Salt, Snow, and Shoveling Till Kingdom Come

Salt, Snow, and Shoveling Till Kingdom Come

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Raising a Hallelujah in the Middle of a Storm

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

Pound, pound.

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

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

Pound. Praise. Pound.

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

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

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

Pound. Cry. Pound. Praise.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Praise. Pound. Praise.

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

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

Praise. Praise. Raise a hallelujah.

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

This is my declaration today:

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

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

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

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

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

You Are Essential Because You Have Influence

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

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

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

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

I held back tears.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

Your Weakness Is Exactly What God Wants

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then just watch what God can do.

 

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

When All You Wanted for Christmas Was Peace

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I closed my eyes and asked God for what felt like the millionth time just that week, “Peace. Please let peace rule here.” The quiet Christmas tree lights winked at me from the corner of my eye like a promise. All was calm at 6:15 a.m. while the kids were still asleep. It felt like anything was possible in that quiet space before the sun stretched up into the sky.

By breakfast, two of my kids were already arguing about who was smarter and who had more orange juice in their cup. I’m still amazed at the power of their glare game and quick comebacks when they argue with each other. Pushing her juice cup forward to compare amounts with her brother, our daughter jerked her cup one way, then the other. The juice sloshed up the sides of the cup and onto the table, spilling everywhere.

I feel like that cup of orange juice a lot of days.

In those dark, pre-dawn hours, I was calm, contained, prayerful, and hopeful. But by breakfast, I was a good morning greeting gone haywire with juice spots on my glasses.

What happens when you hope and beg for peace and then the day spills out all sticky with words you regret and too many emotions at once?

After the juice spill, I tried to reel myself, the wet towels, and my kids back in with reminders about what matters more than their school grades and orange juice. I looked at our quiet Christmas tree, lighting the corner of the next room, and sighed.

As believers, we are called to be peacemakers, yet I still find myself spending energy trying to keep the peace in my home as if it’s something I can grab a hold of and secure in a jar with a screw-tight lid. It turns out, Peace is a person, not a program I regularly fail to maintain.

Almost thirteen years into parenting, I’ve all but given up on calm and quiet. Sure, there are ways to keep the peace and maintain peaceful moments with rules and structure. Those things aren’t bad, but they also aren’t what makes lasting peace.

Lasting peace comes from an everlasting relationship with Jesus, who is our Peace.

Like me, my kids have their own struggles and sin, and together, our bouquet of these things rub against each other at the breakfast table, after school, during board games, and when we’re deciding on desserts. I used to think — and sometimes still do — that the strife and chaos were evidence of my failure as a parent. I thought, If I was _________, then there would be peace. If we had _________, or if I was like so-and-so, then our home would feel peaceful.

But here’s what I’m still learning this season: Every moment of strife, selfishness, and coming up short (at home and far beyond) is a chance to ask Peace to come and be near us — to be with us. It’s an opportunity to turn towards Him in our need. It’s counterintuitive, isn’t it? It’s the last thing we’d expect. Peace doesn’t run from our chaos; Peace shows up right in the middle of it all. Right in the middle of every argument, misunderstanding, voice raised, or worse, we can cry out to Peace — Jesus — and lean hard on what cannot be mustered up or maintained in our own strength.

It’s long after Christmas, but our tree is still up. The twinkling lights shine warmth though the now brittle branches are weighed down by all the things we hoped this holiday season would be, alongside of all the good and hard things it actually was. We had some beautiful family moments with Sunday night Advent meals and candle lighting, all-day cookie baking, laughing with extended family, and wrapping gifts with anticipation. If you happened upon them, you might have thought peace was in our grasp — something we’d mastered. But if you stayed a while longer, you would’ve seen our unique style of chaos and tears and how far from peacekeeping we can actually be. I know those parts aren’t as pretty, but it’s there where I’m learning to find Peace with an outstretched hand, again and again. Maybe if I invite you in, you’ll see Him there too — Jesus, Emmanuel, with us, for us, despite us — offering all of Himself, the ultimate, lasting Peace.

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

 

Empowered: More of Him for All of You

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The word empowerment brings to mind motivational speakers and the self-help section of a bookstore. Messages from the stage and page tend to run along the lines of “If you believe in yourself, you can do anything!” It’s an inspiring slogan in the moment, but its energy fizzles out in the long run. It falls short of what we truly long for — to be empowered in the fullness of who we are.

The problem is that we’ve learned to compartmentalize ourselves — our physical bodies, our mental health, our emotional well-being, our relationships with one another, and our faith in God. We seek empowerment in each category by watching fitness gurus on YouTube or listening to Enneagram podcasts, reading books by celebrity pastors or trying the latest health food.

But what often happens is that we prioritize certain parts of our being over others because it feels more spiritual or urgent. We might nourish our souls but neglect to eat well and drink plenty of water. We might exercise our minds but lack meaningful friendships. When we do this, we become lopsided in our being, forgetting that every aspect of our lives is important to cultivate because God is in it all.

God cares about our whole being because He, who is spirit, became flesh in order to dwell among us (John 1:14). Jesus, who is fully God, took on Himself the vulnerability and beauty of being human. He enjoyed eating meals and napped when He was tired. He wept when His friend died and raged in anger at injustice. And His work of redemption includes the restoration of our bodies, minds, and souls.

God is invested in our wholeness and the empowerment of our whole being. This involves more than “You go, girl!” statements that lead us to believe we can do everything in our own strength. God empowers us to be all that He’s made us to be by the truth of His Word and the indwelling of the Holy Spirit.

And at (in)courage, we’ve taken all of these thoughts, convictions, truths, and experiences and put them into one place. Meet our next book:

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

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

Order your copy, from DaySpring, Amazon, or the retailer of your choice.

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

 

Listen to today’s article below or on your favorite podcast player!

When We Are Only a Bud and Not Yet a Flower

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Have you ever watched or listened to something many times, but this particular time, something new grabbed your attention? Perhaps you were listening to a song you know well, and then for the first time, a lyric resonated with you differently than before.

Recently, I was listening to Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.’s 1967 speech addressed to members of the Southern Christian Leadership Conference and titled, “Where Do We Go from Here: Chaos or Community?” The title sounds ripe for today, doesn’t it? In the speech, Dr. King continues to advocate for human rights and a sense of hope. He first acknowledges the accomplishments of civil rights organizations and leaders. As I listened, I imagined how hearing such accomplishments must have replenished the men and women who had been dreaming and striving for freedom for decades. He admonished his listeners — those stripped of rights to make decisions concerning their destiny — to assert their own dignity and worth, to rise up with affirmation, and to sign their own emancipation proclamation within! His encouragement still rings with truth today, which is why we are so captivated by Dr. King’s words.

As I continued to listen, Dr. King pressed the listeners to “recognize where we are now.” And then he said something that, though I’m familiar with his speeches and work, jumped out and grabbed me this time. It’s so weighty, yet I’ve never seen it on any of the MLK-memes that flood social media when people want to share his words.

Dr. King said, “The plant of freedom has grown only a bud and not yet a flower.”

Wait, what? I paused the audio recording. I thought about how in that moment in 1967, after the passing of the Civil Rights Act, at a time when many of our nation’s citizens had pushed hard to manifest so much change, Dr. King was reminding them that they were not even close to the finish line.

Of course, a bud is significant! But a bud is not a flower. However, the presence of a bud does mean that the soil and seed are doing what they were designed to do and that a root structure is thriving. A bud is evidence of proper nourishment from the sun and rain. But a bud is not a flower or the fruit we are reaching for. A bud means we have more growing to do!

If I had been there listening in 1967, exhausted from constantly pushing back against powers committed to preserving injustice, I might have felt discouraged. I might have thought, “We’ve done all of this, and you’re telling me, Dr. King, that we are just getting started? That we’ve got more growing to do?” But listening now in 2022, I am relieved to know they understood they were tilling the soil, sowing the seed, and laying the foundation for future generations to build on. 

So yes, we have more growing to do! This revelation caught me off guard because it shattered a narrative I had been taught about the civil rights movement. As a child, I thought it had concluded with the assassination of Dr. King. My misinterpretation was partially derived from the way I was taught history in school — a documented sequence of past events with a beginning date, an end date, and a dash between them. Also, adding to my misunderstanding was how people referred to the civil rights movement as a bygone era, a time overflowing with strategy and struggle, promise and progress — a tangible, radical outcry that has since lulled to a compromising nap. Of course, as an adult, I’ve come to understand that the civil rights movement lives on. As long as there are nations and people groups who treat the image of God unjustly and resist God’s plan for love, advocates for justice will rise up. 

Later in the speech, Dr. King reiterated, “We still have a long, long way to go before we reach the promised land of freedom.” A popular misconception is that Dr. King and other justice advocates of his time had already delivered us to the promised land and that the present-day push for justice is somehow taking us backwards, away from the dream. But here’s what Dr. King knew back then: They didn’t complete the work of reconciling injustice; they helped instill it. They didn’t fix racial and economic injustice; they helped justice take root. When we wrongly perceive or assess the work as finished, we see threats where we should see growth opportunities. And recognizing where we are now — that we’ve got more growing to do — is essential. 

We don’t have to be afraid, overwhelmed, or discouraged in the work that’s still before us. We have this promise from Philippians 1:6: ” . . . the God who started this great work in you [will] keep at it and bring it to a flourishing finish (MSG). Jesus taught us how to manifest justice wherever we are, and Dr. King’s life is an example of what this great work can look like. Jesus first showed us; Dr. King reminded us. We are on course to flourish.

Today, as we commemorate the Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. and the impact of the civil rights movement, may we be dissatisfied with a bud. In faith, may we flourish into a flower of freedom. May we choose growth over preserving the status quo. May we reach to learn beyond our current understanding, listening and hearing in a new way. And may we seek to see humanity as we were designed to be and continue the work toward change and freedom.

Listen to today’s article below or on your favorite podcast player!

There Is an Appointed Time for Everything — Even Mourning

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“It’s back.”

My husband Brendan uttered those two words, and it felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room.

“It” is ulcerative colitis, which Bren first had as a little boy. Ulcers multiplied in his colon, forcing him to run outside and bury his belly in the snow to numb the pain. After years of failed treatments and embarrassing incidents that scarred him for life, the doctors suggested the last resort: a colostomy bag. To eight-year-old Bren, this was unspeakable. “No mum,” he said. “I think you should let me die and go to heaven.”

Later, nudged by the Holy Spirit, a friend offered to pray for him again. As they prayed, warmth rose in his stomach. He cried, “Jesus healed me!” When they returned to the hospital for a check-up, the doctors were stunned: The ulcers had vanished.

I’d adopted this miraculous story as my own, a testimony to God’s supernatural power. Here was a peek at heaven walking around my home in the form of my husband!

But now, our miracle had been stolen. I didn’t understand. Why, God? Why steal Bren’s healing? I felt betrayed. Bren did all the “right” things: He studied the Word everyday, he was the loudest singer at church, and we were even helping to plant a church at that time. Sure, we knew that our lives weren’t going to be trouble-free just because we loved Jesus, but this?

I muscled up; I needed to be strong for him and our two daughters. It was easier to harden my heart than to wrestle with the why.

Four years later, Bren is still sick, but he never uses it as an excuse to duck out of life. Indeed, his joy in the Lord is miraculous in and of itself. But Bren isn’t the only casualty.

As my heart calloused over, my joy dimmed to the tiniest spark. I became impatient. I laughed less. My creativity was evaporating. In trying to protect myself from the hard conversation with God, the scar tissue started spreading to parts I didn’t foresee.

The other day, my therapist said, “It sounds like you haven’t mourned.” Her comment stopped me in my tracks.

Mourning isn’t reserved solely for the loss of loved ones. We can mourn the loss of dreams, hopes, and expectations. But mourning presents more of a mystery here in the Western world.

When my mother-in-law’s grandmother died, in keeping with Persian tradition, she and her mother wore white for forty straight days. Ancient Jewish tradition prescribed a period of thirty days, during which one shaved their head and put away all finery. Professional mourners, wailing women, would come to your side to mark the occasion. Elders would sit in sackcloth and ashes. The cultural understanding was that mourning takes our time, energy, and spirit. There was no need to lie or pretend you were okay when you weren’t.

King Solomon, who wrote “a time to mourn and a time to dance,” also recognized that mourning was encouraged by God. The beginning of this famous passage struck me:

There is an appointed time for everything . . .
Ecclesiastes 3:1 (NASB)

Like birth and death, every event under the sun is ordained by God. We’re on His schedule. When I dodged my own mourning time, I stepped out of lockstep with Him. God, in His kindness, knew I needed time to process this loss. Who was I to deny what God wanted to give? I dread going to the dark places, so I took comfort knowing I wouldn’t get stuck there because there was an appointed end to it. For those who find comfort in mourning, what an encouragement to move on to the next stage, no matter how intimidating, because God has written the schedule of our lives.

Perhaps the greatest reason to enter a time of mourning is that Jesus waits for us there! Isaiah describes a Messiah who would “comfort all who mourn.” Seven hundred years later, that Messiah declared:

“Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.”
Matthew 5:4 (NASB)

Go to Jesus in your mourning, and you will be comforted. That has been my very experience this year. While He hasn’t answered my whys, He has, at least momentarily, settled my heart with His peace.

But how could mourning be a blessing?, I wondered. Well, Isaiah offers a clue:

“I will lead him and restore comfort to him and to his mourners,
Creating the praise of the lips,
Peace, peace to him who is far and to him that is near.”
Isaiah 57:18-19 (NASB)

In being comforted by God, our wails of mourning are transformed into songs of praise. Our mourning becomes our testimony. This is a truth I know from helping many women walk through postpartum depression, a dark valley I’ve traversed twice. He will redeem our time in the darkness.

Sometimes we need the encouragement to mourn. I know I did. And so, if this message resonates with your soul, hear me friend: Run to Jesus and shed your tears in His presence. It’s not self-indulgent. You won’t stay in the dark pit forever. I’m here, in sackcloth and ashes, and while I dreaded it, I’m okay. The Lord waits for me, and in our time together, I can see that someday, He will turn my mourning into dancing. My joy, once a dim candle, is slowly building, and I have hope again.

Crying During a Massage Taught Me About How Our Bodies Hold Grief

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I lay face down on the massage table and let the massage therapist know that, lately, I had a lot of tension in my neck and shoulders but also in my mid-back. She began her good work, taking extra time where the knots felt like rocks under my skin. She suggested I splurge for the ninety-minute deep tissue massage next time, and I sighed out a muffled “mmhmm.”

When she got to the middle of my back and pressed firmly into the muscles behind my ribs, I suddenly began to cry. Tears dripped straight to the floor from my squished face, and I tried hard not to let out a full-on sob and a wail. I didn’t know how to make sense of this unexpected release. Was it sadness? Pain? Grief? Why did that spot feel tender — not only in my body but for my soul?

I remembered reading about how we hold traumas and stress in our bodies and how our bodies, minds, and souls are intricately intertwined with one another. One affects the other, both in pain and in healing.

My marriage was hurting at that time, and every interaction with my husband felt like needles endlessly poking and triggering pain points I’d thought had scabbed over. We were constantly on edge with each other, unable to trust the other as safe. I didn’t have to think long to figure out what the pain was, but it was new and strangely reassuring to me that the tension of my marriage had found its way to my back and lodged itself there.

What I couldn’t fully process or express, what I didn’t know how to fix, every sad, bitter, and angry anguish could somehow be reached, consoled, released. The intangible became tangible. And with the touch of a human hand, I was comforted by a divine one.

Jesus was the physical embodiment of God, and He often touched people when healing them — a leper, a blind man, and Jairus’s daughter, among others. He took the little children into His arms, placed His hands on them, and blessed them. His touch mended wounds, both seen and unseen, and restored wholeness and dignity.

There are times when I wish Jesus could have lived forever with us on earth. Perhaps we could’ve all gotten a chance to experience His touch first hand. But then I think of the expansive reach of the body of Christ — those who profess and live out God’s love as Jesus did — and it makes sense that He left this earth to take His place at the right hand of God and left us with the gift of the Holy Spirit. God with us, always, is in each of us, so that through our words, our presence, our touch, we might also be a balm for others.

Now, when my body aches during painful seasons, I remember that grief isn’t just an emotion — it’s a lived, bodily experience. Jesus Himself must’ve carried grief in His body too, knowing what was to happen to Him. And then, He bore it all on the cross – the ache, the burden, the inconsolable sadness, the raging anger, the maddening injustice, the ugliest and most terrible thoughts and actions of humankind. He bears the scars that tell us He’s held it all in His body and holds us now in our pain.

It’s been several years since I spontaneously cried on the massage table, and since then, there has been more grief and pain than I can count — personally and globally. I know we all hold so much in our bodies, whether we know it or not. So when the aches happen, when fatigue and weariness weigh us down, I hope we can be gentle with ourselves, knowing that Jesus bore it all and helps us bear what we must too.

Lessons from a Sickbed on How to Ask and Receive

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The week of Thanksgiving found me feeling not so thankful. I didn’t have plans to spend the day anywhere, so there were already emotions surrounding that. Then I got sick. A simple cold took me out. I found myself in bed for the entire week. I slept and slept and slept some more. I was miserable.

Sick and alone was in no way a part of my plan. Yet, here I was. For the most part, I actually love being single. I love the freedom to make my own choices and to do what I want and go where I want. But one thing I loathe about being single is that I have to make every decision and take care of myself. When I get sick, it’s just me.

Many tears were shed, and I felt weak and exhausted. I didn’t have any strength to believe the truth even though I knew it. Instead, I had an all-out pity party for myself. I sent out invites, and depression and hopelessness showed up with bells on.

I rehearsed all the standards lies: I’m alone. I’m unloved. I’m unseen. They played on a loop, and I allowed the voice of the enemy to grow louder than the voice of God.

Though I would’ve normally kept all my pain and struggle to myself, the Lord prompted me to share about how I was doing with my church and to ask for prayer. And then the church did what it’s supposed to do — be the hands and feet of Christ to me.

Multiple texts and phone calls began to come in to check on me. One friend brought me a Thanksgiving meal. Another brought me homemade chicken noodle soup. And my pastor’s wife brought me more soup and electrolytes. I was blown away by the love of God through their care for me.

Reaching out for help isn’t easy, but it is always worth it.

Galatians 6:10 says, “So then, as we have opportunity, let us do good to everyone, and especially to those who are of the household of faith.”

My church took this verse and ran with it when I needed them — they always do. They live out this verse in more ways than I can count.

As I received the care from my church family that I so needed, I realized that I had been so focused on myself and on how lonely I was. I’d become fixated on the lies and unmet expectations, wallowing in them. And without the Lord’s nudging, I probably would’ve kept my struggle to myself and relied on my own strength instead of relying on God and on others.

But God revealed to me that this was pride and not faith. I believed I had to do it all myself, that I couldn’t depend on anyone. I didn’t even expect Him to provide for me.

James 4:6 says, “He gives more grace. Therefore it says, ‘God opposes the proud but gives grace to the humble.'”

I was humbled both in needing to reach out to my community and in receiving their care. Through it, I experienced God’s grace and again learned how much I need to rely on Him, abide in Him, and commune with Him and the body of Christ.

So this year, I want to put my focus upward and dwell in the Lord’s presence more. I want to grow in intimacy and fellowship with the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. I want to trust Him and witness more of how He moves in and through the church.

I know I am not alone in this, and neither are you. There is grace for us all when we humble ourselves, open our hands, and receive.

How have you experienced the grace of God when you’ve reached out to others during a hard season?

 

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When You Feel Unsteady, Take Your Time and Take It Slow

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I grinned country-mile wide as my friend, Jen, told me about her neighborhood’s propensity for playing practical jokes on one another. The entire gang good-naturedly gave as well as they got, and one time they got Jen and her family especially good.

The shenanigans were discovered on a late summer evening when Jen, her husband, and her three kids returned home from a family vacation. Jen, first through the front door, stepped into the dark entryway of their house. As she walked the familiar path from the entryway toward the living room to turn on a light, she startled herself by running right into a piece of furniture. Thrown for a loop, she immediately slowed her pace and felt around for what blocked her path. It appeared to be the coffee table.

“What in the world?” Jen said out loud. “Why is that here?”

After walking around the coffee table and stumbling into an armchair, she finally reached an end table holding a lamp. She turned it on, and then her mouth dropped open. While she and her family vacationed, the neighbors had snuck inside their home and played furniture Tetris by completely rearranging their living room sofa, tables, and chairs.

Grinning wryly, Jen took in the scene before her as her family members trickled in. They stared at the same room with their belongings, but everything was situated in an entirely new way — even the rugs and kids’ toys were in unfamiliar locations. Until they could either get used to the new arrangement or put everything back the way it was, Jen and her family had to walk around that room a little differently, a little more slowly.

When you walk through a new season of change, isn’t it much the same? Until you get used to the new lay of the land, you must take your time and take it slow.

In her book, The Art of Slow Writing, author Louise DeSalvo talks about how after 9/11, many novelists had to relearn how to work and write. She says, “When our lives change, when the world changes, we must reinvent ourselves as writers.”

I definitely felt that life change after 9/11, especially since we lived on a military base at the time. More recently, we’re all navigating another major event: the pandemic. With it, I can see how once again we’ve had to reinvent how we move about in our work and play.

This is true for any of us walking through a new season, writer or not. In a way, we must reinvent ourselves as we maneuver lives that look so foreign from before. At the very least, we must get used to the new circumstances and move around them differently.

This doesn’t mean you won’t have to move quickly through some of the changes your new season brings. But it does mean you will need to give your heart the time it takes to process through these changes. It means you will not shame or talk down to yourself for taking this time. Change can move our bodies into new territory, and it may take our hearts and souls a little time to catch up. We must give ourselves the gift of rest for this to happen.

We must resist the urge to rush towards panic as we refuse to move through this season alone.

In the quiet of the morning or the still of the evening or the calm before the storm of the 3:15 p.m. carpool line, we can take time to sit in the presence of Jesus in this new stage of life. As we do so, we can consider a Scripture reference that reflects God’s promises:

This is what the Lord says — he who made a way through the sea, a path through the mighty waters . . .
Isaiah 43:16-17 (NIV)

There’s no obstacle change brings that God does not bring a way through. There’s no change we encounter that God is not master over. There’s no season we experience that He doesn’t provide us with endurance.

We may have babies graduating kindergarten or high school and mothers or grandmothers moving into nursing homes. We might have job transitions and family transitions that require must-do steps and things to prepare. But one thing we don’t have to do is to rush our hearts and souls through this season. Do what you need to do on the outside, but let God do His good work on the inside in His good timing. Hear Him speak to your heart: When you’re tempted to despair about this change, just reorient your heart’s location to Me because I never, ever change.

This is no joke: As difficult change comes into your life, Jesus walks with you through it. Take your time with Him and take it slow. You don’t need to stumble or trip your way toward the Light. The Light is right beside you, illuminating the way one step at a time.

 

Listen to today’s article below or on your favorite podcast player!

State of (in)courage 2022

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Dear sisters,

We are twelve days into 2022, and I’ve got a hunch some of you are taking in a deep breath full of hope for every joyful possibility in the new year. And some of you are barely inhaling as the weight of what has been or what is to come presses down. I feel both — depending on the moment. Whether you are full of faith or fear, sorrow or celebration, or a jumble of it all, I want you to know that you are welcome in this place. Just as you are.

Our biggest prayer is that Jesus will meet you here.

Whether you’ve just stumbled upon (in)courage or you’ve been hanging out with us for more than a decade (raise your hand, (in) sister lifers!), we want you to know who we are and what we’re crazy excited about (in) 2022!

Empowered to Be Like Jesus
Here’s the deal: (in)courage isn’t here to preach more self-empowerment because what we really need is God-empowerment. If you’re caring for toddlers or aging parents, working a nine-to-five, volunteering at church, or enduring a chronic illness, if you’re single or married, living in your sweet spot or walking through a crisis, we all need Jesus. We need God’s Spirit to help us have that hard conversation, to make that impossible decision, to take that scary next step forward. We need Someone beyond ourselves. The good news is, He’s here! Every woman can live empowered by the strength Jesus gives through the Holy Spirit. By His power, we can live out the calling He has for our lives. That might mean pursuing a big dream or just making it through a regular Wednesday morning. Every hour we need Him. Let’s see more of Jesus and be more like Jesus this year! (Stay tuned for some practical resources we have coming soon to help you do just this!)

The Daily (in)courage Podcast
Get out your virtual drum set and roll those sticks because we are thrilled to announce our new daily (in)courage podcast! Each weekday, the article you read here will also be available as a podcast. That’s right! Like always, you can enjoy our daily post right here on the website, and now, you can also listen as our narrator, Grace P. Cho, reads it to you! You can expect our thirty writers to keep showing up with brand new stories about their everyday lives and how God’s right in the middle of it all. We each bring our unique experiences — joys and struggles equally — so that you’ll feel less alone and be empowered by the hope Jesus gives. We pray that through these stories you hear more of God’s heart for you. The (in)courage daily podcast is the perfect companion while putting on your makeup, commuting to work, or waiting in the carpool line. Listen every weekday right here at incourage.me or on your favorite podcast player.

Create in Me a (new) Heart Bible Studies
Over the next eighteen months, we want to invite you to join us on an eighteen-month journey through FOUR NEW Bible studies! Living empowered to be like Jesus begins with the Holy Spirit’s work in each of our hearts. He wants to create in us a new heart that embodies His hope, peace, wisdom, and mercy. When we have a heart more like God, we are then able to be His difference-makers in our hurting homes and fractured world. You are absolutely going to love these powerful studies! We’ll be sharing more about these studies in the months to come.

(Insert awkward giddy jig because I’m just so stinkin’ excited about what God is doing in our midst and all the goodness He has planned for us this year. What a joy to partner with Him!)

A couple more quick things, especially for any (in)courage newbies. You should know that (in)courage is part of DaySpring, which means we have inspirational products to help you live your faith. We also have a rich library of books and devotionals that will help you live like Jesus and remind you that you’re not alone. And we love connecting with you on social media — find us on Instagram and Facebook!

Lastly, friends, we want to make sure you know that we’re a community of women of different ages, life stages, and cultural backgrounds. We all look different, enjoy different church traditions, have different favorite foods, and we don’t all agree — well, on almost anything. But at the end of the day, the one thing that connects us is Jesus! So if you love Jesus and want to grow in Him or if you just want to know what it could look like to live with greater hope and purpose each day, you’re in the right place. Thanks for being here.

— Becky Keife, (in)courage community manager

I pray that from his glorious, unlimited resources he will empower you with inner strength through his Spirit. Then Christ will make his home in your hearts as you trust in him. Your roots will grow down into God’s love and keep you strong. And may you have the power to understand, as all God’s people should, how wide, how long, how high, and how deep his love is.
Ephesians 3:16-18 (NLT)

 

Listen to today’s article below or on your favorite podcast player!

Brighten the Corner Where You Are

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When the pandemic hit in early 2020, my small business, like so many others, was turned on its head. All of my live events (my primary revenue stream at the time) were canceled, and my husband was furloughed. I felt in my heart that the traveling road show season of my business was coming to an end, and as much as I loved it and was going to miss that season, I loved being home with my young son more. I prayed and asked God to lead me to whatever was next and to make very clear what I should do about my business. As we focused more and more on online product sales, my inventory started to spill from the bonus room above our garage into our guest room, attic, dining room, and then into the garage itself. I knew in my heart that we had outgrown my home office, and my patient husband was not so subtly wanting his garage spot back.

In that moment, God led me right to what would one day be the future home of my business, a former doctor’s office that had been abandoned and was in desperate need of repair. A fixer upper was putting it lightly, but where most saw a mess, I saw a future masterpiece.

As I talk about in my books (Betty Confetti and Happy Hand Lettering), I am all about turning a mess into a message and mistakes into confetti. I could tell you dozens of stories about the signs I witnessed in that building, even on my first walkthrough. Same college, same name, same house number, and if I wasn’t a believer, I could have easily written them off as coincidence. But instead I knew with all my heart that they were just little nudges of reassurance from the Lord that I was exactly where He wanted me to be. God doesn’t give me a handful of confetti all at once; I seem to collect one piece at a time. Little by little, slow and steady, on His timeline and not mine, it always seems to come together.

My dad is a contractor, so for more than thirteen months, he and I got to work together side by side, hammering and nailing and sawing and building my dreams by hand. This father/daughter duo, aptly named Confetti Construction Company, completely renovated and restored the building, an eighty-year-old town landmark, to its new (and colorful) glory as the home of my company, All She Wrote Notes. I wouldn’t trade this time working with my dad for anything in the world. It’s been one of my life’s greatest joys and a gift that I know came straight from my Father in heaven.

As with many construction jobs, it’s always more work than you think it will be, and we ended up having to completely gut and restore the building from the foundation to the roof. I worked alongside my dad, learning and laughing every week as we made progress. Since so much demo work was required, for a long time it felt like we had to go backwards before we could move forward. But all along, I was reminded that we were building it back on a stronger foundation than it was before — in more ways than one. I constantly prayed for guidance and direction, trusting the Lord to reveal the next step and the next how of His perfect timing. Nobody has ever called me patient a day in my life, and if I had known at the beginning of the process how long it was going to take, I probably would have said no. But I’m so glad I just walked in faith and trusted that it would be ready whenever it was meant to be ready.

Right before we installed the sheetrock, I went around with both of my parents and wrote some of our favorite Scripture passages in the walls. My favorite, at our checkout counter, is from Luke 16:10 — “Whoever is faithful with little will also be faithful with much.” It fills me with joy to know that God’s words are buried here beneath our very foundation and that everyone who gets to visit us here will be surrounded by His presence.

The mural I hand-lettered on the side of my building says, “Brighten the corner where you are.” You may remember that as an old hymn or camp song — all about shining the light of Jesus right where you are. So how can He use you today? You don’t have to build a colorful building or an online following. You can brighten your corner by choosing praise and positivity every single day, right where you are. Ask God to help you shine His light today.

—

Are you hopeful for some hope?

There are times in life when it’s easy to be joyful, and there are other times when, well, it’s just hard to see the good in anything. Life circumstances come at us fast, and before we even realize it, we start going through our days with an unseen heaviness that weighs on our souls and minds.

In her new book, 100 Days of Praise and Positivity, Maghon leads you through uplifting devotions, encouraging Bible verses, fun hand-lettering exercises, and more — all to remind you of the One who longs to refresh your spirit and renew your heart and mind.

Order your copy today and enter to WIN one of five copies that we’re giving away! Leave a comment telling us about how you move towards a positive, praise-based mindset and you’ll be entered to win.

Then join Maghon and Becky for a chat all about 100 Days of Praise & Positivity! Tune in tomorrow on our Facebook page at 11am central for their conversation.

Giveaway open to US addresses only and closes on 1/14/21 at 11:59pm central.

 

Listen to today’s article below or on your favorite podcast player!

Where Our Everyday Meets His Glory

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A few weeks ago (Thanksgiving week, to be exact), I wrote a few thoughts on Instagram before heading to bed. I hit publish, sending it to Facebook too, plugged my phone in, and picked up my nightly crossword book. The next morning, I woke to those thoughts being shared thousands and thousands of times, messages pouring in, and comments flying into the threads.

In my fourteen years of online writing, I’ve never had a post take off like that.

Here’s what I said in that post:

Can we normalize things like builder grade oak cabinets? Kids wearing regular clothes that they half chose themselves? Leftover meat slapped on a hamburger bun because it’s Thanksgiving week and they’re not allowed to eat any of the food in the fridge? Fingerprints and dog nose smudges on the sliding door that’s been missing its handle since we moved in five years ago?

I’m team normalize dry shampoo a day too long. Team breath prayers of gratitude and not hour-long “quiet times.” Team paper plates. Team belly up at the island because the dining room table is covered in art projects and school papers and books and crusty Play-doh.

Let’s normalize un-curated anything except a fave Spotify playlist. Normalize crawling in bed at 8:30 to do crosswords for two hours. Normalize well intentioned and barely executed. Normalize four Target pickups in a week because the list keeps growing and something is always forgotten.

Let’s normalize the actual normal. That’s where all the good stuff lives anyway.

This is a pretty standard message for me. To be clear, I’m saying all of the above is normal, and yet it often isn’t normalized (shared, embraced, spoken about, etc.). I’ve never shied away from sharing real life lived and encouraging others to seek the extraordinary in their everyday. But something about this one hit just right, I guess. Maybe it was the mention of builder grade oak, the shade of honey yellow all too rarely showcased on Instagram feeds full of white cabinets. Maybe it was the timing right at the start of the holiday season, when everyone else’s perfection is on display and it’s all too tempting to jump in with our own unrealistic expectations. Maybe it was the “well intentioned and barely executed” line that seemed to resonate deeply with so many.

Whatever it was, it took off. Honestly, I got a little stage fright and didn’t pick up my phone for social media for several days. I made my husband look at the numbers whenever I got curious because I was sure there were going to be mean comments, and truly, despite the nature of an online platform, I don’t enjoy being the center of attention.

Of course not all of the hundreds and hundreds of comments were kind. It’s all too easy online to be unkind, quick to judge, and just plain rude. But the vast majority of comments and reactions were of the “me too” variety. So many others chimed in with their own stories of real-life living, of kids choosing their own clothes, of dry shampoo one day too long and paper plate suppers.

And while these are really small things, they add up to one richly lived life.

It made me think of Jesus, actually, as most things end up doing. It made me think of His real life, lived richly from its humble beginning. It made me think of the time His family left Him behind in the temple and how entirely relatable that story is. (Well, relatable to a point: They found Him teaching in the Temple, and His family didn’t miss Him for three days because they were traveling with so many relatives. They figured He was somewhere in their crew. But still! Pretty darn relatable!) It made me think of the meals Jesus shared with friends and how He got angry and sad and lonely. It reminded me that Jesus was a carpenter or stonemason, working with rough hands and carting around tools and materials and that I wish we knew more about His handcrafting. Did He enjoy His trade? Did He ever make small gift items for friends and family, or was He a big-projects-only kind of builder? What was His favorite meal at the end of the day?

It’s these human aspects of Jesus that my mind grapples with because the deity part of Him, though completely interwoven with His humanity, is overwhelming in its complexity. The human part, though, I can at least form reactions to and questions about.

Fully God. Fully man. The Holy Child we just celebrated at Christmas, mere weeks ago.

And maybe the point is that we can keep all the wonder, the celebration, the questions, and adoration going in our ordinary days, long after the cookies are gone and the tinsel tossed out.

Maybe we relate so deeply to posts like mine above because we do need to normalize feeling big feelings and sharing the everyday, ordinary aspects of our lives. Maybe grappling with the mundane, living life alongside beloved friends and family, going to work, and living for the will of our Father is more relatable than we think.

And what a gift that Jesus did the very same things. What a thoughtful and kind Creator God we have that He would send His Son here for us to know this — even now, thousands of years after His life, death, and resurrection.

As we keep stepping into a new year, let’s also keep telling the stories — stories of our normal, regular stuff. Stories of our extraordinary, holy, and human Jesus. And let’s especially keep telling the stories of where our everyday meets His glory.


Friends, we have BIG NEWS. Beginning today, you can listen to an audio version of each weekday article at (in)courage! Yes! Every weekday you’ll find a player embedded right into the post like the one above, and each daily episode will also be available wherever you stream podcasts. We could not be more excited to kick this off! Each episode is narrated by our editorial manager Grace P. Cho and produced by our friends at DaySpring. We hope you’ll bring us along with you on your morning walks, driving to the grocery store, waiting in the preschool pickup line, alone in your kitchen, or as you wind down for the evening. Wherever you join us, you’re welcome here, and we’re honored to be a part of your day.

Giving Grace Even to Those Who Might Not Deserve It

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This past year, I chose to host a Christmas table at our church holiday brunch. I decorated it with miniature plastic pine trees from home and borrowed battery-operated candles from the table next to mine (probably because the sweet lady saw how sparse my table was looking). It wasn’t fancy or formal, but it was fitting for our church ladies.

I was the host. I grabbed coffees and treats and offered a friendly welcome to all who circled around my centerpiece. A gal sat down beside me whom I’d never met before — Elizabeth. She was new, and I struck up a casual conversation with her. Even though we’d just met, we quickly realized we had many connections. She knew my mom years ago when they worked in the same field together finding homes for international college students.

Gradually, more women found their place at my table, and the introductions began. “What are you doing for the holidays? What are your favorite Christmas movies? How many children do you have?” Then my mom sat down beside Elizabeth. They began chatting and catching up on the years that had gone by. Before I knew it, I heard my mom say to Elizabeth, “You should give an announcement!”

What was my mom up to? 

I saw her leap up and run over to the coordinator of our Christmas event. Elizabeth leaned over and whispered, “Your mom wants me to make an announcement about my business,” she said nervously. As the morning brunch ended, sure enough, the new visitor at our church, Elizabeth, was up on stage giving an announcement about her small business. 

I packed up my fake Christmas trees, returned the borrowed lights, and walked out to my car with my box of stuff and my mom beside me. We reflected on the morning.

“I’ve been praying for ways to give Elizabeth grace for years,” my mom gleefully said. She went on to explain how when they had been in business together, Elizabeth had been unkind to her. She had spoken poorly about my mom, mistreated her, and lacked respect. Since then, like a kid on Christmas morning, she had been eagerly waiting for ways to bless her. 

I left that morning completely undone by my mom’s actions. I am an author. I have grown a community of women whom I write for, encourage, and love — many of whom are right here in this (in)courage community. Essentially, I have built a platform. If there was an author who I knew had spoken poorly about me, disrespected me, or been downright mean, I’m not sure I would pray for ways to give her grace. I’m certain I would not give her my platform to use.

If someone hurts me, I am quick to wish harm upon them. I am tempted to return the pain they caused me by putting them down or lashing out in anger. I don’t pray for them. Praying blessing upon others (especially those who have hurt me) is incredibly hard. Praying for my enemy feels impossible, but it’s what changes my heart from bitterness to grace.

I think my mom was able to love this woman who had hurt her because she had prayed for her. My mom gave Elizabeth her platform to use. She used her connections and gave her a microphone to share about her small business. This is undeserved grace — which, I suppose, is the definition of grace, isn’t it?

Grace is an undeserved gift, but I have a tendency to reserve grace for the “good” people — you know, the people who, for the most part, are kind and easy. I hold back when it actually requires something of me and especially when I need to give it to those who have hurt me, betrayed me, and shamed me. Then it seems more like foolishness.

To give grace to my enemy is backward, but so are the ways of Christ.

Christ says things like, “The last shall be first, love your enemies, pray blessings upon those who have been against you.” We are all undeserving of grace. Yes, even the best of us don’t deserve the loving gift of God. The truth is there is no such thing as “the best of us.” We all fall miserably short.

So as this year unfolds, I want to release my mental list of who deserves grace and who doesn’t because we’re all desperate for it. I am praying for how to give grace to those who have hurt me and to see how I can lift others up. How can I give what I have (my platform, my home, my things) to be a means for grace? How can I love the way God does? We all need the grace of God to scoop us up and give us secure ground to stand on. We all need His grace to give grace to others. 

Why Dare to Try a New Thing? Do It for God

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I’m sitting in my sister-in-law’s dining room, tapping away on my keyboard while admiring a massive poinsettia plant — its red flowers abloom — still adorning her long table.

My husband Dan and I are her house guests, and during the holiday part of our visit, she had apologized several times for not putting out Christmas decorations per usual. So no gigantic tree with lights and ornaments. No garlands along the staircase. No porcelain angels and other pretty holiday knickknacks on every other surface.

Instead, during these challenging times, she’d settled on something new. Thus, the poinsettia instead of a Christmas tree. And the feeling to her? “Liberating.”

I can relate because I also did a new thing in the past year. I added entertainment writing to my writing tool box, surprised to discover that by doing this new thing, I was freed to do it for God.

I didn’t see it that way at first. Instead, I started writing a fictional story — a new path for me — because I heard our gentle Jesus say this: Fear not (John 14:27).

It’s the first step to taking a scary risk — especially when trying something new. So, with God’s help, I tried a new thing during the pandemic summer of 2020, and now I’m a humbled author of a fledgling Christian mystery series.

I took it on, in fact, with absolutely zero expectations. I told my husband, “If nothing comes of this, that’s okay. It’s more important that I tried.”

To be honest, however, I did want something of consequence to come of it. But if it all came to naught, the trying was what mattered. I felt sure of that and still do. Our trying glorifies God. As Jesus said in His Sermon on the Mount, “Let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven” (Matthew 5:16).

So, the second step of trying a new thing? Giving ourselves permission.

We get that go-ahead from God Himself. In His wisdom, the Lord made a way for His people “through the sea, a path through the mighty waters” of the Red Sea — a mighty deliverance (Isaiah 43:16).

But then the surprise? Forget those things, He says. As the Lord, through Isaiah, tells them in verses 18-19:

“Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past.
See, I am doing a new thing!
Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?” 

Regarding this warning, the New Living Translation minces no words when it comes to moving forward by not looking back:

“Forget all that — it is nothing compared to what I am going to do. For I am about to do something new. See, I have already begun. Do you not see it?”

It’s one of the most remarkable reminders in all of the Bible. First, forget former things, including victories, triumphs, ups and downs. Then, fan the fire for something new. Don’t know how it’s going to pan out? Dream about it anyway — bravely, to move forward. Then, work on it, if you dare.

The most important reminder, however? Do our new thing for God.

As Isaiah prophesied, our Creator God is “making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland . . . to give drink to my people, my chosen, the people I formed for myself” (Isaiah 43:19-20).

Why?

“That they may proclaim my praise” (Isaiah 43:21).

Don’t you see it?, the Lord asks us. Can’t you visualize it? Does your vision board depict not what you can do by yourself but what God alone can do?

In the end, trying something new isn’t to promote ourselves to God’s kingdom but to help make God more known. So, if you’re looking for a reason to try something new in 2022, pointing people to God — by doing a new thing that requires His strength and courage — is the best reason to even try.

That’s how I feel working on the next mystery novel. It requires so much from me — a vision and courage that I can’t stir up on my own — that it surely will point people not to me but to the Lord.

Now, what is a new thing that challenges you in that way? What will you try in 2022 that will show off the Lord making a new way in your wilderness, its parched riverbeds overflowing with streams of living water?

Is your new thing good and difficult but wonderful? Do you need God to make it happen? Dive in and try.

Patricia’s historical mystery, All That Is Secret, was selected by Colorado Public Radio as its next “Turn the Page” book club pick for February. Register here to join Patricia for the free virtual book talk on Tuesday, February 8 at 8 p.m. EST.