When It Feels Like God Stops Talking

When It Feels Like God Stops Talking

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It was over breakfast when she told me. My niece reached across the restaurant table we both sat at, leaning over her pancakes and my eggs and bacon, and said, “I have something to tell you.” 

At almost four-years-old, it seemed important to her. “What’s up?” I asked. 

She scooted off the booth chair and came nearer. “It’s a secret,” she said. Then she leaned closer, her lips next to my ear, and whispered softly, “I love you.” 

I loved her secret: a love song she’d deemed important enough to interrupt our breakfast for and whisper in my ear. It was said softly but reverberated loudly in my heart and mind for the rest of the day. 

Sometimes the quietest things mean the most — the murmurs of a mother rocking her child to sleep, the way a husband and wife make eye contact across a room without saying anything, how friends can sit in comfortable silence during a long road trip. 

It can feel like what I hear most loudly is God’s silence. I’ll sit and listen for His voice, fed up and frustrated when I don’t hear something in the five measly minutes I’ve set aside for Him.⁣

But perhaps silence doesn’t always equal absence. ⁣When I sit in silence with a close friend, I don’t feel awkward. Instead their silence is a comfort to me — a reminder that even if they have no words, they have presence in my life. ⁣⁣

I read the beginning of John 8 this morning, and before Jesus ever spoke to the woman caught in adultery, He looked down, silent. But He was still present. His silence did not equal absence or judgment. ⁣And when Elijah hid in the mountain of Horeb (1 Kings 19), He encountered the Living God — not with a miraculous sign or a mighty voice but in an almost silent whisper. 

During this Easter season it can be easy to focus primarily on Good Friday, on the pain our Savior endured for us. Each year, it wrecks me. Then we eagerly fast forward to Easter Sunday: the best, most life-changing news our world could experience. 

But in the middle of those two days lies Saturday — silent. It feels like crickets. I try to imagine how the disciples felt that first Easter, particularly on the Saturday when Jesus was dead and buried in a tomb. I can’t fathom it: Jesus was dead. Everything His disciples and followers had been a part of for the last three years was suddenly over. I wonder if they asked themselves, quietly, terrifyingly, eyes rubbed raw with grief, “What if everything I’ve believed about God is a lie?”⁣

Have you ever wondered the same?

It can be easy to believe there are times when God stops talking — when we can’t feel His presence, when the nights feel dark and long, when people’s opinions feel loud. Sometimes God’s silence has us questioning everything. 

But God isn’t afraid of silence or the dark. Even on that first Saturday — when the friends of Jesus had probably shuttered themselves in a room, cocooning themselves in a bed, praying that everything they believed wasn’t a lie — Jesus was preparing a way through the dark. ⁣

Perhaps God’s silence is a comfort, a reminder, a presence that actually speaks volumes, telling us, “I’m right here with you. I’m not going anywhere.” ⁣

⁣Perhaps God is nearer than we ever imagined. It may feel like He’s quiet but maybe it’s because He is so close — His mouth to your ear, His breath tickling your neck, never far from reach, close enough that you could reach out and touch Him. 

Maybe He whispers because He is so near in proximity. He doesn’t need to yell or talk very loudly because He has always been close by. A still, small voice, murmuring love songs over breakfast. His right hand beside you, ready to catch you when you reach out. Leaning over the table, His lips next to your ear, whispering softly, “I love you.” 

Emmanuel, God with us — on earth-shattering Fridays and resurrection Sundays and every silent Saturday in between — who quietly comes nearer, and nearer, and nearer still. 

 

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Debbie, Detours, and My Near Death Experience

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Debbie from the plane. Her name caught my attention as I was going through the contacts on my phone. Debbie! I closed my eyes. I could see her bouncy hair matching her boisterous southern drawl. Instantly, I was transported back to that June day when I’d met Debbie. It was the day my plane almost crashed.

I’d boarded a plane headed from San Diego to Denver on a cool morning. As the plane approached the landing strip, it bobbled back and forth like a ping pong ball in a hurricane. The pilot immediately pulled the plane straight up like a rocket launching into space. My hands clenched the seat divider. The pilot said something about air pockets, the storm, and how everything was going to be okay. Out the window everything was murky; the clouds were as dark and thick as molasses. 

Unsuccessfully the pilot attempted one more dangerous landing before we were rerouted to Grand Junction Airport, an hour away.

Every passenger belted out a hearty cheer as our plane landed and slowed to a halt.

When I finally got off that dreaded plane, I ran toward the rental cars. I refused to take a bus all the way back to Denver. Unfortunately, everyone else had the same idea and the cars were completely gone. The rental car guy said, “I do have one twelve-passenger van.” He dangled the keys. A tantalizing idea tickled me. I looked to my right and saw a single woman and to my left was an Asian couple with a baby and another family of four. I started doing the math. Yes! We could do this. It might just work. I gathered the closest strangers in a huddle like we were planning out our next strategic play. In a wild turn of events, we almost felt giddy. Twelve strangers from around the country, meeting for the first time, overcoming a near-death experience, were now traveling together in a van with one destination in mind — Denver.

The road trip took most of the day. That’s when I met Debbie. “Debbie from the plane” sat right next to me. She was sassy, blunt, and full of quick, say-what-everyone’s-really-thinking-but-too-afraid-to-say-out-loud comebacks. This small group of strangers bonded. We shared Goldfish crackers, told stories, and used each other’s phone chargers. We passed around family photos. We all laughed so hard. My heart expanded like those magical foam mattresses you get in the mail. I grew to really enjoy these people.

On the drive Debbie told me about her faith and how disheartened she was by the church. I didn’t offer answers, but I listened. She shared about how her grandfather was a preacher and how she wants to raise kind children. I reminded her of how God never loses sight of us no matter how broken life gets. I shared my Jesus journey too.

We all have a story, don’t we? Every stranger, every human, every soul has a story. I got to hear Debbie’s. And in the most unimaginable way, with the gray sun dropping behind the storm-covered Colorado mountains, I smiled. This journey that ended up taking me a total of sixteen hours was what my soul needed. I needed to be stuck in a van with strangers to see people again. I needed to remember how fragile life really is. I needed to listen, laugh, and connect on a human level with people who were in many ways just like me. I needed this detour as a reminder of how much I loved humans. God always knows what we need. He will take us on the long route if it means He can give us the water our souls are really longing for. 

Sister, stay awake to the detours God gives you as divine invitations to the greatest, deep-down, soul smiles.

I know you have desires. I know your soul is hungry. You might even be in a place where you feel like your desires have been forgotten. The path you are on might not make logical sense. Perhaps the place you are in isn’t where you thought you’d be. When you look at your current circumstances, you may feel behind or off-track from your plan. The temptation will be to look at your life like it’s a calculus problem to solve. Resist this.

Instead, be where God has led you. Stay where He has invited you to be. Let your body, mind, and heart all be in the same place. Be fully in it even when it feels muddled, uncomfortable, and incredibly confusing. Wake up even when you are tempted to fall asleep, check out, and numb everything. The sweet taste of God’s love when you are connected to the life He has entrusted to you is better than any dream you could ever imagine. Detours aren’t actually detours; they are the way we were always meant to travel.

I wonder if I’ll ever see Debbie again. I wonder what everything meant. I’m not sure I will ever know why things happened the way they did, but I do know that tucked into that tumultuous day were moments popping with joy. I do know that at the end of my life I want my phone filled with contacts that say things like, “Mike the guy from the grocery store,” and “Alice the gal who served us breakfast,” and “Debbie from the plane.” I want to know I followed the detours, the long, arduous, dying-to-dreams, talking-to-strangers kind of detours because they always lead to an awakening of God’s love story inside of mine.

—

You’ve felt it — the underlying anxiety that you’re missing out on the good life. So you zone out, swipe up, work hard, and spin in circles trying to get it. Anjuli Paschall calls it carpe diem syndrome — the fear of not living life to the fullest. But the full life isn’t found by chasing it. It’s found by coming awake to it. In her new book, Awake: Paying Attention to What Matters Most in a World That’s Pulling You Apart, Anjuli casts a compelling vision for you to live a soul-awake life too. The invitation might be as gentle as a song or as abrupt as a rooster’s crow, but God is always waking you up. You can have the life you really want, and you don’t have to lose your soul trying to get it. Breathe in. Breathe out. Full life is right here.

Leave a comment below telling us how this book could be the encouragement you need, and you’ll be entered to WIN a copy of Awake!

Then join Anjuli and (in)courage community manager Becky Keife for a chat all about becoming Awake! Tune in tomorrow, 4/13/22, on our Facebook page at 11am CST for their conversation.

Giveaway open to US addresses only and closes on 4/15/22 at 11:59pm CST.

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Honest Questions Lead Us to Deeper Intimacy

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He sits next to me, untwisting the small, green cap of an applesauce snack. After each squeeze, he tells me something small about his day — how there’s a brand-new classmate, how he played soccer and fell in the mud at recess, how he’s learning about the American Revolution. And then he asks me, “Why is Russia attacking Ukraine? And why do people kill each other?”

I take a deep breath, noticing how small his hands are and that he has dirt on his jeans.

I think of the kids his age who are sheltering or fleeing as refugees right now and about how many have been doing this for as long as there have been nations. A few of his school classmates have had to leave their homes, and he knows them and calls them friends because of this reality. A few years ago, before COVID, I remember meeting one friend in particular when I visited my son for lunch. When I found out he’d recently moved, I asked him what he missed most. He shared about family members and all the foods he missed while the rest of the lunch table fell abnormally quiet to listen.

My own mom lived through war and loss, and however removed he is, I know my son feels it all when they are together. He asks me often why she’s had to go through so much.

His questions about war poke at so many hard realities I wish none of us had to face. I tell him, “That’s a really good question,” then whisper, “Help” to God as I realize I have the same questions.

I say a few things about power and greed and how little choices can grow into bigger and bigger choices like wildfire. But what he also needs to know is that I ask God the same questions he asks me. He wants a black-and-white answer that will appease him for a moment, or maybe even a few years, but I know how the questions will come back again, as persistent as the dusk of another day.

I want my kids to know that we can go to God when we doubt, when we’re afraid, and when we don’t understand why things are the way they are. I want them to know that yes, we can be part of the change we long to see, but I also want them to know how courageous it is to ask honest questions.

Honest questions can lead us to deeper intimacy with God. They aren’t a slippery slope or something to shut out of our system or defend against.

My natural tendency is to shield my kids from the harsher realities of the world and run from some of these questions. But while talking about things in age-appropriate ways is good, running from the realities of the world is impossible if we are honest and awake to the world in and around us.

The best response to a hard question is to ask ourselves another question:

What am I afraid of?

Then sit still long enough to face the answer.

Our fear of questions and doubt reveal our limited understanding of love. This isn’t something to be ashamed of; instead, it’s indicative of our own pain. The world is crying out in pain, and it seems like most of us have been trained to refuse to face our own.

James Baldwin wrote this in The Fire Next Time, “I imagine one of the reasons people cling to their hate so stubbornly is because they sense, once hate is gone, they will be forced to deal with pain.”

John, a disciple of Jesus, wrote this in one of his letters, “There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear, because fear has to do with punishment. The one who fears is not made perfect in love” (1 John 4:18).

We can welcome the questions of our children, neighbors, enemies, and our own. Doing so will require us to dig beyond them and find the pain we’ve buried down deep, the fears we harbor and hide, and offer it all to God. Our fear is an invitation to step towards healing. Our questions are a doorway to humility and help. Our doubts can lead us to a deepened faith.

Later that night, at bedtime, the Holy Spirit reminded me of my after-school conversation with my son. I asked him if he wanted to pray and ask God anything. He shook his head and asked me to pray instead. I asked God the same question he’d asked me hours earlier, prayed for Ukraine, then gave room for a little bit of silence. I kissed him goodnight, then silently asked God to help him always feel more-than-permission to ask hard questions and for God to come near to him in the middle of each one.

A prayer for all of us:

God, who isn’t afraid of any question, we are so often afraid. We cover it up with statements of faith and stubborn platitudes. Reach past it all — reach us and wake us to your pursuit. Show us our real questions. Forgive us for being dishonest and defensive. Help us face the pain we bury so deep. Give us the courage to trust You. Be near to us in our doubts. Be near like our breath, flesh, and bone. And deliver us from our fears with Your perfect love. Amen.

 

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Holding On to Hope When We Just Can’t Anymore

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I didn’t expect to lose the will to live. That was something for quitters, those who were chronically negative or weak. From my earliest memories, I’ve always been a fighter. Determined, optimistic, stubborn to a fault. Quitting wasn’t an option.

Until it seemed the only option I had left.

It took twenty years of consecutive, unrelenting losses for me to finally lose my will to fight. Betrayal, divorce, single motherhood. Remarriage, step-parenting, and adolescent parenting, followed by fostering and parenting three kids from severe trauma. Then came the three cancer diagnoses in the span of five years — bam, bam, and BAM. And in the middle of that I buried my dad after his thirteen-month war against terminal pancreatic cancer.

And those were just the “big” losses. There were other struggles that were less sensational but no less painful. Like a Weeble Wobble, I’d always been able to bounce back from a challenge. But after the third cancer diagnosis — the one that left me with a permanent disability and in chronic pain — I lost my bounce. Instead, I wanted to go to sleep and never wake up again. Any hope I’d once had was gone.

There’s a verse in Romans 5 that talks about the power of hope:

And not only this, but we also celebrate in our tribulations, knowing that tribulation brings about perseverance; and perseverance, proven character; and proven character, hope; and hope does not disappoint, because the love of God has been poured out within our hearts through the Holy Spirit who was given to us (vv. 3-5 NASB).

And hope does not disappoint, the God-inspired Scripture says.

And yet I remember reading those words and immediately feeling a surge of resistance. And white-hot anger.

That’s not true! I wanted to scream. Hope does disappoint!

I’d prayed for relief and deliverance for so many years. And yet, in spite of my bent knees and dogged hope, the only answer it seemed I’d receive was more suffering. More loss. More grief and tears. Disappointment was an ocean, and I was drowning in it. I battled to keep my faith afloat, to believe in a good and loving and powerful God. And yet that belief only seemed to leave me weary and desperate for rescue.

Where was the God of hope? Where was the one who said He loved me and would always be with me? Didn’t my relentless grief confirm His absence — or at least His disregard?

Somewhere in the midst of those hard years, I went to the mailbox and found a gift parcel. I didn’t recognize the return address. Inside was a short letter from a total stranger along with an olive wood cross small enough to fit in the palm of my hand. In the following months and years, I found myself holding on to that cross and rubbing its smooth surface when the worst of the losses threatened to take me under. Something about its tangible presence brought comfort.

Then, during Easter one year, I finally understood why. Although I’d long celebrated Jesus’s resurrection, it was Jesus’s suffering that gave me hope.

Jesus knew what it was like to endure pain and loss. He knew what it was like to ask God for relief and deliverance and not receive it. For so much of my faith journey, I’d viewed Easter through the joy of Jesus’s resurrection. But now I saw it through the eyes of His suffering and crucifixion. Jesus knew both physical pain and spiritual agony. He felt the seeming distance of the Father, who didn’t intervene and spare Him the cross.

And yet Jesus didn’t lose hope.

Why?

Because His hope wasn’t in an outcome. His hope was in a Person.

Remember your word to your servant, for you have given me hope. My comfort in my suffering is this: Your promise preserves my life.
Psalm 119:49-50 (NIV)

Your promise preserves my life, the psalmist wrote. Not God’s promise of happily ever after. Not God’s promise of physical healing or a perfect family or pain-free existence.

But God’s promise of Himself.

Jesus is God’s promise fulfilled, divine presence in human flesh. And heaven — the hope of an eternal, pain-free promised land — is the final piece of that promise, when I will live in the hope-filling presence of my Father God forever.

It’s now been almost six years since that season of suffering nearly took me under. I’ve had more hard days than I can count. Life continues to have unexpected circumstances and painful losses. Sure, I have plenty of good days too, and I celebrate those. But life remains hard for so many of us.

Still, as I look at my olive wood cross, more worn than it was six years ago, I remind myself again and again:

If I place my hope in an outcome — a prayer I want answered or a healing I want delivered — I will end up disappointed. “You will have suffering in this world,” Jesus says (John 16:33). That’s the bad news in no uncertain terms. None of us will escape the pain of the human condition. It’s part of the deal.

However, Jesus didn’t end with the bad news. “But take heart! I have overcome the world,” He promises (John 16:33).

Jesus — the flesh-and-blood presence of God Himself — is our good news. He is our hope, our answered prayer to all prayers. And if our hope rests in Him alone, we will not be disappointed. Our hope is as sure as His resurrection, our eternity as perfect as His promise. One way or the other, my friends, the best is yet to come.

This story was written by Michele Cushatt, and published in the Create in Me a Heart of Hope Bible Study.

Create in Me a Heart of Hope is an (in)courage Bible study, written by Mary Carver and featuring stories from your favorite (in)courage writers! The first in a series of four studies, Heart of Hope looks at how God offers us hope — real, certain, unshakable hope. We believe that looking at where that hope comes from and what it looks like in our lives will help us understand first, what hope is, and second, the difference it makes. It will allow God to create in us a heart of hope.

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I Hope but Help Me In My Hopelessness

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Ask any Midwesterner about “fake spring” and they’ll surely have a story for you about packing away all the coats on a warm day only to have to pull the winter gear back out the next week. While I’m all for a shortened winter, I think these false-start spring days have something to teach us about the spiritual practice of living expectantly — even when we don’t feel particularly hopeful.

We brought our newborn son home from the hospital on Easter. Tucking a pastel green blanket around him and pulling a knitted cap over his head, I marveled at how much he resembled an Easter egg. After a long winter and an even longer pregnancy, it would finally be spring — the season of new life! And then, as we arrived on our doorstep, the wind howled, clouds covered the sun, and it started snowing.

My baby cried. So did I.

A couple weeks into the winter-that-wouldn’t-end, the sun reemerged and offered us an unseasonably warm day. Had we fast-forwarded over spring and gone right into summer? I knew it was too good to be true — the day before we’d been wearing puffy coats. I squeezed my postpartum body into a sundress, put the baby in his carrier, and located two matching shoes for my always-moving toddler. We were going on a walk. We were going to seize the summer day!

And seize it we did. I sat on the park bench and slipped my tired feet from my sandals, wiggling my toes in the sandbox and letting myself breathe in hope that while the beautiful forecast wouldn’t last through the week, it was also true that winter wouldn’t last forever. I watched my toddler conquer the playground, and as I felt the sun on my face, I also felt a glimmer of hope that the postpartum exhaustion wouldn’t stretch over my body and soul forever. Better days were ahead.

And then, wouldn’t you know? The very next day, it snowed.

But I’ve never minded false-start sunny days. Hope deferred is still hope. We need the small offerings of hope in our lives to remind us that just as there is darkness around us, light is near too.

From heartbreaking headlines to the everyday aches and anxieties that come with being human, we have every reminder that the world isn’t as it should be. And that’s why we have to cling to the promise of hope, even if hope itself still feels out of reach.

On that warm spring day years ago, I knew there were bound to be more cold days to come. I knew my circumstances weren’t going to suddenly change. I was in a difficult and demanding season of life that wasn’t going to improve with the changing of the natural seasons. But the warmth of the sun tethered me to the reminder that even though life didn’t feel particularly hopeful, hope was on the horizon. Someday, my baby wouldn’t be colicky. Someday, my toddler would potty train.

The expectancy of hope was enough.

Each headline feels heavier than the last these days. I find myself wondering how much pain our tender human hearts can hold. It’s in these moments that I need spiritual eyes to see glimmers of hope in hard times.

The expectancy of hope begets hope.

It’s that whisper deep in our souls that reminds us though life might not be better right now, or even in the foreseeable future, the sun will shine again someday. It’s why we’re drawn to a video of a little girl singing “Let It Go” in a bomb shelter. It’s why our hearts ache to share laughter with loved ones even as we gather to grieve the loss of another. These glimmers of hope don’t fix anything, but they keep us going.

The promise of hope begets hope.

It’s easy to close up our hearts and say hope is too far gone from a season, situation, or person. But it’s the braver choice to have the audacity to believe hope will return to our hearts even so. Even if. Even when.

In Mark 9, a man is desperate for relief for his son who is having seizures. He begs Jesus to help his child, and says, “I believe. Help me in my unbelief.” In times when hope seems lost, maybe the best we can do is get really honest with the One who knows every ache of our heart by praying this prayer: I hope. Help me in my hopelessness.

We cannot change the weather just as we cannot stop a warring world. But we can hold tight to the expectancy of hope. This is not the end. Despair does not have the final say. Cynicism won’t win. Winter won’t last forever.

Holding onto the expectancy of hope is not ignorant optimism. It’s not frilly or fanciful, but rather it sits in the pain and pushes through it. Hope is dirt under our fingernails as we plant tulip bulbs in the fall, believing that even though the days are going to get darker and colder, spring will someday come. Hope is us raking soggy leaves into piles to make way for shoots of green grass that will burst forth — maybe not tomorrow or next week or next month but someday.

The expectancy of hope is defiant. It’s a stubborn, gritty belief that even when our worlds are caving in, the groans of creation will not last forever.

We can come to Jesus with our most honest of prayers: I don’t have hope right now. But with Your help, I have hope that someday, I will have hope again.

Making space in our souls for hope even when nothing seems hopeful doesn’t ignore the seasons of winter in our lives or the very real suffering in our world but believes the truth that suffering does not have the final say.

Now faith is confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see.
Hebrews 11:1 (NIV)

For more simple, honest prayers for when you don’t have the words, Kayla Craig’s book To Light Their Way has a whole section of simple Scripture-inspired breath prayers for when you need to borrow a little hope.

 

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Jesus Accepted Help So You Can Too

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Whenever someone offered to help me with anything, my automatic response used to be, “Oh, you’re so sweet! No, I’m good.” Whether the roots were pride or fear, my brain automatically Google-translated any well-meaning “I’d love to help you with” offer into a negative criticism that sounded to me like: “I think you’re falling apart, and clearly, you’re failing at life.”

Once, I wrestled with a dear friend’s loving offer to help me move after prayer and many trusted voices affirmed that it was time for me and my near-adult children to move from our home. My warped Google-translate kicked in as my insecurities fired up. It didn’t take long for me to reply: “Thank you for offering, but I’m good. I can handle it.”

Is your knee-jerk reaction when a friend offers to help the same? What’s puzzling is that most of us love helping others, but we bristle at the thought of them offering to assist us. It’s wild how we can apply one set of beliefs about ourselves yet create a completely different set of beliefs for others in the same situation. How do we give ourselves permission to willingly and joyfully accept help, whether we think we need it or not?

A single question sparked a spiritual breakthrough on this accepting-help issue for me. As I packed up my near-adult children’s books and blankets, tears dripped on the cardboard boxes. I was worried about taking them away from the only home they’d ever known and grieving the circumstances that made our move necessary. Somewhere between stacking one box and preparing another, I heard a clear whisper fill the air around me: Barb, don’t you want your children to see the hands and feet of Jesus working around them on one of the most difficult days of their lives?

The aha moment came when I realized that God didn’t send my friend to help me with boxes and bedsprings. Instead, God was sending her to show my children and me divine signatures of His presence and His hope, which we needed more than a workforce for the move.

In Matthew 4, Jesus endures the trial of Satan’s temptation in the desert for forty days and forty nights. Put yourself in Jesus’ weary place. After that experience, the human side of Jesus would have been worn out. The final verse of that ordeal offers a powerful insight that can reprogram your automatic response if accepting help is hard for you:

The devil went away, and angels came and took care of Jesus.
Matthew 4:11 (NLT)

First, we can always cheer when the devil finally leaves us alone, right? However, the aha moment in this verse is seeing not only that the angels came to care for Jesus but also that Jesus accepted their help. I can imagine them showing up with warm food, a soft blanket, and their compassionate presence. If Jesus were like me, He would have said, “No, thanks, I’m good” or “There are other people who need help more than me.” But He didn’t do that. Instead, Jesus allowed Himself to be ministered to by the angels. His divine nature wasn’t diminished by accepting help from others. Just as God sent those angels to minister to Jesus, today God sends people to minister to us as well.

What stands out to me is this: Jesus accepted help, so we can and should too.

Could Jesus have gotten Himself together on His own? Yes, but God lovingly sent the angels to minister to Jesus anyway. For all the times we pray and ask God for help, He often sends it through others. But the hard part is letting down our guard rails of pride, fear, or embarrassment to receive it.

After my spiritual breakthrough moment and difficult move, I told God that I would say yes to any and all offers from friends over the next thirty days. I wanted to give God every opportunity to reprogram my automatic response and deprogram any lingering pride and fear about accepting help that remained in me. God honored that request and sent more friends to surround us with love and support during that rough time. While we experienced an outcome that I prayed we wouldn’t go through, God sent others to minister to us each step of the way.

As you reflect on the offers of help that come your way throughout the day or during the week, how might God be wanting to convey His love and care for you through others?

 

Check out Barb’s recent Bible study, Surrendered: Letting Go and Living Like Jesus about Jesus’ 40 days in the wilderness and how we can learn to let go of control.

 

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When You Cannot Hope, Be Heard

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Hope is an anchor for the soul, but the rope to mine sure seemed long. 

I was curled on my side in bed, too exhausted to sit up. And even though the sun was streaming through our turquoise curtains, everything seemed dark. 

Nine weeks. It had been nine weeks since an infection crumpled my immunocompromised body into a heap in bed. Nine weeks since infection toppled one domino after another in my body, leading to three new diagnoses, no substantial progress, and no clear path to getting better.

Week after week I held onto hope that one more specialist visit or one more medication would lift me out of the sea of sickness. But I only saw more waves, and I didn’t think I had it in me to keep treading water. My face was still wet from weeping, and I stared and stared at the curtains and the bare tree branches beyond my window, grieving the gap between me and a life beyond bed.

Some people use PTO to sit on a beach on vacation, but my husband had just called his boss to use some of his to sit by my side in bed. The truth is, I was scaring him. The harder truth is, I was scaring myself. 

I’m a licensed therapist, and I couldn’t reframe or regulate my way out of despair. 

You can have all the coping skills in the world and have been abiding with Jesus through storms of suffering for ages, but when your body suddenly wanders into the liminal land of debilitating illness, it will break your heart because loss is loss. 

Ryan sank onto the linen bedspread next to me and squeezed my hand. “I think we need to call Jordan,” he said. “I don’t have any prayers left to pray.” 

Two hours later, we sat bundled up in our coats in the shade of our church’s bell tower. I gripped Ryan’s hand as our priest, Jordan, walked toward us and greeted us. “Would you like to sit inside?” he asked. 

Ryan helped me stand and we slowly made our way up the last few steps to the church. Jordan placed some folding chairs in a circle in the small entryway. “I’ll just pray silently for you to begin,” Jordan explained.

And in the silence, I wept. I let my priest see me break. I let him witness me at my weakest. 

Big, salty tears poured down my face. Big, snotty tissues accumulated in my hands. Big, quiet hope welled up deep inside.

What is faith if not remembering we have a Witness?

Jordan opened The Book of Common Prayer on his lap and began praying words that have been spoken over the sick for hundreds of years. He anointed my head with oil. My cup of cries still overflowed. 

Then together, my husband, my priest, and I prayed the Lord’s Prayer. Our Father, who art in heaven. Hallowed be your name. Your kingdom come. Your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. My words were a whisper, but they welled up from the core of me. 

All our weaknesses can be a wellspring. Whispered prayers on tear-soaked lips can surge with water from beyond. 

Goodness and love followed me into that church. Kindness helped me up those stairs. Love met me in my priest’s willingness to welcome my cries.

When we cannot hold onto hope, we can ask to be heard. When we can no longer bear the weight of brokenness, we can let someone hear our sighs and cries. 

Scripture says that faith comes by hearing, but I know it also comes by being heard. 

Despair shuts the book on the story that we are loved, but Living Hope opens the pages and pulls us back into the paragraphs of peace — by the physiological shalom of being seen, heard, and held. Dendrite by dendrite, the distance between despair and hope is bridged in our bodies by the courage to allow our weakness to be witnessed. 

It’s the path of nervous system regulation, but don’t be fooled: It’s the presence of Christ.

That day, my diagnoses were not reversed. I still needed help to walk down the steps of the church to our car. I’m still in the middle of a season of more sickness than I feel like I can handle. But in allowing my cries to be heard, I am remembering I am always held. 

The God who holds all things together by His Word is also the God who allowed His Body to be broken for you and for me. And if your body or spirit are breaking like mine, I pray you’ll hear that a broken spirit God will not despise. 

God doesn’t despise us for our despair. Here, where hope is hard, God comes down into the darkness with us, reaching us with His staff as we risk being heard and found.

 

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

Introducing Three New (in)courage Contributors!

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We’ve been holding some BIG NEWS close to our hearts for a while now, and we’re thrilled to finally share with you that we’re welcoming three new writers to the (in)courage family! As you know, what makes (in)courage so special is that here you’ll find a beautiful collection of voices from different backgrounds and life stages. It’s like getting to have a cup of tea and hear stories from your favorite aunt, grandma, younger sister, or quirky neighbor. We don’t all look the same, worship the same, or hold the same opinions, but the thing that connects us is Jesus! At (in)courage, we’re all about helping each other know Jesus better and live like Him. To do this, it’s our joy to continue to invite a rich diversity of perspectives and experiences to the (in)courage living room. We know that you will love getting to know and learning alongside our phenomenal new contributors.

Please join us in welcoming Barb Roose, Kayla Craig, and KJ Ramsey to (in)courage! They are so eager to meet you too!

Barb Roose:

Hi everyone! I’m Barb, a lifelong Ohioan who thinks about moving south every winter. However, I change my mind every spring when the dogwoods bloom and I resume my daily walks around my historical Victorian neighborhood.

I’m the proud, empty-nest mom of three adult kids. I have one thirteen-year old dog who lives up the street with one of my kids, and I can tell you lots of funny online dating stories. Our family has changed a lot over the past few years. We’ve celebrated, we’ve mourned, and there’s a lot that we’re still trying to gracefully figure out.

During the week, I’m in my office sipping cups of hot tea while writing or connecting with women in some capacity as a speaker, author, and literary agent. For me, the sweetness and spiciness of chai tea energizes me when I’m on a writing deadline or crafting a keynote message. Yet, herbal teas, like Tazo’s luscious Lemon Loaf, are my go-to when brainstorming book ideas with my clients or working with a conference planner about an upcoming speaking event. On many weekends throughout the year, I pack up my tea and teach at women’s conferences and events around the country. My favorite part of those weekends is hanging out with the ladies afterwards and hearing their stories of God’s power and redemption. It fills me up! By the way, if we see each other at a women’s event, know that I’m a hugger. And if we end up going out to dinner, just know that I’m going to eat dessert first.

For years, (in)courage has been a life-giving community to me. Now, it’s a joy for me to join this community so that I can serve you!

Kayla Craig:

Hi, friends! I’m Kayla. It’s an honor to be here! I’m grateful to join such a warm and welcoming space that holds stories with care. I hope my words help you feel a little less alone as we explore knowing a God who is in all things and is making all things new. I consider myself an extroverted contemplative (or is it a contemplative extrovert?), who gets a thrill from deep conversation and learning from others. My background is in journalism, and I hope to bring curiosity and compassion to how I show up not only as a writer, but as a neighbor, friend, and mother, too.

When my husband and I added four children in five years to our family through birth and adoption, I left my role as a journalist to keep up with our wild, wonderful crew and work from home as a writer. Though I’ve worked in newsrooms and spent time as a magazine editor and podcast producer, these days I’m juggling deadlines at home while navigating my sons’ wayward LEGOs and learning to be an advocate for my disabled daughter. I often write about seeing God’s image in our literal and global neighbor, and I’m passionate about catching glimmers of holy moments in unexpected places. I wrote To Light Their Way: A Collection of Prayers & Liturgies for Parents for you when you don’t have the words to pray in this big world of ours that bears the weight of both our weariness and our wonder, too.

My husband and I recently moved back to our hometown, where we were drawn to raising our family in a racially, ethnically, and socio-economically diverse area — and I fell in love with a magical, big, old house that once was a convent! (If you’re ever in Iowa, come visit  — we have room!) I love thrifting and love getting lost in estate sales, and you can usually catch me sipping the strongest black coffee I can find. We have two fluffy dogs (one big and one little) who are always getting into shenanigans, and I have been Jennifer Lopez’s greatest fan since middle school. I have a tender heart, a loud laugh, and I always have room for old books on the shelf and new friends at the table. I’m so excited to get to know you!

KJ Ramsey:

Hello from Colorado! I’m KJ, and I’m so grateful to get to share stories and words here with you in the (in)courage community. Most days you’ll find me hunting for beauty wherever I can, whether it’s flowers on my coffee table, a sunset at our neighborhood park, or golden aspens in the mountains. I’ve been married to my husband Ryan for nearly twelve years, and together we love offering space and solidarity to those who have been harmed in the church. Books and words have been my safe haven since I was tiny, but I spent a lot of my life hiding from the story I was living between the pages of other people’s stories. I used to treat words like an escape hatch. Now I embrace words as a welcome mat.

I’m a trauma-informed therapist and an author with an uncanny ability to choose to write about things that I end up having to live out more fully than I thought imaginable. My second book comes out in June and is about practicing courage, and let’s just say that most days recently I’ve thought, “Why in the world did I choose to write about this?!” Life’s been demanding a lot of courage out of me lately, especially in coping with some debilitating medical challenges. (Of course, I also wrote a book about this called This Too Shall Last: Finding Grace When Suffering Lingers.)

I want nothing more than to welcome you home to your life — even in a story you wouldn’t have authored this way. I pray my words here draw your eyes back to the goodness and beauty in the life you have, with a God who always dwells with you.

—

Barb, Kayla, and KJ, it is truly an honor and joy to welcome you to the (in)courage living room. We are so glad you’re here!

Friends, make sure to come back every day this week because these remarkable women will be sharing their first articles with us. You will LOVE hearing more from their hearts! Leave a comment to welcome them today!

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

You Are His, and You Are Forgiven

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A quick note to you friends! For more than 12 years, we have published daily words of empowering encouragement right here. The words aren’t changing, don’t worry! Beginning today, we are leaning into a new publishing rhythm, and you’ll be able to continue reading and listening to words from our writers every single weekday. On the weekends, we hope you’ll join us on our social channels (Instagram and Facebook are our faves!) and catch up on our podcast! Also, tune in on Monday for BIG EXCITING NEWS! We can’t wait to spill these beans! And now on to today’s article:

The Lord is compassionate and merciful,
    slow to get angry and filled with unfailing love.
He will not constantly accuse us,
    nor remain angry forever.
He does not punish us for all our sins;
    he does not deal harshly with us, as we deserve.
For his unfailing love toward those who fear him
    is as great as the height of the heavens above the earth.
He has removed our sins as far from us
    as the east is from the west.
Psalm 103:8-12 (NLT)

The moment I saw the unfamiliar number flash across the screen, I knew what I’d done. My stomach dropped and my heart jumped into my throat as my wide eyes stared at my phone. Do I answer? What do I say? How could I have done this?

As my phone rang, the meeting I’d forgotten about came rushing back to my mind. I was mortified and full of shame. It wasn’t just a casual coffee date I’d missed. I had been scheduled for months to speak at a moms’ group, and though I’d prepared my talk and written the address (and time!) in my planner, it had somehow slipped my mind completely when I got up that morning. A group of women had been counting on me, and I didn’t show up.

I’ve forgotten meetings and missed appointments before that day — and since. But two things from this incident have stuck with me.

First, my immediate reaction to that phone call surprised me — and not in a good way. Understandably, I was embarrassed and disappointed in myself. Anger and shame seemed like reasonable responses in that moment. But as I touched the button to answer the call, my shame doubled when I took note of the list of excuses running through my head.

My first thought, when faced with a mistake, was to lie about it.

Somehow, thankfully, God gave me the strength and character to own up to what I’d done without trying to cover it up. I answered the call from the meeting coordinator and, in a rush, told her that I’d inexplicably forgotten the meeting and was now so, so, so sorry.

I held my breath as I waited for her response. I didn’t wait long because right away, this woman I’d let down assured me that it was okay. She wasn’t angry, she understood that sometimes we just mess up, and she offered me another chance by rescheduling.

That’s the second thing I’ll never forget. As I hung up the phone, overcome by pent-up tears and adrenaline, I sat on my stairs shaking. I’d been perilously close to compounding my mistake with another, willful one — and just as close to condemnation from the person I’d hurt. And yet, I’d escaped unscathed. Forgiven and free, with a second chance to move forward.

Obviously most of us will make bigger mistakes than missing a meeting. But whether we’re facing sins great or small, every single one of us has sinned. We’ve all fallen short of the holy, unblemished glory of God. And only Jesus can pay the price for our crimes.

Only Jesus can — and only Jesus does. Jesus stands in the gap between the reality of our mistakes and the perfection of God, reaching across the canyon we’ve created to pull us back into relationship with our heavenly Father.

Are you caught in your mistakes right now? In between the phone ringing and picking it up to admit what you’ve done? Don’t be afraid, friend. Like the woman who called me, God isn’t angry. He understands that sometimes we just mess up. And through the sacrifice of Jesus, He wants to offer you another chance.

Don’t hide. Don’t brainstorm ways to cover it up. Don’t beat yourself up, either. Look to the Lord and hear Him say, “You are forgiven.” Accept His mercy, grace, and love.

Beloved, nothing you have ever done or will ever do can separate you from the love of God. He loves you, and that will never change.

You are forgiven.

This story was written by (in)courage writer Mary Carver.

—

What do you say when asked, “Who are you?” It seems like an easy question, except most of us answer incorrectly. We answer with all the roles we play: “I’m a wife/husband, a mom/dad, a daughter/son, an employee.” Those roles are important, but not as important as who you really are.  

Did you know who you are is a direct result of Whose you are?  

You are a child of God. You are loved, forgiven, known, and blessed. You have a purpose and a reason for hope. Your identity is in Christ. You are His.  

Know that the Lord is God. It is he who made us, and we are his; we are his people, the sheep of his pasture.
Psalm 100:3 (NIV)

Come along with DaySpring this year on an adventure to experience the truth of your identity. 

DaySpring has a resource that can help remind you exactly whose you are. Their Hope & Encouragement Bible includes twelve life-changing truths that highlight different dimensions of our identity as children of God. For example, you are loved, you are known, and over all, you are His.

Sign up here for a free sampler excerpt from the Hope & Encouragement Bible! We want these truths to sink into your soul so that you may know how loved you really are, so we’re giving away a Hope & Encouragement Bible! Just leave a comment telling us what it means to you that you are loved by God.

Giveaway open until 11:59pm central on 4/4/2022 to US addresses only.

 

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

No One Makes It Through Their Struggle Alone

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For some time now, I have been slowly and intentionally working on a project that is very close to my heart. This special project combines art, words, beauty, truth, and encouragement.

I have gathered stories from a variety of women in different stages of life, from different backgrounds, different geographical locations, different upbringings, and with different views of the world. I asked each of these women to talk to me about a specific struggle in their life. Some of those struggles were in the past, and some are still happening in the present. Due to my own struggles, I have seen my timeline for this project come and go more than once. Although that has been disappointing, I also know my own struggles have shaped my heart for this project even more so.

Even though their stories run the gamut, sharing things that are difficult and extraordinary, heartbreaking and hopeful, every single one of them had this thing in common: Not one of these women made it through their struggle alone. Each one saw God meet them right where they were and right when they needed Him to meet them the most. He saw them. He met them. He loved them.

He met them in hospitals, in their homes, at their child’s bedside, while caring for their spouse, while mourning, while addicted, while scared, while hoping for miracles. He was there when miracles were found, and He was there weeping alongside when they were not. And you know what, He loves us either way. He is good either way. There is nothing He won’t see us through.

God is our refuge and strength, a very ready help in trouble.
Psalm 46:1 (NASB)

Their stories have taught me beautiful lessons about sorrow and beauty, strength and perseverance, and how struggles come in all shapes and sizes. Struggles are a universal human experience. They are part of everyone’s story. We are all struggling with realities we would have never chosen for ourselves. We think others won’t understand, but they really do. That has also been the beauty of the community here at (in)courage. We share our stories, and we know we are not alone.

It is an unbelievable encouragement to know that no matter what we go through, God will meet us and see us through. He does it again and again. Because I have experienced this first hand, I know He will continue to be there when struggles arise, and arise they will.

This is the beautiful hope I want to give you to carry and hold on to: He will never leave you alone. He loves you. God is part of each and every story. He is with you, and He is for you.

Be strong and courageous, do not be afraid or in dread of them, for the Lord your God is the One who is going with you. He will not desert you or abandon you.
Deuteronomy 31:6 (NASB)

I wanted to leave you with these words of encouragement because this is my last article here as a contributor. If I have done anything in my time here, I want it to be that I have encouraged. I want it to be that someone didn’t feel so alone because they saw themselves in my words, in my story, and that that gave them hope.

It has been incredibly special for me to be part of (in)courage, and it will always have a special place in my heart. I am so very grateful for the community here, for your love and support. Thank you.

If you would like to join Jennifer Ueckert on her journey with art and to keep up with her future projects, sign up for her newsletter here AND get a special discount code for her shop!

 

Listen to Jennifer’s words below or wherever you stream podcasts:

 

First Comes Hunger, Then Comes a Filling

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Here we are: March of 2022 is coming to a close. The first three months of this year have been such a whirlwind for me. Work, travel, working out, church, and trying to be social have been on high speed. If I’m being honest, the last year has hovered at that speed. Don’t get me wrong. I love having a full and active life, but I can sometimes find fulfillment in the busyness. I can even find my identity in it as well.

The more I live in this rhythm, the more I want to live in this rhythm, and the easier it becomes to do so. It very much becomes an insatiable hunger. The past couple of years have been a huge opportunity to set aside every distraction in order to set my gaze upon Christ, but in so many ways, I fell short and missed much of the opportunity. Along with keeping myself busy, I took many occasions to mindlessly numb out and disconnect from life.

My church recently had a conference called The Presence of God Conference. With a name like that, the expectation was set really high. The guest pastor recounted many stories of how God ushered in a mighty revival in his dad’s church throughout much of his childhood. That powerful move of God marked his life in every way. This pastor, now in his seventies, had witnessed the Lord show up in more ways than he could remember. He repeatedly teared up in awe and wonder of what the Lord had done in his life. And it was simply from an overflow of spending intimate and consistent time with Him.

Hearing this convicted me. I began to reflect on the past year, and I realized that my hunger for God had waned significantly. I’d allowed myself to be satisfied with temporary and frivolous pleasures.

The beginning of Matthew 5 finds Jesus sitting on a mountainside with His disciples teaching them what it looks like to manifest Christlikeness. One of the verses that kept coming to mind was verse 6, “Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled.” It’s a beautiful promise from God to His children. First comes hunger and then comes a filling.

We were created with a hunger or deep desire, and that desire is met in one way or another. This world offers countless ways to lose ourselves and the enemy of our souls offers even more.

The pastor at the conference shared how holy dissatisfaction is often what stirs up hunger for God within us, and I recognized that I had become too satisfied with what this life offers. It was definitely a wake-up call.

I’ve heard it said that God responds to hunger, and it’s true. In our own lives, we do the same thing. When we’re hungry, we respond and eat. We do this for our bodies, but we are also called to do this for our souls. We have been given Jesus, the Bread of Life and our Living Water. He became broken bread and poured-out wine for us on the cross, and He is the only One who can completely satisfy our hunger. In light of that sacrifice, how could we not yearn for Him above anything and everything else?

As this year keeps going, I want to live a life defined by a deep longing for Christ and Christ alone. I want to be ruined for anything else that claims to satisfy. I want to hunger and thirst for God knowing that He is faithful to respond and move as only He can do.

Have you become satisfied with what leaves you empty? How can you turn back toward God to feed the hunger of your soul?

 

Listen to Karina’s words below or on your fave podcast app:

 

Hope in the Middle of the Storm + a Launch Day Giveaway!

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It’s been a hard season, and we’re looking for some hope. Aren’t you? We’re ready to look at how God offers us hope — real, certain, unshakable hope — because we’re pretty sure that looking at where that hope comes from and what it looks like in our lives will help us understand what hope is and the difference it makes. It will allow God to create in us a heart of hope.

That’s why we’re full of HOPE and joy today to tell you that our newest (in)courage Bible study, Create in Me a Heart of Hope, is now available! Cue the confetti! This Bible study features the real-life, going-first kind of stories you know and love from our (in)courage writers and some in-depth Scripture study — like the excerpt we’re sharing below, written by Mary Carver. Read on for a taste of Create in Me a Heart of Hope:

As evening came, Jesus said to his disciples, “Let’s cross to the other side of the lake.” So they took Jesus in the boat and started out, leaving the crowds behind (although other boats followed). But soon a fierce storm came up. High waves were breaking into the boat, and it began to fill with water. Jesus was sleeping at the back of the boat with his head on a cushion. The disciples woke him up, shouting, “Teacher, don’t you care that we’re going to drown?” When Jesus woke up, he rebuked the wind and said to the waves, “Silence! Be still!” Suddenly the wind stopped, and there was a great calm.
Mark 4:35-39 (NLT)

The story of Jesus calming the storm is told in three of the four Gospels: Matthew, Mark, and Luke. Each account describes a trip across the lake after a long day of teaching. Jesus — who was fully God yet also fully human — was understandably tired and took a nap. While He was sleeping, a great storm blew in. Just as the waves threatened to overwhelm the boat, fear threatened to overwhelm the disciples.

We often react the same way, don’t we? We can become overwhelmed by external circumstances (relationship troubles, job loss, debt, too many demands on our time, parenting, caring for elderly parents) or by internal conditions (fear, anxiety, depression, anger, resentment). And when it feels like the winds of those overwhelming storms might knock us down for good, we frequently find ourselves looking around frantically. Can anyone help me? Does anyone notice what’s going on here? Who’s in charge? Where is God in all this?

We can become so overwhelmed with fear or pain that we lash out, looking for anything to stop the storm. We might begin to seek solutions or solace from anyone or anything that offers a substitute for real hope or help. We turn to Google or Facebook, a punishing workout, or a numbing drink. All the while, God is holding us in His hand. He isn’t asleep, and He hasn’t forgotten about us — even when in our panic we’ve forgotten about Him.

Like the disciples in the boat with Jesus, we desperately need hope when life is overwhelming and we’re tempted to panic and forget what’s true. But while we’re all going to falter in our faith at times, it’s what we do next that counts. Will we spiral deeper into panic and doubt? Or will we acknowledge God’s presence and power and turn our focus back to Him?

In Mark 4:39, to stop a raging storm, Jesus utters just three words: “Silence! Be still!” These words echo Psalm 46, which begins with a familiar declaration of hope: “God is our refuge and strength, always ready to help in times of trouble” (v. 1 NLT). Toward the end of that psalm, God says, “Be still, and know that I am God!” (v. 10 NLT). We see a similar command even earlier, in the book of Exodus. As Moses attempts to calm and reassure the Israelites during their escape from Egypt, he says, “The Lord will fight for you, and you must be quiet” (Exodus 14:14). Other translations of that verse say you must “remain calm” or “keep still.”

When we read these passages together, a clear picture is formed of a God who can win wars and calm storms with a single word. So even though our life may feel like pure chaos as we juggle (and drop) balls in our attempt to manage everything on our own, He is not just offering us a lifeline. He is our lifeline. He is our rope of hope when we are overwhelmed, showing us again and again that He is our best and only hope.

What difference could this kind of heart-strengthening hope make in your everyday life? How have you seen God remain the same through changing seasons or circumstances? 

Isn’t a taste of hope just what we all need right now? The Create in Me a Heart of Hope Bible Study is the first in our upcoming series of four studies, and it’s available wherever books are sold, including:

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

To celebrate the release of Create in Me a Heart of Hope, we’re giving away FIVE gift bundles!* Just leave a comment on this post answering one of the reflection questions above, and you’ll be entered to win a bundle that includes:

We’re thrilled that this Bible study is finally able to be in your hands. Get your copy and let’s learn what God says about hope. Can’t wait to start? Sign up below and we’ll send you the first week of the Create in Me a Heart of Hope Bible Study for FREE so you can start right away!

Join the Online Bible Study today and get your FREE gifts!

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

*Giveaway open until 4/1/22 at 11:59 pm central to US addresses only.

A Life That Stands No Matter the Storms

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The house didn’t look like much the first time we saw it. Overgrown trees and bushes crowded the drive, obscuring the front walk and much of the house itself. The realtor had told us it’d been vacant for more than a year. By the looks of it, the house had been neglected for at least a decade before that.

Leaving the pitiful landscaping behind, the realtor unlocked the door and we went inside. With a quick glance, we realized the interior needed work as well. And several days later, a home inspection revealed the home needed far more than cosmetic help. A new roof. New stucco and exterior paint. An overhaul of the septic system. Repair of water damage to the hardwood floors. Replacement of multiple broken windows and an inoperable air conditioning unit. And those were just the big items.

Even so, we remained undeterred. We’d seen homes like this before. In the years we’d been married, my contractor husband and I have remodeled three homes just like this one.

“It has a good foundation,” he told me, after reviewing all the facts. And that’s all I needed to hear. Because we both knew that what mattered most was not the house itself as much as the foundation on which it sat. As long as a house was solid at the base, we could take care of everything else. And that’s exactly what we’ve been doing in the seventeen months since we moved in.

In Matthew 7, Jesus tells the story of the wise and foolish builders, a story I’ve loved since I was a little girl in Sunday school:

Therefore, everyone who hears these words of mine and puts them into practice is like a wise man who built his house on the rock. The rain came down, the streams rose, and the winds blew and beat against that house, yet it did not fall, because it had its foundation on the rock. But everyone who hears these words of mine and does not put them into practice is like a foolish man who built his house on sand. The rain came down, the streams rose, and the winds blew and beat against that house, and it fell with a great crash.
Matthew 7:24-27 (NIV)

Similar to a house, the life of faith will face storms. It’s not a matter of if, but when. And although day-to-day upkeep matters and a good attempt at interior decorating will transform the inside into a thing of beauty, what makes a life strong and secure has little to do with wallpaper, paint colors, and a good solid cleaning. It is not the cosmetic fixes that hold up a life of faith, but what sits at its foundation.

I have a question for you, and it’s not an easy one. In fact, I want you to spend a few moments considering it, with as much honest self-reflection as you can muster:

If someone performed a home inspection on your life, what would they say about the foundation of it?

As much as I want to believe my foundation would prove sound, I’m not so sure. Any one of the following could be said to be my foundation:

  • A happy marriage
  • Whole and healthy children
  • Ministry and service
  • Hard work and determination
  • Financial security
  • Being a “good person”

Although this list might, at first glance, seem good or even noble, none were meant to be the foundation of a life. Every single one is sand, not a Savior. And if my life is built on these things, if my sense of security and hope is wrapped up in marriage, children, my own hard work, and a daily sense of happiness, all it will take is a storm in one area to take the whole thing down.

Why? None can save me. And not one will last.

As for God, his way is perfect:
The Lord’s word is flawless;
he shields all who take refuge in him.
For who is God besides the Lord?
And who is the Rock except our God?
It is God who arms me with strength
and keeps my way secure.
Psalm 18:30-32 (NIV)

Friends, there is nothing wrong with a life filled with family and ministry, service and kindness. Heaven knows this world could use a whole lot more simple goodness. But make no mistake: none of those things are strong enough to secure your life. You and I need a foundation bigger and stronger. And the good news is there is no Rock like our God.

 

Listen to and share Michele’s words below (or wherever you stream podcasts):

Thanking God in Advance While Waiting for an Answer

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For twenty-two years, I have listened to my dad end his prayers with the phrase, “And we’ll thank You for it, amen.” After respectfully bringing his requests to the Lord, he always closed with that phrase. Whether his familiar voice settled around the family dining table or floated to my back-row seat in the church auditorium, I marveled at his sincere and firm faith to thank God for His answer even before he received it.

During my junior year of college, I struggled with my own faith in God. That year I was given challenges and trials that seemed heavier than I could carry. I felt like I would just be beginning to stand from the battering of one trial, when another one would smack me back down, and I didn’t understand why.

Well-meaning friends would tell me, “Just have faith in God.” But that didn’t comfort me. In fact, it made me mad. I didn’t know what that phrase meant. I didn’t understand what this abstract faith was, and I didn’t know how to pray for it.

One night, I sat in a cold, echoing stairwell, talking to my mom on the phone. She quoted Scripture and gently tried to guide me back to the truth. Through hiccupping sobs, I said, “I don’t know if I believe that God is even real anymore.” I spent countless hours in that stairwell, debating if He cared or even existed. I fought scrappy, ugly battles with this idea of faith, and I never seemed to win.

As I struggled that semester, I read through the gospels several times, searching for an answer. I was angry at God for the things He kept throwing my way. I didn’t read the Bible with a tender heart, searching for comfort; I read them with an expectant attitude, demanding that Jesus explain Himself.

But because God is loving and far more patient with me than I deserve, He didn’t give up on me. One night, as I read my Bible by flashlight, I came across a passage about a desperate, frantic man, and I saw myself in him.

Jesus said to him, “‘If you can’? Everything is possible for the one who believes.” Immediately the father of the boy cried out, “I do believe; help my unbelief!”
Mark 9:23-24 (CSB)

When I read this hurting man’s cry, something resonated deep inside me. I realized that his cry echoed what I had been crying all along. I knew who God was, and I didn’t want to forget the belief that I had based my life on, but my faith was flimsy and fragile.

In the following verses, Jesus answers the man’s desperate prayer, proving that for Jesus to answer me, I didn’t have to have a lot of this faith that I didn’t understand but just an understanding that it existed.

These verses were my lifeline through the rest of the semester, and I clung to them desperately. When trials would press down on me, and I was tempted to feel bitter, I whispered those verses. I was still spiritually in deep waters, but I had something keeping me afloat that helped me finish the semester.

Once I was finally home, I heard my dad pray again at our dining room table. He named his requests, and he ended his prayer just like he always did:

“And we’ll thank You for it, amen.”

My heartbeat slowed, as I realized that was it. That was all of it. I couldn’t believe how simple it was. Faith was bringing my requests before God with the complete confidence that I would be thanking Him for His answer, no matter what it might be.

My dad trusted that God heard him, that God saw him, that God was already working on an answer. He trusted Him so much that he was already planning his prayer of thanks.

This realization gave my heart rest that it had never known. There was so much peace going from a stance of defiance and closed fists to one of surrender and open hands.

As I transfer from college into the “real world,” I still struggle with the trials and changes that God sends my way. But instead of getting furious at God and demanding that He change my circumstances, I am learning to bring my requests to God and leave them there. I am learning that faith is a surrendered heart — a heart that prays and thanks God while waiting for His answer.

This post was originally written by Abigail Conway for (in)courage in May 2019.

The Grace That Saves Is the Grace That Sustains

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As a young believer, I found myself corralling grace into a corner — by grace I have been saved. Conversion was the theological boundary of grace in my mind.  By it, I was adopted into God’s family and granted the future hope of heaven, but surely, the hard work — the blood, sweat, and tears — of living for Jesus depended on my strength and ability.

In writing to the Ephesian church, Paul understood the strong human desire to boast, but before he points out the sheer grace that saves all believers, he provides a stunning account of the spiritual blessings that we are granted in Christ — indeed, the grace of God extends far beyond only plucking us from hell!

In Ephesians 1, Paul sings praise to God for His grace in choosing us, redeeming us, adopting and forgiving us. He goes on, giving thanks for the grace of the Holy Spirit’s presence in us, the grace of growing in wisdom and knowing Christ. God’s grace not only saves us but also opens the door for us to know Christ with greater intimacy.

This is good news:  The grace of God that saved me once sustains me now.  Rather than patches of parched land, His grace covers the landscape of my life, and what a holy covering it is.

The beauty of God’s sustaining grace has moved off the pages of my theology textbooks and spread into every corner of my life. For the past few years, we have been losing my father to a disease that is slowly crippling both his body and his brain. This season of prolonged grief and loss continues to show me that grace is not just a divine response for help. As I care for my father, the gift of grace characterizes countless moments throughout my day.

Grace is the precious time I’ve been given with my dad in the face of death. Grace is the encouragement of friends when I’m confused and overwhelmed. Grace is a long peaceful walk, a smile from my dad, contagious laughter with my sister. God’s grace meets me in my tears and in my joy. His grace sustains me. His grace abounds.

With His sustaining grace, I know Jesus is near in the midst of pain and loss.

Yet in this sin-stained world, suffering can hold a commanding presence, and grace can seem more bitter than sweet. Believe me, what is being taken away from my father, from me, from our family, can feel like a greater injustice than the goodness that is coming about through this trial. The tension is strong: I am losing my father to an ugly disease while gaining precious time with him, moments of eternal significance. And this is where grace cuts in, and the presence of Christ becomes more real than ever. Christ may not eradicate this painful situation, but He has promised His presence and the comfort of His Spirit, come what may. Though loss lingers in our home, Christ covers us with His grace.

John celebrates this reality when he opens his gospel with a lyrical description of Christ’s incarnation.

And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we have seen his glory, glory as of the only Son from the Father, full of grace and truth. For from His fullness we have all received, grace upon grace.
John 1:14, 16 (ESV)

In Jesus Christ, we receive boundless grace — grace that saves us and grace that sustains us. I am wholly undeserving of this gift, this grace that covers my life. I am left echoing Paul’s words to the Ephesians 1:14: all of this I have been given for the praise of his glory.  I can take no credit. I can make no boast. I can only give thanks to the One who is present with me in the pain and covers me daily with His grace.

For by grace you have been saved through faith. And this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God, not a result of works, so that no one may boast.
Ephesians 2:8-9 (ESV)

This post was originally written by Christina Crawford for (in)courage in August 2019.

When Your Roots Are Slow to Grow

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I’ll admit it: I’ve cussed more than once over my gardening frustrations in Colorado. Planting in pots offers me great success, yet attempting to grow boxwoods or roses or carrots in the ground brings mostly failure. Our soil is stubborn yet sandy as can be, so planting directions include extensive aids. The prolific deer like to eat every green thing from the top downward, and they laugh — cackle! — in the face of “deer resistant” labels. Voles like to eat everything from below ground upward. We have hail storms that have turned my gorgeously growing plants into pathetic green shrapnel.

While all this may be true, it’s also true I won’t give up gardening. I’m committed to learning what works and what doesn’t. But gardening is just that: work. It simply takes a long time for roots to grow here.

On a similar note, I didn’t think I’d ever grow roots here in Colorado. I know that sounds ridiculous since in many ways, Colorado is dang near paradise. It’s beautiful in that jaw-dropping, mountain-majestic kind of way. I know countless people who grew up here before leaving for college or employment, but they eventually boomeranged right back to the Front Range. People spend thousands of dollars to vacation here. In the military community, Colorado is consistently one of the most highly coveted assignment locations.

When we moved here in 2010, courtesy of the US Air Force, we loved that several other friends lived here as well. So I wasn’t lonely in the same way I had been when we moved to places I knew no one outside my immediate family.

After my husband David retired from the US Air Force, we decided it was best for our family to stay here, and David took a civilian job in the local area. Given all the advantages of Colorado and our personal plans of staying put, I asked myself one question over and over: Kristen, what is your problem that you can’t feel at home here like everyone else? 

Part of that answer lied in the weather. While I like winter more than I used to, I’ll always tilt towards summer, and summers here are short. However, I knew this went deeper than a lack of warm weather. I just couldn’t get used to the idea that this was where we would likely live for the foreseeable future, even though my husband and kids were thrilled.

I wish this was the part of the story where I tell you a big shift occurred, where things miraculously changed and I immediately felt more settled in here. But I can’t. What I can tell you is I sensed God telling me all along the way that even if Colorado didn’t feel like home today, it was home. And it would eventually feel that way too. All I could do in response was to hang my feelings on that peg of faith by believing God meant it.

As I waited to feel like I belonged, I walked through my days doing what I could to affect what was in my control. I reached out to folks — a lot. I showed up at places other women were. My family and I opened up our home to share dinner, dessert, or coffee with other people. I prayed and asked for Jesus’s help a lot. I went outside not just when the weather was warm but also when it wasn’t. I read books, like Jennifer Dukes Lee’s Growing Slow, and I learned it often takes time to grow good things, and God works in powerful ways while I wait.

Slowly, surely, I started forming real connections with others. Not with every person with whom I engaged, mind you. But with enough that it helped me settle in more. I started to look forward to Colorado-specific events and happenings. One apple-crisp fall day, after eleven years of what felt like work through stubborn, sandy soil, I looked at our big, golden-leafed cottonwood at the end of our lane and realized with a little bit of shock, I don’t want to leave here. I said to David, “Ya know, this place feels like home.” And I meant it.

It was one of those moments when faith became sight.

This past summer, I invited a gardening expert out to our house to give me specific advice on what to plant where. At one point, I lamented to him that I thought I needed to move my lilac bush to a different location because it wasn’t really thriving.

He asked me, “When did you plant it?” I responded, “About two years ago.” He stooped down to look at the plant more closely. Looking up at me, he said, “It generally takes three years for plants to become established, if not a bit longer where we live. Think of it as ‘sleep, creep, then leap’ kind of progress. There is new growth on this lilac bush, and next year you will see a good deal more. I would leave it where it is.”

With spring still a little ways away, I can’t yet report if it will hold an explosion of lilac blooms. I’ve done what I can to nurture the plant, so I’m hopeful. But if it does need more time to grow roots before it takes off? No matter. Sometimes, it simply takes a long time for roots to grow for plants . . .

and people.

 

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