Miracle Chickens and a Reminder of God’s Presence

Miracle Chickens and a Reminder of God’s Presence

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It was a cool October night in 1986 when my mom suddenly bolted upright from a dead sleep and walked over to her bedroom window. Looking out, she saw a fierce orange glow dancing on the neighbor’s roof. Fire! Only, it wasn’t our neighbor’s property that was ablaze. It was ours.

By the time my mom woke up me and my sisters and rushed us down the stairs and out of the house, my dad was already in the driveway futilely fighting the roaring flames with a green garden hose. Our garage was consumed and the back of the house soon would be too.

The next day, after the fire had been extinguished and all that remained were black piles of ash, we carefully made our way through the debris and over to the back corner of the yard. My young heart was thankful that our family was safe. (And thankful that my mom responded to my middle-of-the-night wails and had ran back into the burning house to rescue my favorite stuffed monkey.) But now I was terrified that our five chickens were not as lucky.

I looked up at the soot covered electrical pole that towered behind the chicken coop. How could anything have survived?

My mom scooped up one of the Road Island Red hens and began to stroke its auburn feathers.

“Is she… is she dead?” I asked.

Without saying a word, my mom continued to pet the hen. After moments that felt like hours, the chicken started to cluck.

“No, she’s not dead! I don’t think any of them are dead. They’re just frozen in shock.”

One by one, my mom held and patted each beloved bird back to life.

Over the years, I’ve thought back to that scary night and the difficult season that followed. I’ve thought about God’s grace in waking up my mom and protecting our very lives. I’ve thought about God’s kindness in providing the rental house we moved into and even the craft store Christmas ornaments we painted that year because all our cherished decorations were lost in the fire.

But the miracle that comes to mind most often is how God chose to save our chickens.

The heat and smoke alone should have been enough to snuff out their lives. The fences showed evidence that the fire licked its way around the entire perimeter of our yard. And yet the coop remained physically untouched. The chickens, however, were not unmarked by the trauma. They were like five feathered statues frozen in place. It wasn’t until my mom came into their space and reassured them with her presence and touch that they were able to re-engage with life. It’s a story that mirrors our lives in many ways.

Have you ever felt spiritually stuck? Mentally or emotionally frozen, unable to move forward because of pain, grief, or trauma? I know I have. It’s in those very seasons of turmoil and overwhelm when God’s presence can help us find our way back to life.

When my dad died suddenly at the age of 59, I felt paralyzed by the shock and uncertain of how to process my grief in the throes of mothering a toddler and baby. But God was there. He was present in the friend who hugged me when I dropped my boys off at her house so I could have a little space. He was there when I drove my minivan around the block and parked on a random street, turned on worship music, and just cried. In that season, I experienced the truth of this promise: “The Lord is near the brokenhearted; he saves those crushed in spirit” (Psalm 34:18, CSB).

My sorrow didn’t immediately subside, but I learned that I could still move through life because God was mindful of my broken heart and He was near.

When my clinical anxiety disorder flares, I can easily feel stuck in the mental cycles of overwhelm. When my body floods with extra adrenaline and my mind won’t stop racing and sadness surges, I too become like a statue — cemented in by feelings that seem impossible to fully name or change. Like the hens who made it through the fire, I need someone to come alongside me too and offer the assurance of their presence. My sons do this in their gentle boyish ways, bringing me tissues and wiping my tears. My husband wraps me in a hug when I have no words. And I imagine Jesus petting my hair as I fall asleep for an afternoon nap.

Isaiah 40:11 tells us that “He tends his flock like a shepherd: He gathers the lambs in his arms and carries them close to his heart; he gently leads those that have young.” God doesn’t expect us to navigate our trauma or move forward in our weakness alone. He draws near to us. He isn’t scared of our brokenness, our messiness, or how stuck we may seem. He delights in picking us up and carrying us.

Flames will come. They may destroy property, mar relationships, and even scar our hope. But God. But God is still writing our story. And the plot line always gets better as we look for how Jesus is stepping into our ashes and creating something beautiful.

Need more encouragement for when you’re feeling stuck? Follow Becky on Instagram for her video series, A Verse a Day for the Anxious Soul.

 

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For When It’s Hard to Wait and Trust

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Out of the depths I cry to you, Lord;
    Lord, hear my voice.
Let your ears be attentive
    to my cry for mercy.

If you, Lord, kept a record of sins,
    Lord, who could stand?
But with you there is forgiveness,
    so that we can, with reverence, serve you.

I wait for the Lord, my whole being waits,
    and in his word I put my hope.
 I wait for the Lord
    more than watchmen wait for the morning,
    more than watchmen wait for the morning.

Israel, put your hope in the Lord,
    for with the Lord is unfailing love
    and with him is full redemption.
He himself will redeem Israel
    from all their sins.
Psalm 130 (NIV)

If you are in a season of waiting, if you are crying out to God wondering if He sees you, hears you, will rescue you — the answer is YES! God has already saved you from the shackles of your sin and permanent separation from Him; how much more then, will He save you from whatever predicament currently entangles you?

Now, this doesn’t mean that your circumstances will immediately change, but it does mean that true hope and the unfailing love of God will meet you right where you are.

Where in your life do you need to watch for God’s goodness? Where do you need to stop putting your hope in people, possessions, or positions, and start putting your hope in God’s Word?

Lean in to Him today, sisters. God is so worthy of our trust.

 

Finding Peace When Our World Is Out of Control

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He reached down from on high and took hold of me; he drew me out of deep waters. He rescued me from my powerful enemy, from my foes, who were too strong for me. They confronted me in the day of my disaster, but the Lord was my support. He brought me out into a spacious place; he rescued me because he delighted in me.
Psalm 18:16–19 (NIV)

We welcome 2020 as we usually do for New Year’s Day — a lunch-to-dinner gathering at the grandparents’ house. Seventeen of us pack into their two-bedroom retirement home, and the air is abuzz and fragrant. Great-grandchildren find trinkets around the house to play with, their energy too high for any of the adults to handle. The moms and aunts busy themselves with the cooking and make sure everyone has a preview bite of what’s to come. The dads and uncles chat and keep the grandparents company.

It’s a typical beginning to the year, and in our bliss, we are unaware of what is to come.

By February, we hear murmurs of COVID-19 spreading around the world, but we feel untouchable in the US, safe and at peace while the world scrambles. But by March, we’re on lockdown. Fear binds us up in stress and anxiety, and we watch how sorely unprepared we are as a nation to deal with the many, many people who get sick from the disease and who die from it. Hospitals set up makeshift tents to care for patients, and morgues fill up too quickly. Mortuaries and cemeteries are backed up, and those who grieve must wait longer to bury their dead. There is just no more room.

Our kids stop going to school and start distance learning. They are disoriented and grieve alongside us, and we don’t have any answers for all their questions.

By April, we start to hear about friends of friends getting sick, and soon enough it hits our church community. Every day our kids pray, “God, please make coronavirus go away,” and we respond with amens, hoping it really does disappear, though the panic sets in.

I start to feel unsafe going out to get gas or to Costco after hearing about an Asian American family whose faces were slashed inside a Sam’s Club in Texas. They were being blamed for the virus because of their ethnicity. Anti-­Asian racism continues to rise, and I’m afraid for my children, for my husband, and for myself anytime we have to leave the house.

In May, George Floyd is murdered at the hands of police officers, and the world can see how racism is alive and well in our country. He is only one of many Black men and women whose names become a cry for justice. There is no peace when there is no justice, and I search the Psalms for words to pray against the powers that keep systems of oppression in place. I ask God to bring down the wicked, to intervene.

All the while, work doesn’t slow down and deadlines loom over me like dark clouds that threaten to drown me if I don’t meet them. The problem is I’m already drowning, and still there is more pain to come. Peace now feels like a distant dream that won’t come true.

In June, our grandpa passes away, and in July, a church member dies of COVID-19. No more, I beg God. Please, please just make it all stop.

The waters are too deep, the waves too strong. Everything is pushing me further down. When I pause for a moment and take in all that has transpired, I notice my breaths become shallow. My chest tightens. I become overwhelmed by all the heartache.

What is peace at a time like this? I wrestle with my reality, and deep down I know that true peace can be found even now — but only when I’m tethered to God. He is the one steady Person I can fully rely on and the One who understands the anguish of humanity. He knows what it feels like to lose loved ones to death, to be surrounded by people who come after your humanity, and to be betrayed in friendship. He overcame death and was raised to life with a glorified body that still bears His scars.

If He bore it all, surely the peace He offers is real because He embodies it in Himself. I ask God for space to breathe, and He brings to mind my favorite image of peace: a vast meadow where a breeze makes the tall grass sway. I imagine myself standing in the middle of it and take deep breaths. His presence is peace. The Holy Spirit soothes and comforts my soul, and I find my footing again.

God of Peace, I need You. I have no control over what’s happening in my life, and I’m overwhelmed by it all. Only You can help me stay grounded. Holy Spirit, anchor me to Yourself and steady me. In Jesus’s name, amen.

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

Empowered: More of Him for All of You, by Mary Carver, Grace P. Cho, and Anna E. Rendell is designed to incorporate the five major components of our being — physical, mental, emotional, relational, and spiritual. The sixty Scripture passages and devotions invite you to see from different angles how God empowers us, and each day ends with prayer and reflection questions to deepen the learning. Grab a copy now. We pray it blesses you.

For When You Wonder if God Is Really with You

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I’m a thrifter. I get a thrill from attending auctions and perusing estate sales, running my hands over something old and dreaming of a way to make it new. My husband would probably tell you I collect old junk, but that’s beside the point.

I once came home with a 1960s telescope. I know nothing about astronomy, but I love stargazing. The telescope was in pieces, but it seemed like all the parts were there, rumbling around in the old taped-together box. I lugged it into our minivan and brought the musty treasure into our home to the delight of my children and my husband Jonny’s chagrin.

Jonny’s motto is “you bought it; you set it up” when I come home with thrift store treasures. Too proud to ask for his help, I enlisted my 11-year-old son to help me piece together the giant, multi-lens telescope. I tried to find a manual online but only found some intense (and confusing) message boards from the late ’90s.

Our new telescope came with a menagerie of lenses, which neither mother nor son quite understood what to do with. But we made it work, cobbling pieces together with a screwdriver and a prayer. We were proud of our real-life telescope, likely manufactured in the heat of the space race to the moon. It didn’t seem to matter that we couldn’t make heads or tails of the lenses.

A lunar eclipse was coming, and we went to bed pleased with ourselves, visions of shooting stars dancing in our heads. (I know Jonny did some late-night refiguring of our haphazard construction, but that’s neither here nor there.)

Our sons buzzed with the excitement of getting to wake up in the middle of the night to see the moon show its splendor. Soon, I was rubbing the sleep out of my eye and fumbling for my glasses as two little boys tumbled from their beds with anticipation, slipping puffy coats over their pajamas. My husband and I followed suit, adventurers in the night, ready to embark on a space mission. Our footsteps echoed down the stairs, and our dogs followed at our heels, confused at the commotion that woke them from their slumber.

We pulled the vintage telescope through the door and back out into the wild. Shadows danced, and our breath made clouds as we set up in the driveway, hoping to see something bright and beautiful cut through the darkness.

Then, there it was: the moon, big and bold, a reminder that the One who hung the stars was keeping watch over our neighborhood, over us.

“It’s amazing!”

“I’ve never seen anything like it!”

The novelty of the telescope had us crouching down and squinting our eyes. My knees popped as I kneeled but I still felt wrapped in childlike wonder, in whimsy not contained by age. The kids took turns looking through the eye of the telescope. The blurry white circle felt a lot like magic. We shoved our hands in our pockets as we watched the sun that illuminates the day meet the moon that rules the night, a holy communion among the streetlights.

The truth is that the telescope didn’t help us see the moon as much as we expected.

Our decades-old, new-to-us lenses obscured the view. Everything we thought mattered didn’t matter much at all. We squinted into the telescope and adjusted the lenses, but what we saw was a bit … blurry. We found it easier to see with our eyes.

And as we looked up at the moon, I remembered that the kingdom of God is, as the Psalmist wrote, “forever like the moon, the faithful witness in the sky” (Psalm 89:37 NIV).

God’s ever-present grace is like the swirl of the galaxies around us. We may not be able to see it – or even fathom it – but it is with us.

Sometimes we just need a shift in perspective. We can focus so much on having the right set of circumstances (or right telescopes) that we miss the glory all around us.

How often have you fallen into that if, then thinking? Maybe you’ve found yourself thinking something along the lines of, “If I just read my Bible more, then maybe I would see God’s presence in my life,” or “If I just prayed more, then maybe my circumstances would be better.”

The truth is that while Scripture reading and prayer can be a resource, the Kingdom of God is all around you, forever like the moon. The daylight might obscure your vision from the moon, but that doesn’t mean the moon isn’t there. You can trust that God loves you deeply, and doesn’t leave you, even when you feel most alone. You don’t need to have religious-sounding words to pray or a five-step Bible-reading program to bask in that belovedness.

In the moments when you are most overwhelmed and you wonder if God’s goodness can really be trusted, take a look at the night sky, marvel at a photo of the universe, or close your eyes and imagine the stars lighting up all around you. Embrace the wonder of a child being woken up in the middle of the night to catch a glimpse of God’s handiwork illuminating the darkness of night.

Then, reflect on Isaiah 40:26, which invites you to:

“Lift up your eyes and look to the heavens:
    Who created all these?
He who brings out the starry host one by one
    and calls forth each of them by name.
Because of his great power and mighty strength,
    not one of them is missing.”

May the stars remind you that even when you feel most alone, you are not missing to God. The Maker of the heavens and the earth calls you beloved. The presence of Christ says you are worth finding. The grace of God says the Maker of the stars delights in you.

The truth is that the One who set every star in the sky loves you.

The mysterious grace of God says you can set aside all the telescopes you think you need to be loved. God’s presence doesn’t require you to have anything special or do anything spectacular. Just as God breathed galaxies into existence, God knit you together in the womb. And just as the moon and the stars are ever-present — and yet sometimes unseen — we can trust that Jesus is with us, always.

How is the Maker of all things present in your real life, right here, right now?

As you reflect on that question, take a minute to simply breathe. As you deeply inhale and slowly exhale, marvel over God’s glorious love and gracious mercy that will never leave you or forsake you.

 

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Don’t Be Fooled. God Doesn’t Play Games.

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I’m blessed to be building a house. But what I thought would be a joyous process, has been one challenge after another. Delays with the draftsmen, the city, the bank. Frustration and misinformation at every turn.

The world of construction materials and contractors has felt like a game I’m destined to lose. With every item I need to select, the games begin. The pricing of materials like flooring and faucets is hidden. Vendors don’t share clear costs. Contractors decide how much I’m charged and when they’ll get the work completed (and then change their minds). It’s difficult to trust what I’m getting. Nothing is as it seems and I constantly feel like I’m playing a game I don’t know the rules to. 

It reminds me of a scene from a movie. It’s fall in a large city park — kids are playing, old men are studying chess boards, and a small crowd is surrounding a cardboard box. There sits the con artist moving cups as fast as she can, swiping money from customers who think they know which cup the ball is under. It’s a shell game. 

The shell game is all about keeping your eye on the ball, not being distracted by the fast-moving hands and the person moving the cups. But the game is already rigged and each of her customers loses the moment they put their money down thinking they had a chance. It’s a dishonest game and it tricks you from the beginning. 

I feel like I’ve been trying to win a shell game with tile, sinks, and garage doors. I want the vendors to be transparent and the contractors to be honest. I want to be able to find a good deal on wood floors, paint, and windows but it seems like the ball keeps moving and I’m getting dizzy watching the cups. 

After wading through granite remnants in a fabricator’s shop yard the other day, I was finally getting the clarity and information I needed to make a decision on countertops for our kitchen. On the way to my next stop, the Holy Spirit reminded me that God doesn’t play games like this with you and me. 

God doesn’t have a trick up His sleeve. He keeps His promises and His blessings are real.

We might have a tendency to think that we’re missing something, that we have to play this game of life just right, or that it’s rigged for us to lose. You might think God is holding out on you or tricking you — that you actually can’t count on what He’s promised for your life. As if the blessings He has for you and me are part of a game that we’re not playing fast enough or just aren’t smart enough to receive the prize. 

God is not playing a shell game with your life. You don’t have to think it’s a gamble to trust Him that the blessings will come. No guesswork needed. God doesn’t play games with how He moves in your life.

I can trust Him to build my house. You can trust Him with the big thing you’re dealing with. And the small things, too.

You and I might need a reminder that God can be trusted. He is trustworthy because:

I know you can read that list and think to yourself, “Right, I know that.” But do you live like it? Or are you thinking you’ve got to win the shell game to have a blessed life? Maybe the shell game for you is to outsmart, move faster, be better, do more, make it work, hustle, live to the fullest, be strategic, make a bigger difference, get your life together, be one step ahead, serve God more to win the game that God isn’t even playing. 

But God tells us in Psalm 84:11-12 (CSB) that “The Lord grants favor and honor; he does not withhold the good from those who live with integrity. Happy is the person who trusts in you.” God doesn’t require you to be perfect. He sent Jesus to make you blameless; He cleansed you so you can happily trust Him and His ways and timing. God may not grant every answer to your prayers that you want or do things the way you see fit, but He will give the ultimate good thing in eternal life with Him — now and forever, with blessings and miracles along the way.

I’m thankful the Holy Spirit reminded me that we don’t have to play the game that’s being offered, whether it’s about building a house or whatever you face today. There is no game with God. No con. No gamble. All He wants is to love you and for you to trust Him day by day. 

No good thing will God withhold from you. You can happily trust Him on that.

 

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Make Space for Sadness

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The middle seat was the last one left. I shoved my carry-on under the seat in front of me and tried to get comfortable without nudging the sleeping man on my right and the masked woman on my left. My plan was to just get through this flight. Maybe I would work or watch a show, but I was just anxious to get home. I briefly chatted with the woman beside me as the plane took off, “Where is your final destination?”

“Ohio, I am going to visit my son who I haven’t seen in over a year!” Her eyes beamed with excitement.

“That sounds wonderful.” I smiled and nodded along with her joy.

I dropped down the tray in front of me and propped open my laptop. Over the next three hours, I closed my eyes, worked on a project, and listened to a podcast. As the flight prepared to land, I stowed away my belongings and refastened my seatbelt. I felt a nudge in my spirit — ask her what she loves about her son.

I’m not one to chat on and on with a stranger beside me on a plane. But I do find it fascinating how you can connect with a stranger and then never see them again. I had nothing to lose. So I turned my body towards her and asked the question that God initiated inside of me.

Her body relaxed. I felt the ease in her words as she shared about her son. He is bright and kind and, at the moment, a little brokenhearted. She went on to talk about her grandson who she takes care of and then … she paused.

“My mother died six months ago.” She went on to tell me about how she had cared for her mom for years, but the dementia got so bad that it finally ended her life.

Another long pause. She went on to describe that when the paramedics took her mom away she begged them not to go. For so long she had managed her mom’s needs and she couldn’t let them take over now. As she spoke, her jaw quivered. Her tears gathered like water in cupped hands and spilled over, down the curve of her cheeks. I listened. My eyes aching with compassion for her pain.

She broke out of the sacred moment by patting my knee. “I am so sorry. I didn’t know I needed to talk about my mom, but I guess I did.”

I gently brushed off her apology. “I believe in God and I believe God always makes space for our grief.”

She patted my knee again as a way of saying, thank you.

It’s true though. Grief comes out in the most unexpected ways. Just when I think I am done with the unwanted company of sadness, I cry at a stoplight or when a random song comes on. Grief is wretched. It can be heavy and hurt me and last for so long. I just want to be done with it.

I am tempted to have power over my grief. I want to master it, control it, dictate it. I can also swing the other way. I am tempted to become powerless in my grief. In essence, I give way to it. I let the storm of depression and helplessness overcome me. I lose my will to the waves of sadness crashing down on me.

But grief is not a wild horse to be tamed nor can it destroy me entirely. Grief is a gift. It marks how much my heart loved another.

Grief is not meant to control or to be controlled by us. The invitation is to be with Jesus in our sadness for however long necessary. Let Jesus be your guide. Let your heart feel what it needs to feel. Jesus said in the Sermon on the Mount, “Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted” (Matthew 5:4 ESV). I take great comfort in knowing God cares for the brokenhearted.

The plane landed with a bobble like the dribble of a basketball and then slowed to a halt. My seatmate gathered her things and hurried to catch her next flight. I never got her name.

I think these moments in life are divine. The kind of moments we can’t plan, but walk through by faith. God meets us behind kitchen sinks, in long lines, at drive-thrus, and high in the sky with strangers. God makes space for our sadness and we make space for others. This is the way of love.

 

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Table of One

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I’m in the booth to your left, the one tucked up against the corner of the restaurant. It smells like fries and bacon, and the waitress brings two glasses of water in tall mason jars.

I picked this table for a reason. I’ve sat here many times with my husband when it seemed like we were worlds apart on the issues of the day. Suffice it to say, he and I haven’t exactly seen eye to eye when we vote. But this is the table where my husband and I sit after every political election to have dinner and conversation together. For as long as I can remember we’ve done this after leaving the polling place just up the street from here.

The polling place — it’s where the roads of our marriage have diverged when our ink pens hover over tiny ovals on secret ballots.

Election after election, we walk into the polling place, cast our ballots, and walk out, side by side. In time, the awkwardness of this marital divide has softened, even when our differences haven’t. We often joke on our way back to the car, “Did our votes cancel each other out again?” Sometimes they do; sometimes they don’t.

But always we have come here, to this table.

Long ago we made the decision to break bread together in the form of a shared plate of buffalo wings. We talk. We listen. And yes, we even disagree. This has never been easy. There have been tears at this table—mine. There has been defensiveness and eye-rolling—again, mine. There have been uncomfortable conversations that we carry back through the front door into our home. But believe it or not, we have learned from each other at this table and have found common ground from time to time.

Whenever I think about this table, it gives me hope.

Maybe you’ve been feeling like no one has room at the table for you anymore because of the way you feel about politics, parenting, climate change, alcoholic beverages, policing, critical race theory, religion, science, divorce, international adoption, vaccines, or public education. The list is unending.

Chances are, you are living in the tension of being misunderstood. And maybe these days you feel rejected or abandoned. Without warning, you lost a treasured friendship that fractured over a difference of opinion. You just found out your next-door neighbor unfriended you last week.

If there’s a way forward, the path feels hidden. But ignoring our differences doesn’t actually make anything safer. It just makes us more insulated and divided. Here’s what we risk if we don’t find a way forward: we will each end up sitting at a table of one.

If we have to agree with every single person in our church on every single issue, we will be sitting in a church of one.

If we have to agree with our neighbor on every single issue, we will live in a neighborhood of one.

A book club of one. A Bible study of one. A living room of one. A family of one.

We’re all going to sit alone at Thanksgiving and Christmas and even the communion table where Jesus beckons us to “Take and eat.” A table of one.

I know how uncomfortable it is. Every election cycle, every news story, and every political event has the potential to set off fireworks in my own home—and not the pretty kind but the explosive, cover-your-ears-and-run-for-cover kind.

But my husband and I have finally come to a place where our divisions no longer shock us. In the same way, our global divisions should not shock us.

Scott and I got married knowing full well that we didn’t always agree. But we got married anyway. Here’s why: because we loved “us” more than we hated what was different.

That conviction is what keeps us coming to this table twenty-five years later. Maybe that’s a starting place for each of us today: We can love “us” more than we hate what is different.

I understand how hard this is, but silence isn’t working (and neither is shouting on Facebook). I know of friends who haven’t talked in more than a year because of divisions over recent events. These friends used to sit at the same table, vacation together, worship together. As days turn to months turn to years, that gap will continue to widen unless it’s dealt with.

Maybe we could try this instead.

Instead of unfriending that college roommate with her unending rants on social media, use the Facebook Like button to let her know you love the photo of her kid holding up his new driver’s license.

Instead of arguing with your dad over how he voted, listen as he tells you what he’s been thinking. (We can listen without agreeing and still enjoy the Thanksgiving turkey!)

This doesn’t mean that the hot-button issues aren’t important. They are. But if our divisions create an all-or-nothing mentality, then we’re all missing out. So instead of focusing on everything that divides, let’s find points of connection. We might not agree with the way our next-door neighbors parent their children, but when we get to know them, we might realize that we both share a fondness for historical fiction and sushi.

I understand that sushi won’t save the world. And I know that this vinyl booth tucked into the corner of a small-town restaurant won’t right all the wrongs.

But like the old song says, “Let there be peace on earth, and let it begin with me.”

And with you.

Right here, at our table of two.

This excerpt from Come Sit with Me was written by Jennifer Dukes Lee.

Meet Come Sit with Me: How to Delight in Differences, Love through Disagreements, and Live with Discomfort. In this brand-new book, 26 of our (in)courage writers help you navigate tough relational tensions by revealing their own hard-fought, grace-filled learning moments. They show you how to:

– delight in your differences
– honor and value others even when you disagree
– connect before you correct
– trust that God is working even when people disappoint you
– live and love like Jesus by serving others.

Whether you’re in the middle of a conflict without resolution or wondering how to enter into a friend’s pain, Come Sit With Me will serve as a gentle guide. Discover how God can work through your disagreements, differences, and discomfort in ways you might never expect.

Let us send you the introduction and the first two chapters for FREE! Sign up here.

 

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A Group Nobody Wants to Be In

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Nobody wants to be here. Yes, we are all grateful this place exists. But, truly, nobody wants to be here. As I log into Facebook, it’s one of the first posts that pops up:

“It’s Monday. How are you and your sweet doggie today?” Always followed by three purple hearts.

That’s when I start reading all the replies about which of the members are on their third round of chemo for their dog, what meds are working, what side effects are increasing or decreasing, whose dog is nearing the end, and what decisions need to be made by the humans who would do anything for a little more time.

Earlier this year, on my birthday, we found out that our ten-pound ruler of the house, Moose, was diagnosed with High Grade B-Cell lymphoma. Not knowing anything about this particular disease in dogs, I thought, “Well, we will fight it with everything we can and get her cured.”

But there is no “cured” from canine lymphoma. Without treatment, most dogs live a few months. With treatment, a year.

It is overwhelming to get a diagnosis like that for anyone, including a three-year-old spicy squirrel like our Moose. You feel like you need to become an expert overnight: knowing treatment options, what food and supplements might make a difference, where to get the best treatment, and a million other questions that no one in your life has dealt with, but you have to figure out.

And so that’s why I joined a group of strangers on the internet called Fighting Canine Lymphoma, where we support each other, ask for advice, share hope when something is going well, and cry together when things are not.

Nobody wants to be a part of this group because it has only one criteria — your dog is sick and is going to be taken from you way too soon.

Nobody wants to leave this group because that would mean you’ve lost your dog to lymphoma. But everyone who is a part of this group? Is so grateful it’s there.

As someone who is in this most hopeless of battles, I have found one of the most hope-filled groups of humans I have ever been a part of.

While I know some of the people in this group follow Christ, this isn’t a Christian group. But these people have been the hands and feet of Christ to me, and to others who are going through this battle.

  • They share hope. When things are going well for their dog, they share that part of their journey to give others hope. We learn to cherish the good days.
  • They share comfort. The love shown in this group, from hurting person to hurting person, is remarkable. We begin our own healing by helping others heal.
  • They are patient with one another. When a member is venting against a doctor, a spouse, or this terrible disease, other members patiently listen and “get” why there is so much anger in ways that someone who hasn’t been through this would have a hard time understanding.
  • They give what they can. So often, someone is offering to ship their dog’s food, supplements, and even, when appropriate, medications to a family that is still fighting this battle.
  • They mourn together. When someone is grieving (as is almost a daily occurrence in this group) others come alongside them, speak words of comfort, and ask them about the one they lost.

Without even realizing it, this group is living out Romans 12:15: “Rejoice with those who rejoice; mourn with those who mourn.”

No one knows anyone’s religious background, financial status, or who they voted for in the last election. What we do know is that we are all going through something terrible, but it’s made a little less terrible because we are going through it together.

I am learning to be a better, kinder follower of Christ, and, well, just a better human being by being a member of this group.

Some things in this life we can’t control, but love and support from others can take a little bit of the sting out of hardship. And on the other side, loving and supporting others who are going through what you’ve gone through gives value to an experience that you would never want or wish on anyone.

We are designed to be in community with each other. Our hearts long for community, not just in celebration, but in mourning. Community helps us fulfill the purpose God created us for.

Are you overcommitted, overstressed, or just plain overwhelmed? Kathi Lipp and Cheri Gregory have been there. Their devotional, An Abundant Place will give you greater peace and perspective, and a plan for managing your busy life.

 

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

Beyond Borders and Comfort Zones

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We walked through the market in Togo, Africa. The mission team I was part of had just finished teaching a Bible study, giving us a few minutes before we’d need to return to the church.

My newfound friends — those who lived locally and now served as my tour guides — gleefully pointed out their favorite sights, not wanting me to miss a thing. As we conversed in French, I recounted a story from the Bible which caused them to burst out in laughter. I realized, instead of citing the passage that states “everyone is a sinner,” I mistakenly asserted that “everyone is a fisherman.” My new friends roared.

Just one day before this mistake occurred, the local pastor challenged me to go beyond utilizing the translators. Instead, he wanted me to speak to the women — and even teach them — in French.

I had already traveled beyond my physical borders. Now I was being asked to go beyond my comfort zone. I argued that, although I studied French in college and even earned a degree in it, I was not prepared to teach the Bible in this foreign-to-me language. But the pastor insisted I teach in French. So I taught . . . in French.

Then, something happened: I taught the women and it was remarkable! The Lord granted me knowledge beyond what was naturally obtained through my studies. I spoke words that I had no recollection of learning. I saw His power and faithfulness first-hand. 

As amazing as this experience was, it made my mistake in the marketplace all the more difficult to swallow.

There I was, right in the aftermath of my mistake and my friends’ laughter. How should I respond? What should I say? Questions raced through my mind. I stood there feeling like an utter fool! I was so far outside my comfort zone. But, before I knew it, I found myself joining in on the laughter and in the middle of something remarkable. No longer were my friends and I separated by culture, continents, or language. Rather, we were united by laughter, joy, and deep friendship.

I am sure my brothers and sisters in Togo, Africa have long since forgotten about this humorous moment from over twenty years ago. Yet it has left an unforgettable impression upon my heart. It’s a continual reminder of the truth that I don’t need to fear failure or worry about falling short as I seek to serve God and others. 

The Lord is more pleased with our obedience and willingness to serve Him than He is through any attempts of attaining so-called perfection.

As for my friends? It brings me joy to know that the mutual care we had for one another was not based upon speaking all the right words or accomplishing everything “just so.” In fact, how true the words spoken by Theodore Roosevelt have proven to be: “People don’t care how much you know, until they know how much you care.”

It is a gift to please God and express genuine care for others in my service to Him rather than focusing on my performance and quest for perfection. What a gift of freedom these friends bestowed upon me! It took traveling around the world to learn that, oftentimes, the most powerful connection we can make with others is through our response to what we may get wrong and where we may fall short — not through their response to what we may know and what we get right. It is in these moments — when I’m not concerned about how I look or what others think of me — that my care for them is most felt.

I need not fear stepping beyond my abilities or comfort zone or even my borders. For beyond that next step is a person whom I have the opportunity to bless and encourage. If it doesn’t go as planned or if I fail to meet my expectations, I can still show love and care to someone — someone who God loves and cares deeply for. For this, it will always be well worth taking that step. Even when it looks like mistakenly declaring that we are all fishermen.

In fact, Jesus declared that His disciples were all to be a special kind of fishermen. He said to Simon Peter and Andrew, “Follow me, and I will make you fishers of men” (Matthew 4:19, ESV). This charge to be fishers of men continues to this day, and it is for you and for me.

Perhaps that mistake in the market, that moment when I felt like the laughingstock and unsure of what I was doing, taught me just what I needed to learn in order to truly be a “fisher of men”: first and foremost, to please God and love others. And, secondly, to remember to laugh at myself when necessary.

The World Is Not the Standard for How to Treat People

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Do not let any unwholesome talk come out of your mouths, but only what is helpful for building others up according to their needs, that it may benefit those who listen. And do not grieve the Holy Spirit of God, with whom you were sealed for the day of redemption. Get rid of all bitterness, rage and anger, brawling and slander, along with every form of malice. Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you.
Ephesians 4:29-32 (NIV)

Paul’s letter to the Ephesians may have been written nearly 2,000 years ago, but it sure is timely and applicable for us today. We live in a culture of shouting, name-calling, and shame blaming. We are quick to accuse and slow to listen. Quick to criticize and make assumptions, and slow to encourage and offer compassion.

When it comes to treating people well, this world is not  the standard we need to fix our eyes on. Politicians and Christian celebrities, neighbors and coworkers and social media influencers are not the role models we need to emulate. We need to look to Jesus. We need to remember how Christ has forgiven us! How He loved the unlovable, how He made space at His table and in His friend group for those who would deny Him, betray Him, and get it all wrong.

We need Jesus. And the world needs Him too. Let’s be women who live and love in a way that points people to the kindness, compassion, and forgiveness of Jesus.

The Relief of Remembering We Can’t Earn God’s Love

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The Lord your God is with you, the Mighty Warrior who saves. He will take great delight in you; in his love he will no longer rebuke you, but will rejoice over you with singing.
Zephaniah 3:17 (NIV)

I struggle with perfectionism and the desire to be in control. The two go hand in hand, really.

Work projects? I take pride in executing my work perfectly and being known for doing my job well.

Mothering? It’s hard for me to resist the notion that my kids are my report card, that their behavior is a reflection of my parenting (instead of what it actually is — their behavior).

My home? I never clean as much as I do in the hour before company comes over. I’m like a whirling dervish with a vacuum. It’s not a good look for me.

In a twisted way, there’s something comforting about being in control, about completing tasks perfectly.

It’s embarrassing to admit, but I never really saw my perfectionist and controlling tendencies until I had kids. You know the saying that kids are mirrors? It’s true, and not always in a good way. I began to see my worst habits and most unflattering characteristics making appearances in my miniature me’s, and I wanted to squash the behavior before it could become rooted in their little hearts because I knew the pain it could — and would — bring. So at the slightest hint of my kids trying to behave their way into my heart, to earn my love, or to control their way into perfection, I give them huge hugs and many words of reassurance that there is nothing they can do to earn my love.

There is nothing they can do to earn my love. There is nothing they can do to earn my love. They simply have it. All my love. No matter what. Forever.

And then one day it was like a light bulb went off in my own heart: God says the same thing to us. God’s love isn’t something we earn by doing, by behaving, by controlling or being perfect.

There is nothing we can do to earn God’s love.

There is nothing we can do to earn God’s love.

There is nothing we can do to earn God’s love.

By God’s goodness and grace, He freely offers us His love — no perfect behavior or tally of earnings required. It’s one of the best, most incredible gifts we’re given — and often the hardest to accept.

The world rewards good behavior, and we’re taught from a young age that we need to work hard to earn things, right? God takes all that and turns it upside down.

The verses from Zephaniah illustrate such a beautiful juxtaposition. Empowered is an action word, and yet these verses show God as the one taking action, while our role is fairly passive. God is the one saving us. God is the one rejoicing. God is the one singing. God is the one loving us no matter what. There’s no way we can perfect our way into His heart or earn His love.

We can feel weaker, more desperate, more rock bottom than we’ve ever felt before, and we’re still loved by God.

His love doesn’t depend on us.

I whisper those words to my kids during tantrums, sad moments, and difficult times, reminding them that there is nothing they can do to earn my love; they simply have it forever. I pray we all take in the love we so undeservedly receive.

We are empowered for something we have no power over. And that is the best news ever.

Lord, I am humbled by Your love. Thank You for such a gift. Empower me to accept it, to remember that I cannot earn my way into Your heart, that I cannot control Your love for me. Give me the confidence to live this out in my everyday life. Amen.

This article was written by Anna E. Rendell, as published in Empowered: More of Him for All of You.

You Are Not a Trash Can

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My phone rang with a FaceTime notification and within seconds, I was staring at the faces of two dear friends. One woman had just hung up from an unexpected phone call that provided clarity and also included quite a few careless words. She processed, we listened, and after a while she said:

“Kaitlyn, you’ve been quiet but I can tell something is on your mind. What do you think?”

I hesitated for a moment, wondering just how crazy the answer would sound, but I know these friends and they know me, so I took a deep breath before saying the strange six-word sentence that was in my mind.

“I don’t think I’ve ever said this before,” I began, “but the more you share what was said to you, the more this phrase keeps crossing my mind. Maybe it’s somehow that you need to hear? I don’t know. Anyway, it’s this: You are not a trash can. You can choose to hold the garbage words that were spoken over you and to you — if you want. But also, you do not have to. They were not kind, they were not truthful, and you do not have to hold them.”

I watched the screen and waited. She wiped tears away and then, with a laugh, said I needed to write it out and tell other people, too. We smiled, three friends separated by distance but connected through a screen and the weekly sharing of stories small and ordinary, unexpected and difficult, hopeful and heartbreaking, and everything in between.

I’ll be the first to raise my hand and admit: Community is complicated and messy. It can cut us to the core, making it difficult to trust again, whispering the lie that it’s just not worth the trouble and we’ll be fine on our own. This is a script I know well, a wound I’m intimately familiar with; and based on the not-at-all scientific research I recently did via Instagram, I’m not the only one who struggles with this lie. The responses I got on Instagram were heartbreaking and yet not surprising, echoing years of conversations with friends and also the soundtrack within my own mind.

Many years ago, a trusted friend spoke a single sentence that I’m still intentionally working to untangle and shake off over a decade later. They labeled me unfairly, I accepted the garbage words as truth, and the soundtrack began to play.

“Can you easily remember something specific that was spoken to you a long time ago, whether it be kind or unkind, and do you still frequently think of it today?” I asked on Instagram. 96% said yes. In a follow-up question, the vast majority said the word or phrase that often comes to mind was first spoken over a decade ago.

When I asked, “Is it fair to say someone else’s words repeat like a soundtrack that kept playing long after the conversation ended or the passing remark was made?” 99% answered in the affirmative, saying, “Yes, and it impacts how I show up in the world.”

This would be a wonderful thing — if the script stuck on repeat were loving and thoughtful. Sadly, almost everyone said the words they remember were hurtful and unkind. While it’s a small sampling of a few hundred people, I have a hunch this is true far and wide. We carry careless words with us, often without recognizing that we’ve internalized the script, a quiet hum of “you’re too ___” or “you’re not ___” or “if only you were ___” becoming background noise.

I can’t tell you exactly where the “stop” button is for the soundtrack, but perhaps the first step is to recognize the tune and ask the Lord what is true. You can trust Him to be gentle, kind, and “most careful” with you (Matthew 11:29, 1 Peter 5:7).

I’ve heard this particular script for over a decade, but God is using the very thing that wounded me — words from a friend — to bring about healing. It’s imperfect, to be sure. My friends and I get it wrong sometimes. But through FaceTime calls and patient listening, evening walks and caring questions, sharing regular life and offering kind words, I’ve seen God’s redemption at work.

Our words hold weight. They can wound or encourage, tear down or build up. May we, as Holley Gerth so beautifully says, be friends who only speak words that make souls stronger. May we hold onto the good and kind, as well as the needed and helpful, while recognizing the garbage that isn’t ours to hold. May we not only think but also speak what is true, noble, right, pure, lovely, admirable, excellent, and praiseworthy (Philippians 4:8).

I’m sorry if someone’s words hurt you this week. Words can wound, intentional or not. But I want you to know — you don’t have to hold onto every single one. It’s not as easy as tying a bow and tossing out the trash, I know. But maybe today you call a friend or two and let them speak what is actually true. Maybe you laugh and cry. Maybe someone will say a strange, unexpected six-word sentence. Maybe you declare it to be trash day, mentally setting the can at the curb. Who knows, but I’ll say it through a screen again, this time to you. I promise it’s true:

You are not a trash can.

You are loved. You are loved. You are loved.

P.S. We aren’t to ignore or run from conflict—it’s part of being a community. But healthy conflict and helpful correction are not the same as criticism or condemnation.

We don’t often talk about friendship breakups or the wounds that can come from the words of a friend, but if you’ve experienced either, know that you aren’t alone. Chapters 3 and 4 of Kaitlyn’s book Even If Not speak directly to this, offering hope in the heartbreak.

 

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

In Our Darkest Moments, God’s Shalom Protects Us

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Some memories stay with you forever. I distinctly remember one winter break during my youth. I was fifteen years old, and a blizzard was unleashing its fury over our small Minnesotan suburb, bringing in three feet of snow, and covering everything outside in a layer of white. It was negative ten outside, and I could feel the chill seeping through the edges of the windows. It was a few days before Christmas and I found myself huddled in a corner of my family’s living room, knees to my chest, watching the snow fall. I looked up at the cloudy sky and began to pray, “God, I need your peace.”

My prayer was born of loneliness. I was a tall, gangly Indian American girl living in a non-Indian community, and I had a hard time making friends. When the holidays came around, I wasn’t invited to my classmates’ Christmas parties or skiing outings or just the occasional hangouts with sledding and hot chocolate. Granted, I look back now as an adult woman and think, “No big deal. I didn’t need to go to those parties.” But as a teenage girl, I felt that isolation and social rejection keenly. I hated being a misfit and feeling unwanted.

The more I think about that moment – huddled in the corner of my living room, praying – the more I realize, what I was really asking God for was His protection. Protection from the unkindness of cliques and the unwanted mental battles that come when you feel no one wants to be your friend. Protection from lashing out, from believing lies, or even from returning meanness in kind.

I didn’t think I was really doing anything deeply theological at the time; it was just a cry for help. But what I’ve learned over the years is that God’s true peace, the shalom that He promises us, has a distinctly protective nature to it. When we ask God for His shalom, we are asking for His mighty hand of protection.

Philippians 4:7 tells us, “And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.” I love the word “guard” in this verse. God’s peace guards us. The Apostle Paul, who wrote the book of Philippians, pictures God’s shalom as a garrison keeping guard over our hearts and minds, protecting us from emotional, mental, and spiritual assaults. God’s peace can protect our inner well-being.

We are all living in the midst of so much heartache and loss. The effects of the pandemic certainly. But I’m also thinking about the everyday mundane pains that tax our hearts and minds and wills. Like the betrayal of a friend, losing a job, broken family relationships, unanswered prayers, a child with a terminal illness, a cruel boss, a cancer diagnosis, an unhappy work environment, the inability to pay the bills, or the death of a spouse.

In our darkest moments, God’s shalom offers us protection. God might not take away the infertility or the sting of betrayal or the grief of losing a family member or financial troubles, but He promises that those of us who trust in Him will have an inner calm in the face of life’s storms.

God is shalom. It is one of His attributes. Deep, true peace is who He is by nature. When we seek Him out, when we come to God on our knees in our living room, in prayer while driving our car, in the whispers of our thoughts as we enter our places of worship on Sundays, or in deep, heaving sobs by someone’s death bed, what we receive is the peace of God’s presence. We receive the peace of who He is, and that peace places a hedge of protection over our hearts, our minds, and our will.

In the midst of difficult seasons, we can pray, “God, protect me with your shalom.” God’s shalom is the promise of wholeness, of being able to flourish – emotionally, mentally, spiritually – even when life doesn’t feel worth living anymore.

God wants to carry you through whatever difficulty you’re facing today. You might not be able to see it now as you wade through the trenches, but someday you’ll be able to look back on this dark time and see the ways He protected you, the ways He opened new doors, and brought you into a place of joy that you couldn’t have ever imagined before.

Someday you’ll be able to look back and see the ways in which you’ve become a different person, for the better; the ways you’re stronger now, more courageous, perhaps even kinder — because you sought out God’s shalom as protection over your life and sat in the refuge of His arms.

May each of us know and rest in the protection of God’s shalom.

 

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

The Energy You Can Bring Into Every Room, for the Rest of Your Life

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A burst of unexpected laughter came from the bedroom where Dad was propped up on his hospice bed, while he watched Wheel of Fortune with my sister Juliann.

Dad was a huge fan of Wheel of Fortune, which he called the Old People Show due to his belief that the elderly were particularly fond of it.

On this particular evening, Pat Sajak announced the puzzle category: Living Things.

A few correctly-guessed letters were revealed. And now it was anyone’s guess on how to solve the puzzle:

C _ C _ _ S    _ L _ W_ _ S.

The contestants were stumped. But Dad, at age 84 with his cognitive acuity diminished, calmly announced to the TV:

“CACTUS FLOWERS”

This caused my sister to howl with laughter, which I could hear from the kitchen. When she told me what happened, I laughed so hard I cried a little.

I know this is potentially a “you had to be there” moment to understand why this was so funny to us, particularly since we were anticipating the end of Dad’s earthly life. But in those weeks, as Dad’s condition weakened, ridiculous things like “cactus flowers” had a mysterious way of pushing back the clouds of chaos and confusion.

There were dozens of moments like that in Dad’s final weeks on earth, moments that helped us remember that we were not alone in our stories or our grief.

It happened when we opened up old photo albums to find our shared stories in grainy photographs.

It happened when we played some of Dad’s favorite songs like “Peaceful, Easy Feeling” or “You Were Always on My Mind,” and he would strum his trusty air guitar.

It happened when we whispered reassurances to one another about the realness of heaven and the hope of our faith, a faith passed down to us from our parents.

When Dad was placed on hospice, months earlier, we four siblings spaced out our visits so we could cover as many days and nights as possible. But as Dad’s health continued declining, we found ourselves overlapping our visits on purpose.

A few days after the cactus flowers incident, Juliann told me, “I can do this so much better when we are here together.”

I responded, simply, “Me, too.”

One day, I learned a new word that helped me see why that was true.

It happened while I was listening to an audiobook, The Lord is My Courage, on the way to my parents’ house. The book had become my faithful companion on those trips. I loved listening to the book on audio for two reasons. 1) I could feel the energy in the author’s voice. And 2) The author, K.J. Ramsey, is my friend. It brought me comfort to have K.J. as a “passenger” in my car during the hardest season of my life.

That day, K.J. uttered a word that illuminated something for me. The word: “co-regulation.” I had heard the term before but hadn’t paid much attention. But now, it was a word that asked for examination.

K.J. helped me understand that co-regulation happens when two autonomic nervous systems slide up next to each other. Co-regulation is how we offer comfort with a warm, responsive presence.

After hearing K.J. talk about co-regulation, I immediately sent her a message on Voxer, telling her what my sister and I had talked about – how we felt better when we were together.

“Is this a kind of sisterly co-regulation?” I asked.

She responded, “That 100 percent is sisterly co-regulation!”

For the next several days, I paid attention to the palpable difference when I was in the presence of a co-regulator. Our family even joked about getting T-shirts with the word “Co-Regulator” on the front.

I’m not exaggerating when I say that this revelation was life-changing for me, because it taught me that this – this! – is the energy I can bring into a room, any room, for the rest of my life.

I could come into a room not as a fixer, advice-giver, critic, or anything other than a person who offers safe harbor to another soul.

This is the way of Christ, who divinely embodies co-regulation. He is the warm and responsive presence who companions us in our storms. He is the Comforter who brings calm to our chaos.

Jesus also calls us to co-regulate with one another. Paul writes that we are to “bear one another’s burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ” (Galatians 6:2, ESV). The word burden refers to a load that a person couldn’t carry alone. Co-regulating not only lightens the load for others, it also serves to “fulfill the law of Christ.”

We co-regulate by praying, showing up with food, and being comfortable with someone else’s need for silence. We co-regulate through a listening ear, a meaningful conversation, a hearty laugh, or an inside joke about Wheel of Fortune.

It’s been several weeks now since Dad was promoted to glory. I wonder often how Jesus was a co-regulating influence for Dad as he moved from this life to the next. I also have become more aware of the co-regulating influences in my life, and how I want to be the kind of person who offers that gift to others.

We don’t have to complicate it. Sometimes co-regulation takes the form of a text message, like the one I sent to my sister on an especially hard day. The text held two simple words that I knew would make her smile:

“Cactus flowers.”

Written in honor of one of the kindest co-regulators I’ve ever known, my dad, John Philip Dukes, October 25, 1937—September 4, 2022.

 

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

If You’re Tempted to Give Up on People, Read This

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I can’t believe she said/did/believes that.
The pain is too much.
The divide between us is too wide.
We’ll never see eye to eye.
They don’t understand me.
I’m tired of arguing.
We have nothing in common.
I haven’t walked in their shoes, and they haven’t walked in mine.
They aren’t willing to try.
This is too hard.
I don’t know what to say or where to start.
I’m not equipped to build that friendship.
It’s impossible to repair this relationship.
I’m too hurt to move forward.

Have you ever had thoughts like one (or all) of these? Maybe you’ve even said something like this out loud? If so, you’re not alone. Being human is hard. Being in relationships with other humans is even harder. And it just seems to be getting more complicated every day.

Sometimes the unspoken tensions between us make it difficult to breathe. The tiny fractures. Silent assumptions. Fresh wounds or decades of scars. A widening divide between sisters and brothers, husbands and wives, neighbors, coworkers, college roommates, online acquaintances, best of friends, and could-be friends. Do you feel it? Do you know how to move through it?

We each come to the kitchen table, the bus stop, the office coffeepot, or the church potluck with our own gifts and our own junk. We carry the weight of past hurts, strong opinions, and well-founded fears. We also carry with us our unique and delightful differences. We show up to boardrooms and living rooms with our distinct languages and cultures, personality types and perspectives, experiences and convictions.

Both the beautiful and the broken parts of our stories can make connecting with others challenging — or sometimes infuriating, disheartening, or just plain impossible.

Have you felt this way? When it comes to difficult people, have you wanted to throw in the towel or build an impenetrable wall around your heart? Have you tried to avoid eye contact in Costco when you see that friend who is forever wanting to debate hot-button issues, or have you sent a phone call straight to voicemail because the risk of being manipulated or misunderstood again is just too much? Have you longed to be seen and accepted for who you are, but others just seem to want you to be someone you’re not? If your answer to any of these questions is yes, you’re in the right place, friend.

Your sisters at (in)courage know what it’s like to feel frustrated in friendships. To feel fed up with the complexity of relationships in today’s culture. We know what it’s like to lose confidence in humanity while still clinging to a wisp of hope in the God who holds us all. We know what it’s like to get it all wrong, to face our own failings, and to see Jesus meet us in our mess anyway.

Now more than ever, relationships feel anything but straightforward. What if taking the next step in your messy or complex relationship looked like just taking a seat?

For years, the writers of (in)courage have been sitting down together, virtually and in person, to wrestle through what it looks like to delight in our differences rather than ignore or abhor them. We’ve done the hard work of loving one another through disagreements and learning to live in the discomfort that naturally comes with being a bunch of beautifully imperfect, wildly distinct women. We are not flawless experts but battle-worn survivors who have seen the goodness of God in seemingly insurmountable situations; we’re here to tell you about our heartaches and mistakes and hope in the one true God who hasn’t given up on us.

How would our hearts change if we set aside arguing in comment threads and sat next to one another instead? How might our world change if we would all agree to be people who both celebrate and weep with our friends, coworkers, and neighbors before ever trying to convince, correct, or lobby our agendas?

Loving others isn’t easy. Jesus never said it would be. But He did call us to do it, and therefore we know it will be worth it. “So now I am giving you a new commandment: Love each other. Just as I have loved you, you should love each other. Your love for one another will prove to the world that you are my disciples” (John 13:34–35 NLT).

And perhaps this love begins by just acknowledging the tension we feel and sitting in that tension together.

Meet our new book, Come Sit with Me: How to Delight in Differences, Love through Disagreements, and Live with Discomfort. Isn’t that the best title?! In this brand-new book, 26 of our (in)courage writers help you navigate tough relational tensions by revealing their own hard-fought, grace-filled learning moments. We show you how to:

– delight in your differences
– honor and value others even when you disagree
– connect before you correct
– trust that God is working even when people disappoint you
– live and love like Jesus by serving others.

Whether you’re in the middle of a conflict without resolution or wondering how to enter into a friend’s pain, this book will serve as a gentle guide. Discover how God can work through your disagreements, differences, and discomfort in ways you might never expect.

Find Come Sit With Me at your favorite retailer:

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A Loving Prayer to Calm Your Anxious Soul

by

I woke up with a heaviness on my heart. Not only was my body feeling tired from a restless night, overthinking a stressful dilemma I was facing, my heart felt burdened about my friend who has been suffering from cancer and another weary mommy friend with three little ones under six years old who was also going through a hard time.

As I put my shoes on for my morning walk, I felt anxious, unable to rest my mind on any peaceful thoughts because the burdens I was carrying weren’t the kind that get resolved easily. The day had just started, but I already felt weary.

Do you relate to waking up to that anxious feeling, when you’re facing hard things with no clear path to resolution?

As I walked on a trail, I whispered a breath prayer, “Jesus, I don’t know what to do.” This wasn’t a prayer spoken in despair, but a cry to my Loving Savior for help. I walked on in quietness, simply breathing in and slowly out to bring calm to my body, and reminding myself that Jesus was walking with me. I waited with expectation for His encouragement to reach me in some way.

That’s when I noticed there were some tiny butterflies fluttering around the wildflowers that lined my path. I’m sure butterflies have always been around on my walks, but that morning, it seemed like I looked at them for the first time.

I’ve never been a “butterfly person”, but I felt drawn to stop and watch them that morning. As one rested with its delicate sunshine-yellow wings on a flower, I was reminded of what I once learned about the butterfly: a butterfly first begins as an egg, then becomes a caterpillar, and then cocoons itself in a chrysalis throughout autumn and even winter before it finally becomes transformed into a beautiful butterfly in spring!

When a caterpillar has to go through the challenge of change, it spends time hidden. But just because it hibernates for a season, doesn’t mean it’s doing nothing. The butterfly that eventually emerges from the chrysalis reminds us that in our most difficult moments, God is also building our wings.

Although there are no simple answers to so many of life’s difficult problems, it doesn’t mean God cannot transform those hard moments into something beautiful.

As I stood there, marveling at God’s amazing artistry in creating a butterfly’s beauty, a prayer came to my heart. I realized that although I may not be able to change the hard times or suffering that my friends have to go through, I can pray for them, knowing God is in control of the journey we each must walk through and He is not letting go of our hands.

Today, I’d like to whisper this prayer that I prayed for myself and for my friends to lift you up too:

Dear Jesus,
Draw near to my friend and place your hand in hers. Reassure her of your gentle love and touch her with your peace and presence. Thank you for all the beautiful treasures that you’ve prepared ahead of time, just for her. In Jesus’ name,
Amen.

Breathe. You are God’s delight.

Today, when you feel anxious, stop and breathe. Look down and see God folding your hand into His, holding you close to Him. God will carry you through.

Hear God’s loving whisper:

Cast your cares on me.
I will take care of you.
I will carry you.

Hear God’s promises for you:

“Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you” (1Peter 5:7 NIV).
“Even to your old age… I will carry you” (Isaiah 46:4 NIV).

Just breathe. God turns towards you, opening His arms to hold you close. He will take care of you!

What is helping calm your anxious soul?  Share today’s prayer with a friend to encourage her today.

For more calm to lift your anxious soul, download Bonnie’s FREE 7 Prayers & Scriptures to Lower Anxiety and Restore Peace by signing up here. 

 

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