Bringing Light into Our Lonely Silos

Bringing Light into Our Lonely Silos

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I haven’t said a word in hours. Not because I’m shocked or angry or freezing someone out but because I spend a very high percentage of my time alone. I’m a single woman past the point of youth where you’re running from thing to thing, surrounded by roommates that all pile into a little apartment like puppies. I come home and I fold laundry and make dinner and cut flowers for a vase and try to decide what to do with my downtime.

Being single at this junction is tricky because as a woman in my thirties, I would’ve been burned out by now if I’d spent my twenties running after marriage. I’ve slowly but surely settled into being alone more than I would have expected. But there’s still a deep need I have for community, and we need to talk about it.

First, a little history. In an effort to minister well to sub-groups, the Church over time has broken ministry into sections: children, youth, couples, elderly, parents. And while these things aren’t bad at all, they complicate things for those of us without wedding bands because we never really know where to fit. We’re not college kids needing a family to adopt them and offer to let them use the washer and dryer on weekends. We’re not attending camps geared toward our spiritual growth. We’re not going to conferences just for our season of life and calling it a “Weekend to Remember.” We’re walking the tightrope between cynicism and joyful independence. We want to sink into the rhythms of adult life but wonder if this is all there is. 

The good news is this: this is not all there is. See, the Bible is full of people who encountered Jesus from all kinds of walks of life. They were single, married, betrothed, working, impoverished, wounded, and strong. And when the Church is established, we’re told over and over again that they gathered together and they supported one another. 

Acts 2:44-47 says, “And all who believed were together and had all things in common. And they were selling their possessions and belongings and distributing the proceeds to all, as any had need. And day by day, attending the temple together and breaking bread in their homes, they received their food with glad and generous hearts, praising God and having favor with all the people. And the Lord added to their number day by day those who were being saved.”

The Church is the gathering of God’s people, and our united faith in Christ is what causes us to have “all things in common.” Is this easy? Heck no. This is tricky. But when we are willing to be inconvenienced to live out the vision painted in Acts of what the body of believers is capable of at its best, the Kingdom is being built.

Am I willing to get interrupted by a toddler who just got out of bed again so I can still connect with a friend who has to stay home after 8pm? Is it possible for me to attend a wedding and rejoice rather than retreat into self-pity? Will my understanding of Jesus’ love be better understood if I surround myself with children and watch them live with wonder and simple faith?

The answer to all of these things is a resounding yes because God made us for community, and it points us back to Him. When we are willing to welcome people with different life experiences, our vision is refreshed and challenged in good ways. When we see what the other members of the Church offer, we can celebrate what God is doing, rather than compare.

When we look at the world, we might have justification for our cynicism and reasons to stay away from those who have what we do not. But the beauty of the upside-down kingdom of God is that we get to draw near to one another and not see it as a threat. I can spend my energy on giving my parent friends a break. I can give my prayer time to asking God to help my friends’ marriages to thrive. I can seek the well-being of others because they are my brothers and sisters.

And those on the other side? You get to do this, too. Invite your single friends to dinner. Ask them to come over after the kids go down. Welcome them into the mess and the toy-covered living room. Be honest about your struggle with infertility or insecurity.

We often don’t get close to one another out of suspicion and division, but we are called to — with gratitude! — break bread together. Because guess what? Moms and wives and students and single gals are all struggling with mostly the same things: not knowing what’s for dinner, how not enough dresses have pockets, how not enough grocery stores carry our favorites. No one has consistent cell phone coverage. No one is reading their Bible without putting forth some effort.

Let’s bring light into the loneliness of being in our silos. May we delight in relationship, knowing that God is pleased when we come together. He is, after all, a Triune God. As a three-in-one Creator, His very nature is community.

So go. Send the text. Meet the person you don’t believe you have common ground with. I guarantee you’re both tired and hungry and looking for Jesus. And honestly? That’s usually the best place to start.

Hospitality Is More than Just Entertaining

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My daughters gather at the stove giggling and chatting. The familiar fragrances of garlic, oregano, and basil permeate the air. The girls take turns swirling the ruby red tomato sauce and meatballs in the big pot with a wooden spoon.

“Be careful with my meatballs,” Nana Maria chides playfully. “You don’t want to break any of them up.”

My Italian mama, who my girls call Nana, stands at our kitchen island with my youngest daughter. They are stuffing jumbo pasta shells with spoonfuls of filling, which includes spinach, ricotta cheese, cream cheese, and ground beef.

My dad butters thick slices of Italian bread. My husband Shawn is in his usual place at the kitchen sink, trying to get ahead of the dirty dishes situation.

We are all in the kitchen together moving through a cacophony of clinking dishes, laughter, singing, colorful ingredients and inviting aromas. It’s a feast for the senses.

Food ignites memories for me. I am transported back to my childhood growing up in the kitchen with my mama, grandmas, and aunties. I come from a long line of women who pride themselves on serving up delectable food and nourishing people well.

I love to gather people in my home and deliver meals when friends have babies or after loved ones have gone on to heaven. Food is my love language. Hospitality is my jam.

Then a global pandemic hit in March 2020.  

We were all forced to stay at home and social distance. Gatherings were canceled. Our schooling, life group, Bible study, and work-related meetings were moved to Zoom. If we wanted face-to-face time with people, we had to do it through a screen instead of across the table. I often felt frustrated and lonely.

I had to learn a different way of expressing hospitality. I couldn’t feed and gather people in the way I had in the past, and I also had to reckon with my theology of hospitality. 

Could I still be hospitable even if I couldn’t open my home?

This year Jesus invited me to go deeper in my understanding of what hospitality means, and I’ve discovered that it is much more than just entertaining. 

Hospitality is an invitation to rest. Abraham models this in Genesis 18 when he invites in three strangers who show up at his tent during the hottest part of the day.

Abraham says, “ . . . if it pleases you, stop here for a while. Rest in the shade of this tree while water is brought to wash your feet” ‭‭(Genesis‬ ‭18:3-4‬ ‭NLT).

Abraham provides for these travelers by greeting them warmly, giving them water to wash their feet, offering nourishing food, and ultimately, a place to rest.

During the pandemic, God showed me that one of the most powerful ways I could offer hospitality during this time of crisis was to invite my parents into our home and be isolated with them. They stayed with us most weekends and some weeknights.

This was challenging at first, especially because my dad and I don’t always agree on politics, but even in an election year, we learned to rest together and nourish well. We enjoyed cooking, playing games, watching movies, and doing puzzles together, and my daughters deepened their relationships with their grandparents. 

I discovered part of hospitality is also offering a safe space for people to share their stories. In Luke 8, Jesus is on His way to heal the sick daughter of a ruler of the synagogue. Along His journey, He is interrupted by a woman who has suffered from bleeding for twelve years. She spent her life savings on treatments and doctors. She reached out to touch Jesus’ garment, believing in faith that simply touching Him would bring healing. Jesus turned to heal her publicly and then invited her to share her whole truth with those listening.

During this past year, racial tension has continued to spread in our country like a match to kindling. I have watched as fellow friends of color have suffered and grieved deeply. I’ve felt challenged to listen well, to lament, and to invest time in reading the stories of my brothers and sisters. Listening to each other’s stories is a powerful way we can show hospitality and invite healing.

I’ve learned hospitality is also an opportunity to sacrifice for others, especially foreigners, strangers, and the poor. God has a merciful heart for the vulnerable. In Luke 14:12-14, Jesus tells the parable of the Great Banquet. He challenges listeners not just to invite their friends and neighbors but to extend hospitality to those who could not repay the favor and were most in need.

Studying this passage this year challenged me to think beyond the friends and family I normally would invite to my table. I was inspired by our church and other local organizations that provided for orphans, kids in our city who were schooling alone, and families that needed food.

Several weeks ago, I hosted my first Bible study in my home since March 2020. As I opened in prayer, the tears caught in my throat because I was so filled with unexpected joy to have these women sitting at my table. I served up warm, gooey brownies and local strawberries along with a new perspective on hospitality.

I do not want to forget what this pandemic year has taught me. Hospitality is much more than fancy dinner parties and spoiling my friends. Hospitality is a generosity that runs deeper and wider than I ever imagined.

Dorina loves to encourage women to flourish in their God-given callings through her weekly Glorygram, which includes recipes, book and podcast recommendations, and coaching tips. Sign up here.

A Hope More Secure Than a Racehorse

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Last month my husband and I celebrated our twenty-second anniversary by going on a movie date for the first time in more than a year. I was a little anxious about this plan, but as we sat in a large theater with six other moviegoers all spread out, I eventually relaxed and became immersed in the story of a small town and a horse.

Much to my surprise, as a person who has never once in her life cared about horse racing, this story captured my attention and my heart. As I watched the horses thunder around the track, I realized my heart was beating fast. Then, when the horse I was cheering for actually won that race, I burst into both tears and laughter.

How did I get so emotionally invested in a horse race?

Dream Horse is a movie about a group of people in a small Welsh town who work together to buy and breed a racehorse. The men and women, who become co-owners of a horse they name Dream Alliance, commit to scraping together a few pounds each week not because they believed they would eventually receive a windfall of riches. Instead, they sign up for this adventure because they desperately need hope.

Watching the movie, I tried to understand why these people did what they did (while also cheering so fervently for a horse that I truly was breathless during a scene or two). I recognized that longing — for a reason to get up in the morning, for a purpose beyond myself, for something strong enough to put my hope in.

After riding the ups and downs of this unexpectedly emotional movie, I realized that while I felt a kinship to these characters (based on real people) who longed for hope, my response to that need wasn’t the same as theirs.

Every time it seemed as if their horse venture wouldn’t work out, the characters’ desperation and disappointment was nearly palpable. I could see on their faces and in their body language how deeply they would be cut by the end of this dream. I could hear in their voices and their words how much they needed this horse in order to be okay.

The contrast between what the horse owners believed and what I know to be true was jarring. Especially as I remembered how many times I have looked and sounded exactly like they did — when I placed my hope in a person or a relationship, when I tethered my identity and purpose to a project or a job, when I let myself believe that the only thing that could make the world, this life, me all right was my church or my party or my own efforts to force reality to bend to my will.

Those were the times I felt the least steady, the least secure, and the most like a racehorse owner watching a neck-and-neck race that could make or break me.

Needing hope that things will get better? I understand that deeply. We all do, right? But when we place our hope in the things (or people or places or animals) of this world, we are guaranteed not just disappointment but the disorientation and emotional whiplash that comes with the ups and downs along the way.

The only thing that is strong and secure enough for our hope is actually a person — Jesus. He is the only one who is worthy of all our dreams and desires, the only one who will never let us down or leave us alone. When we keep our eyes on Him and find our identity and purpose in Him, we can weather whatever twists and turns life brings us.

Those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles;
they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint.
Isaiah 40:31 (NIV)

Are you looking for a reason to keep going today? A purpose or a person to believe in? Do you long for a second chance or assurance that you matter, that you are loved, that you can make it through the circumstances you’re facing?

Place all your bets on the Lord, friend. He will keep your heart and your hope safe. Go all in following Jesus, and He will faithfully carry you to the end of your race.

Tenderness Is the Only Way Forward

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A year ago, we hung origami cranes from our crabapple tree. We chose a variety of colors and flowered patterned papers to fold into birds, and then punched a hole at the tips of their tails for the string.

In the midst of a brand new season of school-at-home, with words like “quarantine” and “stay-at-home-order,” cancelled plans, and looking for new headlines by the hour, something as small as folding origami cranes felt like grace for our eyes and our hands.

We watched the pointy birds sway in the wind with the bright blue sky for a backdrop, all colorful and proud. And then the next morning, I’d untangle them from branches and each other. Overnight their strings had wound so tight they were bound. Even the dew at dawn was too much for their fragile paper skins.

My own tenderness towards others was soft in a fresh sort of way back then. I wouldn’t have believed you if you told me just how jostled we’d all become over the next twelve months and more or how so many of us would swing into tangles that seemed impossible to free.

A week after we hung our paper birds, we put teddy bears in our windows. We ordered drawing pencils, sketch books, activity books, and walked ‘round and ‘round the neighborhood as a family. I baked cookies and made afternoon Dalgona coffees on repeat. We marveled over the creative ways our community reached out to one another: texting more, downloading new apps like Marco Polo, Facetiming one another, and celebrating birthdays with signs, drive-bys, porch drop-offs, and video greetings. The grace of God felt near and abundant despite all of our looming fears back then. It was easy to recognize Jesus in all of these acts of love, and I expected them to be enough.

Then summer, then fall, then winter, more months of disappointment come and gone, and the magnitude of losses and mounting racial tensions further shook the foundations we stood on.

I’ve asked Jesus how we’re all supposed to move forward after all of this, and He keeps nudging me to tenderness, and back towards all the pain.

As we begin to re-engage, I feel the impact of what’s been lost everywhere — from walking an aisle in Target, to gathering with our now-altered small group. There’s no going back to what was. There’s only a showing up to what’s become, what’s changed, what’s broken, and what’s still healing.

There is grief I’m still not sure how to approach in the wake of this year. Cynicism has shown up at my door, looking like the stronger and safer guide forward.

I read through the gospels desperate to find the tenderness of Jesus because my own feels like a stranger.

In one instance after another, Jesus’ tenderness leads the way. It moves me to read and re-read John 4, and remember how He went to Sychar, in Samaria. He intentionally arrives there thirsty and tired. Jesus, the Living Water, humbly asks a woman, a Samaritan, for a drink. He puts Himself in a place of need with her. He talks to her about the tensions and walls between their people before revealing who He is.

His patient tenderness towards her reorients me. I read the passage again and again. Did you know the Samaritans and the Jews were enemies who had been violently at odds for centuries at this point? They could not agree to disagree. Their history was full of violence, hatred, deep distrust, and destruction. When the disciples arrive, flabbergasted to find Jesus where He is, talking to whom He’s talking to, He not only stretches their perspectives about people and what’s possible; He stretches their tenderness with His own. And then they all stay in Sychar for two more days — sleeping, eating, and choosing to know and be known by those they would’ve been taught to consider as enemies.

Jesus never asked any of us to muster up our own tenderness; He knew we’d never have enough. He only tells us to follow and abide in the abundance of His.

Our daughter received a colorful stack of origami for her birthday this year. I couldn’t help but think of the cranes I made around a year ago this time. The first day of trying to fold one, she gave up. She crumpled it up, saying it’s not going to work, that the instructions tricked her, and she threw her attempt to the ground. I couldn’t help but see my own weariness in her expression — only my weariness and desire to give up had to do with relationships, loss, and responding to hurt. I listened to my own voice as I instinctively told her, “The special thing about this kind of paper is what also makes it hard: It’s fragile, and the creases stick, don’t they? It’s been made to fold easily, which means it breaks easily, and that’s what makes origami so beautiful.”

The fragility of this paper art makes it dependent on the tenderness of the hands that hold it. I told her to be gentle and patient with herself because that would help her to be gentle and patient with the paper. I told her that each time she shows up to try again, she’s giving this paper bird (and with it, all of us) a chance to fly.

What We Can Learn from French Onion Soup

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The Bible is full of metaphors for how God sanctifies us, but in my book, the metaphor that sticks best is French onion soup. I know, stay with me.

Growing up, my cultural identity was a big question mark. I’m a dyed-in-the-wool third-culture kid: I’m Indian, grew up in Dubai, but attended a British-run school. My ancestors were Christ-followers in a country dominated by Hindus and Muslims. I didn’t feel at home anywhere. 

But when I was eleven, I watched real journalism for the first time: CNN covering the first Gulf War. I knew then that I wanted to be an international correspondent, and I made it my life’s goal to become one. This identity rose above race and religion; it was vocation. 

I got into journalism school in the States, and after graduating, I began working at CNN. My dream was on track — I was a working journalist! But a few years later, I married my college sweetheart, moved to Los Angeles from the news-mecca of New York, and for five long years, every employment door I knocked on stayed shut.

I was unmoored. If I wasn’t a journalist, who was I? A new Christian, I shook my fist at God. Why wake me up every morning if You won’t give me a purpose? Just take me home!

In many ways, I related to an onion: overlooked and stagnant in the darkness of the soil.

The kitchen became my solace. Here, I turned chaos into order, ordinary ingredients into extraordinary dishes. My husband and I launched a cooking variety show on YouTube called Aarti Paarti, and soon after, some friends suggested I audition for Food Network Star, a cooking competition that awarded the winner their own cooking show. 

I knew I could cook a few things, but I wasn’t a chef. Until then, the shame from my journalism career ending had been private; I couldn’t bear America witnessing my inevitable failure as a cook too. But I submitted an audition anyway, hoping they’d say no.

Except they didn’t. Their yes ripped me out of the safety of the pitch black soil.

The first challenge on the show was to make 150 servings of a dish. The lights of the soundstage burned my eyes; sweat streaked my upper lip. The arena was populated by chefs trained in top kitchens and culinary schools. What am I doing here? I’m a dirt-splattered onion on a chopping block, I thought. With my heart in my mouth, I prayed, God, I can’t do this. Help. 

I made Tandoori BBQ Chicken on Scallion Blinis, and to my utter surprise . . . I won! Astonished, I felt the papery skin of self-doubt begin to loosen at the root.

Each week, the challenges threatened to slice my onion-heart open and expose me as a fraud, but while chef after chef lost, I inexplicably remained. With every win, I felt the truth of 2 Corinthians 12:9:

. . . My grace is all you need. My power works best in weakness.

As the competition heated up, the flames felt unbearable at times. But through it all, God was close, and His voice in my ears said, The only identity that matters is that you’re Mine. And even though I went on to win the show, understanding that truth felt like the biggest victory of all.

I read somewhere that sanctification is the closing of the gap between our identity and our behaviour. That process isn’t pretty, and it for sure isn’t painless. But here’s why it’s worth it: We don’t see all the potential God packed into each one of us. One of the benefits of being a child of God is that He’s intent on unleashing our full potential on the world! 

Take for example, a raw onion. Take a bite, and you’d hardly describe it as sweet. But here’s the crazy thing: all the sugar you taste in a caramelized onion is there in the raw one! We just can’t taste it. Only heat can transform the onion’s large sugar molecules into the smaller ones our tastebuds can detect. And for French onion soup, you must slice the onion in a particular way — across her bow, slicing rainbow arcs that will melt into silky, sweet ribbons. Likewise, God knows how to slice and dice each of us to reveal those innermost parts of His glory.

Though our journeys are unique, one thing that unites us all is the refining fire. Just as onions release their moisture when they first hit the hot pan, God evaporated the misshapen molecules of my identity through the show: that my career was all that I was, that people’s opinions of me were paramount, that I had to earn His affection and attention. He replaced the lies with the truth that I am wonderfully made and that “ . . . he who began a good work in [me would] bring it to completion . . . ” (Philippians 1:6 ESV).

If you’re in the middle of the refining fire, don’t give up! Caramelization only happens at a whopping 212 degrees Fahrenheit. Pull the onions out of the frying pan too early, and they won’t reach their full potential. Our growth and sanctification can’t be skirted or hurried because each step is vital to the end result. 

While I was named a Food Network star, I’m in no way a completed dish. I’m still simmering away on the stove, deepening in flavour. Every day, I trust God’s capable hands to build a dish out of this unpalatable, unremarkable allium that I am — to turn the raw, unpolished sting of my fallen heart into a tantalizing near-perfect bowl of soup, poured out for Him, declaring to all who draw near that there is nothing sweeter than being called a child of God.

Weeds Grow in Hard Places — We Can Too

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2020 was the year that the young, fictional Alexander might describe as a “terrible, horrible, no good, very bad” year.

And what do you do for a year like that? Well, if you’re me, you take a lot of walks.

Last year, I walked more miles along our rural Iowa country roads than I had in the previous ten years combined. On my walks, I discovered what I hadn’t seen before. I found a wild asparagus patch in the ditch near our home. I learned where all the neighborhood sparrows were nesting. And I observed the neighbor’s cattle cooling off in a shallow stream on hot afternoons.

But my favorite discovery of all was a plant I found growing up through the gravel of our dusty country driveway. It was a mustard plant, technically a weed (though that all depends on your perspective). In my way of thinking, this weed was exquisite, with delicate yellow crowns sitting atop slender green stems.

One day last summer, a bunch of my friends began posting pictures of beautiful landscapes onto their Facebook profiles. It was a community effort to help us all remember how beautiful the world really is and that the majesty of oceans and mountain vistas and faraway places would be waiting for us once we could all travel again. I liked that idea a lot and thought it would be fun to take part in making Facebook a prettier place. But instead of posting a photo from a past vacation to the beach, I went outside and took a picture of that humble little weed in the driveway.

The plant reminded me of a couple of things:

  1. Beauty isn’t something to be found in some future time or place. There is beauty right now, if we slow down enough to really see it.
  2. With enough determination, beautiful things can grow anywhere — even in a hard place. Even in me. That mustard plant epitomized the old saying, “Bloom where you are planted.”

I don’t know who else needs to hear this right now, but God is growing you, even if you’re in a hard place right now. Maybe you are having a hard day, a hard season, a hard year. Hard days don’t disappear in a post-pandemic world. Like you, I am dealing with hard things in my life, even as I type these words.

As a result, I have found myself asking God this question: “How can you grow me in this place and in this season?” His answer: Consider Joseph.

Joseph was a lot like that mustard plant. He literally grew up in hard places — tossed into a pit at age seventeen and later into a prison. What I find especially remarkable is that when Joseph finally became a father, he named one of his boys Ephraim. Do you know why he picked that name? Let Joseph tell you:

“It is because God has made me fruitful in the land of my suffering” (Genesis 41:52 NIV).

It floors me to think that God can make something out of the hard seasons I find myself in. I can bear fruit, even in the “land of my suffering.” My first way of praying when I am in my own land of suffering isn’t to figure out how to be fruitful in that land. I want to get out of that land! I want to escape that hard season, that hard year, that hard _______________ (fill in the blank).

Both Joseph and that mustard plant from summer 2020 teach me that it’s possible to be fruitful in a hard place.

Oswald Chambers wrote these words in his classic devotional My Utmost for His Highest: “‘Consider the lilies of the field’ — they grow where they are put. Many of us refuse to grow where we are put, consequently we take root nowhere. Jesus says that if we obey the life God has given us, He will look after all the other things.’

I pray that today I may have the faith to know that God is growing me even here, and that He was growing me in 2020, as horrible as it was. I pray that I don’t have to wait for another time or place to find beauty around me and in me. I can put down deep roots wherever I am, like a simple mustard plant on a long country lane.

And I pray the same for you.

Peace Holds Us When We Can’t Be at Peace

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A Saturday dusk was the perfect setting for a stroll on the new boardwalk along the lake cove’s edge. As my husband and I walked, talked, and dreamed, we also reflected on the drama and trauma that made our picturesque boardwalk stroll possible. 

Three years ago, we bought a home that ticked all the major must-haves on our list. We felt incredibly fortunate. Throughout the entire home buying process — from creating the list of essentials to signing our names on the closing documents — I could sense Spirit’s encouragement and assurance. In praying about our move, I saw a vision of peace and plenty associated with us living in this house. Because I knew very little about the area in which our new house was located, I held tightly to that gracious assurance, and as we settled in, we wasted no time in transforming the house into our home.

About six months later, a local builder began a major construction project surrounding our tiny neighborhood of six homes. Giant mature trees were ripped from their roots, and our quaint, narrow gravel road was widened to accommodate an assembly line of excavators, bulldozers, and other Transformer-looking commercial equipment. Each morning, we were awakened by trucks beeping, banging, and honking. Oversized tire treads converted our gravel road to a cratered obstacle course. Flying clouds of red clay dust chased us inside away from outdoor recreation. The sanctity of our little wooded oasis vanished, and along with it, my peace and assurance seemed to dissipate.  

You may be rolling your eyes, shaking your head, and thinking, “Lucretia, what is the big deal? Destruction for the sake of construction happens all the time! How frivolous!”

That’s what I told myself too with every infraction — flat tires, trucks blocking the road, dodging construction site debris, sliding in the mud, getting stuck in the mud, mud clinging to my minivan and depositing wherever I parked. One day while at the gym, a woman confronted and harassed me about the heaps of mud that had fallen from my wheel wells into her parking lot. Did she think I was mucking up the parking lot on purpose? 

Daily, I tried not to let it bother me or make me anxious. In prayer, I recalled the vision of peace and plenty that had given me a sense of assurance. I focused on gratitude. I practiced Philippians 4:6:

Don’t worry about anything; instead, pray about everything. Tell God what you need, and thank him for all he has done.

But where was the promise of Philippians 4:7?

Then you will experience God’s peace, which exceeds anything we can understand. His peace will guard your hearts and minds as you live in Christ Jesus. 

Do you remember the woman in the 80’s Wendy’s commercial who shouted, “Where’s the beef?”

Well, living stuck in the mud between a promise made and a promise manifested had me pleading, Where’s the peace? I battled frustration and anger. I was outraged that I had to drive my children on a dangerous road. Many times, I was anxious and wanted to lash out at the construction workers. I was furious about the disruption going on around me. And I was exhausted from trying to keep it together.

Post construction, as my husband and I walked along the beautiful new boardwalk, I reflected on how hostile this place felt a short time ago. I felt ashamed that I had allowed the disruption around me to cause me so much stress. I felt like I had failed — as if I’d abandoned peace and surrendered to the chaos around me.

I imagine that if this situation had been a peace test, I would have scored a D minus. Fortunately, God does not evaluate us on the degree to which we are human. Though at times, I may not have felt peaceful, a life in Christ promises that peace is always there for me — always accessible and available for me to have. Peace is not a stagnant state of euphoria nor is it obligated to keep me feeling carefree, safe, and free of stress. In Christ Jesus, peace simply must keep me, hold me. 

Life under construction is stressful — literally and figuratively! I believe that when we moved into our house, our omniscient God graciously gave me the vision of peace and plenty to guard my heart and mind during the muddy process. On those days when my minivan needed to be pushed out of the mud, my anxiety was more clear than the vision. But, nonetheless, the vision was there. There were times when I felt I had let go of peace, but as my husband and I walked the boardwalk that evening, I remembered the truth: God’s perfect peace had never let me go. 

In our muddy situations, peace holds us when we can’t be at peace. Even when we don’t have the capacity to calm our hearts and minds because of the chaos around us, God’s promised peace holds and carries us. 

Distracted? What Are You Looking At?

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Shiny object syndrome may not be a real medical diagnosis, but I have struggled with it all of my life. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve walked into the mall to buy something specific but got distracted by the sales or the lady at the kiosk selling the latest skin care solution or the perfect hot pink blazer. I have picked up my phone too many times to send an important text only to be distracted by other apps and left double tapping and commenting for hours. Even in my own house, I will walk into my kitchen but forget why because I get distracted by the noise of the TV, thinking about dinner, and yelling at the kids all at the same time. It has become such a normal way of life for me to live in a constant state of distraction.

Sometimes I choose to be distracted because it can be an escape from my reality. As a mom, a healthcare worker, and a pastor’s wife, 2020 was mentally and emotionally exhausting, and I often found myself escaping by scrolling on my phone. It took me down a dark hole of bitterness and depression. What was meant to take my mind off the stress of living through the chaos of the pandemic only made me feel worse about myself.

I saw other mamas who were getting creative with virtual school and doing fun things at home with their children that I couldn’t do. The distraction left me doubting my ability to care for my kids well.

I saw my friends grow their platforms on Instagram and gain followers overnight while I had been tirelessly striving and strategizing to gain some following. The distraction left me doubting if my voice even mattered to others.

I saw other speakers and authors getting opportunities despite the pandemic. The distraction left me doubting my own purpose and calling.

I wanted everything I didn’t have, and I became disappointed with my season. As a pastor’s wife, I felt guilty for even having these thoughts, so I kept it deep inside. But it came out as frustration at my husband and impatience with my children. I knew I was beginning to lose my joy and develop a deep sense of anger at God. All the things I wanted — even the distractions in my life — were good things: being a good mom, using my online presence to share the gospel, and encouraging others with the truth of God’s word. So, why wasn’t God doing anything about them?

This is where shiny object syndrome takes us: Distraction always leads to doubting God.

In Luke 10:38-42, we read about Martha, who loves Jesus and invites Him into her home. But she’s so distracted by how she wants things to look and turn out that she misses Jesus completely. Her distraction is rooted in a good thing — Martha wants everyone to feel welcomed and Jesus to be comfortable in her home. But preoccupied with the wrong thing, she asks Jesus, “Master, don’t you care . . . ?”

Distraction leads to doubt.

In Mark 4:35-41, we read about a storm that shakes the disciples to the core. Even though they had seen Jesus make the impossible possible and though He was in the boat with them, the disciples get distracted by the raging waves and ask Jesus, “Teacher, don’t you care . . . ”

Distraction leads to doubt.

In both stories, Jesus was so close to them, and they loved and knew Jesus. But the distractions kept them from focusing on Him, thus leading them to doubt His goodness.

In our culture today, I truly believe distraction is the biggest deception that keeps us from intimacy with God. We live in a time where there are so many things constantly stealing our attention through our senses and feelings. We live in a state of low-grade anxiety, fear, and overwhelm that keeps us from thriving and enjoying life because we doubt God’s goodness and plan in our current season.

Isaiah 26:3 says, “You keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on you, because he trusts in you.”

Distractions are not going away, so let’s intentionally learn to fix our eyes on Jesus — not just on Sundays, not just some days, but every single day. Let’s not get caught up even in the good things and instead keep our minds stayed on Him. And let’s experience the wholeness and peace God promises us when we trust and focus on Him.

Introducing Bible Study Mondays at (in)courage!

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Every now and again in our nearly twelve years on the internet, we ask for your input. (Well, we always welcome it!) We conduct a survey of our most faithful readers to see what’s on your heart and how we can come alongside you in your journey to becoming a woman of courage. In our last such survey, we saw one theme come through loud and clear:

You want more Jesus, and you want more of God’s Word.

You want deep and meaningful Bible studies that you can do on your own or with a group of friends, and you don’t want them to take a long time.

You want depth of study, but understandably, you don’t want to spend the entire day pulling apart obscure texts and solving biblical mysteries. We get it.

Friends, we heard you, and we’ve answered:

Starting in August, join us for Bible Study Mondays right here on the website! We’re going to study the Bible — together, right here. We want to work through God’s Word with as many friends as possible, and Bible Study Mondays is one simple way we can do it. No signups, no Facebook groups, no hoops to jump through. Simply join us right here each Monday, starting in August. For six weeks, we will share a story, reflection questions, discussion videos, and more from our next Bible study: Courageous Influence: Embrace the Way God Made You for Impact, written by our editorial manager Grace P. Cho and featuring stories from (in)courage writers. This new Bible study is for you, whether you feel you have influence in your life or not (we guarantee that you do!).

We developed these Bible studies, gathered stories from our writers, and truly custom-made them for you. We’re just about to release our third study, and we’re loving the whole collection. Courageous Simplicity and Courageous Joy are available wherever books are sold. Courageous Influence will be available in July, followed by Courageous Kindness, coming in October.

We know that in order to really live our lives deeply and remain connected to Jesus, we need to know what the Bible says. Our Courageous Bible Studies offer just that — God’s Word on four thoughtful, unique, and important topics.

Each study includes weekly discussion videos that feature (in)courage writers discussing their way through the study, just like you. The studies also include thoughtful reflection questions accompanying each day. You can answer all of the questions or just some of them; it’s your journey so it’s entirely up to you!

Since there are four, it’s the easiest way to plan your year of Bible study! Use them on your own, in your women’s ministry at church, or with a group of friends. However you study Scripture, our series of Courageous Bible Studies provides a natural plan for your ongoing study.

But wait — there’s more! (said like a TV game show host) We’re so committed to reading God’s Word with you that we have four more Bible Studies coming out next year! Another complete set of four studies, designed to be worked through on your own or together with a group, which makes them perfect for whatever season you find yourself in. If you’re keeping track, that’s two full years of studying the Bible, all mapped out for you! Seriously, it couldn’t be easier to jump right in and let us do the heavy lifting of organizing, planning, and finding studies to do with your group. 

We love coming alongside you in your real-life, honest, everyday glory in so many ways. You’ve read our devotionals, sipped tea from our mugs, pored over our books, worn our t-shirts and jewelry, carried our bags, and now our Bible studies offer one more way we can live out our faith together. (in)courage is thrilled to be your place for ongoing, meaningful Bible study that fits seamlessly into your life.

Have you used the (in)courage Bible studies yet? Tell us your favorite part about them!

What Now? Helpful Tips and Spiritual Truth for Post-Pandemic Life

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I’m sitting in a coffee shop this morning. It’s brand new, with white walls and wooden floors that reflect the light. There’s art in my latte, the smell of cookies in the air, and a dozen or so people scattered around me. During the pandemic, this was one of the things I missed most — the simple joy of sitting in a coffee shop. But rather than the relief and gratitude I thought I’d feel when life started getting back to normal, I sometimes feel numb and weary. You too?

A story that comforts me in this strange season is the biblical one of Elijah and his showdown with pagan prophets. The prophets and Elijah each build an altar and ask their god to send fire. The pagan prophets spend all day praying with no results. When it’s Elijah’s turn, God shows up and shows off. It’s a clear and undeniable victory.

So Elijah celebrates, has a spiritual high that lasts for years, and never experiences discouragement or defeat again. The end.

Nope!

Elijah gets a threat from wicked Queen Jezebel, runs away into the wilderness, sits down under a tree, tells God he’s ready to die, and falls asleep. So God zaps him with lightning for his lack of faith.

Thankfully, that’s not what happens either.

God sends an angel with snacks and water for Elijah, who eats, drinks, and takes another nap.

What’s going on here? In many ways, it’s the same thing you and I are experiencing in those numb and weary moments. Elijah has been in fight (showdown) or flight (running away) mode. Elijah’s human resources are depleted. God doesn’t rebuke him for this; instead, He provides the rest and resources needed.

We, as humanity, have been in flight-or-fight mode for a long time now too. Maybe you’ve been in “fight” mode as an essential worker on the front lines, a parent suddenly wrestling with at-home schooling, or an employee fighting to keep your job. Maybe you’ve been in “flight” mode because you had to isolate yourself.

As we start to come out of this pandemic, it seems all we’d feel would be joy and gratitude. But the reality is flight-or-fight takes an enormous amount of energy, and we’re exhausted. This doesn’t mean we don’t have faith; it means we’re frail humans. God understands this reality, as He did with Elijah. So how do we help our bodies transition out of flight-or-fight mode?

First, we need to give ourselves permission to feel whatever we do today. If we’re tired, it’s okay. If we’re grieving, it’s okay. If we’re giddy, it’s okay.

Next, we need to ask, “What does my body need right now?” That might be a nap, some good food, and a big glass of water.

Our bodies also need to start feeling safe again. One simple way to do this is by practicing box breathing. Breathe in through your nose for four, hold your breath for four, exhale for four, hold your lungs empty for four. Then repeat a few times until you feel calmer.

Then we can ask, “God, what truth do You want to speak to my heart today?” After his naps and snacks, Elijah goes to the Mountain of God. While he’s physically restored, he’s still spiritually depleted. Elijah tells God he’s the only prophet left. In other words, he’s believing a lie familiar to all of us, “I’m the only one . . . ”

As a response, God tells Elijah, “Go out and stand on the mountain in the Lord’s presence” (1 Kings 19:11). There’s a mighty earthquake, wind, and fire, but God is not in any of them. Then there is the sound of a gentle whisper. Scripture doesn’t tell us what the whisper said, but its message is still clear — Elijah is not alone, God is with him. It’s the truth he needs to replace the lie he’s been believing.

And, finally, we can ask, “Who do I need to be in this with me?” After revealing His presence, God tells Elijah to find several men who follow Him too. We’re not intended to do life alone, even though we’ve been forced to in many ways this past year. Reaching out to even one person can make a difference.

Speaking of connecting, a friend just walked through the door of the coffee shop where I am right now. She leaned over to give me a quick hug and, even though it’s safe now, I flinched — another reminder that my body and mind are going to need time to recover. Yours are too, and that’s okay.

Let’s be gentle with ourselves and each other as we make the transition to a “new normal.” Let’s release any expectations of how we’re supposed to respond. Let’s do what God did with Elijah, what He still does with us too — remember we’re human.

If you want more help transitioning out of flight-or-fight mode and moving forward in faith, you’ll find it in Holley’s new ebook, Fear, I’m Over You: a 21-day Challenge to Live with Less Worry and More Courage (and it’s only $1.99 right now).

This Is What Success Looks Like

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You are talented.

Before you shake your head, deny those words, and click the little red X on this page, let me ask you a question:

Do you remember the parable of the three servants who were given different amounts of talents?

In Matthew 25, Jesus tells a story about a master who gave specific amounts of talents (money) to three servants before leaving for a trip. Upon his return, they were to give the money back. Two of the servants chose to invest what they had received while the third servant got to work digging a hole in the ground for safekeeping, hiding what was entrusted to him.

At the time, coins were called “talents.” But if we think of “talent” in our modern context, considering it to be a skill or a gifting, then I confess all too often I live like the third servant.

The gift God gave that brings me joy is the same thing that has the power to glorify Him as I encourage others: the written word.

And yet for many years, I buried the words. Instead of offering what was given back to the Giver, I believed someone else would say it better, write it better, do it all better than I ever could. Many years have gone by, but even now, even after publishing a book, even after writing (and publicly sharing) hundreds of thousands of words, God is still teaching me how to walk in obedience when I’m tempted to reach for a shovel.

Sometimes this looks like obediently saying “yes” when I’m scared I won’t be ________ (fill in the blank) enough.

Sometimes it looks like obediently saying “no” while trusting He won’t keep me from something that is for my good and His glory.

But it always, without fail, looks like keeping my eyes on Him as I faithfully take the next step and leave the end result in His hands.

Looking back at the parable, I’m struck by how the master left for “a long time” (25:19). The entire chapter points to the return of Christ for His Bride, and while we’re sometimes quick to say “Come Lord Jesus” when disaster strikes, I wonder what we’re doing (and how we’re living) as we wait for the return of our generous Lord, the Giver of all good things.

In Matthew 25, both servants who invested their talents presented double the previous amount. By using what they had instead of hiding it away, the talents themselves grew. One servant went from five talents to ten. The other went from two to four.

Amazingly, because they each did the best they could with what they were given, they received the same reply: “Well done, good and faithful servant! . . . Come and share your master’s happiness!” (Matthew 25:21)

The numbers weren’t important.

To look through the lens of 2021: It isn’t about Instagram followers, email subscribers, getting a book deal, having “enough” in your savings account or the title of “influencer.”

It’s about stewardship. It’s about open hands and a heart willing to share what was given instead of burying a gift deep down inside for safe-keeping. It’s about faith and obedience, not about having a platform.

You aren’t responsible for your sister’s talents. I’m not responsible for yours, and you aren’t responsible for mine. You don’t have to do the work of someone with five talents if you’ve been given two, but you are called and entrusted to be faithful with what you have received.

Your talent — your gifting — might be your story. Daring to share what God has done or what He is teaching you is one way to offer glory back to Him. Perhaps your talent is singing or art, listening or writing, speaking or cooking. You might have the gift of discernment or an extra dose of humor. I don’t know what God has given you, but I’m certain He’s given you something that is meant to be shared.

The success of your ministry isn’t dependent on the size of your ministry, so let’s look past the numbers and focus instead on obedience. You don’t have to be the best. You don’t need to win it all, climb a corporate ladder, hold a title or rank at the top of a list.

Just play your note. Sing your song. Write your story. Make your art. Be generous with your gifting, and instead of looking left or right at others or burying your talent in the sand, just do your thing bravely.

It will come at a cost, surely. But one day soon, we’ll bow before the Giver and every ounce of all we’ve given back to Him will be worth it one-hundred-times over as these words echo into eternity:

“Well done, good and faithful servant! . . . Come and share your master’s happiness!”

Becoming by Looking Toward Jesus

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‘Twas the week of the book launch, and everything was a bit crazy — stressful even. I was torn between wanting to do my best work and the deep desire to surrender to whatever God had in store. It was exciting, overwhelming, and a little disorienting. 

So naturally, during the busiest work week I’ve ever had, we decided to take a trip. 

My sister was home and wanted to go to our grandparents’ cabin a few hours north. We didn’t want to miss out, and I couldn’t think of a healthier way to follow up the stress of work than to go to a cabin with no cell reception.

We packed our bags, piled into the car, and navigated north up some hills and into the woods. My three-year-old noticed us using Google maps, and in an attempt to convey where we were headed, I told her, “We are that blue circle, and we’re going up, up, up to the red one.”

“Are we driving up to the sky?” she laughed.

“Isn’t it helpful to see exactly where we are so we can point ourselves in the right direction?” I said to her. Immediately, I turned to my husband and said, “I’m writing that down!” Because YES — it is helpful to see exactly where we are so we can point ourselves in the right direction.

So where are you, and in which direction are you headed? What are you growing toward? Who are you becoming? Are you becoming more like Jesus, or are you becoming more like your favorite social influencer on Instagram? Like plants growing in the direction of the sun, we grow toward something even if we’re totally unaware of it.

Day by day, whether we realize it or not, we are becoming. We expand in new directions as we experience life. And just as plants grow toward the sun because it nourishes them and gives them life, if we set the Lord as our destination, our direction, then every little turn along the way leads us toward Him. 

I don’t know about you, but I don’t often stop to think about my growth, my direction, or my intentions. However, lately, I’ve been doing three things that have made all the difference in pointing myself back to Jesus:

  1. Leaving my phone plugged in on the kitchen island when I go upstairs at night.
  2. Reading on my Kindle before bed.
  3. Opening my Bible first thing each morning (before picking my phone back up again from the kitchen island).

These are baby steps, but they’re helping me be intentional about where I’m headed.

I’ve spent the past year learning it matters less what we produce and more who we’re becoming. So let’s figure this out, shall we? Let’s grow toward and become more like the One who gives us life and life abundantly.

A few years back, Margot Groner stumbled upon a wordsearch book in her local grocery store and started a routine of solving one before bed each night. She quickly realized that wordsearches weren’t living up to their potential. They’re not just little books to help you pass the time. They could be a way for us to pause, reflect, and enjoy; they could even be a way to spend time with the Lord if what was inside them was intentional. In The Wordsearch Book: Becoming, Margot pulled together quotes and Scripture on real-life needs and created word banks out of them. In this book, you’ll find over 70 word searches, along with devotions and journaling prompts for you to soak up all the goodness.

The pages walk you through what it looks like to grow in the direction of goodness and become all you were meant to be. It asks questions like: Who are you becoming? Who do you want to become? And most importantly, how can we become more like Jesus?

The Wordsearch Book: Becoming is your childhood wordsearch book all grown up and gorgeous! 

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

To enter, leave a comment on this article sharing how you stay pointed in the right direction, and we’ll choose five winners.

Also, tune in tomorrow, June 9th at 11:00am central, on Facebook for a conversation with author Margot Groner and (in)courage Community Manager Becky Keife as they discuss The Wordsearch Book: Becoming.

*Giveaway open to US addresses only and will close at 11:59pm CST on June 11, 2021.

A Remedy for Hearts Distracted by Comparison

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A few months after my husband and I lost our one-month-old daughter to a fatal chromosomal condition, we were invited to join a group of friends for a Friday night cookout. The invitation was kind and we accepted, but I wasn’t prepared for my reentrance into society as a bereaved mother. I felt clumsy and afraid of others’ thoughts, potentially awkward conversations, and the sorrow that might be stirred up. But I knew I couldn’t continue avoiding people. 

When we arrived, the mood was festive, but the Alabama air felt uncomfortably warm. The humidity mixed with my nerves caused my cotton dress to cling to my sticky skin. I fidgeted with the fabric and wiped the dew from my arms. My eyes nervously scanned the room. There were balloons and burgers and boisterous laughter. Though I recognized familiar faces, I felt entirely out of place.

And then I saw her. 

We had met less than a year prior, both with swollen bellies and glowing round faces. She was the first to give birth. Twin baby boys. A couple of weeks later, I went into labor with my daughter. My friend came home from the hospital with two healthy babies. I was now seeing them for the first time, watching as she juggled car seats and their small wriggling bodies. A sad joy came over me, unlike anything I’d experienced before. I felt a sincere, quiet celebration for her and the double portion of her blessing, but the empty ache of my own arms left my heart throbbing. The comparison distracted me, doubling the portion of my pain.  

I endured the night with small talk and a forced smile, doing my best to swallow the complicated grief churning within me. Later that night, in the privacy of my bathroom, I wept and cried out to the Lord. I was stuck in comparison, focused on what my friend had and what I didn’t. I let my thoughts run rampant. Her abundance magnified my lack. She seemed favored; I felt forgotten.  

My comparison and lament led me to the story of Jesus reinstating Peter. In John 21, we witness the intimate moment between Jesus and Peter as they walk and talk together. When Jesus speaks of how Peter will die, Peter turns and looks away. His eyes land on someone else — John. Naturally, as Peter’s eyes shift, so do his thoughts. He asks, “Lord, what about him?” (John 21:21 ESV). 

How many times have I done and asked the same thing? Lord, what about her? 

Jesus’s response in the next verse is probably not the one we’d expect or want to hear, but it is the one we all need. Jesus replies, “If it is my will that he remain until I come, what is that to you? You follow me!” (John 21:22 ESV)

I reread those words and let them trail off as I contemplated them, turning them over and over again in my mind. What is that to you? You follow me. In other words, What happens in her life is not of concern to you. You focus on me.  

This was not the only moment of distraction for Peter. Most of us are familiar with the story of Peter’s boldness compelling him to walk out onto the water with Jesus in Matthew 14. Focused on Jesus, Peter experiences the miracle with Jesus. Everything is fine (more than fine!) until Peter shifts his gaze from Jesus to the wind and waves around him. When Peter takes his eyes off Jesus and focuses on the seemingly unfavorable circumstances surrounding him, he starts to sink.  

We can become so easily distracted by circumstances and hindered by comparison. When our focus slips, we lose sight of Jesus and start to sink. Our hearts and minds wander away. Maybe we sink into depression, defeat, panic, or anxiety. Maybe we wander into doubt and question our worth or God’s love and goodness. Maybe we start to think God is unfairly holding out on us. 

Thankfully, the remedy for our hearts reeling from comparison is to remember what God has done and refocus on Him. We can recall His faithfulness to His character and promises and remind ourselves to stay in our own lane, focus on the race before us, and steward whatever He has given us. 

We find this encouragement in Hebrews 12:1-3 (NIV): 

And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith. For the joy set before him he endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. Consider him who endured such opposition from sinners, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart. 

The circumstances we face can be downright difficult and scary, and comparison can cause us to lose heart. But as we realign our hearts with God’s, we rise up from pain and panic pushing us down and find our peace, rest, and renewal in Him. Recentered and refocused, we too can walk on the water of whatever is in front of us. We can run our race with unhindered endurance and confident freedom in Christ that will compel and carry us to the finish line. 

So, today, let’s consider how we can keep our eyes on Jesus and center ourselves on Him.

Three Ways to Walk Through Difficult Change You Didn’t Want or Ask For

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“If one more thing falls in our lap, I don’t think I can take it.”

I said those words in spring of 2020, partly to God and partly to my husband. And like a siren call made to steer the sea ship toward destruction, guess what fell into our laps soon after I uttered the words?

Another difficult change I didn’t want or ask for.

It came on an unusually hot summer morning. I heard my husband call out from his office, “Hey honey, can you come in here?” I walked into the room, and he relayed the news we’d been waiting for — but news that didn’t go our way, news that broke my heart.

The air in the room, like the news delivered, became obscenely oppressive. I dropped into his office chair, more because my legs gave way than because I was consciously sitting down.

I started breathing shallow and quick, tears falling down my face. It felt like a certain measure of sacred life would never return to normal. I knew this would be a definitive line of demarcation in my life of before and after.

The changes of 2020 touched most aspects of our lives: our hearts, our families, our life stages; relationships, fellowship, and friendships.

More than once, we asked this to heaven: How long, oh Lord?

Of course, some of the changes were difficult yet expected. But when so many changes that were not expected or wanted hitch themselves to the wagon of the expected ones, you can want to take to your bed, pull the covers tight around you, and get lost in a piled-up plate of nachos or Netflix.

(Ask me how I know.)

Maybe your last several seasons or years had multiple changes smacked into you too. Changes such as:

The pandemic stole your job, your home, your loved one’s life.

A change of heart stole your marriage, your definitive plans, your mental health.

The national division and international turmoil stole that trip, that friendship, that familial harmony.

There’s nothing wrong with turning toward favorite treats or television shows for a little while. But as God has thankfully seen me through to the other side of those difficult changes of 2020, I want to pass on three longer-lasting coping mechanisms that helped me get from where I was, neck deep in the muck and mire, to the better place I am today:

  1. Be honest with just one person about how you’re really doing. Whoever you can count on to count your own heart as precious — your mama, your sister, your friend — tell her how you’re doing. Text or call her about getting together this very week, on a phone call or in person, and tell her you’re gonna need a little time to share some things out loud. Get the thoughts and feelings from the inside to the outside.
  2. Serve your family, your friends, your neighbors. Do a small handful of things to intentionally get out of your own head and be a blessing to someone else. That is, serve other people. When joy is elusive, be the way someone else receives joy. So, share the tacos, text the word of encouragement, or watch the neighbor’s kids for the afternoon. Serve someone else and watch how the Lord serves you by bringing joy right back to your own weary heart.
  3. Get your hind end in the Word. While it’s important to process our struggles with others and to serve others, we want to plant truth into ourselves on the regular. I know some life stages make this more regularly attainable than others. But even if you can only get a few verses in while you scramble the eggs or fold the laundry, it will not return void. It will strengthen you from the inside out.

Through active rather than passive waiting, we can make it through the difficult changes in our lives. And make no mistake: You will make it through your season of change upon change. You will.

You will see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. Because if God was good before these changes — and indeed He was because He is good all the time — He is good now and will give good things within these hard changes, too.

Looking for another way to actively wait as you walk through your difficult life change? Consider preordering my devotional book, When Change Finds You: 31 Assurances to Settle Your Heart When Life Stirs You Up.

When You Face a Terrible Tuesday

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We’ve all had days when everything seems to go wrong in a short span of time. I’m not speaking of tragedies, but a series of first-world problems strung together to really mess with our attitudes. Welcome to my Terrible Tuesday. Nothing about this day made me want to sing, “This is the day the Lord has made, let us rejoice and be glad in it” Psalm 118:24 (ESV).

It began at 1:30am when our college son’s shell-shocked voice woke me out of a deep slumber, “I’m okay, but my car is totaled.” While he stood yards away, a drunk driver had flipped onto his car. He was safe, but financial repercussions abounded.

Hours later, our oven short-circuited while I baked fifty homemade scones for a local coffee shop delivery. It wasn’t the worst thing to happen, but it was challenging for my home business.

Lastly, the finale to my terrible Tuesday: As I pounced into herculean cleaning mode preparing for my first “Moms Night Out at Jen’s” since quarantine lifted, our well water pump broke. Fifteen young moms were coming in a few hours, and with no running water, that meant no flushing toilets either. That was my reality.

Though I’m not one to be overly dramatic, I admit to raising my fist for a brief moment, “Seriously, Lord? In twelve hours, we’ve had a totaled car, an oven fiasco, and now a broken pump? All this amidst our step of faith to fix up The Becoming Cottage? Can You give me a break?”

I yelled to my brother who was trying to help outside, “We serve a God who raises people from the dead and turns water into wine. Surely, you can strike that thing in Jesus name and water will flow!”

He smirked. I prayed. No water.

I knew how much all the moms had been looking forward to gathering. As their mentor mom, I’d been waiting in expectation to create a safe space to reconnect after an exhausting mothering year for us all. Stress-wise, canceling was the wise move, and friends assured me that everyone would understand if I postponed. But in that moment, I had a choice. Even though my frazzled spirit already felt defeated, I knew that if this much opposition swirled against our evening, there was no way I could cancel. I would not stand in the way of how the Lord would move through our time together. He was up to something special, so I begged Him to take my terrible Tuesday and transform it into changed lives.

The powerful interactions that happened are too much for this article, but would you believe that while I expected fifteen women, twenty-five showed up? And not only did they show up, but they were early? Do you know how much I accomplish in the last ten minutes before my gatherings? I digress, but I share the details over on my instagram.

All evening I took mental snapshots of women laughing, crying, connecting, and even sharing with absolute strangers.The repeated theme overwhelmed me.

Chaos came in, but grace flowed out.

I don’t recommend hosting a house full of people with no water, but we must extend invitations now more than ever. Start small until open-door living becomes second nature.

As we begin to experience the fullness, richness, and joy that comes from practicing one simple life-giving invitation to another, we unleash the promises of God in ways we’d never expect.

After a year of isolation, hospitality takes a bold kind of courage, but you can do this. Pursue it with the knowledge that Christ is enough. If you feel like you can’t do it, hear Him remind you, “You’re right. You can’t. But I can.” Hospitality is where He can teach you bold new lessons about trust, humility, faith, and love. And wow, did I experience growth in both trust and humility that Tuesday!

When I replay this truth about God’s sufficiency to transform lives in spite of me, I see again that it’s not about me. I have nothing to prove. He delights to work through my imperfections. If people are blessed and impacted, it’s only because He’s gracious to take a broken, weary, and completely frazzled woman and use her desire for serving Him to point others to Jesus.

Let this truth sink deep and receive it as absolute freedom: Stop striving for the unattainable. Stop worrying about what others think of your performance. Focus solely on your One-person audience, knowing this focus will always lead you to loving others.

Throughout the evening, women hugged my neck (that alone got me emotional) and thanked me for not canceling. Over and over, they told me they’d been waiting so long for this and how it was exactly what their hearts had needed.

Sweet friends, if He can work through my terrible Tuesday when I had to slip away to pour jugs of water down a toilet (and yes, we had more crazy moments), just imagine the other miracles He can perform when we step out in faith during our ordinary, everyday lives. He unlocks the door to so many meaningful possibilities in our lives.

Kingdom adventure awaits as we shift our focus from “not on this terrible day” to “Yes, Lord, I am here for it.” God’s promises are for the taking when we choose to show up.

If I had canceled that evening, I would’ve missed out on the chance to declare, “This is the day the Lord has made, let us rejoice and be glad in it.” It was certainly a day to rejoice and be glad because of what He had done.

Put on Your Pearls and Thank God

by

Again, the kingdom of heaven is like a merchant looking for fine pearls. When he found one of great value, he went away and sold everything he had and bought it.
Matthew 13:45-46 (NIV)

I don’t often wear pearls. But when I do, I remember the struggle.

My husband gave me a beautiful strand of pearls during a hard season of life. It was a lavish gift for a sweatpants-wearing mom who hadn’t left the house in weeks. Our third baby was born prematurely and spent the first months of life tethered to a heart monitor.

There was a new job, a new baby, a new set of challenges, a new season to navigate. And it all made me feel very old (and tired).

The day he brought the wrapped pearls home was the first day we attempted to get me out of the house. I laughed at the gift because they seemed so inappropriate for my dirty hair and weary body. But my sweet husband was determined to celebrate the new things in our lives, even though some of them were hard.

He carefully fastened the lustrous strand around my neck, and I traded my t-shirt for a dressy top. We loaded up the baby and her siblings, the medical gear, and the diaper bag, and drove the two short miles to our favorite restaurant.

Within a few minutes of sitting down, the waiter accidentally dumped the pitcher of sweet tea into my new diaper bag just as a terrible stomach bug was beginning in my preschool son. I carried him to the bathroom, where he got very sick. I propped open the door and tried to wave down a waiter to grab my husband, who was busy mopping up tea, jiggling a fussy baby, and regretting the whole idea.

We left the restaurant before we even ordered — a sad, soggy, stinky mess. We had a puker in the car and a fragile newborn. It was the car ride of nightmares.

I laughed and cried in my pearls the two miles back home.

Every time I see those pearls hanging in my jewelry box or around my neck, I remember that night. The irony of the pearls and the puke weren’t lost on me.

But it took a while for me to remember how pearls are formed.

Pearls are created in oysters due to an irritant, usually a grain of sand. Grit. Pearls are the outcome of struggle. They are rare and priceless, unique and treasured. They are a product of irritation and are created as a defense against something that is hard, something that doesn’t belong.

A pearl is a product of suffering. It is a healed wound.

And it takes perseverance and grit to produce anything. Life is filled with struggle. But the hardship and trials are not wasted. Our struggle is irritating and annoying. Sometimes it’s heartbreaking and horrible. But it’s producing something good within us.

I don’t know what your struggle is today or what it will be tomorrow.

Struggle is a part of living, but when we know we are producing something good, it helps us through it.

So put your pearls on, girl, and thank God in the midst of it. Something good is coming.

God, even when everything seems to be going awry, I see You. I see beauty right in the middle of the hard things, the messiness, the aching, and the fear. I am clinging to the hope that something good is coming, that something good will be produced from the grit and struggle, that there will be treasure to behold after this hardship. In Jesus’ name, amen.

This devotion was written by Kristen Welch and appears in our devotional Take Heart: 100 Devotions to Seeing God When Life’s Not Okay.