The Real Treasure

The Real Treasure

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One of my favorite stories Jesus tells us about the kingdom of heaven is found in Matthew 13:44 (NIV), “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.”

I read the Bible like I’m watching a movie or like I’m there when it all happens. In this particular story, a man finds a treasure. In my mind, I’m right there hiding behind a tree watching everything he’s doing. I see his joy and excitement about the treasure. He looks around to make sure no one saw him — and then hides his precious discovery again. Then he runs off and sells everything he owns to buy the land the treasure is on. 

I think sometimes we forget how precious the treasure is. This man was willing to sell everything else he owned for that treasure. We don’t know what he owned. Potentially some of his things had sentimental value. His home and land could have been in his family for generations. We don’t get the luxury of knowing all the details, but we do know he considered everything he owned worthless compared to that treasure. 

My husband, Darian, and I were recently invited to a ministry celebration. It was located at a beautiful resort in Florida on the Atlantic coast. Our room was lovely. There was fine dining and luxurious accommodations. As wonderful as all of that was, it paled in comparison to the actual reason we were there. For over 36 hours, we had the privilege of hearing how people were getting the Word of God into forbidden places, including the Middle East, China, and the outermost parts of the world. People from Russia, India, Japan, and many other countries shared their stories. 

One story I will never forget is of a Hindu family in the Himalayas. One of the daughters had received The Book of Hope (a Bible in condensed form for children) and given her life to Jesus. One by one, the rest of the family followed and began serving God at their local church. The father of the family was outraged and felt betrayed. He decided he was going to burn his entire family alive. He tied them all up and just as he was about to light the fire, a man from the new church arrived at their home. He was able to stop the dad from doing such a heinous act and led him to the Lord that day. That family had found a treasure in a field and their lives were the “everything they had” and they were willing to give it up for the treasure.

By the end of the celebration, I realized I was among some of the most Spirit-led, humble, and effective people in the world. God’s presence was in that place. I cried as I heard more stories of the Lord setting people free from addictions, abuse, hardship, and oppression. I was in awe of His love, protection, and ability to reach people.

God will go to great lengths to accomplish His will. All He needs is someone who values the treasure as He does. 

The irony of staying in that fabulous resort and hearing those incredible stories hit me. None of it mattered. The only thing I could think of was Jesus and the love of God. As everything else faded, my desire to do more for Jesus increased. 

I want what I do on Earth to last for eternity. I don’t think there is anything wrong with having nice things or staying in amazing places, but possessions and vacations won’t last forever. Those things don’t make a difference in eternity. Only the things we do for the kingdom of God will last forever. Our careers, hobbies, homes, and cars will not last. They are just pieces of land we must be willing to sell for the real treasure God has for us. 

Only the things done for the Lord have any real value. Yet we like to elevate things that don’t deserve that honor. Nothing deserves the honor of our love, praise, and sacrifice except God. The Himalayan family knew this. They didn’t even consider their own lives worth more than the kingdom of heaven. 

I have a boat dock on my property that I really enjoy. It’s not my “she-shed.” It’s my she-dock. I truly love being there. It’s where I often go to write and spend time with the Lord. One day when I was down there enjoying the fresh air on my face, the reflection of the water, and the sound of the birds, I heard the Lord say to me, “This dock is wood, hay, and stubble.” I knew exactly what He meant. He was telling me to go ahead and enjoy it — it was a gift from Him. But it wouldn’t last forever. It is not the treasure He has for me.

Let’s put our focus on the real treasure, the things that last forever.

Darian and I almost canceled that trip because of some inconveniences in our life. I’m so glad we didn’t. Being in that atmosphere, in the presence of God and people who follow hard after Him, reaffirmed my priorities. I want to build with “gold, silver, and jewels,” not wood, hay, and straw. I want the things I spend my life on to have eternal value.

I love how Jesus said that the man who found the treasure hidden in a field was joyful. He wasn’t disappointed to sell all he had. He couldn’t wait to do it. This was the best day of his life. The treasure was far greater than anything else he could imagine. Nothing on earth compares to the kingdom of heaven. It truly is the greatest treasure. 

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Stay a Little Longer

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The grating sound of wood on tile reverberated in my ears as I dragged the footrest over to where I was sitting. Getting it into an acceptable position for my feet, I settled back into my faithful wingback IKEA chair. My husband and I had just discussed our need for a breakthrough from our lingering weariness. After he left for his meetings, I stayed a little longer in my chair.

The clock was ticking, as it does in my mind every morning I get the kids off to school and preschool. I had my ever-increasing to-do list to tackle, but I felt the stirring need to not move on so quickly.

I’ve often prided myself on my ability to handle a lot on my plate, but over the past year, I’ve found that my capacity has decreased.

I imagine it has to do with the different rhythms that have developed over five and half years of living on this island of Fire and Ice known as Iceland. Perhaps, the intensity of elements like constant winds, blizzards, lava eruptions, and even the months of midnight sun, have shaped me into a different type of vessel in this season. Maybe the doings on that to-do list of the past year depleted me more than I realized — or wanted to admit.

Or maybe I was just plain tired.

Maybe I didn’t need to jump so quickly into asking the Lord for a breakthrough when really what I needed was a moment to allow the Holy Spirit to take a good look through me. So I lingered in my chair, not hurrying to fill the silence saturating that sliver of margin with one more thing, no matter how small.

When was the last time I gave myself permission to just be amid the wrestle? Not automatically jumping to an outcome and a way out, but just laying myself before the Lord. Giving Him free rein to check my motives and agendas. I needed the Holy Spirit to shine a light on the places in my life that were in need of some mending. I needed Him to dig out the roots that were causing me to stumble into striving, instead of dwelling, abiding.

In that infinitesimal but eternal margin, I needed to linger and meet God.

There is a story in Scripture that has always fascinated and challenged me. We know that Moses was considered a friend of God and did incredible things out of the overflow of that relationship. Likewise, his assistant Joshua accomplished amazing feats. But what sticks with me about Joshua is not his faith or how he courageously led the defeat of Jericho.

What lingers with me is how Joshua lingered with God.

“The Lord would speak to Moses face to face, as one speaks to a friend. Then Moses would return to the camp, but his young aide Joshua son of Nun did not leave the tent.”
Exodus 33:11 NIV 

Amidst what I’m sure was constant activity and the pressure of leadership, Joshua didn’t hurry away from God’s presence. He stayed in the tent, even after Moses departed, dwelling with God. I envision him resting in the shadow of ancient wings, turning his heart towards worship and wonder as he soaked up the lingering aroma of the King of the universe.

I don’t have any plans in the near future to install a tabernacle of sorts in my front yard. I’m sure that structure wouldn’t last long in these Nordic winds anyway. But thank You, Jesus, that because of shed blood and a torn veil, lingering with You is no longer about a physical place but about the position of our hearts.

In our very next breath, before the inhale, between, and after the exhale, He is here. The great I Am creating space within our moments and slivers to be with Him. Right there, where we are…

  • Placing our hands in sinks of soapy water, washing the dishes that never run dry.
  • Running to the next gathering to encourage the sphere of influence we’ve been given and pausing a moment in our cars.
  • Finding a second to breathe before the tasks of the day greet us, a certain ache in our hearts from stretching out towards what seems beyond our grasp.
  • Embracing the joy that filters in after a long night with the rising of the morning sun.
  • Facing a period of grief unspeakable, pain too piercing to bear.

Lord, help us not to rush past these moments.

You are as close as our next breath. We will linger and meet You there.

Friend, what moments will become a meeting place for you today?

 

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The Unexpected Miracle

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As a seventeen-year-old, I sat in a U.S. Customs office in Houston, Texas — my future hanging in the balance as I awaited the Border Patrol’s decision about whether I could stay in the United States. The uncertainty of the situation made me question my future and how I would move forward if forced to leave.

Living undocumented in the U.S. as a teenager was not something I would talk about or even acknowledge at the time. After all, I was a teenager still trying to process much more than my legal status. My mother’s abandonment in Canada a few years prior was still a fresh wound, and I was sorting out feelings of rejection while trying to find answers to questions like, “Why wasn’t I enough for her to stay?” My Abue (short for “Abuela” which means grandmother in Spanish) had moved in with us to help my father raise me and my brother. After a few years, my father eventually moved us back to the U.S., where he ultimately left us, too.

I spent my high school years living with Abue in Little Rock, Arkansas, and though times were tough in many ways, that didn’t matter to me because this was my family; this was all I had.

“You are being deported back to Guatemala today; say your goodbyes as we arrange for your return home to Guatemala,” the Customs Agent said. Abue fell to her knees and prayed for a miracle as soon as she understood what was said. And no matter how much I tried, I couldn’t reason with the agent to change his mind. While my Abue prayed amid heartbreak, my brother and I started saying our goodbyes. It was there, in our greatest defeat, that God stepped in. Almost immediately, another agent took me to a separate room to question me about my Canadian passport. After answering many more of their questions, the agent sent me back to the waiting room. Abue’s prayers in Spanish could still be heard, asking for a miracle and God’s will to be done.

When the agent returned, she informed me that due to my Canadian passport and citizenship, they would allow me 36 hours to leave the country, a voluntary withdrawal, to return to Canada with the possibility of reentering the U.S. in ten years. I was no longer facing deportation to Guatemala. Abue jumped off the floor, hands in the air, praising the Lord when she heard the new plan. “Solo Dios pudo hacer este milagro” (only God could do this miracle), she proclaimed in Spanish. God had answered her prayer most unconventionally. Three days later, I was boarding a plane bound for Toronto — alone.

When I share this part of my story, I think most struggle with finding the miracle and God’s goodness. And if I am completely honest, I did for many years too. I had a lot of questions for God. How was allowing me to be separated from the only family I knew a miracle? How was it good to allow a child to go to another country with no parents, no money, and no real direction for the future?

The truth is that neither Abue nor I had a plan or even the slightest idea of what still was ahead, but Abue knew that our circumstances didn’t define God’s goodness, and because of her faith, I knew He was good too.

During a recent visit to Abue’s, I came to the realization that God’s divine protection, grace, and perfect plan were present in the rejection I faced when I was forced to leave the U.S. many years ago. He was also present in the rejection by both my mother and father. Though these experiences were heartbreaking, He gifted me a story through them. I can now share about God’s love and redeeming power with others, praying they will also come to believe in Him. Despite the hardships I faced along the way, I have realized that those challenges were personal invitations from God to seek refuge in Him. As it says in Psalms,

“Taste and see that the Lord is good; blessed is the one who takes refuge in him.”
Psalm 34:8 NIV

Today, I want to encourage you that no matter how impossible your situation may seem, this moment, right now, is your opportunity to seek refuge in your Heavenly Father. It’s the Lord’s personal invitation for you to “taste and see” His goodness through eyes of faith and believe with your heart that your circumstances don’t define His goodness; rather, His goodness is His character.

Remember, God is always there in your darkest hour, working miracles and making a way for you. He promises you hope and a bright future as He authors your story.

Your miracle is in the making.

 

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When You’re Not Ready & Jesus Shows Up Anyway

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“My surgery is next week,” I told the nurse as she checked me in for bloodwork. “I don’t feel ready in the least.”

I half-laughed nervously, hoping she wouldn’t think I was silly. “But is there any way to be ready for a mastectomy?”

She shook her head as she gathered the vials from the shelf and turned back to face me.

“Honey,” she declared, bright eyes flashing. “You’re having a major surgery. There’s no way to feel ready. That’s completely normal. But can I tell you something?”

My whole body exhaled with relief. For the first time in months, someone in the cold, sterile clinic was treating me like a human being.

She pulled her stool close to my chair and took both of my cold hands in her warm, soft palms. She looked me full in the face.

“You are going to be ok. But this is incredibly hard. No one talks about the emotional side. A mastectomy is an amputation. And you need to give yourself all the grace to get through.”

I nodded, ready to weep, knowing this wasn’t the time or place. But I was bone-weary after months of chemo, weeks of nausea, endless days and nights sick in bed, trying to believe all this suffering would bring healing. I just wanted to be ok — for myself, for my husband, for my kids, for my family and friends, for my church community and every blessed stranger on the internet praying for my recovery.

“Listen, darling,” the nurse continued. “Before I started working downtown, I worked in labor and delivery for twenty years, at a hospital up north. I loved every minute of that work, helping mamas and their babies. But on the same floor, we also had the post-op ward for the women who’d had mastectomies. So I got to take care of them, too. I know how all of it is so hard on women and our bodies. We don’t talk about the emotional side or spiritual side of this surgery, how it changes everything about your identity.”

From the other side of the curtain, an impatient intern interrupted: “Labs ready?”

“Not yet,” she hollered, winking at me.

She went on, holding my hands, talking me through the process of mastectomy, giving me recommendations for recovery, reminding me to say yes to every offer of help, making me promise to take it slow. I surrendered to every emotion and started to cry. She cried, too. We both laughed. She grabbed Kleenex for both of us and kept going.

“Labs ready?” Impatience kept rising in the intern’s voice, waiting to run the routine labs to the university hospital for analysis.

“Not. Yet.” Her reply was steady and unwavering. Here was a woman who knew her calling.

For half an hour, the nurse kept talking with me, coaching me through “what to expect” like I was a new mom terrified of birth. Every few minutes, the annoyed question would come from the hallway: “Labs ready?”

Without skipping a beat, she’d respond with a smile only I could see: “Not yet!”

Eventually, we did get down to business, finished the blood draw, and sent the vials off to the lab — with apologies for the delay and gratitude for their patience. But how could I begin to explain that this was the real work of healing? Seeing the hurting human in front of you, reaching out with all the compassion and courage you could muster, and setting aside the day’s schedule to make time for what matters most.

Whenever I read the healing stories from the gospels, this is the part that catches the lump in my throat: how Jesus saw straight into each person in front of Him. The bleeding woman, the sick child, the feverish mother-in-law, the blind man, the dying servant, the paralyzed friend. He always let His agenda for the day — whatever teaching or preaching He had planned — be interrupted to care for the beloved, broken child of God right in front of Him.

Ironically, this truth is hardest for me to remember on the ordinary days, when one more kid has interrupted one more conversation, when my inbox is overflowing, when the house is a mess and the to-do list is a mile long. How am I supposed to get this all done, Lord? Why don’t You just let me focus and finish what I need to do?

That’s when I hear the gentle reminder of Jesus’ words to His friend Martha when she was worked up at her own overwhelm: “There is need of only one thing” (Luke 10:42 NABRE). And that one thing is always and everywhere to see the face of Christ in the person before me, the sacred image-bearer of the divine that has shown up at my door.

Like the kind nurse who set her schedule aside when I needed her comfort, like the exasperated intern in the hall who saw my tear-stained face and realized there was a reason for our delay, I try to remember that our most important, loving actions on any given day are often when we let ourselves get interrupted by God.

We might never feel ready, but Jesus shows up anyway. What a gift when we remember that we can show up with compassion for each other, too.

 

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Our Easter Prayer

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Lord,

Thank You for the gift of HOPE
You gave us on Easter morning.
Because of You we know
That no problem is too difficult
And even death does not have power over us.

Thank You for the gift of JOY
You gave us when You were resurrected.
Because of You we know
That no matter how challenging life may be,
In the end we will rejoice again.

Thank You for the gift of LOVE
You gave us when You laid down Your life.
Because of You we know
That there is no sin too great to separate us
and we are incredibly valuable to You.

Thank You for the gift of LIFE,
You gave us when You left the tomb.
Because of Easter we know
this world is just the beginning
and we will spend forever in heaven with You.

We celebrate You, JESUS,
With hearts full of praise and gratitude
For who You are and all You’ve done for us!

Amen.

“May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in Him.”
Romans 15:13 NIV

This beautiful prayer was written by Holley Gerth and appeared on (in)courage here.

 

The Most Powerful, Remarkable, Beautiful Truth

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Today is Easter Eve, though I’ve never heard it called such a thing, and I’m finding myself on a sweet stroll down memory lane. Won’t you join me?

What characterized the Easter celebrations of your childhood? What made this cherished church holiday special for you? A brand new outfit? Waking up to an Easter basket brimming with goodies? A sunrise service or Sunday afternoon feast with your family, close and extended? A city-wide egg hunt ablaze in color and chaos? Day-by-day deconstructing a Resurrection egg set to examine tiny symbols that represented the life of Christ?

With a big grin and a bit of horror, I recall the coordinating pastel dresses my sister and I wore when I was about four, complete with crunchy crinoline skirts, white bowler hats, and shiny patent leather shoes. “Fancy” is relative, yes? I also remember being a beast when it came to hunting for Easter eggs. Never was I more fierce or competitive than when a contest for most eggs found or a golden egg was at stake. It was in your best interest not to get in my way because you just might come face to face with a 35-pound steamroller determined to win a prize.

Are your earliest Easter memories similar or something entirely different?

Fast forward many years to when I became a mother with three children of my own. It never occurred to me until right now how closely the practices of my own childhood inspired Easter traditions for our family. New, coordinating outfits for our daughter and two sons; maybe not crinoline for Rachel, but all three matchy-matchy (until I finally learned that didn’t actually have to be a thing). Baskets filled and waiting right outside their bedroom doors. Attending church somewhere, wherever we happened to be that morning. A glorious lunch with our extended family (or friends when we had to be apart), anchored by glazed ham, potato salad, deviled eggs, and way too many sweets. And an egg hunt — always an egg hunt — except now my competitive beast mode for finding the prized or most eggs was proffered for my babies.

Memories are golden when they connect our present to happy or special moments from our past, aren’t they? While it’s unhealthy to live in the past or to become stuck in a rut of longing for the “good ol’ days,” telling and re-telling the stories of our lives can build unity, familiarity, and identity among family members. These are good things.

Easter traditions, in terms of norm and practice, vary from family to family, church to church, denomination to denomination, and even culture to culture. How we commemorate this holy holiday doesn’t matter a bit, but why we celebrate Easter is essential. Jesus, Holy God wrapped in human flesh, lived a perfect life, and in doing so, was able to offer Himself as a sacrifice for our sins by surrendering Himself to the brutality of the cross, atoning for each sin and redeeming our lives with His precious blood. And then, in news too good to be true (but nonetheless true), He conquered death, rose again, and according to Acts 1:3, ” . . . presented himself alive to [the apostles he had chosen] by many convincing proofs, appearing to them over forty days and speaking about the kingdom of God.”

Beyond the four gospel accounts of Jesus’ resurrection, Paul tells us that He “appeared to over five hundred brothers and sisters at one time” (1 Corinthians 15:6 CSB). Paul supported the veracity of such a startling claim, dispelling any notion it was some fairytale conjured by the apostles. Jesus had risen, and He was wise and faithful to show Himself to many.

We celebrate Easter because it is a powerful, remarkable, beautiful true story and because God alone is worthy of our praise, adoration, and worship.

Jesus spent three years in ministry, revealing truth by the way He lived and loved. I have to smile in appreciation of how He lived out this quote, long before any philosopher, preacher, or teacher gave us a model about how to deliver a memorable speech:

First tell them what you’re going to tell them, then tell them. 
And then tell them that you’ve told them.
– Author Unknown

Except His was a memorable life. Hallowed Scripture foreshadowed the coming of Christ and hinted about God’s plan for redemption (tell ’em what you’re going to tell ’em). Then, Jesus came to earth and lived as a man so we might know God, and in light of that, how to live (tell them). And after His resurrection, He spent His last days on earth reminding His followers of what He had already told them, equipping them for ministry and enabling them to understand the mystery of what had escaped them prior to His death (tell ’em what you’ve told ’em).

The powerful truth about Easter is Jesus’s victory over sin and death.

The remarkable truth about Easter is Jesus’s complete obedience to God and His willingness to not only pay the price for our sin, but also to offer forgiveness and new life to those who follow Him.

The beautiful truth about Easter is that Jesus always delivers what He promises, He loves us no matter what, and in the closing pages of Matthew, He offers us the hope we’ll need when we’re prone to doubt or forget:

“And remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age.”
Matthew 28:20b CSB

Take a moment to share a special Easter memory. Or share a powerful, remarkable, or beautiful Easter truth the Lord has revealed to you!

 

This article originally appeared on (in)courage here.

 

Introducing Four New (in)courage Contributors!

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Do you know why we do what we do here at (in)courage? Why we share stories about our struggles and God’s strength, why we write about the pain and beauty of ordinary life, and how God’s power and presence meet us there? Because we believe stories are a tool God uses to impart courage to His daughters to help us live out our calling as members of the body of Christ.

Our writers show up here every day to reveal the inner workings of their lives so you can more clearly see the goodness of God in your own.

We are not perfect messengers but we are dedicated followers of Jesus. We are followers who want to know His ways and orient our lives around them so the light of His love and power can reach every corner and cranny of this dark world. Beginning with the crevices of our very hearts.

We are over the moon to introduce you to four truly fabulous women who are joining our community of Jesus storytellers. These writers will bless you with their wisdom, joy, and humor. We can’t wait to learn from their unique and layered stories and how God continues to heal, guide, and empower them. Seriously, we could not be more excited…

Please meet our new (in)courage contributors in their own words:

Jenny Erlingsson

Hello friends! I’m Jenny, an Alabama-born, Nigerian-American currently living in the land of Fire & Ice. I’ve learned to never say never to God because when I married my Viking husband I was never moving to Iceland, and once the Lord called us, I was never moving to my husband’s hometown. Whelp, one seriously supernatural dream later, we live in his small but sweet village on the southern coast.  

Before dwelling among lava rock, erupting fissures, and waterfalls, I served on the pastoral staff of my home church in Huntsville, Alabama. My degrees are in Social Work, but I jumped right into vocational ministry. (in)courage has been so impactful to me and I also love encouraging others at the root level, helping them cultivate Christ-centered identity, intimacy, and influence. This flows into the books I write and help others create. I’m the author of creative non-fiction and my debut novel, Her Part to Play, releases this June! The little girl in me who wrote stories about her Barbies is overjoyed, y’all!  

I think I’m a kind, strong, and outgoing woman, but I crave moments of solitude. A cozy chair with a novel, snacks, and coffee? Yes, please! But these moments are not as frequent as they were during my Babysitters Club and Sweet Valley High era, ok?! Did I mention my four adorably feisty kids? When I’m not mothering them or ministering with my husband, you’ll find me in the margins, scribbling words I hope tell of the glory and goodness of God. I’m thankful to get to share more with our (in)courage community from that beautifully messy, but deeply anchored, place. Bring the chairs, I’ll bring the snacks, and we’ll hang out in those margins together.
Connect with Jenny on Instagram.

Laura Kelly Fanucci

Hello from Minnesota! I’m Laura, and I’m delighted to join the (in)courage community. I became a writer when I was a bewildered new mom, fresh out of graduate school for theology and wondering where to find God in the mess of motherhood. I started writing about parenting and spirituality back in the blogging days, but in 2022 I turned my Mothering Spirit site into a collaborative gathering place for mother-writers around the globe — a long-time dream to create space for diverse writers and readers to connect around shared joys and struggles of faith. I spent 11 years working on ecumenical theological projects on calling and vocation, so I love hearing where people are feeling God’s nudges—especially in surprising places.

Lately, I write about everyday spirituality at The Holy Labor, my weekly Substack, and I’ve authored books on parenting, discipleship, calling, and grief. My husband and I went through infertility, miscarriage, and the loss of our twin daughters after their premature birth. So I’m always searching for God in the broken places and seeking to share light in darkness. But I’m also a firm believer that humor is holy, so I’m forever a half-step away from a huge laugh (and a sarcastic aside).

I live in the suburban wilds near Minneapolis with my husband of 18 years and our five boys (yes, it’s an energetic, messy house). With the sparse free time I have these days, I love reading, music, poetry, and laughing with my kids. Most recently I’m a breast cancer survivor, so I will lovingly bug you to get your mammogram and prioritize caring for the body God gave you. Joining (in)courage is a delight because building community with other women has been one of the great joys of my life. I can’t wait to connect with you!
Connect with Laura on Instagram.

Ligia Andrade

Hola Amigas! I’m Ligia, pronounced Lee-Hee-ya. I was born in Guatemala and reside in Canada, the most beautiful country in the world. Sometimes, I cannot believe I get to call this country home. Sure, we don’t have a Target or a Trader Joe’s, but the stunning scenery, experiencing all four seasons, and the amazing people here more than make up for it!

I am happily married to my husband Alan, of thirteen years, and we are raising our three kids, 16, 14, and 11. Navigating these teen years, we often experience high school flashbacks as we deal with dating and play Uber driver, but I would have it no other way! I am mostly known for my delicious barbacoa tacos (if you know, you know!), speaking Spanglish, and intentional hospitality. Still, most importantly, I am known for loving God and loving people.

Most days, you can find me connecting with women from various communities, in-person or online. There’s nothing better than making new friends and learning about women from all life paths, each with their own story. With a passion for women to come to know Jesus through community, my husband and I launched ANEW in 2019. Anew is a women’s ministry devoted to fostering community and connection while pointing women to Jesus as we equip and empower women to solidify their identity in Christ.

I have loved being a part of the (in)courage community, which has been a constant source of blessings to me through its active online presence. It is an honour to now join the team and be able to serve you this season. Bendiciones!
Connect with Ligia on Instragram.

Tyra Rains

Hi everybody! I’m Tyra, I cannot wait to get to know you all. If I could, I would love to have each of you over to my house, sip a latte, hear your story, and laugh for hours. I have to be honest and tell you I’m sure I’d have tears part of the time as well. I’m invested in people.

Jesus, my marriage, my family, our church, and sunshine are my life. My husband, Darian, and I have raised three awesome kids. They are all married to the best humans and have (so far) given us five perfect grandbabies. In our off time, you’re likely to find us eating, on a family walk, boating, or just hanging out at the table.

Pastoring Your Place Church with my husband and leading Virtue, a movement of women striving to live uncommonly in a common world, is my passion. Gosh, I love both of those things. Weekly we watch people transform in the presence of God. It’s beautiful.

Virtue is also a book and curriculum I wrote after spending time with a group of girls who believed their lives could never be more than mediocre. A mediocre life is not okay. Life to the fullest is the message Jesus has called me to share. I’m in awe of the life change it’s brought so far.

It’s a joy to be a part of this (in)courage family. I’m honored to have the opportunity to share in your walk with the Lord. Let’s be friends.
Connect with Tyra on Instagram. 

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Don’t you just love them already? Please offer your warmest (in)courage welcome to these new sisters! And be sure to tune in every day next week for the first devotion straight from each of their hearts. We know you’ll be (in)couraged!

 

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Let’s Help Each Other Fly

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Earlier this winter, my daughter participated in a cheerleading clinic. She and other elementary school kids learned two routines and were invited to perform at halftime during the high school basketball game.

She and I practiced the small group routine over and over, perfecting the cheer and hand claps and jumps. What I couldn’t help her with was the large group routine. She had a small stunt she was involved in, and while I can holler and clap with the best of them, my cheerleading “skills” end there. I would just have to wait and see her during the game.

She ran out onto the basketball court, a beaming smile on her face and high ponytail flying. She crushed the small group routine, the one we’d practiced together, and I was so proud. I was beaming too! And then all the kids spread out over the whole court, picked up signs and poms, and went into their large group routine.

My girl was the base for another girl, whom she helped hoist into the air. She and two more girls formed a kind of pyramid, then boosted the fourth girl up on their hands, holding her confident and strong.

When she ran off the court and for the rest of the evening, my daughter could not stop talking about how much fun she’d had. Cheering on the players. Being part of something bigger. But especially, she expressed that her joy had been serving as the base, lifting another kid up into the air.

“I helped her fly!” she exclaimed. And even now as I write this, tears prick my eyes because what if we all took such joy in helping each other fly?

We may not all be the best cheerleaders. We may need to be lifted up ourselves. But we can all do the heavy lifting of friendship, of support, of helping someone else to fly.

When we do, we might be stepped on. We may be overlooked in some ways. We may not be at the top of the pyramid; but we may be called upon and given the opportunity to be the strong, firm, and steady support someone needs.

To be clear, it takes strength to both ask for and offer such support.

The times throughout my life that I’ve needed to be held up were humbling. I don’t necessarily have trouble or guilt asking for help, but it can be a shock to realize that I don’t — I can’t — hold everything together on my own. I’ve been so thankful that when I’ve asked (and even a few times when I haven’t had to), my prayers for help have been answered. Meals delivered. Tasks finished. Dishes done. Snacks dropped at my door. Finances given.

Some of the people who have helped lift me up have been the closest and dearest of friends. Others have been total strangers, led to follow a whispered call.

“Do not forget to show hospitality to strangers, for by so doing some people have shown hospitality to angels without knowing it.”
Hebrews 13:2 NIV

I grew up in the glory days of Amy Grant, and one of my favorite songs of hers is Angels Watching Over Me, and the closing line that says “Though I never see with human eyes the hands that lead me home”. 

Friends, we can be those hands! With our offerings both big and small, we can be the ones to hoist another right up into the air.

We can be the one who helps another girl fly.

In tangible ways and in words spoken. In giving from our time, our talents, and our treasures. In showing up when we’re needed, even if we’re not asked. In opening our hearts, our homes, our hands to one another.

In a world where it’s often easier to assume, ignore, or compete, we can be the ones to support, uplift, and bolster.

When the chance to help arises, may we find ourselves saying, “I get to be the one!” May we beam as my daughter did on that basketball court as she hoisted someone up and into the air. And may our hands serve as one pair that helps lead another Home.

 

P.S. Be sure to read (or listen!) tomorrow because we’ve got a HUGE announcement to share with you!

 

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When You’d Rather Hide, Reach Out Instead

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Last Thursday was a really bad day.

I’m talking about a horrible, terrible, miserable, no good, very bad day.

After work, I drove home to take one of my children to an appointment . . . but we never made it to that appointment. Some truly bad choices were made before we even got into the car, and we couldn’t go. It was traumatic for all involved, and missing the appointment was merely the icing on a garbage cake.

By the time that crisis was resolved, I was physically and emotionally spent. I wanted to crawl into my bed and ignore the whole world. The horrible, terrible, miserable, no good, very bad world.

As I considered collapsing under the covers and hiding from all the things making me hurt, I remembered something. My friend had invited me to a Bible study that was beginning that evening. Because of my daughter’s appointment, I hadn’t been able to go . . . but now I could. I weighed the options:

Go to the Bible study and open up to people I didn’t know well or didn’t know at all?

Go and run the risk of monopolizing the conversation? (Or go and spend the whole time crying because that’s what I felt like doing anyway?)

Stay home and wallow in self-pity and misery, rehashing the horrible ordeal with my husband?

Or stay home and hide, numbing my feelings with half a bag of chocolate chips from the back of the pantry and hours of Instagram reels?

I decided to go to the Bible study.

Though my friend had invited me, the group of women meeting was mostly people I didn’t know. And they were reading a book that, when I’d heard about it and read the synopsis, didn’t appeal to me. I was glad for the chance to connect with other women and discuss Jesus, but I was also a little nervous about the whole thing.

Plus, I wondered if going made me a negligent mother or a callous wife. After all, shouldn’t I stay home and help my kids process what had happened that afternoon? Shouldn’t I be there in case my husband wanted to talk about how he felt or what he thought about it?

Maybe . . . but we’d already processed and would certainly continue the next day. And another part of me knew I needed to get out of my house. I needed to choose connection over hiding. I needed to take care of my own heart before I could help heal anyone else’s.

So I did it. I drove to the designated coffee shop and ordered a caramel latte with oat milk, hoping the wisdom of avoiding regular milk (because I’m allergic) would balance out the foolishness of consuming caffeine so close to bedtime. I smiled and said, “Nice to meet you,” and tried to remember the new names. I listened as they discussed the first chapter of a book I hadn’t read and wondered if, when I started the audiobook on my drive home, it would resonate for me like it was for them.

And when one of my new friends said, “You have kids, right? So how’s that going?” I shared the story of my day and let them into my messy life.

Telling others about my horrible day didn’t fix all the problems. Spending a couple of hours with five other women didn’t allow me to go back in time or erase the memory of every bad thing that had happened.

But it did minister to my hurting heart. It gave me a moment to stop and breathe. It gave me a few minutes to focus on something other than my situation, and it reminded me that I’d never been alone in any of it. See, mixed with our conversation about the book I hadn’t read were snippets of each woman’s story and the places God has met them over the years.

They talked about how He’d met them at the bottom, how He’d stayed with them, and helped them up.

They shared the ways God gave them strength in every kind of struggle and how He was still holding them close and guiding them through hard spots.

They helped me remember the things I know to be true about God and His incredible love and care for me. They reminded me that it’s okay to not be okay, that God doesn’t expect us to handle it (whatever “it” is) on our own, and that sharing a burden is always better than trying to carry it all by myself.

If you’re having a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day (or week or month or season), you might feel like I did last week. You may be tempted to stuff all the hard feelings, to hide under the covers, and refuse to come out until the world plays nice, or to simply go radio silent. You might think you have to take care of everyone else first and maybe then you can rest or recover. Or perhaps you feel like it’s better to keep your mess to yourself, or you’re afraid nobody will understand or care or be able to help.

Fight those urges, friend.

Don’t hide. Don’t stay home or stay quiet in your pain. Reach out. Connect. Allow someone safe to see the real you, to hear a bit more of your story. And then listen as they share how God has met them along the way and loved them through their pain.

Let them help you remember the things you know to be true.

“Therefore, I will always remind you about these things — even though you already know them and are standing firm in the truth you have been taught.”
2 Peter 1:12 NLT

 

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You Are in the Potter’s Good Hands

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A few months ago, I invited my friend to join me for a pottery class at a new local studio for her birthday present. We both love to try new things and were intrigued by the experience of using a potter’s wheel to create something out of clay.

When we arrived at the class, the teacher gave us step-by-step instructions. We each sat down behind a wheel while she passed out a ball of clay to each student. Our first task was to slam the clay down in the center of the wheel to get it to stick. Then we were to wet a small sponge and soak the clay.

Our teacher encouraged us to gently nudge the pedal to get the wheel spinning. With wet hands, we learned to center and cone the clay. Coning helps to mix the clay and work out inconsistencies or air bubbles before shaping it. We used our fingers to lift the clay into the cone shape and then our palms to push it down again.

Once the cone was centered well, the teacher showed us how to smooth and shape the clay into a flat disk. She said to make it look like a mini flan. (She had me at flan. Hello, one of my favorite desserts!)

The process of forming clay on the wheel was longer and harder than it looked.

The trick was to keep adding water to keep the clay supple and moldable. We pressed, pulled, and pinched until that ball of clay eventually became a bowl or vase.

Metaphors for life abound in the pottery studio.

A few times, the teacher came over, stuck her hands in front of me, and started to work with my clay. At first, I wanted to take control of the clay myself. I wanted to learn by doing it myself. But soon I realized the value of surrendering to her expertise. I learned a lot from watching my teacher and her techniques.

The first surprising lesson was that it requires lots of water to make a clay pot on a wheel. Clay is naturally hard and heavy, but water makes it workable.

Our souls are much the same. We need consistent hydration. We need the living water that only Jesus offers. On our own we are heavy, brittle; we are dust. With Jesus’s living water, we are malleable clay. The very same water that He offered the Samaritan woman at the well has the power to transform us from the inside out (John 4:13-14 NLT). He is our Thirst-Quencher when we are parched, our Teacher when we lack technique, our Shepherd when we need a gentle guide.

In the pottery studio, I also learned that pushing on the pedal to speed up the wheel does not make the work go faster. I had to be slow, deliberate, and intentional if I wanted to make a beautiful bowl.

It turns out that in pottery-making, as in life, you have to trust the process. It’s rare that someone would sit down at a pottery wheel and make something perfect on the first try. Oftentimes the clay needs to be reworked, reshaped, and reimagined.

This brings to mind the story where God sends the prophet Jeremiah to the potter’s house to show him something important He wants to relay to the people:

Go down to the potter’s shop, and I will speak to you there. So I did as he told me and found the potter working at his wheel. But the jar he was making did not turn out as he had hoped, so he crushed it into a lump of clay again and started over. Then the Lord gave me this message: “O Israel, can I not do to you as this potter has done to his clay? As the clay is in the potter’s hand, so are you in my hand.”
Jeremiah 18: 2-6 (NLT)

God uses this visual to remind the people that He is the Master Potter, molding them like clay. He calls them back to repentance and rest in Him.

The prophet Isaiah uses a similar metaphor of clay and Creator:

“What sorrow awaits those who argue with their Creator.
Does a clay pot argue with its maker?
Does the clay dispute with the one who shapes it, saying,
‘Stop, you’re doing it wrong!’
Isaiah 45:9 (NLT)

These verses remind us that the Potter can do whatever He wants with the clay. He can push out our inconsistencies, transform our too-jagged edges, and smooth us to symmetry. It might feel uncomfortable or too long in the waiting, but we are not to resist His design work. We are to submit to His molding and making, and behold His creative process embodied in us. 

After the class, our teacher fired our creations in the kiln — a hotter-than-hot oven — to set them. When it was done, I traced my finger along the smooth edges of my bluish-teal bowl. I held it with a quiet sense of pride because it wasn’t fancy, but it was my creation.

That little bowl sits on my bathroom counter now, holding some of my favorite jewelry pieces. It’s a sweet reminder that God is the Potter, and we are but dust mixed with water in His heart-shaped hands.

This devotion originally appeared on (in)courage here. 

 

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6 Simple Prayers for When You’re Barely Hanging On

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I often feel like I’m living in the land of barely. Barely enough sleep. Barely enough patience. Barely keeping enough spoons and socks clean. (Seriously, what happens to all the spoons?!)  Barely fixing dinner. Barely getting dressed. Barely keeping my anxiety in check.

My default is to shame myself for all the barely. To “should” myself into doing better, trying harder.

Do you have a soundtrack of shoulds? I should be on top of things. I should manage my time better. I should be over this. I should be okay by now. I should be more grateful, more together, more spiritual. I should be less of an emotional mess.

But through the noise of my shame, I hear the voice of Jesus who keeps gently reminding me that He is the God of abundance who isn’t put off by my barely. When I’m barely holding on, God is abundantly able to hold me.

It’s because of our barely that Jesus laid Himself bare on the cross. He took all our weakness, sin, and failure upon His flawless self. He did it so we wouldn’t have to keep living in the land of barely… barely enough righteousness, barely enough sacrifice, barely enough grace.

The bloody cross and the empty tomb mean any barely we face is a fleeting circumstance. Our future is secure! God’s unshakable hope, His unending joy, His perfect peace — this is our inheritance! But the beautiful reality is that we don’t have to wait till heaven to receive it. It can be ours today!

“May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.”
Romans 15:13 NIV

God’s peace isn’t reserved for the ones without mildew in their showers or strained relationships in their families. His joy isn’t set aside for the ones who have never known the ache of depression or the stress of stretched finances. His hope isn’t only designated for the optimists who never yell at their kids. The beauty of Jesus’s love and grace is that it’s poured out for all of us!

If you’re living in the land of barely today, the hope, peace, and joy of Jesus are available to you.

He wants to meet you in the muck. Exactly where you feel stuck. I know it’s true because He’s done it for me more times than I can count.

Years ago when I had a toddler who wouldn’t sleep — wouldn’t even stay in his crib for more than 90 seconds —  I remember sitting slumped and sobbing in the hallway, night after night, utterly at the end of my rope. I also remember Jesus sitting right there beside me.

In those weary and wrung-out moments, God’s Spirit would speak the words of James 1:2-5 to my heart:

“Consider it a sheer gift, friends, when tests and challenges come at you from all sides. You know that under pressure, your faith life is forced into the open and shows its true colors. So don’t try to get out of anything prematurely. Let it do its work so you become mature and well-developed, not deficient in any way. If you don’t know what you’re doing, pray to the Father. He loves to help. You’ll get his help, and won’t be condescended to when you ask for it” (The Message).

I definitely didn’t know what I was doing. Yet again and again, God helped me through the next moment. Now more than a decade later, I can see how that brutal season of barely feeling like the mom my child needed was indeed a gift. My son grew and matured at the same time God was growing and maturing me.

Or when I was in the dark pit of anxiety, before I had a name for it, and my mind raced like half dreams I couldn’t escape and my heart beat like I had overdosed on caffeine — Jesus met me there too. When I could barely make it from dinner to bedtime without snapping at my husband and crying without cause, Jesus drew near. Out of the abundance of His love, He sent friends to share their own experiences with anxiety so I didn’t feel alone. He led me to seek help and support through a trusted Christian counselor. He showed me that just as He had compassion for the physical suffering of the lame, the leper, and the blind, so too He has compassion for our mental suffering.

Again and again, Jesus reminded me that I am not alone.

Maybe today you need to know that Jesus is there with you too, but you don’t even have the words to tell Him.

Here are 6 simple prayers for when you’re barely hanging on:

     God, I don’t know what to do. Please give me wisdom for the next step.

     Jesus, I feel so alone. Show me that You are here.

     God, my mind and body are full of anxiety. Please fill me with Your peace.

     Jesus, I need joy that doesn’t depend on my circumstances.

     God, thank You for the gift of Your Spirit. Help me to overflow with hope.

     Jesus, please breathe Your abundance into my barely. I trust you.

Friend, tell Jesus about your hurt, your disappointment, your failure. Whatever barely looks like in your life today, it does not disqualify you from being abundantly loved by God.

If you need more lived-out hope in your week, subscribe to Becky’s new Hope and Reason Podcast. Also available on Spotify.

 

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Is That the Messiah? Is It Time?

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The next day, when the large crowd that had come to the festival heard that Jesus was coming to Jerusalem, they took palm branches and went out to meet him. They kept shouting:
“Hosanna!
Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord—the King of Israel!”
John 12:12-13 CSB

We lined up in the church lobby — about 100 preschool and elementary school children and the volunteers tasked with keeping them quiet for those few minutes. I pressed my ear to the door, listening for our signal.

Ok, he’s still doing announcements, I thought, wondering how long our pastor was going to talk about Easter service times while these kiddos grew increasingly restless. I made a mental note to bring the kids out a few minutes later during the next service.

As the children’s ministry director at our church, Palm Sunday was one of my most stressful Sundays. It was like a jigsaw puzzle, moving up our own worship time and helping late families get to the right place, trying to estimate how long the beginning of the worship service would last, and then gently suggesting to our pastor that he perhaps make his announcements as concise as possible, despite the million details related to Easter Sunday.

And then there were the palm branches — scheduling their delivery, drying them off, stripping them into smaller pieces, distributing them, convincing second-grade boys to stop hitting one another with them, asking four-year-olds to stop chewing on them.

I’m a bit of a control freak. I like things to progress just so and according to plan. I function best under concrete timelines, clear expectations, and certain outcomes.

The Palm Sunday service involved too many moving pieces and too many elements beyond my control; my neck itched, and I wished for a second application of deodorant. I held a finger to my lips and shushed the group one more time. Please no one cry. Please no one have to go to the bathroom. I put my ear to the door again. Is it time?

Suddenly, the guitars picked back up, and there was our cue. The offering baskets began their journey up and down the rows of gray chairs as we opened the heavy sanctuary doors. I put my most enthusiastic volunteers at the front of the lines; we clapped our hands and said, “Wave those palm branches high, guys! It’s time.”

And we sang: Hosanna, hosanna!

Their lap through the sanctuary ended as quickly as it began, and I offered high-fives to each kid on their way out of the sanctuary. We spent the rest of the service learning about that word, “Hosanna,” and the humble King who fulfilled prophecy by riding into Jerusalem on a donkey.

But before I guided the little ones back into our normal Sunday routine, I took one last peek into the sanctuary of adults, normally very reserved in their worship. That’s when I saw them: the smiles. And that’s when I heard it: the laughter. And that’s when I felt it: the joy.

To think I almost missed it!

For the people of God, that first Palm Sunday was a celebration. Generation after generation waited for a sign of the promised Messiah. I imagine with every prophecy, shift in the weather, and change of regime and ruler, they wondered: Is that the Messiah? Is it time?

I wouldn’t function well in that long, long waiting. I wonder whether my faith would have withstood the questions and uncertainty. As Jesus rode on a donkey under their canopy of palm leaves, they shouted “Hosanna” and their hearts said, It’s time.

I just barely understand the sweet relief and rapturous celebration of that moment.

I’m not serving in children’s ministry right now; we’ve since moved 1,000 miles away from our old church. I’m home with my 3-year-old, 16-month-old, and newborn. Right now, we are finishing mortgage paperwork. With three under four and an impending move, it would be easy to get caught up in logistics and timelines and my control freak tendencies. But that’s not how I hope to spend this Easter season.

Instead, I’ll hand my toddlers some palm leaves cut from green construction paper, and when they wake up on Palm Sunday, I’ll tell them, “It’s time!”

And I won’t miss the joy.

 

Today’s devotion was written by guest author Lindsey Cornett and originally appeared on (in)courage here.

When It Feels Like You’re Wilting but You’re Wanting to Flourish

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The righteous thrive like a palm tree
and grow like a cedar tree in Lebanon.
Planted in the house of the Lord,
they thrive in the courts of our God.
They will still bear fruit in old age,
healthy and green,
to declare, “The Lord is just;
he is my rock,
and there is no unrighteousness in him.”
Psalm 92:12-15 CSB

These past few weeks I haven’t been praying.

I’ve wanted to, but still, I haven’t. I’m just so busy right now, I told myself. I’ll talk to Jesus soon. God will understand.

I wasn’t reading my Bible either. I saw it, sitting there on my nightstand, but it had been covered up by other things — glasses of water, notebooks, textbooks, my laptop.

I had a list of reasons the length of my arm for why I wasn’t praying or spending time with Jesus: I just had surgery, my second art show is quickly approaching, and the amount of schoolwork college assigns one person is still somewhat shocking to me.

All of those reasons are legitimate. But without any time spent with Jesus, all of those reasons were slowly emptying me.

A few days ago I was sitting on my bed, my white comforter beneath my crossed legs. I started crying. “I can’t do this anymore, Jesus,” I told Him. “I’m too tired. I’m too overwhelmed. I think I said yes to too many things. I think I’m going to have to pull all-nighters for the next month to finish everything I need to do. I feel like I’m drowning. No, not even drowning. I feel like I’m withering, like I’m shriveling right up.”

If I was a flower, I was a wilted one.

Because I’m a verbal processor, I was trying to fill up on people. I would talk to people about how I was feeling — overwhelmed, worried, and anxious about all the things I felt I needed to do. Unfortunately, no human was satisfying enough for me.

Jesus — the real source, the One who takes me and my shriveled-up self and breathes life into me, allowing me to slowly, slowly begin to work my way from a wilted flower to someone who can flourish — is necessary for me to survive.

Without Him, I am empty.

Only when I lay myself down, when I give Him my worries and fears and anxieties — including the things that I think must appear so petty to Him — can I finally be full. I want my roots to sink deep into who Jesus Christ is, so that I can stand strong and firm, not on my own accord but on His.

So I started to pray again. I began writing my prayers down, and asking certain people in my life how I could pray for them. I began reading Hebrews, and I focused on how God keeps giving us grace. And slowly, slowly (because these things are always a slow, thoughtful process) I have begun filling up again.

I’m no longer wilting. My circumstances have remained the same, but my roots have vastly changed. May I never again be rooted in my own self, but instead ground myself in Jesus: the rock, the One who will forever sustain me.

Do you feel wilted or like you’re flourishing?
In what ways do you think you can root yourself further into Jesus Christ?

Today’s devotion originally appeared on (in)courage here. 

 

The Sit-Down Season

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I remember the thrill of just finding out I was pregnant. I went over to my parents’ house and my mother caught me smiling at nothing, “What is that smile about?” she inquired. I had no chill and exclaimed, “I guess I’m pregnant!” We laughed because I had only been married for one whole month.

But the excitement soon faded as I was so nauseous I couldn’t even go to work. I had to quit, as I was practically bedridden, emerging only when I needed gas station powdered donuts or a bean burrito at 10 a.m. from the local Mexican restaurant that quickly got to know my husband’s desperate voice. Then when the nausea passed, I was fine but way less mobile. I wasn’t going on runs anymore, that’s for sure.  My body was changing and growing rapidly. I frustratingly couldn’t do what I used to! And forget about the last trimester. It seemed like I was out of breath all the time due to the giant walrus sitting on my lungs. I was so tired.

This is what my first year in seminary has felt like. Excitement: I can conquer the world! To the wait-a-minute-moment: Um, I think I won’t be able to run like I used to. I’m exhausted! To the realization that I am sort of sitting on the couch at the moment, feeling the weight of something transitioning inside of me. It is exciting, it is challenging, and it comes with physical limits. That is why I have had to let go of some commitments during this season which includes writing here for the beloved (in)courage. 

There are seasons of running and seasons of sitting down, and recognizing that one is not greater than the other is helpful for me.

I think a lot about Jesus and His time before He came into His public ministry at age thirty: What was He doing before? We don’t have much to look at in the Gospels during this time but we do know Jesus was fully human with regular physical limits. Even in John 4:6 (ESV), it says:

“So Jesus, wearied as he was from his journey, was sitting beside the well.”

Before He came into public ministry though, Jesus was probably doing sit-down stuff like memorizing the Torah, which was so incredibly key to Jewish culture and for Jesus’ future ministry. Or maybe for hours, He was learning from Joseph how to whittle wood so the joints made a perfect fit. We can use our imagination, but the Gospel of John makes it clear that Jesus had physical limitations of time and energy just like you and me. And while I certainly diverge from being God’s gift to man (HA!), I feel like I can relate to Jesus’s waiting season, His sit-down season, the times He got weary and needed to rest.

Those learning years weren’t big and flashy; it was probably tedious and interesting in the same breath. But it seems like this is my season, these next two years, to sit in the classroom, slow down, learn, and whittle away at some theology. 

And so while I leave a group that has been immensely encouraging (no pun intended), I am also encouraged that saying no to one thing means I can say yes to something else and trust that God will bring you new and fresh voices in this space. He will! Thank you for being with me, encouraging my work with your comments, and laughing at my often mediocre jokes. May God bless this ministry and those who benefit from it.   

—

A note to our (in)courage Community: These goodbyes from a few writers have been so sad for us, but we’re also deeply grateful to have cultivated a community that cheers women on in whatever God has for them. His ways are higher. His gifts are always good. And speaking of good gifts, make sure you tune in NEXT FRIDAY for a happy-happy-joy-joy announcement you don’t want to miss!  -Your (in) Team

 

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His Mercies Are New Every Minute

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I’m in my car and turning onto the interstate that takes me over the lake. I like the way the water sparkles — like a mirror, always reflecting the light of the good sun.

As the water sparkles, I think about something that younger me never realized. Right here in my car, with nothing mystical or magnificent happening, I feel God and His presence. I think of the passage of Scripture that carried me through my weary, teenage years: the steadfast love of God never stops, and His mercies are new every morning.

Long gone are my adolescent years when I’d cry myself to sleep, unsure of God’s mercy and overwhelmed with the weight of life. Desperate to believe that God’s mercy was really for me, I’d cry my heart out just before sleep so many nights, only to wake up puffy-eyed and hoping the newness that I felt from waking to a new day was God’s way of waking me to new mercies.

Looking back, I now see that God’s mercy didn’t just come to me every morning; it also carried me through every night and every minute of every day. And if I held on to Him then, I can hold on to Him this minute, never needing to hold out for the morning to wash me anew. I can recall His mercies to my mind now, right here in this car driving over the lake that sparkles with the light of the good sun.

Wherever you are today, God’s mercies are available to you. Whether you’re raging over the injustices in your life or in the world, or you’re weary from the everyday mundane. Whether you cry yourself to sleep at night or bemoan when morning comes, you can count on God’s new mercies to meet you.

His mercies are new every minute, every millisecond, stretching wide and reaching deep to cover us for any reason . . . at any time, in any place. You can step into each new day knowing God’s love meets you and carries you.

by Rachel Marie Kang, as published in 100 Days of Strength in Any Struggle

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

In this beautiful book, you’ll find:

  • Relatable stories from all of your favorite (in)courage writers
  • 100 life-line Scriptures to recenter your focus
  • Journaling space to write your thoughts or prayers
  • A place to record how God is strengthening you every day!

It’s a devotional journal that will feel like sitting down with dearest friends and seeking God together in the middle of your mess or struggle.

Order your copy today; we cannot wait for you to read this book. You can also add it to your “want to read” shelf on Goodreads, and find a FREE 14-day reading plan on YouVersion with full excerpts from 100 Days!

 

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

For When You’re Tired of Being the Backup Friend

by

“Mom, I feel like I’m the backup friend.”

I knew exactly what she meant as soon as she said it, but I asked her to clarify anyway. And sure enough, my sweet middle schooler was afraid that she was nobody’s first choice, that all her friends liked someone else better than her. She felt like they only saw her as a backup to their true preference, their first choice.

Thankfully, this discussion — like so many others — took place in the car, while I sat directly in front of my daughter on our way to dance class. If I tilted my head just right, I could catch her eye in the rearview mirror, but for the most part, I couldn’t see her and she couldn’t see me. That was a relief because tears had immediately sprung to my eyes — not an unusual occurrence for me, for sure, so my daughter would not have been surprised to see me cry. Though her words and her pain struck something deep inside me, I didn’t want to make the conversation about me.

But it could have been.

Just a couple of days before that car conversation, I’d realized that I was absolutely the backup friend to someone I’d made my first choice. “It didn’t even occur to me to call you,” she said without apology. It wasn’t an insult, just a simple fact. And in that moment, and in the moment I heard my daughter share her situation, I felt exactly twelve years old. And fourteen and nineteen and twenty-three and twenty-eight and thirty-two and thirty-eight and, yes, forty-four. Because I’ve felt overlooked or ignored by friends so many times through the years. The feeling may have first shown up in elementary or middle school, but it never seems to go away.

I didn’t tell my daughter that part, though I assured her she was not alone in her feelings. I told her a few stories of times I’d felt like the last one picked for dodgeball (noting that I have also literally experienced being picked last for dodgeball), and I reminded her that one of her very own friends had said she felt like second choice not too long ago.

More importantly, as we drove down the road and later as we sat together on the couch, I told my daughter the same two things I tell myself (over and over and over):

1. What you’re going through is hard, and I know it hurts. I’m sorry you’re feeling sad and lonely.

To myself, I might use some stronger language, saying straight out, “You know what? This just sucks. It does!” But while I didn’t say it quite that way to my daughter, I made sure to give her space to grieve, to sit with her in the pain, to acknowledge how hard this — and most everything related to friendship — really is. Though I’m admittedly a “fixer,” I tried hard not to jump in with suggestions for making it all better. And when I’m grieving my own friendship status, I make an effort to give myself the grace to feel the pain before moving on to the practical solutions part of my moping.

And for my daughter, myself, and anyone else I find myself weeping with while they weep (Romans 12:15), I also try to point back to God before looking to ourselves for answers. That’s why the next thing I say when you’re tired of being second choice is this:

2. You are God’s first choice.

Friends may sit with someone else in the cafeteria, forget to invite us to the slumber party or the movie night, or forget to add our number to the group text. We might not get picked for the team, the group project, the solo, the part, the homecoming date, the plus one to the wedding, the delivery room, or the mastermind group. But no matter how many people deem us unworthy, God never will.

God will never snub us or roll His eyes when we try to talk to Him. He’ll never leave us out of His big plan. He won’t turn His back on us or walk by without making eye contact. He won’t let us down or hurt us. He will never pick anyone before us.

God chooses you. (John 15:16)
Before you were even born, He chose you! (Jeremiah 1:5)
Before the world was made, He chose you. (Ephesians 1:4)
Out of all the people, God chooses you. Yes, you! (Deuteronomy 14:2)

If you’re feeling like a backup friend today, my heart is heavy for you. I know how that feels, and it’s horrible. If you’re feeling like you’ll never be anyone’s first choice, take heart. Don’t spiral into those dark thoughts! You are someone’s first choice. You’re the first choice of the One. You are loved by God. You are valued and treasured. You are chosen.

This article first appeared on (in)courage here.

 

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