File This Under “Things I Don’t Deserve”

File This Under “Things I Don’t Deserve”

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When we first moved into our house six years ago, I was 800 months pregnant with the last of four children. We had decided to do a complete renovation before we moved in (because we’re crazy), so add in the stress of sawdust and drywall and tile done wrong. It had already been a rough year of deciding to move across state lines to schools that could accommodate our special needs child. We were committed city folk who said we would never move to the suburbs, so we apparently love eating our words. Isn’t it funny how God continually shakes our identity so that we can only find it in Him?

But while grieving the loss of all these things and the changes they would bring, there was something I felt silly about mourning: the peony bush on the side of our old house that we’d be leaving behind. 

It should be noted that I had inherited them; it’s not like I planted them myself. But they brought me so much joy. They felt like an undeserved surprise, and I just didn’t want to leave them. If you know anything about peonies, they are gorgeous. They smell insanely delicious, and they are incredibly hard to grow from seed or bulb. They take years and years to bloom. They are finicky to transplant, and you can risk losing the whole thing. So I left them for the next person and told myself, Don’t complain. You have a great life. It’s just flowers!

We moved in late summer, quickly got settled, and had our precious baby — what a blur! Through summer, autumn, and winter, I became more and more comfortable in our new home and the neighborhood. As spring approached and we finally got to be outside again, I noticed some bushes against the back of the house and wondered what they would be (or were they overgrown weeds?). I hadn’t really noticed them sprouting up at all, what with my blurry eyes from a baby who never really slept great and spit up and down the back of my shirt and from the endless monotony that comes with telling three other children to “please wear pants.” 

But then, all of the sudden, there was a miraculous sighting. I gasped seeing six, huge peony bushes blooming! You better believe I watered those plants with my happy tears that minute. It was something God didn’t have to do — the binding up of the littlest wounds. Please file all these little extras under “Things I Don’t Deserve”: more inherited peony bushes which I never would have had the skill or patience to plant yet and the fact that they’ve been at every house we’ve moved to. It makes me believe God is after our joy more than we think, even after so many tired seasons, even after so much grief, even after so much waiting. 

Peonies give me a visual opportunity to remember God’s mercy and goodness when I’d like to believe I don’t deserve them. The gospel makes it clear that I’ve done nothing to inherit His riches, but here I am. And that day, I saw it in the abundance of peonies blooming behind our house.

For by grace you have been saved through faith. And this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God, not a result of works, so that no one may boast.
Ephesians 2:8-9 (ESV)

I wish I wasn’t so human, but I alternate between entitlement and awe. And this is why I think God keeps specifically giving me tangible ways to understand His undeserved goodness: little bread crumbs along the way to help me find my way back home when I go off track and believe He’s forgotten me. 

A late spring frost is set to come through our way, so I cover up my peonies to protect them. As I do, I remember that I am owed nothing. I deserve nothing but have gained an incredible abundance in His kinship — so much so, I’ve been put in the will and have an inheritance in Christ! I spread out the sheets, feeling like I have to relinquish my blessings, but I remember it wasn’t me who put them here in the first place. I think it’s in the moments of receiving and giving up that we find Jesus the most — perhaps because He gave us the most by giving up the most. I cover the flowers as I cover myself in truth: His grace is sufficient to meet us in our waiting, relinquishing, and worries, and His abundance will never end.

No Holding Back, No Turning Back

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We all screamed with joy as we watched a plane fly above us. I remember that day so vividly. The sun was bright, almost blinding my eyes, that I had to cup my hand over my forehead. With the other hand, I pointed at the tiny dot high in the sky and told my cousins, “I am going to get to ride that soon!” Actually, I said it in Malayalam, the language of Kerala, India where I was born. My parents had just told us that we would be moving to the USA, and we would have to fly on an airplane to get there. I didn’t know much about America, but I had seen airplanes on television and I was so excited to ride one.

As a seven-year-old, I had no idea what my dream would cost. I would have to give up all my friends at St. Anne’s School, daily playtime with my cousins who lived next door, eating jackfruit and mangoes off the tree, seeing my new pet calf grow up, and much more.

It’s fun to dream and share our plans with others, but sometimes we forget that every new chapter in life, as amazing as it is, comes with a price tag. There are things we must give up in order to experience the fullness of what is ahead for us. And this is true when we decide to follow Jesus. In Luke 9:23, Jesus urges us to count the cost. He makes no compromise when it comes to discipleship: die to yourself, crucify your selfish desires, take up your cross, and follow me daily.

Being a disciple means giving up your life for life. No holding back. No turning back.

Jesus wants every part of our lives to be saturated by His love and to bring Him glory, but that requires sacrifice. Romans 12 teaches us that worship is presenting ourselves as living sacrifices. Paul tells us that this means we no longer follow the patterns of this world but live with a renewed mind that yearns for the perfect will of God. Dying to self isn’t behavior modification or following rules. It is living a life of surrender and obedience out of a deep desire and delight for Jesus. It is daily choosing to lay down our own agendas to follow the Good Shepherd. It is offering every part of our lives to the One who gave it all for us. 

When was the last time your following Jesus cost you something or you took a bold step of faith or gave up something for the sake of Christ?

It’s easy to go to church once a week, but it’s hard to read the Word daily or commit to tithing when the future seems uncertain. It’s easy to listen to a sermon on our commute, but it’s hard not to cuss out the crazy guy on the road or gossip about our neighbor. It’s easy to post a verse on social media, but it’s hard to live out its truth in the midst of pain and struggle.

In His grace, He calls us to Himself and wants us to live surrendered in full obedience to Him. Often, we are like the rich young ruler from Matthew 19:16-30, who did all the “right” things but wasn’t willing to give up all things for Jesus. The passage says that he went away disappointed.

Friends, we can have all the things and even do all the “right” things in our own eyes, but if we can’t fully surrender ourselves in obedience to Jesus, we won’t experience the full, abundant life God has for us. When Jesus called His first disciples to follow Him, they left everything to do so. Are we willing to respond likewise? 

As we rode on the plane to America, I looked down and saw the big coconut trees that outlined the coast of Kovalam and all the lights that twinkled and danced on the streets of Bombay. All of it seemed so small from up there. The things we have to give up and sacrifice may seem huge at the moment, but when we see it through the lens of God’s love, we will understand that nothing compares to Him. All the beauty, fleeting pleasures, and glamorous moments of this world pale in comparison to living a life walking with Jesus.

Weakness Is Spelled
S-T-R-E-N-G-T-H

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Don’t do it, Kathi. Do. Not. Do. It, I hiss to myself in my brain.

But I can’t (or don’t know how to) help myself.

I look around the room of this new situation, whether it’s attending a church for the first time, meeting with a work team, or even just entering a Starbucks. I try to take in all the smiling faces, the welcoming greetings, and the openness I am being met with. Everyone is being awesome.

And still, I cannot help myself.

I finish looking at each person in the space and come to the same conclusion almost every single time: I am the biggest girl in the room.

Sorry, the guys don’t count. Guys get to be big. They get a pass. Girls? Not so much.

I’ve often wondered what it would be like for people to not know one of my biggest weaknesses even before we meet. (Don’t we meet most people on Instagram or Zoom before in person these days? And let me tell you, camera angles can only do so much.) I go into every situation knowing other people already have information about me that I would rather keep to myself, thank you very much.

People, who love me most reassure me, “No one is thinking that! You’re awesome!” And as much as they aren’t thinking it (because they don’t see that part of me first anymore), I have evidence that others do see it:

“Beached whale.”
“Fat slob.”
“Sumo wrestler.”

And those are just things that have been said aloud.

I don’t understand why this is an area I have wrestled with all my life. Yes, I know there is heredity. I come from a long line of “sturdy” folk. But why couldn’t my weakness be for kale? (“Just can’t get enough of the stuff! Yum!”) Or hiking too much? Why does my weakness need to be the first thing people see when I walk through the door?

But no, my weakness is of the variety where I shop in “specialty stores” and whenever someone on my friends list signs up to be a distributor of a new weight-loss product, I am put on their “potential client” list. (In other words, one of their “fat friends.”)

I’m the person who was told by another friend when I was having success losing weight, “Don’t lose more than the rest of us!” I get it. It isn’t fun being the biggest girl in the room. We’d much rather someone else play that role.

If you too are one of the  ________est women in a room, (fill in the blank), I get it. And friend, I have some good news for you.

One thing I’ve discovered is that while people see my weakness first, weakness isn’t always a bad thing for others to notice. I can’t tell you the number of times someone has said some variation of the following to me, without getting to know me:

“I could tell you wouldn’t judge me.”
“I’m having a hard time, and I thought you would understand.”
“I knew you would get it.”

These are people who don’t know a thing about me. Do I love my husband? Do I put my grocery cart away at the end of a visit to Target? How do I treat my dog? They don’t know, because they don’t know me.

But I’ve been given unearned access into hard places simply because of my BMI.

People are looking to others to find safety in sharing their own pain. My weakness, to some people, is the shortcut to safe.

God can and will do powerful things through those of us who give our weakness over to Him. 2 Corinthians 12:9‑10 (NLT) says:

 Each time he said, “My grace is all you need. My power works best in weakness.” So now I am glad to boast about my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ can work through me. That’s why I take pleasure in my weaknesses, and in the insults, hardships, persecutions, and troubles that I suffer for Christ. For when I am weak, then I am strong.

I am not glorifying weakness, but God’s glory shines brightest in weakness.

Do I want to stay stuck? The amount of time, money, and heartbreak I’ve spent on counseling and programs would suggest not. But just because I don’t want to stay in my weakness doesn’t mean God cannot — and will not — use it for His glory.

I Have Seen the Lord

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My friend Jill died in my dream last night. It happens fairly periodically actually. See, in real life, it’s been 520 days since she went to be with Jesus.

Some days, it feels like she left years ago because there are so many big and little things that she’s missed. She died before the pandemic, and I often wonder what her commentary would be about a world that hoards toilet paper and hand sanitizer.

But other days? I feel like it just happened — like I just got the text that she died as the sun was setting over the Atlantic.

Last night’s dream was so clear I could tell you every detail, but the storyline was this: We were together and things were fine and then she left again. We stood there — in a cemetery, no less — and we talked for a while and then, we both knew she had to go. I held on to her for the time I could, but then, she died. We had a memorial service for her again, and I went back to the world without her.

You don’t lose someone and then move on with the healing in a linear way. Rather, it resurfaces over and over, and you have to face it time and time again. The grief has a tendency to show up when she would have — a birthday or holiday or when a Facebook memory pops up in my newsfeed. Other times, it’s more nuanced. I feel her absence when I need advice about ministry or when I can’t find a bra that actually fits. She always knew things I just didn’t.

I opened my eyes this morning and as a new wave of sadness rolled over me, I rolled out of bed and tried to shake the recent death I’d witnessed while I slept. And then, I remembered Mary in the garden, looking for Jesus.

She stands there in John 20:11 in the early morning hours. There’s still dew on the ground, and the air smells like dirt. She was in the early days of loss, so I imagine she’s sleep-deprived and puffy-eyed, no appetite and restlessly moving around like a ghost.

When Jesus approaches her, she doesn’t seem to understand it’s Him. His presence is so unexpected that she does not consider He’d be the person she’d bump into. But when He said her name, she looked up and reached out to embrace Him.

Her instinct was to pull Him close, perhaps to keep Him there — not unlike me in my dream last night, clinging to Jill, feeling her ribs pressed against mine.

That human ache to hold on is what I can’t get out of my head.

Jesus tells Mary that she needs to go tell the others that He is alive. So she slowly pulls away, probably speechless. She stumbles back and turns and runs as fast as her shaking legs will take her, making her way back to the others with bags under their eyes and grief in their hearts. And then, she says these words in verse 18: “I have seen the Lord.”

I wish with everything in me that I could tell you that I really saw Jill, that she was really there and we were really together. But the truth is, I didn’t, and we weren’t. My mind saw her and held her, but when I woke up with the cool breeze coming in along with early morning light, I was alone.

So I go back to John 20, and I read this story over and over again, remembering these things: One day, I’ll see Jill again. I don’t know what it’ll be like or if we’ll even care about each other in light of the glory of God. But I like to believe that we will stand there and truly embrace, feeling the ribs of our resurrected bodies press together with lungs that are breathing and hearts that are beating. And perhaps her first words to me will be, “I have seen the Lord.”

Let Go of What Costs You Your Peace

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I was thirty years old, pregnant, with a great job, a wonderful husband, a nice home, and a promising future in my career.

And I was miserable. I had no peace.

I know. It doesn’t make a lot of sense, at least not on the surface. But someone reading these words right now knows that life can look pretty on the outside but be a tangled ball of Christmas lights on the inside.

I was a news reporter at the time, and my life was spent moving from one news assignment to another: tornadoes, homicides, political rallies, plane crashes. I was fueled by caffeine and adrenaline. If I slowed down enough to get honest with myself — which rarely happened — I knew that my push for success was costing me my peace. But as my belly grew bigger, I began to finally ponder what would happen if I kept running at the pace that I was running.

If I wasn’t going to slow down for myself, I at least needed to slow down for this tiny human growing inside of me.

Then she was born. I was undone immediately. I knew there was no going back to the life that I once idolized. My husband and I decided we would move back to the farm, and I think we even shocked ourselves when we spoke the words out loud.

We definitely shocked our friends.

They couldn’t believe we would leave behind dream careers and the adventurous lives we were living. They told us things like,

“You’re wasting your potential.”
“You’re throwing away your career.”

There were times I asked myself if they were right. But then I started asking myself a different question: “What if they’re wrong?” Because they weren’t the ones who were paying the price for our accelerated pace of life. We were.

Our way of life was costing us our peace, and we had to make a change.

The Bible tells us to “let the peace of Christ rule” in our hearts (Colossians 3:15), but I know that the opposite is often true. We can get so busy chasing a certain kind of life that we accidentally allow chaos to rule in our hearts.

It’s Sunday today — a day set aside for rest. Take a moment on this set-aside day of rest to get honest with yourself. Explore where your heart is at peace, and where your heart is in chaos.

If you don’t have peace about the job, the boyfriend, the career transition, the bad habit, the stress in your life, the _______________ [you fill in the blank], push pause right now. Ask yourself: “What would it look like to make a change?”

I know you might be thinking that you can’t afford to push pause at the moment. Who’s got time for that? But what if you can’t afford to not to.

Maybe it’s time to let go of the things that are costing you your peace.

Let go of the things that cause undue stress.
Let go of the things that keep you awake at night.
Let go of the habits that help you cope and numb.
Let go of the scrolling that just makes you more on edge.

And then, grab hold of the things that bring you joy. Grab hold of the habits that make you healthier. Grab hold of the relationships that make you more of who God made you to be. Grab hold of your faith, your family, your hope, your peace.

I know that it can be hard to make a switch, even in the little things. Give yourself a little bit of grace and a little bit of time (but not too much time). The loss of peace doesn’t happen overnight, and it doesn’t always come back with the snap of your fingers. Honestly, it took years for me to trade chaos for peace. But it happened, one decision at a time, one step at a time.

I believe the same is possible for you. Step by step, decision by decision, trade your heart of chaos for a heart ruled by the peace of Christ.

Does the World Seem Dark? Here’s the Hope You Need Today

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The rough wooden boardwalk is cool beneath my feet as I make my way to the sand. The sky is still the thick, deep blue of night, and gray shadows sway in the salty wind. I sleepily take my husband’s hand. I’m not a morning person, but we’re on vacation and I’m determined to see the sun climb like a rising warrior above the waves at least once.

As we get closer to the shore, we can see more people who have decided to forsake pillows for flip-flops along with us. They sit on huge pieces of stranded driftwood, stroll along the edge of the water with cameras in hand, or sip from coffee cups with dazed looks on their faces. I notice one woman lifting her eyes to the still-night sky, and I am curious. What does she see?

When I follow her example, I am greeted by diamonds thrown out on velvet. One star in particular winks brilliantly back at me. I find out later it’s actually the planet Venus, otherwise known as the Morning Star. Here is its mystery and beauty: Venus is known for rising in the darkest part of the night, just before dawn. Jesus said, “I am the . . . bright Morning Star” (Revelation 22:16). This means, among other things, He is not afraid of the deepest dark.

He is not frightened by the secret places in our hearts. The ones that haven’t seen daylight for years. The kind with the locks on the doors. The sort we don’t say out loud or even fully admit to ourselves. He is not running scared from the tragedies in our lives. He is not backing away from the brokenness and the bitterness and the shattered dreams. He is not intimidated by the monsters under our beds or inside our minds. He is not avoiding the struggles or the addictions. He is not waving His hands in surrender to the enemies of our souls. He is not saying, “This is too much for me.”

Jesus is not afraid to step right into the night, not afraid to even dwell in the middle of it, because He is light. And in Him, there is not darkness at all.

This means darkness can surround Him, and He cannot be defeated or diminished by it. He came as a baby into a midnight world and announced His arrival with a shining star. He conquered death in a dark tomb and rolled the stone away, making a way into the brightness for all of us. In the thickest gloom, the Morning Star rose.

In our story of humanity, it feels like we are in a Morning Star moment right now, the darkest part of the night, just before dawn. We have come through a time of fear and isolation, division and destruction, mourning and waiting, hoping, praying. So we need to know that when Jesus said, “I am the bright Morning Star,” it means He is here with us in times like this one. He is the hope we can cling to, the light that has come and is coming, the One who will usher in a new day.

“His mercies never end. They are new every morning” (Lamentations 3:22–23). As I watch the sun slip into the morning sky and fill it with gold and flame, I bear witness that these words are true. Venus, the Morning Star that foreshadowed all this light and blazing glory, seems to be more than just a planet; it suddenly also seems to be a promise — a daily reminder from the heart of our Creator that even the deepest night will lead to dawn. The dark cannot win; the light will never be overcome.

If you’d like more encouragement like this, you’ll find it in Holley Gerth’s new ebook, Fear, I’m Over You: A 21-Day Challenge to Live with Less Worry and More Courage.

Introducing Six New (in)courage Contributors!

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Can Christmas in April be a thing? Because today sure feels like it. We are like giddy sisters jumping out of our skin in excitement to share with you the gift of six new (in)courage writers! (Cue poppers and twinkle lights!)

For quite a while, we’ve felt like it was time to widen the circle and ask more women to pile into the (in)courage living room. We picture this virtual living room full of couches, overstuffed chairs, comfy floor pillows — a place where we can always scooch over to make more room, a place for belly laughter and passing boxes of tissues to catch our tears. In the living room, we lean in to hear stories that affirm our own experiences and to learn from perspectives unlike our own. Most importantly, this is a space that focuses on Jesus. We lean on each other’s shoulders and lift one another’s faces so that we can all see and remember that God is with us — right here, right now, always.

At (in)courage, we value building community, celebrating diversity, and becoming women of courage. There’s no doubt the six writers joining the (in)courage team will help us continue to do just that. Their voices, their stories, their words of joy and struggle and encouragement will be gifts we hope you enjoy unwrapping all year long.

Without further ado, please join us in welcoming six new contributors to the (in)courage living room! Let’s get to know them a bit in their own words.

Aarti Sequeira:


Hi! My name is Aarti Sequeira, and if you heard me talking to you right now, you might have trouble placing the accent! Let me explain: I’m a third-culture kid — my soul is forever rooted in India where I was born, with blossoms in the Middle East where I grew up and attended a British-run school (which gave me an incredible education and the Queen’s accent), and now bearing fruit in the ultimate biryani pot, the United States. I’m married to a Boston Irish-American man, Brendan, my college sweetheart. We have two delightful daughters, Eliyah and Moses. We just uprooted ourselves from Los Angeles, our home of twenty years, to Raleigh, North Carolina. And of course, the most important identity of all, I was saved in my twenties by the one and only Jesus, and I have chased His heart ever since.

As a Food Network host and cookbook author, I try to take the unfamiliar and weave them into the familiar, drawing inspiration from spice bazaars, farmers markets, grandmothers, and chefs I love, all whilst singing His praises for giving us tastebuds and dinner tables. I see cooking as a privilege, a peek into the joy God feels when He creates.

My hope though is that you’ll get to know me as more than just a food-obsessed TV personality. I struggle with insecurity and imposter syndrome and have only recently trampled on the tentacles of postpartum depression. I simultaneously feel ill-equipped for dealing with the tensions of the world, and hopeful that I — that all of us — have been made for such a time as this. I’m praying that as I weep at His feet or run to His arms in fear or shake my fist at Him in anger, I may find you running along the same path. And I pray we’ll all find comfort, truth, and succor at the throne of the ever-living Almighty God. Glory glory glory.

Jami Nato:

Hello new friends! I am Jami Nato, here in the lush tropics of Kansas City. I have been married for twelve or fifteen years (I cannot remember numbers), have four children (ranging from fourteen to sixteen years old), and really like using parentheses! I am what I like to call “multi-passionate” as I like to renovate homes, be an entrepreneur, perpetually write a book I might never release, and run a coffee shop even though I don’t drink coffee (Why am I weird?). I tend to discuss heavier topics like our infidelity story or raising a special needs kiddo and then swing into humor, giving everyone a gentle whiplash for the day. I particularly love making light of items while shopping at Target, including and not limited to the unbearable swimsuit section each year in which the options range from 3 strings loosely tied to triangles or a full-body snorkel suit.

However people come to see me online or in person, I hope mostly they see I’m a soft landing place for the gospel. We all are so tired and wounded (especially after the year we’ve been in) and I want people to know that God’s love is for them — even now, especially now. I hope you get some laughs, but more than anything, I hope your love for God grows after you spend time with me.

Kathi Lipp:


Hey friends, I’m Kathi. And like most of us, my life is defined by contradictions:

  • I’ve lived my whole life in the tech capital of Silicon Valley but ran away last year to the mountains with 2002-quality internet.
  • I’m a full-time writer, who is severely dyslexic (thank God for editors).
  • I love Jesus and sometimes struggle to make Him a part of my day-to-day life.

Yeah, I have issues. And if, by any chance, you do too, we’re going to get along just fine.

I’m crazy in love with my husband Roger (second marriage for both of us). When I’m not writing or podcasting about my favorite topic, clutter, and there isn’t a pandemic, we’re hosting writers, church leaders, and friends at our retreat center, The Red House, in the Sierra Nevada mountains with our ten-pound livestock guardian dog Moose and a bunch of chickens (Pictured is Pepper, who thinks she’s a rooster. Yeah, we all have issues.).

I’m honored to be here, and I’m looking forward to doing life and issues and Jesus with all of you.

Melissa Zaldivar:

Well, hey from Massachusetts! I’m Melissa and I grew up in California, went to school in Chicago, worked in the South, and now New England is home. I’m a proud aunt to seven nieces and a nephew and spend my free time walking around farms, hanging out with my friends at the Antique Store, and trying to capture everything in photos, film, and words. When we’re not in a pandemic, I also work as a tour guide at Orchard House, the home of Little Women. I’m a fan of anything historical, literary, and theological, but I also can get behind a good sandwich, belting to 90’s lady country in my car and making ridiculous Instagram stories. I’m single and grateful and certain that life is still plenty full without a ring on my finger (though I wouldn’t be mad about it if the right guy came along.)

The last two years have been some of the hardest as I’ve faced a whole lot of loss, grief, and loneliness, but I’m realizing that Jesus can be found in the rubble, too. We don’t need abundance to experience the abundant love of Christ, and He delights in us, even when it’s dark. Oh, and I also wrote a book and have a podcast, but honestly? They’re the least interesting thing about my life.

Rachel Kang:


Let’s skip the small talk and share stories from the heart, yeah? My name is Rachel, but everyone who knows and loves me calls me Rae. I love deep and live hard, and I have a treasure chest spilling over with journals to prove it. I’m a New York girl living in North Carolina with my husband and two boys. I am a Manhattan mural of my own, swirling with African American, Native American, Irish, and Dutch descent. I didn’t always use my words to do good. I once filled pages of journals with soliloquies and secrets — ugly words spoken from the dark and deep inside of me. But then the Light broke through like a dawning sunrise, and now people tell me that my words help them breathe deep and feel known, and, really, that’s all I care to have my life count for.

I’m the creator of Indelible Ink Writers, an online community prompting people like you to bring forth bare words and brave art, and my first book on creativity as calling comes out next year! When I’m not playing hide-and-seek between the pages of a book, you’ll find me cupping porcelain filled with tea, all while writing poems, prose, and other pieces. And, sisters, it’s all joy, knowing my story is now colliding with all of yours.

Simi John:

My name is Simi. It’s not short for anything — just short and sweet like me (insert cheesy smile). For a long time I hated that my name was unique but didn’t have any meaning in my native Indian language. A few years ago, I discovered that in Hebrew Simi means abundance, and I was thrilled because my calling has always been to help people step into the abundant life that Jesus died to give them. My passion is to equip women to know who they are and live faithfully right where they are!

I was born in India, raised in Texas, and now I live in Oklahoma where my husband and I pastor a local church.  We have two beautiful little humans, so naturally, I require a lot of coffee and chai. I also work as a full-time physical therapist. In my spare time (what?), I enjoy speaking and writing. In 2020 I published my first devotional, I Am Not: Break Free from Stereotypes & Become the Woman God Made You To Be. I love Jesus more than I can say, but to know that He loves me — all of me, not just the Instagram highlight reel — just blows my mind. I can’t wait to share with you about His love and grace in this space on the internet.

______________________________________________________________

Anyone else wishing we could all pile into an actual living room right now for celebratory ice-cream sundaes and a big group hug? In the absence of being together in person, we give thanks for the gift of being connected as sisters in Christ in spirit. May God continue to knit our hearts together as His imperfect but perfectly-loved daughters.

Next week these six amazing women will each share their first article as an (in)courage contributor, so be sure to check back every day to continue to get to know them and be encouraged!

 

Strong Enough to Lean In

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In the last few months I’ve had a fractured elbow, a gum tissue graft, and a massive infected cyst removed from my neck. For the love! It’s been so many weird and painful things in a row. With my kids doing distance learning for over a year and most of our activities on hold or on Zoom, we haven’t had as much as a cold in our household and then bam! — all the weird health things. No, nothing life-threatening or too scary, certainly not in comparison to situations others are facing, and because they’re not as bad as what others are indeed going through, it’s been easy to downplay these health issues I’ve been experiencing. But they aren’t nothing. They have been a big deal. My daily life has been impacted, and I’ve sure been miserable, in pain, and rendered pretty helpless at some points along the way.

It feels like I should be used to attending medical procedures alone. After all, I had a pandemic pregnancy and baby — who, by the way, is already seven months old. You’d think that with him being my fourth child, I’d be used to the swift passing of time especially during this first year of his life, but it turns out, I’m not used to it. Turns out it’s still bittersweet to see babies grow so quickly, and it’s still hard for me to walk into appointments alone, even ones that should be simple.

Really, I’m not used to anything, including asking for help, accepting care, and taking a break, and these past few months, I’ve had to do all of the above. My husband has faithfully bandaged, unpacked, cleaned, and re-bandaged the surgical site on my neck, which I could not see or reach. My daughter brushed my hair while my arm was wrapped in a sling. My sister dropped off headbands that would keep my postpartum baby hairs out of the medical tape on my neck, and my friend sent coffee money when the baby stopped sleeping and my mouth, swollen and stitched, could only handle icy liquids.

On the home front, we have extensively supported our local economy with our takeout orders. Grocery pickup has been a lifeline. I have given thanks that my husband and I still work from home. All of those things have made life easier, which in turn helped make the pain bearable.

While I am not great at accepting it all, I am learning that in a way, being dependent is a good thing. My friend Amanda calls it being “strong enough to lean.” How smart is that? And so, lean I will, right into the arms that hold the strongest. I’m learning to lean in, depend on, and accept the care God is offering us all the time. And that care reminds me of a mom.

Think about the best mom you know. Maybe it’s your own mother or a friend. Maybe it’s a lady at church. If you went to her in a frazzled and overwhelmed state, what would she tell you to do to take care of yourself?

Most likely, she would make sure you’re comfortable on the couch, perhaps with a fuzzy blanket. She’d get you a glass of water. Then she might advise you to take a shower. Go to sleep. Turn off the TV. Stop scrolling. Close the laptop. Call a friend. Wear clean clothes. Laugh. Read a book. Eat food that helps your body and have dessert. Forgive yourself. Forgive the other person.

The care that this amazing mom offers? That is what God offers to us.

God wants to care for us like the best mother there ever was — ready to help put our minds at ease, invite us to practices that help our whole selves, and/or give us a kick in the pants to shake it off and get moving. Maybe a combination of it all because that might be what we really need.

Just as a mother constantly thinks about and cares for her children, God does the same for us. Psalm 139:17-18 says:

How precious are your thoughts about me, O God.
They cannot be numbered!
I can’t even count them;
they outnumber the grains of sand!

God thinks of us more often than there are grains of sand. He cares for us, and He’d like us to care for ourselves too. That care might look like a doctor’s appointment to check on that weird thing, or it might look like drinking that glass of water, or going to bed early, or praying when you worry. It might also look like accepting help and care, admitting when things are a big deal and when we need to be taken care of.

Let’s be strong enough to lean in — to God and others — and let’s do what we need to do to take care of ourselves well.

Traveling the Globe from the Comfort of Home

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Sometimes when life hands you lemons, you have to make lemon meringue pie. Or maybe you go all in for lemon primavera pasta or a French lavender-infused lemon tart or Mediterranean garlic-lemon chicken kebabs! Well, you get the idea. Make lemonade if you have to, but don’t sit around feeling sour.

This past December, we were supposed to be heading to the airport to catch our flight to the Big Island of Hawaii. This was a special trip my husband Shawn and I booked for the week after Christmas as a gift to our three daughters and my parents. After almost a year of sheltering-at-home and changing plans because of the global pandemic, we thought maybe we could squeeze in an end-of-the-year, we-survived-the-craziness vacation. Our family has Polynesian roots, and we were eager to visit the place where my grandparents had met.

We knew we were taking a risk, but we were hopeful. (And the airline said our tickets were fully refundable.) We already canceled plans earlier in the year to visit friends in Germany and travel to France. I also canceled a work trip to Cabo, Mexico and plans to attend a conference in Michigan at my alma mater.

Alas, COVID-19 numbers surged in California in December. Our governor asked people to cancel their travel plans and stay home for the holidays. Hospitals were full to capacity across the state. We finally decided it was best to cancel our trip to Hawaii and hunker down at home.

Needless to say, we were all disappointed. I have to admit this travel-loving, adventure-seeking mama right here was beyond discouraged, frustrated, and shed some tears over this one. My soul was weary by the end of 2020.

That Sunday — the day before we were supposed to depart — my sweet husband suggested we host a luau at home. “If we can’t go to Hawaii, let’s bring Hawaii to them,” he said.

He encouraged me to order some Hawaiian barbecue from a local restaurant and pick out a movie to watch as a family. I perked up a bit. Sounded fun! I needed a diversion to lift me from my sadness of having to cancel four much-anticipated trips that year and my own cabin fever.

When I shared the idea with my girls and parents, they took it to the next level. My fourteen-year-old, who spent the first decade of her life traveling internationally and doing missions work with her dad and me, suggested we explore a different country each day of our vacation. She started a spreadsheet and a Pinterest board right away. I hauled out my international cookbook collection, and we all started planning not just a luau but a virtual trip around the world.

An idea was born: traveling the globe from the comfort of home.

We spent Christmas break trying out new recipes, reading books aloud, watching movies in the evenings, and discussing snippets of history we were learning about the different people groups and countries. What started as disappointing turned into a wonderful two weeks of exploration.

Our circumstances challenged us to consider why we love traveling and learning about other cultures so much. We believe God uniquely created each one of us in His image. If we want to grow in our understanding of God, we need to grow in our knowledge about each other.

In college, I spent a semester in Costa Rica and traveled throughout Central America. I delighted in new foods like gallo pinto, tres leches cake, and refresco drinks made from all kinds of fruits we did not have in the United States. As I honed my Spanish language skills, I also gained a greater knowledge and respect for Central American history. Although I do not have any Central American roots, I felt somehow at home in these cultures.

After college, I took a missions trip to Haiti. I fell in love with the people there, especially the children who were so inquisitive and innovative with very few resources. I eventually moved to Haiti to teach English to pastors and started a non-profit there with my late husband. My Haitian sisters and brothers taught me about perseverance and courage, and my faith deepened as I witnessed their exuberant faith.

As Paul illuminates in Romans 12 and 1 Corinthians 12, God created each one of us as unique parts of the same body. Each part of the body plays an important role and function. We need each other because our differences serve as an invitation to experience the nuanced glory of God.

Yes, the body has many different parts, not just one part. If the foot says, “I am not a part of the body because I am not a hand,” that does not make it any less a part of the body. And if the ear says, “I am not part of the body because I am not an eye,” would that make it any less a part of the body? If the whole body were an eye, how would you hear? Or if your whole body were an ear, how would you smell anything? But our bodies have many parts, and God has put each part just where he wants it.
1 Corinthians 12:14-18 (NLT)

We all may have to consider travel a little differently moving forward. And yet, it’s important that we still open our hearts to what we might learn from all image bearers of God. When we explore the food, culture, music, and history of people around the world, we gain a greater experience of God’s Kingdom.

___________________________________________________________________

Dorina’s family curated a robust list of books, recipes, music, dances, games, and video recommendations for your family to learn about countries and cultures you might not be able to visit in today’s circumstances. Global Glory Chasers was created in partnership with Dr. Lucretia Berry, founder of Brownicity. Global Glory Chasers will be a monthly membership program housed in the Brownicity learning community for learners of all ages.

Join the monthly membership program to travel the world from the comfort of your home! 

And to celebrate, Dorina and Lucretia are giving away a FREE 3-month membership to Global Glory Chasers AND a signed copy of Dorina’s children’s book, Cora Cooks Pancit!* To enter, tell us in the comments which country you’d like to learn about, and we’ll choose one lucky winner!

Then tune in tomorrow, April 29th, at 4:00 pm CST on Facebook for a live conversation with Dorina Lazo Gilmore-Young and Becky Keife as they discuss this fabulous new course.

 

*Giveaway open to US addresses only and ends 11:59 pm CST on May 1, 2021. 

Becoming All Things To All People

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Not long after my husband and I got married and settled into our apartment in Chicago, we befriended a couple who had recently moved to the U.S. from Iran. The first time we met, we barely spoke because they didn’t know much English and we didn’t speak Farsi. In fact, the first time we went over to their apartment to hang out, conversation was still relatively sparse. We sat around a small television, watching a soccer game, and trying at times to make comments about anything — the game, church, school — but without much success. To be honest, after that first hangout, we hadn’t covered much relational ground. The differences in our cultures and languages meant there were more moments of dissonance and confusion than true understanding.

As my husband and I drove back home, we remarked about how hard cross-cultural relationships can be. It’s hard not to make deep connections right away. It’s hard not to understand the other person, and it’s just as hard to feel misunderstood. Sometimes, when we put ourselves out there, we make ourselves vulnerable to being hurt, rejected, sometimes even shamed. However, if we both hadn’t persevered, we would have missed out on a rich and beautiful friendship.

Each subsequent time the four of us met up, we learned more about each other. Our new friends would teach us phrases in Farsi. When we went to their home, they would make us homemade Persian food. Likewise, when they came to our apartment, we would make either Indian or Mexican food. Eventually, we also met each other’s friends. One evening over dinner we laughed until our sides hurt at the ways our mannerisms had begun to mimic each other. We’d spent so much time together that we had started to talk and act like each other too.

It takes a lot of work to connect across cultures. We could have easily quit and said, “This is too hard.” It’s easy to find excuses to let acquaintances or even friendships slide. We choose not to follow-up with another dinner invitation, or we don’t call the other person back because the last interaction was awkward or even frustrating. Sometimes we blame busyness or scheduling conflicts. But real relationships that are deep and that lead to healing across cultures take time and energy. They are also costly because much is required of us.

I love the way the Apostle Paul puts it in 1 Corinthians 9:22 when he writes, “I have become all things to all people so that by all possible means I might save some.” This has become a life verse for me and a guide to connecting across cultures. These words in Scripture are an invitation to grow, change, and adapt who we are to connect with the people around us. My husband and I persisted with our Persian friends because we valued them as people and genuinely wanted to be friends. More importantly, we were willing to change and adapt ourselves to each other for the sake of our relationship. As a result, this couple is now dear, life-long friends.

Becoming all things to all people is also the model of Jesus. Jesus came to this earth as a brown-skinned, first-century Jewish man. The eternal Son of God transformed Himself, despite pain and hardship, to meet us on our terms. He embraced another nature to become like those He loved and navigated different languages (Aramaic and Greek) as well as different sociopolitical contexts (Jewish and Roman). He adapted to human culture, acquired our customs, languages, and pains in order to care for, heal, save, and unite us. Salvation was His goal, but the first step in saving us was crossing into our world and meeting us where we lived.

Jesus invites all of us to go on a journey of becoming all things to all people. The word becoming is a process of coming to be something. It’s a word that connotes change — changing who we are to connect with the people around us. To become all things to all people is not a code for appropriating or stealing other people’s cultures. Becoming all things to all people is a posture that desires to see the world through other people’s eyes, value what they value, and both center and honor their way of life. It’s also a posture that requires humility and flexibility.

The journey of becoming all things will stretch us and make us uncomfortable at times. It won’t be easy, but I promise it is worth it. No matter who we’re seeking to connect with, we can take it slow, knowing that Jesus is with us every step of the way.

 

Cultural identities and cross-cultural engagement are not things that anyone can choose to ignore anymore, least of all Christians. Many of us want to have diverse friends and are passionate about justice. But if we are serious about cross-cultural relationships — real relationships that lead to understanding, healing and solidarity across cultural lines — we need to be willing to change. And that’s not something that comes easy for any of us. In Becoming All Things: How Small Changes Lead to Lasting Connections Across Cultures, Michelle offers hope by showing what’s possible when all of us are willing to try something new.

Click here to purchase a copy for yourself. And for an extra copy to give to a friend, tell us who you’d like to give it to in the comments below — we’ll be choosing THREE winners!*

Then, tune in tomorrow, April 26th, at 1:00 pm CST on Facebook for a live conversation with Michelle Reyes and Becky Keife as they discuss this beautiful new book.

*Giveaway is open to US addresses only and will end at 11:59 pm CST on April 30, 2021.

Be Still My Soul: Embracing the Need for Rest

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“I don’t do down time very well.” How often have I thought or spoken these words? Although I know it’s important, I often have trouble embracing my need for rest. I pressure myself to check items off a never-ending to-do list and allow myself to believe the lie that rest equates to laziness.

We’ve pushed past the one year mark of the pandemic, but the news continues to bring me anxiety and sorrow: violence, vaccines, and my family’s unique struggles. Lately, however, I’ve realized rest can help me cope with stresses, both slight and substantial.

In Matthew 11:18, Jesus tells us, “Come to me, all of you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.” Rest is a gift He offers to the weary.

I’m welcoming it into my life in three key areas, bringing rest to my body, spirit, and soul:

First, I’m embracing rest for my body by delighting in God’s creation. My parents loved plants, and I remember their favorite nursery and the fascination of walking through its warm, humid greenhouses as a child. Our home was filled with the beauty of God’s creation — from the rosy red geraniums my mother added to our window boxes each spring to the majestic ponytail palm in our front window to the graceful weeping willow that stood in the back of our yard.

Now I delight day-by-day as spring awakens the plants and trees in the yard of our new home — flowering pear, cherry, and dogwood trees, hardy lavender, creeping succulents, and a beautiful Japanese red maple.

I pull out old, worn field guides, join online plant identification groups, and text photos to my plant-savvy oldest son searching for answers to my questions: Are these budding bushes rhododendron or azaleas? What are the dozens of new shoots pushing up through the soil around our deck? Is this straggly little Charlie Brown tree actually something special?

For years I believed I could write about and photograph plants but not grow them. I joked about how I couldn’t keep plants alive. Inspired by the Spring chapter in Myquillyn Smith’s book Welcome Home and the way my oldest daughter found comfort through tending plants while isolating last year, I’m filling our home and yard with new life: trailing ivy, shade-loving hostas, fragrant rosemary, vibrant purple hydrangeas, an eye-catching variety commonly called a hope plant, and a quirky little ponytail palm that reminds me of home. I’ve catalogued them in an app that tells me where to place them and when to water them. I don’t want to kill my plants from either too much or too little love.

Appreciating and tending to God’s creation requires me to slow down and engage my sense of sight, smell, and touch. This is rest for my body.

Second, I’m embracing rest for my spirit through reading. I used to end every day with at least thirty minutes of quiet time with a book; it was the perfect wind-down to my day. Over the years, I’m sad to say I’ve allowed catching up on email and social media accounts to edge out that special time.

At the beginning of the pandemic, I bought my first Kindle. It’s one of my favorite COVID purchases. Most nights I prop extra pillows behind me in bed and escape into occupied France during WWII, the heart of the Russian Revolution, sleuthing along with the detective in a whodunit or an occasional romantic comedy.

I pair my Bible study and devotional time with breakfast, so I bookend my day with the written word. I believe reading builds empathy, and we all could use more of that. Through reading, I’m finding rest for my spirit. 

Last, I’m embracing rest for my soul as I pray and release. I used to say yes too often until I was buried by all the tasks I’d agreed to perform. When I learned to delegate, it allowed me to release responsibilities I didn’t need to carry and invited others to share the burden with me.

Worries will weigh you down, but prayer will provide life-changing peace if you unshackle your troubles and hand them over to God. Then, trust Him to handle the outcome. Pray and release: this is rest for our souls.

As Philippians 4:6-7 says, “Don’t worry about anything, but in everything, through prayer and petition with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus.”

Do your body, spirit, or soul need to rest? How have you expanded or built any new rhythms of rest during the pandemic?

Your Story Is Worthy to Be Told

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Last year February before the pandemic hit, I finished a three-day personal retreat at a conference center along the beach. I spent time praying and journaling on the shore to prepare my heart for writing my new book, Sweet Like Jasmine, about how God makes beauty out of our brokenness. I had packed my bags in the car to go home when I decided to take one last walk.

I saw a woman sitting by herself in a wheelchair looking at the ocean, and as I passed by, I paused, turned to her, and said, “How beautiful you look soaking in the ocean! May I ask what brings you here?”

The woman started crying, tears filling up her gentle blue eyes and rolling down her cheeks. She swallowed to collect herself, struggling to get her words out, inhaling and exhaling each word.

I nodded, relaxed my shoulders, and sat down to show her I wasn’t going anywhere.

“I get . . . very . . . upset . . . when . . . I . . . feel . . . emotional,” she replied with great effort.

“I understand,” I said, pausing to let my patience reassure her. I silently prayed, Touch her with Your peace, Jesus. Help me to listen.

“Most people give up waiting for me to talk,” she continued. “They don’t like that I keep crying.” She spoke each word, flinching with difficulty.

“It’s hard to talk if you feel overwhelmed,” I said to her. “It’s okay. Pain is hard for people to be comfortable with.”

As she wiped her tears, I offered, “I love the ocean. The ocean is never in a rush. We can just rest.”

A smile broke through. I gently asked, “Has it always been difficult to share?”

My new friend shared her story. She had lupus, which debilitated her motor skills and impacted her speech.

When I asked about her faith, she said church friends judged her lack of faith and blamed her for not praying enough. It broke my heart to hear that. I affirmed her, “God is so loving, but I’m sorry you didn’t receive the care you deserved.”

I shared about my own journey of healing and how God helped me to stop hiding my story. I told her the parts of my story that I felt were flawed, but I also talked about how God mended my heart with His love and how He taught me embrace my true worth just as I am.

“May I pray for you?” I asked gently.

“Yes,”  she whispered. I placed my hand on hers. We prayed, then hugged. My friend looked radiant.

It might seem easier to hide our flaws, but God makes beauty out of brokenness when we are willing to be honest and share our stories. When we do, others can feel safe to also share their stories, and God brings us close to one another, even allowing strangers to become friends. Through our stories, we offer the gift of rest and acceptance to each other.

God takes the stories we’ve lived through to show others that He is faithful to carry us through our hard times. Alone and isolated, we stay invisible, but when we open our hearts and share, we won’t be lonely anymore. We will be loved, and we will be made stronger.

Friend, is God calling you to step out of your comfort zone and share more of yourself? If you feel afraid, let me offer you this encouragement:

God values and treasures the beautiful parts of you that others have overlooked. He makes beauty out of brokenness. Everything you endure can become a sheltering tree of peace to others, so don’t be afraid to share. Your story is worthy to be told.

But now, says the Lord—
the one who created you, Jacob,
    the one who formed you, Israel:
Don’t fear, for I have redeemed you;
    I have called you by name; you are mine.
Isaiah 43:1 (CEB)

How is God showing you that He makes beauty out of brokenness?

Receive a FREE audiobook of Bonnie’s new book Sweet Like Jasmine: Finding Identity in a Culture of Loneliness & get access to Bonnie’s Exclusive Book Club when you preorder her beautiful book! Encourage your heart. Sign up here! Follow me on Instagram @thebonniegray.

More Than Meets the Eye on Social Media

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I stack the dirty plates and bowls in the sink, organizing the chaos before I begin the mundane task of washing them. I pump blue dishwashing soap onto the sponge, and while my hands work to wash bits of breakfast and lunch off the plain white Corelle plates, my mind turns to wandering. I look out the window to watch the next door neighbor doing renovations to their house, and I wonder if stress levels are elevated in their home or if this is a normal part of their life. The wall separating our homes only lets me see the heads of the construction workers and half a window — an opening too small to figure out what room it opens up to and what they could possibly be working on to better their living space. 

I don’t know much about our neighbor and his wife except from what I’ve seen and pieced together from our short interactions. The husband is friendly, always waving hi to our kids as they bike by his house, and he walks his two stocky dogs, which remind me of the three-headed dog in the first Harry Potter movie, around the neighborhood at least once a day.

I wonder about their life as I watch through the kitchen window, but at best, I can only imagine the life they lead, what makes them laugh or cry, the level of happiness in their home, and the pain they could be facing. Half a window and neighborhood small talk only give a shadow of a glimpse into their lives and the kind of people they are. 

I think about how little we know of people as I scroll through social media later that night. I live vicariously through pictures of my friends’ beach vacations, and I amen every powerful post written about the intersections of faith, life, our humanity, and justice. For a brief moment, I wonder about the people behind the words, the pictures, and the kind of lives they have, the motivation and inspiration that brought them to their phones to share their convictions and art with us. And though I know this little square window only shows a sliver of who they are, I’m quick to create a whole story about them, adding reasonable assumptions and possible details. I create a person in my mind from what I see, and I either elevate them with honor, judge them without insight, or envy them. I flatten a three-dimensional, real human being into a two-dimensional character — someone easy to compartmentalize and understand instead of the complex people they really are.

And then, in the midst of my thoughts, I see Jesus riding into Jerusalem on a donkey. The people shout, “Blessed is the King who comes in the name of the Lord!” (Luke 19:38 ESV), but they can’t see Him fully for who He is. They only see Him for who they want Him to be — a king to rule over them. And He will disappoint them by dying on the cross. They could only see what they could from their perspective, but there was so much more to who Jesus was and why He had come. 

My insides squirm as I remember this moment in history, and defensive words come to the tip of my soul, ready to explain away my part in making an angel or demon of someone I don’t know well enough. I want to argue that this is how social media is and that I can’t know better because what I see is all I see and that everyone else is doing it too. But my defense is lacking, and God invites me to sit in the discomfort of my convictions: I only see in part, and what I see is not the whole of someone’s personhood. It’s just a glimpse.

The rebuke is kind because I need it, and my heart softens in repentance. I ask God to remind me every day, every time, I want to reduce someone to a story I make up about them from the slivers of what I get to see on social media: Help me to see the whole humanity of the person as beloved by You. 

Stories of Courageous Joy

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I know the Lord calls us to be thankful at all times, to choose joy no matter what our surroundings or circumstances look like.

It’s not easy, but I get to choose whether I face the challenges, the frustrations, the disappointments of life with a joyful heart or a bitter one. Choosing joy requires a strength I don’t have, a reserve I can only find when I lean on God and allow Him to turn my resentment to rejoicing.

By Mary Carver, as published in Courageous Joy

We are loving hearing about the ways our new Bible study, Courageous Joy: Delight in God Through Every Season, has been impacting women everywhere, its message already deeply weaving its way into your hearts. We have seen and loved your selfies, underlined passages, shared quotes, and dog-eared pages as you dig deep to experience true joy right where you are.

So today, we’re highlighting a few of those stories from our community! Read on for the ways the Courageous Joy Bible Study has touched hearts (and scroll for info on our upcoming Online Bible Study — it’s not too late to join!):

I have to say I am floored. I’ve done other studies where there are just Scriptures broken up into different parts and then space for notes. That’s it. No real life application. No questions that encourage in-depth study. That is not the case with this study. Not only will you explore joy, but you’ll have real life, practical applications to help you understand and comprehend more. I highly encourage anyone who needs a little bit more “joy” (don’t we all) in their lives to pick up this study. You won’t regret it.
– Adrienne

I would give this book so many more stars if I were able. I am still in the process of going through this study. I find myself wanting to savor every moment and to read and re-read the rich text. The stories that provide an opening to the topic for each day are applicable to every stage of life. I am an empty nester and grandmother, but I find something to hold onto and to apply every day. And I see so much that would apply equally as well to my daughter and daughter-in-law who are raising babies and toddlers. I plan to gift them both with this wonderful study.
– Christina

This Bible study is amazing; one of the best I’ve encountered. It takes real life examples and teaches Biblical truths in a way that touches lives. For me personally, in a time when the stresses of life seemed to be crashing in around me, day after day in the study I was reminded where my joy comes from. Not from life. Not from circumstances. Not from happy events. Only from God! One of many quotes I’ve embraced from the book is this — “God’s great love for us meets us in the middle of our grief and hardships.” Even when life seems overwhelming, we can have joy because God is enough! That is #CourageousJoy.
– Jeannette

This study is exactly what my heart needed in this season of life! Each day is like breathing in new life again. I feel like I’m catching a breath of joy for the first time in a very long time. It’s the reminder that joy — true joy cannot be found in things or people or significance from others. True joy can only be found in relationship with our Father. In Him, constant relationship and communication through His Word is life-giving and fills us with the abundant life He wants for us. I cannot wait to see what else this study will reveal to me, but I know God is walking through it with me, filling me bit by bit with His joy so it will overflow in me! This will be a great group study! Grab your friends and dig into Courageous Joy!
– Shandyn

See what we mean? Such wonderful testimonies about the way this study has woven its way into hearts and lives and has helped women find joy right where they are.

The Courageous Joy Bible Study, written by Mary Carver and featuring stories from the (in)courage community, is now available where books are sold, and we are so excited to hear how the heartfelt stories and biblical truth in Courageous Joy impact your heart. When you get your copy, snap a picture for Instagram, tag @incourage, and include #courageousjoy in your caption so we can share in the fun!

And join us for our upcoming Online Bible Study as we work our way through Courageous Joy together! Sign up for the Online Bible Study, and we’ll send you the first week of the Courageous Joy Bible Study for FREE so you can start reading right away! The study starts May 3rd, so it’s not too late to join (and we so hope you will). Let’s take a deep dive into what God says about joy!

A Letter to My White Mom

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Dear Mom,

I remember sitting on your lap as a child. Our living room was filled with the scent of curry, spice, and summer. The windows were wide open, and the neighbors knew the sound from our floorboards on a Friday night meant worship was happening. I sat on your lap well past the necessary age because being close to your skin felt safest. On Friday evenings, the world would gather in our home. You invited everyone in. You picked up a blind woman from a street corner once, African refugees, and Chinese students that didn’t know any English. You never hesitated to welcome in a stranger, an outcast, a misfit, a non-English speaking foreigner, a wanderer, a person of light, brown, or Black skin. Everyone was equal. In your eyes, everyone needed Jesus. 

I remember sitting in our living room while the drums shook our old farmhouse to the bone. I could feel the beat from the bounce of your leg. I could feel it in my heart. All the accents sang the same words. It made me feel alive. At the bridge of the song, “Welcome to the Family,” the worship leader invited us all to stand up, sing, and greet each other. This was my favorite part. The seventy people crammed into our living room stood and embraced each other. I climbed over couches and folding chairs to extend my arms to strangers who happened to stop by for a meal and worship and to learn who this Jesus person was. Each person needing a home. I was so happy. I couldn’t stop smiling. The drums never stopped pounding until every single person was welcomed. 

I remember sitting on your bed for our daily discussions. You would sip your tea. I’d tell you about my day. You would look at me and marvel, “You are so beautiful. Your skin is the perfect color.” I’d jump off your bed and look at my reflection and smile. I was beautiful. Not because I knew what the measure of beauty was, but because you thought I was, so it must be true.

Mom, I remember the way you sat beside me when the day was done. You would stroke my dark hair down my back and sing hymns, songs, and lullabies as I fell asleep.

You’ve always sat beside me. You are white. I am brown. Your skin burns in the sun; mine only darkens. I wonder if the way through the clash of cultures, race, and cancelation comes when we sit beside one another as you’ve sat beside me all these years. I wonder if moving forward starts when we make space for being wrong. 

Perhaps the way you’ve modeled love to me can give hope to our hurting world. You loved in a generous, selfless, and jaw-dropping way. You love in extraordinary ways. You gracefully clawed against cultural norms and created a God-culture in our home. Maybe that’s what heals all the pain — extraordinary love. The kind of extraordinary love that sees the difference but doesn’t make the difference hiccup, hesitate, hold up, or hold back. The kind of extraordinary love that laid down His life for a world that whipped Him instead of worshipped Him.

Mom, I know you are lamenting the political climate right now. I know you are hurting for the unborn. I know you are anxious about the future. I know you cringe at the hate crimes against your Asian sisters. I see your pain. My pain doesn’t diminish yours. Your pain doesn’t diminish mine. Listen to mine, and I’ll listen to yours. This is only possible because Christ’s arms are wide enough to receive all our pain. His arms were pinned and pulled wide as a way to take on all our hate, hurt, and hidden pain. His love is large enough to hold all the horrible sadness. By His wounds, we are healed. By our wounds, He heals us.

Lament is a love song. Sometimes the love song can sound like a banging drum, heavy metal hate, or fragile violin strings. But we must lament. There is space for us both to fall apart. There is space for me to sing my own sad song. At the feet of Christ, I can cry out for my children, and my soft wounds still fresh from harsh words spoken. My grief is split open with a gunshot. We grieve into our loss. We grieve into our shattered stories. We grieve into our sad storm. We grieve into Jesus. Our grief is heard. Our grief is safe. Our healing comes when we hear God’s love song over us; Christ sings over us (Zephaniah 3:17). 

I’ve pondered deeply how change can happen. I don’t toss out trite ideas, but I am throwing every hope of the possibility of change on the back of Jesus. Hope in our splitting world will require an extraordinary kind of love. The kind of ordinary love that you, my white mom, have shown me. The kind of extraordinary love that forgives the unforgivable, a love that reaches out a hand to those who are different from us, a love that bends into what feels uncomfortable. An extraordinary kind of love that listens to our lament songs, then has the incredible audacity to sing along with us. 

Love always,
Your Asian-American daughter

 

In the end, this letter isn’t just for my mom. It is for all of us — a letter of hope and a way forward for those who belong to the family of God. There is no way without the extraordinary love and sacrifice of Jesus. There is no way without extending extraordinary love to each other. So even when we sing our lament songs off-key and imperfectly, we keep singing. We heal when we hear God’s love song over us, His beloved children. In His perfect love and grace, He alone can create harmony out of our dissonance.

Dear sister in Christ, what are you grieving today? How do you see God healing you? In what ways can you offer extraordinary, irrational, over-the-top, undeserved love to another today?

How God’s Faithfulness Looks Like a Bottle of Trader Joe’s Seasoning

by

The discouragement was so deep within me, I could hardly stand it. 

My province was going into lockdown. Again. I knew this was coming, but the discouragement hit me harder this time. I’m not sure why. Just last month, I wrote on how this pandemic won’t last forever, and suddenly I was having a very hard time believing the words I’d once written. 

It wasn’t just the impending lockdown. I’d said yes to too many things and felt like I had too much on my plate. I was overwhelmed and at the end of my rope. I’d gone to bed with a stress headache and woken up with a clenched jaw. (I know, I sound like a blast to hang out with.)

I needed a change of pace and a change of scenery, and because I couldn’t stop the lockdown or magically complete any of my current projects, I settled for the one thing I could control: getting my mail. When I opened my slot in the apartment lobby, there was a little brown box waiting for me. 

I didn’t think I’d ordered anything recently, but maybe I’d forgotten about something. I took the box out from the mail slot and held it in my hands, noticing the name on the return label. 

It was from a friend of mine. She lives almost two thousand miles from me, and I wasn’t expecting anything from her.

Immediately, a smile formed on my lips. I shook the surprise package, and it felt like glass. What could this be? I used my keys to rip the package open before even going back upstairs. 

I opened the cardboard and gasped. 

My friend had sent me four bottles of Trader Joe’s Everything But The Bagel seasoning. 

“What?!” I said out loud to no one. 

I picked up one of the priceless bottles, bringing it to my nose and inhaling the scent, smelling the notes of onion and garlic and salt. I couldn’t believe it.

I live in Canada, and I’d lamented to my American friend months ago — quite dramatically — wondering if I would ever be able to cross the border and go to Trader Joe’s to buy this seasoning again. 

I stared at the box in my hands with those four bottles inside of it. Tears threatened in my eyes. It was just a couple bottles of seasoning and yet they said so much to me: I see you. I hear you. I love you. I’m thinking of you. 

My friend’s small act of kindness wasn’t small to me. It was huge. She didn’t remove the pandemic or the lockdown or even the projects from my plate, but she made me feel seen and known and loved. 

I think God often uses our small acts of kindness in that way — to turn someone’s day or season into a reminder of God’s faithfulness. I’m reminded of how Jesus took the loaves of fish and bread — someone’s small, meager offering — and transformed it into plenty. He happens to take our little and turn it into a lot. His math doesn’t always make sense to me, but I know for certain that He honors our small offerings.

I don’t know if God whispered to my friend in her California Trader Joe’s to buy seasoning for this Canadian girl, or if my friend was just being her kind and wonderful self, but I know for certain that God multiplied her offering. Her small kindness compounded into a thousand reminders for me: of the friendship I have with her, of the faithfulness of God, of how I am seen, known, loved, held, remembered, and cherished.

Sometimes God’s faithfulness looks like loaves and fishes, multiplied into dinner for thousands. But sometimes it just looks like four bottles of Trader Joe’s Everything But The Bagel seasoning.