Season One, Episode 05: Joy in the Good Times

Season One, Episode 05: Joy in the Good Times

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Everything You Need to Know for Bible Study Mondays

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

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

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

If you’ve ever asked yourself . . .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What You Need Is Consolation, Not an Explanation

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

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

How did I end up here?  

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

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

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

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

I am in the chains of grief.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Love That Is Given, Not Earned

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

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

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

Here’s what the Bible says about that:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Like kitchen catastrophes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What have you learned about God through your failures?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

Choosing to Be Whole Instead of Fake

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

“That’s seltzer water,” he said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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It’s podcast day!

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

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

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

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

Play the episode and subscribe below so you don’t miss a minute of the (in)courage podcast, and find it streaming anywhere you listen to podcasts.

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

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

Episode Guest:
Lucretia Berry: Instagram, Facebook

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

Resilience Comes When We Remember

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

All God’s Looking For Is Your Yes

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The list could go on and on.

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

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

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

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

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

Sensitivity Is My Superpower

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To Those Who Are Missing a Place

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because place matters.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Following the Spirit Even When It Feels Awkward

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And doubt almost stole it.

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

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

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

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

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