The Painful and Beautiful Lesson of Unconditional Kindness

The Painful and Beautiful Lesson of Unconditional Kindness

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Your kindness will reward you, but your cruelty will destroy you.
Proverbs 11:17 (NLT)

I remember so clearly the day my friend Jane said she needed to talk to me. I walked back to her office and sat down, unaware of the blow that was coming but nervous all the same. She told me that I’d hurt her deeply with an offhand remark someone had overheard and reported to her, and she didn’t understand why I’d say such a thing.

Staring at her in shock, my eyes filled with tears and all I could think was, But I prayed for you! I couldn’t consider how my actions had hurt my friend or how my misconstrued words had the opposite effect of what I intended. All I could think about was how, just a few weeks earlier, I’d prayed around the clock for Jane’s family during a crisis. I’d supported her and loved her and been there for her, and now she doubted me. She took the word of another that I had said something to hurt her. My heart was crushed, and my defenses were sky-high. We sat in that room, both of us feeling betrayed and let down by the other.

Though I didn’t feel sorry in the moment, I apologized to my friend. And I eventually did understand how the words I’d intended to be kind and encouraging to another friend had, in fact, been hurtful to Jane. Genuinely remorseful, I then apologized to her again.

I realized something after that situation though. This wasn’t the first time I’d felt doubly offended by someone I’d prayed for. Not only had they wronged me (at least in my mind), but they did it despite how fervently I’d prayed for them. I realized that I was treating prayer — an intimate act of kindness that, to me, carried enormous relational weight — as a guarantee that the person I prayed for would owe me a similar kindness. Rather than seeing prayer as an unconditional gift on behalf of someone I care about, I saw the act of praying for my friends — or helping them move or throwing them a baby shower or helping them write a résumé or, if I’m honest, any sizable gesture of kindness — as an investment or as friendship insurance.

Somewhere along the way, I began to believe that kindness deserved to be repaid, that kindness was a deposit into a relationship and I’d eventually see dividends returned for my efforts. If you had asked me, I’m certain I would have said that kindness was its own reward, that helping others was how I showed them my love and God’s love. But part of me still expected to get what I’d “earned” with all my good deeds and kindness.

Unfortunately, that experience permanently changed my friendship with Jane. But God also used it to begin changing my heart. He showed me that while I was often kind, my motives weren’t pure. And He reminded me that I shouldn’t expect earthly rewards anyway. During the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus flipped many of His listeners’ assumptions upside-down—including how they should treat their enemies. He said, “But love your enemies, do good to them, and lend to them without expecting to get anything back. Then your reward will be great, and you will be children of the Most High, because he is kind to the ungrateful and wicked” (Luke 6:35).

Jesus said our reward for showing kindness — to enemies, yes, but also to friends — would be great. But He never promised that reward in this life. Now, when I read His words and Proverbs 11:17, which promises a reward for kindness, I understand that the reward we receive is a heavenly one. It’s the satisfying knowledge that we are acting like our heavenly Father did when He showed us His love by sending His only Son, knowing we could never repay that gift.

Love without strings and kindness without expectations aren’t easy. They are impossible, really, unless we ask God to give us His heart for others. Only then will we be able to truly love one another, giving freely and offering kindness as a genuine expression of God’s love. And our eternal reward for that will be more than we can imagine.

God, I’m so grateful for Your unconditional kindness. Please forgive me for treating kindness as a transaction, and please give me the strength and love to be kind to others without expecting anything in return. Amen.

This article was written by Mary Carver, as published in Empowered: More of Him for All of You.

Join the Heart of Peace Online Bible Study! PLUS a GIVEAWAY!!

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Want to do a Bible study this fall, but aren’t sure where to start? Looking to walk through Scripture with a fantastic group of women? Need someone else to handle the planning and coordinating that comes with organizing a Bible study?

Above all that, are you searching for soul-deep, unshakeable peace that only comes from Jesus? We’ve got you, friend!

Join us for our LIVE Create in Me a Heart of Peace Online Bible study, led by Becky Keife! Yep, it’s time for our fall study already, and this time we’re searching for peace with an easy-to-join, deeply impactful study. We can’t wait! We will spend six weeks going through the Create in Me a Heart of Peace Bible study, written by Becky Keife and featuring stories from several of our (in)courage contributors.

The world offers plenty of formulas for peace, from self-care to incessant striving. Our culture preaches that contentment comes from having more and doing more, and that peace is found in numbing over and vegging out. But what if true satisfaction isn’t found in something you can purchase or accomplish or in a way to escape? What if true peace is found in growing into the qualities of Jesus?

We think peace is a posture. The way we train our minds and spend our lives matters. Our attitude can be either a barrier to or a conduit of God’s peace. Through our study, we’ll explore several essential characteristics of people who experience the life-changing peace God offers. Characteristics like humility, stillness, trust, and contentment.

We all want peace. We crave an inner calm-meets-strength that doesn’t rattle with volatile circumstances or disappear with busyness. Right? So let’s look for it — together.

Join the Heart of Peace Online Bible Study!

Here’s what you need to know:

1. Get a copy of Create in Me a Heart of Peace to fully participate in the study. We will provide the reading guidelines, discussion questions, and live conversations along the way!

2. Officially sign up for the study (it’s free to join!). Click here and register. When you do, we’ll send you the first week from Create in Me a Heart of Peace!

3.  The study meets Tuesdays from October 4th to November 8th. Zoom (in) with Becky Keife for LIVE teaching and discussion: one hour every Tuesday at 9am PT / 11am CT / 12pm ET. If you can’t join the study on Zoom at that time, no worries! You can watch the replay in our private Facebook group and join the discussion there anytime! We’ll also use this Facebook group to pray and encourage one another with our weekly memory verse. To make it extra easy, every Monday we’ll send you an email reminder with the Zoom link.

Don’t miss this chance to engage deeply with God’s Word and other (in)courage sisters! This is our first Zoom (in) Bible Study and we want YOU to be there! We’ll be discussing Week 1 of the Bible study at our first session on October 4th, so get your book now and start reading!

ALSO . . . would you be interested in facilitating a small discussion group as part of our Online Bible Study? If so, fill out this volunteer form and we’ll be in touch! 

Don’t forget to invite a few friends to join you! Send them to this page so they can sign up too!

Don’t have your copy of the study yet or want to give a copy to a friend? Cue a GIVEAWAY!

Tell us in the comments if you’ve got your book already or to whom you’d like to gift a copy, and we’ll pick FIVE of you to WIN a free Bible study! The giveaway is open to US addresses only and closes on September 21st at 11:59 pm CT.

Then, mark your calendars for October 4th when we kick off the Create in Me a Heart of Peace Online Bible Study! We hope you’ll join us. Sign up here!

We can’t wait to get started!

Listen to today’s article below or wherever you stream podcasts!

Your Phone Can’t Fill Your Ache or Make You Wise

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Recently I was flipping through the open tabs on the internet browser on my phone, and I joked to my teenage daughter that 67 tabs might be too many. She agreed with more enthusiasm than I thought was necessary, expressing her disbelief that I didn’t have those tabs organized into folders.

I hate to admit it, because I consider myself fairly tech savvy, but I was not aware organizing my tabs into folders on my phone was a thing I could do. (Don’t tell my daughter. I totally played it cool, and I’m sure she believed my act that I totally knew what she was talking about.)

After I figured out how to organize my tabs into folders, I went about doing just that. I created a folder for all my word games, the daily ones I play each morning. Then I created a folder called, “Keep,” for articles that resonated deeply with me sometime over the past couple of years. Those words meant so much to me that I couldn’t force myself to close out the tabs; instead, I kept them open to return to and re-read every once in a while.

Next up, I created a folder called, “Info.” That’s where I moved helpful articles with information I knew I’d need in the future. But as I flipped through my remaining tabs, I must have clicked the wrong button.

Suddenly, all my tabs disappeared. Poof! Gone! I couldn’t find an “undo” button. I couldn’t fix this mistake. All my precious information — lists and tips and statistics and recommendations and recipes and ideas — was gone.

What struck me most as I sat there staring at my phone in disbelief was how deeply grieved I was by this loss.

Why was I so genuinely sad to have lost the information contained in those tabs? Was it really crucial to my life, to my well-being? Was I ever going to actually implement the ideas or suggestions contained on those web pages? If I never remember all the tabs that were closed out, am I truly unable to find what I need to make good choices, to go about my life?

Oof. There it was. Analyzing my reaction led to stepping on my own toes with the realization that I was looking to the internet and all the information it holds for wisdom. I was putting my trust and my faith in clever tweets and pretty infographics and insightful articles and brilliant lists.

Listen. I’m not saying God got a hold of my iPhone and erased all those bookmarked websites I’d been collecting for years. But He absolutely used the situation to tap on my shoulder and open my eyes to a hard truth.

See, several months ago I began a Bible-reading plan with hopes to read through the entire Bible in a year. After a few days, I developed a pretty solid routine of listening to my assigned chapters while getting ready in the morning. No, it wasn’t a quiet hour in my special chair with an Instagrammable cup of coffee. But it was a fresh way to hear the Word, a practical way to fit it into my everyday habits.

And it worked perfectly . . . until it didn’t. Before I knew it, I opened up my Bible app to see “missed 188 days” staring at me. Day after day, I’d loosened my grip on Scripture until I had skipped reading the Bible considerably more days than I’d followed through on my plan. Meanwhile, my precious bookmarked websites had been ripped out of my hands the day I accidentally deleted those tabs.

Since the disappearance of my beloved tabs, I’ve been thinking about Proverbs and how it compares wisdom (the kind we find in God’s Word) to precious stones, highlighting just how valuable Scripture is. Proverbs 8:10-11 says, “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.”

How many tabs do you have open? How precious are they to you? Or, more to the point, where are you seeking wisdom, and on what are you relying? Is your faith in your own knowledge or the information you can find with a few clicks and scrolls? Or are you turning to Scripture for answers, comfort, and guidance?

If you find yourself looking to the internet or your friends or books or even “common sense” for wisdom more than you find yourself in Scripture, you might be in the same boat as me.

Today I’m setting a new goal. Not to read through the Bible in a year (although I still hope to do that someday), but to read the Bible more days than I don’t. I’m asking God to help me grab onto Scripture and hold it close to my heart while holding all other so-called wisdom loosely.

Will you join me? Will you pray with me? Let’s invite God to increase our thirst for His Word and our faith in His Wisdom.

Dear God, forgive me for relying on the world’s wisdom and putting my faith in information I can find on my own. Please loosen my grip on everything the world has to tell me and point my eyes to you and your infinite knowledge and love. Give me a desire to read Your Word, and show me exactly how to make the Bible my go-to resource. Help me learn to turn to you before I open another tab. Show me once again how your Word is a lamp to guide my feet and a light for my path. Thank you, Lord — for giving us true wisdom and for helping me come back to it and to You. Amen.

 

Listen to today’s article below or on your favorite podcast player!

Embracing the Mire, Mud, and Mundane

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Have you ever said ‘yes’ to God’s invitation to be a part of something greater than yourself? Perhaps you said yes to a marriage proposal, or yes to a business proposal, or yes to a marathon whose finish line is multiple generations into the future. What happens when you say yes but don’t see immediate results? What happens when you don’t experience reciprocated gratification or get to touch the manifestation of your yes? When that happens to me, I feel frustrated and foolish. I question the invitation. I wonder if I made it up. I wonder if I am suffering from delusions of grandeur – if my ego is trying to play God. 

In the dormancy of my yes, I question God’s presence, attention, and intention. My discomfort in the waiting reveals that I am uncomfortable with cultivation. Cultivation is the development that commands growth over an extended period of time. But our microwave, fast food, have-it-your-way culture has shaped me to be at odds with slow, sustainable growth over an extended measure of time. And when we prefer fast-and-easy over cultivation’s demand for commitment, persistence, and endurance, we are destined to disregard the very things that will help fortify our yes. We fail to appreciate the mire, the mud, and the mundane that coexists with our yes.

The mire is those situations of difficulty or distress from which I immediately want to extricate myself. I have no desire to marinade in situational valleys or pause to appreciate obstacles in my path. I want all my days to be sunny days. But just as rainy days are necessary for grass seed to become a gorgeous lawn, I need rainy days in my life. I not only need plenty of rainy moments, I also need to recognize and appreciate how they nourish me.

Did you know that though grass needs nitrogen, it is unable to absorb it from the air? Rain forces nitrogen to the ground where microorganisms convert it down in the soil. During thunderstorms, lightning instantly creates nitrogen oxide, which grass absorbs immediately without the help of microorganisms. Oftentimes, life’s rainy days and thunderstorms aid and expedite our growth too. We need both the sun and storms. Keeping this in mind, we can embrace the mire of unforeseen challenges. We can feel discomfort, misery, and grief while knowing that growth is happening.  

Have you ever watched The Wiz (1978)? Dorothy and the Scarecrow find a golden-bright cobblestone path known as the yellow brick road that highlights the way to the land of Oz where they are to find the mysterious, all-knowing Wiz. Dorothy and her tag-along friends don’t know exactly where they are going or how to get there, but when they locate the path set before them, all they have to do is ‘ease on down the road.’ Oh, how I wish my path forward was that easy.

The journey that obedience unfolds is way off the beaten path. Faith can call us to walk a road that only God can see – one that is not so obvious, nor is it laden with gold. Oftentimes, our Creator is creating and cultivating something new for the next generation. So, sometimes we have to get muddy. We have to off-road it and chart a new course. We have to till the soil, plant seeds – get our hands dirty. But just think of the lotus; this most beautiful actually roots itself and grows in the mud. We can embrace our mud moments, knowing that growth is happening. 

And then there are those times when it feels like absolutely nothing is happening. There seems to be no measurable growth. It feels like my yes and I have died on the vine. These moments are marked as mundane and are characterized by the ‘un’ — unvaried, uneventful, uninteresting, and unexciting. In the mundane, I am exhausted by nothing happening. But then I consider the Chinese bamboo tree. In its first year, the Chinese bamboo tree shows no visible signs of active growth. In year two, there are no visible signs of growth. In its third year, still nothing. And in the fourth year, nada. At this point, we may wonder if the seed was rotten. We may wonder if we’ve wasted our time and effort. 

Finally, in the fifth year, we begin to see the Chinese bamboo tree peeking through the soil. YAY! Then, the seed that we had almost given up on grows eighty feet in just six weeks. During the four years it appeared dormant, the tree was actually developing a root system strong enough to support its potential for outward growth. Had a strong underground foundation not taken the time to develop, the Chinese bamboo tree could not have sustained its life as it grew. While we may perceive time as lost or wasted, we and our yes are being fortified for sustainability. We can embrace our momentary mundane and know that growth is happening. 

I am learning to be confident in the One who planted the garden in Eden, cultivated it, and walked in it (Genesis 2-3). So when  I don’t see a stem budding above the soil, or have to take the muddy, less traveled road, or have to endure rainy days, I can confidently embrace the mire, the mud, and the mundane. I know that God is always present and cultivating. Growth is happening.

 

Listen to today’s article below or on your favorite podcast player!

Make Those Dental Appointments and Open That Bible

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I hate going to the dentist.

I’ve shared this with you before, so I know many of you echo my abhorrence. We all agree that it’s of course necessary . . . and can be awful too. For me, the dentist was a gap in my self-care practices. I neglected my teeth as a young adult and then as a young mom while I spent nearly a decade pregnant and nursing and raising babies into toddlers and kids and preteens. Of course I brought them all to the dentist, faithfully making their appointments for cleanings and the occasional cavity. But for my own self. . . not so much.

Until one spring, when I had a toothache. Then it was no longer avoidable. As the kindest dentist in the world (a gift from the Lord Himself, I tell you) finished the assessment for repair, she gently suggested we schedule my next cleaning right then and there as I was still mouth-open in the chair.

No escaping this, I thought.

And so for the next three years, I trudged back for appointments, fillings, cleanings, x-rays, adjustments, crowns, and assessments.

Thoughts — most of them untrue and unkind — rolled through my head. How could I have let this get so bad? How could I take such intentional care of my kids and not of myself? Why do I have to be so scared of this? No one else has this issue! This is dumb. I am dumb. I’m costing my family so much money as we fix this mess!

What began in fear grew into a mountain of despair so unapproachable that I hid from it for years, while the shame (and plaque) built up.

At first, I was so terrified of the pain in my jaw and the pain of perceived judgment that I had my husband go with me to appointments to hold my hand. I was petrified at each visit of what they would find and have to fix, and how they would look at me with contempt (which they never did, but assigning the thoughts others have about me is an unfortunate superpower of mine). Years of neglect had eroded my enamel and my peace. But as I continued going in, I slowly (very slowly) started to gain confidence. I began to change my mind.

As we continued through my treatment plan, repairing one area of damage at a time, I forgave the Anna from years ago who was too scared to even take care of herself. I forgave her for not flossing enough. I forgave her for being at the mercy of genetics (out of my control, obviously, and yet the blame was there to take). I forgave her for needing nitrous gas even during a cleaning. I forgave her.

And I started to actually heal.

Now — finally — on the other side of my treatment plan, I recently had my first ever cavity-free cleaning. My doctor said, “Keep doing what you’re doing! Your hard work is really paying off, and we can see it!” And I beamed with pride.

On the way home, I realized that sentence had stuck with me. The dentist could see the effects of my routines, good or otherwise. It occurred to me that the dentist is one place where my consistency and work are laid bare, put on display, and I can’t hide from my habits. If I’ve brushed, flossed, mouth-washed, and taken care of myself, it will show. If I haven’t, it’ll be cavity city. Either way, there is evidence of what I actively cultivate.

Isn’t this just like our life with God?

When the phone rings. When the job is lost. When the bills come. When we’re called to the carpet and put under a spotlight, our habits are made known. Will we be strong enough to withstand the circumstance? Or will we wash away like sand with the tide?

This summer my family experienced a devastating job loss that meant we also lost our church home of nearly twenty years. It’s been painful, to say the least. But through it all, I’ve been so deeply thankful that the love we have for Jesus has never faltered. I never questioned my status with Him (which is beloved, by the way, as is yours!). Accidentally-on-purpose, I’ve spent decades building up my God-muscles. Reading the Word and tucking away truths. Praying, always praying. Asking others to pray when my words are gone. Knowing it’s okay to fall into Him and cry.

This summer felt like walking into the dentist’s office and bearing the marks of great oral hygiene. Our habits were put to the test. Would we hold up, or would we crumble?

The work we do today to build up our hearts and relationship with Jesus — the worship, the quiet times, the Bible study, the reading and praying and studying, the praise — is what lays our foundation for tomorrow, and every day after that.

So make those dental appointments and open that Bible. Brush and floss, and lift your hands in praise. Mouthwash like your gums depend on it, and write out your prayers like it’s going to make a difference.

Because it is. Every single act of pouring into a relationship with God matters. In the intricate Lego creations my kids make, each brick is imperative to the design and structural support; likewise, each small act of getting to know God’s heart builds upon one another to create a beautiful and solid structure.

Tell me, friends: are you feeling like your foundation is firm these days? How can you make a habit of that which will produce good fruit?

 

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“Here Comes Super Mom” and Other Ways to Make Someone’s Day

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In the early days of motherhood, worn-out running shoes and a rickety double stroller were the threadbare ties to my sanity. Daily I tied up those laces like I was girding my flailing ability to mother. I strapped the three-year-old in the front stroller seat, the two-year-old in the rear, and doled out an abundance of snacks and sippy cups. I prayed their wiggly bodies would calm under the three-point-harness security. If not, at least they were contained.

I hoisted the baby into the strappy apparatus attached to my chest. Tiny sun hat and pacifier, check. Burp cloth tucked in my back pocket in case the morning’s projectile spit-up wasn’t quite finished, check. We were ready to go. Me and my boys.

My feet pounded the pavement as I strained to propel the precious cargo forward. I pushed harder, trying to relieve the pressure that pressed from the inside. I was out of breath before I made it to the end of the block. The boys babbled to one another about kitties perched in picture windows and earthworms squished flat on driveways.

I battled my thoughts.

Just go home! You’re sleep-deprived and out of shape. Why torture yourself this way? Turn on the TV for them and go back to bed.

But then I’d think, No, you need this. Stay the course. You’ll find your rhythm. It will get easier. Just breathe. Just breathe.

As much as my legs hurt and my lungs burned, I had to keep going. Fresh air and moving my body, no matter how squishy, get the endorphins flowing. The combination is like soul medicine. I needed a strong dose.

I turned toward the foothills aglow with morning light and made my way to the quaint main street just coming alive. Shop owners turned on lights, and hot coffeepots steamed as servers in maroon aprons filled mugs for customers huddled around small sidewalk tables.

The wobbly left stroller wheel clunked hard over another concrete bulge. The baby kicked his legs and a tiny sock fell off again. I paused to pick it up, sip some water, kiss each toddler.

I kept pushing north until the shops fell behind us. Historic bungalows and craftsman homes now lined the wide street. Noah and Elias both started to squirm under their buckles, fussing that they needed more snacks. Noah dragged his foot against the sidewalk. Elias leaned over the edge of the stroller, stretching his chubby toddler fingers toward a nearby rosebush and shrieked when it was out of reach. I turned at the top of the long street to make our descent. My back was aching, and the baby was stirring from his short snooze.

By the time we walked past the other side of lovely homes, I’d stopped a dozen times to discipline, soothe, or redirect a child. I may have bribed my boys through gritted teeth to please stop whining and sit still just a little longer and they’d get to watch an extra episode of Curious George at home.

When we got back to the Village, the shops and stores were bustling with more people, which somehow made me feel both comforted and more alone.

I looked ahead and saw customers filling the outdoor seating area of another little breakfast diner. A group of older men crowded around two tables pushed together. Their chairs spilled over onto the sidewalk. 

“Keep your arms and legs inside the stroller,” I reminded the boys as we approached. I was sweating.

Just then one of the gentlemen stood up. I thought he was going to scoot his chair out of the way to give me more room to pass by, but instead, he started clapping. Then he declared in a deep booming voice, “Here comes Super Mom! Make way for Super Mom! Let’s give her a hand!” And together, as if on cue, his retired comrades all joined in a spontaneous standing ovation for me and my little crew.

“A round of applause for Super Mom!” he cheered.

I was so caught off guard. All I could do was flash my bewildered smile and keep on walking.

But it didn’t take too many paces before my vision blurred with tears.

This unexpected kindness struck me to my core.

There’s no way Mr. Kind Stranger could have known that beneath my sunglasses and smile was a mom barely hanging on. But God did. And He used one person’s willingness to unexpectedly lavish encouragement to make a difference in my day — to remind me that I’m not alone. I am loved and seen. 

Tears eventually slid down my cheeks as I turned onto our street. But they didn’t fall on the strained grimace I wore at the start of the walk. No, I let that Super Mom smile stay stretched across my face, catching every salty drop of gratitude.

Simple words of encouragement are the uncomplicated gift we can give without cost or limit. A genuine compliment, a heartfelt thank-you, a sincere apology. There are a million ways to tell a neighbor or stranger that you see her, that she is not forgotten. You are valuable. Your pain matters. You’re doing a great job. You inspire me.

Do not underestimate the power of kind words.

September 12th is National Day of Encouragement, a day set aside to bring encouragement to others. At (in)courage and DaySpring, we know you share encouragement all year round – thank you! We want to help you be ready to share that encouragement not only on the National Day of Encouragement, but on any day.

You can celebrate National Day of Encouragement by sending a FREE exclusive video card by Hallmark and DaySpring! Make someone smile by adding photos or videos, then share it instantly via text or email. Want to really spread more love? You can send as many as you like, all through September.

A glad heart makes a happy face.
Proverbs 15:13 (NLT) 

 

Listen to today’s article below or on your favorite podcast player!

This article was adapted from Becky’s book, The Simple Difference: How Every Small Kindness Makes a Big Impact.

Hope for When You’ve Messed Up

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My fingers flew through Schumann’s Papillons as the audience in the recital hall watched and listened. I had practiced this piano piece for months. As I focused on playing the correct black and white keys, I also tried to express the emotions of the piece. Yet, at a crucial point in the music all my preparation failed me. I couldn’t remember what came next! My heart started racing. Panic filled my head — chasing out all the notes that I thought I could depend on. Hoping to work my way out of this mess before anyone noticed, I jumped back to a point in the piece I was certain of. But when I reached the sticking point, once again the needed notes did not appear. I repeated this process several times, each time hoping for a better outcome. Eventually the required notes showed up and I reached the end of the piece.

Although the audience applauded my performance, I only remembered how I had messed up. I felt humiliation over my loop of failure. 

Since that college piano recital, I have experienced other, more serious loops of failure. Why do I continually say the wrong thing to my husband? Why do I repeatedly lose patience with the people I love? Why do I frequently lose my courage when given a chance to share the good news of Jesus? And ultimately I wonder, How can Jesus love me if I continually mess up? 

Maybe you’ve experienced your own loops of failure. You might burn with shame when you’ve once again lost it with your children or let down a friend. Or feel embarrassed about repeat binge sessions of triple chocolate chip ice cream. Or be mortified that once again you’ve broken your promise to spend more time in God’s Word. It leads to wondering, Will Jesus forgive me — again? 

I find hope in the story of the apostle Peter. He experienced his own loop of failure. On the night Jesus was arrested in the Garden of Gethsemane, Peter followed Him to the home of the high priest where the officials questioned Jesus. Maybe everything would have been fine if one sassy servant girl hadn’t stared at Peter and said, “You also were with Jesus the Galilean” (Matthew 26:69). Peter attempted to sidestep her accusation by saying, “I do not know what you mean.”  

Peter’s response probably surprised him more than anyone else, since hours earlier he had boasted, “Even if I must die with You, I will not deny you!” (Matthew 26:35). Yet the failures kept coming. Two more times that night, Peter declared that he didn’t know Jesus — the man he had lived and ministered alongside for the last three years

After the news of Jesus’ resurrection, Peter probably had incredible joy mixed with gnawing anxiety. He couldn’t forget the look on Jesus’ face after the third denial and the sound of the cock crowing. How could he have failed the Friend who had given him love, acceptance, and purpose? I imagine the contrite disciple wondered, Will Jesus forgive my unfaithfulness? Will He still consider me as one of His disciples? Can I still have a place in the Messiah’s kingdom?  

And because I have faced similar feelings, I love how Jesus took Peter aside one day after a campfire breakfast. Three times Jesus asked, “Simon, son of John, do you love me?” and three times Peter replied, “Yes, Lord; you know that I love you” (John 21:15-17). Jesus gave Peter three opportunities to affirm his love, offsetting the three denials.  

One thing that gives me hope in this post-resurrection story is that Jesus didn’t ask Peter, “Do you promise to never again let Me down?” He asked only, “Do you love Me?” What grace. God doesn’t expect perfection. He desires love. He knows our human weakness and propensity to mess up. So even if we fail again and again and again, He still wants us to come to Him. To love Him.  To revel in our friendship with Him.  

Have you messed up? Experienced multiple loops of failure? Do you wonder if Jesus can forgive you?  

Don’t stay in the loop of failure. Confess your mistake, your sin, and receive the forgiveness Christ earned for you on the cross. 

Then rejoice in the fact that Jesus doesn’t glare at us and demand, “Promise you will never fail again!” No, He looks at each of us with compassion and asks, “Do you love Me?” 

 

Listen to today’s article below or on your favorite podcast player!

Wherever We Go, God Is There

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I can never escape from your Spirit!
    I can never get away from your presence!
If I go up to heaven, you are there;
    if I go down to the grave, you are there.
If I ride the wings of the morning,
    if I dwell by the farthest oceans,
even there your hand will guide me,
    and your strength will support me.
I could ask the darkness to hide me
    and the light around me to become night—
    but even in darkness I cannot hide from you.
To you the night shines as bright as day.
    Darkness and light are the same to you.
Psalm 139:7-12 (NLT)

Wherever we go, God is there. What a gift of comfort and assurance. 

We know that today’s anniversary of the September 11th terrorist attacks still stirs deep trauma and grief for many. We also know that on any ordinary Sunday, hearts are heavy with all kinds of pain and sorrow. This world can feel so very dark — but God. But God seeks us out in the darkness and offers us His strength.

Where does the darkness feel oppressive to you today? Where do you need to remember that God’s comfort is available to you? Leave a comment; we’d be honored to pray for you. And bless a sister by pausing to pray for the person who commented before you.

 

Be Countercultural and Cheer Each Other On

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If one part suffers, all the parts suffer with it, and if one part is honored, all the parts are glad.
 1 Corinthians 12:26 (NLT)

My phone dings, and I see her text: “Could you read something I wrote? I don’t know if it’s any good, but I wanted to see if you could just take a look and tell me what you think.”

I could hear the hesitancy in her words and how much courage it took for her to ask. We had met each other at a conference, and from our brief interactions, I knew she had stories to tell, pain to express, and wisdom to lead with. We noticed each other in a breakout session for writers interested in getting published, and afterward we talked in hushed tones about our hopes for where our writing would go. The writing world and its nuances were new for us, and we parted ways holding those hopes for each other.

Eventually, I became an editor, and I watched from afar as her leadership took her places. I witnessed her voice become louder and stronger as she processed the current social climate through her newsletters. I could see that she was becoming freer, more herself, and less afraid of what people would think of her.

And so was I.

Her text was an unexpected but pleasant surprise. She shared how she had been keeping up with me as well and thought she’d take a step of faith by reaching out. I was honored to be entrusted with a first read of her writing, and I agreed to take a look and get back to her soon.

I wasn’t prepared for her gift with words. She wrote with precision and power, beauty and hope. She didn’t shy away from naming her pain, and her pastoral and prophetic leadership shined through her stories. I was blown away by her natural talent, and I texted her immediately to tell her so.

She responded, “Really? You think so?” Her lack of confidence boggled my mind, and I sent back ten yeses in all caps with way too many exclamation marks. I assured her I wasn’t just saying it because she was a friend. I genuinely believed she should be writing and getting published.

We went back and forth about her essay a couple of times, but it wasn’t until years later that I received another text: “The essay we worked on got published in a book!”

I squealed in delight at this news. Her success wasn’t only about her but also about the many other women — particularly women of color — who would see her name in a book and know what was possible for them too. Her joy was my joy.

First Corinthians 12:26 says, “If one part suffers, all the parts suffer with it, and if one part is honored, all the parts are glad.” And Romans 12:15 simply says, “Be happy with those who are happy” (NLT). In Christ, we are intricately intertwined and interdependent on one another. Because we are made for community and placed in community, we cannot separate our grief or our joy from that of others.

In a world and time when social media and celebrity culture hype certain people over others, it’s easy to feel envious of someone else’s success. Those feelings are understandable and shouldn’t be shoved down in order to celebrate others. Instead, we can bring our honest selves before God, confessing our hurt, disappointment, and anger, acknowledging our own desire for success, and letting God be a balm for us. He can realign our hearts to His, remind us that together we make up the body of Christ, and teach us to be glad when another is honored.

We can be countercultural by cheering each other on, and in doing so we participate in the joy that God has for us all.

I relished in my friend’s news. I was so proud of her work, her persistence, and her increasing belief in herself. I had the privilege of watching her growth like a time-lapse of a seed becoming a plant, and my delight was just a glimpse of God’s rejoicing over her. And from my vantage point, I could see that this was just the beginning.

GOD, thank You that there isn’t a limited amount of joy to go around and that one person’s success doesn’t cancel out another’s. You are not a God of scarcity but of abundance. I confess that there are times when I have a hard time cheering someone else on when I’m not in the same place or position as they are. But I want to learn to participate in their joy as You are inviting me to do. Thank You for creating us to be the body of Christ so that gladness can be multiplied instead of hoarded. Amen.

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

The Only Way to Get Rid of Celebrity Culture in the Church

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I love attending conferences and women’s events, but I hate sitting by myself. I am the ultimate extrovert so it bothers me more than you would think. As a pastor’s wife I have grown accustomed to being alone at large events. I play on my phone, sip on my coffee, read the entire program and pretend like I am perfectly fine in my little corner. I also have an annoying habit of getting everywhere early, mostly because I get lost the first time I go to a new place.

Last year, I was one of the speakers at a Christian women’s event. I didn’t know anyone at this event, except for the host who had invited me. As usual I got there early, so I asked if there was any way I could help. I was so grateful to be given the job of setting up drinks for people to grab as they arrived. This was literally the perfect station for me; I could make small talk with the other volunteers and meet the guests, all while smelling freshly brewed coffee.

My little extrovert heart was about to blow up with excitement because I would feel like I belonged in that room and didn’t simply have to sit alone. Unfortunately, the beautiful picture I had painted in my head of refreshment duty didn’t pan out. I remember seeing so many faces pass by me as they grabbed a drink from my table, but none looked up to actually see my face and only a handful even said thank you.

I sat alone and had no one to talk with other than the sweet host who checked on me.

Later that day after I spoke on stage, many women came to tell me how pretty I looked and how much my words blessed them, and some even wanted to connect with me later. I was happy and frustrated at the same time.

In both instances, I was serving the need that was placed in front of me, but we as humans tend to glorify those things that we feel are significant. We perceive the stage as significant, and not the lobby. In doing so, we have allowed celebrity culture to creep into the Church. I think we would all agree the mess Christian celebrity culture has made is devastating. Like most of you, I have played a role in this too. I have overlooked the ones pouring into my kids and honored only those with the microphone. I have craved friendships with those in positions of power and ignored the person in the parking lot standing in the heat with a huge smile, waving as I drove into the conference. I have been impressed by the pastors with large platforms and forgot the ones with smaller churches who faithfully make hospital visits and conduct weddings.

Elevating some people and exalting certain gifts within the body of Christ is not only damaging, but it is in direct opposition to the gospel message; we are responsible for demolishing that pattern of behavior before it destroys us.

I love how Apostle Paul compares the Church to the human body. In 1 Corinthians 12, he teaches that we are all part of the body and no one part is more important. We are interconnected and equally integral because we all have different functions within the body. “Now you are the body of Christ, and each one of you is a part of it” (I Corinthians 12:27 NIV).

Our gifts work better together than alone because their purpose isn’t solely about us but about glorifying the Father and having His kingdom reign on earth through us.

Then Paul goes on to write the famous chapter on love. I don’t think that is coincidental. I think he understood that loving well will be hard for our human nature to grasp. We would need a picture of what it looks like to live out this call to love. So he offers the metaphor of functioning as one body using our differing gifts – void of celebrity culture — and that secret sauce is LOVE.

We need only to look to Jesus who is the evidence. Love personified.

Jesus chose to be born in a barn and not in a palace — to teach us that life isn’t about the size of our house, church, or bank account.

He chose to be friends with John the Baptist, who was weird in every way — to show us we don’t need to be friends with the most celebrated or influential person in the room to impact the world.

Jesus saw the little boy with the lunch at the outdoor service. He valued the widow with the small offering at church, and He spoke with the wealthy and wise Nicodemus. In God’s eyes, we are all the same.

The only way we can get rid of celebrity culture in the Church is if we see everyone who serves as significant. I was being the hands and feet of Jesus at the refreshment table just as much as I was on that stage sharing from God’s Word. No matter what work we do, our service for the Kingdom isn’t for worldly validation, but to be an offering of worship to God. So then our job is not to rate someone’s worship or worship them; our job is to worship God.

 

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The Power of Gentle Presence

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It felt like I couldn’t breathe. My heart felt like it was crashing against my ribcage… pounding hard enough to break something. 

My thoughts were scattered. Everything in my body was buzzing, vibrating, trembling with a ferocity I couldn’t figure out how to stop. Trauma was replaying itself in my body. Things that had happened to me years earlier felt like they were happening again. I was terrified. Hadn’t I healed from this? 

I sat on a curb outside the church I attend on Monday nights, trying to recall grounding methods a counselor had once taught me. I planted my feet on the ground, laid back on the soft grass, and went through my senses. What could I feel, smell, hear, see?

“You’re safe,” I told myself over and over. I recited Psalm 23. I practiced box breathing. I prayed. A friend called me and prayed. I did everything I possibly could to end the trauma replay. It felt like nothing was working. I was convinced if I could just muster my way through this, I could go back inside and pretend none of it had happened. Feelings of powerlessness collided into me like a tidal wave. I was drowning beneath them. 

Help me, I whimpered to God. I need help. 

The side door of the church building opened. I wrapped my arms around my knees, bracing myself. I didn’t know if I wanted anyone to see me like this. 

A familiar face appeared and sat beside me… and suddenly I wasn’t alone. 

It wasn’t immediate, but after sitting on that church curb in the summer air in the presence of someone gentle and kind, I could feel myself start to breathe again.

I had asked God for help, and what I wanted was for my body to find immediate relief, to cease shaking, to restabilize so I could go back inside and pretend everything was fine.

Instead, He sent me a person. Instead, He brought me presence. Instead, He provided a reminder that even in my woundedness – perhaps especially – I was not alone.

My friend K.J. Ramsey writes in her recent book, “Two things bring us back home from the bottom of stress: breath, and the attuned, compassionate presence of someone else.”  

When I experience stress, I want to be alone. I want to work through things quickly and independently, proving I don’t need anything or anyone. 

But what if God designed us to sit in our woundedness in the company of another? To not try to fix it, stop it, or ignore it, but to embrace our limited, finite humanity in the gentle, safe presence of an all-powerful God and another finite human? 

It goes against everything in me to show someone my wounds. But sitting in the compassionate and gentle presence of another person showed me I was safe, exactly as I was. 

When you are wounded and shaky, sitting on a curb on a summer night, you don’t want power or force. You want softness. You want gentleness. You want presence. 

What strikes me about gentleness is that, contrary to what we often think, it’s not weak or passive. Gentleness is actually controlled strength. God’s gentle presence is with you wherever you go. He is strong and tender, all at once. He is like a father who is large and strong and powerful, but controls His strength as He softly and tenderly wipes the tears off the cheek of a child.

God is so present that He came from heaven to earth to walk with us; so present He gave us His Spirit and is closer to us than the skin on our arms and the air that we breathe; so present that one of His very names – Emmanuel – means He is always with us.

In His strength and gentleness, God bends low to meet you wherever you are. 

Suddenly you realize you’ve never been alone.

 

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How to Lose and Re-build Community

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When we moved into our current house almost two years ago, we left another home, along with a cul-de-sac dotted with neighbors who had become dear friends.

When we left that address, we also left summers of our kids playing outside with familiar friends all day long. On that street, watching out for each other’s kids and one another had become the norm. We cried in-between driveways in our pajamas, barefoot with morning breath. We processed through big decisions, shared longings and pain, and helped diffuse arguments among our small grove of kids. We fed each other’s pets and plants, took walks, asked for eggs and butter, shared cookies and bandaids and lawn tools, prayed for each other, and sat on each other’s couches while dirty laundry piles sat with us.

We didn’t lose these friendships when we moved, but we lost the details of what that little community had become.

I knew this would happen, but feeling the losses over time is always harder than expected. Like so many other times I’ve had to leave people and places, the grief has glued itself to my insides. When one of my kids says the kids here don’t want to play with him, I remember the sounds of our old street and the way laughter lined it, and I doubt our decision.

In the midst of grieving and doubting, I know it’s okay to feel these feelings and have these questions, but I don’t want my kids to have to experience them. I want to rush and conjure up an immediate solution, but community-building is a slow work that won’t be bullied by my impatience.

What we left at our last address took over a decade to build. We watched that little community come together slowly, and become sturdy over time. What we left was nothing like what it was when we began.

It’s easy to forget the awkward conversations we had at first, or that we had three or four years of those kinds of conversations before we would even begin to call each other friends. Forget how many times I came inside after an interaction and told my husband that I wasn’t sure we’d ever connect deeply with our neighbors.

The community we eventually became did not become by my urgency or grit. I couldn’t just water it more, or use something in my own power to make roots and stems shove their way from seed and soil. Instead, our friendships grew roots in dark days of doubt, through trying and trying again awkwardly, alongside seasons of silence and solitude.

All of it reminds me that bearing the fruit we can see and savor, takes time, care, trial, and error.

This morning I looked in the mirror and thought about how much has changed over the last few years. I’ve grown older and I’ve become more sad than I have been in a while. And yet, I’ve also become more gentle with myself, more tender with my body, mind, and heart. Our community has changed and keeps changing, and the losses continue to feel far-reaching. But instead of chasing a community (or anything else for that matter) and trying to force it into shape, I’m learning to stay open and tender, to let the losses impact me and inform me, and to wait for our Creator’s timing to build: one interaction, conversation, or gathering after another.

God has created each of us to be builders and re-builders of community. Part of that calling is grieving the losses that come, lamenting what isn’t and sometimes what is, surrendering to our own limitations and the limitations of others, and hoping for the holy cultivation of connection that God wants to provide to take root throughout it all.

Are you in a season of loss, loneliness, or rebuilding when it comes to community? I know it can feel impossible some days, but take heart, dear reader, and remember it’s okay if it feels that way. You aren’t alone.

Let’s look outside and pay attention to the trees and flowers that Jesus told His followers to take note of. Notice how they hide and grow, bloom and fade away, moving in and out of seasons, dependent on things much bigger than themselves; let them remind us that we can take our time.

In the end, it isn’t merely the fruit we pick and consume in an hour’s time that we long for. No, it’s so much more than that; it’s the entire process of becoming and realizing that we have been loved and seen throughout.

I look back and see God in the lonely days, in my doubt, and in the long stretch of growth over time.

We’re meant to change and transform, release and receive, to plant and prune and harvest, to leave our little seeds in the dark, to not be able to see what will be, to build and rebuild, and to be surprised by the good things that grow into what they need to become. There are unseen things at work in the relational seasons that feel empty, and it’s not just the fulfillment of community, but our communing with God throughout our longing and loneliness that is building something beautiful too.

 

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Embracing the Need for Rest

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“I don’t do downtime very well.” How often have I thought or spoken these words? Although I know it’s important, I often have trouble embracing my need for rest. I pressure myself to check items off a never-ending to-do list and allow myself to believe the lie that rest equates to laziness.

The news continues to bring me anxiety and sorrow, on top of my family’s own unique struggles. Lately, however, I’ve realized rest can help me cope with stresses, both slight and substantial.

In Matthew 11:28, Jesus tells us, “Come to me, all of you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.” Rest is a gift He offers to the weary. I’m welcoming it into my life in three key areas to bring rest to my body, spirit, and soul.

First, I’m embracing rest for my body by delighting in God’s creation. My parents loved plants, and I remember their favorite nursery and the fascination of walking through its warm, humid greenhouses as a child. Our home was filled with the beauty of God’s creation — from the rosy red geraniums my mother added to our window boxes each spring to the majestic ponytail palm in our front window, to the graceful weeping willow that stood in the back of our yard.

This past spring I delighted in the way the plants and trees in the yard of our new home awakened — flowering pear, cherry, and dogwood trees, hardy lavender, creeping succulents, and a beautiful Japanese red maple.

I pull out old, worn field guides, join online plant identification groups, and text photos to my plant-savvy oldest son, searching for answers to my questions: Are these budding bushes rhododendron or azaleas? What are the dozens of new shoots pushing up through the soil around our deck? Is this straggly little Charlie Brown tree actually something special?

For years I believed I could write about and photograph plants but not grow them. I joked about how I couldn’t keep plants alive. Inspired by the Spring chapter in Myquillyn Smith’s book Welcome Home and the way my oldest daughter found comfort through tending plants while isolating in 2020, I’m filling our home and yard with new life: trailing ivy, shade-loving hostas, fragrant rosemary, vibrant purple hydrangeas, an eye-catching variety commonly called a hope plant, and a quirky little ponytail palm that reminds me of home. I’ve cataloged them in an app that tells me where to place them and when to water them. I don’t want to kill my plants from either too much or too little love.

Appreciating and tending to God’s creation requires me to slow down and engage my senses of sight, smell, and touch. This is rest for my body.

Second, I’m embracing rest for my spirit through reading. I used to end every day with at least thirty minutes of quiet time with a book; it was the perfect wind-down to my day. Over the years, I’m sad to say I’ve allowed catching up on email and social media accounts to edge out that special time.

At the beginning of the pandemic, I bought my first Kindle. It’s one of my favorite COVID purchases. Most nights I prop extra pillows behind me in bed and escape into occupied France during WWII, slip into the heart of the Russian Revolution, sleuth along with the detective in a whodunit, or enjoy an occasional romantic comedy.

I pair my Bible study and devotional time with breakfast, so I bookend my day with the written word. I believe reading builds empathy, and we all could use more of that. Through reading, I’m finding rest for my spirit.

Last, I’m embracing rest for my soul as I pray and release. I used to say yes too often — until I was buried by all the tasks I’d agreed to perform. When I learned to delegate, it allowed me to release responsibilities I didn’t need to carry and invited others to share the burden with me.

Worries will weigh you down, but prayer will provide life-changing peace if you unshackle your troubles and hand them over to God. Then trust Him to handle the outcome. Pray and release: This is rest for our souls.

As Philippians 4:6-7 says, “Don’t worry about anything, but in everything, through prayer and petition with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus.”

This article was written by Dawn Camp as featured in Everyday Faith Magazine.

Did you know DaySpring has a magazine? It’s true! And the brand new fall issue of Everyday Faith just hit newsstands!

From cover to cover, you will find stories and articles to inspire hope, prompt reflection, and encourage you for the upcoming months. There are tear-out prayers to share cards, scannable QR codes for freebies, and exclusive Fall Planning Calendars tucked inside!

These pages are full of the best kind of hope and encouragement — truth from God’s Word!

You care about your faith — that’s why you’re here today! — and Everyday Faith magazine will help you know and share God’s love in fresh, true, and inspiring ways. Pick up your copy wherever magazines are sold and at DaySpring.com. This article by Dawn is just one of many featured throughout Everyday Faith magazine, which, by the way, is perfect for tucking into your purse, bringing to the school pickup line, and sharing with a friend.

And to help you do just that, we’re giving away FIVE sets of magazines — one for each winner and one for them to give to a friend! Leave a comment telling us whom you’d gift a copy to and we’ll draw five winners.

Giveaway open to US addresses only, and will close on 9/9/22 at 11:59pm central. 

 

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When Friendships Change, Remember These Five Truths

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I invite a few close friends over for a grown-up tea party, and before they arrive, I rhythmically move around the table arranging small crustless sandwiches, lemon bars, scones, and cream. I set out my beloved Noritake gold-rimmed plates, teacups, and saucers — our wedding china. I smile remembering all the times I’ve used this china, and I think again how thankful I am to get to love on my friends and myself by using it once again. The good life comes from giving ourselves a little attention by enjoying the good things rather than keeping them hidden away.

I set out the porcelain tea bag holders and little stirring spoons. I realize I forgot the water goblets and then remember that one friend won’t be joining us, and I find uninvited tears showing up before the party.

It’s silly to be crying, really. I mean, this friend didn’t die. We didn’t have a big fight or a dramatic falling out. Our friendship just changed, unfolded into a new season. And that new season has me a little sad because I just miss her.

I stare at the dining room chair at the end of the table and briefly contemplate taping her picture to the seat-back. Or maybe even just leaving one seat empty in her honor? I don’t, of course, because that would be a little crazy. But sometimes we want to give the loss a tangible space to be remembered.

I would love to simply give love all the attention. But for many, loss is the tagalong companion to love, and it’s impossible for loss not to get a little attention too. 

Today, my heart holds sadness for a friendship that doesn’t look the way it used to. For you, maybe there is a sadness for the same — or from a different kind of relationship that doesn’t look the way you wish.

If that’s the case, may I humbly offer these truths to help during the hard moments? Here are five truths to ease the changing seasons of friendships:

1. Give your sadness a safe space. Don’t skip over the sadness. Give yourself permission to mourn the loss for an appropriate amount of time. Let it have its say, but don’t let it be your boss because hope always gets the last word.

2. Don’t assume there’s something wrong with you. When a friendship or other relationship changes, it’s easy to look inward and think, What did I do wrong? Instead, look upward and assume that for now, God simply wants your attention elsewhere. Trust Jesus with your reputation as well as this situation.

3. Believe God continues to give His best to you. This includes people who are best for you.

4. Pray God’s best for your friend. Whatever the particulars behind the relationship change, let’s remember to represent Jesus well by letting the situation bring out the best in us, not the worst.

5. Fervently thank God for the vibrant relationships you do have. Even if it’s just one friend, and that friend moved five states away. Or even if that friend is the one preoccupied with a new baby or busy with a new job. Thank God for who is present at your table and in your life.

And in this month that finds so many of our children and loved ones in a new school year, I pray these truths over all those young’uns looking for life-giving friendships in their lives.

It takes strength and courage to hold our relationships in upturned palms instead of squeezed in tight fists. To say, You are welcome to stay here, but I won’t bolt you inside. Some seasons call for bravery in the form of staying close. Other times, a season calls for bravery in the form of keeping our distance. In those moments, may we continue to give ourselves a little attention by enjoying the good things — and good people — around us. And may we also see all the ways God gives us gifts — gifts that are signs of Love present everywhere. 

If you’d like more encouragement in your changing friendships or direction in another difficult life change, check out Kristen’s devotional: When Change Finds You: 31 Assurances to Settle Your Heart When Life Stirs You Up.

 

 

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What God Can Do with the Shattered Pieces of Your Heart

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For the Times You Are Tempted to Walk Away from God

That Sunday morning started gray and cloudy, with rain expected before noon. Crushed gravel crunched beneath my pumps as we walked toward the sanctuary. Years had passed since I crossed the threshold of a church. Memories of our last visit flooded my thoughts. My husband took my hand and winked. He knew I was apprehensive; he held me steady as my trembling nerves threatened to rock me off my heels. 

We left our previous church after a grueling process of reporting a leader whose predatory behavior was directed toward me. Later we discovered I was not the only one.  I believed then, and I believe now, that reporting him was the right thing to do. It was to protect women who would cross his path in the future. 

But to protect others meant social suicide and shunning for me. The leader had carefully endeared himself to staff and contributors of the church. With his charming personality and personal pastoral care, he was able to skillfully camouflage his darker side. 

When our report was made known, those I once called friends fled. Some called me a liar, a lunatic, a loose cannon. A place that should have been safe, became a place of great betrayal. Now, many people I had attended Christian conferences with, cooked and cleaned for during illnesses, and prayed confidential prayers with, turned their heads to avoid speaking when our paths crossed in public. 

How do you bear a broken heart when your heart friends are no longer there to bear it with you up?

I lashed out at God. I told Him I was done with church.  

“Where do I turn in my membership card?” I asked Him at one point. “Your bride has turned into Bridezilla and I don’t need this in my life!” 

They say time heals all wounds; I don’t believe that is true. When something breaks into pieces — like who you are and the very foundation you stand on — there is nothing this side of heaven that can mend that wound. There is nothing that can solder the shards of a soul back solid again. 

I wanted a window to open so I could escape this pain.  But there was a problem. I knew Jesus.  I had taught Jesus in Bible Studies and Sunday School. I knew my Savior was alive and well. I could not walk away.   

Our soul can never walk away once we meet the Love that is greater than anything we’ve ever known. Even if it felt like God took a break right when life was snapped into pieces, I could not deny His presence in my life. My journal was full of times when He was there to coach, encourage, and lead me. There were entries of miracles, of divine introductions, invitations, and inspiration. How could I walk away from the One whose love and presence have never left me? 

Hand in hand, my husband and I walked up the stairs into the sanctuary. My heart pounded with pain from the past, like morse code from my soul: thump, thump, thumpity-thump, danger, run, forget this. 

We took a seat in the back of the sanctuary and watched people greet each other in joyful conversations. 

My eyes wandered to the architecture. The ceiling looked like the belly of a large boat with its massive beams creating ribs to hold the church together. Circling the pew area were fourteen stained glass windows telling the story of Christ.  Clouds outside had muddied their appearance and I struggled to see each story. The first window began with Christ being condemned to death, and the last ended with the His resurrection. Christ’s story told in small pieces of broken glass. 

My gaze stopped on the window of Christ with His body dead on the ground and Mary wailing over her son.  “Poor woman,” I thought, “you birthed and raised God’s Son — the Savior of the world –and they betrayed you, too. But not God.” 

My gut churned and my eyes rimmed salty. Mary had the worst of Church hurts. And there I was seeing her shattered heart through pieces of broken glass. 

I think we are all broken, aren’t we? Broken marriages, broken friendships, broken hopes, broken health, broken dreams? And even among Christians, our sharp broken edges can cut the tender places of others. 

“It’s time to forgive,” I told myself. “Time to allow God to do something good with this broken heart.” 

A whisper, as warm and gentle as a summer breeze, nudged my thoughts. Give Me your broken heart, and watch what I can do. 

Outside the sun broke through the clouds, and beams of light started piercing through the windows. Jewel tones of emerald, cobalt, and ruby danced along the monotone ceiling, over the floor, and across people. And the stories told in broken pieces of glass lit up in a brilliant display of splendor. 

God can use our broken places for our good and His glory when we surrender our stories to Him. Then our sorrows have value. In God’s hands, our stories become a light leading people back to Him — the One who can take our stained-glass shards and assemble them into a story that changes lives.  

God Won’t Turn Away

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The angel of the Lord found Hagar beside a spring of water in the wilderness, along the road to Shur. The angel said to her, “Hagar, Sarai’s servant, where have you come from, and where are you going?”

“I’m running away from my mistress, Sarai,” she replied.

The angel of the Lord said to her, “Return to your mistress, and submit to her authority.” Then he added, “I will give you more descendants than you can count.”

And the angel also said, “You are now pregnant and will give birth to a son. You are to name him Ishmael (which means ‘God hears’), for the Lord has heard your cry of distress. This son of yours will be a wild man, as untamed as a wild donkey! He will raise his fist against everyone, and everyone will be against him. Yes, he will live in open hostility against all his relatives.”

Thereafter, Hagar used another name to refer to the Lord, who had spoken to her. She said, “You are the God who sees me.” She also said, “Have I truly seen the One who sees me?” So that well was named Beer-lahai-roi (which means “well of the Living One who sees me”). It can still be found between Kadesh and Bered.
Genesis 16:7-14 (NLT)

Perhaps you’re facing a difficulty that feels unbearable. Perhaps you’ve been used or abused, left alone and unloved. Maybe you found yourself in a bad situation — and made it worse. Perhaps the promises that were made to you turned out to be false, or maybe the gifts you were offered were rescinded. Let Hagar’s story encourage you! Though she had a child with her mistress’s husband, though she provoked her mistress until her abuse was returned, though she ran away from her problems — God didn’t turn away from Hagar.

Take heart from God’s faithfulness to Hagar, and share her hope in Him. God’s promises are always true and will always be fulfilled. They will meet you in the hard place — even if you are running away — just as the angel met Hagar with God’s promise right in the middle of her wandering. His promises will always provide real hope despite the circumstance.

This is an excerpt from Women of Courage: a Forty-Day Devotional written by Mary Carver.