When God Is in the Way of What You Want

When God Is in the Way of What You Want

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My husband stuck his phone under my nose, as I wearily entered the kitchen.

“Look what I caught outside,” he said. My moist eyes glanced down at the ribbons of green streaming across his photo of the sky.

I bundled up as quickly as I could against the cold that was about to accost me, eager to stand under the cover of the Northern Lights as they flowed above our house. A reminder to look up as I inwardly processed my daughter’s lingering grief.

I don’t know what to do with the struggle that comes after obedience. There are no easy answers to the fall-out of transition. Especially for those that don’t have a choice in the matter — like my kids.

A few minutes before I ended up outside, chasing rivers of light, I sat at my daughter’s bedside. And, like I’ve done many times before, I rubbed her back as she cried about the place that she missed.

We’ve lived in Iceland for over four years, with ebbs and flows of homesickness. My daughter’s recent melancholy was triggered by conversations with new friends over dinner. We shared the testimony of our journey with Jesus, of how the Lord provided for us in amazing ways. But as my daughter vocalized her heartache later that night, I realized that her struggle wasn’t one I could easily fix. God was in the way, because God was the one who had set the course before us.

In these times, I want to give her a boxed up answer — tied in a pretty bow — that will instantly take away her discomfort. I want to buy the plane ticket and fly her to where she wants to go and relieve the burden of her ache. But it is not a foe that we are fighting. It’s not even a wrong that needs to be made right. We are here in this country that we really adore because we are doing our best to walk in obedience.

These instances cannot be passed by so easily, because God oftentimes is in the way of what we think we want. But there is invitation to engage with the Lord as He steps into where we are. He’s fully aware of our grief and the limitations of our understanding, but He offers us the opportunity to know Him in a way that we wouldn’t otherwise.

All throughout scripture, we see the stories of those who had God burst in on their paths: 

These were spectacular displays of God interrupting the lives of His people. And, like our brothers and sisters of old, God has set us on the path to something more. Maybe higher than we can understand or comprehend. But always better.

You hem me in behind and before, and you lay your hand upon me. 
Such knowledge is too wonderful for me, too lofty for me to attain. 
Psalm 139:5-6 (NIV) 

In the moments when He hems me in, I’m unable to appease the ache of my children with simple answers. But I can show them, through my own grasping, what it means to cling to Jesus. I can guide their hands not to material things, but to grab ahold of the hand placed upon them.  

As I tuck my daughter in at night, I pray she will experience the Holy Spirit as her comforter. Even though I’m afraid she’ll blame God, I want to hold her hand as she encounters Him. I want her to know that even in this moment, it may not be comfortable, but she is covered.

When I looked up at the sky above me that night, it felt like the sweetest kiss of color and light. I lifted my hands and whispered prayers into the ridiculous cold as I watched sun particles bursting through the atmosphere — interrupting the inky darkness with a dazzling display.

It was a reminder of what it looks like for God to be in our way — to be invited to seek out not what is easy, but what is higher, deeper, wider than we can comprehend. 

We surrender what we want…for everything that is His.  

And we trust that it will be glorious. 

However You Feel About Mother’s Day . . .

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She is clothed with strength and dignity;
she can laugh at the days to come.
She speaks with wisdom,
and faithful instruction is on her tongue.
Proverbs 31:25-26

We know this day is a complex one full of many emotions and experiences, so we are praying for each of you today as you remember, celebrate, grieve, or enjoy motherhood and what that means to you. Every single woman who loves, encourages, nurtures, and releases those who become part of the next generation is doing an amazing work and is to be celebrated today.

Happy Mother’s Day. Thank you for all that you are and all that you do.

 

The Beauty of a Do-Over and Loving Your Mother-in-Law

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I was in my early thirties, established in my career, and comfortable in my skin, but I was still nervous when the time came to meet my future mother-in-law. Would she like me as a person, approve of me as a daughter-in-law, and accept me into the family, even with my bad-girl past?

Our first meeting was cordial, and she always made me welcome in her home. But as each year went by, I became less certain of my place in her heart and held her at arm’s length emotionally. Yes, I dutifully sent flowers each Mother’s Day, made her favorite dish for Thanksgiving, and showered her with presents at Christmas. But whether it was pride, anxiety, or insecurity, something kept me from building a nest for her in my heart.

Then I studied the book of Ruth. Undone by the loving-kindness Ruth showed her mother-in-law, Naomi, I realized something had to change in my life — and that something was me.

A phone call to my mother-in-law seemed the place to begin. My hand shook as I punched in the numbers. I had no real plan, trusting God to give me the words to say: I’m sorry. Please forgive me. I love you. Can we begin again?

When my mother-in-law answered the phone, an overwhelming sense of peace washed over me. Whatever fears I’d harbored — of rejection, of losing her as I’d lost my own mother, of not measuring up — were gone. Nothing was left but love.

The next time we visited my in-law’s house, I wrapped my arms around her and gave her my first real hug. Our last five years together were sweeter than all the years that came before then, combined. I have Ruth the Moabitess to thank for that, and the Lord she vowed to follow.

When Naomi started for home after ten years in the far country of Moab, she urged her two daughters-in-law, Orpah and Ruth, to return to Moab and to their gods. Orpah was convinced; Ruth was not. She told Naomi, “Don’t plead with me to abandon you or to return and not follow you. For wherever you go, I will go, and wherever you live, I will live; your people will be my people, and your God will be my God” (Ruth 1:16).

Ruth was determined not to go back to her false gods. We can’t say for sure, but sometimes I wonder if the Spirit of God moved through Ruth like living water in that moment — cleansing her, filling her, making her altogether new. One thing we can know is that Ruth wasn’t merely making a choice to follow her mother-in-law. Her decision included a commitment to the Lord Himself, the God of the Israelites.

God alone ordained and orchestrated this sacred moment. Ruth’s great-grandson would one day write, “The counsel of the Lord stands forever, the plans of his heart from generation to generation” (Psalm 33:11). Naomi and Ruth are woven into those plans. So are you, beloved. Long before Naomi and Ruth walked the earth, God’s plans for you were already in place.

Before Naomi could respond that day, Ruth made a bold vow: “For wherever you go, I will go.” More than one dewy-eyed bride has repeated Ruth’s words while gazing into her bridegroom’s handsome face. But Ruth wasn’t talking to or about a man. She was speaking to and about her mother-in-law, who by all appearances didn’t want her daughter-in-law along for the ride.

Ruth’s second vow is equally powerful: “…and wherever you live, I will live”. She’d never been to Bethlehem, yet seemed to care little about where she was going, as long as she was with Naomi. She continued, “Your people will be my people.” It’s one thing to leave your house and quite another to leave your country. Ruth promised to adopt the laws, traditions, dialect, foods, customs, folklore, and history of Israel, turning her back on the only life she knew and embracing a world she had yet to experience.

We’ve seen Ruth’s courage and commitment on display. Next comes her extraordinary leap of faith: “And your God will be my God.” Over the years, Naomi had plenty of time to teach her daughter-in-law about the covenant with Abraham and the exodus with Moses. She’d also had countless Sabbaths to show Ruth what a life devoted to the one true God looked like. Yet, in the end, it was God at work in Ruth’s heart that made her confession of faith possible.

If you have a mother-in-law, Ruth’s brave example shows how you can strengthen or rebuild your one-of-a-kind relationship. Perhaps some of these practical ideas might help:

  • Praise her good points. Just as you may wonder if your mother-in-law likes you, she may think you don’t like her. So, praise her every chance you get and help put her unspoken fears to rest.
  • Brag about her son. At any age, mothers long to know they did a good job. Sincerely compliment your husband’s fine character or commendable actions, then watch his mother light up.
  • Request a favorite recipe. Gourmet or otherwise, her home-cooked meals fed your growing husband. Find out his favorite dish and ask his mother to share the recipe.
  • Give thanks. Show your gratitude for the woman who raised the man you love. She wasn’t a perfect mother, but she was his mother. She still is, and always will be.

As relationships go, this one can be complicated, which means it also has the potential to go deep and wide. Open your heart, friend. Let her in.

Story by Liz Curtis Higgs, as featured in A Mother’s Love.

Above is an excerpt from our book, A Mother’s Love: Celebrating Every Kind of Mom, which is full of reflections on God’s heart. Featuring unique and diverse stories from the (in)courage community, A Mother’s Love offers heartfelt encouragement to all kinds of moms, whether they’re a mother in a traditional sense, a spiritual mother, or a mother-like figure who breaks the mold.

This book is sure to help any woman share a meaningful gift with someone who has been impactful in her life, a new mom learning the ropes, or a close loved one facing the joys and challenges of any stage and type of motherhood. Compiled with all women in mind so we can celebrate those who made us, shaped us, helped us grow, and loved us well, A Mother’s Love is a beautiful gift for the moms in your life.

 

When Prayer Gets Personal

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I’ve always wanted to see the Northern Lights. When I booked a trip to Iceland with some friends, I began praying about seeing the panoramic polar display. I know – kind of a silly thing to pray for. Except I keep believing God cares about even the simplest desires of our hearts. 

We were in Iceland for nine days, and each morning I checked the aurora borealis tracker online. The cloudier the weather, the less chance of seeing the lights. Each evening was cloudy. I was disappointed but not discouraged; Iceland has more eye candy than any place I’d seen on Earth. Nonetheless, I kept asking God to make a way. 

A few days before our flight home, the clouds parted. The night was clear. The stars glittered like diamonds and the moon shone so bright it felt like a spotlight. And then, my friend rushed into the hostel and said, “Quick, come outside! You have to see this!” 

I grabbed my coat and boots and rounded the corner. Suddenly, I saw something: green light, dancing in the sky. Tears pricked my eyes. There they were: the Northern Lights, swaying and swirling in front of me.

I felt so small, and yet so seen. God – who created those very lights – had uncovered the clouds so I could see them.

It was such a silly, small, little thing. That trip contained more beauty than I knew what to do with. I didn’t need the Northern Lights, yet it was such a personal gift from Jesus.

When we invite Jesus into every detail of our lives, prayer can get personal. A lot of the time we think prayer is boring, routine, and ritualistic. But Jesus invites us into a life of prayerful adventure — one where we walk with Him, like a child on a hike with her father, asking questions, and listening to His gentle guidance. 

Jesus made bold promises to His disciples about prayer: “If you believe, you will receive whatever you ask for in prayer” (Matthew 21:22). We can often mistreat Jesus’ invitations into prayer by misinterpreting God as a genie or Santa Claus. The biblical concepts can get lost in translation, and we can feel disappointed, discouraged, and rejected by God when we don’t get what we want. 

But Jesus lived a life of personal prayer. He would’ve talked to His Father about everything — from turning water into wine to asking God to consider preventing the suffering Jesus would endure on the cross. There was nothing off-limits between Jesus and His Father. 

There’s nothing off-limits when it comes to you and God either. Prayer isn’t meant to be boring, but personal.

This year, I found a new way to pray. I began keeping a point-form list of prayer requests in the very back of my journal. I write down a request, and then I pray and pray and pray until God answers it. Once I see the answer, I uncap my fluorescent highlighter and press the ink upon the page, highlighting the answered prayer. 

My journal is filled with prayers – and even in the few months since 2023 began, many highlights. 

Every time I highlight, I’m reminded of how God answers our prayers, and of how personal and tender God is toward us. 

It’s a startling thing to be reminded of, isn’t it? That the God who formed the universe with a word, who breathed life into your lungs and mine, who holds everything together, listens to our prayers and answers them. 

Tell Jesus everything. Ask Him to give you a life of prayerful adventure. Then just watch as your prayer life starts to get personal.

 

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The Same, Yet Different

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When Adam and Eve realized they were naked, they became acutely aware of their physical differences, and instead of celebrating God’s image in each of them, they felt shame. Their shame pushed them to conceal their differences, and they sewed fig leaves for clothes. This played out the narrative Satan had set forth — that maybe God was holding out on them and didn’t have their best interests in mind.

They learned to cover, to hide, and to see their differences as a means of separation, oppression, and shame. Suddenly, as a result of their disobedience, there was a hierarchy and a power struggle at work, and what was intended for good, beauty, and celebration was broken. And now, any time we reject a part of ourselves that makes us distinct — including our ethnic and cultural identity — it’s all part of this ongoing brokenness.

By thirteen, I’d learned to believe the lie whispered in my ear like the one the sly serpent told Eve and all the daughters after her: that to belong I would have to get rid of everything that kept me from blending in and hide all that colored me in as the full version of myself. I’d already learned to question the way I was made and whether the one who made me had good intentions in mind.

I believed that cultural assimilation would give me a way to belong and move through life with less shame, but instead of offering me belonging, it only isolated me further. My fig leaves not only separated me from my classmates and from true friendship, but they also distanced me from my family and all the things I knew as home.

When I was a child, my family made three trips to Korea. From the moment we set foot in the country, people stared at my sister and me with wide eyes. We were Korean blemishes, evidence of unrequited national love, honyol daughters in the motherland where pure bloodlines are sought after and protected at all costs.

How can I feel at home and foreign at the same time? I wondered.

On my first trip to Korea when I was seven, my parents and I went to a dinner party with my mom’s extended family and their friends. I was sitting in the front room with my cousins and a bunch of kids I didn’t know. One of the boys kept pointing at me. He was taller than I was, with smooth black hair cut like a bowl around his head.

When we all went outside to play, he poked me with a toothpick. I stared at him, then at the toothpick, too stunned and confused to understand why he’d do something like that. Everyone else was laughing, especially the boy with the secret toothpick. I tried to stay away from him, on the other side of the group of kids. My stomach turned when our eyes met.

I went inside to see my parents, but they were drinking and laughing, enjoying the other adults. I didn’t say what was wrong but stood quietly, wondering which adults were the toothpick boy’s parents.

“It’s boring for you in here,” my mom whispered. “Go back and play with other kids.”

I went back outside, and we all stayed there until it was dark. Every chance he got, the boy poked me hard — in the arm, in the back, in the neck, in my thigh — while I listened to the adults inside laughing.

When we left, I was so relieved I immediately fell asleep in the car. I never told my parents. Somehow, even as a first grader, I decided I was to carry the world of my mom’s loss, and both the worlds that couldn’t welcome me, in my tiny elementary-school body. I wanted to stay in Korea forever, and I also wanted to leave for fear of more round-faced boys who would poke my mixed skin with a dirty toothpick to remind me that I don’t belong.

Our story as sons of Adam and daughters of Eve isn’t just one of knowing God separate from our humanity and our own God-made bodies. God intends for us to know Him as we come to know ourselves. Our unique selves are to be studied, seen, uncovered, and sought with urgency. Knowing ourselves without shame is shalom in action — life unfolding the way it was meant to, the narrative of the Kingdom of God-come-down. In the midst of this, God’s dreams come true, unfolding detail by detail in our mothers’ wombs.

When God calls out to Eve and Adam after they’ve eaten from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, He asks them, “Where are you?” Even though He knows where they are, what they’ve done, and what the consequences will be, He seeks them out in their hiding.

He does this again and again. When Cain hides after murdering his brother, God finds him and asks him where his brother is. When Hagar runs from her oppressive life, He asks her where she’s come from and where she’s going.

God’s love will not let us go on hiding forever. His love finds us, stops for us, and searches for those who have been harmed and those who need healing.

And whenever we come near to someone else in hiding, we imitate Jesus, our Immanuel: the God who comes near.

Adapted from Tell Me the Dream Again: Reflections on Family, Ethnicity, and the Sacred Work of Belonging, by Tasha Jun. Copyright © 2023. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, a Division of Tyndale House Ministries. All rights reserved.

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Told with tender honesty and compelling prose, Tell Me the Dream Again: Reflections on Family, Ethnicity, and the Sacred Work of Belonging, by Tasha Jun is a memoir-in-essays exploring:

  • what it means to be biracial in America today
  • the joy and healing that comes with embracing every part of who we are, and
  • how our identity in Christ is tightly woven with the unique colors, scents, and culture he’s given us.

We are not outsiders to God. When we let all the details of ourselves unfold ― when we embrace who we were divinely knit together to be ― this is when we’ll fully experience his perfect love.

Order your copy of Tell Me the Dream Again today . . . and leave a comment below for a chance to WIN one of 5 copies*!

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

 

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

 

 

*Giveaway open to US addresses only and closes at 11:59 pm central on 5/14/23. Winners will be drawn at random and notified via email. Please allow 4-6 weeks for delivery.

How a Surprise Birthday Party Taught Me About the Sweetness of God

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I felt the weight of 2023 as soon as I flipped the calendar; just 89 days to a major milestone birthday. An inescapable and irritating dread dampened my usual sunny disposition. To me, birthdays have always been the perfect excuse to celebrate with much ado. But this year felt different. I was entering a new decade that some would consider old, and as a person who has always declared, “Age is just a number!” that number was cruelly taunting me, making me feel ancient and irrelevant.

I snapped out of it when I realized I was acting like a victim of my age. I remembered what I had learned when I wrestled with aging not so long ago:

We are not victims of our age, and age is the price we pay for life and it’s a privilege not everyone has.

So, doggone it, party on! My husband was also turning 60 in March, so it seemed important to make it memorable.

But then came January 5th… and my world was rocked to the core.

Doctors discovered a mass in my sister’s brain that would require more testing to diagnose. By the end of the month, our worst fear was confirmed: brain cancer.

What was there to celebrate when my “ride or die” was facing a terrifying future, and the long life she imagined would be cut short?

Meanwhile, another storm was brewing.

My husband’s company had been sold last year, and one by one, his former leadership team shrank due to job elimination, forced early retirement, or leaving to find something more secure and less volatile. He began exploring different job opportunities himself as the climate became increasingly untenable, but on February 24th the decision was made for him. His position was eliminated.

Interestingly, we had plans that night to have dinner with four close friends and their husbands. It had been over a year since we’d gotten together as couples, and Courtney had invited us to her home six weeks in advance. Even though we viewed Tad’s job elimination as a good thing in many ways — he was fortunate to receive a severance package — it was still a hard thing, and we weren’t emotionally up for a couple’s night.

Not ready to disclose what had happened that afternoon, I texted my friends to let them know we had had an intense day and wouldn’t be able to make it. They weren’t having it. They texted back insisting, “You still have to eat!” Privately, another friend texted Tad and let him know they were doing a little something for my birthday … over a month early to surprise me.

He immediately spilled the beans because he knew we would have to show up and make the best of it. Though we didn’t know exactly what to expect, our suspicions spiked when we passed Courtney’s neighbor’s house and her yard was full of cars. Whatever they had planned was more than a few friends.

I apologized to Tad as we walked to her front door, feeling awful that something spectacular was planned for me, when his birthday was the following week, and, he had just lost his job.

Before we could knock, the double doors opened to reveal our two sons standing there grinning and a mob yelling, “Surprise!” Then our daughter (who lives a plane ride away) appeared from behind the door. I turned my back to the crowd, an instant, sobbing mess. I hugged Tad and whispered, “I’m so…sorry…” imagining how hard the next few hours were going to be for him.

“Turn around! See who’s here!” someone yelled. It was only then my brain finally caught up to what was happening. This was a surprise party for both of us.

Everywhere we looked we saw people we loved: our church family, my and Tad’s brothers, and life-long friends from all over. Then I spotted my sweet father-in-love . . . and my sister. I lost it all over again. She hadn’t even fully recovered from her biopsy surgery.

As the night unfolded, we learned that this party wasn’t cooked up by my friends. Rather, our children had been conspiring since Christmas to celebrate both me and Tad. February 24th had been the only day that worked out for our three kids and my four friends who helped them plan.

Our children’s concern that no one would be able to make it on a Friday night was unwarranted; people showed up en masse. Though they missed a few friends we would’ve included, we were amazed by how well they did. Every single person there was already praying for my sister, and this was an opportunity to meet her if they didn’t already know her.

Tad and I caught up with people we’ve loved as long as we can remember, and when we bumped into each other he whispered, “God sure has a sense of humor.” I laughed and agreed. Driving home later, Tad expressed what I had been thinking, “A night like tonight puts what happened with my job in perspective. It sure seems small in comparison.”

I fell into bed happy and exhausted, my mind reeling from our roller-coaster day. As my heart settled, I was completely and utterly overwhelmed by love. Not from the love of our family and friends – though that was palpable – but from God.

At Christmas, when our children had the bright idea to throw us a surprise party, they had no idea what the new year would bring.

But God knew.

When seven people selected a date that was the only one that worked for each of them, they couldn’t have known what that specific day would mean to us.

But God knew.

God knew about Lora’s brain tumor and Tad’s job loss and all the uncertainty, sorrow, and brokenness we were carrying. What I saw so clearly at that moment was how the story of our lives tells the grander story of God’s greatness. This is true for all of us, isn’t it? My children and friends thought they were just planning a surprise party, but the God who knows the end from the beginning and the beginning from the end knew what would happen in our lives leading up to February 24, 2023, and He put together a gift so spectacular no one could deny who it was from.

God knew that we were weary and burdened and He gave us the kind of rest we desperately needed (see Matthew 11:28-29). God is still writing your story and He knows the kind of rest you need, too. You can come to Him and trust Him.

 

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What Would It Take to Get This Honest With God?

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Here’s what I think we all need:

Our own little confession booths – places where we can get ruthlessly honest with God, and with ourselves. Places where we can bare our souls, stop self-protecting, and say the things that other people might find outlandish or outrageous.

In theory, we know God can handle that kind of honesty. In theory, we understand that we really do have our own little confession booths – and those booths are open 24/7, wherever we are.

But honestly? We don’t always practice stepping inside and getting real with God.

Ask me how I know.

Candidly, I have a long history of keeping secrets from God, which I realize is the single-most ridiculous statement ever written in the history of (in)courage. One does not keep secrets from God. (But one does try, from time to time.)

Case in point: Many years ago, I attended a weekend women’s retreat. One evening, a pastor handed each of us a tiny piece of paper. On that paper, we were supposed to write down everything we could think of that was holding us back from God.

As songs played in the background, a lengthy list ran flipbook-style in my brain.

Shame.
Guilt.
Sin after sin.
Burden after burden.

Good grief, I thought to myself, I need more than this tiny piece of paper. I need one of those giant rolls of butcher paper!

But even though I had a mile of confessions running through my head, I was unwilling to write them all down on paper.

We had been assured that no one would read our papers. In fact, they would be burned. So, I wasn’t afraid of people seeing my sin. I was afraid of being honest with God. Furthermore, I didn’t want to face the weight of my burdens by seeing them written out. The result: I left a bunch of stuff off of my paper, and in some cases, I was only half-honest with Him, because I wouldn’t write whole words; I wrote initials to represent my sin. I was refusing to tell God the truth.

At the time, I didn’t know if God could really love me in my failure. I thought He could only love the good in me.

That, of course, is anti-Gospel. How could I so easily forget that it’s because of my sin that Christ died? He loves me (and you!) that much.

You can hardly turn a page of the New Testament without encountering God’s arms-wide-open love toward us. “But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us” (Romans 5:8).

Jesus’ life demonstrated that perfect love. He cleansed people, not only of their sins but of their hurts and hang-ups. With the people He healed, Jesus often started by asking the person in front of Him a provocative, direct question – a way of saying, “Step into the confession booth.”

Think for a moment about some of the questions Jesus asked.

“Do you want to get well?” (John 5:6)

“Why did you doubt?” (Matthew 14:31)

“Do you still not see or understand?” (Mark 8:17)

“What do you want me to do for you?” (Luke 18:41)

If Jesus invited you into your own little confession booth today – just you and Him – and He asked you those questions, how would you answer?

When I think about my most honest answers, I am moved to tears. And those tears, I’m learning, are so very good, so very healing.

In the years since that retreat, I’ve learned that full honesty takes a special kind of courage, and ultimately, it holds a special kind of power. It’s a form of intimacy with yourself — and with God.

You don’t have to run into a little booth to tell your stuff to God. You can tell Him right now, right where you are. As it says in Hebrews 4:16, “Let us then approach God’s throne of grace with confidence, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help us in our time of need.”

So, friend, write it all down. (Not just the initials.) Or speak it out loud. I call it “courageous honesty, obsessive truth-telling, and beautifully ruthless self-discovery.”

May you find that you don’t have to shine yourself up when you come before God. You just need to show up.

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Are you feeling the urge to get honest before God, but don’t know where to start? Jennifer’s got you covered. She’s written Stuff I’d Only Tell God: A Guided Journal of Courageous Honesty, Obsessive Truth-Telling, and Beautifully Ruthless Self-Discovery. She describes the journal as “your own little confession booth.” Inside, you’ll find daring questions – including a list of questions Jesus asked. You’ll also find provocative lists, quirky charts, and thought-provoking prompts. This journal is a place to record ideas, beliefs, secrets, memories, wonderings, and wishes – things that might seem outlandish or outrageous to anyone else but are what make you you.

Order your copy today!

Below are three prompts from the thousands inside Stuff I’d Only Tell God. Answer one (or more, if you wish!) in the comments for a chance to WIN one of five copies of the journal*.

Option 1: My life is valuable because:

Option 2: If a toy manufacturer were to make an action figure of you, these are the three accessories it would come with:

Option 3: If I could ask God one question, this is what I’d ask:

We can’t wait to read your answers! Also, join Becky this weekend on the (in)courage podcast for a conversation with Jennifer about Stuff I’d Only Tell God!

 

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*Giveaway open to US addresses only and closes at 11:59 pm central on 5/15/23. Please allow 4-6 weeks for delivery.

To Love Is to Listen

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She walked in late to her physical therapy appointment, quickly apologizing, “I’m sorry, I’m having a rough day.” I leaned in and patted her on the shoulder as we walked towards the bike for her warm-up exercise. Assuming her back pain had flared up I asked her, “What’s going on?” She got on the bike and began to pedal as she told me that she had lost her mom recently, and today the grief was overwhelming. Throughout the session, she continued to share stories about her mom. I could tell that she loved her mom and they had a great relationship. Her mom lived a full life until she suddenly fell sick and passed.

Usually, I would have said some old Christian-ese phrase that we often say to those grieving the loss of a loved one like, “Well, she’s in a better place.” But the Holy Spirit gave me new words to speak over this woman: “I can tell you miss your mom and it probably feels unfair to have your best friend taken away.”

She suddenly looked up at me, reached for my hand, took it into hers, and her eyes began to well up. She said, “Thank you for saying that … everyone just keeps saying she’s in a better place and I’m tired of hearing that because I just want my mom here with me.”

In that moment I knew the Holy Spirit spoke through me because I chose to listen to this woman — not just to her words but to her pain. I think often, we as Christians are quick to slap a cliche statement over someone’s pain because we’re not really listening to them. Listening to someone unload their burden makes it heavy and uncomfortable for us, so selfishly we want to soothe them quickly, like sticking a pacifier in the mouth of a crying baby. But their pain needs a place to land.

Galatians 6: 2 teaches us to, “Bear one another’s burdens and so fulfill the law of Christ.” And the most practical way to live this out is through listening. We cannot save people or change their circumstances, but we can listen. If we are honest when we share our issues and pain with someone, we understand their limitations but we share anyway because we just need someone to listen.

I think one of the reasons people were drawn to Jesus was because He was a good listener. Jesus didn’t just teach and disciple people. He didn’t just touch and deliver people. So often Jesus gave people an opportunity to share their pain and put words to their wounds. He listened.

When blind Bartimaeus cried out, everyone tried to silence him. “Many rebuked him and told him to be quiet” Mark 10:48. The Bible tells us when He hears this blind beggar’s cry, Jesus stops. He listens. Can you imagine the Creator of time and space, the Alpha and Omega, standing still because of the cry of a man who lived on the side of the road?

The day Jesus meets the Samaritan woman He arrives at the well early. Jesus is waiting for her to get there and invites her into a conversation. In fact, this is the longest conversation recorded in the Bible that Jesus has — with this woman who had a wounded past. She walked at noon to that well alone as she always had because no one wanted to be associated with her; everyone in town knew her scandalous story. But Jesus, the Sovereign One, still sits, waiting to listen to her.

Jesus doesn’t spiritualize our pain or sweep it under the rug. He wants us to say it out loud to Him because He is the Savior and He has shared in our sufferings and empathizes with our deepest wounds. People wanted to be close to Jesus not just because He was a good teacher, but because He made space to listen to them. It amazes me that the God of the universe came to this world as a man to walk with us, talk with us, and listen to us.

Friend, Jesus wants to hear you.

I also pray that in our love for others, we would be quick to listen like Jesus, and that we would be people who make space for others to bring their wounds and words so that their burden feels just a little lighter. Let’s not silence people with our quick sticky statements or distance ourselves from them because their pain is too much.

It is true that we are the hands and feet of Jesus to go and do His work, but we are also the ears of Jesus to stop, wait, and listen.

 

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Good and Beautiful Things: No Suffering Required

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Our driver picks us up at three in the morning.

The travel agent assured us that the early wake-up call would be worth it . . . and the website promised a sky blanketed in soft clouds and a sunrise “bursting forth in a flood of warmth and color.” So I find myself heading up a volcano at a time I’m usually only snoring.

Our bus driver warns everyone that it can be cold and windy at the top. I packed a blanket and a sweatshirt and made the mistake of thinking I was prepared.

He tells us that we need to get there early to beat the rush of tourists and claim a front row seat to the sunrise. Haleakala means “House of the Sun” and, according to legend, the demigod, Maui, set out to lasso the sun in an effort to slow it down. I don’t believe in demigods, but I head up over 10,000 feet in the dark to capture the sun myself and for a glimpse of God’s beauty. 

We wind our way up the summit . . . and I’m temporarily glad for the black night so that I cannot see the steep drops. Hours later — still cloaked in darkness — we finally summit. We’re told where to stand for the best view and reminded to have our cameras ready. Sunrise is thirty minutes out as we stumble off the bus into the black. At this altitude, wind whips through my blanket and sleet pelts my face. My friends climb right back on the bus and I follow them. I was prepared for it to be cool, but not this cold. This is Hawaii, after all. I packed a suitcase full of sundresses, not a winter coat. 

I warm under the heater and tell myself that I did not get up at three in the morning to sit on a bus, so I bundle up and venture out again. This time, I walk alone and find only a few people clumped around the crater’s edge. My hair flies in my face, the wind blows straight through my layers, and I can’t feel my fingers or toes. The crowd is small and there is no need to fight anyone for a good view. Shivering at the lip of the crater for a good twenty minutes, I huddle with strangers who, like me, are waiting for the morning light to streak the sky with color. 

Eventually, the sky does grow less and less dark — but there is no show. There is no beauty, no sunrise “bursting forth in a flood of warmth and color” to reward me for my early rise, that long drive, or my freezing toes. The sky slowly turns from black to gray with a fog so thick I can barely see a few feet in front of me, much less the island below. My friend finally gets off the bus and comes to find me. She warms my arms gently and tells me, “I think this is it.” But, she sees a weight to my disappointment . . . that I’m waiting for more than a sunrise.

Somehow, I thought the pain and misery of getting to this volcano would pay off and, after years of my own pain, it’s like I need this to be true in my own life. After walking through a difficult season, I need to know that my aches matter. That, in spite of all that has been heavy and hard, something beautiful is, in fact, on the horizon.

Sometimes God allows hard seasons to draw us towards Him . . . but sometimes we choose to suffer. The two are not always connected. My miserable, sunless sunrise taught me that I had gone too far. I wanted my misery to be rewarded with a holy moment and picture-perfect view. I always want the ache to pay off.  I want to push through when I’m not ready. I falsely believe that my faith has to be hard or hurt for it to matter. I want the suffering to bring a reward, but sometimes it only leaves me cold and wet and waiting for something that doesn’t turn out how I’d hoped.

Good and beautiful things can come from hard and horrible places, but there is no reason I should think that they have to.

I like hard things. I used to love running long distances, accomplishing a challenging task, and persevering through hard seasons. But, what I’m starting to learn from sunrises, volcanoes, and patient friends is that these things aren’t good because they are hard. They are good because God is. Full stop.

Eventually, our driver transported us back to our hotel to rest and dry off. Later, we found a little bit of sun and enjoyed our day — a day that started way too early on a bus . . . but ended on the water with a sunset filled with warmth and color. In Psalm 113:3, I’m reminded that, “From the rising of the sun to the place where it sets, the name of the Lord is to be praised.” Pondering this Psalm made me realize that all throughout my day, God was present and worthy of praise — both in the gray sunrise and as the sun slowly dipped behind the bay.

As the sun set, the sky turned fifteen different shades of pink and yellow and orange. It was perfect. No suffering required. All I had to do was open my eyes. 

Where to Start When You Don’t Know What to Pray

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Ephesians 3:14-21

14 When I think of all this, I fall to my knees and pray to the Father,15 the Creator of everything in heaven and on earth.16 I pray that from his glorious, unlimited resources he will empower you with inner strength through his Spirit. 17 Then Christ will make his home in your hearts as you trust in him. Your roots will grow down into God’s love and keep you strong. 18 And may you have the power to understand, as all God’s people should, how wide, how long, how high, and how deep his love is. 19 May you experience the love of Christ, though it is too great to understand fully. Then you will be made complete with all the fullness of life and power that comes from God.

20 Now all glory to God, who is able, through his mighty power at work within us, to accomplish infinitely more than we might ask or think. 21 Glory to him in the church and in Christ Jesus through all generations forever and ever! Amen.

 

If you ever feel stuck or don’t know what to pray, start with Scripture. You can always have confidence that you are seeking the will of God when you pray the Word of God.

At (in)courage, we are honored to pray with you and for you. This passage from Ephesians 3 is our starting point today. Please share a verse that resonates with you, or comment with a specific prayer request. Let’s link arms as sisters in Christ and lift each other up to our God who sees us and loves us.

 

A Different Kind of Brave

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Now a man from the family of Levi married a Levite woman. The woman became pregnant and gave birth to a son; when she saw that he was beautiful, she hid him for three months. But when she could no longer hide him, she got a papyrus basket for him and coated it with asphalt and pitch. She placed the child in it and set it among the reeds by the bank of the Nile. Then his sister stood at a distance in order to see what would happen to him.

Pharaoh’s daughter went down to bathe at the Nile while her servant girls walked along the riverbank. She saw the basket among the reeds, sent her slave girl, took it, opened it, and saw him, the child — and there he was, a little boy, crying. She felt sorry for him and said, “This is one of the Hebrew boys.”

Then his sister said to Pharaoh’s daughter, “Should I go and call a Hebrew woman who is nursing to nurse the boy for you?”

“Go,” Pharaoh’s daughter told her. So the girl went and called the boy’s mother. Then Pharaoh’s daughter said to her, “Take this child and nurse him for me, and I will pay your wages.” So the woman took the boy and nursed him. When the child grew older, she brought him to Pharaoh’s daughter, and he became her son. She named him Moses, “Because,” she said, “I drew him out of the water.”
Exodus 2:1–10

Jochebed, Moses’ mother, was a woman of great bravery. Her worst nightmare had come true. Her baby boy’s life was in danger, and she could no longer hide him. So, she enacted a plan to save her son’s life. Without knowing if it would work, Jochebed placed her son, Moses, in a basket in the river, and God rewarded her bravery. He allowed Pharaoh’s daughter to find the basket with baby Moses inside, who then asked Jochebed to care for him until he was old enough to live in the palace.

If this mother had let fear control her actions, she would have missed out on a miracle. Because Jochebed chose to be brave, she got to watch God care for Moses and Jochebed’s entire family, protecting them and bringing about His purposes.

Jochebed’s obedience and bravery also created a whole new family, allowing Pharaoh’s daughter to become an adoptive mother. Pharaoh’s daughter showed great bravery as well, as she boldly defied her father’s orders to kill all infant boys. Instead, she took Moses in as her own.

All families — even the ones in the Bible — are messy, and each mother has a unique story regarding how her children came to be hers. Jochebed, Moses, and Pharaoh’s daughter are no exception; rather, they’re an example of grace, bravery, and love that breaks the mold.

—

The day I delivered our first baby girl was filled with joy and grief for my husband and me. We were in complete bliss as I picked out which outfit she would wear for her pictures with her big brother. As the nurses wheeled her out, I remember turning the television on to pass the time until my baby was back in my arms. The words “BREAKING NEWS” caught my attention.

A shooting had taken place in an elementary school, and the station was broadcasting live footage of parents waiting for news of their children. It suddenly felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room. There I was in a hospital bed waiting for the life I brought into this world, as these parents waited for the worst.

I remember crying for those parents and those innocent children. When my baby was placed in my arms, I held her a little tighter. The headlines can sometimes shake us to the core of our souls, and fear can consume us if we let it. I think of Moses’ mother, Jochebed, and how scared she must have been when she learned that her baby was a boy. She lived in a corrupt time when all baby boys were thrown into the river.

And yet, instead of letting fear control her, she kept her son with love in her heart and strength in her soul. When she could no longer hide him, she did the hardest thing she’d ever have to do. She coated a basket with asphalt and pitch and placed her baby boy in it. Then she placed him in the reeds among the Nile.

When I used to think of the word brave, I imagined someone fighting off lions and bears. But it also looks a lot like a mother trusting in God and gently placing her child into the waters of the unknown. The most beautiful part of the story is that God is faithful in all He does, and He returned Moses to Jochebed for a season, before Moses made his way to the palace under the care of Pharaoh’s daughter.

Since the birth of my first daughter and the day of that horrendous news, we’ve welcomed three more children into this world. As parents in this day and age, we may not be called to release our children into the river in baskets, but we are called to release them to God. Each time we do, we find that His provision is always better than we could ever imagine.

Fear still creeps in some days. But in spite of fearing the unknown waters, I want to love relentlessly, fervently trusting in God with faith like Jochebed. I want to live a life of faith, and most of all, I want to live life with a different kind of brave.

Writings by Denise Hughes and Jasmine Martin, as featured in A Mother’s Love.

Above is an excerpt from our book, A Mother’s Love: Celebrating Every Kind of Mom, which is full of reflections on God’s heart. Featuring unique and diverse stories from the (in)courage community, A Mother’s Love offers heartfelt encouragement to all kinds of moms, whether they’re a mother in a traditional sense, a spiritual mother, or a mother-like figure who breaks the mold.

This book is sure to help any woman share a meaningful gift with someone who has been impactful in her life, a new mom learning the ropes, or a close loved one facing the joys and challenges of any stage and type of motherhood. Compiled with all women in mind so we can celebrate those who made us, shaped us, helped us grow, and loved us well, A Mother’s Love is a beautiful gift for the moms in your life.

How Is Mercy Part of Our Purpose?

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I’ll never forget where I was, how the hair on my arms stood straight up and goosebumps erupted all over my skin. I’ll never forget how my pounding heart beat like a drum until I could hardly sit in my chair and found myself standing and walking to the front of the room with the rest of the teen girls, who were falling to their knees and breaking down in tears.

Just hours before, I had been laughing with my friends in our cabin, feeling fine and free. It wasn’t supposed to be anything more than a summer camp — a time to make memories and have fun with friends. Never in a million years could I imagine I’d end up splitting my heart wide open, sitting on the floor of some big gathering room, and crying loudly with prayers pouring from my heart.

The speaker stood on the stage, telling her story and speaking of all the pain and sorrow she once held inside. As she spoke, she lugged around a ball and chain that was attached to her ankle. She told us that holding on to pain and hurt is like being shackled to a heavy weight that always follows and drags, and that the only way to be free of it is to forgive — both ourselves and others.

I thought about the pain I carried from watching my older brother live a life full of sickness and suffering. I thought about the pain I carried from watching my parents split and go their separate ways. I thought about the pain I carried from losing friends after moving from school to school to school. I thought about the sadness I cradled and how it had twisted into a bitter resentment that left me wondering why everything in my life always seemed to fall apart.

I sat on that floor with the rest of the teenagers spilling their hearts out, and I joined in. I joined not because I needed to do what everyone else was doing but because I needed to understand this God for myself. I needed to know if He really could hold my heart, heal my hurt, and set me free from the shackles of sorrow.

My prayer, a whirlwind of whispered words, came out slow and honest:

Dear God, I don’t know who You are. I don’t know if You’re real. But if You are, please take my hurt and give me a heart that cares for others the way that You do. Give me eyes to see the world the way You do and a mouth to speak the way You speak.

When I got up from the floor that day, I didn’t feel any different. I didn’t feel changed or all charged up to go set the world on fire. I only hoped that God had heard me, that He would help me, and that He would have His way in my heart.

Not too long after this moment of sweet surrender, I traveled with my church to Quito, Ecuador, for a weeklong community outreach. Each night we sat under the big white tent as the same refrain played from a wonky keyboard and we all sang: Gracias, gracias Señor. Gracias mi Señor, Jesus. Hands lifting, voices rising in both English and Spanish, we sang this song about receiving the gift of everlasting mercy and everlasting life, about being set free through the blood of Jesus.

On my last day in Quito, I sat on the bleachers at the soccer field and wrapped a young girl in my sweater to shield her from the wind. As we sat there, watching the kids on the field kicking up dust for hours on end, I looked out at the horizon and found myself thinking back to that camp prayer I prayed.

It felt almost as if everything I’d ever felt had been released. I felt compassion — a desire to care about the pain of others — filling me up to overflow. And in that moment I realized that I couldn’t care for the people of a capital city halfway around the world without caring for the people closest to me. I realized I didn’t just want to receive the gift of mercy that I had been singing about. I wanted to extend mercy like God does. I wanted to live out mercy and I wanted to give mercy.

I felt like Saul (a.k.a. Paul) on the road to Damascus as he journeyed from merciless to merciful — from persecuting Christians to passionately proclaiming Christ. Found and forgiven, he was set free to unashamedly share the message of God’s loving-kindness.

This is why mercy matters, because it spreads like wildfire and burns bright with redemption. Mercy restores us to one another while also restoring us to God. And that is God’s heart — that none of us would be far from love or far from Him.

And what a gift it is that His mercy is not just for today. It stretches into tomorrow, saves, and secures us even for life after life. Mercy sets us free not just here on earth but for eternity.

The thought of such grace sends chills down my spine.

Story by Rachel Marie Kang as published in Create in Me a Heart of Mercy

What a powerful story of real-life, deep mercy. This piece appears in our latest Bible Study, Create in Me a Heart of Mercy, available now for preorder. With stories like Rachel’s woven together with Scripture study by Dorina Lazo Gilmore-Young, our prayer is that this study will help you see the mercy God offers each one of us.

Create in Me a Heart of Mercy releases May 16th, and we are SO excited to see how God will use it to speak to your heart. Sign up to get a FREE full week of Bible study from Create in Me a Heart of Mercy and preorder your copy today!

 

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Uninvited and the Welcome of God

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It happened again. I can’t say that I am completely shocked . . . but still, it did kind of surprise me. It was a situation I am all too familiar with: I wasn’t invited. I found out about a celebration with some friends. It was a gathering that I fully expected I would have been invited to. But I wasn’t.

This group of friends has a rich and beautiful history together. I don’t begrudge their friendship. I just want to be a part of it.

See, I have always been a fringe friend. I know a ton of people. I have a ton of friends. All of those friends have their inner circle, as it were. At 42, I’ve never had that. I’ve never had that inner circle. That’s been hard in many ways.

It means wondering who you can turn to when something hard happens or who you can call when something amazing happens. My friend Sam and I are very similar, and we have this conversation regularly. We discuss the sting of rejection and the pain of not being included.

I know friendships are complicated and messy, along with being beautiful and life-giving. Sam shared with me some of the ways she’s processed situations where she wasn’t included. She said that she’s had to be careful to not partner with the narrative of “this always happens to me,” even if it does.

That can be difficult for me to navigate at times. I feel like I have grown and matured in my over 20-year walk with the Lord. I don’t think I am as easily offendable as I was in my youth. I don’t think my standards in friendship are crazily unreasonable or super high. And yet, I find myself in these situations more often than I would care to admit.

Honestly, I’m not sure why. I speculate and wonder and worry. I come up empty every time, except for the myriad of questions swirling around in my head. The pain of being left out or feeling left out hurts like few things can. I know I can’t force people to love me, want me, or include me.

I’ve been on a journey of forgiveness, healing, and finding freedom in this area. By no means do these come easily. But, they are in every way worth the effort.

I think about the life of Jesus. He lived rejected in almost every way by many He knew and cared about. It breaks my heart and yet I consider myself to be in great company.

Isaiah 53:3 says, “He was despised and rejected by men, a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief; and as one from whom men hide their faces He was despised, and we esteemed Him not.”

This chapter in Isaiah is one of my favorites. It describes our suffering servant. Jesus chose to come to earth knowing that not everyone would receive and accept Him. But, He counted being reconciled to us as joy. He showed everyone He encountered unconditional love, lavish grace, and unending forgiveness.

This life of Christ is the life that we are called to today. Though He was hurt, He never sought revenge. When He was angry, He never lashed out.

I want to lash out. I want to seek revenge. I want people to know how much they’ve hurt me. But, that wouldn’t bring me any peace. So, I take all of my feelings, disappointment, fear, and pain and I lay them on the altar of God. I yield to the work of the Holy Spirit, and I let Him cleanse me of all unrighteousness.

I’m so tempted to become bitter and jaded and offended. I’m tempted to avoid those who have hurt me. But this would take me down the broad road of destruction. These responses would give a foothold to the enemy.

This is not the way of Jesus. His narrow road is found by few. I want to be one who finds it.

Friendships require intentionality, patience, grace, and a ton of communication. They require work and that’s okay. I’m learning. I’m in process. The Lord knows and understands. He loves us and His heart is toward us. He is the Father that comes running full speed ahead in our direction.

If you’ve ever felt rejected, I’d love to hear your story and pray for you!

 

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The Question Every Hurting Heart Needs to Ask

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“I just don’t understand. Why?!”

She laid the question between us, stark and honest in all its ugly discomfort.

“Why didn’t God do something?”

She’d put a lot of thought into her question, and even more courage into vocalizing it. Not easy to do for someone who calls herself a Christian. I know firsthand. Are women who love Jesus, who claim to trust and follow Him with heart, soul, mind, and strength, allowed to ask such a defiant question? That is precisely what she asked next.

“Am I even allowed to say this out loud? Is it even helpful?” She raised her eyebrows, waiting on my answer.

I don’t think I answered the way she expected.

I nodded, communicating my empathy for the conundrum, and then I let out a long sigh.

“Whether it’s allowed and helpful is irrelevant,” I said. I hoped she could hear the compassion in my voice. “It’s the question we all ask. And, at some level, it’s the question we all need to ask, whether or not we get an answer.”

I wasn’t sure she was tracking, so I continued.

“Asking ‘why?’ is simply a normal human response to our deep need to find meaning in suffering. It’s what the heart wants when it’s hurting. Period. We need to know the pain won’t be wasted, even if it can’t be helped.”

With those words, something in her seemed to settle. I suspected she felt relief and also a measure of peace, which is exactly what I felt when I asked similar questions and arrived at this conclusion.

For much of my early faith journey, I thought that questioning God or even showing the slightest hint of dissatisfaction with Him or my circumstances was the surest way to get myself struck by divine lightning. I was taught that to question authority was to disrespect and dishonor authority. And I certainly didn’t want to mess around with that. So although my heart ached and raged against so many wrongs, I feared taking those big feelings to God Himself. I didn’t want to add “faithless” to my long list of flaws.

Although it’s healthy to share our suffering with each other, I now realize that God is the only One strong enough to bear my big emotions and my big questions and offer healing in the middle of them. I still don’t want to disrespect or dishonor God, but I no longer believe that my grief and questions are an affront to Him. In fact, the Bible provides plenty of evidence to the contrary:

“Why, Lord, do you stand far off?
    Why do you hide yourself in times of trouble?”
Psalm 10:1

The Sons of Korah voiced their agony with a similar complaint:

“I say to God my Rock,
‘Why have you forgotten me?
Why must I go about mourning,
oppressed by the enemy?’
My bones suffer mortal agony
as my foes taunt me,
saying to me all day long,
‘Where is your God?’”
Psalm 42:9-10

Even Jesus asked the “why” question when the pain of His suffering, and God’s simultaneous rejection, as He carried the sin of the world overwhelmed Him:

“And at three in the afternoon Jesus cried out in a loud voice,
‘Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachthani?’
(which means ‘My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?’).”
Mark 15:34

Yes, it’s okay to ask “why” when we suffer. It’s okay to take our questions and wounds to the God who sees and knows and loves, without limit. In fact, true worship demands it. I wrote these words in my recent book, A Faith That Will Not Fail:

“If I allow myself to grow silent in my suffering, grief wins. But if I sing from the place of my losses, if I turn my face to heaven and praise God for His goodness with a broken voice, then the losses are redeemed in the name of heaven.”

My friend, whatever it is you’re mourning today, don’t add silence and shame to your suffering. God already knows. Take Him your tears, your questions, your confusion, even your question of “why?”. Lay it all before Him, trusting His compassion to be an ocean that will soothe and heal your wounds, even if your circumstances and wounds remain. He’s not surprised by your big feelings or your big questions. He’s waiting for you to let Him help you carry them.

 

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Introvert or Extrovert? Either Way, You’re Created for Connection

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I’m at an event holding a tiny plate covered with crackers and cheese, green grapes, and a few olives, wondering how to eat without looking awkward. Actually, I’m wondering how to even be in this room without awkwardness. All around me conversations flow, laughter echoes, and people exchange contact information, but I feel out of place. 

If you search for introvert memes, you’ll quickly find this one: “Introverts Unite (Separately in Your Own Homes).” It makes me laugh but also spreads a common misconception about introverts — that we somehow love people less than extroverts do. The truth? Introverts love people just as much as extroverts; we just do so in different ways. 

An extrovert might enjoy a dinner party with a dozen people around the table, while an introvert likely prefers coffee with one friend. Why? One reason for this is the primary neurotransmitter we rely on. Extroverts prefer dopamine, which is released in high-stimulation situations (like a conference or party). Introverts thrive on acetylcholine, which is released when we’re able to fully focus, whether on a project we’re passionate about, personal reflection, or a meaningful conversation with one person. 

I did a survey asking my subscribers, “Are you an introvert or extrovert?” and “What’s your biggest challenge as an introvert or extrovert?” To my surprise, the most common answer for extroverts was loneliness. They said things like, “I have a lot of acquaintances, but I long for deeper connections.” Introverts, you may feel pressure to connect with others differently, but your style of socializing is needed in this world too — especially by the people who look like they have plenty of connections. 

All through the New Testament, the phrase “one another” is repeated. 

“Love one another” (John 13:34). 

“Accept one another” (Romans 15:7). 

“Encourage one another” (2 Corinthians 13:11). 

“Serve one another” (Galatians 5:13). 

“Be kind and compassionate to one another” (Ephesians 4:32). 

These verses don’t say “love groups of people” or “love everyone at once.” They say “one another.” When an expert in the law asked Jesus what mattered most, His answer was to love God and “love your neighbor as yourself’” (Luke 10:27). He didn’t say love your neighbors (plural); He said to love your neighbor (singular). Then He told the story of the good Samaritan, which is about one person helping another. 

When it comes to relationships, quality over quantity is the theme. It’s  not about how many people we have in our lives but how well we love whoever God puts in front of us each day. 

I eventually overcome my awkwardness at the event and end up having some fun and meaningful conversations. We laugh, talk, and share our hearts. At the end of the evening, I walk outside into a cloudless, silent evening. The stars are flung across the sky, diamonds on velvet. 

I remember I’m part of something so much bigger than I am, that I belong to Someone who spoke all this into being, that He is with me even now, that He made me who I am. Introvert or extrovert, He created you too. You have your own unique and beautiful way of connecting with others. 

So let’s release any expectations we have of ourselves about how many friends we make, the frequency of social events on our calendar, or the number of likes we get on social media. Instead, let’s focus on loving others in the powerful way God designed us to — one person at a time. 

Breath prayer: God, thank You for creating me to connect with others in my own unique and needed way. Help me do so today. Amen.  

What’s your biggest challenge as an introvert or extrovert? 

 – 

This post is adapted from Holley Gerth’s new book, Introvert by Design: A Guided Journal for Living with New Confidence in Who You’re Created to Be. Find out more, take a one-minute quiz to see what percent introvert you are, and read a free excerpt at HolleyGerth.com/Introverts!

Pick up your copy today, and leave a comment below to enter to WIN one of five copies*!

Then listen in this weekend for a bonus episode of the (in)courage podcast as Holley talks with Becky Keife about Introvert by Design!

 

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Tell Me Everything You Know

by

When I was a kid, we didn’t live close to family. Our grandparents couldn’t share parts of everyday life or come to our games or concerts. In fact, the majority of the time, we were separated by international borders and many state lines from our extended family. So, not ever having close relationships with older relatives, I’m not entirely sure how it happened that among some of my dearest friends are those born in what is often called “The Silent Generation.” They’re individuals who are between 78 and 95 years old, and let me tell you right now: they’re hidden gems.

Last summer, I got a text from a man in my church asking if I’d like to join him and a friend in the park for an impromptu get-together. It was later afternoon and when I arrived, they had two chairs set up and a cooler between them. There wasn’t any entertainment at the bandstand nor a scheduled event that precipitated being together. We simply sat in our folding chairs and ate some popcorn and chatted about everything and nothing all at once. We saw a splash in the pond and went to investigate what animal it might be. There was no big agenda other than presence and appreciation for the warm afternoon.

Every Thursday, I go to an antique store owned by another friend who just turned 85, and we sit together. Sometimes, we walk across the street and go Dunkin’ Donuts for tea, but these days, he doesn’t have much stamina for anything else. We can’t go on walks like we used to as he gets less stable. There’s not much room for big adventure, but we can sit and talk and I repeat myself a lot because he considers his hearing to be just fine without the hearing aids he keeps in his pocket.

And this is what I keep thinking about: when we slow down enough to listen, the Silent Generation has a whole lot to say about pace and commitment and kindness. They have seen so much, and yet we hardly ever ask them to give us advice or insight. We often just wave to them at church on a Sunday and then go to lunch with our friends that are our age, scrolling on our phones and hanging out with people facing the same challenges we are. And when we do this? We miss out on a whole lot.

Last week, I went on a walk and as I passed another couple’s house from my church, I nearly walked right past. It was getting dark and I wanted to get back home, but I decided instead to call them and say hello and she said to me without hesitating, “Want to come in for some tea?”

As I walked inside, the room looked much more bare than usual and some furniture had been rearranged. I looked at this kind, retired couple who told me that they were getting ready to move. It was a quick series of events, but they wanted to be close to their grandkids. Finding myself in a season of job searching after losing my job weeks earlier, the husband looked and me and said, “I guess we’re just sort of in a Melissa-ish season of transition, too!”

How could we be in the same place 40 years apart? And that’s when I saw the thread of these friendships start to pull together the fabric of our lives. Life is the same thing over and over. Wins. Loses. Promotions. Failures. Life. Death. And while our circumstances may be different, our human need for connection and our reliance on Jesus for everything doesn’t shift. We sat in that empty kitchen and we laughed and it got dark outside and before I left, we prayed for one another. And our prayers were almost the same, too.

Job 12:12 tells us, “Wisdom is with the aged, and understanding in length of days.”

This is the gift of the Silent Generation: they understand because they have lived and watched the world ebb and flow. So as we face these rapids and unexpected life joys and struggles, they’re like an experienced guide, helping us through the whitewater, telling us what to look for.

We may be repeating ourselves for their benefit, but they’ve repeatedly witnessed the faithfulness of God enough that we need to listen.

 

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