How a Surprise Birthday Party Taught Me About the Sweetness of God

How a Surprise Birthday Party Taught Me About the Sweetness of God

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I felt the weight of 2023 as soon as I flipped the calendar; just 89 days to a major milestone birthday. An inescapable and irritating dread dampened my usual sunny disposition. To me, birthdays have always been the perfect excuse to celebrate with much ado. But this year felt different. I was entering a new decade that some would consider old, and as a person who has always declared, “Age is just a number!” that number was cruelly taunting me, making me feel ancient and irrelevant.

I snapped out of it when I realized I was acting like a victim of my age. I remembered what I had learned when I wrestled with aging not so long ago:

We are not victims of our age, and age is the price we pay for life and it’s a privilege not everyone has.

So, doggone it, party on! My husband was also turning 60 in March, so it seemed important to make it memorable.

But then came January 5th… and my world was rocked to the core.

Doctors discovered a mass in my sister’s brain that would require more testing to diagnose. By the end of the month, our worst fear was confirmed: brain cancer.

What was there to celebrate when my “ride or die” was facing a terrifying future, and the long life she imagined would be cut short?

Meanwhile, another storm was brewing.

My husband’s company had been sold last year, and one by one, his former leadership team shrank due to job elimination, forced early retirement, or leaving to find something more secure and less volatile. He began exploring different job opportunities himself as the climate became increasingly untenable, but on February 24th the decision was made for him. His position was eliminated.

Interestingly, we had plans that night to have dinner with four close friends and their husbands. It had been over a year since we’d gotten together as couples, and Courtney had invited us to her home six weeks in advance. Even though we viewed Tad’s job elimination as a good thing in many ways — he was fortunate to receive a severance package — it was still a hard thing, and we weren’t emotionally up for a couple’s night.

Not ready to disclose what had happened that afternoon, I texted my friends to let them know we had had an intense day and wouldn’t be able to make it. They weren’t having it. They texted back insisting, “You still have to eat!” Privately, another friend texted Tad and let him know they were doing a little something for my birthday … over a month early to surprise me.

He immediately spilled the beans because he knew we would have to show up and make the best of it. Though we didn’t know exactly what to expect, our suspicions spiked when we passed Courtney’s neighbor’s house and her yard was full of cars. Whatever they had planned was more than a few friends.

I apologized to Tad as we walked to her front door, feeling awful that something spectacular was planned for me, when his birthday was the following week, and, he had just lost his job.

Before we could knock, the double doors opened to reveal our two sons standing there grinning and a mob yelling, “Surprise!” Then our daughter (who lives a plane ride away) appeared from behind the door. I turned my back to the crowd, an instant, sobbing mess. I hugged Tad and whispered, “I’m so…sorry…” imagining how hard the next few hours were going to be for him.

“Turn around! See who’s here!” someone yelled. It was only then my brain finally caught up to what was happening. This was a surprise party for both of us.

Everywhere we looked we saw people we loved: our church family, my and Tad’s brothers, and life-long friends from all over. Then I spotted my sweet father-in-love . . . and my sister. I lost it all over again. She hadn’t even fully recovered from her biopsy surgery.

As the night unfolded, we learned that this party wasn’t cooked up by my friends. Rather, our children had been conspiring since Christmas to celebrate both me and Tad. February 24th had been the only day that worked out for our three kids and my four friends who helped them plan.

Our children’s concern that no one would be able to make it on a Friday night was unwarranted; people showed up en masse. Though they missed a few friends we would’ve included, we were amazed by how well they did. Every single person there was already praying for my sister, and this was an opportunity to meet her if they didn’t already know her.

Tad and I caught up with people we’ve loved as long as we can remember, and when we bumped into each other he whispered, “God sure has a sense of humor.” I laughed and agreed. Driving home later, Tad expressed what I had been thinking, “A night like tonight puts what happened with my job in perspective. It sure seems small in comparison.”

I fell into bed happy and exhausted, my mind reeling from our roller-coaster day. As my heart settled, I was completely and utterly overwhelmed by love. Not from the love of our family and friends – though that was palpable – but from God.

At Christmas, when our children had the bright idea to throw us a surprise party, they had no idea what the new year would bring.

But God knew.

When seven people selected a date that was the only one that worked for each of them, they couldn’t have known what that specific day would mean to us.

But God knew.

God knew about Lora’s brain tumor and Tad’s job loss and all the uncertainty, sorrow, and brokenness we were carrying. What I saw so clearly at that moment was how the story of our lives tells the grander story of God’s greatness. This is true for all of us, isn’t it? My children and friends thought they were just planning a surprise party, but the God who knows the end from the beginning and the beginning from the end knew what would happen in our lives leading up to February 24, 2023, and He put together a gift so spectacular no one could deny who it was from.

God knew that we were weary and burdened and He gave us the kind of rest we desperately needed (see Matthew 11:28-29). God is still writing your story and He knows the kind of rest you need, too. You can come to Him and trust Him.

 

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What Would It Take to Get This Honest With God?

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Here’s what I think we all need:

Our own little confession booths – places where we can get ruthlessly honest with God, and with ourselves. Places where we can bare our souls, stop self-protecting, and say the things that other people might find outlandish or outrageous.

In theory, we know God can handle that kind of honesty. In theory, we understand that we really do have our own little confession booths – and those booths are open 24/7, wherever we are.

But honestly? We don’t always practice stepping inside and getting real with God.

Ask me how I know.

Candidly, I have a long history of keeping secrets from God, which I realize is the single-most ridiculous statement ever written in the history of (in)courage. One does not keep secrets from God. (But one does try, from time to time.)

Case in point: Many years ago, I attended a weekend women’s retreat. One evening, a pastor handed each of us a tiny piece of paper. On that paper, we were supposed to write down everything we could think of that was holding us back from God.

As songs played in the background, a lengthy list ran flipbook-style in my brain.

Shame.
Guilt.
Sin after sin.
Burden after burden.

Good grief, I thought to myself, I need more than this tiny piece of paper. I need one of those giant rolls of butcher paper!

But even though I had a mile of confessions running through my head, I was unwilling to write them all down on paper.

We had been assured that no one would read our papers. In fact, they would be burned. So, I wasn’t afraid of people seeing my sin. I was afraid of being honest with God. Furthermore, I didn’t want to face the weight of my burdens by seeing them written out. The result: I left a bunch of stuff off of my paper, and in some cases, I was only half-honest with Him, because I wouldn’t write whole words; I wrote initials to represent my sin. I was refusing to tell God the truth.

At the time, I didn’t know if God could really love me in my failure. I thought He could only love the good in me.

That, of course, is anti-Gospel. How could I so easily forget that it’s because of my sin that Christ died? He loves me (and you!) that much.

You can hardly turn a page of the New Testament without encountering God’s arms-wide-open love toward us. “But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us” (Romans 5:8).

Jesus’ life demonstrated that perfect love. He cleansed people, not only of their sins but of their hurts and hang-ups. With the people He healed, Jesus often started by asking the person in front of Him a provocative, direct question – a way of saying, “Step into the confession booth.”

Think for a moment about some of the questions Jesus asked.

“Do you want to get well?” (John 5:6)

“Why did you doubt?” (Matthew 14:31)

“Do you still not see or understand?” (Mark 8:17)

“What do you want me to do for you?” (Luke 18:41)

If Jesus invited you into your own little confession booth today – just you and Him – and He asked you those questions, how would you answer?

When I think about my most honest answers, I am moved to tears. And those tears, I’m learning, are so very good, so very healing.

In the years since that retreat, I’ve learned that full honesty takes a special kind of courage, and ultimately, it holds a special kind of power. It’s a form of intimacy with yourself — and with God.

You don’t have to run into a little booth to tell your stuff to God. You can tell Him right now, right where you are. As it says in Hebrews 4:16, “Let us then approach God’s throne of grace with confidence, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help us in our time of need.”

So, friend, write it all down. (Not just the initials.) Or speak it out loud. I call it “courageous honesty, obsessive truth-telling, and beautifully ruthless self-discovery.”

May you find that you don’t have to shine yourself up when you come before God. You just need to show up.

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Are you feeling the urge to get honest before God, but don’t know where to start? Jennifer’s got you covered. She’s written Stuff I’d Only Tell God: A Guided Journal of Courageous Honesty, Obsessive Truth-Telling, and Beautifully Ruthless Self-Discovery. She describes the journal as “your own little confession booth.” Inside, you’ll find daring questions – including a list of questions Jesus asked. You’ll also find provocative lists, quirky charts, and thought-provoking prompts. This journal is a place to record ideas, beliefs, secrets, memories, wonderings, and wishes – things that might seem outlandish or outrageous to anyone else but are what make you you.

Order your copy today!

Below are three prompts from the thousands inside Stuff I’d Only Tell God. Answer one (or more, if you wish!) in the comments for a chance to WIN one of five copies of the journal*.

Option 1: My life is valuable because:

Option 2: If a toy manufacturer were to make an action figure of you, these are the three accessories it would come with:

Option 3: If I could ask God one question, this is what I’d ask:

We can’t wait to read your answers! Also, join Becky this weekend on the (in)courage podcast for a conversation with Jennifer about Stuff I’d Only Tell God!

 

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*Giveaway open to US addresses only and closes at 11:59 pm central on 5/15/23. Please allow 4-6 weeks for delivery.

To Love Is to Listen

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She walked in late to her physical therapy appointment, quickly apologizing, “I’m sorry, I’m having a rough day.” I leaned in and patted her on the shoulder as we walked towards the bike for her warm-up exercise. Assuming her back pain had flared up I asked her, “What’s going on?” She got on the bike and began to pedal as she told me that she had lost her mom recently, and today the grief was overwhelming. Throughout the session, she continued to share stories about her mom. I could tell that she loved her mom and they had a great relationship. Her mom lived a full life until she suddenly fell sick and passed.

Usually, I would have said some old Christian-ese phrase that we often say to those grieving the loss of a loved one like, “Well, she’s in a better place.” But the Holy Spirit gave me new words to speak over this woman: “I can tell you miss your mom and it probably feels unfair to have your best friend taken away.”

She suddenly looked up at me, reached for my hand, took it into hers, and her eyes began to well up. She said, “Thank you for saying that … everyone just keeps saying she’s in a better place and I’m tired of hearing that because I just want my mom here with me.”

In that moment I knew the Holy Spirit spoke through me because I chose to listen to this woman — not just to her words but to her pain. I think often, we as Christians are quick to slap a cliche statement over someone’s pain because we’re not really listening to them. Listening to someone unload their burden makes it heavy and uncomfortable for us, so selfishly we want to soothe them quickly, like sticking a pacifier in the mouth of a crying baby. But their pain needs a place to land.

Galatians 6: 2 teaches us to, “Bear one another’s burdens and so fulfill the law of Christ.” And the most practical way to live this out is through listening. We cannot save people or change their circumstances, but we can listen. If we are honest when we share our issues and pain with someone, we understand their limitations but we share anyway because we just need someone to listen.

I think one of the reasons people were drawn to Jesus was because He was a good listener. Jesus didn’t just teach and disciple people. He didn’t just touch and deliver people. So often Jesus gave people an opportunity to share their pain and put words to their wounds. He listened.

When blind Bartimaeus cried out, everyone tried to silence him. “Many rebuked him and told him to be quiet” Mark 10:48. The Bible tells us when He hears this blind beggar’s cry, Jesus stops. He listens. Can you imagine the Creator of time and space, the Alpha and Omega, standing still because of the cry of a man who lived on the side of the road?

The day Jesus meets the Samaritan woman He arrives at the well early. Jesus is waiting for her to get there and invites her into a conversation. In fact, this is the longest conversation recorded in the Bible that Jesus has — with this woman who had a wounded past. She walked at noon to that well alone as she always had because no one wanted to be associated with her; everyone in town knew her scandalous story. But Jesus, the Sovereign One, still sits, waiting to listen to her.

Jesus doesn’t spiritualize our pain or sweep it under the rug. He wants us to say it out loud to Him because He is the Savior and He has shared in our sufferings and empathizes with our deepest wounds. People wanted to be close to Jesus not just because He was a good teacher, but because He made space to listen to them. It amazes me that the God of the universe came to this world as a man to walk with us, talk with us, and listen to us.

Friend, Jesus wants to hear you.

I also pray that in our love for others, we would be quick to listen like Jesus, and that we would be people who make space for others to bring their wounds and words so that their burden feels just a little lighter. Let’s not silence people with our quick sticky statements or distance ourselves from them because their pain is too much.

It is true that we are the hands and feet of Jesus to go and do His work, but we are also the ears of Jesus to stop, wait, and listen.

 

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Good and Beautiful Things: No Suffering Required

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Our driver picks us up at three in the morning.

The travel agent assured us that the early wake-up call would be worth it . . . and the website promised a sky blanketed in soft clouds and a sunrise “bursting forth in a flood of warmth and color.” So I find myself heading up a volcano at a time I’m usually only snoring.

Our bus driver warns everyone that it can be cold and windy at the top. I packed a blanket and a sweatshirt and made the mistake of thinking I was prepared.

He tells us that we need to get there early to beat the rush of tourists and claim a front row seat to the sunrise. Haleakala means “House of the Sun” and, according to legend, the demigod, Maui, set out to lasso the sun in an effort to slow it down. I don’t believe in demigods, but I head up over 10,000 feet in the dark to capture the sun myself and for a glimpse of God’s beauty. 

We wind our way up the summit . . . and I’m temporarily glad for the black night so that I cannot see the steep drops. Hours later — still cloaked in darkness — we finally summit. We’re told where to stand for the best view and reminded to have our cameras ready. Sunrise is thirty minutes out as we stumble off the bus into the black. At this altitude, wind whips through my blanket and sleet pelts my face. My friends climb right back on the bus and I follow them. I was prepared for it to be cool, but not this cold. This is Hawaii, after all. I packed a suitcase full of sundresses, not a winter coat. 

I warm under the heater and tell myself that I did not get up at three in the morning to sit on a bus, so I bundle up and venture out again. This time, I walk alone and find only a few people clumped around the crater’s edge. My hair flies in my face, the wind blows straight through my layers, and I can’t feel my fingers or toes. The crowd is small and there is no need to fight anyone for a good view. Shivering at the lip of the crater for a good twenty minutes, I huddle with strangers who, like me, are waiting for the morning light to streak the sky with color. 

Eventually, the sky does grow less and less dark — but there is no show. There is no beauty, no sunrise “bursting forth in a flood of warmth and color” to reward me for my early rise, that long drive, or my freezing toes. The sky slowly turns from black to gray with a fog so thick I can barely see a few feet in front of me, much less the island below. My friend finally gets off the bus and comes to find me. She warms my arms gently and tells me, “I think this is it.” But, she sees a weight to my disappointment . . . that I’m waiting for more than a sunrise.

Somehow, I thought the pain and misery of getting to this volcano would pay off and, after years of my own pain, it’s like I need this to be true in my own life. After walking through a difficult season, I need to know that my aches matter. That, in spite of all that has been heavy and hard, something beautiful is, in fact, on the horizon.

Sometimes God allows hard seasons to draw us towards Him . . . but sometimes we choose to suffer. The two are not always connected. My miserable, sunless sunrise taught me that I had gone too far. I wanted my misery to be rewarded with a holy moment and picture-perfect view. I always want the ache to pay off.  I want to push through when I’m not ready. I falsely believe that my faith has to be hard or hurt for it to matter. I want the suffering to bring a reward, but sometimes it only leaves me cold and wet and waiting for something that doesn’t turn out how I’d hoped.

Good and beautiful things can come from hard and horrible places, but there is no reason I should think that they have to.

I like hard things. I used to love running long distances, accomplishing a challenging task, and persevering through hard seasons. But, what I’m starting to learn from sunrises, volcanoes, and patient friends is that these things aren’t good because they are hard. They are good because God is. Full stop.

Eventually, our driver transported us back to our hotel to rest and dry off. Later, we found a little bit of sun and enjoyed our day — a day that started way too early on a bus . . . but ended on the water with a sunset filled with warmth and color. In Psalm 113:3, I’m reminded that, “From the rising of the sun to the place where it sets, the name of the Lord is to be praised.” Pondering this Psalm made me realize that all throughout my day, God was present and worthy of praise — both in the gray sunrise and as the sun slowly dipped behind the bay.

As the sun set, the sky turned fifteen different shades of pink and yellow and orange. It was perfect. No suffering required. All I had to do was open my eyes. 

Where to Start When You Don’t Know What to Pray

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Ephesians 3:14-21

14 When I think of all this, I fall to my knees and pray to the Father,15 the Creator of everything in heaven and on earth.16 I pray that from his glorious, unlimited resources he will empower you with inner strength through his Spirit. 17 Then Christ will make his home in your hearts as you trust in him. Your roots will grow down into God’s love and keep you strong. 18 And may you have the power to understand, as all God’s people should, how wide, how long, how high, and how deep his love is. 19 May you experience the love of Christ, though it is too great to understand fully. Then you will be made complete with all the fullness of life and power that comes from God.

20 Now all glory to God, who is able, through his mighty power at work within us, to accomplish infinitely more than we might ask or think. 21 Glory to him in the church and in Christ Jesus through all generations forever and ever! Amen.

 

If you ever feel stuck or don’t know what to pray, start with Scripture. You can always have confidence that you are seeking the will of God when you pray the Word of God.

At (in)courage, we are honored to pray with you and for you. This passage from Ephesians 3 is our starting point today. Please share a verse that resonates with you, or comment with a specific prayer request. Let’s link arms as sisters in Christ and lift each other up to our God who sees us and loves us.

 

A Different Kind of Brave

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Now a man from the family of Levi married a Levite woman. The woman became pregnant and gave birth to a son; when she saw that he was beautiful, she hid him for three months. But when she could no longer hide him, she got a papyrus basket for him and coated it with asphalt and pitch. She placed the child in it and set it among the reeds by the bank of the Nile. Then his sister stood at a distance in order to see what would happen to him.

Pharaoh’s daughter went down to bathe at the Nile while her servant girls walked along the riverbank. She saw the basket among the reeds, sent her slave girl, took it, opened it, and saw him, the child — and there he was, a little boy, crying. She felt sorry for him and said, “This is one of the Hebrew boys.”

Then his sister said to Pharaoh’s daughter, “Should I go and call a Hebrew woman who is nursing to nurse the boy for you?”

“Go,” Pharaoh’s daughter told her. So the girl went and called the boy’s mother. Then Pharaoh’s daughter said to her, “Take this child and nurse him for me, and I will pay your wages.” So the woman took the boy and nursed him. When the child grew older, she brought him to Pharaoh’s daughter, and he became her son. She named him Moses, “Because,” she said, “I drew him out of the water.”
Exodus 2:1–10

Jochebed, Moses’ mother, was a woman of great bravery. Her worst nightmare had come true. Her baby boy’s life was in danger, and she could no longer hide him. So, she enacted a plan to save her son’s life. Without knowing if it would work, Jochebed placed her son, Moses, in a basket in the river, and God rewarded her bravery. He allowed Pharaoh’s daughter to find the basket with baby Moses inside, who then asked Jochebed to care for him until he was old enough to live in the palace.

If this mother had let fear control her actions, she would have missed out on a miracle. Because Jochebed chose to be brave, she got to watch God care for Moses and Jochebed’s entire family, protecting them and bringing about His purposes.

Jochebed’s obedience and bravery also created a whole new family, allowing Pharaoh’s daughter to become an adoptive mother. Pharaoh’s daughter showed great bravery as well, as she boldly defied her father’s orders to kill all infant boys. Instead, she took Moses in as her own.

All families — even the ones in the Bible — are messy, and each mother has a unique story regarding how her children came to be hers. Jochebed, Moses, and Pharaoh’s daughter are no exception; rather, they’re an example of grace, bravery, and love that breaks the mold.

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The day I delivered our first baby girl was filled with joy and grief for my husband and me. We were in complete bliss as I picked out which outfit she would wear for her pictures with her big brother. As the nurses wheeled her out, I remember turning the television on to pass the time until my baby was back in my arms. The words “BREAKING NEWS” caught my attention.

A shooting had taken place in an elementary school, and the station was broadcasting live footage of parents waiting for news of their children. It suddenly felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room. There I was in a hospital bed waiting for the life I brought into this world, as these parents waited for the worst.

I remember crying for those parents and those innocent children. When my baby was placed in my arms, I held her a little tighter. The headlines can sometimes shake us to the core of our souls, and fear can consume us if we let it. I think of Moses’ mother, Jochebed, and how scared she must have been when she learned that her baby was a boy. She lived in a corrupt time when all baby boys were thrown into the river.

And yet, instead of letting fear control her, she kept her son with love in her heart and strength in her soul. When she could no longer hide him, she did the hardest thing she’d ever have to do. She coated a basket with asphalt and pitch and placed her baby boy in it. Then she placed him in the reeds among the Nile.

When I used to think of the word brave, I imagined someone fighting off lions and bears. But it also looks a lot like a mother trusting in God and gently placing her child into the waters of the unknown. The most beautiful part of the story is that God is faithful in all He does, and He returned Moses to Jochebed for a season, before Moses made his way to the palace under the care of Pharaoh’s daughter.

Since the birth of my first daughter and the day of that horrendous news, we’ve welcomed three more children into this world. As parents in this day and age, we may not be called to release our children into the river in baskets, but we are called to release them to God. Each time we do, we find that His provision is always better than we could ever imagine.

Fear still creeps in some days. But in spite of fearing the unknown waters, I want to love relentlessly, fervently trusting in God with faith like Jochebed. I want to live a life of faith, and most of all, I want to live life with a different kind of brave.

Writings by Denise Hughes and Jasmine Martin, as featured in A Mother’s Love.

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

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

How Is Mercy Part of Our Purpose?

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I’ll never forget where I was, how the hair on my arms stood straight up and goosebumps erupted all over my skin. I’ll never forget how my pounding heart beat like a drum until I could hardly sit in my chair and found myself standing and walking to the front of the room with the rest of the teen girls, who were falling to their knees and breaking down in tears.

Just hours before, I had been laughing with my friends in our cabin, feeling fine and free. It wasn’t supposed to be anything more than a summer camp — a time to make memories and have fun with friends. Never in a million years could I imagine I’d end up splitting my heart wide open, sitting on the floor of some big gathering room, and crying loudly with prayers pouring from my heart.

The speaker stood on the stage, telling her story and speaking of all the pain and sorrow she once held inside. As she spoke, she lugged around a ball and chain that was attached to her ankle. She told us that holding on to pain and hurt is like being shackled to a heavy weight that always follows and drags, and that the only way to be free of it is to forgive — both ourselves and others.

I thought about the pain I carried from watching my older brother live a life full of sickness and suffering. I thought about the pain I carried from watching my parents split and go their separate ways. I thought about the pain I carried from losing friends after moving from school to school to school. I thought about the sadness I cradled and how it had twisted into a bitter resentment that left me wondering why everything in my life always seemed to fall apart.

I sat on that floor with the rest of the teenagers spilling their hearts out, and I joined in. I joined not because I needed to do what everyone else was doing but because I needed to understand this God for myself. I needed to know if He really could hold my heart, heal my hurt, and set me free from the shackles of sorrow.

My prayer, a whirlwind of whispered words, came out slow and honest:

Dear God, I don’t know who You are. I don’t know if You’re real. But if You are, please take my hurt and give me a heart that cares for others the way that You do. Give me eyes to see the world the way You do and a mouth to speak the way You speak.

When I got up from the floor that day, I didn’t feel any different. I didn’t feel changed or all charged up to go set the world on fire. I only hoped that God had heard me, that He would help me, and that He would have His way in my heart.

Not too long after this moment of sweet surrender, I traveled with my church to Quito, Ecuador, for a weeklong community outreach. Each night we sat under the big white tent as the same refrain played from a wonky keyboard and we all sang: Gracias, gracias Señor. Gracias mi Señor, Jesus. Hands lifting, voices rising in both English and Spanish, we sang this song about receiving the gift of everlasting mercy and everlasting life, about being set free through the blood of Jesus.

On my last day in Quito, I sat on the bleachers at the soccer field and wrapped a young girl in my sweater to shield her from the wind. As we sat there, watching the kids on the field kicking up dust for hours on end, I looked out at the horizon and found myself thinking back to that camp prayer I prayed.

It felt almost as if everything I’d ever felt had been released. I felt compassion — a desire to care about the pain of others — filling me up to overflow. And in that moment I realized that I couldn’t care for the people of a capital city halfway around the world without caring for the people closest to me. I realized I didn’t just want to receive the gift of mercy that I had been singing about. I wanted to extend mercy like God does. I wanted to live out mercy and I wanted to give mercy.

I felt like Saul (a.k.a. Paul) on the road to Damascus as he journeyed from merciless to merciful — from persecuting Christians to passionately proclaiming Christ. Found and forgiven, he was set free to unashamedly share the message of God’s loving-kindness.

This is why mercy matters, because it spreads like wildfire and burns bright with redemption. Mercy restores us to one another while also restoring us to God. And that is God’s heart — that none of us would be far from love or far from Him.

And what a gift it is that His mercy is not just for today. It stretches into tomorrow, saves, and secures us even for life after life. Mercy sets us free not just here on earth but for eternity.

The thought of such grace sends chills down my spine.

Story by Rachel Marie Kang as published in Create in Me a Heart of Mercy

What a powerful story of real-life, deep mercy. This piece appears in our latest Bible Study, Create in Me a Heart of Mercy, available now for preorder. With stories like Rachel’s woven together with Scripture study by Dorina Lazo Gilmore-Young, our prayer is that this study will help you see the mercy God offers each one of us.

Create in Me a Heart of Mercy releases May 16th, and we are SO excited to see how God will use it to speak to your heart. Sign up to get a FREE full week of Bible study from Create in Me a Heart of Mercy and preorder your copy today!

 

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Uninvited and the Welcome of God

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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The Question Every Hurting Heart Needs to Ask

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“I just don’t understand. Why?!”

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

“Why didn’t God do something?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Love one another” (John 13:34). 

“Accept one another” (Romans 15:7). 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 – 

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

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

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

 

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

Tell Me Everything You Know

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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A Prayer for When You Are Needy

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

Psalm 86

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

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

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

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

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

What verse stands out to you most?

 

For Motherless Daughters

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

Finding Pockets of Joy When Life Is Overwhelming

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A blessing for caregivers:

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

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When You Need It in a New York Minute

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I’m a New Yorker, through and through.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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What Will I Choose with My Words?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ask them to explain.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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