A Story of Learning Wisdom

A Story of Learning Wisdom

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I stared at my phone, blinked several times, and looked back to see if I’d imagined the words. No, the stark sentences rose up from the phone like angled and curved little soldiers, marching right over my stunned, shattered heart.

My husband, David, seeing the shocked look on my face, asked me what was wrong. I handed the phone to him and collapsed onto the living room sofa.

“Am I being sensitive or is this ridiculously ugly?” I asked him in a shaky voice.

As he read the message, his eyes widened and he shook his head back and forth. He set the phone down hard on the end table next to me and said, “This is utter garbage, and I don’t think you have any business communicating further with this person. At all.”

In general, I’m one who doesn’t like conflict. While I’m capable of standing up for myself, some people’s strong personalities make me less inclined to do so. In situations like these, I lean toward wanting to smooth things over as quickly as possible. At the same time, I was so tired of the way this person repeatedly put me on the defensive by being hypercritical of every choice I made.

Like a lost traveler smack-dab in the middle of a forest, I couldn’t see how to take the appropriate next steps to get out of the woods. Should I take my husband’s advice and severely limit communication? But what about the fact that as a Christian I’m supposed to lay down my life for others and turn the other cheek?

Where is the line between having to spend time with difficult people we’re called to be around and needing to protect our hearts and health from their toxicity?

In today’s culture, it’s somewhat trendy for people to label any kind of undesirable communication as toxic. This can give us a handy excuse to ignore sentiments we don’t like. Of course, we do need people in our lives who offer us the gift of a painful rebuke from time to time. But their motive makes the difference — they are for us and not for themselves.

While we’re sometimes called to be in the vicinity of difficult people as the Holy Spirit directs, we don’t need to be in the vicinity of toxicity. Wisdom is found in knowing the difference. And wisdom is found in going to the right places for help in deciphering the distinction. After all, part of knowing where we belong is also knowing where we don’t.

In John 14:16 Jesus says, “And I will ask the Father, and he will give you another Helper, to be with you forever” (ESV).

The Holy Spirit is our forever Helper who informs us on a plethora of decisions, including how to maneuver difficult relationships. And sometimes the Holy Spirit will work through the voices of others to affirm what the Bible says.

The wisdom we seek in dealing with toxic people should point toward a measure of order, not further the chaos. The actions stemming from that wisdom should be motivated by love. And as I thought about my relational patterns with this particular difficult person, it seemed that the best way to love him was to set boundaries that were as much for him as they were for me.

If you struggle to take my word for it, then take Jesus’s word on the importance of establishing boundaries. He either walked away from people or let people walk away from Him over two dozen times in the four Gospels. One such time is described in Matthew 12:14-15: “But the Pharisees went out and conspired against him, how to destroy him. Jesus, aware of this, withdrew from there.”

Yes, when the time came for God’s redemptive plan to be fulfilled, Jesus did suffer and die for us. But He followed His Father’s direction — not other people’s — on when that would happen.

Jesus knew where He belonged, and He also knew where He did not belong. He used His Father’s guidance to direct His steps and to erect appropriate boundaries in each situation.

And Jesus knew something we all need to remember:

Sometimes being on the outside is the healthiest place to be.

So I set boundaries. And while that was one of the hardest things I’ve had to do, it was also one of the most freeing. With wisdom found in Scripture through the direction of the Holy Spirit and validated through the voice of my husband, I had peace that setting these boundaries was the right decision.

And I could see how being on the outside of that relationship put me further inside God’s wise care and protection — the healthiest place to be.

This story was written by Kristen Strong, as published in the Create in Me a Heart of Wisdom Bible study.

What a powerful story of wisdom from the new (in)courage Bible Study, Create in Me a Heart of Wisdom, available now. With stories like Kristen’s woven together with Scripture study written by Grace P. Cho, our prayer is that this study will encourage you to seek the Lord and the wisdom He offers each one of us.

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

 

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Your Story Is Worth Telling

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The sky outside my office window was a dreary smattering of gray. I sat huddled at my desk, back hunched, staring at my computer screen for yet another afternoon zoom call. It was one of those brainstorming sessions, a work-meet for fellow activists and educators, to determine what big project to pursue next. I should have been excited. These are the kinds of conversations I live for and yet . . . I felt as dreary as the sky outside.

Plus, the tone of the meeting was feeling increasingly hostile. Certain individuals had started to dominate the conversation, and it was clear from people’s facial expressions and body language that not everyone was feeling heard. The meeting was almost over before I finally mustered up the courage to speak. I said something along the lines of, “In my experience, I’ve found that . . . ” But I didn’t even get a chance to finish. Someone interrupted me and said, “We don’t really need your perspective. I think we’re good here.”

I want to give this person the benefit of the doubt. I think they were trying to say that they’d already made a decision, and they wanted to wrap up the meeting. Their comment was mostly like a timing issue and not a cultural issue. Nevertheless, those words didn’t feel great. In that moment, I felt like my voice and my story were not worthy of talking space. Admittedly, after that meeting, I didn’t have much interest in continuing with the work of the group.

Throughout my life, I’ve found that most people have been told in one way or another at some point that their voice and story were insignificant. Whether from a family member, a boss, a neighbor, a friend, fill in the blank, most of us have had experiences where we felt unheard and like our voice was unwanted.

But what I’ve learned from God’s Word is that my story is worth telling, and so is yours.

We are storied creatures. We were made to tell the tales of God’s wondrous work in our life. Our stories are a testimony to who God is and how He’s working in the world.

I think about the psalmist who declares in Psalm 22:22, “I will praise you to all my brothers; I will stand up before the congregation and testify of the wonderful things you have done.” And, again, in Psalm 66:16, “Come and listen, all who fear God, and I will tell what he has done for me.”

No matter what conversation I’m having, I’ve learned the power of leading with my story. Whether I’m talking about a race-related topic, marriage, parenting, womanhood, you name it, I’ve learned to lead with my personal experiences.

Information is a very poor pathway to forming deep relational connections. Expressing an opinion is ineffective in ascribing nuance or subjectivity to a situation. But a story? Oh, how a story invigorates a conversation with connection and meaning!

Expressing your story is one of the most powerful conversation skills in your toolkit.

Think of your story as the key that opens the door to meaningful relationships and meaningful change. We need to eventually get to the table inside the metaphorical house and collaboratively communicate our ideas in a give-and-take exchange, but we won’t get inside unless we’ve shared our stories first. Stories are the key. Stories are the door openers.

When you know your story, and when and how to express it, you will dramatically change how you interact with others. You will set the tone for a much more respectful, honoring dialogue. You’ll show that the topic at hand isn’t just some fun intellectual exploration, but rather an issue that has true, personal resonance. You’ll also make it harder for the other person to disagree with you – because instead of sharing an opinion, you’ve shard a life experience; an experience that bears witness to God’s work in the world.

Receive this encouragement today: Your story matters. Your story matters to God. It’s needed by others.

Each of us has a unique story to share; a story that no one else can tell but ourselves about the goodness and beauty and restorative work of God. No matter what your context is, where you work, who your “people” are, show up with confidence and joy to share your story and to encourage others to share their stories as well.

God has entrusted you with a specific story, and sharing your story is essential to working toward healing, restoration, and unity within your context.

 

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The Surprising Gifts Waiting in Your Coldest Winter

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A few weeks ago, our part of the world was hit with subzero temperatures – the kind of temps that had my friends posting memes that said things like, “Why do I live where the air hurts my face?”

It was a cold snap that kept most of us indoors, unless absolutely necessary.

But at 8:28 a.m. on a brutally cold day, I made an exception to the unwritten winter rules. I put on boots, a hat, a thick winter coat, and – because the snow was so bright – my sunglasses.

Why, you ask?

For the sake of beauty.

For the last three years, I have become something of a winter evangelist – uncovering and proclaiming the gifts that are hidden in a season that is typically easier to hate than to love.

I don’t know who said it, but it’s true: “If you choose not to find joy in the snow, you will have less joy in your life but still the same amount of snow.”

Our neighbors are well aware of my obsession with winter, and so they texted that morning, “Look outside. It’s a sundog.”

In case you’re wondering, a sundog is an atmospheric phenomenon. It appears as spots of light on either side of the sun, caused by the sunlight refracting off ice crystals in the atmosphere. Sundogs can happen anywhere and any time of year, but they are most common on very cold days.

Sundogs are dazzling – like a halo of light, like a gift of God, like a reminder that there is still beauty to be found even on the coldest kind of day.

So for two minutes, on the most frigid morning of the year, I stood outside and beheld the beauty. I did it, because I needed to remind myself that winters aren’t just for the biting, stinging, icy things. They are also for the dazzling, lit-up, splendid things.

We all need that reminder, and I don’t mean primarily for the winter seasons that happen outside our door – but for the winter seasons that happen inside of our hearts and homes. In life, our very souls shiver inside the iceboxes of disappointment and despair. We would prefer to live in the warmth and light of spring and summer, or the fruitful seasons of autumn harvest. But lo, we find ourselves in the bleak midwinter, when frosty wind moans and water’s like a stone.

Two days ago marked what is known as Blue Monday, the third Monday in January. It’s recognized as the most depressing day of the year for a variety of reasons. Christmas is long over, with its twinkling lights, good food, and fun. It’s dark, dark, dark. Well-intentioned resolutions are already out the window. And sometimes? Well, sometimes, it feels like a lot of work to simply get out of bed.

I have felt all of those things in the bleak midwinter. Yet, it is clear that we don’t get a pass from winter.

In fact, God created literal winter, placing it in a natural life-cycle system that moves through four seasons. Each season is part of God’s plan to maintain our earth.

Winters are not an accident. Winters are not a punishment. Winters are intentional.

God Himself “set the boundaries of the earth, and … made both summer and winter” (Psalm 74:17, NLT).

So what, then, are we to do in the unavoidable winter seasons of the soul?

In my ongoing exploration of winter, I have contemplated an intriguing fact. Winter is not only a noun. It’s a verb. And winter as a verb compels us to ask ourselves: What does it mean “to winter,” and how can we do it well?

The Apostle Paul wintered. He wintered because he knew it was unsafe to travel by ship. He planned ahead, knowing winter would come. “For I have determined there to winter” (Titus 3:12, KJV).

In one such wintering, Paul spent months on an island where he encountered people who were unusually kind. They built a fire and welcomed him because it was so cold (Acts 28:2). A lot of rest and healing happened during his wintering time. Isn’t that a beautiful thing?

Paul’s wintering seasons gave him three key gifts: safe harbor, opportunities to share Jesus in a different kind of way, and moments of abiding with others.

You may not live in a part of the world where the air hurts your face, but there’s little doubt you will go through figurative winters as you move through life. Instead of figuring out how to escape cold seasons, perhaps we can learn how to winter well within them.

To see winter seasons as safe harbors.

To encounter Jesus in unexpected ways.

To gather around cozy fires.

To abide.

And, perhaps, to look to the skies and find a dazzling surprise, shining like a sundog on the eastern horizon.

 

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

A Letter from Becky on New Things and Deep Roots

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Dear (in)courage Sisters,

Five years ago I stepped into the role of Community Manager here at (in)courage. It’s a role that’s allowed me to talk with you through books, Bible studies, and social media, to shepherd our contributors, and to help set vision and direction for new projects. But perhaps my favorite thing about working behind the scenes is praying for this community. I love praying for you through your brave comments. I love praying as a staff and writing team, seeking God’s direction, clinging to His unwavering grace and strength when everything else seems to be unraveling.

Personally, professionally, globally, it’s been five often-hard, always-stretching, ultimately-beautiful years.

As I pause to reflect on all of God’s faithful fingerprints, pause to pray and press my ear to His heart, listen for His voice and what He has to say about the next year (or five), I hear the ancient reverberation of Isaiah 43:19a:

“For I am about to do something new.
See, I have already begun! Do you not see it?”

I love this coupling of what God has already begun and the new thing He’s about to do! This was certainly true for the Israelites — God’s chosen people, rescued from captivity in Egypt, guided and provided for in the wilderness, brought into the promised land, all in preparation to receive the promised Savior. And it is certainly true for each of us.

God is working in our lives every day. Isn’t that great news? Whether you’re in a season that feels oppressive or seems directionless, a season of questioning God or relishing in His miraculous provision, a season of floundering or flourishing, God is with you and He is working on your behalf.

The season you’re in today is the continuation of God’s long story of redeeming all brokenness and the beginning of fresh growth.

Yes, God has begun and He is about to begin!

I feel this in my bones for myself, for my family, for you, dear sisters, and for (in)courage.

It’s important to both recall God’s track record of faithfulness and set our hearts to a posture of expectancy; to see what He’s done and to set our sights on what He will yet do.

For (in)courage, I think about the hundreds of thousands of words written in daily articles and recorded on the (in) podcast. We’ve created Bible studies about being courageous and letting God transform our hearts. We’ve written books about taking heart when life’s not okay, the power of kindness, and loving well when differences and disagreements feel insurmountable.

Why? Our (in)courage purpose and prayer in all things is that, as we look for God’s fingerprints in our imperfect stories and walk through Scripture together, we will be empowered to be like Jesus and live every day for Him.

Yeah, I’d say God has surely been answering this prayer!

So where do we go from here? How do we hold the goodness of all God has done (along with the heartache of living in a messed up world) and prepare ourselves for the “something new” God has promised?

In our individual lives and as a community, we can take our marching orders from Colossians 2:6-7:

“And now, just as you accepted Christ Jesus as your Lord, you must continue to follow him. Let your roots grow down into him, and let your lives be built on him. Then your faith will grow strong in the truth you were taught, and you will overflow with thankfulness.”

Friends, we continue. We continue devoting ourselves to authentic living, Scripture, and Jesus. We keep showing up in articles and comments (and our everyday lives) with raw stories and real hope. We keep linking arms as sister’s in Christ — God’s chosen daughters — and following Jesus wherever He leads.

Are you with me?

It’s one of my greatest joys to serve here at (in)courage. I pray you come to this little online living room and feel at home, welcomed, and loved by others. But even more, I pray you encounter Jesus. I pray you are held up and called up. I pray that together this year we will grow deep roots in Christ while expectantly watching for the new things God will do.

So much love,

Becky Keife
Community & Editorial Manager for (in)courage

P.S. If you were here with us five years ago, you might remember that Colossians was foundational in setting the new direction for (in)courage. How very like God to bring us back here with a reminder to continue. Makes me smile.

 

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

Embracing the Gospel of Together

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When my children were small, I wanted them to know Jesus. As the African-American mother of bi-racial children, I desired a church where my kids could see the gospel of Jesus lived out in a loving way between people of different races and cultures. It bothered me that I’d grown up singing that Jesus loved all the children — red and yellow, black and white — but I’d seen Jesus-followers look at other-colored brothers and sisters in Christ in unloving ways.

I’d seen an advertisement about a new church meeting in a school. I grew up in a traditional Black Baptist church, so it was a little weird going to church at a school. As I opened the doors, I wasn’t surprised that none of the adults looked like me. But I was shocked when two small African-American children ran by and disappeared around a corner. I looked for their parents but gave up and went into the auditorium. People were friendly, but it was still uncomfortable for me. It was a similar feeling that my Caucasian friends would describe when they drove across the unfamiliar side of town at night and got caught at a traffic light.

The pastor came out and introduced himself by his first name, Lee. My eyebrows raised because that kind of informality was shocking to me. At some point in the message, Lee mentioned that he and his wife were foster parents and I realized that those two little Black kids were his foster children.

That was the moment I decided I would attend that church.

Not only was I grateful to hear Lee teach about the gospel, but he also lived the gospel — lived like he truly believed God loved the whole world, meaning all people. The pastor not only embraced color but invited color into his home with love.

Far too many Christians get defensive or uncomfortable when skin color comes up in church. Let’s not forget that color was divinely created by a holy God and therefore, inextricably woven into the gospel story. Racism is an injustice against God’s creation that grieves the heart of God. Therefore, our problems with race and color need the blood of the cross, too!

For centuries around the world, the topic of race is and has been one of the biggest barriers between Jesus-followers. Even after the massive civil rights movement of 2020, the most segregated space in America is still within our churches. If the gospel that we preach is only to people who look like us, we’re robbing ourselves of witnessing the full beauty and glory of what a colorful gospel looks like. The early church shows us an intentionality few churches have today. Most of all, the early church shows us the blessings that we’re missing out on.

After the Day of Pentecost, Peter taught and thousands came to Christ. Then, Acts 2:39-47 documents how all the believers met together. Who were all the believers? You better believe that “all” included Jesus-followers from different races and cultures who’d come to Jerusalem. They had differences in how they looked and lived, but they still intentionally tucked themselves around communal tables. Look at what happened next. Notice the word “together” after their activities:

Every day they continued to meet together in the temple courts. They broke bread in their homes and ate together with glad and sincere hearts.
Acts 2:46 (NIV)

After the sermon, people didn’t have to continue to worship together, meet together, or eat together, but they chose to! As a result, non-believers were attracted to the remarkable community. Non-believers were probably astonished by the unlikely love and shocking unity between people who looked and lived differently. That visual scene plus the power of the gospel message resulted in many non-believers getting saved (Acts 2:47).

It’s my belief that we can never be the best version of the gospel if we’re not connected to those who look different from us but are an essential part of our “together.”

As a Black person, I’ve wondered often why God created us with different skin colors because it has created much hardship and heartache. Yet, God shifts the atmosphere of any struggle when we let Him in. So, if God’s character is love, grace, holiness, and justice and we invite God into the abyss of our racial struggles, then God’s glory will overpower what we can’t fix on our own.

In the most well-known civil rights speech of all time, Dr. Martin Luther King cast his vision. Notice how Dr. King’s words reflect the beauty of the Jesus-followers’ togetherness in Acts 2:

“I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight, and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together.”

Dr. King is right. God’s gospel glory is revealed when we as believers are intentional about standing together. Maybe today God is prompting you to pray about finding the Jesus-followers who are the other part of your “together.”

If you are passionate about the gospel and excited about taking a new fresh dive into your faith this year, check out Barb’s new book, Finding Jesus in the Psalms.

 

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

For His Faithful Love to Us Is Great

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Praise the Lord, all nations!
Glorify him, all peoples!
For his faithful love to us is great;
the Lord’s faithfulness endures forever.
Hallelujah!
Psalm 117

January is a natural time for making goals and embracing fresh starts. But it’s also the perfect season for praise! A time to intentionally remember who God is and what He has done in our lives.

No matter how your 2022 ended or whether you’re dreading or delighting in the start of 2023, we can all answer the psalmist’s call to praise the Lord, to glorify Him, to raise a hallelujah!

Praise primes our hearts to see God’s love, to see His fingerprints of faithfulness all over our lives.

Sometimes God’s love is like a flashing neon sign you can’t miss: the declaration of “cancer free,” a check in the mail exactly when you needed it, a reconciled relationship you had totally written off, freedom where there was once total bondage. And sometimes His faithfulness is truly like a fingerprint whose smudge you would likely miss if you weren’t trained to look for it: an encouraging text from a friend, a parking spot in the rain, leftovers so you don’t have to cook dinner, a bird’s morning song.

Whether we categorize God’s kindness and care toward as as “big” or “small,” the truth is that His faithful love to us is GREAT! And it will never end.

How have you seen God’s faithful love in your life this week? Share in the comments so we can praise Him together!

 

 

 

Womanhood Is a Valuable Gift from God

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Our father died in the wilderness. He was not among Korah’s followers, who banded together against the Lord, but he died for his own sin and left no sons. Why should our father’s name disappear from his clan because he had no son? Give us property among our father’s relatives.
Numbers 27:3–4

“It’s hard to be seen, let alone respected, as a woman in the workplace— especially as an Asian American woman. Unless I’m wearing a blazer and high heels, the assumption is that I should be the one getting coffee for the group instead of the one leading the meeting.”

The rest of us at the table—women of various ethnic backgrounds and across the career spectrum—nod our heads in agreement and lament that this has too often been our experience as well. Unless we appear taller, older, more domineering, or even more masculine, we’re not taken seriously or seen as professional.

Another woman shares how she’s held back tears in ministry meetings because she knew her opinion would be discounted. She would’ve been deemed “too emotional,” and therefore her empathy and heart for justice would’ve been overlooked. I can see the anguish and anger in her face when she talks about how powerless and diminished she felt in those situations and how she longed to be valued without repressing her emotions.

I’m stunned by the commonality of our pain. I had thought I was the only one who was seen as “the cute Asian girl” instead of the professional grown woman that I am, and I’m relieved that I’m not alone in feeling overlooked and undervalued.

At five foot one, with a round face, eager smile, and chipper attitude, I feel as though I’m playing dress-up when I take the stage at a conference or sit in leadership meetings where I’m the only woman in the room. I’ve learned along the way that heels and a blazer do make a difference in the way I’m treated and that tears indicate weakness, not strength.

Furthermore, and sadly, I’ve seen women in Christian spaces who are looked down on for the way they dress if they’re highlighting their best physical features or who are laughed at for their intelligence or their courage to fight against misogyny.

I despise that I’ve needed to and chosen to suppress who I am to some extent in order to fit into the likeness of what others—and especially men—have said about who and how I should be.

My womanhood is not a liability to myself or to anyone else. It is a gift.

I hear this message most clearly from those outside of faith circles, but in the quietest parts of my soul, I know it’s true in God’s eyes too. Though the stories of the Bible are set within patriarchal cultures, there are glimpses of God’s heart for women throughout the arc of Scripture. The daughters of Zelophehad are given their father’s inheritance in the promised land right alongside his other male relatives (Num. 27:1–11). Jesus is born of Mary (Luke 1:26–38), and Tamar, Rahab, Ruth, and Bathsheba are all included in His genealogy. Mary Magdalene is the first messenger to bring news of the resurrection (John 20:11–18).

I see myself particularly in the story of Zelophehad’s five daughters. Mahlah, Noah, Hoglah, Milkah, and Tirzah have the audacity and the strength of sisterhood to confront Moses, Eleazar the priest, and all the leaders of Israel to demand that they be recognized as legitimate heirs of their father’s land. They challenge the cultural expectations, history, and laws of their people, which do not favor women. Moses brings their case before the Lord, and God responds, “What Zelophehad’s daughters are saying is right. You must certainly give them property as an inheritance among their father’s relatives and give their father’s inheritance to them” (Num. 27:7).

Mahlah, Noah, Hoglah, Milkah, and Tirzah knew their value, and they made it known to everyone else. They set a precedent for women to be audacious and valued, and in God’s approval of their request, I see His approval of my worth as well.

Father, You see me fully. When You breathed life into me, You breathed pricelessness into me. When it seems that my womanhood is a liability for others, help me to remember that You made me a woman on purpose and that You value me as such. Make me audacious and bold like the daughters of Zelophehad, like Jesus Himself. Amen.

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

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Today on the podcast — a bonus episode! Listen in as Grace reads her chapter titled Mending a Marriage That Was Falling Apart, from our newest book, Come Sit With Me. Listen at the player below, or wherever you stream podcasts.

When Suffering Feels Too Long But God Is Right on Time

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A couple of years ago, we left a church where we had not only invested our time and money, but entrusted our souls to the leaders. When we left because of misuse of power and the neglect of women, it was heartbreaking but we were okay . . . ish. The pandemic was raging on and our focus was sort of elsewhere. Not only that, but the political climate was tenuous and demanding. I was also writing a book and had plenty of work to hide myself in. So in short, I didn’t really focus on that trauma because I didn’t have to, there was no space for it. And I don’t really like to focus on the bad anyway. Where are my fellow Enneagram 7’s at? We do well at reframing everything and it serves us. For a time, that is. 

Fast forward to this summer. I turned in the last chapter of my book, the pandemic seemed like a thing of the past, politics were a bit quieter, and then all of the sudden, there was nothing pressing for me to spend my time on. I certainly wasn’t going to write another book (No, O God, beseech your servant and don’t make me go through that again). I went on long walks, listened to jazz, and composed a novel in my head. Maybe I’ll sit down and write it out this winter, I thought. When it turned cold, I didn’t want to sit and write at all, so I started painting.

Though I am not the next Picasso, it occurred to me that I might be taking an accidental sabbatical. It was nice to create differently and I tried not to wonder what was next for me. With the space and time, I found myself working on several projects surrounding women of the Bible for speaking engagements and podcasts. I also had to work on an internal project about these women for the church I am now a part of. Yes, even though I was hurt inside the church, I still love her and am drawn to her. I just couldn’t quit the Bride of Christ. 

As the projects correlated with one another, almost coincidentally, I couldn’t stop seeing women popping up all over the place. Because I had the time, I began studying, listening to podcasts, learning to understand the Hebrew context, and reading the Greek and interlinear Bible for hours upon hours each day. I was ravenous and the Word was living and active. It was like I was starved for so long, I couldn’t stop feasting! What’s more, I found myself weeping as I read the impact these women had on the Church, how Jesus included them in His ministry as important co-laborers, and how He was so tender toward them.

I had not experienced this expression of Jesus in my old church which deeply wounded me, and what God was doing with all the “coincidental” projects wasn’t about gaining more knowledge — He was healing me with His Word.

I didn’t ask for the healing, though I needed it desperately. I didn’t make space to deal with my wounds on purpose; He created that space for me. I didn’t have an eagerness to learn about women in the Bible; He made projects come my way so that I would have to see His eager proximity to women in Scripture. And God did it in His perfect timing, though I had been suffering for many years.

It was like scales were falling off my eyes and deep wounds that I band-aided were being stitched, salved, dressed. I was coming back alive after a very long sleep, dead in many places. It reminded me of a story about Mary, Martha, and Lazarus, some of Jesus’ very close friends.

So the sisters sent word to Him, saying, “Lord, behold, he whom You love is sick.” But when Jesus heard this, He said, “This sickness is not meant for death, but is for the glory of God, so that the Son of God may be glorified by it.” (Now Jesus loved Martha and her sister, and Lazarus.)So when He heard that he was sick, He then stayed two days longer in the place where He was.
John 11:3-6

When Jesus finally travels to Judea to be with His friends, He sees Mary weeping, and all the others in deep despair, and “Jesus wept.” Even though He knew He would raise Lazarus from the dead, Mary and Martha’s sadness, their despair, were His also. But what interested me the most was that Jesus waited. He waited on purpose. He waited for the death to occur so that the people at the tomb, and for generations to come, would see the glory of God in the resurrection of Lazarus. He let Mary fall at His feet. He was not afraid of her strong emotions and her unabashed declaration of “If you had only!” No, Jesus wept with them, He allowed the desperate tears and the death — and then He commanded Lazarus to come out of the tomb! 

Here’s good news: Jesus is still restoring the dead to life, you and me included. He is still commanding us out of the tomb, unbinding us from the burial wrappings of trauma and hopelessness, in perfect timing, even when we wonder where He was and why He waited so long. If you feel like you need a resurrection, you’re in good company. You serve the God of death to life! He did it for me, and He can do it for you.

 

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Our Source of True Strength

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It happened in a span of minutes. One moment I handed a fresh loaf of pumpkin cake to my neighbor and, minutes later, I was falling off the single step of her front porch, rolling my ankle in the process. Feeling something “snap” across the top of my foot, I went from zero to ten on the pain scale in an instant. Unable to get back to my feet, my neighbor bent down and lifted me to balance on my good foot. Then together, we hopped to her couch to devise a plan. I couldn’t walk or put any weight on my right leg. And based on the speed of the swelling, I needed to get to the ER.

Two hours and an x-ray later, we learned my foot didn’t appear to be broken. But it was twice its normal size —  something that could not be ignored. So they scheduled me an appointment with an orthopedic surgeon a few days later, where we got even better news: no surgery required. The bad news, however? I was prescribed a boot and no driving for three weeks.

Three. Weeks.

That may not sound like bad news, but for a woman who moves at warp speed, it felt impossible. Ours is an often overwhelming life with full-time jobs and three non-driving teenagers still at home. Also, we were on the verge of the holiday break including Christmas and New Years’ celebrations. How could I get everything done without being able to walk or drive?

I did, in fact, survive. But I learned a hard lesson in the process: I don’t do “still” very well.

In fact, I don’t do “still” at all. Instead, I pushed my limits and walked sooner than I was supposed to. As a result, the swelling came back, as did the pain. Worse, it took longer for me to heal than it should have. My attempts to shorten my rest actually prolonged it. Rather than help me regain my strength, my dogged determination to keep moving in my own strength sapped it. I was weaker — not stronger — due to my stubborn refusal to rest.

In the Old Testament book of Isaiah, the prophet addressed a similar stubbornness in God’s people. Rather than a foot problem, they had a rebellion problem. Like me, they were stubborn and self-sufficient. Rather than trusting in God’s presence and provision, they preferred allegiance to the seemingly powerful nation of Egypt. After all, Egypt and all of her horses and chariots appeared strong, invincible, and impressive. So God’s people chose busyness over submission, confidence in the tangible rather than trust in the divine. As a result, they ended up even weaker than before.

Through the prophet, God gave them a stern rebuke:

This is what the Sovereign Lord, the Holy One of Israel, says:
“In repentance and rest is your salvation,
in quietness and trust is your strength,
but you would have none of it.”
Isaiah 30:15

But you would have none of it. 

Whenever I read Isaiah 30:15, I want to skip over that last part of the verse. I’d rather sit in the promise than face my stubbornness.

Like Israel, God has told me, again and again, the secret of true strength: Trust. Trusting in God and His strength is where I’ll find my own. In relationship with Him is where I’ll find my soul’s rest so that I can endure the day-to-day of real life. Too often, however, I prefer to climb onto the horses of my own willpower and self-determination. Like the Israelites, I waste far too much time flexing my Egyptian muscles before I realize how utterly ineffective they are.

I don’t need more human strength. I need Divine-delivered rescue. And this is where I’ll find it:

  1. Repentance and Rest. To find new strength, we must admit we have no ability to save ourselves. This is where it starts, with admitting our need and relinquishing our control to the God who is worthy of it. We can rest knowing God is at work. And His work accomplishes far more than ours. God, I confess I have spent too many days and years trying to save myself, trying to earn my rescue. I am weak and weary. I repent of my stubborn dependence on myself and other lesser saviors. Instead, I choose to rest in you. You are what I need most of all.
  2. Quietness and Trust: Whereas rebellion is loud, submission is soft. The more we resist, the louder and busier we become. But God isn’t inviting us to work harder and control more. He is inviting us to relinquish our grip on our own lives, and in quietness, to trust him. I know it seems paradoxical, nonsensical. But letting go of our own lives is actually the means to true freedom and peace. God, I confess that I’ve held so tightly to my own life that it is often painful. I don’t want to live this way anymore. I give my life to you. Quiet my soul with your nearness, soothe my worry with your faithfulness. I trust you.

It’s been more than a month since that mishap on my neighbor’s front porch. The foot is still healing, slowly. It wasn’t how I imagined spending the end of 2022. And yet, it was likely exactly how I needed to spend it. As a result, this new year comes with a little more strength.

What about you? How will you respond to our God’s invitation of repentance and rest, quietness and trust? A gentle word of warning: Watch your step. Choose your true Savior now, before you find yourself flat out on the ground. He’s strong enough to hold you.

 

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Peace When Everything Spins Out of Control

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It amazes me how quickly things can go south, snowballing from bad to worse, and I allow myself to become overwhelmed by it all. Recently I had such an experience on what was an otherwise grand day, my daughter’s 23rd birthday. It began with brunch for friends and family at a favorite bagel restaurant. Although our daughter was house-and-pet-sitting that week, she’d planned fun activities interspersed throughout the day; I would cover for her in the evening so she could stay out longer with her siblings and friends.

Late that afternoon, just before I left home to relieve her, I realized there was a problem with our plumbing: the toilets wouldn’t flush. I called and asked my husband to hurry home from work ASAP and check it out. A few minutes later as I pulled onto the highway, I heard an explosive sound and ducked. Scanning around me, I discovered a starburst crack with a tail trailing behind it at the edge of my windshield.

The plumbing situation turned out to be more than my DIY-savvy husband could handle. He called a plumber, but they couldn’t work us into the after-hours schedule; we would have to wait until morning. Though I spent a relaxing evening curled up with a book in front of a fire watching two little dogs for my daughter, it never left my mind that I would return to a house without plumbing and overnight lows near freezing. We hoped our gate code worked year-round for the bathrooms at our neighborhood pool.

Worry kept me from sleeping well. I found out what I was willing to do with a full bladder on a dark night in a private backyard. Once morning’s light — and soon after, the plumber — arrived, I made the mile drive to the pool, where our gate code did work. Hallelujah. 

While the plumber worked to blast out roots that had grown through our sewer line, three family members called me: one celebrating a deeply-desired success, one fearful of dire circumstances out of her control, and one wounded by another’s words. I rejoiced with one, helped another, and spoke truth to the last. Highest of highs and lowest of lows.

By the time the plumber left, I was exhausted and hungry. The nice young man who handed me a fast food salad couldn’t have known I was stretched so thin I felt like crying when I realized he sent me home with ranch instead of honey mustard dressing. Later I stood in the shower for a long time with my head bowed, letting the hot water run over me.

Occasionally I need a reminder that I have no idea what the people I encounter are going through. The world can turn upside down so quickly. It’s easy to judge others when we don’t know the situations they are facing. Can we ever truly understand another person’s circumstances? It’s no fun being on the receiving end of a day like the one I just experienced, but those days are lived out all around us. No one gets a pass: the pipes will burst, the doctor will call, the bills will arrive, and the words will be spoken. It’s just a matter of time.

Sometimes we stand in the middle of a whirlwind as everything spins out of control. The foundation shakes beneath us and we reach out, desperate for something to hold. Friends, when we reach for some thing we’re missing the point — for our hope is in some One, the person of Christ Jesus.

In John 14:27 Jesus says, “Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.” He gives us peace as a gift to ease our hearts and the Holy Spirit to remind us of it.

Jesus can bring peace to your mind when circumstances bring anxiety.

Jesus can bring calm in the morning after a troubled night.

Jesus can bring divine perspective when the world wounds us.

The next time your world unexpectedly spins out of control, remember Jesus’ words. Let the voice of the Holy Spirit within you anchor you to peace more firmly than the voice in your head pushes you toward despair.

 

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When You Don’t Know the Right Answer…

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I’m sitting in a coffee shop on a cool morning with my fingers wrapped around a warm cup of coffee. The air smells like nutmeg and the leaves outside are just starting to turn, signs of the season.

“I just want to know the right answer,” I say to my friend.

She nods in understanding. We are both in a time of not-knowing and it’s uncomfortable. We are checklist, color-inside-the-lines, follow-the-plan types. When life gets tricky, we read a book or listen to a podcast. We look for someone to tell us what to do. We are fans of clarity, certainty, of steady earth beneath our feet. But life doesn’t always work that way.

Lately I’ve been rewatching movies where I know the ending while creating art (I use that term loosely) in a color-by-number book. Because at the end of the day when it feels like I’m guessing all the time, I just want to know what I’m supposed to do and how everything is going to turn out.

Maybe you’re in this kind of season too. Perhaps a dream slipped out of your hands and shattered into a thousand shards at your feet. It could be that someone you thought would stay has chosen to go. The company might be doing lay-offs or your kids could be making inexplicable choices. Maybe the places that used to feel familiar — like church or your dinner table — now seem like a foreign land.

To be human is to live with uncertainty and change. So what are we to do? It seems the whisper of God to my heart in this season is this: Let go of how you think things are supposed to be. This is the gap we feel, isn’t it? We have expectations for how life will go, the ways people will behave, what the future will hold. We cling to those with clenched fists until our fingers and souls ache.

I remember sitting in a counselor’s office in my early twenties. She drew two parallel lines and pointed to the upper one. “These are your expectations, Holley.” Then she pointed to the lower line. “This is reality. Until you let go of your expectations, you’re always going to struggle.”

I didn’t like what she said then and I don’t like it now. But it has the ring of truth to it. Jesus said, “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 other words, here on earth our expectations aren’t going to be met. We’re not always going to find the right answer. We may not know what to do. But there’s a bigger reality that remains unchanging. There’s a God who is writing a story that isn’t finished yet.

It’s not a checklist.

It’s not a report.

It’s not a spreadsheet.

It’s a story.

And the best stories aren’t neat and tidy. They’re not predictable. Things don’t always turn out the way we thought they would. But we keep turning the pages because we believe the author is taking us somewhere good. We think we want certainty, but all the magic is in the mystery.

When I walked out of the coffee shop that day, I still wanted the right answer. I probably always will. But I’m discovering something else I want even more: The holy courage to embrace an untamed, beautiful story beyond my expectations.

Are you in a season of uncertainty that’s increasing your anxiety? Holley’s new devotional book, What Your Mind Needs for Anxious Moments, shares encouragement and truth to calm your heart along with practical strategies to help you keep moving forward. Download the first 3 devotions for FREE here.

 

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His Mercies Are New Every Four O’Clock

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Well, I am turning right onto I-77, the interstate road that will take me over the lake, and I like the way the water sparkles — like a mirror, always reflecting the light of the good sun.

I am listening to the radio but, really, I am not listening at all . . . because I am listening to the one thousand voices in my head going on and on about all the things that overwhelm. The emails left unchecked and the texts not answered. I think about the pills I forgot to take and the muscles I failed to stretch. Then, every trivial matter spirals into the deepest despair as I think about the body I cannot fix and the people I’ve let down. There’s the decisions I need to make about the kids and the guilt that comes uninvited.

There’s my marriage, my family, and trying to shoulder the weight of the world through the mere hours of work I clock in each week. I glance at the time. It’s only four o’clock, but I feel as tired and burdened as last-minute prayers at bedtime. In this moment, not a minute later, I need the kind of grace that can’t wait until kingdom come, can hardly wait until morning.

I need the fresh reminder of God’s mercy right now; I need the reminder that His love knows no bounds. Long gone are my teenage years, that raging age when I’d cry myself to sleep, unsure of God’s love and overwhelmed with the weight of life. Desperate to believe that God’s love was really for me, I’d cry my heart out just before sleep, only to wake up puffy-eyed and hoping the newness that I felt from waking to a new day was really God’s way of waking me to new mercies.

But, right here in the car, I think I’ve realized something that teenage me never did. Right here in my car with nothing mystical or magnificent happening — not even the circuit of the sun setting and rising that I rely on to fix the gaping need in my soul — I feel God and His presence and the promise of His steadfast mercy.

But this I call to mind, and therefore I have hope: The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. “The Lord is my portion,” says my soul, “therefore I will hope in him.”
Lamentations 3:21-24

This is the passage of Scripture that carried me through my weary, teenage nights. The passage that got me through the anger and bitterness of my soul through my high school years — the actual affliction, the sense of wandering and lostness. I remember how these words held me with hope, how they traced truth, making hope glow like a light in the dark.

Looking back, I now see that God’s unfailing love didn’t just come to me every morning, it carried me through every night. His mercy was the breath in my lungs even though my body was weak. His mercy was love in my life even though I felt lost and alone. His mercy was a feast for my soul, sustaining me though I ached and starved for my life to change.

And if I held onto Him then, I could hold onto Him now, heavy-laden and heaving and all. I can hold onto Him this minute (and the next . . . and the next), never needing to hold out for the morning to wash me anew. I can recall His mercies to my mind now, right here in this car driving over the lake that sparkles with the light of the good sun.

I can walk through sorrow and sadness, the overwhelm of my soul. I can stand as my heart breaks, holding out hope for the fragility of it all — for the world and the ones I love. Though I weep, His mercies are new every morning. Though I carry the weight of sin in my soul and on my skin, His mercies are new every morning.

His mercies are new every four o’clock, too. And every two in the morning then, again, at two in the afternoon when it’s time to shuttle the kids across town. His mercies are new every millisecond, stretching wide and reaching deep to cover us for any reason . . . at any time, in any place.

 

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Let Prayer Guide Your New Year

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I call on you, my God, for you will answer me;
    turn your ear to me and hear my prayer.
Psalm 17:6 (NIV)

We are one week into the new year. One week into getting back into the groove of post-Christmas life. Perhaps one week of setting goals and making plans. Or maybe one week of wishing you could burry your head, ignore all the could’s or should’s, and just go back to bed. However you’re feeling on this eighth day of 2023, one thing we can agree is worthy of our attention is prayer.

Prayer is the invitation to an ongoing conversation with God. It’s how we get to know His heart and how we share ours with Him. Prayer helps turn our hearts from fixating on our own concerns to focusing on the goodness of God’s character. From wallowing to worshipping. Prayer is the opportunity to let our petitions lead us to praise. Because no matter the circumstances we face, Jesus, indeed, is worthy of our gratitude and praise.

So let’s take time to pause in prayer together. Share your heart in the comments and take a moment to pray for the woman who comments before you. What a beautiful gift that God promises to hear our prayers — and that as sisters in Christ, we can tenderly bear witness to those prayers as well. 

 

Accepting God’s Forgiveness Means Letting It Stay Finished

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For his unfailing love toward those who fear him is as great as the height of the heavens above the earth. He has removed our sins as far from us as the east is from the west. The Lord is like a father to his children, tender and compassionate to those who fear him.
Psalm 103:11–13 (NLT)

The day I realized my children could empty the dishwasher was a game changer for me. This almost-daily chore was the bane of my existence, and, much like a child myself, I always put it off in favor of doing anything else. But now my girls could be responsible for putting away our clean dishes while I made dinner or finished up a work project, and it felt like a domestic miracle.

Of course, handing off this chore to my kids meant that I’d occasionally find dishes in the wrong spot—or go for a day or two without being able to find a dish I needed at all! And then there was the inevitable accident, when my youngest dropped a bowl on the kitchen floor. In a split second the ice cream bowl I had painted for my husband at a long-ago paint-your-own-pottery night shattered beyond repair.

Startled at the noise, both our heads snapped up as we stared at each other. Her eyes bounced between my face and the ceramic pieces at her feet as she visibly began to panic. “Mommy! I’m so sorry! I’m sorry, Mommy! It slipped! I’m sorry! Ohhh, I’m sorry!”

“It’s okay,” I assured her. “What happened? Did something break? Are you okay?”

She told me that she’d dropped a bowl and that it was broken. I instructed her to stand still so she wouldn’t step on anything sharp. I told her that it was okay, that accidents happen. Then I walked into the kitchen to clean up the mess and realized which bowl had broken. When I saw that it was my one bowl that’s truly irreplaceable, I couldn’t hide my disappointment — which my daughter mistook as a sign that she was in trouble.

“I’m sorry . . .” The rush of apologies began once more, as she tripped over her own tongue, trying to make sure I knew how very sorry she felt. She told me again that it had slipped out of her hand, working so hard to convince me that she hadn’t broken the bowl on purpose, that she wasn’t being neglectful or irresponsible. And I told her again that it was okay, working hard to convince her that I wasn’t angry and that I knew these things just happen sometimes.

Round and round we went, her apologizing and me telling her it was okay, as I picked up shards of my pretty bowl and wrapped them up for the trash. For days she apologized and I forgave, nearly to the point of being annoying! As she finally accepted that she was forgiven (or simply forgot the incident), I realized that how she acted is how I often act when I’m the one who needs to apologize.

I do it to my friends and family when I’ve wronged them, whether it was intentional or as accidental as a little girl dropping a bowl on the kitchen floor. Over and over, I bring up my transgressions and express my deep remorse in an effort to assure them I recognize how badly I messed up.

I do this with the Lord too. As soon as I realize I’ve sinned against Him, I turn my eyes to His face — shocked, panicked, afraid of the consequences to come. I begin my apologies without taking more than a second or two to reflect on anything other than my regret (and my desire to avoid getting in trouble).

When I’m calm and reasonable, I know my heavenly Father reacts just like I did with my daughter and the broken bowl — compassionate, concerned for my well-being, and merciful. But in the moment I recognize my sin, I’m flooded with regret and fear and immediately begin working to earn His forgiveness.

But forgiveness doesn’t work that way. The Lord offers us mercy and pardons our sins not based on the vehemence of our apologies but because of the sacrifice Jesus made when He died for our sins. On the cross He said, “It is finished,” not, “Tell me again how sorry you are.”

Christ died for us. God forgives us. It is finished.

If you find yourself apologizing over and over, attempting to prove to God or to others just how remorseful you are, may I gently suggest you stop? Our heavenly Father has promised to remove our sin as far as the east is from the west. Believe in Him. Believe in His promise. And accept His forgiveness. Let it stay finished so you can live forgiven.

Heavenly Father, thank You for Your mercy. Thank You that I don’t have to beg for it but that You give it to me abundantly because of Christ. Forgive me for where I’ve gone wrong, and please help me trust Your forgiveness and rest in Your compassion toward me. In Jesus’s name, amen.

This article was written by Mary Carver, 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.

Can’t I Just Be Quiet Like the Other Girls?

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I’m not a stranger to loneliness. I understand the pain of being uninvited, yet those are feelings that most who know me would never guess I carried. They’d be shocked because they’ve made assumptions based on my extroverted personality type.

I’ve always been the girl who strikes up conversations with strangers in the grocery store, even as a young child. So when I started kindergarten, I was thrilled to meet new friends and hear their stories. Then my first progress report came home. A check mark indicated ‘lack of self-control’ with the teacher’s comment: “Jenny (my childhood nickname) needs to stop chatting with her neighbors.” And so, second-guessing who I was began. An endless cycle of wishing away how the Lord made me.

By the time I could actually pen New Year’s resolutions, my January list contained some form of “You’ll be more popular if you’d be like the quiet girls. Stop talking so much. Just don’t talk.”

As my identity took shape, my tender heart held on to my “lack of self-control” and failed to embrace the other remarks. The ones where the teachers observed, “Jenny is a friend to everyone. She always has a smile.” Those words didn’t matter. I saw myself as a talker and I didn’t like it.

Early on I identified this “character flaw” and was determined to stifle how God creatively fashioned me in a pursuit to be more introverted. I’d pray for wisdom before group interactions, but it always resembled something like, “Lord, let me not talk. Let me sit and be quiet.”

A few years ago I found my junior high diary buried deep in our attic. Time stood still as I leafed to a page that read, “I have totally changed my image. Now I am not Big Mouth Jenny, but much better.”

Much better? In comparison to what? I instantly felt transported back to my childhood bedroom. Crazy how our deep-rooted wounds can rear their heads at the most unlikely times.

But now I was ready to fight back. Don’t we all need to speak truth to our younger selves?

This is what I said to little Jenny and what I’d say to younger you, too:

Precious daughter of the most High God, when He created you in His image, He destined you to use your words for His glory. He cares about your heart and made no mistakes when He formed you. He certainly does not want you to spend emotional energy concerned with changing how He gifted and wired you.

This January’s lists and dreams have me praying through and resting in Psalm 139. Now I see through the seasoned lens of a fifty-something woman, and I write: “Lord, You search me and know every hidden crevice of my heart and personality. You uniquely created me and understand me more than anyone. Before my journey even began, You went into my future to prepare a way for my past. It’s such a breathtaking reminder that not one single detail of my life fails to pass through Your hands first.”

Yet, can I be honest, sisters? Even as God has grown me in embracing exactly how He crafted me, even as I intentionally praise God for His mindfulness of me . . . it’s still tempting to sometimes believe that I would be better off being a different version of me. 

I went out to dinner recently with some new friends who are knowledgeably trained in analyzing enneagram personality types. I found our conversation fascinating until a question got posed to the group, “What’s the personality type you have the most trouble with?” I became paralyzed when nearly everyone declared, “Sevens!” — the Enthusiast.

Can you guess? That’s my fun-loving, spontaneous, hospitality, people-person type who can sometimes have way too many distracted balls in the air. Sigh.

I awkwardly admitted to being an extroverted “7″, and they quickly reassured me, “Oh don’t worry, you’re different.” Yet for a moment, I slipped into my childhood shadows where I’d be less conspicuous.

I think of the saying, “The grass is always greener on the other side.” Extroverts wish they had more introverted tendencies, and introverts wished they were more extroverted. We shove ourselves into a box that doesn’t fit us, attempting to dress it up with a perfect bow so no one knows. We wrestle — a push and pull tension between accepting who God made us to be, and imparting grace to ourselves as we work on our flaws.

How we treat ourselves in the midst of our wrestling matters. Instead of telling myself, “Just be quiet like the other girls,” I remind myself, “Jen, listen more than you speak. When you do speak, speak with love and discernment. Speak boldly with passion and always anoint others with words of blessing and encouragement.”

I’ve witnessed decades of the Lord’s faithfulness as He continues to allow me to use my gift of words to reach the kingdom. When I struggle with junior high feelings, I remember that I am made in His image and living fully as God created me to be is worship lived out.

Just yesterday I received an email that said, “Jen, thank you for seeking me out today after you spoke. Your story resonates so much and you made me feel less alone.”

What a gift. He redeems it all. My wordiness, my loneliness, my self-control check marks are all for His glory.

Have you held onto childhood labels or personality traits that you’ve wished away for far too long? I’d be honored to kick them to the curb together in the comments.

 

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May This Be a Year of Ripening

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I was a bully as a child. I wasn’t the kind who kicked other kids around at recess or who intimidated others with my size. My bullying was quieter, more subtle. I threatened to end a friendship with a girl I called my best friend if she didn’t give me the prize she’d received in class. I was mean to my table partner and drew a line down the middle of our shared desk that he didn’t dare cross. I was bossy, a tattletale, and I tried to make belonging happen through coercion instead of love. 

If we met today, it would be hard for you to believe I was once like that. It’s even difficult for me to fathom it. Now, I am, to the best of my ability, gentle, attentive, and compassionate. I try to lead and live with kindness instead of commanding fear and expecting submission. I hold space for other people’s pain, their joy, their growth, and everything in between. It’s a wonder one can change so drastically in a lifetime.

But that’s what it took – a lifetime. It’s been decades since I was that elementary-aged bully, but the undoing of that behavior and working through my insecurity, my unhealthy need to people-please, my imbalanced approach to friendships required those years. I’ve hurt people, made mistakes, learned the same lessons again and again, and even now, as I begin my middle-aged years, there is more to uncover, shed, and understand for the first time or the millionth time. 

As a new year has begun, I’ve been reflecting on my younger self and all the unpleasant, imperfect versions of myself I used to be. I’m prone to berating and shaming those old selves out of embarrassment, but they are still me. I couldn’t have become who I am now without having lived as I had. This process reminds me of a persimmon. The astringent varieties of persimmons need time for their hard, tannic flesh to become soft and sweet. Whether hanging on a tree or lying on the counter, the persimmon will only become enjoyable to the taste when it’s gone through the internal work of ripening, as intended, with the passing of time. 

So I’m seeing the year ahead as another twelve months of ripening. I’m choosing to embrace who I’ve been and to show myself – and all my past selves – the grace I now so generously extend to others. From that place of love, I can approach whatever this year holds for me with openness and gentleness, with no hurry or rush. I don’t have to aim for radical transformation or massive success or even making the most of every possible opportunity set before me. Instead, I want the maturity that comes with the slow ripening of character and soul. I want wisdom and peace to mark my days. I want faithfulness to create a pleasing aroma from my life. I want to bring flourishing wherever I go, giving life to all the people I meet and the spaces I inhabit. 

Somehow in those childhood days of bullying, God began His good work in me, and He’s still up to that work today. And if you look at your own life, with all the paths you’ve taken, the ups and downs, the twists and turns, I wonder if you can see how He had started a good work in you too. As you make your plans and write down your goals, I pray you know that, yes, He cares for where you’re headed this year, but He’s been patiently, lovingly tending to your growth all along. May this be a year of ripening for you too. 

I am sure of this, that he who started a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.
Philippians 1:6 (CSB)

 

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