their own raw story of hope and healing amid relational challenges. Discover how God can bring joy and healing through your disagreements, differences, and discomfort in ways you might never expect.

 

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Seeking God’s Kingdom Like a Child

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Every July when I was a child, my family spent one week at a multi-generational summer camp. We stayed in a semi-rustic lake cottage on the Canadian border where we enjoyed swimming, fishing, boating, biking, campfires, and corny talent shows. Each day offered a range of activities for adults and separate activities for kids, all of whom were placed in camp groups according to age. As a child, I always said this was my happy place. Years later, my own children said the same.

Inevitably, the week would include some sort of treasure hunt. Running in flip-flops all over the lake shore, up root-laden paths, through grassy paddocks, and even sneaking into the grown-ups’ dining room — this was the stuff of childhood dreams.

I still remember the year my team found the treasure. Out of breath, we stood before a gnarled oak tree, shading a hammock near the end of the Old Lake Trail. A hollow in that ancient tree held the prize — an enormous bag of foil-wrapped candies in a myriad of colors. I don’t remember who had the honor of removing the prize, but we all shared in the delight.

I often think of the joy involved in that wild race to discover the treasure and wonder if that is how God wants us to seek Him — with childlike joy and wild abandon, discovering Him with breathless delight.

Jeremiah 29:13 (NIV) promises, “You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart.” It sounds a bit like a challenge, perhaps even an invitation to adventure, but if we don’t accept the challenge, we miss out on the prize.

As adults, we often lose that sense of wonder which seems to come more easily in childhood. We forget the joy of seeking, and we sometimes misplace that quick willingness to accept a challenge. We would rather have quick solutions that fit our hurried lifestyle.

But children have a carefree, exuberant way of pursuing a prize. What if we were more like children as we pursue God? What if we sought Him, our prize, with a lightness of being — not questioning or striving but enjoying each moment of the hunt. What would we find at the end of the trail?

Jesus tells us, “The kingdom of heaven is like treasure hidden in a field. When a man found it, he hid it again, and then in his joy went and sold all he had and bought that field” (Matthew 13:44 NIV). Do we have that kind of joy as we seek the Lord and His kingdom?

I honestly believe God enjoys hiding treasures for us, His children — and He wants us to enjoy the pursuit as well. He doesn’t want us to be burdened by the weight of this world, but to fix our eyes on the Kingdom that is already within reach, a treasure waiting to be found.

It’s no coincidence that Jesus mentions the receptivity of children twice in the gospel of Matthew:

Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.
Matthew 18:3

Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.
Matthew 19:14

If we are to truly encounter His kingdom here on earth, we must set our grown-up busyness aside and welcome the wonder that surrounds us each day — chasing after treasure with joy and expectation in our hearts. In that place of simple childlikeness, I believe He satisfies our hidden longings, opening the eyes of our hearts to see Him as He really is. 

How will you embrace childlikeness as you pursue God’s kingdom today? Maybe it looks like taking time to walk in the park or play with your dog. Perhaps you have a desire to draw, or paint, or sing. Is there a game you haven’t played in years? Or a beloved book you haven’t read since childhood? The possibilities are endless. Invite Him to join you in whatever you choose and ask Him for a fresh perspective on His kingdom, and your place in it, as you seek the hidden treasure of His immeasurable love.

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This Is the Joy Your Soul’s Been Craving

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“You will show me the way of life,
granting me the joy of your presence
and the pleasures of living with you forever.”
Psalm 16:11 NLT

The start of summer has a way of stirring something in us. Longer days, warm light, the scent of sunscreen and freshly cut grass — it all whispers of possibility. Of slowing down. Of something new.

And yet, joy doesn’t always arrive with the season. The calendar may say summer, but our souls might still feel stuck in winter. Disappointment lingers. Pressures press in. The noise of life doesn’t take a vacation.

So how do we receive the joy God promises when our circumstances don’t instantly shift?

Psalm 16:11 reminds us that joy isn’t found in everything going right — it’s found in God’s presence. He shows us the way of life when we walk with Him, not just in our big decisions but in our daily thoughts, words, and ways.

When we pause to acknowledge Jesus in the everyday — giving thanks while folding laundry, choosing kindness in a tense moment, inviting Him into our worries — we make space to experience His joy. Not surface-level happiness, but soul-deep gladness that grows as we trust Him.

So as summer begins, may we not just chase relaxation or fun or escape. Let’s seek the One who offers lasting joy. He is near. He is faithful. And even in hard seasons, His presence is our peace.

This Is Why I Share My Story

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Trigger warning: This is a personal story that contains eating disorder content.

I can’t remember my life before my eating disorder — before the starving, obsessive weigh-ins, shameful self-talk, and over-exercising. But that’s because what happened in those fourteen years prior shaped my self-image entirely. My eating disorder didn’t appear overnight; it was a slow descent into darkness. Before it all started, there were years of hiding shameful secrets and self-harm — and, before that, years of abuse. 

Sometimes we create our stories, but sometimes they create us. They shape us and the enemy taunts us with lies to believe about ourselves. I didn’t understand this when I detested my reflection, when all I could see were flaws. Deep inside, I believed that if I could disappear, life would improve. The more I embraced this lie, the less I ate and the thinner I became. But nothing changed. The emptiness inside only grew while my self-esteem lessened. 

My body and quest for perfection became my idol. Calories, food, exercise — every aspect became an obsession. As a young adult, my condition worsened until I finally reached out for help. I feared gaining weight. I feared living without the control I thought I’d gained through my eating disorder. And I feared admitting any of this. Still, tired and weary, I reached out to a Christian counselor who helped me in the healing process of renewing my mind. 

The initial transformation began when I started replacing the lies I believed about myself with God’s truth. My counselor suggested creating an index card binder. On one side, I wrote the lie I believed and on the other side I wrote a scripture of what God says about me. I’d draw an “X” over each lie, physically marking it out on the card and, figuratively, in my mind. For years, I carried these cards everywhere — they were constant reminders of the truth amidst my false beliefs.  

Gradually, over days and months, I spent less time consumed with the lies and more time embracing God’s truth. Then, one day I caught my reflection and actually spoke something kind to myself. This was just the beginning. I spent years in God’s Word and prayer, fighting my way through my quest for perfection and control.

Years later, I returned back to counseling, exhausted from carrying a heart full of stress and worry. Though I had been working to overcome my eating disorder, I didn’t realize my unhealed past was the root cause of my pain and struggle. I finally named my emotional wounds — the ones I carried for decades — and my relationship with God healed and deepened. I finally allowed myself to be fully seen by Him — no filters, no performance. I named my wounds, and God met me there with His grace-filled love. 

I share my story to say — not all eating disorders are just about food. Eating disorders are not just about size or weight — the root runs much deeper.

Perhaps you eat your feelings, beat them up at the gym, purge them in the bathroom, or numb them with substances. Whatever your struggle, there is hope. There is a God who draws you in with His love. 

Before counseling, and before I was grounded in God’s Word, I let my wounds speak and I believed the lies. I don’t know your story or the traumas you’ve endured, but I know this: God created us with mind, body, and soul. True healing — seeing ourselves as God does — requires the brave work of confronting pain and filling our mind, body, and soul with the truth from His Word.

When battling my eating disorder, I believed the lie that failure means not living up to impossible standards. But truth from God’s Word says, “My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever” (Psalm 73:26). 

When battling my eating disorder, I believed the lie that the body should take the beating and become our obsessive focus. But truth from God’s Word records Jesus saying, “Take, eat; this is My body which is broken for you” (1 Corinthians 11:24). Indeed, Jesus became broken for us; and He should become our primary focus. 

When battling my eating disorder, I believed the lie that I needed to constantly push myself — do more, try harder, be perfect. But truth from God’s Word says, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness” (2 Corinthians 12:9).

Each of these verses became God’s life-giving bread that sustained my soul, leading me towards healing and surrender. Over the past thirty-eight years that I’ve spent working with women and young girls, I’ve met so many who share stories like my own — stories of longing to be set free from eating disorders and struggles with their body. This is why I share my story; because I wish someone had shared theirs with me. 

Sweet friend, you don’t have to face this alone. Seek help from a Christian counselor, a medical professional, a trusted friend, or a spiritual mentor. May God bring you hope and help as you navigate this journey. And may He walk with you through every step of your healing, giving you the strength you need each day.

At (in)courage, we believe in making space for all stories and experiences. With heartache, we recognize the reality of eating disorders. With hope, we share this story — proclaiming the help and healing that can be found in community and Christ. We are here for you, in prayer and in the comments below, should you wish to respond to this guest article.

What Helps You Feel Capable Instead of Crazy

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A couple of months ago, I had a doctor’s appointment that was in a word… disappointing. I scheduled the appointment because I wanted guidance on how to walk through this whole *waves hand in the air* perimenopause stage that has me feeling like a stranger in my own body. When I explained my symptoms to the doctor amidst tears, she acted like I was explaining that the sun comes up in the east and sets in the west. In other words, she looked mighty bored and disinterested.

And despite being armed with information about my supplements and eating habits and ready to talk about all the things that might help or hinder my frustrating symptoms, none of that entered our conversation. My doctor didn’t ask and didn’t seem to care.

But hey, she looked all of 15 years old, so how was she supposed to understand what being 50 feels like? (Said with no small amount of sarcasm.)

It’s super fun to vulnerably turn your heart inside out to someone — only to have that person not receive what you’re saying. (Said no one.)

After my appointment, I speed-walked back to my car. And when I pulled the car door shut, I cried yet again. This office came highly recommended, and it took five months to get an appointment. I had been so incredibly hopeful that I would leave with reassurance and practical care options. Instead, I left with frustration and a heaping dose of disappointment.

Now let’s contrast that to my most recent visit to the same office, but with a different doctor. While I was only scheduled for my yearly well check, the doctor asked if I had anything I’d like to discuss. I took the opportunity to relay a lot of the same info I had relayed to her colleague two months earlier. But unlike my last visit, this doctor listened intently and asked several follow-up questions, told me she understood what I was going through, and offered numerous options for what I could do next.

After this appointment, I practically skipped to my car, contemplating a few twirls in the parking lot à la Maria von Trapp in The Sound of Music. As I pulled my car door shut, I proceeded to message a girlfriend in my same life stage and relay my positive experience to her.

What a difference a kind, listening ear can make in helping one feel validated and capable rather than crazy.

While you may not be in my stage of life, you likely know what it is to be flattened by words that at best discourage you and at worst break your spirit.

Maybe you finally got the gumption to share with someone a dream you’re working towards, and in return, that person only lists all the reasons you’re foolish to entertain such a dream.

Maybe you posted an anecdote on Instagram about the difficulties of parenting, and the first person to comment tells you to get over it and quit complaining.

Maybe you believed a particular relationship was moving along just fine, but it turns out the other person wants to part ways.

There are a million ways you can turn your heart inside out, only to have the person on the receiving end dismiss you with a wave of a hand.

My experience, and I’m guessing yours too, confirms the truth Scripture proclaims: Words have the power to bring life and death. I’ve felt that sting of death from cutting or uncaring words, as well as the gift of spoken life.

Proverbs 16:24 (ESV) tells us:

“Kind words are like honey—
sweet to the soul and healthy for the body.”

While reading Holley Gerth’s devotional, 365 Truths for Every Woman’s Heart, I learned that from ancient times onward, honey has been regarded as a healing agent in wound care. Its antibacterial features and anti-inflammatory qualities can keep problems from getting worse. And there’s no denying that its soothing properties help a hot cup of tea soothe a sore throat.

While I can’t control how someone else talks to me, I can control my words and attitude while talking to others. Like honey, my words can heal. But I also want them to be relayed in a way reflected by Proverbs 15:4 (ESV):

“A gentle tongue is a tree of life,
but perverseness in it breaks the spirit.”

The way we talk to others is as important as what we say. Admittedly, I’ve experienced hard conversations where I’ve had to apologize not for what I said but for the way I said it.

Recognizing the damage our tone of voice and word choice can have doesn’t mean we say only what others want to hear. Sometimes, a needed (even if painful) word is necessary to give and receive. But if we want the words we speak to be soothing like honey while also gentle, we must train our hearts for it. We do that by regularly meeting with Jesus and investing in friendships that point to gospel truth.

So if you’ve ever left a conversation — or a doctor’s office — with tears in your eyes and hope deflated in your chest, please know that you’re not alone. I’ve been there too, wondering why it’s so hard to be heard, why vulnerability sometimes feels like a losing game.

But dearheart, don’t miss this: your words hold incredible power.

Even if you’ve been on the receiving end of apathy or judgment, you still get to be the kind of person who offers the opposite. The kind who listens closely. The kind who validates tender places. The kind who sprinkles her speech with honey — sweet, healing, and full of life. You may never know the full impact of your kindness, but someone else just might leave an encounter with you practically skipping to their car, heart buoyed, and hope restored.

 

Listen to Kristen’s devotion here or on your fave podcast app!

Even When You Don’t Know Why You’re Sad

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It was a simple text. “I’m headed to Costco later… need anything?”

Simple, thoughtful, kind. My friend knew my husband was out of town, it was end of the school year craziness, and I was working on final book edits. She was employing one of my favorite friendship strategies: offer to help while doing something you’re already doing!

What normally would have made me feel seen and loved instantly sent me into a tailspin I couldn’t pull out of.

My mind rushed through the list of all the things we needed from Costco. With three teenage boys who eat all the time, the fridge was empty again. Bread, apples, bananas, carrots, chicken, milk, eggs, frozen mango, lettuce, tortilla chips, cheese, and seventeen other things rattled in my brain. I couldn’t send her my entire $300 shopping list. I would just go to the store myself later. But I didn’t want to. I didn’t have time. Help was available now. But which things were most important? Why was this so hard to decide?

I tried to text back three times… and then the dam broke and I started to cry.

What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I get it together?

I retreated to the bathroom. Leaned against the wall. Sunk down to the floor. Held my knees. And sobbed.

Somehow a text about Costco unleashed a deep sadness I couldn’t hold in. I cried and cried until a mountain of soggy Kleenex formed around me. I didn’t know where the sadness was coming from or when the tears would run dry.

Thirty minutes later, I was back to unloading the dishwasher, answering emails, coordinating rides for my teens, checking on my elderly neighbor, and feeding my sourdough starter.

This is anxiety and depression.

It’s like one of those awful Viking ship carnival rides that swing from height to height, bringing you back to center for a moment barely long enough to catch your breath before pushing you way past your equilibrium again. I don’t like this ride.

I finally decided that bananas, blueberries, almond milk, and a rotisserie chicken would be extremely helpful. My husband Facetimed me, and we both laughed over my splotchy red face and the crocodile tears that fell as soon as I said hello. (Levity after 20 years of marriage is a gift.) I took a nap because that’s the only thing that made sense.

Later, my friend arrived with my mini Costco haul. I thanked her and we chatted about summer plans and her mom falling and how our kids are getting so big. As she moved to leave, lest her own groceries spoil, I blurted out, “Can you pray for me?” and then promptly started to cry — again.

My friend pulled me into a hug and asked what was wrong. All I could do was shrug as tears soaked her shoulder.

I babbled about how it could be the grief I was holding for dear ones walking through fiery trials or these dang perimenopausal hormones that can’t decide which way is up. I wondered aloud if I was in the thick of a spiritual attack or if it was the weight of uncertainty surrounding some big decisions. Maybe I ate too much gluten or spent too much time on social media or…

“I don’t know,” I said again and again.

My friend looked at me and said, “Maybe you don’t have to know.”

As someone who has struggled with diagnosed anxiety and depression for almost a decade (and likely all my life before I knew what to call it), it still frustrates me to no end that I can’t easily name or explain what I experience. I prefer to recognize, identify, and analyze my thoughts and feelings, along with their root cause, and then develop a five-step strategy to move through, learn from, and never return to their uncomfortable company again. Please and thank you.

But my friend’s gentle words reminded me of what I’ve learned through years of mental health struggle: Jesus doesn’t need me to understand or explain it in order to meet me in it.

The God of all comfort, the God of all hope, the God who works all things for my good, the One who never leaves me or forsakes me, the Shepherd who calls me by name and carries me close to His heart is with me on the bathroom floor. His presence envelops me as I take the nap my body needs, and as I push through to meet the deadline that must be met. His goodness follows me and His mercy runs ahead of me. I don’t have to perfectly articulate why I need Him — it’s enough to simply cry out that I do.

God is already here.

My heart knows what David penned:

Where can I go from your Spirit?
    Where can I flee from your presence?
 If I go up to the heavens, you are there;
    if I make my bed in the depths, you are there.
If I rise on the wings of the dawn,
    if I settle on the far side of the sea,
even there your hand will guide me,
    your right hand will hold me fast.
If I say, “Surely the darkness will hide me
    and the light become night around me,”
even the darkness will not be dark to you;
    the night will shine like the day,
    for darkness is as light to you.
Psalm 139:7-12 NIV

I don’t need to justify my grieving heart and jittery body and distracted mind for the ache to be real. The darkness becomes light when I stop shaming myself for the sadness I can’t explain. God’s hand holds me when I call out to Him, then send a deeply honest text to a few trusted friends. I feel His love when others meet me in my mess and love me still — splotchy face and all.

Anxiety and depression can feel like a darkness that will never lift. But they do. They have. Today I am okay.

But even when the darkness feels thick, even when I want to hide, God’s love finds me.

He finds you too.

He never left you.

Becky’s upcoming book, A Verse a Day for the Anxious Soul, is a gentle guide to experiencing God’s peace when anxiety weighs heavy. Preorder your copy now.

 

Listen to Becky’s devotion here or on the (in)courage podcast wherever you stream.

And consider sharing this article or episode with a friend. 

We Sit in the Shade of Trees We Did Not Plant

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There’s nothing quite like the combination of surprise and nostalgia tucked inside the portion of Facebook called “memories”. Every time I remember to check the daily collection of “on this day” posts, it’s like opening a time capsule of old photos, status updates I’ve long forgotten, and captions dating back to those awkward middle school days.

Last month, with a single click, I was transported to my college graduation. “10 Years Ago Today,” Facebook declared. “How in the actual world can that be possible?” I said to my computer screen. And yet the pixels told the truth and the calendar confirmed it: A decade has passed since I donned a cap and gown, slipped into red high heels, walked across the stage (while fervently praying I wouldn’t trip) and received a piece of paper to mark the conclusion of four incredible, difficult, beautiful, and life-changing years.

Time is a funny thing, both slow and stretching and shockingly quick. Blink and suddenly the present becomes past. Somehow, though, in the decade of days since commencement, two sentences from that day have stayed in my memory (no Facebook app needed).

I thought of one line recently as I sat in a classroom two buildings away from the stage I danced barefoot on in shows every spring and then carefully crossed in heels that one morning in May. Truth be told, I’ve thought of it hundreds of times, because the seasons keep shifting and the reminder remains.

On a May day ten years ago, our beloved college president offered this line as an encouragement and an invitation to go and do the same for the ones who come behind:

“We sit in the shade of trees we did not plant.”

In other words, because of the seeds sown generations ago, we’re able to find a little bit of respite from the heat. Because others came before us, watering and tending with care, we get to rest and enjoy beauty we can’t sign our names to. Our right-now lives are changed because someone somewhere at some point gave sacrificially and showed up faithfully.

Once upon a time, someone planted a seed, and now we sit in its shade.

There are dozens of women who have shaped me in some way, often through simply observing how they live their regular daily lives. Still there are generations more, like the early Christian women martyrs I learned about in that classroom last fall, whose legacy lives on like branches growing out and up and on and on. When I wrote about the women, I hoped to do so in a way that encouraged us to listen to their echo, to slow down long enough that we don’t miss the message they gave everything to declare and, to the death, refused to deny: the Kingdom will not be shaken.

But today, as I read those fall words that hold true and consider a decades-old line about seeds and shade, an unexpected connection comes to mind. In Mark 4, after telling the parable of the sower and the soils, Jesus said:

“How can I show you what the kingdom of God is like? What story can I use to explain it? The kingdom of God is like a mustard seed, the smallest seed you plant in the ground. But when planted, this seed grows and becomes the largest of all garden plants. It produces large branches, and the wild birds can make nests in its shade.”
Mark 4:30-32 NCV

In case we missed the surprising shift from big and grand to tiny ordinary things that really do change history, the one who is called both Gardener and King assures us it’s true:

“The kingdom of God is like someone who plants seed in the ground.”
Mark 4:26 NCV

Ten years ago, hours before crossing the stage, I emailed our college president to say thank you for those four full years. Within minutes, he replied with a prayer specific to what I shared, alongside a note of personal encouragement to me. The only other line I remember from graduation morning? It wasn’t declared in an auditorium. Instead, tucked quietly inside an email, he wrote “You are wired for glory” before commissioning me into the next chapter.

Somehow, he made time during commencement weekend to plant a seed of truth and encouragement. It wasn’t for show or to be known – he simply saw and stopped, and then spoke words I’ll never forget and want to pass along to you today.

Each of us is wired for glory. Each of us is invited and commissioned to plant seeds of kindness, love, encouragement, and truth. We may not get to see the branches that eventually stretch to offer shade, but what would happen if we chose to trust the timeline to the Gardener?

What if we dared to push back against the widely seen, the popular, and the pixelated, by choosing the smaller things?

Few of us will sit in the shade of trees we ourselves planted, but every single day we walk a path and rest in the shade that was made for us long ago by names we’ll likely never know.

May we go and do the same.

You are wired for glory, friend. Let’s plant some seeds.

 

Listen to Kaitlyn’s devotion here or wherever you stream the (in)courage podcast.

Hold Tight to His Heart + A Summertime Recipe

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“How happy is the one who does not
walk in the advice of the wicked
or stand in the pathway with sinners
or sit in the company of mockers!
Instead, his delight is in the Lord’s instruction,
and he meditates on it day and night.
He is like a tree planted beside flowing streams
that bears its fruit in its season,
and its leaf does not wither.
Whatever he does prospers.

The wicked are not like this;
instead, they are like chaff that the wind blows away.
Therefore the wicked will not stand up in the judgment,
nor sinners in the assembly of the righteous.

For the Lord watches over the way of the righteous,
but the way of the wicked leads to ruin.”
Psalm 1 CSB

When hard news comes, when difficulties happen, we can be tempted to think that if our life is a Farmer’s Market, the stalls will now be empty. There will be only fragile leaves chased away by the wind. All the glory and color will be gone.

But the reality is this: As long as we are joined to Jesus, there will be fruit in our lives — from the time we are sneaker-wearing teenagers to silver-haired senior citizens blowing out one hundred candles on the cake. In other words, there will always be miraculous things coming to and through us.

The fruit in our lives will thrive. That doesn’t mean nothing hard will ever happen or we’ll get everything we want. But it does mean that God’s plans for our lives are invincible when we stay connected to Him. Life’s droughts and storms can’t stop Him from bringing forth His miraculous work in and through us.

So let’s cling to God’s promises. Hold tight to His heart. Have strong roots that burrow deep into His affection for us. We will not falter. We will not fail. We will not lead a barren life at any age. Yes, we will be women of beauty, growth, and blessings as long as we live. Because we are trees planted by the river of God’s love, and it will never run dry.

This excerpt is by Holley Gerth, published in the (in)courage Devotional Bible. It has been edited from its original form.

And now a brand new recipe for you!

Thank you to our friend Nancy C. for putting together this delicious recipe that tastes like summer and uses fresh herbs and produce. Put those farmers’ market or backyard garden bell peppers, broccoli, cucumbers, and herbs to good use with this delicious dill dip! We hope you try this dip with friends all summer long. Scroll down for the recipe and to download a FREE printable recipe card!

Lemon-Dill Dip

Download the FREE recipe card here!

Prep Time: 15 minutes
Bake Time: none
Makes 4-6 servings

INGREDIENTS:

  • 1 cup sour cream
  • 3/4 cup mayonnaise
  • 1 tsp. fresh lemon juice
  • 1 tsp. lemon zest
  • 3 Tbsp. finely chopped fresh dill, plus a little more for garnish
  • 2 tsp. minced onion
  • 1 tsp. garlic powder
  • 1/2 tsp. salt
  • Dash of pepper

INSTRUCTIONS:

  1. In medium-sized bowl, mix together the sour cream, mayonnaise, and lemon juice.
  2. Next, add in the lemon zest, fresh dill, minced onion, garlic powder, salt, and pepper.
  3. Cover and refrigerate for 1 to 2 hours before serving.
  4. When ready to serve, garnish the top of the dip with a sprinkle of chopped fresh dill, if desired.
  5. Serve dip with raw veggies, crackers, pretzels, and/or chips.

Note: A variety of crackers and fresh, raw veggies go well with this dip, like baby carrots, cucumbers, bell peppers, and broccoli.

Find these beautiful serving dishes and tea towel set in the Mary & Martha home collection at DaySpring. And tell us – what’s your favorite recipe for using a Farmers Market bounty?

The Sandwich I Didn’t Want and the Miracle I Needed

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On Saturday, May 31, I had the privilege of hosting our first bilingual conference for Anew Ministries. We gathered in Monroe, North Carolina, bringing together 50 multi-generational, multi-cultural women. It was a labour of love and a testament to God’s faithfulness when we give our yes in faith to Him.

I planned and planned for months, securing speakers and volunteers, booking flights and lodging, and checking item after item on my endless to-do list. I felt confident that the planning was on track. However, a few weeks before the event, our caterer unexpectedly called and informed me that he would no longer be able to cater the event. What?! How was this happening? 

I tried to stay calm and quickly searched Google for restaurants that cater in that area. I stumbled upon a Mexican food chain that needed only 48 hours notice. This was perfect because I didn’t want to serve another sandwich. I’m not against sandwiches, but I wanted our conference to stand out by offering something different, and a boxed lunch from another local eaterie was neither appealing to me nor within our budget. Also, by this point, our registrations hadn’t met the minimum number of attendees required for our coffee cart provider, so we lost breakfast and lunch within two weeks — with just three weeks to go before the event.

As the days flew by, the pressure continued to build. While dealing with my own personal struggles and uncertainties, I noticed the registration numbers remained low. Doubt began to set in, and I started to wonder if this event was going to fall through.

Things continued to fall apart. Given the exchange rate (from Canada, where my family and Anew are based, to our event site in the U.S.), unexpected changes, and food selection, costs were significantly higher than anticipated. Out of the blue, I lost two speakers in one week. It felt as though everything was unravelling. 

Discouragement began to replace the faith I had so eagerly started with, and I began to feel so defeated.

Forty-eight hours before the event, I called to place our catering order, only to find out that May 31st was the busiest day for this restaurant and that they were no longer accepting orders at any location in North Carolina. The only restaurant within a reasonable driving distance was a sandwich shop, leaving me no choice but to order a boxed lunch that included the dreaded sandwich. 

My plans were falling apart, but God’s were just beginning to take shape. 

That week, a friend prayed for me to let go of my plans and learn to accept His. It was then that I surrendered this event to the Lord, on His terms, not mine. From the food and speakers to all the elements I couldn’t control, I entrusted everything to God — which wasn’t easy. But I drew strength from every word God had given me and believed that whatever the outcome of this conference, He would provide.

That’s when I stumbled upon Numbers chapter 11, where the Israelites complained about craving meat (among other things).  Reading verses 31-32 blew my mind:

“Now a wind went out from the Lord and drove quail in from the sea. It scattered them up to two cubits deep all around the camp, as far as a day’s walk in any direction. All that day and night and all the next day the people went out and gathered quail. No one gathered less than ten homers. Then they spread them out all around the camp.”
Numbers 11:31-32 NIV

Did you notice that? “A wind went out from the Lord and drove quail in from the sea.” The Lord not only provided meat for the Israelites, but He did it in the most unexpected way – by sending it from the sea! This verse echoed in the chambers of my heart for days to come. If the Lord could provide for the Israelites, could He not do the same for us? I tucked these verses away in my heart. 

The conference was a tremendous success! The Lord showed up beautifully and exceeded my expectations in every way. It was more than I could have imagined or asked for, and He was present in every detail. Though we came in over budget, He wasn’t finished yet.

The day after the event, as our team headed to lunch, I received a call from a friend I hadn’t heard from in a long time. He told me he had been feeling prompted by the Lord for a few weeks to make a donation to our ministry, but it wasn’t until that morning that he made the call. His donation covered all our financial needs — praise Jesus!

Friend, I don’t know what you’re going through today, but let me remind you that our God is a provider. He’s in the details, and He’s your strength and refuge. You can trust Him and the outcome only He could orchestrate.

May our prayer today be “Your will, not mine.”

 

Listen to Ligia’s devotion here or stream the (in)courage podcast on your fave app!

From Beach to Backyard: You’re Never Alone

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“I can never escape from your Spirit!
    I can never get away from your presence!
If I go up to heaven, you are there;
    if I go down to the grave,[a] you are there.
If I ride the wings of the morning,
    if I dwell by the farthest oceans,
 even there your hand will guide me,
    and your strength will support me.
I could ask the darkness to hide me
    and the light around me to become night—
     but even in darkness I cannot hide from you.
To you the night shines as bright as day.
Darkness and light are the same to you.”
Psalm 139:7-12 NLT

Maybe you’re reading this with your toes in the sand, letting the sun warm places you forgot were cold. Or maybe you’re wiping smudges off the kitchen counter for the tenth time today, wondering if anything you do really matters. Or you’re clocking in for another day of a job you love… or one you really don’t.

Wherever you are — on vacation or in the thick of your everyday — this truth remains: God is with you. Right now. Right here.

His presence isn’t reserved for church pews or mountaintop moments. Psalm 139 reminds us that from the beach to the backyard — and every mundane, messy, or marvelous place in between — we are never outside the reach of His love or the help of His hand.

You may feel overwhelmed by the weight you’re carrying: anxious thoughts, parenting struggles, job stress, or just the ache of being unseen. But sister, you are not alone. God sees. God stays. God supports. His Spirit hovers over your chaos like He did in the beginning — bringing light, forming beauty, whispering peace.

There is joy to be found — not because your circumstances are easy, but because Jesus is near. And in His presence, there is always joy (Psalm 16:11).

So take a deep breath.
Look up. Look around.
That patch of blue sky? That giggle from your child? That quiet moment with your coffee?

That’s joy.
That’s Jesus, right here with you.


Jesus, thank You for being with me in every moment. Help me to notice You — to find joy not in perfect circumstances but in Your perfect presence. Today, let me live with eyes wide open to Your nearness and heart anchored in Your love. Amen.

When Darkness Is an Old Friend

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I didn’t know God was with me in the darkness where I resided.

The darkness took me down paths of desperation. It welcomed anxiety and sorrow, rocks at the pit of my stomach. Pain, which would travel into my throat, causing it to sting. Breathing, short and fast. Eyes squeezed shut to try and keep the tears from pouring out. 

Life overwhelmed me. I was hospitalized and medicated, twice. It was me and the darkness and a world with seemingly no purpose — no rhythm and no security — spinning around. 

In my late teens, everything changed when I was introduced to God, a God who loved me, a God who cared deeply, a God whose light broke through the darkness and offered me the peace I had been so desperately seeking. Faith uprooted the constant pressure and overwhelm. Feeling a peace that I had never felt before, the darkness slipped away, taking anxiety with it.

Eventually, I married and had a football team’s worth of babies. I floated through life, God at my side, filled with that peace that surpasses understanding. Those things that had plagued me were barely a memory. Making a home, baking bread, homeschooling, family traditions, walks along the beach, life was beautiful and full . . . until one day, a sibling squabble brought me to my knees.

In an instant, I felt it. That rock in my stomach. It had been years and another lifetime, but as soon as it came knocking, it was as if it had never been gone.

I was the lyrics from that Simon and Garfunkel song, “Hello darkness, my old friend. I’ve come to talk with you again.” From that point, darkness tried, desperately, to creep back into my life.

Things had been getting more overwhelming. I had been feeling burnt out more often. In the middle of the daily chaos, I was finding it hard to breathe. So many things calling to me. Suddenly, it had all broken me. How was I supposed to mend this tattered mosaic, aka me? 

When I first met God as a teen, I knew I needed mending. There was no shame in it. But then, as a mature Christian wife and mother, I found it impossible to admit that. Shouldn’t I be able to hold things together, do it all, and not focus too much on myself?  

But, if I maintained that mentality, I would be a frog in a pot of boiling water, unaware that I needed to jump out until it was too late. I would break. I had already begun. So, I went back to the beginning. To whispered prayers. I looked for the light in the darkness and reminded myself, daily, of the love of God.

I wrote out priorities that reminded me of Him. He is a God of beauty, order, relationship, wisdom, and creation, and I thought these orienting myself to these priorities would help me connect to Him. I would do one thing in each area every day; five things to help ease my overwhelm, make me mindful of my surroundings, remind me that God wins, that I matter, and to breathe.  

He is a God of beauty, so every day I would bring something beautiful into my life. I’d add something lovely — pick wildflowers, light candles, set the table for a family meal, rearrange things, and create.  

He is a God of order, so I decluttered. The junk drawer, the catch-all table, the unruly garden, the cluttered closet. I’d make change in one area daily, bringing order to the madness, lessening the chaos. 

He is a God of relationship, so I would make an intentional effort in one relationship every day. Date night, one-on-one with a child, write a letter to a friend, or service to someone in my community. 

He is a God of wisdom, so I read books, considered ideas, wrote, and had discussions. Goethe wrote, “One ought, every day at least, to hear a little song, read a good poem, see a fine picture, and, if it were possible, to speak a few reasonable words.” I took this to heart. 

He is a God of creation, so I spent time outside every day. Creation soothes the soul and is calming. Some days I would go to the beach and watch the water, the tide coming in and out. Some days, all I did was step out my front door to breathe fresh air. Watch the birds. Dance in the rain. Marvel at the majesty of nature. 

By focusing on my priorities, I found the darkness fleeing. With deep humility, I realigned with the peace of God. I knew now that I wasn’t immune: I couldn’t keep going without focusing on God and caring for myself.  

God doesn’t want us to neglect ourselves. As human beings, we need to be nurtured, refreshed, and take time to grow. An empty vessel has nothing to pour out. When we begin to tatter, it’s time to find the light and focus on mending.

When You’ve Lost Yourself, God Hasn’t Lost You

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One of my kids was recently tangled in some middle school drama. His phone battery had died, and he hadn’t texted his friend back — leaving them on read and unintentionally hurting their feelings.

“Oh, when I was a teenager, my phone died, and that happened to me once,” my husband chimed in.

“Really?” our son asked. “With which friend?”

My husband smiled.

“Mom. But she wasn’t Mom back then. Just Kayla.”

I laughed — then paused.

“I’m still Kayla,” I said.

The moment has stayed with me.

It’s so easy to lose ourselves. We take on names and roles and responsibilities. We become Mom or Auntie or Grandma or Bestie or Church Lady or Caregiver or Boss. These identities are meaningful parts of who we are, yes — but they aren’t the whole story.

Our truest identity is that we are beloved children of God.

Before we were anyone to anyone else, we were already known and loved by the One who made us.

In 1 John 3:1, we’re reminded of our truest identity: “See what great love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! And that is what we are!” (NIV)

God doesn’t forget that. God doesn’t forget you.

We have a God who moves toward us, even when we feel a little lost in who we are.

Scripture tells us that God is like a shepherd who leaves the ninety-nine sheep to go after the one that’s wandered away (Luke 15:4-7). Like a woman who turns her house upside down looking for a single lost coin (Luke 15:8-10). Like a father who runs to embrace his lost child (Luke 15:11-32).

Over and over again, God shows us: Nothing — not even our own wandering — can make us unfindable.

We often talk about losing ourselves in the seasons of motherhood, but the truth is, there are many moments in life when we feel disoriented. After a big move. After a job loss. After a diagnosis. After being let down, left out, or just trying to survive in a completely exhausting season.

When I was in middle school, my family moved from a mid-size town in Iowa to the Twin Cities. I begged my mom to take me to a trendy clothing store I’d heard about in a suburb called Eagan.

This was pre-GPS, and in her attempts to navigate the bustling metro area, my mom got a little (okay, a lot) lost. We ended up in the middle of nowhere at a dusty roadside stand called The Garden of Eagan.

“It looks like God’s been with us on this adventure all along,” she said, smiling.

We laughed. The name — playing off The Garden of Eden — made us chuckle. It felt like a nudge from the Holy Spirit. A reminder that we were never really lost, just… rerouted.

That unexpected detour stuck with me. And now, whenever I find myself on a literal or spiritual backroad, I remember: God is never confused about the route.

Even when I feel like I’ve lost myself or lost my way, I’ve never been far from God.

Our lives are an adventure. Yes, sometimes we’ll take wrong turns, make poor choices, or get knocked down by circumstances we didn’t choose. But when we pause in the middle of our messy days to pay attention to God’s presence, we begin to find our footing again. We remember who we really are — beloved children of God.

The more we reorient our days around sacred listening for the still, small voice of God in the comings and goings of our lives, the more we begin to remember what is true: That we are beloved. That we belong. That no matter where our adventure takes us, nothing could separate us from the love of God.

We don’t just remember who we are so we can feel better, we remember so we can live in the rhythms Jesus shows us. From a place of belovedness, we can extend grace. From a place of security, we can offer kindness. In other words, we love because God first loved us.

If you’ve taken detours or feel like a stranger to yourself, God knows exactly where you are and is always ready to welcome you back.

When you’ve lost your way to yourself, take a minute to pause.

To hear the Spirit whisper: “You are mine. You are my child. And you are loved. That’s who you are.”

 

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

Can You Walk With a Book on Your Head?

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I grew up as a GenX kid in the early 80’s who ran the streets in my small suburban community without a care in the world. Our moms would shoo everyone out of the house in the early mornings, giving a warning not to run in and out all day. We rode our bikes, drank out of backyard water hoses, and ate cheap candy by the pound. Then, I made it home by the time the streetlights came on. Barely. Those were great years!

Frankly, I thought those times would last forever. Then, I turned 12 years old. That was the summer when my paternal grandma, Mama (pronounced Maw-Maw), declared that I slouched too much, and she was going to change that.

Mama was a light-skinned, older Southern Black woman who didn’t tell us what year she was born until a few years before her passing in 2016 at 92 years old. Mama also carried a lifelong disappointment: Her height. At 5’9″, Mama lamented her height regularly. Growing up in the Jim Crow South, Mama’s race made life difficult, but her height made her feel like a target. As far as Mama was concerned, it was tragic that I inherited her height.

Thanks to a dramatic growth spurt, I’d become one of the tallest kids in my elementary school. Add in my thick-lensed glasses, large front teeth, and attending a school with only a few African-American students, and there was a lot about me for kids to tease.

It’s no surprise my slouch reflected my self-esteem.

Mama noticed. She determined she wouldn’t allow her long-legged granddaughter to try to hide. While my young male cousins were popping wheelies and playing pickup basketball, I spent my summer inside with a book. Not to read. But sitting on top of my head. Mama’s declaration: “Barbara, it’s time for you to learn how to stand tall.”

That summer, I walked back and forth across her living room carpet with a book settled on top of my head. At first, the book slid off often because I wasn’t aware of how much slouching impacted my posture. Using her refined, slow Southern voice, Mama said repeatedly, “Barbara, straighten your back. Lift your head.”

It took a few days, but I figured out how to do what Mama asked. Then, it was fun to see how many times I could walk up and back with the book on my head. My grandmother knew that standing tall would help me hold onto my dignity in a world where I wouldn’t always be judged by the content of my character but instead by the color of my skin.

Mama’s instructive words spoke freedom into my life. As my head lifted, my view of myself shifted, and my hope for the future increased. While I never had a close relationship with Mama, her words and presence that summer became the gift of a lifetime.

There’s nothing more precious than speaking hope and freedom into the lives of others. Speaking words like, “You can do this,” or “God loves you”  to those with their heads hanging low is speaking freedom instead of reinforcing fear. Our life-giving words are a free gift we can lavishly give to others.

In Galatians, Paul the Apostle writes to believers, encouraging them to disregard the threatening voices that sought to keep them from living fully free and alive in Christ. Paul wrote the following proclamation, and his words would have radically changed the mindset of those who’d never heard these freeing words before:

“For you are all children of God through faith in Christ Jesus. And all who have been united with Christ in baptism have put on Christ, like putting on new clothes. There is no longer Jew or Gentile, slave or free, male and female. For you are all one in Christ Jesus.”
Galatians 3:26-28 NLT

The gospel of God’s grace brings freedom to all who hear it and receive it for themselves. Do you see how Paul casts a vision for how Jesus brings unity within our vast diversity of life experiences, backgrounds, race, and culture? It’s terrific that you and I have the privilege of sharing that freedom with others.

Speaking of freedom… On this day, 160 years ago, the last American slaves were notified of their freedom. President Abraham Lincoln signed the Emancipation Proclamation about 900 days before, but it took a special messenger to bring the news to those enslaved people that they were free. While modern debates roar on both sides about President Lincoln’s motives and the politics of slavery, Juneteenth is a day we celebrate in memory of our commitment to freedom for all.

Freedom means so much more when we enjoy it together. God wants to use you to bring good news. Who can you speak words of hope and freedom to today? 

Can you walk with a book on your head? At 5’10”, Barb still can, even in high heels. She loves writing to women about experiencing God’s great adventure of faith and purpose through prayer in her newest Bible study, Matthew: Pray Like This.

 

Listen to Barb’s devotion here or on your fave podcast app.

The Wake Up Call I Didn’t Expect

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Most of my life’s most interesting adventures have come from trying to save money. That frugal mindset has led me down winding backroads in search of hidden thrifty gems — and this particular destination was no different. What I didn’t realize was that it might actually save my life.

A few years ago, my husband told me we had a rare opportunity to stay, free of charge, at a world-renowned five-star resort. I was thrilled. We planned the trip for the week of my birthday and our anniversary. It was only four hours away, so it was a no-brainer.

The only catch? The main reason for the trip was for me to undergo a full physical at the resort’s medical clinic. I was due for a well visit anyway — how bad could it be? I figured I’d be in and out in a couple of hours, then off to enjoy the amenities.

I wish.

Instead, my birthday turned into eight full hours of every possible exam a woman can endure. By the end of the day, every nurse on staff knew it was my birthday — and that my husband owed me a serious redo.

Even so, I laughed a lot that day. It was, without question, my worst birthday ever. But in hindsight, one of the best gifts I could have received. As a healthy, non-smoking, middle-aged woman, I breezed through most of the tests — until I didn’t.

The doctor gave me unsettling news: I needed to see a cardiologist immediately. We all know someone in their 50s who appears healthy, doesn’t smoke, eats relatively well, and then suddenly has a heart attack without warning. That could have been me, if not for my love of free things.

I scheduled follow-up tests and, while I waited, I committed to eating clean, exercising, and taking care of my body like it was my job. I was all in — until one phrase from the doctor stuck with me:

“This is hereditary. You could run marathons and eat vegan, and you’d still have high cholesterol. The damage done can’t be corrected.”

It was, honestly, the worst thing I could have heard. As someone who already wrestles with discipline — both physically and spiritually — it gave me a dangerous excuse. If all my effort wouldn’t change the outcome, why bother trying?

That mindset of resigning when results aren’t guaranteed started to sound too familiar.

And then, gently, the Lord whispered to my heart:

“Isn’t that the same excuse you use with Me?”

I knew exactly what He meant.

I had been doing the same thing with my spiritual life — gradually disengaging while rehearsing a playlist of excuses:

“I just don’t feel close to God.”
“My prayer life is dry.”
“Scripture doesn’t come alive.”
“Quiet time feels like a chore, not a lifeline.”

When I didn’t feel immediate results, I started putting in less effort — not in a rebellious, turn from God kind of way, but in the subtle way we often drift. A slow fade. And isn’t that how we lose our first love?

Jesus’ words to the church at Ephesus cut to the core:

“But I have this against you, that you have abandoned the love you had at first. Remember therefore from where you have fallen; repent, and do the works you did at first.”
Revelation 2:4–5 ESV

Like the early church, I had grown complacent. I stopped doing the things I did when I first fell in love with Christ: prioritizing time in His presence, seeking Him through prayer and in His Word.

My time with Jesus became a checklist. And then I wondered why I didn’t feel close to Him anymore.

Just like with my physical health, where a cookie became my breakfast of choice, I had fallen into apathetic thinking. If I can’t control the outcomes (of my life or the way I feel about God), why bother? So I stopped bothering. But Jesus didn’t ask for my perfection or control.

He asked for my heart — and He called me to remember, repent, and return.

What I’m learning is this: Through loving obedience, faithfulness isn’t about guaranteed outcomes — it’s about trusting the One who is always faithful. We don’t pursue God to feel something, to get something. We don’t practice spiritual disciplines because we’re expected to. We do it because He’s worthy of our worship. Because He is our first love.

We fall in love with Jesus when we know Him more intimately. It’s the only way. That kind of love deepens through practice, just like any relationship. If we don’t know where to start, find people ahead of us in their spiritual journey to walk with us, teach us, and challenge us. But none of that happens without returning to the basics: His Word, prayer, worship, and community.

This isn’t a work-hard, try-harder religion. It’s a grace-filled relationship. But the reality is, discipline is part of devotion. There’s no way around it.

We don’t chase spiritual growth for instant results — just like we don’t eat healthy or exercise for one perfect lab report (and unfortunately, the doctor informed me I’ll never get one of those). We do it because we have a Savior who says:

“Come back to Me — not because it’s easy, but because I’m worth it.”

He is always worth it.

Are you in a season where your faith feels dry or distant? Let’s not wait for a crisis to wake us up. Join me in the comments. Let’s start today and return to our first love.

 

Listen to Jen’s devotion here or wherever you stream the (in)courage podcast. 

New Morning, New Mercies

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In September, I started having panic attacks for seemingly no reason. It made me reach out to a counselor and trusted friends for support. I was frustrated because things were going just fine. Why would I suddenly need to pay attention to my mental health?

In October, I started to level out and find rhythms of healing. Peace started to settle in my heart,  but I was still confused as to why this effort was needed. It was like training for a marathon with intention and building stamina, but I didn’t register for a marathon.

In November, we discovered that my little brother was struggling with addiction. Our lives were turned upside down, and supporting my family became all-consuming. He went to rehab, we prayed for it to work, and one afternoon, it hit me:

If I hadn’t been prepared to handle stress, this just might have taken me out.

If you’ve ever loved someone who is an addict, you know the intensity. You are waiting for a phone call that everything has gone wrong. You’re trying to find some semblance of routine, but nothing feels certain. What if they relapse? What if they can’t stay sober?

I prepared for decades of this dance by going to support groups and staying in counseling.

In January, I lost my job and even wrote an (in)courage post about how senseless it felt. Why would God do these things? How can I trust Him when life feels like a whole lot of roadblocks?

In February, I got engaged. And several people said, “You should just get married this spring!” We are in our 30’s and we don’t want a long engagement. The lease on my apartment was ending soon, and without work it would help to combine finances. But something in our hearts, by the grace of God, said, “No. Wait. Get married in the fall.”

My brother went to another rehab program in March.

And in April, he died of alcoholism. We were (and are) devastated. We have been asking questions all over again. Lamenting not only for the brother who died in April, but also for the brother we grew up with for 33 years. The brother who had addiction in his blood and got too close to the flame. The brother with the beautiful voice and incredible talent for music, who deeply loved his wife and children and fought so hard to be there for them. It is a tragedy, no matter how you look at it.

My fiancé and I paused wedding planning and flew home to plan the funeral. My family watched home videos and held on to the community in our small town. We told stories and laughed because my brother was the humor of our family. We wrote eulogies and chose flowers for memorial wreaths. (We chose my wedding colors so that I could dry some of the flowers for my bridal bouquet.) My sister and I slept next to each other every night for two weeks like we were kids again.

My (in)Sisters and I were going to all be together the days after the funeral, but I couldn’t make it because it was all too fresh and so much still needed to be done. Still, they prayed for me and have encouraged me along the way, sitting with me in person and far away, helping me navigate through this unthinkable tragedy.

Friends, I feel like so many of my posts since November have been saying the same thing: I don’t know what God is doing, but He’s doing something. If you go back and read my other articles, you can see me trying to make sense of seemingly random heartaches. But now, on the other side, I can see so clearly how God has been protecting me.

If I hadn’t panicked, I wouldn’t have sought reinforcement before the storm began.

If I hadn’t lost my job, I wouldn’t have had the flexibility to go be with my family on the other side of the country as we buried my brother.

If we hadn’t decided to have a longer engagement, we would be getting married imminently, and my heart wouldn’t have been able to hold such raw grief as I walked down the aisle.

My brother loved Jesus. And he also struggled with a disease that claimed his life. In our last sober and clear hangout, we had lunch. He ordered way too much good food at a favorite Mexican restaurant and insisted on paying. My soon-to-be fiancé and I told him that we were planning to get married. He was thrilled and we lingered over good food and hopes for the future before going our separate ways.

The morning after he died, I texted my dad a common phrase I use: New Morning, New Mercies.

I was trying desperately to hold onto hope in the dark. I pulled up my camera roll and found an image I had snapped during that last meal together and zoomed in on my brother. He was wearing a sweatshirt with writing on it. I zoomed in and read, “New Morning, New Mercies.”

Lamentations 3:22-23 NIV states: “Because of the LORD’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.”

There are days when it feels like losing my brother will consume me. Like the world has stopped being good and beautiful. And then, I start counting the provisions of God in every season and every step of the way. He is near to the brokenhearted, and while it doesn’t make our hearts less broken, His nearness is comfort.

If you are still trying to make sense of the senseless, know that God’s mercies really are new. Keep going. You’re not alone.

 

Listen to Melissa’s devotion here or on the (in)courage podcast.

When You Think You and Your Work Aren’t Seen

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There are so many things I do in my life, things big and small, that go unseen.

Most mornings, I’m the one who puts the toaster away and sweeps the crumbs into the sink. I replace body wash and deodorant when they’ve been used up — the new bottles magically appearing on the bathroom counter as the person needs them. I order groceries for meals I plan. I sign up the kids for summer activities and fill out registration forms and pay the fees. I turn off lights and refill cereal dispensers and throw towels in the laundry chute.

All tasks that I just do with barely a thought as I roll through the day. All things that are mostly unseen by anyone else (but would be oh-so-noticed if they didn’t happen).

These unseen tasks and times don’t stop at being a household manager or mother. As a fully remote employee, I don’t have water cooler asides, birthday office treats, or coffee with coworkers in the break room. I am only seen through a screen. There are many times I smile to myself, alone in my home office, and do the task — whether it’s been assigned to me or not. If I see it needs to get done, I just do it. No one knows it was me, and they don’t have to. I know it’s complete, and done well, and I’m satisfied with that. It doesn’t get me accolades or awards, but I have a sense of accomplishment just the same, and usually that’s enough to carry me onward.

Until it isn’t.

There are times when I would prefer to be rewarded, noticed, seen. Times I would rather leave the crumbs on the counter and let someone else deal with them. And while it’s not a great look, it’s the truth.

A few weeks back, during the Maycember rush of concerts and programs and track meets and ball games and end-of-the-year festivities, my 4-year-old got an ear infection. Instead of cheering on the other kids at a Scout bridging ceremony and a baseball game (because, of course, they were happening on the same night), my littlest and I got our sweatpants on and cuddled up for a Paw Patrol marathon. My husband would have stayed in a heartbeat, but as the Scout troop Cubmaster, he was leading the ceremony, and as a coach for our son’s baseball team, he was also coaching the game. It had to be me.

As everyone was getting ready to leave, I was having a little internal pity party for myself. I wanted to go to all the things and cheer and not feel left out. I wanted to be seen. I felt selfish and silly because, of course, I was happy to be with my little one who wasn’t feeling well. And I just also wanted to go.

After everyone was in their uniforms and I had told them all I was proud of them, and after my husband had promised to take way too many pictures during everything, and after I’d hugged everyone goodbye, my daughter paused.

She looked at me thoughtfully and said, “Mom, one thing I love about you is that you always step up to stay behind with whoever needs you.”

I mean.

I was, as the youths say, shook.

She saw me.

When I felt like no one would see me, she looked right at me — and then, even though I was missing her special ceremony, she thanked me for staying back.

We’ve all heard that God loves us. That He sees us (Genesis 16:13), never forgets about us, hears our every whispered prayer (1 John 5:14). He never leaves us and has never forsaken us (Deuteronomy 31:6). We are always on His mind (Psalm 139), and we are always beloved by Him (1 John 4:10-12).

But am I the only one who can’t seem to remember that? Am I the only one who looks warily at His face, wondering if He really means it? Because if no one else sees the small things, the big things, the missed concerts and the tiniest of counter crumbs, does He really?

Yes, friend. Yes, He does. And He appreciates every single one.

Listen for His thank you in the face of a friend when you drop a coffee off on her porch. Feel His thank you in the hand of your youngest, held in the middle of a feverish night. See His thank you in the glory of a sunset as you drive a kid to practice, and in the starry sky later as you drive back to pick them up. Look for His thank you in the heart of a grateful partner, child, coworker, all helped by your unseen work. Hear His still, small thank you in the silence when you’re by yourself, but fully known by God.

I know your life is made up of small, unseen moments. So, as my daughter saw me, I see you and I thank you. Thank you for giving of yourself when no one else sees it. Thank you for staying back with a sick kid, a worn-out parent, a sister in need. Thank you for correcting that error at work, quietly and without fanfare. Thank you for sweeping up the crumbs.

If I could give you a big gold star to display on your desk, I would.

But instead, look for the still, small voice of thanks from the One who made the stars. It’s His heart we impress and glorify in our unseen work. And He doesn’t miss a thing.

Listen to Anna’s devotion on the (in)courage podcast below, or wherever you love to stream.