Trauma Takes Time to Heal

Trauma Takes Time to Heal

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I remember the strange, green ceiling lights, fluorescent mint glowing on my brother as he stepped out of the elevator. Those are the only things I remember. That and my brother’s words: She didn’t make it. Everything else about the day my mom died blurs around me like a dust storm, but those lights, that silver elevator, and those four words, I can’t forget.

I’d graduate high school five weeks later, barely function through a valedictorian speech, and head off to college that fall. What had been a bright future now terrified very much alone, seventeen-year-old me.

In the years that followed, I began to understand more of what I’d lost. No one taught me to cook Thanksgiving dinner. I had no one to share that magical “this is the one” news with when I started dating my husband, and the front-row space where she should have sat at the wedding remained bare. I couldn’t call mom to ask about what to do when my first daughter didn’t want to poop on the potty or when the third broke her head on the window crank.

I had no clue how a girl-woman crossed that threshold into adult things. We missed the usual initiation, passed down from mother to daughter. So I made it up as I went along. I failed so many times and felt so inadequate in the wandering wilderness of adulthood. More than a few times, I longed to crawl back in time to her arms and the comfort of what I knew.

Truth is, my mom wasn’t even ever all that comforting nor was she a fount of wisdom and tradition. Like her daughter, she usually operated on a need-to-know basis. Yet without anything to moor me in the present, the past I imagined comforted me more than the present I knew.

I taught through Exodus this past year — the year of everyone and everything being far from comfortable. As I re-read the story of the Israelites, I recognized something I hadn’t before. I saw myself at seventeen, uncertain and traumatized.

Do you remember the story? God calls Moses to free His people, but His people don’t seem to want to be freed. They resist. They’re afraid. They know slavery isn’t exactly Chicago’s Mag Mile, but they don’t know what’s on the other side of this thing called freedom. They’d rather stick with the tried and true, even if it’s not all that true.

There’s one line that grabs me on the re-reading: “Moses reported this [all the Lord said] to the Israelites, but they did not listen to him because of their discouragement and harsh labor” (Exodus 6:9 NLT).

Why didn’t they listen? Discouragement. Another translation reads, “because of their broken spirit.” It wasn’t a lack of desire that made them lose faith. They didn’t want to return to Egypt out of a wish to remain slaves.

It was a broken spirit. It was trauma from all that had happened to them as slaves in a brutal empire, dehumanized by a dictator intent on eliminating either them and their hope. They have no knowledge of how to operate in a free world, no more than I had of how to become a woman in my world. They could only hold on to what they knew because what they didn’t was so terribly overwhelming in their traumatized state.

God, in all goodness, understood. He understood the psalmists who cried out in violent rage over injustice. He understood the prophets who wished they’d never been born. God saw their trauma and generously led them toward freedom anyway.

God knew they felt too broken to believe. So He nourished them, led them, kept them, and guided them until they could see through to the other side of freedom. They would make it up as they went along, and they would fail so many times, but God would not leave or forsake them because He knew they were traumatized. Traumatized people take time to heal, and they make mistakes along the way.

If this is how God showed Himself to the Israelites in Egypt, how do you think the Lord is with you and me? How do you think God will deal with us when we’re exhausted, hopeless, hurt, and broken in spirit? As we round the bend on a year of fear and trauma, do you believe God blames you for your worries and grief, or do you trust He hears your cries of fear and gently leads you into freedom that you can’t yet see?

God saw my anxiousness, hidden as it was under a veneer of bravado. The Lord heard my cries of anger and bewilderment and agreed that they were okay. They were normal. We would get to the other side together. God knew I didn’t see the way forward without my mom to be that guide. God recognized my trauma and never expected me to rally in a forward victory march of faith.

Instead, the wandering is slow. It’s healing. It’s devoid of shame, and its Leader is one who, while on this earth, knew fear, uncertainty, loss, grief, loneliness, and sorrow. God takes those of us who have been traumatized and frightened by the hand and leads us through.

A Prayer for Palm Sunday

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Most of the crowd spread their cloaks on the road, and others cut branches from the trees and spread them on the road. And the crowds that went before him and that followed him were shouting, “Hosanna to the Son of David! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord! Hosanna in the highest!” And when he entered Jerusalem, the whole city was stirred up, saying, “Who is this?” And the crowds said, “This is the prophet Jesus, from Nazareth of Galilee.”
Matthew 21:8-11 (ESV)

Dear Jesus,

Today, we wave palm branches in Your honor. We sing “Hosanna in the highest!” We shout Your name to the heavens. I want to stay here, Jesus — on the streets with the palm branches, where everyone is cheering for You, hands to the sky. It’s the ultimate party for the ultimate King.

But this parade doesn’t end on the streets. It’s headed straight for the cross. Soon, the “Hosannas” will be a faint echo. People will cry out “Crucify him!”

You knew that, didn’t You? Even as the palm branches brushed against Your arms, You knew where this road was leading. You knew who’d betray you. You knew who’d deny you. You knew how your biggest fans would run and hide.

Today, we watch You ride into town on a borrowed donkey with Your head held high. It’s the only time in all of Scripture where You allowed Yourself to be exalted. But even then, it was never about the crowd’s approval of You. You had Your face set like flint on the cross.

The cross.

No one knew but You. You had determined from the beginning that You would love us to your death, so that we could truly be given life.

The magnitude of Your sacrifice is incomprehensible. The depth of Your love is incomparable. And the breadth of Your goodness makes You absolutely irresistible.

When You came into Jerusalem, the whole city asked, “Who is this?”

Today, I answer with all my heart:

You are my Savior, that’s who.

You are my Lord, that’s who.

You are my Friend and my Redeemer and the reason my life has meaning.

You are my purpose and my passion and my pathway to peace.

You are the one true King.

Today, I spread my cloak and palm branches on a different kind of road — the road that leads straight to my heart. I invite You to enter in, to make a home in my heart, and to change me from the inside out. I want to love You at all costs — not to be counted among those who denied You, betrayed You, or hid when the stakes were high.

May You always see my branch waving high for You. May You always hear my voice exalting You above everything else in my life: “Blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord! Hosanna in the highest!”

In Your precious name,
Amen.

This Palm Sunday prayer by Jennifer Dukes Lee first appeared on (in)courage in April 2019.

Being an Asian American Woman in the Midst of AAPI Hate

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*Author’s note: I wrote this post a year ago to the month in response to the rising rate of anti-Asian racism and violence, and it is maddening how much worse it has become. This year, we have seen the violence toward our elders and the massacre of eight people in Atlanta, six of them being Asian American women, and we are crying out. The post has been updated to reflect current circumstances.*

I can feel my voice getting louder as the white family passes us by, my words coming out more crisply and clearly than I normally would talk. I can’t control the instinctual reaction of my body when there’s even the slightest chance I might be perceived as “one of them.” I’m not other or foreign (I was born here in California), but with the way Asian Americans are being treated in light of COVID-19, I can’t help but feel labeled as dirty, sick, a virus — the virus.

I enunciate my words and speak just loudly enough to be heard because I want everyone who walks by and gives us even the slightest of second glances to know that I’m American, just like them. I want them to know that being Asian American doesn’t make me more susceptible to getting sick. It’s knowing this disease is being used against people who look like me that gets me sick.

Asian Americans are being spat on, beaten down, harassed, bullied, and killed. Asian-owned restaurants and businesses have been avoided or targeted. On top of the fear and stress we all carry concerning the health and safety of our loved ones because of COVID, racism and violence against Asian Americans add another layer to the anxiety, and we are weary. 

I used to find the tiniest bit of relief when quarantine meant staying home and avoiding the possibility that my parents, my in-laws, my siblings, my children, my husband, and I would avoid the chance of being the next victim of hatred and violence. But the former president set a path of anti-Asian sentiment when he’d refer to COVID as “the Chinese virus” or “kung flu.” Words can be wielded for good or for harm, and those were not neutral words. Those were words that have stoked fear and ended lives, and we bear the scars of that harmful rhetoric.

I find relief and solidarity as I lament with other women of color. I’m comforted and held by the text messages, email prayer threads, and Venmo offers for coffee and meals sent by friends. I’m strengthened by the voices of our diverse Asian American community that are calling out, singing out, and protesting online and in person. We share the collective toll this is taking on our souls, but will others be able to see it too?

I write this knowing some won’t understand, that some will deny the racism and violence we’re experiencing, that others will be silent while waiting for “all the facts to come out.” And yet, I have to write this because the more we become aware, the more we listen and try to understand each other’s experiences and stories, the more we recognize the humanity in one another. Perhaps when we do, we’ll learn to think twice before we speak and act, before we mistreat someone who looks or acts differently from us, before we categorize people as “less than” in our hearts, minds, with our words, and with our policies.

I’ve been ruminating on how Jesus looked at people with compassion — people who were distressed and sick, people who were unclean and dying, people who were stubborn and naive and didn’t understand Him.

I imagine what His eyes of compassion looked like, and the face of a Middle Eastern man with brown skin and brown eyes comes to mind. He looks at the crowd, at the rich young ruler, at the woman whose son has died, and His eyes soften. I imagine Him on the cross looking at John and His beloved mother, love spilling over for His people in His last breaths, and His eyes soften. He sees their pain and grief, their hunger, their blindness — both physical and spiritual. He sees their humanity, and His love for them changes the way He looks at them.

In a time when everything feels out of control and isolating, when fear and anxiety rule our hearts and cause panic and pain for others, I become overwhelmed and all my words seem useless. But like clay in my hands, I shape them into crude prayers — Lord, please. Help. Heal. Have mercy.

I pray for those who have been hurt by the silence and gaslighting from friends and the church. I pray for those who are living in overwhelming anxiety and depression while struggling with loneliness. I pray for those who are unheard and further silenced by those who continue to erase our stories and pain. I pray for those who are sick and dying from COVID, for the ones grieving the death of loved ones due to gun violence. I pray for those who are struggling financially and won’t be able to recover from the hardships brought on by the pandemic. My prayers come out in tears, while lying awake in bed, while kneading dough to make bread, while playing with my children at home, while reading updates on the news.

I pray for eyes of compassion that lead to justice, that will cause stubborn hearts to mourn with those who mourn, and for our lives to look more like Jesus’ when He lived on earth as human — absorbing the pain of others, overturning the tables of the greedy, making seen the outcast, welcoming the foreigner, comforting the lonely, exposing the systems that are broken and in need of redemption. I pray we come out of this intense and exhausting time more aware, tender, and with a clearer vision for how to be human.

Let’s Hit the Cultural Reset Button

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Many of us haven’t had to rub shoulders with people of different cultures and ethnicities for quite some time now. I’ve almost forgotten what it’s like to have an unexpected run-in with a stranger at an airport, someone who speaks a different language at the grocery store, or a new neighbor or co-worker from a different country. This pandemic has made us insulated, communicating mostly with family and close friends, and I wonder: Will we struggle more with connecting across cultures after the quarantine than we did before? Building cross-cultural relationships is a muscle that requires practice and strengthening, and many of us have not had to exercise this muscle in a while.

Certainly a lot of us feel like we have grown and changed over the course of this past year. We’ve witnessed horrific racially-motivated crimes against Black and Asian communities that have shaken us to our core and forced us to confront the racial divides in our country. Many of us have read a copious number of books and articles and listened to podcasts all related to race and culture, and slowly but surely our racial consciousness has been growing. These are all really good steps. Though I’m saddened that it took the murders of George Floyd and Breonna Taylor as well as skyrocketing rates of anti-Asian racism to grab the nation’s attention, I am glad that many of us now know better. However, the hard truth is that simply knowing better doesn’t necessarily translate to doing better.

This year is offering us glimpses of possibility. Churches are beginning to meet outside in socially distanced formats, children are reentering classrooms, and families are venturing to playgrounds and other spaces outside their local community. Over time, we will begin to meet more people of other cultures as we become more physically mobile. But it’s important to remember that physical mobility doesn’t automatically translate to cultural competency. 

There’s a lot that we used to do that needs correction. More than that, we must realize that just because we’ve always done cross cultural relationships one way, it doesn’t mean it’s the right way to do things or that it’s the only way. I see this extended quarantine as the opportunity to hit the cultural reset button. We will soon be stepping out into broad daylight, rubbing shoulders with friends and strangers alike, and we have the choice to try something new. 

We’re all in different places along our journey of cross-cultural relationships, so the application of this challenge to hit the reset button will look different from one person to the next. My encouragement for each of us is simply to commit to change.

The next time you engage with someone of a different culture, be conscious of how you talk and act with them. Instead of asking people questions such as, “Where are you from? No, where are you really come from?”, consider asking instead, “What are your roots?” Instead of interrogating people with all the why’s of their culture (e.g., Why do you eat that? Why do you celebrate that? Why do you think that way?), we can choose to simply enjoy someone for who they are as a unique individual. We can enjoy their presence and leave room for open-ended conversations by asking, “Tell me about yourself” and “What’s your story?”.

We can also be mindful of our emotions and whether we are starting to feel uncomfortable or upset. Too often, when we are confronted with cultural differences we have a knee-jerk reaction to resist or control the situation. We complain, accuse, or even leave. But my gentle encouragement to you is to stay. Stay, learn to keep that opinion to yourself, and choose to love. Connecting across cultures is an opportunity to change ourselves instead of trying to change others. 

Loving our neighbors of other cultures will take time, effort, and continual strengthening. We must train ourselves to change and grow; it won’t just happen overnight. 1 Corinthians 9:24-27 says, “Do you not know that in a race all the runners run, but only one receives the prize? So run that you may obtain it. Every athlete exercises self-control in all things. They do it to receive a perishable wreath, but we an imperishable. So I do not run aimlessly; I do not box as one beating the air. But I discipline my body and keep it under control, lest after preaching to others I myself should be disqualified.” Christians are compared to athletes, who exercise self-control, discipline their bodies, and choose to persevere. 

When it comes to cross-cultural relationships, we have to take time to assess what we’ve done in the past and how we want to do better moving into the future. Before this pandemic is over and before quarantine is a distant memory, let’s consider the ways we can show more love, more hospitality, and more equality to the people around us. We won’t always get it right. We’ll make mistakes. But that’s part of the learning process. Keep hitting that cultural reset button, so you can continue to strengthen your cultural muscles. I promise you, it’s worth it. 

Want to learn more about how to connect across cultures? Pre-order Michelle’s upcoming book, Becoming All Things: How Small Changes Lead to Lasting Connections Across Cultures, which releases April 27. 

The Power of Being Winsome

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One spring before I began tutoring high school students in our local Classical Conversations homeschool program, I sat in on another tutor’s class to observe for a day. Latin, British literature, art and music history, logic, biology — the discussions fascinated me as I imagined someday guiding my own students in their study of these subjects.

But the most memorable lesson came during debate when the tutor challenged the class — and subsequently, me — to think about what it means to be winsome. I’m sure I sneaked a peek at the dictionary app on my phone as I analyzed this word that was unfamiliar to me at the time and which the tutor had stressed when she mentioned being “above winning” as the primary objective of the debate.

Dictionary.com defines winsome as sweetly or innocently charming; winning; engaging. I’ve never forgotten the lesson shared by the other tutor or the power of this word over the past eleven years as I’ve guided classes of tenth graders.

Often, my students don’t know whether they’ll need to argue to defend the affirmative or negative side of an issue until the day of the debate. It forces them to be fully prepared, to research until they understand both sides of the issue, and to be able to defend either one. This is a skill which serves them well not only in debate, but also in life. 

Although they may not agree with the position they’re ultimately asked to support, they know it inside out, both pros and cons. It’s their job to come to class prepared to affirm or reject either side. Can you imagine how that level of understanding could benefit us day-to-day with people whose opinions differ from our own?

The desire to win serves us well if our only concern is a judge’s score-sheet, tally marks on a page, or getting the last word. But the desire to be winsome serves us well if we want to win others to our point of view. Winsomeness is key when telling others about Jesus or when we’re trying to be gracious in a tension-filled conversation.

I once heard a man speak at a high school graduation ceremony. He commanded the attention of the crowd and the respect of many simply by the dignity of his presence. But when he opened his mouth, his words were tinged with anger and disdain for people who disagreed with him. Even though his words rang true, his tone repelled the audience. He was the opposite of winsome.

To be winsome is to be persuasive, and a winsome witness for Jesus Christ will always speak the truth in love. We are imperfect people in an imperfect world living imperfect lives. We won’t influence others by our perfect example — it isn’t possible — but by the love we show them.

“By this shall all men know that ye are my disciples, if ye have love one to another.”
John 13:35 (KJV)

Even in the darkest times, as Christians, we carry hope within us because the source of our joy is secure. We touch other people’s lives when we live ours joyously, as winsome ambassadors of Christ’s love.

How can we be more winsome at work or school? Be more optimistic than pessimistic and include those that others leave out.

How can we be more winsome at home? Work to maintain a pleasant atmosphere. If you have children, discipline in love, play and laugh with them.

How can we be more winsome in our friendships? Be an encourager and a supporter — someone who delights in the success of others.

Let your life reflect the love of God by the way you love others.

Do you know someone who is especially winsome? What happens when truth is delivered without love?

 

The Pink Outfit and Learning I Am Worthy of Joy

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I stood on the escalator next to him, one hand on the rail, as we rose higher to the upper level. It felt so grand to be in such a fine place: the children’s department at The Emporium’s. It wasn’t a place where we usually bought our clothes, but today was different. It was one of my father’s first visits after the divorce. I was excited because he said I could pick out whatever I wanted.

My father shuffled beside me with his greased-up hair, baggy pants, and wiry legs moving in sync with my curiosity. He would pull out something random off the shelves. This is pretty . . . you like?

Then I saw it.

Hanging up high, perched on a special display, was the most beautiful outfit I ever saw: a soft bubble-gum pink corduroy jacket with silver buckles and matching pants. It was perfect. It looked amazing to me. Which one should I get — the jacket or the pants?

As I stood there tippy-toed, reaching up to fish the outfit down, my father told me to stand still and placed the outfit in front of me with one arm shot straight out, eyeing me like an old woman threading a needle.

“Turn around,” he said, pressing the sleeves against my wrists. “It fits. Daddy will buy both for you.”

As I stood there at the checkout register, watching my father pay, I couldn’t believe it. The whole outfit? My heart was bursting, full of something beautiful. It was new, and it was all for me.

Never in a thousand years would I have guessed I’d never have the chance to wear that jacket and those pants out in broad daylight.

When I got home and tried it on in front of the mirror in the hallway, I thought it fit perfectly, but I could tell from my mother’s eyes that this was the furthest thing from the truth.

“You look ridiculous,” she spat.

After dinner, my momma took whatever leftover gunk was found in the sink and dumped it on top of my pink outfit that she’d thrown away, with the tags still hanging off of it. I stood there in that gloomy kitchen devastated.

I don’t have anything good anymore. It’s gone. I felt so lonely. Something I thought was perfect and mine was no longer any good.

Maybe this is when I first learned how completely lonely it feels to hope for joy and how hoping for it meant leaving room for disappointment.

It’s easy when you’re young to believe dreams can come true. But if you’ve ever truly had a perfect moment carry you to a place of belief — whether it was a positive pregnancy test, a romance, a friendship, a parent, your health, a career, or a life-long dream — and then had it taken away, then you know what it feels like to see something perfect end up in the refuse of broken dreams and mismatched opportunities. You begin to wonder whether anything is worth delighting in again.

Is anything really worth enjoying if it can’t last anyway?

Rest and joy can feel dangerous. For some of us, joy is connected to times when it was ruined, when a simple moment of happiness was decimated by a person, place, or thing. After that incident, I didn’t feel like I needed joy.

Then Jesus caught me in an unguarded moment and said, I was there, Bonnie. I stood beside you as you cried. As you looked into the garbage and saw something you loved being destroyed, I was there. And I’m here with you now.

Jesus called to mind a man who was battered, imperfect, and bruised. When the young man asked Jesus, “Who is my neighbor?” Jesus told him a story of a person lying half dead on the side of the road — a man no one stopped to pay any attention to, except the Good Samaritan. I remembered how Jesus said that precious oil and wine were splurged onto this man’s wounds, and that’s when I realized that joy and rest were the oil and wine missing from my life.

I once thought that the wounded stranger in that story was someone else, but now I understood that joy-wounded stranger was me. That man was carried to a place to rest, and Jesus said to my heart, I will never run out of rest for you, Bonnie. No matter how much you need, no matter how long it takes, I will care for you.

Jesus understands the wounds where joy has been demolished. Your wounds are not invisible to Him, and He has an abundance of joy and rest to pour into them. Jesus calls us to create space — to slow down and nurture our souls so He can fill us. 

Your story will be different from mine, but you might have a pink outfit story too where joy was lost. God can help you recover the courage to reach up again and ask for joy — to choose joy. Let’s give ourselves permission to be real, to go beyond surviving, to uncover what feeds our soul today. You are worthy of joy.

“These things I have spoken to you,
so that my joy may be in you,
and that your joy may be made full.”
John 15:11 (NASB)

How are you choosing joy? How is God reminding you that you’re worthy of joy?

Want more joy for your soul? Sign up here for Bonnie’s Beloved Newsletter.  Follow me on Instagram & Facebook @thebonniegray for daily encouragement.  Join my newsletter here! I’ll share honest stories on my faith journey to help nurture your soul & embrace your true worth!

Our Maker Can Handle Our Messes

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A late night phone call delivered hard news. My mind struggled to keep up as lies unraveled and truth emerged. A family member’s betrayal left me feeling foolish, blindsided, and beyond angry. Years of deception collapsed into a big, complicated mess.

Memories of family beach vacations, holiday celebrations, and dinners around my dining room table appeared tainted and fraudulent. Well-meaning friends offered awkward silence or unsolicited advice. Both felt like salt being rubbed into my wounded heart.

In the months following the difficult phone call, I tried to erase reminders and remove evidence of the person from my life. I purged photos from albums and tossed once-beloved gifts. In precious family pictures, scissors extracted what my heart couldn’t.

In the dark corners of my soul, I envisioned the disheveled family member at my door groveling for forgiveness. But when no apology arrived and no remorse was expressed, the silence invited anger and bitterness into my heart. The deep pit of depression crept closer.

My life was a mess, and I needed help.

In 2 Kings 18 and 19, King Hezekiah faced his own menacing mess. The mighty Assyrians were poised to attack and destroy Jerusalem. But the king handed his problem to the One who could handle it. “Hezekiah received the letter from the messengers and read it. Then he went up to the temple of the Lord and spread it out before the Lord” (2 Kings 19:14 NIV).

King Hezekiah didn’t waste time with worry, freeze in fear, or kick himself for not being stronger. He didn’t try to power through on his own strength, overthink the situation, or pause to elicit advice from his staff. With a formidable foe at the city’s gates, he hitched up his robe, hiked to the temple, and spread the news before his mighty God. “And Hezekiah prayed to the Lord: ‘Lord, the God of Israel, enthroned between the cherubim, you alone are God over all the kingdoms of the earth. You have made heaven and earth.’ ” (2 Kings 19:15 NIV).

Perhaps the king fell prostrate on the floor as his pleas reverberated around the temple’s walls. Maybe Hezekiah’s cries echoed mine: Here you go, God. This is too big, too hard, and too painful. I can’t handle this.

The only way to survive my painful season was to run to God like King Hezekiah. With raw honesty, I emptied my heart. God knew the twisted thoughts that littered my mind and still met me in my heartache. Most importantly, my Maker understood the sting of betrayal and rejection.

Together, we muddled through the mess.

Christian counseling, accountability partners, and Scripture memorization paved the path towards healing. Index cards with verses about forgiveness and hope were taped to bathroom mirrors and kitchen cabinets. God’s Word became a soothing balm for my broken and betrayed heart.

The king’s mess wasn’t unmanageable for God nor was mine. He heard Hezekiah’s prayer and saved Jerusalem from destruction. 2 Kings 19:34 says, “I will defend this city and save it, for my sake and for the sake of David my servant.” The God who heard the king’s pleas in the temple was the same God who heard my late-night cries. God delivered the Israelites from their mess, and He guided me through mine — one baby step at a time.

Dear friend, when we are surrounded by the enemy or wounded by those who claim to love us, we can run to God. He always welcomes us with open arms. Before His throne, we can present our pain, lay down our heavy load, and spread our suffering. Our God is the Maker of Heaven and Earth. Enthroned between the cherubim, He is God over all the kingdoms of the earth, and He can handle our messes.

Joy in Who God Made You to Be

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So God created human beings in his own image. In the image of God he created them; male and female he created them. . . Then God looked over all he had made, and he saw that it was very good!
Genesis 1:27, 31 (NLT)

Some days I look at my thirty-eight-year-old face in the mirror and wonder how I could possibly be attractive, even to my husband. I notice the pores that never shrank, the blotchiness that makes my cheeks look flushed (but not in a cute way), the fold lines on my neck I wish I could iron out. I see my protruding belly in the mirror and swear I must look thirty weeks pregnant, and wonder if I might regain some of my youthfulness if I could just stop eating whatever i want to.

So I pull on my tummy-tucking jeggings and wear a tunic-length shirt to hide the bulges. I patch up the acne scars and dark bags under my eyes with a stick of concealer and blend in another layer of liquid foundation. It’s nearly impossible to find the right shade for my skin color, so two are often better than one. I curl my stubbornly straight eyelashes, inevitably pulling some of them out, and I wear mascara to give the illusion that my almond-shaped eyes are bigger than they really are.

When God made human beings and finished His work of creation, He looked at all He had made and called it very good. Everything was unaltered, natural, and pure. Nothing was hidden, covered, or shamed, because everything in its most basic form was already very good.

I hardly ever say that what I see in the mirror is very good, and I know there will still be days when I slather on my makeup, curl my eyelashes, and tuck in my belly, hoping to see someone new looking back at me.

I don’t have a face or body the world might deem pretty or sexy, and as time passes, even what seems decent now will soon fade away. But I’m slowly learning to respect what is mine — my almond eyes, my flat nose, my round face — and I’m speaking new words over myself:

You are very good.

Story by Grace P. Cho from Week 3, Day 5 of the Courageous Joy Bible Study

While God clearly places much more value on our insides than our outsides, He is the artist who designed our physical bodies. He made us in His image, and then, when He sat back to evaluate His work, He said it was “very good” (Genesis 1:31). God never looks at us and thinks, Well, if only I’d made her eyes a little bigger or her legs a little thinner or her hair a little smoother . . . no! He looks at us and calls us very good.

In our visually oriented society, it can be hard not to feel critical of our appearance. This world offers no shortage of physical standards that are impossible to meet, leaving us perpetually grasping for something we will never reach. Insecurity about our appearance is a reasonable response, but it means we have believed that what the world says matters more than what the Lord says. The better, healthier, holier response is to turn our eyes away from our own reflection and toward God.

When we gaze upon Him 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. As David wrote in Psalm 34:5, “those who look to [God] are radiant, and their faces shall never be ashamed” (ESV).

What do you see when you look in the mirror? How does your appearance — and your opinion of it — affect how you believe God sees you? Looking at ourselves with affection rather than criticism can be a challenge. How will you courageously find joy in God’s creation when you face yourself in the mirror this week?

God, thank You for understanding how damaging this world can be to my sense of value and worth. Thank You for telling me over and over in Scripture that You made me perfectly and that You think I’m beautiful. I know my heart matters more than my hair or hips. When I’m hard on myself, remind me to turn my gaze to You. Continue to make me more like You every day so that I reflect my Creator inside and out. Thank You, Lord. I love You. Amen.

We hope you loved this excerpt from the Courageous Joy Bible Study, written by Mary Carver and featuring stories from the (in)courage community! Courageous Joy is available wherever books are sold:

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God Is with Us in Our Callings

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Then Jesus came with them to a place called Gethsemane, and he told the disciples, “Sit here while I go over there and pray.” Taking along Peter and the two sons of Zebedee, he began to be sorrowful and troubled. He said to them, “I am deeply grieved to the point of death. Remain here and stay awake with me.”

Going a little farther, he fell facedown and prayed, “My Father, if it is possible, let this cup pass from me. Yet not as I will, but as you will.”
Matthew 26:36-39 (CSB)

If you are overwhelmed by what you believe God is calling you to right now, by the way He seems to be stretching you and challenging you in this season, you’re not alone. I, too, have felt my shoulders break under the weight of what I know to be a calling from the Lord. Not just an expectation but a purpose. It can be too much at times, too hard, too demanding, too scary. Just too much.

Our callings can feel terrifying, overwhelming, unbearable.

Certainly, we will experience times when we can’t stop grinning and glowing, feeling God’s pleasure as we run the very race He’s given us. We will celebrate and cry buckets of happy tears and know the peace that comes with seeing Him work in our lives. But other times? That calling we were so excited to answer, that purpose we were so thrilled to fulfill? It will be so heavy we think it might just crush us this time.

It’s no accident that God called you, the weak or weary or unprepared or overwhelmed, to this thing. After all, Jesus Himself in His greatest mission and calling — the cross and the resurrection — was weak and weary, too. Yet He relied on the Father for strength, and He saw His calling through. Just as He was with Jesus, if God has called you to love your neighbor, to serve your family, to minister to your community (and He has), then He will be with you every step of the way, too — even the tentative steps, the shuffling steps, the can’t-take-another-step steps.

We are not alone, though our callings are as unique as we are. And though our callings might never be easy or comfortable, they will always be worth it. God has called us to dive in and no matter how many deep ends we face, He will be with us. He will be with us, and we can do this. He will be with you, and you can do this.

The idea of a calling can be hard to comprehend, but it’s not meant to be mysterious. Listening for and following God’s call doesn’t necessarily mean selling everything you own, abandoning everything you’ve known, and moving across the ocean or even across town. God is infinitely creative, and He’s made a unique plan for each of us.

But what we do know — and have in common — is God’s universal call for us to acknowledge His holiness as well as our own sin, to understand that we are incapable of paying the price required to be forgiven of that sin, and to believe that Jesus made Himself the sacrifice so we could once again be in fellowship with God. After all, the good news of Easter is that Jesus not only paid the penalty for our sins, which was death, but He also overcame death and rose! The power of sin, and the penalty for it, had no hold on Him. He got out of the grave and invites us to one day do the same, if we will only believe. Indeed, He calls us to confess our sins and believe in His work on the cross and the resurrection, and once we do, to share the good news with those around us, and to seek Him and His will for our lives from now on.

What has the Lord been saying to you during Lent? What do you believe He is asking you to do in response?

Excerpt from Journey to the Cross: Forty Days to Prepare Your Heart for Easter by Mary Carver.

It’s not too late to have a meaningful Lenten season. Let us send you a FREE sampler from our Lenten devotional, Journey to the Cross! Journey to the Cross: Forty Days to Prepare Your Heart for Easter was written with women of all stages in mind so that we can all better experience the power and wonder of Easter with intentionality and depth. We hope it will bless your Lenten season.

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The Courage to Lead by Example

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Deborah, a prophetess and the wife of Lappidoth, was judging Israel at that time. She would sit under the palm tree of Deborah between Ramah and Bethel in the hill country of Ephraim, and the Israelites went up to her to settle disputes.

She summoned Barak son of Abinoam from Kedesh in Naphtali and said to him, “Hasn’t the Lord, the God of Israel, commanded you: ‘Go, deploy the troops on Mount Tabor, and take with you ten thousand men from the Naphtalites and Zebulunites? Then I will lure Sisera commander of Jabin’s army, his chariots, and his infantry at the Wadi Kishon to fight against you, and I will hand him over to you.’”

Barak said to her, “If you will go with me, I will go. But if you will not go with me, I will not go.”“I will gladly go with you,” she said, “but you will receive no honor on the road you are about to take, because the Lord will sell Sisera to a woman.” So Deborah got up and went with Barak to Kedesh. Barak summoned Zebulun and Naphtali to Kedesh; ten thousand men followed him, and Deborah also went with him.

Now Heber the Kenite had moved away from the Kenites, the sons of Hobab, Moses’s father-in-law, and pitched his tent beside the oak tree of Zaanannim, which was near Kedesh.

It was reported to Sisera that Barak son of Abinoam had gone up Mount Tabor. Sisera summoned all his nine hundred iron chariots and all the troops who were with him from Harosheth of the Nations to the Wadi Kishon. Then Deborah said to Barak, “Go! This is the day the Lord has handed Sisera over to you. Hasn’t the Lord gone before you?” So Barak came down from Mount Tabor with ten thousand men following him.

The Lord threw Sisera, all his charioteers, and all his army into a panic before Barak’s assault. Sisera left his chariot and fled on foot. Barak pursued the chariots and the army as far as Harosheth of the Nations, and the whole army of Sisera fell by the sword; not a single man was left.
Judges 4:4-16 (CSB)

The time of the Judges was a period of great unrest and turmoil in Israel, when “everyone did whatever seemed right to him” (Judges 21:25). Deborah is the only female judge in Israel’s history. She rose up as the judge of God’s people when the Israelites had been sold to King Jabin of Canaan. In her role as judge she settled disputes, but she also served as a prophet, hearing from the Lord and relaying His messages to His people.

Deborah served Israel faithfully as its judge, until finally, the Lord called her to come against the Canaanites. God told Barak to gather troops to defeat Sisera, the commander of Jabin’s army — a mission Deborah confirmed when she summoned Barak and said, “Didn’t the Lord tell you to do this?”

Hearing his calling corroborated by a prophet and judge surely put Barak’s mind at ease, giving him the confidence to gather soldiers to fight the king’s army. However, though Deborah didn’t exhibit any doubt in God’s plan, Barak wasn’t sure enough to go without her. His reasoning may have been that if Deborah believed strongly enough in God’s plan to go to the front lines (and His protection for those who fought), then he would believe, too.

Showing the same faith and leadership she’d exhibited during her time as a judge, Deborah didn’t hesitate when Barak made his ultimatum. She gladly went with him (though she did note that his hesitation would mean he would not receive credit for the victory in the end). Together, Deborah and Barak led the Israelites into battle and ultimately victory over their enemies, bringing peace that lasted for decades (Judges 5:31b).

Have you been given a message from God? Something you feel compelled to share with someone in particular? Is it something that’s hard to say and even harder to hear? Don’t be scared! As James tells us, God will always answer when we ask Him for wisdom — and He will show you exactly what to say and when to speak up. However, when you do, be prepared to walk beside your brothers and sisters being called by God. Whether it’s something uncomfortable you need to say to another believer or the message of salvation to a nonbeliever, show your faith in God and the message He’s entrusted you with. And show your faithfulness by obeying the same exhortation you’ve imparted to others.

Deborah’s leadership in Israel came at a time when Israel needed it most. After her victory, she sings a song to the Lord, saying, “when the leaders lead in Israel . . . blessed be the Lord” (Judges 5:2). By fearlessly leading Israel against its enemies, both in word and deed, Deborah delivered Israel and, for a time, helped them turn back to the Lord. May we do the same, serving God’s people by sharing His message and linking arms with others as we obey it.

Heavenly Father, thank You for giving me a message to share. Thank You for trusting me to be the one to tell people about You. Thank You for believing in me, for believing that I can be brave enough and bold enough to say the things You’ve laid on my heart. I trust You and believe in You, too. And I know You will give me the courage I need to follow You this way. God, I ask for that courage and also for wisdom, for timing, for soft hearts prepared to hear Your truth when I share it. Help me be brave, Lord, please. And if You ask me to lead by example, I pray that I won’t hesitate. I pray that I’ll gladly follow You into the fight, just like Deborah. Give me courage, God. Give me wisdom. Give me everything I need to be Your ambassador here on earth. Thank You, Lord. Amen.

This is an excerpt from Women of Courage: a Forty-Day Devotional by Mary Carver.

Do That Thing You’re Not Good At

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I rushed into the kitchen to share the great news with my family.

“You guys! I made it! I got a spot in the musical!” My young teenage heart was pumping with pride and excitement.

My two older sisters looked at each other and then back at me. “Mr. Matthews thinks you can sing and dance?”

They burst into laughter, and I almost couldn’t blame them. I was notorious for lacking rhythm and coordination. I tripped on my own feet just walking across the room. Finding a key to sing in and sticking with it wasn’t exactly my strong suit. But I had always dreamed of performing in a big production and our high school had an exceptional theater department. I didn’t let my lack of natural talent deter me. Thankfully, The Music Man required a large chorus, and I had enough spunk to sneak in.

In my twenties, I once knew a guy liked me because when we were camp counselors, he would get up early to sit next to me at morning chapel and tell me what a beautiful singer I was. Only true love or temporary infatuation could make that statement. By unbiased standards, I have a terrible singing voice. Truly. I’m not being modest. No doubt I would be fodder for the blooper reel on American Idol.

While you won’t find me crooning on any stage (or loud enough for anyone who’s not a relative to hear me), I haven’t let my ineptitude hold me back from singing every day.

Each night I stand, sit, or kneel beside each one of my three sons’ beds and sing them a song. My eight-year-old loves Angels We Have Heard on High (even when it’s not Christmas-time) and my other two like Forever Reign. Yep, even my twelve-year-old with hands and feet bigger than his mama’s, who is edging closer to manhood every day, even he still requests my nightly song.

Clearly, it’s not my vocal talent that my children appreciate but rather the time of connection it creates. I scratch their backs and run my fingers through their hair. I whisper prayers of thanksgiving for what has been and hope for what is to come.

This simple routine has become a rhythm of love for this rhythmically-challenged mom.

And it makes me wonder, what is lost when we hide our expressions of love, art, and creativity because they don’t measure up to the world’s standards? What unexpected blessing are we forfeiting because we’re afraid to offer our less-than-stellar efforts?

Maybe you love painting or hand-lettering but your creations don’t compare to those that get thousands of likes on Instagram squares. So you think, Why bother? Maybe you feel drawn to dance but you believe you’re too old or awkward and others would just laugh. Maybe there is a poet inside you but somewhere in the past you were told words weren’t your forte. What if you decided to ignore the voice that said you’re not good enough and instead chose to explore something new — not for the sake of an applaudable performance but simply for pleasure and enjoyment?

When it comes to God, He doesn’t judge your offerings by the world’s talent criteria. He’ll never boo you off stage or unfollow you for not meeting some invisible standard.

He looks at your heart. He listens with the ears of someone who loves you. He receives your contribution as someone who delights in you.

I love the old King James Version of Psalm 100, which begins, “Make a joyful noise unto the Lord.” Melody, no. Harmony, no. Symphony, no. Noise, yes! I can bring my joy and my noise to God, and He welcomes them with open arms.

The Bible is full of imagery not only of people worshipping God through singing and dancing but of God Himself singing over His people. Zephaniah 3:17 says,

For the Lord your God is living among you.
    He is a mighty savior.
He will take delight in you with gladness.
    With his love, he will calm all your fears.
    He will rejoice over you with joyful songs.

Imagine it. You’re tucked in bed, blankets and pillows fluffed exactly how you like them. Right before you drift off to sleep, Jesus leans over you. He kisses your cheek and sings a song of joy over you. He reminds you how proud He is of you, how the way you showed up in your strength and in your weakness made all the difference. He traces the curve of your cheek and tells you how beautiful you are. In that moment, you know again that you are loved.

You are so loved, friend.

Let that love bubble up and overflow today in whatever expression brings you joy. Don’t worry about what others will think of it. God is already cheering you on.

Does it take courage for you to do something you’re not good at? Leave a comment sharing what you love to do. Let’s cheer each other on!

 

The Wisdom to Keep Loving Anyway

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Her sobs in the darkness stirred me awake. I was confused. My daughter stood over me shaking. I could hardly make out her words. Her hands were practically inside her mouth stuffing her sadness back down inside of her. 

“What is it, Noelle?” I said calmly, still waking up. 

“Mom, I had a dream you died.” She trembled. I couldn’t see her tears, but I could feel them through her words.

I pulled back the covers and invited her in beside me. Her body was chilly, and she instantly suctioned to my skin. 

“Mommy is right here,” I whispered and stroked her hair. 

She was already asleep. My eyes were closed again, and I smiled. It sounds weird, but I smiled. It feels morbid to smile over my daughter’s sad dream, but I did and this is why.

My daughter doesn’t say, “I love you.” I haven’t heard her say those three words in several years. I’m not sure when she stopped. I just remember one day she didn’t reply with those precious words, “I love you too, Mom!”

Noelle is shy and tender and quiet. She holds her feelings close. She doesn’t cuddle either. She doesn’t jump into my arms. When I kiss her forehead, she squirms away. 

For a mom whose love languages are words of affirmation and physical touch, it has been hard for me that Noelle does neither of them. She will make me breakfast in bed, draw me pictures, but never say, “I love you.” She will never let me hug her. 

It’s embarrassing to admit, but there was a season when I stopped saying “I love you” to my daughter because I knew she wouldn’t respond. I didn’t reach for her hand because I knew she would pull it away. I know I am the adult in the relationship, but these small things felt like rejection. So I just stopped doing them. I would hug each of my children goodnight, but when I got to Noelle, I’d just smile and wave.

I think I have the tendency to believe people don’t love me if they don’t receive my love the way I want them to. I’ll love the people who love me back the way I want them to. I’ll love the people who make loving feel good. If someone will affirm my love, I’ll give it to them more. If people reject my love, I’ll stop offering it. I have so many people in my life that give and receive love differently than me. I can make a list of people I know love me, but I don’t believe love me. I convince myself they don’t love me because they don’t show me in a specific way. They don’t love me in a way that makes me feel loved, like with hand squeezes and love notes. So I stop showing up. I stop saying “I love you” the same way I did with my daughter. Slowly, my heart backs away. I think that’s why I smiled when my daughter cried in the middle of the night. I smiled because there was a part of me that believed she didn’t love me. I know that sounds ridiculous, but it’s true. 

God made each of us with unique ways to give and receive love.

When someone doesn’t give or receive love the way you think they should, resist the temptation to believe they don’t love you. The easiest thing to do is to stop pouring out love. But don’t stop. There isn’t just one right way to love. There aren’t just five love languages but millions of ways we can love because we all have our own God-given love stories. We were each designed to love in our own way. I’m tempted to make love in a black and white way, but I’m learning it can be very fluid. It can bend, flex, and bleed different colors. 

Love requires wisdom.

Think about the people in your life right now. Think about your neighbor, your family, or the small group you are in. God has placed each person in your life for a reason. It isn’t an accident. Perhaps as you think about these people, pain arises. Maybe someone has hurt you, rejected you, or treated you unfairly. Hold this person and your pain before Jesus. Hand over your ache, desires, and hopes. Release your plan and your control. Release the way you think the relationship ought to go. Commit this relationship to prayer. God is on the move to bring the healing hope of Jesus to every single relationship in your life. Sometimes He uses us to actively pursue people by showing up day in and day out. Sometimes love looks like waiting for wisdom on how to love well. Either way, let us always love with prayer and by the Spirit.

Right now, God is inviting me to actively pursue my daughter. She needs words and touch even when she is resistant. I’m trying not to take it personally when Noelle’s body remains stiff when I hug her. Even though I know she will shake away, I keep reaching my arms around her day after day. I am also learning to make her favorite meal and take her on special outings because I know it fills her heart to the brim. 

May we be faithful to love the people God has placed in our lives on His terms and not just our own. 

God’s Goodness in Everyday, Ordinary Places

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Taste and see that the Lord is good. How happy is the person who takes refuge in him!
Psalm 34:8 (CSB)

I’ve been looking for goodness — for that which is sweet, good for the soul, joyful and light; for God’s goodness in everyday, ordinary places. In the middle of a wet and sloppy spring here in Minnesota, it can be hard to remember that possibilities and hope still exist. These days, it seems like the right move to be on the lookout for good.

What I’ve found is that goodness is everywhere — all around, all the time, in all the places.

This week my baby sister will have her second baby and my youngest will turn six months old. My kids are head over heels in love with their baby brother and their newest cousin. We’ve prayed for these babies, waited for their arrivals, celebrated them at socially distanced showers, decorated for them, and waited some more. Bring on the snuggles, the onesies, the pacifiers strewn about, the late-night texts from my sister while we’re both awake and nursing babies, the pure sweetness of a brand new baby. In a world that still holds that delicious newborn baby smell, there is still good.

My youngest daughter starts kindergarten next fall. Hard as I try to clench my fists around the slippery strands of time, it just keeps marching along. It reminds me of when we attended the kindergarten round-up night at our elementary school with our middle daughter, who was absolutely giddy to be there. She was dizzy with the attention of both parents solely focused on her, the prospect of her own desk filled with pencils and folders, a new teacher, new friends, an entire library to browse during elementary school, and the promise of riding a yellow school bus with her big brother. Her joy was overwhelming, and I couldn’t stop grinning big and silly at her happiness and hopefulness. In a world that still holds freshly sharpened pencils and the joy and hope of attending school, there is still good.

This winter, I made soup. When the temperatures dipped below zero, it was time to drag out the stoneware, dutch oven, and slow-cooker. My knife found a rhythm in slicing vegetables, my ears loved the sizzle of browning meat, and my heart gave a leap as I shook seasonings into the pot and suddenly the soup was more than single ingredients standing alone. Adding a fresh loaf of crusty-on-the-outside, squishy-on-the-inside bread and maybe a tossed green salad on the side, and dinner on a cold winter’s night was ready. The satisfaction of cooking is a motivator for me, and the joy it brings me to set a nice table and welcome my family around it is palpable. In a world that holds tables to gather around, family to break bread, and meals to be made, there is still good.

Daily, I dig into my laundry pile. I sort whites and bright colors, add detergent and swish-swash goes the washer. I vacuum up dog hair, fallen from our dog who loves to zoom and barrel dive into our legs. I load the dishwasher, unload the dishwasher, and load it up again, full of dishes on which meals and snacks were served and enjoyed. I pick up tiny toys and stack books on shelves and go to curbside pickup at the store for shampoo and bananas. I check in with family via texts, keep the calendar up to date (paper for me, electronic for my husband), and place books on hold at the library. I plan meals and turn in my hours for work and collapse into bed at the end of the day, thankful for each task ticked off my to-do list and asking for help to finish the leftovers. In a world that holds housekeeping tasks and teems with minutiae-managing, there is still good.

I sit at my computer, typing out words and creating emails, check in on social media and schedule a few posts, attend video meetings and work with our team to integrate editorial and marketing campaigns. I pray over each word published. This work I’m blessed to do is my sweet spot — ministry + business + writing. In a world that holds work that brings deep joy, there is still good.

God, who loves us as much as He did on day one, makes all things work for the good of those who love Him. He thinks of us constantly, more than there are grains of sand. He created the heat of summer, the colors of autumn, the glittering snow of winter, and the newness of life in spring. He went to the grave and back for us, for me and you. In a world overflowing with reminders of God’s love, there is still good.

The walk to school. The sermon at church. The fresh-fallen snow. The width and depth of the ocean. The warmth of the sun. The crisp pages of a new, blank journal. A hot latte. A letter from a friend. A daisy growing out of a sidewalk crack. Your children, friends, and family. A verse in Scripture that speaks straight to your heart. Goodness isn’t hard to find, especially when you’re on the lookout.

May you taste and see the goodness of the Lord, right there in your everyday (which is really anything but ordinary).

Desperate to Be Chosen

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I knew it would happen, but I forgot how much it would hurt. I had just spent the weekend away with a friend of mine, two depleted mamas making space to simply be and create and laugh and rest. It was only the second time in two years I was away from my daughter overnight, and reentry back home was painful.

“Mama, I don’t want you to hold me. I want Dada.”
“No, Mama, not you!”

Over and over again, as the week went on.

Less eye contact. More distance. Hurtful words. A brick wall built between us — born of sadness, sustained by stubbornness.

The sting numbed my body all over again, just like it did in China in 2018 when I realized my new twenty-month-old daughter preferred my husband over me. After years of grieving infertility, begging God for a baby, and waiting for my girl, I kind of forgot to consider that I might not be all she needed.

When we met Vera, I was able to hold and comfort her first, but after she went to my husband, we soon found out she didn’t want to come back to me. I swallowed my pride and yearning, tears streaming down my face. As mamas (new and old), we know what our babies need, and we’d die to ourselves a thousand times to make sure they feel loved. But that doesn’t mean our feelings always fade as quickly as we’d like.

I was a brand-new mama, with brand-new-mama hopes that were quickly crumbling. The enemy was wedging his way into our sacred space. Her comfort, safety, and well-being were most important. I knew that. I acted on it. But silently, I suffered.

I wanted to be the one she wanted.
I wanted to hold her.
I wanted to comfort her.
I wanted my longing heart to be fulfilled.

That was the problem: I was depending on my new title of “Mama” to be the missing piece, and instead God had something else in mind.

In the midst of my self-doubt, in our two weeks in China, God showed me tiny, beautiful slivers of light and peace, representing the full and strong bond that was to come for Vera and me, little moments paving the way for a big love. And in our two-and-a-half years together since, He’s overwhelmed my soul with the bright and thriving relationship I have with my sweet girl.

But there are days where my insecurities flare up and my faith fizzles out, when my daughter chooses my husband over me, over and over again. And I crack and lock myself in the bathroom to cry.

In 2 Corinthians 12:7-10, we learn that Paul had a thorn in his side:

So to keep me from becoming conceited because of the surpassing greatness of the revelations, a thorn was given me in the flesh, a messenger of Satan to harass me, to keep me from becoming conceited. Three times I pleaded with the Lord about this, that it should leave me. But he said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’ Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me. For the sake of Christ, then, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities. For when I am weak, then I am strong.

My daughter preferring my husband is a thorn in my side.

I believe God keeps it there to remind me that my worth is not in motherhood. Vera cannot, will not, or should not ever feel responsible for making me whole. Only Jesus can do that. And the beauty of it is it means I can take the pressure off myself. I don’t have to try so hard to pry open closed doors or wriggle my way back to the loving space I know exists between my daughter and me. Instead, I can just be the person He created me to be, show her unending warmth and kindness, and in her own time, when she’s ready, she’ll find her way back and settle into my arms.

After a week of being home from my girl’s trip, after caving into the enemy’s lies and then filling back up on God’s truth and finally believing it, Vera let me back in. Full force. Back into the silliness and tenderness of my sweet four-year-old. Back to the fullness of our bond that is not lacking. Back to reaching for me and snuggling into my side.

“I like hanging out with you so much, Mama.”

I felt relief — like we’d made it through the trenches yet again. But I know it only came because of Him. I know it only came because I took a step back, relaxed, and believed deep in my soul that I already love this little girl the biggest and best way I know how. And more than that, He loves me. There’s nothing more for me to prove or do or try, except let go of my desperation to be chosen by her, because I’m fully, graciously, and fervently chosen by Him.

Need Some Joy? Us Too!

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This year. It’s been a journey — and not like a pretty, ride-off-into-the-sunset kind but more the kind that chewed us up and spit us out. We are all in desperate need of joy — one that’s deeper than a good latte, a beautiful sunset, or even a birthday celebration. We’re in need of the kind of joy that fills our hearts even when it doesn’t make sense to feel joyful. The kind of joy that radiates. The kind that comes from the Lord and is so much deeper, so much more life-giving than the joy of this world.

We need some soul-deep, unshakable, unwavering joy, and we’re pretty sure we’re not alone.

We’re ready to turn away from the world’s counterfeit version of temporary satisfaction and embrace the deep, authentic joy God is offering. So we are thrilled — JOYFUL, if you will — to introduce the second of four Bible studies coming from (in)courage this year . . . Courageous Joy: Delight in God Through Every Season, written by Mary Carver and featuring stories from the (in)courage community!

Isn’t this the perfect topic to follow the year we’ve had??

Courageous joy is both breathtakingly simple and beautifully complex, and it’s what we investigate in this new Bible Study. In Courageous Joy, we’ll dive into the Word of God to learn what He says about joy. We’ll learn to find joy in every circumstance we face and to share it with everyone we encounter. We’ll begin to understand how a person can truly count it all joy, even when the “all” we’ve been given is not the “all” we were hoping for or expecting.

You’re invited to dig deep with us and make 2021 the year we courageously lean into joy!

The Courageous Joy Bible Study is available wherever Bibles are sold, including:

Don’t want to wait to get started? Sign up here and we’ll send you a FREE week from each of the Courageous Bible Studies, including Courageous Joy!

The Mercy of Fresh Starts Every Morning

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Because of the Lord’s faithful love
we do not perish, for his mercies never end.
They are new every morning;
great is your faithfulness!
Lamentations 3:22-23 (CSB)

As we ate our takeout and queued up our shows on the DVR, my husband and I caught up on the business of the week. We talked again about our daughter’s behavior, and I confessed something I’d realized about the situation. “I can’t start fresh,” I whispered. “My frustrations just keep building and building, and there’s no break, no relief, no blank slate.”

The conversations about our daughter’s disobedience and disrespect began bringing other issues to the table — namely, our tempers. We realized that our short fuses were contributing to the problem, but we didn’t know how to fix it. And I knew that this fresh start thing was part of it.

Without a fresh start, there’s no forgiveness. And without forgiveness, I couldn’t find my way out of the garbage heap of anger. I couldn’t see the light of grace.

Of course, everyone says that admitting your problem is the first step — and it is. But even though this realization — and the courage to describe it out loud to my husband — felt huge, it wasn’t enough. I needed to make a change for our family. I needed to do something different.

I wish I could say that difference happened naturally, on its own, that somehow I magically learned how to forgive and forget and shower my child and myself with grace. But that wouldn’t be true.

What happened instead was that I kept feeling angry and frustrated; I kept losing my temper with my disobedient, disrespectful little girl. And I kept remembering that I am part of the problem. I would put her to bed, so mad at the latest argument and so glad to be finished with the day, and then I would cry because I didn’t know how to stop feeling that way.

But then as I lamented our struggle to her first-grade teacher, something did change. My daughter’s teacher suggested we use the same color-coded behavior chart at home that they use in the classroom. I knew several months into this school year how important the color chart was to my daughter.

Every afternoon, her response to my question, “How was your day?” was what color she was on: A green day was good, average, normal, nothing to see here. A yellow (or even red) day meant she was crying before she even got in the car. A blue or pink day, though, was cause for celebration — high fives and hugs all around!

We’d made a half-hearted attempt to use a color chart at home before, and it didn’t help at all. But at this point, I was not just angry and frustrated; I was disappointed in myself and a little desperate for help.

And it worked. It worked! But not for the reasons I expected.

See, at school the colors came with consequences, and the good colors came with prizes. Plus, students had the added incentive of their classmates knowing where they stood each day. But none of that was in play at home. I wasn’t about to give out prizes for simple obedience, and her baby sister didn’t care what color my daughter was on.

What made the difference was that at the end of the day, no matter how ugly or difficult or red it was, I moved my daughter’s pin back to green. Every day started at green. Every day started fresh, blank, clean. It had the potential to be better or worse, but it started on green.

Something about physically moving that clothespin back to the green spot on our laminated color chart reset my heart, too. Even after the worst days, that simple gesture lifted a burden from my heart. Moving my daughter’s pin back to green let me breathe again. It helped me love her better, again. And it reminded me that because of God’s great mercy I get to start on green each day, too.

Though I struggle to be a good mom some days (or some years), God is the perfect heavenly Father. So it should have been no surprise that His methods work for me, too. God promises to wipe our slate clean, to remove our sin as far as the east is from the west. In the sacrifice of Jesus Christ, He offers us an abundance of mercy — and then He promises to refill that overflowing cup every single day.

Part of the Lent season is humbling ourselves. It is lowering our defenses and our pride, allowing God to strip away our sin and our distractions. It’s the grueling work of meaning it when we say, “more of you, less of me,” to our holy and mighty God. But though we begin this season there, God doesn’t leave us in our guilt and shame. He doesn’t force us out of the garden, naked and trembling. No, instead, He reaches for us and covers us in His grace. He erases every sin we confess and loves us through the entire process.

Just like my daughter gets to start on green, so do we. Even when we’re our most disobedient, we are forgiven. And we get to start over again. When we’re washed clean by the blood of Jesus, we get a fresh start. What a precious gift!

Heavenly Father, thank You for loving me so much better than I can ever love my own children. Thank You for adopting me into Your family and loving me even when I’m as disobedient as a child! And thank You for forgiving my every sin, wiping the slate clean, and giving me a fresh start each day. Because, Lord, I mess up every day. I need Your grace every day. And I’m so grateful for it! Thank You, God. I love you. Amen.

Excerpt from Journey to the Cross: Forty Days to Prepare Your Heart for Easter by Mary Carver.

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