When You Don’t Have the Words to Pray

When You Don’t Have the Words to Pray

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If we wait for that, we never will.

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

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

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

The prayers of others had become my prayers.

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Choose well today, friend.

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

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

What if this kind of unshakable peace actually is possible?

We think it is.

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

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

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

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

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

Sign up for a FREE week!

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Please Don’t Discount Your Joy

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I thought I would be more excited. 

I met with our church’s women’s pastor for lunch. We talked and shared. And what she said at the end of our conversation brought tears to my eyes. “I want to champion you. Whatever you’d like to teach or lead, I want to give you the opportunity and freedom to do so.”

I had never experienced anyone being “on my side” so much, especially when it came to the church. My mouth gaped wide in disbelief and I fought back tears from years of feeling unseen and at the same time feeling way too much. 

Later, pulling out of the parking lot, I was even more surprised by my spirit’s response. As the shock of her words wore off, I realized I wasn’t as excited as I thought I would be. Confused, I started to replay the conversation in my mind. But I was trying to use logic to figure out something that only the Holy Spirit could lead me through.

I had assumed that, with my background in leading other women through (in)courage, my podcast, and my marketing business, serving in women’s ministry would have been the perfect fit. But when given the opportunity I thought I wanted, God used my lack of enthusiasm to grab my attention and steer me where He had designed me to serve in this season.

Maybe you’re in a similar situation right now where there’s an opportunity you had hoped for, longed for, felt like you needed, but when it came along the joy of the Lord wasn’t in it for you? 

It’s easy to ignore the lack of joy in those crossroads moments when we feel like we should do what seems logical or even good. But I’ve learned to not ignore the absence of joy and excitement — the Holy Spirit uses both to lead us.

You might be thinking, “My faith and walk with Jesus aren’t always fun. What about the call to sacrifice and suffering at times?” Please hear me say I’m not advocating you base every decision on emotions. There have been long seasons where God called me to hard things and obedience without understanding. Ultimately our decisions should be based on the Word of God. But I think as Christians, a lot of us have programmed ourselves to discount the way God designed us; we are quick to dismiss the joy in our lives and quick to place greater importance on areas of ministry because we believe they are more significant to the Lord.

We have been fooled to think that joy isn’t a signal that God is at work in us. Many focus on the suffering of Christ and sharing in that but forget why the suffering took place — for the joy set before Jesus.

The excitement you feel for the job you’re doing, the children you’re raising, the place where you give in your community, the unseen ways you serve, that is the joy of the Holy Spirit in you. 

Receiving joy isn’t only at the moment of salvation, it also happens as God’s Holy Spirit works in us and through us. Jesus said we’re to love and obey Him, “so that my joy may be in you, and that your joy may be full” (John 15:11 NIV).

Our joy and excitement are part of God fulfilling the desires He planted long ago in each of us, even if we aren’t aware. As we partner with Him, there may be hard decisions, grieving of expectations, and dying to ourselves. But when we make Holy Spirit-directed choices in our lives, there will also be a subtle hint of joy and excitement that can’t be explained. 

So, how am I serving at my church? Teaching other women isn’t out of the question, but for now, excitement and joy have come in the form of teaching third and fourth-grade girls every Sunday morning. The Holy Spirit has prepared me for it and I absolutely love it.

Do you pay attention to the joy and excitement in your life? These two elements in your faith can be the signposts of the Holy Spirit’s leading. So, listen to the intermingling of your response and God’s together to know where He is leading you next. Please don’t discount your joy.

 

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For the Days When You Feel Lonely and Unseen

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O Lord, you have examined my heart
and know everything about me.
You know when I sit down or stand up.
You know my thoughts even when I’m far away.
You see me when I travel
and when I rest at home.
You know everything I do.
You know what I am going to say
even before I say it, Lord.
You go before me and follow me.
You place your hand of blessing on my head.
Such knowledge is too wonderful for me,
too great for me to understand!
Psalm 139:1-6 (NLT)

At the core of loneliness is often the idea that we are not known by someone. Even if we were in a crowd of people or with a group of friends, we can still feel lonely because we may not have a deep relationship with them or the time together didn’t foster the intimacy we ache for.

This is where Psalm 139 is a balm.

God knows our hearts and minds. He knows where we are and he knows our restlessness to be somewhere else. He knows our thoughts so that when we are without words, He still understands. God goes before us, is with us, and assures us of His presence, His blessing on us.

When you are lonely, remember we have a God who knows us intimately and loves us wholly.

God Knows Every Battle No One Else Sees

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Do not fear, for I am with you;
do not be afraid, for I am your God.
I will strengthen you; I will help you;
I will hold on to you with my righteous right hand.
Isaiah 41:10 (CSB)

Like millions of moviegoers, I love superhero stories. In particular, I’ve enjoyed watching (repeatedly) Wonder Woman and Captain Marvel. Certainly, it’s fun to cheer for these women as they take on villains and emerge victorious, especially when we’re used to seeing mostly men in such heroic roles. But what moves me most is the moment when each of these superheroes steps into her power and realizes her role in the supernatural war being fought.

In Wonder Woman, we see Diana climb out of the trenches, intent on helping those in need, and then walk through a storm of bullets to allow her team to advance safely behind her. As she plants her feet and holds up her shield for cover, the music swells and she doesn’t say a word. We don’t know what’s going through her mind as bullets rain down on her and she’s attacked by what feels like an endless amount of ammunition. We hear the music and watch her take hit after hit, and we see her standing strong the whole time.

In Captain Marvel, when Carol Danvers faces down her biggest opponent, it happens within her subconscious. For much of this internal battle, we see her sitting on the floor, restrained and unmoving. Those observing her from the outside have no idea of the war raging in her mind as the enemy tries to thwart her efforts to save entire worlds.

In both stories, these supernaturally strong women are fighting battles that we cannot fully comprehend. In both stories, they are only able to defeat their enemies after ignoring their team’s advice to stand down or their enemy’s taunting to give up. They are victorious only by unleashing the inner strength and power they had been given.

Now, you and I are not superheroes. Obviously I know that, no matter how many times I’ve watched those movies. However, I do think we have a lot in common with Wonder Woman and Captain Marvel.

How many times have you fought a battle that nobody else could see? How many times have you been under siege and on the verge of collapsing while standing strong on the outside? How many times have you looked at the challenge in front of you and been told, “You can’t do it”? How many times have you taken stock of your situation and told yourself that?

“I can’t do this.”

How often have I whispered, shouted, cried those words? I’ve lost count. I’m sure God knows, though, how many times I’ve realized that I cannot bear the burdens of the world or even just those that affect me personally. I trust that God knows every single time I’m fighting a war, even if nobody else notices.

So many of us are fighting battles that nobody else knows about. Addiction. Abuse. Chronic pain. Crippling debt. Anxiety. Struggles with our kids, our marriages, our friendships, our careers, our churches. We go to war alone, exhausted, and relying solely on our own strength.

No wonder we feel like giving up and shouting, “I can’t do this!”

The good news is that while we are never going to become superheroes, we are given supernatural strength by God. He never asks us to be strong enough to fight every battle — or any battle! Instead, He promises to be with us, to help us and protect us, and to give us the strength we need.

No matter what challenge you’re facing today, you aren’t facing it alone. And you don’t have to do it on your own. Ask God to give you strength, and do not be afraid, for He is your God.

Heavenly Father, I’m not a superhero, and I need Your help. This thing I’m facing is too much, and I can’t handle it on my own. I can’t do this. Please give me the strength to face the struggle, to fight what I need to fight, and to rely on You through it all. In Jesus’s name, amen.

Reflect:

  • What battle are you fighting that might be invisible to most people?
  • How are you asking God to stand with you and give you strength?
This article was written by Mary Carver as published in Empowered: More of Him for All of You.

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Calm Your Anxiety with Breath as Prayer

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It was the middle of a dark February night last year when I found myself in a hospital room with my daughter. She had been admitted for what would end up being nearly three weeks of around-the-clock care as she battled some pretty serious and scary health conditions. The road that led us to this hospital room was a long and deeply difficult journey. By the time I drove her to the ER that night after everything reached a critical and terrifying point, I was profoundly weary. 

After she was finally able to fall asleep, I laid down on the vinyl couch beside her bed. The only sound in the room was the heart monitor that beeped to the rhythm of her struggling heart as a nurse sat in the room with us, checking on her every few minutes. 

My head had barely touched the pillow when I felt the familiar signs of anxiety begin to flood through my body. My chest grew tight and heavy and my hands began to tremble as I struggled to catch my breath. I have had anxiety for as long as I can remember, but that night, as I faced overwhelming feelings of fear and helplessness, the physical symptoms of my anxiety became almost more than I could bear. 

The previous two years of unanswered prayers and pleas to God had drained me of all my words and I could feel myself unraveling. I felt so alone. So afraid. 

But I had a lifeline. 

In the middle of the dark, when I was struggling to breathe and unable to focus my thoughts enough to find any words to even pray, I remembered a tool that I had spent some time learning about: breath prayer. Breath prayers combine deep breathing with prayers of meditation on God’s Word. Made of just a couple of lines from Scripture, they’re prayed to the rhythm of inhales and exhales. 

The words of one of the prayers came to my mind that night: “The Lord is my shepherd, I have all that I need.”

I took a deep breath. As I inhaled, I tried to focus my mind on the first few words, “The Lord is my shepherd,” and as I exhaled slowly, I whispered, “I have all that I need.” Then I repeated the rhythm. I inhaled deeply, “The Lord is my shepherd,” then slowly exhaled, “I have all that I need.” As I did this several times, my anxiety began to ease. The deep breathing helped to calm the physical symptoms of my anxiety, and the simple prayer helped me to recenter my thoughts on Christ and His love for me. I was able to drift off to sleep with renewed peace. 

There in that hospital room, breath prayers gave me words to pray when I had none of my own, when all I had to offer was my trembling breath. They became a lifeline to me throughout that hospital stay, as I walked the halls breathing and praying — praying and breathing through all the hard days. And I’ve continued to practice breath prayers ever since, to help ease my anxiety while also strengthening my faith. 

For years I saw anxiety as an enemy I had to fight, or a roadblock I had to somehow get over before I could experience any real peace. But the truth is, anxiety isn’t my enemy. And it doesn’t have to be a roadblock to my faith. In fact, it can actually be a catalyst to an even deeper faith when I pay attention to anxiety as a signal to slow down, take a deep breath, and turn to Christ in prayer. 

Prayer changes things. When we pray, we inhale the truth of God’s presence and love, breathing in His goodness and grace — and we exhale the weight of our fears and anxieties, giving God all our worries and wants as we breath out. When you connect intentional slow breaths — which are scientifically shown to reduce anxiety — with the power of prayer, you have an incredible tool that can bridge the brain, body, mind and soul, especially in times of stress. Breath prayer can help calm your anxiety by connecting you to your Creator and aligning your breath to the rhythm of His grace. It can be a lifeline in times of anxiety and a doorway into an even deeper prayer life as you purposefully realign your heart with the One who made you and loves you and is always with you. 

Whether you find yourself in a dark hospital room or your own sunlit kitchen, whether you’re standing in line at the store or kneeling beside a grave, whether you’re on a hard path or the wrong path or a path that’s been broken and busted into pieces, when the feelings of anxiety begin to press in, try taking a little time to slow down, breathe deep, and pray.  

Breathe in deeply: Lord, You are my shepherd.
Things may not be ok right now, but that’s ok. You are safe. Because God is with you. He will take care of you. 

Exhale slowly: I have all that I need.
God gives you breath. He will give you everything you need. You are loved and you are held, today and always. 

…

Find hope amid anxiety through the spiritual practice of breath prayer with Jennifer Tucker’s beautifully illustrated and practical guide. Breath as Prayer: Calm Your Anxiety, Focus Your Mind, and Renew Your Soul will lead you through the practice and proven health benefits of Christian breath prayer: purposeful prayers centered around Scripture that focus your mind on Christ as you calm your body through intentional breathing. Filled with more than 80 breath prayers, Breath as Prayer invites you to the crossroads of Christian contemplative practice, Scripture, psychology, and science to deepen your faith, bring peace to your body, and discover a new reliance on Christ.
Breath as Prayer is on sale September 13. Visit breathasprayer.com for FREE pre-order gifts, including a 16-page Anxiety Toolkit, 12 printable pocket prayer cards, 6 beautiful lock screens, and more!
Breathe deeply, lean into God’s Word, and discover why every breath can be an invitation to pray.
Get your copy today (and pick up a copy for a friend as well). . . and leave a comment below for a chance to WIN one of 5 copies*!
Then join Becky Keife for a conversation with Breath as Prayer author Jennifer Tucker, tomorrow on Facebook and Instagram, and the (in)courage podcast. Don’t miss it!

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*Giveaway open until 8/29/22 at 11:59pm central to US addresses only. Winners will be notified via email. Please allow 4-6 weeks for delivery.

Do You Have an Ache Today?

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My back upper tooth, the second primary molar to be exact, began to throb after dinner a few weeks ago. It was almost a phantom pain. Here one minute and gone the next. At night I began to massage it with my tongue. This can’t be anything, I told myself. It will go away in the morning. I’ll eat softer food and floss more. It’s nothing. I decided that it couldn’t be a problem because this tooth pain had already been resolved. In 2019 I went in for a root canal and I haven’t had any pain since then. Well, until a few weeks ago.

I pushed back any notion that there was trouble and went about my life until I couldn’t ignore or avoid the pain any longer. I called the dentist. Immediately, I was referred to an endodontist (root canal specialist). I walked in and the receptionist said, “Anjuli! It’s great to see you again.” I gave her a half smile. This isn’t a restaurant, a church, or your best friend’s house. This is a place I never want to be. A place with pointy needles, drills, and x-ray gadgets that bulge, poke, and make you want to puke is not my idea of hospitality.

But I knew this ache wasn’t normal. It wasn’t supposed to be there. 

Dr. Hollander pulled up my scans and leaned in close. He pointed at the roots of my tooth and proceeded to tell me it was infected. With the backside of his pen, he traced the space where bacteria was growing like it was treasure on a map. “There it is!” 

I reminded myself to breathe.

Anything black on an x-ray means it is open space. Open space at the root of a tooth means infection can fester, grow, and cause pain. My root canal had to be re-treated. This would be a double procedure with appointments stretching out all the way to the New Year. Merry Christmas to me. My heart sank.

I’ve come to a place in life where I don’t want to run away from pain anymore. I don’t want to pretend the throbbing in a relationship will disappear with time. I don’t want a shortcut out of hard things. I don’t want to dodge, bypass, or circumvent the way to healing. I want all the baggage and boulders piled up inside of me to be gone. I want to face the path God has for me head-on. There is something I want more than a pain-free life. I want to arrive at the end of my story having become the woman God created me to be. 

Romans 5:3-5 says,

Not only so, but we also glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured out into our hearts through the Holy Spirit, who has been given to us.

Everything I go through leads me somewhere. Either I lean into the pain or I lean away from it. God promises me that if I move towards my ache, He will meet me with hope. Every sour note in my story cultivates my character. This character produces hope. Hope, sister. Hope. When I walk through the fire, I will discover hope. The promise isn’t relief from pain. The promise isn’t financial security. The promise isn’t reconciliation with people. The promise is — hope. I have to believe that the promise of hope is greater than the pain of my current circumstances. The alternative is true also. If I walk away from pain, despair will be inevitable.

When I think about all the things in my life that I don’t want to deal with, it is gut-wrenching to imagine walking toward them. Like my tooth, I want to tell myself that it will be better in the morning. I can think of a million strategies to avoid my suffering. But ignoring it, flippant optimism, or numbing will lead me away from hope.

Today, sister, take an x-ray of your life and see if there are any black spaces. Are there places where infections are growing? Is there a throb in your chest you can’t quite manage? Before you move to fix the pain, lean into Jesus. A lean doesn’t require extra words or long hours of work. It requires an exhale and a sway. Open your heart to Jesus. Remember that your current circumstances are creating in you a character that will sustain you. You will become a wise woman. You will become a woman of faith. You will become someone who doesn’t have to be convinced of hope, but will be carried by it. 

 

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God’s Comfort When Troubles Don’t Stop

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It’s OK. It’s not that bad.
It is so much worse for other people.
Everyone has bad stuff happen.
Everyone is counting on me. Suck it up and push through.

These are the phrases I’ve told myself over and over for the past eighteen months.

I won’t bore you with a long list of the big and small things that have happened to us over the past year and a half, but let me just say that being woken up by a tree falling on the roof smack dab in between where my husband and I were sleeping rates about a 4 on the 1 to 10 “Are you kidding?” scale.

I kept working, kept plugging along. I was behind on everything because I would sit down to work or look at my long list of things that needed to be checked off and freeze.

I’d tell myself:

“Just do the next thing!”
“Stop being so lazy.”
“You have a deadline. Just do something.”

And when I would try, in my own careful way, to explain to a group of people I was working with that life has been especially hard over the past year and a half, the response I got was, “Life has been hard for everyone.”

Yep. I agree.

But the not-so-thinly-veiled message was, “Stop complaining and suck it up.”

I finally began seeing a therapist because I had such a hard time functioning. I  couldn’t be creative or concentrate, and I didn’t want to hang out with anyone else besides my husband and my dog.

My therapist asked some initial questions, and I responded with “Yeah, this thing happened, but it’s not a big deal.” Or, “Yeah, it was hard for me, but other people have had it so much worse—”

She finally stopped me and asked, “Have you heard of compound trauma?”

I hadn’t. She went on to explain. “Yes, any one of those things on their own may not have sunk you. And you could have recovered. But what it sounds like is that life has been unrelenting, and each of these traumas — and that’s what they are, traumas — has left you without the ability to recover.”

And as soon as I heard this, I, a dedicated non-crier, broke down in a flood of tears.

Yes, other people have had horrible things that have happened to them. And I will mourn with them.

But the magnitude of someone else’s suffering does not lessen my suffering. And until I allow myself to grieve, I cannot recover.

So many of us, especially over the past three years, have been through surprisingly hard things. It doesn’t matter if other people are tougher than you. It doesn’t matter if your friend or your neighbor could handle circumstances better than you could.

We must stop trying to tough it out.

God has made it clear that in order to be there for others, we must allow God to comfort us.

2 Corinthians 1:3–4 (ESV) says, “Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God.”

God’s comfort comes in some surprising, and unexpected ways.

Pay attention to the words from your most tender-hearted friends. My friend Grace, when knowing I was struggling with my young dog’s terminal illness, passed on some wisdom. “My vet told me to tell myself, ‘Yes, they are going to pass. But not today. Today is a good day and we are going to be thankful for the good day today.’”

God comforts us through others who are going through similar circumstances. Thank God for Facebook support groups that have helped me with everything from dealing with my dog’s illness to reassuring me that I can have a safe place to ask questions after a car accident.

God comforts us through other people’s creative acts of kindness. Last week a group of friends sent some snacks (for us and our dog Moose), cards and letters, and a few toys for our animals to play with. A talented friend mailed me a card with a painting of our chicken, Bullwinkle, who had passed away. Recently, an old friend of my mother-in-law posted a picture of Roger’s mom on Facebook. We’d lost Betty last year and the picture was a comfort to Roger as his long grief continues.

Through the Word, prayers, and the love of the people God has surrounded us with, we feel His comfort.

While I and others cannot always be trusted to handle my hurt, God does not judge me for not being tough enough to go it alone. He calls Himself the God of all comfort and He proves that over and over again.

Need extra encouragement when it comes to getting your daily list done? Join Kathi and her team over at their Facebook group Clutter Free Academy for instruction and daily, gentle encouragement.

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Don’t Forget to Remember

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For many years now, I’ve asked myself the same nine questions as one year turns into the next. You’ve likely seen a similar “end of the year questions” list, and I can’t help but laugh at myself as I reflect on these questions in August as the store aisles fill with back-to-school supplies. The thing is, this year, one question stretched beyond a winter day of reflection and stayed with me through the seasons: What’s one piece of advice you want your future self to carry into the next year?

In years past, I twiddled my thumbs while thinking over the last twelve months. This time, I immediately began writing down my answer:

Rest. Turn everything off and be unreachable. Don’t wait until it’s convenient (that literally never happens) or until your body forces you to stop. Slow down before you break down. You don’t have to hold it all together or do all the things for all the people. You can just . . . be. After two intense years of long work days, to say nothing of a Global Situation and the grief of losing loved ones, you’ve got to pause and catch your breath. Fill up what has been poured out. It’s time to rest.

Honestly, I’m more comfortable running and doing, listening or creating, checking things off a list or showing up for my people. Resting feels unnatural, and even when I slow down for a moment, “I could be doing XYZ right now” begins running through my mind. It takes intentional effort to turn off the internal clock, to quiet the mental checklist, to ignore the “shoulds” and stop, breathe, and simply be.

That moment of reflection on December 29th was a smoke detector going off, a warning that if nothing changed, there would soon be a fire.

I could feel the heat in the dead of winter. I was running on fumes, but there it was, a giant stop sign on the side of the road, a gentle invitation to slow down and accept the daily grace so lovingly offered. I said yes, not knowing I’d spend most of January sick, February-April struggling with chronic insomnia more than ever before, and May-August physically weaker and wearier than ever before. It’s not lost on me that my last (in)courage article talks about a lack of sleep and a deep, decades-long desire for physical rest. And I believe it wasn’t lost on God that December day, that He already knew everything these days would hold.

The smoke detector went off and the siren sounded: Grace, grace, grace. Rest, rest, rest. Trust, trust, trust.

Perhaps, like me, you grew up knowing the Ten Commandments. Did you read or hear the words in Exodus 20 and mentally add “keep the Sabbath” to your to-do list as one more thing you’re responsible for instead of a gift to receive? If so, I have to tell you what I discovered when I began studying this commandment, knowing it was past time to take rest as seriously as God does.

The first word of the commandment isn’t keep — it’s remember. Remember to rest. Remember that the weight of the world is in God’s hands, not on our shoulders. Remember to slow down. Remember to stop. In other words, don’t forget to remember. It’s as if God knew we’d need a reminder to slow down, that if left to our own devices, our own timetables, we’d fill our calendars and keep our hands busy until we hit a wall. And because they did and we still do, He says it in the Old Testament and in the New and in the Spirit speaking gently within us today.

“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you,” Jesus says in Matthew 11, “and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”

It was never “come to Me, all you who have it together.” It isn’t “come to Me after you’ve done XYZ and achieved 123.” It’s simply — come. Weak, weary, frustrated, confused, angry, exhausted, grieving, doubting. Every bit of you is welcome. Just come to Me, come home, and lay your burdens down.

Like manna arriving each morning for the Israelites who first heard “remember the Sabbath” while in the wilderness, the invitation arrives for us each day. I picture it like a note, folded and passed along, with boxes to check: Will you? Yes, no, maybe.

There will always be more to do, and certainly there are seasons in which we’re to run hard. But rest isn’t a sign that you’re weak; it’s trusting that the tending of your soul matters more than the completing of a task. Rest isn’t a sign that you’ve given up; rest is accepting the gift that has already been given. Rest is an active decision, an intentional choice to slow down and say that although it might feel like the weight of the world is on your shoulders, you’re choosing to trust that it’s truly in God’s hands.

“Come to Me,” He says.

I’m coming. God, don’t let me forget to remember.

 

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Why God Calls Our Troubles Light and Momentary

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I have Bible verses I don’t like. I know I’m probably not supposed to admit that, but it’s true. There are some verses in the Bible that I just get mad at God for including. That’s not to say I don’t believe them, mind you. The entirety of God’s Word is active, alive, inspired, and for our good. I know that. But, man, some of the things God says are hard pills to swallow.

One of the verses in Scripture that trips me up time and again is 2 Corinthians 4:17. It states, “For our momentary light affliction is producing for us an absolutely incomparable eternal weight of glory” (CSB). I’ve never liked the fact that God tells us that our struggles are “momentary and light.” Sometimes, I start having these internal monologues with myself, like, God, if you only knew what I’ve gone through, you wouldn’t call it light.

Have you ever felt that way?

I remember when my sister had double kidney failure and almost died. I was in college at the time, and I could barely function. How could I focus on classes when my sister was fighting for her life in a hospital bed? That didn’t feel like a light and momentary trouble. Around that same time, some of my closest friendships fell apart. I felt alone, helpless, and unloved.

I remember sitting in chapel and listening to a sermon around that time about 2 Corinthians 4:17, and I almost wanted to scream at the speaker. How dare they tell me that what I was going through was momentary? Whenever we go through the trials of life — be it sickness, familial strife, relational heartache, the loss of a job, you name it — it feels like the greatest weight in the world. At that moment, I felt like I was being told that the pains in my life didn’t mean anything.

Some of us have walked through hell. Our bodies are failing us. Some of us have lost loved ones. We’ve been wounded by people in our inner circles. Our mental health is struggling. The pandemic has turned our lives upside down. Many of us have had our hearts metaphorically ripped out and now we’re forced to keep going through each day with open holes in our chests. None of what we’re going through is light. Pain is paralyzing. Heartache and grief can ruin us.

What I’m learning, however, is that God doesn’t scoff at my pain. In fact, as I’ve gotten older and experienced more hardships, I’ve realized that 2 Corinthians 4:17 isn’t about minimizing our sufferings at all.

God isn’t telling me that my struggles don’t matter. He’s giving me a promise that one day my pain will end. In fact, He’s telling us that even the worst imaginable suffering on earth will be nothing compared to the “eternal weight of glory.”

2 Corinthians 4:17 is about perspective. When we experience unimaginable grief, our Abba Father lifts our chin so that we can look up, not out. He whispers in our ear, “Persevere, my child. I’m here. Something better is coming.” In fact, the following verse drives this home: “So we do not focus on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal” (2 Corinthians 4:18). We must endure grief and hardship with eternity in our sight. When life feels stifled in the crippling hands of suffering, our hearts and minds must never lose hope. Our lives are not meaningless, and God is still faithful.

Beloved, I know this might not mean much now, but know this: everything in life is temporary, including our pain. God won’t always take away our pain, but He does promise to be our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble (Psalm 46:1). We can’t quit. We must persevere, because God is guiding us into a glorious future where no tear will ever be shed again. Rest in that promise. This world is not our final home. A day is coming when joy will be ours and no one and nothing can ever take it away again.

 

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For the One Who Feels on the Outside Looking In

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The moment I see the image, the bottom drops out from a place deep inside me. Five friends smile back, only one is missing — me. I too was there that day. I too sat drinking coffee on the patio, laughing and talking about life and writing. But somehow, I did not make the picture.  

Maybe I was in the bathroom. I console myself. Perhaps the picture with me was blurry and not worth posting. They were not intending to hurt me. 

All of it is true. But no matter how hard I try to rationalize the fact I am missing, the feeling of being left out surfaces like an all-too-familiar grief. Belonging has not come easily. My heart bears the scars of a thousand paper cuts, most of them unintended and yet they sting. The wounds remain tender, and as much I wish I were not so sensitive to feeling on the outside, I cannot ignore the ache inside me. The desire for connection is in my veins.  

A few months ago, I told a friend of my tendency to feel left out or left behind. Tenderly, she observed, “It’s like you’re standing on a sidewalk outside a restaurant. You can see your friends sitting at a booth right next to the window, drinking coffee and laughing, while you look on through the glass. You are close, and yet not quite.”  

As she spoke, the same old ache welled up within me, as if it had been waiting and watching for its cue. Tears blurred my vision as thirty-something years of clunky relationships passed through my mind. I was that woman on the sidewalk, the one wanting to be on the other side of the glass but unsure how to get there. I was the one doing all she could to fit in, but questioning if she really belonged. And despite how much I have learned about connection, pieces of that woman remain, haunting me. 

Scarcity loves to lurk in the corners of the mind, whispering through gritted teeth, 

You are the odd person out.
You are the outlier, the wallflower, the one-off who can’t figure out how to have friends.
Your desire is nothing more than a flimsy dream. 

Looking at the picture of my friends, I once again shirk and shrink back, wondering if I am doomed to a life looking through the glass. Because in that window, I don’t just see longing; I see lack. A picture of everything I am not. Standing there, I wonder: Am I the outlier? Does everyone else intuitively know how to navigate the relational waters? Because paddle as I may, all I seem to do is spin in circles, which leads me to conclude the problem is in me. Or worse, the problem is me. 

Longing without the light of hope bends toward despair, but longing in and of itself is not a deficit. Desires are signposts, avenues into something good. We do not want without reason, which leads me to question: What if I am looking at my desire to belong all wrong? What if what I perceive as void is vastness — a divine welcoming into so much more? 

Maybe the window is not a reminder of our lack, but a way to see the longing.  

That’s the funny thing about windows and other things made of glass, isn’t it? While on one hand they allow us to peek at what is on the other side, they also offer a reflection, a way to see ourselves a little more clearly. Windows reveal what we so often ignore. Perhaps what we need, instead of moving on by, is to gaze at what we see a little longer. 

Holding my phone, the picture staring back at me, I pause. I look a little longer at the screen, and as I pay attention to the pain that wells up, I speak my longing out loud. I let the words pass through my lips like a prayer: 

I want to belong.
I want to feel safe and seen.
I want to be known.
I want to be wanted. 

I say the words over and over, knowing my desire does not fall on deaf ears but into the hands of the One who wove us all together in the first place. The One who crafted us from dirt and the warmth of His breath and pulls us to His chest like a mother gathering her young. The One who saw beyond our fractured state and let His prayer echo over us for generations, “May they all be one, as you, Father, are in me and I am in you” (John 17:21 CSB). 

As I name the ache out loud, I remember this holy wanting embedded in my bones. I am not on the outside looking in; I am simply still on the way. This knowing frees me. I take a deep breath and feel my face stretch into a smile as the power lack once held over me diminishes. Grace softens my once-fragile edges enough for me to forgive, to make room for a world where I am wanted, even if I am not in the picture. There in the longing, the hollowness transforms into hope. Because what I see in the glass is no longer an outsider, but a person wrapped in the promise of more — a people of a Bigger Picture, framed in the goodness of the Father’s love. 

Instilling Hope into Your Soul

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In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth. The earth was formless and empty, and darkness covered the deep waters. And the Spirit of God was hovering over the surface of the waters.

Then God said, “Let there be light,” and there was light. And God saw that the light was good. Then he separated the light from the darkness. God called the light “day” and the darkness “night.”

And evening passed and morning came, marking the first day.
Genesis 1:1-5 (NLT)

Perhaps “formless and empty” describe the season you’re in or the year you’ve had. It seems as though nothing good or generative is happening and that you’re stuck in a holding pattern. Or perhaps you can’t see past the darkness that lays heavy on you, one that you haven’t been able to shake for a while.

Then the story of creation may be what you need to hear today. When the Spirit of God hovered over the surface of the waters (water often symbolizing chaos and death in the Bible), movement happened, light came to be, and the first day began.

Creativity.
Transformation.
Hope.

Our Creator God is the same today as He was then. May His Spirit hover over you, creating beauty, breathing new life, and instilling hope into your soul.

Saying No Actually Is Being Like Jesus

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Very early in the morning, while it was still dark, Jesus got up, left the house and went off to a solitary place, where he prayed. Simon and his companions went to look for him, and when they found him, they exclaimed: “Everyone is looking for you!”

Jesus replied, “Let us go somewhere else — to the nearby villages — so I can preach there also. That is why I have come.”
Mark 1:35-38 (NIV)

I wash the rice robotically as my mind zigzags between every worry and concern and my increasing to-do list. The braised beef ribs stew in the Dutch oven on the stove, and the aroma of soy sauce, garlic, onions, and ginger fills the kitchen with the smells of home.

I taste the sauce for the beef ribs, and though I’ve made this dish a dozen times before, I still get nervous when I’m making it for a new mama. I want it to be perfect — for her to experience a mother’s love when her own is far away. I was a new mom once with no family close by, so now I want to show up whenever I’m able and provide what I never had. And though my life was overflowing with obligations, I signed up for the meal train anyway.

I pour the rice into the rice cooker, use my index finger to measure the correct amount of water, and I’m amused that somehow it’s accurate every single time. I press the cook button to get it going, and as I turn my attention to the next dish I’ve promised to make, my phone buzzes. I miss the call just as I reach for it and see that a friend has called me twice already.

It must be an emergency. Why else would she be calling me so many times?

I dial her number, and every possible scenario flashes through my head while I wait for her to answer.

“Hi!”

Her chipper greeting dispels all worries, but before I can tell her that I’m busy, she chatters on about her day, how it’s been at work lately, her complaints about this and that person, and how exhausted she’s been. I watch the minutes pass as I try to stir and juggle the phone and make sure I’m on schedule to get the meal delivered to the new mama on time. I don’t know how to get off the phone without seeming rude, so I say nothing but the occasional “yeah” to let her know I’m still listening.

By the time dinner is dropped off and I’m driving home in the quiet of my car, I realize how spent I am. I can feel the whining coming up through my heart to my mind, annoyed at no one specific but taking it out on the slow driver in front of me and . . . myself.

I’ve passed my limit of pouring out, and I knew it was coming. I probably even knew it when I first signed up to provide a meal, but I have such a hard time saying no. I don’t want to be thought of as unfriendly or as someone who doesn’t show up. I want people to know that I’m trustworthy and dependable, that I see them and can carry their burdens with them. The problem is that I want to do that for everyone. It seems like the thing Jesus would’ve done — isn’t He the one who sacrificed it all for us?

But when I look closely at His life, I see that He didn’t do everything for everyone. He wasn’t always available. He made choices, saying yes to some and no to many. In Mark 1:35-38, Jesus’s disciples find Him and exclaim, “Everyone is looking for you!” People are clamoring for Him to heal them and to cast demons out of their loved ones. Everyone needs and wants something from Jesus.

But Jesus responds by saying, “Let’s go somewhere else.” He knows not only His purpose but also His capacity.

He demonstrates this so many times in His life, establishing boundaries with unhealthy people, setting new standards for unsustainable patterns, and upending unjust practices. He retreats to solitary places to pray (Mark 1:35-38). He takes His time and rests when needed, even in the midst of a storm (Mark 4:35-41). He overturns tables in the temple — a hard no to those exploiting the poor (John 2:13-16).

Saying no actually is being like Jesus. He knew the wisdom of setting boundaries, and He empowers us to do the same. When we are being pulled in every direction, we can say yes to His purpose within our capacity.

Lord, You don’t require us to do all the things all the time. Help me not to get the needs of others confused with what You’re asking me to do. Give me the courage and ability to say no, to establish boundaries with those who often cross them, and to see my limitedness as a good thing and not a selfish thing. Amen.

Reflect:

  • In what areas of your life do you need to build healthy boundaries?
  • What’s one no you’re going to say today?
This article was written by Grace P. Cho, as published in Empowered: More of Him for All of You.

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A Lesson from Two Sick Pigs, A Herd of Hogs, and a Divine Farmer Named Jesus

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I live on a fifth-generation family farm in Iowa, and it never ceases to amaze me how farm life offers a metaphorical window into the human experience.

In particular, I’ve been in awe over how the gospel comes to life when I walk around our land. It seems that Jesus is whispering a message in every field and every barn. He made a habit of doing that sort of thing during His earthly teaching ministry. Jesus, whose audience came from a highly agrarian culture, often drew lessons from the land. He spoke of vineyards, seeds, weeds, soil, fields, and farm animals, such as sheep and hens.

Two millennia later, I hear the whispers of a Divine Farmer in a place that feels both beautifully messy and unexpectedly sacred: the pig pen.

Picture the scene, as if you were standing next to me, by the barn, tucked between Iowa fields of corn and soybeans.

When baby pigs arrive on the farm, they show up in the most ridiculously charming way – chauffered inside an old school bus retrofitted for this purpose. The bus driver backs up to the barn, opens the rear fire exit of the bus, and whoosh! A pink streak of squealing swine streams straight into their new home.

And while I try to provide some assistance for my husband, I mostly just coo at those roly-poly piggies and attempt to pick them up for cuddle time and selfies. (Hi, I’m weird.)

Baby pigs really are the cutest. But do you want to know what’s less cute? Baby pigs that get sick.

A few weeks after the recent batch of pigs came to the farm, two of them became quite ill. My husband knew they were sick because every time he walked into the barn, they were laying around, refusing to eat or drink. So he put them in a sort of “sick bay,” an empty pen reserved especially for pigs recovering from illness. (I call it the Hogs-pital.) There, he nursed those little pigs back to health.

Many weeks later, I went into the barn with Scott, and the same two pigs were still in the Hogs-pital. I couldn’t understand why. The pigs had fully recovered. They were eating and drinking normally, just like all the pigs in the regular pens.

But Scott hadn’t put them back with the rest of the population.

I asked him about it, and here’s what he told me:

Those two pigs would get hassled and picked on by the pigs who didn’t get sick. (Yes, even pigs can be bullies.) Turns out, there’s a hierarchy and dominance built into the herd in which the most powerful are safest of all. Because of this, those two pigs would have to remain isolated for the rest of their lives, separated from community, to protect them from abuse.

Looking at those pigs, I thought of how it can feel that same way for a lot of us who have been shunned, disregarded, and set aside because of some struggle we’ve endured.

Maybe you’ve been set aside for an addiction, a personality quirk, a decision that others disagreed with. Maybe you’ve been disregarded for no other reason than a community structure that worked hard to protect the powerful. Or maybe you’ve been disregarded because of the chronic pain you carry or an illness that is your constant companion. You feel like a burden every time you try to re-enter places where you were once accepted with open arms, back when you seemed healthy and happy.

Maybe you know someone like that. Maybe that someone is you. And today, you are feeling on the outside of community.

I’ve felt that way — not only as a child, but as a grown woman.

But One Person who has never made me feel that way is the Divine Farmer. Jesus never waits for people to get pulled-together enough, healthy enough, cleaned-up enough before entering into relationship with them. Instead, the Bible reveals a Savior who went out of His way to hang out with outcasts, the sick, the marginalized, and the broken.

Jesus once said, “People who are well do not need a doctor, but only those who are sick. I have not come to call respectable people, but outcasts” (Mark 2:17 GNT).

As someone who has felt the sting of rejection, I am soothed by a Savior who sits by my side, messy and unrespectable as my private “pen” might be.

If you are feeling discarded, unwelcome, and forgotten today, may you find that you belong with Jesus. He is with you, even in this.

And for the rest of us, those standing securely in a safe community, may we be the ones who open our arms. May we be the people who widen our circles.

And also, may we be the ones who stay keenly aware of the health of the communities in which we dwell. Do our communities invite people in, or shut people out? Do our communities embrace the so-called outcasts, or wait until they clean up? Do our communities protect power structures, or create safe places for vulnerable people? Where do we need to root out herd mentality?

We would all do well to welcome the vulnerable ones to our tables, not only because it’s what people of integrity do, but also because, one day, we might find ourselves looking around for someone who would do the same thing for us.

 

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Overcoming Regret and Why It’s Important to Your Joy

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Do you carry feelings of regret?  Regret can be damaging; it might not appear so on the outside, because we can still be functioning, going to church, and getting things done. But, deep in our souls, regret can be an emotional burden, affecting our ability to soak in joy.

One time, when my sons were still little, we had gone hiking and I noticed that Caleb, my younger son, was dragging his feet. Initially, I just kept telling him to catch up. “C’mon. Let’s keep going. On our walk back, I’ll give you some chocolate.” I rarely gave my kids candy, but on our hikes, I would carry snack-sized candies to motivate them. It wasn’t until we took a water break and I was close to Caleb that I noticed his backpack looked lumpy.

“What do you have in your backpack?” I asked. I discovered his backpack was very heavy.

It turns out this little boy was collecting rocks along the way and putting them in his backpack! No wonder he was so tired!

That’s what regret feels like. You know those hard things that you’ve been through and just tucked away because you figured they didn’t matter? God sees you and He cares about the regrets you carry.

What regrets are you carrying as you go through this day, this week, or this month, as we enter a new fall year?

I once thought regret didn’t harm anybody. I figured, I’m the only one who is affected by whatever it is I regret. But, on my journey to take better care of myself, God led me to learn that there are two kinds of regrets and it inspired me to see and treat my regret differently.

One kind of regret is called the action path. The other is the inaction path. The action path describes the things we regret because of something we did or mistakes we made that resulted in undesirable loss or pain. This is the type of regret that we can grow from — hard lessons learned that we gain wisdom from.

But the other kind of regret comes from inaction — researchers show that this kind of regret leads to depression, which can last for years. The inaction could have resulted from someone who stopped us, outside circumstances, or our own fears and insecurities. Regretting things that we never did, never tried, or were held back from pursuing brings sorrow and affects our emotional health.

Yet, Jesus says that He comes to give us joy and continues to fill us with joy and replenish our joy. In John 15:11, Jesus says that in Him our joy may be made full.

This doesn’t mean God wants us to squash our negative emotions. Rather, God wants us to bring our regrets to Him, so He can redeem them by helping us choose what gives us real joy. When we put feet to our faith, the bumps and mistakes we make along the way are things God will help us grow and recover from.

As I thought about some of the things I regretted not trying, a loving promise from Scripture came to my mind that is empowering me to do new things with God, to redeem regret with joy. I want to share God’s promise to empower you too:

You go before me and you follow me. You place your hand of blessing on my head.
Psalm 139:5 (NLT)

God goes before you. He knows the challenges ahead of you and nothing will catch God by surprise. God will catch you if you fall. You have a soft place to land. But notice something equally amazing: God is also behind you and God follows you! Other translations say, “You hem me in.”

Dear friends, God is not so far ahead that you are walking alone. No, in fact, Jesus is walking with you, and He is right behind you!

He is your shield. Jesus whispers, I am with you. I still place my hand of blessing upon you.

It’s never too late to choose joy. God’s faithfulness will follow you. Moment by moment. Step by step.

I hope this truth empowers you as much as it empowers me. That’s what I’ll be doing as I launch new ideas with God this fall. No regrets.

Let’s do new things together with Jesus. We are not alone. Overcome regret by redeeming it with joy. God is with you. You are God’s beloved!

Share one new thing you want to try, explore, or take a first step to choose joy this fall! Let’s encourage each other!

Download Bonnie’s FREE 7 Prayers & Scriptures to Lower Anxiety and Restore Peace by signing up here. 

 

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Real Relief if You’re Jacked-up, Worn Out, and Weary

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I am forty now and things like simply sleeping can turn out to be a health hazard when you wake up and can’t move your neck! At least that’s what happened to me a couple of weeks ago. I looked like I had been in some kind of terrible accident where you wear a neck brace and have to use your whole body to turn. Except I wasn’t wearing a neck brace and hadn’t been in a terrible accident. In fact, I had slept on a silk pillowcase like a dainty flower. So, I did some stretches, I rubbed some essential oils on it, I put my back massager on the stiff area and it sort of all helped. But as time went on, it was this nagging dull pain that turned into loud pain. My husband, sick of hearing my complaints and knowing my tendency to dig my heels in and not ask for help, scheduled me an appointment with the chiropractor.

As I sat on the crinkle-papered bed, we looked at my x-rays and she told me all the ways my spine and neck were wonky. I reiterated that I just woke up one day and my back was yelling at me. She matter-of-factly responded, “Likely this has been going on a long while and when you slept in a wrong angle, it amplified the deeper issues going on. These x-rays always tell on you, and so does your body.” 

Well, that was rude, Dr. Jess.

It always feels weird when people have x-ray vision and you can’t hide behind, “I’m fine!” anymore. I wasn’t fine.

As time went on, appointment after appointment, I started to feel better. It still hurts and I have some ways to go, but I want to fix that deeper issue so I don’t have to feel this way anymore. More importantly, I don’t want it to get so bad that I can’t do the things I love to do like walking or playing with my kids or beating my neighbors at cornhole (the only sport I play).

It made me think about how far we like to go on our own without asking for help from God or how deep we can get into trouble by hiding behind “I’m okay” with friends — all while the spiritual x-rays of our life would show something different. If you’re like me, you will throw bandaids on things that need a physician’s help, care, and readjusting. And so it is with our faith, minds, and hearts. We can temporarily numb out our pain with a number of things like social media, shopping, eating, drinking, working out, etc. This is especially true after the past couple years of muddling through some very trying times! But the very things that helped us get through can sometimes turn into a big weight, making our posture hunch and inflaming our bodies down to the bone.

In Proverbs 27:19 it says: 

As in water face reflects face, so the heart of man reflects the man.

There’s just no hiding the overflow of our hearts and minds, even though we think we are doing a great job of managing or pushing away the pain.

The x-ray reflected my jacked-up back just like looking in water will show a person’s face. And because I couldn’t hide it anymore, and because I got some help in the proper place (a doctor), I could be readjusted to living in light of how I was supposed to be walking and sitting and sleeping all along. I wasn’t made to carry all this weight on my own, and neither are you. 

As believers, our remedy comes from the Great Physician. But don’t we tend to come to Him once we’re worn out, weary from trying to fix it all on our own? After exhausting all other avenues and coming up short? He knew we would do that — because we’re human. 

Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me — watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly.
Matthew 11:28 (MSG)

I read this and breathe in so deeply. I picture myself handing over my huge backpack and Jesus taking it on His own back. I picture letting Him assess my injuries from walking so long with no rest. And the tender care of His touch, the relief I feel from not having to fix the hardest things in life, feels so incredibly good.

If you’re feeling heavy, maybe this will be good news for you too. He will replace your heaviness with lightness; He just can’t help Himself.

 

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