Uninvited and the Welcome of God

Uninvited and the Welcome of God

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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The Question Every Hurting Heart Needs to Ask

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“I just don’t understand. Why?!”

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

“Why didn’t God do something?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Love one another” (John 13:34). 

“Accept one another” (Romans 15:7). 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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*Giveaway open to US addresses only and closes at 11:59 pm central on 5/7/23. Winners will be drawn at random and notified via email. Please allow 4-6 weeks for delivery.

Tell Me Everything You Know

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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A Prayer for When You Are Needy

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Sisters, take a moment to quiet your heart. Ask God to speak to you through His Word. Let this prayer of David lead you in acknowledging God’s faithfulness, sharing your concerns with the Lord, and submitting your life to His ways.

Psalm 86

1 Listen, Lord, and answer me,
for I am poor and needy.
2 Protect my life, for I am faithful.
You are my God; save your servant who trusts in you.
3 Be gracious to me, Lord,
for I call to you all day long.
4 Bring joy to your servant’s life,
because I appeal to you, Lord.

5 For you, Lord, are kind and ready to forgive,
abounding in faithful love to all who call on you.
6 Lord, hear my prayer;
listen to my cries for mercy.
7 I call on you in the day of my distress,
for you will answer me.

8 Lord, there is no one like you among the gods,
and there are no works like yours.
9 All the nations you have made
will come and bow down before you, Lord,
and will honor your name.
10 For you are great and perform wonders;
you alone are God.

11 Teach me your way, Lord,
and I will live by your truth.
Give me an undivided mind to fear your name.
12 I will praise you with all my heart, Lord my God,
and will honor your name forever.
13 For your faithful love for me is great,
and you rescue my life from the depths of Sheol.

14 God, arrogant people have attacked me;
a gang of ruthless men intends to kill me.
They do not let you guide them.
15 But you, Lord, are a compassionate and gracious God,
slow to anger and abounding in faithful love and truth.
16 Turn to me and be gracious to me.
Give your strength to your servant;
save the son of your female servant.
17 Show me a sign of your goodness;
my enemies will see and be put to shame
because you, Lord, have helped and comforted me.

What verse stands out to you most?

 

For Motherless Daughters

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I grew up with my maternal grandmother. I never lived solely with my mother; she had tremendous issues and struggles that made it impossible for her to take care of a child.

Although my grandmother raised me, practically since birth, I never viewed her as my mother. I always knew that my mother existed but, for whatever reason, decided not to raise me. As you can imagine, this will mess with a child’s mind. I have been plagued with all manner of insecurities, unyielding feelings of unworthiness, and feelings of being unlovable. I often wondered if there was something wrong with me.

I spent most of my childhood with an unconscious desire to be mothered by my mother, but it never happened. She drifted in and out of my life like the ocean’s tides. Eventually, that became okay with me. She had her life and I had mine, and as time went by, our two lives rarely intersected.

As sad as all of this appears, this was my life. This is what I had always known.

But with the distance that time brings, as I reflect on my childhood, I can see clearly that the fingerprints of God were all over it! That lack of mothering actually drove me to seek out older women who would love and encourage me. Even before I knew Christ, during my junior high and high school years, God placed a couple of amazing teachers in my life who took time and invested in me.

Through the past twenty years of my following Jesus, He has been more than faithful to overflow my life with spiritual mothers. These women, these mothers have . . .

Loved me,
Encouraged me,
Blessed me,
Corrected me,
Taught me,
Wept with me,
Rejoiced with me,
Served me,
Prayed with me, and
Prayed for me.

Each and every one of them has in some way helped to shape my walk with the Lord. Scripture tells us that older women should instruct younger women in the ways of God. And now, in my late thirties and single, without biological kids of my own, I have the privilege of being a spiritual mom myself to some precious junior high and high school girls at my church. It is one of the deepest joys of my life.

As women, we are called to both mother and be mothered. This happens no matter how old you are or what season of life you are in. This call from the Lord transcends biology and even expectation. Whether you too know the pain that comes from being a motherless daughter, the ache that emerges from wishing for children to fill your home, or the joy that flows from being a spiritual mom, know that you are deeply loved by a God who is faithful to fill our empty spaces.

Story by Karina Allen and featured in A Mother’s Love.

As Mother’s Day approaches, we know that it is a complex day full of many emotions and experiences. Know that at (in)courage, we are praying for each of you in this season as you remember, celebrate, grieve, or enjoy motherhood and what it means to you. Every single woman who loves, encourages, and nurtures those who become part of the next generation is doing amazing work and is to be celebrated.

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

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

 

Finding Pockets of Joy When Life Is Overwhelming

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As a parent to a child with significant disabilities, my brain is constantly calculating outcomes. Do we have her feeding tube supplies packed? Will her wheelchair fit in the van? Is her speech device charged?

Caregiving takes many forms. Maybe you work in health care, or you spend your days pouring into others in the classroom. A few of my friends are navigating unexpected paths of caring for sick or aging parents, and still, others wake in the middle of the night with bottles and burp rags.

Our seasons of life may differ, but the effect of caregiving often looks the same: full calendars, limited margin, and bags under our eyes.

As I was ticking off the ways I feel like I need to be constantly ten steps ahead in my parenting and caregiving, a friend asked me this question: What are you doing for yourself?

I shifted on the couch and became incredibly interested in picking at my cuticles.

What was I doing for myself? I wondered. I wasn’t sure I had an answer – or rather, that I liked my answer. Because the quiet response creeping into my mind was: I’m not doing anything for myself. And if I was honest, I was harboring quite a bit of bitterness because of it. I stayed quiet, not brave enough to say it aloud.

She continued, encouraging me to consider finding tiny pockets of joy throughout the very busy day.

I sat with her invitation. Did she even know my schedule? My life?

I began to feel alarmed that I couldn’t think of much of anything in my daily life that brought me personal joy.

Wasn’t I, as James says, supposed to “count it all joy”?

My schedule is full of work deadlines and caregiving expectations. Every day my brain is full of anticipatory questions to meet anticipatory needs. 

“Well, I can’t just go on a private retreat whenever I need a break,” I joked.

This time, she was the one staying quiet. I shifted in my seat again, feeling just brave enough, to be honest.

“This season of life requires a lot out of me,” I admitted. “In the midst of all I have going on, I’m not sure I know what brings me joy.”

She reminded me that I wasn’t a failure for not being able to pinpoint my joys – and invited me to reframe what I was considering joy in the first place. (Not in some sort of spiritual bypassing way, where I needed to pretend everything was easy or okay because I’m a person of faith and God is good. But in a simpler sort of way to extend compassion to myself in the midst of challenging times.)

If we can offer empathy to the people in our lives, why is it so challenging to extend grace to ourselves?

“Sometimes, taking an intentional minute to look out the window and breathe brings me joy,” she told me. “Or, in particularly busy seasons, I set a reminder on my calendar to just block out ten minutes to be quiet with God.”

The way she defined joy seemed so simple. When we’re in the depths of caring for others, it’s easy to feel like incorporating joy in our days for ourselves is a step too far. When we’re depleted, the last thing we need is a self-care checklist.

But adding little pockets of joy into our actual, messy, real lives is something we all can do. 

I’m working on redefining joy. I’m adding tiny invitations to joy into my day, like lighting a candle as I work. I can’t eliminate deadlines, but I can offer myself a glimmer of delight. As I watch the flame flicker and breathe in a beautiful scent, I try to take a minute to remind myself that I am loved, even in my overflowing inbox and looming deadlines.

Since mornings are particularly hectic in my home, I’ve started showering at night as a way to be kind to my morning self. During the day, I might be at home caring for my daughter while she is sick, but I can also open the windows to let fresh air fill the house and turn on a playlist that makes me smile. (None of these actions are profound or life-changing, nor do they address larger structural and systemic problems caregivers and the people they love can face, but they can bring small pockets of everyday joy to a demanding season.)

Certain seasons of caregiving can be downright depleting. Demands are great and respite is often scarce – but even in these truths, there are still ordinary joys to be found, inviting us to breathe and remember that as we care for others, God cares for us.

Joy is there, hiding in the corners of our messy, real lives. We might just have to redefine what it looks like.

If you’re in a demanding season of caregiving, either in a personal or professional setting, consider what tiny parts of your day provide glimpses of joy just for you. You’re worth it.

A blessing for caregivers:

As you pour into others, may the God of all things replenish your spirit. May you find tiny pockets of joy in the bursting seams of your real life. When you are weary, may God grant you rest. When you are stretched too thin, may God bring you peace. And when your spirit is overwhelmed, may God offer you pockets of joy.

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When You Need It in a New York Minute

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I’m a New Yorker, through and through.

Can’t tell you how many times I’ve crossed over the George Washington Bridge — sixteen singles in hand to pay that ever-rising toll — only to drive over the suspended bridge that spills out into the parkway stretched parallel with the Hudson River.

Can’t tell you how many deli lines I’ve stood in, taking my ticket and then ordering a bacon, egg, and cheese on a bagel — a New York bagel — the only kind of bagel in the whole wide world with the right ratio of crunch and fluff factor.

But I gotta tell ya, there’s only one way we take our bagels (when they’re not sandwiched with bacon, eggs, and cheese . . . of course). It’s not with a little bit or even a dollop of cream cheese. It’s with a smear, a whole, thick spread of cream cheese. And the bagel is rarely toasted because it doesn’t need to be when it’s as fresh as you can get ‘em in New York. My favorite place, of all places, to get bagels is Rockland Bakery. There, they roll them out on stacked racks by the hundreds — the sesame bagels, the pumpernickel bagels, the poppyseed bagels, and the salt bagels.

But, these days, I no longer live in New York — and I’m gluten-free (due to my health), so I miss my beloved bagels, cream cheese and all. One thing remains, though. One thing that’s always been true and will always be true.

It’s the proverbial . . . you can take the girl out of the city but you can’t take the city out of the girl.

I grew up just miles outside of New York City, and I can tell you the fast-paced hustle and bustle that the world knows New York for is true. We talk fast and we walk fast. We have places to be and we know where we’re going. Where I’m from, the Tri-State area, is easily one of the largest, most populated metropolitan areas in the United States. This makes opportunity in New York both abundant and scarce, which then drives cultural pressure to be competitive and competent.

We jaywalk, we cut corners. We do what we gotta do. We don’t have time to spare, not even a New York minute, because, for lots of different reasons — historically and presently — time is money and money is time.

All of this brings a smile to my face as I think about The City That Never Sleeps and its suburban sisters that are just as restless. But, it also stirs a question in my spirit as I think about the ways in which I wake and work and walk.

I feel it in my blood and my bones still — that city-pace living — even though I’m six hundred miles from home, living in the South where everything is seemingly slow. I notice the impulse when I’m going through my to-do’s and see the long list of things that need to be bought, fixed, and done. I see it when I rob Peter to pay Paul because I can’t wait another second to get a barking bill off my back. I see it when I’m out walking with my boys. Placing my hand on their backs, I gently nudge them to hurry along, muttering things like, “Let’s go,” and “Keep up,” though we’ve no real place to really get to.

In these moments, I’ve begun to examine my pace and ask myself: Why are you rushing? Why can’t you slow down? 

As a writer, I’ve convinced myself that I live a slow life simply because I lead a pensive thought life. But, the two aren’t mutually exclusive. Just because I think deeply and dream of living a slow and rested life doesn’t mean I’m actually living it.

I have cards on the counter — cards for friends and family — that should have gone out a month ago. Instead, they’re sitting there blank and bare. I pass them, just like I whip past the magazines on my desk. I am surrounded by all of these pastimes, invitations to slow down and do things that take time and require intention and attention. Instead, I fast-walk through life, unhinged and speeding like a city subway with no brakes to slow or stop.

I love New York just as much as the next person but, my goodness, she has branded me with a birthmark that is hard to lose and let go of. Twelve years ago, I thought I gave this life up, this way of chasing after the kind of city-paced living that taunts you to go, go, go and do, do, do.

In the rare moments of quiet and calm, before I find myself reaching and rushing to the next thing — or the next place to be, or meal to make, or email to answer, or checkbox to check — I’m beginning to sense the Holy Spirit’s hand on my heart, leading me to believe that He alone can rewire the rhythm in my soul. I sense Him whispering to me, telling me to stall and stay a while longer, to tolerate the quiet, and spend my spare moments standing in awe of Him and all the work that He is doing.

Yes, this native New Yorker is coming to terms with the truth. That, we can slow our stroll, take our time putting the kids to bed, chopping our vegetables, and brewing the morning’s coffee. The one and only thing we need in a New York minute is Him.

All we really need right now — and forever more — is His presence, His Word hidden in our hearts, His praise on our lips.

 

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What Will I Choose with My Words?

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She walked up to me while everyone else was arranging flowers for the memorial service and said, “I think I’ll just stand here next to you until someone tells me what to do.”

I said, “That’s exactly what I’m doing. Waiting for orders.” She looked familiar, but I couldn’t quite place her. “I’m so sorry, I’m meeting a lot of Jenn’s friends today. Have we met before?”

She gave me side-eye, like she was trying to figure out if I was joking or not. “Umm, it’s me, Chelsea. We’re staying at the same Airbnb?”

Friend, I wanted the earth to swallow me up. How embarrassing.

So, for the next couple of hours, every time I saw Chelsea, she would reach her hand out and introduce herself once again. It was her way of saying, “I get it. We all mess up, but it’s still funny.”

Later on that day, I was trying to tell someone that I had “stuck around” for a phone call, but it came out as “I stack around.” A man across the table from me said, “I thought you were a professional writer? Well, I guess it’s a good thing you’re a writer and not a professional speaker.”

I was stunned into silence because I am, in fact, a professional speaker.

We all get teased, so we all know that this sort of communication can make us feel either accepted or rejected.

There’s the “included” tease. It’s the kind of teasing that pulls you in. The “we all do it” kind of tease that is often accompanied by our own story of how we messed up. It’s okay if someone is laughing at you, because they are laughing at themselves. We are all laughing together.

Then there is another kind of teasing. The kind used to push down the target in some way. The kind where everyone who hears it — not just the object of the teasing — feels uncomfortable.

The man’s comment to me was definitely of the rejection variety. But I didn’t say anything this time because we were at an event honoring a friend who had recently passed, and I didn’t want to do anything to take away from the purpose of our gathering together.

But when I’ve found myself in similar circumstances, I now know what to do when someone else is trying to bully me with words:

Ask them to explain.

A simple “I’m sorry, I don’t understand what you’re trying to say.” goes a long way when asking someone to explain their actions. It’s a great way to assume that someone misspoke and to give them another chance to explain why they said what they did.

Sometimes people double down. “It’s just a joke.” (This is called gaslighting and it helps me recognize the truth — someone is trying to cover up for what they know they did wrong.)

So the next step in my strategy is to say, “I’m sorry, I’m missing why that is funny.” Oftentimes people think putting you down is funny, but it’s only funny in their eyes. When asked to explain, they realize that it’s only funny to them, and it’s only funny when they are hurting someone else. (It is my personal experience that it’s best to stay away from those types of people as much as possible.)

I have been careless with my words more times than I would like to confess. I’ve said something scathing to get a laugh, or hurtful because I was feeling insecure.

But here is what I know: We can train our tongue.

God’s Word has a lot to say about the choices we are making with the words we use, but this verse is very direct:

“Do not let any unwholesome talk come out of your mouths, but only what is helpful for building others up according to their needs, that it may benefit those who listen.”
Ephesians 4:29

We can train our tongue to apologize quickly. I still slip up, but when I apologize in the moment, it’s amazing how many people will accept that apology gracefully and without reservation.

We can train our tongue to hold back. As I’m getting a little older, I’m taking a beat (or two) to think about what I’m saying before I say it. Most of the time, I realize that what I’m about to say isn’t hurtful. I’m now much more concerned about someone else’s feelings than getting the upper hand.

We can train our tongue to speak words of encouragement. It feels great to be funny in the moment, but specific encouragement will be remembered for years to come.

Today is the day to make the change. If you’ve used words that could have hurt, it’s not too late to ask for forgiveness.

And if you’ve been wounded by teasing, know that you are not “too sensitive.” Protect your peace. Part of peace is knowing what words to let linger around you and which to reject. My friend, you are far too loved and valued by God to let any unkind words linger in your presence.

 

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

Cultivating Kindness

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We all know that we’re supposed to be kind to others, and we genuinely want to. But it’s easy to get off track when we’re stuck in traffic, feel like we were wronged, face loud, contradicting viewpoints, or are even criticized for our own beliefs. How does the Bible tell us to respond to our adversaries? How did Jesus treat those who criticized Him? In I Peter 2:23, it says that “while [Jesus was] being reviled, He did not revile in return; while suffering, He uttered no threats, but kept entrusting Himself to Him who judges righteously.” Jesus did not argue with His critics. He did not keep a grudge or become angry with them. Instead, Jesus carried on teaching from village to village because His focus was on pleasing God, not those who had wronged Him.

So, while none of us are perfect, we are called to become more and more like the Perfect One. That means we respond with respect, we respond with love, we respond with peace, and we respond with the hope of unity in mind. If we, as Christians, started responding with this type of kindness in every situation, to every person, everywhere we go, we would stand out.

People wouldn’t be able to ignore the difference we’d be making in our families, our communities, and ultimately in our world. And when we do that, we become the salt and the light (Matthew 5:13-16). If we can turn kindness into something that’s not just an act, but a way of life that automatically flows through us as we journey on this earth, we will be pleasing the One who showed us the ultimate act of kindness when He gave His life to redeem us.

Kind Words

When I was a water safety instructor many years ago, I had to do mouth-to-mouth resuscitation on a drowning victim. This involved putting my mouth to their mouth and breathing into their lungs to help them find life again.

As Christians, it is important to check in regularly with ourselves regarding how we use our mouths. Are we, as God says to, speaking grace to those who hear us? Are we speaking truth at all times? Are we demonstrating to nonbelievers that we truly care about them? Do they know, when we’re sitting beside them, that we’re there to help and not hurt? And when they hear us, do they recognize our words as life-giving?

Kindness is demonstrated through good words. With every breath, we have the opportunity to say words that tear down, or words that build up.

Nobody is perfect. But with how we talk to others, we can show them that the goodness of God is worth discovering and enjoying. We can allow them to have a taste of God’s kindness by how kind we are to them.

“Let no unwholesome word proceed from your mouth, but only such a word as is good for edification according to the need of the moment, so that it will give grace to those who hear.”
Ephesians 4:29

“Let all bitterness and wrath and anger and clamor and slander be put away from you, along with all malice. Be kind to one another, tender-hearted, and forgiving each other, just as God in Christ also has forgiven you.”
Ephesians 4:31–32

Lord, make my words pleasing to all who hear them. Fill my heart with kindness so that I speak kindness wherever I go.

—

Dr. Tony Evans is the founder and senior pastor of Oak Cliff Bible Fellowship in Dallas, founder and president of The Urban Alternative, and author of over 150 books, booklets, and Bible studies. The first African American to earn a doctorate of theology from Dallas Theological Seminary, he has been named one of the Twelve Most Effective Preachers in the English-Speaking World by Baylor University. Dr. Evans’s radio broadcast is heard on over 1,400 radio outlets daily, and his sermons are streamed and downloaded over twenty million times annually.

His new collection with DaySpring begins with 100 Days of Cultivating Kindness, a 100-day guide to becoming contagiously kind in order to change the world. 

How do you change minds and attitudes?

How do you alter the perspectives and paradigms of others?

How do you make the world a better place?

It isn’t through violence, retaliation, or insisting on our own way. In fact, one of the strongest forces for changing lives is simple, free, and fulfilling: kindness.

In 100 Days of Cultivating Kindness, Dr. Tony Evans lays out a compelling case for being contagiously kind. Not only do we have the help of the Holy Spirit and the example of our Savior, but we have every reason to engage others with kindness based on the results that it provides. The truth is, kindness that catches on could turn our world upside down. Come discover the power and passion to be relentlessly kind — and see what happens next!

Order your copy of Cultivating Kindness today . . . and leave a comment below for a chance to WIN one of 5 copies*!

 

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

 

*Giveaway open to US addresses only and closes at 11:59 pm central on 4/27/23. Winners will be drawn at random and notified via email. Please allow 4-6 weeks for delivery.

For When You’re (Still) Waiting on a Miracle…

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Easter has passed and I’m still waiting for resurrection.

Hoping for, begging for, watching for signs of life. Straining my eyes for beauty in the ashes, listening intently for a whisper in the rubble.

There are many who say it’s best to wait until you’re on the other side before you write the story, before you say the words, before you tell what happened. Perspective and all. There’s wisdom in that, but if I’m honest, when I’m in a middle place I don’t only need to hear from those a chapter or two ahead… I need to know I’m not alone on this page.⁣

Today, I’m in the middle.

Today, I’m waiting for deep heartache to become a doorway of hope.

Today, I’m living in Holy Saturday, that great in-between day of confusion and questions, loss and sorrow.

It’s easy, even tempting, to skip over Saturday when we think of Easter. It’s more comfortable to move on to bright colors and hands raised, to worship songs and “He is risen” declarations. Despite writing an entire book for those in the messy middle, for those who need hope for tomorrow when today feels like a question mark, I’ll be the first to admit that if given the choice, I’d much prefer to hurry through to redemption and restoration.

I know what God can do, am fully confident of His power, and rest securely in His promises, and yet here I am — and perhaps, here you are too — holding both the grief of Good Friday and the joy of Easter morning.

Here, in Saturday.

Here, in the in-between.

Here, in the first part of Psalm 126:5.

“Those who sow in tears,” the Psalmist begins.

“What color is waiting?” one character asked another in a novel I read during Lent. “What color is sadness? Loneliness? Rejection? Shock?”

The main character, an artist, finds herself navigating unexpected loss and grief that turns her world upside down. I slowly flip the pages, pausing to consider, imagining a canvas covered in shades of gray as tears threaten to drip onto the page in my hands. A few days later, I stood in the paint aisle of my local craft store. In the days leading up to Easter, I added layer upon layer to my canvas, thick strokes mixing together.

Then I went to the plant store. My hands, speckled with paint, planted seeds deep in the dirt. Seeds that look remarkably like tears.

It will be a while before the flowers begin to bloom. Time takes time, and today the color of waiting isn’t too far off from the Burnt Umber on the canvas and the dirt beneath my fingernails. Today, the middle is quite literally messy and muddy. But there’s a miracle hidden in the word itself, in naming something the middle, in the very place where we think, “Yes, this feels like one long Saturday.”

If we’re in the middle, then it can’t possibly be “The End.”

We remember this at Easter as we adorn the cross and sing “In Christ Alone”, but it’s just as true every other day. The story was never, ever going to end on Saturday. After all, there’s more to Psalm 126.

“Those who sow with tears will reap with songs of joy. Those who go out weeping, carrying seed to sow, will return with songs of joy, carrying sheaves with them.”
Psalm 126:5-6

The Message translation says it this way: “And now, God, do it again — bring rains to our drought-stricken lives so those who planted their crops in despair will shout ‘Yes!’ at the harvest, so those who went off with heavy hearts will come home laughing, with armloads of blessing.”

“What color is belief?” I asked myself this morning. What color is hope and trust, faithfulness and rejoicing? What color is the promise of resurrection? Gold, I decided. Starlight Gold, to be exact, swirling among the thick strokes of Cloudy Day, Midnight, and Smokescreen.

Light in the dark. Peace in the storm. A compass in the night. A tear-shaped seed cracking, breaking, bursting open so that new life can emerge. Ours is a story where resurrection is already and always on the way.

I don’t see it yet, at least not in this particular middle place. I’m still watching, still waiting, still begging, and believing that the page will turn. What I know, though, is that Sunday is always coming.

Today, I remind myself: We have a God who turned the very worst of all days into a day known around the world as “Good.”

Today, I remember: We have a God who doesn’t rush us through the middle of Saturday but instead joins us in the dirt, weeps with us in loss, and walks with us through heartbreak and confusion.

Today, I rejoice because: We have a God who came near in order to break open, who became a seed that was buried so that we might come home laughing, arms filled to overflowing with goodness.

Easter has passed and I’m still waiting for resurrection.

But if we’re in the middle, then it can’t possibly be “The End.”

If you’re currently walking through a middle place, desperate to see God’s goodness in the chapters you wouldn’t have necessarily chosen, Even If Not: Living, Loving, and Learning in the in Between is for you. You have not been forgotten or overlooked. There is beauty, even here, and you are not alone.

 

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God Shows Up for Our Loved Ones When We Can’t

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Feeling helpless when someone you love is in distress is pure torment — until God shows up. 

For thirty years, Mom and I painted together every Friday. I’d arrive and we’d head to her art room — Mom with her tea and me with my pink energy drink — and we’d paint, talk, and laugh into the evening. 

Mom was a best friend to each of her daughters and was always there for us. Whether it was as a “shop ’til you drop” companion or bumping along in my sister’s truck over the Sierra summit for a vet clinic while bundled in a heavy coat and long underwear, all while balancing a sixty-four-ounce tea on the pile of blankets on her lap . . . Mom was there, laughing. Always laughing. 

So when her early dementia diagnosis came, it hit us like a mudslide, stripping away our familiar family landscape and leaving it in a tumbling mess of pain. 

Because my dad couldn’t manage their ranch and simultaneously care for my mom, we moved them out-of-state to be closer to more family. But within a year, my dad died of heart failure and Mom, with progressing dementia, landed in a memory care home. Not the story our family expected.

Suddenly, three states away felt like fifty . . . but when you’re a doer and there’s a need, you get things done — until you can’t. Mom was in distress and I was helpless to save her. 

Saying we trust God with our loved ones is easy until He asks us to let them go. 

The phone calls were tough. Mom cried while I tried to reassure her of a future I wasn’t sure of myself. I’d hang up, guilt and shame consuming me. I’ve failed her. Hot, fitful tears soaked my pillow night after sleepless night. I should be doing more. But a full-time job and strained bank account won’t allow much margin. 

At times, we may feel like our loved ones’ lives are in our hands, but no one’s ultimate well-being rests solely in your hands or mine. We do our best and leave the results to God. 

I prayed and “showed up” through phone calls. The rest was under His watchful eye — and if His eye was on the sparrow, then it was on my mom. God is loving and faithful and promises to never leave or forsake us. I prayed that promise for Mom and preached it to myself. Rinse. Lather. Repeat.

But the torment of hearing her fear and pain still stewed in my gut — until God showed up for me personally.  

The opening scene in Ezekiel depicts the Jewish exiles gathered by a Babylonian river, heads hanging, hearts aching, as they wept over the destruction of their families and homeland. The exiles had witnessed the murder of family and friends, made the long, merciless trek as prisoners of war, and now faced a future of slavery in a foreign land.

“In my thirtieth year, in the fourth month on the fifth day, while I was among the exiles by the Kebar River, the heavens were opened and I saw visions of God. On the fifth of the month—it was the fifth year of the exile of King Jehoiachin—the word of the Lord came to Ezekiel the priest, the son of Buzi, by the Kebar River in the land of the Babylonians. There the hand of the Lord was on him.”
Ezekiel 1:1–3 (NIV)

For the captive Israelites, Babylon represented profound pain and loss. 

Yet, in that place of deep suffering, surrounded by weeping and broken kinsman, God opened heaven to Ezekiel and gave him a vision of His presence in Babylon with His exiled people. In Ezekiel’s bondage, fear, and helplessness, God’s hand was upon him.

Just as God showed up for the exiles, He would show up for me in my loss and Mom in her suffering. 

For the rest of her time on earth, I slept better. I cried healing tears and gave my best on every phone call. It was still hard . . . but I no longer felt responsible for outcomes. I celebrated that I could bring love, compassion, connection, and prayers to Mom. I still heard pain in her voice on our calls — and it hurt, but it didn’t undo me. 

The last time I talked to Mom, I was at a cabin in the woods. When I called, my aunt answered. She was with Mom, along with a close family friend that Mom adored. I spoke briefly with my semi-conscious mom, then I spoke with a family friend who was holding Mom’s hand and telling her how much she was loved. I wept with gratitude that in her place of suffering, the hand of the Lord was upon her.

Later, the cabin owners told me they were shocked that I’d made a call out. “We’ve never had cell service out there,” they’d said. 

Mom died a few weeks later. My sister sat next to her, talking to her and rubbing her back. You could say God’s hand was upon Mom through it all. 

God shows up when we can’t. He frees us from guilt, shame, and torment and the lie that we can “save” anyone. He picks up the burden, bears the weight, and brings us rest and peace . . . right smack in the middle of suffering.

Now, when I remember Mom, I think of oil paints and easels, and I picture her looking at me over a partially-painted canvas, head thrown back in laughter.

Are You Trustworthy?

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“A gossip goes around revealing a secret,
but a trustworthy person keeps a confidence.”
Proverbs 11:13

We live in a culture that has made gossip a glossy commodity. There are magazines, websites, TV shows, and social media accounts dedicated to revealing the secrets, the inside scoop, the dirt on people’s lives. Gossip has become entertainment. This is true even if you never pick up a tabloid or succumb to clickbait. Gossip thrives around the proverbial water coolers of our lives. At school pick. In the corners of the church. Lingering in the lunch room. On the soccer sidelines or in the back of the dance studio. People’s ears perk up when there is something juicy or cutting or unbelievable to share. It’s this enticing attention that often compels us to be the one who spills the secret.

But the Bible is clear that how we use our words matters. Gossip is not godly. If we are women of faith, women of the Word, then we need to also be women of our word. If something is shared with us in confidence, we honor the Lord by keeping that confidence.

As God is trustworthy with the tender places of our hearts and hard parts of our stories, may we tend well to the hearts and stories entrusted to our care.

 

The Things We Save Can’t Save Us

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I go through dozens of Grandma’s collected dishes and glassware, each piece delicate and fine. And my mom has a story for each one:

“Oh, that was the candy dish! If I snuck a piece, I had to lift the silver lid just right, so it wouldn’t make any noise.”

“She set out that dish and filled it with nuts, served with this silver spoon at every church ladies’ circle meeting.”

“She put mashed potatoes in that bowl!”

I scour the Internet for details on the precious glassware, and what I find makes me gasp. Each piece is worth actual dollars! Some pieces are worth several actual dollars! The day I loaded her white Havilland into the back of the minivan, I drove almost as carefully as the day we brought our firstborn from the hospital.

As I set each dish, plate, and cup in their home in my hutch (which was also Grandma’s!), I pause to really look at them — and marvel at what I see. Light and tiny but very much present atop plates are lines where knives scraped across them decades ago. She actually used these!, I think.

That thought strikes me hard because I am a saver. Gardenia perfume I wore on my wedding day? I spritz it on my wrists only on our anniversary. Beautiful teacup from my wedding shower? I haven’t used it since. Crisp white linen napkins, received for our engagement? I only bring them out for Christmas dinner. All these gifts, literally collecting dust.

Most likely, their giver wouldn’t be too happy if they knew their gifts were just taking up space instead of bringing joy on a regular basis. While some things are more meaningful when held onto, the idea of leaving my best things unused doesn’t sit well in my heart.

Because if I can’t bring myself to use the good dishes on a Tuesday night, what else do I hoard and squirrel away? My best listening ear, reserved only for people in crisis. The best of my servant’s heart, reserved for those who can somehow serve me back. The best of my God-given gifts, reserved to the point where they become buried, and I argue when He asks me to use them.

It’s as though we believe the things we save could save us.

“Don’t hoard treasure down here where it gets eaten by moths and corroded by rust or — worse! — stolen by burglars. Stockpile treasure in heaven, where it’s safe from moths and rust and burglars. It’s obvious, isn’t it? The place where your treasure is, is the place you will most want to be, and end up being.”
Matthew 6:19-21 MSG

I’ve heard it said that “you become what you behold” — wisdom from 2 Corinthians 3:18. What am I becoming if I am holding back the best of my things, and the best of myself — both out of fear?

My grandma never held back. She brought out the good plates and lit the candles on the dining room table for lasagna dinner on Wednesday nights. She always had a full candy dish waiting for us. She never withheld her listening ear or her love. Her warm and wrinkled hands were ready for holding, and her arms were open wide for hugs. She was generous with her love, her time, and her jewelry collection.

There is deep power in loving others, and we are able to both give and receive that when we gather around the table and give our best.

Grandma’s dishes now live in my kitchen cupboards. Over time, I will add to the faint knife scrapes on the plates, so that when my kids go through them in sixty years, they too will have stories to tell.

Story by Anna E. Rendell and featured in A Mother’s Love.

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

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

As Mother’s Day approaches, we know that it is a complex day full of many emotions and experiences. Know that at (in)courage, we are praying for each of you in this season as you remember, celebrate, grieve, or enjoy motherhood and what it means to you. Every single woman who loves, encourages, and nurtures those who become part of the next generation is doing amazing work and is to be celebrated.

Lost in Mexico

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When we got out of our Taxi bus after spending the week in Mexico for spring break with our children, we were annoyed and tired. It wasn’t because it was hot, it wasn’t because it was a long drive, it wasn’t because our kids were poking at each other the whole time. It was because my husband had broke his leg while surfing two days earlier, and two days before that, we had gotten some kind of stomach bug that landed us near a toilet, not the beautiful ocean.

“This trip needs to just be over. I mean, what else could go wrong?” I said while packing.

As we exited the bus, we were met with the chaos of the crowded airport — people everywhere, shouting vendors, arrivals and departures, tons of white vans bringing passengers to and from. So I gave clear instructions to the children, “Ok, we will go across this yellow crosswalk.” Except I was wrong and my husband corrected me, “No, we need to go to the other crosswalk at departures.” We quickly scurried through the designated crosswalk to escape the outdoor chaos. Once inside, it was calmer. We were moving a bit slower with my husband on crutches and my son and I taking his bags. When we got to the counter, we handed over our passports and they ticketed our luggage. “Nothing for Pruett?” the attendant asked. We looked around. 

And that’s when terror set in. Our eight-year-old son Pruett was nowhere to be seen. My teenage son, Layne, and I split up and yelled for him. We ran and I screamed Pruett’s name over and over as loud as I could. I went outside and yelled into the crowd scanning back and forth. People were looking at me, still carrying on, drinking margaritas at the outdoor bar. I was screaming the loudest I had ever screamed. I ran back inside and my husband saw that I still didn’t have him. So he took off on his crutches so fast, he probably rebroke his leg. 

Minutes later, Layne walked into the building holding hands with a crying Pruett and chastising him, “You have to stay near us. What were you thinking?!” But I ran to my small son as he explained. “I’m sorry. I went on the crosswalk you told me to go to. I lost you guys. I’m very sorry! I was so scared!” 

“You are not in trouble! I am so glad we found you!! I said the wrong way and you didn’t hear Dad tell us the right way,” I said, wiping the tears off his face and retrieving a pen to write my phone on his arm in huge font. I was NOT letting that happen again!

As terrifying as this experience was, as heart-wrenching as it felt, it made the other bad parts of the trip melt quickly away. I was so thankful to have my kid by my side, safe again. I was never mad at Pruett for getting lost, I simply ached to find him. I searched him out while he took the wrong way, not listening, and landing in a scary position. 

I think about that with God, how we think He’s mad at us. How we think He’ll be mad at us when or if we return. How sometimes we have to sit in our scary mess for a bit to understand how much we need to be rescued. How the good father waits at the gate for the prodigal son but the brother chastises him for not doing the right thing like he did. 

“But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion for him; he ran to his son, threw his arms around him, and kissed him.”
 Luke 15:20

This story has a sudden new meaning for me after our Mexico experience.

There’s something we say in our house, sort of like a catechism, back and forth. It goes like this:

I ask, “Is God mad at you?” 

The kids answer, “No, Jesus took all of God’s wrath on my behalf.”

I say that to them because I believed for a long time that God must be mad at me for sinning, not staying on the right track, and bad behaviors. And maybe you’re wondering the same thing. But we know from Scripture that God isn’t like that towards us. He can not possibly be mad at us for our lostness. In fact, He patiently waits at the gate, scanning the pasture in anticipation that we will get tired of our pig trough and come back. And then He throws a celebration! 

This is good news for the sick ones, the lost ones, the ones who just can’t seem to get it right and messed up big. God waits for you today.

 

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

Drenched in God’s Mercy

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But you are God’s chosen treasure—priests who are kings, a spiritual “nation” set apart as God’s devoted ones. He called you out of darkness to experience his marvelous light, and now he claims you as his very own. He did this so that you would broadcast his glorious wonders throughout the world. For at one time you were not God’s people, but now you are. At one time you knew nothing of God’s mercy, because you hadn’t received it yet, but now you are drenched with it!
1 Peter 2:9

When I was in junior high and high school, my PE coaches would often assign captains to pick teams when we were playing games like dodgeball and soccer. I discovered it was a privilege and a curse to be the team captain because the captain was forced to make the hard choices.

Everyone in the class would line up nervously. The first captain would pick a player. Then the second captain would pick a player. Then back to the first captain. Choosing teammates required some strategy. A captain might pick the most athletic girls first if she really wanted to win the game. She might also consider choosing her friends first so she could hang out with them on the field.

I’ve always had a soft heart, so I would intentionally choose the kids I knew were going to get picked last. I hated the idea that someone would have to wait to be chosen until the very end. My heart was to show them grace and mercy, not just to build a team in the expected way.

Someone who is described as “chosen” is said to be the object of divine favor or is given a special privilege. Throughout the pages of Scripture, the word chosen is used to mean elect, examined, preferred, and selected.

In the first two chapters of Genesis, we see God choose Adam and Eve as His special creation. Everything else God speaks into existence, but God chooses to bend low and form Adam from the dust of the earth. God also knew it was not good for Adam to be alone, so the Master Sculptor chooses to fashion Eve from one of Adam’s ribs. Both man and woman are created in the image and likeness of God according to Genesis 1:26.

Adam and Eve — and all of us — are chosen to be distinct spiritual and physical beings who reflect God’s glory to the world. We have been given the privilege and task of stewarding creation well.

The opening passage from 1 Peter highlights our call as believers and recipients of God’s mercy to “broadcast his glorious wonders throughout the world.” There are many ways we can point others to His glory. Maybe it’s telling a friend or someone we meet on an airplane about how God has transformed our lives. Maybe it’s writing about God’s glory in a book or posting photos on Instagram that show His glory. Maybe it’s singing a song or composing a poem or painting a picture.

Friend, you are chosen. You are chosen to live in this era, this generation, this year with its many challenges and privileges. The story you are living today, the message you carry in your heart, the people you are leading and feeding — all of these present an opportunity to give God glory. Don’t miss it!

Dear Lord, thank You for drenching me in Your love and mercy today. I am humbled that You chose me to be Your witness in the world. Give me the creativity and courage to share the story of Your glory with others in my spheres of influence. Amen.

In our divisive and unforgiving world, we need mercy more than ever. When we extend grace toward one another despite faults, mistakes, and differences of opinion, we model the kind of long-suffering patience and love that God shows toward us. But how do you cultivate a merciful heart in the midst of a culture where everyone seems quick to judge and slow to forgive? Where do you begin?

Meet Create in Me a Heart of Mercy, the newest (in)courage Bible study and final in this series, written by Dorina Lazo Gilmore-Young and featuring stories from your favorite (in)courage writers.

The mercy God has shown us through Jesus is meant to flow through us to the rest of the world as a powerful witness to God’s love and forgiveness. Let God create in you a heart of mercy!

Our prayer is that this study will encourage you to seek the Lord and the mercy He offers each one of us. Create in Me a Heart of Mercy releases in May, and we are SO excited to see how God will use it to speak to your heart. Sign up below to get a FREE full week of Bible study from Create in Me a Heart of Mercy, and preorder your copy today!

Get your FREE week from the Heart of Mercy Bible Study!

Sign up here and we’ll send you the introduction + first full week from Create in Me a Heart of Mercy. It’s a perfect way to get a sneak peek at the book and decide if it’s right for your next Bible study!

 

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