Renovation

Renovation

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Get your FREE sampler from Journey to the Cross!

Jesus Loves a Pushy Woman

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They pushed for pain management so Jenn could be comfortable.

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

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

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

Jesus loves a pushy woman.

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

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

“Who touched me?” Jesus asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

The Storm Is Never the End of the Story

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s a God of resurrection, not resignation.

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

Already, all is being made new.

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

 

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

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

Let’s Choose to Connect Instead of Correct

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Where Did All the Empathy Go?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that’s just what I did.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her words have stayed with me for years.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Let’s Pray

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 “This, then, is how you should pray:

‘Our Father in heaven,
hallowed be your name,
your kingdom come,
your will be done,
on earth as it is in heaven.
 Give us today our daily bread.
 And forgive us our debts,
as we also have forgiven our debtors.
 And lead us not into temptation,
but deliver us from the evil one.'”
Matthew 6:9-13 NIV

A version of this passage may be familiar to you as the Lord’s prayer. It’s the model Jesus gave to His disciples for how to pray. Have you ever paused to consider how encouraging this is? The fact that God’s own Son taught people how to pray shows us several things:

1. It emphasizes the importance of prayer.
Jesus’s time on earth was limited; He was intentional with everything He said, taught, and did. Prayer was a consistent value of His time.

2. It affirms that God hears us.
Jesus demonstrates that as children of God, we have direct access to our heavenly Father through prayer.

3. It reminds us that we can rely on God’s provision and power.
Jesus lived from a place of total dependence on the Father. From daily food to resisting sin, we don’t have to rely on our own strength or striving. God delights in taking care of His children.

Let’s take Jesus’s words to heart and thank Him for giving us this beautiful way to pray.

Join us in prayer today by sharing your favorite aspect of the Lord’s prayer or leaving a personal request. We are honored to link arms as sisters in Christ and pray for one another.

 

An Undeniable Testimony to God’s Greatness

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Lord, our Lord, how magnificent is your name throughout the earth!
You have covered the heavens with your majesty.
From the mouths of infants and nursing babies,
you have established a stronghold
on account of your adversaries
in order to silence the enemy and the avenger.
When I observe your heavens,
the work of your fingers,
the moon and the stars,
which you set in place,
what is a human being that you remember him,
a son of man that you look after him?
You made him little less than God
and crowned him with glory and honor.
You made him ruler over the works of your hands;
you put everything under his feet:
all the sheep and oxen,
as well as the animals in the wild,
the birds of the sky,
and the fish of the sea
that pass through the currents of the seas.
Lord, our Lord,
how magnificent is your name throughout the earth! 

My husband and I have an ongoing debate. We both love the mountains and, in particular, have really enjoyed the time we’ve spent in Colorado. We find the magnitude and beauty of the mountains to be breathtaking, humbling, and an undeniable testimony to God’s greatness. We find that our eyes are drawn to the natural beauty whether we’re hiking to a waterfall or driving through crowded streets. Up close or in the distance, the mountains refuse to be ignored and keep us mindful of God at all times.

The debate comes in when we imagine living near such natural beauty. If mountains were simply part of our everyday environment, would we remain so focused on their magnificence and their creator? Would we be able to maintain a posture of wonder and worship, or would we eventually put the blinders back on?

One of us (hint: it’s me) insists that I would never tire of gazing at the mountains in gratitude and awe. I can’t imagine a world in which I don’t even notice the towering peaks and swooping valleys. Surely they would never become normal or grow old; surely I’d never stop hearing the call of nature and craving its message of God’s power and love.

Except . . . this is exactly what happens nearly every day of my life. I stop to breathe in the fresh air. I stare at the bright pinks and oranges striping the sky, blinking away tears of gratitude for such a show. I smile at the calves in the field as I speed down the highway. And then I go about my life, head down, eyes back on the immediate and the urgent, forgetting once again the splendor of this world and the song it sings of God’s glory.

Can you relate? Do you find it easier to keep your head down than to look up and out at the world God created? Could you use a reminder to pause and observe the heavens and the works of God’s hands?

What a difference it might make if we regularly let nature point us to God! What a different perspective we might have when we look back at our small corner of the world after contemplating the vastness of the world He’s made!

As we move toward the time for remembering Christ’s sacrifice and resurrection, the ultimate act of love, let’s also set aside time to remember God’s creativity and power in making the world, the original act of love. After all, the world Jesus came to save had to be made first, and God decided to make it beautiful. Let’s watch the mountains point to the heavens and listen to the seas roar His name. Let’s look up and remember who He is and how powerful He is. Let’s never grow tired of hearing His creation shout the magnificence of His name.

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

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

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

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Thank God for His Wisdom

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Now all has been heard;
here is the conclusion of the matter:
Fear God and keep his commandments,
for this is the duty of all mankind.
Ecclesiastes 12:13

Solomon, who’s traditionally believed to be the author of Ecclesiastes, is considered one of the wisest men to ever live. First Kings 4:29–30 says, “God gave Solomon wisdom and very great insight, and a breadth of understanding as measureless as the sand on the seashore. Solomon’s wisdom was greater than the wisdom of all the people of the East, and greater than all the wisdom of Egypt.”

Yet, he also lived foolishly, accumulating wealth and women and allowing his heart to be turned away from God (1 Kings 11:1–8). And after living a full life of experiencing wisdom, folly, riches, pleasures, and every privilege he could want, he concludes with this uncomplicated statement: “Fear God and keep his commandments” (Eccles. 12:13). Could it really be that simple?

Living this truth might be hard and complicated, but it really is that simple! Knowledge applied wisely is love—loving God, loving others, and loving ourselves.

Growing up, I thought that being right and knowing how to defend my faith was more important than loving the people who don’t see things the way I do. I memorized Scripture, recited the catechism, and learned to say all the “right” things. But now I see: knowledge doesn’t equate to faith or wisdom.

We need to take what we learn, sift it through God’s Word and compare it to Jesus’s life, and then do with it as His Spirit guides us — to build up in love.

Think back on what you’ve learned growing up — in the church, in your family of origin, or in your culture. What are some things that you now know aren’t black and white or are completely wrong? How are you learning to wrestle it out with God?

We all carry baggage from our past, wounds we’ve endured and continue to endure, and tendencies and values that have been ingrained into us. We’re pained people, working out our traumas, grief, and ignorance on one another, and at times it can seem impossible to know how to navigate difficult and delicate conversations and relationships — in person and online.

Furthermore, in a polarizing world, we’re encouraged to take sides, to call the other the enemy, and to make gross and often unfair blanket statements about those who don’t fully agree with us. We use what we know as a weapon against one another, shaping our words into machine guns that fire at will without wondering who it is we’re shooting and if we should be shooting at all.

We are desperately in need of wisdom because we won’t find easy answers for any of these problems. It would be too crude to force a general solution for what love should look like when every situation is more nuanced or complicated than we’d like it to be.

So we plead with God, asking Him to create in us a heart of wisdom. We hold our knowledge humbly and stay tender to the Spirit, trusting the Spirit will guide us. We recognize there will be times when we don’t get it right, when we hurt others even though our intentions may be good, when we think we know enough but don’t, and when we consciously act out of selfishness instead of love.

At such times, we repent, make things right where we can, and show grace to ourselves and others as we work toward love. We keep at it. This is work for the long haul as we grow to be wise.

Thank God for His wisdom that leads us each step of the way.

God, thank You that the greatest, most important commandment is simply to love. I confess I make it more complicated than it needs to be because I want to avoid doing the work of love. I’d rather use knowledge as a weapon to prove I’m right and defend myself, and if I’m being really honest, sometimes I want to use it to hurt and cut others down. Teach me to apply my knowledge to build others up, and create in me a heart of love and wisdom. Amen.

It’s not too late to join our (in)courage winter Online Bible Study! Hundreds of women are going through the Create in Me a Heart of Wisdom Bible Study, and we’d love for you to be a part. Each week (in)courage will send you an email with a reading assignment, memory verse lock screen, reflection questions, and a short teaching video by me, Grace P. Cho, author of this study.

Don’t have the book yet? Not sure you can commit? Wondering how wisdom can even be attained? We got you. Sign up anyway and we’ll send you the first whole week of Heart of Wisdom for FREE. That way you can read it and be ready to jump in on Monday!

Join the online study and let’s seek hearts of wisdom — together.

 

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When the Dark Is Too Dark

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I am really good about asserting my love on others when they’re having a hard time. I like to fill baskets with coping mechanisms like chocolate, books, or bath bombs, and drop them at their door. I like to pray for them — I really do pray when I say I will. I love to run errands, pick up their kids, or really do anything to help them get through a hard day. But you know what I don’t love? When I’m in a hard place and when I need help. When I have to be vulnerable and tell the truth about how overwhelmed I am with life and let others do the things they are gifted in so that I can make it through my difficult moment. 

The other day I sent a text out to several friends. It was a laundry list of things that are swirling in my heart and mind. Things I am stressed about, family that weighs heavy on me, and new endeavors I’m not sure I’m brave enough for. My dog who’s really sick. Even writing it all out was a release, as if to say to myself, “You know, that really is a lot. You’re not making it up.” 

I have prayed about these things, I have cast my cares on the Lord, and I still need Jesus with skin on through the physical love of those around me. As Christians, we can sometimes believe that we can power through heavy times alone. The problem with this is that we’re not made to do this alone, we are made for community. When we carry the weight alone, it gets darker and darker and suddenly becomes crushing. We spiral into numbing with all sorts of things and sometimes the thoughts get so dark, we may even think it’s better to just end our lives. 

I want to acknowledge this darkness so that we can see what light does when it seeps through the cracks. Bringing your worries and cares to the light means casting your cares on Jesus but also on the people who Jesus lives inside. I have found that this simple act of saying, “HELP!” to trusted friends is a great act of faith. It’s saying, “I’m not strong enough for this.” It’s admitting weakness. And do we know what God says about the weak? They are His delight, His joy, His way to gather glory by turning our hearts back to Him. 

 He said to me, “My grace is enough for you, because power is made perfect in weakness.” So I’ll gladly spend my time bragging about my weaknesses so that Christ’s power can rest on me. Therefore, I’m all right with weaknesses, insults, disasters, harassments, and stressful situations for the sake of Christ, because when I’m weak, then I’m strong.
2 Corinthians 12:9-10

Go on! Brag about your weakness. It’s biblical. God’s ways are not the ways of the world that tell us to posture, pull ourselves up by our bootstraps, power through on our own, and fake it till you make it. No, we live in the reality that we’re not always strong. But that He makes a way for us to be carried — like the man in Capernaum who needed healing. He didn’t walk up to Jesus and ask (he literally couldn’t and there were too many obstacles). Instead, his friends carried him on a mat, dug a hole in the roof, and lowered him down. Can you see Jesus smiling when He saw the crack in the roof getting larger and larger, dust falling on people’s heads, light seeping into a dark room? Scripture says “Jesus saw their faith.” Their faith. Not just the faith of the paralyzed man, but the faith of the friends lifting their brother through a most difficult suffering. 

Maybe like me, you need help remembering the collective faith of community and friends who want to bolster your faith with theirs. Reach out today. I wonder what miracles are before us if we would simply say, “Help!”

 

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The Best Little Four-Word Prayer

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For years, my daughter and I have disagreed over the iconic scene in Titanic where Jack and Rose were in the water after the vessel sank. My daughter bristles at Rose’s thoughtlessness. “Mom, how could she not move on the door just a little to make room for Jack?!”  I’ve argued that they would have both sank if he climbed on. We cheered as the star-crossed lovers survived the vessel’s sinking. Then, we waited in breathless hope as Jack and Rose floated in the frozen ocean waiting for rescue boats to save them from the frigid waters. Yet, as the night grew colder and ice crystals formed in Rose’s hair, she clung to that salvaged door and continued to wait.

There are times when we all feel like Rose. All of us watch various ships going down in our lives and we feel like we’re helplessly adrift, clinging to a crudely salvaged, barely-there faith. Sure, we might be alive, but we’re not sure if we have enough strength to not drown in deep confusion, exhaustion, or grief. Like Rose, you might be searching the horizon for some sign that God will rescue you. Also like Rose, there may come a point at which you’re tempted to give up because all seems lost.

If that’s you, I’m glad that you’re here today.

In Psalm 69, King David shares a precious, simple, four-word prayer that you and I need in times like this:

Save me, O God…
Psalm 69:1

This little powerhouse prayer was written at an unknown time in King David’s life. Unfortunately, he had a lot of drama where this prayer could have applied, whether he was running for his life, dealing with his own sin, his sons’ rebellion, or his daughter’s sexual assault. David’s prayer continues as he uses the analogy that the “floodwaters are up to his neck.” Does that resonate with you?  David is having a hard time so he’s not sugarcoating his situation, nor is David beating around the bush about what he needs.

Just four powerful, simple words: Save me, O God.

Try this little prayer out for yourself. Even if you don’t need it right now, tuck these four little words away for the future. Depending on how you grew up, those four little words may not feel like enough. You might be wondering if God will overlook a prayer that small or short.

God isn’t looking for eloquence or length when it comes to our prayers. Longer prayers don’t make you more spiritual. Likewise, fancy words don’t guarantee that you’re praying in faith. Prayer is prayer. So, David’s, “Save Me, O God” demonstrates two principles of what I call “good and gritty prayers”: short and honest. Keep that in mind the next time your desire to pray starts getting hijacked by a fear of praying. Go for short and honest and get that prayer out there to God!

God’s response to David’s “Save me, O God” prayer comes through the prophet Isaiah:

“When you go through deep waters, I will be with you.
When you go through rivers of difficulty, You will not drown.”
Isaiah 43:2

Stop and savor these words for a moment, especially if you’ve felt like Rose, clinging to your faith, but not sure for how much longer. Dear friend, God sees you right now. Not only that, but He is present with you in a posture of love, never condemnation. Even more, God promises that His help is on the way. However, He rescues in His sovereign way, not always ours. If you do call out “Save me, O God,” remember that God works differently than we do. Let’s put our confidence in trusting that God will save us, rather than get picky or panicky about how or when He will do it. If you need God’s help today, open your heart and mind wide and be willing to accept God’s help no matter the outcome.

You can be sure of this, God is with you in whatever you’re going through. Whether your rescue looks like repair, restoration, redemption, or eternal resurrection, God will be there every step of the way. That is His promise. So, how should you live in light of what God has declared as His truth?

Take a deep breath.

Remember God’s promises.

Do the next right thing.

Excerpts of today’s devotional were taken from Barb’s new book, Finding Jesus in the Psalms. By exploring six powerful messianic Psalms, readers will discover how the life of King David reveals the life of Jesus and the hope that we have in Christ.

 

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The Key to Shutting Down Shame’s Voice

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What’s wrong with you?! 

The voice whispered in my ear, not audible but powerful, claiming a monopoly on truth. The fact of the matter was that a relationship I cherished hovered on the precipice of disintegration. I rehashed our history, searching for any mistakes I’d made and the many ways I could’ve done better, been better. I felt overwhelmed by my failure. Shame seized the opportunity, and spoke up.

You’re so difficult to love. Is it any wonder? 

The narrative wasn’t nice, and yet I felt powerless to stop it. At the moment, it felt so . . . true. And I’d heard similar intimations before from people who claimed to care about me. Some may be able to let these things go. But my heart felt like velcro and their words seemed to stick.

Isn’t this fallout proof that they were right all along? 

I’m guessing a few of you have been the recipient of someone’s harsh words a time or two. Or maybe it’s not someone else’s voice but your own. You made a huge mistake, unintentional but a mistake just the same. Or maybe you completely overreacted or misspoke or lost all self-control. Whatever it was, you messed up, and the evidence against you piled high. The shame comes at you strong and hot:

You ruin everything. Why can’t you figure it out?  

I’ve absorbed a lot of shame messages in my life. Some words came from people I trusted, while others came from my own self-condemnation. Somewhere along the way, I absorbed these messages and their accompanying shame as if it was confirmation of God’s disappointment. How do you recognize the lie when it comes covered in Scripture? How do you lift your head when the voices you admire look down? How do you counteract the internal and external accusations when you know firsthand how far you fall from God’s holiness?

My journey to living free of shame’s words has been a slow process of untangling, of learning to discern truth from lies and human condemnation from holy correction. Whereas I once believed God shunned me, I now know God embraces me, not because I make fewer mistakes but because He is just that beautiful and good. So what was the secret that helped set me free from shame’s voice?

I decided to let God speak for Himself.

Humans have historically done a poor job of speaking for God. So I went back to the Bible, and rather than elevating the voices of the people around me, I elevated His voice. And this is just a sample of what I discovered:

“The Lord, the Lord, the compassionate and gracious God, slow to anger, abounding in love and faithfulness.”
Exodus 34:6

“Good and upright is the Lord; therefore he instructs sinners in his ways. He guides the humble in what is right and teaches them his way. All the ways of the Lord are loving and faithful.”
Psalm 25:8-10

“Those who look to him are radiant; their faces are never covered with shame.”
Psalm 34:5

“The Lord is gracious and compassionate, slow to anger and rich in love. The Lord is good to all; he has compassion on all he has made.”
Psalm 145:8-9

“Therefore, there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.”
Romans 8:1

“At one time we too were foolish, disobedient, deceived and enslaved by all kinds of passions and pleasures. We lived in malice and envy, being hated and hating one another. But when the kindness and love of God our Savior appeared, he saved us, not because of righteous things we had done, but because of his mercy.”
Titus 3:3-5

Notice the words in bold text. Love is the tenor and texture of God’s voice. His words, even when strong, always come bathed in compassion, grace, kindness, faithfulness, goodness, and mercy. He guides with grace, teaches with kindness, and corrects with compassion.

Yes, at times He will call you out. His Holiness will expose all that needs healed in you. But God’s light always comes warmed with His unending love. It will convict, but it will simultaneously comfort. While you may feel guilt, there will be no shame, and even the sting of conviction will feel like grace.

This is how you recognize the correction of God from the condemnation of man. While the latter voice will shame and break you, God’s voice will heal and rebuild you. And love you all the way through the process.

That is the voice to listen to, friends. Then go ahead and ignore all the others.

 

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Love Thy Neighbor

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On Christmas Day, as we sat in our living room and opened presents with immediate and extended family, one of our daughters called out to my husband from the garage. Initially, she sounded calm; when she repeated herself we could tell it was urgent. She’d slipped out to get something and discovered water pouring from the ceiling, running under my car, and then flowing outside beneath the garage door.

After days of sustained sub-freezing temperatures, our pipes burst. Everyone jumped into action, trying to control and evaluate the damage. Our home’s previous owner had expanded the master closet, extending it into the garage on the other side of the wall. When I answered a call for help from that direction, I found two of my sons moving hangers of my clothes from one side of the room to the other as water spilled in around one of the recessed lights. I’m thankful for their quick thinking: I had forgotten it was originally part of the garage. I returned with a bucket and towels and they controlled the chaos in that area.

My husband turned off our water from the shut-off valve at the street and then hurried to sweep the pooled water from the garage so it wouldn’t freeze there; an icy trail snaked down our driveway for a couple of days. Next, he cut into the garage ceiling and found the problem pipe. Neighbors, who arrived when they saw what was happening, told us how they once helped a past owner of our home fix a similar issue.

Fourteen of us were home when our pipes burst. We forgot about opening Christmas presents and did what needed to be done at the time. Later when I drove a carload over to use the bathroom at the neighborhood pool, we found water pouring out below the water fountain between the men’s and the women’s restrooms. I reported it on the neighborhood Facebook group and someone turned off the water. As my niece pointed out, I had effectively cut off access to our only bathrooms.

Thankfully for us, that’s when our neighbors stepped in. One offered access to clean water from a spigot at the street in front of their house and the use of a full bathroom in their basement, which we could enter day or night without disturbing them. When we had a laundry emergency, they ran a load for us and delivered it clean and dry to our door. They invited us over for supper if our pipes couldn’t be fixed by the next night.

Another neighbor texted a plumber recommendation but told us not to expect a quick answer — he’d already received 170 calls. My husband is an accomplished DIYer and hoped he could repair it himself, but couldn’t get parts until the following day since Christmas was the one day of the year when stores were closed.

The next day my husband bought copper pipe, a soldering gun, and other supplies. Every time we thought the pipe was fixed, he turned on the water and it started leaking again. That’s when another neighbor came to our rescue. Because he owns a construction company, he had expensive equipment capable of sealing not only the first pipe but also the other two that burst when the water was turned on again.

Hoping your neighbors know they can count on you and actually telling them are two different things. I would never have asked if we could shower at our neighbor’s house, but we took them up on their offer. Their kindness gave us access to fresh water so we could brush our teeth, use our toilets, and refill our electric kettle.

The Christmas pipe-bursting ordeal is behind us, but I’m still reveling in the gift of neighbors who love well. We have a good supply of firewood because our next-door neighbor is clearing a section of his yard. He and his wife don’t need firewood because they use gas logs, but he cuts them neatly and passes them on to us. Some ladies on our street have a text chat and reach out for help in cooking emergencies; we exchange canned goods and onions in our cul-de-sac. People post pantry challenges in the neighborhood Facebook group if they need a missing ingredient in a pinch, or pass along household items they no longer use. And I’ve built friendships within a mile of my home thanks to book club and Bible study groups.

We’ve only lived here for two years. This isn’t the first time we’ve had good neighbors, but we’ve never been part of a community that’s more connected. Investing in relationships with the people around you isn’t just neighborly, it’s biblical. Jesus said, “Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy strength, and with all thy mind; and thy neighbour as thyself” (Luke 10:27 KJV).

Choosing to do what’s best for ourselves isn’t hard. It’s easy to look out for number one, right? But when we look out for the best interests of those around us — our neighbors — we fulfill Christ’s intention for how to live in community.

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When Self-Inflicted Scars Speak, Christ’s Scars Speak Louder

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Trigger warning: This is a personal story that contains self-harm content.

~

I cut my wrists with a tube of toothpaste.

I was seventeen, and in the white-walled, locked-down psychiatric hospital for the second time. They took everything even remotely dangerous when I arrived, including the drawstring from my blue polar bear pajama pants. But, when you’re a teenage girl in a psychiatric hospital and all you want is attention — and all you know about getting attention is to do something drastic and damaging — you find any means to do so.

In the empty bathroom of my undecorated hospital bedroom — shared with two other desperate, hurting teenagers — I used a tube of toothpaste with a sharp end that worked surpassingly well. Then I walked out with pride, a thin stripe of blood running down my wrist. Twenty-three years later, the faint scar still runs across my wrist.

It didn’t get me attention, though. The people who worked in the hospital were used to stuff like that . . .and since it wasn’t bad enough to warrant medical care, they told me I was stupid and put me on restrictions that made hospital life a bit more unbearable for a little while. While it wasn’t worth it to them, it meant everything to me. I wore my scar as fashionably as the kids back home wore Chuck Taylors and cherry print dresses.

Then, one day, a boy arrived with Robin Smith hair and eyeliner, looking deeply like a walking song by The Cure, and I loved The Cure . . . I immediately took to him. When he was introduced, he told us to call him Tear and then he showed us the cuts on his arm and, what’s an infatuated teen to do?

I cried out, “Your cuts are so much prettier than mine!”

It became somewhat of a game for us, this sharing of scars and stories, of what we had done and why we had been deemed crazy. We all found a bond, the whole bunch of us attention-seeking kids, whose souls were empty and crying out to God, except we didn’t know we were crying out to Him – we just knew that we were desperately empty.

Then came the excruciating night where I sat dwelling on thoughts of my friends being pampered before senior prom and getting dressed as lovely as ever. I pictured my dress — black and gold, flowing and beautiful. My mama and I had picked it out special just for that night, and it sat hundreds of miles away, tucked in my closet, never to be worn. Instead of wearing a gorgeous gown, I was sitting on some ragged, stained carpet, facing a dingy wall — alone. Other patients that night had visitors and all my friends at home were prepping for prom . . .  while I was alone.

Listening to the conversations around me, I became lost in thoughts of what I was missing. As my world spun around inside my head and tears fell, I heard my name, Amy, pulling me out of my pit of depressed thoughts and back into the moment. Slowly, I turned to see Jason, my hospital boyfriend, holding a stunning bouquet of deep red roses. He held them out to me and smiled sheepishly. “Happy Senior Prom.” I was too stunned to move, so he placed them in my arms. “I asked my aunt to buy them for you,” he explained.

Two other patients opened a cupboard and got out a hospital gown. They draped it over my shoulders. “It’s your prom gown!” they said. Someone turned on the radio and there we were, a dozen crazy kids, dancing (without touching) in tattered, old hospital gowns. I cried and laughed. So happy and yet so sorrowful, because these kids, this messed-up bunch of teenagers, came together for me and gave me a prom like no other.

After lights out, I peered out the door at the nurses’ station to see my beautiful roses, the first I had ever received. They were not allowed in my room because, of course, roses have thorns.

Not long after I left the hospital, Christ caught up with me and gave me all the real, thirst-quenching attention a girl could ever need, taking the tattered linen of my soul and mending it beautiful. A year later, after my life changed, Tear came to visit me. He saw the change and asked about it, telling me I had become even more beautiful. He recognized that peace and I had found a way to coexist. How could he get some of what I had found? he wondered.

I told him about Jesus, that Peace and I were, in fact, friends, and that together we were making a symphony of light, of love. Tear hugged me goodbye, wished me luck, and showed me his scars one last time.

Friend, don’t scars remind us of the broken, empty places we once dwelt in? It’s like they whisper to us in the darkness: Remember you are loved, you have been mended, you have been filled. I sit and look at my scars. I remember friends and stories and days of brokenness. We were just a bunch of kids needing Jesus, not knowing that He bled for us so we didn’t need to make ourselves bleed.

Today, my scars might speak of who I was, but His scars tell me who I am.

~

At (in)courage, we believe in making space for all stories and experiences. With heartache, we recognize the reality of self-harm. With hope, we share this story — proclaiming the help and healing that can be found in community and Christ. We are here for you, in prayer and in the comments below, should you wish to respond to this guest article. If you are in a crisis and considering self-harm, dial 988 for the Suicide & Crisis Lifeline which provides 24/7, free and confidential help for self-harm. You are not alone. There is help.

The Thing We’ve All Got to Remember

by

Jesus came near and said to them, “All authority has been given to me in heaven and on earth.Go, therefore, and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit,teaching them to observe everything I have commanded you. And remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age.”
Matthew 28:18-20

Do you ever find yourself feeling overwhelmed by or ill-equipped for the tasks before you? Let’s look at the first three words of today’s passage: Jesus came near. When Jesus had something important to say to His dearest followers, He came near to them and spoke directly to them. This kind of intimate instruction was not just reserved for Christ’s first century disciples; this is how He desires to communicate with all of us! Through the gift of Scripture and the guidance of the Holy Spirit, God is delighted to come near to us and share His heart with us.

Matthew 28:18-20 is known as The Great Commission: a charge, given to the disciples and applicable for all believers, to share the gospel of Jesus Christ with all people groups. Imagine how those eleven guys must have felt hearing this. “All nations?” they might have asked. “Teaching them everything?” It might have felt like way too tall an order for a ragtag group made up of fishermen, a tax collector, and a zealot.

This is why Jesus’s next words were this: “And remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age.”

Whatever God calls us to do, He never asks us to do it alone. His presence is permanent, reliable, steadfast. Let’s praise Him for that!