Be a Peacemaker, Not a Peacekeeper

Be a Peacemaker, Not a Peacekeeper

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Sometime, in recent years, it feels like the volume got turned up in our world. The internet in particular can feel like an angsty teenager blaring angry music with no concern for anyone else in the house. Social media is full of rants and arguments, strongly stated opinions and individual manifestos, subtle insults and divisive declarations. Stressful. I imagine you, like me, have sometimes wished for virtual earplugs. 

The other day a dear friend of mine expressed confusion over a particular aspect of this increased noise. “These are people I know,” she said, “and they are nothing like that in real life.” I nodded in understanding. Why would someone who is normally kind suddenly become so unmerciful online? 

Then this morning I came across these words from Scripture: “Those who are peacemakers will plant seeds of peace and reap a harvest of righteousness” (James 3:18). I suddenly realized that we, as humans, so easily get mixed up about how peace always needs to come first. Sometimes there’s an issue we’re passionate about, something we’re utterly convinced is right (and it may very well be). But then we decide that the rightness is what matters most, even more than relationships. Rather than planting seeds of peace, we sacrifice peace for the sake of declaring our position or opinion on a particular subject. We somehow feel doing so is our duty. 

We probably all know someone like this — the brother-in-law who argues about politics while passing the mashed potatoes at Thanksgiving dinner, the preacher who pounds the pulpit with closed fists, the well-meaning friend who unknowingly offends the very people she wants to reach. They all have one thing in common: no matter how loud they may shout, no one is really going to listen. And if no one is listening, there is no opportunity for a response. And if there is no opportunity for a response, there is no transformation (which is true righteousness, the kind that comes from the inside out). 

What’s the alternative? For us to be peacemakers who love others so well that they want to hear what we have to say. To be people who value those who are different from us even if we don’t understand them. To build relationships one tiny seed at a time until something strong and beautiful grows. 

I believe gentleness is one of the most undervalued qualities in our culture. Yet we are invited to be “gentle at all times” (James 3:17). All times means at home, at work, in church, and on social media. Gentleness is the soil where peace can grow. 

Maybe you’re not the shouting kind to begin with and you’ve wondered if you’ve been too quiet in a world where everyone seems to be holding a megaphone. If so, let me encourage you to continue being gentle, continue being a peacemaker, continue planting those seeds. 

Maybe you’ve gotten mixed up and unintentionally put being right before relationships. If so, I imagine you’re weary and perhaps wounded. It’s time to rest. It’s time to return to peace — within your own heart and with those around you. 

One of my favorite stories in all of Scripture is when God reveals Himself to the prophet Elijah on a mountain. There is a mighty windstorm, an earthquake, then a fire, but God is in none of these. This line still takes my breath away: “After the fire there was a voice, a soft whisper” (1 Kings 19:12). God was in the gentleness. God was in the peace. God was in the whisper. God is still in the whisper. He doesn’t need to turn up the volume to make Himself heard, and He doesn’t need us to either. 

Join me in prayer today: God, You are “the God of peace” (Hebrews 13:20). Give me the courage to be a person of peace too. When I’m tempted to focus on making sure I’m telling everyone what’s right, help me remember what matters most is that they know how much they’re loved by You. You are the one who transforms hearts gently, fully, and miraculously — including my own. Amen. 

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Stress is inevitable but letting it control your life is optional. As a bestselling author, counselor, and life coach, Holley Gerth has learned a lot about dealing with stress and what truly helps. What Your Soul Needs for Stressful Times is your invitation to pause for a few moments of encouragement, peace, and strength each day. 

This 60-day devotional offers spiritual truth to soothe your soul alongside practical tools to apply that will truly make a difference. Each day, Holley offers Scripture, a prayer, questions for reflection, and inspirational quotes to help you learn to live with more peace and less pressure, more calm and less chaos, more worship and less worry. Get your copy today . . . and enter to WIN one of five copies right here*!

Just leave a comment telling us how you deal with stressful times, and you’re in the running to win.

Also, tune in tomorrow, September 8th at 12:00 pm central on Facebook for a conversation with Holley and (in)courage Community Manager Becky Keife as they discuss What Your Soul Needs for Stressful Times!

*Giveaway open to U.S. addresses only and will close at 11:59 pm CST on September 10, 2021.

The Secret Recipe for a Good Life

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My love of strawberry jam began in Lucille’s kitchen.

I wish I could share with you the intricacies of our friendship, how God had the kindness to mold a mentor out of my Sunday School teacher. There was a season in my life where I would sit at her kitchen table every Sunday morning, drinking in her wisdom with my hot chocolate.

And without fail, my breakfast included toast with the most delicious strawberry jam I’d ever tasted. I bragged about it so much that my family wanted to try it, so I asked Lucille where she bought her jar of sugary goodness.

I remember her pointing over her shoulder, to the yard beyond her kitchen window. She told me she grew her own strawberries and when the time was right, her family came over and made strawberry jam with her. She smiled warmly, the kind of smile that creases your face when the memories are sweet.

As a young teen with an old soul, I was fascinated by the idea that Lucille’s homemade strawberry jam was precious. It was likely a family recipe, which meant it was off limits to the nerdy girl trying to catch a ride to Sunday School after pathetic attempts at learning the piano.

I knew I wasn’t special enough to have the recipe for the good stuff.

But I loved it dearly — so dearly that I asked for it as a graduation present before I moved away. When Lucille presented the plastic-wrapped mason jar to me, it was too much for my heart to handle. So much in my life was changing — I was graduating high school, moving over two hundred miles away, and starting a brand new life that I was both terrified and excited to begin.

So I threw caution to the wind, stuck my heart out on my sleeve, and asked for the recipe. “I know it’s probably passed down from generation to generation, and I know I’m not your daughter or anything, but will you please share the secret recipe for your strawberry jam?”

My heart ricocheted in my chest, proving that this wasn’t really about a recipe at all. I was asking Lucille if I was special enough for her to share something sacred with me.

And I’ll never forget her response, even after all these years. Without missing a beat or making a face, she simply said, “There is no secret. I just follow the directions on the box.”

I still think of that moment each time I eat strawberry jam. I’ll smile or laugh to myself because I spent so much time believing that recipe was out of my reach when it was available to me from the beginning. All I had to do was ask.

I think I’m like that with God, too.

I make things harder than they need to be. I convince myself the things He has for me are out of my grasp. I think they’re beyond my reach or only meant for special people with special privileges, with special access — as if God has a tiered membership program and I’m forever on the bottom.

I believe I’m not right, I’m not worthy, I’m not enough.

Meanwhile, God assures me that the blood of Christ doesn’t just cleanse me, it makes me family. There’s no family secret to keep because I’m already in. He isn’t withholding anything good or right from me.

So the kindness of God — the goodness and wisdom and divine direction I can so clearly see in the lives of others — is available to me too.

I beg Him for direction. I measure and compare. “Just tell me the recipe for a good life, God,” I pray. “Tell me the secret, and I’ll use it to make You proud.” And my heart ricochets in my chest because I think if I can have a good life, or at least a life that looks good, it will mean that He loves me. It will mean that I’m enough.

But I think He echoes Lucille’s words from years ago: there is no secret.

Because it’s Him. He’s the one ingredient needed to make a good life. Everything else pales in comparison, fading into nothing as He exists into eternity.

My good life is found in Him. He is the good stuff . . . the best stuff.

That’s the easiest recipe ever.

Tell Your Story

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Welcome to the final Bible Study Monday in this series! We have been going through our Courageous Influence Bible Study for six weeks, and so far we’ve looked at:

  • Week 1, which began with a foundational statement: You are a woman of influence,
  • Week 2, which revealed that influence is about where God has placed you and your willingness to say yes to Him,
  • Week 3, which explored what it means to be a person of integrity in using our influence,
  • Week 4, which taught us to be generous with our influence, and
  • Week 5, which showed us how to be intentional with our influence.

Now we turn to the final chapter — Week 6, which explores how storytelling can be a powerful way of influencing others.

Reading Assignment

This week, read Week Six: Tell Your Story, on pages 177-208 in the Courageous Influence Bible Study. Grab your copy and start reading!

Quote of the Week

Keep this quote in mind as you read Week Six:

Each of our stories is unique to us, and they are our stories to tell.

– Grace P. Cho in Courageous Influence. Feel free to download this quote to share with a friend!

Discussion Video

Three of our (in)courage writers invite us into their conversations about Courageous Influence! Join study author Grace P. Cho along with Becky Keife and Kathi Lipp as they discuss each week of the Bible study. Listen in on their conversation about Week Six (and find all the weekly videos here):

Reflection Questions

Together in the comments, answer and discuss any of all of the following questions:

  • How does remembering and retelling narratives about your history and culture require courage from you?
  • In what ways have you found the phrase “for such a time as this” relevant to you?
  • Throughout the Bible, there is an emphasis on telling what God has done. Why do you think that is? In other words, why is telling our stories so important?

Let’s Pray Together

God, thank You for how You’ve created us for such a time as this. When the time comes for us to take a stand and use our voices and our influence for the sake of others, give us wisdom and courage to lean in even when the cost is great. Thank You for loving us so much that You did the same for us. We love You, Lord. Amen.

Remember, answer the reflection questions in the comments so we can discuss Week Six together!

Friends, thank you SO MUCH for joining us throughout these six weeks of Bible study. We will be back with another series of Bible Study Mondays starting in November as we go through the Courageous Kindness Bible Study together, right here. We hope you’ll join us! In the meantime, get a FREE week from each of the four Courageous Bible Studies and free leader resources.

What You Can Do When Your Plans Fail

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I have a confession: It’s hard for me when plans don’t work out — especially since I tend to overthink everything and spend so much time planning out what-ifs and mapping things out with a timeline and checklist. My stress levels spike when things don’t work out.

When you grow up the oldest in the family, to a single teenage mom, you learn to become self-sufficient. You figure out that the key to survival is coming up with a good plan, whether it’s figuring out which city bus routes to take to get to your school concert or summer job or how to get yourself through college. And if plans fall through, you need to work things out on your own. It was by God’s grace that my ability to plan and problem solve helped me overcome hard things and rise above my humble circumstances.

But we are not meant to carry hard things indefinitely on our own, friend. When the coping, survival mechanisms that might have worked for us at an earlier season in our lives are stretched out over time, they eventually exhaust us and make us weary. And when that happens, it’s time for God to write something new within us.

For example, with this pandemic we’re all stumbling through, our emotional tanks are depleted, and we might be wondering, “Aren’t things getting better? Why am I struggling with so much stress?” We struggle because plans are constantly changing and it seems there’s no end in sight. We feel left on our own to figure things out, and we’re barely holding it together.

Exhaustion can occur over time when we carry our burdens alone, and the soul weariness that comes with it could be the exhaustion of loneliness. 

During the pandemic, I faced more loneliness than I’d like to admit. Many of my plans fell apart, but as I wrote my new book, Sweet Like Jasmine: Finding Identity in a Culture of Loneliness, I began to see God calling me to let go of my plans.

God began showing me my old, childhood patterns of coping — staying isolated when I didn’t know what to do. I became honest with myself about the old scripts I’d been following, and I asked God to rewrite my story, making beauty out of brokenness. God invited me to let go of control, so I can make room for new things to grow.

When we can’t put the broken pieces of our plans back together, God whispers, Let me fill in the cracks with my love.

Here is a powerful metaphor I came across as I was researching material for my book. It illustrates God’s work of redeeming broken things to create beauty:

“Kintsugi is the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery by mending it with gold. Each piece is made more beautiful and valuable for having been broken. Gold isn’t used to hide flaws, but to highlight them. The breakage is treated as a valuable part of an object’s history to accentuate and treasure, instead of something to disguise and camouflage. 

The artist embraces flaws as a way of not only repairing broken pottery, but also as a means of transforming it into something new: an original, unable to be duplicated, work of art. 

You are God’s original work of art. Allow God to be the golden repair that lovingly holds you together, filling every crevice in your heart to bring new life, beauty, and wholeness.” (excerpted from my book, Sweet Like Jasmine)

When we don’t know what to do, instead of reaching for a plan, simply reach for God’s hand and each other. Let’s move out of loneliness and help each other look back on God’s goodness. Let’s share our burdens and the stories of faith that have shaped us.

So, today, when your plans fall through, stop and breathe. Think about God’s love, think about His goodness, and His grace that’s brought you through. Hear Jesus whisper, There is no safer place to be than right here close to Me. I will carry you through.

When you feel overwhelmed, remember that God understands. He is faithful to complete the work He started in you. He is with you. He loves you. And no one and nothing can thwart the plans God has intended for you.

So if you’re going through something hard, if plans fall through, and no end is in sight, let these words guide your heart as they have mine:

Even to your old age and gray hairs I am he, I am he who will sustain you.
I have made you and I will carry you.
Isaiah 46:4 (NIV)

Get a FREE audiobook, journal + book club for my new East-Meets-West book about embracing your true worth in Sweet Like Jasmine: Finding Identity in a Culture of Loneliness by signing up here! I’m so excited to encourage you with God’s love with this book! Sign up here!

Trusting in the God of Unmet Expectations

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The boxer Mike Tyson once said, “Everybody has a plan until they get punched in the mouth.” That’s how I feel about this fall. I had hoped that things would start to get back to normal by September. After all, people have been getting vaccinated, and many of the COVID-19 precautions we had been practicing over the past year, from social distancing to face masks, were shifting from required to recommended. I had also hoped that the start of the fall school year would be a reset, allowing former plans put on hold to now be possible. But with the rise of the Delta variant and the Delta plus and as many of our children and the unvaccinated are now contracting the virus, I am realizing that all my hopes and dreams for the fall are slipping through my fingers.

That trip my family had planned for later this month is now canceled.

Meeting up with local friends in person will have to continue virtually.

Inviting our neighbors over for a barbeque and watching that Sunday football game will have to wait.

Going back to regular Sunday morning services won’t be happening any time soon.

Taking my children to the library and other indoor places will still not be part of our daily rhythms.

I’ll have to get a refund for that new sports club I signed my kids up for.

This past year has been hard enough, but what makes the fall especially hard is the reality of unmet expectations. We could see the possibility of normality on the horizon before we lost it again, and that lost dream feels like a sucker punch. My heart aches for what could be and the knowledge of what has been lost. I grieve for what I could be doing or what my family should be doing right now.

But God meets me in the grief of my unmet expectations. He does not chide me for desiring good things in the midst of a pandemic, but He does challenge me to desire Him more.

Throughout Scripture, we see the people of God continually battling unmet expectations. Hannah and Rachel’s desires for children initially go unanswered. God rejects King David’s desire to build a temple. Moses’ hope to see the Promised Land goes unfulfilled. In each of these instances, God doesn’t correct His people for having longings and dreams; rather, He comforts them with His presence and reminds them that He is enough.

Sometimes we worry and stress over what we don’t have. It’s easier to complain and get angry for the doors that have been shut than practice gratitude for what we do have. But in our unmet expectations, God refines us, asking us to wait and trust that His timing is perfect. Like Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane, God longs for us to say to Him, “Not my will, but yours be done” (Luke 22:42). Jesus did not want to die. He even asked God to make a different path possible for salvation. However, when that request was denied, He did not lose heart because His ultimate desire was to please His Abba Father. Jesus brought every desire under the authority of His ultimate desire, which was to glorify God.

So, how can we glorify God right now in the midst of this pandemic? How can we bring our every desire captive and trust in God’s timing, even when that means continuing to wait and defer our dreams?

Our best way to cope and even thrive this fall and throughout the rest of the Covid-19 pandemic is to simplify our desires down to one — to please God. That way, whether our specific dream takes place or not, we can still have joy and delight in the present moment because our main desire is to please God. No matter what happens this fall, no matter if we remain in person or go back to virtual gatherings, no matter if the coronavirus flares up again or begins to dwindle down, we can guard our thoughts and emotions by keeping away “anything that might take God’s place in your hearts” (1 John 5:21 NLT).

Ultimately, God is greater than any vacation. God is sweeter than any gathering. God is better than any class or trip or new venture. Yes, there is space to grieve. Yes, there is space to name what is lost. But let’s also trust God in His good and perfect timing for all things. Let’s focus on how we can glorify God right now, even in the midst of unmet expectations.

How Will We Choose to Use Our Words?

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I open my computer, and it’s a not-so-gentle reminder of the hiatus we’ve had (and needed) from seeing everyone’s extreme opinions about the latest hot topic — which appears to be almost everything. 

This is not a real example but something like this:

Caption: Look at this cinnamon roll! (Photo of a bakery item the size of the moon, next to a hot cup of coffee, flower arrangement, and open Bible)

Comment 1: Yum! 

Comment 2: LOL, gluten is bad for you!

Comment 3: I ate a donut last week, and it gave me an infection in my big toe. Look at this (photo attached). 

Comment 4: My Aunt was a donut maker, and she’s also a (insert political affiliation), so we don’t eat them anymore. No thanks, can’t be associated with them! 

Comment 5: Ok, HUMBLE brag with the Bible *eyeroll emoji*

I feel my chest tighten and notice I’m holding my breath. I don’t want to do this again. I don’t want to do this anymore. 

I miss big parties, and I miss traveling like we used to. I miss seeing people’s smiles, and I miss about a trillion other little things I took for granted. But mostly I miss not feeling so willingly divided and anxious about relational stress as we approach the fall and winter. And before I can even use language to describe this anxiety, my body responds for me, and I wear my shoulders as ear muffs. My breath quickens. I wince. My brows furrow, blood rushes to my cheeks, or my stomach hurts. If you’re human with a beating heart, you probably know what I’m talking about.  

I close the computer and think about it all day: Why are people like this? Why can’t we just stop treating each other like this? I wish “she” wouldn’t have mentioned that — that makes me mad. But the more I think on it, the more I think about the human condition we need saving from: our own selves. Before you throw tomatoes at me, I didn’t come up with this idea. 

What causes quarrels and what causes fights among you? Is it not this, that your passions are at war within you? You desire and do not have, so you murder. You covet and cannot obtain, so you fight and quarrel. 
James 4:1-3 (ESV)

Ouch. That one convicted me so badly I memorized it this summer to prepare me for the fall and the potential heated debates to come. And let me say, when I’m about to actively run into an argument after reading Cousin Fred’s entire comments section in his latest fire-breathing post, I take a deep belly breath and consume truth that comes from a living and active God. I am the problem. Forgive me, Lord, for wanting to murder someone with my words, for believing I am more worthy of your gift of grace than he is. Give me the supernatural power to love someone I feel is my enemy. I can’t do this on my own. 

As believers, we should be people marked not by fear, hatred, or murderous words but by peace. We should have a desire for unity instead of desiring and actively seeking out division with our words. We should have the markings of self control and love, not unbridled tongues which have the power to set the world on fire. I don’t know if I really believed that until last year, but haven’t we all seen the power of our tongues and how they hold the power of life and death? 

Lest this start to feel a bit depressing, as we all have a personal account of our own devastating losses this year, including close relationships, we actually do have great hope. 

 I have said these things to you, that in me you may have peace. In the world you will have tribulation. But take heart; I have overcome the world.
John 16:32-33 (ESV)

Read that verse again. Notice how your body responds to the truth. It’s quite different from scrolling through a social media feed. Maybe like mine, your shoulders come down and your breath slows. And as the words of Scripture settle into my heart, I see things more clearly now: We are too quick to wander into the most dangerous of places with our words and thoughts, thinking we know the better path. But God is our Good Shepherd. He actively looks to bring us back to Himself, reorient our hearts toward Him, and give us the peace of His guidance, care, and protection — even from ourselves.

We are not on our own when we face difficult circumstances and conversations or when we have to navigate complicated relationships and feelings. When we see ourselves and others with the right perspective, we remember that our words, whether written in a comment or spoken out loud, have the power to give life and speak truth. 

What If We’re Supposed to Be the Answer to Our Prayer?

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The smell of coffee beans and cinnamon rolls wafted through the crowded terminal. Passengers congregated like impatient sardines near the gate, waiting for the airline employee to announce their boarding group. The flight was assigned seating, so I was happy to wait until the last minute to start breathing recycled air. I was thrilled to be heading to a writers’ retreat, but flying is not my favorite.

I was already starting to feel anticipatory nausea (it’s a thing), and the loud shrieking nearby wasn’t helping. I looked over and saw a mom and toddler in front of a vending machine. The little boy stomped his feet until his mom handed him a blue bag of Chips Ahoy.

Cookies at 8:00 a.m. aren’t going to help anyone! I thought.

Immediately, a pang of conviction trumped my snap judgment. Surely I have not been above doling out sugary snacks to my own kids to buy myself a few minutes of peace and quiet.

Lord, forgive me for being quick to judge. Please bless this mama with someone kind and loving to sit next to on the plane. Help her to see You in her day. Amen.

The traveling sardines eventually filed down the jet bridge. I followed to 17E. It was a full flight, so I was surprised to find my entire row empty. As I shoved my backpack under the seat, I had a glorious vision: three hours of uninterrupted rest and productivity. With extra space, I’d be able to concentrate on finalizing my speaking notes for the retreat and then catch a little snooze. I’d land ready and refreshed for all God had planned! I adjusted the air vent and closed the shutter. Deep breath. This might actually be a great flight.

Then there they were. The little boy with cookie crumbs on his chin, crawling into the seat next to me. The mom settled in and took off her son’s shoes. He wiggled and shrieked and wedged himself on the floor between the seats.

“I just want to apologize in advance,” she said softly.

And I knew. I knew God was answering my prayer. Be the blessing.

I took a deep breath.

“Don’t even worry about it,” I said. “I have three boys. I know contained spaces can be tough.” She smiled weakly.

The next three hours were punctuated by screaming and squirming. When Jack’s mom tried to get the toddler to rest in her lap, his feet kicked against my thigh. When the cartoon on her phone ended, when she offered the wrong snack, when he dropped his toy car for the fourteenth time, Jack wailed. His mom stayed calm.

“You’re okay,” she said.

“You’re okay,” he repeated.

Somewhere between the complimentary pretzels and the woman in front of us glaring back again, I struck up a conversation. Typical questions: How old is your son? Do you have other kids? Are you headed home or going on a trip? Jack just turned three and had two older step-siblings. They were on their way home.

“It’s not easy flying with a little one,” I said. “You’re doing a really great job.”

“Thanks. This is way better than last time.” I saw a wince of remembrance flash over her face. “Jack got diagnosed with autism a couple of months ago. He’s not very verbal and gets easily frustrated. But he started therapy, and it’s really helping.”

I had hoped this flight would be a quiet space for me to work and rest. That didn’t happen. I didn’t get to prepare for my meetings or take a nap. But I did catch a glimpse of Jesus.

The engines hummed louder as we made our final descent. Jack nuzzled closer to his mama. With a stranger’s tiny toes pressed against me, all I could think was: What if we’re supposed to be the answer to our prayer? What if we changed the way we prayed?

Instead of “Lord, bless them,” “Lord, prepare me to be a blessing.”
Instead of “Lord, show them kindness,” “Lord, empower me to be kind.”
Instead of “Lord, provide,” “Lord, give me eyes to see and a willingness to give.”

I deboarded the plane and was grateful to stretch my legs. Just beyond the gate I passed a vending machine with a row of bright blue-packaged cookies. I looked back over my shoulder and caught a glimpse of Jack. I mulled over the truth like a student rehearsing exam facts she doesn’t want to forget: Appearances never tell the whole story. Appearances never tell the whole story. Be the blessing. Be the blessing.

Three years later and I’m still rehashing this story in my mind.

Be the answer to my prayer for kindness. Be the one who sees a stranger through God’s eyes of love and compassion instead of my own judgment and inconvenience. It was only Jesus in me that prompted me to get off the high horse of my own annoyance in the airport terminal and even think to pause in prayer for this struggling mama-son pair. I’m so grateful the Lord gave His Spirit to whisper to mine.

But it’s not enough just to hear. Our faith grows legs for change when we turn that hearing into doing.

The small shift from self-focused to others-focused, from perception to action, is the beginning of the simple difference.

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Becky Keife’s new book, The Simple Difference: How Every Small Kindness Makes a Big Impact, will help you see more of the people in front of you, more of God’s lavish love for you, and more of His power within you.

The Simple Difference is now available wherever books are sold. We’re so excited for this book to be in your hands!

Want to start reading now? Get a FREE sample chapter!

You Have Permission to Change Your Mind

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My hands hovered over my laptop keyboard, trembling. I could blame it on the fact that it was past eleven in the morning and I’d only had coffee, but it was more likely due to the fear bubbling inside of me over what I was writing: my resignation letter.

I was quitting my job in journalism and moving onto something else. I just had no idea what that “something else” was going to be. 

My stomach flip-flopped with anxiety — not because I felt like it was the wrong decision, but because the great unknown always makes me feel a little sick. 

I’d been praying about resigning for at least six months. Or maybe a year. Or maybe a year and a half. I’d been praying about this decision for so long, I couldn’t remember when I first started. I was so terrified to make the wrong decision — terrified that if I quit my career, I would never find another. I was scared people would think I was making a mistake. I was scared God would stop providing for me.

I talked to a spiritual director about it. I journaled about it. I sought counsel from wise friends about it. I wanted God to give me a sign in the sky, spelled out with cumulus clouds, saying, “Here’s exactly what I think you should do.” 

The sign never came. Instead, God gave me a brain, good friends, prayer, the Holy Spirit, and a few sessions with a spiritual director. 

I took a deep breath before I sent the email, then clicked send, and listened as my computer made the whooshing sound it makes when an email goes off. Suddenly the career I had worked so hard for was about to change.

To my surprise, the world around me didn’t suddenly crash and burn when I sent off that email. In fact, the world remained quite intact. I remained sitting on my apartment balcony, as the birds kept chirping and the breeze kept blowing. I’d made a massive life change, and nothing fell apart. I felt a little nervous, but I also felt peace settle around me like a warm, freshly washed blanket.

We can change our minds, and God will remain the same. In Scripture, God is often compared to a rock or a fortress — a stunning mental image of steadiness, surety, and constancy. 

Psalm 71:3 says, “Be to me a rock of refuge, a strong fortress, to save me, for you are my rock and my fortress.”

Or Psalm 94:22, “But the Lord has become my stronghold, and my God the rock of my refuge.”

Or again in Psalm 62:2, “He alone is my rock and my salvation, my fortress; I shall never be shaken.”

Over and over, Scripture reminds us of God’s steadfastness. And in case you’re not into rock or fortress metaphors, here’s the same message even more clearly in the book of Hebrews: “Jesus Christ is the same, yesterday, today and forever” (Hebrews13:8). 

We have permission to make changes in our lives because we serve a God who never changes. He will always remain faithful. You can change your job, your house, your hairstyle, or your opinion. For some of us, change is a welcome relief. For others, it’s terrifying. But like an unyielding rock in the middle of a storm, God is there through it all. 

When things are changing around us — whether because we chose them or because our circumstances determined those changes for us — we can lean on the Rock who is higher, steadier, and stronger than us. Our hope, reassurance, and strength to keep going is the unchanging promise that Jesus Christ will never change. He will always be the One we can cling to, trust in, and rely on.

Maybe today, you’re at a place where you know something needs to change. You feel it deep in your bones and sense God inviting you into it. But it’s hard to take that first step. I’d love to be a friend to you today and offer permission to take that first step forward. It’s okay to make a change. Permission to make a small change — or a big one — is yours. 

My final day at my job was last week. Even though resigning felt akin to leaping off a cliff, the spot I found myself landing was the Rock who is steady beside me. He had never left me alone.

When everything is changing, God never will.

How Change Helps You See What’s Right in Front of You

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There is a town on the shore of the Hudson River, just outside of the city that never sleeps, about fifteen miles north of New York City. During the day, it glistens with views of waves and water, and at night you can watch the nearby city lights twinkle like fireflies. And the trees — wouldn’t you believe it? — New York has as many trees as skyscrapers.

It is the town I grew up in, the town I went to college in, even the town my grandfather was killed in.

My dream was to get away from this town, this county, this city, and go somewhere far away — somewhere like the college in Oklahoma that covered the pamphlets I kept sprawled across my teenage bedroom floor.

In my last year of high school, I sat in the office of my guidance counselor, all nervous and fidgety. I can still see her face framed by her long curly hair and those gentle, brown eyes. I told her I wanted to go away for college so I could get away, so I could see someplace new and become someone different.

“That sounds great,” she said. “But did you know that there’s a college nearby that sounds like it has just what you’re looking for?”

“No,” I told her. No, I didn’t know, and no, I didn’t want to go.

I told her I was happy with my plan and where I wanted to be, but out of respect for her guidance I told her I’d visit the college the next time they had orientation.

And wouldn’t you believe it, that first moment I stepped onto campus, I suddenly felt every dream I had about Oklahoma fade away, disappearing into thin air like it never belonged there in the first place. It was then that I chose that college; it was there, overlooking the same river I’d seen again and again that I realized I had fallen in love with my town for all new reasons.

Even though it never changed, even though everything about it was the same, it was like seeing it all for the very first time. It turned out, the change was in me, opening my heart to see a beauty that was always there, but that I’d never before seen.

The truth is that welcoming any change — changes in mind, heart, place, life — is like that, too. Change helps us see the beauty that has always been there but that we’d never before seen. We go on our hands and knees in search of ideals, perfection, and novelty, when what we really need to do is to look around and see that we have all that we need.

So, today, on this first day of the month that mentally cues our hearts to welcome new rhythms in work and school, a month that cues our souls to seek out squashes and pumpkins and seasonal shopping, may you center your heart to welcome change, not simply by the shifting seasons, but by the speaking Spirit. More than looking to the falling leaves and cooler weather, more than consistency coming back, more than the prospect of holidays, look to the growing softness of your own heart. Look to those things that are falling away, those things that are good and ready to be done with. Look to the places in your life where God is already at work. Look to your home, to your desk, to your nightstand, to your floors, to your feelings.

And whether the voice of the Spirit comes sweeping in slowly or suddenly, it is surely He that is speaking.

You do not need a new town, a new day, or a new season to usher in the kind of change that stills your soul to see you are already rich in all that you need and all that you need to be. There’s no need to chase or escape something or someplace to be made new. It is God who does this breathtaking work within us.

As you look forward to the changes that fall will bring, what is one thing that you can appreciate or acknowledge is good about right where you are?

Watching for God (and Finding Him) Even in Financial Insecurity

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I watch. I wait. I wonder. Some call it courage. Some call it foolish. I call it faith.

Over a decade ago, I wrote an article called, “Join Me on Our God Watch.” I invited blogging friends to join our family as we entered another “God Watch” period in our lives — my husband’s unemployment. Years ago, I coined that phrase for our children as a game of sorts. During our first extended season of financial insecurity, it was an intentional way of watching and waiting to see how the Lord would unexpectedly amaze us during a particularly difficult circumstance. Every day around the dinner table, we’d ask the kids how they witnessed God working in their life or in someone else’s.

All these years later, it’s still a family mantra. Our God Watch is a reminder to gaze at His goodness, to rest in His reassurances. But more importantly, it’s a whisper of willingness to choose joy in the midst of doubt — to live it and seek out His goodness when we feel it the least.

I chuckle as I re-read that post. Heartfelt was the God Watch invitation, but at the end I retorted, “Remind me of this in six months if we’re still unemployed, deal?” I never assumed I would need to revisit that tongue-in-cheek comment as we wrestled through an additional year of unemployment — another year of wondering how we’d pay our bills and hustling odd jobs to make ends meet. A year of attempting to model for our five children that while being in the throes of uncertainty, we stand as a steadfast gospel witness to all His things beautiful, good, and true. Throughout that season, we let them ask hard questions. We welcomed and walked with them through their doubts. When people looked at our faith and called us foolish, we believed wholeheartedly that He meant all things for our good even when we didn’t feel its evidence immediately.

This week I’ve gone down memory lane and read my “God Watch” journals to reinvigorate my spirit by His notable marks of remembrance in my life. I thought I needed that reminder in 2020, but 2021 has brought with it a whole host of new tensions.

Many of us have lost so much. We’ve lost jobs, loved ones, homes, savings. Some lost things less tangible but that have left us lonely and disillusioned. Maybe it’s the loss of goals and dreams, loss of community, friendships, or even church homes due to division. Amidst my personal wrestling, the Lord is allowing me to be a safe space for others to share these losses, but my typical Pollyanna personality is struggling. Do any of you feel like you’ve lost some of your optimism and fun? No? Just me?

That’s why I stopped in my tracks from a specific journal entry. Don’t you love how He often uses our past experiences to preach to our own heart when we need it most?

I wrote:

Satan would love nothing more than to take me down the winding road of regret and woo me into a long, whiny discussion. The kind of back-and-forth conversation that takes place in my mind — ideas primed as dagger-like darts, feelings that mull around in misery, yet with no audible words ever leaving the mouth. Oh yes, those have been some of my more lively discussions.

But, today, His faithfulness reminds me that I have the choice to punctuate my life with praise.

Praise for His security during times of uncertainty. Praise for the little things since they are reminders of the big things. Like the way the stars twinkle so much brighter snuggling on a blanket with my husband and children. Or the way my teen age son guzzles the soda straight from the two-liter as I type. No sky-rocketing mommy annoyance now. I am so thankful he’s journeying with us, choosing to be “an untypical teen” during this learning transition. (FYI: Now that teen is married, and I couldn’t be more thrilled to see them chase after Jesus together, but I wish he was in our kitchen this second guzzling from the bottle. I miss it.)

How about when my favorite grocery store tripled their coupons the very week I needed to stockpile my favorite items or the “trash to treasure” finds that I uncovered at last weekend’s yard sale?

Ah yes . . . finding joy in things I had entirely missed before deepens my faith walk. It’s a reminder of how this extended “God Watch” season can grow us deeper, make us more intentional, and reveal to us the little blessings that are so often overlooked.

So here’s to finishing a year of no steady job, but I’m still testifying that He is good.

August 2021 Serious Jen needs that reminder from 2008 Jen.

As our summer starts winding down and uncertainty begins ramping up, let me testify again that no matter the circumstance, “He is the same yesterday, today and forever” (Hebrews 13:8). He is a God of faithfulness who fights for us, forever desiring our best, and a God who wants us to find Him in every season and every part of our lives.

What are you finding on your own God Watch journey?

When Our Words Hurt Instead of Heal

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I was the friend who said the wrong thing. It was a text on a random weekday, a back and forth conversation about a sensitive subject. My words weren’t ugly; I repeated a familiar Scripture meant to encourage. But, as texts are prone to do, it lacked the nuance and compassion I intended to convey, and I hurt her deeply.

Like a broken thread on the hem of a dress, our friendship began to unravel. I apologized profusely and tried to fix my words with more words. My fumbling delivery was fearful and hesitant as I delicately tried to avoid making things worse. Her hurting heart became distant, and our friendship grew cold and unfamiliar. I exhausted every prayer, every apology, every word, but I couldn’t fix it.

I was heartbroken that I had hurt her and horrified that had I turned into that girl — the one who’s tone deaf to other’s sufferings, the one who’s too selfish to see the other side of an experience, the one that slaps on a Scripture when someone really needs a hand to hold.

I’m sensitive and thoughtful. I use my words to encourage. I shake my head in disapproval when I hear testimonies of thoughtless statements spoken in delicate situations and wonder, How could people be so cruel? I’ve journeyed through infertility, a season of grief notably scarred by the deep sting of well-meaning words.

I thought I knew exactly what to say, until I didn’t.

The loss of our friendship led to a season of intense self-doubt. I avoided texts and obsessed over my responses. I doubted my ability to encourage other friends and refrained from interjecting into difficult conversations. I experienced crippling guilt. I anxiously replayed our last few conversations in my head, trying to figure out what I should have done differently. I felt the need to apologize for every fragile word I spoke. My insecurity threatened to silence me.

My poorly picked words reminded me of Peter in Matthew 16:22. Just verses before, Peter experienced a moment of honor as he confessed that Jesus was the Christ, the Son of God. Peter spoke from his heart and said all the right things. Jesus responded with a prophetic blessing over him. But in verse 22, after Jesus foretold His own death, Peter misread the situation.

And Peter took him aside and began to rebuke him, saying, “Far be it from you, Lord! This shall never happen to you.”
Matthew 16:22 (ESV)

Though he was well-meaning, Peter got it wrong. This time, Jesus’ response wasn’t a prophetic blessing but a stern correction.

But he turned and said to Peter, “Get behind me, Satan! You are a hindrance to me. For you are not setting your mind on the things of God, but on the things of man.”
Matthew 16:23 (ESV)

Matthew moves on from there, and we don’t see Peter’s reaction. But I imagine it might have been a little like my own: shocked that he could so easily become the disciple that said the wrong thing, shrinking in self-doubt after Jesus called him a “hindrance,” lost in a spiral of guilt at the realization that his perspective was all wrong. It was enough to make Peter never want to speak up again.

But without his voice sharing the gospel, recounting his experiences with Jesus, and leading the early church, where would we be today?

Peter’s story shows us that Jesus doesn’t reject us because of our misspoken words. Just a few verses later Matthew describes the Transfiguration, when Jesus handpicked Peter, James, and John to experience a taste of heaven alongside Him. Jesus didn’t hold a grudge or pull away from Peter. He doesn’t reject us either.

But He does correct us. Calling out Peter’s words showed Jesus’ love and concern for Peter to understand the situation, gain the right perspective, and align his thoughts with God. When God corrects our hurtful words, He wants to help us, not silence us.

This isn’t the only instance in the Bible when Peter got it wrong. My text won’t be the only time I unintentionally hurt a friend. Maybe you know what it feels like to say the wrong thing, too. We can struggle to navigate the powerful responsibility of our words, and while we won’t always get it right, God is willing to correct and redeem every misstep. Like with Peter, He keeps giving us second chances. Our responsibility is to have a humble and repentant heart, willing to receive correction and ready to learn from our mistakes.

Although I haven’t found reconciliation with the friend I hurt that day, I am so thankful Jesus has corrected me, redeemed my guilt, and reminded me that, by His grace, He can still use my words for His glory.

Be Intentional With Your Influence

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Welcome to Bible Study Monday! We are going through our Courageous Influence Bible Study right here with you. Each week we provide the reading assignment, a really great discussion video featuring three (in)courage writers, a quote of the week, reflection questions, and a prayer. All you need is your copy of Courageous Influence and an open heart, and we’ll take care of the rest!

So far we’ve looked at:

  • Week 1, which began with this foundational statement: You are a woman of influence,
  • Week 2, which revealed that influence is about where God has placed you and your willingness to say yes to Him,
  • Week 3, which explored what it means to be a person of integrity in using our influence,
  • Week 4, which taught us to be generous with our influence,

And now we turn to Week 5, which shows us how to be intentional with our influence.

Reading Assignment

This week, read Week Five: Be Intentional With Your Influence, on pages 145-176 in the Courageous Influence Bible Study. Grab your copy and start reading!

Quote of the Week

Keep this quote in mind as you read Week Five:

We can be intentional with our influence by creating space for it at the table.

– Grace P. Cho in Courageous Influence. Feel free to download this quote to share with a friend!

Discussion Video

Three of our (in)courage writers invite us into their conversations about Courageous Influence! Join study author Grace P. Cho along with Becky Keife and Kathi Lipp as they discuss each week of the Bible study. Listen in on their conversation about Week Five (and find all the weekly videos here):

Reflection Questions

Together in the comments, answer and discuss the following reflection questions:

  • How do you guys make sure to stay connected to the Vine (Jesus)? What practices or rhythms do you have that help you do this?
  • Have you ever been discipled or have you discipled someone else? If so, what was that experience like?

Let’s Pray Together

God, thank You for being a Gardener who so lovingly tends to Your children. You prune and guide my growth without fail, and I can trust You to care for me. As You have been intentional with me, help me to be intentional with others, and may my life bear fruit that will last. Amen.

Get a FREE week from each of our Courageous Bible Studies (including Courageous Influence) and free leader resources!

Remember, answer the reflection questions in the comments so we can discuss Week Five together! We’ll see you back here next Monday — our LAST in this Bible Study series! — to begin Week Six: Tell Your Story.

The Hard and Beautiful Work of Waiting

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We weren’t prepared. None of us.

No one expected winter at the beginning of October, at least not six to eight inches of snow. Two days before the temperature had hit close to eighty degrees. The trees were busy with their fall celebration, painting the world with oranges and yellows and reds. Although we all knew winter was coming, nature felt extraordinarily alive — a final flourish to a glorious summer.

Then, on October 9th, the temperature dropped more than forty degrees. And a light Monday rain turned into a thick and heavy snow. For hours, nature blanketed Colorado in white, refusing to relent. Layer after layer of heavy, wet snow piled up on streets and grass, driveways and trees. Still covered in orange, yellow, and red leaves, tree branches bowed, like a mother caught by unexpected mourning, unable to lift her head.

When I woke that morning to a world of white, my first thought was for our trees. I love a good snow, and I typically create quite a celebration of it. But this time I knew the trees weren’t prepared for it. They didn’t have enough time to shed their summer. As a child isn’t yet ready to bear the weight of adulthood, they couldn’t carry the responsibility of snow. Instead, with leaves holding each flake, the branches bowed with the strain. I feared they would break.

And that’s precisely what happened. While my husband and children finished their breakfast, a loud crash shook them from their cereal. With a glance out the back windows, they saw the cause of the crash:

One of the largest branches of our favorite purple ash tree had finally succumbed to the weight of the snow.

It lay sprawled across our blue spruce and back yard, yellow and red leaves littering the white floor, severed from its source of life.

Within a day or two, the snow melted and the temperatures turned summer-like. Trees once again flaunted their colors, although with far fewer leaves and flair than before. Daily, I went into our backyard to mourn our favorite tree. I couldn’t help myself. It no longer provided a complete canopy of shade as it did the week before. Lacking its prior symmetry, it appeared deformed, misshapen. Worse, I feared disease where the broken branch had left the tree exposed. Time would reveal whether or not it would survive.

I’ve thought a lot about that tree over the past month. It’s not as if it didn’t know what to do with snow. It’s endured dozens of winters and countless snowstorms.

The problem wasn’t the storm or the temperature — it was the timing.

I’ve never been much good at waiting. When I want something, I want it sooner than later. That book I want to write or project I want to complete? I want it to be finished now and flawless the first time. My skills as a leader and mentor? I expect them to be developed and exceptional immediately, without struggle and growth and time. I want my children to be mature and responsible and full of faith today and my marriage to be exactly what God designed it to be right now.

In short, I want to skip over the uncomfortable process and get to the satisfying results.

But I too easily forget: The struggle now is part of the glory later.

To shortcut the first is to diminish the second. And to skip over the waiting means to risk crashing. Sometimes that “one thing” we’re desperate for would be better served by a longer fall, a season of time that would allow space and maturity and growth. Many times we must shed some leaves today before we’ll have the strength to bear the weight of tomorrow. Thus the need for seasons and the need for savoring each one before rushing off to the next.

But I trust in you, LORD;
I say, ‘You are my God.’
My times are in your hands . . . 
Psalm 31:14-15a (NIV)

No, I don’t like waiting much. I want to rush ahead to the happy ending, where the scenery is spectacular and the celebration happens. Each day while I wait, I’m tempted to fast-forward the process, strong-arm results, manipulate and control and make something happen.

But an unfolding is often more beautiful than a forcing. Hard, yes, but worthy.

Whatever it is you’re waiting for, perhaps waiting isn’t as unproductive as it seems. At times, what happens during the fall is precisely what needs to happen to get us through the winter and to the spring.

Trust Him, friend. Trust He knows the desire of your heart and what needs to happen for the best of you and those you love.

He’s a master of the process. Don’t run and rush. Don’t attempt to bypass one season to move more quickly to the next.

Instead, walk it out. Savor the oranges and yellows and reds. Enjoy the slow fall of leaves and the sweet savoring of what is yet to come, what you can’t yet imagine.

Allow the struggle to be your teacher.

Trust the pain to be a grace.

Embrace the wait, slow as it may be, and trust that the One who paints the leaves and sends the snow knows precisely how to turn your waiting into a rewarding spring.

Should It Stay or Should It Go?

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Last December, when our family prepared to move from a home with a large, unfinished basement to a home with no basement at all, we knew we had a lot of purging to do. Our older children left boxes behind when they moved out on their own, and we’d accumulated in a way that reflected our seemingly unlimited storage capacity, which in the end felt more like a curse than a blessing.

We donated over 300 boxes, including lots of hand-me-down clothing we no longer needed. We rented a dumpster and filled it to overflowing with things that held no real value; it was more than our weekly garbage service could handle. We loaded a U-Haul with desks, furniture, and exercise equipment we had quit using and dropped them off at a local charity, hoping they’d find new homes.

Sometimes it felt like I wasn’t just purging my house; I was purging my soul. All that stuff had become an emotional burden.

In a perfect world (my children say I use this phrase a lot), we would have disposed of everything we no longer needed before the move. It was certainly the goal. But painting bathrooms and baseboards, calling in contractors, attending home inspections, and scrambling to find another house when we terminated the first contract we signed took too much time.

I wanted a fresh start in our new home, a chance to break habits that created more chaos than comfort and to discover if less really was more.

In January, I reflected on my relationship with stuff here at (in)courage and how I was starting to use sentimental objects as they were intended instead of treating them like sacred objects. By February, I saw that clutter could hijack my goals and steal my inner peace. Lately, I’ve been working my way through the final and most difficult items left to sort.

One of our new (in)courage contributors, Kathi Lipp, is an expert on decluttering. Recently when I couldn’t decide what to do with a sentimental object, she asked me, “Will you ever go looking for it?” It’s a powerful question that continues to help me filter what should stay and what should go. She said that everything I get rid of makes space for growth in my life and teaches me to trust that God will bring what I need in the moment. It’s both wise and biblically sound advice.

Look at the birds. They don’t plant or harvest or store food in barns, for your heavenly Father feeds them. And aren’t you far more valuable to him than they are?
Matthew 6:26 (NLT)

I’m learning to put quality over quantity. When we had too many children’s books, they stayed in a box (our youngest child is sixteen). We’ve weeded down to a few favorites and put them out on a shelf. Now our grandchildren have discovered family favorites like Good Night, Little Bear and Madeline.

While trying to decide where to put cases of old music CDs, my children pointed out that we don’t even own a CD player anymore and that I can stream music now with apps on my phone, computer, or TV. I looked through them, rediscovered some old favorites, put them on my current playlists, and then gave the discs to charity.

My sister and I sorted through a box of figurines our mother had collected. We each kept two or three favorites and put the rest in the donation box, smiling because we knew they’d make someone very happy. A couple of tiny treasures that had spent years in a box in my basement now sit on a shelf in my home.

By keeping less, we experience more.

Do you, too, find yourself bogged down by possessions that no longer bring you pleasure? Let’s look for ways to enjoy what we treasure and bless others with what we no longer need, trusting that God will provide for us.

One of Dawn’s treasures that brings her pleasure is her essential oil collection. Her new book My Essential Oil Companion can help you discard your assorted oil notes and recipes and organize them in one place.

If I Didn’t Take a Break, I Would Break Eventually

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I stared at the words I’d read and reread for the last few hours, but my brain refused to comprehend what it needed to do. Forcing myself to sit at my desk hadn’t helped move the work along, but my stubbornness kept me seated. I watched the cursor blink in the same spot, telling me I was wasting my time, but how was I supposed to tap into my creative side or generate work when I felt completely poured out, empty?

Through the window, I heard the kids call for me to watch them do cartwheels on the front lawn for the tenth time in the last half hour. I wanted to relish the last days of summer with them, but I was being pulled by the stern demands of deadlines. I shouted, “I’ll be there in a second!” But that second stretched into long minutes that still kept me in my seat.

I clicked through the many other tabs open on my computer to find something that would require minimal thinking, but every task and project were at the point where they needed my focused attention. I closed my eyes, closed the laptop, took some deep breaths, and surrendered.

I leaned back in my chair, resigned and frustrated at my inability to push through, but in that quiet moment by myself, I sensed a different pull in my heart — an urgent invitation to rest. It didn’t demand from me as the deadlines did, but it did warn me that if I didn’t take a break, I would break eventually.

I reflected back on the last year and half and noticed how much I had needed to care for everyone around me. Rest had seemed like a luxury I couldn’t afford to have for myself, and I’d started to believe that the mark of a generous, loving person was to give until I had nothing left. It was the unhealthy belief that I had grown up with — that being like Jesus meant martyring ourselves at the altar of service to others, that our holiness wasn’t founded on Christ’s righteousness but on the scars we bore, on how far our arms had been stretched out for the sake of others.

But we are not robots created for incessant work, nor are we the saviors of the world. Rest is essential.

Rest is resistance to a do-it-all culture that tells us to prove our worth. When our value is measured by what we can offer, our humanity is hollowed up and thrown away. It’s no wonder we can so self-righteously determine a person’s destiny by their usefulness, instead of seeing them as beloved, cherished human beings just as they are — just as we are.

So we must rest to resist. We must rest so we can keep going. We must rest because we have limits and because we can trust God with all that needs to get done.

Adrenalin had concealed the full weight of what I had been carrying, and as I sat exhausted at my desk, I could feel it all. My body and mind and soul were weary. I was spent. I had come to the end of my strength to carry on.

The lie that I was only as valuable as what I produced enticed me to open my laptop again and keep pushing through, but I decided to heed the warning to rest. I walked away from my desk, stepped outside into the embrace of the sun, and watched with delight as the kids showed off their cartwheel moves. I marveled at how much they’d grown and matured in the time we had been at home and away from our school and church communities. It was a long, hard year, and there was so much we’d never get back. But this was a moment to relish — the fun, the giggles, and the joy of accomplishing a perfect cartwheel.

I sat on the front step and felt my body exhale. There would be time to finish everything I had to get done, but for now, all I needed was to rest.

How We Should Stay Put and Listen Like Sheep

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Today I told my counselor that when I feel overwhelmed I put on my noise-cancelling headphones, and they instantly slow me down. Not as much background noise. Not as many distractions.

We live in this strange world where you can watch a cooking show clip followed by a wedding slideshow followed by a political video followed by some panda bears rolling down a hill in a matter of seconds. We scroll, and we let that blue light fill our eyes, and the message that fills our minds is that faster and newer and more complicated is the way to go. But a few years ago, I decided to move to a slow part of the country to see if I could get some of that quiet I’d been craving.

Around these parts, there’s a whole lot of history. My house is fairly new as it was built in 1900 and only leans a little to the west. Every morning, I have to push my bed up against the wall because my movements just getting in and out of bed manages to slide it down toward the center of the room. When new people move to this area, I want to show them around so they can get oriented: “This here is the oldest bridge in the country! This here is the oldest seaport in the country! And then we turn down a long gravel road that leads to a barn at the heart of the oldest farm in America.”

The farm stands in the town of Ipswich, and when I step out of my car, it feels like coming home. Perhaps this is because it’s been consistently farmed for centuries. The idea that ground has been tilled and planted and harvested since the 1630s is hard to comprehend, but if this place is still here, perhaps the world isn’t as noisy and chaotic as I’d thought. There are places where things stay put.

One afternoon on a walk around the farmland, my friend Ana and I came across a field of sheep. There they stood with blank looks on their faces, seemingly unimpressed by our presence. They weren’t in a contained space, really, just standing on the trail. We walked right up to them and they simply stared at us. We tried to call them closer, and they didn’t budge. When we moved in closer, they backed away. Giving up on bonding with the sheep any further, we headed home when suddenly we heard something over the hill.

It was the shepherd. At least, that’s what I figured out really quickly because he shouted out, “Hey! Sheep!” from roughly 200 yards away.

Immediately, even desperately, they stiffened their necks and turned their heads toward his direction. They didn’t just look; they started to move. They began walking and eventually running toward a nearby gate — every single one of them. We stood there transfixed as they hustled their little wooly bodies toward the voice of the shepherd.

I’d read that passage of Scripture so many times that it automatically ran through my mind: “ . . . the sheep follow him, for they know his voice. A stranger they will not follow, but they will flee from him, for they do not know the voice of strangers” (John 10:4-5 ESV).

You can’t hear His voice when you’re making a whole bunch of noise. When you’ve listened to too many voices, including your own, that aren’t the right ones — even if they are good ones — you’re going to miss Jesus’ call. 

Some days, it feels like God’s too far away for me to hear Him, but when I open Scripture, I remember the low and strong voice I heard that day over the hills. I remember how the sheep didn’t move toward me, but they ran toward him. And I can breathe a little easier when I take the time to listen by living a life rooted in God’s Word.

We can’t know the tone of His call if we’re not used to hearing it over and over again. So when the world feels loud and things are moving too quickly, slow down, friend. Open the Word and listen to His voice until you can hear it clearly, even from 200 yards away.