When Our Words Hurt Instead of Heal

When Our Words Hurt Instead of Heal

by

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Be Intentional With Your Influence

by

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

So far we’ve looked at:

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

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

Reading Assignment

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

Quote of the Week

Keep this quote in mind as you read Week Five:

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

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

Discussion Video

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

Reflection Questions

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

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

Let’s Pray Together

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

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

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

The Hard and Beautiful Work of Waiting

by

We weren’t prepared. None of us.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Allow the struggle to be your teacher.

Trust the pain to be a grace.

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

Should It Stay or Should It Go?

by

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

By keeping less, we experience more.

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

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

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

by

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How We Should Stay Put and Listen Like Sheep

by

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Sweetness of God in the Middle of the Dillard’s Shoe Department

by

My first child got married a few weeks ago, a celebration bubbling with joy and beauty and illuminated by the presence of God. On a day when so much can go wrong, everything went right. As Thomas and Gina exchanged their vows, I was wrecked in the best of ways, encouraged by their exquisite expressions of love. I felt a mother-kinship with Mary as I treasured all the things (Luke 2:19). And, try as I might, there was no damming up my Niagara of happy tears.

I’ve been introspective ever since. The weeks leading up to their wedding were a flurry of travel, obligations, and to-do’s. I barely had time to consider how God was revealing Himself to me, yet He was and powerfully so. One of my favorite stories happened when God showed up in a sweet but unexpected way. First, a backstory.

Ages ago, I remember judging a girl in our couple’s Bible study group. Her wedding day was fast approaching, but her bridesmaids’ shoes hadn’t yet arrived. When our class leader asked for prayer requests, Shannon shot up her hand and asked us to pray for the shoes to get there on time.

Sitting around that circle were members struggling with health, job insecurity, marriage, and infertility — in my estimation, legitimate reasons to pray — and, here, Shannon was worried about matching bridesmaids’ shoes.

I scoffed at her absurd request and chalked it up to evidence of her spiritual immaturity. Meanwhile, I swelled with spiritual superiority. Sigh . . . thankfully times (and hearts) have changed.

I hadn’t thought about this in decades, until my son’s wedding day was fast approaching. I found myself frantically searching for a dress. Though I had purchased one to wear six months earlier, it wasn’t going to work after all. The ten to fifteen pounds I was sure I could lose clung on for dear life. (Two pounds a month had seemed so reasonable back in October . . .) The best seamstress in the world couldn’t conjure the magic my dress (or rear end) needed. Spanx might well work wonders, but only Jesus can work miracles.

After an exhaustive and sometimes panic-riddled search as the date loomed, I finally found a dress, only to discover my go-to sparkly shoes now had my feet screaming for mercy while my seamstress pinned my dress for alterations. I didn’t want to go shopping for shoes, but unless I wanted to be hobbling at my son’s wedding, I needed to.

Apparently, COVID impacted inventory. Repeatedly, salespeople told me their dress and shoe volume were a fraction of what it was pre-pandemic. “We didn’t think anyone would want party shoes,” explained the DSW worker pointing me toward the sad, little selection of 4” stilettos. Those, on me, would’ve been a recipe for disaster.

I found myself out of time the Saturday before Thomas’s wedding. On Monday, my seamstress needed to know the height of my shoes in order to hem my dress. It wasn’t that I was being overly picky, but my dress demanded a particular color, safety demanded stability, my feet demanded comfort, and vanity demanded style. (Piece of cake, right?)  

By the time I got to Dillard’s, the shoe department was teeming with women. Sales associates were a haggard blur. A quick scan of their shelves told me I was in the right place, at least. They had an extensive selection, and I prayed they’d have something in my size.

Instantly, I remembered Shannon’s request thirty years ago, and, humbled, I understood the desperation that leads to such prayers. The irony of my circumstances — praying for wedding shoes — was not wasted.

Almost immediately, I met Michelle, a lady more desperate than me, looking for shoes for an event that night. We shared pictures of our dresses and offered suggestions of what to try next. I noticed another lady seated among a pile of shoes, and her style suggested a kindred spirit. When she looked up smiling sympathetically, I asked her if she would be my friend for the day and tell me what she really thought about the pair I had on. Heather took one look at the picture on my phone and said, “Gorgeous shoes, but they won’t look good with your dress.”

“But, I like ‘em, and they feeeeeeel good!” I whined. She held her ground (what a real friend would do) and told me to keep looking.

Other ladies asked to see my dress picture, and suddenly I had a whole team of stylists offering their opinions, picking up shoes from displays I hadn’t yet seen. Judy, Angela, Rain (that name!) needed shoes for themselves, and yet they were helping me! We were a band of strangers turned friends.

Ours was a simple solidarity born of helping one another, and it struck me: isn’t this the way of Christ? To serve rather than be served? When I finally found The Ones, everyone cheered. The salespeople smiled. My feet whispered, “Hallelujah!”

With new shoes in hand, I left Dillard’s with a buoyant heart. It’s impossible not to be affected by God’s presence. We expect it at church or during a wedding ceremony but not so much in a department store. And yet, right there in the middle of a last-minute shopping frenzy, I discovered the sweetness of God.

My immediate need had been met when I found the perfect pair of shoes – a generous answer to a surface-level prayer – but an even greater need was satisfied too: I had experienced God through the lovingkindness of others.

Philippians 2:4 sprang to life in the actions of my fellow shoe shoppers: “Let each of you look not only to his own interests, but also to the interests of others.” It would probably surprise them to know how moved I was by their collective help, but even small gestures of kindness reflect the glory of God. People have needs. People are hurting. Being kind and loving to the strangers around us might just give them the glimpse of God they’re desperate to see. 

When You Feel Like You Take Up Too Much Space

by

See what great love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! And that is what we are!
1 John 3:1 (NIV)

I love traveling. I love airports too. Flying, though? I hate flying. See, I’m overweight. And while that fact is always present in my thoughts, never am I more aware of my extra pounds than when I fly. I hate flying because I take up too much space.

If I have the choice, I always choose an aisle seat. I hold my breath and suck in my gut and pray that the seatbelt will latch. And then I spend the next few hours squeezing my legs together and digging my elbows into my sides as I try to avoid taking up any extra space — in the aisle, in the seats, in the air.

My scrunched-up and sucked-in body language, along with my apologetic glances and occasional “sorrys” after the inevitable bumps and elbow rubs, is one big apology.

I’m sorry for taking up too much space.
I’m sorry for being too big.
I’m sorry for being in the way.
I’m sorry I’m kind of sweaty from speed-walking to the gate.
I’m sorry I reached over you to turn on my fan.
I’m sorry my leg bumped your leg.
I’m sorry I’m in the way.
I’m sorry you have to sit by me.

Maybe you fit just fine in an airplane seat. Maybe it’s something else that makes you hunch your shoulders and stare at the ground with red cheeks, apologizing for part of who you are, for just being yourself.

Are you clumsy? Perpetually late? Awkward? Too talkative? Too loud? Too quiet? Too sarcastic? Too much? Too real? Too you?

No, you aren’t. You are wonderful. You are loved. And when God looks at His creation (that’s you! and me!), He says, “It is very good.” Regardless of how anyone else sees us, we are God’s workmanship and masterpiece — and He lavishes His love on us.

If you’re tempted to apologize for who you are or how you are, please don’t. Remember that you have a right to be here, to take up space — in a conversation, on the airplane, in the grocery store aisle, at the mom’s group, in the world. And no matter how much space you take up or how you take up that space, you are welcome and wanted and loved.

Thank You, Lord, for being a safe place where I am called good, where I take up just the right amount of space, where I am seen and loved and welcome to be who I am, how I am, just as I am. Even saying that calms my heart and lets me breathe deeper. Give me the strength to truly recognize that no matter how anyone else sees me, I am God’s workmanship and masterpiece, and I am loved. Amen.

This devotion was written by Mary Carver and appears in our devotional Take Heart: 100 Devotions to Seeing God When Life’s Not Okay. This collection of courageous stories from forty-four different authors is where you can find your story reflected — from struggling with weight, anxiety, and depression to suffering through miscarriage and grieving the death of a husband; from experiencing injustice and questioning our purpose to walking through church disappointments, loneliness, and infertility. The Take Heart writers share from the depth of their hearts and experience so that you will know beyond a doubt that you are not alone and that you are — and always have been — loved.

Get 5 devotions from Take Heart for FREE — just sign up below and we’ll send them right to you. This book is an offering of hope, from one heart to another — sister to sister, friend to friend. We pray it helps you take heart and bravely face whatever you’re up against.

Get 5 devotions from Take Heart for FREE!

Be Generous with Your Influence

by

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

So far we’ve discussed:

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

Now we turn to Week 4, which teaches us to be generous with our influence.

Reading Assignment

This week, read Week Four: Be Generous With Your Influence, on pages 111-144 in the Courageous Influence Bible Study. Grab your copy and start reading!

Quote of the Week

Keep this quote in mind as you read Week Four:

We never know when a word spoken or a kindness shared may have a lasting impact on someone.

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

Discussion Video

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

Reflection Questions

In the comments below, answer and discuss the following reflection questions:

  • How can we be cheerful givers of our influence (finances, skills, energy, investment, or your presence) without feeling resentful or entitled to something in return?
  • What are some of the ways God has provided generously for you? (p. 136)

Let’s Pray Together

Lord, You are a God who sees, a God who notices and has compassion. Thank You. I pray that I would be able to hold the influence You’ve given me loosely — not hoarding it for a special few but offering it generously to many. As Jesus has done, so help me to do the same. Amen.

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

Remember, answer the reflection questions in the comments so we can discuss Week Four together! We’ll see you back here next Monday to begin Week Five: Be Intentional with Your Influence.

When Stepping Aside Makes Room for Others to Flourish

by

I heard my husband stirring. He’s an early riser so I wasn’t completely surprised, but it seemed awfully dark.

I squinted at him and mumbled, “What time is it?”

“It’s 2:30,” he said. “I’m getting up to ride my bike trainer and watch the Olympics.”

“You’re crazy,” I chided him, then rolled over, and went back to sleep.

Maybe you weren’t as committed as my husband to get up in the middle of the night to watch your favorite Olympic events live, but I’m guessing you watched some of the Tokyo Olympic Games this past month.

I feel like we all desperately needed the Olympics during this season. After all the lockdowns and loss, the Olympics certainly felt like a bit of starlight on a dark night.

The Olympics is always brimming with human stories of tragedy and triumph, hard work, courage, and overcoming. Anything can happen on the world stage of the Olympics. That’s what we love about it.

One of the most compelling Olympic stories that unfolded this year was gymnast Simone Biles making the decision to pull out of the team event and all-around competition. Simone, who is considered the greatest gymnast of all time, bravely shared on her own social media platforms and in interviews that she was stepping aside to take care of her mental health.

Commentators and spectators alike were shocked, but a flood of support also followed her decision to step aside. She was making a statement to the world that she was more than her athletic performance.

Sometimes stepping aside is just as important as stepping up.

By Simone stepping aside, she opened the door for her teammates and other athletes to step up and show their talent.

That’s how Sunisa Lee, an eighteen-year-old from Minnesota, became the Olympic all-around gymnastics champion representing the United States. Suni competed not just for herself but also for her family, her community, and all the first-generation Americans. She also trained tirelessly and hoped to take home a medal to honor her father, who suffered a spinal cord injury in 2019, and she became the first Hmong-American to capture the gold.

And Simone was there on the sidelines cheering on her teammate.

I can’t stop thinking about these two young women — Simone and Suni.

Both of them have garnered the deep respect of the world because one stepped aside and another stepped up.

On a much smaller scale, I remember being challenged to make a life-changing decision seven years ago after my husband went to heaven. He and I were directors of a non-profit organization in Haiti, but after his death, I had to decide if I would continue our work with the non-profit.

After agonizing and praying, I decided it was time to step down from my role. I knew my three young daughters needed some stability as we all navigated the loss of my husband and their daddy.

This was one of the hardest decisions I’ve ever made in my life. I was saying goodbye to my friends, the ministry my husband and I had poured our lives into, and my sense of calling.

But I felt confident in my spirit that it was the right thing to do. I knew that the board of directors would feel more freedom to make important decisions without me, and I knew God would raise up new leaders because the ministry ultimately belonged to Him.

Sometimes stepping aside to care for ourselves and let other people step into their callings can be humbling and hard. But this is exactly the kind of radical humility Jesus modeled for us.

So he got up from the table, took off his robe, wrapped a towel around his waist, and poured water into a basin. Then he began to wash the disciples’ feet, drying them with the towel he had around him.
John 13:4-5 (NLT)

On that night when He bent low to wash the grimy feet of His disciples, He was communicating a deep love and profound lesson about leadership. Jesus washed His disciples’ feet to prepare them for the future. In a short time, He would be going to the cross — the ultimate act of humility — and then eventually returning to the Father. He washed their feet to equip them so they could step out into ministry too.

“And since I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you ought to wash each other’s feet. I have given you an example to follow. Do as I have done to you.”
John 13:14-15 (NLT)

Jesus is clear that He wants His disciples to follow His example. He hopes for them to lead with humility. He longs for them to love lavishly by serving others. He eventually commissions them to bring the good news to the world.

Sometimes the most powerful thing we can do is to bend low so that we can lift others up.

Simone Biles did this at the Olympics.

And Suni Lee stepped into her purpose because of that. She took home the gold, but she didn’t do it just for herself. She did it for all of us.

Friend, is there a way you can leverage your own position or privilege to help someone else flourish?

To read more from Dorina about flourishing in your God-given calling, check out her books, Bible studies, and subscribe to her weekly Glorygram.

How an Almost Ruined Vacation Helped Me See God’s Provision

by

In Luke 10:25-37, Jesus tells a story about a man who had been robbed, stripped of his clothes, and left for dead on the side of the road. When two religious men saw him, they crossed the street to avoid him. But then another man walked by and noticed the wounded man. Instead of moving away from him, he moved towards him. He bent down and bandaged the man’s wounds, took him to an inn, and paid for the care he needed to get well.

This isn’t just a story Jesus told; it’s the story He lived — a story that paints a picture of who He is. Filled with compassion and concern, Jesus always moved closer, not just with words but with action. Compelled by love that wants to help when we’re hurting, Scripture promises that He is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit.

I needed to be reminded of these truths recently when our family was on a long-awaited vacation and my husband, J.J., got stung by a stingray during our second day there.

I was on the porch when I saw my twenty-three-year old son running towards the house yelling for me to “get something to stop the bleeding from dad’s leg!” We didn’t know what had happened, only that something large and very sharp had pierced J.J.’s ankle, near his Achilles tendon, and he was in horrific pain.

I ran back inside to find towels to wrap around his wound and started praying, “Jesus, Jesus, Jesus.”

All of us went into panic mode, insisting we needed to call 911. We needed to elevate and bandage his foot. We needed to wrap something tightly around his leg in case it was poisonous, to stop it from spreading into his bloodstream.

I called 911 and gave my phone to J.J. to tell the dispatcher what had happened. While he was talking and I was praying, I felt compelled to go see if maybe someone staying in the house next to us was a doctor or a nurse. I walked over and knocked on the door, and sure enough one of the moms was a pediatric nurse. She immediately grabbed her large first aid kit and came with me to our place.

Her medical background brought assurance and her presence brought calm to our state of panic as she took J.J.s blood pressure and bandaged his leg. She stayed with us until an ambulance and emergency medical team arrived.

A few minutes later, a woman I didn’t recognize walked up to the porch and introduced herself as Deb, our rental home’s property manager. She “happened to be nearby” and saw the ambulance. She stayed until we left in the ambulance, to make sure J.J. was okay and to make sure I knew how to get in touch with her so she could arrange transportation back from the hospital late that night. I had no idea how big of a provision Deb would be in the hours that followed.

We were staying on an island in South Carolina that’s only accessible by ferry. The nearest hospital was on a larger island thirty minutes away. It would take two ambulances and a ferry to get us to the ER, where we would wait for hours to get X-rays and antibiotics to prevent infection.

While in the ER, we met a family with a little boy who had an infected appendix. J.J. offered his spot on the ER waiting list to help him be seen sooner. Several hours later, while I was trying to get an Uber ride back to the dock in time to catch the last ferry at 11:30pm, that little boy’s grandpa heard me talking and offered to give us a ride.

Because of his kindness, we got to the dock just in time and made it back to the island by midnight where Deb met us in a golf cart and took us back to our beach house rental.

When the trauma of J.J.’s injury happened, we were both in shock and scared. As time passed, we grew frustrated and upset, knowing he would be in pain for days and our desperately needed vacation may be ruined.

We were hoping to recover from two months of extremely difficult circumstances, one after another in the weeks leading up to our vacation. Our whole family was together for the first time in months. We needed downtime, laughter, and fun. Now another injury and disruption threatened to highjack all we had hoped for.

Feeling a little abandoned by God, we questioned why all of this was happening. But in the midst of our disappointments and painful moments, Jesus showed up in so many ways, to take care of us again and again. Each person who met us in our need reminded me of how Jesus will never just walk by us. He promises to come to our side, to bend low, to provide for us, and be with us.

When trials threaten our peace or our responsibilities, jobs, and failures discourage us, instead of being overwhelmed by our lives, God wants us to be overwhelmed by His love. His love is present and powerful, and no amount of stress or pain, struggle, or circumstance can keep us from Him.

With outstretched hands, Jesus came to bind up our wounds and care for us. No matter what we need, He moves in close, offering healing for our hurts, comfort for our concerns, and rest for our weary souls.

What Labels Have Been Put on You? Here’s What’s Really True . . .

by

Stressed. Depressed. Anxious. Frustrated. Broken.

The labels stick to our hearts, covering our identities until we can’t see who we are anymore. We come to believe that our struggles and circumstances define us. But those are just descriptions, not determinations. Who you are doesn’t change based on the kind of day, week, or year you have. You are a child of God, someone loved beyond all you can imagine, no matter what.

A friend going through a difficult time called me. As we talked, she kept repeating the same phrase: “I guess I’m just the girl who has this struggle.” I finally stopped her and said as gently as I could, “That’s where you’re at right now. It’s not who you are.”

You see, life’s obstacles are temporary. Who you are is eternal.

My husband and I visited Canada a few years ago. Imagine if we had stepped into a coffee shop and the baristas had asked, “Who are you?” and I had answered, “I’m a Canadian, y’all.” They would have taken one look at my touristy tennis shoes and listened to my Southern accent, then shook their heads in bemused disagreement. I imagine you would do the same. Because you understand this: there’s a difference between a visitor and a citizen. And “we are citizens of heaven,” declares the apostle Paul (Philippians 3:20).

When we look at what’s happening in our lives and say, “This is who I am,” it’s much like me declaring myself a Canadian just because I crossed the border. As my friend and fellow (in)courage contributor Jennifer Dukes Lee once wrote me in an email, “We don’t have to be a ‘citizen’ of the ‘place’ we’re standing in right now. I’m not a citizen of Sad City, a resident of Rejectionville, or a townsperson of Trouble Town. I have a citizenship in heaven.” Your circumstances may change, but who you truly are remains forever the same. Your identity is eternally secure in Christ.

What words have you been using to describe who you are based on where you are in life right now? Whatever comes to mind is where you’re at, not who you are. It’s your current location. To help shift your perspective, rewrite those words as phrases that show they aren’t part of your identity. For example, “I’m going through a stressful time right now” or “I have experienced a divorce” or “I’m battling an illness.”

Once you know who you’re not, it’s time to ask God one of the most important questions of all: “Who am I?” Perhaps there’s no more important time for seeking these answers than when we’re in the middle of a bad day or a hard season. We lean into God’s heart and ask, “Who am I in spite of this? Tell me what’s true about me no matter what happens.”

I love how Hebrews reassures us that “it is impossible for God to lie” (Hebrews 6:18). Your circumstances will lie to you. Your emotions will lie to you. Even other people will lie to you. But not God. “This hope is a strong and trustworthy anchor for our souls” (Hebrews 6:19). Your identity is secure. Nothing going on in your life can change it.

Join me in prayer today: God, nothing that happens to me in this life can change who you say I am. My identity is secure in you forever. On the days when I’m tempted to believe where I am is who I am, remind me of what is true. Amen.

This is an excerpt from Holley Gerth’s upcoming devotional, What Your Soul Needs for Stressful Times: 60 Truths to Protect Your Peace. If you want to live with more peace and less pressure, more calm and less chaos, more worship and less worry, What Your Soul Needs for Stressful Times is for you.

Unhindered: Is Your Stuff Keeping You Stuck?

by

I still have a thirty-year-old picture of my dad taken in our family’s garage. You can barely see my 6’4” father sitting among heaps of junk.

At the time, we wouldn’t have known what to call it, but my brilliant, gentle dad was a hoarder. Between electronics in his garage, and old magazines, tools, and manuals in his home office, there was only one path to get from the door to his chair in any room he had dominion over. My mom tried to keep it contained, but like Sisyphus trying to roll the boulder uphill, she lost her battle daily.

Every time I entered that garage as a teenager to do laundry or dig my way to the mailbox, I remember thinking to myself, “I will never, ever live like this when I get my own home.”

But then came marriage and kids. Like many young moms in the 90s, I fancied myself a crafter. (I was great at buying all the supplies. Using them? That was another story.) I also envisioned myself a salesperson. (How many multilevel marketing kits did I buy to become my own boss?) Plus, to be a great parent, I bought my kids Brio sets, a doll house, and every Barney VHS tape. My life eventually resembled my dad’s garage. No sense, no order — just an abundance of chaos and confusion.

I couldn’t figure out why I kept buying things I didn’t need or had such a hard time getting rid of things I no longer used. I would gird myself to do a clean sweep, but when it came down to it, I found it impossible to make a dent in my possessions. I would sit in my garage for hours trying to make myself give things away, only to talk myself into keeping the most inane items (a back-up egg beater?) in case I might, someday, need one.

I finally started to research why it was so hard for me to get rid of clutter. As I investigated, I realized it wasn’t laziness (as I had secretly suspected), but my battle was, in many ways, a spiritual one.

Based on my research, I have determined three main reasons for overwhelm with clutter:

The first reason is we keep items out of fear — fear of having to spend money again, fear of being thought of as wasteful. We think, “I might need it someday,” even if we’re not using it now and we haven’t used it for years. Someday, I might need that catcher’s mitt from seventh grade softball, and I would hate to have to rebuy it.

Another reason is guilt. Guilt shows up by saying, “But so-and-so gave it to you.” We may have a complicated relationship with the person who gave us the object or regrets about something with the giver. We feel like giving away the object is giving up on the relationship or dishonoring it in some way. But things are not relationships. If guilt convinces us to keep an item we don’t need or love, we’re replacing real relationships with objects.

The last thing I connected with clutter overwhelm is shame. We think, “But I spent so much money on it,” then punish ourselves for bad money decisions by holding onto something for a long time, somehow justifying the cost because of how long we’ve had it. It’s as if we can’t allow ourselves the grace to say, “I’ve made a mistake. I should not have spent the money on this item. It may be too late to take it back to the store, but I can make sure someone else can use it.” We can redeem the mistake by giving the item to someone who can’t afford it but will really use it. There is no redemption in the back of our closet.

Spending time getting rid of our possessions is a spiritual act — one that can bring hope and healing. Every time we declutter, we rid ourselves of unhealthy attachments, unhealthy ways of thinking, and unhealthy entanglements that keep us from moving forward toward the life God has intended for us.

Hebrews 12:1 says, “Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us.”

And this is exactly what I started to do — throw off all that was hindering me.

In my growth.

In my relationships.

In my walk with God.

When I finally got serious about getting rid of the excess in my life, I admit it was painful. Why was it so much easier to put my trust in stuff than in God’s providence? He has provided for my needs in the past, and He’ll be faithful to do it in the future as well.

Now that I’ve committed to change my relationship with stuff, passing by the dollar bins at Target is easier and easier. I believe God smiles a little bit wider when I walk on by.

Do you also struggle with clutter overwhelm? I believe in you. I believe you can throw off that hindrance too. And when you do, know that God delights in you.

To learn more about the freedom and peace decluttering can give you, check out Kathi’s FREE Clutter Free Kit and Quick Start Video Kit!

Every Rejection Is an Invitation to Open Doors Meant for You

by

When I was a little girl, my dad shared some life-long wisdom with me. He told me, “What is meant for you will be for you.” He was referring to the times I auditioned, tried out, or went for something — cheerleading, a role in a play, a win on the track — but fell short of my goal. He assured me that not making it was okay because perhaps that particular thing wasn’t meant for me, that what was meant specifically for me would still be waiting, holding space for me. As a child, my dad’s wisdom softened the sting of all the rejections I would experience in life. 

He taught me to see rejection not as a closed door but as a nudge in a more specific direction. In high school, when I didn’t make the cheerleading squad, I was disappointed. But my dad’s encouragement did not allow me to digest the missed mark as an indictment or judgment of my capability. Instead, I considered it as being invited to a moment, an event, or an opportunity of which I was not currently aware. I learned to see rejection as a force drawing me towards a space where I belonged. However, it’s not easy to dust off disappointment to focus on an invitation to an unknown.

As I grew up and matured in my understanding of God, I realized that my dad’s wisdom resonated with God’s character. Essentially, it is because of who God is, that I can confidently peer past disappointment to push toward discovering an opportunity that awaits me. 

And what do I know about God? 

The Old Testament prophet, Jeremiah, wrote a letter of encouragement to the Israelites who were in exile. He shared with them God’s words: “‘For I know the plans I have for you,’ declares the LORD, ‘plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future’” (Jeremiah 29:11). Through Jeremiah, God revealed that the Israelites could trust He had a greater plan in place for them. And although their situation felt bleak, they could hold on to hope because He wanted them to flourish, not fail. I can’t count the number of times I have felt the devastation of rejection, but knowing that God wants me to thrive, not die on the vine, has inspired me to pick myself up and look for the promised plan. 

Then, in the New Testament, the apostle Paul, wrote to the Christians in Rome who were facing persecution, “If God is for us, who can be against us?” (Romans 8:31). Similar to Jeremiah’s revelation of God, Paul was helping the early Christians understand that though they experienced adversity, God was their Ultimate Defender. They could trust in God’s authority, so much so that they could respond to hate with love! I think we can agree that returning love for hate is evidence of true trust in God’s intentions. I remember being devastated when a leader I admired believed lies about me and thus planned to thwart my progress. But God had put me on that particular path to thrive, so her plan to block my path failed. Despite her position and perceived power, God progressed and prospered me.  

Over the years, I have experienced rejection in all types of ways. However, because of who God is, I have learned that each closed door ushers me towards doors designed to welcome me. Though I did not make the cheerleading squad in high school, I earned a spot on the school’s new flag team, where I grew as a creative and as a leader. I received rejection letters from three universities when I applied to their doctoral programs. However, I was available when I was extended an invitation to apply for a doctoral program in Curriculum and Instruction, where I experienced the most fulfilling study of my college tenure. And five years ago, I was told no when I asked a church leader to incorporate my racial healing curriculum into the small group study teaching rotations. Her no invited me to create and build an entire education platform online, which has now hosted numerous courses and thousands of learners — far greater than a few small groups. 

I am extremely grateful that while I was young, my dad shared God’s truths with me: What is meant for me will be for me. I don’t have to worry about missing out on an opportunity or be anxious about someone taking something that “belongs” to me. I’ve learned to trust that God wants me to flourish and thrive and protects the plans He has for me. Therefore, I don’t have to take rejection personally. I don’t have to dedicate significant energy and time to figuring out how to recover. I simply get to rest in the hope that rejection invites me to a clearer, more focused direction towards that which has been designed and orchestrated specifically for me.

As you face rejections, closed doors, and “missed” opportunities, may you know that God has a plan for you, goes before you, and has your back.

How has rejection rerouted you to an open door of opportunity? 

How a Word from God Came to Me When Nothing Went as Planned

by

It was the most boring pregnancy, until I went into labor. Second pregnancies are a bit easier because you understand what to expect. Everything was going normally — even the nausea and vomiting that lasted the entire pregnancy — just like the first time. Then my water broke. I was at mom’s because my dad had to go out of town that evening. She watched my baby girl as my husband and I rushed to the hospital. Jayson, my sweet husband who came to every doctor’s appointment, was ecstatic to finally hold this little baby boy. But something just felt off in my spirit.

As we were driving, I became overwhelmed by this sense of worry, and I didn’t even understand the reason because I was prepared in every way to have this baby. Jayson asked me what was wrong, and I didn’t know how to answer the question. I played some worship music and began to pray to help ease my anxiety. Then the Holy Spirit impressed the word cord on my mind. I didn’t quite understand because I had been to an OBGYN appointment the day before, and she hadn’t mentioned this word. But I prayed quietly in my heart for my baby and my body.

Once we got to the hospital and I was all set up in my bed with some epidural, I began to feel better. As my nurse left the room she asked if I wanted to lower the volume of the monitor that allowed me to hear the baby’s heartbeat. I asked her to keep it because it was soothing. Minutes went by as my husband and I chatted about things, and I realized I couldn’t hear the baby’s heartbeat. I asked him to go check the monitor and as he was walking, two nurses rushed to my side. I began to panic. I don’t remember what happened next except they placed an oxygen mask on my face.

After several attempts to readjust things and reposition me, they told me the problem was “the cord.” Tears began to flow from my eyes. I was scared, but I wasn’t crying because I was overwhelmed by fear. Rather I was overwhelmed by God’s love. I grabbed my husband’s hand and said, “God told me in the car it was the cord!” God prepared me in advance and had me praying even before we were aware of the problem. I laid in that bed feeling a lot of emotions with a lot of thoughts running through my mind. I was anxious, tired, and scared as I watched my husband pace the room texting all our loved ones to pray. I didn’t know how this story would end, but the one thing I was certain of was that God knew.

That night as I lay in the hospital bed, the only peace I had was knowing that God knew this was part of my birth story. And He loved me so much He shared a glimpse of it and whispered into my spirit to pray for my baby. So as weak and tired as I felt in that moment, I encouraged myself to fight in prayer. Nothing went as planned but when I held my baby boy on my chest, I understood why I wanted to name him Gideon.

We learn about Gideon in Judges 6-8. He was an unlikely choice to lead the Israelites, yet he became perhaps one of the greatest judges. When God called him a “mighty warrior,” he was hiding in fear from his enemies, and uncertain about the future, he kept asking God for signs of confirmation. In response, God kept showing up, affirming him and building his faith. Gideon went on to win some of the greatest battles, and even when God would give strange military commands, he obeyed because he had learned to depend on God. 

God is sovereign. He knows the end from the beginning. Often, He will show us the next step but not the whole path — mostly because He knows we can’t handle it. He doesn’t have to share any details with us, but in His goodness and love towards us, He chooses to reveal glimpses. It could be through a word, a verse, or a song that keeps coming up. Or it could be through a person or situation that creates unrest, thus pulling you into God’s presence. What He does in your life today could be to prepare your faith for the next season.

Maybe like Gideon or like me in that hospital bed, you are feeling weak and afraid. I want to remind you that God sees you in your state of doubt and anxiety. and He does not condemn you. Rather, He comes close to you. He calls out the potential He put inside of you, and He is building your faith to fight.

He is with you, mighty warrior.

When You Feel Lost, There Is Always a Way Back Home

by

As an elementary school kid growing up in Tokyo, I had more freedom than I did as an older kid once we moved back to the United States. Tokyo was known for its safety when we lived there. School kids were often alone on buses, sidewalks, and subways.

My first playdate with a friend was scheduled sometime in the second or third grade. I rehearsed our plans for meeting and counted how many stops until Shinjuku station, again and again. We met under the big clock outside the station and had the best time. It was going home that I hadn’t rehearsed as much. I’d figured if I made it there, it would be easy to get home again.

I went back to the station I’d arrived at and got on the subway, remembering the number of stops back. I counted them as the train slowed and quickened, only this time the names sounded unfamiliar. I got up to look at the map, trying to sound out the names, looking for my stop. Then it dawned on me that I was on a subway going in the wrong direction. I got off at the next stop and the sinking feeling of being lost weighed heavy on my shoulders. The strangers I was surrounded by seemed even more strange as my mind moved from panic to thoughts of what to do next.

I used to have dreams of being lost with no way home as a kid. I don’t know if they came after this experience or before it, but what I do know is how afraid I’ve been of being lost, in every sense of the word. Being a Christian has only heightened it in some ways. Early on in my faith journey, when I was still getting to know Jesus, I wondered and asked many a mentor if there was a point of no return. I wanted to know if one could ever be so lost they wouldn’t be able to come home again.

Haven’t you wondered the same?

It’s easy to take security in knowing. We’re comforted by map lines and boundaries. We love knowing where we are and who we are and what the next stop is. There’s nothing wrong with this. It’s healthy and good to know where we are, and using the tools we have to guide and safeguard us are good things.

But knowing what it means to be found requires the prerequisite of being lost.

When I finally figured out how to get on the right subway, the feeling of joy and relief was unparalleled. I sat on the bench with my skinny knees clapping for joy. Home meant something more than it had meant just thirty minutes prior. I found a payphone and called home to tell my parents and found them already trying to figure out what had happened, having kept their eyes on the time, aware of where I should have been and when. Home was watching out for me and looking for me even when I didn’t know where I was or how to get where I was supposed to be.

When we are most lost, we are no less loved. When we are most lost, Home — God — is looking for us. There is always a way back home, even when we can’t see it.

I’ve felt a little lost post pandemic, or if we aren’t post pandemic, post year one of the pandemic. All the changes and shifts within me and surrounding me keep me feeling like I’m on the wrong train, going nowhere fast, and alone.

I thought being where we are would mean community in the ways I understood community before, but it hasn’t been that. It’s been awkwardness and clumsy footing, emptiness and loneliness, and a recurring dream-turned-reality of lostness.

Maybe you feel it too, friend — lost and a little weary of trying to find your way back to something. You aren’t alone, and Home is looking for you. You don’t have to strive or hustle. You don’t have to try to set your ducks back into neat rows or control the outcomes that won’t let you control them anyway. Lost is just the place where we become found. And found is the adjective we are meant to know and live from.

Jesus went out of His way again and again to teach His disciples that He was the Home that never stopped searching for those who were lost. From leading by example to parables He told, He answered our lostness with Himself.

Then Jesus told them this parable: “Suppose one of you has a hundred sheep and loses one of them. Doesn’t he leave the ninety-nine in the open country and go after the lost sheep until he finds it? And when he finds it, he joyfully puts it on his shoulders and goes home. Then he calls his friends and neighbors together and says, ‘Rejoice with me; I have found my lost sheep.’”
Luke 15:3-7 (NLT)

No matter how lost you feel today, Home is already on the way with love in the lead.