When You Need Breathing Room for Your Soul

When You Need Breathing Room for Your Soul

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I looked at my watch for the umpteenth time that day: 3:30 pm. It’s only 3:30 pm. 

If I’d closed my eyes and tried to gauge the time based on how my mind and body felt, I would’ve guessed midnight. Or later. Instead, the sun still poured into my office and the watch reminded me I had hours yet before I could collapse into bed. I was utterly and completely exhausted. And everything in me wanted to shut out the world and go to sleep. But I still had kids to take care of, dinner to make, work to finish. The thing I needed most was the one thing I didn’t have time for.

The problem was, however, that I’d felt this same way nearly every day for the prior month. This wasn’t an “off” day, and my tiredness wasn’t the result of some random circumstance or unexpected crisis. In fact, I couldn’t point my finger at a single culprit. Instead, this was a cumulative, enduring, consuming exhaustion, built up over more than a year of days. I knew even a single good night’s sleep wasn’t going to be enough to fix it.

I’ve heard from more than a few people in the last few weeks who are experiencing a similar deep and crushing wave of exhaustion. And while I’m relieved I’m not the only one, it speaks to a greater plague that is wearing us all down.

This collective fatigue is not just physical exhaustion, although that seems to be part of it. But also emotional, spiritual, and even day-to-day-living exhaustion. After well over a year of white-knuckling and trying to “get through,” there’s a collective sense of “I don’t think I have any white-knuckling left.” And although there is hope that the red-hot intensity of 2020 and 2021 is starting to ebb, we’re experiencing a sort of boomerang effect, like the aftershocks of an 8.0 magnitude earthquake. We’re not quite out of the woods yet, and we can feel it in our bones.

I heard similar sentiments again today, and tonight my heart weighs with it. We’re fragile and frayed, and a good night’s sleep or a week of vacation isn’t enough of a cure. What we need — what I need — is an unadulterated center. A haven of perpetual rest. A core that holds all our fragments together. A bulwark that stands no matter the shaking Earth.

God, the one and only —
I’ll wait as long as he says.
Everything I hope for comes from him,
so why not?
He’s solid rock under my feet,
breathing room for my soul,
An impregnable castle:
I’m set for life.
My help and glory are in God
— granite-strength and safe-harbor-God —
So trust him absolutely, people;
lay your lives on the line for him.
God is a safe place to be.
Psalm 62:5-8 (MSG)

Friends, do you need breathing room for your soul? An impregnable castle, a safe place in which to rest?

The only refuge strong enough for that kind of security and safety is God himself. No person or position, no dream or destination, no relationship or romance or house or church or paycheck or pastor is a refuge like our God.

Everything else will one day give way. Those things around which you’re building your life will one day slip through your fingers and fade. Nothing lasts — nothing ever lasts.

Except the Everlasting One.

He is your home. He never sleeps so you can sleep in peace (Psalm 121:4). He never changes so you can live in a world that is never the same (Hebrews 13:8). Yes, you may need to start getting more sleep or changing your commitments or seeing a counselor. You might even need a more radical life change to address the exhaustion that is leaving you brittle and dry. It’s okay to admit you’re a human with real limitations that need attention.

But unless you make your Father your rest, all other remedies will need to be replaced. Find your rest in Him, and no matter when or how the world fades away, you’ll have a place to call home.

Season One, Episode 06: Joy in the Bad Times

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Grace P. Cho, (in)courage editorial manager and contributor, joins the show today to share her story of finding joy during a difficult season.

Our hosts Becky Keife and Mary Carver ask if it’s possible to find joy even when life is at its hardest. They talk about how it’s not bad or weird or even uncommon to feel both grief and joy at the same time, and they share when this has been true in their lives. Becky and Mary also talk about the story of Joseph, which you can find in Genesis 37-50.

As always, this episode ends with a Bible verse for the week. This week, we reflect on John 16:22:

So you have sorrow now, but I will see you again; then you will rejoice, and no one can rob you of that joy.

Play the episode and subscribe below so you don’t miss a minute of the (in)courage podcast, and find it streaming anywhere you listen to podcasts. Tune in next week as Becky and Mary are joined by Michelle Reyes to talk about how we can find joy in community. See you then!


Whether you’ve gone through the Courageous Joy Bible study, haven’t started it yet, or haven’t even heard of it, you’re invited to this series of conversations. Get your copy of Courageous Joy at DaySpring — use code PODCAST25 to save 25% + get free shipping!

Podcast Hosts:
Mary Carver: website, Instagram, Facebook, author of the Courageous Joy Bible Study
Becky Keife: website, Instagram, Facebook

Episode Guest:
Grace P. Cho: website, Instagram, Facebook

Your Reputation Is Safe with Me

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Ironically enough, I woke that morning with a spring in my step.

The exhaustion of mothering our three stair-step babies had settled in, but amidst the chaotic, oatmeal-in-my-hair and juice-spilled-on-my-pants kind of day, a renewed passion stirred in my heart at the thought of taking my overwhelmed state and funneling it into a new ministry position.

I looked at the handwritten note that had just come in the mail from the ministry leader and smiled.

“What a great first week, Jen. I can’t wait to see what God will do this year as we encourage young moms. Thanks.”

I gathered my diaper bag, loaded up our three boys and headed to church for our team meeting. As I entered, I was surprised to find only a handful of the team already gathered in a small circle.

I sat down and immediately the leader began reading a Bible passage. I can’t remember it now, but I knew a problem must have occurred.

As she finished, there was an awkward silence. Being so passionately naive, I kind of chuckled and exclaimed, “Oh no, we already have an issue with someone? It’s only the first week.”

“Yes, Jen, I’ve prayed about this and sought counsel from others, and I just don’t think this is a fit for you.”

Clutching my four-month-old baby, I felt like I was going to throw up. Had I heard her correctly? This was the same woman who just sent the note. Surely not. I was a young mom in love with serving my Jesus, and this was a devastating sucker punch that came out of the blue. Not only was I was shocked and confused, but after probing about her reasoning, no answer was given.

The meeting adjourned. I rustled up my toddlers from the nursery, and by the time I got them in their car seats, I put my head on the steering wheel and sobbed.

For the first time, I experienced that deep-down, soul-altering, barely-can-breathe kind of grief that can come through a ministry-type of betrayal. While I hadn’t developed a deep relationship with this woman, it still cut to the core because I somehow equated that time as a barometer of my love for Jesus.

Twenty-four years ago, that meeting marked me. It was a defining ministry moment for me. Afterward, my style of leadership changed in profound ways. I never wanted someone to experience an ambush confrontation like that. There had to be a better way.

I remembered my parents’ Christ-like modeling, and over and over I prayed, “The Lord is the defender of my reputation.”

I contemplated launching a successful, justice-oriented defense. I knew I’d “win” because this had been done quietly without the entire leadership team’s knowledge. But I chose to stay silent and elevate the ministry over my own agenda.

I’ll be honest, my silence was a year-long struggle, and sometimes I wanted a medal for my self-imposed martyrdom — not the most godly confession, I admit. I dove into studying the peacemaking principles on conflict resolution found in Matthew 18:15-16.

If your brother or sister sins, go and point out their fault, just between the two of you. If they listen to you, you have won them over. But if they will not listen, take one or two others along, so that every matter may be established by the testimony of two or three witnesses.

Do we understand how much healthier the body of Christ would be if we followed Jesus’s instructions?

Imagine how different this encounter would have been if the leader had come to me one-on-one, as Scripture instructs, and shared her concerns with me. Would I have been hurt? Yes, but she would have shown that she was for me, for unity, for building the Church in healthy ways. We could have prayed together, talked it through, and built our relationship. All these years later, and I still don’t understand what happened.

The first step Jesus outlines to confront someone is to do so privately, not communally. We should never gather others around to discuss and ambush someone because, often, it may be a misunderstanding that has taken flight.

That difficult but clarifying moment opened the door for my heart not to simply confront someone but to care-front.

In carefrontation, we desire to build and strengthen the kingdom of God, not tear it down through caustic gossip hidden behind prayer requests and probing Christian sentiments.

With a heart of carefrontation, we care more about the relationship than about being right. We don’t approach one another with fingers pointed, ready for war, but rather, we do so with a heart of compassion and restitution. Carefrontation seeks to build community. It’s about being willing and ready to look at ourselves and the fact that we may have done something to offend as well.

It’s hard. It’s messy. And it requires great courage.

Now I start every ministry year by first walking the group I lead through a biblical model of confrontation. We talk through expectations to observe if any of us have a problem with one another. I commit to holding their reputation close to my heart and vow that I will not entertain discussions about them with others from the group. “Your reputation is safe with me” is my motto.

When someone approaches me about another, I immediately ask if they’ve approached their brother or sister in Christ. If they haven’t, I encourage them to go to him or her first before talking with others about their grievance. I take this approach in my everyday life with friends and relatives as well, and we’re teaching our children the very important steps of biblical conflict resolution.

Does it always go smoothly? I wish.
Have I always guarded my tongue? Regretfully, no.
Is this easy? Never, but it’s revolutionized my relationships.

Unfortunately, we live in a world where people are more concerned about their rights than their relationships. The biblical model of confrontation is a two-way street, and both hearts have to be willing to lay down their own agendas to peacefully work toward a resolution. It may not always result in reconciliation, but we can strive to follow Christ’s instruction as best as we can.

Today, I’m grateful for that heartbreak because it refined my relationship with the Lord. It allowed me to follow His leading, rather than my own, and prayerfully determine how any difficult situation can ultimately bring glory to His name.

How have you seen relationships restored through carefrontation?

Learning to Make the Most of God’s Intentional Design

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When I discovered essential oils in the spring of 2015 I was full of questions: How many drops should I use? What’s the best carrier oil? Do I use this oil internally, externally, in the diffuser, or all of the above? I’m sure I made people crazy in my education groups because I didn’t trust myself to try anything without specific instructions.

You see, I’m among the minority of people who actually reads instruction manuals. I don’t just open a box or a bottle and try to figure things out on my own, I make sure I know what I’m doing before I begin. (My parents used to invite me over when they bought a new gadget so I could read the manual and tell them how to use it. True story.)

I was so afraid of doing oils “wrong” that it almost kept me from doing them at all. If there’s one thing I can guarantee, oils won’t help you if you don’t open the bottles.

Eventually I realized essential oils are complex on a molecular level but can be simple to use, that individual oils can help with multiple things, and that some work better for me than for others. Everybody is different and every body is different. The oils that work best for your stress or sleep or skin may be different than the ones that work best for me.

God made both plants and your body, so it makes sense that they’d work together by design. You don’t have to fully understand essential oils to use them because the oils know what to do even if you don’t. God is the only one who completely understands them anyway.

Maybe you’ve heard the buzz about essential oils, but you’re not entirely sure what they are or how to use them. Maybe you, like me, have more questions than answers and would benefit from a good instruction manual to help you. If so, I designed My Essential Oil Companion and It All Began in a Garden to fulfill that need for both beginners and experienced users. These books will not only inform you, they’ll point you straight back to God, the original herbalist, who created the plants themselves.

My Essential Oil Companion will expand your knowledge of fifty different essential oils and go deeper with journaling questions, tips, tricks, and testimonials, plus plenty of space for recording your personal notes. You’ll love the handy quick guide, which will help you find the best oils for a particular problem in an instant, and you’ll be awed by the user testimonials because God’s provision is so good!

I hope this book truly becomes your essential oil companion, helping you discover and document both the wonders and uses of God’s gift in nature!

So fun, right? Well, good news — we’re giving away FIVE copies*!

To enter, leave a comment on this article sharing your favorite way to use essential oils (or why you’d like to start using them), and we’ll choose five winners.

Also, tune in tomorrow, July 28th, at 10:00 am central, on Facebook for a conversation with author Dawn Camp and (in)courage Community Manager Becky Keife as they discuss My Essential Oil Companion.

*Giveaway open to U.S. addresses only and will close at 11:59 pm CST on July 30, 2021.

When Death Heals Your Fear of Death

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Five months ago, I stood in my bathroom staring into a mirror stained with specks of toothpaste spit. I fixed my hair, pulling it behind my ears, and made my face up with all the chemicals, creams, and colors.

Then I took a brush to my son’s hair, long curls of auburn red, just like my own. I told him we were dressing up, even though we weren’t leaving the house, even though we were only going to turn the computer on and sit in our dining chairs to watch the virtual viewing of my grandfather who lost life to the faint pushing of breath in his lungs.

I still remember when I learned the news, how he had COVID, how it seeped into his body, lungs filling with fluid, heart heaving weaker and weaker with every faint breath.

When we lost him, I was eight months round and in the swell of pregnancy with my second son. When we lost him, the world was in the swell of a high wave of rising COVID cases. The nightmare of the worst year ending at Christmas and folding right into the New Year, loved ones losing life, left and right.

I watched the viewing as the wobbly camera captured my family speaking words of remembrance and sprinkling flowers atop my grandfather’s grave. I watched the snow on the burial grounds glisten as it lit up under the sun, reflecting right on through my computer screen. I could almost feel the chill of New York’s bitter air as much as I felt the warm tears rolling down my cheeks, crying muted into the camera while watching this virtual viewing.

The tears came because there was sorrow, but the tears also came because there was hope. As I sat there, cradling life in one hand and death in the other, I listened to the story of my grandfather’s last few moments, how he pointed to the ceiling of that hospital room and motioned to his three children that he was ready to be home, really home.

I sat there, tears branding themselves into my heart, and I couldn’t help but think about the little girl within me, and how she had always carried a fear of death because she  felt that it was close. Like the passing of her aunt when her heart gave out, the time the cancer took her grandmother away, or the annual memorial services for her grandfather, a Black police officer slain in the name of revolution — every year hearing the gunshots go out as men in kilt skirts played processionals on bagpipes. And how the little girl within me grew up seeing her brother fall to the floor in epileptic episodes, fearing that every bump in the house was the sound of her brother’s head banging on the ground and bleeding out.

But as I sat there, watching light ricochet off the frost-bitten ground, I did not feel a freeze seep into my breath or embitter my bones. I did not feel a sting, a burning anger, or that raging need-to-know of why and how. I did not see a body swallowed up by dirt and death. Instead, I saw hope rise as I reflected on the life of a man who had lived a life loyal to the love of Christ — a man who brought me up himself to know and trust the ways and words of God. Not a perfect man, but a professing man — a man who knew he needed God’s grace and who believed in the salvation that Jesus’ death offers.

I couldn’t help but think that if he could believe it right down to the moment of his passing, right down to the last breath, down to that moment when he motioned with his fingers that he knew where he was going and was ready to go, then so could I.

I know it doesn’t happen everyday that your grandfather, or some other beloved of yours, dies and inspires you to believe that death is not the end and that there is more to this life, but then I’m reminded that there was another Man whose death so many years ago brought more hope and healing into the world than it did hurt.

Jesus.

His death not only brought healing and hope for our lives here on earth, but it made healing and hope possible for every part of our hearts that longs to believe there is more to life. Jesus’ death, if we let it, gives us a healing truth and hope to hold onto, even while we cannot take on someone else’s pain or suffering or heart fading out, even though we cannot extend their time on earth, cannot keep the blood flowing, the heart beating, the lungs breathing. Even still, we can find hope in knowing that last gaping breath does not have to be the end.

In Christ, death is only the beginning. And we don’t need to fear that beginning because it will be the beautiful start to a breathtaking eternity with an ever-loving, everlasting God.

How to Not Assume the Worst About People

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I was in the middle of a Zoom meeting when all of a sudden I could feel the anger rising. We were having an informal brainstorming session and sharing ideas as a group, but after I shared my idea, another person immediately shot it down. Not only that, but they said some words about my mental and emotional state as the reason for rejecting my suggestion. Their words were hurtful and piercing, and I immediately assumed the worst about this person. What a jerk, I thought. They’re probably attempting some power play here too. Ignorant. Stubborn. Mean. There were a lot of adjectives swirling in my mind about this person at the moment, and they were not all godly.

By God’s grace, though, I held my tongue. My mind was racing and, though the conversation was moving on, I tried to stop and pray, Holy Spirit, I am angry. What do I do?

It was nothing but providence that allowed Philippians 2:3-4 to come to mind: “Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit. Rather, in humility value others above yourselves, not looking to your own interests, but each of you to the interests of others.” As these words repeated themselves in my head, I began to think, What if this person is just saying what they think is best? What they said wasn’t that great, but they’re probably saying what they think is right.

Slowly my perspective began to change. I wasn’t taking the situation as personally anymore. I was trying hard to not make this person’s words all about myself and how they were trying to hurt me. Instead, I wanted to value them and consider their interests above my own: What do I know of this person? What do they think is important? Why did they respond the way they did, and what underlying factors are at work?

Because each of us have experienced hurt and trauma, it can be all too easy to overlay our past experiences onto present realities. We can often ascribe motive to folks and assume we know why they did what they did. But that is not a posture of grace. People can often come across as harsh when they drop a sentence without explanation. But before getting mad, we can say to ourselves, “This person is probably saying what they think is best,” and then give them the opportunity to explain themselves. Instead of assuming what a person’s motives are, we can keep an open heart and mind and ask God to help us understand that person better. Instead of immediately labeling someone as cruel or a jerk and dismissing them, we can humbly challenge ourselves to care for that person and seek what’s best for them.

In other words, when someone is a jerk to us, we can respond with a posture of grace. People don’t know what they don’t know. We can’t control their words and actions, but we can challenge ourselves to gather all the information, have the conversations, and better understand what is motivating the other person.

Undoubtedly, there is a difference between giving someone the benefit of the doubt and showing grace. I give the benefit of the doubt to my most intimate relations — my spouse, my family, and closest friends. With them I say, “These people love me, and I’m probably misunderstanding them.” When we don’t know someone well and don’t know understand why they said what they did, we can show grace by being willing to find out more.

I still thought what that person said in the Zoom meeting was insensitive, and I felt I needed to address those comments. However, I wasn’t angry anymore. My heart wasn’t pounding and about to jump out of my chest. Instead, I felt calm. I looked at this person on my screen with a sincere desire to connect with them, encourage them, and help them understand where I was coming from.

So, I cleared my throat and said, “Excuse me. Sorry to interrupt. I’d like to say a few words.”

What followed were some brief simple sentences. “I want to go back to something you just said. It didn’t sit right with me and here’s why.” I explained my point of view briefly, calmly, and then said, “I’d like to better understand your reasoning. Can you share more of your thoughts?” The person I engaged with didn’t feel attacked (thank the Lord). In fact, they welcomed the opportunity to clarify their earlier words and even apologized for coming off so strong the first time.

Let’s ask God to help us not assume the worst of people. We can keep showing grace, even when others don’t show grace to us. Let’s value people, show them understanding, and maybe, just maybe, we’ll be able to connect with others in a way we didn’t think was possible.

The Clarity I Got About Myself Because of the Pandemic

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My head bobbed up and down as I sat snuggled on the couch. It was the last night of our college church retreat, and everyone was staying up extra late, playing games, eating late-night ramen, and relishing the joy of being away from home, hanging out with friends, and being young. I wanted to stay up too, but my heavy eyelids refused to get with the program. 

My friend looked over at me and, seeing my stubborn denial of needing rest, encouraged me to get some sleep in my room. I knew she was right, but I wanted to stay where I was and let the sweet noise of the people around me lull me to sleep right there on the couch. 

I’ve thought back on that memory often — how much I wanted to be around people, how much comfort I felt in their presence. It’s made me think I’m more extroverted than introverted even though I’ve always scored close to the middle on personality tests. I thought I knew myself then, but the path to knowing ourselves often becomes more defined as we experience life. 

The pandemic brought that kind of clarity for me, as it did for so many of us, about my values, who I am, how I function, and even how I encounter God.

When life was busier and my calendar was full of meetings and coffee dates, kids’ activities and church events, I used to crave a quieter, slower pace of living. I would long for vacations or time off or even breaks in the middle of the day, thinking those would suffice and give me peace. It seemed normal — even right — to fill my days with people because it was mutually life-giving . . . for the most part.

I had a pattern of spending too much of my time and energy with people that I’d become exhausted, then resentful for being so tired. Yet I kept going at the same pace because as much as I wanted quiet and slow, if I were honest with myself, I was actually afraid of both. 

What would I find if I quieted my life, my schedule, my days? What would I see about myself that I might not like? What would God say about me or to me that wouldn’t be easy to hear? 

Thankfully, the days of quarantine forced quiet and slow in a way I never had a chance to in my life before. Being raised as a pastor’s kid, who then grew up to be a pastor myself, I had believed I ought to sacrifice myself — my time, energy, space, finances, and even my identity — in order to meet other people’s needs. So I became a learned extrovert through a mixture of nature and nurture. 

But when I didn’t have to be the extrovert I thought I had to be, and all I had was quiet and slow, I was surprised by what I found — I found respite. Instead of restlessness, I experienced calm. Instead of feeling forced to be “spiritually productive,” I saw God inviting me to Himself in a way that was more in line with how He created me to be — with lots of space and grace to be quiet and slow.

The quiet allowed me to reflect and be grateful for the present moment. A slower pace gave me time and space to pay attention, to form my thoughts into words more carefully, to see how God was moving, and to hear what He was saying.

When we know ourselves better, we get to know God better. It wasn’t that I didn’t encounter God in my people-filled, busy days, but it was easier to get caught up in doing things for Him. No matter how many times I learn that I don’t need to earn God’s approval or love, I need to learn it again. In the quiet, He invited me to be with Him as He is with me. I am loved, not because I can put into practice my learned extroversion but because He loves me just the way He made me. 

I don’t need to be an extrovert to see or experience God. I can be the more introverted me that I really am, and in the quieter and slower pace of living, I understand Matthew 11:28-30 better:

“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”

Discovering Jesus by Reading the Gospels

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I memorized my first Bible verse at the age of eight, snuggled into my Powerpuff Girls comforter, looking for deliverance from the shadows and monsters of the night. It was Psalm 4:8, “In peace I will lie down and sleep, for you alone, Lord, make me dwell in safety” (NIV). Twenty years later, the monsters in the night look very different, but I still find myself in need of the peace and reassurance only He can bring. These days, I’ve been finding such encouragement in reading through the gospels again, learning about Jesus’ life from the four different angles of Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John. I’m memorizing and holding on to the truth that God is with me always, as it says in Matthew 28:20 —

And remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age.
Matthew 28:20b (CSB)

To accept the promise that Jesus is with me is to believe that He is guiding me through each day, each moment, each pleasant surprise and bitter disappointment. When I look at the gospels, I discover the character of Jesus — someone who was deeply invested in the lives of real, messy, complicated people. Whether you’re getting to know Jesus for the first time or have walked with Him for years, you’ll find renewal and strength as you get to know Jesus in the gospels. 

Matthew, the first book in the gospels, was written by the apostle of the same name. While this book takes a strongly Jewish perspective, you’ll discover throughout its pages the life story of Jesus, following Him from birth to resurrection. He is the Messiah who fulfills the promises of the Old Testament. Matthew’s emphasis on Jesus as the Messiah reminds us through eye-witness accounts that Jesus lived as a human here on earth, caring for and serving those around Him. The same empathetic and compassionate Jesus present in this book is the Jesus who wants to be there for you. As Matthew 11:28-30 says, “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.  For my yoke is easy and my burden is light” (NIV).

Mark, written by John Mark, varies from Matthew in that it focuses more on Jesus as the Son of God. Reading through this gospel and relating to Jesus as both human and divine will inspire worship, awe, and a renewed faith in Him. As Jesus announces in Mark 1:15, “The time has come . . . the kingdom of God has come near. Repent and believe the good news!” Throughout the pages of this book, you’ll encounter the good news over and over again. You’ll discover Jesus as someone who experienced emotion, hunger, and trials. You’ll also find Jesus’ explanation of His divinity, including His rejection, suffering, death, and resurrection (see 8:31).

Luke, the longest book in the New Testament, was written by a doctor named Luke, a friend and coworker of the Apostle Paul. This book is designed to strengthen the faith of believers by recalling the events of Jesus’ life in extreme detail. You’ll discover a Jesus who fulfills the words of the prophet Isaiah, “The Spirit of the Lord is on me, because he has anointed me to proclaim good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners and recovery of sight for the blind, to set the oppressed free, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor (Luke 4:18-19). You’ll also learn more about the Holy Spirit in this gospel, which is a reassuring reminder that if you believe in God and have invited Him into your heart, you have the Holy Spirit dwelling within you and guiding you throughout the moments of your life. Not only is Jesus with you, but the entirety of the Trinity — the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit — are guiding, directing, and supporting you in every season.

John, the last book of the gospels, was written by “the disciple Jesus loved” (see 13:23). This gospel varies from Matthew, Mark, and Luke in that its primary purpose is to reach unbelievers with the good news of Jesus. If you are investigating Christianity for the first time, are a new believer, or want to get back to basics, this is the book for you. John 3:16-17 says, “For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life. For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but to save the world through him” (NIV). John will give you an in-depth picture of the life of Jesus and lay out His eternal sacrifice on the cross for your sins. 

No matter what book of the gospels you read, you’ll encounter Jesus as your guide, your ally, and your salvation. And as you discover Him more deeply, you’ll find that Jesus really is who He says He is — the God who loves you and who is with you “always, to the end of the age.”

Ellen Wildman, product manager over Bibles and Bible Resources at DaySpring

 

DaySpring’s Illustrating Bibles are specifically designed to inspire the Bible journaler’s heart. In this new NIV Illustrating Bible: The Gospels, you’ll meditate on God’s Word as you journal your way through New Testament books Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John. It’s the perfect way to explore your creativity, express your faith and engage Scripture as you focus on the unconditional love and faithfulness of God through Jesus.

Spend time decorating and personalizing the pages of God’s Word or add your own flair by including your Bible study or sermon notes, reminders, worship songs, or your favorite Bible verses. The durable fabric cover and metallic copper spiral binding make it easy to create as it lies perfectly flat for your artistic needs and it grows with all your journal entries.

The NIV Illustrating Bible: The Gospels releases on August 3 and is currently available for pre-order on Amazon. . .

. . . and we’re giving away THREE of them*!

To enter, leave a comment telling us what a particular gospel has meant to you, and we’ll choose three winners.

 

*Giveaway open to US addresses and will close at 11:59pm central time on July 26, 2021.

Somewhere Between Disappointment and Trust

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I watched Josh’s shoulders as he walked up the mountain through the fog, hoping his posture would tell me how he was feeling. Raindrops trickled down his suit coat, and I knew I would never forget watching my son climb that muddy mountain to wait for his bride.

Josh and Brandi had spent months looking for the perfect setting for an intimate wedding: a beautiful mountainous area with trails and gorgeous views where they would make covenant promises at sunset, with layered mountain ridges in shades of blue as the backdrop.

The forecast had been sunny and clear that day, but as we drove up the Blue Ridge Parkway, a thick fog settled over the mountain and rain poured from the clouds. That morning, Josh told us if it rained, we would follow each other to another parking lot, walk a shorter trail, and squeeze under a gazebo for a wedding without a view. Unfortunately, one of the grandmothers had been taken up the trail before the rain started, and now they needed to get her back down safely.

I had envisioned us all in the parking lot greeting each other with hugs and smiles. Some would be meeting for the first time as two families became one. Instead, we were all in our separate cars, staying dry for as long as we could.

My husband J.J. got out of our car to see if he could help while I sat inside shaking my head in disbelief. I silently questioned God, Why did You let this happen? You know how hard they worked to prepare for this day, how little they asked for. Sunshine was all they needed.

I wanted their wedding day to be perfect. I wanted them to feel like God was there with them, taking care of every detail. I wanted beauty and sunshine, smiles and laughter. Pouring rain and fog as thick as cotton was nowhere in my imagination.

I held my phone up to take a picture of the dreary, disappointing view when it hit me: God knew this was how it would be. God knew exactly what their wedding day would look like. It seemed so obvious, but it shifted something in me. I didn’t understand it or like it, but it wasn’t up to me to fix it and I didn’t have to resent it.

J.J. knocked on the car window, jolting me out of my own personal fog. He told me Josh decided we were going up the mountain but not all the way to the top. We would walk up the trail together until he found a clearing. Brandi and her dad would wait in their car until the rest of us were in position and ready for the ceremony to begin.

Following behind my son, I noticed how deliberate he was with each step. Eyes on both the path and the horizon, he looked for an open area where we could all fit.

Their wedding day could have been marked by unmet expectations. But instead, a deep sense of unexpected hope met us somewhere between disappointment and trust.

Less than halfway up the mountain, Josh stepped into a wide-open space, and we all stopped. Thick fog rested on the outer edge of the clearing, but we all stood under a covering of light as the sun filtered through the canopy of trees. A small waterfall trickled down rocks to our left, and a huge knotted tree root lay across the forest to our right.

Standing on the edge of rocks, surrounded by mud, greenery, and intertwining branches and roots, we listened to a violin play the bride’s procession and waited as Brandi walked up the mountain through the fog. It was a wedding unlike any other, in a setting their Creator had chosen and designed just for them.

As they stood beside gigantic roots of an ancient tree with beautiful bark woven together by the hand of God, our pastor read the scriptures Josh and Brandi had chosen weeks before, sacred words they wanted read over them and their marriage.

I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, may have power, together with all the Lord’s holy people, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge — that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God. Now to Him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to His power that is at work within us . . .
Ephesians 3:17-20 (NIV)

Though it was not what they planned, it was more than they could have imagined. Yet it came in the midst of deep disappointment and surrendered trust.

That’s where I need to be today as I sit in the thick of deep disappointments and painful injuries. A severely pulled muscle abdominal muscle, a hidden yellow jackets’ nest in the ground and five stings later, a husband who smashed his thumb in the car door and a daughter with a fever, a hole in the subfloor of the home we just bought, and a vacation we planned six months ago that we’re supposed to leave for tomorrow.

Jesus wants me — us — to trust Him in all of it. He wants us to know He has not abandoned us. He has gone before us. But we won’t get to experience what He has for us if we hold a death grip on what we planned for ourselves.

Trust looks like one step after another up a muddy mountain of disappointment, believing God has created a clearing up ahead. We take the steps; He makes the way. Somewhere between our disappointment and trust, God slowly reveals that His presence is with us. And He is working in ways we may not yet see.

Photo Credit: David and Sarah Whitlow, Two Cents Photo + Film

Season One, Episode 05: Joy in the Good Times

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It’s Thursday, and you know what that means. . . it’s podcast day!

This week, our hosts Becky Keife and Mary Carver talk about finding and sharing joy during the good times. You might think it’s easy, but be prepared to hear how even this requires courage!

Becky and Mary talk about why it’s a good thing for us to purposefully rejoice in what God has done, is doing, and will do in our lives. They discuss making the most of every opportunity to rejoice, remembering that every good and perfect gift comes from God (James 1:17), and also share a few things they’re celebrating right now. And Anna E. Rendell, (in)courage contributor and digital content manager, joins the episode to share her story of celebration.

As always, this episode ends with a Bible verse for the week. This week, we reflect on John 10:10:

The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full.

Play the episode and subscribe below so you don’t miss a minute of the (in)courage podcast, and find it streaming anywhere you listen to podcasts. Then tune in next week as Becky and Mary are joined by Grace P. Cho and talk about finding joy during hard times. See you then!

Whether you’ve gone through the Courageous Joy Bible study, haven’t started it yet, or haven’t even heard of it, you’re invited to this series of conversations. Get your copy of Courageous Joy at DaySpring — use code PODCAST25 to save 25% + get free shipping!

Podcast Hosts:
Mary Carver: website, Instagram, Facebook, author of the Courageous Joy Bible Study
Becky Keife: website, Instagram, Facebook

Episode Guest:
Anna E. Rendell: website, Instagram, Facebook

How Do You Want to Move Forward, and What Do You Want to Leave Behind?

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I’m sitting in a booth at a coffee shop with two friends, something that feels like a luxury since it hasn’t happened in so many months. We’re talking about what the future holds, where we’ll go from here, and what we want to leave behind.

One friend pulls out a small cardboard box, and inside are blank notecards. “I’ve found new clarity about my purpose,” she tells us, “And I’m going to let certain things go.” She asks us to bear witness as she writes these distractions down, then tells us she’s going to bury them in the ground. “I’m laying them to rest,” she says.

What struck me was that nothing she wrote down was a bad thing, just a few professional hopes, goals, and dreams. They simply weren’t the best things for her. They’d become energy drainers, weighing her down and leading her away from what she knew to be the direction God was asking her to go.

We’re in a unique place in our story as humanity. We’ve been through a great tragedy, a season of difficulty, and such times often bring with them a renewed sense of clarity about what matters most to us.

We realize the laughter of our children is more beautiful than the notifications on our phones.

We fall in love again with the taste of strawberries, the tickle of grass on our feet, or the person sharing our home that busyness had almost made a stranger.

We feel in our bones and our souls the ways we are out of alignment with God’s design for us in our work or our worship.

We take nothing for granted because we know now it could all be gone in a moment, ice cream in the heat of life’s sun.

We set down some of our baggage — commitments, obligations, meetings on our calendars — and we find ourselves wondering if we really have to pick them all back up again.

Jesus said, “Let me teach you, because I am humble and gentle at heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy to bear, and the burden I give you is light” (Matthew 11:29-30 NLT). Before rushing back into everything, we’re allowed to pause and ask, “What feels heavy in my life that I might not have to carry anymore?” I understand many things in life aren’t optional. We all have our have-to’s that can’t be delegated or ignored.

I’m talking about what weighs us down that God never asked us to pick up. Maybe it’s a lie we’ve believed, like that our worth is found only in our work. Maybe it’s a yes we said years ago out of guilt that we simply keep saying because we’re afraid to stop. Maybe it’s a dream that had its season and now it’s time to move on.

In my life, what I’m leaving behind is the determination to control everything. I’ve realized in the past year that control is an illusion, a house of mirrors at a carnival. The reality is we are more fragile than we know, life is more unpredictable than we realize, and none of us have our hands on the steering wheel of the universe.

Yes, that understanding has been a source of fear for me at times, but, to my great surprise, it has also brought relief. I’m embracing this truth instead: God is in control, and I am in charge. This means while I can’t rule the world, I can choose how I live each day. There’s comfort in trusting His care, in embracing my smallness.

If you had a cardboard box like my friend, what would you put in it? What’s one thing you’d like to bury and leave behind forever?

May we never face another time like the one we’ve just endured as humanity. But may we also not waste the unexpected opportunity it has given us — to reset our souls, rethink our lives, and perhaps travel a little lighter than we did before.

Holley Gerth’s upcoming devotional, What Your Soul Needs for Stressful Times: 60 Truths to Protect Your Peace, will give you more hope and encouragement as you move forward in this season.

Everything You Need to Know for Bible Study Mondays

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Friends! Starting in just two weeks, join us for Bible Study Mondays! We’re bringing an online study of Courageous Influence right here, to you, each week. It’s our easiest-to-join online study ever, and we can’t wait.

Simply join us each Monday here at incourage.me, starting August 2nd. We will spend six Mondays going through Courageous Influence: Embrace the Way God Made You For Impact, written by Grace P. Cho and featuring stories from (in)courage contributors. Courageous Influence is the book you’ll need for the study!

We’re tired of “influencers” telling us what we need to buy, look like, and be. In the Courageous Influence Bible Study, we turn the idea of influence upside down and consider the ways in which God calls us to live — with influence for and from Him.

If you’ve ever asked yourself . . .

  • Am I really a woman of influence? 
  • How can I push doubt aside and live out God’s calling for my life?
  • What would it look like to show up fully as my own self in my places of influence?

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

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

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

2.  Bible Study Mondays start August 2nd and will run for six weeks right here on our website. We will post the weeks reading assignments, reflection questions, and discussion videos. And friends, you especially won’t want to miss the videos. Featuring (in)courage writers and friends Becky Keife, Grace P. Cho, and Kathi Lipp, these three share their stories with humor and honesty as they go through Courageous Influence together.

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

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

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

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

Mark your calendars for August 2nd when we’ll kick off Bible Study Mondays with Courageous Influence, and tune in TOMORROW, July 21st, at 11am CST on Facebook for a conversation with author Grace P. Cho and (in)courage Community Manager Becky Keife as they discuss Courageous Influence.

*Giveaway open to US addresses and closes on July 23, 2021, at 11:59pm Central.

What You Need Is Consolation, Not an Explanation

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I didn’t know that the seemingly innocent Google invitation called “Rediscover This Day” would throw me again in the trenches of overwhelming pain. I clicked on the link and stared at two smiling faces: my husband and me, standing on a bridge in a hug, exuding happiness, joy, and love.  

To see the photo and all the happy memories it evoked felt like a stab straight into my fragile heart. That happy life was no more. Tears rolled down my cheeks, and my body shook convulsively. It hurt so much — the realization again of such a painful loss.  

How did I end up here?  

Less than a year ago, I was living a life I wanted and cherished. I had a thriving marriage, a beautiful intimacy and friendship with my husband, a settled life where I could flourish, work, and love freely. It was my sweet spot, a place of happiness. The future was bright and full of joyful expectations. I had never been more happy, confident, and secure, anticipating the fulfillment of God’s promises and dreams in my life.  

But now, I am living in a nightmare: a life of loneliness, without the love and support of my beloved. My hands are weary, and my heart is shattered into million pieces.  

My body and soul ache. The loss of my husband initiated a continuous chain of losses: the loss of a future we planned and wanted together, the loss of my family, the loss of my way of life, the loss of the dreams we had together, the loss of the intimate fellowship with another person.  

My dreams and desires seem more distant now than ever before. I ask myself often, “Why keep going?” My heart longs for a settled life, for home, for a resting place to love, live, and create again. I struggle to keep trusting God.  

I am in the chains of grief.  

In my anguish, I feel the gentle nudge to love Jesus in my pain and let Him comfort me. Too often we cry for understanding, asking why and expecting that the answer will bring relief and compensate for our loss.  

But when we’re in the midst of suffering, we rarely get answers, and I honestly don’t think we need them. We need God — the consolation of His loving presence, the comfort that He understands and feels our pain, the hope and perspective of His words. We need consolation, not an explanation.  

In the first days and weeks after the unexpected loss of my husband, I felt as if God had taken me to the bottom of an abyss and covered me with darkness. Surprisingly, I was still alive, still breathing. I cried out for an explanation; I argued with Him. But I soon found out that it didn’t matter how He might answer my why questions; it would not ease my pain or bring my husband back.  

What I needed then and what I need now is the reassurance that the thick darkness will not engulf me or silence my faith.   

I need to know that I can breathe in the crushing, icy waves of pain, anxiety, and suffocating sadness.  

I need the confidence that although I am burning in the furnace of affliction, like the burning bush, I will not be consumed.  

I need to know beyond doubt that there is life beyond death.  

And I can only know this when I see Jesus, when I feel Him, and when I hear from Him. Like Job, I want to say, “My ears had heard of you but now my eyes have seen you” (Job 42:5 NIV).

On that day when the photo triggered my pain, I ran to the Lord for consolation, weeping in His invisible arms, choosing to love Him in my pain.  

Today, and every day when I struggle with outbursts of grief and pain, I want to trust His heart for me and His good plans. I want to stand on the truth that He still has a future for me, dependent only on His grace, mercy, and power. I choose to hold on to His eternal answers:  

There will be restoration (Acts 3:21 NIV).

Put your hope in Me (Psalm 130:7 NIV).

I am the resurrection and the life (John 11:25 NIV).

When you are distressed, I am distressed too, and it is My own presence that saves you (Isaiah 63:9 NIV).

You will not burn. You will not drown. I am with you (Isaiah 43:2 NIV).

Pain and suffering are not my new life. This is just a season of loss and grief, shaking me into new and more positive ways of thinking and living.   

I look forward to the day when God will heal me, restore me, and give me the precious fruit and blessings of my suffering that I can share with others. He prepares a legacy for me, satisfying me completely. I believe God will bless my latter days more than the days before, as He did for Job, leading me from strength to strength, from grace to grace, and from glory to glory. 

Friends, if you wonder where God is when you pass through grief and loss, know that He is there. He is your Comforter. He is there in the darkness, making you a strong survivor and a blessing to others through it. 

A Love That Is Given, Not Earned

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Sometimes, regardless of my age, I still feel as insecure as a teen on the first day of school. It’s difficult to separate what I produce from my identity, so if people don’t comment on my post or like my photo or buy my book, I can easily internalize it as a sign that they don’t like me. Although I know deep down it’s not true, the insecurity is there all the same, and it makes me uncomfortable with myself. Like most of us, I’m not only trying to understand the world and the people around me, but I’m also still struggling to understand myself, my inclinations, and my motivations.

This is why I find the Enneagram so interesting; it gives a glimpse into what makes me tick. I’m particularly fascinated by descriptions of what my number (or personality type) looks like in either a healthy or an unhealthy state. The first time I read a description of how my number often behaves under stress, it felt like someone had followed me around when I was under a deadline or in a place of conflict and took notes.

I’m an Enneagram Three, sometimes called The Achiever (I kind of like that one) and sometimes called The Performer (that one, not so much). We are success-oriented, pragmatic, adaptable, and driven. We’re self-motivated and pride ourselves on exceeding expectations. But we constantly compare ourselves to others, we look at opportunities to succeed also as opportunities to fail, and unfortunately — although we may understand the unconditional nature of God’s love — we believe our value is tied to what we achieve.

Here’s what the Bible says about that:

Not by works of righteousness which we have done, but according to his mercy he saved us, by the washing of regeneration, and renewing of the Holy Ghost;
Which he shed on us abundantly through Jesus Christ our Saviour.
Titus 3:5-6 (NKJV)

My heart knows my identity is in Christ. However, sometimes I live like my identity is rooted in what I do or can produce.

This insecurity also causes me to purposefully avoid things I might not be good at. In December, my family moved to a neighborhood with an active tennis community. I’ve met multiple neighbors who never played before moving here, but they joined a beginner league and now tennis is an important part of their life.

The idea of picking up a racket for the first time in years and joining a league sounds absolutely terrifying (and yes, I’m aware it should actually sound fun). If I ever join one, it will be a sign I’m in a really good place emotionally. Occasionally I force myself to do things that will make me look or feel foolish so that I won’t miss out on a fun, group experience.

Sadly, at times I allow my aversion to failure to interfere with my calling. If you’re nodding your head because you’ve been there too, you’ll be glad to know we aren’t alone. According to Bible Promises for the Enneagram, Moses shared this trait. He grew up with power and influence as a member of Pharaoh’s house, but when God asked him to confront Pharaoh and request the release of His people, Moses felt inadequate and insecure. Even after God tells Moses, “Now go! I will help you speak and I will teach you what to say,” he replies, “Please, Lord, send someone else” (Exodus 4:12-13 CSB).

Moses was afraid of being embarrassed and failing in a big, public way. I totally get it.

I once jotted this note in the margin of my Bible next to those verses in Exodus: “The Lord will equip us to do what He calls us to do.” I knew I would need to be reminded again and again, like now on the eve of a book release.

You might think book publishing would make someone so goal-oriented feel accomplished, but the fear of failure (Amazon rankings update like an hourly online popularity contest), disappointing people (like your editor or your publisher), and the comparison trap (someone else already said it better) can cripple me from the inside out.

Thankfully, God’s definition of success and mine are very different.

Do you need to be reminded that your value comes from Whose you are and not who you are? That God’s love is given, not earned? That He offers rest to the weary and that His burden is light?

God’s love is bigger than our successes, our failures, our gifts, or our limitations. We may rank ourselves by our achievements or how we measure up compared to the rest of the world, but God loves us unconditionally based on the righteousness of His son Jesus Christ.

So we can say yes to joining a tennis league or making a new friend or doing what feels impossible in our eyes because whether we fail or look foolish to others, we know we are fully loved no matter what.

How a “Pride Before the Fall” Moment Led to a Beautiful Redemption of Failure

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I’m going to go out on a limb here and assume most of us have failed at something. And I’m convinced how we see, internalize, and respond to our defeats and disappointments makes all the difference in the world.

Is your tendency to dwell on your mistake and self-flagellate over your lack of success? Do you get disproportionately angry, default to a victim mentality (Why does this always happen to meeeee?), or assign blame elsewhere? Do you dig in your heels determined to make it work at all costs (when it’s past time to let go), or are you paralyzed altogether? Do you consider yourself defined by your failure — that you are a failure — in contrast to have simply failed at something? Do you just give up? Or do you see your failures as an opportunity to learn something, shift direction, or try a new thing? Do you see how they might point you to Jesus?

What if your failures are an opportunity for God to be God in your life? For you to grow closer to Him, to be conformed to the image of Christ? For your failures to be received as a catalyst for transformation?

Our response to failure says something about our maturity level, both in general but also spiritually. This goes for big, spectacular failures, but also for the more common, everyday, ordinary sort of thing.

Like kitchen catastrophes.

Anyone who steps into my kitchen knows it’s my happy place. There, I’m in my element, and I’m confident in my abilities (namely, the ability to follow a recipe). It’s not that I think I’m the next Food Network star, but I’ve had some wonderful teachers and a lot of years of practice. The creative expression nourishes my soul while simultaneously feeding the bodies around my table. Cooking for others brings me joy.

Somewhere along the way, I became a scratch cook snob, at least when it came to baking. It wasn’t so much that I judged others who cooked treats from a box; I just developed a lot of pride about my pies and cakes and fancy-pants desserts. A lot of pride . . .

Had I considered what the Bible says about pride, I might have aspired to be a more humble baker:

One’s pride will bring him low, but he who is lowly in spirit will obtain honor (Proverbs 29:23).

When pride comes, then comes disgrace, but with the humble is wisdom (Proverbs 11:2).

And especially, Pride goes before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall (Proverbs 16:18).

Instead, in His infinite wisdom and by His long-suffering grace, God found another way to deal with this subtle sin of pride in my life.

As part of a church supper club, I had signed up to bring dessert that month. I was so sure of my baking abilities, I selected a new recipe: a Kentucky Derby Pie. I was genuinely excited because chocolate + pecans + a group of people I loved, so I wanted to make something special. (Oh, it would be special, all right . . . )

The morning I made my pie was the start of a busy day, full of demands and distractions vying for attention (including my three young children). When the pie came out of the oven, it looked and smelled delicious. I couldn’t wait to slice and serve it to our supper club. They are going to be so impressed, I imagined.

Everyone brought their A-game for the course they provided that night. Our host grilled a beef tenderloin to perfection, and my pie was to be the perfect finale to our delicious meal.

Friends cleared the table and cleaned dishes while Ronda made coffee and Greg handed me a server to slice the pie. I leveled it to make the first cut but couldn’t penetrate the surface. Confused, I tried pressing harder and began sawing back and forth. Still, I couldn’t make a dent.

Concerned but optimistic, Greg handed me a serrated knife. I tried to “hammer” the point of the knife into it, just to get a cut started, and instead bent the knife. Not willing to concede without a fight, Greg poured hot coffee over the entire pie to soften it. Nothing.

That dessert was little more than concrete masquerading as a pie. I was mortified. Poor Ronda scavenged her kitchen looking for anything that could pass as dessert. Everyone was more than gracious, and they were kind enough to laugh with me and not at me.

I never figured out for sure where I had gone so wrong, but the next month I brought broccoli casserole.

Later though, it occurred to me how there’s value in our failures. They’ll often become seared into our memory, but more importantly, they can also point us to something we need, the perfection we crave: Jesus.

My mistakes and failed efforts don’t mean that I am a mistake or that I am a failure, but they do remind me of my need for Christ. Jesus is already what I will never be — perfect. He has already accomplished what is impossible for me despite my best efforts. Through His life, death, and resurrection, He loved me without condition, forgave me, paid the penalty of my sin, and reconciled me to God.

My failures may reveal my inadequacies, but they also become opportunities for me to see that God is my everything.  

I love that God used a pie fail to transform my perspective of failure, but He always seems to find just the right way to teach me something about Himself.

What have you learned about God through your failures?

Nobody Wants to Be Part of a Club They Did Not Choose

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My oldest daughter and I snuck into the back of the church just before the memorial service started. She asked me to go with her to support one of her classmates, whose dad had died several months earlier while out for a jog. Because of the pandemic, the family had waited to host this celebration of his life so more people could attend.

We listened to stories about his life, how he met his wife, his time in the military, the way he faithfully supported our school and the students. We belly laughed as friends from his childhood and younger days shared stories. The school choir sang some of his favorites. I couldn’t help but think back to that day seven years earlier when I had sat in the front row of the very same sanctuary. Back then, it was us who shared stories and celebrated the life of my husband Ericlee, who had died of cancer at age forty.

I remember sitting next to my three daughters, who were two, five, and eight at the time, and my mother-in-law, who was burying her only son. My family and friends filled the pews behind us — hundreds of them. We laughed and cried in much the same way the family before us did. And I wondered, then, what the future would hold: How could God redeem a situation like ours? How would I survive without my beloved?

After the memorial service, my daughter and I hung back. She wanted to greet her friend, and I felt like I should introduce myself to this young widow mama. I just wanted to hug her neck and tell her God was going to take care of her and her kids.

As we made our way down the aisle, the woman looked up and welcomed me with her dark eyes. I awkwardly introduced myself. “I already know who you are,” she quipped. “I don’t want to be a part of your club.”

I was taken aback at first, but I understood what she meant. Nobody wants to be part of the Widows Club. It’s a club we do not choose. We feel thrust into it when most of us would rather scream and run in the opposite direction. And yet, there’s a profound comfort I’ve found in connecting with other widow mamas through the years.

Perhaps you can relate. Maybe you didn’t choose to be part of the Single Moms Club, the Infertility Club, the Mental Illness Club, the Divorced Women’s Club, or the fill-in-the-blank-here club, but I’m here to remind you that God has a tender place in His heart for you, just as He did for me as a newly-minted widow.

He has a heart for women who are vulnerable in all kinds of challenging life circumstances. God comforted Hannah, who called herself a “woman with a broken heart” because of her infertility, and He eventually gave her a son (1 Samuel 1:1-20).

Jesus went out of His way to meet a Samaritan woman at the well, who had been through five husbands. He revealed Himself as the Messiah and sent her out to share her story with others (John 4:1-39).

Jesus comforted His dear friends Mary and Martha when their brother Lazarus died. He wept with them even though He knew He was going to perform a miracle and raise Lazarus from the dead (John 11:1-53).

Friends, we need to make space for grief. We cannot forge ahead without tending to our trauma and our tender places. We all have experienced loss in a variety of ways. Grief does not go away. It can’t be pushed down or stuffed in the closet. Grief will leak out when we least expect it.

I got a message this week from one of my best friends that her mama, who has been fighting cancer for years, is weakening. My friend is praying for strength to be her caregiver. My mind floats back to those final weeks of my husband’s life. A friend told me it was a “sacred privilege” to be able to usher him to Heaven. In my exhaustion and anticipatory grief, I had a hard time understanding how this was a privilege. Looking back, I know it was, indeed, a gift.

Another dear friend sent me a message that her abuelito graduated to heaven. She’s flying to her homeland of El Salvador to be with her family who is mourning. I pray for safe travels and for her young daughter who must stay behind with her daddy.

There’s a circle of grief and glory that does not end until we take our last breath on this earth and cross that finish line into eternity with Jesus. Sometimes that circle feels like riding the merry-go-round on the playground. The world whizzes by, and you can’t quite find your bearings in the grief. But if we lift our heads, the light and glimpses of God’s glory are there too. Even in the tenderness of grief, we get that feeling of earth-meeting-sky, of mourning-waltzing-with-joy, of life-kissing-death.

My twelve-year-old comes into my room before bed. “Mom, I just watched Dad’s funeral on YouTube!” I search her face and realize she is not stricken with grief like one might expect. Instead, she possesses a surprising joy.

“I don’t remember any of those stories from the funeral,” she says. “It was so cool to hear the impact he had on people.”

My girl lost her daddy when she was just five years old. She was like tissue paper back then — beautiful and ever-fragile in her grief. I draw her close and inhale the tangy-sweetness of her skin. This is where the grief and glory meet. And this is where God meets us.

 

Dorina helps facilitate the Widow Mama Collective group on Facebook for young widows. For weekly encouragement through life’s unexpected challenges, subscribe to her Glorygram.