Choosing to Be Whole Instead of Fake

Choosing to Be Whole Instead of Fake

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I remember the first time I pretended I was someone I wasn’t. I was in elementary school and we were at a Christmas party for my mom’s co-workers. A boy who was a few years older than me was there, and we met at the drink table where I grabbed some seltzer water, mistaking it for soda.

“That’s seltzer water,” he said.

“I know that,” I replied with totally feigned confidence, taking a sip and trying not to immediately spit it back out.

To this day, I cannot get behind seltzer, but goodness, I tried to pretend. Of course, this sort of moment happens for us regularly, and if we’re honest, we try to act like it isn’t happening. Perhaps we’re one way with family and another with our friends or coworkers. Maybe we say that we believe something but when the time comes to follow through, we talk ourselves out of it.

The book of Proverbs is all about wisdom, and there are many times that the word “integrity” comes up. Integrity –that is, living honestly in all circumstances, isn’t just about appearances. In fact, in Hebrew, it can be translated as “completeness.” This reminds us of the word shalom, which means “peace, wholeness, or completeness.” There is a peace we find when we are whole. There is a gift to being whole in our lives.

Proverbs 10:9 says, “Whoever walks in integrity walks securely, but he who makes his ways crooked will be found out.”

You don’t have to be a business owner or lawyer to operate in integrity. Rather, we all have opportunities to be consistent behind closed doors and out in public. Do you find yourself speaking highly of someone in one context and then spinning it differently in another? Or maybe you pretend something is a bigger deal to make yourself look good? Or what about when you post things on social media you likely wouldn’t say to someone’s face?

We are given the chance to walk in integrity constantly. And if I’m honest? We can get really good at faking it. But it’s not just for the sake of looking good that we do it. We often throw integrity out the window forgetting that we’re being made into the image of Christ when we grow in our faith. And Christ is the ultimate example of integrity. He was never saying one thing and then doing another. He was never out to put His best foot forward. He had compassion, and He was still compassionate when no one was looking.

We live in an age of social media that gives us the chance to put up a front. And sometimes, I am tempted to give only the highlights. But when we do that, we aren’t just hurting ourselves, we’re hurting others by pretending that the right thing to be is insincere. They see our filtered images, and they feel less satisfied and smaller.
So the question I have to ask over and over again is this: Am I a whole person? Or am I abandoning myself in favor of an edited version?

If Jesus showed up in every circumstance with integrity, perhaps that ought to be my aim too.

When Healing Doesn’t Go the Way You’d Like

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“According to the x-ray, you’ve injured your medial collateral ligament (MCL),” the orthopedic specialist diagnosed.

The good news was that my injury could heal without surgery. The hard news was that I would have to wear a hefty, substantial brace on my knee for four weeks. I was so disappointed. Honestly, I limped into his office hoping he would tap my knee, pull my leg, give a little twist, and voila!, I would walk out, limp-less and fully recovered. I guess I really wasn’t thinking logically at all. 

Right away, I began to focus on the inconveniences my healing required. Dragging around my right leg meant I could not get anywhere quickly. In fact, that day, I had parked an uncomfortable distance from the orthopedic office door. Close to tears and dragging my braced leg along, the trek back to my car allowed me plenty of time for morose meditation: 

Now, I will have to slow down. I will have to sit more. As a writer, I already sit too much. I love going for walks to clear my mind. Walks are out! My workout will be limited! I have to make time to study MCL care. I will have to ask for help to do physical stuff. I hate asking for help. Nobody cleans and puts the room back together like me. I don’t have time for this!

Frustrated with my injury, I essentially did not want to make time for healing. I did not want to prioritize what healing could offer me and what it required of me. But then I remembered I had been here before — at the door of Jehovah-Rapha (the Lord who heals), but refusing to knock, refusing the invitation to slow down, to enter, and to abide in a healing space. I remembered that I had initially resented the need to be healed because I had been embarrassed to need special care. I’d felt useless — as if fostering healing on my behalf was too much to ask. 

Then I also remembered how walking in the depths of my infirmity with Jehovah-Rapha had grown, strengthened, and assured me in profound ways. I’d grown to know and embrace God as One who is perpetually healing and restoring. As a finite being, communing with His infinitely reparative nature is necessary so I can fully lean into the hope of wholeness. 

With this redirect, I shifted from resentful resistance and surrendered to the invitation to heal. I focused on three lessons that healing had previously taught me:

First, I have been given grace to heal. For Jehovah-Rapha, time and resources are without limits. In Him, I have the space to slow down and sit down. I have an opportunity to grow my patience. I have permission to ask for help and the promise that I will experience help. Reaching beyond my comfort zone of independence to receive assistance is good for my soul, and indulging in the grace to heal forces me to practice vulnerability. 

Second, practicing vulnerability necessitates my trust in Jehovah-Rapha that I will be healed. Although the process or the outcome may not look how I imagine it should, I trust that Jehovah is healing. I trust that in my weakness, I am being strengthened in ways I could not be in my own self-sufficiency. I get to discover things about myself that I need to know in order to live more fully in Christ. 

Finally, surrendering to healing helps me understand how injury to one part of the body impacts the entire body. An injured knee, for example, throws my whole body off balance. As I nurse my back, hip, and neck, sore from compensating for my injured knee, I express gratitude for all that a whole knee allows me to do.

Let’s be real: Healing is a requirement for living. If we allow, Jehovah-Rapha can be present in our injured bodies, emotions, relationships, communities, and nations. However, healing requires the following of us: 

  • To know that Jehovah-Rapha has grace us to heal. It’s not helpful for us to bypass injury or injustice in order to get to wholeness.
  • To embrace the hard work of healing instead of being afraid of it. The journey toward healing requires us to move outside of our comfort zones.
  • To understand that when one part of the body is healed, the whole body benefits. We don’t have to worry that being attentive to one part of the body will detract from the body as a whole. Healing for one can bring healing to many.

So wherever and however you are injured, may you make time for healing. May we make time for healing. Let’s take hold of all that Jehovah-Rapha has for us. 

Season One, Episode 04: Joy in Who God Made You to Be

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It’s podcast day!

This week, our hosts Becky and Mary are looking at how we can find joy in how God made us. When we gaze upon God and then see ourselves through His eyes, we can’t help but feel love and joy for the person He’s made us to be. That’s hard, though, right? So our brave hosts take some time to share how they’ve struggled to love the way the Lord made them — and how Scripture tells us that no matter how the world sees us, God looks at the heart.

They’re joined today by (in)courage contributor Lucretia Berry, who shares her own hard story about finding joy in the Lord and how He made her.

Once again, this episode ends with a Bible verse. This week, let’s read and remember Psalm 139:13-14:

For it was you who created my inward parts; you knit me together in my mother’s womb. I will praise you because I have been remarkably and wondrously made. Your works are wondrous, and I know this very well.

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 when Becky and Mary are joined by Anna E. Rendell to talk about how we can find and express our joy during good times. See you then!

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

Episode Guest:
Lucretia Berry: Instagram, Facebook

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!

Resilience Comes When We Remember

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As soon as we moved into our new house, we knew we were going to plant a willow tree in the backyard. We watched her grow and celebrated as her leaves danced with the Oklahoma wind. During the early months of COVID, we sat in the backyard a lot due to quarantine. There is something so serene about seeing something flow with grace and ease. Most of my memories of those days were seeing my kids run and play under our beautiful willow.

Then, in October, Oklahoma was hit by a severe ice storm. The trees were not ready. They still had all their leaves, so the weight of the ice bent and broke their limbs. I remember being so worried about my willow while I was at work that everyday as soon as I got home, I’d run to the backyard to check on it to make sure no limbs were broken. Her branches were sunken and bent low, her leaves touching the ground, but she was strong. As the ice began to melt, I was so relieved that all her limbs were intact.

Eventually, she stood tall again, but I noticed she wasn’t the same. Her branches were disoriented and misshapen. One branch stood tall in the middle like an elephant’s trunk, while the other branches were too weak after fighting the freeze. She was forever marked by the moment of that season.

Months have passed since that ice storm, and my willow has grown, but she still looks different. When I see her, I remember the ice storm and COVID — how it wrecked our world and how we somehow survived.

Whether physical or emotional scars from childhood trauma, a dent on the car from a wreck, or an empty chair at the dinner table due to loss, life has a way of marking us by specific moments that have changed us. These scars serve as a reminder of the pain we’ve endured. It’s easy to become overwhelmed and even feel regretful, but what if their reminder is actually a good thing? That we were bent and brought low but didn’t break. That we made it. Resilience often comes when we remember.

In Genesis 32:22-32, we read the story of Jacob wrestling with God. It resulted in Jacob being marked as a man who walked with a limp. He had been lost, in search of his identity. He had lied and cheated to get through life only to be cheated himself. He carried the hurts and scars of pain he’d endured at the hands of others, and he carried the burden of regret for the mistakes he’d made himself. But that night as he wrestled with God, he was finally given his identity. From that moment, he would be Israel, which meant prince. Jacob walked away with a limp and a new name. I’m sure when he would feel the limp or see his reflection, he would remember that moment. When others saw him, they would ask about his limp, and he would remember.

As uncomfortable as his limp probably was, it became a part of his identity that was evident to the world around him. It marked him.

Friends, what if we have scars to show them to the world? What if the brokenness we bear wasn’t meant to be lived in regret but to serve as a reminder — not of our weakness but of the strength of God? I pray that today you will see a God whose love is so amazing that He actually chooses broken things to display His grace.

All God’s Looking For Is Your Yes

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We’re thrilled to tell you that our newest (in)courage Bible study, Courageous Influence, is available! Cue the confetti! This Bible study features the real-life, going-first kind of stories you know and love from our (in)courage writers, and thoughtful, deep Scripture study — like the passage below. Written by Grace P. Cho and found on Week 3, Day 5, read on for a taste of Courageous Influence:

“Therefore, go. I am sending you to Pharaoh so that you may lead my people, the Israelites, out of Egypt.” But Moses asked God, “Who am I that I should go to Pharaoh and that I should bring the Israelites out of Egypt?” He answered, “I will certainly be with you, and this will be the sign to you that I am the one who sent you: when you bring the people out of Egypt, you will all worship God at this mountain.”
Exodus 3:10-12 (CSB)

When we meet Moses in Exodus 3, he has a complicated history. He was an Israelite, born into slavery in Egypt. In an effort to spare his life, his mother placed him in a basket in the Nile River, where he was discovered by the daughter of Pharaoh. Though Pharaoh had given the order to kill all Israelite baby boys, she was moved by his cries and adopted him as her own. So Moses grew up with prestige and privilege — a life completely opposite from that of his people.

One day, in an ill-conceived effort to stand up for his own, Moses killed an Egyptian whom he witnessed beating a Hebrew slave. He thought what he’d done was a secret, but word got out and he had to flee from Egypt, losing everything — his identity, his family, his life as he knew it.

Moses settled in the desert land of Midian, where he got married and settled down. It’s in this mundane season of life, while tending his father-in-law’s sheep, that God met Moses in a burning bush.

Knowing his history, we can understand why Moses responded to God as he did: “Who am I that I should go to Pharaoh and that I should bring the Israelites out of Egypt?” (Exodus 3:11). He couldn’t see how or why he would be qualified to lead the Israelites to freedom.

How many times have we asked ourselves the same question when we’ve felt called to something big or impossible?

  • Who am I to sing in front of a crowd?
  • Who am I to raise my children when I have no idea what I’m doing?
  • Who am I to speak out about a leader who’s done wrong to me?
  • Who am I to share my story when so many other people have more powerful testimonies to share?

The list could go on and on.

A thousand reasons might prove why you’re not qualified, but when God asks you to do something, all He’s looking for is a yes.

How does feeling like an impostor come down to what you fear? How has God’s faithful presence given you courage to face a difficult task?

So good, right?? The world tells you that your influence only reaches as far as your social media followers. But the Bible shows you how God can use you right where you are to be an influence for the kingdom. Let’s turn the idea of influence on its head as we become the courageous women of influence God calls us to be.

The Courageous Influence Bible Study is available where Bibles are sold — get direct links to retailers here.

Sign up here, and we’ll send you a FREE week from each our first four Bible Studies! Yep, we’ll send Week One + discussion videos from Courageous Simplicity, Courageous Joy, Courageous Kindness, and Courageous Influence. Read each at your own pace and decide which one resonates most with you!

Sensitivity Is My Superpower

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I can picture the paragraph in my seventh grade year book. The message from my friend made a rounded square, and the letters themselves were bubbly, expressive, and crowded together like a group of junior high schoolers. After the expected, “I hope you have a great summer,” she wrote, “I knew you were cool the day you told so-and-so to shut up.”

I read it over and over again, feeling smug over being described as cool and regretful as I remembered the cost of my quick words. Later, my Dad came across the yearbook, still open to the same back page of notes and signatures and asked me about it. Was someone bothering you? Why did you tell them to shut up?

He kept asking the same questions over and over again. I knew he was having trouble imagining his usually quiet daughter, who had cried over things like wilted flowers and city strangers with sad expressions, reacting to a friend that way. I lifted my shoulders at his incessant belief in the best of me and said I didn’t really remember. It was nothing. He knew better, and his tender gaze told me he could see farther than I could.

It would be easy to shrug this little incident off to the dark hole of junior high school years, but the thing is, I still remember it. Snippets of that memory after all this time stay sticky: my friend’s face after the words came out of my mouth, the way she halted her speech in the middle of a word, the other girls laughing and high-fiving me with their eyes, the feeling I had of earning attention and doing something unexpected, and wondering if I had traded in my relationship for fleeting admiration and a few feel-good lines in a seventh grade yearbook to come.

Even at that age, I felt it down deep. It wasn’t just my harsh words or the way I felt free to judge that my words were deserved and well-timed. It was the way I tried to move myself into a place of power and remove myself from being the sensitive girl I always had been.

Early on, many of us learn that sensitivity is something like an illness. We want to treat it. My mom was always worried that I would be hurt in the same ways she was, and now as a mom, I sometimes find myself acting and reacting to my kids with the same fear. Instead of sharing our own stories of hurt to come alongside one another and say, “Me too,” many of us try to shield ourselves or those we care about by attempting to stamp sensitivity into sensibility and tenderness into toughness. And ironically, with our shields held up high, this response is killing all of us from the inside.

The prophet Isaiah’s description of Jesus in Isaiah 53 simultaneously sobers me and gives me hope. I need to read it again and again. Isaiah described Jesus as a tender shoot surrounded by hard ground and so unattractive that people would look away from him.

He grew up before him like a tender shoot,
and like a root out of dry ground.
He had no beauty or majesty to attract us to him,
nothing in his appearance that we should desire him.
Isaiah 53:2 (NIV)

While I couldn’t have always articulated it, what I’ve always needed most is a place where the One that was worshipped could look like Isaiah’s prophetic description and be the One we all bowed down to. What I’ve always needed to know is that there’s a place for someone who comes in last, for the ones who are passed over, for the one who is still struggling, for the girl who was mean in an attempt to stamp out the softness and prove herself strong.

Some mornings, I still resort to looking for strength in shallow places like my coffee cup. For a moment, I go back to thinking I need to toughen myself up, make a list, and push myself into hustling.

But these days, the good reminders come quickly. I see my imperfections persisting after the coffee is gone — the very things that tempt to hide in the school lunchroom of my soul but find Jesus standing there, arms wide, reminding me that weakness is the place where we are all made strong.

I find Him in the mess of our family relationships that I don’t have the right answers to and in the ugly parts of my heart that still exist no matter how many days this week I’ve silently checked quiet times off my list. I find Him at the well of my need when I try to go it alone again and try to hide the soft places inside, tenderly reminding me that sensitivity isn’t an illness; it’s a superpower. I find Him in the person I least expect, noticing my wounds: my junior high school friend who later told me she had already forgiven me while her crinkled brown lunch bag still sat open and unfinished on her lap. I find Him like my Dad, asking me why I said what I said, reaching down deep, persistent and kind, trying to get under the surface of my meanness, telling me that I am seen fully right in the midst of it and still met with love.

To Those Who Are Missing a Place

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Years ago, our church family split apart, partly over disagreements and difficulties related to a new building in which we planned to meet. I became convinced that having a permanent physical space wasn’t really important for a church. The church was made of people, not bricks and mortar, after all. We can worship God anywhere, so who needs an actual building anyway?

I remained convinced of this perspective when my family joined a church that met in a high school. Worship happened in the auditorium, children’s ministry took place in the classrooms, and a team of volunteers moved bins of equipment and supplies in and out of the school every week. It became our normal, and what I believed continued to make the most sense.

You might think I’m getting ready to tell you that way of doing church is actually wrong, but I’m not. It still works; it still makes sense for our community. The Church is still, certainly, made up of people. And when we had to stop meeting in person last spring for safety concerns, my determination not to become dependent on a physical space served me well. Church online, broadcast to my television screen each Sunday morning? Awesome. Small groups and youth groups meeting via Zoom call? Fantastic. What a blessing technology has been to allow us to continue to gather even though we’ve been physically separated!

I say that sincerely. But as some parts of the world begin to open up for more in-person interactions, I’ve also realized that physical spaces do, in fact, matter a whole lot.

For the first couple of months my church began meeting in person again, we used another church’s building on Sunday afternoons. Finally, though, when the school year ended and our part of the world grew safer, we were allowed back into the high school that had been our church home for the last decade. I didn’t expect to feel any different that first morning back, though I’d smiled and nodded when our pastors and other church members expressed their deep gladness to finally be “going home.” After all, it would be the same group of people we’d been seeing in person for several weeks now, just in a different building. It didn’t seem like a big deal to me, but I was happy for them.

Oh, what arrogance! How blind I was to the effect that Sunday morning return would have on my heart!

Anyone who knows me even a little bit will not be surprised to learn that I cried nonstop the morning our church returned to our high school building home. Tears streamed down my face so quickly I eventually gave up trying to hide them and just stood in the auditorium, weeping openly.

What happened? The church is not a building! Right? Right? Right . . . but . . . I can no longer deny that place matters. Of course it does! Why else would God’s gift to His chosen people be a Promised Land? Why was it such an honor for Solomon to build God’s temple? Why did Jesus feel and express so much anger when people were misusing His Father’s house?

Because place matters.

I’m writing this from my favorite coffee shop that I didn’t realize how desperately I missed until I was back here at my favorite corner table. And the next time I get to settle onto a friend’s couch or back porch, I’ll be hard pressed not to burst into tears again at the sacred nature of sharing space.

I realize that some of you reading this still might not be able to physically gather with others. And I recognize that, for some of you, a church building or meeting space isn’t where you feel most at home, connected to God, or even comfortable.

But for all of us, no matter where we find ourselves today or tomorrow, place matters. And because He loves us so much, I believe any place God meets us becomes holy ground. The wooden altar facing stained glass windows in the sanctuary of our childhood church. The dark auditorium borrowed from a high school. The corner chair in our living rooms where we sit with our Bibles. The patio table or park bench or back porch where we pray with a friend. The cracked leather seat on the bus where we read a devotion on our phones. Anywhere we meet God, anywhere two or more gather in His name, can become a sacred place.

And if you’re missing a sacred, physical space today, you’re not alone. So many of us have been missing our places, but God is with us no matter where we are.

Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be frightened, and do not be dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.
Joshua 1:9 (ESV)

Are you missing a place today? What physical space has become sacred to you?

The Difficulties of Making Friends in Your 40s and How to Make It Easier

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I grew up on O’Neill Lane in Osage County, Oklahoma — my last name and the last name of everyone living on that lane. And other than a touch-and-go period in middle school, I never had to work to make friends. They were simply always there. My family had lived in the area for generations, so I enjoyed all the familiarity and comfort that comes with that kind of blessing too.

I went to college at Oklahoma State University (Go Cowboys!) an hour from home, and there I met a tall, dark, and ridiculously handsome man named David Strong. At the time he was in the USAF Reserves, but he later transitioned to the ROTC college program to commission as an officer. David was smart, kind, and employed a hardworking ethic I admired. It didn’t hurt that he looked dang good in a uniform too. When he asked me to marry him on a warm fall day, I took .02 seconds to say yes.

What I didn’t know then but would later discover was that marrying him also meant saying yes to building a community of friends from scratch — and doing so over and over again.

When we moved from Oklahoma to Ohio, I learned lickety-split that friends aren’t just always there. They don’t simply apparate onto your front porch like in a Harry Potter film. Most of the time, you and I have to find them.

With a lot of time and practice, I did find them. I learned the imperfect art of making friends. That doesn’t mean I made friends quickly, mind you. Usually I didn’t. It just meant I learned a few things that more likely ensured its success.

Of course, moving isn’t the only thing that can wipe away your community. Your heart — and the hearts of others — can change locations even as your feet stay put. At forty-seven, I’ve reached the point of life where new changes of different life stages pile up quickly. Kids graduating high school. Health crises. Kids moving away. Friends moving away, literally or figuratively.

All this and more can find you and I in the territory of needing to find new friends once again.

Making friends at any age is a tough endeavor. But as I get older, I also have to stare a few realities in the face: I can be my own worst roadblock to potentially meaningful friendships. Here are some things to keep in mind as you and I keep our hearts open to new or deeper friendships in mid-life and later:

Accept that in the beginning, you’ll have to invest more time and effort than it seems you’re receiving in return. This is true no matter how old you are, but I find it to be more applicable today than in my twenties and thirties. When my kids were young, I found myself more regularly in contact with other women because my kids’ friends showed up with grown-ups. If you’re like me and no longer have wee-watts running around, you can’t necessarily rely on the kids’ needs to put you in contact with other gals.

But in the places you do find yourself — church, the neighborhood, the book club — you can intentionally keep your eyes open for potential friends whom you can invite over for dinner, coffee, or just to chat on the front steps. Keep at it, and don’t wait for someone to invite you. Be willing to extend an invite first, and be willing to do it over and over.

Be approachable and be a good listener. The older I get, the less concerned I am with how others perceive me. While this is a glorious blessing, it’s also something to keep in check. Namely, I must exercise wisdom in sharing my opinions judiciously and respectfully. And while I certainly appreciate the value of open and honest communication, there’s a time and a place for bluntness. Remember, keeping an opinion to yourself doesn’t invalidate it. It shows a measure of maturity and self-awareness to know when it’s worth sharing, especially when you’re at the start of a new friendship.

Don’t assume that a potential friend already has her people. If you feel the Holy Spirit moving you toward a possible friend but are afraid she already has her people, reach out to her anyway. Rejection in any form isn’t fun, I know, but don’t make the decision for her. Whether or not she has the bandwidth for more people, let her make the decision for herself.

Look for friends outside your usual circles. Older folks (sometimes fairly) get accused of being set in their ways, and this can translate into us keeping our potential friend pool too shallow or narrow. There is value in a richly diverse friend group, including folks from different backgrounds, life stages, ethnicities, and ages.

My wise business and life coach, Retha, often repeats a quote of Andy Stanley’s, “Be the person you’re looking for is looking for.” Yes, not every person or friendship we invest in will work out. But let’s not cheat others from the gifts we share by giving up on forming friendships too soon. Perseverance is key — as is heeding instructions found in the book of James that advises we be not hearers who forget but doers who act.

And then, as Scripture promises, we will be blessed in our doing.

Following the Spirit Even When It Feels Awkward

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Two years ago, our (in)courage writers and staff from all over the U.S. (and Canada — hi, Aliza!) gathered in the beautiful mountains of Estes Park, Colorado. We spent three days walking along the river, eating good food, sharing hearts, drinking too much coffee, and planning new projects for you. Boy, was that a sweet time.

Going into the retreat, I knew I wanted to wrap up our final night with an intentional time of reflection. But I wasn’t sure what it should look like. I had bounced around ideas and sketched out some possibilities, but nothing felt quite right.

After a full day of meaningful conversations and exploring Colorado, we began our last evening together with a rooftop yoga session – what an experience. As worship music played, I breathed in with each stretch, focusing my mind on Christ, giving thanks for the rare gift of this retreat.

Maybe this was enough, I thought. Maybe this is the way to end our time together. Everyone seems content and relaxed. Maybe more sharing will just feel forced.

I breathed out my praise for God’s lavish kindness and looked around at this group of sisters whom I treasure and esteem. With the Rocky Mountains as a majestic backdrop, I thought, If I feel such gratitude and awe toward each one of these women, how much more must God delight in them as His daughters?

I reflected on how each woman had enriched our collective time in a particular way. Each uniquely gifted and anointed. Do they know how amazing they are?

And then I knew in my spirit what our closing time together had to be.

After our last scheduled activity, I could tell everyone was tired and ready to wrap up our group time and withdraw to their quiet condos.“What if we just called it a night?” someone asked.

I felt the tug of wanting to be sensitive and accommodate my friends. It would be easier to just go to bed. But the Spirit’s voice was louder. I knew there would be something lost if we tapped out now.

“No, let’s meet back in the main house in ten minutes. There’s one more thing I want to do.”

It feels a little silly to confess it now, but it took courage to say those words. It took courage to believe that I had heard the Holy Spirit correctly. It took courage to believe that the plan in my mind would result in a meaningful time when at our last retreat I felt like I totally flopped as a leader.

People were slow in making it back to our gathering place, but when everyone finally arrived, we sat in a large living room circle. Women piled on couches, and others pulled over stools from the kitchen. Some sat on the floor or perched on side tables.

“Okay, I know it’s late and we’re all tired, so thanks for being present for one final activity together,” I began awkwardly. “As you know, this year at (in)courage has been all about becoming women of courage. We’ve done an online Bible study and written blog posts, and this week we even recorded a video about it. But our invitation to our community is also God’s invitation to us. Part of becoming a woman of courage is learning to see ourselves the way God sees us. I don’t know about you, but sometimes that’s hard for me.

“One of the purposes of community is to be mirrors,” I continued. “To reflect back to one another what we see so others can see more clearly too. Over the last few days, I have seen beautiful things in each of you! And I know you have, too. So I want to end our time together by calling out what we see.”

Then, one by one, I stood behind each woman, placed my hands on her shoulders, and proclaimed, “You are a woman of courage,” and then together we blessed her with our words.

“Anjuli, you are a woman of courage. When I look at you, I see . . . ”

Around the circle, the words came out tentative at first. But as we went from one sister to the next, I began to hear a boldness in each voice — a bravery in calling out the intense good, the rare beauty, the hidden gifts in each other.

Yawns were replaced with shy smiles, inside-joke laughter, and tears for being truly seen.

Two years later and I remember the rooftop yoga and cinnamon lattes of that trip, but more than anything I remember the Holy Spirit showing up. His presence that final night was palpable. He was in us and among us, speaking to us and through us.

And doubt almost stole it.

So here’s the thing I’m reminding myself today, that I want to tell you too: The Holy Spirit is alive, He has more for us than we can imagine, and we can trust Him!

When that Voice speaks, whether you feel like obeying or not, whether your circumstances make perfect sense or not, you need to listen and respond. Doubt is normal — but you’ll miss out on what God wants to do if you defer to what is most comfortable.

Maybe you’re not leading a retreat today, but I bet you’ve got a situation in your life that is precious or important to you. You’re trying your best to savor it fully or steward it well. If you’ve accepted Christ as your Savior, then the Holy Spirit lives in you! But it’s up to you to surrender to His work!

Jesus said it clearly, “What gives life is God’s Spirit; human power is of no use at all” (John 6:63 GNT).

Indeed, God’s Spirit gave life that summer night. I’m so grateful I listened to His voice and accepted His invitation to trust His plan. At first, it may have looked awkward, forced, or foolish to others, but the Spirit’s plan is never foolish — it’s life to the full.

When We’re Scrambling for Things, Make This Stop First

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I’m sitting in a marketing meeting on Zoom, trying hard to listen. The subject is the oddest project I’ve ever tackled, especially when it comes to convincing fellow Christians to join me on the journey.

In short, I wrote a 1920s mystery novel and, in a few months, in October, it’s set to be released to the world. My struggle, meantime, is explaining why I wrote it — and why godly folks should read it.

Crime writing? Especially when such writing can look dangerous, scary, and maybe even ungodly?

The women on the Zoom call, however, don’t look fearful or worried. Instead, they look excited. Like me, they love Agatha Christie, Sherlock Holmes, and other mystery heavy hitters. They understand, therefore, that a good mystery looks at our broken places but, in the end, points us to redemption.

So, God is in this, they argue. Therefore, reach out to people. Tell them about it. Connect with folks. Let them know what you’ve written and why. It seems like a reasonable plan for any ministry — traditional or out of the box: just connect.

Praying about it, however, the Lord invited me to first take a deeper step. Connect with Me, He says. Then everything else you’re scrambling for will get found. 

Another way to say that is “seek God first,” as we know from the beloved wisdom of Matthew 6:33. Seeking God and His righteousness — especially when we’re scrambling — is the only good way to find our paths and to find Him.

But sometimes, when we’re trying to draw friends to a project or a stance we believe in, we can miss the mark by making it about ourselves — yelling loudly, pointing to our accomplishments, trying to reach more people, doing more for the sake of “connection.”

But God simply invites us to Him, to His presence, and to every beautiful gift that comes along with Him: mercy and grace, goodness and compassion, healing and help, joy and love, counsel and guidance, authentic transparency and truth. Yes, to His agenda.

His desire? First, to transform us and make us more like Christ. Such change requires remaining in the Lord. Stay and abide with Me. As He says, “I am the vine; you are the branches. If you remain in me and I in you, you will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing” (John 15:5).

Sitting in the Zoom meeting, I hear that loud and clear. The marketing people are saying the same thing: Connect to people, but do it as Jesus did — by first loving others and living as He did.

So, how did Jesus live? By seeking after His Father.

Listening to those marketing folks, I finally hear their ministry truth. It’s only in God that we find the assurance and confidence to offer our broken but creative selves to the world.

It’s in Him that we learn the true ways of real connection, not to make transactions — or to pitch our mysteries or ministries — but to walk together on this puzzling road of life.

It’s in Him that we find the courage to try.

It’s in Him that, when we fall — and we will — we find the strength to get back up and the courage to try again.

Sure, I’m praying that you’ll read my mystery book, but along the way, I hope we keep joining each other in seeking Him. He’s our every answer, our greatest connection. In that, there’s never a mystery.

You can pre-order Patricia’s mystery novel, All That Is Secret, here! Also, join Patricia for a free webinar on fiction and spiritual formation entitled “Formational Fiction: Stories That Shape Our Souls” with ministry host Renovare at 12 noon CST on Tuesday, July 13. Register here.

Season One, Episode 03: Joy in the Lord

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It’s time for another episode of the (in)courage podcast!

This week, our hosts Becky Keife and Mary Carver take a look at what it means to find our joy in the Lord—and what gets in our way of doing so.

Robin Dance, (in)courage contributor joins the episode to share her own story of joy from Week 2 Day 3 of Courageous Joy, leading Becky and Mary to discuss how easy it is to lose our focus on God and attempt to find joy elsewhere. They also turn to Scripture for the story of the “sinful” woman who anointed Jesus’s feet. (You can find the full story in Luke 7:36-50.)

As always, this episode ends with a Bible verse for the week. This week, let’s reflect on Psalm 66:1-2:

Shout for joy to God, all the earth; sing the glory of his name; give to him glorious praise!

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 and welcome to join us for this series of conversations. Pick up your copy of Courageous Joy at DaySpring.com — use code PODCAST25 to save 25% + get free shipping!

Play the episode and subscribe below so you don’t miss a minute! You can find the (in)courage podcast anywhere you listen to podcasts.

Then tune in next week as Becky and Mary are joined by Lucretia Berry to talk about how we can find joy in who God made us to be. See you then!

Hosts:
Mary Carver: website, Instagram, Facebook
Becky Keife: website, Instagram, Facebook

Episode Guest:
Robin Dance: website, Instagram, Facebook

 

 

Your Weight Is Not Your Worth

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A few years ago, I slowly lost sixty pounds. I didn’t do anything drastic, just made small, simple, better choices and took daily walks. I tracked my food in a free app on my phone. I worked to close the rings on my Apple watch and to hit 10,000 steps a day. I wish I could say that the catalyst for the changes I was making came from some awakening in my heart. But, friends, they came from a mortified response to being shamed.

I had a doctor appointment for something entirely unrelated to weight, or even my general health. It was a very specific issue that turned out to be nothing at all. However, the doctor felt it necessary to comment on my weight and said briskly that I should consider losing some of it.

My face burned for days, thinking of hers as she looked at me, a stranger, and commented on my body. She’d offered her suggestion after my diagnosis was complete and I was nearly ready to walk out the door. When I did walk out the door, it was with a blazing face, a pit in my stomach, and a resolution to do whatever needed to be done in order for that doctor to eat her words. I know, not the best motivator. It didn’t even make sense, as I would literally never see that doctor again and I could never “show her.” I figured I would know, and that would be enough to give me a smug satisfaction.

So I downloaded the apps, started walking, and lost 60 pounds in about a year and a half. I did everything in a slow, consistent, baby-step kind of way. Healthy, safe, and not extreme. However . . .

I got more comments on my body over those months than ever before in my life. I invited some of those comments by sharing pictures from my walks and a few before/afters on Instagram, and most of them were from well-meaning people in my life, telling me how amazing I looked. But every single time they offered their good-intentioned praises, my stomach churned and my face blazed just like it did in that doctor’s office. I felt that if they were praising my appearance now, I must have looked terrible before. I’m sure that wasn’t what drove their comments, but that’s how it felt. The same feeling of shame that flooded my heart in the doctor’s office returned, and I wanted to hide.

When Adam and Eve became aware of their bodies, they became ashamed too. I understand that impulse. I get their reaction. I get their urge to hide, to cover up, to avoid being seen. I understand that as an overweight woman, as a pregnant woman (no, not now, but at four other times), and as a woman who has both lost and gained significant amounts of weight. In each of these circumstances, comments were made, and shame was offered an invitation to lodge itself in my heart.

If invited in, shame is all too happy to entirely occupy every inch of space that it’s given.

Shame, for me, is as well-worn as a broken-in, old pair of jeans. It’s easy to slip into and believe, and there’s a kind of familiarity to it that comes right alongside the hurt it brings. There’s something about shame that can even feel comfortable. But we are not built to house shame. We are God’s workmanship, designed for the freedom that Christ’s love can bring.

Freedom from shame and guilt. Freedom from feeling too much and not enough. Freedom from counting, measuring, and eating half a banana when we want the whole thing. Freedom from embarrassment and pits in our stomachs.

I don’t want my children to see their mom striving or shrinking or ashamed. I want them to see her living free.

There’s not enough room in this article for all the words I want to say about this, so please know that I acknowledge much is left unsaid. There’s not enough room to dissect every aspect of what it means to be healthy, strong, or fit. There’s not enough room to talk about the ways in which the health industry dangles their ideal body in our faces, offering their products as the only or optimal solution and perpetuating the vicious cycle of shame so many live in. There’s not enough room to discuss eating disorders or mental health. There just isn’t room for such a massive and nuanced conversation.

What there is room for is to remind you that you were hand-created by a good, loving God who adores you. Full stop. God doesn’t love you more if you’re thin. God doesn’t love you less if you’re in a bigger body. Your pants size does not matter to God, and it doesn’t matter if that size goes up or down or stays the same. God just loves you — wholly, as you are. The end.

God loved you before you were created.

God loves you deeply and knows you fully.

God made you beautiful.

God made you in His image.

God rejoices over you, sings over you, saves you.

Jesus came to give whole, full living for us in His love.

There’s nothing you can do to earn God’s love. Shame does not disqualify you from being loved. The size of your clothes doesn’t impact God’s love for you. Shake off the shame, friend. Fight it and dwell in God’s overwhelming love.

Listen, there are for sure days where that’s much easier said than done. But on even those days, God’s deep love for us can carry us through the shame, the sadness, the not-enoughness that we feel. Friend, don’t look to the tag on your clothes to tell you what you’re worth. Your size — your weight — is not your worth. Our worth, our value, comes from God . . . and He says we are good.

When have you felt ashamed? How did you transition from that place into the freedom of God’s love?

You Are a Woman of Courageous Influence

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But you are not like that, for you are a chosen people. You are royal priests, a holy nation, God’s very own possession. As a result, you can show others the goodness of God, for he called you out of the darkness into his wonderful light.
1 Peter 2:9 (NLT)

I knew from the moment we received my husband’s stage 4 cancer diagnosis that God intended to use our story for His glory. God made me a storyteller, a messenger. He prepared me in advance for this work and gave me gifts for writing and speaking. For years God had been using mentors and friends to speak this truth over me. I had countless conversations, listened to sermons, and heard messages at conferences that resonated this same idea.

The question was, would I be willing to believe in my worth as a woman of influence and do what God was calling me to do — to share my story of grief and glory?

At first I resisted. I didn’t want to be known as the “grief lady.” I didn’t want to be vulnerable and share my pain publicly. Four months after my husband soared to heaven, I began to write. I immediately started to outline a Bible study about looking for God’s glory in the middle of grief. This was my personal story, but it was also an invitation for women to learn how to chase after God’s glory in their own trials.

Each week I wrote a chapter of what would eventually become a Bible study called Glory Chasers: Discovering God’s Glory in Unexpected Places. I invited nine of my closest friends to meet with me and go through the study. God used this sweet time of fellowship to heal us as we traversed through grief and loss together.

That fall, my church invited me to teach the Glory Chasers study for a group of over two hundred women. Though I didn’t feel ready, God began using my personal testimony of how He was present with me through the suffering and grief to challenge and encourage a larger audience, and by the following spring I decided to pursue publication. The more I saw God working through my words, the more I knew I couldn’t keep the message to myself.

God has written and continues to write His story in each of us, and whether you share yours on a stage before many or with a friend via text, God wants to do it through you — your words, your voice, your experiences.

Now people know me as the “glory lady” instead of the “grief lady.” Every time I share this message, God reminds me that He chose me to lead, to encourage, and to proclaim His glory as I chase after Him in my own life.

Story by Dorina Lazo Gilmore-Young from Week One, Day Five of the Courageous Influence Bible Study

We were made to shine. We were made to have influence because we have been made new in Christ. Our influence isn’t based on what culture says it should be or on our worldly qualifications or lack thereof. God considers everything His hands have made as good, as worthy of carrying His good news.

Knowing God has placed you where you are and chosen you to have influence with those around you, remember not to look to the right or left, wondering what someone else is doing. Instead, let’s be women who stay in our lanes.

Let’s be faithful to stay on whatever road He has us on. We are women of influence, period. Let’s embrace the way God made us for impact.

We hope you loved this excerpt from the Courageous Influence Bible Study, written by Grace P. Cho and featuring stories from the (in)courage community! Courageous Influence is available wherever books are sold:

Sign up here, and we’ll send you a FREE week from each our first four Bible Studies! Yep, we’ll send Week One + discussion videos from Courageous Simplicity, Courageous Joy, Courageous Kindness, and Courageous Influence. Read each at your own pace and decide which one resonates most with you!

Maybe This Is the Reason You’re So Exhausted

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I remember being a young employee called into my boss’s office. I sat down in front of his large executive desk as he closed the door. I was frantically going through my memory to find anything I could have done wrong.

As he sat down in his leather banker chair, he asked me in all seriousness, “Why are you so happy all the time?”

Taken aback, I wasn’t even sure what he had just asked me.

“Happy all the time?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said a little frustrated with me. “You always have a smile on your face and seem happy no matter what happens. How do you do that?”

I knew my boss struggled with down days. He had grown up in a very religious home based on works. He tried to be kind to those he led and to love others. But he never acted like he enjoyed his life or was very happy.

I had prayed for over a year for him to have a real relationship with Jesus, to know he was unconditionally loved and to feel free to be happy without the guilt. Here was my open door to share the “secret of my joy.” We had a surprising conversation about my faith in Jesus and how that applied to my every day.

If I hadn’t allowed the joy in my life to spread to my face, would my boss have asked me about my heart? A smile is vulnerable and makes others wonder about the Jesus you long to share.

I wonder if the way we live makes a life with Jesus look like a joyous adventure or an unhappy religion?

Sometimes those I encounter that don’t have a saving relationship with Jesus seem happier than those of us that do. That doesn’t seem the way God intended us to live after experiencing an eternal freedom from sin and love with no bounds. Why would our neighbor be attracted to a faith that was full of hate, unhappiness, anxiety, impatience, and brutality instead of love, joy, peace, patience, and kindness?

We are to “count it all joy, when we meet trials of various kinds, for you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness. And let that steadfastness have its full effect, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing.” (James 1:2-4 ESV, emphasis mine)

God empowers us with the ability to have joy in our circumstances even if we may not feel it, and that joy is unexplainable without Jesus. He is the secret to getting through the trials in our lives and being in an anchored place of contentment — joy in patience and peace.

I know that Jesus tells us we will suffer on His behalf and not always be treated fairly because the enemy hates us. But in the middle of all of that, do we really believe “the joy of the Lord is our strength?”

Maybe the lack of joy in our lives is why you and I are so tired. Perhaps we’ve somehow missed out on His joy and that’s what’s making us unhappy, exhausted, and a dimmed light for the Kingdom.

During rough waters, I’ve held onto the Lord until I found my joy in Him. I’ve learned Jesus is the source of our joy because He is joy and that’s where I can receive the strength I need.

The Holy Spirit also bears fruit on our behalf, in and through us. Love is number one, and joy is a close second. It is by His strength that our joy returns, knowing that we are loved infinitely well.

Circumstances and what we do don’t change the strength of the Lord’s joy. Paul worshiped Jesus in prison, lighting the way for the guards to be free from bondage with a newfound faith in Jesus. For the joy set before Him — pleasing God the Father, a reconciled love relationship with you, and the defeat of the enemy — Jesus endured the cross.

We need to be the women of Jesus, living a life that shows others that we are ambassadors of His and are promised joy with His Spirit. And the world will pause for a moment to ask us why we can be so happy in the middle of the chaos that is our world and we can share our life giving faith in Jesus.

What is holding you back from the joy Jesus offers?

Celebrating Our Dependence: Insights to Building Strong Communities

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In grade school, I had to go to the bathroom a lot.

No, I didn’t drink multiple cartons of milk at lunch or have some weird disease. But I was in pain.

The pain? My anticipation of being called on to read aloud in class.

I’d managed to go most of my elementary career without reading in front of the class. It wasn’t that I didn’t like reading; I was a voracious reader, poring over every book I could get my hands on (even the ones I wasn’t supposed to get my hands on). And I didn’t have a fear of speaking in public. Most of my trouble came from speaking too much. I could be guaranteed to get this feedback on every report card: Kathi is a delight to have in class. However, she tends to share with her neighbor too much.

I wasn’t afraid of reading or speaking. What terrified me was the combination of those two activities.

You see, I’m dyslexic. While I love to read, I take longer than many of my friends. And I love to speak, but only extemporaneously or from some really big bullet points.

Having to show the world (or worse, a classroom of fourth graders) what a slow reader I am felt like all my nightmares coming true at the same time.

It was easier to fake stomach cramps and run to the bathroom.

One of those torturous afternoon reading sessions, a room mom heard me struggling. When we went to the library afterward, she took me aside and confessed she always had trouble reading in front of people too. She encouraged me to read the chapter the night before class, so if there were words that were going to trip me up, I could “figure it out” in the privacy of my bedroom, not in front of twenty-nine other students.

I use this strategy even now. The day before any situation where I will be reading aloud, I take a handful of multi-colored highlighters and mark up the pages so I know when I need to slow down and pay special attention.

I needed this kind room mom’s help to get through school and have a career I love, but sometimes I forget my fourth-grade lesson and try to do too many things on my own — like refusing to listen to my more mechanically-inclined husband when I’m building Swedish furniture because I want to be able to say I didn’t need any help.

Or the times I’ve refused to listen to older, wiser mentors because I wanted to blaze my own trail. But you know what’s awesome about taking the well-worn path? You get time to enjoy the journey, and you don’t have to spend so much time fighting the thorny underbrush.

I’m like my daughter when she was a toddler. She would insist on “I do it myself!” even if it meant she spilled ninety percent of her Cheerios on the way to the kitchen table. On those occasions, I may feel independent, but I look rather ridiculous.

Can we just admit right now that having to do it all, manage it all, and handle it all is exhausting?

One of the best things I’ve done in my business is to admit weak areas and surround myself with those who are stronger. I’m not a skilled designer, but my friend Angela is. She takes my ideas and makes them way more beautiful than I ever could have. I benefit from her talent, and she uses the gifts God has endowed her. A total win-win.

Plus, I get to have an amazing friend like Angela in my life.

When I admit my weakness, it becomes a pathway to connect with others.

Because weak doesn’t mean “unimportant” or “unnecessary.” It means some of us require more help or protection in certain areas.

Sometimes the most important parts of our body are also the weakest. I think about our brains, our hearts, our lungs, or our kidneys. I would much rather have an injury to my leg than to my kidney.

The Apostle Paul talked about the importance of each body part in 1 Corinthians 12:18-22a (NIV):

But in fact God has placed the parts in the body, every one of them, just as he wanted them to be. If they were all one part, where would the body be? As it is, there are many parts, but one body.

The eye cannot say to the hand, “I don’t need you!” And the head cannot say to the feet, “I don’t need you!”  On the contrary, those parts of the body that seem to be weaker are indispensable.

Sometimes, I am the strong part, but more and more I realize I am the weaker part and need help. As the body of Christ, we were designed to collaborate and assist each other, rather than do it all on our own. The ability to ask questions, receive opinions, and seek help is one of the traits that will get us farther than always trying to figure it out by ourselves.

While most of the country celebrates our independence, I would love for us to take a moment to celebrate our dependence. Dependence on our community of believers makes us better, kinder, and more like Christ.

Want another resource to go deeper about asking for help when you need it? Overwhelmed: How to Quiet the Chaos and Restore Your Sanity by Kathi offers insights and practical wisdom. 

When Envy Slowly Rots Our Souls

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Her text was in all caps: I GOT MY DREAM JOB! I felt something in my gut twist. I tossed my phone down and turned on the water in the shower. I hated feeling this way. I wanted to text back, I am so happy for you!!! I knew the right thing to say but knew my heart felt the wrong thing. This feeling was so painfully familiar: envy.

For me, envy has always been a struggle. But on any given day sloth, pride, greed, and anger can infiltrate my soul like an uninvited guest that I keep letting in the front door. Sin works like that, doesn’t it? I don’t want it to poison my life, but there is something slightly appealing about it. The taste of sin satisfies my bent heart. I hang onto sin because, in a convoluted way, it gives me power. When I nurse my jealousy, it makes me feel justified, right, and strong. I run through imaginary scenarios of why this or that person doesn’t deserve the opportunity they have been given. I can do this with strangers, institutions, churches, and friendships. I can find anything to be envious about.

Oftentimes, the frequency of my jealously can fluctuate. I’ve been able to manage it enough so that it doesn’t ruin my life. I use my own accomplishments, busyness, and adventures to keep my sin under control. But I keep opening the door and letting it invade my inner world. I hold onto it just in case I need it to feel strong again. 

If I’m being honest, I don’t want it gone. But it’s also honest to say, “It’s slowly rotting my soul.”

The water was hot over my body. I needed to be cleansed. Like kneading bread dough, I played the stories out in my head again and again. But this time, instead of using sin to give me strength, I saw how terrible it was turning my thoughts. I saw how much I had let envy tangle me up, contort reality, and drive me to dishonesty. I didn’t want to just say the right thing to my friend. I wanted to feel differently. I wanted to be different. 

I want to purely celebrate people. I want to believe that another person’s achievement doesn’t diminish my worth. I want to cheer loudly, clap hard, and be the first one to stand up for others’ dreams coming true. But before I can do that, I have to choose another way. I have to close the door to sin. I have to refuse to let sin consume any part of my soul. I have to treat my deceit, lust, resentment, and gluttony like the poison that they are. No sin can give me power, strength, or security. No sin can save me, hold me, or love me back. 

I let the water wash over me and wept. Lord, have mercy. It was sad to see how much I had let sin roam freely in my soul.

I’m often afraid to trust that God will meet me in the middle of my mess. It’s hard to hold onto Jesus instead of my jealousy. But I believe there is a better way. God promises the way to freedom is through Jesus. Do I believe Jesus is enough? Timidly, but with assurance, I do believe this. Perhaps it would be safer to say that I’m learning to believe Jesus is my strength, stronghold, and constant; I’ve let sin take residence in my soul for far too long.

For today, and I pray for tomorrow, I am putting my foot down. I am closing the door to the unwanted, slithery, creature of sin that so easily takes up space inside of me. For far too long I’ve put my hope in my ability to manage, maneuver, justify, tone down, and tame my sin. But that’s not the life I want. It cripples and cuts me off from my true source of love. Love is always within reach, but the choice to stand up to my sin or nurse it is always mine. 

The real question remains for each of us: What kind of life do we want? Do we want freedom or a soul warped by sin? 

I dried off and texted my dear friend back, YOU DID IT! I’M SO HAPPY FOR YOU! I said the right thing, and my heart began to feel the right way.