When the Culture Promotes Negativity, Let’s Be Counter-Cultural

When the Culture Promotes Negativity, Let’s Be Counter-Cultural

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I paused in the middle of a writing session to open a new tab on my web browser. After years devoted to nonfiction, I’m twenty thousand words into the rough draft of my first novel (it both thrills and terrifies me to type these words). The differences between genres no longer overwhelm me, I can compose dialogue (yay!), and I’ve become comfortable writing from points of view beyond my own.

For my last two books, I researched articles in science journals. Now I study character development, and how to describe real places or fabricate fictional settings. I ponder fresh word choices and avoid overused clichés, employ techniques like “show, don’t tell,” foreshadowing, and cliffhangers, and know that HEA means happily ever after. Sometimes I’m so fully immersed in my fictional world that writing dialogue feels like eavesdropping, as if I’m taking dictation on my characters’ conversations.

Some days the sentences build themselves. Perfect turns of phrase flow at will from my fingertips. Other days are just plain hard. I’m not sure what comes next (I’m a pantser, if you care to Google it) or I convince myself I’m wasting my time and no one will read, much less publish this book. On those days, either I push through, take a nap, procrastibake (yes, this is real), read a book, or allow research to lead me down an endless series of rabbit trails — this one has the initial benefit of feeling like work.

Recently, while searching for the perfect song title to use in a scene, I stumbled upon YouTube videos of genuine reactions to hearing famous songs for the first time. Have you seen these? There’s something compelling about watching another person encounter truth, goodness, and beauty in something familiar to you, like two gorgeous 70s pop tunes in the videos I watched. I hadn’t heard one of them in years, but I play it all the time now; it’s an earworm, and the subject of my first conscious thought some mornings.

I’m fascinated by the idea that my favorite song, book, movie, or album exists, but I haven’t discovered it yet. When I watch reaction videos, I anticipate witnessing someone make such a discovery, or at least unearth a treasure I already possess and add it to the lexicon of their cultural literacy. Things that are real, right, and lovely appeal to us and those that are fake, false, and ugly repel us. At least they should. But with time and exposure, we become desensitized. A word that used to guarantee a film an R rating is now common on television.

My husband and I have a theater membership plan that allows us to watch up to three movies a week, which we sometimes do. I also read a lot. I’ve got front-row seats to what’s offered to the culture, and it’s bleak. No matter the subject matter, most of what I see and read is peppered with anti-family, anti-religion, anti-truth, and anti-goodness messages. We watched a comedy recently with demonic content (I don’t use that term lightly). Don’t underestimate the impact these things have on our children and society, on me and you.

Francis Schaeffer observed, “Rome did not collapse because of outward forces, such as the barbarians, but because of inward rottenness,” evidenced by decadence and a lack of creativity in the arts. The 19th-century preacher Charles Spurgeon said, “I believe that one reason why the church of God at this present moment has so little influence over the world is because the world has so much influence over the church.”

The problem isn’t new. However, our ability to counteract it not only privately, but publicly, increases apace with technology. Within our circles, we are all influencers and content creators. When you read a book or see a movie with a positive message, share a review online or tell your friends about it. Take your children to a museum or hang art reproductions in your home. Our family can’t purchase originals, but our walls display three Van Gogh’s, two O’Keeffe’s, and a Vermeer. Vote with your wallet: let your viewing and reading habits tell Hollywood and the publishing industry what you as an audience want.

Friends, don’t be depressed; be empowered. When the culture promotes negativity, be counter-cultural. We have multiple spheres of influence. Let’s use our roles as wives, mothers, friends, homemakers, consumers, or debut novelists to share truth, goodness, and beauty with a fallen world.

“And be not conformed to this world: but be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind, that ye may prove what is that good, and acceptable, and perfect, will of God.”
Romans 12:2 (KJV)

 

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Step off the Hamster Wheel

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This past summer I decided to do something that felt radical for me. I took a break. 

I’m not just talking about a vacation. I actually stopped working. I committed to four weeks of rest without deadlines, meetings, and other obligations. I realized my vision was growing cloudy while squinting at too many to-do lists and hoisting my fatigued body from bed each morning. I knew I was teetering on the edge of burnout and needed to slow my pace for a more extended time. 

Some people call it a sabbatical. I call it an exhale. Sabbaticals have their roots in Christian tradition and Scripture. Leviticus 25:1-5 calls for the people of Israel to set aside the seventh year as a year of rest for the land. In the New Testament, Jesus modeled regular rest and solitude. He drew away from the crowds even when the needs around Him seemed to be pressing (Mark 6:45-46). He napped! (Luke 8:22-23). And Jesus chose to devote Himself to prayer instead of simply plowing through (Matthew 26:36).

The first week of my sabbatical I traveled with my family. The second week I slept. I didn’t realize how deeply fatigued my body was until I actually turned off my alarm and let myself sleep.

My last two decades have been filled with birthing babies, raising my three girls, investing in ministry, grieving the death of my first husband, and chasing demanding deadlines. Sleep too often came with anxiety, restless tossing, and mom guilt. I never gave myself real permission to rest. 

During one of the weeks, my oldest daughter and I decided to drive up to Princess Campground just outside of Hume Lake in Sequoia National Park for some time off the grid while her younger sisters were off galavanting at summer camp. There in the woods, I felt God’s glory lean in close and begin to restore my tired soul. 

From my perch at the picnic table, a cool breeze kissed my neck as my eyes followed up-up-up the trunk of a ponderosa pine. Her sage green branches swayed slightly like a woman wearing a feather boa, promenading across the velvet blue sky. Light streamed between the trunks of the trees. There was no music playing, but there seemed to be a symphony around me. I could hear the flutter of bird wings flapping, the whistle of the wind, and the punctuated play of two squirrels chasing each other down the path.

I saw God’s glory in the blue-crimson flames that danced over the logs of our campfire. I smelled His glory in the earthy scent of the forest, like a lingering cologne. I tasted His glory in the first bite of my s’more sandwich made with cinnamon graham crackers. I heard His glory whisper through unhurried conversations with my girl, who is just starting her senior year of high school and dreaming about the future.

Sometimes we need to create space for our minds to wander, for our hearts to grieve, and for meandering conversation with our people.

Back in Genesis, the Creation story reveals something intentional about God’s architectural plans for the world. He speaks the ocean, heavens, trees, flowers, birds, beasts, sun, moon, and stars into existence in the first five days. Then He takes the dust and sculpts a man, breathing life into him on the sixth day. 

Genesis 2:2 tells us “he rested on the seventh day from all the work that he had done” (ESV). 

That means the first day on earth for humans was actually a day of rest, not work. God created us to rest. Full stop. In rest, we are invited to delight in the garden, to create in community, to cook up feasts, and dare to dream. Our work then flows out of that rest. 

On my sabbatical, I was reminded that rest helps us untether our souls from the hamster-wheel pace our culture glorifies. Rest helps us change our speed from striving and sprinting to slowing and noticing.

Rest highlights our idols and distractions and brings us back to the peace found only in our Creator’s arms. 

Rest gives us time to abide in Christ rather than chase after the affirmation of others.

In a physical sense, rest is necessary for growth. If we want to build our muscles and endurance, our bodies need both stress and rest. Without resistance, our muscles atrophy or melt away as we age. I lift weights at the gym a few times a week to stress my muscles. This creates micro-tears, which signal the body to send good blood and good nutrition to that area. During rest days, the tiny tears heal and grow back stronger. Our muscles need time for recovery and regeneration — as do our souls. 

Arranging my summer sabbatical took preparation. I had to do work in advance and say no to some good opportunities so I had space to rest. I had to discipline myself not to fill our calendar squares so I had unplanned hours and unscripted days. My brain and my body needed time to heal the micro-tears before they became injuries.

This time of sabbatical taught me how much I need space. My everyday harried, trying-to-multitask life leaves little margin to listen to God.

Friend, what about you? When is the last time you fully rested? Do you give your soul space to breathe? When have you granted yourself permission to grieve or take time away from the treadmill of productivity?

You might not have a month for a sabbatical, but you could carve out a weekend, a day, or even a few hours. Arrange for the babysitter. Book the campsite or the hotel. Mark off the time on your calendar, and protect it.

Our culture preaches that time is money and rest is a myth, but I’m starting to believe the unforced rhythms are actually the healing God intended for us from the beginning. Let’s embrace them. Let’s listen closely for the Spirit’s whisper and His voice in the wind.

Dorina helps women discover God’s glory in unexpected places. Subscribe to Dorina’s Glorygram here and follow her on Instagram for encouragement and glory resources.

 

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If Only God Would Send out Patience via Overnight Delivery

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In early May, my daughter Abbie experienced a unique car accident. A large round of tree stump fell off the back of a landscaping truck into Abbie’s lane on the expressway. With heavy traffic on all sides and behind her, Abbie couldn’t avoid the stump. She ran right into it. 

The stump wedged itself under her car. Abbie nursed her car along to a nearby friend’s house. After their slacked-jaw response to her arrival, her friends pried the stump from under her car. The stump was big enough for them to roll it into their backyard as extra seating around their fire pit. I’m grateful that a more serious accident didn’t occur.

After eight weeks in the repair shop and many thousands of dollars later, the body shop called. Abbie’s car was almost complete. I was relieved! We’d been sharing my car since the accident. since Abbie lives close by. Even though Abbie lives close and works nearby as a NICU nurse, and I work at home, it was still tricky sharing a car.

The day before Abbie picked up her car, the body shop called again. Her driver’s side seatbelt didn’t pass the electronic safety tests. While her airbags didn’t deploy during the accident, the force of the collision damaged the integrity of the seatbelt. Even though the repairs were complete, her car was legally non-drivable.

Then, an even bigger problem popped up. The shop manager broke the news that there were no seatbelts in the entire country for her vehicle’s make and model. Not in junkyards. Not in the aftermarket. Honda factories weren’t making them. I asked when a seatbelt might become available. The manager let out a long sigh and said: “Ma’am, I don’t know.”

 It’s been five weeks since that phone call. Still no seatbelt nor a hint of when one might arrive. Could be tomorrow, could be two weeks from now, or could be Christmas.

My daughter and I continue to share a car. In the moments when I want to grumble, I remember that this situation is giving me an invitation to grow in my least favorite aspect of the Fruit of the Spirit: patience.

Who loves waiting for something to happen that is out of your control? Answer: Not me.

God knew what He was doing when He designed the Fruit of the Spirit as a singular analogy of what the Holy Spirit grows in our lives. Otherwise, I’d cherrypick the other fruits like love, joy, or kindness of the Fruit of the Spirit tree and leave patience hanging for someone else to figure out. Instead, the Fruits of the Spirit are one because God intends for us to reflect all that Jesus is, not only the parts that we’re interested in.

I don’t enjoy being impatient. I want to pray, “God, take as long as You’d like.” However, once I say “Amen,” I usually expect God to deliver an answer via Amazon Prime in two days or less, preferably overnight shipping.

Can you relate? If patience is hard for you, there’s a popular verse on waiting that sparked an a-ha moment for me that I’d like to share with you. This discovery didn’t make waiting easier, but it has helped me to remember that waiting on God is always worth it.

“But those who wait for the Lord [who expect, look for, and hope in Him]
Will gain new strength and renew their power;
They will lift up their wings [and rise up close to God] like eagles [rising toward the sun];
They will run and not become weary,
They will walk and not grow tired.”
Isaiah 40:31 AMP

My a-ha moment was this: This journey of patience is often where I can have the most impact in my Christian life. If God instantly gave me what I wanted, I’d probably not stop to look around at what other people needed.

What if your waiting room season included this prayer:

“God, while I’m waiting, You have permission to work through me to help others.”

For example, if you’re waiting on God to bring back the prodigal in your life, you can invest in young people at your church or in your community. While you’re waiting on God for a baby or grandchild, you can volunteer at your local school or make meals for new parents. For someone like me who is praying for God to bring a future spouse, I began meeting with another single woman at our favorite ice cream stand once a month to pray for her. Letting God work through us while we’re waiting encourages us and actually makes us stronger during the wait.

Where has the waiting been heavy for you, my friend? God knows that your wait is hard, but don’t jump ahead just because you’re tired of waiting. I love this wisdom: “You can save a lot of time waiting on God.” 

Perhaps your prayer today could be: “God, while I’m waiting, please use me to make a difference. Work through me, God, for Your glory and my good. Amen.”

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His Faithfulness Washes Over the Desert of Your Heart

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The pen falls from my fingers and skitters across the floor as I jerk awake. I sigh — I’ve fallen asleep during my Bible study time. Again. Frustrated, I snatch up a new pen and struggle to find my place in the passage, only to drift away once more. After a few more moments of effort, I give up and grab my phone. I’m getting nowhere with Bible study . . . but if I send these text messages, at least that will be off my mind. 

Days pass, the pattern continues. I drag myself to the chair and open my Bible and my prayer journal, hoping that today will be the day I hear from Him. I wonder, What is wrong with me? Why is this once-sweet time now dry and stale?

I used to envision myself sitting with God, sharing with Him everything on my heart. Now, my mental picture has morphed, and God sits on a huge throne far away — unattainable, unreachable.

It seems that no matter how hard I try, I can’t find my way to a place where I feel connected to God. Everything is dry, desolate, barren. Desert-like. 

I remember a sermon series on Exodus and the pastor’s explanation that God often uses our time in the desert as a period of preparation for the next thing to come. So I pour myself into study, searching for some oasis to offer a gentle reprieve.

But nothing changes . . .

I call my friend, Jodi, remembering that she experienced something similar a few years back. Together, we recall her tearful phone call, her fears that she might never again feel the connection with God that she so desired. I ask what she did to find her way out of the desert.

Her response is both discouraging and encouraging. “Nothing changed,” she says, “but then everything did.” She tells me to keep going through the motions. Heart will follow mind, and the pursuit of relationship with the Father is a discipline.

The truth is, each time I pick up my phone instead of my Bible, I’ve already made the decision that I won’t find communion in the pages of His word. Jodi lets me know that she will be praying with and for me. She reads a short passage of Scripture over the phone and then prays those words back to God. 

And so I continue on . . .

Some days, it feels like slogging through mud, and I finish my study weary and discouraged. Other days, the reading goes quickly, and it feels as if the Scripture verses flit across the surface of my mind, only to disappear before really grasping them.  

As I wash the dishes, I listen to a playlist of songs centered on the faithfulness of God. Sometimes I sing along to “I Will Trust in You” by Lauren Daigle. On other days, my voice can’t fight past tears and I can only listen as “He Will Hold Me Fast” relates truths that don’t quite feel real. Sometimes I memorize verses about the goodness of God and repeat them to myself:

“Yet I am confident I will see the Lord’s goodness while I am here in the land of the living. Wait patiently for the Lord. Be brave and courageous. Yes, wait patiently for the Lord.”
Psalm 27:13-14 (NLT)

When something resonates — a song that makes me feel a little closer to Him, or a moment where I feel communion with Him — I take note and write it in my prayer journal. Keeping a record of God’s faithfulness helps me realize that there are small drops of rain here, that this spiritual desert is not as dry as it seems.  

Weeks and months pass until, one day, I realize that my pen almost can’t keep up with the prayers I am writing. I have more to say to God than I have in so long. And when the words trickle to a stop, it occurs to me: There’s a quiet peace running under the desolation I so often feel.

That same week, during worship that Sunday, one of the songs connects with my heart in a new way, and I find myself singing it back to God throughout the week. I follow a breadcrumb trail of cross references and discover an old truth in a new way. Rather than forcing myself to spend a minimum of time seeking God, I anticipate the time I will spend with Him each morning, and I engage in a continuing conversation with Him that ebbs and flows throughout the remainder of the day.  

My Father’s faithfulness washes over me, refreshing my heart and bringing new life and new growth. As I pray, I imagine myself sitting beside Him in a meadow, a stream flowing nearby. 

How Much More . . .

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6 For while we were still helpless, at the right time, Christ died for the ungodly. 7 For rarely will someone die for a just person—though for a good person perhaps someone might even dare to die. 8 But God proves his own love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us. 9 How much more then, since we have now been justified by his blood, will we be saved through him from wrath. 10 For if, while we were enemies, we were reconciled to God through the death of his Son, then how much more, having been reconciled, will we be saved by his life. 11 And not only that, but we also boast in God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have now received this reconciliation.
Romans 5:6-11 CSB

How much more? That’s the question we ought to ask ourselves every time we’re prone to question God’s love or faithfulness or care. Every time with think we messed up too much or our problems are too big . . . asking “How much more?” will lead us back to this fundamental truth:

God already gave up what was most precious to Him — His very own Son. If God loved us THAT much, so much that He was willing to be separated from Jesus and allow Him to endure the weight of our sin and a brutal death as payment, all so we could be restored to a here-on-earth and forever-in-eternity relationship with Him, then truly there isn’t anything God wouldn’t do for us.

Let the beautiful weight of that sink in.

Where in your life do you need more of God’s goodness, more of His grace, more of His forgiveness, more of His strength?

Ask Him. Tell your Lord and Savior exactly what you need. Open your heart in surrender and trust in how much more He has for you.

 

How to Truly Rest in God

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The Lord is my shepherd, I lack nothing.
2     He makes me lie down in green pastures,
he leads me beside quiet waters,
3     he refreshes my soul.
He guides me along the right paths
    for his name’s sake.
4 Even though I walk
    through the darkest valley,[a]
I will fear no evil,
    for you are with me;
your rod and your staff,
    they comfort me.

5 You prepare a table before me
    in the presence of my enemies.
You anoint my head with oil;
    my cup overflows.
6 Surely your goodness and love will follow me
    all the days of my life,
and I will dwell in the house of the Lord
forever.
Psalm 23 NIV

I sit on the edge of my bed, staring blankly at the dresser—no, through the dresser. My eyes are glazed over; I’m not really looking at anything. My shoulders sag, and my whole body feels as though I’m a wilting plant in need of sun and water.  

I’m exhausted.  

I’ve been saying yes to all the things that I can’t say no to — family obligations, mommy duties, household upkeep, and work deadlines. And then there are the yeses I say for my own well-being — therapy, life-giving friendships, time alone, church, mentoring. Throw in a celebration for someone’s birthday, a coffee date with a friend I haven’t seen in a while, or a visiting family member, and the calendar seems to explode at the seams, with no wiggle room even to breathe.  

And running in the back of my mind is the low-humming anxiety that I’ll drop the ball somewhere and won’t realize it until it’s too late. I can almost sense failure lurking around the corner, waiting for that ball to drop.  

I close my eyes and take some deep breaths. The slow, deliberate breathing wills my body and mind to settle down. I want to curl up like a baby and be carried away to somewhere quiet so I can rest, and closing my eyes, I imagine God doing this for me. I don’t have to hold or control everything so tightly when I’m held in His arms. I can relax. I can truly rest.  

I lie on my bed, where I hold my palms open to my sides and close my eyes again. By habit, these verses come to mind — the words embedded into the deepest parts of me since my childhood days of memorizing Bible verses for Sunday school: “He makes me lie down in green pastures, he leads me beside quiet waters, he refreshes my soul” (Ps. 23:2–3). 

Imagining the water, the green, it feels like the space I’m in expands. I don’t have to be controlled by my to-do list. I don’t have to do all the things or meet with all the people, even if all those things would have been good or beneficial for me.  

I still need to do the things I need to do, but I look at the calendar with fresh eyes. I cancel meetings where I can. I choose only the absolutely necessary things to get done for the week. I talk with my husband about all the responsibilities I carry, and we hash out how we can better share the mental and physical loads.  

In small but decisive ways, I simplify my life. And more than that, I find rest for my soul in the sliver of the day where I pause to breathe, to imagine, and to say yes to God’s invitation to come and receive His rest.  

Devotion by Grace P. Cho as published in Courageous Simplicity: Abide in the Simple Abundance of Jesus

By trusting the Good Shepherd, we can experience the radical simplicity of peace, contentment, and courage. As the apostle Peter encourages us, “Give all your worries and cares to God, for he cares about you” (1 Pet. 5:7 NLT). Get a free week and learn more about the Courageous Simplicity Bible study!

 

The Danger of Believing “This Is as Good as It Gets”

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One of the first fights my boyfriend (eventually my husband) and I had was in a mall parking lot.

We had been dating for a few months and were enjoying a low-key afternoon of shopping when out of nowhere he wanted to “talk.” I knew it wasn’t a break-up talk because things had been going so well. We were in love and slightly obsessed with each other. It turned out that the “talk” wasn’t to slow down our relationship but to speed things up. He casually broached the subject of our future and I backed away. I was bothered.

Of course I wanted to marry him . . . but not now, not when things were so good. We exited the mall and moved into the parking lot where I proceeded to shut down and weirdly navigate a conversation I didn’t want to be in.

If things are good, inevitably I believe bad things are coming. Call it self-sabotage or pessimism, but I have always had a hard time believing that anything could possibly be better than right now. If something is going well, why mess with it?

Maybe it’s better to say it this way — I am not good at change.

I desperately cling to the moment I am in and live in fear of what tomorrow holds. I didn’t want to move out of dating and into engagement. I didn’t want to move into the season of motherhood because I was afraid everything would only get worse. I resisted having baby number 2 (and 3, 4, and 5, for that matter) because I was convinced nothing could ever be better than the current life I had created. 

Months before my son took his driver’s license test, I couldn’t sleep. My fear was less about him getting in an accident and more about how this would change our family. I was convinced that this would change everything. I can’t control what happens next which makes me want to try and control everything even more. 

Time has a tight grip on me. The tick and turn of time feels like a death sentence rather than the click and twist of a beautiful kaleidoscope. Time scares me and I can’t slow it down. I can’t make it stop. 

When I look back on my life, I see all the times I’ve tried to cling to life for control. But  I think God is inviting me to cling to Him instead. I cling to time for security, but I think God is inviting me to cling to the hope of heaven instead. When I pay attention to all the seasons I have been through, I realize that I believed a lie.

The lie was, “This is as good as it gets.” I believed that right now was the best my life would ever be. 

But the truth is right now is good, but something better is coming. After every change, good came. Grief and hardship were present, but so was new joy and new freedom. Right now is good, but God promises more goodness is still to come. 

“For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I have been fully known.”
1 Corinthians 13:12

My life, my kids, my family, my world is good, but everything I have is just a sliver of what is to come. I want to hold time down because I am afraid that the future will only bring heartache. 

There will certainly be pain in the future, but there will also be heaven. 

The future isn’t something I have to resist or push off, it is something God is giving me. Life right now is just an appetizer. It is a foretaste of what is to come.

I refuse to believe the lie anymore that right now is as good as it gets. Right now I am going to savor and give thanks for all I have been given, but I won’t grab onto these gifts with a death grip. That path of trying to cling to my life only leads to more fear. It’s true that I will encounter challenges ahead. But it is also true that behind every corner, love awaits me. 

For those of you letting go of one season and heading into something unknown and new, lean into truth. Lean onto Jesus. Open your hands. Goodness awaits you. It really does. 

 

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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?

—

Join Kathi Lipp and explore her new book, The Accidental Homesteader. You’ll uncover the unexpected joys of homestead living – no matter where you call home! Through gaining wisdom and hard-won lessons, Kathi will guide you to find peace, joy, and contentment in your own home. Whether you’re starting a new adventure or seeking growth in your daily life, this book is a heartfelt invitation to embrace change with a little bit of self-grace and a lot of humor.

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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