Experiencing Peace That Doesn’t Begin to Make Sense

Experiencing Peace That Doesn’t Begin to Make Sense

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It was Valentine’s Day, but I was feeling a little blue. I was still grieving the loss of our family’s long tradition of a mother-daughter Valentine tea. What began as a thoughtful suggestion by my precious mother-in-law when my daughter Rachel was three had continued each year into Rachel’s twenties. Our tea — never limited to just tea — was a celebration of love among three generations of women. Almost as soon as one year’s celebration ended, we were already cheerfully anticipating the next year’s gathering of family and friends.

But eventually, our annual Valentine tea slipped quietly into history with little fanfare. Slowly — and yet seemingly overnight — my mother-in-law’s mind had become trapped in dementia’s snare.

Given our mother-daughter tradition, I had long before stopped viewing Valentine’s Day as a strictly romantic observance. Consequently, my husband was off the hook for lavishing me with flowers or chocolate. Still, ever a words-of-encouragement girl, I always treasured his cards. Now, with my former tradition sidelined, my focus shifted back toward him. How might we celebrate?

Neither of us was interested in going out to a crowded restaurant, so we planned a simple steak dinner at home. Spinach salad with berries and balsamic dressing, baked potatoes with all the fixings, a filet for me, and a ribeye for him. Tad can grill a steak like nobody’s business, and I was already smacking my lips in anticipation. Until I remembered our grill was broken. The part we needed for the repair hadn’t yet arrived.

Undeterred, I changed up our menu. I’d stir-fry a sirloin the way my father had when I was little, with lots of black pepper and a pile of sliced onions. It wasn’t Tad’s favorite, but it was still steak, and for me it held a sweet association with my childhood.

The first hint something was wrong came shortly after dinner. My husband complained about indigestion, an issue he seldom experiences. He just as quickly brushed it off, attributing whatever was going on to taking over-the-counter cold meds earlier in the day. We resumed our movie watching (I’m the fortunate wife who’s married to a guy who likes a good Meg Ryan / Tom Hanks rom-com), but a while later I noticed him holding his upper arm.

“Does your left arm hurt?!” I blurted.

“A little, but it comes and goes,” he admitted, minimizing his own worries but having little effect on mine.

“YOU’RE HAVING A HEART ATTACK!” I shrieked, flinging open my laptop to search “cardiac arrest symptoms.” He insisted he was fine and scoffed at Dr. Google’s credentials. I countered that he was not fine and we needed to go to the ER. My pleas to seek medical attention were about as effective as his attempts to dismiss my concerns.

It was understandable that he wasn’t taking this seriously. Under fifty and in good health, he had no family history of heart disease. Was I unreasonable for jumping to conclusions?

After the movie, I crawled into bed, still unsettled and whispering a looping prayer. Please keep Tad safe, give us Your wisdom, prompt us to act if needed. Somehow, I drifted to sleep.

You might say I won the argument when at 3:30 a.m. we were on our way to the emergency room. Barely an hour later, our suspicions were confirmed. The cardiologist on call swished back the privacy curtain, mounted a stool, swiveled to face us, drew a deep breath, and delivered the news. Though he couldn’t be sure exactly what had happened until further testing, the lab results pointed to a “cardiac event,” a nice way of telling us my husband had experienced a heart attack.

It felt like we were watching a movie. Or somebody else’s life. This wasn’t the kind of thing that happened to us.

That is, until it did.

I felt like we were in the eye of a hurricane. An inexplicable calm surrounded my husband and me, and I wondered when the backside of the storm would whip around and lash us to pieces.

As the medical staff tended to Tad, my natural reflex was to pray. This was no atheist-in-a-foxhole moment. I knew how badly I — we — needed God’s presence to face the next few hours. And I knew beyond shadows and doubts that He was with us because the peace He promises in Philippians 4:6–7 was exactly what we were experiencing: “Don’t worry about anything, but in everything, through prayer and petition with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus.”

Peace that surpasses all understanding.

At the first chance I got, I enlisted a legion of prayer warriors, inviting family and friends to battle with us. What they offered through God’s Word, their own words of encouragement, and prayer were weapons of heavenly proportion.

It astounded me, really, how calm both Tad and I remained as we learned more about what had already happened and was yet to take place. Paul’s words in Philippians 4:9 contain the key: “Do what you have learned and received and heard from me, and seen in me, and the God of peace will be with you.”

For most of our lives, Tad and I have attended church; we’ve studied the Bible in group settings and on our own. We’ve learned, received, and heard from Jesus through Scripture and in sound teaching.

So when a life-threatening scenario played out in front of us, we didn’t resort to prayer out of panic or fear; we responded in faithfulness with an already established practice. Praying united us with God and ushered His presence into the midst of our circumstances, and then His peace—a peace that doesn’t begin to make sense—guarded our hearts and minds.

God always delivers what He promises. The natural rhythm of prayer in our lives makes way for His supernatural peace.

Not just on Valentine’s Day but 365 days a year.

This story was written by Robin Dance, and published in the Create in Me a Heart of Peace Bible study.

What a powerful story of peace from the (in)courage Bible Study, Create in Me a Heart of Peace, available now. With stories like Robin’s woven together with Scripture study by Becky Keife, our prayer is that this Bible study will help you experience the real peace God offers each one of us.

Be sure to SIGN UP below so we can send you the first week of the Create in Me a Heart of Peace for FREE!

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Stepping Back into the Connection You Were Made for

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Admittedly, isolating at home in the spring of 2020 didn’t bother me too much at first. I didn’t realize how busy my life had become until it suddenly wasn’t and, honestly, I needed a break from all the hustle and bustle.

Late that summer I had a book release and by then I was starting to see the drawbacks of such intense social separation. Most of us live with expectations about the future based on what we’ve planned or prepared for, or the way things should be under ordinary circumstances. Nothing about 2020 was ordinary, including book releases.

There was no launch party, no book signing at my local Barnes & Noble. Although books are written in isolation, these events in the past have allowed me to meet the readers I hoped for and imagined as I wrote. Personal feedback gives validation and meaning to the work. Events provide a chance to celebrate with family and friends who’ve supported me in the process — it’s one of my favorite things about book launches.

In 2021 I released a companion journal, but books stores hadn’t resumed book signings. A big event where I’d hoped to share these books with a target audience took place virtually instead of in person for the second year in a row. Longed for hopes and dreams seemed to dry up and disappear. When the expectations I’d held didn’t line up with the reality I faced, it affected me. I lost my footing. I started to forget why God called me to my particular work, why it all mattered anyway.

Fast forward to this year when I was able to attend an in-person convention and finally share my books face-to-face. It made me realize how much I needed to connect with people — personally, professionally, and creatively. I needed to talk to real people and remind myself why, and for whom, I write; it renewed my commitment to serve my readers. I needed to surround myself with people who share my interests and to hear their stories. I needed meaningful conversations with strangers I encountered in airports and on planes. I need social interaction beyond the four walls of my house and Sunday morning services.

Recently my husband and I traveled out of state to witness a couple from church renew their vows. A few of us stayed at the same hotel and had a delightful overnight trip. We enjoyed ourselves so much that we committed to getting together more often outside of church. We joked about who would be the next couple to renew their vows so we could plan another trip.

Text chats are great for prayer requests, but they can never replace hugs and handshakes.

It can become a problem when we remain isolated from the world for too long. The Christian life is lived most fully in community. The embodiment of Biblical characteristics like love, mercy, compassion, and generosity naturally requires a recipient.

These days so much of the world has gone virtual. Sometimes that can be a good thing: I certainly don’t mind the shorter lines at the Department of Driver Services! But telecommuting, distance learning, or meeting over Zoom instead of around a table physically removes our bodies from our experiences.

God is relational and practical Christianity hinges on community. We weren’t intended to merely interact with avatars on a screen. We were designed for flesh and blood relationships. Being around people reminds us of who we are and who we want to be. It’s one thing to admire particular character traits and behaviors, but it’s another to live them out among others.

Do you feel the effects of too much isolation? Invite a neighbor over for brunch or to check out a new restaurant. Meet an old friend for an afternoon movie. Join a book club or a Bible study with people who share your interests. Visit someone who isn’t able to get out and see others.

I want to thrive in the sweet spot between hustle and bustle and social separation. Are you with me?

 

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For When Your Life Is Falling Apart

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I used to write songs as a way of soothing my soul’s sorrow. At school, I would hide away in a piano room, pen and pad in hand. At home, I’d sleep with my keyboard, writing songs into the wee hours of the night. In college, I would skip meals and cut classes to spend hours in the music annex, letting my songs echo off the empty walls that held me there.

I would write the words my heart needed to hear, the words that I hoped God would say if He were sitting across from me at a cafe, drinking His coffee or whatever herbal tea He likes best. But, these days, writing songs doesn’t come easy. My kids call me constantly, my voice isn’t as strong as it used to be, and life shouts demands with its to-dos and to-bes.

I recently received a health diagnosis, just four days after leaving my job. I thought I was stepping into a season of creativity and certainty. But now every day is a wondering and every moment is a seeking. I cannot tell if the small, quiet voice within is me or if it is, in fact, God telling me where to go and what to do. In this waiting, in this season of silence and seeking and shattering, it feels like everything is slowly falling apart. The routines and structures that once held me together have altogether come undone. Direction disorients and vision evades me. 

Life, as I know it, is changing. And rightfully so. My children are growing — they are hungry for food and desperate to learn more, live more. My beloved body is broken and needs new ways of holding all that I am and healing. My values are disentangling, revealing their true depth and, therefore, their true desires — all authentic and unapologetic. Our house, the borrowed walls that we call home, is two sizes too small to carry the developing story that my family is becoming.

We, I, spin through the days bursting out of the seams, spilling wild and wide out of the containers that once held us. And it is messy, and there are no baskets or tidy corners to keep things as they should be, and we are in this limbo, this thin in-between, and we are so desperate to hear the Spirit say that all of this change is good.

That everything and everyone will be okay.

All I want for this thin in-between, this space of figuring things out, is to know that I am not failing my kids. I desperately want to know and believe that the things dying off are not causing destruction, that God is in all of this — every newly paved path and lost dream.

I abide, seeking out a single word, a single scripture verse to cling to. And then, a familiar melody comes to mind. A simple refrain that I wrote years back:

When you fall apart, you are falling into grace,
Can’t you see, how He holds us up, how He holds us into place.

The lyrics linger in my mind, and I try to think back to when and why I wrote this song. Try as I may, I cannot recall the season of life that I was in. But, this I can recall: it really is true. God holds us up, and He also holds us into place. He does this, even when all that we know shatters in and around us. Even while we are falling apart, we are falling into grace. Even while life is crumbling in ways that we cannot comprehend or control, His love for us still proves to be all that we need.

He holds us when we are in the deepest abyss where it is dark and the path before us is unknown and unseen. He holds us when we are afraid and unsure of where our next paycheck will come from. There is nothing too broken, nothing too beyond fixing for His hands. There isn’t a puzzle that cannot be put back together in and through His power. There is nothing too heavy for His heart, there is nothing too hard for Him to work out with His holy plan.

There is no depth too deep, no spiraling or shattering that will separate us from His loving hands. There is no circumstance too confusing, no pantry that He cannot fill with His provision, no broken body that He does not see, no song He cannot sustain with grace. Through community, through His word, through thanksgiving, through miracles, through mundane moments, through His holy hands at work in and through our lives.

This is one song we can always be sure to sing — He will hold us up and He will hold our lives into place. No matter what shatters, no matter what surrounds us, He is good and He will ever guide us into His goodness.

 

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Prayers from the Parking Lot

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This past school year was hectic. After a year and a half of a much more relaxed schedule, my daughters and I were back to maximum capacity with a calendar crammed full of practices and deadlines and projects and rehearsals. Every weeknight was full of driving and juggling and eating another dinner on the go. 

As a result, I found myself multitasking more than ever — replying to emails on my phone while also keeping an eye on my daughter kicking and punching in taekwondo class or running to the gas station to fill up the car or picking up another pizza for dinner during another daughter’s guitar lesson. Some nights I even completed the ultimate mom trifecta: dropping off one daughter for practice, then zipping home to spend quality time with the other one (a.k.a., watching “our” TV show while also folding a basket full of towels), then hopping back in the car in time for the end of practice. 

After a few months of this intensity, I realized that I’d begun protecting one particular half-hour of the week. On Wednesday afternoons I waited for my youngest to arrive home from school. The minute she got off the bus, I rushed her to the bathroom and then directed her to grab her piano bag. I rattled off directions for making a simple dinner to my oldest, and then the two of us were off to piano lessons. 

Every week, I’d pull into her teacher’s driveway without a minute to spare, knowing that as soon as she got back in the car, we’d hurry home to inhale dinner before taking my oldest to youth group. But for those thirty minutes, parked and waiting? I could breathe. 

For the first several weeks of this routine, I tried to fill those minutes with my usual approach. However, I realized quickly that I didn’t have quite enough time to dive into a work project and at that time of the day, my brain was too fried to make a good grocery list or arrange play dates. Next, I tried taking a drive and letting my mind wander for half an hour. But after getting lost on country roads and barely making it back in time, I decided that wasn’t my best option either. 

Finally, I tried breathing . . . and praying. Not breathing for a minute, then getting back to work. Not breathing so deeply that I lost track of time (and all the turns I’d taken on those back roads). Just taking a deep breath in and letting all the stuff I’d been holding onto and juggling out. Taking a minute to face the worries and fears and frustrations my jam-packed schedule did its best to distract me from. 

While my daughter learned to play piano and my car idled in the shade, I took a breath and talked to God. 

I told Him how tired I was, how nervous I was about an upcoming appointment, how sad I was over a daughter’s recent disobedience. I asked Him to show me ways to be a better mom, a better woman — and I listened when He reminded me that I am loved just as I am. I asked Him for help, for patience, and for the energy to make dinner and listen to a minute-by-minute description of a child’s favorite movie. I admitted that I wasn’t sure I have what my kids need right now and that I was lonely, wishing for just one close friend in my town. 

And not a single one of those conversations took more than a few minutes. Not one of them required a place on my to-do list or the ability to talk clearly without rambling, sighing, or crying. I didn’t need to fix my make-up or put on real pants, and nobody asked me to send a calendar request. I just showed up, in my parked car, in the middle of my busy day in a busy week, and God met me there. 

He’ll meet you in the parking lot, too. Or the driveway, those back roads, the bleachers or auditorium, or your pantry that doesn’t really have room for a person but somehow you fit yourself in there anyway. 

God isn’t asking us to get it together or to get more done. He also isn’t demanding a formal, standing appointment before He will carve out time to meet with us. Our heavenly Father knows how incredibly draining and difficult parenting can be, and He wants to walk with us, hold us, and carry us through this season. He loves us so much that He will meet us exactly where we are, and if that means our prayers happen in the parking lot, then that’s where He’ll be. 

My prayer for you — from my dining room table, my parked car, my closet where I hide from my kids — is that my new devotional, Prayers from the Parking Lot, will remind you that it’s okay to take those “parked” moments to talk to God and will help you find the words to pray. 

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If you’ve ever found yourself waiting (or hiding) in your car, desperate for guidance, peace, or reassurance that you’re not completely bombing this season of motherhood, Prayers from the Parking Lot is for you. The short devotions will point you straight to the One who loves you so much He’ll meet you anytime, anywhere — even (or especially) in the parking lot.

Get your copy today (and maybe a copy for a mom friend as well). . . and leave a comment below for a chance to WIN one of 5 copies*!

Then join Becky Keife for a conversation with author Mary Carver, tomorrow on Facebook and Instagram! We’ll replay their conversation on the (in)courage podcast this weekend too. Don’t miss it!

 

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*Giveaway open until 8/12/22 at 11:59pm central to US addresses only. Winners will be notified via email. Please allow 4-6 weeks for delivery.

Send the Text. Make the Call. Sit with Her.

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We passed in the hallway and chatted for a few minutes. Something in her tone ushered me to take it a step further. “Let’s get coffee sometime,” I spontaneously offered.

But let’s be honest, how often do we extend a casual invitation and never follow through?

Now, take a deep breath. Grace on. Guilt off. I’m sheepishly raising my hand right alongside you. These phrases, “How are you? Let’s catch up. I’d love to get together,” have become synonymous with a simple hand wave American greeting. We toss them out like confetti yet we don’t wait for the answer. Typically our heart’s intent is good, but I’m the Queen of Best Intentions. I intend to send the text and invite her over. I intend to follow through. But so often the “woulda, coulda, shoulda’s” create obstacles.

In the past years, I’ve made a change. A deep down, Holy Spirit conviction type of change. Now, when I hear those phrases roll off my tongue (or onto a text), I follow through. Simply typing this stirs up accountability fighting words in me because I know how easy it is to just offer a few sentiments in passing. Throwing up a heartfelt story with Bible verses on Facebook comes naturally. But following up on a “let’s get coffee sometime” invitation when no one is watching or when it’s inconvenient? That’s when our “Jesus with skin on” steps of love reflect the heart of the gospel.

We’ve spent too much time in the last two years being lonely, isolated, and doubting how to move forward. My desire is to be part of the solution — to offer others the same relentless pursuit that Jesus offers me.

A few weeks after our hallway greeting, the woman sat in my kitchen with tears rolling down her face.

“No one knows all that’s happening with me. I took a leave of absence from work due to severe panic attacks, and I haven’t left my house in weeks. Even when I woke up this morning, my heart battled at the thought of coming here since I don’t really know you. I needed and wanted to come, but I was paralyzed. My mind kept telling me not to go.”

Inside an hour, our relationship quickly moved from “Hi, how are you?” acquaintances to sisters, with hearts woven into a kinship known only through a shared story of struggle.

“This is the first time I’ve felt a sense of joy and anticipation in a long time. I need community and I want friends, but I’ve been so afraid to put myself out there because sometimes the rejection isn’t worth it. When you followed through on your invitation for coffee, I started to cry.”

I sat stunned. How had I so misjudged her? She seemed to have so much together. But I empathized. I understood. Rejection sometimes doesn’t feel worth the effort. Lately, I have reached out weekly to one of my besties, but no matter how hard I pursue her, she doesn’t make time for our friendship. It feels personal.

Listening now to my new friend’s fragile heart, instantly, the problem solver in me started brainstorming ways to comfort her. What are the perfect words to steward the trust she’s given me? I was at a loss. Yet in those next moments, the Holy Spirit reminded me that He was the only master healer to remedy her aching heart, our aching hearts, but if I was willing, He’d use me.

Galatians 6:2 tell us to, “Bear one another’s burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ.”

The Greek root for ‘bear’ means “to lift, literally or figuratively (endure, declare, sustain, receive, etc.) – bear, carry, take up.” The Greek root for ‘burden” in this verse means “weight.”

So many are carrying heavy loads in their personal lives. But I could help one precious woman sitting in my kitchen to lift some weight, to bear her burden, and by doing so fulfill the law through love. I often overthink what this actually means. I am a word girl and there in my kitchen, I kept pondering a mini devotional I could share; but I knew the best I had to offer her right then was to simply be present.

Often showing up with our focused ministry of presence is enough. Sometimes the people before us just need us to be silent. To pour another cup of coffee and dish out the brownie and sit with them in their time of need.

To think that I almost missed this sacred time. I almost didn’t follow through because it was just a one-sentence invite in passing and no one really means those, do they?

I do. Now.

Won’t you join me in baby steps of follow-through? Send the text. Make the call. Sit with her. Introduce yourself to the neighbors. Apologize. They all matter. And in doing so Scripture declares that we fulfill the law of Christ.

 

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When Faith Is Complicated But Simple Enough to Be Held in Hungry Hands

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Many of the abstract parts of Christianity are difficult for me, but communion has always felt easy. Instead of quiet prayers or beliefs, communion provides something to hold, smell, do, and taste. Regardless of how we serve it, I love the physicality of the bread and wine. Whether given thimbles of grape juice and tasteless wafers or hunks of soft bread and goblets of wine, communion has always been an invitation and a rare chance for me to press my knees into the cushion of the altar. It is not just the physical action but the singularity. A person at the front hands me a hunk of break and says, “This is Christ’s body broken for you.” Spoken just to me. Given just to me.  

I’m not especially drawn to tradition or formalities. I prefer a church service with a guitar to an organ. I’d rather wear jeans than my Sunday best, but communion has always had a way of fixing what is broken inside me. I know certain denominations believe different things about what the bread and wine signify or what happens or who can take it. I don’t care if it is a symbol or a mystery. I just like the chance to remember what Jesus did on His last night with His friends. To break bread is holy whether you do it at a table or an altar or in your living room.  

Christ did not only speak of the bread of life but often of actual bread. Christ physically feeds the multitudes, He turns water into wine at a wedding, and He breaks bread with His friends. The metaphor doesn’t work without the physicality, without the hungry hands accepting His gift. Maybe this is the reminder I need each time my church offers me communion. That faith is complicated and abstract, but also simple enough to be held in my own hungry hands.    

My particular church celebrates communion once a month and offers an open table, meaning that anyone is welcome to partake. This means that if my own children have made it all the way through the service I take them with me. I know they don’t fully know what it means, but I still bring them down the center aisle. I know many faith traditions have different conditions for communion, but I find hope in the fact that I don’t have to completely understand it to accept the gift. The same could be said for many more aspects of my faith.  

One communion Sunday, my son stopped coloring on the program long enough to listen to what the person breaking bread at the front was saying. The pastor explained what communion signifies and means as he ripped the round loaf in half.  

My son, only six but already a realist, says, “They just bought that at the store. It didn’t come from God.” Then repeated it in case we didn’t hear or in case the people in the pew behind us didn’t hear. I laughed out loud instead of shushing his observations. Maybe I shouldn’t have but his honesty stood out in a place where people often hide their questions. I let my husband try to explain the bread as a symbol, which was far too much for his six-year-old head. He came to the altar with us anyways. Probably for a snack or the relief of not sitting still for a few minutes or maybe just to ask where they bought the loaf. He stuck out his little hand and gladly took the store-bought bread and the grape juice in the little cup from his friend’s dad. He ate and drank and headed back to our pew to squirm and color. 

My son was correct in his statement. I’m sure they bought the bread at the store. I wondered for the first time if the church had a Costco account. I’m pretty sure it is just King’s Hawaiian bread and grape juice they buy in bulk. It made me wonder who provided the meal that night a long time ago, in the upper room. Then, it was also just bread and wine in a cup and twelve friends around a table. Where the meal came from did not matter. What made it important was who was there and the words that were said. What matters most is that Jesus was willing to be broken and spilled out for them. And for me. 

Once a month, I tear off my piece of grocery store bread and drink my plastic thimbleful of grape juice, and remember how ordinary things can become so holy. 

Bring All Your Worries to God and Receive His Peace

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Don’t worry about anything, but in everything, through prayer and petition with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus.
Philippians 4:6-7 (CSB)

If we’re honest, sometimes it’s easier to stay busy, to keep going at an unsustainable pace, because we don’t want to face the anxieties and realities that are right under the surface. Keeping our hands and minds busy feels productive, and worrying about every possible what-if situation can give the illusion that we’re in control. But worry, control, busyness — none of those things give us true peace.

Instead, true peace comes from having the right posture. When we pray, petition, and present our requests to God, we become grounded again. We remember that God is still real, He’s still present, He’s still in control.

When our minds start to unravel, let’s practice this posture:

Open palms.
Deep, slow breaths.
Our bodies, our minds, our hearts surrendered and at rest.

And as we do, let’s bring all our worries to God and receive His peace.

How can we pray for you?

Is your heart full of worry? Let’s share in the comments below and come to God in prayer. Remember to write out a prayer for the person who commented before you.

Even in the Worst of Times, Jesus Will Not Fail You

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Almost five years ago, I gathered with an army of women for an incredible time of worship and prayer unlike anything I had experienced before at the Mary & Martha conference. We sang boldly with conviction, “This we know, we will see the enemy run. This we know, we will see the victory come. We hold on to every promise You ever made. Jesus, You are unfailing.” 

We had no idea what battle we were preparing for, but we were ready. 

It was also almost five years ago that my husband Brian and I finally made the decision to move our family into a new home. A new home we had prayed about, saved for, and contemplated for years prior.  

Nine days after moving into our new home, Hurricane Harvey threatened to wreak havoc, not just on our new house, but on the entire city. We needed to evacuate, so after praying we took the first photo in our new home in front of our “It is well” tea towel that was already adorning the wall. Two days after evacuation, our mailbox was completely submerged, and the inside of our home was flooded as well. Our house was demolished. Our savings would be drained. Our walls were destroyed. I was devastated. It felt like a death. But then I looked up. Hanging all over our home were reminders of truth. Messages of hope that I had chosen to be foundational to our family. Purposeful pictures plastered everywhere. 

The “It is well” tea towel hung stoically in the stark air. The reminder helped me breathe again. 

The next three months were a blur of demolition, decisions, and dust. They were also days filled with creative provision in the form of gift cards, meals, bills paid off anonymously, and gatherings. Yes, I continued to work when it would have been easier to hide under the covers. I knew the Lord could abundantly provide for our needs through my persistent efforts, and it was a comfort to be around believers who spoke encouragement and truth over my girls and me. I enjoyed my time away from the sheet rock, grout, and saw noises. 

And the fall proved to be even more abundant than I could have ever imagined. I broke my own Mary & Martha sales records two months in a row…the Lord was just showing off and abundantly provided. 

But in the midst of it all, PTSD began to set in. My home was back in order and, from the outside, it looked like everything should be alright. However, I started having migraine headaches, my stomach hurt continuously, my face tingled and was constantly broken out, and I could not sleep with any regularity. I had CT scans and psychiatry appointments. The enemy even bombarded my mind with the most horrific of thoughts. I knew I was not doing well. I shared with friends how indifferent I felt about life. Nighttime was the worst because that was when I was attacked most rigorously. Just as I would lie my head on my pillow to go to sleep, destructive thoughts would bombard my mind. But I did not hide them. I did not try to fight alone.  

Two days after an incredibly intense battle, I was to lead the worship and devotion for the Mary & Martha spring conference. I had been transparent that I was in a tough spot, but I had not revealed the extent of what I was battling. I was told I didn’t have to lead that portion of the weekend, but I knew this was a declarative statement to the enemy. You might have won a few battles, but through Christ, I would win the war. You might have tried to take me out, but I would be victorious! God’s purposes for me are good. He would never want to harm me! He has plans for a hope-filled future. I am His voice of truth to the world, and you will NOT silence me! 

 After I shared a short devotion, I shared my struggle and sweet friends embraced me in an imaginary hug. Moments later, I stood arm in arm with this precious army of women and declared with loud certainty, “This we know, we will see the enemy run. This we know, we will see the victory come. We hold on to every promise You ever made. Jesus, You are unfailing.”

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We love this story of faithfulness from Erica Stidham, an Executive Director with Mary & Martha. Mary & Martha is a DaySpring company where you can create your own schedule, share your faith through inspirational products, earn unlimited income, and belong to a sisterhood of women. Mary & Martha allows you to combine your faith with your work through the products you sell and the women you gather with.

If you’d like more information, discover the Mary & Martha difference today!

 

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Be Still. Now Move!

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“What’s your plan?” she asked me.

“I’m not entirely sure,” I responded, stunning both her and myself. One of my superpowers is a good plan, but this time I felt at a loss as to what to do.

“I have some ideas and I’m doing my homework. But honestly, I have no idea the right course to take. God is going to have to lead me through this mess one step at a time. It’s beyond me.”

In the months before, I’d found myself in the middle of a life-altering crisis. It was big — bigger than any crisis I’d faced before. And that’s saying something, as I’ve faced more than my share of crises.

But this one was different. All-consuming. Complex. Emotionally charged. With no clear path and very little I could do to affect the ultimate outcome. I felt as if I stood in a field of land mines, unsure which direction offered life and which offered death. A single choice could change everything, forever.

And that’s when I thought of Exodus 14, and another group of people in a similar land-mine scenario.

After hundreds of years of slavery in Egypt, God sent Moses to set His people, the Israelites, free. It was an answer to countless prayers, relief from their endless suffering. With joy, they followed Moses out of Egypt, praising God for His kindness and deliverance.

Until their journey took them to the shore of the Red Sea. The land God had promised them sat on the other side of this impossible expanse. Worse, their slave master, the Egyptian Pharoah, changed his mind about setting them free. Determined to get his cheap labor back, he set out in pursuit with the full threat of his impressive army.

Thousands of Israelites — emaciated and weary from a lifetime of slave labor — faced an impossible sea on one side and an angry army on the other. A life-altering crisis, no doubt. And one without any clear path of escape.

This story has always been a favorite of mine, probably because of its realness. It’s messy, complicated, and full of human and situational complexity. Much the same as the crises you and I find ourselves in the middle of today. This is why God’s direction to the Israelites through Moses holds hope for us as well.

“Moses answered the people, ‘Do not be afraid. Stand firm and you will see the deliverance the LORD will bring you today. The Egyptians you see today you will never see again. The LORD will fight for you; you need only to be still.’ Then the LORD said to Moses, ‘Why are you crying out to me? Tell the Israelites to move on.'”
Exodus 14:13-15 (NIV)

I shared this story with my friend. Then I did my best to answer her original question.

“I think I’m in a similar situation right now. I feel like I’m surrounded by disaster, and I have no idea how I’m going to get through this in one piece. But I believe God’s words to the Israelites are also His words to me.

First, I need to be still. I cannot let fear and anxiety rule the day. Instead, I need to get grounded in the fact that God is real, and God is with me and for me. I can trust Him, no matter what happens. My heart and mind need to stand still on that truth. Period.”

That in and of itself isn’t easy to do. I took a breath, feeling the weight of what God was asking me to do, yet again.

“That said, stillness isn’t the only thing He was asking of me. I also need to move.”

I did my best to explain. “From these verses, I gather this kind of stillness isn’t a lack of action, a sitting on the couch watching Netflix waiting for the sky to open and Jesus to whoosh in and solve all my problems. The threats I’m facing are real, and I need to have wisdom in how I deal with these threats, both practically and spiritually. To that extent, I am making some preliminary plans, researching options, and getting wise counsel.

But like the Israelites on the shore of the Red Sea, I’m also waiting for God to tell me when and where to step. He’s the only One who can deliver the miracle I need. He’s the only one who knows the best path to take. So I’m waiting on Him, confident in His presence and provision. But I’m also moving forward, to the best of my ability, in that confidence.”

Be still. Now move! 

Friend, what is your impossible situation? Regardless of the uniqueness of your story and your pain, there is a God who is able to deliver. In fact, salvation is His specialty.

Get grounded in that truth, that you have a God who is bigger than any ocean or army. One who sees you, loves you, and knows exactly what you need. That is your stillness, even while everything around you rages.

Then, with that truth as the anchor of your soul, move. Take steps forward. Use the wisdom and advisors God has given you to walk in faith. Trust Him. Follow Him.

Be still. Now move.

Your promised land awaits.

 

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Welcoming Women Through Our Wounds

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This past Spring I found myself sitting next to a pool with a fellow writer. While the sun burned our shoulders, we slowly shared the way we both had been burned in friendships with other women. Though we had traded texts and voice memos for years, we had never swapped the story of one of our hardest mutual sorrows. 

This friend has been a safe place for me. We relentlessly support each other. People probably roll their eyes at how we talk about each other online, because we practically gush. What they don’t know is that behind the scenes we say even more. We’ve built a friendship where I know without a doubt that we are for each other. 

When she succeeds, my heart soars. 

When she laments, I let out tears. 

We hold both hope and happiness for each other.

As we packed up our towels and books and trudged tired and content back to our hotel rooms, we unpacked the source of why we have become each other’s support. 

Our wounds.

Tears welled up in my friend’s eyes as she shared how another friend had wounded her and how that relationship had made it hard to trust other women wouldn’t just do the same. When she let me witness her wound, it was like witnessing my own with new freedom.

I grabbed her arm and looked into her eyes. “Now I know why I feel so safe with you,” I said. “Me too. That happened to me too.”

Years ago, when I was first stepping into my vocation as a writer, I was desperate for a writing friend. Misery loves company but so does wonder, and I longed for someone with whom I could share not just coffee but conversations about craft. I thought I was forming connections with other women, but I found myself in competitions in which I had never asked to be a part. 

Looking back, I never felt fully safe or accepted in those early friendships, but loneliness can blend like concealer, covering up all the flaws and lack of safety looming in a person, painting them into who we wish they could be for us rather than who they currently are. 

There’s a reason “catfight” is a colloquialism, and a terrible one at that.

In a male-dominated culture that’s fueled by both scarcity and individualism, we women are conditioned to treat each other as competition. People have been slinging around the word catfight since as early as 1854, when an author named Benjamin G. Ferris wrote that polygamist Mormon women often fought over their shared husband, resulting in a new norm of separate houses to discourage the women from not only yelling but pulling out each other’s long braids from their bonnets. (I am not making this up!)

Interestingly, the term catfight doesn’t have a male counterpart. I can’t help but wonder: are women meaner than men or are we just conditioned by a still patriarchal society to be cruel to one another? 

We learn young that there’s apparently only so much room for female voices to be heard. So we shout louder, make ourselves shinier, or shrink into the shadows when we’re afraid we’ll be elbowed out of the way. We women are simultaneously taught to be competitive and then judged as less than human—catty—when competition turns cutthroat.

Capitalism tells a compelling story about what it takes to win in life, but the gospel tells a story where Beloved is the name God gives us whether we accomplish anything amazing at all or not.

Scarcity shouts loud, convincing us to become either bullies or beggars—hoarding goodness and opportunities for ourselves or assuming there’s not enough room for us at all. But Goodness and Love are not scarce resources.

When women treat one another as competition, we crush each other’s capacity to show up as our full selves.

Maybe the catfights of female friendships are a grand distraction from the wonder that would happen if we really welcomed each other. Maybe the powers that be in this world would be disrupted into dignity and delight if we women showed up strong and saw each other’s strength not as robbing from our own but reinforcing it.

There’s a story Jesus told in Luke 15, really an echo of Psalm 23 where God sets a table for us in the presence of our enemies. (I tell this story in greater detail in my new book, The Lord Is My Courage.) Jesus says that God is like a woman who has lost a silver coin in her home. She rummages for it. She gets down on the ground to find it. She searches through darkness and grime. And when she finally finds this lost coin, she invites her friends—who culturally we can assume were women—over for a feast to rejoice that what was lost was found. 

What if we women most emulate God when we seek for what is lost and precious and when we find it—whether it be words or work or wholeness—we feast with each other? 

My friend has taken her wound and made it a place of welcome. She took the friendship that was lost and she made it a place others can be found.

Instead of returning evil for evil, she decided to become the kind of writer who cheers when other writers succeed. 

Instead of treating other women as her competition, she cultivated a way of offering compassion. 

Instead of closing the door of her heart and hoarding all the food of her wisdom to herself, she sets a crowded table, where there’s room for any woman who is willing to collaborate rather than compete. 

Right before I started writing this article, I listened to a voice memo from another writer friend who’s feeling afraid there might not be room for her voice. As I sat down at my desk, I lit a candle a fellow author sent me last week while Brandi Carlile’s voice started to croon from my computer and memories of seeing her in concert with another female artist friend wrapped around me like a hug. And I knew, even though women have wounded me deeply, they have also been the source of great welcome.

The wounds that we tend can become the place we most welcome others. 

When women support women, we all become more capable of showing up as our full selves.

 

P.S. My friend in this story is fellow (in)courage contributor, Rachel Marie Kang. And she’s got a beautiful book coming out in October called Let There Be Art: The Pleasure and Purpose of Unleashing the Creativity within You. 

 

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How to Keep Steady in the Midst of Unsteady Opinions

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I think it’s safe to say that I am not the only one who gets encouraged when people like my social media posts and choose to follow me. I would also confidently say that I am not the only one who gets her feelings hurt sometimes when people write mean comments and choose to unfollow me. When I think about likes and follows, many things come to mind, but one thing in particular is the word inconsistent.

I remember one time I was streaming an Instagram Live and I had someone tell me that I was hideous and mere moments later someone else tell me that I was beautiful. I laughed a little bit to myself because I just thought about how confused I would be if I took both of their comments as truth. Within a matter of seconds, I would have gone from thinking that I was hideous to thinking I was beautiful.

If I believe deep down that I am defined by what people have to say about me, then I am setting myself up to constantly wrestle with what is actually true about myself.

My mother-in-law once shared with me that there are times when we need to be rubber and other times we need to be a sponge. She said that there will be times when I hear words from people that I need to let bounce off of me and not take ownership of. At other times, there will be words people share that I do need to receive and heed. If I don’t have the discernment between when to soak up words versus when to disregard them, I could very easily take hold of words and opinions that are not mine to keep.

I believe we do this a lot on social media. We are sponges to every positive comment, every follow, and every like. But because we are sponges to these things, we also soak up every unfollow and rude remark. When we believe that our identity is associated with whether we are liked and followed, we are living for the approval of people. We will post only what we think everyone will like. We will dress only how we think everyone is expecting us to dress. We will say only what we assume everyone is desiring for us to say. If we do this for too long, we will end up exhausted and unable to even recognize ourselves.

Seeking to please every human is a burden that we were never designed to carry — an expectation we can never possibly meet. This is why it is so important that we know what God says. Walking in accordance with God’s Word keeps us steady in the midst of unsteady opinions.

When we get wrapped up in what people are saying about us and find ourselves willing to conform for the approval of people, we must pause and be honest about who we really want praise from. We cannot live for the approval of God and the approval of people.

Jesus said something in John 12:42-43 that catches my attention. To set the scene here, there were some authorities who believed in Jesus, but out of fear that the Pharisees would kick them out of the synagogue, they stayed quiet about their faith. In verse 43, Jesus said of them, “For they loved human praise more than the praise of God”.

Wow.

This stops me in my tracks. People wanting to be liked and followed is not new. A couple thousand years ago it showed up in a synagogue and today it shows up on social media and in a myriad of other ways. People are going to like you one minute, and people are going to unfollow you the next. That is not a question. But the questions are: Does the approval of people hold more weight on your heart than the approval of the Lord? Do the words of people hold more weight than the words of God? Do you believe your worth is summed up in what people have to say about you or in what God has already said about you?

Let’s all sit with that today.

– This article is written by Emma Mae McDaniel. Emma Mae is a lover of Jesus and people, an author, and a speaker. Emma travels throughout the country speaking at conferences and retreats to be a messenger of God’s Word. Through social media, YouTube, and her podcast called “Have You Heard?”, Emma seeks to glorify God and invest in the lives of thousands worldwide. 

—

God is the only One who gets to identify who we are. In her new book, You Are: Realizing Who You Are Because of Who God Is, Emma Mae breaks down thirty labels that women of God struggle with ― either because we think we deserve the “bad” labels or don’t know how to embrace the “good” ones.

This book helps you understand that God knows who you are: You are talented and inspiring and brave; you possess both confidence and tenderness; you are protected and gentle and amazing. Interactive elements guide you to embrace your value and place as a woman of God.

Order your copy today, and leave a comment below for a chance to WIN one of five copies!

Then join Emma and (in)courage community manager Becky Keife for a chat all about You Already Are! Tune in tomorrow, 8/3/22, on Facebook and/or Instagram for their conversation.

Giveaway open to US addresses only and closes on 8/5/22 at 11:59 p.m. CST.

 

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Encouragement for the Days You Don’t Feel Good Enough

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I’m curled up on the corner of my couch, laptop in front of me, thoughts swirling in my mind. It’s been one of those days when no matter how hard I tried I still felt like I fell short. Have you ever had one of those days too?

I click keys and spill out my thoughts. I fill up the page and then hit “delete.” I do this over and over, clearing out the clutter of my inner critic. I keep going until I type one line that makes me pause…

Just because something I do could be better doesn’t mean it’s not good enough.

That might seem obvious, but to me in that moment, it felt revolutionary. Because until then I would have typed those words differently…

If something I do could be better it means it’s not good enough.

That is the anthem of perfectionism, the anxiety-provoking mantra of the “try harder” tribe to which I’ve belonged my whole life. I can tell you this from experience: those kinds of expectations will make you crazy. Because here’s the reality, we are not in heaven yet and therefore everything can always be better. If I wait until everything is as good as it can possibly be before I let myself be happy, I’ll be waiting until the day I die.

I place my fingers back on the keyboard and I type one more statement . . .

Just because YOU could be better doesn’t mean you’re not good enough.

This is what grace means: that we in all our mess and brokenness are still enough. It means Jesus went to the cross and rose from the dead so that we could be holy and whole. It means that when He said “it is finished” He also declared “it is enough” over our humanness.

The enoughness we long for can’t be found in improving our performance or becoming a perfect person. It can only be received, not earned. This is transformational, heart-freeing news.

I start writing statements . . .

Just because I could be a better wife doesn’t mean I’m not a good enough one.
Just because I could be a better writer doesn’t mean I’m not a good enough one.
Just because I could be a better friend doesn’t mean I’m not a good enough one.

How would you fill in that blank?

Just because I could be a better ________ doesn’t mean I’m not a good enough one.

We live in the tension of who we are now and who we will one day be in eternity. Despite our best intentions, we will mess up today. Even when we try our hardest, we will fall short. This is the frustration and limitation of being a human on earth. But it is not something we can fully fix; instead, it’s a reality to embrace. Why? Because it shows us how much we need a Savior.

I finally stopped typing and had a list of at least twenty statements I’d completed like those above. It felt like a weight had lifted from my heart. I went online and found a hand-lettered image of the word “enough.” I put it on my desktop as my screensaver so I could see it over and over again. (I briefly considered getting it tattooed on my wrist but I’m scared of needles so we’ll go with this for now.)

It’s the word so many of us need to hear today: Enough.

Yes, we will always continue getting better at what we do, becoming better as we grow into the people God created us to be. This is the joyful work of a lifetime that God promises to complete the moment we step into His presence. But the incompleteness of that process now doesn’t mean we are failing. It’s so important for us to know deep down that’s true. Maybe it’s a reminder you needed too.

Just because you could be a better ________ doesn’t mean you’re not a good enough one.

That’s true today no matter what because of what Jesus has done.

 

Holley Gerth’s brand new devotional, What Your Mind Needs for Anxious Moments: A 60-day Guide to Take Control of Your Thoughts, releases next month! Want a sneak peek? You can read the first 3 devotions for FREE! If you’re among the 1 in 5 Americans who have anxiety, enter your email here and you’ll receive encouragement from Holley’s new devotional right away.

 

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Finding Faith When Tragedy Strikes

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 “Marie, this just happened this afternoon. I’m wondering if our parents know anyone there.” 

This unexpected text from a close friend jolted me from my peaceful, picture-perfect SoCal Sunday. Suddenly, the news of a shooting at a Taiwanese church in Laguna Woods became very personal. More texts trickled in about elderly friends — those I grew up calling auntie and uncle — who were there for the worship service but left early, and then one who was present when the shooting occurred during their luncheon. 

Amahs and agongs, like those whom our family had shared many meals with and gathered for Bible study in my childhood home, now were attacked in a senseless act of violence. 

Tension permeated my whole body — my shoulders tightened, jaw clenched, exacerbating my TMJ, and tears streamed down my cheeks. I found it difficult to concentrate, my heart heavy with the weight of it all. I kept checking the news, looking at my phone, wondering and hoping that there wouldn’t be any more names added to the list. 

I felt shocked and grieved that this tragedy could happen in the same church building where my sister had her wedding. How could a place of joyous celebration become such a place of deep grief? What explanation should I give to my young daughter when she points at my sister’s family wedding photo and asks, “Is that where the shooting took place?”  

During times like these, I find comfort in knowing that God understands my inner groanings when words elude me. God embraces me when I vent my gut-honest cries and unanswered questions. 

 “In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us through wordless groans.”
Romans 8:26 NIV

God’s Word provides space for us to process our pain through songs of lament. God assures us that He hears our cries and cares. 

“You, Lord, hear the desire of the afflicted; you encourage them, and you listen to their cry.”
Psalm 10:17 NIV

Being in a posture of lament shifts my perspective. Oftentimes, I admit, it is much easier to depend on my own strength and try to figure things out myself. But God wants me to recognize my limitations and come to the end of my self-dependence, so I can truly find rest in Christ as I cry out to Him. 

It seems so counterintuitive, but if we can be in control of all of our circumstances, where is there room for faith to grow? Jesus encouraged the apostle Paul when healing on this side of heaven still had not come, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness” (2 Corinthians 12:9 NIV). Likewise, I don’t need to be afraid or ashamed that I don’t have all the answers. 

As a daughter of Taiwanese immigrants, I grew up attending a church composed of families from across the Asian diaspora. Church became more than just a place of worship; it was also a haven for elders and parents to speak their native language freely and be understood. Church was a refuge where immigrant families found community, belonging, and assistance as they transitioned to living in a new land. Now this sanctuary no longer felt safe. In fact, nowhere felt safe.  

Through this incident, Jesus taught me that true peace is not found in a place on earth but in the presence of God. Jesus said, “I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world” (John 16:33 NIV). 

As I listened to pastors pray passionately in Taiwanese a few days following the shooting, I felt encouraged by their faith. This incident had shaken them, but they continued to cling to God, instead of their fears. God was holding them close, and He would hold me and my family too. 

Their prayers reminded me that no matter what happens, God promises to be with me, even when things don’t make sense. “For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord” (Romans 8:38-39 NIV).  

Nothing can separate us from His love.

 

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Why You Need to Keep a Radar on the Storms in Your Heart

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The first time I moved to New England it was for seminary. As a student, I wasn’t very aware of what was around me. I was there to study and stayed mostly on campus. I didn’t really know what was going on in the community beyond my church on Sunday mornings. But I did work at a local country club, teaching golf lessons, caddying, and selling pro shop merchandise. It was there that I first started to pay attention to the weather.

We would always have Doppler radar open on the computer and could tell when a storm was rolling in. We knew how to watch for shifts in the wind and the humidity because there’s nothing worse on a golf course than thunder and lighting. Turns out, you don’t want to be holding a metal pole in the air when it strikes.

When the storm was too close for comfort, we started standing by the door, waiting for the first distant rumble and once it was heard, we sprung into action. Grabbing a nearby golf cart, our resident golf pro would hop in and speed to the top of the course with an airhorn in his hands. He would fly up the hill to the highest point and blast the horn, signaling that it was time for golfers to come in.

It was not optional and it was imperative to their well-being that they make their way (quickly) to the clubhouse. We would grab their clubs, shuttle them to the parking lot, and wish them well, never giving them the option to risk staying out on the course. Avid golfers will stay on course in all kinds of conditions — wind, fog, rain, even snow —but the moment thunder rolls, all bets are off.

Those years built some sort of internal radar in me so much that I’m often the person in my friend group who knows the exact weather on any given day. I can tell you what conditions are ahead, not because I’m anxious, but because I’ve learned to pay attention. Thunder doesn’t rumble out of nowhere and storms move in over time.

Sometimes, when I start to pay attention to my own heart, I can sense when a storm is coming. When I am not spending time in God’s Word or haven’t been getting enough sleep or things are stressful for whatever reason, it wears on me and starts to have consequences. Patience wears thin, perspective gets lost, and before I know it, words start to show up that strike and threaten to set fire to relationships or opportunities.

In Luke 6, Jesus says, “For the mouth speaks what the heart is full of.” And what He means is that when we say something unkind or brutally honest to the point of destruction, that was simmering in our hearts first. It wasn’t a sudden accident — it was on the radar beforehand.

Each morning, when I wake up, I check the weather and wind speed and conditions in the sky, and it’s a good practice to spend some time asking the Lord to meet me too. To ask, as the psalmist says, “Search me, God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts. See if there is any offensive way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting” (Psalm 139:23-24 NIV).

Look for storms on the horizon, friend. Not just because you don’t want to get caught in the rain, but because when the thunder rolls, you’re in for danger if you don’t come back in.

 

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How the Holy Spirit Convicted Me About Not Saying a Blessing in Public

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Years ago, my sister-in-law offered one of the most helpful slivers of counsel I’ve ever received. It went something like, “Her convictions may not be the same as your convictions, so you aren’t going to view or respond to the circumstances the same way.” The encouragement was liberating in that it stopped (or at least slowed) me from projecting my expectations on others. What I might do or say in any given situation was what I believed everyone should do or say. Remembering this advice has also helped me tremendously as politics and the pandemic have slapped our world silly.

One of my convictions developed after a season of spiritual wandering where I questioned many of my long-held beliefs. As a recovering people-pleaser, I began to realize how at least a portion of what I professed was prescribed by pastors, teachers, Bible study leaders, and friends without me even realizing it. That meant in contrast to the Holy Spirit convicting and leading me, what I espoused as my belief was sometimes derived from what others thought or said. To see that at times I was simply parroting the beliefs of influencers in my life was a rude awakening that, ultimately, thankfully, proved to be transformative.

Complicated and at times disorienting, the deconstruction and subsequent rebuilding of my faith were healthy. It led me to detach from people and what they thought in order to seek and attach to God.

Reading Scripture, praying, and earnestly desiring to know God in His fullness (and not what other people told me about Him) caused me to examine practices and traditions I had once considered central to my faith. It may sound heretical or maybe just silly, but one of those traditions I began struggling with was a mealtime blessing, particularly when I was with friends in public. More often than not, it felt like we were just checking a box, doing what we thought “good Christians” were supposed to do rather than actually praying to God or sincerely thanking Him for our food. On some level, Jesus’s words to the Pharisees resonated with me (although in a softer measure):

“Everything they do is done for people to see.… You are like whitewashed tombs, which look beautiful on the outside but on the inside are full of the bones of the dead and everything unclean. In the same way, on the outside you appear to people as righteous but on the inside you are full of hypocrisy and wickedness.”
Matthew 23:5, 27-28 NIV

Too often it seemed like mealtime blessings were a performance, not prayer, and to protect my fragile faith, I could no longer pretend. While I knew that Jesus expressed gratitude before eating, there was something disingenuous about my public prayers most of the time. They felt like what Jesus was talking about when He referenced Isaiah’s prophesy in Mark 7: “These people honor me with their lips, but their hearts are far from me” (in context Mark 7:1-13 NIV).

Please hear my heart: I’m not suggesting that praying before a meal is wrong! For goodness sakes, Jesus prayed before meals! But for me, during a tender season in my faith, I needed my prayers to be tethered to Father, Son, and Spirit, not to obligation or mindless tradition (which if I wasn’t careful, could happen with a mealtime blessing).

Well . . . it turns out that God can use even my wonky convictions to point me to His love and grace.

A few weeks ago, I met a group of dear friends for dinner, sisters in the faith who always point me to Jesus. When we pray before a meal, we’re genuinely inviting God into our midst, praising Him for His provision (food, friendship, and everything in between), and asking Him to guide our conversation. I still wrestle with my complicated “blessing conviction,” but I know these girls and their hearts. We’re praying, and it has nothing to do with obligation.

After a dinner that nourished body and soul, our darling waitress dropped off our checks. As Jasmine returned with the copies for us to sign, she said, “I just have to tell y’all… I rarely see a group of women eating together and encouraging each other the way it appeared you did. It was a blessing to me to see friends praying.” Of course, we all wanted to scoop her up and take her home, especially when she added she hoped to find a few friends she could get together and pray with. We invited her to a local community Bible study we attend, and I looked her square in the eyes, slipped her my business card, and urged her to please reach out. (I’m still hoping to hear from her.)

She was encouraged because we simply prayed. Our mealtime blessing was a blessing to her.

God used a complete stranger to challenge my perspective and to remind me that I never know who’s watching. I never know how someone might be impacted by the smallest, sincere expression of my trust in Jesus — an expression that could have easily gotten lost in my own “blessing conviction” and resistance.

Like my sweet sister-in-law suggested all those years ago, we don’t all necessarily share the same convictions about exactly how we live out our faith, but we’re all daughters of the same God, privileged to bear His image to a world who is watching.

How sweet of God to transform a thorn to a rose, a prickly conviction to a blessing for others.

 

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Lessons from Highland Sheep and What It Really Means to Love Jesus

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Everywhere we looked, the beauty took our breath away. From steep cliffs to large pastures of sheep and cattle to waterfalls surprising us at too many turns to count on the single-track mountain roads. One of us was always saying wow! Or, look to the right! Or, highland coos to the left! Or, did you see that? And yet, as we gushed over the landscape, we were reminded that the magic of this place was also thick with melancholy.

The Scottish Highlands was our last of three stops on a recent family vacation to the United Kingdom. While I loved all the places we visited in the UK, this particular place will stay with me for a long time.

The peaceful pastures, ragged rock ruins, and signs with both English and Gaelic throughout the northern half of Scotland are mysterious and magical, and they are also a reminder of the brutal history and strong spirit of the Scottish people. In the 1700-1800s, entire highland villages were forcibly removed from their land to make more room for sheep and to erase highland culture. Along with the removal of people, the Act of Proscription was passed to force assimilation. The law prohibited bagpipes, traditional clothing (Clan tartan), and the teaching of Scottish Gaelic.

Ruined rocks of remembrance scattered throughout the Scottish highlands reminded me that the land and the people who lived there have grieved and were grieved against for the sake of power, profit, and control.

In John 21, Jesus gives His disciple, Peter, a three-fold command to feed His sheep. Our resurrected Jesus appeared and took the time to feed His disciples on the shore of Galilee. He then asks a full-bellied and full-spirited Peter if he loves Him. Each time Peter declares that yes, he loves Him, and Jesus responds to that declaration with a command to “feed His sheep.” Jesus was telling Peter that loving Him, the Shepherd and King of kings, would be proven by his feeding, caring for, and tending to, Jesus’ sheep — His people. Peter’s love for Jesus and his leadership had to be motivated by serving others in love — never to be proven by proclamation, power, and profit.

It’s easy to imagine Jesus holding a soft fluffy sheep or standing among a flock with a shepherd’s staff, but when we were walking through pastures full of sheep, I was struck by the smell and how hard it was to dodge the sheep droppings that covered the grass and walking paths. The sheep huddled together in groups, adorable but leery. They were cautious of us, constantly skittering away to keep a safe distance. They were much messier, more varied, mistrusting, and wild than I would’ve imagined them to be.

Living out our love for Jesus isn’t tidy or time-efficient. Love suffers long, and it’s willing to walk through messy, smelly pastures for the sake of another. Living out our love for Jesus isn’t shiny or brag-worthy; it is ordinary and often wearisome work. To care for people made in the image of God, Jesus’ beloved “sheep,” requires that we regularly tend to our identity as those who are loved and created to love, nourish, and tend to others just as we have been by Jesus.

The history of highland clearances seems removed and far away from my daily life and experience, but when I think of the relational strife amongst my kids, and how wearisome it can be to work through the same issues day in and day out, I see myself and how often I want to control them instead of gently love them through it. I think of the family member whom I find little in common with, how often I’ve rolled my eyes over their comments or wished they would change or see things my way. I think of the parts of myself or others that I struggle to accept and want to squish into the image of another, and realize that the lie of assimilation comes for all of us in some way, shape, or form. I think of the weeds that keep growing in our yard, wishing there was some instant magic to get rid of them all and how if there was, I’d choose it instead of the hard, sweaty, repetitive work of weeding over time. Again and again, I see in myself a tendency towards fixing what’s wrong in my own power, taking over, pointing my finger, and letting fear of what I don’t understand in someone else motivate me, instead of curiosity and humility.

While the world weeps with so much historical injustice and present pain, I feel overwhelmed by how much there is to tend to. I find myself faltering behind the cowardly laziness of “why bother?” Or I sink into the overwhelm of trying to take in too much. I ask Jesus, “How long?” Then I hear His voice and His heart again saying, “Do you love me? If you love me, feed my sheep.”

This gentle command is somehow enough to remind me who I am, who my neighbor is, and to help me begin, rest, then begin again.

 

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