We Make Each Other Better, Braver, Stronger

We Make Each Other Better, Braver, Stronger

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The indentation in the sand is small, circular, rough-edged, unremarkable. The kind of thing you’d walk by without a glance in a place littered with shells, where dolphins jump the waves, and sandpipers hunt tiny clams along the shore. The top of this turtle nest is almost invisible, as it’s meant to be. I’ve come to Florida with two friends who are in a mastermind group with me. The place where we’re spending the week is home to over a thousand turtle nests like the one we’re staring at right now.

The nest is marked off with thin wooden stakes that hold important information. A local with wrinkles across her face like lines in a love story with the sun told us how to read the numbers. The top one is the day in the season on which the eggs were laid, a mother turtle dragging herself out of the ocean, leaving her young beneath a pile of sand. According to that number, this nest should hatch tonight.

The top of the nest rolls like a boiling pot and we watch as one tiny head emerges. This process will repeat for two hours as the tiny turtles push up toward the surface. The only way out of this nest is in community. The turtles will push each other upward, stand on each other’s backs, and combine the incremental effort of their tiny fins to push away the sand. There is no solo trek out of this nest, no option for doing it alone. It’s a combined effort, all for one and one for all.

I look at my friends during this process. We’ve been in a mastermind group for years. We’ve helped each other write books, launch businesses, overcome obstacles, not quit on the days we feel discouraged, and remember who we are when other voices in our lives tell us to stop dreaming. Where would we be today without each other?

Our mastermind is simple: Meet once a month and each person gets about an hour to process whatever she would like. That’s it — no fancy agenda or formal questions. Just show up, share, and listen. Over and over again.

More heads appear in the nest. Then suddenly one turtle breaks free. The others follow, climbing the sides of the nest, scattering across the sand, marching toward the ocean. They follow each other toward what they know already in their fragile turtle bones is home.

Isn’t this what we’re all doing too? Helping each other move toward home, the place where we belong? Home to who we’re truly created to be. Home to what we’re called to do. Home to heaven one day, the place with the crystal sea and the Savior who once walked on water.

The waves reach out to welcome the turtles and they are swept into the saltwater. We lose sight of them as they disappear into the night.

I turn toward my friends. “That was amazing!” we say to each other. It’s not the first time we’ve uttered those words. We’ve said it when one of us had a victory, made it through a hard time, did what once felt impossible.

Sometimes when I talk about community like this, people assume it comes easily to me. But I scored 96% introvert on the last quiz I took, I’ve been diagnosed with social anxiety, and just ordering a pizza on the phone makes me nervous. It’s not easy or comfortable for me to reach out to others, it never has been and it likely will never be.

I’ve found when it comes to connection, it’s about feeling the fear and doing it anyway. It’s about surrendering my desire to be sought out and instead showing up as a person who is a safe space for others to become who they were created to be. Will it be awkward? Absolutely. Will it be harder than I thought? Always. Will it be worth it anyway? Yep.

I look at the vast ocean and wonder where each turtle will end up, what their stories will be.

I look at my friends and wonder the same.

I don’t know, but what I’m grateful for and certain of in this moment is that we won’t do it alone.

Do you ever struggle with anxiety like Holley? If so, her new devotional book, What Your Mind Needs for Anxious Moments, will help! It goes from Genesis through Revelation sharing stories of when biblical characters experienced anxiety and what we can learn from their struggles and victories.

Listen to this article at the player below or wherever you stream podcasts.

Put on Your Boots, Show Up, and Care for Someone Who Is Grieving

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I sat there, searching for flights across the country for my friend Jill’s memorial service, and I felt trapped. It was paralyzing because the service would be three days after Thanksgiving, and all of America was traveling so prices were the highest they could possibly be. I went online, and I looked and looked and felt my body and heart go completely numb.

I put the task to the back of my mind for a moment and before I could gather the courage to try again, a friend texted me and asked if I’d gotten my ticket yet. I told her no, and she told me that she was going to take care of it. Her exact words were “Ok buddy — let’s get you a flight.”

Sometimes when we are grieving, it feels like spinning wheels in mud. There’s no clear way forward, and reversing seems foolish, and you’re left moving quickly and simultaneously going absolutely nowhere. What you need is for someone to put on their boots and walk up to your car and knock on your window and try to lend a hand. You need someone to show you that there’s a world outside of these spinning wheels. That’s what this beloved friend did for me. She watched with everyone else for a moment and then said to me, “Ok. That’s enough. I’m here, and we’re together.”

I’m sure you’ve had someone walk through a season of want and not known what to say to them, so I’d like to spell it out for you: put on your dang boots and go to them. Maybe it’s making a meal or offering a plane ticket. Maybe it’s going on a walk or caring for their children. Whatever it is, it will be helpful because when we’re beyond exhausted, everything is effort. Every hour and errand and to-do is soaked in a weighty ache. Sometimes, when we’ve been hurting for a long time, it’s as if our muscles get so fatigued that we can barely lift our own hands.

In Exodus 17, the people of Israel were facing their first battle after being freed from the Egyptians and a life of slavery. It was against Amalek, their staunch enemy. They had made it this far only with the help of God, so their leader Moses carried a staff which represented God’s power. This staff had appeared before when it turned into a snake as he stood before Pharaoh. And he had held it in his hands as he encountered the burning bush before that.

The people of Israel were hardly organized at this point. And they were certainly outnumbered. They were a new nation who had been raised in slavery, and they did not have much to offer, but they did have the sovereign power of God with them.

“Whenever Moses held up his hand, Israel prevailed, and whenever he lowered his hand, Amalek prevailed” (Exodus 17:11 ESV).

As long as he held up that staff — that reminder of who they belonged to — the Israelites won the battle. But his arms got tired because he was a human person with limits.

The story continues:

“But Moses’ hands grew weary, so they took a stone and put it under him and he sat on it, while Aaron and Hur held up his hands, one on one side, and the other on the other side. So his hands were steady until the going down of the sun” (v. 12).

They showed up and they held his arms, and this was how the battle is won.

In those dark days after Jill died, I didn’t have a whole lot to offer. I started the day with some semblance of focus, but by the afternoon, I was a mess and barely knew what to do with myself, let alone how to work out logistics for a cross-country trip. I needed backup.

One night, my friend Brooke texted, “I’m sorry this autumn has been grief on grief.”

The next thing I knew, she was at my door with travel logistics and ice cream. Her husband Jon had remembered from months earlier that my favorite flavor — brown butter almond brittle from Jeni’s — was at Whole Foods. She sat with me and let me be sad and helped me come up with a game plan.

I think often of the gift of companionship in those weeks. Friends stepped in and said, “I’m taking care of this.”

The Lord doesn’t leave us to do these things alone and gives us the gift of one another. When all hope was fading, they carried me and it made all the difference.

This is an adapted excerpt from Melissa’s new book, What Cannot Be Lost.

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In her new book, What Cannot Be Lost: How Jesus Holds Us Together When Life is Falling Apart, author Melissa Zaldivar talks honestly about losing everything that once defined her and how God used unexpected opportunities, like working at Orchard House, where Louisa May Alcott wrote Little Women, to spark a journey of working through her grief and encountering the all-sufficient love of Christ.

Weaving inspiring passages of Scripture and insights from Little Women into her personal story, Melissa encourages readers with her discovery that it’s when we have nothing left to offer that we can receive God’s love the most. And that’s something that can never be lost. You will be reassured that God will meet you in the midst of the mess and be urged to look to Him for help, comfort, and strength. What Cannot Be Lost is a great gift for those whose faith is being tested in the face of a loss of any kind — a loved one, a job, or a relationship.

Get your copy today (and pick up a copy for a friend as well). . . and leave a comment below for a chance to WIN one of 5 copies*!

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

 

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

*Giveaway open until 9/25/22 at 11:59 pm central to US addresses only. Winners will be notified via email. Please allow 4-6 weeks for delivery.

Are You Willing to Join Me in Praying for Our Own “Stick Stories”?

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In my job as a life plan advisor at a retirement community, among other roles, I’m an educator and tour guide. It may come as a surprise, but there’s a vocabulary specific to our industry – and much to learn in general – so a lot of my time is devoted to teaching people what they need to know. Understanding the right questions to ask always helps you make informed decisions, a concept that proves true for just about anything.

While I love the education piece, my favorite aspect of my job is meeting and developing relationships with prospective residents. Daily, and without knowing it, they teach, challenge, and inspire me — sometimes in life, and the best of times in my faith.

When a man walked in on a Friday afternoon recently — without an appointment — while I was nursing a raging migraine, I had an odd sense God was up to something. David was carrying a big, carved stick, his eyes were sparkling, and I could tell this guy was a rascal. Turns out, he was also quite a storyteller. It wouldn’t take long to discover his fanciful stories usually ended up pointing to God.

As we talked and toured our campus, in between my educational points, David interjected his God stories. Somehow each one was relevant within the context of our conversation.  Eventually, we ended up in a spot where we could chat privately, and I had to ask him about his stick. He wasn’t using it for walking, so why was he lugging it around?

He asked me if I had enough time for him to tell his Stick Story. Headache or not, I had to say yes. When God gives you an opportunity to talk about Him, you take it.

The abridged version of my new friend’s story is that after reading the account of David and Goliath (1 Samuel 17), my friend David decided he wanted a stick. I never even noticed a stick in this renowned Old Testament duel, only David’s stones and sling he used to slay the giant. But Goliath noticed the stick — a staff, which is what every shepherd like David would carry. He ridiculed and cursed David, insulted that this insignificant boy would dare to challenge him — an underestimation that cost Goliath his life.

So powerful was storyteller David’s encounter with God when he read this scripture for the umpteenth time, he started praying for God to give him a stick. Not long after, in the middle of Walmart, an older gentleman walked up to him, handed over the carved stick (now propped in front of me, and said, “The Lord told me to give you this stick.” Right then and there David promised God he’d use the stick for His glory, and here he was doing that very thing. It was only then that I could make out the intricate carving on the wooden stick: J-E-S-U-S  L-O-V-E-S  Y-O-U.  I got chills.

Obviously, I’m leaving out a lot of details, but you get the picture. It’s a remarkable story. Isn’t God doing what only He can do always a remarkable story? David told me that he carries his Jesus stick with him wherever he goes, and it always invites a conversation to point others to Christ. He knew I was a believer from our conversation, but I imagine if he could tell I wasn’t, he would have shared the gospel with me too.

David was a “natural Christian” to me. I picked up that phrase in my 20s from a leader at a city-wide Bible study in Atlanta. Out of the years I attended, only one illustration stands out from this leader whose name I’ve long forgotten: the one about a lady he affectionally described as a “natural Christian.”

He described his dear friend as the kind of person who’s so close to God, you can tell it by the way they act or speak. They’re the ones whose countenance is radiant, who love Jesus so much and who know Him so intimately that they can’t help but invite Him into every conversation, without a shred of judgment, only leading in love. They want everyone to have what they’ve received: the life-changing power of the gospel. They want everyone to know the good news we find in the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus.

Meeting David reminded me of the precious people in my life who’ve pointed me to Jesus by their obvious delight in Him, who can’t not talk about Him when we’re together because it’s, well…natural for them to share. David’s Stick Story stuck with me, leaving me to wonder, What is God up to? Does he want me to have a stick?

Because I live in the buckle of the Bible belt, most of my friends are Christians. It’s easy to talk to them about God. It’s also easy to write about my faith because there are physical barriers between me and those who read my words. But I’ve always been hesitant to share my faith with those who don’t know Christ yet. What I wish felt natural, feels unnatural or contrived to me.

But what if I had some object – like an ordinary stick – that invited others to initiate the conversation? What if God, the giver of every good and perfect gift, gave me a “stick story” to tell for His glory?

Am I brave enough to pray for such a thing?

Are you?

 

Listen to this article at the player below or wherever you stream podcasts.

God Cares for Us When No One Else Seems To

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Elisabeth Elliot (1926-2015) was a missionary and a critically acclaimed author and speaker. For over half a century, her life of obedience, timeless teachings, and best-selling books have influenced both believers and seekers of the Christian faith. For thirteen years Elliot opened her daily radio program “Gateway to Joy” with these words: 

You are loved with an everlasting love, that’s what the Bible says, and underneath are the everlasting arms. This is your friend, Elisabeth Elliot. 

The resounding theme of Elliot’s life was the boundless love of Jesus, and her greatest commission was to tell others of His saving grace. This costly call led her into the Amazonian jungle of Ecuador where her husband, Jim Elliot, was one of five missionaries speared to death in 1956 while attempting to make contact with members of the Auca/Waodani tribe. Elisabeth, along with her young daughter Valerie, would later return to Auca territory to live among and minister to the people who killed her husband. Familiar with suffering, Elliot wrote, “The deepest things that I have learned in my own life have come from the deepest suffering. And out of the deepest waters and the hottest fires have come the deepest things I know about God.” 

In 2021, a piece of writing by Elisabeth was discovered tucked away in a Word document – it had never been published or seen by anyone. In partnership with the Elisabeth Elliott Foundation, DaySpring is publishing that writing for you in the new book, Heart of God: 31 Days to Discover God’s Love for You. The following is an excerpt from this never-before-published piece of work that we hope blesses your heart as it has ours. 

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Do you ever have those days when you wonder if anyone cares for you? You can be certain that the heart of God cares for you. God’s heart is tender and loving. God cares for us when no one else seems to be concerned. When you and I offer our fears, worries, and anxieties to God, we give Him the opportunity to demonstrate how marvelously caring His heart really is, and we allow God to show us how deeply He cares for us.

Peter tells us to “cast” all our cares. This word carries with it the idea of deliberately depositing a burden upon someone or something else. If we were to do that to another person, that person might feel like we were imposing. But it is not so with God. Peter tells us to actually cast it or throw it upon God, who will never feel imposed upon because He cares for us.

Have you humbly opened your heart to Him? Have you taken your worries to Him? Have you accepted the outpouring of loving care that flows from God’s heart? If not, then today is the perfect time to do so. Cast your cares upon God and leave them there. When you do, you will experience relief like a heavy load has been lifted from your shoulders. And it has, because the heart of God cares for you.

God, Your loving care for me is deeper than I can imagine. Thank You for caring about me when no one else seems to. I will open my heart to You, and I will return Your love today, tomorrow, and throughout eternity. Amen.

Understanding the depth and reality of God’s love for us is one of the great adventures of the Christian life. A Heart of God: 31 Days to Discover God’s Love for You is a one-month-devotional journey to open your heart and soul to experience God’s character, His intentions, and His great plan for you in your everyday, ordinary life (and this crazy world). You’ll find out how the compassionate hand of God is in your every circumstance, even when you are suffering. May you encounter the unfolding mystery of His infinite layers and His unprecedented love for you right where you are at.

Get your copy today (and pick up a copy for a friend as well). . . and leave a comment below for a chance to WIN one of 5 copies*!

Then join Becky Keife for a conversation with Kathy Reeg, president of the Elisabeth Elliot Foundation, tomorrow on Facebook and Instagram! We’ll replay their conversation on the (in)courage podcast this weekend too. Don’t miss it!

 

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


 

*Giveaway open until 9/23/22 at 11:59pm central to US addresses only. Winners will be notified via email. 

God Invites Us All into His Family Tree

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My mama’s extended family usually meets every two or three years for a reunion in different cities where clusters of our cousins live. After four years of waiting because of the pandemic, this year we gathered in Detroit, Michigan where my mom was born. We weren’t sure how many would actually show up because of high travel costs, canceled flights, Covid cases hanging in the balance, and other life challenges. 

On the first night, we were delighted to discover 140 cousins had made the trek for this epic gathering. (Think My Big Fat Greek Wedding, but Italian style with all the signature food, generations mixing, and stories of the old country.) Some of our traditions at these reunions include a picnic in the park with a bocce ball tournament, a banquet with music from all different eras, and lots of time around the table telling stories about aunts, uncles, and grandparents who have gone on to Heaven.

My mama’s great grandparents immigrated to the United States from a little town called San Giovanni en Fiore in Southern Italy. Their three sons represent the three main branches of our family tree from which the various generations originated.

More than three decades ago, my mama started researching our family tree. She filled in the spouses and children, the new branches of descendants that extended from the original branches. I remember hand lettering and coloring the poster boards. Some form of the family tree is always displayed at our reunions. Behind every name and every branch is a story. These stories weave together our past and present.

Through the years, we have also welcomed unexpected branches and stories into our family tree — a cousin who married a Japanese-American woman, several who have spouses with Latin roots, and my mama who married my mixed-race dad, who is Filipino, Chinese, and Polynesian.

Now it’s more the norm to find names among the branches that are different from the Tonys, Marias, Franks, Angelas, and Guiseppes, which were more common in the first generation. It’s the beautiful mixing of cultures and settling in new cities that make our family tree unique today. 

Truth be told, sometimes family trees can be messy. The branches become gnarly and tangled. Some branches are broken off way too soon because of divorce, separation, or death. We might be tempted to hide these stories, but they are an important part of God’s redemption story too. 

In my case, my husband Ericlee died of cancer at age forty. We could view that as a broken branch of our family tree, but God brought my new husband Shawn and grafted him in. This year he is officially adopting my three daughters — another piece of our redemption story.

As we read through the Bible, we discover that God’s family tree had its share of twisted branches and unexpected stories as well. His family tree brings together people of diverse nations and backgrounds. 

I think about Rahab, the Canaanite prostitute who hid the Israelite spies sent to scope out the Promised Land. Members of her family were the only survivors of Israel’s attack on Jericho, because she helped them escape. She married one of those spies and was invited into God’s family tree, moving from outsider to insider because of her courage and reverence for God. She is one of five mothers mentioned in Jesus’ family genealogy in Matthew 1.

Then there was Ruth, a Moabite woman who married into a Jewish family. Historically, the Moabites and Jews were enemies, but God creatively brought together branches of His family tree to include Ruth. 

In Ruth 1:16, we read Ruth’s pledge to her widowed mother-in-law Naomi that changed everything: “Your people shall be my people, and your God my God.”

These words mark a shift in Ruth’s life. After she was widowed, Ruth was released by her mother-in-law to return to her own family. Yet, Ruth steps into an unexpected story and proclaims her trust in Naomi’s God, Yahweh. She leaves her family and accompanies Naomi back to her home in Bethlehem. 

Ruth meets a man named Boaz, who happens to be the son of Rahab and a relative of Naomi. Through a wild weaving of unexpected events, the two are eventually married. Because of her courageous choice to follow God, Ruth is grafted into His family tree. 

Not only is Ruth adopted into a new family, she’s also blessed with a son and eventually becomes the great-grandmother to King David himself. We might be tempted to skip over those lists of names and genealogies in the Bible, but they are significant. If you check out the family tree Matthew records, that means she’s great-times-forty-grandma to God’s own son Jesus, our ultimate redeemer relative.

Like Ruth, we are invited into God’s family tree when we choose to believe in His Son, His death, and His resurrection. Friend, you are chosen for God’s family. You are not an accidental or peripheral branch. You were invited in on purpose. Your story may just be unfolding like a new shoot on the family tree.

For weekly encouragement to discover God’s glory on life’s unexpected trails, subscribe to Dorina’s Glorygram here or follow her on Instagram. 

 

Listen to this article at the player below or wherever you stream podcasts.

Give Your Anxiety Space to Speak

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It was typically midway through an anxiety attack that I’d reach for my Bible, holding its translucent pages in a sweaty, white-knuckled grip. 

“Why are you in despair, o my soul? And why have you become restless and disturbed within me? Hope in God and wait expectantly for Him, for I shall again praise Him for the help of His presence.”
Psalm 42:5 (AMP) 

I’d read those words repeatedly and often rush to the verse’s end, where I’d command myself to hope and wait and praise and give thanks. Praying that all those spiritual-sounding verbs might squeeze my anxiety out. 

Have you ever done this, too? When you feel the anxiety rising, you gather all the prayer and trust you can muster and try to will yourself to stop feeling it?  

That’s the way I learned to navigate many uncomfortable emotions in life. Fear. Grief. Anger. I had a grit-your-teeth, clench-your-fists, pull-yourself-up-by-your bootstraps mentality. I grew up in the church and often pleaded with God to help me conquer my battle with anxiety.  

Can I outrun it? Outsmart it? Rationalize myself out of it? Intellectually take a whack at it? Can I employ enough spiritual grit to obliterate it out of my body? I’ve willed myself in and through a lot of hard things. But not anxiety. 

I hate the sickening nausea and clammy palms. That rush of anxious adrenaline and underlying sense of feeling afraid of nothing in particular. It’s made me feel deeply inadequate. Not enough on the soul level. Doesn’t Scripture say to cast your anxiety on God (1 Peter 5:7) and to not be anxious about anything (Philippians 4:6)? In other words… 

I’M NOT SUPPOSED TO FEEL THIS WAY. 

For years, I’ve tried to hack off my anxiety. I’ve fought it like I’m fighting an interior world war. And all that it’s done is left me feeling battle-worn from the inside out. Pummeled with an onslaught of over-stuffed and unexpressed emotions.  

As I’ve hacked, I’ve realized that there’s tenderness underneath all my commandeering, like a crying child hiding behind my armor. I’ve been ashamed of my struggle. I’ve wanted to lock it out of my life. You can’t be a part of my story.  

Because the story I’ve carried in my body has told a different story than the triumphant one I’d learned to expect and esteem in the Bible. Something must be wrong with me, I thought. 

But can I tell you something that I’ve discovered? 

Prayer and trust are good and holy things, integral to the Christian life. They are components of healing from anxiety, but they are certainly not the only solutions. They were never intended to be. 

There’s a difference between a sacred, intentional turning towards God and slapping Christian words on wounded places. Prayer that exiles emotion and trust that strangles honesty isn’t the way out of anxiety. It simply compounds it. I know from personal experience that the longer we suppress our anxiety, the louder it screams. The louder we shout at it to go away, the louder it has to shout over us.  

Anxiety is like a blinking light on the dashboard of our hearts indicating that something deeper is going on inside of us. That feeling of spiraling overwhelm is often our brain’s way of telling us that we need to pause and pay attention to what we’re actually feeling in the present moment. 

When we’re anxious, we don’t need a solution. We need connection with God, and with others. While I’m commanding my anxiety left, right, up one side, and down the other, Jesus isn’t. He leans in, listens, and invites me to join him there. He invites me to listen to my anxiety, together. 

Recently, I realized that in all my rushing to get to the end of that Psalm 42 passage, I never actually allowed space for my soul to answer the question: “Why are you in despair, o my soul? Why have you become restless and disquieted within me?” 

Could the way towards stillness actually be giving our anxiety the space to speak? Perhaps the anxiety that wells up inside doesn’t need to be locked away and looked over but lingered in and listened to.  

Here’s a simple rhythm I’ve begun to engage in during anxious moments.  

  • Pause and notice. Acknowledge that you’re feeling anxious and recognize where you might be experiencing it in your body. Racing mind? Breathlessness? Clenched fists? 
  • Attune and shift. Physically slow down. Lean into stillness. Extend compassion towards the part of you that’s currently freaking out. It’s okay. And you are going to be okay.  
  • Ask and reflect. Ask yourself, “What might my anxiety be trying to tell me?” Write down any underlying emotion that surfaces. Seeing it on paper often helps to create space between you and the emotion in an embodied way.  
  • Breathe and be. Allow yourself to just be with God in the emotion. Inhale grace, exhale honesty. His presence is not just around you, but in you. How does remembering this truth create an inner sense of not alone-ness and safety that you can carry with you? 

Pausing only takes a few minutes. But as I’ve practiced showing up to God and to myself in a quieter, less hurried, and more honest way, I’ve begun to notice something beautiful:

 My anxiety doesn’t have to scream so much to get my attention. 

 

For a free processing tool to use when your anxiety screams, download “Processing Anxious Moments” which Taylor created just for you.

Are You in Need of Wisdom Today?

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Choose my instruction rather than silver,
and knowledge rather than pure gold.
For wisdom is far more valuable than rubies.
Nothing you desire can compare with it.
I, Wisdom, live together with good judgment.
I know where to discover knowledge and discernment.
All who fear the Lord will hate evil.
Therefore, I hate pride and arrogance,
corruption and perverse speech.
Common sense and success belong to me.
Insight and strength are mine.
Because of me, kings reign,
and rulers make just decrees.
Rulers lead with my help,
and nobles make righteous judgments.
I love all who love me.
Those who search will surely find me.
I have riches and honor,
as well as enduring wealth and justice.
My gifts are better than gold, even the purest gold,
my wages better than sterling silver!
I walk in righteousness,
in paths of justice.
Those who love me inherit wealth.
I will fill their treasuries.
Proverbs 8:10-21 (NLT)

We are always in need of wisdom — wisdom to say and do the right things at the right time. We need wisdom for when to speak and when to pause, stay quiet, listen, and consider. We need wisdom to choose between what’s good and what’s best, to know how to walk with integrity in our workplaces, in our parenting, and in our friendships. We need wisdom to love others well, to treat others with kindness, to know how to live as Jesus did.

Thankfully, we don’t have to search for or manufacture wisdom on our own. We simply have to go to the Source.

James 1:5 assures that if we ask for wisdom from God, He will give it to us generously. And our Proverbs passage today tells us that with wisdom, we will gain discernment, good judgment, and knowledge — everything we are desperate for today.

Let’s come before God and ask Him for the wisdom we need — that only He can give — to navigate our lives and our world, to love ourselves and our neighbors well, and to “walk in righteousness and in paths of justice.”

The Painful and Beautiful Lesson of Unconditional Kindness

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Your kindness will reward you, but your cruelty will destroy you.
Proverbs 11:17 (NLT)

I remember so clearly the day my friend Jane said she needed to talk to me. I walked back to her office and sat down, unaware of the blow that was coming but nervous all the same. She told me that I’d hurt her deeply with an offhand remark someone had overheard and reported to her, and she didn’t understand why I’d say such a thing.

Staring at her in shock, my eyes filled with tears and all I could think was, But I prayed for you! I couldn’t consider how my actions had hurt my friend or how my misconstrued words had the opposite effect of what I intended. All I could think about was how, just a few weeks earlier, I’d prayed around the clock for Jane’s family during a crisis. I’d supported her and loved her and been there for her, and now she doubted me. She took the word of another that I had said something to hurt her. My heart was crushed, and my defenses were sky-high. We sat in that room, both of us feeling betrayed and let down by the other.

Though I didn’t feel sorry in the moment, I apologized to my friend. And I eventually did understand how the words I’d intended to be kind and encouraging to another friend had, in fact, been hurtful to Jane. Genuinely remorseful, I then apologized to her again.

I realized something after that situation though. This wasn’t the first time I’d felt doubly offended by someone I’d prayed for. Not only had they wronged me (at least in my mind), but they did it despite how fervently I’d prayed for them. I realized that I was treating prayer — an intimate act of kindness that, to me, carried enormous relational weight — as a guarantee that the person I prayed for would owe me a similar kindness. Rather than seeing prayer as an unconditional gift on behalf of someone I care about, I saw the act of praying for my friends — or helping them move or throwing them a baby shower or helping them write a résumé or, if I’m honest, any sizable gesture of kindness — as an investment or as friendship insurance.

Somewhere along the way, I began to believe that kindness deserved to be repaid, that kindness was a deposit into a relationship and I’d eventually see dividends returned for my efforts. If you had asked me, I’m certain I would have said that kindness was its own reward, that helping others was how I showed them my love and God’s love. But part of me still expected to get what I’d “earned” with all my good deeds and kindness.

Unfortunately, that experience permanently changed my friendship with Jane. But God also used it to begin changing my heart. He showed me that while I was often kind, my motives weren’t pure. And He reminded me that I shouldn’t expect earthly rewards anyway. During the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus flipped many of His listeners’ assumptions upside-down—including how they should treat their enemies. He said, “But love your enemies, do good to them, and lend to them without expecting to get anything back. Then your reward will be great, and you will be children of the Most High, because he is kind to the ungrateful and wicked” (Luke 6:35).

Jesus said our reward for showing kindness — to enemies, yes, but also to friends — would be great. But He never promised that reward in this life. Now, when I read His words and Proverbs 11:17, which promises a reward for kindness, I understand that the reward we receive is a heavenly one. It’s the satisfying knowledge that we are acting like our heavenly Father did when He showed us His love by sending His only Son, knowing we could never repay that gift.

Love without strings and kindness without expectations aren’t easy. They are impossible, really, unless we ask God to give us His heart for others. Only then will we be able to truly love one another, giving freely and offering kindness as a genuine expression of God’s love. And our eternal reward for that will be more than we can imagine.

God, I’m so grateful for Your unconditional kindness. Please forgive me for treating kindness as a transaction, and please give me the strength and love to be kind to others without expecting anything in return. Amen.

This article was written by Mary Carver, as published in Empowered: More of Him for All of You.

Join the Heart of Peace Online Bible Study! PLUS a GIVEAWAY!!

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Want to do a Bible study this fall, but aren’t sure where to start? Looking to walk through Scripture with a fantastic group of women? Need someone else to handle the planning and coordinating that comes with organizing a Bible study?

Above all that, are you searching for soul-deep, unshakeable peace that only comes from Jesus? We’ve got you, friend!

Join us for our LIVE Create in Me a Heart of Peace Online Bible study, led by Becky Keife! Yep, it’s time for our fall study already, and this time we’re searching for peace with an easy-to-join, deeply impactful study. We can’t wait! We will spend six weeks going through the Create in Me a Heart of Peace Bible study, written by Becky Keife and featuring stories from several of our (in)courage contributors.

The world offers plenty of formulas for peace, from self-care to incessant striving. Our culture preaches that contentment comes from having more and doing more, and that peace is found in numbing over and vegging out. But what if true satisfaction isn’t found in something you can purchase or accomplish or in a way to escape? What if true peace is found in growing into the qualities of Jesus?

We think peace is a posture. The way we train our minds and spend our lives matters. Our attitude can be either a barrier to or a conduit of God’s peace. Through our study, we’ll explore several essential characteristics of people who experience the life-changing peace God offers. Characteristics like humility, stillness, trust, and contentment.

We all want peace. We crave an inner calm-meets-strength that doesn’t rattle with volatile circumstances or disappear with busyness. Right? So let’s look for it — together.

Join the Heart of Peace Online Bible Study!

Here’s what you need to know:

1. Get a copy of Create in Me a Heart of Peace to fully participate in the study. We will provide the reading guidelines, discussion questions, and live conversations along the way!

2. Officially sign up for the study (it’s free to join!). Click here and register. When you do, we’ll send you the first week from Create in Me a Heart of Peace!

3.  The study meets Tuesdays from October 4th to November 8th. Zoom (in) with Becky Keife for LIVE teaching and discussion: one hour every Tuesday at 9am PT / 11am CT / 12pm ET. If you can’t join the study on Zoom at that time, no worries! You can watch the replay in our private Facebook group and join the discussion there anytime! We’ll also use this Facebook group to pray and encourage one another with our weekly memory verse. To make it extra easy, every Monday we’ll send you an email reminder with the Zoom link.

Don’t miss this chance to engage deeply with God’s Word and other (in)courage sisters! This is our first Zoom (in) Bible Study and we want YOU to be there! We’ll be discussing Week 1 of the Bible study at our first session on October 4th, so get your book now and start reading!

ALSO . . . would you be interested in facilitating a small discussion group as part of our Online Bible Study? If so, fill out this volunteer form and we’ll be in touch! 

Don’t forget to invite a few friends to join you! Send them to this page so they can sign up too!

Don’t have your copy of the study yet or want to give a copy to a friend? Cue a GIVEAWAY!

Tell us in the comments if you’ve got your book already or to whom you’d like to gift a copy, and we’ll pick FIVE of you to WIN a free Bible study! The giveaway is open to US addresses only and closes on September 21st at 11:59 pm CT.

Then, mark your calendars for October 4th when we kick off the Create in Me a Heart of Peace Online Bible Study! We hope you’ll join us. Sign up here!

We can’t wait to get started!

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

Your Phone Can’t Fill Your Ache or Make You Wise

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Recently I was flipping through the open tabs on the internet browser on my phone, and I joked to my teenage daughter that 67 tabs might be too many. She agreed with more enthusiasm than I thought was necessary, expressing her disbelief that I didn’t have those tabs organized into folders.

I hate to admit it, because I consider myself fairly tech savvy, but I was not aware organizing my tabs into folders on my phone was a thing I could do. (Don’t tell my daughter. I totally played it cool, and I’m sure she believed my act that I totally knew what she was talking about.)

After I figured out how to organize my tabs into folders, I went about doing just that. I created a folder for all my word games, the daily ones I play each morning. Then I created a folder called, “Keep,” for articles that resonated deeply with me sometime over the past couple of years. Those words meant so much to me that I couldn’t force myself to close out the tabs; instead, I kept them open to return to and re-read every once in a while.

Next up, I created a folder called, “Info.” That’s where I moved helpful articles with information I knew I’d need in the future. But as I flipped through my remaining tabs, I must have clicked the wrong button.

Suddenly, all my tabs disappeared. Poof! Gone! I couldn’t find an “undo” button. I couldn’t fix this mistake. All my precious information — lists and tips and statistics and recommendations and recipes and ideas — was gone.

What struck me most as I sat there staring at my phone in disbelief was how deeply grieved I was by this loss.

Why was I so genuinely sad to have lost the information contained in those tabs? Was it really crucial to my life, to my well-being? Was I ever going to actually implement the ideas or suggestions contained on those web pages? If I never remember all the tabs that were closed out, am I truly unable to find what I need to make good choices, to go about my life?

Oof. There it was. Analyzing my reaction led to stepping on my own toes with the realization that I was looking to the internet and all the information it holds for wisdom. I was putting my trust and my faith in clever tweets and pretty infographics and insightful articles and brilliant lists.

Listen. I’m not saying God got a hold of my iPhone and erased all those bookmarked websites I’d been collecting for years. But He absolutely used the situation to tap on my shoulder and open my eyes to a hard truth.

See, several months ago I began a Bible-reading plan with hopes to read through the entire Bible in a year. After a few days, I developed a pretty solid routine of listening to my assigned chapters while getting ready in the morning. No, it wasn’t a quiet hour in my special chair with an Instagrammable cup of coffee. But it was a fresh way to hear the Word, a practical way to fit it into my everyday habits.

And it worked perfectly . . . until it didn’t. Before I knew it, I opened up my Bible app to see “missed 188 days” staring at me. Day after day, I’d loosened my grip on Scripture until I had skipped reading the Bible considerably more days than I’d followed through on my plan. Meanwhile, my precious bookmarked websites had been ripped out of my hands the day I accidentally deleted those tabs.

Since the disappearance of my beloved tabs, I’ve been thinking about Proverbs and how it compares wisdom (the kind we find in God’s Word) to precious stones, highlighting just how valuable Scripture is. Proverbs 8:10-11 says, “Choose my instruction rather than silver, and knowledge rather than pure gold. For wisdom is far more valuable than rubies. Nothing you desire can compare with it.”

How many tabs do you have open? How precious are they to you? Or, more to the point, where are you seeking wisdom, and on what are you relying? Is your faith in your own knowledge or the information you can find with a few clicks and scrolls? Or are you turning to Scripture for answers, comfort, and guidance?

If you find yourself looking to the internet or your friends or books or even “common sense” for wisdom more than you find yourself in Scripture, you might be in the same boat as me.

Today I’m setting a new goal. Not to read through the Bible in a year (although I still hope to do that someday), but to read the Bible more days than I don’t. I’m asking God to help me grab onto Scripture and hold it close to my heart while holding all other so-called wisdom loosely.

Will you join me? Will you pray with me? Let’s invite God to increase our thirst for His Word and our faith in His Wisdom.

Dear God, forgive me for relying on the world’s wisdom and putting my faith in information I can find on my own. Please loosen my grip on everything the world has to tell me and point my eyes to you and your infinite knowledge and love. Give me a desire to read Your Word, and show me exactly how to make the Bible my go-to resource. Help me learn to turn to you before I open another tab. Show me once again how your Word is a lamp to guide my feet and a light for my path. Thank you, Lord — for giving us true wisdom and for helping me come back to it and to You. Amen.

 

Listen to today’s article below or on your favorite podcast player!

Embracing the Mire, Mud, and Mundane

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Have you ever said ‘yes’ to God’s invitation to be a part of something greater than yourself? Perhaps you said yes to a marriage proposal, or yes to a business proposal, or yes to a marathon whose finish line is multiple generations into the future. What happens when you say yes but don’t see immediate results? What happens when you don’t experience reciprocated gratification or get to touch the manifestation of your yes? When that happens to me, I feel frustrated and foolish. I question the invitation. I wonder if I made it up. I wonder if I am suffering from delusions of grandeur – if my ego is trying to play God. 

In the dormancy of my yes, I question God’s presence, attention, and intention. My discomfort in the waiting reveals that I am uncomfortable with cultivation. Cultivation is the development that commands growth over an extended period of time. But our microwave, fast food, have-it-your-way culture has shaped me to be at odds with slow, sustainable growth over an extended measure of time. And when we prefer fast-and-easy over cultivation’s demand for commitment, persistence, and endurance, we are destined to disregard the very things that will help fortify our yes. We fail to appreciate the mire, the mud, and the mundane that coexists with our yes.

The mire is those situations of difficulty or distress from which I immediately want to extricate myself. I have no desire to marinade in situational valleys or pause to appreciate obstacles in my path. I want all my days to be sunny days. But just as rainy days are necessary for grass seed to become a gorgeous lawn, I need rainy days in my life. I not only need plenty of rainy moments, I also need to recognize and appreciate how they nourish me.

Did you know that though grass needs nitrogen, it is unable to absorb it from the air? Rain forces nitrogen to the ground where microorganisms convert it down in the soil. During thunderstorms, lightning instantly creates nitrogen oxide, which grass absorbs immediately without the help of microorganisms. Oftentimes, life’s rainy days and thunderstorms aid and expedite our growth too. We need both the sun and storms. Keeping this in mind, we can embrace the mire of unforeseen challenges. We can feel discomfort, misery, and grief while knowing that growth is happening.  

Have you ever watched The Wiz (1978)? Dorothy and the Scarecrow find a golden-bright cobblestone path known as the yellow brick road that highlights the way to the land of Oz where they are to find the mysterious, all-knowing Wiz. Dorothy and her tag-along friends don’t know exactly where they are going or how to get there, but when they locate the path set before them, all they have to do is ‘ease on down the road.’ Oh, how I wish my path forward was that easy.

The journey that obedience unfolds is way off the beaten path. Faith can call us to walk a road that only God can see – one that is not so obvious, nor is it laden with gold. Oftentimes, our Creator is creating and cultivating something new for the next generation. So, sometimes we have to get muddy. We have to off-road it and chart a new course. We have to till the soil, plant seeds – get our hands dirty. But just think of the lotus; this most beautiful actually roots itself and grows in the mud. We can embrace our mud moments, knowing that growth is happening. 

And then there are those times when it feels like absolutely nothing is happening. There seems to be no measurable growth. It feels like my yes and I have died on the vine. These moments are marked as mundane and are characterized by the ‘un’ — unvaried, uneventful, uninteresting, and unexciting. In the mundane, I am exhausted by nothing happening. But then I consider the Chinese bamboo tree. In its first year, the Chinese bamboo tree shows no visible signs of active growth. In year two, there are no visible signs of growth. In its third year, still nothing. And in the fourth year, nada. At this point, we may wonder if the seed was rotten. We may wonder if we’ve wasted our time and effort. 

Finally, in the fifth year, we begin to see the Chinese bamboo tree peeking through the soil. YAY! Then, the seed that we had almost given up on grows eighty feet in just six weeks. During the four years it appeared dormant, the tree was actually developing a root system strong enough to support its potential for outward growth. Had a strong underground foundation not taken the time to develop, the Chinese bamboo tree could not have sustained its life as it grew. While we may perceive time as lost or wasted, we and our yes are being fortified for sustainability. We can embrace our momentary mundane and know that growth is happening. 

I am learning to be confident in the One who planted the garden in Eden, cultivated it, and walked in it (Genesis 2-3). So when  I don’t see a stem budding above the soil, or have to take the muddy, less traveled road, or have to endure rainy days, I can confidently embrace the mire, the mud, and the mundane. I know that God is always present and cultivating. Growth is happening.

 

Listen to today’s article below or on your favorite podcast player!

Make Those Dental Appointments and Open That Bible

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I hate going to the dentist.

I’ve shared this with you before, so I know many of you echo my abhorrence. We all agree that it’s of course necessary . . . and can be awful too. For me, the dentist was a gap in my self-care practices. I neglected my teeth as a young adult and then as a young mom while I spent nearly a decade pregnant and nursing and raising babies into toddlers and kids and preteens. Of course I brought them all to the dentist, faithfully making their appointments for cleanings and the occasional cavity. But for my own self. . . not so much.

Until one spring, when I had a toothache. Then it was no longer avoidable. As the kindest dentist in the world (a gift from the Lord Himself, I tell you) finished the assessment for repair, she gently suggested we schedule my next cleaning right then and there as I was still mouth-open in the chair.

No escaping this, I thought.

And so for the next three years, I trudged back for appointments, fillings, cleanings, x-rays, adjustments, crowns, and assessments.

Thoughts — most of them untrue and unkind — rolled through my head. How could I have let this get so bad? How could I take such intentional care of my kids and not of myself? Why do I have to be so scared of this? No one else has this issue! This is dumb. I am dumb. I’m costing my family so much money as we fix this mess!

What began in fear grew into a mountain of despair so unapproachable that I hid from it for years, while the shame (and plaque) built up.

At first, I was so terrified of the pain in my jaw and the pain of perceived judgment that I had my husband go with me to appointments to hold my hand. I was petrified at each visit of what they would find and have to fix, and how they would look at me with contempt (which they never did, but assigning the thoughts others have about me is an unfortunate superpower of mine). Years of neglect had eroded my enamel and my peace. But as I continued going in, I slowly (very slowly) started to gain confidence. I began to change my mind.

As we continued through my treatment plan, repairing one area of damage at a time, I forgave the Anna from years ago who was too scared to even take care of herself. I forgave her for not flossing enough. I forgave her for being at the mercy of genetics (out of my control, obviously, and yet the blame was there to take). I forgave her for needing nitrous gas even during a cleaning. I forgave her.

And I started to actually heal.

Now — finally — on the other side of my treatment plan, I recently had my first ever cavity-free cleaning. My doctor said, “Keep doing what you’re doing! Your hard work is really paying off, and we can see it!” And I beamed with pride.

On the way home, I realized that sentence had stuck with me. The dentist could see the effects of my routines, good or otherwise. It occurred to me that the dentist is one place where my consistency and work are laid bare, put on display, and I can’t hide from my habits. If I’ve brushed, flossed, mouth-washed, and taken care of myself, it will show. If I haven’t, it’ll be cavity city. Either way, there is evidence of what I actively cultivate.

Isn’t this just like our life with God?

When the phone rings. When the job is lost. When the bills come. When we’re called to the carpet and put under a spotlight, our habits are made known. Will we be strong enough to withstand the circumstance? Or will we wash away like sand with the tide?

This summer my family experienced a devastating job loss that meant we also lost our church home of nearly twenty years. It’s been painful, to say the least. But through it all, I’ve been so deeply thankful that the love we have for Jesus has never faltered. I never questioned my status with Him (which is beloved, by the way, as is yours!). Accidentally-on-purpose, I’ve spent decades building up my God-muscles. Reading the Word and tucking away truths. Praying, always praying. Asking others to pray when my words are gone. Knowing it’s okay to fall into Him and cry.

This summer felt like walking into the dentist’s office and bearing the marks of great oral hygiene. Our habits were put to the test. Would we hold up, or would we crumble?

The work we do today to build up our hearts and relationship with Jesus — the worship, the quiet times, the Bible study, the reading and praying and studying, the praise — is what lays our foundation for tomorrow, and every day after that.

So make those dental appointments and open that Bible. Brush and floss, and lift your hands in praise. Mouthwash like your gums depend on it, and write out your prayers like it’s going to make a difference.

Because it is. Every single act of pouring into a relationship with God matters. In the intricate Lego creations my kids make, each brick is imperative to the design and structural support; likewise, each small act of getting to know God’s heart builds upon one another to create a beautiful and solid structure.

Tell me, friends: are you feeling like your foundation is firm these days? How can you make a habit of that which will produce good fruit?

 

Listen to today’s article below or on your favorite podcast player!

“Here Comes Super Mom” and Other Ways to Make Someone’s Day

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In the early days of motherhood, worn-out running shoes and a rickety double stroller were the threadbare ties to my sanity. Daily I tied up those laces like I was girding my flailing ability to mother. I strapped the three-year-old in the front stroller seat, the two-year-old in the rear, and doled out an abundance of snacks and sippy cups. I prayed their wiggly bodies would calm under the three-point-harness security. If not, at least they were contained.

I hoisted the baby into the strappy apparatus attached to my chest. Tiny sun hat and pacifier, check. Burp cloth tucked in my back pocket in case the morning’s projectile spit-up wasn’t quite finished, check. We were ready to go. Me and my boys.

My feet pounded the pavement as I strained to propel the precious cargo forward. I pushed harder, trying to relieve the pressure that pressed from the inside. I was out of breath before I made it to the end of the block. The boys babbled to one another about kitties perched in picture windows and earthworms squished flat on driveways.

I battled my thoughts.

Just go home! You’re sleep-deprived and out of shape. Why torture yourself this way? Turn on the TV for them and go back to bed.

But then I’d think, No, you need this. Stay the course. You’ll find your rhythm. It will get easier. Just breathe. Just breathe.

As much as my legs hurt and my lungs burned, I had to keep going. Fresh air and moving my body, no matter how squishy, get the endorphins flowing. The combination is like soul medicine. I needed a strong dose.

I turned toward the foothills aglow with morning light and made my way to the quaint main street just coming alive. Shop owners turned on lights, and hot coffeepots steamed as servers in maroon aprons filled mugs for customers huddled around small sidewalk tables.

The wobbly left stroller wheel clunked hard over another concrete bulge. The baby kicked his legs and a tiny sock fell off again. I paused to pick it up, sip some water, kiss each toddler.

I kept pushing north until the shops fell behind us. Historic bungalows and craftsman homes now lined the wide street. Noah and Elias both started to squirm under their buckles, fussing that they needed more snacks. Noah dragged his foot against the sidewalk. Elias leaned over the edge of the stroller, stretching his chubby toddler fingers toward a nearby rosebush and shrieked when it was out of reach. I turned at the top of the long street to make our descent. My back was aching, and the baby was stirring from his short snooze.

By the time we walked past the other side of lovely homes, I’d stopped a dozen times to discipline, soothe, or redirect a child. I may have bribed my boys through gritted teeth to please stop whining and sit still just a little longer and they’d get to watch an extra episode of Curious George at home.

When we got back to the Village, the shops and stores were bustling with more people, which somehow made me feel both comforted and more alone.

I looked ahead and saw customers filling the outdoor seating area of another little breakfast diner. A group of older men crowded around two tables pushed together. Their chairs spilled over onto the sidewalk. 

“Keep your arms and legs inside the stroller,” I reminded the boys as we approached. I was sweating.

Just then one of the gentlemen stood up. I thought he was going to scoot his chair out of the way to give me more room to pass by, but instead, he started clapping. Then he declared in a deep booming voice, “Here comes Super Mom! Make way for Super Mom! Let’s give her a hand!” And together, as if on cue, his retired comrades all joined in a spontaneous standing ovation for me and my little crew.

“A round of applause for Super Mom!” he cheered.

I was so caught off guard. All I could do was flash my bewildered smile and keep on walking.

But it didn’t take too many paces before my vision blurred with tears.

This unexpected kindness struck me to my core.

There’s no way Mr. Kind Stranger could have known that beneath my sunglasses and smile was a mom barely hanging on. But God did. And He used one person’s willingness to unexpectedly lavish encouragement to make a difference in my day — to remind me that I’m not alone. I am loved and seen. 

Tears eventually slid down my cheeks as I turned onto our street. But they didn’t fall on the strained grimace I wore at the start of the walk. No, I let that Super Mom smile stay stretched across my face, catching every salty drop of gratitude.

Simple words of encouragement are the uncomplicated gift we can give without cost or limit. A genuine compliment, a heartfelt thank-you, a sincere apology. There are a million ways to tell a neighbor or stranger that you see her, that she is not forgotten. You are valuable. Your pain matters. You’re doing a great job. You inspire me.

Do not underestimate the power of kind words.

September 12th is National Day of Encouragement, a day set aside to bring encouragement to others. At (in)courage and DaySpring, we know you share encouragement all year round – thank you! We want to help you be ready to share that encouragement not only on the National Day of Encouragement, but on any day.

You can celebrate National Day of Encouragement by sending a FREE exclusive video card by Hallmark and DaySpring! Make someone smile by adding photos or videos, then share it instantly via text or email. Want to really spread more love? You can send as many as you like, all through September.

A glad heart makes a happy face.
Proverbs 15:13 (NLT) 

 

Listen to today’s article below or on your favorite podcast player!

This article was adapted from Becky’s book, The Simple Difference: How Every Small Kindness Makes a Big Impact.

Hope for When You’ve Messed Up

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My fingers flew through Schumann’s Papillons as the audience in the recital hall watched and listened. I had practiced this piano piece for months. As I focused on playing the correct black and white keys, I also tried to express the emotions of the piece. Yet, at a crucial point in the music all my preparation failed me. I couldn’t remember what came next! My heart started racing. Panic filled my head — chasing out all the notes that I thought I could depend on. Hoping to work my way out of this mess before anyone noticed, I jumped back to a point in the piece I was certain of. But when I reached the sticking point, once again the needed notes did not appear. I repeated this process several times, each time hoping for a better outcome. Eventually the required notes showed up and I reached the end of the piece.

Although the audience applauded my performance, I only remembered how I had messed up. I felt humiliation over my loop of failure. 

Since that college piano recital, I have experienced other, more serious loops of failure. Why do I continually say the wrong thing to my husband? Why do I repeatedly lose patience with the people I love? Why do I frequently lose my courage when given a chance to share the good news of Jesus? And ultimately I wonder, How can Jesus love me if I continually mess up? 

Maybe you’ve experienced your own loops of failure. You might burn with shame when you’ve once again lost it with your children or let down a friend. Or feel embarrassed about repeat binge sessions of triple chocolate chip ice cream. Or be mortified that once again you’ve broken your promise to spend more time in God’s Word. It leads to wondering, Will Jesus forgive me — again? 

I find hope in the story of the apostle Peter. He experienced his own loop of failure. On the night Jesus was arrested in the Garden of Gethsemane, Peter followed Him to the home of the high priest where the officials questioned Jesus. Maybe everything would have been fine if one sassy servant girl hadn’t stared at Peter and said, “You also were with Jesus the Galilean” (Matthew 26:69). Peter attempted to sidestep her accusation by saying, “I do not know what you mean.”  

Peter’s response probably surprised him more than anyone else, since hours earlier he had boasted, “Even if I must die with You, I will not deny you!” (Matthew 26:35). Yet the failures kept coming. Two more times that night, Peter declared that he didn’t know Jesus — the man he had lived and ministered alongside for the last three years

After the news of Jesus’ resurrection, Peter probably had incredible joy mixed with gnawing anxiety. He couldn’t forget the look on Jesus’ face after the third denial and the sound of the cock crowing. How could he have failed the Friend who had given him love, acceptance, and purpose? I imagine the contrite disciple wondered, Will Jesus forgive my unfaithfulness? Will He still consider me as one of His disciples? Can I still have a place in the Messiah’s kingdom?  

And because I have faced similar feelings, I love how Jesus took Peter aside one day after a campfire breakfast. Three times Jesus asked, “Simon, son of John, do you love me?” and three times Peter replied, “Yes, Lord; you know that I love you” (John 21:15-17). Jesus gave Peter three opportunities to affirm his love, offsetting the three denials.  

One thing that gives me hope in this post-resurrection story is that Jesus didn’t ask Peter, “Do you promise to never again let Me down?” He asked only, “Do you love Me?” What grace. God doesn’t expect perfection. He desires love. He knows our human weakness and propensity to mess up. So even if we fail again and again and again, He still wants us to come to Him. To love Him.  To revel in our friendship with Him.  

Have you messed up? Experienced multiple loops of failure? Do you wonder if Jesus can forgive you?  

Don’t stay in the loop of failure. Confess your mistake, your sin, and receive the forgiveness Christ earned for you on the cross. 

Then rejoice in the fact that Jesus doesn’t glare at us and demand, “Promise you will never fail again!” No, He looks at each of us with compassion and asks, “Do you love Me?” 

 

Listen to today’s article below or on your favorite podcast player!

Wherever We Go, God Is There

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I can never escape from your Spirit!
    I can never get away from your presence!
If I go up to heaven, you are there;
    if I go down to the grave, you are there.
If I ride the wings of the morning,
    if I dwell by the farthest oceans,
even there your hand will guide me,
    and your strength will support me.
I could ask the darkness to hide me
    and the light around me to become night—
    but even in darkness I cannot hide from you.
To you the night shines as bright as day.
    Darkness and light are the same to you.
Psalm 139:7-12 (NLT)

Wherever we go, God is there. What a gift of comfort and assurance. 

We know that today’s anniversary of the September 11th terrorist attacks still stirs deep trauma and grief for many. We also know that on any ordinary Sunday, hearts are heavy with all kinds of pain and sorrow. This world can feel so very dark — but God. But God seeks us out in the darkness and offers us His strength.

Where does the darkness feel oppressive to you today? Where do you need to remember that God’s comfort is available to you? Leave a comment; we’d be honored to pray for you. And bless a sister by pausing to pray for the person who commented before you.

 

Be Countercultural and Cheer Each Other On

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If one part suffers, all the parts suffer with it, and if one part is honored, all the parts are glad.
 1 Corinthians 12:26 (NLT)

My phone dings, and I see her text: “Could you read something I wrote? I don’t know if it’s any good, but I wanted to see if you could just take a look and tell me what you think.”

I could hear the hesitancy in her words and how much courage it took for her to ask. We had met each other at a conference, and from our brief interactions, I knew she had stories to tell, pain to express, and wisdom to lead with. We noticed each other in a breakout session for writers interested in getting published, and afterward we talked in hushed tones about our hopes for where our writing would go. The writing world and its nuances were new for us, and we parted ways holding those hopes for each other.

Eventually, I became an editor, and I watched from afar as her leadership took her places. I witnessed her voice become louder and stronger as she processed the current social climate through her newsletters. I could see that she was becoming freer, more herself, and less afraid of what people would think of her.

And so was I.

Her text was an unexpected but pleasant surprise. She shared how she had been keeping up with me as well and thought she’d take a step of faith by reaching out. I was honored to be entrusted with a first read of her writing, and I agreed to take a look and get back to her soon.

I wasn’t prepared for her gift with words. She wrote with precision and power, beauty and hope. She didn’t shy away from naming her pain, and her pastoral and prophetic leadership shined through her stories. I was blown away by her natural talent, and I texted her immediately to tell her so.

She responded, “Really? You think so?” Her lack of confidence boggled my mind, and I sent back ten yeses in all caps with way too many exclamation marks. I assured her I wasn’t just saying it because she was a friend. I genuinely believed she should be writing and getting published.

We went back and forth about her essay a couple of times, but it wasn’t until years later that I received another text: “The essay we worked on got published in a book!”

I squealed in delight at this news. Her success wasn’t only about her but also about the many other women — particularly women of color — who would see her name in a book and know what was possible for them too. Her joy was my joy.

First Corinthians 12:26 says, “If one part suffers, all the parts suffer with it, and if one part is honored, all the parts are glad.” And Romans 12:15 simply says, “Be happy with those who are happy” (NLT). In Christ, we are intricately intertwined and interdependent on one another. Because we are made for community and placed in community, we cannot separate our grief or our joy from that of others.

In a world and time when social media and celebrity culture hype certain people over others, it’s easy to feel envious of someone else’s success. Those feelings are understandable and shouldn’t be shoved down in order to celebrate others. Instead, we can bring our honest selves before God, confessing our hurt, disappointment, and anger, acknowledging our own desire for success, and letting God be a balm for us. He can realign our hearts to His, remind us that together we make up the body of Christ, and teach us to be glad when another is honored.

We can be countercultural by cheering each other on, and in doing so we participate in the joy that God has for us all.

I relished in my friend’s news. I was so proud of her work, her persistence, and her increasing belief in herself. I had the privilege of watching her growth like a time-lapse of a seed becoming a plant, and my delight was just a glimpse of God’s rejoicing over her. And from my vantage point, I could see that this was just the beginning.

GOD, thank You that there isn’t a limited amount of joy to go around and that one person’s success doesn’t cancel out another’s. You are not a God of scarcity but of abundance. I confess that there are times when I have a hard time cheering someone else on when I’m not in the same place or position as they are. But I want to learn to participate in their joy as You are inviting me to do. Thank You for creating us to be the body of Christ so that gladness can be multiplied instead of hoarded. Amen.

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This article was written by Grace P. Cho, as published in Empowered: More of Him for All of You.