Accepting Our Child the Way We Want Others to Accept Us

Accepting Our Child the Way We Want Others to Accept Us

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When my son Joshua was little, he was extremely shy and did not like big social settings, which included school events, fall festivals, Christmas parties, family reunions, Easter egg hunts, and neighborhood parades. In my mind, he didn’t like all the fun stuff.

When he was three years old, I dressed him up in a cute Hershey’s Kiss costume to wear to our church’s indoor fall festival. I envisioned taking lots of photos of him and his best buddy smiling and posing in front of the bales of hay. But instead, as soon as we walked through the gymnasium doors, Joshua clung to my leg like a koala bear. He refused to go play with the other kids and would barely say hi to his best friend.

I tried everything to get him to stop hiding behind my knees, but nothing worked. Chatting with other parents, I envied how their kids were jumping in the bounce house, chasing each other, comparing costumes, playing games, and posing for photos. I wanted Joshua to have fun, but I also started to feel a little embarrassed.

A few mom friends tried unsuccessfully to talk him into playing with their kids, and I got the impression some thought I should push him a little harder to socialize. And I wanted to walk around and see all the decorations and festivities without a little boy holding on to my leg for dear life.

It kills me to admit this now, but, in situations like that one, I wished my little boy was like other kids: talkative, outgoing, and playful with his peers. It wasn’t until I accepted Josh for exactly who and how God made him that I was able to get to know the unique ways he processes life (and crowds) and the depth of his heart, mind, and soul that brims with wisdom. You see that little boy became a teenager and eventually graduated from high school, moved out on his own and got married. He is now a young adult who I love hanging out with and who I frequently go to for advice and wise counsel.

God uniquely designed our children (friends, family members, neighbors, and co-workers) with unique preferences and individual personalities. Listen to how King David describes the intricacy of God’s creativity and the intimacy of His knowing us from head to toe:

You created my inmost being;
you knit me together in my mother’s womb.
I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
your works are wonderful,
I know that full well.
My frame was not hidden from you
when I was made in the secret place,
when I was woven together in the depths of the earth.
Your eyes saw my unformed body;
all the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be.
Psalm 139:13-18 (NIV)

Just like us, our children have a God-given longing to know their parents’ delight in them, quirks and qualms, as well as ideas and interests. There is no one whose approval and acceptance matter more to our children than ours.

Accepting our children is not always easy, especially if they don’t match what we expected or hoped for when we envisioned being a parent. It’s challenging when our children don’t have the same interests or personalities as we do, or when our hopes and expectations don’t fit into the way God created them. That is when we have to open our hands and let go of what we wanted, so we can get to know and enjoy the child God gave us.

I know this isn’t easy. It’s especially difficult to give our children acceptance and approval if we don’t offer ourselves the same. I’ve found that sincere and lasting acceptance for my children and for myself can only come from an overflow of finding my true worth from the One who created me.

God invites us to come to Him every day and to let Him remind our hearts of how He sees us and how much He cares about us, just like King David did. The more we receive God’s acceptance and believe His affirmation, the more we will have to give away.

Let’s look for and celebrate our children’s natural tendencies and unique traits. When we do, we will discover a child who makes the world a better place because they are in it!

Lord, I confess expectations have sometimes blinded me from seeing the unique way You created those I love. I want to not only accept my child and others but really delight in them. Teach me the language of approval and affirmation as I hear You speak it over me so that I can speak the same to them. Help me to slow down and see my children and others through Your eyes and cherish the unique way You made them and the interests You’ve given them. Amen.

This is an excerpt from Renee’s new book, A Confident Mom: Simple Ways to Give Your Child What They Need Most. If you’d like to know more about different personality traits and temperaments, Renee is giving away 3 copies of her book with a free personality resource on her website!

Breaking the Power of Shame by Telling Our Stories

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I didn’t know her, but I could tell she was having a panic attack. As soon as the flight took off, she began wiping her sweaty palms on her jeans. She tugged on her hoodie and pulled it down to cover her face as if she wanted to be invisible. She held her hands tightly together, every muscle in her body tense. The woman who sat next to her, her mother, placed her hand on the girl’s thigh and gently patted it. The girl quickly slapped her mom’s hand off her thigh, as if she didn’t want any attention drawn to her weak moment. She flung her upper body over her legs, with her head curled in underneath, but she couldn’t escape. No one can ever escape that moment when panic takes over and fear starts screaming in your ears, “You’re going to die!”

I couldn’t stop looking at this girl, because this girl was just like me. For me, anxiety isn’t triggered by flying but by driving on the highway. I don’t like talking about it so I just avoid it. The thing about a panic attack is I am aware of how irrational my fear is, but I can’t help but succumb to it. I want to snap out of this false narrative that my mind keeps telling me, but I feel so weak that I bow to its beating. I give up. I cry. I get angry at myself that I can’t do something that any sixteen-year-old child can do.

Growing up, I was involved in five car accidents, and I totaled three vehicles. Luckily, I walked away from all of them without a scratch on my body. But the last wreck traumatized me and left me with panic attacks, and I haven’t driven on a highway for over ten years.

A few years ago, I accidentally took a wrong turn and ended up on the highway. Luckily, I was on the phone with my husband. He was calmly trying to direct me off the highway, but once I felt the other cars speed past me, the panic attack hit me. I couldn’t hear him reassure me, like the girl slapping her mom’s hand off. I cut him off and screamed over and over, “I am going to die!” My hands shook, tears streamed down my face, and every muscle in my body was tight like I was in a fight. Somehow, I was able to take an exit and get off on the side road.

Along with the fear, shame comes with these panic attacks, and it often makes me want to hide and deal with it alone. A part of me feels like no one will understand because I myself don’t often understand it. It feels like something is wrong with me that I am just weak, yet I feel the pressure to carry it all on my own because of the shame.

This is what anxiety does. Anxiety makes me more aware of me — my weaknesses, struggles, and insecurities. But what if I didn’t allow panic attacks to push people away? What if instead of cutting my husband off on the phone, I let him speak truth into my mind until the negative thoughts faded? What if that girl on the plane held her mom’s hand instead of slapping it away? What if we realized our people are actually part of the cure to fight fear and shame?

Four years ago, I was asked to speak at a women’s retreat on the topic of shame. The Holy Spirit kept putting it in my heart to share about my panic attacks. After I shared, several women shared with me me how they also had similar histories with car accidents and how some suffered with panic attacks. I began to feel the shame slowly dissipate.

It is hard to share our stories and be vulnerable because relationships are complicated and people can hurt you and the enemy wants to us to hide in shame.

But we look at Jesus in His weakest moment, about to be arrested and crucified. Knowing His closest disciples have doubted him and were about to betray Him, deny Him, and leave Him in His greatest time of need, He still invites them into His pain: “My soul is very sorrowful, even to death; remain here, and watch with me” (Matthew 26:38 ESV).

Jesus sets a powerful example of vulnerability and walking with community in our struggles.

I still have panic attacks and avoid driving on highways, but anxiety’s power has diminished and I am no longer held captive by shame because I chose to share my story.

Friend, freedom is on the other side of vulnerability. You don’t have to hide or carry your burden alone. And you can choose to embrace the hand that wants to hold you during the hard moments of life.

You Can’t Air Fry Faithfulness

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It’s official: I’ve joined The Air Fryer Fan Club. My sister purchased me one of the appliances for Christmas. It’s miniature and mint-green and fits perfectly in the corner of my apartment kitchen. I got to work straightaway finding recipes on Pinterest. I’ve cooked all sorts of things in the last two months: garlicky shrimp, chicken satay, sweet potato fries, and a variety of other delicious, crispy vegetables. 

My favorite part? It hardly takes any time at all. For someone who isn’t the most patient person in the world, it’s the ideal cooking companion. 

I’ve been thinking a lot about faithfulness recently. It feels like there’s so much constantly vying for my attention, begging for my allegiance. But I earnestly want to be faithful to Jesus. I spent the month of January reading the Bible cover to cover with a few friends, about forty-ish chapters a day, and I saw similar themes throughout. One of them was how faithless humanity is; the other was how faithful our God is. Over and over, God called His people to be faithful to Him. And over and over, they gave in to worshiping other gods and idols.

We are easily wooed away from Jesus. I want to resist worshiping at another altar, and instead each day become more faithful to my Savior.

But unlike how quickly I can air fry my dinner, I can’t air fry faithfulness. ⁣⁣

⁣⁣Faithfulness is like cooking curry. It has to simmer on the stove in order for the spices to mix and mingle, in order for the coconut milk to thicken and froth, in order for the chicken and vegetables to steep in the spicy liquid. It’s long and slow.

Faithfulness is like compound interest. It starts slowly. You put a few dollars away each month, over and over, and decades later, you realize how much wealth you actually accrued. ⁣⁣

⁣⁣Faithfulness is like a garden. You plant seeds and add water, tilling the soil and praying something is happening underground. You can’t see how the roots are forming, how they’re plunging their spindling arms into the depth below, how they’re forming something solid and secure. You don’t see what’s forming in the dark — until one day a tiny shoot sprouts from the ground and grows slowly into something beautiful. ⁣⁣

⁣⁣Faithfulness isn’t flashy or splashy or dazzling. It’s perseverance and resilience and showing up day after day. It rarely feels like anything special, except that over time it amounts to something spectacular. ⁣⁣

Faithfulness doesn’t form overnight. It doesn’t catch a big break. It’s a few small decisions every single day. Over time, it becomes a rhythm. It becomes the way you live. ⁣⁣

What we do each day is who we become. ⁣⁣What we give our attention to is what or who we’ll ultimately worship. 

This idea of faithfulness isn’t meant to breed legalism or shame; it’s the opposite. It’s God pouring His grace onto every single one of us. 

I try each morning to spend time alone with Jesus. Some days, I sleep through my alarm. On those days, there is grace. Other days, I wake up early and hear God’s voice speaking to me in the quiet. On those days, there is grace. Other days, I come to my chair, exhausted and weary with nothing at all. On those days, there is grace.

When we practice habits that help us know Jesus better, it’s not about becoming an expert in those habits. It’s about knowing Jesus more intimately, loving Him more intensely, and following Him more closely. 

My spiritual director said recently, “Jesus has made a covenant with us, fully knowing that He is the strong one.” 

In this relationship of ours, Jesus is the strong one. He is the faithful one. His faithfulness is and always will be an overflow of grace.

Here’s to choosing faithfulness: the slow, steady, consistent, daily living that leads us closer to Jesus. 

I’ll leave the speed to my air fryer.

 

Listen to Aliza’s words below or wherever you stream pods.

The Sacred Work of Making Dumplings

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I stare at the random assortment of things that clutter our kitchen island and keep me from an open space for making dumplings. Mail, school permission slips, drawings made by our six-year-old, plants that need water, and the weight of my own exhaustion pull at my attention, begging me not to shove them aside into one heap. I set the papers and clutter in another spot close to our coffee maker and gently move the plants aside.

Filling, water-gluing, wrapping, and setting dumplings down in neat rows, while teaching little hands how to follow along, needs wide open space.

It’s already taken three trips to three different grocery stores to find the simple ingredients I need to make the mandu I grew up with. It is worth it, but it grieves me that it takes a lot more gas, time, energy, and money for some of us to keep, learn, rebuild, decolonize, and pass on the details of our ethnic heritage to our children.

I grew up watching and helping my mom make gun mandu (fried Korean dumplings). They are a family favorite. Like love notes patiently put together and hand-addressed, these dumplings are full of the flavors of my Korean heritage, and more specifically, of my umma — her stories hand-wrapped, fried in oil, and stuffed into our mouths with nourishing love. My mom would always take the first few, make sure they were cool enough, then walk around the kitchen, and shove them into our faces.

When I was younger in my faith, I thought my relationship with God was confined to reading the Bible and other specific activities deemed “official” by those who I believed knew more than me. They did know more about some things. But as I’m learning through the slow “years that ask questions and years that answer,” as Zora Neale Hurston perfectly penned in Their Eyes were Watching God, and my own spiritual midlife of sorts, there’s much more depth to intimacy with God than I ever imagined. I thought having a “quiet time” was more important than passing down the sense-oriented details of my heritage, but I was wrong. They are both important, and they work together because through them God expresses love with a depth and width we were born hungry for.

The work of tending to the inheritance we’ve been given in our ethnic heritage is something we are all created for.

I love the way John describes the community of believers in his vision of heaven. He specifically takes note of the diversity in what he sees:

“After this I saw a vast crowd, too great to count, from every nation and tribe and people and language, standing in front of the throne and before the Lamb” (Revelation 7:9).

His Holy Spirit-inspired writing calls direct attention to the diversity of skin color and language, and I feel hope for how our ethnic heritage will carry on beyond brokenness, working towards our collective redemption.

The word heritage comes from the word inheritance. An inheritance is a gift of importance — something to be treasured, not discarded or silenced. It is something to be tended to and kept with care. This doesn’t mean we have to keep every single, man-made cultural tradition. However, it does mean that we’ve been given unique treasures in our ethnic heritage that reflect the heart of God. When I think about the fact that God will keep our ethnicities visible in heaven, I understand how sacred the work of tending to and mending the expressions of our ethnic heritage is.

There’s holiness wrapped up into the folds of our ethnic heritage. The details of it are intentional gifts from God. But it also means that the work we have to do to keep some of those details alive, like ordering books by people like us or driving all over town and using up more than half a day for an ingredient list of five things, is also sacred. It’s work that’s full of joy, grief, and an aching weariness combined.

My daughter holds the flour covered dumpling wrapper in her small hand, lining the edges with water. Her face holds the wonder of being able to use her hands to create. Making mandu feels like sculpting, origami, finger-painting, and finding treasure all at once. I tell her about how her halmoni used to like to fold her dumplings a certain way, and how her Californian papa liked dipping his fried mandu in salsa. I remind her to look for holes along the edges where the wrapper hasn’t stuck. I feel God’s nearness as real as the hot oil dancing in the pan where I reach for the first finished dumpling and set it aside to cool, before stuffing it into my daughter’s mouth.

How do you see God in the details of your ethnic heritage?

 

Listen to Tasha’s words in the player below, or download wherever you stream podcasts.

Shouting to a Sky Full of Stars That We Matter

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Recently I watched a movie about a group of kids competing for the chance to have their voices recorded and sent into space through a NASA program. The contest wasn’t really the most important part of the movie, though a casual viewing might lead you to believe it was. More important to the characters and viewers alike was the way the kids grew in confidence and began believing their lives — their selves — were valuable.

Over the course of the movie, they transformed from kids (and some adults) who had so little self-worth that they were dismissive of and even angry at anyone who suggested who they were and what they did mattered to a bunch of free spirits shouting in a field, no longer caring who watched or what they thought.

With arms flung out and chins lifted up, they shouted to a sky full of stars: “I’m here! We’re here! Here I am! I’m HERE!”

Finally, after ninety minutes or so (and a lifetime, really) of being told in every way that

they were nobodies,
they were losers,
they didn’t matter,

they realized those were lies. And they slowly, together, began replacing those lies with the truth:

They were somebody who mattered.
They were winners simply by being themselves.
They mattered so much.

Anyone who knows me will not be surprised to learn that I sobbed during that scene. My tender heart and weepy eyes can barely make it through an Olympic commercial or Disney movie without an emotional breakdown, so of course this moving moment got me.

How many times have I believed that I don’t matter? That nobody sees me? That I’m too weird or too poor or too big or too messy or too slow or too loud or too quiet? How many times, for how many years, have I believed that just maybe nobody would care or even notice if I stopped showing up or just ran away forever?

So many times, for so many years.

Maybe you’ve believed some of those things too. But those things that keep our heads down and our hearts heavy and our hope squashed? They are all lies! Not one bit is true.

What’s true? The truth is that we absolutely matter. We are seen. We will never be too much of anything to not be loved exactly as we are.

That doesn’t mean this world or the people around us won’t try to convince us otherwise. But all we have to do is to turn back to the truth — God’s Word and all His promises — to remember who we are.

We are wonderfully made. (Psalm 139:14)
We are loved. (Isaiah 54:10)
We were created for a purpose. (Ephesians 2:10)
We are seen. (Matthew 10:29-31)

We don’t have to train and practice, travel and compete, or wait for someone else to tell us how much we’re worth. We can stand in a field and shout, “I’m here!” anytime. We can whisper it to ourselves when we forget who we are and Whose we are. We can throw off the judgment of every person and any lingering doubts, fling out our arms, or simply lift our heads and say it with conviction: “I’m here!” We can know every day that we are incredibly important to the One who matters most — the One who is both the Most High Almighty and our constant Friend, who never leaves us.

You’re here, and you matter.
You’re here, and I am so glad you are.
You’re here, and I see you.
But more importantly, God sees you.

Whether you shout or whisper, win or lose, God sees you, and He calls you His beloved child.

 

Listen to Mary’s words below, or download wherever you stream podcasts.

Getting Our Hearts Ready for Alleluias

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Yeah, we know. It was just Thanksgiving! Christmas! Valentine’s Day! And now, we have to get ready for Easter?! It’s all going too quickly. But friends, it’s also true that Easter will be here before we know it, and that next week begins the season of Lent — the forty days before Easter morning.

So, how are you preparing your heart for Easter?

It’s probably not a question you ask or hear very often. We prepare in other ways, right? We ask and answer questions about Easter dinner, searching recipes for ham and cheesy potatoes. We shop for Easter dresses and button-up shirts for our kids. On Ash Wednesday, we recognize the start of the Lenten season by imposing ashes on our foreheads as a reminder that we are made from dust and to dust we shall return. We may put up spring décor in our homes (even as the ground here in Minnesota remains frozen and snow-covered!).

But talking about and actively preparing our hearts for Easter? That’s harder to do than to decorate.

It’s different than preparing our hearts for Christmas. While we seep in the wonder of Christmas throughout the month of December, counting down the days with Advent calendars and devotionals, preparing for the glory of Easter is a little trickier. It seems easier to prepare our homes and menus and focus on our traditions instead.

Growing up, my family didn’t hold Easter traditions as tightly as the ones we held dear at Christmas time, mainly because of logistics. My mom was a church choir director and also a trumpet player. If you’ve attended Easter Sunday services at a traditional church, there’s a good chance there’s a choir singing their hearts out and a brass player or two trumpeting alleluias. My mom’s job was intense during the season of Lent, and on Easter Sunday, our day started before dawn with the sunrise service. (Side note: because we had to be at church so early on Easter, my mom cleverly set our Easter baskets right in our carseats! Wasn’t that so smart?)

With three tired kids in tow, our family traditions had to be flexible, so we held them loosely.

We spent several years joining precious family friends at their home for an egg hunt in their yard, followed by a beautiful meal around their table. One Easter when I was in college, a friend of mine from school couldn’t travel back home for the holiday, so he joined our family for the day as we enjoyed brunch at a stunning old mansion-turned-restaurant. I spent several Easter Sundays as a youth director running the youth group’s Easter brunch, bussing tables, refilling fruit salad, and overseeing the egg bake production line. Early in our marriage, we spent Easter with my husband’s family, traveling to be with them over the weekend. And now that my husband works at a church, we spend the morning there and the afternoon with my family.

Easter never quite looked the same for my family, and that actually became our tradition. Each year was a reflection of what was happening in our lives, and we were always ready for it. And yet, were our hearts ready for the return of alleluias on Easter Sunday?

Instead of relying on rituals and traditions to set the holiday apart from any other Sunday, I need to rely on the Holy Spirit to move and bring the awe that comes with a rolled-away stone. Because Easter isn’t just about one Sunday; it’s about the journey He took all the way to the cross. And it’s worth getting ready for.

This year I’ll go to church, hug my family, and miss those who can’t be with us. I’ll dress my boys in suspenders and my girls in patent leather shoes, bake a ham, and read the Easter gospel with tears in my eyes. We’ll resurrect our alleluias from the somber days of Lent.

And under it all, I’ll give thanks for a Savior who willingly died and who didn’t want to be apart from us for more than three days. And my heart will be ready for alleluia.

Here’s to the traditions we hold dear and the celebrations we hold loosely. Here’s to the imperfect tables we may set and the love of Jesus that brings us together. Here’s to getting our hearts ready for the joy of Easter.

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At (in)courage, we are a beautiful community of diverse voices and faith backgrounds, and we know everyone recognizes this season in a different way. These are a few ways we are preparing our hearts for the journey to Easter and to celebrate the resurrection of Christ:

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How will you get your heart ready for Easter this year?

 

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

When Showing Up for Others Brings Great Joy

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This past month, I had two dear friends, Angie and Kristy, who had the privilege of speaking at a couple of churches. Angie’s event was an hour away from Baton Rouge, and Kristy’s was about thirty minutes away. Neither was a far distance from me, so when I found out about them speaking, I knew I wanted to be there.

Angie and Kristy have both walked through a great deal of loss, but the Lord has brought forth sweet ministries that bring hope and healing to others out of their grief. After their events ended, they were so grateful I had come to support them. But I could also sense a bit of disbelief that I had even wanted to come and listen to them teach.

I began to ponder why we can sometimes feel unworthy of someone championing us. Why are we amazed that someone would show up for us?

I don’t know that I have any answers, but what I do know is that it has never occurred to me to not show up. I actually count it one of my greatest joys to show up for my friends and to cheer wildly for them.

Angie even asked me if I felt a calling to cheerlead and intercede for people. Though I’ve never thought about it in those terms before, I do feel that calling very deeply. But I also think that every believer is called to encourage and intercede for others on some level.

Society has us believing that we must be individualistic and isolated, but our role in each other’s lives as seen in Scripture is for us to be brothers and sisters in Christ. We are family in the most important ways, and families are intimately involved with one another.

In my Bible, the heading title before Romans 12:9-21 says “Behave Like a Christian.” Those verses talk about love in action, and that’s exactly what it means to be a believer in Christ. We get to speak hope into each other’s sorrows and grief. We sit. We listen. We cry together. We speak words of encouragement. We also get to delight in the ways that God blesses others. We praise. We give thanks. We celebrate. We cheer.

Further, in Galatians 6:2, it says that we are called to “carry each other’s burdens, and in this way [we] will fulfill the law of Christ.” This is a high calling and not for the faint of heart. This calling comes at a cost as we bear each other’s heavy loads with hope and joy. It is not always convenient or easy or desired, but we do it out of obedience to God’s Word and out of love for Him and others.

With the state of the world such as it is, I’ve never been more convinced of just how much we need the body of Christ. We need encouragement and love and wisdom from one another. We need fellowship and intimacy with each other. And we need to build each other up in prayer and faith.

Thankfully, we are not alone in this life. We were created for community. So when we feel weak, the body of Christ is there to hold us up and strengthen us. We get to give and serve, pray and sacrifice for one another, and show up and cheer each other on.

In this, we fulfill God’s beautiful plan for His children when we come together. Bearing witness to the work of God in and through others will always bring me great joy, and my prayer is that we would all embrace this calling and experience how God moves powerfully in each other’s lives. 

Listen to Karina’s words below or download wherever you listen to podcasts!

How Catching My Hair on Fire Taught Me About God’s Love

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When I was seven, I caught my hair on fire. You don’t forget a thing like that. The frantic, panicked moment of realization. My little-girl worry I’d get in trouble. The foul, odious scent.

Our glitzy Christmas candles skirted in silky poinsettias would demand anyone’s attention but especially a little girl’s, whose favorite color was red and who loved the sparkle of rhinestones. Sitting on a coffee table well within reach, their allure was irresistible. It didn’t help that I knew where Mama hid her matches — in the top right drawer of the marble top sideboard.

So one day when no one was around, temptation got the best of me.

I could barely contain my excitement as I pinched the tiny, flaming magic wand, lighting the candle closest to me first — an unfortunate, amateur’s mistake. To light the second, I leaned across the table and over the flickering candle.

I don’t recall a flame alerting me to the danger I was in, only the smell. Nothing in the world smells like burnt hair.

Terrified, I recoiled and clapped my hair to snuff out the flame. Thanks to God’s apparent mercy towards wayward children, I wasn’t burned. I regained my composure, blew out the candle, and ran to the bathroom to survey the damage. You can imagine my relief to discover my hair was barely singed; I had expected to be half bald.

Surely, Mama would find out, I thought. I might’ve been a kid, but I had lived long enough to believe moms had eyes in the backs of their heads. When my imagination ran wild, I also suspected spiteful, little fairies tattling on us.

The greater tragedy may have been averted that day, but there were consequences to my transgression: the weighty guilt of knowing I had done something wrong. For days, I lugged around a thousand pounds of worry, wondering when I would have to face Mama’s disappointment and anger followed by a spanking — or worse, TV restriction. I kept a distance the best I could, and I didn’t feel worthy of her goodnight kisses or frequent hugs.

If Mama knew what I had done, she never confronted me. I may not have gotten in trouble, but I knew there was fallout. My candle-lighting fiasco had created a schism in our relationship.

But the days turned into weeks, and eventually, I stopped worrying about getting caught. The burden of guilt lifted.

I often think about this story when I’m decorating our home at Christmastime, and the memory usually surfaces whenever I’m lighting more than a single candle. Lesson learned the hard way: Always start with the one farthest from you.

Obviously, this event left an indelible impression on me, and through it, an appreciation was cultivated for how Eve and Adam must’ve felt in the Garden of Eden. Up until their fall, they enjoyed a sweet relationship with God, in perfect harmony with Him and one another. But as soon as they took temptation’s bait, guilt, fear, and regret took root. Their relationship with each other withered, and walls of shame and blame sprouted, sending them into hiding behind leaves.

When I played with fire, I might not have literally gotten burned, but figuratively my heart was scorched. The guilt of my sin and the fear of getting caught made me want to hide too.

I loved my mother more than anyone else, and as a middle child and born pleaser, I always tried my best to be good, especially because she was sick. Whenever I got in trouble, all I wanted was for us to be reconciled, to earn back her favor. I knew she’d never stop loving me, but when I did something wrong, it got in between us until things were made right, until a consequence was paid.

Was that what it was like for Adam and Eve?

When God confronted the couple, they behaved like children. Both played victim and assigned blame elsewhere. Both suffered painful consequences as a result of their sin. But let’s not miss the most important part of their story: Despite their disobedience, God never stopped loving them.

This incredible truth applies to you and me too, friends. Despite our disobedience, God never stops loving us either. Sin may separate us from relationship with God temporarily, but it can never separate us from His love. True, there are consequences to our sin, but God always makes a way for reconciliation and restoration.

In the Garden, God demonstrated His love for Adam and Eve by pursuing and providing for them after they sinned. He hinted at His future plan for restoration and redemption when He declared the serpent’s offspring would be crushed by Eve’s descendent — whom we know is Jesus (Genesis 3:15).

And isn’t this essentially the good news of the gospel — that God pursues us and provides for us? In Luke 19:10, Jesus says, “For the Son of Man came to seek and to save the lost.” Later, in Romans 5:8, Paul offers an incredible assurance: “God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” Only when we were lost and mired in sin were we in the perfect position to be rescued by God!

It wasn’t a surprise to God when Adam and Eve sinned, and it’s no surprise to Him when we sin either. He loves us so much that He provided a way — the Way, Jesus — to be reconciled to Him and restore our relationship forever. Because of Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection, we have hope, peace, forgiveness, and a love that doesn’t just cover a multitude of sins; it covers them all — past, present, and future.

Thankfully, you don’t have to catch your hair on fire to learn this. But even if you do, it wouldn’t be the first time God revealed Himself through a flame!

What if We Chose to Be for One Another?

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Shelves and screws and seemingly random pieces of what would eventually become a wooden cabinet covered the living room floor. It was somewhere around step thirty-one that I knew without a doubt: This was a two-person job. Four hands were needed to ensure the boards would be flush against one another, held securely while dozens of nails were carefully hammered into place.

The half-built cabinet sat in the middle of the room for a few days, waiting for a window of time when both my roommate and I could work on it together. A day or two before our schedules aligned, a close friend called to ask a question that momentarily took my breath away.

“This is kind of awkward,” she stammered, “but I have several single friends that I want to love well and I’m just not sure how to do that. I’m worried that if I ask questions related to singleness, I’ll make them feel sad or I’ll say the wrong thing, so I usually don’t ask anything. But I’m realizing that might seem like I don’t even care. And I really do care. How can I love you and other single people well?”⁣

I froze in place for a moment, touched by her kindness. Until that afternoon, I had never been asked that question by a married friend. What she thought might be awkward was incredibly appreciated. I didn’t feel sad; I felt seen.

I paused and then slowly said, “You know how you think of your husband and kids in one hundred small ways throughout the day? Well, regular life reminds me that it’s just me. Not always in a sad or lonely way, but just . . . practically. This morning I wanted a hug, but no one is here. I’ve had a migraine for three days and for a moment wished there was someone to take care of me, or even just help make dinner. I heated leftovers, which is the norm because most recipes aren’t made for one. I walked by the half-built cabinet and wondered how I’d lift/drag/push it against the wall on my own. Each of these were here and then gone, not sad — just the reality of this particular day. I share because I want you to know: Life will remind me that I’m single; you reaching out reminds me I’m not alone.“⁣

I walked back into the living room, phone in my hand as I dodged the random bits and pieces still piled on the floor. We talked a little while longer, thoughtfully asking and honestly answering questions that helped build an even stronger friendship.

A few days later, I snapped a photo right before securing the last two shelves. Our conversation was still fresh on my mind, and I decided to share part of it on Instagram, along with a handful of questions to ask your single friends when you want to love them well but aren’t sure what to say. In over a decade of writing online, it’s my most-saved post. I’m blinking back tears just staring at that sentence because to me, it means precisely one thing: We really and truly care about one another. We may not know what to say, when to say it, or how to best show up for our friends, but our hearts are for one another.

Sometimes it seems like we’re more divided than ever before, but perhaps most of our thoughtful conversations and gently asked questions are spoken in person. After all, the good, hard, beautiful, generous, and kind work of reaching out, listening, and showing up for people often happens away from the screen. It’s a bit quieter, and sometimes it’s uncomfortable and messy, but I see it in hands building a cabinet together, in women saving a list of questions because they want to love their single friends well, in a phone call from a friend who chose to reach out, opening the door to a conversation that brought us closer together.

Being for each other might just be the best gift we can give one another.

At the end of the day — whether happily single, desiring marriage, dating, widowed, divorced, married, or engaged — it’s true of every single one of us: We all just want to be seen, known, wanted and loved.

Months have passed, seasons have changed, and we’ve talked about one thousand other things since. But this morning I walked by the vase of Valentine’s Day flowers I bought myself, the pop of color and life sitting atop the cabinet, and I smiled. Because while it’s true that being single can be incredibly lonely at times, the cabinet is still standing, built with two sets of hands, a reminder that even when it’s just me, I’m not truly alone.

“Better together” is a catchy phrase, a cheesy cliché, and a popular hashtag. But it’s also the truth. From the very beginning of time, the Three-in-One has shown us that community matters. May we live and love like it’s true.

P.S. Dear married friends, all those things you think aren’t a big deal — the invitation to come over for family dinner, the Christmas card in the mail, the random “Just thinking of you!” text — they matter more than you’ll ever know. Your kind questions, your genuine care, and most of all your friendship mean the actual world. Thank you!

The Risk and Gift of Being Honest About Anxiety

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I put my hand on my husband’s heart.

“It’s like there is an engine in my chest. And it’s revving, revving, revving for no reason. That’s what this anxiety feels like.”

His look of confusion didn’t really change.

“So even if my mind is fine, even if I know I’m okay and I’m not worried or stressed about anything in particular, my body is still being flooded with all this unnecessary energy. And then the sensations in my body try to tell my mind that I’m not okay. This battle to keep my mind and spirit calm and focused on what is true while the engine in my chest keeps spinning and roaring — well, it’s exhausting.”

I leaned my head on Chris’s shoulder and tried to slow my breathing.

My husband and I don’t speak the same emotional language. Mine has a lot of words; his, not so much. We also have trouble communicating about mental health. It’s another language rooted in experience I’ve had a crash course in since being diagnosed with clinical anxiety seven years ago — a language I wish that I and others close to me would have had decades ago because I’m pretty sure this has been a life-long struggle. Even though my husband loves me and wants to support me, it’s hard for him to understand me. So when my anxiety recently flared, seemingly out of nowhere, I grappled yet again over how to explain it.

It feels strange to say this, but that image of a car engine inside my chest feels like God’s grace. It’s His mercy — His ever-present help in times of trouble — that becomes everyday real when He meets my real need with His creative wisdom.

I’ve tried a hundred different ways to put my anxiety into words. It’s not the same as worry or stress. It’s not trying to control a situation or merely fixating on a problem. It’s a physiological experience. Like coffee jitters in my heart. Like the mental swirl of a dozen waking dreams that you can’t escape. An outer calm with an inner chaos. Like an exposed nerve that viscerally reacts when it touches something too hot or too cold.

I can’t tell my husband to just Google anxiety because no single definition or description can aptly capture an individual’s experience. Mental illness is a nuanced beast that attacks every person differently. I have a friend whose arm gets itchy when her anxiety flares. Another friend gets a migraine. Someone else I know gets mentally stuck in every worst-case scenario.

The unique manifestations of mental illness can make it a very lonely experience.

Am I making this up? Should I just keep it to myself? Should I try to ignore it and move on?

The internal battle is real. But here’s what I’ve learned: It’s worth it to push through the pain, fear, and awkwardness to tell someone how you really feel.

It’s actually God’s grace that I would even ask Him for help in putting my anxiety into words. For years I believed it was better to hide, deny, or defend my feelings. It felt safer to self-protect rather than open up my vulnerable heart and hurting mind to the chance of being misunderstood. And it’s a very real possibility, right? I’m sure it’s happened to you too. Others can minimize your feelings, dismiss your experience, give poor advice, or tell you to just get over it.

Even so, there is power in bringing our struggles out of the darkness of isolation and into the light of shared experience.

When I refuse to hide, I open myself to the light. Shame can’t live in the light. Fear doesn’t grow in the light. Freedom and growth and truth are songs of the light — songs that someone else needs to hear.

So I stand in my kitchen resting my head on my husband’s chest as morning light streams through the smudged window, and I know that God sees me. No inner darkness can hide me; His Word will guide me.

And I remind myself that my revving engine chest does not disqualify me from receiving God’s promises.

I whisper the words written on my heart: “May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit” (Romans 15:13).

I trust you, Lord. I trust you.

My heart races on for the moment, but I know that I am held and loved. And so are you.

 

Listen to Becky’s words below or on your favorite podcast player!

Teaching Our Kids to Welcome Others In

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I’m willing to bet that, like me, you don’t have to reach too far into your memory to recall a time you stared down a middle school lunchroom situation. Whether you were thirteen or thirty-three or sixty-five, you’ve been in a set of circumstances that asked you to strike the balance of being a new person in an established group while doing your level best to not look like you’re 100% aware of that fact. It’s a hard place to be, yes. And if you’re a parent or have beloved children — big or small — in your life, it’s even harder to witness those precious kiddos going through the same thing.

When I think back to the times when my own children, military brats who’ve been the new kids more than once, struggled to break into a circle, I remember their own discouragement — and my maddening frustration.

I can tell you where I was driving when one child mentioned introducing himself to others in a new class only to be ignored.

I can tell you what dinner I stirred when another child returned home early from visiting a brand new youth group because the kids had laughed at her for moving too slowly in a game.

Of course, it’s always possible to catch a person or group on an off day, and we always encourage our kids to never give up over a single, less-than-stellar interaction. But when the new kid repeatedly gets up the gumption to introduce him or herself, to try to make their way into a new group, only to be met with a lackluster response? Well, it stirs up some feelings.

When I think back to my own school years, in particular my high school years, I’m embarrassed to say I don’t remember intentionally seeking out the new kids myself. I lived in the same town my whole life, and by and large, friends were always there. Since I had my people, I remained blind to those who didn’t.

It wasn’t till I married my US Air Force man and moved across the country to a state where I knew no one that I received my first taste of what it’s like to be on the outside in a more sharply defined way. Furthermore, watching my kids go through frequent school transitions removed that blindspot for good.

I talk with friends who can relate about watching our kids light up like megawatt bulbs when someone breaks open the circle to let them in. And how the opposite can be so dark and discouraging. While our kids have formed meaningful friendships in a variety of places and circumstances, there were times when they couldn’t because everyone in the group had their people — and the people weren’t interested in new people.

Of course, we all have limited bandwidth and can’t be good friends with everyone we meet. But with a new person here or there? We have more bandwidth than we may think. Jesus had His longtime friends, yes. But He always kept His eyes and heart open to welcome new people in as well. Perhaps the Lord is asking us to welcome someone new into our lives or be a bridge between a new person and someone else we know.

But for that to happen, we must accept this reality:

To do as Jesus did, we must be okay — and teach our kids to be okay — with stepping away from the circle, momentarily placing ourselves on the outside so we can reach someone else on the outside. Will it feel awkward? Oh yes. But like with anything, the more you practice it, the easier it gets to welcome others in. The more you practice it, the more you’ll find it’s worth the awkward.

Let’s keep encouraging our kids to persevere as they find their place and people. If that’s your child today, know I’m praying that God would put a local Jesus-loving friend on the path who sees your child as the gem he or she is. Remember that if Jesus had His friends, He desires our kids and the rest of us to have friends too. I know it’s painful to watch our children struggle to find their people within a particular setting. But in the struggle will come growth and maturity. With those good qualities, God will surely form our kids’ hearts to see those on the outside and be inclined to welcome them in as well.

And if our kids do have their place and people, let’s honestly evaluate if we can do better by teaching them to cast their nets wider. In the process, may we both mention and model the importance of stepping outside of our circles, offering the hand of friendship to someone new, and welcoming them in.

For more encouragement in your journey to belonging, check out Kristen’s book, Back Roads to Belonging: Unexpected Paths to Finding Your Place and Your People.

 

Listen to Kristen’s words on the player below or wherever you stream podcasts!

Love Is the Catalyst for Courage

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Penny was the runt, the smallest kid on the playground in a new place to call home. We had landed in this unfamiliar Michigan town just three days prior, both grieving over what we’d lost and longing for what we knew. But this day at the playground promised to bring reprieve for our hurting hearts.

We got there early and planted ourselves close to the swirly green slide. My girl loves a swirly slide, especially if it’s green. Up she went and down she came, over and over again until I heard the familiar “Mama, help” from my curly-headed toddler whose legs were too tired to climb up the fortress once more. So up I went and down I came, over and over again until she regained her strength and independence.

That’s about when all the other kids descended upon her solitary playtime. Penny was halfway up the wooden stairs when two excited peers barreled past her on their way to the top. My girl stood frozen, clinging to a post in wide-eyed terror. She silently crouched down in an attempt to make herself invisible to the flurry of energy buzzing by.

As soon as the coast was clear, she called out with tears streaming down her face. Still crouched in her corner spot, I swooped her up and carried her to a nearby bench. We snuggled for a bit, then I knelt down and peered into her glassy eyes. “Penny, I know that was scary, but you can be brave because Mama will be right here.” Then her little hand squeezed mine as she responded, “Okay, Mama,” just before running off to conquer the swirly green slide once again.

That’s when it hit me: Courage is derived from connection.

Loneliness doesn’t lend itself to bravery, but love has always been a catalyst for courage. It’s why a Roman soldier risked his reputation to ask Jesus to heal a servant (Luke 7:1-10). It’s why a group of men tore a hole in the roof of someone else’s property and lowered down their paralyzed friend on a mat (Luke 5:18-26). It’s why Peter walked on water (Matthew 14:22-29). It’s why Jesus gave up His life (Matthew 27:32-56).

Belonging begets bravery.

For the longest time, I didn’t think I belonged anywhere or to anyone. Isn’t that the enemy’s favorite tactic? We are more easily discouraged and defeated when we’re made to feel alone. The power of community is that it infuses courage to show up for the life God has given us, so the enemy knows deterrence begins with isolation.

There’s a woman in the Bible who experienced this dichotomy firsthand. She was a Samaritan, despised by Jews, but more than that, she was ostracized by her own people. Her lack of connection colored the way she walked through the world. John 4:6 tells us she traveled to the community well to get water at noon, which would have been unusual since it’s also the hottest time of day. This was strategic for her, though, since the morning rush meant hushed voices and disapproving glances. She did not belong, and she knew it.

You can imagine her trepidation when a Jewish man named Jesus began to strike up a conversation with her. She knew her reputation around town, and she knew the racial tension that existed between Jews and Samaritans. Surely this would not end well.

Like He always did, Jesus broke down the racial and gender barriers to connection. He painted a picture of belonging, the very thing she needed to unlock a life of freedom. Belonging to the Messiah changed everything for this Samaritan woman. Instead of avoiding community, she ran to it. Instead of shutting others out, she invited them in. Instead of sitting on the side lines, she showed up for her life. Belonging made her brave.

It did the same for me too.

Community isn’t tidy, and I have rarely walked away unscathed, but the courage it gives has shed light on the devil’s lies. Now, as I raise my own daughter, I want her to watch me choose connection over isolation. I want her to see me step toward those who are different than me, to watch me elevate the ostracized, to hear me offer belonging that makes people brave. And because courage is contagious, she’ll show up for people too.

If you can’t have courage without connection, then connection will be my legacy.

This article was written by Maggie Johnson in February 2020.

 

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

Empowered to Be Strong + a Launch Day Giveaway!

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Do not fear, for I am with you;
do not be afraid, for I am your God.
I will strengthen you; I will help you;
I will hold on to you with my righteous right hand.
Isaiah 41:10 (CSB)

Like millions of moviegoers, I love superhero stories. In particular, I’ve enjoyed watching (repeatedly) Wonder Woman and Captain Marvel. Certainly, it’s fun to cheer for these women as they take on villains and emerge victorious, especially when we’re used to seeing mostly men in such heroic roles. But what moves me most is the moment when each of these superheroes steps into her power and realizes her role in the supernatural war being fought.

In Wonder Woman, we see Diana climb out of the trenches, intent on helping those in need, and then walk through a storm of bullets to allow her team to advance safely behind her. As she plants her feet and holds up her shield for cover, the music swells and she doesn’t say a word. We don’t know what’s going through her mind as bullets rain down on her and she’s attacked by what feels like an endless amount of ammunition. We hear the music and watch her take hit after hit, and we see her standing strong the whole time.

In Captain Marvel, when Carol Danvers faces down her biggest opponent, it happens within her subconscious. For much of this internal battle, we see her sitting on the floor, restrained and unmoving. Those observing her from the outside have no idea of the war raging in her mind as the enemy tries to thwart her efforts to save entire worlds.

In both stories, these supernaturally strong women are fighting battles that we cannot fully comprehend. In both stories, they are only able to defeat their enemies after ignoring their team’s advice to stand down or their enemy’s taunting to give up. They are victorious only by unleashing the inner strength and power they had been given.

Now, you and I are not superheroes. Obviously I know that, no matter how many times I’ve watched those movies. However, I do think we have a lot in common with Wonder Woman and Captain Marvel.

How many times have you fought a battle that nobody else could see? How many times have you been under siege and on the verge of collapsing while standing strong on the outside? How many times have you looked at the challenge in front of you and been told, “You can’t do it”? How many times have you taken stock of your situation and told yourself that?

“I can’t do this.”

How often have I whispered, shouted, cried those words? I’ve lost count. I’m sure God knows, though, how many times I’ve realized that I cannot bear the burdens of the world or even just those that affect me personally. I trust that God knows every single time I’m fighting a war, even if nobody else notices.

So many of us are fighting battles that nobody else knows about. Addiction. Abuse. Chronic pain. Crippling debt. Anxiety. Struggles with our kids, our marriages, our friendships, our careers, our churches. We go to war alone, exhausted, and relying solely on our own strength.

No wonder we feel like giving up and shouting, “I can’t do this!”

The good news is that while we are never going to become superheroes, we are given supernatural strength by God. He never asks us to be strong enough to fight every battle — or any battle! Instead, He promises to be with us, to help us and protect us, and to give us the strength we need.

No matter what challenge you’re facing today, you aren’t facing it alone. And you don’t have to do it on your own. Ask God to give you strength, and do not be afraid, for He is your God.

Heavenly Father, I’m not a superhero, and I need Your help. This thing I’m facing is too much, and I can’t handle it on my own. I can’t do this. Please give me strength to face the struggle, to fight what I need to fight, and to rely on You through it all. In Jesus’s name, amen.

Reflect:

  • What battle are you fighting that might be invisible to most people?
  • How are you asking God to stand with you and give you strength?
Empowered to Be Strong was written by Mary Carver as published in Empowered: More of Him for All of You.

Ever feel like you’re both not enough and too much, at the same time? Wonder why ‘you go girl’ statements feel good for a minute, then fizzle? Us too. . . so we wrote a book about where our empowerment really comes from.

Empowered: More of Him for All of You, by Mary Carver, Grace P. Cho, and Anna E. Rendell includes sixty Scripture passages and devotions that invite you to see from different angles how God empowers us, and each ends with prayer and reflection questions to deepen your learning.

Empowered: More of Him for All of You is unlike any other book we’ve ever written at (in)courage, and it’s available today!

We’re celebrating this super special devotional with a major giveaway. Leave a comment telling us which devotion title speaks to your heart (sign up below to get the table of contents + five sample devos or see them on Amazon), and you’ll be entered to win this empowered gift bundle!

We’re celebrating this book, yes, yet really we’re celebrating our Maker and the way He made us to flourish in the Spirit. 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.

Sign up today and we’ll send you five FREE devotions from Empowered!

 

Listen to today’s article below or on your favorite podcast player and catch up on the bonus Empowered episodes too!

A Love Beyond the Pink and Red Hearts

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Valentine’s Day can stir up so many memories, both good and bad, hopeful and disappointing, meaningful and forgettable.

Back in grade school, we would get to go all out and decorate our own card boxes, which I always thought was just the best. Then we would walk around the classroom and put our sweet Valentine cards into each person’s box, secretly hoping to get one from someone extra special. It was so much fun to look at each card.

In high school, just a simple card was no longer enough. Valentine’s Day was turned into elaborate shows of affection. Deliveries were made throughout the day, and we would wait to see if our name would be called to come to the office for something after school. Chocolates, balloons, stuffed animals, and flowers would line the office floors, and everyone thought you were so special and lucky and loved if your name was called to have a special Valentine to take home.

My high school boyfriends always joined in the show, and I felt so bad for the disappointed hearts that day — the ones who’d wished they had received that extra show of love. Looking back, I know that just because you got the big, showy Valentine’s gift delivered to school for everyone to see, it didn’t mean you had a great love and a perfect relationship. That just wasn’t the truth.

Then there’s Valentine’s Day as a married couple. Women often see amazing, grand gestures splashed across social media or displayed in romantic movies. We might think that our husbands should be doing the same things or that they’re not romantic enough. First off, we don’t know what’s really happening behind closed doors in the marriage of the woman who’s posting all the over-the-top things her husband did for her on Valentine’s Day. Second, romantic movies are just that — movies, written to sound and look perfect. And third, our husbands often might show their love in other ways.

From grade school to high school through marriage, I see a continuing thread: We just want to be wanted. We want to feel wanted. We want to be shown that we are wanted. It’s more than just the feeling of being wanted by a crush, a boyfriend, or a husband. We also want to feel wanted by others — by friends, a team, a group. And when we aren’t, we feel disappointed or less than.

In reality, no human can fill the love gap in our hearts. All of us are broken, with imperfections, flaws, and shortcomings. But the One who can truly fill us, the One who’s always wanted us is God.

See what great love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! And that is what we are!
1 John 3:1 (NIV)

We are wanted. We belong. We are loved. We are His. He loves us deeper and wider than any human can comprehend, and we are part of the greatest love story every created.

It’s a love that goes beyond all the pink and red heart-shaped boxes, chocolates, flowers, wooing, or whatever other ideal we have in mind for Valentine’s Day. Those things will never satisfy even though we think they will in the moment.

Nothing in this world will compare to the demonstration of love Christ showed for us on the cross.

Friends, we belong to Love Himself. Delight and rejoice today in the truth that you are fully, unconditionally, and eternally loved by a man — by a God — who gave His life for you. What we have longed for all along, we already have in Him.

For I am sure that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.
Romans 8:38-39 (ESV)

 

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

Reassurance When God’s Pace Feels Slow

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Confession: Some of the worst moments of my life have happened while I was going too fast.

I’m not talking about the speeding tickets — there have been a few — or the time, in my typical rush, I knocked the water glass to the floor, shattering it into a thousand pieces. I’m talking about bigger things — the way that, in a hurry, I have cut short meaningful conversations with people who needed me to listen or the times when I have rushed my kids or shut someone down with my body language, all because I was running behind.

I was at my worst when I was a young mom. I would fantasize about how I might be able to coordinate the kids’ naps for just forty-five minutes so I could squeeze in some work — as if those forty-five minutes were the real work I was called to do.

People have this romantic idea that because we live on a farm, our lives are slower paced. But the truth is — like almost everyone I know — we succumb to the enchantments of faster, bigger, stronger too.

Our culture has trained us to want quick fixes. It seems everyone is selling a faster way to grow your business, lose weight, make a buck. We get tempted to order life around hustle and achievement, which leaves us anxious, weary, and tense. These are the symptoms of what I call “a hurried heart.”

There is no pill or magic cure to fix a hurried heart. The cure is “an inside job.” And that cure starts here: by making a commitment to a life of growing slow.

When I examine the Biblical narrative, I find the courage to take a growing-slow approach to life. The Bible is a story unfolding slowly as God’s people move through times and places to experience His faithfulness.

God’s seeming slowness exasperates people. The Israelites’ journey from the wilderness to the promised land, for instance, must have felt like forever. And then the people had to wait many generations for the promised Messiah to come. When Jesus did arrive, He lived an unrushed, unhurried pace — walking from village to village, taking the time to heal, listen, and teach. But Jesus didn’t always show up when and where people wanted Him to, and that caused frustration.

Think on this for a moment: The Biblical story isn’t even over yet! There’s a big part of the story we are still waiting for — the second coming of Christ. But even that kind of slowness is for our benefit. “The Lord is not slow in keeping his promise, as some understand slowness. Instead he is patient with you, not wanting anyone to perish, but everyone to come to repentance” (2 Peter 3:9 NLT).

This is the way of our Lord — slow, steady, unhurried. Just as He led the Israelites to the promised land, He is leading you. There’s a fascinating story in Scripture that gives me comfort when I don’t instantaneously see results in my life.

In the story, the Israelites have been delivered from slavery. They are in the wilderness on their way to the promised land. God explained to them how He would drive out the Hivites, Canaanites, Hittities, and others to make way for the Israelites to claim their promised land.

“I will not drive them out in a single year, because the land would become desolate and the wild animals too numerous for you. Little by little I will drive them out before you, until you have increased enough to take possession of the land” (Exodus 23:29-30 NIV, emphasis added).

God could have given them the land all at once. But He knew a better way: little by little.

Take a look at those verses again. Notice the apparent consequence of giving over the land all at once: “ . . . the land would become desolate and the wild animals too numerous for you.”

“Little by little” is how God chooses to roll sometimes. And that might be for our own good.

You are likely eager to jump into your promised land right now. You may feel impatient. But get a little quiet. Go a little slower. God knows what He’s doing. He’s moving you forward, little by little.

Dear Lord,

I confess that I am sometimes in a hurry and don’t like to wait for Your hand to move. Your Word says that You are not slow in keeping Your promises, as some understand slowness. Help me to live in the promise that You will move things forward in Your will, in Your way, and in Your timing. In Jesus’ name, Amen.

—

We love what Jennifer Dukes Lee writes about in her latest Bible study, The Growing Slow Bible Study: A 6-Week Guided Journey to Un-Hurrying Your Heart, which is excerpted here today. In this study, she helps you:

· gain the courage to slow down and enjoy your life
· uncover surprising truths that will help you grow, even in difficult seasons
· lay down burdens you’ve been carrying and receive God’s healing
· find value in the good things you are already growing.

Order your copy today and enter to WIN a copy! To encourage you to live a life of growing slow, we’re giving away FIVE copies of Jennifer’s Bible study book! Leave a comment telling us one way you want to commit to slowing your life down.

Then join Becky Keife and Jennifer for a chat all about the Growing Slow Bible Study! Tune in tomorrow on our Facebook page at 11am central for their conversation.

Giveaway open to US addresses only and closes on 2/16/22 at 11:59pm central.

When the Symptoms Reveal Something Deeper Within

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In January, I made it super clear to myself that I wanted to reflect on the past year — which honestly meant reflecting on the last two years because it’s all been a blur. I didn’t feel ready or emotionally sturdy enough to make actual goals, but I knew I could look at actions from the last year that were fruitful and ones that weren’t.

Some of the reflection time came in the form of a move in December (of all months!). We had bins unopened from the last move, items in drawers that served no purpose, droves of clothing the kids had outgrown and could be given away. All my collecting had to be undone, and it was really annoying and uncomfortable to face the ways in which physical items made me feel comfort — if only for a short time. 

When I was a child, our family grew up on welfare. There is no shame in that and the ways in which it shaped me. But to that end, we just didn’t have a lot of things. And if we did, it was definitely from a garage sale, second-hand. We lived off the extras of others for a long time, and while we never went without, there was always this thought in the back of my mind that there was never enough. 

This way of thinking — and, in effect, living — trickled into our marriage. We barely had enough to make ends meet. Date night was scrounging for change in the couch to snag an M&M McFlurry. We were always scrambling from paycheck to paycheck, and then throw in a new baby — finances were tight! But I had grown up knowing how to be resourceful. I was scrappy. I took coupons out of my neighbor’s recycle boxes so I could use them that week, and I saved everything — scraps of fabric, tissue paper from presents, leftover food just in case. Birthday money sometimes went to groceries. It was nothing to feel sorry about for ourselves; it was just how it was. And I truly believe being poor served me for a time. 

But what about when what used to be helpful becomes a hindrance? No matter how successful I’ve become financially, I have a nagging voice in my head that tells me there’s not enough. So if I see a ceramic duck I like at the thrift store (I know, really niche lake decorating over here!), I think twelve ceramic ducks will make me even happier! If one pair of nice, stretchy denim fits amazingly, I bet thirty-four pairs would make my body feel even better! If one glass of wine is nice, wouldn’t four be even more satisfying? If one craft project is so relaxing after a busy season, I should buy supplies for twenty craft projects! You can see how this thought process can become life-disrupting and unhelpful. 

As I reflected on the past two years of deep discomfort and pain, I saw personal patterns which no longer served me. Just as a gentle, light snow can accumulate over time to bring the roof down, my feelings of lack were making me feel heavier and heavier. It was only when I felt my own roof begin to crack from the weight of all my things that I finally turned to God and asked Him to change me. And I don’t mean my behaviors. I needed Him to change me from the depths of my soul and show me His abundance for me — how He’ll always provide, how He always has. 

I often think if I can just change my outward behavior, it will do the trick. But as I get older, I’ve learned our souls crave so much more than playing whack-a-mole with our actions. In the end, it takes repentance from the core issue and asking God to change me because I can’t do it in my own strength. The process is generally much slower than I like, and I have to sit in the mess, the pig pen, until I decide I no longer want to feast on rotten scraps when my Father has a real feast prepared for me. 

 But when he came to himself, he said, “How many of my father’s hired servants have more than enough bread, but I perish here with hunger!  I will arise and go to my father, and I will say to him, “Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you.”
Luke 15:11-32 (ESV)

I am the one so desperately in need of God to meet me in my brokenness. I am the one who needs to come to my senses after leaving home and to trust that God’s gentle love will find me, no matter how far I tend to stray. The best news is this: You are not so far gone that He can’t find you. His abundance is available and accessible to you even now. And your mess is not so disastrous that His mercy cannot save you. Thanks be to God!