God Handcrafts Unique Gifts for Each of Us

God Handcrafts Unique Gifts for Each of Us

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My favorite Christmas memory as a child happened the year my dad lost his job. That was the year Cabbage Patch dolls were all the rage. In case you are not a child of the ‘80s, they were one-of-a-kind cloth dolls with plastic heads that came with birth certificates and adoption papers. All the girls wanted them for Christmas.

They were also expensive.

My family was scraping by on my mom’s teaching salary. Even though it was a gift I longed for, I knew in my heart it wouldn’t be possible. I didn’t want my parents to feel bad about it so I kept my wish to myself.

My mama, however, had different plans. She found a woman from our church named Delores, who was making handmade dolls similar to the name-brand ones and charging much less. Delores had cared for me when I was in the church nursery. She painted the dolls faces and crafted their hair, making each one with unique features. Mama commissioned her to create a doll for me with the same chai latte skin tone, freckles, dark brown pigtails, and even a diamond-shaped beauty mark on her right cheek just like mine.

On Christmas morning, my brother and I raced downstairs to the tree eager to dig into the treats in our stockings and unwrap the gifts beneath the tree. I was surprised when I saw a hand-sewn, quilted baby carrier nestled among the other wrapped gifts. With sparkling eyes, Mama and Daddy encouraged me to open it.

Inside was the most beautiful doll I’d ever seen with lush, dark chocolate hair and my similar features. I was stunned. How did they do it? How did they know what I’d wanted?

I named my doll Kailani, which was my middle name meaning “heavenly child of the sea” in Hawaiian. That doll was my treasure for years. I cared for her, cuddled her, styled her, read to her, and talked to her about all my dreams. Cradling her in my arms, I cared for her like my own baby — never imagining God would one day give me three baby girls.

Kailani was a sweet reminder that God delights in giving us good gifts. He gave Delores and my mama the gift of creativity to fashion this doll just for me. And the best part was that Kailani looked like me. She wasn’t like all the other Cabbage Patch dolls. In my second-grade mind, she was more beautiful and perfect than if we had had the money to buy the name brand one. Decades later, I’m still savoring the memory of receiving that handmade gift.

In the book of James, Jesus’ half-brother, reminds us:

Every generous act and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights; with Him there is no variation or shadow cast by turning. By His own choice, He gave us a new birth by the message of truth so that we would be the firstfruits of His creatures.
James 1:17-18 (HCSB)

Friends, sometimes in life we may find ourselves longing for something that someone else has. She might be especially adept in the kitchen or inspiring when she speaks on the stage. Your friend might have a way with words or beautiful features or that cute pair of shoes you’ve always wanted. We can focus on that specific gift that our friend has, or we can unwrap the generous and perfect gifts God has handcrafted uniquely for each one of us.

Maybe He painted you with freckles or shaped you with naturally curly hair. Maybe He molded you with a gift for organization or singing or gathering people. Maybe your gift is being able to see the person in the room who is hurting or on the fringes. Whatever your unique gift, embrace it. Receive it. Rip off the paper and use it for His glory!

As we draw near to Christmas, let’s remember the most perfect gift God gave each one of us. When He sent his son Jesus as a newborn baby to earth, He made the greatest sacrifice of all time. He knew when He gingerly placed His precious child in that rough manger that Jesus would one day have to die a horrible death on the cross. He gave up His most treasured possession to gift us freedom from sin and eternal life. Friends, this is not a gift we can earn or strive for. It’s unmerited and undeserved but given with unabashed love and grace. In all our traditions and gatherings this week, let’s not forget the True Gift — Jesus.

Dorina helps women chase God’s glory down life’s unexpected trails through her weekly Glorygram. Sign up here to get it delivered to your inbox and to learn about her podcast and other projects.

Learning to Let Our Hearts Be Light

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Have yourself a merry little Christmas
Let your heart be light
From now on
Your troubles will be out of sight . . .

Let your heart be light. This has never been something I’m good at. If there’s a fear to chew on or a worry to consume me, I’m on it. If there’s a burden to be carried, I’ll throw it over my shoulder and then wonder why I’m trudging heavily through the day. If something can keep me up and awake at night, clawing through outcomes and reactions in my sleep-addled brain, I’m on it. My husband knows this about me, and sometimes in the middle of the night, when the thoughts are consuming my mind and heart, bearing down like a freight train, I wake him for a sleepy speech he has memorized: “There’s nothing more to do today. You’ve done enough for this day. We can pick these worries up in the morning.”

I’m not an optimist by nature, and I need the reminder from my very optimistic husband. I’m more of a “realist,” which I find is really just a nicer way to say worst-outcome-inventor. And my own nature besides, it’s not really been much of a light year, right?

COVID is still raging globally. Communities are hurting. Friendships are struggling. Everything is complicated, and nothing feels easy. And is Christmas really even going to feel okay this year?

For many of us, the answer is no. This was the year my favorite uncle was killed by a drunk driver. This was the year my baby brother was hospitalized nineteen times for a yet undiagnosed illness. This was the year my kids asked really hard questions. This was the year that kind of chewed us up and spit us out, didn’t it, friends?

I wouldn’t classify 2021 as a year in which I “let my heart be light.” This has been much more of a “from now on your troubles will be out of sight” kind of year.

Even in the good things (of which there were also plenty), lightness was hard to come by. There was both joy and difficulty all at once. Going back to school was both wonderful and hard this year. Starting a new full-time job has been both wonderful and hard. Returning to some of our pre-pandemic routines and rhythms has been both wonderful and hard.

What I want to tell you today, mere days before Christmas morning, is that both light and dark, wonderful and hard, joy and difficulty, is okay to feel — maybe especially at Christmas.

Here’s the thing: Often there seems to be an unspoken pressure or expectation that at Christmastime, we’re supposed to only be happy. Jolly. Light. And if we’re not, then we’re doing it wrong.

Let me say clearly: If this season is both wonderful and difficult for you, you are not alone, and you are not doing it wrong.

The pressure to be all things joyful is strong. Yet we know even Jesus, the One we celebrate this season, wasn’t joyful all the time. He escaped for time alone. He got angry. He wept.

And I think He knew we too would have big feelings to feel, burdens to carry, and thankfully He set a precedent of what we can do with them.

Lay. Them. Down.

I know it’s far more nuanced in practice, yet truly, Jesus’ example is both as simple (and complex) as that. It can feel like a platitude (Just hand it over to God and then everything will be fine!), and is often offered as such. However, it takes true strength to hand those burdens over to the One who carries it all anyway. When Jesus is burdened, He goes away to be with His Father. He prays. He feels the tears and anger, and He brings God into that place with Him.

Pretty sure Jesus doesn’t chew on it all night by Himself while tossing and turning.

It’s far too easy for me to forget what Jesus says and promises about worry, about burden, about fear, right in Matthew 11:29-30:

Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.

The Message version says it like this:

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

God can handle all of our emotions. He’s ready and waiting for us to hand them over. And in doing so, we may not be relieved entirely of the burden. Sometimes it’s not that easy, rather just the first step of many. But once we remember we aren’t trudging through the day alone, once we hand over some of our pain and worry, once we know deep in our hearts that we are not forgotten or alone, our shoulders will feel lighter.

Jesus, God with us, offers a lightness of spirit that can carry us through long after the holidays. There’s hope. Christmas is coming, friends. May your heart be light.

How One Interaction at the Dumpsters Changed a Life — and Our Family

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My mom met Mary, a total stranger, by the apartment dumpsters. Muttering under her breath about the cost of garbage bags, she washed out her trash can so she didn’t need to purchase them. My mom empathized because, let’s be honest, no one wants to spend hard earned cash on trash bags. That shared sentiment sparked an expanded conversation.

This meeting was one only God could orchestrate, but it was kicked off by quite a bit of inconvenience. Two weeks earlier, my parents returned home from a trip only to find their first floor completely flooded. Attempting to sleep in their upstairs, they quickly realized mold had already set into those walls. Their house would need to be brought to the studs for demolition, thus temporarily relocating them to the nearest apartment complex.

That’s how the nearly two-hour dumpster encounter began. My mom shared her chance meeting with me later that day. These two women couldn’t be more different in every aspect — age, background, history — but because God writes the best stories, I immediately declared, “Mom, invite her over for our Easter brunch this weekend!”

Mary came.

She shuffled tentatively through our front door. Overdressed in her rarely touched Sunday best, she was visibly nervous, socially uncomfortable, and as she walked into our kitchen, she whispered to me, “I don’t really know how to be right now.”

My heart expanded with such love and empathy for her. While she was older than myself, I wanted to cuddle her in my arms much like I’ve done for decades with our children. Desiring to create a space where she could feel seen and valued, I opened my arms, gave her a familial hug, and whispered, “You are perfect just as you are.” I walked her to the sign that holds a place of honor, “Welcome to the Schmidt home. Delighted you are here. This is a place that celebrates both the beauty and bedlam of life.” (A take-off made from my blog “Balancing Beauty and Bedlam.”) Then I pointed to another one, “Come As You Are.”

I assured her these weren’t just cute phrases but sentiments that embody who we are as a family. Now that she was entering into our bedlam, she was welcomed as part of our family. I could tell she didn’t know what that all meant, but some of the visible stress dissipated.

Over the next hour, she watched the chaos ensue — kids running barefoot, drinks spilled, stories retold, loud laughter as family members talked over each other — and then brunch was served.

Everyone gathered around the kitchen in our long-standing family tradition coined the “Circle of Love.” With decades of open-door living behind me, I understand the opportunity to impart words of great influence over those in our home. Proverbs 18:21 reminds us that “death and life are in the power of the tongue,” and we take every chance possible to speak words of life and encouragement to our guests. As our extended circle grasped hands, I knew our precious stranger friend felt a tad uncomfortable, but we took intentional time to uplift, shower gratitude over her, and bring hope to her weary soul. She mentioned her birthday was the next day, so we burst into a rousing rendition of “Happy Birthday.”

As the song came to a close, a sacred moment swept over those gathered. Tears streamed down our guest’s face. Our littlest family member couldn’t figure out why the lady was crying. Celebrating a birthday is a happy occasion and singing is second nature, isn’t it?

We paused as she collected herself. “I’ve never had anyone sing for my birthday — let alone this many people.”

In that simple utterance, the reality of why we swing wide our doors to welcome others impacted every single one us. It’s so much easier than we think. It has nothing to do with the actual setting, décor, or food. The reason we open the door is because we’re driven by the main principles of hospitality: loving Him, loving His will, and following His will into loving others.

The newfound, sacred, but uncomfortably awkward at times friendship with Mary didn’t end at Easter brunch. Led by my mother, she’s been enveloped by many more over the last eight months and she’s slowly shared her challenging life story. I couldn’t wrap my head around how someone who grew up in the United States had never had “Happy Birthday” sung to them. Now I know; she’s opening my eyes.

Mary will sing with our extended family at this year’s candlelight Christmas Eve service. She’ll take communion as a new follower of Jesus Christ. I’m so grateful my mom didn’t walk on by her that day at the dumpsters.

Over and over, I’m convinced that one invitation can change a life, a generation. It doesn’t need to be a stranger, but maybe today you’ll brainstorm about one special person to whom you can sing a life-changing rendition of “Happy Birthday.” And as we celebrate Jesus’s birthday next week, what a joyful noise it will be to sing to Him! May you open your doors wide and invite someone in. May you take the extra time to pause and talk with a stranger. And may the love of God be experienced through you.

Hey, Friend, You Don’t Have To Do It All

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I closed my eyes and gently pressed two fingers on my eyelid to stop it from twitching.

Christmas was getting closer, and my brain would not stop reminding me of all I needed to do, gifts I needed to buy, plans, and decisions I needed to make. Then there was laundry to wash, groceries to buy, appointments to schedule, calls to return, and my daughter’s birthday party to plan.

Why doesn’t everything just do itself this time of the year so I can handle the extra stuff that comes with the holidays? I wondered.

As I walked around my house in what felt like circles, trying to make progress, my chest started tightening, and my head started aching. I thought about all the times I had resented December and dreaded Christmas. I didn’t want that to happen again, and I knew I was the only person who could stop it. So I sat down and made a list of my nonstop thoughts, ideas, desires, along with our family’s Christmas traditions and expectations I assumed others had of me. I looked at the list and took a deep breath — no wonder I was overwhelmed and eye-twitchy. 

But what happened next caught me by surprise. An idea I’d never had before popped into my thoughts: You don’t have to do it all.

And, of course, I questioned it. How can I not do all of these things? I’ve always done them! 

But then, another thought came to me: You don’t have to do what you’ve always done. You could just do what matters most to you and the ones you love.

It sounded like something someone older and wiser would say, and I knew it was not my own thoughts, but God’s heart whispering to mine. His grace-filled perspective began to shift something in me. I didn’t have to do it all. I was an adult, and I had a choice in the matter.

Now, I’m sure this would be an obvious option to some people. For me, it was the first time I’d even considered changing how our family celebrated Christmas and possibly eliminating some of our traditions. But when a sense of relief washed over my soul and calm came in my chest, I knew it was wisdom my heart desperately needed to hear.

That year, I made another list of traditions that mattered most to me. And I sat down with my husband, J.J., and our kids to find out what mattered most to them. I put up fewer Christmas decorations, cut back on the most time-consuming and stressful traditions, bought teachers gift cards instead of gifts, and did almost all of my shopping online. 

I also took J.J.’s advice and gave our sons and their wives each a tradition to plan so I wasn’t the only one in charge of food, games, and activities. It’s a glorious thing when your kids become young adults. (Just hold on, mamas of young kids, your time is coming!) 

December is a lot. And the past two years have compounded the weight of concerns we carry and loads we bear. But it’s not only during the holidays that we fall into a mindset of believing we have to do it all. Every season of the year and every stage of life comes with expectations, obligations, and preparations that can leave us frazzled and disconnected from what matters most.

When that disconnect starts happening, it’s important for us to remember that God wants us to ask Him for help. He promised in Hebrews 13:5-6, “‘Never will I leave you. . .’ So we say with confidence, ‘The Lord is my helper.'”

We can’t do this on our own. We need God’s wisdom to discern what to let go of and His courage to actually let go of some things and leave room to enjoy what matters most. We need His strength to accomplish the tasks on our list and His direction to know what to delegate and what to eliminate.

We also need to get better at saying no more often — at Christmas and throughout the year. This is a hard one for me because I want to be there for people, I don’t want to disappoint anyone, and for some reason I think I should be able to be and do it all.

The truth is, no one can be and do it all. We are going to disappoint someone. But we won’t be as likely to disappoint the ones who matter most — and ourselves — if we say more nos and save up more yeses.

And on those days when we feel completely overwhelmed, let’s remember something my friend and author Emily P. Freeman often recommends: “Let’s do the next right thing in love.”

Sometimes the next right thing will be to wash a load of laundry, make a grocery list, take a nap, spend time with someone we love, or get ready for work. Whatever it is, let’s focus on that one thing until it’s done, and then move on to our next right thing. And if all our next right things still feel like too much, let that be our signal that it is time to bow out of some commitments so we can come up with a load we can live with and love — one that eases all the eye twitches and chest pains, amen! 

Sweet friend, Jesus doesn’t want or expect you to do it all.  I pray you feel His permission and encouragement in the coming weeks as you remember this truth: You really don’t have to do it all — not at Christmas or at any other time of year.

If you’d like to draw closer to Jesus and what matters most, here’s a calming Christmas prayer from Renee. Also, if you or a mom you love could use encouragement filled with Truth your heart needs to know and simple ways to give your children what they need most, click here to find out more about Renee’s new book, A Confident Mom.

Let’s Move Away from Scarcity Mentality and Live Abundantly

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Growing up, things were good in our family — until they weren’t.

My dad lost his job when I was in elementary school and never held meaningful employment after that. Looking back as an adult, I now understand my dad was probably depressed. It was up to my mom to make all the money for our family and run the house as well — cooking, cleaning, shopping, and managing the money.

We almost always had enough, but never anything extra. One of my most vivid memories is watching my mom get ready for work by slipping pieces of cardboard into her shoes since they both had holes in them. They were the only work shoes she had.

Mom did everything she could to make sure we had what we needed, but I always remember a lot of stress around anything to do with finances. I didn’t want to live like that when I left home.

In my first marriage, long stints of my ex-husband’s unemployment reinforced the idea that there would never be enough. Living in Silicon Valley, enough looked different than enough in other parts of the world. And yet, not knowing if you’ll be able to pay the next power bill, telling your kids no to stuff their classmates all have, and losing a home is hard for any mom, wherever you are.

Because of those experiences, the fear of “not enough” is deep in my DNA, and it’s something I battle every day.

Sometimes my fear comes out in expected ways — paying bills late because I don’t want to let go of the money we have, putting off repairs, lacking in generosity when I should be giving.

Other times, fear comes out in weird ways — buying too much at the store because what if we don’t have the money to buy what we need next week? Or overspending today so we won’t be lacking tomorrow.

About two years ago, my husband and I moved to a remote mountain in Northern California to live among the trees and teach writing retreats. When I was living in the city, it was no problem to run to the supermarket five minutes away. Now, going to the store involves lots of planning and a several-hour commitment. I never expected only going to town once a week would bring up all those scarcity insecurities all over again. I felt I needed to buy more when we’re at the store because what if we don’t have what we need later on?

I battle a heart of scarcity, but I long for a heart of abundance.

A heart of scarcity means a heart of fear, and fear is a hard way to live. I desperately want to be able to echo the words of Paul the Apostle, who knew both abundance and scarcity — and knew the secret to living with both.

I know how to get along with humble means, and I also know how to live in prosperity; in any and every circumstance I have learned the secret of being filled and going hungry, both of having abundance and suffering need. I can do all things through Him who strengthens me.
Philippians 4:12-13 (NASB)

It sounds good, but how do we apply it in day-to-day life? I’ve found that when confronted with something that seems like anxiety-inducing scarcity, my best remedy is praying about it.

Prayer usually results in one of the following:

1. God gives me what I need. When we moved into our house in the mountains, which we affectionately call The Red House, the previous owners left behind tools, supplies, hardware, and more. So much so that we don’t always know what we have between what they left and what we’ve bought for other projects. But if I look hard enough, I discover I already have what I need. Our joke is, “The Red House giveth,” but it is really God who keeps showing up and showing off to say, “Hey, remember those birds of the field? I’ve got you too.”

2. God gives me another idea. Sometimes I’ll be convinced I need a certain tool, ingredient, or paint color to complete my project, and I won’t have it. But oftentimes, I come up with another idea, another substitution, another something. I may not have exactly what I want, but God gives me the creativity to come up with what I need.

3. I realize I didn’t need it in the first place. We are bombarded by messages from advertising, friends, instructions, and social media that we absolutely must have a certain item. I have omitted a spice from a recipe, left a color off a painting, or done without an accessory everyone else seems to be wearing. And you know what? The world — and I — marched on.

When fears about not having enough come up, spending time with God reminds me how rich I am in many areas.

Scarcity mindset comes from believing money is the only resource God has entrusted me with. But I have other resources:

  • Time
  • Space
  • Energy
  • Creativity
  • Relationships
  • Health

To move from a scarcity mindset to a place of abundance, I have to get away to pray often, even if away is behind the closed door of my bedroom. It’s the only way I know to get quiet enough to hear the truth of the still, small voice of Jesus whispering, “I am enough,” to my heart.

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If you’d like the chance to get away, even if it’s at your own house, order Kathi’s new devotional, An Abundant Place: Daily Retreats for the Woman Who Can’t Get Away. It would make a great Christmas gift for all the women on your list! Each devotion includes spiritual insight from authors Kathi Lipp and Cheri Gregory, helpful prompts that encourage reflection and growth, and room for you to write down what God is teaching you.

When you order before January 4th, you’ll also receive access to an exclusive journal and a podcast series with Kathi and Cheri Gregory called “Devos for Dropouts.” Redeem your preorder here.

Place your order to get your freebies AND enter to WIN one of five copies that we’re giving away! Leave a comment on this post telling us about how you move away from scarcity mindset and you’ll be entered to win.

Then tune in tomorrow, December 15th, at 11am central on our Facebook page for a live conversation with Kathi and Becky! We know it will be a blessing to listen in to their discussion.

Giveaway open to US addresses only, and will close on 12/17/21 at 11:59pm central.

Look for Joy and There You’ll See a Glimpse of God

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A loud laugh escapes my mouth, and I’m surprised by its unfamiliarity. It lifts and relaxes my body and spirit in a way I didn’t realize I needed. My son’s joke is unexpected in its wittiness and timing, and his face radiates delight over making me laugh so hard. I pull him in close and plant one too many kisses on his cheek, thankful for his sweet love and humor. When the pandemic first began, our days were filled with anxiety and fear, grief and the constant tension of being in each other’s space. We longed for time alone while wanting to hold each other close and never let go. We all felt the precariousness of life, especially him.

And still, somehow, this baby of mine has become a big kid before my own eyes. He understands how to meet others in their sadness, tender to their ache. He knows that being silly can brighten a moment, even if it can’t change the mood for long. He is quick to give hugs, full of energy I often can’t handle, and he reminds me there is hope for good, for joy.

And I need to know that joy is not only possible but that it can abound even now. For months, depression has hung around like a smoky haze during wildfire season. It’s kept me lethargic and unmotivated, struggling to create and keep up with deadlines. Just when I think it’s subsided and I have energy like that of my son’s, the sparks fizzle into nothing, and I’m back to the sluggish pace I wish to escape.

I manage to get done what I need to. I cook dinner and play games with my family. I work and decorate the house for birthdays and the holiday season. I know how to function in survival mode even when I’m not well because I’ve done it so much in my life. I can live life on auto-pilot, and no one would know I’m struggling — not even me.

But laughter breaks me from the trance of survival. It makes me pause to be fully present in the moment with my son and to see that I live in the land of the living right now. It reminds me of how precious life is even while the world burns. Growth has not stopped. Death has not taken everything from us. And we are still living.

And living for me right now — and all the time — looks like paying attention and being curious. When unrelenting knots form in my neck the weekend of my wedding anniversary, I pay attention and recognize what a difficult year of healing it has been. I voice my pain and care for myself with kindness. When my son is grumpy and crumbles into tantrums, I offer hugs instead of lectures knowing he feels left out from his sister needing space. When the din of social media and the news becomes louder than my soul can handle, I step away and look for glimpses of the divine.

I look for what will give me life so I can keep going. I ask myself what I need and get help where I can. Sometimes it looks like a video call with my therapist after being triggered by current events. It can look like napping when sleep was elusive the night before. It can be attending church service even when I don’t think I can handle small talk right now. And sometimes it’s as simple as sending a funny meme to a friend because I know she’d find it hilarious. We laugh together over text and agree that internet comedy is one of the many things we’re grateful for these days.

Jeremiah 29:13 says, “You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart.”

Even when injustices don’t get rectified, when the healing we fervently prayed for doesn’t happen, when evil prospers, if we seek Him, we will find Him. Laughter reminds me that God is here in the complicated mess. It gives me a glimpse of the divine. And this is what I see: He is God of justice, God of comfort, God of miracles, God of joy.

What is bringing you joy these days?

When You Need to Actually Let Jesus Take the Wheel

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Before we began our family road trip last summer, I thought about how I’d never been to the Grand Canyon. I thought about how exciting it would be to go places I’d never been, to see things I’d never seen. I even thought about how we’d deal with the heat and the elevation.

However, it did not occur to me that I should worry about coming home and how that would require us to descend from the elevation for which I’d prepared so thoroughly.

What I’m saying is that driving down the mountains in Colorado just about did me in.

Now, I should clarify: I was not the one doing the driving. My husband drove us, just as he had the entire week leading up to this moment. He drove us out of the Rocky Mountains, and we did, in fact, arrive at our destination safely. But I doubted him and the likelihood of our safe arrival every mile of the way.

I shouldn’t have. We were fine, probably never actually in danger. But it was just a lot of downhill and curves and more assertive driving than I prefer. And if we had a dollar for every heavy sigh or bug-eyed glare I tossed out as I held on to my door handle for dear life, well, we definitely could have paid for our vacation that way.

That drive terrified me, but I couldn’t help but notice that my kids had no such problem. They sat in the back seat, unconcerned and unaware of the drama going on up front. Busy with their tablets and toys, they barely looked up unless we forced them to (which we did frequently throughout the trip, demanding they ooh and aah at the mountains and trees and rivers).

I could see what was happening on the road and believed I had some kind of control over the driver. My kids, on the other hand, knew they had no control over what was happening — and didn’t care because 1) they trusted the driver and 2) they weren’t staring at the curves in front of us.

It took me several hours to notice this difference. (As you may have picked up on, I was pretty well consumed with fear for our lives and determination to force my husband into riding the brakes all the way down the mountain.) But once I did, I could not deny that the whole situation felt familiar.

As we flew down the mountain, in the capable hands of my husband who drives for a living, I doubted and feared and attempted to control the situation with my gasping and griping — just like I so often do when traveling through my life.

We might sing and sometimes joke about asking Jesus to take the wheel, but in reality, letting God control where I go, how fast I travel, and which route I take to get there can be scary. And when I refuse to trust Him and even try to control Him, I end up feeling more fearful and frustrated than if I’d just sat back and relaxed like my kids did during vacation.

Do you know this feeling I’m describing? When it feels like you’re hurtling toward certain death or at least disaster? When you thought you knew where you were going (you did the research, you made the plans, you fired up the GPS) but now nothing looks familiar in front of you and you’re not sure how to get home from here? Are you feeling lost or out of control or more than a little bit of motion sickness in this season?

Take it from me: Trying to control the Driver by telling Him what to do and then complaining either passively or aggressively when He doesn’t follow your instructions is not going to make you feel any better. You will not feel any safer or surer that things are going to work out. Searching desperately for alternate routes or pressing your foot on the metaphorical passenger side brake is not the way to find peace or a settled stomach.

When life takes an unexpected turn, when fellow passengers are more aggressive than necessary, when we find our vehicles traveling at what feels like breakneck speed, the solution for all our mixed-up, messy feelings is to act like my kids in the backseat of our minivan:

Take a look at the One driving and remember that He knows what’s best.

“My thoughts are nothing like your thoughts,” says the Lord. “And my ways are far beyond anything you could imagine. For just as the heavens are higher than the earth, so my ways are higher than your ways and my thoughts higher than your thoughts.”
Isaiah 55:8-9 (NLT)

Trust that He loves you and wants what’s best for you.

And we know that God causes everything to work together for the good of those who love God and are called according to his purpose for them . . . And I am convinced that nothing can ever separate us from God’s love.
Romans 8:28, 38a (NLT)

Believe that He is in total control and will protect you no matter how the road curves.

“So be strong and courageous! Do not be afraid and do not panic before them. For the Lord your God will personally go ahead of you. He will neither fail you nor abandon you.”
Deuteronomy 31:6 (NLT)

And then rest in that knowledge.

I won’t go so far as to suggest you enjoy the ride — although you could! Just check out that view whizzing by the window! But take a deep breath and believe in the One behind the wheel. God is in control, and we can trust Him to take us where we need to go — safely and at just the right time. And when we do, our journey somehow becomes less terrifying and more exhilarating, and we can face what’s ahead with hopeful anticipation.

When the Lies Are Loud, Rehearse Truth’s Song

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This sentiment orbits around me. The childhood trauma of my parents’ divorce acts as its gravitational pull. In the breakup of their marriage, my mom was awarded primary custody of my brother and me, my dad was given significant visitation rights, and nine-year old me inherited this false messaging: 

You are disposable!

No one actually said those words to me. But in the upheaval, grieving, and wounding, I was left with this scarring. Like a skillful makeup artist, I learned to hide the bruising. Achievements and accolades were the perfect concealer, and having a boyfriend meant that at least I mattered to someone, even if he didn’t have the capacity to truly see me. 

But beneath the homecoming queen crown, the college graduate honors, and the multiple degrees, the fear of being insignificant clung to me. It melded into me. It stayed with me. Even now, we seem inseparable. It speaks to who I am as a wife, as a mom:

You are disposable! You don’t matter!

It wants to be my forever song, the score to my life’s unfolding. It wants to be the lead vocals, and whenever I experience rejection, fear turns up the volume and presses repeat. It gets the spotlight and summons all my attention. Hearing this reverberating bouncing around in the recesses of my being is exhausting. It’s a constant tug-of-war.

You are disposable! You don’t matter! You are insignificant!

Recently, the noise of my fear has been deafening. I have been losing sleep and agonizing over the pain of feeling invisible and invaluable. And yes, I know that God sees me and values me. I don’t struggle with that at all. My strife has been with humans devaluing me. I am deflated when people treat me like I don’t matter. I can tell myself that it shouldn’t matter what people think of me, that I should solely be concerned with how God sees me and knows me, but that doesn’t reconcile the countless times that in someone else’s decision-making process, I’ve been overlooked and felt like an afterthought or a pawn.

The anxiety pushed me to desperation, and I cried out to El Roi — the One who not only sees me but who sees everything. In moments like these, I feel like I shouldn’t need God to affirm me, that mature faith doesn’t need to be coddled. But desperation overrode my ego. In my exhaustion, I was like a toddler crawling into a nurturing lap to be embraced by grace-filled arms.

As I surrendered, my life’s major events unfolded in my mind like a movie recap. But in the re-viewing, I heard a different score of songs. I began to clearly see elements at work that I had not given much attention to before. I grabbed my journal and started writing. 

Who saw me when I thought I was invisible?

  • During my parents’ divorce, my grandma Pearline made sure I knew I was special to her.
  • When my mom remarried and it seemed as though her new husband wanted her without her children, my grandma Virginia brought attention to my loneliness and pain.
  • When I needed support along my academic journey, several people played key roles in escorting me from being a first-generation college student to becoming a college professor. It was a series of miracles.
  • When I was in situations where someone was taking advantage of me, my husband intervened and shut down the whole operation.

Names and events flowed like a waterfall. I journaled for pages. The list went on and on of how love manifested through people seeing me, hearing me, and valuing me. As I reflected and recorded in my journal, the volume on the old song (which does not bear repeating) began fading to the background. I had given too much attention to my story’s antagonists. I had allowed shadows to consume my life’s stage. I was ready for the protagonist to take its rightful place, front and center. I was now seeing all that had been invisible to me. I was ready to sing a new song:

I matter. I am seen. I am valued. I am heard.

When you feel vulnerable, invisible, or forgotten, remember that God not only sees you, but comes alongside you and cares for you. Matthew 6:26 reminds us,

Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they?  

When lies try to deplete you, ask El Roi, the One who sees you, to remind you of your visibility, your value, and your significance. Bring yourself back to truth. You matter. You are seen. You are valued. You are heard. Rehearse truth’s song. Turn up the volume and allow it to refresh you.

Advent Gives Space for the Hard Places

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“Isn’t there someone who speaks Haitian Kreyol on this airplane who can just explain it to her?” Several rows behind us, an irritated traveler was demanding I find some way to silence my newly adopted five-year-old daughter, Claudine, who was screaming at the top of her lungs. My face burned, and my eyes filled with tears as I desperately tried to calm her. Nothing was working. I urgently whispered to her in Kreyol, explaining that the mandatory seatbelt across her lap was there for her protection.

It was futile. She had never worn a seatbelt, never been on an airplane. All she knew was that strangers had strapped her down in her seat. It was the final terror in one of the most traumatic days of her life. In the previous twelve hours, she had lost everything and everyone she had ever known. Nothing in her new world smelled the same, looked the same, or tasted the same. When two pale strangers, who kept calling themselves her parents, strapped her into her seatbelt for the flight from Miami to Nashville, it was too much.

On and on she wailed at the top of her lungs, fighting to break free. Out of ideas, out of courage, and out of strength, I held her baby sister, Roseline, against my chest and tried to stave off my own meltdown.

Then suddenly, from her seat between her dad and the window, my daughter reached for me, her eyes wide with fear. And when she did, she called me “Mama” for the first time.

“Maman! M’bezwen ou!” she screamed. Mama! I need you!

I choked back a sob as my husband switched seats with her. I gently strapped her in beside me and pulled her close. “Shh . . . shhh . . . ” I whispered. “C’est bon. C’est bon. M’wen la. M’wen la…”

It is okay. It is okay. I am here. I am here.

She leaned into me, and gradually, her sobs quieted. A few minutes later exhaustion claimed her, and she drifted off to sleep.

Wearily, I lay my head back against the headrest and tried to absorb the truth that after years in the adoption process, we were finally bringing our daughters home. It was two weeks before Christmas, but the celebration of the season still felt far away. Instead, I felt Advent, the season of waiting and longing that comes before Christmas, deep in my soul.

For so long, I had prayed, wept, and begged for God to bring our adoption to completion. And still the months and years stretched on through holidays and birthdays, milestones and setbacks. Through occasional updates and photos, I painfully watched my girls grow up from thousands of miles away. Those years of waiting had been so long, so painful, that it was difficult to imagine joy on the other side. Now, my girls were on their way home.

The flight reached cruising altitude and the flight attendants dimmed the lights. A few of the other passengers looked over at my sleeping daughters in my arms and offered kind smiles before closing their eyes to rest too. I was as tired as I had ever been in my life, but I stayed awake, simply watching the two small miracles wrapped in my arms.

I didn’t know it then, but as I left one season of waiting behind on Haiti’s shores, I was entering another one in the hills of Tennessee. The lessons I learned during those years were bittersweet. I learned to wait for my daughters’ trust and for their wounded hearts to heal. I waited for the storm of grief and loss to still. I waited for them to accept me as their mother.

When our airplane touched down in Tennessee, there was plenty of fresh wailing. My babies screamed in fear when the toilet flushed automatically in the airport bathroom. They fought with tears and rage when we wrapped them in coats to introduce them to winter for the first time. They howled when we strapped them into more seatbelts for the ride home.

But when we finally pulled into our driveway, the world was quiet, peaceful, still.

When I led Claudine into her new home for the first time, Christmas tree lights wrapped the room in a soft glow. I sat down on the sofa, the baby sleeping against my chest, and watched Claudine timidly check out her new surroundings. She walked over to a doll carriage, left next to the fireplace by her new older sister, and carefully lifted a doll from the seat.

“Belle,” she whispered in awe.

“Beautiful.”

And I felt Advent, the season of waiting, down deep in my soul. Christmas is about celebration, but Advent is about giving space for the hard places in which we still wait for deliverance.

Christmas shouts for joy. Advent weeps and waits, in hope, that though the night is dark, the Prince of Peace is on His way.

 

Advent: The Story of Christmas traces God’s ribbon of redemption – from Eden to Jerusalem – through thirty-one biblical stories. Sherri Gragg’s unique storytelling, infused with cultural accuracy and color, has been described as “Bible stories for adults.” Her narrative style offers a fresh perspective on the lives of God’s people, both ancient and modern. Advent: The Story of Christmas will enrich personal devotional time and can guide group discussion during the seasons of Advent and Christmas.

We love Advent, and we want to help you welcome this season by giving away FIVE copies of Sherri’s book! Leave a comment with some Advent traditions you celebrate or that you’d like to start celebrating.

Giveaway ends 12/13/21 at 11:59pm central and is open to US addresses only.

The Perfect Gift You Can Give Is the One Everyone Needs Most

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One of my most memorable childhood Christmases was when my sister, brother, and I were in grade school, and Santa brought us a cassette tape recorder, a thirteen-inch black and white TV, and a ping pong table (obviously a thousand years ago). I don’t know if we were unusually good that year, but I’ve never forgotten the surprise and extravagance of it all.

Gifts with special meaning attached are our favorites, aren’t they? Every handmade gift from my children — and the one crafty gift from my husband — is a cherished treasure. Through the years, family and friends have delighted me time and again with gifts that tell me they know me and love me.

If you’re like me, giving the perfect gift is even more wonderful than receiving one. Is there any better feeling than when you come up with an idea that you know will bless the person’s socks off? I could barely contain my excitement when I thought of a surprise for my husband’s fortieth birthday (a book created with pages from family and friends). His reaction when he opened it was as priceless as the gift itself. Mission accomplished.

Thoughtful gift-giving is a tangible expression of love. When you’re able to come up with the perfect gift, it’s a beautiful reflection of the relationship between the giver and receiver. I think this is why most of us would rather not give money or gift cards. While we might appreciate receiving them, something about giving money or gift cards doesn’t quite feel right. They certainly don’t convey the intimacy and affections we hold for one another.

In the midst of holiday shopping and thinking of gifts to give this season, I’ve been thinking about the kind of gifts that hold deep meaning — the kind that leave an impression and make the receiver feel loved. In a recent conversation with a few close friends, one of them shared something she’d heard from her daughter’s college pastor: “The people we’re closest to need us to be close to Jesus.” Blink, blink.

The people I’m closest to need me to be closest to Jesus.

Sit in that a moment. Let it seep in to your heart’s deepest places.

As we’re scurrying around trying to find the perfect gift for everyone on our list, perhaps the most important gift we can give to someone is Jesus. Growing more deeply in our relationship with Him, we are changed and become more like Him, and as image bearers of God, we can give a glimpse of true love, unending grace, and deep joy to anyone and everyone around us.

One of the most well-known Bible verses — maybe the first one you memorized or heard — reveals that God Himself is the ultimate gift-giver:

For God so loved the world, that he gave his only Son,
that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life.
John 3:16 (NIV)

The gift that cost God everything gave us the good news found in the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus. In Him, we can know forgiveness, redemption, and a new life with Him now and forever. He is a gift not bound by supply chain issues and shipping delays; He is the most extravagant gift — one that gives peace and satisfies our deepest longing.

It’s fun and even meaningful to exchange presents at Christmas, but nothing we buy can surpass the gift God gave us in His Son. By being close to Jesus and living a life that reflects Him, we can give the perfect gift that everyone needs — a wonderful Savior, the Prince of Peace, a God who loves with no bounds.

Episode 20: Being Confident in God’s Power

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Welcome to the final episode of this seasons (in)courage podcast! We have some VERY exciting changes coming next month to the podcast, so subscribe today and stay tuned.

In this final episode of season three, (in)courage and DaySpring team members Anna and Joy talk through week six of the Courageous Kindness Bible study. They share about their experiences leaning into God’s power, how their confidence in Him can be tested, and how they relate to the stories of Rahab and of David and Goliath.

You’ll also hear an excerpt of the Bible study read by author Becky Keife and a selection from the companion Bible study videos! These video discussions feature (in)courage writers Lucretia Berry and Grace P. Cho alongside Becky, and they offer us a seat beside them in the living room as they go through Courageous Kindness together.

Listen to these weekly episodes and also join the discussion in our Monday online study right here! Yep, we’ve been going through Courageous Kindness both on the podcast AND as an online community, and you’re invited to both. We hope you’ll read back through the posts and join in!

Listen to today’s episode above or wherever you stream podcasts! Get your copy of the Courageous Kindness Bible study from DaySpring.com, and be sure and subscribe to the (in)courage podcast so you don’t miss a single episode when we resume in January!

We Bear the Fruit of the Spirit by Abiding in the Spirit

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As a mom there are certain moments in your life where you feel like you are actually doing a good job. A few weeks ago I received a Facebook message from a fellow mom about my daughter. Her son and my daughter are in the same third grade classroom. Recently, her son was moved to my daughter’s table, and she’d noticed a change in her son. “My son has come home happy every day, and he has been telling me how joyful your daughter is all the time. Please tell her that her joy is contagious.”

I was literally in tears reading the message because life has been hard since the pandemic started in 2020. As a healthcare worker, a mom, and a pastor’s wife, I’ve had a hard time finding joy, and I’ve often wondered how my fatigue and stress have impacted my children.

Could they sense the change in me and in the world around them?

I could fake the joy at work and church but not at home. But the sweet message I received began to erase some of my mom guilt, and I was overcome with hope that my kids still had joy that was overflowing from them.

When my daughter came home that day, I read the message to her, and she was so happy. She responded, “Mom, I didn’t even know I was doing that. I wasn’t even trying!” I looked deep into her eyes and told her, “That is exactly how it works!”

I would be lying if I told you that I lived my life out this way. To be honest, for a long time I strived to live the life a good Christian should. I would try so hard to be patient and kind, but I would always fail. By the time I left my house in the morning and hit traffic, I was back at square one. My striving often left me feeling inadequate and exhausted.

It took me a long time to understand this truth: I can’t do it on my own. I know that sounds rather discouraging, but it was very freeing. I wasn’t failing at being a good Christian. I was just operating in my own strength and skills, when I was actually supposed to receive the gift of the Holy Spirit to help me be more like Christ.

Galatians 5:22-23 says, “The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control.” These are not traits that we can own or create in and of ourselves through behavior; it is work that the Holy Spirit does as He sanctifies us. When we try to do it on our own, it seems like a daunting moral checklist, but when we abide in the Spirit, the Spirit’s power produces it in us, making us look like Jesus.

I am the vine; you are the branches. Whoever abides in me and I in him, he it is that bears much fruit, for apart from me you can do nothing.
John 15:5 (ESV)

My daughter wasn’t trying to be joyful; she was simply being herself. And the joy she had overflowed to those around her. Her joy was no longer hers alone. It was also for the little boy who sat by her, who then took it home to his mom, who shared it with me.

Romans 7:4 reminds us that one of the purposes of every Christian is to bear fruit for God. Just as a tree that bears fruit helps attract and nourish those around it, the fruit of the Spirit in us does the same.

Friend, if you have been trying in your own power to display the fruit of the Spirit and you are tired, I want to invite you to tap into the power of the Holy Spirit within you. It is less about actions and more about abiding. It is less about our own strength and more about His transformational power. As we dwell in Christ, our anxiety will give way to peace. Instead of anger, we will respond in love. And instead of greed and selfishness, we will choose goodness and kindness.

The Holy Spirit is the gift whom Jesus promised would be our Helper, and He is available to all who belong to Christ. I pray you receive His power today and that others would taste the sweetness of the fruit you bear as you abide in Him.

Nothing Is Ever Wasted When We Choose Each Other

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The first friend I met at my church in Nashville was Lynzy. She really does spell her name that way. We chatted briefly and I made my way out of the building, pretending that I might never come back, even though I knew I certainly would. Like my two-year-old niece and I winking across the table during dinner prayer, I was half in and half out. I missed my church in Texas, but I needed a home in Tennessee. I was eager for steady community, and I knew making friends would be vital.

Lynzy and I decided we should get dinner the following week. We sat down and talked for hours. But just as I started to let my guard down and sigh in relief that I’d made a friend, she looked at me and said she was about to graduate from nursing school. And she was moving. In about six weeks.

Crazy. Fleeting.

At this point, we had a choice. Give up or press in. I was new to town, and it might have been simpler to make friends with the people I would actually be around in the coming months — especially since I was still reeling from my recent move away from friends in Texas.

But we decided to make the most of it. We went to church and took communion side by side. We ate more meals together and shared stories. She told me she believed in my writing and I told her she was going to be an amazing nurse. And before we could blink, we were sitting in her empty apartment, eating the food that still lingered in the pantry, sipping hot chocolate and watching Harry Potter, surrounded by boxes. She then packed everything up and left.

And through that, this is who I learned God to be: He’s a God who is kind and sees things through and aches for us to know that every ounce of investing in one another is never wasted.

Is it fleeting? Yes.

Should we give up? No.

Do we press in? Absolutely.

So many friendships are fleeting and we use that as an excuse to avoid them. We only want to invest in something that we know we’ll get a good return on. But the reality is that we never know how much time we have with any one person, so the best we can do is wildly love the ones we have while we have them.

It’s been years since I saw Lynzy in person. We still catch up every once in a while, and when we do get on the phone, there is a depth that simply wouldn’t have existed had we not been friends very much so on purpose. We waste a lot of time being choosy when what we need to do is to choose each other.

Hebrews 10:24-25 urges us to pursue community when it says, “And let us consider how we may spur one another on toward love and good deeds, not giving up meeting together, as some are in the habit of doing, but encouraging one another — and all the more as you see the Day approaching.”

So go. Make friends with someone who’s about to move. Introduce yourself to a stranger at church. Call your neighbor over and ask if they want to do dinner soon. Invest with purpose rather than the same tired conversations for years, not allowing a relationship to go deeper. You were made to be in community, so jump in with both feet.

God Can Do More Than You Expected

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It’s our last Bible Study Monday for Courageous Kindness! It’s been so wonderful to go through our newest Bible study right here with you. Today’s our last day of this online study, but you can always revisit any posts. We provided the reading assignment, a discussion video featuring three (in)courage writers, a quote of the week, reflection questions, and a prayer. As long as you have your copy of Courageous Kindness and bring an open heart, we’ve got you covered!

We’ll finish up this series with Week 6, which shines a spotlight on God’s ability to do more than you could expect.

Reading Assignment

This week, read Week 6: More Than You Expected, starting on page 195 in Courageous Kindness. Grab your copy and start reading!

Discussion Video

Three (in)courage writers invited us into their conversations about Courageous Kindness! Join study author Becky Keife alongside Grace P. Cho and Lucretia Berry each week as they discuss the readings. Listen in on their conversation about Week 6 (and find all the weekly videos here):

Quote of the Week

Keep this quote in mind as you read Week 6:

Courageous kindness doesn’t happen by our own strength but by God’s strength in us.

– Becky Keife in Courageous Kindness. Feel free to download this quote to share with a friend!

Reflection Questions

In the comments below, answer and discuss the following reflection questions:

  1. Have you ever doubted you could make a difference?
  2. By God’s power, one act of courageous kindness is like a single stone with many ripples. How did you see this play out in the story of Rahab?

Let’s Pray Together

Yahweh — my Father, my Savior, Holy Spirit — thank You for choosing to put Your power and purpose to work in my life. I recognize that You have called me to live with a posture of courageous kindness so that Your kindness can increase. I trust You with my small stones. Take the little I have and multiply it. I believe You can and will do immeasurably more than anything I could ask or imagine. I am Yours. Amen.

Friends, thank you for joining us for this online study. There’s still one more new episode of the (in)courage podcast, so tune in on Thursday to hear from (in)courage team members, Anna and Joy, and writers, Becky, Lucretia, and Grace, as they finish up the study right alongside you. Listen wherever you stream podcasts (and find all the episodes here!)

Answer the reflection questions in the comments so we can discuss Week 6 together, and stay tuned for our next Bible Study series, releasing in March 2022!

No Matter How Lost You Are, You’re Always Welcome Home

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It was hotter than I imagined. 

When my sister and I booked a time to go through a corn maze with her kids, I assumed it would feel like autumn. Instead, it was an unseasonably warm day, and I was dressed in a hat and heavy sweater. I could feel sweat trickling down my back as I yanked the wagon through the maze.

“How much farther?” I muttered. We’d been walking for at least thirty minutes, and there was no end in sight. 

I ripped my hat off my head and wrapped my sweater around my waist, trying to feel a little cooler. Then it hit me: We needed a shortcut.

“Follow me,” I said. Instead of staying on the ridiculously winding path, I decided to plow the wagon through the corn stalks. (I truly am so sorry to the farmers.) I was convinced this would be faster. We could cut through to the other side. Easy peasy. 

Except the corn stalks were taller than I had expected, and suddenly I had no idea which way we were supposed to go. We were lost in the center of a corn field.

“We’re never getting out of here,” my sister said.

My leadership skills clearly needed some refining. I’d led us to disaster. I continued to drag the wagon through the corn, my niece and nephew trying to dodge the corn stalks that flew towards their faces. 

But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t find my way out. My “shortcut” just made us more lost. I was convinced my way was better, but in reality, I had no idea where I was going. I just wanted to go home.

Suddenly the face of an older man appeared through the corn stalks. “Are you okay?” he asked us. 

I smiled sheepishly. “I thought going through the corn would be faster. But now we can’t find our way out.” 

His face was kind. “You were so close to the end. Come with me.” 

We followed him for a few minutes and then saw the most glorious sight — the exit sign. I just about cried with relief and have vowed to never go through a corn maze again.

The problem is, I don’t just get lost in corn mazes. I tend to wander off path often, thinking I can find a better way. God’s way often feels a little too slow, requires a bit too much patience, and I don’t tend to understand exactly where He’s taking me. So I hack my way through, convinced I’ll figure it out on my own. 

But I just end up lost.

The prodigal son did this too. He wanted to make his own way. He splurged his father’s money, slept around, and couldn’t have cared less about the honor of his family. 

Until one day he realized he was terribly far from home and utterly lost. He finally decided to make his way back, shoulders slouched in shame. Unbeknownst to him, all along, there was a light on his father’s front porch, a fire on the hearth, and a cozy robe draped on a chair. His father was waiting each day to see if his son would come home. When the father saw the boy finally returning, he went to him — sprinting! — and welcomed him back to where he always belonged. The father shouted, “He was lost, but now he is found!”

Like the prodigal son, we can convince ourselves that we’ll only be accepted back if we can somehow earn it, but the Father runs with utter abandon toward us when we start walking back home.

God knows I will fail a thousand times. Each friend Jesus made seemed to fail Him one way or another. Jesus knew His friend Peter would betray him — and still He built His church on Peter who seemed more like shifting sand than a rock. God knows I will fail. He knows how capable I am — not necessarily of good — but of evil, of lies, of cheating, of lust, of distance, of envy, of wanting glory for myself. And yet even in my failure, God does not chastise, reprimand, or scold me. Instead, He welcomes me with open arms and says, “I’m so glad you are home.”

This unconditional love is with us every day — but most days it feels too good to be true. We can convince ourselves we need to earn it, prove that we’re somehow worth it. A love without strings attached can seem almost eerie, and our failures haunt us. 

But we are never too lost or too far off the path that we won’t be welcomed home. There is a celebration waiting for us, festivities beyond our wildest imaginations. Our Father always knows where we are and is always trembling with excitement to welcome us back home. 

No matter how far we wander, when we come back — caked in heartache and covered in mud — we’ll see Him sprinting toward us, His arms wide open, waiting. He won’t ask us where we’ve been or what we’ve done. Instead we’ll see the porch light on, and hear God whisper, “Welcome home.”

We Are Free to Learn at Our Own Pace

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I learned how to ride a bike without training wheels in the second or third grade. On Saturday mornings, my dad would take me a few blocks away from the busy street in Tokyo where we lived to practice. He would hold on to the back of my bike, running alongside me as I gained speed. I had a beautiful, cherry red, Japanese bike. It had a sturdy basket on the front, a bell whose ring could clear a sidewalk, one of those kickstands that lifted the entire back end of the bike, and a silver metal rack behind the seat. As long as I believed my dad was still holding on to that silver metal rack, I did just fine. Sometimes he would let go without me knowing, and I would continue riding confidently until I realized I couldn’t hear his feet drumming the pavement behind me any longer. I would turn around, see him in the distance, start wobbling, and then fall. We would do this again and again.

I’d apologize for falling down (again) each time, and though he never showed any signs of impatience or frustration, I still remember the feeling that I was taking too long, that I should be riding already. I wanted to catch on quickly and glide away without so many scrapes and wobbles.

I could write a long list of all of the “should be” weights that I’ve carried since those days.

A couple of years ago, I went to a cross country meet that my oldest was participating in. The humidity was thick, and it was the warmest part of the day. I was tired before the crowded event even began, and I had a pit in my stomach as I rushed my two younger kids through the grass. Crowds and places where we have to move fast are full of triggers for our youngest. By the middle of the event, I was dripping with sweat, carrying our visibly upset four-year-old, handing another sticky, melting snack to our seven-year-old, and trying to figure out where to catch a glimpse of our ten-year-old who was running. In my mind, I reprimanded myself for not being better prepared for the setting and for being as anxious as I was. There were hundreds of other parents around me doing the same thing, and I thought I should be better at this kind of thing by now.

I am a grown woman, raising children of my own now, and yet I still find myself forgetting that I don’t have to live by a rule book of should-be’s. Jesus hasn’t set me free so I can work to check off an ever-growing list of should-be’s in my own strength. God doesn’t tell me to hurry up and get myself together. He doesn’t ask me why it’s taking me so long nor does He pull out a chart to show me how far behind schedule I am.

When I was eight and couldn’t quickly overcome my fear of riding alone, my dad ran beside me holding my bike up as I rode. He steadied me. He found a quiet street in the middle of a busy, bustling city to keep me safe. He cleaned up my scraped knees when I fell. He made time to let me enjoy the feeling of wind in my hair and made space for me to try again and again after I fell. If my dad worried that I might never get the hang of it, I never knew. To this day, riding a bike still feels like something magical to me.

It’s counterintuitive to the culture of scarcity we live in, but we are free to move at the pace God has given us.

We’re free to say no when our capacity is full and our bodies are tired. We’re free to learn slowly, to say we don’t know, to take up the space we need to grow deep and wide in the tasks, gifts, and lessons we’ve been given. We’re free to be quiet and observe. We’re free to speak up when we are ready. We are free to feel what we feel and be where we’re at. We’re free to offer the little we have and watch to see how our little transforms into enough in God’s able hands. We’re free to let the silence linger a little longer. We’re free to mother others as women who have limits and worth, women with bodies and minds to pay attention to and care for. We’re free to live without the restrictive timelines that tell us we’re too late to bloom, too slow to ever be what we should be, too limited to experience God at work in and through our lives.

We are free to be loved and then to learn and live, however slowly, from the foundation of that perfect love.