You Are Worth Loving in the New Year

You Are Worth Loving in the New Year

by

My father left when I was seven years old, but I always held out hope that one day he might come back to see me again.

When it came time for my birthday each year, I secretly believed a card from him would arrive. Since I walked home from school, I was always the first in my family to check the mailbox. But, as each year passed, I never did find what I longed to arrive from the post office.

When I graduated from high school and stood at the podium giving my graduation speech addressing my senior classmates, I still looked for him in the stands. I thought maybe once I turned eighteen, my father would appear in the crowd as it dispersed. I imagined it to be like an after-school movie special and I would finally be reunited with the man who was missing from my life.

But no such person came forward to shake my hand or call me daughter. And that’s when I decided it was time to grow up and to stop wishing for such things. I remember getting on an airplane for the first time to fly down south to Los Angeles to go to college. As I sat looking out the window, seeing the city I grew up in disappear as the plane climbed into the clouds, I remember whispering to Jesus, “It’s just you and me, Jesus. Thank you for taking care of me. I love you.” Then, I decided to stop wondering why my father left and why he never came back for me. A new exciting chapter of life and my future was opening up to me and I was happy to leave my questions in the past.

I told myself that my Heavenly Father was the only dad who took care of me all these years anyhow. I had asked Jesus to come into my heart when I was seven years old, sitting in the back of an old-fashioned revival meeting one night. From the moment I heard words read from a book called the Bible – that God loved me so much, He sent His only Son to suffer and die for me – I went from being a little girl who had been abandoned to becoming the adopted daughter of my Heavenly Daddy. And because I loved reading books like gobbling chocolate chip cookies, I didn’t read the Bible as a manual for life. I read the Bible as love letters from God, who was now my Forever Father. I wanted to know everything about Jesus and He would be the one I would rely on from that day forward.

The Bible became the one loving voice in my life. My diary entries journaling how I felt, my questions, heartaches and dreams, and the promises I found in the Scriptures became intermingled in one place. God’s love whispered to me like a song in the night and Jesus became my all in all.

God takes our broken pieces and makes beautiful things with the touch of His love.

I never would have guessed that years later, once I became a mom of two boys, I would stumble on an old birth certificate and decide to investigate the secrets of my childhood. With Jesus as my guide, I began a search for answers to the questions I once abandoned: Where was my father and why did he leave?

God cares about our stories. Your story matters.

I’ve always tried to fit in, to be “normal” like everyone else around me. But, as my journey for answers unfolded, I discovered the broken pieces I tried to hide about myself were the very things God celebrates as beauty. You are no less beautiful, friend!

God invites us to embrace our true worth, because brokenness is made beautiful in God’s love.

During the pandemic last year, I began to write my third book about this journey to find my father and share what God taught me about brokenness made beautiful.  I am writing this book to empower each woman to blossom in her true worth.

As I captured my stories on paper, God brought me back to His faithful promises in the Bible that comforted, strengthened, and encouraged me as a little girl. I believe each woman who reads this new book will gain the same encouragement to celebrate who God created her to be. As I learned to make sense of the past in light of God’s truth, I was renewed with peace, courage, and joy to face my challenges today in the present.

As we step into the new year, I want to cheer you on with a few of God’s beautiful love notes for your soul. Hear God’s whispers of love to you today:

You are my beloved. You are mine.
The Lord who created you says, “Do not be afraid — I will save you.
I have called you by name — you are mine.
Isaiah 43:1 (GNT)

I will always hold you tenderly through the night with my love.
By day the Lord directs His love,
at night his song is with me – 
a prayer to the God of my life.
Psalm 42:8 (NIV)

I will always take care of you. No matter what.
Though the mountains be shaken and the hills be removed,
yet my unfailing love for you will not be shaken nor my covenant of peace be removed.
Isaiah 54:10 (NIV)

I will always be faithful to love you with kindness.
I have loved you with an everlasting love; I have drawn you with unfailing kindness.
(Jeremiah 31:3 NIV)

As I share the most vulnerable stories of my heart to release my new book this year, I’ll be holding onto these promises from God, my Forever Father. He’s holding onto you, too. As you step into the new year, turn from fear and uncertainty and look down. Embrace your true worth as God’s beloved daughter. See Jesus folding His hand into yours, tenderly whispering, You are worth loving in the new year. You are my beloved.

How is God’s loving voice speaking into your new year?

Want more of God’s love + soul relief this year? Sign up here for Bonnie’s Beloved Newsletter.  Follow my broken-made-beautiful journey, as I release my new book about finding your true worth as God’s beloved daughter! Follow me on Instagram & Facebook @thebonniegray. Join my newsletter here!

All Along the Way, He Is There

by

Our mint-green Prius rested halfway between the lines of one parking space and the next, evidence that my husband had stumbled into the emergency room the day before.

When he called, I was blow drying my hair, getting ready for a day of writing.

“I’m on the way to the hospital,” he said, his voice strangely grave. I grabbed my keys, ready to race to my car when he called again.

“Babe, I don’t think I’m going to make it,” he said.

“To the hospital?”

“No, I don’t think I’m going to make it.”

I threw my car keys back in my purse and called an Uber, telling them it was urgent. A car arrived four minutes later. I ran out the door, wondering if I was going to find my husband somewhere between my home and the hospital. As I gave instructions about the route I knew he had taken, I thought back to the week before.

We were planning a trip to celebrate a big anniversary.

We had saved for months. Not only were we going on a trip, but we were bringing along all our kids and their little ones. Our family had talked of nothing else for weeks. Just a few days earlier, however, I went in for an annual exam. It had been a long time since my battle with Stage 3 breast cancer as a young mom. I had gone through chemo, surgery, and radiation and beat the odds. So many years had passed these visits became simply routine, which is why I hadn’t expected these words:

We found something. It was cancer. It was back.

Richard and I decided to take the trip anyway. When we got back, I’d fight cancer one more time. And now my cancer diagnosis, though important, was not the most pressing issue. Though he didn’t have a single contributing factor that made him a candidate for heart disease, the doctors told me he was in the midst of a massive heart attack.

We eventually labeled that year as our #doubledouble season: his double bypass and my double mastectomy and reconstruction. We laughed about that hashtag. The truth is, however, there were a lot of times we couldn’t laugh at all.

The moment I stood in the parking lot was one of them.

We had a freak ice storm the night before. I shivered as I tried to open the car door, frozen shut. When I finally got in, I scoured the car for an ice scraper. I turned on the heater as high as it would go. I chipped at the ice on the windshields with a cup I found on the floorboard.

It was futile. Suddenly, it was all too much.

Cancer . . . again.
My healthy-eating, half-marathon-running husband being prepped for open-heart surgery.
And where was the stupid ice scraper?

I rested my head on the steering wheel and sobbed. I wept and wailed in that ice-igloo of a car. This was the first “marker” of that hard season.

Throughout the Old Testament, there are stories of encounters with God. Those who had them built altars in remembrance of that significant meeting with God.

That day in the Prius a marker was formed out of my tears and questions. It was an encounter. I didn’t have to pretend. I didn’t have to put on a mask. I was invited to to walk into God’s love and care because I’m His.

A lot has happened since that year. Today, I’m healing from my third and final surgery, and thankfully I’m cancer free. Richard is cycling and walking miles again. Though I say that so easily, it didn’t come easily. If I look back, I see markers littered all the way from that hospital parking lot to this very moment.

Markers that celebrate the deeper reality of God’s goodness.
Markers where God’s people wrapped around us.
Markers where I wept, where I wrestled, where I looked at all the plans and schedules and dreams that were put to the side for a season and wondered if life would ever be the same.

If these markers had words written on them, they would read: I will meet you there.

I’ve learned that this is where sorrow and joy intersect in the midst of struggle. God meets us in our sadness. He meets us in the sweetness of victories. God meets us when we are down, when we are up, when we are in a waiting season of loss, grief, or uncertainty.

All along the way, He is there.

While it seems a new season, an easier one, is approaching, I’m grateful for the markers littered behind for they will help me build the ones ahead.

If you are in a hard place, He will meet you there. You don’t have to pretend, put on a mask, or hide how hard it all is. Instead, you will find Him waiting to walk through every part of it with you.

 

Welcoming Courageous Simplicity!

by

Just as you have received Christ Jesus as Lord,
continue to walk in him,
being rooted and built up in him and established in the faith,
just as you were taught, and overflowing with gratitude.
Colossians 2:6-7 (CSB)

My hands, clasped tight, jostled up and down with the rhythm of the train. On this first of many commutes downtown, I sat in the first car and tried to pray as building after building passed by. Today marked the first day of a new job, and I had all the typical emotions connected with that. I was excited and nervous, giddy and terrified. A million thoughts raced through my mind. I wanted to do well today, to do great things and make a mark. I wanted to be confident, to make it look as though I belonged.

As I was praying for these things, something made me pause. Something didn’t feel right. As the doors of the train opened and closed yet again, I wondered about my prayer. What was I really praying for and why?

In the midst of my desire to impress and succeed, I had forgotten to express simple gratitude to God for this new job. I had been so focused on myself that I had lost sight of God’s hand and sovereignty over it all. I wouldn’t even have this job without His divine orchestration.

Immediately my prayer changed course. I began praying a simple list of thank-yous. I thanked God for giving me this job. I thanked Him for opening this door, for bringing me to this place, for making this dream possible.

Then I began looking around. My eyes gazed out the window and watched the rising sun. I thanked God for this new day, for His mercies and faithfulness in my life. The more things I found to be grateful for, the more I was able to breathe deeply and relax my body and mind. In fact, by the time I stepped off the train, I felt full of joy and peace.

It’s amazing how powerful humble gratitude can be. Remembering what God has done is a simple way not only to calm our nerves, but more importantly to reorient our focus and give thanks in any circumstance.

Story by Michelle Reyes

Cue the confetti! Today we celebrate the launch of our NEW Bible study! Courageous Simplicity: Abide in the Simple Abundance of Jesus is now available where books are sold. 

Courageous Simplicity is the first of four Bible studies coming this year from (in)courage. We are so excited to invite you on this journey, knowing that we can draw on Christ for courage of our own. You can sign up to join our upcoming online study, and we will send you the first week for FREE! Also, are you a Bible study leader in your neighborhood, small group, or church? Sign up right here and we will send you additional resources to help you lead your personal small group through Courageous Simplicity!

Celebrate with us, won’t you? We’re truly excited about these new Bible studies from our community, and we so hope you’ll join us this year as we continue to become women of courage.

If You Feel Anxious About the Future, Do This

by

The bags under my eyes were as dark as the evening sky the night I saw those two pink lines appear on the white stick. I was pregnant — again. Mixed with the undeniable joy for the gift of new life growing inside me was a rising current of anxiety. I was already exhausted and stretched thin by caring for my one-year-old and two-year-old. How was I going to handle another baby? How could I possibly be a good mother to three kids, three and under?

I felt uncertain about the future and inadequate in my ability to handle it.

As the weeks went on and my belly began to swell, so did the constant swirl of worries and questions. How would our growing family fit in our little rental house that already felt too squeezed? How would we afford a car that could fit three car seats? What would I do when my husband was traveling and all three children needed something and there wasn’t enough of me to give?

The joy of this new season of motherhood was dimming under the darkness of my anxious thoughts. It felt impossible that I’d be able to do enough or be enough to make my looming circumstances turn out okay.

One morning while my two little boys played, I pulled out my Jesus Calling devotional, desperate for a lifeline of hope. I turned to the current date and read the opening line, written from the perspective of Jesus talking to us:

Anxiety is a result of envisioning the future without Me.

Noah crashed his toy cars. Elias swatted at the plush elephants on his mobile. And Jesus reached into my ordinary day and reminded me that He was with me. The devotion went on with this encouragement, “Remember the promise of My continual Presence; include Me in any imagery that comes to mind.”

In that moment, I realized that all the pictures in my head about what my future as a mama of three littles would look like didn’t include Jesus. Of course I was destined to feel overwhelmed on my own! But I wasn’t on my own — God was with me. In the thick of diaper explosions and toddler meltdowns, in the middle of vegetable revolts and teething woes, at the park and pediatrician’s office, when I had extra support and when I was parenting solo, Jesus would be beside me.

Deuteronomy 31:8 says, “The Lord is the one who will go before you. He will be with you; he will not leave you or abandon you. Do not be afraid or discouraged.”

In Colossians, Paul reminds us that Jesus “is before all things, and by him all things hold together.”

I can’t find a Scripture that says, “You (child of God) have to hold all things together.”

It doesn’t exist! So why do we sometimes live like it?

Friend, what areas of your life are uncertain right now? Do you imagine all the hard things that the next season of singleness, marriage, or parenthood, of your career or education or retirement will hold and wonder how you’re going to possibly hold it all? Are you struggling to enjoy the blessings of the season you’re in because you’re weighed down by feelings of inadequacy or anxiety about the future?

It’s time to put Jesus in the picture!

Fretting about my life as it would be down the road based on my limited perspective and ability was not drawing me closer to Jesus. Rather, my worry was creating an unintentional wedge between me and God. The more you worry, the bigger the gap between God’s presence and your awareness of it.

2 Corinthians 10:5 tells us, “We demolish arguments and every proud thing that is raised up against the knowledge of God, and we take every thought captive to obey Christ.”

Pride says, I have to handle this all on my own. Fear says, I will be unequipped and alone. But the knowledge of God says, “Do not be afraid or discouraged, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go” (Joshua 1:9).

Taking every thought captive means putting God rightly at the forefront of every thought and picture in our mind. Whether it’s a new baby, a big move, job loss, illness, or family crisis, there will be things that make the future feel scary and uncertain. But when anxiety about tomorrow’s uncertainties creeps in, you can make an intentional choice to include Jesus in everything you envision.

That unexpected blessing of a baby who made me freak out is now eight years old. Jude’s life has taught me how to hear Jesus calling, to see Him with me now, and to trust that He will be with me through every future unknown.

 

A Prayer of Trust to Begin the New Year

by

Let love and faithfulness never leave you;
bind them around your neck,
write them on the tablet of your heart.
Then you will win favor and a good name
in the sight of God and man.
Trust in the Lord with all your heart
and lean not on your own understanding;
in all your ways submit to him,
and he will make your paths straight.
Do not be wise in your own eyes;
fear the Lord and shun evil.
This will bring health to your body
and nourishment to your bones.
 Proverbs 3:3-8 (NIV)

Even though we wish we could see all that is to come this year, let’s open our hands and trust God with the unknown. His goodness, love, and faithfulness continue to be true for us.

Lord, there is so much ahead of us that we can’t foresee, so much we wish we could control but can’t. We hold all the questions, desires, and longings out to You. We want to trust You, but we acknowledge that we need help with that sometimes. Help us. Thank You that we can be anchored in faith when we are tethered to You. In Jesus’ name we pray, amen. 

How can we pray for you?

On this first Sunday of 2021, let’s hold space for one another in prayer. Leave a prayer request in the comments and then pray for the person who commented before you.

 

The Ministry of Snacks

by

It had been months since we’d spoken. No ill wishes or big falling out, nothing dramatic at all, just a quieted text thread and a pandemic ending any get-togethers. Then one day, she called. Not even texted, she straight called me on the actual phone. She said, “I’m dropping off a box on your porch! Be there soon.”

I’d just had my fourth baby. My other three kids were distance learning. I was still on maternity leave, covered in days of spit-up and sweat, the hormones still coursing through my frazzled body and brain. I’d mentioned somewhere online that the dishes and snack requests in my kitchen were never-ending and how it would be nice to have a break from the constant asks for and remnants of food.

My friend saw that mention online and showed up on my doorstep with snacks. So. Many. Amazing. Snacks. She brought fruit snacks and cheesy crackers, Pop-Tarts and mug cake mix. She also brought several prepared meals, complete with desserts, so all I had to do was pop them in the oven. She included little fun surprises and treats that she knew would bring each of us joy and save me at least a week of food prep.

That box of snacks and food was like manna.

Not only did it save me time in planning a week of meals and snacks, it saved me ordering them from the grocery store, driving for pick up, bringing them home and putting them away. Her gift removed a huge task from my brain and to-do list. It brought us all such joy, the fun of having new-to-us items (I mean, she really brought the good stuff!), and most of all, it gave me a major jolt of love.

Are you familiar with the five love languages? The idea is that each of us is wired to both give and receive love in several specific ways, with one way usually being the most meaningful to us. The five languages are quality time, acts of service, gifts, words of affirmation, and physical touch. Depending on the recipient, each of these acts can convey love. It’s a helpful lens through which to view the ways we can offer love, asking “How can I best minister to their individual, handcrafted, made-by-God heart?”

Most adults and kids gravitate toward a certain language. In our home, we have two quality time loving hearts, a physical touch seeker, and an acts of service lover. My language is gifts, though my husband likes to say that my love language is actually “being thought of.” Basically if someone does something, anything from any of those five languages, without prompting from me, it feels to me that they were thinking of me and that I mattered enough for them to act on those thoughts.

When my friend dropped that box of snacks off at my door, she loudly declared my love language. She saw my post, took it to heart, shopped with me in mind, and delivered a box of love. She spoke care through the ministry of snacks.

Wouldn’t it be a gift to the world if we truly lived like that? Reaching out whenever our heart is nudged in the direction of a friend. Sending a text or card. Offering up words of heartfelt prayer. Dropping off a few basic groceries or a fancy coffee. Picking up the actual telephone and calling them. Going over for a (socially distant/masked/outdoor) visit. Helping with the kids or laundry. It doesn’t take much, really, to let people know that they are being thought of and cared for. It doesn’t take mountain-moving acts to speak love languages and to act on them in ways both big and small.

All of these acts scream love, no matter what love language the recipient speaks. What could it look like for you to love your neighbor in a “being thought of” kind of way? I assure you, this kind of love is a ministry in and of itself. When God calls us to love our neighbor, small acts of love count too.

2020 brought a lot of change and challenge. May this still very new year bring ministry, hope, peace, joy, and great acts of love in all forms.

Happy New Year!

by

Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation.
The old has passed away; behold, the new has come.
2 Corinthians 5:17 (ESV)

Wishing you the happiest New Year’s Day!

May you feel peace knowing that you are a new creation in Christ, that He will renew your heart and offer fresh mercies every day. May you resist the pressure and temptation to fill up a blank calendar with lofty resolutions and appointments that will stretch you thin. May you remember that you are more than any goal met, any resolution kept, any to-do list checked. You are loved just as you are, and may you find rest in that truth.

Happy New Year, friends!

Tomorrow Is Full of Fresh Mercies

by

Then it will be as though I had sprinkled clean water on you, for you will be clean — your filthiness will be washed away, your idol worship gone. And I will give you a new heart — I will give you new and right desires — and put a new spirit within you. I will take out your stony hearts of sin and give you new hearts of love. And I will put my Spirit within you so that you will obey my laws and do whatever I command.
Ezekiel 36:25-27 (TLB)
Today is the last day of the year, and tomorrow brings with it a new year and a fresh start.

No matter what you’ve faced this year — the hard, challenging, or painful, the lovely, exciting, or beautiful — tomorrow is full of fresh mercies. Because of God’s grace and forgiveness, we are offered a new heart and a new spirit. When we accept the gift of a new year and a new life in Christ, God promises to give us a heart that is once again soft and a spirit that is open to His guiding.

As we close out this year, reflecting on all that has happened in the past 365 days, all the ways we’ve grown and struggled and loved and learned, let’s remember that a new day is coming. God will give us a new heart — as well as a new year!

Happy last day of 2020, friends!

The Inner Simplicity We All Long For

by

Don’t be impressed with your own wisdom.
Instead, fear the Lord and turn away from evil.
Then you will have healing for your body
and strength for your bones.
Proverbs 3:7-8 (NLT)

My husband teases me that I’m a hoarder. His ultra-minimalistic outlook says I hang on to way too many items of both clutter and sentiment. I disagree. I also choose not to count the multiple stacks of books currently on my desk as evidence that he’s right. But compared to many, our home and possessions are pretty streamlined.

I don’t have cabinets full of knickknacks, and I prefer cleared-off countertops and tables. But with three kids and daily deposits of school papers and junk mail, my wish isn’t always my reality. Still, I think most people would characterize our material life as fairly simple.

My spiritual life, on the other hand, isn’t nearly as tidy.

While I can find relief purging the junk drawer, donating unworn clothes, and throwing out all the mismatched Tupperware lids, I find it much more difficult to get rid of the unnecessary “junk” in my heart — the noise that threatens to crowd out God’s voice.

I wish it weren’t so. I wish I were more disciplined. I wish I had better boundaries on social media and that I never got sucked into late-night or early-morning scrolling. I long to spend as much time in God’s Word as I do messaging friends and traveling down viral video rabbit trails.

I yearn for quiet. Yet at any given time, I have no less than a dozen tabs open in my internet browser. Yes, I know this slows down my system, but I like to have all the information I might need within a fingertip’s click-reach. I choose this multi-tab lifestyle, yet my head spins with spreadsheets to fill out and articles to read and to-dos to check off my ever-growing list.

It’s a tension I hate, but I also dread the thought of giving it up. I fear the what-ifs — what if I’m missing something important? Deep in my soul, I desire simplicity — like I was made for it — but I’m slow to give up the complexity that masquerades as comfort and convenience.

As I face my inner frazzle, I have to admit that what I really need is more of Jesus. Oh, how I need Him. I long for quiet, for His still small voice to be louder than all the noise. Or better yet, to hush the noise of the world so that His whispers might be the single echo in my heart.

Story written by Becky Keife

A life of simplicity, an un-frazzled mind, and a contented heart come not from what the world tells us to pursue but from trusting God. When we focus on Jesus rather than on what others are doing or thinking, we find a simpler life that allows us to rest and be at peace with who we are. Inner simplicity comes when we stop seeking wisdom in our own eyes or in the eyes of others, and start seeking wisdom from the Lord.

Courageous Simplicity is about learning to fix our eyes and our lives on Jesus Christ. On our own, we can’t do enough or be enough. With God, we have everything we need.

If life feels cluttered, complicated, or chaotic, we get it. God is inviting us to experience a different pace and peace. Oh, how we need it! This study will help you release control of what frays your soul and will lead you to true refreshment. As you train in the spiritual practice of simplicity, you will discover the God who loves you lavishly and wants to show you how to live with a heart open and surrendered to His presence. Start the new year with us by learning to live in the peace and freedom of having and being enough.

Sign up for a FREE week of our new Courageous Simplicity Bible Study! Together, we’ll learn how to abide in the simple abundance of Jesus.

Join us on the journey to Courageous Simplicity.

When the Unexpected Becomes an Invitation

by

Every alarm wailed as my three-year-old son’s heart rate skyrocketed. Another hallucination had overtaken him, and this one elicited nothing but terror. Eyes overcome with panic, his screams reverberated throughout the ER. His small-but-strong body fought to get away as my husband held him close, doing everything he knew to soothe him. Nothing worked.

I looked away. My hand covered my mouth, hoping that holding my breath would keep the tears at bay. But I couldn’t shake the dread. For the first time in ten years, I feared I might lose another son.

“No, God. Not again.” My prayers were small but desperate, the words failing to do justice to the ache. My mind scrambled for something to hold on to, anything that might keep my faith from slipping.

All night long our son’s hallucinations continued, wavering between a world we could not see and horror we could not take away. I sat with him in his hospital bed, doing my best to calm him and to keep all the wires monitoring his vitals from getting tangled. While the doctor reassured us that his small body would soon right itself as the substance he had ingested worked its way out of his system, all we could do was wait.

Eventually the nightmare subsided, both for him and for us. Twenty-four hours later, he was released from the pediatric ICU. We were tired but thankful to be taking our son home. We knew all too well what it was like to leave a hospital with empty hands and hearts, and the privilege of taking home our boy was not lost on us.

Back at home, I was grateful but unsettled. Our son’s personality, speech, and ability to use his own body gradually re-emerged. Each toothy smile was a gift. While our prayers had been answered, I felt strangely hollow, like I was still waiting for God to arrive.

I told myself, “I should know better. Have I forgotten everything God has done?”

You see, ten years prior, I had whispered in a cold ultrasound room, “I cannot do this.” And ten years ago, God met me in unimaginable grief. Slowly, gently, Divine Love made Himself known as my soul wretched in pain. Slowly, gently, His presence pulled me through the loss of our second-born son. Darkness is no match for His light.

And yet, why did I find myself in the shadows yet again — especially when the outcome had been so different? Where I thought hope would be alive, God seemed hazy at best. I felt like I had betrayed Him — that by failing to see His goodness in the present I had cheapened what He had done in my past. Shame’s black tendrils crept inward.

My mind became plagued with questions, and my emotions did gymnastics, twisting me in all sorts of unnatural ways. Until, there it was: a glimpse. I caught that first flicker of knowing I so desperately needed — all through a few words from a friend. Full of compassion, grace, and wisdom from one who had also experienced loss, Tarah reminded me, “You knew His nearness regardless of how you felt. There’s no other way to explain crying out to Him.”

In that hospital room, my soul knew what I could not see. My spiritual reflexes had turned toward God in my need as I flung desperate prayers in His direction. Faith was at work; I just didn’t see it. But what my flesh could not feel or my eyes detect, my spirit had already confirmed: God was near.

And just like that, shame left. In the days that followed, I waited for the Gentle Knowing to reveal Himself further, for another peek behind the curtain. I knew that someday, somehow I would again “look upon the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living” (Psalm 27:13). Because while my faith was far from neat and tidy, God was not far off. This barren ground would become a place of remembrance.

In the days that followed our hospital scare, our family was able to get away. A pre-planned vacation turned into a much-needed pause. Little did I know that was where God would make Himself known. In a hundred little things His nearness was evident: an eruption of laughter, the sound of water meeting the shore, the taste of chocolate-raspberry ice cream, a tiny hand slipping into mine.

God did not show up with grandiose answers or neon signs but through the simple pleasures found in shared presence with one another. In small moments, faith that was once slippery found new life, an invitation to let go of what was broken and turn toward Him — into a land ripe with promise, into a new place of remembrance.

Stress, Sin, and the Aftermath of Christmas

by

One by one, I clicked “Remove.” I deleted items from my Amazon cart with a sigh. I wouldn’t be getting these things this year, not now, maybe not ever. Something inside of my chest was twisting. Perhaps the pang was guilt. I was grab-happy when I saw “Swipe up” on Instagram this year. All the little things added up. I overspent. I busted our budget. With the angst of everything in our world, I medicated with shopping. My weak spot is wanting my kids to feel extra special at Christmas. On Christmas Eve, I run up and down the Target aisles getting just a few more things to fill their stockings. I want my children to run out on December 25th with hearts beating in anticipation. I want their eyes to widen and their voices to squeal. I want to buy their happiness. I want to buy mine too.

Nothing messes with my soul as much as money does.

I felt the pang of greed as I unsubscribed from online shops. I imagine my life with all the clothes, shoes, and styles I want hanging in my closet and I can almost taste satisfaction. But the closer I get to being satisfied, the further away it seems to get. My happiness is a moving target. I have so much, yet I can’t see what I have when my eyes are only fixated on the things I don’t have. I hate this about myself. I don’t like my continual search for stuff to bring me peace. Instead of peace, all I feel is anxiety. It eats away at me. I manage my angst with my search for more. My appetite is endless. So I buy, buy, buy until I’m almost bankrupt.

I know material things don’t bring peace. I know more experiences don’t make life meaningful. But my eyes are always on the lookout to be filled up. I want to plan the next trip, start the next project, or dream a new dream. I have a lust for life. But I think this lust is just a way to avoid my loneliness. I try to fill my loneliness by buying whenever I need a quick adrenaline rush. I long for the next adventure because my heart isn’t satisfied with what I have. I fantasize about another life because I can’t accept the one God’s given me. If I live with what I have, I have to face my soul and the reality of my shortcomings. I have to see my own sin. I have to acknowledge there is something broken inside of me I can’t fix. And right now, I can’t change the numbers on the scale or my credit score. It makes my skin itch and my heart race.

I avoid looking at my statement. I want to pretend everything is okay. I want to live in denial that we can’t pay the balance. It hurts. It’s hard to say no to myself and to my kids. For me, greed and envy have an evil rivalry. If I’m not craving more stuff, I am jealous that others have what I want. Sin can feel inescapable. I keep trying to click my way out of feeling miserable inside.

Perhaps the current state of my stressed-out soul is an indicator of where I’ve let my hope lie.

Just days ago, I walked through the room with torn wrapping paper and ribbons ankle high. Christmas has come and gone like the fury of a winter storm. In the hustle of more, I think I’ve missed what it means to live with less. When Christ became human, He emptied himself. God Himself became less. He became a baby, innocent, pure, unblemished, and perfect. The image is divine. It stirs joy in my soul. The Bethlehem scene doesn’t have Pottery Barn furniture and gold finishes. The stable is dirty, smelly, and on the backside of the city. Yet, when I think about the birth of Jesus, I can see hope. When I’m clicking on links and devouring deals, what I’m really looking for isn’t more stuff. I am actually looking for Jesus. Jesus is found when I am depleted, strapped, and sulking. He is right there.

When I am at the end of myself, drowning in bills, my greed, and intoxicated with jealousy, God is near. When I feel a deep soul hunger, I’m actually hungry for Jesus. When I want to wrestle my sin away, God whispers, “Come closer.” He is inviting me to move closer to the manger. God is inviting me to less. From the outside, less seems miserable, yet as I step closer to Christ, I can see that less is actually everything. I loosen my grip on all the things I want. I open my hands. I let go.

My Amazon cart is empty. After a few minutes, I can’t even remember what was in there. Instead, I press my empty hand to my chest. Here, Jesus is with me in my brokenness and broke-ness. But instead of feeling stress, I feel satisfied.

Let’s End the Year with Praise

by

And let the peace of Christ, to which you were also called in one body, rule your hearts. And be thankful. Let the word of Christ dwell richly among you, in all wisdom teaching and admonishing one another through psalms, hymns, and spiritual songs, singing to God with gratitude in your hearts.
Colossians 3:15-16 (CSB)

As we take a moment today to look back on 2020 and as we ready ourselves for the new year, let’s take a collective deep breath.

Deep breath in. Deep breath out. 

For every pain and every grace you experienced, God has been near. Each tear has been recorded, all the waiting has not been wasted, and God has not left you or abandoned you. So, let the peace of Christ be a balm over your hearts, and let’s repeat these truths from Psalm 145 as we close the chapter on this year:

The Lord is gracious and compassionate,
slow to anger and rich in love. (v. 8)

The Lord is trustworthy in all he promises
and faithful in all he does. (v. 13)

The Lord is near to all who call on him,
to all who call on him in truth.
He fulfills the desires of those who fear him;
he hears their cry and saves them.
The Lord watches over all who love him,
but all the wicked he will destroy. (v. 18-20)

Hallelujah and amen.

Truth to Hold onto When Everything Is Changing

by

I have four pieces of paper taped to my bedroom door. Before I face the day, I come face-to-face with a calendar from 2016. Each month featured Scripture verses that were beautifully lettered, and I turned them into a short statement I repeat as I reach for the doorknob and begin the day. It goes like this:

“I can trust everything He does, for He goes before me and behind. I am merely a moving shadow, and all my busy rushing ends in nothing. My only hope is found in Him.”

I said it this morning. I’ll say it again tomorrow. Through the highest of highs and the lowest of lows, those words of truth have been a constant and a comfort.

When I don’t understand and I can’t see what’s coming next, I can trust everything He does. When I feel unsure and alone, He goes before me and behind. When I’m overwhelmed, He gently reminds that it’s my heart that He wants, not my performance or a completed to-do list. When I’m worn out or searching for a light in the darkness, He is my hope.

As we look toward a new year, I’ve found myself pausing each morning and swallowing back the lump in my throat as I whisper, “He goes before me and behind.”

I desperately need that to be true. I need to believe that He’s making a way and clearing a path. I need to believe that He’s redeeming all things for good, even when I can’t see it just yet. I need to believe that He’ll be with me no matter what tomorrow may bring.

December will fade into January, and we’ll put the ornaments away as the year wraps up. We’ll look toward the future with hope or fear or a mix of the two. After all, seasons change and jobs shift. We pack houses and close our books after finals end. We say difficult goodbyes and joyful hellos and eventually winter will turn to spring as change comes again. But through all of it, He remains. His love is constant, sure, secure — unchanging.

He didn’t stay in the manger and He didn’t stay in the grave, but He did promise to be with us through every high and low. He is Emmanuel, the God who comes and stays and isn’t confined to a calendar page.

When winter melts into spring and the places that seemed barren and empty suddenly explode with life and joy, Emmanuel, God with us.

When the days stretch endlessly on and the sun beats down and it all seems like one long cycle of wash-rinse-repeat, Emmanuel, God with us.

When the leaves fall and our tears fall and everything around falls apart, Emmanuel, God with us.

When hope is buried deep and yet all is washed clean as the world quiets and learns to wait with anticipation, Emmanuel, God with us.

Bitter and sweet, laughter and mourning, darkness and light, dead ends and new beginnings and messy middles full of ordinary days — in all of it, there He is, faithful as always.

He is the way-maker and the promise-keeper. Although we may not know what’s coming our way and though 2021 may hold more questions than answers, we can trust that He’ll be with us through every change.

Look before you, He is making a way. Look behind you, He has been there the whole time. Look to your right and to your left, He is with you now.

May we dare to say that He is beautiful and true, loving and kind, no matter what story the next page may tell. May we trust the unknown of the future to the God we know is authoring its pages.

Here’s to new beginnings, fresh mercies, a blank page, and an unchanging God.

This post was written by Kaitlyn Bouchillon in December 2018 and was edited for today.

 

Merry Christmas!

by

The Word became flesh and dwelt among us. We observed his glory, the glory as the one and only Son from the Father, full of grace and truth.
John 1:14 (CSB)

Wishing you and yours a very Merry Christmas! Joy to the world, Christ has come. He is here. He is with us. May your day be filled with more joy and love than your heart can hold as you celebrate the greatest Gift — the never-ending, world-changing, amazing love and joy of Jesus Christ.

As you celebrate loud or quiet, near or far, today or next week, know that you, dear friend, are loved by all of us here at (in)courage. May you see His glory today and every day. Merry Christmas!

A Wonderful Story of a Wonderful God

by

In those days Caesar Augustus issued a decree that a census should be taken of the entire Roman world. (This was the first census that took place while Quirinius was governor of Syria.) And everyone went to their own town to register.

So Joseph also went up from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to Bethlehem the town of David, because he belonged to the house and line of David. He went there to register with Mary, who was pledged to be married to him and was expecting a child. While they were there, the time came for the baby to be born, and she gave birth to her firstborn, a son. She wrapped him in cloths and placed him in a manger, because there was no guest room available for them.

And there were shepherds living out in the fields nearby, keeping watch over their flocks at night. An angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. But the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid. I bring you good news that will cause great joy for all the people. Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is the Messiah, the Lord. This will be a sign to you: You will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger.”

Suddenly a great company of the heavenly host appeared with the angel, praising God and saying,

“Glory to God in the highest heaven,
    and on earth peace to those on whom his favor rests.”

When the angels had left them and gone into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, “Let’s go to Bethlehem and see this thing that has happened, which the Lord has told us about.”

So they hurried off and found Mary and Joseph, and the baby, who was lying in the manger. When they had seen him, they spread the word concerning what had been told them about this child, and all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds said to them. But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart. The shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all the things they had heard and seen, which were just as they had been told.
Luke 2:1-20 (NIV)

On this holy night, may you let these ancient words sink deep into your soul.

It may be the first time you’ve read these words, or perhaps this is the first time in a long time that you’ve really read them. Maybe you’re somewhere in the middle, slowly losing steam as the hustle and bustle of the season have swept you along.

No matter where your heart is today, pause, reflect, and rest in the story of the shepherds and the straw, of new decrees and new parents, of heavenly hosts and a baby King. What a wonderful story of a wonderful God!

May the twinkling glory of Christmas Eve breathe peace and life into your heart right now.

Making Space for Both Sorrow and Awe

by

The darkness of my apartment flees as soon as I light the purple Advent candle in front of me. I kneel in front of my coffee table, watching the flickering of the flame. It is late. I always think Christmas comes fast, but this year it’s come ever so slow. As the pace of my life has slowed down this year, my ushering in of Christmas has been slow and steady too.

I watch the candlelight dance, the abstract reflection against my television set. I sing a hymn, and my voice is low and soft; the only other sound in my apartment is the hum of the dishwasher. 

O come, O come, Emmanuel.

At once, I find myself crying in the loneliness of my apartment. It is just me, alone, and although I’m alone every night, tonight I can feel it more sharply as I ask Emmanuel to come and be with me. 

And yet, the paradox of Christmas is that I know He already is.

I feel as though I don’t have much to offer Jesus this year. I feel tired and worn, and as my candle burns lower, I realize I feel like I’m burning to a waxy stump too. 

This year, I decorated my apartment with all I could muster — a tree and lights and lanterns and candles and wreaths and Scripture and dried out oranges I baked in my oven. And even though each morning I wake up to the see the lights sparkle on my tree, even though I watch every Christmas movie I can find on Netflix and drink hot chocolate most evenings and read the Christmas story over and over and over, none of the holiday magic seems to touch the ache inside of me. 

It is an ache much deeper than just getting through a horrific year. 

It is an ache much deeper than dashed dreams and disappointments. 

It is an ache of longing — an ache only God Himself can touch. 

As I write this, an eleven-year-old boy struggles to survive in my city. He was hit by a pickup truck yesterday as he walked home from school. I read in an article that the crossing guard flailed his arms, trying to save him. It was no use. The boy’s family holds his hand in his hospital bed today, as the news articles about him are shared over and over. I see his parents’ names circulate my Facebook page hundreds of times, each post begging for prayer and a miracle.

I cry as I pray for him. I don’t know him. I don’t know his parents. But it’s December and a young boy is dying, and it’s not supposed to be this way. 

I ask Jesus for a miracle — a Christmas miracle — because doesn’t Hallmark promise that those are the best kind? But the truth is, I don’t know if his family will get their miracle. I don’t know if their Christmas this year will be marked with joy or with sorrow. 

Somehow pain hurts so much more at Christmas time. Sorrow clashes against my garland and lights and cheerful songs on the radio. 

The candlelight flickers in front of my face, and I think of that young boy. I pray again, asking Jesus to hold him and his parents this Christmas, to breathe the breath of God into his body. 

I keep singing O Come, O Come Emmanuel, and I can feel the presence of Emmanuel in my apartment as I sing. 

My home feels smaller, quieter. I still ache, but the ache is different now. I can feel the presence of God with me, and tears stream down my eyes — sadness for the boy, exhaustion for our world, but something else, too. 

Awe. 

As I watch my purple Advent candle continue to light up my apartment, I am struck by the good news of great joy that never fades — even in the midst of sorrow. 

There is awe here too — 

Awe for a God who put on brown skin and was born on a dark night to a world that would treat Him cruelly. 

Awe for a King who deemed the poor in spirit as the most blessed. 

Awe for a Savior who saw you and me and decided we were utterly worth saving. 

As I pray for the boy, for our world, for miracles of every shape and size, I make space for the awe too. 

I take a deep breath, blow out my candle, and everything is dark. 

But the Light of the World is coming. 

No, He is already here.