A Prayer for Those Going Through Difficult Change

A Prayer for Those Going Through Difficult Change

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I remember with stark clarity a time several years ago when our family sat staring at changes on every front. The kids were neck deep in school and activities. David was going through a job transition that took its own sweet time unfolding. As I wrote my first book, I dealt with tricky relationships. Much of what went on behind the scenes managed to culminate before we took our annual summer trip to visit family in Oklahoma. I remember being so haggard on that trip, completing the simplest task or request felt impossible. When we arrived to my in-laws’ lake house on Grand Lake, I sputtered through the front door with my suitcase in one hand and my daughter’s in the other. Sliding them into a corner of the entryway, I then plopped myself down on one of the bar stools.

At that point, my mother-in-law, who stood in the kitchen kindly making sandwiches for us all, asked me if I wanted a ham or turkey sandwich. I blinked and stared at her like she asked me to explain differential equations. I opened my mouth and stuttered, “Uh . . . umm . . . well . . . I’ll have . . . umm . . . ham.” Then I exhaled as if I’d just taken an exam on differential equations.

It’s worth mentioning that even when I’m hanging in there just fine, I have no idea how to solve a differential equation.

Sometimes a season of change will come on you, and you’re too thrown or floored or overwhelmed by your circumstances to form sentences, let alone sentences within prayers. You sputter and stutter like you’ve forgotten how to talk, like the simplest endeavors are suddenly difficult equations.

If that’s you today, first of all, I’m so sorry. What you’re going through is no small thing, and I hope you have a loved one with whom you can share your inside thoughts on the outside. And second of all, I offer up this prayer to you as some words to say when you’re at a loss for words yourself.

Dear Heavenly Father,

As I sit in this difficult change, remind me that nothing gets through the door of my life and the door of my heart without Your say so.

Bring me comfort right now through Your presence, gleaned from the Word and through the words of others, and speak to me through them, Lord. 

When I feel disoriented, give me an anchored verse to repeat, such as “I will see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living.” 

When I feel lonely, show up for me in ways that can’t be explained except by You moving in my life.

When I feel anxious, help me to know that through even this, You are faithful. Help me recall all the ways You’ve been for me in the past and how You are for me still today.

Lord, you’ve seen me through 100% of all my former change, and I know You’ll see me through this one too.

When this change affects me directly, show me the next thing I can do. I will get through this change by doing only the next thing within my assignment: stirring the soup, picking up the kids, paying the bills, or taking a nap.

When this change affects a loved one of mine, show me how I can sit with them and support them.

Lord, I am powerless, yet I know there is power in this very prayer. You tell us that we can go to Your throne to find mercy and receive grace in our time of need. Well, this is my time of need, and I am reflecting obedience to You by coming to You now.

Help me to know when it’s time for me to act and when it’s time for me to sit and wait upon You.

Lord, I pray that the storm from this change be removed. But if it’s Your will for me to walk through it, I thank You that You go with me.

Thank you also that You raise up good things from impossible circumstances.

Come what may, I trust You to see me all the way through.

In Jesus’ name, whose resurrection assures me You always raise up hope,

Amen

Want more encouragement as you walk through difficult change? Get your copy of When Change Finds You: 31 Assurances to Settle Your Heart When Life Stirs You Up.

How Coloring Outside the Lines Leads Me to Jesus

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My right hand clutched the blue crayon so tightly, my fingertips turned from pink to white. I don’t remember what the picture was, but I remember how I wanted to do a good job coloring it. I started slowly, coloring along the black line of whatever empty shape or picture was on the page. I noticed the boy sitting next to me was almost done, and instinctively, I sped up. When I did, the blue color started leaking past the lines with loud squeaking noises. The boy next to me looked at my page and announced, “That looks horrible! You’re not supposed to color outside the lines like that, Tasha!”

Another classmate responded to the boy sitting next to me by saying, “It doesn’t matter, and it’s no big deal. It looks great.” Maybe he saw how hard I’d been trying.

I looked from one boy to the other, wondering who I should believe. One was a voice of judgment and shame, the other, a voice of grace that believed my coloring could grow and change with time.

I’ve never been great at coloring in the lines. For much of my life, I believed there were hard lines I needed to keep myself contained in so I could force myself to be the phantom student, daughter, wife, mother, friend, writer, fill-in-the-blank I was “supposed” to be.

When I starting working in full-time ministry overseas right out of college, I wanted to make sure I fit into the lines of excellent missionary, cross-cultural superstar, language learner, teammate, and friend.

When my husband and I first got married, I was intent on becoming the best wife I could be. I planned to read all the books, imitate godly women, and make sure I was “coloring in the lines” at all times. A friend told me about a book she read the year before on how to be an “excellent wife.” Inspired by Proverbs 31, the book walked through characteristics that an excellent wife would have.

I didn’t get very far in that book. Barely through chapter two, I closed it and threw it across the room. At that point, I hadn’t heard or studied the context of the poem that Proverbs 31 is. I didn’t know it was an acrostic poem originally memorized by men, that personified wisdom, not a phantom woman.

In each of these scenarios, I was that little girl in a classroom again, holding that crayon as tightly as possible, ready to will myself to be what I thought I was supposed to be, ever-aware of how far I had to go by other’s (often wrong) standards, and constantly failing my own expectations no matter how hard I tried not to.

At every transition and every daybreak, there are voices and narratives to listen to. I’ve clung to the harsher voices because they carry an illusion of safety. I’ve feared that too much grace would let me run astray — so far outside of the lines that I would be lost forever. But God says grace is abundant, not scarce. It is given unreservedly, never earned. Pride is its enemy, not the failure to measure up. It isn’t license to personal preferences and liberty; it is the gateway to living motivated by love and loving others freely because of it.

There’s no hope for transformation without the unlimited space of Jesus’ grace.

The world still feels tense most days. I’m struggling to navigate changed relationships and places that aren’t what they were before. Photo memories pop up on my phone at just the right time, cruelly reminding me how much has changed. I sense tightened, readied fists in people’s words (my own included) — on social media, while driving on the highway, and in the narrow aisles of the grocery store down the street where my cart and kids are taking up what feels like too much space. I feel the constant temptation to point my finger at the people who I think are “the problem” driving in the round-a-bouts or just a few rows over at church.

In elementary school and now on the edge of midlife, if I listen to the spirit of little boy who shamed me, I become someone who carries shame and delivers what I carry. If I listen to the voice of Jesus with a crayon in His hand, I become another presence of grace, motivated to keep going, to keep learning from my experiences and my mistakes.

Becoming an excellent [fill in the blank] may be a goal for some, but it’s fast dead-end for me. Gazing at Jesus, the ultimate One with enough excellent love to go around, is a better way. Jesus takes what is weak and uses it as a vessel for His unmatchable strength. Jesus pursues the un-excellent and makes beauty from what I’d choose to throw away. Jesus takes our coloring-outside-the-lines to show us our need for Him. Jesus guides our tired hands toward good and tells us we are His beloved, who can do nothing less and nothing more to be offered His living water of ever-flowing grace.

On Hitting Walls, Being Vulnerable, and the Power of Praise

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I won’t sugarcoat the last few months. They’ve been hard. In some ways, I can pinpoint what’s made them so hard — funerals, family drama, extreme fatigue and pain in my body. On the other hand, there have been many days when I’ve woken up with a sense of dread for no reason. I’ve battled severe anxiety and depression. Fear has gripped me unlike any other time in my life. I’ve felt hopeless and on edge.

Do you know who I told about all the things? Absolutely no one.

Now, I love people. Community is my jam. And I know we’re better together. But I have a confession: More often than I care to admit it, I find myself living as an island. I suffer in silence. I have this need for people to think I can handle anything, that I can take care of myself by myself. I don’t want them to think I’m needy. I don’t do this intentionally. I’ve just always lived this way and have been slow in growing to express my need for God or others.

Though the Lord is working on me with this, I recently fell into isolation, avoidance, and withdrawal again. I completely shut down. I was overwhelmed in every way, and I couldn’t help myself. Before I knew it, it had been months since I’d talked to dear friends. In my everyday and at church, I was simply going through the motions.

I eventually hit a wall and broke down. I knew I needed to be honest with God and with the people in my life. I knew I needed to be vulnerable, even though I have the nagging fear that if I’m 100 percent forthcoming, I won’t be accepted or loved. I’m sure many of you face the same fears — of being left alone and rejected — and shame keeps us in an unending loop of insecurity.

At church, my pastor has been preaching on the power of praise and how the body of Christ needs each other. For months, I had been listening and taking notes, but I felt disconnected to the truths of God’s Word because I was focusing on my circumstances. But slowly, God has been lifting the veil to help me see His goodness, kindness, and faithfulness again, and as He did, I saw I had been missing the very things that I had been learning through my pastor’s sermons.

First, I learned that praise ushers in breakthrough.

Yet you are enthroned as the Holy One;
    you are the one Israel praises.
Psalm 22:3 (NIV)

In Psalm 22, David reminds us that the God of the universe, the God of you and me, inhabits our very praises. He doesn’t just sit up high upon His throne in judgment of us. No, He comes down low to meet us. He meets us in our mess, in our shame, and in whatever pit we find ourselves. He sees us and rushes in with His mighty right arm to save us.

Praise becomes the difference in staying stuck and breaking through. It changes our perspective from what we can do in our own strength to what God can do in His. And praising in the context of community can change the atmosphere of our hearts and even the world around us.

Second, I learned that praise is a choice.

To you they cried out and were saved;
    in you they trusted and were not put to shame.
Psalm 22:5 (NIV)

David was in a low and discouraging time in His life. He felt neglected by God. He felt defeated by his enemies. All he could see was what was in front of him. I so often choose to focus on my circumstances or my emotions and not the faithfulness of God in my life. David learned from those who came before him that praise is always a choice.

We have the choice to open our mouths to complain to those around us or to proclaim His greatness with those around us. It’s our choice to believe not only that God can but that He will. When we choose to praise Him, we can experience the blessing of intimacy with Him during our broken seasons.

Last, I learned that praise unlocks the fullness of freedom.

But you, Lord, do not be far from me.
    You are my strength; come quickly to help me.
Psalm 22:19 (NIV)

What I love about this verse is that David found so much freedom in knowing God was close to him. He remembered that his strength comes from and is found in God. The Lord doesn’t hesitate to move on our behalf, and we don’t have to convince Him to act.

As my focus turned from my circumstances to praising God again, I realized there’s freedom for me to be vulnerable — before God and before my community. I know this probably won’t be the last time I hit a wall or withdraw from people when things get hard, but now I know just how important it is for me to be willing to open myself up even when I’m not used to doing that.

The power of praise and even the beauty of community aren’t formulas that fix our problems, but through them, God shows up to demonstrate to us that we are not alone in our struggle. We don’t have to carry it all by ourselves. We’ve got Him, and we’ve got each other.

When Being Sensitive Is a Gift for Discernment

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“Well, we all know that you’re a little sensitive,” a family member said to me one day.

She may not have meant it that way, but that word stung.

Sensitive. It implies someone who’s out of control of their reactions, someone who overreacts in a childish, self-centered way. And sure, I can be that way sometimes. But God, in His kindness, has helped me see how being sensitive is a potential superpower.

I remember dragging myself through the chapters in Exodus where God instructs the Israelites to build the tabernacle. His attention to detail — from material choice, to whom could walk where, wearing what, and when, to the ding-dang measurements (by CUBIT, y’all?!) — I couldn’t stifle the yawns! 

But God woke me up: You, Aarti, are also my temple. If I was this exacting about a temporary temple in the wilderness, how much more exacting was I in making you, a walking tabernacle of the Holy Spirit? And if I made rules about who could cross from threshold to threshold, perhaps you ought to use your sensitivity to consider what you’re letting walk willy-nilly across yours.

Oh, that’s a good point, God, I thought. (At which point, I imagined Him smiling and saying something like, Would you expect anything less from Me?! And then I’d smile and give Him a spirit high-five because I love when He’s sarcastic.)

Memories flooded my mind: Red flags I’d ignored in some friendships; New Age books I’d read because everyone else did, even though they made me uneasy; or that time I’d sensed something awry at my church but couldn’t put my finger on it (I’ve since learned what that was about, and yup, I was onto something). 

Why do we need to be so careful about what crosses our threshold?

This line struck me as I read 2 Kings the other day. It’s listed as a reason that Israel fell from God’s grace:

And they followed false idols and became false.
2 Kings 17:15 (ESV)

Or, as one commentator puts it, “And they worshipped emptiness and became empty.”

What started off as an allowance for and then a curiosity about Canaanite worship and celebration (when King Solomon allowed his many foreign wives to bring their idols into the kingdom) turned into the Israelites building temples to those very idols and forgetting Yahweh altogether.

Similarly, I’ve invited the seemingly benign across my threshold without giving them a once-over, only to find them eventually running roughshod over me. The Real Housewives pantheon comes to mind. It started with Atlanta, then New Jersey, and soon I was watching hours every night. My obsession grew like a weed, guiding my reactions, even the way I treated my loved ones. One day, whilst fasting, I turned on an episode, and call me crazy, but I saw a cloud of malevolence hurtling toward me from the screen. It looked like a grey murmuration of tiny flies. 

I decided to stop cold turkey.

Listen, we should be cautious not to be legalistic or judge-y about how others feed their minds, but we certainly do need to take an accounting of our own consumption. I still watch the Housewives on occasion but with my spirit-eyes wide open. When I allow shows, an influential friendship, makeup videos, cooking, even something like the Enneagram into my temple, I must do so in an exacting fashion because I’m fallible! I can easily become enslaved to it and put it on a pedestal, which looks an awful lot like worship, right?

You say, “I am allowed to do anything”— but not everything is good for you. And even though “I am allowed to do anything,” I must not become a slave to anything.
1 Corinthians 6:12 (NLT)

Every single thing on this side of heaven has the potential to either pull us away from Christ or make us run toward Him. Paul called our bodies temples, not libraries or hospitals or laboratories. He chose a holy building, somewhere God Himself descended to dwell. Now, in Christ, we are holy ground!

So yes, I am sensitive. I’m working on seeing that being sensitive can lead to discernment, like a canary in the coal mine. The Holy Spirit helps me examine anything that steps onto my doormat, twirl it around, and look at it from every angle, capturing its potential for sanctification and distraction before that thing rubs the dust off its feet and steps inside.

Over the years, the Lord has strengthened my sensitivity to the tug of the Holy Spirit, not just to turn from emptiness but to run towards abundance and pour it out into what’s empty. Oh what a tremendous gift to fill the darkness with His light! We carry precious cargo, and we’ve been assigned a precious duty, my friends. Let’s not squander our time here by letting emptiness into our temples. Emptiness takes space, and we can be filled with emptiness. Let’s use that God-given discernment to keep our temples full of His truth, so that when the tired, weary, and lost draw near to us, we can invite them in, prepare them a feast, and introduce them to the One who is the source of every good and beautiful thing. 

For we are the temple of the living God; as God said, “I will make my dwelling among them and walk among them, and I will be their God, and they shall be my people.”
2 Corinthians 6:16 (ESV)

Let’s Study the Bible Together!

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

We’ve got you, friend!

Starting next week, join us for Bible Study Mondays! We’re hosting an online study of Courageous Kindness right here for the next six weeks. It’s an easy-to-join, deeply impactful study, and we can’t wait.

Simply join us each Monday here at incourage.me starting November 1st. We will spend six Mondays going through Courageous Kindness: Live the Simple Difference Right Where You Are, written by Becky Keife and featuring stories from our (in)courage contributors. We’re pretty convinced that Courageous Kindness will empower us to change the world — one simple, intentional act of kindness at a time.

If you’ve ever asked yourself . . .

  • Can I really make a difference? 
  • Where is God in all of this?
  • How can I possibly help?

. . . then you’re going to want in on this Bible study!

Here’s what you need to know about Bible Study Mondays:

1.  You will need a copy of Courageous Kindness to get the most out of the study. We will provide the reading assignments, reflection questions, inspirational quotes, and video conversations along the way each Monday! Pick up a copy wherever books are sold (direct links to retailers here).

2.  Bible Study Monday starts November 1st and will run for six weeks right here on our website. We will post the week’s reading assignment, reflection questions, and discussion videos. And friends, you especially won’t want to miss the videos. Featuring (in)courage writers and friends Becky Keife, Grace P. Cho, and Lucretia Berry, these three share their stories with humor, wisdom, and honesty as they go through Courageous Kindness together.

3. Invite a few friends to join you! If you’re looking for a way to connect with other women, this is a great way to do so. Simply read each week of Bible study, then gather together (in person or online) to watch that week’s video, enjoy your own discussion, and close in prayer. Make sure to check out our FREE Leaders Guide for Courageous Kindness for some extra fun and tips.

That’s it! Super fun and low stress, right? Join us here for Bible Study Monday each week, and know this study content will always be here for you, whatever day of the week you choose to visit. We can’t wait to get started!

Don’t have your book yet or want to give a copy to a friend? 

Tell us in comments tell us if you’ve bought your book yet or not, and we’ll pick FIVE of you to WIN a free copy!*

Mark your calendars for November 1st when we kick off Bible Study Mondays with Courageous Kindness, and tune in TOMORROW, October 27th, at 11am CST on Facebook for a conversation with author and (in)courage community manager Becky Keife and Anna E. Rendell as they discuss Courageous Kindness.

*Giveaway open to US addresses and closes on October 29, 2021, at 11:59pm Central.

Special Episode with Aliza Latta: When Kindness Is Uncomfortable and Doesn’t Go the Way You Planned

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Welcome to a special bonus episode of the (in)courage podcast! In these bonus episodes, (in)courage community manager and author Becky Keife discusses with friends how every small kindness makes a big impact.

Today, Becky’s joined by friend and (in)courage contributor, Aliza Latta. This episode is all about when kindness is uncomfortable and doesn’t go the way you planned. Aliza and Becky both share vulnerable stories about what happened when the Holy Spirit urged them to show compassion to a stranger, how the incident didn’t turn out the way they expected, and the bigger lesson God taught each of them.

If you’ve ever been afraid to trust God with your resources or just get a little awkward for the sake of loving another, this conversation is for you. Because at the end of the day, we all need to remember that kindness isn’t about us — it’s about Jesus.

You’re going to be so encouraged. Listen below or wherever you stream podcasts!

Connect:

We Could All Use Some Time Driving Behind a Combine

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Fall in rural Nebraska means harvest time. And harvest time means huge, slow, yet very important farming equipment on the move. I’m used to it, following family members in tractors, combines, or with grain wagons to pick them up or help them move equipment. I never minded the slow journey; I actually quite enjoyed it. But that’s not the case for everyone. People are always in such a hurry! We’ve seen the impatient drivers. We’ve witnessed the dangerous passings. We’ve held our breath. We’ve heard the stories.

The other day, my husband and I were driving behind a combine on a long stretch of highway. This is where most people, in a hurry, become impatient and do dangerous things. All they see is a big inconvenience, something keeping them from staying on their timeline, an object in their hurried way.

But we see much more. We see the farmer in his tractor, just doing his job. He’s worried about traffic, ditches, mailboxes, and power lines; worried that we have been behind him for miles and haven’t been able to pass; probably worried we’re getting impatient because so many people do. We see it’s getting late, and he’s probably nowhere near being finished for the day. We see that huge piece of equipment moving slow and there isn’t anything he can do about it.

Despite many thinking of Nebraska as flat, this two-lane highway is full of long, drawn-out hills, and there was just no safe opportunity to pass. Although we were fine to settle back and be patient, others weren’t of the same mind. More than once, cars flew around us and the farming equipment in no-passing zones, just barely missing oncoming traffic they couldn’t see coming because of the hills. We held our breath more than once, terrified of what could happen, knowing how easily it could. And just because someone was in a hurry? Because someone couldn’t wait just a few more minutes? Because they couldn’t put life and safety before their rushed timeline?

Why are we all in such a hurry? Where is our patience? I am guilty of this as well, although not so much when behind a fifteen-ton piece of farming equipment. But I am learning more and more about hurry. I don’t like the anxiousness it brings. I don’t like the feeling that a fast forward button was pushed on my life or that I am missing out on what’s most important.

Careful planning puts you ahead in the long run; hurry and scurry puts you further behind.
Proverbs 21:5 (MSG)

Life goes by so quickly the way it is. Spending it rushed and running from one thing to the next isn’t good. Hurry doesn’t bring out my best. Instead, hurry actually steals what matters most in life and steals my best from me.

When I hurry, I do a little of so many different things yet don’t really accomplish anything. When I hurry in my relationships, they suffer because it’s impossible to love well and have deep, meaningful relationships in a hurry. When I hurry in my work, I can’t do it to the fullest of my potential. When I hurry, I can’t help others because I’m not fully present and can’t understand their needs. When I hurry, I miss out on what’s important because I’m not present enough.

Desire without knowledge is not good — how much more will hasty feet miss the way!
Proverbs 19:2 (NIV)

Although I think I’ll accomplish more, do a better job, help more people, basically be a super woman when I hurry, I can’t do any of those things.

Hurry robs me of what God has given to me in this beautiful life, the one He intends for me to use well. Hurry has no place here, when living my best life.

It will take intention and mindfulness. (If you have the opportunity, spending some time driving behind a combine is helpful.) I will need to decide to slow down — my movements, my talking — and I’ll need to be intentional about listening better, removing things from the schedule, editing the to-do list, considering my priorities, and practicing patience.

With God’s grace, I can slow down and connect with Him and others in my life better. And so can you. Live your best life, leaving hurry behind.

Creating the Greenhouse Effect Before Your Next Crisis

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Last year when we were all at home on endless Zoom meetings, my husband craved an outdoor project. I gently suggested a greenhouse — a project big enough to get him outside daily for about a month and something that happened to be a lifelong dream of mine.

By the end of summer 2020, I had the greenhouse of my dreams. We only had a couple more months of growing season, but we were able to reap a modest harvest of tomatoes, peppers, and onions from starter plants.

This year, I wanted a full and lush greenhouse to at least produce our summer supply of tomatoes and peppers, if nothing else. (We’re still new at this gardening thing, so I try to keep my goals modest.)

I shopped for seeds in January, planted them in their little trays while there was still snow on the ground, and grew them under a lamp in our sunroom. When they started to spring out of their little cups and the fear of a big frost had passed, I transplanted the seedlings into the greenhouse and watered and waited.

All summer the plants made great progress. In July, we finally got to snag a few tomatoes and onions for our morning egg scramble but were waiting for our big salsa harvest (onions, tomatoes, and peppers, along with some garlic and cilantro from our window garden) until August.

But then the Caldor Fire started less than 2 miles from our home. We had to evacuate with our dog, cat, and five chickens for three weeks.

God and the firefighters protected our house from flames on our property, and we were and are nothing but grateful. But we also knew we would be coming home to an absolute mess. Because our power had been turned off for over two weeks, we knew we’d be dealing with a full, rotting fridge and freezer, along with a gross deep freeze. And because our well runs on electric power, we envisioned coming home to dozens of dead plants, as well as a completely brown greenhouse.

As we rounded the corner of our driveway, my husband Roger and I were in shock. The plants lining our deck and the garden outside were all dry and crispy. But the contents of our greenhouse looked . . . well, green.

How was that possible?

Our greenhouse, in the middle of a forest fire, kept chugging along, growing dozens of tomatoes, peppers, and onions as if there was nothing going on around its walls.

After getting over the shock of finding our garden bounty, I realized this was exactly how my husband and I got through the uncertainty of knowing whether our house would be lost to the fire: We kept chugging along, doing what God designed us to do, not becoming consumed by the craziness around us.

At first, we were paralyzed by worry and fear. We spent the first week of our evacuation refreshing the NASA fire maps and checking our neighborhood social media for reports from our local fire fighters.

But after a week, we returned to our day-to-day routine: reaching out to friends to pray for them, loving on our adult children, serving at church, and serving our community. It wasn’t easy, but it was better than fretting about our house and our neighborhood day after day.

Galatians 6:9 reminds us, “Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up.”

Even with stress everywhere we turn, we need to keep doing good. But when life is at its hardest, how do we?

It’s not if the next crisis is coming — it’s when. Cultivating our reserves helps us prepare for the next crisis.

During the evacuation, Scriptures I’d memorized came to mind repeatedly. Some I’d known since I was seventeen, when I took the challenge to memorize forty key Scriptures. Others I’d memorized at the beginning of the pandemic. All of them encouraged and calmed me.

Rest also helped us continue to do good during overwhelming circumstances. Starting week two of our evacuation, we started taking deep, restorative naps almost every day. It gave our minds a break from the chaos and restored our bodies. My husband and I no longer look at naps as a sign of laziness or weakness; they reset us to a healthy place.

During the crisis, we tried to focus on what God had already done for us during other trying times. We didn’t know if the house would survive, but we felt God’s peace and protection.

I’m thrilled to report our house did survive the fire. It would have been easy to put the chickens back in the coop, clean out the gross fridge, and move on. But because we want to keep remembering God’s protection, we’ve done a few things to make sure we and others never forget. We framed the evacuation notice from the fire department and hung it on our wall. We are working on a fundraiser for our community to help us stay fire safe in the future. Finally, we canned a few jars of salsa with our greenhouse miracle plants. We look forward to the next time we have friends sitting around the table who can help us celebrate, eat salsa, and remember what God has done.

What is the good that God has set before you?

You can pre-order your copy of Kathi’s latest devotional, An Abundant Place, and you will receive her downloadable journal. The journal includes some tools to help you get the most out of your Bible study time and offers some tips on how to create mini-retreats in your own home.

What to Do When Rest Feels Like Work

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I sat on the edge of the dock with my legs dangling off. My feet were flat upon the water as though I could step out on the lake at any moment. The space was calm. A slight breeze swayed the tree branches. The children found playmates with pebbles, mud castles, and fish freshly caught. I sat there cupped in God’s nature with my heart racing. I was unable to be as calm as the water. After three days of being at the lake, I still didn’t know how to rest. For some, rest comes easy; for me, it feels like work. 

I am good at being productive. I am good at being busy. I like the pressure and clock ticking and deadlines. Those powers energize me. I like using my imagination and managing people. But being here, at the family lake house makes me antsy. There is no place to be, and I have nothing to do. I almost feel naked. I don’t know what to do when I have nothing to do. My body, mind, and soul need rest — I know this. But I fight rest with everything in me. Rest means wrestling with the deeper things I have been avoiding. When everything on the outside of me gets quiet, then everything on the inside of me gets loud. It’s unsettling, and I want to run out on the water where my feet might find ease; I want to run away from me.

I’ve taken the role of “fishing supervisor” this vacation, and the children repeatedly bring me their tangled fishing wire. This task requires focus, patience, and gentleness. While fishing with children there are three things you won’t find: focus, patience, and gentleness. I send them off while I give all my attention to the massive knot they have managed to whip together. I’m tempted to yank and pull and throw the whole bundle of chaos away. But I wait. I slowly tug and massage the tangles apart. An unraveling begins. It doesn’t happen all at once. It is a process. If I get frustrated, the knot gets worse. If I take my time and use careful intention, the knot loosens.

As I slowly pull at the corner of the wire, I wonder if this is what God is doing within me. He is using focus, patience, and gentleness to undo the knots that have built up in me. Maybe that’s what rest is about. I’m coming back to God with my mess, and He uses love to untangle me. This renewing of my soul requires that I also practice focus, patience, and gentleness. If I fight back, more damage is done. But if I stay and allow God to care for my soul, my insides will loosen. God, in a literal sense, is a fisher of (wo)men. He doesn’t just catch lost souls, but He has compassion upon them and wants them to be free — untangled. For my soul to become untangled, I have to stop. I have to exhale. I have to rest. 

Resting doesn’t come easy for me. I have to work at rest. I have to be okay feeling antsy and anxious just sitting at the edge of the dock. I have to feel the mess I have been avoiding. I have to look at the chaos and tangles and knots choking my chest tight. I have to let the outside beauty penetrate my inner storm. And God does this. He does this by gently untangling me one tug at a time. This time, instead of running, being busy, or avoiding, I stay. I let God do His work on my soul. 

I want a lot of things in life, but one thing I desperately want is to be free inside. I don’t want hooks and wires mangled up inside of me, making it hard to breathe. I want to be fully present with the world, others, and God. The only way to be productive at anything is to learn how to rest — truly rest. At first, it might be painful. I’ll want to squirm and find something else to do. But when I give God space to tend to my soul, a beautiful freedom awaits me.

I need God’s help to rest. I need His grace to hold me as effortlessly as that dock. I am rocked and carried. God’s presence hovers over me like the trees bringing me shade. I need grace to not accomplish something. I need grace to let the tugging make me uncomfortable. I need grace to sustain me when rest feels like work. The truth is, rest is work because God is doing healing work inside of me. He is untangling and setting me free.

A Truth for Today and Everyday: God Wastes Nothing

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We sit on my back porch talking about our shared love for the way the liquid amber leaves are just starting to change colors while sipping coffee. I’ve learned to only pour her half a mug. “My husband and I used to share just one cup,” she told me once.

My neighbor is more than twice my age. She’s also one of the most wonderfully unexpected new friends I’ve had in a long time. Conversation flows easy. We talk about the weather and art and the places she’s traveled. I tell her the funny thing my nine-year-old said. She’s mindful that I have a full workday ahead, but I never feel anxious or rushed when we’re spending time together.

As our back porch date winds down, I ask what she has going on the rest of the day.

“Oh, I have to try to figure out this issue with my insurance company and write a letter. I think I’ll ask my niece to help me.”

Her husband passed away a year ago, and their health insurance company has continued to automatically deduct his monthly premium, she explained.

“Well, I would be more than happy to help you with that,” I reply. “I actually have a lot of experience dealing with insurance companies.”

She says that is kind, but she’ll ask me next week when I’m not busy over the holiday weekend. I tell her I’m not busy. My new friend is wildly capable and very independent. I also know, that, like all of us, she is not meant to do life alone.

A couple of days later I pick up the phone and ask if tomorrow afternoon would be a good time for me to come over and help her write the letter. The next day, I carry my laptop across the street and sit on my neighbor’s tweed couch. We read through her notes from when she spoke to the insurance company. I ask for all her pertinent information and quickly type out a letter with all the requirements needed to request a refund and stop future payments. I read it aloud.

“What do you think?” I ask.

“It’s perfect!” she says. Then, “I’ve been losing sleep over this for months. Thank you so much.”

And on an ordinary fall afternoon, I knew again that a decade of questioning and discomfort was worth it. You see, for more than ten years I worked in medical billing. I was thankful for the flexibility of working from home and the paycheck to help my family. But that job was not my joy. For years I sat at my dining room table typing in charges and payments, aching for work that felt more meaningful, that used my true gifts, and developed my passions. For years, I prayed for a new season, for different work. And for years, God simply said, Wait.

Now that I am in a season of doing work that I absolutely love here at (in)courage and as an author and speaker, it’s easy to see the past through rosier glasses. But in the moment? Week after week, year after year, of waiting and longing and believing I was created for more and yet more never seemed to come? It wasn’t easy. It was stretching and painful.

And this is why I need to pause today to preach again to my own heart a truth that perhaps you need to hear too: God wastes nothing.

As Paul says in Romans 8:28, “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.”

All things. Our hard seasons, long waits, and unwanted circumstances are not out of God’s reach. He can and will use it all — even if it takes years to see it.

I had the confidence to offer to help my neighbor with this particular task because I had years of experience working with medical insurance companies. This skill set and knowledge base have also served me well in helping my own family navigate confusing billing and coverage issues. And I’m trusting God that even as I’m deeply grateful for the fact that my current daily work has nothing to do with authorizations and deductibles, He will continue to use the fullness of the experiences He’s given me to show His love and care to me and others.

Which makes me wonder: Is there something in your life today or in a past season that seems like a waste? A circumstance you’re prone to wish away? What if, instead, you leaned in? What if God is ready and waiting to use the very thing you want to escape as a gateway to a deeper connection for you and someone in your life?

We get to experience and express the kindness of God when we trust Him to use every part of our experiences.

Also? It’s been a couple of months since I wrote that letter. My neighbor got her insurance refund last week.

For more stories about experiencing and expressing the kindness of God, check out Becky Keife’s new book, The Simple Difference: How Every Small Kindness Makes a Big Impact. 

Even on a Hard Day, the Future’s So Bright

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My walk home from school that day was more like a run. The mean girl of fourth grade was following close behind to beat me up. Why? For all the reasons that life comes at us hard — some silly lie, some wrong assumption, some snarly enemy. With the mean girl, she’d decided that a boy she’d fallen for had decided to like me instead — or something like that. We were only fourth graders, so whatever boy-girl dynamic was actually under way, it was hardly worth a fist fight.

She was convinced, however, so there she was, saying nasty things to me during one long and excruciating school day — even threatening me with “Just wait ‘til school’s out!”

For a timid, quiet, rule-following kid like me, her threats were terrifying. I’d never been in a knock-down fight with anybody in my life. So, when the school bell rang, I grabbed my coat and took off for home — fast walking and running, slipping on icy snow, hoping to make it safely before my mean-girl enemy could find me.

But I wasn’t fast enough. A few blocks from my house, she caught up with me. Goaded by a friend, the mean girl started pelting me with snowballs — each one a rock covered in snow — aiming at my head. Turning around to yell stop!, I caught a rock hard snowball right above an eye and felt my eyelid quickly swell, surely making me look like I’d been in a brawl.

Looking back on that day, I’m amazed at how it resembled the way life’s worst can feel. You’re a target — never mind that you don’t deserve it — but the rocks keep on coming.

That’s how I felt recently when one disappointment after another came calling. One, a family matter. Another, a work issue. And yet another involving our lawn, of all things.

It wasn’t a serious problem. It’s just a lawn. But combined with other things, a rocky yard filled with weedy grass felt like a hard hit.

That same afternoon, it all came to a strange head. I’d said yes to a nice, dress-up event. Trying to look pulled together, I settled on a last-minute choice from my humble closet. The hem was a hair too long, with no time to sew it up. So, I hitched the skirt up with a belt and tried to make it all work. (Somebody reading this surely has done the same.)

“You look nice,” my husband assured me. But husbands can say such things, so we don’t make them late.

In fact, we arrived at the shindig on time. Happily, I saw several longtime friends. We smiled for photos my husband kept taking, grateful I could use the pics in some business publicity or maybe on my website later.

Looking at the photos the next day, however, my heart sank. In every one, I was wearing my grungy sunglasses.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked Dan.

“I didn’t notice.” He didn’t see the glasses as a problem.

Complaining to a friend, however, she broke through with the perspective I’d needed for every rock flying my way: “The future’s so bright, though.”

It is? Despite grungy sunglasses? Or an onslaught of problems? Psalm 145 provides words for seeing — not life’s rocks but God’s power to overcome them:

Great is the Lord and most worthy of praise;
    his greatness no one can fathom.
One generation commends your works to another;
    they tell of your mighty acts.
They speak of the glorious splendor of your majesty — 
    and I will meditate on your wonderful works.
Psalm 145:3-5 (NIV)

A weedy lawn? Praise Him for the land it’s growing on. A family problem? Praise Him for the family, even with its problems. A work disappointment? Praise Him for the job.

Sure, rocks can fly, but the future’s so bright, though.

Perhaps that’s why, after the mean girl threw the snowballs, my mother walked with me to the girl’s house, took one look at her and said, “What’s wrong, baby?” At those words, the girl melted in tears, crying through her pain. She didn’t want to be a bully. Now, here stood my mother, letting her know this: You’re forgiven, so be kind. And from then on, she was.

Even on a hard day, the future’s so bright. Hit a wall? Look over it or around it. Make a mistake? Forgive yourself. The future is bright, even if we can’t see it yet. But know this: Our God of Light can.

The shadow was only a small and
passing thing: There was light
and high beauty forever
beyond its reach.
J. R.R. Tolkien

Episode 14: Antique Jars, School Lunches, and the Power of Our Stories

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Welcome to the (in)courage podcast! In true (in)courage style today we’ve got some stories to tell and some real life to talk through. Join us as we build community, celebrate diversity, and become women of courage.

In today’s episode, Anna and Joy finish up their discussion on the Courageous Influence Bible study and talk about the power of sharing our stories. Joy talks about being seen and loved by God through the little things in her life with a recent story about finding a long held-on-to set of antique jars. Anna speaks to the way in which school lunches ministered to her heart over the last year. They talk about Psalm 34:18, and how God has comforted them during their most difficult times, and where their influence really comes from.

Sharing a story today is (in)courage contributor Dorina Lazo Gilmore-Young, who shares her story as published in Week Six of the Courageous Influence Bible study.

Also today, hear from Kathi Lipp, Becky Keife, and Grace P. Cho (author of Courageous Influence)! Each of them share parts of their story, and you don’t want to miss it. Listen in to find out which of them experienced God’s grace through a bouquet of peonies, felt God’s love through a hummingbird’s presence, and lived God’s redemption even as she had an incredibly difficult experience with her son.

Find all the Bible Study Mondays posts here and discover for yourself what God says about influence (spoiler alert: you have it! Yes, you!)

Listen to today’s episode below or wherever you stream podcasts! And be sure to get your copy of the Courageous Influence Bible study from DaySpring.com. The (in)courage podcast will be back in a few weeks with Season Three, so be sure and subscribe so you don’t miss a single episode!

We’d love to hear from you: How do you find the courage to tell your story? And how have you seen the impact of telling your story?

How Sharing Our Stories Can Bind Broken Hearts

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“It’s time,” my husband whispered in my ear. He clutched Samuel’s picture frame close to his chest as we slowly squeezed our way to the end of the line. All the young couples in front of us were happily holding their babies.

One mom glanced at me and said, “I have the same dress.”

I feigned a grin and stared at my blue lace maternity dress, barely able to see my feet over my postpartum belly. My mind instantly filled with flashbacks of flat-liners, my baby’s crib replaced with a casket, and my shattered innocence about healthy, blissful pregnancies. Would our presence make everyone feel sad? Should we really go up there?

The week before, our pastor had asked us if we wanted to dedicate our baby, Samuel, on Mother’s Day. My husband and I wrestled with questions, “Should we, and how do we, dedicate a baby that has died?”

Daily I asked, “Why, Lord?” and pleaded, “Please don’t let Samuel’s death be in vain. Let his little life bear fruit for Your kingdom. And please let me see it.”

We finally decided to participate in the baby dedication at our church, reasoning that if Samuel was alive today, we would have chosen to dedicate him to the Lord. But still, I wondered how this was going to work.

We stood on stage with the other families camouflaging us as our pastor greeted and blessed their babies. Surprisingly, our pastor quickly asked the other families to exit the stage, and now, we stuck out like ugly ducklings. I heard a mom gasp when she realized we weren’t holding our baby. Another mom’s face fell while our pastor began to read Samuel’s obituary, the hardest story I’ve ever had to write. Yet, as our pastor invited the congregation to pray for us, I felt their extended hands binding the exposed wound in my heart.

We were not given the same gift — a parenting book on how to raise godly children — that the other families received. Instead, our church gave us a framed print of Psalm 147:3: “He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.”

Later, I learned that this psalm was written possibly after a time of exile. God regathered His people after they had experienced trauma: loss of home, family, and their identity. Perhaps you can relate to their grief. Yet, like the exiles, God can dress our wounds from unfulfilled dreams with the healing balm of grace that comes from Him and the power of community.

After the service, a man came up to my husband and told him how their family had suffered the loss of a child too.

Another couple that had a miscarriage shared, “That was so healing!”

The comfort they felt and their deep connection to our story of grief and loss made me realize that this was the fruit I was hoping Samuel’s life would bear. Somehow our story intertwined with and gave voice to their stories like bandages, wrapped together to soothe the soul.

This first step towards sharing my story led me along an unexpected path of taking the next step of courage to share my story again and again. Over the next year, more people encouraged me to write my story. Writing is healing. The more I shared, the more I realized I was not alone.

God can give us a new purpose in our pain — to offer our stories of hope to others facing similar struggles. When we share our stories, “we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God” (2 Corinthians 1:4 NIV).

Every time I meet another mom who is experiencing fresh grief due to unexpected infant loss, I reflect on the many times I was touched by friends who bravely shared their stories and comforted me in my pain. Then, I have courage to share my story once more. Truly, only God can redeem something so painful and transform our words to provide comfort for someone else.

On this side of heaven, we think of death as the end, but it was truly the birth of my life as a writer. God used Samuel’s death to awaken me to a greater reality — life in eternity and the healing power of shared stories.

When You Need the Anxiety Change Brings to Simmer Down

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My daughter’s bloodcurdling scream ricocheted from the garage up to where I sat in my office on the second floor.

I shot out of my chair and sprinted down two flights of stairs. I threw open the door from our mudroom to the garage, calling with no small amount of panic, “Faith! FAITH! Are you okay?!” My bare feet landed on the doormat sitting just inside the garage, just like they’d done a thousand times before. And that’s when I noticed a texture under one foot that in no way resembled the doormat. It was soft, kind of squishy. I looked down and in short order let out my own bloodcurdling scream as I realized I had just stepped barefoot — barefoot! — on a long snake.

I jumped backward, hollering like I was on fire, and shut the garage door between me and it.

After taking a couple deep breaths and giving thanks to God that the creature didn’t bite me, I simmered down enough to collect my wits and slowly, gingerly opened the door again. The snake remained in its same position, folded back and forth on the mat like some kind of sadistic ribbon candy. I called for Faith again, and then I saw her waving from the driver’s seat of the car parked in the garage. Faith, who had been outside, explained that she had proceeded to walk back toward the house through the same garage door before laying eyes on the snake. That’s how she ended up screaming — as she jumped into the car. I looked back at the snake, who hadn’t moved a muscle. As riled up as Faith and I had been about it, it seemed completely unfazed by us.

After double-checking the snake wasn’t poisonous, I began laughing hysterically. Faith, still shut up inside the car, said she wasn’t coming out till the snake was long gone.

Dramatic or not, I totally understood that life decision.

Sometimes I view the difficult change in my life — the kind I don’t want and didn’t ask for — like I viewed that particular snake. I’m walking along, minding my own business, and then this terrible change pops up where I least expect it, and my heart immediately drops to my ankles. Or maybe I did expect the change — after all, some difficult change is expected but still unsettling. When that’s the case, it can still bring unanticipated surprises. It may also bring anything from dread to a good scare to major harm. It may bring instant panic or simmering stress. Either way, its unwelcome presence can spin me up and my anxiety right along with it, and it’s been doing so since my childhood.

Prone to many an anxious thought as a kid and teen, I can still feel my daddy’s arm slung around my shoulders as he’d say, “Now Kristen, just simmer down, honey. Don’t you know God is with you right here, right now?”

I might’ve been studying for a math test or waiting on the dentist, and he would recognize when I began to panic. My daddy’s kind presence reminded me of the Father’s kind presence and helped my breathing to slow, my heart rate to calm, and my mind to clear. When I remembered God was near, my anxiety simmered down.

Of course, as the dad of three daughters, he sometimes also told my sisters and me to “simmer down” out of exasperation as we fought over Barbies or baby dolls or who got to sit in the highly coveted front seat of the car. But more often than not, “simmer down” became a gentle touchstone that turned me from the toxic train to truth — and helped my emotions do the same.

I’m forty-seven now, and how I wish the most anxiety-inducing event brought on by change was a cavity or a pop math quiz. But you don’t get to be my age without encountering change that devastates you physically, spiritually, and emotionally.

The writer of Hebrews tells us, “By faith we understand that the universe was created by the word of God, so that what is seen was not made out of things that are visible” (Hebrews 11:3).

If God created the universe from what was invisible, then He can create something beautiful from what you can’t yet see in your own life. Don’t see how anything good can come from the hot mess you or your loved one is in? Can’t make heads or tails of what in the world you’re supposed to do next? Well, then, you’re in prime location to see God make sense of the senseless that sits in your lap.

The road you’re traveling may very well have a snake or two stretched across it, and the shock of its discovery may make you scream or run and hide. But hear the Father whisper, Don’t you know I am with you right here, right now? He is as next to you at the dining room chair or the snoring husband or the too-empty space at the other end of the couch. And He gave us His Son to be with us till the end of time.

Let that speak the message to simmer down your anxiety. Dear one, God will resurrect and refashion your devastation into restoration.

Change may come out of nowhere, yes. But wait for the invisible to become visible — it may very well come out of nowhere too.

—

When Change Finds You: 31 Assurances to Settle Your Heart When Life Stirs You Up is an inspirational and practical book that helps us think and feel differently about change on the inside so we can live and love differently on the outside. We’re excited to give away FIVE copies! Just leave a comment telling us about a time God saw you through a change.

And join Kristen and Becky Keife tomorrow, 10/20, at 12:00pm central on Facebook for a conversation about When Change Finds You!

Here’s to acknowledging our change, giving our anxieties over to God, and abiding well in the days to come — no matter what transitions life brings.

 

*Giveaway open to US addresses and closes on 10/22/21 at 11:59pm central.

Special Episode with Jami Nato: The Coping Mechanism Basket and the Lost Art of Intentional Kindness.

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Welcome to a special bonus episode of the (in)courage podcast! In these bonus episodes, (in)courage community manager and author Becky Keife discusses with friends how every small kindness makes a big impact.

Today, Becky’s joined by friend and (in)courage contributor, Jami Nato. Jami shares the story of The Coping Mechanism Basket — a simple way her neighbors give what they have to come alongside one another during difficult seasons. Becky and Jami talk about how “tell me what you need” is often less loving than just showing up with simple, practical, intentional kindness.

This episode will challenge you to invest in the friends around you or to start cultivating the kind of community you long to have. Take note of some of the key ingredients Becky and Jami talk about, including generosity, awkwardness, and maybe getting a little bossy.

You’re going to be so encouraged. Listen below or wherever you stream podcasts!

Connect:

What Chickens Taught Me About God

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I live on a small family farm. For some reason God finds ways to teach me about Himself through our chickens. Maybe because someone once told me chickens were a lot like humans and I thought they were dumb. Maybe because I never understood the term pecking order until I saw it was a real life and death issue.

Our chickens are more like pets. We’ve purchased chicks in the past but have never had any hatch from our eggs. We would watch our hens brood in their nesting boxes for almost a month waiting for their eggs to hatch, but nothing would happen and we’d have to throw away the rotten eggs. Over time, we gave up on our chickens having babies.

One summer evening we were greeted with the soft peeps of five chicks with fluffy black heads and bottoms dipped in yellow. This surprise caused me, my husband, and my daughter to act like the TV husband of the 1950s trying to get to the hospital in time but who forgets his wife at home. The thrill of new life created a moment of elated chaos in our backyard.

We entered the coop expecting to hold the newly hatched chicks but were greeted by excellent mother hens. I watched as one of our hens cornered her two chicks and hid them underneath her wings as she talked to them. You know when God uses something in your life to make a verse you’ve heard a million times come to life? This is what came to mind as I watched that mama hen:

God will cover you with His feathers. He will shelter you with His wings.
Psalm 91:4 (NLT)

This verse always sounded so endearing and sweet to me, full of springtime miracles and gentleness in the nest. But not in our chicken coop! Spending time with these hens and watching how they care for their chicks brought revelation about how God fiercely protects us.

God desires to have us live in the shelter of His wings and find rest in Him. He loves us in the fierce yet sacrificially loving way of a mama hen. We, as God’s chicks, have to allow Him to protect us. Sometimes our mama hens are beside themselves trying to help and protect their babies, but the chicks don’t always listen to the only voice that can protect them. But she doesn’t relent. Likewise, God doesn’t rest or take a break in taking care of us. He will leave the four chicks to gather up the one who strays from the brood.

One of my favorite observations of these mama hens has been how their chicks can become invisible. The mama hens cover their chicks with their wings to hide them from every kind of predator. We are protected in the same way. We become invisible to the enemy because under God’s wings, the enemy can only see God. The Lord says:

I will rescue those who love me. I will protect those who trust in my name. When they call
on me, I will answer. I will be with them in trouble. I will rescue them and honor them.
I will satisfy them with a long life and give them my salvation. 
Psalm 91:14-16 (NLT)

Our chicks are adorable but pretty much clueless. They are in constant contact and communication with their mama hen because they know she can be trusted and that she loves them fiercely. So, they respond by listening and obeying in love, letting her take care of them, sitting quietly under her wings and watching her every move to learn how to navigate this world.

I want to be more like one of God’s chicks. Let’s live in His shelter and protection, finding the love and rest we so desperately need.