When You Long for a Friend + Charcuterie Snack Board Inspiration

When You Long for a Friend + Charcuterie Snack Board Inspiration

by

My husband swept the side patio as I hung four little lanterns on the cinderblock wall. I positioned four chairs in a square. As the sun began to set, I plugged in a string of Edison bulb lights. The instant glow was like a warm welcome. I could hardly contain my excitement as I grabbed a La Croix from the fridge. I propped open the side gate, sat down, and sighed with joyful anticipation.

One by one, I heard the crunch of gravel. Three beautiful friends emerged from the darkness. We hugged, so happy to be stealing a little time together.

Earlier in the day, I texted my neighbor a heads-up about my planned outdoor gathering. When the four of us girls get together, let’s just say the volume level is hard to contain. Our delight over sharing ridiculous stories always leads to the best kind of make-your-sides-ache hilarity.

I needed that kind of laughter tonight.

Yet the evening unfolded differently. We were elated to see one another, but our conversation was more somber. Would one friend’s husband’s new job still start as scheduled? Would our friend with the high-risk pregnancy respond to her recent treatment? Would another friend, mothering three littles and battling the terror of a stubborn three-year-old with epic-level sleep regression, ever sleep again?

We took turns sharing all that had transpired in our individual circles over the last many weeks. We were all strained in different ways as moms and wives and working women providing for the needs of our families.

While the hard of what we were all going through seemed to outweigh the good, the good of being together was not lost on me.

You see, these are the friends I longed for, prayed for. Years earlier, I cried out to God, begging Him for just one real friend. One friend to share the ins and outs of motherhood with. One friend to be honest with about how hard marriage can be. One friend that I didn’t have to clean up my house for or slap a glossy filter on my life and pretend that all my imperfections weren’t really there.

God answered that desperate prayer. He answered it abundantly.

The glowing lights cast happy shadows on the ground. Crickets chirped. I inhaled the sweetness of the blossoming star jasmine. And I remembered the sweetness of how God had brought each one of these remarkable women into my life — and slowly, beautifully knit our hearts and lives together.

It was through these women that God also answered my fervent plea for other families to do life with. As introverts, my husband and I like being home. We like being together. I know this is a gift. But for the first decade of our marriage, I also craved the kind of friends who could be our friends together. We were likable enough, but finding another couple we both clicked with proved difficult. It seemed like an impossible dream.

Yet God heard the longing in my heart and again He answered lavishly.

For years now, we’ve gathered for monthly couples’ dinners, family camping trips, and video game nights with pizza for the kids and soul-medicine laughter for us. I can’t tell you how much I’ve learned from my friends about intentional parenting, navigating conflict, and college-day pranks. But even more, their friendship has taught me about the faithfulness of God.

Our hearts were made to do life together. We were made to be known, seen, and cared for by others. If you have that kind of friend in your life, thank God for them today! Then find a creative way to keep building that friendship.

If you long for a new or deeper friendship, keep praying for that one friend. God is listening.

Devotion by Becky Keife from the (in)courage archives.

Who doesn’t love charcuterie?! Perfect for parties and gatherings of all sizes, beautiful to display, fun and delicious to eat. Mid-summer is a great time to pull out your serving trays, load them up with all the goodies, and invite a few friends over to catch up. Our friend Nancy C. has some ideas for your charcuterie boards, along with inspo for plating and serving beautifully!

CHARCUTERIE SNACK BOARD INSPIRATION

Prep Time: 30 minutes
Cook Time: none
Makes about 8 servings.

INGREDIENTS:
  • 2 kinds of cheese, sliced
  • Crackers or baguette slices
  • 6 to 7 types of fruit and vegetables, (e.g., grapes, strawberries, sliced oranges, cherry tomatoes, sliced cucumbers, olives, baby carrots)
  • 1 (6-oz.) pkg. of dried apricots or other dried fruit
  • 1 1/2 cups nuts (e.g., mixed nuts, almonds, or cashews)
  • 1 or 2 kinds of dip (e.g., Ranch dip, hummus, or fruit dip)
  • Optional: salami or smoked sausage slices
INSTRUCTIONS:
  1. Line your charcuterie board with wax paper liner or parchment paper.
  2. Fill a small bowl with dip and place it on the board in the center or slightly off-center.
  3. Arrange the rest of the snack items around the small bowl of dip in sections, starting from the bowl to the edge of the board, like a sun ray. Or have fun creating your own unique arrangement!
  4. Use extra bowls or plates, if needed, for any different dips or snack items, and place them next to your charcuterie board.

Find these beautiful serving pieces and tea towel set in the Mary & Martha home collection at DaySpring. And tell us – what’s your favorite item to include on a charcuterie snack board? Who can you invite over this weekend to snack and chat?

 

Lower Your Standards (and Maybe Save Your Sanity)

by

I told the world (okay, social media) that I don’t sort my clothes before I wash them. And the world had big feelings about that.

It was wild to see how upset people got about me — someone they only know through their phones — not separating my jeans from my t-shirts.

There were dire warnings about every article of clothing.

“Your jeans are going to bleed on your white t-shirts.” (Actually, it’s been fine. I throw in a color catcher if I think something might bleed.)

“Ew … you wash your underwear with your kitchen towels? This is why you can’t eat at everyone’s house.” (I said I don’t separate my clothes. I do wash all the towels that need it once a week. And for the record, no one has ever gotten sick from eating at my house.)

“You are wrong.” (Um . . . Okay . . . )

Big feelings.

Why? Because many of us have been trained to believe there is only one right way to do everything, and everyone else needs to do it that way, too.

There’s a cultural pressure — especially on women — to do it all, do it perfectly, and do it without complaint. But here’s the truth: doing everything at 100 percent, 100 percent of the time, leads to exhaustion, frustration, and burnout.

And the solution we’re often given?
Wait for life to “calm down.”
Get more organized so you can return to doing it all.
Try harder.

And to really twist the knife, we sometimes spiritualize it. We’ve confused busyness with faithfulness. And it’s slowly crushing us.

Let me offer another way: The Minimum Standard of Care.

If you’re thriving with your current systems — wonderful. But if you’re underwater, constantly running behind, and feeling like you’re failing at everything, it’s time to renegotiate. Here are some questions to ask yourself:

Can you do less?
Can you do it “less well”?

Can you lower your standards? Not your values or your faithfulness, but the expectations that were handed to you by your mom, your grandma, your friend’s mom, your neighbor, or even your own inner critic.

This isn’t about laziness or neglect.
It’s about stewardship and sustainability.

Consider these suggestions for practical ways to manage what’s on your plate and protect your peace.

Do Less

  • Make sure everyone capable is helping at home. You don’t have to be the default doer.
  • Resign from draining volunteer roles.
  • Buy dinner or get takeout without guilt.
  • Use grocery delivery or pickup.
  • Skip Christmas cards this year (or forever).
  • Let go of thank-you notes for casual events.
  • Buy birthday cakes instead of baking them.
  • Let someone else host the next gathering.

Do It “Less Well”

  • Make sandwiches or cereal some nights for dinner.
  • Use paper plates when the dishes feel overwhelming.
  • Fold laundry imperfectly — or not at all.
  • Clean only what guests will see. You’re not a hotel.
  • Load the dishwasher “wrong” and move on.
  • Leave the beds unmade and close the door.

Let’s visit Ecclesiastes 4:6 (NIV) for some timeless wisdom:

“Better one handful with tranquility than two handfuls with toil and chasing after the wind.”

Is there any better description of trying to keep a house running while people are living in it than “chasing after the wind”?

Doing less — and doing it less well — isn’t failure. Sometimes, it’s the wisest, most loving, and most faithful choice you can make.

It’s time to lower the bar. Not your integrity, not your purpose, but your unsustainable standards.

Jesus never once told us to have an organized spice drawer or themed lunchboxes. But He did say, “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest” (Matthew 11:28 NIV).

Sometimes rest starts with releasing the unnecessary.
With letting go of perfection.
With refusing to chase after the wind.

If you’re looking for a community of women who are choosing peace over perfection and learning to let go of “chasing the wind,” come join us in Kathi Lipp’s Clutter Free Academy on Facebook — we’d love to welcome you.

You Are Never Too Old or Young to Lead

by

My daughters gathered at the kitchen island with me. Together we started to build three charcuterie boards with a bounty of Italian meats, cheeses, berries, olives, dips, and chips. My youngest helped shape the salami roses, while my oldest sliced homemade sourdough, and my middle daughter arranged small bowls of salsa, olive tapenade, and hummus on the board.

As the doorbell rang, we set plates and napkins out on the coffee table. Tween and teenage girls spilled into the living room, greeting each other with hugs and squeals. They filled plates and poured bubbly beverages, then settled onto our comfy blue couch with their Bibles in all different translations and notebooks ready to take notes.

We named this gathering “Bibles and Bruschetta,” and it’s one of the highlights of my summer. The goal is to “recline at the table” together as the disciples did throughout the Gospels. (See Luke 22:14, Matthew 26:20, Mark 14:18.) We break bread and break open our Bibles together.

My heart’s desire is for these young women – ranging from middle school to college – to learn how to study the Bible and to walk away with a deeper understanding of the stories of the women who followed Jesus. God used women to persuade kings, offer hospitality, take out the enemy, feed His people, and birth His own Son.

On one particular night, I led the girls on a treasure hunt, uncovering details about the life of Miriam. You may know her as Moses’ sister, but she was a leader in her own right. She was a prophetess, worship leader, exhorter, and even a historian.

We are first introduced to Miriam in Exodus 2, when she stood watch on the bank as her brother lay hidden inside a basket floating on the river. Scholars believe Miriam was only six years old in this scene, but she already displayed fortitude and ingenuity. When Pharoah’s daughter notices the basket among the reeds, she takes pity on Moses. Then, his vigilant sister, who was in the right place at the right time, said, “Shall I go and get one of the Hebrew women to nurse the baby for you?” (Exodus 2:7 NIV).

Smart girl. She goes to fetch the baby’s actual mother (not just any Hebrew woman). Pharaoh’s daughter provides wages for Moses’ mama, who takes care of him and nurses him until he is older. Then he is brought to the palace, where he grows up. This is God’s rescue for Moses, which emerges through three women: his birth mother Jochabed, his adopted mother Pharaoh’s daughter, and his big sister Miriam.

The girls at our Bible study noticed that young Miriam was observant, resourceful, and courageous from a young age. These seeds of character planted in her little soul continue to grow with her.

Many years later, Miriam joins Moses and their brother Aaron to help rescue Israel from slavery in Egypt. She is named a prophetess, which in the context of Exodus means she was a messenger, a mouthpiece for Moses and God. Miriam bears witness to the ten plagues God brings upon the Egyptians. Then she gets to walk on the miraculously dry river bed across the Red Sea with God’s people before the waters rush back together, swallowing up their oppressors.

Miriam leads the women with her hand drum and singing in Exodus 15 after God triumphs over the Egyptians. Miriam’s words echo through history and exhort all of us today to remember our rescue: “Sing to the Lord, for he has triumphed gloriously; the horse and his rider he has thrown into the sea” (Exodus 15:21 ESV). As one of the girls in our circle noted, she led by example with passion and joy.

Scholars estimate that Moses was 80 years old when he led the people across the Red Sea. That means Miriam was close to 86. The girls and I delighted in this detail. In her sunset season of life, she set a precedent of powerful praise.

The prophet Micah reminded God’s people of this truth hundreds of years later: “I brought you up out of Egypt and redeemed you from the land of slavery. I sent Moses to lead you, also Aaron and Miriam” (Micah 6:4 NIV).

She wasn’t perfect, but Miriam was remembered as a faithful leader of Israel alongside her brothers. Many young women in the New Testament were named Mary, a derivative of Miriam, in her honor.

At the end of our night studying Miriam’s story, the youngest girl in the room (my youngest daughter) led us in worship. I marveled as I watched my 13-year-old raise her voice and hands in a passionate song like Miriam. God is growing seeds of confidence and a heart for worship in her.

My eyes lingered on the young women perched around my living room — track stars, newspaper editors, honor students, musicians, cheerleaders, and friends. I saw these daughters of the one true King, pouring their hearts out in worship to their Rescuer and Redeemer. This felt like a full-circle, sacred moment, kissing the past and peering into the future.

God’s pleasure and presence were in our midst.

Friend, you are never too young or too old to live out your purpose in God’s Kingdom. If He can use young Miriam and older Miriam, He can utilize you and me in whatever season of life we find ourselves in. Whether you are a girl or a grandma, you were fashioned in your mother’s womb for a purpose.

Let’s rejoice together over our rescue!

Dorina helps people feast on the glory of God through her weekly Glorygram and her new Bible study, Redeemer: God’s Lovingkindness in the Book of Ruth.

 

Listen to Dorina’s devotion here or on the (in)courage podcast wherever you stream!

Can We Find Manna Each Morning?

by

The morning had soured faster than expired milk. Summer heat hung heavy. Kids woke early and cranky. Work loomed long and deadlines late. Everywhere looked undone: grimy floors, laundry heaps, cluttered counters — and an empty fridge. Everyone was hungry.

To make everything worse, I’d made the mistake of starting the day by picking up my phone and scrolling through the news. Now I was convinced we were collectively heading to hell in a handbasket (again), and what could I do to help, in my tiny corner of the world?

Against a chorus of whines and protests, I pushed the back door open into sweltering humidity, stubbornly determined to gather blackberries for breakfast before storm clouds on the horizon cracked open. More than anything, I needed two whole minutes to myself.

Swatting away mosquitoes and black flies, I dug into the brambles. Thorny branches scraped my legs and tugged on my sleeves, but I didn’t care. Turned out there were more ripe berries than I realized—and many more to find when I crouched down and turned over leaves to discover juicy clusters of the shining dark beauties.

I’d planned to pick alone, but soon I was joined by two little boys in muddy boots who wanted to help. Our bowls filled as fast as our bellies, and our fingers stained purple. When the sun beat down, we turned a corner to find shade. When we thought everything had been picked clean, we pushed aside another leaf to find more.

Soon the kids were laughing. Slowly my mood began to rise like the sun. Somehow when we walked back inside, the day didn’t seem as daunting. Suddenly the metaphor became as clear as shining dew on the morning leaves:

Stepping outside and searching for what we wanted, we found exactly what we needed.

For weeks, I savored the memory of that sour morning turned sweet. How often do I forget that what I need is closer than I realize? My prayer life had shriveled dry after a long season of drought. But one morning of manna was enough to remind me that it makes a difference whether I walk into the world expecting abundance or scarcity.

It reminds me of a story I’d stuck back in the past, pressed between the pages of my childhood picture Bible — the story of God feeding the Israelites in the desert. This tale becomes magical or mythical if we don’t remember it is teaching us something theological: God provides. Not always in the ways we want or even expect, but in abundance we often overlook.

“The Israelites did as they were told; some gathered much, some little. And when they measured it by the omer, the one who gathered much did not have too much, and the one who gathered little did not have too little. Everyone had gathered just as much as they needed.”
Exodus 16:17-18 NIV

Food called manna lying on the ground, free for the taking? Enough each morning, spoiling if it’s hoarded? Nourishment for forty years, full bellies for the whole sojourn in the wilderness? It’s a wild story to trust, let alone believe, within the challenges and contours of our own lives. But that’s exactly what God asks us to do.

Years ago, one of my professors talked about “functional atheism”: the irony that we profess belief in God, but then operate in our daily lives as if it’s up to us to get everything done. How quickly such attitudes (and anxieties) creep into our thinking. How often I pivot from prayer time to personal worries, trying to get everything done on my own time and terms, forgetting the sacred words of surrender I prayed only moments before.

Over the years, I have dug deep into trying to trust the manna. When I force my own will or whims, everything spoils. When I run headlong into my own desires, I suffer — and so does everyone around me.

But when I trust that God will show up, surprising things happen. Time or space or energy arrives for the work that needs to be done. Inspiration sparks at the right moment. Or an opportunity knocks on a long-closed door. I learn how to tune my ear to listen for the Spirit’s movement instead of marinating in the worries of my own heart.

I still have to remind myself of this every day: there will be enough. We often have to shift our vision of what enough means. But manna always arrives, fresh every morning, just for today.

If you need manna for a troubled relationship, a new stage of life, or a season of uncertainty, remember that manna is made for the wilderness. Not forever, but enough to meet our needs, generous enough for generations. Enough is not everything, but it suffices and sustains. Enough peace, enough grace, enough hope can get us over the next mountain and into the closest clearing to catch our breath.

It’s easier said than done — to trust in God for yourself and for others, to trust in God at work and at rest. But sometimes a simple encounter — even five minutes in the abundance of God’s creation out your back door — can be enough.

It’s never up to us in the end. Thank God for that.

For more of Laura’s writing, read her essays on finding God in daily life at The Holy Labor or follow her reflections on surviving cancer at The Compassion Brigade.

 

Listen to Laura’s devotion here or wherever you stream podcasts.

How a Dusty Penny Became a Sacred Invitation to Pray

by

There was nothing special about the penny.

It was scratched, dull, half-buried in the dirt like so many I’d passed before. This time, however, I paused. I bent down, brushed it off, and, more out of habit than anything else, I slipped it into my pocket. But as I stood, a quiet thought surfaced:

What if this was an invitation? 

What if this ordinary coin was a simple, sacred prompt to pray — to turn my heart toward God right here in the middle of my errand-running, list-making, everyday life?

That moment started something. Since then, every coin I spotted on the sidewalk or in a parking lot became a sacred signal. A penny meant: pause and pray. Just one moment to look up, breathe deep, and remember that God is always near — even here, even now.

At first, it was simple. I’d pray for the first person I saw after picking up the coin. A stranger in the parking lot, a neighbor checking the mail, a cashier behind the counter. I didn’t know their stories, but God did. So, I’d whisper, Be near, Lord. Let them know they’re not alone.

Later, the practice shifted. I began looking at the year stamped on the coin and letting it guide my prayer, thanking God for something meaningful that happened that year . . . or asking Him to heal something that still felt unfinished. A few of those dates brought tears. Most sparked gratitude. All drew me closer to God.

I never set out to build a habit, but the habit found me. Every coin became a reminder to slow down and see not just the world around me, but the God who walks beside me.

Eventually, I started collecting the pennies in a jar because I loved to remember. Each coin marked a moment I chose connection over hurry, presence over distraction. The jar became a visual record of the many times I’d found God in the dust and pavement of everyday life.

One day, I’ll use what’s in the jar — not just to remember my sacred practice, but to bless someone else. Maybe I’ll donate the pennies to a ministry I love, or convert the coins into a gift card, tucking it into an envelope with a note for someone who needs to know they’re seen.

I have a feeling God has a creative plan for this, too. Because the point isn’t to merely collect — it’s to give. That’s always been the rhythm of grace: God meets us, and we get to pass it on.

This practice has also reshaped how I see prayer. I used to think it had to be long or eloquent or tucked into quiet corners of the day. And, sometimes it is. But penny-jar prayers are different. They’re short. Spontaneous. Often unfinished. They remind me that prayer doesn’t begin with having the right words — it begins with having a responsive heart.

Collecting pennies taught me that prayer isn’t always about asking or explaining. It can simply be noticing. It can be breath and stillness and thankfulness for nothing in particular. That realization softened a pressure I didn’t even know I carried. I never needed to sound spiritual. I just needed to show up with an open heart.

That’s what God invites us to bring. Not our polished perfection, but presence. Not performance, but participation. The penny jar sits on a shelf in my studio now. Every few days, I find another coin on the ground, and the practice begins again. I look up. I pray. I remember.

Maybe you don’t find coins like I do. But perhaps there’s something else that catches your eye — a feather, heart shapes everywhere you look, a number that keeps appearing.

What if that’s your invitation? What if God is using something small to invite you into something sacred?

A shell on the shore. A verse that keeps repeating. A song you can’t shake. These small things aren’t distractions — they might be invitations.

You don’t have to chase God down. You just have to notice when He draws near. You don’t need to have the right words. You don’t need to be in the right place. You just need to be willing to notice.

Because God really is near.
Even here. Even now.


LISTEN to today’s devotion here or on the (in)courage podcast!

You’re the Victor, Not the Victim

by

My daughter, Tayliana, and her husband, Sam, just celebrated their sixth wedding anniversary. I remember the day well because their wedding took place in our backyard. We had moved into our home a little less than a year before. It had sat vacant for two years before we bought it. The kids got engaged there in February and planned their wedding for June 14. That didn’t leave us much time to get the house ready, but we jumped into full wedding mode.

Part of the preparations involved planting wildflowers along the perimeter of our lawn. As the wedding day approached, not a single wildflower had sprouted. So we bought numerous flowers and plants and placed them all over the yard. The result was beautiful.

Years later, we looked out into the yard one mid-summer day and saw flowers growing everywhere. They had sprung up all over the place! The seeds we planted years ago had finally come to life. What a fantastic and surprising gift! It reminds me of Galatians 6:7 (GNT): “Do not deceive yourselves; no one makes a fool of God. You will reap exactly what you plant.” Later, in verse 9, it says: “So let us not become tired of doing good; for if we do not give up, the time will come when we will reap the harvest.”

I’m not a botanist, so I don’t know why it took so long for those seeds to produce flowers, but eventually blooms came from a long-forgotten planting. And I think of those wildflower seeds as being like some of my prayers. It’s taken a while for some to produce a visible result, and some I’m still waiting for the first signs of growth.

In the middle of waiting for the harvest from our prayers, it’s tempting to think that things aren’t working. We wonder if our prayers aren’t good enough, or maybe if God doesn’t care. Sometimes, we might even feel forgotten and be tempted to give up — or worse, complain and then actually give up. 

It’s easy to slip into a victim mentality. We ask questions like, Why do other people get their prayers answered and not me? What am I doing wrong? Has the Lord forgotten about me? Or we may start doubting whether we should pray about anything at all. If the Lord hasn’t heard me in these things, why would He hear me about other things?

It’s okay to ask the Lord earnest questions; He’s not upset by them. He loves communicating with His children. But we need to be careful not to fall into a victim mentality. We are not victims. We are victors. The Lord has called us victorious and more than conquerors (1 Corinthians 15:57, Romans 8:37).

The problem with adopting a victim mindset is that we lose trust in the God who gave us His Son. 

Romans 8:32 (NLT) tells us: “Since He did not spare even His own Son but gave Him up for us all, won’t He also give us everything else?” That doesn’t sound like a victim’s existence to me.

Just because the flowers of our prayers haven’t blossomed yet doesn’t mean we should give up on them, lose hope, complain, or stop expecting them to come to fruition. Maybe we just need to water them with faith. Let them bask in the sunlight of our worship of a faithful God who loves us. The Lord says you will reap exactly what you’ve planted. The key is to remember that the God who gave us His Son will also give us everything else. He is a God who keeps His promises.

Whatever seeds of faith, worship, and prayer you’ve planted, don’t give up. Just like my wildflowers reaped a harvest, so will your prayers. Don’t give up.

LISTEN to Tyra’s devotion here or on the (in)courage podcast!

Real Joy in a Hard Summer

by

“Always be full of joy in the Lord. I say it again — rejoice!”
Philippians 4:4 NLT

Summer is supposed to feel light, isn’t it? Like lemonade and laughter, barefoot walks and backyard cookouts. But real life doesn’t take a vacation just because the calendar says July.

Babies still wake up teething. Bills still come due. Aging parents still need more help than you feel equipped to give. Friendships strain. Grief lingers. Dreams stall.

Joy can feel like a foreign concept when your days are heavy or your nights feel endless.

Yet, Paul’s words in Philippians don’t offer joy as a suggestion; his encouragement is a command: “Always be full of joy in the Lord. I say it again — rejoice!”

At first glance, it may feel impossible. But God isn’t asking us to slap on a fake smile or ignore our pain. He’s inviting us to a deeper joy — a soul-rooted gladness that isn’t dependent on perfect circumstances but on a perfect Savior.

Joy in hard times looks like praising God through tears.

It’s thanking Him for small graces — the quiet moment, the ripe peach, the child’s giggle — while trusting Him with what’s unresolved.

It’s opening your Bible when anxiety would rather scroll.

It’s clinging to truth when your feelings fluctuate.

Joy doesn’t deny the hard; it declares God is still good in the midst of it.

Jesus isn’t distant from your struggle. He’s with you: in the nursery, the hospital room, the counseling session, and the lonely kitchen. He’s steady when everything else feels shaky. When you choose joy, you’re not faking it. You’re fighting for it. You’re anchoring your soul to the One who never changes.

This summer, let’s be women who notice the beauty and name the blessings. Who weep when we need to, but worship anyway. Who call each other higher — not to perfection, but to presence. God’s presence. His joy.

Because He is here.
He is hope.
And He is worthy of our praise.

A Prayer for Joy in Hard Times
Father, thank You that joy in You is always available, even when life feels anything but easy. Remind me that Your joy is not about my circumstances but about Your unchanging character. Help me see glimpses of Your goodness today. Give me strength to choose praise over pity, truth over fear, and hope over despair. Anchor me in You. Let my life reflect Your light even in the dark. In Jesus’ name, Amen.

Let’s Keep Running to the Refuge

by

My eyes bolt open, adrenaline surges through my sleepy body. I hear my daughter’s small voice wake me up. “Can I sleep with you?” she asks. “I had a bad dream.”

Breathing a sigh out, I shift over in our bed to make room for her. My daughter often has vivid nightmares that wake her up in a fearful panic, leaving her unable to go back to sleep. I know the feeling; I still have some unsettling dreams that can pull me out of a deep sleep.

Like many children, she makes the trek through the dark to her safe place — her parents’ bed. As she snuggles in, she whispers of the fears that woke her. I pull her close, her small body pressed against mine, my arms wrapped around her, holding her safe.

Psalm 91:2 NIV says, “I will say of the Lord, ‘He is my refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust.’”

The word refuge in this verse is often also translated as hope or shelter or trust. It is the Hebrew word, mahase which, literally and figuratively, means a place of protection — a hopeful place, a home, and a sanctuary. Psalm 73:28 uses this word as well: “But as for me, it is good to be near God. I have made the Sovereign Lord my refuge; I will tell of all your deeds.”

Our hope is in God, our shelter, our safest place. It is good to be close to Him.

When my daughter comes to our bed looking for refuge from her bad dreams, her hope isn’t in that king-size bed. Her hope is in who is in the bed. When our waking lives feel like the stuff of nightmares, we, too, have a place to flee. Perhaps shaky finances are crowding our minds with worries about bills and the future. Or the shattering news of a family member’s illness bringing waves of grief and uncertainty. Maybe it’s the overwhelm that comes from good things, things we prayed for, like a spirited “threenager” or new challenges at a job we love or a calendar full to the tip-top with activities. It could be a relationship that drains us daily, church drama that erodes our peace, or the divisive roar of politics that leaves us disheartened.

When we wonder if anyone cares and if we truly matter. When these moments steal our peace and leave us feeling utterly exposed—into all of that scary, messy stuff, God still speaks.

The Lord will roar from Zion and thunder from Jerusalem; the earth and the heavens will tremble. But the Lord will be a refuge for his people, a stronghold for the people of Israel.
Joel 3:16

We may feel like life is hopeless and things are falling apart. We may feel like the heavy and hard will never leave. But God is roaring in our favor. He has promised to be a refuge for us — a place of hope, protection, and nurturing.

We are safe with God.

Sometimes I wish we could physically run to our Heavenly Father’s bed and curl up in His arms. Yet, while we don’t have that physical embrace yet, we do run to Him as we read and meditate on His Word, allowing its timeless truths to settle down to our souls and speak peace to our anxieties. We take refuge in the Father as we wrestle through difficulties and frustrations, pouring out our hearts and voicing every fear and concern to Him, knowing He truly hears. God meets us and shelters us through His people, as we love and care for one another in personal and practical ways.

Let’s keep running to the refuge, dear sisters in Christ, no matter how dark the night is. Let’s be steadied with the truth that God can handle our deepest fears. Trusting not in a place, but in the One who is always there — our ultimate hope and stronghold.

His Goodness Is Chasing After You

by

A week from today, I’ll be married. 

In just a handful of days, I will stand before God and family and friends and marry the man I love. 

Next Friday evening, I will walk down an aisle in a garden and vow to choose to love him for as long as we both shall live.

It’s still surreal to consider the gravity of the covenant we are making next week. I have no idea what the future holds and no concept of what marriage will feel like. I am, in many ways, a starry-eyed bride who dreams of a beautiful life together. In other ways, I’m old enough and have seen enough of life to know we carry scars. We are two imperfect and selfish people promising our best to love each other, no matter what. 

Next week is the culmination of years of prayers coming to fruition – both mine and my fiancé’s. We cannot wait to celebrate the faithfulness and kindness of God. When we were thinking about what music to have at our wedding, I knew immediately the song I wanted to walk down the aisle to: “Goodness of God.” 

We chose Psalm 34:3 as our wedding text: “Come, let us tell of the Lord’s greatness; let us exalt his name together.”

That’s exactly what we want to do together – tell the world how good God is, and how kind He has been to us. 

But here’s what I want you to know today: God is not good simply because I’m getting married next week. In Psalm 16, David wrote these words that I’ll cling to and believe in until the day I die: “Every good thing I have comes from You.”

All of it is a gift from Him. Each day, each breath, each flower bursting forth after a long winter.

I look back at my thirty-one years on this planet and see God’s kindness in every season. I couldn’t always see it in the moment, but I see it now. There were days I thought God forgot me, but God was preparing something better than I could have imagined. There were moments I questioned if God cared about the desires of my heart, but He was planning someone for me that I couldn’t have even dreamed of. God’s goodness has been there every step of the way. His goodness has been chasing me down from the moment I was born.

As we’ve been planning our wedding, I can’t help but think of the Wedding Feast we will all be a part of someday. If you don’t see the goodness in your life now, hold fast to this:

There is goodness coming. Goodness is on the way. Goodness is chasing after you! 

There will be a day when all crying and mourning and tears will be gone forever, and you and I will dance and eat and celebrate at the Greatest Wedding there could ever be. 

It’s all goodness – and it’s all because of Him.

Next week, I will wear my wedding dress and walk down the aisle to stand before the man I love and this song will play behind me: 

All my life, You have been faithful
All my life, You have been so, so good
With every breath that I am able
I will sing of the goodness of God

And as we vow to love and protect and hold and cherish and respect each other until death do us part, I want to also vow to always remember the goodness of God.

Maybe it’s easy for me to say all of this now, a week before I walk down the aisle. But I wonder if we could all look back and gaze at the glimmers of goodness God has been chasing us with — every moment, every breath, every day.

No matter the season, every good thing comes from Him.

 

Listen to Aliza’s devotion here. Or find the (in)courage podcast anywhere you stream!

Cambodian Limes and the Love of God

by

I’ve always liked citrusy flavors. Growing up, Sprite was a huge treat on the rare occasion my family ate out. If we travelled to another city, one of my family’s few traditions was to try and find a Korean restaurant wherever we went. If we found one — back in what my kids would likely refer to as “the ancient era” — it felt like a real feat. There was no pocket internet back then. We’d go by the Yellow Pages and asking locals. It was a hunt that promised the most beautiful reward: Kalbi cooking over charcoal, kimchi and other banchan, silver bowls of steaming, hot rice, and a can of Sprite.

That lemon-lime flavor alongside the flavors of home and my upbringing were perfection to me.

But it wasn’t until I was in my forties, and halfway across the world in Battambang, Cambodia, that I experienced the full flavor of a lime for the first time.

Cambodia is nestled between Vietnam, Laos, and Thailand, just north of the equator. It’s hot in Cambodia, and even though I was there in January, dry season, the highs were close to eighty degrees most days. Being close to the equator means many tropical things grow well there.

My first dinner in Battambang was at Green Mango Café, which is part of The Culinary Training Center for Global Impact: a program that teaches kitchen and restaurant management skills to at-risk girls. When my lime juice arrived, I took one sip and my eyes opened wide like Stanley Tucci hosting his Nat Geo food show in Italy. I realized I had never truly tasted the full flavor of a lime, or that one green lime could have as much flavor as it did.

I was reminded of C.S. Lewis and his writing on our desires in his book, The Weight of Glory: “It would seem that Our Lord finds our desires not too strong, but too weak. We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea. We are far too easily pleased.”

Now, it should be noted that it wasn’t my fault that I hadn’t tasted the real potential and seemingly “infinite joy” of a lime prior to being in Cambodia. But it is something to think about the actual goodness of our desires and longings and how they can point to the fullness we were intended to find, experience, and enjoy in God’s creation.

That week, it wasn’t just the limes. In Cambodia, I experienced the generosity and beauty of God through the Cambodian people in a new way. While sitting with new friends and bearing witness to their stories, I saw the face and felt the heart of God in a way I hadn’t before. Cambodia, and all the beloved Cambodians who live there, tell a story about God that only they can tell. What if we are far too easily pleased, as Lewis suggests with experiences and tastes, but also with a small view of community, kinship, and one another?

In these days of polarization and dehumanization, it’s become too easy to reduce one another to a Sprite can. We minimize or overlook the true beauty, value, and flavor — the imago Dei in every person.

It’s become too easy to take the imitation of taste for the real thing. Whether it’s in how we stereotype one another, villainize each other, label or define or rank others, we’ve forgotten the fullness of love and the reality of God’s image and uniqueness placed in each of us – every country and culture across the world included.

I’m reminded of Jesus, and how He constantly offered His friends and followers a fuller view of humanity.

Sometimes He did this by reminding them to look inward and see what was really in their own hearts. Other times He did this by including and inviting more into His circles than those who were there would’ve wanted. Jesus did this by traveling into cities and places and people groups that most from His own ethnic group wouldn’t have gone near. He did this so much that the good news of His love has carried beyond His world into mine – through generations, culture, and geographic expanse that His friends and followers couldn’t have fathomed no matter how they tried.

Tasting limes and being with people in Cambodia was a love note from God. Not only did it remind me that I am fully loved, but that God loves Cambodia and the people of every nation with love, fullness, and a connectedness that is beyond my understanding.

It’s God’s love that sent Jesus into the world, from one culture to another, to embrace every single person He encountered. May that same love lead us to embrace and see the worth in one another above all other loves and loyalties. May it be His love that reminds us that everyone, everywhere, from every story, is made full of goodness, value, meaning, and love —  as full of flavor as a Cambodian lime.

Listen to Tasha’s devotion here or on your favorite podcast app!

What to Say When Fear Interrupts Your Day

by

I take my seat at a coffee shop table on a lovely morning. Outside, the birds are declaring love and war. The murmur of conversations and the scent of espresso surround me.

I am here to work. Yet the project in front of me feels so much bigger than I am. Fear whispers, You don’t have what it takes to do this.

I coach writers, and I find a common myth they believe is that at some point, the fear goes away. At some point, it fades like a morning fog. There’s a collective belief that one day you will wake up with a courage that persists. But life doesn’t work like this.

If you dare to offer anything to the world — love, art, your heart — then you will be afraid when you do it. Why? Because it matters to you.

We don’t feel fear when we don’t care; we feel apathy, boredom, disengagement. But the dreams we cherish, the relationships we treasure, the risks we want to take, the difference we want to make — these come with fear.

I’ve said before that God does not prohibit fear; He knows we will experience it. Look at Scripture and you will see He says “do not fear” to those already experiencing it. This is not a rigid command; it is a compassionate reassurance. His gentle invitation is to not stay in fear, not dwell in the paper-thin tents of our anxiety, not sit in the darkness of our “what ifs.”

I’ve learned that fear starts to flee in the wide-open light of honesty. So I write in my journal, “Jesus, I don’t have it in me to do this.” I pause, hesitate, continue, “But I have YOU in me. So I am trusting that is enough.”

I find that when I get trapped in fear, it’s often because I’ve decided it’s all up to me. I have to make things happen. I’m responsible for the results. My effort is the engine of the train. When I think that way, I’m exhausted before I even begin.

But this is not the reality I have to live in. The grander, truer story is that within me, I have the God who spoke the world into being. He has no trouble with His to-do list. He’s not wringing His hands over uncompleted tasks. He made starfish and a billion sunsets.

What He is asking of me is not to get something done; He is inviting me on a journey of intimacy with Him. Will you go here with Me?

Whatever you’re pursuing is an invitation, too. The dream, the goal, the desire for reconciliation in a relationship. It is not about the checkmark or trophy, the score or even the satisfaction of completion. What calls to our hearts most is the God who loves us, beckoning us into an adventure with Him.

God did not make you to simply obey Him. He created you for love. To first know you are loved deeply, wildly, beyond imagination. Then to respond with love to that knowing with each breath, each step, each moment.

As I remember this, I breathe deep.

Here’s the secret that can set us free: Say “yes” to Jesus and you cannot fail.

Oh, things may not go the way we want. I know this. I have lived this. I’ve seen everything I longed for most go up in smoke because someone else set fire to it. I’m not saying this out of naiveté or false positivity. I’ve lived too long on this spinning earth to have the luxury of believing everything will be fine.

But when walking with Jesus — to wherever He invites us to go — is the ultimate goal, then fear cannot win and we can’t lose.

At the end of this project, I will be loved.

At the end of whatever you’re pursuing, you will be loved.

At the end of this life, for all of eternity, we will be loved.

“There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear” (1 John 4:18 NIV). When fear comes for us, the most human thing to do is to try harder, do more, fix it ourselves. But what we need instead of striving for perfection is perfect love, a return to resting in our belovedness. “Perfect” in this verse means whole and complete. When we are afraid, it is often because we have forgotten we are fully loved.

That was true of me this morning. I showed up to this project believing I had something to prove. But this is not so; I can let that go. Instead, I can believe I am loved and let that truth make me brave.

I do not have it in me to do this.

You do not have it in you to do that.

But we have the God who is Love in us.

And that is enough.

Do you want reminders of truth to help fight your fear? Holley created 12 Fear-Fighting, Faith-Building Scripture Cards for you! They’re free!

 

Listen to Holley’s devotion here or on the (in)courage podcast wherever you stream!

Five Minutes to Encourage a Teacher’s Heart

by

It’s summer, but back-to-school is just around the corner and we’re thinking about teachers.

Teachers are a gift. They give of themselves tirelessly and from the heart, with barely time for lunch – much less a moment for inspiration! How can we best support them in the work to which they’ve been called?

We think this brand new 5-Minute Teacher Devotional from DaySpring is just the ticket! Read on for an excerpt, find out where to pick up your copy, and enter to WIN one for a special teacher!

A Classroom Overflowing with Joy

“Always be full of joy in the Lord. I say it again—rejoice! Let everyone see that you are considerate in all you do.”
Philippians 4:4–5 NLT

Are you ready to embrace today with a heart full of joy and enthusiasm? Your role as a teacher is not just about imparting knowledge, but also about inspiring and uplifting the hearts of those you teach. What an incredible opportunity!

Joy is a powerful force. It’s contagious, uplifting, and transformative. When you bring joy into your classroom, you create an environment where students feel valued, supported, and excited to learn. This isn’t just about adding a bit of fun to the day—although that’s wonderful too—but it is about sharing the deeper, abiding joy that comes from knowing God’s love.

God’s love and grace fill you with a joy that naturally overflows into your interactions with your students, brightening their days and making their learning more meaningful. Think about how you can sprinkle in moments of joy today: giving a warm smile and a wave to a child you taught last year; expressing bold enthusiasm over a child’s art project; organizing a game that breaks the routine and sparks excitement; or simply taking a moment to genuinely listen to a student’s concerns. These small acts can create a ripple effect, spreading positivity and enthusiasm throughout your classroom.

Remember, joy isn’t just about the big wins; it’s also about the small, everyday moments. Your encouragement can light up a child’s path, helping them see their own potential and value. When challenges arise, approach your students with a joyful spirit. Your positivity in the face of challenges models an important lesson for them: that joy can be found even in moments of frustration.

As you step into your classroom today, let your heart be full of the joy that comes from knowing God’s love and grace. Let that joy spill over onto your students, creating an atmosphere where learning is not just educational, but a joy-filled experience.

Heavenly Father, fill me with Your joy and let that joy overflow into my classroom. I pray that my students will find joy in learning, and that they may become lifelong students of You. In Your holy name I pray, Amen.

—

The 5-Minute Teacher Devotional offers quick, meaningful encouragement from God’s Word—perfect for the brief, quiet moments teachers can grab throughout the day. It brings peace and renewed strength for whatever comes next. Thoughtful and uplifting, it also makes a wonderful gift to show teachers how much they’re valued and appreciated.

We LOVE this devotional, and would love to get it in the hands of FIVE deserving teachers*! To enter, just leave a comment below telling us about the teacher to whom you’d gift a copy — or if you are a teacher.

 

*Giveaway open to US addresses only, and closes on 7/18/2025 at 11:59 pm Central.

What a Pollen-Drunk Bee Taught Me About Being Chill

by

A flash of color through the bedroom window caught my eye. What was that? The sun was still struggling to rise, the darkness slowly rolling back. I couldn’t be sure what I’d seen in the soft, early morning light. So I backtracked, paused at the glass, and searched for the hot-pink hue that had stopped me in my tracks. 

Ahhhh, the wildflowers are blooming! 

Several days had passed since I’d walked around the back side of our home. Nestled against the woods, there is no real reason to walk around that side of the house. Everything we need — the garage, front door, back patio, deck — is accessible from the other side. Until the flash of pink caught my eye through the bedroom window and drew me outside.

As I came around the corner, I could hardly believe the symphony of color that awaited me. Bursts of deep purple, lavender, yellow, white, and hot pink danced before my eyes, the various Colorado wildflowers swaying in the early summer breeze. 

These wildflowers bloom every summer at different times and to varying degrees, depending on the spring’s rainfall and the sun’s heat. This year we’d had an unusually high number of thunderstorms followed by brilliant sunshine. The result was one of the best wildflower displays I’d seen since we lived here.

The only problem? I’d been distracted by life and almost missed it. 

So that day, I slowed my pace and walked the perimeter, taking in the view. I stopped to consider the different varietals, noting their brilliant colors and unique greenery. Some boasted unopened blooms, promising a better display in the coming days. I had to make sure I didn’t miss it. 

Then, toward the end of my self-guided wildflower tour, I noticed a splash of black-and-yellow in the center of one of the purple blooms. Thinking it odd, I leaned closer to investigate. 

To my surprise, what I discovered wasn’t the pistil of the flower, but the butt of a honey bee. Yes, the black-and-yellow striped backside of a bee that had parked himself in the purple cone-shaped bloom like I park my SUV in the garage. Nose in, butt out, engine off. Totally chill. 

I laughed out loud. The bee wasn’t moving. Not a bit. Whether drunk on pollen or simply not a morning person, I couldn’t say. Regardless, he looked quite cozy and unmotivated to leave his purple bed. I marveled at my luck, until I looked to the left and found another bee butt similarly positioned in another purple bloom. Pollen-drunk bees were everywhere. 

This was no longer an anomaly, but a pattern. Nature was doing nature. And it was extraordinary. Who knew?!

Based on his lack of movement or response, I don’t think Mr. Bee was the least bit interested in my epiphany. But my heart danced because in that moment, I felt a hint of the wonder of this marvelous, magical world. And I realized anew that the same God who made the too-cool-for-school bee also made the middle-aged woman who admired him. 

We have the same Creator, little buddy. The same God who made you, made me. How amazing is that?! 

The bee didn’t answer. But my spirit settled. Thank you, Father.

In the weeks and months before, I’d watched with utter helplessness as someone I care for sank deeper and further away from me. Wrestling with personal demons, some of which I couldn’t identify or understand, I prayed over and over again for clarity, wisdom, and divine rescue. Lord, save!

There are a few things as painful as watching someone you love self-destruct, and knowing you can’t do anything to stop it. How does a heart bear it? 

Jesus said, “Look at the lilies and how they grow. They don’t work or make their clothing, yet Solomon in all his glory was not dressed as beautifully as they are. And if God cares so wonderfully for flowers that are here today and thrown into the fire tomorrow, he will certainly care for you. Why do you have so little faith?”
Luke 12:27-28 (NLT)

As I stood in front of a beautiful wildflower display for which I could take no credit and a comatose bee who remained completely oblivious to my presence, the Holy Spirit reminded me once again that our Father is in the details. He sees the bee napping in a bloom, and He sees the woman who stays awake through the night praying for those she loves. Although much is out of my control and I can’t predict ultimate outcomes, I know that the same Creator who grew the wildflowers and guided the bee can be trusted with the various people and problems that color my often complicated and sometimes heartbreaking life.

Some nights will still pass without sleep. Some days will still be marked by tears. But I can trust the one who cares for me, even more than the flowers and bees He made.

He is where my faith resides. Nose in, butt out, engine off. Totally chill.

And there I will rest.

 

Listen to Michele’s devotion here or wherever you stream podcasts!

This Is What a Woman of Integrity Looks Like

by

“A gossip goes around revealing a secret,
but a trustworthy person keeps a confidence.”
Proverbs 11:13 NLT

It’s all around us. The juicy details. The “did you hear?” moments. The whispered updates that make us feel included, important, or in the know. Whether it’s a celebrity scandal online or the latest drama shared in the office parking lot, gossip has been dressed up and disguised as connection.

But let’s be honest: behind every “secret” is a real person with a real heart, and when we repeat what was never ours to share, we participate in tearing down rather than building up.

As women, we’re often tempted to bond through shared information. But the truth is, gossip isn’t harmless. It’s a subtle but powerful force that can distort relationships, erode trust, and pull us away from the kind of life Jesus calls us to. The world tells us it’s fine, even fun, to talk behind backs or trade stories that don’t belong to us.

But we follow a different Way.

Jesus, who is full of grace and truth, invites us to live in freedom — not just freedom from sin, but freedom for integrity, wholeness, and love. That means guarding what’s been entrusted to us, choosing discretion over drama, and being women who are safe and dependable — not just for our friends, but as a reflection of the trustworthy God we serve.

Let’s not pattern our lives after the world’s ways. Let’s pattern our lives after Christ: who sees every person as precious, who never gossips about our struggles, and who always keeps His Word. May we be women who shine His light in dark corners. May our words build bridges, not walls. And may we be known not for the secrets we spill, but for the trust we keep.

Pray with us:

Lord, Thank You for being a safe place for my heart and a keeper of every hidden part of my story. Forgive me for the times I’ve used my words carelessly, for the moments I’ve shared what wasn’t mine to tell or listened when I should’ve walked away.

Help me to be a woman who reflects Your integrity, who chooses truth over gossip, and who protects the hearts of others as I want mine to be protected.

Teach me to be trustworthy, Lord. Let my words be marked by kindness, restraint, and grace.

In a world quick to tear others down, help me shine as a light of love. Amen.

In Christ, We Are Not Rootless

by

A few years ago, I found out my husband can trace his lineage back to 1650.

His family’s roots reach deep into the soil of Collelongo, a mountain village in southern Italy. There are records, names, and stories of his people. When he was a kid growing up in a small midwestern town, the community would gather each year for the St. Rocco’s picnic — a yearly celebration that brought together descendants of Collelongo. Whether they realized it or not, that shared tradition served as a grounding force in their lives. Their roots were visible, celebrated, intact.

When I learned this, I was happy for my husband but also heartbroken over my own heritage. At the time, I barely knew who my grandparents were. I couldn’t name more than one great-grandparent. There were no dusty documents or home videos connecting me to a homeland. No saints, no picnics, no lineages printed out on the back church programs. Just gaps, silence, and loss.

I felt like an orphan. Actually, more truthfully, I felt robbed. Because, literally, my people were taken from their land, stripped of their language and culture, renamed, and sold. My ancestors endured the dehumanizing brutality of slavery and carried its legacy for generations. Not only that, but somewhere in the midst of all that suffering and survival, records were lost, some were never even written at all. 

What do you do when your roots are hidden? What do you do when you long to belong, but you don’t know where — or who — you come from?

That question started me on a journey of leaning into my identity as a Black woman. I studied history. I sat with my grief. I wrestled with theology and trauma. And, slowly, I began to find God not just in heaven, but in my heritage. In the silence, I started to hear stories. In the gaps, I saw grace.

Then, in 2016, something changed. At a family reunion (a classic Black family cookout, might I add, with matching T-shirts and all), I was handed a packet of research compiled by some distant relatives on my mother’s side. I opened the pages and there she was.

Feely. My great-great-great-great-grandmother. An enslaved woman who had lived on a plantation in Wake County, North Carolina. 

A name.
A life.
A root.

I wept. Because, for the first time, I could reach back and grab hold of something. Someone. I wasn’t an orphan. I was the daughter of Feely. A descendant of a people who endured pain, who prayed and loved and survived so I could be here today. 

Romans 11 NIV speaks of being “grafted in” — of once being a wild olive shoot, now sharing in the nourishing root of something cultivated. Paul was writing to Gentile believers, reminding them that their inclusion in the family of God wasn’t a mistake or an afterthought.

They belonged. And so do we.

Even when the family tree is fractured. Even when the records are gone. Even when all you have is one name and the weight of what was lost. In Christ, we are not rootless. We are grafted in, joined into God’s love, God’s promise, and God’s people. We are part of a holy lineage. 

Maybe you’ve felt what I’ve felt — disconnected, disqualified, or distant. Maybe your story has gaps and grief, too. But, friend, let me tell you this. Your roots go deeper than the eye can see. Your belonging is not measured by what’s been documented, but by what God has declared. 

You are known.
You are held.
You are home.

Indeed, you are blessed with belonging through the bloodline of Christ.

Safe in His Arms

by

Our combined voices lifted up in worship. Our praise swirled under the dome of the outside amphitheater and poured into the surrounding area. It was a glorious Good Friday, with members of our church and people from our community gathered to worship outdoors in celebration of what Jesus did for us on the cross.

As I raised my arms, I felt someone nudge me on my right side. My oldest daughter pressed against me. I gave her shoulders a squeeze and wrapped my arm around her waist to tuck her closer. Within a couple of minutes, I felt another nudge at my left side. My oldest son came close, and I did the same — wrapped my arms around his shoulder and pulled him tight.

The next day, one of my colleagues sent me a picture she snapped of that moment. An image of me with my kids wrapped snugly and safely in my arms.

Safe.

This word safe sometimes feels like an elusive dream because the world at large often doesn’t feel very safe. Yet throughout God’s Word, He reminds us to find refuge and comfort and safety in His arms. No matter the reason. In mourning or rejoicing.

My kids coming near is not limited to daytime moments. Sometimes it’s the midnight hour and beyond when they make their way to us.

Parents everywhere have experienced nights like this. A cry pulls you from your sleep. Or perhaps you pad down the hallway to a distant room (because it feels like a mile when you’re walking at 3 am). Or you awaken to a moonlit figure in the shape of your child standing next to your bed.

This doesn’t happen as often in our home as it used to. But when it has, I’m usually not even aware that my kid has sought refuge in our bed until he or she has absorbed all the remaining space, leaving me to grasp for my life at the edge of the mattress as my comfortable and cozy sleep slips away.

My frustration over interrupted sleep shifted a few years ago when I saw a post pop up on social media — a simple illustration of two parents lying on opposite edges of their bed. Right in the middle was a child nestled between them, snugly buried under the covers. The word “safe” was scribbled above.

Now, when the kids happen to filter in and out at different moments, especially when a nightmare or fear has tried to grip them, and they snuggle under the covers against us, tucked under our arms, I hear this whisper fill my heart: they are safe here.

I’ve not always felt safe in certain places. Not safe to rest fully, or be me fully or to lean against someone for support. And many times it was from the hindrances of my own making because I didn’t want to inconvenience anyone or I feared rejection. Yet throughout scripture, the Holy Spirit whispers the same words to me as I read His word. You are safe here.

That phrase seems to stand in rebellion against all the circumstances in life that tell us otherwise. Relational tension, global conflict, financial distress, battles with health — these situations are real and tangible, and may be pushing us so far beyond our comfort that our steps seem as precarious as those 3 a.m. walks across a lego-laden landscape. At times, we may feel like we are stumbling around in the dark, searching for light, grasping for something to keep us steady against the onslaught of what we can’t control.

But safe doesn’t necessarily mean a place without strife, but a shelter and refuge in the midst of it. Safety is eternally found in the arms of God.

Hebrews 4:16 describes an invitation from the King of Kings that has always fascinated me:

“Let us then approach God’s throne of grace with confidence, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help us in our time of need.” (NIV)

I’m in awe of the way my kids bound into my husband‘s arms, or how my youngest daughter will plop herself down on one of our laps without even looking because she has total confidence that we will be there and that she is welcome.

But God’s welcome is so much more open, and redemptive, and safer, and stable than this.

A storm may be raging. Or we may be on a mountaintop rejoicing. But whatever the case, there is a place where we can dwell and remain safely. Jesus paid the price for us to come boldly. He invites us to be wrapped up in His everlasting arms and to press snugly against His pierced side.

We are safe with Him.

 

Listen to Jenny’s devotion here or on the (in)courage podcast, streaming everywhere!