Could Your Desperation Be the Key to God’s Power?

Could Your Desperation Be the Key to God’s Power?

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There’s a question I’ve been chewing on for quite some time. I can’t get it out of my head. It goes like this:

What if the display of God’s power in our lives is directly related to acknowledging our need for Him?

In the midst of personal crisis, national unrest, or a global pandemic, people ask, “Where is God?” Here’s what I’m coming to believe more than ever: He’s in our need. He’s in our lack. He’s present and powerful when we’re ready to admit how desperate we are without Him.

The end of our rope is the beginning of God’s grace. This is true in our individual circumstances and in our desire to make this world a better place.

Mother Teresa said, “I alone cannot change the world, but I can cast a stone across the waters to create many ripples.”

I can’t help but think of the famous story of how God used one small stone to create mighty waves of change. I’m thinking of the rock that took down a mighty giant. Goliath was the nearly ten-foot-tall Philistine warrior who threatened to destroy the Israelite army. Day after day, for forty days, Goliath came forward and challenged any man from the opposing side who had enough guts to face him. The future of both nations rested on this single man-to-man battle. Whichever side was victorious would get their enemy’s land, wealth, and surviving citizens. Saul was king of Israel at the time, and not one soldier in his mighty legion was willing to fight such a powerful opponent with everything on the line.

The Israelites were woefully aware of their insufficiency, but they failed to understand that God’s power was what they really needed. Enter David. David was a young shepherd and the youngest of eight sons; his father sent him to the battlefield to bring provisions to his brothers. When David got to the front lines and heard about the dire situation his people faced, he didn’t hesitate to offer his help.

What made the young shepherd willing to face an opponent that hundreds of grown men trained in combat wouldn’t? Was it because David was simply conceited, like his older brother suggested? Did he think so highly of himself that he believed he could accomplish what no one else could? I don’t think so.

David’s uncanny courage came from knowing that it would be God’s power that would defeat the giant. And he was willing to be the conduit. Without a breastplate or sword or spear, David approached Goliath with nothing but a sling and pouch full of river rocks. He took one smooth stone, placed it in his sling, and let it soar. The rock sank into the Philistine’s forehead, taking down the ostensibly unconquerable soldier.

A sheep-tending little brother stood victorious on the battlefield, showing God’s undeniable power.

So what does an old Bible story that reads more like a mythic fairy tale have to do with us? While it’s unlikely that you or I will ever be asked to save a nation by slaying an epic giant, we each are destined to face opportunities to help when the odds are stacked against us. Surely we will see someone in need and look down at our own measly stones and be tempted to think, It’s impossible for someone like me to make a difference.

The right response is, “Yeah, it is impossible — without God. But with God, all things are possible.”

David wasn’t responsible for the outcome. He was responsible for hearing God, responding in faith, and showing up. An entire nation of people was changed because of it.

We offer our pebble. God’s power magnifies the ripples. He accomplishes with a simple stone what we cannot do on our own.

Isn’t this just the message we all need right now? When the world’s problems loom large and your ordinary life stretches you thin, is it still possible to be a difference-maker? Absolutely! One small, intentional, God-powered act of kindness at a time.

The Simple Difference: How Every Small Kindness Makes a Big Impact will help you see more of the people in front of you, more of God’s lavish love for you, and more of His power within you.

Why I Stopped Apologizing for Changing

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If I had to choose a coast, I’d choose the West Coast every time. Living in a landlocked, flat state has made me deeply appreciate the beauty of towering trees, majestic mountains, and the crashing waves of the Pacific Ocean. I know the East Coast offers similar wonders, but as someone with curly hair, the humidity and heat of the Atlantic are not for me. So when I vacation, I choose the Pacific, almost without fail.

For the past four years, the ocean has become my sacred retreat. It’s where I walk barefoot in the sand, feel the mist on my face, and let the roar of the waves quiet the noise in my soul. I can sit for hours, mesmerized by the rise and fall of the sea — its power, its rhythm, its voice that cannot be silenced. There’s something about the water that awakens all my senses to a kind of shalom I can’t put into words. It feels like a release, a holy exhale, even if only for a moment. Sometimes, it seems as though when the tide pulls the sand back into the ocean, it takes my worries with it.

The ocean has become therapy for my soul — so I keep going back.

This year, I noticed something different. The waves were higher. The shoreline had shifted. The landscape no longer looked like it did on my first visit. And in that moment, I was reminded: everything changes. The ocean changes. I change. Everything in creation is subject to change — except God.

God is not created. He is Creator. He is the one constant, the unchanging anchor in a world of shifting tides.

“For I the Lord do not change…” (Malachi 3:6 ESV)

“Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today, and forever.” (Hebrews 13:8 ESV)

“The grass withers, the flower fades, but the word of our God will stand forever.” (Isaiah 40:8 ESV)

Throughout Scripture, we are reminded of these truths that steady our faith: God is faithful. He is constant. His Word is unchanging, even when everything around — and within — us is in motion. God doesn’t change, even in the midst of a fickle and fading world.

As I stood on the shoreline, I realized how much I’ve changed since that first visit. My body has changed with age. My mind is still healing from the burnout of being a healthcare worker. My soul has stretched and matured in ways I didn’t expect. Most of these changes weren’t ones I chose — they were hard, unwelcome, even resisted. But they came anyway. Because change is inevitable.

Earlier that morning, I stood in front of the mirror and criticized the sun spots spreading across my face. I cursed the weight clinging to my thighs and belly. I cried looking at old photos — where my hair was straightened — remembering when I felt prettier. I joked with friends about the brain fog and aches brought on by perimenopause. But deep down, I was grieving.

Maybe it’s the filtered images on social media. Maybe it’s the unattainable beauty standards or our culture’s obsession with staying forever young. Somewhere along the way, I forgot: Change is not failure. It’s part of being alive.

And yet, the ocean isn’t trying to hide its changes. It still roars. It still draws people from all over the world to come and stare into its depths — and find peace. The ocean doesn’t apologize for how it’s changed — and neither should I. Neither should you.

I have changed. And that’s okay.

Who I am at the core remains unchanged: I am a child of God. My purpose endures — to glorify Him with my life. I can roar like the ocean. I can take up space, even with all the ways I’ve shifted and grown.

When my high school friends wrote “Don’t ever change” in my yearbook, they had no idea how deeply I’d internalize that message. But everything created is meant to change. The temptation is to resist it. But instead of wrestling, I’m learning to cling to the One who never changes — and to trust His promises, because they never fail.

On that shore, God gently reminded me: He doesn’t love the past version of me. He doesn’t love the future version of me. He loves me — just as I am today.

So I don’t need to criticize, curse, or cry over the changes I’ve experienced or will walk through in the seasons to come. I can learn to be present. I can learn to cherish the woman in the mirror.

Because everything is supposed to change.

And maybe you need that reminder too. Friend, instead of mourning who you used to be — or striving for a version of yourself that doesn’t exist yet, I pray that you will be reminded that God hasn’t changed, and neither has His love for you. Let His constancy anchor you. Let His love settle you.

 

Listen to Simi’s devotion here or on your favorite podcast app!

Living Worthy of Your Calling

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“Therefore I, a prisoner for serving the Lord, beg you to lead a life worthy of your calling, for you have been called by God. Always be humble and gentle. Be patient with each other, making allowance for each other’s faults because of your love. Make every effort to keep yourselves united in the Spirit, binding yourselves together with peace. For there is one body and one Spirit, just as you have been called to one glorious hope for the future.”
Ephesians 4:1-4 NLT

Sister, you have been called.

Not just to a job, a role, or a title, but to a life. A life of purpose. A life set apart for God’s glory. A life that matters.

Some days, it doesn’t feel that way. Maybe you’re knee-deep in laundry, overwhelmed at work, or wondering if anything you do actually makes a difference. Maybe the weight of discouragement or comparison is pressing hard against your heart. But hear this:

Your life is not an accident. Your days are not wasted. You are created on purpose for a purpose.

Paul’s words in Ephesians 4 remind us to live worthy of our calling. That doesn’t mean we have to hustle for our worth or prove our value. No, our worth is already secured in Christ. Instead, it’s an invitation to walk in a way that reflects the One who called us. To choose humility over pride. Gentleness over harshness. Patience over irritation. Love over judgment.

It’s a high calling. One we can’t fulfill on our own. But here’s the good news: We’re not meant to. God’s Spirit in us empowers us to live with intention. His grace sustains us when we fall short. His strength carries us forward when we feel weak. And we don’t walk this road alone. We are part of one body, bound together in love and anchored in the hope of Christ.

So today, wherever you find yourself — whether in the mundane or the momentous — live knowing that you are called. Your life matters. And by God’s grace, you can walk worthy of the calling He has placed on you.

Lord, thank You for calling me to a life of purpose. When I feel discouraged or distracted, help me fix my eyes on You. Fill me with Your Spirit so I can walk in humility, love, and patience. Remind me that my life matters, not because of what I do, but because of who You are. By Your grace, may I live worthy of the calling You have placed on me. Amen.

 

Eve Reclaimed Her Purpose…and So Can You

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If any woman has been misunderstood and had her purpose misinterpreted and miscounted, it was Eve. She made the worst choice of her life on her very worst day. She took and ate the fruit from a tree that God instructed her and Adam not to touch. This disobedience was significant enough to potentially thwart God’s original purpose for her. Yet, by God’s grace, it didn’t.

In Genesis 1:26-28, God instructs Eve to be exceedingly fruitful; like Adam, she is to multiply, fill, conquer, and subdue the earth. Yet, even after Eve’s disobedience, this purpose was never taken from her. Eve was created with purpose, for purpose, and from purpose. As a woman also made in God’s image, so too are you.

Gender does not determine purpose, nor does failure. God’s words and instructions in Scripture define your purpose.

I can envision how the expulsion from Eden and the loss of trust in what should have been a blissful union with Adam might have caused Eve to lose her voice and sense of purpose for a time. Eve’s insecurity that arose, after disregarding God’s command in the garden and losing unhindered access to His presence, must have deeply affected her. This insecurity may have hindered her ability to dream or to believe in reclaiming what she had seemingly lost. The fear of failing again may have started to dictate her choices, as she contemplated that if she gave in to fear and temptation once, it could easily happen again.

Has insecurity ever held you back? Has the fear of failure or rejection ever limited you? Does it ever seem there are forces opposed to you living and leading with purpose? Is there a situation where you’ve felt misunderstood or rejected and in need of expressing your voice again? 

I encountered all of the above after only a few years in ministry. Recovering from rejection, misunderstanding, or even personal failures can be challenging . . . but it is possible. In Genesis 4, after Eve has gone through the devastation of a broken relationship with God, and a broken family, we read that she reclaims her purpose when Seth is born.

Genesis 4:25 says, “She gave birth to a son and named him Seth, saying, ‘God has granted me another child in place of Abel.’” Seth literally means anointed, appointed, positioned with purpose, placed intentionally. Seth’s life ushered in a new opportunity — for himself and many others — to live with purpose.

Even in the face of the most significant ramifications and hardships after The Fall, Eve influenced the next generation, and generations to come, to rise and serve the Lord. Despite her disobedience, God wasn’t done with Eve. By His grace, she reclaimed her purpose — and so can you. The same redemption given to Eve has been passed down through the ages and is extended to you as a female image-bearer.

Often when we struggle to understand why we consistently feel inadequate, we forget about the nuances and the nature of our sinful world. We find someone to blame and frequently resort to saying the issue lies with the church, pastor, male leadership team, spouse, family, or God. However, after working with hundreds of women over the past few decades, I can confidently assert that the primary source of opposition to purpose comes from within.

You might be the one silencing your own voice. Your core beliefs about your identity and intrinsic value are central to your ability to influence and lead in Kingdom work. Your core — the essence of who you are — is a mix of character, clarity, courage, and confidence.

At your core, you must believe that you have inherent value, created as an image-bearer of God and reflecting His character. This is the character piece.

You must be clear on your why, who, and what. This is the clarity piece.

You must believe that obeying God is the foundation of your brave “Yes” to stepping up and speaking out in your situation. This is the courage piece.

You should be able to enter rooms and sit at tables, fully aware that if God has opened a door, you can walk confidently through it. This is the confidence piece.

Do not doubt, for a second, that you were created for a Kingdom purpose at this very moment. The struggle is real, but so is God’s redemption. My prayer is that you believe God has called you for a purpose. Like Eve, even after your worst choice on your worst day, you can receive God’s forgiveness and impact the present and future generations through His purpose-driven guidance for your life.

The Lopsided Bowl That Taught Me About God

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A while back, I signed up for a pottery class — one of those “sip something, spin some clay” situations. I’d watched people do this on Instagram, and they made it look effortless. Very aesthetic. Very soothing.

Our instructor walked us through the steps and made it sound super-easy. Before I even sat at the wheel, I started eyeing the shelf of student samples. One bowl caught my eye. It had delicate fluting, a symmetrical shape, and a gorgeous glaze.

“That’s what I’ll make,” I whispered to myself.

I’m nothing if not ambitious.

So I sat down at my wheel with a big glob of clay and not much in the way of natural talent.

Turns out, it’s a lot harder than it looks.

My masterpiece? A lopsided, slightly awkward little vessel. It was kind of charming, if you squint at it from one angle. Definitely not fluted. Definitely not shelf-worthy. But it was a vessel just the same — able to be filled and able to be used.

As I stared at that humble little pot, spinning slowly on the wheel, I thought of God, the Divine Potter.

Scripture calls our Lord the Potter. And guess who’s the clay?

Yeah, us. We are the clay. Humbling, am I right?

“But now, O Lord, you are our Father;
    we are the clay, and you are our potter;
    we are all the work of your hand.”
Isaiah 64:8 ESV

God shapes our lives — sometimes through gentle nudging, sometimes through pressure, sometimes through starting over.

O.K. God. Cool. Sounds just fine in theory. But Oh. My. Word… how many times do we climb up onto that wheel ourselves, determined to be both the clay and the Potter?

We hustle.
We manage outcomes.
We set five-year plans.
We try to form a version of ourselves that looks more “shelf-worthy.”

Here’s the thing I’m learning:

We are not called to mold our lives into something impressive. We are called to yield to the Potter who is forming something eternal.

God gives us dreams, and FOR SURE, we can chase those dreams with boldness and hope. We can do cool stuff with the clay God gives us.

But make no mistake: We don’t shape God into our image. He shapes us into His.

Can I be honest? Sometimes the vessel that He gives me? Well … it looks …. off.

There are days I look at my life and think,
“This wasn’t the plan.”
“This isn’t what I pictured.”
“This isn’t what I prayed for.”

It doesn’t look pretty on the shelf.

Thank God for this truth right here: He is not after perfect vessels. He’s after surrendered clay. Even a crooked vessel, when formed by the Potter, can carry something sacred.

Our lives may not look like someone else’s on the shelf. But we were never meant to be mass-produced.

That’s true for me, and that’s true for you, my (in)courage friend. Your vessel, your life, is one-of-a-kind, purpose-filled, and capable of holding His Spirit.

Pray with me?

Here I am, Lord.
Clay in Your hands.
Mold me according to Your plans, not mine.
Shape me into something that carries Your glory, not my own.
Even when it’s messy. Even when it’s different than I imagined.
Amen.

 

Listen to Jennifer’s devotion here or on the (in)courage podcast!

The Love and Legacy of Christ in Us

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Family doesn’t always come in the ways we expect. Sometimes it’s the people who open their homes to you in a season of need. Sometimes it’s those who welcome you to their dinner table, remember your name, and offer the kind of care that heals places in your heart you didn’t know were hurting.

Over the years, the Lord has used many different people to shape my understanding of love, belonging, and legacy — but few have impacted me like the Hornsby family. They took me in at a time when I felt unanchored and unseen, and through their kindness, I caught a glimpse of the kind of family God intended all along.

Recently, I attended the funeral of Brother Scott Hornsby. For me, funerals often stir deep reflection. I find myself asking: Has my life mattered? Have I made a difference? Will I leave something lasting behind?

Brother Scott’s life answered those questions with a resounding yes. He and his wife, Mrs. Merriann, were married for 57 years — a lifetime of faithfulness and fruit. Together, they raised three children, poured into ten grandchildren, and were preparing to welcome their sixth great-grandchild. Their family tree is vibrant, flourishing with love and faithfulness.

But numbers alone don’t tell the story. Impact does.

Let me take you back about 20 years. I was nearing the end of college and in a bit of a transitional season. I’d moved out of the dorms but hadn’t yet landed on where I’d go next. That’s when Mary Jane — Brother Scott’s daughter — and her husband, Todd, offered for me to stay with them and their young daughter.

Their invitation changed me. I had never experienced that kind of kindness before. Opening your home to someone isn’t a small thing — it’s intimate, vulnerable, generous. I was in my early twenties and still figuring out who I was. Their willingness to welcome me in introduced me to something I had missed growing up in a dysfunctional environment: a picture of a healthy, Christ-centered family.

During those months, I got to know the extended Hornsby family. We’d drive out to Bluff Creek, where most of them lived, and gather for birthdays, holidays, or just a visit. I have precious memories of those times — watching the kids grow, sitting on the bathroom floor for girl talk with one of Mary Jane’s sisters-in-law, and simply being welcomed as one of their own.

This family exudes the love of Christ. Each one of them opened their hearts and lives to a young woman who was, honestly, lonely and hurting. They served and gave without hesitation. They made me feel seen, known, and safe. And they spoke truth and encouragement, and even correction when needed, with grace and love.

The Hornsbys have lived out the words of Hebrews 13:16 (NLT): “And don’t forget to do good and to share with those in need. These are the sacrifices that please God.” They’ve embodied Galatians 6:10: “Therefore, whenever we have the opportunity, we should do good to everyone — especially to those in the family of faith.” They never gave to get something in return. They blessed because it’s who they are — obedient, faithful, generous people.

When I think of legacy, I think of family. Not just biological family, but spiritual family too. For those of us who grew up in broken homes or without close family ties, we’ve had to believe that the Body of Christ could become our family. We’ve had to trust that God would meet our needs through His people — that we wouldn’t have to strive for an invite, beg to be included, or prove we’re worth loving. We’ve had to hold onto hope that we’d be seen, loved, and valued — at the right time, by the right people.

Over the years, life has become full and busy. I haven’t spent much time with the Hornsbys lately. The once-little ones are grown now — married and raising babies of their own. Still, after the funeral, I spent the rest of the day at Mrs. Merriann’s home. It was bittersweet. Sad that Brother Scott was no longer there, but beautiful to see the family laughing, reminiscing, and dreaming about the future together.

As believers, we don’t grieve without hope. We know that now is not forever, and Heaven is our home. Brother Scott’s funeral was a celebration of a life well-lived. His sons and close friends told story after story of his faith, his leadership, his quiet strength, and his Christlike character.

Yes, Brother Scott was a pastor, a visionary, a leader in the Kingdom. But his greatest legacy wasn’t what he did — it was how he loved. The way he loved his wife, his children, his grandchildren. The way he showed up for his church family and welcomed people like me into the fold. That’s the kind of legacy that changes lives.

Our real legacies are not what we do for God, but how we love one another. God joyfully adopted us as His own, and it’s our joy to carry that love forward.

I count it one of the greatest gifts of my life to have been embraced by the Hornsby family. Their love and kindness left a permanent mark on my heart.

My prayer is that you and I would live the kind of lives that carry the love and legacy of Christ.

Have you experienced that kind of love and legacy in your life? I’d love to hear your testimony.

 

Listen to Karina’s devotion here or wherever you stream podcasts.

Doing the Dang Thing Despite Anxiety

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A fresh season unfolded before me this past February. Prayerfully choosing a move back to my hometown also meant starting over with work. After creating a new résumé, it was time to seek out prospective jobs. When opportunity knocked, I drove to an interview, outfitted with a black top, cream cardigan, plaid dress pants, and leather Toms.

The following Monday, upon arriving to interview for a different position, my hands felt shaky as I filled out paperwork for a job I truly wanted, a job that would complement my college and career path. It’s hard answering questions face-to-face, putting yourself out there, not knowing if you’ll actually be hired or not. Even still, stepping outside of your comfort zone, moving forward despite fear and anxiety, and doing the dang thing anyway can bring about rewarding feelings. I left that second interview with a smile on my face as I dialed my mom to tell her about it.

From the start of this job journey, I made a habit of talking to Jesus about my potential options. And, with that last interview in particular, though I eventually left smiling, my anxiety had been raging beforehand. Once the day played out, I reflected on my decision to push through the anxiety and pursue the job opportunity anyway. Jesus told me this:

“The season I have purposed for you is unique and contains great breakthrough — and joy. The enemy hates progress but is powerless. Don’t let him persuade you from pushing through anxiety and leaving your comfort zones.”

Jesus’s insight to my situation brought comfort and peace. Spiritual warfare cannot halt breakthrough nor joy if we press on.

At the same time, there is no denying that fear and anxiety are a real, formidable hindrance to thriving. But pushing through and actually doing whatever it is that we wish to succeed in is the only way to conquer our fear and anxiety. Building confidence does not happen when we stay stuck. . . ask me how I know!

As I have stepped out, it has taken talking to Jesus about each detail I’m concerned about along the way, outside encouragement, as well as just doing the dang thing even when I am afraid, like Elisabeth Elliot asserts: “Sometimes…fear does not subside and…one must choose to do it afraid.”

We don’t have to wait and wait and wait for the fear to go away. It would certainly be more comfortable to be fearless when it is time to move forward. But, true to life as a believer, choosing to do “it” afraid asks more of us. Jesus calls us to strength and courage despite fear — and He promises His presence in the process, because He knows this is a valuable avenue for experiencing joy and growth . . . in and through Him.

We do not have to wait until we are brave or courageous to progress. Courage runs through our veins, usually undetected, even as we face that “thing” that scares us. By choosing bravery and consequently pushing through fear, we are getting out into the world, out of what is familiar, to reach for something better and beneficial. We just have to knock down the what ifs and do — even in spite of fear.

This doesn’t mean it will be easy. We’ve already established that journeying ahead will typically be something that “feels” anything but. Yet, we can focus on the reward — the joy and breakthrough, which will flow like gifts as a result of being brave.

Although written with positivity about me, I recently received an email notifying me that I was not hired for the position I hoped for. The comfort in this is knowing my steps were heading forward as I showed up and interviewed without knowing what the end result would be. Anxiety did not have the last say. Fear was disregarded and courage came through.

Now, onto the pursuit of other potential jobs. I know Jesus will open up the right one for me at the right time — and I’ll choose, all over again, to bravely move forward despite the anxiety.

Friend, if you relate to experiencing anxiety while job seeking, share in the comments and make it known. What is God teaching you in this season, and what are you trusting Him for? What is helping you to step out in faith even when you’re scared?

Listen to today’s devotion here or wherever you stream podcasts.

What Will Sabotage and Supercharge Your Friendships

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Recently, I found a pic of me, all chubby and smiley at 3 years old, standing in front of my cousin’s pool. My cousin’s family and my family lived on the same lane, called O’Neill Lane. Everyone living on that lane had the last name of O’Neill.

As a kid, it felt rather “bougie” to have access to a pool every single day of the summer. At the time, I basically thought we were the Ewings on Dallas.

Note: We definitely weren’t the Ewings. But with a well of extended family that ran as deep as it ran wide, we had wealth in relatives.

What’s more, I had a good number of friends.

At 18, I left O’Neill Lane for the university 50 miles “down the road.” While there, I began dating one David Strong. When things turned serious, we started talking about marriage. Since David was in the process of becoming an officer in the United States Air Force, I knew that hitching my horse to his wagon meant we’d most likely leave Oklahoma.

Sure enough, after marrying, we moved to our first duty station in Ohio. About 10 minutes after arriving, my husband left town for training. I still remember looking out our apartment window and thinking about how I went from knowing almost everyone to knowing not a single soul.

What I know now is that making friends is an art and a skill, and back then I didn’t have much of either. Why would I? Because I’d organically grown up with friends, by and large, I never had to make them. And let me tell you, in those early years of living away from O’Neill Lane, I made mistake after mistake that completely sabotaged my efforts to find new friends in my new state.

Here are three ways I sabotaged my effort to make friends — and how I learned to supercharge my friendships instead:

1. I expected others to put in the work to become friends that I wasn’t willing to put in myself. When I transferred as a senior music major to a college in Ohio, I assumed it would be obvious to those within my small music school that I was the new person. Therefore, I expected other people to introduce themselves to me and welcome me into their circles. I didn’t realize I had to put in the work myself to “go first” in that regard. And while this was hard because it was new to me, it was still easier to do in an environment full of people around the same age and stage of life. The older we are, the harder this is because we have to be more intentional about meeting people. But whether you’re 18 or 80, when you’re diligent to put in that time and effort, you will reap the rewards of a harvest of friendships.

2. I adopted a victim mentality. When my efforts to connect were rejected, I adopted a victim mentality; I coughed up excuse after excuse as to why I couldn’t make friends.

  • I can’t find friends here because no one is interested in knowing me.
  • I can’t find friends here because people aren’t as friendly as they are in Oklahoma.
  • I can’t find friends here because all the people already have their people.

And while some of that was absolutely true (when you transfer colleges as a senior, people do already have their people!), I let those excuses be the beginning and end of the matter. I was like the invalid by the Bethesda pool who wanted the waters to heal him, but when Jesus asked, “Do you want to get well?”  he made excuses. The invalid was genuinely handicapped by his circumstances, but with Jesus, he wasn’t completely helpless. When Jesus told the invalid to “Get up!”, the man got up. I sensed Jesus asking me to Get up! rather than sit on the belief that I was set up for failure. And eventually, that intentional time and effort spent “getting up” and meeting others paid off in friendships.

3. I set sky-high expectations that no human could ever meet. Confession: I used to be a needy friend. This propensity meant that when I finally made a connection with someone, I could bring the “extra” and overwhelm her with high expectations. Not surprisingly, this acted as friendship repellent. But what acts as friendship magnetism? Spending time with Jesus — the only Friend who isn’t deterred by our neediness and wants every last drop of it. When I began to go to Him first with whatever was on my heart, I stopped behaving as if my friend was my savior. When I rested in the security of my relationship with Jesus, my insecurities melted away. And therefore my friend and I enjoyed a friendship of relaxed camaraderie.

In sharing my pitfalls, I pray I help you avoid making your own. What’s more, I want you to understand that there are glorious possibilities that await you in finding friends. It doesn’t matter if you’ve been the mean girl, the needy girl, the shy girl, the nervous or wary girl, or you’ve been the girl who has done the work of both people in a friendship. It’s possible for you to find your friends too.

I’m far from a perfect friend, but by God’s grace, I have a five-star group of friends today. It’s my prayer you have the same. But if you don’t, I ask that you don’t give up. Keep at it, and victory will be yours.

Kristen has written a brand new book on friendship, Desperate Woman Seeks Friends, that releases today! Find it here or wherever you like to purchase books.

 

Listen to Kriten’s devotion here or wherever you stream podcasts. Just search “(in)courage”!

Trusting God with the Slow Answer to Prayer

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When my youngest daughter turned 14, I began praying for God to help her build self-confidence. Abigail was sweet and thoughtful, but was shy and easily overwhelmed if asked to try something new.

I saw her many talents and longed for Abigail to have the courage to follow her dreams. My prayer: “God, bless my sweet girl with confidence so she’s not afraid of the world around her.”

Silly me, I expected that overnight God would zap Abigail and she’d wake up with big boss girl confidence and energy. It seemed the opposite happened. For a long time, nothing changed. Fear started to bubble under my faith.

Now, I can see where I feared a setback, God was setting up the answer to my prayer.

When Abigail was 16 years old, we had only one vehicle, and I traveled a lot. Since Abbie needed to drive to school, I explained that she’d need to drop me off at the airport several times a month. Abbie was terrified, but there was no choice.

Abigail begged me to drive on that first trip, but I knew she needed to face that fear. She clicked the seatbelt; her eyes glistened with tears. The airport was 45 minutes away in another state. Abigail gripped the steering wheel and navigated busy interstate expressways packed with cars that switched lanes without warning and large semis with no regard for an anxious teen doing brave things.

But my girl did it! Over the next year, Abigail drove me back and forth, even learning to weave in and out of our busy airport’s congested departures and arrivals lanes. I knew she dreaded each trip, but my courageous girl kept showing up.

On one trip, I saw how far she’d come.

Abbie was late picking me up. It was after midnight. I paced back and forth in baggage claim. After a few missed calls, she finally answered her phone. “I’m so sorry, Mom. After studying at Stacy’s house, I saw that our car’s headlight was out. I drove to Walmart, bought a new bulb, and changed it myself in Stacy’s driveway with a flashlight and a YouTube video. I’m leaving now to pick you up, okay?” When she arrived, my sweet girl wasn’t flustered. Instead, she was proud because she figured out a big car problem and fulfilled her responsibility to pick me up.

Look at God! We had one car due to a family crisis, and yet, God used that circumstance to not only answer my prayer but also form a kind of God-confidence in my daughter’s being that reshaped the trajectory of her life. Only God!

Listen to what the prophet Isaiah records as God speaks to His people:

“For my thoughts are not your thoughts,
    neither are your ways my ways,”
declares the Lord.
“As the heavens are higher than the earth,
    so are my ways higher than your ways
    and my thoughts than your thoughts.”
Isaiah 55:8-9 NIV

Do you know what God has that we don’t have? Spiritual vision.

God can see what we can’t see and know what we don’t know. While we may be praying about our specific situations, God answers our prayers according to His love for us and His eternal plan.

Years ago, I jumped out of a perfectly good airplane while it cruised at 10,000 feet in the air. It was intense! After free-falling for ten seconds, my parachute opened, and as I floated a thousand feet above the ground, I could see the world from a different perspective at ground level. Same with God. He sits high and sees across space and time and into hearts and minds.

In my thinking, God could have fixed Abigail’s confidence problem with just the mighty touch of His hand. After all, nothing is impossible for God. Yet, God saw what I couldn’t see in the bigger picture. He did a deep, lasting work in her, slowly over time.

While God can drop a miracle at any moment, could it be that the slow, steady answer to our persistent prayers is actually the better path for us?

The slow answer to prayer means God deeply transforms our mindset and heart attitudes for lasting obedience.

The slow answer to prayer lets us experience the unwavering faithfulness of God while we wait.

The slow answer to prayer allows unbelievers to witness our journey and see us giving God glory even while we wait.

The slow answer to prayer makes our character stronger and deepens our hope in God.

Where have you been frustrated by a slow answer to your prayers? As you reflect on my Abigail’s journey, can you see where the slow answer to prayer has been a blessing for you?

If you’re struggling with waiting on God, I’d like to pray for you:

God, I pray for my friend, awaiting an answer to prayer. Would you reassure her heart that Your timing is the best? I pray for her to sense Your grace and peace while she waits. Open her eyes to see where You’re working while she’s waiting. Amen.

 

Listen to Barb’s devotion here or on your favorite podcast app!

A Mother’s Day of Love and Grace

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Mother’s Day can stir up so many different emotions — joy, gratitude, grief, longing, and everything in between. It’s a day set apart to honor the incredible gift of motherhood, whether we’re walking the beautiful, challenging journey of being a mom ourselves, or remembering the precious mothers who shaped us.

For those of us blessed to be mothers, it’s a sacred calling. In Psalm 127:3 (NLT), we read, “Children are a gift from the Lord; they are a reward from him.” What a privilege it is to hold this sacred role in our families. As mothers, whether by birth, fostering, or adoption, we have the unique opportunity to guide, love, and nurture those entrusted to us — both in the everyday moments and the big milestones.

But we also know that Mother’s Day isn’t always a celebration of joy. For many women, it’s a reminder of what’s lost — whether it’s the loss of a mother, a child, or the longing for motherhood that hasn’t been realized yet. Isaiah 61:3 (NLT) promises, “To all who mourn in Israel, he will give them a crown of beauty for ashes, a joyous blessing instead of mourning, festive praise instead of despair.”

Our Heavenly Father sees the ache in our hearts and gently holds us, offering comfort, grace, and hope.

This day is about more than just honoring those of us who mother. It’s about honoring the women who have mothered us — biologically, spiritually, or in the countless ways they’ve poured into our lives. To have a mother is a gift. To be a mother is a calling. Whether we are mothers by birth or by choice, whether we grieve or celebrate today, God sees us in all our complexities. He meets us in our joy and in our sorrow.

So, dear sister in Christ, if your heart aches on this Mother’s Day, know that you are loved, seen, and cherished — not just by those around you, but by the God who holds you close. Whether your role today is to celebrate or to grieve, you are not alone.

We walk this journey together, with the hope that one day, the tears we shed will be replaced by the fullness of joy found in Christ alone.

May you feel God’s love wrap around you today, offering you the grace to honor this day, whatever it holds.

 

How to Hold Onto Hope in the Midst of Loss

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My mother’s battle with breast cancer began when I was only fifteen years old, and ended just three years later. Her loss shook the very foundation of my faith. I grew up in an environment where bold declarations of healing were the norm. In every prayer meeting, we fervently proclaimed, “You will live and not die” (John 11:25–26 NIV). We recited these words as if they were a lifeline, convinced that they meant my mother would be rescued from the clutches of disease. Without question, we made that verse say exactly what we wanted to hear — that she would be healed and spared from suffering.

Yet, as her condition worsened, a disquieting truth emerged. Despite our heartfelt prayers, one crisis followed another. Though our declarations of faith never wavered, my mother’s physical decline was undeniable. In those charged moments, I felt not conventional sorrow, but an electrifying expectation — a fierce belief that God’s power was about to burst forth. And yet, as days turned into weeks, that anticipated miracle never came.

I remember the day I left her hospital bed after yet another long vigil. I was in the shower when my phone rang; the nurse’s urgent, almost somber tone cut through the steam: “Come now, don’t drive alone, and call your closest family.” In that moment, I knew this was not a call about a testimony of healing. It was a final, inevitable goodbye.

My mother’s last breath was soft and quiet. A single in, then out — and she was gone. In her final days, she murmured to each visitor that God needed her in heaven, a message I once dismissed as the babbling of a mind fading under pain.

In the aftermath, I was haunted by questions. Did God truly hear our cries? Why didn’t our prayers yield the physical healing we so desperately longed for? These questions led me into long, honest conversations with God, as I spent countless hours in prayer and Scripture, seeking answers in the quiet. I grappled with disappointment and the painful gap between our unwavering declarations and the reality we faced.

It was during those intense moments of reflection that a transformative revelation began to emerge: God’s mission is not primarily to heal the body, but to mend the heart. The grueling journey of sickness became a setting for overdue conversations of forgiveness and reconciliation. I recall overhearing intimate exchanges at my mother’s bedside — confessions, expressions of forgiveness, attempts at mending fractured relationships. In those raw moments, I witnessed a different kind of miracle unfolding. My mother was not being restored to physical strength; her heart was being cleansed and prepared for a final, sacred transition.

The words of 2 Corinthians 4:16–18 became my lifeline: “Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all.” I began to understand that while our bodies are subject to decay, the inner renewal — our emotional and spiritual healing — is continuous. For us, the promise of “living and not dying” isn’t about escaping physical death; it’s a declaration of eternal hope, a hope that our deepest wounds will be transformed into a testimony of God’s enduring grace.

I invite you now to reflect on your own experiences. What promises have you held onto that didn’t turn out as expected? How do you reconcile the gap between what you believed should have happened and what actually unfolded? I share my journey not to dwell on pain, but to open the door to a deeper unboxing of unrequited faith.

My journey through grief taught me that every trial, every unanswered prayer, holds the potential for an unseen miracle. It demands that we face our disappointments, ask the hard questions, and allow God to lead us toward inner renewal. I learned that my mother’s legacy was defined not solely by the decline of her body, but by how her heart was purified through forgiveness and reconciliation. In that purification, she discovered a new kind of life—a promise that echoed into eternity.

This is not about your theology of healing. It’s about releasing the expectation that God must immediately fix every broken piece. It’s about embracing the slow, mysterious process of inner restoration. When you open your heart to honest inquiry, you may find that every trial is an invitation to experience a transformative grace to dig deep and sift through the pain.

The declaration we once recited so fervently, “You will live and not die,” was not an empty promise; it was an expression of our deepest hope — a hope that continues to renew our hearts for an eternal destiny with Christ. Perhaps that is the greatest miracle of all.

I pray you find comfort in the midst of your own trials and that your journey from grief to grace reveals the hidden blessings of embracing God’s love, even when it defies earthly expectations. Let every disappointment become a call to deeper, transformative grace. A grace that leads not to a denial of pain, but to a new understanding of what it truly means to live amid and even after pain.

Sharing Is My Favorite

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Three friends and I huddled around a small outdoor table on a beautiful, crisp spring day. It felt like a small miracle that our busy schedules aligned on a Tuesday afternoon.

When our food came, we all oohed and ahhed over what each person got, as girls do. The fluffy homemade sandwich bread, the creamy cilantro lime dressing, the special-order chicken salad — everything looked so good. Especially my friend’s iced coffee. When I asked what kind it was, and she said an almond milk latte with cinnamon, my eyes lit up.

“That’s my favorite!” I exclaimed excitedly. “I actually thought about ordering one.”

“Do you want some of mine?” my friend asked.

“No, that’s okay,” I said, not wanting to impose. “Plus, I only drink decaf. But thanks.”

“Oh, it’s decaf! Here, let’s get an extra cup and I’ll pour you some.”

“Are you sure?” I asked, worried she was offering out of obligation.

“Of course,” my friend said. “Sharing is my favorite!”

I thoroughly enjoyed my iced almond milk cinnamon latte and salad that day. I loved the fresh air and sunshine. It was a true gift to have a leisurely lunch with girlfriends I treasure — friends with history and with whom both depth and laughter are easily accessed. It was a great day.

But weeks later, what really stuck with me was my friend’s genuine, joy-filled declaration: Sharing is my favorite.

Have you ever heard anything more wholesome or kind?

And here’s the best part: she meant it and she lives it!

Half a latte wasn’t a one-time act of generosity. It’s her way of showing up in the world and loving people. This friend of mine let me shop her closet before going on a trip, has fed my family too many times to count, buys thoughtful gifts, loans linens when I have people come to visit, let my very stinky teenage sons come over to shower when our power and hot water was out, and even gives me things from her home that I admire. Once, I swooned so much over a teeny tiny ceramic pitcher with the sweetest birdie on it that she immediately washed it and gave it to me — with joy!

Yes, she is a unicorn, and yes, I hope everyone is so lucky to have a friend like her.

But the greatest gift isn’t just a cute sundress to wear on vacation or benefiting from her culinary skills. The greatest gift is that I see and experience the love of Jesus.

My friend beautifully demonstrates how we were all meant to live: Christ-centered and others-focused. It’s the way of Jesus.

Paul writes, “Don’t be selfish; don’t try to impress others. Be humble, thinking of others as better than yourselves. Don’t look out only for your own interests, but take an interest in others, too. You must have the same attitude that Christ Jesus had” (Philippians 2:3-5 NLT). (Read this whole chapter in The Message version — I know you’ll be blessed!)

So, how do we have the same attitude as Christ? How do we cultivate a heart of joyful generosity like Jesus?

View everything you have as God’s. People who are radically generous (regardless of how much they have) understand that God is the owner and they are merely faithful stewards. When we shift our perspective from ownership to stewardship, our grip on resources loosens and joy increases.

Trust God with your plenty and your want. The widow in Mark 12 gave her two coins — everything she had — because she trusted God. Jesus pointed out her courageous obedience as an example of greater generosity and surrender than those who gave more.

Don’t wait to be generous. Don’t wait till your bank account is comfortable or your ducks are in a row. Don’t wait until loving feels easy. Give from what God has already entrusted to you.

Pay attention. Look up. See the people around you. Listen to the needs and desires of others. Ask God to make you a conduit of His kindness and generosity, right where you are.

Be the friend (or neighbor, spouse, coworker) you long to have. Maybe you long for a friend like mine. Maybe you’ve never been on the receiving end of joyful generosity. Be the friend you long to have. “Love your neighbor as yourself” is the second greatest command in the Bible — and for good reason! Think about how you want to be loved, then go do that for someone else.

Jesus said, “It is more blessed to give than to receive” (Acts 20:35 NLT). I think this reality is why sharing is my friend’s favorite thing. She knows that giving is a soul blessing for her as much as it is for others.

Do you see that latte, those earrings, your couch, or your time as the Lord’s? Everything you have is a good and perfect gift from God. Ask Him who He wants to bless through you today. And when the opportunity comes? Respond with joyful generosity.

Imagine how the world would look different, how people would truly know Jesus, if we all made sharing our favorite.

 

Listen to Becky’s devotion here or wherever you stream podcasts.

Come, Sister: Come to the Altar

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It’s been a while since I’ve gone to the altar for prayer.

I could give all the backstory, justify all the reasons, and make up all the excuses. But, the fact remains — my prayer life, lately, has become purely private. That is, until this past week when a crisis came upon my family. I’m trembling even as I write this, tears forming despite my wildest efforts to suppress them, push them down until my face is tidy and tells the world that I’m fine, just fine.

If I could tell you the story, I would. But, truth is, it doesn’t take much imagination to meet me in the valley of my sorrow, because I know you have your own valleys of sorrow.

Valleys where you’ve had to vacate the place you call home.

Valleys where death has touched and taken life from your loved ones.

Valleys where violence has shattered any sense of safety you felt.

Valleys where struggle is the only sight your eyes have seen.

Valleys where loved ones have left and never returned.

Valleys where sickness has seeped into your story.

Valleys where hope is far from the horizon.

Valleys where your world has broken because . . . fill-in-the-blank.

Just a few Sundays ago, I walked into church, my heart pounding against the cage of my chest. I spread a thin smile across my face like a veil, a curtain drawn to hide the horrors held within my heart. But the Holy Spirit sees the hurt and hopelessness we try to hide — and the heart of the Father is moved when we are found fragile, fragmented, and frozen in fear.

I wanted to hide my hurt, but God wanted to hear my heart. And, so, God did what only God can do. God tapped on my shoulder, whispered in my ear, put a flame beneath my feet, and moved me to make that first step towards the altar. The invitation to step forward for prayer was like a call I couldn’t ignore, like God’s finger on my chest, pointing precisely to the place where fear and pain swelled, where trauma and tears swirled into a new color, a new kind of grief.

I walked up and received prayer. You know — that hands-laid, tears-flowing, snot-dripping, Spirit-filled, truth-whispered-in-your-ear kind of prayer. I fought the instinct to carry my cares all by my lonesome. I chose, instead, to cast my cares upon the Lord and into caring community.

I don’t know how you feel about prayer or what you believe about the practice of it. I don’t know if you pray in the pages of your journal or when, if ever, you’ve last gone to the altar for prayer. I don’t know about the horrors you’re holding inside your heart, or the lies you are fighting as you navigate life, loss (all little and large), and love. Perhaps hope is exhausted and patience has waned. Maybe the cares you cradle are too complicated to categorize. Maybe the situation is so uncertain that it’s unutterable, it’s all too much to make it make sense to anyone else, much less to yourself.

While there’s a lot I don’t know about your story, this one thing I do know: The altar can be a place to access the truth that we cannot, at times, ourselves recall. Through prayer, we can be reminded that nothing is unfathomable for the Father. By pouring out our hearts and having our hearts poured into, we can be reminded that no person is too far gone, no need is too great, no wound is too deep, and no fear is too strong for the love of God.

Come, sister. Come to the altar. Let church be now — on your computer (or phone) and in the comments. Let every typed word be the casting of your cares upon the Lord and into caring community. If you’re carrying a burden, relinquish it. If you’re worried about a loved one, say no more and simply speak their name. If you’re in need of provision, make it known.

Come trembling, come tired. Come filled with fears, come with longing and tears. Come with feeble faith, come broken and unsure. Come with a well of words, come speechless. Come doubting and in denial. Come angry and defeated. Come crying, come crawling.

Let God point precisely to the place where fear and pain swell. I’ll be here, hand in God’s, hearing your heart’s every ache, and praying with and for you in the comments.

Come. 

 

Listen to Rachel’s devotion here or wherever you stream podcasts & share with a friend.

How God Sends Hope When the Waves Won’t Stop

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A few years ago, as winter melted into spring and beauty bloomed all around, I packed a suitcase and my sadness and flew to see friends.

The trip was on the calendar long before grief swept in turning the technicolor of spring to black and white. The shock and vibrancy literally springing up outside didn’t match the shock and devastation inside, but everything was already planned so I flew across the country with a carry-on — confusion suddenly coloring everything: every old memory, every future hope, and every current unknown.

I showed up holding my breath, certain the women were (and are) trustworthy and kind… but on the heels of a loss I didn’t choose or want, I arrived with both: a genuine smile and a broken heart.

What was up had crashed down, spring felt like winter, and in the midst of so much that wasn’t right, I was left with tears running and my hands full of questions.

That is, until one morning a voice gently said, “Kaitlyn, open your hands. You’ve poured out for a long time. It’s our turn.”

Only two of the women knew the details, but they sent out a group SOS on my behalf. It was the most beautiful blindside. A pile of Truth to speak to the lies. Rachel prayed and I wept as page after page, envelope after envelope landed in my open palms. And the two who understood the whole story quietly whispered, “They don’t know. We didn’t say. But we all wanted you to have something to hold onto until the storm stops.”

Despite not knowing the details, my friends offered their words like buoys of hope and anchors of truth, each one its own lighthouse in the deep and in the dark. After we all returned home, I read one card each day. When I finished, I started reading them all again from the beginning. Their words were manna in a storm that continued to rage.

The words mattered (matter), but more than that, it was the community saying, You’re safe and beloved, we see and we’ll stand here holding your arms until it’s all said and done.

In Exodus 17:9, with the Israelites under attack, Moses does something wildly unexpected. “Choose some of our men and go out to fight the Amalekites,” he said to Joshua. “Tomorrow I will stand on top of the hill with the staff of God in my hands.”

Scripture says that Moses and two of his friends, Aaron and Hur, climbed the hill. “As long as Moses held up his hands, the Israelites were winning, but whenever he lowered his hands, the Amalekites were winning. When Moses’ hands grew tired, they took a stone and put it under him and he sat on it. Aaron and Hur held his hands up — one on one side, one on the other — so that his hands remained steady till sunset” (Exodus 17:11-12 NIV).

The minutes slowly ticked by. Sweat dripped. His friends found a rock, a place to rest while the battle continued. His muscles spasmed. Perhaps doubt began to whisper, loneliness drawing near as Moses watched from afar. But then, suddenly, the weight was shared, the load lighter, the heaviness lifted as his hands were held by friends who stayed near, standing by his side and shouldering the pain.

His hands remained steady till sunset.

It’s in this place that Moses built an altar called The Lord is my Banner.

For me, it was a couch in a hotel room, hands open and held up by friends who offered the gift of words in the wilderness, every card a reminder that I wasn’t alone in the chaos before me, each woman pointing me toward the One who is good and kind and faithful in every storm.

I wish, after all this time, I could say that the sun set and the battle ended and now everything feels like spring. I wish I could paint a picture of beauty from ashes, new life growing in the place of loss.

The truth is, I have a pile of cards but there’s no beautiful bow on my story. Not yet, anyway. The storm was cruel and the waves haven’t hushed. I’m drenched through but still standing, heartbroken but hands full.

The truth is, there may not be a bow on the way, at least this side of eternity. I hate that, so very much, for me and for you. But if you can, friend, open your hands. The God of abundance is a Good Father, a Great Friend, familiar with storms, and able to provide manna in all shapes and forms.

May these last lines from the pile of cards be that for you today. Tear off a piece. Pass it along. God won’t run out.

You are held and chosen. No one, no circumstance, nothing can make those truths untrue.

You are deeply loved and seen by Christ. And: you aren’t alone.

Keep clinging to hope. The garden of your life will surely grow new blooms.

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A few weeks ago, we all gathered again. This time, I packed two cards in my carry-on, knowing the roles would soon reverse as we stood around the two women who planned that first beautiful blindside, filling their hands with words to carry into the coming days. Sometimes, our friends hold our hands up. Sometimes, we get to be that friend. But always – always – our friend Jesus remains, a faithful banner of love over every season, present in every storm.

 

Listen to Kaitlyn’s devotion here or search “(in)courage” on your favorite podcast app!

Own What Is Most True

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“Speak, Lord, for Your servant is listening.”
I Samuel 3:9

About a decade ago, I could’ve convinced anyone that I was thriving. I was happily married, I was writing and performing my own music, I was leading worship — my dream job. But I knew I wasn’t living in freedom.

In every room I stepped into, I was afraid to stand out in any way. Every time I’d take the stage, I felt like I was hitting a wall. Instead of just taking inspiration from other artists, I was constantly comparing myself to them. And no matter how I “performed” or how people responded, in my mind, I’d always come up short. This often left me feeling like a fraud, or even worse, a failure. As God opened my eyes, I came to see that so much of my potential was being stunted by my fears.

Consider what fear does to us.

If you spot a herd of buffalo stampeding toward you, your body is designed to explode with fear. That surge of adrenaline fuels you to run for your life. God created us with emotions for our good. Fear, sadness, anger, and joy are the body‘s way of communicating something we need to know. Fear, sadness, and anger are all natural responses to trauma and pain. But when the hurt is allowed to fester, when we don’t face our pain, those same feelings can turn on us and begin to bully us. That’s where I was. Rather than facing the messiness of my past, I tried to ignore it, and it turned on me.

In Life of the Beloved, Henri Nouwen writes, “Every time you feel hurt, offended, or rejected, you have to dare to say to yourself: ‘These feelings, strong as they may be, are not telling me the truth about myself. Even though I cannot feel it right now, the truth is that I am the chosen child of God, precious in God’s eyes, called the Beloved from all eternity, and held safe in an everlasting embrace.’” Nouwen’s holy words were an invitation to me to own my inherent belovedness. They set me on a path to discover my identity as a beloved child of God.

We’re all trying to figure out who we are, right? I think too often we write the “good parts” about ourselves in pencil and the “bad parts” in pen — or in thick permanent marker. We look in the mirror, and we own all the ways we believe we’re not good enough. We don’t simply hear them and let them roll off our backs. Instead, we treat them as gospel truth.

The reality is that we are all pilgrims on a journey. We have not yet arrived; we are works in progress. We are sinners who will make some mistakes and take some hits. But we fear that these shortcomings define us. Rather, the core of our identity is that we are loved by God. Period.

Maybe, like me, you’ve been living in fear. One woman looks in the mirror and hates what she sees staring back at her. One man catches his reflection in a storefront window and worries that his bad choices will destroy him. A child living in a chaotic home tries to be good so that he or she won’t be left alone. Sometimes we don’t even notice that we’re allowing our fears to drive us.

I’m still on the journey to embrace my belovedness. Every day, I have to make the choice to believe the truth of who I am and to reflect the glory that God has put in my life.

Nouwen’s invitation to me all those years ago — to embrace the fullness of my belovedness — is the same one I want to extend to you. Romans 11:29 tells us, “For God’s gifts and His call can never be withdrawn” (NLT). You were not made to be owned by your fears. Rather, the unalterable and undeniable truth is that you were created, from the beginning, as beloved. It’s who you are. And nothing could ever take that away.

God, as You show me my heart, I can see how I’ve allowed fears to own me. Help me to find myself in You. Remind me that my feelings, and the thoughts that spring from them, do not define me. Only You can define me. And You say that I am Your beloved, chosen child. I am precious in Your sight. And from the beginning of time, I have been Yours. Lord, be with me on this journey. Teach me how to embrace my belovedness daily. Open the eyes of my heart, and open my ears to hear Your voice, that I might embrace the truth of who I am: Beloved. Amen.

Questions to Ask Yourself:

  • Do I know, in the depths of my heart, what it is to be beloved?
  • What are the lies, beliefs, or thoughts that are bullying me?
  • What is owning me today?

—

We all have an inner voice that tells us we’re not worthy of love, especially God’s love. Our flaws, fears, and mistakes fill us with guilt and shame. But Sarah Kroger’s song and new devotional, Belovedness, is a reminder that it’s the heart of God to pursue and embrace His people — no matter our history, because He has reconciled us to Himself! Sarah’s book, Belovedness: Overcoming Your Inner Critic, is based on the lyrics of the song and includes devotions, selected Scriptures, prayers, and insights from Sarah that will walk you through the process of defeating your critical voice and accepting God’s unfailing love.

Silence your inner critic with the affirmation of God’s deep, sincere love for you.

We LOVE this special lyrical devotional, and we think you will too… so we’re giving away FIVE copies*!

To enter, just leave a comment answering one of Sarah’s questions above.

Then tune in to the (in)courage podcast this weekend to listen in on a conversation with Becky Keife and GMA Dove Award-nominated artist, songwriter, and worship leader Sarah Kroger. Their conversation will bless you for sure!

 

*Giveaway open to US addresses only, and closes on 5/11/2025 at 11:59 pm Central.

How God Uses Our Willing Hearts, Not Our Résumés

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I recently received an invitation to write for a respected and well-known Christian ministry. Just as humbled and honoured as I was when I was invited to be a part of (in)courage, I sat at my desk, re-reading the email in disbelief. I was asked to submit a couple of my pieces for their review so I could be considered for the contributor team. Much like the excitement and nervousness I experienced when I was invited to join (in)courage, it took me a while to fully grasp this new invitation.

Why me? 

In all transparency, I often struggle with inadequacy and impostor syndrome regarding opportunities like this. The only writing I have done in the past includes shopping lists and notes for teachers, if those count. My knowledge of literature and writing is limited; I am unfamiliar with many books, authors, genres, and topics that commonly arise in conversations with other writers. 

But there I sat at my laptop, fingers eagerly poised, ready to dance across the keyboard to compose new writing samples. But I typed and deleted, typed and deleted, trying to recall all the messages the Lord had placed in my heart to share – the insights He reveals to me during our moments together at my kitchen table as I pray and study His Word. But why couldn’t I recall them? Why weren’t the words flowing like they do when I discuss powerful readings with my mother-in-law as she washes the dishes or when a revelation from the Lord touches my heart and brings me to tears?

It was quiet, but I was not ready to give up!

I sat there for a few hours, curating a beautiful devotional. It included all the required elements based on the given parameters, and I felt satisfied. And then, I didn’t. I started deleting, adding, and rearranging words, but nothing sounded right.  Tired and frustrated, I passionately closed my laptop and called it a night!

I lay in bed, fed up and confused, my eyes refusing to close. In the safety of the room’s darkness, I quietly wept, asking, “Why, Lord? Why is this so difficult? Why would you present this opportunity if you know I’m not good enough?” As my tears soaked the pillow, I prayed and fell into silence. 

It’s fascinating what occurs when we become quiet. 

My mind began to drift back to my high school band days. I played the flute but secretly wanted to play the clarinet — not for any practical reason, but simply because, as silly as it sounds, I wanted a reed and that charming little pink case it came with. Yes, the reed and that pink case!

As I reflected on the reed that night and the following day, the Lord spoke to my heart regarding the article I attempted to “curate.” 

He said, “Ligia, you are to be my mouthpiece. The reed may seem insignificant and useless to those who aren’t musicians, but it plays a crucial role in the melody produced by the instrument. Yet, without the reed placed in the instrument’s mouthpiece and without the breath of the musician flowing through it, it serves no purpose. The reed cannot create on its own what it was designed to contribute as part of an instrument that requires breath to function.”

“Ligia,” the Lord continued, “This instrument symbolizes the task I have assigned you, the places and spaces I have invited you into; you are the reed. I have placed you precisely where my breath can flow through to create what only I can impart to you through the Holy Spirit.”

That was it. I had been depending on my limited abilities, thoughts, and inspirations. I made it about myself, and the truth is, apart from Jesus, I can do nothing.

At that moment, the Holy Spirit met me gracefully and brought me to 1 Corinthians 1:26-31 MSG. 

“Take a good look, friends, at who you were when you got called into this life. I don’t see many of “the brightest and the best” among you, not many influential, not many from high-society families. Isn’t it obvious that God deliberately chose men and women that the culture overlooks and exploits and abuses, chose these “nobodies” to expose the hollow pretensions of the “somebodies”? That makes it quite clear that none of you can get by with blowing your own horn before God. Everything that we have — right thinking and right living, a clean slate and a fresh start — comes from God by way of Jesus Christ….”

God doesn’t choose us because we are flawless individuals who meet every requirement or because we are “the brightest and the best.” He chooses us because He sees what we often fail to see in ourselves: a willing heart, a genuine love for Him, and a desire to honour Him and bring Him glory despite our imperfections. We are to be His vessels.

Today, I encourage you to be a reed. Allow the Lord to place you precisely where His breath can move through you. As you inhabit the spaces entrusted to you, fill the air with His love and glory for His divine pleasure, remembering that apart from Him, we can do nothing.

 

Listen to Ligia’s devotion here or wherever you stream podcasts.