God’s Word Is Honest and True (no hidden fine print)

God’s Word Is Honest and True (no hidden fine print)

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For all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God; they are justified freely by his grace through the redemption that is in Christ Jesus. God presented him as the mercy seat by his blood, through faith, to demonstrate his righteousness, because in his restraint God passed over the sins previously committed. God presented him to demonstrate his righteousness at the present time, so that he would be just and justify the one who has faith in Jesus.
Romans 3:23-26 CSB

Not long after we bought our first home, we discovered that the promise of a home warranty wasn’t nearly as great as we hoped. While we anticipated some immediate repairs, like the roof and fridge, we were in no way prepared to replace the boiler. Both the inspector and former homeowner never indicated there was any problem. We realized after it was too late that the leak between the chambers of the aging unit was the source of the water stain on the floor.

We were duped, not only by what we didn’t know to look for but also by the fine print. The promise of a home warranty led us to believe that should the boiler fail within a year of purchase, we’d have the whole replacement covered. Ah. Not so. See, the fine print in that warranty said, “Up to $1,500.00.” Do you know how much it costs to replace a boiler system? I hope you’re sitting down because ours cost over $8,000, and that was not the most expensive quote.

As I reflect upon how unprepared we were to be homeowners and the financial strain of owning a house, it often makes me think of God and the promise of salvation. I know that may seem odd, but stick with me for a minute.

When it comes to God and His Word, there is no hidden fine print that will jump up to bite us in the you-know-what.

His Word, when it is revealed to us by the Holy Spirit, is honest and true. We may not understand His ways, but we can always count on God to be faithful and true. He is never changing and always full of loving kindness.

Unlike owning a house and not knowing what it will really cost to maintain it until you’re in the thick of it, God takes care of all the charges when we choose to enter into a relationship with Him.

He bought us at a price, through the death of His Son, Jesus Christ, and He makes a way for us to be right with Him. To us, this is a free gift. To God, it cost everything.

With owning a house, there’s always this sense of, “Oh no, what’s going to break next and what will it cost us?” But with God, there is the promise of eternity, no matter what the earthly strain might be. In Christ, we have full confidence that the price has been paid for our eternal salvation.

Devotion by Elisa Pulliam, as published in the CSB (in)courage Devotional Bible

The CSB (in)courage Devotional Bible is an invitation for all women to find their stories within the tapestry of the greatest Story ever told — God’s Story of Redemption! Featuring devotions by over one hundred writers from the (in)courage community, the CSB (in)courage Devotional Bible provides resources for women to explore the Bible, dive deep into Scripture, record their own stories, and find themselves among friends. Readers will experience Scripture in new ways in the company of women willing to “go first” with everyday stories that bear witness to God’s grace in finding beauty in brokenness and hope in the hard.

The (in)courage Bible just celebrated her sixth birthday. . . and now has two beautiful brand new cover options! Along with the original covers, you can now also choose from the gorgeous Bordeaux purple or this lovely Sage green. Both leathertouch, both stunning. We’re so excited that this Bible continues to speak to hearts, that our own devotions alongside God’s Word continue to encourage, and that the reading plans, deep dives into featured women, and reflection questions continue to inspire.

Pick up your new (in)courage Bible today. . . and leave a comment to WIN a new one for yourself!

We’d love to hear what the (in)courage Bible has meant to you if you have one, and if you don’t, we’d love to know what you’re drawn to about it.

 

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*The giveaway is open to U.S. addresses only and closes on 10/23/23 at 11:59 p.m. central.

Overcoming Our Natural Instinct to Resist Correction

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When writing, I’m private about my work. Even though it eventually goes out into the world in a book or an article, if someone walks into the room while I’m writing, I’ll put my computer to sleep or shut my laptop. While working on my first novel, however, I recognized and accepted the need for feedback along the way. I didn’t want to invest months creating a book that wouldn’t appeal to the reader.

Although I haven’t found a critique partner, my husband and a friend from church are my first readers, sharing their observations as I write. I place new chapters in an old black binder, trading them back and forth on Sundays with my friend, or emailing them as an ePub file to our Kindle for my husband to read.

My friend annotates the pages before passing them back. If she says something’s corny, I strike a sentence with no regrets. If she marks a passage as “confusing,” I rewrite it for clarity. If she draws a smiley face or underlines a phrase and writes, “Love this!” I mentally high-five myself. 

She once explained she hadn’t left notes on a chapter because she was caught up in the story, reading fast to see what would happen next. That made my day.

I receive my friend’s suggestions well and eagerly apply them to my work.

It seems, however, I respond less favorably to my husband’s criticism.

I’m not sure why. Maybe I see myself as the documenter and him as the doer, and question whether he can know more than me in my field. I would never correct the way he organizes a spreadsheet (he’s a master), changes the brakes in our cars, or mows the lawn. I should respect his suggestions as a reader, but I get defensive.

My husband operates in a world ruled by facts, while I’m more open to creative license. When I wrote that the smell of honeysuckle evoked memories of childhood summer days for one of my characters, my husband said, “I thought he was from the north. Does honeysuckle grow there?”

“I don’t know. His mother was from South Carolina. Maybe it was at his grandparents’ house,” I said, bristling the way I often do when he critiques my writing. Afterward, I spent a ridiculous amount of time researching varieties of honeysuckle and where they grow, determined not to kill my darlings. (FYI: To “kill your darlings” means eliminating something in your writing you worked hard to create — and especially like — if it doesn’t add to the story or serve your reader.)

Recently, my pastor preached on 1 and 2 Corinthians. In 1 Corinthians, Paul wrote a scathing rebuke to the church at Corinth, urging them to address major problems in the church: divisions, sexual misconduct, and confusion concerning the resurrection. He wanted them to accept the Lord’s authority in their lives. In 2 Corinthians, Paul rejoiced when he heard most of the church accepted his correction and repented.

“Even if I caused you sorrow by my letter, I do not regret it. Though I did regret it — I see that my letter hurt you, but only for a little while — yet now I am happy, not because you were made sorry, but because your sorrow led you to repentance.”
2 Corinthians 7:8-9 (NIV)

My pastor noted that most people resist correction and take a defensive posture or deflect when someone points out their faults or sins. I may have sighed as I scribbled “honeysuckle” in the margin of my notes. Something as small as a shrub can raise my defenses.

My cousin, a minister, once remarked he didn’t like some parts of the Bible because they didn’t like him. It’s in our nature to resist instruction or resent correction. Ask any parent of small (or any other size) children, and they’ll agree. “No” is often a toddler’s first or favorite word.

The above verses penned by Paul to the church at Corinth illustrate his pleasure in their willingness to accept correction. Most times when you and I receive feedback from others, it won’t involve such serious matters. Whether it comes from a friend or stranger, someone at work, church, or a family member, discern whether the criticism is constructive or mean-spirited and if following it is in your best interest.

It’s certainly easier to accept praise than correction from my friend and my husband, my first readers, but if they hesitate to offer feedback for fear of hurting my feelings, I won’t learn or grow as a writer. And if I establish a pattern of refusing advice from the people in my life, they’ll no longer offer it and I won’t learn or grow as a person. The way I react to criticism and feedback is up to me, but I must choose wisely, not defensively.

“The ear that listens to life-giving reproof
    will dwell among the wise.
Whoever ignores instruction despises himself,
    but he who listens to reproof gains intelligence.”
Proverbs 15:31-32 (ESV)

You may not be writing a novel and hearing a fact-focused husband question your choice of fragrant shrub, but chances are someone’s giving you feedback on an area of your life and their observations or questions make you bristle. Will you automatically discount their critique because it’s uncomfortable to hear, uncomfortable to apply? 

Or will you ask God to give you an open and discerning spirit, humble and tender to the kind of correction that will ultimately help you grow?

Lord, please help us choose the latter.

 

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Tired Tuesdays, Honest Texts, and Remembering You’re Not Alone

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I leaned against the kitchen sink and sighed so loud that my baby fern on the nearby windowsill shuddered.

It was Tuesday morning and I was already DONE for the week. Not done according to my work calendar or my to-do list or my kids’ sports schedules. But my body and mind were done. My energy and creativity — gone. My belief in my ability to move through this intense season – finito. My resolve to keep on keeping on – crispy around every frayed edge. (And not the good kind of melted cheese-on-potatoes crispy. The kind that leaves a bitter, burnt taste in your mouth.)

I glanced at the sink brimming with last night’s dishes. I listened to the hum of the washing machine re-washing the load of towels I forgot to move into the dryer two days ago. I felt the tightness in my chest… realized I was holding my breath… and exhaled long and slow.

Jesus, I need You. Every hour I need You.

I headed back to my desk to tackle the project that was tangling my mind and knotting up my neck. Then I heard in my spirit, I am here for you. I will meet your needs. You don’t have to walk this journey alone.

Alone. How often do we slip into the mental silo of believing we are all alone? Believing no one understands our struggles, no one is able (or willing) to help shoulder our responsibilities, no one sees how hard we’re trying. Maybe no one cares?

When we rehearse the refrain of “no one,” we are automatically excluding the most important Someone!

God is SUPER clear about the reality of His relentless presence:

“Do not be afraid or discouraged, for the Lord will personally go ahead of you. He will be with you; he will neither fail you nor abandon you.”
Deuteronomy 31:8 NLT

“Don’t be afraid, for I am with you.
Don’t be discouraged, for I am your God.
I will strengthen you and help you.
I will hold you up with my victorious right hand.”
Isaiah 41:10 NLT

“I will be your God throughout your lifetime—
until your hair is white with age.
I made you, and I will care for you.
I will carry you along and save you.”
Isaiah 46:4 NLT

We never need to worry about being alone. What we need is greater awareness of God’s presence.

He’s already here! When you’re sleep-deprived from middle-of-the-night feedings or toddler nightmares, when you’re overwhelmed by more work duties piled on your overflowing plate, when you’re crushed by a relationship you can’t fix – God is with you.

The power, the goodness, the faithfulness of His presence never leave us! “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted; he rescues those whose spirits are crushed” (Psalm 34:8). Hallelujah!

Not only does God promise to walk with us, but He also designed us to walk with others. He created us (and commands us) to weep together and rejoice together, break bread together, and build each other up. When the Spirit lovingly whispered, I am here for you. I will meet your needs. You don’t have to walk this journey alone, it was also the reminder I needed to invite others to walk this stretch of the road with me.

I grabbed my phone and opened a group text with three dear friends. In black little letters, I poured out my heart about all the things that were weighing me down. The technical glitches with my new business. The extra family expenses, financial pressure, and added work to make it all work. “…there just aren’t enough hours in the day,” I texted.

“I KNOW it’s all in God’s hands and every day I’m asking Him to lead me by His strength and not my own. But if I’m honest, I feel on the edge of burnout and overwhelm… and I just can’t afford to be there. Will you please pray for peace and clarity and productivity (and rest) in the measure I need it?”

Just writing those words made my soul exhale.

Then the bing of replies began. My sister-friends assuring me that I am seen. I am prayed for. I am loved. My friend, Sara, was also quick to offer dinner any time I needed it that week. Again, Hallelujah!

A couple of days later, I pulled up to Sara’s house on my way between shuttling one son to soccer practice and another to baseball. I walked into the most amazing aroma! “It’s your lemon chicken orzo soup!” she explained. In addition to nourishing homemade soup, Sara had cut-up cantaloupe, a fresh salad, baguettes warm from the oven, cold sparkling waters, and peanut butter ice cream sandwiches to boot!

“This is so beautiful and generous I could cry! Thank you!” I said, tears already welling in my eyes as I hugged my friend.

“I was talking to someone on the phone as I was making dinner,” Sara said. “I shared what I was doing and how it’s a gift to me that I can come alongside you. I told my friend, ‘I will never write a book or host a podcast like Becky, but I can make her dinner, and in doing so be part of the work God is doing through her.’ So thank YOU for letting me help.”

Cue the floodgates.

THIS, my friends, is the power of not alone.

Soup and salad didn’t change all my circumstances, but they did buoy my heart and my hope, and pointed me back to the One whose presence changes everything.

The kindness of a friend is always a reflection of the kindness of God. Open yourself up to His kindness today by sharing your struggles with someone. God delights in meeting your every need.

If you need to see more of God’s kindness and the power of the Holy Spirit at work in your life, check out Becky’s book, The Simple Difference: How Every Small Kindness Makes a Big Impact.

 

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God Gives Grace to the Grumpy

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After a fabulous weekend at several women’s events, I began my return trip home with a tired body, but a happy heart. However, a run-in with a cranky person on the way to the airport was an interaction that shook my sunny mood. I pressed on and fought to recapture my positive attitude. As I hustled through the airport, I scanned the busy concourse for a place to eat. I glanced at my phone. Time was running short, and the lines were long. I let out a huff. There was no way that my lemon cookie and cilantro lime plantain chips would sustain me on my flight home.

Then, I heard her. From a little place inside my heart, my inner grumpy girl woke up and started to whine:

Are you telling me that we’re about to fly cross-country with no food?

We’re so tired, we need to eat!

Do you have an inner grumpy girl? My inner grumpy girl wakes up whenever I’m tired, hungry, and frustrated. She complains a lot, assumes the worst, and is fond of saying, “That’s not fair!” She’s like my own little inner Eeyore. I try to pretend that she’s not there, but on days like that airport day, grumpy girlfriend was large and in charge.

I grew up believing that good Christians were never grumpy. That belief made me miserable. During my early parenting and early career years, I often walked around with a painful happy hallelujah smile slapped on my face because I thought that being grumpy was a bad Christian witness.

Gratefully, God allows us to peek into the good, the bad, and the grumpy lives of our scriptural heroes. It’s here that we can see our gracious God at work.

In 1 Kings 19, God cares for Elijah, a prophet having a grumpy, hard day. Rather than criticize Elijah’s exasperation and negativity, God cares for him, and we see God’s gift of love and grace.

Earlier in the day, God used Elijah to defeat hundreds of false prophets and shame an evil king and queen. However, the post-victory backlash ended in a threat against Elijah’s life, sending God’s prophet on the run to escape. After a day traveling alone with his thoughts, Elijah ended up in the wilderness, sitting under a broom tree. He was tired, discouraged, and hungry, basically hitting the Grumpy Trifecta.

“I have had enough, Lord,” he said.
1 Kings 19:4 NLT

Have you ever said, “I’ve had enough, God”? That’s what we say after we repeat ourselves dozens of times to our kids, deal with uncooperative customers, or run into more obstacles with health insurance.

While those five words can be a complaint, “I’ve had enough, Lord” can also be a prayer inviting God’s grace into your life.

We see this grace reflected in God’s response to Elijah. After this verse, there are three gifts of grace that Elijah receives:

Then he lay down and slept under the broom tree. But as he was sleeping, an angel touched him and told him, “Get up and eat!” He looked around and there beside his head was some bread baked on hot stones and a jar of water! So he ate and drank and lay down again.
1 Kings 19:5-6 NLT

God gave Elijah the grace of SLEEP.

When my kids were growing up, we had a saying at our house: “The best way to make a bad day go away is to take a nap.” God created us to go to sleep so that our bodies could regroup. Sometimes, the difference between grumpy and a better mood is a quick nap or not cheating yourself out of a full night’s sleep. Sleep is grace because it restores you without you having to do any work to make it happen. Sometimes, you can rescue a bad day with a nap. Here’s your permission to take one.

God sent Elijah the grace of SUSTENANCE.

Elijah’s battle with the false prophets required stamina and strength. There’s no indication in the scriptural text that he had anything to eat. He needed food. How many of us forget to eat or don’t feed ourselves when it’s a long, hard day? A good healthy snack to take care of the body God gave you is just as spiritual as saying a prayer.

 God gave Elijah the grace of STILLNESS.

After Elijah ate, he went back to sleep. He didn’t jump up and start moving again. While there was work waiting to be done, Elijah needed sleep and rest. Rest is stopping and leaving space for our hearts, minds, and souls to reconnect with each other. Much of our grumpiness happens when we feel scattered, and none of the different parts of how we are feeling are connected to each other.

Stillness is a grace because it gives you the gift of drawing closer to God. He wants you to receive His grace as a healing balm for your grumpiness, and the more of His grace you receive, the more His glory shines through you.

If you’ve been feeling grumpy lately, which gift of grace do you need to receive from God? I love that we have a God who gives grace to the grumpy; all we need to do is receive it.

 

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Good News for the Sorrowful and Weary Ones

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Death wrapped its ropes around me;
the terrors of the grave overtook me.
I saw only trouble and sorrow.
Then I called on the name of the Lord:
“Please, Lord, save me!”
How kind the Lord is! How good he is!
So merciful, this God of ours!
The Lord protects those of childlike faith;
I was facing death, and he saved me.
Let my soul be at rest again,
for the Lord has been good to me.
He has saved me from death,
my eyes from tears,
my feet from stumbling.
And so I walk in the Lord’s presence
as I live here on earth!
Psalm 116:3-9 (NLT)

Everywhere we look today, there seems to only be trouble and sorrow. Loss, both big and small, has left bruises that won’t soon go away, and many of us continue to experience overwhelming waves of grief. And where is God in the middle of all this?

He is here. Psalm 116:9 says that we walk in His presence here on earth. He is not far away from our pain. He doesn’t stand at a distance, watching us suffer. God is in our midst, and in His mercy, He will come and save us. We can rest in His presence even when the turmoil doesn’t relent, even when there is no peace in our hearts or our homes, and even when we are misunderstood and dismissed. God is kind and good. He can lead our souls to rest in Him.

Lord, help us to believe. Amen.

 

How to Stay Tender When Your Relationship Is Falling Apart

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I look back on that time in our marriage, and the memories still sting my heart like tiny cactus needles. We survived falling apart, but mending the mess was a slow, pain-filled process. We recognized how we had intentionally hidden parts of ourselves, assuming the other person wouldn’t understand and would therefore reject us. We noticed our patterns of communication, paid attention to what triggered our pain points, and examined the beliefs we had about ourselves, each other, and the world. We faithfully attended our therapy sessions, which included lots of tears, occasional yelling, and working through the same problems again and again.

I often wondered, then, if it was worth it — worth being in the marriage, worth putting in the effort for an outcome I wasn’t guaranteed, worth keeping at it when I couldn’t even imagine what a future together might look like. And the only thing that kept me grounded was the redeeming power of the gospel. If miraculous and impossible things can happen in Christ, such as resurrection from the dead, surely there was hope for us in our marriage. Surely we could change for the better, and it would be worth it to wait and see what God might do.

In Matthew 19:26, Jesus says, “With man this is impossible, but with God all things are possible.” Though this verse has been used too flippantly in the church as a way to gloss over difficult circumstances, during that season of marital hardship, I held on to it for the promise that it is. It anchored me in hope, giving me the sustenance I needed to try and commit to our marriage for another day, another month, another year.

Mending a marriage or any other relationship is not always possible, but when it is, the hardest part can be doing the simplest things, like having a conversation, asking questions, and staying curious about the other person to get to know them better.

Isn’t that what we all want? To be fully known? Wholly seen?

Even though my husband has thoughts and emotions beyond what he shows, it’s difficult for him to access them and find the words to express them. By asking him directly about his feelings, I give him the opportunity to stay present with himself, figure out how to describe what he’s feeling, and then verbalize his thoughts to me. By asking questions, I open the door for him to take up space, be himself as much as possible, and create connections between us.

The questions will vary based on different relationships and situations, but the key to asking the right ones is to stay curious, which is different from being nosy. Curiosity keeps us tender to each other’s humanity.

When we don’t know someone, it’s easy to dehumanize them and treat them as if they’re an object made for our judgment. We can make assumptions about their character, their background, their family, their life, and feel justified as we do so. But when we stay curious, we keep their humanity in view. Curiosity helps us remember that the person we share a home with and the acquaintance on Facebook are both individuals made and loved by God. We may not agree or have the same values. We may never become close with that other mom at school or that neighbor across the street, but we can genuinely care for one another. We might even find that we laugh at the same things or have similar passions. We might learn we have a shared pain or we’re on a similar journey in life. And perhaps then, even when all hope feels lost, we can take small steps toward mending the gaps created by our differences.

 

This story from Grace P. Cho is an excerpt from our book, Come Sit with Me: How to Delight in Differences, Love through Disagreements, and Live with Discomfort. In this book, 26 of our (in)courage writers help you navigate tough relational tensions by revealing their own hard-fought, grace-filled learning moments (like in Grace’s story above).

Whether you’re in the middle of a conflict without resolution or wondering how to enter into a friend’s pain, Come Sith With Me will serve as a gentle guide. Discover how God can work through your disagreements, differences, and discomfort in ways you might never expect.

Want to hear Grace read her full chapter? Click here.

 

Sometimes You Just Need to Scream

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I sat on the bedroom floor encircled by books, lined paper, colored pencils, and my daughter, Noelle. Stacks of crisp notebooks and newly opened crayon boxes were eagerly unwrapped as if a new school year was like Christmas morning. Noelle was organizing her new gifts beside me. Starting middle school was a big deal and she felt the weight and anticipation of the transition. She read the directions on how to set up her class notebook and I saw her face turning red. Her aggravation grew as she couldn’t seem to get the paper to fit in the three silver rings of her binder. In frustration, she slammed her stuff on the floor beside me.

I talked her through a few deep breaths and she tried again. Within seconds, she screamed. I was taken aback by her overreaction to this small task — and now I had to remind myself to breathe. With all the patience I could muster, I softened my voice and tried to explain how she needed to calm down. She tried again. This time, hot tears slipped out of her eyes, intensifying her feelings.

“It doesn’t make any sense!” she screamed. With that, she threw her new things across the room, jumped in bed, grabbed a pillow, and yelled into it with all her might.

Then the strangest thing happened. Without forethought or consideration, I screamed too. I wasn’t angry at her. I wasn’t mad. But from my gut, I screamed. It felt almost like a release. I looked at Noelle and said, “Sometimes you just have to scream.” She buried her head back in the pillow and unleashed her pain once again. This time I grabbed a pillow and followed her lead. After a few seconds, she wiped her tears, looked at me soberly, and picked up her discarded notebook. Now, instead of cramming the paper and dividers onto the loops, she took her time and they slid on perfectly.

I’ve rehearsed this experience over and over in my mind for the past several weeks. It has made me really reflect on anger. I can weep with a friend. I can laugh with my kids. I can sit with my husband in his fear, but I have never considered “being with” another in their rage.

I grew up in a home and church culture where anger was bad, scary, and even sinful. I grew up understanding anger to be an emotion to avoid or get rid of as quickly as possible. But Scripture never says that anger is evil. The warning in the Bible is: ”Be angry and do not sin; do not let the sun go down on your anger, and give no opportunity to the devil” (Ephesians 4:26-27 ESV).

Anger isn’t wrong, it’s actually an emotion that is welcomed in Scripture. But, the truth is, anger feels scary. I feel out of control when I get mad. When other people are angry, I feel my own fear. But the next part of this passage is such a beautiful invitation from God. I have always understood, “Do not let the sun go down on your anger,” to mean, fix or resolve your anger before the day ends. Paul isn’t saying to get rid of your anger and fast. He is saying to process your anger. Don’t suppress it by putting it down like the sun goes down. Instead, process your frustration and pain. Work it out. In other words, be angry. If you don’t let your anger come out, the Devil can get a foothold in your life. Unprocessed anger is a place where the enemy can sneak in and destroy.

I found this to be such an incredible invitation from God. I don’t need to quiet my anger or the anger of those around me, I need to be with others in this intense emotion. I need to let myself feel my frustration. I need to let myself be bothered. I need to let others have their anger too. But, don’t sin. Don’t act out in such a way that harms another or myself.

That day when I screamed with my daughter, something happened to both of us. She didn’t need to breathe more or exercise self-control. She needed to scream and get her frustration out of her body. When I screamed with her, she felt less alone and probably less afraid. Sometimes you just need to scream. You need to pound the steering wheel, shatter the plate, or yell into a pillow.

So when I feel agitation boiling up with me, I find ways to release it that won’t cause harm. I find ways to get what I feel out of me. Sometimes I release my anger with words, deep breaths, or shouts in the shower. On good days, I invite others into my anger as well. Recently, my youngest child was having a fit. Noelle quickly ran into the other room and grabbed a pillow for her to scream in.

And remember this: God is with us, especially in our anger.

 

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

When You Don’t Know Who You Are, God Knows

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One of my all-time favorite movies is Hook. This 1991 film features Robin Williams as a grown-up Peter Pan who’s forgotten who he really is. After Captain Hook kidnaps his children, Peter travels to Neverland to be reunited with the Lost Boys, Wendy, and his childhood self.

Fans of this movie might name other moments that move them, but for me, the most touching scene is when Peter meets his friends again for the first time in years — and they don’t recognize him. One little boy, rather than fight him or call him names, walks right up to Robin Williams’ character. He pulls him down to his level, removes his glasses, and gently puts his hands on either side of the man’s face. He squishes and pulls on his forehead and cheeks until his eyes light up. He recognizes his friend!

“There you are, Peter.”

I felt a little like grown-up Peter Pan the other day in the Starbucks drive-thru line.

Stopping on my way to work, I ordered my iced latte and pulled around to the window. When a woman leaned out to hand me my drink, she took a second look and said, “You look familiar. Are you from Lawson?”

I acknowledged that I was, indeed, from that very small town and told her my maiden name. Recognition immediately brightened her face and she told me her name. We made small-town small talk for a minute more, then I was on my way. But I couldn’t stop thinking about the way she knew who I was.

Our families had gone to church together for maybe a year or two. Nearly 40 years ago! She was several years ahead of me in school, and even her younger brother was two years older than me and not a close friend. But somehow she looked at my 44-year-old face, tired and full and a little bit wrinkled, and she could see me in there. It was a Hook-level miracle!

I’m currently in a season of transition and change — and a little unsure of who I am today. Am I reverting to who I was? Am I becoming someone completely different? Can I hold onto any parts from before? Are they even in there? What determines who I am? Is it my status or role or relationship to others? Is it my personality type or Enneagram number or generation or birth order? Is it the job I used to have or the one I have now? Is it the things I do today or the ones I still dream of doing?

Have you ever had these questions?

Perhaps it was a career change, milestone birthday, or a chance run-in with a long-forgotten acquaintance that prompted your own wonderings. Maybe you became a parent or lost a parent, changed marital status or moved to a new state, or experienced something as small as coloring your hair or putting away your signature sneakers. Any number of things can trigger an avalanche of questions that add up to, “Who am I?” and “Does anyone see me? The real me?”

As I’ve pondered all this (and repeatedly revisited that sweet scene in Hook), I’ve also remembered Psalm 139. It’s a popular passage, and for good reason. Who doesn’t crave the reminder that we are wonderfully made by a wonderful Creator (verse 14)? In this psalm, David talks about how God created him and knew him from the very beginning. God created us too, of course. He created our inmost beings and knitted us together in our mothers’ wombs (verse 13).

But that’s not where the story ends (or begins). Though David looks back and praises God for His creativity and artistry and care for each one of His children, he actually begins this song to the Lord by saying, “You have searched me, LORD, and you know me. You know when I sit and when I rise; you perceive my thoughts from afar. You discern my going out and my lying down; you are familiar with all my ways” (verses 1-3).

God knows us. He is familiar with all our ways.

No matter how old we get…

No matter how many wrinkles decorate our faces…

No matter how much our jeans size or job title changes…

The God of this universe, my Creator and yours, my heavenly Father and yours, knows us. He knows exactly who we were and exactly who we are. He searches us just like the little Lost Boy in Hook, squishing and smoothing all the things we carry, all the things that change, all the ways the world imprints on our hearts and minds and bodies. He searches us and He knows us.

God knows who you are. He knows who I am. God knows us and loves us, as we were and as we are right now.

If you’re going through a time of transition, change, or uncertainty, I pray that you remember that the One who created you still knows you. He will always recognize you. Nothing you or I can do will stop God from looking at us with love and saying, “There you are!”

 

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When You’re Slammed with Waves of Regret

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Sitting on the lanai of our lodging in Kihei, Hawaii, last month, I was immediately transported to 2010 when we lived here courtesy of the United States Air Force. I was tagging along with my husband who attends a conference here each year, and this is the first time I’ve been back since we called Hawaii home. Staring at the sea, I imagined my three young children inside chatting about Phineas and Ferb as they ate their breakfast of oatmeal and drank their cups of pog (passion fruit-orange-guava juice — YUM).

Later, while my husband was conferencing with folks, I drove down S. Kihei Rd. in search of a coffee shop where I could tackle my long list of work chores. As I approached Alanui Ke’ali’i St., I defaulted to the familiar pull to turn right towards the neighborhood we lived in years ago, but instead of turning left onto our old street, I glanced right at the kids’ former elementary school. And then my stomach dropped to my ankles as regret filled the space . . .

Every whipstitch, I hear someone say, “I have no regrets for my choices or how I’ve lived!” No regrets? I think to myself. You can honestly say that for every decision you’ve made, you wouldn’t like a redo here and there? An opportunity to go back and choose differently?

Let me say, your girl here has regrets. In particular, I have parenting regrets. I regret taking a hard stance on things that weren’t a big deal. On the other hand, I regret not taking a few things more seriously than I did at the time — or rather, not looking harder to see the full picture as it was. An example of this? Our last year we lived in Hawaii, our kids attended an elementary school I’ve come to regret — the one I drove by last month. While my daughter had a fantastic experience there, my sons were bullied terribly. Since I regularly volunteered my time teaching music to my kids’ classrooms in that school, I should’ve been more aware of what was going on. Alas, I didn’t know the full extent of the bullying until after we moved away.

This made finishing our season in Hawaii feel like a disastrous fumble at the end of a game that snatched a win right out of our hands. And it tasted like someone had spiked our pog juice with a good deal of vinegar, making an overall great experience land on a bitter note.

It’s important to add that today, my sons are doing phenomenally well. They give virtually no thought to that time and certainly don’t see themselves as victims. However, I do think about that year from time to time, and seeing that school again brought a fresh tidal wave of regret that my young sons put up with so much. So, there I sat in my car, floating around in an ocean of sadness over something that happened thirteen years ago.

And that’s when I felt the Lord tell my spirit, “Okay, Kristen, we’re gonna deal with this right now.” 

Compelled to read Genesis, I looked up the verses where Joseph, years after being sold into slavery by his own brothers, tells these same men,

“Do not be distressed and do not be angry with yourselves for selling me here, because it was to save lives that God sent me ahead of you” (Gen. 45:5 NIV).

In other words, Joseph tells his brothers not to grieve the choice they made years before because he could see now how God was working behind the scenes all along.

I responded out loud, “Okay, Lord. I believe this. But what do I do with the lingering regret that I can’t seem to shake?”

And that’s when I received a picture of swimming in the ocean as a particularly strong wave comes toward me. Instead of fighting the wave, I know from experience I must sink underwater to escape the wave breaking with me tangled in it. By diving below the crashing wave, I save myself from harm.

Likewise, when waves of regret come, I’m learning it’s better not to fight them. I picture myself sinking into the Lord’s grace and redemption. That means rather than letting the regret tangle me up, I let the love of Christ hold me and save me. Rather than fighting myself, I surrender to Jesus, allowing Him to move me from the regret of the past to the relief that He is always working to redeem, preserve, and grow things of value from difficulties and mistakes.

Of course, this doesn’t mean you and I should be thankful and happy about every trial or tragedy experienced or the consequences of our own poor choices or oversight. Of course not. But it does mean that while waves of regret may come, God won’t let the pain experienced go to waste.

If I could, I’d still choose to spare my sons the pain of that year by enrolling them in a different school. Yet, I’m thankful for the gift of time that lets me see now what I couldn’t see then: What the bullies meant for evil, God used for good. My sons are well-adjusted, kind young men full of character and integrity. Being bullied in the past has paved the way for greater compassion today.

The waves in all our lives are doing good work to mold and shape us into people that better reflect the love of our Creator — the One who is big enough to hold our regrets, hold us in the swirling sea, and eventually calm the storm.

 

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The Lie You Need to Kick to the Curb Today

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This sentiment orbits around me. The childhood trauma of my parents’ divorce acts as its gravitational pull. In the breakup of their marriage, my mom was awarded primary custody of my brother and me, my dad was given significant visitation rights, and nine-year-old me inherited this false messaging:

You are disposable!

No one actually said those words to me. But in the upheaval, grieving, and wounding, I was left with this scarring. Like a skillful makeup artist, I learned to hide the bruising. Achievements and accolades were the perfect concealer, and having a boyfriend meant that at least I mattered to someone, even if he didn’t have the capacity to truly see me.

But beneath the homecoming queen crown, the college graduate honors, and the multiple degrees, the fear of being insignificant clung to me. It melded into me. It stayed with me. Even now, we seem inseparable. It speaks to who I am as a wife, as a mom:

You are disposable! You don’t matter!

It wants to be my forever song, the score to my life’s unfolding. It wants to be the lead vocals, and whenever I experience rejection, fear turns up the volume and presses repeat. It gets the spotlight and summons all my attention. Hearing this reverberating bouncing around in the recesses of my being is exhausting. It’s a constant tug-of-war.

You are disposable! You don’t matter! You are insignificant!

Recently, the noise of my fear has been deafening. I have been losing sleep and agonizing over the pain of feeling invisible and invaluable. And yes, I know that God sees me and values me. I don’t struggle with that at all. My strife has been with humans devaluing me. I am deflated when people treat me like I don’t matter. I can tell myself that it shouldn’t matter what people think of me, that I should solely be concerned with how God sees me and knows me, but that doesn’t reconcile the countless times that in someone else’s decision-making process, I’ve been overlooked and felt like an afterthought or a pawn.

The anxiety pushed me to desperation, and I cried out to El Roi — the One who not only sees me but who sees everything. In moments like these, I feel like I shouldn’t need God to affirm me, that mature faith doesn’t need to be coddled. But desperation overrode my ego. In my exhaustion, I was like a toddler crawling into a nurturing lap to be embraced by grace-filled arms.

As I surrendered, my life’s major events unfolded in my mind like a movie recap. But in the re-viewing, I heard a different score of songs. I began to clearly see elements at work that I had not given much attention to before. I grabbed my journal and started writing.

Who saw me when I thought I was invisible?

  • During my parents’ divorce, my grandma Pearline made sure I knew I was special to her.
  • When my mom remarried and it seemed as though her new husband wanted her without her children, my grandma Virginia brought attention to my loneliness and pain.
  • When I needed support along my academic journey, several people played key roles in escorting me from being a first-generation college student to becoming a college professor. It was a series of miracles.
  • When I was in situations where someone was taking advantage of me, my husband intervened and shut down the whole operation.

Names and events flowed like a waterfall. I journaled for pages. The list went on and on of how love manifested through people seeing me, hearing me, and valuing me. As I reflected and recorded in my journal, the volume of the old song (which does not bear repeating) began fading into the background. I had given too much attention to my story’s antagonists. I had allowed shadows to consume my life’s stage. I was ready for the protagonist to take its rightful place, front and center. I was now seeing all that had been invisible to me. I was ready to sing a new song:

I matter. I am seen. I am valued. I am heard.

When you feel vulnerable, invisible, or forgotten, remember that God not only sees you, but comes alongside you and cares for you. Matthew 6:26 (NIV) reminds us:

“Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they?”  

When lies try to deplete you, ask El Roi, the One who sees you, to remind you of your visibility, your value, and your significance. Bring yourself back to truth. You matter. You are seen. You are valued. You are heard. Rehearse truth’s song. Turn up the volume and allow it to refresh you.

This article was written by Lucretia Berry and originally appeared on (in)courage in December 2021.

 

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When I Feel out of Sync, Maybe I’m Right on Time

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I love autumn. Like, realllly love it. I wait all summer for summer to end with a very ‘get it over with’ kind of attitude. Here in Minnesota, you have folks of all stripes: those who live for hot summer days on the lake, those who pine for the frozen sparkle of snow, those who can’t wait to get into their spring gardens, and those of us who wait with bated breath from December through August for autumn.

Guess which group I’m in.

To be clear, I love living in a place that celebrates and embraces all four seasons. You can find me outside in them all — yep, even winter (my second favorite season!). But fall has a hold on my heart.

I’ve long adored this brief season that quietly slips in and ends by roaring into the next, blazing a trail of coziness and color in between. I celebrate my birthday in the fall (it was just this weekend — I turned 41!), the majority of the music I stream for these months is autumn-themed, and I wrote a whole entire devotional about seeing God all autumn long. I totally deck out my home in oranges and mustards, pull out my flannels and sweaters, and celebrate each holiday in a big way. My family loves football and my son plays, so Saturdays are spent at his games, Sundays are spent cheering for our hometown teams, and I make really good snacks — even though I don’t really follow the game. Grocery store aisles and coffee shop menus teem with my beloved pumpkin spice and I soak it all up in its limited edition glory.

I just love it all. Usually, I’m chomping at the bit to dive right into my favorite season. This summer was the hottest on record and I fully expected myself to decorate early, crank up the A/C, and longingly stare at the trees, willing their leaves to change.

But here we are all the way into October with my birthday celebrated and my son’s football season over, and though our trees have all turned, it’s still warm out; that lovely brisk autumn air hasn’t yet dropped here. The grass is still green, even my garden tomatoes continue to grow, and it just doesn’t feel like autumn… outside, or in my heart.

Maybe it’s because I’m worn out from the daily grind of work, home, kids, and all that goes along with managing a life.

Maybe it’s because I’m in long-term sadness as a beloved family member struggles with serious health issues, with no end or diagnosis in sight.

Maybe it’s because my husband traveled a lot for work this summer and we went on exactly one date.

Maybe it’s because September blazed into being this year with all the back-to-school ruckus of papers, new shoes, forms, spirit days, lunch menus, and schedules, and it was all due at once (and most of the things required a check).

Maybe it’s because the laundry never ever ends, and the shoe pile in the mudroom constantly overflows, and by the time I’ve dragged out the appropriate seasonal clothing from the basement tubs we’ve nearly moved on to the next one, and I can never quite catch up to my to-do list.

Maybe it’s because for my birthday I really wanted to take a trip to Minnesota’s North Shore, where the fall foliage is iconic as the lighthouse on Lake Superior, but the trees passed their peak weeks ago. The hot, dry summer led to an earlier turning, and with palpable disappointment I missed it.

One of my favorite artists, Mary Engelbreit, has a piece that features a frazzled-looking lady and a caption that reads, life is just so daily. I relate to that wild-haired, big-eyed, ready-to-snap lady’s statement deep in my soul and I wonder if that’s it, that I’m just so buried in the daily (which I usually feel sparkles with ordinary glory) — and I can’t claw through and see the wonder of it.

It’s still there, the pull to and evidence of God’s glory shimmering right on the edges of our real lives. I think about Jesus living His short, full, very real life here on Earth and I wonder if He saw the glory in the dirt. Did He ever struggle with work? Stress out over the dishes? Feel behind on all that He knew needed to be crammed into just a few years?

Then these words in Ecclesiastes come to mind, of seasons and turning and timing, and one phrase leaps out to my heart from them:

“I have seen the burden God has laid on the human race. He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the human heart…”
Ecclesiastes 3:10-11 NIV

And I feel seen, knowing it’s there in that place of burden that my own human heart is getting bogged down. Standing right between everything God has made beautiful, with the knowledge of eternity and all I want to fit into this one precious life getting in the way of experiencing it all.

Like the leaves on the North Shore, turned ahead of time and out of sync with my expectations, I feel out of step with this season I love so much. But those passages in Ecclesiastes remind me of the Jesus I also love so much, that His life also turned ahead of time… and yet it was actually the exact, perfect, just right time.

Every step we take is all in His time, and there’s a grace and relief in that.

Even when it flies, the time is His. Even when it drags on and on, it’s His. Even when it feels off-beat, it’s His.

So I’ll look at the trees lining my street, changing colors on the timeline only they know, and breathe deep for a moment knowing the same One who changes the leaves can also change my heart.

 

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The Crazy Thing That Happens When We Choose Not to Worry

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Don’t worry about anything; instead, pray about everything. Tell God what you need, and thank him for all he has done. Then you will experience God’s peace, which exceeds anything we can understand. His peace will guard your hearts and minds as you live in Christ Jesus.
Philippians 4:6-7 NLT

If we’re honest, sometimes it’s easier to stay busy, to keep going at an unsustainable pace, because we don’t want to face the anxieties and realities that are right under the surface. Keeping our hands and minds busy feels productive, and worrying about every possible what-if situation can give the illusion that we’re in control. But worry, control, busyness — none of those things give us true peace.

Instead, true peace comes from having the right posture. When we pray, petition, and present our requests to God, we become grounded again. We remember that God is still real, He’s still present, He’s still in control.

When our minds start to unravel, let’s practice this posture:

Open palms.
Deep, slow breaths.
Our bodies, our minds, our hearts surrendered and at rest.

And as we do, let’s bring all our worries to God and receive His peace.

What’s at Stake if You Stay Focused on Your Own Opinion

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I’m in the booth to your left, the one tucked up against the corner of the restaurant. It smells like fries and bacon, and the waitress brings two glasses of water in tall mason jars.

I picked this table for a reason. I’ve sat here many times with my husband when it seemed like we were worlds apart on the issues of the day. Suffice it to say, he and I haven’t exactly seen eye to eye when we vote. But this is the table where my husband and I sit after every political election to have dinner and conversation together. For as long as I can remember we’ve done this after leaving the polling place just up the street from here.

The polling place — it’s where the roads of our marriage have diverged when our ink pens hover over tiny ovals on secret ballots.

Election after election, we walk into the polling place, cast our ballots, and walk out, side by side. In time, the awkwardness of this marital divide has softened, even when our differences haven’t. We often joke on our way back to the car, “Did our votes cancel each other out again?” Sometimes they do; sometimes they don’t.

But always we have come here, to this table.

Long ago we made the decision to break bread together in the form of a shared plate of buffalo wings. We talk. We listen. And yes, we even disagree. This has never been easy. There have been tears at this table—mine. There has been defensiveness and eye-rolling—again, mine. There have been uncomfortable conversations that we carry back through the front door into our home. But believe it or not, we have learned from each other at this table and have found common ground from time to time.

Whenever I think about this table, it gives me hope.

Maybe you’ve been feeling like no one has room at the table for you anymore because of the way you feel about politics, parenting, climate change, alcoholic beverages, policing, critical race theory, religion, science, divorce, international adoption, vaccines, or public education. The list is unending.

Chances are, you are living in the tension of being misunderstood. And maybe these days you feel rejected or abandoned. Without warning, you lost a treasured friendship that fractured over a difference of opinion. You just found out your next-door neighbor unfriended you last week.

If there’s a way forward, the path feels hidden. But ignoring our differences doesn’t actually make anything safer. It just makes us more insulated and divided. Here’s what we risk if we don’t find a way forward: we will each end up sitting at a table of one.

If we have to agree with every single person in our church on every single issue, we will be sitting in a church of one.

If we have to agree with our neighbor on every single issue, we will live in a neighborhood of one.

A book club of one. A Bible study of one. A living room of one. A family of one.

We’re all going to sit alone at Thanksgiving and Christmas and even the communion table where Jesus beckons us to “Take and eat.” A table of one.

I know how uncomfortable it is. Every election cycle, every news story, and every political event has the potential to set off fireworks in my own home—and not the pretty kind but the explosive, cover-your-ears-and-run-for-cover kind.

But my husband and I have finally come to a place where our divisions no longer shock us. In the same way, our global divisions should not shock us.

Scott and I got married knowing full well that we didn’t always agree. But we got married anyway. Here’s why: because we loved “us” more than we hated what was different.

That conviction is what keeps us coming to this table twenty-five years later. Maybe that’s a starting place for each of us today: We can love “us” more than we hate what is different.

I understand how hard this is, but silence isn’t working (and neither is shouting on Facebook). I know of friends who haven’t talked in more than a year because of divisions over recent events. These friends used to sit at the same table, vacation together, worship together. As days turn to months turn to years, that gap will continue to widen unless it’s dealt with.

Maybe we could try this instead.

Instead of unfriending that college roommate with her unending rants on social media, use the Facebook Like button to let her know you love the photo of her kid holding up his new driver’s license.

Instead of arguing with your dad over how he voted, listen as he tells you what he’s been thinking. (We can listen without agreeing and still enjoy the Thanksgiving turkey!)

This doesn’t mean that the hot-button issues aren’t important. They are. But if our divisions create an all-or-nothing mentality, then we’re all missing out. So instead of focusing on everything that divides, let’s find points of connection. We might not agree with the way our next-door neighbors parent their children, but when we get to know them, we might realize that we both share a fondness for historical fiction and sushi.

I understand that sushi won’t save the world. And I know that this vinyl booth tucked into the corner of a small-town restaurant won’t right all the wrongs.

But like the old song says, “Let there be peace on earth, and let it begin with me.”

And with you.

Right here, at our table of two.

This excerpt from Come Sit with Me was written by Jennifer Dukes Lee.

Come Sit with Me: How to Delight in Differences, Love through Disagreements, and Live with Discomfort  features 26 of our (in)courage writers and will help you navigate tough relational tensions. Learn how to:

– delight in your differences
– honor and value others even when you disagree
– connect before you correct
– trust that God is working even when people disappoint you
– live and love like Jesus by serving others.

Whether you’re in the middle of a conflict without resolution or wondering how to enter into a friend’s pain, Come Sit With Me will serve as a gentle guide. Discover how God can work through your disagreements, differences, and discomfort in ways you might never expect.

Let us send you the introduction and the first two chapters for FREE! Sign up here.

You can also listen to Jennifer Dukes Lee read her entire chapter entitled, Table of One, on a special BONUS EPISODE of the (in)courage podcast! 

Listen here!

Stop Trying to Tough It Out and Do This Instead

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It’s OK. It’s not that bad.
It is so much worse for other people.
Everyone has bad stuff happen.
Everyone is counting on me. Suck it up and push through.

These are the phrases I’ve told myself over and over for the past eighteen months.

I won’t bore you with a long list of the big and small things that have happened to us over the past year and a half, but let me just say that being woken up by a tree falling on the roof smack dab in between where my husband and I were sleeping rates about a 4 on the 1 to 10 “Are you kidding?” scale.

I kept working, kept plugging along. I was behind on everything because I would sit down to work or look at my long list of things that needed to be checked off and freeze.

I’d tell myself:

“Just do the next thing!”
“Stop being so lazy.”
“You have a deadline. Just do something.”

And when I would try, in my own careful way, to explain to a group of people I was working with that life has been especially hard over the past year and a half, the response I got was, “Life has been hard for everyone.”

Yep. I agree.

But the not-so-thinly-veiled message was, “Stop complaining and suck it up.”

I finally began seeing a therapist because I had such a hard time functioning. I  couldn’t be creative or concentrate, and I didn’t want to hang out with anyone else besides my husband and my dog.

My therapist asked some initial questions, and I responded with “Yeah, this thing happened, but it’s not a big deal.” Or, “Yeah, it was hard for me, but other people have had it so much worse—”

She finally stopped me and asked, “Have you heard of compound trauma?”

I hadn’t. She went on to explain. “Yes, any one of those things on their own may not have sunk you. And you could have recovered. But what it sounds like is that life has been unrelenting, and each of these traumas — and that’s what they are, traumas — has left you without the ability to recover.”

And as soon as I heard this, I, a dedicated non-crier, broke down in a flood of tears.

Yes, other people have had horrible things that have happened to them. And I will mourn with them.

But the magnitude of someone else’s suffering does not lessen my suffering. And until I allow myself to grieve, I cannot recover.

So many of us, especially over the past three years, have been through surprisingly hard things. It doesn’t matter if other people are tougher than you. It doesn’t matter if your friend or your neighbor could handle circumstances better than you could.

We must stop trying to tough it out.

God has made it clear that in order to be there for others, we must allow God to comfort us.

2 Corinthians 1:3–4 (ESV) says, “Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God.”

God’s comfort comes in some surprising, and unexpected ways.

Pay attention to the words from your most tender-hearted friends. My friend Grace, when knowing I was struggling with my young dog’s terminal illness, passed on some wisdom. “My vet told me to tell myself, ‘Yes, they are going to pass. But not today. Today is a good day and we are going to be thankful for the good day today.’”

God comforts us through others who are going through similar circumstances. Thank God for Facebook support groups that have helped me with everything from dealing with my dog’s illness to reassuring me that I can have a safe place to ask questions after a car accident.

God comforts us through other people’s creative acts of kindness. Last week a group of friends sent some snacks (for us and our dog Moose), cards and letters, and a few toys for our animals to play with. A talented friend mailed me a card with a painting of our chicken, Bullwinkle, who had passed away. Recently, an old friend of my mother-in-law posted a picture of Roger’s mom on Facebook. We’d lost Betty last year and the picture was a comfort to Roger as his long grief continues.

Through the Word, prayers, and the love of the people God has surrounded us with, we feel His comfort.

While I and others cannot always be trusted to handle my hurt, God does not judge me for not being tough enough to go it alone. He calls Himself the God of all comfort and He proves that over and over again.

This article was written by Kathi Lipp and was originally published on (in)courage on August 24, 2022.

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You May Not Need Fresh Insight But an Old Reminder

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The sun was shining so brightly that I had to squint even with my sunglasses. It was one of those bright blue days – except I couldn’t manage to pay attention to the color of the sky. 

The last few months had been hard on my heart. It was like the waves of an ocean had pummeled my heart, over and over, and I was left bruised, tender, and apathetic. My soul frothed and foamed with overwhelm, like the relentless churn of the ocean’s tide. I was in a rental car, driving five hours to preach at a conference in the capital city of Canada, but all I could think about was how tired and numb I felt from this past spring. 

I felt frayed at the edges, like a garment with a loose string – and if I pulled the string, I would unravel.

Drowning or unraveling in overwhelm isn’t fun. Or was it overwhelm? Maybe it was sadness? Or numbness? I couldn’t put my finger on it. I felt overwhelmed, and at the same time, didn’t feel much at all. 

I kept driving. Sometimes when I feel this way, when the sky doesn’t seem as blue and the clouds don’t appear as crisp, it’s a good indicator for me to pay attention to my soul. 

I didn’t know the words to pray. Help? Heal me? I uttered both of those prayers, half-heartedly. 

I don’t always have it in me to pray like I want to. I can’t always think of new thoughts, new words, or new ideas to bring to the ears of Jesus. When I don’t have the words, I can choose to recall and remember. We don’t always need fresh insight; instead, sometimes we need old reminders. 

The first people to hear the incredible news of Jesus rising from the dead were women who were friends with Jesus. The group of women had gone to the tomb early in the morning on Sunday, only to discover that the stone guarding the tomb had been rolled away and Jesus’ body was nowhere to be found. 

Suddenly, the most dazzling light they’d ever seen appeared in front of them. To their surprise, two angels stood beside them. The women – naturally terrified and trembling – put their heads to the ground while the angels told them, “Remember how he told you, while he was still with you in Galilee: ‘The Son of Man must be delivered over to the hands of sinners, be crucified and on the third day be raised again.’ Then they remembered his words” (Luke 24:5-8 NIV).

The women had forgotten what Jesus had told them: He would die and rise again. But when they heard what the angels said, the women remembered. 

Sometimes prayer is simply recalling what God has said in the past, in order to fuel our faith for the future. When Jesus had dinner with His friends for the last time, He told them to do it again in remembrance of Him (Luke 22:19). 

Jesus calls us to remember. Sometimes God gives us visions, dreams, or prophetic words through others; or Scripture will jump out to us in the most sudden way, a verse perfectly applying to our current circumstance. But other times, we need to pray in remembrance. 

As I drove to the conference I was preaching at, my heart heavy and pummeled, I chose to remember. Sometimes we don’t have words; instead, we have memories. I remembered some of the ways God has moved in my life. I remembered how He saved my life – not just on the cross, but in a hundred little ways each day. I remembered His kindness, His nearness, His goodness. 

After I preached, I stayed the weekend with one of my best friends. We spent a few days together, and when I drove home, I realized the sky seemed blue again. I was reminded of how the love of God and the love of a good friend is often the beginning of healing.

God doesn’t stop moving even now. When you cannot pray, choose instead to remember. Remember Jesus’ words. Remember who He is. Pray in remembrance of the past, and it will bring you faith for today.

 

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

When I Want to Run from Tenderness

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I hold my phone in my right hand, open the messaging app, read the latest message, watch it fade to a black screen, and then open it to read the message again. And again. They aren’t coming, I say to myself. You should have known something would come up, I think.

Plans changing is nothing new. However valid and “this is life” the reasons stack up to be, it never seems to get easier. After our collective years of cancellation, isolation, plans put on hold throughout lock-downs, illness, and all of the long-ranging consequences of the pandemic that we’re still living through, it’s easy to think we’ve all become used to holding plans loosely . . . maybe even relationships, too.

I tell my husband the latest update on our plans and make sure to not make eye contact so I can push away the ache that’s trying to find its voice under my skin. I find myself thinking, This shouldn’t be so surprising – you should be used to this by now.

A health issue is the reason for canceling, so I’m embarrassed to have my own feelings about it all. I feel selfish for feeling these feelings while thinking I should care more about the reason and how it impacts this person I love. So I follow my “should” into worry, and spend hours researching medical websites, whys, and hows. I copy and paste and make a list in my notes app for further research. I avoid my feelings by staring and clicking and scrolling — searching for any possible way to make what’s unfolded fold back up again like it was supposed to be.

The thing is, we aren’t supposed to be used to disappointment, pain, and hurt. What “used to it by now” really means is a tender heart that’s lost some of its tenderness.

I love talking about staying tender until the work of it feels too much and I realize tenderness in our world isn’t just pretty flower petals and all things soft and lovely. It is work that can be painful and it will always leave us vulnerable. Sometimes we lose a petal in the process.

Tenderness is a messy risk, but the alternative is much more destructive in the long run.

After days of explaining the unavoidable away, I’m ready to say it out loud: this sucks. I’m disappointed. I’m worried for the person I love and I’m angry for the loss of time with them again.

I tell my husband how sad I feel. I text a friend and ask for prayer. And it’s in the honesty and the untying of forced tidy bows, that I begin to feel my heart beating again.

I make my own proverb in the pain of feeling everything I feel without judgment: A hard heart leads to death, and a soft, tender heart leads to life.

And in the midst of this kind of honesty, I find Jesus, right there with me, reminding me that He is a man who wept for His friends, who knows what it feels like to lose a friend, to be betrayed and questioned, thought of as less than He was, to be left alone in the dark, to be looked down upon, and to wish things were different than they were. Jesus didn’t make a list of feelings and which ones were worthy of being expressed. He felt. He expressed His feelings.

I remember that God is a God of feelings and heart, and He doesn’t despise my feelings or speak to my tenderness with “shoulds” like I still do. I remember that He is tenderhearted and I find deep comfort in a God whose heart is soft and alive – a wide enough space of welcome for all of my aches and feelings to safely land. A wide and tender space of welcome for all of your feelings too.

 

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