What a Wonder to Be Known!

What a Wonder to Be Known!

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O Lord, you have examined my heart
and know everything about me.
You know when I sit down or stand up.
You know my thoughts even when I’m far away.
You see me when I travel
and when I rest at home.
You know everything I do.
You know what I am going to say
even before I say it, Lord.
You go before me and follow me.
You place your hand of blessing on my head.
Such knowledge is too wonderful for me,
too great for me to understand!
Psalm 139:1-6 (NLT)

As we enter into the last week of 2021, let’s take a collective deep breath. We’re ending a year that had many of us adjusting to constantly changing circumstances, starting new dreams and jobs, saying goodbye to loved ones too soon, or tentatively hoping for life to settle down. We might be holding our breath as we face 2022, wondering what it will bring, so for a moment today — right now — let’s rest in the truth we find in Psalm 139.

First, God knows us — our hearts, minds, and bodies. He knows the stress we hold from caring for those around us. He knows our frustration — about the pandemic, within our marriages, with our church communities. He knows what will delight us and when we need our rest. He goes before us so we’re never alone or lost, and He holds all our thoughts, feelings, needs, fears, and desires with care.

Second, God holds the future in His hands. When everything feels out of control, God can anchor us to Himself. His presence is our comfort, our assurance, and our blessing no matter what circumstances we will find ourselves in.

Take in these truths as you breathe deeply. You are known by a God who cares for you through every moment of every day, every month, and every year.

Wishing You a Very Merry Christmas!

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The Word became flesh and dwelt among us. We observed his glory, the glory as the one and only Son from the Father, full of grace and truth.
John 1:14 (CSB)

Joy to the world, Christ has come. He is here. He is with us! May your day be filled with more joy and love than your heart can hold as you celebrate the greatest Gift — the never-ending, world-changing, amazing love and joy of Jesus Christ.

As you celebrate loud or quiet, near or far, today or next week, know that you, dear friend, are loved by all of us here at (in)courage.

May you see His glory today and every day. Merry Christmas!

On Christmas Eve, We Anticipate with Hope

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In those days Caesar Augustus issued a decree that a census should be taken of the entire Roman world. (This was the first census that took place while Quirinius was governor of Syria.) And everyone went to their own town to register.

So Joseph also went up from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to Bethlehem the town of David, because he belonged to the house and line of David. He went there to register with Mary, who was pledged to be married to him and was expecting a child. While they were there, the time came for the baby to be born, and she gave birth to her firstborn, a son. She wrapped him in cloths and placed him in a manger, because there was no guest room available for them.

And there were shepherds living out in the fields nearby, keeping watch over their flocks at night. An angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. But the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid. I bring you good news that will cause great joy for all the people. Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is the Messiah, the Lord. This will be a sign to you: You will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger.”

Suddenly a great company of the heavenly host appeared with the angel, praising God and saying,

“Glory to God in the highest heaven,
    and on earth peace to those on whom his favor rests.”

When the angels had left them and gone into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, “Let’s go to Bethlehem and see this thing that has happened, which the Lord has told us about.”

So they hurried off and found Mary and Joseph, and the baby, who was lying in the manger. When they had seen him, they spread the word concerning what had been told them about this child, and all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds said to them. But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart. The shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all the things they had heard and seen, which were just as they had been told.
Luke 2:1-20 (NIV)

On this holy night as we anticipate Christmas in the morning, may you let these ancient words sink deep into your soul. This is the story of new beginnings, of hope in the middle of winter, of joy in the midst of chaos. It’s a story that meets us where we’re at and invites us into a miracle.

So no matter where your heart is today, pause, reflect, and rest in the story of the shepherds and the straw, of new decrees and new parents, of heavenly hosts and a baby King. May the twinkling glory of Christmas Eve breathe peace and life into your heart today.

The Friend We’ve Always Wanted and Have Been Waiting For

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I was six years old when I had my first best friend. Tonya was only one year older than I was, and she lived directly across the street, a convenient setup for a budding childhood friendship.

But right before I turned seven years old, my family moved to another state halfway across the United States. The day the movers arrived, my parents found me hiding in the living room drapes, crying at the prospect of leaving everything familiar behind, including my best friend Tonya. I was utterly inconsolable, certain this move was the end of life itself.

Of course, life would continue, even without Tonya. And within months of being in my new state, my new church, my new school, and my new neighborhood, I found another best friend. And this one proved even sweeter than the first. For the rest of my childhood, we shared birthdays and holidays, and summer break was often spent at each other’s house. Her parents became my second parents, and vice versa. And when we married, we both shared the big day with the other.

Even now, more than forty years later, our friendship continues. Though we no longer live in the same geographical area, our hearts are intertwined and always will be. We’ve raised children and buried parents; bought, sold, and remodeled houses; and tackled various health challenges and ministry challenges. And though we don’t often have time together, in person or over the phone, we both would drop everything and jump on a plane or train if the other needed us. There is no question. And no matter how much time passes in between visits, when we find ourselves face-to-face, it takes no time at all to share the intimate details of our lives with each other.

We’re friends, through and through, and we have very few secrets between us.

When King David faced difficulties in his life — everything from a fractured family to political upheaval — he too needed the solace of a best friend. And, as cheesy as it may sound, David found solace in his friendship with God. When everything felt precarious, when he sinned and failed, and he had no clue what he should do, he turned to the Father of his soul and poured out his heart.

Show me your ways, Lord,
    teach me your paths.
Guide me in your truth and teach me,
    for you are God my Savior,
    and my hope is in you all day long.
Psalm 25:4-5 (NIV)

“My hope is in you all day long,” he claimed. Over and over again, in the stories of David captured on the pages of the Old Testament, we see evidence of that fact. Even when David sinned and tried to hide from the Almighty, he eventually turned to his best friend and laid his heart bare.

What I find compelling, however, is not David’s transparency but God’s.

The Lord confides in those who fear him;
he makes his covenant known to them.
My eyes are ever on the Lord,
for only he will release my feet from the snare.
Psalm 25:14-15 (NIV)

In verse 14, David recalls how the intimacy he shared with the Almighty wasn’t one-sided. Instead, the Lord confided in him, as well, reassuring David of His covenantal promise of relationship. David found solace, not only in his communication with God but in how God simultaneously revealed His heart to him. It was a two-way relationship — friend to friend, face to face. Moses had a similar experience with God, as recorded in Exodus 33:11: “The Lord would speak to Moses face to face, as one speaks to a friend.”

Do you realize what this means for you and me? Don’t rush past this until the truth has fully infiltrated your heart with its implications: God Himself wants to confide in you. The word confide means to share secrets with. That means the One who made you, the One who holds all things in His hands, wants to show Himself to you and share His heart with you. He will not withhold Himself from you but rather longs to draw you into communion with Him. Jesus made the same claim:

I no longer call you servants, because a servant does not know his master’s business. Instead, I have called you friends, for everything that I learned from my Father I have made known to you.
John 15:15 (NIV)

Life gets lonely sometimes, friends. There are days when, in spite of the various humans surrounding us, we still feel all alone. But we mustn’t forget: There is One who is already ready to share His secrets with us, One who knows us better than all the others and loves us anyway, One who promises to never leave us and always stay close.

The friend we’ve always wanted and have been waiting for — a best friend. And His name is Jesus.

Stop Playing the Comparison Game This Christmas

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You don’t have to experience many Christmases before the comparison game begins. Children remember their biggest presents, their Elf on the Shelf’s most challenging hiding places, the time when your home was the most elaborately decorated (interior and exterior) and how early in the season the decorating began. They remember the year your dog wore a Santa costume throughout December and that time when you perfected a peppermint hot chocolate recipe and served it every night.

The combination of such memories, embellished by time and imagination, contributes to the magic of the season.

But while children’s memories are relatively short-term, ours span a longer period. We not only remember traditions carried down from year to year but also from generation to generation. I remember the homemade chocolate covered cherries and steaming pots of hot cocoa my grandmother served on Christmas Eve and how my mother hand-spun elaborate bows out of rolls of ribbon to top our perfectly wrapped presents. I remember pulling taffy with my great-aunts while my parents attended grown-up holiday parties and the series of stops on our annual Christmas tour as we visited family, both local and out-of-state. I remember cutting, sewing, and stuffing fabric ornaments to hang on our tree.

I also remember the times as an adult when I did Christmas better — when I mailed Christmas cards (on time) with family photos; when I baked batches of hot, homemade cinnamon rolls and our children delivered them to the neighbors; when I led month-long Christmas-themed devotionals around our kitchen table at night; when I crafted thoughtful, individual gifts by hand.

No matter our age, we all enter the Christmas season with expectations influenced by past Christmases. And as women, we are often the ones expected to make the magic happen. Some years, the time and resources just aren’t there, but other years (and this one leaves us feeling so guilty), it’s our desire and motivation that have gone missing.

We can blame it on current events — no matter how much we want to shake off the pandemic, the world around us has changed — but for some of us the pandemic is merely an excuse, an easy scapegoat for feelings of inadequacy and the fear of not meeting the expectations of those around us. As if Christmas was about us anyway.

If comparison is the thief of joy, and Christmas celebrates the birth of the ultimate giver of joy, Jesus Christ Himself, then comparison has no place in how we observe this meaningful season. Whenever I apologize for a “less than” Christmas (yes, I’ve actually done this more than once), our children reassure me that it’s just right.

My apologies are misguided, putting the focus on my follies and failings instead of the incomprehensible fact that Jesus Christ descended from the perfection and glory of heaven into a fallen world for our sakes. He left a place where He was worshiped for one where He was ridiculed and rejected. He traded paradise for pain and suffering.

And the Word was made flesh, and dwelt among us, (and we beheld his glory, the glory as of the only begotten of the Father,) full of grace and truth.
John 1:14 (KJV)

This year I want to ease off the gas and savor the season at a slower speed, contemplating what the Father and Son sacrificed when Jesus came to dwell among us and spending time with the people who dwell with me each day.

The day after Thanksgiving, when the crumbs were swept away, I cleared a spot at the end of our dining room table and pulled out a puzzle. I wanted to create a spot where we could set aside devices, share stories, and sit together, possibly assembling a 1000-piece puzzle in the process. We’ve curled up on the couch to watch new Christmas movies at home and ventured out, blankets in hand, to a small local theater to see Frozen on the big screen again. We’ve whipped up batches of hot chocolate and steamed apple cider and built fires in the fireplace on cold evenings. Our best-loved Christmas albums are on heavy rotation, speakers synced so the music will follow us from room to room.

Memories are waiting to be made in such simple moments.

Our decorations aren’t Pinterest-worthy. We wrap our gifts, but we gave up on bows a long time ago. We haven’t mailed Christmas cards in years. But my family is enjoying the season together, and laughter rings throughout our home.

Trying to compete with Christmases before — those times when we cooked, decorated, gifted, or celebrated a little better — can steal the beauty and joy of this magical time of year. We’ll never do Christmas wrong when we focus on the real reason for the season — the birth of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ — and spending time with those we love.

For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given: and the government shall be upon his shoulder: and his name shall be called Wonderful, Counsellor, The mighty God, The everlasting Father, The Prince of Peace.
Isaiah 9:6 (KJV)

Finding Joy Is an Act of Defiance in This World

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I drove to my parent’s home as dusk became night, glancing around at the empty streets. Every street was hauntingly empty, except for me — a daughter driving to see her dying mother. Earlier that day, the governor of California imposed a lockdown due to the COVID pandemic. Residents were to stay home, except for vital activities like grocery shopping or life-and-death scenarios.

I felt sick when I realized I fell in the latter category; my mother was dying. That first week of the lockdown felt surreal. While my own world spun out of control, the rest of the world was seemingly playing along. Normal was a thing of the past for all of us. Mom worsened as hospice nurses came and went, along with new worries: What were they bringing with them? Had they been exposed to this new virus? Grief of my mother’s rapidly approaching death now swirled with confusion about the changing world we lived in.

Nothing was the same.

We held a small graveside service for Mom that felt lackluster. I wore an N-95 mask as I read the eulogy I wrote for her, grateful for a shield to partially hide my quivering chin and breaking voice.

And then it was done. It was time to go back to every day life, but one that was neither normal nor recognizable. I was facing a new life, but not the one I envisioned I would live after my mother passed. I once imagined vacations we would take my bereaved father on to prove that life could still be joyful — maybe my boys would finally go to Disneyland with their grandfather and giggle together on careening coasters. Perhaps we would take a cross-country road trip or finally go back to Hawaii, like we’d promised each other on our honeymoon. It felt naïve now to think of those plans.

Instead, I was left with a quieted life, now soaked with grief — for all the things. Losing my mother felt immensely surreal. She was here, and then she was not. How could that be? It was only in the days afterwards I realized I had unknowingly depended on the rest of my life to hold the line of normalcy. I thought when I emerged from the deep waters of grief long enough to take a breath, I would recognize my surroundings. It was odd the comfort I felt from a world turned upside down.

The world looked different and felt sad, as if in unison all of God’s people were asking, Why? What now? This part of the new world I was living in without my mother felt familiar since I had been asking those same questions since her cancer diagnosis.

Once my grief turned internal — and by that, I mean I no longer cried every other day — the question I began asking was, How? How can I find joy now, in a place that feels unfamiliar and complex, where my grief has specificity and vagueness that leave me with a hazy heaviness? During Jesus’ time on earth, He had the ability to focus on the big picture and the immediate need simultaneously. He spoke to crowds of thousands who yearned to hear the truth, and then healed the sick, one by one. Conditions were oppressive, and yet to those He touched, freedom was given.

Finding joy is an act of defiance in this world we now inhabit.

There is so much to grieve, personal and global, and yet His peace persists. His joy still thrives within. The world cannot steal the gift of Himself He has given. We can rejoice, but what does joy look like when every headline rushes to snuff it out?

Well, sometimes, it looks like planting roses.

I walked through the rows of rose bushes in the Lowe’s garden department. It was Mom’s birthday, and I did not want to visit her grave. My soul wanted to revolt. I would celebrate life and beauty instead. My fingers traced the velvet petals of a few potted roses as I inhaled their scent and considered which would bring me the most joy, which would remind me of the beauty in this world that still persists.

I bought some and planted them in my backyard, knowing the hot California sun would test their resilience. For the first weeks, it looked as though I had brought them home only to watch their slow withering deaths. How ironic, I thought. And then, a single bud appeared, followed by three, then six, then twelve. It was as if my mother had sent me a dozen roses.

Joy is resilient even when pain is relentless.

Maybe, for you, the grief you feel is more complex than a headline. Maybe it’s personal, as close as the heaviness that sits on your chest. Maybe it’s both. For many of us, it’s both. It’s knotted and gnarled and tangled so tightly it’s difficult to tease out exactly what feels so hard.

You don’t need untangle it for Jesus. He knows. He sees the big picture and the small, and He promises that for every unrelenting sorrow, one day there will be unimaginable joy.

Mama’s Got a Lot to Learn

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Everyone is sitting on cozy couches watching Hallmark movies. They feature leading ladies who return to their hometowns only to fall in love and find that their lives are finally falling into place. I know I should be snuggled up watching holiday movies too, baking gingerbread cookies, and singing all the Christmas songs. But instead, I am listening to “My Little Love” by Adele on repeat — and I cannot stop from playing the song over and over again, the lyrics looping in my kitchen, in my office, in my car:

I’m holding on (barely)
Mama’s got a lot to learn (it’s heavy)
I’m holding on (catch me)
Mama’s got a lot to learn (teach me)

The words of this song come to me when I wake. I hum them while I brush my teeth, I sing them in the shower and in grocery stores. I look up the lyrics and memorize them because even though Adele doesn’t know me, I’m sure the song is about me. I’m the one that’s barely holding on. I’m the one that, thirty years into living, still has so much to learn.

I am the mama hoping that the hurt in her heart doesn’t catch on to her kids. I am the mama hoping that her lostness doesn’t disappoint the light in her kids’ eyes when they discover that she doesn’t have it all together. That no matter how intelligent and brave and fun she seems, she’s really just a woman tearing at the seams.

And this isn’t just a sentiment for the mamas — this is the ache in every heart of any woman who’s got a lot to learn. It’s the ache of every woman that needs time to stand still and keep her wreckage from the world. It’s the ache of every woman desperately hoping that someone will love her while she’s learning, secretly guarding her imperfections so that she does not infect the ones she knows and loves. 

But time will never stay or stand still. Kids outgrow clothes, and the sun rises just as soon as we set our eyes to sleep. We barely catch our breath before we realize we’ve grown another year older, another year colder. And what we need at this point is not pity or apologies and not even just prayers.

What we need, at this point, is the truth that the God of the galaxies is enough to hold and handle our every emotion. What we need is the assurance that His love for us will not bend or break at the first — or second or third — sign of us losing faith. What we need is for the kind of grace that never rushes us or runs out on us.

We need the promise of His presence which never fails no matter what it is that we’re facing, both within and around us. We need the promise of a God who will walk with us through the scenarios that do not make sense, the circumstances in which we are still grieving and growing, still wandering and wondering.

These words from Adele, the honest confession of holding on and still having a lot to learn, pricked my seeking soul to recall story after story of God who walked through the most uncertain circumstance with a whole tribe of imperfect people. I am reminded of God who remained with the Israelites in their wilderness.

He was a God who didn’t just lead them out of their lostness but led them through it. Through every lesson they needed to learn — all of their polarity and immaturity, all of their unbelief and wavering grief — He walked with them, loving them as they learned to serve, love, and trust Him and each other.

I imagine the women — the grandmothers, mothers, sisters, aunts, cousins, wives, friends. I imagine their exhaustion from living in lostness, waking and rising to the same day in the wilderness, seemingly on repeat. I imagine them feeling like they didn’t know what they were doing, like they’d somehow gotten it all wrong. Feeling like, after all those years in Egypt, fighting for their freedom and singing about the sureness of God’s goodness, they still had so much left to learn as they carried out their faith, families, and future.

But God still loved them even in their learning.

By day the LORD went ahead of them in a pillar of cloud to guide them on their way and by night in a pillar of fire to give them light, so that they could travel by day or night. Neither the pillar of cloud by day nor the pillar of fire by night left its place in front of the people.
Exodus 13:21-22 (NIV)

And God loves us even in our learning. He provides for us and speaks promises over us, leading us through our darkest and hardest seasons when it feels like we are wandering around in the dark — confused, unsure, and barely hanging on.

And because of this great love — His promises, provision, and even protection — we do not have to circumvent the weight of our stories with anyone or hide the fact that we’ve not yet arrived. We can admit that we are tired and unsure and wary of the way even while we are trusting that God is holding us through it all. He leads and loves us even as we’re still learning.

What’s the One Thing That Matters Most to You Now?

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I’m wearing four layers of clothing: a bra, shirt, puffy vest, and coat — as if I’ve armored myself against what’s to come. On a chilly morning I step into a clinic for my yearly mammogram. As expected, I’m escorted to a tiny room and told to get rid of the layers.

The nurse holds up a garment and says, “When you’re done, put on this cape.” It’s covered in flowers and has a single snap at the neck. I have to admit that I feel a bit like Wonder Woman wearing it. And I might have put my hands on my hips and pretended to be her when the technician was busy looking at her computer screen.

I do not, however, feel like Wonder Woman throughout most of the procedure. As any woman who has been through this knows, I’m prodded and pinched, stretched and squished, twisted and placed in positions I did not know I was capable of achieving. The nurse is kind and tries to make the process less awkward. I tell her, “When I’m done, I’m going to get a treat. In my world, if you’re not a cowgirl and you have to be in stirrups or any body part must be compressed, then you get a treat.” She laughs.

I make my way to my favorite coffee shop afterward and order a latte. Then I open my laptop and take a look at my email inbox. Suddenly, I feel like I’m being stretched and compressed all over again — except this time it’s my energy and time that are getting worked over. There are several different requests, deadlines to be met, and messages from people with a variety of needs (all urgent). My anxiety immediately sky rockets, and I dive right in to getting things done. But in a few moments, I pause and realize I’ve had a relapse. Years ago, that’s the way I worked, the way I lived. It led me to the brink of burnout. I’m not going back.

Greg McKeown, the author of Essentialism, says, “Only once you give yourself permission to stop trying to do it all, to stop saying yes to everyone, can you make your highest contribution towards the things that really matter.” It can feel as if we are at the mercy of our calendars and to-do lists. This is a hard way to live. What I’m learning to ask instead is, “What’s most important right now?”

The Apostle Paul said, “I focus on this one thing: Forgetting the past and looking forward to what lies ahead, I press on to reach the end of the race and receive the heavenly prize for which God, through Christ Jesus, is calling us (Philippians 3:13-14). It can seem to us like Paul did a lot of things in his lifetime, but he really just did one thing in many different ways.

How would you fill in the blank in Paul’s declaration, “I focus on this one thing . . . “? You might answer with words about loving well, serving faithfully, living with excellence, or practicing resilience.

Then you can ask, “What does that specifically look like in this season of my life?”

These are not easy questions, but they can bring clarity to our lives. They can help us say “no” with courage and “yes” with conviction. As Greg McKeown also says, “If you don’t prioritize your life, someone else will.” Personally, I’ll take inner peace over being pulled in different directions any day (except maybe the one when I have to get my mammogram).

Shelly D. Calcagno’s words inspire and challenge me, “Sometimes I think of the future, and I imagine this family looking at some old pictures. . . . And some sweet child whom I’ve never met but who is part of my family in generations to come looks at my face and asks, ‘Tell me about her.’ What will they say about me? I hope they will see the good parts of me living on in them because I decided to live with purpose now.”

My guess is you are living with purpose — even (and perhaps especially) on the days when you can’t see it or you don’t feel it. Putting words to how you’re doing so is meant to be an affirmation of what you’re already doing, not another standard or expectation to live up to. You are surrounded by grace, supported by love, and you are doing so much better than you know.

God, there are so many good things to do in this world that it’s sometimes hard to see what’s really best. When we begin to get overwhelmed, to take on more than You ever asked us to do, help us to slow down, bring it all to You and choose wisely what we pursue. We are not here to do what everyone wants but what You will. Whew. Amen.

The holidays can be stressful. Pause and take a deep breath, then whisper a prayer, and answer this question, “What is the one thing I most want to pursue in this season?” I’d love to hear your answer in the comments!

Are you looking for an encouraging gift for the people you love this holiday season? Holley Gerth’s new devotional, What Your Soul Needs for Stressful Times: 60 Powerful Truths to Protect Your Peace, will be a blessing to everyone on your Christmas list.

God Handcrafts Unique Gifts for Each of Us

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

They were also expensive.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Learning to Let Our Hearts Be Light

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lay. Them. Down.

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

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

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

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

The Message version says it like this:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mary came.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Let’s Move Away from Scarcity Mentality and Live Abundantly

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Prayer usually results in one of the following:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What is bringing you joy these days?

When You Need to Actually Let Jesus Take the Wheel

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then rest in that knowledge.

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

When the Lies Are Loud, Rehearse Truth’s Song

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

You are disposable!

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

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

You are disposable! You don’t matter!

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

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

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

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

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

Who saw me when I thought I was invisible?

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

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

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

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

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

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