How to Keep Caring When the News Is Overwhelming

How to Keep Caring When the News Is Overwhelming

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

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

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

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

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

Home.

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

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

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

It’s a world away, the headline proclaimed.

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

It’s our world, the one God so loved.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You cry for another because He first cried for you.

You pray for another because He first prayed for you.

You advocate for another because He first advocated for you.

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

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

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

 

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

For the Empty Chair at Your Table

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Experience healing and hope through prose and poems that give space and grace for grief with Rachel’s new book, The Matter of Little Losses.

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

What a Sandwich Taught Me About Jesus’s Love

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

Let’s Pray!

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

How to Make Peace When the World Is a Dumpster Fire

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

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

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

Except it wasn’t all cool.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

By Jami Nato, excerpted from Come Sit with Me

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

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

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

Ministry of Presence: Showing Up for the Grieving Person in Your Life

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From an early age, I knew how to party.

Birthdays? I show up with a present I know you’ll love. I can bake you a cake and decorate it in your favorite colors.

Weddings? My bad dancing does not keep me off the dance floor. I will throw the bridal shower, find the gift on the registry, and stay up late into the night to make sure you feel celebrated. I never needed to be taught how to celebrate you. But you know what I didn’t learn until much later in life?

How to grieve with you.

Until someone I dearly loved died, I didn’t know how to sit with you in your grief. I was so worried about doing the wrong thing that I ended up doing nothing at all.

But, and it’s heartbreaking to say, there are grief experts all around us. Not because they have studied grief, but because they have lived it.

If you are one of the uninitiated, let me tell you what I’m learning about grief: watch those who have walked before us.

There are no magical words that will make a grieving person feel better — and those who have walked the road before know it.

There are things in grief that you don’t know you need, but you do — and those who have lived through grief know it.

When my dad died, we had very few specific ideas for the memorial service, except one thing. My mom wanted a classical guitarist to play. My friend Cheri took on the entirety of that task, including finding the guitarist, providing him with a list of songs my mom wanted, and paying for his services. It was a huge gift, not only to my mom but also to me, because trying to return emails, coordinate logistics, and grieve at the same time was beyond my capacity.

In taking on that one task, Cheri was demonstrating what Paul extolled us to do in Romans 15:12 (NIV):

“Rejoice with those who rejoice; mourn with those who mourn.”

Last year, when my friend Denise lost her husband suddenly, I couldn’t make it to the memorial service due to other things going on. So I contacted her son and asked, “What can I do? Is there something I can pay for? How can I lighten the load?”

He told me that they were having family come back to their home after the service. I could provide the food. It felt lame and not enough, but having been in that position before, I knew that anything taken off the plate was a gift.

Here are a few other ideas to keep on hand when you need to support a grieving friend or loved one.

1. Begin your texts with the letters NNTR (no need to reply). (Yes, texts are a great way to sit with someone in grief.) These four letters allow you to support without burdening the person who needs the support. So I can send a text sending love and support, without the grieving person feeling obligated to reply.

2. Show up. For most of my life, I didn’t go to the funerals or memorial services when a friend lost a loved one because, well, I didn’t know the person. It felt like an intrusion. But what I’ve learned since losing someone I love is that those people show up because they love you and you are important to them. Not many people knew my dad, especially at the end of his life, but people were there for my mom, my brother, and me. Recently, I went to the memorial of someone I never met, not because I was grieving, but because I needed to be there for my friend who was. Not just to grieve with her but to also laugh with her and celebrate a life that was taken too soon.

3. Stop the made-up timelines. Grief looks different to everyone. I figured I would be back to work in a week or so after my dad died. Isn’t that the rule — parents you get a week or two, spouses maybe a month, and then you are expected to move on with life? Grief doesn’t have an expiration date or clear start and stop like a two-week vacation. Your grieving friend will likely need you to check in a month, six months, and a year after a death. Birthdays and wedding anniversaries are important times to reach out as well.

Grief is a sneaky and tricky companion. But grief, for all its anguish, is a needed partner in the days and months to come. And while our grief may never get smaller, the more love and support we experience makes that grief a little easier to carry day to day.

Our support can ease the burden when grief is too much to bear.

Do you know someone who is in a season of grief?
How can you support them this week?

 

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

Next Time You Feel Alone, Picture This…

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Nearly ten years have passed since I witnessed this admittedly ordinary moment, yet every month or two, it comes to mind once again.

The bare tree branches provided a clear view that February morning. If he had looked up, the man in the baseball cap would have seen a college student with a scarf wrapped around her neck, hands in her pockets, momentarily frozen on the sidewalk.

But he never glanced my way. His focus was set, his gaze steady, his stance wide.

Twenty feet to my right, the man leaned over, each outstretched hand firmly holding onto chubby toddler fingers as the little girl practiced walking, slowly shuffling between his legs.

The child moved forward inch by inch, step by shaky step, but even from a distance, I could tell she was safe.

I was two months away from graduation and entirely unsure what life would look like in a matter of weeks. I had a hundred questions and very few answers, but something subtle shifted that morning. There wasn’t an audible voice, no burning bush, no whisper in the winter wind. But in the seconds that passed before I continued on my way to class, a verse came to mind:

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

The Message translation says it this way: “Don’t panic. I’m with you. There’s no need to fear for I’m your God. I’ll give you strength. I’ll help you. I’ll hold you steady, keep a firm grip on you.”

A smile spread across my face as I wrapped my jacket closer, struck by the idea that perhaps this was a very small picture of a much larger truth. Maybe, just maybe, it was a visual for the girl who happens to be a visual learner, a snapshot that would remain frozen in her memory, ready to be remembered when she felt alone, unsteady, or overwhelmed.

Suffice it to say, I started paying special attention to verses that talk about how we’re secure in God’s hands. It didn’t take long before the list began to grow, each one reiterating the promise of Isaiah 41.

In John 10, Jesus says that no one can snatch us from the Father’s hand. In a moment of reflection, the writer of Psalm 73 says, “My feet had almost slipped; I had nearly lost my foothold… Yet I am always with you; you hold me by my right hand.” In Psalm 139, we’re assured that even in the deepest dark, God holds on.

Over and over, Scripture seemed to echo itself, doubling down on the promise: we are held secure. God will not let us go and never, not for a single moment, will we find ourselves walking alone.

Our steps might be shaky. We may not be able to see more than one foot ahead. We might feel like our feet are slipping, might worry about what’s around the bend, might be weary from slowly shuffling along for so long.

But as we step into an unknown future . . .

As we walk toward change, walk through what we never saw coming, walk among the ashes of what was or even, perhaps, what will never be . . .

We can rest assured that one thing is absolutely certain: we do not walk alone.

Emmanuel, the God who named Himself “God With Us”, created the entire universe and then, in great humility, made Himself small enough to be held in human hands. The One who formed man from the dust of the ground became the God-man who bent down to write in the dirt, who broke bread and then broke open, arms spread wide and hands pierced even as they reached out. And even then, all the while, He was holding each and every one of us secure, perfectly keeping every promise that was made.

Time has ticked on, but the memory of that tiny wobbly toddler secure in the hands of her father resurfaces regularly. It’s still funny to me that something so ordinary, a moment that lasted no more than half a minute, continues to circle back a decade later. But now, when I feel alone, unsteady, or overwhelmed, I try to picture myself not as the college senior observing from a distance, but as the little girl looking up at the beautifully scarred hands holding mine.

In my imagination, just beyond the hands wrapped around mine, there’s a gentle smile, a little wink, and a kind voice that says, “I had you then and I hold you now. Come what may, I’ve got you.”

His gaze is steady; His grip is secure.

Step by shaky step, we are held all the way Home.

Never, not for one moment, will we find ourselves walking alone.

 

If today’s article resonated and you’d like more encouragement, pick up a copy of Kaitlyn’s book. Even If Not: Living, Loving, and Learning in the in Between will help you choose hope for tomorrow when today feels like a question mark.

 

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

Weak, Wobbly, and Absolutely No Clue What I’m Doing

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This year, I decided it was time to torture myself by going to grad school to get my masters in Biblical theology. I had no idea what I was getting into and if I did… honestly, I would have said no. This past week our first paper was due and I had several thoughts, one of which was, WHOA, academia is a very new and uncomfortable world for me. Why are you all so obsessed with footnotes? And another was how much I wanted to quit because I was so uncomfortable. 

To tease this out more specifically, I was really afraid of looking stupid and, in essence, weak. It turns out, I don’t know as much as I thought I did about God and faith and the ins and outs of the Bible. I have no clue how to read Greek and Hebrew nor have I been immersed in these cultures. Now that I’m learning new things, I’ve also had to unlearn some of my Western-lensed leanings. The process of unlearning and relearning, tedious research, hours of reading, and re-reading has made the learning curve incredibly steep. 

So let me paint a very clear picture:

I have absolutely no clue what I’m doing, only that I’m being obedient to what I feel God opened a door for me to do. And I am not loving how it’s poking all around at my identity, belonging, and the dreaded ego. The truth is, I am very wobbly, weak, and apparently when you work on a paper for so long, also unkempt. You should see my eyebrows — not cute! 

As we voiced our complaints to one another in our seminary cohort, a classmate reminded us that we are loved and belong whether we get an A or F- on our work. And while it feels heavy right now, she told us to remember this is not our identity. Our identity in Christ doesn’t ebb and flow with how strong and sturdy we are or if we perform well.

This reminder from my classmate might seem basic, but I can think of other times in my life when I’ve felt so disoriented and uncomfortable that I wondered if God would show up for me if I performed poorly or showed weakness. This sounds silly to put in writing… but sometimes telling the uncomfortable truth shows us how we’ve grown or where we need to grow.

Boy, am I painfully aware of how I need to keep growing and keep trusting God with my limitations.

This semester I have consistently been reminded of these verses:

“Because of the extravagance of those revelations, and so I wouldn’t get a big head, I was given the gift of a handicap to keep me in constant touch with my limitations. Satan’s angel did his best to get me down; what he in fact did was push me to my knees. No danger then of walking around high and mighty! At first, I didn’t think of it as a gift and begged God to remove it. Three times I did that, and then he told me,

          My grace is enough; it’s all you need.
          My strength comes into its own in your weakness.”
2 Corinthians 12:7-9 The Message

Being weak feels like a bad thing, but goodness has it made me run to God and beg for His wisdom. Being weak has also helped me remember I belong with Him even when I don’t feel like I belong in my new environment.

I am weak, and He will be my strength! I feel so much lighter thinking of it this way. 

Now who wants to proofread these citations?!



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

Faith, Hope, and Love for Your Messy Life (plus a chance to win the new Inspire Illustrating Bible!)

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Three things will last forever—faith, hope, and love—and the greatest of these is love.
I Corinthians 13:13 NLT

Life often gets in the way of my best intentions. I long to be described as calm, easy breezy, and unshakeable no matter what comes my way. And yet here I am a frazzled, tired, ball of feelings.

You see, I’m a worrier by nature, often imagining twenty-seven what-if scenarios for any given situation. I’m easily thrown off-kilter into a spiral of stress that is cured only by prayer, a nap, and a snack. I say things I don’t mean most every day, I get crabby more than I’d like to, and I long to give God more control even as I grip tightly to the plans I think are best.

Maybe you’re like me and you would love to give it all over to God and let Him lead. Yet the idea of anchoring your days in faith, hope, and love feels aspirational… but unattainable. We long for that unshakeable faith we’ve seen in others! Yet we find ourselves perpetually getting distracted by the inconveniences, frustrations, and stressors of everyday life. (Do you feel me?)

But there is hope for us even here.

In my role as Product Manager for Bible Publishing at DaySpring, I recently worked through the new Inspire Illustrating Bible, which centers every one of its 300+ illustrations around faith, hope, and love. In my professional review and personal reflection of this special Bible, I came to understand that this promise in I Corinthians 13:13 is for all of us.

You may be stressed out, worn out, or burnt out, and God will meet you there with faith, hope, and love for your actual real life today.

He wants this promise in Scripture to act as our cornerstone in the chaos, helping even worriers like me to unburden ourselves, communing with the One who is Love itself. A life of faith, hope, and love is a promise for you to grab ahold of today, no matter what your life looks like right now. With God as your companion and your guide, faith, hope, and love can be yours.

Faith and hope act as the foundation of love, as evidenced by this verse. And we can embrace these things in our messy, ordinary, emotional days, remembering we don’t have to be perfect to be His.

Hebrews 11:1 (NLT) says, “Faith shows the reality of what we hope for; it is the evidence of things we cannot see.” Faith reminds us that God is in control. It’s a balm for perfectionists like me.

When combined with hope, not only are we strengthened to believe that God is working all things together for our good (Romans 8:28), but we are sustained along the way with a hope that looks like confident expectation in the goodness of God’s promises. Even on your worst days, you can cling to the promise “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).

And the reason that love is the greatest of these virtues is that it binds everything together. When love is the lens through which we view the world, when love is the motivation behind our actions, when love is the way we reflect God’s character to others, everything about our ordinary days changes. When we love, we imitate Christ, who is love (I John 4:8). Love is the essence of God’s character and the driving force behind all His actions. Even the most frazzled among us can learn to love like Him when we accept that He loves us just as we are today. Love is not merely a feeling; it is an action, a choice, and a way of life.

If you’re like me – often feeling messy, disorganized, and a little chaotic — let’s remember that God never asked us to fit inside a neat and tidy “good Christian” box. He asks us instead to believe that we are His, to accept His love, and to go throughout our days leaning on Him.

This means that no matter how busy, harried, or difficult life gets, we can be filled to overflowing with faith, hope, and love. God has not given more of Himself to someone who is more put-together, organized, or well-spoken than you. No, God is with you in your real life today, offering faith, hope, and love to us all.

Go to Him today in the midst of your mess, He is waiting with open arms.

The DaySpring NLT Inspire Illustrating Bible features more than 300 ready-to-color designs, inviting readers to interact with the Word of God in a unique and refreshing way. With each of the illustrations reflecting one of the themes from 1 Corinthians 13:13, you will be able to express your creativity while focusing on what it means to be strong in faith, have a heart filled with hope, and take a posture of unconditional love. Linger longer in the Bible and spend time with God as you enjoy the relaxing benefits of coloring and creative journaling.

Plus, this beautiful Bible includes access to the Filament Bible app, which contains a wealth of resources to enhance the Bible-reading experience.

Pick up your Inspire Illustrating Bible… and leave a comment below to enter to WIN one for yourself*!

Then tune in this weekend for a very special bonus episode of the (in)courage podcast as Ellen Wildman, Product Manager of Bible Publishing at DaySpring, talks with Becky Keife about the behind-the-scenes of the Inspire Illustrating Bible! You don’t want to miss this conversation!

 

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

*The giveaway is open to U.S. addresses only and closes on 11/6/23 at 11:59 p.m. central.

Finding the Strength to Persevere and Rebuild When Life Tears You Down

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As the speaker of the parenting lecture elaborated on the destructive behavior of starling birds, she dissuaded us parents from being like them. Starlings, particularly the European Starling, are an invasive species known to exhibit aggressive behavior towards other bird species.

The parenting expert was encouraging us to find ways to build community with and offer support to other parents who may be going through a tough time with their teen. In other words, we should be a source of help instead of harm.

Intrigued by what she called the ‘starling effect,’ I wanted to know why a bird would naturally exhibit such aggressive behavior. Because truthfully, while I intend and strive to never be a starling, I have been on the receiving end of starling-like behavior. I wanted to know what motivates the starling to behave so aggressively and destructively. 

I learned that starlings are cavity-nesting birds, meaning they often nest in holes or cavities in trees or buildings. Competition for limited nesting sites can be intense, especially in areas with high starling populations. As such, starlings may evict or destroy the nests of other birds, such as native songbirds, to claim these desirable nesting locations. Starlings can be territorial, defending their chosen nesting location aggressively, even if it means displacing other birds. One way starlings assert their dominance is by acquiring nesting material, such as twigs, feathers, and grass from the nests of native birds. Starlings then repurpose these materials for their own nests.

It seems to me that starlings live in a perpetual state of scarcity. They desire what others have and are defensive, so they displace and destroy. Yikes! Likewise, life is filled with people much like the starlings that seem poised to kill and destroy our purpose. And, much like the starlings that disrupt the peaceful nests of native songbirds, life is full of adversity that can steal our peace. Just as starlings can seem determined to harm and hinder the peace and purpose of other creatures, we often encounter people and circumstances that appear to threaten our sense of peace and purpose.

If you haven’t experienced a starling in your life, you are fortunate. I’ve encountered plenty: a co-worker who coveted the favor I had with the CEO; a fellow-parishioner who believed that she, not I, should be married to my husband; a close friend who believed she deserved to have more love and material possessions than I; content creators who stole words (direct quotes) right from my mouth and published them on their website as their own; a well-resourced leader who credited himself for my idea; a family member who gaslit me when I addressed their toxic behavior. This kind of scarcity-motivated behavior is crushing. 

Fortunately, regarding the destructive nature of the starling, conservation efforts employ strategies to mitigate their negative effects to protect other birds, and thus the ecosystem.

The good news is that we, too can recover from devastation and return to our peace and purpose. 

Psalm 46:1 reminds us that God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble. In times of adversity, we can trust that God is with us, providing the strength we need to overcome life’s starlings.

Here are a few key lessons we can learn from the starling effect and Psalm 46:1:

First, we can seek refuge. When life’s starlings threaten our peace, we can find refuge in God’s presence. Our faith and inner strength are rooted in our relationship with Him. Our Source can help us weather the storms of adversity.

Second, just as native songbirds rebuild their nests after starling attacks, we too can rebuild our lives and dreams when faced with setbacks. Each obstacle is an opportunity for growth and resilience.

And finally, in our pursuit of peace and purpose, we must also remember to show compassion to the starlings in our lives who are most likely facing their own challenges. Just as starlings can disrupt the nests of native birds, our reactions to adversity can impact those around us. 

As the parenting expert advised, may we never be starlings. And as we navigate the starlings that unfortunately come our way, may we find solace in knowing that, like the native songbirds, we possess the inner strength to persevere.

Let us seek refuge in God’s presence, knowing that He is our ever-present help in times of trouble. We can overcome life’s starlings and return to the peace and purpose we have in Christ.

 

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

My Beautiful Unposted Life

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Scanning through my social media feed, the images of other lives are appealing. They feature sunsets in faraway places and meals prepared with culinary flair. Several posts offer insights on living life well or how to bounce back when we don’t. 

But a recent experience gave me a unique perspective on what I choose not to share with the masses. As an alternate juror for a trial, I received the court’s instructions. The most challenging task for my extroverted soul was not talking about the case with others.

Over a three-week period, as the tragic details of the case unfolded, I could only let my tears do the talking. But there was one place where I could reveal my thoughts freely without breaking any rules — it was in the presence of God.  

“I long, yes, I faint with longing to enter the courts of the Lord. With my whole being, body and soul, I will shout joyfully to the living God.”
Psalms 84:2 (NLT)

Prayer became the platform where I shared my questions and my observations. As I read Scripture, I sensed God sharing His comfort and His truth. The more I focused on His grace, the more I appreciated my beautiful unposted life. It was filled with moments featuring insights into how God was present with my fellow jurors and me. The camaraderie forming between us and the wisdom resting upon our hearts surely came from the Lord.  

In my time spent with Him, instead of pictures worthy of likes and comments, came unexpected blessings worthy of praise. You may have your own unique season where God is doing something special in the secret places of your heart. You may not be a juror, but we each determine what events become the evidence of a full and meaningful life— the kind of life Jesus gives to those who follow Him.

My morning walks often seem like the perfect time to post a scene from nature into my social media feed. Sitting with my thoughts on my front porch can easily become a peaceful reflection to share on Facebook or Instagram. Instead, my beautiful unposted life contains moments to cultivate gratitude.

Enjoying the gift of private pauses or spending time with family and friends doesn’t lose its significance if it’s not uploaded for all the world to see. During the time I served on the jury, my social media engagement slowed. And, yet, my awareness of God’s activity increased. My jury restrictions reminded me that what impacts us the most may not land in a post for others to scroll through. As I leaned into the value of sitting with my Creator, I considered how His redemption touches the public and not-so-public parts of me. 

His truth ushers in clarity for my decisions. 

His grace is sufficient for everything in me that falters.  

His grip on my life is unending and ushers in peace. 

At times, sharing with others online can feel like granting an all-access pass to the soul. As we share our experiences, emojis display public pleasure or disapproval. But we don’t have to let the societal pressure to impress become our constant desire; we don’t have to always express something spectacular on social media.

As the trial ended, my thoughts continued to race. But processing my experience with the Lord gave me a much-needed perspective check, reminding me that the beauty of what goes unposted about my life often includes the wonder of what God is doing in my soul.

A Roadmap for When You Don’t Know What to Do

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1 Don’t worry about the wicked
    or envy those who do wrong.
2 For like grass, they soon fade away.
    Like spring flowers, they soon wither.

3 Trust in the Lord and do good.
    Then you will live safely in the land and prosper.
4 Take delight in the Lord,
    and he will give you your heart’s desires.

5 Commit everything you do to the Lord.
    Trust him, and he will help you.
6 He will make your innocence radiate like the dawn,
    and the justice of your cause will shine like the noonday sun.

7 Be still in the presence of the Lord,
    and wait patiently for him to act.
Don’t worry about evil people who prosper
    or fret about their wicked schemes.

8 Stop being angry!
    Turn from your rage!
Do not lose your temper—
    it only leads to harm.
9 For the wicked will be destroyed,
    but those who trust in the Lord will possess the land.
Psalm 37: 1-9 NLT

Whether you find your heart burdened today by what’s happening around the world, what’s happening inside your home, or even in the confines of your own heart, it’s easy to feel overwhelmed… paralyzed… confused… and unsure of how to move forward.

Thankfully God understands. He knows this world is full of trouble and heartache, and He provides everything we need to navigate our uncertainty.

Take a few minutes to quiet your mind and heart.

Tell God what is making you feel anxious or tangled, angry or unsure. 

Then read the verses above from Psalm 37. Take note of how God graciously guides us through the steps of surrendering our worries and placing our trust back where it belongs — in Him alone.

God’s help is near! As close as His Word, as close as your very breath. You need only be still.

 

What If Pain Is the Stage for Miracles?

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There was a time in my life when my parents couldn’t be in the same room with each other. As a kid, I learned to wait on the wicker love seat and stare impatiently out the big picture window. (Yes, it was the early nineties and we had wicker furniture in the living room.) As soon as I saw my dad’s black sedan pull into the driveway, I would yell to my sisters that it was time to go and we would race out the front door. Was I that excited to see my dad? Honestly, not really. I was just that eager to avoid him coming up to the house and igniting a possible confrontation with my mom.

In middle school, I remember standing up for my trumpet solo and quickly scanning the crowded gymnasium in search of supportive faces. I spotted my mom in the left set of bleachers and my dad in the farthest possible section to the right. In high school, when I got the lead in Oklahoma, my parents came to different shows, careful not to cross paths lest a community theater become a battleground.

There were a thousand spoken and unspoken hurts between my parents that spilled over into my heart. The way my dad wouldn’t help pay for my sister’s dance classes to make life harder for my mom. The way my mom didn’t hide her disdain for the summer vacations my dad took us girls on, which made me feel like my excitement was a betrayal. Fifteen years of marriage in and as many years of bitterness out. I never knew if their divorce was the right choice, the only choice. As a kid I never longed for them to get back together—I just wanted things to be different. I just wanted to escape the shrapnel of their pain.

At my college graduation, my dad pretended not to hear me when I asked him to stand next to me for a picture with our whole family—the original five. When I was getting married, my mom didn’t want to sit beside my dad and his new wife; my dad didn’t want to sit in the row behind my mom. Several verbal blowups and low blows left me gutted. Three days before my big day, I looked at my wedding dress hanging on the closet door and wondered if my dad would even show up to walk me down the aisle.

I share all this not as a catalog of grievances against my parents but to set the stage for the miracle I never expected.

Fast-forward several years to when my dad was in a difficult place in his life—well, difficult is an understatement. His second marriage had failed, as had his business and his health. Thanksgiving was approaching. Holidays are always extra complicated for kids of divorce. My sisters and I were all married at this point and had to juggle time with our in-laws and separate gatherings for our mom and dad. Now that my dad was single and struggling, the responsibility to host a celebration with him fell to one of us girls—an added stress when our individual lives were already maxed and being with Dad didn’t feel especially celebratory.

The details of what happened next have become a bit fuzzy through the fog of years. The question might have come through an email or group text thread, or maybe we were talking on the phone while I nursed a baby. Either way, I’ll never forget my mom’s words: “How would you feel if I invited your dad to join us for Thanksgiving?”

As I sat there speechless, my mom went on to explain how she understood what a burden it was to navigate three family get-togethers and how the busyness could take away from the joy of the holiday. She said she wasn’t sure if Dad would accept an invitation from her, but she felt like the Lord was asking her to extend it.

Honestly? My first thought was No way! I pictured the awkwardness of being in the same house all together. I thought about how I would take the chaos of bouncing from one Thanksgiving dinner to the next to the next over the tension of sitting at the same table with my parents for an extended meal. The family chasm caused by their divorce was way too wide to bridge with some mashed potatoes and gravy. Years and years of conflict and failed resolutions proved that reconciliation was impossible, right? So why even try?

Given our family history, this knee-jerk reaction was understandable — but it was also rooted in fear. I’m grateful to tell you that my initial response didn’t win out.

The first miracle was my mom asking my dad to Thanksgiving dinner. The second miracle was the doorbell ringing and my dad showing up in his classic corduroy slacks and argyle sweater and handing my mom a bottle of Martinelli’s. The miracles after that were too many to count.

As little ones threw corn kernels from high chairs and unspoken words passed in sideways glances between sisters, we made it through that first Thanksgiving dinner. My dad thanked my mom for inviting him and complimented her cooking. My mom thanked my dad for coming and gave him another piece of homemade pie to go. It felt a bit like I was living someone else’s life.

It was hard and uncomfortable and so very worth it. I left that dinner with a belly full of turkey and a heart full of praise. What I thought was surely impossible turned out not to be. From our pain God produced a miracle — and I’m still giving thanks.

Today’s devotion is an excerpt from Becky Keife’s chapter, “What If Pain Is the Stage for Miracles?” in our (in)courage book, Come Sit with Me: How to Delight in Differences, Love through Disagreements, and Live with Discomfort.

You can listen to Becky read the entire chapter on this special episode of the (in)courage podcast. 

I Ignored Her Phone Call

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She left a message on my voicemail. “Jen, I don’t know if you remember me, but we met briefly at church. Amy shared your contact info and encouraged me to reach out. Since our family recently moved to the area and our kids are about the same age, I thought maybe we could get together for some coffee.”

I don’t recall if I was having a bad day or why I responded the way I did, but I listened to the voice message and immediately made some snap judgments:

I don’t have time for this.
I don’t think our kids will be friends.
I don’t think we will be friends.

Therefore I don’t want to return the call — so I didn’t.

What a horrendous mistake. New to the area, Nancy stepped forward with such courage to make that phone call and I shut it down. Others might voice excuses for me – busy mothering season, other obligations, but let’s name it for what it was: sin. Without sugarcoating my decision, that’s incredibly painful to type. The reality? I couldn’t disrupt my own self-interests to think about what this other woman needed and to give that potential friendship the benefit of the doubt, so I ignored her request.

I lost out on four years of friendship with a woman who eventually became a ride-or-die soul sister because I didn’t return her call. Now Nancy has moved across the country. I will always regret my decision.

As I shared that experience with a group of high school girls, I looked around our retreat cabin. Representing different backgrounds, socioeconomic classes, schools, and personalities, I felt like I was leading a screenplay from the iconic movie, “Mean Girls.” The cool girls and the misfits coming together because they didn’t have a choice. It’s not the feel-good rom-com storyline we might choose but something transformative occurs when we throw aside the masks, allow the Holy Spirit to rattle our preconceived notions, and jolt any kind of judgments that might be lurking. And they were definitely lurking in that cabin.

Some of us reading this might not see ourselves in this story. But if I needed to be rattled and confronted with my own blind spots, maybe you do too. If we desire life change, especially when it comes to community and kingdom building, let’s admit that we like to stick with what’s comfortable. There’s a reason why we prefer sharing a table, a cabin, a Bible study, or a coffee date with people who look, talk, work, and live the same way that we do. We prefer the safety, sameness, the simplicity because it equals security. It’s easier.

Guess what I told the teen girls? Sameness and security – that’s a total lie. (Yes, I’m blunt like that.) Because following Jesus means getting dirty, and taking a risk – things none of us would choose. Following Jesus means asking, inviting, and receiving outside our constructed holy huddle. Outside our preferred cabin. Following Jesus means hanging around with people who we’ve deemed aren’t our kind of people. Following Jesus means crossing boundaries and cultural divides — social, racial, political, and more — knowing this is the essence of the gospel.

As Paul reminds us, “Welcome one another as Christ has welcomed you, for the glory of God” (Romans 15:7 ESV). Only by developing real relationships with those who are vastly different from us can we begin to address the misperceptions that persist about Christianity and the church, as well as listen to what others are really saying, even those with whom we disagree or think we have nothing in common.

I know the truth of this, but let’s be heart honest: the kinds of people Jesus hung around with on a regular basis aren’t the people with whom I’d choose to hang. Think of who was on Jesus’ invite list. Pharisees, fishermen, tax collectors. The deformed, the sick, the adulterers, the homeless, the refugees, the wanderers, the possessed, even the unclean. Risky individuals, all of them. Not someone whose phone call you’d return, yet that’s who Jesus chose to hang out with on the regular.

I asked the teen girls, “Would you have returned that call if it had been Taylor Swift? How about the popular girl at your school?”

They all agreed yes.

“What about the girl in the cafeteria who always sits by herself and just seems weird?”

After justifications, the answer was no.

Now let’s get gutsy for a minute and insert our own preferences. Whose phone call would you return? The cool Bible teacher, the social media influencer, the pastor? How about the needy lady in your church who rubs you the wrong way? The disheveled neighbor woman who makes you nervous? Do you know their story? Would you extend an invitation to them?

To live like Jesus lived means getting out of our comfort zone and taking a risk, but it’s always worth it.

And if you are one who mustered up the courage to reach out and extend an invitation, and it got shut down or worse yet, made to feel you didn’t measure up, I’m so very sorry. As someone who once ignored the call, please try again. There may be a blooming friendship waiting four years down the road.

 

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

For the One Who Is Trying to Hold On to Hope

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I’m staring at a screen as I sit in the big brown chair in our living room. On my computer is the face of a dear friend and colleague, someone I’ve worked closely with for almost a decade. I also see faces of women I’ve not met before who are part of All The Things, a group she leads.

My dear friend is walking through a hard season, as are many of the women. She reads a question submitted before the call. The exact words escape me but the gist was, “How do you have hope when you’re in the messy middle, when nothing is resolved, when you don’t know the ending?”

Ah, hope — light like a balloon, strong like steel, life-giving at times, and heart-crushing at others.

I think back to when Mark and I went through almost a decade of infertility. Every month I hoped for a baby. When that didn’t happen, I became an expert at crying in bathrooms, using too-thin toilet paper for tissue. I once yelled at pregnant cows on the side of the highway while driving home from work. “It’s not fair!” I told them, “You don’t even appreciate how easy it is for you to get pregnant!” They looked up from eating grass and stared at me, wide-eyed and likely wondering why humans are so weird.

Then God took our story in a direction I never expected. We met a young woman, Lovelle, through a local organization called Saving Grace for girls who age out of the foster system or would otherwise be homeless. God made it clear that Lovelle was the daughter He planned for us all along. She was twenty when we met, twenty-one when she changed her last name to ours. We celebrate that day in our family each year like a holiday, calling it “Gerth Day.” Lovelle met a boy, got married, and a few years later had a girl of her own. Eula, our granddaughter, was born on Gerth Day.

For so many years, I thought God’s timing was off. But He’d had it down to the day all along. Now we also have a grandson, Clement.

Going through the heartache of infertility and eventually growing our family in a way only God could orchestrate taught me about a different kind of hope.

“I think there are two kinds of hope,” I tell the women on the video call, “We can hope for. Or we can hope in.”

Hoping for involves specifics. I hoped for a baby. Hoping for is about what we want, and it can be a beautiful, powerful thing. It can also be deeply disappointing. It is a healthy part of being human; it’s just not enough to sustain our souls when nothing is going as we planned. When the pregnancy test is negative again, the story feels less like Cinderella living happily ever after with the prince and more like the wicked stepsisters sold the glass slipper on eBay.

In those times, what can see us through is hoping in. I hope in a God whose character remains the same no matter what happens. I hope in the promise that I’m part of a purpose and plan bigger than I can see. Hoping in isn’t meant to be used as a spiritual cliché or holy Band-Aid. It’s not for the faint of heart. It’s an anchor, a foundation, a still place our souls can go while the hurricane of hurt swirls around us, when the wind gusts are a hundred miles an hour and the debris of our former lives is flying through the air.

“Hoping for” may have recently drained out of you like the last bit of honey from a jar. You have a memory of what that kind of hope felt like, when you close your eyes you can still taste it sometimes, but there’s none left just now — your toast is dry as a desert. Hoping for can be both delicious and unreliable.

Hoping in, on the other hand, can be the constant that gets us through as we heal. It is something solid, stable, unchanging. “Hoping in” is not an emotion or wish, a vision or vague desire — it is a near and present comfort. “Hoping for” is about the future. “Hoping in” is about Who is real in the here and now.

I’d like to tell you that what you’re hoping for is going to come true. At the same time, I’ve lived a story with our family where I’m now so grateful all my original hopes didn’t pan out. Sometimes what we think we want and what’s truly best for us are two different things. Only God knows the difference. We can trust God with our hopes, with our fragile hearts, with our deepest hurts.

After the video call with the women ends, I sit in my brown chair a little longer and stare out the window. I think of all I have, and I feel grateful. I think of all I still desire, and I feel a familiar ache. Don’t we all live suspended between gratitude and longing when we’re healing? We sway in the wind of our feelings, trying to find surer footing.

I am hoping for better.

I’m hoping in a God who knows what’s truly best.

That is enough for this moment, enough for me to take one more step.

Are you in a hard season too? Holley’s latest devo has more hope and help for you. Get a free excerpt here!

 

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