What Do We Have Left When COVID Has Taken So Much from Us?

What Do We Have Left When COVID Has Taken So Much from Us?

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We woke up feeling off. Perhaps it was the hangover of joy from the holidays or just not enough sleep. Maybe it was the chill in the air from last night’s storm. Maybe our heater was to blame for our groggy morning. It is fickle and kicks on as randomly as a distant relative stopping by. But our bodies felt the ache and hot tea couldn’t wash away our scratchy throats. We were undeniably sick — COVID-sick.

We are rapidly approaching two years of this pandemic. Two years of masks, two years of shutdown, two years of controversy, two years of science, two years of sickness that just doesn’t seem to find an end, two years of virtual learning and meeting, two years of making impossible choices, two years of canceling plans, two years of test results, two years of almost normal but not quite yet.

To be honest, I’m tired. I’m tired of conversations starting and ending with COVID. I’m tired of the arguments, articles, and endless mandates. Here I am now boiling water for Top Ramen and measuring out Tylenol for my boys. It is a fragile feeling when you are sick. It’s scary wondering and waiting for this virus to meander its way through our bodies.

In the rawness, I turn towards several different places with my pain. I turn to blame and shame, but surprisingly, my emotions turn towards anger. I am angry at our government. I am angry at leadership. I am angry at my neighbors. I am angry at random influencers online. I am angry at my family. I am angry at friends. I am angry at myself. I am angry that we are still stuck in this pandemic; it seems to rule our days and ruin our lives. Anger can feel as dangerous and as hot as the water bubbling up like a volcano on my stove right now.

I want it to be over, but it’s not. It’s still here. I want things to be different, but they’re still the same. I want to shut the door and move on, but reality is demanding another way.

I am done with COVID, but COVID isn’t done with me. Even if it were, the effects of it will be long-lasting. 

The truth is we have all been through an enormous trauma. It’s not time to look away; it’s time to start healing. We’ve all walked, crawled, and hurled our way through the last two years. We want to be done, but God is still doing something here. Whether we like it or not, we must continue to feel the pain we’ve already persevered through. We need help for our bodies and help for our souls. One without the other is a cocktail for disconnection and depression. We must let God do more work in our hearts.

Remember the story of Jesus and the disciples in the storm (Matthew 8:23-27)? The disciples were frantic and anxious as the waves rose high above their heads. They woke Jesus up and begged Him to do something. Jesus was undeterred by the weather but deterred by the disciples’ outrageous response to the storm. He calmly settled the waters and rose in frustration at His disciples’ lack of faith.

Two years feels like an eternity when I am looking through the lens of this mortal life. When my gaze is fixed on the storm, I only see chaos. When my anxiety is tied to a news cycle, I only feel fear. When my hope is lassoed to a holiday party and it’s canceled, I am only left with despair. When my security is connected to a shot and I get sick, what comes next?

Faith, sisters, faith. Faith not in peace, faith not in tomorrow, faith not in what can be measured or monetized, faith not in health, and faith not in my own understanding. We need faith in Jesus and in Jesus alone.

We may feel done with all the suffering, inconveniences, and weariness of this pandemic, but Jesus is never done with us. He wants to heal our pain, trauma, and PTSD. Jesus calls us to rise up and have faith. When we are tempted to only look at the monsters around us, let us instead draw our attention to the healing medicine found in Christ.

Our family will heal from COVID this week. We will return to work, school, and church. The real question is, how will we return and move forward? Will we let the suffering of this world drown us or will we walk forward in faith? There will be many unknowns in the future. I can get tired of being sick and quarantined, but I can’t let it keep me from following after Jesus in faith. I will keep my eyes fixed on the only hope in my world and for the world. As the waters rise and fall with my anger and fear, faith in Christ is the only thing that keeps me afloat.

The Spiritual Weight of Asking “How Are You?”

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At the end of the first week of January, I posted a question in my Instagram stories: How would you rate your past week from 1-10? I was not prepared for the answers. Many had middle to low numbers. There were a lot of 4s and 3s. But there were also a lot of negative numbers. One person said -10, another -2,000. I had more than one person write, Whatever the worst possible number is — that’s how I’m doing.

I sat with those responses for a long time, chatting with the folks who had answered and getting to know more of how they were doing. What stood out to me were the layers of struggle that so many people are navigating right now: people’s stress from the continued pandemic is higher than ever; many of us have family members who have contracted COVID (some of us have been hit personally by the virus); we’re fatigued from work, even burned out; friendships have been torn apart by different views on politics and race; young moms feel isolated in their homes, unable to go anywhere because they have unvaccinated littles; ministry leaders have decision fatigue, unsure of whether to continue meeting in person or online and how to shepherd folks well in a time when almost nothing feels stable. The list goes on and on.

There were so many responses to my question, and it made it clear to me that not only are we all struggling in different ways right now, we also want to feel seen and be heard. We long to be asked, “How are you doing?”

People I didn’t even know were drawn to my simple question, and they wanted to share their life story with me. It’s a human need to be seen, especially when we’re hurting. Many of us need someone to talk to right now. We need a hug, a shoulder to cry on, a community to make the loneliness more bearable. We need friends to tell us “It’s okay to not be okay” right now. No quick fixes. No pithy advice. Just co-sufferers, who help us keep putting one foot in front of the other and tell us we’re going to make it.

God created us as humans with a basic need to live in community and to carry each other’s burdens (Galatians 6:2). In fact, Scripture specifically challenges us to “encourage one another and build each other up” (1 Thessalonians 5:11). These are difficult challenges even in the best of times, let alone during a pandemic. We’re all hurting right now. Nothing feels normal. Our mental, physical, and spiritual health have all been hit. We’re tired. Many of us are unhappy. It’s hard to care for others when we are hurting ourselves. Yet the beauty of the body of Christ is that we were created to care for each other, even in the midst of our own pains, and in doing so, make each other’s burdens feel lighter.

I wonder how this year might look different if we gave more attention to asking each other, “How are you doing?” This question could look different from one person to the next. In many Asian cultures it sounds more like, “Have you eaten yet?” It could be a text message that states, “I’m thinking about you today. Do you need anything?” Or as others have recommended, maybe we can ask each other, “How are you coping?” or “What’s been on your mind lately?” instead. Living in a pandemic, we can assume we’re all not doing that great. The focus is more on how we’re handling the stresses, where we’re struggling, and the pockets where we’re finding resilience.

There is spiritual weight to asking each other, “How are you?” Checking in with a friend, a neighbor, or family member tells that person they belong, that their personhood and experiences matter, so let’s check in with each other! Be spontaneous and call up (or text) a friend today. Be intentional and set up a rhythm in your Google calendar for whom you will check in with and when. As you reach out to folks, be willing to be vulnerable back. The more transparent we are of how we’re doing, the more we create a safe space for others to share what’s going on with them.

2022 will probably be just as hard as 2021. But we can help lighten each other’s burdens by encouraging and building each other up. We don’t have to journey through another year alone. Who knows how the simple act of reaching out to someone and asking, “How are you?” may just be how God will show up in our lives to give us His joy and strength to keep on keeping on.

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Tune in today to a bonus episode of the (in)courage podcast! (in)courage friends Mary Carver, Grace P. Cho, and Anna E. Rendell discuss their new devotional Empowered: More of Him for All of You. Don’t miss this conversation — listen today!

 

 

 

What’s Keeping You from Being Free? Overcome It This Year

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The sun has long since slipped behind the horizon, but I’m still at my computer. My back aches from sitting in the same chair. My mind feels like the inside of a beehive, full of restless buzzing. I’m exhausted, but I push myself to click a few more keys. I can’t stop.

I didn’t have a glass in my hand, but there was a season in my life when I worked like it was an addiction. It’s been years ago now, but I still remember how it wreaked havoc on my life. My relationships suffered. My health declined. I had no peace of mind. All of this came back to me in a recent conversation with a friend. We talked about how some of the things that destroy us are also, ironically, the ones that bring us the most praise from others.

No one had an intervention with me about my work habits. I didn’t get arrested. I never attended rehab. Instead I got told, “Good job!” and “Keep at it!” Productivity and busyness gave me a sense of worth; they made me feel needed and valued. I’ve personally come to believe anything we consistently do to excess can become a trap.

It doesn’t matter if our behavior is labeled “good” or “bad.” It’s the effect on our lives and relationships that matters. I’ve seen people become dependent on ”good” things like helping, legalism, meeting needs, and religious activities. We all have something we’re consistently tempted to go to in order to numb out, cope with stress, or avoid facing difficult emotions or experiences. Sometimes it’s just harder to recognize.

This tendency to gravitate toward what takes us captive is part of human nature. As the Apostle Paul said, “I have discovered this principle of life — that when I want to do what is right, I inevitably do what is wrong. I love God’s law with all my heart. But there is another power within me that is at war with my mind. This power makes me a slave to the sin that is still within me.” (Romans 7:21-23) When we’re caught in this cycle, it’s impossible to have peace because we’re at war with whatever we’re doing to excess.

We all know what this is like — to live fighting off the urge to have another drink, eat another cookie, say “yes” to one more request or put in another hour at the office long after we know we should have gone home. The good news is we don’t have to win the battle on our own. “Who will free me from this life that is dominated by sin and death? Thank God! The answer is in Jesus Christ our Lord.” (Romans 7:24-25)

This doesn’t mean we simply say a prayer and have automatic victory. Getting free may involve counseling, accountability, a support group, many times of trying and failing, as well as practical and spiritual resources. What these words do mean is that Jesus will empower us to overcome what we’re struggling with and help us regain our peace.

When Jesus began to free me from finding my identity in my work, I felt terrified. If I didn’t keep up the pace, then surely everything would fall apart. This is what addictive behavior tries to tell us — that if we stop we will never be okay. But I discovered when we stop trying to hold it all together we can finally rest in what we need most — a God who holds us.

God, it’s so easy to give our worth over to something other than You. When we start to do so, even if it’s a “good” thing, draw us back to You and remind us we have nothing to prove. Set us free, restore our peace, bring us victory. In Jesus’ name, amen.

 

Do you or someone you love need hope and encouragement as you begin a new month? Holley’s new devotional, What Your Soul Needs for Stressful Times: 60 Powerful Truths to Protect Your Peace, will be a powerful blessing to you in 2022.

You Are His and You Are Loved

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For this is how God loved the world: He gave his one and only Son, so that everyone who believes in him will not perish but have eternal life.
John 3:16 (NLT)

The other day I learned a friend of mine is dating someone new. She told me they had been friends for a while and that he finally appears to like her. Before I could send her all the confetti and heart-eyed emojis to celebrate this fun update, she followed up her news with a long list of questions.

“But why does he like me? How could he? I’m so selfish and stubborn and . . .”

Her doubts went on for a while before I broke in to remind her of her many good attributes and the fact that it’s not impossible someone could care for her so much that all those “bad” things wouldn’t matter.

At first, I shook my head at my friend. But then I thought of how many times — and how deeply — I’ve wondered how God could possibly love me.

“But why does He like me? How could He? I’m so selfish and stubborn and . . . ”

Sometimes, trying to comprehend God’s love can leave me bewildered and insecure. I consider the Creator of this universe, the One who sees all and knows all, the One who holds the entire world in His hand — He loves me? And not just in a vague or distant sort of way but in a highly specific and incredibly intimate way? Well, it’s baffling! And maybe even feels impossible at times.

But it’s true.

God loves me, and He loves you. Not despite who we are, but fully acknowledging and accepting who we are. Not when we get our act together or live up to our potential, but every moment since the beginning through the end of time, no matter what. He loves us without reservation, without conditions, and without end.

He loves us enough to send His Son to this broken planet to take our place and our punishment, to rewrite our stories, to redeem every single part of us. He loves us enough to follow us to the ends of the earth — and He did. Why? I still don’t quite know. But His love for us, in all its glory, is as undeniable as it is unimaginable.

And that’s the best news anyone could ask for.

May you take time to rest in the knowledge that God loves you beyond question and beyond measure. You are beloved, friend.

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

We all have times in our lives when we feel like we can’t find or hold on to hope, and it’s easy to get caught up in the distractions and troubles in this world. But what would happen if we took our focus off the trials we face and instead set our minds on things above? If we focus on God’s heart for us, we can rest in His peace, fully knowing we are loved by an almighty Father who is the King of all kings.

DaySpring has a resource that can help remind us just how loved we are — meet the DaySpring Hope & Encouragement Bible!

Throughout the pages of this Bible, you will find twelve life-changing truths that highlight different dimensions of our identity as children of God. For example, you are loved, you are known, you are held, you are His.

This year, we’re going to discover these truths together, starting right here: You are loved. God deeply loves you. He chose you before you chose Him. You are His cherished child.

Have you ever thought about it? The God who created everything you see — the One who set the first planet into orbit, who gives breath to every single living creature, who directs all nature and life — loves you. He not only loves you, but He cares deeply about every detail of your life. He delights in your uniqueness. In fact, when God created you, He set you apart with your very own assortment of special abilities and gifts that compare to no one else’s. Isn’t that amazing?

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 2/4/2022 to US addresses only.

 

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Our Kids Crave Connection Just Like We Do

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I rolled over to turn off my cell phone alarm and decided to hop online to find out what was going on in the world. I ended up checking email and scrolling through social media too, and before I knew it almost an hour had passed. My stomach rumbled, reminding me I hadn’t eaten breakfast so I got up and went downstairs to make coffee and toast.

When I was finished eating, I took a shower and got ready, then decided to check my work email before I read my Bible and devotional. After deleting the promotional emails and feeling like my inbox was more manageable, I hopped over to Instagram — again.

Finally, I came out of my digital daze and scolded myself for wasting most of my morning scrolling. But I knew there was a reason, and eventually when I took time to pray about it and quiet my heart to listen, I sensed I’d been trying to fill my need for real-life connections with a white screen and black alphabet keys. But my heart craved something no amount of digital interactions could fill.

That afternoon when my kids got home from school, I noticed how quickly they turned to their digital devices too, and it dawned on me that my children are dealing with the same struggles as I do.

As much as they love their screens, our kids need real-life connections and a sense of belonging that comes through relationships and spending time together. Even with their own distractions, that day I realized how much my children need my presence and my attention.

There were (and sometimes still are) times when we would be together as a family, but my mind would be somewhere else getting something done. I remember when my boys were not yet teens and we were playing a board game one Saturday night, I felt so proud of myself for leaving my phone in the kitchen. I felt like a great mom who was being fully present with my kids — until I got distracted.

Although my body was still in the living room, my mind had drifted off somewhere else, returning calls and texts in my head, making a grocery list, and thinking about all I could be getting done. I glanced at the clock across the room to see how many hours it would be before our boys’ bedtime when I could get started on my to-do list. As I looked back at the game, my younger son, Andrew, had turned his head to where all I could see was the silhouette of his face.

He looks so much older, I thought. It won’t be long before he starts counting the hours until I go to bed so he can text friends and stay up late playing video games. Lord, help me cherish and enjoy the gift of being with the ones I love while they’re still with me, I prayed silently.

Jesus knew His time on earth was limited, but He never seemed hurried or distracted. I never sense He saw people’s desire for His time as an interruption, but rather, He welcomed it as an invitation. He valued being with people over being productive.

Unlike Jesus, I tend to be a type-A, get-it-done kind of girl. Being instead of doing has always been hard for me. But I also know God wired me this way, so He’s the only One who can make me more like Him. My only hope is to take my struggles to Jesus and ask Him to help me manage the tension between desires and distractions.

When I spend time with God, He challenges me to slow down and enjoy being with my husband and children. He knows how important they are to me, and He also knows how easily I get tangled up in my tasks and to-do lists. He slows me down and gives me sweet reminders like my child’s silhouette. He also helps me come up with creative ways to stay present with my people when my high octane brain gets distracted.

  • I look into their faces and remember what they used to look like. This helps me grasp how quickly time flies.
  • I think back to what life was like without them. This makes me thankful God gave them to me.
  • I imagine a day when they won’t be with me, the day they may live in another city with their own families. This makes me want to cry! But then I freeze-frame that moment so it will last longer.
  • I sometimes imagine it’s the last time we will be together and focus on making it our best! Yes, sometimes I have to go to that extreme.

Jesus valued face-to-face connections and surrounded Himself with family and friends — spending time with people over meals, at weddings, fishing, and as they traveled together. Through His example, we see how important it is to satisfy our craving and our kids’ craving for connection by spending time together.

Lord, You created us with a longing for connection and a sense of belonging that comes when we are together. In a digital world, it’s easy to grow numb to our need for real-life relationships with screens pulling us away from what matters most to us and to You. Help me find the balance between being together and being productive. I need Your wisdom and creative ways to connect with my kids. Amen.

Want to find simple ways to give your children what they need most and be encouraged with the truth and grace your heart needs to know too? You’ll find both and so much more in Renee’s new book, A Confident Mom. Pre-order your copy today!

He Prunes Us So That We May Bear More Fruit

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With few exceptions, our house has always been a place plants go to die. I’ve tried to buy varieties that thrive on neglect to improve the odds, but I usually forget about them until I spy one that looks especially droopy. And then I water them all at once. As it turns out, that’s not a good plan. You can’t care for plants in a one-size-fits-all fashion.

When we moved in December 2020, I wanted to enliven our new home with more greenery, especially since we had a sunroom for the first time. I visited nurseries and soon became obsessed with adding plants to every room. Of course, my lovely new plants needed cute planters too.

Soon, I realized that if I wanted them to retain their fresh-from-the-nursery look (and not waste the investment I’d made), I needed to learn how to care for each plant individually. A succulent that is native to the desert and an African violet that is native to the rain forest have different needs.

My oldest daughter recommended an app which I now use to catalog our plants and their locations within our home. After entering each room and its lighting conditions, it tells me which plants are suitable to grow where and how often to water them. The long, draping ivy in my sunroom needs to be watered multiple times a week, but the fiddle leaf fig in my kitchen needs it much less often. I never realized indoor plants have different watering requirements at different times of year. Although I wrote two books about essential oils, which are produced from plants, it seems I could write another book on all the things I didn’t know about growing them.

Month after month, however, as my plants have continued to thrive, my confidence has grown along with them. I don’t own one of those cute Plant Mom tees, but if I did, I would wear it proudly instead of ironically. I really do try to mother my plants well.

That’s why I was alarmed the day one of my favorites, a majestic split leaf philodendron, appeared to go on the decline.

This plant, also known as a hope plant, has frilly, ruffle-shaped leaves that spread high and wide open toward the sky — or in this case, the ceiling. But one day I noticed one long stalk had abandoned its perky posture and began to droop toward the floor, while its large, green leaf curled up and turned yellow.

What had I done wrong? The rest of the plant looked so healthy!

After a talk with my daughter and a Google search, I learned another fascinating fact about plants: Sometimes they shed older leaves in order to direct their energy toward new growth. Sure enough, when I looked closer, I noticed fresh stalks sprouting up right in front of me. I thought my plant was dying, but it was actually redirecting its energy, prioritizing the new over the old.

Just like my plant, my life looks different now than it did not so long ago. We moved to a new area and a new neighborhood. I’ve made new friends but seldom see many who’ve been a part of my life for years. I retired after over a decade of tutoring in a one-day-per-week program.

I didn’t realize how weary I’d grown from an extended period of labor — years of working on book deadlines and lesson plans, months of preparing our old house to sell, the physical and emotional toll of moving — until I slowed down and slid into an unplanned season of rest. The changes of the past year reset my rhythms more than a list of new year’s resolutions.

By nature, I’m work driven, and I’ve struggled with taking downtime. This slower season of life has felt so different I’ve wondered if I’ve been doing it all wrong. I’ve felt guilty about the things I’m not doing (like work) and also the things I am doing (like staying up late with a book I can’t put down or bingeing Spider-Man movies).

Pruning a tree, plant, or vine can increase its fruitfulness and the Bible uses the same analogy for periods of spiritual growth:

Every branch in Me that does not bear fruit, He takes away; and every branch that bears fruit, He prunes it so that it may bear more fruit.
John 15:2 (NASB)

The verse begins with barrenness, followed by productivity, and finally abundance. Periods of seeming barrenness — metaphorically pulling the weeds and tilling the soil — can help to prepare us for the harvest to come. Just as my plant redirected its energy from old to new growth, the Lord often prunes us before periods of fruitfulness.

As things in my life become pruned and as I learn to rest in the barrenness, I trust that this is a season that’s good and necessary, from which I will one day reap a harvest of fruitfulness in the seasons to come.

How has the Lord pruned an area of your life and led you into a season of greater abundance?

You Are Beautiful in Your Bareness

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I was in that place where women go on the weekend to get their hair cut and colored, to cover the roots and dye the grays, to primp the curls and straighten the strands — the salon. 

I was sitting there, scrolling mindlessly on my phone, when a woman came and sat in the empty chair next to me. She mumbled something under her breath and made motions with her hands. She spoke louder and then louder again. I couldn’t tell if she was talking to me or to someone else or if she was just speaking into the air.

So I ignored her and kept scrolling mindlessly on my phone.

I was tired, and I didn’t want conversation. I didn’t even want eye contact. I just wanted to get in and get out, just wanted to get my hair cut and be on my way. But the woman wouldn’t stop mumbling under her breath and pointing at all the other women and young girls in the salon.

So I listened. I looked away from my phone and paid attention to what she was saying.

“Her hair is so nice,” she said. “And just look at her over there — all you ladies are so beautiful, just beautiful.”

She pointed to a woman down the row and to a young girl sitting next to me.

“Just beautiful hair,” she said. “Everyone here has beautiful hair.” Then she finally slid into her chair and sat down to wait for her hair to be washed.

I caught a glance of her, noticing her long, gray hair and bronze skin, matured with wrinkles — map lines that told the story of her journey.

She was beautiful. She had nice hair.

And not only did she beam with beauty on the outside, but her eyes twinkled with a truth that came from deep, deep within.

Saturdays at the salon are sacred, is what she was saying. It’s where women and young girls gather together, all bearing bare faces and bare beauty. It’s a sacred place where they show up with their hair undone, unkempt, unruly, showing off every kink and curl and pin-straight strand. It’s where they sit, vulnerable, at the hands of another, who will wash the dry scalp and dirty hair. It’s where they expose the true texture of their hair — all the thickness and the thinning out, all the bald spots and every ringlet that’s been called bad. 

When it was my turn, my hairdresser tapped me on the shoulder. She motioned for me to come and sit in her chair. Then she unwrapped the towel covering my hair and ran her fingers through my thick mane. She dried my hair, pulling a bristle brush through it, section by bulky section. 

“I am beautiful,” I thought to myself. “Even now, in the middle of maintaining my mane.”

I smiled underneath my mask, looking around at all the other women and young girls. In my mind, I heard the echoes: Everyone here has beautiful hair. Everyone here has beautiful hair . . . 

The truth about Saturdays (or Mondays or Wednesdays or Fridays) at the salon is that we are not only beautiful but we are also beloved and we belong.

God looks at each one of us and sees and loves everything about us — the width of our hips, the height of our body, the texture of our hair, the tone of our skin, the length of our eyelashes, the swell of our curves.

God cannot help but stand and point and shout and tell us that we are beautiful, just like that woman at the salon. He is always muttering and mumbling with His breath in our ears that we are His beloved and that we belong to Him, just as we are.

You may (or may not) be well into your New Year’s resolutions by now. You might have cut and colored your hair, stepped out in style, bought the bag or purchased the purse. You might be drinking more water and eating more vegetables. You might be moving your body more or counting your steps.

But, beloved, don’t forget that you are beautiful in your bareness. Don’t forget that you belong, just as you are. On the days or weeks or months when you feel like you are showing up undone, unkempt, and unruly, know that you do not have to primp and perfect yourself to be accepted and loved by others.

You do not have to primp and perfect yourself to be accepted and loved by God.

You can come and sit, with all your color and culture, all your hair texture and taste in style that makes you who you are. Without looking around to compare, without looking around to compete, you can come and be.

And in this season, if you are already comfortable showing up as you are, then perhaps look up from scrolling mindlessly on your phone. Look up to see and call out the beauty and belovedness of others. Make every space that you are in sacred by speaking words that reflect our Father’s loving embrace: Just look at her over there — all of you are so beautiful.

Just beautiful.

Empowered to Say No

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Very early in the morning, while it was still dark, Jesus got up, left the house and went off to a solitary place, where he prayed. Simon and his companions went to look for him, and when they found him, they exclaimed: “Everyone is looking for you!”

Jesus replied, “Let us go somewhere else — to the nearby villages — so I can preach there also. That is why I have come.”
Mark 1:35-38 (NIV)

I wash the rice robotically as my mind zigzags between every worry and concern and my increasing to-do list. The braised beef ribs stew in the Dutch oven on the stove, and the aroma of soy sauce, garlic, onions, and ginger fills the kitchen with the smells of home.

I taste the sauce for the beef ribs, and though I’ve made this dish a dozen times before, I still get nervous when I’m making it for a new mama. I want it to be perfect — for her to experience a mother’s love when her own is far away. I was a new mom once with no family close by, so now I want to show up whenever I’m able and provide what I never had. And though my life was overflowing with obligations, I signed up for the meal train anyway.

I pour the rice into the rice cooker, use my index finger to measure the correct amount of water, and I’m amused that somehow it’s accurate every single time. I press the cook button to get it going, and as I turn my attention to the next dish I’ve promised to make, my phone buzzes. I miss the call just as I reach for it and see that a friend has called me twice already.

It must be an emergency. Why else would she be calling me so many times?

I dial her number, and every possible scenario flashes through my head while I wait for her to answer.

“Hi!”

Her chipper greeting dispels all worries, but before I can tell her that I’m busy, she chatters on about her day, how it’s been at work lately, her complaints about this and that person, and how exhausted she’s been. I watch the minutes pass as I try to stir and juggle the phone and make sure I’m on schedule to get the meal delivered to the new mama on time. I don’t know how to get off the phone without seeming rude, so I say nothing but the occasional “yeah” to let her know I’m still listening.

By the time dinner is dropped off and I’m driving home in the quiet of my car, I realize how spent I am. I can feel the whining coming up through my heart to my mind, annoyed at no one specific but taking it out on the slow driver in front of me and . . . myself.

I’ve passed my limit of pouring out, and I knew it was coming. I probably even knew it when I first signed up to provide a meal, but I have such a hard time saying no. I don’t want to be thought of as unfriendly or as someone who doesn’t show up. I want people to know that I’m trustworthy and dependable, that I see them and can carry their burdens with them. The problem is that I want to do that for everyone. It seems like the thing Jesus would’ve done — isn’t He the one who sacrificed it all for us?

But when I look closely at His life, I see that He didn’t do everything for everyone. He wasn’t always available. He made choices, saying yes to some and no to many. In Mark 1:35-38, Jesus’s disciples find Him and exclaim, “Everyone is looking for you!” People are clamoring for Him to heal them and to cast demons out of their loved ones. Everyone needs and wants something from Jesus.

But Jesus responds by saying, “Let’s go somewhere else.” He knows not only His purpose but also His capacity.

He demonstrates this so many times in His life, establishing boundaries with unhealthy people, setting new standards for unsustainable patterns, and upending unjust practices. He retreats to solitary places to pray (Mark 1:35-38). He takes His time and rests when needed, even in the midst of a storm (Mark 4:35-41). He overturns tables in the temple — a hard no to those exploiting the poor (John 2:13-16).

Saying no actually is being like Jesus. He knew the wisdom of setting boundaries, and He empowers us to do the same. When we are being pulled in every direction, we can say yes to His purpose within our capacity.

Lord, You don’t require us to do all the things all the time. Help me not to get the needs of others confused with what You’re asking me to do. Give me the courage and ability to say no, to establish boundaries with those who often cross them, and to see my limitedness as a good thing and not a selfish thing. Amen.

Reflect:

  • In what areas of your life do you need to build healthy boundaries?
  • What’s one no you’re going to say today?
Empowered to Say No was written by Grace P. Cho, as published in Empowered: More of Him for All of You, coming in February from (in)courage.

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

Empowered: More of Him for All of You is unlike any other book we’ve ever written at (in)courage, and we are SO excited for it to be in your hands. It’s honest, hopeful, and beautiful in both design and content.

Sign up today and we’ll send you five FREE devotions from Empowered!

It’s our prayer that as you read this book, you’ll be empowered in every part of your being to live fully as God created you to be.

 

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When What We Want Equals God’s Desire, the Difference Means Everything

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A year ago, in the midst of a global pandemic, I did something I hadn’t done in almost thirty years: I returned to a traditional, nine-to-five(ish) job. Family and friends were largely supportive, though a few didn’t understand my decision. Why would a fifty-seven-year-old woman who didn’t “have” to work full time (thanks to my husband’s job and my part-time income) be willing to give up the freedom and flexibility that came with her work as a writer?

Their concerns were valid. I’d wrestled with similar questions for years.

Before writing For All Who Wander, I had toyed with the idea of going back to work. Our youngest was in college and our older two had established careers. I led and attended Bible studies and volunteered with a high school ministry. I wrote every day and led a writing critique group. I was able to say yes to freelance opportunities or to serve others. My days were planned with intention and purpose, but I still had time on my hands — something unheard of when my children were younger.

From all appearances, life was good, and yet, I was secretly struggling. Why couldn’t I just be thankful for what I had? What was wrong with me? My discontent ignited a snarling cycle of guilt as I considered how I must be failing God. If I were grateful enough and trusted Him, how could I feel this way?

Nevertheless, it was becoming increasingly difficult to write, and my overall lack of productivity was alarming to me. Despite purposeful effort to be with others, I was lonely.

I longed for more structure to my days and daydreamed about being part of a team working for a greater good. This desire to return to work didn’t make complete sense to me, especially compared to family and friends who were eager for retirement. I wondered if it was God-given or straight from the flesh.

At times I felt crazy. I certainly wasn’t thriving. In extreme moments, I felt like I was dying on the vine. I tried to share my heart with those closest to me but found it difficult to express myself fully. Even when opening up, I withheld the magnitude of my frustration and feelings of worthlessness.

After I turned in my book manuscript, I began applying for jobs. Ideally, I wanted to work at a retirement community. My last full-time job at a Life Plan Community had been one I’d adored. Regardless, I pursued a communications or marketing-related position.

To my surprise, I received an offer right away. I cried when I had to turn it down because the pay was shockingly generous but the time off was meager. Work-life balance was more important to me than salary.

Still, the offer seeded hope that I was employable. At my age (I hate qualifying myself this way, but it’s a thing.), I knew some companies would overlook me. I had confidence in my skills and experience and believed my part-time jobs, volunteerism, and entrepreneurial work as a writer would serve the right role well. But would anyone else see past my age and thirty-year sabbatical? That offer gave me hope.

I prayed for the wisdom to follow Jesus. I’ve been awesome at jumping ahead, but that’s never ended well. I begged God to give me His desires for my heart, to protect me from conjuring them myself.

Over the next eighteen months, I applied for several jobs. Sometimes I’d receive a swift rejection; more often, I wouldn’t hear anything at all. One day, I mustered all my courage and walked into a retirement community to personally deliver my resume. The short story? Bad idea. Another time, I endured three intense interviews for a dream position, only to come in second.

Though I continued to meet disappointment, this desire never wavered. On the way to yet another interview, I prayed: Lord, please! If this isn’t what you have for me, help me let go and show me Your way!

Truthfully, it was more of a demand than a request. And yet, God is ever gracious, even when we’re bratty. He calmed my anxiousness and spoke to my heart, reminding me of a passage I’d recently read —

Delight yourself in theLord,and he will give you the desires of your heart.
Commit your way to the Lord; trust in him, and he will act.
Psalm 37:4-5 (ESV)

It was as if God’s truth was hiding in plain sight. He loves us beyond comprehension, and He wants only the best for us. I could know that the desires of my heart were His desires for me because I was delighting in, following, and trusting in Him. So many times in the past, I’ve relied on my own strength, abilities, ingenuity, and resources, and asked God to bless what I was doing. This was different because I was seeking Him first. God had used those feelings of discontent and longing to draw me closer. How astounding that God can use waiting and rejection to prepare us for His calling! Sometimes the only perspective that enables us to see God’s hand in our lives is hindsight.

Against the odds (a story for another time), I received an offer from a retirement community I initially received a rejection. Last week, I celebrated my first anniversary, and I love my job so much I haven’t worked a day since I started.

When what I wanted equaled God’s desire, the difference meant everything. I was right on track, right where I was supposed to be.

 

Listen to Robin’s article today!

 

Also today, download a special bonus episode of the (in)courage podcast! Listen to a conversation with Empowered authors Mary Carver, Grace P. Cho, and Anna E. Rendell.

What You Need to Get Up Again After a Hard Fall

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A few months ago, I was out on a training run on the trail near my house with a group of mama friends. The air was brisk. Rays of light danced across the path and through the branches of the trees. Jewel-toned leaves carpeted the ground. Then suddenly my foot snagged on a crack in the sidewalk.

I went flying.

I skidded on my elbows and knees with no time to brace my fall. Thankfully, I didn’t break anything. After the wipeout, I felt a little dizzy and out of sorts. My friends asked if I needed help. With three miles to get home, I took a deep breath and tried to pull myself together.

Drawing my body up gingerly, I put one foot in front of the other and ran home. Somehow, I had enough adrenaline — or maybe it was pride — to carry me. When I got home, I assessed the real damage. My knees, palms, and elbows were pretty scraped up.

The next morning the real damage of the fall was revealed. My body ached all over. My right knee was tender and couldn’t bear any weight without a sharp, piercing pain that radiated through my knee cap. I winced anytime I bumped against a table leg or tried to kneel on it.

I’ve been running for thirty-five plus years, but I can’t remember ever falling like that. It was hard and humbling.

Whether literally or figuratively, wiping out is a part of life. There will be times when we try something and fail. There will be moments when we are blindsided by life’s circumstances and find ourselves nose to sidewalk.

What matters is how we respond.

John 5 highlights the story of when Jesus goes to the pool called Bethesda, which means “house of mercy.” This pool was a gathering place for the sick, blind, and physically disabled. The people believed that the first person to jump in when the waters were stirred would be healed. Jesus notices a man there who had been sick for thirty-eight years.

Can you imagine that kind of chronic illness?

When Jesus saw him and knew he had been ill for a long time, he asked him, “Would you like to get well?” “I can’t, sir,” the sick man said, “for I have no one to put me into the pool when the water bubbles up. Someone else always gets there ahead of me.” Jesus told him, “Stand up, pick up your mat, and walk!” Instantly, the man was healed! He rolled up his sleeping mat and began walking!
John 5:6-9 (NLT)

The man believes healing is impossible for him, but nothing is impossible with Jesus.

In His mercy, Jesus proves Himself the Healer — not the pool of Bethesda, which people believed had healing properties. Jesus gives the man three directives: Get up, pick up your mat, and walk.

Jesus offers these similar instructions to people in other parts of Scripture. In Matthew 9:6, He heals a paralytic and says, “Stand up, pick up your mat, and go home” Matthew 9:6 (NLT).

The book of Mark details a story about the daughter of the ruler of the synagogue who is raised from the dead. “Holding her hand, he said to her, ‘Talitha koum,’ which means ‘Little girl, get up!’ And the girl, who was twelve years old, immediately stood up and walked around!” Mark 5:41-42 (NLT).

All three of these people are offered healing by Jesus. He invites them to move out of this place of sickness and pain and to make a home in healing.

Friend, I hope these words remind you that Jesus is our Healer. We have to trust Him, get up, and walk in the direction He is calling us. 

We are nearing the end of January, and some of you are shaming yourselves over broken resolutions, forgotten word of the year practices, and feeling bone weary of a pandemic that has drawn on for almost two years.

Maybe you are still battling long COVID or lingering discouragement or imposter syndrome. Maybe you feel a little scraped up and sore from these last few years. I’m here to remind you it’s never too late to get up and walk. Jesus offers you a hand of healing.

We know that Jesus doesn’t always miraculously heal people from sickness or disease. Sometimes He heals them by taking them to heaven. And sometimes He heals us over time in a way that our hearts, minds, and bodies are transformed. We can trust Him in that. He is the Healer calling us to rise, get up, and walk.

The following Sunday after my fall, I ran the half marathon I was training for with my friends. I knew from the start I had to take it easy. There would be no personal records or placement medals for me. I didn’t have anything to prove. The real victory was simply getting up and running my pace to the finish line.

Is there any area in your life in which you need to rise, get up, and walk toward healing? Share in the comments. I’d love to pray over you today.

Dorina wrote a devotional and training journal, Walk Run Soar, to help you get moving in the right direction in the new year! Sign up for her Glorygram newsletter and get all the insider details about her book and other projects.

 

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What I Wish for You More Than Anything Else

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I spent the past four months living in a former Carthusian monastery in Austria. I was studying abroad, traveling through the European countryside on the weekends, sipping cappuccinos, waltzing through centuries-old cathedrals, and climbing every mountaintop.

“You’re living the dream!” family and friends back home would say to me.

Upon reflection, perhaps there was some truth to their words. Life seemed to fall right out of a fairytale — or so it appeared from my words and photographs.

It was a good and true and beautiful semester — one I had long desired for. It was the awakening of a persistent wanderlust in my soul — one that will continue to seek wit and whimsy in this ancient, glorious world.

But I think we get lost in the fantasy of “pack up and go,” of running away from the boring, habitual nature of our lives. We have made an idol out of escaping, a god out of leaving. We have made escapism the chief goal and highest king. We have so detached ourselves from the fruit and blessings of our own days that abandonment of what we have been given, of whom we have been given, is the hope, the wish, the dream.

What the photographs of my semester can’t show you are the long days and the sleepless nights. The missed trains and the food poisoning. The sweat trickling down my back as I walked through cities in stifling heat. The losing of patience and the asking for forgiveness.

The photographs also can’t depict the breathless awe, the genuine joy, and the tangible presence of God around every bend.

The photos can’t portray the way I ran into my own humanity — in ways I did not anticipate or ask for. They can only give you a shadow of a glimpse of what I experienced, and who I am now because of it.

Who we are, I quickly discovered, does not disappear the moment we are placed in extraordinary circumstances. On the contrary, who we are is only further revealed.

When we say we will leave it all behind and be free, we take with us the one thing we can never leave behind — ourselves.

We cannot fully live out what we think it means to be free because we, in and of ourselves, are desperate for something more. We’re always lacking and continuously seeking — on a hunt threaded with our own human nature and laced with the hope of something more.

The thing we seek then is not being free of inhibitions; we seek the One who frees us from inhibition. The One who unravels and undoes all that we are. The One who sees the tiniest elements of our brokenness and in this intimacy delights in us — not in spite of, not anyway, but simply because this is who He is. This is what He does — love.

We can spend our lives grasping for more, attempting to bolt from the crossroads of ordinary and mundane, or we can rest in His grasp, relinquishing ourselves to the peace of the present.

We can pursue life to the fullest, or we can live in Him who gives us the fullest life. And perhaps a life of abundance looks less like losing ourselves through escape and more like finding Him right where we are.

The semester abroad was the sweetest gift and the greatest honor. But I’ll be the first to say that it was not the fulfillment of my heart’s greatest desires and deepest longings. There is only one answer to this expectant hope that resides in my heart — God.

What I wish for you, dear friend, is that you have your breath taken away when you step into St. Peter’s Basilica, to have your heart skip a beat when you see the Cliffs of Moher, and for your laughter to ring out golden as you dance in the streets of Assisi. But what I wish for you more than anything else is that you never lose sight of what will really fulfill you — of Who will really fulfill you.

The truth is we don’t need to pack up and go to be completely satisfied (as if we ever could) because God is here and He is pressing in to stay.

 

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The Wonder of January and of Second Chances

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This month I planned a New Year’s Eve do-over. We also planned to celebrate my husband’s birthday — a month late. And making plans for 2022? Actual plans? For work and ministry and walking a 5K and reading more books than I did last year? Well, instead of happening in December, it all happened this month as well.

This month has felt like a second chance.

If I’m honest, January always feels like a second chance, as I find myself limping to the last days of December, exhausted and burned out. I scroll past all the prompts for reflection and sigh at another round-up of the best of the past twelve months, and I wonder why I can’t ever get it together. (Seriously, this is nothing new for me. I’ve written about it so many times I offer this collection of essays on the theme!)

But last year’s end was especially disappointing, as my family got sick right after Christmas and spent days in bed — the days I’d planned for decluttering, organizing, and goal-setting. I’d set aside time between Christmas and New Year’s to finalize my business plans for 2022, to declutter my kitchen cabinets and make a healthy meal plan for my family, to start a new book club, and to finish the room makeover we started for my oldest daughter back in October.

Instead, we watched a lot of movies and slept on pretty much every soft surface in our house. We ate a lot of popcorn and drank a lot of Gatorade, and yes, we went through a few boxes of Kleenex. (I’m not saying popcorn has any medicinal properties, by the way. We just like it.) And every day that passed, I reminded myself that it was okay — we would get a second chance.

I promised my family we would make our traditional apple cake and celebrate my husband’s birthday once we felt better.

I planned a New Year’s Eve party do-over with the friends we’d planned to spend that evening with (who were also sick).

And I looked desperately for blank spaces on my calendar to squeeze in the planning and organizing I’d hoped to complete last month.

January is a second chance.

Something about a second chance, when I really think about it and look at it head on, is breathtaking. It’s almost overwhelming how grateful I am for a second (or third or twenty-third or I’ve-lost-count) chance. And I’m not just talking about a day to prep a few meals, organize a few cabinets, or fill out a content calendar or to-do list.

Those things are great, but the second chances that fill me with wonder and move me to on-my-knees gratitude are the ones we get from God Himself.

Our God is a God of second chances. He’s the One who gave do-overs to Adam and Eve, Moses, David, Jonah, Peter, Paul, and so many more. He’s the One who urges us to give one another second chances by forgiving one another, and most importantly, He’s the One who took the punishment for our sins so we can spend eternity with Him — the ultimate second chance!

When we’ve messed up or missed the mark . . .
When we’ve intentionally chosen our way over His way . . .
When we’ve put our wants over anyone else’s needs . . .
When we’ve forgotten what matters, to us or to anyone else . . .

God says, “It’s not too late. Your life isn’t over. I will forgive you. You can start again.” And He does it again and again and again. He gives us another chance with every ounce of forgiveness, never forcing us to wait for the next Monday or the first of the month or the turn of a calendar page.

If you’re afraid that you’ve missed your chance, that you’ve messed up too much, that you’ve wandered too far, that you’ve waited too long, know that God will never give up on you. He is here to give you another chance. Though the weeks and seasons and years come to an end, His mercies never do.

Take heart. Our God is a God of second chances.

​​Yet I call this to mind, and therefore I have hope: Because of the Lord’s faithful love we do not perish, for his mercies never end. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.
Lamentations 3:21-23 (CSB)

 

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Salt, Snow, and Shoveling Till Kingdom Come

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I grew up in California, very used to gentle weather. One year, we had a series of storms, and I’d seen heavy rain and lightning so few times in my young life that I hid under the couch cushions because it was all so overwhelming. When I got older and went to college, I moved to Chicago and learned that weather is a whole dang thing. Still, my school was connected by underground tunnels and I didn’t have to shovel anything, so I didn’t know that the true winter experience was on its way.

For graduate school, I moved to the place I now reside, just north of Boston, Massachusetts. I quickly learned about what great cardio it was to shovel snow, and if you want to leave at noon, you’d better walk out the door at 11:30 to start digging. At first, it was a novelty, and I do have to confess I love shoveling. But that’s mostly because my porch is small and my parking place is for just one car.

It’s been a fairly mild winter, but last week we got our first storm that dropped just over a foot of snow. It doesn’t sound like a ton, but when there’s a foot of snow everywhere, it can add up quickly. A post went out on my church Facebook page asking for help shoveling. This wasn’t just a porch or a parking spot. This covered doorways and sidewalks and the places the plows had missed.

Two volunteers took snowblowers and started bigger projects, but anything with stairs or narrow spaces needed the good, old-fashioned shovel. Myself and another friend moved from place to place, shoveling heavy loads anywhere we could put it as it continued to come down on us.

It was fun for a while, but then I started thinking: I wanted to stop. I wanted to be done. I wanted to hide around a corner and drink hot chocolate. But there weren’t many of us, and it was getting dark. My heart wanted to make excuses and talk my way out of putting my hand to the work we needed to get done. And then I recalled the people who would be there in another day or two trying to go to church.

They needed access to the building. If you leave snow, it starts to melt, and then cold temperatures turn it to ice. So after we shoveled, we put down a layer of salt to prevent it from being too dangerous. It brings a new understanding to the phrase, “You are the salt of the earth.” Without the salt, we’re all going to end up a meme of someone sliding down the sidewalk with a caption, like “Me tryin’ to get thru 2022.”

I have a complicated relationship with my church. I’ve hurt others, and they’ve hurt me. I’ve been misunderstood and cried over disagreements, but we always come back and talk it out and do what we can to live at peace with one another. We are human beings looking for the grace of God in the face of one another, and the only way we’re going to work things out is to work together.

So I shoveled. We shoveled. To clear a path and to love those who probably wouldn’t even notice our work if we did it well because the sidewalks would look fine. And that’s what we as the local church are called to do. We keep showing up in our messiness. We keep serving and celebrating. We keep ironing out the wrinkles. We clear the way and make room for one another to come home. After all, at the end of the day, we belong to Christ — and each other. 

Raising a Hallelujah in the Middle of a Storm

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I’ve been pounding on my piano keys a lot lately. Yes, pounding them hard, wrestling with sadness and questions and frustration. Creating beautiful music isn’t my goal. His glory is the goal and praising Him in the middle of pain is my desire. I’m compelled to turn my worry into worship even when the enemy is trying to chase me down, but it’s coming at a cost.

Pound, pound.

O God, be not far from me; O my God, make haste to help me! 
Psalm 71:12 (KJV)

When words fail me, when I have no immediate answer for our son’s devastating call, I raise my hands to the heavens and cry, “Why? Why, Lord? It’s just not fair . . . Please be near me, Lord.” With moments of kicking and screaming, I go to Him a bit like a little child. I know He wants what’s best for me, for our son, but the unfolding of that story isn’t known yet. And right now, in the midst of it, His story isn’t the one I’d choose, so those out-of-tune ivories have been getting a much needed workout.

Pound. Praise. Pound.

I am weary with my moaning; every night I flood my bed with tears; I drench my couch with my weeping.
Psalm 6:6 (ESV)

When Jesus declared, “Let the little children come to me,” He didn’t put any caveats on that statement. He didn’t demand that only the well-behaved children come. He didn’t ask the disciples to bring the little children who would sit quietly by His side and never ask questions, nor do I assume it was the calm, tranquil environment of which children’s’ picture books paint that scene.

No, Jesus welcomed all children to come to him, so I’m fairly certain that included the messy, crying, loud ones too. But one thing I assume is that they came with all the questions. Envision it: “Why, Jesus? Why? Why?” Since we are His children, His most beloved daughters, He welcomes our questions and our cries because the answers are laid out for us. His Word does not return void.

Pound. Cry. Pound. Praise.

Now if any of you lacks wisdom, he should ask God — who gives to all generously and ungrudgingly —
and it will be given to him.
James 1:5 (CSB)

I choose to usher my heart of sadness into song because over four hundred times, Scripture references us to sing. Fifty of those times, God assigns direct commands to sing, so I pound those keys through my frustrations and sing the truth found in Psalms, hymns, and spiritual songs until they’ve pointed me to His faithfulness.

Why else do I sing and pound and lift His name up high?

I sing Scripture to impart solid theology to memory, but I also sing Scripture because songs of lament pierce my soul and allow the Holy Spirit to move my heart into a deeper connection of reverence and repentance before Him.

I sing songs of thanksgiving, not only because it’s commanded but also because I sing in response to His rescue and redemption of my life. He saved me from my sin, so how can I not sing?

Miriam, a woman, was the very first worship leader in Scripture. In Exodus 15, after the Israelites witnessed God’s power to miraculously destroy their enemies and deliver them from bondage, she picked up a tambourine and led with her song, testifying in gratitude His power to save. As we’re rescued from bondage, our souls ignite with a response of gratitude like Miriam’s. The Lord is worthy of our trust, so how can we not praise?

Sing to the Lord, for he is highlight exalted.
Exodus 15:21 (NIV)

Praise. Pound. Praise.

I sing of His love because when life doesn’t make sense, He does. I sing of His faithfulness because when Satan tries to tell me otherwise, God’s goodness is still worthy of our praise.

I fight to praise in the middle of my pain because He is the same yesterday, today, and forever.

Praise. Praise. Raise a hallelujah.

So, crank your favorite worship song. Sing with abandon. Raise your hands to the heaven and dance in the kitchen. Boldly declare the truth in times of trial because when we sing His name, darkness flees.

This is my declaration today:

I raise a hallelujah, in the presence of my enemies
I raise a hallelujah, louder than the unbelief
I raise a hallelujah, my weapon is a melody
I raise a hallelujah, heaven comes to fight for me

I’m gonna sing, in the middle of the storm
Louder and louder, you’re gonna hear my praises roar
Up from the ashes, hope will arise
Death is defeated, the King is alive!

I raise a hallelujah, with everything inside of me
I raise a hallelujah, I will watch the darkness flee
I raise a hallelujah, in the middle of the mystery
I raise a hallelujah, fear you lost your hold on me!

I’m gonna sing, in the middle of the storm
Louder and louder, you’re gonna hear my praises roar
Up from the ashes, hope will arise
Death is defeated, the King is alive!
Raise a Hallelujah (Bethel Music)

Won’t you come pound some praises with me? How can I lift you up?

You Are Essential Because You Have Influence

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Being a healthcare worker has been difficult the past two years. We were told by the world that we were essential, so we needed to show up. We were supposed to show up even if we were scared we could get the virus or bring it home to our families. We were essential, but we had to work with fewer resources than ever before. We were hailed as superheroes, but we were also scared to lose our jobs as we watched coworkers get laid off when certain departments got shut down. We were told we were essential, but we felt disposable, replaceable, and as if our voices didn’t matter. This was the story of almost every healthcare worker in 2020 and 2021.

It was one of the toughest seasons in my career. There were days I wished I could take a break from it all for the sake of my mental health. There were moments of regret that I chose the health care field. I felt anything but essential.

But one day, I walked into work and saw a new face in the clinic.

We had a physical therapy student who was starting her clinical rotation with us, so I introduced myself as I walked past her to go to my office. Her clinical instructor found me at lunch break and said, “You have to meet my student. She knows you. In fact, you’re the reason she chose to be a physical therapist.” I was puzzled. She continued, “You didn’t recognize her? When she was a teenager, she came to you for physical therapy and the way you made her feel was why she chose this as her career. She is so excited that she crossed paths with you again!”

I held back tears.

There are special moments in life when God will use people to remind you of who He has made you to be. This was one of those moments for me. He reminded me in a very dark season of doubt and disappointment that I am essential because I have influence.

Friend, can I remind you of the same truth? You are essential. You may not feel like it. Your platform or job may not lead you to believe it. But you are essential because you have influence — far greater than you realize.

Honestly, I didn’t remember this student as a patient because I’ve been doing this work for over eleven years. But the seed I sowed, the words I spoke, the care I provided for her as a young teenager changed the course of her future, even though I had no idea.

I believe there are people like her in your life. It could be a Sunday school student, a coworker, neighbor, classmate, or a stranger who reads your words on the internet who has been impacted by you though you may not be aware. There is always someone who needs to see your kindness, hear your story, or read your words. You are not replaceable or disposable. You matter more than you know.

I showed up for that teenage patient like I do for all my patients — prepared to serve, educate, and treat in the area I am called to. That made me essential in her life. Your circumstances may seem hopeless, your platform may be small, your job may feel mundane, but when we are faithful to what we’re called to do, we are essential to someone. And that person is essential to another.

We don’t always get to see the end of the story or see the ripple effect of our lives. But if we did, we would see that we are indeed indispensable. We need to realize that truth about ourselves so that we can live our lives with purpose and influence the world around us.

So don’t quit what God has called you to do when it gets hard and dark. Instead, let your light shine.

 

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

Your Weakness Is Exactly What God Wants

by

Everything ached. Muscles I didn’t know I had throbbed within me. Pain bloomed in my neck, my hip, my left knee. I gasped as I got out of bed. I hadn’t done anything mighty or heroic; all I’d done was go skiing. Truth be told, I’d spent far less time on the skis and far more time skyrocketing down the hill towards a face plant.

When I had strapped on those skis and glanced at the hill, I realized I somehow needed to get down. Panic rushed inside of my chest, and fear filled my lungs. I shuddered. 

“You can do this,” I pep-talked myself. “It’s just a little snow on a bit of an incline. Besides, you have no choice. You have to get down this hill.” 

I’m Canadian. Knowing how to ski ought to be embedded within me. I watched young kids fly past me as I inched my way down the slope. My friend waited patiently for me at the bottom. I was terrified. I regretted my choice of embracing a Canadian winter. I should’ve stayed home with a book.

I began to pick up traction down the hill and, much to my dismay, started moving faster and faster. I lost control. I tried to stop, but instead my body flew, crashing into the snow face first. 

“Ow,” I moaned. I looked like the abominable snow monster, my face cold and covered in snow. Somehow my ski poles had landed on opposite sides of the hill. 

The next morning, each step I took reminded me of the many crashes I had the day earlier. I ached and ached.

I hate the feeling of being weak. I don’t like being bad at new things. It was ridiculous for me to assume skiing would have somehow been easy or that I could have had the grace of an Olympian after a few tries. But I wanted to be great. I think of Amy March’s words from the recent movie adaption of Little Women, “I want to be great or nothing!” 

It’s a trap I fall into over and over — believing I need to be great in order to be loved, thinking I need to be interesting in order to be liked. I convince myself I need to perform a song and dance to prove to people I’m worth sticking around for. I want to be special and significant, to make a mark on the world, to leave a lasting legacy. Like Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden, I want to take a shortcut and become like God. Over and over, I find myself thinking, “Okay, God, I can take it from here and do this on my own now.”

Instead, I am reminded of how weak I am, how finite and how ordinary. How much a tumble down a ski hill hurts the next morning.

God doesn’t need our bravado, charisma, or strength. He doesn’t need a blue checkmark on Instagram, a book deal, or a decent salary. He doesn’t need us to perform, pretend, or produce in order to ensure He’ll stick around. 

He wants us to come exactly as we are — limping and weary. It turns out God can do a lot with ordinary and finite and weak. Jesus said the man who prayed from his heart, repenting in his utter weakness, was the prayer He preferred, and the widow who gave a penny away gave more than the rich who’d given plenty. In the upside-down kingdom we reside in, weakness is exactly what Jesus wants.

Paul said in 2 Corinthians 12:9, “But he said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’ Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me.”

The thought of boasting in my weakness makes me cringe. A friend recently told me, “I think I’m meant to wear my weakness instead of hiding it.” 

Wear my weakness? It’s exactly what Jesus did time and time again. God chose a teenage girl to give birth to His Son. A couple of lowly shepherds to be the first disciples. A woman to be the first preacher of the gospel. 

And most of all, God Himself hung on a cross, wearing our pain and our shame and our weakness. 

There’s no need for greatness at the foot of the cross. It’s not about us anyway. Instead, we can come exactly as we are, knowing all the glory belongs to Jesus.

Your weakness is the best spot for you to be. Come to God in your neediness, limping and tired, and surrender every part of you. 

Then just watch what God can do.

 

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