God Isn’t the One Stressing You Out

God Isn’t the One Stressing You Out

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Earlier this year I started working at the library. Immediately, time began moving faster.

When customers check out books, in most cases they have 28 days before the books are due back at the library. This means that every time I check out a book for someone, I hand it back to them and say (for example), “This will be due back on September 15th.”

And every single time our due dates slip into the next month, I feel it like a punch in the gut.

So many things make it hard to keep track of time, and so many things make time feel like it’s moving faster every day. Job changes, growing children, pandemics, vacations — good and bad things all steal my sense of time, yanking it right out of my hands.

After working part-time (and mostly from home) for a dozen years, I transitioned into a full-time position at the library this month. Now, on top of being reminded that September is right around the corner, just a quick book check-out away, my calendar is fuller than ever.

In the weeks leading up to this new position, I considered the changes coming my way, my evolving relationship with time, and my struggle to fit in all the things at any cost. That’s when I began hearing a voice in my mind chanting: “Redeem the time, redeem the time, redeem the time.”

Cue the anxiety! Cue staring at the ceiling when I’m supposed to be sleeping, staring out the window when I’m supposed to be writing, staring at my phone when I’m supposed to be present with my family, staring at my calendar, and wondering why I can’t breathe.

(Apparently, my version of anxiety comes with a lot of staring.)

That voice I heard urging me to stop wasting time, urging me to make another list, create a menu of quick, healthy meals, read more to my kids, focus on my new job, and find time to get on the treadmill . . . I thought that voice was God. I thought God was reminding me of Scripture that encourages us to make the most of the relatively little time we have on earth.

“Be very careful, then, how you live — not as unwise but as wise, making the most of every opportunity, because the days are evil.”
Ephesians 5:15-16

I thought, for a while, that God was stressing me out. Or, more accurately, I thought He was making His expectations clear and exhorting me to work harder to meet them — no matter how hard it would be.

But that’s not how God works or who He is.

While He is perfect, God is not a perfectionist who expects us to be perfect. He knows well that we cannot be! He knows our limits and rather than hate them (or hate us for them), He promises to love us and help us. And when He reminds us that our days are short and advises us to redeem the time we’ve been given, He’s not dropping an oversized backpack of responsibilities over our shoulders. He’s not chaining us to a calendar or to-do list or some ideal version of ourselves while pointing to a ticking clock. He’s offering us a hand up, a light yoke that shares the burden. He’s offering us relief — from the rapid passage of time, from the ever-growing list of expectations we subscribe to, from the belief that we must make everything priority-one and cram it all into 24 hours a day.

No matter how open or full your calendar or to-do list is, I suspect you might have heard that chant of “redeem the time” as well. But when it comes to our time and how we use it, I think God is offering us more than a warning that the time is short.

He’s reminding us to walk in wisdom and to be intentional with our resources. He’s reassuring us that the troubles and anxieties of this world won’t last forever. And He’s encouraging us to let go of the things that don’t matter in order to make room for the ones that do. Most of all, He’s reaching toward us in love to hold up our arms when they get tired and to bear the weight of all our concerns.

If you find yourself hearing a little (or a loud) voice chanting, “Redeem the time,” and it feels like a judgment or a threat or a kick in the shins, remember who God really is. He is our Creator and Father, the One who knows everything about us and how much time (and energy and ability and motivation and perseverance) we actually have. He is the One who loves us unconditionally and who promises to lighten our load, not multiply it. And right now, whether it feels like our days are dragging or flying by, He is constantly and actively redeeming our time and us.

“Israel, put your hope in the Lord, for with the Lord is unfailing love and with him is full redemption.”
Psalm 130:7

 

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5 Things to Know When You Open the Door to an Empty – or Emptier – Nest

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While doing the pivotal work of figuring out which spaghetti sauce to buy in aisle 8 at the grocery, I turn when a voice to my right says, “Well, hello, Kristen!”

I smile when I discover it’s a good friend I haven’t seen in a while. After hugging her and exchanging pleasantries, I ask, “Hey, isn’t your Bella starting kindergarten soon?”

Her face falls ever-so-slightly. “Yes, and Kristen? I am not okay that my youngest — our baby girl — is starting kindergarten!”

I smile sympathetically, knowing full well the bittersweet stage this is. I smile because I know that fifteen years ago, I said the same thing when my own daughter, the youngest in our family, headed to kindergarten. It felt like a definitive end of a season for our family and the turning of a page towards a new chapter — one I wasn’t ready to embrace.

It felt like parenting’s first leap of letting go.

Last August, I experienced another, bigger leap of letting go when we dropped that same baby girl, our Faith, off at college. That wasn’t our first rodeo at sending a kid to college. However, it was our first rodeo doing it with the baby of the family. And, unlike her older brothers, she chose to go to school out-of-state in Texas, and that fact brings another new-to-us layer to this transition.

When I returned home to Colorado after taking our daughter to college for the first time, I timidly walked into our entryway. Because it felt right as rain to do so, if not a little nonsensical, I called out “Hi, Faaaaaith! I’m home!” as I’d done many times before. Naturally, silence from the empty house answered me. And naturally, I dropped my bags, hung my head, and cried my eyes out.

And I secretly wondered if my best years were in my rearview mirror.

Today, exactly one year later, I find my emotions have simmered down a good deal, and I don’t get nearly so teary over our baby bird flitting from the nest. Oh, it still happens from time to time because I do miss my kids’ daily presence. But the last year has shown me several encouraging truths that have helped me through this transition.

So, if you find yourself about to open the door to an empty (or emptier) nest or it breaks your heart just a bit to think about this impending season, I share the following to comfort and reassure you too:

1. The way you feel right now won’t be the way you feel forever. Your kiddo launched — it’s okay to have some sadness mixed into your emotions. Go ahead and feel the loss. One day, though, you will walk by your kid’s bedroom and not burst into tears. A new normal will set in and feel like home to your heart too.

2. You’ve probably missed teaching your kids stuff, and that’s okay. Listen, we all have!  While teaching and mentoring opportunities will continue to arise, it’s also true that if a lesson is important enough for these kids to learn, they’ll learn about it in the school of life. Whether we’re the parents of 2-year-olds or 22-year-olds (or older kids still), God fills the gaps and gets our children where they’re supposed to be.

3. Your way of communicating with them will be different but good. I’ve read that “doing life” with adult kids is like learning a new dance. You and I are likely to step on our kids’ toes (and vice versa!) as we learn the new steps. Yet, with open communication and an ever-ready willingness to apologize, you will get the steps down while enjoying their company.

4. Find your friends. Moms with grown kids need mom friends with grown kids — or friends who are sympathetic and understanding to this life stage. Period. Find them, make time for them, and feel like your pants fit better after talking with them.

5. Your kids will always need you. No, they won’t need you exactly as they have before, but you can bet your kid’s tuition payment that they’ll still need you (and not just for money). Their needs will just look different in this new season.

While it’s possible for a sentimental gal like me to romanticize the past, this last year has shown me how it’s possible to experience the future more fondly than I anticipate. And it’s no wonder, really, when we consider Ephesians 1:18:

“I pray that your hearts will be flooded with light so that you can understand the confident hope he has given to those he called—his holy people who are his rich and glorious inheritance.”

If you’re in the same life stage as me or within spitting distance of it, take heart: God promises us a wonderful future. Eventually, the changing nest will feel less new and more familiar. There is much good to look forward to in the years to come.

In the meantime, it’s my prayer that the Lord shows you tailor-made signs of His goodness here today. And tomorrow, may He show you that sure as the kids will bring their laundry home, good things exist beyond goodbyes.

If you’re the mama of a recent graduate who’s flitting from the nest, Kristen has written The Changing Nest: A Devotional for the Mom of the Graduate just for you.

 

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How to Make Room for Your Big Dreams

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I was never much of a natural planner.

When I was younger, planning meant coming up with wild ideas, taking a leap, and waiting for a net to appear. (“Let’s put on a show!” or “I’m going to start a new business!” or “Let’s go to Disneyland this weekend! I’ll drive!”) Oh, the things we can get away with when we are young and have boundless energy.

But that same impulsiveness did not serve me well as a mom with two kids who needed to be at school and dressed all on the same day.

So instead of impromptu wild adventures, my days were filled with trying to catch up on the life that other women seemed to manage without all the drama. They were able to shop for food and cook on the same day. They could get to work wearing clean clothes.

I was the woman who broke speed limits to get my son’s Lincoln costume to the first grade Civil War presentation, (then threw his stovepipe hat on his head from across the room as he was walking onto stage).

Planning ahead always felt like a waste of time because there was so, so much that needed to happen right this minute and so many things I was already behind on.

I used to think that being prepared was just for the hyper-vigilant, super-organized, on-top-of-it people in my life. None of those terms were ever used to describe me.

But I’ve learned that when you plan things in advance (sometimes, what feels ridiculously so…),  there is a lot less catching up that needs to happen. Almost every area of life starts to feel less panicked, less worrisome, and less fear-filled.

Some people like to do a lot of advance planning because they love knowing that things are taken care of or it brings them great comfort to know what their lives will look like a year from now.

But I’ll tell you the only reason I really ever learned to plan in advance:

Pain avoidance.

By planning in advance, I can avoid a last-minute scramble to make plans work, which usually involves galvanizing my team (or my family) and staying up late at night to avoid missing a deadline.

Five years ago, my husband and I moved from Silicon Valley, where the seasons almost never impact day-to-day life, to a red house in the middle of a forest in the Sierra Nevada mountains, where the seasons are real — and if you don’t plan ahead, they’ll try to kill you.

Living in the red house made it easy to see that planning and being ready could not only help us avoid pain, but also give ourselves some of the greatest gifts.

Want vine-ripened tomatoes in July and August? Put “start tomato seeds inside” on your March calendar now.

Want to avoid an extra hour-long trip to the feed store? Buy more chicken scratch when you’re down to just one bag; don’t wait until you’ve run out (and have grumpy chickens staring you down).

Want to secure the best vacation instead of settling for whatever times are left over? Planning in advance lets you reserve the good RV spot next to the river instead of the one next to the public bathrooms.

And here is the beautiful thing — all this planning allows more time for dreaming.

I had to squash down my dreams for so long because I was never in a place to make anything out of them. But now, dreaming mixed in with a little bit of wisdom is my new recipe for planning; with enough planning, so much of our lives stop being limitations and start becoming a reality.

It is great to dream. Necessary, in fact, to do anything big. With the wisdom we get from God, committing our plans to Him, not only can our dreams happen, they can flourish.

“Commit to the Lord whatever you do, and he will establish your plans.”
Proverbs 16:3

As someone who tended to play catch-up most of the time, I never let myself dream about what I wanted because I was so busy hustling for what I needed. Now, I’m living my dream in a big red house in the mountains — who knew that learning how to plan would result in me being an accidental homesteader?

—

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Pick up your copy of The Accidental Homesteader… and leave a comment below to enter to WIN one of five copies*!

Then tune in this weekend for a bonus episode of the (in)courage podcast as Kathi talks with Becky Keife about The Accidental Homesteader!

 

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*The giveaway is open to U.S. addresses only and closes on 8/27/23 at 11:59 pm central.

When You Begin to Live with the End in Mind

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I wrote my own eulogy. 

It’s inked in a small black leather notebook, all the things I could hope people might say about me at my funeral. Or at least, what I could think of. 

What struck me was how none of the things I wrote down were accomplishments. I’ve spent so much of my life wanting to achieve big things, wanting to do something great, wanting to dazzle and impress and amaze. But when I sat down to think about what I could hope someone might say about me after I die, it was nothing about what I’d done. It was only about who I hope to someday become – kinder, braver, more present, more prayerful, more like Jesus. 

In February, a woman from my church texted me. She’d been diagnosed with an aggressive form of cancer and asked if I’d come to visit her each week until she died. The doctors estimated she had a handful of months left of her life here on earth. I told her the truth: I’d be honored to walk alongside her in the valley of the shadow of death.

We began meeting each week for an hour or so. First, at the hospital. Then at her home. She talked about planning her funeral. We talked about forgiveness and heaven and eternity. We talked about falling in love and she told me stories of growing up on a farm. 

On a day when she wasn’t feeling well, when she was tucked in her bed, and I was in a chair beside her, she looked at me with tears in her eyes and asked me, “What if I missed my purpose?” 

“What do you mean?” Tenderness swelled inside my heart. 

“I’m worried I missed my purpose. What if I didn’t do what God wanted me to do?” 

I thought for a moment. “I think our purpose is to love God and to love others in a way that shows them who God is. You’ve done that for me. I am confident you’ve done that for others. You have loved God, and you have loved others. You haven’t missed your purpose at all.”

Tears streamed down her cheeks. “No one has ever said anything like that to me before,” she whispered. Tears streamed down my cheeks, too. 

As I drove home, tears still dripping, I began to cry out to God. I was thankful and sad all at once. I felt my heart expanding as I kept getting to know this woman. She was facing death, and with it, questions about life that many of us rarely find the courage to ask out loud.

As I prayed, I felt the Lord so tenderly remind me of what matters most in life: not that I become impressive, but that I love people well. 

Something changes when we begin to live with the end of our lives in mind. Who might you hope to become? What might you hope someone says about you? How might you live your purpose of loving God with all your heart, soul, mind, and strength, and loving people in a way that shows them who God is? 

The more I follow Jesus, the more I begin to understand that His invitation to us is not simply behavior modification; it’s a life so intertwined with Jesus that we become like Him because of how we are with Him. 

The invitation is to be with Jesus before we ever do something for Him. But how many of us do the opposite? We can spend our whole lives doing things for God and we miss out on all the ways He simply wants to be with us. 

I wonder if you might write your own eulogy. I wonder if you might notice how loving someone is so much more important than becoming impressive. And I wonder if we might all take up Jesus on His invitation: to be with Him before we ever do anything for Him. 

 

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Transitions, Streetlights, and Growing Boys — Oh My!

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There’s nothing like noticing the streetlights switch on while simultaneously watching the sun as it sets. When this happens, I catch the air in my lungs—a wisp I might miss. The sun sets and the streetlights switch on every day, but the change always takes me by surprise. Transitions do this, don’t they?

I was reminded of this, recently, while sitting next to my eleven-year-old son on our couch. Every so often, I peeked up from my book to glance at him snacking from a container of peanut butter pretzels and reading The Lord of the Rings. The loud munching and rustling of pages turning seemed to ring out like a symphony that sang of his size. His limbs looked gazelle-like, despite how he sat scrunched, shirtless and in basketball shorts. My son never looked so…old, I thought.

I know seasons in life don’t stay the same. And yet, sometimes, these shifts and changes catch me off-guard. Like this moment with my son? Not only was I caught off-guard, but I was knocked down. A lightbulb went off in my head as I realized what I was seeing and sensing — this kid is growing.

When it comes to parenting, it feels like I’m entering the land of the unknown. I’m venturing into the land of never-ending friend hang outs (which have replaced the occasional play dates), awkward conversations about body changes, and the incredible need for deodorant. No one warned me that my little kids would someday grow up and turn into tweens. Now I’m stuck here wondering, When did I become a mom to an older kid?

So often in my parenting, I’ve relied on 2 Corinthians 5:7, “For we live by faith, not by sight.” This verse encourages me when I have no idea what’s to come or what to expect. Especially when it comes to raising new tweens . . . because I’m entirely out of my league. I used to think that living by faith meant I could see what was coming up or have some understanding of what to do. But having faith does not mean we will have answers. Instead, maybe it’s a call to embrace Christ’s comfort in the midst of whatever many come.

Transition is uncomfortable. Even small, daily changes can feel nothing short of shocking. I know change is supposed to happen, but I’m never ready for it. I’m never ready for the hard questions or prepared for the moments when I’ll have to let go — like sending my son off to his first away-from-home-in-another-state summer camp experience. I’m not ready for any of it.

A little bit of us dies off when we change and grow. And, yet, Paul writes in 2 Corinthians 4:16 about how we are not only continually changing and “wasting” away on the outside but, paradoxically, how we are also growing and being renewed . . . inwardly.

We can’t expect all things to stay the same. Daylight will always transition to twilight — streetlights will eventually flicker on, and little boys will grow into young men. Yes, change is to be expected. But the beauty of all this constant change is that God is with us in all of it.

For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.
2 Corinthians 4:17-18

For now, I’ll welcome the fact that the streetlights will always turn on when the sun sets. I will trust that God is with me in every momentary change — even when I don’t know what’s coming next. Instead of staking my identity or security on knowing what is to come, I will rest in the comfort of God’s eternal presence.

I’ll also load up on more peanut butter filled pretzels . . . just in case!

When You’re Desperate for a Swap

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“I will turn their mourning into gladness;
    I will give them comfort and joy instead of sorrow.”
Jeremiah 31:13

When we are in a season of mourning or when we’re weighed down by sorrow, it’s easy to believe life will always be that way. Grief can feel like a led blanket we’ll never be able to take off. Sadness and heartbreak and discouragement can feel like a dark cloud blocking out every glimmer of goodness.

God knows these feelings and experiences are real . . . but He also knows they are not the end of the story!

We serve a God who can (and will!) turn our mourning into gladness. He WILL give us abundant comfort and joy in place of deep sorrow.

You can confidently trust His promise today!

 

The Joyful People We Need to Pay Attention To

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Jesus called the children to him and said, “Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these. Truly I tell you, anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it.”
Luke 18:16–17

Every time I’m in a worship service and the song leader suggests we raise our hands in praise, I cringe. I get a little sweaty and my mind starts racing.

What is wrong with you?
Why can’t you raise your hands?
I know. I should raise my hands. I want to. I do. But . . .
What if I look weird? What if they notice?
It’s just not like me. I’m not a raise-your-hands kind of girl.
You mean you’re not a praise-the-Lord kind of girl?
Just. Raise. Your. Hands.
Ahhh! It’s not a big deal, but it feels like a big deal!
Isn’t it enough to tap my foot?
Is this song ever going to— oh good, it’s over now.

Growing up in a small-town, traditional hymn-singing church, it never even occurred to me to raise my hands during worship until I witnessed my friends doing just that in college. in fact, closing my eyes while belting out my favorite songs was as expressive as I got back then— and even that felt out of place.

One Sunday, though, my internal debate was interrupted by my five-year-old standing next to me. As soon as she saw me notice her raised hands, she wanted to talk about it. “Mommy, why aren’t you holding your hands up? Look! I’m holding up my hands for Jesus! You do it too, Mommy!”

So for once, I did the thing that my heart often longs to do but that feels so awkward and even scary: I raised my hands.

The specific way we worship isn’t the point. The point is that for years I’ve ignored the urge to let go and worship the way that expresses my true feelings. I’ve remained content to worship half-heartedly because what others might think was more important to me than what God has placed in my heart and what I long to say to him.

For my daughter, though, it was so much simpler than that. She heard the worship leader suggest we raise our hands, she felt joy as she sang about Jesus, and she raised her hands up high to express all those things.

Just like that.

Oh, to be courageously joyful like a child!

People worship God in so many different ways. Expressing our love and gratitude and joy in the Lord shouldn’t be about how we look or following a set of rules. And yet sometimes we can feel intimidated or embarrassed when it comes to worship.

But do you know who never seems to feel self-conscious or reluctant to share their true feelings? Children.

When children sing songs to and about the God they’ve been taught loves them, their unblemished, unabashed joy cannot be contained. Without filters or fear, they jump and sing and dance their praise to the Lord, never afraid of what the kid jumping and singing and dancing next to them might think. Why can’t we do the same?

Jesus knew we could learn much from observing little children. in Luke 18:16–17, he urged his followers to be more like children.

Raising your hands, dancing, or singing at the top of your lungs is not necessarily more holy or joyful than other styles of worship. Perhaps you feel more connected to God when folding your hands, kneeling, or even spending time in nature. Worshiping God with courageous joy simply means responding to God in the way he created you to be in relationship with Him, rather than allowing your expressions of joy to be affected by fear, uncertainty, or perceived expectations.

Think of a child you know or perhaps imagine your younger self. Can you picture her dancing and twirling through the temple courts as described in Psalm 100, singing with delight— smile wide and eyes bright— at the sheer anticipation of being in God’s presence? Watch in your mind’s eye as the Father wraps His child in a huge embrace.

That is the wonder of God’s love.

That is the joy available to us today because we know our hope and salvation are secure in Jesus (John 10:28).

God, I love You so much! I do. When I think about how much You love me — enough to come to earth, live a sinless life, and die for my sins so we would no longer be separated — I want to shout it from the rooftops! I can’t contain my joy — or at least I don’t want to. But sometimes I don’t know what to say, or I’m afraid of looking foolish in front of others. Will You give me the courage to share my joy with abandon — before You and before others? Thank You, God. Amen.

 

Devotion by Mary Carver, adapted from Courageous Joy: Delight in God through Every Season

Living with courageous joy is both breathtakingly simple and beautifully complex. What if you could find joy in every circumstance you face and to share it with everyone you encounter? You can! Get a free week and learn more about the Courageous Joy Bible study!

Love Is Long-suffering Like Lotus Flower Seeds

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My friend Aundi gave me a beautiful pair of lotus flower earrings a couple of months ago. I marveled over them when I took them out of the box, and she, smiling, said, “You know the significance of a lotus, right? How they grow through the mud and bloom anyway, and then do it all over again?”

I’ve always admired the beauty of lotuses, and loosely knew of their significance and tie to many Asian cultures, but until that moment, I didn’t know how hard they worked to bloom and rebloom. I didn’t know what they had to grow their way through.

Weeks later, I was on a walk in our suburban neighborhood and gasped. One of our neighborhood ponds was covered in what looked like bright pink lotus blooms or water lilies. I walked closer to observe them. They were glowing orbs of perfectly pink petals with yellow in the middle. If I looked closely enough I could see below the flowers and their pads. Each flower was connected to a long brown stem reaching through the murky, stale water.

Once I was home and had a minute to myself, I googled, “lotus flower and water lilies.” My enneagram 5 wing kicked into high gear as I collected information, noting their similarities. The influx of information fueled my wonder even further. Our neighborhood flowers are lily pads, but the differences between the two kinds of flowers are hard to distinguish.

Nelumbo nucifera. Kamala. Hoa Sen. Liánhuã. Lotus. In Korean culture, braised lotus root, yeongeun jorim, is often served as banchan. I’ve eaten it alongside of kimchi and other side dishes without realizing what it really was, or what it had grown through, and what kind of flower it grew and regrew before ending up part of the table spread.

Nymphaeaceae. Sesen. Nape. Monet’s beloved flower. Lily pad. I took in the varied names and deep cultural significance these flowers have had all over the world for centuries. Their sights and stories have been called sacred, and yet, they found me, a middle-aged woman on a walk, taken by their weekday sermon found in a suburban retention pond.

Both flowers have roots that reach through the mud and dark water, blooming beautifully anyway, sinking back into the dark, then resurrecting by day, again and again.

Right now, I wake up some mornings and wonder how long an ongoing situation will remain. Without words, I feel myself asking, “Is anything going to be different today? Will I have to push through the things I’d rather avoid, again and again? Will it ever get better?” And like the Psalmists long before me, “How long, oh Lord?”

Maybe you know those questions in an intimate way right now, too. Maybe they cloud your waking, or wake you in the night like they do for me, making your days cloudy. But God has been reminding me of the lotus and the lily pad. These living messages of hope, resurrection, beauty, and new mercies are sprinkled and placed throughout the world in neighborhoods and nature spreads alike. They have been speaking sermons, shepherding weary hearts, and even feeding bellies across the world, for centuries. They hold a piece of the truth of our belovedness in their created blooms.

God wrote love and mercy into the pages of Scripture and into the flowers and wind and trees. There’s no murky water too dark or too deep or too dirty for God’s love to take root. There’s no light or warmth too far from the layered depths of loss we find ourselves swimming in. Whatever thing you’re losing hope for, whatever ongoing struggle you face day after day, God’s mercy is moving alongside of you and will not leave.

I read that while a lotus seed may germinate, grow, and bloom in a few months’ time, it can also lay dormant for thousands of years before blooming. Can you imagine? The next time you see a lotus, it’s possible that bloom has waited a long time to become what you see. Let it be a love letter from God, for your weary heart.

“God’s loyal love couldn’t have run out; his merciful love couldn’t have dried up. They’re created new every morning. How great your faithfulness! I’m sticking with God (I say it over and over). He’s all I’ve got left.” Lamentations 3:22-24 MSG

 

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Let’s Confidently Seek the Stillness

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I declined the invitation.

It was a dream speaking invite to lead a women’s retreat at a camp in Colorado. In the autumn. On my birthday weekend! I could bring my daughter to sit at a table with my books, sharing this sweet experience with her. I could connect with dozens of women who had taken to the mountains to meet with Jesus, ready to be refreshed and refueled by His presence and friendships. So many of my favorite things, and yet I hemmed and hawed for weeks over the details.

It’s been so long since I’ve spoken at an event; how do I start to shake off the dust on my speaking shoes? (Um, that’s both metaphorical and factual. I actually do have specific shoes I wear to speak!) How will I fit in my full-time job, prep for a full weekend of teaching, get my kids to all their summertime and early fall activities, and you know, sleep? What if my stories are outdated, dusty as my shoes? But what if I say no – how sad and disappointed will I be when that weekend comes? Will I regret my choice?

In the end, I declined and told the sweet program director that despite my excitement and delight over the invitation, my life right now just isn’t built for the kind of preparation and travel it would take to do an excellent job. It used to be; there were years when I clocked dozens of speaking engagements near and far! But these days, my life is quieter.

I’ve set my Instagram profile to private, protecting a modicum of peace (at least against spammy followers). My Facebook is pretty locked down too, and I’m picky about friend requests. I’ve deleted dozens of photos and taken entire albums offline in the same way I spring-clean my home, quieting and cleaning the nooks and crannies. Even my beloved blog is un-updated — old posts sit dormant and comments stay un-replied to. What kind of author makes herself outdated, more difficult to find, and quieter online?

Me. I do. Because I did the hustle thing and it’s exhausting. My life runs better when it’s quieter.

And even though I know that a quiet life is a better life (for me!), with each keystroke (or lack thereof) and ‘no’ that quiets my online life, I wonder if I’m still legit. Do I still count as a writer if my books are seven and ten years old? Am I still successful if I don’t build up a Substack subscriber list or worry about my engagement on posts or play the algorithm game on Instagram? Is it still OK to have dreams dangling out there on the horizon, waiting patiently for me to glance at them? Am I still a gifted communicator if I turn down speaking opportunities, like the one for this fall?

I’m really, actually, wholly happy in the quieted life I’ve purposefully built. And yet, imposter syndrome strikes.

Conversations remind me that others are striving for (and reaching) goals much grander than mine. My self-worth wavers as I see the likes spiking on others’ posts. And it trickles down to my family too. My kids play rec and community sports. They’re in non-competitive dance and gymnastics. We stay in every Friday night, together, with pizza and a movie. Our life is loud with six of us in one small house, full of dishes and homework and football equipment and crayons and toys and a dog. So we quiet it in other ways, and I wonder if my kids ever feel less than, in the same way I can when the likes roll in on others’ posts.

Then I remember the life Jesus seemed to live.

How He spoke to and met thousands in His ministry, and yet was constantly trying to slip away to quiet places. How He admonished loud, prideful, street corner preaching and advocated quiet prayer behind closed doors instead. How He looked to the ones bowed low at His feet, and told the louder others to take a hint.

And I think perhaps Jesus knew something that we, in our live-out-loud, post-it-all, like-counting culture, can easily forget: quieting makes space for more.

More connection. More peace. More open-handedness. More time. More room in our calendars, hearts, and homes.

As a collective, we’ve started talking about slowing down, reiterating how hustle and hurry often aren’t conducive to a peaceful life. But I think we can include quieting in that same category.

Listen, it’s not always easy. Saying ‘no’ almost always comes at a cost. But I’m hard-pressed to believe that we’ll regret the open spaces on our calendars and the little bit of extra breathing space in our souls.

Jesus knew exactly what He was modeling and what He needed when He confidently sought the quiet.

So here’s your freedom to decline the invitation. Make the account private. Fill up the donation box with the dusty shoes, and quiet the corners of your life that feel too loud. Then sit with me and let’s breathe a sigh of relief in the stillness we so confidently sought.

 

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7 Ways to Love a Friend When You Know She’s Really Struggling

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A few weeks ago, we met up with longtime friends for a Major League Baseball game. During the fourth inning, a question came up about another mutual friend of ours who lives a few states away, whom I haven’t been in contact with for years. Naturally, I pulled out my phone and started thumb-tapping her name, happy to see she was still in my contacts. Before I had time to overthink it and consider how random, ridiculous, or rude it was to pop in out of nowhere, I texted Ashley our question: “Remind me of your brother-in-law’s name, and does he still work for the Braves?” Followed by, “How are you???”

To my surprise and delight, she replied quickly. (After all these years, I guess I was still in her contacts too.)

When she replied, “I’m okay,” I intuitively understood something wasn’t okay.

“I’m okay” isn’t the answer you give when you’re doing well. It’s the same answer I give to well-meaning strangers, acquaintances, and even friends when I can’t spare the emotional energy to elaborate on all the hard things going on in my life this year, or it’s just not appropriate to share. “I’m okay” can mean “I’m not really great, but things could be a whole lot worse.” And, sometimes it means “I’m getting through today the best I can.”

During those seasons, “I’m okay” is the truth, but barely.

My friend briefly recapped what was going on in her life, including happy things alongside the hard. Regardless of our particular circumstances, grief, heartache, and loss are painful, and pain is downright greedy. It demands more than its share of attention, which is why it is so important to notice, acknowledge, and savor the good things in our lives, too.

Painful circumstances can blind us to the goodness of God, but that doesn’t mean God isn’t good. It just means the pain is temporarily clouding our vision. And, sometimes, all it takes to see God and His goodness clearly is a little help from our friends.

A transparent text exchange with a friend I haven’t seen or talked to in ages reminded me how simple it is to make a difference in someone’s life. This year has been kicking my behind since the first day of 2023, but I’m learning how to love others better simply because of how I’m being loved.

If you have a friend who is struggling, she needs you. As a believer, you get to be the hands and feet of Christ to your precious friend by loving her in a tangible way. Isn’t that beautiful? 

Wondering how you can love a friend when you know she’s really struggling?

Listen with an empathetic heart. One of the most powerful ways I’ve felt loved is to be heard by friends who are fully present and engaged. Resist the urge to offer quick fixes or solutions; instead, let your friend express herself without judgment. If she cries, let her cry. Tears are an expression of our emotions when words are not enough. God designed our bodies with the capacity to cry for a reason.

Pray for and with her. Prayer is a powerful tool — let it be your first impulse, not a last resort. Pray with her when you have the opportunity. Praying together will remind her of God’s presence in the midst of her circumstances.

Show up. People have “shown up” for me by calling, texting, sending cards, messaging on Voxer, and literally showing up at my house or work. If it makes sense, offer practical assistance to a friend who’s struggling. Help with household chores, run errands, or deliver a meal. Just…show…up.

Share encouraging Scripture. Scripture is always a source of comfort, truth, and hope. Share verses or passages that have helped you through hard times. Encourage your friend to meditate on God’s Word and find solace in His promises.

Suggest professional help. While your support is invaluable, sometimes professional assistance is necessary. Encourage her to consider seeing a therapist or seek guidance from a pastor if the situation warrants it. Assure her that seeking help is not a sign of weakness but a courageous step towards healing and growth.

Respect her boundaries. While your intentions may be genuine, your friend may need space. Even though I’m an open book, sometimes I can’t talk about my stuff. Allow your friend to process her emotions in her own way and time.

Share your own experiences. If you’ve faced similar challenges in the past, share your own experiences. A childhood friend has been an incredible encouragement because she’s walked my steps and understands my pain from the inside out. Yet try to keep your conversations focused on her needs and emotions, rather than solely on your own experiences.

Point her to God’s love. In loving me, friends have truly reflected God’s extravagant love. They’ve reminded me that God cares deeply for me and I am never alone. Encourage your friend to trust God, knowing He is working all things together for her good.

Loving friends well is our privilege as a follower of Christ, and I’m hopeful to give what I’ve received. When we love others well, we’re demonstrating the compassion and empathy that Jesus showed during His earthly ministry. The goal is always to point a friend toward the unfailing love and grace of God, which, ultimately, is what we really need when we’re struggling.

 

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In a World of Instant Gratification, God Offers You Patience

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Anna, a prophet, was also there in the Temple. She was the daughter of Phanuel from the tribe of Asher, and she was very old. Her husband died when they had been married only seven years. Then she lived as a widow until the age of eighty-four. She never left the Temple but stayed there day and night, worshiping God with fasting and prayer. She came along just as Simeon was talking with Mary and Joseph, and she began praising God. She talked about the child to everyone who had been waiting expectantly for God to rescue Jerusalem.
Luke 2:36–38

I’ve spent many years as a member of Weight Watchers, trying and hoping to change my habits and make healthier choices. Nearly every leader I’ve ever had in the program has counseled new members against impatience, warning us that weight loss — and even more so, life change — takes time. They reminded us that we didn’t get to where we were overnight, and it wouldn’t change overnight either.

This was the hardest part of my weight-loss journey — harder even than avoiding second helpings at dinner, adding more vegetables to my day, or getting back on the treadmill. Remembering that my problems had developed one day at a time, one pound at a time, even one choice at a time felt impossible when I was finally ready for change and anxious to see results.

Honestly, I’ve noticed this impatience show up in many areas of my life. Why wait for five to seven business days when I can get my packages with two-day shipping instead? Why let my dinner simmer all day in the slow cooker when I can zap it with the pressure cooker? Why begin watching a television show when it first premieres, waiting a whole week for a new episode, when after a few months I can binge the whole thing on a streaming service? And speaking of streaming, why isn’t the latest season of my favorite show available yet?

Like a little kid counting down to a birthday, holiday, or other big event — asking each morning how many more sleeps until the big day — I want what I want, and I want it right now. Whether we’re talking about something inconsequential like a television show or something significant like healing or rescue from a serious situation, most of us tend to quickly turn to frustration or even despair when we don’t get the answer, the results, or the relief we desire. In a society focused on immediate gratification, we forget the virtue of patience.

Of course, if we’re willing, we don’t have to look far to see how many good things come only after waiting. Flowers bloom in the spring, but not until they’re good and ready. Crops planted in springtime can’t be harvested until the summer and fall. We can check on that tomato plant on the back porch every thirty minutes after planting it, but nothing we do will make it produce fruit any faster. If we’re patient, though, we might learn to enjoy the process — the watering, the watching, even the waiting for the payoff in the end.

The same is true of God and His plans. We can’t make Him move any faster. But if we can learn to be still and wait for the Lord, eventually we will see Him answer our prayers, and in the interim, we will discover so much about ourselves and about God. We can grow closer to God in those seasons of waiting and see our faith deepen as we rely on Him and His good plans.

When I think of Anna in the temple, faithful and patient as she waited for the promised Messiah, I’m inspired to trust God to give me the patience I need in my own life. I laugh when I imagine Anna’s joy at seeing Mary and Joseph walk through the doors with Jesus, and I’m encouraged to wait for my own moment to exclaim, “Finally! He’s here!”

But I can’t do it on my own, and, I suspect, neither can you.

Patience does not come naturally for most of us, especially when overnight shipping and thirty-minute delivery are everyday options. But God promises to give us what we need, and that includes patience. As we face long-term challenges and seemingly unending struggles — or even when we simply can’t get exactly what we want right when we want it — let’s ask God to give us patience. Let’s ask Him to empower us to wait for Him like Anna did until the day we see His promises fulfilled.

God, it’s so hard to wait. Please help me to be patient. Remind me of Your promises and give me faith that You will fulfill them. When impatience rises in me, empower me to wait on You, and help me to pay attention to how You move even in the waiting. Amen.

This article was written by Mary Carver, and published in Empowered: More of Him for All of You.

Empowered: More of Him for All of You, by Mary Carver, Grace P. Cho, and Anna E. Rendell is designed to incorporate the five major components of our being — physical, mental, emotional, relational, and spiritual. The sixty Scripture passages and devotions invite you to see from different angles how God empowers us, and each day ends with prayer and reflection questions to deepen the learning. Grab a copy now. We pray it blesses you.

 

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Don’t Forget Your Gift

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I am not a hoarder, but I may have a problem parting with things that no longer bring me joy or have any value at all. A few years ago, I went to my parents’ house and my dad handed me a dusty cardboard box overflowing with stuff. “We cleaned out all the drawers from the chest in your old room and this has been in the garage forever.”

I had officially reached the age when my parents no longer wanted to keep any of my belongings in their house. Of course, I had to rummage through all the photos, cards, and random books I kept and share the nostalgia of my younger days with my husband.

We stumbled upon some things from our wedding, like my notebook where I wrote down all the plans, colors, and venues for our big day. “Aren’t you glad I don’t throw stuff away? This is so fun!” I kept telling my husband who shook his head and laughed at the pile of useless things that took up space in my parents’ garage all these years. Then I pulled out an envelope that was placed in a notebook. I opened it up and what was inside made my jaw drop! I was speechless.

My husband noticed how my face had changed from joy to shock. He grabbed the envelope from my hands, reached in, and took out check after check after check, all addressed to us and worth hundreds of dollars. They were all dated 05-29-2010, the date of our wedding. We were both angry and frustrated, trying to figure out how we misplaced these gifted checks. They were wasted and worthless now. Generous gifts from close friends and family to bless us and bring us joy had been set aside, forgotten, and now served as a reminder that we were foolish.

Did you know that as children of God, you and I have been given spiritual gifts? In 1 Corinthians 12 and Romans 12, we see lists of the different gifts that we have access to in order to grow in our love for God and edify others. However, I don’t think The Church, which is the collective of believers, is living and operating in our giftings. I think many are distracted by the world, some feel unworthy to be used, or others just don’t care about it. There is also the overemphasis on certain visible gifts over others within churches, which can make many feel discouraged.

The underlying reason we don’t seek out and tap into our gift is that we don’t understand the value of it.

If I had known the amount of money that was in that envelope, I would have cashed those checks immediately. But I didn’t know, so they were like any other sheets of paper in that notebook. The only way for me to grasp the value of the spiritual gift I have been given is by studying the Bible to understand its purpose.

In 1 Corinthians, after Paul lists the gifts, he gives us the analogy that we are one body, and these gifts are meant to build up the body. God has blessed me with a gift to bless you so that the body can be blessed. So essentially, we need the gifts because our gifts connect us to each other and to God. In His love, God blesses us with gifts, and in His love, we bless others with these gifts. When I squander or forget to use the gift that I have generously been given, the body suffers. So, Paul encourages The Church to, “Pursue love, and earnestly desire the spiritual gifts…” (1 Corinthians 14:1).

My salvation story wasn’t a result of someone operating in the gift of teaching or prophesying, but the gift of serving through hospitality. Someone invited me into their home for a small group meeting where I felt the presence of God for the first time and my life was changed. The person that invited me didn’t know how my eternity would be impacted, but she recognized the gift she had been given and used it for the glory of God.

So often I think about the day I will stand before God and I want to hear those beautiful words “Well done, good and faithful servant” (Matthew 25:23). I refuse to hoard or hide or waste my gifts. No, I want to squeeze out every last bit of the gifts that I have been given here on earth to bring God glory. To live any other way would be foolish.

 

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The Holiness of Our Mealtimes

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My mother was a Baptist, my father a Catholic. And, though my family originates from three different continents, I was raised in the Cartesian French culture that divides the sacred and the secular in a categoric way. I do not recollect, accurately, the contents of our mealtime prayers. But, to the child I was, they sounded like a mix of strict phrases from Catholic orisons and spur-of-the-moment words that I identified as Protestant.

Our intention with these mealtime prayers was to take time for spiritual contemplation before the mundane (and slightly guilty pleasure) of eating. These prayers were our collective acknowledgement that we were part of the “lucky ones” who had food on the table. For, in those days, people discovered the amplitude of the world’s food crisis all while simultaneously watching the news on TV and having dinner.

Guilt sometimes invited itself in, as we felt compelled to mention “those who do not have bread.” We prayed to the Lord to feed them, which by the way is part of our assignment. But, decades later, the words for “saying grace” do not seem to have changed much. Many still exhale the slightest trace of relief from the fear of want. It mostly goes along the lines of: Thank You, Lord, for providing.

Yet, Jesus told us not to worry about what we will eat or drink. The Lord knows we have to sustain ourselves every day . . . and we can trust Him to be faithful. With this truth, I realized that being overly thankful for receiving the basics that I need is closely related to being overly worried that I may be denied provision for those same basic needs. Sometimes, it’s as if being overly thankful reveals that my attention is focused on what I should actually be confident about.

This is why the Lord feeds us our daily bread. He wants us to trust and rely on Him, focused on the fact that we get to partner with Him and work in the harvest. We are on His team . . . so, of course, He will feed His workers. Not simply so that we are fed, but in order that we might gather strength, enthusiasm, and peace for the accomplishment of His purpose.

I’ve asked God to open my mind to a new way of seeing and seeking for His good and perfect will to be done in my life and in the life of my family. He graced me with a surprising, beautiful answer one morning while I spent time looking at the breakfast table. I contemplated a message I once heard about how Noah, fresh out of the ark, gave praise and made a sacrifice before doing anything else.

The Lord shifted my perspective and I suddenly saw that familiar breakfast table as an altar on which I contribute to Him a daily sacrifice on behalf of my family. A grateful sacrifice . . . but also a holy sacrifice. For we confess Jesus as our Lord and Savior. He is our High Priest and we are called to priesthood, called to be set apart and made holy. For this reason, I am also, therefore, presenting the Lord with the best products from the earth that I can gather as a mother. Together with my family at the table, we are presenting the Lord with the best of our hearts — no grudges, no bickering, no worrying . . . which would be like putting rotten fruit on a nicely decorated table.

All creation is God’s — that is what “bringing my best” to the table is proclaiming. Once God has received the sacrifice, we may eat it by faith. Now we see, there is a lot more happening at the believer’s table than meets the eye! For, when the Lord looks with favor at our offerings, He gracefully throws “open the floodgates of heaven” and pours out so much blessing that there will not be enough room to store it.

I am not saying we need to reinstate sacrificial rituals in order to obtain the Lord’s favor — Jesus has already accomplished it all. But I am saying that our mealtime prayers say a lot about where we stand in our walk with God. Perhaps it’s time we become more conscious of what our breakfast, lunch, and dinner tables look like.

Perhaps we pay more attention to what food we serve, to the setup, to the posture of our hearts and the quality of the atmosphere before we start to eat. Perhaps this is the holiness of our mealtimes. That, not only do we say grace before we eat, but that each member of the family might leave the table with a generous ration of God’s gift of grace.

That, at every meal we might be physically fed . . . and even spiritually nourished.

What If You Could Have Everything You Need?

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The Lord is my shepherd;
    I have all that I need.
2 He lets me rest in green meadows;
    he leads me beside peaceful streams.
3     He renews my strength.
He guides me along right paths,
    bringing honor to his name.
4 Even when I walk
    through the darkest valley,
I will not be afraid,
    for you are close beside me.
Your rod and your staff
    protect and comfort me.
5 You prepare a feast for me
    in the presence of my enemies.
You honor me by anointing my head with oil.
    My cup overflows with blessings.
6 Surely your goodness and unfailing love will pursue me
    all the days of my life,
and I will live in the house of the Lord forever.
Psalm 23

Here’s a wild truth to grasp: everything you need is within your reach. Not wealth or social status, not perfect relationships or your dream job. But everything your soul needs is available right here, right now — in Jesus.

Reread Psalm 23 above again and note the words that express your deepest needs today.

Do you need . . . ?

Rest
Strength
Guidance
God’s presence
Protection
Comfort
Blessings
Goodness
Unfailing love
Living with Jesus forever

All of that and more is available to us when we choose to live life with Jesus, our Good Shepherd. 

What are you lacking today? Could what you need be found in the Lord? God delights in giving His children all that they need. You are His child. Ask Him. He’s listening.

 

Give Thanks for Storms

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1 Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good;
his faithful love endures forever.
2 Let Israel say,
“His faithful love endures forever.”
3 Let the house of Aaron say,
“His faithful love endures forever.”
4 Let those who fear the Lord say,
“His faithful love endures forever.”

5 I called to the Lord in distress;
the Lord answered me
and put me in a spacious place.
6 The Lord is for me; I will not be afraid.
What can a mere mortal do to me?
7 The Lord is my helper;
therefore, I will look in triumph on those who hate me.

8 It is better to take refuge in the Lord
than to trust in humanity.
9 It is better to take refuge in the Lord
than to trust in nobles.

10 All the nations surrounded me;
in the name of the Lord I destroyed them.
11 They surrounded me, yes, they surrounded me;
in the name of the Lord I destroyed them.
12 They surrounded me like bees;
they were extinguished like a fire among thorns;
in the name of the Lord I destroyed them.
13 They[b] pushed me hard to make me fall,
but the Lord helped me.
14 The Lord is my strength and my song;
he has become my salvation.

15 There are shouts of joy and victory
in the tents of the righteous:
“The Lord’s right hand performs valiantly!
16 The Lord’s right hand is raised.
The Lord’s right hand performs valiantly!”
17 I will not die, but I will live
and proclaim what the Lord has done.
18 The Lord disciplined me severely
but did not give me over to death.

19 Open the gates of righteousness for me;
I will enter through them
and give thanks to the Lord.
20 This is the Lord’s gate;
the righteous will enter through it.
21 I will give thanks to you
because you have answered me
and have become my salvation.
Psalm 118:1-21

We’re laughing like loons out in the middle of a field of corn. The Farmer’s got hold of the seat of his combine like he’s being shot to the moon. It’s harvest time, and a time of thanksgiving, and the corn keeps on coming.

“How in the world?” I can’t take my eyes off the combine’s yield monitor. Stunned wonder isn’t an understatement. We had a drought this year. The sky had locked up hard about the middle of June.

The Farmer had said, “I’ve never seen any crop look so desperate on this farm. If God doesn’t give rain by the weekend, there’s not going to be any corn this year.”

Come November, the digital screen of the combine monitor calculating the number of bushels per acre this field of corn yields, flashes out these little black numbers that are huge, making no sense. The numbers are a bit stratospheric. Grace is most amazing of all, defying what makes sense.

“Get out of here!” I’m slack-jawed over the high monitor spikes and the Farmer looks like he is right out of here and straight over the moon. I slap at his chest like the flapping loon that I am and he grins giddily.

“I know, I know!” And all over again, he’s that laughing teenage boy that made me blush silly.

“Who would ever have thought?” I can’t stop shaking my head.

“You know . . .” He leans over the combine steering wheel, glances past me, past me to the wagon filling with corn. “I don’t know what to think — so maybe I just thank?”

“Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good; his faithful love endures forever” (Psalm 118:1).

The corn’s running like flashes of glory into the wagon, streaming in and I can still see the lightning that came right after Sunday preaching way back in July. I remember the gusts of wind and the thickening black to the west. I remember the thunder that rumbled hope and how we stood on the front lawn and begged that rain to come.

And I remember how it went north. Twice. And how the Farmer had stood there, watching the rain come down only two miles away, and I’d whispered wild to him, “What if we get nothing? What if we lose the harvest?”

And he’d said it steady and certain, with the rain coming down right there, two fields over and so far away, “When you know your Father’s loving — what can you fear losing?”

“Let those who fear the Lord say, ‘His faithful love endures forever.’ I called to the Lord in distress; the Lord answered me and put me in a spacious place. The Lord is for me; I will not be afraid” (Psalm 118:4-6).

The rain kept falling to the north and he’d stood in this startling surrender. And then, just before supper, the sky had darkened with hope and opened up to give us our prayers. We all danced on the lawn in that rain.

I turn to him now in the combine, “It was that storm.” Gratitude follows grace as thunder follows lightning. “The storm gave us this yield. The storm was grace.”

There’s no harvest without a storm.

Gratitude follows grace — as thunder follows lightning. And the storm is grace because whatever drives us to God, is a grace from God. It’s all grace.

God gives grace, and ours is to give thanks. This is God’s unconditional demand: That we live thankful.

“This came from the Lord; it is wondrous in our sight. This is the day the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it” (Psalm 118:23-24).

And I can feel it — there’s corn. And there’s sky and food and family and a God in heaven and a love we don’t deserve, and there’s grace that comes as storms, and the only answer to God’s unending grace is unending gratitude. When you live in a covenant of grace, you can’t help but live out a covenant of gratitude. The Farmer whispers, “Thank you, Lord,” and I murmur it too.

The way grace and gratitude echo to each other through everything . . .

“You are my God, and I will give you thanks. You are my God; I will exalt you. Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good; his faithful love endures forever” (Psalm 118:28-29).

This devotion is by Ann Voskamp, as published in the (in)courage Devotional Bible. It has been edited from its original form.

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We have LOVED our summer Saturdays with you, sharing our favorite Psalms + select devotions from the (in)courage Devotional Bible. Thanks for joining us! 

When Serving Changes Your Perspective

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Lazy. Entitled. No attention span. Selfish. Self-centered. Addicted to technology.

This is some of what you hear when it comes to Gen Z. Sometimes it can be accurate.

But, there’s a shift happening. And I’m here to testify.

I’ve been leading youth ministry for over twenty years. I love it! I love watching a pre-teen or teenager encounter the love of God and then dive into an intimate relationship with Him. I love watching fruit become much fruit in and through their lives.

The youth ministry at my church always goes to summer camp at some kind of fun retreat center. The kids love it! There’s always a beautiful property filled with trails and games like basketball and volleyball. And then, there’s the best part — the lake. They high dive and swim and live their best lives.

This year, our youth pastors wanted the youth to be more engaged with outreach. So, they decided to merge the youth retreat with the church’s Mega Sports Camp for ages 4-10. The camp would need leaders for the sports activities and small group leaders and overall help with the little kids.

Needless to say, a few of the youth were not excited about the change of plans. There were unhappy faces and slight complaining. But little did they know, the Lord had His own plans for the week that included some pruning and refining so that He could produce much fruit in them.

For the week of camp, the youth surrendered their phones. They grumbled a bit and thought it was the end of the world . . . but through the week their attentions and desires changed. They enjoyed conversations and games and being kids all without any distractions. New friendships were made. Old ones grew stronger. Disagreements were resolved. And a lifetime of memories were made. Their eyes, hearts, ears, and spirits become attuned to the frequency of Heaven. They began to do what the Father was doing and say what the Father was saying.

The first day of camp felt like an eternity. It was a good tired, the kind where you know you’ve poured out all that the Lord has poured into you. The youth spent each morning praying for the kids coming to the Sports Camp. They stayed at a 10 with their energy so the kids would stay engaged and feel loved and encouraged. It was supernatural. It was Philippians 4:13 in action: “I can do all this through him who gives me strength.” It wasn’t their strength at all. It was the Holy Spirit filling them up to overflow with His power and grace for what He called them to that week.

From the first day of camp to the last, I watched each of our youth work hard, play hard, and sweat hard in our Louisiana summer. They led sports sessions and huddle groups talking about Jesus. They cheered on the little kids. They picked up trash around the church property, and set up and tore down tables and chairs countless times.

Throughout the week I saw Colossians 3:2 come to life: “Set your minds on things above, not on earthly things.”

Leading a kids’ sports camp was not the thing the youth would have chosen on their own. But, the testimonies by the end of the week were nothing short of amazing.

One by one, they said how they weren’t excited about being a part of the sports camp, but how the Lord changed their hearts. They had fun and funny moments with the kids. They saw how much the kids looked up to them. They led discussions about Jesus, even sharing the Gospel with kids who had never heard it before.

God gave them a new perspective through serving, especially when it wasn’t what they wanted to do. It wasn’t convenient. It wasn’t in their comfort zone.

This is the shift! The Lord is doing deep heart work in Gen Z. He’s teaching them how to take their eyes off of themselves and how to first set them on Him. And then, how to see the needs around them.

He’s giving them a burden to further the Kingdom despite the cost.

He’s creating a hunger inside of them to linger in His presence.

They’re discovering how to pray for each other in faith that the Lord will respond.

They’re learning to esteem others as more highly than themselves.

He’s stirring up generosity in them to give whatever is in their hands — time, talent, resources, energy.

They’re wanting the absolute truth of God and not the subjective truth of the world.

They’re searching for the move of God in expected and unexpected places.

The most exciting part is that He’s not done. This is only the beginning of this new wave of revival. It’s starting with Gen Z but not limited to them. It’s spilling over. Their zeal for the Lord and the Gospel is fanning the flame inside of all generations alive today on the earth.

That’s God’s heart and plan, that ALL of His children would have a passion for Him and the things of Him. That we would see with His eyes of compassion, love, forgiveness, and grace. That we would serve sacrificially and joyfully. That we would ALL function as the Body of Christ to reach a lost world for His name’s sake.

I’d love to hear any stories where serving gave you a new perspective, or pray for a current struggle if you need to find that new perspective!

 

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