Trusting God with the Slow Answer to Prayer

Trusting God with the Slow Answer to Prayer

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When my youngest daughter turned 14, I began praying for God to help her build self-confidence. Abigail was sweet and thoughtful, but was shy and easily overwhelmed if asked to try something new.

I saw her many talents and longed for Abigail to have the courage to follow her dreams. My prayer: “God, bless my sweet girl with confidence so she’s not afraid of the world around her.”

Silly me, I expected that overnight God would zap Abigail and she’d wake up with big boss girl confidence and energy. It seemed the opposite happened. For a long time, nothing changed. Fear started to bubble under my faith.

Now, I can see where I feared a setback, God was setting up the answer to my prayer.

When Abigail was 16 years old, we had only one vehicle, and I traveled a lot. Since Abbie needed to drive to school, I explained that she’d need to drop me off at the airport several times a month. Abbie was terrified, but there was no choice.

Abigail begged me to drive on that first trip, but I knew she needed to face that fear. She clicked the seatbelt; her eyes glistened with tears. The airport was 45 minutes away in another state. Abigail gripped the steering wheel and navigated busy interstate expressways packed with cars that switched lanes without warning and large semis with no regard for an anxious teen doing brave things.

But my girl did it! Over the next year, Abigail drove me back and forth, even learning to weave in and out of our busy airport’s congested departures and arrivals lanes. I knew she dreaded each trip, but my courageous girl kept showing up.

On one trip, I saw how far she’d come.

Abbie was late picking me up. It was after midnight. I paced back and forth in baggage claim. After a few missed calls, she finally answered her phone. “I’m so sorry, Mom. After studying at Stacy’s house, I saw that our car’s headlight was out. I drove to Walmart, bought a new bulb, and changed it myself in Stacy’s driveway with a flashlight and a YouTube video. I’m leaving now to pick you up, okay?” When she arrived, my sweet girl wasn’t flustered. Instead, she was proud because she figured out a big car problem and fulfilled her responsibility to pick me up.

Look at God! We had one car due to a family crisis, and yet, God used that circumstance to not only answer my prayer but also form a kind of God-confidence in my daughter’s being that reshaped the trajectory of her life. Only God!

Listen to what the prophet Isaiah records as God speaks to His people:

“For my thoughts are not your thoughts,
    neither are your ways my ways,”
declares the Lord.
“As the heavens are higher than the earth,
    so are my ways higher than your ways
    and my thoughts than your thoughts.”
Isaiah 55:8-9 NIV

Do you know what God has that we don’t have? Spiritual vision.

God can see what we can’t see and know what we don’t know. While we may be praying about our specific situations, God answers our prayers according to His love for us and His eternal plan.

Years ago, I jumped out of a perfectly good airplane while it cruised at 10,000 feet in the air. It was intense! After free-falling for ten seconds, my parachute opened, and as I floated a thousand feet above the ground, I could see the world from a different perspective at ground level. Same with God. He sits high and sees across space and time and into hearts and minds.

In my thinking, God could have fixed Abigail’s confidence problem with just the mighty touch of His hand. After all, nothing is impossible for God. Yet, God saw what I couldn’t see in the bigger picture. He did a deep, lasting work in her, slowly over time.

While God can drop a miracle at any moment, could it be that the slow, steady answer to our persistent prayers is actually the better path for us?

The slow answer to prayer means God deeply transforms our mindset and heart attitudes for lasting obedience.

The slow answer to prayer lets us experience the unwavering faithfulness of God while we wait.

The slow answer to prayer allows unbelievers to witness our journey and see us giving God glory even while we wait.

The slow answer to prayer makes our character stronger and deepens our hope in God.

Where have you been frustrated by a slow answer to your prayers? As you reflect on my Abigail’s journey, can you see where the slow answer to prayer has been a blessing for you?

If you’re struggling with waiting on God, I’d like to pray for you:

God, I pray for my friend, awaiting an answer to prayer. Would you reassure her heart that Your timing is the best? I pray for her to sense Your grace and peace while she waits. Open her eyes to see where You’re working while she’s waiting. Amen.

 

Listen to Barb’s devotion here or on your favorite podcast app!

A Mother’s Day of Love and Grace

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Mother’s Day can stir up so many different emotions — joy, gratitude, grief, longing, and everything in between. It’s a day set apart to honor the incredible gift of motherhood, whether we’re walking the beautiful, challenging journey of being a mom ourselves, or remembering the precious mothers who shaped us.

For those of us blessed to be mothers, it’s a sacred calling. In Psalm 127:3 (NLT), we read, “Children are a gift from the Lord; they are a reward from him.” What a privilege it is to hold this sacred role in our families. As mothers, whether by birth, fostering, or adoption, we have the unique opportunity to guide, love, and nurture those entrusted to us — both in the everyday moments and the big milestones.

But we also know that Mother’s Day isn’t always a celebration of joy. For many women, it’s a reminder of what’s lost — whether it’s the loss of a mother, a child, or the longing for motherhood that hasn’t been realized yet. Isaiah 61:3 (NLT) promises, “To all who mourn in Israel, he will give them a crown of beauty for ashes, a joyous blessing instead of mourning, festive praise instead of despair.”

Our Heavenly Father sees the ache in our hearts and gently holds us, offering comfort, grace, and hope.

This day is about more than just honoring those of us who mother. It’s about honoring the women who have mothered us — biologically, spiritually, or in the countless ways they’ve poured into our lives. To have a mother is a gift. To be a mother is a calling. Whether we are mothers by birth or by choice, whether we grieve or celebrate today, God sees us in all our complexities. He meets us in our joy and in our sorrow.

So, dear sister in Christ, if your heart aches on this Mother’s Day, know that you are loved, seen, and cherished — not just by those around you, but by the God who holds you close. Whether your role today is to celebrate or to grieve, you are not alone.

We walk this journey together, with the hope that one day, the tears we shed will be replaced by the fullness of joy found in Christ alone.

May you feel God’s love wrap around you today, offering you the grace to honor this day, whatever it holds.

 

How to Hold Onto Hope in the Midst of Loss

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My mother’s battle with breast cancer began when I was only fifteen years old, and ended just three years later. Her loss shook the very foundation of my faith. I grew up in an environment where bold declarations of healing were the norm. In every prayer meeting, we fervently proclaimed, “You will live and not die” (John 11:25–26 NIV). We recited these words as if they were a lifeline, convinced that they meant my mother would be rescued from the clutches of disease. Without question, we made that verse say exactly what we wanted to hear — that she would be healed and spared from suffering.

Yet, as her condition worsened, a disquieting truth emerged. Despite our heartfelt prayers, one crisis followed another. Though our declarations of faith never wavered, my mother’s physical decline was undeniable. In those charged moments, I felt not conventional sorrow, but an electrifying expectation — a fierce belief that God’s power was about to burst forth. And yet, as days turned into weeks, that anticipated miracle never came.

I remember the day I left her hospital bed after yet another long vigil. I was in the shower when my phone rang; the nurse’s urgent, almost somber tone cut through the steam: “Come now, don’t drive alone, and call your closest family.” In that moment, I knew this was not a call about a testimony of healing. It was a final, inevitable goodbye.

My mother’s last breath was soft and quiet. A single in, then out — and she was gone. In her final days, she murmured to each visitor that God needed her in heaven, a message I once dismissed as the babbling of a mind fading under pain.

In the aftermath, I was haunted by questions. Did God truly hear our cries? Why didn’t our prayers yield the physical healing we so desperately longed for? These questions led me into long, honest conversations with God, as I spent countless hours in prayer and Scripture, seeking answers in the quiet. I grappled with disappointment and the painful gap between our unwavering declarations and the reality we faced.

It was during those intense moments of reflection that a transformative revelation began to emerge: God’s mission is not primarily to heal the body, but to mend the heart. The grueling journey of sickness became a setting for overdue conversations of forgiveness and reconciliation. I recall overhearing intimate exchanges at my mother’s bedside — confessions, expressions of forgiveness, attempts at mending fractured relationships. In those raw moments, I witnessed a different kind of miracle unfolding. My mother was not being restored to physical strength; her heart was being cleansed and prepared for a final, sacred transition.

The words of 2 Corinthians 4:16–18 became my lifeline: “Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all.” I began to understand that while our bodies are subject to decay, the inner renewal — our emotional and spiritual healing — is continuous. For us, the promise of “living and not dying” isn’t about escaping physical death; it’s a declaration of eternal hope, a hope that our deepest wounds will be transformed into a testimony of God’s enduring grace.

I invite you now to reflect on your own experiences. What promises have you held onto that didn’t turn out as expected? How do you reconcile the gap between what you believed should have happened and what actually unfolded? I share my journey not to dwell on pain, but to open the door to a deeper unboxing of unrequited faith.

My journey through grief taught me that every trial, every unanswered prayer, holds the potential for an unseen miracle. It demands that we face our disappointments, ask the hard questions, and allow God to lead us toward inner renewal. I learned that my mother’s legacy was defined not solely by the decline of her body, but by how her heart was purified through forgiveness and reconciliation. In that purification, she discovered a new kind of life—a promise that echoed into eternity.

This is not about your theology of healing. It’s about releasing the expectation that God must immediately fix every broken piece. It’s about embracing the slow, mysterious process of inner restoration. When you open your heart to honest inquiry, you may find that every trial is an invitation to experience a transformative grace to dig deep and sift through the pain.

The declaration we once recited so fervently, “You will live and not die,” was not an empty promise; it was an expression of our deepest hope — a hope that continues to renew our hearts for an eternal destiny with Christ. Perhaps that is the greatest miracle of all.

I pray you find comfort in the midst of your own trials and that your journey from grief to grace reveals the hidden blessings of embracing God’s love, even when it defies earthly expectations. Let every disappointment become a call to deeper, transformative grace. A grace that leads not to a denial of pain, but to a new understanding of what it truly means to live amid and even after pain.

Sharing Is My Favorite

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Three friends and I huddled around a small outdoor table on a beautiful, crisp spring day. It felt like a small miracle that our busy schedules aligned on a Tuesday afternoon.

When our food came, we all oohed and ahhed over what each person got, as girls do. The fluffy homemade sandwich bread, the creamy cilantro lime dressing, the special-order chicken salad — everything looked so good. Especially my friend’s iced coffee. When I asked what kind it was, and she said an almond milk latte with cinnamon, my eyes lit up.

“That’s my favorite!” I exclaimed excitedly. “I actually thought about ordering one.”

“Do you want some of mine?” my friend asked.

“No, that’s okay,” I said, not wanting to impose. “Plus, I only drink decaf. But thanks.”

“Oh, it’s decaf! Here, let’s get an extra cup and I’ll pour you some.”

“Are you sure?” I asked, worried she was offering out of obligation.

“Of course,” my friend said. “Sharing is my favorite!”

I thoroughly enjoyed my iced almond milk cinnamon latte and salad that day. I loved the fresh air and sunshine. It was a true gift to have a leisurely lunch with girlfriends I treasure — friends with history and with whom both depth and laughter are easily accessed. It was a great day.

But weeks later, what really stuck with me was my friend’s genuine, joy-filled declaration: Sharing is my favorite.

Have you ever heard anything more wholesome or kind?

And here’s the best part: she meant it and she lives it!

Half a latte wasn’t a one-time act of generosity. It’s her way of showing up in the world and loving people. This friend of mine let me shop her closet before going on a trip, has fed my family too many times to count, buys thoughtful gifts, loans linens when I have people come to visit, let my very stinky teenage sons come over to shower when our power and hot water was out, and even gives me things from her home that I admire. Once, I swooned so much over a teeny tiny ceramic pitcher with the sweetest birdie on it that she immediately washed it and gave it to me — with joy!

Yes, she is a unicorn, and yes, I hope everyone is so lucky to have a friend like her.

But the greatest gift isn’t just a cute sundress to wear on vacation or benefiting from her culinary skills. The greatest gift is that I see and experience the love of Jesus.

My friend beautifully demonstrates how we were all meant to live: Christ-centered and others-focused. It’s the way of Jesus.

Paul writes, “Don’t be selfish; don’t try to impress others. Be humble, thinking of others as better than yourselves. Don’t look out only for your own interests, but take an interest in others, too. You must have the same attitude that Christ Jesus had” (Philippians 2:3-5 NLT). (Read this whole chapter in The Message version — I know you’ll be blessed!)

So, how do we have the same attitude as Christ? How do we cultivate a heart of joyful generosity like Jesus?

View everything you have as God’s. People who are radically generous (regardless of how much they have) understand that God is the owner and they are merely faithful stewards. When we shift our perspective from ownership to stewardship, our grip on resources loosens and joy increases.

Trust God with your plenty and your want. The widow in Mark 12 gave her two coins — everything she had — because she trusted God. Jesus pointed out her courageous obedience as an example of greater generosity and surrender than those who gave more.

Don’t wait to be generous. Don’t wait till your bank account is comfortable or your ducks are in a row. Don’t wait until loving feels easy. Give from what God has already entrusted to you.

Pay attention. Look up. See the people around you. Listen to the needs and desires of others. Ask God to make you a conduit of His kindness and generosity, right where you are.

Be the friend (or neighbor, spouse, coworker) you long to have. Maybe you long for a friend like mine. Maybe you’ve never been on the receiving end of joyful generosity. Be the friend you long to have. “Love your neighbor as yourself” is the second greatest command in the Bible — and for good reason! Think about how you want to be loved, then go do that for someone else.

Jesus said, “It is more blessed to give than to receive” (Acts 20:35 NLT). I think this reality is why sharing is my friend’s favorite thing. She knows that giving is a soul blessing for her as much as it is for others.

Do you see that latte, those earrings, your couch, or your time as the Lord’s? Everything you have is a good and perfect gift from God. Ask Him who He wants to bless through you today. And when the opportunity comes? Respond with joyful generosity.

Imagine how the world would look different, how people would truly know Jesus, if we all made sharing our favorite.

 

Listen to Becky’s devotion here or wherever you stream podcasts.

Come, Sister: Come to the Altar

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It’s been a while since I’ve gone to the altar for prayer.

I could give all the backstory, justify all the reasons, and make up all the excuses. But, the fact remains — my prayer life, lately, has become purely private. That is, until this past week when a crisis came upon my family. I’m trembling even as I write this, tears forming despite my wildest efforts to suppress them, push them down until my face is tidy and tells the world that I’m fine, just fine.

If I could tell you the story, I would. But, truth is, it doesn’t take much imagination to meet me in the valley of my sorrow, because I know you have your own valleys of sorrow.

Valleys where you’ve had to vacate the place you call home.

Valleys where death has touched and taken life from your loved ones.

Valleys where violence has shattered any sense of safety you felt.

Valleys where struggle is the only sight your eyes have seen.

Valleys where loved ones have left and never returned.

Valleys where sickness has seeped into your story.

Valleys where hope is far from the horizon.

Valleys where your world has broken because . . . fill-in-the-blank.

Just a few Sundays ago, I walked into church, my heart pounding against the cage of my chest. I spread a thin smile across my face like a veil, a curtain drawn to hide the horrors held within my heart. But the Holy Spirit sees the hurt and hopelessness we try to hide — and the heart of the Father is moved when we are found fragile, fragmented, and frozen in fear.

I wanted to hide my hurt, but God wanted to hear my heart. And, so, God did what only God can do. God tapped on my shoulder, whispered in my ear, put a flame beneath my feet, and moved me to make that first step towards the altar. The invitation to step forward for prayer was like a call I couldn’t ignore, like God’s finger on my chest, pointing precisely to the place where fear and pain swelled, where trauma and tears swirled into a new color, a new kind of grief.

I walked up and received prayer. You know — that hands-laid, tears-flowing, snot-dripping, Spirit-filled, truth-whispered-in-your-ear kind of prayer. I fought the instinct to carry my cares all by my lonesome. I chose, instead, to cast my cares upon the Lord and into caring community.

I don’t know how you feel about prayer or what you believe about the practice of it. I don’t know if you pray in the pages of your journal or when, if ever, you’ve last gone to the altar for prayer. I don’t know about the horrors you’re holding inside your heart, or the lies you are fighting as you navigate life, loss (all little and large), and love. Perhaps hope is exhausted and patience has waned. Maybe the cares you cradle are too complicated to categorize. Maybe the situation is so uncertain that it’s unutterable, it’s all too much to make it make sense to anyone else, much less to yourself.

While there’s a lot I don’t know about your story, this one thing I do know: The altar can be a place to access the truth that we cannot, at times, ourselves recall. Through prayer, we can be reminded that nothing is unfathomable for the Father. By pouring out our hearts and having our hearts poured into, we can be reminded that no person is too far gone, no need is too great, no wound is too deep, and no fear is too strong for the love of God.

Come, sister. Come to the altar. Let church be now — on your computer (or phone) and in the comments. Let every typed word be the casting of your cares upon the Lord and into caring community. If you’re carrying a burden, relinquish it. If you’re worried about a loved one, say no more and simply speak their name. If you’re in need of provision, make it known.

Come trembling, come tired. Come filled with fears, come with longing and tears. Come with feeble faith, come broken and unsure. Come with a well of words, come speechless. Come doubting and in denial. Come angry and defeated. Come crying, come crawling.

Let God point precisely to the place where fear and pain swell. I’ll be here, hand in God’s, hearing your heart’s every ache, and praying with and for you in the comments.

Come. 

 

Listen to Rachel’s devotion here or wherever you stream podcasts & share with a friend.

How God Sends Hope When the Waves Won’t Stop

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A few years ago, as winter melted into spring and beauty bloomed all around, I packed a suitcase and my sadness and flew to see friends.

The trip was on the calendar long before grief swept in turning the technicolor of spring to black and white. The shock and vibrancy literally springing up outside didn’t match the shock and devastation inside, but everything was already planned so I flew across the country with a carry-on — confusion suddenly coloring everything: every old memory, every future hope, and every current unknown.

I showed up holding my breath, certain the women were (and are) trustworthy and kind… but on the heels of a loss I didn’t choose or want, I arrived with both: a genuine smile and a broken heart.

What was up had crashed down, spring felt like winter, and in the midst of so much that wasn’t right, I was left with tears running and my hands full of questions.

That is, until one morning a voice gently said, “Kaitlyn, open your hands. You’ve poured out for a long time. It’s our turn.”

Only two of the women knew the details, but they sent out a group SOS on my behalf. It was the most beautiful blindside. A pile of Truth to speak to the lies. Rachel prayed and I wept as page after page, envelope after envelope landed in my open palms. And the two who understood the whole story quietly whispered, “They don’t know. We didn’t say. But we all wanted you to have something to hold onto until the storm stops.”

Despite not knowing the details, my friends offered their words like buoys of hope and anchors of truth, each one its own lighthouse in the deep and in the dark. After we all returned home, I read one card each day. When I finished, I started reading them all again from the beginning. Their words were manna in a storm that continued to rage.

The words mattered (matter), but more than that, it was the community saying, You’re safe and beloved, we see and we’ll stand here holding your arms until it’s all said and done.

In Exodus 17:9, with the Israelites under attack, Moses does something wildly unexpected. “Choose some of our men and go out to fight the Amalekites,” he said to Joshua. “Tomorrow I will stand on top of the hill with the staff of God in my hands.”

Scripture says that Moses and two of his friends, Aaron and Hur, climbed the hill. “As long as Moses held up his hands, the Israelites were winning, but whenever he lowered his hands, the Amalekites were winning. When Moses’ hands grew tired, they took a stone and put it under him and he sat on it. Aaron and Hur held his hands up — one on one side, one on the other — so that his hands remained steady till sunset” (Exodus 17:11-12 NIV).

The minutes slowly ticked by. Sweat dripped. His friends found a rock, a place to rest while the battle continued. His muscles spasmed. Perhaps doubt began to whisper, loneliness drawing near as Moses watched from afar. But then, suddenly, the weight was shared, the load lighter, the heaviness lifted as his hands were held by friends who stayed near, standing by his side and shouldering the pain.

His hands remained steady till sunset.

It’s in this place that Moses built an altar called The Lord is my Banner.

For me, it was a couch in a hotel room, hands open and held up by friends who offered the gift of words in the wilderness, every card a reminder that I wasn’t alone in the chaos before me, each woman pointing me toward the One who is good and kind and faithful in every storm.

I wish, after all this time, I could say that the sun set and the battle ended and now everything feels like spring. I wish I could paint a picture of beauty from ashes, new life growing in the place of loss.

The truth is, I have a pile of cards but there’s no beautiful bow on my story. Not yet, anyway. The storm was cruel and the waves haven’t hushed. I’m drenched through but still standing, heartbroken but hands full.

The truth is, there may not be a bow on the way, at least this side of eternity. I hate that, so very much, for me and for you. But if you can, friend, open your hands. The God of abundance is a Good Father, a Great Friend, familiar with storms, and able to provide manna in all shapes and forms.

May these last lines from the pile of cards be that for you today. Tear off a piece. Pass it along. God won’t run out.

You are held and chosen. No one, no circumstance, nothing can make those truths untrue.

You are deeply loved and seen by Christ. And: you aren’t alone.

Keep clinging to hope. The garden of your life will surely grow new blooms.

—

A few weeks ago, we all gathered again. This time, I packed two cards in my carry-on, knowing the roles would soon reverse as we stood around the two women who planned that first beautiful blindside, filling their hands with words to carry into the coming days. Sometimes, our friends hold our hands up. Sometimes, we get to be that friend. But always – always – our friend Jesus remains, a faithful banner of love over every season, present in every storm.

 

Listen to Kaitlyn’s devotion here or search “(in)courage” on your favorite podcast app!

Own What Is Most True

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“Speak, Lord, for Your servant is listening.”
I Samuel 3:9

About a decade ago, I could’ve convinced anyone that I was thriving. I was happily married, I was writing and performing my own music, I was leading worship — my dream job. But I knew I wasn’t living in freedom.

In every room I stepped into, I was afraid to stand out in any way. Every time I’d take the stage, I felt like I was hitting a wall. Instead of just taking inspiration from other artists, I was constantly comparing myself to them. And no matter how I “performed” or how people responded, in my mind, I’d always come up short. This often left me feeling like a fraud, or even worse, a failure. As God opened my eyes, I came to see that so much of my potential was being stunted by my fears.

Consider what fear does to us.

If you spot a herd of buffalo stampeding toward you, your body is designed to explode with fear. That surge of adrenaline fuels you to run for your life. God created us with emotions for our good. Fear, sadness, anger, and joy are the body‘s way of communicating something we need to know. Fear, sadness, and anger are all natural responses to trauma and pain. But when the hurt is allowed to fester, when we don’t face our pain, those same feelings can turn on us and begin to bully us. That’s where I was. Rather than facing the messiness of my past, I tried to ignore it, and it turned on me.

In Life of the Beloved, Henri Nouwen writes, “Every time you feel hurt, offended, or rejected, you have to dare to say to yourself: ‘These feelings, strong as they may be, are not telling me the truth about myself. Even though I cannot feel it right now, the truth is that I am the chosen child of God, precious in God’s eyes, called the Beloved from all eternity, and held safe in an everlasting embrace.’” Nouwen’s holy words were an invitation to me to own my inherent belovedness. They set me on a path to discover my identity as a beloved child of God.

We’re all trying to figure out who we are, right? I think too often we write the “good parts” about ourselves in pencil and the “bad parts” in pen — or in thick permanent marker. We look in the mirror, and we own all the ways we believe we’re not good enough. We don’t simply hear them and let them roll off our backs. Instead, we treat them as gospel truth.

The reality is that we are all pilgrims on a journey. We have not yet arrived; we are works in progress. We are sinners who will make some mistakes and take some hits. But we fear that these shortcomings define us. Rather, the core of our identity is that we are loved by God. Period.

Maybe, like me, you’ve been living in fear. One woman looks in the mirror and hates what she sees staring back at her. One man catches his reflection in a storefront window and worries that his bad choices will destroy him. A child living in a chaotic home tries to be good so that he or she won’t be left alone. Sometimes we don’t even notice that we’re allowing our fears to drive us.

I’m still on the journey to embrace my belovedness. Every day, I have to make the choice to believe the truth of who I am and to reflect the glory that God has put in my life.

Nouwen’s invitation to me all those years ago — to embrace the fullness of my belovedness — is the same one I want to extend to you. Romans 11:29 tells us, “For God’s gifts and His call can never be withdrawn” (NLT). You were not made to be owned by your fears. Rather, the unalterable and undeniable truth is that you were created, from the beginning, as beloved. It’s who you are. And nothing could ever take that away.

God, as You show me my heart, I can see how I’ve allowed fears to own me. Help me to find myself in You. Remind me that my feelings, and the thoughts that spring from them, do not define me. Only You can define me. And You say that I am Your beloved, chosen child. I am precious in Your sight. And from the beginning of time, I have been Yours. Lord, be with me on this journey. Teach me how to embrace my belovedness daily. Open the eyes of my heart, and open my ears to hear Your voice, that I might embrace the truth of who I am: Beloved. Amen.

Questions to Ask Yourself:

  • Do I know, in the depths of my heart, what it is to be beloved?
  • What are the lies, beliefs, or thoughts that are bullying me?
  • What is owning me today?

—

We all have an inner voice that tells us we’re not worthy of love, especially God’s love. Our flaws, fears, and mistakes fill us with guilt and shame. But Sarah Kroger’s song and new devotional, Belovedness, is a reminder that it’s the heart of God to pursue and embrace His people — no matter our history, because He has reconciled us to Himself! Sarah’s book, Belovedness: Overcoming Your Inner Critic, is based on the lyrics of the song and includes devotions, selected Scriptures, prayers, and insights from Sarah that will walk you through the process of defeating your critical voice and accepting God’s unfailing love.

Silence your inner critic with the affirmation of God’s deep, sincere love for you.

We LOVE this special lyrical devotional, and we think you will too… so we’re giving away FIVE copies*!

To enter, just leave a comment answering one of Sarah’s questions above.

Then tune in to the (in)courage podcast this weekend to listen in on a conversation with Becky Keife and GMA Dove Award-nominated artist, songwriter, and worship leader Sarah Kroger. Their conversation will bless you for sure!

 

*Giveaway open to US addresses only, and closes on 5/11/2025 at 11:59 pm Central.

How God Uses Our Willing Hearts, Not Our Résumés

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I recently received an invitation to write for a respected and well-known Christian ministry. Just as humbled and honoured as I was when I was invited to be a part of (in)courage, I sat at my desk, re-reading the email in disbelief. I was asked to submit a couple of my pieces for their review so I could be considered for the contributor team. Much like the excitement and nervousness I experienced when I was invited to join (in)courage, it took me a while to fully grasp this new invitation.

Why me? 

In all transparency, I often struggle with inadequacy and impostor syndrome regarding opportunities like this. The only writing I have done in the past includes shopping lists and notes for teachers, if those count. My knowledge of literature and writing is limited; I am unfamiliar with many books, authors, genres, and topics that commonly arise in conversations with other writers. 

But there I sat at my laptop, fingers eagerly poised, ready to dance across the keyboard to compose new writing samples. But I typed and deleted, typed and deleted, trying to recall all the messages the Lord had placed in my heart to share – the insights He reveals to me during our moments together at my kitchen table as I pray and study His Word. But why couldn’t I recall them? Why weren’t the words flowing like they do when I discuss powerful readings with my mother-in-law as she washes the dishes or when a revelation from the Lord touches my heart and brings me to tears?

It was quiet, but I was not ready to give up!

I sat there for a few hours, curating a beautiful devotional. It included all the required elements based on the given parameters, and I felt satisfied. And then, I didn’t. I started deleting, adding, and rearranging words, but nothing sounded right.  Tired and frustrated, I passionately closed my laptop and called it a night!

I lay in bed, fed up and confused, my eyes refusing to close. In the safety of the room’s darkness, I quietly wept, asking, “Why, Lord? Why is this so difficult? Why would you present this opportunity if you know I’m not good enough?” As my tears soaked the pillow, I prayed and fell into silence. 

It’s fascinating what occurs when we become quiet. 

My mind began to drift back to my high school band days. I played the flute but secretly wanted to play the clarinet — not for any practical reason, but simply because, as silly as it sounds, I wanted a reed and that charming little pink case it came with. Yes, the reed and that pink case!

As I reflected on the reed that night and the following day, the Lord spoke to my heart regarding the article I attempted to “curate.” 

He said, “Ligia, you are to be my mouthpiece. The reed may seem insignificant and useless to those who aren’t musicians, but it plays a crucial role in the melody produced by the instrument. Yet, without the reed placed in the instrument’s mouthpiece and without the breath of the musician flowing through it, it serves no purpose. The reed cannot create on its own what it was designed to contribute as part of an instrument that requires breath to function.”

“Ligia,” the Lord continued, “This instrument symbolizes the task I have assigned you, the places and spaces I have invited you into; you are the reed. I have placed you precisely where my breath can flow through to create what only I can impart to you through the Holy Spirit.”

That was it. I had been depending on my limited abilities, thoughts, and inspirations. I made it about myself, and the truth is, apart from Jesus, I can do nothing.

At that moment, the Holy Spirit met me gracefully and brought me to 1 Corinthians 1:26-31 MSG. 

“Take a good look, friends, at who you were when you got called into this life. I don’t see many of “the brightest and the best” among you, not many influential, not many from high-society families. Isn’t it obvious that God deliberately chose men and women that the culture overlooks and exploits and abuses, chose these “nobodies” to expose the hollow pretensions of the “somebodies”? That makes it quite clear that none of you can get by with blowing your own horn before God. Everything that we have — right thinking and right living, a clean slate and a fresh start — comes from God by way of Jesus Christ….”

God doesn’t choose us because we are flawless individuals who meet every requirement or because we are “the brightest and the best.” He chooses us because He sees what we often fail to see in ourselves: a willing heart, a genuine love for Him, and a desire to honour Him and bring Him glory despite our imperfections. We are to be His vessels.

Today, I encourage you to be a reed. Allow the Lord to place you precisely where His breath can move through you. As you inhabit the spaces entrusted to you, fill the air with His love and glory for His divine pleasure, remembering that apart from Him, we can do nothing.

 

Listen to Ligia’s devotion here or wherever you stream podcasts.

Holding Tight to What’s Good

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9 Don’t just pretend to love others. Really love them. Hate what is wrong. Hold tightly to what is good. 10 Love each other with genuine affection, and take delight in honoring each other. 11 Never be lazy, but work hard and serve the Lord enthusiastically. 12 Rejoice in our confident hope. Be patient in trouble, and keep on praying. 13 When God’s people are in need, be ready to help them. Always be eager to practice hospitality.

14 Bless those who persecute you. Don’t curse them; pray that God will bless them. 15 Be happy with those who are happy, and weep with those who weep. 16 Live in harmony with each other. Don’t be too proud to enjoy the company of ordinary people. And don’t think you know it all!
Romans 12:9-16 NLT

Life feels really heavy sometimes, doesn’t it? With so much division, heartache, and unknowns swirling around us, it can be tempting to let our hearts grow cold or closed off. But God gives us a different way — a better way — to live and love, right here in Romans 12.

He invites us to a love that’s real. Not surface-level, not obligatory, not “love” just because it sounds nice — but a love that digs deep, shows up, and truly cares. A love that holds tightly to what is good even when the world around us feels anything but good.

And notice, it’s not all about big, flashy gestures. It’s about steady faithfulness.

  • Work hard.

  • Serve God with passion.

  • Be patient in trouble.

  • Keep praying, even when you don’t see the answer yet.

  • Practice hospitality — not only when it’s convenient, but because people need to know they’re seen and welcomed.

  • Bless even those who make your life difficult.

  • Celebrate with the joyful. Sit in sadness with the grieving.

  • Stay humble. Stay teachable. Stay connected.

This isn’t just an instruction manual for surviving hard times — it’s a guide to thriving with a heart that looks more and more like Jesus.

Friend, we’re in this together. You’re not expected to do all of this perfectly or all at once. But every small step of real love, every choice to honor, serve, bless, and pray — it matters. It shapes us. It shines light into dark places. And it brings the Kingdom of God a little closer here on earth.

Let’s Pray:
Take a moment today to ask God to root these words deep in your heart.
Pray for strength to love well, even when it’s hard.
Pray for hope to keep going when you’re tired.
And as a special step of encouragement, pray for the person who commented before you.
May we hold tightly to what is good, together.

Even in the Silence, He Is There

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The world didn’t stop. It kept turning, kept moving forward, as though nothing had changed. But for me, everything had.

I remember stepping outside that tragic morning, my heart shattered beyond words. My neighbor stood in his yard, watering his flowers, exclaiming about what a beautiful June day it was. I could barely comprehend his words. How could anything be beautiful in this moment? My voice came out flat, almost detached from the reality crashing around me: “Well, my son just died, so I don’t know how beautiful a day it is.”

I wasn’t trying to be harsh. I was trying to grasp the weight of what had just happened — what it meant for our family and how it would change everything . . . while, for my neighbor, life carried on as usual. The stark contrast was almost too much to bear.

Grief has a way of making everything around you feel distant, like you’re watching life from behind a thick pane of glass. You see it, but you’re not part of it. You exist in a different space — one that is heavy with sorrow and filled with deafening silence.

The silence was the hardest. The absence of his cries — though I could still smell him, see his clothes, his toys, his things — swept over me like a crashing wave, ready to drown me. And, quite frankly, I secretly wanted to succumb to it. There was a tangible void, a gaping hole in my heart that I didn’t think could ever be whole again, could ever beat the same, function the same. The space where his laughter should have been . . . it all pressed in on me, suffocating and inescapable. Even my prayers felt swallowed up in the void. I would whisper my son’s name, cry out to God, but all I got in return was silence.

Had God forgotten me?

I had always believed in God’s presence, but grief has a way of testing even the deepest faith. If God was with me, why did I feel so alone? Why did my prayers seem to go unanswered? How was I even supposed to pray through this kind of pain? What does one say to the Almighty when the weight of loss makes it hard to breathe, when words fail, and all that remains are broken sobs and silent pleas?

Tears were the only words I could speak. And, yet, even in that silence, He was there.

It wasn’t in a loud, dramatic way. There was no booming voice or parting of the sky. But slowly, quietly, He met me in the stillness. It was in the way a friend sat beside me, offering no words, just presence. It was in the soft whisper of Scripture that surfaced in my heart: “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit” (Psalm 34:18 NIV). It was in the gentle peace that, over time, softened the rawness of my sorrow.

God wasn’t absent. He was mourning with me.

Over time, God started healing the ravaged and broken pieces of my heart in a new way; a way that would never be the same — not the same perspective, not the same attitude toward time spent with loved ones, not the same way I saw problems and disappointments. God began to take my old heart and make it new, different, stronger, braver, bolder, and forever impacted.

I think of Mary and Martha when their brother Lazarus died. They had sent word to Jesus, but He didn’t come right away. When He did, Martha met Him with questions, while Mary fell at His feet in sorrow. And Jesus — before He performed the miracle, before He called Lazarus from the grave — wept.

He didn’t rush their pain. He didn’t tell them to move on. He stood in the silence of their grief and He wept with them (John 11:35). The Savior of the world, God in flesh, mourned alongside those He loved. Such grace that He does the same for us.

God doesn’t just see our grief — He knows it. He willingly gave His only Son to die for us, to suffer in our place. And while I will never fully grasp the depth of His sacrifice, I know the pain of losing an only son. That realization shifted something in me. God, in His love, bore the unbearable to redeem us, to bring hope, to ensure that death would not have the final word.

Grief isn’t something we walk through alone. Even when God feels silent, He is still present. He is in the quiet moments, in the tears we cry in the dark, in the arms of those who hold us when we have nothing left to give. He is the God who weeps with us, the God who stays.

If you are in that place of silence where the world moves on while your heart still breaks, take heart. Even in the silence, He is there. We do not grieve as those who have no hope (1 Thessalonians 4:13). The empty tomb tells us that death does not have the final word, that sorrow is not the end of our story. And, until the day we see our loved ones again, we can rest in this truth:

The One who conquered death is still holding us in the silence.

 

Dear (in)courage sisters, as Mother’s Day approaches, we share this guest devotion in hopes that you feel seen by God. No matter what Mother’s Day means to you, whether your expectations are met with joy or you feel the ache of disappointment, may His comfort wrap around you. Feel free to share your story in the comments — we’d love to encourage you.

If You’re Looking for Jesus, Let it Go

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“Let it go,” the princess croons. “Can’t hold it back anymore.” If you were parenting (or grandparenting) in the early 2010s, that refrain likely echoed through your house or your minivan. For years, my kids twirled through the living room, belting out their adorable (albeit off-tune) renditions of the catchy ballad with full-bodied joy.

I used to think it was a song about glittery snow and fierce independence. But these days, I hear something deeper in the chorus — an invitation to release what’s weighing me down so I can move toward the One who lifts me up.

Not long ago, I sat in a quiet pew while my pastor led us through John 18. We were entering Holy Week, moving toward the garden where Jesus would be betrayed. We read about soldiers and torches. A kiss of betrayal. And then these haunting, holy words from Jesus:

“I told you that I am he. If you are looking for me, then let these men go.”
John 18:8 NIV

The pastor spoke of Jesus’ steadfast love in the face of violence and fear, setting the stage for what was to come. But as I sat in the stillness of that sanctuary, something stirred. It wasn’t audible. But it was real. I sensed the words bend toward me. It was almost as if the Spirit turned them inward and whispered: “If you’re looking for me, Kayla… let it go.”

I don’t know how to explain it exactly, except to say this:

Sometimes, through the mystery of the Living Word, God meets us in the very words we thought we already understood. And something new is revealed — not changing the text, but changing us as we encounter it again.

That morning, I had walked into church herding my (slightly older but still wild) kids, and holding tight to a recent hurt. I’d replayed it all in my mind: my need to be right, my desire to be seen. I had no intention of releasing it or forgiving those who had inflicted pain.

But in that moment, I knew: If I was looking for Jesus, I needed to let them —let it— go.

What is the Spirit inviting you to let go of?

So many of our attachments tangle themselves into our identity. We confuse the burden we hold with who we are. But here’s the deeper truth:

You are never more fully yourself than when you are with the One who formed you from the dust — the One who is whispering a thousand resurrections into your life, if only you’ll look and let go.

Scripture is full of sacred invitations to release what is not ours to hold, full of reminders that if we’re looking for Jesus, we don’t need to do anything else except surrender (in other words… let it go).

  • If you’re looking for Jesus, let your need to be right go.
     “In humility, value others above yourselves…” (Philippians 2:3)
  • If you’re looking for Jesus, let your guilt and shame go.
     “There is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.” (Romans 8:1)
  • If you’re looking for Jesus, let your bitterness go.
     “Forgive as the Lord forgave you.” (Colossians 3:13)
  • If you’re looking for Jesus, let your fear of the future go.
     “Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you.” (1 Peter 5:7)
  • If you’re looking for Jesus, let your thirst for control go.
     “Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding.” (Proverbs 3:5)
  • If you’re looking for Jesus, let the weight of the past go.
     “See, I am doing a new thing!” (Isaiah 43:19)

I wonder… what do you need to let go of?

If your arms are full of resentment, of fear, of self-sufficiency, you won’t be able to receive the embrace of the One who longs to gather you close, to shelter you beneath His wings (Psalm 91:4). But when you move toward Jesus and let go of what you’ve been clinging to that hasn’t been serving you, you experience freedom. (And you’ll be able to extend that freedom to others, too.)

When Jesus stood in the garden, He was fully aware of what was coming. He still stepped forward. He didn’t resist. He didn’t run. He surrendered so others could be free.

And now, through the mystery of the Living Word, I wonder how it might reorient our hearts to remember that the One who spoke then still speaks today.

“If you’re looking for me… let it go.”

If Jesus made Himself known to the very people who mocked, maligned, and murdered Him, don’t you think He’ll make Himself known to you?

Jesus moves toward. Toward the hurting. Toward the searching. Toward you.

Letting go might feel like a loss. But Jesus tells us something mysterious and wild: Loss leads to life.

He tells us this in Matthew 16:25: “Whoever wants to save their life will lose it, but whoever loses their life for me will find it.”

Resurrection begins in the quiet of surrender. The empty tomb, the very center of hope, was once a place of letting go.

If you’re looking for Jesus, you’ll find Him. You might just have to let a few things go.

Imagine Jesus whispering to you: “Dear one, are you looking for Me? You just need to let ____ go. I’m here. I always have been.”

What are your arms full of today? What might God be inviting you to release? What might it look like to let go? 

If this stirred something in you, you might enjoy Year of Breath, Kayla’s free weekly newsletter of breath prayers, reflections, and soul care for the journey.

 

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

Prayer in the Era of Self-Help

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“I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.”
John 16:33 NIV

When things go wrong, my first instinct isn’t always a posture of prayer. Instead, I often adopt a posture of self-help. I act as if my theology is something along the lines of, “I’ve got this,” instead of, “God’s got this.”

You might not say it out loud, but deep within you, you might be thinking, “God is great and all, but if I want something done, I’ll have to do it myself.” And let’s face it, so many of us have poured out our hearts to God, only to feel like our prayers were just an echo in the darkness.

I found myself falling into this way of thinking recently when one of my children was facing a particularly difficult challenge that had us all in tears. I sat awake many nights in a row devising plans to “fix the problem.” I thought about ways to confront, correct, or control what was happening.

One morning, after a particularly long night, I was studying a verse in John. “In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world” (John 16:33 NIV). I kept looking at the tiny, three-word exclamation in the middle of that verse: “But take heart!”

Jesus didn’t say, “Take matters into your own hands.”
He didn’t say, “Take control.”
He said, “Take heart.”

Taking heart is not a posture of self-help. It’s the posture of humility. Indeed, it’s the posture of prayer. Prayer is the acknowledgement that we’re not running the show — God is. It’s a way of saying, “I trust Your ways more than mine, Lord.”

One prayer really can change everything, so don’t underestimate the power of your prayers. Don’t fall for the lie that your prayers have to be said a certain way to count. Don’t give up asking. Not now! God hears you, and no prayer is ever, ever wasted. Ask and ask again because even when our prayers don’t change our circumstances, those prayers are changing us.

Don’t give up now. You are never as powerful as that moment when you fall to your knees in prayer.

By Jennifer Dukes Lee from the (in)courage devotional journal, 100 Days of Strength in Any Struggle.

The Glory of Cheering Each Other Onward

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Last spring, my daughter decided to try track and field. In our city, there’s a large community program where the kids participate in all kinds of events, competing alongside others in their age group in a not-too-competitive way. They get ribbons for each event, up to 6th place. No kid is left behind, and they all learn so much. It’s pretty great.

So my girl signs up, and we all go to her first track meet. She’s doing the baseball throw. She’s doing hurdles! And then, they call her name to run the 800-meter. If you, like me, don’t speak sports, the 800 is twice around a standard-size track. TWICE. Running! Maybe it’s the non-athlete in me, but that is a long run… and she was, at the time, a little 8-year-old second grader.

She stepped onto the track all smiles and took off. For a while, she held her own. And then, as she started her second lap, in the way that only a mom could see from across a set of bleachers, a football field, and a really long track, I saw her start to fade. First, her smile turned into more of a grimace. She tried to keep running, but then, clutching her side, she started to walk. As every other runner finished ahead of her, leaving her alone on that last lap, she began to cry… and so did I.

I felt so helpless watching her struggle. I couldn’t do a single thing to help her besides cheer my loudest, which was hard to do with tears on my cheeks and a lump in my throat. I turned to my husband and asked, “How are we supposed to watch this? I can’t bear it!”

And then.

I saw her coaches, who had been cheering her on from the middle of the track, beeline towards where she was limping along. Coming up beside her, they kept cheering, shouting her name, and telling her they believed in her! She could do it! She was gonna make it!

I saw her fellow second-grade teammates follow the coaches, pumping their fists and hollering, “You got this, girl! You can do it, I believe in you!” and running right alongside her. They layered themselves inside the track, and then more kids from other teams joined them, yelling encouragement and waving and making sure she kept going.

I saw my girl keep pushing along that track. I saw her spirit buoyed and her heart bolstered. I saw her start to laugh through her tears. I saw her press on.

And then she crossed that finish line with such joy and pride. Her teammates swooped around her, jumping up and down, and her coaches clapped, and her mom just kept crying in the stands, because there were so many lessons happening in real-time and it was just too much:

  • We are never alone.
  • We are never truly left behind to endure by ourselves.
  • There will always be someone one step ahead of us; even if we want to be where they already are, we need to run our own race as they pave the way.
  • Encouragement is indeed a superpower.
  • We can feel big feelings and let them propel us to action.
  • We are capable of more than we know.
  • Girlfriends really are just the best!

I mean. Take your pick of the lessons that were on display during that moment, and most of them go back to the glory of cheering someone across the finish line.

Throughout our lives — and throughout the Bible — we see story after story of the power of simply showing up for someone. Friendship, support, and encouragement can truly change everything.

Elizabeth cheered on her young, pregnant cousin Mary, and together they carried babies who would change history. Ruth clung to Naomi when they had no one else, making the road ahead less frightening and opening the door to a new future. Jesus chose misfits and outcasts for His inner circle, and changed their lives in countless ways with just an invitation to follow Him.

We see verse after verse about friendship, encouragement, and how to love one another well:

“Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.”
John 15:13 NIV

“Keep on loving each other as brothers and sisters. Don’t forget to show hospitality to strangers, for some who have done this have entertained angels without realizing it!”
Hebrews 13:1-2 NLT

“Friends love through all kinds of weather...”
Proverbs 17:17 MSG

Look. I know we all have our moments. We all have our opinions. And right now, there’s a solid sense of us versus them in the world. But we are created to help. To run beside someone having a hard time. To cheer from wherever we stand. To encourage others when they feel most depleted, offering our strength for the taking.

There are so many ways to be there for one another.

Who can you run alongside and cheer on to the finish line? What goal do you need to keep chasing? Is there something you’re enduring through gritted teeth? How can you empower someone coming up behind you in age or stage?

PS: My daughter decided to do track again this year — and has not yet run the 800 again. Also, in case you were wondering, you bet we went out for ice cream to celebrate after that track meet.

 

Listen to Anna’s devotion below or wherever you stream podcasts. Just search “(in)courage”!

Rest, Recharge, and Renew Your Mind

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Need a recharge in your life? So did our (in)courage writers. While our writing team was together earlier this week, each writer received a copy of this new Devotional Crossword Book: Renew Your Mind. We’d love to share an excerpt with you today! May your heart be recharged and renewed.

We’ve all experienced the ill-timed red, flashing “2% Battery” notification on our phones, reminding us to charge our device soon or else it will no longer work properly.

Feeling drained of energy can have the same effect on our souls. Our bodies and minds were not meant to operate on high levels of stress without renewal. They are trying to “notify” us when we get sick, when we are irritable with friends and loved ones, and when our thoughts are spinning wildly — especially at 3:30 a.m.! We need to recharge regularly, or we simply won’t be effective in the life God has for us.

Not only do we usually need more sleep, but we need REST. Psalm 23:2 (NLT) says the Lord “lets me rest in green meadows.” I love the idea that God LETS us rest! Often, we think we need permission, don’t we?

Even Jesus broke away in nature to recharge, rest, and talk to His Father. If Jesus needed time to renew His focus and His body, then certainly we can and should. Rest is not only good; it was God’s idea.

What recharges you? Perhaps a walk outside, breathing fresh air, brings renewed focus. Sometimes adjusting your schedule from too many commitments can bring about more peace and less “frazzle.” Maybe a cup of chamomile tea and a crossword puzzle help you unwind after a stressful day. Listen to your body when it lets you know its battery is getting low.

Be kind to yourself because God cares about you.

In the Devotional Crossword Puzzle Book: Renew Your Mind, the process of solving crossword puzzles becomes an opportunity for meditating on Scripture and important biblical concepts. Each entry is focused on renewing the mind, with themes such as Replace, Remember, Refresh, Restore, Recharge, and more.

With 36 insightful devotions and thought-provoking crossword puzzles, the Devotional Crossword Puzzle Book: Renew Your Mind will help you reconnect with the Source of true peace and joy. Solving each puzzle gives you moments to reflect on God’s Word, letting eternal truths sink deep into your soul.

Get comfy, grab a pencil, and get ready for your heart to be inspired, your spirit to be refilled, and your mind to be renewed! 

We LOVE this devotional puzzle book, and we think you will too… so we’re giving away FIVE copies*! To enter, just leave a comment below.

*Giveaway open to US addresses only, and closes on 5/2/2025 at 11:59 pm Central.

When Your Identity Has Been Hacked

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I picked up my daughter-in-love’s phone call. “I think you need to check your blog. Your website has been hacked.”

I raced to my laptop and pulled up my blog, Balancing Beauty and Bedlam.

“No, NO, NO!!!!” I screamed. My daughter scrambled down the stairs. “What’s wrong, Mom?”

Plastered across my blog pages were unknown pictures accompanied by a foreign language. Remnants of my original site were still there, but my entire livelihood had been taken over by an identity thief. A decade’s worth of stories stolen. I attempted to log in, but my password had been changed and the liars renamed it as their own.

Right out from under me, a master manipulator bulldozed his way into my life and uprooted decades of memories and milestones. In full-on panic mode, my body responded in a visceral way.

Why would someone do this to me? Who can I call to help right this wrong? I felt violated, angry, helpless, and foolish. I didn’t know where to turn. It took months to unravel that violation and devastated the income my family relied on.

Identity thieves are crafty, cunning, and quick. They examine our weaknesses and know exactly how to exploit them. While I’ve installed safeguards that alert me to fraud, the attacks have continued through the years — but I’m prepared now to fight back.

Many of us can relate to that panicked moment when something precious has been stolen. It may not be a blog hack, but perhaps a wallet or social security number. Maybe your Facebook or email account was hijacked, and you found yourself held hostage by deception.

When that occurs, we spend hours, even weeks, alerting people to the fraud. We show multiple forms of proof of who we really are. We track down expenses, close accounts, and shout from the rooftop that’s not our true identity.

When our identity is finally restored, money returned, systems secured, and passwords reestablished, we regain access to the freedoms and security we had lost. Then our anxiety lifts and relief floods in.

I still remember when my first hack occurred, how I spent all my energy fighting back against this invisible enemy until my identity had been secured. Yet I can’t remember the last time I fought that hard against the most cunning of all identity thieves. Why don’t we put that same effort into exposing Satan’s strategies?

There are two realms. The seen and the unseen. The physical and the spiritual. Good vs. evil.

Jesus reminds us, “The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full” (John 10:10 NIV).

Yet we allow Satan to boss us around. He bullies his way into our hearts and minds, planting seeds of doubt, deception, shame, and inadequacy because his whole desire is to steal our true identity and discount our esteemed value as beloved daughters, image bearers of the Most High God.

Last week, our young adult daughter fell victim to an elaborate identity scam.

“You have no idea how believable it was, Mom. They knew years of my personal information. They knew all of my history. I was exhausted and my guard was down.”

Torn between rage at the thief and frustration that we so easily fall prey to lies, I realized the difference between my blog hack years ago and our daughter’s identity theft: She pleaded for help to fight this battle.

In full momma bear mode, I knew how these counterfeiters worked. I understood the opponent’s ultimate goal and stepped into battle on her behalf. We laid down truth and put up guard rails together.

Friends, we must learn to fight back against the devil’s schemes with the same dogged determination. Satan knows our struggles and focuses on our past sin patterns. He wants us to live in our flesh and replay past hurt.

As we wrestle with doubt, the enemy will mimic our voice. He’ll say things to us in a way that sounds like us. A young mom shared an example of this with me: “My husband deserves someone more whole and healed. I can’t conquer [past struggles]. I’m never going to be the mom our son deserves.”

I stopped her, identified the first-person lies Satan taunted her with, and told her that this was not God’s truth for her life. I said out loud as a reminder to both of us that our new birth in Christ is what determines our identity. When we name Jesus as Lord, the gift of the gospel is that God restores our identity as His children. How dare we give the enemy an inch when we have the indwelling, life-giving, enemy-crushing, abundant freedom of new life.

Satan has no hold on us — but when it comes to dealing with all identity thieves, complacency is not an option.

Peter talks about having “minds ready for action ” (1 Peter 1:13 CSB). In the original Greek, the verb is continuous and active, meaning this isn’t a one-time effort. It’s a daily commitment to stay alert and to keep preparing our minds for the challenges and battles we’ll face along the way.

Are we rooted in the truth of Scripture? Do we have others to come alongside us? Are we stretching our minds by becoming critical thinkers? All those are necessary to be battle-ready.

Our daughter now pays $10 a month to a company that alerts her to fraud. A small price for freedom.

Don’t we all desire to live in the true freedom that Christ offers? Then together, let’s agree to fight back against Satan’s identity theft.

 

Listen to Jen’s devotion here or wherever you stream podcasts.

By the Creator Who Doesn’t Make Mistakes

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Sister, lean in close and hear this today:

You are not invisible. You are not forgotten. You are not too much.

You are fully seen, completely known, and deeply loved by the God who made you.

That’s not a warm and fuzzy sentiment; it’s a sacred truth woven into the fabric of Scripture. Psalm 139 invites us to behold a breathtaking picture of how intimately God knows us — not just the curated version we let others see, but the real us. The overwhelmed us. The grieving, tired, insecure, struggling, striving, doubting us. All of it.

“O Lord, you have examined my heart and know everything about me.
You know when I sit down or stand up. You know my thoughts even when I’m far away.”
Psalm 139:1–2 NLT

He knows our thoughts before we think them. He sees our decisions before we make them. He hems us in, behind and before, and lays His hand upon us. This is not a God who stands at a distance. This is a Father who stays close.

Sometimes we feel lost in our own lives. Like everyone else got the map, the purpose, the clarity — and we’re fumbling in the dark. But Psalm 139 reminds us: God’s light is never dim. Even when the path feels hidden, even when sorrow clouds our vision or anxiety presses in, we are never out of His sight. And never without His care.

“I can never escape from your Spirit!
I can never get away from your presence!
If I go up to heaven, you are there;
if I go down to the grave, you are there.”
Psalm 139:7–8 NLT

Friend, you are not alone in your struggle. Whatever season you’re walking through — whether it’s full of joy or full of tears — God is right there. Nearer than your breath. His presence is your anchor. His promises are your firm place to stand.

And it gets even more personal:

“You made all the delicate, inner parts of my body
and knit me together in my mother’s womb.”
Psalm 139:13 NLT

The same God who hung the stars took the time to knit you together. You weren’t mass-produced or haphazardly formed. You were crafted — intentionally, wonderfully, purposefully. Yes, even with the parts of yourself you wish you could change. Even with the weaknesses that wear you out. Even with the story you didn’t ask for. You were made with care and love by the Creator who doesn’t make mistakes.

So take heart today. You are God’s daughter. Not by accident, but by design. Your identity isn’t found in your performance or popularity or how put together you feel. Your identity is rooted in the One who made you, sees you, and will never stop pursuing you with goodness and mercy.

Let’s stop striving to be someone else and start living in the freedom of who we already are in Christ: known, chosen, seen, and held.

You don’t walk alone.
You never have.
You never will.