Gentleness Is Stronger Than Force

Gentleness Is Stronger Than Force

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One of my favorite stories as a child was “The North Wind and the Sun” from Aesop’s Fables. The story goes that the north wind and the sun were debating between themselves about who was stronger. As they argued “with much heat and bluster,” they see a man walking across a field. They decide whoever is able to strip the man of his coat is stronger. The north wind goes first. His large gusts of wind almost knock the man over, but all his cold air accomplishes is to make the man grip his coat harder. Then it’s the sun’s turn. He steps forth from behind the clouds and radiates his warmth. The man is so comforted and relaxed by the sun’s rays that he takes off his coat and lies down under a tree. The lesson of the story is that gentleness is stronger than force.

In some ways, we all need to take the story of the north wind and the sun to heart. We live and breathe in a world that tells us that it’s okay to use force. We’re often told that the way forward for change in this world is to strong arm people. Both in person and on social media, I see folks spewing hate at each other for having different opinions on politics, race, gender, family, and religion, as if that’s going to get someone to change their mind and see a different perspective. I see metaphorical walls erected between Black, Brown, and White Christians because so many of them think they’re right and they have no problem alienating someone else for their “wrong” perspective. Our sad human inclination is to use violence in our words, to knock people over with shame, in the belief that that will convince them to change.

But, if I can be completely honest, I’m tired of people thinking the path to change (whether racial change or otherwise) is through force. When was the last time you were humiliated and thought, “Yes, what that person is saying to me is right. I need to change”? When was the last time you were metaphorically knocked over and then changed what you were doing? Our hearts and our minds don’t usually work that way.

As my friend and fellow (in)courage contributor Lucretia Berry once said, “Shame is not a teacher.” In fact, shame is like the north wind in the story from Aesop’s Fables. When we make people feel small and verbally hurt them, it only makes people want to retreat and to stop trying to work toward change. They pull their coats tighter to their chests, resisting our efforts. That’s not the effect we want to have on people. Rather, what people need, what we all need, are warm rays of love and kindness and a gentle invitation to a better way.

When I see our world today, I see a world in need of gentleness. Gentleness is one of the fruits of the Spirit (Galatians 5:22-23). It’s also a characteristic that’s mentioned throughout the whole Bible. For example, Colossians 4:5-6 writes, “Let your conversation be always full of grace, seasoned with salt, so that you may know how to answer everyone.” And Proverbs 16:24 states, “Gracious words are a honeycomb, sweet to the soul and healing to the bones.”

This verse from Proverbs is a verse that we recite often in our home. We want our kids to know the power of their words and how gentle words will always be more inviting and more loving than a harsh rebuke. Gentle language, after all, is the model of Jesus. I think about how many times He walks up to strangers and calls them “brother” or “sister.” Jesus goes to the people on the margins of society and has meals in their homes. He befriends people, treating them like family, and lovingly invites them with His words into a better way — His way.

One of Jesus’ gentle approaches to people was asking questions. Instead of rebuking the Samaritan woman at the well in John 4, Jesus asks her a series of questions to help her reflect on her life and come to the conclusion that she needs him. When the religious authorities of the day came to fight with Jesus, He didn’t shout a three-point argument back at them. Jesus was calm, gentle, and asked simple questions to redirect the conversation and get to the heart of what really mattered.

Asking questions, instead of just trying to teach and correct people, is one way we can express gentleness like Jesus. Questions are a helpful way to get people to reflect on their words and the impact of their views. Perhaps in a moment that we really disagree with someone, we can pause, pray, and then respond with something like, “Oh wow, that’s interesting. Tell me more about that” or “I’d like to better understand how you arrived at that conclusion. Can you share more?” There is an art to asking questions so that the other person doesn’t feel attacked or insulted as well as giving space to truly listen to their perspective as well.

Affirming a person first before asking a question goes a long way too. We need to affirm the good in someone, even if it’s the good-gone-wrong, and paint a vision for them of the best they can be. Let’s challenge ourselves to be gentle like Jesus and to radiate His warm, loving rays. When a heated debate arises, let’s watch our facial expressions, the way we hold our bodies, and the words and tone we use. May we treat the people we engage with with love, dignity, and gentleness. If we want to create change in this world, let’s pursue that change gently. Gentleness is what will empower people to pursue healthy, collaborative change for the future.

Don’t Agree with Someone? Try Using These 7 Simple but Unexpected Words

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I’m sitting across the table from someone I love, but in this moment, we do not agree with each other. My hands are curled into fists, and my heart is pounding so hard I wonder if they can hear it. This conversation has been coming for months. We’ve lined up dominoes of small conflicts, little misunderstandings, tiny judgments, and a recent event finally made them all come toppling down.

I feel angry and afraid, confused and hurt. Above all else, I want to defend myself. I want to prove I am a very good person. I am right, and they are wrong. All will be well if they will just listen to me and do what I say. There’s only one problem: Deep down in my soul, I know Jesus does not treat me this way.

I recently read the book Gentle and Lowly by Dane Ortlund. He points out, “In the four Gospel accounts given to us in Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John — eighty-nine chapters of biblical text — there’s only one place where Jesus tells us about his own heart.” What are the only two words Jesus ever uses to describe His heart? “Gentle and lowly” (Matthew 11:29).

The Jesus kind of gentleness is not weakness; it is strength under control. It’s the courage to choose compassion instead of condemnation. It’s not forcefulness but tenderness, not imposing our will but seeking intimacy with others, not pushy but patient. It is hard.

Lowliness is humility, the willingness to be curious, the art of not exalting ourselves or opinions but washing the feet of the undeserving. It is coming to even the hardest conversations not from a position of “knowing it all” but seeking to understand. It’s not demanding our way but choosing to serve. It is almost impossible.

Sitting at that table, I whisper my favorite one-word prayer, “Help.”

What comes to mind is asking a question that starts with this phrase, “Can you help me understand . . . ?” As I say it, I feel a shift in the room; the person I’m asking looks surprised. They answer slowly and with hesitation, unsure if I’m sincere or waiting to pounce.

I listen, nod, and when they’re done talking I ask, “What else?” We go on this way until they’ve said it all. Then I share my perspective too. I say what’s okay in our relationship going forward and what is not. I ask that we commit to working through things together, not letting them build up or venting our complaints to other people. It’s not an instant cure. Birds don’t sing or unicorns appear, but it feels like a start.

We’re in a world where we are all sitting across the table from someone we disagree with these days. Maybe it’s in your kitchen. Perhaps it’s on social media. It might be at church, at work, or at school. Our natural inclination as humans is to shout to make our voices heard, push our opinions, cross our arms instead of remembering we are people of the cross.

It’s both deeply challenging and comforting to me that our Jesus didn’t walk through the world this way. How can we love more like Him this week? Perhaps we can begin with a one-word prayer for help and asking two questions:

Can you help me understand?

What else?

Seven words total. They are not magic. They won’t instantly make all our anger or fear go away. They won’t solve every problem. We might need to say them through tears or gritted teeth. But they are a start. They are a way to reach across the table and dare to love a little more like our Savior, who is still gentle and lowly in heart.

What’s causing you stress? Whether it’s the conflict in our world, everyday struggles, or a personal crisis, you can find encouragement and help in Holley Gerth’s new devotional book What Your Soul Needs for Stressful Times: 60 Powerful Truths to Protect Your Peace.

 

Listen to Holley’s words below or on your fave podcast app!

All Truth Can Point Us to the Ultimate Truth: God

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If you’re like me, you grew up in a culture war between sacred and secular. Certain shows were off limits, and while some of us lined up to buy Harry Potter books, others forbade consuming them lest their children were going to join a Wiccan community. And when it came to music? It was a steady diet of contemporary Christian music in which we listened to songs about potential martyrdom, the end times, and also how there’s a God-shaped hole in all of us.

And I’m not here to hate on it. I get the strange and wonderful nature of the church in the 90’s. We hosted trunk-or-treats, and I actually owned a shirt that said “I pray like a GIRL” with neon flowers against a highlighter green backdrop. Carman was a rapper (or maybe a spoken word poet?) who fought in a boxing match against the devil himself during one of his music videos, and you could not convince me that there was a better band than Superchick. Still, as I got older and moved my way out of the church bubble I’d been raised in, things started to get a little . . . complicated.

First of all, there were threats that never came to be. No one was going to beat me up if I claimed to be a Christian, and no one was asking me to join a satanic cult if I listened to something other than Rebecca St. James. And the most interesting thing happened when I started to study theology: I realized that God existed outside of those safe and hyper-spiritualized contexts. He wasn’t only on K-Love; He was also found in gas stations and art museums and books by people who didn’t have a single title on the shelf at my local Christian bookstore.

At first, if I’m honest, it was jarring. I don’t think we intentionally villainized the whole world outside of the walls of the church, but in a well-meaning attempt to protect kids from the darker things that exist, we closed off our imaginations. We said, “It can only be this way,” when the truth is, sometimes we have to have hard conversations because someone’s going to discover the world and it’s important to know how Jesus offers even more.

I studied theology for my masters and something that came up over and over was this refrain: All truth is God’s truth. What it means is that when something is true, no matter where it comes from, it can honor God. For example, someone can sing a pop song about how much they hate being lonely. And it’s true! We’re made for community, and God designed us that way. Or someone can write a book about how complex gardening can be. And it’s true! We see how God provides the miracle of new life in plants and how He created seasons for us to grow too. We see His goodness in the harvest and His provision in the food it yields.

I thought for a long time that if I just avoided words that weren’t written in red letter, I would stay holy. But now I rejoice that God is so big that His hand is seen in countless examples of the human experience and that He is the answer for the aches in our hearts. When Sandra Oh talks about the beauty of diversity or when Katy Perry sings about the desire for unconditional love or when Dax Shepard talks about addiction and how hard it is to overcome, all of these statements are true. And most importantly, they reveal the heart of man and the kindness of a God who is endlessly creative and entirely loving and who satisfies our deepest cravings.

Jesus says that He alone is the way, truth, and life. In a world desperate for answers, it is good to know that our longing and restlessness all point to a need for the truthiest truth of them all: God. He is, by nature, Truth. And in the same way our little glimpses of goodness can point us toward His ultimate good, small truths in the world around us allow us to look up to the one who is the Truth and who sets us free.

 

Listen to Melissa’s words below or on your fave podcast app!

What If Lent Was More About Feasting on the Presence of God?

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The guitar and piano notes weaved together with the voices of our church family as we lifted the generations-old lines to heaven.

“O come, O come, Immanuel, and ransom captive Israel that mourns in lonely exile here until the Son of God appear . . . ”

I heard my youngest daughter’s voice rising next to me — full of volume and unbridled joy. She loves to worship through singing just as much as her mama does. Christmas music is my favorite, especially the carols that often proclaim a deep theology.

Although the text for “O Come, O Come, Immanuel” springs from a seven-verse poem that dates back to the eighth century, it feels like these words could describe our present era. In fact, these words meet us right here after two years of navigating a global pandemic, racial tension still dividing our country, and constant news of natural disasters riddling our earth.

“O come, O King of nations, bind in one the hearts of all mankind. Bid all our sad divisions cease and be yourself our King of Peace. Rejoice, Rejoice! Immanuel shall come to you, O Israel.”

Throughout December, I found myself lingering over the word rejoice like a hummingbird hovering over a flower before diving in for the nectar. There is energy and light in that word that draws me in and encircles me with a sense of warmth.

What does it mean to rejoice? And why do we seem to reserve rejoicing for Christmastime?

In January, I chose rejoice as my word of the year for 2022 and began a treasure hunt through the Bible, paying attention to this word. (It’s everywhere, by the way, and not just in the passages we traditionally read in December.)

After just a little digging, I quickly discovered rejoice is often connected with words like joy, gladden, exult, triumph, or be merry. The prefix “re” means again, going back to how something was before, or repetition. When we re-joice, we are re-joy-cing or returning to joy. I decided to follow this word through my year to see what God might teach me.

So far, I’ve noticed that rejoicing often comes after a season of grief. In the Psalms, David laments, cries out to God, processes his pain with God, and then often returns to praise. David tastes sorrow and sickness, darkness and a deep sense of longing, but then often returns to joy and leads listeners to gratitude.

One of my favorite examples of this is in Psalm 30 when David tells the story of how God has pulled him from a season of grief into a spacious place of joy. David pens these poetic lines: “Weeping may tarry for the night, but joy comes with the morning” (Psalm 30:5 ESV).

When Shawn and I got married six years ago, we chose these words from Psalm 30:11-12 for our wedding:

You have turned for me my mourning into dancing;
    you have loosed my sackcloth
    and clothed me with gladness,
that my glory may sing your praise and not be silent.
    O Lord my God, I will give thanks to you forever!
Psalm 30:11-12 (ESV)

These verses held special meaning after my late husband and Shawn’s dear friend died of cancer. God was ushering our family from a time of mourning into rejoicing. He was calling us back to joy and worship.

Today is Ash Wednesday, the beginning of Lent. Many use the time from Ash Wednesday to Easter Saturday as a time to reflect, repent, and return to God in prayer. In some traditions, people choose to fast on the forty weekdays that span the season, entering into the forty-day fast Jesus undertook in the wilderness (Luke 4:1-2). They might choose to take a break from chocolate, meat, social media, or some other indulgence.

We often focus on the fasting. The heart behind this practice is to align ourselves with Jesus’ suffering as we approach Holy Week and Easter. We deprive ourselves to delve deeper into connection with God, but sometimes we get distracted by the fasting itself. At least I know I do.

What if Lent was less about fasting and more about feasting on the presence of God?

People who enter the practice of fasting during Lent often break their fast on Sundays, which are considered feast days of celebration throughout the year. Like the ebb and flow of ocean waves, there is a rhythm of fasting followed by feasting.

This year I’m taking a different approach to Lent. I’m accepting God’s invitation to focus on rejoicing. I invite you to fast from distractions and join me at the table to feast with our Savior, the Bread of Life. Let’s lift our eyes from the loneliness and lack of these past few years and look to the horizon, the resurrection to come.

Twelve years ago, was the first time I chose a word of the year to follow. As I flipped back through the pages of my journals and reflections on my blog, I discovered the first word I chose was joy. Is it any wonder that God is calling me to return to joy this year — to rejoice in all seasons – to re-joy-ce in Him?

Perhaps it’s time to turn the chorus of that familiar Christmas carol into a celebration song anticipating Easter: “Rejoice, Rejoice! Immanuel shall come to you, O Israel.”

Dorina loves to help people chase after God’s glory down life’s unexpected trails. Subscribe to her Glorygram for more encouragement and inspiration on the journey.

 

Listen to Dorina’s words below or wherever you stream podcasts!

Through the Dark Years, a Beautiful Story Is Being Written

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

From cover to cover in each issue of Everyday Faith magazine, you will find stories and articles to inspire hope and encouragement and to remind you that you are His. In this spring issue, you will find tips on spring cleaning and how to start a book club, stories of difficult times, and stories of Easter traditions. There are tear-out prayer cards, scannable QR codes for freebie bonuses, and exclusive goodies tucked inside. You will find true stories of hope and encouragement, and you will find truth from God’s Word.  

You care about your faith — that’s why you’re here today! — and we hope Everyday Faith will help you know and share God’s love in fresh, true, and inspiring ways. Keep reading for an empowering article from the spring issue of Everyday Faith magazine and a huge giveaway to win a copy!

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My marriage was dying. It was like a slow, silent kind of dying at first, and then I nearly finished it off with what I did. I refer to that time as “the dark years.” We were out of hope, hurting and broken, living in the same house and unsure of what the future looked like. 

I had once heard a radio DJ, who I’m sure got their information from somewhere reliable, say that if a marriage is struggling and can hold on for five more years, the couple will make it. But five years sounds like a thousand to someone in the middle of the journey. 

But there we were, ten years into our marriage, facing an uphill battle. We both knew in our hearts that leaving wasn’t the answer, but while my husband tried his hardest to make things work, I met his efforts with complete resistance every single time. 

He wrote notes and left them where I’d find them; I skimmed them and ignored him. He hired a sitter so we could go to the movies; I ended it with a fight. He gave me a marriage book to read; I told him all the ways I had tried before and how they didn’t work. I was a delight. 

But little by little, parts of the wall I had built up around my heart began to crack. 

I joined a prayer group with a friend of mine so she wouldn’t have to go alone, and it turned out the prayer group was specifically to pray for our husbands. Really? I thought, but I went anyway. God started to chip away at my icy heart as I kept going, and I found myself genuinely praying for my husband, wanting good for him. 

Slowly, God changed me. He showed me where I was holding back, that my focus was misdirected, and He kept redirecting me back to Himself. He showed me forgiveness in a way I had never known it and restored my marriage, making it better than it ever was in the beginning. 

On our sixteenth anniversary, I was reflecting on how it had been the best year of our entire marriage, and wouldn’t you know it? That was five years from our hardest time. 

It’s overwhelming to reflect on the work God did on our marriage, and though marriages can be restored, I know they don’t always work out the same way. Marriage involves two humans and a lot of unique circumstances, but the part I want you to see most in my story is that God walks with us during our dark years and never leaves us. My story is about how once we see our depravity we can know more of the fullness of His grace. I sinned, yet He loved me still. He kept speaking to me, guiding me to make things right, to put me back where I was supposed to be. 

Those dark years burst with the resurrection not only of my marriage but also my relationship with Christ, and that is a story I can’t quite get over. 

I don’t know what your dark days or years are looking like right now, but know that no matter how they end, there is a beautiful story being written. He is with us every ugly step of the way, chiseling away at the cracks and making all things new.

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This article by Jen Chapman is one that features beautiful tear-out prayers to share for husbands and wives and more info on a set of new devotional journals from DaySpring.

Everyday Faith magazine is perfect for tucking into your purse, setting on the coffee table, or sharing with a friend. And to help you do just that, we’re giving away FIVE sets of copies — one for each winner and one for each of them to give to a friend! Leave a comment telling us who you’d share a copy with, and we’ll draw five winners.

Giveaway open to US addresses only, and will close on 3/4/22 at 11:59pm central. 

 

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

We Are Many Hues but One Humanity

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“Mommy, today at school, I learned that we are all shades of brown!” our preschooler announced at the dinner table. I perked up and leaned in to listen. She matter-of-factly explained, “Daddy is a little brown. You are really brown. And I am medium brown!” I was ecstatic! I could hardly believe it. 

You see, years before we had children, my husband and I contemplated how we would equip our children to navigate our hyper-racialized society. We understood that our multi-ethnic children would need to navigate their interracial social context in ways that Nathan and I, as children, did not have to. We knew people would ask, “What are you?” We knew that some White people may see them as Black and some Black people may consider them “not Black enough.” We considered how we would instill a sense of belonging to humanity, whether or not they were rejected or embraced by a racial group. We wanted them to know the essence of their personal identity — who they were and Whose they were. When polite society inevitably inquired about their origins, we wanted them to understand that they were fearfully and wonderfully made in God’s image — that each of us is a reflection of God. 

We knew we didn’t have all the answers, and we couldn’t anticipate every awkward racial encounter. But we wanted our family and our home to welcome learning, conversation, and growth. We wanted to normalize the diversity of God’s human family, while also acknowledging that race is a man-made construct designed to diminish God’s glory. And guessing that our children, like their parents, would have friends from various backgrounds, we wanted to normalize belonging amid differences. We desired for our children to love differences — for them to see and honor God’s glory in all people!

So when our preschooler used “brown” to encompass our various hues, we embraced it. “Yes, hues of brown!” I agreed. Without hesitation, I explained how melanin is brown and how the amount of melanin we have depends on where our distant ancestors lived in proximity to the equator. “Daddy’s ancestors lived further away from the equator. My ancestors lived closer to the equator.” We also nurtured understanding about ethnicity, culture, and nationality.

Our family-oriented, life-giving lessons and conversations became a beacon of hope for friends and neighbors. Moms, especially, reached out to me to help them move beyond the colorblind approach, which had deprived them of understanding how each of us is a unique piece in God’s mosaic. As a result, they had been afraid to even talk about skin tone and race. Moms wanted to learn and understand how to nurture natural curiosity without the fear of perpetuating racial division. And I was more than happy to pour from our family’s cup.

Because of the finished work of Jesus, we don’t have to be afraid to break free from ideas and practices that discourage us from seeing, valuing, and loving our neighbor.

In Romans 12, Paul reminds us to avoid aligning with ideas and practices that are not a reflection of God. He wrote, “Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God’s will is — his good, pleasing and perfect will” (Romans 12:2 NIV). Paul encourages us to renew our minds so that we can align with God’s will — to see as God sees. In that same chapter, he illustrates how we are parts of one body, though we are individuals — “each member belongs to all the others” (Romans 12:5 NIV). Paul then implores, “Be devoted to one another in love. Honor one another above yourselves” (Romans 12:10 NIV).

As our minds are renewed, a glorious vision for humanity is restored. From the conversations within our home, I am encouraged that what I thought was for the love of my own children, God has multiplied for the love of all children, for the sake of families and communities all around.

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Hues of You: An Activity Book for Learning About the Skin You Are In offers a smart and honest starting point to help you have natural, effective, and meaningful conversations about skin tone and race. Divided into four main sections — Hues of You, Hues of Your Family, Hues of Your Ancestors, and Hues of Your Friends — each page offers space to explore identity in a variety of social contexts, so that you are empowered to openly recognize, embrace, and honor God’s multi-hued world.

We are so excited about this new book from our dear Lucretia! It’s such a wonderful resource and will enhance any child’s library. Leave a comment today and you’ll be entered to WIN one of five copies we’re giving away!

Then join Lucretia and (in)courage Community Manager Becky Keife for a chat all about Hues of You! Tune in tomorrow on our Facebook page at 11am central for their conversation.

Giveaway open to US addresses only and closes on 3/3/22 at 11:59pm central.

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

Accepting Our Child the Way We Want Others to Accept Us

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When my son Joshua was little, he was extremely shy and did not like big social settings, which included school events, fall festivals, Christmas parties, family reunions, Easter egg hunts, and neighborhood parades. In my mind, he didn’t like all the fun stuff.

When he was three years old, I dressed him up in a cute Hershey’s Kiss costume to wear to our church’s indoor fall festival. I envisioned taking lots of photos of him and his best buddy smiling and posing in front of the bales of hay. But instead, as soon as we walked through the gymnasium doors, Joshua clung to my leg like a koala bear. He refused to go play with the other kids and would barely say hi to his best friend.

I tried everything to get him to stop hiding behind my knees, but nothing worked. Chatting with other parents, I envied how their kids were jumping in the bounce house, chasing each other, comparing costumes, playing games, and posing for photos. I wanted Joshua to have fun, but I also started to feel a little embarrassed.

A few mom friends tried unsuccessfully to talk him into playing with their kids, and I got the impression some thought I should push him a little harder to socialize. And I wanted to walk around and see all the decorations and festivities without a little boy holding on to my leg for dear life.

It kills me to admit this now, but, in situations like that one, I wished my little boy was like other kids: talkative, outgoing, and playful with his peers. It wasn’t until I accepted Josh for exactly who and how God made him that I was able to get to know the unique ways he processes life (and crowds) and the depth of his heart, mind, and soul that brims with wisdom. You see that little boy became a teenager and eventually graduated from high school, moved out on his own and got married. He is now a young adult who I love hanging out with and who I frequently go to for advice and wise counsel.

God uniquely designed our children (friends, family members, neighbors, and co-workers) with unique preferences and individual personalities. Listen to how King David describes the intricacy of God’s creativity and the intimacy of His knowing us from head to toe:

You created my inmost being;
you knit me together in my mother’s womb.
I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
your works are wonderful,
I know that full well.
My frame was not hidden from you
when I was made in the secret place,
when I was woven together in the depths of the earth.
Your eyes saw my unformed body;
all the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be.
Psalm 139:13-18 (NIV)

Just like us, our children have a God-given longing to know their parents’ delight in them, quirks and qualms, as well as ideas and interests. There is no one whose approval and acceptance matter more to our children than ours.

Accepting our children is not always easy, especially if they don’t match what we expected or hoped for when we envisioned being a parent. It’s challenging when our children don’t have the same interests or personalities as we do, or when our hopes and expectations don’t fit into the way God created them. That is when we have to open our hands and let go of what we wanted, so we can get to know and enjoy the child God gave us.

I know this isn’t easy. It’s especially difficult to give our children acceptance and approval if we don’t offer ourselves the same. I’ve found that sincere and lasting acceptance for my children and for myself can only come from an overflow of finding my true worth from the One who created me.

God invites us to come to Him every day and to let Him remind our hearts of how He sees us and how much He cares about us, just like King David did. The more we receive God’s acceptance and believe His affirmation, the more we will have to give away.

Let’s look for and celebrate our children’s natural tendencies and unique traits. When we do, we will discover a child who makes the world a better place because they are in it!

Lord, I confess expectations have sometimes blinded me from seeing the unique way You created those I love. I want to not only accept my child and others but really delight in them. Teach me the language of approval and affirmation as I hear You speak it over me so that I can speak the same to them. Help me to slow down and see my children and others through Your eyes and cherish the unique way You made them and the interests You’ve given them. Amen.

This is an excerpt from Renee’s new book, A Confident Mom: Simple Ways to Give Your Child What They Need Most. If you’d like to know more about different personality traits and temperaments, Renee is giving away 3 copies of her book with a free personality resource on her website!

Breaking the Power of Shame by Telling Our Stories

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I didn’t know her, but I could tell she was having a panic attack. As soon as the flight took off, she began wiping her sweaty palms on her jeans. She tugged on her hoodie and pulled it down to cover her face as if she wanted to be invisible. She held her hands tightly together, every muscle in her body tense. The woman who sat next to her, her mother, placed her hand on the girl’s thigh and gently patted it. The girl quickly slapped her mom’s hand off her thigh, as if she didn’t want any attention drawn to her weak moment. She flung her upper body over her legs, with her head curled in underneath, but she couldn’t escape. No one can ever escape that moment when panic takes over and fear starts screaming in your ears, “You’re going to die!”

I couldn’t stop looking at this girl, because this girl was just like me. For me, anxiety isn’t triggered by flying but by driving on the highway. I don’t like talking about it so I just avoid it. The thing about a panic attack is I am aware of how irrational my fear is, but I can’t help but succumb to it. I want to snap out of this false narrative that my mind keeps telling me, but I feel so weak that I bow to its beating. I give up. I cry. I get angry at myself that I can’t do something that any sixteen-year-old child can do.

Growing up, I was involved in five car accidents, and I totaled three vehicles. Luckily, I walked away from all of them without a scratch on my body. But the last wreck traumatized me and left me with panic attacks, and I haven’t driven on a highway for over ten years.

A few years ago, I accidentally took a wrong turn and ended up on the highway. Luckily, I was on the phone with my husband. He was calmly trying to direct me off the highway, but once I felt the other cars speed past me, the panic attack hit me. I couldn’t hear him reassure me, like the girl slapping her mom’s hand off. I cut him off and screamed over and over, “I am going to die!” My hands shook, tears streamed down my face, and every muscle in my body was tight like I was in a fight. Somehow, I was able to take an exit and get off on the side road.

Along with the fear, shame comes with these panic attacks, and it often makes me want to hide and deal with it alone. A part of me feels like no one will understand because I myself don’t often understand it. It feels like something is wrong with me that I am just weak, yet I feel the pressure to carry it all on my own because of the shame.

This is what anxiety does. Anxiety makes me more aware of me — my weaknesses, struggles, and insecurities. But what if I didn’t allow panic attacks to push people away? What if instead of cutting my husband off on the phone, I let him speak truth into my mind until the negative thoughts faded? What if that girl on the plane held her mom’s hand instead of slapping it away? What if we realized our people are actually part of the cure to fight fear and shame?

Four years ago, I was asked to speak at a women’s retreat on the topic of shame. The Holy Spirit kept putting it in my heart to share about my panic attacks. After I shared, several women shared with me me how they also had similar histories with car accidents and how some suffered with panic attacks. I began to feel the shame slowly dissipate.

It is hard to share our stories and be vulnerable because relationships are complicated and people can hurt you and the enemy wants to us to hide in shame.

But we look at Jesus in His weakest moment, about to be arrested and crucified. Knowing His closest disciples have doubted him and were about to betray Him, deny Him, and leave Him in His greatest time of need, He still invites them into His pain: “My soul is very sorrowful, even to death; remain here, and watch with me” (Matthew 26:38 ESV).

Jesus sets a powerful example of vulnerability and walking with community in our struggles.

I still have panic attacks and avoid driving on highways, but anxiety’s power has diminished and I am no longer held captive by shame because I chose to share my story.

Friend, freedom is on the other side of vulnerability. You don’t have to hide or carry your burden alone. And you can choose to embrace the hand that wants to hold you during the hard moments of life.

You Can’t Air Fry Faithfulness

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It’s official: I’ve joined The Air Fryer Fan Club. My sister purchased me one of the appliances for Christmas. It’s miniature and mint-green and fits perfectly in the corner of my apartment kitchen. I got to work straightaway finding recipes on Pinterest. I’ve cooked all sorts of things in the last two months: garlicky shrimp, chicken satay, sweet potato fries, and a variety of other delicious, crispy vegetables. 

My favorite part? It hardly takes any time at all. For someone who isn’t the most patient person in the world, it’s the ideal cooking companion. 

I’ve been thinking a lot about faithfulness recently. It feels like there’s so much constantly vying for my attention, begging for my allegiance. But I earnestly want to be faithful to Jesus. I spent the month of January reading the Bible cover to cover with a few friends, about forty-ish chapters a day, and I saw similar themes throughout. One of them was how faithless humanity is; the other was how faithful our God is. Over and over, God called His people to be faithful to Him. And over and over, they gave in to worshiping other gods and idols.

We are easily wooed away from Jesus. I want to resist worshiping at another altar, and instead each day become more faithful to my Savior.

But unlike how quickly I can air fry my dinner, I can’t air fry faithfulness. ⁣⁣

⁣⁣Faithfulness is like cooking curry. It has to simmer on the stove in order for the spices to mix and mingle, in order for the coconut milk to thicken and froth, in order for the chicken and vegetables to steep in the spicy liquid. It’s long and slow.

Faithfulness is like compound interest. It starts slowly. You put a few dollars away each month, over and over, and decades later, you realize how much wealth you actually accrued. ⁣⁣

⁣⁣Faithfulness is like a garden. You plant seeds and add water, tilling the soil and praying something is happening underground. You can’t see how the roots are forming, how they’re plunging their spindling arms into the depth below, how they’re forming something solid and secure. You don’t see what’s forming in the dark — until one day a tiny shoot sprouts from the ground and grows slowly into something beautiful. ⁣⁣

⁣⁣Faithfulness isn’t flashy or splashy or dazzling. It’s perseverance and resilience and showing up day after day. It rarely feels like anything special, except that over time it amounts to something spectacular. ⁣⁣

Faithfulness doesn’t form overnight. It doesn’t catch a big break. It’s a few small decisions every single day. Over time, it becomes a rhythm. It becomes the way you live. ⁣⁣

What we do each day is who we become. ⁣⁣What we give our attention to is what or who we’ll ultimately worship. 

This idea of faithfulness isn’t meant to breed legalism or shame; it’s the opposite. It’s God pouring His grace onto every single one of us. 

I try each morning to spend time alone with Jesus. Some days, I sleep through my alarm. On those days, there is grace. Other days, I wake up early and hear God’s voice speaking to me in the quiet. On those days, there is grace. Other days, I come to my chair, exhausted and weary with nothing at all. On those days, there is grace.

When we practice habits that help us know Jesus better, it’s not about becoming an expert in those habits. It’s about knowing Jesus more intimately, loving Him more intensely, and following Him more closely. 

My spiritual director said recently, “Jesus has made a covenant with us, fully knowing that He is the strong one.” 

In this relationship of ours, Jesus is the strong one. He is the faithful one. His faithfulness is and always will be an overflow of grace.

Here’s to choosing faithfulness: the slow, steady, consistent, daily living that leads us closer to Jesus. 

I’ll leave the speed to my air fryer.

 

Listen to Aliza’s words below or wherever you stream pods.

The Sacred Work of Making Dumplings

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I stare at the random assortment of things that clutter our kitchen island and keep me from an open space for making dumplings. Mail, school permission slips, drawings made by our six-year-old, plants that need water, and the weight of my own exhaustion pull at my attention, begging me not to shove them aside into one heap. I set the papers and clutter in another spot close to our coffee maker and gently move the plants aside.

Filling, water-gluing, wrapping, and setting dumplings down in neat rows, while teaching little hands how to follow along, needs wide open space.

It’s already taken three trips to three different grocery stores to find the simple ingredients I need to make the mandu I grew up with. It is worth it, but it grieves me that it takes a lot more gas, time, energy, and money for some of us to keep, learn, rebuild, decolonize, and pass on the details of our ethnic heritage to our children.

I grew up watching and helping my mom make gun mandu (fried Korean dumplings). They are a family favorite. Like love notes patiently put together and hand-addressed, these dumplings are full of the flavors of my Korean heritage, and more specifically, of my umma — her stories hand-wrapped, fried in oil, and stuffed into our mouths with nourishing love. My mom would always take the first few, make sure they were cool enough, then walk around the kitchen, and shove them into our faces.

When I was younger in my faith, I thought my relationship with God was confined to reading the Bible and other specific activities deemed “official” by those who I believed knew more than me. They did know more about some things. But as I’m learning through the slow “years that ask questions and years that answer,” as Zora Neale Hurston perfectly penned in Their Eyes were Watching God, and my own spiritual midlife of sorts, there’s much more depth to intimacy with God than I ever imagined. I thought having a “quiet time” was more important than passing down the sense-oriented details of my heritage, but I was wrong. They are both important, and they work together because through them God expresses love with a depth and width we were born hungry for.

The work of tending to the inheritance we’ve been given in our ethnic heritage is something we are all created for.

I love the way John describes the community of believers in his vision of heaven. He specifically takes note of the diversity in what he sees:

“After this I saw a vast crowd, too great to count, from every nation and tribe and people and language, standing in front of the throne and before the Lamb” (Revelation 7:9).

His Holy Spirit-inspired writing calls direct attention to the diversity of skin color and language, and I feel hope for how our ethnic heritage will carry on beyond brokenness, working towards our collective redemption.

The word heritage comes from the word inheritance. An inheritance is a gift of importance — something to be treasured, not discarded or silenced. It is something to be tended to and kept with care. This doesn’t mean we have to keep every single, man-made cultural tradition. However, it does mean that we’ve been given unique treasures in our ethnic heritage that reflect the heart of God. When I think about the fact that God will keep our ethnicities visible in heaven, I understand how sacred the work of tending to and mending the expressions of our ethnic heritage is.

There’s holiness wrapped up into the folds of our ethnic heritage. The details of it are intentional gifts from God. But it also means that the work we have to do to keep some of those details alive, like ordering books by people like us or driving all over town and using up more than half a day for an ingredient list of five things, is also sacred. It’s work that’s full of joy, grief, and an aching weariness combined.

My daughter holds the flour covered dumpling wrapper in her small hand, lining the edges with water. Her face holds the wonder of being able to use her hands to create. Making mandu feels like sculpting, origami, finger-painting, and finding treasure all at once. I tell her about how her halmoni used to like to fold her dumplings a certain way, and how her Californian papa liked dipping his fried mandu in salsa. I remind her to look for holes along the edges where the wrapper hasn’t stuck. I feel God’s nearness as real as the hot oil dancing in the pan where I reach for the first finished dumpling and set it aside to cool, before stuffing it into my daughter’s mouth.

How do you see God in the details of your ethnic heritage?

 

Listen to Tasha’s words in the player below, or download wherever you stream podcasts.

Shouting to a Sky Full of Stars That We Matter

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Recently I watched a movie about a group of kids competing for the chance to have their voices recorded and sent into space through a NASA program. The contest wasn’t really the most important part of the movie, though a casual viewing might lead you to believe it was. More important to the characters and viewers alike was the way the kids grew in confidence and began believing their lives — their selves — were valuable.

Over the course of the movie, they transformed from kids (and some adults) who had so little self-worth that they were dismissive of and even angry at anyone who suggested who they were and what they did mattered to a bunch of free spirits shouting in a field, no longer caring who watched or what they thought.

With arms flung out and chins lifted up, they shouted to a sky full of stars: “I’m here! We’re here! Here I am! I’m HERE!”

Finally, after ninety minutes or so (and a lifetime, really) of being told in every way that

they were nobodies,
they were losers,
they didn’t matter,

they realized those were lies. And they slowly, together, began replacing those lies with the truth:

They were somebody who mattered.
They were winners simply by being themselves.
They mattered so much.

Anyone who knows me will not be surprised to learn that I sobbed during that scene. My tender heart and weepy eyes can barely make it through an Olympic commercial or Disney movie without an emotional breakdown, so of course this moving moment got me.

How many times have I believed that I don’t matter? That nobody sees me? That I’m too weird or too poor or too big or too messy or too slow or too loud or too quiet? How many times, for how many years, have I believed that just maybe nobody would care or even notice if I stopped showing up or just ran away forever?

So many times, for so many years.

Maybe you’ve believed some of those things too. But those things that keep our heads down and our hearts heavy and our hope squashed? They are all lies! Not one bit is true.

What’s true? The truth is that we absolutely matter. We are seen. We will never be too much of anything to not be loved exactly as we are.

That doesn’t mean this world or the people around us won’t try to convince us otherwise. But all we have to do is to turn back to the truth — God’s Word and all His promises — to remember who we are.

We are wonderfully made. (Psalm 139:14)
We are loved. (Isaiah 54:10)
We were created for a purpose. (Ephesians 2:10)
We are seen. (Matthew 10:29-31)

We don’t have to train and practice, travel and compete, or wait for someone else to tell us how much we’re worth. We can stand in a field and shout, “I’m here!” anytime. We can whisper it to ourselves when we forget who we are and Whose we are. We can throw off the judgment of every person and any lingering doubts, fling out our arms, or simply lift our heads and say it with conviction: “I’m here!” We can know every day that we are incredibly important to the One who matters most — the One who is both the Most High Almighty and our constant Friend, who never leaves us.

You’re here, and you matter.
You’re here, and I am so glad you are.
You’re here, and I see you.
But more importantly, God sees you.

Whether you shout or whisper, win or lose, God sees you, and He calls you His beloved child.

 

Listen to Mary’s words below, or download wherever you stream podcasts.

Getting Our Hearts Ready for Alleluias

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Yeah, we know. It was just Thanksgiving! Christmas! Valentine’s Day! And now, we have to get ready for Easter?! It’s all going too quickly. But friends, it’s also true that Easter will be here before we know it, and that next week begins the season of Lent — the forty days before Easter morning.

So, how are you preparing your heart for Easter?

It’s probably not a question you ask or hear very often. We prepare in other ways, right? We ask and answer questions about Easter dinner, searching recipes for ham and cheesy potatoes. We shop for Easter dresses and button-up shirts for our kids. On Ash Wednesday, we recognize the start of the Lenten season by imposing ashes on our foreheads as a reminder that we are made from dust and to dust we shall return. We may put up spring décor in our homes (even as the ground here in Minnesota remains frozen and snow-covered!).

But talking about and actively preparing our hearts for Easter? That’s harder to do than to decorate.

It’s different than preparing our hearts for Christmas. While we seep in the wonder of Christmas throughout the month of December, counting down the days with Advent calendars and devotionals, preparing for the glory of Easter is a little trickier. It seems easier to prepare our homes and menus and focus on our traditions instead.

Growing up, my family didn’t hold Easter traditions as tightly as the ones we held dear at Christmas time, mainly because of logistics. My mom was a church choir director and also a trumpet player. If you’ve attended Easter Sunday services at a traditional church, there’s a good chance there’s a choir singing their hearts out and a brass player or two trumpeting alleluias. My mom’s job was intense during the season of Lent, and on Easter Sunday, our day started before dawn with the sunrise service. (Side note: because we had to be at church so early on Easter, my mom cleverly set our Easter baskets right in our carseats! Wasn’t that so smart?)

With three tired kids in tow, our family traditions had to be flexible, so we held them loosely.

We spent several years joining precious family friends at their home for an egg hunt in their yard, followed by a beautiful meal around their table. One Easter when I was in college, a friend of mine from school couldn’t travel back home for the holiday, so he joined our family for the day as we enjoyed brunch at a stunning old mansion-turned-restaurant. I spent several Easter Sundays as a youth director running the youth group’s Easter brunch, bussing tables, refilling fruit salad, and overseeing the egg bake production line. Early in our marriage, we spent Easter with my husband’s family, traveling to be with them over the weekend. And now that my husband works at a church, we spend the morning there and the afternoon with my family.

Easter never quite looked the same for my family, and that actually became our tradition. Each year was a reflection of what was happening in our lives, and we were always ready for it. And yet, were our hearts ready for the return of alleluias on Easter Sunday?

Instead of relying on rituals and traditions to set the holiday apart from any other Sunday, I need to rely on the Holy Spirit to move and bring the awe that comes with a rolled-away stone. Because Easter isn’t just about one Sunday; it’s about the journey He took all the way to the cross. And it’s worth getting ready for.

This year I’ll go to church, hug my family, and miss those who can’t be with us. I’ll dress my boys in suspenders and my girls in patent leather shoes, bake a ham, and read the Easter gospel with tears in my eyes. We’ll resurrect our alleluias from the somber days of Lent.

And under it all, I’ll give thanks for a Savior who willingly died and who didn’t want to be apart from us for more than three days. And my heart will be ready for alleluia.

Here’s to the traditions we hold dear and the celebrations we hold loosely. Here’s to the imperfect tables we may set and the love of Jesus that brings us together. Here’s to getting our hearts ready for the joy of Easter.

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At (in)courage, we are a beautiful community of diverse voices and faith backgrounds, and we know everyone recognizes this season in a different way. These are a few ways we are preparing our hearts for the journey to Easter and to celebrate the resurrection of Christ:

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How will you get your heart ready for Easter this year?

 

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

When Showing Up for Others Brings Great Joy

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This past month, I had two dear friends, Angie and Kristy, who had the privilege of speaking at a couple of churches. Angie’s event was an hour away from Baton Rouge, and Kristy’s was about thirty minutes away. Neither was a far distance from me, so when I found out about them speaking, I knew I wanted to be there.

Angie and Kristy have both walked through a great deal of loss, but the Lord has brought forth sweet ministries that bring hope and healing to others out of their grief. After their events ended, they were so grateful I had come to support them. But I could also sense a bit of disbelief that I had even wanted to come and listen to them teach.

I began to ponder why we can sometimes feel unworthy of someone championing us. Why are we amazed that someone would show up for us?

I don’t know that I have any answers, but what I do know is that it has never occurred to me to not show up. I actually count it one of my greatest joys to show up for my friends and to cheer wildly for them.

Angie even asked me if I felt a calling to cheerlead and intercede for people. Though I’ve never thought about it in those terms before, I do feel that calling very deeply. But I also think that every believer is called to encourage and intercede for others on some level.

Society has us believing that we must be individualistic and isolated, but our role in each other’s lives as seen in Scripture is for us to be brothers and sisters in Christ. We are family in the most important ways, and families are intimately involved with one another.

In my Bible, the heading title before Romans 12:9-21 says “Behave Like a Christian.” Those verses talk about love in action, and that’s exactly what it means to be a believer in Christ. We get to speak hope into each other’s sorrows and grief. We sit. We listen. We cry together. We speak words of encouragement. We also get to delight in the ways that God blesses others. We praise. We give thanks. We celebrate. We cheer.

Further, in Galatians 6:2, it says that we are called to “carry each other’s burdens, and in this way [we] will fulfill the law of Christ.” This is a high calling and not for the faint of heart. This calling comes at a cost as we bear each other’s heavy loads with hope and joy. It is not always convenient or easy or desired, but we do it out of obedience to God’s Word and out of love for Him and others.

With the state of the world such as it is, I’ve never been more convinced of just how much we need the body of Christ. We need encouragement and love and wisdom from one another. We need fellowship and intimacy with each other. And we need to build each other up in prayer and faith.

Thankfully, we are not alone in this life. We were created for community. So when we feel weak, the body of Christ is there to hold us up and strengthen us. We get to give and serve, pray and sacrifice for one another, and show up and cheer each other on.

In this, we fulfill God’s beautiful plan for His children when we come together. Bearing witness to the work of God in and through others will always bring me great joy, and my prayer is that we would all embrace this calling and experience how God moves powerfully in each other’s lives. 

Listen to Karina’s words below or download wherever you listen to podcasts!

How Catching My Hair on Fire Taught Me About God’s Love

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When I was seven, I caught my hair on fire. You don’t forget a thing like that. The frantic, panicked moment of realization. My little-girl worry I’d get in trouble. The foul, odious scent.

Our glitzy Christmas candles skirted in silky poinsettias would demand anyone’s attention but especially a little girl’s, whose favorite color was red and who loved the sparkle of rhinestones. Sitting on a coffee table well within reach, their allure was irresistible. It didn’t help that I knew where Mama hid her matches — in the top right drawer of the marble top sideboard.

So one day when no one was around, temptation got the best of me.

I could barely contain my excitement as I pinched the tiny, flaming magic wand, lighting the candle closest to me first — an unfortunate, amateur’s mistake. To light the second, I leaned across the table and over the flickering candle.

I don’t recall a flame alerting me to the danger I was in, only the smell. Nothing in the world smells like burnt hair.

Terrified, I recoiled and clapped my hair to snuff out the flame. Thanks to God’s apparent mercy towards wayward children, I wasn’t burned. I regained my composure, blew out the candle, and ran to the bathroom to survey the damage. You can imagine my relief to discover my hair was barely singed; I had expected to be half bald.

Surely, Mama would find out, I thought. I might’ve been a kid, but I had lived long enough to believe moms had eyes in the backs of their heads. When my imagination ran wild, I also suspected spiteful, little fairies tattling on us.

The greater tragedy may have been averted that day, but there were consequences to my transgression: the weighty guilt of knowing I had done something wrong. For days, I lugged around a thousand pounds of worry, wondering when I would have to face Mama’s disappointment and anger followed by a spanking — or worse, TV restriction. I kept a distance the best I could, and I didn’t feel worthy of her goodnight kisses or frequent hugs.

If Mama knew what I had done, she never confronted me. I may not have gotten in trouble, but I knew there was fallout. My candle-lighting fiasco had created a schism in our relationship.

But the days turned into weeks, and eventually, I stopped worrying about getting caught. The burden of guilt lifted.

I often think about this story when I’m decorating our home at Christmastime, and the memory usually surfaces whenever I’m lighting more than a single candle. Lesson learned the hard way: Always start with the one farthest from you.

Obviously, this event left an indelible impression on me, and through it, an appreciation was cultivated for how Eve and Adam must’ve felt in the Garden of Eden. Up until their fall, they enjoyed a sweet relationship with God, in perfect harmony with Him and one another. But as soon as they took temptation’s bait, guilt, fear, and regret took root. Their relationship with each other withered, and walls of shame and blame sprouted, sending them into hiding behind leaves.

When I played with fire, I might not have literally gotten burned, but figuratively my heart was scorched. The guilt of my sin and the fear of getting caught made me want to hide too.

I loved my mother more than anyone else, and as a middle child and born pleaser, I always tried my best to be good, especially because she was sick. Whenever I got in trouble, all I wanted was for us to be reconciled, to earn back her favor. I knew she’d never stop loving me, but when I did something wrong, it got in between us until things were made right, until a consequence was paid.

Was that what it was like for Adam and Eve?

When God confronted the couple, they behaved like children. Both played victim and assigned blame elsewhere. Both suffered painful consequences as a result of their sin. But let’s not miss the most important part of their story: Despite their disobedience, God never stopped loving them.

This incredible truth applies to you and me too, friends. Despite our disobedience, God never stops loving us either. Sin may separate us from relationship with God temporarily, but it can never separate us from His love. True, there are consequences to our sin, but God always makes a way for reconciliation and restoration.

In the Garden, God demonstrated His love for Adam and Eve by pursuing and providing for them after they sinned. He hinted at His future plan for restoration and redemption when He declared the serpent’s offspring would be crushed by Eve’s descendent — whom we know is Jesus (Genesis 3:15).

And isn’t this essentially the good news of the gospel — that God pursues us and provides for us? In Luke 19:10, Jesus says, “For the Son of Man came to seek and to save the lost.” Later, in Romans 5:8, Paul offers an incredible assurance: “God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” Only when we were lost and mired in sin were we in the perfect position to be rescued by God!

It wasn’t a surprise to God when Adam and Eve sinned, and it’s no surprise to Him when we sin either. He loves us so much that He provided a way — the Way, Jesus — to be reconciled to Him and restore our relationship forever. Because of Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection, we have hope, peace, forgiveness, and a love that doesn’t just cover a multitude of sins; it covers them all — past, present, and future.

Thankfully, you don’t have to catch your hair on fire to learn this. But even if you do, it wouldn’t be the first time God revealed Himself through a flame!

What if We Chose to Be for One Another?

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Shelves and screws and seemingly random pieces of what would eventually become a wooden cabinet covered the living room floor. It was somewhere around step thirty-one that I knew without a doubt: This was a two-person job. Four hands were needed to ensure the boards would be flush against one another, held securely while dozens of nails were carefully hammered into place.

The half-built cabinet sat in the middle of the room for a few days, waiting for a window of time when both my roommate and I could work on it together. A day or two before our schedules aligned, a close friend called to ask a question that momentarily took my breath away.

“This is kind of awkward,” she stammered, “but I have several single friends that I want to love well and I’m just not sure how to do that. I’m worried that if I ask questions related to singleness, I’ll make them feel sad or I’ll say the wrong thing, so I usually don’t ask anything. But I’m realizing that might seem like I don’t even care. And I really do care. How can I love you and other single people well?”⁣

I froze in place for a moment, touched by her kindness. Until that afternoon, I had never been asked that question by a married friend. What she thought might be awkward was incredibly appreciated. I didn’t feel sad; I felt seen.

I paused and then slowly said, “You know how you think of your husband and kids in one hundred small ways throughout the day? Well, regular life reminds me that it’s just me. Not always in a sad or lonely way, but just . . . practically. This morning I wanted a hug, but no one is here. I’ve had a migraine for three days and for a moment wished there was someone to take care of me, or even just help make dinner. I heated leftovers, which is the norm because most recipes aren’t made for one. I walked by the half-built cabinet and wondered how I’d lift/drag/push it against the wall on my own. Each of these were here and then gone, not sad — just the reality of this particular day. I share because I want you to know: Life will remind me that I’m single; you reaching out reminds me I’m not alone.“⁣

I walked back into the living room, phone in my hand as I dodged the random bits and pieces still piled on the floor. We talked a little while longer, thoughtfully asking and honestly answering questions that helped build an even stronger friendship.

A few days later, I snapped a photo right before securing the last two shelves. Our conversation was still fresh on my mind, and I decided to share part of it on Instagram, along with a handful of questions to ask your single friends when you want to love them well but aren’t sure what to say. In over a decade of writing online, it’s my most-saved post. I’m blinking back tears just staring at that sentence because to me, it means precisely one thing: We really and truly care about one another. We may not know what to say, when to say it, or how to best show up for our friends, but our hearts are for one another.

Sometimes it seems like we’re more divided than ever before, but perhaps most of our thoughtful conversations and gently asked questions are spoken in person. After all, the good, hard, beautiful, generous, and kind work of reaching out, listening, and showing up for people often happens away from the screen. It’s a bit quieter, and sometimes it’s uncomfortable and messy, but I see it in hands building a cabinet together, in women saving a list of questions because they want to love their single friends well, in a phone call from a friend who chose to reach out, opening the door to a conversation that brought us closer together.

Being for each other might just be the best gift we can give one another.

At the end of the day — whether happily single, desiring marriage, dating, widowed, divorced, married, or engaged — it’s true of every single one of us: We all just want to be seen, known, wanted and loved.

Months have passed, seasons have changed, and we’ve talked about one thousand other things since. But this morning I walked by the vase of Valentine’s Day flowers I bought myself, the pop of color and life sitting atop the cabinet, and I smiled. Because while it’s true that being single can be incredibly lonely at times, the cabinet is still standing, built with two sets of hands, a reminder that even when it’s just me, I’m not truly alone.

“Better together” is a catchy phrase, a cheesy cliché, and a popular hashtag. But it’s also the truth. From the very beginning of time, the Three-in-One has shown us that community matters. May we live and love like it’s true.

P.S. Dear married friends, all those things you think aren’t a big deal — the invitation to come over for family dinner, the Christmas card in the mail, the random “Just thinking of you!” text — they matter more than you’ll ever know. Your kind questions, your genuine care, and most of all your friendship mean the actual world. Thank you!

The Risk and Gift of Being Honest About Anxiety

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I put my hand on my husband’s heart.

“It’s like there is an engine in my chest. And it’s revving, revving, revving for no reason. That’s what this anxiety feels like.”

His look of confusion didn’t really change.

“So even if my mind is fine, even if I know I’m okay and I’m not worried or stressed about anything in particular, my body is still being flooded with all this unnecessary energy. And then the sensations in my body try to tell my mind that I’m not okay. This battle to keep my mind and spirit calm and focused on what is true while the engine in my chest keeps spinning and roaring — well, it’s exhausting.”

I leaned my head on Chris’s shoulder and tried to slow my breathing.

My husband and I don’t speak the same emotional language. Mine has a lot of words; his, not so much. We also have trouble communicating about mental health. It’s another language rooted in experience I’ve had a crash course in since being diagnosed with clinical anxiety seven years ago — a language I wish that I and others close to me would have had decades ago because I’m pretty sure this has been a life-long struggle. Even though my husband loves me and wants to support me, it’s hard for him to understand me. So when my anxiety recently flared, seemingly out of nowhere, I grappled yet again over how to explain it.

It feels strange to say this, but that image of a car engine inside my chest feels like God’s grace. It’s His mercy — His ever-present help in times of trouble — that becomes everyday real when He meets my real need with His creative wisdom.

I’ve tried a hundred different ways to put my anxiety into words. It’s not the same as worry or stress. It’s not trying to control a situation or merely fixating on a problem. It’s a physiological experience. Like coffee jitters in my heart. Like the mental swirl of a dozen waking dreams that you can’t escape. An outer calm with an inner chaos. Like an exposed nerve that viscerally reacts when it touches something too hot or too cold.

I can’t tell my husband to just Google anxiety because no single definition or description can aptly capture an individual’s experience. Mental illness is a nuanced beast that attacks every person differently. I have a friend whose arm gets itchy when her anxiety flares. Another friend gets a migraine. Someone else I know gets mentally stuck in every worst-case scenario.

The unique manifestations of mental illness can make it a very lonely experience.

Am I making this up? Should I just keep it to myself? Should I try to ignore it and move on?

The internal battle is real. But here’s what I’ve learned: It’s worth it to push through the pain, fear, and awkwardness to tell someone how you really feel.

It’s actually God’s grace that I would even ask Him for help in putting my anxiety into words. For years I believed it was better to hide, deny, or defend my feelings. It felt safer to self-protect rather than open up my vulnerable heart and hurting mind to the chance of being misunderstood. And it’s a very real possibility, right? I’m sure it’s happened to you too. Others can minimize your feelings, dismiss your experience, give poor advice, or tell you to just get over it.

Even so, there is power in bringing our struggles out of the darkness of isolation and into the light of shared experience.

When I refuse to hide, I open myself to the light. Shame can’t live in the light. Fear doesn’t grow in the light. Freedom and growth and truth are songs of the light — songs that someone else needs to hear.

So I stand in my kitchen resting my head on my husband’s chest as morning light streams through the smudged window, and I know that God sees me. No inner darkness can hide me; His Word will guide me.

And I remind myself that my revving engine chest does not disqualify me from receiving God’s promises.

I whisper the words written on my heart: “May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit” (Romans 15:13).

I trust you, Lord. I trust you.

My heart races on for the moment, but I know that I am held and loved. And so are you.

 

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