Quieting the Chorus of Your Self-Doubts

Quieting the Chorus of Your Self-Doubts

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“Ma’am, pull this black sock over your head and grab a red helmet.”

With the noise of speeding go-karts in the background, I grabbed a red helmet and smiled like I wasn’t about to freak out. My oldest invited me to join him and a group of military officer friends at an indoor go-kart track while I was visiting over Christmas break. I pushed the helmet down over the protective head sock while whispering a prayer for my crushed hair. Then, I breathed another prayer: God, I don’t know what I’m doing. Please help me not embarrass myself. Amen.

Once the helmet’s thick padding dampened the noise around me, my sight sharpened. I glanced around. An uncomfortable warm ooze of self-awareness spread throughout my body. I felt very out of place. I was the only middle-aged woman attempting to drive a go-kart that afternoon.

My inner self took this realization as an opportunity to amp up the random anxious thoughts:

Try not to drive like an old carpool mom…

You know they are all going to pass you…

Maybe today wasn’t the best day to wear boots with heels…

When it was time to fold myself into the tiny go-kart, all my self-doubts crowded in with me. I thought about climbing back out and standing on the sidelines. My helmet only amplified my choir of doubts. But I forced myself to stay in my seat.  With tears in my eyes, I made the decision to believe that I could do this, even if I didn’t do it well.

As soon as the go-flag came down, I jammed my foot on the gas. That little go-kart shot off and I held on. The first curve appeared before I was ready for it, but I drove into the bend, narrowly missing the wall in front of me. I broke out in a thin sheen of sweat and took my foot off the gas for a second. I wanted to give up, but quitting wasn’t an option. I took a deep breath and pressed the gas again. Every curve was a learning curve. Throughout the twelve laps, I figured out what to do and not to do. Other go-karts passed me with more speed and more skill, but I kept driving, learning, and gaining confidence as I went along.

The final results… I came in last place. Not just barely last place, but most solidly and firmly in last place. But I did it. I was last, but I won the battle to believe that I could do it. I won the even bigger battle of not beating myself up for failing to do it well.

Too often, it’s our fear of failure or embarrassment that keeps us from stepping out in courage or faith. What would you like to do that you’ve never done before? What’s been stopping you from saying “yes,” whether it’s to something big or small? Perhaps you’re like me and you’re starting to wonder if you’re too old, if you don’t fit in, or if it’s too late. These are a part of that chorus of self-doubt that wants you to believe that it’s best not to put yourself out there.

Here’s what I want you to know today: I believe that God has a great adventure of faith and purpose for your life. That adventure never needs to be perfect. Stepping out in faith doesn’t require perfection. Stepping out in faith IS success. Period. Part of the adventure is that God gives you the grace of each day to keep figuring things out!

I appreciate the words of an ancient prophet, Jeremiah, who witnessed both epic failures and flashes of faith from God’s people. They’d failed to trust God and were struggling in captivity. But, their failures didn’t stop God’s faithfulness to them. Known as the weeping prophet, Jeremiah empathizes with their distress and offers the following reminder of hope to meet them in their hopelessness:

“Great is his faithfulness;
    his mercies begin afresh each morning.”
Lamentations 3:23 NLT

Every day, God gives you a chance to try again. God’s faithfulness isn’t stymied by your fears, flaws, or failures. You can stand up and fall down a thousand times and God is the first voice whispering, “Trust Me. Try again. You can do this.” The brilliance of God is that He can, even when we cannot. His mercy meets you and me at the dawn of each day. Failure is never fatal with God. No matter how many times you’ve doubted yourself or failed, God offers a divine do-over. He promises that as you let His Spirit guide your life, freedom and victory are waiting for you.

Today’s question:

If you weren’t afraid to take a risk and you knew that God had called you to it, what would you do? Tell us about it in the comments and we can pray for you!

Life can be so painfully heavy. But you don’t have to carry it all on your own. Really. There is a God who is ready and willing to carry you! Your part is to simply unclench your firsts, stop grasping for control, and instead surrender all to God. We know this is easier said than done, so let your friends at (in)courage show you how.

Our new book, 100 Days of Strength for Any Struggle will be out in just 6 days! Order your copy now so you can start experiencing more of God’s strength every day.  

 

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

God Is With You in Your Grief

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Science says the moon makes Earth’s tides swell. It says the two — earth and moon — are tethered to one another through gravitational force, and all of Earth’s oceans rage when the moon waxes full and strong.

When I stand at my grandfather’s grave for the first time in the two years since his burial, I stand there under a waxing moon and in the swell of my own oceans undulating under the hold of grief’s gravity. There I am, between the trees, standing in the chill of an arctic air mass with no scarf, no hat. I want to move my mouth and make words come from my lips, but I cannot, with my face frozen in New York’s cold, bitter wind. 

A pile of bones I am, shivering and shaking, putting off all I want to say to my grandfather, laid low beneath the ground. Can I really whisper confessions aloud into the wind, telling him how it feels like he, just days ago, slipped his way through the back door of my townhome? It feels like just yesterday he walked up my stairs and sang a song or two to his mesmerized great-grandson.

I want to look long and loving, one last time, into his face; I want to memorize the constellation of freckles on his cheeks and smooth that furrow in his brow. I want to tell him not to worry, that I’m okay, we’re all okay. And then I’d cry somewhere where he wouldn’t see me, so my tears don’t hold him back from earth’s release. 

As long as I live, I will never again touch the hands of my grandfather. I will walk out the rest of my brief time on this earth wanting him and missing him. Needing him but not having him. And, as with all my grief? The many ways in which I carry the weight of lost friends and lost dreams? The way I cradle a fractured faith and that fearful dread of all the other ways the world will take and take. Things fracture, and grief is inevitable. And my heart will always wring out trauma’s tears, cried and spilled out, ever mourning the way life breaks and betrays and borrows without returning that which should belong. 

And you. 

Your life will also thrash with the gravity of grief, its waves rising and falling in and through the seasons. Little losses, and your fear of them, will loom. They will stand unknown and unseen by others. Demanding attention but falling dimly into the background. Sometimes the dreams will fade and bodies will fail. Some days fear will fill as futures fall away, further still. 

And, you know the holidays will hollow holes inoperable into that holding heart of yours. Every cycle of the sun, every Christmas on the calendar, every empty chair at the Easter table, every birthday with no candles to blow. 

But there is this — the truth of the fact that God is with you in your grief, giving space for sorrow, welcoming you as you slowly find your way. He greets you in your grief before going on to glory, to heaven. He waits with you as you grope and groan for words that give language to loss—all those, little and large. He stops and he stoops, lays low, right there with you in the suspension of all things. He blesses you . . . even in your brokenness, even as you beg for kingdom come. For new earth, new world. 

I want to be the one to tell you that this is why your losses — all those large and little — matter. Losses are longings that look like God’s heart. They point to the places in us that ache for what has been lost, and they ache when the world isn’t as it should be, could be. 

We grieve not only in the absence of these lost things but also in the mere presence of pain. I couldn’t tell you to put that away any more than I could tell the moon to sever its tie with Earth. I can, however, bestow a blessing. Words I’ll leave to lead you as you feel grief, fight grief, fear grief:

One day we will all ascend like Christ into heaven — to that place with no pandemics, no pain, no shootings, no sorrows. No tragedies, no tears, no disease, no death. For now, though, let there be heaven on earth. 

Let there be God of heaven over us.
Let there be God of heaven with us.  

Amen. 

—

Your grief isn’t something to get over.

Like paper cuts to the heart, every loss — the loss of friendships, dreams, health, innocence, and everything in between — grieves us more than we think it will, and often more than we let on. But what if it’s time to give language to the loss we’ve lived through? What if it’s time to give voice to the grief we carry?

In her compassionate and deeply personal book, The Matter of Little Losses: Finding Grace to Grieve the Big (and Small) Things, Rachel Marie Kang shines a light on all the things we lose along the way. Through poetry, poignant storytelling, and reflective explorations of art and faith, Rachel guides you to:

  • ponder your loss without judgment
  • remember what was and make meaning of your memories
  • reflect on what is yet to be as you reach for hope.

You don’t have to bury your grief, and you don’t have to pretend you’re over your loss. Let this poetic book be a balm for your brokenness, giving space for sorrow and welcoming you to grieve the things that always mattered — and always will.

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

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

 

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

*Giveaway open until 11:59 pm on 2/4/24 to US addresses only. Winners will be contacted via email.

 

P.S. In just 7 days, our new (in)courage book, 100 Days of Strength in Any Struggle, will be available!!

God’s tender love and care are on display in countless ways – but so often we miss it because we’re not paying attention. Be inspired to pay closer attention to God’s fingerprints in your life and the strength He is offering you. TEN devotions in our new book are all about PAYING ATTENTION. We know these stories will delight you, surprise you, and tug on your heartstrings. You are stronger than you think because God is closer than you know. Grab your copy now from DaySpring, Amazon, or wherever books are sold.

How Love Can Meet All Your Pent-up Pain

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A few days before Labor Day we got new neighbors — eight young adults to be exact. Four young men and four young women in their twenties moved in next door.

My husband and I launched a new ministry called “The Hope House,” in which we invited this specific group of people to live 43 steps away from us. We call it our great experiment. We set out to guide others in the discipline and art of Christian community. The guys occupy the downstairs quarters of the house, while the girls have a separate living space upstairs. Between the Hope House family and my family, there are fifteen people, three kitchens, two cats, and one laundry room (in our garage wedged between the bikes and the litter box to be precise).

Over the first couple of weeks of our Hope House neighbors settling in, I noticed that one of the young adults, Skyler, would wander in and out of our house. He typically landed at our kitchen counter with a hypothetical situation or a hilarious story about his day. Over tea and washing dishes, we would chat about faith, family, loss, love, and the life of Christ. Dinner was always on the stove. My phone was always dinging with demands. But, through interruptions, distractions, and sometimes retelling hard stories, our chats would linger.

One particular evening, while Skyler recounted a painful experience from his past, his face became flushed and his eyes filled with tears. He lifted his round Harry Potter glasses and with the back of his hand, he began to intercept the unwelcome leaking. While apologizing, he swiped the visible outpouring of his heart onto the sleeve of his sweatshirt and tried to hide his shame. But, sometimes the pain we’ve tucked away and tried to tame brazenly disobeys. Like a dog in training, we demand our sadness go back into submission. But that night, for a brief moment, his feelings defied a lifetime of discipline and dismissal, and refused to comply. Tears down his face. Tears shed into a soaked sleeve. Years of untold stories in the shape of liquid diamonds were finally allowed to breathe while his soul could beautifully be seen.

Sometimes, we don’t have enough strength to get to the table where God meets us (Psalm 23). In those moments, God brings the table right to us. I think that night was one of those nights for Skyler.

God pulled up a table for all of that pent-up pain to be met with the patient love of Christ.

First Corinthians 13:4 says, “Love is patient…”.  I can easily overlook what patience really means. When I think about being patient, I think about not rushing my kids to put their shoes on or not getting bothered by long lines. But, I think it means more than that. I am learning that love, at its core, is patient. Love is slow. For love to foster, transform, and change us, we need unhurried grace to guide us. Sometimes this grace comes in the form of sickness, interruptions, and unexpected problems. Grace whispers, “Slow down. Wait. There is no need to hurry.”

“You need to be patient with your pain,” my own spiritual director recently said. Patient? I nearly laughed. That is the last thing I want. I want my pain gone, fixed, compacted, processed and put out on the curb Wednesday morning with all the other trash cans. Yet, here was my spiritual director pulling up Christ’s table for me when I was choking on my grief.

When we think about the table, oftentimes we think of a feast. There is bread, savory foods, lit candles, joy-filled toasts, with wine spilling over. I believe this is true of Christ’s table. At the table, there is abundance and laughter and warmth. But, more and more, I am discovering that spotlights, scalpels, gauze, bandaids, water, and anesthesia are there too. Our souls undergo surgery on the operating table of God’s grace and mercy. Surgery is remarkably precise, and, yes — slow. And that’s the way we want it. Don’t rush heart surgery.

Our hearts are slow to change. Yet, we want everything instant. We want instant growth, instant healing, instant fixes, instant caffeine to revive us midday. We want things done fast and efficiently. But, at the table, God offers us love — the patient kind of love. The kind that cares less about accomplishing something and more about becoming something.

God is patient with us. He is slow with us. He is unhurried with us. He isn’t bothered by how long it takes us to get our act together or just get.it.right. Perhaps allowing people to change slowly is one of the greatest ways we can love each other. And for ourselves, perhaps letting the love of God do slow surgery in our hearts is one of the greatest gifts we can ever receive. We are not just becoming patient, we are the patient.

We are beloved children of God. God leads us well even when it seems like He is backtracking, distracted, or spending far too long gazing at the golden skyline as the darkness is closing in like monstrous shadows.

God knows the way. He knows your heart needs the grace gift of slowness. God is a patient, loving, caretaker who wanders and meanders through the backroads of your story to heal your hidden heart and savor every single tear. Time is not His concern. His sole purpose and joy is to be with you, just as you are, and offer you the loving hope of His presence.

Be patient with the process because there is nowhere else you need to be right now — but here.

 

P.S. After nearly five years of serving this beautiful community, this will be my last time writing for (in)courage. I step away from the gift of this place in order to step more fully into all that God is inviting me into in this new season, which includes The Hope House. I love you and am so grateful to have shared my stories with you. Love always, Anjuli 

 

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

A Promise for the Spiritually Hungry

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“What sign, then, are you going to do so we may see and believe you?” they asked. “What are you going to perform? Our ancestors ate the manna in the wilderness, just as it is written: He gave them bread from heaven to eat.”

Jesus said to them, “Truly I tell you, Moses didn’t give you the bread from heaven, but my Father gives you the true bread from heaven. For the bread of God is the one who comes down from heaven and gives life to the world.”

Then they said, “Sir, give us this bread always.”

“I am the bread of life,” Jesus told them. “No one who comes to me will ever be hungry, and no one who believes in me will ever be thirsty again.”
John 6:30-35 (CSB)

The people were asking for a miracle because Jesus had fed the five thousand the day before. They had just witnessed abundance like they had never seen, but they were hungry again — but hungry for the wrong thing. They were asking for another sign, for sustenance that wouldn’t last, and Jesus was telling them that He could satisfy them for always. He was pointing them to the best source of fulfillment, to the very thing they were looking for but didn’t know they had in front of them — Himself, the Bread of Life.

Only Jesus can satisfy us completely, in a way where we won’t be hungry again in the ways of our flesh. Instead, when we know Jesus, we’ll want more of Him, and the promise stays the same: no one who goes to Him will ever be hungry. We will continually be filled by Him.

May today be a day of filling for you, friends.

This Is Your Permission Slip to Step Way Back

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I squatted down next to my garden beds, inspecting the soil for the fifth time that week.

Squinting at the surface, I desperately searched for seedlings beginning to burst through the ground. I had been waiting for weeks for the first signs of life and made all the preparations possible to ensure a perpetual harvest. But after weeks of sowing and watering and waiting, it was time for me to accept the truth: my garden had been going strong for too long. It needed to lie fallow.

As I stood there, staring at this depleted soil, I reflected on my depleted soul. We had both been going non-stop since early 2020 without any time to rest or recover. I had pulled it together and pushed through the pandemic, homeschooling, my husband’s job change, my son’s Autism diagnosis, and an extremely demanding ministry position. I had been going strong for too long. Perhaps it was time for me to lie fallow. 

Fallowing ground is a gardening practice where soil is left unplanted for a season so it can rest and regenerate. The dictionary definition refers to it as being “unused or unproductive for a time.” The mere idea makes our skin crawl, doesn’t it? We don’t like being unproductive. We don’t like slowing down. Not in this culture. Not in this day and age. We feel like we have to keep going and going and going, non-stop. But we weren’t created for this pace, this pressure. We were designed to slow down, sometimes even coming to a complete stop.

The concept of fallow ground appears in Exodus 23:11. God instructs the Israelites, “During the seventh year let the land lie unplowed and unused.” They were to leave the land unused, uncultivated, and unproductive for an entire year to allow the soil, and themselves, time to recover. This command mimics the rhythm of the Sabbath, setting apart the seventh day as holy unto the Lord. It’s almost as if the Creator of the universe knew that our land, and our souls, needed rest, so He told us to do just that. 

Constant productivity depletes soil of its life, vitality, and nutrients. Without seasons of rest, the land simply can’t produce any more fruit — and neither can we. The work and worries of this world daily drain us of our energy and vitality, and if we don’t take a step back, we, like soil, will become increasingly depleted . . . eventually unable to even produce any fruit at all.  

After pushing through the last several years and becoming completely and utterly depleted, my garden and I took a much-needed break. The two of us have been sitting, waiting, and wintering for a while now. Still, that doesn’t mean we’ve been stagnant.

When soil lies fallow, there is a lot of unseen activity. Nutrients rise to the surface. The capacity of the soil increases. Microscopic life is restored. To the naked eye, this might look like nothing. And, because it looks like nothing, we think it’s a waste. But God is always at work, even when we can’t see it. 

In this season of recovery, God has been doing a deep work in me. Energy is slowly returning. My capacity is steadily increasing. Joy and patience are rising to the surface. On the outside, not much seems to be happening, but internally, I’m coming back to life.  

This fallow season has also been a holy one. God is repairing and restoring all my weary, worn-out spaces. Under the surface, something unique and profound is happening — He is turning fallow ground into hallowed ground. 

If the last few years have drained and depleted you, if you, too, have been going strong . . . it might be time to lie fallow. This is your permission slip to step way back and slow way down for a season. To make space for God to restore and refresh you, bringing you back to life.  

May God set you free from the need to keep going no matter the cost. May He show how to pull back instead of pushing through. May He bless this fallow season by restoring and refreshing your depleted soul. And may you recognize this time — this space — as hallowed, fallow ground.

Don’t Leave Before the Miracle

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I watch a lot of Hallmark movies.

As anyone who watches or reads a lot of love stories knows, the two main characters almost always have a big fight, leaving the viewer or reader to wonder if all is lost — only to see the couple miraculously work out their differences and begin a life together.

It’s a tried and true formula, which is a big part of why many of us love these stories. We know what to expect, and we’re not often taken by surprise.

But when I watched what would end up being my favorite Hallmark holiday movie of the 2023 season, I was startled by one line uttered as one main character gave up on the other one. In “Round and Round,” a time loop romantic comedy about a magical dreidel and a woman living the same day seven times, the man she’s fallen in love with gets his feelings hurt and storms out of the house.

Or, he tries to storm. Because the movie takes place in the winter, he has to wade through a pile of coats to find his own before braving the cold. As he’s doing that, his best friend tries to convince him to stay. As the only other person who knows about the time loop and understands how amazing their circumstances are, this friend says, “Don’t leave before the miracle.”

Don’t leave before the miracle.

I’ve been stuck in what feels a bit like a time loop myself. Day after day, I wake up and go about my business only to be smacked in the face by some kind of difficulty, some kind of pain, some kind of trauma. I get a phone call or an email; I open a door or pull out a drawer to find a hidden sin; I discover one more layer of suffering. When I say the hard things have been nonstop for the past few months, I am not exaggerating.

Not that long ago, I faced seasons like this with my shoulders set and my eyes focused on the Lord, the One I knew was with me every step of the way. I envisioned myself as Wonder Woman crossing No Man’s Land, withstanding blow after blow as she shielded herself with both her magical armor and her determination. Sure, the challenges were constant and overwhelming, but I wasn’t alone and I believed God would take me through the battle, giving me strength to face every attack and then healing my wounds.

It’s not that I don’t believe that anymore; I do. I believe God is always with us and will guide us when we can’t find our way. I believe He will give us the strength we need when we need it. I believe He is near to the brokenhearted, covering us and protecting us and holding us close.

But I also know now that we simply cannot walk through every season like Wonder Woman. Sometimes we can’t take another step and we fall on our face. Sometimes we absolutely can keep walking — the other way, as fast and far away as we can get from the troubles plaguing us.

And that’s when God not only gives us the strength and comfort we need but urges us: “Don’t leave before the miracle.”

Don’t give up.
Don’t believe you’re alone.
Don’t run away.
Don’t give into the lie that God won’t show up this time.
Don’t leave before the miracle.

Because there will be a miracle.

Reading about the Israelites can also feel a bit like watching (or living) a time loop, where the same thing happens over and over again. Here’s how that story goes: God’s chosen people love the Lord and follow Him, then they choose to walk their own way, and when they experience the consequences of their sin, they cry out to God for help. The book of Isaiah addresses their repeated mistakes and warns of the dire consequences they’ll experience as a result.

But Isaiah isn’t just a book of warnings and bad news. It’s also a book of hope.

Isaiah assured God’s people that God had not forgotten them and would not ignore them or leave them alone. He passed along God’s messages, promising to hold their hand (41:13), to make a way in the wilderness (43:19), and to always be with them and help them (41:10).

Because of the words of Isaiah and the other Old Testament prophets, the Israelites knew God would not leave them alone in their pain and problems. They trusted that He had a plan. They believed that a miracle (a Messiah) was coming. And while they waited, they experienced a miracle in the hope that the Messiah would someday arrive.

The miracle was coming, and the miracle was already here.

Sometimes the miracle looks like actual healing, a literal rescue, a physical change in circumstances. Sometimes the miracle is a friend to walk with you, a message to remind you of Truth, the memory of all the times God has been there for you in the past.

And sometimes the miracle is simply knowing that the Lord is with you — whether you’re standing strong, lying on your face, or running away from it all. He is the miracle, and He is here.

Don’t give up, friend. Don’t leave before receiving the Miracle.

 

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

Expectations vs. Expectancy: What You Need to Know for 2024

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I’m wrestling through something and I want to invite you on the journey with me because I think it has deep and wide significance for us all.

I want to talk about expectations versus expectancy.

It’s easy to start a new year with a lot of expectations. Shoot — it’s easy to live every day with a lot of expectations. Whether you’re thinking about your family, your job, your education, retirement, relationships, ministry, health, or dreams, it’s natural to wonder and hope for what’s to come. If you’re a glass-half-full kind of gal, you likely expect good things! Growth, blessing, provision, progress, success! If you lean toward pessimism (or salty realism), you probably expect obstacles, disappointments, and setbacks.

Either way, you’re likely well on your way to planning (or bracing) for the year ahead. I know I’ve got fitness goals and business benchmarks I want to meet. I’m striving toward big dreams as well as trying to sustain small habits. I have expectations for my marriage, my kids, my house plants, and the aggravating pain in my elbow.

But I’ve got to be honest here… sometimes I grapple with whether it’s okay to expect things.

Proverbs 19:21 reminds us, “Many are the plans in a person’s heart, but it is the Lord’s purpose that prevails” (NIV). Aren’t the plans in our hearts another way of saying our expectations? But if God’s purpose will prevail regardless of what we expect, then is that a call to lay down our expectations? 

Likewise, I’ve heard many sermons on surrendering our plans for God’s will. (I’ve probably spoken and written about this myself!) The prophet Jeremiah wrote, “Lord, I know that people’s lives are not their own; it is not for them to direct their steps” (Jeremiah 10:23 NIV). Verses like this convict my heart and compel me to pray, Lord, strip me of all my expectations! I want You alone to direct my steps, not my limited and preconceived notions of what is best. 

I believe this is a good prayer. Gripping too tightly to our expectations limits our ability to see God blow them out of the water.

But here’s what God has been showing me: Acknowledging that God can (and does) blow our expectations out of the water is our invitation to exchange our expectations of outcomes for the expectancy of His actions.

To say it another way, stop focusing on what you want to happen and start focusing on what God will make happen.

Jesus said, “I am the vine; you are the branches. The one who abides in me and I in him bears much fruit, for apart from me you can do nothing” (John 15:5).

God promises to make our lives fruitful — when we abide in Him.

I learned my favorite definition of abide from my friend Marshawn Evans Daniels: “To abide means to live in a state of expectancy.” 

God wants to do good things in your life! You are His image bearer. His divinely chosen daughter. He wants to grow in you the fruit of His Spirit. He wants to empower you to bear fruit that reflects His love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control — not barely enough, not an adequate amount, but much! This reflects God’s heart for His kids! He is a God of abundance, a God of plenty, a God of good gifts — more than enough!

The Psalmist David declares, “Take delight in the Lord, and he will give you the desires of your heart” (Psalm 37:4 NIV). Delighting in God goes hand-in-hand with abiding in Him, and remaining tethered to Him. When the Lord is our focus and delight, the desires of our hearts will supernaturally align with His. 

When I consider this, I can’t help but be expectant, I can’t help but be filled with confident hope for the things to come!

As the Community and Editorial Manager for (in)courage, I’ve felt the Spirit inviting us to adopt this posture of abiding expectancy as a community. Rather than setting goals for more podcast downloads or outlining a grand plan for new ministry directives, I feel God calling us to listen, wait, watch. Abide deeply with Jesus and watch expectantly for how He will lead and what He will accomplish in and through us.

So for 2024, let’s choose to let go of expectations and lean into expectancy. 

Let’s shift from asking, “What will I do this year?” to “Lord, what kind of fruit will You bear?”

Whether you are new to reading (or listening) to (in)courage, or you’ve been with us since 2009, we are SO glad you’re part of this community! Our heart is to serve you well with our daily devotions, weekday podcast, books, Bible studies, and Instagram encouragement. Why? Because we love Jesus — and we know you do too — and we want to remember together WHO He is, see HOW He is working in our lives, and learn WHAT it looks like to become more like Him.

I am so expectant for the ways the Lord is going to shape us, grow us, and guide us this year. Thanks for being here.

I’d love to hear from YOU! Choose at least one question to answer:

  1. What expectation is God asking you to lay down?
  2. Where is God leading you to look expectantly for Him?
  3. How did you find (in)courage and what does this place mean to you?

As a thank you for being part of our community, we’ll pick two commenters to win $50 to shop at DaySpring.com.*

“I pray that God, the source of hope, will fill you completely with joy and peace because you trust in him. Then you will overflow with confident hope through the power of the Holy Spirit.”
Romans 15:13 NLT

 

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

 

*Giveaway open to US addresses only and closes at 11:59 pm central on 1/29/24.

Change and Loss May Linger But THIS Is Also True…

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I took in the bounty presented on two large tables: ham, scalloped potatoes, green bean casserole, three different kinds of jello salad, and a chocolate sheet cake. Standing in my childhood church’s familiar fellowship hall, I could pretend it was 1985 when eleven-year-old me looked at offerings from the same recipes prepared by many of the same ladies. I have so many good memories in that church and fellowship hall. And yet, the day I spent there in the winter of 2018 was a very different kind of day from those potluck gatherings I remember from my growing-up years.

This fellowship hall gathering followed my dad’s memorial service.

Yet, as I put a bit of ham, potatoes, and green beans on my plate, I smiled because it felt like Dad was still here. After all, how many times had I sat next to him in this same room?

Since losing my dad six winters ago, I have “sat down” with him, figuratively speaking, many times. I’ve told him everything from general thoughts to life updates, such as, “You’d have enjoyed today’s graduation ceremony. You should see Faith on the tennis courts! I think you’d love this book I’m working on.”

I share other truths, too, like how much I still miss him.

Because I lost Dad during winter — and because we lost my dear father-in-law only a month after my dad — this time of year carries an extra veil of gray coldness for me. I’m sure the time of year you lost someone you dearly loved is color-washed gloomy, too, even years later. That’s one of the hardest things about difficult change that involves much loss: its shadows can follow you for seasons well beyond when the loss occurred.

My dad died in his 70s after a long battle with MS, and he suffered no small amount from it in his latter years of life. I’m comforted by the fact that when God chose to bring him home, He also ended Dad’s physical pain. And while I miss him here on earth, there is extreme gratitude that he’s now walking whole and healthy in heaven, talking with Jesus, and no doubt hoping to convince his favorite country music artist, Johnny Cash, to sing a duet with him.

In my dad’s case, while my family and I didn’t know exactly when he would leave this earth, we knew it would be sooner than later. My heart goes out to those who not only lost someone when it wasn’t exactly a surprise, like I did, but to those whose loss of a loved one was a shock, a sudden tragedy.

From Scripture, we know Mary pondered the life events she experienced and treasured them in her heart when Jesus was a baby and a child. I wonder, though, what did she ponder after His death? Perhaps she treasured her many good memories of Jesus as a young’un, such as the way He looked when He was deep in thought or the way He lit up when she made His favorite meal. And while she eventually came to know that He had to die to fulfill His Father’s plan for Him on earth, I’m sure it took a good deal of time to move through the grief of His death.

I read a beautiful poem by George Herbert shortly after Christmas Day, and I’m still reflecting on it now. An excerpt of it goes,

“O Thou, whose glorious, yet contracted light, Wrapt in night’s mantle, stole into a manger…”

It’s an image of light encased in darkness that shows up suddenly in an unexpected place. About this poem, author Janet Morley muses that Herbert “…resolves the light/darkness opposition in a way that sees both as positive.”

I’m not one who usually sees darkness as a positive. I’ll always gravitate to a chair near a window, not the one in a dark corner. I want to bask in the light. Yet, I’ve learned not to be so afraid of the dark or the sad feelings that come with it. Of course, I’ll never imply that we should slap on a happy heart about death and loss and see it only positively. No. But the fact that God’s light can be found in the deepest dark is a positive providing epic hope in God’s epic hands.

Because of Christ’s coming, His death, and His eventual return, not even the darkness of death and loss can outrun His redemptive light. Even darkness is as light to Him.

“Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?”
(1 Corinthians 15:55 NIV).

When all you see is darkness in the loss of your personal cold, gray winter, know that the light is there, waiting to show up suddenly in an unexpected place. Perhaps this is the legacy the darkness leaves… a more visible place to witness the Light. And in the meantime, we can take comfort in memories of our loved ones, treasuring them in our hearts while also knowing that one day, because of Jesus, every negative will become a positive.

For more encouragement during difficult loss and change, visit here.

 

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

A Precious Gift in the Middle of Tough Times

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“Can all your worries add a single moment to your life?”
Matthew 6:27 NLT

Everything seemed so bright. We had a wonderful life, complete with happy kids, good salaries, and a hopeful future. But with one crisis after another, that life faded away, leaving behind a pile of debt, unemployment, arguments, and so much anxiety.

What happened to my life, God? Did we do something wrong? Tell me what kind of magic-button prayer will get us out of this mess!

I cried every day. I begged God to rescue us from the land of uncertainty and give us back our old life. I coped with the only strategy I knew: worrying. I thought I could protect myself from more pain if I imagined all the worst-case scenarios in advance: What if we can’t pay this month’s bills or the medical test? What if we need a new transmission? What if our life never gets better? However, obsessing over my “what if” worries didn’t make me feel better. Instead, I felt worse!

Maybe you’re like me, faced with an uncertain season of life and stuck in the middle of hardship or heartache. Jesus understands. Jesus knew one day His closest friends would be fearful of the future and worries would overwhelm their hearts and minds. So, before His death, He made this promise: I am leaving you with a gift — peace of mind and heart. And the peace I give is a gift the world cannot give. So don’t be troubled or afraid (John 14:27 NLT).

The peace Jesus gives provides supernatural calm in the midst of chaos and hardship. It’s the kind of peace we absolutely need when we’re not sure what will happen next.

It took a few years of stressed-out days and sleepless nights for me to learn to surrender my worrying ways in favor of Jesus’s peace. Though our difficult season continued, God was faithful to remind me of His promised peace.

We can rest assured that God’s promise doesn’t have an expiration date. It never runs empty. And when our “what if” worries try to steal our calm, we are only a prayer away from unshakable faith and receiving shalom from the Prince of Peace.

by Barb Roose, 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. 

You’ll find 100 devotions divided up into 10 key themes all designed to give you the spiritual strength you need for any struggle you face. The devotions are paired with Scripture and journaling space so you can process with God and have a written record of how He strengthens you!

Order your copy today; we cannot wait for you to read this book.

 

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

In the Bleak Midwinter

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“In the Bleak Midwinter”, originally written as a poem by Christina Rossetti and later set to music composed by Gustav Holst, is one of my favorite winter hymns. Even though it was originally titled “A Christmas Carol”, and it’s in the Christmas section of the hymnal, and we sing it during Advent and Christmas, and it talks about the newborn Jesus and His mother… it just doesn’t scream CHRISTMAS to me. I don’t know why. Here, take a listen to one of my favorite versions by James Taylor.

To me, the picture painted in this hymn is the barren, stark, grey landscape of well, midwinter. Here in Minnesota, we should be shivering with arctic air and our grounds covered in a deep blanket of snow. Yet, this year has been one of the mildest on record with little to no snow cover around the state. Even Christmas and New Year’s felt unrecognizable when we are so used to ones of white; these special holidays kind of felt like just more cold days in a string of many.

The trees are dead, the grass is dead, and the flowers are obviously dead. Everything around me is cold and brown, without the usual glittering icy beauty of our typical winters. Events that normally bring joy and fun to our cold winter season have been canceled; ice castles and sled dog races, ice fishing competitions and cross-country skiing, ice skating and sledding with friends — all put on hold.

My local family and friends fall into one of two categories: either they are thrilled with the milder-than-normal temperatures and lack of snow, or they’re bemoaning both.

Guess which camp I’m in.

I’ve always said, “If it’s going to be cold, it may as well be beautiful and snowy!” We still have to deal with finding coats and packing the kids’ daily snow bags for school but without the payoff of a snow fort, snow angel, or even snowball fight. (For those of you outside the chilly midwest, a snow bag includes all the gear one may need for wintertime outdoor recess: boots, gloves, hats, scarves, and snow pants. And yes, the kids go outside for recess unless it’s below zero.) Thus far this year we’ve been relegated to a brown, barren landscape. To me, a snow-covered landscape is anything but bleak. Snow on snow is the dream, my ideal for an already-cold winter. To me, the uncovered, dead, earth is where bleakness lies on display.

In the bleak midwinter, frosty wind made moan,
Earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone;
Snow had fallen, snow on snow, snow on snow,
In the bleak midwinter, long ago.

There are other kinds of bleak, deeper kinds beyond frozen ground. When I see these lyrics, I find myself wondering about the bleak state of the world when Jesus entered it, walked it, lived it. We know He experienced and witnessed depravity and hardship, poverty and injustices, smarmy streetcorner preachers and judgy neighbors. Surely the world was bleak, sullied from the Garden it once was.

We read in Scripture that with a bite and a blind eye, darkness fell. Eden was lost forever and the world became bleak. Sometimes when I stumble on a horrifying news story, hear of another school shooting, see the division carved by an exhausting political landscape, or think about the wars happening right now across the globe, I am overcome in a way that feels similar to the realization of Eden’s fall. I want to crawl into bed and hide under the blankets, blocking it all out.

But even then I couldn’t block it out of my heart, and I don’t think Jesus was ever able to either.

Our God, heaven cannot hold Him, nor earth sustain;
Heaven and earth shall flee away when He comes to reign.
In the bleak midwinter a stable place sufficed
The Lord God Almighty, Jesus Christ.

No, God sent His Son to live in it. To muck around with blue-collar workers, to live with family and the drama that accompanies it, to walk a mile in our very own shoes until His unjust death. To dirty His feet and suffer alongside the marginalized. To be forced to find beauty in a dusty, dry, barren, and bleak world that isn’t Home.

Heaven couldn’t contain Him indeed.

What can I give Him, poor as I am?
If I were a shepherd, I would bring a lamb;
If I were a Wise Man, I would do my part;
Yet what I can I give Him: give my heart.

And so many did give Jesus their hearts, lambs, and gifts. He was shown love by many in His life; frosty and sharp as the world could be, there was light. Jesus had dear friends, family who adored Him, and people who wanted to know Him more deeply. Even at the end, His people showed up and watched, prayed, stayed through the bleakest hour.

It’s love that pushes us through when the bleakness of midwinter seasons threatens to swallow us whole.

If we look closely, we can see His beautiful face around every snow-free corner, each wintering and bare tree, and even in the brown blades of grass covering our bleak midwinter land.

May we give Him our hearts. May He come and reign.

 

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

The Power of Being Seen by Jesus

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READ:
24 So Jesus went with him, and a large crowd was following and pressing against him.

25 Now a woman suffering from bleeding for twelve years 26 had endured much under many doctors. She had spent everything she had and was not helped at all. On the contrary, she became worse. 27 Having heard about Jesus, she came up behind him in the crowd and touched his clothing. 28 For she said, “If I just touch his clothes, I’ll be made well.” 29 Instantly her flow of blood ceased, and she sensed in her body that she was healed of her affliction.

30 Immediately Jesus realized that power had gone out from him. He turned around in the crowd and said, “Who touched my clothes?”

31 His disciples said to him, “You see the crowd pressing against you, and yet you say, ‘Who touched me?’”

32 But he was looking around to see who had done this. 33 The woman, with fear and trembling, knowing what had happened to her, came and fell down before him, and told him the whole truth. 34 “Daughter,” he said to her, “your faith has saved you. Go in peace and be healed from your affliction.”
Mark 5:24–34 CSB

PRAY:

Lord, thank You for seeing the bleeding woman in the crowd and for seeing me today in the fullness of myself. You are never too busy or pressed to stop for me. Thank you for desiring wholeness in my body, mind, and soul. Increase my faith to always reach for You. Amen.

REFLECT:
When have you felt seen by Jesus? What do you need to bring before Him for healing?

Charcuterie Snack Board Inspiration

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We thought it would be fun to share another great recipe from DaySpring’s Mary & Martha site! Their friend Nancy creates the most delicious, beautiful recipes for Mary & Martha, and we are excited to bring some of them here to (in)courage — like this one, perfect for this still very new year.

And who doesn’t love charcuterie?! It’s all the rage right now, and for good reason! Perfect for parties and gatherings of all sizes, beautiful to display, fun, and delicious to eat. Mid-winter is a great time to pull out your serving trays, load them up with all the goodies, and invite a few friends over to catch up. Nancy C. has some ideas for your charcuterie boards, along with the perfect Mary & Martha pieces to use for serving!

Friends, scroll down for inspiration and to download a free printable!

CHARCUTERIE SNACK BOARD

DOWNLOAD THE FREE RECIPE CARD HERE!

Prep Time: 30 minutes
Cook Time: none
Makes about 8 servings.

INGREDIENTS:
  • 2 kinds of cheese, sliced
  • Crackers or baguette slices
  • 6 to 7 types of fruit and vegetables, (e.g., grapes, strawberries, sliced oranges, cherry tomatoes, sliced cucumbers, olives, baby carrots)
  • 1 (6-oz.) pkg. of dried apricots or other dried fruit
  • 1 1/2 cups nuts (e.g., mixed nuts, almonds, or cashews)
  • 1 or 2 kinds of dip (e.g., Ranch dip, hummus, or fruit dip)
  • Optional: salami or smoked sausage slices
INSTRUCTIONS:
  1. Line your charcuterie board with wax paper liner or parchment paper.
  2. Fill a small bowl with dip and place it on the board in the center or slightly off-center.
  3. Arrange the rest of the snack items around the small bowl of dip in sections, starting from the bowl to the edge of the board, like a sun ray. Or have fun creating your own unique arrangement!
  4. Use extra bowls or plates, if needed, for any different dips or snack items, and place them next to your charcuterie board.

NOTES: The Mary & Martha Table Talk Wax Paper Liners work great for lining your charcuterie board. Also, their Celebration Melamine Set comes in handy for serving additional items.

To get the beautiful look above, use the Table Talk Charcuterie Board Set! Complete the look by serving additional dips and goodies in the Grace & Gratitude Dip Bowls.  Visit the Mary & Martha site to browse the winter catalog, find more recipes, and connect with a consultant to learn more and place your order!

What’s your favorite item to include on a charcuterie snack board??

Proximity Changes Everything

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I’m trying to prepare myself for the funeral of a friend. It’s the second funeral in a matter of weeks. Two different women from my church passed away just three weeks apart. Our church isn’t very large, and as one of the pastors, I’m still processing how to lead and how to grieve at the same time. 

The memories we shared pierce through my mind, a bittersweetness I hold onto.

I prayed with both of them to give their lives to Jesus. I remember both days perfectly – one over the phone last September, and the other in a back room in our small church in July. Both times, I remember thinking how there was nothing I’d rather do. It never gets old seeing someone decide to follow Jesus. 

They both had different stories — because all of us do — but I knew them. We texted on hard days. We hugged when we saw each other. I prayed for them regularly. 

And when they were both nearing the end of their lives here on earth, I had the honor of visiting each of them separately, holding their hand, and praying. Touching and praying and crying – the most human of ways to feel pain. 

After hearing the news of each of their deaths, I cried. This last year, one of my prayers related to pastoring was that God would expand my capacity. He did expand my capacity. He also expanded my heart. 

It hurts to be close to someone when they feel pain. It can hurt to love.

It hurts less to keep your distance. It hurts less to not get involved in people’s lives, to refrain from knowing the stories of their heartache or joy, to keep from grasping their hands when they’re dying. It hurts less to stay away.

But getting close to someone? That’s the life we’re meant for. 

Jesus could’ve been a God who kept His distance. He could’ve stayed in Heaven. He could’ve helped us from afar. Instead, He is a God who draws close, who took on skin and moved into the neighborhood. He draws as close in proximity as anyone possibly could. 

Jesus is not afraid to be close to you. He is not afraid to hold your hand in the middle of your darkest nights or to hear every personal detail of your life. He is not ashamed or embarrassed to know your most hidden secret. He is not exhausted to hear you tell Him the same story again and again, or bring the same desire of your heart to Him for the hundredth time today. 

Jesus isn’t afraid of proximity. He is the One who created closeness. He is the one who formed nearness. Jesus is the One who paved a pathway for intimacy… because intimacy always requires proximity.

But more than all of that, Jesus knows the cost. He knows how it hurts to love. His Love cost Him more than any of ours ever will.

Yet He still chose to come close and closer and closer still. Because proximity changes everything. 

You can never hide from His presence. Our God is a near God. He does not keep His distance. Even when He is rejected and despised, He comes near. 

Getting close to Jesus is the life we’re meant for. And as we begin to understand His nearness, we can bring others in closer the way Jesus does for us.

I am so grateful for the honor of pastoring both of these women. They affected my life for the good. They changed me, taught me, and stretched my heart to be wider than it was before. 

It hurt to love them because it hurt to lose them on earth. But the cost of love is worth it. Jesus showed us that. Proximity leads to intimacy. And intimacy is what your heart was created for.

 

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

Strong Enough to Lean In

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

What You Need to Know About Winter and Sadness

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

 

Be Still . . . And Trust He Is There

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was there. Even there. Always there.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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