How to Find Your Way Through the Middle of a Transition

How to Find Your Way Through the Middle of a Transition

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Recently, we sold our farm, and in the process, we downsized our belongings and re-homed our livestock and animals. We learned to loosen our grip and let God bring about change in our hearts to prepare the way for our move.

I could see God working out all the details in His timing with regards to this big change. First, my husband, my daughter, and I were all on board with it. That in itself was a miracle with three, completely different personalities and viewpoints. But we trusted God would change our circumstances when it was His time. Then, He brought a Jesus-loving family to purchase our farm. We were able to easily pass our farm to them and didn’t glance back with any regret. During that time, God also led us to purchase land in a very difficult market, where we will build our next home. Real estate makes me believe that God is in charge of every detail of our lives, otherwise how would it ever work?!

It hasn’t been easy, but it has been beautiful. It’s been a lot of change this year, and even though others might think I’m kind of weird for this, I actually like change when God is leading. I think it’s exciting!

For now, we are living in the middle, calling a rental in a neighborhood home for the time being. In the midst of all this transition, I was more concerned about making sure our family was comfortable and could continue on with our regular daily life that I didn’t expect to be the one to have the hardest time with the move.

I tried to analyze what my hang-up was. I grew up in a neighborhood in the ‘burbs. I was used to a small backyard and close neighbors. I didn’t have my identity wrapped up in owning versus renting, or even where we lived. I wasn’t feeling impatient about building since I know what a chore it truly is. I couldn’t figure out why I was struggling.

Even when it’s God’s idea and I’m excited about what He’s doing, transitions are not easy.

I think about good but hard transitions in God’s word. There are many, but the one I can really relate to lately is when Jesus’ followers were waiting for the arrival of the Holy Spirit.

God had worked a miracle — the biggest of them all: Jesus took the sins of the world away and conquered death. His followers had seen the entire progress of events, walked and talked with Him as a resurrected Savior, waved goodbye in astonishment as God lifted Jesus back to heaven, and now His followers had to wait on what Jesus had promised.

They were in the middle of a transition. They were wrapping up one chapter of their story, God’s story, and beginning a new one. They didn’t know what to expect. It must’ve been uncomfortable and not what they had imagined. They must’ve been nervous about what would come next while trying to process everything that had happened.

So, they waited and prayed.

Their waiting was necessary. They knew they couldn’t do anything in their own power. And there was no shame in waiting on God and not knowing when, how, or where the next step would be revealed.

When the winds of heaven came, the Holy Spirit filled the followers and enabled them. They were given God’s power to live out the vision Jesus had cast for them and the way was made to achieve what God had desired through them.

God didn’t chastise them for not understanding or being nervous about what was to come. He knew they needed time to process what they had experienced.

It takes time for each of us to catch up with God’s plans as they unfold in our lives, so we need to give ourselves space and time to process what He’s doing.

And that’s what was happening to me with our move. I realized my emotions and heart were trying to catch up with what had already happened. And I was waiting for God to show up because I couldn’t and didn’t want to do anything in my own power in the the middle of our story.

I didn’t want to make our rental feel like a home without His Spirit. I didn’t know how to build a home in the middle of all the post-pandemic issues without His powerful leading. I couldn’t understand God’s timing or what He was really up to in our lives without living in the power that He had already given me in the Holy Spirit.

The waiting in our lives is necessary so we can rely on God’s power and not our own.

Sitting in the middle of a transition and not fully understanding what is happening within you is just fine. Allow yourself to catch up with what God is doing. And know that as a Jesus follower we each need and have the power of the Holy Spirit in us no matter the circumstances we find ourselves in.

 

Listen to today’s article at the player below or wherever you stream podcasts.

The Power of Stepping in and Being Available

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If I walked out my door, down the hill, through a field of waist high weeds, jumped over a janky fence, and skipped past four houses, I would arrive at Debbie Daniel’s house.

Debbie had three kids and one of her daughter’s, Jenny, was my childhood friend. Debbie’s house was a central hangout growing up. Her home had high ceilings which contained all the love, and the barstools at the kitchen peninsula were always a revolving spot for conversation and company that felt like family.

Her house wasn’t perfect. It was lived in, and everyone was welcome. She would let the dishes pile up and let half-finished projects take over the dining room table for weeks. I think that’s why my friends and I congregated at her house week after week. It was easy to be there. No conversation was off-limits. With chips and seven layer dip always in the fridge, we could chat, cry, laugh, and watch Survivor. And we did this all the time.

We all had mothers and sisters and small group leaders at church, but Debbie was different. She listened without an agenda. She stepped in.

She stepped into a role she didn’t even know I needed filled. My mother was generous and good and kind, but God knew I needed another voice of love to help shape the rough edges of my soul.

Debbie was a high school counselor. When I’d walk into the administrative office, her face was the first one I’d see. Between breaks and after school, I always found myself pulling up a chair and parking myself right next to her desk. She was quick to offer a snack and chat about classes, family, friendships, and my school schedule. Those touch points throughout my day made me feel wanted, like a barista who knows your name and drink order by heart. It was as though she was always just waiting for me to walk right in. She was always available.

I’ll never forget a time during my junior year when I was so distraught about a boy I crumbled into the chair in Debbie’s office after third period. She looked at me with compassion and kindness in her eyes and asked, “Do you need to go home?” I nodded between blowing my nose. She wrote me an off-campus pass, and I went straight home, crawled into bed, and cried myself to sleep. She was quick to hold back judgments and offer gentleness.

Years later, I was fortunate enough to work on staff with Debbie at our church. We were also both enrolled in seminary together. Our lives overlapped and intertwined yet again. We spent hours carpooling, dreaming, crying, figuring out life, ministry, and our souls. It was a rich time, and Debbie walked beside me.

I don’t see Debbie very much anymore. Our lives have long walked separate paths. But I do know this, if I needed her right now, she would be here. She would do what she does best, step in — step in with food, a listening heart, and Christ-centered counsel.

I didn’t even know how much I needed her all those years, but again and again, she was there. She didn’t push herself into my life but stepped in at just the right moments.

Debbie’s presence in my life was a clear example of Christ’s love for me. She mothered me when I needed it. She was a counselor when I didn’t have one. She was a friend when I needed support. When I look at Scripture (Titus 2:3), older women are instructed to care for young women. Debbie did this for me. She filled in the gaps and gave me space to fumble and figure things out.

There is so much power in stepping in for others. It doesn’t require us to take on more responsibilities. It only requires us to see who’s right in front of us. Everyday we brush past people, young and old. Our lives intersect with others all the time. What does it look like for you to step in and offer Christ’s love right where you are today? Who will you see, talk to, or hug?

All those places are opportunities to give your love away, to step in. Because when you do, it changes lives.

How can you be hospitable, available, and gentle with others? How can you step in and walk with them?

Listen to today’s article at the player below or wherever you stream podcasts.

Let’s See Each Other Through Race-Wise Lenses

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“What’s so wrong about being colorblind? Why can’t we just focus on each other’s hearts?”

I was on the phone with a dear friend and fellow parent — a sweet, kind, loving sister in Christ — who was feeling utterly distraught about the issue of colorblindness. Her question was sincere. She wanted to raise Jesus-loving children who saw people’s hearts and not just their skin color. “Isn’t that the goal?” she wondered.

I sat with my friend’s question for some time. Was it possible to see someone’s heart without seeing their skin color? I wasn’t too sure, but I understood the sentiment of wanting to focus on a person’s inner qualities instead of  their external features.

People are shaped by their place in history, and even my friend’s perspective had historical roots. She had been raised in the aftermath of the civil rights era, a time that heralded the idea of being colorblind as a new and healthier way forward for race relations. In fact, the term colorblind is borrowed right from the last part of Dr. King’s speech where he says he wants people to see his children for the content of their character, not the color of their skin. A lot of well-meaning Christians, like my friend, ran with that term in the seventies and eighties, wanting to prove that they weren’t using skin color as justification to treat people unequally, and they taught their children to hold a similar posture.

But now the pendulum has shifted. In 2022, Black and Brown folks are raising their voices and pleading for others to see the color of their skin, and a lot of Christian parents don’t understand why. Why should we see color? Why should Christian parents talk about color with their kids? Is it biblical to make a big deal about skin tones and different cultural and racialized experiences?

What I’ve found in my own life as a second-generation, bicultural, Indian American woman is that one of the unintended consequences for well-meaning folks who strive to be colorblind is that they become blind to my lived experiences as an ethnic minority. In an attempt to treat us all the same vis-à-vis not seeing Black, Brown, or white, people’s racialized experiences of everything from profiling, micro aggressions, racism, police brutality, and more get swept under the rug. It’s easy for folks who say “I don’t see color” to also not see the laws, policies, and zoning that create gaps in education and wealth equality along racial lines. In other words, when I say, “See the color of my skin,” what I’m asking you to see is my racialized experiences of suffering and pain.

Undoubtedly, I am more than my flesh, but I am not less than my skin color. God created me on purpose as a brown-skinned woman, and my cultural identity reflects God’s image in the world. Moreover, I operate in a brown-skinned body every day, and people treat me as a brown-skinned person. So, if you want to understand my heart, my story, and all of who I am, you have to see the totality of my life’s experiences.

The thing is, when we believe that colorblindness is the way and teach our children to be colorblind, we miss out on a fundamental part of who God is. God is El Roi, the God who sees (Genesis 16:13). God sees all of us — our skin color, our culture, our pains, our joys. If we want our children to see people like God does, we must see in color. God designed us to be “color-blessed,” in the words of Pastor Derwin Gray. To see the world in color is a blessing. God created us diverse on purpose. Each of us, in our unique and vibrant hues, reflects the image of God in the world. We get to acknowledge each other’s color as part of how we celebrate the beautiful God-given uniqueness of each individual. In other words, seeing color is the portal into people’s lived realities. Seeing color is the portal into their hearts. When we see color, we begin to recognize the full humanity in each other, and how glorious it is!

Seeing someone’s heart and seeing the color of their skin isn’t an either/or but a both/and.

Perhaps this wasn’t what you were taught growing up. Perhaps this feels totally new and uncomfortable. I want to assure you that that’s okay. This is an invitation for all of us to become race-wise as followers of Jesus and to lean into a more Spirit-led understanding of skin color and race-related issues that resonates with God’s heart for all His image bearers. Being race-wise, for us as individuals and as families, simply means bringing issues like the question of being colorblind before the Lord and asking for His help to move forward in wisdom, clarity, and love. So, let’s keep striving to get to know each other fully, especially our friends, neighbors, and coworkers of other cultures. Let’s teach our children to see each other’s hearts, to celebrate the full humanity of one another, and let’s use gospel-centered, race-wise lenses to do so.

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The Race-Wise Family: Ten Postures to Becoming Households of Healing and Hope is a timely resource by Helen Lee and (in)courage contributor Michelle Ami Reyes. It will equip Christian parents to better understand the roots of racism and provide practical guidance on addressing issues of race within their families. Practical and engaging, The Race-Wise Family offers immediately applicable action steps to help you raise kingdom-minded kids who will stand against racial injustice as an outpouring of their relationship with God. Deeply rooted in Scripture, the book includes:

• key biblical insights for understanding a theology of race
• discussion questions, prayers, and conversation starters for your whole family
• age-appropriate ideas for discussing current events with your kids and teens
• guidance for addressing the roots of racial bias in the world and your own heart
• activities and resources you can use with kids of all ages to be part of hope and healing in your community

The Race-Wise Family will help you and your kids celebrate the diversity of God’s kingdom as you take small steps that will make a difference in the world for generations. Enter to WIN one of five copies today! Just leave a comment today with what this book could mean to you!

Then join Michelle and (in)courage community manager Becky Keife for a discussion all about The Race-Wise Family! Tune in tomorrow, 5/18/22, on our Facebook page at 11am CST for their conversation.

Giveaway open to US addresses only and closes on 5/20/22 at 11:59pm CST.

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Moving from the Chaos of Our Homes Toward a Peace-filled Life

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When I was growing up, our church youth group had parties at each other’s houses. We would hang out, watch movies, eat snacks, and occasionally, at the fancy houses on the rich end of town, we would gather for swim parties with lots of food, laughing, and throwing each other into the pool — sometimes in swimsuits, sometimes fully clothed.

In Silicon Valley, most of the families at my church lived on the rich side of town. I loved going to their perfect, spotless houses with their manicured lawns. Even my friends’ rooms looked like they could have been featured in the magazines fanned out on their moms’ coffee tables. These houses looked like the model homes my family toured for fun on the weekends.

Not raised in a particularly religious home (I’d been invited to this church by a friend), I thought this was what it meant to be a Christian woman — that your house would always look perfect. I wasn’t a deep thinker at fifteen, obviously.

Imagine my disappointment when I got married and had kids and all those homemaking skills didn’t come with the wedding ring and the baby blanket issued at the hospital.

As a young woman, I struggled to stay on top of our house. I could never seem to get ahead of everything that needed to be done. I felt constantly overwhelmed by all the moving parts of work, home, family, and church.

I’ll never forget having a mom from a Bible study I was attending over for coffee one Tuesday morning. I had cleaned the kitchen, front bathroom, and living room to perfection for her visit. While we were having our second cup of coffee with homemade oatmeal cookies, she jumped up and said, “Show me the rest of your house!”

When I demurred, she insisted and started walking towards the master bedroom. She opened the door and saw where I’d thrown all the laundry, toys, backpacks, diaper bags, and more.

She saw my secret shame but didn’t keep it a secret. After she told the rest of the ladies in the group what a mess my house had been, I didn’t go back.

I went from living in chaos to hiding the chaos. On the outside, it looked like I’d managed my clutter issues. But I’d stuffed them where no one could see them and where they grew even worse. I avoided having people over as much as possible. And when I couldn’t avoid it any longer, I hid all the laundry, papers, school projects, and random toys in our bedroom until the guests were gone. And then I would be overwhelmed all over again.

In that season, I felt like there was no one I could talk to about my struggle. I figured I was missing some sort of spiritual gift everyone else had. I prayed about it but dealt with it in silence.

If you too struggle to stay on top of your home, I want to share with you two key points I learned in my journey:

  1. You are not alone. Most women I know struggle with “getting it all done,” as if being done is even possible.
  2. I was only able to declutter when I stopped trying to look good on the outside while drowning in all my stuff. When I stopped judging myself and instead looked at my situation with the kindness I would extend to a dear friend or my grown daughter, that’s when things started to change.

I had equated a clean house with being a godlier person. I had grown up with the illusion that because people looked clean and shiny on the outside, that’s what their inner life must have looked like.

But here is the truth: We all struggle — with our houses, with our people, with ourselves. Peace is not the absence of struggle. Peace is where we place the struggle.

Jesus says it perfectly:

Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. 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.
Matthew 11:28-30 (NIV)

That passage is worth reading in the Message version of the Bible:

 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.
Matthew 11:28-30 (MSG)

Because I never felt good enough, I gave up in so many ways. I had no peace about it, but I also had no peace with all my striving to look like I was okay.

Now that I’ve stopped trying to live to impress others, I can welcome people into my less-than-perfect but deliciously peace-filled life. I get to experience those “unforced rhythms of grace,” not as something to be obtained but as something to be enjoyed.

Is there an area of your life that is keeping you worn out? Where do you need to lean into God’s “unforced rhythms of grace”?

If the chaos of your home is wearing you out, join Kathi’s Clutter Free Academy group on Facebook to discover how to declutter your home quickly and easily without stress.

 

Listen to today’s article at the player below or wherever you stream podcasts.

Join the Heart of Hope Online Bible Study!

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Want to do a Bible study this summer but aren’t sure where to start? Looking to walk through Scripture with a fantastic group of women? Need someone else to handle the planning and coordinating that comes with organizing a Bible study?

Above all that, are you searching for soul-deep, unshakeable hope that only comes from Jesus?

We’ve got you, friend!

Join us for our Create in Me a Heart of Hope Online Bible study! Yep, it’s time for our summer study already, and this year we’re searching for hope with an easy-to-join, deeply impactful study. We can’t wait! We will spend six weeks going through the Create in Me a Heart of Hope Bible study, written by Mary Carver and featuring stories from several of our (in)courage contributors.

Perhaps you’re facing circumstances you never prepared for or even imagined. Maybe you’re looking for any hint of encouragement, any inkling that this — whatever your this might be — won’t last forever or destroy you. Maybe you’re afraid to hope, or perhaps you’re not even sure what hope is.

The Create in Me a Heart of Hope Bible study looks at how God offers us hope — real, certain, unshakable hope.

This summer, let’s go through it together and learn where hope comes from and the difference it can make in our lives.

Here’s what you need to know:

1.  You will need a copy of Create in Me a Heart of Hope to fully participate in the study. We will provide the reading guidelines, discussion questions, and video conversations along the way!

2. You’ll also need to officially sign up for the study (It’s free to join!). Click here to register, and when you do, we’ll send you the first week from Create in Me a Heart of Hope AND a printable page of Scripture memory bookmarks for FREE!

3.  The study runs from June 6 to July 15. Every Monday you can start reading that week’s chapter, and we’ll share the memory verse for the week on our Instagram feed. On Thursdays, you can tune in for “Ten Minutes of Hope with Mary” — a brief, inspiring, live video on Instagram! And each week, we’ll send you an email with a weekly recap, including the memory verse, a link to the video, reflection questions, and more.

Invite a few friends to join you! Send them to this page so they can sign up! If you’re looking for a way to connect with other women in real life, this is a great way to do so. Simply read each week of the Bible study, then gather together (in person or online) to watch that week’s video, enjoy your own discussion, and close in prayer.

That’s it! Super fun and low stress, right? That’s how we like to do things in the sweet summertime.

Don’t have your copy of the study yet or want to give a copy to a friend? 

Tell us in the comments if you’ve got your book already or to whom you’d like to gift a copy, and we’ll pick FIVE of you to WIN a free copy! Giveaway open to US addresses and closes on 5/16/22 at 11:59pm CST.

Then, mark your calendars for June 6th for when we kick off the Create in Me a Heart of Hope Online Bible Study! We so hope you’ll join us. Sign up here or at the form below!

We can’t wait to get started!

Join the Online Bible Study today and get your FREE gifts!

 

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When It’s Been a Lot for What Feels a Long Time

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It’s funny the things that can immediately bring tears to your eyes. On an ordinary Tuesday afternoon, I opened my inbox and gasped. Inside, an email invited me to congratulate my grandma on a milestone number of years in her listed profession: pastor’s wife.

Just past the hilarity of “How in the world is she on LinkedIn and who signed her up?” is the gut punch, the sting of tears, the unexpected wave of sadness rolling in.

What LinkedIn doesn’t know is that my grandma passed away. Today, as you read this article or listen to it on the podcast, is two years to the day that my grandpa passed away. Two funerals in less than one year is, frankly, two too many.

Grief is both a stranger and a close friend you know intimately. It can bring you to your knees in an instant, while other times you see it coming from a distance. It shouts and it whispers and it lingers, arriving in waves that can lap at the shore or roar in a storm. Grief is a path chosen by none yet eventually discovered by all, occasionally anticipated but mostly unexpected. It doesn’t care about our timetable, our plans, or our dreams. We all — every single one of us — will experience brokenness, pain, loss, and sorrow.

Within my small circle of close friends, over the last two years we’ve worn black dresses at seven funerals for parents or grandparents. We’ve walked through cancer, car wrecks, job loss, difficulty finding a new job, break-ups, abuse, starting over in a new city, a heartbreaking diagnosis, medical unknowns from the lack of a diagnosis, and unexpected surgeries . . . to say nothing of a global pandemic.

These two years have included celebrations and answered prayers, too. There have been plenty of good things, but it’s okay to recognize and name this season for what it has been and still is: a lot.

It’s a lot of loss. It’s a lot of grief. It’s a lot of change.

It’s been a lot for what feels like a long time.

My friends would take the pain and loss away from me if they could, just as I would for them, but there’s an undeniable gift in knowing we’ll face the waves together. There’s relief in not having to be okay together.

I’m convinced one of the most beautiful verses in all of Scripture is found in John 11:35 — “Jesus wept.” Those two small words speak a powerful truth: No matter what we’re facing, we aren’t alone. It’s not only a display of kindness; it’s a picture of His friendship. Jesus didn’t run from pain or rush through sadness, didn’t say “hurry up” or “get over it” or “at least ______.”

Jesus came and Jesus cried.

Despite knowing resurrection was written onto the next page of the story, the Man of Sorrows chose to grieve what was broken. Hope Himself let His heart break, and somehow it’s this that gives me hope in the midst of my heartbreak.

When LinkedIn emails and you want more than anything to actually be able to say Hello and Congratulations and I miss you so much . . . When a friend says “I’m just really sad today, and I can’t imagine a day when that won’t be the case” or another doctor’s report confirms the same difficult news . . . When you wear the white dress and the seat in the front row is empty or you reach for the phone and dial a familiar number before realizing no one is going to pick up . . .

It’s then that it truly and deeply matters: We have a God who cries.

Jesus isn’t scared of our grief or disappointed that we’re still sad; He just comes closer to weep with us. He isn’t surprised by our despair or our anger; He gets angry with death too, lamenting what has broken even though the Word knows the final word belongs to redemption, to joy, to life.

He might say, “Peace, be still” and calm the storm or He might show us how to walk on the waves that threaten to overtake, but no matter what, Hope is not going to let us sink.

And so if I may, from the girl who both smiled and cried over an email from LinkedIn, can I offer you the words my friends and I speak over each other when the storm is raging, when the answer to “How are you?” is “I’m sad today,” when the doctors still don’t know or the date rolls around on the calendar yet again?

I’ll hope for you.

Until you can catch your breath, I’ll hold onto hope for you, trusting that really, it’s Hope that’s holding onto us.

It’s okay if you aren’t okay today. It’s okay to not be okay tomorrow either. Waves will come, some stronger than others, some seen from a distance and others that will take you completely by surprise. Storms will come, but redemption is guaranteed and His presence is promised.

Our friend Jesus is acquainted with grief and familiar with waves. We have a God who cries. We have a reason to hope.

For more hope-filled encouragement, free lock screens for your phone, and book recommendations from Kaitlyn, follow her on Instagram!

 

Listen to this article below or on your fave podcast player.

Lament Is a Declaration of Hope

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I have a number of news apps on my phone. The notifications are set so that I can easily be updated to breaking news, but if I can be honest, lately I’ve grown weary of my news notifications. Every day, if not every week, there is a new conflict — a war across the pond, another Black man shot and killed, Asian Americans targeted and murdered, in-fighting between Christian groups, hate-filled rhetoric against immigrants and more. I’m tired of people finding new ways to fight and kill each other. The age-old sin of Cain killing Abel, of brother spilling another brother’s blood, spins on a wheel repeating itself ad nauseam. There is nothing new under the sun.

That being said, there is something unique about the past two years and about life in a pandemic that has brought the suffering and brokenness of the world into sharp relief. Viral videos and a heightened engagement with our phones and social media has inundated our minds and our brains with new levels of hate, seeping through the cracks of humanity’s façade. We are more than two years into a pandemic, and it feels like there is more to grieve now than ever before.

Grief and lament, in fact, are two words that best describe my prayers these days. Most of my time spent with God is in tears over the things that divide us — the way humans war against each other, broken relationships between parents and children, and the slander Christians so easily throw at each other. I know that the way things are are not the way they were meant to be. We were created to experience the goodness and wholeness of God, and yet our realities are far from this truth. Just watch a nightly news feed and you’ll see there is much to lament in the world.

For a long time, I thought the heaviness in my heart and the lament on my lips meant I didn’t have hope in God. That, somehow, being grieved and burdened by the weight of the world’s brokenness meant I wasn’t trusting Him enough to make all things new. But what I’ve learned in recent years is that my lament can be a practice of hope.

Lamenting in prayer until tears stream from my eyes is one way of clinging to God when nothing seems to make sense.

God beckons us to offer up a persistent cry to Him. In return, He promises that one day, all our suffering, even the sins of this world, will be no more. A day is coming when we will all be made whole again and the cycles of violence that destroy families, start wars, and wreak racism will be broken forever. This is why it states in Jeremiah 9:20,

You women, hear the word of the LORD; open your ears to the words of his mouth. Teach your daughters how to wail; teach one another a lament.

When our hearts ache and our souls yearn for what was lost in the Garden and what will one day be restored again in the new heavens and the new earth, we stay rooted in the hope of God in the midst of brokenness.

Our lament is a sacred testament to God’s promises. Our lament is our hope in a better future — a better future that only God can create.

Choosing to come before the Lord and lay the burdens of the world at His feet is a reminder that God is in control and that He will deliver and redeem us in His sovereign time. We can pray like the psalmist in Psalm 102:1-2, “Hear my prayer, LORD; let my cry for help come to you. Do not hide your face from me when I am in distress. Turn your ear to me; when I call, answer me quickly.” Then we wait in hope and anticipation, knowing that God hears our cries and will answer us.

So, let’s make space for lament today. The next time you hear disheartening news, the next time you witness a fight or division break out, turn to God in lament. Carve out space to pray, to grieve, even to cry. And let your lament be your declaration of hope in God in the midst of hard things.

 

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Sometimes Barely Is Enough

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It was an unusually rough week in the middle of a very hard season. You know the kind of week I’m talking about — where it seems like you’re getting hit with one hard thing after another and getting out from under it all sounds as easy as hiking through the Mojave Desert in three-inch heels.

For a while there, I was barely holding on. I guess you could say I was in a Season of Barely.

Was I staying on top of my deadlines? Sure, but barely.

Was I taking care of my body? Barely.

Was I getting enough sleep? Barely, if that.

Was I ready to get out of bed every morning? Barely.

Was I connecting with friends? Barely.

Was I being kind to myself? Barely.

My friend Anjuli knew that I was struggling. A few days earlier, I had left her a voice message, the kind where your voice cracks and the ceaseless sniffling makes your words almost incomprehensible. Yet my tears spoke a language of their own, and some friends are fluent in the language of emotion. She returned my message with one of her own, tenderly holding space for the ache I was feeling.

A few days later, Anjuli checked in with me. She texted to ask how I was holding up.

I was still in my Season of Barely, and so I texted back a single word: “Barely.”

A few moments later, she responded: “Barely is enough.”

Her words offered such safe harbor for me in that season, and I have returned to them over and over again in recent weeks.

“Barely is enough.”

Those three little words gave me courage to take the next step and the next step after that. Barely may not seem like much, but sometimes barely is enough to keep it all moving forward.

Are you in a Season of Barely?

Barely able.
Barely healing.
Barely understanding.
Barely surviving this hard season.
Barely making it through what feels unbelievably difficult.

Perhaps you need to know that barely is enough. You don’t have to do more, be more, pretend more, perform more, hurry up more.

I consulted the Scriptures to see what God could teach us about our Seasons of Barely. The word barely is . . .  well . . . barely used in Scripture. But one of the few times you’ll find the word barely in Scripture is in Isaiah 26. The chapter is a song of trust, praise, and meditation that calls out the goodness of God. And then the chapter takes a slight turn around verse 16, mentioning a people “in distress.”

“They could barely whisper a prayer,” Isaiah writes of these distressed people (my emphasis added). They were in their own Season of Barely, and they could “barely whisper a prayer.”

Here’s the good news: Prayers don’t need to be shouted in order for God to hear them. Sometimes, even your barely-enough prayers are enough. And that’s okay.

What has your own Season of Barely looked like? How does it help you to know that sometimes barely is enough?

I have come to know that barely has honor and dignity all its own. Barely is forward movement toward something that is still being brought to completion. And that completion will come. It’s a promise from God, and it’s promise I need, and maybe you do too.

There has never been the slightest doubt in my mind that the God who started this great work in you would keep at it and bring it to a flourishing finish on the very day Christ Jesus appears.
Philippians 1:6 (MSG)

 

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It Felt Like My Faith Was Part of the Problem

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I had gotten my two kids and myself dressed for church and finished filling two huge cookie jars for the church coffee hour. Other than the presence of some more-than-usual tension in my chest, I would’ve thought it was any other Sunday morning.

But then, everything went wrong. The dog escaped. My kids (six and four at the time) went out to find the dog and were playing on top of the car. I started to cry and my chest got tighter. My whole body ached. I was intimately familiar with panic attacks but had never had one last this long. In the past, panic attacks had always lasted thirty to forty-five seconds, so I thought if I just kept breathing it would pass. But as the timer hit five minutes, I wasn’t sure this one would. I tried to go outside and get the kids, praying the dog wouldn’t get hit on the busy road in front of our house, but I couldn’t even walk through the door. It was like there was a force field keeping me inside.

I was helpless to help myself. And I was helpless to care for my kids.

I didn’t realize it at the time, but it was a moment that changed my faith forever.

Anxiety and depression have been part of my life since childhood, but the strain of single parenting after being widowed a few years before had pushed my capacity and mental health to their limits. I figured I was just exhausted and spent the week recovering.

And as soon as I started to get ready for church the next week, the panic returned.

It returned every Sunday morning for weeks.

I couldn’t go to church.

I couldn’t read the Bible.

Even hymns and worship songs paralyzed me.

Every way I knew to be a Christian was suddenly triggering my anxiety, and I couldn’t figure out why.

My Christian life has changed many times over the course of my life — from childhood faith to passionate curiosity as a young adult. My understanding of hope and faithfulness shifted when my dad died at fifty-two and then again when my husband died at thirty-two (I was twenty-eight and pregnant with our second kid at the time). Suffering, grief, and loss refine our faith in ways that Bible study, sermons, and prayer aren’t meant to.

But this was different.

This felt like my faith was part of the problem.

I happened to be in seminary at the time, studying spiritual formation, and I became obsessively curious about how people have practiced their Christian faith around the world and across centuries. I discovered the practices I thought were non-negotiable (in-depth Bible study and lengthy academic sermons) were only two very small slices of pepperoni on the very large pizza that is the Christian faith.

I learned about the Desert Fathers and Mothers who lived out in the middle of nowhere, steeped in the presence of God, being filled with wisdom and devoted to prayer.

I learned about the first century Jewish Christians who didn’t hold church services as we understand them now but who opened their homes to each other, shared meals, and supported each other in the face of political oppression.

There are so many classics in Christian wisdom and writings that are about knowing God and being surrounded by God’s presence like a cloud. There were people who devoted their life to God by washing dishes, by praying for strangers, and by growing food.

I had always thought of my faith as a relationship with God, but I realized that the ways I had actually lived out my faith had more to do with knowing about God than actually knowing God. The ways I had been a Christian all had to do with effort: How often was I praying? Was I reading my Bible enough? Were my notes from Sunday’s sermon sufficient to really cement the info into my brain?

I had built a faith that depended only on my ability to act and do, to learn and to know.

But now I couldn’t do any of those things. Did that mean I couldn’t be a faithful Christian anymore?

I stepped back from my responsibilities at church while I thought it through.

If deep study of the Bible was a foundation of my faith, did that mean I believed people who couldn’t read or had intellectual disabilities couldn’t love or be loved by God?

If academic, lengthy sermons were that important, did that mean that people whose health, job, or location made Sunday morning church inaccessible couldn’t really be Christians?

I knew instinctively that those things could not be true. After all, we are promised that nothing can remove us from the love of God.

I realized, like a knife to the heart, that what I had said I believed and the ways I had been practicing my faith hadn’t been the same.

I sought out opportunities to practice contemplation and silence and to learn more about other ways of being a Christian. I learned about mysticism (which is all about leaning into the mystery of the Holy Spirit, not the new age boogey man I’d been warned against) and discovered the ways my understanding of God had gotten all out of whack.

So I let it all go.

I stopped trying to force myself to go to church.

I read fiction and noticed when the Spirit stirred inside me.

I visited liturgical churches whose prayers and recitations and use of the physical body and space made me feel connected to myself in a way I had never experienced. I felt a sense of belonging to the greater Church in ways I had never appreciated before.

My prayers became inhales and exhales instead of words.

I felt like I was more grounded, more sturdy in myself and in my faith than I had ever been. And at the same time, I felt freer, growing tall like a sunflower, facing the sun, blossoming brighter and bigger than I realized was possible.

And it was in these last few years I’ve realized my faith can only go as deep as I am willing to let my theology spread wide. If I truly believe God’s love is for everyone, then I must practice a faith that abides with that truth. Any shame or exhaustion I felt because of my faith has disappeared because I’m no longer trying to practice faith in a way that can’t accommodate the demands of my mental health and grief.

Maybe the greatest surprise of all is that my faith has become more than something I do or knowledge I acquire. My faith has become a new way of being — of relating to God, of interacting with the world and people around me, and, most profoundly, of showing grace to myself even with a mind and a heart as unreliable as mine.

 

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How to Relax When You Feel Anxious

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How do you relax when you feel anxiety? This is the most common question I get whenever I speak with women about wellness and detoxing from stress.

When I first started experiencing my body tighten with tension and my heart flutter with rapid palpitations, I had no idea what to do. I just told myself what I’d always did, “I’m fine.” But it wasn’t true. I wasn’t fine.

Then, I started noticing I was having trouble falling asleep, even though I’d read my Bible and journaled my prayers before bed. “Please God, you know how tired I am. Help me!” I whispered as the minutes ticked away hour by hour. I felt so exhausted. But what bothered me the most was that I felt alone and afraid. Why wasn’t God answering my prayers? I wondered.

Have you ever felt your body tell you that you aren’t okay even though you tell yourself you’re fine? You’re not alone, friend.

Sometimes, we are such strong thinkers, pushing through to take care of others, getting work done, and juggling our responsibilities. In our constant hypervigilance, we can get stuck in a state of heightened alertness that we don’t realize we are actually very stressed.

Like diagnostic lights on a car’s dashboard, God designed our bodies to be the last line of defense, to tell us to slow down and that we need care, nourishment, and attention.

Nurturing myself and prioritizing my wellbeing used to be like speaking a foreign language. I had no idea what that meant in a practical way. I understood it as head knowledge, but I never experienced or practiced what it meant to rest or do what brought me peace and joy.

So, I began a new prayer. Instead of praying, Help me sleep or Take away my anxiety, which are more of what I call light-switch prayers, I started to ask God, “What does it mean to rest? Teach me how to relax. I don’t know what that means.”

And with this new prayer, God began to put a curiosity in me to learn about soul care — the practice of nourishing our bodies and emotions by tending to our inner person with God.

One of the first Scripture passages that I asked God to help me understand better was a verse we often hear quoted:

Be still and know that I am God.
Psalm 46:10 (ASV)

Although well intended, a lot of people would share this verse to tell me to stop worrying or being anxious. But even when I did still myself, I felt no relief from my anxiety.

Then, I did a word study to learn the actual meaning behind this verse, and it changed how I responded to anxiety. In Hebrew, the word for “be still” is raphah, which means to loosen your grip and to relax. “Know” in Hebrew is yada, which means to personally experience. “Be still and know” doesn’t mean to do nothing! It’s actually the opposite! Being still means doing whatever helps you personally experience God, loosen your grip, and relax and refresh your soul.

So I began to do two things to help me relax whenever I feel anxious:

1. I take action to explore what brings me peace and joy — practical things, like trying different herbal teas (peppermint turned out to be my favorite) and taking a walk out in nature.

2. I pause to hear Jesus tenderly and lovingly calm my heart with a breath prayer to relax.

You can do it too! Here’s how:

Put aside your work and worries for just a moment, wherever you are. Rest in God’s presence. Whisper this simple breath prayer to yourself: Relax. Yep, “be still” literally means relax, loosen your grip.

Sometime today, do something that helps you experience what peace and joy feels like for you (It’s very unique to your personality and the way God made you.). If it’s an especially hard day, rest in the thought of Jesus holding you close in His arms. He is with you this very moment, whispering, “I will help you. I love you.” Even when we feel weak, God still say yes to loving you and me.

God has given us everything we need . . . 
2 Peter 1:3 (NLT)

What helps you relax when you feel anxious? How do you feel in your body when you whisper the simple breath prayer, Relax?

For more tips to relax and stress less, download Bonnie Gray’s FREE Stress Less devotional here! Also, listen to Bonnie’s popular wellness podcast, BREATHE: The Stress Less Podcast. Listen and subscribe anywhere you listen to podcasts.

 

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Consider the Peony Bush — How Much More Will God Care for You?

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I was so excited about the backyard plans when I saw them; they were so gorgeous! But as soon as the landscape architect mentioned that a door would come out right on top of my precious peonies, I stopped listening. You know how I feel about my peonies! And if you don’t, they’re my prized possessions. They represent God’s provision in my life, and they make all my neighbors jealous — just kidding, I share! 

We were told that we would need to move them now or lose them forever. I’m not lying when I say I asked my husband if we should wait until after the peonies bloomed to start the project. He turned toward me and said, “If you want to make this space what you’ve envisioned, you’re going to have to move them. If not now, you’ll be in this same predicament later.” He was right. I tend to delay anything that makes me uncomfortable. 

So, I watched videos on how to properly move the rows of bushes. I even consulted a peony farmer. Then, grabbing a shovel, I stood over the peonies and prayed, Lord, You know how I feel about these things. Please don’t let me ruin them. Help me do this right. It seemed like a really silly prayer. I’ve never prayed over flowers before, but I figured I needed all the help I could get. Moving the bushes took the better part of the day, and it gave me a lot of time to think. What would God teach me this year with the peonies?

As I separated the bushes with the sharp spade, I could feel it dig into some of the tuber roots and I cringed. I remembered what I’d heard in the video, “As you can see here, I cut into these roots. But don’t stress over that! These roots will heal. They might not bloom this year, but that’s because they’re healing below the ground. And when you split them, they’ll sprout even more blooms.” I thought about that as I continued to dig and uproot the peony bushes. 

God has been dealing with me on some root issues in my own life, and it has felt very painful. Recently, I told my sister over dinner, “I know God’s dealing with me. It’s like He’s resetting me. I can’t figure it out, but it’s just such a tender time. And I don’t know why He’s choosing to do it all now.” Resetting. Timing. Painful digging around roots. Oof, I understood that. 

The peonies didn’t know why I was moving them. They were doing what they had always done, growing toward the sunlight as usual. And here I came with a shovel. But they couldn’t see the future of what would happen to them if they stayed where they were; I did. If I didn’t move them, however painful it would be and even at a loss of blooms next year, they would be trampled, dug up, and discarded. So moving the bushes now was out of love, not carelessness or inattentiveness, not disregard or wrath. It was because I cared for them and wanted to help them bloom even more fully later on.

In Luke 12:27-28, it says we should consider the lilies and how God clothes them and takes care of them. If God does that for the flowers, we shouldn’t be anxious because, duh, how much more will He do for us? And I love the red-lettered verse straight from the mouth of Jesus that follows soon after:  

Fear not, little flock, for it is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom.
Luke 12:32 (ESV)

God compassionately guides us for our good and out of generosity, not punishment and anger. He gives us the kingdom and spares us from death. He is all-knowing, all-seeing, and He desires to heal us at the roots so that, in due time, we can bloom more abundantly.

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How the Wind Reminds Us of the Holy Spirit’s Power

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A horrible wind blew through my home state of Colorado today.

While snow and rain blanketed the mountains to the west, a violent wind ripped through the eastern plains, making my windows rattle and the trees bend. For several hours, I listened to it shriek like a wild beast, intent on destruction, and wondered if our roof and walls would remain intact. Not much scares me, but this caused me concern. And although I could see a bit of blue sky and sunshine through the clouds outside my windows, I knew any pretense of calm was deceptive. The wind and bitter cold made me reticent to step outside.

Acts 2 tells the story of another violent wind on the day of Pentecost. However, this wind delivered life, not the threat of death:

When the day of Pentecost came, they were all together in one place. Suddenly a sound like the blowing of a violent wind came from heaven and filled the whole house where they were sitting.
Acts 2:1-2 (NIV)

To a group of shaking disciples still recovering from the traumatic death and resurrection of their Savior, the wind of the Spirit fell in its fullness, causing men like Peter, James, and John to transform from bumbling, timid fishermen-turned-followers into fearless leaders of the new Christian church and proclaimers of the good news. Rather than holing up inside, this violent wind caused them to boldly step out into the world with a powerful message:

Peter replied, “Repent and be baptized, every one of you, in the name of Jesus Christ for the forgiveness of your sins. And you will receive the gift of the Holy Spirit. The promise is for you and your children and for all who are far off—for all whom the Lord our God will call.” With many other words he warned them; and he pleaded with them, “Save yourselves from this corrupt generation.” Those who accepted his message were baptized, and about three thousand were added to their number that day.
Acts 2:38-41 (NIV)

I can almost hear the windows rattle at the sound of Peter’s words. In a moment, these men became fierce warriors for the gospel — not because they got more training or finally finished their advanced degree, not because they beefed up their resume and gathered impressive references. The disciples evangelized and the early church exploded for two reasons:

  1. Jesus was alive!
  2. The Holy Spirit moved in power.

We’re now a couple of thousand years from that first Pentecost and a couple of weeks past this year’s Easter holiday. Even so, the same two reasons hold true.

Jesus is alive. Hallelujah! We know and celebrate this truth not only on Easter but every day when we choose to gaze at the empty cross and remember the true reason for our hope.

And the same Spirit who blew like a violent wind and empowered the disciples to boldly share the good news is able to do the same for us. He is here, living and active, ready to speak words of comfort and courage to each of us who believe in Jesus.

So, will we let Him rattle our windows and shake us from our complacency? Will we dare to invite His holy disruption and ask Him to empower us to follow Him with courage?

This is a wind we can’t afford to ignore. Not because it threatens death and destruction but because He promises life. If you dare, pray this prayer with me today:

Spirit, come! Blow into every corner of my life and fill me with the power of Your presence. Lead me where You want me to go and give me the words You want me to speak. May I live on mission with You, today and every day, for the glory of our living Jesus. Amen!

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Her Children Arise and Call Her Blessed

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My mother passed away on my birthday in 2004, the year before the birth of my youngest child. More than anything, I miss my mom being a part of my daily life. You’re never too old to need your mother. So, in honor of the upcoming Mother’s Day — and in memory of my own mom — I want to share the story of a day, over a decade ago, that was memorable but also typical in the life of a mom.

I have what some might call a fancy education. I took six years to get a four-year degree and also married and had my first child during that time. In the months leading up to graduation, friends, family, and professors asked what I planned to do next. I realized more than any job, I wanted another baby. Ten months after graduation I gave birth to my second son and never looked back.

While my education helped prepare me to eventually homeschool my own children, I never imagined the gamut of emotions — from sheer terror to pure bliss inherent — in what, to me, is the greatest job in the world.

On just an average day, I experienced several of those moments that so often define motherhood.

Every mother who has had both a toddler and a set of stairs knows that awful sound: the thud, followed by wailing. I heard it and ran across the house, scared of what I would find. My twenty-month-old daughter lay at the bottom of the stairs, scared and hurt. I sat and held her until she stopped crying, while she marked my black shirt with iridescent trails of mucus, a visible badge of motherhood. Then she snuggled in close and popped her little thumb in her mouth, content. It wouldn’t always be so, but I was blessed with a moment when I was all she needed to make everything better.

In the afternoon, my ten-year-old daughter had her homeschooling program that teaches practical skills and needed to finish her project of sewing a tiered skirt. While I helped at my painfully slow pace, the other mothers and daughters seemed to fly through the steps. Then it hit me: my daughter didn’t seem to notice or care that I wasn’t as skilled as many of the other moms. She looked at me with adoring eyes, confident that I could guide her. The blind devotion of a child is a sacred trust, and I was humbled and honored by it.

After a long day, we headed to Moe’s for dinner. While we ate, I noticed two ladies seated close to us who seemed to observe our clan. This was not uncommon; a family of ten attracts attention. People don’t always understand why we would have so many children, and their attitude is not always kind. As they were leaving, one of the ladies leaned down and spoke in my ear, “Your family is adorable. Simply precious!” I never saw her again, but her words were not soon forgotten.

When I read Proverbs 31, verse 28 always jumps out at me: “Her children arise and call her blessed.” That’s what I want, what I can’t attain on my own, what has to be given to me, undeserving though I am.

On that ordinary day, my children beheld me as comforter, teacher, and the object of their affection. Though I seek to bless their precious lives, the truth is they bless me beyond measure.

This coming Sunday, I encourage you to honor your mother or your mother’s memory. If you have children, please join me in thanking God for them.

 

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What Draws Us Together Is Jesus

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Hi. My name is Anna, and I am a die-hard fan of physical, paper, hold-in-my-hands planners.

Yes, we use Google calendar for family calendar-ing and planning, and I’m beholden to a Teams calendar for work, but I keep a paper planner on my desk which keeps my brain in the game and organized. I’ve had a paper planner since elementary school, and I’ve kept many of them over the years, tucked away in my bottom desk drawer. Looking back through them brings me a sweet, bless-her-heart moment as I page through what I considered important enough to log at the time.

School assignments, work deadlines, appointments for me, my husband, and the kids. Birthday parties, church, volunteering, events, sports, outings with friends, trips, and meal plans. I’ve kept track of much of my life in spiral-bound sheets of paper, the blank squares of the monthly layout beckoning, while the lined weekly pages wait to be filled with to-do tasks. I don’t get fancy with decorating or tons of stickers — just my trusty, favorite, black ink pen and the occasional sticky note or paperclip. And I log it all.

Last year, my love for the (in)courage planner was strong because writing down any and all plans provided hope and routine and joy, as I struggled my way through pandemic life. I made one meal plan, then another, and another. I read the Scriptures on the planner pages (DaySpring planners like this one include Scripture!). I clung to anything normal and wrote down whatever I could. Nothing was too small to be included.

This year is different. My planner is cheerfully loaded up with baseball games, weekly meal plans, to-do lists, and PTO meetings. There are even a few trips, both for work and friends! Friendship is back on the schedule — just last week, most of the (in)courage writers gathered for the first time in two years.

There were friends new and old, hugs and late-night talks, a lot of coffee and a lot of laughter. Some of us have been here for the better part of thirteen years, while others just joined in last month. But when we got together, it was like we’ve been soul sisters for a very, very long time. And it’s not because we’re all so much alike! I mean, you all know that.

You know (in)courage is made up of women willing to go first with their hard, awkward, messy stories. There’s a whole lot that makes us different from one another — where we live, the kind of work we do, our family’s makeup and cultural values, our church denominations, the color of our skin, and the curve of our hips. Each woman is a unique masterpiece of the Creator, and what draws us together is Jesus.

Our one heart for Jesus beats loudest when we link arms and remember that we don’t journey alone. Together is how we thrive. This is reflected in our words here, in our books and devotionals, and in our brand new (in)courage 2022-23 One Heart planner.

In every month of the new planner, you’ll be introduced to a different theme that reflects God’s heart for you, and you’ll get to read an excerpt of a story from a different (in)courage writer.

This 2022-2023 agenda planner also provides the classic DaySpring planner features, including durable laminated cover and tabs, lay-flat design with continuous spiral, an interior pocket page, and generous space for noting your plans. Because, friend, no matter what season of life you are in, prioritizing and planning helps make the most of your time.

You will be inspired by the beautiful monthly art spreads, weekly verses, and inspirational messages throughout. The notes section with lined pages will help you write down quick thoughts to come back to, the tear-out Scripture cards will encourage your heart, and there are even three pages of adorable stickers you can write on to help bring your planner some color and extra joy!

This is honestly my favorite planner — and my favorite design from (in)courage ever. It’s so beautiful! See more pictures, get all the details, and buy your planner here! Plan and walk through your days remembering that you are not alone. We are connected as co-heirs of Christ and daughters of the King!

And to remind you of this throughout 2022 and 2023, we’re giving away THREE (in)courage One Heart planners!

Just leave a comment on this article telling us about your experience with or love for paper planners. We’ll draw three lucky winners.

*Giveaway only open to US addresses and will close at 11:59pm on May 6, 2022.

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May Your Dreaming Be Like Breathing

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I remember where I was when I first realized that I loved to dream. Resting my head on the glass, I looked outside the window to see trees swaying and clouds undulating in the sky. It was on the way to school — all those early mornings going to and fro, from the bus stop to the front doors of my school’s brick building. No iPhones or AirPods in those days, just a clunky walkman and my case of CDs — Be Not Nobody by Vanessa Carlton, Human Clay by Creed, and Fallen by Evanescence.

Those mere thirty minutes of bumpy turbulence and teeth-chattering on the cold bus every morning were an exhale for me. I looked forward to them more than I did learning about isotopes in earth science, more than I did seeing my friends.

My heart came alive and my mind would awaken on that drive across counties, under tunnels, and through streetlights. It was a solace for me — a safe space for my ideas and dreams to come to life. I dreamed about the future and who I might become. I dreamed about the places I longed to go and the people I longed to love. I dreamed of a future filled with love and hope. I dreamed of redemption, of seeing restoration in the lives of those I loved.

All of those days on the bus, looping in and out of my neighborhood, in and out the streets from school to softball practice and back again, I didn’t know I was exercising hope. I was practicing my ability to think beyond what I could see, to believe in something better. 

I was coming to discover that the act of dreaming is a defiant escape from reality. Actually, dreaming is not simply a way to escape but rather a faithful way to exercise imagination.

But these days, dreaming doesn’t come so easy. I have emails to send, FaceTime calls with family to make, bills to pay, and doctor appointments to attend. My days are spent juggling my son and his questions, and my mind is filled with more doubt than curiosity, more cynicism than optimism, more hurt than hope. Dreaming comes especially hard on the days my health hits me the hardest, when I am bone-tired at best and can barely give my brain space to breathe, let alone dream.

I can’t help but wonder, Do you feel it too? It seems our lives (and even the lies we tell ourselves) keep us from dreaming, keep us from making space to practice imagining. We don’t set aside time to imagine, and we don’t give ourselves permission to dream. Imagining isn’t often a part of our daily lives — or our faith.

We get stuck in the mundane and the misery that surrounds us — so much so that we forget that imagination is the foundation to our faith. Faith invites us to envision and embrace a King and a kingdom we’ve yet to see with our eyes.

Perhaps, today, it would help to hear that you don’t have to fear what you’ve been told or taught about dreaming; dreams are not always untamed tangents that take you towards evil. 

And perhaps dreaming isn’t always about determination and direction or taking the next right step. Maybe dreaming is not always about deciding your destiny or unlocking your fate for the future.

Instead, think of dreaming more like breathing — a way to exhale, a way to keep life pumping in and out of your lungs. Could it be that the dreams that come to you while you wash the dishes are a way to work delight into your days? Might it be that these visions help you see your life and our world with an eternal perspective?

I no longer take bus rides to school, but I love looking out the window when I drive and dreaming about all God is doing in my life and in this world. I love taking breaks during the day to put on headphones and listen to music that awakens my mind to recall the greatness of our God. I need these moments — not only to make me feel good but to challenge my faith to grow.

So this is my hope for you: May you embrace your desire to dream and imagine like you embrace your need to breathe. May you see it as necessary and vital. When you wash dishes, I hope you dream. When you drive, I hope you dream. While you cook, I hope you dream. 

In the middle of the mundane, I hope you dream about your children and the foundation you’re setting for their future. I hope you imagine the way your love is laying down a legacy, brick by brick. I hope you dream about God’s kingdom here on earth and imagine the ways in which His light will break forth through the earth, bringing hope and healing.

May your dreaming be like breathing, and may you always remember that your breath is the very exhale of your praise and prayers to our very present and powerful God.

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Believing Against Hope That the Harvest Is Coming

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I’ve laid awake at night scrolling through decades of apologies I’ve needed to make — instances when I didn’t know the unintended pain I’d inflicted or when I didn’t understand someone’s silent suffering. With age, maturity, and hard-fought life lessons, there comes a new understanding of grief. It’s multi-faceted with layers of nuances we never imagined.

I started writing here at (in)courage when the youngest of our five children was in kindergarten. With a large family by choice, the pain of infertility was the farthest thing from my mind. In fact, my parents celebrate thirty grandchildren from only four kids. People joked that there must be something in our family water, and when our eldest son got married, he ran with it. He and his precious wife prepped me for the eight grandkids they’d give us right away.

I couldn’t wait. Our home has been the launching pad for some of God’s greatest missional work. And as I’ve made mothering decisions, it’s been with the knowledge that my parenting choices impact not only our own children but our children’s children. The covenant of family weaves legacy components, and now I had the honor of an additional generation.

But when our son and daughter-in-love found out they had a minute chance of having biological children, we were all devastated. Life changed. Dreams shifted. Future plans were instantly rearranged.

With hundreds of Bible verses addressing the blessing of children, they’d stepped forward offering their family and fertility to Him believing, “Behold, children are a heritage from the Lord, the fruit of the womb a reward. Like arrows in the hand of a warrior are the children of one’s youth. Blessed is the man who fills his quiver with them” (Psalm 127:3-5a).

So why couldn’t this Scripture be their story?

Infertility isn’t often addressed from a future grandmother’s point of view, but watching your beloved child be filled with such heartbreak and face closed doors is a pain for which I wasn’t prepared. While it’s not a cancer diagnosis or a devastating car accident, that diagnosis changed everything. Yet amidst such disappointment, the Lord has drawn me closer to Himself.

My empathy and sensitivity towards those suffering in silence has increased. One out of every eight women deal with infertility issues. Compound that with the pain that one out of every four women miscarry at some time in their motherhood journey, and we have vast ministry opportunities to encourage and support women at every gathering. For generations, these were topics not talked about amidst the “quilting bees” of life. Stunning statistics sat buried alongside hidden hopes for the future.

If you’ve previously walked this road or are presently pleading for God to expand your family whether as a mother or grandmother, I recognize the grief and exhaustion you’re carrying. On behalf of myself and others who didn’t understand the devastation before, I am so sorry for our insensitivity; I know it can be a lonely journey.

It’s been four years of holding our son and daughter-in-love’s sorrow near to my heart. I’ve wrestled hard with the Lord over this diagnosis and He’s okay with that. I’ll admit that I’ve even gotten a little judge-y, pointing fingers at others wondering, Why them and not us? My sin has bubbled up, yet He welcomes my questions, my cries, and even my dashed dreams. He lets me mourn and then reminds me that His Word will not return void. So as the months turned to years, we were invited to claim Galatians 6:9 as our pillar of hope:

“Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up.”

With that goal, I’ve decided to usher my heart of sadness into declarations of praise for the Lord’s faithfulness and to walk with those journeying through silent suffering. Does this change our kids’ prognosis? No. Are there still questions and uncertainty? Absolutely. But the same God who opens wombs closes them too, so we persevere and trust in His goodness. I choose to believe His promise of hope in a plentiful harvest because it will come at the Lord’s right and appointed time. I have no idea what that will look like, but I know that every embryo, every baby, and every child matters. And so I wait as God continues to write the story for my children.

While He delights in showing His power through miracles, my expectant prayers have shifted: Lord, please expand their family in any way which brings You the most glory. This is hard, but it’s all for You.

And shouldn’t that be our cry every day? With work or neighbors, family or friends?

Show me how to bring You the most glory, Lord. Every single choice is all for You.

Let’s not become weary in our wait. His harvest is coming.

 

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