God Loves to Help

God Loves to Help

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If you don’t know what you’re doing, pray to the Father. He loves to help. You’ll get his help, and won’t be condescended to when you ask for it. Ask boldly, believingly, without a second thought. People who “worry their prayers” are like wind-whipped waves. Don’t think you’re going to get anything from the Master that way, adrift at sea, keeping all your options open.
James 1:5-8 (The Message)

These might be some of the most relief-giving words in the Bible. “If you don’t know what you’re doing, pray to the Father. He loves to help.” So often in life we don’t know what we’re doing! We don’t know what we’re doing with our career, with parenting a difficult child, with finding the right treatment for a daunting diagnosis. We don’t know how to help a friend understand our perspective or how to move forward from past trauma.

What Scripture is assuring us today is that it’s okay not to know! Because God is here to help.

The NIV translation says it this way, “If any of you lacks wisdom, you should ask God, who gives generously to all without finding fault, and it will be given to you” (James 1:5).

Raise your hand if you’re lacking wisdom today. Ask God for what you need! He is so kind, generous, and faithful to give it. 

 

A Lenten Prayer

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Merciful and loving Father, 

I come to You broken, open, and laid bare. You have searched me and stripped away everything that’s kept me from You, and I’m grateful. You have shown me my sin and reminded me of Your sacrifice for it, and I give You all my thanks. I don’t want to be proud, Lord; banish any remaining pride from my heart. 

This is holy ground that You’ve allowed me to touch, God, and I don’t want to leave. I want to abide in You, to remain in Your presence, to turn away from anything that might come between us. Please keep me humble, Lord. Keep me watchful for the ways the world tries to distract me, and keep my eyes open for opportunities of service so I can display who You are to others. Protect my heart; remind me every day that You are God and I am not.  

I don’t want to leave this season of Lent unchanged, Lord. I don’t want to return to my proud ways, my distracted days. I want to stay right here with You, with not one thing pulling me from You. Please help me stay in this posture, this mind-set, this holy communion with You forever. 

In Jesus’ name I pray, 

Amen. 

Excerpt from Journey to the Cross: Forty Days to Prepare Your Heart for Easter by Mary Carver.

It’s not too late to have a meaningful Lenten season. Let us send you a FREE sampler from our Lenten devotional, Journey to the Cross! Journey to the Cross: Forty Days to Prepare Your Heart for Easter was written with women of all stages in mind so that we can all better experience the power and wonder of Easter with intentionality and depth. Also, join us daily in our Instagram stories for a brief passage, prayer, or Scripture from Journey to the Cross. We hope it will bless your Lenten season.

Get your FREE sampler from Journey to the Cross!

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Today on the podcast — a bonus episode! Listen in as host Becky Keife has a conversation with Melissa Horvath, author of the Go For It! devotional. Listen at the player below, or wherever you stream podcasts.

Hope for the Tangled and Exhausted Soul

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I wake up from a solid eight hours and I feel like a wreck. Again, shadows of once full-color dreams linger at the corners of my mind. I can no longer make out the precise shapes but I know they were jagged, intense, chaotic, oppressive.

In my middle-of-the-night turmoil, I fluttered awake just enough to realize that I was covered in sweat — again. The nape of my neck wet, perspiration dripping between my breasts. Was this because of the dreams? Am I starting perimenopause? Is my anxiety medication not working?

I spy a sliver of dusty blue sky out the window. The world is rising and I’m wrestling. I know hope awaits me away from this mattress but I’m so exhausted that I just keep laying here. Keep checking the white numbers on my phone as they slowly change digit by digit. Soon my three boys will be asking for breakfast.

I eventually wrench myself out from my cozy covers, shuffle to the kitchen, turn on the kettle, go to the bathroom, and flinch at my reflection. When did I start looking so haggard?

The couch welcomes me and my favorite cup of lemon tea. I open my Bible at the ribbon bookmark and start reading. Slowly I exhale. I didn’t even realize I had been holding my breath. This is so nice. So peaceful. Why didn’t I get up sooner? It’s my daily refrain.

I hear the creak of my son’s bunk bed as I read, “Rest in God alone, my soul, for my hope comes from him” (Psalm 62:5).

My twelve-year-old thunder stomps down the hallway. He’s still learning how to control his man-sized feet.

I read the verse again like I’m coaching my own soul. Rest in God alone. Your hope comes from Him.

It’s hard to feel at rest when you’re tangled up by invisible strings.

Elias now joins me under my gray fuzzy blanket and rests his wild bedhead on my shoulder. I keep reading.

“Trust in him at all times, you people;
pour out your hearts before him.
God is our refuge.”
Psalm 62:8

Trust in Him. I do trust God. But the Spirit gently pricks my heart and asks, Yes, but what else are you trusting? The list comes quickly: My determination. Someone else’s ability to change. Hope that we can turn things around. Just a little more sleep. A little more self-control. Enough boxes checked off.

Trust in Him at all times. All times. Not when I’m healthy and my kids obey and I keep all the balls in the air and I like my hair. God invites me – us, yes He implores us — to trust Him at all times. When sleep eludes or exhausts us. When people let us down or break us open. When that dream keeps getting one step further out of reach or there’s no friend to catch your tears or money in the bank. This is when we get to trust God.

Elias is asking if I’ll put frozen waffles in the toaster for him. I tell him he can do that himself but when they pop I’ll put the peanut butter and syrup on the way he likes it.

Pour out your hearts before Him. Could this be the answer to my tangled soul? The way to rest? I ask the question but I already know the answer because I’ve lived it again and again. God works in our hearts when we take our worked-up soul and bear it all before Him. He knows it all anyway. But there is something sacred and sanctifying in the intentional unraveling of every knot and jumble. It’s where God’s compassionate hands meet us and take over the real work.

Noah does his teenage shuffle out to the living room and plops down on the other couch. I know I better get up, start the coffee, and wake up Jude. But not before I read this:

“God has spoken once; I have heard this twice:
strength belongs to God, and faithful love belongs to you, Lord.”
Psalm 62:11-12

I push myself up off the couch, weak and weary. And it’s okay. Strength belongs to God. He will carry me today in His faithful, loving arms – not minding my dried sweat. I can already feel my soul starting to rest. Can you feel it too?

Becky shares more real stories and hope-filled Scriptures for anxious and weary souls over on Instagram. Follow her at @beckykeife. 

 

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You Don’t Have to Perform to Be Loved

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I schlep a diaper bag over my shoulder as I navigate my daughter’s wheelchair down the aisle, doing my best to inconspicuously herd four children from the church lobby into the back of the sanctuary. I can see the heads turning and feel the eyes on us. Wiping the sweat from my brow, I whisper, “excuse us” and “pardon me” as my circus scoots into the last row. After morning feats I can only describe as acrobatic, I’ve finally gotten everyone to church.

I glance at my watch. We’re four minutes late, but it feels like a victory all the same. My six-year-old son is ready to perform with the choir for the first time. (They’re called the Church Mice. Yes, it’s adorable.)

I fan myself with the church bulletin as I whisper “good morning” to my parents, who are there to cheer on our budding singer. I wonder where he’s supposed to find the rest of his micey mates. Aren’t they supposed to be gathering toward the front? 

I realize something is off. My eyes dart around the sanctuary, and I spy children dispersed among the pews, already sitting with their families. I remember my husband (the newly-hired pastor) sharing that the kids would sing first thing. My heart drops. I whisper, “Have they already sung?” My mom gives a gentle nod.

I fight tears.

Why can’t I be more put together like everyone else? I wonder.

Another question lingers beneath it: Why am I failing?

It’s easy for us to assume that everyone else has their stuff together. To believe the lie that nobody else is ever late, or misses a deadline, or that not one single other soul is as much of a hot mess as the one you see when you look in the mirror.

A few days after my Church Mice fiasco, a friend told me something over coffee that made me do a spit-take: “I don’t know how you get everything done. You’re so put together.”

Once I was done wiping the tears of laughter from my eyes, I reflected on a hard – and honest – truth:

I’m too hard on myself. And my guess is that you are, too.

As women, we constantly fight external pressure to be the ones that hold things together and present ourselves in a certain way. If we’re not careful, we can even feel the pressure to perform our way into God’s love. This pressure can often lead to deep self-doubt and self-criticism that lures us into the trap of comparison.

Whatever season of life you’re in, chances are you’re holding a lot of things together. You’re doing your best, and if you’re honest with yourself, you feel like it’s not enough – that when you look around, everyone else seems to have cracked the magic code, and you’re still stumbling around, sweaty, and showing up late.

Whether you’re comparing yourself to a neighbor or a stranger on the Internet, it’s all too easy to compare yourself to another (without knowing their full story) and heap all sorts of shame upon your shoulders – the weight pushing you down until you can barely stand.

If you feel like you’re not measuring up, I have good news: You don’t need to.

God’s grace tells us we don’t need to perform our way into belovedness. We do not have to get everything right all of the time. (Spoiler alert: nobody does!) We do not have to present a sheen of perfection. As beloved children of God, we are freed from those trappings.

In Colossians 3:12, we’re told that we are “holy and dearly loved.” And that in light of this, we should clothe ourselves with “compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness, and patience.”

What would life look like if you had compassion for yourself? How would it reorient your days if you approached your imperfections with kindness and humility? What if you were gentle and extended patience to yourself?

No one is perfect. We all fall short sometimes. But when we hold ourselves up to an unattainable standard and tell ourselves the story that everyone else is nailing it while we’re flailing about, we’re not honoring the truest thing about ourselves: That we are holy and dearly loved.

The next time you realize you’re being tough on yourself, take a breath and consider what God says about you. There is nothing that you could do that would make God love you any more or less. You do not have to hit any certain achievement or spin a billion more plates to gain the love of Christ – His love is a gift freely given. 

The next time you look in the mirror and start silently listing all the ways you’ve failed, remember that you are fearfully and wonderfully made. You are a child of God.

The next time you’re marveling at how “together” someone else is, remember that everybody struggles. Nobody is immune to the aches of this world, to the groans of humanity.

And if you’re feeling really brave, maybe you can sit with this question: God isn’t demanding you to perform your way into being loved – so why are you demanding it from yourself?

An interesting phenomenon happens when we stop being so hard on ourselves. We start having a lot more grace and understanding for others, too.

I’ll likely be late to church again. Our family life is filled with chaos and unexpected shenanigans – and sometimes I fail as the ringmaster. But when I am gentler with myself, I’m gentler toward my kids. When I remind myself that the truest thing about me is that I’m holy and dearly loved, I remember that truth about others around me, too.

You don’t have to perform any certain type of perfection. You are already holy and dearly loved.

 

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

You Have Great Worth

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For you formed my inward parts;
you knitted me together in my mother’s womb.
I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.
Wonderful are your works; my soul knows it very well.
Psalm 139:13–14

How amazing is it that you’re here today? The Scripture from Psalm 139 rings with such truth. God has a plan for you and for your life. You are not here by mistake! You were fearfully and wonderfully made. You have great worth! But when others’ opinions creep in, they can make you feel unworthy. It’s easy to find your worth in what others think of you or what they say to you. When you let their opinions or words define you, it breaks you down. This is when the negativity and pain creep in, telling you that you aren’t worthy of happiness, love, and more.

When you start to hear those negative words creep in, hit the PAUSE button. Your worth shouldn’t be found in what others say or think. You are a child of God, born for so many amazing purposes. Don’t let others define you. Don’t let the worry, the comparison, the mean words break down something perfectly curated from above. We all can have bad days, and cruel critics try to fill voids in their own lives by breaking others down.

Remember that they are broken people; instead of fighting back, choose to pray. Ask God to soften their hearts, and pray that they learn to know Him as you do! Often we can think up false truths in our mind of how others perceive us, fueled by our own insecurities, and the evil one knows what those are and reminds us of them. First Peter 5:8 says, “Be sober-minded; be watchful. Your adversary the devil prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour.” Know the source, question when these pop up in your mind, and ask yourself if God would really say that about you. In all of these situations, know your worth isn’t found in these things but in how God sees you! And He loves you just the way you are.

Cling to Him and hold strong, knowing that you are worthy.

GO FOR IT!
Repeat after me: “I am who He says I am. I am a child of God. God has amazing plans for me! I am not what others say or what the negative thoughts say I am, but I am a child of God. He loves me, He knitted me in my mother’s womb, and I am loved. I am worthy!”

Thoughts of the future can quickly bring us anxiety or discomfort, simply because so much is outside of our control. In Go For It! Boldly Live the Life God Created for You, author Melissa Horvath poses the important question: What if we fully trusted the One who does have control? Throughout this book, readers will be deeply encouraged by the reality that God will fulfill His purpose — which means that they can boldly live the life that God has uniquely carved out for them. This book is for all those who want to leave fear behind and step courageously into the future God has lovingly prepared for each one of us! 

This new devotional will empower and encourage you to live the life God created for you. Go For It will inspire you to be the best version of yourself, encourage you with uplifting thoughts, help you focus on the good things God has already given you, reveal His promises for your life, and show you how to boldly live them out in your daily life. Designed with 90 devotions to help you go for it, each devotion begins with a Scripture passage followed by an inspirational message to challenge and encourage you in your work, life, and faith. Devotions end with engaging questions to help you apply the spiritual and practical principles as you partner with God to boldly live each day empowered and equipped by Him.

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

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

 

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

 

*Giveaway open until 3/21/23 at 11:59 pm central to US addresses only. Winners will be notified via email. Please allow 4-6 weeks for delivery.

Jesus Accepted Help, So You Can Too

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Whenever someone offered to help me with anything, my automatic response used to be, “Oh, you’re so sweet! No, I’m good.” Whether the roots were pride or fear, my brain automatically Google translated any well-meaning “I’d love to help you with” offer into a negative criticism that sounded to me like: “I think you’re falling apart, and clearly, you’re failing at life.”

Once, I wrestled with a dear friend’s loving offer to help me move after prayer and many trusted voices affirmed that it was time for me and my near-adult children to move from our home. My warped Google-translate kicked in as my insecurities fired up. It didn’t take long for me to reply: “Thank you for offering, but I’m good. I can handle it.”

When a friend offers to help, is your knee-jerk reaction the same? What’s puzzling is that most of us love helping others, but we bristle at the thought of them offering to assist us. It’s wild how we can apply one set of beliefs about ourselves yet create a completely different set of beliefs for others in the same situation. How do we give ourselves permission to willingly and joyfully accept help whether we think we need it or not?

My spiritual breakthrough on this accepting-help issue was parked by a single question. As I packed up my children’s books and blankets, tears dripped on the cardboard boxes. I was worried about taking them away from the only home they’d ever known and grieving the circumstances that made our move necessary. Somewhere between stacking one box and preparing another, I heard a clear whisper fill the air around me: Barb, don’t you want your children to see the hands and feet of Jesus working around them on one of the most difficult days of their lives?

The aha moment came when I realized that God didn’t send my friend to help me with boxes and bedsprings. Instead, God was sending her to show my children and me divine signatures of His presence and His hope, which we needed more than a workforce for the move.

In Matthew 4, Jesus endures the trial of Satan’s temptation in the desert for 40 days and 40 nights. Put yourself in Jesus’ weary place. After that experience, the human side of Jesus would have been worn out. If accepting help is hard for you, the final verse of that ordeal offers a powerful insight that can reprogram your automatic response:

“The devil went away, and angels came and took care of Jesus.”
Matthew 4:11

First, we can always cheer when the devil finally leaves us alone, right? However, the inspirational moment in this verse is seeing that the angels came to care for Jesus and that Jesus accepted their help. I can imagine them showing up with warm food, a soft blanket, and their compassionate presence. If Jesus were like me, He would have said, “No, thanks, I’m good” or “There are other people who need help more than me.” But He didn’t do that. Instead, Jesus allowed Himself to be ministered to by the angels. His divine nature wasn’t diminished by accepting help from others. Just as God sent those angels to minister to Jesus, today God sends people to minister to us as well.

What stands out to me is this: Jesus accepted help, so we can and should too.

Could Jesus have gotten Himself together on His own? Yes, but God lovingly sent the angels to minister to Jesus anyway. For all the times we pray and ask God for help, He often sends it through others. The hard part is letting down our guardrails of pride, fear, or embarrassment to receive it.

After my spiritual breakthrough moment and difficult move, I told God that I would say yes to any and all offers from friends over the next thirty days. I wanted to give God every opportunity to reprogram my automatic response and deprogram any lingering pride and fear about accepting help that remained in me. God honored that request and sent more friends to surround us with love and support during that rough time. While we had an experience that I prayed we wouldn’t go through, God sent others to minister to us each step of the way.

This article is by Barb Roose and is featured in Everyday Faith Magazine.

Did you know DaySpring has a magazine? It’s true! And the brand new SPRING issue of Everyday Faith just hit newsstands!

From cover to cover, you will find stories and articles to inspire hope, prompt reflection, and encourage you for the upcoming months. There are beautiful tear-out prayers to share cards, scannable QR codes for bonus goodies, and exclusive Spring Planning Calendars tucked inside!

You care about your faith — that’s why you’re here today! — and Everyday Faith magazine will help you know and share God’s love in fresh, true, and inspiring ways. Pick up your copy wherever magazines are sold and at DaySpring.com. This article is just one of many featured in Everyday Faith magazine, which, by the way, is perfect for reading on your lunch break, bringing to the school pickup line, or gifting to a friend.

And to help you do just that, we’re giving away FIVE sets of magazines — one for each winner and one for them to give to a friend! Leave a comment telling us to whom you’d gift a copy, and we’ll draw five winners.

The giveaway is open to US addresses only and will close on 3/17/23 at 11:59 pm central. 

 

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Weak Love Is Great Love

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Recently, my husband was blessed with a Sabbatical. Three months of rest, play, and reprieve. After fifteen years of ministry, he was granted some much-needed time off. As a gentle launch into this season of space, the elders gathered to pray. This is a moment that I retrace often. Sam sat encircled by men of great character. As they began to speak a blessing over him, the door edged open.

A man hobbled into the church prayer room. With a walker, he scooted in weak, slow, and short of breath. Only weeks before, he had suffered a stroke that left him with a limp. The left side of his body lost so much strength. This man was Vince, the chairman of the elder board. This not-so-old man originally from Panama dragged half of his body behind him into the room just to pray for Sam. Vince’s voice is strong, vibrant, and has the accent of Morgan Freeman. Through the tremble of his spirit-filled words, he prayed. That night Sam came home and shared this story. He wept recalling the overwhelming love he felt when Vince showed up to pray. The prayer itself wasn’t what was so powerful, it was the person and how he showed up.

I think about this story a lot. It profoundly impacted me.

The needs and speed of everyday life can be so challenging. Caring for my family, church, and community can leave me drained. Often by lunchtime, I crave crawling into bed. I want sleep and silence and to simply be left alone. The demands of life are constant. My soul feels crowded and cramped. Most of the commitments in my life are non-negotiable. It is just the way life is for now. But I keep waiting for a break. I keep waiting for the moment when, after all this effort, my life will flourish. I want that. I want a rich and flavorful life. But, instead, I am depleted, irritable, and grabbing fistfuls of goldfish for lunch.

Most nights, I lay awake reliving my day, play-by-play. I recall all the moments when I showed up half-hearted. How I gave from an empty place. I’ve always thought pouring out from my nothingness was not worthy love. I’ve always thought “good” love came from a place of strength and overflow and more than enough. Good love comes from abundance. But, maybe like Vince, the greatest kind of love comes from a weak place. Great love comes with a limp. It comes with shuffled feet and a faint heart. 

The love I give my kids, community, and Sam doesn’t have to be fancy. In fact, that’s not the love that leaves the most lasting heart impression. The love that comes from a hidden and quiet place, from consistently showing up is the love that leaves the most impact. Love that comes from weakness and emptiness might be the purest kind of love I can offer. I don’t look at my limits as lesser. I look at my limits as my offering.

When I think about love this way, it makes the cross mean so much more. Christ didn’t die from a place of strength but from a place of humility. He didn’t die going out swinging. He died spread out and surrendered. He didn’t die from a place of fullness. He died empty and poured out. God emptied Himself to be with us. We empty ourselves to be with others. Empty is enough.

Perhaps this kind of love is where flourishing really comes from. It doesn’t come from something outside of us, but a deepening dependence on Christ within us. Flourishing isn’t a place to arrive at, but being found by the person of Jesus relating to us. Flourishing is a relationship and it comes by way of weakness, not strength. 

When I offer love, even when I’m tired, it is received as love. When I give my leftovers, it is still a gift. So I offer my crumbs and Christ receives them the way He did the widow’s mite. The widow had nothing but gave everything. I offer my stress and Christ receives me with rest. I offer my weakness and Christ receives me with grace. I keep showing up. I can show up and pray for a friend. I can show up and read a book to my son. I can show up and wrap my arms around someone who is weeping. I don’t have to wait to be full and flourishing before I can love another. I don’t have to wait until I am better, well-rested, or enough. I don’t have to give more than I have. I just give what I have. 

Actually, love offered with a limp is the greatest love I can give. 

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Today we’re thrilled to welcome new voices to the (in)courage podcast! We thank Grace P. Cho for sharing her gifts with us this past year, and we welcome Rachel Marie Kang as the new narrator. Take a listen at the player below, or wherever you stream pods.

For When the Night Feels Long

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It was nearly pitch black — despite being past nine o’clock in the morning — as I drove the long highway into town for a dentist appointment. Only the beam of my headlights allowed me to see the next few feet in front of me. There weren’t even any street lights to light the way.

During the deepest part of winter in the interior of Alaska, the sun doesn’t peek above the horizon until nearly noon. Even then, it swiftly runs back into hiding just a couple of hours later. This near-constant darkness is disorienting at first, but it’s amazing how quickly it becomes normal. Many people head to work or school in the dark and return home without ever having seen the light of day. 

That day, as I drove to town in the blustery blackness, I was unaware of just how accustomed to the lack of sunlight I had become. I fully expected to drive home in that same darkness, so when I climbed back into the car, I was not looking for the light. But as I pulled onto the highway, I was suddenly stunned by the beautiful scene surrounding me. Sprawling fields stretched on for miles under a blanket of freshly fallen snow, glistening in the light. Majestic mountain peaks towered in the distance, painted in pastel pinks and blues, all lit up golden by the morning sun. Suddenly, I could see! 

Like a long winter, the darkness of the world we live in can wear on our souls and obscure our vision. We grow discouraged by endless responsibilities and setbacks, by sin and sadness and a world that seems to be growing darker by the day. We keep marching onward, of course. But, because we’ve been living under a cloud of darkness for so long, eventually we start to forget that a future filled with joy and light is not only possible but promised. We wonder, Is something better really coming?

When you’ve been living in darkness, the light is a miracle. My spirit soared on that drive home as unexpected rays shone down on my face and illuminated the world around me. It reminded me that the sun does, in fact, still exist! It was a declaration to my weary heart that summer will come and, when it does, everyone who lives in places like Alaska where the winter feels a little too long will breathe a collective, soul-deep sigh of relief and race joyfully out to soak up every bit of sunshine they can.  

In summer, God mercifully sends an extra dose of sunlight to Alaska to contrast with the months of darkness — we will have sunlight nearly twenty-four hours a day! There will be midnight baseball games and tee time at two in the morning. We’ll enjoy wild blueberries ripe for the picking, salmon rushes, and kids staying up way past their bedtimes to play outside with friends. The sun will be the star of the show and, after trudging through life without it, it’ll feel like all we need. Even spectacular things, such as fireworks, will lose their allure and be stored away for darker months.

No other light can hold a candle to the sun. No other light but Jesus, that is.

The Bible promises that, because of Jesus, a brighter day is coming for us — a day so bright that we won’t even need the sun anymore! 

“The sun will no more be your light by day,
    nor will the brightness of the moon shine on you,
for the Lord will be your everlasting light,
    and your God will be your glory.
Your sun will never set again,
    and your moon will wane no more;
the Lord will be your everlasting light,
    and your days of sorrow will end.”
Isaiah 60:19-20

Isaiah tells us that on that day, in the presence of the light of the Lord, we will finally be able to see, and our hearts will swell with joy! Malachi, too, echoes this promise:

“But for you who revere my name, the sun of righteousness will rise with
healing in its rays. And you will go out and frolic like well-fed calves.”
Malachi 4:2

There is an ache we all feel as we lumber on through a world where it feels like the darkness of sin and death has gone on too long. We long for the light of heaven — and it is coming! More surely than the rising of the sun, one day soon you and I will breathe an enormous, eternal sigh of relief as the weight we’ve been carrying our whole lives falls away. We will run like children (or baby cows!) into the joys the Lord has planned for us since the beginning of time. We will bask in the brightness and warmth of Jesus who will be the only light we need — and the night will be no more.

For now, the darkness that surrounds us is pervasive. Still, we also know it is temporary. With the glorious hope of endless day secured for us by the God who always keeps his promises, we need not succumb to despair. Instead, let us hold onto hope and live as children of the light as we wait just a little while longer for the coming of the dawn. 

“Let us hold unswervingly to the hope we profess, for he who promised is faithful.”
Hebrews 10:23

Is Peace Really with You?

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“May the Lord of peace himself give you peace always in every way.
The Lord be with all of you.”
2 Thessalonians 3:16

Not once in a while or when you’ve proved yourself worthy. Not when you didn’t yell at your kids or complain to your spouse or talk behind your boss’s back. Not for just an hour on Sunday mornings or when you remembered to pray. But always — that is how often God’s peace is available to us.

How is this possible? Even in cancer wards and divorce court? Even when we’re flat on our face in failure or stuck in bed with depression? Yes, even then and there because the Lord of peace Himself is near.

If you have invited Jesus into your heart, to be the Savior of your soul because you know you simply can’t earn such grace on your own, then you have received the gift of the Holy Spirit. God dwells in us! How truly incredible and utterly miraculous is that?

So if God is peace and God is in you, then peace is yours. Right now. Today. 

Recognizing this reality isn’t a magic wand that will change your circumstances. But it is a promise that will usher you back — again and again and again — to the person of Peace. Father God, Lord Jesus, Holy Spirit.

Yes, the Lord be with all of you.

 

Renovation

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Dear friends, we are God’s children now, and what we will be has not yet been revealed. We know that when he appears, we will be like him because we will see him as he is. And everyone who has this hope in him purifies himself just as he is pure.
1 John 3:2-3

A few weeks ago, I noticed a house in our neighborhood that was falling apart. More than a cracked driveway or peeling paint, this was major disintegration at a rapid rate. And I was super annoyed to see it.

As I drove by that first day, I felt my nose wrinkle and my lip curl in disgust. I assumed that the house in question was simply being neglected, although perhaps it had been completely abandoned. Either way, the lack of attention and care being given the home bothered me — enough that I actually drove a block out of my way to avoid seeing it.

Over the next few days, I realized that someone was actually rehabbing this house. The tearing down was intentional, and a building up was surely coming soon. Strangely enough, that wasn’t enough for this judgmental neighbor. Even though I knew this house was in the process of transformation, I still felt my lip curl as I glanced toward the siding-less house with the overgrown weeds. I did think, with some curiosity, Huh. So that’s what a house looks like under siding. But my response to that thought was immediate and dismissive: Gross.

I know myself. When the work on that house is finished, I’ll be genuinely delighted. On the day I drive by and see a brand new, beautiful house standing where a pile of wood stood just a few weeks prior, I will be genuinely impressed by my neighbor’s hard work and commitment to improving their home.

And yet, while I know I can only truly appreciate the “after” picture in comparison to the “before” shot, I really did not want to witness the in-between. And though I say that I appreciate a homeowner’s labor of love involved in rehabbing a house, the truth is, I didn’t actually want to see the mess or sweat or tears involved.

Transformation — whether we’re talking about a house or a heart — is not a pretty process. True rehabilitation, true change, only happens when the old, crumbling, moldy, and rusty parts are stripped away, revealing the naked truth underneath. It’s only when we are elbow deep in mud and muck that we can see the strong, shining bones below on which we can build something beautiful.

Even during seasons of reflection and repentance, we can be tempted to put too much emphasis on the “after” part of a transformation. Sure, everyone loves gasping and applauding at the big reveal at the end of a home improvement show. And it is absolutely inspiring to read about someone’s triumph over adversity.

But what about when that excavation and rehabilitation takes place in our hearts and our lives? When we are only willing to direct our gaze on the after pictures, we’re missing the hard-fought beauty of that behind-the-scenes battle. We’re missing out on the chance to more fully understand the sacrifice that led to the victory, to more completely appreciate the reward that only came as a result of the work. And we’re missing the whole truth about who we are and how vast the gap between “before” and “after” truly is.

It took me a while, but I realize now that the day my neighbor’s house was at its ugliest and messiest was actually the most amazing one of its entire transformation. Because without that day, I couldn’t possibly appreciate its new siding and shutters and landscaping and front porch light. Unless I face the destruction, I can’t understand the magnitude of the recreation.

This truth is no different when it comes to our journey to the cross during this Lent season. If I wait until I’ve “got it all together” to reveal my struggles, I’m robbing God of the opportunity to shine through my ugliness and my mess. I’m forgetting that He is the only one who can make me into a new creation, and He won’t transform me until I lay myself bare before Him and let Him get to work.

When my house is falling apart, that is the time to open up to God and to others. Not later. Not when I get it figured out. Not when I’ve painted and polished and perfected it all. If I waited for that day, I’d never have a story to tell, for we are all in constant change, constant sharpening and growing and transforming. So when our houses are falling apart, that is the day we should look up, accept the Lord’s help, and meet our neighbor’s eyes. Doing this will undoubtedly help us be more patient, more gentle — with each other and with ourselves. And as we turn to the cross and the One who loves us at our ugliest and promises to redeem our worst messes, it will certainly reveal to us the true beauty of transformation.

Heavenly Father, I am in awe of You. When I see the mountains or a rushing river, a flower pushing its way out of the ground or a sunset painting the sky, I cannot deny that You are a mighty and powerful God. You are a wonderful artist, and I’m so grateful. Thank You, Lord, for giving us beauty in every corner of this planet — to enjoy but, more important, to remind us of your magnificence. Forgive me, God, for the days I never look up once, for the times I’m so focused on myself that I forget to look for You. Please keep reminding me, keep pulling my eyes up. Don’t let me get tired of or used to the wonder of You. Help me see the beauty of the world You came to save. I love You. Thank You. Amen. 

Excerpt from Journey to the Cross: Forty Days to Prepare Your Heart for Easter by Mary Carver.

It’s not too late to have a meaningful Lenten season. Let us send you a FREE sampler from our Lenten devotional, Journey to the Cross! Journey to the Cross: Forty Days to Prepare Your Heart for Easter was written with women of all stages in mind so that we can all better experience the power and wonder of Easter with intentionality and depth. Also, join us daily in our Instagram stories for a brief passage, prayer, or Scripture from Journey to the Cross. We hope it will bless your Lenten season.

Get your FREE sampler from Journey to the Cross!

Jesus Loves a Pushy Woman

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Last Thursday, I spent most of the day packing for a trip I didn’t want to take.

It was only one, tiny carry-on suitcase for a forty-eight-hour journey. But it took me all day because I couldn’t make any decisions. I was in a fog and didn’t have any brain left to decide if I should take the grey sneakers or the cream ones — even that decision was too much.

You see, my beautiful, loving, never-met-a-stranger friend Jenn went to the doctor two weeks ago with back pain, and now she is dying.

The next day, I got on a plane to say goodbye.

After losing her young husband to a heart attack ten years ago, Jenn has raised her four kids with tenacity, fierce protection, and unwavering love.

She is a champion for those who were not upheld by the “systems” of the world. She has fought with the love of Jesus for those who are so often on the edges in the world and in the church: people of color, the poor, and the disenfranchised.

She loves ferociously, accepts everyone, and protects the vulnerable.

And a lot of people didn’t like it. They called her a lot of names (some that I won’t repeat here); the insults implied that she was just too pushy.

She pushed her “agenda.” (You know, being the hands and feet of Jesus.)

She pushed what was acceptable for a woman to say and be in church.

And now she’s pushing like a champ through her last fight: stage four cancer.

I flew into Denver International Airport, picked up my rental car, and drove straight to the hospital. There I met with a dozen or so of Jenn’s other friends: her pastor, her church’s women’s ministry leaders, her college friend, the friend who “adopted” her and her kids when Jenn’s husband died, and so many church and ministry friends.

And each of these women had one thing in common: they were pushy.

They pushed to make sure Jenn had the privacy she needed and kept people out of the room so she could rest.

They pushed for pain management so Jenn could be comfortable.

They pushed to raise money for her kids so they would be taken care of after she passes.

They pushed to make sure that Jenn’s wishes are listened to at every turn.

And here is what I know for sure: Jesus loves a pushy woman. A woman who goes against what a woman is “supposed” to be and do. A woman who doesn’t act the way she’s expected to behave. A woman who will do anything to align with God and His will, no matter what it looks like to those around her.

Jesus loves a pushy woman.

Just look at the story of the bleeding woman in Luke 8:42–48:

As Jesus was on his way, the crowds almost crushed him. And a woman was there who had been subject to bleeding for twelve years, but no one could heal her. She came up behind him and touched the edge of his cloak, and immediately her bleeding stopped.

“Who touched me?” Jesus asked.

When they all denied it, Peter said, “Master, the people are crowding and pressing against you.”

But Jesus said, “Someone touched me; I know that power has gone out from me.”

Then the woman, seeing that she could not go unnoticed, came trembling and fell at his feet. In the presence of all the people, she told why she had touched him and how she had been instantly healed. Then he said to her, “Daughter, your faith has healed you. Go in peace.”

This woman, who so desperately needed a miracle, was pushy.

She literally pushed people out of the way in order to receive what she needed from Jesus.

My whole life, I’ve desperately avoided coming off as pushy. But when it comes to getting what I need, and what others need, I want to be pushy.

I want to push the expectations of the world, even the church, out of the way so that I can advocate for good.

I want to fight for the widow and the orphan, the oppressed and the disenfranchised, just like Jenn did. Just like Jesus did.

I’m going to be willing to make others temporarily uncomfortable, for the long-term goal of living each day as Jesus commanded us to do.

Need a retreat but can’t get away? Click here to check out Kathi’s book, An Abundant Place.

 

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The (in)courage podcast is taking a brief hiatus from new episodes this week as we do some maintenance and updating behind the scenes! We’ll return to new daily episodes next week, starting March 13th. In the meantime, we hope you’ll enjoy five episodes from our podcast archives!

Today’s replay is from April 2022. It’s an excerpt from our book Empowered: More of Him for All of You, written by Anna E. Rendell. Listen at the player below or wherever you stream podcasts.

The Storm Is Never the End of the Story

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A couple walks arm in arm, runners sprint past, and grown men whiz by on bikes. A little boy cries crocodile tears as he tries to maneuver his trike with training wheels. The trail is full today, but so are the ditches on either side.

A week of gray skies and pounding rain kept us indoors, the pathway empty. Yesterday’s storm raged, the wind violently ripping branches. We sidestep what has haphazardly fallen, careful to avoid the trees split in half that nearly block the way. The small dips are now filled to overflowing with stagnant water that approaches the edges of the trail and tree limbs are empty of all they once held, but there are quiet conversations and laughter floating through the air like the branches swirling in the storm-made ponds.

I pause beside a tree that I’ve walked by one hundred times before. I know that it blooms each spring, that soon pale pink buds will appear, but today it appears void of life. For now, it tells the story of the storm. If I didn’t know any better, I’d declare destruction got the last word. But when I step back to snap a picture, my breath catches and tears prick, threatening to water the ground that is already flooded.

Somehow, my camera phone picks up the rays of the sun reaching, covering, landing directly on the broken pieces. Like a laser, it beams down on what has splintered. I snap pictures and walk on, wondering if I’ve just seen the verse that sits on my dresser come to life before my eyes.

Every day I look at a framed print of these words from Hosea 2:15, “There I [God] will give her back her vineyards, and I will make the Valley of Achor a door of hope. There she will sing…”

Every day I pray, “May it be. I believe, Lord, please help my unbelief.”

I am weary and worn out from a nearly thirteen-year-long storm that doesn’t seem to end. I’m confident God is with me here, by my side every step of the way, but after all this time I’m learning what it means to not set up camp, to believe that I really am passing through.

The Valley of Achor means the valley of trouble or affliction. It’s a low place of weeping and wailing, of suffering and severity, of death and difficulty.

I know the consistency of the sand and the pebbles that crunch beneath my feet. I know the scorch of the sun bearing down in the day and the questions that arise as the stars fill the sky. This valley has left its mark in scars and sunburns and tear-streaked cheeks.

I know this place, but when I find myself becoming resigned, tempted to reach for tent pegs because I might as well settle in, Hosea fills me with the hope that one day I’ll know it in a whole new way.

Isaiah 65:10 seems to underline the promise, circling hope with a bright highlighter, when it declares the Valley of Achor will become a resting place for sheep and for God’s people. The Shepherd will lead us through the valley of the shadow of death until it becomes a flourishing field, a place of restoration.

We may not know the how or the when or why our valley of affliction seems to be stretching on for so long, but we can trust the One who will carry us through, can settle into His arms instead of setting up camp.

We have a God who fills the valleys to overflowing, who takes places of deep heartache and makes them doorways of hope.

We have a God who can turn things around, who swallowed death and then spoke resurrection.

We have a God who stays with us in the storm and says “this won’t be the end of the story.”

The trail tells a story of destruction today, but the sky sings another song. The branches above are bare, but between them stretches an expanse of bright blue. The storm had something to say, but the sun arrived and a place of loss is coming back to life.

He’s a God of resurrection, not resignation.

For now, there’s mercy like manna in a muddy place. But it won’t be long until heartache is swallowed up by hope. The valley is never the end, for the valley itself is a door. We’re passing through.

Already, all is being made new.

If today’s post resonated and you’d like more encouragement from Kaitlyn, her book Even If Not: Living, Loving, and Learning in the in Between will help you choose hope for tomorrow when, at least for now, you’re still in the middle of the storm.

 

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The (in)courage podcast is taking a brief hiatus from new episodes this week as we do some maintenance and updating behind the scenes! We’ll return to new daily episodes next week, starting March 13th. In the meantime, we hope you’ll enjoy five episodes from our podcast archives!

Today’s replay is from April 2022. It’s an excerpt from the Create in Me a Heart of Hope Bible study, was written by Michele Cushatt, and is titled Holding On to Hope When We Just Can’t Anymore. Listen below or wherever you stream podcasts.

Let’s Choose to Connect Instead of Correct

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When I was in high school, I was on the debate team. We’d meet before school, tucked away in a musty old history classroom, preparing our opening statements, rebuttals, and concluding remarks long before the crack of dawn. The sun would barely be peeking across the horizon as we divided into groups, wielding notebook paper with scribbles of quotes to test out our lines of reasoning. I never minded the early morning hours. Learning to craft the perfect argument – and more importantly, winning the argument — was its own reward.

For a while, I thought everyone loved to debate as much as I did, and I treated every conversation as an opportunity for intellectual rigor. Surely, I thought, everyone loves to hash out ideas around dinner tables and at Bible studies and parties, right? Let’s just put all the ideas on the table, discuss and dissect them, and then determine whose logic wins out. Boy, was I wrong. Conversational approaches in the debate room don’t translate well into everyday life conversations.

No surprise, people didn’t take kindly to me bringing down a heavy hand of critique to their ideas. Whenever I was quick to jump into a conversation to refute someone’s comments or story, the conversation usually came to a quick halt. People didn’t want to be talked down to, or constantly corrected. They wanted to be heard, understood, and for their ideas to have space to just breathe and exist. I know that probably sounds like an obvious truth, and it is, but it’s easier said than done.

I once heard someone say, “People don’t converse. They simply reload.” I think that is an apt analysis of how we often approach conversations today. We’re not even really listening to the other person. We’re just waiting for them to stop talking so that we can keep carrying on with whatever idea we want to express. No wonder we have such a hard time connecting with people today, especially with those who are different from ourselves.

In my day-to-day interactions with people, I’ve learned to connect before I correct. While there is a time and place for debate, it should not be the norm. Dissecting people’s ideas, telling people they are wrong, and platforming our own ideas over others are all quick ways to lose friends, hurt people’s feelings, and grow relational divides. Instead of debating with people I disagree with, I’ve learned to first lean in and become a better listener.

The Bible has a lot to say about listening well. James 1:19 says, “Know this, my beloved brothers: let every person be quick to hear, slow to speak, slow to anger.” Having a posture of listening isn’t easy. Nor is it easy to keep my mouth shut. My mind is always running and my ideas are always processing, and yet, that doesn’t mean I need to say everything I’m thinking all the time. I’m not called to center myself. I’m not called to bulldoze people with my “higher than thou” thoughts. I’m not even called to raise my voice.

Instead, the way of Christ and His followers is to see conversations as opportunities for relational connection. We are to show people we might vehemently disagree with that we first and foremost care for them and want to bond with them in some way.

Imagine what the body of Christ would look like today, what churches would look like today, if we didn’t constantly see people’s words and behavior as battlegrounds to be won. Imagine what our communities, and even our country, might look like today if we sought to better understand people across political, cultural, economic, religious, and class divides and seek to build connections based on mutual respect.

What if, instead of coming out of the gate with a defensive stance and our best argument to utterly crush another person, we said something like, “Oh, that’s interesting. I’ve never thought about it that way. Tell me more.” What if, instead of getting angry and thinking the worst of someone, we sought clarity by asking, “Hey, I’m not totally understanding what you’re saying. Can you elaborate?” or “Earlier you mentioned something, and I wasn’t quite sure what you meant. Could you help me better understand where you’re coming from?”

Nowadays, when I ask questions like this, instead of powering forward with a defense, I find that I’m able to connect with people on deeper levels and, ultimately, show the love of Christ to others. In choosing to connect instead of correct, I find that God opens doors for new perspectives and unexpected friendships. I won’t always agree with the people in my life, be that my family, friends, or neighbors, but I know that I can lean in with love and a desire to learn and understand, and that will have a far greater impact than choosing to debate.

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The (in)courage podcast is taking a brief hiatus from new episodes this week as we do some maintenance and updating behind the scenes! We’ll return to new daily episodes next week, starting March 13th. In the meantime, we hope you’ll enjoy five episodes from our podcast archives!

Today’s replay is from July 2022. It’s an excerpt from the summer issue of the Everyday Faith Magazine, written by Ellen Wildman and titled You Are Important. Listen below or wherever you stream podcasts.

Where Did All the Empathy Go?

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When my brother John was a baby, and I was three, Mom decided she wanted to have a professional portrait taken of the two of us. We didn’t have a photography studio in the little town where we lived, but a traveling photographer had come to town that summer. So Mom took us to the back room of Samuelson’s Grocery where the photographer had set up shop between boxes of produce and milk crates.

Mom had pulled back my hair into two neat pigtails, and secured my bangs with big yellow barrettes. I wore a sunny blouse with ruffles, and a plaid jumper that made me feel pretty.

Little John wore a one-piece romper with ducks on the front. He also wore the expression of a child who wanted to be anywhere else but a makeshift photo studio. Mom said John cried in the back of that grocery store that day. A lot.

Eventually, the photographer secured a suitable shot. Mom loved it enough that she displayed it in a huge oval frame.

All these years later, I have the photograph hanging in our guest bedroom. Every time I see it, I remember the story behind the photo – especially the part about the crying. Mom said John wasn’t the only one who cried. I did too. She said she’s certain that the reason I was crying is because my brother was.

If you look at the photograph close enough, you can see John’s glossy eyes. A single, escaped tear had begun its tumble down one round cheek. And this is no glamour shot here, so you can see a shiny line of snot under my nostril.

(I guess they didn’t photoshop out the truth back then. The photo was printed as is, snot and all.)

Looking back, I am struck by the way I held my brother close, almost in a protective embrace. I am struck by the way that, as a child, I had the capacity for empathy.

To me, the photo is a literal representation of what it means to “weep with those who weep” (Romans 12:15).

I was too little to offer advice to my brother on how to get through a photo shoot when he was uncomfortable or perhaps frightened by the dude with the big camera. I didn’t have the vocabulary to soothe his fear with words. All I knew to do was pull him closer to me, cry with him, and stay by his side until it was over.

And that’s just what I did.

I think this is what it means to have empathy and compassion for others. We get it at age three. But it fades with years. Maybe it’s because of our time-pressed lives, our own discomfort with others’ pain, our underestimation of other people’s distress, or our self-expectations about having the right words to fix things that can’t be quickly fixed.

I’m not sure why, but we seem to be undergoing an empathy shortage in our culture.

Perhaps you’ve felt it too. You’re dealing with pain and fear, but you — right now — are sitting alone with it. You are crying out, but no one hears. You are at the end of your rope, but everyone else is dealing with their own stuff too these days.

Or maybe (like Job in the Old Testament) you have been blamed or criticized by friends, instead of receiving the empathetic support you needed in this moment. You may recall that Job’s friends lacked relational competency when he was in a crisis. Their behavior was so disturbing to Job, that he responded to them, “what miserable comforters you are” (Job 16:2).

Job didn’t need his friends’ condemnation and misguided advice. He really just needed them to be present and available. He said to them, “If it were me, I would encourage you” (Job 16:5).

The consummate example of empathy, of course, is Jesus. We see His empathy when He cried at the tomb of Lazarus. We see it again when He moved through villages, healing people because “he had compassion on them” (Matthew 9:36). Even from the cross, Jesus showed empathy and compassion for His mom, having the presence of mind to ask the disciple John to care for her.

Empathy is a powerful force that says, “I care about you.” “You’re not alone.” “I am here.” “I am listening.”

Today, may we take the time we need to put ourselves in the shoes of those who are hurting. May we remember that humans tend to underestimate the intensity of other people’s emotional pain. And, as the Apostle Paul exhorts us, may we weep with those who weep.

Little Jennifer seemed to know it instinctively, and I think we can learn a lot from a child. More than anything else, we need to just sit by our brothers and sisters, pull them close, and cry with them.

And I also believe we should stop photoshopping the snot out of everything.

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The (in)courage podcast is taking a brief hiatus from new episodes this week as we do some maintenance and updating behind the scenes! We’ll return to new daily episodes next week, March 13th. In the meantime, we hope you’ll enjoy five episodes from our podcast archives!

Today’s replay is of a bonus episode conversation from November 2022, titled Come Sit With Me, with Becky Keife, Rachel Marie Kang, & Anna E. Rendell. Listen below or wherever you stream podcasts.

Are You Too Responsible? Nurture Your Way Out of Stress with God’s Peace

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I stepped into a sea of people rushing past me to catch their flights, while others pushed around me with their rolling carry-ons headed to baggage claim.

I disembarked the plane feeling stressed but reassured myself I had plenty of time to get to my speaking engagement. Instead of finding somewhere to eat lunch – what I should’ve done because my tummy was growling – I sat down in the terminal to work on “urgent” emails. I chose to check off meeting someone else’s expectations instead of taking care of my own well-being.

I had arrived at Gate #6, so I figured I was close to baggage claim. But standing on the moving sidewalk later, I noticed the gate numbers were climbing higher, not lower.

Sweat started pouring out as I broke into a fast walk, then a galloping trot, as the escalating gate numbers seemed endless! Anxiety skyrocketed when I saw a sign: 10-Minute Walk to the Airport Tram. What? A tram?!

I forgot this airport had many, many terminals. I was beyond starving and now I was crunched for time. My hyperfocus on getting something done for everyone else distracted me from my heart’s true mission that day and what I was truly excited and energized about – meeting new friends and creating wonderful memories of encouragement together.

I’m curious, do you often pay attention to the feelings of others, but easily neglect your own wellbeing? And if something goes wrong — whether in the lives of your kids, family, work, ministry, or friends — do you feel you’re the one responsible to pick up the pieces and shoulder their burdens?

If yes, you’re like me and most women! Studies show that women suffer from burnout more than men due to being “overly-responsible.” So how do we address burnout? How do we avoid being overly-responsible and take steps towards the things that give us life and lift us up, so we can pour out to those we love without wearing ourselves out?

It’s like the instructions we receive when we fly. Put on our own oxygen mask first, before helping others around you.

To combat burnout, we need to make more space for God to pour His peace into our lives, which will renew our spark of joy again! But how, you ask?

Here’s the myth: We try to feel better by thinking our way out of stress. (triggers stress)
The truth is: We have to nurture our way out of stress with God’s peace. (relieves stress)

Let me explain. Did you know there are two types of anxiety: left brain and right brain anxiety?

The left brain is where we problem solve. It’s the logic part of our brain, where we experience anxiety called “anxious apprehension.” This is when we hyperfocus trying to solve some problem and start worrying too much. It results in overthinking about problems we encounter.

The right brain is what we call the emotional part of our brain – the feeling part of where we experience panic, sadness, or fear – called “anxious arousal.” This is when we are overwhelmed by our emotions. The right brain is also where we enjoy creative hobbies. Our auditory sense lights up when we enjoying music, our visual sense is stimulated when we appreciate art, and our tactile senses engage when we garden, knit, or play an instrument. These types of activity result in relieving stress.

Guess which part of the brain – right or left – has been proven most effective to lower stress and anxiety, and lift depression? It’s not the left brain. It’s the right brain that God designed to most powerfully activate our body’s rest response.

Second Corinthians 1:3-4 says, “Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God.” Notice the order: we receive comfort from God first, and then we can offer it to others — like a flowing river provides life from the rain it first receives from heaven.

As loving women, we’re constantly needing to comfort others around us as they share their frustration, anger, or a myriad of negative emotions. We act like shock absorbers, absorbing the stress of others.

But, God didn’t create you to simply be a shock absorber for others; God created you to flourish with joy as His beloved. Jesus said, “These things I have spoken to you so that My joy may be in you, and that your joy may be made full” (John 15:11). Before we can be there for others, we need to receive the comfort and joy God has for us.

So, take action today to nurture your way out of stress – to release your anxiety and worry to God — and prioritize time to do what gives you joy!

You are worth it. You are God’s beloved.

What’s something nurturing you enjoy that helps release stress and renew you with God’s peace?

Take this FREE “Soul Care Quiz” to learn what type of care you need most to lower stress and spark God’s peace and joy in your life! Find more encouragement in Bonnie’s beautiful new book Breathe: 21 Days to Stress Less and Transform Chaos to Calm.

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The (in)courage podcast is taking a brief hiatus from new episodes this week as we do some maintenance and updating behind the scenes! We’ll return to new daily episodes next week, starting March 13th. In the meantime, we hope you’ll enjoy five episodes from our podcast archives!

Today’s replay is from July 2022. It’s an excerpt from our Take Heart devotional, written by Mary Carver and titled If You Feel Like You Take Up Too Much Space. Listen below, or wherever you stream podcasts.

When We Disinvite Ourselves From His Table, He Simply Re-Extends the Invitation

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While I was in college on a student leadership retreat, a wise woman — with a gaze that seemed to see straight through me — once whispered into my ear: When we stuff our pain to the basement of our souls, it will deal with us until we allow God to deal with it.

Her words have stayed with me for years.

The truth is? I’m an excellent pain-stuffer. Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve thrown a lot of energy into managing emotions like grief, regret, and fear. But stuffing my pain into the darker, hidden rooms of my soul hasn’t always worked out how I’ve envisioned.

Rather than fading or magically disappearing, these parts of me have simply lurked on the edges of my daily experiences and have been manifested in other ways. They’ve hardened into bitterness and leaked toxic shame. Stuffed emotions and experiences can often cause us to live with a rattled nervous system, always triggering our fight-flight-or-freeze response.

These pain-stuffing tendencies can profoundly shape our spiritual journeys. Personally, my aversion to sitting with myself — and my tendency to run or numb from confusing and uncomfortable emotions — has caused me to tiptoe around God’s table of grace . . . like I’m not fully welcomed.

I believe that God loves the world, but I’ve doubted if God loves every part of me.

Because of this, I’ve often disinvited myself from His table. My opened Bible during early morning hours hasn’t always equated to an open heart. More-so, it’s like I’m playing one of those bobble-head games at an arcade. I’ve shoved all the messy parts of myself down with solid whacks in an attempt to bring God a perfectly packaged version of myself. (The part that I want Him and others to see). This polished part of me is typically the only part allowed to speak. It likes to use shiny, spiritual sounding words while simultaneously banishing all the inward mess that I’d rather not think about.

It can be hard to believe that the places we self-reject are accepted by Jesus. But what if these are the parts of us that He actually pursues?

Recently, I read a parable from the gospel of Luke and it resonated deeply. The parable tells the story of a king who prepared a grand feast and, after completing all of the necessary preparations, gave his servants the following command:

“‘Go out quickly into the streets and lanes of the city, and bring in here the poor and the maimed and the lame and the blind.’ And the servant said, ‘Master, it is done as you commanded, and still there is room.’ Then the master said to the servant, ‘Go out into the highways and hedges, and compel them to come in, that my house may be filled.'”
Luke 14:21-23 (NKJV)

This king (representing God) insisted on sitting with every face and form of brokenness. He persuaded, called, and compelled the hurting to come. On a personal level, what if God invites you and I to search out the poor, crippled, blind, and lame parts of ourselves to bring them to His table? Here, He says that every part of us is welcome.

  • The poor part of you that senses its lack and quietly wonders, Am I enough?
  • The disabled part of you that shrinks with shame and questions, Am I defective?
  • The hurting part of you that throbs with silent pain and asks, Am I too broken?
  • The lonely part of you that echoes even in a crowded room and doubts, Am I seen?
  • The beggar part of you that settles for scraps and wonders, Do I have value?
  • The outcast part of you that stings with rejection and asks, Am I accepted?
  • The homeless part of you aches for connection and questions, Do I belong?

What if life with God is an invitation to feast at His table? What if it’s an invitation for our whole selves to be loved? Slowly, I’m learning that He isn’t interested in the outward versions of ourselves that are perfectly packaged. God longs to become acquainted with the innermost rooms of our souls . . . the most broken and hidden parts of us.

The pain I’ve stuffed down? He asks me to search it out.

He’s on pursuit of all the banished parts of us that we’ve locked away in the basement. And He invites us, again and again, to His broad and spacious table where every part of us has a place . . . and every story has space to be told.

Only when the beggar inside of me sits at the table with Love can true transformation takes place. Change happens when my unmasked and honest grief, hurt, and fear encounter God. Because it’s here that the truth of His radical affection is pushed deep into the emotional places of my heart, where this love can heal and become a new foundation for my life.

And when we disinvite ourselves from His table? He simply re-extends the invitation . . . again and again and again.