Church Is Not About Me

Church Is Not About Me

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In the beginning we sat near the back. I would have said it was because of our young son — just in case we needed to go to the nursery to check on him. But if I’m honest, it was because I wanted to be closer to the exit.

My husband and I were visiting a new church for the first time in many years. We’d been at our previous church for over a decade, and when we left, it had been under painful circumstances. As I considered joining — really joining — a new church, I couldn’t help but wonder, What if we commit ourselves here only to be hurt again?

We continued to show up week after week, but I continued to plant one foot squarely by the door. Sure, on the outside I chatted warmly and even agreed to help lead a women’s Bible study. But on the inside I felt stiff — like I was wearing a suit of armor.

And then I met Jessica.

She was about my age with searching eyes, a gentle voice, and a set of difficult circumstances. She came to Bible study each week with an eagerness that was palpable. Jessica wanted to learn, and she knew she needed Jesus.

One week when we divided into smaller groups to discuss a passage from 1 Corinthians, one of the women stated how grateful she felt for the sanctification process. Most of the others nodded in agreement, except for Jessica. Her eyes clouded with confusion, and she began pouring over her Bible.

“Ladies, let’s back up a second,” I said. “Let’s clarify what sanctification means. Who would like to explain it to us?”

For the next few minutes, the women shared their understanding of the term, opening to different passages in the New Testament to illustrate. At first Jessica listened quietly, but then she began asking questions, and soon, a wave of understanding crossed her face. She smiled and left the study that morning with fresh confidence — in both her understanding of the Bible and in Christ’s promise to make her more and more like Him.

And that’s when it hit me: Church is not about me. It is about sharing the love of Jesus with others.

In my hurt and disappointment, I had made the church into a community that owed me something. If I pour out my time, energy, and heart, then I expect good in return. However, this was not Jesus’ approach at all. Rather, He chose to love the Church no matter the return.

And if I really wanted to be the Church — the very body of Christ to a broken world (1 Corinthians 12:27) — then I would need to love it as He did.

I drove home from Bible study with fresh eyes. Yes, there would be pain in the Church on this side of heaven, but I could trust Jesus to carry me through any circumstance. As Isaiah 49:10 declares, “I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.”

Piece by piece I began to lay down the walls of defense around my heart, asking Jesus to heal the tender places. And for the first time in a long while, I exhaled — not because I felt better, but because my awe in the goodness of God outweighed the hurt that had been holding me back.

Maybe you’ve experienced pain in the church, too. Maybe you find yourself reliving past hurts, reluctant to step wholeheartedly into new relationships or serving opportunities. If this is you, I encourage you to lay your wounds before our heavenly Father and lean on His promise to heal the brokenhearted (Psalm 147:3). You may need to meet with a counselor, seek to resolve a past hurt, or set a boundary for your safety. Whatever it takes, your brave work toward healing will be worth it.

And when you are ready, ask God to fill you with courage for the good work He has set before you (Ephesians 2:10). Stepping out may feel vulnerable and hard, but because of our Savior — the One who upholds us — we can choose lives of courageous love over self-protection.

The Sunday after Bible study that week, I slid into my usual pew toward the back of the sanctuary, but something in me felt lighter. I was free — not from the sting of hurt but from the weight of shielding myself from it. Trusting Jesus with my heart, I took a deep breath. Lord, I’m all in. 

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Holding Space for the Person You’ve Become

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The doctor looks up from her file and asks me how long it’s been since I’ve had blood work done. I don’t remember. I know it’s been more than six years since I went to the doctor regularly, and I tell her this as my shoulders slump. In the weeks leading up to finding a new doctor, I told my husband I couldn’t put a finger on why I avoided doing this tiny thing to care for myself for so long these past few years. On one hand, as a mom of three, there’s always something to do to care for others and this was often my mental excuse. Making an appointment repeatedly fell to the end of my to-do list. Hypocritically, while pushing it to the end of the list until it eventually fell off, I encouraged those I love to take care of themselves and to listen to their bodies. I cross my legs then uncross them as my new doctor types in notes on her computer. She is soft-spoken and petite; her gentle eyes speak for the rest of her face as we talk to each other through our masks. She asks if I’ve had a mammogram since I’m over forty and I think back to that milestone birthday, the summer before COVID, and how I had intended to make an appointment for one way back then. Our bodies being carried through the passage of time, experiences, and relationships is a dance of welcome, resistance, and surrender. Sometimes the dance feels beautiful, but most of the time, at least for me, it’s awkward, uncomfortable, and clumsy. The minute I feel comfortable in my own skin, it changes again. Last month, I went on a trip to Cabo with fellow (in)courage writers, and the weeks leading up to the trip, I was so anxious about being with so many people in a new place after becoming used to being at home with my immediate family for so long. In a message thread pre-trip, I shared how anxious I was feeling, and my friend Rachel wrote and said something like, “We are ready to see and be with you — and not just who you were before but who you’ve become.” Her words of welcome beckoned me to ask myself if I was ready to see and be with the person I’d become after the last two years. I realized that I didn’t want to schedule a doctor’s appointment and then be asked about blood work and mammograms because I hadn’t fully received who I’d become. I am not merely a woman facing midlife; I am a woman who’s faced nights without sleep, dark doubts, hurt, and anger. I am a woman who’s wrestled against bitterness throughout the last two years of church transitions, soul-sucking news headlines, changes in relationships, and changes within myself. I am a woman who is weary and unsure of how to welcome all of the weariness within me. I push my Nikes into the silver footrest protruding from the patient bed while the white paper crinkles under my weight, and I think about how many places my ever-changing body has taken me and how it’s carried me home again and again. I wiggle my toes to remind myself to be in my skin and to wake up to what is. I whisper a prayer, asking Jesus, our God who comes near, the master of being with us right where we are, “Help me welcome who I’ve become. Let me experience Your love for my body, mind, and heart right now.” I watch the blood work vials fill up, and I remember how Jesus offered His own blood not only to give me life but to welcome every part and year of me. I recall His words in Matthew 11:28 while sitting in the cold hospital room, “Come to me, all of you who are weary and carry heavy burdens, and I will give you rest,” as if He’s right there with me, arms wide open to all of midlife, pandemic-changed me. Jesus welcomes weariness. He knew we would become weary, and He knows what it’s like to feel the weariness we feel deep in our bones. He doesn’t chastise or shame us for it. Jesus never said, “Try harder, do better, or get back to who you were in body, mind, or spirit.” Instead, Jesus offers a consistent place to rest our weary hearts. Jesus, the one who often had nowhere to rest His own head, calls us towards Himself, welcomes who we have become, and says, “It’s okay. I see you. Let me feed you and give you rest.”

 How have you changed after the last few years and how can you give yourself space to be welcomed, loved, and cared for just as you are today?

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A Prayer for the Graduate and for the Mom of the Graduate

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A couple of months ago, someone asked me how I was doing in light of my baby girl graduating high school in May. Smiling weakly, I told her I’m doing okay more often than not, but the “not doing okay” parts felt mighty heavy.

If you know me at all, you know this isn’t my first graduation rodeo as my twin sons graduated high school four years ago. But it is my first graduation with the baby of the family, and I find that reality brings with it more complicated feelings. In the words of my good friend Aimée, “Sending your first born off is like picking at a Band-Aid, and then sending your baby out into the world rips the Band-Aid off all together.”

Yep, that about sums it up.

Of course, I’ll miss Faith no more than her brothers. But when she leaves, her daddy and I will be ushered into a whole new stage of parenting known as Empty Nest-dom. All in all, I’m looking forward to this life change as it’s a very good one, yet my heart is tender toward the losses that come alongside the joys.

If that’s you too, mama, I offer you this:

A Prayer for the Graduate and for the Mom of the Graduate

Dear Father in Heaven,

No matter where my child is headed next — trade school, immediate employment, or college — I thank You that Your presence goes with her. Guide her thoughts, motivations, actions, and plans so they’re in line with Yours. Guide her heart to want to follow Yours.

Help her be a light that brightens the lives of those around her, so others may see You around them too.

When my child is stressed and discouraged, give her a hopeful vision of her future and a steadfast spirit in the present. Give her discerning wisdom beyond her still young years for every choice and decision.

Surround her with kind people who are for her, who love her and act in her best interest. Help her to be the same to others.

Give her favor among her professors, teachers, employers, and peers, and help her to be kind and strong.

Thank you that she can’t cross the street without Your presence crossing it with her.

And Lord, when the house feels much emptier than it did before, comfort me and show me Your goodness to come. Help me see my nest not as an empty (or emptier) nest but a changing nest. Help me see and name the good things You still have in mind for me in my new season.

Only You know every way I’ve showed up for her again and again through the years. While showing up for her may look different in this new season, help me keep showing up in the way she needs — no more, no less.

Lord, you know my regrets over the many times I’ve made mistakes in my parenting. When I wish for do-overs, remind me that Your grace fills my gaps and submerges my mistakes. I pray You bring to my mind and my child’s mind all the good memories made through the years, and may we keep them like treasured pebbles in our pockets.

May my child be acutely aware that while she no longer resides under our roof, she’ll always reside in my heart. (In other words, remind her to call her mama!)

Turn my sadness for this season into wonder for Your ways, for it holds wondrously good within it too. I shall see Your goodness in the land of the living. And thank you that no matter what change I experience, it comes with Your same promise of presence — for both me and my child.

In the unchanging name of Jesus,
Amen

If you’re a mama of a recent graduate who’s flitting the nest, Kristen has written The Changing Nest: A Devotional for the Mom of the Graduate just for you. Click here to learn more!

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Two Things That Changed Me Coming Out of the Pandemic

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Last summer I felt stuck, like a car in a muddy puddle, tires spinning without getting any traction. (Admittedly, that metaphor stems from some real life experience.) The pandemic had worn me down. I was apathetic and numb. I didn’t have much to give and needed a reset. 

September came like a promise the way it often does, bringing me feelings of a fresh start. At the same time I began two things: spiritual direction and attending a Monday night young adults service at a nearby church. 

I didn’t know it then, but both those things began to change me. To be fair, it’s more accurate to say Jesus started using those things to change me. He is the One who brings healing and freedom, but He happened to use two practices I’d resisted before: contemplation and community. 

I didn’t want to do spiritual direction. The spiritual director had set up some fairly strict parameters — we would practice nine months of prayer and meet bi-weekly on Tuesday nights on Zoom to talk about what God was doing in our lives. 

I’m not exaggerating when I say nine months is one of the longest commitments I’ve made (God is clearly still working in me). The thought terrified me. But my friend and I agreed to do it together. 

I began to pray each day, each morning, in the same chair with the same throw tucked around my legs. I opened the same books — words from Scripture and Saint Ignatius of Loyola — and I began to contemplate who Jesus is more than I’ve ever contemplated before. I began to pray, not just with words but with my life. I prayed in the mornings, in the kitchen while cooking, in the car while driving, in the moments before I met a friend for coffee, in the folds of each mundane day. My life, it seemed, began to become a prayer itself. 

Contemplation — spending focused time with Jesus in prayer, Scripture, and meditation — started to deeply change me. 

But Jesus didn’t just meet me in the mornings when He and I were alone. He also met me so graciously in community. 

I started to attend a Monday night young adults group at a church nearby. I was resistant to this too — mostly because I’m hardly a young adult anymore. I think the term to sum me up these days is simply an adult. But I was also resistant because community is challenging, and I’d gotten used to being inside my apartment alone for the last two years. 

I pushed through the resistance and went anyway. Then I went again. And again. Suddenly six months had gone by, and I realized I was seeing and encountering Jesus in new ways because I was seeing Him in the people around me. 

For some of us, spending time in contemplation with Jesus is easy. We love to wake early, splay open our Bibles, and soak in time with our Savior face-to-face. For others, it’s the community that comes more naturally. We see God more clearly when we’re shoulder-to-shoulder with others who love Him. 

Jesus didn’t change me only through contemplation, spending time alone with Him. Jesus didn’t change me only through community, seeing Him through others. Jesus changed me through both. 

He Himself practiced both these beautiful disciplines. He’d sneak away early in the morning, seeking the face of His Father. Over and over in Scripture, we see how Jesus made meeting with God a priority. (I often wonder: if this was so high on the Son of God’s priority list, shouldn’t it be the highest on mine?) But although Jesus was in constant contemplation, He also lived in community — and I imagine the disciples weren’t always the easiest to get along with.

Pastor Rich Villodas recently wrote, “Jesus lived in perpetual communion with the Father but still needed a community of brothers and sisters. We can’t do it alone.”

I am becoming more convinced that the two things we need as we slowly start to navigate our way out of the pandemic is contemplation and community. We need time with Jesus — abiding with Him every single day, deepening our roots into who He is. But we also need community — digging in deep with people who love Jesus and show us the facets of His character we don’t always see. 

We’re all in different stages and seasons, so this is going to look unique for each of us. Maybe you can’t get up early to pray because you have tiny children who wake up far earlier than you do. Maybe you haven’t found a safe church space yet, or you still need to be careful about going out in public. 

Regardless of where you find yourself today, may I urge you gently, kindly, friend to friend? 

However it may look for you, seek Jesus alone and seek Jesus in community. 

We need Him, and we need each other. 

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Let’s Study Hope Together!

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Have you ever felt hopeless? Perhaps you’re facing circumstances you never prepared for or even imagined. Maybe you’re looking for any hint of encouragement, any inkling that this — whatever your this might be — won’t last forever or destroy you. Maybe you’re afraid to hope, or perhaps you’re not even sure what hope is.

We get it.

This summer, let’s look for hope together!

Join our summer Online Bible Study and let’s go through Create in Me a Heart of Hope, the new (in)courage Bible study from DaySpring, written by Mary Carver and featuring stories from your favorite (in)courage writers.

Create in Me a Heart of Hope looks at how God offers us hope — real, certain, unshakable hope. Looking at where that hope comes from and what it looks like in our lives will help us understand what hope is and what difference it makes. It will allow God to create in us a heart of hope.

The online study starts on Monday, June 6th, so you’ve still got time to join!

Here’s what you need to know:

  1. The study runs from June 6 to July 15.
  2. Every Monday you can start reading that week’s chapter, and we’ll share the memory verse for the week on our Instagram feed.
  3. On Thursdays, you can tune in on Instagram for “Ten Minutes of Hope with Mary” — a brief, inspiring live video that dives deeper into that week’s theme.
  4. Each week, we’ll send you an email with a memory verse lockscreen, Mary’s video, reflection questions, and other bonuses along the way.

You will need a copy of Create in Me a Heart of Hope to fully participate in the study. We will provide the reading guidelines, discussion questions, and video conversations! You’ll also need to officially sign up for the study (it’s free!). Click here to register, and when you do, we’ll send you the first week from Create in Me a Heart of Hope AND a printable page of Scripture memory bookmarks for FREE!

Invite a few friends to join you! If you’re looking for a way to connect with other women, this is a great way to do so. Simply read each week of Bible study, then gather to watch that week’s video, enjoy your own discussion, and close in prayer. Make sure to check out our FREE Leaders Guide for Create in Me a Heart of Hope for some extra tips.

That’s it! Fun and low-stress, right? We can’t wait to get started on Monday!

Whatever you’re facing, God’s unshakable hope can meet you there. Join us this summer as we seek a heart of hope.

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

 

 

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The Gift of Wisdom Comes Through Community

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Wisdom comes with age, or at least that’s what they say. I’ve learned that that’s not always the case. I’ve met teenagers who are wise beyond their years and older people who in many ways haven’t gained the wisdom their years would assume they would have. Wisdom doesn’t just naturally come with age.

God has much to say about wisdom. His Word is filled with verses about wisdom. Proverbs 2 tells us that God is the One who gives wisdom. When something is given, it is a gift. James 1 instructs us to ask God for wisdom if we are lacking it and it will be generously given. James 3 reminds us that humility comes from wisdom. Ephesians 1 says we receive the Spirit of wisdom and revelation, which enables us to know Christ better.

I often pride myself on being wise. I can associate it with the fact that I am forty-one or that I have overcome certain challenges. It could be because I have a ton of common sense or because I am incredibly independent. But that’s not enough to be wise. 

The Spirit of wisdom comes when we ask Him to come. He comes when we acknowledge our need, and often He comes through community.

Proverbs 13:20 commands us to “walk with the wise and become wise, for a companion of fools suffers harm.” When you look around at your life, are you surrounded by wise people? It matters who we are surrounded by, and I have found that to be true in my life even as I get older.

A few months ago, I reconnected with Sandra, an older woman whom I met a few years prior at a local Christian Women in Media meeting. Sitting around a table, we each shared a dream we had for our lives and what we felt was an obstacle to that dream. Afterwards, we exchanged contact information in order to cheer each other on and keep each other accountable. It was a beautiful time together, and I left feeling encouraged in my dream though I still had some doubt that it would ever happen.

Soon after the meeting, I received a call from Sandra. She and her husband have been in ministry for decades. She shared with me how the Lord spoke to her to do whatever she could to help me accomplish His calling for my life. Honestly, I was in a bit of disbelief. No one had ever taken that much of an interest in my life before. We began meeting almost weekly. I’ve broken bread with her and her husband. He’s spoken life and purpose into me, and Sandra has been a wealth of wisdom and the queen of testimonies.

She has repeatedly poured out her time, energy, resources, gifts, counsel, and prayer into my life. She has given freely and generously, and I couldn’t be more grateful to God for the treasure she has been to me.

We need wisdom in how we live our lives, how we parent, how we work, how we make decisions, and how we minister. God designed us to be in community so we can receive wisdom from each other; we were never meant to do life alone. No matter our age, season of life, or circumstances, we can all give and receive wisdom. This wisdom blesses not only our lives; it is meant to bless the lives of those around us.

If you are needing God’s wisdom in your life, share in the comments below — I’d love to pray for you!

 

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Facing My Coffee Addiction and What I Really Needed

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I had already been to my therapist. Now it was time to follow up with my doctor. As I nervously shifted on the crinkly white paper, I rehearsed how I was going to tell my doctor that my anxiety disorder was flaring up. I scrolled through all the questions in my mind about my medication, symptoms, and possible next steps. I had been really struggling for more than a month; I needed to know there was a way forward.

I’m grateful to have a healthcare provider who takes her time, listens closely, and really cares about me. She also knows Jesus, and her love for Him and others shines even when her face is masked. So once we started talking about my racing heart and intense fatigue, I felt a bit more at ease. We talked through adrenal issues and what happens when our cortisol gets all out of whack. We talked about supplements and sleep and temporarily increasing my anti-depressant dosage.

And then she suggested something I wasn’t expecting.

“Have you ever done an elimination fast?” she asked. “Eliminating caffeine, sugar, and refined carbohydrates for a period of time could help reset your nervous and digestive systems, bringing you back to a healthier baseline.”

She encouraged me to take some time to think and pray about choosing a nutritional reset as part of my treatment plan. But I didn’t need time to think or pray about it. I knew in my gut that was exactly what I needed to do. Because in my anxious, distracted, fatigued, foggy-brained state, I had been relying more and more on the temporary pick-me-up of coffee. When I couldn’t think straight for a work project or afternoon homework with my kids, I was also quick to reach for salty carbs or the comfort of sweets to push me through. The pick-me-ups and push-me-throughs were short-lived. I knew I needed something different.

The Monday following my doctor’s appointment, I started my reset. I brewed cups of lemon herbal tea instead of strong coffee and prepped veggie sticks to curb my munchies. When the afternoon lull hit and I couldn’t keep going, I let myself take a nap instead of hyping up on Doritos or handfuls of Cinnamon Toast Crunch.

But even as I purposed to make healthier choices, going against the current of my typical rhythm revealed how deeply dependent I had become on coffee and comfort foods. Like a baby relentlessly reaching for her soothing pacifier, I found myself automatically reaching for sugary granola bars. I had a relentless craving for afternoon coffee and evening ice cream.

All of it pointed to this truth: Not only did I need a physical reset, I also needed a spiritual reset. I needed to face my habit of turning to caffeine and sugar more than I turned to Jesus.

I had swallowed the socially acceptable lie that life (especially as a working mom) was meant to be fueled by endless cups of coffee and chocolate bars, that it was okay to wrap my peace and hope around the drinks and snacks I could reach for, rather than my Savior. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with enjoying your favorite latte or a thick slice of pie. But what we are really made to crave is the thick presence of God.

I was more worried about withdrawing from my caffeine and sugar addiction than recognizing God’s invitation to draw closer to Him.

This was an opportunity to embrace a different rhythm that would reset not only what my body craved but what my soul craved. I had to learn in my full embodied self that there wasn’t any food or drink or treat that I needed more than the presence of Jesus and to experience anew how the joy of the Lord is my strength, not the joy of java or Jamoca Almond Fudge ice cream.

For three weeks I pressed into the discomfort, headaches, and irritability from eliminating the foods and stimulants my body had become dependent on. My anxiety didn’t go away instantly. But as the jittery buzzing in my body slowly waned, deep, unexpected peace slowly increased.

The world preaches reaching for the quick fix: Get that double-shot latte or Botox shot. Drive through for the milkshake or let another Amazon order make you feel better. The list of possibilities is endless, but nothing we can buy or eat or wear or do to fix ourselves will provide the soul relief we really need.

Nothing but Jesus.

Before Jesus departed, He told His closest friends, “Peace I leave with you. My peace I give to you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Don’t let your heart be troubled or fearful.” (John 14:27 NIV)

That peace is the Holy Spirit — the gift of a constant companion; a relentless source of hope, guidance, and strength; an assurance we can count on when our jolt of caffeine runs out. Jesus deposited His peace in each of our hearts. Sometimes we just have to let go of the things that are numbing us, distracting us, or disconnecting us from our awareness of His presence and how much we desperately need Him.

I’m grateful to say my three-week reset resulted in decreased anxiety, better sleep, and healthier patterns I’m working to maintain going forward. But even on days I choose to enjoy a cup of coffee or a chocolate chip cookie, I remember that the most satisfying and sustaining thing I can ever reach for — and savor — is my relationship with Jesus.

 

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How to Find Your Way Through the Middle of a Transition

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Recently, we sold our farm, and in the process, we downsized our belongings and re-homed our livestock and animals. We learned to loosen our grip and let God bring about change in our hearts to prepare the way for our move.

I could see God working out all the details in His timing with regards to this big change. First, my husband, my daughter, and I were all on board with it. That in itself was a miracle with three, completely different personalities and viewpoints. But we trusted God would change our circumstances when it was His time. Then, He brought a Jesus-loving family to purchase our farm. We were able to easily pass our farm to them and didn’t glance back with any regret. During that time, God also led us to purchase land in a very difficult market, where we will build our next home. Real estate makes me believe that God is in charge of every detail of our lives, otherwise how would it ever work?!

It hasn’t been easy, but it has been beautiful. It’s been a lot of change this year, and even though others might think I’m kind of weird for this, I actually like change when God is leading. I think it’s exciting!

For now, we are living in the middle, calling a rental in a neighborhood home for the time being. In the midst of all this transition, I was more concerned about making sure our family was comfortable and could continue on with our regular daily life that I didn’t expect to be the one to have the hardest time with the move.

I tried to analyze what my hang-up was. I grew up in a neighborhood in the ‘burbs. I was used to a small backyard and close neighbors. I didn’t have my identity wrapped up in owning versus renting, or even where we lived. I wasn’t feeling impatient about building since I know what a chore it truly is. I couldn’t figure out why I was struggling.

Even when it’s God’s idea and I’m excited about what He’s doing, transitions are not easy.

I think about good but hard transitions in God’s word. There are many, but the one I can really relate to lately is when Jesus’ followers were waiting for the arrival of the Holy Spirit.

God had worked a miracle — the biggest of them all: Jesus took the sins of the world away and conquered death. His followers had seen the entire progress of events, walked and talked with Him as a resurrected Savior, waved goodbye in astonishment as God lifted Jesus back to heaven, and now His followers had to wait on what Jesus had promised.

They were in the middle of a transition. They were wrapping up one chapter of their story, God’s story, and beginning a new one. They didn’t know what to expect. It must’ve been uncomfortable and not what they had imagined. They must’ve been nervous about what would come next while trying to process everything that had happened.

So, they waited and prayed.

Their waiting was necessary. They knew they couldn’t do anything in their own power. And there was no shame in waiting on God and not knowing when, how, or where the next step would be revealed.

When the winds of heaven came, the Holy Spirit filled the followers and enabled them. They were given God’s power to live out the vision Jesus had cast for them and the way was made to achieve what God had desired through them.

God didn’t chastise them for not understanding or being nervous about what was to come. He knew they needed time to process what they had experienced.

It takes time for each of us to catch up with God’s plans as they unfold in our lives, so we need to give ourselves space and time to process what He’s doing.

And that’s what was happening to me with our move. I realized my emotions and heart were trying to catch up with what had already happened. And I was waiting for God to show up because I couldn’t and didn’t want to do anything in my own power in the the middle of our story.

I didn’t want to make our rental feel like a home without His Spirit. I didn’t know how to build a home in the middle of all the post-pandemic issues without His powerful leading. I couldn’t understand God’s timing or what He was really up to in our lives without living in the power that He had already given me in the Holy Spirit.

The waiting in our lives is necessary so we can rely on God’s power and not our own.

Sitting in the middle of a transition and not fully understanding what is happening within you is just fine. Allow yourself to catch up with what God is doing. And know that as a Jesus follower we each need and have the power of the Holy Spirit in us no matter the circumstances we find ourselves in.

 

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The Power of Stepping in and Being Available

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If I walked out my door, down the hill, through a field of waist high weeds, jumped over a janky fence, and skipped past four houses, I would arrive at Debbie Daniel’s house.

Debbie had three kids and one of her daughter’s, Jenny, was my childhood friend. Debbie’s house was a central hangout growing up. Her home had high ceilings which contained all the love, and the barstools at the kitchen peninsula were always a revolving spot for conversation and company that felt like family.

Her house wasn’t perfect. It was lived in, and everyone was welcome. She would let the dishes pile up and let half-finished projects take over the dining room table for weeks. I think that’s why my friends and I congregated at her house week after week. It was easy to be there. No conversation was off-limits. With chips and seven layer dip always in the fridge, we could chat, cry, laugh, and watch Survivor. And we did this all the time.

We all had mothers and sisters and small group leaders at church, but Debbie was different. She listened without an agenda. She stepped in.

She stepped into a role she didn’t even know I needed filled. My mother was generous and good and kind, but God knew I needed another voice of love to help shape the rough edges of my soul.

Debbie was a high school counselor. When I’d walk into the administrative office, her face was the first one I’d see. Between breaks and after school, I always found myself pulling up a chair and parking myself right next to her desk. She was quick to offer a snack and chat about classes, family, friendships, and my school schedule. Those touch points throughout my day made me feel wanted, like a barista who knows your name and drink order by heart. It was as though she was always just waiting for me to walk right in. She was always available.

I’ll never forget a time during my junior year when I was so distraught about a boy I crumbled into the chair in Debbie’s office after third period. She looked at me with compassion and kindness in her eyes and asked, “Do you need to go home?” I nodded between blowing my nose. She wrote me an off-campus pass, and I went straight home, crawled into bed, and cried myself to sleep. She was quick to hold back judgments and offer gentleness.

Years later, I was fortunate enough to work on staff with Debbie at our church. We were also both enrolled in seminary together. Our lives overlapped and intertwined yet again. We spent hours carpooling, dreaming, crying, figuring out life, ministry, and our souls. It was a rich time, and Debbie walked beside me.

I don’t see Debbie very much anymore. Our lives have long walked separate paths. But I do know this, if I needed her right now, she would be here. She would do what she does best, step in — step in with food, a listening heart, and Christ-centered counsel.

I didn’t even know how much I needed her all those years, but again and again, she was there. She didn’t push herself into my life but stepped in at just the right moments.

Debbie’s presence in my life was a clear example of Christ’s love for me. She mothered me when I needed it. She was a counselor when I didn’t have one. She was a friend when I needed support. When I look at Scripture (Titus 2:3), older women are instructed to care for young women. Debbie did this for me. She filled in the gaps and gave me space to fumble and figure things out.

There is so much power in stepping in for others. It doesn’t require us to take on more responsibilities. It only requires us to see who’s right in front of us. Everyday we brush past people, young and old. Our lives intersect with others all the time. What does it look like for you to step in and offer Christ’s love right where you are today? Who will you see, talk to, or hug?

All those places are opportunities to give your love away, to step in. Because when you do, it changes lives.

How can you be hospitable, available, and gentle with others? How can you step in and walk with them?

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

Let’s See Each Other Through Race-Wise Lenses

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“What’s so wrong about being colorblind? Why can’t we just focus on each other’s hearts?”

I was on the phone with a dear friend and fellow parent — a sweet, kind, loving sister in Christ — who was feeling utterly distraught about the issue of colorblindness. Her question was sincere. She wanted to raise Jesus-loving children who saw people’s hearts and not just their skin color. “Isn’t that the goal?” she wondered.

I sat with my friend’s question for some time. Was it possible to see someone’s heart without seeing their skin color? I wasn’t too sure, but I understood the sentiment of wanting to focus on a person’s inner qualities instead of  their external features.

People are shaped by their place in history, and even my friend’s perspective had historical roots. She had been raised in the aftermath of the civil rights era, a time that heralded the idea of being colorblind as a new and healthier way forward for race relations. In fact, the term colorblind is borrowed right from the last part of Dr. King’s speech where he says he wants people to see his children for the content of their character, not the color of their skin. A lot of well-meaning Christians, like my friend, ran with that term in the seventies and eighties, wanting to prove that they weren’t using skin color as justification to treat people unequally, and they taught their children to hold a similar posture.

But now the pendulum has shifted. In 2022, Black and Brown folks are raising their voices and pleading for others to see the color of their skin, and a lot of Christian parents don’t understand why. Why should we see color? Why should Christian parents talk about color with their kids? Is it biblical to make a big deal about skin tones and different cultural and racialized experiences?

What I’ve found in my own life as a second-generation, bicultural, Indian American woman is that one of the unintended consequences for well-meaning folks who strive to be colorblind is that they become blind to my lived experiences as an ethnic minority. In an attempt to treat us all the same vis-à-vis not seeing Black, Brown, or white, people’s racialized experiences of everything from profiling, micro aggressions, racism, police brutality, and more get swept under the rug. It’s easy for folks who say “I don’t see color” to also not see the laws, policies, and zoning that create gaps in education and wealth equality along racial lines. In other words, when I say, “See the color of my skin,” what I’m asking you to see is my racialized experiences of suffering and pain.

Undoubtedly, I am more than my flesh, but I am not less than my skin color. God created me on purpose as a brown-skinned woman, and my cultural identity reflects God’s image in the world. Moreover, I operate in a brown-skinned body every day, and people treat me as a brown-skinned person. So, if you want to understand my heart, my story, and all of who I am, you have to see the totality of my life’s experiences.

The thing is, when we believe that colorblindness is the way and teach our children to be colorblind, we miss out on a fundamental part of who God is. God is El Roi, the God who sees (Genesis 16:13). God sees all of us — our skin color, our culture, our pains, our joys. If we want our children to see people like God does, we must see in color. God designed us to be “color-blessed,” in the words of Pastor Derwin Gray. To see the world in color is a blessing. God created us diverse on purpose. Each of us, in our unique and vibrant hues, reflects the image of God in the world. We get to acknowledge each other’s color as part of how we celebrate the beautiful God-given uniqueness of each individual. In other words, seeing color is the portal into people’s lived realities. Seeing color is the portal into their hearts. When we see color, we begin to recognize the full humanity in each other, and how glorious it is!

Seeing someone’s heart and seeing the color of their skin isn’t an either/or but a both/and.

Perhaps this wasn’t what you were taught growing up. Perhaps this feels totally new and uncomfortable. I want to assure you that that’s okay. This is an invitation for all of us to become race-wise as followers of Jesus and to lean into a more Spirit-led understanding of skin color and race-related issues that resonates with God’s heart for all His image bearers. Being race-wise, for us as individuals and as families, simply means bringing issues like the question of being colorblind before the Lord and asking for His help to move forward in wisdom, clarity, and love. So, let’s keep striving to get to know each other fully, especially our friends, neighbors, and coworkers of other cultures. Let’s teach our children to see each other’s hearts, to celebrate the full humanity of one another, and let’s use gospel-centered, race-wise lenses to do so.

—

The Race-Wise Family: Ten Postures to Becoming Households of Healing and Hope is a timely resource by Helen Lee and (in)courage contributor Michelle Ami Reyes. It will equip Christian parents to better understand the roots of racism and provide practical guidance on addressing issues of race within their families. Practical and engaging, The Race-Wise Family offers immediately applicable action steps to help you raise kingdom-minded kids who will stand against racial injustice as an outpouring of their relationship with God. Deeply rooted in Scripture, the book includes:

• key biblical insights for understanding a theology of race
• discussion questions, prayers, and conversation starters for your whole family
• age-appropriate ideas for discussing current events with your kids and teens
• guidance for addressing the roots of racial bias in the world and your own heart
• activities and resources you can use with kids of all ages to be part of hope and healing in your community

The Race-Wise Family will help you and your kids celebrate the diversity of God’s kingdom as you take small steps that will make a difference in the world for generations. Enter to WIN one of five copies today! Just leave a comment today with what this book could mean to you!

Then join Michelle and (in)courage community manager Becky Keife for a discussion all about The Race-Wise Family! Tune in tomorrow, 5/18/22, on our Facebook page at 11am CST for their conversation.

Giveaway open to US addresses only and closes on 5/20/22 at 11:59pm CST.

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Moving from the Chaos of Our Homes Toward a Peace-filled Life

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When I was growing up, our church youth group had parties at each other’s houses. We would hang out, watch movies, eat snacks, and occasionally, at the fancy houses on the rich end of town, we would gather for swim parties with lots of food, laughing, and throwing each other into the pool — sometimes in swimsuits, sometimes fully clothed.

In Silicon Valley, most of the families at my church lived on the rich side of town. I loved going to their perfect, spotless houses with their manicured lawns. Even my friends’ rooms looked like they could have been featured in the magazines fanned out on their moms’ coffee tables. These houses looked like the model homes my family toured for fun on the weekends.

Not raised in a particularly religious home (I’d been invited to this church by a friend), I thought this was what it meant to be a Christian woman — that your house would always look perfect. I wasn’t a deep thinker at fifteen, obviously.

Imagine my disappointment when I got married and had kids and all those homemaking skills didn’t come with the wedding ring and the baby blanket issued at the hospital.

As a young woman, I struggled to stay on top of our house. I could never seem to get ahead of everything that needed to be done. I felt constantly overwhelmed by all the moving parts of work, home, family, and church.

I’ll never forget having a mom from a Bible study I was attending over for coffee one Tuesday morning. I had cleaned the kitchen, front bathroom, and living room to perfection for her visit. While we were having our second cup of coffee with homemade oatmeal cookies, she jumped up and said, “Show me the rest of your house!”

When I demurred, she insisted and started walking towards the master bedroom. She opened the door and saw where I’d thrown all the laundry, toys, backpacks, diaper bags, and more.

She saw my secret shame but didn’t keep it a secret. After she told the rest of the ladies in the group what a mess my house had been, I didn’t go back.

I went from living in chaos to hiding the chaos. On the outside, it looked like I’d managed my clutter issues. But I’d stuffed them where no one could see them and where they grew even worse. I avoided having people over as much as possible. And when I couldn’t avoid it any longer, I hid all the laundry, papers, school projects, and random toys in our bedroom until the guests were gone. And then I would be overwhelmed all over again.

In that season, I felt like there was no one I could talk to about my struggle. I figured I was missing some sort of spiritual gift everyone else had. I prayed about it but dealt with it in silence.

If you too struggle to stay on top of your home, I want to share with you two key points I learned in my journey:

  1. You are not alone. Most women I know struggle with “getting it all done,” as if being done is even possible.
  2. I was only able to declutter when I stopped trying to look good on the outside while drowning in all my stuff. When I stopped judging myself and instead looked at my situation with the kindness I would extend to a dear friend or my grown daughter, that’s when things started to change.

I had equated a clean house with being a godlier person. I had grown up with the illusion that because people looked clean and shiny on the outside, that’s what their inner life must have looked like.

But here is the truth: We all struggle — with our houses, with our people, with ourselves. Peace is not the absence of struggle. Peace is where we place the struggle.

Jesus says it perfectly:

Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.
Matthew 11:28-30 (NIV)

That passage is worth reading in the Message version of the Bible:

 Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me — watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly.
Matthew 11:28-30 (MSG)

Because I never felt good enough, I gave up in so many ways. I had no peace about it, but I also had no peace with all my striving to look like I was okay.

Now that I’ve stopped trying to live to impress others, I can welcome people into my less-than-perfect but deliciously peace-filled life. I get to experience those “unforced rhythms of grace,” not as something to be obtained but as something to be enjoyed.

Is there an area of your life that is keeping you worn out? Where do you need to lean into God’s “unforced rhythms of grace”?

If the chaos of your home is wearing you out, join Kathi’s Clutter Free Academy group on Facebook to discover how to declutter your home quickly and easily without stress.

 

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

Join the Heart of Hope Online Bible Study!

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

Above all that, are you searching for soul-deep, unshakeable hope that only comes from Jesus?

We’ve got you, friend!

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

Perhaps you’re facing circumstances you never prepared for or even imagined. Maybe you’re looking for any hint of encouragement, any inkling that this — whatever your this might be — won’t last forever or destroy you. Maybe you’re afraid to hope, or perhaps you’re not even sure what hope is.

The Create in Me a Heart of Hope Bible study looks at how God offers us hope — real, certain, unshakable hope.

This summer, let’s go through it together and learn where hope comes from and the difference it can make in our lives.

Here’s what you need to know:

1.  You will need a copy of Create in Me a Heart of Hope to fully participate in the study. We will provide the reading guidelines, discussion questions, and video conversations along the way!

2. You’ll also need to officially sign up for the study (It’s free to join!). Click here to register, and when you do, we’ll send you the first week from Create in Me a Heart of Hope AND a printable page of Scripture memory bookmarks for FREE!

3.  The study runs from June 6 to July 15. Every Monday you can start reading that week’s chapter, and we’ll share the memory verse for the week on our Instagram feed. On Thursdays, you can tune in for “Ten Minutes of Hope with Mary” — a brief, inspiring, live video on Instagram! And each week, we’ll send you an email with a weekly recap, including the memory verse, a link to the video, reflection questions, and more.

Invite a few friends to join you! Send them to this page so they can sign up! If you’re looking for a way to connect with other women in real life, this is a great way to do so. Simply read each week of the Bible study, then gather together (in person or online) to watch that week’s video, enjoy your own discussion, and close in prayer.

That’s it! Super fun and low stress, right? That’s how we like to do things in the sweet summertime.

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

Tell us in the comments if you’ve got your book already or to whom you’d like to gift a copy, and we’ll pick FIVE of you to WIN a free copy! Giveaway open to US addresses and closes on 5/16/22 at 11:59pm CST.

Then, mark your calendars for June 6th for when we kick off the Create in Me a Heart of Hope Online Bible Study! We so hope you’ll join us. Sign up here or at the form below!

We can’t wait to get started!

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

 

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

When It’s Been a Lot for What Feels a Long Time

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It’s funny the things that can immediately bring tears to your eyes. On an ordinary Tuesday afternoon, I opened my inbox and gasped. Inside, an email invited me to congratulate my grandma on a milestone number of years in her listed profession: pastor’s wife.

Just past the hilarity of “How in the world is she on LinkedIn and who signed her up?” is the gut punch, the sting of tears, the unexpected wave of sadness rolling in.

What LinkedIn doesn’t know is that my grandma passed away. Today, as you read this article or listen to it on the podcast, is two years to the day that my grandpa passed away. Two funerals in less than one year is, frankly, two too many.

Grief is both a stranger and a close friend you know intimately. It can bring you to your knees in an instant, while other times you see it coming from a distance. It shouts and it whispers and it lingers, arriving in waves that can lap at the shore or roar in a storm. Grief is a path chosen by none yet eventually discovered by all, occasionally anticipated but mostly unexpected. It doesn’t care about our timetable, our plans, or our dreams. We all — every single one of us — will experience brokenness, pain, loss, and sorrow.

Within my small circle of close friends, over the last two years we’ve worn black dresses at seven funerals for parents or grandparents. We’ve walked through cancer, car wrecks, job loss, difficulty finding a new job, break-ups, abuse, starting over in a new city, a heartbreaking diagnosis, medical unknowns from the lack of a diagnosis, and unexpected surgeries . . . to say nothing of a global pandemic.

These two years have included celebrations and answered prayers, too. There have been plenty of good things, but it’s okay to recognize and name this season for what it has been and still is: a lot.

It’s a lot of loss. It’s a lot of grief. It’s a lot of change.

It’s been a lot for what feels like a long time.

My friends would take the pain and loss away from me if they could, just as I would for them, but there’s an undeniable gift in knowing we’ll face the waves together. There’s relief in not having to be okay together.

I’m convinced one of the most beautiful verses in all of Scripture is found in John 11:35 — “Jesus wept.” Those two small words speak a powerful truth: No matter what we’re facing, we aren’t alone. It’s not only a display of kindness; it’s a picture of His friendship. Jesus didn’t run from pain or rush through sadness, didn’t say “hurry up” or “get over it” or “at least ______.”

Jesus came and Jesus cried.

Despite knowing resurrection was written onto the next page of the story, the Man of Sorrows chose to grieve what was broken. Hope Himself let His heart break, and somehow it’s this that gives me hope in the midst of my heartbreak.

When LinkedIn emails and you want more than anything to actually be able to say Hello and Congratulations and I miss you so much . . . When a friend says “I’m just really sad today, and I can’t imagine a day when that won’t be the case” or another doctor’s report confirms the same difficult news . . . When you wear the white dress and the seat in the front row is empty or you reach for the phone and dial a familiar number before realizing no one is going to pick up . . .

It’s then that it truly and deeply matters: We have a God who cries.

Jesus isn’t scared of our grief or disappointed that we’re still sad; He just comes closer to weep with us. He isn’t surprised by our despair or our anger; He gets angry with death too, lamenting what has broken even though the Word knows the final word belongs to redemption, to joy, to life.

He might say, “Peace, be still” and calm the storm or He might show us how to walk on the waves that threaten to overtake, but no matter what, Hope is not going to let us sink.

And so if I may, from the girl who both smiled and cried over an email from LinkedIn, can I offer you the words my friends and I speak over each other when the storm is raging, when the answer to “How are you?” is “I’m sad today,” when the doctors still don’t know or the date rolls around on the calendar yet again?

I’ll hope for you.

Until you can catch your breath, I’ll hold onto hope for you, trusting that really, it’s Hope that’s holding onto us.

It’s okay if you aren’t okay today. It’s okay to not be okay tomorrow either. Waves will come, some stronger than others, some seen from a distance and others that will take you completely by surprise. Storms will come, but redemption is guaranteed and His presence is promised.

Our friend Jesus is acquainted with grief and familiar with waves. We have a God who cries. We have a reason to hope.

For more hope-filled encouragement, free lock screens for your phone, and book recommendations from Kaitlyn, follow her on Instagram!

 

Listen to this article below or on your fave podcast player.

Lament Is a Declaration of Hope

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I have a number of news apps on my phone. The notifications are set so that I can easily be updated to breaking news, but if I can be honest, lately I’ve grown weary of my news notifications. Every day, if not every week, there is a new conflict — a war across the pond, another Black man shot and killed, Asian Americans targeted and murdered, in-fighting between Christian groups, hate-filled rhetoric against immigrants and more. I’m tired of people finding new ways to fight and kill each other. The age-old sin of Cain killing Abel, of brother spilling another brother’s blood, spins on a wheel repeating itself ad nauseam. There is nothing new under the sun.

That being said, there is something unique about the past two years and about life in a pandemic that has brought the suffering and brokenness of the world into sharp relief. Viral videos and a heightened engagement with our phones and social media has inundated our minds and our brains with new levels of hate, seeping through the cracks of humanity’s façade. We are more than two years into a pandemic, and it feels like there is more to grieve now than ever before.

Grief and lament, in fact, are two words that best describe my prayers these days. Most of my time spent with God is in tears over the things that divide us — the way humans war against each other, broken relationships between parents and children, and the slander Christians so easily throw at each other. I know that the way things are are not the way they were meant to be. We were created to experience the goodness and wholeness of God, and yet our realities are far from this truth. Just watch a nightly news feed and you’ll see there is much to lament in the world.

For a long time, I thought the heaviness in my heart and the lament on my lips meant I didn’t have hope in God. That, somehow, being grieved and burdened by the weight of the world’s brokenness meant I wasn’t trusting Him enough to make all things new. But what I’ve learned in recent years is that my lament can be a practice of hope.

Lamenting in prayer until tears stream from my eyes is one way of clinging to God when nothing seems to make sense.

God beckons us to offer up a persistent cry to Him. In return, He promises that one day, all our suffering, even the sins of this world, will be no more. A day is coming when we will all be made whole again and the cycles of violence that destroy families, start wars, and wreak racism will be broken forever. This is why it states in Jeremiah 9:20,

You women, hear the word of the LORD; open your ears to the words of his mouth. Teach your daughters how to wail; teach one another a lament.

When our hearts ache and our souls yearn for what was lost in the Garden and what will one day be restored again in the new heavens and the new earth, we stay rooted in the hope of God in the midst of brokenness.

Our lament is a sacred testament to God’s promises. Our lament is our hope in a better future — a better future that only God can create.

Choosing to come before the Lord and lay the burdens of the world at His feet is a reminder that God is in control and that He will deliver and redeem us in His sovereign time. We can pray like the psalmist in Psalm 102:1-2, “Hear my prayer, LORD; let my cry for help come to you. Do not hide your face from me when I am in distress. Turn your ear to me; when I call, answer me quickly.” Then we wait in hope and anticipation, knowing that God hears our cries and will answer us.

So, let’s make space for lament today. The next time you hear disheartening news, the next time you witness a fight or division break out, turn to God in lament. Carve out space to pray, to grieve, even to cry. And let your lament be your declaration of hope in God in the midst of hard things.

 

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Sometimes Barely Is Enough

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It was an unusually rough week in the middle of a very hard season. You know the kind of week I’m talking about — where it seems like you’re getting hit with one hard thing after another and getting out from under it all sounds as easy as hiking through the Mojave Desert in three-inch heels.

For a while there, I was barely holding on. I guess you could say I was in a Season of Barely.

Was I staying on top of my deadlines? Sure, but barely.

Was I taking care of my body? Barely.

Was I getting enough sleep? Barely, if that.

Was I ready to get out of bed every morning? Barely.

Was I connecting with friends? Barely.

Was I being kind to myself? Barely.

My friend Anjuli knew that I was struggling. A few days earlier, I had left her a voice message, the kind where your voice cracks and the ceaseless sniffling makes your words almost incomprehensible. Yet my tears spoke a language of their own, and some friends are fluent in the language of emotion. She returned my message with one of her own, tenderly holding space for the ache I was feeling.

A few days later, Anjuli checked in with me. She texted to ask how I was holding up.

I was still in my Season of Barely, and so I texted back a single word: “Barely.”

A few moments later, she responded: “Barely is enough.”

Her words offered such safe harbor for me in that season, and I have returned to them over and over again in recent weeks.

“Barely is enough.”

Those three little words gave me courage to take the next step and the next step after that. Barely may not seem like much, but sometimes barely is enough to keep it all moving forward.

Are you in a Season of Barely?

Barely able.
Barely healing.
Barely understanding.
Barely surviving this hard season.
Barely making it through what feels unbelievably difficult.

Perhaps you need to know that barely is enough. You don’t have to do more, be more, pretend more, perform more, hurry up more.

I consulted the Scriptures to see what God could teach us about our Seasons of Barely. The word barely is . . .  well . . . barely used in Scripture. But one of the few times you’ll find the word barely in Scripture is in Isaiah 26. The chapter is a song of trust, praise, and meditation that calls out the goodness of God. And then the chapter takes a slight turn around verse 16, mentioning a people “in distress.”

“They could barely whisper a prayer,” Isaiah writes of these distressed people (my emphasis added). They were in their own Season of Barely, and they could “barely whisper a prayer.”

Here’s the good news: Prayers don’t need to be shouted in order for God to hear them. Sometimes, even your barely-enough prayers are enough. And that’s okay.

What has your own Season of Barely looked like? How does it help you to know that sometimes barely is enough?

I have come to know that barely has honor and dignity all its own. Barely is forward movement toward something that is still being brought to completion. And that completion will come. It’s a promise from God, and it’s promise I need, and maybe you do too.

There has never been the slightest doubt in my mind that the God who started this great work in you would keep at it and bring it to a flourishing finish on the very day Christ Jesus appears.
Philippians 1:6 (MSG)

 

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It Felt Like My Faith Was Part of the Problem

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I had gotten my two kids and myself dressed for church and finished filling two huge cookie jars for the church coffee hour. Other than the presence of some more-than-usual tension in my chest, I would’ve thought it was any other Sunday morning.

But then, everything went wrong. The dog escaped. My kids (six and four at the time) went out to find the dog and were playing on top of the car. I started to cry and my chest got tighter. My whole body ached. I was intimately familiar with panic attacks but had never had one last this long. In the past, panic attacks had always lasted thirty to forty-five seconds, so I thought if I just kept breathing it would pass. But as the timer hit five minutes, I wasn’t sure this one would. I tried to go outside and get the kids, praying the dog wouldn’t get hit on the busy road in front of our house, but I couldn’t even walk through the door. It was like there was a force field keeping me inside.

I was helpless to help myself. And I was helpless to care for my kids.

I didn’t realize it at the time, but it was a moment that changed my faith forever.

Anxiety and depression have been part of my life since childhood, but the strain of single parenting after being widowed a few years before had pushed my capacity and mental health to their limits. I figured I was just exhausted and spent the week recovering.

And as soon as I started to get ready for church the next week, the panic returned.

It returned every Sunday morning for weeks.

I couldn’t go to church.

I couldn’t read the Bible.

Even hymns and worship songs paralyzed me.

Every way I knew to be a Christian was suddenly triggering my anxiety, and I couldn’t figure out why.

My Christian life has changed many times over the course of my life — from childhood faith to passionate curiosity as a young adult. My understanding of hope and faithfulness shifted when my dad died at fifty-two and then again when my husband died at thirty-two (I was twenty-eight and pregnant with our second kid at the time). Suffering, grief, and loss refine our faith in ways that Bible study, sermons, and prayer aren’t meant to.

But this was different.

This felt like my faith was part of the problem.

I happened to be in seminary at the time, studying spiritual formation, and I became obsessively curious about how people have practiced their Christian faith around the world and across centuries. I discovered the practices I thought were non-negotiable (in-depth Bible study and lengthy academic sermons) were only two very small slices of pepperoni on the very large pizza that is the Christian faith.

I learned about the Desert Fathers and Mothers who lived out in the middle of nowhere, steeped in the presence of God, being filled with wisdom and devoted to prayer.

I learned about the first century Jewish Christians who didn’t hold church services as we understand them now but who opened their homes to each other, shared meals, and supported each other in the face of political oppression.

There are so many classics in Christian wisdom and writings that are about knowing God and being surrounded by God’s presence like a cloud. There were people who devoted their life to God by washing dishes, by praying for strangers, and by growing food.

I had always thought of my faith as a relationship with God, but I realized that the ways I had actually lived out my faith had more to do with knowing about God than actually knowing God. The ways I had been a Christian all had to do with effort: How often was I praying? Was I reading my Bible enough? Were my notes from Sunday’s sermon sufficient to really cement the info into my brain?

I had built a faith that depended only on my ability to act and do, to learn and to know.

But now I couldn’t do any of those things. Did that mean I couldn’t be a faithful Christian anymore?

I stepped back from my responsibilities at church while I thought it through.

If deep study of the Bible was a foundation of my faith, did that mean I believed people who couldn’t read or had intellectual disabilities couldn’t love or be loved by God?

If academic, lengthy sermons were that important, did that mean that people whose health, job, or location made Sunday morning church inaccessible couldn’t really be Christians?

I knew instinctively that those things could not be true. After all, we are promised that nothing can remove us from the love of God.

I realized, like a knife to the heart, that what I had said I believed and the ways I had been practicing my faith hadn’t been the same.

I sought out opportunities to practice contemplation and silence and to learn more about other ways of being a Christian. I learned about mysticism (which is all about leaning into the mystery of the Holy Spirit, not the new age boogey man I’d been warned against) and discovered the ways my understanding of God had gotten all out of whack.

So I let it all go.

I stopped trying to force myself to go to church.

I read fiction and noticed when the Spirit stirred inside me.

I visited liturgical churches whose prayers and recitations and use of the physical body and space made me feel connected to myself in a way I had never experienced. I felt a sense of belonging to the greater Church in ways I had never appreciated before.

My prayers became inhales and exhales instead of words.

I felt like I was more grounded, more sturdy in myself and in my faith than I had ever been. And at the same time, I felt freer, growing tall like a sunflower, facing the sun, blossoming brighter and bigger than I realized was possible.

And it was in these last few years I’ve realized my faith can only go as deep as I am willing to let my theology spread wide. If I truly believe God’s love is for everyone, then I must practice a faith that abides with that truth. Any shame or exhaustion I felt because of my faith has disappeared because I’m no longer trying to practice faith in a way that can’t accommodate the demands of my mental health and grief.

Maybe the greatest surprise of all is that my faith has become more than something I do or knowledge I acquire. My faith has become a new way of being — of relating to God, of interacting with the world and people around me, and, most profoundly, of showing grace to myself even with a mind and a heart as unreliable as mine.

 

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