Battle This Lie: You Aren’t Good Enough and You Never Will Be

Battle This Lie: You Aren’t Good Enough and You Never Will Be

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For we are God’s masterpiece. He has created us anew in Christ Jesus, so we can do the good things he planned for us long ago.
Ephesians 2:10 (NLT)

I sat on the edge of my seat and listened as the deacon gave announcements. My mind was going a million miles a minute trying to think of a way for this to end well, but I couldn’t see it. The pit of my stomach felt heavy. It was the same feeling I get at the top of a roller coaster, when the anticipation is at its peak and I don’t know if the drop will be exhilarating or excruciating (mostly excruciating). And that was when I noticed the deacon looking in my direction and heard him saying, “Let’s welcome Pastor Grace as she gives the message for us today!”

I had been at the church about six months as the newest associate pastor. I was fresh out of seminary with a master’s degree in world missions but hadn’t made it to the mission field as I had imagined I would. I had never taken a preaching class, but here I was about to take the mic and preach my first sermon.

I wiped my palms down the sides of my skinny jeans, but it didn’t help. I walked to the music stand, laid open my trusty NIV Bible, and proceeded to read Scripture passages for the next twenty minutes, hoping that would be enough to carry the message.

It was embarrassing, a failure — and it happened to be Easter Sunday.

I still cringe when I think about that moment. It’s so deeply imprinted on my memory that now anytime I’m asked to speak or preach, it’s the first thing that comes to mind. And along with it I hear this half-truth: Who do you think you are? You’re not qualified. You don’t have enough experience. You need more training or education to be considered a professional.

I listen to the critic’s voice in my head as if she’s full of wisdom and care for me. It’s easy to understand her logic and to think she’s only trying to spare me from more shame. What she says is partially true: I wasn’t taught to be a preacher. I’ve never taken courses about how to become an excellent speaker. I’ve read some books and listened to some TED talks, but that’s not enough to be considered a professional.

But the critic’s half-truth goes further: If you can’t be a professional, what are you doing? Let others who are more eloquent and knowledgeable do the work of preaching and teaching.

I wrestle these thoughts to their core message, and the lie becomes clear: You aren’t good enough, and you never will be.

The words hurt me where I’m tender. I’m nearly convinced that the lies are true when I remember how many times I’ve heard from God that I am to use my words to lead. He has made that abundantly clear. But in my humanness and doubt, I ask Him one more time, Lord, are You sure?

I sense God lovingly reply, Who are you to say whether My Word is true or not? Am I not the One who created the world and who, even before then, thought of you and all that you would be? Whose voice will you listen to?

He knows I know the answer. I’m His masterpiece, but I’ve counted myself as the one who didn’t make the cut. Because He is the Artist who created me, He knows every stroke of paint, every layered texture, every hidden gift that will unfold as I trust Him and say yes to Him.

So even though my knees still shake and the critic’s voice still whispers lies, the next time I’m asked to speak I step up to the podium, hold the mic, and let His words tell the truth.

Lord, I am Your masterpiece. Even as I say it, I need faith to believe it more. Thank You for the good things You’ve planned for my life from before the beginning of time. When I feel inadequate to step into those good things, I pray that You would be my confidence and that Your Word to me would be the most important qualification I need. Thank You that I can stand tall and firm because You are in me. Amen.

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

You Will Always Be Creative

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I stepped into the recording studio, surrounded by quiet walls all empty of echo.

“You can put your stuff here,” the sound engineer told me. I dropped the heavy book bag carrying my sweater and 64 ounces of water.

There was foam padding and wood pallets on the walls. And then, in the other room, a piano, drums, and framed CDs. In an instant, I was transported back to the dream I cradled some fifteen years ago. The dream of being a singer in a touring rock band — a recording artist releasing album after album.

There, in that moment, the remembrance of this dream also brought back the realization that the dream was long and dead. It wasn’t a dream I held very long, because just as soon as it came to be, I learned to lay it down and leave it by the wayside.

My body, all those years ago, became weak from a bout with Rheumatic Fever. Straining to sing through a sickness that lasted from season to season, I was faced with this one undeniable fact: Singing for a career would not be in the cards for my future. 

I lived in and through all those years since letting my singing fade to silence, seeking God and asking Him what to do with this dream, this deeply embedded desire. But God — He never answered me. He never wrote it on the walls, never spelled out scriptures in the sky. He never audibly, assuredly told me what to do with this one passion I pined so much for.

Time evades and, in time, I got married, birthed two boys, changed careers, and welcomed new weaknesses in my body. Then came the unexpected journey of pitching my book, Let There Be Art, while pregnant in the middle of the COVID-19 pandemic. In the blur that stretches from 2020 until now, I went from pitching to writing to publishing to the moment I was standing in the studio and recording the audiobook.

There, with my feeble frame standing between padded, soundproof walls, I heard and sensed and felt God impress — so loudly and strongly and surely — upon my heart that, though one creative season of my life came to cease, He was still working His creativity in and through me.

Yes, all along, He had been preparing and propelling me forward to realize and receive new visions for new desires, new creative dreams. He is good that way, in that He is always creating and calling us into redirection, redemption, and reimagining.

In and through seasons, you too will have creative dreams that will dwell and also die. Your creativity will come to exhilarating crescendos, only to come crashing down to the quietest lull. You will ask yourself: Am I still creative? Have I ever been creative? Will I ever be creative again?

You will wonder: Why in all the world did God let that dream discontinue? How could He let it stir only to let it sizzle out? You will ask Him what will ever become of your past passions to bake cakes, sing songs, write books, and dance on dusty stages. Yet, as earnestly as you might ask — or cry, or pray, or seek — you may not ever see scriptures in the sky or words written on walls. You may not hear it in a sermon or a song or from that friend who always says the right thing, at the right time, in the right way, on the right day.

So, hear it now — and believe it to be a truth bound to the heartbeat of God:

You will always be creative. Even when your flesh fails, even when careers change. As the kids come in and out of your home, as the years race and the hands age. When work overwhelms, when dreams dissipate — pay attention. Learn to look at the life that surrounds you. Press into the present, then ponder and pray: How is God creating in and through me now, even if it looks different from that which I first dreamed?

Like me, you may be recording audiobooks instead of rock albums. You may be baking casseroles instead of world-famous cupcakes. Or posting family pictures instead of publishing professional photographs. Or singing your son to sleep instead of singing on a stage. You may be wheeling your way through nature trails instead of running and relishing through them like you did way back when.

You may be making a home out of a fixer-upper house or solving problems with innovative solutions or building a business with your bare hands. Though it may not be perfect, published, or prominent . . . though you may not be heard from any pulpits, movies, or stages . . . you are bringing things, people, and places to life. You are shepherding souls with creative care. You, in all you do, are exemplifying the very passion and pleasure of our Heavenly Father who is always creating, always at work doing new things (Isaiah 43:19, NIV).

Even when life changes, when bodies break, and when creativity seems a long-forgotten, far-fetched myth — you will always be creative, just as The One Who Created You.

Share in a comment: where in your life do you see that God is creating in and through you? Is it in the classroom? At home with your kids? Online where you share pictures and posts? In church where you serve and see people coming to new life?

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For the times we may be unsure about our art — times when our creating and making doesn’t feel possible or purposeful or practical, the new book by (in)courage contributor Rachel Marie Kang, Let There Be Art: The Pleasure and Purpose of Unleashing the Creativity within You, gives you permission to embrace the peace, pleasure, and purpose inherent in your art and in the process of making it.

For more encouragement on creativity and calling, order Let There Be Art. When you order before October 11th, you’ll also receive a free copy of the audiobook of Let There Be Art! Get a copy for yourself and get one to give away — it would make a great birthday or Christmas gift for all the women in your life!

Order your copy today and leave a comment below for a chance to WIN one of 5 copies*!

Then join Becky Keife for a conversation with Rachel this weekend on the (in)courage podcast. Don’t miss it!

 

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*Giveaway open until 10/3/22 at 11:59pm central to US addresses only. Winners will be notified via email. Please allow 4-6 weeks for delivery.

The Reminder Every Woman Needs for Our Battle with Identity

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Slowly stirring the brownie mix at our kitchen island, I listened carefully to the delicate conversations occurring in our living room. It was our church’s middle school discipleship weekend, and our family hosted a group of ten seventh-grade girls in our home for two days.

One can only imagine how this house came to life. It was so loud — the rooms echoed with laughter, hope, and questions. All the questions. Around small groups, we pondered the topic of relationships: relationships with family, friends, boys, authority figures, and yes, frenemies. I witnessed girls’ hearts grow more tender to Jesus, but who also struggled to understand the foundational truth of their identity in Christ.

Do you remember those middle school years (or maybe more experiences jump out to you from high school)? So many tangled emotions. Feeling disconnected and uncertain. Everything seemed so complicated, pressured, and overwhelming. Friendships especially were a most sensitive matter.

Words mark us for decades, don’t they? They drip deep into the marrow of who we are and when we least expect it, the negative memories surface and challenge the truth about ourselves.

As I continued stirring those brownies, the girls shared around their intimate circle. By opening our home, they were able to open their hearts. I sat honored, yet burdened with their stories of struggle.

This new social media savvy generation deals with failures on such a heightened level. When I was in seventh grade, the slight verbal gossip behind one’s back stung, but only a handful might hear it. Today, gossip and personal opinions top internet statuses. Humiliation is public fodder, while fragile emotions erupt amidst ruined reputations in the wake of the all-knowing cyber world.

I continued to listen. Their list of worries tumbled out . . . comparison, loneliness, popularity, bullying, self-image, self-worth.

“I’ll never be as good. Everyone likes her more. I wish I had a friend like that.”

These were no longer seventh-grade girls voicing immature concerns. These were the heart cries of women of all ages. Struggles whispered throughout the generations. These voices might be younger, but the track being played is the same whether twelve or seventy-two.

How do we break the bondage of lies that start so young?

I could feel my momma bear rise up with fighting words towards the master manipulator, this father of lies. The enemy is cunning. He reaches across multigenerational plains and plants seeds of inadequacy at such a young age, but he doesn’t stop there. Those seeds fester and roots burrow deep and destroy across the decades. I still allow doubt to divide my heart. How can we counter this? I’m sure my questions echo yours, echoing the hearts of women everywhere.

There’s only one place for answers.

The girls and I turned there together. We opened God’s Word and explored verses that identified who we are in Christ. My heart cried out. Do they understand the power in these truths? Do we?

The only life-affirming, life-giving, life-changing way to counteract lies is with God’s truth. The only way.

The brownies had cooled by now. Their stomachs followed their noses as the chocolaty aroma filled the air. I knew they’d demolish them in moments, but as I cut each square, I claimed God’s truths for their lives, for my life, for my children’s, and yes, for yours.

This weekend was about more than just a social bonding time (although I am all about that). It was about feeding tummies, and souls, and encouraging a lifelong love affair with our Savior.

The weekend impacted me. I needed the same reminders.

Through the eyes of seventh-grade girls, I saw struggles that mimicked my own. I’m grateful that decades of experience now assure me that as we cling to His truth, lies are thwarted. When we walk in our identity as true image bearers of the most High God, everything changes.

So let’s allow these precious fighting words I shared with the girls to anoint us as we walk forward in His truth:

Lord, You make no mistakes. I am fearfully and wonderfully made. (Psalms 139:14)
I am accepted because I am Your daughter, (Galatians 4:6-7) complete in You, (Colossians 2:10) chosen and appointed to bear fruit. (John 15:16)
Lord, I am beautiful because You are beautiful and I am made in Your image. (Genesis 1:27)
I have been redeemed and forgiven (Colossians 1:14), free from condemnation (Romans 8:1-2), and any charge against me. (Romans 8:31-34)
Lord, I can find grace and mercy in You in my time of need. (Hebrews 4:16)
I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me. (Philippians 4:13)

My personal list continues, but can we share more in the comments? Which one do you need as a balm for your soul? To be repeated often. For me, it’s “I am accepted.” No matter how on the fringe I feel, I am accepted because He knows me, and His love never wavers. Thank You, Jesus.

A few years ago, Jen created life giving truth reminders for her children. She thought you might enjoy these free printables too. Tuck them everywhere you need reminders of who you are and whose you are. If we don’t live loved and model it for the next generation, who will?

 

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There Is No Hurry with Love

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Ash falls from the sky again. Wildfires burn, and the sun glows an eerie red-orange. Temperatures soar in the triple digits, but it’s strangely humid, and I hear a hurricane is coming our way. With the moody skies and the strong winds, there’s an energy blowing about that fills me with excitement. Something is coming. Something is around the corner. I can feel it. 

But by the time the hurricane comes to our region, it’s mellowed out to a quiet rainstorm. The tiny drops wet the ground but aren’t enough to satiate its thirst after too many months, even years, of drought.

The anticipation of something exciting peters out, and it’s back to the muggy state of things. And I feel it in my soul. Even though I know change takes time, even though I know it’s not guaranteed, even though I know there is goodness in slowness, I get antsy, restless. I become bored and lethargic.

From where I stand, I see a long road ahead, like a highway in the desert going to who knows where, and I get discouraged.

This is in relation to so many things in my life right now — in parenting, when I’ve tried and tried to teach my kids to be kind to each other and they continue to fight; in diversity, equity, and inclusion work, when it’s unclear if the goals will get us to where we need and want to be; in healing, when the layers of childhood wounds don’t seem to have an end; in art, when success (and what does success even mean?) feels rare and the path to it is vague and fuzzy – and will the effort, time, and commitment lead anywhere or result in anything?

I’m impatient for things to be completed, for change to happen, for signs of life, and though I don’t expect those things to happen overnight, my timeline for them is a lot shorter than is realistic. 

We can wax poetic about the beauty of seasons, but when urgency rings incessantly in our faces and the message of our Western North American culture is to do everything right, right now, it’s hard to know how to embrace the organic pace of growth. 

Anytime I feel stuck in these conundrums and questions of life, I try to think of how God might view things and discern the truth through Divine eyes. If we experience time as God sees it with the perspective of eternity, then the long road ahead that seems to lead nowhere isn’t something to escape but rather a path of grace. Grace to grow at the pace that is necessary and unique to each of us and our circumstances, grace to account for the mistakes and distractions we will face, grace to be patient when things seem to still and slow down or life takes a different turn. 

And perhaps even the endless length of the road is a grace because when we’re with the One who loves us, urgency loses its power, and meaning is created out of love instead of productivity.

Seeing from this perspective settles my soul, and I breathe out the restless energy that’s pent up inside me. My fretting wanes and hope parts a way through discouragement to bolster me again. 

On a recent drive from Southern California to Las Vegas, I marveled over how the once burnt hills of black shrubbery were now vibrant with life and how the desert landscape was greener than I had ever seen it before. I dangerously took picture after picture because I wanted to remember this miraculous view. The wildfires had burned years before and the desert had always been the same old brown, but as I drove down the long road, I witnessed what time and water had done. And it dawned on me, Yes, this is love. Love is patient. There is no hurry with Love.

 

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For the Days You Need Peace and an Attitude Reset

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Your baby is teething and kept waking up at all hours of the night. A rude driver cut you off on your morning commute. Your roommate left her dishes on the kitchen counter — again.

Ugh. Can you feel the tension crawling up your neck?

Or maybe you woke up to a perfect hair day. Your kind neighbor brought in your trash cans. Your kids didn’t fight on the way to school, and the predicted storm instead gave way to clear blue skies.

Hooray! What a glorious day!

It sure is easy to let things that are beyond our control — whether bad or good — dictate our attitude. I see this in my kids too. If they get to play the video game of their choice: happy campers. If I ask them to take a family walk or bring in the trash cans: grumpy complainers. While I desire for (and expect) my children to choose a grateful and cheerful manner whether they get what they want or not, I have to admit I don’t always follow my own standards.

But what does the Bible have to say about our attitude? In a nutshell, it says we should take a cue from Jesus. Listen to the instruction the apostle Paul gave to the Philippians: “Do nothing out of selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility consider others as more important than yourselves. Everyone should look not to his own interests, but rather to the interests of others” (Philippians 2:3-4 CSB).

There’s that word: humility. It means turning away from self-focus to other-focus, having a posture that chooses to serve instead of strive, and remembering that God is in control and we are not. These instructions lead us to the big takeaway: “Adopt the same attitude as that of Christ Jesus” (Philippians 2:5).

When I was younger in my faith, I remember reading Paul’s instructions and thinking it was kind of ridiculous. I mean, Jesus is Jesus. The Savior. God in human flesh. Sacrifice and obedience must come easy for Him, right? How can God expect imperfect us to have the same attitude as perfect Jesus?

While I understand where my younger self was coming from, in truth it was a cop-out. I didn’t want to put others first. It felt like a lot of pressure to try living up to Jesus’ standards. The bar was too high! How could any of us possibly reach it?

If you find your mind wandering down this same line of thinking, it’s time for a full stop. Paul’s instructions to adopt a Christlike posture are not a prescription for religious performance but an invitation to spiritual freedom, to eternal peace in Jesus rather than temporary pleasure in ourselves.

Jesus Himself said, “So if the Son sets you free, you really will be free” (John 8:36). We don’t have to perfectly follow an elaborate set of rules or offer animal sacrifices on an altar to be made right with God. We don’t have to earn our salvation or be a really good person for God to love us. “For you are saved by grace through faith, and this is not from yourselves; it is God’s gift — not from works, so that no one can boast” (Ephesians 2:8-9).

We will beat this drum as loud and as long and as often as we need to! Nothing about the peace of Jesus is wrapped up in our performance.

So what does adopting the same attitude as Jesus look like practically? Paul’s teaching in Philippians goes on to unpack this: “Do everything without grumbling and arguing, so that you may be blameless and pure, children of God who are faultless in a crooked and perverted generation, among whom you shine like stars in the world, by holding firm to the word of life” (Philippians 2:14-16).

Hold firm to the word of life. That’s the goal, friend! Jesus said it Himself: “I have come so that they may have life and have it in abundance” (John 10:10). How do we get this abundant life? Follow God’s Word and Christ’s example. Don’t grumble or complain. Be different from this dark world so you will shine brightly. In this way, the world will know whose you are!

Join me in praying this today:

Jesus, I want to be more like You. Help me adopt Your attitude of humility. Help me take on Your posture of servant-heartedness. I confess I’m often prone to grumble and complain. Help me exchange my irritability for Your peace. May Your light shine through me. I’m Yours. Thank You for being my Savior and Guide. Amen.

Isn’t peace just what we all need right now? (Raising my hand high!)

That’s why I’m so excited to share with you Create in Me a Heart of Peace.

It’s the second in our series of four transformational Bible studies, and it’s now available wherever books are sold, including:

This Bible study was heart-and-life-changing to write and I believe it’s going to help you encounter God and fall in love with His Word in fresh ways too!

Be sure to SIGN UP below so we can send you the first week of the Create in Me a Heart of Peace for FREE!

Sign up for a FREE week!

 

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When Nothing Makes Sense, It’s Time to Listen to Your Body

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Nothing made sense. We trusted our church’s leaders to love. We trusted that working in our church and serving God alongside others would mean sharing a commitment to kindness overcoming pride. When our friends on staff spoke up about how pushed down they felt by our lead pastor, we expected repentance to be more than a word lifted from sacred pages. What does the Word of God even mean if those who preach it don’t obey it? 

That day, my joints were radiating the aching anger my mouth couldn’t bear to form into words. Somehow, in an effort to keep from drowning in our disillusionment, my husband and I decided to drive into the mountains to at least turn our attention to the turning of the aspen leaves. So, with a heating pad plugged into our car’s cigarette lighter to quiet my pain, we started to wind up, up, up Guanella Pass. 

Stratus clouds masked the sun, casting the honeyed leaves with shadows. The narrow road was sleek with rain, practically begging us to go slow. As we snaked up the switchbacks, the mist turned to September snow. Maybe we shouldn’t have come, I thought. I was regretting breaking the Colorado law of living in layers, wishing I had brought my winter jacket instead of hoping the sun would stay all day. We could barely see any yellow leaves through all the snow, and it seemed like yet another decision that would end in disappointment. 

But as we wound down the pass, the snow thinned, revealing glittering medallions of gold at every turn. We pulled in at a trailhead, and I don’t know if beauty is medically considered an anesthetic, but my arthritic joints seemed to think so. I jumped out of the car, nearly running to what looked like a tunnel of gold. I stood on a bed of butterscotch fallen leaves and ran my fingers over the tree’s rain-flecked munsel and cadmium-yellow waving hands. Spellbound by beauty’s song, I knew — we were going to be okay.

a photo from that day, September 30, 2017

When nothing makes sense, nature retells us our shared story. 

Just as green leaves turn to gold before falling to the earth, there is nothing more normal in the pattern of life than descent. Every time we sink with stress, are chased by anxiety, or are paralyzed by problems we never thought we’d have to face, our bodies are descending down a well-worn path to protect us from harm and return us to safety and connection. 

As a trauma-informed, body-centered therapist, I can tell you: your nervous system knows that the path to protection and peace first goes downward. It is learning to witness your own descent into stress with respect that will repair this path into one you can trust will always take you home to joy. 

Your descent makes sense.

God made your body to quickly walk down paths of stress to protect you from harm. When you are disillusioned, full of doubt, overwhelmed, triggered, or feel stuck, your body is telling you that you do not feel adequately safe, seen, and soothed. 

You are not failing; you are feeling. 

You are not faithless. You need a friend.

We were so afraid of losing our livelihood and community at church by confronting the abuse we were witnessing and experiencing in our jobs, and our bodies were telling us day after day that where we were was unsafe. Nothing made sense in that church system because it was not safe. Our discouragement was not a lack of faith; it was our bodies’ wise signal that we were in a dangerous place. Our descent  —into discouragement and even despair — made sense. Our descent pointed out our need for Christ’s help to rise, even if it meant leaving the place we most assumed Christ had blessed. 

Our bodies are brave storytellers. They speak the truth about how safe we seem — in the language of the sensations and emotions we often wish would stay silent. 

Our bodies are courageous guides. They know the path from distress to peace and are simply waiting on our minds to trust them to lead the way. 

Our descent down the winding road of faith and stress becomes far less scary when we realize two things. 1) Christ descended farther into darkness than we ever have and He knows the way to rise. 2) Our bodies were made to walk the whole trail of truth to come back home to peace, connection, and joy. 

The God who names you Beloved has a body too. Christ still sits in skin at the right hand of the Father. His memories of being betrayed by His own people and feeling such intense anxiety before His crucifixion that His sweat was like drops of blood pierce a hole in the universe’s clouds, making our dark descents a place the Spirit’s light can enter in. 

Your body was made to travel home with Christ to peace and joy, not to take a time machine there. The path back into peace first steps through the forests of our fear and over the fallen logs of our lament. Bypassing the forest of your feelings will mean missing Christ in the midst of them. Turn like a friend toward the truth your body is telling about how your life and relationships feel — this is the start of the trail back home. The body’s path back to peace includes honoring our unsettledness, offering gentleness to our fear, expressing our anger in appropriate ways, and crying more tears than we assume is acceptable.

Christ’s resurrection came after death, and you too will rise — through every small death of despair, discouragement, and distress. When we see the symptoms of our stress as signals of our bodies’ need for safety, release, and soothing, we no longer have to shame ourselves for getting stressed.

Our stress can become a sacred place we walk with Christ, hear him call us “Friend,” and tell us that we make sense—even when nothing else does.

Do you want to experience Christ, your Good Shepherd, walking with you on this path of descent into peace? Let K.J. Ramsey’s book, The Lord Is My Courage gently guide you through Psalm 23 to show you how.

 

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The Gift of a Friend Who Is Unfazed by the Mess

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I hadn’t considered the state of my home when I received a text from my friend Julie asking if she could swing by with lunch and the promise of good conversation. In fact, I hadn’t even noticed the state of my home when she made the offer. 

Being overwhelmed with grief, I gladly accepted. Relief temporarily washed over me knowing I wouldn’t have to expend energy I didn’t have on scraping together a mid-day meal for myself and my young daughter. 

When Julie arrived with bulging paper sacks containing the makings of a feast from my favorite burger joint, we quickly emptied the contents onto my glass-top kitchen table and began indulging our tastebuds. 

It wasn’t until I had eaten half of my burger that I realized the layer of grime covering the table’s glass made it look more like a murky, dirt-smeared window than a table fit for dining.

I almost apologized for my domestic failure (while regretting the decision to purchase a clear glass table.) But before I could, tears sprung from my eyes. Again. Lament had become the predominant theme in my life and tears had become a constant interruption.

For months, my vision had looked something like that grubby glass tabletop but clouded by grief instead of grime. I’d experienced my second pregnancy loss, a stillbirth. I couldn’t see anything outside of the heartache that enveloped me, including the dingy state of my home. Life had become a matter of simply surviving. While I desperately wanted to be living a normal life doing normal things like wiping down the kitchen table and prioritizing other household tasks, I just wasn’t. 

I had experienced something outside of normal. Mothers were supposed to raise their babies, not bury them. Life was beyond my control and my only priorities were to grieve and survive a season of deep, messy, cumbersome sorrow. 

After that round of tears dried up, Julie and I continued eating from our to-go containers. She didn’t seem to notice the buildup of filth on my kitchen table, and if she did, she mercifully didn’t seem to care. 

She was unfazed by the mess of my home and of my heart. She sat with me in the grime and the grief. She normalized my tears and listened to my lament. She assured me that there is no timeline for grief and did not pressure me to move on. 

We sat together at a dirty table while I cried and chokingly verbalized my heartache. She did nothing but listen and encourage. 

I was of course grateful for the meal, but more than that I was grateful for someone who wasn’t afraid to sit with me in the mess, in the discomfort of a life that was anything but shiny. 

Far more precious than the food that nourished my body was a friend who nourished my heart and an encounter that nourished my soul. Julie sat with me at my messy table in my messy house and gently bore witness to my messy grief. She did not offer platitudes. She was not alarmed by my visibly untidy life.

When I consider this, I’m reminded that Jesus is a friend who remains unfazed by the messiness of our lives. In fact, He willingly approaches our messes — His very presence providing relief. He dined with the despised, touched the sick, wept with grievers, and washed feet. 

Jesus is not turned off by those whom society would rather ignore, nor does He turns away from illness, grief, or even dirty feet! 

And when I remember that Jesus was more concerned with Martha’s focus on Him than on the tasks begging to be done, I can’t help but think that like Julie, He isn’t fazed by less-than-perfect hospitality either. 

Looking back on that meal I shared with my friend, I’m encouraged in knowing that we can show the love of Jesus simply by sitting with others in whatever messy circumstances they are enduring.  

Because of Jesus’ example, we can be a friend who doesn’t expect perfection but instead approaches messy lives with a tender heart and listening ears, intent on making another’s best interests a priority. We can choose to serve and to love amid stains and scars, blemishes and broken hearts, dirt and distress. 

We can be a friend who is unfazed by the mess, a friend whose gentle presence offers needed relief.  

Who might need you to be this kind of friend today? 

Death Will Try to Take You Out but Love Wins

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But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us. We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed. We always carry around in our body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be revealed in our body. For we who are alive are always being given over to death for Jesus’ sake, so that his life may also be revealed in our mortal body. So then, death is at work in us, but life is at work in you.
2 Corinthians 4:7-12 (NIV)

We know what it’s like to feel pressed from every side. Our stories are all different, but we know our own versions of despair and abandonment. But the death we feel waging war on our bodies, minds, souls is not the end of the story!

Love wins!

We carry within us this greatest Love — the One who died so we could live, the One who compels us to die to ourselves so others can also live. This Love is the strength that carries us when we don’t think we can go another step. He’s the path that shows us where to go when nothing makes sense. Love — God — lives within us, and He wants to show Himself to those around us, to the world, through our imperfectness, so others can see Him clearly.

Let’s love as He loved us — generously, keeping in mind that the treasure of His love is meant to be shared.

Finding Strength and Faithfulness in Small Changes

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Don’t you know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit who is in you, whom you have from God? You are not your own, for you were bought at a price. So glorify God with your body.
1 Corinthians 6:19–20 CSB

You have restored me to health and let me live.
Isaiah 38:16 CSB

Several years ago, I woke up ready to restore my body.

I had three of my children in less than four years. I’d spent a total of almost seven years either pregnant, nursing, or both, and my body had wrung itself out. It had expanded and deflated, grown and birthed, fed and nourished, carried, rocked, cradled, and chased. And then one day, I realized that I was not pregnant, nursing, or toddler-chasing exhausted.

My body was in need of restoration, so that day I simply decided to be ready to make choices that would restore it back to health. And eighteen months from that day, I was more than sixty pounds lighter.

No, I never followed a specific diet; I merely made one better choice at a time. One donut instead of three. A small latte instead of a large. Daily walks with my dog, our mileage increasing each day. I took my time with the process, making simple changes that added up. One day and one choice and one baby step at a time. As it turns out, slow and steady really does win the race, which in this case led me back to health.

It was never about losing weight; it was about becoming a healthier version of myself for myself. And for me, the journey started with losing weight. To be clear — I wasn’t ashamed of my weight. I wasn’t a bad person because of those extra pounds or a better person after I lost them, because weight does not equal worth. It was simply where I began.

A couple years later, I was thrilled to be expecting my fourth child. My body would once again take on the role of carrier, vessel, and nurturer. As I adjusted my thoughts to literally make space for growth, it was clear that what I’d gained during the journey far outweighed the sixty pounds that I’d lost.

It felt darn good to be able to move in the way I wanted to. I could walk faster and farther than ever before, sometimes even jogging. I was drinking more water each day than I ever had. I felt healthy, strong, and proud of taking time for self-care.

My kids said I was shrinking, but I knew that, choice by choice, I was growing into who I was meant to be.

Our daily choices can become reflections of who we really are.

I think our health matters to God for two reasons. First, God wants us to care for His creation—and that includes our bodies. We care for our church buildings, our homes, and other spaces where we gather and welcome God’s Spirit, right? We spend time cleaning and caring for those spaces, and we deserve the same for ourselves. For me, that looks like eating well and taking daily walks, which in combination led to weight loss. Maybe for you it’s moving your body, cleaning out your closet so it only holds clothes that fit right now, or taking a long bath. Whatever brings God glory and lets you truly live.

Second, I find that when I’m intentionally caring for my body, I’m happier and better able to care for (and about) my family and loved ones. When I take care of myself, everyone around me also benefits, and I believe God cares about this too.

God is cheering us on as we care for ourselves in ways that bring Him glory. God delights in our restoration, in our health, and in His people taking good care of themselves in order to glorify Him—which we can do in big and small ways.

Here’s to recognizing the strength in small changes and the ways they can impact our health and our lives.

Lord, thank You for choosing my heart, soul, and body to live in. My health matters to You, and I’m grateful. Help me to take good care of myself, recognizing that I am a temple of the Holy Spirit. Give me strength to make wise daily choices that will have life-giving, long-term effects. Even in this, I look to You. Amen.

This article was written by Anna E. Rendell, as published in Empowered: More of Him for All of You.

Empowered: More of Him for All of You, by Mary Carver, Grace P. Cho, and Anna E. Rendell is designed to incorporate the five major components of our being — physical, mental, emotional, relational, and spiritual. The sixty Scripture passages and devotions invite you to see from different angles how God empowers us, and each day ends with prayer and reflection questions to deepen the learning. Grab a copy now. We pray it blesses you.

We Make Each Other Better, Braver, Stronger

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The indentation in the sand is small, circular, rough-edged, unremarkable. The kind of thing you’d walk by without a glance in a place littered with shells, where dolphins jump the waves, and sandpipers hunt tiny clams along the shore. The top of this turtle nest is almost invisible, as it’s meant to be. I’ve come to Florida with two friends who are in a mastermind group with me. The place where we’re spending the week is home to over a thousand turtle nests like the one we’re staring at right now.

The nest is marked off with thin wooden stakes that hold important information. A local with wrinkles across her face like lines in a love story with the sun told us how to read the numbers. The top one is the day in the season on which the eggs were laid, a mother turtle dragging herself out of the ocean, leaving her young beneath a pile of sand. According to that number, this nest should hatch tonight.

The top of the nest rolls like a boiling pot and we watch as one tiny head emerges. This process will repeat for two hours as the tiny turtles push up toward the surface. The only way out of this nest is in community. The turtles will push each other upward, stand on each other’s backs, and combine the incremental effort of their tiny fins to push away the sand. There is no solo trek out of this nest, no option for doing it alone. It’s a combined effort, all for one and one for all.

I look at my friends during this process. We’ve been in a mastermind group for years. We’ve helped each other write books, launch businesses, overcome obstacles, not quit on the days we feel discouraged, and remember who we are when other voices in our lives tell us to stop dreaming. Where would we be today without each other?

Our mastermind is simple: Meet once a month and each person gets about an hour to process whatever she would like. That’s it — no fancy agenda or formal questions. Just show up, share, and listen. Over and over again.

More heads appear in the nest. Then suddenly one turtle breaks free. The others follow, climbing the sides of the nest, scattering across the sand, marching toward the ocean. They follow each other toward what they know already in their fragile turtle bones is home.

Isn’t this what we’re all doing too? Helping each other move toward home, the place where we belong? Home to who we’re truly created to be. Home to what we’re called to do. Home to heaven one day, the place with the crystal sea and the Savior who once walked on water.

The waves reach out to welcome the turtles and they are swept into the saltwater. We lose sight of them as they disappear into the night.

I turn toward my friends. “That was amazing!” we say to each other. It’s not the first time we’ve uttered those words. We’ve said it when one of us had a victory, made it through a hard time, did what once felt impossible.

Sometimes when I talk about community like this, people assume it comes easily to me. But I scored 96% introvert on the last quiz I took, I’ve been diagnosed with social anxiety, and just ordering a pizza on the phone makes me nervous. It’s not easy or comfortable for me to reach out to others, it never has been and it likely will never be.

I’ve found when it comes to connection, it’s about feeling the fear and doing it anyway. It’s about surrendering my desire to be sought out and instead showing up as a person who is a safe space for others to become who they were created to be. Will it be awkward? Absolutely. Will it be harder than I thought? Always. Will it be worth it anyway? Yep.

I look at the vast ocean and wonder where each turtle will end up, what their stories will be.

I look at my friends and wonder the same.

I don’t know, but what I’m grateful for and certain of in this moment is that we won’t do it alone.

Do you ever struggle with anxiety like Holley? If so, her new devotional book, What Your Mind Needs for Anxious Moments, will help! It goes from Genesis through Revelation sharing stories of when biblical characters experienced anxiety and what we can learn from their struggles and victories.

Listen to this article at the player below or wherever you stream podcasts.

Put on Your Boots, Show Up, and Care for Someone Who Is Grieving

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I sat there, searching for flights across the country for my friend Jill’s memorial service, and I felt trapped. It was paralyzing because the service would be three days after Thanksgiving, and all of America was traveling so prices were the highest they could possibly be. I went online, and I looked and looked and felt my body and heart go completely numb.

I put the task to the back of my mind for a moment and before I could gather the courage to try again, a friend texted me and asked if I’d gotten my ticket yet. I told her no, and she told me that she was going to take care of it. Her exact words were “Ok buddy — let’s get you a flight.”

Sometimes when we are grieving, it feels like spinning wheels in mud. There’s no clear way forward, and reversing seems foolish, and you’re left moving quickly and simultaneously going absolutely nowhere. What you need is for someone to put on their boots and walk up to your car and knock on your window and try to lend a hand. You need someone to show you that there’s a world outside of these spinning wheels. That’s what this beloved friend did for me. She watched with everyone else for a moment and then said to me, “Ok. That’s enough. I’m here, and we’re together.”

I’m sure you’ve had someone walk through a season of want and not known what to say to them, so I’d like to spell it out for you: put on your dang boots and go to them. Maybe it’s making a meal or offering a plane ticket. Maybe it’s going on a walk or caring for their children. Whatever it is, it will be helpful because when we’re beyond exhausted, everything is effort. Every hour and errand and to-do is soaked in a weighty ache. Sometimes, when we’ve been hurting for a long time, it’s as if our muscles get so fatigued that we can barely lift our own hands.

In Exodus 17, the people of Israel were facing their first battle after being freed from the Egyptians and a life of slavery. It was against Amalek, their staunch enemy. They had made it this far only with the help of God, so their leader Moses carried a staff which represented God’s power. This staff had appeared before when it turned into a snake as he stood before Pharaoh. And he had held it in his hands as he encountered the burning bush before that.

The people of Israel were hardly organized at this point. And they were certainly outnumbered. They were a new nation who had been raised in slavery, and they did not have much to offer, but they did have the sovereign power of God with them.

“Whenever Moses held up his hand, Israel prevailed, and whenever he lowered his hand, Amalek prevailed” (Exodus 17:11 ESV).

As long as he held up that staff — that reminder of who they belonged to — the Israelites won the battle. But his arms got tired because he was a human person with limits.

The story continues:

“But Moses’ hands grew weary, so they took a stone and put it under him and he sat on it, while Aaron and Hur held up his hands, one on one side, and the other on the other side. So his hands were steady until the going down of the sun” (v. 12).

They showed up and they held his arms, and this was how the battle is won.

In those dark days after Jill died, I didn’t have a whole lot to offer. I started the day with some semblance of focus, but by the afternoon, I was a mess and barely knew what to do with myself, let alone how to work out logistics for a cross-country trip. I needed backup.

One night, my friend Brooke texted, “I’m sorry this autumn has been grief on grief.”

The next thing I knew, she was at my door with travel logistics and ice cream. Her husband Jon had remembered from months earlier that my favorite flavor — brown butter almond brittle from Jeni’s — was at Whole Foods. She sat with me and let me be sad and helped me come up with a game plan.

I think often of the gift of companionship in those weeks. Friends stepped in and said, “I’m taking care of this.”

The Lord doesn’t leave us to do these things alone and gives us the gift of one another. When all hope was fading, they carried me and it made all the difference.

This is an adapted excerpt from Melissa’s new book, What Cannot Be Lost.

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In her new book, What Cannot Be Lost: How Jesus Holds Us Together When Life is Falling Apart, author Melissa Zaldivar talks honestly about losing everything that once defined her and how God used unexpected opportunities, like working at Orchard House, where Louisa May Alcott wrote Little Women, to spark a journey of working through her grief and encountering the all-sufficient love of Christ.

Weaving inspiring passages of Scripture and insights from Little Women into her personal story, Melissa encourages readers with her discovery that it’s when we have nothing left to offer that we can receive God’s love the most. And that’s something that can never be lost. You will be reassured that God will meet you in the midst of the mess and be urged to look to Him for help, comfort, and strength. What Cannot Be Lost is a great gift for those whose faith is being tested in the face of a loss of any kind — a loved one, a job, or a relationship.

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 Melissa this weekend on the (in)courage podcast. Don’t miss it!

 

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

*Giveaway open until 9/25/22 at 11:59 pm central to US addresses only. Winners will be notified via email. Please allow 4-6 weeks for delivery.

Are You Willing to Join Me in Praying for Our Own “Stick Stories”?

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In my job as a life plan advisor at a retirement community, among other roles, I’m an educator and tour guide. It may come as a surprise, but there’s a vocabulary specific to our industry – and much to learn in general – so a lot of my time is devoted to teaching people what they need to know. Understanding the right questions to ask always helps you make informed decisions, a concept that proves true for just about anything.

While I love the education piece, my favorite aspect of my job is meeting and developing relationships with prospective residents. Daily, and without knowing it, they teach, challenge, and inspire me — sometimes in life, and the best of times in my faith.

When a man walked in on a Friday afternoon recently — without an appointment — while I was nursing a raging migraine, I had an odd sense God was up to something. David was carrying a big, carved stick, his eyes were sparkling, and I could tell this guy was a rascal. Turns out, he was also quite a storyteller. It wouldn’t take long to discover his fanciful stories usually ended up pointing to God.

As we talked and toured our campus, in between my educational points, David interjected his God stories. Somehow each one was relevant within the context of our conversation.  Eventually, we ended up in a spot where we could chat privately, and I had to ask him about his stick. He wasn’t using it for walking, so why was he lugging it around?

He asked me if I had enough time for him to tell his Stick Story. Headache or not, I had to say yes. When God gives you an opportunity to talk about Him, you take it.

The abridged version of my new friend’s story is that after reading the account of David and Goliath (1 Samuel 17), my friend David decided he wanted a stick. I never even noticed a stick in this renowned Old Testament duel, only David’s stones and sling he used to slay the giant. But Goliath noticed the stick — a staff, which is what every shepherd like David would carry. He ridiculed and cursed David, insulted that this insignificant boy would dare to challenge him — an underestimation that cost Goliath his life.

So powerful was storyteller David’s encounter with God when he read this scripture for the umpteenth time, he started praying for God to give him a stick. Not long after, in the middle of Walmart, an older gentleman walked up to him, handed over the carved stick (now propped in front of me, and said, “The Lord told me to give you this stick.” Right then and there David promised God he’d use the stick for His glory, and here he was doing that very thing. It was only then that I could make out the intricate carving on the wooden stick: J-E-S-U-S  L-O-V-E-S  Y-O-U.  I got chills.

Obviously, I’m leaving out a lot of details, but you get the picture. It’s a remarkable story. Isn’t God doing what only He can do always a remarkable story? David told me that he carries his Jesus stick with him wherever he goes, and it always invites a conversation to point others to Christ. He knew I was a believer from our conversation, but I imagine if he could tell I wasn’t, he would have shared the gospel with me too.

David was a “natural Christian” to me. I picked up that phrase in my 20s from a leader at a city-wide Bible study in Atlanta. Out of the years I attended, only one illustration stands out from this leader whose name I’ve long forgotten: the one about a lady he affectionally described as a “natural Christian.”

He described his dear friend as the kind of person who’s so close to God, you can tell it by the way they act or speak. They’re the ones whose countenance is radiant, who love Jesus so much and who know Him so intimately that they can’t help but invite Him into every conversation, without a shred of judgment, only leading in love. They want everyone to have what they’ve received: the life-changing power of the gospel. They want everyone to know the good news we find in the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus.

Meeting David reminded me of the precious people in my life who’ve pointed me to Jesus by their obvious delight in Him, who can’t not talk about Him when we’re together because it’s, well…natural for them to share. David’s Stick Story stuck with me, leaving me to wonder, What is God up to? Does he want me to have a stick?

Because I live in the buckle of the Bible belt, most of my friends are Christians. It’s easy to talk to them about God. It’s also easy to write about my faith because there are physical barriers between me and those who read my words. But I’ve always been hesitant to share my faith with those who don’t know Christ yet. What I wish felt natural, feels unnatural or contrived to me.

But what if I had some object – like an ordinary stick – that invited others to initiate the conversation? What if God, the giver of every good and perfect gift, gave me a “stick story” to tell for His glory?

Am I brave enough to pray for such a thing?

Are you?

 

Listen to this article at the player below or wherever you stream podcasts.

God Cares for Us When No One Else Seems To

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Elisabeth Elliot (1926-2015) was a missionary and a critically acclaimed author and speaker. For over half a century, her life of obedience, timeless teachings, and best-selling books have influenced both believers and seekers of the Christian faith. For thirteen years Elliot opened her daily radio program “Gateway to Joy” with these words: 

You are loved with an everlasting love, that’s what the Bible says, and underneath are the everlasting arms. This is your friend, Elisabeth Elliot. 

The resounding theme of Elliot’s life was the boundless love of Jesus, and her greatest commission was to tell others of His saving grace. This costly call led her into the Amazonian jungle of Ecuador where her husband, Jim Elliot, was one of five missionaries speared to death in 1956 while attempting to make contact with members of the Auca/Waodani tribe. Elisabeth, along with her young daughter Valerie, would later return to Auca territory to live among and minister to the people who killed her husband. Familiar with suffering, Elliot wrote, “The deepest things that I have learned in my own life have come from the deepest suffering. And out of the deepest waters and the hottest fires have come the deepest things I know about God.” 

In 2021, a piece of writing by Elisabeth was discovered tucked away in a Word document – it had never been published or seen by anyone. In partnership with the Elisabeth Elliott Foundation, DaySpring is publishing that writing for you in the new book, Heart of God: 31 Days to Discover God’s Love for You. The following is an excerpt from this never-before-published piece of work that we hope blesses your heart as it has ours. 

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Do you ever have those days when you wonder if anyone cares for you? You can be certain that the heart of God cares for you. God’s heart is tender and loving. God cares for us when no one else seems to be concerned. When you and I offer our fears, worries, and anxieties to God, we give Him the opportunity to demonstrate how marvelously caring His heart really is, and we allow God to show us how deeply He cares for us.

Peter tells us to “cast” all our cares. This word carries with it the idea of deliberately depositing a burden upon someone or something else. If we were to do that to another person, that person might feel like we were imposing. But it is not so with God. Peter tells us to actually cast it or throw it upon God, who will never feel imposed upon because He cares for us.

Have you humbly opened your heart to Him? Have you taken your worries to Him? Have you accepted the outpouring of loving care that flows from God’s heart? If not, then today is the perfect time to do so. Cast your cares upon God and leave them there. When you do, you will experience relief like a heavy load has been lifted from your shoulders. And it has, because the heart of God cares for you.

God, Your loving care for me is deeper than I can imagine. Thank You for caring about me when no one else seems to. I will open my heart to You, and I will return Your love today, tomorrow, and throughout eternity. Amen.

Understanding the depth and reality of God’s love for us is one of the great adventures of the Christian life. A Heart of God: 31 Days to Discover God’s Love for You is a one-month-devotional journey to open your heart and soul to experience God’s character, His intentions, and His great plan for you in your everyday, ordinary life (and this crazy world). You’ll find out how the compassionate hand of God is in your every circumstance, even when you are suffering. May you encounter the unfolding mystery of His infinite layers and His unprecedented love for you right where you are at.

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 Kathy Reeg, president of the Elisabeth Elliot Foundation, tomorrow on Facebook and Instagram! We’ll replay their conversation on the (in)courage podcast this weekend too. Don’t miss it!

 

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


 

*Giveaway open until 9/23/22 at 11:59pm central to US addresses only. Winners will be notified via email. 

God Invites Us All into His Family Tree

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My mama’s extended family usually meets every two or three years for a reunion in different cities where clusters of our cousins live. After four years of waiting because of the pandemic, this year we gathered in Detroit, Michigan where my mom was born. We weren’t sure how many would actually show up because of high travel costs, canceled flights, Covid cases hanging in the balance, and other life challenges. 

On the first night, we were delighted to discover 140 cousins had made the trek for this epic gathering. (Think My Big Fat Greek Wedding, but Italian style with all the signature food, generations mixing, and stories of the old country.) Some of our traditions at these reunions include a picnic in the park with a bocce ball tournament, a banquet with music from all different eras, and lots of time around the table telling stories about aunts, uncles, and grandparents who have gone on to Heaven.

My mama’s great grandparents immigrated to the United States from a little town called San Giovanni en Fiore in Southern Italy. Their three sons represent the three main branches of our family tree from which the various generations originated.

More than three decades ago, my mama started researching our family tree. She filled in the spouses and children, the new branches of descendants that extended from the original branches. I remember hand lettering and coloring the poster boards. Some form of the family tree is always displayed at our reunions. Behind every name and every branch is a story. These stories weave together our past and present.

Through the years, we have also welcomed unexpected branches and stories into our family tree — a cousin who married a Japanese-American woman, several who have spouses with Latin roots, and my mama who married my mixed-race dad, who is Filipino, Chinese, and Polynesian.

Now it’s more the norm to find names among the branches that are different from the Tonys, Marias, Franks, Angelas, and Guiseppes, which were more common in the first generation. It’s the beautiful mixing of cultures and settling in new cities that make our family tree unique today. 

Truth be told, sometimes family trees can be messy. The branches become gnarly and tangled. Some branches are broken off way too soon because of divorce, separation, or death. We might be tempted to hide these stories, but they are an important part of God’s redemption story too. 

In my case, my husband Ericlee died of cancer at age forty. We could view that as a broken branch of our family tree, but God brought my new husband Shawn and grafted him in. This year he is officially adopting my three daughters — another piece of our redemption story.

As we read through the Bible, we discover that God’s family tree had its share of twisted branches and unexpected stories as well. His family tree brings together people of diverse nations and backgrounds. 

I think about Rahab, the Canaanite prostitute who hid the Israelite spies sent to scope out the Promised Land. Members of her family were the only survivors of Israel’s attack on Jericho, because she helped them escape. She married one of those spies and was invited into God’s family tree, moving from outsider to insider because of her courage and reverence for God. She is one of five mothers mentioned in Jesus’ family genealogy in Matthew 1.

Then there was Ruth, a Moabite woman who married into a Jewish family. Historically, the Moabites and Jews were enemies, but God creatively brought together branches of His family tree to include Ruth. 

In Ruth 1:16, we read Ruth’s pledge to her widowed mother-in-law Naomi that changed everything: “Your people shall be my people, and your God my God.”

These words mark a shift in Ruth’s life. After she was widowed, Ruth was released by her mother-in-law to return to her own family. Yet, Ruth steps into an unexpected story and proclaims her trust in Naomi’s God, Yahweh. She leaves her family and accompanies Naomi back to her home in Bethlehem. 

Ruth meets a man named Boaz, who happens to be the son of Rahab and a relative of Naomi. Through a wild weaving of unexpected events, the two are eventually married. Because of her courageous choice to follow God, Ruth is grafted into His family tree. 

Not only is Ruth adopted into a new family, she’s also blessed with a son and eventually becomes the great-grandmother to King David himself. We might be tempted to skip over those lists of names and genealogies in the Bible, but they are significant. If you check out the family tree Matthew records, that means she’s great-times-forty-grandma to God’s own son Jesus, our ultimate redeemer relative.

Like Ruth, we are invited into God’s family tree when we choose to believe in His Son, His death, and His resurrection. Friend, you are chosen for God’s family. You are not an accidental or peripheral branch. You were invited in on purpose. Your story may just be unfolding like a new shoot on the family tree.

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

 

Listen to this article at the player below or wherever you stream podcasts.

Give Your Anxiety Space to Speak

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It was typically midway through an anxiety attack that I’d reach for my Bible, holding its translucent pages in a sweaty, white-knuckled grip. 

“Why are you in despair, o my soul? And why have you become restless and disturbed within me? Hope in God and wait expectantly for Him, for I shall again praise Him for the help of His presence.”
Psalm 42:5 (AMP) 

I’d read those words repeatedly and often rush to the verse’s end, where I’d command myself to hope and wait and praise and give thanks. Praying that all those spiritual-sounding verbs might squeeze my anxiety out. 

Have you ever done this, too? When you feel the anxiety rising, you gather all the prayer and trust you can muster and try to will yourself to stop feeling it?  

That’s the way I learned to navigate many uncomfortable emotions in life. Fear. Grief. Anger. I had a grit-your-teeth, clench-your-fists, pull-yourself-up-by-your bootstraps mentality. I grew up in the church and often pleaded with God to help me conquer my battle with anxiety.  

Can I outrun it? Outsmart it? Rationalize myself out of it? Intellectually take a whack at it? Can I employ enough spiritual grit to obliterate it out of my body? I’ve willed myself in and through a lot of hard things. But not anxiety. 

I hate the sickening nausea and clammy palms. That rush of anxious adrenaline and underlying sense of feeling afraid of nothing in particular. It’s made me feel deeply inadequate. Not enough on the soul level. Doesn’t Scripture say to cast your anxiety on God (1 Peter 5:7) and to not be anxious about anything (Philippians 4:6)? In other words… 

I’M NOT SUPPOSED TO FEEL THIS WAY. 

For years, I’ve tried to hack off my anxiety. I’ve fought it like I’m fighting an interior world war. And all that it’s done is left me feeling battle-worn from the inside out. Pummeled with an onslaught of over-stuffed and unexpressed emotions.  

As I’ve hacked, I’ve realized that there’s tenderness underneath all my commandeering, like a crying child hiding behind my armor. I’ve been ashamed of my struggle. I’ve wanted to lock it out of my life. You can’t be a part of my story.  

Because the story I’ve carried in my body has told a different story than the triumphant one I’d learned to expect and esteem in the Bible. Something must be wrong with me, I thought. 

But can I tell you something that I’ve discovered? 

Prayer and trust are good and holy things, integral to the Christian life. They are components of healing from anxiety, but they are certainly not the only solutions. They were never intended to be. 

There’s a difference between a sacred, intentional turning towards God and slapping Christian words on wounded places. Prayer that exiles emotion and trust that strangles honesty isn’t the way out of anxiety. It simply compounds it. I know from personal experience that the longer we suppress our anxiety, the louder it screams. The louder we shout at it to go away, the louder it has to shout over us.  

Anxiety is like a blinking light on the dashboard of our hearts indicating that something deeper is going on inside of us. That feeling of spiraling overwhelm is often our brain’s way of telling us that we need to pause and pay attention to what we’re actually feeling in the present moment. 

When we’re anxious, we don’t need a solution. We need connection with God, and with others. While I’m commanding my anxiety left, right, up one side, and down the other, Jesus isn’t. He leans in, listens, and invites me to join him there. He invites me to listen to my anxiety, together. 

Recently, I realized that in all my rushing to get to the end of that Psalm 42 passage, I never actually allowed space for my soul to answer the question: “Why are you in despair, o my soul? Why have you become restless and disquieted within me?” 

Could the way towards stillness actually be giving our anxiety the space to speak? Perhaps the anxiety that wells up inside doesn’t need to be locked away and looked over but lingered in and listened to.  

Here’s a simple rhythm I’ve begun to engage in during anxious moments.  

  • Pause and notice. Acknowledge that you’re feeling anxious and recognize where you might be experiencing it in your body. Racing mind? Breathlessness? Clenched fists? 
  • Attune and shift. Physically slow down. Lean into stillness. Extend compassion towards the part of you that’s currently freaking out. It’s okay. And you are going to be okay.  
  • Ask and reflect. Ask yourself, “What might my anxiety be trying to tell me?” Write down any underlying emotion that surfaces. Seeing it on paper often helps to create space between you and the emotion in an embodied way.  
  • Breathe and be. Allow yourself to just be with God in the emotion. Inhale grace, exhale honesty. His presence is not just around you, but in you. How does remembering this truth create an inner sense of not alone-ness and safety that you can carry with you? 

Pausing only takes a few minutes. But as I’ve practiced showing up to God and to myself in a quieter, less hurried, and more honest way, I’ve begun to notice something beautiful:

 My anxiety doesn’t have to scream so much to get my attention. 

 

For a free processing tool to use when your anxiety screams, download “Processing Anxious Moments” which Taylor created just for you.

Are You in Need of Wisdom Today?

by

Choose my instruction rather than silver,
and knowledge rather than pure gold.
For wisdom is far more valuable than rubies.
Nothing you desire can compare with it.
I, Wisdom, live together with good judgment.
I know where to discover knowledge and discernment.
All who fear the Lord will hate evil.
Therefore, I hate pride and arrogance,
corruption and perverse speech.
Common sense and success belong to me.
Insight and strength are mine.
Because of me, kings reign,
and rulers make just decrees.
Rulers lead with my help,
and nobles make righteous judgments.
I love all who love me.
Those who search will surely find me.
I have riches and honor,
as well as enduring wealth and justice.
My gifts are better than gold, even the purest gold,
my wages better than sterling silver!
I walk in righteousness,
in paths of justice.
Those who love me inherit wealth.
I will fill their treasuries.
Proverbs 8:10-21 (NLT)

We are always in need of wisdom — wisdom to say and do the right things at the right time. We need wisdom for when to speak and when to pause, stay quiet, listen, and consider. We need wisdom to choose between what’s good and what’s best, to know how to walk with integrity in our workplaces, in our parenting, and in our friendships. We need wisdom to love others well, to treat others with kindness, to know how to live as Jesus did.

Thankfully, we don’t have to search for or manufacture wisdom on our own. We simply have to go to the Source.

James 1:5 assures that if we ask for wisdom from God, He will give it to us generously. And our Proverbs passage today tells us that with wisdom, we will gain discernment, good judgment, and knowledge — everything we are desperate for today.

Let’s come before God and ask Him for the wisdom we need — that only He can give — to navigate our lives and our world, to love ourselves and our neighbors well, and to “walk in righteousness and in paths of justice.”