Hope for When You’ve Messed Up

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?” 

 

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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.

The Only Way to Get Rid of Celebrity Culture in the Church

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I love attending conferences and women’s events, but I hate sitting by myself. I am the ultimate extrovert so it bothers me more than you would think. As a pastor’s wife I have grown accustomed to being alone at large events. I play on my phone, sip on my coffee, read the entire program and pretend like I am perfectly fine in my little corner. I also have an annoying habit of getting everywhere early, mostly because I get lost the first time I go to a new place.

Last year, I was one of the speakers at a Christian women’s event. I didn’t know anyone at this event, except for the host who had invited me. As usual I got there early, so I asked if there was any way I could help. I was so grateful to be given the job of setting up drinks for people to grab as they arrived. This was literally the perfect station for me; I could make small talk with the other volunteers and meet the guests, all while smelling freshly brewed coffee.

My little extrovert heart was about to blow up with excitement because I would feel like I belonged in that room and didn’t simply have to sit alone. Unfortunately, the beautiful picture I had painted in my head of refreshment duty didn’t pan out. I remember seeing so many faces pass by me as they grabbed a drink from my table, but none looked up to actually see my face and only a handful even said thank you.

I sat alone and had no one to talk with other than the sweet host who checked on me.

Later that day after I spoke on stage, many women came to tell me how pretty I looked and how much my words blessed them, and some even wanted to connect with me later. I was happy and frustrated at the same time.

In both instances, I was serving the need that was placed in front of me, but we as humans tend to glorify those things that we feel are significant. We perceive the stage as significant, and not the lobby. In doing so, we have allowed celebrity culture to creep into the Church. I think we would all agree the mess Christian celebrity culture has made is devastating. Like most of you, I have played a role in this too. I have overlooked the ones pouring into my kids and honored only those with the microphone. I have craved friendships with those in positions of power and ignored the person in the parking lot standing in the heat with a huge smile, waving as I drove into the conference. I have been impressed by the pastors with large platforms and forgot the ones with smaller churches who faithfully make hospital visits and conduct weddings.

Elevating some people and exalting certain gifts within the body of Christ is not only damaging, but it is in direct opposition to the gospel message; we are responsible for demolishing that pattern of behavior before it destroys us.

I love how Apostle Paul compares the Church to the human body. In 1 Corinthians 12, he teaches that we are all part of the body and no one part is more important. We are interconnected and equally integral because we all have different functions within the body. “Now you are the body of Christ, and each one of you is a part of it” (I Corinthians 12:27 NIV).

Our gifts work better together than alone because their purpose isn’t solely about us but about glorifying the Father and having His kingdom reign on earth through us.

Then Paul goes on to write the famous chapter on love. I don’t think that is coincidental. I think he understood that loving well will be hard for our human nature to grasp. We would need a picture of what it looks like to live out this call to love. So he offers the metaphor of functioning as one body using our differing gifts – void of celebrity culture — and that secret sauce is LOVE.

We need only to look to Jesus who is the evidence. Love personified.

Jesus chose to be born in a barn and not in a palace — to teach us that life isn’t about the size of our house, church, or bank account.

He chose to be friends with John the Baptist, who was weird in every way — to show us we don’t need to be friends with the most celebrated or influential person in the room to impact the world.

Jesus saw the little boy with the lunch at the outdoor service. He valued the widow with the small offering at church, and He spoke with the wealthy and wise Nicodemus. In God’s eyes, we are all the same.

The only way we can get rid of celebrity culture in the Church is if we see everyone who serves as significant. I was being the hands and feet of Jesus at the refreshment table just as much as I was on that stage sharing from God’s Word. No matter what work we do, our service for the Kingdom isn’t for worldly validation, but to be an offering of worship to God. So then our job is not to rate someone’s worship or worship them; our job is to worship God.

 

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The Power of Gentle Presence

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It felt like I couldn’t breathe. My heart felt like it was crashing against my ribcage… pounding hard enough to break something. 

My thoughts were scattered. Everything in my body was buzzing, vibrating, trembling with a ferocity I couldn’t figure out how to stop. Trauma was replaying itself in my body. Things that had happened to me years earlier felt like they were happening again. I was terrified. Hadn’t I healed from this? 

I sat on a curb outside the church I attend on Monday nights, trying to recall grounding methods a counselor had once taught me. I planted my feet on the ground, laid back on the soft grass, and went through my senses. What could I feel, smell, hear, see?

“You’re safe,” I told myself over and over. I recited Psalm 23. I practiced box breathing. I prayed. A friend called me and prayed. I did everything I possibly could to end the trauma replay. It felt like nothing was working. I was convinced if I could just muster my way through this, I could go back inside and pretend none of it had happened. Feelings of powerlessness collided into me like a tidal wave. I was drowning beneath them. 

Help me, I whimpered to God. I need help. 

The side door of the church building opened. I wrapped my arms around my knees, bracing myself. I didn’t know if I wanted anyone to see me like this. 

A familiar face appeared and sat beside me… and suddenly I wasn’t alone. 

It wasn’t immediate, but after sitting on that church curb in the summer air in the presence of someone gentle and kind, I could feel myself start to breathe again.

I had asked God for help, and what I wanted was for my body to find immediate relief, to cease shaking, to restabilize so I could go back inside and pretend everything was fine.

Instead, He sent me a person. Instead, He brought me presence. Instead, He provided a reminder that even in my woundedness – perhaps especially – I was not alone.

My friend K.J. Ramsey writes in her recent book, “Two things bring us back home from the bottom of stress: breath, and the attuned, compassionate presence of someone else.”  

When I experience stress, I want to be alone. I want to work through things quickly and independently, proving I don’t need anything or anyone. 

But what if God designed us to sit in our woundedness in the company of another? To not try to fix it, stop it, or ignore it, but to embrace our limited, finite humanity in the gentle, safe presence of an all-powerful God and another finite human? 

It goes against everything in me to show someone my wounds. But sitting in the compassionate and gentle presence of another person showed me I was safe, exactly as I was. 

When you are wounded and shaky, sitting on a curb on a summer night, you don’t want power or force. You want softness. You want gentleness. You want presence. 

What strikes me about gentleness is that, contrary to what we often think, it’s not weak or passive. Gentleness is actually controlled strength. God’s gentle presence is with you wherever you go. He is strong and tender, all at once. He is like a father who is large and strong and powerful, but controls His strength as He softly and tenderly wipes the tears off the cheek of a child.

God is so present that He came from heaven to earth to walk with us; so present He gave us His Spirit and is closer to us than the skin on our arms and the air that we breathe; so present that one of His very names – Emmanuel – means He is always with us.

In His strength and gentleness, God bends low to meet you wherever you are. 

Suddenly you realize you’ve never been alone.

 

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How to Lose and Re-build Community

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When we moved into our current house almost two years ago, we left another home, along with a cul-de-sac dotted with neighbors who had become dear friends.

When we left that address, we also left summers of our kids playing outside with familiar friends all day long. On that street, watching out for each other’s kids and one another had become the norm. We cried in-between driveways in our pajamas, barefoot with morning breath. We processed through big decisions, shared longings and pain, and helped diffuse arguments among our small grove of kids. We fed each other’s pets and plants, took walks, asked for eggs and butter, shared cookies and bandaids and lawn tools, prayed for each other, and sat on each other’s couches while dirty laundry piles sat with us.

We didn’t lose these friendships when we moved, but we lost the details of what that little community had become.

I knew this would happen, but feeling the losses over time is always harder than expected. Like so many other times I’ve had to leave people and places, the grief has glued itself to my insides. When one of my kids says the kids here don’t want to play with him, I remember the sounds of our old street and the way laughter lined it, and I doubt our decision.

In the midst of grieving and doubting, I know it’s okay to feel these feelings and have these questions, but I don’t want my kids to have to experience them. I want to rush and conjure up an immediate solution, but community-building is a slow work that won’t be bullied by my impatience.

What we left at our last address took over a decade to build. We watched that little community come together slowly, and become sturdy over time. What we left was nothing like what it was when we began.

It’s easy to forget the awkward conversations we had at first, or that we had three or four years of those kinds of conversations before we would even begin to call each other friends. Forget how many times I came inside after an interaction and told my husband that I wasn’t sure we’d ever connect deeply with our neighbors.

The community we eventually became did not become by my urgency or grit. I couldn’t just water it more, or use something in my own power to make roots and stems shove their way from seed and soil. Instead, our friendships grew roots in dark days of doubt, through trying and trying again awkwardly, alongside seasons of silence and solitude.

All of it reminds me that bearing the fruit we can see and savor, takes time, care, trial, and error.

This morning I looked in the mirror and thought about how much has changed over the last few years. I’ve grown older and I’ve become more sad than I have been in a while. And yet, I’ve also become more gentle with myself, more tender with my body, mind, and heart. Our community has changed and keeps changing, and the losses continue to feel far-reaching. But instead of chasing a community (or anything else for that matter) and trying to force it into shape, I’m learning to stay open and tender, to let the losses impact me and inform me, and to wait for our Creator’s timing to build: one interaction, conversation, or gathering after another.

God has created each of us to be builders and re-builders of community. Part of that calling is grieving the losses that come, lamenting what isn’t and sometimes what is, surrendering to our own limitations and the limitations of others, and hoping for the holy cultivation of connection that God wants to provide to take root throughout it all.

Are you in a season of loss, loneliness, or rebuilding when it comes to community? I know it can feel impossible some days, but take heart, dear reader, and remember it’s okay if it feels that way. You aren’t alone.

Let’s look outside and pay attention to the trees and flowers that Jesus told His followers to take note of. Notice how they hide and grow, bloom and fade away, moving in and out of seasons, dependent on things much bigger than themselves; let them remind us that we can take our time.

In the end, it isn’t merely the fruit we pick and consume in an hour’s time that we long for. No, it’s so much more than that; it’s the entire process of becoming and realizing that we have been loved and seen throughout.

I look back and see God in the lonely days, in my doubt, and in the long stretch of growth over time.

We’re meant to change and transform, release and receive, to plant and prune and harvest, to leave our little seeds in the dark, to not be able to see what will be, to build and rebuild, and to be surprised by the good things that grow into what they need to become. There are unseen things at work in the relational seasons that feel empty, and it’s not just the fulfillment of community, but our communing with God throughout our longing and loneliness that is building something beautiful too.

 

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Embracing the Need for Rest

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“I don’t do downtime very well.” How often have I thought or spoken these words? Although I know it’s important, I often have trouble embracing my need for rest. I pressure myself to check items off a never-ending to-do list and allow myself to believe the lie that rest equates to laziness.

The news continues to bring me anxiety and sorrow, on top of my family’s own unique struggles. Lately, however, I’ve realized rest can help me cope with stresses, both slight and substantial.

In Matthew 11:28, Jesus tells us, “Come to me, all of you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.” Rest is a gift He offers to the weary. I’m welcoming it into my life in three key areas to bring rest to my body, spirit, and soul.

First, I’m embracing rest for my body by delighting in God’s creation. My parents loved plants, and I remember their favorite nursery and the fascination of walking through its warm, humid greenhouses as a child. Our home was filled with the beauty of God’s creation — from the rosy red geraniums my mother added to our window boxes each spring to the majestic ponytail palm in our front window, to the graceful weeping willow that stood in the back of our yard.

This past spring I delighted in the way the plants and trees in the yard of our new home awakened — flowering pear, cherry, and dogwood trees, hardy lavender, creeping succulents, and a beautiful Japanese red maple.

I pull out old, worn field guides, join online plant identification groups, and text photos to my plant-savvy oldest son, searching for answers to my questions: Are these budding bushes rhododendron or azaleas? What are the dozens of new shoots pushing up through the soil around our deck? Is this straggly little Charlie Brown tree actually something special?

For years I believed I could write about and photograph plants but not grow them. I joked about how I couldn’t keep plants alive. Inspired by the Spring chapter in Myquillyn Smith’s book Welcome Home and the way my oldest daughter found comfort through tending plants while isolating in 2020, I’m filling our home and yard with new life: trailing ivy, shade-loving hostas, fragrant rosemary, vibrant purple hydrangeas, an eye-catching variety commonly called a hope plant, and a quirky little ponytail palm that reminds me of home. I’ve cataloged them in an app that tells me where to place them and when to water them. I don’t want to kill my plants from either too much or too little love.

Appreciating and tending to God’s creation requires me to slow down and engage my senses of sight, smell, and touch. This is rest for my body.

Second, I’m embracing rest for my spirit through reading. I used to end every day with at least thirty minutes of quiet time with a book; it was the perfect wind-down to my day. Over the years, I’m sad to say I’ve allowed catching up on email and social media accounts to edge out that special time.

At the beginning of the pandemic, I bought my first Kindle. It’s one of my favorite COVID purchases. Most nights I prop extra pillows behind me in bed and escape into occupied France during WWII, slip into the heart of the Russian Revolution, sleuth along with the detective in a whodunit, or enjoy an occasional romantic comedy.

I pair my Bible study and devotional time with breakfast, so I bookend my day with the written word. I believe reading builds empathy, and we all could use more of that. Through reading, I’m finding rest for my spirit.

Last, I’m embracing rest for my soul as I pray and release. I used to say yes too often — until I was buried by all the tasks I’d agreed to perform. When I learned to delegate, it allowed me to release responsibilities I didn’t need to carry and invited others to share the burden with me.

Worries will weigh you down, but prayer will provide life-changing peace if you unshackle your troubles and hand them over to God. Then trust Him to handle the outcome. Pray and release: This is rest for our souls.

As Philippians 4:6-7 says, “Don’t worry about anything, but in everything, through prayer and petition with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus.”

This article was written by Dawn Camp as featured in Everyday Faith Magazine.

Did you know DaySpring has a magazine? It’s true! And the brand new fall issue of Everyday Faith just hit newsstands!

From cover to cover, you will find stories and articles to inspire hope, prompt reflection, and encourage you for the upcoming months. There are tear-out prayers to share cards, scannable QR codes for freebies, and exclusive Fall Planning Calendars tucked inside!

These pages are full of the best kind of hope and encouragement — truth from God’s Word!

You care about your faith — that’s why you’re here today! — and Everyday Faith magazine will help you know and share God’s love in fresh, true, and inspiring ways. Pick up your copy wherever magazines are sold and at DaySpring.com. This article by Dawn is just one of many featured throughout Everyday Faith magazine, which, by the way, is perfect for tucking into your purse, bringing to the school pickup line, and sharing with a friend.

And to help you do just that, we’re giving away FIVE sets of magazines — one for each winner and one for them to give to a friend! Leave a comment telling us whom you’d gift a copy to and we’ll draw five winners.

Giveaway open to US addresses only, and will close on 9/9/22 at 11:59pm central. 

 

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When Friendships Change, Remember These Five Truths

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I invite a few close friends over for a grown-up tea party, and before they arrive, I rhythmically move around the table arranging small crustless sandwiches, lemon bars, scones, and cream. I set out my beloved Noritake gold-rimmed plates, teacups, and saucers — our wedding china. I smile remembering all the times I’ve used this china, and I think again how thankful I am to get to love on my friends and myself by using it once again. The good life comes from giving ourselves a little attention by enjoying the good things rather than keeping them hidden away.

I set out the porcelain tea bag holders and little stirring spoons. I realize I forgot the water goblets and then remember that one friend won’t be joining us, and I find uninvited tears showing up before the party.

It’s silly to be crying, really. I mean, this friend didn’t die. We didn’t have a big fight or a dramatic falling out. Our friendship just changed, unfolded into a new season. And that new season has me a little sad because I just miss her.

I stare at the dining room chair at the end of the table and briefly contemplate taping her picture to the seat-back. Or maybe even just leaving one seat empty in her honor? I don’t, of course, because that would be a little crazy. But sometimes we want to give the loss a tangible space to be remembered.

I would love to simply give love all the attention. But for many, loss is the tagalong companion to love, and it’s impossible for loss not to get a little attention too. 

Today, my heart holds sadness for a friendship that doesn’t look the way it used to. For you, maybe there is a sadness for the same — or from a different kind of relationship that doesn’t look the way you wish.

If that’s the case, may I humbly offer these truths to help during the hard moments? Here are five truths to ease the changing seasons of friendships:

1. Give your sadness a safe space. Don’t skip over the sadness. Give yourself permission to mourn the loss for an appropriate amount of time. Let it have its say, but don’t let it be your boss because hope always gets the last word.

2. Don’t assume there’s something wrong with you. When a friendship or other relationship changes, it’s easy to look inward and think, What did I do wrong? Instead, look upward and assume that for now, God simply wants your attention elsewhere. Trust Jesus with your reputation as well as this situation.

3. Believe God continues to give His best to you. This includes people who are best for you.

4. Pray God’s best for your friend. Whatever the particulars behind the relationship change, let’s remember to represent Jesus well by letting the situation bring out the best in us, not the worst.

5. Fervently thank God for the vibrant relationships you do have. Even if it’s just one friend, and that friend moved five states away. Or even if that friend is the one preoccupied with a new baby or busy with a new job. Thank God for who is present at your table and in your life.

And in this month that finds so many of our children and loved ones in a new school year, I pray these truths over all those young’uns looking for life-giving friendships in their lives.

It takes strength and courage to hold our relationships in upturned palms instead of squeezed in tight fists. To say, You are welcome to stay here, but I won’t bolt you inside. Some seasons call for bravery in the form of staying close. Other times, a season calls for bravery in the form of keeping our distance. In those moments, may we continue to give ourselves a little attention by enjoying the good things — and good people — around us. And may we also see all the ways God gives us gifts — gifts that are signs of Love present everywhere. 

If you’d like more encouragement in your changing friendships or direction in another difficult life change, check out Kristen’s devotional: When Change Finds You: 31 Assurances to Settle Your Heart When Life Stirs You Up.

 

 

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What God Can Do with the Shattered Pieces of Your Heart

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For the Times You Are Tempted to Walk Away from God

That Sunday morning started gray and cloudy, with rain expected before noon. Crushed gravel crunched beneath my pumps as we walked toward the sanctuary. Years had passed since I crossed the threshold of a church. Memories of our last visit flooded my thoughts. My husband took my hand and winked. He knew I was apprehensive; he held me steady as my trembling nerves threatened to rock me off my heels. 

We left our previous church after a grueling process of reporting a leader whose predatory behavior was directed toward me. Later we discovered I was not the only one.  I believed then, and I believe now, that reporting him was the right thing to do. It was to protect women who would cross his path in the future. 

But to protect others meant social suicide and shunning for me. The leader had carefully endeared himself to staff and contributors of the church. With his charming personality and personal pastoral care, he was able to skillfully camouflage his darker side. 

When our report was made known, those I once called friends fled. Some called me a liar, a lunatic, a loose cannon. A place that should have been safe, became a place of great betrayal. Now, many people I had attended Christian conferences with, cooked and cleaned for during illnesses, and prayed confidential prayers with, turned their heads to avoid speaking when our paths crossed in public. 

How do you bear a broken heart when your heart friends are no longer there to bear it with you up?

I lashed out at God. I told Him I was done with church.  

“Where do I turn in my membership card?” I asked Him at one point. “Your bride has turned into Bridezilla and I don’t need this in my life!” 

They say time heals all wounds; I don’t believe that is true. When something breaks into pieces — like who you are and the very foundation you stand on — there is nothing this side of heaven that can mend that wound. There is nothing that can solder the shards of a soul back solid again. 

I wanted a window to open so I could escape this pain.  But there was a problem. I knew Jesus.  I had taught Jesus in Bible Studies and Sunday School. I knew my Savior was alive and well. I could not walk away.   

Our soul can never walk away once we meet the Love that is greater than anything we’ve ever known. Even if it felt like God took a break right when life was snapped into pieces, I could not deny His presence in my life. My journal was full of times when He was there to coach, encourage, and lead me. There were entries of miracles, of divine introductions, invitations, and inspiration. How could I walk away from the One whose love and presence have never left me? 

Hand in hand, my husband and I walked up the stairs into the sanctuary. My heart pounded with pain from the past, like morse code from my soul: thump, thump, thumpity-thump, danger, run, forget this. 

We took a seat in the back of the sanctuary and watched people greet each other in joyful conversations. 

My eyes wandered to the architecture. The ceiling looked like the belly of a large boat with its massive beams creating ribs to hold the church together. Circling the pew area were fourteen stained glass windows telling the story of Christ.  Clouds outside had muddied their appearance and I struggled to see each story. The first window began with Christ being condemned to death, and the last ended with the His resurrection. Christ’s story told in small pieces of broken glass. 

My gaze stopped on the window of Christ with His body dead on the ground and Mary wailing over her son.  “Poor woman,” I thought, “you birthed and raised God’s Son — the Savior of the world –and they betrayed you, too. But not God.” 

My gut churned and my eyes rimmed salty. Mary had the worst of Church hurts. And there I was seeing her shattered heart through pieces of broken glass. 

I think we are all broken, aren’t we? Broken marriages, broken friendships, broken hopes, broken health, broken dreams? And even among Christians, our sharp broken edges can cut the tender places of others. 

“It’s time to forgive,” I told myself. “Time to allow God to do something good with this broken heart.” 

A whisper, as warm and gentle as a summer breeze, nudged my thoughts. Give Me your broken heart, and watch what I can do. 

Outside the sun broke through the clouds, and beams of light started piercing through the windows. Jewel tones of emerald, cobalt, and ruby danced along the monotone ceiling, over the floor, and across people. And the stories told in broken pieces of glass lit up in a brilliant display of splendor. 

God can use our broken places for our good and His glory when we surrender our stories to Him. Then our sorrows have value. In God’s hands, our stories become a light leading people back to Him — the One who can take our stained-glass shards and assemble them into a story that changes lives.  

God Won’t Turn Away

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The angel of the Lord found Hagar beside a spring of water in the wilderness, along the road to Shur. The angel said to her, “Hagar, Sarai’s servant, where have you come from, and where are you going?”

“I’m running away from my mistress, Sarai,” she replied.

The angel of the Lord said to her, “Return to your mistress, and submit to her authority.” Then he added, “I will give you more descendants than you can count.”

And the angel also said, “You are now pregnant and will give birth to a son. You are to name him Ishmael (which means ‘God hears’), for the Lord has heard your cry of distress. This son of yours will be a wild man, as untamed as a wild donkey! He will raise his fist against everyone, and everyone will be against him. Yes, he will live in open hostility against all his relatives.”

Thereafter, Hagar used another name to refer to the Lord, who had spoken to her. She said, “You are the God who sees me.” She also said, “Have I truly seen the One who sees me?” So that well was named Beer-lahai-roi (which means “well of the Living One who sees me”). It can still be found between Kadesh and Bered.
Genesis 16:7-14 (NLT)

Perhaps you’re facing a difficulty that feels unbearable. Perhaps you’ve been used or abused, left alone and unloved. Maybe you found yourself in a bad situation — and made it worse. Perhaps the promises that were made to you turned out to be false, or maybe the gifts you were offered were rescinded. Let Hagar’s story encourage you! Though she had a child with her mistress’s husband, though she provoked her mistress until her abuse was returned, though she ran away from her problems — God didn’t turn away from Hagar.

Take heart from God’s faithfulness to Hagar, and share her hope in Him. God’s promises are always true and will always be fulfilled. They will meet you in the hard place — even if you are running away — just as the angel met Hagar with God’s promise right in the middle of her wandering. His promises will always provide real hope despite the circumstance.

This is an excerpt from Women of Courage: a Forty-Day Devotional written by Mary Carver. 

Cry Out This Truth

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During my college years, I worked as a counselor at a Bible camp. Each summer I packed up all of my necessary belongings in one gigantic blue plastic tote, loaded the tote and myself into my old red Toyota, and headed north. The camp I worked at was in northern Minnesota, six miles down a dirt road and nestled among pine trees that gave way to an expansive lakeshore. It was a place where the Holy Spirit roamed as free as the campers, filling hearts and opening eyes and giving new life.

We spent our days playing games, studying the Bible, doing arts and crafts, swimming, singing, and laughing. We did so much laughing in that place! I felt closer to the Lord at camp than at any other time or place in my life, and I know I wasn’t the only one. There was room for the Lord to move and an expectancy that He would.

But even more meaningful than the memories of fun and laughter, of Scripture study and crafts, is the memory of how we began each day at camp.

Every single morning, each camper and staff member gathered around a flagpole. (There wasn’t actually a flag on the pole, but it served as a pretty nice gathering spot.) One staffer was appointed to lead each part of the morning opening, which began with a silly song to wake up our bodies. Next was a prayer in which we asked God to bless our day. And finally, a word of Scripture.

This was not simply a Bible reading. What happened was this: the appointed staffer would pray over and choose what we called a decree. A decree was something each of us is because of God, as found in Scripture. We had a full list of these decrees that kept growing throughout the summer, and each morning we would holler one out at the top of our lungs.

I am a child of God!
I am beloved!
I am forgiven!
I am chosen!
I am fearfully and wonderfully made!

Hundreds of kids exclaiming these truths first thing in the morning? It was a powerful and holy way to begin each day. And when it was my turn to lead, I would almost always choose my personal favorite: I am more than a conqueror through Christ!

You don’t have to be a camp counselor or a camper (or be anywhere near a camp) to cry out this truth. Whatever the challenge, whatever the battle, the Lord has promised that we can overcome. We are more than conquerors — equipped and ready to fight whether we feel up to the challenge or not. That’s right. Even if we don’t feel ready, God is for us. God loves us. And nothing can separate us from that love.

No matter what. Full stop.

Friend, walk confidently with your head held high into that battle that scares, accuses, or condemns. God has gone first, and nothing can come between you and His love. Because of His great love, you are more than a conqueror.

What, then, are we to say about these things? If God is for us, who is against us? He did not even spare his own Son but gave him up for us all. How will he not also with him grant us everything? Who can bring an accusation against God’s elect? God is the one who justifies. Who is the one who condemns? Christ Jesus is the one who died, but even more, has been raised; he also is at the right hand of God and intercedes for us. Who can separate us from the love of Christ? Can affliction or distress or persecution or famine or nakedness or danger or sword? As it is written:

Because of you we are being put to death all day long;
we are counted as sheep to be slaughtered.

No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am persuaded that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor any other created thing will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.
Romans 8:31-39 (CSB)

Lord, give me the confidence of an early-morning camper. Help me stand on the truth that I am already more than a conqueror, equipped for whatever fight I face. Thank You for Your love, bold and complete. Amen.

This article was written by Anna E. Rendell, 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.

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How to Hold onto Hope with a Heavy Heart

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We can all agree that life is hard. People are hurting. There seems to be conflict, strife, and anger at every turn. Do you feel it too? But, Jesus never guaranteed us a pain-free, easy existence. He actually guaranteed that we would have trouble in this world. He charged us to take heart because He had overcome the world. He shared that with us to bring us peace.

Boy, do we need His peace. Everywhere I look, I see loss and pain and grief. 

I recently had a conversation with a friend who has suffered the loss of multiple babies. Her pain and hopelessness are crushing. No amount of words could make it better or make sense of it. All I could do was give her Jesus. I prayed with her. I declared God’s promises over her. I stood in the gap for her. I am having faith for her when hers is weak.

There’s another friend who is trying to steward her single season well. We talked on the phone for hours. She shared her doubts and frustrations and desires. I understood all too well because my singleness has lasted longer than I imagined. I shared how I’ve tried to navigate this season with gratitude and intentionality. I told her about my highs and lows. I encouraged her with God’s truth and reminded her of His character and nature. I gave her Jesus.

Then, there’s me. My life has been a series of hard season after hard season after hard season. So much grief and disappointment. I’m honestly exhausted from it all. I’ve struggled through some health battles, and even as I write this, I’m recovering from a car accident. It’s a sad and stressful situation. I’m trying to have perspective and believe that the Lord will provide, but it’s not easy. Even after more than twenty years of following Jesus, holding onto hope is still not the easiest thing.

All of these situations are extremely different. The pain is unique, but I’ve learned that loss is loss. Hurt is hurt. When we are struggling to hold onto hope, we’re all on the same field. This field is a wilderness of sorts. It can be dry, confusing, and filled with anguish.

Whenever I think about a wilderness, I think about the Israelites’ story in the book of Exodus. I think about how they got to the wilderness and why their journey lasted forty years when it should have only taken eleven days. Those forty years were filled with them complaining, whining, criticizing, and spreading nothing but doubt and dissension. They had literally seen the goodness of God. They had repeatedly watched Him perform miracles of provision and deliverance. (Hello, dry path through the Red Sea, manna from heaven, and water from a rock.) And yet, they were pros at forgetting.

I am an Israelite more often than I care to admit. I forget all the ways God has guided me and come through for me. I easily lose hope. But I’m believing that He will strengthen my faith and surround me with those who can stand in the gap until then.

I’m remembering that the Israelites were God’s chosen people. And now, so are we. We are His beloved daughters.

A spiritual wilderness is much like a physical wilderness: vast, barren, and desolate. Very few things grow there, let alone thrive. But, when God is involved, everything changes. He is life and abundance and hope fulfilled. He is the One who brings provision in the darkest of situations; He makes a way in the wilderness and streams in the desert.

The wilderness was not a punishment, but an invitation. God wanted the Israelites to learn to rely on Him, trust Him, hear, follow, and continually remember Him. Yes, it was an invitation to know God fully.

Who doesn’t love an invitation? An invitation lets someone know that their presence is wanted and valued. Invitations are intentional and purposeful. It’s beautiful to be on the receiving end of one. The Lord always extends the sweetest invitations. He wants us. He desires us. He delights in us. He even likes us. No matter our sin or season or trial, God longs for nothing more than to be near to us.

Hard seasons will continue to come and go. We can’t change that. But, we can choose to have the Lord’s perspective and allow Him to do a work in us that can only happen in the wilderness. This is when we get to build a history of trust, dependence, faith, and hope in Him.

We’re all growing in our relationship with God. I’m grateful that He is gracious, compassionate, and oh so patient with us. Even when we are faithless, He is faithful. He is our firm foundation when life goes awry.

Our heavy hearts are safe in God’s hands. Our hope is safe in His hands.

If you’re in a difficult season and finding it hard to hold onto hope, I’d love to hope for you. I’d love to pray for you!

 

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Reversing the Rejection Narrative

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She asked to be moved from my Bible study group as soon as the discussion on day one wrapped up. Her reason seemed somewhat flimsy to me: she didn’t like the dank church basement where our group met. Perhaps that was true . . . except the group to which she moved also met down the hall in the same musty basement. 

 I had been excited to be appointed as a discussion leader for a group of about twelve women in a popular Bible study program. As an Indian immigrant who had lived in the U.S. for about five years, it felt like a special privilege — a validation of the fact that I finally fit in. I had prayed for each woman in my group by name for several weeks and prepped for Day One like I was about to take my SATs. 

So, when she decided to quit my group over something seemingly vague, it felt like a punch to the gut.  

I knew in my bones that her leaving my group had nothing to do with the basement meeting room. It had to do with the fact that she wanted a different discussion leader — someone she could relate to. Or, more specifically, someone she could relate to because they looked like her and sounded like her, and shared a similar social background to her. 

I wasn’t that someone. And that was primarily because of my ethnicity. 

As a foreign student in grad school and, a decade later, as a wife and mom in a primarily white suburb in the Pacific Northwest, I often felt like I was on the outside looking in. I wanted desperately to fit in, to find my people, to be accepted and included. And I was — but it often felt like I was expected to make 100 percent of the effort to assimilate. And, of course, there were instances when even that would simply not be enough. There would be days when even Christian women, who attended Bible studies and appeared flawless, would sidestep the effort of interacting with the foreigner and choose something more familiar and comfortable. 

That day, after the lady left my group, I went home and had a good cry because the rejection stung. I chatted with God about how I felt alienated. Heck, even the forms I had to fill out regularly had me check a box that read, “Resident Alien.” I would never fit in because I simply didn’t share a cultural connection with the women I interacted with at church, Bible study, my kids’ school, or my neighborhood.   

But God responded to my cries with something I wasn’t expecting: He whispered in my spirit that I wasn’t meant to. I wasn’t meant to fit in perfectly or be completely comfortable. This world is supposed to feel foreign because our citizenship is in heaven. In the Bible, we read that our forefathers (the Hall of Faith heroes of Hebrews 11) acknowledged that they were “strangers and exiles” on earth. 

 My experience as a cultural misfit actually helped seal my identity as a child of God headed to a destination that He had purposed for me even before the foundation of the world. 

Friend, perhaps you too have been alienated because of your ethnic background or the color of your skin. Or, perhaps, it’s a completely different reason that you feel you don’t fit in. You may have been dismissed or ignored or rejected because you’re too quiet or too loud, too aloof or too needy, too outspoken or too polite. Perhaps you’re still cautiously circling the table looking for a seat while everyone else seems to be engaged in a vibrant, please-don’t-interrupt-us conversation. 

I would encourage you to be vulnerable with God about what you’ve experienced and how you feel. But also stay long enough in His presence to know His unconditional embrace and acceptance. 

He has set you apart — for Himself. You don’t have to live in the margins and wait to be invited. God says that you’re chosen, even if others reject you. He says that you’re dearly loved, even if others isolate you. 

If you feel like you’ve invested your heart and soul in finding your place and it just isn’t working out, know that your Heavenly Father pulls up a chair just for you. He has seat at the table with your name on it. And remind yourself that, if you’re on the outside, you’re in good company. Like our forefathers, we too can reverse our rejection and see it as a longing for a heavenly country that God has prepared for us. 

It’s okay if others walk away because He promises to stay put — and welcome us to our eternal home. 

A Back to School Prayer for Teachers

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As far back as I can remember, teachers have played a significant role in my life.

In second grade, Mrs. Barber invited me to an after-school poetry club, instilling a love of alliteration and rhyme in my eight-year-old soul. In fifth grade, Mrs. Ball could tell something was wrong when I normally got straight A’s but flunked a history test. She kept me in at recess and hugged me as the stress of my parent’s divorce leaked out in weighty tears.

In middle school, Mrs. Lunsford encouraged my imagination and said yes every time I proposed a new way of doing an assignment, like making up a song about the thirteen colonies. In high school, Mr. Allison modeled true passion for literature and deep care for his students. He wrote in my yearbook that I could be the next Hemingway or Fitzgerald or whoever I wanted to be. And in graduate school, Dr. Bentz came alongside me on my journey as an aspiring author, generously sharing both knowledge and encouragement as I began my publishing journey.

Each of these teachers saw me. And I thank God for each one.

Now, as a mom of three kids, my gratitude for kind, enthusiastic, passionate, and skilled teachers has continued to grow. I’m grateful for Mrs. Halbert who saw my son’s reading challenges and provided the extra support we needed. I think of Mr. Vigil who celebrated my other son’s out-of-the-box thinking — making space for his wiggles and quirks instead of trying to stuff them in a hard chair. I’m thankful for Mrs. Cliffe who loved each student as if they were her own, and was intentional to call out the strengths in my other son — strengths I hadn’t yet seen.

And those are just a few highlights from my life in the classroom as both a student and parent. Highlights that don’t begin to acknowledge the long hours and endless creativity teachers pour out. Highlights that don’t speak to the lows of discipline issues and budget cuts, hard mornings and grueling afternoons and nights spent grading papers and planning lessons at the cost of time with their own families.

Yes, teachers are amazing, imperfect, profoundly important people — who need our prayers.

Whether you send your kids to public school or private school, or you choose to educate them at home in an organized schoolroom or messy living room, make a commitment to pray for your child’s teacher…even if that’s you! And if you don’t have kids, your prayers are still needed! Think back to the teacher who made an impact on your life, or perhaps the kind of teacher you needed but never had. Join me in praying for them:

Dear God,

Thank you for teachers. Thank you for the individuals who spend their lives nurturing and investing in the next generation. As teachers’ days begin again to be marked by bell schedules and lesson plans, would you mark their hearts with love, patience, and enthusiasm for their students.

Bless each teacher with the ability to see the good — the best — in each child. Enable them to encourage and equip every student to reach their full potential. Help teachers inspire a love for learning and instill confidence in each child in their capacity to grow.

Prepare each teacher for the challenges they will face. Lord, empower them to be emotional counselors, conflict diffusers, hope givers, and prayer warriors.

As teachers pour themselves out each day over essays and equations, ABCs and 123s, pour Yourself into them. Give them an abundance of hope, courage, wisdom, and joy. Gift them with parents and helpers, colleagues and administrators who champion their efforts and encourage their calling.

As teachers go back to school, Lord, grant them lavish grace for the tasks at hand. Beyond district benchmarks or state standards, help our teachers to work diligently and love their students well as unto You.

Bless this school year and bless each person who wears the beautiful and noble badge of Teacher.

Amen.

“I thank my God every time I remember you.”
Philippians 1:3 (NIV)

Share your back-to-school prayer or tell us about a teacher who impacted you! Let’s thank God together!

Are you anxious about the new school year? Follow Becky on Instagram @beckykeife for her new series: A Verse a Day for the Anxious Soul.

 

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When You Don’t Have the Words to Pray

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When a respiratory virus attacked my three-year-old daughter’s lungs, she relied on a ventilator to keep her alive. I sat by her too-big hospital bed, searching for reminders of life as her sedated body struggled under the weight of drips and machines.

Three weeks in, I knew every nurse’s name and every IV’s purpose. My husband, Jonny, and I were taking turns in the hospital, and that night he was home with our three young sons. It was my night to sleep on the plastic pullout couch as the doctors and nurses came and went, checking stats and assessing numbers.

I couldn’t hold my baby. I could barely even touch her head without disrupting her fragile body. “Healing takes time,” the doctors told me. “She’s very sick. This is a life-threatening illness.”

All I could do was sit under the fluorescent lights and wait. I wanted to pray but had not one ounce of energy to muster anything. And honestly, I wanted to yell at God. My heart raced; my face flushed. How could He let this precious child hang in the thin space between heaven and earth? Exhaustion flooded my bones. I was putting on a front for my boys at home, trading day and night shifts with my husband, and the schedule was taking its toll on my mind, body, and soul.

I looked outside as another blizzard blanketed the parking lot. I watched the minivans and sedans disappear under thick clouds of snow and wondered about the people each vehicle represented. Each car meant somebody’s loved one was sick and in need of care. I thought of the suffering that people experience every day. I lamented. I doubted. I wrestled with fears and doubts, and I wasn’t sure if I could hand them over to God. I didn’t know how. So instead, I held on to them. I couldn’t hold my daughter. But I could embrace my anger and fear, clutching them close to my chest.

There I was, married to a pastor, and I couldn’t pray.

There I was, a Christian for the previous thirty years, and I couldn’t muster any words.

People told me they were praying for our little girl. I guess your prayers don’t work, I thought. I knew that God wasn’t a genie in a bottle who would just grant our wish if we all prayed hard enough. But still, I struggled to find words that rang true in the walls of that hospital room.

On one of my days at home, I checked the mailbox. Bills and junk mail spilled out, but there was a package nestled inside too. A book of prayers. There in my mailbox was an invitation into conversation with God — and permission to rest from the exhaustion of finding just the right words.

I didn’t have to have it all together. I didn’t have to have the perfect quiet space to center my thoughts — the beeps and buzzes of medical machines would do. All I had to do was open to the page and read, recite, and repeat until I felt my heart rate begin to calm, until I was no longer tensing my shoulders, until I could release the breaths I’d been holding for too long.

We don’t need the perfect location or perfect circumstances or perfect words in order to pray.

If we wait for that, we never will.

When everything crumbled, the prayers of another voice comforted me. And as I prayed, the written words became my own pleas and petitions, jumping off the page and nestling into my soul. As I learned in those thin spaces in the intensive care unit, the body of Christ says: You don’t have the words? Here, take mine.

After a month in the hospital, with the care of a compassionate crew of doctors and nurses, my husband and I brought our daughter home. I still didn’t have any concrete answers about the mystery of prayer. I grieved for the parents who left the intensive care unit with empty seats in their minivans. I celebrated my daughter’s return to health. I sat in the tension.

When we arrived home, unloading bag after bag of belongings, I clipped the plastic hospital ID bracelets from our wrists and tossed them into the trash. But I held on to the book.

The prayers of others had become my prayers.

What a gift that we don’t have to have just the right words for God to listen. God is already listening. God is all around us, and holy moments live in the ordinary and extraordinary times in our lives.

Are you feeling stuck or at a loss today? Borrow this prayer:

God of wonderful words and stunning silence, I come to you grateful that I don’t need the perfect words to talk to You. That I can share my silence, my sorrows, and my screams with You and that you receive it all with the loving arms of a parent. Thank you for your mercy and compassion when I can not see what lies ahead. Help me give my words and worries to you so that I may live freely in the light of Your love. Amen.

This article includes excerpts from To Light Their Way: A Collection of Prayers & Liturgies for Parents.

 

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Peace in All the Wrong Places + a Launch Day Giveaway!

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Do you ever hear someone talk about peace and then look at their life and think, Well yeah, it’s easy for you to be content! Look at how perfect and easy your life is! Meanwhile, peace in your own life feels crowded out by trial after trial, struggle after struggle. How can you be content when the basement floods, the baby won’t sleep through the night, the teenager won’t obey curfew, the budget’s too tight, loneliness is a constant companion, and you hurt your hip in your sleep? (Is it just me?)

It’s easy to associate peace and contentment with pleasant circumstances. Surely that’s the message our culture preaches. Just buy that new skincare product, organize your closet, put your kid in that program, throw the perfect party, read the self-help book, and earn that promotion. Ta-da! Then you will be content with your life. And yet … I don’t know anyone who has done all the things and didn’t wind up just creating another list of must-haves and must-dos.

Even if we’re not swayed by material things, we do this with spiritual matters. Just help with that ministry and attend that retreat, check off your quiet time box, make your donation, and pray before every meal. Surely those good things will lead to the peace we long for, right?

Looking for contentment by doing good things for Jesus won’t replace the peace found in Jesus.

The apostle Paul writes, “I can do all this through him who gives me strength.” Too often Christians apply this verse to mean “I can do anything I want by the power of God.” While it’s true that God does empower His people to do a multitude of things, in the context of Philippians 4, Paul isn’t talking about things like running a marathon, starting a business, or even serving the poor. He’s talking about how to live from a posture of contentment. How to find an inner stability, serenity, and satisfaction that don’t hinge on our present situation.

Whether he had a full belly or felt hunger pangs, as a free man or in prison chains, Paul learned that peace isn’t found in the presence of abundance or the absence of hardship. Peace is the quiet strength provided by Jesus.

Paul was beaten, abandoned, and imprisoned. He battled sickness and loneliness. He begged God to remove a “thorn in the flesh,” which God refused to do. “Each time he said, ‘My grace is all you need. My power works best in weakness.’ So now I am glad to boast about my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ can work through me” (2 Corinthians 12:9 NLT).

This is the way Paul learned to be content in every situation. This is the way we can learn to be content in every situation. Paul’s source of peace wasn’t in his own accolades but in the atoning forgiveness of Jesus. His peace wasn’t in his own efforts but in the effective grace of Jesus. Paul no longer identified himself by his pedigree and prestige because his true identity was in Jesus.

I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do all this through him who gives me strength.
Philippians 4:12–13 (NIV)

Paul took on a posture of contentment, which enabled him to experience the life-changing peace of Jesus. Our circumstances don’t have to be extreme for us to need God’s peace.

On a regular Tuesday when you run out of laundry detergent. On a Saturday night when you get a phone call that makes your heart sink. When you’re treated unfairly, when you get overlooked, when your security net falls through, when a door slams in your face — every moment of every day you have a choice to make. Are you going to look for happiness in what’s happening around you? Or are you going to look for strength and peace from the one who is in you?

Choose well today, friend.

by Becky Keife, author of the BRAND NEW Create in Me a Heart of Peace Bible Study 

We all want peace. We crave an inner calm-meets-strength that doesn’t rattle with volatile circumstances or disappear with busyness.

What if this kind of unshakable peace actually is possible?

We think it is.

That’s why we’re full of PEACE and joy today to tell you that our newest (in)courage Bible study, Create in Me a Heart of Peace, is now available! Cue the confetti! This Bible study features the real-life, going-first kind of stories you know and love from our (in)courage writers and an in-depth Scripture study — like the excerpt you just read from study author Becky Keife.

And isn’t peace just what we all need right now? The Create in Me a Heart of Peace Bible Study is the second in our series of four studies, and it’s now available wherever books are sold, including:

And what would a launch day celebration be without a giveaway?!

To celebrate the release of Create in Me a Heart of Peace, we’re giving away FIVE gift bundles!* Just leave a comment on this post telling us where you need peace in your life right now, and you’ll be entered to win a bundle that includes:

We’re thrilled that this Bible study is able to be in your hands. Get your copy and let’s learn what God says about peace. Sign up below and we’ll send you the first week of the Create in Me a Heart of Peace for FREE so you can start right away!

Sign up for a FREE week!

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

 

*Signing up will get you the free week and occasional emails from (in)courage. You can opt out at any time. Giveaway open until 9/2/22 at 11:59pm central to US addresses only.