Seeing Our Bodies Beyond the Mirror and Through God’s Eyes

Seeing Our Bodies Beyond the Mirror and Through God’s Eyes

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I remember standing in the mirror in the dimly lit cabin we rented. The morning was a whirlwind of, “Who has the shampoo?” and, “I need more conditioner!” Steam everywhere, three girls were trying to share one mirror for the first time.

As I turned sideways, I caught myself doing something I’d probably done a thousand mornings before — that critical once-over we women seem to master by about age thirteen. But that warm morning, something stopped me. As sunlight streamed through the window, highlighting my perceived flaws that would soon be exposed in swimsuits and summer clothes, I noticed them . . . and I did not despise them.

Through the mirror, I saw the eyes of my stepdaughters watching me — not just my movements, but my relationship with my own reflection. In that moment, I realized that every word I spoke about myself, every gesture of self-criticism or acceptance, would echo in their minds as they stood before their own mirrors in the years to come. So, I quickly straightened my shoulders, ignored my urge to analyze my rounding curves and put the focus on my smile (and theirs) in the mirror.

The years that followed brought plenty of moments less graceful than that first morning. Like the morning I found myself telling my daughter, “You can flood this bathroom floor with your tears, but none of that will make my curling iron and dry shampoo re-appear.” I cringe a little remembering my dramatic delivery on that one but, honestly, those curling iron battles became part of our story. These weren’t just squabbles about beauty tools; they were moments of learning how to love each other through the everyday chaos.

We had our share of clothing debates, too. I remember saying things like, “Your shorts can’t be shorter than mine because mine are already too short!” And my youngest, bless her heart, never met a rhinestone she didn’t love.

It’s funny how these little moments stick with you. God was teaching us something deeper about seeing ourselves as His children first, about finding our identity in being loved by Him rather than in our reflection. As Psalm 139:14 reminds us: “I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well.” 

Years later, we found ourselves preparing for another summer day, but this time, I was the one watching as my daughter gazed at her reflection. Her shoulders were straight, her smile confident — not because she’s perfect, but because she knows whose she is. She’s a woman now, pursuing the purpose God has written on her heart. 

My daughter doesn’t fret about how her body will look in a swimsuit. Instead, she’s excited about building sandcastles, snorkeling with her siblings, feeling the warm sun on her skin, and using the strength of her legs to wade through crashing waves. Her body isn’t something to hide or criticize — it’s a gift meant for living and loving well. 

In that moment, as she applied her sunscreen and a touch of makeup, I noticed what she didn’t do — there was no subtle sucking in of her stomach, no critical tilting of her head. Instead, she saw what God sees: a beloved daughter, created in His image.

And, in the mirror’s reflection, I catch her eye and we share a smile, both remembering all the moments that led us here. 

Sometimes the most real changes happen in these everyday moments, in bathrooms with foggy mirrors and borrowed curling irons, in choosing to see beauty through God’s eyes instead of the world’s lens. Through all of it — the borrowed makeup, the late-for-school mornings, the tears over teenage insecurities — we were building something real. Something that went way deeper than curling irons and rhinestones. 

Perhaps the greatest gift we can give our daughters isn’t perfect bodies or flawless beauty advice, but the freedom to see themselves as God does — as vessels of purpose and love, designed not for magazine covers but for serving others with the unique beauty they bring to the world. Their worth measured not in inches or pounds, but in the love they share and the purpose they fulfill.

Looking back now, I realize those early mirror moments weren’t just about getting ready for the day. They were about getting ready for life, about learning to see ourselves and each other through eyes of love instead of criticism.

And that view? It’s better than any reflection in any mirror could ever be.

When the World Feels Out of Control, Organize Your Sock Drawer

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Last week, I came home from a doctor’s appointment where I got not bad but annoying news. Then, the auto mechanic let me know that the $350 problem I was trying to solve was actually a $2,700 problem that I had to get fixed immediately. This is all after I found out that one of my favorite community programs was getting its funding slashed by over 50 percent.

What is a girl to do?

If it’s this girl, I go attack my kitchen’s junk drawer. Or the supply closet. Or my sock drawer.

It may seem counterintuitive, but when the world feels overwhelming, you will find me elbow-deep in mismatched socks.

Maybe you’ve found yourself in the same place, fretting about the state of the world, so you are inexplicably sorting your spices or scrubbing grout — not because it fixes the state of the world, but, in some small way, helps you breathe. There might be some wisdom in that.

Isaiah 32:18 (NIV) says, “My people will live in peaceful dwelling places, in secure homes, in undisturbed places of rest.”

Notice that “peaceful dwelling places” is not the same as a peaceful world. Sometimes our peace is a choice.

A response.

A boundary.

No, this isn’t about ignoring the world. It is about creating a home that is a “safe base” from which to respond.

I clean, I declutter, and I organize because I want a place of rest for my body and my mind. When I have that, I react to hard things with love and grace instead of snapping at everyone in my life because I’m stressed both inside and outside of my home. If I can refuel at my safe refuge, I’m more capable of being the hands and feet in a world that desperately needs to see Christ made real.

When I was a young mom and wife, I lived in so much clutter that I would often escape my home to go anywhere — the library, the grocery store, Target — not because I needed books or diapers, but for a taste of peace and order.

It’s a vicious cycle. Our house is out of order, so we find a place to escape, and places like HomeGoods or Old Navy feel bright and clean and organized. Our brains thrive there. And because we don’t want to be rude, we pick up a new cup, a cute boho sweater, or a candle, even though we could open a home fragrance shop with all the pillars and jars we already have. So we bring more things to clean, declutter, and organize into our already bursting home.

But now, I’ve worked hard to create a home where I (and others) can escape to when the world feels out of control.

When the news brings so much sadness and I feel like everything is hard, I take to my house and do something I affectionately call “doomcleaning.” There’s a war in a part of the world I’ve never heard of? I can’t do anything but pray and organize my laundry room. There is a tornado in Oklahoma? Okay, I will clean out under the kitchen sink. There is not a thing I can do in the moment except pray about a world that is out of order, but I can put my world in a little bit more order. Then I can think about the next steps to help out there, in a world that needs help.

Cleaning these parts of my home won’t fix the world, but it can restore a bit of agency to my heart and mind. Doomcleaning is truly the sacred pause that my body needs. It is a way to restore calm and create a space to say, “What now, God?”

Much like the old example of putting on my own oxygen mask before putting on my child’s, I need to order my inner world so I can experience enough peace to start thinking about how I can help the world at large.

I need to breathe before I can help. And putting order into my world helps me breathe.

When I can breathe, I pray more clearly. When I’m not drowning in dishes, I can think about who needs a meal dropped off. When I’m not constantly tripping over shoes, I can better recognize my neighbor’s needs.

When the clutter clears, compassion has room to rise.

Maybe today you don’t need to doomscroll. Maybe instead, you need to doomclean.

Maybe today peace begins with a sock drawer.

Need a community to help you kickstart your decluttering? Join Kathi and her team over at their Facebook group Clutter Free Academy, where you’ll find wisdom and daily, gentle encouragement.

 

Listen to Kathi’s devotion below or wherever you stream podcasts.

How to Run Life’s Hurdles for His Glory

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In high school, my first love was soccer, but my coach recruited me to run track and field because he said it would help me stay in shape, and he could use my speed on the team. I loved the competition and community I found on the track team.

Coach Churchill, whom we fondly called “Church,” had me run races like the 400 meters and the relays, and even do the long jump.

Church walked up to me during one track meet and asked, “How would you like to run hurdles today?”

I raised an eyebrow at him. He had this way of pushing me to embrace new challenges — in the classroom, on the soccer field, and out on the track. Church was a man of faith and someone I trusted as a leader and mentor.

“I’ve never run hurdles before,” I responded.

“I know,” he simply said. “I’ll teach you.”

That was the day I fell in love with the 300-meter hurdles.

Church gave me a quick lesson. I practiced jumping over the hurdle a few times, and then headed to the starting line. There wasn’t time to get nervous. Only a handful of girls were racing that day. I didn’t have anything to lose.

Looking back, I know I didn’t have great hurdle form or strategy in that first race, but I immediately embraced the challenge. I loved that feeling of soaring over those hurdles and the thrill of coming from behind to win the race.

After that, Church had me work with another teacher who ran hurdles in college. Mr. Kritzberg gave me more specific coaching on the best strategy to run hurdles.

I think back to the first bit of advice Mr. Kritzberg gave me: lean in and reach for your laces. The goal was to make my body more aerodynamic. This technique helps a hurdler to maintain balance, propel forward, and get over the hurdle more efficiently.

What if we applied this technique to our life hurdles?

When we see a hurdle in the lane in front of us, it’s easy to get discouraged or overwhelmed. We may want to run away from that hurdle or put on the brakes rather than propel forward.

James writes, “Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything” (James 1:2-4 NIV).

James was Jesus’ half-brother who helped build the church after Jesus’ resurrection and ascension. James writes primarily for Jewish Christians with reminders that hold truth for us today.

Joy is probably not our default when we face difficulties, but James encourages us to “consider it an opportunity” (NLT) or to “count it all joy” (ESV) when we face hurdles in life.

Sometimes, leaning in might mean naming the hurdle, but not allowing ourselves to get caught up in worst-case-scenario thinking. We need to consider where there might be joy in the process, even when it feels challenging. This reframes the situation and helps me to take that courageous step forward.

Mr. Kritzberg used to tell me not to jump over the hurdle, but to run through it. That puzzled me at first, but he explained that when I’m in a hurdle race, the goal is to maintain speed and momentum. A good hurdler skims over the hurdle, not jumping high and spending a lot of time in the air, which causes her to lose speed.

I can see how this applies to life as well. Sometimes I work so hard to avoid pain, but the truth is: the only way through pain is through. I have to allow myself to run through the challenges instead of trying to avoid or jump over them.

Now I’ve been coaching track and field for more than 20 years at our local high school, where my husband graduated and now my daughters attend. My 16-year-old decided this year she wanted to run hurdles. She’s always been a sprinter, but she needed something new to challenge her.

I’ve been careful not to push my daughters to pursue something just because I did. I want them to choose their own path without pressure. Of course, I was delighted when she decided for herself to try the 300-meter hurdle race — the very race I learned to love in high school.

As I started coaching my daughter, I noticed she would sometimes slow down and stutter-step right before she got to a hurdle. This is common for new hurdlers. I gave my girl the same advice my coach gave me – keep your eyes on the finish line, not the hurdle. Hurdle races are often won in the final strides of the race.

When we focus on the horizon rather than the hurdle, we can run faster and more efficiently for His glory. Finishing well matters.

Friend, I imagine you have some hurdles you are facing today. Maybe you are facing burnout or traversing depression; maybe your marriage feels tense or your child has wandered; maybe you are overwhelmed by work or today’s headlines. Name some of those hurdles. Then visualize yourself leaning in and running them. Look for the hidden joy in the race. Ask God to grow your perseverance and maturity as you run to complete this leg of the race.

Dorina helps people run after the glory of God through her devotional, Walk Run Soar, and her weekly Glorygram.

 

Listen to Dorina’s devotion here or search “(in)courage” on your fave podcast app!

The Lives We Never Led

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Late at night in the dark, when we don’t have to look someone straight in the eyes, even our closest friends, the truth has a way of slipping from our lips.

“Honestly, sometimes I wonder what my life would be like if we hadn’t gotten married so young. Or gotten married at all.”

Her voice is shaking. I hear the doubt catch in her throat. As her friend, I want to reach out, hug her close, and tell her it will all be okay — though I have no way of knowing.

Instead, I keep my mouth shut and let her talk.

“Sometimes I think about the guy I dated before him. What if we had ended up together? Or what if I had left home instead of staying here? Would everything be different now? Would everything be better?”

Good friends can sit in the silence together. She has done this for me, too. But in the heavy dark, all I can do is pray for her peace. That she might find whatever she is seeking within the life she has today — or whatever changes might come next.

But I know the weight of this wrestling. For me it often happens when a stranger asks what I studied in college or what I wanted to become when I was younger.

“French and art history,” I answer sheepishly, as if apologizing for the degree now gathering dust. “I thought I was going to teach. Everyone thought I should teach. But I wasn’t sure.”

This is my roundabout way of admitting that my work today has almost nothing to do with the subjects I spent four years studying or the language I spent a decade perfecting. But my life holds good work, holy work, hopeful work I never could have imagined back then. And the many callings I have been given — to marriage, motherhood, friendship, families, and communities — have stretched me in ways I never could have dreamed up in my younger years.

Yet I’m still tempted by alternate versions of my own life, too.

Who hasn’t been distracted by the idle daydream, wondering what-if? What if you had married your high school sweetheart? Or gotten that job and not this one? What if you had switched careers? Or moved across the world? What if you had another child, or none at all?

Alternate versions of our own lives — the what-if ones we might have led — can be as tempting as other people’s experiences.

I’ve even heard the plucky reassurance: “Women can have it all, just not all at once!” But the truth is, we cannot. We have made choices — and had circumstances thrust upon us — that created the contours of one particular life, and no other.

I believe it is good and wise to admit that we can never have it all. Because that truth opens our eyes to see that the one life we do have still holds goodness, beauty, hope, love, and abundance.

You may never be an Olympic athlete. Or a brilliant cook, a talented artist, a best-selling author, or the life of the party. You might never marry your soulmate, raise the family you dreamed of, find the perfect job, or own a place to call your own.

But the more fully you inhabit the life you do have, the more you can come into the presence of God who is fully with you, right here and now.

In his Letter to the Ephesians, Paul speaks to this same truth:

“I, therefore, the prisoner in the Lord, beg you to walk in a manner worthy of the calling to which you have been called, with all humility and gentleness, with patience, bearing with one another in love, making every effort to maintain the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace: there is one body and one Spirit, just as you were called to the one hope of your calling, one Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God and Father of all, who is above all and through all and in all.”
Ephesians 4:1-6 NRSVUE

Paul knew what he was talking about. (He was imprisoned, after all!) Life does not always go the way we hoped or planned. But his words point out the unity we still need within ourselves.

We cannot lead multiple lives: just one. We cannot let regret or distraction consume our thoughts. Right here and now is the real, raw, rough, but beautiful life we have.

The trap comes with thinking that this life is not enough — that we are too small, limited, or powerless to make a difference. But Christ Himself is our hope. This expansive, invigorating, unending hope is enough to fill any life.

You do not need to be more or less. You simply need to be yourself — with God.

“The glory of God is the human person, fully alive,” wrote Irenaeus, a 2nd-century theologian and bishop. When I found his words as a fresh college graduate turning to the work of ministry that now beckoned, I felt my soul leap.

Decades later, his wise words remind me that God dwells fully within and among us — and we glimpse God’s glory most clearly when we are fully alive.

Wherever you are today, the lives you did not lead don’t have to be ghosts that haunt you in the night. And your dreams of what might yet be do not have to become disappointments if they don’t materialize the way you want.

Instead, your one true hope — the “one Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God and Father of all” — can gently remind you that you are living the only life you are called to live.

Because God does not dwell in the lives we did not lead. But in the glory of each one of us, here and now, fully alive.

 

Listen to Laura’s devotion here or on the (in)courage podcast wherever you stream!

Seasons Change, and So Should We

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“I will never move back to this town,” I whispered as my parents packed the minivan with my college dorm supplies. I was ready to leave and wasn’t going to look back.

And for a long time, I didn’t.

Seasons changed. I changed, too.

I found myself shifting and growing into new versions of myself. I made mistakes and learned lessons that only come with figuring life out as you go. I sat in lecture halls and realized the world was bigger than I ever realized.

I learned. I unlearned. I relearned.

I graduated. Had a job with my very own cubicle. Got married. Became a mother. Bought a house. Moved. Moved again.

I reconsidered things. I looked at life and all its beautiful, terrible glory from different angles. I prayed with an open heart. Sometimes, I was surprised at the miracle. Other times, I was heartbroken at the silence. I read books — novels, memoirs, and how-tos.

My world expanded, and so did I.

Change is obvious when we’re in a transitional moment: graduation, marriage, divorce, the birth of a child, retirement, a health diagnosis — take your pick. But we’re always changing, whether we like it or not. Our bodies quite literally renew themselves over time. Skin replaces itself through a natural process every 27 days. We are not the same people today that we were a month ago. No matter what season of life you’re in, what would happen if you approach this transitional time as an invitation to be transformed in the love of God?

We are all capable of change. Every minute, every second of the day, we’re becoming.

So the question is: Who are you becoming?

What have you made up your mind about? Where do you get your news? Who do you interact with who doesn’t look or think like you?

Do you listen to learn or to help craft your argument?

In fourth grade, my teacher invited us to grab our three-ring binders (mine was of the Looney Tunes variety) to create what she called our “Life-Long Notebooks”. She helped us take loose-leaf paper and her preprinted tabs to create an organized place to add our observations about the newly built butterfly garden, our wonderings about the world, and our hopes for ourselves. She encouraged us to stay curious and open, not just in the classroom but wherever our lives took us.

My first college internship was at a local newspaper. My editor, then in her early 40s (I shudder to admit I thought she was quite old at the time), told me that she stuck around day after day because she was always learning something. She met new people, asked new questions, and learned new things.

You don’t have to be an eager 10-year-old or a seasoned newspaper editor to be a lifelong learner.

A commitment to learning about the world, the people in it, and the God who made it is key to living a faithful life. We can trust God with our wonderings because God gave us the spirit of curiosity in the first place. It’s when Christians refuse to learn and grow that we get into dangerous situations.

I’m not the same person I was five years ago, and I hope that in five years, I’ll be a different person than I am now. I don’t want to alter the fundamentals of who I am, but I want to grow fully into who God created me to be. I want to keep learning — to be, as Romans 12:2 says, transformed by the renewing of my mind. I don’t want to do this to accumulate more knowledge — I want to do this to fully love God and my neighbors.

Spiritual transformation is not always comfortable, but it is sanctifying. Our spiritual walks with Christ are ongoing. We don’t stop learning the vastness and fullness of God, our world, and ourselves the day we say a certain prayer or hit a specific milestone.

When I read my Bible, I feel a bit like Alice in Wonderland, opening doors and going down rabbit holes, often finding more questions than answers. The more I learn, the more I wonder. The more I wonder, the more I learn. A life walking with Christ is comforting yet often confounding. The more we embrace a posture of Christian curiosity, the more our worlds get, as Lewis Carroll put it, “curiouser and curiouser.”

You are allowed to change your mind. You don’t have to draw lines in the sand and dig in your heels.

Take it from me: After 15 years away, I began dreaming of moving back to my hometown.

I changed.

And by the grace of God, I will continue to shift and change with the seasons, knowing that in all my shades of becoming, the steadfast love of Christ never ceases.

As you enjoy all the activities the summer has to offer, may you stay curious and live with an open heart, forming deeper connections with yourself, your neighbors, and the One who breathes every season into existence.

Article by Kayla Craig from the (in)courage archives and featured in Everyday Faith Magazine.

The Summer 2025 edition of Everyday Faith is available now, and you’re going to love it! 

From cover to cover, you will find stories and articles to inspire your heart. Find activities for summer road trips, recipes for summertime gatherings, stories of persevering through difficult times, tips for celebrating seasonal traditions, summer Bible reading guides, and much more. We hope this issue helps you experience and express God’s love in fresh, authentic, and inspiring ways!

The article above is just one of many featured in Everyday Faith magazine, which is perfect for gifting to a friend, Bible Study sister, Sunday School teacher, or neighbor. And to help you do just that, we’re giving away* FIVE sets of magazines — one for each winner and one for them to give to a friend!

Leave a comment telling us to whom you’d gift a copy, and we’ll draw five winners.

*Giveaway is open to US addresses only and will close on 6/7/2025 at 11:59 pm Central.

The Right Friends Are More Important Than We Think

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Roughly 15 years ago, I was standing in a tiny hallway having a conversation with a group of young girls. That conversation led to the heartbreaking realization that these girls expected their lives to be mediocre at best. They were missing out on the abundant life Jesus had for them. I went home and inquired of the Lord about how I could help. That year, the Virtue curriculum was born in my heart.

Since that encounter, the curriculum has transformed into life groups and book clubs across the country. Later, it became a conference and, finally, the book Virtue: Living Uncommon in a Common World. Together with a group of ten incredible ladies who make up the Virtue team, we share the message of living an uncommon life around the world — showing how it leads to life to the fullest, even a “happily ever after.”

These ladies have become “iron sharpens iron” friends to me (Proverbs 27:17). They remind me of one of the most powerful stories of friendship in Scripture, found in Luke 5.

“Some men took a man who was not able to move his body to Jesus. He was carried on a bed. They looked for a way to take the man into the house where Jesus was. But they could not find a way to take him in because of so many people. They made a hole in the roof over where Jesus stood. Then they let the bed with the sick man on it down before Jesus.”
(Luke 5:18–19 NLV)

The man on the mat couldn’t walk. He wasn’t capable of seeking his healing on his own, and his friends refused to let him remain stuck. Their plan was clear: get him to Jesus. But when they arrived, the house was packed. A crowd blocked the door.

I can’t imagine being among the people who saw a paralyzed man being carried and yet didn’t make room for him to get to Jesus. It seems so selfish. Surely they knew why those men were there! Yet no one moved. No one helped. They simply stood there, likely waiting for their own miracle.

But the four friends didn’t let the obstacle stop them. They climbed onto the roof, carried their friend still on the mat, tore open the roof, and lowered him directly in front of Jesus.

“When Jesus saw their faith, He said to the man, ‘Friend, your sins are forgiven.’”
(Luke 5:20 NLV)

And then, to silence the critics and prove His authority:

“’So that you may know the Son of Man has the right and the power on earth to forgive sins,’ He said to the man who could not move his body, ‘I say to you, get up. Take your bed and go to your home.’ At once the sick man got up in front of them. He took his bed and went to his home thanking God.”
(Luke 5:24–25 NLV)

This is one of the most beautiful and powerful stories of friendship I’ve ever read in the Bible—or even heard about in life. This is what friends are supposed to do. We are meant to carry each other to Jesus when one of us is not capable of getting there alone.

This doesn’t always look like carrying someone who is physically lame. A friend might be “stuck on their mat” because of a broken marriage, crippling fear, overwhelming anxiety, or sickness that feels impossible to overcome. Jesus is the answer to it all. His Word still offers healing and forgiveness today, just like He did for the man on the mat.

When our friends are in pain, it’s not enough to just sympathize. Complaining alongside them or offering pity won’t bring breakthrough. What helps is carrying them — pointing them to Jesus, lifting them in prayer, and speaking God’s Word over their situation. “The effectual, fervent prayer of a righteous person has great power and wonderful results” (James 5:16, paraphrased).

Like the four men in Luke 5, we must refuse to take no for an answer. We must be the friends who find a way, no matter the obstacles, because we know the Healer — and we love our friends too much to give up.

That’s exactly what my Virtue team girls do. They pray. They carry each other. When one of their daughters had an accident, they stood in prayer until healing came. They’ve believed together for restored marriages, financial provision, job opportunities, prodigal children returning to Jesus, and courage and strength for weary parents. Again and again, they’ve carried one another to Jesus.

I’m so thankful to be surrounded by such amazing women.

We all need these “iron sharpens iron” friends. And we all need to be them. Life wasn’t meant to be lived alone. If you’re feeling alone today, take a bold step: seek out a church with life groups or serve teams and join one. Open your home to start a book club or gather a group of women hungry to grow in faith and friendship.

Be the kind of friend who carries others to Jesus — and you’ll find yourself carried in your own time of need.

Listen to Tyra’s devotion here or wherever you stream podcasts!

You’re Never Talking to the Air

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“I love the Lord because he hears my voice and my prayer for mercy.
Because he bends down to listen, I will pray as long as I have breath!”
Psalm 116:1–2 NLT

Have you ever talked to someone who seemed distracted or disinterested, nodding but not really listening? It can feel lonely and frustrating. But God is nothing like that.

When you pray, the God of heaven bends down to listen. Not because you’re eloquent. Not because you’ve earned His attention. Simply because you’re His, and He delights in hearing your voice.

This Psalm reminds us of a beautiful truth: God always hears our prayers. And more than that, He responds. Sometimes it’s with rescue. Sometimes with peace in the waiting. But always with love.

No prayer is too small or messy. No request too ordinary. The Lord is near, attentive, and faithful.

So today, let’s lean into that assurance and lift our hearts to Him.

Leave your prayer request in the comments — and while you’re there, take a moment to pray for someone else, too. Let’s be a community that believes together and lifts each other up.

God is listening. And He’s already at work.

How to Let Go and Release What’s in Your Hands

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I arrived at the mall on a mission to revive my water-damaged cell phone. My phone had been stuck in recovery mode for nearly twenty-four hours. The “restore” screen appeared with every attempt to reboot, taunting me as carefully I followed the instructions. After countless tries, I gave up trying to fix it on my own.

Gripping my iPhone, I stepped into the store and prepared myself for the tech’s upgrade pitch. I loved my mini device and had zero interest in the new iPhone. Moreover, I didn’t think my phone had backed up my data before it crashed. I didn’t need a new phone; I needed my old phone with my information — and the possibility of losing all my personal content bothered me.

“This is a great time to trade in your phone for a free upgrade,” the tech told me. “We’re accepting phones in any condition. Even water damage.”

Though persuasive, his sales pitch failed to move me. I shook my head and adamantly refused. I just needed someone to repair my device. Please and thank you.

As I rattled off a myriad of reasons I wanted to keep my outdated phone, an inner voice broke through the chatter, interrupting my monologue: “Why do you insist on holding on to something that is broken? Let it go.”

The question immediately silenced me. My eyes watered upon hearing the still yet firm voice. The Lord had spoken. I slid my phone in the tech’s direction and surrendered my device.

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll trade it in.”

I knew the Lord was dealing with me, His question spotlighting an inner struggle much deeper than an inoperable cell device. God used that moment in the store to show me myself: my tendency to hold on to things longer than necessary and staying tethered to what I’ve outgrown — jobs, places, people, friendships, relationships. Even when those things had run their course.

There is something reassuring about dwelling in the familiar. We’ve lived there for a while. We know what to expect. We wrap ourselves in the familiarity like a security blanket providing warmth and comfort on a brisk morning. But our comfort zones give us a false sense of control and relief. The familiar can cloud our perspective and judgment. We resist surrendering with clenched fists, convincing ourselves that what we hold in our hands is the best thing for us, even when it’s marred beyond recognition. Dead. Broken.

I had convinced myself that my phone would work fine if they just repaired it, but in reality, my phone had started deteriorating long before water seeped into the hardware. The battery stopped holding a charge, forcing me to carry around a portable charger everywhere. The performance lagged. And, for good reason, nobody requested using my camera to take pictures. But . . . there I was, doing everything in my power to force that phone to work and keep working for me.

Comfort zones can be a breeding ground for stagnation and immobility. I can recall times I’ve settled out of comfort, allowing fears and doubts to order my steps instead of the Maker who knows me and calls me by name. Sometimes, I rely too much on my limited knowledge instead of listening to God’s instruction to trust in Him with all my heart and, leaning not on my own understanding, submit all my ways to Him (Proverbs 3:5-6).

We serve The One who can do “immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to His power that is at work within us” (Ephesians 3:20). We can all reflect on moments when God came through at the right time, answering prayers in unexpected ways, flooding our hearts with awe and wonder. He upgrades our lives in the best way.

When I received my upgraded phone, I discovered my data had backed up accordingly, nullifying my fears. Nothing was lost, but much was gained. Since my upgrade, I’ve never once desired to have the old model back. I wished I had let my phone go sooner.

When God leads us to part from something, we might wrestle with relinquishing control and trusting the process. But, letting go and releasing “what is” will ultimately make room for what’s next.

I’m thankful for His gracious promptings, beckoning us to open our hands and let go, awakening us to possibilities, and reminding us there is more.

What God Plants Grows + A Garden-Fresh Recipe

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I dream of being a gardener. You know, one of those green-thumb, botanical life-givers who not only knows how to put plants in the soil and make them grow but also knows how to keep them alive. Maybe even one of those people who can look at a single leaf and quickly rattle off the scientific name (otherwise known as the two-part binomial. Yes, I looked it up.)

Alas, my gardener dream isn’t likely to come true. Not only do the pace and responsibility of my day-to-day life with six children and a full-time job absorb the time needed for such an endeavor, but I also have an itty-bitty problem I can’t seem to overcome:

I kill green things.

It’s like I have poison in my fingers, and every green thing I try to grow ends up dead in my hands. In my defense, I’ve managed to keep every one of my offspring alive, which I celebrate with great joy. Thank You, Jesus. But plants? Flowers? Hanging baskets and herb gardens? I’m the caretaker of the dead. My house is a graveyard of gardening dreams.

Even so, every spring I drive myself to Home Depot and spend a small fortune buying annuals to plant around the outside of my house. Reds and purples, yellows and pinks. Pansies, petunias, impatiens, and geraniums. The more color, the better. The more plant life, the better my life.

Until, of course, they die. As lovely as they are when I put them in the ground, they don’t keep their color — or life — for long, God help me. By July, the plants I so lovingly cared for gasped a final goodbye. My husband remarks with a smirk, “How about we take the money we spend on flowers and just throw it away? Skip the work and save time.”

“Hardy-har-har. Not funny,” I tell him. Then, I get back to work digging the holes that will become my flowers’ tombs. No one can accuse me of a lack of effort or good intentions.

This past week, I was hanging out in the book of Mark, chapter four, to be exact. And in this particular part of Mark’s Gospel, Jesus talks a lot about seeds and plants and keeping green things alive. Although I’ve read His words here multiple times, a new story caught my eye:

“This is what the kingdom of God is like. A man scatters seed on the ground. Night and day, whether he sleeps or gets up, the seed sprouts and grows, though he does not know how.”
Mark 4:26-27 (NIV)

The kingdom of God is like the seed that grows, regardless of our understanding or attention. Its growth is guaranteed, and its longevity is eternal. In other words, when it comes to spiritual botany, God is always at work even when we are not. And what He plants won’t end up a graveyard.

Lately, as I’ve watched the news and engaged in hard conversations with friends in places of suffering, my heart weighs heavy with all I don’t understand. At times, it appears as if life is withering and God is absent or uninvolved. I ache for this broken world filled with such pain. It seems everywhere I look, I see death and destruction and disappointment. I wonder if any good can come from so much that is wrong.

Can God bring life from what appears already dead?

And then I read Jesus’ words again. And I’m reminded that ours is a God of life, not death. He entered into the human experience, taking on mortality, so we would always, always have hope of new life.

He’s a Gardener of green things, living things. What He plants grows. What He nurtures thrives. What He loves blossoms.

So while I may never master my green thumb, I love a Master Gardener. He is tending His seeds even now, doing work I can’t see and performing life-giving miracles I’ll never comprehend. His kingdom is one that will never end. And that means, even when I sleep, I can rest. Because tomorrow will be filled with the color of new life.

by Michele Cushatt, from the (in)courage archives

And now a brand new recipe for you!

Thank you to our friend Nancy C. for putting together this delicious recipe that tastes like the goodness of springtime and fresh garden produce. Put those farmers’ market or backyard garden tomatoes, bell peppers, cucumbers, and herbs to good use! We hope you try this pasta salad with loved ones this season. Friends, scroll down for the recipe and to download a FREE printable recipe card!

Pepperoni Pasta Salad

Download the FREE recipe card here!

Prep Time: 35 minutes
Bake Time: none
Makes 6-8 servings

INGREDIENTS:

  • 1 (12-oz) package uncooked rotini pasta
  • 1 orange bell pepper, chopped
  • 1 cup chopped red onion
  • 2 cups grape tomatoes, halved
  • 1 cup chopped cucumber
  • 2 (2.25-oz) cans sliced black olives, drained
  • 1 (14-oz) can quartered artichoke hearts, drained, and cut in half
  • 1 (8-oz) package small fresh mozzarella balls or pearls
  • 1 (5-oz) package pepperoni, cut in half
  • 1 cup of your favorite Italian salad dressing
  • For garnish: shaved or shredded Parmesan cheese and chopped fresh parsley

INSTRUCTIONS:

  1. Cook pasta according to package directions. Drain, then rinse with cold water.
  2. In an extra-large serving bowl, combine the pasta, bell pepper, red onion, grape tomatoes, cucumber, black olives, artichoke hearts, mozzarella pearls, and pepperoni.
  3. Toss these ingredients together, then pour the Italian salad dressing over this mixture and toss again until everything is coated.
  4. Before serving, sprinkle the bowl of pasta with Parmesan cheese and chopped fresh parsley. Or, put the pasta salad in individual serving bowls and then add the Parmesan cheese and parsley toppings to each bowl, then serve.

Note: You can make this pasta salad several hours ahead of time and refrigerate until ready to serve.

Find these beautiful serving dishes, tea towel set, and salt & pepper sprinklers in the Mary & Martha home collection, from DaySpring. And tell us – what’s your favorite springtime, garden-fresh recipe?

Let’s Learn to See Beyond the Offerings We Don’t Understand

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It happened like clockwork every morning in the few extra minutes before school started. I would ride my yellow and blue Nishiki bike to school, park and lock it at the bike station, and then walk to our outdoor classroom pod to wait. Irene was always there, standing between our 5th-grade classroom doors with her backpack on. She held a plastic grocery bag in her hands — and the only thing that differed from day to day was the kind of candy inside.

Irene was quiet, and part of that might have been a language barrier. I don’t remember if she was new to the school — after all, it was my first year after living in Tokyo for four years. But I do remember how she struggled to find words once our conversation moved beyond “hi” or “thank you.” My family returned to the States, or “back home,” as others called it, but everything felt foreign to me. All of fifth grade felt like survival, trying to adjust to school in a place that was supposed to be familiar but wasn’t. I mostly missed what had been.

Once I arrived at school, I’d take my backpack off and sit on the concrete in the shaded area of our classroom’s pod. I’d smile at Irene, and once I smiled or said hi, she’d slowly walk towards me, holding the plastic bag open. Mostly it was full of candy. It was a mini trick-or-treat session for classmates who arrived early enough. Almost everyone took something she offered in a quiet exchange. I remember asking her where the candy came from once, and she just nodded and gestured for me to take more.

The rules of friendship and recess took some time to get used to that year. For everything that felt different from life in Tokyo, some things were universally the same. Connection still required jumping in. And like the game of Red Rover we played at recess — just because everyone else was doing it (and I hated it) — jumping in never felt gentle, safe, or kind.

I don’t remember seeing Irene at recess. I asked a friend who was in her class if she gave out candy throughout the day, and the friend said, “Yeah. She’s just trying to give candy away to get friends.” Something about the way my friend stated the obvious stunned me. It stunned me so much that I’m still thinking about it, over three decades later.

I look back after all these years, regretful. Knowing what I know now about loneliness and friendship, about being an outsider and all the things we do to try to find connection and belonging, I look back and wish I had understood more then. I wish I would’ve thought more of Irene and all she was trying to communicate and offer, instead of myself, hungry for candy and hungry to find my own sense of acceptance and belonging.

I look back now and wonder what I offered others in exchange for friendship. I wonder now, after all these years, who Irene really was.

I was a lonely kid too, that year, and many other years of my life. It took a while for me to think beyond my own longings and aches, because it took a long time for me to know that I could even acknowledge those things. If I had known to pay a little more attention to my pain, longings, and aches as a kid, maybe I would’ve been able to see hers too.

Jesus was a master at empathy and connection. In so many of His interactions and intentional storytelling, He pointed to the pain and longing of His friends and listeners to connect them not just to one another, but to those they villainized and wanted to keep marginalized.

When religious leaders brought an “adulterous woman” before Jesus, ready to stone her, Jesus gently reminded them how much they had in common with her.

When Jesus’ followers wanted to usher kids away from all the things they deemed “important” — as if kids were only an interruption– Jesus named them the most treasured in His Kingdom come.

When the woman with the alabaster jar poured everything on Jesus’ head and feet and then wiped His feet with her tears and hair, many of His friends accused the woman of being wasteful and uncivilized, and judged Jesus for associating with her at all. They didn’t know that her offering was an act of love and connection, one of beauty and worship they could learn much from.

So many didn’t understand the depth of who Jesus was, or scoffed at the upside-down Kingdom He embraced. I am prone to do the same. I think about all of this, and it reminds me of Irene, standing outside of that California classroom pod with a bag full of candy, but so much more to offer than that, and so much more that fifth-grade me failed to see.

May we be people who seek to see the way Jesus sees. May we see the treasure behind outstretched bags of candy, see beyond our own fears, and face the aches that connect us.

 

Listen to Tasha’s devotion here or wherever you stream podcasts. 

The Kind of Friend I Want to Be

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The material felt cool on my skin as I slipped on the white dress inside the bridal store’s fitting room. My sister, niece, and mom waited for me to parade on out and show them the next option. I stepped out from behind the curtain, basking in their excitement. I looked in the long mirror and felt beautiful. I knew it right away: this was the dress I wanted to get married in.

If you’ve been around (in)courage, you know that marriage is something I have prayed for… for years. Some days I wondered if God had forgotten about this desire of my heart, but He always reminded me to keep on asking.

And now, five years after asking God daily for a husband who loves Him and loves me, here I am. I get to marry the love of my life this summer. The wedding preparations are well underway. The date is set, the wedding bands secured, and the dress I tried on in that fitting room is purchased.

I’ve been engaged for two months now, but it still hasn’t sunk in yet: I am a bride.

A few weeks ago, the writers of (in)courage got together for our annual retreat. After dinner one evening, I went up to meet them in a common room, but found myself walking into a surprise wedding shower. I couldn’t believe it. They placed a tiara and a veil on top of my head. My (in)courage sisters had written me love letters with marriage advice and prayers. They surrounded me, praying over me and for my marriage. They gave me money for our honeymoon.

It brought tears to my eyes for numerous reasons: these dear friends of mine – many who have known me for over a decade and have been witnesses for so much of my life – are now witnesses to this next chapter. But that wasn’t what moved me most. What moved me the most was their willingness to celebrate me, despite what they might be facing in their own lives. Many in that room are still praying for things to come. And yet, it didn’t stop them from celebrating.

I hesitate to write about this, because I know how tender it can be when you’re still praying for the thing you’ve been praying about for years. But the reason I decided to is because these friends of mine showed me the very definition of “rejoice with those who rejoice”.

I want to be that kind of friend.

So often, I can mourn with those who mourn, but find it far more challenging to rejoice with those who rejoice – especially when they’re rejoicing over something I haven’t seen come to fruition in my own life yet.

It can feel too painful to celebrate a friend when I want exactly what they seem to have. My natural inclination is to hide or buy a pint of ice cream. But what if, instead of running or hiding, we let it spur us into celebration? What if, even in our tenderness, we consider it an invitation to embrace hopefulness for all God could do?

It’s easier said than done, I know. And my heart is so tender towards you. But I want you to know: God has not forgotten you or overlooked you. You are His, totally and fully.

God mourns with those who mourn and He rejoices with those who rejoice.

I want to, too.

I want to be the friend who celebrates God’s faithfulness in the life of another. Who buys the tiara, and the veil, and writes love cards and marriage advice.

I want to trust God enough that, no matter what my life may look like, I can celebrate what He is doing in the life of another.

So today, I celebrate you – and all the goodness you see in your life. And today, I mourn with you – and wait with hope for all the prayers you’re still waiting to see answered.

Let’s be the kind of friends who can do both.

 

Listen to Aliza’s devotion here or wherever you stream podcasts. 

When Answers Don’t Come, But Jesus Still Does

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The phone rings. I say an innocent hello. Unexpected news fills my eyes with tears, my thoughts with fears, and the conversation with unanswerable questions. It’s been awhile now, but I still remember.

Have you ever gotten a call like this? Most of us will in this lifetime. If not a call, then there will be a surprising moment, a sudden fissure in the foundation of our existence that leaves us shaken and confused.

Where is God in those moments? Does He even care about such things?

I think of Nicodemus, the Pharisee who came to Jesus with uncertainty and questions. He didn’t do so in broad daylight; “He came to Jesus at night” (John 3:2). We can come to Jesus in the dark, feeling our way through the shadows, and show up in His presence when it feels like the sun has gone down in our lives.

Nicodemus likely chose this timing because of fear. We, too, can come to Jesus when fear makes our hearts beat hard, with trembling hands and worry creasing our foreheads. Jesus doesn’t say, “Get rid of your fear, then come.” No, He is a show-up-as-you-are God. Our emotions don’t intimidate or offend Him, our humanness doesn’t surprise Him. He is glad we are here, no matter how we arrived.

In this conversation with Nicodemus, Jesus speaks words we know well today: “For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life” (John 3:16 NIV).

I’ve heard this beloved verse a thousand times, yet it brings tears to my eyes as I type this morning. I realize in a new way that Jesus is saying, “Nicodemus, long before you came to me, God chose to come for you.” The same is true for all of us. And God came not out of duty or obligation, not with a sigh of annoyance or a roll of His eyes. No, God loved, so He put skin on and came.

Not only did God come, but He did so without condemnation. “For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but to save the world through him” (John 3:17 NIV). So often, when we think of approaching God with our hurts, frustrations, disappointments, and doubts, we picture Him as distant or critical.

But the voice of our inner critic isn’t the voice of the One who loves us. In our most tender moments, Jesus offers the gentleness of grace, the “welcome home” of a dear friend, and the comfort of one who knows what it means to weep.

Jesus finishes His conversation with Nicodemus by saying, “Whoever lives by the truth comes into the light” (John 3:21 NIV). This is a beautiful transition. Nicodemus comes in the night, and Jesus ends by inviting him into the light — the same invitation He still has for each of us.

What does this look like in our day-to-day lives? It can be as small as pausing right now to say, “Jesus, I come to You in the night, in the dark places of my life. I bring you my questions and fears, my longings and hurt, my hopes and sorrows. Thank You that long before I ever came to You, You came for me, and You have never stopped. I trust You to meet me with love in this moment. I release everything and everyone to You. With Your grace and great gentleness, bring Your light where I need it most today. Amen.”

We come to Jesus in the night to know we are not alone. We come to remember how much we’re loved. We come to place our questions before the only One who has the truth we need even more than answers.

If you’re in a season of unanswered questions because of broken trust or hurt in a relationship, Holley’s online course, Heal After You’re Hurt can help. Angela, a graduate, said, “It was exactly what I needed at exactly the right time.”

 

Listen to Holley’s devotion here or search “(in)courage” on your favorite podcast app!

Six Simple Ways to Bring Peace on Memorial Day

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Our family will visit the cemetery today. Someone from the American Legion will hand us poppies. The pastor will say a few words to those who’ve gathered.

And then, we will bow our heads for a moment of silence. No one will speak. The air will fill with birdsong and the sound of flags flapping in the breeze.

In that moment, I will pray as I always pray: for peace to rule in hearts everywhere.

That’s how I’ve celebrated Memorial Day since I was a kid – with a few moments in a cemetery, observing and remembering. Maybe your Memorial Day looks similar to mine. Or maybe you’ll spend your day at a lake or a park or around the grill in your backyard. Wherever you may be today, may your day be filled with peace. And may you find a way to share a bit of your peace with the people around you.

The world feels short on peace these days, doesn’t it?

Mother Teresa once said, “If we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten that we belong to each other.” I worry, sometimes, that we forget that we really are in this together. It’s a noisy, hectic, I’m-right-you’re-wrong world out there. Today, I want to make a special effort to be less concerned with making a point and more concerned with making some peace.

If there really is going to be peace on earth, as the song says, “Let it begin with me.”

If there will be peace on Facebook,
or around the dinner table,
or in a sanctuary,
or out in this warring world,
or in a family squabble,
or in the midst of a protest,
or on a lake,
or in some legislative chamber under a golden dome,
or in a world groaning under its own weight . . .
if there be peace here, or if there be peace anywhere on earth, then let it begin with me.

Here are six ways you can create peace in your life today:

Serve someone. There’s so much wrong in this world, which makes us angry and sad — as it should! One great way to bring more peace into the world is to bring a little peace to someone whose life is in turmoil. That’s one powerful way of taking our anger and turning it into a higher purpose. Find a person or organization near you who could use a bit of the love that you have within your heart.

Heal one piece of the wound within you. It’s hard to “pass the peace” when our insides are in turmoil. Take time this week to tend to your pain. It can feel overwhelming to think about fixing all that aches within you. If necessary, pick one piece and tend to it. Take that bit of wound to a trusted friend. Pray about it with your pastor. Write it on a slip of paper and burn that paper in your own personal bonfire as a way to say, “Good riddance.” (Invite a friend and ask her to bring the marshmallows.)

Point out the good you see. Take a picture of something that made you smile and post it to your social media channels. Of course, there is a time and place for us to use our social media platforms to point out injustice, but there is also a time and place for us amplify the good. Go, therefore, and show us your kittens, sunsets, and cute babies.

Resolve at least one conflict in your life this week. There may be someone who has gotten on your last nerve or who has stepped on your toes in a major way. The elephant is still in the room. Talk about that elephant, release it into the wild, and then move within that freed-up space toward a resolution.

Forgive someone. Nelson Mandela famously said, “Resentment is like drinking poison and then hoping it will kill your enemies.” You don’t have to forget, but when you choose to forgive, you have decided to stop drinking the poison.

Find inner peace. There are a lot of places one can go to find peace – a hiking trail, a sanctuary, the beach. But ultimately, the only way we’ll find true peace is when we look to Jesus.

“And let the peace that comes from Christ rule in your hearts.”
Colossians 3:15 (NLT)

From the (in)courage archives.

 

Listen to Jennifer’s devotion here or find it on the (in)courage podcast wherever you stream!

Share with a friend to encourage her heart, too. 

Seen by the God Who Sees

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Over the past week, I have planned and cooked meals, scrubbed toilets, purchased white string cheese for one child and orange string cheese for another, ordered more tissues and dish soap to arrive on my doorstep, and vacuumed up dog hair under the table.

I’ve changed my kids closets over for both size and seasons; today I’m diving into the shoes to do the same. I’ve restocked the shower with body wash and distributed toilet paper to all the various empty rolls. I’ve wiped counters and cleared the table in one fell swoop. I’ve prayed with and for my kids and tucked little curls behind little ears at night — both ears, not just one, because I know she likes it tucked behind both.

I’ve brushed and wiggled teeth and hollered for hands to be washed (I don’t need to see them to know they’re dirty). I’ve helped with math and texted pictures to Grandma. I’ve tossed favorite T-shirts into the washing machine and poured water in the dog’s bowl. I’ve watered the preschool plant project and moved it into the sunshine to try and keep it alive another day.

All in a week. A typical, run-of-the-mill week. Extraordinary all mixed up with the mundane.

As a mother and woman, I constantly perform acts of tiny service that go unseen. All day, every day. The bittiest of details, done with barely a thought. Just thirty-seven years into being a woman and eight years into mothering, I’m still learning these are finely tuned, carefully honed skills and marks of the craft.

And because you are a woman and a mother in your own unique way, I know you likely do the same.

We are the managers of the minutiae, keepers of the details that make a home run and hearts sing, whether that home is a small apartment with roommates or farm house with kids and chickens running wild. We are the knowers of small things, of favorites and things not-so-loved. We can read a heart in one glance. We can heal with a hug. We can calm with a word. We are the hosts of each other, the middle-of-the-night texters, the hearts that reach out when we feel a friend needs us.

Moms, caretakers, grandmas, babysitters, teachers . . . we are all a mother of sorts, and as such, we are the unseen do-ers. We are the people of hidden service, who have learned to do things swiftly and silently in a second-nature sort of way. At times, that has rendered me feeling powerless and small. Unimportant and unimpressive. Even though I know that if I disappeared, tasks would be left undone (Hello, favorite T-shirt going unwashed. Hi, dog hair un-vacuumed for a week.) and all the things I set in place could fall apart, it’s easy to throw an “I don’t matter” pity party for myself. It’s easy for me to look to my husband, kids, co-workers, roommates, or friends for affirmation that may never come.

It’s a good thing we have a God who adores and affirms women.

We have a God who appeared first to women after rising, who believes in women and has used their hands throughout history to do His good work, who sees us — both as we are and as we will be.

We have a God who sees motherhood as a valuable calling and in His wisdom gifts us individually to mother others in the place we are. Each and every one of those invisible tasks is seen, etched in His mind as He delights in you.

“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.”
Zephaniah 3:17 (NLT)

He. Delights. In. You.

Yep, you. You, who are a weary mother. You, who are not a mom to children of your blood. You, in the office cubicle. You, who diligently serves on the behind-the-scenes committees at church. You, who texts your friends to check in. You, who hasn’t had an evening to herself in way, way too long. You, who loves being a mom. You, the woman who maintains countless unseen tasks, holds things together (sometimes by a thread) and balances plates like a boss.

You are beloved to Him. God delights in His daughters. The end.

As kids, my own mom used to tell us, “I am woman. Hear me roar!” as she tarred the driveway, hung sheetrock in the basement, juggled our schedules and her jobs, and tenderly cared for her parents, her family, and her friends.

May we roar. May we celebrate our sisters and friends as they find their own roars. And may we feel the glow of love from our God who adores us and who sees every tiny act of service.

By Anna E. Rendell from the (in)courage book — A Mother’s Love: Celebrating Every Kind of Mom. 

The Gift of Remembering Things I Never Want to Forget

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The aging mind is no joke! I’m quite sure it’s a combination of menopause coupled with increased stimulation from heavy tech usage and information overload!

I never believed I’d ever succumb to the betrayal of my very own brain mid-sentence while looking square in the face of someone I totally recognize yet, somehow, cannot for the life of me produce a name. But, rest assured, it has happened! Worse yet, I’ve been halfway into a deep conversation where my next relevant thought takes a deep dive into the abyss of who knows where? In those moments, a silent panic ensues, and I’m left with questions like, “What in the world just happened?”

I have always been a list maker because it helps me remember things, but it also provides the feelings of accomplishment as things are crossed off and completed. In addition to my list making, I appreciate the preservation of a good story, and the benefits provided when reflecting backwards over life. A solid look back can bolster faith and inform tomorrow’s hope, and we all need hope, right? Years ago, I traveled for work and began the practice of journaling about the places I traveled, people I met, and experiences I had. Most importantly, I integrated prayer journaling into my routine — and I continue to do this practice today!

While making to-do lists and journaling are two different things, they both provide a satisfying solution to remembering things. If I need to remember to buy milk, put it on the list! If I need to remember the faithfulness of God in a season of life, check the prayer journals!

You get the idea…

I cannot tell you how I have absolutely loved being able to look back and see the faithfulness of God all over my life throughout the years. When my hope tank is low, I can find quick and reliable encouragement by taking a walk down memory lane in my journals. My journaling practices have certainly evolved over the years; I now take a more fun and creative approach by using stickers along with colored pens and highlighters. I often print sticker pictures of people I am praying for and place them inside my journal. My journal is my own little sacred space to meet with God in an intentional way. Seeing the faces of those I love allows my prayer time to gain holy traction within my heart. I get excited about intercession!

I use the same general format that I’ve found works well, because an organized structure gives me the guide needed for staying on track. For example, I have monthly prompts sorted by specific topics like friends, family, personal, church, community and then long form journal space for general conversations, and gratuitous prayers with God. I include a section for writing out scripture that helps me memorize God’s word and hide it away in my heart.

I’ve come to recognize my prayer journaling practice as my own “stones of remembrance” ritual, as talked about in Joshua 4:1-24. I encourage you to read the entire story at your leisure. In paraphrasing, the Israelites crossed the Jordan River, which miraculously stopped flowing. God instructed twelve men, one from each tribe, to take twelve stones from the riverbed to serve as a tangible reminder of God’s mighty hand and a sign to future generations.

I, too, hope my prayer journals serve as memorial stones of legacy, echoing hope for the future about all God has done in my life. For now, my journals serve me with a powerful reminder of God’s faithfulness throughout the various seasons of my life — both big and small. Journaling gives my stories a place to rest while also allowing me to go back and remember the many things I never want to forget!

Spiritual Power Tools

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Living on eight acres comes with both positives and negatives. For example, it’s amazing to sit on my back patio with a pine-covered mountain rising up to the sky and no signs of other people or city life. It’s quiet, wild, and deeply peaceful. However, the downside of that beauty? Someone has to take care of it. And it’s a lot to take care of.

About 70% of our property is covered with pine trees and scrub oak — mostly scrub oak. Pine trees are maintenance-free for the most part, but scrub oak is wild and tenacious. Also known as Gambel oak, it is drought-tolerant and highly adaptable to its environment. It also has a strong root system that spreads like a bad virus. That means, every summer, I’m outside with my pruning shears trying to keep the forest from swallowing my home. It’s like a terrifying scene from a sci-fi movie.

If I skip even one summer of back-breaking work, the scrub oak covers the walkway and wraps its arms around the eaves. I’m not opposed to hard work, and I love being outside. Even better, I have an amazing pair of pruning shears, a gift from a friend in the gardening business. But by July, after spending nearly every weekend trying to tame the forest threatening our house, I’m exhausted. No matter how hard I work, no matter my determination, the task is bigger than my strength. I know this because of my sore muscles and swollen hands. 

A couple weeks ago, my husband came home after running errands and announced, “I got you something. A gift.”

My husband isn’t much of a gift giver, so I was intrigued.

“Really? Are you serious?”

He smiled. “I think you’re going to like it.”

After another trip to his truck, he came back with a box, opened it, and pulled out a black and yellow power tool. At that point, I was pretty sure the gift was for him, not me. “I am not amused,” I said, eyebrows raised.

He was undeterred. Turning toward the closest scrub oak, he pushed a button and got to work. My man had bought me a pair of powered pruning shears. Not the most romantic gift, but magical just the same. And highly effective. In minutes, he’d accomplished more than I could in a couple of hours. My hands and shoulders wanted to cheer.

Stunned, I smiled: “Thank you!”

The spiritual life often feels like holding a small pair of pruning shears against an expanse of forest.

I desperately want to be more like Christ, to think and feel and act like Jesus did. But my sin problem is real. And sanctification — the process of progressively becoming more and more Jesus-shaped — feels impossible some days. No matter how good my intentions or how hard I try to do better and be better, I still fail too often. I take care of one problem only to find three more popping up in its place. The task is bigger than my strength. 

But God never intended for me to become more like Jesus with a pair of self-powered pruning shears. Yes, He calls me to be conformed into the likeness of Jesus (Romans 8:29). But He knows I could never accomplish this God-sized work in my own strength. That’s why He gave us a gift:

“But the Holy Spirit produces this kind of fruit in our lives: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. There is no law against these things!

Those who belong to Christ Jesus have nailed the passions and desires of their sinful nature to his cross and crucified them there. Since we are living by the Spirit, let us follow the Spirit’s leading in every part of our lives.”
Galatians 5:22-25 (NLT)

The Holy Spirit is our God-given spiritual power tool. He lives in us, drawing us to the Father, illuminating truth, convicting our hearts, and then empowering us for repentance, renewal, and deeper faith. It’s not about trying harder, but trusting more. Yes, our sin problem is legit. But the Holy Spirit has the power we need to overcome it.

 

Listen to Michele’s devotion here or find the (in)courage podcast on your favorite streaming app!