The Myth of “Practice Makes Perfect”

The Myth of “Practice Makes Perfect”

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I was seven years old when I went to my first piano lesson. For ten years, my mom drove me to a country house ten minutes from our own where my beloved piano teacher would teach me theory and technique and remind me of the secret of every great pianist:

“Practice makes perfect!”

These three words were loaded with promise. I remember hearing them when starting a new and challenging piece. It was intended to motivate and encourage, and there was certainly some truth to the words. It inspired me to practice nearly every day, in the hope of one day being able to play the black-and-whites with mastery.

But it was also a phrase loaded with pressure, especially to a seven-year-old girl who thought “perfect” the only acceptable result.

To be clear, I’m all about the practice. Diligent hard work and determination are important. Eventually, I grew up to be a piano teacher myself. I know the power of consistent practice — in piano and in life.

But the perfection? It was an impossible target — one I could never seem to hit, no matter the amount of my hard work and commitment. Before each recital, I practiced my piece over and over again, determined to get it right. But then the day of my performance showed up, along with an overwhelming fear of failure, and all evidence of my prior practice seemed to fly out the window. No one else may have noticed my less-than-perfect performance, but I knew. And my disappointment in myself was real.

I’ve discovered the same to be true in my spiritual life. I read my Bible and go to church. I try to do what is right and live in such a way that would please God. But no sooner do I close the pages of my Bible and say “amen” do I find myself tripping on my pride or impatience, or reluctant to forgive and quick to judge. As Paul famously said in Romans 7:18-19, “For I have the desire to do what is good, but I cannot carry it out. For I do not do the good I want to do, but the evil I do not want to do — this I keep on doing.” 

Practice makes perfect? Not so much. Determination and self-will cannot make me the woman I want to be. No matter my good intentions or how hard I try, I never quite hit the mark. Yes, the disciplines of reading my Bible, prayer, and spending time in a community of other believers certainly help me grow and become more like Jesus. But the gap between the person I am and the perfection I desire can only be bridged by an extraordinary grace:

So I find this law at work: Although I want to do good, evil is right there with me. For in my inner being I delight in God’s law; but I see another law at work in me, waging war against the law of my mind and making me a prisoner of the law of sin at work within me. What a wretched man I am! Who will rescue me from this body that is subject to death? Thanks be to God, who delivers me through Jesus Christ our Lord!
Romans 7:21-25 (NIV)

My friend, if you’re feeling the weight of wretchedness, if you want to cringe at the myriad ways you try to live like Jesus and yet fail time and again, you’re in good company. I’ve been following Jesus for over forty years now, and some days I barely make it to breakfast before I see evidence of my broken humanity.

And yet, I see evidence of His transforming in spite of myself. Although I am not yet who I want to be, I’m no longer who I once was. And when I fall on His grace in recognition of my great need, I find His power waiting for me. It is there I can leave my hard work and determination behind and, instead, rest in His work — His saving work on the cross. It is His performance that matters, not mine.

“It is finished,” He said (John 19:30).

Yes, it is. The real work is already done. Amazing grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me.

You too, friend. You, too.

What Was Meant for Harm Became My Message of Hope

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*TRIGGER WARNING: sexual assault

On a Sunday morning a few weeks ago, I gave my testimony on a TV show about God’s great love to heal and love me as I was interviewed about my new book Sweet Like Jasmine: Finding Identity in a Culture of Loneliness. It was the first time I publicly shared about being sexually assaulted my first year of college at UCLA. I had never had a boyfriend before, and the perpetrator was someone I’d known for nearly a year in my Bible study group. He was known among the leaders, and I had thought I’d be safe dating a Christian guy. But I wasn’t.

There’s no easy way to tell that story or ease into it, and though my new book isn’t about sexual assault, I decided to include this incident because every part of our story matters to God. That morning, I boldly recounted the fateful moment I was robbed of my voice and my body was violated because I wanted to share how God’s love and powerful healing took away my shame.

Unspeakable trauma can happen to God’s people, but God provides a way for rescue and healing. I know this because it happened to me, and the statistics tell us, it happens too often to too many people around us — whether that’s someone sitting next to us at church, in our small group, our college class, our workplace, our families, or our circle of friends. There is someone near you who needs to hear your story.

How can others know God loves us when we are broken and feel brokenhearted if we hide our stories of pain? God makes us wounded healers and sends us into the world to love others with the love we received. His healing love knows no bounds.

If this has happened to you or someone you love, I want you to know that God loves you and sees you as valued, respected, and cherished. Your stories of faith, love, and God’s goodness are no less beautiful or celebrated because a perpetrator once did an unspeakable wrong to wound you. God is at work making something beautiful in your life even in the middle of your hard moments, whether that be in dating, marriage, health, ministry, or parenting. God holds you close and guides you toward healing.

Psalm 34:18 says, “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” There is hope because God treasures you unconditionally and there is no hurt so deep that God cannot heal.

What was meant for harm God’s love transformed for good. And the fire you’ve walked through with God’s love may be the light someone else needs. 

When we tell the truth, the truth sets us free, so we can set others free. This is how God makes beauty out of brokenness — by allowing His love to flow through us to others.

Isn’t that what Jesus did for us when He was betrayed, when He wept in the Garden of Gethsemane before His death? He thought of you and me, with each agonizing step He took dragging the cross, with each labored breath He took as He hung on the cross. He didn’t want us to carry the shame. Our loving Jesus carried it on the cross so we wouldn’t have to. And because of Him, we are free!

I leave you with these powerful Scripture passages that I share in my book so you can be empowered to shine His light of power and love today:

Therefore, I will gladly boast about my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest in me.
2 Corinthians 12:9 (NIV)

[People do not] light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand and it gives light to everyone.. In the same way, let your light shine.
Mattew 5:15-16 (NIV)

You are living testimony of God’s love. Shine brightly without shame and without fear, for you are His beloved.

Want more powerful encouragement? Sweet Like Jasmine hit #1 New Release in Christian Biographies! Order my new book Sweet Like Jasmine: Finding Identity in a Culture of Loneliness, as I share my lessons of faith and be empowered in your true worth! You can also sign up for my FREE Guided Journal at SweetLikeJasmine.com.

He Sees Your Health and Saves Your Heart

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I am sitting in the same room that I sat in three months ago, looking at the same tile floor and empty, bare walls. I am waiting for that familiar knock at the door, waiting for the footsteps to follow, for the man in the mask to come and make his way into the room so that we can discuss my health, how my body hurts, and how to make me well.

He stares at his computer and traces his finger over black and white images on the screen and mumbles some things about the shape of the swell in my neck. And, for a moment, I am tracking and following his finger. For a moment, it feels like he is finding the right answers to satisfy my aching questions — until I realize that he is reciting the same words he said to me the last time I was in this room. The whole moment begins to feel like déjà vu — except it’s not déjà vu, and this isn’t all in my head because this is real and really happening, and the pain is all really in my body.

The pins and needles, the headaches, my blue-tipped nails, and the pounds packed onto my hips. The dry patches on my neck, the waves of nausea that come crashing in, and the chest pain — it’s real, not at all a figment of my imagination, not at all some dream that I am replaying in my head.

He tells me that the nodule on my thyroid is benign, and I tell him that was three months ago and that the thing has since grown, has since been compressing and constricting the space in my throat. Has since been hurting and felt unwholesome and heavy. I tell him it is time to do more because, benign or not, whatever the growth is, it’s not good.

I tell you this story that happened not even a week ago because I know I am not the only woman in the world that’s felt like the woman with the issue of blood (Mark 5:25-34). I know I’m not the only woman who’s tried everything, exhausted every option, and is at the end of the rope when it comes to her broken body.

I know I’m not the only woman that’s just desperate for some holy hand to touch her body and make her well again, not the only woman in the world that feels unnamed and unknown in a sea of crowded faces.

Maybe that is you today. Maybe that’s been you for many days.

But you are not just a woman, and you are not just any woman.

You are not a number in a crowd; you are a name in the Kingdom — and the King knows your narrative.

Our Jesus is not some doctor sitting at a desk, face turned, reading results off of an insentient screen. He is a Savior that sees your soul and knows your story of suffering.

He sees your health, and He saves your heart. He calls you close, and He calls you His own.

I do not know about the sickness that is swelling in your body right now. I do not know whether you’ve been walking this road for a thousand miles or if you’ve just set out, one weak and weary step at a time. I do not know if the pain is in your bones or in your blood, if the growth is in your skin or deep within, or if the disorder is in your heart or in your head. I do not know if you wake to swallow big, white pills, or if your only chance of survival comes through the thin of syringe needles pushed in unholy places. I do not know if you wear the wounds on your skin or if the illness is invisible, leaving you to fight hard-believed battles.

But this I know — that Jesus does not turn away the ones who turn toward Him. And however powerful the push and pull of the crowd — whether the pressure looks like shame and condemnation or simply their own selfishness to be the first to find and follow the famous Savior — it is you that He sees, you that His eyes will always turn to see.

He holds you in His sight, because breaking your anonymity is part of your healing.
He holds space to hear your heart, because affirming your need for confession is part of your healing.
He holds your heart for eternity, and it is for more reasons than just your healing.

It is about the Son and how He is wholly the only source of holistic hope — for sickness and suffering and sin — from now on through eternity.

What is hard about your health right now? Turn your eyes to see that Jesus holds you in His sight and find peace knowing your soul has been set free.

Even When I Feel Lonely, I’m Never Alone

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It’s surprising how often I’m by myself considering I live with five other people: my husband, our twenty-one-year-old, eighteen-year-old, and sixteen-year-old daughters, and my twenty-one-year-old daughter’s best friend, my bonus daughter. As a mother of eight children whose births were spread out over nineteen years, I’ve been surrounded by people, noise, and activity for a long time. Our current household of six sounds like a lot of people, but since everyone can bathe, clothe, feed themselves, and do their own laundry, it feels like a smaller crowd.

Because COVID has created gaps and disruptions in business and the workforce, my husband has had to work longer hours to perform additional duties besides his own as a manager. Quality time is my love language (and his too), but our time together seems to be scarce. We are quality time people who aren’t getting much quality time.

My daughters (and bonus daughter) binge watch shows together, go to coffee shops for group Bible study, and have jobs outside the home. Their days are long and their lives are full, and there are periods of time when I don’t see them very much either. Don’t get me wrong, sometimes I enjoy having a quiet house to myself, but some days I feel lonely (and even a little bit sorry for myself), because it feels like maybe I’m slipping between the cracks.

My once-a-week teaching job connected me with students, their parents, and other tutors, but I retired at the end of last school year. I participate in two monthly book clubs, but often I only see the other women on the nights we meet. (I need to be more intentional about correcting this.) I realize my life is in flux — a transition period — and I trust God has a plan for me. The next chapter in my story is waiting to be written, but for now, it’s still a mystery. Just as boredom can spark creativity, our empty places yearn to be filled, and I believe God can use those feelings of loneliness or discontent to nudge us forward on our path.

My days are quieter and less chaotic than they were in the past. It was inevitable our eight children would start to grow up, move out, and begin their adult lives, right? That was always our hope for them. But even when I feel lonely, I’m never alone. Not for a minute. When I feel the most isolated and left out, it suddenly hits me . . .

Jesus is here with me!

How could I forget? He turns everything around, disperses the dark cloud that hangs over my head, and brings so much comfort, so much peace. When I’m at a low point and remember this truth, it makes me smile with delight, like when I find a $20 bill in my coat pocket or a chocolate bar stashed away and forgotten. Obviously, Jesus is so much more than that — Jesus is everything.

When I get so caught up in feeling left out, isolated, or alone, I forget my dear Friend is always by my side, ready, willing, and able to fill my empty spaces. He knows the messiest parts of me — the impatience, intolerance, and the things I don’t want anyone else to see — and He loves me anyway.

To an unbeliever, sharing your life and thoughts with someone you can’t see might sound foolish. But to a Christian, the Lord’s presence is a tangible thing. His comfort is real. Because He walked this earth in human form, He understands our feelings. As both man and God, He knew loneliness and rejection intimately. 

He is despised and rejected of men; a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief . . .
Isaiah 53:3 (KJV)

As horrible as it was to be scorned by the people He came to save, it doesn’t compare to the greatest loneliness and rejection Jesus experienced when He became sin for us on the cross and was forsaken by God the Father.

And about the ninth hour Jesus cried with a loud voice, saying, Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani? that is to say, My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?
Matthew 27:46 (KJV)

No matter how lonely or rejected we may feel, the Lord understands; He’s been there. He is always here for us, a constant source of comfort, so we are never truly alone.

Has a change in your life stage left you feeling alone or isolated? How has God’s presence been a comfort to you when you feel lonely?

When God’s Voice Sounds Like Twila Paris

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“Honey, go home. You haven’t slept more than a few hours in five days. I’ll stay with him. Surgery is scheduled for 8:00 am. You need to sleep when you can,” murmured my husband.

Tipping the newborn scales at 10.5 pounds, our five-day-old son snoozed soundly in his crib at Children’s Hospital for the first time since birth. Diagnosed with Hirschsprung’s, a congenital birth disease, our pediatric surgeon explained that I couldn’t nurse him again until they completed his colostomy in the morning.

My emotions whirled from the day’s diagnosis, but at least we finally had answers.

“Lord, I beg You. Calm my wavering heart and help me focus on Your goodness,” I uttered my short, choppy prayer. “At the worst, he lives life with a bathroom bag and sports won’t be his thing. He’ll adjust. Two surgeries are nothing in comparison to what it could have been. Thank you, Lord, that this isn’t life threatening. Use this.”

Feeling broken, yet grateful, I gathered my belongings and began heading to the parking structure.

My brother jogged after me and insisted, “Let me drive you. You shouldn’t be driving home by yourself.”

“No thanks. I really need the time alone to process today’s information.”

As I trudged to my car, all the “what if’s” danced through my mind. Exhaustion blanketed my thought process, and my emotions reeled.

I begged the Lord to set my mind on things above: His truth, His omniscience, His perfect love that casts out all fear.

As I pulled on the highway, I cranked the local Christian music station knowing that praise music would help squelch any darkness permeating my car, and a brand new song by Twila Paris, “God is in Control,” rang out. Never having heard the song before, I couldn’t believe the words. My breath caught, and I pulled over to the side of the road to listen more intently.

God is in control. We believe that His children will not be forsaken.
God is in control. We will choose to remember and never be shaken.

The tears flowed. I couldn’t stop. My baby — His child.

Gasping for breath, my whimper turned to wailing as the spirit of the Lord descended into that car. He spoke so clearly. Reaching down with His loving arms, God gently rocked me and whispered, “Remember, Matthew’s mine. Remember.”

The song continued,

There is no power above or beside Him, we know, God is in control.
He has never let you down. Why start to worry now?
He is still the Lord of all we see and
He is still the loving Father watching over you and me.
God is in control.

I responded, Oh, Lord, how quickly I forget. Scripture reminds me that You are the same yesterday, today, and forever. You do not change.

On that summer evening twenty-six years ago, God’s voice sounded a whole lot like Twila Paris, and I have never forgotten that moment’s critical significance on my life. Some think God only chose to speak audibly to His people in the Old Testament, but no. I heard the one, true, and living God, who sang truth straight to this momma’s heart in the middle of a crippling crisis.

My Savior, who loved and continues to love my tiny babe more than I ever could, met me in a dark car through a song and changed my life. 

As I finished my drive home, peace enveloped me. I can’t begin to explain it, but on one of the scariest evenings of my life, I set my alarm and slept through the night like a baby (a really good baby).

In Matthew 11:15, Jesus declares, “He who has ears to hear, let him hear.” Hearing is a discipline, and too often I make every excuse as to why God feels distant. But I am reminded once again of His desire to speak truth intimately and directly to us, just like that moment in my car.

Often, it’s in the ordinary, everyday, simple moments of life when He chooses to reach out and minister to us. I love that He uses so many creative mediums to do so, and when we quiet our hearts and listen expectantly, we can hear what He has to say.

Tell me about a time when the Lord spoke so clearly to you that it had a significant impact on your life.

(Just in case you were wondering, that baby boy ended up playing Division 1 football and is getting married in November to a girl who loves Jesus. Oh yes, our son’s story definitely didn’t end that morning of the surgery when my alarm went off. It was only warming up.)

Season 2, Episode 12: Crying Babies, Sown Seeds, and Grace as a Waterfall

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“Even when we plant the seeds and water them, God brings the growth.” Anna and Joy talk about having influence for a season, and how God is faithful afterwards. They disagree on puzzles, talk about their crying babies, and what both taught them about sowing seeds of influence. Finally, they look at Colossians 3:23 and discuss the ways God operates in a system of generosity (not scarcity).

Sharing a story today is (in)courage contributor Becky Keife. She reads her story as published in Week Four of the Courageous Influence Bible Study.

Also, in each episode of this season (today included), you will hear from very special guests Kathi Lipp, Becky Keife, and Grace P. Cho (author of Courageous Influence)!These three friends spent a few days together as they went through the study, and, lucky us, they recorded their conversations so we can all listen in! Find all the Bible Study Mondays posts here and discover for yourself what God says about influence (spoiler alert: you have it! Yes, you!)

Listen to today’s episode below! And be sure to get your copy of the Courageous Influence Bible Study from DaySpring.com!

When You’re Living in a Constant State of Overwhelm

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I noticed her standing towards the back of the room, leaning against the wall. Once everyone cleared the auditorium, she walked up to talk with me.

“I feel completely numb,” she said. “I don’t want to be a mom or wife anymore. I could walk out on my family today and not feel anything. But it would devastate them, and I don’t want to do that.”

It felt like she was holding her breath, waiting to see what I would say now that she had spilled her guts. And then she exhaled these words: “I just don’t have anything left in me to give or to feel. I don’t know what to do.”

She had not told anyone — not family or friends. But she thought maybe I could tell her what to do since she had just heard me share my own rock-bottom-burnout story at a church’s women’s retreat. I had described how, ten years earlier, I’d come to a place where I wanted to quit just about everything — being a mom, being married, and being in ministry.

I tried to convince myself it was just a season, that things would eventually slow down, and I’d start enjoying life. But life wasn’t slowing down, and I wasn’t enjoying anything.

I’d heard sermons and read Scripture that promised “those who trust in the Lord will not grow weary” and that “whoever refreshes others will be refreshed.” And I was frustrated God wasn’t coming through the way I thought He would or should. I questioned why Jesus promised “life to the full” when the only thing that was full in my life was my calendar packed with obligations, commitments, stress, and hurry.

Then one day, I read Jesus’ words in John 10:10 and noticed the warning He gave right before His promise of life to the full. Jesus said there is a thief who comes to kill, steal, and destroy us and the abundant life He came to give us.

Depleted and overwhelmed, my hope had been stolen. And my life was being destroyed by the disappointment and guilt of feeling like I was never doing enough, yet knowing I had nothing left to give.

As this young mom stood in front of me looking exhausted and depleted, I saw a younger version of myself in her, desperately wanting someone to help me get out of the overwhelmingly hard place I was in. It was a place created by my mixed-up understanding of Scripture and God’s heart, a place where I saw God more as a taskmaster I needed to please than a loving Shepherd I wanted to follow.

If you’re in a similar place as I was, I want to tell you what I told the woman who shared her brave and vulnerable confession with me that day: Being overwhelmed is okay for a season, but living in a constant state of overwhelm is not.

I told her the first step to ending an unhealthy cycle of overwhelm is surrender. Surrender happens when we acknowledge that we cannot do it all and accept that we don’t have to. Surrender looks like letting go of everything we think we ought to do and what we assume God expects of us to do and asking Jesus to show us what He wants us to do.

Some days, surrender looks like taking a nap. Other days, it looks like canceling an overwhelming commitment. Some days, surrender looks like having the courage to disappoint someone with a gracious no to their invitation or request. Other days it looks like saying yes to something that isn’t productive or purposeful but simply enjoyable.

Surrender comes when we get honest with ourselves and Jesus about our motives behind each commitment we have or obligation we assume. Is it something we sense God calling us to or is it something we feel pressured to do or praised by others when we do it?

Jesus wants to help you figure out what to let go of and what to say no to. He knows you want to be there for everyone, but He doesn’t expect or want you to be. He sees the whole day before you, and He wants to help you live it to the full.

In his letter to the church in Ephesus, Paul wrote,

I pray that out of his glorious riches he may strengthen you with power through his Spirit in your inner being, so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith. And 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.
Ephesians 3:16-19 (NIV)

Notice how Paul was on his knees praying for Christ to dwell within the Christians in Ephesus not so they could do more, preach more, or achieve more. He prayed Christ’s spirit would fill them more fully so they could understand and grasp the fullness of God’s love.

It’s been over twenty years since I hit my own rock-bottom state of burnout. But there are still times I find myself living in a state of overwhelm. Paul’s prayer reminds me that instead of running away from it all, I need to run to Jesus and ask Him to help me grasp the fullness of His unconditional love, grace and acceptance.

If you are living in a place of overwhelm and overload, I encourage you to take time to make a list of all that is on your mind and on your calendar. Then lay it all before Jesus, letting Him define your expectations and set intentional margins, so you have time to be with Him and the ones you love, doing what matters most to you and Him.

Offer Your Pebble. Let God Magnify the Ripples.

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There’s a question I’ve been chewing on for quite some time. I can’t get it out of my head. It goes like this:

What if the display of God’s power in our lives is directly related to acknowledging our need for Him?

In the midst of personal crisis, national unrest, or a global pandemic, people ask, “Where is God?” Here’s what I’m coming to believe more than ever: He’s in our need. He’s in our lack. He’s present and powerful when we’re ready to admit how desperate we are without Him.

The end of our rope is the beginning of God’s grace. This is true in our individual circumstances and in our desire to make this world a better place. Mother Teresa said, “I alone cannot change the world, but I can cast a stone across the waters to create many ripples.”

I can’t help but think of the famous story of how God used one small stone to create mighty waves of change. I’m thinking of the rock that took down a mighty giant. Goliath was the nearly ten-foot-tall Philistine warrior who threatened to destroy the Israelite army. Day after day, for forty days, Goliath came forward and challenged any man from the opposing side who had enough guts to face him. The future of both nations rested on this single man-to-man battle. Whichever side was victorious would get their enemy’s land, wealth, and surviving citizens. Saul was king of Israel at the time, and not one soldier in his mighty legion was willing to fight such a powerful opponent with everything on the line.

The Israelites were woefully aware of their insufficiency, but they failed to understand that God’s power was what they really needed. Enter David. David was a young shepherd and the youngest of eight sons; his father sent him to the battlefield to bring provisions to his brothers. When David got to the front lines and heard about the dire situation his people faced, he didn’t hesitate to offer his help.

What made the young shepherd willing to face an opponent that hundreds of grown men trained in combat wouldn’t? Was it because David was simply conceited like his older brother suggested? Did he think so highly of himself that he believed he could accomplish what no one else could? I don’t think so.

David’s uncanny courage came from knowing that it would be God’s power that would defeat the giant. And he was willing to be the conduit. Without a breastplate or sword or spear, David approached Goliath with nothing but a sling and pouch full of river rocks. He took one smooth stone, placed it in his sling, and let it soar. The rock sank into the Philistine’s forehead, taking down the ostensibly unconquerable soldier.

A sheep-tending little brother stood victorious on the battlefield, showing God’s undeniable power.

So what does an old Bible story that reads more like a mythic fairy tale have to do with us? While it’s unlikely that you or I will ever be asked to save a nation by slaying an epic giant, we each are destined to face opportunities to help when the odds are stacked against us. Surely we will see someone in need and look down at our own measly stones and be tempted to think, It’s impossible for someone like me to make a difference.

The right response is, Yeah, it is impossible — without God. But with God, all things are possible.

David wasn’t responsible for the outcome. He was responsible for hearing God, responding in faith, and showing up. An entire nation of people was changed because of it.

We offer our pebble. God’s power magnifies the ripples. He accomplishes with a simple stone what we cannot do on our own.

Isn’t this just the very message that we all need right now? When the world’s problems loom large and your ordinary life stretches you thin, is it still possible to be a difference-maker? Absolutely! One small, intentional, extravagant act of kindness at a time. Our newest (in)courage book, The Simple Difference, by Becky Keife, is now available wherever books are sold — find direct links to retailers here.

And what would a day of celebration be without a big fun giveaway?!

To celebrate the release of The Simple Difference, we’re giving away a kindness gift bundle!* Just leave a comment telling us about a way you’ve experienced kindness, and you’ll be entered to win a bundle that includes:

Friends, this book? It’s for you, in the same story-sharing way (in)courage is for you. The Simple Difference: How Every Small Kindness Makes a Big Impact will help you see more of the people in front of you, more of God’s lavish love for you, and more of His power within you. We’re thrilled that this new book is finally able to be in your hands.

Order your copy of The Simple Difference today, and join author Becky Keife tomorrow, October 6 at 11am Central, on Facebook for a conversation with (in)courage team member Anna E. Rendell as they discuss The Simple Difference!

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

The giveaway is open to US addresses only and closes on 10/8/2021 at 11:59 p.m. Winners will be notified via email.

Hard on Yourself? Try Curiosity Instead of Criticism

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I’m seated on a chair in the middle of the kitchen in my childhood home, a towel draped around my neck like a makeshift cape. My mom and grandmother read instructions from the back of a box. How hard can a home perm be? The curl-inducing chemicals smell like a lab experiment gone wrong. I go back to third grade looking like a poodle. Has anyone else had this experience?

I thought of my home perm when we took our granddaughter to get her first haircut. (God brought her mama into our lives when she was twenty so, yes, we’re young grandparents.) Eula was two years old and brought her favorite stuffed animal, Fifi, with her to this momentous occasion.

The stylist hands Eula a small mirror and tells her to look into it. It’s an attempt to help her sit still, and it works. Eula leans toward the mirror until she’s so close her breath makes fog on it. She’s intrigued by her own face. Watching her, I’m struck by how differently she and I look into mirrors.

Sometimes we pause and take a closer look at our lives. We reflect on the past and look forward to the future. We often do so with a harsh eye; it’s so easy to be hard on ourselves. We remember our mistakes. The goals we didn’t meet. We tell ourselves, “This will be the time I get it right,” as if everything that’s come before has been wrong.

But what if we try Eula’s approach instead? What if, instead of looking with criticism, we look with curiosity? Criticism condemns; curiosity invites us to learn. Criticism shuts us down; curiosity opens us up. Criticism holds us back; curiosity inspires us to grow. Romans 8:34 says, “Who then will condemn us? No one—for Christ Jesus died for us and was raised to life for us.” When we choose curiosity rather than criticism, we’re more aligned with the heart of God toward us.

Curious questions sound like . . .

– What am I learning?
– How am I growing?
– In what ways am I getting stronger?

Then we can ask how we can continue learning, growing, and becoming stronger.

The Mayo clinic says the benefits of making our thinking more positive include:

– Lower rates of depression
– Lower levels of distress
– Greater resistance to illness and a longer life span
– Better psychological and physical well-being
– Better cardiovascular health and reduced risk of death from cardiovascular disease
– Better coping skills during hardships and times of stress

Disclaimer: Positive thinking does not mean being happy all the time, sugar-coating difficulties, or walking around with a fake smile plastered on your face. That’s not helpful either. I struggle with anxiety and depression. Pollyana positivity isn’t beneficial, or even possible, for me. Realistic positive thinking means approaching our lives, and ourselves, with curiosity rather than condemnation.

I love these wise words from Lisa-Jo Baker: “What if you were kind to yourself — because you are a child of God? Beautiful. Called. Named. Beloved. Worth more than the scale and the lists and the demands and the expectations?”

Yes, let’s hold a mirror up to our hearts and lives sometimes. Let’s find ways to keep learning, growing, and becoming stronger. As we do, let’s also remember that curiosity is more helpful than self-criticism. Let’s resolve not to use condemnation as motivation when the God we serve only uses grace.

And no home perms. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not ever.

God, thank You that because of Your grace we can look at our hearts and lives with curiosity, not condemnation. Show us what You want us to see. When we’re tempted to be harsh with ourselves, help us remember Your extravagant kindness toward us.

If you’d like more encouragement from Holley, you’ll find it in her new devotional book, What Your Soul Needs for Stressful Times: 60 Powerful Truths to Protect Your Peace.

What We Can Hold On to When Everything Else Is Complicated

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I saunter through the aisles at Target, browsing for nothing in particular. Candles. Bed sheets. The cutest section of children’s decor. I pass the light bulbs and home improvement tools and eventually end up in the container aisle with its glorious selection of cloth, plastic, and wooden boxes neatly stacked. They promise organization where there is clutter, peace where there is chaos; everything in its rightful place. 

I have no use for them, but still, I mentally walk through my house, seeking a reason to buy one. I could definitely use one for the living room to hold all the extra blankets we have laying around. Or maybe we need one for the kids’ room or even the car. A catch-all for the random things we have everywhere would be helpful. I reason and argue back and forth with myself, but at the end of it all, I know I’m just trying to fix what can’t be fixed with Target containers.

My mind has felt chaotic for too many months without end, and though my life has settled down to a regular rhythm and grief doesn’t show up as often as it did before, my mind and heart can’t seem to find a place to land. I’m both running and somehow frozen in place. My days aren’t busy, and yet I’m tired all the time. I don’t feel far from God, but I’m jaded and cynical about people, about the church, about what changes can happen to make the world a better place.

Even the gospel feels messy and unlike good news at times because of the harm and hurt that’s been caused and experienced because of the way people have wielded it. 

And this tension is where I find myself in every situation I’m in, every relationship I must tend to. They all require nuance instead of black-and-white or right-and-wrong, grace and tenderness again and again instead of judgment, bitterness, and cynicism. I want the ease of being on one extreme or the other, of taking one side as the right one. I want to choose the more convenient and comfortable path of not living in the tension because it’s work and I don’t want to do it sometimes. I want all the gray to be split back up into black and white so I can categorize them into neat containers and not have to deal with how to navigate love well when rules and standards and regulations are more clearly defined. 

Righteousness in my own eyes is less complicated than loving and living in this world as Jesus did. 

And every time I remember Jesus, I’m undone. The tantrum boiling up inside me, yelling that it’s too hard to try, too hard to hold complicated situations, too hard to hope, finds open arms in Jesus. I don’t have to figure out all the nuances or how to be or do something to move forward. Instead, I get to crumble and be held. My tears and anger, my frustration, find a place to land because it really is too hard even if it doesn’t look like it on the surface. 

Even this is becoming. It doesn’t mean beauty will come from the ashes or that the story will end well or that all will be figured out for the greater good. It simply means that God is, God is with, and God is here. 

And that’s enough for me to keep going, to keep trying, to hold out for hope, and to work toward a better reality. I don’t need promises of certainty (even though I want them) nor do I need the clarity that can come with a box so everything has its place. All I need to know is that God is — and that’s the surest certainty there is. 

What Do We Do in a World of False Dichotomy?

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I don’t know about you, but I sense an edge to the way things have been lately. A reactivity around nearly every topic and situation. It’s not that we have thoughts about current events, but we often feel the need to lash out at others in our quest to be right. We get more and more passionate until any notion of disagreement leads us to start reciting the same script, desperate to get the other side to see ours as the only one. It’s not enough to be wise or winsome, we have to win.

So what do we do in a world of false dichotomy? How do we navigate the way when it seems both lanes are going in totally opposite directions but neither seems to get us home?

I’ve been thinking about Nehemiah lately — about a displaced people trying to make their way under a new regime. They were strangers in their own land, watching the destruction of the walls that once kept them safe. They had every right to be outraged and to push back against their tyrants with weapons, but this would not have been productive. Instead, Nehemiah goes to the king and asks for permission to rebuild what’s been broken. He recognizes that this needs to be a conversation, and the Lord blesses it.

Of course, it’s only a matter of time before they’re verbally harassed by their enemies. The back of their necks get hot, and they find themselves losing patience. And then, right when they could take action against their oppressors, Nehemiah’s men just. keep. building.

So we built the wall. And all the wall was joined together to half its height, for the people had a mind to work. Nehemiah 4:6 (ESV)

I often want to build my case before I build my faith. I have a good reason for my reasons. I have important thoughts and want to be known for my competence! I don’t want to stay faithful to the day-to-day of ordinary life. It’s hard to wake up early and open my Bible and process the day before the Lord. It’s hard to show up to church on a Sunday when my bed is cozy and I haven’t dug my car out of the snow yet (I know — it’s October. It’s too early. And yet? It’s showing up sooner than we’d like!)

Perhaps Jesus knew what He was doing when He placed us right where we are right at this moment. Perhaps He knew our times would be divided and Facebook would go from being a place to see babies and puppies and friends from high school to a place where you see some true colors that make you want to back further away. For living in an age of hype and victory, it often feels like defeat. Rather than coming together, we’re pulling apart at the seams.

So I look back to Nehemiah who was being bullied but was determined to do his job. Sure, he had a weapon at the ready, but I think it’s key to watch how he doesn’t use it first. He doesn’t follow his gut that wants to fight back but trusts that the Lord has him in the work he does for a reason. So he stays faithful to the work.

I don’t know what you have in front of you, what kind of challenge or task is at hand, but I do know that this world is dark and wants to pull you into the cover of night. So, friend, I say this: Keep building. Keep an eye on the horizon and keep building.

When Healing Takes Longer Than You Want It To

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I’ve sat in coffee shops, on Zoom, in Instagram direct messages, and on my grey thrifted couch in my apartment, hearing a variation of the same story over and over. When women say the words out loud to me, taking a shaky breath before they plunge in, I feel a hundred different things: tenderness towards this section of their story, grief over the pain they’ve been caused, and pride for the step of courage they’ve taken in speaking their story out loud. 

After I shared my article last year on (in)courage about beginning the journey of healing after experiencing sexual assault, I’ve talked to a lot of women (and some men) who share this sliver of my story. 

Over and over, after these women have been courageous enough to speak their story out loud, they’ve often asked me, “But when does the pain stop? When will the healing kick in?” 

I’m not a counsellor, and more than anything, I’d encourage you to find someone trusted to speak with. But for years, I felt this same way — frustrated with myself for getting sucked back into the pain, angry for “not being able to get over it.” I told this to a therapist once. I told her I felt broken because I kept feeling so much pain. Why wasn’t I healing the way I thought I should be? 

I asked her if it would always be this way, and she told me healing can look like a spiral.

“Often we think of healing as one straight line. The problem with that is, we easily become discouraged because it seems as though we take steps backward,” she told me. Her hair was long and dark, her dress the same. “If we look at healing like a spiral then we can see we’re actually always moving forward. But just because we are in the spiral doesn’t mean we don’t feel the pain.”

I stared at the picture she had drawn — the shape of a spiral on the otherwise blank page.

“The spiral seems like a longer journey than the line,” I told her.

She laughed. “It is.”

Maybe for some of us, healing is more of a journey than a moment. I remember sitting in a hospital chemotherapy suite with my mom, seven years ago. I couldn’t comprehend how something that made her so sick could also be healing her. I wanted her healing to be the same as the woman in Mark 5 — for my mom to touch the hem of Jesus and be immediately healed. It ended up looking like chemotherapy, radiation, and surgery. My mother’s healing hurt. 

I think healing often hurts. If your healing is anything like mine, then the spiral metaphor my counsellor gave might ring true for you. Often my healing feels like a spiral, looping round and round, some days feeling right side up, and other days feeling completely upside down. 

But no matter what, I’m healing.

I praise God for the moments of immediate healing, but I’m learning to praise God when healing is slower too. Healing — whether immediate or long — is always a miracle.

It’s a miracle, not just because we are healing, but because Jesus is with us for every second of it. Healing doesn’t mean we revert back to who we were before. We carry those scars and those wounds along with us, even as we heal. Even Jesus, after He entered death and rose again, carried the scars of His past. 

Healing is a miracle because Jesus never makes us do it alone. By His wounds we are healed, His scarred body covering ours, and I am reminded that in every moment of my pain, He was and is with me. 

If your healing journey feels akin to a spiral, know this: Jesus is walking that spiral with you. You are still moving forward. You are healing. 

I love Eugene Peterson’s paraphrase of Matthew 11:28-30, of Jesus asking, “Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me — watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly.”

We can rest in Jesus, even as we walk through our spiral of healing. We can keep company with Him as we heal, linking arms with Jesus, knowing He’s already gone ahead of us. We are healing because Jesus is with us. 

And no matter what, He’s never letting you go.

Pouring into One Another’s Lives Is a Powerful and Beautiful Thing

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Waking up the day before my son’s wedding day with a collection of feelings completely at odds with one another took me by surprise. Abounding joy, I had expected; the slight but baffling sense of loss, I had not.

I adored my bonus daughter-to-be. How could I feel anything but happiness for my son to have found a precious wife who loves and complements him in the best of ways? How could I feel even one iota of loss when our family was gaining an amazing human?

Of course I was aware that our family would expand when my son got married, but until the eve of the wedding, it hadn’t entered my mind that our family unit as it had been for twenty-four years would be forever changed. And I certainly didn’t know this would mess with my emotions.

It made zero sense, and bewildered, I struggled to understand my feelings. I was genuinely happy for Thomas and Gina to marry, but to have even a shadow of sadness brought guilt and confusion. Shouldn’t I have anticipated something like this?

I found myself wishing I had been prepared for what I felt, that someone would have warned me that I might wake up a bag of mixed emotions. True, we had thirteen months to get ready for the wedding, but how could I know this was something to know? My dilemma was the kind of thing experience teaches you . . . or, in a sweeter scenario, the kind of thing a friend who’s gone before you can share.

I remember feeling the same way, but for a very different reason, when I received a call from my doctor with news I wasn’t expecting — that I had hit menopause. The new revelation about my health had left me reeling and mournful about something I feel like I should have known but didn’t. I remember thinking, Why didn’t anyone tell me I might feel this way?

Both of these experiences illustrate something important and valuable: We need friends who’ve gone before us to help us navigate the inevitable challenges we’ll face in life, to help prepare us for what comes next, to help us process our complex emotions, and to help us realize what we’re feeling is normal.

I’ve had, and I have, wise and godly friendships with older women. But have I made space truly to learn from them? Have I given them permission to speak freely? Have I invited conversations that allow older friends to share their life experience, even if it’s awkward sometimes?

Equally important, I need to be that older friend for those who are a few steps behind me. By the time you get to the season of life I’m in — a card-carrying empty nester — you’ve done some serious living. I’ve been wedged between rocks and hard places where I couldn’t see my way out. I’ve parented three children who are out on their own and making our world better. I’ve walked through the valley of the shadow of death. I’ve faced success and failure, hardship and adventure, joy and sorrow, plenty and want.

God calls us to be good stewards of what we’ve been given. Earned over time, experience and wisdom often come at great cost, and neither should be wasted. It’s powerful and important to redeem the hardest seasons of our lives by pouring what we’ve learned into one another.

In church, this might fall under a formal women’s ministry, inspired by Titus 2:3-5 —

Older women likewise are to be reverent in behavior, not slanderers or slaves to much wine. They are to teach what is good, and so train the young women to love their husbands and children, to be self-controlled, pure, working at home, kind, and submissive to their own husbands, that the word of God may not be reviled.

But pouring into one another can happen anytime, and it isn’t about perfection or being some sort of “super Christian.” Paul, in instructing Titus about how to train older women to pour into younger women, says it this way in The Passion Translation —

. . . lead them . . . to be teachers of beautiful things (v. 3b)

Isn’t this amazing? As we grow older, we’re called to be teachers of beautiful things. (I love, love, love this!)

Life, with all its challenges and complexities, is still a beautiful thing — maybe even more so because of its challenges and complexities. So ours is a two-fold opportunity:

  • To invite older friends to speak wisdom and truth to us. This means pursuing the kind of godly friendship where trust is developed and conversations happen naturally. There are a few women in my life who might have “warned” me about how I might feel leading up to the wedding or when I faced menopause if I let them know I wanted and needed their wisdom and experience.
  • To pursue friendship with younger women. Regardless of your age, there are women younger in life and faith than you who would benefit from your wisdom and experience. When they’re struggling, take every opportunity to point them to the truth of the gospel and pour out what you’ve learned and experienced. The stories of how God has met you in the midst of difficulty might be exactly what they need to hear.

Had I been pursuing a deeper level of friendship with my older friends or been more intentional about the time we spent together, I could have been more prepared for how I would feel before my son’s wedding. Their insight wouldn’t likely have prevented my mixed emotions, but my feelings wouldn’t have come as a surprise. When it comes to issues women will inevitably face — like my experience with menopause — it is helpful to talk with others who understand and can help you navigate those seasons. And once we walk those roads ourselves, pouring what we’ve learned or experienced into younger friends is a lovely redemption of the struggle.

Season 2, Episode 11: Wear Your Own Shoes, Ignore Imposter Syndrome, and Show Up Fully as Yourself

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“I’m not enough, and everyone’s going to find out.” Have you ever had a similar thought? Joy and Anna have, and today they talk about how to show fully as your whole, entire self. This is how you’ll have influence. They talk about David and Goliath and how we can work with Jesus to defeat imposter syndrome. Listen below or wherever you stream podcasts!

Bringing another story to us today is (in)courage contributor Tasha Jun, who reads from Week Three of the Courageous Influence Bible Study.

Also, in each episode of this season (today included), you will hear from very special guests Kathi Lipp, Becky Keife, and Grace P. Cho (author of Courageous Influence)!These three friends spent a few days together as they went through the study, and, lucky us, they recorded their conversations so we can all listen in! Find all the Bible Study Mondays posts here and discover for yourself what God says about influence (spoiler alert: you have it! Yes, you!)

Listen to today’s episode below! And be sure to get your copy of the Courageous Influence Bible Study from DaySpring.com!

When You Don’t Think You Can Keep Going, Take the Next Step

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I laced up my trail shoes and took a deep breath. The delicious aroma of the forest filled me. My eyes lifted, tracing the trunks of pine trees pointing toward heaven. Butterflies danced in my stomach as I anticipated running in a trail race again.

In 2020 and early 2021, most trail and road races were canceled. Because of the global pandemic and a long fire season in California, it had been more than fifteen months since I’d run in an official race.

That’s a long time for me.

You see, running has always been my saving grace. It’s the way I clear my mind and re-center my heart back on God and the truth. It’s the place I preach the gospel back to myself when I’m feeling weary or out of sorts. I generally choose several races a year to train for because the joy is in the training – starting out slow and building up to longer miles. I love working toward a goal and seeing how God meets me with His glory on the journey.

Training outdoors in God’s creation is my favorite soul care, but this year training was rough through the many weeks of horrible air quality due to forest fires. I tried to exercise indoors, but it wasn’t quite the same without the beautiful mountain backdrops. The air was thick and heavy, and the sky was often an apocalyptic pink.

On the morning of the Shadow of the Giants 25k, my heart pulsed with anticipation. It was my fifth time running this race. Returning to this course has always been a marker to reflect on how far God has brought me in this race of life, and He’s always met me in a unique way as my shoes hug the familiar trails.

However, as I followed the camber of the trail at 6,000-feet elevation, I saw trees with blackened trunks. The landscape felt stark and unfamiliar. Whole sections of the forest were open and bare like too much scalp showing after a bad haircut. There was an eerie hush over the land.

Dirt and gravel gave way to sand and tree roots as the trail took a sharp turn upwards. The sun beat down on my shoulders. There were moments when it felt too arduous to even lift my legs, let alone run.

One more step, one more stretch, I kept telling myself. Persevere.

I couldn’t help thinking about how the Shadow of the Giants course mirrored many of our experiences this past year through the pandemic. Just as we rounded one bend and anticipated a little downhill, there was another surprising, sharp uphill to climb.

Perseverance means to persist in spite of difficulty, obstacles, or discouragement we might encounter.

The Bible talks a lot about perseverance and how it is a key ingredient to growing our faith. Hebrews 12:1 says, “And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith.”

It’s easy to focus on our shortcomings and disappointments, but Hebrews 12 reminds us where we need to fix our eyes — on Jesus. He’s the pioneer, the trail blazer, our pacer for life.

I have learned on my journey that the best way to navigate grief, to tackle impossible assignments, and to face tough conversations is to take the next step, and then the next.

When you’re tired of getting up in the morning for that same job, persevere.

When you’re discouraged about your child struggling in school, persevere.

When you have pandemic fatigue and you’re tired of all the protocols and decisions, persevere.

When you’re navigating another health challenge, persevere.

Friend, I know some of you are tempted to give up right about now. You are bone-weary and frustrated. You are staring up another uphill climb and wondering if it will ever get easier. Let me encourage you to persevere.

Notice Hebrews 12:1 does not say to bootstrap your way to the finish line. It doesn’t say push yourself so hard that you neglect much needed rest. It doesn’t say to try to find the shortest or easiest possible route. It says to run with perseverance after Jesus.

Romans 5:3-5 reminds us what perseverance produces:

We also glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured out into our hearts through the Holy Spirit, who has been given to us.

Did you catch that?

Perseverance produces character and leads us down the path to hope.

Jesus persevered up a huge hill to die on a cross in our place. Three days later, He rose from the grave. He is our example of perseverance that regenerates hope.

I’m not going to lie. Those last few miles in the Shadow of the Giants race were hard. They changed the course because of some construction on the road, and it threw me off. At one point, I imagined myself dropping to the ground and crawling to the finish line. The struggle was real.

And then suddenly, my feet found a familiar road flanked by glorious trees that led to the finish line. I came full circle on the path that reminded me His glory still persists. And though the trail was much harder than I anticipated, I found the work of perseverance had paid off and hope filled me to keep going.

Dorina’s devotional book and training journal, Walk Run Soar, turns 1-year-old today! Sign up for her Glorygram newsletter and get all the insider details about her book and new podcast, “Eat Pray Run”.

When You Could Use a Navigation App for Your Life

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Please proceed to the route . . . 
Please proceed! To the route!
Please! Proceed! To! The route!
Rerouting . . .

And then, radio silence.

This was what I heard several times during my family vacation this past summer. My husband, two daughters, and I drove from Missouri to the Grand Canyon. And much to the chagrin of the robot inside my phone (as we referred to the navigation app), we did not always stay on the prescribed course during our travels.

Between pulling out of our driveway and finally returning home several days later, we drove about 3,000 miles through seven states. For the most part, it was smooth sailing. My husband is a truck driver who had studied the map before we left, so he knew which highways we needed to take and all the exits we couldn’t miss. The trouble came when we arrived at our destination and wanted to explore. More than once, we missed a turn or decided we knew better or didn’t hear the instructions being read from the phone — and that’s when we heard it.

Please proceed to the route . . . 
Please proceed! To the route!
Please! Proceed! To! The route!
Rerouting . . .

Sometimes I would have sworn the app was angry with us. Though I’m well aware “her” voice is simply the product of a computer program and not actually a sentient robot talking to us, the pleas to proceed to the route seemed, at times, exasperated. It was as if our robotic navigator was really saying, “Get back on track, please. I said to get back on course! Hello! PEOPLE. Are you listening? Turn that minivan around before you get lost!”

If we veered too far off course, we eventually got the silent treatment from the phone. We’d hear a click (a robot’s version of a sigh, surely) and then . . . nothing. We’d finally done it. We’d gone too far down our own path and even the maps app was giving up on us.

My family was so tickled by this and laughed a lot as we figured out how to get where we wanted to go. But it’s not so amusing when the destination and the journey are less tangible and more personal.

Sometimes the road to reaching our goals, to staying within God’s guidelines for what’s best, for “smooth sailing” seems obvious. It’s right in front of us, paved and pointed to by Scripture or a still, small voice, by mentors or past experience or even common sense. The best course is simple, straightforward, and if we squint our eyes just right, we can see the finish line from here.

But most of the time it’s not that easy. More often than not, we’re just as likely to get off course as my family on a cross-country vacation. Perhaps we miss a turn and don’t realize we needed to make a change until it seems too late. Maybe we hear the directions but decide another way seems more interesting or more efficient or more fun. Or maybe we don’t hear the directions at all and no matter how hard we strain our senses in an effort to find answers, we come up empty and unsure.

Sometimes it would be awfully nice if we could open an app on our phones to tell us which job to apply for, how to handle our child’s diagnosis, what to say to our spouse in the middle of the same argument we keep having. Who hasn’t wished for a robotic voice (or any voice!) to give exact instructions when facing a health crisis or budget problems or a complicated friendship?

We don’t have to pick up our phones (or Google or poll our friends or wish on a star) to navigate through our lives. We simply have to ask God for help.

James 1:5 says, “If you need wisdom, ask our generous God, and he will give it to you” (NLT). And Jesus tells us in the book of Matthew to continue asking for what we need until we receive it.

Keep on asking, and you will receive what you ask for. Keep on seeking, and you will find. Keep on knocking, and the door will be opened to you. For everyone who asks, receives. Everyone who seeks, finds. And to everyone who knocks, the door will be opened.
Matthew 7:7-8 (NLT)

Keep on asking. Even when you take a wrong turn or misunderstand His guidance or can’t figure out which way is up (or north). Even when you intentionally take a left when He’s told you to go right. Even when you feel like you should know the answer or when it seems as if everyone else knows exactly what to do and how to do it. Keep on asking.

And our loving Heavenly Father will not only give us the wisdom and guidance we need when we need it, but He also will do it with patience. He’ll never get exasperated with us for needing help, for messing up, for feeling confused. When He tells us to proceed to the route He’s designed, He won’t grow increasingly frustrated like I imagined my phone did. And He certainly won’t go silent when it takes us a while to respond or learn or make that U-turn.

Are you lost? Confused or unsure? Driving in circles, passing the same landmark over and over again, unable to get back to the main highway (metaphorically speaking, of course)? God will help you. He will guide you and show you the way. All you have to do is ask.

Cry out for insight,
and ask for understanding.
Search for them as you would for silver;
seek them like hidden treasures.
Then you will understand what it means to fear the Lord,
and you will gain knowledge of God.
For the Lord grants wisdom!
From his mouth come knowledge and understanding.
Proverbs 2:3-6 (NLT)