God and Beauty — an Inseparable, Gentle Force

God and Beauty — an Inseparable, Gentle Force

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I kept a rigid running clock of how many minutes I spent putting on makeup, listening to music, and scrolling through social media — hyperaware of each nanosecond I neglected to fill with prayer, Bible reading, or everything “Christian.”  

As an impressionable, perfection-driven teenage girl living with undiagnosed Intrusive Thought Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, my soul caved on itself the moment my Sunday School teacher made a bold, brass statement:  

“If you spend more time putting on your makeup than reading your Bible, that’s a sin.” 

I spent eight hours at school, three hours studying, two hours at volleyball practice, and one hour crying because I knew I’d have another eight hours of school the next day. A two-minute devotion was often the best I could do.

Following my Sunday School teacher’s agonizing statement, I assumed I was idolatrous — doomed to a merciless schedule that could never prioritize religious activities over academics, athletics, travel. . .anything. Even worse? My obsessive brain relentlessly fought the gnawing notion that I didn’t want to spend eight hours a day reading my Bible, praying, or discussing theology.  

A decade later, as a grown woman, I continued to quietly struggle with the lie that I was never giving God enough of my time, that I was always choosing errands or coffee breaks over my Savior. All those years hadn’t yet granted me wisdom on how to divvy my time so God could take top priority. Believing this lie, in turn, left me confined to a devastating, monotonous routine of feeling like God was always frustrated with me.

But then, at age twenty-seven, I discovered a subtle but wonderful crack in my rigid concept of God. And I found it in a sunrise.  

I’m a Georgia peach, born and raised, so most of my childhood sunrises were blocked by tall pine trees, their leafy green casting a merciful shadow on hot days. But after my husband’s job moved us to southern Colorado — a desert where no plant grows taller than a few feet — I had no choice but to notice the sun in all its morning glory.  

Each morning as I walked my dogs, I was overwhelmed by the tender lavender hues that spilled over soft clouds. Light yellows, baby pinks, and creamy blues draped a waning, weary earth. Gleams of bright light danced off the white snow-capped mountains.

God is beautiful, I finally thought, unable to break away from the awe and wonder as He continued to grace mankind with another twenty-four hours of life and breath.

God is beautiful.

Beauty cannot be separated from God, which means the harmony of violin strings and drum beats speaks of God’s perfect timing. It means eye shadow and mascara showcase the baffling intricacies of the eye…which He created. It means the Great Commission can be graciously fulfilled by the click of a few buttons, hashtagging the Gospel across the world.

God doesn’t require us to log each day’s activities, demanding that our “solely religious” pursuits account for more hours than all other activities and responsibilities. That’s not to say we should ignore Bible studies, skip over praise music, or neglect church attendance. We aren’t given such a grace to spend it so frivolously. However, we are welcomed to see that God invites us to find Him all the days of our lives — all the hours, minutes, seconds, and bits in between.

We can invite Him to coffee, listen for Him on our playlists, or seek His wisdom as we craft stories, paint pictures, or hunt for a new puppy to adopt.

He longs for us to see Him in the sunrise, in soulful music, in the art of blush and lip balm, in the hearts of those who connect with one another through a worldwide internet that holds no candle to the phenomena of God Almighty’s Son. He craves our attention in simple, innocent, daily ways. We aren’t pressed to memorize each Gospel word-for-word, but we are encouraged to carry the Gospel’s power and love into not only chapels but nail salons, ice cream shops, and tattoo parlors.

We are to find God’s beauty, no matter what we say or do, no matter where we go, and no matter the company we’re surrounded by. It’s there; it might be subtle, but it’s certainly not hiding. And as we notice His fingerprints dancing across all things pure, lovely, and righteous, our greatest calling is to whisper to others, “God is beautiful.”

The Powerful Practice of Remembering

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I have loved you with an everlasting love;
    I have drawn you with unfailing kindness.
Jeremiah 31:3 (NIV)

One of the most power spiritual practices is remembering. Over and over in Scripture, God calls His people to remember what He has done! To recall His faithfulness, to tell stories of His goodness to the next generation.

In the Old Testament, God’s people built alters of remembrance. In the New Testament, Jesus introduced the Eucharist — a way to commune with Christ and remember His work and on the cross.

Whether you are in a season of struggle or growth, whether God feels far away or close, your soul will be strengthened if you take time to remember God’s presence in your life.

When did you first know God’s love was real?
How has He pursued your heart?
What evidence of His love and kindness do you see in your life?

Take time today to dwell on these questions. And share a glimpse of your story in the comments. Let’s praise God for His everlasting love and unfailing kindness!

 

Learning to Trust God’s Calling on My Life

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“I feel like God is calling me to write,” I explain sheepishly. The rest of the pastoral staff look at me, puzzled. I had just announced that after seven years of being part of this ministry, I’d be moving back home to be near family and to be obedient to God in this new direction He was leading me and that I could no longer deny.

I felt awkward saying those words aloud because I had nothing to show for it. Aside from a few blog posts I’d written, I was calling something into being that I wasn’t even sure about. So I could understand why my colleagues were so puzzled. Some of them had known me for over a decade. They had watched me grow from an enthusiastic college student who had a passion for overseas missions and wanted to marry a pastor into a new stay-at-home mom who became the pastor.

I had always been so sure of my calling to be in church ministry. I was a missionary/pastor’s kid who had served in leadership positions since I was nine, with every skill and gift pointing to a life of ministry. It was what others saw in me and what I saw in myself, and I had no intention or desire to leave it. But it had become clear to me that God was closing that door in order to open a new one that led to mystery and wonder, doubt and a lot of puzzled looks.

I add, “Like on the internet, a blog maybe . . .” My voice trails off, unsure of where it’s headed. And though they—and even I—don’t understand what it all means, we nod together in silence. I want to hide in a hole and forget that I even heard God to begin with.

I second-guess this new calling. I wonder why and ask God again, “Are You sure?” Like Gideon, who questioned and pleaded with God for signs over and over, I beg Him to make it clear.

How could I be called to lead with my words? Throughout my education, my writing was always mediocre at best, and I despised academic essays. I was a hands-on, practical-application type of person, not a philosopher or a scholar. Who was I to think that my thoughts mattered or that I even had the skills to write them?

I position these facts before the Lord, making a case for why He’s got the wrong person. I tell Him I’ll be making a fool of myself—and maybe Him too—if I go down this path. I point out how there are already plenty of talented, well-known people doing the same work, so what good would I be?

He listens to my argument—patient and willing to show me again that He means what He says, that He can give new gifts, new skills, new dreams. In my Bible reading, the story of Bezalel in Exodus 31:1–5 catches my attention. God fills him with His Spirit and gives him great wisdom, ability, and expertise in all kinds of crafts. He is anointed to become an artist and entrusted to create beauty in the tabernacle, the dwelling place of God.

That’s when I realize I’m not actually thinking little of myself but little of God. If He created the world by speaking it into being, how different was that from what He was doing in my life? God’s creative word is powerful, and filling us with His Spirit is a guarantee that He will carry out what He says He will do. Our gifts, like those of Bezalel, are meant to highlight God’s genius and bring others into His presence. So embracing our gifts, whether newly discovered or slowly uncovered, is not arrogance but humbly trusting that God knows what He’s doing.

Even if it starts with the smallest inkling, even if you and others can’t make sense of it, God’s calling on your life isn’t silly or meant for someone else. He wants to make Himself known uniquely through you.

God, in my limited logic, I often make too little of You. Forgive me for putting You in a box and for dismissing Your word to me when I feel unqualified. You are mysterious, and that isn’t something to be afraid of. Thank You that I can trust You and that You entrust me with gifts that will help others experience You. Amen.

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

An Incredible Story of Heartache Turned Hospitality

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Nestled in the woodland of Minuteman National Park in Lincoln, Massachsuetts is an old home. It is brown with white trim on the windows, low ceilings and a fairly simple layout. You can walk through and sense the simplicity of the space, but its history is complicated.

The building is called Hartwell Tavern, owned by the Hartwell family in the 1700’s right before and during the Revolutionary War. Ephraim and Elizabeth Hartwell were married and had five children when suddenly, in 1740, an illness struck the house, claiming the lives of all of their children in a matter of two weeks. The children ranged in age from eleven months to nearly seven years old. Within fourteen days, all five children had perished. Their presence was gone; their voices were silenced. The loss of one child would be horrific enough, but to lose them all? I cannot imagine the heartache.

I wonder if the Hartwell family felt cursed or forgotten. How could they even manage to make eye contact with their neighbors? What would this mean for the child in Elizabeth’s womb who was on the way, suddenly an only child?

Standing inside that old home, listening to park rangers share this tragic tale more than once, my heart feels so very heavy. I wonder what I would do if I was faced with that kind of tremendous loss. And as I continue to hear the story of the Hartwell family, I am shocked to hear what comes next: they started again.

Over the next thirteens years, they had eight more children, five of which were named the same names as those they’d lost to continue their legacy. Over and over again, they mourned and they raised a new family.

I am certain there were days and nights of absolute despair and hopelessness in the Hartwell home. But as time went on, they didn’t let their sorrow cut them off from the world. Instead, they turned their house into an Inn & Tavern, welcoming those who were traveling between Lexington and Concord. And when the British were coming and Paul Revere and his companions needed to get the word out to the town in the middle of the night? They went to Hartwell Tavern. Why? Because in the years since that wave of losses, they had become the heart of the community. They’d built a family, built a business, and represented hospitality to those on the road. And because of this? Word spread to the necessary people who could defend against the British and begin the Revolution.

Historians call Ephraim and Elizabeth both haunted and heroic for their contributions to the community. And that just catches in my chest because isn’t that how we all feel when we’ve been dealt a rough hand? I wonder if the Hartwells felt stuck int the haunted, if starting over again ever felt deeply impossible.

When we have loss in life, Scripture reminds us to check our perspective on what is temporary.

That is why we never give up. Though our bodies are dying, our spirits are[a] being renewed every day. For our present troubles are small and won’t last very long. Yet they produce for us a glory that vastly outweighs them and will last forever! So we don’t look at the troubles we can see now; rather, we fix our gaze on things that cannot be seen. For the things we see now will soon be gone, but the things we cannot see will last forever.
2 Corinthians 4:16-18 (NLT)

Indeed, Jesus Himself was super clear on what this life would hold and the hold He has on our future. “I have told you all this so that you may have peace in me. Here on earth you will have many trials and sorrows. But take heart, because I have overcome the world” (John 16:33).

In the face of our tragedy, trial, and sorrow, we have the chance to take a step forward, one after the other, believing there’s something else on the other side of the slow rebuilding.

That’s what the Hartwells did. Their willingness to rebuild their life and invite others in signaled to the community that their home was a place to be trusted. Grief was always part of their legacy, but it unfolded and opened doors and built warm fires and welcomed others in.

It’s a miracle when we see our heartache turn to hospitality, and it’s even more beautiful when it brings freedom to others.

 

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

Three Smart Things You Can Do When You Really Don’t Know What to Do

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Have you ever been confused about what to do or paralyzed with indecision because it seemed that you had limited, poor, or no options at all? At some point in our lives, most of us discover what it’s like to be stuck between rocks and hard places; the ordinary but complicated challenges that remind us how little control we actually have.

I’ve found myself in this position at significant crossroads in life, in matters related to health, work, and particularly, it seems, within the context of relationships (parenting, family, and/or friendship). A few examples immediately come to mind—

  • When we were faced with having to live abroad two additional years or walk away from what had seemed like a dream job for my husband
  • The time I suspected (without proof) that one of my children was playing with “fire” and I needed to build a bridge to their heart, not trigger them to lie or completely shut down
  • When I had to navigate emotionally-charged waters among family members who didn’t always agree during my father’s heartbreaking last year of life

Thankfully, through the Holy Spirit’s transformative work, experience can become an incredible teacher. And, isn’t it so true that what we’ve learned from life’s greatest challenges can often equip us to serve and minister to others? This is why living in community is so important — we need each other when life gets hard.

Here’s what else I’ve learned: Before you find yourself struggling, it also helps to prepare with what you can do when you have no idea what to do. True, you can’t exactly prevent life sometimes going off the rails, but I’ve found a few practices that have helped free me from the pinch and pressure of those rocks and hard places:

1. Pray. I know you know this – we all knowknowKNOW this! – so why is prayer too often our last resort rather than our first response? When we don’t pray, fear can creep in, worry becomes our master, and we end up thinking or talking about our problems instead of actually praying. My wise friend Margaret Ann said something years ago that stuck with me: “If you can fret, you can pray!” This has prompted me to pray when I’m tempted to worry or only talk about the things I’m wrestling with.

When we pray, our circumstances may not change, but God hears, responds, and might even change us. It’s powerful and sobering to consider that sometimes painful or difficult circumstances is a means God can use to get our attention. Thankfully, we can always trust that when He is at work, it is always for our good and His glory. I wonder how much our lives would change if prayer was always our first response?

2. Seek counsel from proven and trusted resources. Scripture and your church’s leadership (not just your pastor) are good places to start. Who are the people who tell you what you need to hear versus what you want to hear? Who will point you to Truth, encourage you from a biblical perspective, and remind you of the goodness of the Gospel? Who has walked in similar shoes? Pursue “older and wiser” godly women whose vast life experience will be a treasure in friendship.

However, encouraging you to seek counsel comes with a strong caution: be careful and discerning about the voices who are speaking into your life and circumstances. We’re living in a post-Christian culture that is increasingly challenging the truth of God’s word. Scripture is reliable but people are not (even when their intentions are good), and popularity isn’t equal to trustworthiness. Always remember that just because a Christian influencer, author, or speaker says something, doesn’t mean it’s true.

3. Seek to understand before needing to be understood. This has become one of my guiding life principles, and I’ve found it especially important in marriage, parenting, and friendship. It even has application in work and ministry — truly whenever other people are involved. It’s a life philosophy that aligns with Philippians 2:3-4:

Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility count others more significant than yourselves. Let each of you look not only to his own interests, but also to the interests of others.

When I get this in the right order, it makes all the difference in the world. When I get it out of order? When I demand to be understood, when I think about my own interests first, relationships are fractured, walls are constructed, and it’s much harder to recover.

What a grace that when we really don’t know what to do, there are simple but wise steps we can take to move in the right direction. I don’t know what’s going on in your world today, but chances are good that you are struggling with how to respond to a difficult situation right now. God sees you, friend. He’s an ever-present help in our times of trouble, the giver of perfect encouragement precisely when we need it the most.

 

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

Sometimes You Just Need to Trust the Process

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A few months ago, I invited my friend to join me for a pottery class at a new local studio for her birthday present. We both love to try new things and were intrigued by the experience of using a potter’s wheel to create something out of clay.

When we arrived at the class, the teacher gave us step-by-step instructions. We each sat down behind a wheel while she passed out a ball of clay to each student. Our first task was to slam the clay down in the center of the wheel to get it to stick. Then we were to wet a small sponge and soak the clay. 

Our teacher encouraged us to gently nudge the pedal to get the wheel spinning. With wet hands, we learned to center and cone the clay. Coning helps to mix the clay and work out inconsistencies or air bubbles before shaping it. We used our fingers to lift the clay into the cone shape and then our palms to push it down again. 

Once the cone was centered well, the teacher showed us how to smooth and shape the clay into a flat disk. She said to make it look like a mini flan. (She had me at flan. Hello, one of my favorite desserts!)

The process of forming clay on the wheel was longer and harder than it looks.

The trick was to keep adding water to keep the clay supple and moldable. We pressed, pulled, and pinched until that ball of clay eventually became a bowl or vase. 

Metaphors for life abound in the pottery studio.

A few times, the teacher came over, stuck her hands in front of me, and started to work with my clay. At first, I wanted to take control of the clay myself. I wanted to learn by doing it myself. But soon I realized the value in surrendering to her expertise. In fact, I learned a lot from watching my teacher and her techniques.

The first surprising lesson was that it requires lots of water to make a clay pot on a wheel. Clay is naturally hard and heavy, but water makes it workable. 

Our souls are much the same. We need consistent hydration. We need the living water that only Jesus offers. On our own we are heavy, brittle; we are dust. With Jesus’s living water, we are malleable clay. The very same water that He offered the Samaritan woman at the well has the power to transform us from the inside out (John 4:13-14 NLT). He is our Thirst-Quencher when we are parched, our Teacher when we lack technique, our Shepherd when we need a gentle guide. 

In the pottery studio, I also learned that pushing on the pedal to speed up the wheel does not actually make the work go faster. I had to be slow, deliberate, and intentional if I wanted to make a beautiful bowl.

It turns out in pottery-making, as in life, you have to trust the process. It’s rare that someone would sit down at a pottery wheel and make something perfect on the first try. Oftentimes the clay needs to be reworked, reshaped, and reimagined.

This brings to mind the story where God sends the prophet Jeremiah to the potter’s house to show him something important He wants to relay to the people:

Go down to the potter’s shop, and I will speak to you there. So I did as he told me and found the potter working at his wheel. But the jar he was making did not turn out as he had hoped, so he crushed it into a lump of clay again and started over. Then the Lord gave me this message: “O Israel, can I not do to you as this potter has done to his clay? As the clay is in the potter’s hand, so are you in my hand.”
Jeremiah 18: 2-6 (NLT)

God uses this visual to remind the people that He is the Master-Potter, molding them like clay. He calls them back to repentance and rest in Him.

The prophet Isaiah uses a similar metaphor of clay and Creator:

“What sorrow awaits those who argue with their Creator.
Does a clay pot argue with its maker?
Does the clay dispute with the one who shapes it, saying,
‘Stop, you’re doing it wrong!’
Isaiah 45:9 (NLT)

These verses remind us that the Potter can do whatever He wants with the clay. He can push out our inconsistencies, transform our too-jagged edges, and smooth us to symmetry. It might feel uncomfortable or too-long in the waiting, but we are not to resist His design work. We are to submit to His molding and making, and behold His creative process embodied in us. 

After the class, our teacher fired our creations in the kiln — a hotter-than-hot oven — to set them. When it was done, I traced my finger along the smooth edges of my bluish-teal bowl. I held it with a quiet sense of pride because it wasn’t fancy, but it was my creation.

That little bowl sits on my bathroom counter now, holding some of my favorite jewelry pieces. It’s a sweet reminder that God is the Potter, and we are but dust mixed with water in His heart-shaped hands. 

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

 

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Will You Be a Flamethrower or a Fire Extinguisher in the Dumpster Fire of Internet Comments?

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Several weeks ago, I opened my Instagram feed and noticed some weird activity on a video I had posted many months earlier. Forty-six thousand likes! Have I been hacked? As I clicked on the post, I realized that a fifteen-second video I had made of our neighborhood’s summer block party had unexpectedly gone viral. Wow! This is cool.

The video wasn’t anything special. Just a quick pan of the street from my front porch. Neighbors gathered around folding tables we had set up in the street and kids roamed in packs like happy wild animals. It was my attempt to share a glimpse of our neighborhood magic, and I wrote a quick caption with tips and encouragement to help others engage their neighbors too.

With over two million views, this was obviously striking a chord with people. Again, my first reaction was, “How cool!”

Except it wasn’t all cool.

Most of the comments rolling in were from complete strangers. Some of them were encouraging, but as the video went more viral, the comments became anonymous and cutting. For the next several days I had to be really vigilant to delete spammy comments like “DM me and I’ll send you $3,000 tomorrow!” and biting comments like “Must be nice to live in an all-white neighborhood.” My gut reaction was to spew back defensively that my husband is the first Filipino homeowners association president the neighborhood has had and that my Asian kids are the ones on the scooters there to the left. I want to point out Ms. Christina, who goes to the Asian market and brings us special candies and tiger balm every week.

But as I scrolled through nasty comments and messages about our neighborhood, our race, our demographic, all the unimportant and untrue things being assumed as fact on a post that was meant to stir up kindness, I realized I had to decide how I wanted to treat this dumpster fire.

I could defend myself and add fuel to the blaze. Or I could take a beat and let my pause extinguish the flames.

It seems like more and more, anytime we open our phones and computers, we see someone’s extreme opinions about the latest hot topic — which appears to be almost everything. What a time to be alive, when you can communicate your inner thoughts to pretty much anyone with the click of a Send button!

Chances are you’ve also experienced this phenomenon of the unfiltered response.

I miss not being anxious about relational stress as we approach yet another election year, yet another global health issue, yet another this side versus that side. And before I can even formulate language to describe this anxiety, my body responds for me: I wear my shoulders as earmuffs. My breath quickens. I wince. My brow furrows, blood rushes to my cheeks, my stomach hurts. If you watch the news or have social media or talk to a neighbor, you probably know what I mean.

I close the computer and think about it all day. And “it” isn’t just my video gone viral. It’s all the backhanded comments and jumping to false assumptions. It’s the tearing down and creating us-versus-them categories for every possible issue. It’s using our words as weapons and calling it normal. It’s all of it.

I can’t help but think, I wish she hadn’t mentioned that. I wish he hadn’t said it in that way. They make me so mad. Why are people like this? Why can’t we just stop treating each other like this?

And let me say, when I’m about to actively run into an argument after reading Cousin Fred’s entire comments section in his latest fire-breathing post, I instead take a deep breath and consume truth that comes from a living and active God. A God who loves me but isn’t afraid to ask me to check my perspective.

So I pray, I am the problem. Forgive me, Lord, for wanting to murder this person with my words, for believing I am more worthy of Your gift of grace than he is. Give me the supernatural power to love someone I think of as my enemy. I can’t do this on my own.

As believers, we should be people marked not by fear, hatred, or murderous words but by peace. We should desire unity instead of actively seeking out division with our words. We should have the markings of self-control and love, not unbridled tongues that have the power to set the world on fire (see James 3:5–6). I don’t know if I really believed that until the last couple years, but haven’t we all witnessed the destruction caused by our tongues and how they hold the power of life and death?

We each have personal accounts of our own fractured relationships and devastating losses. But lest this all start to feel a bit depressing, we actually do have great hope. Jesus tells us, “I have said these things to you, that in me you may have peace. In the world you will have tribulation. But take heart; I have overcome the world” (John 16:33 ESV).

Hear Jesus speaking it to you: “In Me you may have peace. Take heart.” Notice how your body responds to the truth. It’s quite different from scrolling through a social media feed. Maybe, if you’re like me, your shoulders come down and your breath slows. As the words of Scripture settle into my heart, I can see things more clearly: We are too quick to scroll conversations and comment threads and assume we are the only ones who know the correct path. But God is our Good Shepherd. He actively searches to bring us back to Himself, reorient our hearts toward Him, and give us the peace of His guidance, care, and protection — even from ourselves.

We are not on our own when we face difficult circumstances and interactions or when we have to navigate complex relationships and complicated feelings. When we see ourselves and others with the right perspective, we remember that our words, whether written in a comment or spoken out loud, have the power to attest to a better word: God is our only hope in this world. And what good news that it doesn’t rest on our human shoulders!

Ask yourself: Where am I tempted to use my words to tear down or divide instead of to build up and bring peace?

Hey friends, if you resonated with my story, or if you are dealing with relational tension of any kind, you’re going to want to get a copy of Come Sit with Me. In addition to my story, you’ll find 25 other (in)courage writers going first with their own faith wrestling and hope wrangling. I love how this book helps us to:

  • delight in our differences
  • honor and value others even when we disagree
  • connect before we correct
  • trust that God is working even when people disappoint us

Discover how God can work through your disagreements, differences, and discomfort in ways you might never expect.

Come Sit With Me is now available wherever books are sold, and we’d love to send you the introduction and the first two chapters for FREE! Sign up here.

 

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When You Think You Have Nothing in Common

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A couple years ago my family took a long road trip. At the time, my husband and I were so at odds that I was terrified of having so many hours together, in a van, with nothing to distract us from each other and our differences. We’ve never had an easy marriage, but politics and a pandemic had pushed us further apart than we’d ever been — far enough that I wondered if we could ever bridge the gap again.

To remove the opportunity for arguments or awkwardness, I looked up “couple conversation starters” and saved them on my phone. I downloaded a kids podcast that would, at the very least, entertain our girls and give us something neutral to talk about. And I begged God to please, please help us keep the peace and even enjoy our time together. All my preparation worked for a while but inevitably one of us would step on a conversational land mine that led to whisper-shouting at each other or sitting in frustrated silence.

But then we drove by a small town, and we both noticed a row of houses sitting very close to the highway. Our eyes met, confused and amused. Almost in unison, we both exclaimed, “Why on earth would you build your house so close to the highway?! I would never!”

We laughed, and I breathed deeper. I found a country music station on the radio and relaxed a bit as we began to sing along.

Now, clearly, our similar views on house-to-highway proximity and our shared love of Garth Brooks didn’t resolve all our issues. In fact, those issues are still present today, though they’re not quite as sharp or strong. But realizing that we still had some things in common — even if they were the smallest things — was enough to shift my perspective and my attitude. It also created momentum, prompting me to look for and remember other, more significant things we still shared; a start to healing some of the rift between us.

It reminded me of a song called, “Breakfast at Tiffany’s.” In this song, a couple is close to breaking up as they realize they no longer have anything in common. But then they remember how they both loved the classic movie and that one detail changes the tone of the conversation.

“Well, that’s one thing we’ve got.” This last line of the chorus is so hopeful to me, as if it’s a place to start again. We’ve got this one thing; surely we can find or create others.

When we’re at odds with family, friends, co-workers, or neighbors, finding one thing in common can truly change the tone of a conversation and even the direction of the relationship. Sharing something, anything at all, can relax our posture into something a little less defensive and a little more welcoming. It can give us a pathway back to one another, refreshing our affection and even respect for one another.

Unless we can do this, we’ll continue growing apart. We’ll keep believing the other person is in complete opposition of everything we are and believe in. We’ll fail to trust them, we’ll refuse to respect them, and our love for that person will become withered and weak. And then what?

At that point, will we be able to change their mind about the thing we’re disagreeing about? Will our disappointment and disgust convince them our way is the better way? In a relationship that damaged or distant, are we able to show them God’s light and love?

No, no, and no.

In Paul’s first letter to the church in Corinth, he says he is “all things to all people” (1 Corinthians 9:22 CSB). The context of this statement is that he’s defending his lifestyle choices and the sacrifice of some of his rights to the Corinthians, explaining that each of these decisions has been an effort to connect with people who need the good news of Jesus. He attempts to be as least offensive as possible to each person he hopes to help. Therefore, he says, he becomes all things to all people.

For a long time I felt Paul’s approach was deceitful or even weak. Why would he pretend or simply give into what other people want him to be or do or say? Be yourself, Paul! But Paul wasn’t not being himself. He was simply putting aside his own wants and needs for a bit in order to find common ground with people he wanted to connect with. As a matter of fact, the New Living Translation puts it exactly in those words!

I try to find common ground with everyone, doing everything I can to save some.
I Corinthians 9:22

Don’t get me wrong; I wasn’t trying to save my husband in the story I shared. But in a way, rediscovering common ground and choosing to plant ourselves there has saved our relationship. And I wonder if it might help you with some of the hard relationships in your life.

Think about that coworker who criticizes you in front of the boss. Or that neighbor who flies a giant, offensive flag in their yard — or just lets their dog do its business in everyone else’s yard! Think about your aunt who rants on Facebook or your friend whose parenting choices are always the exact opposite of yours.

Can you find common ground? A football team you both root for? An appreciation for cat videos? A crispy hotdog and gooey s’mores around the fire pit? An old band or new movie? The color turquoise or Taylor Swift’s new album or the coffee shop downtown? Can you find something and then linger there? Begin there? Build from there?

It’s true that some people grow apart and some relationships end. But for the ones that still have common ground somewhere underneath the rubble of conflict and pain, healing can take place and good can be done.

Let’s commit to finding — and standing on — common ground.

 

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

How Can We Pray for You Today?

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Don’t burn out; keep yourselves fueled and aflame. Be alert servants of the Master, cheerfully expectant. Don’t quit in hard times; pray all the harder. Help needy Christians; be inventive in hospitality.
Romans 12:11-13 (MSG)

There is nothing we love more at (in)courage than clinging to God’s truth together and praying for one another. 

Today, we invite you to do three things:

  1. Share a verse in the comments that is encouraging your heart.
  2. Leave a prayer request.
  3. Pray for one or more of the women who commented above you.

“I mean this. When two of you get together on anything at all on earth and make a prayer of it, my Father in heaven goes into action. And when two or three of you are together because of me, you can be sure that I’ll be there.”
Matthew 18:19-20

 

God Has Made Each One of Us Beautiful

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He has made everything beautiful in its time.
Ecclesiastes 3:11 (NIV)

So God created human beings in his own image. In the image of God he created them; male and female he created them.
Genesis 1:27 (NLT)

I have two daughters, one with dark eyes and brown curls and one with blue eyes and straight blonde hair. Both are spunky, sweet, a little sassy, and beyond beautiful. Their eyes sparkle, their smiles are huge, and their hearts are genuine and dear.

When I look at them, I see beauty. Sometimes I wonder what it would take for me to look in the mirror and see myself the same way.

Losing the baby weight? Clearing up that annoying adult acne? A fashionable haircut? A cute new outfit? A full night’s sleep to brighten up the dark under-eye circles? Whitened teeth and full makeup? Sure, these things could all help me feel pretty, but even then, I still feel like beauty is unattainable these days.

You see, right now I have a baby and three older kids to keep track of. I’m likely unshowered, wearing last night’s pajamas, and covered in baby spit-up. I don’t have time or motivation to put on makeup or blow-dry my hair, and my non-maternity clothes don’t fit yet. I don’t feel back to beautiful, that’s for sure.

I think this is the part where I’m supposed to chirp, But it doesn’t matter, because my baby is worth every pound and every day of dark circles! Of course he is. Without question. Duh. I also think I’m supposed to say very little about external beauty: It’s the heart that matters. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Charm is deceptive and beauty is fleeting and all that.

However, I would argue that external beauty does matter and that there is indeed value in our feeling beautiful. After all, God created us in His own image, and Scripture says He makes all things beautiful. And since we are each created by God, those words apply to us—even on the days when it’s hard to see our own beauty.

The beauty we see in nature stops us in our tracks and takes our breath away. The glory of a sunset. The reds and golds of changing autumn leaves. The joyous smiles on my children’s sweet faces.

It is okay, friends, to look for and cultivate beauty and to feel beautiful.

One summer when I was working as a camp counselor, my roommate was applying a light amount of makeup, and I mentioned that I’d left my makeup at home. To be clear, I was incredibly proud of this fact—and not in a good way. I was proud in a haughty, my-prioritiesare-clearer-than-yours way. She paused, then gently said, “It’s okay to embrace your beauty and femininity.” That was at least twenty years ago, and the moment is still with me.

When God said He made us beautiful, it’s because we reflect Him. We are created in His image, so we are beautiful from the get-go. End of story. Nothing we can do will increase our inherent beauty. It’s one of God’s gifts to us, and we can embrace it.

So I say it’s good to recognize the ways God has made each of us beautiful. Indeed, we should do this. Maybe it’s the way your eyes disappear when you smile big or the tone of your skin. Maybe your lashes curl up on their own or you have perfectly aligned toes or long graceful fingers. Maybe it’s your laugh, silvery and pealing, or your hair, whether wavy and short or straight and long. Whatever our physical traits, God imagined, formed, and created us beautifully. And He wants us to recognize that, because in seeing and accepting our own beauty, we see God’s too.

Lord, just as I see Your beauty reflected in the sunset, my kids, and other aspects of Your creation, may I see it also reflected in myself. I want to be able to look in the mirror and call every part of myself good as You do. Help me to recognize the beauty You have empowered me to live into. 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.

When God’s Ways Just Don’t Add Up

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I felt embarrassed, disposable, belittled. He blew me off as if he was shooing away a fly. 

Our small group leader had sent us on a search and discovery mission. He asked us to go, and in prayer, ask God what our small group mission should be. He reassured us that when we asked, God would faithfully answer. I wholeheartedly agreed with him. You see, I am one of those people who is gifted to audibly hear and tangibly feel Spirit. People from my church background refer to this particular gift as ‘discernment,’ or ‘a gift of prophecy.’ So for me, the small group leader’s instructions didn’t feel impossible or like anything out of the ordinary. As a matter of fact, before we’d even left the group meeting, I had already asked God about our small group mission and had postured my heart to hear. 

Days later, true to God’s faithfulness, I clearly heard an answer. And as usual — for me, at least — I didn’t hear the answer while deep in prayer or silent meditation. The answer came as I was cooking dinner for my family. 

“Racial healing,” I heard clearly. I responded by throwing a tantrum. I slammed pots and pans. I was furious! (This was years before the term ‘racial healing’ became a clarion call.)

“God!” I cried. “I am not going to tell that to the small group! Why are you setting me up for rejection? NOPE! I’m not going to do it!” I wrestled uncomfortably. Our family was new to this group which happened to be made up of all  White families. I suspected that they would think I was sharing my own agenda, not God’s. I did not want to be at the receiving end of anyone’s fears associated with race conversations. My desire to be liked pushed back against God. 

But God’s words were weightier, more significant than my desire to be liked. So I proposed a deal. I told God, “If someone else opens the door, I will go through it.” Meaning that if someone else mentioned something about racial healing, then I’d share what God told me. As a person who has lived with this gift all my life, I knew that I would not be the only person who heard. And sure enough, following a week of asking and listening, as the small group gathered, the leader shared that as he slept, God had given him dreams of building bridges! My heartbeat sped up as I sat up to prepare myself to affirm his dream with the words I had heard. I spoke carefully, slowly, nervously. 

Every eye was on me, bewildered, questioning, uneasy. Then our small group leader responded, “NOPE! That’s not it!” He proceeded to ask others what they had heard from God. No one else had anything to say.

Is this how a fly feels? I thought as I felt my words shooed from the air where they lingered. The rejection was like a Mike Tyson Total Knock Out. I wanted to disappear. I was mad at God for setting me up for this painfully dehumanizing experience. 

As the leader began re-interpreting his ‘bridge building’ dream into a vision for building wheelchair ramps and bird houses, Amy, one of the women in the group, attempted to redirect the group back to what I had shared. She had questions and wanted to lean-in for answers. But the leader was determined to stay far away from any references to ‘racial healing.’ No judgment from me. I was also uncomfortable and intimidated by God’s vision.

I chose to move forward in the ‘racial healing’ mission without the small group. But one person  from the small group also chose to accept God’s invitation – Amy. Over the course of several years, Amy leaned in as we expanded our understanding. She persisted and as a result, led her family to levels of liberation in Christ that they didn’t know existed. She eventually volunteered to help me grow an organization that has helped tens of thousands of families in churches, communities, and schools take foundational steps toward racial healing! 

For years, I carried the pain of feeling belittled by the small group, until someone who was impacted by Amy’s growth journey helped me see the past more clearly: when God asked me to share the mission for racial healing with the small group, God was inviting Amy to an abundance of healing — an abundance that overflowed into her family and into masses beyond her home. It had nothing to do with the group’s reception or rejection. It wasn’t about me or the group at all! It was about Amy! She is a living testament to how God’s ways (and math) are beyond my understanding! 

God told Isaiah, the 8th-century BC Israelite prophet:

For just as the heavens are higher than the earth,
    so my ways are higher than your ways
    and my thoughts higher than your thoughts.

The rain and snow come down from the heavens
    and stay on the ground to water the earth.
They cause the grain to grow,
    producing seed for the farmer
    and bread for the hungry.
It is the same with my word.
    I send it out, and it always produces fruit.
It will accomplish all I want it to,
    and it will prosper everywhere I send it.
Isaiah 55:9-11 (NLT)

I have accepted the fact that I can not and will never fully understand God’s ways. While I grasp for explanations, God already knows the ‘why.’ While I live and think within a frame of time, God knows the end from the beginning. While I am finite, God is infinite. But, even in wonder and bewilderment, I can trust God who strengthens and directs my path (Proverbs 3:5-6). I can embrace the mystery of God’s ways and let go of resentment and pain. My sorrow can turn to celebration.

 

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

We Were Made to Hold Both the Ordinary and the Glorious

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We are in the thick of my favorite quarter. Anyone else operate on a Q4 mindset? #corporateworklife, am I right? Q4 is my favorite of the whole year. From October 1 til January 2, I am running on full-steam autumn and holiday joy, leaving a pumpkin-spice-scented trail behind me.

Two of my kids have Q4 birthdays — November and December, and my own birthday is in October. We have the start of fall sports and classes, Halloween, Thanksgiving, and of course, Christmas. There are football games, church events, trunk or treats, and holiday parties. We visit the apple orchard, the pumpkin patch, and school conferences. There are band concerts, church pageants, birthday parties, and family gatherings galore. We usually schedule our family photos when the leaves are in peak color. We take the kids Christmas shopping for each other and check our own lists twice. We bake cookies, shop for turkeys and side dish ingredients, and decorate several times for all the major holidays.

And of course, there are the everyday, regular, ordinary time-fillers. Homework. Grocery shopping. Doctor appointments. Dinner. Dishes. Walking the dog. Driving kids around. Matching socks and switching laundry loads. Going to church, making lunches, raking leaves. Checking in on our parents. Calling our kids. Paying bills and cleaning crumbs.

Last week I sat beside my son in a church pew during worship. He whispered, “I memorized all of those words,” motioning to the stained glass windows next to us that spelled out the church year seasons under each picture. “Advent, Christmas, Time after Epiphany, Lent, The Three Days, Easter.”

“That’s right!” I whispered back. “And then you know what’s next? It’s called Ordinary Time. From after Easter till Advent.”

“Wow, that’s a lot of Ordinary Time,” he replied.

And he is correct.

Sometimes I get overwhelmed by all of the ordinary time. It’s always in my face and messing with the special memory-making I would rather be doing. Like I’m never going to choose washing dishes over driving around to look at Christmas lights. And yet, when we pull in the garage late at night, sugared up from cocoa and joy, the dishes await.

So how does one stay present during both the Q4 joy extravaganza and the quiet gifts of ordinary time?

As with most things, we look to Jesus.

Jesus was so, so good at being fully present. When He visited friends and family. When He preached to the masses. When He interacted quietly with widows, bleeding women, and tax collectors. They all had His full attention. . . even when dinner was required.

In Matthew, we read about Jesus trying to escape for a break, but He’s found, and found by a ton of people. He has compassion on the crowds, heals their sick, and then (as it sneaks up on me each and every day) it’s dinnertime before they know it.

The glory of the regular, all mixed up with the holy.

The disciples want to send everyone away to find their own dinner on their own dime and let Jesus get back on schedule. But Jesus. He tells the disciples to feed all the people! And it was a whole thing to do that, because thousands had gathered, and there was definitely not enough food.

I mean, I’ve been there too. During one Q4 birthday party I was hosting for my son, my sister-in-law ran to the store mid-party for additional chickens, because bless my heart, I had never roasted whole chickens before and I hadn’t gotten enough for the full group. (My son requested ‘whole chickens’ for his birthday meal. I don’t know.)

So the people gathered around Jesus don’t have food, and they’re getting hangry. Jesus pulls out a miracle, taking a boy’s offering of five loaves of bread and two fish, and somehow multiplies it so that “all ate and were satisfied, and the disciples picked up twelve basketfuls of broken pieces that were left over” (Matthew 14).

And all the while, Jesus was present. Fully in the setting, fully with the people.

Really, are we even in the season of gratitude and joy if we don’t run into a snag at some point in our plans? Is it even Q4 if we aren’t going through some situation that we fear will take a miracle to get out of? Don’t we all wish we could delegate the menial tasks and let the people fend for themselves so our attention isn’t divided?

Yet, we see Jesus. Jesus shows us how to stay present with the people, immersed in the setting, feeling the depth of all the feelings, and feeding those around him.

He casually changes lives over conversations at watering holes. He heals bodies and souls. He laughs and mourns with friends.

Jesus is all in, wherever He is, whomever He’s with. And you know what happens with those around Him? They do the same. They hold both their ordinary lives with the glory of His presence.

We can live in the extraordinary joy that the festivities and bustle Q4 brings, and we can experience glory in the regular tasks that make up our days. We can hold both. We were made to hold both.

We’re in it right now. Let’s live in it deep.

 

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

A Remedy for Cancel Culture

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“Who is the colored guy in my driveway?” I went into shock — my fingers froze and the whole room got quiet.

Let me rewind the story a little for you. I used to do bridal makeup as a side hustle. A client had hired me to do her engagement pictures. Her parents lived on a secluded property with a beautiful backyard, so she wanted her pictures taken there. My husband dropped me off at their house, since I wasn’t familiar with the area. All the family were laughing together, sipping wine, and getting excited planning for my client’s big day. We laughed as everyone shared childhood memories and quirks about her. This was actually my favorite part of bridal makeup; it wasn’t just the client I worked with, but I often would get to meet the whole family.

As I was getting my final touches on her makeup, her dad yelled from the hallway, “Who is the colored guy in my driveway?” It didn’t even phase me at first because I had actually never heard that term used in a conversation in my life. But the laughter and chatter grew quiet around me. He stuck his head into the room and repeated his question, “Anyone want to tell me why there is a colored guy in my driveway?” That’s when I went into shock, my fingers froze in place, and the whole room held their breath. In that moment I felt so many emotions. I was embarrassed of being the other in the room. I was angry for being belittled to a racial slur. I was afraid for what this stranger would do next.

I spoke up, “That’s my husband. He just came to pick me up.” I quickly finished her makeup and gathered my things to leave. We all pretended like nothing happened, even though it was very awkward. I got into the car and told my husband to drive away fast.

I shared with him what happened and I processed my own feelings. The next day, I texted my client and told her that I would not be able to do her wedding makeup as we had planned. I expressed to her that I didn’t feel comfortable or safe working with her family after hearing her dad use racially derogatory terms and having no one speak up for me. She responded back that she fully understood my decision and apologized for her dad’s behavior.

Here is what I didn’t do next: I didn’t get on social media and rant about it, nor did I post her family’s address and name to tell everyone how they had treated me. I think we live in a culture that would rather cancel a person or a group of people than have a hard conversation. But conversations can actually change people; cancelling simply condemns them.

I could’ve just let the whole situation slide and continued to do business with her for her wedding, or I could have laughed it off as ignorance. But I knew that I had to speak up and actually talk to her about it. I don’t know if she ever shared any of it with her dad, or if her dad changed — that’s not my responsibility. My responsibility is to shed light where there is darkness and to call out sin. Jesus never overlooked sin; in fact, at times He would see what was in the heart and minds of people around Him and He would call them out on it. But He never alienated or rejected anyone.

It is easy for us to cancel people that hurt us as a way of defending ourselves and trying to prevent more pain. Especially with social media, we can quickly rally people to join us in canceling those we dislike or disagree with, but that is not an option for a follower of Jesus. Jesus calls us to do the hard work of loving those who hurt us, and that often looks like calling out sin and having an honest conversation with them. This allows them to have the opportunity to understand the injury they caused and repent, rather than continue in their sin. Isn’t that the same love that Jesus offers us?

Perhaps one of the most amazing examples of this is Saul of Tarsus, a zealous Jew who was on a mission to eradicate Christians.

Jesus appears to Saul not to condemn him, but to have a conversation with him. Jesus calls Saul out and shows him that what he was doing is wrong. Then Jesus goes onto call Saul to Himself. Saul, of course, is totally transformed by this beautiful gift of grace; he is renamed Paul and goes on to write more than half of the New Testament as an apostle of Christ.

Like Paul we are also ambassadors of the grace of God, calling out the sin in the world but calling people to Christ. “Instead, we will speak the truth in love, growing in every way more and more like Christ, who is the head of his body, the church” (Ephesians 4:15 NLT). The next time we’re tempted to cancel someone, let’s come back to this: speak the truth in love. 

 

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

From Heartbreak to Grace (+ a Launch Day Giveaway!)

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We’re in the kitchen and not talking about Muslims. Instead, my Muslim daughter and I are making pies. Pumpkin. Apple. Crusts just right. Filling on point.

This is the Thanksgiving my daughter wanted. No arguing. No debating. No theological fighting. Just cooking, family, and togetherness. “Look, Mom. We’re bonding,” she says, and we look at each other and laugh. Together.

Both of us know we shouldn’t be here. Together? I shouldn’t even imagine it.

But God.

I want to say those two words so badly—to start preaching “up in here,” as my beautiful urban pastor would say. Instead, I stand in my daughter’s Nashville kitchen, measuring out flour, cracking eggs, politely sprinkling nutmeg in the pumpkin pie filling, keeping myself from jabbering about terrorists and mass shootings and my precious daughter’s wild, worrisome, and theologically unwieldy journey to Islam.

Our Christian daughter is now a Muslim. And I can find grace in that?

Grace is the last thing I expected in 2001 when she walked away from Jesus, leaving the cross for the crescent. In our long-standing and immovable Christian family, her announcement kicked me to my knees—the best place for a believer, but still the toughest.

As a mother and daughter, our faith battle was “royale,” and we fought it hard and ugly. For ten long years we could barely speak to each other without arguing.

Indeed, I was furious with my daughter’s decision. I was embarrassed. I didn’t see it coming—this global shift in our family’s faith dynamic. We were, after all, determined Sunday churchgoers, and we were real satisfied about it.

While away at college, she left the family faith altogether. Still hungry to know a god, as she tells it today, she gravitated to students from the Middle East who espoused a belief called Islam. Intrigued by her new friends’ modest garb, cultural theology, and claims of a deity “who doesn’t need partners”—a reference to Jesus, as she explains it—she left Him for them.

Without warning, she donned a hijab, recited Islam’s short Shahada (profession of faith), and converted.

I got the phone call not long before the 9/11 attacks.

“Hi, Mom. I just called to tell you that I’m a Muslim.”

“A what?”

“A Muslim.”

And there we were. That long road of walking casually with Christ as a family, of watching a daughter pull away but not knowing how to address her emotional departure, of seeing that she didn’t know the Lord for herself but not making it a priority to learn how to fight that particular problem through prayer, had led us to this moment.

“Mom, I’m a Muslim.”

For years I told our story with pain and regret. Remorse and heartbreak almost trapped me in an unyielding state of self-condemnation and guilt: I’m a bad mother. I’m a bad Christian. I’m worth nothing to the kingdom of God, so I should just stop trying to be worth anything to anyone.

But God.

Remember those words?

They show up in the Bible in the most unlikely places: with rain-soaked Noah (Gen. 8:1); with life-exasperated Jacob (Gen. 31:42); with sibling-challenged Joseph (Gen. 50:20). Standing before his starving, cheating, double-dealing brothers, Joseph invokes the two most grace-soaked words of the Bible: “You intended to harm me, but God…”

So, I reasoned that if every “but God” in the Bible is true, it had to be true in my relationship with my daughter too. I had to extend grace to her first. Gritting my teeth sometimes — as she would say now, laughing — I stopped battling over religion and granted her the grace of trusting God with the end of our story.

Humbling, indeed, is any family’s grace journey.

But God.

Grace rises to become the best possible gift to offer a loved one, trusting God with the final say, especially when the two of you don’t see eye to eye. I learned that the hard way. Beating myself up for failing, I received from the Lord not condemnation but an assuring and welcome break: “Yes, you are a good mother. Yes, you are a good Christian. Yes, you are worth much to My kingdom and to this world, no matter what you or your daughter did or didn’t do. So stop sorrowing and get to work. I need you in the vineyard.”

This is grace undeserved, as our theologians say.

Stunned by this grace, I therefore extend it to my daughter. I no longer fight with her. We make our Thanksgiving pies on this Nashville day and never once argue. Instead, I luxuriate in my daughter’s kitchen love, watching this woman I raised cook and stir and busy herself in that way that looks like me—even if when we pray we’re not yet on the same bright path.

I could berate myself all day, moping around the kitchen and feeling sorrowful about our interfaith dilemma. Instead, I choose to let my daughter love me, to let my grandchildren spoil me, to let my husband joke with me, and to let God assure me. In that way I take grace one step deeper: I extend it to myself.

I now pray with hope and accept God’s love on purpose. This lets me walk, live, and serve without looking back.

I could gorge myself on regret until I’m stuffed. Instead, by grace, I eat pie. “Taste and see,” says the psalmist, “that the Lord is good” (Ps. 34:8). He is. Always.

Excerpt by Patricia Raybon, from Come Sit With Me

In our new book, Come Sit with Me: How to Delight in Differences, Love through Disagreements, and Live with Discomfort, 26 (in)courage writers 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.

These amazing women get fully vulnerable as they share about the real, the hard, even the yet unfinished. From politics to religious differences, from dealing with toxic people to dealing with our own unforgiveness and desire for revenge, (in)courage is here to reveal the struggles no one really wants to talk about – and how we can actually grow closer to God and others through the circumstances we’d rather run from.

It’s launch day, and we’re celebrating!

To celebrate the release of Come Sit with Me, we’re giving away FIVE gift bundles!* Just leave a comment on this post telling us which topic resonates with you the most (find the full table of contents here), and you’ll be entered to win a bundle that includes:

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. We’re thrilled that this very special book is able to be in your hands; get your copy today.

 

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

*Giveaway open until 11/4/22 at 11:59 pm central to US addresses only. 

Could Fear Be an Invitation to Trust?

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Stress felt like it was seeping into every part of my life. Logically, I knew it was stemming from looming work deadlines, but it felt like it was bleeding into every facet of my being. I was overwhelmed, stressed, and fearful about seemingly everything. I felt far from God and far from my friends.

I’ve never been one to keep things contained. I don’t tend to compartmentalize. My insides felt like a black ink jar had broken open, staining everything. 

I went to a church service and worshiped; I texted a friend to pray. I did everything I could to grit my teeth and muster my way around the fear. Faith trumps fear, doesn’t it? 

And yet in the back of my mind I remembered the prayer the psalmist once prayed, “When I am afraid, I put my trust in you.”

Not if – but when. 

Finally one morning, I collapsed on my favorite chair and earnestly prayed for wisdom, strength, and the capacity to continue. What struck me suddenly was that everything I was stressed over had once been an answer to prayer. My jobs, my relationships, my friendships, my church – each and every one of them had been something I’d asked God for. 

How could I have so much fear over the gifts God had graciously given me?

I thought back to last year: I was afraid about a variety of different things then. And the year before that? More fear about other areas of my life. I considered the future: might I have things to be fearful of next year, or the following year, or the year after that? Based on my track record, I think so. 

If there’s always something to be stressed about or fearful of, what could I do with my fear? 

The gentle voice of Jesus spoke within me: What if this fear is an invitation to trust Me? 

I thought about that for a moment. Jesus invites us to cast our cares – our worries, our burdens, our stress, our overwhelm, our fear – onto Him. Most of the time, I’d prefer to hold onto my fear. I can trick myself into thinking I have control, and if I simply white-knuckle my way through, everything will be fine. But the truth is, I don’t have much control over anything, and holding onto my fear only makes me more fearful. 

Could fear really be an invitation to trust? 

Instead of falling for the idea that I need to muster up enough faith, or grit my teeth to make my way through my fear, could I instead accept Jesus’ kind and gentle invitation to trust Him with it?

Pastor Tyler Staton wrote, “The thing that calms fear isn’t faith, it’s trust. Faith is the assurance of what we hope for. Trust is confidence in the character of God.” 

I remained sitting on my chair, but I closed my eyes and lifted up my hands. I listed every single thing I was afraid of – things I’d never articulated before – but I kept my palms splayed and open. I said, “Jesus, I give every one of these things to You. I hand them over to You. I choose to submit them all to You. When I am afraid, I will put my trust in You.”

I took a deep breath and opened my eyes again. 

The fear hasn’t passed, not fully. But I am confident in the character of Jesus: kind, and good, and holy. He’s the most trustworthy Person in the world. 

I’ll likely feel fear again, maybe even before the day is up. But I pray I’ll be reminded that my fear is an invitation to trust… and through that trust, an even greater invitation to be brought into deeper union with Jesus. 

 

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

God Is Our Safe Place

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We arrived at our favorite beach early in the morning. The crystal-clear waters of Lake Tahoe mirrored the surrounding forest. But even though we were on vacation, I couldn’t relax. I felt spiritually numb — like my faith needed resuscitation. I took the kayak out, paddling toward the coves, hoping the glistening blue waters would revive my lifeless faith.

As I stared at the aquarium of boulders beneath me, stuffed emotions like stacked rocks surfaced. Nobody was around, so I told God how distant I felt from Him. Before I knew it, I was telling God everything I was angry, hurt, confused, frustrated, and worried about.

I lamented relationship struggles, blocked dreams and aspirations, past trauma, confusion about His calling for my future, and loneliness parenting teens who don’t want to talk or hug. Recently, I was diagnosed with a rare autoimmune disease that’s causing scar tissue to grow inside my trachea. Two weeks before this conversation with God, I underwent surgery to open my airway — which was fifty percent blocked. Anxiety lingered over the struggle to breathe, getting the correct diagnosis, finding a qualified Kaiser surgeon, and the prospect of needing repeated dilations for the rest of my life.

It was all taking a toll on me; my problems were like boulders crushing my joy. I longed to feel God’s presence, trying to remember a scripture or song . . . but I couldn’t even think of one. Lord, please show Yourself to me. Help me think of a verse. Please speak to me.

Then came the words God wanted me to hear: Lead me to the Rock that is higher than I.

Shifting my gaze from the depths of the water, I looked up. Majestic mountains towered above me, embracing me like a hug. When we returned to the cabin, I found the verse in my Bible where David prayed these same words to the Lord:

From the end of the earth I will cry to You when my heart is overwhelmed. Lead me to the Rock that is higher than I.
Psalm 61:1-2 (NIV)

A quick computer search for a deeper meaning of overwhelmed read, “to be buried underneath a huge mass of something.” Naming my troubles helped me to get out from under the huge mass of my burdens, to unload my compulsive drive to make sense of circumstances I didn’t understand and couldn’t control. Sometimes, when we tell God our sorrows, doubts, and fears, we may feel like we are being ungrateful and disrespectful. But it is helpful to distinguish lamenting from complaining. Complaining dissatisfies us, whereas lament connects with God, leads us to repentance, and renews our hope.

Lament is a passionate expression of grief and sorrow that draws us closer to God. More than a third of the psalms are laments, all ending in praise. We may lament when we’re grieving, helpless in our situations, struggling with sin, or heartbroken. Through lament, Jeremiah found peace and changed his hopeless perspective (Lamentations 3:1-24). Soon after Hannah lamented — crying out to the Lord and pleading for a child — she felt better and could eat again (1 Samuel 1:9-28). After I poured out my heart before the Lord, God redirected my defeated thoughts.

Look to Me. Don’t base who I am on how people treat you or what has happened to you. I am not them. I am not your circumstances. I am your Rock. The source of your strength and hope to get you through troubled times.

The Lord told me to stare at Him instead of my problems. When I did, my eyes opened to the ways God had moved in every area I prayed about. Sometimes God answers my prayers so gradually that I don’t see His hand at work. Healing is a slow process and takes time. Keeping my eyes on Him, I can see the restoration that God had already done. I wasn’t getting weaker; I was getting stronger. Every trial, challenging relationship, and difficult emotion has been helping me depend on God. I have hope for my future, and I can look forward to new seasons in parenting. God is in control of my health and every breath I take.

When we got home from vacation, I bought a gratitude journal. I can’t explain it but ever since that morning on the lake, it’s so much easier to see the blessings and answered prayers in my life. The next time my problems pile high, I want to share them with the Lord instead of stuffing down my emotions.

When pain is overwhelming, God is our safe place. My friend, if your heart is burdened, tell God why. God loves you even when you’re mad at Him. As we express the thoughts, feelings, and emotions that weigh heavy, we can free our hearts. Lament is often the unexpected pathway leading to the Rock that is higher and bigger than all our problems.

They remembered that God was their Rock, that God Most High was their Redeemer.
Psalm 78:35

The Lord is my Rock, my fortress, and my deliverer; my God is my Rock, in whom I take refuge, my shield and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold.
Psalm 18:2