All Is Well (Even When It Really Doesn’t Feel That Way)

All Is Well (Even When It Really Doesn’t Feel That Way)

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The night before I drove to the leasing office to sign a stack of papers that would make the overwhelming decision official, I stood in my apartment and slowly spun around. What do I pack? What can go right now and what will I still need here for the days in between, as I put my life into boxes and move from one place to another?

I filled three or four bins and then my eyes landed on three words, a phrase inside a blue picture frame, and I knew I needed to lead the way – not because they felt accurate, but because they’re abundantly true.

All is well.

When I wrote my first book, Even If Not, I invited several artists into the process. Each chapter begins with an illustrated quote from the pages that follow, and as I turned in a circle in the place that has been home for ten years, the print with three words from chapter two caught my eye.

For nearly a decade of days, the simple but striking reminder of “all is well” has sat on the end table in my living room, a constant visual in every season and situation.

I needed it in a new way this year. Within four weeks, everything shifted from staying put to signing papers for my own little home. The wild whirlwind wasn’t my plan or my preferred timing, but as I walked inside the new place and set the frame on a cherrywood shelf, I whispered the words to my own heart:

All is well.
It’s true and coming truer.
Things will change, but that promise will remain.

Whatever we’re navigating today, in a few weeks, it’ll be a slightly different story. A new chapter, perhaps, or a new line on the same page, but something will have shifted. Our opinion. Their response. The weather. An answered prayer. A closed door. Their attitude. Our bandwidth.

The list could go on because the possibilities of new are nearly endless. In the midst of changes and challenges — some that are expected and others that are entirely unanticipated, some that feel like a nightmare and others that look like a dream come true, and still more that fall somewhere in between — what I find myself coming back to the most is simply this:

God has been, God will be, and I am not alone.

By that I mean: God’s character is sure and solid and steady. It does not shift in changing circumstances. Come what may, His character remains what it has been and is and always will be.

He is the God who sticks it out, who suffers with, who stands beside, who sits in the silence, who sings in the shadows, who steadies our racing mind and pounding heart, who stills the storm and shares with abundance and says things might shift but He will stay.

Old Testament and New, the promise holds true. It’s in His name; it’s who He is.

I AM, a present-tense God. (Exodus 3:13-15)
Emmanuel, God With Us. (Matthew 1:23)

After deep cleaning every last inch of the apartment, after placing the final box of odds and ends in my car, I reached for the last thing left inside: a green sticky note taped to the door.

“It’s the end of an era” I said quietly, my voice echoing in the emptiness. One last time, I stood in the place that has seen my biggest heartbreaks, thousands of sleepless nights, exciting news, and so much laughter, and I stared at the faded paper in my hand. It read,

“Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland.”
Isaiah 43:18-19

I wrote the words on that sticky note as a reminder to myself in high school, took it to college and kept it on my dorm room desk, and then taped it to my bedroom door after I graduated ten years ago. You could say I’ve carried this verse with me, but the deeper truth is that the words have carried me through seasons and storms, through both brutal and beautiful days.

I’ve seen those lines every day for half my life, and although the last thing moved out and the first thing carried into the next chapter doesn’t have to mean anything at all, it was a small way to intentionally mark the moment, the new thing, with words that are weighty and that mean much more than simply letters on a page.

The little green note that lost its stickiness years ago is framed now. It sits by the print from my book, two ever-true reminders that greet me each time I walk through the front door into the new.

I don’t know what stories the walls of this old house could tell. I don’t know what they’ll see next, what seasons I’ll navigate in this place I’m learning to call home. But I know the first lines of the new page:

All is well, right here and right now, because He is a God who doesn’t change. He’s the God who makes a way. He’s the God who stays.

All of the art prints from my book are available as free digital downloads on my website! Enter your email at this link and they’ll be on the way to you within minutes.

 

Listen to Kaitlyn’s devotion here or on your favorite podcast app!

For the Woman Who Needs Direction

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“If you need wisdom, ask our generous God, and He will give it to you. He will not rebuke you for asking.”
James 1:5 NLT

The novelty of summer has faded, the routines are blurred, and maybe your soul feels just as wilted as the potted plant on your porch that you keep forgetting to water.

You’re tired.
Tired of juggling needs, navigating decisions, trying to hold it all together.
Tired of not knowing what’s next or how to get there.
Tired of wondering if you’re doing any of it “right.”

Sister, if that’s you — if your heart feels heavy or your mind cluttered — lean in close:

God has not left you to figure it all out on your own.
He sees you, He is with you, and He generously offers His wisdom when you ask.

You don’t have to know the whole path forward.
You don’t need to have the perfect plan.
You just need to be held by the One who already knows the way.

Summer can feel like a wandering place — a little lost between what’s behind and what’s ahead. But God is not lost, and you are not forgotten. His wisdom is not a treasure buried deep for the worthy to uncover. It’s freely given to the daughter who simply asks.

James 1:5 promises that when we need wisdom, our generous God will give it, and He won’t shame us for needing help. Isn’t that beautiful?

So today, instead of spiraling in uncertainty or wearing yourself out with worry, pause. Breathe. Ask.

God, what do You want me to know right now?
What is the next right thing You’re inviting me into?

And then — wait for the whisper. He will speak. Through His Word, through His Spirit, through the quiet nudge in your heart or the peace that settles where anxiety once lived.

Friend, you’re not drifting. You’re being led. Not by pressure or fear, but by the faithful wisdom of a God who loves you.

Even in the middle — especially in the middle — His guidance is steady. His truth still stands. His presence never leaves. And His wisdom is the light that will lead you through.

Let His voice be louder than your inner critic. Let His promises anchor you when your to-do list overwhelms. Let His counsel carry you forward, one simple, Spirit-led step at a time.

You are not directionless.
You are not too late.
You are not alone.

Prayer:
God, You know the weight I’m carrying and the questions I don’t have answers for. Thank You for being my steady guide. Quiet the noise around me and within me so I can hear Your voice. Give me Your wisdom for this moment, this decision, this day. I trust You to lead me, one step at a time. Amen.

 

How God Met Me in My Fear of the Water

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The swim instructors separated everyone into groups of three. My group included a three-year-old girl with long dark hair, a five-year-old girl with red hair and freckles, and me. Parents sat around the perimeter of the pool, excitedly watching their children, cheering, and capturing every moment on film. However, no one was there clapping or cheering for me . . . a thirty-two-year-old woman at a swim school for small children.

As a young child, I escaped learning to swim after several failed attempts. Then, at around age nine, an angry adult forced me into the deep end of a pool and held me under, determined to make me overcome my “discomfort” and teach me to swim. For years after, I couldn’t bear water in my face. Water gun fights and bobbing for apples were unthinkable activities. Showers were difficult. And as friends enjoyed summers in the pool, I felt fear and shame. I even avoided being baptized for years due to the prospect of being fully immersed.

As an adult, I logically knew that I could learn to swim. God made our bodies buoyant, and people can learn to breathe underwater. Still, believing I could swim wasn’t as easy knowing I could. Thankfully, after the gentle encouragement of a Bible teacher, I came to believe that God wanted me to trust Him with this fear.

Determined to learn how to swim, I enrolled for swim lessons at a swim school for children. I felt very terrified and self-conscious. But for the sake of my toddler, and for my own sake, I wanted to overcome this fear that gripped me. I wanted my son to enjoy the water without my panic in the background.

As I entered the pool, I tried to ignore the other parents. I tried to remember that the eyes of my Heavenly Father were upon me. I sensed God smiling because this wasn’t just about learning how to swim. This was a deliberate decision to revisit trauma and the fear that crippled me. This was about trusting God in a way I could not ever imagine.

As the instructor led the three-year-old across the pool, the five-year-old looked into my eyes and excitedly said, “Do you want to practice elevators?” My first thought was, “Absolutely not! I don’t want to go down under the water and pop back up.” But . . . when a freckled, five-year-old smiles wide and grabs your hands like she’s your best friend, you say, Yes!

This five-year-old girl wasn’t afraid — and she showed me I, too, could be strong and courageous. So, she held my hands, and we went up and down in the water. I don’t know how I did it, but I did! That little girl will never know how God used her to help me, how meeting her was a divine appointment.

God met me in the pool that day. He knew I was scared, embarrassed, and full of shame. But I showed up, and He met me there, in the fear. God provided someone to be with me that day. His message was tender: “I see you, and you don’t have to do this alone.”

In the following months, my life took an unexpected turn — a turn more terrifying than my fear of the water. My obedience to God in learning how to swim and allowing Him to enter into my past pain, made it easier to walk with Him through new traumas of the present.

I went on to take adult lessons, learning how to swim at a local YMCA. It was not easy; I often prayed in the water and brought to mind Isaiah 41:10 (NKJV), “Fear not, for I am with you; Be not dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you, Yes, I will help you, I will uphold you with My righteous right hand.”

Now, I continue to swim several days a week — and each lap declares victory. As I swim, I pray . . . and I remember how God is good and that He meets us in our fears. He can calm the storm within, and He is fully trustworthy. He upholds us with His righteous right hand . . . even in the water.

Depression Doesn’t Distance Us from God

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Two years ago, my therapist told me I was depressed.

Not only that, but she told me I had likely dealt with undiagnosed depression most of my life. I didn’t want to believe her. Sure, there were signs. The symptoms listed in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (the standard guide for mental health diagnoses) matched the symptoms I dealt with in my everyday life. Still, I pushed back against her assessment. I didn’t want to wrestle with accepting and admitting that depression has affected, and still presently affects, my life.

Although I have never been non-functional or bedridden, and although you likely wouldn’t suspect it from the outside looking in, there have been periods of time in which merely existing has felt like trudging through waist-deep wet cement. The heaviness of depression that presses down is relentless, and it often comes on without warning. Maybe that kind of slog is familiar to you, too — the effort of going through the motions, of putting one foot in front of the other, of pushing forward when everything in you wants to stop moving. It makes the usually vibrant world dim and dull.

I panicked when my therapist put a name to that dark, depression I’ve come to know, as if naming it somehow made the darkness more real than it otherwise was. Without a name, I could believe the depression was something of my own making, something I could turn on and off at will. While therapy, prayer, spending time outside, and staying connected with people I care about certainly helped push back the darkness, if I believed her, if I believed I really did struggle with a depressive disorder, then it meant I wouldn’t be able to work myself into the light. The thought of that was terrifying.

For most of my life, I believed it was my responsibility to position myself in the light, to chase after God so closely that I was caught in the glow of His glory. I thought any darkness I found myself in was a direct result of my own (probably subconsciously chosen) inadequacy or inaction, and that when I found myself there yet again, there would be no light in my life until I got myself back on track. I put pressure on myself to perform my faith perfectly, something that left no room for grace to meet me in my humanity. But scripture invites us into a different truth.  

Micah 7:8 ESV says, “Rejoice not over me, O my enemy; when I fall, I shall rise; when I sit in darkness, the Lord will be a light to me.” When depression strikes and we find ourselves in darkness, we haven’t fallen out of God’s view. He doesn’t leave us to our own devices, waiting for us to find our way out without as much as a glance over His shoulder. Instead, God shows up where we sit in the darkness, and He becomes our way through.  

God doesn’t wait for us to get better or be stronger to draw near. He doesn’t run from us when our brain chemistry shifts or when our lives become more difficult. He is present even when everything feels muffled and heavy, and even in the spaces I once thought of as empty and abandoned.

Depression doesn’t distance us from God. Depression, a darkness we can’t fully control or conquer, becomes the very place where we can experience the patience and love of a God unwilling to leave or forsake us.

Listen to today’s devotion here or on your favorite podcast app.

Marking God’s Love in the Middle of the Hard

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I am a true minimalist. I take pride in living by the saying, “less is more.” I don’t collect trinkets and unnecessary things; I prefer to gather only memories and good times! Still, occasionally I will bring home a souvenir to keep special moments close — something that holds deep meaning and reminds me of the happiness I felt.

One keepsake that holds a special place in my heart is a small, pink, lifelike porcelain pig holding a tiny red heart. My father bought it for me when I was eleven years old during a trip along Route 44.  We were searching for my mother, who had left our family to start a new life in California without us. 

Those days were incredibly tough for my father, brother, and me. Our journey from Ontario, Canada to California felt more like a walk through heartbreak and despair than a fun family road trip. When we reached a truck stop, amidst much uncertainty and fear, my father bought me that little pig and handed it to me with a gentle smile. Without saying a word, he comforted my wounded heart with a simple yet meaningful gift. 

Many years later, that little pig, now with a chipped right ear but still holding the heart, sits on my nightstand. It isn’t just a childhood memento — it’s a marker of love and comfort amid chaos. It reminds me that even during the most painful journeys, I was seen, I was loved, and I wasn’t alone.

In its own way, that little pig is a kind of memorial — a tangible reminder of a deeper story. 

As I recently reread Joshua 4, I was struck by how God also uses physical things — stones, in this case — as reminders for His people. Just like my tiny pig holds a piece of my story, those stones held a powerful testimony of God’s faithfulness.

Joshua 4 takes place after the death of Moses, as Joshua leads the Israelites across the Jordan River. Just as God had parted the Red Sea years earlier, He now miraculously stops the flow of the Jordan, allowing the people to cross on dry ground. God instructs Joshua to choose twelve men — one from each tribe — to take twelve stones from the middle of the river, from the spot where the priests stood holding the Ark of the Covenant. The men carry the stones to their campsite at Gilgal, where Joshua sets them up as a memorial.

After everyone has crossed, the priests come up from the river, and the waters return to their usual flow. Joshua then explains the purpose of the memorial: it is to serve as a sign for future generations. When children ask what the stones mean, their parents are to tell the story of how God stopped the waters of the Jordan so His people could cross safely.

According to verse 24, the stones weren’t just for Israel, but “so that all the peoples of the earth may know that the hand of the Lord is mighty.”

Remembering becomes a testimony — for us and for others.

In a world that forgets easily, stones serve as a reminder of who God is, what He has done, and our responsibility to share our rescue story with others. 

After reading this passage, I took time to reflect on what “stones” in my own river of life could be used to create a memorial. I see these as opportunities to practice what I like to call the “Art of Remembering”–  a way to strengthen our faith in the present, no matter how tough life gets, and to share that hope with others.

The “stones” of our lives — those sacred moments when God has visibly revealed Himself, answered prayers, and made the impossible possible — serve as tangible anchors of past miracles; they strengthen our trust in God for our current and future struggles and uncertainties.

Remembering is essential for us as women of faith, especially during times when silence may seem like evidence of God’s perceived absence. Remembering what God did to help the Israelites (and us) allows us to hold fast to our identity: a people rescued, chosen, and led by a powerful, present God.

Today, my friend, I want to challenge and encourage you to reflect on the many “stones” in your life. The “stones” we collect might include journals, photos, stories, places, or personal markers of God’s faithfulness. Take a moment to pause and remember all that the Lord has already accomplished and thank Him. Praise Him for His steadfast love. 

May these stones serve as a personal reminder of God’s incredible intervention for you. May you remember how your heavenly Father is good and capable of the impossible, again and again.

 

Listen to Ligia’s devotion here or on your favorite podcast app. 

You Aren’t Too Much. You’re Called.

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As a little girl, I was fearless.

When summer stretched long and the humidity hung thick in the air, I climbed trees with scraped knees, conquered the tallest slides at the park, and shouted a cheerful, “Hi! Want to hang out?” to anyone who didn’t have someone to play with. With cowlicky bangs and oversized glasses, I was a confident, brave child who didn’t second-guess herself. I wasn’t afraid to try something new or speak up when a playground bully pushed things a little too far.

I stood firm in who I was, skinned knees and all.

But over time, my confidence began to erode. I started noticing how others could be sharp-edged and mean. Insecurity was contagious, and soon enough, I was catching it. I learned that confidence could be labeled as arrogance. That boldness could be perceived as being too much. And especially within certain Christian circles, I heard the message loud and clear: Blend in. Be quiet. Dull your light.

If I could go back in time, I would put my hands on that confused girl’s shoulders, look her straight in the eyes, and tell her the truth: That message isn’t from Jesus.

In Christ, we are invited into the fullness of life, where our courage isn’t prideful, but is rooted in God’s purpose and power. When we live out of the depths of God’s love, conformity loosens its shackles and we are free to live confidently, compassionately reflecting the heart of Christ.

Throughout history, when women have walked in that truth — when they’ve dared to live with holy courage and Spirit-fueled love — they’ve changed the world. (Even if they didn’t know it at the time.)

I’ve been reading about United States history, trying to understand the moment we’re in and how we got here. And while history is complicated and at times heartbreaking (and even angering), I find myself returning to stories of women of faith who refused to shrink, who were faithful to God’s call to love Him and love their neighbors as themselves, even when cruelty and chaos tried to extinguish their light:

  • Clara Brown was born into the atrocity of slavery. When she secured her freedom at the age of 56, she traveled west, becoming one of the first Black women to settle in the state of Colorado. Her faith inspired her to build churches, reunite families, and provide generous care for those in need.
  • Frances Willard helped lead the temperance and suffrage movements, linking her public advocacy to a deeply rooted Christian faith.
  • Fannie Lou Hamer sang freedom songs (it’s said that her favorite was “This Little Light of Mine”). She bravely advocated for civil rights, even after enduring brutal beatings and unjust imprisonment.
  • Dorothy Day, a journalist and founder of the Catholic Worker Movement, embodied her love for God and her neighbor through her work in soup kitchens, hospitality houses, and her pleas for peace. 

These are just a few examples of a starlit sky full of women who drew strength from God being the center of themselves. Each lived out her conviction that the gospel calls us into the fullness of who we are in Christ.

And we see that glittering thread stretch far back throughout Scripture, too:

  • Shiphrah and Puah, the midwives in Exodus 1, defied Pharaoh’s orders to kill Hebrew baby boys. In an act of holy resistance, they protected life and laid a foundation for Moses to be born.
  • Rahab, a woman on the margins of society, risked everything to protect Israelite spies and is later named in the lineage of Jesus (Matthew 1:5). 
  • Deborah led a nation into battle with wisdom and courage as both prophet and judge (Judges 4–5).
  • The woman with the alabaster jar broke cultural expectations and poured out everything she had at Jesus’ feet (Luke 7:36-50).
  • Mary Magdalene stayed near Jesus through His death and was the first to witness and proclaim His resurrection (John 20:11-18).

These women didn’t fit neatly into the expectations of their time. But they fit beautifully into God’s story.

In the face of cruelty, God calls us to be women of courage.

In times of conformity, God calls us to be women of confidence.

In the rubble of collapse, God calls us to be women of compassion.

Jesus told His followers to have the faith of a child. And maybe part of that invitation is to return to the holy boldness we once knew before the world told us who we should be.

I want to remember the girl who wasn’t afraid to create just for the joy of it. The girl who extended friendship to everyone. The girl who believed in standing for what’s right and didn’t worry if it made her stand out…or stand alone.

Imagine your younger self. What did she look like? What brought her joy? Who was she when the world wasn’t watching or whispering to her to be a certain way?

Imagine taking the girl you used to be under your arm and whispering: “There are people you haven’t even met yet who are counting on you to be the girl and woman God made you to be. You are loved. You are not alone. You’re called for such a time as this. And I can’t wait to watch you shine.”

What would it take for you to believe that your presence matters in this world? What would it take for you to trust that Christlike compassion is more about showing up than it is about having the right words? What might it look like for you to move forward in confidence that radiates from the One who calls you beloved?

 

Listen to Kayla’s devotion here, or wherever you stream podcasts.

Strapped in, Holding on, and Getting Stronger

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I’m in my weighted-vest era. Once a day, I strap on a 20 lb. contraption that looks more like a tactical bullet-proof vest than fad exercise equipment for middle-age women waging war with perimenopause. In my urban neighborhood, it’s not uncommon for us to guess “gunshots or fireworks,” so as I walk, I keep waiting for someone to ask if I missed my ride to a SWAT team raid.

My weighted vest adventure began months ago, as I listened to my girlfriends extol the osteoporosis-fighting benefits of wearing this contraption while doing the dishes, laundry, or watching TV. Vest-wearing friends reported weight loss, and others raved about a reduction in aches and pains because of stronger muscles. All of that appealed to me!

I was skeptical, but I purchased a vest anyway. Wrestling the contraption over my shoulders worked up decent pre-workout sweat. Wearing the extra weight felt like reliving the years when my kids were toddlers, and they would cling to my body all the time. Next, I set out for a walk. I listened to online influencers who warned to start slow and wear the vest for fifteen minutes a day until my body adapted to the new weight.

Six weeks later, I’m a weighted vest evangelist. It’s surprising how my body has adapted to the extra weight. I often forget that I’m wearing the vest during my daily three- to four-mile walks. Even though I’ve been lifting weights since my teens, I enjoy feeling this newfound strength.

Life is like that sometimes. New strength can emerge during our challenging seasons.

Have you ever encountered a new situation that weighed heavily on your life, and at first, it felt like the weight would overwhelm you? Situations that began with sleepless nights, endless tears, and even hopeless moments. Maybe it was your cancer diagnosis, caregiving for ailing loved ones, or a family crisis you didn’t see coming. At first, you feel like you’re trapped in a lead vest so heavy you can barely rise from your bed. You want God to fix it. Now.

However, instead of an instant miracle, God takes His time to give you a different but deeper miracle.

“We can rejoice, too, when we run into problems and trials, for we know that they help us develop endurance. And endurance develops strength of character, and character strengthens our confident hope of salvation.” Romans 5:3-4 NLT

Over time, as we invite God into our circumstances through prayer and meditation on His presence and promises, we discover a daily strength that can only come from Him.

One day at a time, we realize we’re making it. To our surprise, we can even smile sometimes. We see how the combination of worship, studying God’s Word, and prayer opens up heaven-to-earth conduits of connection, allowing God’s power and presence to be sensed and absorbed in our hearts and minds. Yes, weight is still there, but we have God’s wisdom to help us carry it.  

How many of us can look back to see how God used stress to make us stronger? We can’t explain it, but we celebrate it!

Do you need to ask God to help you with the extra weight? Let’s do this together:

First, obsessing and overthinking are heavy emotional weights that turn our hard situations into suffering. A popular recovery slogan is, “Pain is inevitable, but suffering is optional.”

Therefore, God invites us to give Him any unhealthy or harmful thoughts or obsessions that create fear, anxiety, or disappointment within us.

“Now I will take the load from your shoulders;
I will free your hands from their heavy tasks.”
Psalm 81:6 NLT

In this context, God was speaking to the oppressive mental and emotional suffering the Israelites faced in circumstances where they had no control. We can relate, right? God wants to lift all of that from our shoulders. Yes, please!

Second, and this is one to pay attention to: You aren’t bothering God with your problems. Ever. God isn’t bothered when you ask Him for help. He wants you to!

“Give all your worries and cares to God, for he cares about you.”
1 Peter 5:7 NLT

Today, have you sensed God whispering to you about stress weight that’s been too heavy for you? What are you overthinking or obsessing about right now? Give it to Him.

If you’ve done that, but you’re still living in a hard season, struggling to make it through one day at a time, can I pray for you?

God, I pray for my friend and the daily burden she carries. Be merciful, God. It’s so hard when we’re trying to make it one day at a time. We pray for Your strength to endure. We pray for Your grace where she’s weak and Your joy to be her strength. Amen.

Are you in your weighted-vest era, too? Tell us below!

Barb loves writing about helping women win their battle with stress and overwhelm in her Bible study, Stronger Than Stress: Developing 10 Spiritual Practices to Win the Battle of Stress and Overwhelm.

 

Listen to Barb’s devotion here! Or find the (in)courage podcast on your favorite app.

When I Need to Be My Own Hype Girl

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In just three months, we’ll celebrate the sweetest love story. Our baby girl is marrying the man of her dreams — and it’s all taking place right here on our property.

I first heard Sam’s name when our daughter Emma received a sweet message from an unknown boy in 8th grade. Through the years, they remained close friends. Poor guy had no idea how often his name was whispered among the Schmidt girls.

When college came, they talked about dating, having liked each other throughout high school. But with Emma headed overseas for Bible school and Sam playing college soccer, they entrusted their future to the Lord. They made a quiet promise: If God brought them back together, it was meant to be.

Like any good Hallmark story, theirs has included transformation, suspense, joy, and even sadness. I remember telling Emma after one of their deep heart-to-hearts, “If the Lord brings you two together, this will be the best Hallmark story ever.”

Well, eight years after that first text message, it’s clear that Sam’s the man we’ve prayed for since Emma was a baby. And while I’m over-the-moon thrilled, Emma sat me down one afternoon with a new twist.

“Mom,” she said, “I think we want to get married this fall instead of next spring.”

I gulped. Six months from now? On our property? The one with no landscaping, no parking, and definitely no space for a big crowd?

We debated the pros and cons. Spoiler alert: the cons were mine to carry — an enormous amount of my own manual labor and time. The upside (and now downside) of living in the country is that everything from broken tools to leftover wood piles ends up behind the shed… conveniently out of sight until you’re planning a wedding on-site.

In the middle of my overwhelm, Emma looked me in the eye with all the Southern flair she could muster and declared:

“You are Jen Schmidt!” (dramatic pause) “You thrive under this kind of pressure. I have faith in you.”

That was all I needed — or so I thought. Her confidence gave me a spark of courage. But three months into the planning, with mud-caked boots, aching muscles, and an endless to-do list… that spark flickered.

While showcasing this DIY, thrift store process on my Instagram, a few reels went viral, and my transparency opened a door to strangers chiming in with opinions and criticisms. In the lonely hours of manual labor, doubt in all forms whispered louder than confidence ever did.

And that’s when God brought a different kind of reminder — just when I needed it most.

Last week, we had dinner with my new friend Jimmy. I met him at the DMV (yes, really), and since then, our family has built a sweet friendship with him. On paper, we couldn’t be more different. His daily life is full of challenges — unstable work, limited support, financial stress. But if you spent an hour with Jimmy, you’d think he was an A-list superstar. The man carries himself like he’s walking red carpets.

On the drive home, I asked our future son-in-law what stood out from the night.

Without missing a beat, he said, “Jimmy is his own best hype man. When no one else was there to believe in him, he believed in himself.”

That stuck with me.

Sometimes, when life feels impossible — when we’re discouraged, overwhelmed, or unsure — we need to grab a megaphone and be our own best hype girl.

That doesn’t mean cheering ourselves on with empty affirmations. It means declaring the truth of what God has already said about us.

We often remind ourselves of God’s promises here at (in)courage, but why do we forget so quickly?

“I feel lonely… but I am not alone.”
“I wasn’t picked… but I am chosen.”
“I can barely keep my head above water… but I am strong.”
“I’m struggling with body image… but I am beautiful.”

Our dream scenarios shift. Life brings financial constraints, hard transitions, and unexpected delays. We’ve experienced all of those. But when the Lord opens a door — no matter how overwhelming it feels — we walk through it. And if He closes it, we thank Him for His protection.

My Emma can’t wait to walk down the aisle to her bridegroom. But we don’t need to wait for ours.

Jesus is our Bridegroom — and we are His Bride.

He reminds us daily:

You are cherished.
You are redeemed.
You are His.

So, when I find myself knee-deep in landscaping projects or lost in DIY wedding chaos, I pause and channel my daughter’s voice:

“You are Jen Schmidt. You thrive under this kind of pressure.”

And in that moment, her words stir something deeper — not just because she believes in me, but because they echo what God knows to be true.

He says I’m chosen, strengthened, and never alone — and He says the same about you.

(in)courage sisters, the Lord doesn’t call everyone to host a backyard wedding. He hasn’t handed you my assignment. But He has written one specifically for you.

Don’t wait for someone else to speak life into you.

Open God’s Word and declare His promises.

Let’s be our own hype girls — but let the soundtrack be Scripture.

Whether you’re rebuilding a broken dream, planning something special, or simply surviving a hard season — stand firm in who God says you are.

You are beautiful. You are strengthened. You are His.

Write it on your mirror.
Speak it in your prayers.
Whisper it in the dark if that’s all you’ve got in you.

Let the truth of who you are in Christ drown out every doubt.

Follow along with both the beauty and the bedlam of Jen’s DIY wedding journey.

 

Listen to Jen’s devotion here or on the (in)courage podcast. 

When You Call, God Listens

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“The Lord always keeps his promises;
    he is gracious in all he does.
The Lord helps the fallen
    and lifts those bent beneath their loads.
The eyes of all look to you in hope;
    you give them their food as they need it.
When you open your hand,
    you satisfy the hunger and thirst of every living thing.
The Lord is righteous in everything he does;
    he is filled with kindness.
The Lord is close to all who call on him,
    yes, to all who call on him in truth.
He grants the desires of those who fear him;
he hears their cries for help and rescues them.”
Psalm 145:13-19 NLT

Isn’t it incredible that the God who created the heavens and earth — the One who holds time and eternity in His hands — is also near to you right now? He invites you to call on Him, not as a last resort, but as your first response.

When we pray, we’re not sending words into the void. We’re being drawn into communion with a loving Father who hears every whisper, catches every tear, and promises to act according to His good and faithful will.

Prayer isn’t about getting the perfect words right. It’s about being real with the God who already knows and still says, “Come.” Whether you’re feeling strong or struggling to breathe under the weight of your worries, you are never alone. Your voice matters. Your needs matter. You matter.

So whatever you’re carrying today — heartaches, hopes, or hallelujah — bring it to Jesus. He’s listening. He’s with you. He cares.

We’d be honored to pray with you. Leave your prayer request in the comments below. And if you’re able, pause to pray for the woman who commented before you. Let’s lift each other up in the love of Christ.

You are not alone. God is near.

Letting God Rewrite What I Wanted to Erase

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I never wanted a story that includes anxiety and depression. I never imagined I’d write sentences with words like “panic attack,” “abuse,” or “shame.” I wanted a neat and tidy story. Something I could fold and tuck away like a well-written testimony for a women’s Bible study or a perfectly captioned Instagram post.

But what I got was real life — and real life is messy.

Real life is the story I never wanted, a story with chapters I still hesitate to open in public. Like the years I was terrified of failing as a mom because I struggled with anger. Or the nights I laid awake, rehearsing conversations I was too afraid to have. Or the mornings I woke up and wondered why God had let things unravel the way He did.

There was a time I didn’t want to tell my story because I didn’t like that it included spiritual wounds, or the slow unpacking of emotional baggage I didn’t know I was carrying. I didn’t want to write about being a people-pleaser so tethered to external approval that I lost my voice somewhere in the process. I didn’t want a story about financial setbacks, or apologizing to my kids for the ways I parented from fear instead of faith.

But, here’s something I’ve learned: We don’t get to pick the plot, but we do get to choose whether we let God be the Author.

In Isaiah 61:3 (NIV), God promises to bestow, “A crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of joy instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair.” That promise has become my lifeline in the past few years. Not because everything in my life has been redeemed or wrapped up with a neat bow, but because even in the middle of the story, God is faithful.

I used to think I had to wait until everything made sense before I could share my story. Yet, if I’ve learned anything, it’s that God doesn’t waste our broken parts. Especially not the broken parts.

Psalm 34:18 (ESV) says, “The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit.” And I’ve seen this up close. In the counseling office where I finally told the truth about my childhood trauma. In the journal pages where I scratched out prayers that sounded more like desperate pleas. In the long walks and whispered apologies to my kids, when I didn’t get it right but wanted to do better.

Sometimes the most sacred place in our story is the one where we realize God is still writing . . . and we don’t have to rush to the ending.

Maybe your story feels disappointing, too. Maybe you thought you’d be further along, more healed, less messy. Maybe you’ve wondered if the parts of your life that feel untellable are just too broken to ever be beautiful. 

Friend, your story is still being written and rewritten.

You don’t have to love every chapter to believe God is working. You don’t have to share every detail to know He’s redeeming the narrative. And you don’t have to wait until it all makes sense to start telling the truth.

God, in His grace, whispers, “You’re not disqualified. You’re not too late. You’re not too much.” One of the most radical things we can do is to stop editing our stories to make them palatable and instead invite others into this grace that meets us right where we are.

Maybe our real testimony isn’t about being impressive. Maybe it’s about being honest. Maybe it’s time to stop hiding the pages we’d rather skip and start reading them aloud with a trembling voice and an open heart. Because there’s a woman out there who needs to hear your story to know she’s not alone.

And there’s a Savior who isn’t waiting for your perfection — just your permission to keep writing your story and rewriting your story.

Always Someone Better

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When I was 25, I graduated from seminary as one of two women in my degree program. I was a big fish in a small pond and carried in my toolbox a few items that made me especially unique. I had training in biblical languages and theology. I was reasonably creative. I had a background in basic marketing. Plus? I had great handwriting.

I made the move from Massachusetts to Texas for a year-long internship at a women’s ministry that was growing — fast.

The job was a dream. I’d be using all my skills in a vast array of tasks. I’d get to research and write and plan and film and edit and ideate around big ideas that pulled women close to one another and Jesus.

If you were to ask me if I thought what I brought to the table was the most important thing about me, I would’ve told you absolutely not. My years of studying Scripture taught me my worth wasn’t in my performance… But that doesn’t mean that truth had sunk into my heart yet. In fact, my knowledge of the Word may have at times caused me to believe that my greatest asset was my knowledge.

One scroll through Instagram or Facebook would have us believe that we need to show up with our talents and display them for the benefit of others. Which in and of itself is not a bad thing. But when we believe that the only reason we bring value is because of what we do, things start to get a little messy.

My first week or two at my internship went about as well as it could. I was welcomed by the staff, given introductions to the culture of teamwork, and ate more than my fair share of Tex-Mex. So far, so good. But when we rolled up our sleeves and actually started doing the work we were there to do, I found that I was surrounded by immensely talented women. I was no longer the only person who knew about Scripture or the Christian faith. I was no longer the only person who understood how to create good social media content. And I certainly was no longer the only person with good handwriting.

In 2015, hand lettering was at an all-time premium, and several other women on staff had much better skills.

I certainly contributed to the work, but I found myself also comparing myself to my colleagues. This subtle current of insecurity was flowing underneath all the tasks I was undertaking — and slowly eroding the bedrock of how I viewed myself. No one was telling me that I did a bad job or that I wasn’t valuable, but I was certainly telling myself that every time someone else was applauded for their talent in an area that I felt skilled in.

One night, I called my friend and told her how I was struggling with the fact that I was no longer a big fish in a small pond. I was no longer known for what I brought to the table because everybody brought the same thing. I was surrounded by so much talent and expertise. I felt more ill-equipped than ever.

And isn’t that the way it goes? When we are the only ones to do something, we tell ourselves that we’re special. And as soon as someone comes along with the same skills, we feel that we no longer matter. We go from flying high to dragged through the dirt. And it cultivates a sense of competition more than camaraderie.

I have struggled with this feeling for much of my life. Since that internship, I’ve had the opportunity to work alongside immensely talented writers and creatives who have similar interests and more developed skills than I do.

One day, as I was cycling through my usual frustration at my own shortcomings, a phrase popped into my head that has changed everything:

There will always be someone better than you, but there will never be anyone greater than God.

Think about it: there will always be a more patient mother or a more compassionate spouse or a more loyal friend or a better cook or a funnier storyteller. There will always be a more clever researcher or a more brilliant professor or a more gracious host.

If we want to live our lives being the best, we are going to fall short every single time. And perhaps this is what I love about the work of Jesus: He just doesn’t care about that.

Over and over, His disciples try to prove their worthiness, only to be met with a Savior who is asking for exactly none of it.

Jesus can perform miracles and He knows what’s coming next and He can calm storms and is literally God in the flesh. To be frank? He doesn’t need us for anything!

But you know what? He wants us and values us and loves us. Not because we are amazing, but because we are His.

When I started to look for my belonging in the person of Jesus Christ, I started to see myself as He sees me: fully known and fully loved. My sins and shortcomings are no longer counted against me because of the redeeming work of Jesus. 1 Peter 2:24 (ESV) says, “He himself bore our sins in his body on the tree, that we might die to sin and live to righteousness. By his wounds you have been healed.”

When God looks at us, He sees all of our mess covered by the sacrifice of Jesus so that we no longer have to prove anything. This walk of faith is not about what we bring to the table, but the fact that we are invited to the table. And more than feeling intimidated or exposed, it actually brings great freedom.  It means that we are loved exactly the way we are and we can joyfully use our gifts, knowing that they do not define us. Our fellow sisters are not our competition, and our worth is not founded on our talents.

So go. Make art or parent your kids or run that meeting with joy, knowing that there will always be someone better than you, but there will never be anyone greater than God — and He gave you what you have for a reason.

 

Listen to Melissa’s devotion below or on the (in)courage podcast!

Cling to the Hem of His Robe

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I typically loathe the kind of cliche sentiment and trite sayings that are often uttered with the purest of intentions but fail to convey anything of actual substance or encouragement. I have, however, taught my kids one fave – “don’t yuck my yum!” This has cut down on a LOT of bickering between kids and whining at me over their dinner plates. Besides that one, I reject most inspirational platitudes — it’s just my overanalytical, slightly cynical heart at work.

Okay, I also admit to one other exception: “Be kind to everyone, for you never know who is fighting an unseen battle.”

This one makes sense to me when it’s shared with someone who needs to watch their tone, expectations, or treatment of others. I’m always on board for reminders to be kind.

Plus, it’s true, isn’t it? There are things happening behind the scenes in our lives all the time. Literally all. the. time. Whether it’s illness or raising teenagers or struggling with finances. Caretaking a parent or partner, walking through a crisis of faith, or having a child we just can’t seem to connect with. Issues with coworkers, major company changes, or team and role shifts.

All things that greatly impact our day-to-day, and yet we process silently. These are the situations and experiences that we can’t share out loud for so, so many valid and necessary reasons – not to mention that sometimes we just have to work it out in our own hearts, between us and Jesus. There’s a fine line between transparency and oversharing.

There is always, always more to people than meets the eye. In fact, even as I share pieces of my life publicly here with you and on Instagram, and with my family and friends, over the last year, I have walked through nearly every example listed above. Betcha didn’t know that. 😉 And that’s ok. I have processed it quietly in all the ways – but offline.

I’m just one person with a small sphere, and I carry a multitude of stories. So do you. So does the person beside you. So does the one you cross paths with.

Our hearts are always carrying a heavier load than what our hands hold.

And then one day, you receive a rude email when kindness could have been used. A snippy comment, unprompted and unnecessary. A big ask, no actual question in sight, only an assumption of acceptance. A judgy neighbor or assumptive mom at the park. An unthoughtful… anything.

Oof. Can’t you feel it in your gut right now, just reading those examples? When your world is imploding, and then someone is unkind, it can be the final straw. For me, that means a royal meltdown, deep processing time with my husband, a handful of M&M’s, and a flurry of texts to my besties. For some, it can lead to destructive behaviors and unhealthy coping strategies.

Wherever and whenever unkindness finds you, it strikes the heart and cuts to the bone. It can make us feel alone, isolated, and so very small.

It makes me think of a woman in Scripture. One who has been overlooked and judged and even exiled for that which is unseen – she has been bleeding for twelve years. Can you imagine?? Many of us bleed monthly — yet another thing we don’t often talk about — but here’s a woman who bled for twelve years. Imagine her reception in the time of Jesus, when in 2025 we still don’t really talk about body issues and illness.

She makes her way to Jesus, through crowds of hopeful people and dust, hoping to clutch His robe.

Yes. That was her big, bold goal – to merely touch the hem of Jesus’ robe.

A handful of fabric. That’s it. Not only is that how deeply she believes in His healing power, but at the same time, it’s all she believes she’s worth. Not worth being seen, not worth being noticed, not worth being spoken to, not even worth being looked at.

If she just grazes the hem as it drags on the ground, trailing behind Him, she knows He won’t even need to look at her.

But Jesus never lets any of His children remain unseen. None of us is ever unknown.

She touches the edge of His robe and is immediately healed; Jesus knows something happened. Here’s the part of the story that makes me teary:

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.”
Luke 8:47-48 NIV

She sees that she cannot go on unnoticed. Not by Jesus, and no longer by the crowd that had ignored her so completely that she’d been able to approach Him, to get near enough to brush His garment when His own mother couldn’t even get through (Luke 8:19 NIV). What a shocking change of pace for this nameless woman! And then, on top of being seen, she was healed. Her life was forever altered; her whole world was changed.

Christ’s presence alone can heal us. When we are too overcome to be seen, we can simply cling to the hem of His robe. He doesn’t require a backstory or explanation or reason or justification. He just requires our proximity and our faith in Him.

Today, may we show kindness to everyone, remembering that they could be trying to elbow their way through the crowd to brush His holy garment, running on faith and hope alone. May we realize we are worthy of being noticed. And may the One who heals all hearts do so for yours.

 

Listen to Anna’s devotion here or on your fave podcast app!

Jesus Sees You

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I wasn’t always this way.

I used to love to be the center of attention. I was Mrs. Pugh in “Annie” the musical, as presented by my high school. I floated from friend group to friend group in the cafeteria. I led worship from the stage. I dreamed of writing songs, recording albums, and touring with a band — preferably heavy metal. (Yeah. I know. Wild!)

But that’s not really me, anymore. I often avoid attention. I sit in the back of the church, way back in the corners. When there’s a need, I am not the one to show up at the front door knocking. Instead, I slip quiet cards in the mail. I secretly deliver care packages to front porches. I donate anonymously. I pray without sending a text.

These days, I’m quite content doing things behind the scenes and between the shadows. Except, when I’m not. Because, sometimes, it actually does matter to me to be seen. Sometimes, my heart does need to be heard. Sometimes, my questions do need to be asked. Sometimes, space for all my too-muchness does need to be made, even (and especially) in the most imperfect of times.

Lately, I’ve been finding myself in absolute awe of Jesus’ ability to pay attention. I can’t stop thinking about the woman at the well and how Jesus knew He would find her there, precisely at noon, the hottest time of the day.

​​Now he had to go through Samaria. So he came to a town in Samaria called Sychar, near the plot of ground Jacob had given to his son Joseph. Jacob’s well was there, and Jesus, tired as he was from the journey, sat down by the well. It was about noon. When a Samaritan woman came to draw water, Jesus said to her, “Will you give me a drink?” (His disciples had gone into the town to buy food.)
John 4:4-8 (NIV)

Jesus was attuned to her schedule because it was indelibly tied to her story. The story of a woman who would go out of her way to walk to the well at noon (a time when no one else would be there due to the heat) simply because she sought to avoid the society that didn’t see her.

But Jesus sees through our survival strategies. Jesus sees the ways we circumvent the crowds just to make it through our days. Jesus sees all the ways in which we hide and are prone to outwit the world, like the woman at the well, on guard and challenging every one of Jesus’ questions and statements. And yet it was there, right there, in the heat of the day, in the middle of the mundane, that Jesus met the woman at the well.

Jesus met her at the well, not to condemn her (as the rest of society would have done) but to confound her with His careful listening and attentiveness. When others sought to evade her, Jesus sought to encounter and encourage her.

Isn’t’ it ironic? The thing she avoided the most was, in fact, the thing she most needed. To be seen.

“Come, see a man who told me everything I ever did,” she told the people. Immediately after her conversation with Christ, she testified, inviting others to “come” and “see” the Christ who clearly saw her and deeply knew her.

The day Jesus met the woman at the well, I wonder if her heart had been burning to talk about the many things they talked about that day. I wonder how long she had been burying within her the stories concerning her multiple marriages, nuanced stories that needed space to unfurl every fragmented layer of truth and trauma.

Just a few weeks ago, after a hard, heartbreaking day, I told my husband I wanted to be the woman at the well. I just desperately needed Jesus to see me, really see me. To sit with me, lingering and listening. To hear me. Make miracles out of the seeming mess that is my life right now.

Well, later that day, I received a call from someone unexpected. It was the smallest thing, but what was spoken was an answer to a very specific unspoken prayer. And, here’s the thing: I felt like the woman at the well leaving behind her water jar. Because what meant more to me than the actual answered prayer was the fact that Jesus looked into my heart, and saw and spoke to the hidden mix of hurt and hope that swelled within.

He saw me. He met me in a moment when and where no one else could or would.

I just about melted, being reminded of the truth that Jesus sees me. Jesus sees you. Jesus sees us, His uninterruptible gaze ever cast toward us with fierce attention and deep affection.

For anyone who is feeling unseen in this current season of life, I want to loan you a song that has been reminding me of the unmerited attention of God. Please listen to “This Close” by Steffany Gretzinger, then come back and share in the comments how this song speaks to your heart.

No striving, no fighting for affection. No running away or hiding. No slipping through the cracks or slipping out unannounced. You are irrevocably seen by God, beloved.

Today, tomorrow, and forevermore.

 

Listen to Rachel’s devotion here or wherever you stream podcasts.

Finding Starlight in Your Endless Night

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My family recently watched the Broadway musical version of The Lion King, a story we love and know well but had never seen like this. While much of the music and dialogue is the same as the familiar movie, the stage production includes at least one song the movie does not.

In case you aren’t familiar with The Lion King, it’s a loose adaptation of Shakespeare’s Hamlet. The main character, Simba, is a young lion who must decide whether to keep hiding and avoiding responsibility or return home and take his place as leader. As he faces his dark night of the soul, Simba gazes into the sky and sings, “Endless Night,” a song I hadn’t previously heard.

“Where has the starlight gone?
Dark is the day.
How can I find my way home?

Home is an empty dream.
Lost to the night,
Father, I feel so alone.

You promised you’d be there.
Whenever I needed you
Whenever I call your name,
You’re not anywhere.

I’m trying to hold on,
Just waiting to hear your voice.”

As the actor sang these words, I forgot he was playing a lion. I forgot I was watching a play. I forgot everything but how my heart was breaking along with his, crying out for his father and unable to find him in the dark.

I’ve been walking through a season of darkness for a while now, and over the past several months, the world has felt increasingly dark as well. For someone whose first book was called Choose Joy and who has written an entire Bible study about hope, stumbling through darkness, unsure I will find the light again, has been disorienting.

I recently lamented my loss of certainty, my inability to believe things will ever improve, and my anger at all the horrible things I see and experience every day. When I was asked, “But isn’t there anything good? Anything at all?” I wanted to shout no!

I ached to lay out all the evidence – the times I’ve begged God to help, to intervene, to make it better, only to hear silence. I wanted to make my case that nothing good is left in this world or my heart, that maybe I’d been wrong all those years I’d claimed God’s love meant He never leaves us and He always gives us something good to hold onto.

I wanted to give up. But like Simba, holding on and still listening for his father’s voice, I guess I’m not ready to give up my search for God’s Light in this world.

So for the hundredth time, I started keeping track of the starlight in this darkness. Even while I still feel alone, even when I can’t quite see the Father, the tiny bits of light – like the stars over Simba’s savannah – are leading me Home.

You might be wondering what tiny bits of light I’ve found. (I hope so, because I’m about to tell you!) They’re not miracles of biblical proportion, burning bushes, or billboards covered in encouragement just for me. They’re small gifts, little joys, things that others might not even notice — but they speak God’s love so clearly to me when I pay attention:

The light is a bright pink door on a navy house that’s so cute I had to call my best friend and tell her about it.

It’s the biggest zucchini I’ve ever seen, offered free by a co-worker with a green thumb.

It’s lunch with a friend, dinner with a cousin, texting with my brother.

It’s the new kiosks installed at my library offering multiple languages, including pirate. “Arrr, matey! Ready to check out yer books? Scan yer treasure below!”

The light is the best bagel I’ve ever had, grabbed in the drive-thru on my way to a difficult doctor’s appointment.

It’s two friends handing me the cash out of their purses to help my friend, whom they’ve never even met.

It’s the rainbow I could somehow see, even though the sun had set well before I began driving home.

My friend Shannan calls these things counterweights, the only way we can maintain the delicate balance of being present in this difficult, often dark world without letting it drag us down. I’ve heard others call them glimmers – the opposite of a trigger that pulls you into negativity, something that instead pushes you toward a more positive perspective.

Interestingly, both phrases acknowledge that you’re in a dark, difficult place. Without the dark, we wouldn’t need and couldn’t see glimmers of light. Without difficulty or heavy circumstances, we wouldn’t need light and goodness to balance it out. But we are in the dark, and many of us find ourselves crying out like Simba or, more biblically, like David in the Psalms.

Many of the psalms written by David are categorized as laments — songs and poems filled with fear and pain. But time and time again, he also found evidence of God’s faithful love in the small things and the skies.

“The heavens proclaim the glory of God. The skies display his craftsmanship.
Day after day they continue to speak; night after night they make him known.”
Psalm 19:1-2 NLT

No matter what you call them, these small joys, gifts, delights, tiny bits of light are evidence that, indeed, God is still here and God is still good. God has not forgotten us, and He continues to love us beyond all measure. The clues are all around us; we just have to look for them.

Where have you seen the Light of God in the darkness lately?

 

Listen to Mary’s devotion here or on the (in)courage podcast — streaming everywhere.

When You’re Grieving or Comforting Someone Who Is

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Sometimes I hear prayer requests and have the guilty thought that I’m thankful whatever happened didn’t happen to me. If you’ve never felt like this, congratulations — you’re a better person than I am. Over the past couple of years, however, the major prayer requests seem to be mine.

Experiencing tragedy often prepares us to comfort others who face the same. I appreciate how certain aspects of my personal story enable me to connect with other women and the readers at (in)courage. Still, I never would have chosen to identify deeper with those who’ve experienced the death of a child.

Yet here I am, muddling through the stages of grief as I process our oldest daughter’s recent death while adapting our home to raise her three young children permanently — enforcing naptime with a stubborn toddler, enrolling a child in camp for kindergarteners, and marking the first day of school on the calendar (again).

I’m not only mourning my daughter, but also the loss of freedom and uninterrupted writing time I had gained as our children aged. Perhaps this is a natural response, but these feelings leave me weighed down with guilt.

All of us will experience periods of grief, or times when we hope to comfort someone who’s grieving. As someone in the midst of it, here are some helpful things that people have done to help me and my family:

  • Organize a meal train
  • Set up a GiveSendGo or GoFundMe if there’s a need
  • Lend vases and picture frames for the funeral or celebration of life.
  • Text your friend when you think of them, but don’t expect an answer. (I’ve hearted a lot of messages when writing a response felt overwhelming.)

When you want to help, be specific. If you offer to babysit, I may never take you up on it, even if I believe you’re sincere. But if you say, “I’m available to watch the kids on Tuesday or Friday night if you need a night out,” or if you volunteer to take the kids to get ice cream and hang out at the park (like the text I received today), I’ll probably take you up on it.

If you’re the one grieving and people want to help, let them. A friend delivered a set of stackable cups because the chaos in my cabinets was more than I could handle. Another left a pack of chip clips in my mailbox so I could close all the open bags. They brought these random things because I asked for them, and they made my life easier.

Every little bit helps when your life has spun out of control.

Find someone you can talk to honestly and openly, who can handle anything you say. My sister, a therapist, and my future son-in-law have been especially helpful in this regard. Grief is lonely, and the emotions aren’t just messy; sometimes, they’re downright ugly.

You won’t sleep well. You’ll make stupid mistakes and forget things. Give yourself grace.

Permit yourself to grieve in your own way. Someone donated a bunk bed with a twin on top and a full on the bottom for our grandkids, which is a better option than a seven-year-old girl, a five-year-old boy, and a two-year-old boy sharing a queen-sized bed in our guest room. Three days before our daughter’s celebration of life event, I bought new bedding and paint to make the grandchildren’s room feel fresh, welcoming, and most of all, permanent.

My children urged me to paint the room later, since we had a house full of company, and our grandchildren would spend the following week out of state with our son’s family for some time with their cousins. But I wanted to save those quieter days for grieving our daughter’s death and processing the sudden changes in our life with fewer distractions. Not everyone understood my decision, but for me, it was the right call.

Because I’ve been through it myself, I relate to women who’ve miscarried a baby or suffered the pain and loss of freedom from broken bones and surgery. Someday, maybe I’ll be a sympathetic ear for those who are experiencing what I’m going through now, like a few women who’ve reached out to me. But not now; it’s too fresh.

Not all pain is relatable to all people, but because Jesus came to earth in human form, He has an intimate understanding of grief, suffering, and loss. None of my emotions are too big or unwieldy for Jesus. Whatever I confess, He can handle. He comprehends my pain. He understands this unyielding loss.

Sorrow sneaks up when I least expect it. It’s embedded in photographs, pieces of clothing, a familiar expression on a child’s face. I don’t feel angry with God. He never promised me a life free from suffering. But I believe He’s the security that will keep me from bending until I break. May God bless you all.

 

Listen to Dawn’s devotion here or on the (in)courage podcast anywhere you stream.

For the Days That Feel Too Heavy

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“Is anyone crying for help? God is listening,
ready to rescue you.
If your heart is broken, you’ll find God right there;
if you’re kicked in the gut, he’ll help you catch your breath.”
Psalm 34:17-18 The Message

It can feel like tragedy is always lurking — an unexpected diagnosis, a heartbreaking headline, the loss of someone we love. Some days it seems like sorrow is stacked so high we can hardly breathe beneath the weight of it. And truthfully? It is too much to bear. But we were never meant to carry it alone.

Jesus meets us in our grief — not as a distant observer, but as a compassionate Savior who knows sorrow intimately. He wept at the tomb of His friend. He mourned the brokenness of this world. He carried our pain all the way to the cross.

So yes, we are safe to cry with Him. Safe to lament. Safe to let our hearts break wide open in His presence. Our grief does not disqualify us from His goodness — it draws Him near. Psalm 34:18 tells us the Lord is close to the brokenhearted. He doesn’t turn away from our tears; He treasures them (Psalm 56:8).

And somehow — mysteriously, miraculously — we can hold grief in one hand and the joy of the Lord in the other. Not because everything is okay, but because Jesus is. Because even when sorrow overwhelms us, He sustains us. Even when we feel undone, His love holds every shattered piece.

This world is groaning under the weight of sin and suffering. That’s not new. But it is all the more reason we need a Redeemer. All the more reason to remember that this world is not our forever home.

Until the day He wipes every tear from our eyes and redeems every brokenness, we keep reaching for the hem of His garment — trusting that He’s reaching back for us.


Jesus, some days the pain feels too heavy to carry. Thank You that we don’t have to carry it alone. Thank You for meeting us in our grief and for being a Savior who understands sorrow. Help us to weep with You, to find refuge in You, and to trust that joy and grief can coexist in Your presence. We long for the day when You will make all things new. Until then, help us to keep holding on to You, even with trembling hands. Amen.